Ropebrush blooms

Point your feet toward water

This is an installment in a serialized novel. To start at the beginning, go here or navigate from the Table of Contents.

Rahn’s feet seemed to resist walking west. She had imagined that when her day of exile came, she would venture east, into the mountains she loved. After all, there were tales of mountain people, strange solitary folk who somehow managed to survive the unforgiving winters in the heights. A wild mountain woman— the idea had a certain appeal.

But now she found herself walking in the opposite direction, out into the great, desolate expanse of the plains. The earth, usually pale and hard, was darker and softer after the rains. Still, there was still no life to be seen except for the ropebrush–scraggly, dusty-green bushes that had found a way to survive where there was no water. It was named for its long taproot, which with care could be pulled up, sometimes emerging more than three times the height of a man. It was then dried and twisted together to make cord.

Rahn had never ventured very far out onto the plains–why would she? There was nothing here but dry wilderness as far as the eye could see–except Ileppa, a small oasis far to the southwest, and the larger trading post of Sabzoras to the northwest. On a clear day you could see the oasis of Sabzoras from the highest points of the Descent that overlooked the plains. She knew it as a bright green dot upon the expanse of barren earth. The only people who bothered to make the trip there and back had been the handful of Enedram traders, their camels loaded with wares. She had watched them set out for the last time a month ago. Now no one walked this path.

Of course, there was no real road or trail leading to Sabzoras, but Rahn set out in the general direction of the oasis. She figured the patch of green would be easy enough to spot when she got closer. She set her feet toward water, as her father had told her. All she had to do was keep walking west, squinting into the light, the hawk flying overhead. She walked until the sun was a large, orange orb on the horizon and then made camp.

When she woke, the plains were made new. Overnight, bright green shoots had risen from the earth, blanketing the desert in vivid green in all directions. Rahn grinned at the sight, running her hands over the soft new foliage. She had heard of desert blooms, but had never seen one in her lifetime. How long had these seeds lain dormant? The landscape was peaceful, and Rahn felt calm too as she walked along, absently knotting a ropebrush root; the drama and danger of the settlement were behind her, and in the simplicity of her current task, she could forget the burden of her mission.

“What do you think about this, Payma?” she said to the hawk on her shoulder, for she had named it thus, using an old Veyta word meaning ‘goatherd.’ The bird too seemed serene all the second day, its usual choler abated.

On the third day, Rahn awoke again to a changed world. The new growth, in its urgency to take advantage of the gift of moisture, had already burst into flowering. Wildflowers of every color covered the earth. The ropebrush bushes, to her astonishment, had flowered as well, copious blooms of soft coral. And a flurry of life and movement had come with the blossoming. Bees, butterflies, and other insects buzzed about the flowers. Overhead, birds chirped noisily, attracted by the flowers and the insects. Rahn, sharing in the jubilation of the world around her, found herself running—almost forgetting the aching of her feet and the awkward bouncing of her pack. She laughed as Payma swooped again and again, hunting dragonflies. Rahn could feel a new optimism opening within her. She would reach Sabzoras soon, and who knew what new life awaited her there and beyond?

The next day, the wildflowers were still in full bloom, but by midday the elation she had felt was replaced by a sinking weight in her stomach, and she threw away the little useless basket she had made of the ropebrush root. It was the fourth day; she should have reached the trading post by now–and her pack felt disturbingly light. At first, the waterskin her father gave her had seemed absurdly large and heavy, but now it was nearly empty. And in spite of the evidence of rainfall in the life around her, there was no water. Every so often she passed a crack– a gouge in the earth, one of the many drains that prevented any excess water from pooling on the surface. The bright life around her now seemed to be a perverse affectation of the deadly terrain.

She trudged along. Her mouth was dry, but she was trying to ration the little water that was left. Her food was running low as well.

The hawk flapped its wings in annoyance and nipped at her.

“Catch your own food,” Rahn replied crossly. “Go eat some more dragonflies!”

“Point your feet toward water,” she murmured, but she was confused. She had walked steadily northwest, but had she cut a little too far to the north? Was the oasis still ahead of her, or had she overshot it?

She cursed to herself. “How could I have been so stupid?” She had always known Sabzoras as a bright patch of green on the colorless plain. It was impossible to miss. But now, standing on the highest ridge this stretch of wilderness had to offer, all she could see was green. She squinted her eyes, trying fruitlessly to distinguish any variation on the horizon. At last, she sat and put her head in her hands.

She looked up as the hawk hopped off its perch on her shoulder. With a flap of its wings, Payma was in the air, looping higher and higher, then away. Rahn felt a twinge of betrayal, then sighed. “I can’t blame you for not wanting to die out here with me.”

Speaking it aloud made the truth more real. She laughed bitterly. She had imagined that she could make it on her own, had struck out on a grand mission, and here she was– four days in, lost like a child and about to die alone of thirst on the plains. Her tribe would probably never know what happened to her. Would they even wonder? Would someone else be sent on Azayan’s mission? “I’m sorry, Zaiza,” she muttered, “you were wrong to think I could do it.”

After a time she rose, because if she did not start walking again sooner or later, she would certainly die. But with each step the earth seemed to mock her, reminding her that she was lost. She was growing fatigued, her footsteps beginning to slow. Her water was gone. The sun seemed too bright for autumn, and her eyes hurt. She stumbled, sat down on a rock.

She sat there, too tired to care if she died, nodding off slightly.

All at once there was noise, wind on her face, a sharp pain. She raised an arm reflexively, and with some reluctance, opened her eyes. There was Payma, eyes fierce and reproachful, beak open, climbing up her shoulder with wings flapping. The hawk gave another loud shriek and bit her arm.

“Ouch! Stupid bird, leave me alone…” She was standing now and the bird took flight. Rahn stumbled away, but the hawk came at her, swooping with talons extended. Rahn ducked and stumbled in the opposite direction. Payma relented. Rahn kept walking, glancing over her shoulder at her attacker, hovering nearby. And so it was that she kept moving under threat of the bird’s talons. Each time she slowed or strayed, the hawk came at her with all its fury.

Payma’s shrieks sounded odd–they reminded her of the bleating of goats. And then there was that smell– the pungent stink of a billy goat. No, that was definitely bleating. And then there was a young goat, cavorting around her and investigating her boots. Rahn was confused– how had she come back to her herd? Had Huki come out with the goats to look for her?

There were voices, and someone put a cup of water to her lips. She drank, and smiled, and then laid down on the ground and fell asleep.