Between the Roots

The smell of earth clung to the stifling summer air as I ascended the mountain trail. As the path became steeper, my feet kept sliding on the muddy rocks and I had to cling to the roots sticking out of earthen walls to keep from falling. As I sat on the stone ruin halfway up the mountain, the sun was just beginning to ease over the opposite mountain ridge. I knelt on the familiar stones, feeling their carved surfaces and running my hands through the cracks in the foundation as I watched the leftover puddles from the afternoon rain refract the sun. The town glistened in shades of gold, pink, and red as if it were on fire.

As the warm colors faded, a chill came over the mountainside and I turned to find the slightest hint of the moon climbing the mountain behind me. I had planned to use the light of the full moon to guide me home down the mountain path, but for some reason I paused. Something was calling me further up the mountain.

I continued up the path until I reached the queen of the forest, a tree that looms above the others so high that you can see it from town. It sits atop a mound of earth taller than my own home. Its roots are nearly as thick as its trunk and wind tightly around the soil, having held it in place for centuries. From its perch, the queen spreads her canopy over the rest of the forest like an umbrella protecting the younger trees. That night, her pale yellow bark seemed fluorescent in the moonlight. I walked up and placed my hand lightly on one of the roots before leaning my forehead against it and feeling of the cool bark against my skin.

When I opened my eyes, there was a small owl with a round white face and golden feathers down its back sitting a foot away from my face and staring straight at me. It had found a perch on one of the small offshoots of the root I was leaning on. I reached out one hand to it, as it did not seem frightened, but it fluttered down to the ground. Its right wing had been damaged and made it unable to fly. I edged closer, thinking I could take it to a veterinarian or conservatory to heal. It continued to hop away, just slowly enough that the gap between us stayed the same.

As we wound our way to the other side of the tree, he stopped and turned to look at me. Above him, two massive roots of the amate tree split and made a perfect arch, as if a natural doorway blocked by soil. The owl watched me as I made one jump towards him, trying to catch him before he fluttered back up the tree roots and out of reach. Instead of landing in my grasp, he fell backwards and disappeared into the dirt wall behind him. My hands followed him into the soil. I expected resistance, but found that it passed like silk over my hands. I moved my hands steadily for a moment, feeing the dirt slide around my wrists as if it were a pool of cool water. Then I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped forward.

When I opened my eyes, it was like time had passed. I looked down to find the mountain trail was well worn rather than overgrown; it had widened and was adorned with stone steps to assist the climb. Back the way I had come, there was a familiar building, but it was no longer comprised of jumbled, fallen stones. Instead, they were wedged together flawlessly to make a three-story, square building. From the top of the structure I could see my valley, but rather than the houses and churches to which I was accustomed, there were other, small, stone structures following the river like a serpent and dotting the mountain and valley below.

I slid a few feet down the mountain to the front of the building. On the top level, the front wall was open and faced the mountain ridge; the floor and interior walls were all covered with a chalky plaster and ornately decorated. I was immediately drawn to the painting on the rear wall. In the foreground, a river runs the length of the wall and becomes a waterfall that cascades down the steps off to the left. Between them, gathered around bowls of fruits and greens were dozens of animals: hairless dogs, rabbits, foxes, coyotes, dozens of types of birds all sitting and staring straight out of the wall at me. Behind them, sits the grand amate tree, her branches sprawling over the dining creatures.

I inched closer to the painting, until I heard something brush the ground behind me. I whirled around to find the same barn owl from the tree. His dark blue eyes reflected the moon and the stars as he looked at me and clicked his beak, spreading his wings so that his golden feathers looked more like a torn and tattered bronze cloak. I took a step back, surprised by both his sudden appearance and how he now towered over me.

“Do not be afraid,” he said in an even voice, lowering his wings. “You are safe here, as were all of your forefathers.”

“But where-“ I started but he nodded knowingly and interrupted.

“You are in the Hall of Beasts. Your kind built it to honor mine many years ago. We were once very close with man, an integral part of your navigating the world. As the humans grew in power and greed, we had to retreat. Now we exist only in your myths - and here.”

I nodded, remembering some of the stories I had heard growing up about the cunning fox who talked his way out of a hunter’s trap and heroes seeking counsel from wise animals. The elders always said the stories were rooted in truth.

Once again, the owl knew my next question. “You are here because we are dying and we want someone to remember us as we were. You are here because you care. You respect the past, stories, and animals.” He held his wing out so I could see the feathers slowly peeling off and floating to the floor. “I am the last of us, and I can feel myself fading. The magic in the world is finite, and it has nearly run out. There is no longer room for us in this world, but someone needs to remember we were here - to tell our story. It all lies on you, dear one. Make sure we are not forgotten.”

“I will.” It was so simple. I could not refuse, not that I would want to. I sat down as he began to regale me with their history, how they lived with and without humanity. At the end he stood up slowly and motioned for me to follow.

“Thank you, young one. I know you will do the right thing,” he held one wing out, gesturing to the gateway in the tree as more of his feathers fluttered to the ground.

My heart sank. I knew that once I stepped through the door, I would ever be able to return, no one would. But I made a promise I had to keep. I hugged the owl, startling him, burrowed my fingers in his feathers. I feared that if I let go he would disintegrate before me. After a moment, I stepped back and gave him faint smile as he vanished.

Stepping back through the earthen curtain, I blinked at the golden light. For a moment, I thought it was still sunset and I had fallen asleep. The world around me glowed in a soft red as the sun rose behind me. I made my way back down the slick path, sun glimmering through the branches overhead, and tried to grapple with what I had seen or imagined. I was berating myself for not learning the name of an owl that may or may not exist, when I slid on a wet patch of leaves. After I caught myself on a root, I lifted my other hand to find two small, golden feathers clenched tightly in my fist.