Guardians by Design - Land

The sun rose on the third day. As Dahj and his group pushed forward, the orange light of dawn blinded his left eye. Utilizing a walking stick in his left hand, he twiddled the beard that hung from his chin with his other. It had grown a substantial amount since his awakening, and now met the middle of his chest. Considering it a burden, he contemplated tying it in a fashionable way to keep it more manageable.

“How about you, Bren? Do you remember how you first fell?” Dahj asked, pulling at his chin hairs.

“Well yes, of course. That memory passes through my head at least once a day. It was an event that I may never truly understand,” Brenloru replied through labored breathing.

“Heh. Well consider yourself lucky. At least you know how you fell.”

“Quite literally, in fact,” Brenloru replied. “I was doing my normal rounds, on an average day. Up at dawn, patrolling the nearest mountain ridge, calling for lost moose. We are a rare species, after all. Should any of us need a home or protection, I acted as a beacon to guide them to safety.”

“It was the middle of summer; I expected a beautiful day. As I called and called throughout the afternoon, the sky suddenly grew dark. I tried to think nothing of it, as I had been through plenty of storms. This one came on much faster than I was prepared for, however. I always kept to the very edge of cliffs, as to project and amplify my calls as much as possible.” Brenloru suddenly became quite cautious with his footing.

“I soon found myself under a downpour. Lighting streaked through the sky. The soil became saturated with water so quickly, it caught me off guard. I finally decided it was time to seek cover; quite ironic, I now realize,” Brenloru snickered. “Suddenly it was I that was seeking refuge. I turned directly into the wind. Rain pelted me right in the face – I had to keep my eyes closed. A strong gust hit my left shoulder, and I sidestepped… right to the very edge of the cliff I had been calling from. It easily crumbled under my weight, and I tumbled,” he said mournfully.

Festelda yelped, as if watching the story in real time.

“It felt as though every impact during my fall was followed by the crash of thunder. When I finally came to a stop in mud, I could feel every shattered bone in my body, yet I could not worry about myself. I feared for my family. As I laid there, motionless, my body quickly sank into the mud. Everything grew dark,” Brenloru continued, keeping his eyes to the ground. “Next thing I knew I was waking up in that very dirt – which was now completely dry, mind you. It covered my entire body. As I pushed myself out of the pile of crumbled dirt, I found that flowers had grown on my temporary grave.”

“That was… beautiful!” Festelda cried with a tear in her eye.

“That storm, though. Very peculiar,” Dahj said with a raised eyebrow. “Quite unlikely for that time of year.”

“Something I ponder every day, friend,” Brenloru replied sternly. “However, nature can be quite unpredictable. I have seen many extreme demonstrations from the elements in my time. In fact –”

Brenloru’s thought was cut short as the team breached the tree line of the lodgepole pine forest they were pushing through. Before them laid another open valley, yet this one was quite striking. The land was littered with deep holes. Grasses that once blanketed valley and surrounded the holes were now nonexistent. The dirt was seemingly quite void of life in general. Barren and dusty, the tan soil was disturbed by even the slightest breeze.

As they cautiously approached holes dug sporadically throughout the barren terrain, they discovered small, lifeless bodies. Shrieks came from the within the holes in response to their presence.

“Prairie dogs,” muttered Brenloru. “I recognize the squeals. They’re distressed.”

Using a stick, Dahj prodded a couple of stiff, lifeless bodies strewn about the field. Some fresh, others had begun to decompose. “You don’t think?”

“Yes, the cursed,” Brenloru replied.

“Cursed! HA. A bold-faced lie from a crazy old bull. Curses don’t exist. He was trying to scare us,” Reblex boasted, attempting to mask his concern.

“Look at them. Famished. They were quite thin when they perished,” Festelda observed.

As they continued to inspect the bodies, a prairie dog slowly emerged from one of the holes. “Hel...p… me… Are you here to help… us?” he stuttered dryly, exerting all of his energy to crawl towards the group. The bags under his eyes drooped deeply. His empty cheeks hung deflated from the sides of his face like the excess skin of a large-breed puppy. His front teeth were exposed a considerable amount, even for a prairie dog.

“Stop right there! Are you really cursed?” Reblex shouted, face turning red.

“Yes, cursed. She... cursed us. The one with the yellow eyes,” the weak prairie dog stammered.

“Yellow eyes,” Brenloru mumbled under his breath.

“Come here, little one. Tell me more.” Brenloru smashed a pack of herbs in his hands and picked up the small animal.

The prairie dog coughed harshly when exposed to the herbs Brenloru had chosen. Tiny ribs protruded though his strained body as he wheezed, unable to breathe.

“Maybe not right now,” Dahj said, lowering Brenloru’s hand that contained the herbs.

“They were helping!” Brenloru said irritably. “Fine. Eat this, little one.” He cupped seeds in his opposite hand and fed them to the prairie dog.

“Your name,” Reblex said firmly once the prairie dog had worked through the coughing fit.

“Rint.” He picked seeds from Brenloru’s palm one at a time, quickly shoving them in his mouth. “She… she cursed the land. Food no longer grows. She tried to send her goons after us. But we hid. We hid in our network of tunnels beneath the surface. We kept scouts on post at all times,” he slowly explained between nibbling on seeds. “We developed calls to warn of incoming predators. They were rarely successful in catching us. She became so frustrated that she cursed this soil and left us to starve.”

“Can you further describe her?” Dahj asked.

“She… she didn’t look like her goons. Yellow, narrow eyes. Like slits in her head. Large, muscular. That’s all I remember. If you are on post, and you see those eyes in the moonlight, you know it’s time to hide,” Rint mumbled.

“What is the status of your numbers, Rint?” Festelda asked calmly.

“Dozens still, but all weak… all tired,” Rint squealed. His small belly bulged, and color had begun to return to his face.

Brenloru set the famished animal down on the dusty soil. Rint continued eating the provided seeds one at a time as he nervously scanned the area for the predators that had cursed him.

“Reblex and I will begin to gather food outside of the cursed area,” Festelda stated slowly, scanning the horizon. “Rint, please gather as many of your kind as possible for healing salves and Brenloru’s remaining nuts and seeds. We will work on fixing this ‘curse’ at dawn.”

“Salves,” she said sharply to the moose before departing with Reblex. “No more powders.”

“Oh, uh… right,” Brenloru replied, returning to rummaging through his bags.

Dahj and Brenloru crafted temporary shelters for the prairie dogs by calling on the assistance of roots, leaves, and soil away from the proximity of the cursed land,. Kneeling, Dahj placed his hand – palm down, on healthier prairies. Dirt moved voluntarily to cover the back of his cupped hands, forming the shape of igloos which were reinforced by roots and vines. Leaves sprouted from the roofs of the small huts for insulation and shading. Unearthed pebbles rolled to the base of the walls as a foundation for the tiny structures. Although primitive, they would have to do for the time being.

Most of the shaken prairie dogs happily moved into the row of healthier housing. Rint, however, protested at the small detail of the housing being above ground. He insisted that should the beast with yellow eyes and her goons return, the small, fragile housing would be far more accessible. Dahj assured the stubborn prairie dog that he and the Guardians would be present throughout the night to protect them, should that issue arise.

The weak residents were comforted and provided fatty foods to fill their empty stomachs. Many were barely hanging on; outlines of ribs and hip bones were visible under their skin and fur. Basic motor skills were suffering. Communication was almost non-existent. Quick to flop down, they curled up in the small beds of dew-covered grasses that grew naturally from the flooring. The comfort of living plants was intoxicating. Some had fallen asleep before the sun had set, while others discreetly nibbled on their carpets of grass within their homes.

Brenloru lined the insides of their housing with traces of soothing oils. To Dahj’s surprise, it calmed their frail minds, allowing sleep to join them in the crafted domes. He commended the moose, who wore a smug grin, overly confident in the results.

The Guardians regrouped with Rint once satisfied with the prairie dogs’ living conditions for the night. Grouped just on the edge of the lifeless land, Dahj comforted Rint into divulging more information about this beast that had been cursing the landscape.

Dahj hid worry regarding his adversary’s supernatural arsenal that the Designer had failed to prepare them for. His fingers were barely functional. His posture was a hinderance. The only weapons he possessed were primitive and fragile. How was he supposed to repel curses? Was this something one of Brenloru’s mending concoctions could counter in a pinch? Doubtful.

“Why didn’t you move? Or at least seek food from elsewhere?” Dahj inquired, sitting with a heavy slouch next to the tiny creature.

Rint sighed and shook his head. His wide-eyed gaze seemed to be passing right over his own territory with a shocked sense of defeat. “We were already weak… and hungry. Sleepless nights tuned into long days that petrified with fear. It felt like we were being surrounded, hunted, all hours of every single day,” replied Rint the rattled.

Dahj nodded. In a sick sense, he knew the feeling all too well. However, his species was far more mobile, and at least stood a chance at fighting back. “Feeling trapped… is something I cannot relate to. It must have been awful, little one, to feel like a prisoner in your own home.”

“Yes, bison…” he said somberly. “But it is in our blood to utilize natural protection, rather than mobility.”

***

Brenloru was up before sunrise, pacing the proximity of the cursed area. Grabbing handfuls of the soil from the dead, hardened soil was difficult. The moisture-less ground required multiple scrapes of his dull, leathery fingers just to procure enough to smell. Holding the earth to his nose, he inhaled deeply, scanning the valley before allowing the soil to fall though his fingers. The dirt fell to the ground with a stale crunch.

“What do you think?” Dahj asked with a yawn, approaching from behind.

“This soil is dead, but it is not cursed.” Brenloru sighed. “I don’t know how to tell this to the little guy’s face, but the land is abused.”

Dahj looked confused as he scanned the same valley.

“You should understand, bison.” Brenloru glanced at him. “You mentioned harvesting rotations were quite important to you during your time in a position of leadership. ‘Never stay in the same area for too long or you risk killing the land from which you feed’, is basically what you meant… Take these animals for example. Farming, digging, sleeping, eating, defecating, urinating. Daily, perpetually. In the exact same place, every single day.”

Dahj nodded in agreement. “As with any living thing, the soil has been suffocated.” He sighed in relief. So, no curse after all – from the carnivores, at least… Sounds like these guys cursed themselves.

“It sounds selfish of me, but I am quite glad to hear that,” Dahj said, turning to Brenloru.

“Ha, you were foolish to ever think there was one!” Brenloru replied mockingly. “Let’s find the dog and explain to him exactly what is going on. I think I have an idea of how we can help.”

***

Dahj and Brenloru met with Rint to explain the situation.

“To put it bluntly, there is no curse, little one,” Brenloru stated. “In fact, you have killed the land yourself!”

Rint let out a small squeak in protest.

“How important is it to you that we keep you in this exact place? If you are willing, we can relocate you to greener pastures, which I strongly recommend,” Dahj suggested.

“No!” Rint cried. “This is our home. We can’t just leave now! Sun exposure, water, visibility, bountiful soil! It’s all here. It’s paradise for our species.”

“Okay then, we will need to take a different approach. But first you need to understand; soil, although unmoving, is ‘living’ in a sense as well. When it is not receiving clean air, and experiences excessive foot traffic, while consistently yielding crops – it can become sterile. We need to… start over, if you will,” Brenloru explained calmly.

“What does that mean, what will you do with our home?” Rint appeared devastated. The bags under his eyes sagged deeper than in his famished state.

“We’ll fashion a tiller. Cave-in every tunnel, then rotate the soil using the tiller. Once turned, alfalfa will be planted – one of my favorites, in fact,” Brenloru said with a smile. “It is an excellent crop to promote healthy dirt. Your relatives can feed off the quickly growing alfalfa in the meantime, until the land is ready for you to move onto a different crop. It is high in protein and nutrients. Not only will it feed your territory, it will feed you as well.”

Brenloru retrieved a handful of alfalfa seeds from a pouch on his waist and turned them over to the prairie dog. “Inform your party of our plan. Educate them on the importance of caring for dirt and tending your crops. We will take care of the rest.”

By the time Festelda and Reblex had returned with rations, Dahj and Brenloru were already hard at work on their tiller. Gathered sticks that had naturally sharp ends from being snapped in half were further honed to act as prongs.

“Festelda. Can you braid me dried grasses? About three feet in length,” Dahj asked bluntly. He was quite stern when focused on a project.

“I… uh, yeah sure. I think I can do that,” she replied, hastily scanning the area for suitable materials.

As she departed, Dahj chuckled at her reaction. Reflecting on his demeanor, his motivation had even surprised himself. His general approach to stressful situations had been with caution or unease. Now he was forcefully banging a sharp rock against the end of a stick.

“Reb, we’ve got a special project. Just for you,” Brenloru stated as he chose sturdy, flatter sticks that would make suitable skis.

“You don’t really want me to dig my hands into those bacteria holes… do you?” Reblex asked.

“No, no. You’re going to take a… blunter approach,” Brenloru assured him.

***

Festelda fastened sharpened sticks to a frame on skis using braided grasses. The makeshift farm tool slid across the top of the ground, digging the sticks Dahj had honed into the soil. Brenloru would need to stand on the skis to provide the weight needed to keep the fan of spears submerged in the dirt while being dragged along. The sturdy bison volunteered to pull the weight behind him, though he felt more like an ox during this stage of the project.

Provided with handfuls of alfalfa seeds, Festelda followed in the wake of the primitive farm tool to scatter new life across the recently turned soil. Even Reblex had a special job, that he was quite excited about. Cheeks red and howling in delight, Reblex stomped as hard as he could on the roof of the prairie dog’s housing, caving in their small tunnels. Some were deeper than others, causing his foot to fall straight through. Falling to his butt sent him into fits of laughter.

The group stood back and admired their work. The soil had been turned, bringing much darker, wetter earth to the surface. Seeds scattered across the top made an attractive garnish. Small clusters of grey clouds had gathered over their head as they worked, releasing a gentle sprinkle across the fresh plot as they finished their project.

Dahj let out a hearty laugh as rainwater ran through his beard and dripped to the ground below. Releasing the handles of the tiller, he slapped his hands together to dust them off. Prairie dogs that could muster the strength to leave their dirt-igloos came out to dance and celebrate in the light showers of optimism.

“Give the alfalfa time to sprout,” Brenloru said to Rint. “In the meantime, begin digging your network of tunnels again. This time, perhaps with more planning, yes?” he said with a raised eyebrow. “Sleeping in one area. Facilities in the furthest region possible. Food storage on the opposite side.”

“The curse… has been lifted!” Rint shrieked. “I cannot describe my appreciation, and hope that I can offer some advice myself!” The Guardians turned to him. “Communication is important. Sometimes sentences take too long – you would do well to utilize split-second chirps that only your kind recognizes,” he advised.

“I’m not doing no squeaks to get someone’s attention,” Reblex said flatly.

“How about a quick click?” Rint pressed. “Take your tongue and press it to the roof of your mouth, trapping a pocket of air. Then just pull down.”

“Tok! Tok! Thok! Tak! Tok!” the Guardians practiced, mocking each other’s facial expressions or initial failures.

“I like it!” Festelda exclaimed.

“Thank you, Rint, that is solid advice,” Brenloru said, beaming.

“It’s the least I can do,” Rint said and clicked his tongue.

Dahj’s chest welled with pride from the ability of the party to accept individual tasks with the purpose of a common goal. He was no longer afraid of curses.

***

After spending one final day on the rejuvenated field to monitor the crops and keep watch for predators, signs of sprouts satisfied Brenloru enough to continue their journey. Advised by Rint, they continued southeast towards the place of yellow rocks.

“You know, I really liked how your tiller turned out, gentlemen,” Festelda commented. “I was hoping you could sharpen a few more, much shorter sticks for me. For a project I’m working on.”

Brenloru turned to look over his shoulder at her. “Sure, I think we can manage that at camp tonight. What do you have in mind?”

“I’d like to work on some proximity defense…” she said dismissively. “Something to disable threats before they get too close.”

“I’m intrigued,” Brenloru said.

“I was impressed to see that you at least excel in healing dirt, moose,” Reblex teased.

Brenloru swung his antlers to shoot a nasty glance at the ram. “At least I can hold it together when –”

Distracted by an odd sensation against the right side of his waist, Dahj was unable to focus on the conversation that followed as they made their way to the closest tree. It felt as if the Designer’s appendage was humming from within its pouch. Procuring it confirmed his speculation.

When turning it over in his hand, he noticed that movement no longer caused it to crumble in his hand. Cracks were far less noticeable, and it displayed a healthier, deep green complexion as opposed to the once pale grey.

Dahj paused, impressed with the results. “Bren… look at this.”

“It’s gaining its strength back,” Brenloru said, now turning it over in his own hands.

“You don’t think, because of the interaction with the prairie dogs?” Festelda guessed.

“That’s exactly it. The appendage was present for an admirable act in a unique representation of the land. If that doesn’t recharge the Designer, I don’t know what will,” Dahj said.

“So, we’ve checked ‘valley’ off the list, then?” Reblex asked optimistically. Even the cranky ram appeared pleased by the progress.

Dahj nodded with a smile and delicately returned the writhing appendage to his hip pouch.

***

“You’re doing it on purpose,” Brenloru said after dodging another branch released by Reblex.

“Doing what?” Reblex replied, suppressing a giggle.

“Letting the branches go as I approach.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, would you like me to hold them aside for you as you pass, ma’am?”

Another branch whizzed past Brenloru’s cheek. Its velocity caused needles to be released, scattering the ground.

“We’ll see if anyone patches you up next time you’re injured, ram,” Brenloru said.

“What, a patch of dried moss?” Reblex mumbled.

The sun still had a few hours left in the sky, but the group’s fatigue had been catching up with them as days past since departing the prairie-dog occupied field. Reblex had grown irritable from the repetitiveness of the seemingly endless trees they wove through and had taken to releasing his frustration on others. Perhaps their appetite for the journey had been too big for their spirits.

Along their path throughout the graveyard-like forest of fallen trees and severed branches, the Guardians had gathered an abundance of suitable sticks for Festelda’s project. Utilizing rocks that had shattered into sharpened edges, they honed the ends into pointed tips before turning them over to the crafty raccoon. As she took to assembling her new invention, Dahj and Brenloru retired to a nearby river to reflect on recent events.

“Tell me more about your time as a moose,” Dahj said, skipping a stone into the river. “What made you this great leader?”

“To be honest, I don’t really know,” Brenloru replied with a sigh as he stared at the rushing water. “I suppose I learned from my father. He had a way with small herds of cows – something about the reach of his call. As you probably know, moose are solitary animals. We generally carry through life by ourselves. Gathering moose from different regions of a massive forest can be quite difficult, and mating season can be an especially tricky time of year. It is critical that moose find each other during a short window of time, while avoiding the threat of predators to reproduce. He always had the best interest of the species driving him, however.”

“So, you learned to do the same?” Dahj asked.

“Not exactly. My leadership was different,” Brenloru replied. “I come from an area much, much further north than you and I originally met. If you think it gets cold where you were raised, you have never experienced the north. One year was particularly bad – it caught us all by surprise. Started earlier in the year than normal, and lasted longer. There was nothing more to eat under the frozen tundra, and it felt as if it was never going to end.” Brenloru slid off the rock he was perched upon to approach the river.

“Originally by myself, I began recruiting others to follow me,” Brenloru continued. “It was difficult at first; as it was not yet the time of year to be gathering for reproduction. Our instinct told us to be alone. However, as I traveled, I was only met by starvation – and individuals of my own species freezing to death. I couldn’t stand it any longer.”

“Even if I had to push moose out of the snow with my own antler rack, I finally persuaded them to move. Eventually, the larger the herd I led, the easier it was to convince others to follow. We used every ounce of energy that remained in our bodies to head south until we felt any warmth in the air. Many split off from the ‘herd’, returning to their nomadic life style. This is when I established my ‘refuge’ area I mentioned just before my death.”

“Inspirational.” Dahj muttered.

“Heh. I knew you would make fun of it. That’s why I keep these things to myself,” Brenloru replied dryly. He retrieved a pebble from the shore and tossed it into the rushing river with a curved pitch.

“No, truly. Your species was facing extinction in your region, and you acted – plain and simple. Not only that, but you called others seeking a more hospitable environment once you settled there,” Dahj said with a smile. Brenloru was more than deserving of the title of ‘Guardian’ in his eyes.

“Guys! Come look!” Festelda called back from the resting area.

Reblex rolled his eyes as the two approached. “What is that thing gonna stop anyway? I would just stomp on it.”

The tool sitting on the ground looked like a jaw made of wood pried wide open, with teeth sticking straight up. The wooden spikes crafted for Festelda lined the circumference.

“It’s a foot snare,” Festelda claimed excitedly. “I used naturally elastic vines. They attach to this small pedal in the middle. When stepped on, it will snap shut, forcing the spikes into the encroacher’s ankles! Let me demonstrate.” She used a long stick to prod the middle. The trap snapped shut. Teeth alternated between each other, breaking the stick in half where they met instantly.

“Even if the predator keeps moving with the trap around their ankle, it should draw a noticeable cry from the pain, along with letting plenty of blood,” she claimed. “It will help fortify our nighttime defenses.”

“You are quite crafty. I am proud of how quickly you are filling your role as a potential Guardian, Festelda. The Designer will hear about this,” Brenloru said. “Just remember, for protection only,”

Festelda responded with an excited nod before patrolling the encampment. To the north, south, east, and west, she placed four of her fresh traps, lightly concealed under fallen leaves and loose sticks. The Guardians slept a little deeper that night, relaxed by peace of mind.

***

The following morning, the group rose with haste and took off in strides, muscles and minds rested. As they neared the end of the forest they had been passing through, Festelda fell behind; distracted by familiar landmarks through the region. Large boulders, patterns of trees, and the grade of a specific hillside made her feel like she knew the area quite well.

“Wait, please. Slow down,” she called from behind the group. “I recognize this place… It all looks so familiar. I… I grew up here. In this very forest.”

“What are you on about? Just looks like a forest,” Reblex said between huffs, catching his breath through his nose.

“This… is the forest where we would play hide and seek. The river you hear to the west is where we used to get water! And… and here… this is where my brother fell out of the tree learning to climb!” Festelda recalled confidently, skimming the forest to confirm she wasn’t crazy. “Humor me. Please, just follow. I have to see if any relatives are still in the area.” She took a sharp left and headed towards the sun.