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On the Origins of Fairy Circles by faliah [Reviews - 4]

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NB: This is a story about feuding scientists. There’s some sciencey stuff in here, but I’ve tried to make it accessible. All the Muggle researchers I mention are real, and their work is real. I mean no ill intent for any of them. The Namib Rand reserve, the fairy circles, the Himba, Mukuru: all of that is real stuff. Again, no ill intent.
I’m writing a lengthy paper on fairy circles for my grad class, and it struck me yesterday how perfectly Snape and Granger would fit into the feud that is taking place over fairy circles currently (aka, there were dueling opinions published in the journal Ecography, even). So instead of writing the paper, I wrote this (which is half finished, at around six chapters, so hopefully it won't remain too much of a cliffhanger). Hope you enjoy.


About four kilometres off the Namib Rand Reserve, in the evening sun of the Namibian desert, Hermione stood, hidden in the blowing sand, surveying her prospects. She had come here on her annual vacation, hoping for a brief respite from the endless politics of working for the office of Care of Magical Creatures, yet somehow, here she was, knee deep in the politics of science, instead. Muggle science, for that matter.

Sometime this morning, on her tour of the reserve, she had noticed a difference. There was a sparking in the air: a magical one, like fire on her skin. Given the heat of the desert, she initially shrugged it off, but it seemed it was not to be ignored. She felt glittering eyes watching her from every corner, as the Himba tour guides seemed increasingly intrigued by her presence. The heat intensified until she was sure her skin was going to start sloughing off.

Flaking, she thought absently, like dragon hide.

By lunch time, she was sure she had some magical variant of Ekbaum’s Syndrome, or hypochondria. Feeling parched, she chugged three glasses of water before the entrée even arrived. The salad disgusted her. She needed meat, protein! Where was the goat, or the desert cattle? Where were the beans? By the time she finished her meal, she felt famished, and weak.

In the afternoon’s program, there was a Muggle researcher named Tschinkel, who was giving a speech on his latest findings related to the native termite species. He hoped, or so the program said, that this would discredit the idea that termites may have formed the captivating Fairy Circles once and for all.

Yet, she had seen these circles this morning, and hadn’t found them particularly fascinating. They were holes. Specifically, holes in the grass, where, in the middle, dirt could be found. The dirt wasn’t fertile in the middle – but then again, how fertile was desert dirt normally speaking? Fertile enough, she supposed, to support the sparse grasses that seemed common on the edge – the matrix, as the guides had said – of the Fairy Circles, but not so fertile as to create a savannah or grassland. Indeed, the guides had told her, it was this transition from savannah to desert that was supposed by the majority of scientists to have caused this phenomenon. Pattern-formation theory, it was said, correctly predicted the distribution of the circles based on the increasing lack of water and soil fertility seen in the desert.

So, she thought, mystery solved. Like most researchers, Hermione dismissed the Himba legends that were also told during the tour. She had heard the circles were footprints of the gods and that they were the grave sites of fallen Himba soldiers who fought against colonizers. While both were stirring explanations, they didn’t seem to mesh with the rest of the story. She knew, from the posters in the hotel lobby, that this same Tschinkel had proven that the circles grow, are born of dark, dead vegetation, and die, consumed by the desert. How could a footprint do this? It was too much like divination for her liking.

And so, given this, and her recent feeling of nausea, she opted to stay in her room for the afternoon. A good nap, perhaps, might erase the odd feelings. Passing through the lobby from the verandah, she caught a glimpse of a young Himba guide staring at her openly. A few feet further down the corridor, another group of Himba children were whispering loudly around a table. As she walked past, they stopped, and followed her with their eyes.

To combat her increasing feeling of dread, Hermione walked more quickly. She hurried into the hallway that connected with her room, and attempted to keep her eyes solely on the carpet as she went. Thus, she was not paying attention when she ran into something solid.

“Oof, sorry, miss,” the solid thing said.

Hermione, confused, looked up, and saw she had run into her tour guide from earlier.

“Oh, sorry, Qazal… I was… um, distracted,” she mumbled, hoping he would simply slide away, and let her get to the comfort of a room away from all those eyes. Yet, after a heartbeat of waiting, she saw he was not moving.

“I think I’ll take a nap this afternoon, Qazal. Sorry I won’t be out to join you at the talk.” She smiled, hoping this reassurance would be enough. He was again, not moved.

“Is there something I can help you with, Qazal?”

He remained silent, staring oddly at her forearm. Finally, she decided to move around him, and aimed herself for her door.

“You are of the kind,” he said, finally.

“Pardon me?”

“Of the kind. Your skin feels the desert’s heat, and responds.”

Thinking he meant she wasn’t adjusted to the heat, and therefore sweated more than normal people, she reddened.

“Oh, well… You know, England’s a lot cooler than here…”

“What?” he snapped, impatiently, now bringing his eyes to her face. After a moment of awkward silence, he spoke again.

“Of. The. Kind. The magic kind,” he stressed. “There are a few who come every year, and the desert calls to them, hoping they respond. We see them grow nearer to the truth, in body, until it drives them mad, and they leave. But never have we seen one respond as you. It is as if the desert lives in your heart and likes it there. You feel the heat, yet your skin remains soft, like windblown sand. You feel the hunger, yet you look past it, and are still concerned about the eyes of the Himba. That is why I am here. I know you are a witch, and I know there are secrets in the desert that are waiting for curious witches to find. I am hoping you will allow me to show you some of these secrets.”

He paused, waiting for her response. In the meantime, Hermione thought she had officially gone bonkers. Here she was, on another continent, with a man she barely knew, who spoke in half-clichés that sounded like half-hearted pickup lines, and she was supposed to decide if she should see the secrets of the desert with him? It sounded like something dangerous. Yet, it was more intriguing than the idea of these Fairy Circles, which seemed already solved, or the idea of a nap and some telly. And after all, she was a witch, as he said, and a damn fine one. She could defend herself.

So, determinedly, she nodded.

“Good,” he said. “First, food. Meat. I am sure you thought it was lacking at lunch.” They smiled to each other amicably and moved off towards the verandah.

---

Hermione sat, chewing thoughtfully on her leg of lamb. It was stewed deliciously in a root vegetable mash, with something that tasted like parsnips. The sun glinted on the metal furniture and the umbrella provided her some well needed shade. Taking in the panorama, she sneakily looked at Qazal, who was reclining on a chair nearby, softly humming to himself. All around, it seemed perfect. She even felt relieved of some of the “desert heat”, as Qazal called it, since she had listened to his story.

Looking off at the dunes to the west, she caught sight of a bird, flying low over the horizon.

Somewhere over there, she mused, is the entrance to the underground cavern Qazal says his people have spoken about for generations. He says it is guarded by a fierce dragon, a size larger than any seen above ground. The dragon breathes fire underneath the desert, igniting some spots of grass. This forms the fairy circles. Oral tradition says the dragon has been cursed, so that its pain and hunger for the flesh of its hunters is felt by any magical being entering the area. They say… She paused, and took another sip of her Shirley Temple. They say that whoever finds the cavern will be rewarded with one thing from inside, although they don’t say what is inside.

She looked over again at Qazal. He was relaxed, eyes closed, and slightly smiling. His face, soft with red clay, seemed honest and likeable. It was probable, Hermione thought, that he was living out a myth at the central part of his tribe’s being, and that there was no deceit. Back in England, she would worry that this were a plot for revenge on one of the war’s heroes. Here, it seemed there was no inkling of a war, with heroes or otherwise. The people seemed concerned with mysteries, and vagaries. It seemed like a good place to go on an adventure – like a place that might offer you a safe adventure, and also, importantly, offer to help you along the way. It was, overall, far from another day at the office.

“Why don’t we head over to the dunes tonight, and see what we can find?” she queried, inclining her head slightly towards the resting Qazal.

“Are you prepared already?”

“What is there to prepare? I shall bring my wand, and perhaps I’ll charm a Portkey to get us there and back quickly.” The laws on Portkey creation were a lot more lax in Namibia than Britain, and she didn’t fancy Apparating somewhere she had never been. “Will there be any dangers, other than the mundane? I suppose I should wear proper clothing to avoid scorpions, etcetera.”

Qazal looked away. “No, miss. I don’t suppose there would be. At least, I’ve never heard of any.” He seemed uneasy at the thought.

“Don’t worry, Qazal. I’m used to a little uncertainty.” She pushed off from the table, leaving the lamb behind, and went to gather a bag full of useful things.

--

With the evening sunset behind her and the swirling winds tossing sand particles through the air, Hermione didn’t think an invisibility spell would be strictly necessary. They had arrived here, beyond the dunes, about fifteen minutes ago via Portkey (an old watering can), and to all Muggle interested parties, she was sure they looked like mirages in the desert heat. To all in the know, such as the Himba, there was nothing interesting about them. At least, not until they found the cavern they were looking for.

Hermione raised her hand to above her eyes and peered into the expanse. She felt magnetized to the spot, yet relieved to be so close to the dragon. Her skin felt cooler – a nice release from the stress of having boiling skin all day. Even supposing she never found a dragon or a cave, if she somehow succeeded in lifting this so-called Dragon’s Curse, she would be pleased with the day’s adventures.

The day grew shorter, as she scanned the horizon, looking for a likely entrance to an underground cave. Qazal had not been helpful in supplying some suggested sites. He had mentioned, uneasily, that usually the witches or wizards left on their own, and were tight lipped about where they had searched. This would be the first time one had invited a Himba on the hunt with them. At this, Hermione had given him a sympathetic look, and simply said, “It only seemed right – after all, it is your mystery.”

So now the both of them stood and looked. And continued looking, until the sun was completely gone and the air was chilled. A snake came out of the grass near them, flicked its tongue, and slithered away.

“Do you think I should cast a point-me spell?” Hermione asked, still looking curiously off into the distance.

“Not saying I know what that is, but it might work,” answered Qazal.

So Hermione cast the spell, but was disappointed. It simply gestured down, no matter where she stood. Next, she attempted to find the snake, and follow it. It had gone. She spent a few minutes considering casting various spells to see through the earth, to raise the earth up, or to become a small grassland animal, as hopeless as that seemed for a non-Animagi. The most promising, she thought, would be a Lapifor to turn her hat into a rabbit, which she could then control… but since she would not be able to see through the rabbit’s eyes, she ultimately discarded this.

Above her, a bird circled, and let out a small cry. It seemed to be dancing for Qazal.

Qazal started hopping around. “Miss, we must follow the dipping of the wings. It is like, as the Inuit say, the raven. It is not a raven. But it is a thing that moves like the raven. It dips. We follow the dips. It is tradition.” Before he had finished his sentence, he started moving away, following the bird, which seemed to hover impatiently in the sky until Hermione began to walk after them. It seemed a bit silly to her, but then again, so did the circles themselves, which loomed all around her in the darkness.

--

They walked for miles, getting further and further from the reserve, and deeper into the desert. The bird swung onwards, tirelessly, yet Hermione could not say she was quite so indefatigable. Even Qazal seemed less enthused with the prospect of following the bird than he had been. It was becoming less adventure, and more an ordeal. Just when Hermione began to think she should have brought a broomstick, despite her hatred of broomsticks, the bird swung low over a concave dip in the ground.

Normally, Hermione thought, this would be a fairy circle – but this probably had too much grass here for that.

Qazal, beside her, stopped. Seeming to read her mind, he started to explain the mystery.

“It is unusual for the ground to be like that,” he said to her, stifling a yawn. “The winds blow sands away from the middle of the circles, where there are no roots to hold onto it. The land with grass keeps the sand. So the middles of fairy circles are dips, but the outside is all flat. We do not usually see a dipped part of the desert where there is no circle. It is… as you call it… a ghost. A ghost of a fairy circle.”

“A ghost… Well, it seems like the bird is very interested in this ghost. Perhaps we should be as well,” she spoke, quietly. There was a feeling around her, like a heavy, ominous cloak, that this location was sacred. Despite her commitment to investigating the ghost, she was still unsure how to proceed.

Looking up at the bird, she tried to form some sort of connection with it. Some bond that would tell her what to do.

“What are you doing?” Qazal asked, laughing.

“Well… You and the bird seemed to get along; I was hoping I would, too!”

“That is a sacred bond we have. I am not so sure it even cares you are here!” Qazal laughed again, and turned towards the revegetating circle. “What if we called to the dragon, as it has been calling to you?”

In a way, that made sense to Hermione, so she moved to the centre of the circle, and sat down. She spoke aloud, asking that the dragon show her the path so that she could help her friend Qazal, and his people. At the mention of Qazal’s name, there a slow rumbling started underneath her. At the final word, Himba, the sand began to give way. She was sucked into a sinkhole and pulled underneath the sand, leaving Qazal leaning, wide-mouthed, over the edge of the former ghost circle.


On the Origins of Fairy Circles by faliah [Reviews - 4]

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