That Day in the Desert: A Storyteller Tale
Carol Holland March
That Day in the Desert
A Storyteller Tale
Carol Holland March
That Day in the Desert
A Storyteller Tale
Carol Holland March
Copyright © 2016 Carol Holland March
Published by Compass Rose Press
Albuquerque, New Mexico, USA
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any means without the express permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Please share this book with your friends.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
“That Day in the Desert” was originally published by bosque, the magazine, as “The Dreamwalkers of Larreta,” 2012.
Dedication
To the Storyteller of Verdallon
Table of Contents
Analia
The Dreamwalkers of Larreta
That Day in the Desert
The Coast House
Leo
A Note from the Author
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Analia
Analia opened her eyes. High clouds scudded across an azure sky. Near a window, a chair shaped like a red tulip shimmered.
She moved to sit up and found herself entangled in soft white fibers that laced over her legs and chest. Shaking them off, she rose. She had fallen asleep on a long sofa that resembled an elaborate white chrysanthemum, a genus that grew on her home world. Of course. Verdallon. Finally, she had arrived and this elegant private residence was her gift from the Mentors.
Analia gazed around the room. She had dreamed the furnishings into existence, and this room had manifested as she’d planned, round with diamond-shaped windows stretching from floor to ceiling. Outside, new grass had sprung up in the garden. Circular flowerbeds were coming to life and young trees swayed. A sandstone wall circled the house and garden.
Analia scanned the room again. The ceiling was painted to resemble summer clouds, the furniture fashioned in the shape and colors of flowers from Earth, the polished floor shining like amber-colored marble. Sunlight poured in through the windows.
But something disturbed the silence. She tilted her head and listened. Someone approached. Beings were coming from two directions.
In her mind’s eye, she viewed the path that led to her home from the distant main road. Along it traveled a familiar energy signature and others she did not recognize. Nara was coming and bringing guests, but why so soon?
Irritation bubbled up in Analia’s chest, causing her to catch her breath. She had looked forward to a period of solitude before assuming her new duties. Instead, the question at hand was, how would she entertain her first guests?
They were coming to congratulate her, no doubt. Still, there must be another reason for the arrival of off-world guests. Another twinge of annoyance pricked her forehead. Analia smiled at the persistence of her human emotions.
The approaching guests were not the only problem. From the other direction, she sensed Leo, although how he found his way to her home was a mystery. Him, she must deal with first. As she pondered how to do that, the red rug in the center of the room sighed in sympathy. Gathering up the folds of her shimmering skirt of pastel silk that resembled falling rain when she moved, Analia drifted outside to wait for Leo.
In the garden, she inspected the green plants growing in beds edged with multi-colored stones. “It’s time to bloom.” She bent to touch their stems and leaves. “Important guests are coming, and even though you are young plants, I would be pleased if this garden looked as lovely as you can make it. Could you bring forth your flowers?”
Under her touch, the plants hummed. A rose stretched upward, its stem growing larger and fuller. Branches appeared, followed by thorns. Buds formed. With a tremulous shivering they opened to reveal bright pink petals.
“Wonderful. Thank-you.”
When the iris bulbs saw that the rose had bloomed, they pushed up their own green stems that widened and grew deep purple buds. With a faint popping sound, the buds burst into bloom.
“Lovely.” Analia stroked their stems with a long finger and moved to the next bed where the daffodils were competing over who could produce the largest blooms.
All the plants responded to her touch and her voice and the sense of anticipation hovering over the garden. Soon everyone was blooming, a mass of color, flowers of every shape and size emitting their scents and singing, their music a complex chorus that sounded like bells of many sizes and shapes.
When all were in bloom, Analia invoked a pleasant breeze, enough to cause the tulips to sway and the pale peonies to scatter their fragrance through the air.
In the distance, trees lining the path from the main road to the house murmured, informing Analia that her approaching guests were near. She placed a white wrought-iron table in the shade of a young weeping willow that shivered with pride at the honor. On the table, she smoothed a pale blue linen tablecloth and arranged a tea set of white bone china etched with delicate golden lines. The table was perfect, she decided, no matter what news her guests brought.
As Analia surveyed her handiwork, an opening appeared in the sandstone wall. That meant Leo was near. She wanted to tell him that that all would be well if he held on and stayed strong, but that would be a violation. Leo and the other dreamwalkers must choose their own paths.
In her mind, she watched him land at the bottom of the hill and accept healing from the grandmother plants who lived there. She made no sign, but at the sight of him, her heart opened.
Leo
Leo fell through fluffy clouds of pink and blue and thought he was safe. The clouds caressed him like loving hands. In the distance, bells rang. The air smelled like honey.
His rate of descent slowed. The clouds scattered as he plummeted toward a land of greens and browns. Distant rivers and lakes sparkled. Instead of a sun, a soft golden light pulsed in a hypnotic rhythm.
Leo landed in a field of green at the bottom of a hill. Above, a stone wall enclosed a structure that glowed in luminous hues of blue and green and bright orange. He had come to a place different from any he had seen.
Around him grew a mass of plants with vines that resembled intricate lace. As he caught his breath, the closest ones rubbed his legs in a way that made him feel loved.
It is good to lie among us, the plants said. We rejuvenate all beings. Soon you will be strong again after your fall from the high place.
Leo thanked them. The vines crept around his body, encasing him in their gentle vibrations, even covering his face. Leo fell asleep breathing in their hypnotic scent.
When the vines retreated, he awoke. Around his feet, the vines lingered. You do not belong here, they whispered, but you may visit. Go to the new building on the hill. See who awaits you.
Leo sat up, careful not to crush the plants, but they retreated as he moved, and he found himself on bare soil, rich and moist. The vines swayed in a rhythm inscribing circles within circles. They stretched high, became long and thin, only their uppermost leaves swaying. At a signal he did not perceive, they joined their tendrils into one network, the way a troupe of dancers might.
He rose. “Thank-you.”
In unison, they bowed the tips of their stems. Do not tarry long.
Before his feet a path appeared. He followed it up the hill to the wall that enclosed the colorful str
ucture.
The wall stretched so high he’d have to hoist himself over it. He walked to his right and found an opening wide enough to pass through and the height of a doorway, as if workers had not yet installed the door.
Inside the wall was a garden and a building pleasing to his eye, round and constructed of stone, in hues of blue and green, teal on one side, aqua on another. The roof resembled a tangerine oval.
A giant could lift it off in one piece, Leo thought, and then wondered where he got that idea. This building housed beings near his size, based on the proportion of its walls and the size of the windows of a translucent material that reflected light.
Seeking a door, Leo walked around the building. When he saw the woman in the long, shimmering gown, he stopped. She brushed past him, so close he glimpsed the deep green of her eyes and smelled her scent that reminded him of the roses on Earth. She stood in the garden, inspecting the beds of flowering plants that swayed in the gentle breeze as they sang to her.
The woman turned in a circle and looked straight at Leo but did not acknowledge him.
I’m invisible, he thought, an improvement over careening through the black tunnel he had fallen into.
You still fall. The words hissed into his left ear.
He jerked around, but there was no one else in the garden.
Your desire has allowed you to see this place. Observing it is all you may do.
Leo winced. The hissing hurt his ears, and he shook his head to clear it. This woman looked familiar, as human as any flesh and blood woman, but she seemed to skim over the surface of the grass.
Her body had clear outlines but that changed when she moved and her edges dissolved, as if she were light in motion.
Leo leaned against the wall and watched her. When she faced him and spoke into his mind, he started and squared his shoulders.
My Leo, welcome. You are very curious to have found your way to my home.
Who are you? he said mentally.
I am Analia. You will see me again, for I reside in one of your futures.
I don’t understand.
Now is not the time. You have much to do before our next meeting.
Another opening appeared on the far side of the wall. Through it floated the blue column of light that Leo knew as Nara, Mentor of Larreta. Behind her, an old man dressed in white shambled on human feet, as if age dragged at him. Last, an oak tree trudged, its trunk divided into three thick sections that the tree laboriously lifted and moved one at a time, making such slow progress it lagged behind the others.
Nara and the old man waited until the oak tree had negotiated the opening in the wall and made its way into the garden before continuing toward Analia who stood amidst the blooming flowers.
You must leave, my dear, Analia said into Leo’s mind. The one who calls you is impatient. This is not your time.
I want to stay.
My love goes with you.
Leo’s form shimmered. He lifted his arm and watched it dissolve.
Nara moved toward the tall woman and embraced her. They clung to each other like old friends.
Within his dissolving chest, Leo felt their embrace.
The shimmering increased. The garden disappeared. Blackness descended. Again, Leo careened down an endless black pit.
Analia
“I’m so happy to see you.” Nara’s lights enclosed Analia, her warmth lingering even after Nara released her. “Such a beautiful place you’ve made here. You were always the creative one. I hope you don’t mind us coming so soon.”
“Your visit honors me. Come, please. Sit here under the willow tree. I’ve prepared afternoon tea for us all.”
Analia and the old man dressed in white sat opposite each other in chairs shaped like rose petals. The chairs sighed and adjusted themselves to the contours of their bodies. The blue light hovered over a third chair.
Oak Woman inspected the young willow that was busy darkening its leaves to appear older than its years. Oak Woman tossed her upper leaves in a dismissive gesture and lumbered to the nearest garden wall where she planted herself in a corner.
Roots crawled into the ground from the bottoms of her feet and green light shot up through her stem that was soon vibrating so rapidly gold sparks flew from her leaves. Oak Woman began to grow. Her trunk thickened and lengthened until she towered above them and had to peer down through her own branches to see her hostess who had been about to offer her tea.
Analia turned instead to the old man in white and poured tea into his cup. “It's an honor to meet you. What would your friend like for refreshment?”
“Thank you, dear.” His smile added more lines to his crinkled face framed by a thick layer of frosty white hair flowing onto the shoulders of his white jacket. “I believe she has done so—from your garden, you know. She was most anxious to visit when she learned you had created such a spacious one.” He raised his cup to the tree. “That is high enough, old woman. You won't be able to hear us.”
Analia turned to the blue light. “I didn't realize you had come to Verdallon, Nara.”
The blue lights shimmered. “I arrived recently.” Nara's softest voice emanated from the center of the light column. “Forgive me for not forming for you, but I have another appointment later.”
“Of course.” Analia shifted her weight in the rose petal chair.
“Are we are your first guests?” asked the old man in white.
“You are. I am honored.”
“Who was that wraith standing in your garden?”
Analia turned toward the spot where Leo had stood a few moments before. “Leo visited me from the past. He has continued on his journey.”
“Good,” said the old man. “Incarnates can be intrusive, can’t they?”
“Now, Father,” Nara said. “We must be tolerant of all the forms life takes.”
“Forgive me.” He shook his head. “This is a lovely place, Analia. It suits you. We are the welcoming committee, as I’m sure you know. We came to inquire about your state and to ask you a question.”
“My state is excellent,” Analia said. “I am content and grateful to be here at last.”
“Nara has told me of your journeys. I agree they are impressive. It is understandable that you wish to rest now that you have achieved the means to do so. That is what this place is, yes? A place to rest? And so serene. Patterned on Earth, I believe. Is that right, Nara?”
“Yes, father. Analia has created an environment from the European continent of the 19th century.”
“Ah.” The old man in white shook his head. “Earth. I visited there, many times when Nara worked with the last group of dreamwalkers. But I never got accustomed to how quickly they move, and their lives are so short—very confusing.”
“Analia was a member of the last group, father,” Nara reminded him. “That's why we came to ask her the question.”
He reached across the table to pat Analia's hand.
“Forgive me, child. Is there more of this liquid? I find it pleasant.” He waited while Analia poured more tea into his cup. “I asked Nara to come today because she understands the question better than I do, although I understand the answer better. You've known her for some time, so she can ask you clearly and there will be no mistake or confusion.”
Analia inclined her head. “What do you wish to ask?”
The blue light stretched toward Analia. “We want you to tell your story,” Nara said. “While it is fresh in your memory and while one of your dreamers still lives on Earth. We realize how great a challenge it is, but time is short, as you know, and many of us are making extra efforts.”
“Tell my story? But the dreamers know of me. I've worked with them for—well, forever, it seems. You know that, Nara. I have learned from them, and taught them as well as I could. I'm afraid I do not understand your request.”
Oak Woman sighed. Her breath ruffled Analia's long black hair.
“You have taught them about their dreams, yes,” Nara said. “We are asking n
ow that you relay, in words, your history to one of your dreamers. From the time of your arrival on Larreta, or you could begin earlier if you choose. You could tell of when you were a dreamer on Earth, how you remembered your identity as a dreamwalker and started your journey here.”
Nara floated off her chair and ascended to Oak Woman’s upper branches where she shone like a rainbow over the garden. “You have a dreamer who can hear your voice.”
Analia stared up at the rainbow arcing above the huge tree. “Why tell a tale that has been told a thousand times?” she asked in words of many colors, accompanying them with the sound of cymbals. “This is not a task I embrace.”
“Your story is not the same as any other,” said the old man in white.
Oak Woman nodded.
Nara pulsed a brilliant green.
“No dreamer has requested this of me,” Analia said. “My story will annoy beings who cannot remember their natures for longer than a night at a time.”
“They wish to know it in spite of themselves.” Oak Woman’s voice crackled the air.
“My recollections will bore them, no matter where I start.”
Oak Woman shook a few leaves onto the table.
“They hate biographies,” Analia said in the color of Nara's silver‑blue gown on the day she took Leo to the cave between the worlds.
“It will be useful.” The old man in white was steadfast. “One of your dreamers is calling. To reclaim her status as a dreamwalker, she must remember herself. You can help.”
“How can I do that from here?” Analia exclaimed, spewing her dismay as teardrops that fell on the delicate teacups. The lapse embarrassed her and she transformed the tears into chamomile tea, which she drank while she contemplated telling her life story.
A year of Earth’s time passed.
“Why do you resist?” The old man in white tilted his head. “You are a teacher. You prepared for it in so many ways, no one can tell the story of a teacher so well. You cannot have forgotten the struggle required to master your own lessons.”
Analia had not achieved Verdallon by remaining inflexible, so she bowed before his words, opened herself and let his thoughts flow into her where she felt them as sounds of love. “I have not forgotten, but translation is difficult at this distance.”
