Sign up to save your podcasts
Or
Share Planting of the Old Root Tree
Share to email
Share to Facebook
Share to X
Share to email
Share to Facebook
Share to X
Or
Planting of the Old Root Tree
Epilogue, 616
In the gray morning mist, a pervasive dew lay upon the land. Every leaf, rock, and root is coated in a blanket of cool shimmering water. Thick fog rises off the quiet surface of the river, billowing forth over the tall grass to get tangled in the trees. Four Lenape people move silently through the underbrush. Each step taken is chosen with such expert care that not a drop of dew is disturbed. The leader holds up a closed hand, and they all three cease to move. Crickets chirrup and birds call distantly amid the quiet burbles of moving water. The leader crouches lower and disappears into the tall wet grass, the other three vanishing in the same way. A strange clamor of sounds ensues; splashing and dragging, then there is the sudden dull thunk noise of something sinking into flesh and breaking bone. The four Lenape kneel in mud, a monstrous turtle in their midst. The shaft of a spear protrudes from its upturned chest and the throat has been cut.
In a quiet and low voice, all three begin to recite something. The language is ancient and unknown, housing the secrets of the world within its intonations. The first Lenape removes a small bean from a leather pouch and, while chanting in unknown tongues, buries the seed in the mouth of the turtle. The second Lenape removes the spear from the bone plastron of the turtle, maintaining the musical dirge of chanting. A kernel of corn is removed from a pouch and is pushed inside the open wound. The third Lenape removes the seed of a squash from their pouch and places it into the slowly bleeding wound. The chant ceases, and a final seed is brought forth. The seed is black and ancient, and words befitting it are spoken in whispers. Then the seed of the tree is pushed into the wound in the turtle's chest. Four steady sets of hands gently place a single scoop of wet soil onto the turtle’s plastron. The seed of the tree is left to fester and grow within the death of the turtle.
I wanted to give the tree an origin, so I looked into the Lenape people and their religious beliefs. I found this little piece of information and felt it fit perfectly.
Get full access to Loser’s Fiction at losersfiction.substack.com/subscribe
View all episodes
By Keith LongEpilogue, 616
In the gray morning mist, a pervasive dew lay upon the land. Every leaf, rock, and root is coated in a blanket of cool shimmering water. Thick fog rises off the quiet surface of the river, billowing forth over the tall grass to get tangled in the trees. Four Lenape people move silently through the underbrush. Each step taken is chosen with such expert care that not a drop of dew is disturbed. The leader holds up a closed hand, and they all three cease to move. Crickets chirrup and birds call distantly amid the quiet burbles of moving water. The leader crouches lower and disappears into the tall wet grass, the other three vanishing in the same way. A strange clamor of sounds ensues; splashing and dragging, then there is the sudden dull thunk noise of something sinking into flesh and breaking bone. The four Lenape kneel in mud, a monstrous turtle in their midst. The shaft of a spear protrudes from its upturned chest and the throat has been cut.
In a quiet and low voice, all three begin to recite something. The language is ancient and unknown, housing the secrets of the world within its intonations. The first Lenape removes a small bean from a leather pouch and, while chanting in unknown tongues, buries the seed in the mouth of the turtle. The second Lenape removes the spear from the bone plastron of the turtle, maintaining the musical dirge of chanting. A kernel of corn is removed from a pouch and is pushed inside the open wound. The third Lenape removes the seed of a squash from their pouch and places it into the slowly bleeding wound. The chant ceases, and a final seed is brought forth. The seed is black and ancient, and words befitting it are spoken in whispers. Then the seed of the tree is pushed into the wound in the turtle's chest. Four steady sets of hands gently place a single scoop of wet soil onto the turtle’s plastron. The seed of the tree is left to fester and grow within the death of the turtle.
I wanted to give the tree an origin, so I looked into the Lenape people and their religious beliefs. I found this little piece of information and felt it fit perfectly.
Get full access to Loser’s Fiction at losersfiction.substack.com/subscribe