Chapter Text
The world’s gone quiet, though she could still hear the ringing in her ears. Christine sat down on a trunk she’d cut down this morning, and wiped the sweat off her forehead. In a moment of respite, her aching muscles called for attention. She didn’t mind the familiar feeling, and looked up at the silent sky. In the momentary relief, she wondered how many airplanes would be up there, if they still flew.
A solitary moment has been interrupted by a clinking sound. A woodpecker has landed on a tree above her. Immediately, her skilled gaze had tracked the little bird. Charmed by its ability to awaken the whole forest, she felt called back to work. To trim this tree and carry the wood back to the village before the festival begins is a lot of work. The festival of rebirth. How time flies, she thought. Today, it has been a year since the Great blackout, and thus the fall of the society as they knew it. A year ago, she was an engineering student, and a very promising one at that. She’s been even accepted to a student exchange program here, on a different continent. Today, she trims a tree in a forest that lost its name. She finds this thought amusing at best, no matter how much time had passed. To this day, her overseas trip has doubled in duration. And yet she can’t catch the local accent right. Thus, by the lovely woodpecker’s encouragement, she goes back to work.
***
The orange sun has coloured the horizon, though the village is far from calm. The streets are filled with chatter and busy preparations. With the last batch of fresh wood, she’s stopped the cart in the middle of the square, right next to an already fairly decent pyre. There was a figure of hay fixed on top. She was observing the entire village.
Christine climbed up and began adding her branches to the pyre. Children had gathered around it almost immediately, impatiently waiting for her work to be done so they could climb up and wrap the last pieces of wood in ribbons and flags. They were chatting excitedly, she could tell from their intonation, although she still couldn’t quite catch the meaning behind their words.
After the work was done, Christine climbed back down and stepped aside to observe the work. It looked spectacular. A majestic pyre had been reaching up to the sky, a gentle spring breeze swifting through its decor.
Morana, the ancient goddess of death and rebirth, silently stood on top. Tonight, she will burn. The flames will ward off the winter, and bury their old world once again.
What gods does her family worship back home? She wondered. Would they adopt the practices of indigenous Americans, now that the church is gone? She shook her head. That is unlikely. Her white ancestors only worshipped one God once they crossed the ocean. But people here had a different history. And the world that kept is buried has fallen. The gods have returned, and the ancient rites and traditions along with them.