The Dress of a Woman of Lhassa

[dragonyphoenix]

Title: The Dress of a Woman of Lhassa

Note: Prompt from Taming the Muse: Creolization

Note: Inspired by the poem Anecdote of Men by the Thousand by Wallace Stevens; the title won't make any sense if you haven't read the poem.

Note: I didn't have a good way to work this into the story but, since trees can be male or female, or both male and female, depending on the type of tree, I'm using the generic he to describe them.  It should not be construed from this that all the dryads are male.  Some are male, some female, and some are both, depending on the type of tree they have chosen.

“History tells us the unthinkable happened when humans came to our world.”

 

As the dryad T'corran spoke, he moved about in the open space at the center of the circle. He'd thrown his wool cloak back, behind his shoulders, so his sweeping gestures could be seen. He was naked under the cloak. His smooth blue-gray skin, the gave him a uniformity of appearance not always shared by those of his race, and his golden brown hair were each enhanced by the muted green shade of his cloak. While some of the Councilors rustled in their seats, thinking that calling the event unthinkable was overly dramatic, it wasn't a statement they could openly argue with and, so, they remained silent, allowing T'corran to continue.

 

The circle, filled in with Councilors most of the way around, left an open space, equal to about one-third of the circle, at one end. T'corran, turning towards that open space, waved one arm towards it. An image appeared there, a dance. Each Councilor was familiar with the image and knew it was over three centuries old. Some had been studying it, along with other images, all that time.

 

None of the dryads in the image wore clothes although some had flowers growing in their hair. Aurialeith twirled his two golden-brown hands around each other, clacking his branches together while raising his arms over his head. His skin's metallic sheen shone brilliantly in the sunlight while while flowers glowed against his green tresses. All the dryads, while moving their hands and arms energetically, moved their feet slowly, if at all. 

 

His arms had just started swaying, as if in time to the wind, when Aurialeith let out a scream and fell to the ground. A nervous crowd gathered around him but, when a dryad whose skin was white with weathering and whose branches seemed to twist around each other, in distinct contrast to any other tree at the dance, stepped to the edge, the crowd respectfully made way from him.

 

As he approached Aurialeith, Tienshan called out his name. The dryad, his branches clattering distress from the ground, did not look up at Tienshan but held up one hand, covered in blue. Blood. 

 

“Yes, yes, T'corran,” the Councilor Shyandra spoke up, interrupting the image. “We all know the history.” He stood tall, as if certain of his place in the world, shaking his head in the certain knowledge that the golden shade his locks turned to each autumn most suitably enhanced the mottled white and beige of his skin. Of all the Councilors, he was one of the few not wearing a cloak. “The scouts Tienshan sent found humans, never before seen on our world, taking an ax to, actually chopping down, Aurialeith's tree.

 

“They were planning on building a fire,” T'corran said suavely, knowing his relative youth – he'd only been a Councilor for forty-seven years – would allow him to say things an elder wouldn't.. The Councilors muttered among themselves, clattering their branches in disharmony, showing their shock at the idea of a deliberate fire.

 

“At the time, we,” T'corran paused just slightly for effect, “had no way to return the humans to their home dimension.” He didn't need to say the situation had changed. They all knew why they were meeting.

 

“It wasn't an easy transition for them but the humans did acclimate themselves to our culture,” Fandrotiala said in their defense. Yellow hair, brightened by contrasting dark cherries, that, every so often, dropped to the ground, unnoticed by the dryads, grew down over his dark skin.

 

“They knew they had to, if they were going to stay,” Shyandra replied.

 

“What?” Fandrotiala asked. “Were we going to terminate them?”

 

“Please,” Tienshan said. “This isn't guiding our decision.”

 

“There is another concern,” Mnoruaqua said. As he shook his head for emphasis, acorns fell from his yellow-green hair. “I fear that, just as the humans have adjusted to our culture, we have been influenced by them.”

 

“Nonsense,” Shynadra said. “I'm still what I ever was.”

 

“If I may.” Mnoruaqua mad the request, not of Odrynth, who as the dryad with the largest tree was the leader of the Council, but of T'corran who led the debate on the fate of the humans.

 

“Of course,” T'corran replied graciously, pleased to have his leadership acknowledged.

 

As you know, I arrived at the human village called New Hope, their first settlement on our world, about eighty years after the humans arrived.” Mnoruaqua spoke over the image, which showed him, as a sapling, being led towards the village by another dryad. “It all seemed very strange to me.”

 

“What is that?” Mnoruaqua asked his guide, another dryad, slightly younger than he was, called Llewyn. The pink dogwood blossoms growing in Llewyn's hair contrasted beautifully with his green hair and beige skin. Mnoruaqua would have usually appreciated the sight but his nerves had gotten the better of him as they approached the village.

 

“Humans live in them. They're called houses.”

 

“I thought humans didn't have trees,” Mnoruaqua said, meaning that a human could not inhabit a tree the way a dryad did.

 

“They don't,” Llewyn replied as they approached it. “They make them out of bamboo.”

 

Mnoruaqua examined the house closely and then stepped back. If he were human, he would have leapt away, as if from danger but, as a dryad, he showed his distress by clacking his branches against each other, creating, not the harmony heard at the dance, but a dissonance. “These were,” he stopped, not certain what had been done to the bamboo. “That's not natural,” he finally said.

 

“The bamboo is cut and then tied together,” Llewyn offered.

 

“Cut?”

 

“Broken with a called a knife,” Lleywn replied. Seeing that Mnoruaqua didn't know the term, he added, “It's a tool created by humans. They take a special kind of rock and chip away at it until it has a sharp edge. I have one here.”

 

Llewyn pulled a knife out of his bag and held it out to Mnoruaqua, who wouldn't touch it but did look at it closely with a scholarly interest. His question was personal though. “Why would you want such a thing.”

 

“Say I see a vine that I like. I can cut it down and decorate myself with it.”

 

“Decorate?” Mnoruaqua asked.

 

“Drape it over myself,” Llewyn replied.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because it's pretty.”

 

“Pretty?” Mnoruaqua asked. He'd expected to find the human culture unusual but he hadn't expected that another dryad would seem alien.

 

Llewyn gave him a puzzled look. “For a scholar, you sure don't know many words. Pretty. It looks nice.”

 

“But Earth intended for you to appear just the way you are, without killing vines,” Mnoruaqua shouted.

 

With a sigh, Llewyn said, “Once you see it, maybe then you'll understand. Come on,” he added, tugging at Mnoruaqua. “There's more to see.”

 

“Wait,” Mnoruaqua said as they stepped into an open area. There were hundreds of houses, off in every direction, laid out in straight lines with dusty dirt between them. Mnoruaqua could barely follow what he was seeing, the lines were so disorienting to him, and focused on what he could. The dust.

 

A terror filled him. He'd heard of deserts, places where the soil drifted in the wind and couldn't support trees, but he'd never expected to see one being created. He gripped at the dust with his toes, searching for some stability. He found none.

 

Llewyn, upset by his distress, led him to the shore of a lake, hidden from the village by a large growth of bamboo, although humans were both on the shore and in the water. Finding as secluded spot as he could, Mnoruaqua sank his roots into the mud, drinking his full as a panacea against the horror of drought that had left him trembling.

 

“Why are they creating a desert in their home?” he cried.

 

“Desert?” Llewyn asked, looking confused.

 

“The dust between houses, where there were no plants, no life.”

 

“Oh,” Llewyn said in relief. “Those are called streets. So many people walk there that plants can't grow. Sort of like paths in the forest.”

 

“But paths are covered in leaves, that decay and create new growth,” Mnoruaqua said.

 

“And paths are changed over time,” Llewyn added. “There's a petition to the Council to make the humans move, say every thirty years or so, to allow the Earth to heal, but you know how slow the Council is to decide.”

 

“The humans should offer to move,” Mnoruaqua stated. “They should know better than to damage the Earth.”

 

“They say moving their houses would be too difficult,” Llewyn said. As Mnoruaqua's branches started clattering together in disharmony, Llewyn laid a calming hand on his shoulder and said, “Perhaps we should wait a few days before taking you back to the village.”

 

“Yes,” Mnoruaqua replied. “I think that would be a good idea.”

 

Three days had passed before Mnoruaqua was able to walk back into the village again although he had stepped into view and studied it often, from a careful distance. “We'll visit Madga Khalil first,” Llewhn told him. “She's one of their elders and will probably be easier for you to talk with.”

 

“Because she'll be more diplomatic?” Mnoruaqua asked, pleased that Llewyn was giving him an easier introduction to the humans but also slightly ashamed of himself. As a scholar, he shouldn't be so easily disturbed.

 

Llewyn's branches clattered together in a manner that suggested laughing embarrassment as they arrived at the booth, which was located on the streetward side of Magda's house. She was an older woman, wrinkled and with gray hair, although Mnoruaqua, not used to human appearance, had no way of determining her age other than knowing she was an adult due to her height. 

 

“Ooh, you have new scarves,” Llewyn said, distracted by the wares. As Mnoruaqua was about to ask what scarves were, Llewyn continued, forgetting his role as guide, “How much for the purple and red one?”

 

Magda glanced over at Mnoruaqua but, when he settled back to observe, she started bartering with Llewyn. Mnoruaqua, determined to maintain a scholar's reserve, didn't allow his feeling about the bartering to show until Maga, pounding her hand to her chest, shouted, “You drive too hard a bargain. My children, already thin and malnourished from all that I've given away to you, will starve if I let you have this scarf at such a measly price.”

 

Mnoruaqua couldn't stand it any more. Pulling at Llewyn's arm, he asked, “What are you doing, harming this human's saplings?” He looked as if he would say more but was too appalled to find the words. Llewyn, abruptly dragged out of the serious business of bartering, just stared at him, unable to think of what to say as Mnoruaqua clattered his distress.

 

“Please,” Magda said as she joined them in the street. “Calm yourself. My children are in no danger of starving. In fact, they aren't dependent on me at all, having blessed me many fat grandchildren.”

 

Mnoruaqua quieted down as his scholar's mind tried to interpret Magda's words.   He hadn't understood half of what Magda had told him. Why had she said her children were starving when they weren't? What were grandchildren and what did they have to do with being independent? “I don't understand.”

 

“When Llewyn and I were bartering, we were playing a sort of game, one that allows us to put value on goods and services. One of my ancestors, an original settler and a very determined woman, introduced the practice and here, in the village, it is the common form of trade.”

 

“Not only here,” Llewyn said, as if to convince Mnoruaqua they hadn't done anything wrong. “The practice has extended beyond the human villages as well. Why just last Summer Solstice, I.”

 

“You practiced this bartering at a Solstice ritual?” Mnoruaqua interrupted. “This... bickering at one of the great rites?”

 

“Perhaps if you understand what bartering is, it won't seem so terrible to you. Let me explain using Llewyn and myself,” Magda said. “I put a high value, higher than it's worth, on what I'm selling. Llewyn puts a low value, lower than he knows it's worth, on what he's looking to buy. We talk back and forth, adjusting the price, until we've reached a mutually satisfactory exchange. The emotions, pretending to be upset, are all part of the game. If I'd really been dissatisfied with Llewyn's offer, I had many options to choose from ranging from bartering longer to closing up my shop and refusing to continue.”

 

“I,” Mnoruaqua started but then found he didn't have the words. Magda and Llewyn waited patiently for him to find them. “But it sounds so horrible.”

 

“It's fun”, Llewyn interjected before being shushed by Magda.

 

The three of them stood there, Mnoruaqua appalled and Llewyn dejected, until Magda picked up the scarf they'd been bartering over. “Llewyn, I have woven this scarf just for you,” she said, starting the traditional trade ritual of the dryads. “I selected only the finest wool.” As she continued to describe how carefully she had made the scarf, Mnoruaqua felt himself relaxing at the familiarity of it. By the time they had finished trading gifts, Mnoruaqua felt much calmer although not calm enough to notice that the gifts exchanged were equal, in value, to what they had agreed to while bartering earlier.

 

“I don't see the purpose of this,” Shyandra said, interrupting the presentation.

 

“The purpose is to show that we are not who we once were. We wear cloaks now, hiding the beauty Earth gave us. We take shelter under bamboo roofs,” Mnoruaqua said, pointing to the roof, made of bamboo but covered completely by vines, that protected them from the elements.

 

“You wear clothes and are taking shelter under the roof, just as we all are,” T'corran said, not noticing that the words clothes and roof were borrowed from the human language. Mnoruaqua noticed but chose not to bring it up, knowing such a subtle point would only be considered a distraction by the Councilors.

 

“The point is, our values have changed,” Mnoruaqua replied. As if prompted by the word value, he added, “We put value, prices, on things we used to admire for their own sakes. How much more will we be changed if we allow the humans to remain on our world?”

 

Shyandra clattered his fingers derisively. “These great changes you mentioned are all superficial.” All the other dryads, even Fandrotiala, who was the strongest proponent of allowing the humans to stay, agreed with Shyandra's remark. Defeated by their unanimity, Mnoruaqua moved back to the edge of the circle.

 

T'corran stood tall, looking almost superior as he surveyed the Council. “Are there any other voices to be heard before we make our decision?”

 

Fandrotiala replied, “Perhaps we should review the human's petition.” There was a clatter of agreement from the Council.

 

“A hundred years ago,” T'corran said in summary, “we found a way to send the humans back to their dimension. Three humans scouts were sent. After they returned, one, Brian Stone, was sent to petition the Council.”

 

“One of the most idealistic young pups I've ever met,” Shyandra muttered.

 

“Well, yes, the human elders chose well, carefully considering who might best make their case. Scout Stone's extreme antipathy to their Earth made an addition to their casee,” T'corran replied.

 

“The Earth their ancestors came from would be more accurate,” Fandrotiala said.

 

T'corran wasn't completely happy at being corrected by Fandrotiala had a poing. “True, the humans had lived here for over two centuries at that point. Almost six of their short generations. They have no attachment to the Earth they came from.” He waved to show another set of images.

 

A young human, not even twenty years of age, addressed the Council. “Esteemed elders. We have made the trek to the Earth our ancestors came from, returned from dangers unimagined, have debated amongst ourselves, and come to you in petition,” Brian said in the old form for petitioning the Council.

 

Tienshan had intoned the formal response. “And what would your petition be?” while Shyandra stepped back, to the far edge of the circle, in disgust.

 

“The Earth we found was poisoned, toxic to any form of life,” Brian replied.

 

“But humans live there still,” Shyandra interrupted. “Humans, animals, plants, and even trees.”

 

“Yes, we did find life there but it was stunted. Most of what we saw was dead. Huge cliffs towered over us. The ground, the cliffs, everything seemed to be made of rock. Even trees,” he said, raising a point he knew would most sway the Council, “were given only a small space, no wider than this,” he added as he stretched out his arms to show the distance, “to live in.”

 

A disturbed clatter erupted from the Council. Brian politely waited for it to die down before continuing. He tried to describe the Earth they'd found, a place whose artificiality was totally foreign to them. He failed. He couldn't explain skyscrapers, cars, masses of people, exhaust in the air, or poisons in the water but we was able to convey the horror of it. This final words, before leaving the Council to their debate, were, “I would rather throw myself off the highest cliff than live in such despair.”

 

As the image was fading, Shyandra asked, “What did that tell us that we didn't already know?”

 

“That, if we send the humans back, we kill them.” Tienshan's deliberate use of the word kill shocked the Council but even Shyandra couldn't argue against the Tienshan's words.

 

“We can't let them stay. Already their numbers have more than tripled. If we continue to allow them to live among us, they'll take over our Earth, poisoning it as their cousins have poisoned their own planet,” Shyandra said, taking a different tactic.

 

“Shyandra's words have wisdom,” Odrynth, feeling threatened by T'corran's ambition, said, joining in on the side that seemed to be winning.

 

“But to allow them to die?” Fandrotiala said.

 

“We don't know that they'll die if we send them home,” Shyandra replied irritably.

 

“We do know that some would rather die than go to that place,” Tienshan said.

 

“There is another concern,” T'corran said. The Council turned its attention to him. The phrase suggested he'd changed sides. “The humans provide a number of trade goods, things we've become accustomed to,” he added, fluttering his cloak, human made, for emphasis. “Would we really want to do without them?”

 

Some of the dryads gazed thoughtfully at the roof while other rubbed hand along cloth or touched pins and other jewlery.

 

“They won't take their animals with them,” Shyandra said, although not completely confidently. “We can make those goods ourselves.”

 

“And who among us wants to do that work?” T'corran asked. Dryads, relying on photosynthesis and other passive means of obtaining food, were not an energetic people.

 

The debate, which had seemed to be nearly settled in favor of sending the humans away, continued on with new life. It slowly shifted towards allowing humans to stay. The main stumbling block, human fertility and how, without natural predators, their numbers would increase until they, not dryads, dominated the Earth, had no obvious solution. It was Mnoruaqua, who had studied not only human culture on this world but had learned from the human history keepers what they knew of the world they came from, who offered up a solution.

 

The debate raged while the elder trees and those who lived furthest from the human villages were convinced. A few left the Council in disgust but, after many months, a consensus was reached. 

 

“We are agreed then,” T'corran said. There was a slight clatter of dissatisfaction from some of the elder Councilors but nobody spoke against the decision. “We will allow the humans to remain but introduce a rite of initiation, a wilderness quest, for their young men and women. There will, of course, be some natural loss of life, the point of such a quest is to face death after all, although not enough to suit our purposes, which is to keep the number of humans stable. A dryad will be selected to ensure a beneficial number of accidents occur each year. Shyndra believes that Aurialeith, the dryad who was attacked by the humans when they first arrived, would be willing to... well, would be willing.”

 

There was an eerie silence from the Councilors, as if they were ashamed of what they had decided but were unwilling to choose differently. One by one, they walked, without noise, into the rain.

 

All but Tienshan, who stood there, alone, until it was dark. He waved his hand towards what had been the only open space at the edge of the circle. Images from three hundred years ago appeared. He looked at them as if old friends. They wore no cloaks or cloth of any kind. The rain that drizzled down was ignored or enjoyed, depending on the nature of each dryad. Odryath, who had inhabited a dogwood back then, before moving far enough to find an uninhabited redwood, the largest of the trees, spoke. “Obviously we cannot harm these,” he paused and then asked, “What are they called again?”

 

“Humans,” came the reply from the edge of the circle.

 

“We cannot harm these humans. It goes against all that we are to injure another sentient. We will offer them a place amongst ourselves. We will make this an offering, a great gift, and see what they give us in return.”