Skydancer

By Michael F. Mercurio


The voices in her head berated her.  A constant stream of negativity and self-admonishment persisted in informing her that she had no place performing the M’atahd, despite how many years of her life she had spent in both preparation and giddy fantasy throughout her childhood.  And then, when the moment finally came upon her, she froze completely.  The crowd watched her intently, and she could do nothing but shudder in her insecurity.  Finally, she fled the open field, leaving behind the murmurings of the crowd.

Running through the darkening woods, she came to the stream she knew so well.  There, she sat by the water’s edge and began to softy cry at her own ineptitude.

She soon felt a strong and familiar hand on her shoulder.

“Why did you leave, Ashanta?  I was so looking forward to your performance this evening.”

The voice was deep and resonating, with the soothing effect that could only come from her father.

“I…I can’t, Father.  I’m too scared.  A-and I hate it!  My whole life I’ve wanted this, and now that the time is upon me, I can’t do it!”

Q’una wrapped his arms around his daughter and embraced her as she shook.

“What is it that frightens you so, child?  The M’atahd is your birthright.  It is a time of joy, not of trepidation.”

“I…I know.  But…all of their eyes are on me…and…what if they don’t see the colors?  And what will happen to me after?  I do not wish to leave!”

“You speak as though you won’t return to us.  Everyone returns here, and is better for the experience.  And as for the colors…”

Q’una turned her around.  Lifting her chin, he looked at her squarely.

“Ashanta, I have seen your colors.  They shine more brilliantly than any the World has yet known.  And once you are finished, they will create such beauty in Otherworld.”

She was silent for a good moment.  Finally, she sighed in fatigue, as if a portion of the burden shecarried fell off of her shoulders and rolled into the stream behind her.  Night was approaching quickly, and the glowfish would soon leap at her ethereal troubles, thinking them to be a food source.

“You…say that with such certainty.  I think what scares me more than anything else, is proving you wrong.  I do not wish to disappoint you.  And I do not wish to be made a fool of in front of our entire village.  That would no doubt reflect poorly on you.”

A scowl crossed his face at that.  “Nothing you do could ever disappoint me, short of just that: doing nothing.  If you truly worry about my image, then do what is really in your heart – what you were born to do.  And do this without regard to how others see you.  That is all I ever require from you, daughter.”

With that, he added, “You are a Skydancer, despite whatever fears you hold this night.  Tonight is your turn for the journey.  Embrace it, for you have earned it.”

And then he stood.  His word was final, and echoed what she herself already knew.  Without another exchange between them, they walked together back into the valley.

By then, it was already quite dark.  On that starless night, the conditions for a skydance could not have been better.  The crowd hushed as they saw the two figures emerging from the woods.

Addressing the audience, Ashanta apologized.  “Forgive me for my abrupt departure earlier.  I was not certain if I was quite ready to perform for you, and my doubts got the better of me.”

The spectators nodded in understanding.  Q’una smiled at her, and took his place among them.

“I am ready to begin now.  Father, if you would please start again?”

As before, Q’una spoke in a booming voice that reached the entire valley.  Despite having already heard the introduction, the villagers were once again enraptured by it.

“We are gathered here today to bear witness.  My daughter Ashanta is of age to perform the M’atahd.  Let all she touches bear the light of her life.  May Otherworld teach her the meaning of beauty.  May that beauty be brought back to us.  This is our cycle.  This is our M’atahd.  But this is her dance.  May Otherworld know the name:  Ashanta!”

As before, the villagers chanted her name in support.  “Ashanta!  Ashanta!” they shouted in unison.  Instead of fleeing this time however, she began to slowly rise.  A few inches at a time, and then a few feet, the ground separated itself from her.  They continued to chant as she approached the skyline.  Finally, she came to a stop, and an expectant hush came over the crowd.

A few silent moments passed.  And then she began.

Slowly, she outstretched her left arm.  Her fist uncoiled, and a soft, blue light illuminated the sky directly adjacent to it.  The light slightly pulsated, as a musical note echoed throughout the valley.  Then, the light faded, and the note stopped.  The sky returned once again to black.

Looking below at her audience, she became dizzy.  Stage fright, combined with a fear of heights, did not make this an entirely pleasant experience.  The knowledge that a single note could be heard everywhere at once – every gesture and every mistake visible for miles – made her nauseous and feel faint.  Nevertheless, she gritted her teeth and tried to focus.  Stretching out her right arm, she repeated the process – this time, producing a brilliant green color, and a note on a higher octave reverberated against the night sky.  This too, faded.

Finally, she stretched both hands, and the colors and notes harmonized in a dramatic fashion.  The notes and colors sustained.

Thus, she began her dance.

She pointed.  She kicked.  She turned.  With every gesture came a flash of color and a note – her own body used as both a paintbrush and a musical instrument.  The audience below her chanted her name wildly in joy:  “Ashanta!  Ashanta!” they cried out.

Her body twisted.  Colors and sound emanating from every appendage created a kolidiskopic symphony the likes of which could only be captured by the paintings of madmen who would dismember their own ear in a futile attempt to convey the light behind their eyes that only they could see.

Finally, in a climax of color and sound, Ashanta exploded the night sky.  The spectators cheered maniacally.  “Ashanta!  Ashanta!” they chanted throughout the valley.

And Ashanta disappeared.

***

 The Boston Symphony Orchestra had quite a crowd that night.  Tickets had sold out almost immediately when the show at the ampetheater was first announced. 

Anyone with a musical background knows that in any orchestra, no one component of it is more important than any of the others.  It is the entire ensemble that makes it what it is.

Truth be told however, the main reason this orchestra had become so popular lately was due in no small part to its newest conductor. 

She had taken the classical world by storm.  Even as early as six years old, she had been considered a prodigy by many.  Growing up, new age gurus referred to her as an “indigo child.”

Now, at thirty, she had reached the pinnacle of her career.  And she was feeling nervous.

“Five minutes until curtain, Miss Ashantanoa.  Will you be alright?”

She smiled, despite her tremor.  “I’ll be fine John, thank you.  I just wish these jitters would go away.  Sometimes I don’t even feel like I’m supposed to be here.”

He grinned at her.  “Look at it this way, ma’am.  No matter how it goes tonight, it’ll be an experience.”

He added, “Something to write home about, eh?”

Michael F. Mercurio
Copyright 2013

Sanctuary

By Michael F. Mercurio

 

“Honey, can you let the dogs out please?”

Richard sighed as he got up from his computer at the behest of his wife calling from upstairs.

Mary and Richard Baxter had a bit of a menagerie in their home.  This was due in part because Mary had a tendency to take in every stray she came across.  Her husband didn’t mind though – even as he was pulled from his statistical analysis which he had been eagerly running for the last hour.  It was simply one of her many quirks which he’d grown to love.

This was a crucial moment, he thought to himself as he walked to the sliding glass door.  A German Shepard, a Chihuahua, a Pomeranian, and a fourth dog that was too heavily mixed to determine its dominant ancestry, all pawed excitedly at his legs – anxious to frolic outside.  Meanwhile, two cats looked up at him expectantly, waiting to be fed.  Their fur – one orange, and the other black - reminded him of the disturbing graphs and charts being displayed on his computer across the room.

“Okay guys,” he said to the dogs.  “Dad’s working right now, so if you’re going to go out, stay out, will you?  I don’t have time to keep jumping up and down,” he jokingly grumbled in a deep voice as he playfully ruffled their heads.  “And as for you,” he addressed the two cats, after the dogs bounded outside - immediately giving chase to the squirrels on the porch, “You guys…are useless.”  He rubbed each of their chins as he laid out their wet food.  Sighing again, he went back to his computer to continue his work.

Richard Baxter was part of a team of scientists contracted by the government, tasked with charting humanity’s present course in the global warming crisis.  The results showing on his screen at the moment were not good.  By his calculations – pooled with the data collected by the entire commission – there was approximately one year and seven months left before Earth passed the point of no return.  By then, if a comprehensive, world-wide solution was not found, nothing could be done to restore the stability of global weather patterns.  The next generation would then have to face an unavoidable ice age.  He was morbidly amused by this, thinking about how his own city ordinance handled a tiny bit of snowfall.  If things fell apart here with only a few inches of light powder, he could just imagine how they would handle it a hundred years from now.

His revelry was interrupted by a tapping sound on the glass door behind him.  The dogs apparently didn’t heed his request, and were clamoring to come back inside.  Richard sighed again.  “Really guys?”

Nevertheless, he begrudgingly got up to let them in.  Only five minutes had passed, but that was enough time for them to do…whatever it is that dogs do out there besides defecate and mark territory.  When he opened the glass door, all four of them remained where they were and looked up at him with an odd expression.

“Well?  You coming in or not?”

Instead, they cocked their heads to the side uniformly, and made a single whining sound.  Concerned, Richard bent down.

“What’s wrong, guys?  Huh?  What is it?”  He inquired this as he gently patted each of their heads.

That’s when the Pomeranian spoke to him.

Wait, what?

Yeah, that wasn’t right.  Richard’s mind played a trick on him.  He really needed to get away from the computer for awhile.

But then it repeated itself.  “I said, it’s time, Richard.”

The small dog looked at him directly in the eyes – his mouth moving perfectly in sync with his “voice.”

“Um…wow.  Okay.  I think it’s time for me to go lie down now,” Richard chuckled to himself nervously.  “Come on in.  Let’s go.  Dad needs to go take a nap.  Come on!  Inside!”

Then it was the German Shepard’s turn to speak.

“No, Richard.  Don’t be afraid.  You are not hallucinating.  We really are addressing you.”  The Shepard’s mouth, like the Pomeranian, opened and closed in the same manner, as if he were a perfectly conversing human – but…a dog.

“Hate to disappoint you guys, but dogs don’t have the vocal capacity to talk the way you all are.  And…um…huh.  I just answered you.  This is…problematic…”  Panic quickly began to rise within him as he called out to his wife upstairs – his voice cracking slightly.  “Um…Mary?!”

“Yeah hon?”

“The dogs…they’re um…  Actually, uh…can you come down here please?  I think I might need a doctor…!”

“What?  What’s wrong with the dogs?”

Concerned, Mary began heading downstairs.

“No Richard.”  This time it was the mutt that was speaking.  “There is nothing wrong with you.  Our vocal chords are not like that of humans - that is correct.  However, we have always possessed the capacity for communication with you.  This is achieved through a form of telepathy, combined with a contraction of our bronchial muscles.  This allows you to perceive our guttural tones as meaningful messages in whatever language you were brought up in."

“What’s going on, Richard?  What’s wrong,” Mary asked as she entered the living room.

“Mary,” Richard started – his voice quaking.  “What…what do you hear?”

“What do I hear?  I don’t know what you-“

“Hello Mary!”  The Chihuahua chittered at her excitedly.

“…R-Richard…?”  Mary looked at the small dog with debilitating panic crossing her face.

“You…you heard it too?”

“Please, if I can just get you both to calm down,” said the Shepard in a soothing “voice.”

“Oh my god, Richard!  What’s happening?!”

Richard thought for a moment, trying desperately to collect his thoughts.  If she could hear it too, then he wasn’t going insane.  That could only mean someone was playing a prank on them.  If so, however, he could not for the life of him figure out how it was being accomplished.

As if reading his thoughts, the mutt spoke up.  “Mr. and Mrs. Baxter, please calm yourselves.  I know this is a lot to take in, but do try to hear us out.  You’re not going crazy, and this isn’t a prank.  Similar events such as this are taking place all over the world right now, and it is vitally important that we get to the core of this exchange.  There isn’t much time left.”

As he said this, the Baxters suddenly heard their neighbors screaming from the next yard over.  Apparently, their son’s pet bunny was voicing something meaningful to them.

The orange cat on the desk looked up from her food dish and joined in the conversation.  “It’s true.  We have to start moving them to the next sanctuary as soon as possible.”  She then resumed her feast.  The dogs meanwhile, made their way into the living room, each taking a seat on the floor in front of the dumbfounded couple.  Richard, with shaking hands, closed the sliding glass door, and led Mary to the couch.  She held her head in her hands as he sat down next to her.

“Okay, so here’s the gist of it,” started the Pomeranian.  “You all are an endangered species.  Unlike most on the list, your problem isn’t environmental or had anything to do with poachers.”

The orange cat looked up to add, “You have this nasty tendency to wipe yourselves out.  This is the third sanctuary we’ve had to take you too.  We have a fourth one set up for you and ready to go, but that means your people are going to have to start all over again.”  She said this quietly as she cleaned herself from her light meal.

“We tried to subtly guide you this time around,” said the Shepard.  “Every species of animal you see here was placed to either watch over your race in some way, or provide you with nourishment.  If the dinosaurs had their way, they would have sooner seen you wipe yourselves out.  Fortunately, they do not hold a majority vote on the council.”

The black cat joined the company on the couch, jumping onto Mary’s lap and purred.  “We tried our best,” said the cat.  “But our methods were too subtle it seems.  It’s so very difficult balancing your freedom with your safety.”  Mary began to absentmindedly stroke his fur as he comforted her.

The mutt added, “The majority of you have genuinely tried your best.  You’ve even been kind to us, as we attempted to guide you away from war and pollution.  And that is why we’ve put up with you for so long – why we’re willing to continue putting up with you.  But this sanctuary has become too damaged.  Now we have to move you to yet another one.  And I fear, these will be trying times for you.  They always are.”

Richard and Mary Baxter looked at one another in disbelief.  Yet somehow, the message that their “pets” were relaying to them made perfect sense.  It was as if every question they once had as to the nature of human existence had been answered.  There were a lot more questions raised now, to be sure.  But one thing was certain:

Humanity had taken its role here for granted.


Michael F. Mercurio
Copyright 2013