"I know a secret about this tree" Azoom said as they climbed upwards.
"Go ahead and tell me, this tree messes with space… we'll be climbing got a while" Henrietta replied.
"This is a secret about an emperor who lived long, long ago. A secret about an emperor who wished to be immortal. By the time Iskander had finished his journey, dusk had fallen. The talking tree had transformed into a twisted wooden woman. Iskander never fully understood the allure of the female sex.
As far as he was concerned, they lacked the strength and raw vitality of men. The talking tree was no exception, with a face of fragile features dressed in fine leaves of gold. Her hair was made out of fragrant purple blossoms. It was hard to take such a colorful, frivolous creature seriously. 'Singing tree, I have traveled across the plains and many lands to address you,' Iskander said, giving the tree lady a dubious look. In the approaching darkness, her eyes glowed brown-gold as they swiveled towards him.
Her lips, full and the color of pomegranate, twitched. 'All hail Alexander the Great, I have been waiting an age for you to arrive,' she smiled. It had been years since Iskander had been referred to by his correct name. Alexander seemed easier. 'Really? An age?' he asked, feeling rather flattered. 'I compile the "greats," you see. My husband and I have a running competition as to who will collect the most, and so far, I am winning! I even have Yun the Great from China,' the singing tree laughed.
'Your husband?' 'The male talking tree who appears during the day. We only look at each other the moment dawn breaks and the instant the sun sets,' the talking tree explained with a small laugh. 'Talking tree, I have come to seek my fortune,' 'Oh, Alexander the Great, there is no need to play coy. You have come to seek far more than a fortune,' giggled the tree.
As she shifted in the wind, she smelt of lost, dead flowers. Some sort of animal skittered in her branches. 'You have come to ask a question that terrifies you. How may you live forever?' she asked, and Alexander, who knew the secrets of blood, bone, and murder, breathed heavily. 'Yes,' he hissed.
'There is no answer to your question, Alexander, for nothing lives forever,' the tree said gently, and Iskander reached to his belt, retrieving a dagger. 'Lies! Djinn! Wizards! Demons!' he screeched.
'Are all ancient, but even they will perish. I am the talking tree, connected to all saplings and roots on this earth. I have seen the end of things; even those that live constantly will eventually succumb to the universe decaying and falling into darkness,' the tree sighed, her boughs moaning with empty sadness. 'I should burn you to the ground for your impertinence,' hissed Iskander.
'But you will not. I have foreseen my death, felt axes chop into flesh. My shiny corpse will be transformed into an end table and not by you,' laughed the talking tree." Azoom finished; they had arrived at the very top of the tree. A caravan had been wedged into the branches. A rusty bucket of a caravan, barely big enough to house a single person. "Everyone knows the legend of Alexander and the talking tree; it's hardly a secret," Henrietta pointed out, glancing down at Azoom. Azoom smiled at her in the dark, a glowing seductive smile.
"The real secret is what would have happened if Alexander had come during the day. Of course, if Alexander had arrived a few hours earlier during the day, he would have received a very different answer. He would have seen a grand golden tree heavy with fruit. The hot wind would have smelt of cedar and magic. A man's face that would look so very like his own would have smiled.
The talking tree's husband, who appeared during the day, was much more romantic than his wife. He would have whispered to Alexander about the seeds in his fruit. Seeds that would carry his essence far across the world," Azoom finished, and then he gently touched the tree with a single claw.
"That's the secret, dear Henrietta. All magic trees are immortal because all come from those seeds," Azoom replied.