The tree saw the child before she did. Immediately, there was a quickening of life in its veins, as there was in hers each time they met.

When they were together, no other tree, shrub or flower existed in the entire jungle for the child, and no other human existed for the tree. In their world, there were only two people: them and them alone.

The child went up to her tree and flung her arms tightly around its slender trunk.

“You are upset today, dear one,” said the tree with gentle concern.

The child made no answer and began to sob.

The tree reached into the child’s mind and read her desire for the City of Dreams; her excitement about the adventures that awaited her; her dreams of being the Chosen One to bring back a lost paradise.

But the tree also felt the child’s fear of the long uncertain journey, and above all else, her deep sadness at the thought of leaving her tree, her mother and her tribe behind.

All these things the tree saw at once without the need for words. And then, its heart grew heavy as well.

“You wish to seek the City of Dreams?” asked the tree.

“I do, I do! But I also wish you could come with me! There is no one else I would like better than you to make this journey with me,” cried the child.

She unburied her face from the tree’s trunk.

“But you cannot walk,” she added sadly, “and you will die if I bring you along…”

The tree sighed heavily. “You must follow your dreams, sweet friend.”

The tree reflected further, then added a little reluctantly, “Besides, there are other trees like me everywhere… You will not miss me so much perhaps.”

“No!” protested the child fiercely.

She ran her fingers lightly down its silvery bole. “Once you have looked deep into the soul of another, cared for it and watered it with your hopes, your tears and your dreams, no one else can ever take its place, though they look the same. I love you because I have cared for you, and you are mine, and mine only, in a way that is unique to us.”

She gazed at her tree and added laughingly, “Shall I tell you why I love you?”

“One loves, but doesn’t need reasons to love,” chided the tree.

The child wagged her finger playfully at the tree.

“I will tell you anyway!”

She paused to run the reasons through her head.

“I love you for the way you hold the music of the wind in your leaves when you shake yourself, just so – ” The child imitated the graceful manner in which the tree trembled in the wind.

“I love the way you hold my face against your smooth skin when I am sad. I love the way you say my name, because it makes me feel safer than with anyone else.”

She stopped and looked intently at her tree.

“And more than anything else, I love you because you are so beautiful, and beauty makes us good. I am a better person because of you.”

The tree was overcome with emotion and could say nothing for a long while.

“You are very kind, and you know there is no one else in this world I love more than you,” it said eventually. “But in loving you, I have also learnt that the only way to truly remember and love another is to carry the one we love in our hearts.

“When we do that, there can be no more farewells, no matter how far we travel from each other. Even when you do not see me, even when I remain invisible, I will always be a part of you, and you a part of me, for our souls have become one…”

The child was silent as she pondered what her tree had said.

“Then… I should go and seek the City of Dreams?” she asked.

The tree nodded, but its heart was full, and it couldn’t speak.

“I will remember to look for you always in my heart,” promised the child solemnly.

Her tree did not speak still.

“I will go and find my mama then, and let her know. I will come back again to say goodbye, my dearest tree.”

She embraced her tree once more as if she could never bear to let it go. Then she disappeared into the shadows, as silently as she had come.

When the shaman saw her child again, she perceived, from the firmness of her tread and the way she held her head, that the child had made her decision already.

“I will go,” she said simply. “The dream has spoken. It is the same language that my heart speaks. I must follow my dreams, or go mad.”

The shaman smiled. “So what does your heart say?”

“It speaks of a joy so great, I feel as though I have grown suddenly.”

“Then you are following the rhythm of your destiny, dear child. May the Great Dreamer watch over your dreams.”

The child hesitated.

The shaman saw the look on her face and her fine brows arched like question marks.

“Mama, you have powers. Surely you can see into the future and let me know what the outcome of my journey will be…?”

The shaman smiled gently at her child. Her insecure, slightly fearful child. Her child, wandering like a small lost frog in a world of questions whose answers she would have to learn to find in her heart.

“Zayoni,” she urged gently, “the guidance must come from your own heart. I can sometimes be the signpost in your life, but never the answer.”

“But why not the answers, mama?”

“Because I would be robbing you of your own power if I gave you the answers,” she said sadly.

She laid out their lunch on banana leaves.

“Do you see blind Kolran over there?” she continued. “Despite his blindness, he is able to walk on his own. He knows where everything is. You will never find him tripping over a log or stone. It is as if he has the full use of his eyes. And do you know why he sees today?”

“I never asked him, mama.”

“When he first went blind as a child, he often cried and ran to his mother for help. But his mother, in her infinite wisdom, knew that one day her small son would need to learn to see for himself because she could not follow him forever to be his eyes.

“So she gently asked him to find his own way around until he finally learnt to see by himself. She had to be unkind in order to be kind to him. Do you understand now why I cannot give you all the answers?”

The child nodded her head sagely. Her old head on young shoulders. “Yes, because my heart will tell me everything I need to know. And because my future is mine to dream, mine to create…”

Her mother felt a sudden pang of love for her small child. She knew that she would miss her greatly if she were to leave.

“And so it is, my precious,” said the shaman.

They rolled the sago into balls and ate it with fresh herbs and lumps of fire-blackened boar, newly caught that morning.

Musingly, the shaman went on, “It cannot be helped of course. It is part of the strangeness of human nature to be always looking outside ourselves for answers. Did you know, after the City of Dreams was swallowed by the earth, people began to live differently.

“You will notice that it is the habit of most of us to look for different things to worship: idols, gods, goddesses, even other people. We elevate the priests, shamans, gurus, kings and queens. Nothing pleases us more than to bow before someone we deem better, holier, richer or cleverer than ourselves.

“I suppose,” she said a little distractedly, “that some might say it is proof of the human’s desire for perfection, that we are always so eager to worship, to esteem something that embodies that perfection for us.

“But the worst thing that happened after the City of Dreams disappeared was when we began to believe that the gods and beings we bowed before were so perfect, we could never, not even in our wildest dreams, ever aspire to be like them. We believed the lie that we are unworthy mortals, and so behaved like sheep in want of a shepherd. We are only too happy to give away our power to the things we worship.

“And more than that, we are always eager to take the opinions of others as the touchstone for our own ideas about things. If someone is declared to be a genius, we will smile and nod and clap and try our very best to see his brilliance, even if he is the world’s greatest fool. We are quick to embrace the world’s opinion, without looking into our hearts to see if it shares the same sentiments.”

The shaman stopped short and looked sternly at the child.

“Let this be a warning to you then: beware the opinions of the world, and seek only your own truths. For what is true for another may not be true for you. The truth is always unique to your heart… No doubt, you will remember all this when you journey to the Enchanted Lake.”

She looked somberly at her child, as though upset by a new thought that had just occurred to her. Then she began to run her hands gently through the child’s hair.

“Forgive me if I am being too harsh, sweet child. You know I am only telling you this because I was once like that – chasing after the world’s knowledge and opinions, without any regard for my heart’s truths… Do not make the same mistakes I did.”

The child nodded carefully as the sounds of the jungle persisted unbroken around them.

The shaman sighed. “You know, I tell this to everyone who comes to see me: that they too have the same powers I have. That they can be their own healers and witch doctors. That the power is really within them to heal themselves.

“Illness is always a sign of imbalance within, and when everyone learns how to balance themselves, there will be no more need for the shaman or the healer. No one need revere me any longer for my abilities.”

She looked dreamily into the distance. “My dream is for everyone to one day learn to access the same powers that I have, to recognise that it is in them. Then, I will feel my duty here is done.”

The child listened diligently to her mother as she ate. She thought of her own heart’s desire and asked, “I wonder if finding the City of Dreams will help fulfill your dreams, mama?”

The shaman looked affectionately at her child. “Yes it will. When you fulfill your own dreams, you help others fulfill theirs as well.”

The child reflected deeply. “But mama, why did we begin to look outside ourselves for answers after the City of Dreams was gone?”

“Because we forgot who we really are,” said the shaman gravely. Then suddenly, she laughed. “Who am I to judge anyway? We take this game of life so seriously, that we have mostly forgotten we are here only to play. We are like actors and actresses who give so much meaning to our scripts, that we have come to believe we are the roles we play. But really, we are only acting…”

“What do you mean, mama?” cried the child, her curiosity piqued.

The shaman winked at her child. “Life on earth is one great masquerade at a children’s fancy dress party. Before we came into this world, we determined to forget who we really were, and so assumed the disguise of our earthly names, identities, and so on. We decided to live our lives like the characters we play. Not many can look past the costume and see our soul for what it really is: the essence of the Great Dreamer itself…

“It is the perfect cosmic joke of course,” she continued. “For how else is the Great Dreamer to experience itself, except through the eyes of the Dreamers in their many disguises?

“Unfortunately, we mostly do not remember this. Instead, we carry on with our pageantry, just as we meant it to be. We wear our lives like a disguise. We have forgotten who we really are, behind the garb of our human bodies. For we are angels, dear child. Angels in human clothing.”

The child gazed at her mother with bright eyes.

“So who exactly is the real face behind the masks we wear, you might ask? Keep asking yourself that question whenever you meet anyone! For we are all here in disguise, and some, more than others, remember that truth better, and then are less attached to the roles we play.

“Remember Zayoni, to always see the face behind the mask, and the person behind the fancy costume, no matter who you meet during your journey to the Enchanted Lake…”

The child promised that she would remember.

“Come now, it grows late. Go and say goodbye to your tree one more time, then come to me tomorrow morning before you set off. I will tell you which road you must journey on.”

The child went to say goodbye to the rest of her tribe first. Then she returned to her tree, thinking about what her mother had said about seeing the soul of a person. To her, it had always been easy to see the real face of her tree, for she had never doubted for one moment that her tree was anything but a dryad and an angel. An angel in the guise of a tree.

Silently, she hugged her tree, feeling the life that pulsed continuously in its veins under the delicate covering of bark and leaf. Stepping back, she stared at her tree for a long time, that she might memorise every curve, notch and kink on its shapely stem.

“So this is it,” sighed the child. “You are beloved to me because I grew you, and you grew me. And because of that, we live in each other, you and I. We will always be together as one, no matter how far away I travel.”

The tree shook gently, though there was no breeze.

“I will always carry you in my heart, and think fondly of the earth that holds me, knowing that somewhere, it holds you too, and carries you closer each day to your heart’s desire,” it answered.

“And when the wind shakes my leaves, I will think of how it blows your brown curls and lights up your sweet, dear face. And when I see the sun in the morning, it will make me glad because it will remind me of you, my golden friend.”

“And the jungle, already dear to me, will be even dearer to me from now on, because I know that somewhere in its midst, you are there,” said the child.

“Perhaps what makes a land so beautiful, is knowing that the one we love lives on it…” said the tree softly and a little sadly.

The child gazed quietly at the tree. “Your beauty will live forever in my heart,” she said, her voice beginning to quiver. “And when I think of your beauty, it will remind me to look for the same beauty in everyone I meet.”

“As will I, my dearest friend,” said the tree. “You have let me into your soul, and because of that, I will always be looking for the beauty of your soul in everyone else…”

They fell silent and could say no more, for they had both begun to weep.

They spent the rest of the night together: the child curled up under her tree, clutching it to her as though tomorrow would never come.

Tomorrow arrived, as it always did, blood-orange in the forgiving early light. The child went to her mother, who presented her with a small bundle of her few possessions.

The shaman led her out to the Big Road that ran outside their jungle, alongside the river.

The child was familiar with this road, though she had never journeyed on it. Sometimes, she would see travellers passing, often bearing goods they wanted to trade with her tribe.

At other times, these travellers came to see her mother, drawn by her fame. They mostly hailed from other villages on the island, but sometimes, they came from the main city of Algondiz, where the King and Queen ruled.

Often in the past, the child had yearned to explore that road, to see where those travellers came from, to see how they lived in their treeless plains, to taste their cuisines, their sorrows, their joys.

Today, that moment had finally arrived.

The shaman smiled at her child’s excitement, though her heart was sad.

“Do you see the Big Road in front of us? It is the main road that runs through this island, and it will lead you straight to the Enchanted Lake. Sometimes the road will be wide. Sometimes it will narrow and wind through crooked streets, uphill and downhill. But whatever shape it takes, follow the Big Road only and you will never be lost.

“On the way, you will pass several villages, towns and the main city of Algondiz where the palace is. The journey should not take more than a month, unless you happen to be delayed along the way.”

The shaman paused thoughtfully, as though a new possibility of hidden danger had just been presented to her.

“There is also something you must know if you are to find the City of Dreams.”

The child listened attentively.

“The secret to traveling anywhere is to begin by feeling that you have already arrived. You only need to take the first step, and the path will reveal itself to you.”

“Thank you mama. I will miss you.”

The shaman scooped her child into her arms for a final embrace.

“Farewell, my darling. Remember: walk only your heart’s path, and be that which you seek.”

The shaman set the child down. She wept because something told her that her child would not return in two months. And also because she was ultimately a woman and a mother, and her only child was setting off on a journey all by herself.

The child left, tracing her heart’s path by the slant of the river. A no longer so bewildered frog setting off to make the impossible possible, with only her heart as her map. She carried a bundle on her back, and an old head on her young shoulders.

What few could see was the heart she stored like treasure in her chest, which carried her dreams, and the beauty of a beloved tree.

She turned one last time to wave to her mother. Then she set off into the honey-yellow landscape, a golden child walking in a golden land.

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