Phoenix, Minnesota

From above, Western Minnesota is almost as grey as the Moon. Great dunes, the remains of chemically-leached soil, march across the miles, driven by incessant winds. Here and there, an oasis appears around some deep pothole or gullied stream. Stunted cottonwoods and sawgrass cluster around these wet spots.

Occasionally, nomads can be seen, leading their often-blind horses from oasis to oasis. Sometimes they dig into the rubble-hill remains of old towns, looking for scavengable goods. But our story is not about them. We move on, westward.

A dark green line appears on the horizon. In places it sparkles with iridescence. As we come closer, we see that it is a massive hedge. Its tallest members are a kind of cottonwood, hundreds of feet tall. Their bark glints with crystalline highlights. At the feet of these behemoths grow great bushes, covered in pink flowers. Between them all hang vast cobweb strands of shining white thread, making a dense netting.

We pass over the hedge, and its purpose becomes clear: it keeps out the dust. We now see that the hedge encloses an oval land, perhaps thirty miles long and five wide. It is a rich land, with thick foliage of green and purple. Many small settlements of earth-sheltered houses can be seen. Towering windmills stand like sentinels over each.

Near the western hedge lies a shallow river. A large group of buildings huddles beside it. We approach, and see an amphitheater. On the stage stands an old man in white robes. His graying red hair swings about his waist as he strides back and forth, gesturing and proclaiming. His audience, mostly children, listen intently.

He is the Rememberer, as were his father and grandfather, all the way back to the beginnings of The Land. He speaks with the voice of his ancestors; for the sake of the great stories, he and his ancestors are one.

“My cousins, The Land is good. It has always been good. But it has not always been as it is today. I will tell you how it came to be this way. I will tell you of the people who made it as it is. That’s what people do, we make things. Sometimes the things are good. Sometimes they are not so good. But we are always making.

“Here is what we made.”