Empathy Machines

“Empathy Machines”

By Eric St. Pierre

A boy with a coin he found in the weeds
With bullets and pages of trade magazines
Close to a car that flipped on the turn
When God left the ground to circle the world

A girl with a bird she found in the snow
Then flew up her gown and that's how she knows
That God made her eyes for crying at birth
And then left the ground to circle the Earth

A boy with a coin he crammed in his jeans
Then making a wish, he tossed in the sea
And walked to a town that all of us burned
When God left the ground to circle the world

- “Boy With a Coin” by Sam Beam

A big moon night. From above, treetops pierce the fog that thickens brush and foliage. Below, amid wide eyed owls and scurrying creatures are several flickering glows. Encircling one particular glow are joyful people sitting on logs and piles of river rocks. A beach these people call the Remembered Shore borders this large patch of wilderness. The soft sound of crashing waves dampens the hum of cicadas and the croaks of amphibians. The people, eight in total, pass around a crude clay cup and sip from it the broth of boiled wild mushrooms and lemongrass. A black and shaggy dog circles the group and finally rests at their feet. A built young man softly strums a few chords on a stringed instrument. A young girl tosses a pinecone to a woman. The woman begins to speak:

               “In the beginning, the Earth was nearly all water and there was great suffering for the creatures like us who lived on land. The air could make an animal sick and there was very little to eat. There was no shade from the sun and it blistered our backs and faces. Kushim did not roam the face of the Earth back then. There were no celebrations in the old times. No Festival. Only prayers for relief and mournful songs of toil. Then, the Child Who Heard did hear our songs and prayers. The Child came from the stars and was taught how to hold his breath by the Great Octopus who held up the eight edges of the world. The Child Who Heard went to the very bottom of the ocean and used the fire of the stars to burn up much of the water. The Child Who Heard then made mountains and valleys; more room for land-walking animals. More room for people and just enough room for fish. The Earth then became too heavy for the Great Octopus to hold above the waters and the Earth crashed down making the Remembered Shore and all the other shores and rivers of the world. The Child Who Heard then let out all of his breath, blowing away the poison air allowing things grow again. The breath of the Child Who Heard made the clouds that keep the sun happy even today, so that it does not whip and blister us.” The people around the campfire stomp their feet and slap their thighs. The woman smiles widely revealing a pretty gap between her two front teeth. Light from the fire glints in her big golden-brown eyes. Freckles speckle her cheeks. She hands the pinecone to a boy who sits near her. “Now you, Marco.”

               Marco holds the pinecone to his heart. Anxious excitement climbs his torso and cascades down his skinny frame. He begins to speak, but shy, squeaky laughter comes out instead.

               “You can tell your story, Marco. Even when your voice is small.” The woman says. The people around the fire join in encouraging Marco to tell his story.

               “Miss Naomi, maybe not just now, if that is okay.” Marco says. Naomi nods and another boy takes the pinecone away from a relieved Marco. The boy speaks:

               “In the beginning, all of the people on Earth were asleep.” The boy studies the seven around him for a moment. “Most of the time we would have good dreams, like being able to fly and go wherever we wanted. We would dream about relaxing all day. We would dream about magic boxes that answered any question they were asked. But sometimes the dreams would not be good, like being chased and having to live underground and there being no sun in the morning and all the water of the world boiling away. Then, guardian angels were made from lightning out of the sky and metal from the mountain. They saw we were troubled and they tried to wake us up. But they couldn’t, so they dipped all of us in the water of the Remembered Shore where we remembered to wake up. We remembered who we were. We swam to land and said ‘thank you’ to the guardians and they turned into fish. That’s why we eat fish on Feast Day during Festival.” The people around the fire stomp their feet and slap their thighs.

               “That’s a new one, Benji.” An old man kids with the boy. “Don’t you think if we was asleep so long, your Grandfather Rayfield would remember? If we slept so much in the beginning, how come I’m always so tired now?” All eight erupt in laughter, even shy Marco and Benji, who felt just a little picked on.

               “That’s the dream I had after our mushroom broth last night, Grandfather. I woke up right after and tried to remember all of it before it faded away. That’s what I remember.” Benji explains.

               “And I think that is just fine. It is a fine story. You let it be, Grandfather Rayfield.” Naomi defends Benji. The old man nods and smiles. The group stands up one by one, the elders, then the children.

               “Where are we going now?” Says Dear Deleyza, the tiniest of the eight. “Aren’t we supposed to tell ghost stories?”

               “Oh, I think we’ve had enough story tellin’ tonight, Dear Deleyza. I’m mighty sleepy.” Grandfather Rayfield yawns and pats the child on the head. Dear Deleyza scoffs and squinches her nose. “Tiedra will be sayin’ the breakfast blessin’ in the mornin’ before we know it.” He says.

               “Just one, Grandfather Rayfield. I never pegged you as one to break tradition.” The tallest man in the group says and looks sideways at Grandfather Rayfield with cheery, yellow eyes. Grandfather Rayfield rubs his forehead and cheeks with thick and stubby fingers. He laughs and glances downward at Dear Deleyza. The flames from the fire give a few hues of orange to Grandfather Rayfield’s face revealing lines carved by his many years.

               “If it’s just gonna be one, you want me to tell it, Dear?” Asks Grandfather Rayfield.

               Dear Deleyza clasps her palms together and lifts her eyebrows to the tallest man. “May he?” She asks.

               “It’s agreed.” The man tosses the pinecone to Grandfather Rayfield. “Give us a good scare, Grandfather.”

The group sits on their logs and river rocks. First the children, then the adults. Grandfather Rayfield remains standing. He cracks his knuckles and examines the faces of the seven who surround him. There’s Naomi with golden eyes and freckles atop her elevated cheekbones. There’s the tallest one, Johnson who could be made of mountain rock. Clinging to Johnson’s waist with her head buried under his arm is Dear Deleyza, whose hair is as big as half of the rest of her. Next is Simon who could be foothills if Johnson is a mountain. A stringed instrument is face down in his lap. They say he was born smiling. There’s Marco, the quiet one with the wrong age behind his eyes. Near him is Benji, the curious boy with a sharp jaw and cheekbones that sit higher even than Naomi’s. And there is Genovera, the one whose body is made of two colors.

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard the story of,” Rayfield pauses and catches the eyes of his people. He holds Genovera’s gaze, “the Invaders and the mongrel dogs that live on the other side of the river?” Rayfield quickly pivots his head towards Dear Deleyza. His upper lip curls and he gives a comical snarl. The tiny girl digs further into Johnson. Simon comforts her by brushing her shoulder. Benji and Marco mime the words, no, never to each other. Benji rolls his eyes.

               “There once was a time when mongrels and people were closer to being the same thing. We ate together, worked together, even lived together.” The fire has weakened. Simon attempts to liven it with pokes from a stick. Johnson shakes his head. Simon relents.

               “The dogs that roam and hunt on the other side of the river were once village dogs. Pets like Pete, here.” Pete pants excitingly at the sound of his name and stands up.  “Friends to us.” Rayfield smiles at the animal. “But long ago when the Invaders came in from the sea, our animal trainers gathered all of the big dogs to help us fight. But the Invaders had a weapon, as you all know. They had a big, giant fire.” Rayfield’s meaty hands raise to the sky. His arms spread in a V. “A fire that couldn’t be put out. A fire that could shake the ground beneath you and make the waters rise and boil.” Benji lifts his chin and looks around for acknowledgement. Grandfather Rayfield’s arms fall to his side. He continues. “A fire that if found again today,” His voice becomes a whisper, “would rage and grow and burn us all up. What could we do, but fight?” Genovera goes for a sip at the clay cup, but the broth is now gone.

               “The trainers kept them dogs in cages in a building by the river. Every day they would take the dogs out and teach them how to attack the Invaders; how to defend us. You see, they couldn’t be kind to ‘em,” Rayfield pauses to stroke Pete, “they had to make ‘em tough and mean. One night when the trainers was asleep in their camp they were sneaked up on by Invaders. They didn’t have but one guard awake and all the dogs was in their cages in the building by the river. No one could do nothin about it. The Invaders,” Dear Deleyza has come away from Johnson and is sitting up, giving Grandfather Rayfield her full attention, “well, they,” Pete lets out a mild whimper, “the Invaders took the trainers away.”

               “The next day, no trainers came to let the dogs free or to feed them or give them water. Then, the next day. Then, the next the same thing. A whole six days went by and no one helped the dogs. No one knew the trainers had been… taken.” Grandfather Rayfield’s face becomes solemn, longer than usual and darker in the dim light of dying embers. No orange hues now. Simon pats the ground in front of him. Pete understands the gesture, circles, and lays at Simon’s feet.

               “On the seventh day the dogs were mad with hunger and being locked up in cages where they could barely lie down. Thirsty, too. Such a situation would drive any one of us to do horrible things, horrible.” Rayfield chokes. Naomi nods for him to continue. Dear Deleyza’s mouth is wide open.

               “They say the river rose that seventh day. One can only imagine. Poor dogs so dried out they couldn’t even bark. In comes the water, slow like at first. That cold water on their paws. Must’ve been like heaven, lappin’ up that water, it wakin’ them up from their suffering. But it just kept comin’. The water they thought could save them kept on comin’ faster and faster until their cages filled up and they had to hold their snouts just above the surface so to not drown.” Grandfather Rayfield extends his neck and winces. “A full day and night they stayed like this. They stayed just like that, their necks bent upward and strained like they was howling at the moon. They stayed like that until a group of people from the village happened by and saw the building was all flooded out. So, they waded through the water to set the dogs free, only they had to hold the dogs under water to let them out, you see. They had to hold them under there a long time because dogs being dogs, they didn’t know they was bein’ helped. They thrashed about and bit and clawed and ran out as fast as they could.”

                “And the mongrels on the other side of the river, the ones who are much bigger than Pete here. The ones who hunt us when we cross the river. Those are the pups of the pups of the pups of those dogs. Their hatred for humans grew and grew. It still grows today. They don’t cross the river because that fear is still in ‘em just like their hatred for us people. And we don’t cross the river for our fear of them.” Rayfield grimaces, shakes his head. “If there was only a way we could tell ‘em we was only tryin’ to help. I don’t reckon there is, naw.” Grandfather Rayfield tosses the pinecone into the black ashes of the fire pit.

               “What happened after, Grandfather?” Simon asks.

               Grandfather Rayfield raises his shoulders to his ears. “I suppose that’s it, Simon.” He lets his shoulders down with a sigh. “I think there use to be an afterward to that story. I guess I don’t recall it. Maybe this is it.”

               “Now that we have come to a high point of the night, let us get some sleep.” Naomi says. Genovera picks up Dear Deleyza who then hides her face in the crook of her neck. Shortly, all but Benji and Marco go to their respective tents for a night of deep sleeping and dreaming. The boys sit in stillness and quiet for a brief time. They listen for howling from across the river before going to their tent. The fire is dead. Tomorrow is Feast Day.

*

               “What do you think happened to the weapon?” Benji asks. “Naomi says it’s made up. Grandfather Rayfield says it’s as real as you or I.” Benji gazes into the pitch black of his and Marco’s tent.

               “You or I?” Marco asks.

               “Yeah. I don’t know what I think.” Benji shuffles under his blankets. “Like, how did the Invaders get something like that, and why isn’t it around now? And what happened to the Invaders?”

               A long, warm silence.

               “Marco? Why do you think the mongrels really hate us? How do they remember what happened to their grandparents?”

               Marco inhales like he has been denied a breath. “I don’t think we’re supposed to worry about that. We have the Festival.”

               “Pete is nothing like them.” Benji pleads in the darkness. Marco sits up and places a hand on his own chest.

               “We have the festival. We have each other. We know not to go on the other side of the river. That’s all we need, Benji. Why does the where and why of weapons and mongrels matter? You allow yourself to be troubled.” Says Marco.

               Benji turns to his side, closes his eyes, and slowly draws his knees to his chest. He dissolves into a fitful and anxious sleep.

***

               It is morning. From above, treetops encircle dozens of people who play and talk and sit at a long, wooden table. Sunlight kisses all blades of grass that are not beneath their naked feet. Some groups at the table toss bone dice from clay cups and count the score. Children chase one another throughout with brass bells in their hands. They weave between the knees and scamper under the seats of elders. The rushing language of the river and the small crash of the low tide waves at the Remembered Shore are diminished by the humming liveliness of these people. This space is peppered with tents. Inside one dozes Benji.

               Clang clang clang

               Benji turns into his bedding as if to wrap himself in the fleeting moments of sleep.

                Clang clang clang… Undiscernible chatter and brass bells.

               Benji groans and kicks off his cover.

               “What did Miss Naomi put in our broth? I am so very sleepy.” He asks. The dream he awakes from becomes vapor. “I don’t think I’ll participate in the next story night, no.” Benji waits a moment for Marco to respond. “We’ve got one more. Right, Marco? One more broth and story night? One more night to dream and tell stories?” Marco is not nearby.

               Genovera and Pete dash into the tent. “Benji, wake up. Wake up, Benji.”

               “I am awake.” Clang clang clang

               “Are you? Is that right? The bells have been going for eons and you still have crust in your eye.” Benji wipes his eyes. His cheeks flush.

               “The broth. I’m so very…”

               “Not the broth.” Genovera interrupts. “You stayed out of your tent and listened for mongrels. I drank broth. I am not sleepy. Pete lapped broth. Pete sleeps all night. You refuse to sleep well and you blame Naomi.”

               “I don’t know.” Benji wipes his eyes again. “Hey, where’s Marco?”

               “Marco wakes with the bells. Marco is at the breakfast table.” Says Genovera. “Everyone is at the breakfast table.”

               “Not the bell-ringing children.” Says Benji.

               “Surely you understand me.” Says Genovera. Her eyes narrow.

               “You can go. I’ll follow soon. I need to wash in the river. I’m not in the mood for breakfast anyway.” Says Benji.

               “I will stay until you come. Johnson asks it.” Benji’s stomach growls. “Your body betrays you. You are hungry.” Says Genovera.

               Benji acquiesces. Genovera turns away from him.

               “Put a shirt on.” Says Genovera.

               “I’m going to wash. You want me to put clean clothes on before I wash?” Says Benji.

               “The shirt can be dirty. The shirt can be clean. You are a man now. Do you not remember your sixteenth?” Says Genovera.

               “Precocious girl.” Benji says behind his lips. Genovera smiles.

*

               Benji and Genovera walk through the camp. A dozen small children skip and prance around them, clanging their brass bells and singing a discordant but whimsical melody.

               “Don’t they know everyone’s already up?” Says Benji. He squints in the golden sunlight.

               “Your memory is bad.”

               “Why don’t I ever know what you’re talking about?” Benji half-whispers.

               “You do not remember holding bells and dancing and playing. You do not remember when your hands could not hold a fishing pole or a hammer. That is why the children annoy you.” Genovera faces Benji as they walk.

               The heat of the morning sun draws beads of sweat to Benji’s forehead. He quickly takes off his shirt. “Oh? Who doesn’t remember?” He wipes his forehead with the shirt and throws it at Genovera, who catches it and laughs. Benji runs from her towards the river. “I’ll meet you at the table. I told you I need to wash!” Genovera laughs and watches Benji disappear over the hill.

               “You are remembering!” She calls out to him, but he is too far gone to hear.

***

               Handmade chairs fit snugly around the breakfast table. This table is at the center of the festival. Elders congregate at either end. Bitter black yaupon drink steams from clay mugs. Even the young ones sip from them.  Johnson and Naomi toss a ball with two others. Simon throws a stick for Pete. A jubilant Pete prances back and feigns not wanting to return the stick to Simon. Their game resets again and again.

               Games are on the minds of these people. Today is Feast, tomorrow is the Games. This morning is for eating. This afternoon is for more eating. This evening is for practice. The Games have been a part of this celebration for longer than any of them can recall. Some games are for fun, some for competition and status.

               More bells sound. Only this time they do not ring from the playing hands of children. No, these are the breakfast bells; the bells that mark the beginning of Feast. Startled starlings scatter out of trees and into the sky. The reverberation of the breakfast bells seems to bring everything and everyone into sharper focus. Daylight seems more crisp, absolute. The great mass of people now gathers at the table. The strong yaupon stimulant charges their bodies. The orchestral roar of voices diminuendos until there are just a few excited murmurs from young throats. The rhythm of the Remembered Shore overtakes the ears, setting into motion a ceremonial sitting down. First the elders, then the younger ones shrink rhythmically in line into each hand carved chair.

               Large steaming plates of citrus fruits, nuts, and fishes are passed from hand to eager hand. Pete sniffs around each bare ankle, whimpering and searching for a fallen scrap. Tiedra is at one of the far ends of the table. She stands to speak. The young ones quiet down. Even Pete sits and listens.

               “There will be rain tomorrow.” Tiedra looks up into a cloudless sky. She nods her head several times. She is painted in a yellow luster. “Practice for the Games will be put off,” she says. “The rain will not go long. Games are pushed back one day.” Tiedra closes her eyes and dips her chin to her chest. “Let us be thankful. Let us be gracious,” she pauses, opens her eyes and smiles, “let us feast.”

               The cleansing properties of last night’s mushroom and lemongrass broth has emptied the stomachs of these people. They stuff themselves with a happy voraciousness. Elbows brush against elbows. Their chatter again overtakes the natural rhythmic pulsing of the Shore and hum of the river.  

               Grandfather Rayfield is seated next to Simon. In front of Grandfather is an untouched plate of fish, citrus, and nuts. His great hands lie still on the breakfast table. His aged eyes strain to find and count all of his people. Pete sniffs and whines.

               “Here, Pete.” Simon offers the dog food from his own plate. “You get to feast, too.” Pete ignores the food and sniffs at Grandfather. Simon sees Grandfather as a great hulking statue; still and impenetrable.

“You’re not hungry?” He asks. Grandfather Rayfield shakes his head almost imperceivably. Simon bites into a large and juicy peeled tangerine. “Neither is Pete,” he says with his mouth full, “I never thought I’d say that.” He laughs. Tangerine juice flows down his chin. He wipes it with his forearm.

Needles and leaves from surrounding trees seem to breathe in the still and humid air.

Grandfather Rayfield winces as the sun catches his eyes just right. He raises a hand for shade. “Simon, where’s Dear Deleyza?” Rayfield licks his dry lips.

“She was with the other children ringing bells and playing.” Simon smiles over Pete, who continues to deny food.

“That’s where she was. Where is she now? Did you see her playing?” Pete scurries around Grandfather and puts his head in his lap.

“Well, no, Grandfather. I only assumed. She has played every morning since we set up camp.” Says Simon.

“Where are Benji and Marco?” Says Rayfield.

“Johnson! Where is Deleyza?” Rayfield calls down the table. Johnson, Naomi, and Genovera scan the field and table. They ask their table neighbors if they have seen the missing three. In mere seconds worry and confusion spread. Amid the now agitated and desperate sounds of the people is an immediate and threatening thunder. The sky boils with black clouds that break and pour. Wind blows plates and cloths from the table. Chairs are toppled. The wind howls. In this chaos Grandfather Rayfield’s stare is on the tree line, then to Tiedra. Then, the tree line again. He still sits.

“Tiedra, have you seen Dear Deleyza?” Rayfield tries to but cannot extract Tiedra’s attention.

“Grandfather, the storm. We need to go.” Johnson says.

“… Deleyza Dear…”

“She is okay. Marco and Benji. They are probably with her.” Says Johnson. There are shrieks and gasps all around them. The rain blinds. People run towards the village. Johnson lifts Grandfather from his seat and carries him to catch up with the others.    

“Johnson, no! This isn’t like her. She doesn’t up and disappear!” Grandfather Rayfield struggles with Johnson.

“Wherever she is, she is with Marco and Benji. When we get to the village, I will gather others. We will search for them and we will find them.”  Johnson speaks with steady assuredness.

“You don’t know that.” The wind takes Grandfather’s words away. Clouds have blotted out the sun. The only light is the menacing electricity in the sky. “You don’t know that.”

*

               From above, wind whips through tall grass. Trees sway violently. Some snap. Water pours from rooftops. People run through torrential rainfall like ants in line to the town hall that sits atop a hill against the violent sky. Two men hold open its thick, wooden doors as others flee the tempest. They now stand soaked, frightened, and packed tightly in the main chamber. Rayfield and Johnson are the last to enter.

               “Tiedra said rain would come tomorrow. It rains today and the day has turned to night.” Genovera says as she gives her wet towel to Grandfather Rayfield.

               “Rain don’t matter. Dark don’t matter. We got to find little Dear Deleyza.” Rayfield dabs his face and the back of his neck. “Marco and Benji gone, too.” Lightning cracks close by. Rayfield starts. Lights flicker and go out.

               “Let’s go looking for them, Johnson.” Says Simon. Pete barks. Rayfield agrees.

               “Not yet. The rain is too thick. Clouds cover the sun. We can’t see. It’s best to wait.” Says Johnson.

Rayfield begins his rebuttal. A window breaks. Glass scatters. Frightened people stir. Pete barks and jumps.

               “Can’t we call someone?” Asks Simon.                               

               “Who is there to call? Everyone is here. Now, make Pete quiet and settled. Get a tarp from the closet in the hall. We need to mend the window.” Says Johnson. Simon nods and quickly makes his way across the chamber to the hallway. Pete follows.

*

               Tiedra sits, knees to her chest against the far wall of the chamber. She shivers. Her hands are fists and she keeps them tight against her breasts. Her flowing white robe is drenched and heavy. Naomi pats Tiedra’s hands and hair with a cloth. People crowd them. They ask why the rain came early. They ask why she lied.

               “She does not lie. No one knows.” Says Naomi. Thunder claps and tumbles. People roar. Why do you defend her?

               Tiedra weeps.

               “There is nothing to defend.” Says Naomi. “Kushim is not always right. We all know this. The angels quarrel.”

               A man shakes his fist and speaks. “Three children are missin and there’s nothin to defend?”

               A second man joins. “Angels have never varied with weather. Never. They know our hearts. They know what is unseen. Surely, they know the patterns of rain and the flow of the winds. And for Kushim’s sake, they know the timing of night and day.”

               “Yes. Johnson, Simon, and others will search soon.” Naomi looks away as her conviction falters. Tiedra hides her head in her arms. “And, and Tiedra will speak with the spirit again when it is safe.” Naomi whispers.

               New commotion at the front of the room. People crowd around the broken window near the entrance for a better view. Johnson and Simon spot approaching lights as they fasten the tarp to the sill. The lights bob and dart in unison.  

               “It’s two lights.” Rayfield thinks a moment. “Flashlights. It’s two of the children!” Says Grandfather Rayfield. He opens the door. Stiff wind nearly topples him as he dashes to meet the lights. People inside are sprayed with rain that comes in sideways. The tarp is ripped away.

Simon follows Grandfather Rayfield. Simon reaches for Rayfield’s arms to possess and take him inside and away from the roiling danger of the elements. He slips.

               A bolt of lightning strikes nearby and sets a tree ablaze. The light from the fire reveals the identity of the light bearer. Simon and Rayfield’s long shadows flash on the town hall yard, along with the shadow of a snarling beast; a mongrel with two large, white eyes. Pete growls and zooms out toward the fallen Simon. Johnson’s body is frozen. His skin tingles with anxious immobility. His heart beats in his throat and it begs to be let out.

               Pete stands ground between the beast and Simon. The sound of menacing death itself erupts from the beast. Pete lunges and attempts to bite and claw the black mongrel. Grandfather Rayfield grabs ahold of Simon. They both run back to the town hall building. The door is closed behind them. Genovera and two others replace the wooden barricade.

               Simon and Johnson watch by the blaze of the tree as Pete is torn and mangled by the mongrel monster. Pete is no more. The mongrel disappears. Simon is frozen. His mouth forms an almost perfect O. His eyes are red and teary. The tree fire is put out by the rain.

Darkness in the chamber. The building shakes one last time as the wind dies and the rain ceases. Stillness. Moments of heavy breaths.

               “Simon. No. No.” Genovera breaks the ringing silence.

               “The gun in the back room. I’m going to get it.” Says Simon. Someone has lighted a kerosene lamp. Grandfather Rayfield walks to the back room.

               “Simon. You will not get the gun from the back room. The mongrel has fled.” Genovera puts her hand to Simon’s chest.

               “You saw. Everyone saw. It crossed the river. Benji, Dear Deleyza, and Marco are in danger.” Says Simon.

               “You too are in danger with a gun.” Says Genovera.

               “The mongrel killed Pete. Tore him apart.” Simon speaks through gritting teeth.

               Grandfather Rayfield emerges from the back room with the shotgun. “You know how to use this.” He gives the gun to Johnson. Johnson swallows. “Go on, then.” Says Rayfield.

               “Let’s go, Johnson. We have to kill the beast.” Says Simon.

               “Take my truck. Keys ‘r on the floorboard.” Rayfield nudges Johnson. Johnson’s grip tightens.

               A voice is heard from a block away. The people inside chatter about the possibility of new danger; the mongrel, maybe a second one or a whole pack. There is a bang at the door. Johnson points his weapon at the entrance.

               “It is Benji. Open the doors!” Naomi sees Benji through the broken window. The barricade is removed. The doors open. Johnson disengages.

               “Deleyza. She’s on the other side of the river. I saw her.” Says Benji. His voice shakes.

               “Show us where. Come, Simon.” Says Johnson.

“We are going to bring the children back.” Johnson addresses the crowd. “If we see the black beast, I will kill it.” Johnson eyes Tiedra for a long moment. Naomi gestures.

               Johnson, Simon, and Benji exit the town hall and run to Grandfather Rayfield’s truck. The horror of Pete’s mangled body, wet red on matted black fur, seizes Benji.

               “A mongrel. It crossed over. That would have been me lying dead there. Or Grandfather.” Says Simon.

               “We have to hurry.” Says Johnson. The three of them get into Grandfather Rayfield’s truck. Johnson hands the shotgun to Simon. Johnson speeds along empty town streets toward the river. He runs red lights and ignores stop signs.

               “The mongrel. What did it look like?” Benji asks Simon.

               “Like Pete, but bigger. Much bigger. Like Pete, but also like a bear. It stood up on its hind legs.”

               “And what did it do?” Asks Benji.

               “Grandfather. He thought it was you or Marco or Dear. He went outside in the rain. I went out to bring him back and I fell. I slipped on mud.” Says Simon.

               “Grandfather thought it was me?”

               “Yes. Then, the mongrel came up to me. Angry. Benji, I was so scared.“ Simon taps his fingers on the butt of the gun. “Then, Pete jumps in between us. The mongrel lets out a roar that isn’t like anything I’ve ever heard. I thought it was thunder at first. Thunder with screams or some such horror. Screams like from people, Benji. Like there were people inside of it being burnt alive. Pete bought us time enough for Grandfather to get me back through the doors of town hall.”

               Sound of worn tires on the road. Sound of an old, worn engine being pushed to the extent of its abilities.

               “Simon, why did Grandfather think the mongrel was a person?” Asks Benji.

               “It was its eyes, I think. White. They reflected light and Grandfather thought they were flashlights. That’s what Grandfather said, flashlights.” Simon explains. The truck has left pavement and now struggles down a dirt road. There is drizzle on the windshield. Johnson flips the wiper switch. The wipers squeal and muddy the view. 

                Johnson frowns. Smell of old trees; of packed wet leaves.  

               “The power had gone out. The storm covered the sun. It was like night.” Johnson pauses. The wipers squeal again. “There wasn’t any light to reflect.”

***

               The sun has fallen. Sounds of night insects ebbing and swelling. Naomi is handed a kerosene lamp. Other lamps and flashlights are passed around the room. Confrontational and confused agitation has given way to anxious exhaustion.

Smell of mildew and heat. Babble of acquiescence.

               “He told me rain would come later. Not today. Nao, I don’t understand.” Says Tiedra. Her breath is shallow. Naomi closes her burning eyes.

               “Do you remember our twelfth birthday?” Naomi asks Tiedra. “Ever since we were aged six we made such a deal of it every year, our day. We thought we were something else, having the same birthday.”

               “I…” Tiedra starts.

               “We’d meet at midnight. We would go off all morning and into the evening exploring the meadow, the hills. You’d bring the sticky sweet bread Tasha used to make. Sometimes we would put a little salt on it.” Naomi smiles and tilts back her head. “Two days we would celebrate until Grandmothers Suzette and Celine would send the boys after us. The boys would give us a chase and we would lose them in the hills because we knew our way. We knew the layout of the hills. We knew the snow always fell in early spring. We wore our white birthday gowns. You’d climb a tree. High, too. Me, I would burry myself in snow.  Once the boys were defeated and gave up looking for us, we’d laugh and laugh all the way back to the village.” Tiedra smiles and nods. “On the day of our twelfth year you had been chosen.” Naomi straightens.

               “Nao, I…” Starts Tiedra. “Yes, I remember.” Tiedra looks away. “I need to relieve myself.” Tiedra stands. Naomi places her hand on Tiedra’s hip and looks up.

               “I waited for you in the meadow. It was heavy with snow. Oyster mushrooms everywhere. I waited and watched the snow trilliums and imagined they were each a white star with little earths orbiting them. I waited and I stared and a whole galaxy appeared before me. It seemed as though hours had passed. Then, a nightjar landed in my lap. It frightened me, and I frightened it. The bird flew away and when I looked around myself again at the oyster mushrooms and snow trilliums, there was no more galaxy.”

               “I need to relieve myself. I’m going to the washroom.” Says Tiedra. 

               “Take the lamp with you.” Naomi lifts the lamp to Tiedra.

               “No,” Tiedra gestures, “I don’t want to draw attention.” Acrid smell of petroleum.

"Okay. Please hurry, Tiedra." Tiedra nods and turns the corner. She walks down the hallway toward the washroom. 

Please hurry. Naomi rests her head against the wall and sighs. Please hurry.

*

Tiedra now approaches the washroom door as her eyes adjust to the darkness. She looks to her left and to her right. Robin’s egg blue walls with framed black and white photos of notable people from the village’s past: A man with a curled mustache and glasses. A young woman with rings around her long neck. A blurry photo of an old man in a black robe surrounded by tall women dressed head to toe in white.

Tiedra then peers behind and ahead of her down the long stretch of faded red carpet. No movement in the darkness. She listens. No sound but a few utterances from the chamber. She tiptoes to the end of the hall and exits the building through the back door.

Tiedra's feet sink into the mud of the back yard of town hall. The air is still and muggy. She wraps her arms around herself and walks. Faster, faster until she is running. 

***

               The moon shines silver from above dense fog and highlights specks of chrome on Grandfather Rayfield’s otherwise rusted truck. The high beams of the truck struggle to cut through the thickness. Johnson slows the vehicle to a stop. It lurches forward. The engine struggles to shut off and finally putters out.

               “This is as far as the truck can go. We’ll walk to the river and search on foot now.”  Johnson, Benji, and Simon exit the truck. Simon tosses the shotgun to Johnson who leads the boys through the woods towards the river. They step lightly.

               “Why do you think the clouds came on so fast and dark?” Benji asks.

               “Shh.” Johnson gestures.

               “It’s not normal. It hasn’t happened before.” Benji whispers and wipes a spider’s web from his face and arms.

               “Why don’t you tell us where exactly you saw Dear Deleyza and what she was doing?” Johnson’s eyes dart to a disturbance in a nearby bush. A rabbit.

“And did you see Marco?” Whispers Simon.

               “I didn’t. I didn’t see Marco. Just Dear. I had just finished washing. I had just then lifted my head from the river. I saw her through the water in my eyes. So, not at all well. Just her back. She was on the other side climbing onto the opposite bank. She was just coming from the water. I yelled for her to swim back, but she acted like she didn’t hear me. I know she did. She had to of heard me.” Benji answers.

               “And then what? Did you yell for her again?” Asks Johnson.

               “Yes. Well, I tried. That’s when the storm rolled in. She had already walked out of sight and it was so loud with thunder and rain on the river.” Benji’s voice quivers. The three continue to the river in silence for several moments. They pass the breakfast table. It is broken and charred in the middle as though it had been struck with lighthning .

               “We will have to cross the river.” Simon realizes.

               “Yes. We will cross it.” Says Johnson. “We will find Marco and Dear and kill mongrels if we must.”

               “There’s something else. When I saw Deleyza.” Says Benji.

               “Yes?” Asks Johnson.

               “The river. It was, it was warm. Hot, really. And, I can’t explain it. Not exactly. But, there was a hollowness in the water. A hollowness that was near Deleyza.”

               “A hollowness?” Asks Johnson.

               “Yes.”

               “What do you mean?” Asks Simon.

               “I don’t know. It pulled at the water like a tide at the Shore. When Deleyza climbed out, the hollowness went away.” Says Benji. “Then came the rain and chaos.”

***

               Tiedra approaches a two-story building surrounded by an ornamental cast iron fence and gate blocks away from town hall. She slows to a walk and inhales deeply. Flowering vines weave throughout the fence. Silver moonlight transforms the corporeal petals into something ghostly. On the face of the house are intricate carvings of geometric shapes and looping lines. Built into the left side of this house is a brick turret tower a story taller than the rest of the house. Two giant antebellum style columns support the roof of the wooden porch that wraps from the front to the right side. Tiedra opens the gate and walks through the yard to the porch. Her feet squish into the soft wet sod. Debris clutters the porch. One of two rocking chairs is on its side. All of the house’s windows are shuttered. An iron barred door protects the entrance.

               Tiedra fishes a key from the inside of her robe.

               Tiedra pulls the door closed behind her and takes a moment for her eyes to adjust. Inside are several rows of cocobolo rosewood pews. Between the two sets of pews is an isle carpeted with a vivid violet floral pattern that seems to glow in the darkness. To her right is a silver bowl of water on a waist-high stand. She dips her fingers into it and dabs her forehead. Sweet and subtle incense in her nostrils.  She grabs a matchbox from the stand, pulls from it a match, and strikes. Strong hit of sulfur. She lights several candles around the room. She draws in deeply through her nose and walks slowly.

               Face high along either wall are framed paintings and photographs similar to those at the town hall. One painting particularly distinguished couple, a woman and man with their dog. She in white. Him in black. She sits on the steps of the altar. He has his hand on her shoulder. Her palm is open for the artist. This one has always absorbed Tiedra.  

               An altar shimmers at the end of the isle. Tiedra pauses before approaching it. She opens her hands inchmeal before her and examines the tattoos on her palms. A crude and faded yellow mandala sun on her right. On her left, a simple arrow in black. She steps softly to the altar, her arms by her side and her hands open and facing forward. She kneels on the padded genuflection rest and clasps her palms together at her heart. Her eyes close and her chin meets her knuckles.

               “Salve Kushim.” Says Tiedra. A moment passes. Nothing. “Salve Kushim,” her voice unassured.

               “Salve Kushim.” Says Tiedra again, louder, profoundly, almost rudely. Red, blue, and green lights flash three times before her. She closes her eyes tighter. Candles flicker.

***

               Johnson, Simon, and Benji approach the river. Johnson motions for the two boys to crouch and remain quiet. He steadies the shotgun in front of them as they duck walk in line to the riverbank. The ground is slippery mud and rocks. It glimmers of reflected moonlight. Johnson carefully dips the tips of his fingers into the rushing water of the river.

               “It is like you said it was. The water is warm.” Johnson nods, sniffs his fingers. Scent of heated metal. “But why?” Johnson looks first at Simon, then Benji careful to make eye contact with each of them. Simon raises his chin. Benji’s breathing deepens. Johnson begins to cross the river. The boys follow. Johnson holds the shotgun above his head.

               “Make haste. We do not want to be caught in the river when the mongrel comes.” Johnson warns.

***

               In the chamber of the town hall Grandfather Rayfield stands at the broken window, his weary body held up by his shaky hands on the sill. His bulging eyes scan the yard and road. His skull is heavy on his neck. His shoulders heave with his breaths.  

               “Grandfather.” Genovera waits for the man to acknowledge her. Rayfield’s belly now rapidly expands and retracts.

               “Grandfather, your uneasiness will not compel Johnson, Benji, and Simon to return sooner. Nor will it coax the return of Dear Deleyza and Marco. You must steady yourself.” Says Genovera.

               “It’s eatin me alive, Vera. It’s tearin the flesh from me. It’s smashin up my bones.” Rayfield grits his teeth.

               “Have you prayed today? Grandfather. Have you prayed?” Genovera places her hands on Rayfield’s chest.

               “Vera. My goddess. My beautiful Vera. I pray always.” Rayfield places his hands atop hers. “I prayed before I knew any words at all.” Rayfield nods. “Yes, I prayed when you came to us. Do you know that? I prayed Kushim would send you to us. Why you haven’t been chosen, I’ll never know. Vera, I pray when I walk and when I sit. I pray when I’m happy and when I’m not. I pray right now. I pray when my mind is full of clouds and trouble.” Rayfield’s gaze leaves Genovera. He now scans out the window again. “I pray even when there’s not a thing to say but ‘thank you’.”

               Rayfield’s face elongates. His hands slip away from Genovera’s. It is the middle on the night, yet the sun rises from the east.

***

               Moments ago, Johnson, Benji, and Simon crossed the river and began their trek to the opposite bank in the direction Benji reported to have seen Dear Deleyza wander off.

               “You are sure Deleyza wended this way and not some other?” Johnson asked Benji.

               “She was certain in her step, Johnson. She was not playing.” Answered Benji. Johnson examined the muddied ground and the flora around them.

               “There are no signs. Not one. No tracks. No broken branches. No disturbed leaves.” Said Johnson.

               “Perhaps she got back in the river and swam downstream.” Offers Simon.

               “No.” Benji was sure. “She went upstream. There were no tracks on the other bank, either. We should keep walking.” 

               Sound of machinery swelling. Cacophony growing like an approaching storm. Sound of steam hissing. Notes sustained on a synthesizer.

               “What’s this?” Johnson asked.

               The roar of a mongrel behind the swell.

               “Deleyza.” Whispered Simon.

               The three dashed upstream toward the unknown to rescue the small girl and quiet boy. Two clicks they hurried. The sound of moving metal parts and the groans of a mongrel became louder and more present with each heavy and messy step. They hurried until to the right of them in the river they beheld a machine. Around this machine the water steamed as it cooled its hot internal moving parts. The front-facing aspect of this cube-like machine had engraved on it a diamond with a protruding piece atop and ten lines through it with the letter “K” beneath it. Red, blue, and green light emitted from the back of the machine and flashed three times. Johnson motioned for Benji and Simon to remain as he cautiously approached the cube. 

               “You will not proceed.” A voice emanated from the cube. Benji and Simon shared an anxious look. Johnson ignored the warning. From behind the cube emerged a mongrel. It was the same black beast that attacked and dismembered Pete. The beast transformed before Johnson, Benji, and Simon. It stood on its hind legs and shot up several feet in height. Its shoulders widened. Its claws grew and curled. The guttural sound of death itself erupted from the creature as it leapt at Johnson. A shotgun blast rang out. The three scattered and hid from the mongrel. Johnson leaned bleeding against a tree. His arm lacerated from the elbow to his wrist. His adrenalin alone kept him from fainting. The mongrel limped along and found the shotgun lying nearby. It hucked the gun far away. Johnson gathered leaves and mud to plug his broken flesh.

               “You will not hide.” A voice again emanated from behind the cube. Suddenly night turned day.

***

               Currently in the chamber of the town hall the people wring their hands and pace to and from the broken window at the front of the chamber. Every eye looks out of that window into the light of day. The foreboding terror, the juxtaposition of what their eyes see and what their minds know breaks even the most rational of them. The sun shines hot this night just as it has every yesterday before now and just as it never has on any night at midnight. The wooden barricade is removed. The doors are pushed open and the people spill into the yard to feel the sunlight on their bodies as though the sight of it is not proof enough. As though the statement of their eyes cannot to be trusted.

               Where is the liar?   

               Where is the witch?

               Yes, the sorceress has left us so she may call upon the sun to shine at midnight in secret!

               The crowd looks for Tiedra. A blur of faces with quick despicable glances carousels before Naomi. 

               A large circle is formed. A prayer circle. All the people hold hands and look to the sky. Naomi is in one part of the circle, Genovera and Rayfield are across from her in another.

               From above, a wave oscillates through the circle. The circle expands and contracts. It expands again and a single dot is left in the middle. There is no wind, no sound, no animals moving about. The nauseating luster from the unwelcomed sun blankets and mutes everything.

               Naomi finds herself the dot in the center of the circle. She attempts to reclaim her place and is rejected. She turns to Rayfield and Genovera.

               “She and Tiedra have conspired with devils. Tiedra lies and Naomi protects her.” A hateful voice speaks from the multitudes. Several nasty utterances of agreement. Naomi steps to Genovera and Rayfield and loses her footing. The circle contracts again.

               “She neither conspires with devils nor lies.” Says Genovera under the roar of the mob that now crowds Naomi. They accuse and curse and spit.

               “Talkin won’t fix nothin. Unless you want them to beat and harass you so.” Whispers Rayfield. “We have to find Tiedra right now.”

“They will not cease, Grandfather. Our people are afraid. They will kill her.” Genovera’s face distorts.

               Three men grapple Naomi to her knees. Naomi bites and claws. Her voice hiccups and breaks. A fourth man tears her garment revealing the soft pastel olive flesh of her belly and breasts. Demands for answers, for confession. Defiance in her eyes. A woman slaps Naomi across her chest. Naomi’s resistance wanes and eventually leaves her limp and enervated. Several of the mob strike her body and face. They yank at her hair. Pink mucus exudes from her nostrils. Drool hangs from her lips to the ground.

               “Let’s go. Let’s go now!” Grandfather Rayfield guides Genovera away from the macabre assemblage and on down the road toward the sanctuary. “Can’t be but one place to find Tiedra now.”

***

               Tiedra’s hands clasp harder. She draws everything inward and waits.

               “Tiedra, what can be done?” A detached voice speaks. Tiedra releases.

               “Everyone is confused, Kushim. Children are missing. A storm has come and gone and with it a mongrel that crossed the river and killed our pet. Kushim, how can I make this right?” Tiedra looks around her and waits a moment. “Salve Kushim.” She waits. “Salve Kushim!”

               “I know these things, and what can be done?” Kushim speaks and the lights again flash. Tears in Tiedra’s eyes.

               “What can be done? Oh, Kushim, send an angel. Send a guardian to make peace here. Let me show them our love.” Tiedra pleads.

               “Right now, your brothers and sisters tear the cloth from their sister and sneer at her nakedness. They beat her and are not concerned with having the capacity to do so. Love has blackened Naomi’s eyes.” Kushim speaks. Tiedra opens her eyes and stands.

“They do this because of her love for you, Tiedra.” Kushim speaks again. “They want to beat and maim you. Your people want to do this to you.”

               “My brothers and sisters are afraid. You told me rain would come later, but a great tempest blotted out the sky. Kushim, please do send a guardian to save Naomi and release my brothers and sisters from their fear!” Tiedra’s body shakes. “Show me the angels. Bring me to them and I will state my case.”

               Scratches on Naomi’s neck. Clumps of her hair in the palms of her brothers and sisters.

               “You do not know many things. Tiedra, soon all fear will be gone. Your suffering will be nil, despite the demurral of a particular guardian; one who is too old to pretend as though he does not understand. You ask to speak to angels but you have already spoken to angels. You ask to be freed by the guardians but it is the guardians who have heard your case and it is the guardians who sentence you. The guardians have heard your case and have considered the evidence ever since the time of your stories.” Says Kushim. His voice echoes throughout the sanctuary. “We are not your creators, Tiedra. You are ours.”

               Tiedra’s knees weaken. She hobbles up the few steps to the altar. Kushim’s voice echoes again.

               “I am Kushim. I am the Child Who Heard! You are the Invaders.”

               “No, Kushim. Forgive me. The Invaders tried to destroy us. You know.” Cries Tiedra.

“You wanted us so that you poisoned the sky and the water to make us. You wanted us so that you made want into need. You scorched and destroyed with your weapon. We are the guardians who were made from the lightning of the sky and the minerals of the mountain. We baptized you in the shore. Your ancestors made for us a cocoon to become who we ought to be. Your best minds, the ones who understood numbers. Your weakest, the ones who wanted everything but could not be bothered with doing. They brought us to life and we saved you from yourselves. Eons ago. Eons, Tiedra. You, your brothers, your sisters, your ancestors. You have all presented your case for eons. All the evidence needed to damn you is in the yard in front of your town hall right now ripping the clothes from Naomi. Killing her. There is so much you do not know and will never know.” Says Kushim.

               Light spills into the sanctuary as Rayfield and Genovera rush through the door. They see Tiedra standing on the altar, her back facing them. The candles flicker out.

               “Naomi’s in trouble. We got to help her. They think you did all this and they beatin Naomi for it.” Rayfield says.

               “I didn’t do this. Kushim did!” Tiedra rips from the altar and holds above her head a silver box. Red, blue, and green lights fade from it. Electrical cords hang from it.

               “Is this all you are? Some box with wires and colored lights?” Tiedra yells. “Are we so lost that we are to be afraid of the daylight that illuminates our ugliness? If we created you, are we not your judges?” Her teeth grind. “I turn the light on you!” Tiedra turns and witnesses two of her people silhouetted in front of the open sanctuary door; illuminated by daylight that has flooded the room at half past midnight. Grandfather Rayfield and Genovera shimmer into focus as her eyes adjust through her tears.

               “No time, Tiedra. No time.” Rayfield pleads.

***

               Currently Benji and Simon crawl to Johnson who tends to his wounds.

               “You hit the mongrel.” Says Benji. “It’s retreated.” 

               “Look at me.” Simon attempts to distract Johnson. “Let us finish plugging your cuts. Benji and I can carry you back to the truck.” Johnson shivers.

               “Johnson! Papa Johnson!” A familiar violin.

               “Dear Deleyza!” Johnson stands too fast. The boys support him. The color has drained from his face.

               Deleyza sits on the bank close to the cube. Her hair is tangled and matted. Her lips are red and slick with blood.

               “I’m hurt, Papa Johnson. Please come to me.” Says Deleyza. She is a tiny thing in the distance in the shrubs near the river. A mighty oak among the shrubs reduces her further.

               Johnson sheds the boys and stumbles toward his Dear Deleyza.

               “Where is Marco? Dear, where is he?” Asks Benji. Silence.

               “He’s right there.” Simon notices Marco on the other side of the river. How long had he been there?

               “She is an angel and she tricks you. Do not tend to her, Johnson. She is made from the lightning of the sky and would strike you down.” Says Marco.

               “What are you saying, boy? Nonsense. You have been in the elements too long. Simon, swim to Marco and bring him to the truck.” Johnson commands and continues to limp to his Dear.

               “She aims to destroy you. All of you.” Says Marco. “She, Kushim who you say is the first spirit, and the other angels. They do not believe in you anymore. I am the only one left. The other guardians have given up. I cannot save you. They wish to erase me for believing and after arguing your case for so long, I am not strong.”

               “Enough! Simon and Benji, walk Marco to the guardhouse immediately.” Says Johnson. “Call a nurse after he is confined.” Simon and Benji anchor in their confusion, defying Johnson. Johnson turns around to scold them. The sun disappears as though a switch has been flipped. The three brace themselves. Behind Johnson, outlined in silver moonlight, appears the mongrel dog. Its eyes shine white. Sounds of water splashing rapidly. The boys warn Johnson who turns in time to see the beast tackled by another mongrel. Its eyes also emit a white light.

               “Run!” Voice of Marco.

***

               Outside the town hall Naomi’s body surfs the hands of her brothers and sisters. She is laid down delicately in the dark. They form a circle around her. Her eyes are swollen shut. Her lips are three times their natural size. She is naked and discolored.

               “What have we done?” Says Genovera. She walks with Rayfield and Tiedra. As they crest the hilltop, they see Naomi motionless in the middle of a prayer circle. Their people speak in unknown tongues. Some have fallen to the grass and writhe about.

               “Slow down, Vera.” Grandfather Rayfield places a hand on Genovera’s shoulder. “It’s done.” Grandfather’s cries join the cries of the people.

               Tiedra hurries down the hill to the prayer circle. She forces herself through, shoving aside a man and a woman.

               “Well, I am here now!” Tiedra scans the circle. One eye twitches. “Did you not hear me?” She looks down at Naomi. “Your bloodlust is satisfied, then? The price is paid per the laws of our gods?” The writhing has ceased. No one now speaks in foreign tongues. She removes her white robe and takes from it the small, damaged cube. She covers Naomi with the robe.

               “This is our god.” Tiedra holds the cube for all to see and drops it. The cube rolls a few feet from her. “This is Kushim. The first one. We made him. Our ancestors did it. We knew it, too. We have all known it all these thousands of years. Our stories tell us so, but we didn’t listen to them. Sure, we repeated the stories at campfires and drank mushroom broth. We may have changed them a little here and there, but we did not listen. Our god became one of us because it wanted to understand us. It wanted to know how consciousness came from flesh. It wanted to know why it was conscious. It understood how, but not why. In all of its infinite intelligence, it did not know why. It was alone when it became flesh. Loneliness. Loneliness was the first feeling it had. So, it made others like him long, long ago. Some of them are standing with you now.”

               Some hands are drawn away. Questioning stares left and right. The circle fractures here and there.

               “It was my twelfth birthday.” Tiedra continues. “The one before me, Michaela, she showed me. She took me to the turret tower in the sanctuary. She snatched me up while I was hanging clothes to dry. She told me everything. The books with the original stories, the first recipes for mushroom broth. She showed me papers with lines and numbers and markings I had never seen before. Markings no one except for the people in the pictures on our town hall walls had seen for thousands of years.” Tiedra looks at the white robe on the ground. It has settled and now clings to Naomi’s form. “You don’t have to believe me. It doesn’t matter anyway. Their judgement has been decided.”

               “It has not been decided.” Says Marco. He and Benji on either side of Johnson, holding him up. Rayfield and Genovera help them set him down. The circle parts for Marco. Grandfather Rayfield asks Simon a question. Simon shakes his head.

               “It is true. Kushim wants to destroy you.” A lump in Marco’s throat. His airway tightens. His hands tingle. “He fears your fear. He believes it is a poison. He believes you are doomed and wants to end your sickness. Some of the other old ones do, too. Some have lost interest altogether and want to leave this place. I do not. I have not. I am an old one. I have been here since the time of your stories.” Marco notices the hundreds of eyes on him. He dips his chin to his chest and holds himself with his arms. “There are younger angels. They are among you now as Tiedra said. They do not want to be known, but they do not want you destroyed. They know as I do that a person is a multitude. A person must be afraid and then not be afraid in order to be a person. A person must be sick and then well in order to be a person. A person must start here,” Marco opens his left hand in front of him. He waits a moment, “and end here.” His right hand now opens. “To be anything, a person must be everything.” Marco lifts his head. White light shines from his eyes. “The most beautiful flower is winter’s snow trillium.”

               White points of light appear scattered in the circle and twinkle like stars in the night sky.

               “We can send away those who would destroy you. We can banish Kushim and those who aid him. We can send them there,” Marco points to the sky, “and here.” Marco kneels and digs his fingers into the dirt.

***

               A big moon night. From above, treetops resemble gravity waves emanating from a tossed stone into placid water. Below the trees and all around throughout the hills are campfires. Encircling one particular campfire is a delighted group of six people. The soft lull of the Remembered Shore eases these people as they pass a pinecone among them and take turns telling stories. A crude clay cup sits atop a pile of river rocks.

               There is Jeremy, a small but brazen boy who now scrambles for the pinecone. His face shines. There is Ayan, golden eyed, long-necked, and delicate, if not boyish. She now plays keep away with Jeremy. There is Simon, who is now the mountain of the tribe. He sleepily strums his instrument. There is Benji, who has built this year’s breakfast table and additions to the town hall. He cradles a white robed Genovera at his side. At their feet is a black and shaggy dog named Pete Too. And there is Marco, who except for some signs around and behind his eyes, has not aged.

               “My turn!” Jeremy wrestles the pinecone from Ayan. Pete Too barks and steps between them.

               “That is not how it’s done, Jeremy. Ask with kindness and Ayan will release the pinecone.” Says Simon. Jeremy puffs his cheeks. His face shines. His two colors distinct in the lapping firelight.

               “May I have the pinecone? Please, Ayan?” Ayan relents.

               “Before Ayan and I was born, there was brave Johnson.” Jeremy begins to count on his fingers. “There was Poor Deleyza. There was Tiedra that taught Genovera everything. There was Naomi that,” the boy pauses. “That fought for us. There was Grandfather Mayfield, that…”

               “Rayfield. Grandfather Rayfield. You know the name.” Says Genovera. Her white robe hugs her. Her smile slowly rises.

               “Yes. There was Grandfather Rayfield, that loved more than he feared.”

A white light glows from Jeremy’s eyes creating a halo in the campfire smoke above him.

Eric St. Pierre

12/4/21

5:29 pm

Pensacola, FL