Underneath The Oak Tree Novels & Stories

I kill the engine. The hum dies, leaving nothing but the chirp of cicadas and the wind dragging its fingers through the tall field grass. I’m parked just off the dirt access road, tucked behind the swell of overgrown weeds and half-hidden by the thick-bellied oak tree that’s been leaning for years, like it’s tired of standing guard over this fucking place. Her place. Their place.

The night was dark and cold as the crickets in the night only made the sound out of the silence of the vast dark woods. Kael was holding the rope of the horse following them while Luna was carrying a small torch. She led him towards the big tree up ahead. Kael saw a thick rope hanging on the branch of the tree. He looked up and noticed that the tree was alive not like the rest of the trees in the dark woods and the branches above rose a little higher than the dead trees. The big tree has a dark and oaky wood. The leaves were big and rose above the branches.

“I just want some peace.” She looked up and shuddered. It was nowhere to be seen before she’d gone down, but now she sat underneath a familiar oak tree. Tall and broad, it had been a favored adventuring spot for Ava and her friends when she was younger. Over the years, she’d often thought back on that late afternoon when she’d climbed her way up into that wide canopy chasing after a wayward birthday balloon.

The voice called out from across, and then he began to walk towards us. "I would be waiting then," Nico turned to leave. "Hey man, you coming?" I recognised the face from the night in the cave. He was one of them. Nico turned to see me in shock. He understood that I could recognise his friend also, and then he gave me a look that warned me not to tell anyone about their secret. ****** Under the cover of darkness, I stood beneath the old oak tree, its gnarled branches reaching out like protective arms. My heart pounded with a mix of anticipation and a feeling of fear, against something that might happen as I waited for Nico.

The forest exhales. And somewhere beyond the trees, something shifts in response. Not yet. But soon.

I go until I’m far above the ground, far enough that looking straight down leaves me feeling dizzy. Don’t look down, don’t look down. I tell myself and look straight ahead. I’ve wrapped my arms around the tree trunk and I’m gripping tight. It’s some kind of oak tree, with large wide branches and a sturdy trunk. It’s thick with leaves in midsummer and they rustle gently in the light wind. Below is the hard baked ground and a little way away, the pool that comes down from the waterfall before the river rushes away through the forest.

The basket was getting heavy, filled with the apples we'd selected carefully, when Miles suddenly grabbed my hand. "Come here. I want to show you something." He led me off the main path, down a narrower trail between two rows of trees, and then we emerged into a small clearing I hadn't noticed before. In the center was a massive oak tree, probably a hundred years old, its branches spreading wide enough to create a canopy overhead. There was a simple bench built under it with its floor stem.

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.

The path beneath their feet grew uneven, the forest growing thicker and more ancient as they walked, until they arrived at the base of the oldest oak tree in Valenwood. The massive oak towered above them, its gnarled branches stretching out like protective arms, creating a canopy that filtered the moonlight. Caius stopped beneath the tree, his shoulders tense as he exhaled a slow breath. Lira stood beside him, unsure of what to say, the weight of the prophecy hanging between them.

The time I was wasting. Evans was still out there. I straightened and stepped over the unconscious outlaws, looking around. I noticed it then. A tree. In the center of the clearing, there was a single, enormous oak. The wood underneath was scarred with something that made my stomach turn, and its bark was split. Blood. Not merely splashed. Not merely smeared. **Sculpted.** Three sharp, deep phrases that seemed to have been sunk like inhuman claws into the wood.