Spirit of Rain

The season is definitely changing. I didn’t notice it at first; it’s been subtle. But I’m noticing it slowly. The days are growing cooler, and they are getting just a tiny bit shorter each sunset.

Some places on Earth can have subtle season changes like that too, I know. But the part of the planet I grew up on had fussy, temperamental ones. Some random morning it would be colder than you expected, and you’d think “I’ll have to get my jacket out soon.” But then the next day it’d be scorching, Indian summer hot, and you’d kill for a cold glass of water. There was no measured, gradual decrease in temperature like you got elsewhere. I guess that explains why autumn has kind of crept up on me.

Well, “autumn” is a misnomer in this case. The Minervan plains don’t get a distinct spring/summer/fall/winter set of seasons. “Summer” is two distinct seasons, one warm and wet, with gentle, periodic rains and it moves into a long, dry, hot period of dry (I landed on Minerva at the beginning of Dry). Then they have a month long “season” of rain and storms, followed immediately by a short month or so of explosive growth. By then it’s gotten quite cold and most of the “winter” is cold and dry. The last few months of winter are wet, with freezing rains and snow. “Spring” is marked when the precipitation stops having ice crystals in it; it rains pretty steadily for a good month. Spring 2.0 is a second, longer period of insane growth that grades into the wet part of summer.

Kohric tells me we’ve reached the end of Dry and are coming up on Cold Rains (I didn’t ask what the winter muck is called. “Cold Rains” sounds unpleasant enough when you live mostly outside. I imagine the wet bit of winter is called something, like Oh God Even My Nose Hairs Have Frostbite.)

Today actually marks the official end of Dry. We haven’t had a drop of rain, but one of the clan lookouts spotted thick, heavy rain clouds rolling across the plains several kilometers away. The Azu-nah calendar is apparently marked by specific weather events rather than astronomically charted days. The first time someone sees rain at the end of the Dry it’s immediately the next season. You can actually smell the water on the breeze. It’s a distinct, sharp, green kind of smell compared to the gentle scent of sea water. It’s a changing, electric kind of smell. It’s exciting.

The clan celebrated the change, of course. I figured it would be more of what I’d seen in the past. Thus far their celebrations have been mostly a flamboyant version of campfire songs. They get a bit loud and people dance a lot, but there’s never been much in the way of ritual or adornments.

Tonight was different. There was still the usual drumming. But this time there was a bit more to it. Three Azu-nah, with simple, drab, yellow-brown cloths wrapping their bodies prowled around the bonfire, making long, low, bobbing dance motions. Oshtik explained they represented the spirits of the Dry season. I’d never seen anything like this from the Azu-nah before. It was fascinating.

The Dry spirits tossed powder on the fire as they danced, so that it blazed yellow and bright orange; the drums were slow and heavy-sounding. Then another Azu leapt in front of the fire and waved his arms, chanting something that was too fast for me to understand. The drummers started a faster, deeper beat; the kind that you can’t help tapping your foot or bobbing your head to. The newcomer began chasing the Dry spirits around the fire in an exaggerated half-dance. Oshtik says he is the spirit of rains.



It actually took me a minute to recognize the new Azu-nah as the Kan; he had a kind of cape of vibrant, flame-colored cloth, and had a thick wooden mask over his face. He was covered in feathers and bangles and braids, and little bits of metal that tinkled and flashed as he moved. The Dry spirits fled the scene, and the Kan threw more powder on the fire; it flashed blue, green, and orange. He continued to dance and run around the fire. The rest of the clan leapt to their feet to join him, and they danced in a greater circle around the fire, singing.

T’dree neyde Yalalea Te’ansu neyde Kanga-yesi kota Yue ban, vesh danok, wehey dree, m’boto nulei Ooooooooohhh Oooooooooh T’dree neyde Yalalea Te’ansu neyde Kanga-yesi kota Nessss’ti mocan, di kayo, a’kota ba’oh teynet Ooooooooohhh Oooooooooh T’dree neyde Te’ansu neyde T’dree neyde Yalalea

Time of rain Welcome Time of water We greet you Air moves, clouds dance, rain falls, cold gathers Ooooooooohhh Oooooooooh Time of rain Welcome Time of water We greet you Herds walk, fruit comes, the ba’oh calls to you Ooooooooohhh Oooooooooh Time of rain Time of water Time of rain Welcome

I couldn’t join them. I had a horrible cold feeling of “you don’t belong,” that made my stomach grow cold. Oshtik and Eyani quickly gave up on me and joined the circle. They were tiny shadows flitting between the larger adults. I could see Nandi and the Trio flashing between the bright patches of fire. Even Nanahan danced, though her steps were very subdued. I took out my computer pad and started taking notes.

I didn’t get more than a sentence before the pad suddenly vanished from my hands, and a blue muzzle lurched into my field of vision.

“All the clan must dance the welcome,” Kohric said. He bumped is forehead against mine. “Come.” He gape grinned at me and pulled at my wrist with his tail. I found myself smiling back.

We danced late into the night.