Tales from Grimwold: the Ghost Trees

It had been less than a year since Macadam Snore told the villagers of Grimwold the wonderful news that a lush, green land to the North beckoned; a land that would give the starving villagers a fresh start and a promise of survival. In that time the villagers flourished. They were able to grow crops and feed their cattle, trade with neighbouring towns and villages, and even bring imported luxuries to the village like Applewine and salted meats. But on one fine Spring morning weary travellers, bedraggled and weak, stumbled into their newly relocated village. Macadam Snore was the first to greet them. He was carrying a bunch of kindling branches that he'd foraged from the nearby wood. There were three travellers in all; a man with a long beard and ashen face and a woman carrying a small child sleeping against her shoulder. They were dressed in dirty rags that hung from their bony frames. As they neared Macadam the woman collapsed, her weary legs buckling beneath her. The man she was with, though tired himself, was sure footed enough to catch her and the child before she hit the ground. Macadam dropped his bundle and rushed toward the couple.
"Help," he cried out, hoping to attract the attention of any Grimwold resident within earshot. "We need some help out here!"
Macadam pulled his bearskin waterbag from his shoulder and beckoned the woman to drink. "Here, take some of this, it'll refresh you."
The woman drank deeply and then urged Macadam to give some to her child. The little boy, as sleepy as he was, suckled a little water before nestling his head back against his mother's breast.
"Where have you come from?" asked Macadam.
"From Fledstow," said the man, his head held low. "Or what's left of it."
"Fledstow," said Macadam. "Why that's about eight hundred furlongs from here?"
The man nodded.
"And you walked all that way?"
Again the man nodded. "We had no choice. The village was plundered. It's now no more."
"Fledstow? Gone?" asked Macadam, unsure as to whether he'd misunderstood the man.
The man nodded once more. "The land was sucked dry."
Macadam shuddered against the bizarre revelation. Was the man delirious, Macadam thought.
"So what ya sayin's been sucked dry, then?" asked a gruff voice.
Macadam turned to see Mr Grubbin, Grimwold's pub landlord, staring over him and the couple. He had one hand on his portly belly and another scratching at his stubbly beard.
"Fledstow," said the weak man. "They came in the night and by morning the land was bone dry. Nothing would stop them. We were bled. Our crops failed, our cattle thirsted and died, our elders passed not long after. They were relentless."
"Who did this?" asked Macadam, conscious that the unknown travellers were gradually drawing an ever larger, curious crowd of Grimwold residents.
"They called them the Grima Pinbeams," the man said. "Ghost trees."
Macadam could hear everyone repeat the phrase, muttering it over and over. It was clear that they had never heard of such a thing before. But Macadam had. His grandfather, when he was alive, used to tell Macadam ghost stories Macadam went to bed. His mother never approved. Not only did she not like his grandfather filling Macadam's head with fanciful nonsense as she put it, but she didn't like the idea of Macadam being frightened. There was only one thing in the world that frightened Macadam: mice.
"There's no such thing as ghost trees," gruffed Mr Grubbin. "Much less ones that can bleed a land so dry it turfs out those that live upon it."
"I tell you its true," said the man, standing up so suddenly he wobbled from giddiness. "And I'm not the only one whose seen them."
"I've heard of them," said Macadam. "My grandfather told me of them. He told me a story that his father told him, travelled down from generation to generation. He told of giant poplars, so tall they almost touch the stars and so wide they could cover four furlongs of land beneath their boughs. The villagers then called them Inwiddas, the evil ones. They're like parasites apparently, rooting themselves in the earth, sucking the moisture and nutrients until the land is so parched nothing can survive. He said that was why the old Grimwold was so starved. That was why we scraped and scrabbled the ground for morsels on which to survive."
"Oh that's just nonsense," cried a villager.
"Yeah," chimed others.
"Nonsense or not. We should hear the man out," said Macadam's father as he pushed his way through the crowd.
"What say you, man," said Macadam. "This is true. Your village and those that lived in it were starved."
The man nodded. "Most truthfully, on the life of my wife and child."
"From whence did they come? The north, the south."
"South, I think."
Macadam's father pondered the answer and everyone waited with bated breath for him to speak. Given he was a much respected man who governed the village of Grimwold they were sure to do as he advised.
"I think he speaks the truth," he said finally. "The South, as I know it, is indeed in want of life. I know, from my recent trade dealings, that many have travelled to pastures knew in the North, in search of hope. As for their reasons, none would say. I thought it peculiar, I did, but questioned it no further. But your story, sir, rings very true to me."
"Then we are doomed," said a woman in the crowd. "If they come from the South they'll surely hit Grimwold."
"We must kill them," cried another.
"I say we flee," said Mr Grubbin. "I'll not live another day in want of food or water."
"Aye," cried many in agreement.
"Why flee? We've moved already. I say we stay and fight. How difficult must it be? They're merely trees. We can strike them down with axe and saw," said Mr Herrod the Woodsman.
"You know nothing of these devils," said the withered man. "They speak. They whisper amongst themselves, whisper on the wind. They plot and they kill."
"Kill," gasped Mr Grubbin's elderly mother who clutched at her son's beefy arm.
"Aye," said the man. "They crush bones with their branches, trample the old and slow under their heavy roots, and with a stroke of their boughs sweep men clean off their feet and four furlongs across the land. You cannot stop them."
"Father," Macadam said and tugged at his father's waistcoat. "I may know of a way to ward them off."
Suddenly everyone's attention was again focussed on Macadam.
He could literally feel the weight of their expectations holding him down.
"Grandfather spoke of the power of the Wizard of Galdorgalere. He surely could stop them."
"Pah!" said Mr Grubbin with a swish of his hand. "That Sorcerer is useless. His legend is more powerful than his magic. I say we pack up and move on."
With that Mr Grubbin and most of the other villagers hurried back to their huts and began to pack their belongings.
Macadam rose to his feet and looked up at his father. "We can't run, father, or we'll be running forever."
His father stroked Macadam's hair gently and smiled down at him. "I know, son, but sometimes you have to admit defeat and move on," he said before turning to the travellers. "You'd best come with us if you wish to live. We can provide food and shelter to see you through."

That evening Macadam called Gilivan the Gryphon. Three hoots into the night air. Within minutes Gilivan was there outside Macadam's window. His eagle wings beating majestically.
"I need your help Gilivan," whispered Macadam. "I need to see the Wizard of Galdorgalere."
"Wizard. Powerful. Yes," said Gilivan. "Climb aboard."
Macadam grabbed a handful of Gilivan's lion mane and heaved himself up onto Gilivan's body. In the blink of an eye Macadam was flying high through the cool night the air, the wind whistling past him. When they reached the Three White Mountains Macadam could see the Wizard's icy castle.
"Galdorgalere," said Gilivan.
Gilivan landed softly on a fluffy mound of snow at the foot of a grand ice staircase. Macadam climbed down off Gilivan's back and looked up in awe at the Wizard's castle. Tall spires and white battlements adorned the magnificent building built into the side of the tallest of the mountains.
As Macadam climbed the stairs, the door to the castle opened and a small, withered man appeared. He was bent over and clutching a gnarled stick in one hand to steady his gait.
"I've been expecting you Macadam Snore," he said in a crackly voice. "Your reputation proceeds you."
"Reputation?" asked Macadam.
"Oh yes. You are impetuous, inquisitive and dare I say it courageous."
"Are you the Wizard of Galdorgalere?" asked Macadam.
"I am," was the Wizard's reply.
"You don't really look like a Wizard," said Macadam, noting the man's very ordinary woven brown trousers and jacket.
"I would much rather behave like one than look like one, don't you think?"
"I suppose," said Macadam. "But you know a lot about me. You must know why I've come here."
The Wizard held out a flattened hand. "This is what you've come for, I take it," he said.
Macadam stared down at the twinkling mound of dust on the Wizard's palm. But as Macadam reached out to take it the Wizard snatched it away.
"I will give it to you on one condition," he said.
"Anything," said Macadam.
The Wizard regarded him curiously for a moment, as though he didn't quite believe him.
"I promise I'll do anything to save my village," Macadam pleaded.
"You may have my enchanted dust to ward off the Grima Pinbeams on the condition that you return to me as my apprentice."
"Apprentice?" said Macadam. "But I'd have to leave my father. I can't do that."
"Then I cannot help you," said the Wizard as he closed his fingers around his enchanted dust and retracted his hand.
Macadam anguished over the proposition as he stared at the Wizard's clenched fist. He held salvation in his hand. It was so close to Macadam he could almost taste its sweetness, almost hear the jubilant cries of the villagers at overcoming their foe.
"Okay , okay," Macadam cried. "I'll return. I'll return, just give me the dust."
The Wizard smirked at Macadam and held out his hand once more.
Macadam swept the dust into his jacket pocket and nodded to the Wizard.
"You have until the moon is full once more to return to me. Or your village will be no more," said the Wizard and he turned and shuffled back inside his ice castle.
Macadam climbed aboard Gilivan and before he knew it he was on his way home.
The journey back to Grimwold seem to Macadam to take an eternity. He despaired over his pact with the Wizard. Would he be able to get away with not returning? Would it be worth chancing given he had gone to so much trouble to save the village from the ghost trees? He didn't have time to ponder the answer to his questions as cries of terror rang through the air. Ahead Macadam could see the torch lights of Grimwold and soon he could make out the villagers, darting about the streets carrying their kin and their belongings. To the south of the village Macadam could see what they were fleeing from. Enormous ever green pine trees were trouping towards the village. Row after row took root. Some of the villagers, against the advice of the travellers, attempted to fight off the trees with axes and flames but that only enraged the Grima Pinbeams. With swift strokes they swept aside their assailants sending them crashing into Grimwold's huts or smashing into other Grima Pinbeams.
"Hurry, Gilivan," cried Macadam. "Before it's too late."
"Faster. Yes," said Gilivan and he beat his wings higher and deeper.
"Take me low down, Gilivan, and in a circle around the village," instructed Macadam.
Gilivan did as Macadam asked, and as he did Macadam reached into his pocket and sprinkled the Wizard's enchanted dust around the village.
The moment Macadam had completed his circumnavigation of the village, enclosing it within the ward of the Wizard's spell the Grima Pinbeams stopped in their tracks. Their squeal of pain was clearly audible not just to Macadam but to everyone on the ground as well. It was so shrill Macadam had to put his hands over his ears to protect them. Macadam watched as one by one the Grima Pinbeams backed away from Grimwold. Those that had already taken root uplifted their viney stems and trudged back south and away from Grimwold.
Macadam breathed a sigh of relief. He saved the little village of Grimwold. The village he knew he'd never see again.