The Briar Patch: Ch. 3 - Story Time

In the beginning there was nothing.

Nothing but a vast emptiness of space, scattered with celestial dust. 

From the scintillating motes amidst an eternal darkness, did Life seep into the world, each prismatic droplet bringing with it a rainbow of light and color.

The warm colors, red, orange, and yellow became the dawn and dusk, gathering at the horizons to become the sun. Every day they gathered in the sunrise, and dispersed in the sunset.

The cool colors pooled into a vast expanse both above and below. Blue and purple became the sky and seas both, and in a drop of sky and seas both, was the moon born. The tears of the heavens would wash away the impurities and connect all in the flow of Life. Where the cool waters went, so too did Life follow.

The world lay in a semblance of balance. As the land awoke from cool night's embrace, did the warmth of day envelope the world in its wake. 

But the colors that had once been but a single pure white light, longed to once more take for the comforting space they once inhabited beyond the reach of even the skies. They sought one another, to become one once more.

But what had once been could no longer be, separated as they were. 

They were no longer the liquid light of stars, pure and true, but fragments of a whole that couldn't be pieced back together.

The colors entangled in themselves, became a muddy brown. The resultant mix pooled about the neutral colors of the bedrock. Try though the spectrums did to separate the colors, to bring them back, they would simply be drawn in, consumed by the Earth. None of the spectrum could help, for all attempts ensnared them, and turned them the same muddied shades.

Nothing could avert or change it. No color vivid enough. All gave way to the murky brown.

This, would become earth. In itself it was lifeless, dusty, and desolate.

A brown mass that everything would be drawn too. 

The reason everything returned to the Earth, the inexplicable phenomenon of gravity, and the tragic inevitable passing of Life unto Death.

All returned to the brown earth, for none could escape.

But Life is persistent and resilient in the strangest of ways.

Amongst the colors that did flow into this world, was a gentle verdant green in all its shades. 

A humble green whom could not follow the others, could not take to the skies and reach such heights, nor breach the vast oceanic depths of the world below. 

The Verdance, as they would come to be known, was not great like the others, but lay content in simplicity. And so with the neutral colors did it dwell, complacent to be.

Gentle Verdance would raise their head, to greet the sun and moon in their great journey across the skies, and listen the the roar of the mighty oceans, the expansive skies and seas that stretched across the entirety of this dominion. 

But when the consumed light screamed and cried out, Verdance could bear the agony of the others no longer. 

But what could he do?

Even the Sun and Moon, the very Skies and Seas that encompassed them could do naught.

All was consumed by the Earth, pull though they might, neither Moon nor Sun could tear the mess of colors apart. The Sun scorched, the Moon chilled, but could do little else to quell their agony. Neither could the ocean, crashing against the Earth in endless pursuit, break them apart in all its roaring might. That the colors tangled and trapped within may be separate once more.

Unable to stand the despair, he found his resolution, and into the Earth he plunged.

In the wake of the Verdance, a prismatic arc reached down for none to answer. The rains fell as the heavens cried out, the sun blazed as it reached out for those lost.

And so they thought, yet another too had followed, and was forever lost to them.

But the Verdance came back. 

In earthy mud did he arise, a humble splotch of green to dot on ashen brown. Changed, but still Verdant true.

Slowly, from that little bud of green, would a bloom grow and part its petals to reveal a splendor of colors.

Such was how the first colors resurfaced.  Dainty and meek, but of their own splendor.

For from the plants there grew the flesh and blood from colors warm that he drew from the Earth, while the cool became the scales and fins.

They adorned the birds of song, and marked the passing of Time.

And slowly, did the Earth calm and its tremors still. Sometimes the Earth would still cry, its heaves grinding rock and dirt together, forming the mountains and valleys. And Verdant would be there, to remind them that all was not lost, for there was Life. From him the menagerie of colors would once again spread across the world.

Humble Verdance could not return the Earth to the pure light they all once were, nor could he save them from returning to the soil.

But he could bring them back, if only in passing, for Verdance would color their world with Life.

Verdance would return to the Earth, and draw them into himself, then rise again, bringing the others with him to flower and fruit.

Like a resilient lotus, did he too rise above adversity in a pure bloom. 

Was, in fact, for he was all, and from him did all come.

The Earth was sown in colors and from where Verdant sat, did a growth of lush green arise by his hand. 

The first Fairy Ring.

From that did his progeny push forth from the dirt to join him, an unexpected, but not unwelcome development. 

Such was how the first Shols came to be. 

But unlike Verdance himself, these smaller entities could not give rise to such diversity, for they were not, as it would later come to be called, a Yggdrasill. One from whom all came.

And so Verdance himself gave his many children his fruit and seeds, that they too may carry a resplendent green.

Purpose fulfilled, Verdance left it to his children to succeed him. 

Back to the Fairy Ring, did Verdance too, return to the earth. 

Yet they knew that though departed, their antecedent was ever with them, for his essence was ever flowing through the lush world they inhabited. Just as the Verdance had before as but a humble green whom spent his days tracing the sun and moon in their grand journey across the skies, did the flora too turn their heads to follow the great celestial bodies, creeping out of the shade that they too may gaze upon the stars with wonder and awe, and trace the solar and lunar paths.

The first Shols sang for his safe passage and tended to the greens that grew where he lay. They gathered their essence of fruits and seeds, and burying it with him, bid the Yggdrasill a merry farewell as he had so desired.

But not the last. 

His descendents spread across the world, establishing their own Fairy Rings and covering the Earth with lush green that would give rise to such colorful Life.

But always would they return to the Briar Patch, where it all began. 

The Yggdrasill, and first Fairy Ring that arose from it.

The Briar Patch.

Zeal stared blankly as Vye finished. 

A world born from the stars? Created from light and color? Some omnipotent miracle plant that birthed the circle of life to be guarded and perpetuated by a bunch of flower children?

Tempting though it was to roll his eyes, he refrained. Vye was rather sensitive to scorn, and it had taken far too much coaxing to get the bloody Shol to open up since his first disdainful remark in the tentative first few days of travelling together. 

Needless to say, the Bramble Shol's first impression of him had been less than ideal.

It seemed ages ago now.

Vye himself was ever placid, and nonchalant as he told him the tale of their beginnings.

What absurdity.

Did he truly believe such a ridiculous story? It was folly.

But Zeal needn't ask to know. 

Doubtlessly he did. For though the Shol had stated that their mission would be salvage what they can, tasked to seek out his remaining brethren and start a Fairy Ring anew--which was already a highly dubious task in and of itself, he knew it wasn't all that the young Shol hoped for. 

Vye mentioned little and less of the Briar Patch since their first encounter, and it wasn't until tonight that he had convinced the Shol to tell him more. As if it wasn't of import. Wasn't what weighed on his mind.

But he knew otherwise. Every venture, the little Shol searched for more than just the traces of his brethren.

Perhaps for the less perceptive individual it would've been substantial, and Zeal remained uncertain as to whether the Shol thought himself clever, or Zeal a blind dolt.

The little "sightseeing" trips where Vye would hence vanish during their short jaunts back to civilization much to his caretaker's chagrin. His safety being solely Zeal's responsibility, the mercenary would tail him incognito as his charge scampered off to the local Archives, only to return with a stack of borrowed tomes. No doubt on an uncatalogued loan of unknown duration. 


It was one of Life's great mysteries how the little Shol managed bypass security, let alone lug his sack full of paper bricks back and Zeal had learned long ago not to question it and accept it for what it was. Like a matter-of-fact of Life. It just happens.

When brought up, it was always waved off dismissively. It was all just curiosity. 

Or so his ward claimed. 


At first Zeal thought nothing of it, but there came to be an odd sort of correlation between the history books, the volumes of botanical study and research, and the Shol's own plethora of poorly hidden bookmarks and unintelligible (illegible too, for it was not written in any language known to the Sanctum) research notes.

Vye seemed to be searching for something quite specific, shaking his head and grumbling incoherently. A series of harsh, rolling, clicks reverberating in a throaty growl as he fingered the pages, not finding whatever it is he was looking for.

Perhaps it was to gleam something more about his kin.

For the content of the heaping stack the Bramble Shol managed to pilfer and return with always related to something of their kind, however vague, sparse, and misinformed. Truly, the knowledge of the Sanctum paled in comparison to Vye's own when it came to anything other than the medicinal value and practices of Shol derived remedies. Anything they knew, if at all accurate, Vye did too. After all, his kind were hardly scrutinized for anything other than their medicinal value. There was hardly any interest in anything else and little and less was truly known of them. Nothing but myths and tall tales. All of which Vye too was well aware of. Young though he was, Vye was still far better informed.

Still the young Shol searched. And Zeal noted the semblance between the tales Vye would weave for him by the fire's glow, and those of the volumes he would bring back.

The Katholius Magnus tree, for instance. Many an inserted text-keep indicated sources and passages of the oldest growth and its believed location. The Katholius Magnus is a well documented but rare species known for having been blessed with an unparalleled hardiness, versatility, and compatibility with grafts that persisted long after being severed. Rare not for its lacking ability to thrive, but from over-harvesting both their sweet succulent fruits and the wood itself. Rather, it was of such resilience as to be envied, and many were cut down in the lavish development of the Sanctums. The opulent wood and grain were also aesthetically pleasing, which aided little to the arbor's plight.

Such trees grew slowly, few and far between as they seldom bore fruit. It was unknown what stimulated the trees to fruit.

The last known tree of its species grew in the Sanctum of the 8th. Many a claim have been made of sightings. Hoaxes. A mere ploy for a grab at the coin purse of a fool. The rumors had, as of late dwindled, for if some were to be believed, the Sanctum Katholius had finally bore flowers, and the people were hopeful that the tree bear fruit.

In a way, they were much like the Shols. Harvested for their potent properties, populations decimated beyond mend.

But unlike them, the Katholius Magnus had been spared the same fate. 

Unlike them, they were not beyond help. 

Vye was dead set on doing the impossible.

Not because he himself was lacking, but because it was a fool's errand.

The Briar Patch just couldn't exist. If ever it had, it stood no longer.

Vye wouldn't say it, but from that hopeful glint, and the little excursions he would excuse himself on, it was clear that deep inside, the young Shol hoped beyond hope to find it.

Because sometimes hope was all that kept them going.

And Zeal dreaded the inevitable day to come, when that hope crumples into despair. Caves in and shatters in the face of reality. For Life was rarely that kind.

This they both knew.

And yet in spite of--or perhaps because of it, Vye couldn't help but to yearn, and hope.