Fire from the sky.
In the deep plains, one cold night, a stray lightning bolt ignited a stand of tall grass, dried out from the lack of rain. The fire burned bright and angry at first, sending many of the animals into the shadows, fearful that the lions would come. And the lions did come, attracted more by the warmth that the flames offered than the opportunity to hunt. They lounged in front of the fire, and their cubs played at fighting. All the while, in the darkness around them, the other animals shivered.
“I wish we could come closer to the fire,” the waterbuck said through chattering teeth.
“So that the lions can have a warm dinner instead of a cold shoulder?” quipped the baboon sitting on the ground next to it.
The rest of the animals laughed at that, but in the kind of quiet gurgling that comes from fear more than it comes from good cheer. And then they were quiet again for a long time.
When the moon had reached the highest point in its journey across the night sky, a voice from the darkness suddenly piped up and startled both the lions and the hiding animals.
“Well, this is stupid!” the thin, reedy voice proclaimed. “Here we are, freezing our tails off, and there it is, the roaring fire we all need. Why are we not closer to it?”
No one answered; in fact, hardly of the hidden animals even dared to breath. The lions rose on their haunches and – as lions do – waited. Suddenly, from beyond the circle of light cast by the fire, a solitary hare came slowly and deliberately loping towards the fire. “Because we’re all afraid of you cats, ” the hare said, with a twitch of its ears in the direction of the predators. A collective gasp arose from the other animals at the impertinence of the gesture.
The lions were not amused. With a growl, the king of the pride rose up from where he had been curled around his mate and said: “You disrespectful hare! As stringy as you are, you would still make a good meal for our cubs!”
“Peace, Simba Mfalme!” the hare said as loudly as it could, rising up on its hind legs. “O mighty King, I approach your presence under the protection of agano la usiku baridi.”
The lion roared in laiughter. “A well spoken one you are, aren’t you ancient hare? And what know you of the covenant of cold nights?”
“I know this, o King. That in the old days, creatures such as we could sit together on nights such as these, to warm ourselves by the fire that comes from the sky.”
“That covenant was entered into by my grandfather’s grandfather! How could you know of that?” the lion demanded, as it sank back down to the ground where it had lain.
“I am Eostre, o King. Once a friend and counsel to Kale Mfalme, your grandfather’s grandfather,” the hare said, bowing so low that its ears scraped the ground.
“Then you must know also that the covenant carries with it a price, ” the lion said.
“Of course, o King.”
“Then tell your story, ancient hare. And I have a feeling it will be a good one, coming from one as old as yourself,” the lion murmured. Then, in a voice loud enough for all to hear, he said, “come by the fire and listen!” One by one, the animals emerged from the darkness and found their places around the roaring flames. Overhead, the moon had begun its slow descent into the morning.
Eostre tells her story.
A long time ago, before any of you ever breathed the air of these plains, I was already a young hare living a long way to the north, right where the land ended and the great white sea began.
There, I saw binadamu of all colors, shapes and sizes. They would ride on camels on land, and rafts on the water. They came from all over and spoke many different languages. But I was not free, as I am now. I was born in a cage, and grew up in a cage, fed tender lettuce leaves by the one my mother called our owner. He was a kind binadamu, as far as I can remember; a soldier with a crimson cape and a close-fitting leather cap. And he carried us around with him wherever he went. For some reason I can no longer remember, I learned to call him Huruma.
At night, Huruma would put our cage down by his cot and speak with us as though we understood him. Well, in a way, it was not difficult to divine how he felt, and – as my mother used to say – when you understand how one feels, the words are just added details. And so it was with him and his nightly conversations with us. Then, in the morning, he would feed us before he left.
One morning, he left in a hurry and forgot to close the door to our cage. By this time, you understand, I was already feeling the urge to escape – an urge my mother did not share, I am sad to say. She was happy where she was, she said. And that day, she told me to follow my heart.
So I swung the door to the cage open and hopped out. Of course, I had no idea where I was going. All that mattered was I was free. Cautiously, I crept out of the house and onto the street, and almost got stepped on!
[Oh! the young gazelle exclaimed. Shhh, the mother crooned to her baby. Don’t be frightened.]Not to worry, young one. I was careful and agile. I dodged this way and that and managed to get myself into a small alley where no one was. From that safe place, I looked back into the street and saw that the people were all hurrying in one direction, shouting and hooting. Curious as I was, I made my way to where I thought the people were going. Going behind houses, under tables and in between their legs, I went to the road where the throng was thickest. There, I saw what they were getting all excited about.
A binadamu, bleeding all over, lay sprawled across the road. Laid atop of his prostrate form were two beams of wood, joined together at the center by rough hemp. For a brief moment, the gathered crowd stood silent, but their eyes were fixed on him with a mix of expectation that he would do something more remarkable than simply standing up. But when he lay there longer than they expected, the crowd got ugly again, and started yelling at the fallen man to get up.
He just lay there, seemingly dead. Mesmerized by the situation – and since no one was approaching him anyway – I came nearer and sniffed around his head. At first, no one noticed me but him. With barely a movement of his bloodied head, he looked up at me from under the matted strings of his filthy hair. For a fleeting second, I thought I could see his eyes smiling at me as if to say don’t worry. But then I was kicked aside and I ran for cover. Behind me, I could hear the hooting get louder and louder until a great mocking cheer rose up. I looked back, and I saw that the fallen man had gotten up and was moving forward, the wood slung over one shoulder.
Frightened now, I didn’t return to the road, but I did try to keep pace with the man. All the while, I wondered why he was being treated so. Surely, I thought, a man with such eyes could not be all bad. And yet, the people acted like they reveled in his suffering. BUt I was a young hare then, and I truly didn’t know much about suffering.
It was a long road, he traveled, and he fell twice more. Each time, it took him longer to get up. The crowd’s anger too seemed to be draining away; they hooted less when he fell and cheered a little more sincerely each time he got up. I thought that if he fell a fourth time, the crowd might actually come sweep him up and take him away to where his wounds could heal. But he got to the end of the road too soon and the next thing I knew, I saw Huruma driving a spike into the man’s hand.
It was more than I could bare. Huruma had been kind to my mother and me, and yet he there he was, his eyes blood shot and crazed, clearly relishing the pain he was causing the man. I ran away as fast as I could, suddenly fearful of what Huruma would do to me if he caught me. Away from the rocky hill I ran and up into the side of another hill not far away. I found a cave there and decided that I would pass the rest of the afternoon and night there. My escape could wait until tomorrow.
I found a patch of soft grass near the cave’s entrance and started munching on the soft leaves. Just as I was starting to calm down, the noon sky grew dark and thunder rolled across the sky. I feared rain and so dashed back into the cave. Just as I entered the cave, the earth shook as I had never experienced before. I was nearly mad with fear and ran deeper and deeper into the cave. Beneath my feet, the ground opened up forcing me to jump this way and that to avoid falling into the cracks. But it was dark, and inevitably, I fell into one of the cracks.
For what seemed like hours, head over heels I tumbled into the earth until hard rocky soil stopped my fall.
I was disoriented and wondered why I was hearing weeping and wailing. For a moment, I thought I had ended up outside. But I hadn’t. After a few moments, I recovered my bearings and realized that I was in a cavern within the cave I had taken shelter in. Cautiously, I explored my surroundings with all of my senses
It was no longer dark, my eyes saw. The cavern seemed to be lit by firelight, but I could see no torches. It stank mightily, my nose told me. The stench of burning hair and fat and flesh was so thick that if you stopped to think about it, you would retch. As I said, the ground was hard and rocky, and when I tasted the dirt, it reminded me of the taste of the burnt piece of bread softened in water that Huruma had once given us, when we were in the middle of a war and lettuce could not be found. And finally, my ears told me I had ended up in a miserable place where the inhabitants continually wept and howled with anguish.
Still, it happens that no matter how terrible a place is, when struck by curiosity, it becomes the hardest thing in the world to sit still. So I crept forward slowly until the noise of weeping began to sound more like words being spoken by people. As I moved forward, the clearer the sounds of conversation became. It soon became apparent that I was eavesdropping on two people talking.
I listened.
A conversation in Hell.
Lucifer: Hear me, Gehennim! Iesu is on his way. Are you ready for him?
Hell: Who is this Iesu, Lord Skywalker, that you see it necessary to warn the legions of Hell?
Lucifer: He is a charlatan! He calls himself the son of god, yet he dies like a man! He fears death! He said so himself. And yet, he burns me with his every breath. Those I have blinded, he has made to see; those I have lamed, he has made to run; and even those I have hurled dead at your very doorstep, he has taken back into the light of the sun!
Hell: How can a man be so mighty if he fears death? All the great and powerful ones of the earth come to death sooner or later like defenseless children. And if you’re so mighty yourself, Lord Dawntreader, how is it that he can stand against you. It seems to me, Lord, that when he says he is afraid of dying, he is just leading you into some trap.
Lucifer: You doubt me, Gehenna? And you doubt what I say of this enemy of ours? I have stirred up the wrath and envy of people against him, I have sharpened a spear to be thrust through him, I have mingled gall and vinegar to burn his throat sooner than slake his thirst, I have prepared a cross and nails to crucify him. Even now, his death approaches. A death I engineered that we may bring him here and beat him into the dust of Hell.
Hell: Hold one moment, Lord Lucifer. Did you say that he has taken the dead from me? There have been many who have done that, but they did so with authority from God. And yet, this man you say took the dead from me of his own authority?
Lucifer: Yes.
Hell: Could this be the same man who gave life back to Lazarus tho’ he had been four days dead and stank of decay?
Lucifer: The same.
Hell: DO NOT LET HIM COME HERE, LORD SATAN. When he commanded me to let Lazarus loose, the very bones of Hell trembled. Neither I nor my ministers could do anything to prevent Lazarus from taking flight like an eagle. The earth itself broke its roots to yield up the corpse that suddenly thrummed with life! DO NOT LET HIM COME HERE! Such a man cannot but be truly a god. He would break this prison and unfetter all these sinners tho their chains be made from tenfold admant.
A lowly hare, gnawing at thorns.
Hearing those words, I ran away as fast I could. Although the one called by many different names had a voice as comforting as the warm fur of my mother, the one called Gehenna had a voice that seemed to be made of the yowling of a thousand hyenas and the screeching a hundred vultures. In my fear, all I could think of was to get away and so I ran.
But search as I might, I could not find a way to go up. I could see the hole where I fell thru, but it was beyond my reach. So deeper I went into the cavern, stopping only briefly to decide whether to go down one horrible corridor or another. But those choices meant nothing. Wherever I went, the corridors were lined with cages – hutches like the one my mother and I lived in – filled with weeping and wailing binadamu, their arms and legs chained to the floors, walls and ceilings that were lined with jagged shards of rock and crystal. The bars were made of thorny wood, impossible for these prisoners to grasp even though I could tell from their bleeding hands that they had tried often enough.
After running for what seemed to be half my life, I realized that there was nowhere I could go. I just kept going deeper and deeper. Already, the heat from some unseen fire below had seared off large patches of fur. My footpads were torn ragged and my blood ran with the blood of the prisoners. But still, I was free. Feeling my death coming, I resolved to do what I could for the imprisoned. I began gnawing at the bars of their cages. I thought it would be easier, but from the first bite, the thorns scored the insides of my mouth.
I don’t know how long I kept at it, but suddenly, I heard loud cries coming from above!
“Shut the gates!” Gehenna roared “Bar the doors and stand fast, Gehennim! War is upon us!” The clamor that answered him shook the walls! Trembling in even greater fear at the impending battle, I redoubled my efforts. The prisoners shrank back into their cages, unmindful of the shards being buried deeper into their backs.
Three loud explosions I heard!
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
Like the barking guns of the poachers!
[Mother! the young gazelle squealed.]And suddenly, a brilliant white light flooded the corridors and flowed into the cages and illuminated the darkness wherever it lay.
How do I describe that light to you?
It was soft, is all I can think of to say. Like mother’s fur. And warm. And comforting. It had the sense of returning home after a long day in the bush, scrabbling to stay alive and to find food. It carried the certainty of safety, and drained from me all the urgency of my task. I let go of the bar I gnawing at and just lay on my side. If this is dying, I remember thinking, then it isn’t as bad as they say.
But I didn’t die.
As I lay there, waiting for the end to come, I felt a nose sniffing me, and my own nose was filled with the scent of moist earth and clover leaves. For some reason, I did not find it strange to be scenting those smells here,where up until then all I could smell was brimstone. I lifted my head and turned to see who it was, and there next to me was the biggest hare I had ever seen in my life. Not that I’d seen a lot, of course, but this one stood at least two hands taller than me.
His fur was glossy and the deep color of sandy earth. His ears stood straight up and glowed faintly around the edges. I knew instinctively that I was in the presence of Sungura Mungu.
I tried to rise, but he put a forepaw on my shoulder and gently held me down. In my head, I heard him speak.
“What are you doing here, little Eoster?”
“I was lost, my lord.”
“And did you do all this?” Sunguru Mungu looked around at the broken and bloodied bars that lay around us.
“Yes, my lord. The ones within needed help…”
He laughed. Not a mean laugh, but a gentle, rippling chuckle that enveloped me in warmth. “Today, of all days Father, have you revealed to me that even Hell cannot withstand the power of kindness.”
“What do you mean, lord?” I asked, totally confused and just fighting off the urge to fall asleep.
“I mean, little one, that from now until eternity, you will be remembered as the herald of my return.”
He said many more things, but I drifted off to sleep. But when I awoke, it was in a garden full of soft green leaves and the sweetest, most delicate of flowers. I felt well and full of energy, but when I saw my reflection in the river that ran through the garden, I saw that the burned off patches remained, like patterns on my fur.
Sunrise
By the time Eoster finished his tale, the fire had died down and the sun was beginning to rise.
“That was a good tale, ancient one,” the lion drawled as it stretched out the kinks in his legs. “But you left out one bit.”
“And what was that, o King?” the hare replied.
“Well, if you are to be herald, who will hear your message?”
“Why, you, o King,” the hare answered with a happy laugh and an impertinent wink before quickly bounding off into the distance with a speed and agility that belied her age.
In the distance, the church bells in the village began ringing in the return of Iesu.