Grok Strongarm's Arc

Chapter 1 of 4

Grok Strongarm swung his axe, and the third tree of the morning crashed down. He wanted the forest gone. Every tree of it. His companion lived in the pen at the forest's edge, and the pen needed oil and supplies that only cleared land could bring. So Grok would fell every tree until nothing stood between his friend and the open sky. He was big. He was strong. No trunk could stop him. He worked fast. Bark split under each blow. Sap ran down his arms. By noon he had dropped a dozen trees, and his pile of logs reached his chest. He grinned and wiped his face. "More," he said. "Grok cut more." Then he reached the heart of the forest and stopped. A tree stood there wider than ten men. But it was not the tree that froze him. A chair sat against the trunk. Gold covered every inch of it. Carved leaves curled up the arms, and red jewels glowed in the wood. Grok had never seen gold. He touched one arm. It was warm. Something moved behind the chair. A creature stepped out. It was small, no taller than Grok's waist. Its body was gray like an elephant's, but a tiger's striped head turned to face him. Wings folded on its back. It walked on horse feet, and its tail wagged like a dog's. Two small human hands hung at its sides. It looked at Grok's pile of fallen logs, then at his axe. Grok raised the axe. "You go," he said. "Grok needs this tree." The creature did not run. It climbed onto the gold chair and sat. Its little hands gripped the arms. It stared at him, calm, as if the seat belonged to it and always had. "Move," Grok said. He stepped closer. The creature opened its tiger mouth. It did not roar. It spoke, in a voice small and clear. "Cut this tree," it said, "and the pen falls with it." Grok stopped. "You lie." The creature pointed one hand up. High in the branches, ropes ran out from the trunk and vanished over the treetops toward the pen. Grok followed them with his eyes. His stomach went cold. The whole pen hung from this one tree. Cut it, and everything his companion owned would drop. Grok lowered his axe. His arms shook. He had come to fell every tree, and now the biggest tree of all was the one he could not touch. The creature settled deeper into the gold chair. "So," it said. "We talk." Grok looked at the ropes, then at the small creature on the throne. His plan was broken. He could not cut this tree. But he could not leave it standing either. He set his axe down in the dirt and sat across from the creature. For the first time, Grok Strongarm did not know what to do next.