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Coyote's Voice

by Altivo Overo (copyright 2015)

In the dawn of time, ever so long ago, after Mother Gaia sang the world into existence with all its oceans, lakes and rivers, mountains, plains and forests, she made the creatures to be her children and to live in her world. Since they were made from clay and dried in the sun, all were the same color. Though their forms varied, their shapes were vague like the mud from which they had come.

Gaia sat and pondered how to best improve her creations before breathing life into them. Her songs made the world itself beautiful, brightly colored, and filled with myriad plant life. The birds of the air and the animals of the earth and water needed to fit into that. At last she had an idea, and taking each individual creature into her hands again, she closed her eyes briefly and sang to them the gifts they would receive. Finally, she opened her eyes and breathed across them, giving them awareness and the breath of life. As this took place, the birds received their wings and bright feathers. The fish grew scales and fins, opening their mouths to suck in the water as Gaia released them into the oceans and lakes. The furry creatures of the earth were most complicated, and she took more time with each of them. Many received a special gift.

So it was that Fox received an amazing sense of smell that let him identify everything for miles around, and even things that were no longer present. Horse was given his hard hooves and the ability to run for miles without tiring. Bear huffed in surprise as his claws grew long and strong to let him climb trees and tear open nests or dig to find food. Wolf got a lush fur coat that could withstand the coldest winter. Rabbit got feet that could run like the wind and also dig a hiding place in an instant.

When at last she came to Coyote, Mother Gaia pondered him for a long time. Eventually she stroked him and sang. The dull yellow clay became a mixture of colors that could hide him whether he was in the desert or on a meadow, with fur that could keep him cooler in the desert sun yet warm him and keep him dry in a winter rain. She breathed on him, and Coyote was alive.

All the birds and animals had now received their form and their gifts. Gaia clapped her hands three times and sang again, summoning them to a meeting. When all of the air and earth dwellers sat around her, row upon row, she spoke to them.

"Beloved children, you are my family. That means you are all brothers and sisters too. I know I have made you so that you will sometimes quarrel and even kill each other, but always remember that I love every one of you. Think carefully before you turn your backs on one another, and always share as much as you can." The animals blinked and nodded. The birds chirped their assent. Gaia continued her speech.

"You have each received gifts according to your kind and nature, but I have one more thing to give to you. One by one, you will come to me and tell me your greatest wish. If it is in my power to grant it to you, I shall do so. Think carefully before you ask, because you will have only one chance. You and your children and your children's children shall live forever with the gift you select." Then Mother Gaia sat down on the grass, and summoned each of them to her, one by one, to let them whisper their wish to her. It took many days and nights before she had listened to each and granted every wish.

It was on the last day, in the afternoon, when Raven stepped up boldly and sat on Gaia's wrist to tell her his desire. She regarded him, waiting. His feathers were black and glittered in the sun. His bright eyes indicated a mind sharper than many of his winged cousins possessed, and like most of the birds, he had a talented singing voice that could be heard from afar. Gaia leaned toward him and he hissed something into her ear. She blinked at him and laughed.

"I never expected you to be vain," she told him. But she granted his wish just the same, with conditions attached. As she brushed her fingers over his wings and breast, the feathers turned to crimson red with black tips. "There you are. But remember, you may wear the bright colors only in the spring. By autumn you must put them away and appear black as you were at first. That is safer in the winter against the snow and the barren branches." Raven promised to do this, and bobbed his thanks before flying off into the trees.

Eventually, Fox had his turn. He settled comfortably into Mother Gaia's lap, wrapping his fluffy brown tail over his feet. His fur was brown you see, for camouflage in the forest shadows, but his eyes were bright as he murmured his wish to Gaia. She smiled fondly and stroked his head between the ears. "Granted, and may you have good use of it," was all she said. Fox dared to brush his pink tongue against the mother's fingers as a thank you, then whisked off into the dusk.

Coyote came last, and sat on his haunches in the grass, his yellow eyes regarding Gaia. She leaned toward him and he breathed something into her ear. As when she had given him his original form and gifts, Gaia stared at him thoughtfully. Finally she nodded her assent. "It seems a bit strange," she admitted, "but I agree that the world needs some laughter. Everyone cannot be serious all the time." She blew hard across Coyote's ears, so that they fluttered in the breeze she made and he shook his head and sneezed twice. "Use your sense of humor wisely," the mother advised him. "Not everything should be a joke, and not everyone will laugh."

Coyote bowed to Gaia, lowering his forelegs to the ground even as his tail wagged behind him. Then he sprang into the air with a shrill yip and ran off to the dry plains.

Gaia looked around. She saw that there were no other supplicants left and nodded to herself. "Time for a long nap," she sang, and laid herself among the grasses and spring flowers to rest. With the subtlety of a gentle breeze she faded into the ground and disappeared. The creatures of earth, air, and water went about the business of feeding themselves, making homes, and soon, multiplying their numbers.

The summer days fled by and the world began to develop a daily routine. Everyone was busy, and when the nights began to cool, they knew winter was coming. Even more had to be done to prepare for that.

Coyote, however, was a dreamer. The harsh desert climate of his chosen home would not change much even in winter, and he had time to ponder. Some would tell you that thinking is never a good thing, and that idle paws are sure to find mischief. Coyote would laugh at that. On a cool evening in September, he sat on a rocky outcropping to watch the sun set. As it happened, the sky that day was particularly clear but strong winds whipped dust into the air as it cooled. The fire and color of the sun's descent was magnificent.

Watching the sky turning from yellow to orange to red, Coyote felt an urge deep in his heart to sing a farewell to the descending sun. He drew breath and tried, but all he could produce was a shrill bark. "Perhaps I need to keep my mouth closed more tightly," he thought, and did that. This time a mournful whine was the only sound that escaped him. He tried several times, but just couldn't find a singing voice. Of course, he had never tried singing. Maybe it had to be learned, but he wasn't sure how to learn it.

As he laid on his bed of dry grasses that night, Coyote tried to think how he might learn to sing musically. Birds did that, he knew, but none of the furry animals had shown any inclination to song. Or at least, they hadn't while he was around to hear it. Before he slept he promised himself to ask among the birds for a teacher.

Coyote awoke at dawn to a chorus of chirp and twitter. Even in his desert, there were birds. The doves chortled softly as they flew against the brightening sky. The cactus wren sang his hoarse little tune again and again, even though the time for nesting was many weeks past. Coyote was not very impressed by the wren's singing, but approached him anyway.

It seemed the wren wasn't very excited to see Coyote, either. Flying to the top of a spike armored saguaro, the spotted bird perched among the sharp spines and made buzzing noises to show his contempt. Coyote was not about to be dissuaded in his quest, though. He padded around the base of the giant cactus and called up to the wren.

"I am not hunting," he cried. "I wish to learn to sing. Will you teach me?"

Cactus Wren peered down at Coyote before answering. "I am no great singer," the bird buzzed. "You should go to the Raven. He sings each evening in the mountains north of here." The wren nodded, and pointed his beak at the blue line of peaks against the northern horizon.

Coyote followed the bird's gaze, and nodded. "Perhaps you are right, my friend. I will go and hear Raven sing." Without even waiting to find some breakfast, he set out at a dog trot over the sand and tussocks, traveling ever northward.

For much of the day, it seemed that the blue mountains grew no closer. Made for the desert, Coyote did not give up. He paced himself, and took advantage of what water he could find. As the sun began to redden and sink on his left side, he heard the doves flying overhead, traveling in the same northward direction he was taking. He knew that there would be water and shade wherever they went for the night, so he kept his direction.

The slope of the ground became rougher, and the heat of the day fell off into a pleasant cool that refreshed Coyote's energies and gave him a second wind. When he could no longer see the mountains, though, he sought a resting place for the night. Between two rocks that still held the sun's warmth, partly hidden by a fragrant sage, he settled for a nap but kept his ears perked. Sleep without supper was no stranger to him, and he would be awake at the first light or at any suspicious sound. Or so he thought.

False dawn crept into the sky before he opened his eyes and yawned. His nose prickled with a scent he had not known for many months and it took him a moment to identify it. Fox! What would Fox be doing here in the desert? Coyote raised his head slowly and peered into the half light. Sure enough, Fox was sitting by another rock just a few yards away and watching him.

Seeing Coyote stir, Fox rose and stretched before coming closer by a pace or two. "Good morning, cousin," he began. "A dove told me you were coming this way, so I thought I'd seek you out. What brings you to the mountains?"

Coyote stepped from his sheltered spot, and let his tongue loll for a moment as he considered a response. "I come seeking Raven, as I wish to bargain with him," he answered. "Have you seen him recently?"

A bark of laughter escaped the Fox. "You too? Yes, he's quite close by, but I haven't been able to talk him into any kind of deal."

Coyote wondered at that. What could Fox be seeking from the Raven? Certainly not the same thing he was looking for. He knew the fox sang only hoarsely, but it served the purposes of his brown-furred cousin. "You were trying to trade something with Raven?" he asked.

Fox nodded. "I thought he might share his red color with me. Gaia forbade him to wear it in winter, so perhaps he would let me wear it then and return it to him in the spring. Think how handsome I could be to impress a mate. I'd give the red vest back to Raven in the spring, when he needs a mate himself."

"How very clever of you, cousin," Coyote answered. "You could protect and guard the vest for Raven so he wouldn't have to watch over its hiding place, and he'd have it back safely when he needed it. My request is simpler. I want him to give me singing lessons."

At this the Fox grinned. "What will you trade him? That's the sticking point I reached. He demands a payment and I have little to offer other than protection for his fine colored vest."

"I have considered that carefully," said Coyote. "And I'm willing to share my sense of humor with Raven."

The Fox narrowed his eyes and peered at his dusky relation. "Walk with me," he said. "We have things to discuss. And you must be in need of breakfast, no?"

Coyote stood and stretched again before they set out. Fox trotted quickly enough that Coyote was forced to pant a bit. He felt stiffened by his long run of the previous day, but after a mile or two he could lope along easily enough. The fox brought him to a stream of flowing water, with sour plums growing in the sand along the bank.

"Drink, cousin," said Fox. "The water is good, and the plums are sour but edible. Don't swallow too many of the pits, though."

Bending to drink, Coyote caught a movement out of the side of his eye and pounced like the desert lightning. The unfortunate mouse had no chance, for such is the way of Gaia. There are eaters and the eaten. The eaten must be wary and quick, or they will be dinner.

Fox nodded approval when Coyote turned to him, the fat mouse in his teeth. "You needn't offer to share," the fox told him. "I had breakfast already." Coyote wolfed down his meal whole, and drank from the stream before grinning toothily.

Rising again, the fox pointed at the mountains with his muzzle. "Raven should be quite near us at this hour," he said. And indeed, Coyote realized that they were standing in the foothills of the mountains, at the edge where the desert meets the greener lands. His ears perked at the sound of a faint bird song. Fox winked. "You hear him, I see."

Raven sang like a nightingale in those days, but unlike his cousin, he sang at morning to greet the new day. Fox and Coyote followed their ears and before long found the black one perched over a trickling spring where snow melt from the high mountains bubbled to the surface after trickling down through cracks in the rock. They sat a while and listened. Coyote thought his heart might burst with the desire to sing like that. Fox, however, appeared unmoved.

At last the raven ended his song and peered down at the two canids below. "Ah," he croaked, for his speaking voice was much as it is even today, "An admiring audience? Or have you come to ask a boon as well, dog of the desert?"

Coyote made a formal bow, lowering his ears in respect. "I have come, Raven, to ask for your teaching and advice," he said. "Can you teach me to sing?"

Raven stared at both of them for a while before answering. "I might be able to offer some instruction, yes. But I will require a fair exchange for that service."

Coyote nodded. "Gaia gave me a generous gift, a sense of humor and the ability to play marvelous tricks on the senses of others. I'm willing to share it with you, half and half, if you will only help me to sing. I know I cannot sound as magnificent as you do, but I would like to be able to honor the sun at evening and the moon in the night with my hymns."

"How can you share Gaia's gift?" the raven asked suspiciously. "Surely she gave it to you alone."

"Fox here will be witness to our bargain. Then I will show you what Gaia showed me." Coyote nodded to Fox, and moved nearer to Raven.

Unruffled, Raven sat and watched the coyote. "All right," he agreed. "I will give you lessons, the best I can do. I have no magic to change your voice, though. Show me Gaia's secret so that I can also play tricks, laugh, and make others laugh."

Fox nodded. "I witness this agreement," he said. "And I will bear that witness before Gaia should she question it."

Coyote raised his muzzle to the raven. "Come down then and stand where I can whisper to you. I promise not to harm you. After all, how could you fulfill your half of the bargain if I did so?"

After a brief hesitation, the raven spread his wings and glided down to stand on the ground within Coyote's reach. In his turn, the coyote leaned toward Raven and breathed on him, ruffling his feathers ever so lightly, and making a little whine in his throat.

The bird blinked, and flapped his wings once. He shook his head. "How did you learn that?" he asked. "I can feel your gift growing within me though. You really did something." Raven edged away from Coyote, but kept his eyes on him.

Neither of them noticed as Fox crept off through the underbrush, silent as a fox can be and that is indeed very quiet.

"Well?" Coyote asked after a few minutes. "What about your part?"

Raven ruffled his feathers a bit, then flew back up to the top of his rock, out of reach for any but another bird. "Show me what you can do," he commanded. "I must hear your voice before I can offer advice."

"Very well." Coyote raised his face to the sun, which now stood well above the horizon, and closed his eyes against the glare. He tried to sing, but as with his past attempts, all he could manage was a few barks and whines. He stopped and coughed. When he raised his eyes again to find the raven, the bird had already taken flight.

Circling over Coyote's head, Raven called down his derision. "That's hopeless. There is nothing I can do to help you with that." And with that insult, the bird rose into the sky and flew away, leaving the coyote alone and dejected.

At first he just felt hurt, but it didn't take long for Coyote to realize that he had been cheated. He had truly given half his sense of humor to Raven, and he could tell it was gone because he couldn't laugh at all at what had just happened. He looked around and realized that Fox had vanished too. With a sad little whimper, he laid down in the dust, shaded by the tall rock where the raven had perched, and covered his face with his paws. Unhappiness, a feeling quite unfamiliar to him, threatened to draw his very heart from his chest.

After a while, though, his nose warned him that Fox was returning. Coyote sat up and peeked around the sheltering rock. He couldn't believe what he saw.

Fox strutted proudly into view, his lush coat flaming red in the sunlight. He sat down a few yards from the rock, and groomed himself with his tongue as Coyote watched. Finally he could hold his peace no longer and took a step forward. "Cousin," he asked, "What have you done to your fur?"

The fox stood and danced in a circle, showing Coyote how he looked from all sides. His white chest ruff and belly fur were unchanged, and the tips of his ears and nose remained dark brown as well. His legs were dark brown as before, but only from the paws to knee or elbow. The rest of his coat was a lustrous red, almost as bright as the crimson of the setting sun. "Can you not guess?" he asked.

Coyote realized that his wits were not completely dulled yet. "You have stolen Raven's red vest," he accused. "How do you expect to get away with that?"

"Possession makes it mine, does it not?" the fox replied. "How can the stupid bird take it back? It was easy to find it hidden in the bushes under his nest. Thank you for distracting him."

"Well, he cheated me," Coyote growled, shaking his head. "I truly gave him a large portion of my trickster's sense, and then he told me he could teach me nothing." The coyote scuffed the ground with his back paws, ears lowered.

Fox raised an eyebrow. "Where did he go then? I did not see him at all."

Coyote pointed with his muzzle in the direction the raven had taken. "He flew off high in that direction. Is that the way to his home?"

The fox nodded. "Gone to check on the hiding place. Come quickly then, he'll be looking for me and will want to gloat over you."

The two canids took off at a steady pace, heading back toward the spot where they had met. At first they seemed to be making good time, but no more than half the way to their goal, they heard an angry shriek from the air over their heads. Raven dived at Fox, screaming "Thief! Thief!" before he began to tug at the red fur over the fox's shoulders and peck at his ears.

Fox looked about desperately for a place to shelter, and quickly scrabbled into a spot under two rocks that leaned drunkenly against each other. He didn't quite fit into the space, and his tail was left hanging out.

The angry raven was not to be put off so easily. He flew at the tail and grabbed it in his beak, biting down hard. Fox yelped in pain, but the crevice he had chosen was so narrow that he could not turn and fight. He had to back out carefully. As he did so, Raven gave a triumphant cry and flew into the air, with half of Fox's luxurious tail hanging from his beak. The bird flew back toward the mountains without saying anything.

Fox was now the one left to sit dejected in the dust, licking at his injured tail and whimpering. Coyote shook his head. "Justice finds us all, sooner or later," he remarked.

The fox didn't laugh. He grimaced in pain before declaring "Well, Raven won't be getting his vest back come spring, that's for sure."

"Nor I my ability to make light of everything, I fear. So far I'm not inclined to laugh at all. I feel empty instead. I'd advise you to find some cool water to soak that in, cousin. It should take away at least some of the sting."

Looking back at his ruined tail, Fox sighed. "I suppose you're right. Red fur is flashy, but with only half a tail I'm no better looking than I was before. Travel safely on your way home, cousin. I found the raven for you, but little good it did either of us." With that, the fox set off for his own den at a slow lope.

Coyote watched the fox fade into the distance before turning his own paws toward home. As he trotted southward, he tried to formulate a plan to get his clever abilities back from Raven, but could see no way to do it. After all, Raven would see through any trick he tried now because his own mind could work in the same way. And without Raven's cooperation, there was no way for him to take back his talents by force. There was no physical object linked to the gift, the way Raven's removable vest of scarlet had been made.

Reaching the edge of the desert just as the sun set in the west, Coyote sat down to admire the shifting colors and shadows and enjoy the creeping coolness of the approaching night. When the reds and purples flared just before the sun vanished, his heart ached. He still wanted to sing. The only sound he could make was a sad whine of disappointment, so he crawled under a sage bush to sleep.

Tired, the coyote slept well until just before dawn when he dreamed of Raven taunting him and chuckling just above his reach. Light touched his eyelids and he opened them as light began to overspread the sky and drown the stars. He realized he was still hearing the chuckling.

It was just Cactus Wren, though. As Coyote stretched and yawned, the bird paused in his buzzing song. "Did you find Raven? Did he help you?" the wren asked.

Coyote shook his head. "I found him and he agreed to teach me in return for a share of my gift of wit. After I transferred the gift to him, he said he couldn't teach me because my voice was not good enough."

Cactus Wren clucked loudly. "Even Raven knows that he must treat you more fairly than that. I think you had best appeal to Gaia. You did nothing wrong and she will rule in your favor."

"Nothing wrong? I gave away half of her fine gift to me, the one that I had asked her for. That may not have been wrong in any sense, but it was foolish. Very foolish of me." Coyote sank down onto the ground again and covered his eyes in shame.

The wren fluttered past his ears, ruffling the fur. "Foolish is not wrong, puppy," he buzzed. "Ask the Lady to forgive and help you."

Coyote peeked from beneath his paws, but Cactus Wren had left. At first he thought he had gotten into this mess by taking a bird's advice, but in the end he decided that the worst Gaia might do is refuse to help him. Without looking for breakfast, he set out for the place where the gifts were passed out in hopes of finding the Lady there.

It was the best part of a day's travel to the south, and Coyote arrived footsore and still fasting. He sat on the little knoll where Gaia passed out her final gifts, and sighed. The sun was setting, but it was veiled with clouds and the display didn't inspire him. Without even bothering to look for cover, he laid himself down on the ground and was immediately asleep.

When he felt the sun on his eyelids and a chill autumn breeze over his ears, Coyote kept his eyes closed. He didn't feel ready to face another day, but a soft voice spoke to him. It said "Wake up, child. Do not try to hide."

Coyote opened his eyes, and found Gaia squatting in front of him and looking right into them. "Ah, there," she told him, and stroked his ruff. "It isn't as bad as you think. Tell me what happened." So he sat beside her and told the whole story, ending with how sorry he was to have lost part of her magical gift.

Gaia laughed, a bright and gentle sound. "You could have done far worse, my little one," she said. "In fact, some have. And I will see them now. Just stay still and don't be afraid." With that, the Lady stood up and clapped her hands once. A cloud covered the sun, and thunder rumbled. Coyote felt the earth shake a little. To his surprise, he realized that both Raven and Fox stood blinking before her. He was even more surprised when he realized that both were cowering and unable to look at Gaia.

"I see," the Lady announced in firm tones, "That some of my children did not listen to my advice in those first days." She looked first at Raven. "What do you have to say for yourself, black bird?"

Raven winced at her voice and stared at the ground. "Fox stole your gift from me," he croaked.

"Indeed. But what did you steal from Coyote? And what did I tell all of you about sharing and treating each other well?" Raven stood silent and trembling, staring at the ground.

Then Gaia turned her gaze on Fox. "I see," she said, "that I was perhaps too generous with you. It was a good gift that you asked for, and I never thought you would misuse it so. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Fox opened only one eye. "Raven bit my tail off," he whined.

"Indeed again. But what did you steal from Raven? Both of you are thieves. Coyote at least tried to make an honest trade, but the two of you have embarrassed yourselves and me as well. What judgement do you think is appropriate? And don't expect to escape punishment either."

Raven looked up into the Lady's eyes at last. "Fox tried to make a bargain with me," he admitted. "It would have been a fair one, but I refused. Let him keep the vest. I deserve to remain black."

Fox opened both his eyes and looked straight at Gaia. "No, let Raven have his vest back," he said. "I shouldn't have deceived him and stolen it."

Gaia watched them, pondering the situation for several minutes. If either had been able to sweat, they surely would have done so before she rendered her verdict.

"Fox first," she announced. "You are guilty of envy and theft, but I am guilty of giving you too much cleverness, making it easy for you to commit this crime. You shall have your tail back, but the tip of it will now be white to signify that you are a known thief. Your children and your children's children shall wear that mark until the end of time." Fox nodded sorrowfully at this.

" Now Raven," Gaia continued. "You are guilty above all, of pride. But you were also deceitful with Coyote, because you knew you couldn't teach him to sing or give him a voice to sing with. Yet you took his gift, willingly offered, knowing you could return nothing. As you say, you deserve to remain black, and so you shall do, and your children, and your children's children. I cannot take back what Coyote gave you, for it was his to give. But I can take back what I gave you, and so I shall do. I grant your singing voice to Coyote in return for what he gave you.

"Furthermore, since the beautiful red vest should not go to waste, Fox shall keep it. But in payment, I award part of the gift I gave him to Coyote in recompense for his lost wit." She held out a hand to Fox. "Come here."

Reluctantly, the now red devil obeyed. Gaia touched his tail lightly, and it was renewed just as she had promised, with a brilliant white fluff at the end that would betray him even in dim light. Smiling but with a sad look in her eyes, she stroked his head again, and it seemed to Coyote that some of the spark in his cousin's eyes dimmed a little. "Go now," the Lady told him. "To the end of your days, others will hunt you and despise you. Your scent will betray you, and the colors you coveted will show you up when you would rather hide. Even so, you still have more wits about you than my other children, and you and your family will fare well enough." Obediently, the fox ran off toward his home, tail flashing in the sunlight.

"Raven now," Gaia commanded. She held out her right hand, and the bird flapped his wings once and settled on her wrist. She touched his throat and he blinked as he felt his voice shrink and vanish. "Blackguard you are and shall be, and your children through all time," she told him, shaking her head. "I had better hopes for you. All you have lost is your voice and your vanity. Use Coyote's gift to appreciate how much worse it might have gone with you. Fly now." Raven took flight and flew away north as fast as he could go.

Gaia turned to Coyote and smiled. "Shy Coyote, come to me." Coyote obeyed, but tucked his tail under in embarrassment. He sat before her, but did not meet her gaze even when she rubbed his head and patted his throat and chest. "You will be able to sing to the sun and moon now," she promised. "Not as musically as the birds perhaps, but it will sound good to you and to your children, and I think the moon at least will hear and approve. You have rubbed shoulders with two scoundrels and their scent has touched you. Some will always call you a thief and a deceiver as well, but you can rise above that. Remember that no matter how lowly you feel or how badly you are treated, I love you still. You did well, and acted in good faith, so you are rewarded with what you asked and more. Do as well with it as you can."

Coyote looked up into Gaia's face then, and felt the warmth of her approval and love. A shimmer of light, and she was gone. He turned toward home with sore feet and an empty belly, but his heart was full.