Chapter 1 - Origins

some background info

 

There was once a kingdom whose only inhabitants were animals. The kingdom was exactly the same as that of the humans, save for the variance of species. The two kingdoms existed side by side, with occasional warfare, but neither kingdom knew much about the other. This tale happened in the realm of the animals and is consequently obscure in human circles.

            On a chilly November morning, a young Labrador was lying on a fancy rug, having contractions. She had been in labor for twelve hours, and the pup was due any time. Her husband, Herr Wheaty of the Dogs, sat at her side and held her hand as she at last delivered their firstborn son, Martin.

            Martin was relatively small for a newborn, but as he grew older, he showed that his size did not impede his adventuresome spirit. Even when he was a toddler, he looked at his parents’ large, fancy animal sculptures and decided they would be fun to ride. He was not quite large enough to put his leg over a sculpted tiger’s back, so he found a small box to use to mount the beast.

            “Wheeee!” sang Martin as he sat on the sculpture, thrilled with his latest accomplishment. He wondered why it wasn’t walking, so he hit it on the shoulder in an attempt to make it go. He had quite a strong paw, and the blow meant to create action instead broke open the hollow sculpture, leaving a hole and cutting Martin’s paw. He did not understand this, and was in pain from the incision, so he dismounted the tiger, got his mother, and showed her the cut and the shattered sculpture.

            “Martin! Bad boy! You have to be careful. If you hurt them they won’t get better again and we will have to throw them away! They are not real!”

            Not real? wondered Martin. They sure looked real. How to know the difference?

            “It will have to go in the trash now,“ continued his mother. “It’s your fault that it’s ruined!”

            Martin started to cry as he learned his first lesson about personal guilt.

            When Martin was slightly older, he began to attend school. He was a good student, and he enjoyed his years in elementary school. On the first day of fifth grade he met a young Raccoon who was sitting all alone at the start of class, chewing his claws out of nervousness as the other children began to socialize. Martin looked at the ball of fur cowering in the corner and decided to investigate.

            “Hi,” said Martin in a soft tone. “What’s your name?”

            The Raccoon lifted his eyes to meet Martin’s. All the commotion and nervousness of the first day floated away from the forest creature’s mind as he gazed into the clear blue eyes of the friendly Dog greeting him. “I’m Chuck,” he answered after a short pause.

            A matronly owl called the attention of all the children. “Hello. My name is Ms. Nocturne,” she said in a thick Southern accent, “and I am looking forward to having fun leading y’all through another year of school!”

            Martin and Chuck sat together through the morning’s lessons until it was time for recess. A pair of kittens played with the jump ropes, while Martin and Chuck tossed a ball back and forth. This was usually the scene during subsequent recesses. One afternoon, a poodle pup scowled at Martin for playing with Chuck. “Dogs are supposed to hunt Raccoons, not play with them,” she said, nose in the air.

            “Oh yeah? Who told you that nonsense?” retorted Martin.

            “It isn’t nonsense. My Papa told me that Dogs hunt Raccoons. Of course, you would never see me out among all the dirt and filth of the woods…”

            Hunt Chuck? I could never do that! thought Martin.

            Later that year, Martin witnessed the birth of his brother Hans. It was similar to his own. Martin had been dozing in the spare room when his mother began having contractions. She sat on her favorite plush couch before the contractions caused her to fall off the couch and onto the rug, just as when Martin was born twelve years before.

            After several hours of exertion, Martin heard his mother moaning and went to see if she was okay. He saw her on the rug, pushing as hard as she could, and eventually saw the tiny little puppy arrive. Martin went over to his new brother, picked him up, and kissed him. At this, baby Hans looked up at his big brother and stopped crying.

            From then on, Martin and Hans were never far apart. Martin loved teaching Hans everything he could and showing him around the huge forest surrounding the house. One afternoon, as Martin was showing Hans how to skip stones across a pond, their Papa called them in early for dinner, since a storm was developing.

            After dinner, the family sat around the fireplace, where Mama was reading the pups a fairy tale. Papa dozed on and off while resting in a soft chair. Before long, the fairy tale was over, and it was time for the family to head for bed. Mama went upstairs to change into her nightgown, while Papa remained in the chair.

            “Goodnight, boys,” called Papa as he drifted off to sleep in the large armchair again, with a cigar hanging from his mouth.

            Martin went to Hans’ room and set him in his crib. After tucking in Hans, he crawled up into his own bed on the other side of the house.

             Soon after, Martin awoke to the smell of cinders, which seemed to be coming from the living room. He came out into the hall and descended the stairs, coughing all the way to where his Papa had reclined earlier. The chair was now a pile of ash, and the flames engulfed everything in the room, thanks to the fallen cigar. “Papa!” cried Martin, looking around the room frantically for him.

            Then he heard a cry coming from Hans’ room. Martin rushed to the crib, where Hans lay coughing and crying. “It’s going to be alright,” Martin whispered to him, coughing also. Slowly, Hans stopped breathing. His room’s position close to the fire meant that he had been exposed to the smoke longer than his big brother, and it reached the point where Hans’ little lungs could no longer take the fumes. Martin, whose room was on the opposite side of the house and farthest from the fire, was not exposed to the smoke with as much intensity as Hans.

Martin cried at the sight of his brother going limp in his arms and saw that the flames surrounded them both. Martin sweated as he never had before, and started to shake as he saw the flames closing around him with no escape. I’m going to die too! he thought, and closed his tearful eyes, certain that they would never open again.

            He felt something come up from behind, lift him, and set him on the lawn, far enough away from the house so he was no longer in danger. Wanting to know what it was, he turned around, but saw nothing.

            There was, however, a pure white feather floating in the air.

            “Martin!” called Herr Wheaty, who barely made it out of the burning living room. “Thank God you’re alright!” He ran up to his son and hugged him with all his might. “Do you know where Hans and your mother are?”

            Martin was still holding the lifeless Hans. “He didn’t make it, Papa!” Martin set his brother down and clung to his father. His mother breathlessly made it out of the house and joined her husband and surviving son. She melted at the sight of her youngest lying motionless in the grass.

            It took many years for the family to rebuild their lives after the fire. For several months, they had to rent rooms hardly big enough for a single occupant, let alone an entire family. Years passed before they had the money to replace the house, and Mama’s eyes watered every time she thought of the rug she gave birth on. None of them ever forgot little Hans and the life he could have lived.

             Martin often reflected on the loss his family survived and the mysterious entity that pulled him from the fire. What was it that saved him?

            At the next session of Sunday School, Martin stayed after to ask the teacher, Ms. Katz, about it.

            “It came out of nowhere,” Martin began. “I felt myself rise into the air while nothing was holding me up!”

            “Was there any image accompanying it?” asked Ms. Katz.

            “Yes. I turned around upon landing and saw a glowing, white feather.”

            After a short pause, Ms. Katz responded. “The entity was an angel. God sent him to save your life the night of the fire.”

            “Why would the Almighty God bother about a tiny little pup like me?” wondered Martin.

            “He loves everybody in the world, even the lowliest, because they are His creation. In fact, he loves us so much that He sent His only Son to save us from our sins.” Ms. Katz looked Martin in the eye while she spoke.

            “Wow,” said Martin. “This sounds fascinating.” He was unable to stay and ask more questions because of the time, but as he walked home, his mind was overflooding with inquiries. What did Ms. Katz mean when she said He saved us from our sins?

            As Martin grew, his curiosity about his divine encounter grew to the point that, upon his eighteenth birthday, he decided to become a monk.

            On his first Sunday at the monastery, Martin’s eyes absorbed everything around him - there were twelve stained-glass images of various items representing the twelve apostles, various banners, and purple drapings over the altar. Above the altar was a huge cross, an organ was to the left, and a baptismal fountain was to the right. Exactly at 10:00 am, the altar sever - a young Fox - slowly walked down the center aisle. She carried a long, brass candle lighter with an adjustable wick. Upon reaching the altar, the server bowed and ascended the step up to the altar. She then lit all the candles, descended, bowed, and sat in a single seat on the side of the worship area. Next to the seat was a small, wooden holder for the brass rod. The server placed the rod in the holder and directed her attention to the Pastor and Assistant Minister, who now stood before the congregation and began the service.

            During the sermon, Martin’s eyes remained fixed on the Pastor, who was a small creature, brown with a striped back and barely tall enough to be seen behind the pulpit despite standing on a stool. Even though he was tiny, this Pastor had a commanding air and eloquently delivered the sermon against the spiritual vice of laziness.

            After the service, the Pastor stood towards the back of the worship area, where he greeted members of the congregation. Martin approached him, curious to meet the small minister with the large voice. “Greetings,” began Martin, holding out his paw.

            “Greetings,” returned the Pastor. “My name is Chip.”

            Chip the monk is a chipmunk, thought Martin. Figures.

            “You are one of the new arrivals to the monastery, I presume?” asked Pastor Chip. “I don’t recall having seen you here before.”

            “Correct,” answered Martin.

            “Well, we welcome you and hope you will be comfortable here.” The chipmunk gave Martin’s paw a surprisingly strong shake before joining the rest of his flock for their Hospitality time.

            As the years passed, Martin became more and more immersed in the teachings of the monastery, eventually becoming an instructor of theology at the nearby Whittic College. He particularly enjoyed educating younger creatures about the wonders of creation and the love of God’s Son displayed on the cross. 

            One sunny day he was out in the garden watching the village children play when he saw dark clouds off in the distance. No matter, we get clouds all the time, thought Martin. Before long the clouds brought rain into the community and everyone headed inside. Martin reentered the monastery and retired to his cell before peering outside at the distant, yet menacing, clouds. Within the hour, the monastery was no more.

Author's Note

how does this come across?

Reviews

[Calypso]

So wonderful. I love you depict the animals and how great their character is.