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I wake up early and make my way across the campus toward my first Herbalism class. The pyramid glints in the morning sun, and dewdrops hang on the grass like miniature jewels. Jasper’s directions take me past the craft site where our assigned UFOs are lined up in rows, each with its own distinct design and character. I spot mine at the end of a row, rusty and nearly falling apart, with big circular windows looking into a messy cockpit. I was hoping I’d catch a glimpse of my flight instructor, but the massive tattooed alien is nowhere to be seen.
The path turns, slipping through a grove of trees, where I pass the remnants of a fire pit. A perfect pentagram made from white and black stones encircles the still-smoldering embers. Whoever made it is long gone.
At the far end of the grove, the land falls away, and I am greeted by a spectacular sight.
Before me lies a giant crater, its terraced walls draped in lush gardens. Ponds shimmer with lily pads, while succulents, flowers, and trailing vines crowd every ledge. The far edge of the crater has been eroded away into a narrow canyon through which the rising sun sends its golden rays.
And at the very bottom, clear as glass, lies a pool of blue so vibrant it looks unreal, rimmed with yellow and orange mineral deposits, like fire against water.
The wind carries the scent of herbs and damp soil as other students begin to arrive behind me. We descend the long, wending stairway together, past flowerbeds, mossy stones, and delicate trellises of medicinal herbs. Puffs of respiration rise from our breaths like clouds of spirit, condensing for a brief moment before dissolving once again into the ether.
I try to count the steps, but lose track somewhere after 400. At the bottom, on the crystalline shore of the blue pool, waits a squat figure in dirt-stained overalls, sandals, and a woven sun hat.
“Glorious morning,” the alien says, her voice loamy and rich. “I’m Alien Thumgren. Native Arcturian. Keeper of roots, weeds, blooms, and wisdom. I’ll be your Herbalism professor.”
She’s unlike any teacher I’ve had. Her skin is a soft, earthen green, ears long and pointed, hair a chaotic nest of brown frizz. Her toes, hairy and sharp-nailed, peek out from leather sandals like old roots.
“This,” she says, gesturing expansively toward the natural amphitheater that surrounds us, “is Atum Crater. Born of fire. A meteor struck through the crust of your Earth and into Agartha. The wound became a gift.”
She points to the pool.
“The force of the impact revealed the living waters which you see behind me. Rising up from the depths of Agartha, these waters remain at near-freezing temperatures year-round, and they have fed the gardens you see around you for millennia.”
She waves a hand around the gardens. “Over time, we shaped this scar into a sanctuary. We built the terraces that wrap around the crater like rings to slow the erosion of this natural wonder. Today, it is one of the most diverse living gardens in all of Inner Earth, supporting all types of plants and animals.”
At the mention of animals, a squirrel-like creature with mossy fur and the nose of a mole scurries out from a bush and climbs onto Alien Thumgren’s shoulder. “This is Myco, my spirit animal. He comes from the Arcturian star system, but everything else here was collected from the surface of Earth. Do I have any Arcturian Starseeds in this class?”
A few of the students raise their hands. One of them, I notice, is the gloomy man from Larimar House.
“You may very well encounter your spirit animal in Atum Crater, but I assume all of you are taking Spirit Animal Calling as well.” The students who raised their hands all nod their heads.
“Just to give you a breakdown of how the crater is organized, the south-facing wall is where you’ll find all the desert plants and plants that like a lot of sun.” Alien Thumgren points to her right, where the crater wall is lined with cacti, palo verdes and big flowering vegetable gardens.
“The north-facing wall,” she says, pointing to her left, “is where the plants from colder climates reside, as well as those that don’t like direct sun. Up near the rim, you’ll find sub-alpine herbs and even wildflowers from the tundra, whereas closer to the bottom of the crater, there are plants more typical of rainforest environments.
“The east-facing and west-facing walls are for everything in between. The unique geology of Atum Crater provides a distinct habitat for almost every type of plant, making it a perfect natural herbarium.”
She smiles with the kind of pride only a gardener can have.
“This is a living library. Your task is to learn its language.”
I can already tell this is going to be my favorite class.
“Throughout the year, we will learn how to propagate clippings, how to make tinctures and salves, and of course learn the medicinal properties of as many plants as we can. For instance, this plant right here is a hawthorn.” She walks over to a dense, many-trunked tree with small, intricate leaves. “The red berries this tree produces in the fall are an excellent heart tonic which can open up the heart to process past traumas and even relieve heart palpitations.”
Cassandra, the pale blonde girl from my Energy Work class, raises her hand timidly. “Alien Thumgren, is it true that the shape of a plant can correspond to the part of the body that it heals?” She says it so quietly I’m not sure anyone else heard her.
“What’s that, dear? Speak up,” Alien Thumgren says.
“She asked if the shape of a plant corresponds to the part of the body it heals,” I offer, glancing at Cassandra with a smile. She blushes and looks away.
“Ah! Yes. That’s called the Doctrine of Signatures. Ancient knowing. A walnut resembles the brain, good for memory. Eyebright for the eyes. But here in Agartha, we go a step further. We practice florachanneling.”
“Flora-what-now?” someone whispers.
“Florachanneling,” she repeats. “You learn to listen. The plants will tell you what they heal. You don’t memorize flashcards. You cultivate a relationship.”
“That’s so cool,” I blurt out.
“Yes, it is cool.” She says the last word like it’s a novelty. “What’s your name, young lady?”
“Synchronicity, Professor.”
“And what kind of Starseed are you, Synchronicity?”
I was hoping she didn’t ask that.
“I’m… I’m not. I’m an Earthseed.”
A ripple of snickering murmurs through the students.
“Ah, yes, I heard about you,” Alien Thumgren says, while two girls in front of me whisper to each other and shoot surreptitious glances back at me. “You may actually have an advantage in this class, Synchronicity. With a native human soul, I suspect your connection to the plants will be stronger than those of your classmates.”
The snickering stops, and a small feeling of pride rises in my chest.
“Are you in my lab, Synchronicity?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“Good. For those of you taking the lab, you will be assigned a plot of land somewhere in the crater. In this plot, you will tend to the plants there until harvest later this fall and then cultivate new varieties of your choosing next spring. The soil will teach you more than I can. Fail to care for it, and it will let you know. The plants here are not just alive, they’re awake.”
A thrill runs through me.
Of all the classes I’ve had so far, this is the first where I feel like I belong.
If you can’t wait for the next installment or just want to support me on my writing journey, you can order the book here:
I wrote a young adults book. Published it on KDP. Now, it sits! I very much admire that you are promoting your work. Keep writing. You are quite good at it.
Mary
Nate, I believe you have tapped into a gem of material waiting to become a series. I have read your other two books presented on TT and by far I am enjoying this one best. Also, what a fantastic marketing idea. Good on you! Merry Smith