“I usually pick the first twig-of-a-tree I see,” Eric said impatiently. “Easy to chop, trim, and carry. Like that one over there or there.” Tilting the head of his ax to the left and right.

  Aaron, of course, ignored him. It was his turn to gather wood. He moved from one candidate to the other, inspecting the trunk, the limbs, the leaves, and sometimes the soil. Eric followed behind him, prattling on and on about how he would’ve been done by now and what he could do with all the extra time. Things like learning to whistle, improving his handwriting with his left hand, or talking to Sofia.

  The soft, wet ground squished loudly as they trudged along. Aaron’s clothes were beginning to stick to his back from the humidity despite being early morning. He didn’t want to be here any longer than he needed to be, but the instructions were clear on what they needed to find; a dying tree with growth. They had passed plenty of dying trees, but none with green buds. There were trees full of leaves that were diseased or pest-infested, though not to the point where they could be considered dying.

  “Hey, check me out!” Eric shouted as they stepped into a small clearing. “I’ve been thinking of this super cool new move that will for sure fell a tree in one swing.” Aaron turned to look as Eric planted his left foot firmly in the mud, had the woodcutting ax in his right hand, and made a large sweeping circle while taking a step with his right foot. As Eric was completing one revolution, he smoothly put his feet together, grasped the handle with his both hands, and continued to pivot using the momentum of his first swing to carry him through one, two, and three full rotations until finally slowing down, a large grin on his sweat covered face. Even knowing that maneuver would never work, Aaron couldn’t help but smile.

  “Sofia said it’d be impossible to do in the forest, but it’ll definitely work on a tree in a clearing! Let’s look around here.” As they scanned the nearby trees, a small oak caught Aaron’s eye. The large cluster of brown leaves made a stark canvas with the small green nubs, yet the bark was cracked and falling off in places. Aaron excitement grew as Eric bounced over,

  “Oh sweet! This one is perfect. Right at the edge, and big enough to brag when…” Eric’s voice trailed off as he saw what Aaron had fixated on. Deep notches marked near the base of the tree where an ax had been repeatedly swung into trunk some time ago.

  “Ah… C’mon, let’s get out of here…” Eric walked farther on, speaking of his plans to perfect his swing to be usable even in the densest of thickets. Aaron gently touched the dying oak before following after his friend.

  As the sun rose higher into the sky, the pair finally stumbled upon a birch tree, bone white as the rest of them but certainly dying minus the single small leaf cluster growing near middle of the trunk. Aaron looked around to take a mental image of the area, as the disease that took this one might infect the nearby ones as well someday. Eric was quiet as he rolled up his sleeves and they both began to stretch out their arms and back, getting ready for the labor ahead.

  …

  “Sofiaaa!! You’ll never guess how many types of birds we heard today!!” Eric dropped his rope and started towards a girl in the distance. Aaron reached down for the rope when an elderly man walked up and picked up the loose end instead.

  “Here, let me help make up for my crazy grandson.” In truth, Aaron could have towed the log the rest of the way, but he wasn’t going to deny the company of Old Tuck.

  “I used to hate woodcutting duty when I was your age.” Old Tuck began as they walked on. “But now my body has aged and my mind’s still young, and I find myself missing the days where I could swing the ax until the job was done.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  You know, you might be the only boy in this village who takes the instructions seriously. I’ve heard Harold talking about crippling a tree and coming back to harvest its wood. Even my own grandson has brought back a fresh sapling from time to time, claiming the area was too dense for future growth and it would die. Boy can talk to anything and his way out of anything.” Old Tuck chided, not noticing that he was falling a little behind Aaron, though Aaron didn’t mind doing most of the pulling.

  “Still, we need the wood all the same. I wasn’t always honest with it either, and neither was my pa. And here we still stand.” They approached their destination, a shrine that looked like an old hut with dark smoke lazily billowing out the top. Old Tuck looked around and shook his head. “We need more serious people like you, or who knows what will happen.”

  They reached the empty shrine. Aaron began chopping the tree into manageable logs, knowing that Harold was on shrine duty and was not likely going to be back anytime soon.

  “I wish Harold didn’t take his father’s ranting to heart. Though the idea that what we’re doing here is pointless isn’t a new idea, seems like more and more people are buying into it.” Old Tuck went on and he deftly quartered the logs with the shrine’s ax, only taking one swing to split a log. “What else could explain what’s in the shrine? Not enough people take this job seriously, I wonder when’s the last time Harold stepped into the shrine himself. If he did, I’m sure he’d be here chopping away. Oh, hey there.” Aaron looked up to see Sofia and Eric walking towards them, neither looking happy while Eric was covered in dirt and scraped up.

  “We saw Harold in town and Eric confronted him.” Sofia started. “I’ve never seen him so angry before, it took everything I had just to pull them apart.”

  “I’m sorry Aaron, I should’ve known better. Even though he doesn’t follow the wood gathering instructions, I didn’t think he would start skipping shrine duty altogether. Here, let me help.” Eric began on the other end of the tree. Old Tuck kept quartering, and Sofia moved the logs into a neat pile by the shrine. With all four of them there, the work was quickly finished. Old Tuck, breathing heavily from his task, began walking towards the shine’s shovel, but Aaron pulled him back and shook his head.

  “Yeah, Aaron’s right old man. I can take care of it.” Eric began, but Aaron held up a hand. He looked at Eric, glanced at Sofia, smirked, and made a shoo-ing motion. Eric, understanding, smiled sheepishly. “Guess I owe you twice today.”

  “Come around to the lake once you’re done, we can all cool off there.” Sofia added. And Eric and Sofia left, speaking softly and brushing shoulders.

  “Are you sure you’ll be alright in there?” Old Tuck asked. “How long can you hold your breath? Did you get enough water to drink today?…” And he went on with more concerned questions, but Aaron stopped listening while he looked at the hut. Memories of the heat, the smoke in his eyes, his throat, and… Aaron shook his head before more invasive thoughts came up. He smiled assuredly to Old Tuck and began up the small hill, shovel and a few logs under arm. Right before the door, he took a huge breath of air and stepped inside.

  Immediately he was covered by a thick veil of smoke. Squinting, his watery eyes adjusted to the dim light in the center of the hut. He slowly walked to the center, stepping carefully over empty cups and the dead bodies sprawled about. These heroes wore primitive clothing, they were dried husks with a dark red skin, cooked from the constant smoke and heat. He arranged the fresh logs on top of the burning coals in the fire pit, and used the shovel to scoop out ashes. He’ll have to make a few more trips to make sure there was enough wood to keep the fire burning through the night.

  On his final trip, as he was scraping the soot out of the flue, Aaron looked out and gazed at the body lying farthest from the door. A young man laid with a chipped stone sword in front of him. This body was tan, muscular, and, most shocking to all, breathing. Indeed, if it not for the primitive clothing, he could have been mistaken as a villager who succumbed to the smoke. No, the Calamity was peacefully sleeping, breathing in smoke for over a hundred years yet never dying.

  Aaron’s heart began to race. He couldn’t help but remember the first time he had to replenish the fire years ago. Despite being told exactly what he would see, the shock of it still caused him to stumble over one of the cups. He swore he saw the Calamity’s finger twitch, and couldn’t help gasp and breathe in the burning, toxic air around him, forever reducing his voice to a thin croak. That was year’s ago, though the sight of this man always shook him. Not nearly as bad as that first time, he broke his stare and made his way out. Back out in the sun, he took a huge breath of fresh air and was glad to be done with it. Old Tuck was sitting on the splitting stump the whole time, resting his hands and chin on the handle of the shrine ax.

  “Your ancestor would be proud of how serious you take this. I wish we could move him out of there, but we just can’t risk it.” Aaron organized a few of the fallen logs back into the neat pile. Satisfied, he gave Old Tuck a grin, a thumbs up, and headed out towards the lake where Eric and Sofia would be.

  Old Tuck watched Aaron leave, then turned his head back to the shrine. He sat there for some time pondering at what would happen when the smoke stopped one day. Were the legends of a man who could carve mountains with a stone sword true? And if they were, how did their ancient elders convince him to drink with them in a sealed tent? When there were no more trees left, would they be strong enough to face him? He hoped he would never know these answers. For now, it was enough, and his thoughts turned more immediate matters, like whether Eric would catch any fish for dinner. Old Tuck put the shrine ax back in its place, and walked away whistling.