The Storytellers Marathon

At the edge of a forest at the edge of a clearing, there are seven special trees. Not special as in precious or even treasured; special in being as dangerous as they are rare. No, these were not haunted trees or talking trees as those which could be found elsewhere. No, these were the Seven Apple Trees of the Poisoned Apple. These are where poisoned apples originated.

So why not destroy these seven trees? Why not put an end to this curse on the world? This was pondered by scholars and scientists, by sorcerers and the other sentient trees themselves. It was quickly understood that there are many things, many plants which are poisonous yet remain crucial to support life. It was decided the irresponsibility of destroying every poisonous plant outweighed the evil who had utilized the resources. It was decided the seven special trees would be protected.

So then, what would a solution be, one witch thought. A chemist and a spell caster, she was a witch of good intent and a problem solver. Never did she like the finality in the nature of the seven trees. She wanted a better solution.

After much time and many seasons, she eventually found - perhaps decided upon - an option. She with her talents worked to combine the nature of the poison apples with the nature of the wild rose, among other properties which remain undisclosed. We don’t know exactly how she had in her possession a poison apple, we simply accept her good intentions with her plans. All that is known is on the night of a blue moon in early spring, with the waters of a nearby freshwater brook where she lived, the result would be two-fold. In the night under the light of the bright moon, it was tricky for her to get to the edge of the forest at the edge of the clearing where the seven trees lived in peace. Yet she did find her way, which was different than anyone else’s way. An unguarded way.

Among the seven trees, she stood, as she had a time or two before - maybe more - she felt the ancient trees, dark and brooding, even under the moonlight. Their bark was greenish-brown yet no moss grew on them. Their leaves were even darker with some so dark they seemed to steal the light.

The trees trusted her because they had long known her in more than a name, though they did know her name, it wasn’t important. In less than half a night she accomplished her goal. Returning home the same way she arrived, the rest of that night the seven trees grew stronger than ever before while changing in a way that would transform the future.

Early the next morning no one noticed anything; there was nothing to notice. Month after month passed, with the summer being warm and mild. Fall was nearing and the seven trees had grown their beautiful and deadly bright red fruit. Harvest season was upon them, yet there would be no real harvest for only a small sampling of ripe apples were collected for research while the rest were left to fall, eventually returning harmlessly to nature. It was a cold harvest season, and while the farmers were pulling their crops a little early, the apples of the seven trees remained.

Surely enough, one cold, harvest night there was an early hard frost. What would normally decimate the last of the poisonous crop, in fact, had left them relatively untouched. Early the following the morning those in charge of the guard arrived to find seven trees, leaves crystalized with frost, full with vibrant, blue apples.

The chatter started early. Why were they blue? In recorded and mythological memory, this had never happened. The research and frenzy started, continued well into the day, and at dusk, a letter arrived by flying bat. It was a witch’s letter, signed, and official.

The contents of the letter were read:

"The blue apples you have discovered this morning are not poisonous. There was not a way I could find to completely reverse their initial natural poison which I believe would have been ill-advised anyway, however, they have been adjusted so that upon the first frost they are safe. Even more, they are transformed into the cure of the poison they create. I look forward to your further research and future discoveries on these results. As always, I am honoured to be of service to you, once again. Signed, Whitchillia."

This is what those who guarded the seven trees knew. What they did not know, could not know, was the witch who crafted this solution hadn’t finished there. She was too curious, too industrious. With a method she never repeated nor ever wrote down, she also created a hybrid. She held three seeds, planted them by her home at the edge of her forest at the edge of her clearing, which grew into three apple trees. These trees always grew only vibrant, blue apples all through the harvest - never red. They in time became a cure to more poisons than any other had ever devised.