The world is waking

Cyrus felt a mixture of emotions, fear most of all. Fear about what he'd not just witnessed but taken part in. A man lay dead and he was at least partly responsible.

"I feel sick, Thalia. A man's dead." He leaned his head back against the tree trunk and could have sworn he could still feel a faint pulse running through it. "And this tree, it's not normal."

"No, it's special," she whispered. 

He looked at her, a sudden spur of frustration making him angry. "Special how? And who the hell are you?"

She looked confused. "I am Thalia," she said, as though that meant something. "You rescued me."

"I didn't rescue anyone." He threw his hands up in frustration. This was going nowhere. "Where did I rescue you from? Were you with the tree?"

She put a hand on his shoulder. "Cyrus, I am the tree. And he is me. I'm a Sylvan." She pulled back, her eyes searched his face, found only bewilderment. "A dryad, protector of the trees. Do you know what that means?"

He had heard of dryads before, vaguely. He searched his memory. "Some kind of fairy, or tree spirit, right?"

She giggled and her face lit up. "That's one way of putting it. Yes, I'm Sylvan. That's the word humans used for us, but that was so long ago." She looked around, gazed up at the apartment building. The happy smile faded. "I don't recognise this world anymore." She placed her hand on the earth next to tree. "It's sick."

"What is?" he asked.

"The earth, I can feel it's pain. It's locked up inside itself, nowhere to go, nobody to talk to, just like I was." She suddenly looked at him seriously. "I have to heal it. I thought that's why you brought me here?"

"I didn't bring you," he said. "I didn't know there was a you to bring. I just…" His voice trailed off. He had known the tree wasn't a normal tree just as he'd known that the place he'd found in the subway wasn't part of this world. "The place I rescued you from, was it a prison?"

She sat on the earth and pulled her knees up to her chest, rested her chin on them. "Of a sort. I was put there as a last resort. They were killing us all, destroying everything. I was the last."

"Who put you there?" he asked, wondering if she was some kind of criminal. Had he freed someone dangerous?

"The wiseman. He said I had to be saved for when the world needed me. I think that's now."

Relieved that at least she wasn't some kind of mass murdering tree sprite, Cyrus thought about what she'd said. If she was in a kind of seed bank, why had the guard just given the tree to him? It made no sense. 

And it raised other questions, but there were more immediate concerns. Now that he wasn't going to die, there was a dead body to worry about. He should call the police, tell them everything.

"Thalia, the dead man…" He wanted to ask her what she thought they should do, but the words stuck in his throat with the butterflies in his chest.

"Don't worry, I've taken care of that." She smiled, suddenly all sunshine and rainbows.

His jaw dropped. Oh god, what had she done? "How have you taken care of it?" He demanded.

"My roots," she said happily. "They've taken him back to the earth."

His eyes widened in horror as he imagined what that meant. He pushed himself up and she watched him curiously. 

"Thank you for saving me from that guy, for," he looked down at his body, completely healed now. "For whatever that fruit was, but I… I need to go and think about things."

"I understand," she said. "I'll be waiting."

He turned away from her and immediately felt bad for leaving her there, but he needed to think, to process what had happened. He looked back once when he got to the door and she was nowhere to be seen.

Cyrus walked back down the street. As he passed the alleyway they'd fought in, he looked away, he didn't want to look and see the body lying there glass-eyed and empty. Accusing him. 

He hurried past, hands in his pockets and face down. He didn't plan where he was going, just let his feet guide him. He felt like the world had gone mad. Had he really just killed a man? Been beaten nearly to death?

Was there really a dryad in his garden?

Surely it made more sense that he had lost his mind, it was all in his imagination. He didn't feel insane, but he supposed a crazy person wouldn't. Weren't they always sure they were the sane ones?

He looked up, stopped. The park. He'd found his way back to the park somehow. 

He hesitated to push the gate open, unsure if he wanted to meet the old lady, Anne, again. Eventually he did, slipped inside the gate. 

The coffee stand was just where he remembered it. But there was nobody there. Perhaps she didn't work that day? He was about to turn around and leave when a voice called out from behind him.

"Hello, young man. Back again?"

He turned to find Anne behind him. She was carrying a heavy rucksack and two cotton shopping bags. 

"Help me out, will you? These are heavy." She held a hand out, offering him one of the bags. 

He took it from her as if in a daze and turned back to the coffee cart, began walking towards it.

"So, did you have a nice day the last time we met? Did you find what you were looking for?" she asked.

He stopped and turned back to her, eyes narrowed. "You knew," he said. "Didn't you?"

A wide smile spread out over the old lady's face. "I suspected, but I wasn't sure."

"Suspected what?" he demanded. "Was there something in that coffee? Was any of it real?"

Her smile disappeared. "You think…" She laughed, shaking her head. "YOu think I gave you drugs?" 

"Well, it would make sense. Either that or I'm going mad."

She fixed him with a serious gaze. "Cyrus, look around you, look at the park."

He did. He looked around. It was much the same as the last time he'd seen it, only, there might be more flowers. Possibly the trees were bigger, wilder. His skin crawled as he looked at them. It felt like they were watching him.

"You feel it, don't you? They're waking," Anne said, standing by his side. She closed her eyes for a second, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I can almost hear them, can you?"