The celebration grew silent.  Holden’s father gripped the little boy’s hand.  Connor went behind the man’s leg.  The villagers all stopped to listen as another vicious roar bellowed from the jungle.  Connor looked at Holden and asked in a shaky voice, “Does it really have ten-foot teeth?”

Holden’s father shushed them both.  The Beast had not bothered the village in almost sixty years now, only a dozen people were still alive who had actually seen it.  Many had claimed to have seen it, but most had not.  Holden’s grandfather had been one of those elders who was around the last time it reared its ugly face.  He could not describe the incident to Holden’s father, and Holden’s father in turn could not breath a word about the Beast.  Every so often the villagers would hear a distant roar from the creature, but when the smell was present, that was when they knew it was close.

The village was located in a valley between two rather large mountains, which kept them safe from the larger animals who prefered to move through the less dense jungle near the ocean.  But some animals would get turned around during storms and end up in the village, and the Beast would always roar back when the red lightning cut across the skies.  Perhaps it was the loud music that attracted the Beast.  Or perhaps it had smelled all of the fresh fish.  It could be anything really, but the only thing that mattered was the fact that it was close, and that terrified Holden to his very core.  The boy was not sure how much time had passed since the crowd went silent but he knew it was only a matter of time before everyone scattered.

Heads were turning as the chief made his way through the crowd.  His face had been painted for the ceremony, as he had been playing the part of Father.  His sockets were darkened so that his eyes would appear to sink into his skull, and half of his jaw was painted black to represent the famous wound that Father wore in all of the stories.  Chief Joseph was the oldest living member of the tribe, at one hundred and twenty two years old he still walked with confidence.  A hunch had formed in his back over the years, but it never seemed to slow him down.  “We must ask Mother for guidance,” the chief spoke, “She knows what to do in our times of need.”  The chief walked toward Toko, Holden’s father.  “Toko, does Mother speak to you today?”

“Yes, my chief, I have been chosen today,” Toko replied.  Each day a villager was assigned the duty of channeling Mother and speaking directly to her on behalf of all the people, and today Toko had been chosen.  Toko loved and respected Mother but had never truly heard her speak to him.  There was one time when Toko had convinced himself that he had heard her whisper, but in reality the wind had blown past his ear and he was none the wiser.  Today could not be a worse day for him to be channeling Mother, but he knew the chief—and the rest of the tribe—would be looking for an answer.  So he closed his eyes and began to listen.

Nothing.

So, he cleared his throat and said, “My chief, Mother says that we should douse the fire, cease the drums, and finish the food.  She says the celebration has pleased her and we will not be penalized for stopping.” And then Toko opened his eyes and looked down at his son.  Holden seemed amazed.  His father had never seemed the type to be able to reach Mother directly, but here was the proof, right in front of this boy’s eyes.  His father had communicated with Mother and the village was going to be safe.

The chief clapped his hands together, “I have never seen someone receive messages so clearly from Mother, thank you, Toko.”  Toko nodded at the chief, trying not to make direct eye contact.  “Mother has spoken, we must do as she says!” the chief bellowed.

Toko had only looked into his own mind and found a logical answer to their predicament, but he had committed a crime by claiming his words were spoken by Mother.  But the village did exactly as Toko had said and soon enough the awful smell washed away with the breeze and the roars were no more.

Later that night Holden confronted his father about speaking with Mother.  Toko took the young boy to the corner of their shack where his small bed was raised from the floor.  “Goodnight, Holden.”

“Papa,” Holden started, “Will it come back?”

Toko sat on the bed and held the boy’s hand.  “As long as we don’t make so much noise, the Beast won’t come back.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, Holden,” Toko said, “I promise.”  And he got up again to go over to his own bed.

“Papa,” Holden said again.

Toko sighed and turned back, “Yes, Holden?”

“What did Mother sound like?”

Toko froze.  He bit his lip and then sat down beside the boy.  “I don’t know, I think it’s supposed to be more of a feeling.”

“I always pictured her voice to be like Mama’s.  Sweet, and soft, and loving.” Holden closed his eyes as he described the voice, his mind projecting the few memories he had of his own mother.

“If that’s the way you want to hear it, that’s how it will be spoken, Holden.  Mother has a way with communicating and she’ll make her voice sound like something you’re comfortable hearing.”  Toko kissed the boy on the forehead.  “Now sleep.”

“What did the voice sound like to you?” Holden pried.

“Well…” Toko didn’t like lying to the boy but he knew Holden would not stop asking until he had an answer.  “To me, it was kind of a feeling, and the words were in my own voice, I don’t know.”

“If it was in your own voice, Papa, then how do you know it was Mother who said it?”

“I just do Holden.  Now stop asking so many questions,” Toko snapped.

The smile from Holden’s face faded, and he scooted further under the covers.

“I’m sorry, Holden, it’s just been a long day and I’d like to go to sleep.  I love you, okay?” Toko kissed his head again.

“Okay, Papa.  I love you, too.” Holden said, with a less than enthusiastic tone.

Next Chapter: Chapter 5