The Offering Stone
The Ancient One knelt before the stone and placed his hands along the flat sides. The stone hummed at his touch, and the twisting vines…
A cold wind blew down from the icy peaks of Mount Tahoma, fourteen thousand feet above the rocky riverbed, as the black bear stepped slowly from the forest. The bear stopped to look at the brightly shining full moon that illuminated the clear December sky. His jaws were closed gently around a large piece of honeycomb, careful not to crush the fragile walls holding the rich amber liquid.
His powerful paws moved nimbly down the rocks that separated the forest from the river, worn smooth and round from centuries of water flowing down from the glacial heights. The bear waded across the icy cold waters of the river, easily traversable now at their seasonal lows, unlike the deep rushing torrent it would become during the spring thaws.
Several inches of snow covered the rocks on the far side of the river, and he moved carefully to avoid wedging his massive paw in any hidden crevices between the stones. His destination lay just up the bank, a large white stone. Unlike the smooth gray river rocks, the white stone was square and flat on all sides. The stone looked just as it had when he first saw it as a cub, precisely as it had always been from the moment the mountain had thrust it upward from the earth. Alone among all the rocks, the stone remained unchanged by time, weather, and the flowing waters of the river.
The bear reverently brushed a thick, powerful arm across the broad flat top of the stone, clearing off the snow covering it. With great care, the bear placed the honeycomb atop the stone. The honeycomb sat pristine and undamaged by the long journey from the bear’s cave.
As the bear turned from the stone and began its trek homeward, an eagle swooped from the sky, a salmon clenched within its razor-sharp talons. The majestic bird stretched out its mighty wings, circling the stone three times before landing so gently that the sound barely resonated over the babbling of the flowing river. The eagle placed the salmon alongside the honeycomb; the fish was large and thick, a rare catch so late in the year.
With a flap of its powerful wings, the eagle took flight and soared into the night, a dark shadow in the moonlight sky. Its nest lay atop a tall pine high upon one of the smaller mountain peaks, and the earth quickly fell away as it soared homeward, oblivious to the antlered buck that stepped from the forest below.
The buck, its five-pointed antlers casting long shadows on the snowy ground, followed in the bear’s tracks to the stone. In its mouth, the deer carried a twig of plump, red mulberries it placed upon the stone.
All through the night, the creatures of the forest visited the stone and deposited gifts precious to them — foods foraged for the cold winter ahead, choice twigs and ferns for nests and bedding. One of every bird and animal of the forest came to the stone that night, no matter how great or small. Each left the very best of what they had.
The Ancient One walked purposefully along the riverbed, his large root-like feet sinking deep into the fresh snow covering the rocks. His green eyes were deep-set in his tree stump-like head, and leaf-covered branches extended upwards and outwards from the head like unruly hair. As he walked, he raised two large branchlike arms to feel the wind blow through his long, thin fingers. Never ceasing dark green leafy vines slithered around his body and limbs like snakes.
A smile crossed his aged face as he looked upon the pile of precious gifts on the stone. His gaze shifted to the snow-covered peak of Mount Tahoma, rising imposingly into the night sky. The great mountain gave all that surrounded the Ancient One life. Millenniums ago, the mountain’s eruption sent a mudflow of slurry, rock, and water that created the fertile lands around its base. Its glacial peaks feed the rivers that nourish the valley and surrounding land.
However, the Ancient One knew the mountain could also be temperamental. Deep within the mountain lay an ever-churning mass of molten rock and volcanic gases that could erupt in a destructive wave of lava, ash, and avalanches.
The Ancient One knelt before the stone and placed his hands along the flat sides. The stone hummed at his touch, and the twisting vines that traversed his body began to sprout several lush green leaves. He bowed his head reverently and spoke in the secret tongue of his kind, a people almost as old as the mountain itself.
The stone began to warm as he removed his hands until it glowed red and hot like a burning ember. The gifts upon it began to smoke, then crackle and pop as the heat of the stone ignited the twigs and brambles. A fragrant aroma, deep and earthy, wafted up from the stone as a fire began to consume the offerings. The Ancient One watched as the smoke from the fire rose in a long wisp that snaked slowly through the air toward the glacial peak of the mountain.
Raising his hands toward the mountain, the Ancient One closed his eyes and began to sing. His voice was rich and deep and stilled the forest. The wind ceased, and the river’s waters grew quiet and calm as he sang.
The song was gentle and soothing. It spoke of the beauty of the seasons, the birth of spring, the majesty of summer, the beauty of autumn, and the long sleep of winter. He sang of all that grew and lived within the forest, the waters that flowed, and the wind that blew. The Ancient One finished the song as the last of all the gifts was transformed into fragrant smoke wafting to the mountain. The red glow of the stone faded until it sat cold and white, unmarked by the fire.
The Ancient One knelt and lowered his ear to the rocky ground. Deep within the earth, he could hear the churning calm to a low rumble as the mountain stood placated with the gifts and song. A smile crossed the Ancient One’s face as he caressed the ground lovingly, secure in the knowledge that the mountain would lay quiet for the year to come.
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