Title: The Rise of Huti
Word Count: 1934
Genre: Fantasy
I'm pulling out a couple of my rough drafts this weekend, since I've been letting them sit for years without really touching them now. And I have a bit of 'free' time. I actually have a lot that I need to do, I'm just completely unmotivated to do it. At any rate, this is another short story from the Kamore world. I wrote it ages ago, and recently went through and made a few edits. I'm still not sure how happy I am with it, but whatever. This isn't one I really plan on publishing, ever. Enjoy!
The Rise of Huti
Once, not too long ago, there was a time of deep unrest in our nation.
“We cannot stand for this! The Agnassen must be put down for the survival of our own people!” one man raged. Despite his old, wizened appearance, he was quite animated. His years seemed to melt away from him, though his long, gray hair remained the same. His cloak, which was stitched with a fine gold thread, showed his position as an elder. He looked around at the other elders of the village.
A young boy, sitting along the edges of the tent, worked a piece of yarn worriedly. His short black hair framed his face and put his eyes in shadow from the sun, and his worn, brown cloak indicated that he was a mere commoner in the village. He was only permitted in the elders' tent because he was the student of one of the more prominent elders, Tahi.
“Come now, Odar. War has solved nothing in the past. Why should we throw innocent lives away for such a pointless activity?” A slightly younger man, his hair still showing the brown of youth, remained calm as he sat beside the fire. The young boy straightened as his master spoke. “I think it far better if we wait it out. The winter will come soon, and it will be more difficult for the Agnassen to come over the pass to fight us. They will wear themselves out.”
Odar grew enraged at this suggestion, and responded with new fury. “How can we just sit here and wait? What if they manage to move over the pass before the white blanket settles over the land? How should we protect ourselves then?” His voice was loud and booming. “Or are you simply afraid of what might come to pass?”
Tahi remained calm and slowly rose from his seat on the floor. “I am simply showing respect for the lives of the young men that would be put in danger if we were to follow your plan, Odar. Not to mention the women and children who would be affected by such a loss.”
Odar's face turned purple in his rage. “What makes you so sure we are going to lose men? With a good plan, we can easily defeat the Agnassen, and not lose a life in the process.”
“A life is always lost when we result to war. Even if not one man of ours died, many would come back completely changed by the fighting. Is that something we would so easily wish them to deal with? War is not our only choice at this point, so why turn to it so easily?”
The others in the tent looked from Tahi to Odar, and back again. The two most respected elders had differing opinions as to what should be done about this threat to the people, and so the village would follow whichever had the most support from the other elders. Many of the younger men seemed to side with Odar, while the women and older men among them paid more heed to Tahi. The atmosphere in the tent was charged with tension.
The young boy chewed his lip worriedly. After seeming to deal with his internal struggle, he moved behind Tahi and whispered something in his ear. With a short nod, Tahi dismissed the boy, and the boy moved to the edges of the tent again. Tahi looked around at the elders. “Huti, my student, makes a fair point. Regardless of what we decide, we must ensure that the favor of the gods is on our side. It is pointless to chose a path that would only lead to our own destruction.”
The elders muttered their understanding of the idea, and Tahi continued. “Huti suggests we seek the guidance of Jaya. She would be able to empower us with the strength we need to face whatever situation is best. Her favor would be very important in determining the outcome.”
Odar seemed to glow at this suggestion, his face cracking into a frightening smile. The elders murmured their agreement, and the tension in the tent eased slightly. Perhaps they wouldn't have to choose between them.
An old woman stood and inclined her head towards Odar. “While it is clear that Odar should go, being the highest among the wise men, I believe Huti should accompany him. It was Huti's words that brought about this agreement, and he is to become an elder himself some day.”
Odar's face became tinged with pink once again. “I will not speak to the goddess with such a young boy at my side! It would be a disgrace!”
The old woman looked at him sharply. “Were you not a young boy yourself when you first made that journey up the mountain? Why should Huti be any different than you were? I can think of no one as brave as Huti in this instant, for only he and Tahi have the courage to stand up to raging men as yourself. He is to be one of our leaders some day, and must be prepared as best he can be for such a task. Do you know any better way to initiate him?” Her eyes seemed to glow with a power that her appearance did not indicate she had.
Odar looked as if he were going to retort, but backed down instead, bowing slightly to the old woman. Huti looked around uneasily, but the old woman rubbed his shoulder in reassurance. He felt strangely empowered by the gesture.
The two set off for the goddess' shrine the next morning, at the first sign of light. They left quickly, bringing only what was necessary for their travels. The journey would be a long one, as they would have to climb to the top of the neighboring mountain in order to find the goddess' shrine. It was said that from that vantage point, she could see all that was taking place through the land.
By the time they reached the shrine, night had fallen, and the only light offered was that of a waning moon. Still, the shrine seemed to glow with a soft blue light, and the two travelers set aside their packs to kneel before it.
Huti's ears perked up as he heard a soft rumbling sound, and his head raised slightly to see a sleek mountain lion sitting atop the altar. It looked at him with piercing eyes, and its tail swooshed silently across the altar. Huti didn't dare make a sound, and held eye contact with the lion for some time before Odar looked at him.
“What are you looking at, boy?” His tone was harsh and demanding, but Huti did not dare speak, only continued to look at the mountain lion. The lion stood and jumped off the altar towards them. Odar saw the movement and fell back in fear, making a strangled sound as he hit the ground. Huti stood and bowed slightly to the lion, breathing deeply so as not to let his fear show.
The mountain lion's tail swished again, and in a flash of bright light, transformed into a beautiful woman. She had light yellow hair, unlike any hair in the villagers below, and piercing blue eyes. Her dress was the color of the morning glories in the valley below, white with wisps of light blue around it. Huti stared at her, shocked into silence. Odar fell to his knees and at once began praising the goddess. She held up her hand to his praises, and he stopped immediately.
“Young one, tell me of you journey.” Her voice was angelic, light and singsong. She moved with a grace very much like that of the lion she had previously embodied.
Odar, angry with the attention she was giving Huti, began to answer. “We have journeyed far to see you, wise lady...”
She turned to him, her gaze suddenly cold. “I asked the young one, not you.”
Huti held his breath and glanced at the hateful look of his elder. The goddess turned to him, her eyes friendly and warm. He took a deep breath and began. “Jaya, we come from the Kamore people, the village in the valley. We have traveled all day up the mountain so that we might visit your shrine and ask of your assistance.”
She smiled. “And what assistance might you require?”
“Our elders are divided on how we should deal with the threat of the Agnassen. Some believe we should go to war, and others believe there is a better way, and that war should only be used as a last resort.”
“And what do you think, young one?”
Huti cleared his throat, glancing anxiously at Odar, whose face had once again turned pink with rage. “War cannot be the answer. It has been done in the past, and has not yet succeeded. If the Agnassen do not see the threat of war as dangerous, it cannot be the solution we seek.”
Jaya laughed softly and moved towards Huti. “You are very wise, young one. You can see the balance of power in play here. While it is easy enough to fight war with war, the balance of good and evil will never be equal then. Act in a way which would preserve this balance, and you will see favor in my eyes.”
Huti bowed, thanking the goddess. Odar, furious that his way was not truth, spoke quickly. “The Agnassen must be destroyed at any cost. They are a vile people, and must not influence the world anymore!”
Jaya turned to him quickly, her eyes once again a bone-chilling blue. “You dare speak against me, Odar? It is I from whom you draw your power, and I can easily take it away. It is only through my favor you remain a wise man. If you do not believe in my power, though, I'll transfer my favor to young Huti. He will become, I believe, the youngest wise man in your village.”
Odar looked at her, fear evident in his eyes. “No, Mistress. I did not mean to offend. I was only speaking my thoughts--”
“Thoughts that were neither asked for, nor appreciated. Huti shall take your place in the council.” She waved her hand and Huti's simple cloak became one of great elegance and power. Odar's cloak seemed insignificant in comparison, though it had not changed at all. “Take note of Odar's position, young Huti. He did not put his own people ahead of his greed and hatred, and it has cost him dearly. Do not put yourself in the same position.”
Huti bowed again, and sensing that he had been dismissed, turned and began to journey back down the mountain. The sky was turning pink in the east, and he would soon have good light to travel by. When he made it back to the village, he would be welcomed as the new elder.
And so, the Kamore entered a new era. They made peace with the Agnassen, at least for a time. Huti led his people through the challenges they would face and would keep the favor of Jaya, heeding her warning throughout the rest of his life. Odar never returned to the village. It is said that he died of shame on his journey down the mountain, though some say he still haunts the mountain, waiting for a chance to redeem himself with the goddess Jaya.
Showing posts with label Mythology. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mythology. Show all posts
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Sunday, January 9, 2011
The Real Original Sin
Title: The Real Original Sin
Word Count: 3,333
Genre: Mythological
This is another challenge piece I wrote, for a contest called 'All About Eve'. Basically, the premise was to write about the real story behind the first woman, whether it be Eve, Pandora, whatever.
I originally decided to go off and talk about Lilith, who, according to Jewish lore, was really the first woman. She was made out of the dust like Adam, and turned out to be too rebellious. There are various traditions for her after that, including the idea that nocturnal emissions fathered her demon children. It's an interesting myth if you ever get the chance to read about it.
Unfortunately, I lost that story, and wasn't able to recreate it. So I came up with a different angle. You should know the story of the Original Sin, how Adam and Eve had their 'eyes opened' to the world around of them. In this story, I play with that idea, suggesting that perhaps that was the only way that humans can really appreciate what they've been given is to experience hardship and pain.
Without further ado, here is The Real Original Sin:
~*~
They blame me for casting mankind out of paradise. They blame me for releasing evils upon the world. They ultimately blame me for every bad thing that has happened since my “transgression,” as if my action could permeate through the ages to affect them now. As if they would make a different choice than I did all those years ago. Even as if my actions were, dare I say it... evil.
Then again, I can't entirely blame them. They don't know the circumstances surrounding my actions. The details of that day, and the days before it, have become lost to all but those who lived then. Only a vague reference is made to me, to my choice, enough to let them think this was all my fault.
I have been called many things throughout the ages: Chavah, Heua, Ge'ez, but most people know me simply as Eve. It's high time my story was told; the whole story, not just the fragment children learn about in school or church, written so long after my death. It's time the truth came out.
Most know how it began. My master created the heavens and the Earth, the sun, moon, and stars, the beasts that roam the Earth and swim in its oceans. He also created my husband, Adam, and placed him in paradise, Eden. Adam did as he was told; he tended to the animals and plants in Eden, slept at night, and ate the fruits of the trees when he was hungry. He would speak to the animals, for we were all on the same level then, but none of them fulfilled Adam's need for companionship.
Adam became restless in those first days. He was lonely, and became irritated with the needs of the animals he was tending to. Though Eden was supposed to be a paradise, Adam was not happy. So, our Master created me. I was made from Adam's rib, a shelter for his life essence. Since I was only a part of Adam, I was physically weaker, but my essence was more concentrated. I was better able to deal with emotions and feelings from the start, because I came from a part of Adam that remains hidden.
Being in Eden, though, there wasn't much need for these emotions. Why did I need to be able to deal with great sadness or hurt when we lived in a perfect place? I was created with the capacity for them, but never felt it in those first few days of my existence. I merely completed Adam, gave him a companion who would suit him better than the animal companions he previously had. We knew each other perfectly, as no other couple would ever know each other again. Like him, I did what was expected of me; I tended to the plants and animals, and served as a wife to my husband. I enjoyed it. At least, I thought I did.
I was an excellent caretaker; all of the plants flourished in my care, and the animals sought me out to tend to their needs. Doing what I was told, I also stayed away from one plant, the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. It stood proudly in the middle of the garden, rising above all the other trees and bearing the most beautiful fruit in the garden. I enjoyed looking at it, though I did not dare approach. After all, what need did I have for its fruit when I had ample fruit all around me, however much it seemed to pale in comparison? I didn't understand why it would be necessary to defy the wishes of our Master.
A serpent approached me one day while I was gazing upon the Tree. I heard a rustling in the leaves of the bush next to me and jumped, momentarily startled by the movement in the otherwise still garden. After a moment, I calmed and noticed the serpent's tongue slide in and out of its mouth, tasting the air around it.
“Why do you tend all these plants, and yet shy away from that tree there?” he asked me slyly, moving around me in slow circles.
I shrugged, busying myself with collecting nuts that had fallen from the trees around me. “My master says we are not to tend to that tree, for we are not to eat that fruit. Besides,” I noted, “that tree does not need our tending. It flourishes perfectly well without us.”
“Do you always do what your master tells you to do?” he asked, a distinct challenge in his voice.
I turned my attention from the plant to the serpent and furrowed my eyebrows. “Of course. Don't you?”
His long tongue flicked out and his hiss came out in an amused tone. “I have no master. I take care of myself and enjoy it immensely.”
The concept of being your own master was so completely foreign to me that I could not fathom what he was telling me. “But, why would you not want someone to take care of you? Even if you did not need to be taken care of, why would you want to be alone? My husband tried that for a time, and could not stand it.”
“Your husband was never his own master. There is much to be said for independence.” With that, he slid between the leaves again, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
Though his words intrigued me, I quickly dismissed the conversation. After all, what need did I have for independence from my master? I was provided everything I could possibly want and enjoyed my time in the garden. I had food, companionship, and a purpose. The serpent was more than cunning, though; his purpose that first day was just to plant a seed of doubt. He approached me again the next day, remaining in the shadows as he spoke with me.
“You are nothing more than a slave here,” he taunted. “There is a whole world outside this garden, filled with more wonders than you can fathom.”
“The Garden is perfect. What else is there to explore?” I asked, not pausing in my tasks.
It is only perfect to you because you were told it was perfect. You only know what you can see now. With nothing to compare it to, how do you know it is perfect? Perhaps there is another garden that is better than this one, filled with other creatures and more flowers than you can imagine. But enslaved here in this garden, how do you know?” His tongue flicked out into the air before him as he spoke and I moved away unconsciously. Even then, I recognized that something was different about this creature, something that did not make me feel safe and secure.
“I am not enslaved here. I am free to do whatever I choose,” I argued, placing some seeds on a leaf for the birds to enjoy.
The serpent hissed malevolently. “Oh yes, you can do whatever you choose. So long as it is tending to these pathetic animals and staying away from the fruit of that tree. Do you even know why you do these tasks?”
I shrugged, keeping my face away from the serpent. “I am happy tending to these plants and animals, and I do not need to eat that fruit with all this other fruit available to me. Why should I disobey my master when there is no need?”
“Silly girl. You think that this is all there is to life. You have companionship, certainly, but you can't experience any real feelings. You aren't happy being a caretaker; you are content.” The serpent chuckled and slipped away once again, without waiting for any sort of response from me.
This time, his words puzzled me. I was happy, so why did he assert that I was only content?
My master found me wandering the garden that evening, looking for Adam so I could speak with him about the serpent.
“My child, what disturbs you?” The voice was perfect, velvet an soothing, like the babbling of a stream as it moves over the rounded rocks on the riverbed.
“I am... confused,” I declared, not knowing if that word described my feelings.
“What is it that you are confused about?”
I thought hard about how to phrase my confusion. Certainly my master already knew the source of my confusion; I was only being asked to find the answer for myself. A child cannot grow if the parent gives her no opportunity to. “The forbidden tree, I don't understand why we cannot eat from it.”
It was only a moment before I got a response, but the tension in that moment seemed to compress my chest uncomfortably. “You are not yet ready, my child. Be happy with all the other wonders available to you.”
I nodded, accepting that my master knew what was best for me. “When will I be ready?” I asked.
“I cannot tell you that. You will know then.”
Adam, not being quite as curious as me, accepted my tale without complaint. He felt no need to question our master's words, and no desire to find out more of what that meant. “Why concern yourself with something that you do not need?” he asked me. “If we were meant to eat from the Tree, there would be no prohibition against it.”
His words made sense to me, but I continued to puzzle over why we needed to be ready for what eating the fruit would do. Would it change us? The serpent had made it seem as though it would bring us independence from our master. But how? What about the way we felt about our situation? The serpent assured me I was only content, that I couldn't be happy, that I only knew what I was told. Would the fruit change that? The thought was at the back of my mind throughout the night and into the next day. At that point, I knew I had to speak to the serpent again.
Apparently sensing my need to speak with him, the serpent didn't show up that day, or the next. I was left to attempt to answer my own questions, becoming more and more unsatisfied with the answers I was finding. I became irritable, upset at the animals for disturbing my thoughts. I was angry with my master for giving me an answer I was not satisfied with. Frustrated, I smashed my foot into a melon growing out of the ground. The tension that had been building up over the past few days seemed to dissipate. While I was certainly not calm, I was no longer frustrated either. I stared blankly at the destroyed fruit resting at my feet.
That's when the serpent found me again.
“My, my. Aren't we testy this afternoon?” he hissed as he crawled up a tree.
I stared at the damaged melon at my feet. “I don't understand why I'm feeling this way. I want something, but I don't know what I want.”
The serpent hissed in pleasure. “Of course you don't. You're now breaking those bonds that have held you back. There's just one thing left for you to do.”
I looked up at him and frowned. “What bonds?”
He dropped down from the tree so his face was even with mine. “You were loyal to your master, and thus would not feel anything besides what you were told you could feel. When you began to question that loyalty, by desiring to eat the fruit, you were able to tap your potential. Just think of what it would be like when you can experience everything. You must eat the fruit.”
I shook my head slightly, feeling a sort of remorse for my defiance. “My master said I would know when I could eat from the Tree, that I was not ready yet.”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “You have changed a great deal in the past few days. Are you not ready to eat it now?”
I shifted my weight, uneasy with the way the serpent was watching me. “I don't know...”
His head shook slowly. “That is the Tree of Knowledge, yes? You won't know anything about the rest of the world if you do not eat from the Tree. Your master just wants to keep you under his control, keep you as a slave. But you're beyond that now. You want to know how to feel and be happy and know when something is beautiful without Him telling you so. You simply can't do that without eating from the Tree.”
I bit my lip as I considered his proposal. Over the past few days, I had come to understand that I was missing something, but I could not yet understand what it was that I was missing. Now, I had the opportunity to discover that, to really see the world for what it was. How could I possibly turn down an opportunity like that?
Instead of giving him a definite answer, I walked towards the Tree, taking small, unsteady steps as I went. I glanced back at him and noted the urging look in his eyes. As I approached the tree, I saw it begin to glow slightly, as if sunlight was radiating out of its bark. It was comfortably warm around the Tree as well, more so than in the rest of the Garden. I felt my heart beating faster, sure that this meant I was ready at last. I reached my hand out and plucked a juicy red apple from one of the lower branches of the tree. When nothing happened, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I had been holding. Unconsciously, I assumed that since eating the fruit was forbidden, so too was taking the fruit from the Tree. I had expected some sort of punishment to come right there, for my master to banish me for even considering this transgression.
The apple was heavy in my hand, but also cool. It contrasted greatly with the warmth of the air and I felt my mouth water at the thought of tasting the perfect fruit. The serpent hissed impatiently and I brought the apple to my lips, tasting the earthy skin reluctantly. Finally, I took a deep breath and bit a large chunk out of the apple.
I'm not sure what I expected, exactly, to come from eating the apple, but no major change took place. It wasn't as if my eyes were suddenly looking at a whole new world. Rather, the change took place slowly. I became upset that the change wasn't something spectacular, then annoyed with the serpent for coaxing me to eat the apple. After a few moments, I realized that these were new emotions, and yet I could somehow name them now. Other than this simple change, I didn't recognize anything different.
Still, I savored the taste of the apple, its brilliant flavors unlike any other fruit in the garden. It was richer, somehow, more potent.
Without paying heed to the serpent, I went to find Adam to share the experience. After all, if any change did take place, I couldn't very well handle the change alone. I was created to be Adam's companion, and yet now I was on a higher level than him. I knew more about the world than he cared to, and I wanted to open his eyes as well. How could I be his equal, his companion, if I had to treat him as a child, as an innocent?
I found Adam tending to a nest of birds. The mother was trying to teach the younger birds to fly, and was doing so by flapping her wings in demonstration. I watched the scene for a moment, entranced by the simple act of teaching. The mother then seemed to give up and just pushed one of her chicks out of the nest. Adam deftly caught the chick, then turned to scold the mother.
“Teaching takes time. Your chick isn't going to learn right away, it needs time to learn how to fly, to appreciate that it can fly.” Adam set the chick back in the nest, smiling.
“But, the chick isn't going to learn how to fly unless it is required to fly. Why would anyone leave the safety of the nest, where mama will feed and nourish you?” I asked, stepping forward. Adam turned to me with a slight frown on his face.
“Should the chick have to be hurt to learn to fly? When the time is right, the chick will want to leave the nest, create a new nest for itself,” he argued, petting the baby chick on the head gently.
I watched the mother bird for a moment, then turned back to Adam. “She knows it won't be hurt. The baby chicks can fly now, they just don't have the motivation to use their wings.”
“That motivation will come in time.” Adam nodded to himself.
“But what might the babies miss in that time?” I countered.
The mother bird, using this opening, pushed another of her chicks out of the tall nest. Adam moved to catch it again, but I grabbed his hand and pulled him back. The chick fell several feet before flapping its wings wildly and catching the air. With a happy chirp, the chick flew around in circles and made its way back up to the nest.
“See? He's happy now, and no harm came to him.” I smiled and patted Adam's hand slowly.
“How did you know that would happen?” he asked, confused.
I placed the apple in his hand, thinking carefully about my response. “Mothers always want what's best for their children. She would not have done that if she knew they would come to harm.” The words came easily, and I knew they were true, that I just had never considered the possibility before.
He moved the apple around in his hand for a moment, examining it closely. “What's this?”
“It's an apple from the Tree,” I said, motioning towards the center of the garden.
His eyes widened slightly and he nearly dropped the apple in surprise. “We're not to eat this. What have you done?”
I shrugged. “I have opened my eyes to the world around me. There's much you don't understand, that you can't understand. Eat the apple and you'll see.”
Of course, you know what happens now. Adam did eat the apple, and our master found us in our new state of knowledge. Angry that we defied His wishes, we were exiled from the Garden of Eden, made to work for our food and suffer. Looking into my children's eyes, though, I've come to learn how sweet this suffering makes life. After all, how could I have appreciated the twinkle in my Abel's eyes when he helped heal a sheep's leg, or when Cain made his first loaf of bread from the grain he so arduously cultivated? If everything had simply been handed to us for the rest of our lives, what sort of life would we have had? An easy one, certainly, but one without the joy of being together after working all day, or without the sense of accomplishment we felt when we did something new.
I'm convinced now that we were always meant to eat from the Tree. Our master simply made it forbidden to give us the choice between knowing good and evil, and suffering as a result, or living in ignorance and being unable to realize the true beauty He created. We still catch small glimpses of Eden in the world around us, whether it be a waterfall in a secluded forest, or watching a mother bird teach her chicks to fly. Maybe one day we'll be able to see the whole of paradise again. Maybe one day people will be able to understand why I made that initial choice, and why I still do not regret it to this day. Just maybe.
Word Count: 3,333
Genre: Mythological
This is another challenge piece I wrote, for a contest called 'All About Eve'. Basically, the premise was to write about the real story behind the first woman, whether it be Eve, Pandora, whatever.
I originally decided to go off and talk about Lilith, who, according to Jewish lore, was really the first woman. She was made out of the dust like Adam, and turned out to be too rebellious. There are various traditions for her after that, including the idea that nocturnal emissions fathered her demon children. It's an interesting myth if you ever get the chance to read about it.
Unfortunately, I lost that story, and wasn't able to recreate it. So I came up with a different angle. You should know the story of the Original Sin, how Adam and Eve had their 'eyes opened' to the world around of them. In this story, I play with that idea, suggesting that perhaps that was the only way that humans can really appreciate what they've been given is to experience hardship and pain.
Without further ado, here is The Real Original Sin:
~*~
They blame me for casting mankind out of paradise. They blame me for releasing evils upon the world. They ultimately blame me for every bad thing that has happened since my “transgression,” as if my action could permeate through the ages to affect them now. As if they would make a different choice than I did all those years ago. Even as if my actions were, dare I say it... evil.
Then again, I can't entirely blame them. They don't know the circumstances surrounding my actions. The details of that day, and the days before it, have become lost to all but those who lived then. Only a vague reference is made to me, to my choice, enough to let them think this was all my fault.
I have been called many things throughout the ages: Chavah, Heua, Ge'ez, but most people know me simply as Eve. It's high time my story was told; the whole story, not just the fragment children learn about in school or church, written so long after my death. It's time the truth came out.
Most know how it began. My master created the heavens and the Earth, the sun, moon, and stars, the beasts that roam the Earth and swim in its oceans. He also created my husband, Adam, and placed him in paradise, Eden. Adam did as he was told; he tended to the animals and plants in Eden, slept at night, and ate the fruits of the trees when he was hungry. He would speak to the animals, for we were all on the same level then, but none of them fulfilled Adam's need for companionship.
Adam became restless in those first days. He was lonely, and became irritated with the needs of the animals he was tending to. Though Eden was supposed to be a paradise, Adam was not happy. So, our Master created me. I was made from Adam's rib, a shelter for his life essence. Since I was only a part of Adam, I was physically weaker, but my essence was more concentrated. I was better able to deal with emotions and feelings from the start, because I came from a part of Adam that remains hidden.
Being in Eden, though, there wasn't much need for these emotions. Why did I need to be able to deal with great sadness or hurt when we lived in a perfect place? I was created with the capacity for them, but never felt it in those first few days of my existence. I merely completed Adam, gave him a companion who would suit him better than the animal companions he previously had. We knew each other perfectly, as no other couple would ever know each other again. Like him, I did what was expected of me; I tended to the plants and animals, and served as a wife to my husband. I enjoyed it. At least, I thought I did.
I was an excellent caretaker; all of the plants flourished in my care, and the animals sought me out to tend to their needs. Doing what I was told, I also stayed away from one plant, the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. It stood proudly in the middle of the garden, rising above all the other trees and bearing the most beautiful fruit in the garden. I enjoyed looking at it, though I did not dare approach. After all, what need did I have for its fruit when I had ample fruit all around me, however much it seemed to pale in comparison? I didn't understand why it would be necessary to defy the wishes of our Master.
A serpent approached me one day while I was gazing upon the Tree. I heard a rustling in the leaves of the bush next to me and jumped, momentarily startled by the movement in the otherwise still garden. After a moment, I calmed and noticed the serpent's tongue slide in and out of its mouth, tasting the air around it.
“Why do you tend all these plants, and yet shy away from that tree there?” he asked me slyly, moving around me in slow circles.
I shrugged, busying myself with collecting nuts that had fallen from the trees around me. “My master says we are not to tend to that tree, for we are not to eat that fruit. Besides,” I noted, “that tree does not need our tending. It flourishes perfectly well without us.”
“Do you always do what your master tells you to do?” he asked, a distinct challenge in his voice.
I turned my attention from the plant to the serpent and furrowed my eyebrows. “Of course. Don't you?”
His long tongue flicked out and his hiss came out in an amused tone. “I have no master. I take care of myself and enjoy it immensely.”
The concept of being your own master was so completely foreign to me that I could not fathom what he was telling me. “But, why would you not want someone to take care of you? Even if you did not need to be taken care of, why would you want to be alone? My husband tried that for a time, and could not stand it.”
“Your husband was never his own master. There is much to be said for independence.” With that, he slid between the leaves again, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
Though his words intrigued me, I quickly dismissed the conversation. After all, what need did I have for independence from my master? I was provided everything I could possibly want and enjoyed my time in the garden. I had food, companionship, and a purpose. The serpent was more than cunning, though; his purpose that first day was just to plant a seed of doubt. He approached me again the next day, remaining in the shadows as he spoke with me.
“You are nothing more than a slave here,” he taunted. “There is a whole world outside this garden, filled with more wonders than you can fathom.”
“The Garden is perfect. What else is there to explore?” I asked, not pausing in my tasks.
It is only perfect to you because you were told it was perfect. You only know what you can see now. With nothing to compare it to, how do you know it is perfect? Perhaps there is another garden that is better than this one, filled with other creatures and more flowers than you can imagine. But enslaved here in this garden, how do you know?” His tongue flicked out into the air before him as he spoke and I moved away unconsciously. Even then, I recognized that something was different about this creature, something that did not make me feel safe and secure.
“I am not enslaved here. I am free to do whatever I choose,” I argued, placing some seeds on a leaf for the birds to enjoy.
The serpent hissed malevolently. “Oh yes, you can do whatever you choose. So long as it is tending to these pathetic animals and staying away from the fruit of that tree. Do you even know why you do these tasks?”
I shrugged, keeping my face away from the serpent. “I am happy tending to these plants and animals, and I do not need to eat that fruit with all this other fruit available to me. Why should I disobey my master when there is no need?”
“Silly girl. You think that this is all there is to life. You have companionship, certainly, but you can't experience any real feelings. You aren't happy being a caretaker; you are content.” The serpent chuckled and slipped away once again, without waiting for any sort of response from me.
This time, his words puzzled me. I was happy, so why did he assert that I was only content?
My master found me wandering the garden that evening, looking for Adam so I could speak with him about the serpent.
“My child, what disturbs you?” The voice was perfect, velvet an soothing, like the babbling of a stream as it moves over the rounded rocks on the riverbed.
“I am... confused,” I declared, not knowing if that word described my feelings.
“What is it that you are confused about?”
I thought hard about how to phrase my confusion. Certainly my master already knew the source of my confusion; I was only being asked to find the answer for myself. A child cannot grow if the parent gives her no opportunity to. “The forbidden tree, I don't understand why we cannot eat from it.”
It was only a moment before I got a response, but the tension in that moment seemed to compress my chest uncomfortably. “You are not yet ready, my child. Be happy with all the other wonders available to you.”
I nodded, accepting that my master knew what was best for me. “When will I be ready?” I asked.
“I cannot tell you that. You will know then.”
Adam, not being quite as curious as me, accepted my tale without complaint. He felt no need to question our master's words, and no desire to find out more of what that meant. “Why concern yourself with something that you do not need?” he asked me. “If we were meant to eat from the Tree, there would be no prohibition against it.”
His words made sense to me, but I continued to puzzle over why we needed to be ready for what eating the fruit would do. Would it change us? The serpent had made it seem as though it would bring us independence from our master. But how? What about the way we felt about our situation? The serpent assured me I was only content, that I couldn't be happy, that I only knew what I was told. Would the fruit change that? The thought was at the back of my mind throughout the night and into the next day. At that point, I knew I had to speak to the serpent again.
Apparently sensing my need to speak with him, the serpent didn't show up that day, or the next. I was left to attempt to answer my own questions, becoming more and more unsatisfied with the answers I was finding. I became irritable, upset at the animals for disturbing my thoughts. I was angry with my master for giving me an answer I was not satisfied with. Frustrated, I smashed my foot into a melon growing out of the ground. The tension that had been building up over the past few days seemed to dissipate. While I was certainly not calm, I was no longer frustrated either. I stared blankly at the destroyed fruit resting at my feet.
That's when the serpent found me again.
“My, my. Aren't we testy this afternoon?” he hissed as he crawled up a tree.
I stared at the damaged melon at my feet. “I don't understand why I'm feeling this way. I want something, but I don't know what I want.”
The serpent hissed in pleasure. “Of course you don't. You're now breaking those bonds that have held you back. There's just one thing left for you to do.”
I looked up at him and frowned. “What bonds?”
He dropped down from the tree so his face was even with mine. “You were loyal to your master, and thus would not feel anything besides what you were told you could feel. When you began to question that loyalty, by desiring to eat the fruit, you were able to tap your potential. Just think of what it would be like when you can experience everything. You must eat the fruit.”
I shook my head slightly, feeling a sort of remorse for my defiance. “My master said I would know when I could eat from the Tree, that I was not ready yet.”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “You have changed a great deal in the past few days. Are you not ready to eat it now?”
I shifted my weight, uneasy with the way the serpent was watching me. “I don't know...”
His head shook slowly. “That is the Tree of Knowledge, yes? You won't know anything about the rest of the world if you do not eat from the Tree. Your master just wants to keep you under his control, keep you as a slave. But you're beyond that now. You want to know how to feel and be happy and know when something is beautiful without Him telling you so. You simply can't do that without eating from the Tree.”
I bit my lip as I considered his proposal. Over the past few days, I had come to understand that I was missing something, but I could not yet understand what it was that I was missing. Now, I had the opportunity to discover that, to really see the world for what it was. How could I possibly turn down an opportunity like that?
Instead of giving him a definite answer, I walked towards the Tree, taking small, unsteady steps as I went. I glanced back at him and noted the urging look in his eyes. As I approached the tree, I saw it begin to glow slightly, as if sunlight was radiating out of its bark. It was comfortably warm around the Tree as well, more so than in the rest of the Garden. I felt my heart beating faster, sure that this meant I was ready at last. I reached my hand out and plucked a juicy red apple from one of the lower branches of the tree. When nothing happened, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I had been holding. Unconsciously, I assumed that since eating the fruit was forbidden, so too was taking the fruit from the Tree. I had expected some sort of punishment to come right there, for my master to banish me for even considering this transgression.
The apple was heavy in my hand, but also cool. It contrasted greatly with the warmth of the air and I felt my mouth water at the thought of tasting the perfect fruit. The serpent hissed impatiently and I brought the apple to my lips, tasting the earthy skin reluctantly. Finally, I took a deep breath and bit a large chunk out of the apple.
I'm not sure what I expected, exactly, to come from eating the apple, but no major change took place. It wasn't as if my eyes were suddenly looking at a whole new world. Rather, the change took place slowly. I became upset that the change wasn't something spectacular, then annoyed with the serpent for coaxing me to eat the apple. After a few moments, I realized that these were new emotions, and yet I could somehow name them now. Other than this simple change, I didn't recognize anything different.
Still, I savored the taste of the apple, its brilliant flavors unlike any other fruit in the garden. It was richer, somehow, more potent.
Without paying heed to the serpent, I went to find Adam to share the experience. After all, if any change did take place, I couldn't very well handle the change alone. I was created to be Adam's companion, and yet now I was on a higher level than him. I knew more about the world than he cared to, and I wanted to open his eyes as well. How could I be his equal, his companion, if I had to treat him as a child, as an innocent?
I found Adam tending to a nest of birds. The mother was trying to teach the younger birds to fly, and was doing so by flapping her wings in demonstration. I watched the scene for a moment, entranced by the simple act of teaching. The mother then seemed to give up and just pushed one of her chicks out of the nest. Adam deftly caught the chick, then turned to scold the mother.
“Teaching takes time. Your chick isn't going to learn right away, it needs time to learn how to fly, to appreciate that it can fly.” Adam set the chick back in the nest, smiling.
“But, the chick isn't going to learn how to fly unless it is required to fly. Why would anyone leave the safety of the nest, where mama will feed and nourish you?” I asked, stepping forward. Adam turned to me with a slight frown on his face.
“Should the chick have to be hurt to learn to fly? When the time is right, the chick will want to leave the nest, create a new nest for itself,” he argued, petting the baby chick on the head gently.
I watched the mother bird for a moment, then turned back to Adam. “She knows it won't be hurt. The baby chicks can fly now, they just don't have the motivation to use their wings.”
“That motivation will come in time.” Adam nodded to himself.
“But what might the babies miss in that time?” I countered.
The mother bird, using this opening, pushed another of her chicks out of the tall nest. Adam moved to catch it again, but I grabbed his hand and pulled him back. The chick fell several feet before flapping its wings wildly and catching the air. With a happy chirp, the chick flew around in circles and made its way back up to the nest.
“See? He's happy now, and no harm came to him.” I smiled and patted Adam's hand slowly.
“How did you know that would happen?” he asked, confused.
I placed the apple in his hand, thinking carefully about my response. “Mothers always want what's best for their children. She would not have done that if she knew they would come to harm.” The words came easily, and I knew they were true, that I just had never considered the possibility before.
He moved the apple around in his hand for a moment, examining it closely. “What's this?”
“It's an apple from the Tree,” I said, motioning towards the center of the garden.
His eyes widened slightly and he nearly dropped the apple in surprise. “We're not to eat this. What have you done?”
I shrugged. “I have opened my eyes to the world around me. There's much you don't understand, that you can't understand. Eat the apple and you'll see.”
Of course, you know what happens now. Adam did eat the apple, and our master found us in our new state of knowledge. Angry that we defied His wishes, we were exiled from the Garden of Eden, made to work for our food and suffer. Looking into my children's eyes, though, I've come to learn how sweet this suffering makes life. After all, how could I have appreciated the twinkle in my Abel's eyes when he helped heal a sheep's leg, or when Cain made his first loaf of bread from the grain he so arduously cultivated? If everything had simply been handed to us for the rest of our lives, what sort of life would we have had? An easy one, certainly, but one without the joy of being together after working all day, or without the sense of accomplishment we felt when we did something new.
I'm convinced now that we were always meant to eat from the Tree. Our master simply made it forbidden to give us the choice between knowing good and evil, and suffering as a result, or living in ignorance and being unable to realize the true beauty He created. We still catch small glimpses of Eden in the world around us, whether it be a waterfall in a secluded forest, or watching a mother bird teach her chicks to fly. Maybe one day we'll be able to see the whole of paradise again. Maybe one day people will be able to understand why I made that initial choice, and why I still do not regret it to this day. Just maybe.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
The Great Mother
Title: The Great Mother
Word Count: 1,214
Genre: Mythological
My last post was the death myth for the Kamore people. This short story is the actual start of their mythology. I wrote this as a part of a mythology challenge, where we had to write a new myth. Creation myths are pretty common and I had studied several as a part of one of my history classes in college, so I went for that. I actually won second place in that competition, so I got a banner and an icon made for this one. Enjoy!
As the last light of day faded in the west, Huti watched the tribe members gather in anticipation of the dance. The drummers along the edges of the fire pounded violently on their drums, calling everyone to gather here. Clad in bright colors of yellow and red, the dancers were covered with beads and masks of varying designs. The masks told a story themselves, one that Huti would put into words tonight, the night they celebrated Medomai.
As the drums faded and the dancers took their positions next to him, Huti threw a fine dust into the fire. It flared, momentarily blinding the people watching the fire, and then died down, producing a bright smoke above it. Shapes twisted and turned in the smoke, fading in and out of the foreground. Huti smiled at the children of the tribe, seeing this presentation in a new light each year, oohed and ahhed at the images.
“Tonight, we gather to celebrate Medomai, the Great Mother. It is she who gave our ancestors their lives, and it is she who we shall all return to in the end.” Huti's voice had a chant-like quality to it, lulling many in the tribe into a trance-like state. The images in the smoke showed a large woman making small objects from the clay. She smiled and formed the objects as if she were a mere child playing in the clay. Two dancers had begun to dance, one with a mask with large blue eyes like the sky, deep wooden-brown skin of trees, and green hair like the leaves and grass of plants; the image of the Great Mother. The other wore a full green dress and a mask of yellow, a representation of all the plants.
“It is said that in the beginning, Medomai longed for companionship. She was different from the rest of the Greats, as she did not have any herds of bison or flocks of birds to take care of. She had only the Earth itself, the land and plants that inhabited it. While she enjoyed listening to the plants singing to her, she wanted a companion more like herself, one who could speak with her, one who could feel sadness and pain and happiness and joy, and one who would help her take care of the Earth. So, from the bark of an aspen and clay from the Earth, she formed the first human.”
Out of the smoke came the images of trees and a small, roughly shaped girl. A slight murmur rose through the crowd as they stared in wonder at the images. Another dancer joined the group now, showing reverence to the Great Mother and care towards the plant. The small girl wore a mask with deep red hair, small, green eyes, and ashen skin.
“This human was a great companion to Medomai, but could not function as Medomai did, especially with the burden of emotions Medomai felt. Medomai wanted the best for her creation, so she created a companion to this human as well in order to complement and complete the frail girl. With that, the first human couple was created, man and woman. They shared all the emotions of the Great Mother between them, and thus were able to be more like the Her. They shared the responsibilities of tending to the plants of the Earth.” Huti watched a fourth dancer join the group, one with a mask similar to that of the girl, but larger and more masculine. The two dancers representing the humans moved around together, gathering plants and seeds for food and planting.
“So great was their combined intelligence and compassion that they made new plants as well, bringing more and more joy to the Great Mother. This capacity for knowledge and growth did not stop in their tending, but also extended to the very emotions they could not bear alone. They had learned a new emotion: love. It was not the maternal love the Great Mother felt while tending the plants, but rather a true love of companionship.”
The male and female dancers began a more intimate dance, no longer noticing the dances of the Great Mother and her plant. The dance was fluid and beautiful, and moved all around the fire as the images in the smoke mirrored their movements.
“This love grew more and more over time, and the Great Mother allowed it to flourish, even at the expense of losing her two companions. Eventually, she allowed the woman to feel the joy she herself had had in creating a companion; she allowed the woman to create a child. This child, too, would grow and Medomai would create a new companion for the child. And so, the people of the world were created, and, over time they forgot their original purpose to act as companions to the Great Mother.” More dancers joined in, each obviously ignoring the dance of the Great Mother, though they danced around the plant, as if asking for its fruits to use as food. The smoke showed the population of the Earth growing more and more.
“One child, though, heard stories of the beginning, and sought to find Medomai, to restore the relationship that had long been lost. She found Medomai among the many trees in a forest, listening to the plants singing to her. The Great Mother welcomed the girl with open arms and the girl spent many years as the Great Mother's companion. Still, this girl longed for what she had seen her kin achieve, the love that would complete her. The Great Mother realized this, and fashioned for the girl a man she would fall in love with and live with happily. Accepting that she could no longer have a companion who sought happiness elsewhere, the Great Mother left the Earth in the care of her numerous creations.” The smoke showed Medomai looking down upon the humans, each finding love and tending to their own needs, without her help. She seemed to be torn between being happy at the success of her creation and sad at her loss of companionship.
“She took special care, though, to watch over the girl and her love. This girl was Elissa, and her partner Rai, the first of the Kamore, and it is from her attentions to the Great Mother that we have such a knowledge of the Earth today. In order to not forget where we came from, Elissa instituted a festival for the Great Mother Medomai, to occur twice a year, with the coming of each new crop.” Huti smiled as the dancers went into a frenzy, chanting along with the crowd. The entire tribe had become very involved in the story of their own beginnings. Many of the children were now dancing among the masked dancers, and couples were dancing off to the sides, emphasizing the growth of the tribe from the first of the Kamore.
Huti watched the crowd and said softly to himself, “It is said that Medomai watches the Kamore, and seeks her perfect companion from among us. One who will complete her as each love completes a couple. When she finds this perfect companion, she will return to Earth and live among us, sharing with us her knowledge and celebrating the life she long ago created.”
Word Count: 1,214
Genre: Mythological
My last post was the death myth for the Kamore people. This short story is the actual start of their mythology. I wrote this as a part of a mythology challenge, where we had to write a new myth. Creation myths are pretty common and I had studied several as a part of one of my history classes in college, so I went for that. I actually won second place in that competition, so I got a banner and an icon made for this one. Enjoy!
As the last light of day faded in the west, Huti watched the tribe members gather in anticipation of the dance. The drummers along the edges of the fire pounded violently on their drums, calling everyone to gather here. Clad in bright colors of yellow and red, the dancers were covered with beads and masks of varying designs. The masks told a story themselves, one that Huti would put into words tonight, the night they celebrated Medomai.
As the drums faded and the dancers took their positions next to him, Huti threw a fine dust into the fire. It flared, momentarily blinding the people watching the fire, and then died down, producing a bright smoke above it. Shapes twisted and turned in the smoke, fading in and out of the foreground. Huti smiled at the children of the tribe, seeing this presentation in a new light each year, oohed and ahhed at the images.
“Tonight, we gather to celebrate Medomai, the Great Mother. It is she who gave our ancestors their lives, and it is she who we shall all return to in the end.” Huti's voice had a chant-like quality to it, lulling many in the tribe into a trance-like state. The images in the smoke showed a large woman making small objects from the clay. She smiled and formed the objects as if she were a mere child playing in the clay. Two dancers had begun to dance, one with a mask with large blue eyes like the sky, deep wooden-brown skin of trees, and green hair like the leaves and grass of plants; the image of the Great Mother. The other wore a full green dress and a mask of yellow, a representation of all the plants.
“It is said that in the beginning, Medomai longed for companionship. She was different from the rest of the Greats, as she did not have any herds of bison or flocks of birds to take care of. She had only the Earth itself, the land and plants that inhabited it. While she enjoyed listening to the plants singing to her, she wanted a companion more like herself, one who could speak with her, one who could feel sadness and pain and happiness and joy, and one who would help her take care of the Earth. So, from the bark of an aspen and clay from the Earth, she formed the first human.”
Out of the smoke came the images of trees and a small, roughly shaped girl. A slight murmur rose through the crowd as they stared in wonder at the images. Another dancer joined the group now, showing reverence to the Great Mother and care towards the plant. The small girl wore a mask with deep red hair, small, green eyes, and ashen skin.
“This human was a great companion to Medomai, but could not function as Medomai did, especially with the burden of emotions Medomai felt. Medomai wanted the best for her creation, so she created a companion to this human as well in order to complement and complete the frail girl. With that, the first human couple was created, man and woman. They shared all the emotions of the Great Mother between them, and thus were able to be more like the Her. They shared the responsibilities of tending to the plants of the Earth.” Huti watched a fourth dancer join the group, one with a mask similar to that of the girl, but larger and more masculine. The two dancers representing the humans moved around together, gathering plants and seeds for food and planting.
“So great was their combined intelligence and compassion that they made new plants as well, bringing more and more joy to the Great Mother. This capacity for knowledge and growth did not stop in their tending, but also extended to the very emotions they could not bear alone. They had learned a new emotion: love. It was not the maternal love the Great Mother felt while tending the plants, but rather a true love of companionship.”
The male and female dancers began a more intimate dance, no longer noticing the dances of the Great Mother and her plant. The dance was fluid and beautiful, and moved all around the fire as the images in the smoke mirrored their movements.
“This love grew more and more over time, and the Great Mother allowed it to flourish, even at the expense of losing her two companions. Eventually, she allowed the woman to feel the joy she herself had had in creating a companion; she allowed the woman to create a child. This child, too, would grow and Medomai would create a new companion for the child. And so, the people of the world were created, and, over time they forgot their original purpose to act as companions to the Great Mother.” More dancers joined in, each obviously ignoring the dance of the Great Mother, though they danced around the plant, as if asking for its fruits to use as food. The smoke showed the population of the Earth growing more and more.
“One child, though, heard stories of the beginning, and sought to find Medomai, to restore the relationship that had long been lost. She found Medomai among the many trees in a forest, listening to the plants singing to her. The Great Mother welcomed the girl with open arms and the girl spent many years as the Great Mother's companion. Still, this girl longed for what she had seen her kin achieve, the love that would complete her. The Great Mother realized this, and fashioned for the girl a man she would fall in love with and live with happily. Accepting that she could no longer have a companion who sought happiness elsewhere, the Great Mother left the Earth in the care of her numerous creations.” The smoke showed Medomai looking down upon the humans, each finding love and tending to their own needs, without her help. She seemed to be torn between being happy at the success of her creation and sad at her loss of companionship.
“She took special care, though, to watch over the girl and her love. This girl was Elissa, and her partner Rai, the first of the Kamore, and it is from her attentions to the Great Mother that we have such a knowledge of the Earth today. In order to not forget where we came from, Elissa instituted a festival for the Great Mother Medomai, to occur twice a year, with the coming of each new crop.” Huti smiled as the dancers went into a frenzy, chanting along with the crowd. The entire tribe had become very involved in the story of their own beginnings. Many of the children were now dancing among the masked dancers, and couples were dancing off to the sides, emphasizing the growth of the tribe from the first of the Kamore.
Huti watched the crowd and said softly to himself, “It is said that Medomai watches the Kamore, and seeks her perfect companion from among us. One who will complete her as each love completes a couple. When she finds this perfect companion, she will return to Earth and live among us, sharing with us her knowledge and celebrating the life she long ago created.”
Saturday, October 30, 2010
What Dies Will Come Anew
Title: What Dies Will Come Anew
Word Count: 1,089
Genre: Mythological
This piece was originally inspired by a challenge piece that I wrote. Basically, for the original challenge, we had to write a mythology piece. It could either be a myth already in existence, or we could write a completely new myth. I opted to write a completely new myth, the creation story for the Kamore people. This is their death myth.
Huti looked up at the blackness surrounding him, dispersed slightly by the warm glow of the campfire. The little ones had been sent to him again to learn more of the history of their people, and he figured this would be the best setting for the tale he planned to tell tonight.
The faces of the little ones were curious, glancing around every so often to make sure that nothing would sneak up on them. He smiled, showing the wrinkles on his face better than ever.
“Gather around now as I tell you a story of our Great Mother, Medomai.” The children moved closer to him, many resting on their knees to get the best view. They were so excited to have a new story to tell, though many of them would likely forget it when they grew up.
“Medomai was very much like all of you. She had her own mother and father: the Earth and the Sun, and she had a brother. His name was Motmai. Motmai was often kept separate from Medomai, as he tended to the animals of the night; the owl, the coyote, and the bat.” Huti paused for effect and watched as the children looked around them, still innocent in their musings.
“She, on the other hand, tended to the plants, which thrived in the rays of the sun. She was a great caretaker; all of her plants grew very large and would entertain her with their songs. They would also drop their fruits as food for the animals who would wander over with curiosity at the new noise.” The children smiled at the image of singing plants, and swayed a little with the slight chanting in Huti's voice.
“One day, Motmai came out during the sunlight hours, and watched his sister tend to her plants. He became very jealous of his sister's abilities, and how her plants loved her so. So, he brought darkness over her plants. Without the light of the sun shining on them, they shriveled up, crying in agony all the way.” Huti once again gestured to the darkness around him, and many of the children's eyes grew wide, as they moved a little closer to the fire, to the light.
Huti smiled, and chastised them slightly with his next words. “Medomai was not to be deterred though. She was, after all, a great caretaker. She grew up new plants from the shriveled ones, and they grew even larger than before. Each plant contained a bit of new life, along with the old life that had passed by.” The children brightened at the words, comforted by the fact that their Great Mother was so resilient.
“Motmai was very upset with his failure, though, and sought some other way to destroy Medomai's spirit. He studied her, and looked for a way to destroy the things she loved best. That was when he learned of her new creation, the humans. He saw how she loved them so, how she put so much effort into creating them, and the hope she had of their futures. And so, one by one, he brought death to them.” Some of the children had started crying by now, and Huti's voice had taken on a distinctive sad tone.
“Medomai could not replace the humans as easily as she could her plants. They took time to create and grow, and she could not replace them as fast as they were being taken from her. So, she turned inward, no longer caring about her other creations as her favorite creation disappeared. Motmai took the opportunity to destroy her plants as well, leaving their remains shriveled on the ground for all to see. Medomai, in her sadness, did not act to replace them.” There was a unearthly quietness among the children. They were riveted on Huti's words, begging for a happy ending to the story.
“The Great Fionn saw her distress, and hid her plants beneath a blanket of white, seeking Motmai to chastise him for his actions. But Motmai was elusive. He hid well in his darkness, and enjoyed watching Medomai in her sadness. He thought he had finally triumphed over her, broken her spirit so that she could no longer rise above him in skill. The humans had a part of her spirit, though, and did not let the loss of their family destroy them. Rather, they began to celebrate the passings. They saw it as a way for their family to return to the Earth, to help feed the Great Mother's plants and bring new life to her other creations.” Huti smiled as the children began to understand the purpose of the story. Those who remembered death began to look at it in a new light, closing their eyes and remembering their families with joy, rather than the guilt and sadness of death.
“When the Great Mother saw her creation celebrating, she was renewed in her joy. She began to cultivate her plants again, celebrating along with the humans. The Great Fionn saw her happiness and removed the blanket from the Earth. Where there had been brown and sickly plants before now grew dozens of new varieties of plants, strong and powerful in the soil. All of Medomai's creations rejoiced at the change in her mood. It was a great time, and a large festival was held to celebrate it.” Many children had jumped to their feet and began dancing around the fire, laughing merrily with the joy in which the story was taught. Huti smiled and waited for the sounds to die down enough for him to complete his story.
“Motmai was not ruined, though. He was dismayed, and spent his time plotting for the time in which he could destroy his sister anew. Each year he destroys her plants, and Fionn covers the death with the Great White blanket. Each year, we must celebrate the death as a new start, so that the Great Mother's spirits are raised again and she brings us new crops.” Huti looked to the sky and chanted indistinctly. Some of the children made attempts to join him, chanting their own words until the small camp was filled with the joyous sounds.
Huti stopped suddenly and looked at the little ones again. He smiled and stroked one girl's hair in a loving gesture. “We cannot let death stop us, little ones. We must see it as a new beginning, just as the new plants contain a bit of the old with them, so do we. Our ancestors never leave us.”
Word Count: 1,089
Genre: Mythological
This piece was originally inspired by a challenge piece that I wrote. Basically, for the original challenge, we had to write a mythology piece. It could either be a myth already in existence, or we could write a completely new myth. I opted to write a completely new myth, the creation story for the Kamore people. This is their death myth.
Huti looked up at the blackness surrounding him, dispersed slightly by the warm glow of the campfire. The little ones had been sent to him again to learn more of the history of their people, and he figured this would be the best setting for the tale he planned to tell tonight.
The faces of the little ones were curious, glancing around every so often to make sure that nothing would sneak up on them. He smiled, showing the wrinkles on his face better than ever.
“Gather around now as I tell you a story of our Great Mother, Medomai.” The children moved closer to him, many resting on their knees to get the best view. They were so excited to have a new story to tell, though many of them would likely forget it when they grew up.
“Medomai was very much like all of you. She had her own mother and father: the Earth and the Sun, and she had a brother. His name was Motmai. Motmai was often kept separate from Medomai, as he tended to the animals of the night; the owl, the coyote, and the bat.” Huti paused for effect and watched as the children looked around them, still innocent in their musings.
“She, on the other hand, tended to the plants, which thrived in the rays of the sun. She was a great caretaker; all of her plants grew very large and would entertain her with their songs. They would also drop their fruits as food for the animals who would wander over with curiosity at the new noise.” The children smiled at the image of singing plants, and swayed a little with the slight chanting in Huti's voice.
“One day, Motmai came out during the sunlight hours, and watched his sister tend to her plants. He became very jealous of his sister's abilities, and how her plants loved her so. So, he brought darkness over her plants. Without the light of the sun shining on them, they shriveled up, crying in agony all the way.” Huti once again gestured to the darkness around him, and many of the children's eyes grew wide, as they moved a little closer to the fire, to the light.
Huti smiled, and chastised them slightly with his next words. “Medomai was not to be deterred though. She was, after all, a great caretaker. She grew up new plants from the shriveled ones, and they grew even larger than before. Each plant contained a bit of new life, along with the old life that had passed by.” The children brightened at the words, comforted by the fact that their Great Mother was so resilient.
“Motmai was very upset with his failure, though, and sought some other way to destroy Medomai's spirit. He studied her, and looked for a way to destroy the things she loved best. That was when he learned of her new creation, the humans. He saw how she loved them so, how she put so much effort into creating them, and the hope she had of their futures. And so, one by one, he brought death to them.” Some of the children had started crying by now, and Huti's voice had taken on a distinctive sad tone.
“Medomai could not replace the humans as easily as she could her plants. They took time to create and grow, and she could not replace them as fast as they were being taken from her. So, she turned inward, no longer caring about her other creations as her favorite creation disappeared. Motmai took the opportunity to destroy her plants as well, leaving their remains shriveled on the ground for all to see. Medomai, in her sadness, did not act to replace them.” There was a unearthly quietness among the children. They were riveted on Huti's words, begging for a happy ending to the story.
“The Great Fionn saw her distress, and hid her plants beneath a blanket of white, seeking Motmai to chastise him for his actions. But Motmai was elusive. He hid well in his darkness, and enjoyed watching Medomai in her sadness. He thought he had finally triumphed over her, broken her spirit so that she could no longer rise above him in skill. The humans had a part of her spirit, though, and did not let the loss of their family destroy them. Rather, they began to celebrate the passings. They saw it as a way for their family to return to the Earth, to help feed the Great Mother's plants and bring new life to her other creations.” Huti smiled as the children began to understand the purpose of the story. Those who remembered death began to look at it in a new light, closing their eyes and remembering their families with joy, rather than the guilt and sadness of death.
“When the Great Mother saw her creation celebrating, she was renewed in her joy. She began to cultivate her plants again, celebrating along with the humans. The Great Fionn saw her happiness and removed the blanket from the Earth. Where there had been brown and sickly plants before now grew dozens of new varieties of plants, strong and powerful in the soil. All of Medomai's creations rejoiced at the change in her mood. It was a great time, and a large festival was held to celebrate it.” Many children had jumped to their feet and began dancing around the fire, laughing merrily with the joy in which the story was taught. Huti smiled and waited for the sounds to die down enough for him to complete his story.
“Motmai was not ruined, though. He was dismayed, and spent his time plotting for the time in which he could destroy his sister anew. Each year he destroys her plants, and Fionn covers the death with the Great White blanket. Each year, we must celebrate the death as a new start, so that the Great Mother's spirits are raised again and she brings us new crops.” Huti looked to the sky and chanted indistinctly. Some of the children made attempts to join him, chanting their own words until the small camp was filled with the joyous sounds.
Huti stopped suddenly and looked at the little ones again. He smiled and stroked one girl's hair in a loving gesture. “We cannot let death stop us, little ones. We must see it as a new beginning, just as the new plants contain a bit of the old with them, so do we. Our ancestors never leave us.”
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