Origins
A crackling hiss; the small flame at the center of the firepit leapt and danced as it grew to consume the circle of dried lnyanyan branches piled around it. Twisting shadows met and kissed, writhed together on the rockface walls of the stone hutch, synchronous with the dancing flame.
Jeonata crouched as he entered the hutch through the low opening that was the only ingress. He crept slowly to avoid stumbling over some inconvenient pebble on the dirt floor, as his arms were filled with lnyanyan branches. Their fragrance stained his hands, his clothes, the very fabric of the air in the small hutch. On another world it might have been described as a smell like sage and honeydew, a wet and heavy wild perfume.
Jeonata's shadow, alternately magnified to grotesque proportions and reduced to that of the tiniest scurrying fieldmouse, joined those in delirious interplay on the stone walls. Man had joined the dance of the elements, a foreshadowing of what was to come within these rounded walls.
He carefully placed the branches around the outer fringes of the fire, packing them closely but not too tightly. Reverently, he cupped the circular retaining wall surrounding the pit (dug into the dirt floor) in which the blaze nested. It was warm to the touch, not hot: perfect. Like the stone hutch itself, the wall was built of small boulders - carefully chosen - piled one atop the other. The spaces between were caulked with mud.
These boulders were whitewashed to signify their important function. The fire was not for warmth's sake (although the cold season's chill was approaching; he could feel it in his bones). It was not to roast the meat of the deer he hoped to kill on the morrow. No, this fire was for the sweat.
Satisfied, he lifted the beaten copper pan to sit atop the circle of dried branches, directly above the fire. The pan's edges were supported by the top of the retaining wall. The character of the shadows had changed; less restless now the multitude of dancing shadows, but one shadow remained distinct, clearly defined - his.
"Icxthnu'a na tollemae
Chthoi, lanamae chtoi, lanamae chtoi...."
The reflection of the subdued flames on the copper lit upon Jeonata's face, caressing the pockmarked skin as he reached into the hide pouch slung under his armpit. From within he withdrew a handful of chlauhaoctl pods. He tossed them into the copper pan, where they would swell and split as the water began to boil, and release their intoxicating vapours.
"Chthoi, lanamae chtoi, tollamae chtoi..."
Cross-legged, he sat against the curved wall farthest away from the door opening. A minute passed. Two. Twelve. Presently the entire hutch was filled with the steaming essence of chlauhaoctl. His eyes were closed. Beads of sweat dripped from every orifice in search of haven within the driest folds of his garment.
"Icxthnu'a na tollemae, jaa'na math nyan nae chtoi..."
Perhaps two more minutes passed, perhaps it had been an hour. His chanting was now automatic, originating from the conditioned subconscious. He felt no different save for the rushing sound of a distant wind in his inner ear, and the disconcerting feeling that the ground beneath him had become progressively less solid.
He heard a sound alike to the approach of a horde of skittering beetles, and opened his eyes. Icxthu stood before him in human form, that of a squat, black-haired man who could have been Jeonata's twin (in appearance, at least).
His first impulse was to scramble backward in absolute fright, but the rock wall behind him arrested his motion. The back of his head would bear a nasty bruise on the morrow as a reminder of this encounter. He stumbled to find words but none came, so complete was his terror.
"I have heard your voice."
"G-g- Great S-spirit, I asked only for your help in the hunt t-t- tomorrow ! I have already sacrificed of the herbs I gathered.... why do I deserve death ! Now that I have seen your face I will di-".
Icxthu interrupted him gently. "You will not die. Your sacrifices have been agreeable. I am come to direct you. Tomorrow when you go to water the hare will lead you to a root with a white and purple flower. You must crush this root, boil it, and bury the water in an urn for nine days. When you drink thereof during the sweat, you will have greater power."
Jeonata blinked, or was somehow compelled to close his eyes, and when he opened them again the fire had died and Icxthu was gone.
Jeonata crouched as he entered the hutch through the low opening that was the only ingress. He crept slowly to avoid stumbling over some inconvenient pebble on the dirt floor, as his arms were filled with lnyanyan branches. Their fragrance stained his hands, his clothes, the very fabric of the air in the small hutch. On another world it might have been described as a smell like sage and honeydew, a wet and heavy wild perfume.
Jeonata's shadow, alternately magnified to grotesque proportions and reduced to that of the tiniest scurrying fieldmouse, joined those in delirious interplay on the stone walls. Man had joined the dance of the elements, a foreshadowing of what was to come within these rounded walls.
He carefully placed the branches around the outer fringes of the fire, packing them closely but not too tightly. Reverently, he cupped the circular retaining wall surrounding the pit (dug into the dirt floor) in which the blaze nested. It was warm to the touch, not hot: perfect. Like the stone hutch itself, the wall was built of small boulders - carefully chosen - piled one atop the other. The spaces between were caulked with mud.
These boulders were whitewashed to signify their important function. The fire was not for warmth's sake (although the cold season's chill was approaching; he could feel it in his bones). It was not to roast the meat of the deer he hoped to kill on the morrow. No, this fire was for the sweat.
Satisfied, he lifted the beaten copper pan to sit atop the circle of dried branches, directly above the fire. The pan's edges were supported by the top of the retaining wall. The character of the shadows had changed; less restless now the multitude of dancing shadows, but one shadow remained distinct, clearly defined - his.
"Icxthnu'a na tollemae
Chthoi, lanamae chtoi, lanamae chtoi...."
The reflection of the subdued flames on the copper lit upon Jeonata's face, caressing the pockmarked skin as he reached into the hide pouch slung under his armpit. From within he withdrew a handful of chlauhaoctl pods. He tossed them into the copper pan, where they would swell and split as the water began to boil, and release their intoxicating vapours.
"Chthoi, lanamae chtoi, tollamae chtoi..."
Cross-legged, he sat against the curved wall farthest away from the door opening. A minute passed. Two. Twelve. Presently the entire hutch was filled with the steaming essence of chlauhaoctl. His eyes were closed. Beads of sweat dripped from every orifice in search of haven within the driest folds of his garment.
"Icxthnu'a na tollemae, jaa'na math nyan nae chtoi..."
Perhaps two more minutes passed, perhaps it had been an hour. His chanting was now automatic, originating from the conditioned subconscious. He felt no different save for the rushing sound of a distant wind in his inner ear, and the disconcerting feeling that the ground beneath him had become progressively less solid.
He heard a sound alike to the approach of a horde of skittering beetles, and opened his eyes. Icxthu stood before him in human form, that of a squat, black-haired man who could have been Jeonata's twin (in appearance, at least).
His first impulse was to scramble backward in absolute fright, but the rock wall behind him arrested his motion. The back of his head would bear a nasty bruise on the morrow as a reminder of this encounter. He stumbled to find words but none came, so complete was his terror.
"I have heard your voice."
"G-g- Great S-spirit, I asked only for your help in the hunt t-t- tomorrow ! I have already sacrificed of the herbs I gathered.... why do I deserve death ! Now that I have seen your face I will di-".
Icxthu interrupted him gently. "You will not die. Your sacrifices have been agreeable. I am come to direct you. Tomorrow when you go to water the hare will lead you to a root with a white and purple flower. You must crush this root, boil it, and bury the water in an urn for nine days. When you drink thereof during the sweat, you will have greater power."
Jeonata blinked, or was somehow compelled to close his eyes, and when he opened them again the fire had died and Icxthu was gone.
posted by m. boogie at 9:58 p.m.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home