I unfolded
the shovel, and dug. I went down about three feet, then retrieved a small brass
tin from my backpack. A matching key fit into the tin’s lock. A small twist and
the lock opened with a slight snick. The workmanship was incredible and hard to
place. The design was foreign to every culture I examined, though the
frontrunners were still Arabic, Indian, and Chinese.
Inside the
tin a square of red silk held tiny seeds, each one shaped like a curved
teardrop. The shape made me think of the Chinese Yin and Yang, but they weren’t
black or white. Instead, the seeds were golden, like amber. Attempts to put the
seeds together to make a circle failed. They fit together perfectly, but they
wouldn’t stay together, much like trying to force two magnets of the same pole
together.
Max’s logbook
didn’t have much information on them, but my own research mentioned “Tears of
the goddess taking root.” I had no idea what would come from the seeds, but
most of the mythology dealing with trees pointed to something good. It’s worth a shot, anyway.
I dropped
seven seeds into the ground, then covered them up with the dirt. I used my
water bottle to give the seeds a head start, then tamped the mound down with my
shovel.
It might
take years for something to come from the seeds, but if this tree turned out to
be special, it could be very, very good.
“It could
also be very bad, Matt. Knowing your luck.” I said to myself.
I hitched
up my pack and began the trek back to my car. It was going to be dark soon, and
I knew better than to be on Mt. Kelly in the dark.