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I nodded, filing away her advice. “Tell me more about your people, your customs. What are your homes like inside?”
Alya tilted her head thoughtfully. “Our dwellings are simple, built from the materials around us - clay, stone, wood. But we decorate them with weavings, carvings, paintings.”
She described the brightly patterned rugs covering dirt or wood floors, the elaborate pottery painted with geometric designs, and the carvings made from animal bones telling stories of myths and legends.
I tried to picture it all in my mind. “It sounds beautiful,” I told her. “The house I’ve been sleeping in the last few nights was pretty plain. Almost like a jail cell…”
She chuckled knowingly but didn’t elaborate on my temporary accommodations. “To us, beauty comes from crafting what we need from the world around us. We find meaning in creating, not just consuming. And maybe we can find a family with space to take you in, so you can get the full experience of life in Dust Gulch.”
I was struck by how her view differed from the convenience and disposability of my high-tech world. Here, everything was painstakingly made by hand, treasured and repaired when worn.
Alya went on to describe typical Surlon dwellings - the cooking areas, sleeping quarters, weaving rooms. Extended families often lived communally so that younger generations could care for elders. And so that elders could keep an eye on little ones when their mothers were cooking or working in their gardens. I thought of the close community I had observed in the village.
“Mealtimes are when we come together each day,” Alya explained. “To share food, company, news. The heart of a Surlon home lies in its common areas.”
I was starting to build a picture of daily life here. But there was still so much I wanted to understand.
“What other customs do you have?” I asked Alya. “Holidays, celebrations, that sort of thing?”
Her eyes lit up. “Oh, we have many throughout the seasons! Festivals to honor the first rains, the summer solstice, the autumn harvest. There is singing, feasting, exchanging of gifts...”
She described rituals where the Surlons gathered in their finest clothing to pay respects to the suns, the land, and the spirits of ancestors. The days of preparation for feasts, decorating dwellings with garlands of desert flowers. I told Alya how fascinating it all sounded.
The afternoon passed swiftly as she patiently answered my many questions. I was still weak, but the dizziness and nausea had passed. For the first time since the crash, I felt a spark of hope about my situation. There was so much here to discover and understand.
Alya gave me an approving look, like a teacher gratified by an eager student. “Rest now,” she said, rising from the bedside. “We will talk more tomorrow. There are many tales I still wish to share.”
I smiled gratefully as she dimmed the lamps and slipped out. My mind was pleasantly exhausted from all I had learned. As I drifted off, I thought of Alya’s promise of more stories tomorrow. For the first time, I felt eager to explore this new world I found myself in.
* * *
I joined the Surlon women in their daily chores, trying my best to learn their ways. Cooking was difficult without modern appliances, but Alya showed me how to knead the dough for flatbread and cook stews in clay pots over open fires. Sewing took patience as I pricked my fingers on the bone needles, struggling to pierce the tough cured leathers they worked with. The crafts were fascinating though, as the women transformed metals, gems, bones, and feathers into jewelry, utensils, and decorations.
Their lives centered around their psychic bonds with the siroccos. Each Surlon bonded with one of the majestic beasts as a child, and they became lifelong companions. The siroccos allowed the Surlons to cover great distances swiftly across the rugged terrain of the planet. They aided in all manner of work from hauling goods to herding animals. I longed for that kind of profound connection the Surlons seemed to share with their mounts. But as a human, I lacked their innate psychic abilities.
When I had a free moment, I checked on the wreckage of my crashed ship. Wyatt followed me out, but he kept his distance as I surveyed the damage. It was a total loss, unfortunately, the engines fried and hull breached beyond repair. I had spent my last credits buying that bucket of bolts, an outdated Kestrel model, just to get off my backwater home planet. Now I was stranded on this desert world until I could hail a passing ship and beg for passage off Surlon.
At least my comms device seemed salvageable if I could get it working again. The casing was bent and cracked from the impact, but the internal components looked intact. I pried open the access panel with a sharp stone and inspected the frayed wiring and scorched circuit boards. If I could patch a new power source to the transmitter, I might be able to send out a distress signal.
That evening, I joined Alya’s family for dinner, trying a spicy meat stew served over tubers with flatbread on the side. Their dwelling was spare but cozy, with woven rugs and clay pots adding splashes of color. Alya’s husband, Rorn, a broad-shouldered Surlon with kind eyes, asked about my life back home. I told them stories of the verdant hills and winding rivers of my home world, so different from the harsh deserts of Surlon. Their young son, Pek, listened with wide eyes, fascinated by my tales of lands with abundant water.
After the meal, Alya prepared a bitter tea made from crushed herbs, said to aid sleep and restless minds. I sipped the brew as we sat near the hearth, the flickering flames creating dancing shadows on the walls. My eyelids soon grew heavy, and I drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.
I awoke to brilliant sunlight streaming through the window and the smell of sizzling meat. After a light breakfast, Alya said she had a surprise for me. I followed her outside where Rorn waited with her sirocco. She mounted her steed, and then Rorn helped boost me onto Alya’s white mare, Cloud, as we set off from the village.
The sirocco moved with astonishing speed, eating up the miles effortlessly with her long, graceful strides. I clung tightly to Alya as the landscape blurred past us. We traveled deeper into the heart of the desert, to areas far beyond where I had wandered yet. Strange rock formations rose from the sands, carved by endless winds. Lizards and snakes slithered into crevices as we passed. High above, avian creatures circled on updrafts.
After some time, we arrived at a canyon with sheer russet walls towering hundreds of feet. Alya led us into its cool depths, through a series of twisting passages. We dismounted in a grotto with an underground pool. Bioluminescent fungi cast an eerie glow along the cavern walls.
“These waters have healing powers,” Alya explained. “I thought they might renew your spirit and help you find your path here.”
I stood at the pool’s edge, gazing at the still onyx surface. This planet held such beauty if you knew where to look. I wasn’t sure what the future held, but for now, Surlon was my home. I slipped into the inky waters, letting their energy wash over me.
***
I was sitting outside Alya’s dwelling, using a bone awl to work on repairing my communicator, when a young Surlon woman strode up. She had a lean, wiry build and her face bore a few faded scars. A long braid of bright white hair hung down her back.
“Vala! Good to see you,” Alya greeted her warmly.
