Age Mythology Stories

Raven Steals Daylight From The Sky

2011-05-04T21:21:00.000-07:00

Long, long ago the world was as black as Raven. It was so dark the Animal People often lost track of their children, bumped into one another looking for food, and had to talk constantly to stay together. This perpetual darkness made them very unhappy.

The Frog People sat in dugout wooden canoes and waited patiently for clear nights when bright stars would light up the waters. Then they went spearfishing. But they had to contend with Raven who harassed them constantly for food.

Raven would swoop down toward the water when he heard a splash, hoping to snatch a fish off a spear. But the Frog Fishermen cleverly slapped the water at the opposite side of the boat to fool him.

Eventually, Raven grew tired of trying to be clever. He decided to go back to the sky where he came from and steal the box which held daylight. Then he and all the Animal People would be able to see where to find food.

So Raven flew up through a hole in the sky and walked until he came to the Sky Chief ’s house. There he waited beside the spring until the chief ’s only daughter came to fetch water. When Raven saw her coming down the path he quickly changed himself into a tiny cedar leaf and floated quietly on top of the water.

The young girl was so thirsty she did not wait to set her cedar-bark bucket down on the ground. Instead, she held it out behind her, scooped up some water with her hand, and drank it. She did not notice the tiny cedar leaf that slipped down her throat along with the water.

Before long, the young girl had exciting news for her parents. “Mother. Father,” she said. “I am with child.”

For a long time, Sky Chief and his wife had feared that their only daughter would never give them a grandchild, so they were excited to hear this news. They waited patiently, and soon their daughter gave birth to a robust little boy. He had fine feathery black hair, keen dark eyes, and thin aquiline features.

Although the family loved the handsome baby, they could not seem to please him, no matter what they tried. The little boy refused to be held and struggled to get out of his mother’s arms. His plump little body swaggered back and forth across the floor, and his loud cries filled the lodge.

Neither his mother nor his grandparents could figure out why their little boy was so unhappy. They washed him several times a day. They dressed and undressed him and brought him ample quantities of food. Still he squawked.

“We must seek the advice of our elders,” said the chief. “Or else our grandson will grow into an unhappy adult.”

Sky Chief walked through the village and invited the tribal elders to come to a meeting at his home. “Our grandson is very unhappy, and we do not know why. We seek your advice,” he said.

The elders followed Sky Chief home. But some of them covered their ears in distress as they took seats around the room. Sky Chief ’s grandson crawled among the men, squawking louder than ever.

One elder picked up the boy and stroked his shiny black hair. “What is it, child?” he asked. “What makes you so unhappy?” The baby screeched into the elder’s face until the old man gently set him back down on the floor. Across the room another elder beckoned to the baby.

“Come,” he said. “Tell me why you cry.” The chief ’s grandson went to where the old man sat, and then he crowed even louder. The old man fished frantically in his little bag for a handful of puffy cloud material with which he plugged his ears.

At last one of the elders, who had been watching the child very carefully, stood up. “It is the box you hang in the corner that the boy wants,” he declared to the chief and his daughter.

The box hanging in the corner was called the mä, and it held daylight. It had long been the chief ’s duty to protect its contents. “The box in the corner?” repeated Sky Chief. “That is the mä. He cannot have it.”

But the little boy waddled over to where the box was hung, lifted his head, and began a long mournful cry.

“If you do not give him the box,” said the elder. “He will cry until you do.”

Sky Chief turned to his daughter. “I am afraid,” he said.

“No one has ever played with the mä before? What if the box opens?”

“We must watch him very closely,” said the boy’s exhausted mother. Reluctantly, the chief took down the box and set it on the floor near the fire. At once the little boy stopped crying and wrapped his long curved arms around the box. A deafening silence filled the crowded lodge.

Sky Chief and his daughter smiled for the first time since the child had been born. With relief, the elders, also happy that the child had stopped squawking, pulled the stuffing out of their ears.

The boy tipped over the mä. Once. Twice. Three times. Then he tipped it back the other way. Once. Twice. Three times. He cooed like a contented little mourning dove.

The boy’s delight with the precious box soon convinced Sky Chief and his daughter that the mä was safe with the strange little child. So they relaxed their watchfulness and went back to work.

The little boy continued to coo as he tumbled the box around the lodge. Each day he worked himself closer and closer to the door. Then one day, without warning, the dark-haired little boy darted out of the lodge with the box on his shoulders.

When the Sky People saw him running away with the box they began to shout. “He is stealing the mä! Catch him! Catch him! He must not get away.”

But Sky Chief ’s grandson disappeared as if he had wings. And once beyond reach of the Sky People, he vanished through the hole in the sky where he had entered many moons earlier.

Before reaching earth, he changed back into Raven, took the mä off his shoulder, and clutched it in his strong talons. When Raven spotted the mouth of the Nass River, he flew upriver until he heard the voices of the Frog People.

“Please,” he said to the Frog People, who were sitting patiently in their dugout canoes, waiting for the stars to shine so they could see to spear fish. “Throw me a fish. I am very hungry.”

But the fishermen knew that Raven was always hungry and always wanted others to feed him. “Catch your own fish, you lazy thing,” replied one of the fishermen.

Raven asked again.

The fishermen continued to ignore him.

Raven just wanted something to eat before he opened the box of daylight. “You will be sorry if you do not feed me,” he threatened. “I have brought you something very special. But I am very hungry, and I must eat first.”

“You cannot fool us,” said one of the fishermen. “You are Raven the trickster and nothing but a liar. And all you want is free food.”

Raven protested, “I have brought you daylight in this box. And I made a long, dangerous journey to bring it to earth so that our people will never be hungry again. But I will not give it to you until you give me something to eat.”

The Frog People laughed.

Raven waited until they began fishing under the light of the stars before he issued his last warning to the Frog People: “I will wait no longer. If you throw me a fish you will not be punished. But if you do not, you will be very sorry.”

This time the fishermen did not even bother to look up. They were too busy spearing fish.

Then Raven gripped the box in his strong talons, lifted it off the ground, and glided gracefully along the water’s edge. If the Frog People had looked up, they might have seen his shiny purple-green wings glistening in the starlight. But they did not. Not until he dropped the box onto the rocky shore.

When Raven did this, daylight came flying out of the broken box in all directions. It flashed out over the mountains. It whirled up through the valleys. And it sliced through the freshwater rivers and streams of the region.

Animal People all over the land were surprised and delighted. But not the Frog People, who had not believed Raven’s box held daylight. Now they were frightened.

Shortly after all the light had left the box, North Wind began to blow violently against the little boats that held the Frog People. It blew so hard they were swept out to sea, and their little canoes slammed into the side of a steep rocky island. When the Frog People tried to climb up the cliffs, North Wind froze them in place, so that they would never again be concerned about daylight.

The other Animal People cheered for Raven and called him a hero. And no one ever went hungry again, especially not Raven.

The Moon Epic

2011-05-04T20:55:00.000-07:00

Old Moon had two daughters who were devoted to each other. They shared chores at home, dug wild camass bulbs in the mountain meadows together, and whispered their secrets back and forth.

One day, after they had spent more time talking than digging, it became too dark to go home. So they settled down among the tall blue and white camass flowers to spend the night. But the sisters could not sleep. Instead, they lay awake staring up at the thick black sky that sparkled with tiny stars.

“Oh how I would like to marry that shiny white star over there,” said the younger girl.

Her older sister smiled and said, “I would like to marry that bright little red one over there.”

The next morning when the sisters awoke they were no longer in the field of camass flowers but seated in the sky next to their chosen star husbands. The older sister smiled at the strong young man with long black hair and bright red eyes who sat beside her. But the younger sister gasped when she looked beside her and saw the gnarled old man with long white hair and a tangled beard.

All around them were Star People—men, women, and children of all sizes and shapes. Some of them were handsome, others not so attractive, but all of them were kind.

The women took the sisters to a meadow in the sky that was blanketed with beautiful camass flowers just like the one they had left on earth. They gave the sisters digging sticks and told them to dig up small bulbs, but not ones that grew too deeply.

The sisters did as they were told and went out each day and filled their baskets with bulbs. But they missed their family and friends on earth. Their husbands tried to make them forget their sadness, but they could not. The younger sister was especially homesick, as she yearned for a man her own age.

One day, after the sisters began digging, the older one whispered, “I am with child, dear sister.” The younger girl hugged her and wept. She was happy for her older sister, but sad that she would never have a child of her own. That evening the younger sister disguised her weeping by sitting in front of the fire so that smoke blew in her face.

Still the sisters dug camass bulbs every day. One morning the younger sister asked, “Why do you think we must not dig bulbs that grow deeply?”

“I do not know,” said the other. “Shall we try and find out?” So they searched until they came upon a bulb that was long and grew deep down. “I have one,” said the younger sister, and she dug gently all around the bulb, removing the dirt as she dug.

When she finally pulled it out, a great blast of cold air rushed up through the hole it had left in the sky. The girls peered down through the hole and saw their family and friends below.

“This is the reason we were told not to dig up bulbs that grow deep down,” said the older sister. “Now we must make plans to escape. We will make a ladder, drop it down through the hole, and climb down to earth.”

The next day when the girls went to the sky meadow, they dug camass bulbs part of the time and collected long tough vines the rest of the time. Day after day they collected more and more vines and twisted them into a long ladder. But each time they dropped it through the hole in the sky, it was too short.

Then one day, a baby boy, whom they named Young Moon, was born to the older sister. The girls, who wanted Young Moon to grow up among his own people on earth, now had even more reason to complete their ladder. They took turns caring for Young Moon, digging roots, and collecting vines.

Finally, one day when the younger sister dropped the ladder it touched the earth. She cried out excitedly and jumped up and hugged her sister.

“You go first. I will hand you the baby and follow,” said the older sister. After they were all safely on the ladder the older girl pulled some cedar boughs over the hole so that a forest would grow over the meadow and their husbands would not know where to look for them.

When the news spread on earth that the children of Old Moon and his wife had returned home, the villagers gathered to celebrate. “Go with your family and friends,” said the old blind grandmother. “I will take care of your son.” The older sister propped the cradleboard with her sleeping son against a large tree and thanked the old lady.

No one knew that Dog Salmon, an ugly salmon with large teeth and a protruding jaw, was thrashing about beneath the bushes waiting to steal the child. After the old woman dozed off, Dog Salmon took Young Moon out of his cradleboard, tucked him under his murky brown jacket, and put a rotten log in the child’s place.

After the celebration was over, Young Moon’s mother came back to get him. “Oh,” she screamed. “My son. My son. Where are you? Look at this rotten log in my son’s cradleboard,” she said throwing the log on the ground. “Please everyone—Woodpecker, Bluejay, Raven—you must help me find Young Moon.”

Bluejay arrived first. He was the only one who knew that Young Moon held great powers, and the only one who knew where to look for the kidnapped baby. He flicked his round-tipped black and white tail in the air, and called, “Sassy. Sassy. Sassy.”

Within minutes Woodpecker alighted on a bush beside the worried mother. He bobbed his head up and down as if trying to toss off the black mustache that circled his little beak. He was eager to join Bluejay.

Raven, the most clever of the birds, heard the young mother’s plea and figured there might be some meat for him if he joined the chase. He flapped his huge black wings, stuck his wedge-shaped tail in the air, and headed off to join the others.

After the birds had left to find Young Moon, his mother went down to the river to wash out his cedar-bark diaper. After she had rinsed it several times she heard a noise. There standing before her was a handsome little dark-haired boy. “I have come to console you. I am Sun, brother of Young Moon,” he said. “Be patient and do not worry. Bluejay will find him.”

Meanwhile, Bluejay had flown to where sky and earth come together. Back and forth, back and forth he flew, looking for a hole to fly through. At last he found one and tried to squeeze his head underneath, but the hole was too small, and he crushed his crest of fine blue feathers.

Cocky Raven was sure he could get through by sheer force, so he stuck his fat beak in the hole and pushed and pushed. But nothing happened. Woodpecker tried to peck a hole in the sky, but that did not work. Then he tried to peck one in the earth. That did not work, either. The sky and earth were firmly locked together. Discouraged, Woodpecker and Raven flew home.

But Bluejay would not give up. He stayed and waited for many years until he found an opening large enough to squirm through. Then he traveled far and wide until he found Young Moon who was living in the sky with the Dog Salmon People.

“So this is where the Dog Salmon live,” said Bluejay. “And it is they who kidnapped you so long ago. We have been very worried about you. You must come home to earth and use your power to transform things for our people.”

Young Moon hung his head. The Dog Salmon People had always lived in the sky, and he did not know if he could convince them to follow him to earth. “I will need time to think,” said Young Moon to Bluejay. “I will come when the time is right.”

Young Moon thought for many days. At last he called the Dog Salmon People together and asked them to come home with him. He promised to put them in the great clear-water rivers that flowed out of the mountains and into the Pacific Ocean along the Northwest Coast if they would agree to be food for his people.

The Dog Salmon People agreed. At first they swam downriver, but Young Moon turned them around and showed them how to swim upstream against the current. Then he traveled easily over the land, and he changed many things along the way on his journey home.

The first strange-looking creatures he encountered were fighting. He turned them into birds and stones. The next group, little birds who ran around stupidly, he made into sandpipers.

A group of fishermen in a canoe on a lake he turned into sawbill ducks, and others, standing in shallow water, he made into mallard ducks. The last group of creatures, whom he could not identify, were lounging on the beach, so he turned them into clams.

After Young Moon had changed everything he encountered on earth, he created a great waterfall to challenge the Dog Salmon on their way upstream. When he finally arrived at home, his family waited to cheer him. Young Moon was pleased with himself.

“I will show you my great powers,” he boasted to his family and friends. “Which one of you would like to be Sun by day and Moon by night?” Raven tried out for Moon. But he failed. Woodpecker tried out for Sun. And he failed.

“I am afraid that my brother and I will have to do these jobs ourselves,” said Young Moon. So he called his brother Sun and asked him to give the people bright warm light during the day. Sun was a great success, and the people were very happy. Moon rose after Sun was gone and made a long slow journey across the night sky. Again, the people were pleased.

“Before I take my place in the sky forever,” said Young Moon, “I must finish my work on earth.” Then he created the humans and placed them along the rivers and streams of the region, where they have fished for Dog Salmon ever since.

Tolowim-Woman and Butterfly-Man

2011-05-04T19:51:00.000-07:00

Long ago, a young girl they called Tolowim-Woman lived in a large pit-house that was nestled in the California foothills. She was a dutiful wife and mother and did her share of the sewing and acorn-grinding. But the long hours of darkness indoors, when the only light came from the flame of the fire, made her restless and moody. She wanted to be outdoors running free.

In spring, Tolowim-Woman’s young husband went off to greet the salmon as they began their journey inland from the sea. She stayed at home to care for their young son and to do chores with the other women. But she longed to go into the hills and walk among the fresh bright-colored spring irises.

Springtime was Tolowim-Woman’s favorite time of year. She remembered her own mother carrying her up the same path in her cradleboard, and she remembered the little grey squirrels that darted back and forth behind her mother’s back showing off their quickness.

Tolowim-Woman swung her arms high in the air as if the sky were her roof and her home had no boundaries. Her fine black hair brushed against her shoulders, and her small bare feet pressed gently into grass that was still wet from the morning dew. She was free and happy. She skipped along the well-worn path as if she carried no burden. If her son was heavy it did not matter because her heart was light.

“Look, Aki,” she said. “The sparrow hawk is soaring the air currents. Isn’t he beautiful?” Even though her young son was only nine moons old and could not speak, Tolowim-Woman knew he understood.

She continued to throw words back over her shoulder as she walked. Then, as the sun climbed high in the clear afternoon sky, Tolowim-Woman’s pace slackened. She was getting tired, so she set the cradleboard down against a giant oak tree and sat down beside it.

“Isn’t it beautiful up here in the hills?” she asked. Aki’s open smiling face was her answer. Tolowim-Woman laughed and realized it would be just as beautiful when the leaves began to fall and they would return to this spot togather acorns.

One day, while the women of the lodge were busy chatting among themselves, Tolowim-Woman put on her new buckskin dress, picked up her young son, whom she called Aki, and slipped quietly out the door. She set his cradleboard on the ground and knelt down to position it behind her.

She secured the tumpline, the wide strap that fit around her forehead to help support the cradleboard, and raised her son onto her back. Then she stepped lightly along the narrow path that led up into the hills.

Then Tolowim-Woman stood up and began to twirl around like a leaf in the breeze. Aki’s large brown eyes followed his mother as she whirled gaily around and around in circles.

While Tolowim-Woman twirled, a large black butterfly fluttered playfully around her. It brushed her extended arms. First one. Then the other. Then it floated over to where Aki’s cradleboard leaned against the tree and fluttered in front of the little boy’s happy face.

Tolowim-Woman stopped dancing when she heard her young son squealing. The handsome black butterfly circled around the oak tree showing off the tiny white circles that glowed above several reddish crossbars outlined on its wings. (These are the markings of a red admiral butterfly.) “You are so lovely,” she whispered. Then, impulsively, she reached out to grab it. But the handsome black butterfly quickly flew away.

Tolowim-Woman believed she had not been quick enough. She took a couple of steps toward it and tried again. And again. And again. Still the butterfly fluttered from one bush to another, staying just beyond her reach.

The handsome young butterfly drifted higher and higher into the hills. Tolowim-Woman wanted this butterfly more than she had ever wanted anything before. She could not stop chasing it. “Please,” she pleaded. “If you will wait for me I will go away with you.”

For a moment the great black wings seemed not to move. Then the handsome butterfly drifted downward and came to rest on a young manzanita bush. It did not move when Tolowim-Woman approached. But when she was close enough to reach out, it flew away.

Tolowim-Woman climbed over rocks, walked through brambles, and tripped on rotted tree stumps. Her legs became bloody, her long black hair tangled with grass and twigs, and the fringes on her new buckskin dress became torn. Still she could not stop chasing the butterfly.

At last, the sun slipped down behind the hills and her pace slowed. Exhausted, she sank down onto the ground. She called to the handsome butterfly, “I am too tired to follow you any longer.”

Slowly the black wings began to flutter, and the handsome young butterfly made a great wide circle in the air. It turned back and flew to the spot where Tolowim-Woman sat.

This time she did not reach out but watched quietly as it came closer and closer. When it landed on the ground beside her, it was no longer a butterfly but a handsome young man wearing only a thin band of white cloth around his head and a small apron held on by a narrow band of red around his waist.

Tolowim-Woman gasped, “You are the most handsome man I have ever seen.”

Butterfly-Man smiled, sat down beside her, and took her in his arms. They laid down together on the fresh warm grass and remained there until morning.

When Butterfly-Man awoke, he asked Tolowim-Woman, “Will you come home with me?”

“Oh yes,” she replied. “I will follow you wherever you go.” Love made her forget the husband she had left at home and the child whose cradleboard still leaned against an oak tree far away. All she could think about was the beautiful young man by her side, and the freedom they would share together.

“Come,” said Butterfly-Man, “I will take you to the land of my people. But it is a most dangerous journey. We must walk through the Valley of Butterflies, and they will all want to take you away from me. But you must not let them.”

He took her fingers and wrapped them around the band of red that circled his waist. “I will lead you through the valley safely, but you must not look at any of the butterflies. And you must never let go of me. If you do, I will lose my power to protect you.”

Tolowim-Woman held on with both hands, and the couple set off toward the Valley of Butterflies. Before they were halfway down the valley, butterflies of every shape, size, and color began to surround them.

Tolowim-Woman kept her eyes focused downward as she walked, and she tightened her grip on Butterfly-Man’s waist. Butterflies fluttered in front of her face. They circled her head, and brushed against her hair. Still she refused to look up.

Tolowim-Woman and Butterfly-Man traveled for many hours through great swarms of butterflies. Then, a bold black and orange one (a monarch butterfly), larger and stronger than Butterfly-Man, refused to go away. It flew back and forth in front of Tolowim-Woman’s downcast eyes, and when she would not open them it lit boldly on her trembling lower lip.

Tolowim-Woman could not remain composed any longer and made tiny slits in her eyes to take a look. The butterfly’s bright orange wings brushed lightly against her nose and tickled her. Instinctively, she reached for it. But before she could close her grip, it flew away.

Even though Tolowim-Woman feared that Butterfly-Man’s power to protect her might be lost, she could not stop reaching toward the brilliant black and orange wings that fluttered before her. Butterfly-Man remained silent. Tolowim-Woman continued to reach out with her free hand. Butterfly-Man’s pace increased.

Before long, hundreds of other butterflies, each one stronger and more beautiful than the next, began to swarm around them. Tolowim-Woman could not restrain herself. She reached for one. Then another. And another.

“You are all so beautiful,” she said as they whirled around her. “I want all of you.” Slowly the other hand slipped from Butterfly-Man’s waist, and she began to grab at butterflies in all directions.

But each time she thought she had captured one, it escaped from her grasp. Butterfly-Man continued walking. Faster. And faster. And faster. Tolowim-Woman continued to reach for butterflies in every direction.

“Wait,” she cried. “I am coming. Wait for me.”

Tolowim-Woman ran. And called out for Butterfly-Man. And kept reaching out for butterflies as she went. But Butterfly-Man did not slow down. Nor did he turn around. Before long, Tolowim-Woman’s heart was gone away.

How The World was Made

2011-05-04T19:38:00.000-07:00

When all the world was water, the animals lived in the sky beyond the rainbow where everyone complained about being cramped for space. “It is much too crowded up here,” said Grandfather Buzzard. “Why don’t we find out what is down there under the water?”

“I will go. I will go,” clicked Beetle as he extended his little forelegs as far as they would go. Grandfather Buzzard agreed that since Beetle belonged in the water, he should go. “See what you can find down there,” said Grandfather Buzzard, and he waved good-bye.

Beetle dove from the sky and floated slowly to earth. He landed on top of the water and whirled around and around and around. When he found an opening in the surface, he kicked his little hind legs in the air and dove under. After awhile, Beetle surfaced, his forelegs coated with soft mud.

Beetle’s friends watched from above as the mud from under the water spread out in all directions. The mass of mud grew, and grew, and kept on growing, until it was a great big island. Then it was magically tied to the sky with four sturdy ropes.

Beetle returned home pleased with his good work. “When the mud dries,” he said, “there will be much land for us to share. We will never be crowded again.”

The others in the sky saw that the mud was still soft and wet. Everyone waited for the land to dry out. At last Raven grew impatient. “Why don’t we just go down and try it out?” he asked. Bluejay flicked his blue and white tail and hopped forward. “I want to go,” he said, “but perhaps I am too small to undertake such a long journey.”

“Do not worry,” said Grandfather Buzzard, “you are quick and clever. You will make it.”

Bluejay flew to earth. He traveled north, south, east, and west. Everywhere the island’s mud was wet and sticky. “It is too soon,” reported Bluejay when he returned to the sky. “Our feet will get stuck if we try to land down there now.”

Old Man Owl closed his big round eyes and went back to sleep. Mountain Lion curled up in a clump of grass and sighed. The trees let their leaves fall to the ground in disgust. Everyone was disappointed.

The animals busied themselves in the sky while they waited for their little mud island to dry out. Then one day Grandfather Buzzard stood up firm and tall. His big black body swayed, and his feathers rippled. “I have waited long enough,” he declared in a loud voice. “I am going down to take a look for myself.”

No one ever challenged Grandfather Buzzard. Instead, they watched as he flapped his huge wings and flew down to earth. The long journey made the old bird very tired, and he sank lower and lower and closer to the ground.

When he was as low as he could get without actually landing, the flapping of his wings carved out great long valleys wherever they touched the soft earth. And where his wings swept upward, they created tall rugged mountains.

The animals watched from above. “We have got to get Grandfather Buzzard back up here,” said Bluejay. “Look what he is doing. He is creating too many mountains.”

Grandfather Buzzard finally returned to the sky. He strutted among the animals with his chest puffed out. “The mud is not completely dry,” he admitted. “But one has to admit that it is very much more interesting down there since I have visited.”

Bluejay rolled his eyes. “That remains to be seen,” he muttered. For a long time afterward, the animals took turns checking to see if the earth had hardened. But each time they returned home they were sorry to report that the land was still too soft.

A long time passed before Grandfather Buzzard spoke again. “I think it is time to descend,” he said. “Look how solid those mountains are. And see how the water has formed into long ribbons that flow through the valleys. The land is ready. We must go.”

Bluejay, Hawk, Crow, Magpie, and a stream of little songbirds fluffed up their wings in readiness for the flight. Mountain Lion, Panther, Deer, Fox, and all the other animals preened themselves in preparation for the trip. The trees pulled themselves up by their roots and wrapped themselves up in tight little bundles so that they, too, would be prepared to move.

At last Grandfather Buzzard led off, and the others followed. Indeed, he was right. The earth was not too hard and not too soft. It was just right. There was only one problem: It was totally dark.

“Oh my,” said Grandfather Buzzard. “I did not count on this. I must grab Sun from up there beyond the rainbow.”

So Grandfather Buzzard went back and got hold of Sun. “I will show you how to behave,” he said to Sun in his firmest voice. “Start here in the east and travel toward the west every day across the island.”

Sun did as she was told and lit up the land exactly as Grandfather Buzzard had told her to do. But the animals were not at all happy. Sun was too close and too hot.

“Sun must be moved away,” complained Crawfish. “Look what has happened to the shell on my back. It is scorched, and now I am bright red. My flesh is spoiled.” So Grandfather Buzzard pushed Sun higher up into the sky. Still things did not cool off. So he pushed Sun higher and higher above the land.

“There,” said Grandfather Buzzard. “That looks like a good distance.” But the animals still complained. After many attempts, he finally got Sun in just the right position under the arch of the rainbow. “Now,” said Grandfather Buzzard to Sun, “travel from east to west across the island each day.” Again Sun did as she was told, and this time everyone was happy.

The animals and plants were barely settled when Grandfather Buzzard announced that they must stay awake for seven nights. (Seven is a sacred number to the Cherokees because it represents the directional units of the world: east, west, north, and south, as well as up, down, and here.)

So the animals and plants tried their best. The first night was easy, and everyone stayed awake. But on the second night several of the animals fell asleep. On the third night even more of them fell asleep. And by the seventh night Owl, Panther, and only a few others were able to remain awake.

As a result, Owl and Panther were given the ability to see at night and prey on others who could not. Cedar, Pine, Spruce, Holly, and Laurel trees, who also stayed awake the whole seven nights, got to keep their leaves all year round, and to hold strong medicines. The trees that fell asleep too soon were made to lose their leaves before winter came.

After the plants and animals were in place, a young brother and sister arrived. At first it was only the two of them. Then one day the brother hit his sister with a fish, (the Cherokees’ symbol for fertility), and told her to multiply.

Seven days later, the sister bore a child. And seven days later another child was born. Thereafter, every seven days she bore another child. The children arrived so often everyone was frightened the earth would become as crowded as the sky had been.

So, afterward, the woman was made to have only one child a year. And it has been that way ever since.

Buffalo Husband

2011-05-04T19:01:00.000-07:00

One morning when the prairie grass glistened with early frost, a young Blackfeet woman got up and slipped quietly out of her tipi. She was on her way to the stream when a small pebble dropped from the sky. Surprised, the young woman looked up. There high above her on the edge of the nearby cliff was a great herd of buffalo, the first to appear since spring.

“Jump,” she called to them. “Jump. Please jump. Our people are very hungry.” But the buffalo just paced back and forth along the cliff ’s edge. Finally, in desperation, the young woman called out to them, “If you jump, I will marry one of you.”

A huge cloud of dust rose above the cliff as the heavy animals pushed and shoved one another to position themselves. Then they began to tumble over the edge, and their giant bodies rained down onto the prairie below.

The young woman was so happy she could hardly contain herself. She turned to run home with the good news. But before she could take a step, a huge buffalo bull charged toward her.

The young woman shook with fear. “No, no,” she exclaimed. “I did not really mean what I said. I cannot marry a buffalo.”

The buffalo bull grabbed her by the arm. “Look at all of my dead and wounded brothers,” he said. “We have saved your people from starvation. You must honor your promise to marry.” And he began to drag the young woman off across the prairie.

It was not until sometime after all the buffalo had been slaughtered that the young woman was missed by her family.

“My beautiful daughter is gone,” said an old man. “I must find her.”

The people protested. “You cannot go after the herd. You will be trampled.”

But the old man took up his bow and arrows and headed off across the prairie. He walked for many hours. But there were no buffalo in sight. Discouraged and tired, the old man sat down to rest beside a small stream. Overhead a spirited young magpie flew back and forth. Back and forth. He flashed the bright patches of white on his short rounded wings.

“Please, clever bird,” said the old man. “Find my daughter and tell her where I wait.” The magpie flicked his wedge-shaped tail at the old man and flew away.

Magpies always know where buffalo herds graze, and this young one had no trouble finding the old man’s daughter. When the magpie saw where the young woman rested near her buffalo husband, he flew down beside her and whispered in her ear, “Your father waits for you by the stream. He will take you home.”

The young woman shook with fright. “My buffalo husband sleeps. If he wakes and sees you here I will be punished. Go and tell my father to wait for me. I will come
when it is safe.”

As the magpie flew off, Buffalo Husband woke up. “I am thirsty,” he growled. “Go to the stream and fetch me water.”

Eager to see her father, the young woman hurried off to fill her husband’s cup with water.

When she came to the stream she saw her father patiently waiting.

“Father. Why have you come here?” she asked him.

“Buffalo Husband will kill you if he finds you.”

“I came to take you home,” her father said. And he took his daughter gently by the arm.

“No. No,” said the daughter. “It is not good. The herd will chase us and kill us. I must wait until Buffalo Husband sleeps again. Then I will return.”

Tears flowed from the old man’s eyes as he watched his beautiful young daughter return to the herd. The young woman drew her robe tightly around her slumped shoulders and walked slowly back to her buffalo husband.

She could not think of a way to escape. When she returned home, Buffalo Husband grabbed the water from her hand and drank it down. Then his eyes narrowed and his great nostrils widened.

“A person is close by here,” he said, rising slowly onto his hind quarters. He tossed his shaggy head backward and gave a great buffalo bellow. The herd awoke, rose up, and bellowed back. Then the bulls dropped their heads to the ground, rutted around in the dirt, and stampeded off to the stream.

It did not take long for the herd to find the young woman’s father. And it took even less time for them to trample the poor old man into the ground. When they were sure his body was finely ground up in the mud, they cocked their heads in the air and headed home.

The young woman knew when the herd returned that her dear father was dead. “You have killed my father,” she cried at Buffalo Husband. “Why? He did not harm you.”

“I feel no pity,” growled Buffalo Husband. “You ran our mothers, fathers, and children off the cliff. You slaughtered them for food, and we too mourned. I have no pity.”

The young woman fell to the ground sobbing. “My dear father. My dear father,” she lamented. “What have I done?”

Buffalo Husband’s eyes softened. He slumped down beside her and pressed his great warm body against her limp one. “I will give you another chance,” he muttered. “If you can bring your father back to life, I will let both of you go home to your people.”

The young woman looked into the eyes of Buffalo Husband. She knew he would keep his promise. But she did not know how she could possibly bring her father back to life.

Then she heard the loud caw caw of the magpie overhead. “Please,” she said to the spirited young bird, “go to the banks of the stream; look in the mud for a piece of my father, and bring it to me.”

Always quick to respond to a challenge, the magpie flew off toward the stream. He poked his thick pointed beak into the mud like he was looking for grasshoppers or crickets in the prairie grass. Before long something hard and white turned up.

The magpie plucked it up and rubbed it against his shiny iridescent feathers. When all the mud was gone, a small white piece of vertebra appeared. It was a bone from the spine of the young woman’s father.

The magpie took the piece of bone and flew off. When he gave it to the young woman she cradled it in her thin white hands. “I will make you whole again, dear father,” she whispered into her palms.

The young woman placed her father’s bone on the ground, slipped her long robe off her shoulders, and covered the little vertebra. Then she began to sing a long mournful song. When the song ended she lifted the edge of her robe and peered beneath it. There lay her beloved father. Whole. But without life.

The young woman covered the entire body again and began to sing another song. This time she sang a song so joyful even the mountain birds came to listen. When she finished, she lifted the edge of the robe and peered beneath it. Her father smiled up at her. Then he rose slowly to his feet.

“Your people medicine is very strong,” said Buffalo Husband. “Even after we trampled your father to death he is alive again. These are strange events for us to see.”

The buffalo herd bellowed in disbelief. The magpie flew around in foolish circles. And the young woman jumped with joy.

Buffalo Husband paced back and forth, thinking, in front of the young woman and her father. Finally he said, “I will free you as I promised. But first you must learn buffalo medicine.”

He called his bulls to form a great even circle around him, and Buffalo Husband signaled them to dance. Then he began to sing. Wind carried his sacred song far out over the prairie while the earth echoed the dull thump of the bulls’ heavy hooves.

When the dance ended, Buffalo Husband told the young woman and her father to go home and teach the song and dance to their people. “The objects that will make our medicine work,” he said, “are the bull’s head and robe, which must always be worn by those who perform the dance. If you do this before and after every hunt,” he added, “it will bring us back to life, and we will give ourselves to you willingly.”

The young woman and her father kept their promise. And that was the beginning of I-kun-uh’kah-tsi, the sacred buffalo dance of the Blackfeet people.

Winter-man's Fury

2011-05-04T11:08:00.000-07:00

Long ago, when big winters stayed on the southern plains most of the year, Air was always restless. Wind, Rain, Sun, and Snow were supposed to take turns visiting the Cheyennes. But Snow bullied everyone and took up more than his share of time.

Wind, when it got over the top of the great Rocky Mountains, was so pleased to be free that it whirled across the prairie and made the stout little grasses blow dizzily back and forth. Sometimes Wind blew hard and cold.

Other times it blew soft and warm. Gentle or fierce, Wind stayed around as long as it could. Rain, on the other hand, came only in summer. It stayed until the tightly bundled roots of prairie grasses came alive. Then it headed eastward. And Sun appeared.

Sun stood high in the sky warming the prairie grasses and making them grow thick and green. It stayed until the animals who came to graze grew round and plump. Then it made way for Ho-e-ma-ha, the Winter-Man, who nipped at its heels and often refused to wait his turn.

By September, Winter-Man was already hiding under the shade of a tree during the day, but he came out only at night. In October, he walked boldly across the hilltops and onto the grassland, coming closer and closer to the Cheyenne people.

Winter-Man could not be trusted, so the Cheyennes always prepared themselves for a terrible winter. When Winter-Man was in a good mood, meat supplies lasted until he went away. But if he was in a bad mood, the people grew hungry long before he left.

Running Fast, a young Cheyenne boy, kept watch for signs of Ho-e-ma-ha. “Look,” said Running Fast to his grandfather one day, “Winter-Man’s moccasins have touched the earth. The grasses have turned brown.”

“I see,” said Grandfather. “And he is breathing on the trees. The leaves have turned yellow and are falling.”

The birds tucked in their wings, flattened their feathers, and flew south; bears curled up in rotten logs and hibernated; wolves, foxes, and other small animals took refuge in rock caves; and deer, elk, and antelope nestled into deep ravines trying to stay warm. The buffalo just turned their backs and began a slow amble southward.

While everyone was scurrying around, Ho-e-ma-ha picked up his magic flute and began to play a high-pitched dissonant tune. Soon sleet and icy winds blew down on the grassy plains.

The Cheyennes took refuge in their large warm tipis. “I think Winter-Man is very angry,” said Running Fast. “He has returned without warning.”

Winter-Man had only begun to show his power. He stood up, shook out his powerful great long robe, and snow followed. For two long moons the Cheyennes stayed in their tipis while Winter-Man deluged them with snow and sleet. “It is good that we have stored much buffalo meat,” said Running Fast’s grandfather. “Or else we would die of starvation.”

Winter-Man waited on the ridge above the Cheyennes’ camp expecting an elder to come out and beg for mercy. When no one appeared, he became furious and made the storm even worse.

He sought out holes in the tipi covers and blew fiercely into every opening he could find. He even hovered above the very top of each tipi where the smoke escapes and blew straight down so billows of smoke filled the inside.

“Winter-Man has never been so angry,” said Running Fast’s grandfather. “Our buffalo meat is almost gone. Someone must go out and hunt.”

Three young braves volunteered. They wrapped themselves in heavy buffalo-skin robes, took up their strong bows, and slung round oblong-shaped quivers that held extra arrows over their shoulders.

Winter-Man watched with a twinkle in his eye. He had gleefully coated the snow with a thin layer of hard ice to cover the animal tracks and to make walking difficult for the hunters.

In these freezing conditions, the three young braves soon had to admit defeat, and they returned home empty-handed. In the meantime, Grandfather’s youngest son, Bow-in-Hand, returned home from a trip he had taken with a neighboring tribe.

“Things are very bad, Bow-in-Hand,” said his father.

“Winter-Man is very angry. His furious storm is almost two moons old, and we are running out of food. Our people are starving, and we can do nothing.”

“I will go and see him,” said Bow-in-Hand. “Where does he make his camp?”

“He is over the ridge to the north,” said his father. “But it will do no good. We cannot make him go away.”

For many years the Cheyennes had feared Ho-e-ma-ha because he held the whole land in his power. They did not believe that the magic eagle-feather fan, which Bow-in-Hand kept for his people, was powerful enough to stop Winter-Man. But Bow-in-Hand believed it held the power of Eagle-spirit.

Eagle-spirit had often helped to bring the buffalo to Cheyenne country and had guided the people in battle. Bow-in-Hand was willing to test the fan made from the eagle’s feathers against Winter-Man’s noisy flute and great long robe.

“Look what he has done to our young braves,” said Bow-in-Hand as he helped to carry the half-frozen young hunters into his father’s tipi. “I must try to stop him, or we will all die.”

“Then you must dress warmly. Here, take these,” said his father, handing Bow-in-Hand a stack of warm buffalo hides. But Bow-in-Hand merely waved the magic eagle-feather fan back and forth in the air to remind the old man of its power.

“Perhaps,” said his father. “Perhaps.”

Then Bow-in-Hand headed off to confront Winter-Man without taking any of the buffalo-skin robes offered to him by his father.

When Winter-Man saw Bow-in-Hand coming toward the ridge, he blew heavy drifts of snow into his path. Bow-in-Hand stepped lightly through the drifts and kept on walking. Then Winter-Man pelted him with sharp arrows of sleet.

Still Bow-in-Hand walked on. When he reached Winter-Man’s large tipi, he did not announce himself but, instead, opened the door and went inside. Bow-in-Hand’s boldness infuriated Winter-Man.

“How dare you come in here uninvited,” he snarled, although he himself had never waited for an invitation to visit Cheyenne country. Then to frighten the bold intruder, Winter-Man shook his robe until the tipi was filled with snow. When Bow-in-Hand refused to respond to this gesture, Winter-Man shot arrows of sleet at close range.

Again, Bow-in-Hand did not flinch. Instead, he waved his eagle-feather fan in Winter-Man’s face. As the fan moved back and forth, the snow began to melt. And the sleet turned to gentle drops of water.

“You cannot do this,” said Winter-Man. “My magic flute and robe have much more power than that feeble eagle-feather fan you carry.”

Then Winter-Man shuffled his great body around the tipi and looked at the walls as they melted away. He shot an icy stare at Bow-in-Hand, lifted his magic flute to his mouth, and blew loud angry noises instead of notes.

The snow continued to fall, but as it fell it melted. And the sleet turned to rain.

Winter-Man’s great frosty eyes narrowed as he stared at the weightless eagle-feather fan Bow-in-Hand waved in front of him. Then Winter-Man took off his great robe and shook it with all of his might. More snow filled the tipi. But it, too, quickly melted.

At last it grew so warm inside the tipi that Winter-Man’s children ran outside and hid in the cracks and fissures of the rocks. Defeated, Winter-Man stormed out the door and headed north.

When Bow-in-Hand returned home, he told his people that Winter-Man was gone forever. But he warned them that Winter-Man’s children had not gone away with him and remained behind, hiding out in the crevices of rocks. “We must find them and send them away, too,” Bow-in-Hand warned his people.

So the people filled large buffalo-skin bags with hot water and poured it into the cracks and crannies of rocks all over Cheyenne country. Nevertheless, many of Winter-Man’s children squirmed deep down between the cracks where the water could not flow.

Winter-Man never again returned to Cheyenne country. But his children still take their turns each year to bring kinder, gentler winters to the southern plains.

The Kschinas are Coming

2011-05-04T04:43:00.000-07:00

When the world was still new, before large game animals had come to the Hopi people, mice were the only source of meat. But trapping mice took a great deal of time and patience and wound up providing very little meat for the trappers’ efforts.

Shilko, the cleverest young fellow in his group, was always coming up with new ways to trick mice. “It is time to go trapping,” he said, and he walked among his friends waving a small stick with a string attached.

“What does Shilko plan for today?” asked one of the boys as he eyed Shilko’s stick.

“I am going to prop up a rock with this stick and put cornmeal under it,” he answered. “Then, when a mouse comes to get the cornmeal, I will pull the string and the rock will fall on him.”

The boys followed Shilko until he came to a spot that looked just right. They watched as he set his clever trap, stepped back to admire it, and sat down to wait.

The boys remained very quiet for a long time. No mice came to the trap. The boys waited and waited. Shilko seldom failed at anything he did. But when the sun finally came to rest on the horizon, Shilko hung his head and said, “My trap was not so clever. We have not caught a single mouse today.”

The youngest boy picked up a sack of corn and said, “I am hungry. It is time to eat.” The boys built a large fire and ate heartily.

“Tonight we must throw corncobs on the fire and call the spirits in the way of our people,” said Shilko. “We cannot go home empty-handed.”

Shilko stood up and threw the first corncob into the fire. Each boy followed with one of his own. In a few minutes the night air was filled with clouds of billowing grey smoke. The smallest boy moved close to the fire and stood where the smoke blew in his face. “Someone please help us,” he said, his voice quivering.

They waited quietly for a long time, but they heard only the crackling of the fire. At last Shilko filled the little smoking pipe his father had given him and passed it around the circle for the other boys to smoke. Then he added more cobs to the fire.

Suddenly, without warning, a tall and striking young woman appeared out of the darkness. One of the boys covered his face. Another boy ducked behind a large rock. And the two littlest ones clasped hold of each other. Everyone trembled except Shilko.

“Don’t be afraid,” he told the other boys. “It is Tihkyui, our spirit-mother.”

Tihkyui’s serene face and outstretched arms calmed their fears, and the boys returned to their circle formation around the fire.

“You signaled me with the smoke of your corncobs,” she said. “I have come to help. Do not worry that you have no mice. They are too small for meat, anyway. I will show you how to catch larger animals.”

Tihkyui began to sing a soft haunting melody that mingled with the curls of smoke from the fire and twisted

upward into the night air. When she finished, Tihkyui told the boys to remember the song so they could teach it to their mothers and sisters, who would sing it while they were grinding corn.

Tihkuyi sat down beside Shilko and said, “You will know when you awake in the morning if Nuvak, or Snow-Maiden, has heard my song.”

“How will I know?” asked Shilko.

Tihkuyi made marks like rabbit tracks on the ground and said, “You will see footprints like this in the morning. They will belong to the rabbits. Follow the footprints to where the rabbits hide in the rocks and pull them out.”

The boys were very excited about the prospect of catching animals larger than mice. Before Tihkuyi disappeared into the night, Shilko gave her a prayer-stick decorated with beautiful feathers.

The next morning, when the boys awoke, the ground was covered with snow—something they had never seen before.

“My feet are freezing,” whined one of the younger boys. So Shilko tore up the corn sack they had brought from home and gave each of the boys two pieces to wrap around his feet.

Soon after they left camp, the boys found rabbit tracks in the snow just like those Tihkuyi had drawn in the sand. They followed the tracks toward a great outcropping of rock and waited quietly for the rabbits to come out of their holes. When they did, the boys smacked them with their small wooden clubs. Soon they had enough rabbits to take back to camp.

After dinner that evening, Shilko threw more corncobs on the fire and waited for Tihkuyi to reappear, so he could show her that Nuvak had indeed heard her song. When Tihkuyi stepped out of the cloud of smoke, she was smiling. “You have done well,” she said. “Cottontail rabbits have much meat.”

She showed the boys how to clean the rabbits and dress the skins to take home for the women to make into warm clothing. “Now,” she said, “you need a spirit-father. Shilko, you must call him.”

Shilko stepped forward and called into the night. “Is there anyone out there who will be our spirit-father? If so, please come out.” Before long they heard a deep voice, and Masou came forward. He went over to where Tihkuyi stood and whispered in her ear. Together they began to draw the tracks of a jackrabbit on the ground.

“The next time you hunt or trap,” said Masou, “go into the valley near your village and look for these tracks. Follow them to where the jackrabbits hide. When you are ready to catch larger animals, go into the valley below Far Mesa.”

Before Masou disappeared, Shilko handed him a prayer-stick like the one he had given to Tihkuyi.

The next morning there was even more snow on the ground, but the boys were so eager to hunt jackrabbits that they tramped through the shin-deep snow without complaining.

When they found the tracks, they followed them into the bushes and killed many more animals than they had the day before. In fact, the boys were so successful that they had to build a carrier out of tree branches to get all of the animals home.

But the heavy carrier filled with meat made the boys tired, so Shilko suggested they build a fire and rest. “We do not have far to go,” he said. “Our village is close by.”

No sooner had the boys started their fire when the men of the village saw the smoke and came to greet them. “You have done well,” said one of the men. “We will help you carry the animals home. But first you must show us where you have been hunting.”

Shilko stuck out his hand as if to hold back the men. “Not yet,” he said. “We must return to the village and organize a proper hunt.” The men agreed, and that evening Shilko announced the spot where the hunters should meet in the morning.

He gave them the route they would take and named specific points along the way. The next day the men spread out in a great circle, and when rabbits appeared the hunters gradually closed the circle and rounded up many animals.

Before too long, Shilko grew bored with rabbit hunting and decided to hunt animals larger than cottontails and jackrabbits. “Bring heavier clubs today,” he said very casually to the men. “It will bring us luck.”

The following day, Shilko led the group on a long trek in the direction of Far Mesa where Masou had told them they would find larger animals. When they finally arrived at the foot of the mesa, Shilko directed the hunters to form a circle near its south side. He was about to signal the men to tighten the circle when he saw Masou standing in the center surrounded by deer and elk.

Their eyes met. Masou whispered, “Shout. Shout loudly, Shilko.” Shilko did as he was told, and the deer and elk went wild. They ran around in circles. Faster. And faster. And faster. At last they grew tired and fell to the ground. That evening the hunters went home with fresh deer and elk meat.

The Hopi never had to trap mice again, and rabbit meat became an important source of nourishment. Deer and elk remained a special treat.

Mandamin

2011-05-04T04:07:00.000-07:00

A long time ago, a young boy called Zhowmin lost his parents and went to live with his grandmother, Zhaw-b’noh-quae. Grandmother taught him the ways of his people and how to be respectful, curious, and kind. Zhowmin’s uncle taught him practical knowledge, like how to hunt and fish like a man.

By the time Zhowmin reached manhood he was already caring for his aged grandmother. He kept her well fed with fresh deer, antelope, and elk meat. And she kept him well clothed in animal-hide shirts and leggings.

In the evening, Grandmother told Zhowmin the tales of their people. Even when her voice grew weak and she dozed between stories, she continued to fill her grandson with the wisdom of their elders.

One evening, she told him the story of the Four Hills of Life. Grandmother pointed out that each hill required each climber to have strength and endurance to reach the top and that many people never succeeded in reaching this goal.

Grandmother smiled when she told Zhowmin that she had already climbed the hills of infancy, youth, and adulthood, and was ready to climb the last and final one. “Soon after I leave,” she said to her grandson, “a stranger will come to you. Be sure to do what he says.”

Slowly the moons came and went, one after another, and Grandmother did not leave the wigwam. Then one warm spring morning Grandmother did not answer when Zhowmin called to her. When he brought fresh stew to her bedside, she did not move. Her journey over the last of the four hills was complete.

The people of the village, saddened by the death of a woman they loved, buried Zhaw-b’noh-quae beneath a clump of young pine trees, facing west, or toward the place they called Man’s Last Destiny.

Then, only a few days later, a surly young man arrived in the village. “Is there at least one good man in this village?” asked the stranger. The elders thought. Finally one of them said, “Yes, Zhowmin is a good man. We will take you to him.”

Zhowmin took the stranger into his wigwam and served him a large bowl of deer stew. After they had finished eating, Zhowmin asked, “Why have you come?”

“I have traveled a long time among your people looking for a good man and have yet to find one. I understand from your elders that you are such a man.”

Suddenly Zhowmin became angry. “Who are you, anyway? I certainly do not need to prove anything to a complete stranger.”

The visitor straightened himself. “I will tell you who I am and why I have come. Then you will listen.”

Zhowmin remained silent.

“I am Mandamin. I was sent by Kitche Manitou, Maker of Life, to find a good man and to test his inner strength. But first that man must fight with me. If you win, you will have proven the worth of your people and you will live. If you lose, you will die.”

Zhowmin did not believe that Mandamin was a messenger of Kitche Manitou so he protested again. “I do not have to prove myself to you or anyone else.”

“It is true you do not have to,” said Mandamin. “But I will interpret your refusal to fight as cowardice, which is the same as defeat. And I will report to Kitche Manitou that I have not found a single worthy man among the Anishinabe people.”

Zhowmin grew very angry. He did not care what the stranger thought of his courage, but he did not want Kitche Manitou to think that the Anishinabe people were unworthy.

Then Zhowmin remembered that his grandmother had warned him that a stranger would visit and he must do as he was told. “All right,” Zhowmin agreed at last. “I will fight to prove my people worthy.”

That night Mandamin and Zhowmin met in a clearing in the forest. They stripped to the waist, postured themselves in the center of the clearing, and began to circle. Equal in size and strength, the men twisted each other’s limbs, punched, hit and poked each other all over.

But neither man fell to the ground. At last they became bored. “Let’s quit for tonight,” suggested Mandamin. Zhowmin agreed, and they dragged their bruised bodies back to the wigwam, dropped onto the thick deerskin mats, and fell asleep.

During the night Mandamin grew hungry. “Is there anything to eat?” he asked. Zhowmin got up, lit the fire, and heated some stew. Then the two men sat together and ate as if they were the best of friends. When they finished eating they sat in silence together.

Finally Zhowmin spoke, “It is time to fight again.” And they headed back to the forest. This time the two men fought so violently they uprooted trees and made the tall grasses disappear.

Zhowmin threw Mandamin on the ground. But Mandamin got up and punched him back. They did this for a long time, until both men finally grew bored and agreed to go home again and rest.

The next day, however, Zhowmin was determined to put an end to the fighting. “I am tired of this,” he said to Mandamin. “Today I will win because I do not want to die.”

Mandamin raised his eyebrows and smirked. “Today, I will win,” he retorted. For the first time since the fighting began the men fought like mortal enemies. They punched, kicked, and twisted. First one went down, then the other.

The battle appeared to be no more decisive than the previous two fights, until finally Zhowmin struck Mandamin so hard he fell to the ground and did not get up again. Mandamin’s limp body lay motionless on the ground. When Zhowmin realized he had killed the stranger, he knelt down beside him and wept.

At last Zhowmin picked up Mandamin, carried him to the clump of pine trees, and buried him beside Zhaw-b’noh-quae, his beloved grandmother.

The pain of having killed a man was so great that Zhowmin took his story to a medicine man. “Your grandmother made you promise to do as you were told,” said the wise old medicine man. “And you have done right. Now you must take care of both their graves.”

Zhowmin kept the graves weeded and well-watered until one day a small green plant emerged from the soil in the center of Mandamin’s grave. Zhowmin had never seen such tough little leaves and asked the medicine man to come and take a look.

“I have never seen a plant like this,” said the medicine man. He smelled it. And felt it. Then he patted the soil around the base of the little plant and said, “You must keep it watered. We will wait until it grows up to see what it becomes.”

Zhowmin tended the little plant every day. By early summer the leaves grew up to his knees. And by late summer a feathery brown tassel on the top of the plant blew high above his head.

“Come,” said Zhowmin to the medicine man. “See how tall the little plant has grown.” The medicine man stroked the long thick leaves of the plant and brushed his fingers against the fuzzy brown tassel. “It is good,” he said.

Then he opened one of the fat green husks along the stalk and plucked a small yellow seed kernel from inside. He popped it into his mouth and smacked his lips. “It is nice and sweet,” he said to Zhowmin. “Taste it.”

Zhowmin knew at once that the spirit of the plant had given itself to the medicine man. “Yes,” he said as he tasted one of the little seeds. “It is very good.”

“The plant is corn, food of wonder,” said the medicine man. “It is our gift from Kitche Manitou because you have proven yourself and our people worthy of his great gift. By his death, Mandamin has given nourishment to the Anishinabe people. You have not killed him, you have merely given him life in a new form.”

Glosscap The Teacher

2011-05-04T03:24:00.000-07:00

Long ago, Glooscap, the hero of the Micmac people, came to the northeast from far across the sea. He took the form of a serious and wise old man whose duty it was to teach the Micmacs all that they needed to know.

Glooscap taught the people the names of all the stars and constellations and to locate them in the night sky. Eventually, the people marked their seasonal activities with names given to each of the new moons.

Glooscap also taught the people to hunt moose, elk, and caribou along the edges of the dense forests and open meadows where the animals came to feed. Men learned how to take the meat from these large animals and how to use their bones and antlers to fashion needles, awls, fishhooks, and scrapers.

Glooscap showed them how to make sharp arrows and knives out of fine-grained rocks using a small piece of deer or elk antler to work the stones. “Respect the animals and use them well,” said Glooscap. “They will provide you with food and material to make many tools.”

After Glooscap had introduced the people to the animals of the forest, he led them to the broad rushing rivers that spilled their waters out of the mountains of the northeast. He instructed the people on how to build fish weirs, or stone nets, across the mouths of rivers to catch schools of spawning sturgeon, salmon, smelt, and herring.

To show the people he had greater power than witches, Glooscap set out to sea in a heavy granite canoe. Along the way he picked up a young woman, who was floundering in the water. “Come aboard,” he said. “I will take you to shore.”

But no sooner was the young woman settled into the canoe than a fierce storm rose out of the sea, and great waves swept over Glooscap’s heavy canoe. “You are a witch and you have done this,” he said accusingly to the young woman who sat calmly in the bow of the canoe. “You are trying to drown me.”

The young woman did not speak.

Glooscap paddled furiously toward shore while huge waves battered the sides of the canoe. At last he stretched his long legs toward land and planted one foot firmly on shore. When the young woman tried to follow, he held her back until he could shove the canoe far out into the sea. “Go,” he said. “Become anything you desire.”

Glooscap’s power proved to be superior to the young witch’s. Slowly she drifted out to sea and became a large ugly fish with a huge dorsal fin. Thereafter, the people knew her as keeganibe, the great fish.

Then, to help the Micmacs visualize life after death, Glooscap described a beautiful peaceful land far away to the west. This beautiful place was Glooscap’s home, and someday it would also be the Micmacs’ home, he promised the people, if they led a good life. “The journey west is long and difficult,” warned Glooscap, “but the way back is short and easy.”

Glooscap then described for the people the journey of seven young men who had traveled west. He listed and described the obstacles that had presented themselves along the way.

First the men had to climb a great mountain, on the tip of which lay an overhanging cliff. To get down the other side of the mountain, the seven young men had to struggle over the edge of the cliff and descend a steep stone wall into the valley below. Fearful and distrusting men could not make the descent, but brave and honest men could accomplish it with ease.

After they climbed over the mountain, the men had to dart between the fangs of two huge serpents that guarded either side of a long narrow valley. Good men with kind hearts could slip through the serpents’ fangs, but bad men with evil thoughts would be destroyed.

The last obstacle in their journey was a thick dark cloud that separated the real world from the beautiful region beyond. The cloud rose and fell with no regular pattern, making it difficult to tell when it would be safe to pass underneath.

Good kind men could race beneath the cloud while it was up and avoid being crushed. But evil men would be crushed into tiny bits of flesh and bone when the cloud landed on top of them. Luckily, the seven men overcame all the obstacles.

Glooscap continued his story: In the beautiful land beyond the thick dark cloud, the men visited Glooscap’s wigwam, as well as the wigwams of Coolpujot and Kuhkw. Glooscap, who reigned supreme in the region, welcomed them warmly. Coolpujot, on the other hand, had no bones and could not move about. “I have him rolled over each spring and fall,” explained Glooscap.

“In the autumn he is turned toward the west, and in the spring he is turned toward the east. Coolpujot is responsible for the seasons: he breathes cold air and icy winds in fall, chilling frost and blowing snow in winter, pouring rain in spring, and warm yellow sunshine in summer.”

Kuhkw’s wigwam was large and very dark. “I call him earthquake,” said Glooscap. “He travels beneath the earth kicking his feet and making the land tremble and shake. He is very powerful.”

After introducing the young men to Coolpujot and Kuhkw, Glooscap gathered all seven around him, praised them for having completed their journey, and offered to grant them any wish they might desire.

At this point Glooscap paused in telling his story. He wanted to make sure the Micmacs, who were listening to the long tale, would pay special attention to the fate of the men who had made wishes. Then he continued his story:

One of the men stepped forward and asked that he be allowed to live forever and remain in this beautiful region. So Coolpujot picked up the young man and planted him firmly in the ground where he became a tall strong cedar tree.

Then Coolpujot blew wind through his boughs, and fine cedar seeds flew off in all directions, creating the dense cedar groves that continue to grow plentifully throughout the northeast.

The remaining men asked that they be allowed to go home, once their wishes were granted. So Glooscap put their wishes in small packages and sent them on their way, instructing the men not to open their wish-packages until they arrived home in their various villages. Some of them made it all the way home. But two of the men failed to obey Glooscap’s instructions.

One man had wished for the cure to a disease that he would not reveal, and Glooscap gave the man a small wish-package of medicine. But on his way home, the man could not help feeling the package, turning it around and around in his hand.

Finally, his curiosity was too great, and he sat down to examine the parcel, then quickly opened it. Whoosh, out poured a stream of liquid onto the ground. It spread over the earth in all directions, and then it quickly disappeared. So did the man.

The second disobedient man had wished for the power to win the heart of a young woman. The young man confessed that for many years he had tried in vain to find a wife.

Glooscap told him that since this was such a difficult request that he would need to confer with Coolpujot and Kuhkw. “We could never find him a wife,” said Coolpujot. “He is much too ugly. And his manners are atrocious.”

But Glooscap was determined to make good on his promise to grant wishes to those who had succeeded in making the long journey, and he thought for a very long time. At last he went to his wigwam and returned with a sealed container. “Do not open this container until you have reached your village,” Glooscap warned, as usual.

With his heart filled with hope and joy, the young man thanked Glooscap and headed home. Along the way he fantasized about the contents of his package and smiled whenever he pictured himself as handsome and charming.

Then, the night before the young man was due to arrive in his village, he could wait no longer to open the magical container. Like a curious impetuous child, he stopped walking and broke open the seal.

Whoosh, out flew hundreds of beautiful women. They swarmed over his head and all around him. The young man could not believe his good fortune and became giddy with desire. But his joy was short-lived. Soon the women began to heap themselves on top of him.

One after another, they stacked themselves higher and higher on top of the young man, until the weight of so many bodies finally crushed him into the ground. When the sun rose the following day, the women had vanished, and only tiny pieces of the ugly young man remained.

After Glooscap had described the adventures of the disobedient men, he reminded the Micmac people: “Each of you has much to learn before you will undertake your own journey to the beautiful land to the west. I will return another day to teach you more.”

Then Glooscap the teacher hopped into his granite canoe and paddled away, rowing in a westerly direction.

The Creation of People According To The Popol Vuh

2011-05-03T20:35:00.000-07:00

Before human beings, animals, grass, trees, and rocks were created, there was nothing but sky above and ocean below. There was not even any light or sound. There were, however, gods, called Creators, who lived hidden under layers of green and blue feathers deep in the ocean.

The Creators were tired of living in the bleak darkness under so many layers, so one day they got together and planned to fill the vast voids of the cosmos. They called out, “Let creation begin! Let the void be filled! Let the sea recede, revealing the surface of the Earth! Earth, arise! Let it be done!”

And so the Earth, with its hills and streams and lakes and trees, rose up from the sea. At first, the Creators were thrilled with their rolling hills, rushing streams, and handsome cypress trees. However, although the new world was beautiful, it was also painfully quiet. So the Creators used their skills to make animals, such as deer and birds.

Then the gods commanded, “You, the deer: Sleep along the rivers, in the canyons. Be here in the meadows, in the thickets, in the forests. Multiply yourselves. You will stand and walk on all fours.

“You, precious birds: Your nests, your houses are in the trees, in the bushes. Multiply there, scatter there, in the branches of trees, the branches of bushes.”

The Creators were very pleased with the animals, but there was still a problem. The gods wanted to be praised for their excellent efforts and adored by their creations.

Animals could squawk and squeal and make other illiterate sounds, but they could not do verbal justice in praising their makers. The Creators became disheartened with the limitations of their work.

So they ordered, “We will not take from you that which we have given you. However, because you cannot praise us and love us, we will make other beings who will. These new creatures will be superior to you and will rule you. It is your destiny that they will tear apart and eat your flesh. Let it be done!”

The Creators then tried to create a class of creatures superior to animals. These creatures, the Maya people, would be able to speak words. But it was not an easy job to carry out.

First, the Creators used mud to make the people. Yet the mud people were not the kind of beings the Creators had in mind. They were soft and limp, and had trouble standing upright. Even worse, after it rained, they became wet and soggy and could not stand up at all. In addition, they were unable to see and had no brains.

They could speak, but without a brain to guide their thinking, the people’s sounds were gibberish. Without wasting any more time, the Creators destroyed these mud people soon after they had been made.

The Creators tried again. This time they used wood to make human beings. The stick people were an improvement over the mud people. The sturdy wood allowed them to stand up and walk. Like the mud people, the wood people were able to speak. And so they lived and multiplied.

Yet soon the Creators realized that, like the mud people, the wood people had no minds, so their words made no sense. They did not have blood flowing through their bodies, so their skin was dry and crusty rather than fresh and firm.

They had no hearts, so their faces had no expressions. Even more important, they had no souls, so they did not know the difference between right and wrong.

These ignorant beings burned the bottoms of their cooking pots and tortilla griddles, and beat and starved their dogs. Finally, the Creators realized they would have to destroy the stick people and try a third time to create creatures who were more complete.

In destroying the stick people, the gods humiliated them. First the Creators unleashed a flood of a sticky saplike substance. The wooden humans tried to escape, but their dogs, their former victims, would not let them do so.

The dogs the wooden people had once beaten and starved so savagely now gained revenge by using their sharp teeth to bite the people and slash their faces. The griddles and pots the people had once burned so thoughtlessly also retaliated by burning the people back.

A few stick people managed to break free from the attackers they had once mistreated and tried to escape the flood of sticky sap. They climbed trees and hid on the roofs of houses. Yet even the trees and houses demanded vengeance. The trees shook their branches until the people fell to the ground.

The houses collapsed rather than protect these wooden humans. And when the wooden race of people tried to hide inside caves, the caves closed up. Most of the people drowned in the sap. The few who did survive had their faces twisted until they no longer resembled humans. They became a new kind of animal, called monkeys.

For a third time, the Creators met to put their heads together. They needed a new way to bring to life the race of humans they had envisioned. Just as the Creators’ meeting began, four animals came to visit: a mountain cat, a coyote, a crow, and a parrot.

The animals told the Creators about an amazing food called maize, or corn, that grew nearby in an area called Broken Place. The Creators were very curious about this new food and wished to see it for themselves.

So the animal quartet led the Creators to Broken Place where they found corn growing in abundance. The Creators realized at once that this was the key ingredient that had been missing. It was exactly what they needed to make the kind of creatures they had hoped to place on Earth.

The Creators got busy right away. They mashed corn into meal and used it to make four strong, handsome men who became known as the Four Fathers. Then they ground more corn into a liquid.

The Creators offered the new potion to the men they had just made. The men drank it, and suddenly they had muscles and energy. While the men slept, the Creators made each one a wife as beautiful as the men were handsome.

The Four Fathers gratefully thanked the Creators for bringing them into the world, and for having been given an intelligence so superior that they were aware of all knowledge in the world.

Much of their intelligence was aided by the men’s powerful eyesight. The Four Fathers told their Creators, “We can see, we can hear, we can move and think and speak. We feel and know everything; we can see everything in the Earth and in the sky. Thank you for having made us ...”

That suddenly led to a new problem. As they watched this new race of people, the Creators realized that by the making humans too perfect, they had made a mistake. If these people continued to see and know everything, then they would not be human beings but gods, just like themselves. It was clear that the Creators would have to do something to limit the intelligence and power of their handiwork.

So the Creators blew a mist into the Four Fathers’ eyes. The mist had the same effect on the eyes of the men as a person’s breath does on a mirror. The men could still see, but not as far. They could still think, but now their all-knowing intelligence was reduced to a more modest range of knowledge.

Soon the Four Fathers and their wives had children. Then their children had children, and before long there were many human beings on the Earth.

Seven Macaw and His Sons

2011-05-03T20:15:00.000-07:00

Between the time that the earth had emerged from the sea and the sun had risen in the sky, there lived a macaw whose name was Itzam-Yeh (its-am-YEH), translated as Seven Macaw. Seven Macaw had a very high opinion of himself.

Because his eyes were gemstones and his teeth shone like the Sun itself, he was convinced that, in fact, he was the sun. He was so self-absorbed that he announced that some day he would be the moon, as well.

The Hero Twins, Hunahpu and Xbalanque, felt that Seven Macaw was too boastful and was giving false impressions to the people. Clearly, he was not the sun. The twins decided he needed to be punished.

So the twins made plans to shoot Seven Macaw when they could distract the colorful bird. Finally, they found the perfect time to do so. Seven Macaw was eating lunch in a nance tree. (The nance tree still grows in the wilds of present-day Yucatan and is known for producing a luscious fruit.)

Hunahpu used a hollow pipe called a blowgun to shoot Seven Macaw with a pellet. The gun’s pellet tore through the bird’s mouth, breaking his jaw and injuring his precious eyes. The jewels in his mouth and eyes were severely damaged.

The impact of the shot forced Seven Macaw to fall from the nance tree. However, Seven Macaw was still dangerous. When Hunahpu approached Seven Macaw, the boastful bird bit off the twin’s arm and escaped with it. When he returned to his home, Seven Macaw hung the arm over a fire.

Hunahpu and his brother tried hard to think of a way to get the arm back. Finally, after meeting with an elderly man and woman who were wrinkled, gray, and walked crookedly, the twins came up with a plan. The old couple agreed to pretend they were the twins’ grandparents, and the foursome set out to find Seven Macaw.

When they arrived at Seven Macaw’s house, the old man told the bird that the twins were their grandsons. The old man added that he was an expert in fixing broken jaws and curing damaged eyes. As the twins had hoped, Seven Macaw then asked the grandfather to help him restore his damaged jeweled features.

First, the old man pulled the gemstones out of Seven Macaw’s mouth and eyes and replaced them with kernels of white corn. When the old man was finished and the shiny jewels had been removed from the bird’s face, Seven Macaw could no longer claim he looked like the sun.

Now, he just looked like an average bird. Robbed of his source of conceit and vanity, Seven Macaw no longer had any reason to live, and he keeled over and died. As soon as he was dead, Hunahpu retrieved his arm from above the fireplace and placed it back on his body. It reattached itself perfectly.

Seven Macaw was survived by two sons. One was named Zipacna (zip-ak-NAH), or Alligator. The other was called Two-his-leg, and also called Earthquake. Like his father, Alligator also made boastful claims. He bragged that he was the maker of the mountains.

One day Alligator was resting by the water’s edge when he saw a group of four hundred sons carrying a tree to use as a post for a house they were building. Alligator asked the boys if he could help them. They gladly accepted his offer, and they let Alligator haul the tree to the door of the four hundred boys’ house.

The boys were impressed by Alligator’s strength, but they also felt threatened by it, and believed Alligator might use his strength to hurt them. This strong beast must be killed, they thought.

The four hundred boys put their heads together and came up with what they considered a foolproof way to lead Alligator to his death. First, they would ask Alligator to do them a favor and dig a deep hole in the earth.

When it was done, they would ask Alligator to crawl inside it. Then the boys would throw a wooden beam into the hole. They expected the weight of the beam to land on their trapped victim and crush him to death.

But Alligator was smart. He knew the boys wanted to kill him. So while he was digging the hole, he also unearthed an escape tunnel to a side of the hole. Alligator climbed into the hole, then tucked himself in the safety tunnel.

He called out to the boys, announcing in a loud voice that their hole was complete. The boys then dropped the beam in the hole, unaware that Alligator sat safely to one side.

Convinced that Alligator was dead, the four hundred sons held a celebration. They partied so hard and drank so much that they became intoxicated. In fact, they were so drunk that they never even noticed when Alligator crawled out of his safety tunnel.

Alligator picked up the boys’ house and toppled it on their heads. All of the four hundred boys died under the weight of their home, and it was said that they became the stars in the sky.

The Hero Twins, Hunahpu and Xbalanque, were saddened by the death of the four hundred sons. They considered Alligator as treacherous as the boys had. So the twins planned to kill Alligator just as they had killed his father, Seven Macaw.

The twins planned to catch Alligator by offering him his favorite food, crabs. They crafted a magnificent artificial crab made from prairie grasses, bamboos, and stones. Then they placed it in a canyon at the base of a mountain called Meavan (mee-VAN).

The twins found Alligator in the water and asked him what he was doing. Just as they had hoped, Alligator replied that he was looking for food. He said that he could not find any crabs or fish, and had not eaten for two days.

Excitedly, the twins told Alligator about the gigantic crab they said they had just seen in the canyon at the foot of Meavan. Alligator drooled at the thought of such a treat and begged the twins to take him to it.

So the three journeyed to Meavan with Alligator growing more excited with each step. However, just as he entered the canyon and spied the massive crab, the big mountain collapsed on Alligator’s chest. Alligator could not move and turned to stone.

As it turned out, Seven Macaw’s other son, Two-his-leg, was no less boastful than his father and brother, Alligator. Two-his-leg strongly stated that he was the destroyer of mountains. All he had to do, he bragged, was stamp his feet to make mountains tumble.

One day, Hunahpu and Xbalanque confronted Two-his-leg and told him that recently they had discovered the highest mountain they had ever seen in their lives. They asked Two-his-leg if he thought he could knock down even this mammoth mountain.

With his usual vanity, Two-his-leg assured the twins that he could. To prove his boast, he asked the twins to take him to this mountain. On their way to the mountain, the Hero Twins became hungry.

As was their custom, they pulled out their blowguns and killed a few birds, which they then roasted for dinner. Two-his-leg had no idea that the bird dinner was part of a plan to kill him.

The twins took one bird and cooked it together with a heavy chunk of the earth. Graciously, they invited Two-his-leg to join them for a delicious feast. They offered Two-his-leg a slice of the earth-laden bird, and he ate it and the piece of earth enthusiastically. When they finished their feast, all three got up and walked toward the enormous mountain.

But the weight of the meal he had just eaten made Two-his-leg feel incredibly weak. Suddenly, he could hardly stand on his legs. In that condition, he definitely could not make a mountain crash to the ground.

The Hero Twins tied Two-his-leg up with ease, knocked him down, and killed him. Two-his-leg, otherwise known as Earthquake, has been permanently buried in the ground ever since. And ever after, whenever he moves in his grave, he shakes the world.

The Origin of The Sun and The Moon

2011-05-03T09:41:00.000-07:00

In the land of the ancient Quiche Maya, there was a set of boy twins named Hun Hunahpu and Vucub (voo-KUB) Hunahpu. Their names referred to dates on the Mayan calendar, Hun’s being “One Hunahpu,” and Vucub’s representing “Seven Hunahpu.”

The boys loved playing pohatok on a ball court that happened to be located on a path to the netherworld, or land of the dead. This netherworld was called Xibalba (shee-bahl-BAH), which means “place of fear.”

The boys enjoyed a reputation for being the toughest pohatok competitors in the land. They had the best-made arm- and leg-guards and the strongest helmets, so they never injured themselves. In fact, the twins were so skilled at making the most challenging hip shots that they simply never lost a game.

However, their constant playing disturbed the Lords of Death, who lived in Xibalba and had names such as One Death, Bone Scepter, Blood Gatherer, and Pus Master.

The lords were so annoyed by the constantly resounding thumps of the bouncing balls that they decided the twins must be punished by death. To attract the twins, the lords sent four owl messengers, challenging the twins to a game of pohatok in Xibalba. Although their mother begged them to say no, the twins accepted the challenge and were soon led by the owls down to Xibalba.

Making the trip to the underworld was no easy feat. The road leading to the land of the dead was an obstacle course filled with dangerous hazards. Just after they set out on their journey, the twins came upon a cliff with a steep face they had to scale down. When they reached the base of this cliff, they saw the first of three disgusting and hazardous rivers that they would have to cross.

The first river was full of floating sharp spikes. Somehow, the boys made it across without being stabbed. Next, they successfully crossed a river of blood. Finally, they had to ford a stream of flowing pus. Again, they were successful. Yet after crossing this last rancid river, the twins soon found that their ordeal was just starting.

Continuing their journey, they came to a four-way intersection. One road, called the Black Road, spoke to the twins, persuading them to follow it. Hun Hunahpu and Vucub Hunahpu did as the road told them. Eventually, they came to the throne room of Xibalba where they saw sitting figures whom, they thought, must be the Lords of Death.

The twins greeted these imposing figures, but the figures did not answer. Then the twins realized the figures were only wooden mannequins, or statues, costumed to look like the Lords of Death. The Lords of Death had tricked the twins to make them look foolish.

When the lords finally stopped laughing at their prank, they offered the twins a bench where they could sit and rest. No sooner had they sat down than Hun Hunahpu and Vucub Hunahpu realized that they had been tricked again.

The bench was a slab of fiery hot stone used for cooking. In pain, both boys jumped off the bench and danced around, but nothing they could do helped. The Xibalbans began to shriek with laughter as strongly as they had ever laughed before.

When they finally calmed down, the Lords of Death told the boys to go in the house where a torch and cigar would be brought to each of them. Hun Hunahpu and Vucub Hunahpu did not realize it, but these items were to play an important part in their next test.

This test required that the boys keep their cigars and torches lit all night. Yet there was not enough fuel to keep either lit for very long. They were unable to complete the task to which they were assigned, so the twins were sentenced by the Lords of Death to be murdered.

The next day, the lords cut off the twins’ heads and buried their bodies under the ball court in Xibalba. To show off their victory, the death lords took the head of Hun Hunahpu and stuck it in an old, dead tree as a trophy.

Suddenly, a miracle happened. The desolate tree began bearing fruit. It began to sprout calabash gourds, a fruit similar to squash. Even the head of Hun Hunahpu changed into a calabash gourd. A young underworld maiden named Xquic (sh-KIHK), or Blood Woman, heard of this magical tree and journeyed to see it.

Taken in by the tree’s charm, Xquic reached out her hand to pick a gourd. As soon as she did, the head of Hun Hunahpu, disguised as a gourd, spit into it. The spit was Hun Hunahpu’s saliva, which made Xquic pregnant.

When Xquic’s father noticed that his daughter was pregnant, he insisted on knowing the name of the baby’sfather. But Xquic could not name anyone. In response, her father announced that she had shamed him, and he demanded that she be put to death.

Immediately, Xquic’s father ordered messenger owls to take her away to be sacrificed. The owls were told to bring back the girl’s heart in a bowl as proof that she was dead.

Xquic was desperate. She decided there was nothing to lose by telling the owls the truth—that she had become pregnant by the saliva that shot out of a gourd she had picked.

The owls believed her and, because of her innocence, set her free. Having saved Xquic, the owls now wondered how to save their own lives. Xquic’s father was expecting his daughter’s heart in a bowl, and would be bound to punish them if they failed to obey his orders.

So the owls thought and thought and decided they could trick Xquic’s father by substituting a glob of tree resin for the heart. When they returned to Xquic’s father with the heart-shaped mound of tree resin in a bowl, the residents of Xibalba, thinking it was Xquic’s heart, decided to burn it. When they did, the resins emitted a weird scent the Xibalbans were not familiar with.

Intrigued with the intoxicating smell, they stood around gazing at the burning mass. They were so distracted, in fact, that they did not notice the messenger owls leading Xquic to freedom through a hole that led from the underworld to the Earth. Xquic had escaped, fooling all the Xibalbans in the process.

The first thing Xquic did after reaching the Earth was to pay a visit to Xmucane (sh-MOO-cane), the mother of the dead twins. Xquic convinced Xmucane that she was the widow of Hun Hunahpu, and was carrying his child. Soon however, Xquic realized she was carrying two children. Xquic gave birth to the Hero Twins, whom she named Hunahpu and Xbalanque.

As they grew, these new twin boys wanted to be great gardeners. There was one major problem; they were not very good at gardening. Every time they cleared away weeds and brush, wild animals brought more back. The boys kept trying to catch the guilty animals without much luck.

Finally, they caught a rat and tried to choke and burn it to death. But the rat pleaded with the boys to be released. If they did, the rat said, he would tell them a special secret. The boys agreed that hearing this secret was worth the life of the rat.

The rodent advised the boys they were wasting their time gardening. He told them the story of their father and uncle, who were also twins, and who had been superb ballplayers.

Like their father and uncle, Hunahpu and Xbalanque were destined to be great ballplayers. So the twins took the rat’s advice, and in time became two of the best ballplayers around.

... To be continued to ... The Hero Twins

The Hero Twins

2011-05-03T04:07:00.000-07:00

Like their father and uncle, Hunahpu and Xbalanque made a lot of noise when they played pohatok. And like their father and uncle, one day they disturbed the Lords of Death down in Xibalba. As before, the lords called on the owl messengers to bring the new set of twins to their home in the underworld.

On their way to Xibalba, the boys had to travel over the same route their father and uncle had taken. They lowered themselves down the cliff, and passed across the rivers of spikes, blood, and pus. However, when they came to the four-way intersection, they avoided making the same mistake as their ancestors.

These twins had a plan. Hunahpu pulled a hair from his skin and turned it into a mosquito. They told the mosquito to fly on ahead and bite all the Lords of Death. The mosquito did as he was told. First, he bit the wooden mannequins that were dressed as the Lords of Death.

When the mannequins did not react, the mosquito knew they were not real people. So the mosquito looked further until he discovered the real death lords. Then he bit one after another.

As each death lord was bitten, he called out in pain. The Lord of Death standing closest to the one who had been bitten would call out the bitten lord’s name and ask him what the matter was.

For example, just after Pus Master was bitten, Blood Gatherer responded, “What is it, Pus Master?” Then, after Blood Gatherer was bitten, the death lord next to him asked, “What is it, Blood Gatherer?” This process continued throughout the entire line of the Lords of Death.

The twins paid careful attention to this ritual, and soon they knew the name of every single Lord of Death.

Therefore, when the boys arrived in the underworld throne room, they were able to greet each lord by his given name. They made sure to tell the lords that they would never greet wooden mannequins. The Lords of Death were impressed with the twins’ knowledge.

When Hunahpu and Xbalanque were instructed to take a seat on the hot stone slab that had burned their relatives, the twins knew better and refused. The Lords of Death were amazed that the twins knew all their tricks.

Now the Lords of Death began the most difficult challenges. The twins were given a series of dangerous tests. Each took place in a different room called a “house.” In the House of Gloom, Hunahpu and Xbalanque were given the same cigar and torch that their ancestors had received, and were told to keep both objects lit all night long.

The twins outsmarted the Lords of Death by placing a macaw’s red tail feathers on the torch and fireflies on the ends of the cigars. In the morning, when the lords checked the twins’ progress, they were stunned. The torch and cigars seemed as if they were still burning. The twins had passed the first challenge.

Next, they were sent to the House of Razors, which was filled with sharp knives. The knives were supposed to cut the boys into pieces, but the twins convinced the knives that their job was to cut only animals. The next challenge was the House of Jaguars, where they faced a room full of ferocious wild cats.

Hunahpu and Xbalanque distracted the jaguars by feeding them bones. Next, they survived the House of Cold and the House of Fire, where they were put to the test of severe temperatures.

One more test remained: The House of Bats. These flying rodents had knives instead of noses. To escape the bats, the twins hid inside a pair of hollow blowguns. All night long, they stayed inside their safe havens and heard the bats flying all around them.

But as the darkness began to fade, Hunahpu could no longer resist the temptation to peek out to see if dawn was breaking. Just as he stuck his head out of his blowgun, a vicious bat sliced it off, and it went rolling onto the underworld’s ball court. The Lords of Death cheered and celebrated what seemed to be a victory over one of the twins.

Now, Xbalanque had an idea. As dawn was approaching, he called on all the animals to bring him their favorite foods. The coati (KOH-ah-tee), which was similar to a raccoon, brought Xbalanque a round squash, which he placed atop his brother’s neck.

With great skill, Xbalanque then carved the squash so it resembled Hunahpu’s head and face. Miraculously, the squash became a working head for Hunahpu. Then the twins walked over to the netherworld ball court, where the death lords challenged them to a game of pohatok.

Before the game began, Hunahpu and Xbalanque asked a rabbit to hide in some nearby trees. When the game started, the twins saw that one of the Lords of Death was using Hunahpu’s real head as the ball. As Hunahpu’s head was bouncing around the court, Xbalanque batted it toward the trees where the rabbit was hiding.

The rabbit pounced from the trees and began hopping across the ball court. The death lords mistook the rabbit for the bouncing ball and chased after it. While they were gone, Xbalanque grabbed his brother’s real head and placed it back on his brother’s body. Then he took the squash and tossed it into play on the ball court.

As soon as the Lords of Death returned from chasing the rabbit, they tried kicking the squash, thinking it was Hunahpu’s head. The squash splattered open, its seeds spilling in all directions. With no ball, the Lords of Death had to concede defeat. Hunahpu and Xbalanque had won.

However, the story did not end there. The twins called on two prophets named Xulu (SHOO-loo) and Pacam (pah-KAM) to ask what they should do next. The prophets told the boys that although they had managed to survive all the tricks and games offered up by the Lords of Death, they were still destined to die. The prophets revealed that this outcome was all part of a grand plan.

The Lords of Death came up with one more test. This time, they built a fiery hot oven and challenged the boys to jump over it safely four times. By now, Hunahpu and Xbalanque knew what they must do.

They jumped headfirst into the fire, burning themselves to death. The Xibalbans happily took the boys’ bones from the fire, ground them into fine powder, and scattered the dust in a river.

Even in death, the Hero Twins were not out of miracles. Instead of floating away, their powdery bones sank to the river bottom. In five days, the boys came back to life as catfish. On the sixth day, they took on their previous human forms, but now they were dressed as vagrants who danced and performed magic tricks for a living.

Word of the performances of these two unknown vagabonds reached the Lords of Death, who announced that they wanted a special show just for them. So the Hero Twins danced and performed supernatural tricks in the palace of the Lords of Death.

One death lord asked the twins to sacrifice a dog and bring it back to life. They accomplished that trick easily. A second death lord asked them to do the same thing with a human.

Xbalanque cut off Hunahpu’s head, dug out his heart, then commanded him to stand up. He did so easily, and the Xibalbans were amazed. Then the Death Lords called for an even more daring trick. They begged to be sacrificed.

So Hunahpu and Xbalanque did as they were told. They sacrificed the two death lords. It was the same trick they had performed with the dog and with Hunahpu. However, this time they did not bring their victims back to life. The Lords of Death remained dead. The remaining Lords of Death were furious and demanded to know why this time the trick had not worked.

Then Hunahpu and Xbalanque stepped out of their disguises and addressed the lords: “We have avenged our father, One Hunahpu, and his brother, Seven Hunahpu, and now we will kill you.”

The rest of the Xibalbans begged for their lives. The twins made a deal. If the residents of Xibalba would tell them where their father and uncle were buried, there would be no more killing. The Xibalbans agreed to the proposal, and they were spared.

However, they would never be powerful again. With the information supplied by the Xibalbans, the Hero Twins located their father and uncle and brought them back to life. Hunahpu and Xbalanque assured their elders that they would always be respected and prayed to.

The twins had one last journey to make. They ascended to the heavens, where they took their places as the sun and the moon, lighting up the world for eternity. From then on, whenever the people looked up at the sky, they would remember the valor and ingeniousness of the Hero Twins.

The Creation of The World

2011-05-03T03:03:00.000-07:00

The world we live in today is not the only world that ever existed. At least, that is true, according to the ancient Aztecs.

The Aztecs believed that before our current world was created, there were four worlds, called suns. Although the four worlds were created, none was perfect.

The first world began when the powerful god, Tezcatlipoca (tes-CAHT-li-PO-kah) turned himself into the sun. The people of this first sun were giants who survived the heat of their habitat by living in the shade of massive trees and eating a vegetarian diet of corn, berries, and acorns, with which Tezcatlipoca and other gods had provided them.

The giant citizens of this first world were so powerful, it was said, that they could lift trees out of the ground with their bare hands.

Another powerful god, Quetzalcoatl (ket-SAHL-koh-AHTL), who was a jealous rival of Tezcatlipoca, was angry that Tezcatlipoca was ruling the world. Quetzalcoatl took many forms, but was often described as having a light complexion and a beard.

Quetzalcoatl started a fight with Tezcatlipoca and continued to battle him until he knocked Tezcatlipoca out of the sky. Tezcatlipoca was furious for being dethroned. In response, Tezcatlipoca changed himself into a jaguar and demolished the entire world, including all the giant people and the sun.

But Tezcatlipoca’s powers were not strong enough to destroy Quetzalcoatl, and he survived the end of the first sun. He then created a second world with a race of people who lived on a diet of pine nuts. This time, Tezcatlipoca gained revenge against Quetzalcoatl by literally kicking him out of the sky.

Tezcatlipoca then created a wind so huge that it swept away the sun which had shown so brightly. The wind also killed most of the people, and those who survived were turned into monkeys. Their ancestors can be seen today swinging from trees in the wild forests.

The third world began with the actions of the god of rain, Tlaloc, who had big, bulging eyes and giant teeth. Tlaloc transformed himself into the sun and became ruler of the world. Again, Quetzalcoatl was unhappy, and sent a series of floods to wash away the Earth.

People who lived through the horrible floods were turned into birds. The fourth world was the product of Tlaloc’s wife, Chalchiuhtlicue (chal-CHEE-ooh-tlee-quay), who became the sun in her husband’s place. Yet another flood destroyed this world, and those people who survived became fish.

For a fourth time, there was complete darkness. At this point, the gods had a meeting and decided that one god had to sacrifice himself to become the new sun. A homely and modest god named Nanautzin (nah-nah-WAH-tsin) volunteered to do the job.

The ugly Nanautzin, whose body was deformed and whose skin was covered with sickening sores, was surprised to be accepted. The other gods had always treated him like an outcast. However, Nanautzin confessed he would be happy to be of use and sacrifice himself if it meant that a fifth world could be brought into existence.

The gods thought over Nanautzin’s offer, but they agreed that the job was too big for just one god to accomplish. A handsome, wealthy god volunteered to join Nanautzin in the self-sacrifice. The rest of the gods accepted his offer.

Over the next several days, the gods built a pyramid of stone with a bonfire on its top. The handsome god was asked to jump into the fire. He tried four times, but each time he lost his nerve and backed away from the scorching flames. Finally, he told the other gods he would not be able to keep his promise.

Then the gods asked Nanautzin to leap into the raging bonfire. Nanautzin mustered up all the courage he could and sprang into the searing flames. As his body burned, the sun began to light up the sky.

Seeing the power Nanautzin had displayed, the rich god decided that he must somehow find a way to imitate Nanautzin’s bravery. So he, too, jumped into the blaze. Still, Nanautzin received most of the glory from the other gods since he never acted cowardly during the entire episode.

Although there was now a life-giving sun in the sky, the Earth did not exist as we know it today. Between the heavens and the water below, all that existed was a huge monster goddess named Tlaltecuhtli (Ta-lal-TECK-oot-lee).

She was a vicious beast with several mouths all over her body—all of them filled with sharp teeth. Tlaltecuhtli ate anything in her path.

The two mightiest gods, Quetzalcoatl and Tezcatlipoca, agreed they could not create the Earth with this hideous monster around. They told each other that they must find some way to stop that goddess from destroying everything they created.

Then, they came up with a plan. They turned themselves into giant snakes and wrapped themselves around Tlaltecuhtli. Together they pulled, stretching Tlaltecuhtli until her body broke in two. The top half of her body, including her head, became the Earth. The force of the break tossed her bottom half into the air, and it became the heavens.

To thank Tlaltecuhtli for her sacrifice, Quetzalcoatl and Tezcatlipoca decided to give her a special gift. From then on, she would provide people with all the natural wonders they would need to live. Her hair became trees, herbs, and flowers. Her skin was transformed into grass and flowers.

Her eyes were turned into small caves, wells, and fountains, while large caves and rivers were crafted from her many mouths. From her shoulders, mountains were created, and her nose was transformed into smaller hills and valleys.

However, Tlaltecuhtli remained unhappy. Often she could be heard screaming in the night, craving human blood. Only when human lives were given up to her would she continue to produce nature’s needs for other living humans.

So now, the heavens existed and the Earth looked like the one we live on today. Yet there were no people. One day, the great god Quetzalcoatl journeyed to the underworld, the land of the dead, to bring back the bones of the people who had lived in the fourth sun.

But the underworld, known as Mictlan (MICK-t’lan) and ruled by a sinister skeleton god named Mictlantecuhtli (MICK-t’lan-tee-coot’lee), was a dangerous place. As soon as he entered Mictlan, Quetzalcoatl discovered the bones of his father, which he wanted to take back to the Earth.

The mischievous Mictlantecuhtli was not going to make this easy. As Quetzalcoatl was about to leave Mictlan with his father’s bones, Mictlantecuhtlui’s servants stopped him and ordered him to leave the bones where they were.

Quetzalcoatl did not know what to do, so he asked his animal spirit form, called a nahual, to advise him. The nahual told Quetzalcoatl to pretend to leave the bones. Then, once the servants returned to their master, he was to pack the bones and take them with him.

Quetzalcoatl followed his nahual’s instructions. Carefully, he wrapped up the bones and set out for the Earth. But Mictlantecuhtl was not finished yet with his rival. He demanded that his servants dig a hole to trap Quetzalcoatl. As he made a hurried escape, Quetzalcoatl tripped and fell into the hole.

A flock of vicious birds appeared, scaring him and causing him to drop the bones. The birds then landed on Quetzalcoatl’s treasured package and ferociously pecked at it until the wrapping was shredded and the bones were shattered into powdery pieces.

In distress, Quetzalcoatl called out to his nahual again. His nahual urged him to continue on his quest. This time, Quetzalcoatl was successful. Quetzalcoatl brought the powdered bones to Cihuacoatl, the goddess of childbirth, who ground them into the flour. Quetzalcoatl’s blood was added to the newly-made flour, and the mixture of blood and bones came to life as a new race of human beings.

However, Quetzalcoatl warned his newly-made human beings that the current world might not be permanent. If the people became wicked, this world would one day be destroyed.

Feeding The Aztec People

2011-05-03T02:52:00.000-07:00

Now that human beings had been created for the fifth new world, they would need to eat in order to survive. So Quetzalcoatl and the other gods went exploring to find some way to feed this new race of people.

One day Quetzalcoatl spotted an ant carrying a big kernel of maize. Right away, he knew that this unusual food would be ideal to feed humans. Quetzalcoatl wanted to know where the ant got the corn. At first he simply asked the ant, but the ant refused to answer.

However, after repeated questioning, the ant agreed to take the god to the place where the corn grew, Mount Tonacatepetl (ton-ah-cah-TAPE-etel), or the “mountain of sustenance.” Quetzalcoatl then turned himself into an ant. That way he could follow the other ant into very small places to where the maize might be hidden.

The ant led the god into the recesses of Mount Tonacatepetl, where maize was growing in abundance. Quetzalcoatl also discovered beans, peppers, and all sorts of other foods which could be eaten by humankind.

Still in the form of an ant, Quetzalcoatl grabbed a kernel of corn and took it back to the humans to plant. He then informed the other gods of his wondrous discovery, and gleefully told them that he had also seen many other foods on Mount Tonacatepetl that could sustain people.

However, there was one big problem: How could all this food growing in abundance deep inside a big mountain be brought to the people? After all, only a creature as small as an ant would be able to reach the tempting supply of food.

Nonetheless, Quetzalcoatl embarked on a plan. He looped a giant rope around all of Mount Tonacatepetl and tried to pull the mountain to where the people lived. Since the mountain was so big, it would not budge, despite the god’s great powers.

So he asked the other gods for suggestions. A wise old pair of gods named Oxomoco (oh-shoh-MOH-ko) and Cipactonal (si-pak-TOH-nal) gave the problem a great deal of thought.

They decided that the answer was to break open the mountain, allowing men and women to have easy access to the food inside. So with all their combined power, the gods split open the rock that made up Mount Tonacatepetl and the huge bounty of food now appeared within reach of the people.

But there was one more problem. Opening the rock had angered the god of rain, Tlaloc. With great speed, Tlaloc and his children grabbed all the corn and other food from the inside of the mountain and took it with them before any people could get to it.

To this day, Tlaloc, the rain god, gives back the food to people only in amounts he sees fit to allow. Some years, when there is the right amount of rain, he is generous.

Other times, when there is too much rain, he teases the people with an overabundance of food, which rots before their eyes. When there is too little rain, Tlaloc acts selfishly by causing a shortage of the people’s staple food.

Although people now had food to keep them alive, the gods felt there was something missing. The human beings worked and survived, but nothing seemed to bring great happiness to their lives. What could be done?

Quetzalcoatl felt they needed something stronger in their diets. He decided to contact beautiful young Mayahuel, the goddess of the maguey.

Mayahuel lived in the sky with her evil grandmother, who was a tzitzimitl, a female demon who takes the shape of stars and represents evil in the world. Every morning, Mayahuel’s grandmother and her sister tzitzimime threaten to destroy the world by doing battle against the sun.

Mayahuel and her grandmother were sleeping when Quetzalcoatl arrived in their sky-house. He woke Mayahuel and convinced her to come with him to Earth. Upon reaching Earth together, they took the form of a large, two-limbed tree, each becoming a branch.

As soon as the grandmother awoke, she discovered that her precious Mayahuel was missing. In a fit of anger, the grandmother asked the rest of the tzitzimime to lead her to Earth to find her granddaughter.

The evil star demons zoomed to Earth and immediately found the tree where Mayahuel and Quetzalcoatl were hiding. Just as the demons arrived, the tree broke in half and the branches fell flat on the hard ground.

Outraged at her granddaughter for running away, Mayahuel’s grandmother viciously attacked the branch, breaking it into pieces. Then she allowed the other tzitzimime to further demolish the branch before eating parts of Mayahuel. When finished, the tzitzimime returned to their home in the sky.

Quetzalcoatl, who was never touched by the tzitzimime, converted himself into his usual god-like form. Quetzalcoatl made a simple grave for Mayahuel by burying her bare bones in a spot on the Earth. From her burial site, the first maguey plant grew. And from that maguey plant, the first pulque was made.

The Creation of Music

2011-05-02T22:56:00.000-07:00

The gods agreed that the fifth and present world was a beautiful place. The many parts of Tlaltecuhtli, the earth monster, had been splendidly transformed to make the most wonderful sights.

There were vibrant flowers, gushing rivers, lush woods, and refreshing streams. This new Earth was also home to majestic mountains and rambling meadows. There were truly enough natural marvels for all the people of Earth to enjoy.

The gods enjoyed the sights, too, until one day when Tezcatlipoca looked around the Earth and complained that something was missing. Animals could roar and people could talk, but there was no music. Tezcatlipoca said that music could delight the soul like nothing else.

So Tezcatlipoca set out to find a way to bring music to the world. His first task was to contact Quetzalcoatl to see if the great god could assist him. At that time, the feathered serpent god had taken the form of Wind.

The sound of blowing leaves and creaking tree limbs let Tezcatlipoca know that Quetzalcoatl, in the form of Wind, was on his way to see him.

When Tezcatlipoca found Quetzalcoatl, he asked him to embark on a special trip, which was to begin at the ocean’s edge. There, Quetzalcoatl would find three of Tezcatlipoca’s servants: Water Woman; Water Monster; and a third servant named Cane-and-Conch.

Quetzalcoatl would need to order the three servants to make him a bridge reaching to the Sun, for it was in the house of Sun that talented musicians and singers lived. Once he had entered the house of Sun, Quetzalcoatl would be able to select the best musicians and singers and bring them back to their new home on Earth.

So Quetzalcoatl did as he was told. At the beach he found the three servants Tezcatlipoca had mentioned. The trio successfully built the bridge to the house of Sun, and Quetzalcoatl proceeded to climb the bridge until he reached the Sun.

Upon arriving in this new land, Quetzalcoatl found musicians of all stripes, each wearing a different kind of uniform that reflected his own specialty. The musicians who played lullabies and songs for small children wore white clothing.

Wandering minstrels who played as they roamed among the clouds were garbed in a vivid shade of blue. Music makers who bathed in the warm rays of the Sun while playing their flutes dressed in sparkling yellow. Others who liked to play musical stories about love donned clothing that was red as a big, juicy cherry.

One thing Quetzalcoatl noticed was that there were no musicians wearing a dark or depressing color. The reason for that was simple: there were no sad songs being played in the house of Sun.

The Birth of The War God

2011-05-02T22:28:00.000-07:00

Coatlicue (CO-at-lee-kway) was an honest woman who lived in the shadow of the mountain called Coatepec. Coatlicue had a daughter named Coyolxauhquil (koh-yohl-SHAU-wa-ki), an evil daughter named Malinalxochitl (mal-in-al-SHO-tch-it’l), and four hundred sons, collectively known as the Centzon Huitznahua (SENT-zon WEETS-na-wah).

One day Coatlicue was working and performing religious rituals, in a ravine near Coatepec when she noticed a mysterious ball of feathers on the ground.

She was fascinated by this odd, supernatural gift which seemed to have fallen from the heavens. Coatlicue felt a sudden an urge to keep the ball of feathers, so she picked it up and tucked it under her clothes. The feathers were held in place close to her body.

What Coatlicue did not realize was that the ball of feathers was magical and had impregnated her. Within months, her grown children noticed that their mother’s belly was growing larger and larger.

They insisted on knowing who the father was. When Coatlicue could not give them an answer, they became furious. They felt that their mother had dishonored their family, and should be punished by death.

Coatlicue was terrified, but she could feel the baby inside communicating with her. The baby was soothing her, telling her everything would be all right. When the time came to give birth, Coatlicue climbed to the top of Coatepec. Still enraged, her children followed her to the mountain summit with the intention of killing their mother.

However, just as they reached the top of Coatepec, the baby was born. He was named Huitzilopochtli. It was clear that he was no ordinary baby. Huitzilopochtli came into the world fully formed and clothed in armor, and holding a series of deadly weapons. He was ready to fight any enemy of his mother.

His most dangerous weapon was a knife-like tool called a xiuhcoatl (shi-wuh-KO-atl), which means “fire serpent.” Quickly, with the xiuhcoatl, he sliced off the oldest daughter’s head and cut her body to pieces. Her remains fell down the mountainside to its base.

Huitzilopochtli then went on the attack against the Centzon Huitznahua. Even though these four hundred sons of his mother were his half-brothers, Huitzilopochtli recognized them as dangers.

He killed several right away, then chased the others around the summit of Coatepec before killing several more. A few of his half-brothers escaped and survived, but Huitzilopochtli and Coatlicue were safe and healthy.

The Aztec people accepted Huitzilopochtli as their warrior god. In turn, he told them that he would lead them to a promised land, a place where they would live and prosper.

He said, “Here I shall bring together the diverse peoples, and not in vain, for I shall conquer them, that I may see the house of jade, the house of gold, the house of quetzal feathers; the house of emeralds, the house of coral, the house of amethysts; the sundry feathers—the lovely cotinga feathers, the roseate spoonbill feathers, the trogon feathers—all the precious feathers; and the cacao of variegated colors, and the cotton of variegated colors! I shall see all this, for in truth it is my work, it was for this that I was sent here.”

One day, Huitzilopochtli was sleeping near his sister, Malinalxochitl. As she slept, Huitzilopochtli awoke and left to start his journey to lead the Aztec people to their new promised land.

Malinalxochitl woke up and noticed her brother had left her. Her heart was filled with anger towards her brother. She led her followers to a mountain named Texcatepetl (TEKS-caat-eh-pet’l), where she gave birth to a son she called Copil (KOH-peel).

Meanwhile, Huitzilopochtli led the Aztec people to Coatepec, the mountain where he was born. The people believed this to be their promised land and settled there happily.

But Huitzilopochtli decided it was not the right place. To force the people to give up their new homes at Coatepec, he punched a hole in a nearby dam which had been holding back a river.

Once the hole was made, a torrent of water rushed over the land, killing the plants and animals that had been providing the Aztecs with food. So Huitzilopochtli led the people on another journey, this time to a place named Techcatitlan (tetch-kah-TEE-t’lan).

At Techcatitlan, Huitzilopochtli met his nephew, Copil, who had grown up to be even more evil than his mother. The uncle and nephew battled until Huitzilopochtli chased Copil to a place called Tepetzinco (teh-peh-T’ZIN-koo).

Here, Huitzilopochtli captured and killed Copil, cutting off his head and tearing out his heart. Huitzilopochtli gave his nephew’s heart to a servant and ordered him to throw it away in a forest of reeds.

Then, Huitzilopochtli went about his own business. For the next forty years, Huitzilopochtli and the Aztecs wandered through the wilderness looking for their special home. There were times when they thought they had found their promised land, but Huitzilopochtli was always looking out for his people. If they were in the wrong place, he made sure they moved on.

For example, one time they arrived and settled in a strange kingdom. Huitzilopochtli knew this was not their promised land. Under his power, the Aztecs killed the daughter of the king.

They skinned the princess and had one of their priests wear her skin while they performed a ceremony. As soon as the king saw this brutal ritual, he forced the Aztecs to leave his land, just as Huitzilopochtli had planned. They continued on their long trek to find the special place they would call home.

At long last, their journey took the Aztecs to the shallow waters of Lake Texcoco. The people, carrying arrows and shields, crossed the lake and, as soon as they reached an island in the middle, one of the Aztec priests saw Huitzilopochtli in a vision.

In this vision, the great god told the priest to watch for an eagle that would be sitting on a cactus called tenochtli (teh-NOTCH-t’li), or “stone cactus,” while holding a snake in its beak. The cactus, Huitzilopochtli told the priest, had grown from the discarded heart of his wicked sister, Copil. The eagle was a physical embodiment of Huitzilopochtli.

The priest and his followers proceeded onward, in search of the vision. Then, next to some marsh grasses near a spring they caught sight of an eagle eating a serpent. It was sitting atop a cactus.

The story continues:

And when the eagle saw the Mexicans, he bowed his head low . . . Its nest, its pallet, was of every kind of precious feather—of lovely coting feathers, roseate spoonbill feathers, quetzal feathers . . . And the god called out to them, he said to them, ‘O Mexicans, it shall be there!’

It was on that spot that the Aztecs founded what would become Tenochtitlan, their splendid home.

The Coming of The Tuatha Dé Danaan

2011-05-02T08:13:00.000-07:00

The Tuatha Dé Danaan arrived in Ireland on a cloud from the four great cities of fairyland. While in their homelands, they had learned the arts of poetry and science. They brought these gifts, plus great treasures from the fairy cities, to their new home.

The treasures included a stone that confirmed the rightful king by roaring when he stood upon it, a sword that could never be broken, a magic spear, and a pot that could feed an army without ever going empty.

After three days, the cloud on which the Danaans arrived vanished. When the air cleared, the Firbolgs, a misshapen and stupid race who lived in Ireland, realized they were no longer alone. They sent a warrior named Sreng to question the newcomers. Likewise, the Danaans sent a representative from their side.

When the two ambassadors met, each was in awe of the other’s weapons. The Danaans’ spears were light and sharply pointed, while those of the Firbolgs were heavy and blunt.

The pair decided to exchange weapons so that each tribe could learn more about the other. Just as the pair was leaving, the Danaan ambassador suggested the Firbolgs and Danaans should split the country into two equal halves and join to defend it against any future invaders.

Sreng returned to the Firbolg camp and told Eochaid, the king, of the Danaan ambassador’s offer. Eochaid worried that if they gave the Danaans half of Ireland, they would soon want the whole.

Plus, the Firbolgs were greedy and did not want to share the land with anyone. Rather than agreeing to the Danaans’ offer, Eochaid refused, deciding that it would be better to declare war instead.

The two tribes met at Moytura, or the Tower of Plains, to wage their battle. The fighting was vicious. Nuada, the king of the Danaans, lost his hand while fighting with a Firbolg.

The Firbolg ruler, Eochaid, was even more unfortunate—he was killed while leading a party in search of water. Once Eochaid was dead, the Danaans proved much more powerful than their opponents. The Firbolgs realized they would be defeated altogether if they continued fighting.

Rather than risk a complete loss, they decided to make an agreement with the Danaans. The Danaans offered the Firbolgs one-fifth of the country. From that day, the Firbolgs made their home in the area of Ireland known as Connaught and seldom bothered the Danaans.

After the battle, Nuada should have remained ruler. There was an ancient law, though, that declared no maimed person could sit on the throne of Ireland. Nuada had a beautiful silver hand made in the hope that he would be allowed to remain king. However, the people still considered it a fake and forced him to step down.

Given the troubles with the Firbolgs, the Danaans thought it might be a wise diplomatic decision to ally with the Fomori, a race of giants that lived under the sea. They chose to ask Bres, son of the Fomori king and a Danaan mother, if he would be their ruler.

He agreed. As it turned out, though, Bres was a terrible king. He was oppressive and mean and taxed the Danaans heavily. Bres also lacked generosity and hospitality—two of the worst offenses an Irish ruler could commit.

While Bres tormented the Danaans, Nuada, who was now nicknamed “Of the Silver Hand,” wondered if there was anything he could do. When he had lost his hand, it was Dian Cécht, the god of medicine, who had crafted the silver hand. It turned out that Dian Cécht’s son, Miach, was an even greater healer.

Nuada decided to visit Miach to see if he could help him with his hand. The son was able to do what the father was not—he made a real hand grow for Nuada. When the people of Ireland heard that Nuada was no longer maimed, they rejoiced. They asked him to reclaim his rightful position as king, which he did.

Bres, of course, was not happy about losing the throne. He returned to his home under the sea, where he complained to his father, Elatha. Elatha granted his son a great army which he could use to reclaim his place on the throne. He also advised his son to seek the help of Balor—the greatest and most evil of Fomori kings.

Balor was nicknamed “of the Evil Eye” because only one glance from his great eye could strike down all who looked upon it. In his old age, Balor’s eye became droopy and the lid had to be hoisted up by his servants with ropes and pulleys. Even so, Balor’s evil eye was a great weapon.

Nuada and the Danaans grew nervous when they heard news of Bres and Balor’s alliance. They knew they would be no match for the powerful Balor. In fact, Balor’s only weakness was an ancient prophecy that he would be killed by his own grandson. But Balor had taken care to kill all his only daughter’s offspring, so even this path seemed hopeless.

The Danaans assembled at the royal palace of Tara to determine what they could do. While there, a stranger arrived at the palace. He was greeted by the gatekeeper, who asked the stranger his profession. No one was admitted without being the master of some craft.

“I am a carpenter,” said the stranger.

The gatekeeper replied that the king already had a skilled carpenter and had no need of another.

“Then tell the king I am a master smith.”

“We already have a smith,” answered the gatekeeper.

“Then I am a warrior, too,” said the stranger.

“We do not need one,” replied the gatekeeper. “The great Ogma is our champion.”

The stranger went on to name all the professions and arts he could think of—poet, harpist, scientist, physician, sorcerer, sculptor. Each time he was told that the king already had such a man at court.

“Then ask the king,” said the stranger, “if he has with him a man of all these crafts at once, for if he has, there is no need for me at Tara.”

When the king heard this news, he was intrigued. He decided to test the stranger. Nuada sent his best chess champion to play the man. The stranger won quickly, inventing a new move in the process.

With the victory, Nuada offered him an invitation to the palace. As he walked in, the stranger saw Ogma, the King’s champion, pushing a stone so large it would take eighty oxen to pull it. The stranger helped Ogma by effortlessly lifting the great rock and putting it in its place.

All the people at the palace were amazed by the stranger’s show of strength and intelligence. They wondered if he was also a great musician, and asked him to play upon his harp for them.

First, the stranger played a lullaby that made the crowd fall asleep for two days. Next, he played a song so sad they all began to weep. Finally, he played a joyous song, to which they all cheered and danced.

Nuada and his people were all awed. They wondered if the beautiful man might be of help in fighting the Fomori. As it turned out, the stranger would be more than just some help.

He revealed that he was Lugh, Master of All Arts. His father was the Danaan Cian, his mother was the Fomor Ethlinn, but most importantly, his grandfather was none other than Balor! Although Balor believed he had protected himself from the prophecy by killing his grandchildren, he was unaware that one child, Lugh, had been rescued from death and raised in secret.

Lugh agreed to help the Danaans in their defense against the Fomori. Before he led them into battle, though, Lugh believed they needed certain magical instruments and tools to ensure victory. He dispatched messengers, soldiers, and servants across the land on various quests. In total, it took seven years to gather everything they needed.

But in the end, the Danaans had collected several magic items to help them in battle. A magical pig’s skin, for example, healed every wound or sickness it touched. Seven swine provided unlimited food for the Danaans. With these items and more in hand, the Danaans were ready to take on the Fomori.

The giants and the gods met at the Tower of Plains—the same site of the Danaans’ battle against the Firbolgs. They fought hand-to-hand for days on end.

The fighting itself was equal, but the results were not. While the Danaans lost as many men and weapons as the Fomori, their numbers never seemed to dwindle. This was because of the gods’ magic and the items they had brought with them.

Each time a Danaan spear broke, Goibhniu, the smith god, hammered out a new spearhead with only three blows of his mallet. Luchtar, God of Carpentry, would instantly make a new handle. Likewise, wounds were healed by the pig skin or by the powers of Dian Cécht, the god of medicine.

The lack of results only infuriated the Fomori further. They charged the Danaans with a great shout. Swords clashed, shields shattered, and darts whistled by. In desperation, the Fomori brought out Balor, hoping to finish off their enemies once and for all. Balor struck down many Danaans, including Nuada of the Silver Hand.

At last, he met up with Lugh. He ordered his servants to pull up his great eyelid. But while the lid was only partially open, Lugh took a slingshot and hurled a great stone. It struck Balor’s mighty eye and lodged deep in his brain. Balor fell dead, fulfilling the prophecy that he would die at his grandson’s hand.

With Balor dead, the Danaans quickly defeated the Fomori. Lugh, who had led them to their victory, was made king at the battle’s end.

The Milesian Invasion

2011-05-02T07:12:00.000-07:00

In “Spain,” a man named Bregon built a very tall watchtower. Bregon’s son, Ith, liked to climb the tower and look out over the sea. One very clear winter’s day, he noticed a land he had never seen before. Ith decided he wanted to explore it further, so he set sail with ninety warriors for the strange new land.

The land Ith had seen was, of course, Ireland. At that time, there were three Danaan kings—Mac Cuill, Mac Cecht, and Mac Greine—who ruled Ireland. As Ith landed, he noticed the three rulers arguing. They were bickering over how to divide the country.

Seeing the stranger approach, the kings asked Ith to help them decide. Ith had no practical advice, but instead told the kings to act according to the laws of justice. He then praised the country for its moderate climate and abundance of good food, such as fish, wheat, honey, and fruit.

When the kings heard the newcomer, they began to worry that he was plotting to overtake their country. They killed him on the spot, but spared his followers, who were allowed to return to Spain with the body.

The people of Spain were furious to learn of Ith’s death. His nephew, Mil Espaine, determined to go to Ireland to avenge his death. He set sail with his family and thirty-six chiefs and their families.

Among the Milesians, as they came to be known, was Mil Espaine’s son, Amairgin. Amairgin was a poet and a powerful druid, or magician. Upon landing on the Irish coast, Amairgin recited a poem, asking the land and its resources to side with Mil Espaine and his followers.

The group made their way to Tara, the capital and palace of the Danaans. A short way into their march, they met up with Banba, the wife of Mac Cuill. Banba greeted the Milesians warmly.

While she was not happy to hear they had arrived to conquer Ireland, she asked that the island be named after her should they win. Amairgin promised it would be so. Further along, the Milesians met up with another goddess, Fotla, wife of Mac Cecht. She made the same request as Banba. Amairgin again responded that it would be so.

Finally, as the group proceeded to the center of the island, they met Eriu, wife of Mac Greine. Eriu greeted the Milesians most warmly of all. She welcomed the group to the fair island and prophesized that the human race would be the most perfect the land would ever know. She turned to Amairgin.

Like Banba and Fotla, she asked that the island bear her name should the Milesians be successful in their battle. Amairgin answered that Eriu would be the country’s principal name. (While all three names have been used to describe Ireland, it is only Eriu, or Erin in a different form, that remains as a poetic nickname for the island.)

After leaving Eriu, the Milesians made the last leg of their journey to Tara. There, they found Mac Cuill, Mac Cecht, and Mac Greine waiting for them. The kings and other Danaans complained that the humans had not followed the laws of warfare.

According to ancient traditions, invaders were required to give the inhabitants of a country advance notice of an attack. The Milesians admitted that they had not done this. To settle the matter, the two sides decided to present their case to Amairgin.

The Danaans had great respect for the druid. Even so, they threatened to kill him immediately if his decision obviously favored the Milesians. After careful consideration, Amairgin came to a verdict, which was considered the first judgment ever delivered in Ireland.

He agreed that the Milesians acted unfairly and took the Danaans by surprise. To make up for this, the Milesians had to retreat out to sea the length of nine waves. If they were able to return to shore, they would have rightfully earned the land as their own.

Both sides felt Amairgin’s judgment was a fair one. The Milesians retreated to their ship and sailed nine wave lengths back from the shore. Once the signal was given to attack, the Milesians began paddling.

Despite their immense effort, however, the Milesians realized they were not making any progress. Unbeknownst to them, the gods had combined all their powers to create a strong wind to keep the Milesians in place.

At first the Milesians thought it might be a natural storm that was hindering them. They sent a man to climb the highest mast to see if the wind was indeed caused by a storm. The man quickly climbed up and then back down.

He reported that no storm could be seen on the horizon and that the wind must therefore be supernatural in origin. Amairgin quickly took control of the situation. He chanted a poem that called out to the powers of the land itself—powers far greater than even those of the gods. The land of Ireland responded to Amairgin’s spell and the winds soon died down.

The Milesians continued to shore. Once they landed, Amairgin called out to the sea, as he had done with the land. With these forces behind them, the humans began their assault on the gods. The three Danaan kings and their wives were killed in battle. The Milesian invasion was successful and they took over rule of the country.

While the Danaans were defeated, however, they did not withdraw from Ireland altogether. Using their magical powers, they made themselves invisible to the majority of humans.

From that day forward, Ireland was divided into two realms—the earthly and the spiritual. While the humans ruled the earthly domain, the Danaans dwelled silently and invisibly in the spirit world. They made their homes under mounds or hills, known as síd. The gods became known as “the people of the hills.”

Every male god was imagined as a Fear-síd, meaning “man of the hill.” Goddesses were called Ban-síd, or “woman of the hill.” Over the years, the words have evolved into their present forms: “fairy” and “banshee.” Both of these characters remain popular in Irish folklore today.

Cúchulainn and Emer

2011-05-02T06:20:00.000-07:00

As Cúchulainn grew older he became increasingly more handsome. A mere glance at any woman was enough to make her fall instantly in love with him.

The men of Ulster became worried that Cúchulainn would entice away their wives with his good looks, so they demanded he find a wife of his own. A party was formed and sent to the furthest corners of Ireland, but even after a full year, they could not find a woman Cúchulainn found suitable.

At last, Cúchulainn came across Emer, daughter of Forgall. She possessed all six “gifts” by which women were judged: the gifts of beauty, voice, sweet speech, needlework, wisdom, and chastity.

When Cúchulainn first approached Emer, she laughed at his advances, saying that he was too young. Ignoring her dismissals, Cúchulainn admired her beauty aloud. Emer replied that no man would ever possess her beauty before slaying hundreds of men and making his name known across Ireland.

Cúchulainn pledged to do just that, provided that Emer would agree to marry him once he succeeded in his quest. Emer agreed, so Cúchulainn went off to win his fame and fortune, stopping at King Conchobar’s palace on the way.

Emer’s father, Forgall, was not pleased with these arrangements, however. He had had a premonition that his daughter’s marriage to Cúchulainn would somehow lead to his own death.

To guard against such a fate, he wanted to make sure that Cúchulainn would not survive his adventures. He disguised himself as a traveler and followed Cúchulainn to the king’s court. There, he watched Cúchulainn and the other Champions of the Red Branch demonstrate their skill and strength before their king.

Still disguised, Forgall approached the king and said loud enough to be overheard that Cúchulainn’s skill was impressive. It would be even greater, Forgall continued, if Cúchulainn made his way to the island of Alba to study the craft of war under Scáthach the Amazon, the fiercest female warrior in the world.

Forgall knew that Cúchulainn, who prided himself on being the best at everything, would not be able to resist such a challenge. Sure enough, Cúchulainn declared he would indeed make his way to Alba. Forgall secretly hoped that Cúchulainn would be killed in the process.

Cúchulainn made his way to Alba, the Island of Shadows. He faced many perils along the way. When he finally arrived, he was faced with the Bridge of Leaps, which offered the only passage onto the island.

The treacherous bridge was very long and worked something like a see-saw—whenever weight was added to one side, the other end lifted up until the entire bridge stood straight up in the air. Three times Cúchulainn tried to cross, and three times he failed.

Perhaps because of his divine relatives, Cúchulainn was blessed with a few seemingly-super human powers. When he got very angry, for example, his rage would build up inside him to the point that he would grow hot and almost glow.

With this extra energy, Cúchulainn was able to perform “the hero’s salmon leap,” which enabled him to jump huge distances. After failing three times to cross the bridge, Cúchulainn became enraged and did his salmon leap directly onto the middle of the bridge. He reached the far end of the bridge so quickly that it did not have time to spring back on him.

Cúchulainn did not realize it, but he was being watched by Scáthach and her daughter, Úathach, as he crossed the bridge and approached their home. Upon seeing the beautiful young man, Úathach fell immediately in love with him. She went to greet him at the door. But Cúchulainn wasted little time with Úathach and demanded right away to know where Scáthach was.

Overcome with love, Úathach not only told him where to find her mother, but the secret way to force her to grant whatever he wished, as well. Úathach revealed that Scáthach was up in a yew tree with her two sons. If Cúchulainn were to surprise her and quickly draw his sword on her, she would promise him anything in return for her life.

So, Cúchulainn performed the hero’s salmon leap straight up into the highest branches of the tree. He drew his sword on Scáthach and placed its point on her breast. He threatened to kill her if she did not take him as her student. Wanting to be spared a painful death, Scáthach promised to teach him all she knew.

Cúchulainn stayed with Scáthach for a year and a day, learning the art of battle and the techniques of war. Cúchulainn was such a good student that Scáthach presented him with the gae bolga—a terrible weapon that made only one wound when entering, but exploded into thirty small barbs once inside the enemy’s body.

Cúchulainn’s new skills were soon put to use on the island. Scáthach was at the time at war with Aife, queen of another tribe on the island and an equally fierce warrior. The day of the great fight, Scáthach tried to prevent Cúchulainn from fighting, thinking that the terrible Aife would surely kill him.

Scáthach gave him a sleeping potion so that he would not be awake during the battles. But the potion, which was strong enough to last thirty-six hours on any normal man, only lasted one hour on Cúchulainn.

As soon as he awoke, he went to join the fight. He arrived just in time to discover Aife had challenged Scáthach to single combat. Cúchulainn demanded to go in his teacher’s place, but first asked Scáthach to tell him what Aife valued most in the world. Scáthach answered that Aife prized her two horses, her chariot, and her charioteer above all else.

Cúchulainn and Aife began to fight, and at first it appeared that the young man was no match for the fierce woman warrior. With just one blow, she shattered Cúchulainn’s sword. But at the very moment it looked like she would kill him, Cúchulainn called out “Look! Aife’s chariot and horses have fallen into the valley! They are all dead!”

When Aife turned around to see what had happened to her beloved possessions, Cúchulainn grabbed her and put a knife to her throat. He offered to spare her life only if she pledged peace with Scáthach and offered hostages as proof of the agreement. Aife agreed and peace was returned to the island.

In the meantime, Emer was at home warding off potential suitors. Word that Emer might be forced to marry another made its way back to Cúchulainn on Alba. Not wanting to lose his bride, Cúchulainn decided that it was time to return home to Ireland.

Forgall, of course, was dismayed to learn that not only had Cúchulainn survived his adventure, but that he was returning an even stronger warrior than before. Forgall took great pains to guard his home against any attacks.

The barricades Forgall put up were so strong that it took Cúchulainn a full year just to reach the wall of the fortress. When he finally got there he leaped over the high walls, killing eight men with each stroke of his blade.

Forgall was among those slain. Cúchulainn quickly grabbed Emer and her foster sister, along with their weight in silver and gold, then performed another of his salmon leaps to make their escape.

As they began to ride away, they heard a loud cry and saw Forgall’s sister, Scenmed, following them with a troop of men to avenge her fallen brother. Cúchulainn killed her on the spot, which has been known ever since as the Ford Scenmed.

Scenmed’s men continued to chase the hero, but at Glondath, Cúchulainn killed one hundred of them with ease. Emer praised her love for his great deed and declared the place would be called Glondath, the Ford of Deeds, forevermore.

Cúchulainn and the women continued riding, coming eventually to Rae Bann, the White Plain. Once again they were attacked and once again Cúchulainn slaughtered his assailants. As streams of his enemies’ blood ran over the once-white plains, Emer said the place would henceforth be known as Crúfóit, Sod of Blood. Finally, the group reached another ford near Boinne.

At this place, Cúchulainn chased his enemies northward, with the sod, or grass, from his horses’ hooves flying all over the ford. He then repeated his action in the opposite direction, spraying the ford with sod toward the south. From that day on, the place has been known as the Ford of Two Sods.

With no enemies left to conquer, Cúchulainn and Emer were free to marry. They never parted again.

Oisín

2011-05-02T02:09:00.000-07:00

Like most great heroes, Oisín possessed incredible beauty. It seemed women were always falling in love with him after gazing on his perfect face. One day, while hunting with Finn and several members of the Fianna, Oisín noticed a woman riding toward them on a white horse.

The beautiful maiden was dressed like royalty. She wore a gold crown on her head and a brown silk robe with red-gold stars draped over her shoulders. Even the horse on which she rode was bedecked with gold horseshoes and had a silver wreath around its head.

Finn asked the woman her name. She replied that she was Niamh, daughter of Manannán Mac Lir, god of the sea and king of the Land of Promise.

She explained that she had come all the way from her invisible fairy home because of her love for Oisín. She asked him to return with her. Oisín immediately agreed. Finn and his companions could do nothing to stop the lovestruck young man. They watched as he climbed on to the white horse behind Niamh and wrapped his arms around her.

The pair rode for a long time—across the land and then over the tops of the waves of the sea. Along the way, Niamh described the Land of Promise as the sweetest and dreamiest place in the universe. Oisín felt as if he were in a trance. He felt very peaceful, but lost track of time and place.

Strange sights kept appearing before his eyes. He saw fairy palaces with strange towers and gateways. A hornless deer ran by slowly, chased by a white dog with one red ear. These strange dogs only existed in the “other world.”

Finally, Niamh and Oisín reached the Land of Promise. While there, Oisín had a few adventures, such as saving a princess from a Fomori giant. He was blissfully happy there with Niamh. After a period of what he thought was three weeks, though, he realized he missed his father and his homeland.

He asked Niamh if he could go back to visit. Niamh granted his request and even lent him her fairy horse. The only rule she had was that he could not let his feet touch earthly soil or he would never be allowed to return to the Land of Promise. Oisín promised and made his way to Ireland.

When he arrived, he found the country entirely changed. The palace of the Fianna was no longer in the same place. The men who roamed around seemed tiny compared to Oisín. He asked if anyone knew where he could find Finn and the Fianna.

The only responses he received were surprised glances. He was told that those were the names of people who had lived long ago. Oisín had not been gone for three weeks as he had thought—he had been gone for three hundred years!

As Oisín was trying to figure out what to do, he noticed a group of men trying to move a great boulder. He rode over to help them. The men were in awe of the beautiful, giant man. He was stronger than all of them combined.

While still in his saddle, Oisín leaned over to move the boulder. With one hand, he put it in its rightful place. The men cheered for Oisín.

Their celebrations did not last long, though. As Oisín sat back into his saddle, a strap broke and his foot hit the ground. Instantly, the white horse disappeared and the man dropped to the ground. As he stood up, the men were shocked to see not a young, strong giant, but a weak, withered, gray-haired man who was no larger than they were.

The old man seemed confused. He was babbling about Finn and asking where he could find the Fianna. Because the old man was too weak to care for himself, the men brought him to Patrick.

Patrick had arrived in Ireland many years earlier. He had converted the Irish to Christianity. Rather than believing in many gods, they now believed in only one, all-powerful god.

Patrick took Oisín into his home. He treated the old man with great respect and hospitality. The two men did not see eye to eye on religion, though. Patrick tried to convert Oisín to Christianity, but Oisín always refused his arguments. The pair spent the rest of their lives debating the issue.

Despite their different beliefs, Patrick took a great interest in Oisín’s stories. Oisín stayed with Patrick a long time, telling stories of the Fianna every day.

Patrick suggested Oisín write down his adventures so that the stories of Finn and the Fianna could be preserved forever. Legend has it that Oisín’s own transcription is how people came to know his story.

Gwydion and Aranrhod

2011-05-02T00:37:00.000-07:00

Math, a Welsh god of great wealth, was burdened by a very unusual curse: he could only live if his feet were resting on a virgin’s lap. When his original virgin foot-holder was abducted, Math was forced to look for a new one.

Gwydion, God of illusion and magic, as well as of poetry and science, was Math’s good friend. He suggested his sister, Aranrhod, for the job.

Aranrhod was very honored that she was being considered. She went before Math in order for him to test her. As it turned out, she was not a virgin at all. Much to Aranrhod’s embarrassment, when Math waved his wand over her, she gave birth to two children on the spot. One of the children was named Dylan Eil Ton, meaning “Sea, Son of the Wave.”

The moment he was born, he plunged into the sea because he believed it was his native element. When he died many years later, at the hand of his own uncle, it is said that all the seas of Britain and Ireland wept for him.

Aranrhod’s other son was rescued by Gwydion. He raised the boy as his own child. The boy grew at a very fast rate. When he was two, he was able to travel on his own. When he was only four, he was the size of a boy twice his age.

One day, Gwydion took the boy to visit his mother. Aranrhod hated the children who had exposed her lie to Math. She was not happy that Gwydion brought the boy to her home. The only interest she showed was asking what his name was.

Gwydion replied that he had not yet been named. When Aranrhod heard this she decided to lay a curse upon the boy. She proclaimed that he would never have a name until she herself gave him one.

The idea of not having a name was a very serious problem. Many ancient Britons thought the name to be the same as the soul. Gwydion determined to find a way to secure a name for his son.

The next day, the two went to the seashore by Aranrhod’s palace. They disguised themselves as master leather craftsmen and set up a little shop on a boat. They made fine leather goods for the townspeople. After a short while, word of their great skill spread back to Aranrhod. When she heard of the craftsmen, she sent an order for a new pair of shoes.

Gwydion and his son set out to make the shoes. Although Aranrhod had given her measurements, they deliberately made the shoes too big. A servant picked up the pair and brought them back to Aranrhod.

She was very angry when she tried them on and found they did not fit. She sent her servant back and had him demand the shoes be made again. The second time Gwydion and the boy crafted a pair that were intentionally too small.

When Aranrhod received another pair in the wrong size, she was furious. She made her way to the shore to have an exact measurement of her foot taken. She would then wait herself while the shoes were made. Little did she know that Gwydion and the boy had been plotting to get her down to their boat all along.

While Gwydion measured Aranrhod’s feet, a bird flew over and landed on the deck of the ship. The boy took out a bow and arrow. He let an arrow fly. His shot hit the bird in the leg, which was considered to be the most difficult shot in archery. Aranrhod was very impressed.

“Truly,” she said, “the lion aimed at it with a steady hand.”

Gwydion rejoiced. He took off his disguise and told Aranrhod that she had fulfilled her own prophecy. From that day forward, the boy would be called Lleu Llaw Gyffes, which means “Lion With the Steady Hand.”

Aranrhod was very angry at having been tricked. In her rage, she placed a new curse on Lleu. She swore he would never be allowed to carry weapons until she herself gave them to him.

Gwydion again determined to find a way around the curse. He brought Lleu home and trained him to be a warrior. When the boy was old enough to bear arms, they once again made a journey to Aranrhod’s palace.

This time, they disguised themselves as minstrels. Aranrhod greatly enjoyed songs and invited the pair in to sing for her and her household. She was so pleased with their performance that she fed them and even gave them shelter for the night.

Early in the morning, before anyone else was awake, Gwydion began another trick. He used all his magic powers to cast a spell. He made it seem as if the entire castle were surrounded by a fleet of enemy ships. Then he woke the household with cries of an attack.

Aranrhod sprang from bed. She was terrified when she saw all the ships and did not know what to do. She begged the minstrels for their help. Gwydion replied that they could fight, but that they lacked weapons.

Aranrhod commanded her servants to provide weapons for Gwydion. Then she herself draped weapons over Lleu. By the time she was done, the illusion vanished. Gwydion began laughing and revealed his true identity.

Aranrhod realized that there had never been any ships. This time she was angrier than she had ever been before. She came up with her worst curse yet. She promised that Lleu would never have a human wife so long as he lived. Gwydion was not overly concerned—he had found his way around the other two curses; he would find a way around this one, too.

Gwydion thought the first step would be to go to Math, who was also a great magician. Together, they used their magic to create a woman from flower petals. They called her Blodeuwedd, which means “Flower Face.”

She was the most beautiful woman Lleu had ever seen. He immediately fell in love with her. He asked her to be his bride. She agreed and the happy couple were soon wed. As a gift, Gwydion presented them with a small castle near a lake.

The couple lived happily together. One day, though, Lleu left the palace to visit Math. While he was away, a stranger came hunting in the area. He was Gronw Pebyr, one of the gods of darkness. Blodeuwedd saw him in the woods and invited him into the palace.

The two fell in love and began a secret affair. They decided to kill Lleu so they could be together. They plotted ways to murder him. Lleu, however, was invincible in battle and could be hurt in only one way. No one knew what this secret was. It was up to Blodeuwedd to find out her husband’s one weakness.

When he returned from visiting Math, Blodeuwedd asked Lleu how he preserved his life. She lied and said she wanted to know in order to be able to protect against it ever happening. Lleu replied that he could only be killed by a spear that had been worked on for one full year, but never crafted on Sundays or holidays.

In addition, he would die only if the spear were thrown just after he had bathed, while he had one foot upon the bath and the other upon a goat’s back. Blodeuwedd pretended to praise the heavens that his death was so unlikely.

Over the next year Blodeuwedd continued her secret affair. Gronw spent the time crafting the spear. When the full year had passed, Blodeuwedd asked Lleu to show her in detail how he could be killed. That way, she lied, she would know how to protect him if anything ever happened.

The moment Lleu got into position, Gronw threw the spear. It had been dipped in poison. It sank deep into Lleu’s flesh, but did not kill him. Instead, he turned into an eagle. The mighty bird let out a great cry and flew off. After he left, Gronw took over the palace and married Blodeuwedd.

News of what happened made its way to Gwydion. He set off to find his son. While searching, he ran into a servant, who mentioned to Gwydion that one of his master’s pigs kept running off each day, but returned each night without fail.

No one could figure out where it went during the day. Gwydion decided to follow the sow. It traveled a great distance, but finally stopped to graze beneath a tree. Gwydion looked to see what it was eating.

He realized that the pig fed upon pieces of meat that were falling from the tree. It turned out that an eagle was at the top and the meat was the scraps from its kill. Gwydion felt in his heart that the eagle was his son.

Gwydion sang a song to the bird to coax it down. When it finally came down, Gwydion struck it with his wand. Lleu turned back into his human form. His father rejoiced, but realized that his son was still very weak. Gwydion brought Lleu to Math to heal completely.

In the meantime, Gwydion went to track down the woman who had betrayed his son. Blodeuwedd heard he was coming and tried to run. Gwydion soon overtook her. When he caught her, he turned her into an owl. Blodeuwedd was forced to spend the rest of her life hunting at night in solitude, as an outcast from all other birds.

Pwyll, Head of Hades

2011-05-01T23:42:00.000-07:00

Pwyll was ruler of Dyfed, located in the southwest corner of what is now Wales. One day, Pwyll left his capital with a group of his men to go hunting in a far-off region called Glynn Cuch. Pwyll blew his horn and released his hounds to begin the hunt. In a short time, he got separated from his companions.

The lord followed the sound of his hounds. As he did so, he heard another pack of hounds, not his own, advancing toward him. At a clearing in the forest, Pwyll saw his hounds chasing the other pack, who were in turn running after a mighty stag. The strange hounds overtook the stag and brought it to the ground.

As he took a closer look at the hounds, Pwyll noticed that they were like none he had ever seen before. They were dazzling white with brilliant red ears. These hounds came from the underworld, although Pwyll did not know it at the time.

As he approached, he drove the red-eared hounds away from the stag. Pwyll saw no other human being nearby, so he decided to claim the killed stag as his own.

While Pwyll was tending to the stag, a stranger rode up on a great gray horse. The stranger told Pwyll that he had never met a more dishonorable person. “In no man,” said the stranger, “have I seen greater discourtesy than driving away the pack which has killed a stag and baiting one’s own pack upon it.”

Pwyll apologized sincerely for his mistake. He offered to do anything the stranger asked to make up for his fault. The man on the gray horse was Arawn, a king of Annwn, the underworld.

Arawn explained that a rival king of the underworld, Hafgan, was constantly raging war on him. The only way for Pwyll to make up for his sin was to defeat Hafgan in a battle, which was scheduled to take place a year and a day from then.

Pwyll agreed to take on Hafgan, but asked how he would do it. Arawn cast a spell that switched the two men’s likenesses. Pwyll would go to the underworld and rule in Arawn’s place, while Arawn would return to Dyfed. No one would be able to tell the difference. After Pwyll had defeated Hafgan, the two men would return to their own shapes and lives.

Just as Arawn had said, no one in Annwn suspected Pwyll was anyone other than their king. As he returned from his hunt, he was greeted with a great feast. He dined on the best food and wine that he had ever had. At the feast, Pwyll sat next to Arawn’s wife, who was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

That night, the queen led Pwyll to bed. Pwyll, however, would not say a word to her. He slept with his back to her and would not touch her at all. For every day over the next year, they spent their time talking, dining, and celebrating. But every night, no matter how affectionate they were during the day, Pwyll would not lay a hand on the queen.

At last the day came when Pwyll was to fight Hafgan. With one blow, Pwyll shattered Hafgan’s armor and shield, killing him almost instantly. Hafgan’s men pledged their allegiance to the victor. In Arawn’s place, Pwyll had managed to double the size of the kingdom.

The next day, Pwyll and Arawn met at Glynn Cuch. They restored their shapes and returned to their rightful lands.

Arawn was happy to return to his home and his people. Of course, they knew nothing of his absence. He spent the day dining and celebrating, just as Pwyll had done in his place. That night, as he got into bed with his wife, he spoke softly to her and held her lovingly in his arms. The queen stopped Arawn.

She asked why he was caressing her all of a sudden after ignoring her for a full year. Arawn realized what a good friend he had found in Pwyll. He told his wife the truth about what had happened over the last year. She agreed that Pwyll was an uncommonly chivalrous man not to take advantage of another man’s wife.

Meanwhile, in Dyfed, Pwyll asked his nobles how the past year had compared to previous ones. The men replied that it had been a particularly wonderful year. Pwyll admitted that he could not accept the credit. He let his people know of the switch. They all exclaimed how lucky Pwyll was to have found such a good friend.

Pwyll and Arawn continued to be good friends for life. Each sent the other horses, hounds, or whatever other treasures he thought his friend would enjoy. And because Pwyll had ruled Annwn and expanded its boundaries, Arawn even granted him the title Head of the Underworld.

Even with his new title, Pwyll continued to rule in Dyfed. Outside his palace was a hill said to have magical properties. One of Pwyll’s men told him that when a man of royal blood sits upon it, he is either struck down by mighty blows, or he beholds a wonder. Pwyll did not think he would be struck down and he wanted very much to see a wonder, so he sat on the mound.

As Pwyll sat there, a beautiful woman dressed in dazzling gold appeared riding on horseback. Anyone who looked at her would have said she was riding at a very slow pace. But when Pwyll sent a man on foot to find out her name, he could not catch her. Soon, she disappeared over the horizon.

The next day, Pwyll sat on the mound again. This time, he had his man ready on horseback to ride after her. But again, once she appeared, he was unable to catch her although she appeared to move slowly. On the third day, Pwyll decided to overtake her himself.

He sat on the hill and waited for the mysterious woman to arrive. As she rode by, Pwyll mounted his horse. Ride as he might, he was unable to catch her. He pushed his horse as fast as it could go, but still could not overtake the woman.

In desperation, Pwyll called out to the woman to stop. “I will, gladly,” she said, “and it would have been better for your horse had you asked me that earlier.” She told Pwyll that her name was Rhiannon, daughter of Heveydd the Old. Rhiannon had been promised in marriage to a man she did not love.

She had come to find Pwyll to help her, because he was the man of her dreams. Pwyll was very happy to hear this because he, too, was falling in love. The pair worked out a plan whereby they would meet a year and day from then at Heveydd’s court.

On the appointed date, Pwyll and ninety-nine of his companions arrived at the old man’s court. As Rhiannon had promised, a great feast was waiting for Pwyll and his men. Everyone sat down together to dine. Pwyll sat between Rhiannon and her father.

As they were eating, a tall young man approached. He asked Pwyll for a favor. Pwyll promised to grant whatever the young man might ask. Rhiannon looked terrified of this response. She knew that by the rules of chivalry, a man must never go back on a favor he has agreed to.

Rhiannon’s instinct proved correct when the young man asked for her hand in marriage. He was none other than Gwawl, the man she had been promised to, but did not want to wed.

Pwyll apologized to Rhiannon, telling her that he had not known who the man was. Rhiannon replied that he had no choice but to honor himself and thus grant Gwawl his favor. Pwyll refused, saying he could never part from her.

Rhiannon told him to do as he must, but that she would find a way to prevent the marriage from ever taking place. Pwyll trusted her and told Gwawl to return in one year’s time. At that date, Pwyll would have a great feast prepared and would grant Gwawl Rhiannon’s hand in marriage.

The next year, the feast was made ready. Rhiannon sat next to her unwanted suitor. Pwyll waited outside with ninety-nine men. While the men stood outside, Pwyll entered the feast, disguised as an old beggar.

He held in his hand a magic bag that Rhiannon had given him a year earlier. No matter how much was put in the bag, it would never be filled.

Just as Gwawl had a year earlier, Pwyll requested a favor. He told Gwawl that he was but a poor beggar and asked that his little bag be filled with food. Gwawl agreed and ordered his men to fill the bag with meat.

They brought serving after serving, but the bag remained nearly empty. Finally, Gwawl asked Pwyll if it would ever be filled. Pwyll responded that it would not be filled unless a nobleman of rich possessions pressed the food down with both his feet.

Gwawl agreed and stepped into the bag. As soon as both feet were inside, Pwyll tipped the sack over and tied it shut. Then he blew on his horn as a signal for his men to attack the court.

As each man entered the court, he hit the sack with a stick and asked “What is this?” “A badger” was always the reply. This was the first playing of a game called “Badger in the Bag,” a less brutal version of which continues to be played by British children.

Rhiannon and her father asked Pwyll to stop beating Gwawl. They suggested Pwyll release him on the condition that he would offer gifts and promise never to seek vengeance. Gwawl gladly agreed. He departed for his own country to heal the many bruises he had received while in the bag.

Once Gwawl had left, the hall was once more made ready for a wedding. This time, of course, the couple to be wed was Pwyll and Rhiannon. They feasted and celebrated all night. When the wedding was over, the couple returned to Dyfed to rule the country.

Culhwch and Olwen

2011-05-01T22:56:00.000-07:00

Culhwch was the son of Cilydid and Goleuddydd and the cousin of the famous King Arthur. When Goleuddydd died, Cilydid took another wife. The new wife thought Culhwch would make a good husband for her own daughter. When Culhwch refused her request, she became very angry.

She laid a curse on him that the only woman he could ever marry was Olwen, daughter of the fearsome giant Yspaddaden Pencawr. Yspaddaden would not allow any man to marry his daughter because an ancient curse promised he would die on the wedding day.

Even so, Culhwch blushed at the sound of Olwen’s name. He fell in love with the very idea of her and went to his father to ask how he could win her. Cily did reminded his son that he was King Arthur’s cousin. He suggested he go to Arthur’s court and ask for Olwen as a favor.

After a long journey, Culwhwch arrived at the gates of Arthur’s palace. It was late and the gates had been closed for the night. The gatekeeper explained that it was Arthur’s custom to keep the gates locked until morning. Culhwch flatly refused this response. He demanded to be allowed in.

He swore that if he were not, he would let out a shriekso loud and so shrill that it would cause every pregnant woman in the land to miscarry her child. The gatekeeper brought this news to Arthur. Although several of his knights advised him against doing so, Arthur went against custom and allowed Culhwch to enter.

After greeting each other, Arthur offered his cousin food and drink. Culhwch explained that he was there for a much greater purpose and that he had a favor to ask. Arthur promised to grant him whatever he asked. Hearing this Culhwch replied, “Then I ask for Olwen daughter of Chief Giant Ysbaddaden, and I invoke her in the name of your warriors.”

Neither Arthur nor any of his knights had heard of Olwen, but they promised to help Culhwch find her nonetheless. Arthur ordered his most skilled warriors to accompany Culhwch on his journey. Among the men who went along were Kai, who could hold his breath for nine days and go without sleep for nine nights.

With Kai came his constant companion Bedwyr, who was as fast with a sword as he was beautiful. The party was rounded out by Gwrhyr, who could speak the language of any man or animal, Gwalchmei, who could leave no adventure unachieved, and Menw, who could make himself and his companions invisible.

The party traveled together until they saw a huge fortress on an open plain. Feeding on the plain was a seemingly endless number of sheep. They were watched over by a hulking shepherd and his huge dog. Menw put a spell on the dog so that they could approach the shepherd without harm.

The party asked the shepherd his name and whose fortress it was. He replied that he was Custennin. The fortress belonged to Yspaddaden, who Custennin and his wife hated. The evil giant had killed all but one of their twenty-four sons.

They kept the only survivor hidden in a stone chest to keep him from harm. Kai offered to take the boy under his wing and train him as a knight. In return for his generous offer, Custennin’s wife offered to secure a secret meeting between Olwen and Culhwch.

Messengers were dispatched and Olwen came down to the plain to wash her hair. According to the poets of old:

to the plain to wash her hair. According to the poets of old: Her hair was yellower than broom, her skin whiter than seafoam.... Neither the eye of a mewed hawk nor the eye of a thrice-mewed falcon was fairer than hers; her [skin was] whiter than the breast of a white swan, her cheeks were redder than the reddest foxgloves, and anyone who saw her would fall deeply in love.

Culhwch and Olwen talked together at Custennin’s home and quickly fell in love. As Olwen stood up to return home, she told Culhwch to ask her father for her hand in marriage and not to deny anything he might ask of him. In return, she promised to spend the rest of her days with him.

The next day, the party made for Yspaddaden’s castle. They killed the nine gatekeepers and made their way straight to the giant’s chambers. Culhwch announced his intention to marry Olwen. The giant glared at them.

He said he would think about the request and give them an answer the next day. As they turned to go, he grabbed a poisoned spear and threw it at them. But Bedwyr, quick as lightning, caught it and hurled it back, wounding the giant’s knee.

The next day the same thing happened. Yspaddaden told them to return and threw a second spear as they left. Menw caught the spear and this time pierced the giant’s chest. The third day they repeated the ritual once more.

This time, Culhwch caught the spear and threw it back so hard that it went through Yspaddaden’s eye and came out the other side. The giant finally agreed to sit down with Culhwch and his party to discuss his daughter’s marriage.

Yspaddaden agreed to let Culhwch marry Olwen, but only after he completed several tasks. The giant then listed thirty-nine tasks, each more impossible then the last. For example, Culhwch was to plow a vast hill in one day’s time, which could only be achieved if they captured two magic oxen to lead the plow, which could only be driven by a certain plowman, and so on.

After Yspaddaden named each feat to be completed or item to be brought back, Culhwch simply responded, “It will be easy for me to get that, though you think otherwise.”

Culhwch and his party made their way back to Arthur’s court. On the way, Kai fulfilled one of the trials by tricking a giant named Gwrnach into giving him his sword. When they arrived at court, they explained to the king what they must do.

Arthur immediately promised his help and resources. The group set out to accomplish their tasks. They realized that the most dangerous one would be obtaining the comb and shears that rested between the ears of Twrch Trwyth, a king transformed into a monstrous boar.

On their way to find the boar king, Arthur and his companions attempted to fulfill another of their tasks—to find Mabon, the son of Modron who had been kidnapped when he was only three days old.

Arthur instructed Gwyhyr to ask an ancient Blackbird if he knew of Mabon’s whereabouts. The Blackbird answered that while he had been sitting in that spot long enough to peck an anvil to the size of a nut, he had never heard anyone speak of the boy.

The bird suggested they ask a beast older than he, the Stag of Rhedenvre. The Stag could not help them, nor could an old Owl nor an ancient Eagle. Finally, though, they were directed toward the Salmon of Lake Llyw, who was said to have been the oldest living creature in the world.

The Salmon indeed knew where Mabon lived. He even offered to take Kai and Gwrhyr there on his shoulders. Together they made their way to a stone house, where they heard terrible wailing. It was Mabon, begging for his freedom. Kai and Gwyhyr released Mabon, who then helped them fulfill many of their other tasks.

After much time, Arthur decided he and his men were ready to take on Twrch. They advanced to the castle where the boar king lived with his seven young pig sons. The companions fought Twrch for three days with little results.

Finally, Arthur sent Gwrhyr in the shape of a bird to speak with Twrch. Gwrhyr begged the boar king to give up his comb and scissors in order to put an end to all the fighting. Twrch not only refused, he promised to do even more damage to the land and Arthur’s men.

Enraged, Twrch and his pigs swam across the sea into Wales. Arthur and his men followed. They made their way all over Britain chasing Twrch, encountering many adventures and even fulfilling other tasks in the process.

Over a long period of time, the pig sons were killed one by one until Twrch alone remained. Finally, they cornered the king and were able to grab the comb and scissors—but not without great effort and cost on their part. Twrch managed to escape before Arthur had a chance to kill him.

With the comb in hand, Arthur had succeeded in helping Culhwch fulfill his trials as promised. They made their way back to Yspaddaden, bringing him every treasure he had required. The gifts he had demanded turned out to be his death wish.

When Culhwch asked if Olwen was his, Yspaddaden replied, “She is. And you need not thank me, rather Arthur, who won her for you; of my own will you would have never got her. Now it is time for you to kill me.”

With that, one of Arthur’s men grabbed the giant and beheaded him. Yspaddaden’s head was placed on a pole on the wall. Arthur seized the fortress and all the treasures. Culhwch, of course, took Olwen and the couple was soon married.

The Girl Who Married a Gnome

2011-05-01T09:42:00.000-07:00

Arouk lived with her aged parents in a small sealskin summer tent close to the mouth of a great fjord. Many hunters who traveled up and down the fjord in summer stopped to visit Arouk, but her father always sent them away because he believed no man was good enough for his beautiful daughter. Arouk loved her parents, but she very much wanted to get married.

One day a young man paddled up to the shore and called, “Arouk. Arouk. Come out.”

“Listen, father. He knows my name,” said Arouk pushing aside the caribou-hide door cover of the tent to peek outside.

“Go away,” yelled her father to the young man. “There is no one here by that name.”

But the young man persisted. “I have seen Arouk. I know she is there,” he yelled back. And then the brazen young man got out of his kayak and walked up to the little tent. The stranger’s boldness made the old man angry.

“Go away,” he said, and he pushed the young suitor backwards. But the young man caught himself, straightened up, and shoved the old man down onto the ground. Furious that a young man would show such a lack of respect, Arouk’s father picked up a rock and threw it. The rock struck the young suitor on the head, and he fell to the ground unconscious.

“Oh, my,” the father muttered. “What have I done?” The old man suddenly feared for his life. He called to his wife and daughter and told them to pack up the family’s belongings and hurry down to the shore. The family loaded up their little umiak, and left as quickly as possible.

On shore, the young suitor, who had regained consciousness, jumped up and shouted, “You will be sorry, old man. Your daughter will never find a husband, and you will starve before I or any other man gives you food.”

The old man, his wife, and their beautiful daughter traveled for many hours before they spotted a small island far away from the mainland and went ashore. Half hidden behind a giant boulder sat an abandoned stone house that suited them quite well.

The family lived happily in the little house until one day, when the old man began to have visions. “This morning I saw a little man in our house,” he said to his wife and daughter. Arouk shrugged her shoulders and continued to cut up seal meat for the evening meal.

Again the next morning, Arouk’s father saw the little man reaching up toward Arouk’s sealskin lamp to warm his tiny hands. But when the father got down from the sleeping platform, the little man was gone. “I am certain there was a little man standing here just a minute ago,” he said to Arouk.

At last the daughter spoke: “Father, I have married an atliarusek [an Inuit word for elf or gnome]. But I feared you would not like him, so I do not let him stay long in our house.”

The old man thought this news over. Finally, he said, “I do not mind. Tell him to come and live with us.”

The following morning when Arouk’s father woke up he saw the stout little man sitting on the platform beside his daughter. He was pleased to have a new son-in-law, even if he was very small.

That evening Arouk’ s husband brought home a stack of fresh seals. “My husband has brought us meat,” she told her father, “but he must take some home to his relatives, and we will not see him for awhile.”

A long time passed before the atliarusek returned, but finally one morning when the old man awoke, his elusive son-in-law was resting comfortably beside his daughter. The old man smiled and laid back down on his furry caribou blanket.

For many months the stout little man sat beside Arouk in the morning, but he always disappeared before the family got up. One morning, however, the atliarusek did not disappear. He stayed home all day. “I am resting,” he told his father-in-law. “Tomorrow I must go to the mainland and visit my people.”

“We will join you,” said the old man.

“No, it is a very long trip,” said the atliarusek staring up into his father-in-law’s anxious face. “I must travel far up a long fjord, and it takes many days.”

Arouk stopped mending her father’s caribou-skin anorak. “We would all like to join you,” she said to her husband. “We are hardy people.”

Eventually, the atliarusek agreed to let his wife and her parents follow him in their umiak. They set off the next day, but the family had to paddle very hard to keep up with the atliarusek’s little kayak as it skimmed expertly over the water.

That evening when they stopped to rest, a series of tiny kayaks carrying other atliaruseks joined them. And each day thereafter, whenever they stopped to rest, more kayaks filled with the little people got in line behind them.

One afternoon, Arouk’s husband pulled up beside the old man’s boat and said, “We are going to disappear so that people on land do not see us. Stay in the wake of our boats.” Then, all of the boats disappeared under the sea.

“This is very frightening,” said the old man to his daughter. “Perhaps we should not have followed your atliarusek husband.” But before he could say another word, their umiak dove underwater and resurfaced at a place beyond where they could be seen from the shore.

Arouk’s family followed the long line of atliarusek kayaks up a narrow fjord. When at last they stopped, they had to tie up their boats onto large boulders sticking up out of the water.

The atliaruseks stopped below a steep cliff where a progression of natural steps made it easier for them to climb to the top. Even so, the atliarusek had to reach above their heads, grab the edge of each step above them, and pull themselves up, one step at a time. Arouk and her family followed after them.

Arouk and her parents followed the atliaruseks far inland until they came to the Valley of the Caribou where thousands of large brown caribou fed on stubby willow trees and clumps of grey-green grass that grew where the snow had melted. “You may stay here and I will hunt with you,” said the atliarusek to his wife and her parents.

The family hunted caribou all summer with the atliarusek people and filled their umiak with meat and furs to take home. When it was time to leave, they bade goodbye to their new friends and headed down the fjord and back out to the sea. Now, even if the seals stayed away the following winter, the family would not go hungry.

Not long after they arrived home, a hunter from their old village came to visit. The visitor told Arouk’s family that his people at home were starving. The old man grew silent after he heard the news.

His family had enjoyed great prosperity during the summer, and he knew he should share it with his old friends. So he loaded up his boat with caribou meat and hides and journeyed back to his old village. When he pulled up to shore, his boat overflowing with fresh meat, the men scorned him.

“You expect us to believe you got this yourself?” asked the young man who had tried to steal Arouk from her family. “You would not allow your daughter to marry; therefore you cannot have anyone to secure meat for you. You could not have taken all this caribou meat by yourself!”

The old man remained silent as he unloaded the meat on shore for his old friends, got back into his boat, and paddled home. Before long, Arouk’s husband returned home and heard the story about the ungrateful friends. “Invite them to our island. We will show them our prosperity.”

The old man did as his son-in-law requested—he returned to his old village and invited the men to his island for a feast.

Soon a long line of kayaks, many carrying his daughter’s old suitors, pulled up along the shore. Arouk’s family invited them in and prepared a great feast of caribou meat and seal blubber. After everyone had eaten, the old man stood up and spoke.

“Do you remember a long time ago one of you wanted my daughter for your wife? And do you remember that I had to flee from our village with my family because that suitor would not respect an old man and might have killed him? And that same young man prophesied that my daughter would never find a clever husband? Well, here sitting among you is my son-in-law who is a very great hunter,” and the old man pointed to the atliarusek.

The men lowered their heads in shame.

“And does one of you remember that he vowed never to feed us if we were starving?”

Still, the men sat in silence. Not one of them raised his head—especially not the young man who was guilty of having made the threat.

The old man stood proudly before the group. “A father knows the man his daughter should marry,” he said. “You see that I have made the right decision.” Then, the old man’s voice softened, and his words came forth gently. “Help yourself,” he said. “Eat as much as you like.”

The Adventures of Kivioq

2011-05-01T09:22:00.000-07:00

Kivioq’s father had been killed by an angry hunter several months before he was born. His mother vowed to avenge her husband’s death and plotted to get even. Soon after the little boy was born, his mother wrapped his tiny body in the skin of a newborn seal and sewed it together so tightly that it fit just like his own.

Kivioq’s mother taught her young son how to hold his breath under water. They practiced each day until Kivioq grew so comfortable under water that his mother had to wait long periods of time for her young son to come up for air.

One day Kivioq’s mother said, “You are ready for the sea, my son.” And she took him down to the shore. Kivioq’s mother rubbed his sleek sealskin suit and smiled at her young son. “Swim out to sea,” she said. “And when you see kayaks, show yourself above the water.

The men will quickly paddle toward you. Let them come close, then duck under the water and hold your breath until you have led them far out to sea. After they are far enough away, I will raise a great storm, turn over their kayaks, and they will all drown.”

Kivioq did as he was told and swam out to sea.

“Look,” cried one hunter from his kayak. “There is a seal. Let’s follow it.”

Kivioq let the kayaks come close, then he dove down under the water and disappeared. When he resurfaced, he was far out at sea, and the men’s kayaks were right behind him. Kivioq quickly dove under the water again, and the men paddled rapidly after him.

Suddenly, an angry wind sent huge waves over the tops of the kayaks, and one by one, the little boats disappeared beneath the water. Only one kayak and hunter remained and continued to follow Kivioq.

But soon this single hunter grew tired and stopped to rest. No sooner had he laid the paddle across his kayak than a great wave washed over him. Kivioq never saw the young hunter again.

Kivioq bobbed up and down in the water looking for more hunters until he was certain his mother had sought her complete revenge. Then he swam to the nearest island and went ashore.

He found one small house, which had no windows or roof. Kivioq climbed up the wall of the house and looked down inside. An old witch sat on the sleeping platform tanning a human skin.

From the top of the wall Kivioq blew down on the witch’s head, then drew back so she could not see him. The witch looked up, but her thick wrinkled eyelids were so big and heavy that they fell down over her eyes and shrouded her sight. “Strange, my house has never leaked before,” muttered the old witch.

Kivioq blew down on the witch again. This time she cut off her heavy eyelids with her tanning knife and looked up toward the top of the wall. Kivioq gasped at the sight of her hideous red-black eyes and let go his grip of the side of the house.

He landed on the ground just in time for the old witch to greet him at the door. “Please come in,” she said in a kind voice. “Let me hang up your clothes to dry.”

Kivioq went inside and took off his wet clothing. The old witch hung the clothing on a long line that stretched across the room, and Kivioq jumped up onto the sleeping platform to stay warm.

“Wait here,” said the old witch. “I must go out and get some more fuel for the fire.”

Suddenly Kivioq began to fear that the old witch meant to cook him. He got down off the sleeping platform and began to poke around the room. “Oh,” he gasped out loud as his hand brushed against a pile of human skulls. “What are these?” One of the skulls spoke up, “You had better get out of here in a hurry if you do not wish to join us!”

Kivioq reached for his clothing on the line above him. But each time he grabbed at his anorak, the line flew up into the air and out of reach. Desperate, Kivioq rubbed the small white feather that hung around his neck and called out to the bird who was his helping spirit, “Snow Bunting, Snow Bunting, where are you? Please help me.”

Snow Bunting flew into the house and brushed her wings against the line that held Kivioq’s clothing. The clothing fell to the floor, and Kivioq put it on as quickly as possible. Then he rushed out of the house, down to the shore, and jumped into the water.

Soon the old witch came running after him waving her long pointed knife. Frustrated that she could not reach him, but eager to show Kivok her great powers, the old witch gashed open a granite boulder on shore, just as easily as if she were cutting a piece of fresh meat.

Kivioq quickly responded by throwing his harpoon at an even larger boulder that jutted up out of the sea. The great stone split in two and fell into the water. “That is the way I would have harpooned you,” cried Kivioq.

The old witch smiled gleefully. She was so impressed with Kivioq’s great strength that she called out, “Please come back, I want you to be my husband.”

Kivioq swam away as fast as he could go. The angry old witch hurled her knife after him. It skidded over the water and eventually turned into a great ice floe. Thereafter, the sea began to freeze over every winter.

After Kivioq had escaped far from the angry witch, he stole a kayak and began to paddle from shore to shore in search of a place to settle. At first he stopped on a small island where two giant caterpillars, helping spirits of the old witch, tried to steal his kayak.

He escaped just in time, back to the sea. Snow Bunting came to warn him that the witch had sent a giant clam after him, and Kivioq looked up just in time to dodge two huge shells that threatened to swallow him whole.

At last Kivioq returned home, but his mother was gone and the village was empty. He mourned for many months before he decided to seek a wife. Kivioq walked until he came upon a small stone house nestled against low-growing shrubs by the side of a lake.

He called out, “Is anyone at home?” A sweet-looking old lady with graying hair came out to greet him. The old lady, who was really a wolf in human form, invited Kivioq in to meet her daughter. Kivioq entered the small stone house and was surprised to see that the daughter had the same graying hair as the mother, even though she was very young.

After Kivioq had been with the women for two winters and had taught them how to hunt caribou, he asked the young girl to be his wife. Kiviok’s young bride had become an excellent hunter, but her mother was too old to run fast and seldom brought down an animal.

In the evening Kivioq brought caribou home in his kayak, and his young wife waded out into the lake to retrieve the dead animals. Kivioq admired his wife’s strength and beauty. Her knees never wobbled under a heavy load, and her shoulders stayed straight back when she walked.

But the old lady sneered at her robust daughter, “You are so young and strong you can show off for your new husband. But I am just as strong.” The young girl ignored the old lady and continued to sew her husband’s caribou-skin anorak.

One day while the daughter waited for Kivioq to come home, the old lady sneaked up behind her and hit her on the head with a rock. Then, the jealous old woman stripped her daughter of her beautiful young skin and stepped into it herself.

The new young skin covered the old woman’s wrinkled face, bony arms and hands, and torso, but it would not stretch all the way down to her feet. Still, she was pleased with her new appearance, and she covered up the old skin of her legs with high boots.

Before long, Kivioq called from his kayak, and the old lady, disguised as his wife, slipped out the door to greet him. “You forgot to take off your boots,” scolded Kivioq. But the old lady pretended she did not hear him and kept walking out toward the kayak. “Take off your boots,” he protested again. “Boots do not belong in the water.”

Finally the old lady took off the boots and threw them on the shore. After she reached Kivioq’s kayak she grabbed hold of the caribou, just as her daughter had always done, and hoisted it onto her shoulder. But the animal’s weight made her shoulders bend forward and her knees buckle. Kivioq thought his wife must be very tired.

He watched closely as his wife struggled to walk toward shore. Then he looked down in the water and saw two thin wrinkled legs below the fine young skin of his wife. Immediately, Kivioq understood his jealous mother-in-law’s terrible deed.

“You cruel old woman. You have taken my wife from me,” he shouted. And he turned his kayak around and paddled off in the opposite direction.

Kivioq never looked behind him. And he never again saw the old she-wolf who was his mother-in-law.

Sedna, Goddess of The Sea

2011-05-01T08:48:00.000-07:00

A very long time ago, a young girl named Sedna lived with her widowed father in a small sealskin tent along the coast of Baffin Island. Sedna, who was beautiful, smart, independent, and willful, wanted a husband who was her equal.

In fact, she was so particular that she turned down every suitor who came to visit. Sedna’s father, Kinuk, did not mind that his daughter was so fussy because he loved her dearly and did not want to lose her.

One day, a long, sleek kayak carrying a handsome young man pulled up along the shore. Sedna asked her father if he recognized the style of the young man’s clothing. “I have never seen an anorak with such beautiful black-and-white stripes,” she said to her father.

“It is most unusual,” he agreed. “And look at the stranger’s spear. It is made of ivory.” Although Sedna and her father were very curious about the young man, they remained hidden from view inside their little tent.

But the stranger cried out to Sedna: “Come to me. You will never be hungry, and you will live in a tent made of the most beautiful skins. You will rest on soft bearskins. Your lamp will always be filled with oil, your pot with meat.”

Sedna pushed aside the thick caribou hide that covered the front entrance of her tent and peeked out. “Oh,” she gasped. “He is indeed handsome.” But Sedna had a reputation to protect, and she could not run to the shore and join the handsome young man while the people of her village looked on. So she closed the tent flap and stood quietly.

The young man stepped out of his kayak, and, using the tip of his ivory spear, drew a picture in the sand. “This is the land to which I will take you,” he said as he scratched a scene of rolling hills, fat animals, and large comfortable houses. “I have many furs to give you,” he shouted. “And I will place necklaces of ivory around your neck.”

Sedna stepped out from the door of the tent and in a shy voice asked, “Am I the only girl in the territory without a husband? Are there no other women to pursue than one who does not wish to marry?” The young man’s smiled broadened. “There are many women for such a rich man as myself. But I want only you.”

Sedna was charmed. She had known handsome men before, but she had never been enchanted by their words. She went back indoors, filled a small sealskin pouch with her sewing needles, and walked slowly down to the shore. Sedna’s father did not protest. He believed he could not have made a better choice himself. The old man smiled and waved goodbye to his beautiful daughter.

The handsome young man lifted Sedna gently into his kayak and turned quickly out to sea. That evening, their kayak stopped alongside a rocky coast backed by low rolling hills. There were no houses and no fat animals—just hundreds of loons.

Sedna stepped hesitantly out of the kayak and turned to ask her new husband the whereabouts of the beautiful home he had described, but when she turned around, she was being followed not by her husband, but by an elegant loon with black on his back and white on his breast and belly. “Oh,” she cried. “I have run away with the spirit-bird!”

“I used my power to transform myself into a human after I fell in love with you,” said the young loon. “Otherwise, you would not have come away with me.”

Sedna cried inconsolably. She could not imagine living among a flock of loud birds, who waddled around on webbed feet, let alone marrying one. She begged and begged to be returned to her home. “Please,” she said. “I will give you my bag of sewing needles, if you will let me go home. I will give you anything I own.”

Her loon husband fluffed up the nest of loose plants he had made for her and ignored her pleas. He brought her dozens of fresh fish and fed her well. But still she begged to go home.

When Sedna had failed to return home, even to visit, her father set out to find her. The old man wandered for many days from one island to another in search of his daughter.

At last he spotted the long sleek kayak that belonged to the handsome suitor, and he went ashore. The father was puzzled: there were no houses on the island, just hundreds of black and white loons. He called out his daughter’s name, “Sedna. Sedna. Where are you?”

But he was answered only by the cry of the loons. Then he looked up and saw his once-beautiful daughter sitting on a nest sobbing. “Oh, my child. I will take you home.” He took her in his arms, carried her to his kayak, and they paddled away as quickly as possible.

When Sedna’s husband came home, he asked the other birds, “Where is my wife?”

“Her father came and took her away,” they cried.

Quickly, Loon-Husband turned back into a human, jumped into his sleek kayak, and gave chase.

Sedna’s father saw the young husband approaching in his kayak, and he hid Sedna underneath a pile of furs. “Where is my wife? I want to see her,” demanded her husband. The old man ignored him and paddled on.

Sedna’s husband suddenly grew very angry and whirled his paddle madly in the air. Then he struck the water with his paddle, first on one side of the boat and then the other.

His head and body gyrated back and forth in the tight little kayak, and water splashed all around him. Suddenly, the young man’s handsome anorak turned back into shiny black and white feathers, and the spirit-bird rose up out of his kayak. As the great bird flapped its wings, the strange, wild cry of the loon filled the air.

Within moments, a furious storm rose up out of the sea, and giant waves smacked against the little kayak where Sedna still hid under a cover of heavy furs. Although Sedna’s father wanted to save his beautiful daughter, he was consumed with fear.

The spirit-bird was seeking revenge, and the old man knew he must appease the angry spirit. There was only one way to satisfy the spirit-bird, and that was to throw his daughter overboard. Once her father had made this horrible sacrifice, Sedna struggled to keep her head above the water as giant waves washed over her.

When at last she was able to grip the gunwales of her father’s kayak, he was seized with fear, and cut away her half-frozen fingers. “I must,” he cried, steeling himself against his own agony. “The spirit-bird makes the sea angry and demands your life.”

Sedna’s body slowly disappeared beneath the icy waters, and her grieving father returned home. The old man lay down on a thick pile of caribou hides inside the little tent he and Sedna had shared for so many years, and wept.

During the night, another storm filled the sea with giant waves. This time, the waves washed far up on shore and lashed against the little tent where Sedna’s father lay sleeping. When the last wave returned to the sea that night, it took the old man with it, down to Sedna’s home at the bottom of the sea.

Sedna glared at her father with a single large, hollow eye that shone like a winter moon on her defiant face—the other eye had been lost in the storm at sea. Her father recognized the thick black braids that hung down his daughter’s back, but the youthful beauty he had known had been replaced by the proud face of a great spirit-goddess.

Sea animals had been created from the joints of Sedna’s severed hands: the first joint of her fingers became the seals of the sea; the second joint the whales of the sea; and the third joint the walruses of the sea. When Sedna was in a good mood, she made the animals plentiful, and no one went hungry.

Sedna protected the animals she had created from her dismembered fingers and reigned over a vast region where human souls, including her father’s, were imprisoned as punishment after death.

Oogoon’s Adventures on The Kobuk River

2011-05-01T07:02:00.000-07:00

By the time Oogoon was born, his parents were already old and living all alone far up along the Kobuk River. Oogoon had many brothers, but they had all left home as soon as they had reached manhood, and none of them had ever returned.

Oogoon’s parents would never know if their boys had met untimely deaths and, if they had, whether their souls might be wandering around lost. They feared the same fate might befall their youngest son.

So, to avoid such a fate for Oogoon, his parents catered to their son’s every whim in the hope that he would never leave them. His mother fed him au-goo-took, an Inuit version of ice cream, and his father made him a furry crown of ermine to wear on his head. “This will be your spirit-protector,” he said to his young son. “Amulets like this hold magical power and will keep you safe.”

In summer, Oogoon chased squirrels among the thick spruce trees that grew along the river, and in winter he hunted for white fox, wolverines, and lynx with his father out on the frozen tundra.

As the years went by, Oogoon grew tall and strong. But his father could not tell if he had reached manhood. One day in early summer, Oogoon’s father gave his son a strong new hunting spear made for a man. “It is time for you to hunt alone,” said Oogoon’s father.

Oogoon rubbed his fingers along the finely polished wooden spear-handle and then against the sharp stone blade his father had attached to the end. “It is a fine weapon,” said Oogoon to his father. “I will make you proud.”

Oogoon rose early the next morning and bounded down the path through the spruce trees in search of game. Even though he had traveled this way many times before with his father, it was the first time he had carried a spear and had been all alone. That evening, Oogoon returned home wearing a big smile and dragging a bird, a young ptarmigan.

When Oogoon’s father saw the bird he heaved a sigh of relief. Oogoon had snared the ptarmigan, but it was obvious that he had not used his new spear. Even young children could snare birds, but it took the confidence and skill of a mature man to use a spear. The old man thanked the earth that his son was still a boy and would be likely to remain at home.

Before long, Oogoon’s father inquired if he would like to go hunting again. “Yes,” said Oogoon, “I had great success once before.”

That evening Oogoon returned home with a small rabbit. He had snared the animal again, but had not used his new spear. Once more, the old man sighed, and thanked the earth that his son was still a boy.

Winter passed, and in spring Oogoon announced that it was time for him to go hunting again. When he returned home that evening, he dragged behind him a large caribou.

This time it was clear that the animal had been felled by Oogoon’s new spear, and this time his father did not give thanks to the earth. Instead, he made plans to kill his son before he could leave home.

The following morning, after Oogoon had left to go hunting, his father buried sharp spears beneath the snow along the trail Oogoon followed home. Then he hid behind a tall spruce tree and waited. At last, Oogoon came down the trail dragging two caribou.

But when he saw the piles of disturbed snow along the trail, he swished his feet back and forth in the snow and uncovered the sharp spears his father had planted. Oogoon pulled up the spears, threw them aside, and continued on his way home as if nothing had happened. He did not mention the incident when the family ate together that evening.

The next morning Oogoon’s father set a noose, a loop of rope used to hang people, above the door and waited to drop it on his son when he entered the house. But Oogoon’s father did not hear his son approaching, and when the young man opened the door, the noose fell on the floor too soon. Oogoon stepped over the noose, and sat down to eat.

“Have you forgotten, father?” said Oogoon. “You can never succeed in killing me as long as I wear my ermine crown.”

The old man hung his head in shame. “You are right,” he said. “I will stop trying.” So, Oogoon’s parents forgot their fear of losing their son, and the family lived happily together for two more winters. Then, one cold spring morning Oogoon approached his father with a request: “I would like very much to have a kayak of my own. Will you make one for me?”

Oogoon’s father knew that if he made his son a kayak, he would leave. Nevertheless, the old man made Oogoon a sturdy little craft and a long wooden paddle. When he had finished, he showed his son the sleek little boat and said, “Many of our people live far away where the river meets the sea. Perhaps you will find your brothers there.”

When Oogoon was ready to leave, he placed the ermine crown on his head and tucked a bag of au-goo-took into the kayak. “Take a taste of au-goo-took whenever you sense danger,” said his mother. “It will warn you if there is trouble.”

Oogoon thanked his parents, stepped into his sleek new kayak, and disappeared down the swift waters of the Kobuk River. He paddled for many hours, content with the sound of water splashing softly against his shiny new paddle.

Before long, Oogoon saw an old woman on shore, but she ran into the house when she saw him approaching. Oogoon remembered his bag of au-goo-took and quickly stuck his finger into the bag to take a taste. “There is danger here,” said a low voice.

Oogoon got out of his kayak, stroked his ermine crown, and walked toward the old woman’s house. As soon as he entered the tunnel leading to the house, its entrance sealed up behind him.

It was too dark inside for Oogoon to see, so he felt around the walls until his finger sank into a small opening. The opening was just large enough for an ermine to squeeze through, so Oogoon took off his crown, turned himself into an ermine, and squirmed through the hole.

Once outside, Oogoon became a man again. He put the ermine crown back on his head, climbed into his kayak, and paddled away.

The following evening Oogoon saw another house along the river. Quickly, he reached into his bag and tasted the au-goo-took. Again he heard a voice warning, “There is danger here.”

Prepared for another uncomfortable experience, Oogoon walked toward the entrance of the house. An old woman came out and invited him to spend the night in her home. Tired and hungry, Oogoon accepted.

The old woman introduced him to her young daughter who sat sewing. After they had eaten, the old lady made a place on the platform for Oogoon to sleep. Oogoon waited until he heard the old lady and her daughter snoring before he stepped quietly onto the floor.

He crept over to where the young girl slept, cut off her hair, and replaced it with his ermine crown. After he had settled back on the platform, Oogoon piled the girl’s hair on his own head and went to sleep.

The following morning, Oogoon peeked from under his caribou-skin blanket and saw the old lady get up and reach for her carving knife. She crept over to the ermine crown and cut off the head beneath it, mistaking it for the head of the stranger. Then she crawled back underneath her warm caribou-skin blankets and went back to sleep.

Oogoon waited until the old lady was snoring. Then he got up, took back his ermine crown, and ran out the passageway. But he had underestimated the old woman: the entrance was tightly sealed and he could not get out. Oogoon searched frantically until he found a small hole in the doorway.

Again, he turned into an ermine and squeezed out through the hole. Once safe outside, he turned back into Oogoon, and ran toward the river. A huge black bear came roaring out of the house, calling in the voice of the old woman, “You have tricked me. I gave you food and a bed, and you tricked me!”

Oogoon jumped into his kayak and paddled away as fast as possible.

Oogoon traveled for several more days without seeing another house. Then early one afternoon he came upon Kotzebue Sound, where the river meets the sea. He crossed the bay and paddled until he saw houses. This time when he tasted his mother’s au-goo-took, he heard no warning, so he went ashore. “Is there anyone here?” he called.

An old couple came forward from behind the house and greeted him. “Please,” said the woman, “Come in and meet our daughter. We seldom have visitors.”

Oogoon followed the couple inside. Standing beside a small oil lamp was the most beautiful girl Oogoon had ever seen. When she turned her head, strings of shiny cooper beads hanging from her ears picked up the light from the seal oil lamp and threw it like tiny sparks around the room.

Her black hair was twisted into two long shiny braids that fell far down her back, and three fine black tattoo lines ran from underneath her lower lip to her chin. Oogoon smiled for the first time since he had left home.

The family welcomed Oogoon into their lives. The old man taught him to hunt seals and walruses along the coast and took him inland to hunt caribou. Before long, Oogoon married the couple’s beautiful daughter.

But Oogoon and the old couple did not always understand each other because they spoke different dialects. Only the daughter understood both her husband and her parents, so she acted as a translator.

One day, when Oogoon was on his way out of the house, his father-in-law said something Oogoon did not understand. He said, “Do not go up on the mountain with two peaks. There are two ferocious dogs up there who will attack you!”

Oogoon turned to ask his wife what her father had said, but she had gone out.

Since he did not understand what his father-in-law had said, Oogoon went to the mountain with two peaks. That evening when he returned from hunting, he told the family about his encounter with two fierce dogs, which he had killed to save himself.

Quickly the old man hung his head in sorrow. “You have killed my sons! They were my hunters.” The old man brooded for a long time. Then his sadness turned to anger, and Oogoon began to fear that the old man would seek revenge.

Over the weeks that passed, Oogoon became very eager to please. Early one morning when the old man was leaving the house, he asked his son-in-law to make him a kayak.

“But there is no wood here,” replied Oogoon. “I cannot make a kayak frame without wood.”

“Go down to the shore where the waves bring forth wood from the sea. There you will find what you are looking for,” answered the old man.

So Oogoon did what his father-in-law instructed and found a large log lying on the beach. He began to chop it up, but it was not dead wood, and it sprang back at him and almost killed him.

Angry with his father-in-law for trying to trick him, Oogoon pounded at the log until it was too weak to spring back at him. The old man was surprised when Oogoon came home with enough wood to frame a kayak.

The following day, when Oogoon was resting in a small hunting shelter, his father-in-law poured oil down a hole in the roof and set the house on fire. Oogoon fought desperately to get out of the little house, but his father-in-law had sealed up the door.

At last, Oogoon took off his ermine crown, turned himself into an ermine, and escaped through a tiny hole in the wall of the house. Once outside, he turned back into a man and sat down to rest.

Later, when Oogoon’s father-in-law returned to view the young man’s ashes, he found his son-in-law sitting calmly beside the burnt debris of the shelter. Neither man spoke as they walked home.

By the time summer arrived, Oogoon was a father. He was eager to take his wife and son to visit his parents far up the Kobuk River. So he packed his family into a small umiak, bade goodbye to his in-laws, and paddled across the bay.

However, just as Oogoon and his family approached the mouth of the river, a ferocious storm began to blow them in all directions. Their little boat bobbed up and down, rising and falling with great angry waves.

Oogoon tried to turn back, but he could not steer the little boat. First his supplies flew overboard, then his baby son flew out of his wife’s arms, and moments later the kayak tipped sideways and his beautiful wife disappeared into the water.

Oogoon held himself in the boat and fought desperately to stay afloat. After many hours, he managed to make his way back to the home of his in-laws. When he entered his old house, his beautiful wife sat sewing, and his young son lay sleeping beside her.

Oogoon’s father-in-law, surprised to see that he still had not succeeded in killing Oogoon, feared for his life and ran from the house.

The next day, Oogoon found his father-in-law resting in a hunting shelter. Oogoon sealed up the door with a huge boulder and poured oil inside through the roof, just as the old man had done to him. Then he set the shelter on fire.

Later, when Oogoon returned and found the charred bones of his father-in-law lying in the ashes, he knew he would not have to worry about his father-in-law’s evil tricks any longer.

Oogoon took his wife and little son far up the Kobuk River to live with his parents. Oogoon’s parents were delighted that at least one of their sons had returned home, and they would not have to worry that his soul might become lost.

Oogoon’s parents doted on their lovely daughter-in-law and spoiled their handsome young grandson, and they never tired of listening to their son’s exciting adventures on the Kobuk River.

The Hill Giant

2011-05-01T06:00:00.000-07:00

Darkness covered the frozen tundra the night Taku slipped out the long underground entrance of the house she had shared for many years with her cruel young husband. Tired of being beaten, Taku was leaving and never coming back.

Taku pulled her caribou-skin anorak up around her face and headed west. She traveled for many days and nights, going out of her way to avoid houses and villages, fearing someone might see her and take her home. When she was sure all signs of human life were behind her, Taku slowed down.

Then, a cold wind began to whip her face, and she stopped to look for shelter. A series of large and small hills off in the distance gave her renewed energy, and she began to run toward them. At last Taku reached the smallest hill and made a clearing between two short ridges. She snuggled into the deep snow and fell sound asleep.

The following day, Taku continued to trek along the hills, and in the evening, she nestled down beside two small round hills. Each day, Taku climbed higher and higher along the hilly ridges until one morning a great booming voice awoke her: “Who are you? Humans never visit me. What are you doing here?”

Taku trembled with fright. She told the invisible voice her sad story and how she had been forced to run away from her husband’s constant beatings.

“You may call me Kinak,” said the voice. “My great body spreads out over the tundra, and I have allowed you to sleep between my toes and knees, on my chest, and now on my face. But you must never again sleep so close to my mouth or I will be forced to breathe on you and blow you away.”

Taku trembled. “I did not realize I was traveling on the body of a giant,” said the young wife. “I will leave right away.”

The giant heaved a sigh. “You do not have to leave. Build a house in the thickest part of my beard, far away from my mouth. But go quickly. I must take a breath and clear my lungs right now.”

Taku had barely settled in the giant’s beard when a fierce wind roared out over the hills and heavy snow swirled across the tundra. While she waited for something more to happen, a dark cloud appeared in the sky and moved slowly toward her.

When it was directly overhead, Taku recognized the outline of the giant’s huge fist. The shadow lingered for a moment, then a freshly killed caribou dropped down beside her. Taku was so hungry she thanked the giant out loud. “Thank you. Thank you,” she yelled into the sky.

Taku quickly gathered hairs from the giant’s beard, built a fire with the hairs, and ate heartily. She was pleased to be living with a giant who could stretch his arm toward the land and capture a caribou, or simply reach toward the sea and bring her seals and walruses.

Taku lived happily with the giant for many years. She ate well and fashioned fine clothing for herself from the many animals he brought. She had never been so happy and content.

But one day, the giant called out to her. “Taku?” he asked. “Are you listening to me? I am tired of lying in one place. I must turn over. It is time for you to go home.”

Taku trembled with fear. Her husband would surely inflict severe punishment on her for staying away so long. “I would like very much to go home,” she said, “but I know my husband will beat me for staying away for so long.”

“Do not worry,” said Kinak. “I will protect you. If you are ever in danger, just call my name and I will come. But before you leave, you must cut both ears from each of the animal skins in storage and put them in a container to take home.”

Taku did as she was told without asking Kinak for reasons.

“Now crouch down in front of my mouth and I will send you home,” said Kinak.

Again, Taku did as she was told. The giant took a deep breath and WHOOSH, he expelled a powerfully strong wind that blew the young wife far out over the tundra. And before long, Taku landed in her old village.

She walked slowly toward the house she had shared with her cruel husband, placed the container of animal ears in the storage shed outside the house, and went inside.

To Taku’s surprise, her husband greeted her with great joy. He told her he had mourned her death and believed he would never see her again. Taku’s fears disappeared, and she settled back into her old household routines.

The next day, when Taku’s husband went out to the storage shed, he found piles of fine well-tanned animal hides, one for every ear in Taku’s container. The large quantity of fine furs would make Taku’s husband a very rich man, and thus one of the village leaders.

Taku’s husband was so pleased with his new status in the village that he forgot all about beating his wife.

Then one day Taku’s husband told his wife he wanted a child. “What will become of us if we remain childless into our old age? Who will take care of us?” he argued. And that evening Taku’s husband dipped a feather in oil and drew the form of a baby boy on his wife’s abdomen.

Before long, Taku gave birth to a handsome little boy whom she named Kinak, in memory of the kind giant. Little Kinak soon grew up to be handsome and strong.

But while her son was maturing into a fine young man, her husband was reverting back to his old ways. One day, Taku’s husband got so angry when his food was not prepared on time that he picked up his spear and rushed toward her, intending to strike her.

Taku ran out of the house shouting, “Kinak. Kinak. Help!” Her husband, who believed she was calling their son, ignored her cries and chased her out through the long passageway.

Once outside, a fierce wind blew down from the north, picked up the angry husband, and whisked him off into the clear blue summer sky, never to be seen again. Taku was pleased never to see her husband, and thrilled to have her young son all to herself.

But young Kinak soon developed a cruel and fierce temper. Every day he bragged to his mother that he had killed a hunting companion. Often, the cocky young man boasted of having killed more than one.

“You are endangering both of our lives,” Taku said to her son. “The families of your victims will seek revenge. They will kill both of us,” she warned.

So Kinak behaved properly for some time thereafter, and nothing more was said about his evil deeds. Then, one day when he returned home from hunting, he told his mother he had killed his companion after a quarrel.

Kinak’s mother heaved a heavy sigh. “You are hated and feared in the village,” she said at last. “Soon there will only be women and children living among us. It will be better for all of us if you go away and do not return.”

Then Taku turned and walked away.

Some months later, after Kinak had filled his mother’s storage racks with meat and skins, he said, “I have provided you with food and hides. Now I will go.”

Kinak traveled north in the direction his mother had taken many years before. When he came upon the series of hills where his mother had lived for many years, he immediately climbed the highest one.

No sooner had he reached the top when he heard the booming voice of the giant. “Who are you?” the giant asked the young man who was standing too close to his mouth.

When Kinak the giant learned that the young man was the son of his friend Taku he smiled. “You may settle down on my face,” said the giant. “But you must never climb onto my lips. If you do, evil will befall you.”

Taku’s son thanked the giant and settled down on his long wiry beard. But he was not accustomed to being told what to do, and soon he became restless.

Finally, the bold young man decided to find out why the giant was so protective of his lips. It took a long time for the young man to make his way through the giant’s thick tangled beard, but eventually he landed on the cleft of Kinak’s deep chin.

After he had caught his breath, Taku’s son stepped up onto the giant’s lower lip and looked over the edge. WHOOSH. A blast of ice-cold air whirled up out of the opening, picked up the surprised young man, and hurled him into the air. Round and round he spun until, eventually, he disappeared off into space.

Taku and her son were the last humans to visit the hill giant. But Kinak the giant still lives in the north and breathes out fierce winds and snow in winter to remind the people of his presence.

Ol-an-uk The Orphan

2011-05-01T04:40:00.000-07:00

Ol-an-uk lived alone on a small island where the wind blew day and night all year long. On the day that his parents did not return home in the evening, Ol-an-uk went down to the shore. His parents, their tools, and fishing nets had all been swept out to sea and vanished without a trace.

Ol-an-uk mourned the loss of his parents throughout the long winter. In spring, he walked aimlessly along the rocky shore tossing rocks into the water and calling out to the whales. “Come,” he called. “It is spring and I am hungry.” But Ol-an-uk knew that the whales would not come to him.

He would have to muster the courage to go out into the fog-enshrouded sea and hunt the great beluga, or white, whales that had already begun to migrate north. But now, without his father, the excitement of chasing a pod of beluga whales was gone. He would really have to force himself to go hunting.

The day Ol-an-uk set out to hunt, the wind blew fog and mist in circles around his sturdy kayak. He paddled hard around the tiny island and out into the current. He would not be able to see the whales through the fog.

Instead, he would have to detect their presence by listening as they splashed rhythmically through the water. At last, Ol-an-uk heard their sound and paddled quickly in their direction.

He grabbed his harpoon in one hand, and with the other hand he maneuvered the kayak until he was gliding silently beside a young beluga. He raised his harpoon into the air and threw it with all his might. The young whale stopped just long enough for Ol-an-uk to know he had made a direct hit. His father would have been proud.

The years passed, and soon Ol-an-uk became a young man in need of a wife. One day, when the wind slept and the sea rested, Ol-an-uk filled a small sealskin pouch with seal oil. He would use it to flavor dried roots and unpalatable fish in case he had trouble finding fresh food. Ol-an-uk tucked the pouch of oil into his kayak and left his island.

Suddenly, a strong current pulled him out into the swiftly running water. Ol-an-uk paddled furiously to break the current’s grip: first on one side of the little boat, then on the other.

He held his head high to determine the wind direction, and sat perfectly still to feel the current. Ol-an-uk’s strong even paddle strokes kept him balanced and upright, even though he did not know where the current would take him.

At last, Ol-an-uk saw the outline of an island through the fog and paddled hard to break free from the fast-moving current. He headed toward a large grassy swelling that appeared to be a dugout house rising above the rocks at the south end of the island.

As he pulled his kayak up onto the shore, a beautiful young girl came down to greet him. She had smiling brown eyes and three perfectly spaced lines tattooed on her chin.

“You are a stranger,” she said smiling. “Why have you come?”

Ol-an-uk stammered. “I, I, I, was lonely.”

“You will not be lonely here. We have many families on the island. They are up in the meadow playing games before it is time to go whale hunting.” The beautiful young girl turned and walked toward the house, “Come. I will feed you,” she said.

Before long, the local chieftain, hearing that a stranger was among them, came to the young girl’s house and invited Ol-an-uk to compete in the village games. “Samik, our village champion, is eager for a new challenge,” said the chief. “Please come.”

The young girl was not fond of Samik and wished to see him beaten. “You must accept the challenge, Ol-an-uk,” she said. “It is our custom. Besides, you are stronger and more clever than he,” she said with a sly smile.

Reluctantly, Ol-an-uk went with the chief to meet the village champion. Their first contest was to hunt for a beluga. Ol-an-uk smiled as he stepped confidently into his long thin kayak. He was already an expert whale hunter.

After he and the village champion had lined up their kayaks side by side, the chief rested a bow and arrow on the gunwales between them. “The winner is to use this on the man who loses,” he said.

Ol-an-uk paddled cautiously behind Samik who seemed to know in which direction to paddle to find whales. But the two hunters had barely lost sight of shore when high waves in the open sea began to toss their kayaks from side to side. Ol-an-uk tried desperately to keep his opponent in sight.

But the familiar silence of fog and the strong water current in which Ol-an-uk was used to hunting whales had been replaced by blowing winds, wet heavy mist, and tall waves. Ol-an-uk struggled for many hours to keep himself afloat in the angry sea, but eventually he had to turn around and go back to the island defeated.

His skin beneath the waterproof anorak turned cold at the thought of facing Samik who would be waiting for him on shore ready to use the victor’s bow and arrow. Slowly, Ol-an-uk paddled toward the island. He wanted only to see the beautiful young girl with brown eyes one more time before he died.

But when Ol-an-uk arrived on shore, only Samik’s kayak rested on the rocky shore. Ol-an-uk walked slowly through the thick silence toward the house of his beautiful hostess. “Do not be afraid,” she said cheerfully as she stepped out of the door. “Samik did not harpoon a whale, either. He has gone inside to sulk.”

Several days later, the village chief asked Ol-an-uk to compete in a kayak race with Samik. They were to race their kayaks around a large island just offshore. The first one around the island and home again would be the winner.

Villagers came down to the shore to watch the two young men start out. At first the race was very exciting. The village champion took the lead, and cheers rose up from his friends on shore.

But when Ol-an-uk passed Samik, the cheering on shore died down. Eventually, Samik paddled faster and faster until he left Ol-an-uk far behind him. Villagers clapped and cheered for their kinsman, all except the beautiful young girl with smiling brown eyes who wanted Ol-an-uk to win.

Before long, Ol-an-uk fell so far behind Samik that the villagers lost interest in the race and went home. Ol-an-uk realized it was time to talk to his little beluga-skin boat. “Become a beluga whale,” he said to the little boat. “And swim fast.”

Then the beluga whale dove under the water, passed beneath Samik’s kayak, and swam swiftly toward shore. As the whale approached the island, it rose to the surface and assumed the form of the young man, Ol-an-uk.

In the meantime, Samik paddled leisurely toward shore, confident that he had left the young stranger far behind. But when he finally arrived home, Ol-an-uk was waiting for him on the shore with his spear raised above his head. As Samik stepped out of his kayak, Ol-an-uk hurled the spear at the cocky young man and killed him.

This time, the villagers did not cheer, and the beautiful young girl covered the broad smile on her face with both hands. That evening when Ol-an-uk and the young girl were eating, the chief came to their door. “We cannot remove your spear from the body of Samik,” he said. “Will you come down to the shore and remove it?”

Ol-an-uk followed the chief out of the house and down to the shore. But as soon as Ol-an-uk removed his spear from Samik’s chest, the village champion smiled, stood up, and walked away.

The next day, the chief returned once again. “Samik, our village champion, challenges you to a wrestling match.”

Ol-an-uk was growing tired of his cocky competitor’s challenges and regretted having removed his spear from Samik’s chest. But he did not want to disappoint his hostess and accepted the challenge.

Ol-an-uk followed the chief to a large house that had an indoor pit filled with black worms that squirmed among piles of old bones. “You must wrestle until one of you throws the other into the pit to be eaten by the worms,” said the chief.

Ol-an-uk’s arms were strong from paddling against the tough currents around his small island. This time he was confident he would compete for the last time with the cocky village champion. But as they began to wrestle, Samik caught Ol-an-uk off guard and quickly pinned his arms behind his back. Ol-an-uk struggled until he got a foot between Samik’s legs.

Then he curled it around one of Samik’s legs and pried himself loose. Quickly, Ol-an-uk got behind the village champion and wrapped his strong arms around Samik’s chest. The village champion tried desperately to wrench himself free, but Ol-an-uk had pinned his arms to his sides leaving only his feet free.

Samik twisted first one leg and then the other around and between Ol-an-uk’s legs but could not throw him off balance. Slowly, Ol-an-uk began to squeeze the cockiness out of Samik’s broad chest. He squeezed and squeezed while Samik gasped for breath and pleaded to be released.

When Ol-an-uk could feel that Samik was totally limp, he shoved him face-down onto the ground. Before Samik could catch his breath, Ol-an-uk picked him up by the seat of his pants and collar, lifted him into the air, and hurled him into the worm pit.

At last, the villagers cheered for the young stranger. “You are indeed a true champion,” said the village chief to Ol-an-uk. “Now you may claim the spoils of your victory: Samik’s two wives, many fine weapons, and a storage room filled with meat.”

Ol-an-uk accepted his victory prizes and returned to the house of the beautiful brown-eyed girl. “Will you come home with me?” he asked. “I have won two wives who will do all the work around our home. You shall be my traveling companion.”

The beautiful young girl had already placed her belongings in a sealskin pouch and was ready to leave. “I will go with you,” she said.

Thereafter, the young orphan boy, Ol-an-uk, was never alone again on his little island.

The Woman Who Adopted a Bear

2011-05-01T03:53:00.000-07:00

Long ago, there lived a successful hunter with a reputation for generosity. Hungry strangers came from far and wide to request meat and skins from Angudluk, the great hunter.

Angudluk packed the strangers’ sleds with seal meat and skins and sent them away, saying, “I am sorry I have so little to give. These provisions are from spoiled animals, and my wife has done a poor job of preparing them. They are yours if you will accept them.”

Angudluk’s wife watched as her husband’s chest puffed out with pride when the strangers thanked him for his generosity. She remembered the long nights she spent removing blubber from the sealskins to make them soft and pliable.

Angudluk’s wife envied the wives of unsuccessful hunters who did not have to work so hard, and she sulked about her own predicament. The more she sulked, however, the more choice pieces of seal meat she popped into her mouth. Soon she became very fat, and people stopped to stare at her as she passed.

“Why should we work so hard for those women whose husbands cannot bring home seals?” she asked her mother-in-law.

“My son is a great hunter,” replied the mother-in-law. “And he is a generous man who gets pleasure from sharing his surpluses.” Angudluk’s wife frowned and walked away.

One day a stranger named Tuku came to their village. Tuku had recently lost his wife in a sledding accident and wanted to find another. “I will inquire for you on my journeys,” Angudluk told Tuku.

A man was not allowed to hunt for one month after he had touched a corpse; therefore, the stranger was prevented from joining Angudluk on his upcoming hunting expedition.

One day, while the women of the village played a game of toss-ball, Tuku stopped in to see Angudluk’s wife. She was still working, cleaning animals from her husband’s latest hunt. “I am sorry that you are not playing games with the other women,” Tuku said. “I would so enjoy seeing your pretty movements jumping and chasing the ball.”

Angudluk’s wife grew sad and told the stranger, “I have not played ball since I was a girl. Instead, day after day I must stay indoors scraping blubber off all these sealskins. My fingers were once long and thin. Now they are stubby and scarred from so much scraping. I do not play any more.”

Tuku pretended to be sympathetic. He had learned what he had set out to know—that Angudluk’s wife was dissatisfied with her life. They chatted and laughed together until evening. Then Tuku set out to meet Angudluk and help him bring home his catch.

Tuku walked until he heard the sounds of the proud hunter’s sled gliding across the snow with its load of seals. He waited until Angudluk came within close range, then raised his harpoon and thrust it straight into the hunter’s chest.

“You make your wife work too hard,” he shouted as Angudluk fell onto the frozen ice. “You will never do that again.”

When Tuku returned to the village driving Angudluk’s sled, the people understood at once what had happened. But they were afraid of the stranger and said nothing.

At last, the villagers went to Angudluk’s house and found only his mother and his young son, Ituko. The stranger, Tuku, had run away with Angudluk’s fat wife.

The villagers, fearing they might go hungry without Angudluk to feed them, now boldly raided the meat racks behind his house. Since they could not take all the meat at once, they returned day after day for more.

One day, the old grandmother greeted one of the women who came to take meat. “Oh, if only there will be enough meat left to feed young Ituko until spring when I can go up into the cliffs and catch young auk birds,” she sighed.

The woman went home and repeated the grandmother’s words to her husband. “She is right,” he said. “Soon there will be no meat for any of us. We must find that stranger who killed Angudluk and ended our plentiful supply of meat. We must seek revenge.”

So the woman’s angry husband organized the men of the village, and together they set out to find the stranger. Barely had they left home when they found Angudluk’s frozen body lying on the ice. Nearby, they discovered two seals that the murderer had thrown from the sled to lighten his load.

Even though it was customary to bury a person on land under a pile of stones, the men agreed not to bring Angudluk’s body back to the village where seeing it would renew everyone’s sorrow and anger.

So they stuffed the frozen body down within a large crack in the ice, loaded the two discarded seals onto the sled, and returned to the village. The men were ashamed at the untraditional way they had disposed of Angudluk’s body, but they were pleased that they had two fat seals to take home.

As the men came into the village, the women ran out to greet them. “I see there was good luck hunting seals today,” cried one of the women. The men smiled proudly.

The women had not noticed that the seals their husbands carried on the sled were frozen. Seals must come up to breathe at regular intervals during the day. To do so, they make holes in the ice and keep the holes open by breaking each new layer of ice that forms on top.

It would have taken several days for a freshly killed seal to freeze once it had been harpooned and taken out of the water. If the women had looked, they would have seen that the seals the hunters brought home had not been freshly harpooned.

Suddenly, however, a small voice came from the crowd. “It is not often that the seals come frozen to their blow holes.” It was Ituko, Angudluk’s young son, who had spoken. Ituko had the wisdom of a great hunter even though he was still a young boy.

The “hunter” whose chest was most puffed up by the delivery of two large seals now became enraged. He took out his snow knife, rushed over to the boy, and struck him in the head. Ituko fell dead on the ground.

“You have taken all I have in life,” cried Angudluk’s mother. “First my son disappears, and now my only grandson is killed.” The old woman picked up the little boy’s limp body, carried it home, and sang the boy’s favorite songs for five long days.

Finally, the old woman laid her grandson on the little sled that he had used to bring home chunks of freshwater ice from the fjords to be melted for cooking and drinking. She pulled the little boy’s body far up a nearby fjord where she buried his small body under a pile of rocks.

The old lady returned home at the same time hunters arrived with a sled carrying a live polar bear cub and the carcass of a large adult bear. When the old lady saw the little cub, she pleaded with the hunters to let her adopt him. “Please give me the bear cub. He will be my adopted grandson.”

The hunters mumbled among themselves. “Let’s give her the cub until he is big and fat. Then we will take him back,” whispered one of the men, and the others agreed. The old lady went home, hugging the little cub against her body.

Thereafter, the furry white cub and the old lady were inseparable. They ate, played, and slept together. In the evening, Angudluk’s mother sang to the cub the songs her son and grandson had loved to hear.

Before long, Angudluk’s great store of meat began to run out, and the old lady worried that she and her cub would soon have nothing left to eat. Then, one day the old lady heard the hunters complaining. “That cub eats too much,” said one of the men. “It is time we added him to our store of meat before he eats up all the rest.”

After supper that night, the old lady wrapped meat in a large sealskin pouch and said to the cub. “We must leave the village right away. We will go far up into the fjord on the opposite side of the bay where the men cannot find us.”

The old woman and the young bear cub traveled all night under a bright star-lit sky. Finally, they settled into a shallow cave high up in the steep rock walls of the fjord.

Each day the young cub went hunting and brought home a seal. Soon the old woman had so much meat that she took only her favorite parts from the animals: fresh warm livers, brains, and hearts. And the pile of decaying carcasses grew higher and higher.

But one day, when men from the village were passing some distance below the cave, their dogs smelled the decaying meat and led them up the side of the fjord. “Well,” said one of the men, spying the pile of dead animals, “someone eats very well.”

The old lady stood up straight and tall and planted her thin arms firmly on her hips. “Go away,” she commanded defiantly. “This is our home now. We want to be left alone.”

A thin scraggly man, his head hung downward, spoke in a quiet voice. “We are all very hungry. Angudluk took such good care of us and fed us so well that we do not remember how to hunt. Perhaps if you return to the village the young cub will teach us.”

The old woman could see that the men were starving, and she felt sorry for them. She also missed her old home. So she agreed to return.

Shortly after the old lady and her cub settled into their old home, a man from the village came. He told the bear it was time for him to go hunting. Dutifully, the young cub headed off onto the sea ice, but none of the men ever joined him.

That evening he brought home two fat seals. Every day thereafter men from the village came and told the cub to go hunting. Each day the little cub went hunting alone.

Soon the villagers grew fat and lazy. Men played games and gossiped with the women while the young cub did the work of feeding the villagers.

Despite all the cub’s work, however, the old lady was given only a small portion of each day’s catch, and she missed her favorite foods. One day she asked the young cub to bring her the fin of a narwhal, which she had not tasted for a long time.

The cub returned early that day dragging a huge narwhal behind him. He lumbered on past the villagers and went straight home. He dropped the narwhal in front of his grandmother’s little stone house and stood guard over it until she came out to claim her favorite fin.

“He has become too impertinent,” said one of the men. “And he is so big that he can hurt us if he gets angry. I think it is time to kill him.”

Forgetting that without the bear they would all starve to death, the men agreed to kill him. The idea excited them so much, in fact, that they rushed at the young cub and hurled spears into his back, head, and chest. The poor young animal toppled over onto the ground and stopped breathing.

When the old lady saw what had happened she rushed out the door and threw herself on top of her precious cub. “Oh,” she sobbed. “Now I have lost my dear adopted son. I am too old to live alone. Kill me,” she begged the hunters. “Kill me, too.”

For a brief moment the hunters felt shame. But the feeling quickly passed, and they ran home to get their knives to cut up the carcass of the young bear. The first hunter drove his knife into the bear’s chest to get his heart, but quickly jumped backward in horror when he saw Ituko emerge from inside the bear’s skin.

“I took the shape of a bear to feed my grandmother,” said Ituko to the hunter. “And I have fed all of you as well. But you were so greedy you killed me all over again. Have you no shame?”

Then Ituko grabbed a spear and thrust it clear through the chest of the man who stood before him. When the others started to run away, he speared them, too, three and four at a time.

“We were only playing a joke,” said one of the remaining men. “Please do not kill all of us. We will throw a big party and welcome you home.”

The man’s whining only made Ituko angrier, and he raged through the village killing all the inhabitants, even the dogs who had nipped at his paws when he was a young cub.

Ituko was so furiously filled with anger and revenge that when his grandmother came out of the house to greet him, he accidentally killed her, too. As soon as he realized what he had done, Ituko fell onto his knees and wept.

The following day Ituko took his grief up into the cave in the fjord where as a young cub he had lived with his grandmother. He mourned for many days to dispel his emotions. Then, he began to hunt.

When peace finally came to Ituko, his cave was filled with meat. But he realized he needed a wife to scrape and sew his animal skins. So one day he set out and walked until he came upon a small settlement.

The people were kind but old, and he did not see a wife among them. As he prepared to leave, an old man spoke, “My son is coming home with his new wife tonight,” he said. “They are young like you. You should stay and meet them.”

Ituko agreed to go out and meet the bride and groom. Not far from the settlement he saw the couple’s sled approaching. “Get out of my way, “ cried the proud young man whose sled was pulled by many dogs. “Can’t you see I have brought home a new wife?”

Ituko ignored the brash groom’s warning and stared at the beautiful young girl on the sled. He suddenly wanted her more than he had ever wanted anyone in his life.

Without warning, Ituko pulled out his knife and, with one powerful jab, drove it into the chest of the arrogant young groom and killed him. Ituko jumped onto the sled, turned it around, and headed back to his old village, pulling the young bride, now a widow, along with him.

After they pulled up in front of the house Ituko had shared with his parents and grandmother, the young bride spoke for the first time, “Where have you taken me?” she asked. “This place is deserted. It is a terrible village.”

Ituko showed the girl the cache of meat and animal skins he had accumulated while mourning, and she realized at once that she was in the presence of a great hunter.

The beautiful young girl and Angudluk’s son raised a family and lived in the village for many happy years.

Creation

2010-04-13T20:59:00.000-07:00

Before there was land or sea, people or gods, nothing existed, except Chaos. Chaos was a space of neither order nor disorder. During Chaos’s reign, there was no organization of any kind in the universe.

There was no sun or moon. There were no mountains or rivers, nor any such features on earth. In fact, there was no earth at all. It was a period of vast emptiness. Even time did not exist.

Eventually, Chaos divided itself into the earth, the sky, and the sea. When the division was complete, everything was peaceful and perfect.

After Chaos divided into the earth, sky, and sea, one goddess came into being without being born to any mother. Her name was Gaia, which means earth, and she took control over the earth as it took shape.

Mountains became separate from the plains, and rivers and oceans were formed. Like an artist at a canvas, Gaia was busy creating a beautiful masterpiece. Soon, however, the goddess began to long for children to help populate and rule this magnificent new world.

Gaia’s desire for children was so great that eventually she became pregnant by herself. The child she bore was named Uranus, and he became the ruler of the sky. In every way, Uranus was the equal of his mother, and soon Gaia and Uranus had children together.

Gaia’s desire for children was so great that eventually she became pregnant by herself. The child she bore was named Uranus, and he became the ruler of the sky. In every way, Uranus was the equal of his mother, and soon Gaia and Uranus had children together.

After the hundred-handed monsters had been born and were pushed back into their mother’s womb, Gaia gave birth to three more monstrous children. These were giants called the Cyclopes. Each had but a single eye, which was positioned directly in the middle of his forehead.

Although they were frightening to look at, these young gods were exceedingly strong, and they were excellent craftsmen who made thunder and lightning for their mother to use as tools and weapons.

Unfortunately, Uranus was afraid of these children, too. So, in order to get rid of them, Uranus tied the Cyclopes up and threw them into a deep cavern called Tartarus. Tartarus was far, far away, and Uranus felt safe in believing that he would never see these monster-children again.

Saddened by the loss of the Hundred-handed Ones and the Cyclopes, and angry at the cruel Uranus, Gaia gave birth to a third group of children. These were called the Titans, and there were twelve of them - six goddesses and six gods. They were very different from their older siblings.

The Titans were beings with human characteristics, and they were not monsters at all. The goddesses’ names were Tethys, Theia, Mnemosyne, Rhea, Themis, and Phoebe. The gods’ names were Oceanus, Hyperion, Iapetus, Cronus, Crius, and Coeus.

Uranus was still afraid that one day one of his children would overthrow him. Because of this fear, he pushed the Titans back into Gaia’s womb alongside their siblings, the Hundred-handed Ones.

Gaia was enraged by Uranus’s refusal to allow her children to live freely. She desperately wanted her children to live without restraints and to enjoy the world. Finally, she came up with a plan that would allow her children to be born into the world and remain there.

Gaia could speak to the children in her cavernous womb, and she had no trouble convincing them to help with her plan. Cronus, the youngest of the twelve Titans, was the most eager to help his mother. So, the two set out to trick Uranus and free the Titans and the Hundred-handed Ones from their mother’s prison-like womb.

Cronus and Gaia waited for the perfect opportunity to enact their plan. Finally, one night, when Uranus came to Gaia’s bed, Cronus crept out of Gaia’s womb and stabbed his cruel father with a sickle, a curved knife used to harvest crops.

As Uranus lay dying, his fears of being overthrown by one of his children having come true, Uranus leaned forward and cursed his son: “Cronus,” he pronounced, gasping for breath, “it will come to pass that one of your children will do to you what you have just done to me.” Then, with a final shudder, Uranus died, a look of anger and betrayal in his eyes.

After Uranus died, Gaia and her children felt free for the first time. The Titans and the Hundred-handed Ones were reborn from their mother’s womb, and the Cyclopes were freed from Tartarus. All of Gaia’s children decided to make Cronus their king. Cronus married his sister, the Titan named Rhea, and ruled over the universe for a long, peaceful time.

The War Between The Titans and The Olympians

2010-04-13T18:07:00.000-07:00

After the death of Uranus, the world was at peace again. Cronus, the king of the Titans, and Rhea, his most noble sister and wife, had matters well in hand. Unfortunately, the curse of his father, Uranus, haunted Cronus day and night. Was it possible that one day he, too, would have a child who would overthrow him?

One day, Rhea announced that she was going to have a baby, but her husband was not happy. Cronus was so afraid that history would repeat itself that he did, in fact, manage to repeat history. Like his father before him, Cronus reasoned that if he could keep his children from growing up, none could ever become strong enough to overpower him.

So, when Rhea gave birth to her first child, Cronus quickly grabbed it and swallowed it whole. Rhea was both horrified and saddened at the loss of her firstborn child. In a similar manner, Cronus swallowed all of the next four children that she gave birth to, and Rhea vowed to get them back, any way she could.

By the time Rhea discovered that she was pregnant for the sixth time, she had figured out a plan to trick her husband and save the newborn child from being swallowed whole. So, when it was nearly time for her to give birth, Rhea pretended to have her baby. She took a large stone and wrapped it in a baby’s blanket.

When Cronus came to gobble down the newborn child, Rhea gave him the wrapped-up stone. Quickly, Cronus swallowed the stone, just as he had swallowed the other children. In fact, Cronus’s focus on swallowing the newborn god was so great that he did not even realize that he had been tricked.

Later, when the time came for Rhea actually to have her child, she fled to the island of Crete. There, away from the glaring eyes of her husband, Rhea secretly gave birth to a son, whom she named Zeus. He was a beautiful and strong baby, and Rhea knew that when he grew up, he would be a truly powerful god.

Rhea realized that she could not return home to her husband with the child. Cronus would only try to destroy the newborn god, as he had done with the others. Therefore, for his protection, Rhea left Zeus to grow up secretly on Crete where he was suckled by a goat and raised by minor native deities called nymphs. While Zeus was a child, Cronus never suspected that he had been tricked and that he actually had a stone resting solidly in his stomach.

When he had grown into a young man, Zeus left Crete to join his mother. Rhea arranged for Zeus to become a servant to his father. Cronus did not know that his new servant was actually his son. One day, Zeus brought his father a cup of wine, which Cronus drank quickly.

This cup of wine contained a special potion, which made Cronus throw up. Cronus was so violently ill that he even threw up the stone wrapped in a blanket. Then he threw up all of the children he had swallowed before. The children emerged from their father's stomach as fully grown adults.

Their names were Poseidon, Hades, Hera, Demeter, and Hestia. These were Zeus's brothers and sisters, and they were all glad to see each other in the light of day. Although they were happy to be free, the six siblings knew they must do something immediately, or their father would swallow them all over again. Quickly, they ran away while their father continued to moan and clutch his stomach.

This young generation of gods fled to Mount Olympus to escape their irate father, and because they claimed Mount Olympus as their home, the young gods were called the Olympians. After they had fled to safety, the Olympians quickly formed a plan. At once, they declared war on Cronus and many of the other Titans.

The young gods wanted to rule the world in their father's place. Yet their struggle had a dual purpose: while they were fighting for control over the earth, they were also fighting for their lives, since they knew that Cronus would swallow them again if he ever got the chance.

And so a great war began. At first, it seemed likely that the Titans would be victorious and remain in control of the earth. The young Olympian gods felt outnumbered and overpowered. The tide began to turn, however, when a few Titans changed sides and fought with Zeus and his siblings.

Prometheus, the son of the Titans Themis and Iapetus, was one who switched his allegiance. Prometheus's name means "one who thinks ahead," and with his ability to see the future he could foresee that the Titans would lose the battle against the Olympian gods. Prometheus and his brother Epimetheus refused to fight against the Olympians because of this foresight.

The Cyclopes and the Hundred-handed Ones also joined the Olympians in their fight against the Titans. They did not feel bound to the Titans, and they believed that the Olympian gods would rule with steadier hands. Zeus asked the one-eyed Cyclopes to make weapons for his army, and these skilled craftsmen made a special weapon for each of the gods.

For Zeus, the leader, the Cyclopes fashioned a special thunderbolt, which could be thrown long distances with great force. For Poseidon, they created a magnificent trident, or three-pronged spear, which could defeat any enemy. Finally, knowing that resistance came in many forms, the Cyclopes made Hades a magic helmet that could make him invisible, even to the immortal eyes
of Cronus and the other Titans.

The war between the Titans and the Olympians was terrible. With the help of the Hundred-handed Ones, who fought bravely without ever tiring, the Olympians soon forced the Titans to surrender.

After the Titans had given up, Zeus challenged Cronus to a wrestling match. The winner would control Mount Olympus, to which the Titans were still laying claim. After beating Cronus three times, Zeus declared the Olympian gods to be the winners.

After the war, the Olympians sent most of the Titans to Tartarus to be locked up for eternity. The victors built a bronze gate over the mouth of the cavern, and the Hundred-handed Ones were placed outside as guards.

Atlas, another child of Iapetus and Themis, who had led the Titans into battle, received a special punishment. He was forced to hold the world on his back for all eternity. This turned out to be a far more challenging task than imprisonment in Tartarus.

Cronus, the former ruler of the universe, was not sent to Tartarus with his siblings. Though Cronus had swallowed his children whole, Zeus and the other Olympians did not want to destroy him in revenge.

Instead, Cronus was sent away to live on the Island of the Dead, where he stayed forever. Although originally he had wanted to destroy the Olympian gods, Cronus, once defeated and exiled, sent dreams to his son Zeus to guide him from afar.

After all the punishments were handed out, Zeus, Hades, and Poseidon made a bet to determine who would rule each part of the world. Hades became the lord of the dead and the Underworld, which was sometimes called Hades in his honor. Poseidon gained control of the seas and all the waters on earth. Zeus became the lord of the sky; and since the sky covers everything on earth, he became the king, or father, of the gods.

After these important decisions were made, the other Olympian gods were also given jobs. Demeter became the goddess of agriculture and of all growing things. Hestia became the goddess of the hearth, or fireplace, and the home. Hera, too, protected the home and became the goddess of marriage and childbirth after she married her brother, Zeus.

Once the Olympians had defeated the Titans and taken on their new roles, they, too, had children. Some of these gods were born under rather extraordinary circumstances. Athena, for example, was born out of the side of Zeus’s head. She became the goddess of wisdom and the protector of Athens. Hera became pregnant on her own and gave birth to Hephaestus. Hephaestus was the god of fire and became the blacksmith of the gods. Ares was the child of Hera and Zeus, and he became the god of war.

Apollo, the god of light and music, and his twin sister, Artemis, the maiden goddess of the hunt, were the children of Leto, who was the daughter of the Titans Phoebe and Coeus. The goddess of love and beauty, Aphrodite, had an unusual birth: she was born out of the waves of the sea.

Hermes was another son of Zeus. His mother was Maia, one of the daughters of Atlas. Hermes grew very quickly, and he was swift-footed, even as a baby. Later, he became the official messenger of the gods because he was so fast. He was often depicted with wings on his hat and sandals, and because he was always moving about, he was a particular protector of travelers.

These gods and others lived on Mount Olympus after their victory over the Titans. From the height of this great mountain, the new rulers could look down on all of Greece and keep watch over the world, for the control of which they had fought so hard.

Promotheus and Earth's First Inhabitants

2010-04-13T17:18:00.000-07:00

After the world was created and the gods had fought their wars, the land that lay below Mount Olympus remained unpopulated, even though Gaia, the first goddess, had long yearned to make creatures to inhabit the earth. Finally, Zeus decided it was time.

It was a good time to be created. No monsters roamed the earth, and the world was at peace. Zeus began to make creatures to populate this beautiful world.

However, just as he was beginning, he was called away to settle a matter dividing his fellow Olympians. He decided to appoint Prometheus and Epimetheus, sons of Titans who had fought with the Olympians, to continue the project of creating earth’s first inhabitants.

Although the brothers were Titans by birth, they had sided with the Olympians in the war against Cronus and the other Titans because, blessed with the gift of being able to see the future, Prometheus had foreseen the Olympian victory.

Prometheus was the more sensible of the two brothers, and he always planned ahead. Epimetheus, on the other hand, always meant well, but he never planned ahead. Epimetheus never thought about the consequences of his actions until after he had completed them.

Zeus had chosen these brothers for the project of creating the first people and animals on earth because Prometheus was an excellent potter and sculptor. Prometheus could make just about anything, and he had a good imagination. Epimetheus was invited to work on the project because he was always eager to help his brother.

Because Zeus had only just started to make the various earth creatures, the brothers had a lot of work ahead of them. After using clay to sculpt the new creatures into their basic shapes, Prometheus went to Athena, the goddess of wisdom, for advice on how to complete the work. Epimetheus stayed behind to give the unfinished creations their final distinguishing features.

Athena’s advice was simple. She told Prometheus that since the creatures were already composed of earth and water, having been fashioned from clay, the only element lacking for life was air. So, Athena advised Prometheus to hold each of the newly shaped creatures up to the sky. When the wind blew into them, she promised, they would breathe and be truly alive.

Meanwhile, Epimetheus continued to work. He enjoyed showing off his creative powers and granted a wide variety of interesting physical attributes to all the different creatures. Epimetheus gave some of them fur and hair, which would protect them from the elements. He gave others teeth and claws so that they could easily collect and eat food. In addition, he gave some of the creatures strength and speed.

When Prometheus returned from his talk with Athena, he found that once again, his brother had acted before thinking. Epimetheus had been so excited about designing the new animals and so generous with his creative powers that he had completely forgotten to save any special gifts for the human beings.

By the time the sculptor had gotten around to the humans, he had run out of ideas. They were left weak and defenseless, and they would have remained so forever if Prometheus had not stepped in. Once he realized that his brother had created a species unable to stand on its own in the new world, Prometheus set forth to fix the mistake and make human beings strong and capable of surviving among earth’s other inhabitants.

First, Prometheus decided to help the humans stand upright like the gods. He turned their heads upward to the sky. This adjustment gave them the power to reason. Then he raced to the heavens where he lit a torch, using the fire of the sun. He used this fire to light up the new creatures’ powers of thought and speech. These special powers helped set the humans apart from the other animals.

At first, the gods approved of Prometheus’s work. They were glad to see that there was a species on earth that had the ability to think and speak. But Prometheus was still not satisfied. He saw that Epimetheus’s poor planning had left the new humans physically weak compared to the other inhabitants of the earth. They were hungry, sad, and scared. Finally, to help the humans, Prometheus left Mount Olympus and went to live on earth with the people, in order to teach them the skills they would need to survive in the new world.

First, Prometheus showed the humans how to build houses so they would not have to live in caves. Then he taught them how to read, and how to write numbers and letters. He helped the people learn how to tame animals and how to sail on the seas. He showed them how to heal themselves when they were sick.

After he had shown the people how to foretell the future and recognize omens by looking at the way birds flew, some of the other gods became impressed by the new people. They decided to help, too. Demeter, the Olympian earth goddess, taught the new race of creatures about edible plants. With this help, the humans had better access to food, and they began to prosper and live happily for the first time.

Although some of the gods were excited about the development of the humans, other gods were beginning to worry that the humans were becoming too powerful. However, despite the growing concerns of his fellow gods, Prometheus was so pleased with his creations that he decided to help the humans even more.

Until this time, humans were only allowed to slaughter other animals if they were performing a sacrifice to the gods. They ate only the plants that Demeter instructed them to eat. Prometheus could see that the humans would probably need to eat the meat of other animals to survive.

So Prometheus came up with a plan. First, he cut up an ox, as if for a sacrifice. Then, he divided the sections into two piles. In one pile, Prometheus wrapped up the bones of the ox and hid them under shiny morsels of fat. This pile looked like the more attractive offering in a sacrifice. For the other pile, Prometheus took the lean meat and other edible parts of the ox and wrapped them in hide, topping
the pile with entrails to make the offering look disgusting.

Once this was done, Prometheus asked Zeus to choose one of the two piles and keep it as the sacrificial offering; the humans would take whichever pile Zeus rejected. Not knowing that the good meat was actually hidden beneath the hide and entrails, Zeus chose the pile shimmering with fat. Once Zeus had made his choice, he had to stick with it, even after he discovered that he had chosen a pile with
no edible meat in it. From then on, people offered the fat and bones of animals to the gods, and they kept the savory parts of the animals for themselves. Zeus was outraged that Prometheus had tricked him, but he decided to save his revenge for later.

This was not the only trick Prometheus played on the Olympian gods for the sake of the humans. Since the new race of creatures had no fur, they were often cold, and even though they were now allowed to eat meat, they had no way to cook it. Human beings did not know about fire or how to control it because, until this point, fire belonged only to the gods.

Prometheus decided to change things. He went up to heaven and secretly stole fire from the gods. Hiding the fire inside the stalk of a fennel plant, Prometheus brought it back to the people on earth. Then he taught the people how to cook grains and meat, and how to keep fire burning so that it would always be available. Prometheus also showed the humans how they could use fire to forge metal, just as Hephaestus, the god of fire and the forge, was doing on Mount Olympus.

Prometheus did all these things to help the humans because he wanted them to survive in the world now populated by other, more physically powerful creatures. Unfortunately, Prometheus’s efforts angered some of the other gods. The new people were getting too powerful and too smart. Zeus thought they needed to be stopped before they believed their own powers were supreme and they no longer heeded the authority of the gods. Furthermore, Zeus was furious with Prometheus for all his tricks.

To punish Prometheus for tricking the king of the gods and for making humans so powerful, Zeus had him captured and chained to a rock on the crest of one of the Caucasus Mountains. Every day, an enormous eagle came to the spot where Prometheus was tied.

The eagle was fierce and relentless, and each day it swooped down and pecked away at Prometheus’s liver, devouring the greater part of it. Because Prometheus was immortal, his liver grew back every night, and he never died. Despite this intense torture, he endured the punishment for thirty years until Hercules came and freed him.

Unfortunately, punishing only Prometheus did not satisfy Zeus’s desire for revenge. The king of the gods had other plans that would affect the entire human race, and it was a punishment that would last forever.

Pandora

2010-04-13T16:57:00.000-07:00

Zeus was furious. Prometheus had tricked him, and the king of the gods wanted revenge. He also wanted to remind the humans that they would never be as powerful as the gods.

So far, there were only men in the human population. Women did not yet exist, although certainly there were female gods, or goddesses. Introducing women to the human race was part of Zeus’s plan for revenge.

First, Zeus went to the forge of Hephaestus and asked him to design a human being that would be female. Carefully, Zeus explained that she should be like the men on earth, yet somehow slightly different.

Hephaestus was happy to do Zeus a favor, and he went right to work. The god of fire and the forge was a very talented smith. Everything he made was beautiful, and his new creation was no different.

When he was finished with the creature he showed his work to Zeus, who was very pleased with the results. The new creature was named Pandora. She was human, but she was clearly a woman. She was very beautiful and looked like a goddess.

She had long flowing hair, flawless skin, and bright shining eyes. She was as graceful as a soft breeze, and she had a smile precious to see. Zeus hoped that her beauty would make the male humans accept and trust her.

After Hephaestus had put the finishing touches on the first human woman, the gods showered her with many gifts, including golden-threaded clothes, shining jewelry, and fragrant smelling flowers. Among the gifts was a box that was covered with jewels, intricate carvings, and decorations.

The box was very pretty, and Pandora was certain that such a beautiful object must surely contain something of equal magnificence. However, the gods had given Pandora the beautiful box on one condition: She could look at it as much as she liked, but she was never to open it. Pandora did not understand the reasoning behind this rule, but because the box was so pretty, she agreed to follow the warning of the gods.

Soon Pandora went to live on earth with the other humans. When she got there, she met Epimetheus who was living among the humans with his brother Prometheus. Epimetheus was overwhelmed by Pandora’s dazzling beauty, and he fell in love with her instantly.

Prometheus, aware of his brother’s infatuation with Pandora, became suspicious that Zeus and the other Olympians were planning a trick. Prometheus warned his brother to be wary of any gift sent to earth by the Olympian gods. As usual, Epimetheus did not listen to his brother.

He was very much in love with Pandora, and despite his brother’s warning, he married the wonderful new creature and brought her to his home. Epimetheus never thought to ask his new bride about the beautiful box she always carried with her.

The couple lived very happily after their marriage. Every day, Pandora would lovingly admire her beautiful box, but she obeyed the order of the gods and never opened it. Soon, however, looking at the box was not enough. Her curiosity became stronger and stronger, and finally one day she could no longer resist the urge to open the box, regardless of the consequences.

When Pandora opened the box and discovered what was hidden inside its beautiful exterior, she knew at once that Zeus’s revenge had been accomplished. Inside the magnificent box were all the evil spirits known to the gods.

Now that the lid was open, they all quickly flew out. Sorrow, hunger, anger, disease, madness, and a hundred other horrible conditions filled Pandora’s room and, like smoke, they escaped out into the world to plague mankind for the rest of time.

As the evils swarmed around her, Pandora became frightened. As quickly as she could, she slammed shut the lid of the box, but Pandora realized that it was too late to regret not having obeyed the gods. Their revenge was final. However, Pandora noticed that one spirit still remained in her box. This was the spirit of hope.

Soon, when they felt the effects of the various plagues and evil spirits that had flown out from Pandora’s box, the people on earth understood that their time of peace had ended. The people recognized the power of the gods’ revenge, and understood that forces existed that were stronger than their own modest powers.

From that time on, the people vowed to do their best to keep from angering the gods any further and were comforted by the fact that hope was safe in Pandora’s box. The knowledge that hope had not been destroyed gave the people faith that peace would return some day.

Demeter dan Persephone

2010-04-13T06:52:00.000-07:00

Demeter and Zeus had a daughter named Persephone. With two powerful gods as parents, it is not surprising that the little girl grew up to be a beautiful maiden. Her mother loved the child more than anything else in the world and cringed at the idea of ever being apart from her.

After she had grown up and become a young woman, Persephone's beauty caught the eye of Hades, the ruler of the Underworld. Hades fell in love at the very first sight of her. He knew he wanted to marry no one else.

Overcome with love, Hades went to Zeus, his brother and Persephone’s father. He said, "Brother, I am in love with your daughter, Persephone. Let me have your consent to marry her. I will make her the queen of my kingdom in the Underworld."

Zeus thought that Hades would be a good husband for Persephone. Hades was a fair and powerful god. However, Zeus also knew that Demeter would never allow her daughter to marry Hades and go to live far away in the Underworld. If the maiden were to marry Hades, the mother and daughter would be separated indefinitely.

Zeus also knew that Demeter, the goddess of growth and fertility, would never wish her daughter to live in the stark, bleak world of the dead where nothing ever grew. Although he was king of the gods, Zeus was wary of Demeter's powerful influence over all the things that blossomed on earth. He did not want to upset her.

Zeus pondered his dilemma for quite some time. He wanted to please his brother and allow the marriage, but he did not wish to cause a conflict with Demeter. Finally, Zeus found a clever way to grant his brother's request without actually saying so. Carefully wording his response, Zeus said, "Brother, I cannot approve of a marriage between you and Persephone."

Zeus was telling Hades that although he could not officially approve the marriage, he was not forbidding it either. Hades understood Zeus's intention. He realized that Zeus was encouraging him to mary Persephone without her parents' blessing. Hades felt certain that if he acted in this prescribed manner, Zeus would not be angry with him.

He understood that Zeus was just trying to keep the peace by officially saying neither yes nor no to the marriage proposal. Satisfied, Hades returned to the Underworld to plan the details of exactly how he would go about kidnapping Persephone.

One day, soon after Hades's meeting with Zeus, Persephone went to pick wildflowers with her friends near the town of Eleusis. No one expected trouble in the peaceful meadow, and the girls were looking forward to an amusing and relaxing day. After a little while, Persephone wandered away from her friends, picking flowers here and there and adding them to her basket.

In a small wooded glen near the meadow, out of sight and earshot of her friends, Persephone spotted a beautiful narcissus that she thought would make a lovely addition to the bouquet she was making for her mother. Dreamily, Persephone knelt to pick the flower. She was surprised to find that its roots were so deep that she could not wrench it out of the ground.

Suddenly, as she tugged mightily on the flower, a huge hole opened up in the middle of the glen. The god of the Underworld raced out of the chasm, the roaring noise of his chariot filling the air. Quickly, Hades grasped the frightened maiden by the wrist and pulled her up beside him onto his chariot. Racing off to the Underworld, Persephone cried out in fear to her mother and her friends.

Up on Mount Olympus, Demeter heard her daughter's terror-filled cries. She hurried to the area where the girls had been playing. Persephone's friends had been frightened when their friend failed to return, but no one could tell where she had gone. Distraught, Demeter roamed the earth for nine days and nine nights, searching in vain for her beloved daughter.

On the tenth day, Demeter met Hecate, a goddess who lived in a cave near the spot where Persephone and her friends had been playing. Hecate had indeed heard Persephone’s cries for help, but alas, she had not seen what had happened to the girl. Though she could offer no new information about Persephone's disappearance, Hecate offered to help Demeter look for her daughter. Together, the two goddesses set out on their search.

The next morning, the goddesses came upon Helius, the god of the sun. Helius could see everything from his lofty perch in the sky, so Demeter begged him for information about her daughter's disappearance. Helius pitied Demeter and promised to tell her everything he knew. He confessed that he had seen Hades kidnap Persephone, and that the girl had cried uncontrollably when she was made Hades's bride.

Helius was sorry for Demeter's loss, but he hurried to point out that as ruler of the Underworld, Hades exerted power over a third of the world. He tried to console Demeter by saying, "I know you are sad to be separated from your daughter, but the powerful Hades is a good match for the fair Persephone."

However, Demeter would not be consoled. She cried, "My beautiful daughter? Why should she be taken so far away among the sunless dead?" Thinking about her daughter's situation all over again, Demeter became so upset that she left Hecate and Helius and began to shun her fellow immortals.

Soon Demeter took to wandering the earth in the guise of a mortal woman. She allowed the grain harvest to fail and the fields to become parched. She was so transformed by her grief that no one could recognize her. She looked like a gnarled, old woman, as sad and weak as the parched and unyielding fields that were beginning to patch the earth.

After wandering for many months, Demeter came again to the town of Eleusis where she stopped to rest by a well. While she was sitting in the shade of an olive tree, four beautiful princesses came to draw water. They were the daughters of Celeus, the king of Eleusis, and all four were kind and well-mannered.

When they saw Demeter, they pitied her because she looked so sad and weary. They had no idea that she was really a goddess. Trying to help the old woman, the girls asked if she would be interested in being a nurse to their baby brother, Demophoon. Demeter gladly accepted this offer.

When Demeter entered the palace, her golden hair had turn to gray, her skin was wrinkled and loose, and all her inner radiance was hidden beneath a dark robe. Nevertheless, the princesses' mother, Queen Metanira, sensed that the new nurse was not an ordinary old woman. The queen noticed a special glow about the newcomer, despite her dark robe and sad face.

Metanira offered Demeter her best chair and asked one of the servants to bring some sweet wine, but Demeter, too sad to accept comfort, refused the chair and the wine. Instead, she sat on a low stool and drank only water mixed with barley mead.

Then Demeter asked to see the child for whom she would be caring. When Demeter first took the baby Demophoon in her arms, he smiled and gurgled. Queen Metanira was glad to see that her newborn son was comfortable in the arms of his new nurse.

Demeter was happy watching over the young prince. She began to love the child so much that, eventually, she decided to make him immortal. By doing so, Demeter hoped to thank the royal family for their kindness and, at the same time, to relieve some of the sadness of losing her own child. So each night, after the family was asleep,

Demeter lathered the boy with ambrosia, an ointment of the gods. When he was well oiled, she placed him in the heart of the hearth's fire to burn away all traces of his mortality. Though the baby was in the fire, Demeter watched him intently, and the flames never hurt him.

The ambrosia treatment worked wonders, and the baby grew stronger and healthier every day. The royal family was amazed at the baby's rapid development. Demophoon was growing much faster than a normal child. Soon, however, Queen Metanira became suspicious of her son’s remarkable growth.

One night she did not go to bed. Instead, she hid, hoping to see what the nurse was doing each night to her youngest child. When Metanira peeked into Demeter's room, she was shocked at what she saw. There was the nurse, turning her baby in the fire like a pig on a spit!

Metanira screamed at the sight. Interrupted at her magic, the goddess angrily jerked the child from the fire and threw him to the ground where he began to cry - unhurt but frightened. Hearing his wife's scream, King Celeus came running into the room, just in time to see the old nurse transform herself into a towering, beautiful goddess. As her form changed, a blaze of light burst forth and filled all the gloomy corners of the palace room.

Though she was furious with Metanira for the interruption, Demeter's anger quickly turned to sadness. She decided not to punish the family for their reaction. She had, after all, loved the baby, and although he could never become immortal without continuing the ambrosia treatments, he could still be honored, since a goddess had been his nurse.

Demeter told the king and queen to have the people of Eleusis build a temple in her honor. While it was being built, she told the townspeople how to grow corn and how to perform special ceremonies at her temple. In this way, the town continued to appease and pay tribute to the inconsolable goddess, whose grief once again became focused on her lost daughter.

When the temple at Eleusis was completed, Demeter went to live there, far from Mount Olympus and the other gods and goddesses. Sadly, she sat silently in her temple for an entire year. While she sat, no crops grew, and the people became hungrier with every passing day. Soon it seemed like every living thing on earth was in danger of starving.

Zeus feared that Demeter's mourning was becoming destructive. He begged her to end the famine, but Demeter repeatedly refused the request. She said she would never grant her life-giving power to the earth so long as Persephone remained so far away in the Underworld.

Finally, Zeus realized that Hades would have to give up his bride so that the world could be healed. With a heavy heart, Zeus sent Hermes, the official messenger of the gods, to the Underworld to deliver a message to Hades.

When Hermes reached the Underworld, he found Hades and his bride sitting side by side on their thrones. Persephone looked miserable. She was weeping because she missed her mother and the world above. When she heard Hermes's message from Zeus, she cried out in joy. Hades knew that he had no choice but to obey Zeus and let Persephone go home to her mother. He begged his wife not to think of him harshly.

Hades said, "My beloved wife, remember that here you are the queen, the most powerful woman of all. As the queen of the Underworld, you even have power over the living, because you have control over what happens to people when they die. Because of this, you have the power to be merciful, which is the greatest gift of all. Do not think ill of me or this kingdom when you are far away from here."

Reluctantly, Hades prepared to let Persephone go, but before she left, he gave her four pomegranate seeds to eat. Hades knew, although his wife did not, that if she ate anything from the world of the dead, she would have to return to his kingdom someday.

Having eaten the seeds, Persephone rode happily out of the Underworld with Hermes. When their chariot finally reached Eleusis, Persephone joyfully embraced her mother. The mother and daughter laughed and cried, and talked as they had before. Finally, Demeter asked her daughter if she had eaten anything during her stay in the Underworld. Persephone replied, "Mother, what a strange question. All I ate was four pomegranate seeds. Why should that matter?"

Demeter became so upset by this news that she took her daughter directly to Zeus to discuss what could be done. On the way to Mount Olympus, Demeter explained to Persephone that because she had eaten food from the Underworld - the seeds of the pomegranate - she would have to return there. That rule was unbreakable.

Zeus had witnessed the happiness of mother and daughter when they were reunited, and now he could see the unbearable sadness in their eyes at the thought of having to part again. Nevertheless, Zeus had to respect the rules of the universe. Therefore, to follow the rules, the king of the gods decreed that Persephone must return to the Underworld.

However, Zeus offered a compromise: instead of returning permanently to live in the Underworld, Persephone need only live there for four months out of the year, one month for each pomegranate seed she had eaten. Appeased by Zeus’s compromise, Demeter allowed the crops on earth to grow again.

From that time on, mother and daughter spent two thirds of the year together. During their time together, the earth bloomed and the crops flourished. But when Persephone returned each year to spend four months with Hades in the Underworld, the earth became as cold as ice while Demeter mourned for her daughter’s lost company. Then, every spring, when Persephone returned to her mother, the world would become green again in celebration of their joyous reunion.

Dionysus and His Followers

2010-04-13T01:14:00.000-07:00

Semele's father was Cadmus, king of Thebes. She lived a happy and luxurious life in the palace, along with her sisters Autonoe, Ino, and Agave.

As the girls grew older, everyone remarked on their outstanding beauty. Life seemed perfect for these lovely princesses, until the day Semele fell in love with a tall, handsome stranger.

Caught up in her new romance, Semele ignored the fact that she did not know much about her lover. She kept him a secret from her family and friends, and although her sisters noticed a new radiance about Semele, none suspected her frequent absences.

Semele had no idea that her secret lover was actually Zeus, the king of the gods, who was visiting her in the form of a mortal man. Zeus was very much in love with the beautiful, quiet, and somewhat solitary princess, but he could not visit her in his true god-like state.

If he were to reveal his true self, Semele would die, since no human could look on an immortal in his or her true form without being consumed by the immortal’s power. Therefore, when a god wished to show himself to a mortal, he needed to cloak his glory. However, after Semele and Zeus had continued their love affair for some time, Zeus finally decided to reveal his true identity to Semele. Although she was shocked, the princess believed her lover.

Even though Zeus was in love with Semele, he was, in fact, already married to Hera, the queen of the gods. When she learned of her husband’s affair with Semele, Hera became enraged with jealousy.

In fact, Zeus often pursued other women, both mortal and immortal, and although she was used to her husband’s affairs, Hera still always reacted with the same intensity. She often took out her revenge on her husband’s various accomplices.

This time, Hera, disguised as a servant, paid a visit to Semele’s bedchamber. With mock sympathy, Hera told the girl that she knew all about the secret romance. Somehow she convinced the princess that it would be wise for her to behold her lover in his true form.

Semele had just discovered that she was pregnant, and although she trusted her lover, she now became persuaded to be certain about the identity of her unborn child’s father.

So Semele sent the servant out of the room and awaited the arrival of her lover. When Zeus entered the room through a door from the garden, Semele jumped up and threw her arms around his neck.

"My love," she said, "my servant knows all about us. We must be very careful or my father will discover our affair! But this is not my only news. Darling, I am going to have a child. Swear to me that you will grant me the favor I am about to ask you."

Zeus was surprised at the princess's ardent tone of voice, but because he was so much in love with her, he agreed and said, "I swear on the River Styx in Hades that I will do whatever you ask of me."

Semele took her lover's hand and led him into the room. Sitting down, she begged to see him in his true form. Zeus was caught off-guard and did not know what to do about this new dilemma. He knew that Semele would not be able to look at him without dying, and he did not want to hurt her.

But the god had also made an unbreakable promise, for any promise sworn on the River Styx must be fulfilled, and now he could not refuse her request. Though Zeus tried to explain the consequences to Semele, the princess insisted that, although she truly loved him, she still needed proof of his identity.

Therefore, reluctantly, Zeus kept his word. As he began to transform, the room filled with light, and flames shot out from his immortal body. Semele screamed as the sight of her lover burned into her eyes. Then, consumed by the fire of Zeus’s immortality, her own body was engulfed in flames.

Just before she died, Zeus snatched Semele's unborn baby from her womb. Quickly, he sewed the baby into his thigh to keep it safe from harm. Then Zeus wept for his love, and he left the Theban palace in the same secret manner by which he had come.

When nine months had fully passed, Semele's child was born out of Zeus's thigh. The king of the gods named his son Dionysus, and he asked some nymphs to raise the baby and keep him a safe distance away from Queen Hera who was still angry at Zeus for his affair with Semele.

Many years later, after Dionysus had grown up, he bade a tearful farewell to the nymphs who had mothered him and set off to travel the world, slowly making his way toward Thebes. He was a handsome young man with long flowing hair that fell in waves about his shoulders.

He wore clothes made out of the skins of animals, and often he looked like he would be more comfortable in the wilds of the forest than in the cities and towns that he visited. As the young god wandered, he showed the Greeks how to grow grapes and how to use the grapes to make wine.

He was often followed and worshipped by groups of wild-looking women called Bacchae or bacchantes. These women also wore clothes made from the skins of animals, and they usually had flowers or leaves scattered in their hair. Often the bacchantes would sing and dance like untamed animals in their rituals of worship, and they caused quite an uproar wherever they visited.

After many years of travel, Dionysus finally arrived in his mother's hometown, and he was shocked at the poor reception he received. The people of Thebes did not believe that Dionysus was a god, nor did they believe he was Semele's lost son. Dionysus also learned that his mother's memory had been dishonored by the people of Thebes.

The Thebans considered Semele to have been a disrespectful daughter, they disapproved of her secret affair and felt she had received a just punishment in her death! Dionysus was furious at the Theban people for both their disbelief of his immortality and their cruel treatment of his mother's memory.

At this time, the king of Thebes was Dionysus's cousin Pentheus, the son of Semele's sister, Agave. Like the other Thebans, Pentheus did not believe that Dionysus was a god, nor would he recognize him as his cousin.

Pentheus thought that this stranger was merely a troublemaker whose wild and unruly followers were disturbing the peace of his orderly city. Angrily, Pentheus commanded his guards to arrest Dionysus and his disciples.

Although Dionysus was, in fact, enraged by Pentheus's behavior, the god went to prison peacefully. However, extraordinary things began to happen at the palace prison. The guards were amazed when they realized that it was impossible to lock up their peculiar prisoner. No matter how many times they worked the locks attached to them, the chains on Dionysus’s wrists always fell to the ground, and the doors of his jail cell refused to stay closed.

Then, suddenly, a huge earthquake rocked the city of Thebes, flattening both the palace and the prison to the ground. Many Thebans came to realize that this devastation must have been the work of an angry god. Despite these strange events, Pentheus refused to believe that Dionysus possessed any supernatural powers, even after the prisoner had walked out of the rubble of the prison without a scratch on his body.

Many Theban women, however, became convinced of Dionysus’s powers, and after the earthquake, they joined Dionysus’s followers. After dressing in animal skins, the women went to the hills outside Thebes where they cavorted like animals, jumping and dancing in praise of Dionysus, whom they now recognized as a god.

Soon, a messenger came to Pentheus to tell him that his mother, Agave, and his aunts were among the Bacchae dancing in the hills. The messenger also told Pentheus that guards had tried to talk to Agave and the other women, but when they had approached, the women chased the men away. The guard added that the women had torn the woods apart with their bare hands and ruined all the villages in their path with their wild revelry.

Pentheus was furious at this news! He paced in front of his crumbling palace, fuming. "My own mother!" he cried. "Acting like one of those crazy Bacchae! Whatever will happen next?"

As Pentheus grew visibly more and more upset, Dionysus approached, already planning his revenge. Pentheus still did not believe that Dionysus was a god, but soon he fell into a trance and agreed with everything Dionysus said to him, no matter how strange.

First, Dionysus convinced Pentheus that he needed to climb the hill and see for himself how the women were behaving. Only then would Pentheus be able to figure out a way to make them stop their outrageous behavior.

Still in a trance, Pentheus begged Dionysus to help him find a disguise so that the women on the hill would not recognize him. Then Dionysus dressed King Pentheus in a long, flowing wig and a wild, multicolored dress. Under Dionysus's spell, Pentheus thought he looked quite dashing when, in fact, he looked very silly.

Finally, Dionysus led the king to the hill where the Bacchae were celebrating. Once they reached the top of the hill, Dionysus convinced the king to climb a tree to get a better look at the scene.

Then, when Pentheus had settled himself in the tree, Dionysus disappeared. The king was surprised that Dionysus would leave him so suddenly, but he was confident that the women could not see him hiding in the tree.

Unfortunately for Pentheus, Dionysus had put the women in a trance as well. Thus, when they looked up at the tree, they did not see Pentheus hiding there but a mountain lion readying for attack. Terrified at the sight of what she thought was a vicious, man-eating creature, Agave shouted, "Kill the lion!"

Like animals stalking their prey, the women attacked Pentheus and pulled him from the tree. Though he begged for mercy, the women could not understand him since his words sounded like the growls of a wild lion, not like cries for help from their own king.

Dionysus had endowed the women with superhuman strength, and now, with their bare hands, the women tore Pentheus to shreds. Then, still in a trance, the women marched back to Thebes. In tribute to their proud victory, Agave led the march, parading the head of the victim above her like a trophy. When the women entered the city carrying Pentheus’s head before them, the people of Thebes were so horrified that they stood in silence as the shocking parade passed by.

When the marchers reached the grounds of the palace ruins, Agave called out to her father, Cadmus, to show off their prize. When Cadmus saw what Agave held in her hands, his face paled, and he began to weep. Holding the head of her victim high above her, Agave said, "Father, why do you weep? Look how I have killed a mountain lion! Look how strong and brave your daughter is! Why are you not proud?"

Weeping for his dead grandson, and for his daughter who loved her son Pentheus more than anyone in the world, Cadmus said, "Dear Agave, look again at what prize you have been blessed with, and then you will understand why I am weeping."

Cadmus's sad words broke Agave's trance, and when she looked again at the head in her hands, her proud laughter quickly turned to terror. She saw that she had killed her own son! Falling to the ground, Agave wept, finally coming to understand the powers of the god Dionysus, whom her family had so vilely offended by their disbelief.

Baucis and Philemon

2010-04-12T23:49:00.000-07:00

Baucis and Philemon lived in Phrygia, a part of Asia Minor. They had been married for many years, and although they were very poor, they were happy and loved each other dearly.

Their farm was small, and they could grow only enough to feed themselves. Sometimes conditions made it difficult to coax any crops out of the land, so they often relied on the eggs of the single goose that lived on the farm. The goose not only laid eggs, but it acted like a watchdog, protecting the couple’s meager possessions.

One day, Zeus and Hermes decided to visit Phrygia. Zeus, the protector of guests, wanted to see if the people in Phrygia were being kind to visitors.

Zeus and Hermes wore ragged clothes so that no one would recognize them. They knew that as gods they would be treated royally, but they wanted to see how they would be welcomed as ordinary travelers.

Thus disguised, the gods went from house to house in Phrygia. At the door of each house the ragged strangers asked the owners if they could rest by the fireplace and have something to eat and drink. But each door was slammed rudely in their faces. After this had happened many times, Zeus began to worry.

He turned to Hermes and asked, "How can anyone travel in such an inhospitable country where everyone seems so rude and disrespectful? Are there no people in Phrygia who are kind to strangers? Travelers far from home should not have to go hungry. I wonder how these rude people would feel if they were treated the same way they have been treating us?"

Hermes had no ready answer for Zeus, and the pair trudged along. Finally, after knocking on hundreds of doors and being refused hospitality at each one, the disguised gods found themselves before a hut that was smaller and more rundown than any of the houses they had yet visited.

The house was situated near the bottom of a tall hill, and although the farm around the house was small, the grounds were well-tended. When the strangers knocked on the door of the modest hut, a ragged couple appeared. Immediately and with open arms, they invited the strangers into their home. Ducking under the low doorway, the disguised gods entered into the small but spotless single room.

The couple's names were Baucis and Philemon. Baucis was a small woman with graying hair, a sweet face, and a friendly smile; and her husband, Philemon, was hard-working and strong despite his years. They were kind and happily went to work preparing a meal and trying to make their guests feel comfortable.

Baucis and Philemon asked neither the visitors' names nor their origins; the couple understood that it was up to the visitors to offer this information only if they so chose. With sincere attention to their visitors' comfort, the couple invited their guests to sit near the warm hearth, and Baucis threw a thin pillow over the single hard bench. Then Baucis heated up the fire and began to boil water.

While she cooked the evening meal, Baucis spoke happily with the guests. "We are so glad to have you with us," she said. "We do not have much, my Philemon and I, but we are happy to share whatever we have with our friends." As she said this, her husband smiled and nodded in agreement.

Finally, the meager meal was ready. Baucis propped up their rickety table with a broken dish and served her guests. Philemon made sure that the guests had whatever they might need. The couple were so busy enjoying their company that nothing seemed unusual.

Gradually, however, Philemon and Baucis both noticed that although they had already used up their small supply of wine, the wine jug was as full as ever, even though it had been emptied several times. Clearly, their guests could not be the poor travelers they appeared to be.

Such a miracle must be the magic of immortals. Immediately, the couple fell to their knees, begging the gods' forgiveness for the meager dinner they had served and the shabbiness of their tiny home.

Embarrassed at his poverty, Philemon got up quickly from his knees and ran outside, hoping to catch the couple's goose in order to cook it as a more appropriate dinner offering for the gods. But the goose sensed the old man's purpose and ran away. Finally, the goose ran straight into the house and jumped into Zeus's lap for protection. Zeus laughed, and told the old man to stop his chasing. The god assured the couple that he did not wish to eat their only goose.

Still smiling, Zeus and Hermes said, "Come with us, Baucis and Philemon. You have been wonderful hosts, and you shall be rewarded. However, the rest of the people in this country shall be punished for their rudeness."

Nervously, Baucis and Philemon followed as the gods hiked to the top of the hill behind their house. When they turned to look down at the valley, the couple was dismayed to see that all the houses in the village - except their own - had disappeared under the waters of a huge flood. Now, only the tips of the highest rooftops could be seen peeking out above the raging waters.

The flood had swept in so quickly and so silently that the entire village had been surprised. Baucis and Philemon could not see a soul left in their town. All that was left was their own tiny home, the floodwaters lapping at its doorway.

On the high hill, safe and dry above the flood, Baucis and Philemon looked down again at their farm, unable to speak. Amazed, they watched as their house changed before their eyes into a magnificent temple made of gold and marble. They had no idea why this was happening. When they looked questioningly to the gods for an answer, Zeus smiled kindly and said, "You shall have your reward now. Tell me your wish, and you shall have it."

For a moment, Baucis and Philemon whispered together; they needed only a minute to decide what their wish would be. First, they asked the gods if they could be priests in the shiny gold temple that now stood in place of their house. Then they begged the gods to allow them to die both at the same moment, so that neither would ever have to live without the other.

Zeus granted the couple their first wish right away. Before returning with Hermes to Mount Olympus, Zeus sent Baucis and Philemon off to serve in the great temple that now stood where their farm used to be. The couple lived happily there for many years, growing very old but remaining ever faithful to the gods and to each other.

One day, while standing outside the temple, Baucis saw her husband's body stiffen. Right before her eyes, Philemon's feet grew into the ground, and leaves sprouted out of his hands. Baucis was shocked, but suddenly she realized that her own body was also sprouting roots and leaves.

The couple had only a moment to say a loving goodbye before they both turned into trees, their trunks touching and their leaves mingling. In this way, the gods fulfilled their promise to Baucis and Philemon - they would never be apart, even in death.

After this startling event, the people who came to live again in Phrygia always told the couple's story and hung wreaths on the trees that grew twisted together outside the golden temple. In this way, the people of Phrygia honored the spirit of Baucis and Philemon, the kind and faithful couple who were rewarded by the gods for their kindness to others.

Echo and Narcissus

2010-04-12T22:16:00.000-07:00

Echo was a beautiful mountain nymph who was a favorite friend of Artemis, the goddess of the hunt and a special protector of maidens.

Echo, friendly and fun-loving, adored talking to her many sisters and friends. Nevertheless, no one ever complained that she talked too much, because Echo was so much fun to be with, and everyone loved her.

One of the other nymphs was having a love affair with Zeus, the king of the gods. Often, the couple would meet in a secret glade in the forest, far from the jealous eyes of Hera, Zeus’s wife. Echo did not know about the affair, and she did not mind when her friends and sisters asked her to stand guard outside the secret glade.

She never even thought to ask them why the glade needed guarding. All that Echo knew was that her sisters and friends warned her that her most important job was to keep Hera away from the glade.

Before long, Hera heard rumors that her husband was having an affair, and she became determined to find out which nymph was tempting her husband away. As she entered the forest and neared the glade, Hera saw Echo lounging near a shady group of trees.

It was clear to Echo that Hera wanted to enter the glade, and, remembering her sisters' warning, Echo struck up a friendly conversation with the goddess, trying to distract her. While Echo was busy chatting with Hera, Zeus and his lover heard Hera's unmistakable voice and managed to escape before they could be discovered.
When Hera finally insisted on entering the glade and found that her husband had gotten away, she was furious! And even though Echo had played no part at all in Zeus's affair, Hera decided to punish her.

In a high, shrill voice, the queen of the gods pronounced, "Young lady, your chattering has done you in, and you will be punished for it! From this moment forward, the only words you will ever be able to utter will be exactly those words, no more and no less, that other people have said to you first."

Echo was very upset. She had not meant to make Hera angry. She had only been helping her sisters and friends. Now she was burdened with an unbearable punishment, especially for someone who loved to talk! It seemed like nothing could be worse than silence or being doomed to repeat someone else’s words.

Sadly, Echo left the glade, waving silently to her sisters and friends and wondering what she was going to do. Distracted by her thoughts, Echo suddenly found herself near a beautiful pond. There, sitting at the water’s edge, was the handsomest young man Echo had ever seen.

Desperately, Echo wished to make conversation with this youth, whose name was Narcissus, but since she had no way to talk to him, the young nymph hid herself behind a tree and watched to see what he was doing.

Narcissus was so good-looking that people were constantly falling in love with him at first sight. He was tall and naturally strong, and his curly hair was cut in such a way that it framed his elegant face.

Having never seen himself, however, Narcissus had no idea how handsome he was, and he never understood why he received so much attention from those around him. In fact, that very day he had come into the forest trying to get away from all the people who had been gawking at him.

Thirsty from his long walk, Narcissus decided to stop at the pond for a drink. As he knelt before the still water, he saw the most beautiful face staring back at him from beneath the wet surface. But when he reached down to touch the beautiful person in the water, the face got blurry and quickly disappeared. Narcissus was so saddened at the disappearance of the beautiful water person that he sat back on the bank and cried.

A few minutes later, he looked into the pond. There was the beautiful face, looking back at him. This time there were sad tears streaming down the handsome face. Narcissus felt sorry for the beautiful water person. He reached into the water to try to comfort him, but once again, the water person disappeared.

Suddenly, Narcissus heard a rustling in the leaves behind him. He did not know that Echo was hiding nearby, waiting for her chance to attract his attention. Startled and saddened by the disappearance of the beautiful person in the water, Narcissus called out, "Who's there?"

In reply, Echo answered, "Who's there?" Since she could only repeat the youth's words, as Hera had commanded her, this was all the conversation she could manage.

Echo thought Narcissus was beautiful indeed, and she was beginning to fall in love with him. Ashamed of her inability to speak, however, she remained hidden. Narcissus was surprised to hear his words flung back to him, and he was a little annoyed. Why would anyone be so rude as to repeat the words of someone else? Exasperated, Narcissus turned his attention to the person he saw in the water.

Each time Narcissus tried to touch the water, the beautiful person disappeared. Narcissus did not realize that there was no person living beneath the surface of the water and that he was actually seeing his own reflection. There was only Narcissus sitting on the bank, looking into the pond. As the sun set behind the trees, the youth could no longer see his reflection in the water.

Calling out to the person he believed to live under the surface of the pond, Narcissus cried, "Wait! You are so beautiful! I love you!" All he heard in reply was the sound of Echo’s voice repeating his words from her hiding place among the trees.

Narcissus had fallen deeply in love with the person he thought he saw in the water, just as Echo had fallen in love with him. Day after day, the youth and the nymph sat near the pond, Narcissus staring at his reflection and Echo staring at him. Narcissus pined for his appearing and disappearing love, and Echo sat nearby, fists clenched in frustration, wishing she could speak her own thoughts.

As time went by, the unhappy lovers forgot to sleep, eat, or drink, so distracted were they by their unfulfilled loves. After some time, Narcissus noticed that the person in the water had grown thin and tired. He did not understand that it was he who was withering away. From her hiding place, Echo could see Narcissus wasting away, but she could not see how equally gaunt she was becoming herself.

Day after day, Narcissus became more and more distraught as he sat by the bank of the pond, staring mournfully at the water. One day, overcome with frustration, he called out, "My love, why do you ignore me? Do you not see that I am dying for you?" Hiding in the woods, Echo responded, "My love, why do you ignore me? Do you not see that I am dying for you?"

Consumed by his own overwhelming sadness, Narcissus took no notice of the nymph's repetitive answers. He leaned down, clutching at the water, but he could no longer go on. Exhausted, Narcissus died by the water's edge, trying to embrace his mysterious lover.

At the moment of his death, the gods took pity on the youth and his misdirected love and turned him into the flower called the narcissus. Echo, watching her love transform into a beautiful flower before her eyes, wept silently from her hiding place in the forest. Thus weeping, she died too, leaving only her echoing voice behind.

Helius and Phaethon

2010-04-12T20:42:00.000-07:00

Helius was the god of the sun. He ruled no particular area on the earth’s surface because he had not been present when Zeus was busy assigning jobs to the gods. Helius’s main job was to ride a chariot across the sky each day.

This chariot was very important because, in fact, it was the sun itself. The sun gave light and warmth to the earth, and its travels across the heavens caused day and night. Helius was careful never to let anything jeopardize the daily rising and setting of the sun.

Although he was very busy, Helius had an affair with Clymene, a mortal woman. Clymene lived in the geographical area that is now known as Ethiopia. The couple had a son named Phaethon.

Soon after the birth of Phaethon, the love affair ended, and Clymene married a prince who raised the boy as his own son. The prince and Clymene had other children after their marriage, and they all lived very happily for many years.

The happiness of the royal family was shattered, however, when Clymene confided to Phaethon that her husband, the prince, was not the boy’s real father. Clymene told Phaethon that his father was Helius, the sun god. Phaethon was amazed at what his mother told him.

Phaethon was so obsessed with this shocking news that he bragged about his important father to the other boys at school. However, the other boys did not believe him, and although they were his friends, the boys teased Phaethon about his story.

They just could not believe that their friend was the son of a god, suspecting instead that this story was just another one of Phaethon’s fantasies. One of his friends challenged Phaethon and said, “If Helius is really your father, show us some proof. Then we will believe you.”

Determined to show his friends that he was telling the truth, Phaethon went home and asked his mother to help him prove that Helius was really his father. Clymene had no physical evidence available to prove that the god was her son’s father. However, she promised to show Phaethon the way to Helius’s palace where he could ask the god himself for some proof.

With his mother’s directions, Phaethon easily found the god’s palace. He could hardly believe his eyes when he saw it for the first time. It was the most magnificent building the boy had ever seen. In fact, it was probably one of the most beautiful palaces ever built. Nervously, Phaethon approached the majestic dais where Helius was sitting.

The boy could not help but gawk at the splendor of everything around him. Huge pillars of bronze and gold held up the ceiling of the throne room, making the chamber sparkle with light. Even the god’s throne, carved out of solid emerald, was exquisite. There were lesser gods, who acted as Helius’s servants, milling about the room, adding to the god’s majesty. These various gods were called Day, Month, Year, the Centuries, the Hours, and the Seasons.

Phaethon looked so much like his beautiful mother with his striking physique and intense eyes that Helius recognized him as his son right away. The god told Phaethon that, indeed, he was his father, just as Clymene had said. When Phaethon explained that he wished to have proof to show his friends, Helius was surprised but understanding.

He told Phaethon, “By the River Styx in Hades, I swear to give you whatever proof you ask for.” Phaethon knew that the god was serious when he said this because no one, not even a god, could go back on a promise sworn by the River Styx.

Then, with the assurance of this promise, Phaethon turned to Helius and said, “Father, I believe that I am your son. But I would like to prove it to my friends who teased me and claimed that I am only pretending that you are my father.

I know that you are very careful about driving your chariot across the sky each day, but if I am your son, you will allow me to drive the chariot tomorrow so that everyone may see me riding in your place. Then they will believe that I am your son. They will see that I can be as strong and as brave as a god. Remember your promise, and let me drive your chariot.”

As soon as he heard his son’s request, Helius wished that he had not made such a rash, unbreakable promise. The sun god never allowed anyone else to drive his chariot for the simple reason that it was extremely difficult to manage. The horses were so unruly that they would obey no one but Helius. Even Zeus, the king of the gods, could not drive Helius’s chariot.

Helius begged his son to reconsider his request and to ask for some other kind of proof. He tried to make Phaethon understand the danger and futility of trying to drive the chariot. Even if he were Zeus himself, Helius stressed, Phaethon could easily be killed by trying to ride across the sky.

Despite these warnings, Phaethon was determined to drive the sky chariot. He reminded the god of his oath upon the River Styx. Thus, Helius was forced to allow the boy his wish, and he told his servants, the Hours, to hitch up the horses to prepare for the boy’s departure.

Phaethon was bursting with excitement. He could hardly keep from shouting for joy as he watched the Hours prepare the horses. While the servants held the horses steady, Phaethon climbed into the chariot, grinning at his father, who looked on with dismay.

“Father,” Phaethon said assuringly, “Do not worry. I will show you all what a good driver I am. You will be so proud!” With a final wave, the young prince dismissed the servants and tugged on the flaming gold reins to urge the magnificent horses on ward into the sky.

For one brief moment, the earth was bathed in a calm morning light. Helius began to breathe an audible sigh of relief - perhaps Phaethon would be able to drive the horses after all. Unfortunately, this moment of calm was soon shattered.

Almost immediately after leaving his father’s palace with the chariot, Phaethon lost control of the horses. He just could not keep them on their path. The horses left the road they usually traveled and began to race in different directions.

The boy did not feel at all like the powerful son of Helius, the ruler of the day and night. Instead, he was terrified, and he clutched the side of the chariot to keep
from falling out. Mournfully, Helius watched his son’s wild ride from his shimmering throne, but he could do nothing to stop the disobedient horses.

First, the chariot took Phaethon into the night sky where he caused such damage that a huge burnt trail was left behind wherever the chariot happened to touch down. This scar became the Milky Way, and even now the etchings of Phaethon’s chariot ride can be seen streaking across the sky.

After leaving the night, the horses raced back toward earth, dragging their frightened driver behind them. The horses swooped down over the area near the earth’s equator, where the land caught fire when the chariot touched it. These burned areas became the deserts of Africa.

News of Phaethon’s disastrous ride soon made its way to Mount Olympus. Gaia, the first mother of the gods, begged the other gods to help save the earth from destruction. As they watched, the gods began to realize that the entire world would soon be burned to a crisp if they did not step in soon and somehow manage to stop the racing chariot.

Although he did not want to kill Helius’s son, Zeus knew that this idea would be the only way to save the earth. So Zeus hurled a bolt of lightning at Phaethon. His aim was good, and Phaethon fell out of the chariot to his death in the Eridanus River. The wild horses and the splintered chariot also fell into the river.

Although they were sorry that the boy had died, most of the gods were relieved to see that the earth had been merely scorched and not completely destroyed. At his forge, Hephaestus the blacksmith made Helius a new chariot so that the world would continue to enjoy day and night. The new chariot - covered in jewels and intricate carvings - was even more beautiful than the first, in memory of the god’s lost son.

Helius’s daughters, the Heliades, were so upset about their brother’s death, however, that they gathered along the Eridanus River to weep for him. They cried so many tears and for so many years that the gods took pity on them and turned them into poplar trees that grew along the banks of the river; their abundant tears were turned into amber, which dropped from the trees into the river.

The Capitoline Triad: Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva

2010-04-12T16:26:00.000-07:00

Jupiter

Jupiter’s humble beginnings as sky god and chief god of the Latins can be traced to the region of Italy first settled by early Romans. Some early flint stones were preserved in the Capitol, where he was worshipped as Jupiter Feretrius, "The Oldest."

Jupiter’s greatest influence as sky god was through his omens of thunder and lightning. He caused rain to fall on the farms and vineyards of the land and kept the crops well-watered. By the middle of the third century B.C.,

Jupiter had become the prime protector of Rome and was called Jupiter Optimus ("The Best") Maximus ("The Greatest"). With such an all-encompassing title, Jupiter began to assume a variety of roles that were important to a rising class of educated and wealthy Romans.

The business of governing the people involved the implementation of Roman laws, and Jupiter became, in addition to his agricultural roles, guardian of the law, protector of justice and virtue, and defender of truth. He was known to hand out harsh punishment to perjurers. He was the god upon whom the most solemn oaths were sworn, and he became identified with the goddess of good faith, Fides.

In the first century B.C., the Roman poet Ovid composed a lyrical version of the Roman calendar called Fasti. In this poem, Ovid created mythological stories about Jupiter and King Numa Pompilius, using events that had happened much later than Numa’s reign around 700 B.C.

One myth claimed that Jupiter gave King Numa instructions for performing ritual purification and cleansing after lightning struck by sacrificing onions, hair, and fish instead of humans. Another myth alleged that Jupiter had caused a shield, or ancile, to fall from the sky as his gift to King Numa.

The king was so delighted with his gift from Jupiter that he had eleven copies of the figure-eight-shaped shield made and locked away in the office of the chief priest for safekeeping. The king claimed that Jupiter’s ancile gave him the right to exercise his power over other communities.

Jupiter, by his supreme rank and power, was the sovereign god of the Romans. He was always listed first among the gods or priests, and his symbol was a scepter, the Roman symbol of power. It is no wonder, then, that Jupiter eventually assumed the attributes of Zeus, the supreme god of the Greeks.

Just as Zeus was ruler of the Greek pantheon (their collection of gods and goddesses), Jupiter was ruler of the Roman pantheon. Legend credits Jupiter with having granted Neptune dominion over the sea and Pluto dominion over the Underworld.

Juno

The second deity in the Capitoline Triad, Juno, was an early Italian goddess who presided over everything associated with women, especially marriage and childbirth. Juno was protector of women, and she was worshipped under several different names. She presided over marriages as Juno Pronuba, aided women in childbirth as Juno Lucina, and was the special counselor and protector of the Roman state as Juno Regina.

After the Romans created their own pantheon of gods and goddesses, Juno became queen of the goddesses, the female counterpart of Jupiter. In March, when all nature was being renewed, Juno (goddess of marriage and childbirth) was honored during the festival known as Matronalia.

Although the festival was celebrated in early spring, the month of June is named after Juno, and it is today considered by many people to be the perfect time of year to be married.

Juno was also worshipped in the temple ad Monetam next to the Roman mint on Capitoline Hill. In this temple, she was known as Juno Moneta ("Adviser"). After the Etruscan city Veii was conquered in 396 B.C., Juno Regina (Queen Juno) was invited to come to Rome.

By accepting the invitation, it is believed she came willingly and thus deprived the Etruscans of her protection. Under the influence of the Greeks, Juno became the wife and sister of Jupiter, and her greatest power and mythology came from Hera, her Greek counterpart.

Minerva

Minerva, introduced to the Romans by the Etruscans in the late eighth or early seventh century b.c., was the third member of the Capitoline Triad. The Romans regarded her as the goddess of all activities involving mental skill. She was also known as the goddess of war, crafts, and science.

After Minerva became associated with the Greek goddess Athena, she acquired a more expanded mythology. One story tells that Minerva sprang from the head of Jupiter fully clothed in armor and ready for battle. Minerva was credited with having invented the trumpet and flute, as well as utensils and tools. She was worshipped as goddess of the arts of women, which included the arts of cooking and weaving.

Although Minerva was vain, she did not take lovers. She was known to be quite modest, and was said to have blinded a man who happened to have witnessed her bathing in a stream. Minerva’s favorite bird was the owl, for which we remember her to this day: The owl remains a symbol of wisdom.

Roman Deities: Mars, Venus, and Apollo

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Mars

By the fourth century B.C., Mars, the Roman god of war, had already assumed the form and shape of a warrior. He was portrayed wearing armor and a crested
helmet and carrying a shield. In preparation for war, Roman soldiers practiced vigorous drilling exercises on the Campus Martius, or "field of Mars," located beyond the city walls next to the Tiber River.

Mars was worshipped on the Capitol in a temple that he shared with Jupiter and Quirinus, another god of war. The Roman army would gather at the site of the temple Mars Gradvisu before leaving for war. Still another temple - one that he shared with Venus - was built on the Forum Augustus. This temple was known as Mars Ultor ("The Avenger").

There were several festivals held in honor of Mars. The most notable festival was the Armilustrium, which was celebrated in October when the military weapons of the soldiers were ritually purified and then stored away for winter. Wars were often begun or continued in spring; thus, the month of March (Martius) was named after the god Mars.

Mars became identified with Ares, the Greek god of war. Unlike Mars, however, Ares was cruel and vain. Mars was said to have been the husband of Bellona, a serpent-haired goddess who represented conflict as well as peace. Bellona was sometimes described as being the feminine side of Mars.

Venus

After the Romans began to identify Venus with Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love, Venus' mythology became much the same as Aphrodite's. She was believed by some to be the daughter of Jupiter, and by others to have sprung from the foam of the sea.

As the daughter of Jupiter, she was protected by her father, who believed all the gods wanted to take her hand in marriage. So Jupiter arranged for his daughter to marry Vulcan, the god of volcanic fire, who was the most steady and reliable of the gods - and one of the ugliest.

There are two legends associated with the god Vulcan. The first is that he was born weak and crippled, and that his mother, Juno, unable to look at him, threw him off Mount Olympus, the legendary home of the Greek gods. Seven days later, Vulcan landed in the sea, where he was rescued by nymphs. They took him to the island of Lemnos in the northern Aegean and cared for him.

The second legend claims that Vulcan took his mother Juno’s side during a family argument and that his father, Jupiter, threw him off Mount Olympus. In this version, too, Vulcan fell for seven days, but this time he landed directly on the island of Lemnos.

Regardless of Vulcan’s beginnings, he was thrilled to have been given Venus' hand in marriage. Vulcan wanted so much to please his new wife that he fashioned beautiful gold jewelry for her and even made her a finely woven gold girdle to wrap around her thin young waist. The gold girdle, however, only made Venus more irresistible to men.

Vulcan became perpetually jealous of his beautiful wife and was always accusing her of adulterous affairs. His jealousy was not unfounded. Venus spent a great deal of time with other men, and her favorite lover was the god Mars. One day, Vulcan sneaked up on his wife, who was lying in the arms of Mars, and threw a finely woven net over them so that they could not get free.

The angry husband took the illicit lovers to the Olympian gods and asked that they be punished for their affair. The gods, however, laughed at the sight of the embarrassed couple wrapped in each other’s arms and set them free.

Paris, a Trojan prince, awarded Venus a golden apple, the prize for the most beautiful goddess. Jupiter had been asked to choose the most beautiful goddess from among Juno, Minerva, and Venus, but he had feared the wrath of the losers. So, he asked the mortal Paris to give the award.

Paris had a difficult time trying to decide among the goddesses until, finally, they volunteered to help him. Each goddess agreed to offer him a gift, and the gift of his choice would name the winner. Minerva offered him great wisdom and great luck in war. Juno offered him all of Asia and great power. Venus offered to give him the most beautiful woman in the world.

Because Paris adored beautiful women, he chose Venus’ gift and asked for Helen, wife of King Menelaus of Greece. Venus helped Paris abduct Helen from Sparta, and
the Greek world went to war over the incident - it caused the Trojan War.

Apollo

Apollo was a god of many things and was one of the most worshipped of the Greek and Roman gods. He was god of the shepherds, god of light and truth, god of healing, god of prophecy, god of music, and god of archery. His most important daily task was to harness his four horses to his chariot and drive the sun across the sky.

Apollo was the son of Jupiter and the goddess Latona, known as the "hidden one." Apollo’s twin sister was the goddess Diana. Apollo and Diana were very protective of their mother and quick to defend her. One day, Queen Niobe of Thebes, the principal city in Boeotia, an early Greek territory, bragged to Latona that she was a superior woman because she had given birth to fourteen children and Latona had only given birth to twins.

Angered by the queen's smugness, Apollo and Diana decided to make the queen childless so that their own mother would be the better woman. The queen had seven boys and seven girls - so Apollo killed the boys, and Diana killed the girls.

Although Apollo was known to have had many romances, some legends say that he never married. He was, however, one of the first gods to fall in love with a member of the same sex - a handsome Spartan prince named Hyacinthus, who was also loved by Favonius, god of the west wind.

Hyacinthus returned Apollo’s love, but he would not return the affection of Favonius. So one day when Apollo and Hyacinthus were out in a field throwing the discus, Favonius blew the discus toward Hyacinthus' head. It struck the young prince in the skull and killed him. In the pool of blood that formed beside his head, Apollo made a flower spring forth from the earth: a hyacinth.

Other legends claimed that Apollo loved a beautiful young woman named Daphne, who would not return his love. Daphne, in fact, became irritated by the god's persistent attentions. When Apollo refused to leave her alone, she asked her father, the river god Peneus, for help.

Because water gods always had the power of transformation, Peneus transformed his daughter into a beautiful laurel tree. Apollo then claimed the laurel tree as his own, and laurel leaves became his symbol.

According to another legend, Apollo eventually married a nymph named Larissa. The couple was very happy, and Apollo believed that, at last, he had found true love. But one day his favorite bird, the crow (who, at that time, had pure white feathers), came to him and told him that his beautiful wife had been unfaithful to him. Apollo flew into a rage and shot Larissa with one of his sharp arrows.

Although he had not intended to kill her, Larissa was fatally injured and Apollo could not make her return to life. Angry that he had lost the woman he loved, Apollo turned on the crow that had delivered the news and changed his white feathers into black. Then, he forbade the crow to ever fly among other birds.

Apollo’s symbols are a lyre, which represents harmony, and a bow, which represents his power to destroy. Apollo was known to be kind and forgiving, but mean and vicious, as well.

Aeneas Journey to Crete

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Aeneas, a young Trojan soldier, had grown up with war. He did not believe that his beloved city of Troy would ever fall to the Greeks. But one night, the ghost of Hector, a dead Trojan hero, appeared to Aeneas as he slept.

Hector’s ghost warned Aeneas that Troy was doomed and would be overrun by the warring Greek armies the next day. He told Aeneas to gather up the household deities, the Lares and Penates, and lead his people from the burning city.

Alarmed by this strange nocturnal warning, Aeneas awoke, put on his armor, and hurried into the city. Greek soldiers had already stormed the walls and were burning Troy to the ground. Aeneas joined other Trojan soldiers and they fought their way toward King Priam’s palace.

But they were too late to save the lives of King Priam and his royal Trojan family. Outside the king’s chamber, Aeneas and his men heard King Priam bellowing at Greek soldiers for murdering his son, Polites. After the boy was killed, King Priam himself was murdered.

Aeneas was terrified. He feared the same fate might soon befall his own family, so he left the palace and ran all the way home. However, Aeneas need not have feared. Unbeknownst to him, his mother, the goddess Venus, was watching and protecting them so that no harm would befall his family.

When Aeneas entered his house, his father (Anchises), his son (Ascanius), and his wife (Creüsa), were seated around a small wooden table drinking warm milk and eating honey-coated bread, completely unaware of what was happening in their city.

Aeneas explained to them that Greek soldiers had stormed the city and the family must leave immediately. However, the crippled Anchises refused to go. Aeneas had to plead with his father to join them, stating that they would not leave without him.

Confused and bewildered, Anchises prayed out loud to Jupiter for guidance. Jupiter responded by sending down an omen in the form of a bolt of lightning and a loud crack of thunder. Anchises interpreted these signs from Jupiter to mean that he should leave Troy with Aeneas and his family. As Anchises prepared to go, he gathered up the Penates and the Lares to take along with them.

Aeneas gently hoisted his father onto his broad shoulders and took the hand of little Ascanius. He brushed a kiss against Creüsa’s cheek and asked that she follow close behind them. Then Aeneas led his family from their safe home, traveling by way of dark alleyways, cautious to avoid the Greek soldiers.

His long strides made it difficult for his son and wife to keep up, and they quickly became tired. When they were finally outside the gates of the city, Aeneas set his father down on the ground and released his son’s hand. But when he turned around, Creüsa was no longer with them.

Aeneas realized he had not looked behind him to see if she had been following. Panicked that he had walked too fast and that Greek soldiers may have ambushed her, Aeneas ran at breakneck speed back into the burning city.

Meanwhile, the soldiers had burned Aeneas’ house and many of the nearby homes to the ground. As Aeneas stared into the empty ruins, he saw someone move toward him. He suddenly realized it was Creüsa and ran toward her. But when he reached out to hold his wife in his arms, he could gather only the smoky air of her ghost.

But Creüsa’s voice was reassuring, and she told her husband that it was the will of the gods that she remain behind. She warned him that the gods had predicted a long and dangerous journey ahead for the Trojan people.

Aeneas reached out twice more to wrap his arms around his beloved wife, but each time he could feel only Creüsa’s ghost. He turned and ran back to his son and father, who had been joined by other Trojans and were waiting for him to lead them away.

Aeneas and the Trojans who had escaped the destruction of their city worked diligently for many months to build enough wooden ships to carry them across the sea in search of a new homeland.

The ships they built had decks below to accommodate passengers; middle decks filled with benches to hold the oarsmen, whose long oars extended through holes in the sides of the ships; and top decks with great tall sails in the center.

When at last the ships were ready and loaded with provisions, the fleet set sail north toward Thrace, a country known to be an ally of the Trojans. Aeneas wished to visit Polydorus, King Priam’s youngest son, who had been sent there for safekeeping.

Once Aeneas and his people were safely ashore in Thrace, Aeneas built the customary sacrificial altar to honor the gods and goddesses of the land. But when he uprooted some myrtle to decorate the altar, blood dripped from its leaves and a muffled sob burst forth from the earth. The voice belonged to young Polydorus, who had been killed by the Thracians after they had changed their alliance with the Trojans to one with the Greeks.

Aeneas was saddened by the loss of yet another member of the royal family. He and his people held a proper funeral for Polydorus before leaving Thrace. The Trojan women let down their hair, recited mournful prayers, and put to rest the spirit of the young prince.

Aeneas, unable to decide in which direction they must sail to find their ancestral homeland, steered the fleet to Delos, a small Greek island in the Aegean Sea. The god Apollo had been born on this island, and Aeneas decided to consult with a priestess who lived there in a cave beneath Apollo’s temple. She would relay Apollo’s prophecy, or oracle, to those who came for advice. Aeneas found the priestess and asked:

Whom should we follow? Or by what sea way

Dost thou direct us? Where may we settle now?

Father, grant us a sign, enter our hearts!

The oracle answered and advised the Trojans to seek the land from which they first sprang. Aeneas did not understand what the oracle meant, so he consulted his father. Anchises remembered a legend about one of Troy’s founders who came from Crete, a very large island in the Mediterranean Sea. The old man convinced his son that Apollo’s oracle had meant that they should settle on the island of Crete. Thus, having solved the mystery of the oracle, Aeneas offered prayers of thanks to Apollo and set sail.

Situated halfway between Asia Minor and the Greek mainland, Crete appeared to be a most suitable site for the Trojans. After anchoring, the Trojans celebrated the founding of their new homeland. Their spirits were high, and everyone worked hard to build a new life on the island.

Men and women plowed the island’s fertile fields, planted crops of barley and millet, and tended the fruit and olive trees that grew generously all over the island. Aeneas offered his people hope by parceling out individual plots of land and by establishing a set of laws designed to guide them.

But their happiness was short-lived. Within a year, a devastating plague struck the island and killed plants, animals, and people. The Trojans could not understand why the gods were so angry with them.

Then one night, Penates and the Lares (the Trojan household gods that had been with Aeneas since he left Troy) appeared. They chorused:

Keep up the long toil of your flight. Your settlement

Must be changed. This coast is not the one

Apollo of Delos urged you toward, nor did he

Bid you stay on Crete. There is a country,

Hesperia, as the Greeks have named it - ancient,

Full of man-power in war and fruitful earth…

The following morning, Aeneas told his people about his vision, and he encouraged them to remain hopeful. With such positive guidance, the Trojans happily packed up and left the island and set out for Hesperia, the land the Greeks called Italy.