by Parris Match
Coiedeh’ah was a massive man, thick legs, wide shoulders, well-muscled arms, squared brow and jaw; a disquieting brutish figure, a latent unmistakable powerful savage scent. When he stood before the brothers in the arena, featured with pursed lips and a lowered brow, he commanded their attention, with-out a word or a gesture passing between them. Within the mixed mountain range, where Coiedeh’ah and his people lived, were many groups of families and their Story Tellers; the forked tributary trails emptying through the many canyons from the interior of the mountains, leading to the Golden City, merged and passed beside his village. Because of Coiedeh’ah’s intimidating physical stature, his noticeably potent presence, and also the location of his village, he was recognized as the principal Story Teller of this extended region.
With the deep-rooted aversion of the people, to consider one person as more important than the other, the toadying behavior of the brothers and some of the other Story Tellers towards Coiedeh’ah was done in a somewhat subtle manner. Overt public displays of veneration or of disdain were looked upon as improper behavior; although limited muted chummy admiration was acceptable in the powerful prowess of sports. Little was understood or discussed of the profound fear and fading timidity that lay in the heart and the seed of the brothers of The People of the Sun.
Coiedeh’ah started by identifying himself and his family and their origins in minute detail, although there was not a brother in the arena who did not know who stood before them. He spoke of the powerful and massive mountains which held and sustained his family, and the multitude of other families who occupied this part of the Nation of the Sun. He described the unyielding disposition of His people, demonstrating with His clenched fist, their victory in claiming their land, and successfully creating and maintaining their homes in this harsh rugged place. Coiedeh’ah spoke of the ethereal wisp of alien faint messages, emanating from the south, funneled through His peoples’ land; of the eerie, ghostly, bloodthirsty people who dwelled far beyond this extended distant mountains expanse. He also mentioned the successful capture and delivery of a bundle of thin brittle faggots, an account of dry twigs; a scrambling nest of pale worthless parasites, of nasty thievish field mice; a carefully selected example of detestable lice, to be set before the predatory eager Spirits, for the performance of the ritual of the summer solstice.
The brothers understood that Coiedeh’ah and his family, and the clans under his powerful influence, were the providers of the means to satisfy the Sun-Spirit’ demand, in order to continue their prosperity and survival. The seed of conditional fear was firmly planted within the soul of the timorous people. “Eee nah tay, choocha ah”.
Coiedeh’ah continued in his narrative, describing the arduous trip made by himself and his brothers to the Golden City, not mentioning their cargo again; he spoke of the lengthy journey along the winding pathway, passing beside the solitary symbol that stood for the nation, the virile vermilion pinnacle of rock stabbing into the unknown firmament. With his closed hand raised high into the air, his tightened well-muscled arm jabbing into the sky, Coiedeh’ah fervently addressed all the brothers in the arena; “This, stout and rigid, potent staff, is the Power of our Nation”. Quickly moving to exit the arena, his head not raised and looking neither left nor right, Coiedeh’ah stepped from his solid convincing pedestal; the solicitous affirmative brothers in the arena quickly standing at once, shouting, “Aie”, “Aie”, “Aie”.
Iicoo’ah resolutely stepped forth, slowly walking to the center of the arena, reached down to the sticks and without notice, artfully casting his own overlaid shadow, adjusted the timing stick to allow him somewhat more time for his story. Iicoo’ah was a smaller man in stature, little to no muscular definition, with slightly hunched shoulders and puny arms, thoroughly slender but for a modest protuberant belly; physically nondescript, but an exceptional administrator and a captivating Story Teller. He opened with the enthusiastic acknowledgement of their entire brother Story Tellers, remarkably recognizing them all; taking much time, naming them, one by one. As each Story Teller was methodically announced, the standing brothers in the arena responded with a resounding, “Aie”, with a slight more eagerness demonstrated to their closer tribal honored brothers. When he was finished listing all of the Story Tellers, he stated with solemn conviction, “All of the Story Tellers are the wealth of our Nation”. The entire assembly of brothers in the arena were warmed by this pointed tribute; delivered from the well calculating Iicoo’ah; politically given to all of the Story Tellers of the Nation.
Iicoo’ah continued;
“The People of the Sun are a strong and powerful nation”, interlocking his fingers, “thru time to gather in united harmony, capable of withstanding any blight or infectious enemy, against the free spirit of life, and so to the well-being of our brave brothers, and untainted sisters”. Iicoo’ah stated with fervor; “Our Nation was joined with straw, by the blood and tears of our honored ancestors”, one hand thumping his breast and the fingers of his other hand softly running down his cheek. “Just as the illustrious Golden City was built, brick by brick by brick, by us and those who came before”, as Iicoo’ah spread his arms outward, “ The Golden City is the beating heart of The People of the Sun”. “The Golden City”, Iicoo’ah continued, “is ‘Our’ sacred place, set aside for the necessary rites and celebration of the requisite summer tribute, furthermore the essential winter solstice”. “The Golden City belongs to ALL of The People of the Sun”, repeating his welcoming gesture, Iicoo’ah extended his arms out wide for all of the brothers to see and to accept his explicit intent.
Iicoo’ah proceeded to recite, to the gathering of itchy brothers seated in the tiered sandstone arena, the basis of the trusted doctrine of their people.
Smooth cadenced tenor, chanted entreaties to the firmament.
“Oouna Yallah, Oouna Allyah, chai ta kay, see daay me Nah…; ookla kwantay, geeswah untah, may de sah…; neechee bah laka, Aadai… ahnna cooh tah…; aiee dee coh too, beeechum do kee, eeedoh seettah…”
And then Iicoo’ah continued to narrate slowly;
“Long… Long ago…, Far…, Far..,. Back in time, in the farthest distant temporal estate, further then the swirly turbid haze of the north’est clouds; our lulled sleeping ancestors lived in an evil wicked mounded graveyard; filled to capacity by the cracked skulls, broken bones, and white ashes of our kind. That dark stormy place was ruled loudly by spiteful, shrieking, masked rigid fork-tongued demons; only concerned with their elitist self-selected superior rank, and overbearing selfish empty pride. Public adulation and personal flattery to extreme exaltation was their followed pursuit; habitual honeyed gluttony was their way of life. Continual vile warfare was their controlling demand, absolute compliance was commanded with self-righteous nostrils flared; fearfulness of the exaggerated unknown was the impaling force, behind the numerous self-destructive renewed spearheads.”
“Ordinary familiar people were thought of as common disposable stinkbugs. To the good gentle timid people, just minions and slaves to the suitably costumed, arrogant and indignant, vicious wolverines of every whim; organized corruption and righteous perversions abounded. Agitated brothers warred with confused brothers, streams of familial blood flowed freely across their homeland; mistrust and disloyalty were accepted yellow straw garments. Uncontrolled crazed dancing and demented voices and bestial revelry circled the flaring fires”.
“Escaping this vain bottomless abyss; of ever-always constant tears; of swirling eddied crimson pools; and black streams of deep despair. To ride atop, secretly designed intricately woven, rafts; floating down the infinite luminous milky river of stars. Denied above the boundless turbulent wavering golden sea of possible corn; unsympathetically guarded by the lumbering army of stubborn neck-less woolly beasts. The incessant hopeless journey finally ended. The forgotten dispossessed ones, dumped through the darkest funnel cloud, by the violent whirling tantrum-windstorms, spirally spilled upon this primitive barren land, without the other Spirit’s intimate re
gard”.
“Those stomped upon, crushed, faded, colorless little children; broken into brittle shards from a shattered decorative complicated pot; made to feel empty, spiritless ruined people; aimlessly roamed this desolate and vacant land, like some other wild and scruffy creatures, no nestling home to lay their heads. Living in forfeited holes in the hard and crusty ground, similar to the stinking - neither black nor white - polecats, or the close to coiled venomous snakes. To scratch a meager existence from the scorched reluctant earth; fearfully huddling apart, in small quivering clusters, forsaken in that severe inert heat or the silent bitter cold. Life for our wretched savage ancestors was a sad debilitating journey, filled with never ending deepest despair”.
“When this small gone astray clan of lonely grey peoples, encountered another lost wandering clan; same dispossessed original seed of the corn strewn in this desolate place. They; first viewed with precautious suspicion, would hesitantly be gestured into guarded friendship, then very slowly into guarded trust. Huddled around the sparked illumination of the flickering communal fires, thru the blackness of the unsympathetic night; adjoining warm reassurance, to turn away from the frightening evil Spirits of the dark beyond. They would show plainly and re-tell the stories of their drifting travels, and what they had witnessed, and what they had dreamed. As much time passed, the clans shared more and more of their separate impressions of their world, necessarily culminating in the popular institution of the Story Teller. But for the natural relevance of tribal spring, the new growing florescence of the sweet scented Story Teller; the disposed peoples of this empty land, would not have joined hands in this larger mutually beneficial field of beautiful flowers, or formed an encircling brotherhood of this perennial alliance; their great regenerative courageous Nation, The People of the Sun”.
“The scattered besides consolidated clans, encouraged by the warm emanation from the Spirits generous heart, increased the propagation of the dormant traditional practice of our agriculture, inheritably passed-on from our honored ancestors; and shared the cleverness of making spiral pottery, and developed the mystical intricate art of the weaving of the storied cloth, or allowed the endearment of the personal inspirited doll”.
“These many families of the Nation had joined together, and sent willing volunteers to construct the dedicated dwellings of the governing Spirits, here in this one place, the magnificent Golden City. The only consecrated sites to gather for the spiritual ceremonies, necessary for the brothers and sisters protection and their continuation of life. A stately exclusive temple and grove for the lusty handsome sturdy resistant Brotherhood of the Sun. Therewith the thin slotted shrine built for the capturing of the single pure light of truth, and to track the wandering eye of the Sun-Spirit; and these many tiered arenas, dug out for the sacred rites of the people to be performed on site. The majestic central Golden City is as vital as the fresh cool sweet-water we drink!”
Iicoo’ah ended by declaring with deliberate passion, “My entire brother Story Tellers”, “All of The People of the Sun”, “Welcome to the Golden City”. Smoothly walking so slowly out of the large arena, the eloquent silver-tongued fox, the self-possessed Iicoo’ah, living in a blooming moment of fanciful conceit, humility carried in his loosetied hidden pouch, was hailed with a thunderous acclamation; “Aie…”, “Aie…”, “Aie…” .
After waiting a short time; realizing another Story Teller was not going to start again, because of the intense and extreme heat of the day, the brothers exited the arena. The brothers wandered about the sunny golden city, taking in the sights, ultimately ending up in the communal cooking areas to eat. Plenty of food was available for the visitors, for anyone who had traveled to the celebration of summer solstice, had brought sufficiently added provisions, for everyone. The bartering stalls were busy, trading an array of personal goods and curious things; with the residents of the Golden City eagerly procuring any and all foodstuffs, in excess to that which had been donated to the commune. Bahcoo’ah’s closer brothers would be transporting a substantial amount of traded property back to their homes on the affluent plain.
Words of summon, published herald in the past late-afternoon; and the idle ordinary brothers returned to the arenas, wide steps occupied below the pertinent surface, for the continued scheduled narratives by the perceptive Story Tellers.
Hodaie’ah stepped forth; “I am Hodaie’ah, Story Teller, from far to the south, living within the great mountains, strong compatriot to my commanding brother, Coiedeh’ah, the brave Soldier and honorable Story Teller”. Hodaie’ah would never mention his unique specific alliance with Coiedeh’ah, in the combined collection of the peoples from the southernmost edge of their Nation; bundled sticks of disposable kindling, so necessary to aptly fulfill the sacred rites, to prompt the solar hesitance of the Spirit of the solstice. The other brothers, at large, understood the contrived disagreeable duty to Coiedeh’ah, that the physically most attractive and green-eyed, strikingly handsome, Hodaie’ah performed, but were dumb silent in the recognition of it.
“I, Hodaie’ah, humble fellow countryman to all my brothers; modest unassuming Story Teller, from the distant interior of the great mountains; will tell you of the profound grave abode of the horrible phantasmic evil spirits; these grotesque brilliant-feathered iridescent hateful beady-eyed Bird-Men, who heartlessly practice their public bloodletting, far beyond the southern-most horizon.”
Hodaie’ah verbally painted a highly expressive, disturbingly graphic, portrayal of these garish spectral myths, to his willingly eager audience. The mindless gossip’s tantalizing bits of confused rumors from abroad. Tales of a blaring chaotic supernatural drama from the intoxicated habitual partakers of the opaque peyote buttons of mescal. Tonal voices penetrating from the eerie… fear of darkness, around the furthest perimeters closely circled fires; emanating from the alien region far to the south, far distant to the echo…ing, echo…ing, echo…ing; to then pass through the folded vales of the conductive mountains, inhabited by the conceited Hodaie’ah and his easily susceptible people.
“The lunatic red-beady-eyed vulturous Bird-Men, dominate a Greater Nation of very tall peoples, who have constructed lofty high mountains-perch; as high as, or superior, than the most exalted symbol of our people, the towering crimson sacred pinnacle.” “These malicious arrogant Bird-Men occupy the summits of the high-stepped mountains, to entreat the arising Sun, to induce the eternal father [Sun-Spirit], to accommodate only them. A drafted multitude of blameless peoples are captured throughout the land and bloodthirstily sacrificed on the mountain-altars crest, to sweetly persuade and gratifyingly reward the Sun-Spirit, to listen to their urgent plea. The thickened oozing blood of the common people, trickles like sticky viscous gel, dripping down the exuding stone ladders, of the chosen majestic, glistening, man-made crowned edifice; fulfilling their murky pool of, gleeful and giddy, selfish appeasement”.
“The morbidly-obese, sallow faced, waddling, flamboyantly suited Bird-Men, are vicious and ravenous masters of their land of excess; still starving for the greater enhancement of their power. To play their monotonous sport, they lop off the bowed heads of their own brothers, and kick the petty severed bloody heads, back and forth, rolling to and fro, for their own yawning feeble amusement. Yet to feast and celebrate, the slobbery Bird-Men, dig and claw the still beating hearts, out of their most virile brothers, and eat their dripping hearts in ecstasy; the addictive blood wine, spilling from their projecting hooked beaks, and streaming down their formal white-feathered chests. The most beautiful children of the damned kinsmen, being kindly adopted, are raised to the top; sadistically corrupted, raped before the altar, and then thrown as litter down the stately steps. The innocent people throughout this land of fat, close brothers and closer sisters of these evil, despicable and insatiable, Bird-Men, exist in an ever-lasting constant, lifeless state of terror and confusion”.
“The People of the Sun, are a civilized people”, Hodaie’ah acceptably declared, “We give honor to our pr
udent ancestors”, “We care for our brothers and sisters”, “We acknowledge the necessity of our Story Tellers”, “We are a civilized people!” he convincingly repeated. Hodaie’ah sauntered out of the arena, with a taut-lipped smile on his face; “Aie”, “Aie”, “Aie”, echoing from all the listening brothers.
A lingering agitation remained with the brothers, low nervous ripples and waves of murmurings, circulating throughout the tightly packed arena. The brothers could not shake off the gruesome images portrayed by Hodaie’ah; his mixed message left a vacuum, a gray heavy emptiness, swelling horrid crushing dread, a malignant tumor planted deeply in their aching chests.
With self-possessed purpose, Bahcoo’ah walked to the center of the main arena, adjusted the timing stick, and staidly stood in-place, waiting…, waiting…, until the brothers quieted down. Hesitating to speak, Bahcoo’ah remained motionless; he wanted the focused attention of all the brothers on him and on his message.
Bahcoo’ah began, with Natures’ soothing cadenced song; “Oouna Yallah, Oouna Allyah, chai ta kay, see daay me nah…; ookla kwantay, geeswah untah, may de sah…; neechee bah laka, Aadai… ahnna coo tah…; aiee dee coh too, beeechum do kee, eeedoh seettah…”
Bahcoo’ah continued, “My Brothers, The People of the Sun; the descendants, sons, and grandsons, of our honored ancestors; let me guide you on a special journey”.
“I will tell you a story about a courageous young man, a talented by gifted flute player, named Dacoh, who traveled through a great depression, a hollow flat sunken lost wasteland, the time and space between discord and harmony, to find his warm devoted amplebreasted Mother”.
“This bewildering dusted path that Dacoh, the Virile and the Steadfast Brave, must necessarily traverse, to realize his Mother; whose source was found in the direction where the Sun-Spirit hazily reclines to rest. Dacoh began his adverse journey with a disappointed heavy heart, leaving everything he had become familiar, abandoning his pampered bed and implanted field of corn; but he forced himself, to freely extricate himself, like some Sun heated kernel from the golden husk; for he must find his suckling Mother. The brave and resolute youth had taken a large amount of life’s provisions, almost more of a burden than he could carry, for the essential search would be long and arduous. The puzzled crackled route that Dacoh must travel was a flat and deserted place, long-time parched and desolate, nearly barren of all living things. The once vibrant smiling clusters of beautiful yellow and white and limited blue flowers, strewn along the side of the dusty trace, were past flaccid, withered and dying, not to ever seed or bloom again. Those grinning happy children of the tillable fields and meadow; blue, purple, white, pink, and yellow, even red; delicate come to light brilliant flowers, also hiding in the nooks and crevasses of the crumbling and eroding rocks, would not be seen here another time; complete utter extinction would prevail. The natural pleasant voices of the good Spirits, and the laughter of the gentle beautiful flowers, would not be heard again, but rarely once during the darkest moon, in this dull vacant deserted place”.
