SilverTrees

"In the year 1842, when even trains in the country were just as popular as rivers in the desert, there was a dying village in the south of Quishava- an ancient city that no longer exists. The inhabitants of this village had begun to experience a great famine, coupled with the influx of colonization and technology. Food had become scarce, and water was taken in rations. Rain fell once in every four months, and the crops were a little away from withered leaves.

People eventually started to leave, in search of better lands- with the hopes that, at least, fortune would be brought back to the land. First were the heads of a select few families. The men would gather before the first cock's crow, under the Jambula Tree to pray for the blessings of the Goddess. They would be bathed with the blood of a kid by the village priestess. Afterwards, they would all set out with nothing but their bags.

Soon, the only people left in the village were the elderly who were just weeks away from the grave, and a few families with children too small to embark on the tedious search for food. Part of the families that remained was the Priestess's. The Goddess had forbidden her from leaving the land. The Priestess was my Great-grandmother.

Despite the famine, her arms were filled and her skin glowed. She often walked around vehemently, shaking her rod at the entrances of family huts whose members had either forsaken the village, or had been captured (or killed). She had just one child. My Grandmother.

Her name was Tuilla.

She was as wild as the sandstorms that often ravaged the deserts. Many said in her lay the hunger of the Goddess- Insatiable Madness.

Time rolled by, and many people died. The village's imminent extinction was as close as a tree is to the ground. Tuilla feared for her mother- her own health had begun to fail. Her skin had shrunken, and her bones rattled whenever she walked. It was the curse of the Priestess- to suffer the same fate as the village. Her death was close by.

The handing over ritual was to hold the next day when commotion broke out in the village. Men, whose skins were as clear as goat's milk, had infiltrated the village, clad in strange attires. Their hairs were like cobwebs, and in their hands, long wooden sticks.

Tuilla ran as fast as she could to where the commotion was. In her hand was the rod of the Goddess.

The strange men spoke in a different language, but one word kept being repeated.

SilverTrees.

Tuilla gestured to them to follow her as she led them to the Priestess's hut. The remainder of the village followed at a safe distance, muttering to themselves and pointing. Her mother was already standing at the door to the hut, her eyes half shut and her head raised to the sky.

The Priestess beckoned to the man who seemed in charge, her frail arms shaking. He walked forward, his was an aura of confidence- no. Arrogance. She spoke to them in their own language before a bewildered crowd, as the Goddess gave utterance.

One of the men saw the necklace on Tuilla's neck and signaled the rest. They all at once became very excited and suspicious.

The Priestess walked up to Tuilla and told her that the men had come in search of a tree that gives life. The Jambula Tree.

She said they only needed a few leaves to cure their ill king, and that Tuilla should go and cut some leaves from the tree whose colour was as the moon. She then, invited the men into the hut, ordering some children to bring them water and some nuts.

Tuilla, still perplexed but sure of her mother's wisdom, ran to the Jambula Tree, unaware that she was being followed. She brought out her knife and climbed the tree, carefully cutting it's silver leaves. The wind blew, and the leaves moaned.

The tree was alive.

The man, now beneath the tree, gasped. Tuilla quickly jumped down, ready to slice his throat. He fell on his back, begging her, and for some reasons, she understood his language. She extended her hand and raised him up, telling him her name as they walked back. They quickly bonded, laughing at each other's jokes, and telling stories about their cultures.

Tuilla was the first to see the flames. Her dying village was ablaze, and her people laid lifeless on the dusty floor. She ran towards her mother's hut, leaving behind the leaves; pushing open the burning door. Her mother's frail hands were dripping with blood. She wailed.

The man who had followed her, stood at the door, horror clearly written on his face. Tuilla stood to face him. He tried to explain but she would have nothing about it. She cursed him to a life of pain, depending only on others- a life without purpose. As he turned to leave, Tuilla's mother grabbed her hand and told her she was free from the curse of the Priestess. She breathed her last, as the smoke now engulfed the room. Coughing violently, Tuilla struggled out of the burning hut, shielding her eyes from the flames that flew around with straw. She watched her village go up in flames as she crawled up the hills. Her people, her mother- gone.

She collapsed.

Years went by as Tuilla had migrated to another village, learnt it's culture and married one of it's men. She gave birth to my mother, and was alive to hold me in her arms. I was twelve when she died.

I was walking back home from the office one day when a group of men stopped me. It was 7:45pm, and was relatively dark. There were no much people on the street. They took my purse and tried to rape me when that man saved me. He told me I looked very familiar, that I resembled a Ms. Tuilla.

I couldn't make much sense of what he was saying, but I was grateful for his help. So, I told him that was my Grandmother's name. He, with tears glistening in his eyes, bent his head towards my neck and bit me. I was too shocked to move.

He then raised his head, knelt down on one knee like he was about to propose to me, and swore on his unending life, to always protect me. He said it was the least he could do.

I took him home to an abashed audience who listened to every detail of the stories he told.

He said he was looking for the SilverTrees, and that finding it would bring him closer to justice.