vengeance.”
Tanta, a short man whose beard looked like a overgrown scrub brush, shook his head slowly. He tried to speak in calm, measured tones but the words faltered. “It is not The Way , Lila. The Council would not approve.”
“Damn the Elders!” Spittle flew from Lila’s mouth as the words burst forth. “They would have us sit and wait to be slaughtered like game. They would stand idly by while our children are left to die.”
“You are grieving, woman. You don’t know what you say…”
Lila scrambled to her feet and thrust her arms toward Tanta as if offering him the corpse draped across them. “This was my child, Tanta. My child. Where is the honor in this? Is this a noble death? An honorable death?”
“You must listen to… .”
“No!” Lila screeched. “You must listen. You all must listen.” She turned slowly and watched as the eyes of her brothers and sisters flickered between the ground and Asham’s body. “They will continue to hunt us. They will continue to strike us down. Passivity teaches them how to treat us. We are telling them this is okay. That our lives are theirs for the taking. But I swear before my ancestors… this is not okay!”
“Listen to yourself… you’re talking about suicide.”
“I am talking about war! With or without the Council of Elders’ blessing, I will wage this battle. Whether or not any of you stand with me, I will fight until the last of the clear skins’ blood has been drank by the hungry earth.”
Lila took a deep breath and looked down upon Asham’s face. She studied every feature as she would the forest floor, intent on locking it into her memory for all eternity. She would never forget what he looked like, would never struggle to recall a particular characteristic. He would be with her always.
“They will die for their sins, my sweet boy.” She whispered. “They will die.”
Gather at the feet of the Elders, brothers and sisters, and listen to a tale from the time of our ancestors. May they always walk with us…
So it came to be that The People lay staring at the sun while the blood of their bodies made mud in the fields below them. The weapons of the clear skins had cut our numbers by two thirds and John Redtree, he who is greatest among our ancestors, saw that to continue would mean the certain death of those still left alive. Gathering his warriors, he allowed The Great Spirit to guide them deep into the forest. They came to a vast lake where the waters were so clear that in the dark of night it looked as though the earth had captured the stars overhead and possessed them as her own. Here, The People laid their heads upon the grass and cried for their fallen brothers and sisters, knowing that they had passed through the Veil, never to return. It is said that for five days and nights their tears soaked into the soil and The Great Spirit was so moved by their plight that it took pity and delivered unto them a motherless calf so that they might fill their bellies.
Even with the coming of food and an abundance of water, however, The People were mired by loss and heartache and they knew not where to turn in these times of turmoil. As the Days of Tears moved on, John Redtree looked upon the disheartened tribe and anger blossomed in his heart like a rose in spring.
“You have nothing I want!” he shouted to the distant clear skins. “I reject you and your ways! From this day forth, The People and clear skins shall be like the rabbit and wolf, never again to live in peace.”
So great was his anger that he who is greatest among our ancestors (may they always walk with us) rejected the name that had been given to him by his father. From that day forth, the man known as John Redtree was no more, calling himself instead Jo’ree. Guided by The Great Spirit, Jo’ree taught The People how to capture the fish from the lake and which berries could be eaten from the vine without souring the stomach. Building shelter from the bounty of the forest, they followed The Way with each man, woman, and child taking new names as well.
It was thought that The People would live by the shining lake forever, but this was not meant to be. For the clear skins had sent their assassins into the world with evil in their hearts and minds. Once the harvesters of life, these white-suited Sweepers were now harbingers of death and The People were driven further and further from the lands that had always been called their home.
As with all things, The Great Spirit finally saw in It’s wisdom that the time had come for Jo’ree, he who is greatest among our ancestors, to part the Veil. Many were the saddened hearts who bid his spirit safe journey and it has been told that even the earth itself cried, swelling the streams and rivers to the point that hills became as islands.
With their great leader walking among the stars, dissension fell upon the minds of those left behind. Some wished to continue walking the path that Jo’ree had set them upon. Others wished to use it as a guide which they could, in turn, base their own teachings and doctrines from. Some wanted to commune peacefully with the earth and some wanted to make war against the clear skins for the indignities The People had been made to suffer. And so it was that the six great tribes were formed.
Yet it is said that Jo’ree still looks down upon us all from beyond the Veil, watching over his brothers and sisters, guarding and guiding us in all things. If, on a clear night, you turn your eyes to the heavens, you may be blessed to see a streak of light shooting across the darkness like an ember caught by the breeze. If this happens, brothers and sisters, then your heart should sing joyful praises, for this is the bursting of Jo’rees blisters and wherever it touches, new stars will form And you should live your life knowing that there is hope, that a time has been foretold when The People shall no longer be hunted, but will live out their days in peace and harmony with all things.
The setting sun cast the city in a diffuse, honey-colored glow that seemed to radiate from the buildings and people themselves. With dust hanging in the air so thickly that the street looked grainy, Tanner Kline stood on a wooden sidewalk and watched pedestrians pass by. They were covered nearly head to foot in frilly bell-shaped dresses, tight fitting breeches, capes, cloaks, top hats, and bonnets; bows and ribbons fluttered with their passing, yet somehow they all moved as if the heels of their polished shoes were cobbled from lead. No one turned to look at him. No one acknowledged his presence. It was almost as if he were a ghost standing in a silly little bowler hat and suspenders, condemned to observe the living without participating.
By his side was something he’d only ever seen in mildew bloated books. It looked like a large, wooden box that balanced on a single, spindly leg. A leather strap went from one corner of the padded top to the other, crossing over his shoulder like the lacy bags some of the women passing by carried. On the side of the box was a metal crank and, even though the workings were hidden within the scuffed and scarred wood, Tanner knew this handle would cause a barrel within the box to spin when it was turned. The revolution would trigger notes from pins and staples embedded into the barrel, a preprogrammed song whose tempo was dictated by the turning of the shaft.
“A barrel organ,” he thought, “which would make me the organ grinder.”
At that moment, Tanner realized there was a thin-gauge, silver chain looped around his wrist. His eyes followed the shiny links as they swagged down and attached to a small leather collar. This collar encircled a throat with blue tinged skin and attached to that neck was a young boy with red hair. Constellations of freckles dotted his nose and the boy looked up at Tanner with wide, blue eyes as sunlight reflected off the brass buttons of his red, velvet jacket.
