The Night the Sky Fell
Read The Night the Sky Fell Online
Authors: Stephen Levy
The Night the Sky Fell
A novel by Stephen G. Levy
Copyright 2016 Stephen G. Levy
Published 2016 by Stephen G. Levy
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission expert in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For more information, contact publisher. This novel is a work of fiction. All the characters, organizations, establishments, and events portrayed in this novel are either product of the author’s imagination or are fiction.
Table of Contents
Raven Thoughts
“Blood will spill,” thought the raven.
The Monarch Raven was perched on the head of President Lincoln at Mount Rushmore. He gazed at the other three presidential sculptures situated in Rapid City, South Dakota. These presidents wanted something better and got it. They fought hard to better the life situations for their people...their white people. With great expectations, they would tread on anyone who got in their way.
The Monarch Raven knew about this when he spent most of his time in New Zealand amongst other Chatham ravens. Centuries ago, the Europeans came to New Zealand and killed off all of its species. It is thought by many Native Alaskans that some ravens lived forever. Some Native Alaskans even argued about what came first…the raven or the Great Spirit?
The Monarch Raven’s attention shifted to a sudden electrical sprite. It was sort of a lightning that lasts for a fraction of a second and shoots upward. The raven could sense when the rotation of the earth had a small shift. It did right now. The increasing electromagnetism that it sensed validated its thought: “Blood will spill.”
Over the years he rarely got involved with the politics of the Great Spirit; but he could tell when that the Spirit’s executioner was on a mission. That sensation and the silent lightning that turned the sky to indigo was enough for the raven to know untoward activity was about to occur. The Old Soul was coming soon and the Monarch Raven wanted to watch. All he had in life now was to watch. The raven had given up on the hope of finding a mate. It was lonely. But curiosity was its solace to pass the time…so much time.
The Monarch Raven took flight from President Lincoln’s head and flew over an American Indian Reservation. The raven glided over barb wire and landed on an isolated mobile home. It cawed. It was a song of dread with the promise of death.
Inside the mobile home was a crib. Baby Banks Blackhorse’s eyes opened. It was rare for an American Indian to have violet eyes. Banks’ Sioux mother inserted eye drops. She rocked the crib as his father approached. Just as he stared down at Banks, the raven on the roof cawed loudly and there was a flash of indigo lightning.
Banks’ father whispered, “The evil is coming.”
Banks’ mother commanded, “Stop it! Stop it! Your brother should be here by now. He knows how to stop—”
There were loud rapid firecracker sounds! The walls of the mobile home popped with fist size dents. The ceiling buckled. The home swayed. The raven on the roof flapped to remain steady. Mother shrieked and covered her ears. At that instant she was covered by the indigo mist. There was silence for a moment as she remained still.
Father opened the front door. Covering his eyes, Father was blinded by two headlights. Chief Dan ran out of his pickup and warned his brother, “It’s here. The Old Soul is here.”
The cloud of indigo mist moved out doors leaving the mother frozen with fear. The mist appeared directly behind Chief’s truck. But Chief Dan was more concerned about what was in the house…behind his brother: It was the Sioux Mother with shining indigo eyes. The Chief ran out to his truck and grabbed an axe. At that instant, Sioux Mother bellowed an unearthly sound. Her hands vice squeezed her husband’s head until his head flattened. Raven flitted to the window and viewed the murder of Banks’ father. Mother turned to the crib and marched to Baby Banks. Chief lunged after her. He swung the axe from its backside in order to render the mother unconscious. The mother fell unconscious to the floor. The mist closed in on the house as Chief grabbed Baby Banks. The mist transformed into an indiscernible human form. The Chief chanted in Native Alaskan Tlingit while he held Banks in one hand and the axe in another. Chief was face to face with the Old Soul. Chief Dan raised his axe and swung it towards the entity. The mother regained temporary consciousness while her eyes lost the indigo glow. She took in the scene, clutched at her heart and died from the horror of it all. The Old Soul retreated and became one with the mist. Banks opened his violet eyes.
PART I, THE PROMISE
Happy Birthday, Banks
The eyes of eighteen year old Banks Blackhorse were unsettling. Some sort of a dilemma needed to be resolved until his eyes would fine comfort. One could notice this because his eyes were magnified by thick lenses. His good looks were somewhat hidden by his long hair. His attention focused to the sounds of his uncle, Chief Dan, who chanted in Tlingit near a campfire in the wilderness of Juneau, Alaska. It was night and it was cold and The Monarch Raven watched from a branch of a shimmering evergreen.
Banks thought of the promise he made to himself exactly one year ago while he was getting a tattoo. It was a small tattoo on the top of his arm. It was simply a small stickman all in white. This symbolized to him what he wanted out of life. His maternal grandmother was white with violent eyes. He knew through his teens that this was a white man’s world with white man’s privileges. The obstacle was his uncle Chief Dan who raised him after the death of his parents. Banks was simply told that his parents died in an auto accident when he was a baby.
Banks wanted a white man’s lifestyle more than anything. He wanted a white man’s high paying job. Also, in time, he wanted a white man’s wife. He rubbed his arm as his uncle continued to chant. He would change his name to simply Banks Black. He smiled at the thought of his new name. He considered it an inside joke.
His uncle had a different idea for Banks’ future. First and foremost he was setting the stage in his tribe that Banks would succeed him as Chief. He was content that Banks was working at a school for the blind and helping blind kids. But once his eyesight improved this evening, the Chief wanted him to become more aware of Tlingit history. He wanted him to fish, hunt and learn from the Shaman and eventually embark on his rite of passage known as a vision quest. He wanted Banks to become more involved in nature and have respect for the Spirit Above his Head.
Banks knew how to solicit help to achieve his ‘white’ goal. But he must take time and nurture the characters that could help him. No help would come from his tribe. At the Juneau School for the Blind was one of the wealthiest kids in Juneau. Banks and the white kid had a strong relationship. Somehow, if he could become the kid’s trusted tutor, perhaps his family would see his value and help him to attain his secret wishes.
The Arctic winds have not been kind to the face of Chief Dan. As he chanted he was aware of his nephew’s desire to disconnect from his Indian heritage. It was Dan’s earnest hope that tonight’s birthday gift for Banks would solidify his Indian future. As he continued to chant, his fingers moved over his Braille book. Chief Dan was not blind, but Banks had little vision and today the book would be given to him.
“Hurry, Banks. They’re coming. They’re coming,” warned Chief Dan. Banks switched from white dreams to Indian commands. Banks picked up a large vat from the old pickup and ran to his uncle. “Banks, is it the royal honey?” After Banks nodded, the Chief continued, “Open it…now make your wish. The Spirit above My Head will hear it better in Tlingit. Take the book and feel your way through it to the Great Spirit.”
As Banks chanted, meteorites fired up in the night sky and disintegrated to pea sized pebbles as they landed in the vat. When they splat, a gas emitted from the vat. “Make your wish quickly, Banks. Now cover the vat.” Banks carried the mixture of honey and meteorites to the pickup. Chief handed the book to Banks, “Happy Birthday, nephew. Remember, Indian way is not a dead end street.” Banks hid his grimace and hopped into the truck. Normally, Banks would have smirked at Indian lore, legend and magic. But a year ago, right after he was tattooed with a white stickman, he went into his bathroom and shut the door. He admired his new tattoo. And while doing so, he heard a flapping from his bathroom window. Suddenly, behind him, he saw the tribe’s Shaman: “We are not pleased.” And then he heard flapping again and Shaman was gone. Later, when he approached the Shaman, the Shaman had no recollection of this event. But he told Banks that it was probably a shape shifting raven. For the past year, Banks had a choice of either doubting lore or doubting his sanity. He finally opted for the former with the thought that, “Weird shit happens to Indians.”
The Tlingit compound looked like a Motel 6 except for the totem pole: It had two stories with twenty rooms on each of the two floors. The woman lived on the first floor, except for Dan and a few older men. As Chief parked the truck, he expressed his thought which was at the heart of Banks’ dilemma:
“When your eyes improve, you will see the evils of the white man’s world.”
Banks argued, “But it’s their world and it is better!”
The Chief retorted, “Banks, that’s strange talk from one who will be Chief one day.”
Banks questioned, “Who says I want to be Chief?”
The Chief clutched his necklace of deer hooves which symbolized his position in the tribe. The Chief conveyed disapproval through his silence and his grimace.
As they got out of the truck they stared at one another. The Chief smiled and opened his arms. Banks gravitated to him and he was instantly wrapped with love and understanding from his Chief.
“I’m sorry, Uncle.” Banks’ magnified eyes were watery. Dan pointed to the vat and Banks lifted it up.
The Chief reminded Banks, “Now, this is most important, Banks. Tell no one of this evening. Break this pact with the Spirit Above and he’ll respond with a vengeance.”
Banks nodded with understanding but mentally he answered, “Whatever!” As Chief walked to unit one, Banks ascended the stairs to room twenty four. Banks paused a moment and placed the vat down. He clutched the Braille book, then he approached the railing. Directly below him, Marilyn White Owl, hefty and thirty, opened her door. She lit a cigarette and inhaled the evening air with nicotine. Neither Banks nor Marilyn knew the other was there. Banks chanted with arms outstretched…then he said, “Today I am a man.”
Marilyn chuckled and yelled, “No boy, you are still a virgin.”
Banks warned, “Forget you heard that, Marilyn.”
Marilyn whooped, “It will cost you, Banks. Goodnight. Happy Birthday.”
Banks placed the vat on his kitchen table. He parked the Braille book next to
The Great Gatsby
. He glanced at the Gatsby book and placed the Braille book on top of it. Mockingly, he mumbled, “Not tonight, Sport. I need to forget white rich folk. Too many Indian things to do.”
Night turned to day at the Tlingit Compound. Banks had been going at it all night: On the table were twenty vials attached to eyedroppers. Banks squeezed the last of the vat solution into a vial. He placed one vial into his pocket and returned the rest to the refrigerator where there are one hundred vials.
He ran down the stairs. Marilyn exhaled smoke from her cigarette: “Chief is in a foul mood this morning.”
“Nothing new, late for work, Marilyn. And about last night…you didn’t hear anything.” She laughed heartily.
Banks hopped into his pickup. Juneau is inaccessible by car. One has to fly or come by boat. All roads in Alaska’s state capital are dead ends. As Bank left the compound, he saw the ‘Dead End’ sign in his rear view mirror. “Today I am a man, “thought Banks. “Today I become white.” He rubbed his arm where his tattoo was.
White People
Peyton Powers sat on the eye-examination chair. His feet dangled. He seemed aware of his setting by sounds and smells. This was a gifted seven year old boy. “Mom, I can hear you sniffling. I’m fine.”
