People of the Black Sun(41)

“As though the birds know the unthinkable is about to happen, they tuck their beaks beneath their wings and close their eyes, roosting in the middle of the day. Noisy clouds of insects that, only moments ago, twisted through the forest like tiny tornadoes, vanish. Butterflies settle to the ground at Sky Messenger’s feet and secret themselves amid the clouds. An eerie silence descends.”

Sindak didn’t seem to be breathing. He watched her with slightly narrowed, unblinking eyes.

“Morning Star flares in the darkening sky and, as though she’s caused it, fantastic shadow-bands, rapidly moving strips of light and dark, flicker across the meadow. He—”

“So…” Sindak interrupted, “now he’s standing in a meadow. The cloud-sea is gone?”

“Let her finish,” Gonda said.

“It’s complicated,” she added. “Spirit Dreams have a logic of their own.”

“But where is the meadow? Has he ever seen it before?”

“At this point in the Dream,” she replied, “it nestles in the heart of the cloud-sea.”

“Ah, I understand.” He sank back against the palisade.

As Jigonsaseh told the story, she could hear Sky Messenger’s voice, filled with awe and foreboding. “Dimly, he becomes aware that he is not alone. Gray shades drift through the air around him, their hushed voices like the distant cries of lost souls. He knows that they are the last congregation. The dead who still walk and breathe. Then he hears Hiyawento call, ‘Odion?’ and he turns to see Hiyawento standing in the meadow beside him. Hiyawento points out beyond the cloud-sea. At the western edge of the world, an amorphous darkness rises from the watery depths and slithers along the horizon—”

“Horned Serpent? The Spirit beast who almost destroyed the world at the dawn of creation?”

Annoyed, she said, “Will you let me finish?”

Sindak’s mouth pursed then he said, “But it’s hard not to ask questions.”

“Endeavor,” Gonda said.

“I apologize.”

Jigonsaseh sighed. “When strange black curls, like gigantic antlers, spin from the darkness and rake through the cloud-sea, Elder Brother Sun trembles in the sky. Right beside him, a black hole opens in the universe and Elder Brother Sun slowly turns his back on the world to flee. There is a final brilliant flash, and blindingly white feathers sprout from his edges. Sky Messenger is certain that he’s flying. Flying away. And he knows that if Elder Brother Sun leaves us, the world will die … unless he does something.”

She swiveled her head to peer at Sindak. He stared at her fixedly. His narrow beaked face was beaded with melted snow.

“Just as Sky Messenger realizes that it is up to him to stop the death of the world, a crack—like the sky splitting—blasts him. He looks down and sees a great pine tree pushing up through a hole in the earth, its four white roots slashing like lightning to the four directions. A snowy blanket of thistledown blows toward it like a great wave, spreading out all over the world.”

Sindak stood so still, he resembled a stuffed man-skin.

“Sky Messenger staggers as his body comes alive in a raging flood. When he turns to speak to the Shades, a child cries out. The sound is muffled and wavering, seeping through the ocean of other voices. It sounds like the little boy is suffocating, his mouth covered with a hand or hide. Fear freezes the air in his lungs. As though the man has his lips pressed to Sky Messenger’s ear, he orders, ‘Lie down, boy. Stop crying or I’ll cut your heart out.’”

Sindak moved, shifting his back to a new position against the palisade. Clearly, he longed to ask a question, but he held his tongue.

“Then the Dream bursts. For a time, there is only brilliance. Then Sky Messenger sees the flowers of the World Tree, made of pure light, fluttering down. They’re all around him, fluttering down into utter darkness … and he’s falling, tumbling through nothingness with tufts of cloud trailing behind him.”

When she’d finished, she lifted the teacup, and took another drink. Each telling was like a journey to another world, a place where time ran more slowly, as though the Creator himself were dragging his feet, afraid of what was to come.

“Who is the man?” Sindak’s dark eyes had gone wide and wet.

“The man we cut apart outside Bog Willow Village.”

Sindak’s forehead furrowed, then his awed expression dissolved like mist in sunshine, becoming hard and filled with hatred. “What does that piece of filth have to do with the vision?”

Jigonsaseh said, “I don’t really understand it, Sindak, though I was there when Old Bahna, our village holy man, explained it to Sky Messenger. He told Sky Messenger that ‘A man who hates has no eyes. He is a prisoner of darkness.’ Bahna said the point was forgiveness.”