Ashes Over Usame

Fire and black, gray and white smoke. Thunder without lightning or storm. The volcano spoke, screamed, roared, and no one understood. Ashes are raining all over the island. A black cloud covers the sky. The sky? What sky? Where are the sun, the sky, the stars and the moon? How many days have passed? Nobody knows. I don’t know. How can one know when days are counted with suns and moons? Nobody goes out, colors have run away, light was swallowed by darkness, it must be the end. The gods are killing us. What do matriarch sorcerers say? What signals have they heard in their dreams? Any god has established communication?

Matriarchs will gather today in the house of the councils around coffee. They are going to discuss. They are going to offer chanting and sacrifice. Denshke will drink a whole pot of strong coffee and slump into trance; she will be the medium used by gods to communicate. Denshke will sing in the language that only sorcerers understand. Well, that’s what they say, I don’t really know. As a man I am not allowed to go into the house of the councils; but I have been told. All of Usame is in expectation. We are all gathered around the hearth, drinking coffee, and making assumptions. All of Usame smells like ashes and coffee.

There goes Ishtaki, the old sage. Or maybe it’s Shlekti, the one with gray hair? It’s difficult to know in the darkness. Her manservants are carrying her so that her feet don’t touch the ashes, and her head is covered. Neither of them have colors, they go as gray as the earth, trees or walls.