The Book of the Emissaries: An Animism Short Fiction Anthology

by Kevin J. Anderson

  The Trickster gasped. The Law of Harmony dictated that the Spirits be the only ones powerful enough to create and stop Fire at will. No one else was supposed to know that secret! Fire was what the Spirits used when they wanted to instil fear in beasts – either by raging it through the land or exploding it in the sky. It was its mysterious, unknown nature that scared all animals and maintained the balance of power.

  One of the beasts dropped a large stack of foliage onto the burning Fire, and it roared and blazed and got bigger – and the Trickster realized that the mysterious, unknown nature had just been taken away from Fire. He had been wrong – these beasts were not stupid. Rather, these puny creatures – not favoured by any Spirit whatsoever – had done what none of the mighty beasts of the world, past or present, had been able to do: create Fire, control it – and not be afraid of it.

  It was shocking. It was unbelievable. It was ridiculous.

  It was exactly what the Trickster needed to turn the tables against Wetiko’s long-running golden age. For even if this beast wasn’t afraid of Fire, every other living beast in the jungle was. He watched the young creature, still sitting in front of the blazing fire, unafraid, the rocks in its hand – and knew who his Emissary in this time of change was going to be. Before he left, the Trickster approached the young beast, made himself visible to it, and left a small gift.

  Next, the Trickster made his way to Mommoth, leader of the Mammoths and Wetiko’s favoured.

  “There is one that claims to be stronger than you. He is a tenth your size and strength, but says he is the new King of the Jungle.”

  The Trickster was present when Mommoth attacked the beasts’ camp, but did not interfere. He did not need to. The die had already been cast, and his chosen emissary and his herd were prepared. The logs had been lit. The flaming torches were ready.

  But Mommoth had seen Fire before, and knew it was dangerous to him only when it spread through the forest from everywhere, engulfing anything that came its way. It meant nothing when brandished on small logs by puny creatures. He could crush both the fire and the puny beasts under his foot.

  But the plan had never been to burn Mommoth down – his skin was too thick for that. The Trickster had always had another plan. One that was unfolding right in front of his eyes.

  Mommoth charged towards the Trickster’s Emissary from one end of the clearing, stomping down anyone foolish enough to get in his way. From the other end, the Trickster’s Emissary charged towards Mommoth as well, the Trickster’s gift flaming in its hand.

  The Trickster watched, calmly, as the two came together. At the last possible second, the Trickster’s emissary threw the burning spear exactly where he had told him – into Mommoth’s thin ear. Even as the weapon left the emissary’s hand, the Trickster knew the spear would not miss. It had been blessed.

  The fire leapt onto Mommoth’s frail earlobes, and he screamed in agony. He ran around, maddened by the fire burning in his ear, and crashed into a grove of trees. The fire spread instantly, burning the trees down – and starting a wave of fiery destruction.

  It was no coincidence that the sky was clear that night. The Trickster was the lord of the sky, and no rain checked the fire. It spread through the wild, consuming everything that came in its path, and as it made its way towards Feline territory, the Trickster couldn’t help but smile ironically. The Felines would be migrating to the savannah after all.

  There was a deep cry of agony in the jungle that night. But it wasn’t just the cry of

  Mommoth dying. It was the cry of Wetiko as his age came to an end, and deep within it, the sobs of Gaia as her own Fire was turned against her to burn down her forests. Back in the clearing, those who remained gathered around the Trickster’s Emissary, grunting out their approval before sharpening logs to fashion their own spears. They had Fire – and they had the means to use its destructive energy against anything that came in their way.

  The Age of Man had arrived.

  The Trickster's Promise

  by J. Chris Lawrence

  It was a dark time. Perhaps food was plentiful for my pack, but destiny is rarely kind. Like scraps of their kills, they cast me aside, threatening me if ever I came close again. For in the shadow of the Mother’s neglect, I was born a runt of the hounds and abandoned to the cruel will of the wilds.

  It was there I struggled, near the edge of death when he came to me.

  Even before his foot broke through the brush, his scent rode the winds, raising my hackles. Human, yes. But there was something else in him, something more. This was no ordinary man. Weakened by hunger and huddled in the tangled roots of a tree, I awaited my end. Still, I could not keep my nose from the air, tasting the sweet scent of meat.

  “Hello,” he said.

  I growled; threatening him should he near, attempting to frighten away this new danger, though I had as much fight in my blood as food in my belly. Even still, he moved closer, one hand hid behind his bare back, his painted face confident.

  “Do not fear,” he smiled. “I do not come to hunt.”

  I didn’t trust him. Yet I was helpless. Even then I felt the cold pull of exhaustion calling me into darkness.

  “You are her forgotten,” he said, showing me his hand. A feeble whimper escaped as my mind burned for the meat he held. “She is cruel, leaving you like this.”

  His words stirred me like the rare flesh of his venison, and I knew the truth in them. I was her mutt, scrounging for scraps, hiding in holes. A hunter outmatched by all within these coniferous halls. A victim of her balance.

  “But you can be more!” He threw the meat to me. Hunger overtook thought as I tore

  into it.

  “The Time of Change nears,” he continued.

  Yes, we all felt the Gods strumming the strings of our world. For what belonged to the Trickster would soon pass to his brother, Wetiko, in the coming age.

  “Mankind...” the Trickster began as I ate, speaking of what this creature could someday become. All the spirits knew of Man’s potential. Even our Mother, giver of life, feared what they could be in Wetiko’s grasp. She strove to dwindle their numbers, yet driven by the

  Trickster they wandered; moving, adapting, surviving her plagues and pestilence.

  “What can they offer me?” I snarled over my feast.

  “A pack,” his voice lulled. “They hunt as you do. Yet they bear no claws; they have no wings. They are weak in the Mother’s eyes, as are you.”

  He knew my thoughts, my anger.

  “I guide them from my sister’s touch, but I will show you the way.”

  A stir in the brush took my eyes from him, and when I looked back, he was gone. Yet even still, his words brushed my ears.

  “They will take you as their own...”

  Uncertainty scattered my mind. Yet as my strength returned, his words resonated, echoing until I could deny them no longer.

  Under the Trickster’s guidance I ran, crossing lands well beyond the great wood. Two days I travelled, before at last I found their tribe. Yet as I neared, they raged at my sight! Fear clogged my heart like sap as I fled the rain of their long weapons, as shafts headed by chiselled flint plunged into the earth at my paws.

  When safely away, I cried out, “Trickster! You betrayed me!”

  But my call fell only upon the apathy of the land.

  I was alone again, even more so than before. I thought of the Mother’s rage for my betrayal. I had no home, nowhere to go! Nor had I food in these strange, pestilent lands. For the greater beasts would find what little there was, and the rest would turn their eyes upon the lesser like me.

  Cold and tired, I lay at the heart of a dying tree that night. Resigned to join in its dour fate, I closed my eyes.

  It was then that I heard it.

  I stirred as the sound came again, and with it I found myself to paws. I sniffed and listened, waiting...

  A human voice, it spoke strangely, yet its words so very clear. It was crying for help.

  I d
on’t know what drove me. Perhaps hunger took its duty at the reins, and this would be my easy meal. Perhaps for rage, as I blamed mankind for the Trickster’s transgression. But closing upon the injured child, ensnared in a pit of Man’s own creation, I could only think to eat.

  The Man pup screamed as I climbed into the hole, taking both flesh and garment into my mouth. The taste of blood snared my mind, but still I wrenched and pulled, dragging him out. Afterward, I left him upon the ground, weeping.

  A conflict raged inside of me – to eat or run, as more of his kind was likely to come.

  But his sound had gained another’s attention.

  Eyes alight in the darkness, it slunk close; its body the frail waste of a beaten and cast-out rogue. It was a wolf, far from its home like myself, and it looked upon my prey with envy.

  My hackles stood, a low growl rising from the depths of my chest. Snarling, it attacked and we fell, snapping and rolling down the hole. I yelped as its teeth dug eagerly into my fur. I thrashed and bit, but still it came! Finally, I found its throat. I ripped and gnawed, long after the beast fell still. Driven mad with the taste, I gorged upon its flesh, exhilarated by what meat could be found.

  Afterward, I limped to the child. His fear reeked and I longed for more! Yet the hunger quickly left me as exhaustion took hold. Dizzied by my wounds, I fell beside him. I could go no further.

  When I awoke, I found myself surrounded by his kind, their weapons raised, ready for the kill. I bowed my head, too weary to fight. But the child cried out, and they stayed their hands as he spoke of the wolf, of my battle. Something in this inspired them, for they spared me.

  The humans took me back and treated my wounds. They fed me, offering gestures of kindness. As I recovered, I thought once more of the Trickster’s promise.

  In time, a trust grew between us. I lived with them, learned from them. They taught me to join their hunts, to track our meat.

  Before my final days, I watched as my struggle brought them to embrace others of my kind. Through a tense alliance they would tame our fires, and through their compassion we would come to love them.

  “You are but the beginning.” I heard the Trickster’s voice a final time, as the child, now a man, brushed the fur of my head.

  And I knew the truth of his words.

  Warm and full, I took heart in my new pack, as I watched Man and beast working as one.

  Trickster Faces a Wetiko

  by Elizabeth LaPensée

  Just as spring brightens into summer, fall fades into winter. A long winter brought much snow and wind to the village. Wetiko, a Manitou of grabbing, entered the spirit of a man who consumed endlessly without regard for the hunger of The People. So it was that a Wetiko came to be. It lived in the bush and ate all of the animals near the village. The winter continued. The People had very little food.

  A hunter left the village to seek the help of The Trickster, who had turned himself into a white rabbit. The rabbit danced in the snow. The hunter saw the rabbit and thought about how good he would be to eat. He was overcome with hunger, and, carrying only a knife with him, tried to catch the rabbit. The rabbit laughed and danced a circle around the hunter. The hunter had not asked the rabbit to give his life.

  The rabbit jumped into the snow and then stood up as The Trickster. The hunter could not look at him. The hunter humbly asked The Trickster to understand his hunger. He had been without food for days and The People were starving. He asked The Trickster to help fight a Wetiko that ate every animal but remained hungry always.

  “What do you have to offer me?” asked The Trickster.

  “I will not kill you,” replied the hunter.

  “You cannot kill me!” boasted The Trickster. “Make a true offer.”

  “I can give you my home. It is strong; it has lasted many winters,” said the hunter.

  “I have no need for a home,” replied The Trickster. “What else can you offer me?”

  “My wife. She is the most beautiful in all the village,” answered the hunter.

  The Trickster thought about this. “Is she a good cook?”

  “Yes, the best,” claimed the hunter.

  “Then we trade. I will get rid of the Wetiko for you in exchange for your wife.” The Trickster was pleased.

  The hunter returned to his village, happy that soon the Wetiko would be gone and animals would come near his home again. The Trickster was happy because soon he would have a wife who could dance with him in the snow to stay warm in such a cold winter.

  But as soon as The Trickster had packed to set out, he decided he was much too tired to fight. It had been such a long day. It passed like this for many days until the hunter returned to The Trickster with his wife at his side. She was indeed a beautiful woman. Perhaps a little skinny for The Trickster’s tastes, but that could change.

  “Have you killed the Wetiko?” she asked The Trickster.

  “Yes, of course!” The Trickster replied quickly.

  “Where is its head?” she demanded.

  The Trickster thought about this. He had no head to show her, but he was even more determined to have this woman as his wife. “I pushed the Wetiko into the lake. It is frozen there and will die before spring returns and the ice thaws.”

  The hunter urged his wife to go with The Trickster, but still she hesitated. She asked to be shown where the Wetiko was pushed. The Trickster, eager to play her game, took her hand and walked with her. They left the hunter behind to return to his village.

  As they walked a long way to the lake, the sun passed from the sky and the moon lit the way. The Trickster boasted of himself so loudly that he woke Owl.

  Owl flew to the woman and called out to her, “Do not trust The Trickster! I have seen him sleeping each night and each night the Wetiko walks by these waters. There are no animals left, so the Wetiko will surely eat you.”

  The Trickster shooed Owl. “You know nothing, Owl. You are old and can hardly see in the dark anymore.”

  But the woman trusted Owl. The old people had told her many stories of Owl warning The People about death and the presence of a Wetiko. The woman bided her time at The Trickster’s side as they approached the lake.

  The woman hesitated as they came up on the edge of the water. It was frozen through and hard to see through the snow that covered a layer of ice. “Where, then, is this Wetiko?”

  “Right over there, you see!” The Trickster proclaimed as he pointed (which was an especially rude thing to do) at the north side of the lake.

  “Hmm, no, I don’t see,” she said. “Why don’t you go closer to show me exactly where?”

  The Trickster huffed. Perhaps this woman is actually more bothersome than she is worth, he thought. He walked to the north side of the lake, where he stepped with the ease of a snowshoe rabbit, far enough that the woman was sure not to be able to follow.

  For every step forward that The Trickster took, the woman took a step back. A vast shadow brought about by the light of the moon moved across the snow behind The Trickster, who stamped his feet at the edge of the ice lake.

  “Now you see?! The Wetiko is trapped here! Right here!” The Trickster called out.

  “Where?” The woman called back in a guise of confusion.

  “Right here!” The Trickster pointed furiously and stamped his feet again, causing a small crack in the edge of the ice.

  “I am so relieved!” she replied as she watched the shadow descend over The Trickster. It was a great shadow, one to be feared, for it took the shape of a ravenous Wetiko.

  Without hesitation, the woman turned and ran and ran and ran. The sound of cracking ice and splashing water echoed alongside The Trickster’s cry, yet she did not look back. She ran and ran and ran, free of The Trickster and free of her husband, free of the reach of the Wetiko, and free of any fear.

  She ran so hard and fast that her steps turned to leaps, her clothes skimmed from her body, her arms turned to wings, and she lit upon the sky as a white snow owl, forever flying to warn The Peop
le of the Wetiko of the lake.

  No One's Flame

  by Gama Martinez

  "This man thing is boring," Trickster said to no one. "It doesn't do anything."

  "Sure they do," no one answered. "You see how the big ones watch out for the little ones?"

  "Every animal does," Trickster said. "I don't understand what's so special about them."

  Now, Trickster spent most of his time with no one, mainly because Trickster didn't get along with the Mother. No one was tired of Trickster and was determined to make the man thing Trickster's new companion.

  "The Mother likes them." No one's voice came from inside a log.

  "She likes everyone." Trickster didn't bother to look in the log. With no one inside, there would be no point.

  "Except for you."

  "Maybe I'll just leave you alone and find someone else to have fun with."

  No one tried not to appear excited. Trickster often threatened him like that, but he'd never carried it out. Instead no one decided to push Trickster a little farther.

  "And everyone likes her." Now, the voice came from a pile of dried leaves. Trickster could almost see a smile there.

  "I'm really going to leave now." Trickster stood up from the fallen log they were seated on.

  No one held his breath, hoping Trickster would really do it, but after a few seconds, Trickster huffed and sat down. No one almost let out a sigh, but he'd expected this. It had been a small hope, but now, he moved on to his real plan.

  "Think of how upset the Mother would be if they loved you more than they love her."

  Trickster's eyes lit up. "They are the Mother's favourite, but she's made it so hard for them to get food. I'll bet I could catch food for them and they'd love me."

  Before no one could say anything, Trickster was off. In seconds, he had taken down a deer. Lots of animals ate deer so he knew the man things would appreciate it, but when he'd dragged it before the family of man things, they looked at it, unsure of what to do. Trickster was about to explain when he heard growling behind him. He turned around and saw a wolf staring at the deer.