To all who dance our world into existence…
Tunda and his grandson were nearly at the top of the crag that loomed over the village, nestled in the crook between two ridges high in the mountains. The sun was still shining brightly when they reached the summit, offering an eagle’s view of the valleys below, surrounded by higher peaks stretching away in every direction.
Tunda briefly rested his hand on Mikra’s head while he caught his breath. He liked the feel of the boy’s sun-warmed hair, found it comforting. They often climbed up here together and he cherished this time with the boy, for he knew it would not last. Sometimes they were silent, Mikra running here and there pretending he was a bird, perhaps tossing a stone or two over the edge. Other times they sang songs, the old songs, or he would tell him stories, the old stories.
“Grandfather, have you ever climbed any of those mountains,” the boy asked him, pointing.
“Most of them, when I was much younger,” he replied.
“What are they called, Grandfather? Do they have names?”
“They each have their own name, but together they are called ‘Those Who Watch Over Us’”
“And that one – the one that has two peaks twisted together, what’s it called?”
“That one is called the Mountain of the Dancers.”
The feather in Tunda’s hair fluttered as he turned into the wind to gaze long at the mountain, remembering.
“Come”, he said, drawing the boy onto his lap, “I will tell you the story…”
Lantus and Kayla were two young people from our village, from a time before my grandfather’s grandfather.
Lantus was known as ‘Talks with Mountains’, for he spent most of his time walking among the high peaks and valleys that surround the village, listening to the wind whispering its secrets. He heard the mountains speak to him in many ways: the trickle of a rock shower, the cries of the birds far overhead, the sun flashing on leaves that were fluttering in the breeze. The stories he heard were told in the carvings he made.
His tiny cabin lay in a high meadow, far from the village, allowing him to be alone with his thoughts. He grew a little barley that he took to the market, along with his carvings, to trade for the few simple things he needed.
One year, as the snow was beginning to melt and wildflowers were born to the sun, Lantus sat in the doorway of his cabin working on a carving. It was telling the story of a new mountain being created from two peaks becoming intertwined. He loved the springtime for its promise of new beginnings, and he filled his lungs with the sharp air. The season also brought the time of the dancing, and he loved that too. This year was special, he felt, because this was his year to dance for the good of the village.
Every year the people danced to celebrate their good fortune and express their gratitude to the Great Spirit for watching over them. They knew that the He watched and enjoyed their dancing, rewarding the greatest dancers with the honour of joining Him in protecting the village from evil spirits that came in the form of avalanches and drought. It was considered a high calling to help the Great Spirit in this way. The people knew, too, that it was a great sacrifice on the part of those chosen dancers, and honoured their memory by telling their stories from generation to generation.
He had been thinking long of the dance he would make, the steps that it would have, and the special garments he would prepare, festooned with totems and amulets he had made or collected. Climbing the high peaks made his body strong and his spirit was kept pure by the scouring of the wind. Any remaining fears and doubts were washed away in the frigid streams.
Now I will tell you about Kayla. Kayla was the daughter of the village medicine woman and spent long days in the mountain valleys gathering herbs with her mother. She was quick to laugh, and was very good at jumping across streams and ravines. Kayla could do this better than anyone else.
Lantus and Kayla knew that they would dance together this spring. Though they had never spoken of it, there seemed to be a tacit agreement between them. They sensed it in the glances they shared when they saw each other on market days, and could feel the elders watching them, exchanging knowing nods and looks.
And so as the springtime ripened, Lantus continued his preparations until the day finally arrived. It was bright and clear and the air was still, a good day for dancing. He donned his costume with care, bringing all the charms and amulets to his forehead, then offering them to the four directions before placing them upon his person.
At last he was ready and walked down to the village, his legs feeling strong and loose as they warmed up. As he drew near, he could hear the hum of voices and saw the platform that the villagers had raised for the dancing, the drummers setting up nearby. Clots of busy people were clustered around stalls offering food and drink, children running among them.
Lantus exchanged greetings with those he knew, and when he approached the elders, sitting quietly beneath a tree, he gave them the carving he had made of the twin mountain peaks. They looked at it carefully and agreed that it had great power.
At that moment, he saw Kayla approaching and he moved to meet her. She was dressed in green and had feathers and beads woven into her hair.
He clasped her hands and said, smiling, “Kayla, will you dance with me today? I feel we will dance well together.”
She smiled back, holding his gaze, and said, “It is a good day for the dance and I am ready.”
A horn sounded, calling everyone to the dance. The young people, including Lantus and Kayla, climbed onto the platform, while older people and children found room to dance on the ground all around the edges.
The drummers commenced a slow, measured cadence. The dancers were smiling and laughing, boasting about who would last the longest, exchanging exaggerated compliments on costumes and dance movements. After a few minutes, the tempo increased, and the shuffling, gentle dancing became more vigorous. The banter died away as people began to focus on the new, more complex steps that were required. These were the old dances, passed down from generation to generation, telling the stories of the seasons, and the peoples’ journey to the high valley long ago.
Gradually the drumming became faster, and the dancing began to look frenzied. The old men and women gasped with the effort, their faces mirroring the joy of their release. Soon, however, they began to fall out, leaving only the dancers on the platform. The children had stopped too, watching with rapt attention.
The drummers beat even more furiously, sweat streaming from their heaving chests. On the platform, the dancers began to leap high into the air. As time passed, some of them stopped, spent, and joined the rest of the villagers watching from the ground.
Now that there was more room, the male dancers began to fling their partners into the air.
The people on the ground began to chant, “Higher! Higher!”
As more dancers became exhausted, they left the platform, leaving only Lantus and Kayla. The drumming intensified, and Lantus tossed Kayla high into the air. The villagers also increased their encouragement, for they could see a tiny speck in the eastern sky. It took the appearance of a giant bird as it grew closer.
“Higher,” they urged.
Lantus redoubled his efforts and threw Kayla ever higher into the air, her face flashing with joy. They could all see the bird rapidly approaching from the east. Lantus summoned his remaining strength and flung Kayla far into the sky, her face radiant with ecstasy. At the moment of her highest trajectory, the instant of her greatest bliss, the bird swooped and snatched her up, carrying her off to the north.
The drummers stopped. Everyone watched reverently and gratefully, as Kayla was carried off to the peaks far to the north.
Eventually, the spell broke and people gathered around Lantus, bringing him water and thanking him for his performance.
The next day, Lantus rose early and climbed the mountain that cradled the village. Although tired and sore, he was committed to what lay before him, for he knew that balance must be maintained. The wind made the decorations on his dancing costume tinkle and rattle.
When he reached the summit, he walked to the north face and stood above the sheer cliff that fell away on that side. He searched for the peaks that lay in that direction, but they were hidden in a shroud of mist and clouds. The wind whispered a secret to him, and he knew that it was time. A great sense of peace washed over him.
Moving to the edge of the precipice and breathing deeply, he spread his arms wide in submission. Feeling the moment, he leaned forward and let himself fall.
The air rushed past him and he felt a great sense of release and freedom. The falling seemed endless, and he could see sunlight flashing on the high ice fields to the west, and all the details of the cliff face as it rushed past, and the trees below him offering their embrace. And out of the corner of his eye, he saw the bird, arrowing towards him.
In the last instant before impact, the bird latched on to his shoulders, and with slow flaps of its wings that sounded like thunder, began to gain altitude and carry him off to the north, to the mountains that were hidden in the mists, where he knew Kayla waited for him…
Tunda held Mikra with one arm, and pointed with the other towards the Mountain of the Dancers, its twin peaks wound around each other.
“The bird, which was sent by the Great Spirit, had carried Kayla and Lantus to the mountains far to the north where they were turned into the mountain you see, together for all time. This was their reward for their sacrifice.
And to this day, they watch over the village, protecting it from harm.”
Kevin Love, c. 2008
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