Fire
Posted June 16th, 2008 by Tsathoggua
Shadows grew with the chill. Tsathoggua watched the last sparks dance up towards the heavens, rising into the sky to become stars. Each star was the burning heart of a dead enemy to the tribe, placed in the sky by the Loa to be remembered. Every day there were more stars.
Fire.
"Midsummer is coming." The young witch doctor nodded to the air around him. "Fire is
here. Again." He set an earthen jug onto the coals and warm ashes. "Dis one fo' me." A small bowl joined the jug on the coals. "Dis be fo' T'chali Loa." He nodded in
response to words that no one spoke. "True, true." He rocked back onto his heels as he crouched in the fading light.
A silence fell across the island as the birds ceased their clattering and calling. Night
was a time for ghosts.
"Dey be comin' back. Masta Je'neu be ... concerned." He breathed onto the dead fire.
Ashes and sparks flew. Nearby, the surf hissed in anger at the beach. One coal stil
burned bright. Reaching in unprotected fingers, he lifted that coal, summer-bright, and
looked at it. The fur of his hand smoldered. "Ayah. Ja be righ' dere. But summun
gotta do it."
He dropped the coal into the small clay bowl. The Sapta in the bowl smoked, then licked into flame. "Dis be fo' T'chali Loa." Reaching down with both hands, he lifted the jug of warmed Sapta. "An' dis be .. fo' me." He rested the neck of the clay jug between his tusks, and poured the warm Sapta down his parched throat. "Ahhh. Betta." Setting the jug back on the warm ashes, he wiped his mouth with the back of a furred hand.
"Well, mebbe ja be righ'. Still, it gotta be done. Can't just leave it an' hope. Dat
be elf t'inkin'. Dat kinda t'inkin' allas leads to da worl' broke in half, dey Old Gods
returned, an' me wit'out booze. Dat's a bad plan." He listened for a moment, then burst out into maniacal cackling. When his laughter subsided, he picked up the jug, and stood.
"S'pose dat be so. Still, it don' look like I get a choice in dis mattah. Fiyah be
here. Watah be close on his heels." With that, he stepped out onto the waves, and
walked across the water to the shore. Two batrachian eyes watched him go. The toad to which they belonged nodded once, then vanished.
The small fire burned to ashes in the evening dark. A cold breeze whispered in from the sea, bringing the threat of fog. The sand had cooled as soon as the sun had set.
Shadows grew with the chill. Tsathoggua watched the last sparks dance up towards the heavens, rising into the sky to become stars. Each star was the burning heart of a dead enemy to the tribe, placed in the sky by the Loa to be remembered. Every day there were more stars.
Fire.
"Midsummer is coming." The young witch doctor nodded to the air around him. "Fire is
here. Again." He set an earthen jug onto the coals and warm ashes. "Dis one fo' me." A small bowl joined the jug on the coals. "Dis be fo' T'chali Loa." He nodded in
response to words that no one spoke. "True, true." He rocked back onto his heels as he crouched in the fading light.
A silence fell across the island as the birds ceased their clattering and calling. Night
was a time for ghosts.
"Dey be comin' back. Masta Je'neu be ... concerned." He breathed onto the dead fire.
Ashes and sparks flew. Nearby, the surf hissed in anger at the beach. One coal stil
burned bright. Reaching in unprotected fingers, he lifted that coal, summer-bright, and
looked at it. The fur of his hand smoldered. "Ayah. Ja be righ' dere. But summun
gotta do it."
He dropped the coal into the small clay bowl. The Sapta in the bowl smoked, then licked into flame. "Dis be fo' T'chali Loa." Reaching down with both hands, he lifted the jug of warmed Sapta. "An' dis be .. fo' me." He rested the neck of the clay jug between his tusks, and poured the warm Sapta down his parched throat. "Ahhh. Betta." Setting the jug back on the warm ashes, he wiped his mouth with the back of a furred hand.
"Well, mebbe ja be righ'. Still, it gotta be done. Can't just leave it an' hope. Dat
be elf t'inkin'. Dat kinda t'inkin' allas leads to da worl' broke in half, dey Old Gods
returned, an' me wit'out booze. Dat's a bad plan." He listened for a moment, then burst out into maniacal cackling. When his laughter subsided, he picked up the jug, and stood.
"S'pose dat be so. Still, it don' look like I get a choice in dis mattah. Fiyah be
here. Watah be close on his heels." With that, he stepped out onto the waves, and
walked across the water to the shore. Two batrachian eyes watched him go. The toad to which they belonged nodded once, then vanished.
