Riverworld: Island (a fanfiction from the Riverworld universe)

The river shone in the morning sun, little glints of silvery fish sparkling beneath the surface in the weedy water off the side of the steep drop off of a sand bar where some good sized rocks made for a good fishing spot. It was also a good swimming spot and in many summer days people could be seen lounging in the sand and jumping from the rocks to splash into the cool river below.

The island was large, in a part of the river that widen out into what some thought of as a long lake along it’s course. It was impossible to tell from this vantage point anything about the river, how remarkable or unremarkable it was. What about it drove people from their homes and loved ones in search of ephemeral and tantalizing truths about the meaning of existence, and what about it prompted some to stretch out like trees and put down deep roots, staying in place through whatever the river brought.

In this part of the river people didn’t mind having visitors pass through on their way to try and find the river’s start or end. They sometimes belonged to some church or spiritual group: The Church of the Second Chancers, the Neo Hari Krishna’s, Orthodox Resurrectionist Protestants, Rapturists, Reform Pagans, and lots more since here near the equator the weather tended to be very nice and in this section of river the current was also nice, and there were usually visitors of some kind of another during any particular lunar month. Often they were on their way to search for something or someone important. The source of the river and the fabled tower that was built there. None on the island knew what was in the tower or why some would search so long for it (some self reported searching upwards of twenty years for the tower at the planets’ pole). Others were searching for lost family who they hadn’t found since people had suddenly sprung into existence again on this Riverworld. People on the island were mostly those that has decided this turn of events, finding yourself alive in another place after thinking yourself dead, was strange and unprecedented and had decided to try and help eachother through the experience. No one on the island knew what caused it or claimed to know what caused it. Some had personal beliefs about it, some spoke with others about their thoughts, close friends, neighbors, talkative visitors, but some preferred to accept that it happened and focus on the goings on of still being alive and even thriving. Privately, some on the island happened occasionally to visit with who their nautical boat visitors called “Ethicals” or “Mysterious Strangers”, those that some claimed to have caused their sudden and mass relocation and resurrection. However, many of those on the island that had spoken with visitors of this nature found them to be just as pleasant, affable, and credible as any other visitors to the island and didn’t get too worked up about others’ labels of these passing folks, who often wore capes with hoods instead of simple magnetic fasten skirts and head wraps that many of the automatic item producing technology users wore. A few on the island had asked about the difference in clothing one autumn evening some years ago when having a roast vegetable dinner with a so-called “Mysterious” Stranger. The person had shrugged. “I guess I never really noticed” they said. The inquirer laughed, “some of the others who pass by here in boats say the one’s dressed like you observe the rest of us for some reason.” The caped figure laughed, and shrugged again. “Seems like you’re the one doing some observations. And maybe whoever you talked to as well.”

This was the island, a place that unlike both river banks did not have automatic item producing technology that enabled people to have access to things they may have had in a previous life: gum, stimulants, alcohol, premade clothing, etc. It was a bit more work out here, and when people had appeared around the automatic item producing technology on the river banks further down river, some of the families and friends on the island hadn’t yet known one another. Some had been surrounded by people of their same nationality or language group, some had been with people of their same gender or age, some had been with family, some had been with people from the same time period. As the days went on after everyone’s sudden appearance, many people began to have very different wants and needs, and large groups fractured into small groups. Not everyone wanted to stay in one place, some wanted to settle in the mountains or closer to the river, or dominate the item producing technology. Some were scared and couldn’t find people they connected with easily and began to use stimulants and alcohol heavily. Some felt compelled to seek answers about how people got there and set out to find answers, building boats, hiking, and forming like minded search groups and spiritual practices. Some didn’t really have an answer for what happened but didn’t feel the need to search the entire new planet, so little bit by little bit people chatted together, found people they clicked with, taught eachother skills, and kept moving to places they felt comfortable living within their capabilities. After a couple of years a small group living near a stream that fed into the river hadn’t been using the item producing technology for over a year, trying to help friends and family stay sober. They decided to take some of the boats they had built with a neighboring camp to have races and let them know the stream camp was going to give things a try at an island upstream a about two days. They talked with the camp and split the boats, taking half and leaving half. The neighbors had intermarried with another camp in the mountains and didn’t want to leave but promised to come check on the on the island. After many hugs and repacking and last jokes and goodbyes and splashes the stream camp set off and that was how the island was first settled years ago when some of the current adult inhabitants were children.

The north end was rocky cliffs with small caves, where dried fish and river vegetables like lotus, reeds, catails, and rice were left in grass baskets to dry and people came with tools they had made from stones to pound pigments from mud and rock of different shades and hues and then plaster it on the walls or themselves before celebratory dances when they had finished a lot of food preparation, weaving, or just felt like celebrating. There was an abundance and variety of edible aquatic vegetation in the many crags and corners and marshy holes of the island.

The mid part of the island was mostly grassy hills with a couple of springs that drained into the river, their mouths tidal and good for looking for clams and shell fish, their banks damp and often flooded and good for finding various roots and berries. Shells from the tidal flats were used to decorate people and homes around the island, or to make fish hooks and other tools with. In the grass different herbs grew: echinacea, chamomile, and mint. Edible flowers like calendula and nasturtium wound in vines and pockets between divets and dips in the landscape.

The southern part of the island was where the sandspit was found, with stacks of fish baskets in the elm and cherry trees on the shore waiting for someone to fill them, and little driftwood structures to lounge under along the sand, with rocks along the outside edge where people swam and fished. The inside edge of the spit was a place for bathers, laundry washers, toy boats and relaxing.

The east and west edges of the island were opposites. The west edge had the line of northern cliffs follow down with rocks and watery caves along the edge where people set eel traps from canoes or kayaks. After storms these caves were a good place to look for any boats, driftwood, or little detritus that had washed up, and some on the island had made some sturdy rope handrails down a couple of paths to hold when people went to gather firewood for bonfires to roast all the goodies people found to share at communal meals. The east side had a gentle shore to walk along, where people went to gather pretty shells in the sand, or gather sand and pebbles to grind against large stones to make beads. Across the water, the east shore of the river was actually the rocky shore, and it wasn’t often that boats came from that side, although they frequently saw wood smoke coming up, especially in the winter from the community over there on shore.

The west edge of the river was far away, but if approached by water, it was difficult to find the edge among marshy greens. Somewhere among the mangrove-like trees and cypress and reeds and river grasses, firm ground started up and from there the land gradually worked it’s way back into a gentle slope until it reached the foothills of steep mountains. The neighbors on the side had built communities around the mushroom-shaped item producing technology that delivered food, clothing, soap, cigarettes and alcohol once a day. Many of the people in that community went up for weeks at a time to the mountains to quarry rocks for building, or wood for building, using sleds and cordage to get everything back down safely. They were peaceful neighbors and sometimes they would play music together during vegetable harvests in the spring and summer or if there was a good wild mushroom or herb find; their community was even very generous in letting the Islanders have more saponin producing plants since the islanders didn’t use the automatic food and item producing technology that those on shore used, and made their own soap and clothes instead using nettle fiber, fish leather, and other things from their island.

Sylvia sat on the sandspit and watched the water flow past, gently closer to her, more quickly further out. She wore a simple tunic dyed purple and indigo with berries and leaves she had collected one summer. She currently had a pile of dry sticks she tossed one by one in the water and watched them swirl this way and that way in eddies. She used to pretend to her cousin you could tell little things that would happen by the way the current flowed but she didn’t really believe that and she stopped teasing him about it as they got older. She also had a stack of skipping stones she had collected but wasn’t ready to stand up and use yet. When she really gave it a try she could get quite a few skips out of a good skipping stone, six or seven usually, just a quick flick of the wrist. But today she felt lazy in the sun, and she took a sip from a small clay pot of water that she had etched with geometric patterns. She soaked her feet in the river.

Down the river on the horizon appeared what seemed like memories from another life, like little puffs of clouds sitting on the water moving steadily on. Sylvia’s friend Marsha stood in a grove of cherry trees, her fish leather sandals flashing in the sun. The salmon skin she had pieced together neatly and sewn and trimmed and lined so it was comfortable to walk in, was something she was proud of even if she didn’t openly brag about it. The work spoke for itself; the sandals were made two years ago. She stepped lightly over fallen branches and sand.

Marsha came over to Sylvia with a basket half filled with cherries, offering it. She noticed the little clouds downriver. “Guess it’s that time of summer.” She said nodding towards the white puffs. “Those river racers are coming up this way. We’ll see if they can make it around the island by nightfall.” Sylvia nodded. “Do they still have some candlefish lights up on the north cliff in case the racers need them? I like to watch when they get closer, so if there’s no lights I can go put some up there and come back to watch after.” Marsha craned to look on tiptoes, “Hmmm, seems like the wind isn’t as strong as the racers would like yet, there’s time for you to go check in about the candlefish lights and bring back some more water if you can when you come” Marsha said smiling “If you want to do all those things.” she added, her eyes smiling. Sylvia laughed, jumping up. “Sounds good to me!” and she trotted off towards some airy structures mid island where some people she knew kept their personal possessions, and in the summer heat stayed with their families, in the shade of the trees where the island had a good cross breeze. A friend she knew well often stayed there. “Hey Col!” she said waving when she got to where he was sitting with his friend Art, whom she knew but not as well as she knew Col. They looked up from a wood and shell musical instrument they had been working on, and waved back. “Hey Sylvia” Col said, “what’s going on today?” She offered the rest of the cherry basket to Col and Art, “I was wondering if you knew if we still have any candlefish lights up on the north cliff? I saw some racers downriver and I wanted to make sure we’re ready for when they use the island as a turn around point. Better to use lights than bandages.” Art nodded, “Good point.” He said, “I know last new moon they put a couple new baskets up there for people who wanted to go night swimming and fishing. That was only about ten days ago.” Sylvia nodded, smiling. “Thank you! I’m going to go double check, but if you want to go down and watch the racers with Marsha we had a good spot in the sand. I’ll bring some more water that way after I double check the lights.” Art pointed to a large clay pot, “We have plenty here too since you’re walking up north in the sun this morning. When we head down to see Marsha we’ll take some with some limes from the lime tree.” looked over at the lime tree, smallish, but having grown even bigger during the summer. It’s branches were bursting with little limes. Col, and maybe Art as well (Sylvia wasn’t sure how well he knew Col’s family) had grown the lime tree from the seeds that Col’s dad won when he got in his kayak and raced the downriver racers around the island. The racers used sails now but at least part of all their boats were still made from the boats they had all built together, and the lime tree would be a special treat for racing time. It had finally gotten big enough to give off fruit. “We’ll even bring some to share with the racers when they come ashore.” Col said. “That sounds great!” Sylvia replied, “I’ll pick some mint on the way back and we can have it with limes and fish. It’ll be a really fun evening watching the race! Better get up to the north side so I can see you when I get back!’ Sylvia called to them as she walked off down a grassy path.

Col and Art, meticulously gathered the tiny wooden pieces and shell parts and fish sinews and wrapped them back in fish leather and birch bark and put them in a home the two shared sometimes. Art picked up a large clay jug, and Col a flint knife. They walked over to the lime tree and filled the jug with fresh limes, then set out to find Marsha’s good spot in the shady sand near the trees. They bantered back and forth on the trail about what kind of fish they wanted for dinner, “Trout”, “Nah, catfish”, “no way, let’s get a bunch of crawdads!” Their food talk faded into the trees and down to the river, as they picked their footsteps carefully through fruit and shade trees to the sunny sandy shore where their friends would soon start to gather.