as told at Tall Tales - April 4 2019
There was a tribe, which I heard tell of, and I would share the story here.
The Chieftain had twin sons. Physically there was hardly a difference.
One, a Sunwalker, grew to hunt and gather, daily setting out as An’she would crest the border where land meets sky.
The other, a shaman of the elements, stayed up late, caring for festivals and festivities, and long celebrations under the light of Mu’sha.
The Chieftain became ill, but the Mystics and Elders thought he would regain himself, and worried that the two twins were so disparate that there might be an issue between the two that would tear apart the Tribe if one was named the leader even if only in the interim. Instead, they decided to hold the leadership of the Tribe amongst the councilors.
Both twins rallied their supporters, one side gathering more food and herbs than was necessary and the other setting out more food and drink than was necessary.
Both sought to bolster their positions as the leader, despite the counsel of the Elders.
Grumbling and complaining began from both sides against the other.
“He never joins in the hunt,” was said of the one twin. “We get no sleep as the festivals and celebrations go on too long into the night.”
Of the other complaints circulated, as well.“They do not want to seek the blessing of the Fire ceremony.” And, “They do not respect tradition.”
The council tried to get each side to meet and discuss and hoped to settle the matter with wisdom. Many others grew disgruntled and began to pull away from the Tribe altogether. There seemed no way to build a bridge across the divide.
The Elders and Mystics met again and came to one accord.
As An’she set and Mu’sha rose, they passed around a pipe to all the Tribe and each was told to inhale one time and the pipe given to the next in turn.
The mystic’s concoction began to take effect and each member of the tribe began to feel a chill deep in their bones.
They came to feel heavy and felt like they were sinking down into the ground, and their vision darkened as the light of Mu’sha diminished in their sight.
They lost their voices, or they lost their hearing, who can truly say which?
The tribesmen tried to call out, reach out, find someway to seek the guidance of the twin they had chosen to follow, but they were each as helpless as each other.
Then came one single moment of light, highlighting one totem and one two-handed sword.
The Elders and Mystics cried out as one accord for all the Tribe to hear.
“Solve this mystery, young sons of the Chieftain, or this Tribe will perish and be no more!”
The hand of the twin of Mu’sha, lay near enough to touch the blade of the sword, but the totem was out of his reach to manipulate and call upon any elemental. And the twin, who followed the path of light, could not reach either totem or sword.
Their eyes meeting, it seemed like they saw each other for the first time, instead of only seeing themselves.
The Shaman grasped the sword by its blade and gripping it, even as blood coursed from his palm and fingers, he threw it hilt first to his twin.
The Sunwalker’s hands met the hilt and the sky lit with the power of An’she, and he sliced the earth that held him from reaching the totem, and once to it, he picked up the totem and rushed to get closer to his twin.
As soon as the totem was within range, the Farseer called upon the earth to let go it’s grasp and the winds to blow away whatever was obscuring Mu’sha.
The Tribe stood and held one another as one as suddenly within the sky were both the Earth Mother’s eyes, not chasing one another, but side-by-side giving life to the Tribe and to all the world.
They tried to stay awake, talking with one another around a fire, but eventually they slept and upon waking the next day, all appeared normal, with only An’she in the sky until it was Mu’sha’s turn.
They set to work rebuilding what they had been tearing asunder. Never again did the twins see An’she and Mu’sha in the sky together; and never again did any of the Tribe see the twins apart from each other.