After what type of event is the story set ?

The north and the west and the south are good hunting ground, but it is forbidden to go
east. It is forbidden to go to any of the Dead Places except to search for metal and then
he who touches the metal must be a priest or the son of a priest. Afterwards, both the
man and the metal must be purified. These are the rules and the laws; they are well
made. It is forbidden to cross the great river and look upon the place that was the Place
of the Gods—this is most strictly forbidden. We do not even say its name though we
know its name. It is there that spirits live, and demons—it is there that there are the
ashes of the Great Burning. These things are forbidden—they have been forbidden
since the beginning of time.
My father is a priest; I am the son of a priest. I have been in the Dead Places near us,
with my father—at first, I was afraid. When my father went into the house to search for
the metal, I stood by the door and my heart felt small and weak. It was a dead man's
house, a spirit house. It did not have the smell of man, though there were old bones in a
corner. But it is not fitting that a priest's son should show fear. I looked at the bones in
the shadow and kept my voice still.
Then my father came out with the metal—good, strong piece. He looked at me with
both eyes but I had not run away. He gave me the metal to hold—I took it and did not
die. So he knew that I was truly his son and would be a priest in my time. That was
when I was very young—nevertheless, my brothers would not have done it, though
they are good hunters. After that, they gave me the good piece of meat and the warm
corner of the fire. My father watched over me—he was glad that I should be a priest.
But when I boasted or wept without a reason, he punished me more strictly than my
brothers. That was right.
After a time, I myself was allowed to go into the dead houses and search for metal. So
I learned the ways of those houses—and if I saw bones, I was no longer afraid. The
bones are light and old—sometimes they will fall into dust if you touch them. But that
is a great sin.
I was taught the chants and the spells—l was taught how to stop the running of blood
from a wound and many secrets. A priest must know many secrets—that was what my
father said.
If the hunters think we do all things by chants and spells, they may believe so—it does
not hurt them. I was taught how to read in the old books and how to make the old
writings—that was hard and took a long time. My knowledge made me happy—it was
like a fire in my heart. Most of all, I liked to hear of the Old Days and the stories of the
gods. I asked myself many questions that I could not answer, but it was good to ask
them. At night, I would lie awake and listen to the wind—it seemed to me that it was
the voice of the gods as they flew through the air.
We are not ignorant like the Forest People—our women spin wool on the wheel, our
priests wear a white robe. We do not eat grubs from the trees, we have not forgotten
the old writings, although they are hard to understand. Nevertheless, my knowledge
and my lack of knowledge burned in me—I wished to know more. When I was a man
at last, I came to my father and said, "It is time for me to go on my journey. Give me
your leave."
He looked at me for a long time, stroking his beard, and then he said at last, "Yes. It is
time." That night, in the house of the priesthood, I asked for and received purification.
My body hurt but my spirit was a cool stone. It was my father himself who questioned
me about my dreams.
He bade me look into the smoke of the fire and see—I saw and told what I saw. It was
what I have always seen—a river, and, beyond it, a great Dead Place and in it the gods
walking. I have always thought about that. His eyes were stern when I told him he was
no longer my father but a priest. He said, "This is a strong dream."
"It is mine," I said, while the smoke waved and my head felt light. They were singing
the Star song in the outer chamber and it was like the buzzing of bees in my head.
He asked me how the gods were dressed and I told him how they were dressed. We
know how they were dressed from the book, but I saw them as if they were before me.
When I had finished, he threw the sticks three times and studied them as they fell.
"This is a very strong dream," he said." It may eat you up."
"I am not afraid," I said and looked at him with both eyes. My voice sounded thin in
my ears but that was because of the smoke.
He touched me on the breast and the forehead. He gave me the bow and the three
arrows.
"Take them," he said. "It is forbidden to travel east. It is forbidden to cross the river. It
is forbidden to go to the Place of the Gods. All these things are forbidden."
"All these things are forbidden," I said, but it was my voice that spoke and not my
spirit. He looked at me again.
"My son," he said. "Once I had young dreams. If your dreams do not eat you up, you
may be a great priest. If they eat you, you are still my son. Now go on your journey."
I went fasting, as is the law. My body hurt but not my heart. When the dawn came, I
was out of sight of the village. I prayed and purified myself, waiting for a sign. The
sign was an eagle. It flew east.
Sometimes signs are sent by bad spirits. I waited again on the flat rock, fasting, taking
no food. I was very still—I could feel the sky above me and the earth beneath. I waited
till the sun was beginning to sink. Then three deer passed in the valley going east—
they did not mind me or see me. There was a white fawn with them—a very great sign.
I followed them, at a distance, waiting for what would happen. My heart was troubled
about going east, yet I knew that I must go. My head hummed with my fasting—I did
not even see the panther spring upon the white fawn. But, before I knew it, the bow
was in my hand. I shouted and the panther lifted his head from the fawn. It is not easy
to kill a panther with one arrow but the arrow went through his eye and into his brain.
He died as he tried to spring—he rolled over, tearing at the ground. Then I knew I was
meant to go east—I knew that was my journey. When the night came, I made my fire
and roasted meat.
It is eight suns' journey to the east and a man passes by many Dead Places. The Forest
People are afraid of them but I am not. Once I made my fire on the edge of a Dead
Place at night and, next morning, in the dead house, I found a good knife, little rusted.
That was small to what came afterward but it made my heart feel big. Always when I
looked for game, it was in front of my arrow, and twice I passed hunting parties of the
Forest People without their knowing. So I knew my magic was strong and my journey
clean, in spite of the law.
Toward the setting of the eighth sun, I came to the banks of the great river. It was halfa-day's journey after I had left the god-road—we do not use the god-roads now for they
are falling apart into great blocks of stone, and the forest is safer going. A long way
off, I had seen the water through trees but the trees were thick. At last, I came out upon
an open place at the top of a cliff. There was the great river below, like a giant in the
sun. It is very long, very wide. It could eat all the streams we know and still be thirsty.
Its name is Ou-dis-sun, the Sacred, the Long. No man of my tribe had seen it, not even
my father, the priest. It was magic and I prayed.
Then I raised my eyes and looked south. It was there, the Place of the Gods.
How can I tell what it was like—you do not know. It was there, in the red light, and
they were too big to be houses. It was there with the red light upon it, mighty and
ruined. I knew that in another moment the gods would see me. I covered my eyes with
my hands and crept back into the forest.
Surely, that was enough to do, and live. Surely it was enough to spend the night upon
the cliff. The Forest People themselves do not come near. Yet, all through the night, I
knew that I should have to cross the river and walk in the places of the gods, although
the gods ate me up. My magic did not help me at all and yet there was a fire in my
bowels, a fire in my mind. When the sun rose, I thought, "My journey has been clean.
Now I will go home from my journey." But, even as I thought so, I knew I could not. If
I went to the Place of the Gods, I would surely die, but, if I did not go, I could never be
at peace with my spirit again. It is better to lose one's life than one's spirit, if one is a
priest and the son of a priest.
Nevertheless, as I made the raft, the tears ran out of my eyes. The Forest People could
have killed me without fight, if they had come upon me then, but they did not come.
When the raft was made, I said the sayings for the dead and painted myself for death.
My heart was cold as a frog and my knees like water, but the burning in my mind
would not let me have peace. As I pushed the raft from the shore, I began my death
song—I had the right. It was a fine song.
"I am John, son of John," I sang. "My people are the Hill People. They are the men.
I go into the Dead Places but I am not slain.
I take the metal from the Dead Places but I am not blasted.
I travel upon the god-roads and am not afraid. E-yah! I have killed the panther, I have
killed the fawn!
E-yah! I have come to the great river. No man has come there before.
It is forbidden to go east, but I have gone, forbidden to go on the great river, but I am
there.
Open your hearts, you spirits, and hear my song.
Now I go to the Place of the Gods, I shall not return.
My body is painted for death and my limbs weak, but my heart is big as I go to the
Place of the Gods!"
All the same, when I came to the Place of the Gods, I was afraid, afraid. The current of
the great river is very strong—it gripped my raft with its hands. That was magic, for
the river itself is wide and calm. I could feel evil spirits about me, I was swept down
the stream. Never have I been so much alone—I tried to think of my knowledge, but it
was a squirrel's heap of winter nuts. There was no strength in my knowledge any more
and I felt small and naked as a new-hatched bird—alone upon the great river, the
servant of the gods.
Yet, after a while, my eyes were opened and I saw. I saw both banks of the river—I
saw that once there had been god-roads across it, though now they were broken and
fallen like broken vines. Very great they were, and wonderful and broken—broken in
the time of the Great Burning when the fire fell out of the sky. And always the current
took me nearer to the Place of the Gods, and the huge ruins rose before my eyes.
I do not know the customs of rivers—we are the People of the Hills. I tried to guide my
raft with the pole but it spun around. I thought the river meant to take me past the Place
of the Gods and out into the Bitter Water of the legends. I grew angry then—my heart
felt strong. I said aloud, "I am a priest and the son of a priest!" The gods heard me—
they showed me how to paddle with the pole on one side of the raft. The current
changed itself—I drew near to the Place of the Gods.
When I was very near, my raft struck and turned over. I can swim in our lakes—I
swam to the shore. There was a great spike of rusted metal sticking out into the river—
I hauled myself up upon it and sat there, panting. I had saved my bow and two arrows
and the knife I found in the Dead Place but that was all. My raft went whirling
downstream toward the Bitter Water. I looked after it, and thought if it had trod me
under, at least I would be safely dead. Nevertheless, when I had dried my bowstring
and re-strung it, I walked forward to the Place of the Gods.
It felt like ground underfoot; it did not burn me. It is not true what some of the tales
say, that the ground there burns forever, for I have been there. Here and there were the
marks and stains of the Great Burning, on the ruins, that is true. But they were old
marks and old stains. It is not true either, what some of our priests say, that it is an
island covered with fogs and enchantments. It is not. It is a great Dead Place—greater
than any Dead Place we know. Everywhere in it there are god-roads, though most are
cracked and broken. Everywhere there are the ruins of the high towers of the gods.
How shall I tell what I saw? I went carefully, my strung bow in my hand, my skin
ready for danger. There should have been the wailings of spirits and the shrieks of
demons, but there were not. It was very silent and sunny where I had landed—the wind
and the rain and the birds that drop seeds had done their work—the grass grew in the
cracks of the broken stone. It is a fair island—no wonder the gods built there. If I had
come there, a god, I also would have built.
How shall I tell what I saw? The towers are not all broken—here and there one still
stands, like a great tree in a forest, and the birds nest high. But the towers themselves
look blind, for the gods are gone. I saw a fishhawk, catching fish in the river. I saw a
little dance of white butterflies over a great heap of broken stones and columns. I went
there and looked about me—there was a carved stone with cut—letters, broken in half.
I can read letters but I could not understand these. They said UBTREAS. There was
also the shattered image of a man or a god. It had been made of white stone and he
wore his hair tied back like a woman's. His name was ASHING, as I read on the
cracked half of a stone. I thought it wise to pray to ASHING, though I do not know
that god.
How shall I tell what I saw? There was no smell of man left, on stone or metal. Nor
were there many trees in that wilderness of stone. There are many pigeons, nesting and
dropping in the towers—the gods must have loved them, or, perhaps, they used them
for sacrifices. There are wild cats that roam the god-roads, green-eyed, unafraid of
man. At night they wail like demons but they are not demons. The wild dogs are more
dangerous, for they hunt in a pack, but them I did not meet till later. Everywhere there
are the carved stones, carved with magical numbers or words.
I went north—I did not try to hide myself. When a god or a demon saw me, then I
would die, but meanwhile I was no longer afraid. My hunger for knowledge burned in
me—there was so much that I could not understand. After a while, I knew that my
belly was hungry. I could have hunted for my meat, but I did not hunt. It is known that
the gods did not hunt as we do—they got their food from enchanted boxes and jars.
Sometimes these are still found in the Dead Places—once, when I was a child and
foolish, I opened such a jar and tasted it and found the food sweet. But my father found
out and punished me for it strictly, for, often, that food is death. Now, though, I had
long gone past what was forbidden, and I entered the likeliest towers, looking for the
food of the gods.
I found it at last in the ruins of a great temple in the mid-city. A mighty temple it must
have been, for the roof was painted like the sky at night with its stars—that much I
could see, though the colors were faint and dim. It went down into great caves and
tunnels—perhaps they kept their slaves there. But when I started to climb down, I
heard the squeaking of rats, so I did not go—rats are unclean, and there must have been
many tribes of them, from the squeaking. But near there, I found food, in the heart of a
ruin, behind a door that still opened. I ate only the fruits from the jars—they had a very
sweet taste. There was drink, too, in bottles of glass—the drink of the gods was strong
and made my head swim. After I had eaten and drunk, I slept on the top of a stone, my
bow at my side.
When I woke, the sun was low. Looking down from where I lay, I saw a dog sitting on
his haunches. His tongue was hanging out of his mouth; he looked as if he were
laughing. He was a big dog, with a gray-brown coat, as big as a wolf. I sprang up and
shouted at him but he did not move—he just sat there as if he were laughing. I did not
like that. When I reached for a stone to throw, he moved swiftly out of the way of the
stone. He was not afraid of me; he looked at me as if I were meat. No doubt I could
have killed him with an arrow, but I did not know if there were others. Moreover, night
was falling.
I looked about me—not far away there was a great, broken god-road, leading north.
The towers were high enough, but not so high, and while many of the dead-houses
were wrecked, there were some that stood. I went toward this god-road, keeping to the
heights of the ruins, while the dog followed. When I had reached the god-road, I saw
that there were others behind him. If I had slept later, they would have come upon me
asleep and torn out my throat. As it was, they were sure enough of me; they did not
hurry. When I went into the dead-house, they kept watch at the entrance—doubtless
they thought they would have a fine hunt. But a dog cannot open a door and I knew,
from the books, that the gods did not like to live on the ground but on high.
I had just found a door I could open when the dogs decided to rush. Ha! They were
surprised when I shut the door in their faces—it was a good door, of strong metal. I
could hear their foolish baying beyond it but I did not stop to answer them. I was in
darkness—I found stairs and climbed. There were many stairs, turning around till my
head was dizzy. At the top was another door—I found the knob and opened it. I was in
a long small chamber—on one side of it was a bronze door that could not be opened,
for it had no handle. Perhaps there was a magic word to open it but I did not have the
word. I turned to the door in the opposite side of the wall. The lock of it was broken
and I opened it and went in.
Within, there was a place of great riches. The god who lived there must have been a
powerful god. The first room was a small ante-room—I waited there for some time,
telling the spirits of the place that I came in peace and not as a robber. When it seemed
to me that they had had time to hear me, I went on. Ah, what riches! Few, even, of the
windows had been broken—it was all as it had been. The great windows that looked
over the city had not been broken at all though they were dusty and streaked with many
years. There were coverings on the floors, the colors not greatly faded, and the chairs
were soft and deep. There were pictures upon the walls, very strange, very
wonderful—I remember one of a bunch of flowers in a jar—if you came close to it,
you could see nothing but bits of color, but if you stood away from it, the flowers
might have been picked yesterday. It made my heart feel strange to look at this
picture—and to look at the figure of a bird, in some hard clay, on a table and see it so
like our birds. Everywhere there were books and writings, many in tongues that I could
not read. The god who lived there must have been a wise god and full of knowledge. I
felt I had a right there, as I sought knowledge also.
Nevertheless, it was strange. There was a washing-place but no water—perhaps the
gods washed in air. There was a cooking-place but no wood, and though there was a
machine to cook food, there was no place to put fire in it. Nor were there candles or
lamps—there were things that looked like lamps but they had neither oil nor wick. All
these things were magic, but I touched them and lived—the magic had gone out of
them. Let me tell one thing to show. In the washing-place, a thing said "Hot" but it was
not hot to the touch—another thing said "Cold" but it was not cold. This must have
been a strong magic but the magic was gone. I do not understand—they had ways—I
wish that I knew.
It was close and dry and dusty in the house of the gods. I have said the magic was gone
but that is not true—it had gone from the magic things but it had not gone from the
place. I felt the spirits about me, weighing upon me. Nor had I ever slept in a Dead
Place before—and yet, tonight, I must sleep there. When I thought of it, my tongue felt
dry in my throat, in spite of my wish for knowledge. Almost I would have gone down
again and faced the dogs, but I did not.
I had not gone through all the rooms when the darkness fell. When it fell, I went back
to the big room looking over the city and made fire. There was a place to make fire and
a box with wood in it, though I do not think they cooked there. I wrapped myself in a
floor-covering and slept in front of the fire—I was very tired.
Now I tell what is very strong magic. I woke in the midst of the night. When I woke,
the fire had gone out and I was cold. It seemed to me that all around me there were
whisperings and voices. I closed my eyes to shut them out. Some will say that I slept
again, but I do not think that I slept. I could feel the spirits drawing my spirit out of my
body as a fish is drawn on a line.
Why should I lie about it? I am a priest and the son of a priest. If there are spirits, as
they say, in the small Dead Places near us, what spirits must there not be in that great
Place of the Gods? And would not they wish to speak? After such long years? I know
that I felt myself drawn as a fish is drawn on a line. I had stepped out of my body—I
could see my body asleep in front of the cold fire, but it was not I. I was drawn to look
out upon the city of the gods.
It should have been dark, for it was night, but it was not dark. Everywhere there were
lights—lines of light—circles and blurs of light—ten thousand torches would not have
been the same. The sky itself was alight—you could barely see the stars for the glow in
the sky. I thought to myself "This is strong magic" and trembled. There was a roaring
in my ears like the rushing of rivers. Then my eyes grew used to the light and my ears
to the sound. I knew that I was seeing the city as it had been when the gods were alive.
That was a sight indeed—yes, that was a sight: I could not have seen it in the body—
my body would have died. Everywhere went the gods, on foot and in chariots—there
were gods beyond number and counting and their chariots blocked the streets. They
had turned night to day for their pleasure-they did not sleep with the sun. The noise of
their coming and going was the noise of the many waters. It was magic what they
could do—it was magic what they did.
I looked out of another window—the great vines of their bridges were mended and
god-roads went east and west. Restless, restless, were the gods and always in motion!
They burrowed tunnels under rivers—they flew in the air. With unbelievable tools they
did giant works—no part of the earth was safe from them, for, if they wished for a
thing, they summoned it from the other side of the world. And always, as they labored
and rested, as they feasted and made love, there was a drum in their ears—the pulse of
the giant city, beating and beating like a man's heart.
Were they happy? What is happiness to the gods? They were great, they were mighty,
they were wonderful and terrible. As I looked upon them and their magic, I felt like a
child—but a little more, it seemed to me, and they would pull down the moon from the
sky. I saw them with wisdom beyond wisdom and knowledge beyond knowledge. And
yet not all they did was well done—even I could see that ? and yet their wisdom could
not but grow until all was peace.
Then I saw their fate come upon them and that was terrible past speech. It came upon
them as they walked the streets of their city. I have been in the fights with the Forest
People—I have seen men die. But this was not like that. When gods war with gods,
they use weapons we do not know. It was fire falling out of the sky and a mist that
poisoned. It was the time of the Great Burning and the Destruction. They ran about like
ants in the streets of their city—poor gods, poor gods! Then the towers began to fall. A
few escaped—yes, a few. The legends tell it. But, even after the city had become a
Dead Place, for many years the poison was still in the ground. I saw it happen, I saw
the last of them die. It was darkness over the broken city and I wept.
All this, I saw. I saw it as I have told it, though not in the body. When I woke in the
morning, I was hungry, but I did not think first of my hunger for my heart was
perplexed and confused. I knew the reason for the Dead Places but I did not see why it
had happened. It seemed to me it should not have happened, with all the magic they
had. I went through the house looking for an answer. There was so much in the house I
could not understand—and yet I am a priest and the son of a priest. It was like being on
one side of the great river, at night, with no light to show the way.
Then I saw the dead god. He was sitting in his chair, by the window, in a room I had
not entered before and, for the first moment, I thought that he was alive. Then I saw the
skin on the back of his hand—it was like dry leather. The room was shut, hot and
dry—no doubt that had kept him as he was. At first I was afraid to approach him—then
the fear left me. He was sitting looking out over the city—he was dressed in the clothes
of the gods. His age was neither young nor old—I could not tell his age. But there was
wisdom in his face and great sadness. You could see that he would have not run away.
He had sat at his window, watching his city die—then he himself had died. But it is
better to lose one's life than one's spirit—and you could see from the face that his spirit
had not been lost. I knew, that, if I touched him, he would fall into dust—and yet, there
was something unconquered in the face.
That is all of my story, for then I knew he was a man—I knew then that they had been
men, neither gods nor demons. It is a great knowledge, hard to tell and believe. They
were men—they went a dark road, but they were men. I had no fear after that—I had
no fear going home, though twice I fought off the dogs and once I was hunted for two
days by the Forest People. When I saw my father again, I prayed and was purified. He
touched my lips and my breast, he said, "You went away a boy. You come back a man
and a priest." I said, "Father, they were men! I have been in the Place of the Gods and
seen it! Now slay me, if it is the law—but still I know they were men."
He looked at me out of both eyes. He said, "The law is not always the same shape—
you have done what you have done. I could not have done it my time, but you come
after me. Tell!"
I told and he listened. After that, I wished to tell all the people but he showed me
otherwise. He said, "Truth is a hard deer to hunt. If you eat too much truth at once, you
may die of the truth. It was not idly that our fathers forbade the Dead Places." He was
right—it is better the truth should come little by little. I have learned that, being a
priest. Perhaps, in the old days, they ate knowledge too fast.
Nevertheless, we make a beginning. it is not for the metal alone we go to the Dead
Places now—there are the books and the writings. They are hard to learn. And the
magic tools are broken—but we can look at them and wonder. At least, we make a
beginning. And, when I am chief priest we shall go beyond the great river. We shall go
to the Place of the Gods—the place newyork—not one man but a company. We shall
look for the images of the gods and find the god ASHING and the others—the gods
Lincoln and Biltmore and Moses. But they were men who built the city, not gods or
demons. They were men. I remember the dead man's face. They were men who were
here before us. We must build again.