What do you think?
Rate this book


466 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1949
The sun let down its hair. The summer was received in the domain of the chieftain of Ilóm with comb honey rubbed on the branches of the fruit trees, so the fruit would be sweet; with headdresses of immortelles on the heads of the women, so the women would be fertile; and with dead raccoons hanging from the doors of the ranchos, so the men would be potent.
The firefly wizards, descendants of the great clashers of flint stones, sowed sparkling lights in the black air of the night to be sure there would be guiding stars in the winter. The firefly wizards with their obsidian sparks. The firefly wizards, who dwelt in tents of virgin doeskin.
The gods have disappeared, but the legends remain and they, like the gods before them, demand sacrifices. Gone too are the obsidian knives which tore out the hearts of sacrificial victims, but the knives of absence which wound and madden, remain.
“…Life ain't no iguana's tail where you chop off one piece and another comes out to face the danger anew. You lose it and it stays lost. Don't sprout again. Ain't on permanent lease.”