Futuring Nature
Runavata

Mr Sebastian Cielens
Australian
Writing from Australia
What are generations to these ancient lands? — Book of Halari
THE JOURNEY ACROSS THE PARCHED LANDS was every bit as punishing as Zio had imagined, and then some. The road, a barren passage of blistered earth, stretched from Sierport at his back all the way to the mines of Sharak in the hills ahead, the place where he was born. It seemed Zio had vastly underestimated the distance. He was just five years old when he had left…or had been taken. His memory wasn’t clear which of the two it was. Fifteen years spent at the Halls of Galihar, that revered place of learning, had erased all but the most stubborn memories of home.
He stepped over a piece of corroded metal protruding from the ground, one of countless skeletons on this graveyard highway. It was hard to imagine now the endless procession of vehicles that once connected the mines to the port. That was more than a century ago when rivers of copper coursed through the hills. But the copper ran dry and there was no reason to go to Sharak anymore. The only people left were the free miners who fossicked for tiny traces left behind. People like Zio’s parents.
He took a last, meagre sip from his flask, not bothering to replace the lid, and swatted away the flies swarming his face. Before he resumed the march, something on the horizon
caught his eye. It was just a speck, though the whiteness of it stood out against the pale red desert and shimmering sky. He squinted long enough to determine that it was, in fact, a person, and they were coming this way.
“What in the seven priests,” he muttered.
It mightn’t have been such a surprise if they were coming along the road, but out
there…out there was nothing.
When the figure was close enough, he saw it was a woman of similar age to himself. Only her face was visible, dark eyes and skin like night. A hefty bag was slung over her shoulder. He wondered what was in the bag. He hoped it was water. She moved in long, easy strides, like someone who belonged. Zio felt like a trespasser in comparison, despite having been raised in the distant hills.
His heart was racing. He had no weapon and no way to defend himself beyond bare hands and the small amount of wit the heat hadn’t taken. She stopped a short distance in front, eyes locked on his, wordless. It was Zio who broke the impasse.
“Hello.” He flashed his most disarming smile. No greeting came in return, so he continued.
“A little warm, don’t you think?”
He searched for any sign that his charm was taking effect. There was none. Pleasantries aside, Zio pressed on.
“I’m loathe to ask, seeing as how we only just met, but can you spare some water for a fellow weary traveler?”
The next silence was the most uncomfortable yet. Rarely had his charisma fallen so short and, in these instances, Zio did not have much to fall back on. When the young woman finally spoke, her words were sure, like stone carvings.
“You will not make it.”
Zio’s jaw dropped, but he quickly clamped it shut. He dared to glance up at the hills and back to her. “I’ll be alright.”
“The ventari is coming.”
“The what?”
“Windstorm.”
He felt like mentioning that a little breeze would be welcome but held his tongue. “It started a few years ago,” the woman added. “You wouldn’t remember.”
The words sent a chill down his spine. How did she know that he was from this part of the world and was returning after a lengthy absence?
“Where are you headed?” he said, in an effort to change the subject.
“Here.”
What a strange answer, thought Zio. There was something deeply unnerving about the way things were unfolding, though he could not fathom what it was.
“Who are you?” he said.
“You mean what is my name?” “We can start with that.” “Calah Ül Lilaye.”
The name came forth like rolling thunder. He had not heard the likes of it before, but at the same time it was oddly familiar. He waited for her to ask his name, but eventually gave up waiting.
“Are you from Sharak?” he said, though he already knew she was not. “No.”
“Sierport?”
“No.”
“Then where?” “Here.”
“Here?” Zio gazed into the empty desert. There was nothing here. “You’re from the Parched Lands?”
“If that’s what you choose to call it.”
“You call it something else?”
“This land has many names. To my people it is alamanah.” “Where is your village?”
“There is no village.”
Zio was left speechless. He vaguely recalled stories of wandering people, stories of savages who preyed on vulnerable settlements. It was an image he was having trouble reconciling with the dignified person before him.
“I can help you get there,” Calah said. “How?”
“There’s another way.”
Zio raised an eyebrow. “A shortcut?”
“No.”
He took a deep breath and fought to remain calm. Surely the best way was the road he was on right now. This might be a trap, for all he knew.
“Why do you want to help me?”
“Because you need it.”
He couldn’t disagree with that. With no water and no hope of finding any, reaching Sharak seemed an all but impossible task. And what if there really was a windstorm coming? He had not left Galihar and sailed halfway around the world to die alone in the Parched Lands, or whatever this forsaken place was called. Not without finding his family.
“Okay,” Zio said, surprising himself.
“We must hurry.”
Calah walked off without a moment’s pause. “Are we going to talk about a plan?” he called.
But she did not break stride. Zio chided himself for agreeing to such madness. He had made some bad decisions in his brief existence, but this was certainly going to take pride of place among them. He drew another deep breath, then hurried to catch up.
After falling in a few steps behind, Zio’s attention was drawn to a swishing sound coming from Calah’s bag, which he now realized was a large waterskin. The longer they walked, the more the swishing tormented him. Finally, he could take it no more.
“You do have water.”
“Yes.”
He waited for an offer that never eventuated.
“Can I have a drink?” he said, annoyed at having to ask.
“No.”
Zio came to an abrupt halt. “Why not?”
Calah stopped a few paces ahead but did not turn. “It’s not for us.” “Who’s it for, then?”
“You’ll see.”
Calah walked on, leaving Zio to brood. He looked to the east, wondering if he should head back to the road. Every step, he knew, greatly diminished his chances of ever finding it again. He sighed, then followed.
His mood plummeted as the sun reached its apex. The way was steeper now and he stumbled on legs that had nothing left to give. A cacophony of squawks and beating air had him craning his neck skyward. A flock of golden parakeets passed overhead, moving together as a giant wave. He would have given anything to join them.
Calah hailed at the crest of a hill, and he stopped beside her. It was just as well. One more step and the ground disappeared into a ravine so deep that Zio felt dizzy looking down. He took a large step back.
“I thought you knew where we were going.” “I do.”
“Down there?”
“You have a better idea?”
In fact, he did have a better idea, and it involved turning back. But Calah did not wait
to hear it, descending the almost vertical slope like a mountain goat.
Zio sighed.
His own first step sent loose scree tumbling to the bottom. It was easy to imagine himself doing the same. He inched his way down, clinging grimly to the rockface. Something moved by his hand, and he almost lost his grip. A lizard glared at him with silver, reptilian eyes, then hissed.
“You find this funny?”
The lizard ambled off in search of a quieter place to bask. By determination and luck, he made it all the way down. The cuts and grazes on his body seemed a small price to pay. The only evidence of exertion on Calah was a slight flush of red on her cheeks.
Zio brushed the dirt from his sweat-soaked robe. “Let’s not do anything like that again.”
“There used to be a river,” said Calah.
“Must have been a long time ago.”
It was cooler here, the slope of the ravine offering shelter from the merciless sun. “We used to swim here.”
“You’re kidding.”
“It hasn’t rained in twelve years.”
Looking at the dry, rocky bed, Zio would have guessed it was more like twelve hundred. He thought about Calah’s people, wondering how they managed to exist in such an inhospitable place. His mind drifted onto his own kin, and a childhood spent in the hills. There had been rain, he remembered. What had happened in the time since he left?
“We need to get there before dark,” Calah said, starting off again.
“Where exactly are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
The climb was even more exhausting than the descent, and he paused now and then to let his light-headedness pass. Upon reaching the top he collapsed, gasping for air. When he finally managed to sit up, Zio was not the least bit prepared for the sight that confronted him.
The plain below was a vast expanse of white trees, a spectral army as far as the eye could see. Even from this distance they appeared as giants, taller than any he had seen in the forests near Galihar. He gasped.
“How…I mean…what are they?”
“Runavata,” she said. “Ghost trees.”
There was something very peculiar about the trees, the way they caught the light, or rather didn’t catch the light. “They’re beautiful.”
“Come on.”
This time he was more than willing to follow. The wind started to pick up. It was nothing much at first, and Zio was so captivated by the distant trees that he hardly noticed. But it quickly gathered force, hurling dust and grit into his eyes. It was a great relief when they reached the shelter of the first runavata, an ancient looking sentinel. Long strips of ivory bark peeled from the trunk, littering the ground underfoot. Zio sat at the base of the tree, feeling grateful for the refuge it provided.
“The leaves on all these trees were once green,” Calah said.
“What happened?”
“When the drought began, the color started to fade. Eventually they became like this.”
“But they didn’t die,” Zio said, more to himself than Calah. “They did not.”
“How have they survived?”
“They don’t seem to need water.”
Zio shook his head. “That’s impossible.” “We thought so, too.”
“There has to be an explanation.”
“They are strong,” Calah said. “Resilient.”
He pondered this for a moment. Like all the Initiates at the Halls of Galihar, Zio had devoted himself to mastering the Innate Laws. By understanding the natural properties of things, they learned to harness them. But everything in the Laws was based on reason, something explainable, which is why Calah’s words did not sit well.
His thoughts were interrupted by a squawk from above. He looked up to see a lone parakeet, a hint of gold amidst the white foliage. It looked at him sideways, then pecked at something on the branch. When Zio turned to Calah, he was surprised to find her smiling. She appeared so radiant that her smile became his.
“Let’s keep moving,” she said.
They trekked deeper into the forest. The wind started to howl, and the treetops swayed like seagrass on the ocean floor. There was hardly more than a breeze at ground level, and Zio was thankful he had abandoned the road. They arrived at a small clearing, in the centre of which stood a runavata sapling no taller than waist high. The branches drooped lethargically, and the leaves had a greyish tinge. Set against its vigorous parents, it looked sickly.
Calah took the waterskin from her back and carefully poured the contents around the base. Zio was relieved that she did not empty the entire skin, handing it over for him to drink. It was the most refreshing water he had ever tasted.
“I thought they didn’t need water,” he said, after Calah had taken a sip. “The mature trees don’t, but the saplings do.”
“Do you carry it all here?”
Calah raised the skin. “As you see.”
“From where?”
“Water holes.”
His eyes narrowed. “There’s water out there?”
“If you know where to find it.”
“Why don’t you plant some trees closer to water?”
“We have tried.”
“But they don’t grow?”
“Not a single one.”
“Why?”
“We debated that for quite some time.”
He waited for her to elaborate, but Calah seemed content to stare at him. “Did you come to a conclusion?”
“Yes. The trees belong here.”
Zio pondered this a while, until he thought he understood. All the time he spent in Galihar, he never felt as if he belonged. He had imagined that coming back would change that, would make him feel at home. So far this couldn’t be further from the truth. But perhaps it would be different when he reached Sharak, if he ever managed to.
“How did you know I lived here as a child?” he said, asking the question that had been gnawing at him.
“You have a miner’s hands, but they are too soft. And your accent.” “What about my accent?”
Calah shifted on her feet, casting her eyes downward.
“Alright.” Zio chuckled. “You don’t have to say it.”
She looked up again and smiled. “We can stay here tonight, if you’re not afraid of ghosts.”
“What do you mean by that?” “You’ll see.”