Читать книгу Painted Oxen - Thomas Lloyd Qualls - Страница 18

The North Axis of the Earth is shifting away from the great fish of Pisces and towards the constellation Aquarius, the water-bearer, while the South Axis is pointing towards Leo, the great lion. This new configuration signals the return of an ancient messenger. Born of an order of lions known as the Kali Dasa Felidae, these messengers have an ancient pact with humans. When the old world is crumbling away, the lions will come to lead humankind across a new bridge.

The Kali have roamed the world for as long as memory reaches backwards. In India, the stone images at Mahabalipuram record their legacy as keepers of the secrets of Atlantis. And in Africa, from time to time, these lions appear in their purest white form, in a land called Timbavati, on the Nile Meridian, the meridian of First Time. This is one of those times.

There was once a Moon Goddess who marked the seasons and had the power to speed up, slow down, and suspend the movement of time. She seduced the seas to rise, the rivers to swell, and the wolves to sing her anthems at night. Because the powerful sun god coveted her seductive light, she devised a way to diffuse parts of her essence throughout the world. She found hiding places at the tops of mountains, the sources of rivers, and caves beneath the sea. And she chose a lion and a lioness, Circa and Siri to carry pieces with them. These were the ancestors of the Kali tribe.

Though it is said that the moon gift exists in the bloodline of every descendant of the tribe, every so often a new lion is born who carries the moonlight in its eyes and whose task it is to lead the Kali into a new age. It is not known how this gift transcends continents and shows up in the white lions of Timbavati when it is their time. The Great Mystery prefers to leave some stories untold.

In the light of the full moon, Mahatru, the ancient lion, watches you from his rocky perch as you skulk across the desert landscape.

The sand floats over the dunes like giant silk scarves, whispering just above the surface of the horizon. You travel at night, to avoid the heat of the sun, but also because lions are nocturnal by nature. Still, each new breath of wind washes over you like a wave of dry water.

Driven by some invisible force, you move without any true aim or direction. Simply placing one foot in front of the other in front of the others. Making a single line of prints in the sand. Pacing in one direction. Shedding what is already irretrievably behind you.

At the base of the rocks, you drink from a small stream and then begin to climb. When you reach a crest where you can survey the valley, you stop and lie down beneath a small tree. Exhausted, you quickly fall asleep. When you awake, you hear a voice:

Welcome. You rise, standing curious and alert. I am pleased to see you have begun your journey, young Aragon. What journey? You ask. There are paths that some of us must travel. The older lion continues, without ceremony. Not of the design of ancient societies or traditions. Not because they are well worn or provide a guaranteed passage. But because they belong to us. How do you know my name? What path are you talking about? I cannot describe your path to you. Or tell you where it will lead you. I can only tell you stories of my own journey. I can share stories of others I have known and the legends that have been handed down. You stand speechless. This is your time, Aragon. You left your pride because somewhere inside your lion’s heart you have an idea that something greater is waiting for you. You don’t know what that something is, yet. But you have the sense of it. And it is strong enough to make you cast aside the security of your pride to go in search of it. The elder lion then walked out of the shadows, as if materializing. Let me explain, my name is Mahatru. I am your guide. Please, come with me, there is much to tell.