Vela Liya

An original short story by Karen McGovern

In the dark of night, under the first full moon of summer, the women gather. Their meeting place is an ancient, gnarled tree-long ago leafless, yet very much alive, whose twisting limbs reach up to the midnight sky. Like a monolithic ballerina, this tree seems to cup the moon in bent and gracefully curving branches. Creeping 'round and up the tree, tangled in every nook and cranny, is a twisting, twining vine--a leafy boa of green. It is this vine that the women come to tend.

The legend has existed since the moon was hung in the diamond sky. "Vela Liya" the Climbing Woman Vine. Flowering for a single night but once a decade, the vine produces hundreds of large, multicolored blooms, each possessing magic in the form of sweet liquid nectar believed to prolong life, cure illness, and most importantly, bring visions to the medicine women of the tribe. The location of the vine and its host tree are fiercely guarded secrets, passed from grandmother to mother to daughter, forever. No one knows how long the tree or vine can live, but neither can live without the other. It is said that the passing of the oldest wise woman within the tribe often precedes death of the vine and tree.

Tending the vine is crucial to its survival. In order for the vine to ever grow or bloom again, it must be pollinated by a specific species of moth known to the women as the "zla ba sayap" or moon-wing moth.

Legend says that the moth is attracted to the vine by two things--candlelight and music. So, the women gather. They place candles around the tree and each woman begins to play a simple, brass whistle. The song they create is primitive and beautiful. With each note, they gently sway and move, carrying the song on the midnight wind. Soon, the moths begin to arrive. Huge and lovely, their wings patterned with iridescent "eye" spots that glow and flash in the moonlight. As if on cue, folded flower buds open and turn their brilliant faces to the sky. The moths visit each bloom in turn, taking sips of precious nectar while depositing precious pollen. The vine is renewed and the women rejoice. Just before sunrise the moths leave and some of the blossoms are harvested. Never all, but just enough are taken--a perfect circle of growth and spirit. Both tribe and vine will survive.