Mokee had gone to live with the Rainbow Serpent, or so the tales had said. His story was passed from generation to generation so that his people might know that the Serpent was real. He had gone away at a call from the distance, though no one else had heard it. They chose to believe that he had heard something and let him go, only to have him disappear forever.
He was seen only once by an elder and once by a child, but they described him as though he could be seen right through, a mirage of the worst kind. His lips moved, but no sound came out. And he tried to beckon them to follow him in the direction of Uluru, but to what end?
They spoke of the Dreamtime when they gathered to discuss it, of all things happening at once. He was long dead, yet if they could but follow him, they could see his fate. Maybe one of them, or someone from a future generation, was supposed to help him or make him do something, but they were accidentally separated by time.
Storme was becoming a man when he saw Mokee. Storme was Mokee's son's son's son's daughter's son; he had been alive for ten wet seasons. He rubbed his eyes and gaped at the fuzzy person who stared back at him. They held each other in thrall for a bit, neither one quite sure of himself, and then Mokee went and sat down on something invisible, his chin on his fist, pondering the situation. Storme mimicked the action. He located a rock a couple feet away and sat at the same distance from the ground. His eyes never left the dead man.
There were a lot of things he felt in that moment. At the top of the list were excitement and terror. But he had to keep this man in sight. Mokee had never returned to relay his direction along the songlines, so following him was the only way to know where he went. If there were a way to capture his image, to trap it on a leaf or a stone, Storme could have followed a trail of them. Alas, there was none.
At last, Mokee got to his feet. Actually, he jumped up, as if he'd seen a snake. He picked up whatever he was seated upon and looked as though he wanted to hit Storme with it, so Storme retreated a few running steps and looked back, to see Mokee drop it hard in the spot where he'd sat. Nothing landed, and the stone was undisturbed. Storme then had to jog to catch up as Mokee impulsively wandered away. He gave the stone he'd sat upon a curious glance as he passed it by, and he wondered about its history...
Mokee still moved toward Uluru, though it was unclear what songline he followed; indeed, it would be hard for Storme to rejoin his people, for he'd lost track of his own location in his rush to keep up with Mokee.
Oh, but I know that sand formation to my left, and that stump to my right. He tried to concentrate as Mokee's half-image became barely visible against the night sky. It beckoned him to hurry as it flickered and grew dim. The moon faithfully guided him, however, its light good and strong this night. They traveled many hundreds of paces before Mokee stopped again, and he knelt to dig a fire pit.
What is he doing? Storme asked, even though he could feel the chill of night. Mokee pointed at him and then to the spot where he'd begun to dig, and no earth had been disturbed. The only thing Storme could do was to light his own fire. He dug, collected fuel and crouched beside the flickering beacon the same way as his ancestor, and he waited. What kind of event would play out here tonight? Was this what happened before, happening now again? Or was it a play put on by Mokee's spirit to lead him somewhere?
Mokee reacted to something he saw approaching. He hefted a large flat rock in an upturned palm, and nodded that Storme should do the same. Storme cast about and found one, all in a thrill over what might happen.
It shambled out of the darkness in that moment, a creature he would not have believed if he had not seen it for himself. It was larger than him by a full body-length, with a black carapace that shone red in the firelight. He didn't want to take his eyes off of it. It was a beast, and it could kill him! Its body was long and limbless, with the face of a serpent and the stinging tail of a scorpion. But he finally stole a heart-stopping glance over at Mokee, who threw his rock forward to land somewhere in the spirit-ether. Storme followed suit. He struck the massive beast right on its head. The rock bounced off after a scraping sound of impact and left the thing thrashing its head back and forth, clicking its mandibles in voiceless pain.
But there was no visible damage to its carapace, or at least none that he could see in the dim light. It advanced on him, its tail poised to strike, and all he could do was cry out and cast about for another stone to throw.
Serpents created the world, but if this was a relative of the Rainbow Serpent, it was surely a mischievous outcast from the family. The Serpent could be dangerous when angry, but a man had to defend himself from savage animals--that was that.
He witnessed, in his periphery, Mokee in a fierce grapple with an invisible opponent. It looked his he was losing ground as he struggled to maneuver his foe toward the fire.
The fire.
Storme raced toward the blaze, all too aware that it lay between him and the beast, and he snatched up a heavy stick from within. The beast scuttled forward, its tail raised, poised and ready to strike. Storme stood his ground, the enflamed stick held casually out to the side.
The tail whipped forward and came down like a sharp black hammer, and Storme rushed forward under its swing, right at the thing's grotesque head. He shoved the torch into its face and held it there, and he followed it as it scrambled backward, away from the fire that had already melted its eyes. Soon its entire body was ablaze, and Storme established some distance between himself and its flailing death throes as it collapsed on itself, oozing and bleeding onto the sand.
He looked for Mokee. His ancestor was splayed on the ground, a gaping hole punched into his chest by the creature's tail.
This happened before, and it has happened again. At least, revered ancestor, I have given you peace by taking the monster that slew you from the land. May you be happy now and forever.
He was seen only once by an elder and once by a child, but they described him as though he could be seen right through, a mirage of the worst kind. His lips moved, but no sound came out. And he tried to beckon them to follow him in the direction of Uluru, but to what end?
They spoke of the Dreamtime when they gathered to discuss it, of all things happening at once. He was long dead, yet if they could but follow him, they could see his fate. Maybe one of them, or someone from a future generation, was supposed to help him or make him do something, but they were accidentally separated by time.
Storme was becoming a man when he saw Mokee. Storme was Mokee's son's son's son's daughter's son; he had been alive for ten wet seasons. He rubbed his eyes and gaped at the fuzzy person who stared back at him. They held each other in thrall for a bit, neither one quite sure of himself, and then Mokee went and sat down on something invisible, his chin on his fist, pondering the situation. Storme mimicked the action. He located a rock a couple feet away and sat at the same distance from the ground. His eyes never left the dead man.
There were a lot of things he felt in that moment. At the top of the list were excitement and terror. But he had to keep this man in sight. Mokee had never returned to relay his direction along the songlines, so following him was the only way to know where he went. If there were a way to capture his image, to trap it on a leaf or a stone, Storme could have followed a trail of them. Alas, there was none.
At last, Mokee got to his feet. Actually, he jumped up, as if he'd seen a snake. He picked up whatever he was seated upon and looked as though he wanted to hit Storme with it, so Storme retreated a few running steps and looked back, to see Mokee drop it hard in the spot where he'd sat. Nothing landed, and the stone was undisturbed. Storme then had to jog to catch up as Mokee impulsively wandered away. He gave the stone he'd sat upon a curious glance as he passed it by, and he wondered about its history...
Mokee still moved toward Uluru, though it was unclear what songline he followed; indeed, it would be hard for Storme to rejoin his people, for he'd lost track of his own location in his rush to keep up with Mokee.
Oh, but I know that sand formation to my left, and that stump to my right. He tried to concentrate as Mokee's half-image became barely visible against the night sky. It beckoned him to hurry as it flickered and grew dim. The moon faithfully guided him, however, its light good and strong this night. They traveled many hundreds of paces before Mokee stopped again, and he knelt to dig a fire pit.
What is he doing? Storme asked, even though he could feel the chill of night. Mokee pointed at him and then to the spot where he'd begun to dig, and no earth had been disturbed. The only thing Storme could do was to light his own fire. He dug, collected fuel and crouched beside the flickering beacon the same way as his ancestor, and he waited. What kind of event would play out here tonight? Was this what happened before, happening now again? Or was it a play put on by Mokee's spirit to lead him somewhere?
Mokee reacted to something he saw approaching. He hefted a large flat rock in an upturned palm, and nodded that Storme should do the same. Storme cast about and found one, all in a thrill over what might happen.
It shambled out of the darkness in that moment, a creature he would not have believed if he had not seen it for himself. It was larger than him by a full body-length, with a black carapace that shone red in the firelight. He didn't want to take his eyes off of it. It was a beast, and it could kill him! Its body was long and limbless, with the face of a serpent and the stinging tail of a scorpion. But he finally stole a heart-stopping glance over at Mokee, who threw his rock forward to land somewhere in the spirit-ether. Storme followed suit. He struck the massive beast right on its head. The rock bounced off after a scraping sound of impact and left the thing thrashing its head back and forth, clicking its mandibles in voiceless pain.
But there was no visible damage to its carapace, or at least none that he could see in the dim light. It advanced on him, its tail poised to strike, and all he could do was cry out and cast about for another stone to throw.
Serpents created the world, but if this was a relative of the Rainbow Serpent, it was surely a mischievous outcast from the family. The Serpent could be dangerous when angry, but a man had to defend himself from savage animals--that was that.
He witnessed, in his periphery, Mokee in a fierce grapple with an invisible opponent. It looked his he was losing ground as he struggled to maneuver his foe toward the fire.
The fire.
Storme raced toward the blaze, all too aware that it lay between him and the beast, and he snatched up a heavy stick from within. The beast scuttled forward, its tail raised, poised and ready to strike. Storme stood his ground, the enflamed stick held casually out to the side.
The tail whipped forward and came down like a sharp black hammer, and Storme rushed forward under its swing, right at the thing's grotesque head. He shoved the torch into its face and held it there, and he followed it as it scrambled backward, away from the fire that had already melted its eyes. Soon its entire body was ablaze, and Storme established some distance between himself and its flailing death throes as it collapsed on itself, oozing and bleeding onto the sand.
He looked for Mokee. His ancestor was splayed on the ground, a gaping hole punched into his chest by the creature's tail.
This happened before, and it has happened again. At least, revered ancestor, I have given you peace by taking the monster that slew you from the land. May you be happy now and forever.
