Thursday, April 18, 2013

Of Wood, Voodoo and Llama (Part the First)

  He was the enemy of the forest.
  At nights when thunder and lightning carved the sky, he wandered about the woods trying to find the oldest tree. Then he would take out his axe, which was made of wood and bone and moss, and take the tree's heart. Without the heart of the forest, from the roots of the dead, malicious vines would start to erupt. Soon the whole forest would became sick, with an illness no shaman could heal as long as he roamed the land.

  Amongst the tribe Quapaw of the river Mississippi he was known as The One-Tooth Beaver. A holy law was made that no man was to dance the dance of rain anymore, in hope the thunderstorms would cease and the demon would be kept at bay. But the Gods didn't do them a favor.
  It rained and rained for forty dreamtimes.
Thunder was roaring and ripping the sky in half and he was walking among the trees. The white tail deer drowned and the wood duck took it's magnificent head and flew away. The forest was about to leave it's last breath. 

 It was then, when the chief of Quapaw, Green Peace Pipe, came up with an idea. A big bonfire was set ablaze and it's smoke soared up in the sky higher than any other flame had risen before. The tribe gathered around Green Peace Pipe and begun to sing, and the sound of their voices echoed in every cloud and every raindrop. The trees took that sound and made it into a dance. Shake and shiver in every leaf, every last bit of their wooden skin. The chief then used his old, ceremonial blanket to sent One-Tooth Beaver his tricky message. 

 The demon looked up the sky and saw the cloudy rings.
 It was a rumor of place called the Amazon, where illegal logging thrived. A place he could find countless trees, and the latest internet gadgets in great prices.
He believed that rumor. He removed a feather of his headdress and set forth in search of the unknown place.
  The Quapaw never heard of him again.

* * *

  He walked.
  And then he walked some more.
  And that one time, when he was hungry, he sliced a young oak's skin and ground it with a stone. Then, he poured the powder in the hollow head of his tomahawk, laid back and smiled as the first puff of smoke came out.

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