The Wishing Twig

********Prompt: On the longest day of the year, a town revives an ancient solstice ritual and discovers its unexpected power.********

Allanon sighed as he took in the barely controlled chaos surrounding the village of Tobarin. The Summer Solstice was tomorrow and the village leaders and artisans were squandering the day building tables and baking pies for a feast rather than paying the proper respect to the old gods. They laughed at him when he spoke of the thinning of the veil on summer solstice that would allow spirits from the afterlife to return if the proper rites and ceremonies were not observed.

All he wanted was for the elders and villagers to show some respect for the old ways and act with decorum. Instead, they laughed at his efforts to keep up the old ways and called him daft. When he tried to properly observe the equinoxes and solstices they just shook their heads and rolled their eyes. Often Allanon heard them whispering that the old druid was "off in the head," or "his robe must be too tight in the neck." Being only three miles from Stonehenge, he thought they would be more aware of the necessity of appeasing the powers that be and paying homage. Instead it seemed they only wanted to stuff their faces and pretend the solstice was just an excuse for a party rather than a day of major mystical importance.

Noting the village leader walking nearby as he oversaw the emplacement of a dancing circle, Allanon stood, shook out his dingy robe, and waved. "Reeve Martin, may I have a word?"

"Yes Allanon? How may I be of service?"

The village reeve rolled his eyes momentarily, but then fixed a smile on his face and strode up to the base of the venerable oak tree under which the druid sat observing the ongoings. He couldn't help but notice how ragged the old druid's robe appeared and how tired he looked. Reeve Thomas Martin was the proper lord of the village of Tobarin as appointed by the baron. The man was thin to the point of emaciation but generally seemed to have a smile on his long face. The reeve was well liked, being an easy going type ..., too easy going, Allanon thought.

"Reeve Martin, have we forgotten about paying proper respects to the oak here?" Allanon said, gesturing at the huge bole of the ancient tree. "The oak is the king of the forest. A doorway to the mythical realms. If we do not adorn him with the proper lights and garlands and perform the chants, we may find ourselves inundated with malevolent spirits during the darker times of the year."

Reeve Martin sighed. Clapping a hand on the old druid's shoulder, causing the seventy-two year old man to wince in pain, he looked up at the sprawling canopy overhead. "I'm certain the king of the forest will be quite happy with our solstice festivities. I shall make certain he receives a generous libation of the best wines. I'm certain the old royal oak will be well satisfied, and in return provide us with plenty of shade and the squirrels with an abundance of acorns."

"Reeve Martin, we need to hang lamps, burn incense, and hold a proper dance circle by midnight or this solstice may be the bleakest in memory."

"Not to worry my dear Allanon. All shall be well. I must return to my duties. I see Mistress Singleton has had a bit much of her husband's fine ale and is about to burn the pies. Can't have that now." Laughing, the reeve walked off.

The old druid shook his head in disgust. Despite his many years and vast knowledge of druidic lore, nobody took seriously his title, as described by his name: Allanon - Guardian of Mysteries. Turning his back on the village, Allanon shook his robe into place, picked up his staff, and headed into the forest. He needed to find a healthy beech tree. He needed to obtain a small branch from the queen of the forest, consort to the king, in order to carry out his proper duty. A twig would do. It was always his fondest wish that the village of Tobarin, despite their lack of piety, prosper and continue. Allanon knew it was his druidic duty to do all he could to ensure that happened.

After about twenty minutes of walking through the forest, Allanon came to the clearing that he had sought. The trail had overgrown and the walk was not as easy as it had once been. Another sign of the neglectful manner in which the villagers upheld the old lore. In the center of the clearing a lovely beech tree stood. Raising his staff, Allanon saluted the queen of the forest before kneeling his head in a pious manner. "Queen of the forest, heed my plee. I beg of thee a boon. A small branch of your majestic self I require in order to perform the ritual needed. As you watch over the forest, I watch over the villagers. For them, for their well being and yours, I make this request. Hear me." Allanon again raised his hand, holding his staff upright as he looked at the tree. A breeze sprang up, rustling the branches of the beautiful green capped tree. As he watched, a small branch broke off and drifted slowly down. Captured by the wind, the branch wafted over to land by his sandaled feet.

Bending down, the druid picked up the branch and smiled. "I Thank you for your generosity magnificent queen of the forest." Happily, the old druid turned and strolled to another nearby tree. Patting the trunk as if saying hello to an old friend, Allanon sat, placing his back against the cool bark. Pulling out his knife he set about stripping the bark from the wonderfully straight branch the beech tree had gifted him. When he had the branch smoothed like a rod he pulled out his charcoal pencil. Setting it to the beech wood, he inscribed upon the branch his wish.

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That night, as the one hundred-seventy-six members of the village populace caroused around their fire, imbibing wine and ale, eating of roasted pig and apple pies, Allanon observed from beneath the majestic oak tree. Shaking his head at their drunken revelry and the sham of a dancing circle, he pulled out the branch on which he had written his request.

"Allanon, come join us. There is much to celebrate this night." This came from Michael Broadwen, the town blacksmith. Allanon shook his head.

"I must see to the proper rites my friend. This is a night of power and mysticism. But thank you."

"Well, to each their own old friend." The blacksmith turned back to the revelry at hand, refilling his cup.

Looking up at the night sky, Allanon observed the stars and moon. It was near to midnight and time to perform his rite. He would ensure the village was protected from mischievous spirits and harm despite themselves. "Ancient oak, king of the forest, hear my plee." Raising his staff he tapped on each of the roots. "Allow me the boon of granting the request I have written upon this branch gifted me by your consort, the queen of the forest." A wind sighed through the branches, causing a rustle and stir. Allanon's wispy hair was blown lightly back as the wind caressed his old bones.

With the tip of his staff the druid dug a small trench in the ground between two roots. Dropping to his knees, he placed the beech branch in the hole and covered it. "As the old gods watch over us, I beseech of thee to pay heed majestic king." Ten acorns fell from the branches, falling to form a perfect circle around the hole where Allanon had buried the branch. "I thank thee King Oak."

As the villagers continued to laugh and carouse, Allanon leaned back against the old tree with a sigh of relief. He knew his wish had been heard. Within a half hour the old druid was sound asleep.

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When the rays of dawn's light penetrated the foliage and landed upon the old druid's face, Allanon awoke. All was silent in the early hours. What happened? he wondered. The festivities should still be ongoing. With a yawn and a stretch, Allanon wiped the sleep from his eyes and stood. Turning to the village square, he froze in shock. Their before his old eyes were the villagers... encased in stone. Or turned to stone. Each villager was on his or her knees, arms outstretched to the heavens. Silent. Unmoving.

Allanon strode from beneath the tree. Going to each body he checked. Indeed every person in the village had been turned to stone as had each hut and building. In shock, Allanon remembered the wish he had written on the beech branch: May Village Taborin Stand Forever In Piety. It seemed his wish had indeed been granted.