An Ancient Saga of Myth and Magic
Date Published: October 27, 2025
Publisher: MindStir Media
Alone but guided by ancestral spirits and a bond with a mysterious elephant, Etana journeys into the realm of myth. A powerful ruler summons her to tame a ferocious elephant meant for war. But to claim her future, she must master more than beasts--she must face enemies, survive betrayal, and confront a court that thrives on secrets and blood.
As kingdoms clash and gods murmur in dreams, Etana rises from fugitive to warrioress, from outcast to commander. In a world where loyalty is eternal and power demands sacrifice, who will she become when everything she loves is threatened?
Told through the rhythms of oral tradition and infused with magic, myth, and cultural memory, The Weight of Dreams is a luminous tale of spiritual resilience, feminine power, and the living bond between human and nature.
For readers of magical realism and literary historical fiction who believe the past still speaks--and sometimes, it sings.
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The Story of “Etana
and The Elephants.”
Someone says, “Storyteller, please give us another.”
“Tell us, ‘Etana and The Elephants.’”
“Yes, the story of the elephants.”
Griot nods assent. The tale is much requested. I like hearing it too.
The story is about me, though at the time, having passed only two rainy
seasons, I have no memory of the event. Like every villager who listens, I am a
fly caught in the web of Griot’s voice. He begins:
Twelve seasons of
rain have passed since that day. Many among us remember the tormenting heat.
How thirsty the air.
The Skygod had
withheld the clouds, and our stream was tired. The sacred mountain sent us only
a trickle. Day after day, we beseeched the god, chanting the sacred prayer,
making offerings. But we received nothing. No rain came, nor a sign of what we
must do to please him.
And so it was
that we, the Human People who from the beginning lived in the land the Skygod
gave us, began preparations. Our sacred home could no longer sustain us. We had
to leave Muk’etiland. We had to seek a new place.
The night before
our journey, dreams did not visit me. The heat sat on my chest. Atop my legs.
In my nose. I lay, unable to move. Perhaps the night had condensed itself to
trap me under its weight. The ancestors did not speak to me. Eyes closed, I
gazed into the void, but no spirit presented itself, as if they too did not
know whence this imprisonment came. I searched for escape. There was none.
At this, the villagers shift uncomfortably. Griot is not only our
storyteller but also possesses powerful Sight. What evil had beleaguered him?
Why could he not overcome the forces binding him?
Griot continues his story:
As the paralysis
continued, I thought the time for my death had come. I must leave my community,
my children, my wife, my friends. Yet, I was not forewarned. I had not revealed
to my son his final instruction or prepared the feast, nor had I completed the
sequence of rituals to bestow upon him the gift of Sight.
Not one person dares move. Even my sister of two rainy seasons is
entranced.
In the early
dawn, a cry reached me. My ears were opened! I rejoiced, yet the wail of
Etana’s mother brought worry. Her child could not be found. More people raised
the alarm.
Then a second
alert rang out. The drums signaled our most urgent warning. It meant we were
beset not by Crocodile People, for the stream was dry. Not by Lion People,
those creatures who see in the dark and break men’s necks in their mighty jaws.
We were endangered by the Beastgod’s most favored and greatest animal. Those
who, if angered, could destroy an entire village, leaving its Human People
trampled. The Elephant People had come.
The familiar tale is troubling, for the mystery of the massive
creatures’ appearance baffles us still. They had not approached the village
since the Storyteller’s father’s father was a child.
The debilitation
left my body. I ran to find the priest-chief. He had been led to the east gate
by the night watchman, the villagers trailing behind. Without speaking, the man
pointed a trembling finger east.
Against the
brightening sky, the great beasts gathered, facing the center of their circle.
One would advance, trunk out, reaching to explore. Then it tossed a giant head
or shouted as if pleased. Another would come forward, doing the same. The herd
moved from edge to center in a slow churn.
The sun lifted
from the rim of the world, and I learned the cause of their puzzlement. Etana,
who had not yet seen her third rainy season, stood alone, a tiny form among the
giants. She giggled when a trunk ruffled her hair. Smiling, she opened her arms
and spoke. A baby elephant bolted toward her, and my heart clenched. She would
be crushed. The watchman stepped forward, but I placed a hand on his shoulder.
“The Beastgod controls Etana’s fate. Only he can save her.”
An adult elephant
stepped forward, wrapped its trunk around the charging baby, and halted it.
Etana walked to the baby elephant, laying her cheek on its face. She stretched
her little arms to embrace it, her clear voice chanting the dawn salutation.
The elephants rocked side to side, swaying to her tender melody. Her song
complete, Etana spoke long, though I could not discern her words. Perhaps it
was not the language of Human People, but a tongue sent from the Beastgod. With
the village behind me, we watched.
When the sun was
four fingers above the horizon, the elephants moved away, one by one. The baby
was last to go. With a final pat to its head from Etana, it trailed the rest,
disappearing into the dust.
Furtive glances prick my skin. I ignore them and raise my chin as Griot
finishes:
Etana was scooped
up by her mother. When I questioned her, she spoke of “Mbindy.” As no female
among us carried that name, I left to seek the priest-chief.
Our hastily
assembled council debated the incident. If it was a sign from the gods, we knew
nothing of its meaning. Did Etana’s communication with the elephants mean we
should follow them? Or did the gods’ protection from the beasts indicate we
should stay? After long debate, we agreed to set out the following dawn.
And lo, as the
new sun was born over the horizon, the holy mountains were crowned with
clouds.” Griot smiles. “The season of rain had begun. By evening, water flowed
in our river. And to this day, we, the Yets’eḥāyi,
created in the image of the Skygod, remain in the land of Muk’eti.
To find her latest releases and upcoming novels, visit www.NicoleSorrell.com.
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