A Messenger from Nephelokokkygia

The Tree that Ate Starlight

Chapter 16: The Tree that Ate Starlight

And I watered it in fears,

Night and morning with my tears:

And I sunned it with smiles,

And with soft deceitful wiles

--William Blake, "A Poison Tree"

Have you ever experienced silence? Not just the word used in everyday language (which is more accurately a "muffling") but a true escape from sound? Cities are famously some of the loudest places, with nonstop crowds, traffic, and alarms. Yet rural spaces also bring constant encounters with noise, be it weather ranged from a gale's howl down to a breeze's sigh, or the cycling of animals: birds most of the year, crickets by spring, and cicadas all summer.

Those are merely the external forms of sound, requiring the medium of ears. Perhaps you are deaf, yet surely you hear thoughts internally, as when reading the lines on this page. Grace had her own difficulty, being especially sensitive to noise. Others could train themselves to tune out noises, or at least the ones they do not like. (This goes for thoughts as well.) Nonetheless, there is always at least some sound cluttering the background. They can be ignored, perhaps even suppressed, but are never cancelled out entirely.

Feel grateful that, whatever your circumstances, you have never had to deal with true silence. Genuine quiet never comes with a side of "peace and..." but instead, is terrifying. The known world is full of echoes, and the echoes of echoes. The Silent Forest was a place of the unknown. The moment Grace passed through O's portal with Goldtalon, Bennu, Schrodinger, Fox, and Diana—the Murder refused to leave Waif—she encountered the opposite of her typical sense-issue.

The Silent Forest lived up to its name, though once inside Grace forgot what names were. A haze fell over her. Even her thoughts were weighed down, especially the part of her that made plans. She forgot why she bothered coming here, and also that there was another place she originally came from.

Other senses were not so badly affected. She felt sweat on her skin. An oppressive humidity with no breeze to disperse it. In fact, not only was there no wind, there was hardly any air. Biologically, she knew to breathe, as when sleeping. But she also inhaled significant quantities of dust. Added together, these problems prevented quick movement.

This did not stop the six from quickly separating. Each shuffled in their own direction, without a care to the original mission.

The Silent Forest never experienced sunlight, but it was not in total darkness. Certainly not the kind of black boxes Schrodinger traveled through, which were things of raw possibility.

The closest comparison to how the Forest felt was if the box turned out to be empty, and you double-checked to see if there was a receipt, only to find the box no longer existed and you were holding nothing, and, in fact, you had no hands with which to hold anything. The Forest was a place of no possibilities whatsoever, suspended in perpetual dusk.

The companions left soundless footsteps on dusty ground with might have been quicksand if it could simply muster the initiative. Except for them, there were no animals. Nor were there many plants. All grass in the lightless region had long withered. The remaining trees were bare of foliage. Their timber lacked the usual range of browns, instead settling on a bleached white-silver. There were no saplings. Only those with fat trunks ornamented by knots which almost resembled lips.

Incrementally, Grace moved away from those she entered with. Closer to branches resembling hands, with long, crooked, multi-jointed fingers. Hands stripped to the bone. In her normal state of mind, she would have been curious about how they could brush past her hair when there was no wind.