The Flask of Rainwater

My mama loves to write stories. She says with writin’, the stories are preserved for future generations. I’m more like my papa—I prefer tellin’ the stories out loud. ‘Course, Mama’s better with words’n both of us put together. And she knows a lot more stories.

I already mentioned Hidal’s flask o’ rainwater—remember? He’s the one who Papa says poured rainwater in one o’ our wells centuries ago. Papa believes it, and I do too, but we don’t know for sure—ain’t no way o’ knowin’. But why else could we grow so much in a world o’ brown and yellow? Water’s life—for us and the plants.

Been thinkin’ I wanted to share the rest o’ that story with ya’—“The Flask of Rainwater”—but ain’t no one who tells it as good as Mama. So, she let me borrow one o’ her old notebooks so I could read it direct. Here goes:

There once lived a boy named Hidál. He dwelt in the eastern lands of Gildaresh, in what is now part of the Deep Desert. In those days, great raging rivers became creeks, then muddy ditches, then dusty beds. Wells began to run dry. Irrigation pipes failed. Crops dried up. 

From time to time lightning storms ravaged the heavens, but never a drop of rain fell to grace the parched ground. People died because there wasn’t enough food or water to go around. Others left to seek better fortunes elsewhere. But the Drought was spreading throughout Gildaresh like a disease. 

One day, Hidál set out to search for rain. He took with him such provisions as he had managed to save, the least of which was a small clay flask. Then he headed north with only his feet to carry him. As he walked, he passed through several small villages scattered across the land. At each village he replenished his water skins, promising to repay such a priceless gift upon his return. 

After many weeks, Hidál reached the foot of Evenghel, the tallest of the Taupak Mountains. His supply of food and water had run out, but he began to climb, hoping that perhaps Evenghel would take him high enough to barter with the clouds. For two days, he scaled the mountain, pressing on to its very peak. When at last he reached the top, he collapsed in exhaustion. 

As he lay upon the stone, an aldyr came to him. The aldyr was small for his kind, perhaps twelve measures tall. Still, he towered over Hidál even as he knelt before his body. 

“What do you seek, child of man?” the aldyr said, placing a massive hand beneath Hidál's head. 

“A flask of rainwater,” said Hidál. He reached for the item in his pack. 

“This is a bold request,” said the aldyr. “Do you know the price of a raindrop? Gold cannot buy it, nor any store of earthly riches.” 

“I do not wish to buy or sell—only to save the people of my village.” 

“Can one flask save a village?” 

“A gift from the heavens could, perhaps, save all.” 

The aldyr smiled. He turned his eyes toward the great blue above and cried, “Aquel le Jaeoril Liren!” 

Above them a cloud appeared, soft and white and no larger than the mouth of Hidál’s flask. The cloud began to pour itself out, becoming great glistening drops that quickly filled the flask. 

“Take one mouthful,” the aldyr said. “It will satisfy you for the remainder of your journey. And be generous—for this water has the power to save all.” 

His strength renewed, Hidál returned down the mountain. He traveled back the way he had come, passing again through the villages that had sustained him on his journey. The fame of his possession flew ahead of him. People flocked to the boy with the flask of rainwater, promising great gifts—a chest of gold coins, a field's worth of crops, a daughter's hand in marriage—in exchange for a mouthful of water. 

But in each town, Hidál led them to the well from which he had first drunk, pouring from the flask of rainwater into its depths. “Drink your fill,” he would say, “and may your wells never run dry.” 

When at last he reached his own village, the townspeople lifted him up on their shoulders and carried him to the large well in the middle of town. Holding their breath in anticipation, they watched him turn the flask upside down over the well’s mouth— 

But nothing came out. 

Hidál’s heart crashed to the ground. The people stood in stunned silence, many with tears running down their faces. Hidál fell to his knees beside the well, facing the heavens. “Is there not one drop left for my own people?” he cried. 

A single drop tumbled from the flask. 

Then the well’s walls seemed to open and new water gushed forth. All the people cheered, pressed toward the well, and thanked the heavens for this lifesaving gift. Hidál watched them happily, turning his eyes again and again to the sky and whispering, “Thank you.”

It is said the Wells of Hidal remain even to this day—but no one knows where to find them.

From Sarah: Check back on Green Thumb Thursday, February 27th, and get 10% off your entire seed order! More details to come.

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