"Bruce Holland Rogers - In the Matter of the Ukdena" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rogers Bruce Holland)

In the rivers
they bathed seven times for purity
and held rituals to turn aside any anger
left over from the year they were about to finish.

* * *


"What can we reliably say about Spiritual History in pre-literate times?" said the keynote speaker. "To
a large extent, we must rely upon the oral tradition. Spiral-thought does not record events with the same
emphasis that Arrow-thought does, of course, so we do not remember the details of the political
discussions, the names, dates, and exact locations of the debates. But we know, generally, what was
decided in the matter of the Ukdena, and we know that it was probably decided in Green Corn time. To
this day, that remains the best time for establishing national policy."
***


Before he went to sleep after the fifth day of deliberations, Walks the River made an offering of cedar
smoke to the four directions, to heaven, and to earth. The open eaves of his wife's summer house let the
smoke drift away, but the scent remained behind to clear his thoughts and purify his dreams. Though the
fire was low, he could see that his wife was watching him with the same expression she had worn during
the council, a mixture of discomfort and expectation. There might have been impatience in that gaze, too,
except that she was an old Tsalagi woman, a Bird clan woman. She knew how to master herself. She
knew how to turn impatience aside, for the sake of harmony.
Silently, Walks the River asked for dreams that would help him carry light. Then, with limbs stiffened
by the chill air, he lay down beside his wife.
"It has been five days," she said. She said it gently, sleepily, as if in answer to a question.
"Yes," he said, keeping his voice level. "I have counted them, too."
If she divorced him, he could always go live in his sister's house. It pained him to think such a thought,
and he doubted that his wife would turn him out, but who would blame her if she did? What was worse
than for a man to seem stubborn and argumentative at the holiest time of the year?
He waited, but she said nothing more. Soon she was breathing the breath of sleep. He heard one of his
daughters whisper to her husband in a far corner of the lodge, and an ember popped in the fire.
Give me a dream, he prayed again. Let me see them in my dream.
And then he let the night sounds carry him, the sounds of dark water in the river and wind moving
through the trees. Those sounds were still in his ears when he crossed into the dream side of the world
and found himself standing on an unfamiliar mountain's grassy bald. Around him were other mountains,
covered with fir and spruce. He raised his hands into the dream sky, asking for bountiful life, a prayer for
his arrival.
Light dazzled him. Something huge was there in front of him, making the air near him hiss with its
passing, and then it was far away. It moved partly in the air and partly along a mountain ridge, making the
trees sway. He wanted to see it clearly, but it was not a thing the eyes could easily hold.
"Ukdena," he said.
The presence swirled high into the air. It was not one being, but a group. They twisted and twined
together, parted, and rushed together again. They moved from one side of the sky to the other.
Their scales flashed like facets of crystal. Walks the River squinted. Their bodies were long, sinuous,
humping and curving as though even in the sky they had to follow the lines of the mountain ridges below.
Once, he thought he caught a glimpse of transparent wings, and for a moment there seemed to be an eye
that gazed at him, cold and brilliant.
"Enemies," the Ukdena hissed. Their terrible claws, glittering like ice, opened and closed on the wind.