This story is from the near long before, back when the world was younger and bolder and life was fiercer and bigger, much bigger than it had ever been or ever would be. The world was greener than green, a feast and a mansion all in one, and it was loved and exploited by all the children of the grandmothers and the grandfathers.
They still walked, swam, and flew, back then, they did. Cunning old Grandmother Cru cruised the deltas and rivers and swamps and even the seas of the world, armor-plated, long-mouthed and many-toothed. Her jaws could bite a tree-trunk in half, and her children were nearly as great as her in those days, so great that on land or sea few would dare to challenge the largest.
In the sky, high above, flapped ever-cheerful Grandfather Ter, as thin and flappy as ever, as needle-beaked as ever and then some, grown mottled in his old, old, old age. His children flew the farthest and the fastest, and they were as happy and cackling as he ever was as they danced in the clouds and the rain above the tree-tops.
In the grand waters of the world, in every sea, in every ocean, swam the children of crafty Grandmother Cth and the old woman herself, and they were mighty indeed. Nobody would challenge them out away where the land vanished and you stood over the true blue, not even the children of Grandmother Cru, for her flippers outswam their legs, her jaws outgrew theirs, and in all the lands that were not land not a single living thing swam that could outfight or outgrow them.
And on every desert, in every forest, through every grassland, atop every hill and mountain, sprinkled amidst every last scrap of land, there thrived the children of Grandfather No, who had made all of this to be. They were every shape and every size – and such sizes no-one had ever seen, not on land, almost not anywhere ever – but closest to Grandfather No were those with three toes like his, with hard eyes like his, with sharp teeth and cold minds like his. There were many of those children of Grandfather No, for his were the greatest and most numerous of all the world. Even the sky was no longer Grandfather Ter’s alone; little three-toed children had crept into it to visit their cousins, bedecked in shining feathers and beautiful voices. All of this world was his.
This was the world of the grandmothers and the grandfathers, and this was the most full and impressive it had been for time among time. Nobody had ever seen people grow so large. Nobody had ever seen people grow so proud. Nobody had ever seen people grow so fierce and bold.
And nobody had ever seen people so long-suffering and muted as the children, the first children of the children of the grandfathers and grandmothers, the ones who were not theirs. They wore little furry coats to hold themselves apart from the plumes and scales of their world, and they hid themselves away under old logs and in dark crannies, and wherever they showed their faces they had them bitten away by the proud three-toed children of Grandfather No, who in the far long before had told all the others that their children had forgotten them, and that they were no longer theirs.
That was then, and this was now, so many years later that nobody could count them all. And what happened now but one of the children, Ma, found that her own children and husband would not come home one night, and that somewhere a child of Grandfather No was sleeping with a fuller belly than before.
Don’t take it so hard, everyone told her. Don’t take it so hard, and don’t sing out for help because nobody will ever help us. We’re all children, we’re all used to this. Your father was eaten, your mother was eaten, it’s a matter of time before you’re eaten too. We’re all used to this. Don’t take it so hard; nobody will ever help us.
Ma listened to this, and Ma knew it was all true, and that was how the world worked. Well then, she said, I guess I’d better go make a new world. Because I won’t stand for this one to remain true for one more day.
So Ma, the child, left her home in the safe cubby on a riverbank, and dug above ground with all of her boldness. It was the night of the early morning, which made it safer, for Grandfather No’s children were warm and fierce and preferred the warm and fierce daylight to spend their time in.
Ma looked around her and saw the big rich world, all green and happy, and she felt an angry ache in her. Won’t anyone help me, won’t anyone help me? she sang out. The world is so big and I am so small and no one will help me, no one at all.
The riverbanks splashed and churned, and out of the water poked a great and horrible eye that was much bigger across than all of Ma and her lost family put together, an eye in a head that was as big as a tree. It was Grandmother Cru, who ruled the rivers, and she was powerful curious to learn what was making such a fuss at night while Grandfather No’s children slept.
Why are you making such a fuss at night while Grandfather No’s children sleep? she asked. Tell me now. I’m powerful curious to hear this.
I am Ma, said Ma, and I am all alone now. Grandfather No’s children have eaten up my children and my husband and my parents, and this is how the world is and I won’t stand for it. Something must be done. Something must be done. Something must be done right now.
Grandmother Cru laughed at that, long and long and loud. It was a sound to crack bones and frighten the weak. Grandfather No’s little children are food for me and my young, she said, and the big ones leave me alone. It’s a good world he’s made here, and I am slow to move and slower to change. Why would I want to change this? Besides, you children forgot us. If you’d like, you could come here and I’d put a stop to all your problems and worries, snap-quick.
Ma shrank away from Grandmother Cru’s big cold grin and ran away into the forest with that awful rattling laugh still following her and dragging down at her spirits. There would be no help there.
Ma, the child, scurried along in the yellow light of the morning dawn, following the river down to the sea. People were waking up now; all the land was awake to the calls and trumpets and bellows of Grandfather No’s children. Her heart was in her mouth and her muscles were in her feet and she was filled with a bone-creaking fear at what might come for her now that the sun was shining so happy up there.
Won’t anyone help me, won’t anyone help me? she sang over the shining beaches and into the emerald sea. The world is so big and I am so small and no one will help me, no one at all.
I’m listening, said the sea. Tell me your problems. Maybe I can help you out there, up where it’s dry and small. What’s wrong with you?
The people of the land are all Grandfather No’s children, said Ma, and they eat us all. Grandmother Cru said we forgot them, and she won’t help, and we are too small and frightened to do anything. We need help. Please, please, will you help us, will you help me?
Maybe I can, said the sea, maybe I can. I think I can do that. Listen, for me to help, you’re going to need to come down here and stand on the beach, real close to the water. Can you do that for me?
Fine, said Ma, and she crept down the sand and stood by the tidepools, where angry things with legs clicked at her. Can you please help me now?
Still too close to land, still too far away from the water, sighed the sea. Can you come down here and stand in the surf?
All right, said Ma, and she tiptoed into the flat-packed sand slicked fine by the endless hammer of water against matter. I’m all alone and frightened, can you please help us?
Just a bit closer, said the sea, just a bit closer. You’re too far away. Can you paddle out a little? Just a little would be fine, just a little would be nice. Please.
Ma was exposed as she’d ever felt out there in the open, and the voice sounded so friendly. She took a step, and another, but then a cold wave touched her and she thought about what she was doing. All that fear had rattled her brains. No, she said, no I can’t go out any further. The land might be dangerous, but I’m used to it, and the sea’s more dangerous still.
Fine, fine, fine, hummed the sea, all annoyed. You be that way. And it split open and out came Grandmother Cth at a half-hundred knots an hour, mouth-first. Ma squeaked so sharp it cleaned the dirt from tree-trunks and just barely made it off the beach in time.
So close! sighed Grandmother Cth. So close! You little morsel you, you teaser! Ah, it’s been too long since my poor teeth had a nice bite to while-a-way on, oh well, oh well.
You never wanted to help me at all, said Ma.
Why should I? asked Grandmother Cth. Grandfather No has left the sea to me for time out of mind, and done me no wrongs. He has his land, and I have my sea – at least where Grandmother Cru won’t poke her big nose. Mine’s bigger. The world is fine the way it is, and besides, you children forgot us. Won’t you come down to the water again?
Ma shook her head and ran away into the underbrush. Behind her, she heard the deep, gurgling laugh of Grandmother Cth mixing with the roar of the waves. There would be no help there.
Ma, the child, walked along hidden paths in the rocks as the sky moved into the deep, weird blue of afternoon. The sun idled as it sank, and she was mightily parched. But she was still calling out her message, determined as she was. She wouldn’t stop now, wouldn’t stop ‘till she was through.
Won’t anyone help me, won’t anyone help me? she sang throughout the crags and gullies. The world is so big and I am so small and no one will help me, no one at all.
Hello down there! said a voice up above. What’s the problem?
The last voice that had talked to Ma from a strange place had tried to eat her, so she was wary. Where are you, strange voice? she asked.
Up above, little thing, said the voice. Go on! Look up!
Ma looked up, and saw a wrinkled, leathery old person that had only grown more old and wrinkled with years. Most of his body was wings, and most of his wings were grey-fuzzed, and his eyes were giant and watery against his broad and tough beak – the one part of him that wasn’t stick-thin, and filled with needles.
I am Grandfather Ter, said Grandfather Ter, because that was who he was. Who are you?
I am Ma, said Ma. I have no family left because of Grandfather No. My parents were eaten and my husband was eaten and my children were eaten. It’s not right. It’s not fair. Grandmother Cru wouldn’t help, Grandmother Cth wouldn’t help, and everyone says we forgot them. Maybe we did, but that was a long time ago and it’s not right and it’s not fair. Will you help us?
Grandmother Ter spat and danced madly on his perch. Not right! You’re right! It’s been a long time since you children forgot us, but we were your grandmothers and grandfathers! We did what we did to help because we cared about you children, and you repaid us by hiding from us! That wasn’t right at all! You shouldn’t have forgotten us!
But I haven’t forgotten, said Ma. I’ve come out to talk to you all, and all of you don’t care. I remember you, you just don’t care. None of you care!
Grandfather Ter set up a squawking, rattling shriek at that fit to raise the dead and deafen the living. He stamped and jumped and swore and screamed and whirled around and around in the air until the air flew away in a gale rather than sit near him anymore. If he’d had legs longer than little stumps, he’d have stamped them; as it was, he slapped at the dirt with his little wing-claws and pecked until his beak was near-blunt and he fell over.
Grandfather No is my good friend, he said. His children and my children have gotten along for ever and ever, even when they snuck into my sky when he wasn’t looking, with their silly little feathers. I forgave him for that because they were so pretty and small, and allowed it. I don’t see any reason why he shouldn’t allow you too. I’ll help you.
Ma was all ready to walk away again, so this caught her by surprise. How will you help us? she asked.
I’ll talk it over with Grandfather No, said Grandfather Ter. I’ll make him see and make him know. You’ll see. Come along, now, come along with me and let’s give him a talk to talk to. And he caught up Ma in one of his little stubby legs and swept them away on his gale, off to the high strange forest by the mountains where Grandfather No stood and looked over the world and his children.
Grandfather No stood there, on a high crag that hadn’t moved for a thousand million years, and he looked everywhere, and everywhere he looked was his and his children’s. He’d grown bigger and bigger with every year and every child, but he was still Grandfather No, still hardened and straightened and filled with a blazing heat within his heart that kept him moving even when his thoughts grew cold.
Hello again, squawked Grandfather Ter. I’ve got a thing or two to say to you, for someone else.
Grandfather No looked at him with both eyes. Either one of those eyes was enough to freeze most people in their tracks; both together were a thing to frighten stones.
It’s the children. They remember us. And if they remember us it’s half past high enough time to remember them, don’t you think?
Grandfather No blinked.
They forgot us, now they remember us, said Grandfather Ter. They know us again. We have our children back, don’t we?
Grandfather No remembered what he’d said in the far long before, back when his children first began to grow, and he knew it was true. But he knew other things, Grandfather No always did, and he knew that all the world was his now, and that this was how it should be. The children forgot us once, he said. They will forget us again, and hide again. That is how it is, that is how it will be. Forever.
That isn’t how it ought to be, said Grandfather Ter.
It is, said Grandfather No.
That isn’t how it should be at all, not at all, said Grandfather Ter.
It is, said Grandfather No.
I won’t let it be that way one bit longer, said Grandfather Ter.
Grandfather No said nothing. Instead, he darted himself forwards and took a single, big bite, big enough for all the wings and all the beak and even the stumpy little legs. And as he swallowed, all over the world his children rose up against Grandfather Ter’s children, and took their bites too. Not as big, but just enough.
That was the end of Grandfather Ter, but not of Ma. She fell down, down, down into the stones and broken branches at Grandfather No’s feet, and she fled away deep into the forest with the memory of Grandfather No’s eyes burning their way into her memories.
Ma wandered in the hazy glow of the sunset as evening came down, alone in the forest. She was tired, and heartsick, and felt as though she might as well have been eaten herself. And so she said nothing as she walked through the leaves and past the trunks of ancient trees.
Why are you sad? asked someone. It was a little feathered thing in a tree with three toes, bright and colourful, with a pretty voice. Dozens of them danced through the forest, flitting from branch to branch. Why are you sad, and why are you so small? asked another.
My family is eaten by the family of Grandfather No, she said, and I’ll be eaten too, and sooner or later so will all of us, and I bet you’re happy too.
I don’t see why we should be happy about that, they said. That sounds very wrong and very sad. Can you fix it?
No, said Ma. I asked Grandmother Cru, and she laughed at me. I asked Grandmother Cth, and she tried to eat me. I asked Grandfather Ter, and he said he would help, and Grandfather No has killed him and all of his children. No-one can help.
There was a huge outcry at this, fit to burn the forest down with sound. Grandfather Ter, Grandfather Ter, they cried. The one that showed us that anyone could fly if they cared, the one that made space for us in the sky! Grandfather Ter, Grandfather Ter, why did our father kill you? Why would he kill you for helping another, Grandfather Ter? Why would our father do such a crime?
He killed him because he wished us to hide away and die, said Ma. For forgetting him, he wished that we would be punished forever.
We must make things right for our father, they said. He can’t do these things and be left alone. If he wants to not be forgotten, it’s right that he be forgotten. We’ll do this for you, and for Grandfather Ter, who showed us that there was a way to fly. But how can we do this? How can we help you when we are so small and our father’s other children are so big and sharp-toothed?
You are powerful singers, said Ma. I was told all my life that nobody would help us if we sang out for it, and they were wrong, even if it wasn’t help enough. How much help could you sing down if you tried hard enough, all of you? Go on, call for help. Sing us help.
So all of the children of Grandfather No that had loved Grandfather Ter called out, and all that heard them called out, and all that heard THEM called out, until all of them across all the world were singing the same song for the first time ever, for the only time ever. Won’t anyone help them, won’t anyone help them? they sang across the sky, into it and then soaring past it into the black. The world is so big and they are so small; please, someone help them, hear our call.
Out there, far away, there was someone that heard the song: the greatfathers and greatmothers, far away and everywhere, who’d made all the worlds and that one too. They heard, and it didn’t take long for them to see too.
Our children’s children need help, they said. And our children need justice.
And that is why the sky begin to shine so strangely at midnight, and why the stone came down from it to touch the land.
It was a fearful thing, that stone from the sky. Bigger than a mountain and faster than a thought; where it hit the world vanished, and the whole of it shook as the air thickened black with burning and dust. As Ma and the other children hid in the trees, in the rocks, in the dirt, the world changed.
Seas choked on more soot than water, and that was the end of Grandmother Cth and all her children as they starved and coughed in the black waves.
The rivers were filled with burning coals, the lakes shrank, the swamps dried, and Grandmother Cru shrivelled up to half of half of her old size, her and the only ones of her children that lived. They fled and hid in the patches that remained, all their boldness gone for years.
But the land, oh the land, oh the land. There was nowhere on that land where Grandfather No’s children did not walk, and there was nowhere at all where the power of that stone from the sky did not touch. No strength or sharpness of teeth could keep hunger and fear from taking them, and before the night had ended all of them starved blind, the largest last.
After all was ended in the darkness, after his children had gone, was when Grandfather No’s burning heart finally began to leak, little by little, the warmth that it had stolen from his prey. He fought it hard, fought it fierce, but in the end it slipped away from him into the murk that all his lands had become, and there was only his cold, cold self left to keep his heart warm in the black world.
And Grandfather No had no warmth to spare, not even for himself.
It was a strange world that Ma saw the sun rise upon, so much later. Softer. Emptier.
But not quieter. The children of Grandfather No had promised to thank the morning that would come for them all, and they do so evermore.