THE CORPORATE HERO | A front line revolution

The Corporate Hero. Copyright ? 2021 by Philippe Desrochers with Chris Challice. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. 

FIRST EDITION

Based on work and research of Philippe Desrochers, M.A. OD and Leadership. Story written by Chris Challice

Edited by Melanie Jacobs

Desrochers, Philippe.

The Corporate Hero : A FRONTLINE REVOLUTION | How Speaking Up Can Save your Company / A CEOs Pick / Philippe Desrochers ; with Chris Challice

1. Persuasion. 2. Influence. 3. Speak Up (business)

To inspire you to have your voice heard. 

CONTENTS

Preface: Why a story format?

1 Strangled Grandeur

2 Criticus Invites Doom

3 The War of the Wheel Blossoms

4 Among the Restlea

5 Seeking and Return

6 The End of the Silent Garden

PREFACE

WHY A STORY FORMAT?

I’ll explain in just a moment. First a bit of background information to understand the context of the story.

Competition is no longer the #1 threat to a company’s success.

Silence is.

According to the 2017 Mercer Global Talent Trends Report, 93% of companies interviewed rated reshaping organizational design and structure as a top priority and are planning changes. Many intend to flatten their organizations, decentralize decision making and extend authority and control.

But a major problem remains. While organizations are flatter, employees have not learned or been trained on how to work in a flatter world.  

One reason for this is because leadership books focus too much on the top of the house. 

This book educates and inspires front line and entry level management employees to provide feedback up the ranks because this input is turning out to be the lifeblood that circulates through today’s most successful organizations. 

This book is based on the research I conducted for my M.A. in Organizational Design and Leadership. My master’s paper is entitled Breaking the Silence: How to Speak Up. 

I decided to turn the paper into a story format because I wanted to create a beautiful piece of art that people would appreciate. The message is told through a short fable like fantasy story that equates a Dragon to the big boss, the Garden to a company and its Gardeners as its employees. The Wheel Blossom is the new threat that needs to be defeated or else the Garden will cease to exist.

1

Strangled Grandeur

There was once a beautiful garden in a faraway land that grew the rarest plants in the world. 

It was surrounded by a thorny hedge wall; tall and thick enough to repel an army. The wall was always vibrant, lush and green, even in the driest weather. Fire could never touch it. The only way in was through its wrought iron gate, however, this was held open by vines, leaving the entrance open to all.

Crisscrossing the garden in graceful loops were well-kept, white cobblestone paths. Between them, kept organized by hedges, each one bedecked with roses of different colours, was the bounty of the garden: bushes speckled with bright berries, delicate trees, exquisite flowers, and herbs thrived in the dark, rich soil. Rarified scents drifted through the air.

At the centre of the garden was a big, round hill. Down from it and to the far hedge walls ran many canals carved in the stone by their gurgling, fresh, clear water. At the hill’s top was an old, stone manor, complete with stables, guest rooms, and a beautiful window that overlooked the gate side of the garden.

Surrounding the garden were miles and miles of endless, primordial forest. The tall trees stood like silent giants, their thick canopy cloaked everything beyond the garden clearing in shadow. These woods were ancient and filled with life, thick with the sounds of birds and beasts, especially at night.

The garden was in a remote part of the world and very difficult to reach. Many who attempted the lengthy journey, and foolish enough to step off the paths, found their doom in the deep, unnavigable wilderness. Furthermore, the forest was home to mysterious folk, called the Restlea, rumored to be warlocks who spirited travelers away. Those who stuck to the paths, persisted, and avoided the cursed Restlea, were amply rewarded when first setting eyes on the garden’s grandeur. However, most did not come simply for the sight. Many of the garden’s berries, herbs, and roots were used in powerful medicines which could drive off the vilest of illnesses. Wise women, doctors, and even kings offered much gold to purchase these miracles to take back home.

Despite its riches, no one brought trouble to the garden for it was the domain of a dragon named Xexive. Xexive was old and powerful, with scales so hard that no sword could penetrate them, claws so sharp they could slice through steel, and breath so fiery it could vanquish a battalion of knights. Xexive drove off all threats, even other dragons. However, she was not interested in slaughter, only the acquisition of gold and the preservation of her garden. Those who came in peace and comported themselves with proper etiquette and, of course, brought gold had nothing to fear.

This dragon, as mighty as she was, couldn’t tend her garden alone. She hired many skilled gardeners to keep her domain beautiful, vibrant, and profitable. Xexive paid handsomely and, as such, demanded excellence and obedience. The clueless were banished, the lazy were thrown out, and the shifty were punished. Those who could endure retired wealthy. They could also boast having been employed by a dragon.

Working for Xexive was not easy, for she was fierce and set in her ways. She pressed every gardener who lived in her domain to tend the garden in a time-honoured, tested and particular way. Everything, from watering the plants, to tilling the soil, to pruning, to harvesting, was done according to wise tradition. Deviation meant Xexive’s ire. Questioning meant her scorn. Talking back meant her wrath. Those who could not follow her law were welcome to leave her garden or face banishment. Those who stayed did their tasks very well, but also did so in silence. Even the visitors spoke in hushed tones, as a state of reverent fear always hung in the air. Despite all of this, the garden thrived for generations gathering beauty, fame, and wealth.

Even with its rich history of care steeped in tradition, the garden was undergoing a change. To the novice and untrained eye, the garden was maintaining its splendor, but to the eye of the discerning gardener there was a noticeable and ever increasing drying of roots, diminishing soil quality and reduced number of insects inhabiting the plants and land. To compensate for these changes, the gardeners put in extra work to turn the soil more frequently and manicure the plants with closer and closer attention. The gardeners, who could almost feel the garden’s health like the pulse of a heartbeat, could sense that the garden’s immune system was weak. Something was wrong and they did not understand the cause of the change. They were also too afraid to raise their concerns with Xexive, their master, and dared not speak up. All they could do was follow the rules and shut their mouths.

One spring, a new kind of seed was carried into the garden by the wind, over its thorny hedge wall to take root in its weakened soil. It brought forth a white flower whose twelve, pointed petals stretched out from a black center. The gardeners called them Wheel Blossoms. At first, their growth was very slow and unnoticeable. Months went by before the first gardener noticed their existence. Soon after its discovery, and at an alarming pace, the flower mercilessly took control of its surroundings as its vines choked the life out all surrounding flowers and herbs. 

It left a path of destruction and monopoly. Again, the gardeners knew they should raise the problem with Xexive but were too afraid of being blamed for the Wheel Blossom’s threat. Together, they decided to try to fix the problem on their own. 

The Wheel Blossoms were incredibly hard to kill. It seemed that, for each one plucked, two more took root. These plants leached life from the soil. Their roots tangled and choked the canals. Their vines coiled around everything in their path. All of the gardeners’ old tricks failed. Slowly, the Wheel Blossoms encroached upon everything. The gardeners grumbled that this was a Restlea curse, for it was known that they hated the dragon and her garden. 

Xexive noticed the new plant after it had climbed the walls of her manor and over the windows. More panicked than curious, she flew down to her favorite part of the garden to investigate. At first glance, she saw her beloved plot unchanged with no sight of the new vine. Leaning in close to smell her favorite rose of all, she pressed her nose against a petal. The petal detached and fell to the ground landing on an exposed root. That is when she wisened to the rotting of her garden. Her heart sank into her stomach, weighed down with a feeling of dread she had never felt before. 

“My child, my love, what is wrong with you?”

She quickly grew furious with the thought that her gardeners were hiding this problem from her. With a renewed conviction and determination, she flapped her giant wings and took flight to address her workers. 

 “How dare you hide from me the sad status of my garden? Why was I not informed of the dried soil, exposed roots, and this new plant?” she commanded. 

No one said a word. 

“Again, I demand an answer. Why was I not notified of this new plant and changing soil?” 

Again, no reply. 

The silence infuriated Xexive. 

One of the gardeners spoke up, “We thought we could get rid of the weed and recover the soil’s richness before you noticed it…but it proved harder than we thought.”

“Your incompetence is pathetic!” roared the Dragon. “You must pay for your ineptitude and silence.” 

“Now what should be your punishment?” she said out loud. “I know: you shall not be paid this month because you have not earned it. Also, I will cut your salaries in half and will only reinstate them once you have fixed my garden.”

“But master that is not fair, we tried to…”

“You have failed me and you are welcome to leave if you don’t like it. Now be silent while I think!”

Xexive turned to consider her options.

Could this vine be a Restlea curse? she wondered, lowering one eye to examine the invasive flowers. She sniffed their fragrance deeply and pondered hard over their origin. No, she grumbled to herself, I smell not their magic and they dare not provoke war.

She turned to her fearful, clustered group of gardeners, “I do not trust this new plant and it is clearly our enemy and the source of my garden’s weakened health. I demand that it be plucked and vanquished. You must double your efforts. Return to your labors and remove these weeds. And remember, your leash is now shorter than ever and my patience is razor thin.”

The Wheel Blossoms, curse or no, proved too much for the gardeners. A year passed and the dragon became more and more infuriated with the lack of progress in controlling this threat to her beloved garden. Xexive felt the gardeners were simply not working hard enough. She dealt harshly with any hint of laziness. In fear for their careers and lives, the gardeners worked themselves to the bone, but their frantic efforts were for naught; the Wheel Blossoms continued to thrive. 

2

Criticus Invites Doom

One of the gardeners, named Criticus, saw innumerable problems in how Xexive ran the garden. From her unforgiving ways, short temper, rigid mentality and use of fear to manipulate her people, Criticus was Xexive’s worst critic. However, he feared the dragon, so he limited his opinions to whispers to his companions. Still, he worked hard and, as his work was exemplary, no one raised complaint against him.

The arrival of the Wheel Blossoms confirmed his theories. Seeing the old ways failing, Criticus became bolder and louder. When some continued to mutter that the blossoms were a Restlea curse, he laughed and insisted that their true foe was Xexive’s idiocy. That her rule would ruin them all. He openly mocked gardeners who followed her blindly and laughed at those who tried to rally spirits. He wore a Wheel Blossom on his lapel to remind the others of their ineptitude. He thought this would bring him vindication, but he was wrong. His peers shunned him, for he made their lives even more miserable.

One day, he drove a compatriot, named Joy, to tears and Xexive took notice. Her claw boomed down between them. 

“Joy, to the manor. Rest your ears from this vermin’s words.” She peered at Criticus with furious, yellow eyes. 

He stumbled backward, his heart beating in panic as he felt the eyes of the others upon him. He glanced around and saw vindication in their faces. This cut into Criticus’ pride and anger, bleeding it into his very being. “Pretty words are sweet but the truth's bitter isn’t it? It’s not my fault Joy can’t stomach it.”

Xexive’s terrifying gaze fell on Criticus’ Wheel Blossom crest. “What is this?” she hissed, her voice echoing vehemence.

Anyone else would have fled, but this was the question Criticus had been waiting for. He held forth the blossom like a badge of honor. “This! This is the truth! This garden is doomed and the fault is yours! Your ears are filled with ego and your heart is small like a pea. You are arrogant and a tyrant. Because of your inability to take advice, you are suffering the consequence. As far as I am concerned, this garden, and you, can burn up in flames.”

The dragon’s anger erupted with a roar that shook the earth, stirred the rivers, and scattered the animals. Xexive stood, dripping with rage and towering over Criticus. She swiped her claws, missing Criticus by a hair. The only thing that saved the gardener was pure fear. He ran faster than anyone had ever run as he sprinted through the gate with Xexive’s fangs gnashing at his heels. When her maw opened, hell spewed forth. The heat was enough to set Criticus’ cloak to smoldering. With a cry of abject fright, he tossed himself into the river, a jet of flame followed overhead.

With that, Criticus was gone.

3

The War of the Wheel Blossoms

Though Criticus was gone, his truth remained: the gardeners’ efforts were for naught and the Wheel Blossoms continued to withstand all of their assaults. The stronger the vine got, the weaker the garden became. The problem got so bad that word reached the outside world. Fewer visitors came and those who did remarked that the invaders were pretty, but the canals were choked, the wondrous herbs and native flora dying. Despair hung in the air.

One night, Xexive summoned her gardeners. She sat before the manor at the top of the hill so all could see her. Her voice boomed across the garden and into the forest. “For a century, this garden has been a wonder of the world. Only here could one find true beauty. Only here could death’s icy grip be averted. It cuts me to the core to see your lazy ineptitude killing it. This is your fault. Both for not raising its threat and for not being able to contain it. In all my years, I have never seen a sadder, sorrier lot. If you wish to ruin me, then leave and I shall burn the horrid fruits of your labor!” Her tail slammed on the ground and the earth trembled. Her wings flapped and the very trees shook. Half the gardeners fled screaming.

Those who remained were either too terrified to move or reluctant to leave because they needed the employment to feed their families. Xexive regarded them keenly and said, “I see now those rooted in fear, but you who are rooted in steel, you, fearless ones, take heed for you are great. From now on, what I would have paid to those who fled, will go to you once my garden is healthy again. Bring this garden back to life and I will shower upon you riches beyond your wildest dreams.”

With that, Xexive returned to her lair under the thorny hedge wall and the gardeners got to back to work.

However, their task was still impossible. With fewer hands to pluck them, the Wheel Blossoms flourished. With fewer hands to tend them, the garden’s bounty withered. The best this handful of gardeners could do was ward off the worst against the most valuable plants. Though they held off absolute disaster for another year, it was only a matter of time until these small holdings also vanished.

Xexive watched in growing dread and each inch of ceded ground pained her. She watched and despaired as scattered groups of gardeners turned their backs on this hopeless cause. The dragon watched and measured the character of those who remained, she could find no fault with them for they were the most loyal and hardest workers who had ever toiled on her land. Yet, in spite of all their efforts, the garden seemed doomed.

Then one day, Xexive spied two of her workers having a rest. They were Sol and Cass, brother and sister, the youngest of those who remained. There was something strange going on...they were smiling. Their whispered talk was animated. They shared a boisterous energy that was new to the garden.

The dragon scowled and thought, They dare celebrate my misfortune? She crouched low and slithered within the Wheel Blossom vines, hidden just a hair’s breath away, with the siblings unaware. Upon closer inspection, the dragon saw their clothes and fingers caked with dirt, sweat on their brows. She saw the fruits of their labor, dozens of blossom vines cut and piled for burning. They were not hiding from work...what were they doing? Xexive listened closely.

Cass had drawn a map of the garden in the soil, as she talked she pointed to strategic locations, “If we put sour spice here, here, and here, we might be able to kill off the main roots.”

Sol pondered and said, “The vines are too tough there. Our tools would break. We would need to rely on strength not of this world”

Cass grinned, “We do have a dragon!”

Sol considered, “She’d never do it. She never touches the garden.”

The conversation continued, Xexive weighed the merits of their words...and, to her surprise, found them worthy. These ideas were not hers nor were they traditional, but those ideas and traditions had failed. Maybe these modest changes could save everything they’ve worked for?

“Tell me more,” she rumbled. 

For a moment, Sol and Cass froze. They slowly turned to see the dragon’s fangs mere feet from their hides. They screamed and fled.

“Wait!” the dragon roared. She tried to rise, but had to struggle against the Wheel Blossom vines. In that short time, the sibling’s manic flight took them out of the garden and into the forest. 

“I said wait!” Xexive snarled. She broke free of her bonds and took to the air. “Come back this instant!”

It was too late; Sol and Cass had vanished under the forest canopy. Xexive snarled in frustration but did not follow. If she crashed through the forest, the Restlea, who hated dragons, would see it as a provocation. There would be war and Xexive would not have that. She reluctantly turned back and landed in the garden to find her other workers hiding.

“Come out,” she ordered. None dared approach.

Then, seeing her vine-covered garden, with no one in sight and tools scattered about, her domain suddenly seemed a ruin. Sorrow pierced her heart.

In a consolatory tone, a first for Xexive, she asked, “Please, come out. I swear I mean no harm.”

Slowly the gardeners emerged to find their dragon not in a rage, but remorseful.

“I have roared to push you because I love this garden. If I lost it, part of me would die. Obviously, you love our garden, as well. Otherwise, you would have fled with the rest. I appreciate your loyalty and I swear that I shall no longer take it for granted.” She took a deep breath to steady herself and then added, “Furthermore, I see that our old ways will not defeat the Wheel Blossoms and that it was your fear of me that kept you silent when the threat first began. We must change. Therefore, I ask you to bring any new ideas to me. The best ideas will be rewarded. Is this understood? I will also reinstate all of your full salaries and include the bonuses. Are you still with me?”

The air of dread cleared. The gardeners stood straighter, prouder and more confident. One by one they re-pledged their full efforts to saving the garden and their jobs. The dragon was pleased and, together, they set to work.

4

Among the Restlea

The following year had gone much differently for Criticus. Following the escape from Xexive, he was carried by the swiftly running river until he managed to grab a root and pull himself to shore, sputtering, wet, but alive. As he rested and caught his breath, he glanced to the briar wall of the garden in the distance, but all was silent. There was no sign of the dragon. A chortle escaped his lips, then a chuckle, then a full out guffaw. He stood and cheered, “Hah! What do you think of that you tyrannical lizard? I’m finally free of you! Ha! Haha!” The flower on his lapel had even remained. He puffed his chest in triumph.

With that, he struck off deep into the forest, with plans of making it big in some other garden dancing in his mind. However, he was off the path and the forest was not kind. It was like a maze: the thick brush tore at clothes and skin. This world of trees seemed endless. Criticus wandered for days and found no sign of civilization. What he found instead was hunger; he was ill-equipped to grow food so he scavenged berries and bugs, never able to escape the feeling of a depleted stomach. Cold, he slept with the clothes on his back in wind and rain. Fearful that the forest beasts were always hungry and always near, Criticus often felt that he had to run for his life. He was constantly paranoid of being discovered by the green warlocks known only as the Restlea. Criticus jumped at every shadow and slept lightly, always terrified that these magicians would murder him…or worse. Soon, he was in an emaciated state. A mere shell of the man he was before. The forest pushed everyone to their limits and he was just a hair’s width from perishing.

One night, Criticus leaned back against a tree in pure misery. As the rain poured down on him, he recalled his life in the garden; the people, his work, the food. He mapped everything that had happened and measured his stand against Xexive. Oh, how he hated her for driving him to this. How he hated himself for not finding a way to thrive. He closed his eyes and savored his anger and the thought that, even if he died, he was right. Then hunger shot through him and he sobbed. 

In the face of death, in an instant that took years to materialize, Criticus was struck by a realization that weakened his knees. Why have I attracted such an unfair fate? Could I have behaved differently? he thought. He forced down his anger and regret and stood as the rain drizzled to a stop. The past was nothing to him. Blame was useless. He had to focus on survival. 

He plodded for a time, his head hanging low from exhaustion. Suddenly, he stopped, his eyes focusing on something on the path. It was a set of wet footprints; fresh and still holding rain water. He lifted his chin and followed their path through the thick woods, his hope and desperation sustaining him. When he heard soft voices in the distance his eyes grew in size, but he stifled his cry of joy for fear of scaring off whomever was there. He crept forward, using tree and bush as cover, until he spied the source of the voices.

His breath caught in his throat and he froze. Two armed Restlea stood before a huge bronze door that was sunk into a wall of tightly packed trees. They wore green armor with markings that glowed silver. Their shields were round and etched with silvery light. Their spears were carved with jagged markings that shone a sickly red. They had delicate features and intense eyes. While they spoke to each other in a casual manner, as far as Criticus was concerned, they might as well have been spouting hexes. 

Criticus began to sneak away, but a twig snapped under his swollen feet. The guards suddenly sprang to attention and peered into the forest with suspicion, their spears drawn. 

“Who goes there?” asked one guard.

“Show yourself,” said the other.

Criticus paused in fright and a thought struck him, If I run, they’ll simply find me. So, reluctantly, he stepped out, his hands in the air.

The two Restlea were taken aback by Criticus’ ragged appearance.

“What is that?” whispered one to his companion.

The other regarded Criticus closely and stifled a laugh. “I think he’s a gardener,” she replied. Then to Criticus, “What’s wrong? Our woods not to your liking? Can’t survive without your dragon mommy?”

That last line cut through Criticus’ fear and straight into his pride. He rose from his stoop, rolled back his shoulders, and glared. A sneer and vicious retort rested on his lips…then his stomach rumbled painfully and he winced.

One guard snickered.

The other shook his head, “Katsryna, there’s no need to be cruel.”

“I’ve seen how they look at us Eryk, they’re nothing but pompous claw-lickers,” answered his compatriot.

Criticus swallowed his ego. It would do him no good here. In a ragged voice he said, “Please, I need your help.”

“You’re not afraid we’ll turn you into a tree?” asked Katsryna.

“Then at least I wouldn’t be hungry,” he answered with a thin smile.

Eryk walked over to stand before Criticus, “Come, I’ll guide you back to your garden.”

“No, I-I can’t go back there.”

“Why not?” asked the guard, inquisitively.

Criticus drew in a long breath and told them everything that had happened. The state of the garden, his fight with Xexive, and his days in the wilderness. He did so wearily and with no hint of fear or arrogance.

Katsryna grinned, “Huh. Never thought I’d see the day when one of the dragon’s dogs would turn wolf. Not bad. I misjudged you.”

Criticus laughed, though it hurt. “A wolf would have a better time in these woods.”

Eryk considered Criticus’ story carefully, “Our elder will want to hear this. He’ll have questions. If we help you, will you be willing to answer them?”

“Will you promise not to cause trouble? We can’t have you telling off our elder like you did Xexive,” added Katsryna.

“I’ll be both truthful and respectful, I promise,” Criticus answered.

The two guards looked at each other and nodded. They then opened the door and welcomed Criticus into their city.

Even in his starving, fatigued state, Criticus stared at the Restlea city in wonder. He saw enormous trees bedecked with colorful windows. Citizens walked in and out of the doors in the tree trunks as if they were towers. The city was divided by clear ponds with crisscrossing bridges woven out of the roots from the forest floor. Starry lights glittered at the top of the leafy canopy; dazzling, but not hurtful to the eye. They provided enough light to simulate a bright, sunny day. The green-garbed inhabitants held a reserved air and chatted with polite, precise words, except for the children who ran, played and swam with great abandon. Wind chime music tinkled through the air, but most noticeable was the absence of the Wheel Blossoms. He could see not one. 

Conversation among the Restlea paused as Criticus was escorted through the main square. Some considered him with looks of disdain, others with pity, and all with curiosity. 

“Out of the way, this one’s for the elder!” Katsryna barked.

“We had best handle this quickly,” commented Eryk. He muttered what sounded like a chant and, suddenly, the whole world swirled and Criticus was dropped onto a polished oaken floor. Dark walls lit by flickering lamps surrounded him. The sudden shift in reality was too much for him and he let out a long wail of terror. 

When he came to himself again, he became aware of Eryk supporting his steps as he was escorted into a small, circular room with comfy looking mushroom chairs, a fine alabaster table, and a large window which looked out onto the bright city. A silver-haired Restlea sat at the other end of the table. He had long features and a long, neat beard. He surveyed the guards and Criticus with an expression of confusion and concern.

“W-what?” stammered Criticus looking back the way he’d come.

“A teleportation chant,” whisper Eryk. “I should have warned you, I apologize. We used this chant to get you here quickly.”

Criticus gasped and caught his breath while Katsryna spoke to the Restlea before them, “Elder Nadim, this is one of the dragon’s gardeners. He’s left her for good. We thought you’d like to speak to him.”

“Why is he so disheveled? Have you mistreated him?” Nadim asked sternly.

“No, Elder,” Eryk denied firmly, “we just met outside the gate doors.”

“I-I’ve been lost for days.” Criticus managed to croak.

“We know so little of Xexive’s garden, I thought you’d like to talk,” added Eryk

The elder considered and then answered with a slight nod, “You are correct. Sit him down. Ask the butler to bring water and food, then return to your posts.”

“Yes, Elder,” the guards said with a bow. They helped Criticus into the mushroom chair, which he found to be as comfortable as it looked, and struck off without another word.

“I…” Criticus started but the elder held up his hand. 

“First, regain your strength. Then we shall speak.”

A short time later, a regal looking Restlea swept into the room with a tray that held food and drink. He placed it before Criticus and the savory smell of the dark stew filled his nostrils. 

“Easy, sir,” said the butler. “It’s hot, so eat it slowly.”

It took all of Criticus’ will to heed this advice but it was worth it. Each spoonful eased his hunger and filled him with strength. He paired this off with the glass of fresh water, which the butler refilled every time Criticus put it down. Eventually, the stew was gone and the gardener lounged in his chair, feeling more like himself than he had in days. He seized the butler’s arm and said, “Thank you.”

The butler pulled himself roughly from Criticus’ grip and left without a word.

“I trust you feel better?” asked the elder

“Y-yes, of course. Thank you, also. I thought I was going to die.”

“Our forest is not kind, many are not as lucky as you. Even we, who make our home here, have had to develop techniques and spells to survive,” commented Nadim. 

After a thoughtful moment, the elder added, “Your kind is not fond of ours and I am curious about why that is? How do you see us?”

Criticus considered; he felt deep gratitude for being saved from starvation, but he still felt uneasy. Living in trees? Teleportation? The Restlea were as strange and as powerful as he feared. Should he tell the truth and risk offense? The gardener grunted. He couldn’t lie; it was against his very nature. Still, he picked his words carefully, “I’ll be honest, you’re strange to us and we’re a little afraid of you. We’re also scared of Xexive, but she’s familiar. Please excuse my bluntness but we often wonder if you’ve done anything to the people who’ve gone missing in these woods.”

Nadim nodded thoughtfully, “For our part, we see you as greedy servants of the dragon. We do not like dragons. In fact, we fought with them many generations ago. Xexive is the only one with whom we’ve made a pact: she stays out of our forest and we stay out of her garden.”

“As for those missing in the woods…” Nadim stood and opened the window. He gestured to a small, shaded corner of the city where a group of clustered stone markers stood. 

Graves. 

Criticus felt a chill go down his spine.

“You’ve seen how deadly our home can be to those who stray off the paths. We occasionally find those who’ve died in our forest. These we bury so their spirits may rest.”

The gardener sighed with relief.

The elder chuckled, “Now that we know each other better, please, tell me what lead you to stumbling into my home.”

Criticus told him everything, doing his best to remain polite and respectful. 

After hearing the account, Nadim pondered for a long time and then said, “I’m cautious when it comes to dragons. You served one, but I don’t think you’re her spy. Our youngest generation is curious and wish to see what’s inside Xexive’s thorny wall. I’ve had to discipline a few that came too close to your former home. I suspect that, if you chose to stay here for a while, ply your trade within our walls, it may ease their curiosity. If you agree, we’ll lend you a small plot of land where you should be able to make a comfortable living. What do you say?”

Criticus was conflicted. He suddenly felt a deep ache of homesickness, but he knew all that was waiting for him was Xexive’s wrath. However, he also felt something new: adventurousness. “It sounds tempting, but what if it doesn’t work out?”

The elder chuckled, “You will be a resident, not a prisoner. You may leave whenever you wish. Though,” he said the next part in a stage whisper, “next time I recommend following the paths.”

“I’ll do that,” Criticus answered thinly.

“One more thing. Your feedback is welcome here, but any lack of respect will not be tolerated. Is that understood?” Nadim added with a caring firmness.

“Yes. I understand,” Criticus replied. 

Criticus was lent a home and a small patch of soil. His house was a modestly sized oak with three rooms. Nadim saw to it that it was furnished with nice tables, chairs, and a soft moss bed. Criticus was pleased to find that his land had good soil, though he did have to negotiate a hole being opened through the canopy so as to let real sunlight onto his plants. His skill proved true. With no Wheel Blossoms to hamper him, he cultivated his plot and it thrived. Within a year, it had become a tiny version of his old home. The Restlea visited in droves, curious to see what he wrought. They were delighted and paid well for colorful flowers and potent herbs.

In his off time, Criticus explored the Resltea’s city of trees and ponds. He found their ways strange, but also exciting and new. He learned a few of their gardening tricks, he tried to learn magic but found that he had no talent for it. Not wanting a repeat of his banishment, Criticus took pains to learn Restlea etiquette and was considered very cordial by his benefactors.

Early the next year, Elder Nadim called Criticus to him. They met in the same small room as the year before. Nadim asked Criticus all about his life in their city and seemed pleased that he was doing well. After tea and a small meal, the elder spoke of business, “Our young ones are fascinated with your talents and they wish to learn. Will you teach them?” 

At this Criticus’ chest swelled with pride. He pictured a room full of eager pupils hanging on his every word. “It would be an honor. I just need some time to set up some classes.”

Soon after, the gardener prepared his curriculum and his yard filled with young Restlea willing to learn. Criticus pontificated and pressed his students towards excellence. To his dismay, many did not take to it. These students listened to the gardener’s lessons, but they had no answer when he demanded it of them. These ones worked hard when presented with tasks, but faltered when pushed. One by one, they left until Criticus’ classroom was reduced to a mere handful of learners. The gardener was proud of his remaining students, but also very frustrated that there were so many who couldn’t hack it.

One day, Elder Nadim visited for a status report. Criticus had one, “Most of the students you sent me,” he caught his rude words before they flew out of his mouth, “are… skittish. They won’t do. Still, there are a few who will make excellent gardeners.”

The elder raised an eyebrow skeptically, “All of them are our best and brightest, are you sure you’re teaching them correctly?”

“With all due respect, Elder,” said Criticus cautiously, “they left on their own. If they want to come back, I’ll gladly have them, but I simply don’t think they have what it takes.”

“Follow me and try not to be startled,” commanded Nadim. Criticus did so and, with a wave of his hand, Nadim made them both invisible. “Be silent and observe.”

Together, the elder and the gardener observed how a few of the former students worked. They were engaged in various tasks, from conjuring lights for the canopy, to tending the trees which served as walls and home. Each young Restlea talked very little and worked alone. They considered their tasks a long time before starting, but once they began, their labor was precise and ceaseless. Each chant and touch held purpose. When they were finished, their work was completed to perfection with altogether amazing results.

Nadim took Criticus aside and said, “Most Restlea are like that; quiet, solitary, diligent.” He chuckled, “There are a few outspoken ones like yourself, a few of your current students and our guard friends, but most prefer quiet and contemplation. My question to you is, can you use this knowledge?”

Criticus stroked his chin thoughtfully, “I believe I can.” With the utmost respect, he added, “Please, ask those who left to come back? I promise my class will be better.”

At Nadim’s gentle urging, each of the wayward students returned. The gardener altered his methods. He continued, as always, with those who had thrived. With those who had left… he still pontificated, it was in his nature after all, but he did not demand answers from the quiet students right away. He asked them to take a break, to think about what he said. When he did, he found that each one came back with questions. Good questions. The kinds of questions that strengthen both teacher and student. When it came to tasks, he assigned each quiet student an individual task and only checked up on them when they were done. He found that the results these students achieved were as astounding as those of his bold students. Within a year, he had a troop of skilled gardeners. Word of his teaching spread and, the next spring, he found his classroom full of new students.

5

Seeking and Return

Sol and Cass found themselves lost and hungry in the mazelike forest. However, they were more fortunate than Criticus had been two years before, for they stumbled onto the Restlea city much earlier on.

“More of them? Xexive’s losing it!” huffed Katsryna.

“Are you two friends of Criticus?” Eryk asked with concern at their hungry and dirty appearance.

The sibling gardeners were about to flee, but word of Criticus gave them pause.

“We know of him,” said Cass cautiously.

“Have you seen him?” asked Sol.

“Seen him?” snorted Katsryna, “He taught me how to grow this.” She held out a handful of sweet, red, garden berries, then popped one into her mouth.

“He’s here?” the two exclaimed.

“He is,” answered Eryk. “I’ll escort you to him.”

Moments later, Sol and Cass were brought to Criticus’ home. When they saw each other, there were gasps, smiles, and hugs.

“Good to see both of you. What are you two doing here?”

“We angered the dragon,” answered Sol.

“We fled before she attacked us,” added Cass.

The older gardener nodded sympathetically, “I know how you feel. Come on in. Sit. I’ll get you some food. Afterward, I’ll petition Elder Nadim to let you stay with me.”

Mere hours later, the elder granted permission for Sol and Cass to live among the Restlea. Criticus employed both as gardeners and teachers. The two got along well and made fast friends with the younger Restlea. 

As Criticus watched them, he felt a pang of homesickness. He missed the feel of the old garden’s soil. He missed the familiar faces of those he left behind. He even missed seeing that blasted dragon patrolling above. He sighed and put such regrets behind him. After all, he was quite happy with his new life.

Meanwhile, back in the garden, the year passed and the gardeners saw results. Together, they had worked tirelessly to cut and barricade sections of their garden off from the Wheel Blossom. Within the barricade, they managed to safeguard a handful of their rarer plants. Every day, they hacked through Wheel Blossom vines to prevent them from scaling their garden walls. Every day, they tore out the root systems from the garden’s canals. Xexive was also busy. As other dragons enacting ventures throughout the land heard of her weakness, they tapped into their greatest resources in attempts take over the garden. Xexive, however, was as crafty as she was powerful. She fabricated stories and employed her most eloquent gardeners to spread the word, to shift perception in their favor. While not fighting or strategizing, she was in the garden, listening to the sage advice of her workers and assuring those who visited that they could still buy medicinal herbs, just in smaller amounts. 

One day, one of the gardeners, Baden, approached Xexive, “I have advice if you would hear it.” 

“Proceed,” rumbled the dragon.

“It’s not pleasant,” warned the gardener.

Xexive snorted, “I am not so fragile. Out with it.”

Baden gestured to the garden. It looked like a checkers board; vibrant green sections side by side with choked out and useless Wheel Blossoms. “We’re at a standstill. Holding the blossoms, but no longer gaining ground.”

“You state the obvious. I hope you have a solution,” rumbled the dragon.

“I do,” said Baden. “Send me to find Sol and Cass. They’re young and bright, they’ll think up solutions we can’t and they’ll have the energy to implement them.”

The dragon’s shoulders slouched and she hung her head, “Though I would gladly welcome them, I doubt they’ll return. I frightened them most unjustly.”

“I’ll vouch for you and they’ll listen. I’m certain they’ll want to come back home.”

The dragon considered, “You are sorely needed and the forest is dangerous. Are you certain you will be able to return?”

“I am because we have no choice,” answered Baden.

The dragon considered and said, “Then go. We shall anxiously await your return.”

With that, Baden struck off into the forest. He fared much better than Criticus and the siblings, for he was prepared with a pack full of supplies and fierce determination to save the garden. He stuck to the paths and visited the nearest cities, where he found no word of Sol and Cass. He followed each and every path, looking for signs of the lost gardeners. 

One day, Eryk of the Restlea appeared out of nowhere to confront him, “Pardon me.”

Baden screamed, jumped, and backed away.

“Please, I mean you no harm. Are you lost?”

Somehow the gardener found his courage, stood his ground, and answered, “No, I’m looking for my brethren. They vanished in these woods years ago. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” he asked suspiciously, keeping one hand on the handle of his knife.

“You mean Sol and Cass?”

Baden was gobsmacked. Both at the names spoken and the casualness with which Eryk uttered them. “Y-yes, those two, exactly.” 

“Your dragon chased them off so we let them live in our city. Wait outside and I’ll tell them that you’re calling, Mr…?”

“Baden. Y-yes, that will do nicely. Thank you.”

So, the gardener followed the guard back to the Restlea city and waited outside. After a few awkward moments, the siblings and, to Baden’s surprise, Criticus walked out to meet him. Again, there were gasps, smiles, and hugs.

“It’s incredible to see you all,” said Baden. “I bring news...” and he told them of everything that had happened in the garden since they left. “Xexive has changed and she asks for your help in restoring our garden. Your ideas are most welcome.”

Sol and Cass glanced at each other apprehensively and then back to Criticus.

“Go if you wish,” he said gently. “You’ll always have a place at my table.”

“Would you be willing to return as well?” inquired Baden.

“Xexive won’t kill me?”

“She is different and now; open to new ideas. Our garden will only be strengthened by your return.”

“Please come back with us,” pleaded Sol.

“Yes, please do,” added Cass.

Criticus considered for a long moment. He reflected on his time with the Restlea. He was no longer the same man. He thought about his past and then what he wanted his future to look like. In this moment, he felt that his growth as a gardener required that he take a new step. To bring his new self into the old place - the beloved garden. Finally, he said, “Alright, I’ll come with you. However, I must inform Elder Nadim before we go.”

Baden waited outside while Criticus, Sol, and Cass returned to the city to tell the elder the news. 

“I’m saddened that you feel you must leave, but I understand. Your destiny brought us together but it must also separate us. Of course, you’re welcome back anytime, but before you go, I have a request.”

“Name it,” answered Criticus.

“Allow some of your students to accompany you. They are curious about what is beyond the thorny wall and they are now skilled in your ways. Who knows, you may even find their perspective useful in vanquishing the Wheel Blossoms?”

Criticus was taken aback, “Don’t your people hate dragons?”

Nadim chuckled, “I…I am cautious about dragons. My generation hates dragons, but our younger generation does not. I think this is a good thing. The younger must be different from the older; it will enable them to grow greater than we ever were. I trust you, Criticus, and they travel with you with my blessing. If you can convince Xexive to take them on, that would be most wonderful. If she refuses, send them back and I will know you tried your best.”

Criticus bowed with respect, “Then I cannot refuse. I swear they’ll be safe with me.”

Criticus returned home and called a class meeting through which he, Sol, and Cass explained that they were heading home and why. The students were sympathetic but crestfallen.

“We do, however, have an opportunity that your elder proposed.” stated Criticus, “Those of you who want to come with us, may. Of course, you’ll be able to return home whenever you wish.”

This drew excitement in the class. Most students volunteered and the occasion turned from sadness to celebration. After everyone had gathered their things, the group met Baden outside the city walls.

Baden was flabbergasted, “We’re bringing Restlea home?”

“It’s either all of us or none.”

“Well...I’m not so...”

“They may be able to help with the Wheel Blossoms.”

Baden sighed, “Very well, but you’re explaining this to Xexive.”

With that, the troop of gardeners and the young Restlea struck off for the garden.

6

The End of the Silent Garden

After a week navigating the complex forest, the group entered the garden at nightfall. 

It was quiet and no one was in sight. They decided to sleep under the large weeping willow until morning to speak to Xexive. 

At dawn, as the gardeners were manning their stations, a loud scream was heard throughout the garden. One of the gardeners had noticed sleeping Restlea under the tree and ran unable to hold back his terror.

“Restlea! Restlea! There are Restlea in the garden! Xexive, come quick!”

Xexive dove down from her manor to address the crisis. 

Xexive roared at the crowd, “What is this? You dare break the pact! How dare you enter my garden?” 

The Restlea stared petrified and wide-eyed at the dragon.

She roared and then her focus narrowed in on Criticus, “You!” 

It took everything Criticus had not to run. Everyone else was frozen in fear. “Xexive, it’s been a while.”

The dragon lowered her head so she could look at the gardener with one massive eye. She pressed forward, forcing Criticus to walk back slowly. She snorted and the wayward gardener felt a wave of heat like a scorching summer’s day. 

“So, you’ve thrown in with warlocks. I should have expected nothing less,” the dragon steamed.

“What? No! You don’t understand…” stammered Criticus.

“I will fry you and scatter your followers!” hissed Xexive. Her claw boomed on the garden path, shattering the cobblestones.

“Listen…” begged Criticus.

Xexive opened her maw and Hell shone forth from it.

“I was wrong!” cried Criticus, shielding his face from the heat.

Silence. 

Those three words from proud Criticus were enough to strike everyone, even the dragon, with astonishment.

“Excuse me?” asked Xexive.

Criticus let out a sigh and explained, “Baden found Cass, Sol and I at the Restlea city,” as he pointed to them making their way through the crowds.

“He asked if we would return and we agreed. It just felt right. I was rude and not just to you, but also to my co-workers. I sneered, I scoffed, but I offered nothing in return. My speech was full of anger and arrogance and I realize now that I did not know how to speak up. For that, I apologize.” Xexive eyed the Restlea, “Why did you bring them?” 

“I think it’s been more than two years since I fled this garden and I never thought I would see it again. Within weeks after leaving, I was still lost, alone, hungry and near-dead. That is when, by pure luck, I stumbled upon the Restlea people. They are not what we thought. They are a kind, gifted, and happy people who love one another and practice great discipline and determination in their work. These are my students and they’re friends to Sol and Cass. When I told them that I missed home and wanted to return, the elder asked if we would hire them and teach them our ways. They’re curious and they wanted to see you and this garden. If you hire us, we may be able to help remove the Wheel Blossoms.”

The young Restlea nodded in agreement, still awestruck by Xexive.

“Why should I trust them? They have never offered to help before,” sneered Xexive

“They welcomed me into their home and gave me everything I needed to not only live, but to thrive. They provided me with my own garden to continue my craft and teach others. They are an incredible, curious people who have a gift we do not have. I cannot explain it but some might call it magic. They have a sincere desire to learn our ways and they have a special connection with nature. I truly believe they can help us.”

The dragon huffed and frowned in thought. She was used to anticipating the unexpected, but the Wheel Blossom was one problem that was defeating her. As she saw it, this was probably her last chance at saving everything she loved. After a moment she said, “You were right, things needed to change.” she lifted her head so she could regard not just Criticus, but Sol, Cass, and the Restlea, “If you’re willing to work, I’m willing to hire.”

The siblings and the Restlea cheered. Criticus sighed and smiled with relief.

So, Criticus was welcomed back to the garden. Then, all together, Xexive, her gardeners, and the Restlea toiled and rebuilt. The Restlea’s insights were invaluable. Their magic, mixed with gardener know-how, was a potent combination. Together, they applied all of their talents and, over the next few months, the Wheel Blossoms retreated until they were isolated to a secluded corner plot, where they were kept for study and as a reminder that the greatest threat to the garden was not the Wheel Blossom, but both silence and arrogance.

The garden was ready to be replanted. Along with beloved old favourites, new plants were introduced; plants that were both rare and of types the garden had never hosted before. Plants that would prove hardier against the Wheel Blossom incursion. Gradually, the topography changed. Sick trees were removed and replaced with new bushes, flowers, and plants. New trees were planted strategically. A small section was tilled for fruits and vegetables. A classroom and lecture hall were added to the manor.

It was not just the plants and buildings that changed; the culture of the garden had evolved. Where before the days of toil were glorifications of fearful, contemplative silence, now the garden was abuzz with chatter. While gardeners and Restlea worked they also discussed, debated and shared. New ideas were constantly vetted and implemented. The garden now grew knowledge as well as plants. Criticus even taught outsiders …for a modest price, of course.

The garden was no longer silent. It was now a place of wisdom, innovation, and good profit. A beacon of community in business, where thought and word lead to meaningful action.

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