The Whispering Tree

Written and Illustrated by Chris Francis

CHAPTER 5

The Story so Far: After spending the night in the Whispering Tree, Henry and Camellia arrive on the shore of a tiny island. Along the beach, Camellia’s father happily welcomes Henry and escorts him to the top of a giant hill. Camellia informs Henry that he is the one. Confused, Henry finally questions why he is there and wonders if he is supposed to help the Ogre-beast.

A soft blanket of mist cooled my face as I climbed the steps of the giant rock. I was touching the clouds, I was actually touching the clouds.

Below, over the peak of the grassy hill, a valley stretched out toward a sea of blue. Around me, was nothing but ocean. The very spot I stood, was the highest point on the tiny island. Through the valley, endless colours spilled out over the land. Warm reds and yellows blended with majestic purples and greens. Like a rainbow had exploded and scattered its beauty, the island was nothing but green grass and colorful flowers.

“It looks like M&M’S,” I said. “It looks like millions and millions of M&M’S.”

“This is Flowera.” Crocus spread out his arms and turned around in a circle. “Down there, is our village.” He pointed to a forest of tree houses, connected by bridges and platforms. This is our home.”

“It’s awesome.” For a moment it felt like I was flying. I closed my eyes and soaked in the warm sun and cool mist. “Is this real?”

“Unfortunately it is.” Camellia hugged her dad’s side as she looked out past the rock. At the lowest point of the valley, where the colors touched the ocean, a dark hazy object poked out of the water. I shaded my eyes from the sun with one and pointed. “What is that?”

Camellia’s father looked at me and nodded. He put his arms around Camellia as the two looked at each other for a moment, before turning to me. “That is Nut Island,” Camellia began.

Another flock of birds soared over us. Their tiny chirps, more like cries, flooded the sky.

“Nut island?” I said, covering my ears. “Sounds cool.”

The birds disappeared into the clouds before Camellia continued. “No. It’s not cool. It’s horrible.”

I wanted to ask her why, but before I could say anything, a large wooden stick landed just inches away from my head. It clanged off the rock, and bounced down the steep slope.

“Run!” shouted Camellia. She grabbed my hand and followed her dad down the stairs and along the peak of the hill.

Another stick landed in front of us as we darted over rocks and small beds of flowers. Behind us, a group of large men with little white cloths wrapped around their waists stampeded over the hill. They carried what looked like spears in their hands and grunted loudly like a gang of hippos.

The peak of the hill grew narrower as the worn path turned to dirt and loose rock. Another spear soared out above us, knocking Crocus over onto his belly. He skidded along the rocks and chipped stone, tumbling down the side of the hill. “Father!” shouted Camellia. Three or four angry men swarmed him and dragged him, kicking and screaming, down to the valley of flowers.

I think. I was running so fast I wasn’t quite sure what I saw. “What’s going on?” I screamed out to Camellia as she threw rocks down the hill toward the men.

“Leave him alone!” she shouted. “He’s your king. You can’t do that to your king!”

Tears poured down Camellia’s face as she fell to the ground. I raced over and picked her up in my arms, carrying the frantic girl away from the spear-throwing crazy men.

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” I said, bounding down the hill. A blur of greens, reds, purples and oranges flashed around me as I approached a narrow beach. As we reached the shore, the soft sand shifted my balance causing me to crash heavily to the ground, bringing Camellia along for the ride. The grunts and chants from the crazed men filled the afternoon sky. “We need to hide.” I spit out a mouthful of sand and what looked like a baby crab.

“But my father, what about my father?” Camellia squeezed my arm. The grunting grew louder.

I picked Camellia up again and tucked ourselves in a tall patch of giant Shasta Daisies. “We need to be quiet,” I whispered. I quickly sucked back a few petals, tossed a bunch in my pocket for later, and lowered myself to the ground.

The grunting men rumbled past us and continued along the beach.

“They don’t get it. They don’t understand.” Camellia glanced over the daisies, wiping the tears from her eyes. “They don’t understand. They’ll never understand.”

There were a lot of things I didn’t understand at that moment either, but I figured it would be best to hold my questions for a better time. But, I was still curious about the Ogrebeast. Was he here? “You’re pretty,” I said. Camellia looked at me, adjusting the small Tiki Torch flower in her hair. “What?”

I wasn’t really sure why I chose to say that to her right then and there, but I figured it would help calm her down.

“I said, you’re pretty. Prettier than all of these flowers combined.”

She stood up and looked back up the hill. She played with the flower again in her hair, before pulling it out. “These flowers are what’s causing all the problems. It’s these flowers that have ruined this island.” Camellia threw the tiny Tiki Torch to the ground, kicking sand over top of it.

“I think you’re even prettier than Chloe Swan.” It was true. It took me a few hours to realize, but it was true.

“Henry?” Camellia grabbed my hand and pulled me over the sand and into the water. We walked about a hundred yards out, our feet still touching the ocean floor. My shoes had just dried too.

Oh well.

“Do you see that over there?” She pointed out beyond a jumble of rocks and seaweed toward the giant object in the middle of the sea.

“I do, isn’t that the nutty island? Why is it called that? Is it made of nuts?”

She circled her hands over the water, as small waves splashed between her fingers. “It’s surrounded by Whispering trees. Thousands and thousands of Whispering trees. And you know what? They’re talking to each other right now.” She looked at me before lowering herself farther into the water. “And do you know what they’re saying?”

I waded out, following her farther away from shore. “I don’t know. Maybe, the weather? My mom always talks about the weather. “

She looked up to the sky. “You’re right. They know it’s coming. That’s what they’re saying. It’s coming. They know it, I know it, my father knows it. You know it.”

Before I could respond, another spear splashed in front of me.

To Be Continued: Thursday February 8