Under The Oak Tree Updates Novels & Stories

Delaney "Cursey," I hear Trevor Whittle say in a sing-song voice. "Come out, come out wherever you are!" Laughter follows his words. I remain hidden behind the huge oak tree and desperately try to catch my breath without making a sound. I breathe shakily behind the hand I placed over my own mouth while my heart slams against my chest.

But he continued, just until the whole compound had gone still, and he felt he was an oddity. The news of Osayo's demise spun the countryside. People came from far and near, to witness the return and fall of their hero. *** When morning came, Otieno called for a brief meeting in his parents' homestead and informed people about Osayo's demand for chopping down and uprooting the Long-lasting Tree. A few conservatives objected. The rest gave it a loud acclamation. If that was the voice of their fallen hero, the same voice that had fought for the veneration of the tree, why would they refuse it? They went back to their homes and brought out daggers, axes and machetes.

He leads me deeper into the Ancient Heart, past the ceremonial stones used in pack rituals and toward the massive oak that stands at the very center – the First Tree, said to have been planted by the Moon Goddess herself when she blessed our kingdom with her favor. But as we approach, something feels wrong. The energy that usually emanates from the tree – warm, protective, life-affirming – is different now. Colder. Discordant. Noah stops abruptly, pointing to the base of the ancient oak. "Look." I step forward, my bare feet silent on the moss-covered ground. What I see makes my stomach churn.

Ruby smiled weakly. Outside the shop, "Stella" "Mmm?" "What's going on between you and Ruby?" "I've told before, I'm waiting for the right time to tell you. Except for that, even if this was our last few seconds on earth, I'd still not tell you. Focus on what's going on right now" "I know you're trying to be the big sister, I never had, but I think you're hiding something from me, that I need to know" "Well, you live in Tacoma now, it's kind of important for you to know what's going on in your town, don't you think?"

Oak clears his throat into the microphone, and I know it's time. Fuck. This is crazy. We expect a bit of backlash from students' parents, too, once it becomes common knowledge, but Oak believes it won't be as bad as I'd expect. "Welcome back to the Syndicate Academy. I hope you all had a good winter break." There are a few shouts in the crowd, but Oak ignores them.

"That's what we're after." She turned back to her screen. I called Alexander at three to check how Pasadena was going. He answered on the first ring, which was unusual for mid-afternoon. "How is it?" I said. "Strange," he said. "Good strange. We found the block where the house was." A pause. "The building they put up is an apartment complex. Very ordinary. But the oak tree is still there. The one in the garden." "The same one?" "It has to be. It's enormous. The kind of tree that takes a hundred years." I could hear him looking at it. "She's standing next to it. She has her hand on it."

He offered his wide hand, “Let me help you.” “I can help myself.” I stood, and shook off the dirt off my skirt. He just shrugged, “Okay.” He continued and went under the oak. It was only a bit higher than Gabriel, but taller for me that I was able to raise my head high and see its perfect oddity. Its shrunken trunk and all that was connected to it had perfect shade of homey brown and its foliage was thick, but there were spaces that allowed rays of sunshine to pass through it.

The accumulation of fifteen years of being together had made the arrangement more fully itself, not less. They stood under the oak. The June light came through the full canopy in the specific quality of the filtered summer light — green and warm and particular. The oak's trunk was wide — wider than Ernest could reach around, wider than two people could reach around together. The bark was rough, the texture of the old oak, the specific pattern of ridges and crevices that had formed over decades. The roots spread out from the base, some of them visible above the ground, the evidence of the tree's underground life.

providing the male Alpha guidance they desperately needed to understand their unique nature. Oscar dropped the logs onto the ground and walked over to the fallen oak, whistling softly as he inspected the shattered wood. "An eighty-year-old oak tree," Oscar said, shaking his head with a mixture of awe and concern. "Amora, your son just snapped a mature hardwood tree with a raw, unrefined pup-strike. When I was four years old, the most I could do was scratch the paint off my father’s truck."

Lyana says, and writes in the ledger on the spot: Oregon town — payroll clerk — yes. The cutting, as if it understands it has been given a job beyond being a wall, lifts all its leaves at once. They catch the morning sun and for the first time, it chimes. Not clear like Hope. Not deep like Duskbane. Hoarse, cracked, but true. Rowan’s bark tablet flares. The dim light goes solid green, and a new thin thread snaps into place between Oregon and Appalachia, as if the two youngest Trees recognized each other.