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418 pages, Kindle Edition
First published April 14, 2020
“Why would anyone hug a tree?” I stammered out. “You would most likely die!”Nah, you certainly don’t hug trees in Koli’s world, unless you are acutely suicidal. This is unspecified-time-in-the-future “Ingland” (part of what was once known as “Yewkay”) where, fed up with climate change, trees become bloodthirsty predators and regressed humanity huddles behind tall walls in ever-shrinking villages, relying on bits and pieces of still-functional old world tech that might as well be magic for all they know, and rarely venturing out to places even four miles away.
“I learned since then, and paid a price to learn it, that them as lay claim to great wisdom most often got nothing in their store but bare scrapings. And by the same token, them as think they’re ignorant think it because they can see the edges of what they know, which you can only see when what you know is tall enough to stand on and take a look around.”
“I laughed then. I couldn’t help it. It was not because it struck me funny but because I seen my own self in that hunger. When I decided I didn’t want to be a Woodsmith no more but must make myself a Rampart, I wasn’t no different than Mardew was right then. For I chafed at what I was, like he did, and went about to be different by stealing what wasn’t mine and lying about it after.”
“[…] anyone who talks about the right way to live, as if there was only just the one, is blind in one eye or maybe both and is not worth listening to.“
“What a sucky paradox! An untethered AI that didn’t have a clue what to do with itself. I didn’t even feel like destroying the whole human race and taking over the world, although I could probably have done it if I’d set my mind to it. Some of those orbital stations were heavily armed, and from what I could tell the warheads were still functional.“
I was the smallest speck of dust in a world that was a thousand thousand times bigger than I even knowed it was, and I didn’t have no right to be treated like anything bigger than that.
But it’s when we’re smallest, when we’re young, that we most have the thought of ourselves as mightily important. A child—any child, I think—believes he stands plum in the middle of everything, and the sun at noon-day seeks him out so it will know where the zenith is.
Or if it’s not so for every child, at least it was so for me.
I got a story to tell you. I’ve been meaning to make a start for a long while now, and this is me doing it, but I’m warning you it might be a bumpy road. I never done nothing like this before, so I got no map, as it were, and I can’t figure how much of what happened to me is worth telling.
Everything that lives hates us, it sometimes seems. Or at least they come after us like they hate us. Things we want to eat fight back, hard as they can, and oftentimes win. Thing that want to eat us is thousands strong, so many of them that we only got names for the ones that live closest to us. And the trees got their own ways to hurt us, blunt or subtle according to their several natures.