kaolin fire presents :: writing :: fiction

"TheGift"

words

It was a quaint village that we stumbled upon, lost as such villages are, sure of their place in the universe, merely ignorant of ours. We entered the village as anthropologists, signing with them to communicate. My associates were well trained to play the parts, and they had just cause. We sought the fabled Cat's Eye. We had traced them down to this village. Guides refused our money and other tribes refused us food and shelter when we told them what we sought, no matter how we obfuscated our true intentions. The giving people were cursed, they told us. Cursed forever.

It was the emerald that was the curse. The emerald that danced in my dreams, and would finance our mission for it a million times over. It was said that no man could hold it for more than one night. That the gods would strike any such down. A lovely superstition, meant to keep the bogey men away. Us. Well I wasn't fooled. Bad luck was a fairytale invented by those who weren't smart enough to get what they wanted. Cursed items don't exist.

The gifting people lived up to their reputation as we spoke with them. They gave us food, shelter, anything that we asked for. I laughed to myself silently. It seemed that this was going to be even easier than I had expected. These people had no weapons, no anger, no fear. Their lives were communal; they shared everything that they had with one another. This was no simple polygamy where one chose whom he would be with. One was not allowed to keep anything longer than a week.

Wives and husbands swapped regardless. Children belonged to the tribe as a whole, not to the one that bore or sired them. Tents were traded, food was shared, responsibilities cycled. One could not keep the same job for longer than a week. The chief was only chief for that phase of the moon. Children were taught as a collective. And we as well, for we were welcomed in our humble quest for knowledge. We all sat around the fire as Red Stag told us the story of the gifting people. He held the emerald high above him, and spoke with the voice of prophesy.



"Long ago in the dawn of time men walked with the gods. There was plenty for all and no negative energies existed. But it is known that man discovered these vices, and thus fell to earth, this hell, to atone for his ways. Our great ancestor, whom this tribe has sprouted from, succumbed to greed. In the days before man was cast down, he began to covet the cat lord's eyes. They were emeralds that kept the purest light within them. Near them, there was no darkness, and one could see forever.

One night, as Cat was sleeping, our ancestor snuck into his room. He slithered as humble as a snake and stared at the cat lord's eyes, for they glowed even through his lids. Our ancestor fought the evil within himself, knowing that it would be wrong to steal from our creators. But what had been unleashed was too great. He grabbed his dagger and cut out one of the cat lord's eyes. Cat woke and screamed his agony, and our ancestor ran, heavy in his heart, but the deed done, the emerald in his pouch.

He ran far from the lands of gods and men and came to this place. He knew that he could run no longer. The days had tired him and he had need for food and rest. It was here that he placed the emerald on the ground and called out for the cat lord's forgiveness, for he realised that there was nowhere he could run that was free from the cat lord's sight, even with his vision halved. It was here that he was granted his curse. He would be allowed to live, of course, he was gifted his life, so that he could in turn learn what it meant to give.

Our ancestor was allowed a humble wife, and followers who had not repented in their heart as he, but who had also fallen to the plague of greed. And their curse was this. If any of them were to keep any object for longer than one phase of the moon, they would instead give their life to another. Cat proclaimed that for this he would leave his eye to keep watch over the group and be sure that the terms were honored. And the tribe cried, and bemoaned their fate, but they knew Cat was fair and just. But our ancestor was worried that the evil would spread, and that their lesson would not be learned.

He cried out to the cat lord, asking what could be done. Cat answered that for this reason, the curse would not only apply to any items that the group acquired or made, but also to anyone who held his eye. Cat said that any who should ask for the eye should be told this tale, but the eye should be given to them freely if they still chose to forfeit their lives in such a manner.

And thus we have grown, learned from the past, and become the people that we are today. We are now givers, not takers, and we welcome anyone to join us, knowing that if they do they too will follow the humble path. We are now givers, not takers, and we know that the cat lord shall always look after us and protect us, his favourite children."



We were led to our tent, and thanked for our presence. We patiently waited for the moon to rise high overhead, and then we picked up our things and walked over to the chief's tent. Peering inside, we could see that he was asleep, the emerald unprotected resting in its stick figure altar by the flap of the tent. Quietly I reached in, grasped the emerald, and thrust it into my pocket. I could feel its energies rushing through my arm.

The chief sat up and looked at us. I shot him, silenced, before he could raise an alarm. I'm sure the last thing I saw in his face was pity, pity pouring from his eyes just as blood poured from his heart. Strange creatures. We raced for the cover of the jungle and left the tribe. No one tried to stop us. Most likely they were all asleep, unawares that we were soon to prove their little fables false.

That was two weeks ago. For four days now I've not been able to get out of bed. My body has aged more than I had lived before. My dreams have been of their chief, of the blood pouring out of his heart and the silent pity in his eyes. I have not been able to get him out of my mind. I can see him rising, not quite dead, from his position. I can see him rising over my dessicated corpse, and just as mournfully returning the emerald to its altar.