Embers

I remember it to be a slow winter’s night. My sisters breathed deep and long in the darkness. The deerskin walls rippled in a cold breeze. Furs tickled my chin and belly. The smell of a warm fire stung my nose. Sleep was long in coming, so I stopped waiting for it.

I walked the well-worn path to the heartflame of the village. A group of mothers enjoyed its warmth. They spoke in the easy cadence of old friends. Within the chatter my own mother’s laugh rang clear and true, like a star guiding me home.

I sat with my mother and watched sparks tumble into the sky. Around me, conversation flared and dimmed. Words gave way to the crackle of fire. One woman hummed an old hunting song and whittled away at an antler. One by one, they retreated back to their families until only my mother and I remained.

My mother said, “I will you a story.”

I had heard a great many stories from her lips. Each one sang of a well-worn truth. I gazed up at that face, as I had so many times before. For the first time I noticed the hard lines baked into the skin. I wondered how many more stories she had left.

This is what she said:

There was a time when the world was young and there were no stars in the sky. Fires lit the night under a pale moon. These fires were as big as a village, and in these great fires lived little sparks. You see, in those young days the fires were calm and sparks did not jump.

But there was one who wished to. Her name was Ember.

Ember spoke to the Great Flame and said, “Great Flame! I wish to leave the fire which gives us all life.”

The Great Flame said, “of course, little one. Go to the edge of our fire and spread our light across the land. It is what all sparks must do, when they are ready.”

But Ember said, “no, Great Flame! I have seen the edges of our fire and the land beyond. None of it is to my liking. I wish to leap high into the air, to see what lies beyond the sky.”

The Great Flame said, “silly little spark! There is nothing beyond the sky. The world above the fire is cold. Your heart will be ash before you reach even the treetops.”

Ember flared with anger and leapt into the night.

The Great Flame was not wrong. The chill had claws and these sunk deep. Little Ember felt her light quickly dimming.

A tree branch, dry and dead, hung just above her. She flared with all her might and caught on a crinkled leaf. The leaf caught her heat and a little flame came to life around her.

The little flame said, “what a marvelous perch this is!”

Ember said, “yes, it is a lovely little place. But I cannot stay. I must keep going.”

“Of course,” the little flame said. “I understand. But rest here a while, and go when your light is full-bright again.”

Ember thanked the little flame, which had now spread to the branch and grown quite warm. She had burned with all her little might to reach this branch. The sky was so much farther away.

Other sparks gathered. They watched her. They waited.

She leapt into the cold.

Winds clawed at her fire and sent her tumbling. She flared hot and bright until her heart burned to cinders, until her fire was ash, until she was as dark as the night she was lost in. She burned memories. She burned dreams. She burned everything that was her and then burned the ashes.

Beyond the sky was pure absence. The only light came from the fires below. The moon loomed large above her.

It said, “little spark, you are so alone.”

Ember could say nothing. All her words had burned away. The moon held her in a warm embrace while the night passed beneath them.

When the sun rose, she felt a stirring within herself. It was not a warmth as she had known, but a brightness, pure and unceasing. When the sun had set once again, a single star shone in the night.

One by one, other sparks leapt from their fires. Most flared and died away, but a few reached high enough to join their sister in the sky.

When my mother finished her tale, the fire had grown low and the stars were giving way to the sun. I watched the few remaining sparks flare and fade into dust.

“It’s a sad story,” I said.

“That’s what makes it true.”

I think of that story often. I remember it now, as I watch the light behind her eyes start to dim. Her well-worn palm is strong beneath my own. She looks past me and up, into the sky. Her grip tightens. Her light flashes hot and bright as her heart beats its last. I close her eyes and kiss her head and I know without looking that a new star has risen into the night.