The old man danced slowly, his skin almost blackened by the sun, his feet kicking up dust as the smoke from the fire curled through his white hair. Almost naked he was dancing to awaken the spirits so that they could speak through him. The rest of the tribe sat around chanting and beating drums keeping a steady rhythm while their shaman became one with the ancestors. For many days now the sound of the chainsaws had got closer by the hour. The tribe hoped for guidance from the gone before to protect the forest from the loggers. There were tales amongst the elders of an invincible army that had protected the tribe in the past, but these stories were not taken seriously by the youngsters. As night fell the sounds of logging died away and silence descended on the forest. The tribe sat in a clear space in the midst of an ancient temple which their shaman Matea said their ancestors had built. Many of the stone columns still stood their outlines blurred by the creepers and vines of immense scale and age. On pedestals lining the central isle of the ruined temple were statues of the elders gods. These statues were large, almost twice life size, there were demons, warriors and mythological beasts, creatures with many vicious looking claws and figures with two or three heads, these statues would probably have been frightening if the tribesmen had not known them all their lives, had they not played amongst them as children.
The shaman began to dance faster and the drumming kept pace with him, his shadow was thrown against the walls of the temple in the gathering darkness so that it began to look as if hundreds of other shaman were joining in the dance. He whirled in the circle of light as the flames of the fire flashed in his eyes, sweat rolled off him as the tempo increased, his eyes rolled back into head so that they showed just the whites and his body suddenly convulsed his back arching backwards and he fell as if struck down. All around them there was the sound of stone grating on stone and the statues climbed down from their pedestals and began to march slowly but inexorably in the direction of the distant loggers.
The next morning all the statues were back in the temple on their pedestals lining the walls. When the young men trekked to the edge of the forest they found a large area of freshly turned soil, there were no loggers, no equipment and no sign of life. The trackers dug a little in the soil and found some remains and a chainsaw which was so smashed as to be almost unrecognisable. As far as the trackers could see freshly planted trees climbed toward the light.
Copyright 2008 richard bromley
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