Riding the Serpent's Back by Keith Brooke Page A

brings deluge and flood to the world. Tezchamna is the sun that ripens crops and keeps us warm, yet at night he hurries through the underworld in disguise, leaving a trail of fire that erupts throughout the earth to kill thousands and thousands of people in volcano and earthquake. Ehna destroys with the winds he brings down from the north, yet your people would say it is he—” suddenly, impulsively, Cotoche leaned towards Leeth and blew softly, cooling the mud he had smeared across his cheeks “—who brought the physical expression of love into the world.”
    Leeth’s pulse raced. Had the gesture been merely an illustration of her argument, or something more? Ever since the wind god Ehna had stolen Mayhuel from the underworld and lain with her on the earth, the gentle blow of air had acquired a deeply passionate significance for the people of the Rift: where the two had lain a beautiful tree with two strong branches had thrust skywards from the soil, and Ehna’s breeze had made sweet music as it blew through the tender young leaves. “What do you mean?” Leeth asked, shifting uncomfortably in the bathing muds.
    Cotoche pointed both thumbs at herself, and said, “We Habnathi have only one god and He represents the balance of everything there ever is or was. We have survived so long because every one of us is complete, whole. That internal unity gives us the strength to endure. A people that carves up areas of responsibility between so many different gods, a people where even an individual god is internally divided between the powers of creation and destruction...You are all divided, struggling inside yourselves between the urge to create and the urge to destroy. Chi is a man and still a boy. He has created unity amongst a people who for generations have been so disregarded and abused that they accept it as their lot in life: he’s stirred them from apathy, yet to what purpose?”
    “That was what I asked you,” said Leeth.
    Cotoche shook her head, then reached to scoop more mud and spread it across her shoulders.
    “It’s true what you say,” said Leeth. “The struggle, the conflicting urges.” He made a moue and blew softly. She was too far away to feel the movement of the air, but she saw the gesture clearly enough.
    For an instant she looked flustered, indecisive, then she said, “Was that a creative urge, or destructive?”
    Leeth looked away. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’m sorry. I just...”
    Cotoche gave a little half-shake of her head, then pulled herself up out of the mud and walked the short distance to the bubbling water pool and dived lithely in.
    Leeth stayed in the mud, angry and confused. Was that shake of the head a warning? Or was it meant to reassure him, to say that she had not taken offence?
    By the time he rejoined her, Cotoche acted as if nothing had happened and Leeth was left to wonder if that was really the gist of her message: that his clumsy advances had been so inconsequential that she considered that nothing of any import had, indeed, taken place.
    ~
    “Come on,” said Leeth one sultry afternoon. “You’re wearing yourself to ash. We’re going away somewhere.”
    Chi looked exhausted. His face was pale, his eyes sunk back in their sockets with deep shadows beneath.
    “I’m getting it back,” he said, eagerly. He had just returned from one of his regular sessions healing Tezech Ferrea’s sciatica, and already the hopeful queues were forming outside the shack. “The only way to get it back is to practise it.” But there was an edge of ambivalence in his voice.
    Leeth said nothing and after a few seconds the little boy beat the man and Chi said, “Where are we going?”
    A short time later, Sky heaved herself into the air and they rose up above the slums. As always, Leeth marvelled at the mosaic of human existence spread out below them: the hills and hollows all covered with huts and mud tracks, the endless flows of people and animals and hand carts. There might