The Fifth Sacred Thing Read Online Free PDF Page B
Author: Starhawk
whispered.
“Cynic,” Madrone said. “Don’t you know a good story when you hear one?”
“It’s a great story. It’s just that it bears so little resemblance to the actual history I remember.”
“Quiet. It’s my turn now.”
Madrone and several others, representatives of various guilds and councilsand work groups, stepped forward into the center of the circle. The same solemn child held the Talking Stick for each of them.
“We have come here to give an accounting of ourselves, calling on the Four Sacred Things to witness what we have made of this city in twenty years,” said Salal from the Central Council. “This is how we have kept our pledges. This is what we have harvested.”
As the stick passed around the circle, each person spoke, in turn, from the Gardeners’ Guild, and the Water Council, and the Healers, and the Teachers, and all the interlocking circles that provided for the needs of the City.
“No one in this city goes hungry.”
“No one lacks shelter.”
“No child lacks a home.”
When the stick came to Madrone, she hesitated for a long moment. “There is sickness here,” she said finally, “but no one lacks care.”
The stick moved on.
“See, the fruit hangs heavy on the bough, ready to feed the stranger.”
“We have guarded our waters well, our cisterns will not run dry, no one thirsts, and our streams run clear.”
“All the gifts of the earth are shared,” they said in unison.
“May we never hunger!” the people responded.
“¡Que nunca tengamos hambre! ¡Que nunca tengamos sed!”
The drums beat a hypnotic, insistent rhythm. The music rose and the drums pounded, and suddenly everyone was dancing, in the central space, up in the ringed tiers that climbed the hill, on the ridges. The sky gleamed indigo with streaks of pink and gold in the west, and against its glowing light loomed giant figures,
La Segadora
herself, fifteen feet high, with serpent head and serpent skirt and a basket strapped to her back in which she carried a machete. And Lugh, the gleaming paint of his solar disc set on fire by the dying rays of the sun, and others: ancestors, spirits, visions. Maya knew, looking up, that they were only cloth or paper, but in the twilight they came alive. The musicians were playing one of Bird’s tunes, and Maya was suddenly shot through with pain like a ringing bell, the pain of missing him. The people sang:
Free the heart, let it go
,
What we reap is what we sow
.
The chant rose to a roar, subsided to a single harmonic tone, and ended abruptly, as if sung by a single voice. Everyone touched the earth. Silence swelled to consume all the echoes and the overtones.
“May we never hunger!” the people cried again.
Offerings of fruit and grain and cooked foods were piled in the centralcircle. A young child was blessing the food and drink, while others thanked the ancestors and spirits and the Four Sacred Things to end the formal part of the ritual. But the feasting would go on for a long time.
“Are you staying?” Sam asked Madrone, coming over to them. “I can walk Maya home.” In his voice was a hopeful note.
Maya could feel the spark stretching like a thread between her and Sam. He was hoping for something, an invitation, a sign from her. She could feel his loneliness as she could feel her own. It was too much. She was too old, too tired, to take on the burden of it.
“I’ve got to get some sleep,” Madrone said. “I was up all night.”
“Good night, Sam,” Maya said firmly, taking Madrone’s arm. “It was good seeing you.
Que nunca tengas
and all that.”
“Kay noonka,” Sam said. “Get some rest, Madrone.”
In the dark, spirits fluttered like memories, like birds. Fog lay on the city like the silver fingers of a gloved hand, as the moon lit their way down the hill.
2
W hen Bird awoke there was a boy in bed with him. They cuddled together with the ease of long-time lovers. Bird’s knees curved into the back of the boy’s knees, his
“Cynic,” Madrone said. “Don’t you know a good story when you hear one?”
“It’s a great story. It’s just that it bears so little resemblance to the actual history I remember.”
“Quiet. It’s my turn now.”
Madrone and several others, representatives of various guilds and councilsand work groups, stepped forward into the center of the circle. The same solemn child held the Talking Stick for each of them.
“We have come here to give an accounting of ourselves, calling on the Four Sacred Things to witness what we have made of this city in twenty years,” said Salal from the Central Council. “This is how we have kept our pledges. This is what we have harvested.”
As the stick passed around the circle, each person spoke, in turn, from the Gardeners’ Guild, and the Water Council, and the Healers, and the Teachers, and all the interlocking circles that provided for the needs of the City.
“No one in this city goes hungry.”
“No one lacks shelter.”
“No child lacks a home.”
When the stick came to Madrone, she hesitated for a long moment. “There is sickness here,” she said finally, “but no one lacks care.”
The stick moved on.
“See, the fruit hangs heavy on the bough, ready to feed the stranger.”
“We have guarded our waters well, our cisterns will not run dry, no one thirsts, and our streams run clear.”
“All the gifts of the earth are shared,” they said in unison.
“May we never hunger!” the people responded.
“¡Que nunca tengamos hambre! ¡Que nunca tengamos sed!”
The drums beat a hypnotic, insistent rhythm. The music rose and the drums pounded, and suddenly everyone was dancing, in the central space, up in the ringed tiers that climbed the hill, on the ridges. The sky gleamed indigo with streaks of pink and gold in the west, and against its glowing light loomed giant figures,
La Segadora
herself, fifteen feet high, with serpent head and serpent skirt and a basket strapped to her back in which she carried a machete. And Lugh, the gleaming paint of his solar disc set on fire by the dying rays of the sun, and others: ancestors, spirits, visions. Maya knew, looking up, that they were only cloth or paper, but in the twilight they came alive. The musicians were playing one of Bird’s tunes, and Maya was suddenly shot through with pain like a ringing bell, the pain of missing him. The people sang:
Free the heart, let it go
,
What we reap is what we sow
.
The chant rose to a roar, subsided to a single harmonic tone, and ended abruptly, as if sung by a single voice. Everyone touched the earth. Silence swelled to consume all the echoes and the overtones.
“May we never hunger!” the people cried again.
Offerings of fruit and grain and cooked foods were piled in the centralcircle. A young child was blessing the food and drink, while others thanked the ancestors and spirits and the Four Sacred Things to end the formal part of the ritual. But the feasting would go on for a long time.
“Are you staying?” Sam asked Madrone, coming over to them. “I can walk Maya home.” In his voice was a hopeful note.
Maya could feel the spark stretching like a thread between her and Sam. He was hoping for something, an invitation, a sign from her. She could feel his loneliness as she could feel her own. It was too much. She was too old, too tired, to take on the burden of it.
“I’ve got to get some sleep,” Madrone said. “I was up all night.”
“Good night, Sam,” Maya said firmly, taking Madrone’s arm. “It was good seeing you.
Que nunca tengas
and all that.”
“Kay noonka,” Sam said. “Get some rest, Madrone.”
In the dark, spirits fluttered like memories, like birds. Fog lay on the city like the silver fingers of a gloved hand, as the moon lit their way down the hill.
2
W hen Bird awoke there was a boy in bed with him. They cuddled together with the ease of long-time lovers. Bird’s knees curved into the back of the boy’s knees, his