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Well, as you now, it was cold back then, as the winds of the open sky blew everywhere, and with nothing but themselves to warm it, the spirits – those with warm blood, unlike Snake and Lizard – were forever breathing out great steaming breath, which drifted up to collect in the form of clouds. These, Coyote realized, were everywhere.
So he went to the place where the birds gathered, both the day and night birds, right at the line where the sky changed from day-blue to night-black. “Hey!” he called to them. “Have you heard what the clouds are saying about you?”
“What?” Stork asked. “Coyote, you’re finally showing that you’re truly mad. The clouds don’t speak!’
“Well, they wouldn’t say it to you, of course,” Coyote went explained, “but I heard them plotting. They’re saying that the Birds are heavy, graceless things, and that they plan to replace you as rulers of the sky.” (At this, some of the more nervous birds began to twitter.)
“They say,” added Coyote, “that had had they been in charge of things, the sky would never have been ripped in half.”
This infuriated the whole lot of the birds present – some because they resented the clouds’ presumption, and others because they liked the night sky. As a flock, all the fliers -- Eagle and Pigeon, Owl and Thrush, Sparrow and Pheasant, declared war on the clouds, and flew at them with beak and nail. Those that lacked talons scratched anyway. Those that could not tear with their beaks pecked.
By the time the birds were satisfied, the clouds were leaking from thousands of pecks and slashes, and rain fell from them to dribble on the ground, shrinking as they did. Soon, the grown was wet and the grass was thriving. And the leftover water flowed through the wrinkles in the ground, becoming rivers, and filled up the hollow places, forming lakes, all of which was appreciated by Fish, who’d been feeling a little dry for all of time.
Coyote was pleased with this, but soon the rain began again. And again soon after that. The world Coyote had made was being washed away. He realized that the clouds were just being created again and again by the breath of the spirits, and with the air wet the water was no longer drying. Plus, the cold and wet was matting his fur, which he wouldn’t stand for. He knew no one else was going to do anything about it, so he went to his dry (for now) den to think.
What was needed was a way to both dry up the water and warm up the world so they weren’t all making clouds all the time. This was a difficult one, for so far there was little extra warmth to be had besides the what they trapped in their own fur. He tried a few tricks, to no avail. He grew desperate (or determined, and it’s often hard to tell the difference with Coyote), and tried a number of tricks that got him killed, but so important was this to him that he didn’t even wait for a new story to try again.
At last he realized that he wasn’t clever enough to do this one on his own. He simply knew of nothing in the world that would do the trick. So he made the trek to the highest mountain he could find, and addressed the Great Spirit, who had made the lesser spirits, and who had made also the sky, and dwells on the other side.
“I need some help with this one,” said Coyote as respectfully as he could.
Why should I help you, Coyote? the Great Spirit answered. You broke my sky.
Coyote began, “Okay, first off, that was Ea–”
I saw the whole thing, Coyote. I see everything. But I let you do as you will. I never interfere. Why would I do otherwise now?
“Well,” said Coyote, his pride at his cleverness unable to be hidden for long, “you have to admit, it’s a pretty neat world I’ve made. Shame to let it get ruined. I mean, really, then the sky would have been wrecked for nothing!”
Whether the Great Spirit was won over by this, or simply amused, no one knows. But the answer came, Very well, Coyote. You may keep your world, but if you want to save it you will have to do it yourself for once. This is a task I give you alone. There is another mountain taller than this one in the world, and on it is a nest and in the nest is an egg. This holds the answer you seek, but it will be dangerous for you.
“Mountains I can handle,” bragged Coyote. “Just tell me where.” But there was no further answer. “Hello?
“Shit,” Coyote said to himself. “Double shit.” Because he knew that he wouldn’t be allowed to trick anyone into doing this task for him. But he didn’t let this get him down, for Coyote is all about resourcefulness, even if the resources have to be his own.
to be cont'd
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by MonsterBoy
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| Coyote Makes the World (Part II of, probably, III) |
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