Having just been blown through the sparse wood by his wife’s wind creation spell, Slade was very uncertain what to do.  Again he repeated the prayer, quietly, “Forseti, I could use a bit of wisdom here.”

Wait--that was it.  He had tasted the fruit, but before he bit it he had prayed that prayer.  Shella had taken the fruit and bitten into it, almost greedily, and without prayer.  The prayer had protected him, giving him enough wisdom to maintain his own control and to recognize that he should not eat more of it.

So, what did he do now?  He spoke more loudly, “Forseti, Shella could use a bit of wisdom here.”

She had been eagerly devouring the large pear-shaped apple, and suddenly she stopped, looked at it with horror, and dropped it to the ground.

“You say,” Slade asked Rudolph, “that the nobles eat these, but forbid the peasants from doing so?”

Rudolph nodded

“Well, they’re idiots.  They should cut them all down, burn them, and use the ashes to enrich the soil.  I don’t know what it is, but there’s a dangerous drug in those apples, and it’s probably addictive.  But I don’t imagine that a bunch of drug addicts are going to take steps to cut off their own source.  This might take a bit of thought.”

Rudolph looked both ways, clearly looking for a noble to overhear these harsh words, out here in the middle of unsettled lands.  Slade noted it, and realized again how deeply the chains had sunk into Rudolph’s soul.

“M’lord, please forgive me.”  A weeping Shella rushed to him, and pressed herself against his chest.  He murmured that there was no need as he patted her back.  She stopped, and leaned back a bit to look up at his face.  “Truly?”

“Yes, my love.”

“I wanted to find out what the fruit did, so I took a large bite, and it tasted good so I took more.  It's been a while since we’ve had fruit.  I felt so powerful, so certain of myself.  When you smartly tried to stop me, I felt rage.  But before all that, you talked of what you saw.  I think you saw the jumpig gathering air to shoot itself forward, telekinetically.  Because, while I do feel powerful in my mind, now that you prayed for me I feel more powerful still, but in a different way.”

Abruptly a fist-sized rock rose from the ground and began dancing in an intricate pattern of loops and lifts and spins.

“You never had that much control before,” he said softly.

“No, m’lord.”

He separated from her, and stalked around a bit, rubbing his face.  This was even more of a problem.  Not only was this a fruit, in a land without many, but also a drug that caused sensations of being powerful like he had heard cocaine did, but worse it actually made one more powerful, and to judge from his own experience, increased psionic sensitivity.  Getting a drug addict to give up his stash was bad enough, but getting nobles to give up something that made them uniquely powerful would be a very hard request.  Luckily for them, Slade decided with a grim smile, he did not intend to ask.  He had a metal sword, and he doubted if they had anything better than stone tipped spears and leather armor.

Suiting his actions to his suggestions, he and the other two spent the rest of the afternoon chopping down Shivering Trees, whether in full growth or mere saplings.  As they did so, Slade noticed that Rudolph went from determined to almost giddy.  Shella seemed more cheerful as well, and he himself felt a lift in his spirits.  Examining the near dozen slender trunks he wondered if they were like the fear wolves, who had the power to create illusions by drawing upon the strength of the fear of their enemies.  Did the Shivering Tree cause fear in a wide area in a more subtle way to gain psionic energy?  Was that what its fruit was, a repository of psionic energy and psychoactive drugs?

That night they ate meat and carrots from the garden cooked over Shivering Tree branches.  The ash went into the garden, and they slept better that night than any before.

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