Corimba

Not so long ago the tide pulled out from Corimba. The ground shook and the whole village fell over. Some of the women were working near the center of the village. The men were out in the hills, collecting bananas and fishing. The ground shook again and then it stopped. In that instant all eyes turn out to the sea. Watching. Waiting. One of the elders knelt down and put it ear to the dirt. He stayed there for many minutes. Listening. Waiting.
Suddenly it stood up and shouted, “Get to the mountain!”
With that everyone dropped what they were doing, grabbed the children up in their arms, and ran towards the center of Corimba, to the mountain. Nothing was taken with. The elder brothers gathered in a circle and prayed for the safety of all the world, while the young men held their spears over their head, pointed to the sun.
The tide pulled out from Corimba deeper, longer than before. Then, with wrath, it crashed up onto the shore. The water rushed in and destroyed everything it wanted to. Another arm swatted down onto the trees, uprooting and tossing them aside. Another and another crashed in and moved rocks, the mountain even moved. The men watched their boats being buried under the water and come back up in pieces.
The sea pulled back its attack and rested. The sea was tired and calmed quickly like an angry baby falling asleep. Two of the men went down first to make sure it was safe for the others. Their homes were scattered and the village center, unrecognizable. The other made their way back down, knowing it was time to rebuild. The old and young grabbed logs and vines. They needed to make homes for the night. Some of the men were sent to the water to fish for dinner for everyone. They took their bows and spears down to the sea.
For several days, homes were re-build. Food was re-stocked. The people of Corimba put everything back together.
Four nights after the earth shook, two of the men were out hunting. From over the top of the mountain flew an enormous beetle. It was not a normal beetle, this one was bigger than they’d ever seen before, it even carried people. They were not people like those of Corimba, they were different. The men didn’t know what to do, so they loaded their arrows and shot at the beetle. But their arrows fell short. The wind from the beetle’s wings was so strong, the men ran away. They ran back to the village and told everyone about the beetle. The other said that they heard thunder, but saw no lighting. The men said that this was the power of the beetle’s flight.
Soon the children kept a watchful eye, not on the sea, but the sky. Hoping to catch a glimpse of the giant beetle.

There are some peoples who wish to be left alone. Leave them alone. This is a fictional story, but a very real situation. There are thousands (yes thousands) of peoples around the world who wish that the "modern world" would not force itself on them. These remote places on the 'edges of the map' are not remote at all. They are someone's home. They have their own culture and world view. Who is to say that they are backwards and quaint? Maybe they understand more about the world than the modern man does.

Aaken

It had been five days since they announced the end of the war. It came across the radio waves and was blasted over loud speakers from the tops of trucks. Everyone had heard about it, but no one really believed that it was finally finished. This wasn’t the first time “the end” had been proclaimed after all. It was quiet and almost peaceful that evening. Aaken ventured out into the street for the first time in almost a week. He walked past the old burnt out bank on the corner, a pile of abandoned cars, and the tent hospital set up in the soccer field. He watched the children sitting outside the tent playing with sticks and rocks. Once upon a long time ago baseball was a popular pass time, although Aaken hadn’t watched a game in many years. He stopped and talked with one of the nurses for a second and headed back to his house. On his way home he wandered close to the old cars and gazed across the river to where the bridge he designed used to be. How many of his bridges had been bombed out over the last three years? Both sides fought so viciously for control, but in the end the whole city was all but wiped off the map. A few more kids ran past on their way home snapping Aaken back into the present. It was nice to see the children smile again. That's when the idea popped in his head. Seeing the kids smile. How could he make the happen more? Looking around he leaned into the wretch of a car next to him. He pulled out some of the wires and cable. Then he found a few buttons that were still usable. Gears. Belts. Some sheet metal and some more wire. Aaken checked the battery – still good. He filled his pockets with all that he could carry, and headed back to his house. Laying down an old door on top of some buckets he spread his supplies out and took a look. Digging through his drawers he found his soldering iron and a coil of wire, tin snips and hammer. Grabbing a couple forks from a different drawer on the way back to his make shift workbench – the design was taking shape. He just hoped that the sheet metal would work. He a long strip off the sheet and coiled it around a pipe. That needed to sit like that for a while. Sorting through the gears, he found a good handful that should give a good ratio. Soldering the forks to another piece, fitting gears and a belt, putting a small crank on the spring of metal, almost done. Aaken put the whole thing together and set it on the floor and gave it a test run. He turned the crank that tightened the spring, when he let it go his small contraption leapt into action. The forks stabbing into the dirt pulling the whole body across the ground until the spring ran out. With a little grin, and the gears in his head working Aaken went back to his table. He needed at least three or four different models. Working all night, he hadn’t felt like this in years. His rusty engineering brain was back in action. He wasn’t drawing up bridges and irrigation systems anymore, but that was okay with him, this was more important. Aaken woke up on his couch, coil of wire in hand the sun peering in through the window blinded him for a second. Pulling himself up and clearing his throat, Aaken looked over at his little workbench. Stepping out of his door, wishing he had a cup of coffee, the kids were already lining up in the food lines and at the hospital. So much healing that still needed to happen, and so much more that would never fully heal. He pulled his small machines out onto his front step and called a group of four boys over to his door. “Do you know what these are?” he asked. The boys sheepishly shook their heads no. “Each of you grab one and bring it over here into the street.” Aaken walked out to the middle of the road and drew a line in the dirt. “Line them up hear.” As the boys did that Aaken walked a few paces and drew another line. “OK, you see the cranks? Wind them up and hold them until I say, “GO”” The boy’s anticipation grew as they felt the springs tighten. “GO!” Aaken shouted for the whole neighborhood to hear. The machines leapt, crept and bounded forward on the dirt. The boys also leapt to their feet to cheer on their racer. It was a two-way tie for first. A re-match was in order. Aaken and the boys held races all morning long. Pretty soon a small group of spectators found their way to the makeshift raceway, adults and kids alike. At the end of the day, Aaken took his little machines back home and tuned them up. Then he dug into his tools and supplies again to create a few more for tomorrow. The next day was passed much the same way, races, laugher and fun. The kids were laughing again, and so were some of the adults. After a few days of this, Aaken invited the original four boys over to his house for the afternoon. He showed them his pile of wire and metal. He gave them some tools and showed them how to coil a spring, mount the gears and solder. Pretty soon the four were in heated competition to make a racer that was faster than anyone else’s. Aaken let them work all day, tossing in pointers and answering any questions they had. For three days the boys worked and tinkered. It was time for another race. Their machines had been tested in the shop, refined, and tweaked to go fast. With a nervous pride the four carried their creations out the ‘raceways.’ They lined up and cranked tight their springs. “GO!” called Aaken. Wheels rolled, springs sprang and dust flew in the race of the titans. Glorious. Again they spent all morning racing and playing. The next day Aaken had a surprise for his young friends. He had found some paint and brushes in the back of his shed. The race was on to make the racers look the part. Blue, Yellow, Red, and every combination was carefully applied. Some of the boys tinkered with different designs and picked at Aaken brain for advice. He patiently showed them how to get a stronger ratio out of the gears, and about making their machines efficient so they would travel longer distances. Day after day the boys tinkered in Aaken’s little shop. He showed them how to make bridges, ladders, and building models with wood and metal. They held friendly contests to see who could make the strongest bridge. One chilly afternoon a knock came at Aaken’s door. Two men in military uniform were at the door. “Are you Aaken?” one of the men asked rather stiffly. “Yes,” replied the elderly man, “What can I do for you?” “The new government is looking for the finest minds to help rebuild our country after the war. We were sent to ask you if you were interested in designing again.” The men talked for a few minutes and Aaken asked for a day to think about it. Two days later the men came back. “I’ll only go work with you if I can bring these four boys with me. I’m to old to do all that you’re asking of me, but if I can teach a new generation to carry on the work in my place, I’ll do it. The boys were orphaned by your war, you owe them this much.” The men agreed, and loaded Aaken and the boys into their truck. They set off for capital. The boys had never been outside the city before. They drove past bombed out houses, cars, tanks and schools. Everything in their minds was changing and the larger world was appearing in front of them. They drove by camps of children who didn’t have parents either. They saw town after town destroyed and hungry people everywhere they looked. Aaken told them to look very closely at every face, because they were human too. “Don’t ever forget what you see today.” He said, “You are going to be their future. It will be your task to give them something to smile about again.”

The Folio - part 2

Of course, we do not know exactly where the five went to hide, and we don’t even know their names. But we can track their movements through history, at least parts of it. It is widely believed that one of the five made his way to the Greek Isles. There he hid for some time. Upon hearing of Darius’ death as he returned towards Persia from his campaign in Egypt, the folio carrier worked his way north into the main land of Macedonian. Before to long, Darius’ successor – his son Xerxes - was on the war path again. This time, he had his eyes set upon Europa and Greece. Determined not to let his portion of the scroll fall into the hands of the Persians, the old priest brought the folio to the sacred city of Sparta. With the reassurance of secrecy from the Greece priests, the Egyptian gave his potent blessing to the already powerful Spartan warriors. He hardened the shields and spears of the hoplites with the strength of Horus himself.
The Greeks defeated the massive Persian army, an army even greater than that of Darius. The Greeks went on to conquer the Persians and the rest of the land East of their homelands. They became arrogant though. They began to believe that their strength and power was of their own making. The guardian had taken on a young pupil by the name of Plato. Together they traveled to Egypt, and studied nature, science, medicine and philosophy. But Plato betrayed the secrecy of the teachings, and wrote many of them down. Fearing exposure, the old priest fled north into the dark territory. There he again took on a young student. This time he choose an already secretive man, a man who understood magic, and why it needed to remain out of the hands of the power hungry, blood drunken fools who would be called ‘heroes’ in the histories they would have written about them.
The name of the student has been lost to us, but one of his students shines gloriously in history for us. A young man from Germania went to study in the forest with the new master of the old teachings. The young man, still only a boy was nearly fully indoctrinated in the teaching of the folio was captured by the Roman legions of Julius Caesar. The boy was sent off to the great city of Rome to be educated in all things Roman. Never forgetting his vows, the young German kept his knowledge a secret for years and years. He worked hard to learn from the Romans. He studied their history, language, military, and art. Eventually, the Romans placed him in command of a legion with orders to lead the rest of the army into Germania to conquer the land.
The young man rode ahead of the rest of the army to survey the land. He made his way back to his old village. Overjoyed to find that his old teacher was still living deep in the forest, he warned the people about the Roman’s intents. Quickly, and quietly they gathered the village leaders from all around. They devised a plan, a plan so powerful that if it worked it would destroy the entire Roman army in the land. The Romans would have no choice but to give up their campaign to rule that part of the world.
The young Roman officer returned to the rest of the army with his report. He would lead the massive legions through a tight mountain pass. They would have to thin their ranks in order to fit through. As the army was thinned, and disordered the Germans would attack from the sides. Hit the weak parts of the formations, and slaughter the Romans. The plan worked. The Romans were thwarted, and Caesar gave up his hopes of taking Germania.
When the Romans returned to their homeland they told the story of Arminius, or “the man of arms” and how he single-handedly defeated the legions. In Germania also, his name spread. He become known as Armin, the guardian of Germania. Armin also become the guardian of the scared folio of Isis.

About the stories

"This side up" is a story which has been brewing in my head for several years now. It was a story which I told to my now wife, while we were dating. As I told it to her, several years ago, themes from my own life wove into the plots and tones of the story. Old friends of mine showed up to play important roles in the development of the main character.
His name is Jevery. That name has some very special meanings for me. First, the original meaning came from a phrase which on the surface is maybe blah and depressing, but once you understand the underlying significance, I find it very inspiring.
Jevery was "a boy just like every boy." At first glance there is not much to talk about, but think about it. God has a plan for every boy (and girl). Every boy is fearfully and wonderfully made, and every boy is the destined special someone for a girl. Every boy is unique. So, the name is derived from the "J" from just and "every" giving us Jevery. Yes, the old play "Every Man" did influence the concept, of course.
In many ways Jevery is me. NO, this is not an autobiography, but more a very artistic rendition of my growing up.
About a year ago I committed to writing "This side up" down. It is still very much a work in progress, but I wanted to beginning sharing it with people. Most of it is plotted out in my head, but the hard part is getting it to come out onto the paper.
Shortly after I began writing the story down, my wife and I were deciding the name for our first son. We had all sorts of names picked out and had it narrowed to a short list for the first name, but the middle name still eluded us. One day, I came home from work to the suggestion of "What about Jevery for a middle name?" It was my wife's idea. At first I really didn't like the thought. "Jevery is just a character in one of my stories," I answered. Eventually the idea grew on me, and when our son was born, sure enough, Jevery was (is) his middle name.
"This side up" is for my beautiful wife.

This side up - part 1

The forest behind Jevery’s house was dark and deep. He had never been further than the Old Willow tree just at the edge of the wood. Some days he would venture through the gates in the rear corner of the fence, and go to climb and swing from the willow. One such afternoon, he saw another boy run through the brush deeper in the woods. It was dark back there. Jevery couldn’t see very clearly, but he thought the boy was scared and running away from something. He looked back at his backyard and house, “I won’t go that deep.” Jevery climbed down the willow and stepped lightly a few paces in. The silhouette scurried between two large trees. Jevery called “Who are you?”
No answers.
“Who are you?” He called again, a little louder this time.
A quick rustle of leaves and the boy stepped out from behind the tree. Jevery could barely see him in the darkness. The figure paused for a second and than turned and ran into the forest. Jevery ran after him – skipping over fallen trees and weaving around hanging vines.
Suddenly Jevery ran out into the light. He was in a grassy clearing. He scanned around the rim of the clearing, but he couldn’t see the other boy. He couldn’t see anyone. He couldn’t see anything that he recognized either. Jevery looked behind him, back into the darkness. He didn’t want to go back in there. He looked up at the sky and saw the puffy clouds turning purple, red and orange. Jevery knew that it would be dark all around him pretty soon. Still searching for the other boy, he walked across the opening to see what he could see.
Nothing was familiar and pretty quickly Jevery was turned all around and completely lost. As the sun dipped out of sight he was more scared, cold and exhausted that he’d ever been before. His heart beat through his shirt as he wondered what to do. He sat down next to a big tree. To scared to sleep, to tired to stay awake. Jevery slowly drifted off to a restless, cold and uncomfortable night of sleep.
As the sun peeked out over the tree line, it shone down on Jevery’s cold face. He had been awake on and off for several hours now. Cold and frightened, the warmth of the sun felt good. If wasn’t just a warming comfort, some how the light calmed his head. He could see clearly all around him again. He sat up, leaning against the big tree which had guarded him through the night. Chilled, he wiped the dew from hi pants, shoes and shirt. Jevery stood and stretched the night out of his joints.
The sparkle from the sun catching the dew drops almost hurt his eyes to look at. As he woke up further – thoughts filled his head. “Now what?” “Which way is home?” “Where am I?” “I’m hungry!” Walking around the big tree Jevery became more and more aware of how empty his stomach was. He walked out towards the middle of the clearing, now fully lilt b warm sunlight. Still he could see he breath and his shoes were getting wetter as he kicked the dew off the grass. A pair of small birds chirped by – on their way to find breakfast no doubt.
A few steps ahead were some wild flowers, purple and scarlet against the green grass. Just in front of the flowers was something silver though. Jevery pushed a few leaves of grass to the side and picked up a small pocketknife. The blade, only a few inches long, was sharp and very shiny. He open and closed the blade a couple times to clean some dirt out from the hinge. Jevery liked the small knife, he held on to it with a small sense of comfort. Something good came out of being lost.
A low rumble moved through Jevery’s belly as he slid the knife into his pocket. Just down a small hill he saw a river. “Maybe I could find something to eat down there,” he thought. He carefully stepped down the short, but steep hill, holding onto small trees to support himself.
It was cooler down next to the water in the shade of the trees arching over head from both sides of the river. Jevery looked in the river for fish – nothing. Maybe some fruit in the trees – nope. He found himself craving meat, smoked bacon or sausage. He was so hungry; he could almost smell it in the air. Looking across the other side of the river, a mix of excitement and panic slashed through him. There was a small cabin just up the hill on the other side.

The Folio - part 1

“There’s no time. We must go!” one of the guards cried.

Darkness filled the temple as the five finished cutting the folio. With a blessing from the high priest they vowed never to meet again, and never to reassemble to works. It had come to this. The once honored guards of secrets were willfully banished under pain of death. They would run to the corners of the earth and hide. With any luck, they would not have to take their secrets to the grave with them. They were to each take on an apprentice and teach them the full body of their suit.

One by one they left the temple with a small body of personal guardians. They fled Memphis by cover of night, and with the fastest horses in Egypt they raced away; four of them carrying 13 sheets of the folio, and the fifth with the small box and 2 more sheets. They would need all their years of training and experience to survive the travels. Each of them a master of his art. Each of them equally as powerful as any other sear in the known world. Each of them a master of centuries old teachings.

Unfortunately, the five were not the only people alive who understood the power of the folio. Its contents had become legendary, and its possession had spurned many wars. The peoples of the sea had tried to take it by force three times, and Nubians had attempted it also, and were almost successful. There was also a rumor that a witch from the ancient days had made a copy of it. If that were true, her students, if they knew how to use it, would be almost as powerful as the five. No one knows if she ever finished the copy, or where she fled to. Some say Britannia, others say south into the jungle of the south, still others wonder if she followed the great Median highway through the mountains to the land of the Tao.

Now, the Order faced a threat like none they had ever seen before. The hoards from the East were on the march in numbers that shook the Earth. They destroyed, ate and conquered every piece of land they crossed. It was reported that even glorious Babylon submitted to their rule. The great army was only two days march from the temple. They had already crossed the sea, and camped just across the Great River. Their power crazy, blood thirsty king wanted it all. He was to be the ruler of all the world. Two days march. Only two days separated the folio from the Persian.

The five had called a secret meeting of the entire Order into the caves below the temple. They organized a plan to give the Mad King exactly what he wanted. They only prayed that he would take the bait. They would turn over the entire library to the king, except the folio. Without it, the rest of the works were nothing more the ancient logs and histories. The remaining members of the high Order would teach the king and his advisers all the traditions and customs of the Old Kingdom. They would buy time for the five to find their way past the armies scouts and out to the corners of the world. They knew that if they were found out they would surely face torture and death.

So, the five fled, while others stayed, all to protect the ancient teachings that Isis herself had graced upon the Egyptian priests from the beginning of time. Egypt would fall, but they would save all mankind from a mad king wielding the most potent weapon known to man. And they knew that it would cost the lives of many brave men to do it. No one would know where the five would flee to. No one outside the Order would know about the plan at all. It had to be that way. The Persians had there scouts and spies spread into every crack and corner, searching for that small scroll.

It’s been nearly one thousand years since that night. For almost a millennium the folio had been lost, the five have been hiding, and the world has not seen the magic from ancient Egypt. Countless wars had been fought. New religions had started. Great powers had risen to their heights, only to crash down into oblivion. Persia, Greece, Rome, all came and gone. No longer was Egypt the focus of spiritual studies. Mecca had become a powerful stronghold for the followers of Mohammad. Jerusalem still mourned the destruction of their once glorious temple and kingdom. Ravaged by centuries worth of wars fought in the name of gods, and conquerors. Rome was not what it once was. Now its glory was matched by Constantinople, and many other great cities, London, Paris, Nineveh.
The world had gotten much bigger. Some say that the Norsemen had sailed past the edge of the sea to the west and returned. Others have returned from traveling to the east with stories of a golden island. The Folio had been lost for one thousand years, but it had not been silent all that time. No, the great folio of Isis had been anything but silent through the centuries. Never reassembled, but never silent.

Did I ever tell you how I met Bruce?

Did I ever tell you about how I met Bruce?

I met him many years ago while I was on a hike in the old mountains of Montana. It was getting late in the afternoon and I was heading back down towards the trail head. As a turned a corner I heard a big rumble in the brush just next to me.

Snort – snort – mmmggaahhhHHHH

Right in front of me blocking the path stepped a huge bear. And oh boy did this bear look sleepy. One thing I knew - don’t get a sleepy bear angry. Let me rephrase that – don’t get a bear angry.
I froze in my tracks. Hoping that maybe he would just wonder past and not pay any attention to me. I wasn’t that lucky. The massive drowsy beast turned his head and sniffed the air.

Snuuooorrttt – snort – mmmggaaHHHhhh
Maaggaaa Chuuuoooooo!!!

I can tell you from experience that a bear sneeze is one of the most terrifying things you can see up close. Of course instinctively I said “Bless you.”
The bear nodded his head slightly and said “Thank you, mate,” in a very pleasant British accent.

I almost fell backwards, not out of fear – but surprise. “You can talk?” I said, puzzled.

“I can juggle too. Would you like to come back to my cave for a spot of tea and some crumpets?”

“Uuummm … Sure.” I answered, not wanting to argue with a bear.

“Come on then”

We walked down the hill a little way and than right next to a big oak tree was the opening to his cave. “Its not much, but I call it home” he commented as we went in.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” I ventured “how did you learn to talk?”

“How very rude of me. I’m sorry. My name is Bruce. I used to work for the British Royal Circus. Hence the accent.”

I had to stop my mouth from dropping wide open. I did my best to be polite as the huge bear poured me a warm cup of tea.

“Sorry if the crumpets are a little on the dry side. I made them yesterday, and it was pretty hot today. “

I tried them, and wow – they were good. I don’t know if I’d ever had such a good crumpet. “Did you say that you could juggle?” I asked.

“Oh yeah, I love to juggle. They taught me when I was in the Circus. You wanna see?”

“Uuuhh OK”

“Great!” Bruce ran into the other part of the cave, opened a bright blue trunk and got ready. A second later he came back wearing a red pointy hat and blue vest. He set down his unicycle and started to ride about the cave in a perfect circle. As he came back to the center of the cave he looked at me with a big toothy grin. I couldn’t help but laugh and clap. He pulled three red balls out from under his hat and juggled them.

That’s how I met Bruce the Juggling Bear. He still lives up there in the old mountains. Whenever I’m in the area I stop in to see him. He always has a cup of tea ready for me.
Last summer, he tried to teach me to juggle, but I just could get it. He kept wanting to give me a fish every time I would catch a ball.

I found out that day that not every massive, sleepy looking, really really big bear is mean.

The Legend of Kirao and Mirao

The Legend of Kirao and Mirao

All the children, women and even the men gathered in front of the white wall. Many of the children couldn’t remember last year when Mioa spoke. For eleven moons of the year He didn’t speak a word. But for this one moon, in the middle of the great storm, the village retreats to the safe depths of the cave, into the belly of the world herself. And for those days Mioa told the legends and stories of their fathers.
All the people gathered as one of the men lit a single torch and slid its handle into a small hole in the rock. Miao stood quietly to the side and with a burst of voice mimicking the whale “WWeeeoooaahh!” he began.
“We are a people of the water,” the old grey backed man said proudly. “From the time Mijao the whale slept Kirao onto the land with all of the knowledge of the sea – we have been people of the sea. Kirao felt the soft beating of the waves on the beach pulse under his feet. He smelt the fish as they glided through the shallows in the warmer water. He knew the night sky by the silver river that flows across it.”
“Kirao was saddened for he could never again swim along Mijao’s side. He used his hands to make a boat and a paddle and a spear. He slowly floated his small boat out into the waves. He screeched the call of the whale and saw Mijao jump for joy. Kirao knew that their reunion would be brief, for during this moon Mijao would make the great journey over the horizon. He wouldn’t return for six moons.”
“Kirao returned to land, build our village and had a son – Jirao. As the moons passed, Jirao grew to be as strong as his father. Kirao taught all he knew to his son. How to read the currents of the water, make boats, hunt for fish, follow the lights of the night.”
One day Jirao and Kirao were gathering fish for the people of our village. Kirao smelt the evil approaching before he saw it. Kalaem was near. He was very near, but Kirao couldn’t find him.
Suddenly the great white demon’s razor teeth tore the front of the small boat off. Without waiting Kirao leapt into the water with his spear. He would kill Kalaem or die. Kalaem was to strong even for the great Kirao. Jirao, from the boat could only watch his father battle the beast. The water turned red.”
“In his sorrow Jirao waited for Kalaem to attack the boat again. He waited with his spear ready. As the demon of the water tried to take Jirao he plunged the sharp head of his weapon into the eye of Kalaem. With another spear he stabbed the crown of the head – killing his foe. He ripped the teeth from Kalaem mouth so he would never again be able to eat. One tooth he slung around his neck to forever remember his father and that fate filled day.”
Mioa slowly lowered his hands and the shadows of beasts and men vanished from the white wall. “This is where we come from, where we will go, we do not know.”
“When you fish, remember Jirao, remember Kirao, remember Mijao. They will protect you. When you sail to the other island to trade with our friends, they will guild you. Young man, when you go to the water for your nine moons, they will teach you. When you return to us, you will be men – full of the seas wisdom.”
After the gathering, the torches were all lit and the children scattered to play. Their play was that of heroes and beasts. Taking turns slaying Kalaem and hanging his tooth around their necks.
Mioa sat of his old rock. He was tired. Tomorrow he would tell the story of the first navigators – Keesha and Reesha.

In the still of a summer night

In the still of a warm summer night, after all should be asleep, you can hear it. Cracking the peace with a vile screeech. No one is quite sure where the hideous song comes from – most don’t want to know.

One man who had heard it, described it as a “creature struggling to stop itself from erupting.” Another said, “If you mixed a cat fight and a hyena scuffle you’d have a peaceful flavor of the sound.”

I heard it myself one night. We were up late talking and enjoying a few cold ones, when through the window burst the foul stench of a noise. It was close – it was very close. We leapt to our feet and fumbled to turn on the outside lights – it was gone, and so was our cat. We heard a brief tussle in the woods, but couldn’t see anything. Two of us shared a flashlight and found a couple good sticks – just in case.

Just in case – we weren’t sure for what, but we wanted to be ready. Hearts pounding and wishing we had another light, we made our way down to the tree line. The weather had been bad all weekend. The day before, the angry sky had unleashed its wind and rain over the area. The cold clouds spit balls of ice into the woods.

They always said that in the cool summer air was when it was the most alert and active. As we walked through the darkness the old legends I’d heard as a kid raced back through my mind: the ice giants of the north, trolls, ogres, valkyries – banshees. One pop of their voice could kill a dozen men. Late in the summer nights villagers throughout could hear the moaning scream echo across the hills.

We surveyed the ground and small trees in front of us – nothing obvious. Moving the light up the trees my brother-in-law spotted something. Just a quick flash of yellow eyes peeping back at us. They looked more curious than frightening. The squirrel pounced up to a higher branch – out of sight.

That’s not what we came down here to find – and its certainly not what made all that noise 10 minutes earlier. I glanced back at house for a second when the tree just in front of us shook under the weight of something up in the top branches. It was bigger than that squirrel – no question.

My hands clinched the stick as my eyes strained to see through the blackness.

“There – diiju see that?”

“Nah – where?”

“Back there – in that smaller tree.”

I tried to focus my eyes through the leaves and branches in the way. Then I saw the brown fur climbing. It’s head pivoted to peer back at us. Orange glowed these eyes. A few more rungs up the tree and we could see the rings on the big coon’s tail.

“It must have been that coon fighting something else that made all that noise.”

Yeah, probably,” I said.

We walked back up to the house trying to convince ourselves that it was the coon, but we both knew better. We had to tell the others something, or no one would sleep that night.

In the morning our cat came back up to the house and pawed on the door. She sprinted to her food, and then under the bed. She stayed under that bed all day.