2200 Blues Chapter 47: Part One

Note to readers: “2200 Blues” is a novel in progress, and each chapter is an early draft in its unfolding journey. Your thoughts and reactions are invaluable, guiding its evolution and refinement

“And thus the creation of the universe came to a standstill,” the old man croaked. The windstorm came to a still, quieting just in time for him to bring the Thraíha creation story to a close.

Nickel had nearly forgotten his positioning in the egg and his initial feelings of claustrophobia, numbed by his stillness and the ever-present darkness he inhabited inside of the egg.

“Father Hawk rescued the Flower of Life, vanquishing the coyote as he fell forth from his own cliff, his tumbling crash to be heard across the Huntsman’s Soul, shaking his very being.”

“Running through the canyons and into the jungle, Father Hawk was beckoned by the Eagles and the monkeys. His victory ushered a new age where he reigned as God once again, becoming the God king he was destined to be.”

“Rushing to Mother Hawk, her wounds were dressed by the petals of the flower. She was never to be in her original physical form.”

There was an orchestrated gasp from the choir, sounding like a mass of onrushing eels.

“The seeds of the Flower of Life pollinated the newly broiling Life.”

“The roiling embers of this child became the planet Earth and where the pollen salvaged life, it became the creatures and plants made in the face of the Great Huntsman and his Soul.”

“The Huntsman drew forth across the constellations, drawing a map of the stars and planets from which to hold life and its home planet Earth. He brought the first point of the constellation to the center of this, marking the sun by which life shows its face and the Thraíha hunt.”

“The Huntsman swung his lasso through the cosmos, bringing a star towards Life, becoming its sun, the light by which we Thraíha hunt.”

“Life was made in the image of the Coyotes, the Lizards, the Eagles, and all the animals and plants of the huntsman soul. Finally, the Monkeys were recreated, remade by the powers of the flower they extracted by aiding Father Hawk in his quest.”

“This time, they gave way to a new creature called Humans.”

A steady drum beat ensued from the encircling vantage points of the Thraíha compound, echoing from the far-off openings in the surrounding walls and spires.

“Like the Monkeys who built the logs and timber surrounding the canyons, Humans were destined to build new worlds from the roiling embers of Earth, giving to Life, sometimes taking away.”

“Of all the creatures made from life, they were the most similar to the Huntsman, searching and hunting for food, mastering their souls, satiating themselves until they could build new worlds.”

“When that happened, they took from the roiling embers of Earth, giving to Life. The embers came from the yoke of an egg that hatched prematurely, before the hawk child of Mother and Father Hawk could be born.”

“Sometimes, they took too much from the roiling embers, causing for destruction of Life, taking away from it.”

“When that happened, the Huntsman summoned a hunt of the Hawk once again. That took the form of the Thraíha, the hunters and travelers of the Atlantic Canyons, a land rife with the embers of earth.”

“Once again, the embers of earth threatened to engulf our planet and our life once again, humans having sinned as Father Hawk once did, unleashing destruction and waste.”

“We answer the call of the Huntsman, searching for the Hawk, ending the never ending flight from eternity, knowing that Father Hawk will answer with his salvation as he did in the lands of the Huntsman’s Soul.”

“Father Hawk is the answerer, king of the universe. Mother Hawk is the blesser, knowing that her child is premature, and having lost her corporeal form, she must flee from the scene of Life and its Providence.”

“The child must learn on its own, and Mother Hawk will give the nurturing blessings, flying over and rippling through the fields we make our pasture, the water we drink from and use to grow our crops, and the nests we form with our brothers, sisters, and children.”

“Father Hawk is the answerer king of the universe. Mother Hawk is the blesser, guarding the nests for the future and the Huntsman is the atcher, pointing the way to our salvation from amongst the stars.”

“Thraíha chung jurra!” chanted the choir of women encircling the old storyteller, Nickel and Farrul.

“The elements of Earth have brought two souls from the Past World, ripped from the yoke of life and its raging fires,” shouted the old man.

“Thraíha chung jurra! Muhagh yeeooh houvrah!”

“The stars of the Huntsman have shown these two souls to us and us to them!”

“Yeeoh houvra!”

“Cast aside from the shadows of the Past World, born under the light of the Huntsman’s cosmic grace, I give you two new members of Thraíha!

“Rise hatchlings!”

After a few nearing steps crunching the gravel of the earth, and a pit-pat on the cement of the pavilion platform, a loud screeching occurred above Nickel as the lid of his egg scraped off of the top, pushed by arms darkened by the sleeves of heavy robes.

The dimness of the murky tan fog was a blinding flash of light intruding upon the darkened space of the egg. Nickel grimaced, eyelids flickering over the new light.

The cool stillness of the egg was broken by the slithering currents of air blowing above the egg. Its chill wafted through the opening, causing Nickel to shiver.

“Thraíha chung jurra!”

“Muhagh yeeooh houvrah!”

Nickel slid his back along the softly curving interior of the egg, pushing up with his arms.

“Thraíha chung jurra!”

“Muhagh yeeooh houvrah!”

“Enter the world of light!” crooked the old narrator, “Awaken to the stars, embrace their arms.”

The screeching of the lid intensified as it slipped off completely, letting the chilliness of the night sink over Nickel. Nickel extended his knees allowing himself to stand. When he arose from the darkened state of the chamber, he emerged to see, not the lights of the hovercraft screens blinking to life, but the eager expressions of his fellow Thraíha men and women, standing around him, separated by gender, all standing erect, noble and proud.

Their eyes glinted in the dull tan of the fog, an orange dimmed to the browns of a twilight still waiting on the morning sunrise. Their feathers adorning their tunics, wrapped around their collars and waists fluttered in the gentle thrumming of the never ending winds. Robed ceremonial figures had left Nickel’s egg, now clustered around Farrul’s egg. They were stooped over, pushing the lid off. The echoey warble of Farrul’s grunting escaped the opening of the egg. One of the ceremonial figures reached his arm inside, ushering Farrul to silence by slapping the inside of the egg and whispering, “quiet!” Pushing off the lid the robed figures turned aside to carry the heavy lid, scraping it along the rock hewn floor of the platform.

“Thraíha chung jurra!”

“Muhagh yeeooh houvrah!”

Finally visible, the storyteller was an aged mosaic of wide reaching skin and wrinkles stretching over his face. His eyes were a dull white, glazed with no pupils or irises, just a ball of murky pale grey.

“With dawn nearly upon us, Father Hawk has nearly left his nest,” the old man spoke, his voice crisper in all of its croaking outside of the egg. His voice lay over the air like sandpaper on wood or steel. “Follow the ceremonial leaders to the last path the Huntsman left tonight.” The fog flickered, betraying a warming complexion. The bear skin of the moccasin clothes adorned by the Thraíha grew brighter, its brown fur growing in contrast to the red and gray feathers wrapped around their chests and waists. The sun was slowly rising. Under the growing light, the features of the old storyteller became more alight. It revealed faint grey irises and pupils within the pale eyes, streaked with the same grey, as light and near imperceptible as the wisps of hair laying over his scalp in loosely hanging strands.

“Where are we going?” Nickel asked, breaking the ordered procession of language since the initiation rite began. He looked at the old man for an answer, just barely noticing Farrul arising from his egg to the side.

The old storyteller opened his mouth in a slight smile, withholding from spoken words. The mass of Thraíha were a dusty folk. The scene before him was like many an AI-induced learning module, only the people were dustier, of courser skin, their clothes of jagged make and the air of greater velocity and spontaneousness.

This moment was what the Thraíha had promised him. Was it back to the hovercraft after this? Soaring like Father Hawk? Or would the Thraíha even let him?

“You go,” croaked the old man, a shard of sunlight glinting white across his empty looking eyes, “where every Thraíha has gone. Up the steppe of the Past World and into the light of the Huntsman.”

Nickel’s mind coiled around itself for a response, finding none he could decide on. The mass of the Thraíha standing before him suddenly appeared like a pack of animals in their bearskin, like Nickel was caught in their den, and their words were part of a language he couldn’t quite be a part of completely.

Quivering chills laced Nickel’s chest, raising goose flesh, raising nearly every corner of his skin above his waist. Feeling more conscious of his bareness in that moment, it seemed to him that he was bereft of his former life at the hands of the Thraíha. Would they let him return to his hovercraft in an expedition or quest to Hedonim?

The robed figures turned, their robes furrier than that of the rest of the Thraíha, their thicker moccasin fur brushing against each other, a rattling percussion of thick moccasin fur.

After the feeling of awe Nickel had felt listening about Father Hawk, a heavy uncertainty rose through his chest. Was he to live within the confines of the Thraíha customs and abide by their values and myths for the rest of his life?

Farrul bucked his head as the robed figures reentered the platform, stepping onto its surface, he averted their gazes as they came over to him with a long robe made of moccasin fur.

Would Nickel ever see civilization again?

The men around Farrul draped a robe over his shoulders, beckoning for him to put his arms through. He did while barely looking into their eyes. Three of them standing in front of Farrul walked over to Nickel, holding a clumped bundle that was his robe.

They helped put it over his shoulders, two of them standing behind Nickel to do so. The fur was prickly against his bare skin, scuffing his back before the material sunk over his flesh, blanketing him with a warmth that melted over the airy chill on his skin.

A clearing was formed in between the groups of men and women behind the storyteller. They walked in between and around one another, breaking their parallel symmetry so that the ceremonial leaders could escort Nickel and Farrul out of the pavilion space.

One of the robed figures waved a hand at nickel, motioning for him to follow. Nickel followed him, hearing Farrul join behind him.

They passed through the opening in between the men and the women. To the left were the men, several of them holding candles casting warm orange halos amongst them.

Father Akela stood aside, separated with the rest of the of men, his ceremonial role having ended. He watched Nickel with eyes that glinted in the nearby candlelight of a man standing next to him.

To the right, amassed in front of the nursery were the women of Thraíha present for the ceremony. Several women held candles as well, illuminating solemn expressions within the halos of light. They appeared to be more somber than those of the men looking at Nickel.

Passing through the opening Nickel spotted the Thraíha girl who had inducted him in the ceremonial rituals painting over his chest. He caught a glimpse of her frowning face. She looked distressed. When Nickel’s eyes met hers, she averted her gaze, withdrawing within the gathered women.

Nickel craned his neck to see where she went, but robed figures behind him and Farrul nudged him to keep moving. Nickel turned around, confused at the expression he saw on the girl. There was more to the Thraíha folk than their customs. That both elucidated him, filling him with both curiosity and hope to sway any of the Thraíha to see his perspective, but a dreadful anxiety. How could he hope to find the meaning in his interactions with the Thraíha through the confines of their customs and the complexity of their individual lives, made generation by generation in these radiation infested canyons?

They’d never seen the U.R. like Nickel had, never lived amongst its citizens or within the Ether Realms. How could he explain to any of the Thraíha how he could find a way back into the Ether to a people who had completely forgotten about it many generations ago?

These questions swarmed his mind as he was led out of the clearing, past the huddled masses of men and women. The pocketed glow of the candles dimmed as they gained distance, led past the winding curvature of the low roofed nursery, until its curvaceous rock walls joined the earth. While twinklings of morning light slithered through the fog, the world became dim and a jagged step of dirt and stone rose before them, forming a horizontal protrusion in the earth.

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