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Today was the day for rain.
He first noticed it when his eyes caught a speck of green among the grey weathered stone of his island home. It turned out to be a rogue cluster of fresh leaves, admittedly from some seed that the breeze snuck between the bricks.
Curious, knelt down to it, pressing one of its leaves in his palms. He rubbed its soft surface between his fingertips, feeling the bumps of its stems pop out like veins against parched, starved skin. And then, he realized.
Moss hadn’t realized how far it slipped by him, the day for rain. He must have forgotten about the rain for a bit.
A little pang of guilt momentarily passed through him. Poor little plant. It had been reaching out its arms out to him in an expectant embrace, only to receive a turned back of contempt. And if it had been calling out, so had its brothers and sisters, from above in his little home and from the countless down below.
He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, letting the crisp taste of the summer coastal breeze pass through him, before letting it out in a deep sigh.
No matter. He’d fix this.
Withdrawing his hand carefully from the dried leaf, he raised himself off the ground and lifted a hand in the air. Feeling the soft breeze pass gently through his fingertips, he slowly wrapped his fingers around it in a gentle but firm grasp. His hand froze, and so did the sky.
He waited for a moment, watching the clouds above settle to a stop above. They stumbled about in confusion like a wild traveling of cattle. But with a gentle motion, he herded them into place, guiding them to find their footing. And with a short but deliberate motion, he pressed them together, blanketing the sky in a soft gray that shielded the ground below from the relentless summer rays.
He let his hand fall, and so did the first droplets of rain. A few little specks of water at first, but soon enough, it cascaded down the sky in a gentle shower.
Almost immediately, Moss could feel the earth, the plants, and the life within let out a collective sigh. The soil opened up to let the water, and the plants gaped open-mawed to the sky to greedily lap at the offering above. And Moss let them with a small smile.
He peered over the edge of his little sky island to the ground below, relieved to spot the expanse of trees and foliage below, seeming to be as rich and dark green as ever. He hadn’t waited too long for the rain, it seemed. They would be fine. His job was done.
But as he turned away to return to his dwelling, he found his eyes wandering back to the edge.
A pinch of doubt.
He owed them more than that, right?
A greeting, a visit at least, to let his land know they were still more than loved by their protector. It had been a while since he had been down there in person, after all.
Moss steadied himself on the earth of the island’s edge, raising his arms above his sides. And with one stride, he raised his foot over the edge, and tilted forward into freefall.
The air rushed past his ears in a shouting whir as he plunged through the air like a diving falcon, his shawl whipping wildly behind him. The blurry green and blues of the coastline and forest below slowly grew more defined as he dipped closer and closer to the ground. And all at once, right before his lips kissed the surface of the dark blue tide, he swerved sharply upwards, feeling the ocean spray shower his face.
As he came to a slow halt in the air, Moss steadied himself in the air to a gentle halt. And from there he surveyed the coastline. The sand was already colored a dark earthy brown from the soak of the rainfall above, while the leaves of the trees glistened in the polish of raindrops that coated their leaves.
Seemed like the land had coped well with the sudden rainfall, luckily. Even though it had been a while without rain, it adjusted surprisingly well.
Despite Moss’ occasional worry, the land’s demonstration of hardiness and independence never failed to assure him. He had to get used to that, he supposed.
He still remembered how hard it had been to nurture the life to return to the island the first couple times, at least. But at this point, the land was much more self-sustaining than it had been. And honestly, he was okay with that.
Moss raised his gaze above the treetops, surveying the land in a quick scan. Was there anything else he was missing? Anything else he could take care of? He was already here, anyway.
Among the palette of greens and browns, his eyes caught a spot of grey in the distance. He recognized it almost immediately. The old church. It had gotten harder to spot over the decades, but it still stuck out like a mountain in a flat valley.
Moss gently kicked off the air and slid through the air in a gentle glide forward, his eyes fixated on the structure. It was always much bigger than he anticipated as he grew closer, bigger than most of the other human structures he’d seen built on the land in quite a few years, at least. It stood at least two or three trees higher than the ground, making itself prominent among the forested landscape.
Moss slowed to a crawl as he lowered himself to the ground, gently pressing his boots to the grassy ground before at the grand arched entrance.
As Moss stepped inside the church, he found his gaze flickering straight to the windows; while many were broken through, some panels still remained intact, casting strange shapes of green and pink light among the mossy dark-stoned floor. And that floor, made up of so many different cuts of stone--rough deep slate, ridgid cobble, sharp dark tiles--all somehow crafted to come together in such intricate deliberate patterns.
And even looking up, Moss could still see some lanterns hanging from the ceiling on iron chains wrapped with growing vines, still persisting to cast a gentle blue hue throughout the church.
Truly a human’s feat of architecture.
How they invented such odd geometric patterns and forms from the land and put them together to last for lifespans to come was beyond him, at least.
As Moss passed through the center of the church, he lay a hand along the wooden pews and felt along the polished oak panels that made them up. And at the pew to the front, right by the altar, he gently sat himself down.
His eyes flickered about the church pews, in a sense of expectancy. It was with a sense of irony, almost, that he was sitting to the pews of a church dedicated to himself, at least. He’d been here before, of course. In the rafters, watching on, or from the front, surveying the crowd of human faces. But he’d hardly ever gotten to see the church from this angle, at least.
It had been a long while since this church had been used, in the traditional human way of customs, that is. Not even the most recent settlers had used the church in the same way. It was a strange sort of set of rituals, really. They followed such strict rules.
And over the years, dealing with these types of humans, Moss learned the hard way was a very gentle and careful practice. He had to bite his tongue before he spoke; think long and hard about the assortment of words he chose to say to these people. Especially involving himself, these people’s reactions were fast, sudden, and very impulsive. Even being seen by one of these people once in passing could snowball into an entirely new set of customs, rules, and rituals.
It was somewhat relieving to be able to exist here, to feel free to explore as he pleased without questioning and speculation. But a part of him still missed their presence. They were unpredictable, but they were ever changing and so delightful to see.
“Hello?”
Moss froze.
A voice.
He hadn’t heard that right, had he?
He paused for a moment, continuing to stare forward towards the pew. Perhaps he just imagined it. He had been thinking of the mortals regardless. Maybe it was a memory of an old voice.
“Hey!”
The voice was sharp. Clear. Defined.
Moss turned over his shoulder.
In the archway of the entrance was a child. A little girl with big green eyes and bright pink braids with a large orange-red bag carried on her back, who couldn’t be any older than ten or nine. Her style of clothes, while appropriate for her size, seemed more familiar to a human who would have been much older, with a leather sash of tools across her waist and gloves appropriate to a blacksmith or a miner.
The girl stared at him expectantly, seemingly waiting for a response. Moss paused, trying to approach this carefully.
“Hello.”
His voice came out quiet, and a little hoarse. It was quite strange to hear himself speak, especially human tongue. He hadn’t needed to in a while.
The child didn’t respond at first. She set some distance between the two, hugging the brick walls of the entrance with tiny hands. He noticed a bit of a quiver to her mannerisms, like a scittish hare or rabbit, ready to scamper off at a moment’s notice.
Taking that into account, Moss decided not to approach at first. He didn’t want to scare her off; this was the first human he had seen in what had to be a couple centuries. If his mannerisms to those religious churchgoer settlers had been careful, for this child he had to be gentler than a feather.
Moss decided to turn around and face forward towards the altar again. Maybe eye contact made this child nervous. Like a cat.
He waited quietly, listening carefully for the child behind him. For a moment, he worried the child would scamper off while he wasn’t looking. But he heard the gentle pat of her boots against the bricks. She must be still watching him by the doorway.
“I saw you fly in here,” she called out.
Moss paused.
So she saw him come to the church.
So much for subtlety, he supposed.
But if she saw him and chose to follow, then she probably wasn’t as scared of him as she initially seemed. If she came across him by chance, it would have been different, but in this circumstance, his communication to her may be more relaxed.
“Are you like a superhero or something?” she asked.
Moss found himself smiling a little. It was a funny term he’d only heard children say.
“I suppose,” he replied, “you can call me that.”
Another pause. She seemed to be figuring out something to say, and Moss gave her that luxury of time. He continued to study the altar, the undergrowth, and the bricks below him.
“But where’s your cape?”
“I just have a shawl.”
“But superheroes have capes,” the girl stated.
Moss shrugged. “Guess I’m not one, then.”
The girl paused.
“You’re weird.”
Moss was caught a little off guard, but he smiled as the bluntness familiar to a child her age.
But with that, he heard the pitter patter of the girl’s footsteps, slowly getting closer. She seemed to be walking through the aisle in between the rows of pews. She kept a little distance of course, but this was progress.
“What are you then?” she asked.
“You can call me Moss.”
“Moss?” she questioned, “like the plant?”
“Yes.”
She paused.
“Why?”
Moss wasn’t prepared for that question. How could he say this in simplest terms?
He spent a moment thinking.
“I like moss.” he settled on.
“...really?”
“Yes.”
Moss anticipated another comment. But to his surprise, she held back.
“That’s cool,” she said, “Wish I could pick a cool name.”
The girl was close enough for Moss to see now, and she simply sat herself on the pew next to Moss, about a foot away. She lowered her gaze to her boots and began to kick her legs back and forth.
“If I could pick a name, I’d pick a bird. Birds are cool. So are cats.” the girl added on, “My name’s Mei. I dunno what it means.”
Moss heard, and made sure to remember for later. Mei. It wasn’t familiar to him, nor did it seem familiar to other names he heard from the settlers that came before. Certain groups named their children similarly to others in their group, but he couldn’t pin her name to a group.
“Where is your home?” she asked, “Do you live here?”
“No,” Moss answered, “not here.”
“So where?”
“I live in the sky,” he replied, “on an island.”
“But islands can’t go in the sky.”
“Well, mine does.”
“...like a cloud?”
“Sort of,” he explained, “it's just a small chunk of land, in the sky.”
Mei looked upwards, through the few holes in the roof that opened up to the sky. She spent a few moments studying it, even craning her neck in an attempt to see better.
“I don’t see it.”
“Well, it is cloudy. And it is raining,” Moss pointed out, “You can see it when it’s sunny.”
“Huh.”
Mei turned up to him with big, curious eyes.
“Can I go up there?”
Moss shook his head. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“Because why?”
“It’s the way it is,” he affirmed, “And it’s dangerous to fall.
She frowned and pouted. “Alright.”
Mei turned away, returning to kicking her legs back and forth in the air as usual.
“Wish I had a cool sky island.” Mei muttered, “All I have is a stupid cave in the ground.”
Moss tilted his head in confusion. A cave dwelling? Most humans would settle in an above-land dwelling-- a hut, a stone tower, a treehouse even.
“A cave?” Moss asked.
Mei nodded.
“I walked around and found a really big hole, and then I went down the really big hole and there was a really big cave hole and I went around that and found a really cool cave thing with purple crystal stuff,” Mei explained, “and there were berries there that glowed and tasted kinda funny but I’ve been eating those.”
Hearing the description, it clicked. He recognized that cave. It was a large ravine that ran deep through the underground, with a large amethyst geode buried deep in the stone wall near the end of it. Long ago, Moss decided to seed a few glow berries into the roof of the ravine, hoping to encourage new life to grow and settle there. And it seems that it has. Just not in the way he expected it. And especially not a child as young as Mei.
Moss made a mental note to check on that cave sometime later.
“Why not above ground?” Moss asked.
“Dunno. I was hungry.” Mei shrugged, “And the bad adults couldn’t get me there. And the purple stuff seemed cool too. So I built a home there.”
Moss thought about something else to ask, but Mei continued.
“My mom was killed by bad adults, but not like the green ones but like the other ones, and my friend was killed by the bad adults too and then the bad adults put me in a cage but I got out and I like the cave better,” Mei added on, “Also do you wanna see my cool invention?”
He was caught a little off guard by that, but Moss just simply nodded. He’d have to dissect that later.
Mei reached into her toolbelt, swiping her hands across the surface of the pockets. Eventually, her fingers caught something and she pulled a flat circular metal object out. It bore a lip like some sort of tin, with a glass front encasing a small redstone pole in the middle, pointed at both ends and slightly trembling on its own, changing its direction based on the direction Mei pointed it at.
“What is it?” Moss asked.
“It’s a compass,” Mei explained with a big grin, “It points to the North, South, East, and West and tells me where to go. It’s cool, isn’t it?”
Moss smiled, and he nodded at her. Mei eyed him closely, seemingly gauging his reaction. He sat there looking back at her after she continued to stare, a little confused.
“Is something wrong?” Moss asked.
“Why don’t you have eyes?” she asked, peering closer.
Moss chuckled a little. “I have eyes.”
“Where?” she asked, “I can’t see them.”
“They’re under my hair.”
“Why are your eyes covered?”
“I just like it that way.”
Mei raised an eyebrow at him. But eventually, she just shrugged, sat back in her seat, and put the compass back into her toolbelt.
“You’re weird.” she said again, “but you’re cool too. You’re like a weird cool.”
Moss didn’t know how to respond to that, so he just continued sitting forward, waiting for her to continue on. And eventually, she did. She slid off the pew and stood up, gathering herself together.
“Well I’m hungry. I’m gonna go home now.” Mei said, “Are you gonna be here tomorrow?”
“Probably not.”
“When can I see you again?”
Moss thought for a bit. He didn’t like visiting the land too much, especially with humans. But then again, this was the first human in a long time, much less a child being all by herself here.
Maybe he could afford to break human tradition a little.
“You’ll see me around.” Moss answered.
Mei nodded, seemingly satisfied with that answer.
She started walking away from the pews, turning around to beam a little smile and offer him a parting wave.
“Alright, bye Moss!” she exclaimed.
Moss turned away from the front to watch her go, seeing her walk quicken to a skip as she raced out of the church.
But suddenly, he saw something move on her back that caught his eye.
To his surprise, what he assumed to be a large orange backpack completely unfurled before his eyes, releasing into large orange moth wings, easily about half her size. They fluttered with life as she dashed outside into the sprinkle of rain, jumping high and fluttering down with each leap.
He watched her leave, dumbfounded, and absolutely surprised.
This changes things.
He hadn’t been dealing with a complete human, after all.