Sunearth

Chapter 01

The Scorching Hours were close.

The desert lands were shadowed in pre-dawn, Old Sol barely peeking his mighty golden bulk up from his hideaway behind the earth. The sands were quiet and the Tol slept in a half-sweated sleep within their village, dreaming and relieved to be out from under the blazing sun's rays.

Here and there, tiny creatures scampered; dry-lizards skittering across the smooth, naked dune, sun hawks fluttering fast and free in the cooler wind, and pale, newborn Jabbers sneaking about, their stingers ripe with fresh poison.

It was Fifth Hour, a safe time for water-gathering. The dangerous time would begin at Tenth Hour, when the glaring Old Sol would be climbing up the stair of the heavens to reach his zenith in the bright blue sky. Those were the hours when it was wise to stay somewhere dark and cool. The time of the Scorching Hours was a wicked time; the heat and light elevating so badly and so quickly it could cause a slow and painful ignition of the human form.

One Tol alone was not asleep. He was Thelan Aroyha, one of the six village water-gatherers. He was not up collecting dry-water for the others just yet, he was taking care of his own water farm, preparing himself for the dehydrating toils of the day.

Thelan knelt beside one of his trap-bag poles, pouring out the petty amount of morning dew into a clay bucket. Already the temperature was nearly unbearable and he wiped away his sweat, some of it dripping from his brow into the bucket less than a quarter full of dry-water. He paused a moment in contemplation before letting the sweat he'd wiped onto the back of his hand slide down his fingers and into the bucket with the rest. He needed all the moisture he could get today.

Slowly, he rose from his kneeling position and felt a warm rush as his still-tired leg muscles stretched and caught a glimmer of sunlight. He closed the trap-bag back up and moved away from the pole on which he'd placed it and the seven-foot-tall light shield that loomed over it, protecting it and allowing the morning dew to remain in the trap-bags rather than dry up because of the hot rays of Old Sol.

He walked over to the next trap-bag pole and shield, just a meter to his left, the fourth in a row of five. He had four rows of water-gathering poles in all, a total of twenty, with four trap-bags per pole. And despite all the equipment, he was usually lucky if the day's supply lasted until the following morning.

After almost another hour of water-gathering, Thelan began to make his way back to his hut. It was average and unspectacular, being just a dusty white dome of a thin, plasticlike material sitting lonely on the desert ground at first glance. But beneath the dome was Thelan's home, underground where he could be mildly cooler.

Thelan descended down the winding path which began at the side of his domed roof and led down into the earth, spiraling around it underneath to stop at his front door, and returned inside. The dry-water in his bucket was just shy of hitting the brim; today just might be a good day.

Inside his hut, Thelan took the full clay bucket into a small room that served as a kitchen. Hanging from hooks were the unfeathered remains of half a dozen sun hawks, his food for a little more than a week. To his right there was a little table built out of the dusty rock wall. There was also a chair made of scrap metals; a wobbly, rusted thing, but it fulfilled its purpose all the same. Located against the wall behind the dead sun hawks was a strange and crude machine, Thelan's water purifier. Because the morning dew was dry-water, scattered with desert particles and stale air, it needed to be purified so that it was good to drink and use.

Thelan went to his purifier, a dull thing in the shape of a twelve-sided polyhedron and adorned with a large funnel at its head. Inside the thing was a series of tubes and filters which would extract all the debris from the water. There was then a little catch where the water was held and churned, heating it slightly as it did so to do away with any remaining bacteria. At the end it poured out neatly through a tube into a water-pouch Thelan had attached to it. The water was always luke-warm, but at least it was clean.

Routinely, he poured the dry-water in, careful not to lose a drop of it. It circled down the funnel and into the purifier, sloshing quietly as it passed through the many tubes and filters. After about thirty seconds of this, the water splashed into the machine's catch and the tiny fan within began to whir. Thelan heard the bubbling and churning of the water and when it stopped after another minute, he watched it slide down the final tube into his water-pouch. When he was sure all the dew water was inside of it, he removed the tube from the pouch, sealed it, and placed it around his neck by its worn, leatherlike thong. He thought for a moment of taking a refreshing swig, but decided against it. He would use it only when he must, a mark of his water-gatherer ethics.

Now that he was done preparing his own water for the day, he would be off to the Mill to collect and clean the village supply.

The Tol village was much like Thelan's own home, a mass of tan-white domes of varied shapes and sizes popping out of the desert ground. Buildings that were close together were simply lying within the large, deep Tol-dug depression, little sandy streets and alleys exposed to the sun but beneath the surface. More isolated buildings were fashioned with individual paths as Thelan's was.

Reaching the more populated part of his village, Thelan walked down from the surface on a dirt-and-stone stairway into the dug-in area. He was in the market place, one of the busiest spots in the village. Around him were people moving about in their dusty tunics or their lighter, tan-white cloth, water-pouches and personal trap equipment and roasted sun hawks and fans all around them to purchase. The market was a place of necessity, nothing was unneeded and everything was greatly desired.

On the other end of the market was the largest building of the area, the Mill. It stood tall and wide, its roof a long pill-shaped dome transcending the village hole up to the surface. Just behind that domed roof was a long set of trap-bag poles and light shields in numerous rows. The equipment the Mill used had more longevity than Thelan's personal stuff, so he and the other water-gatherers could collect dry-water up until the Scorching Hours. After that, they'd retreat inside like everyone else for water-cleaning. Finally, they would distribute to the water sellers and set up and check over the trap equipment again before quitting for the day.

Thelan began to make his way through the market. The other Tol looked at him now and then with great respect, he was one of the important six their village had. He nodded his silent thanks to their appreciative stares.

"Hey, hey, here comes one of our illustrious wet-workers!" he heard a voice rasp from nearby. He looked to his left to see a wiry, balding water seller, Muraf, smiling and waving to him.

"How's it going this morning, Muraf?" Thelan asked, businessmanlike in his approach.

The deeply-tanned water seller shrugged.

"Not bad," he rasped. "Only Sixth Hour, things usually boil up just before Scorchin' Hours and after. All I got is yesterday's water, y'know? Most customers like it fresh."

"Right. Well, if we get anything close to what I got today at home, there'll be plenty to sell," Thelan said, then smirked. "You might even have a little extra in your pocket."

"Excellent!" the water seller exclaimed, "I've almost got enough saved up to take my wife, Kiena, and I to Panu's Shadow. They've got a Bath House there, y'know."

"So I hear," Thelan nodded, now wanting to politely end the conversation. "Well...I'll see you later, Muraf." He began to walk away.

"Wait!" The water seller threw his hands up and and clumsily ran out from behind his vendor's booth.

"What is it?" Thelan asked, turning back to face the man.

Muraf bent close to Thelan, putting his voice barely above a whisper so the few passerby could not overhear.

"The Green Man's lookin' for ya, wet-worker."

Thelan was taken aback. "Me? Are you sure?"

The water seller nodded. "He asked for you by name."

Thelan said nothing, his brow furrowing as he thought. He looked off towards the Mill and noticed that Old Sol was higher now, halfway visable from behind the Mill's domed roof, casting an orange-gold onto it. The contrast of light and dark made the shadows of the market place deep and sharply angled.

"Did he say why?" Thelan asked finally.

Muraf shook his sweaty, balding head. "All he said was he'd be waitin' for ya at the Mill."

Thelan nodded. "Alright, Thank you, Muraf."

He left the water seller with a half-hearted grin, a way of shrugging off his worry, and made his way to the front entrance of the Mill.

Opening the plasticlike door, he entered the Mill and was met by the village purifiers towering before him. They were far taller and wider than the one he had at home, reaching almost to the domed roof. They were shaped differently, more cylindrical, with longer, more narrow funnels at their bases. He could hear their quietly thunderous churning as they warmed up for later use.

The other five water-gatherers, Geshem, Armun, Talqane, Mishush, and Uleraw, were already there, waiting for him with their equipment ready and a look of cautious awe in their eyes.

Of the group it was Armun and Geshem that Thelan regarded most. Their opinions had at least some importance to him, unlike most others'. Geshem was the oldest of the water-gatherers, having lived through the Fire Year when when the Scorching Hours had lasted most of the day and many had perished to combustion and dehydration. Thelan looked to him when he needed answers, the old man was always willing to give what guidance he could. And he always managed to instill the others with good work ethic, urging them on in a fatherly way to get what needed done completed for the sake of the village.

Armun was Geshem's opposite in a way. He was a young man, younger than Thelan, who was himself only in his late twenties. Armun was one of the rare few who was able to maintain a significant amount of body fat even with the world so dry and hot, so he had a rotundness to him that seemed out of place. Because of this, he was a terribly introverted youth, mumbling the few times he ever talked and barely ever looking anyone in the eyes. He had a bad habit of spilling water, not used to the heft of the water-gathering equipment, but Thelan would always help him with his load when he needed it. Though very intelligent, he had trouble communicating his thoughts to others, seeming rather simple to most people. Thelan felt that Armun looked up to him as a kind of mentor, much in the same way Thelan did towards Geshem.

"Thelan," Armun quietly started, "the Green Man's come to --"

"I know," Thelan interrupted gently. "One of the water sellers told me."

"He's waiting for you in the back room," old Geshem said, pointing a bony finger to the small room where they all kept their equipment.

"He gives me the creeps, Thel. What's he want?" Armun asked, a concerned look on his pudgy face.

"I don't know. I can't think of a reason for a Green Man wanting to talk to some water-gatherer."

"You'd best listen to what he says," Geshem advised. "He is a wise man. He has brought us knowledge of the Forest."

Thelan rolled his eyes. "Oh, not this again. Well, he wouldn't come here just to convert me, Gesh."

"I disagree," Geshem said, "He has come to many of the villagers personally, asking them to hear his stories of the Forest By the Water."

"That's all they are -- stories."

"Please, lad, just hear him out. The Green Man does not contact others without cause."

"They say he stays in his hut out by the Border most of the time. He only comes into the village to preach to the people," Armun said, then cowered his head close to his chest, becoming aware of how much he was talking and not very comfortable with it.

"Well, I guess I'll find out what he wants soon enough."

Thelan slowly moved to the back room. He stood outside of it for a moment, still indecisive. There were many rumors about the Green Man, not all of them as good as what Geshem said. He looked back to the others to see them exiting the Mill, beginning their duties. Only Armun was straggling, looking back at Thelan as he looked back to him.

"Go on, Arm. I'll be fine," Thelan said reassuringly.

"If you say so, Thel." Armun readjusted his equipment in his hands and followed after the others to the trap-bag farm on the surface.

Instead of thinking on it any longer, a part of him not wanting to risk keeping the Green Man waiting, Thelan sighed and stepped into the storage room.

Standing over Thelan's water-gathering equipment, the Green Man waited unseen in the darkness of the room. The only light coming in was from the doorway Thelan stood in, blocking most of it except for slivers above his head and between his legs and arms, none of the beams of light touching the Green Man. He took another step into the room, saying nothing, only gazing at the broad, dark outline of the man who desired this meeting.

"Hello, water-gatherer," came the deep but unintimidating voice of the Green Man.

"Call me Thelan."

"Alright," the Green Man said, "Hello, Thelan. You have been told of how I wish to speak with you, have you not?"

"Yeah."

"And I trust I am correct in assuming you are unaware as to why?"

"Yeah."

"They say you are the best of the water-gatherers here. Would you agree?"

"I don't know."

The Green Man was silent for a moment. He took a step forward towards Thelan, revealing some of his features, though much of him was still obscured. Standinf right before Thelan, the Green Man chuckled.

"Not much of a talker, are you?"

Thelan shifted uneasily. He didn't want to talk to this strange man, he didn't like the feeling of power that came from him. He was doing his best to keep quiet, but it seemed this Green Man wanted more.

"I have my moments," Thelan said. He decided then to let go of his underlying nervousness, he was not a child. "I guess having a chat with some shaman that no one knows anything about who wants to see me personally, even though I don't know him either, shuts me up a bit."

The Green Man seemed to be thinking over what Thelan said. He gave a little sigh, knowing that this water-gatherer he was speaking to would not be very cooperative.

"I understand I am not well trusted here," he said. "Only a small group will hear me and you call them a cult, perhaps. Others do. But know that I have not come with any ill will."

"I don't believe you have," Thelan said, "I just want to know what it is you've come to me for, Green Man."

The Green Man looked behind Thelan towards the lit space outside the room.

"Let us discuss this in the light where things seem not so sinister..."

He put his hand around Thelan's shoulder, causing the water-gatherer to tense momentarily. Together they stepped out into the purifier room and into the sunshine.

"...and call me Sirrien."

Thelan could now see the familiar form of the Green Man, of Sirrien. He had seen him before in the village, talking to a small mass of people near the tiny chapel he had taken ownership of after the previous preacher, a zealous man named Lishand, had failed to sway the people to his dust-god religion and abandoned it.

The Green Man was of middle age, perhaps his late fourties, with the telltale wrinkles around his eyes and on his brow beginning to show, though he appeared ten years younger. His face was bearded with a trim dirt-blonde goatee while his hair was opposingly long and wild. As the others often remarked, his eyes were as green as the long-dead grass and trees of old, or so they imagined. His skin was tanned as all others' were, but he was still paler than anyone else Thelan had ever seen. He was wearing his long, light-green cloth that was worn with sand and time and ragged at the bottom, just as Thelan had seen before when he spoke to the people, just as he always did. In his hands was a long staff, supposedly made of petrified wood, passed down to him from other Green Men, who had kept it for generations.

Despite the man's reputation with the majority of the village, and Thelan's own prejudices against the philosophies he taught, Thelan couldn't help but think that the man looked kind.

"Allow me to put it to you simply, Thelan Aroyha, water-gatherer and stubborn-talker-to-Green-Men; I have need of your skills. I have been here for nearly three months and no one has hardly come to speak with me. I have always come to them, and then, most have turned me away. But now the villagers' curiousity has grown enough and they have asked that I perform a ceremony."

"A ceremony?" Thelan asked.

"Yes. A ceremony of water replenishment. A popular ritual of the Green Men."

"And what do I have to do with any of this?"

Sirrien looked to one of the massive purifiers nearby. "In order to perform this ceremony, I will need water."

Thelan looked at Sirrien suspiciously, then to the purifiers. He didn't like the implication.

"No. No way, Green Man. You can't have that much. This water is for the people."

Sirrien laughed. "Of course not. That would ridiculous and frankly, quite devastating to the village."

"Well," Thelan said, thinking, "we'll have some by Fifteenth Hour. You can by some then. As much as you can. But I can't just give it to you."

Sirrien gave Thelan a reluctant gaze. "I cannot do that," he said.

"Why not?"

"It must be holy water."

Thelan knew what that meant. 'Holy water'. The Green Man didn't want processed dew, he wanted actual water, fresh water, straight from nature.

"How am I supposed to give you that? There's no fresh water around here! Do you think I'd have a job if there was?"

"There is a place. The Streams, in the Valley."

"So go and get it, Green Man," Thelan said, jerking his arm to the door leading out of the Mill, pointing with intensity. He was becoming agitated by all of this. How dare this shaman come and request he get him fresh water?

"I need the skills of a water-gatherer," Sirrien said. "I do not have the necessary tools or abilities to transport the amount of water I shall need over such a long distance."

Sirrien stood still and erect, staring expressionlessly at Thelan, who was close to yelling the man out the door. Thelan stared back, confused and wanting very much not to talk with this Green Man anymore. There was a hust between them, filled by the sound of the churning purifiers.

"Wait..." Thelan said, a thought dawning upon him. No. The Green Man couldn't possibly expect him to do he?

"...you want me to do it?"
"To aid me, yes," Sirrien said, nodding.

Thelan was in disbelief. "I can't do that! I have a job to do. The village needs its daily supply and one water-gatherer short out of six counts. Besides, it's almost Seventh Hour! We couldn't get to the Valley and back before the Scorch."

Sirrien smiled. "Ah, but the Valley has many caves. We would wait in them until the Scorching Hours have passed."

Thelan shook his head, trying to resist the idea all he could. He then held his head in his hands in frustration.

"Do you realize what you're asking me? You're asking me to waste a day desert-trekking to get some fresh water with a crazy mystic."

"Yes, I know," Sirrien said. "But I need your help. I have been told you are the best, by the villagers and your fellow water-gatherers alike. The villagers desire this ceremony...and they would be most grateful."

Thelan peeked out his head from behind his fingers. "Gratitude won't keep me from going up in flames."

"I assure you, if we leave now there will be enough time. I have transportation."

Thelan looked up completely now, surprised. "Are you saying you got a rust-rider?"

"Indeed, I do. It is of simple design and rather unpleasing to the eye, but it can do its job."

Thelan rubbed the back of his sunburnt neck, staring up at the domed roof which was bright white-yellow, the sun's light coming in strong from it. He thought about what Geshem had said to him and about the villagers' desire for the Green Man's ceremony. The general disposition of the whole village had been getting rather low lately...he'd be letting a lot of people down if he said no.

"I don't like this idea..."

"Please. Everyone wishes to witness the ritual. People want to see the splendor of holy water."

"The village council hasn't ordered me to do this, have they?" Thelan asked.

"No. I have not gone to them," Sirrien said earnestly. "I wanted this to be your choice."

Thelan imagined the others in the trap-bag farm above, mumbling collectively about how he was as lazy as a dry-lizard.

"But I'm needed..."

Sirrien placed a hand on Thelan's shoulder again. His hold was firm and he looked Thelan right in the eyes.

"Yes, you are. Do not worry over the water farm. One of your fellow water-gatherers said that he would see to it that they do not fall behind. An older man."

"Geshem," Thelan muttered, unsure if he should be thankful for the man's help.

"Yes. He said he shall take of it all in your stead," Sirrien said. He paused a moment, and when he spoke again there was a tone of importance in his voice. "But now you must choose. The ceremony is tonight."

"Tonight?" Thelan asked. He felt cornered. He was quiet a moment in partially upset, hesitant thought. Did the whole village really want this? They wanted to watch this shaman splash around some fresh water? Thelan didn't agree with it, but the Green Man seemed determined and it seemed to Thelan he had little real choice. He could say no, he thought, and risk being run into the sands by a swarm of angry villagers.

"Fine," he said with tired irritation. "I'll help you."

Sirrien gave a beaming smile.

"I am most thankful," he said, his palms together and his head bowed slightly.

"Yeah, yeah. Just let me get my equipment..."

A little while later, Thelan stood outside the Green Man's hut, somewhere out on the edge of the Sand Border, sulking.

The hut was rather unusual, its dome taller than most, egg-shaped, and tinted green with worn but ornate designs of trees of old upon it. The Green Man was inside below, searching for his things, which he'd been doing now for too long a time to Thelan's liking.

Taking his own time, Thelan thought. Doesn't he know the Scorch is close?

A moment later, as in answer to his aggravation, Thelan saw Sirrien ascending from his hut to the surface, a large brown pouch at his side.

"What took you so long? And what's in there?" Thelan snapped, pointing to the pouch.

"I am sorry," Sirrien replied. "I was gathering some things I shall need to collect the holy water." He paused a moment as his feet touched the desert ground, then added; "And some medical supplies, in case of any incidents."

Thelan cringed. "'Incidents'? Like what?"

"Oh, I do not know," Sirrien said idly, "It is just in case. I expect no trouble."

"Then why bring it?" Thelan mumbled to himself as he followed the Green Man to the rust-rider.

True to Sirrien's description, it was awful to behold, a red-orange-silver thing put poorly together with blocky construction, topless and open to the desert air. Thelan wondered if it would even run.

Sirrien settled down into the driver's place and Thelan sat reluctantly beside him, putting his equipment in the back.

"How old is this?" Thelan asked speculatively. "This isn't from--"

"The old times? No, it is a duplicate. I bought it off a man in Ironrock before I came to the village."

Thelan was intrigued. "You've been to a Rusted City?"

Sirrien chuckled. "Oh yes, many times. It was a necessity in my coming-of-age. People are always surprised when I tell them. No one expects some Green Man to have ever been near any civilized area."

Thelan looked around himself at the pile of scrap he was sitting in.

"Will this really work alright? I mean, is it safe?"

Sirrien shrugged. "As safe as anything can be in this world."

"That makes me feel better..."

Sirrien smiled and started the rust-rider, inserting a worn key and turning it. He then placed his hands on a less-than-circular wheel kicked the thing to life. Thelan jumped at the quickness of the vehicle, then self-consciously held on tightly to its frame. They were on the move.

"How'd you start it so fast?" Thelan asked, watching the sands go by in a slow blur.

"A pedal at my foot. It is simply mechanics, not Green Man magic," Sirrien stated, perring at Thelan questioningly.

Thelan looked sharply at Sirrien, offended.

"I didn't think it was."

"Oh," Sirrien said, acknowledging his misjudgement. He glanced at Thelan meekly. "My apologies. So many within the village assume I can do silly little miracles, like pour water from my hands or put Old Sol in my pocket."

Thelan was defensive, holding his arms close to his chest.

"Not me. I'm a man of science."

Sirrien's interest peaked. "Science, eh? Ah, a dangerous thing. Almost ended the world, they say."

"Ignorant ramblings," Thelan interjected. "Science is what keeps us alive. Without science, we'd have no purifiers. Without purifiers, we'd have no good water. And without any good water...we'd be dead."

"Very insightful," Sirrien admitted. "Indeed, science has its positive aspects. But science also caused the creation of terrible things. Things used to make war."

Thelan was doubtful. "Yeah, say the legends..."

"And the world!" Sirrien exclaimed. "Our very way of life is the result of some horrible catastrophe centuries passed. Look around you, Thelan Aroyha. Does this not look like a world wrought by destruction?"

Thelan looked away from the Green Man, annoyed by his philosophies.

"What's it matter? Those kind of questions are pointless. It's the world we live in and that's that. All we can to is try and get through each day."

Sirrien stared at his passenger with unease.

"Do you not think there is more to life than survival?"

Thelan turned his entire body now away from the Green Man. He put his arms on the frame of the rust-rider and set his head upon them, closing his eyes.

"Wake me up when we get there. And don't fry us, Green Man..."