And There Was Light

The Earth Mother needed light that her eyes might be opened, that she might bear children and escape the disgrace of her barrenness. To Yaeethl the Clever, Yaeethl the Cunning, went Klingatona-Kla, weeping, and of the Raven begged aid. And Yaeethl took pity on her and promised that she should have Kayah, the Light, to father her children.

Many times had Yaeethl, because of his promise, tried to steal the Worlds of Light, and as many times had he failed. But with each attempt his desire grew, grew until it filled his belly and his brain.

Was he not Yaeethl, the Great White Raven, the Father of Thieves? What if the Wise Man put new and heavier locks upon the chest after each at tempt? Were locks greater than the cunning of the Raven?

Now Yakootsekaya-ka, the Wise Man, and his wife had a daughter. Of their marriage was she, a young girl, beautiful and good. No man had ever seen her face. On no one, god or man, had the eyes of the young girl ever rested, save only her father and mother, the Wise Ones. Ye-see-et, a virgin, was she.

Yaeethl, of his wisdom knowing that the weak ness of men is the strength of children, that a babe may enter where a warrior may not cast his shadow, bethought him of this virgin, this daughter of Yakoot sekaya-ka. As the thought and its children made camp in his brain, Yaeethl spread wide his snow-white wings.

Thrice he circled high in air, then took flight towards Tskekowani, the meeting place of Memory and Hope. Like Chunet, the Arrow, he flew, straight, and as Heen, the River, swift. Twice ten moons, and another, flew Yaeethl without rest of wing before he drew near the cabin of the Wise Man. Away from the lodge he alighted, by the edge of the spring were his white wings folded, by the spring where the daughter of the Wise Man would come for water.

Then, with the power that was his, Yaeethl, the God, changed the shape that was his, the shape of the raven; into a small white pebble did he change, and lay in the water of the spring, and in the water waited for the coming of the girl.

Long waited Yaeethl, the Pebble, with the patience of wisdom and great desire. And the girl came.

Beautiful in her maidenhood, graceful in the dawning of her womanhood, came the girl, the virgin, the daughter of Yakootsekaya-ka, the Keeper of the Worlds of Light. Stooping, she dipped her cup into the cool water. From the edge of the spring rolled Yaeethl, into the cup he rolled, and lay quiet in the shadow of her hand. Quiet he lay, but full of the Great Desire.

And the girl saw him not.

To the lodge returned the maiden, bearing the cup, the water, and the Pebble. Into the lodge entered the maiden. In the lodge where lay the Sun, Moon, and Stars, was Yaeethl.

From the cup the Wise Man drank, but Yaeethl moved not. From the cup the Mother drank, and Yaeethl was motionless. When the Daughter raised the cup to her lips, toward her lips rolled Yaeethl. Softly he rolled, but the Mother, ever careful, heard the sound of the pebble on the cup-side, and the keen eyes of the Father saw the white pebble shine.

Do not drink, Daughter, said the Wise Man, laying his hand on the maiden’s arm. Small things sometimes contain great evils. A white pebble it may be, and only a white pebble. Yaeethl it may be, Yaeethl the Raven, Yaeethl the Father of Thieves.

Then the Mother took the cup and out through the door cast the water. Through the door cast the pebble. And when the door of the lodge was closed behind him Yaeethl, the Disappointed, once more took his own form, the shape of the raven, white of wing and white of feather.

Back to earth flew Yaeethl, angry, ashamed, but more than ever filled with a great longing for the Worlds of Light that lay locked in the chest of the Wise Man.

Klingatona-Kla, Earth Mother, wept long and sore when empty-handed returned Yaeethl, loud she wailed, making sure she must remain forever dark and barren. But Yaeethl, the Undaunted, comforted her with strong words, and renewed his promise that the Light should be given her in marriage, and her disgrace forgotten in many children, children should she have as the shore has sand.

Though he had flown as speeds Hoon, the North Wind, the going and coming of Yaeethl had eaten three winters and two summers.

Awhile he rested in the lap of Klingatona-Kla, for the winter he rested, but with the coming of the spring, he spread again his wings and took flight towards the lodge of the Wise Man, towards the Great Desire. Mightily he flew, and swift, for though the dead make the journey between the opening and the closing of an eye, for the living it is a long trail.

When again he alighted, wing weary, by the spring where the daughter of Yakootsekaya-ka drew water, Yaeethl remembered the shape and whiteness that had betrayed him, remembered the traitor Pebble, and from the memory gathered wisdom.

Close to his side folded he the wings of white ness, beneath his feathers tucked head and feet, and grew small. Small and yet smaller he grew, as melts ice before the fire, and when the shrinking was ended he had taken upon himself the form of Thlay-oo, the sand grain. As Thlay-oo, the Little, he waited.

As Thlay-oo, the Invisible, watched Yaeethl for the coming of the maiden. Waited as does the bear for the coming of Takeete, the After Winter. Watched as does the lynx for the young caribou.

And as before came the girl, cup in hand, innocent in her maidenhood, wise in her womanhood, in both beautiful. Gracefully she stooped and filled the cup with the water of the spring. Into the cup floated Yaeethl in the shape of Thlay-oo. In the spring water he sank and lay against the bottom of the cup. Small was Yaeethl, but big with desire for what was within the chest of the Wise Man.

Then the lodge door opened and received the maiden and the cup, received Yaeethl the Grain of Sand, Yaeethl the Raven.

To Yakootsekaya-ka, her father, the girl gave the cup, and the Wise Man drank of the water. Drank, but saw not Yaeethl, the Invisible. To the wife, her mother, the maiden gave the cup, and of the water the Mother drank. Drank, but heard not Yaeethl, the Still. Then the maiden, Ye-see-et, the Virgin, daughter of Yakootsekaya-ka, the Keeper of the Sun, Moon, and Stars, lifted the cup to her lips.

The Mother spoke not. The Father moved not. The Daughter drank.

Past the red of her lips, by the white of her teeth, down the throat of the girl rolled the grain of sand. Rolled until it lay close under her heart, and paused. Under the heart of the maiden lay Yaeethl, waited Yaeethl, grew Yaeethl. Warmed by the heart of the maiden Yaeethl grew.

And time passed.

Then the mother of the maiden, looking upon her daughter, became troubled in her mind. Troubled was the mind of the Mother, but silent her tongue.

And time passed.

Again the Mother looked upon her daughter, and looking, Spoke to the Wise Man, her husband, of the thought that was hers. Spoke she of the troubled thought concerning the maiden, their daughter. When the Mother’s thought was the thought of the Father his heart was filled with anger at his daughter for the disgrace she would bring upon his name. Angrily he questioned her, that he might revenge himself upon the thief of her innocence. But the girl looked into the eyes of her father and denied both thief and theft. No man had she seen save him, her father. Of the cause of The Thought that troubled them was she ignorant, and as innocent as ignorant. And the truth shone from her eyes as she spoke, straight was her tongue. Empty of shame was her face.

And the Mother, looking into the eyes of her daughter, believed. And after a time was the Wise Man convinced. Yet troubled were they and lost upon the trail of thoughts. Tender had they always been of their daughter. Ten times as gentle were they now, for Yaeethl lay big under the heart of the girl, though they knew him not, and of their love was she in sore need.

And time passed.

Then upon the maiden came Kod-se-tee, the Woman Pain, and Yaeethl entered the lodge.

Yaeethl whom they knew not, Yaeethl the Boy in the maiden’s arms. Tokanay, the Baby, they called him, with love-light in their eyes they named him. Strong and large grew he quickly. So quickly grew he that the maiden and her mother were in a valley between the mountain of pride and the mountain of wonder. And in the Wise Man’s heart flowed a great river of love for Tokanay the Beautiful, Tokanay the Swift Growing. In the hands of the Boy were the three hearts held. Their eyes and their thoughts were filled with him, so that room for other things there was not. So was the locked chest and its contents forgotten.

Then on a day, a day of days to the Three, the Boy spoke his first word.

‘Kakoon.’

Kakoon, the Sun, was the word, and ‘Kakoon, Kakoon, Kakoon,’ said the boy, crying and stretching his arms toward the chest in the corner of the lodge.

The Wise Man listened and laughing said: ‘He would take my place as Keeper of the Worlds of Light.’ Then because his heart was so soft with love that he could refuse the Boy nothing, Yakootsekaya-ka undid the many curious locks and fastenings of the great chest and took out the Sun.

Kakoon, the Sun, he took and gave it to the Boy wherewith to play. And the Boy ceased his crying when the Sun was in his hands, laughing as he rolled the Yellow World about the floor of the lodge. All day did the Three watch him with loving eyes.

On the next day the Sun lay in a corner of the lodge, unheeded by the Boy. A new word had he learned:

‘Dis-s.’

Dis-s, the Moon, was the second word, and as before, ‘Dis-s, Dis-s,’ cried the Boy.

Proudly and lovingly the Wise Man laughed, saying: Surely is he eager to take my place. And from the moving of the love in his heart that answered to the cry of the Boy as arrow to bowstring, Yakoot-sekaya-ka unfastened the strong and heavy locks of the chest and into the hands of the Boy gave the Moon for plaything. Of Dis-s, the Moon, made he plaything for the Boy. And for that day were the Boy’s cries hushed as he spun and tumbled the White World on the lodge floor. And his laughter was music to the ears of the Three.

But the next day the Moon lay with the Sun. In the corner they lay and the Boy looked not at them. Another word was his cry, a new word.

‘Takhonaha.’

Takhonaha, the Stars, was the cry of the Boy, and again, to comfort him, the Wise Man opened the great chest, and from it poured the Stars into the lap of the Boy, poured the chest empty of the Worlds of Light. And the Boy laughed loud. Laughed until the Wise Man, the Wife, and the Maiden, his mother, laughed that he laughed, as he dripped the bright stars through his fingers, dripped the waterfall of stars. Then the Wise Man questioned as he laughed: What shall he cry for tomorrow? And what shall we give him, the Unsatisfied, now that the chest is empty?

And the Boy laughed.

Night came, and the Wise Man, and his Wife, and the Maiden-Mother, their daughter, slept. With Tokanay, the Baby, in the hollow of her arm slept the girl.

As they slept, from the hollow of the arm of the maiden there crept a raven-, Yaeethl the Raven, Yaeethl the Snow-White, Yaeethl the Father of Thieves.

Softly crept he, with many times turned head and watchful eye on the Three, sleeping. To the corner where the Boy, careless, had dropped the Shining Worlds, to the corner by the open, empty chest crept Yaeethl the Noiseless.

And the Three slept.

Beneath his right wing hid Yaeethl the Sun. Beneath his left wing hid he the Moon. Within his claws gathered he the Stars.

Asleep were the Three.

The lodge door was closed, locked was the door of Yakootsekaya-ka, Keeper of the Worlds of Light. Fastened tight were the windows. Barred were door and windows to keep out Yaeethl, the Thief. For a moment stood Yaeethl, turning his head to find some hole through which he might escape, then toward the wide chimney he flew.

Still slept the Three.

Wide spread were the wings of Yaeethl, the Flying, and the great light of the Sun was uncovered. Brightly it shone, straight into the eyes of the Wise Man gleamed the fierce light.

Awake was Yakootsekaya-ka, crying: Yaeethl! Yaeethl! ‘Tis Yaeethl! Awake!

Awake was the Wife and the Daughter, and the Three strove to catch the Raven, the White One. But the great light of the Sun was in their eyes and they were blinded so they fell in each other’s way. And in the throat of the chimney was Yaeethl, flying up ward.

Then did the Wise Man call upon Kahn, his sister’s son, Kahn, the God of Fire, to aid him. Up blazed Kahn and tried to catch Yaeethl, the Fleeing, in his red teeth, but near the top of the chimney was Yaeethl, so that the teeth of Kahn could not reach him.

Then Kahn called upon the Wise Man to blow, and the Wise Man puffed out his cheeks and blew with full lungs, and by his blowing Kahn stretched high his long black arms and tightly curled them about the White Raven.

Then did Yaeethl, the Strong of Wing, struggle mightily. Against Kahn, the Fire God, did he struggle, beating with his white wings. Long did they struggle, until from the lungs of the Wise Man was the breath gone, and the arms of the Fire God, the smoke arms, grew thin and weak.

With his wings beat Yaeethl, breaking the hold of the smoke arms, Yaeethl the Free, Yaeethl the Ever Black One.

Forever were the wings and feathers of the Raven blackened by the smoke arms of Kahn, the God of Fire.

Back toward Klingatona-Kla, the Earth Mother, the Barren, flew Yaeethl holding tight the Sun, Moon, and Stars. But after him came the Wise Man, full of anger. And the Shining Worlds grew heavy. Heavy was the pack of Yaeethl, and weary his wings. Afar off was Klingatona-Kla.

Then did Yaeethl, the Pursued, Yaeethl the Heavy Laden, cast from him Kakoon, the Sun. To the east threw he the Sun, and flew on.

Again did the Wise Man come close behind, and again did Yaeethl ease his burden. From hi threw he Dis-s, the Moon. To the West cast he the Moon.

Then was Yakootsekaya-ka left behind for a time, but the Raven weary and burdened, flew slowly, and once again he felt the breath of the Wise Man ruffle his feathers. No time had Yaeethl to stop, on nothing could he rest.

Opened he his claws and scattered wide the Stars. To North and South fell Takhonaha, the Stars, to East and West fell they.

Then was the promise of Yaeethl fulfilled. Thus kept he his word to the Earth Mother, and gave her light, that she might see. Gave her Kayah, the Light, to father her children and wipe out the disgrace of her barrenness. And the children of Klingatona-Kla were as the sands of the sea.

But upon Yaeethl, the Raven, had fallen the curses of the Wise Man. Three curses: Blackness, Hoarseness, and the Keeping of One Shape. And as his feathers were blackened, so, thereafter, was his heart darkened with eternal selfishness.

Running and expanding this site requires resources: from maintaining our digital platform to sourcing and curating new content. With your help, we can grow our collection, improve accessibility, and bring these incredible narratives to an even wider audience. Your sponsorship enables us to keep the world’s stories alive and thriving. ♦ Visit our Support page