Microcosm

by Robert Zimmerman

scalp.

  Suddenly, Tuki heard the cracks and crunches of tree branches and leaves being trampled. His eyes opened at once, and he realized he’d fallen asleep, though only partially. Another crack, then he saw the bushes in front of him rustle. The leaves parted and a pair of eyes and ears were visible. Tuki was too tired, too started, or he would have jumped back. He would have grasped for his bow, not realizing it wasn’t there. Instead he sat and watched as a large bobcat emerged from the brush. It walked toward him slowly and deliberately with its ears perked and eyes fastened on Tuki’s own. Then it stopped in front of Tuki’s rock and sat on its hind quarters, staring at Tuki with its head cocked slightly. Tuki opened his mouth to speak, but the cat spoke first.

  “Tukhìkakunèn, are you lost?” The bobcat’s voice was low and had a slight throbbing soft staccato to it.

  “You know my name?” Tuki asked. The cat had used his full name, his true name, the one the village name-giver had given him in private years ago. Only his family, the name-giver, himself, and the Creator knew that name. In public he went by ‘Tuki,’ but Tukhìkakunèn was his identity, his own special name.

  “I do, I was sent to help you,” the bobcat replied. “My name is is Nutiket.”

  “Are you my vision? My guide?” Tuki asked.

  “I suppose, yes. The great spirit sees you suffering here, and does not wish this to continue. Follow me,” Nutiket said.

  Tuki lifted himself slowly. The task was arduous, but he managed. Nutiket led him back through the bushes into a deeper section of forest. As Nutiket led him forward, Tuki noticed that the bobcat had two tails that mostly moved together as one. Was this normal? Tuki had only seen a bobcat once before, so he wasn’t sure.

  They walked for several minutes, and Tuki could tell by the sun they were walking away from the river. Nutiket squeezed his body under a fallen tree trunk and Tuki had to climb over, scrambling to keep up. Minutes later, they reached a small clearing in the woods. The ground here was different, filled with stones and small crystals of quartz rather than dirt and moss. Near the center was a smooth rock that looked too symmetric to be natural. It was cylindrical, and only about two feet tall. The top was a smooth disk about two feet across. Nutiket walked over to the object and hopped on top of it, facing Tuki and sitting down on his hind quarters. Nutiket’s tails were wrapped around his front paws as he stood there, looking both ferocious and beautiful at once.

  Tuki approached the object and noticed it was embedded in the hard earth. The sides were smooth and shiny, almost like the ores in the rocks by the old village. But this material was solid and uniform except for a series of simple, geometrical carvings. Tuki could not tell what they were, though.

  “What is this place?” Tuki asked.

  “This is my home,” the bobcat said, “I come here to listen and to watch. This place is sacred, Tukhìkakunèn, and on this pedestal I can speak with the Great Spirit. Remember this place, and if you even need guidance you can come here and find me as you have today. Stay honest and loyal, Tukhìkakunèn, and stay strong. And I will watch over you when I can. You should eat and return home. Your quest is complete now.”

  Tuki walked toward the pedestal and in a blink, Nutiket was gone. Tuki examined the pedestal more closely. The outside was strangely cool to the touch, but the top had an unnatural warmth to it, as if some fire burned inside. On the sides were markings, some of which looked like stars. Another engraving showed the object itself, then another a four-legged creature that looked like a cat, but with two tails like Nutiket. Then a final engraving showed the creature next to the object with the top of the pedestal removed, preforming some action with one of his tails. The engravings were meticulous and perfectly shaped, but Tuki had no idea what they could mean.

  Beside the small clearing, Tuki found a patch of red berries and wild corn. His vision quest was complete, he figured, so he ate and ate until he could no longer swallow. It was not meat, but it was satisfying nonetheless. Tuki felt the warmth in his blood as the food settled in his stomach. Then he rested and did not wake until the morning.

  Tuki returned home the next day a man by all accounts. His father, mother, brothers, and sisters all hugged him and congratulated him. Younger sister asked enthusiastically about his visions and insisted on details. That night they ate venison and rabbit, cooked maize, and sweet grains. Most of the village came out that night and joined the celebration as well. Tuki told them all about Nutiket, his spirit guide with sharp claws, yellow fur, and two tails. The older men agreed that a cat was an excellent spirit to have as a guide - strong, fast, and deadly, but also smart and wise. Tuki did not tell them about the clearing though, or the strange pedestal.

  Every month, when the moon grew full, Tuki would make his way out to the clearing to visit Nutiket. Nutiket was never there when Tuki came, but the place was sacred and special and Tuki would bring offerings of corn, fish, or venison for his guide spirit. He knew that Nutiket would come for him should he ever need help, and his mother had taught him that it was important to give regularly to your spirit guide.

  Each time he placed his offerings on the pedestal - that strange smooth rock that belonged to the bobcat spirit with two tails. Tuki thought occasionally of trying to open the pedestal, or trying to dig down into the ground to see how deep it went, but quickly thought better of it. It was a dangerous thing to disturb a spirit’s home. He didn’t want to dishonor such a sacred place. So instead he placed his small but regular offerings on the top of the cylinder. The top was always warm, he found. When it rained, sometimes steam would rise from pedestal. When it snowed, it was always wet and untouched by the cold, white powder.

  Every month for thirty-two years Tuki made the trip over to the clearing. But then one summer, Tuki grew ill. He coughed lightly at first, but after a few months the cough grew incessant and painful. Then he started to taste blood in his mouth when the worst fits of coughing came.

  Tuki went to the healer, but even the tobacco smoke could not stop the cough completely. He made one last trip to the clearing to seek Nutiket, but despite his frailty and the abundance of his offerings, the spirit did not appear to him. He travelled home again, and the next day he found he could not leave his bed as the pain was too great.

  That night he woke to see Nutiket sitting beside him, one tail wrapped tightly around his paws, the other wagging back and forth slowly.

  “Your journey is at an end, Tukhìkakunèn. It’s time to come with me,” the Nutiket said. The cat walked over to him and licked his hair, and for a moment Tuki’s pain stopped. The cat’s tongue was rough and scratched against his scalp. Then Tuki closed his eyes for the last time, and his name was never spoken again.

  Rala

  “What’s the farthest you’ve been, Rala?” Lila’s question broke the long silence. Her breath was visible in the cool night air.

  “The farthest I’ve been? What do you mean?” Rala replied.

  “You said you’d traveled. I’ve never left Angor. Did you go far?”

  “Very far,” Rala answered. “I came here all the way from Camora.” The memories came back all at once. Rala remembered the dingy smell of the ship, though she’d grown used to that quickly. She didn’t remember much of Camora though. It was a lot like Angor, really, just different people. Different smells without the Angorans. A bit colder and more spread out. She’d always hated how cramped Camora was.

  “Did it take a long time?” Lila asked, staring at Rala now. Rala did not turn her head.

  “Yes, very long. Five years, in fact,” Rala said. Lila seemed poised to ask for details, so Rala continued. “It was horribly boring and everyone was cramped into a shared space. I’m glad I came here, Lila. We’ve learned so much about this place and the Angorans, but I couldn’t do it again. That kind of travel can drive you mad.”

  Rala sat still and quiet while Lila stared above at the stars. Lila was probably trying to pick out the one that was Camora. Rala searched the sky until she saw it, bright and orange, surr
ounded by a ring of yellow dots.

  The journey had been unnatural and emotionally trying on Rala. All forty of the passengers were forced onto a space no larger than a small building. Most of their time consisted of exercise and sleep, and the tension led to fights and even mild psychosis in some of the passengers. As docile as forty scientists and anthropologists might be, their genetic need for personal space and territorial urges made the trip miserable.

  “I was thinking I might travel if we get another signal,” Lila said. “It might not be for years, or decades, I know, but I think I would go.”

  “Your mother would like that I think,” Rala replied with a gentle nod of her head. “We may never get another signal, though. I know we’ve sent out thousands of beacons, but there may not be more intelligent life out there.” The night air had grown colder and Rala felt her fur puff out. She wrapped her twin tails around her front legs to guard them from the wind. Lila still stared upward, her tails moving back and forth slowly, avoiding each other effortlessly. Something rustled in the bushes and they both turned instinctively, alert and ready. When the noise turned out to be the wind they both looked back at each other.

  “You never know, they may not have found their beacon yet. The one I saw in the lab was