The Rainbow Serpent

Written by Sen Ming Hu from Eaglebrook School, Massachusetts, USA

The timid daylight slowly crept through the hut as Miro awoke. He slouched his way into dressing and leaving his hut. The humid air around him buzzed with commotion. Today was a moving day. Rowers and steerers marched towards the sea, and families gathered their belongings; Miro joined in, though he possessed little: a small canoe, a spear, and a handful of rough marbles.

As the tribe departed, Miro paddled alongside the canoes. He was to protect the boats from any rivals, though. The warriors would always face the brunt of the real fighting.

As the day wore on, Miro felt increasingly useless.

Then he saw it.

In the distance, the world seemed to shift. The waves moved peculiarly, as if dragged along by a snake. He stared harder and saw something that reminded him of his spear. It shone brilliantly in the waves. Miro paddled towards it. 

There, floating in the waves, a black scale shone brightly in the light, casting rainbow colors across his boat. A low, earthy sound resonated from it and then stopped.

It was strange. The scale was bigger than any Miro had ever seen, yet it both floated on the water and felt heavy in his hands. 

By the time he returned to his tribe, the mystery of the scale had fallen to the back of his mind. There was much to do. The most work always came after moving day. 

One Month Later …

Miro ran through the woods, carrying a rudimentary basket filled with some scraps from the tribe’s meals. He stopped suddenly in front of an area covered in a thin layer of leaves and waited in anticipation.

Slowly, a slightly droopy, warty schnoz revealed itself. The owner of this appendage followed suit. It circled the leftovers jubilantly and looked towards Miro, rubbing the schnoz on his leg, full of affection. It then turned and dug in. Miro crouched down and rubbed his fuzzy head. 

“Let’s check that leg, shall we?” Miro exclaimed. 

He slowly unravelled the piece of rope that was around the beastie’s leg. There was a scar, and the fur was nearly gone; otherwise, he seemed fine.  A month ago, the cut had a ravaging infection that nearly killed the poor creature. Miro sat next to the fuzzy mess of affection and stared out into the woods. 

“Tomorrow I will become a man.” As Miro spoke, he stared into the deep maroon eyes of this furry creature. “Don’t worry. Even though I’ll be busy, we’ll still be able to hang out.”

The next day, Miro returned to the den with a handful of fruits tucked under his arm. He cautiously approached the den, hoping to surprise his pet.

“Look what I’ve brought you,” Miro cooed.

Nothing.

He peered into the cavity, but the friendly schnoz was nowhere to be seen. 

Miro spent the remaining hours of the day searching for his pet. 

But he was gone. 

By the time he’d gotten back to the tribe, the celebrations for this coming of age were well underway. He sat down across the fire pit. That's when he realized what was being cooked in the fire. 

Its fur had been stripped away, its innards stuffed with herbs. As its fat rendered, the drippings hissed as they fell into the fire. 

Miro stared. Frozen. 

The village chief rose to speak, “Today marks a very important day for the tribe. Miro here is becoming a man. As is customary, we hold a feast to commemorate his manhood. I wish you, Miro, a prosperous manhood.” 

Miro stared into the fire. His pet was dead. Why? 

And why did they take the one thing that made Miro feel comfort, feel human? 

As the moon reached its apex, Miro left, quietly taking his boat out on the ocean to think. The waves fluttered softly as the moonlight shone. However, Miro soon noticed the waves slowly transitioned into a slithering motion. Miro had never seen such a wave pattern. The water seemed to shimmer in a multifaceted shine. 

A booming voice echoed in Miro’s head: “Head south. Like the others.” 

Miro looked around for anything that could be speaking to him. He yelled, “Who are the others?” 

At last, the voice replied, “Others like you, others who don’t exploit the natural world, who will live with the land.” 

Miro looked back towards the direction of his tribe. 

Ahead, the dark horizon stretched into darkness.

All of his life, Miro had dreamed of becoming a real man … a warrior.

Yet, now he suddenly felt like a stranger. Yet he understood his strength—mercy—was different. 

His strength was mercy. 

The scale in his palm shone in its darkness. 

Miro dipped his paddle into the dark waters. 

He rowed south.