The Healing Tree

By John de Sousa

Feno lowered his eyes and bowed as the massive, bearded warrior from Tablador strode past, a battle-axe resting on each of his shoulders. Angry red boils covered the giant’s neck, but Feno didn’t gawk, lest he lose his head. Instead he admired the man’s crafted leather boots. They would bring a good price.

The big man joined the throng of hopefuls crowding the rocky hill in front of the Healing Tree. The others watched him as they waited, fingers tapping their swords or spinning their spears with nervous anticipation.

Feno counted more than two hundred, a new record. Most bore obvious afflictions—leprosies, disfigurements, bloody hacking fits. All were ready to fight to the death. Just as they did every year…

Once annually for the last half-century, rainbow gnats by the thousands would simultaneously burst from the tree’s fruit, forming a cloud of swirling colors and light. Whoever could step into the swarm first would be healed of all infirmities. The inevitable battle for the prize was violent beyond any standards.

Thankfully, the town had commissioned a cadre of dragons to guard the tree until the fateful moment, lest war wage endlessly for the hill.

One such dragon perched on a nearby ridge as pain assailed Feno’s twisted legs, forcing him to lean on his shovel amidst the horde of onlookers. The stench of his rotting muscles humiliated him, and townsfolk gave him plenty of space.

Someone clasped his shoulder, causing him to stumble.

“If that’s your weapon, you’d better stand closer to the tree.” The stranger smiled, his eyes friendly.

Feno forced a smile in return. “Oh, I’m not here to compete. I wouldn’t last a moment.” He grimaced as spasms rattled his thighs. “I’m here to bury the dead, to prevent plague from consuming the village.”

“In your condition?”

“We’re allowed to take um, souvenirs. Selling them helps feed my family.” Feno glanced at his legs. “I don’t make much money without it. Not anymore.” Feno’s eyes burned. So much had changed.

“I understand.”

He met the stranger’s gaze. The compassion in his face showed that he indeed understood. “The bad news is… this is the last year for the battle.”

The visitor tilted his head. “Oh?”

Feno sighed. “The Healing Tree has been weakening for years. I’m surprised it’s lasted this long. When the gnats break out today, it’ll likely be for the last time since they need the tree to survive.”

The stranger looked toward the combatants. “At least the slaughter will cease.”

A stir in Feno’s conscience flushed his cheeks. “Yes. I suppose that’s for the best.” But he couldn’t shake the thought of how much the axe-giant’s leather boots would fetch. Was it wrong to hope he’d die?

A screeching roar split the air. The dragons stood and spread their wings, fangs bared, as the Healing Tree quivered, its clusters of fruit sprouting dots of vivid gold light.

A chorus of war cries answered the dragons as the combatants readied their weapons.

Rays of light shot from the fruit dots in a maze of intersecting beams. The nearly fourscore onlookers cheered, hungry for the spoils of impending war. As the dragons lifted into the air, chaos erupted on the field.

Although the cloud of gnats had not yet formed, the warriors attacked one another with vicious abandon. Metal clanged against metal, hammers pounded on shields while men wailed and cursed. Within minutes the onslaught had taken nearly fifty combatants.

The crowd gasped as the fruit finally burst. A prismatic mist engulfed the tree as rainbow gnats emerged by the thousands. Shades of blue and green, violet and orange mingled and danced beneath the branches.

The fighting intensified—to Feno’s amazement. His eyes widened as the axe-giant hacked scores of opponents right and left, stepping over bodies until a lone, one-armed swordsman stumbling toward the tree blocked his path. The behemoth used both blades to dispatch his final adversary then stepped into the light.

The gnats covered him, melting into his skin until the man glowed himself. He raised his head and held out his arms as the ugly boils faded, then disappeared.

Feno sighed. No boots today.

The crowd thundered, as the swarm faded from sight.

Jubilant, the giant loosed a triumphant howl, but was cut short mid-scream.

An arrow from among the wounded pierced his neck, bringing a geyser of blood.

My word! Feno gaped as the warrior buckled, then fell on his face.

The Healing Tree likewise crumbled, burying his body underneath.

A momentary hush covered the field, followed by murmurs and the sound of scavengers heading out to bury the dead.

Feno clenched his teeth and was about to hobble forward when the stranger placed his hand against his chest and said something about being healed, though Feno’s mind was already back on the treasured salvage. “Pardon sir, but a fine pair of boots awaits me.”

The stranger held fast. “I asked, do you want to be… healed?” His words carried an uncanny authority, his face a growing radiance.

“But… But, the tree. It’s dead. The gnats are gone.”

The man’s hand grew warm against Feno’s chest, and a light similar to the tree’s filled its veins. “You don’t need them. I am the Healing Tree.”

The man locked eyes with him and Feno felt an unworldly recognition in his soul. He’d never met him, but somehow knew their destinies were intertwined. He glanced toward the bloody boots, shuddered, then looked back at the stranger. “Yes. I want to be healed.”

The stranger pursed his lips and blew. As his breath covered Feno, heat surged through his limbs, and his legs filled with strength. His knees twisted into place and Feno stood tall.

Tears of wonder filled his eyes. “Thank you!”

“Forget the boots,” the stranger said. “You have new legs. Go tell your family what great things have happened.”

Feno ran home—for the first time in years—his joy shining as brightly as the Healing Tree’s hands.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

John de Sousa writes supernatural thrillers, combining wide-eyed suspense with white-knuckled action. His stories dwell in that realm where the dark realities of this world collide with the heart-melting power of God.

A retired pastor on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, John also enjoys playing music on a variety of instruments, especially guitars from the local factory on Kent Island. He and his wife Missy have two lovely daughters and eight grandchildren.

---

More Stories | Author Website | Facebook