The descendants of Melatonym
This tale is not about why the sky is blue, for that is the true myth; that the sky is blue. It is not.This is the story about how the sky came to be called blue.
Civilization (as opposed to yet-to-be-civilized cultures who just have words for light and dark, as they should) has come to accept the assertion that the sky is blue (and that heaven is somewhere in the ether - also a myth.) But it is blue in the same way colorful pieces of paper have value in exchange for goods and services, or sparkly pieces of hard rock are precious and priceless: collectively, we make it so.
Why? Because the reality is terrifying. If we saw what was really there, the challenge of living would be a near impossible undertaking. As it might have been for the ones who came before the Bluing if it were not for the Wise Ones.
Once upon a time, the Earth was young, and life upon it was new. As was death. But as the millenia passed the crystal clear view of all that is above us - the moon, the stars, our Sun, began to change. It gradually became more opaque, but the change was so slow it was unmarked by those who roamed the Earth. Until a little known stargazer, Melatonym son of Sunit, noticed something unusual about the growing haze present even when clouds were absent. It hummed. Or, as he described it, it moaned such a sound of utter despair as he'd never heard.
He took his concerns to Teacher, an Elder who was also one of the Wise ones.
"Teacher, there is something wrong with the sky. I fear the gods are sad or angry. I hear such sounds of grief and anguish when I lay on the hill to gaze upon the stars at night."
"It is only the wind."
"Perhaps, but usually the wind howls like the beasts; it does not moan and weep."
"Your imagination is wild like the birds, Melatonym. Calm yourself. I will join you in your stargazing this eve and name the beast for you."
And thus it was that the Wise became aware.
Teacher and Melatonym climbed the nearby hill and lay upon the ground to study the stars and listen to the voices of the night.
"Teacher, do you hear that?"
Teacher was silent for he not only heard, he saw, and what he saw turned his blood to ice.
"Teacher?"
Teacher stood and reached out a hand to Melatonym. "As I thought, it is but a wolf weeping the loss of her cubs."
"What of the haze?"
Teacher looked up. "Wisps of cloud. Nothing more." Patting Melatonym on the shoulder he said, "Look!See how brilliantly the red star shines tonight."
Lost in admiration of the stars he loved, Melatonym remained oblivious to Teacher's unease.
A council of Elders was held within three sunrises.
"I have news."
There was murmuring amongst the nine.
"Have any of you noticed the sky is losing the clarity to which we are accustomed? Not the clouds that bring coolness when the sun's rays burn, and water that gives life to the fields. Something...new."
"Is it not just wisps of clouds?"
There were nods of agreement.
"Come with me this night and you will understand."
And so it was.
"It cannot be!" Each elder exclaimed in a horrified whisper.
"But it is," replied Teacher.
"We must petition the gods; this cannot continue."
"Men will become crazed when they realize..."
"Do not speak of it here! Words have power," said Teacher.
The Elders descended the hill in silence and walked without hesitation to the Cave of Prayer where they lit torches to light the way to the Room of Glass and Flame. Placing the torches in holes carved into the walls for that purpose, they sat upon the warm stone glass floor, heated by sources hidden from men's eyes.
Teacher looked around the circle. "We must seek proof before taking action."
"In your respective regions, seek to witness the death of innocents as well as the death of old men. Particularly, seek those with reputations as evil doers." He paused, glancing around the circle.
"Breathe not a whisper to your acolytes, nor, and especially, to the ignorant who seek your wisdom and guidance. We must confirm our suspicions. Then, we will act."
Bowing their heads, they began to chant as one, invoking the support of the deities in their quest for truth and beseeching them to guide their subsequent efforts.
"We will meet here at the next full moon."
Several sunrises later, Teacher was called to the home of Myria, daughter of Feelan, wife of Daggart. Daggart, a wealthy merchant, wanted Teacher to witness the birth and bestow blessings on his newborn child. Thus it was that Teacher was present for the first and last breath of the unnamed infant. As well as of the Lyssia the Birther, beheaded by Daggart, as was his right, for failure to ensure the infant's safe passage into the world. And of Myria, also beheaded by Daggart for having delivered her third child unable to survive one circle of the Sun.
In a matter of moments, Teacher's hypothesis was proven. He left Daggart to deal with his dead and walked to the hill to weep.
At the next full moon, the Council of Elders met in the Room of Glass and Flame.
"Is there any among you who has not seen the truth with his own eyes?" Teacher's question was met with unanimous, silent shaking of heads.
"How could the teachings have been so wrong?" said one.
"How could the gods be so unkind?" said another.
"It is not our place to question the gods," replied Teacher in a firm but quiet voice. "And who are we to wonder why the essence of an innocent life is not lifted to the stars but rather sinks back into the Earth?
"Indeed, is it not better for that which is good to become one again with the very life of life?
"And would not being suspended forever between the Earth where we lived and the stars we once thought our glorious eternal resting place be as awful a hell as the one we believed in the depths of the Earth?"
Teacher's assertions were met with disconsolate silence.
"I have spoken with the gods."
Eyes looked at him with hope.
"A great rain will come. Clouds will cover the Earth from one full Moon to the next. When they at last dissipate, the sky will look as the sea. It will be a miracle as never before seen. No longer will there be the danger of one such as Melatonym seeing the shadows of the dead nor hearing their cries. None will know that heaven is here on Earth while hell watches from the sky.
"It will be called the Bluing." He paused, briefly looking each Elder in the eye.
"We must prepare those who look to us for guidance. We must tell them that the gods are planning a great cleansing but that it will end in a great gift for us.
"The sun will have an even more beautiful setting in which to shine. It will be called the gift of Blue."
But it isn't blue. That is just what men have been told; what children believe. What the Elders said to save the world from seeing the spirits of the dead hovering above them, unable to escape the confines of Earth.
As hundreds became thousands then, millions then billions, the descendants of Melatonym have become aware once again of the hum of despair coming from the sky...that isn't blue.
I slump to the floor of my one bedroom apartment. A plate of half eaten spaghetti states at me from across the room. It hits me. He didn’t even balk when he packed his things. No tears. No perceived error in his judgment. A mound of dirty laundry he left taunts me from the corner. The diamond he placed on my hand so many years ago. I thought he was the catch of a lifetime. My fingers trace dried cake batter that had dripped onto the stove at some point. I reminisced of how he would sing in the shower, off pitch, tone deaf. I had to break out of this funk. Get back on the ball. But in that moment, I saw his favorite wind up toy among the lineup of trinkets he left. I snapped. Recklessly, throwing everything left behind into his dugout canoe in front yard, I proceeded to strike the match, and watch it burn. It warmed my heart to watch those flames lick, lap up, and consume his worldly belongings, like his absence had consumed my soul.
