by Luke Donegan
A small girl met him on the porch. When he asked to see the Hearth-Mother she led him through to the courtyard.
“Wait,” said the girl, disappearing into the building.
It was chore hour and the children were busy sweeping the verandahs, airing bedding, hanging out clothes, and preparing food for the midday meal. These children smiled as they worked. Erys could not imagine the humorless Teacher this place.
The Hearth-Mother emerged with a weary look of concern. As she approached Erys, she seemed older than when he had seen her before.
“Scion-Teacher,” she said. “Welcome to Ocean-Hearth.”
How old was she? Fourteen, fifteen. Too young to be a Hearth-Mother. The pressure of endless toil showed on her face. She was struggling.
“Hearth-Mother,” bowed Erys. “Last time we met I did not realise you were a Hearth-Mother and I showed no respect. I apologise.”
She bowed in return. “I was at the Museum yesterday. Jay was okay then. Has something happened?”
“Peace,” said Erys. “I do not come with bad news.”
Rhada relaxed visibly, although she was now confused as to the purpose of his visit.
“I need your help, Hearth-Mother. It concerns the Teacher. I need to ask a favour of you. But I am afraid there is a long story I must tell so that you understand my request.”
Rhada studied him. “He does not like you, you know,” she said.
Erys nodded.
“He thinks you are careless with people. And careless with the truth. I will listen to your story, but believe me, I know the difference between the truth and lies. Be truthful, or I will not help you.”
“Yes, Hearth-Mother.”
In a quick moment Rhada monitored the activity in the courtyard and knew immediately what jobs still waited completion and how much time they would take.
“The midday meal will be within the hour,” she told Erys. “Help the children with their duties, and then eat with us. After the meal I will listen to what you have to say.”
Erys and three children carried buckets of water from the ocean up to Ocean-Hearth. As they sat in the courtyard scrubbing clothes, the children asked him questions. Some were difficult to answer.
“Are you a Teacher at the Museum?” asked a boy.
“Yes. I am the Museum’s Scion-Teacher.”
“Do you know Jay?” asked a girl.
“Yes. I know Jay. He is the Teacher.”
“But you are older,” observed the girl. “Why are you Scion-Teacher if you are older than Jay?”
“Jayda, be polite,” said Grace, the Teacher of Ocean-Hearth.
“No, the question is fair,” said Erys. “Jay is Teacher because I went away and he took my place. Jay is my master now, but perhaps one day, when Jay has ascended, I will become Teacher.”
“But if you are older, you won’t become Teacher,” the girl pointed out.
“Jayda! Enough,” scolded Grace. “Go and help with lunch.”
After Jayda departed, one of the boys asked Erys a question: “Jay doesn’t visit us anymore. Does he not miss us?”
Erys placed his had tenderly on the boy’s shoulder. “I am certain he misses you. But he is very busy. In the Museum the Teacher is very important. He is busy all the time. He has important decisions to make. But he will come and visit, I am sure, one day.”
Grace looked at him with steely eyes, and Erys knew the Teacher of Ocean-Hearth saw through his lie.
You are right, he thought. He will never visit this place again. Of that I am certain.
The children watched Erys as they ate. A visitor was an unusual occurrence and this young man was tall and handsome. He had dark, dangerous eyes. He had long, dark hair. The boys copied his mannerisms. The girls watched his eyes and blushed when he looked their way.
Towards the end of the meal Mai whispered in the Hearth-Mother’s ear. Rhada pondered the question for a moment then turned to Erys.
“Scion-Teacher, would you honour the children with a story?” she asked. “Just a short story for you are a busy man and we have much to discuss.”
Erys chewed a mouthful and looked at the children. Every last one of them was hanging on his response.
“Yes, of course. A story. I have just the story for this day.”
He drew his dark hair from his face, revealing a strong jaw and purple scar tissue. The children gasped.
The meal finished and the plates cleared away, the children gathered around him in the courtyard and he told a story – a story more for the Hearth-Mother’s ears than for theirs.
“At the beginning of time,” he began, “before civilisation, before history, before animists were the shepherds of the natural world, there were two sisters ...”
Mitanni woke and in the predawn light she stood and stretched. She had slept as a polar bear, snug and warm. Now she was awake she shook her body and transformed into a wolf. Wolf fur was better suited to the chores she faced, and still provided protection against the cold north winds.
Raising her snout to sniff the air, she padded to the cave entrance and looked down upon the vast enclosure. The enclosure was a gorge in the side of the massive rift valley that ran the length of the great land of Rica. Mountains bordered the gorge on three sides. Where it opened to the rift valley Mitanni and her sister Gargga had built a great wall, enclosing an area large enough to shelter a million animals. She remembered how they had taken the forms of mammoths and dinosaurs to move the stone to build the wall. It took many years, but they were ageless creatures.
Below was the fruit of their labour. The great wall towered high above the valley floor and enclosed a vast space.
Within that space they had gathered many animals. She spied the herd – saber-tooth lions, wolves, bears, giraffes, zebras, mammoths, elephants, gorillas, monkeys, antelopes – the list of species was endless. The gorge was sectioned, separating predator from prey. She and Gargga had traveled far and wide to bring these animals together. The gathering lasted hundreds of years, and each year the ice sheets from the north and the south crept closer. As the ice engulfed the world, any species died before they could be saved.
Ice covered the valley beyond the wall. She and her sister were only two and now the enclosure was full they had to keep these animals alive. And it would be a thousand years perhaps before the ice sheets receded and warmth returned to the world.
Thermal vents dotting the floor of the gorge kept the surrounding ice at bay. Columns of steam rose from the gorge and the animals huddled around these columns for the warmth.
From her vantage high on the cliff face Mitanni looked beyond the enclosure. Thick glacier sheets flowing north and south along the rift valley met here at the world’s equator. Ice and freezing winds! Ice clung to the mountains; small glaciers flowed down crevices and mountain clefts. Mitanni worried whether, in the thick of the freeze, the thermal vents would be enough to prevail over the encroaching ice.
Beyond the enclosure little survived. Ice wolves scoured the wastes – their lonesome howls were terrible to hear. Mitanni and Gargga often howled in return, to offer some comfort. But the sanctuary was full, and Mitanni knew that soon there would be no more howls.
And there were the humans. Here Mitanni and Gargga differed in their quests to save the animal kingdom. Hundreds of campfires dotted the glacier beyond the wall. There were more each day as the humans gathered, desperate to gain entry into the sanctuary for the warmth and the food inside.
They were Homo sapiens, different from any species that had come before. They had the capacity for complex thought, the potential to build and to change the world. To populate beyond belief! Gargga saw in this species a greatness that must be preserved. Mitanni was unsure.
A few humans had been selected for the sanctuary to represent their species. Outside were many, many more who would soon freeze if they were not brought inside. But what would happen if they were allowed in? Mitanni feared for the animals inside.
Mitanni’s sister stepp
ed up beside her, morphed from a bear into a black panther and sat. Mitanni sniffed her sister’s ear. Gargga hissed and half-swiped at her with a paw. She was grumpy in the mornings.
Mitanni became a leopard and pounced on her sister. The two play-fought together, hissing and biting, until Gargga’s mood broke. Both chose the forms of golden jackals and they sat together as the sun broke over the ice-covered horizon. Light spilled into the frozen valley. They gazed with sadness at the sanctuary, at the frozen wastes beyond, and at the humans gathered there.
They will not survive, barked Gargga. Not unless we help them.
Their species is represented, countered Mitanni. Millions of animals have died, as they will. We cannot save them all.
But they are different. They have conscious thought. They understand their doom as the animals do not. Because of this, they suffer more.
Perhaps. Yet they are different in other ways too. They are predators who kill too quickly. They unbalance the natural systems of the world.
To illustrate her point Mitanni became a human. She reached for a stone, stood on two legs and shook her fist, threatening her sister with the stone. Gargga growled.
If we allow them sanctuary, how do we protect the animals? continued Mitanni, melting into the unthreatening form of a honey badger. We are just two. They are thousands. Could you protect the sanctuary?
Gargga looked away and howled.
To save them would put the others at risk, said Mitanni.
With the rising sun on her face Gargga transformed into an orangutan. She swung with long arms and legs down the rock face to the valley floor. Mitanni watched her sister descend. She felt saddened by this argument.
She became an eagle and lifted into the air above the sanctuary. White-frosted wings spread wide she soared across the gorge, visiting each of the thermal vents in turn, monitoring the animals that huddled in the warmth. She checked the barriers between sections. She tended the breeding stores where she and her sister bred food for the animals, working tirelessly through the day. She swooped and glided with sanctuary birds, helped to teach their young to fly. As the sun drifted towards the western mountains she discovered a pair of young lions fighting for territorial dominance. She landed between them and assumed the form of an elephant.
This is my territory, she trumpeted. You are subservient to me.
The lions hissed and slunk away.
As an eagle again she went in search of her sister. Their argument had bothered her all day. She remembered her sister’s words: They understand their doom as the animals do not.
Mitanni worried what her sister might do.
Her worries were well founded. Mitanni flew to the wall and spied a large group of humans gathered on the icy field. Gargga was with them. In the form of a mammoth she charged head-first at the gate in the wall.
A sharp crack echoed across the valley. The humans shook their fists in the air and stamped their feet with excitement. Gargga ran back to charge again.
Mitanni landed on the ice between he gate and her sister and became a white rhinoceros. Gargga hesitated as she saw her sister defending the gate.
They have conscious thought! cried Gargga. They are different. I will not see them suffer and die.
I will not allow them to destroy everything we have saved.
The two sisters stamped their feet on the ice. Steam issued from their nostrils. The humans pushed in excitedly and bellowed like beasts.
The sisters charged.
Mammoth and rhinoceros met with a mighty crash. Although Mitanni was smaller, she avoided her sister’s tusks and dug her horn into Gargga’s flank. Her sister howled with pain and became a saber-toothed tiger. She raked Mitanni’s back with her teeth, stripping flesh from shoulder to thigh. Mitanni became a giant python, wrapping her length around Gargga’s neck and chest. She squeezed and snapped at her sister’s head.
They were ancient creatures, born at the dawn of time. As creatures of Spirit they could not be physically harmed. They battled through the dusk and into the night, changing from form to form.
As warthogs each sister gutted the other’s stomachs. Gargga became a crocodile and Mitanni a tiger. Gargga crunched Mitanni’s leg between powerful jaws. Mitanni ripped skin from Gargga’s ear with feline claws.
In the end Mitanni prevailed. Gargga lay on the ice as a brown furred okapi, pinned beneath the claws of her tiger-formed sister. The ice was stained red with their blood.
They cannot enter, said Mitanni. They will dominate and destroy the sanctuary.
I understand.
They will die, as all animals outside the sanctuary will die. And we will mourn them.
I understand.
But I offer you one compromise, conceded Mitanni. I have an idea.
They returned to their cave and slept for three days. On the fourth day they repaired the damage Gargga had inflicted on the gate.
That night they assumed the forms of female humans and stole into one of the camps on the glacier. Two human men sat together by a blazing fire. The sisters joined with the men, and at the end of the night they flew as snow owls back to their cave in the mountain.
Through the following months the weather grew colder and the human at the gate diminished. The sisters’ bellies grew larger. Eventually the humans froze to death. Their twisted forms were piled about the sanctuary wall.
The two sisters grew heavy and in one year came to term. In turns they birthed their litter. As each young entered the world the mother transformed into a different animal, crying, screeching, yelping, roaring with the pain of birth.
Mitanni bore twenty five young. Gargga bore seventeen. The young had the bodies of their fathers, little human bodies, and the heads of their mothers – some were birds, some were reptiles. Tigers, elephants, penguins, emus, lizards, monkeys. The animist litter entered the world, and the scent of Nature perfumed the cave, a fragrance so powerful the sisters passed in and out of consciousness.
There is too much work just for us, Mitanni told her sister as she suckled her young. They will grow to be shepherds. They will tend the animals with the instinct of Nature and the conscious thought of humans. And when warmth returns to the world, they will help us send the animals out across the great land of Rica.
Gargga looked at her sleeping litter and purred with contentment. I understand, she said.
The children clapped as Erys finished his story. One boy jumped up, waving his hand in the air.
“Yes, Samuel,” said the Hearth-Mother.
“Scion-Teacher,” said the boy. “Why did Mitanni and Gargga fight each other?”
“Because they had different beliefs,” explained Erys. “Mitanni thought the animals should be protected. Gargga believed humans were more important.”
“Which sister was right?”
“Well, I believe Mitanni was.” Erys looked sideways at the Hearth-Mother. “Animals represent the diversity of all life on Earth. Humans are just one species.”
Another boy put up his hand.
“Scion-Teacher,” said the child. “What types of animals were the two sisters?”
“They were not animals,” corrected Erys. “Nor were they humans. They were something that no longer exists today. Ancient people may have called them gods.”
A girl at the back of the group stood up to ask a question.
“Scion-Teacher. Did this story really happen or is it a made-up story?”
Erys nodded. He stretched his hands and cracked his knuckles.
“I cannot answer that question. All stories are partly real and partly made-up. How much is real is something you must decide for yourselves. What I can say however, is that there is truth in this story. Every few million years the weather changes and ice covers the planet. Each time, most species die out. But Nature always finds a way to preserve life, so all is not lost. Nature chooses its guardians, and when the ice, or another threat comes, these guardians fight to protect the world.”
A number of hands shot into the ai
r. Grace stood up and clapped her hands. “No more questions, children. We are late for midday rest.”
With a minimum of complaining the children left the courtyard, leaving Erys and Rhada alone. Erys, avoiding the Hearth-Mother’s eyes, stood and took a few steps across the courtyard, pretending to survey the building.
“Is that how you see yourself, as a guardian?” asked Rhada.
“Yes.” Erys turned to face her. “Everyone in the Museum is a guardian. Including the Teacher. But he is misguided. He ... judges incorrectly.”
“Is that what you have come to tell me?”
“I have come to ask for your help. There is much I must explain.”
“I think you have explained much already,” said Rhada. “I am listening. Tell me what you want me to do, and I will tell you if I can do it.”
He paced the corridor outside the Doctor’s rooms, biting his nails.
Why am I so conflicted about this? he thought. Am I following the right path?
The thought occurred to him suddenly that he would not have made a good Teacher. He could narrate a good story, yes. But the moral certainty that a Teacher needed was lost to him. He was too uncertain. He lacked the assuredness, and the grace that Ariel had possessed. He hated to admit this, but even the boy had it. Although the boy was wrong, at least he had the conviction that Erus lacked.
The Hearth-Mother of Ocean-Hearth was with the Teacher. Eventually he heard footsteps. He rose as the Hearth-Mother entered the corridor. She paused before him, her deep, brown eyes unreadable. She looked at him, then lowered her eyes. Exhaustion weighed heavily on her small body and there was sorrow in her eyes.
“I hope you are satisfied,” she said. “I have lost something I fear I will never get back.”
He wanted to convince her that it would be worth her loss. But he could not speak.
“He wants to see you,” said Rhada.
She turned and walked away.
He took a deep breath and entered the Doctor’s rooms.
The Teacher’s eyes were closed. For a moment Erys thought the boy had died, his face a gray pallor.
When he opened his eyes, Erys stepped involuntarily back from the bed.