The Bench of Wren Mountain

It is a long, winding hike up Wren Mountain. The trail is overgrown and trees crisscross its path, so not many even knows it exists anymore.

Actually, I think I’m the only one who’s been to the top since the first generation of Ágilians converged at the Grove. I like to think of it as the Grove’s best kept secret.

But, once a year, on the same day at the same time, I hike it.

At the top is a glorious view of the Grove — the twisted intermingling of the different planes from across the universe that appeared within Banda’s quantum realm are on display. The snowy, boreal forests of Cluthar adjoin ours, Ágil, and stands in stark contrast to the warm, rocky cliffs and grassy plains. Alohi’s dazzling rainbow colors of its tropical jungles is a brilliant light show to the muted marshlands and swamps of Pese Malosi that twinkle like the galaxies above in the evenings. And many more planar fragments stretch out into the distance, all interweaving into each other. Their own ecology, biomes, cultures, creatures, and peoples intermingling beautifully.

And the peoples of the different planes! More varied and wondrous than anyone of us, from any plane, could have imagined.

Dense, misted forests appear and dot themselves randomly in the Grove. One lies right next to the Ágilian fragment. Peering into those woods from up here is no use, I don’t think they like being spied upon like that. The Quantum Woods are a wholly mysterious place. Some say the trees themselves are sentient. That the spirits there are the speakers for the trees.

But I’m not here to spy on the Woods or glimpse their secrets. The real reason I come here is the bench at the top of the mountain. Carved from half a massive log into a beautiful, albeit weathered resting place. Once a year, someone else sits there. They glimmer and shine, ethereal in form, but as I’ve learned, not a spirit.

No, it is my many-greats grandmother. Elena is thirty-nine now, but was only ten when we first met. Each summer, her parents took her to the campsites that are at the base of this mountain to feast and play with our family and friends from all the planes in a great summer solstice festival. Just as my parents did with me, and as I do with my own children now.

And one summer during the festival she also climbed the trail like I did and sat on the weather-worn bench to gaze out and found herself partially in my time, staring at me doing the same, partially in hers. We were quite shocked at first!

She tells me stories of the early Grove, of her parents and friends, of Banda and Ranger Murie. Elena would ask me about how it has changed, how it’s stayed the same, and how it’s grown compared to her time. Two children excitedly sharing their observations of the Grove, far apart in time, but not distance.

So many more fragments are here now from vast and varied planes. She was a child of the first generation — when the fragments suddenly appeared in the quantum realm and were saved by Banda — the primordial quantum being whose realm we are in. They say Banda’s older than the universe itself and is responsible for maintaining the balance of everything here. I’m uncertain if I believe that. They look like a prairie dog in a little ranger hat to me — fairly unassuming and normal looking among all the peoples here. But I don’t judge others their theories.

But, Elena knows the famed Ranger Murie herself! The First of the Grove, that helped all the first generation of planes and peoples. The Ranger Murie, who worked with Banda to establish the Grove. Every Grove Ranger after Murie stands on her shoulders and has upheld her mission. Ranger Kema of Alohi is doing a marvelous job continuing that mission.

Once a year, Elena and I meet back up, and share how our lives are going, the changes and adventures that have happened, how our families are doing. Most history from the first generation wasn’t written down and over all these years of speaking with Elena, I’ve been collecting and documenting stories, writing them in journal after journal that I keep in the library for all to read.

I sit down on the bench, leaving enough room for Elena to join me, and open my journal. I can’t wait to hear all that has happened this year. And I have many stories to share myself.