Sister Song of the Solar Eclipse

Serena was the female god of the sun. “Goddess” somehow sounds diminutive, so for the purpose of the story, we will call her a god. She had powers that reached beyond any that preceded or followed her. She’d carried the responsibility of giving light since before her birth. Her father had been a lowly peasant, but her mother was a fire goddess, and her light and heat were passed onto her daughter and multiplied a thousand-fold. Serena was born with a halo of light surrounding her. She was hot to the touch. Her parents had to move her onto a blanket of towels, like a hot cake, whenever they wanted to hold her. She had strength in her limbs that was unheard of in infants. Her parents instantly knew who she was. She revelled in the attention she received from relatives. Everyone was transfixed by her. You couldn’t not be. She was the picture of idyll, contained in apparent, but not solely human form.

A short year after her birth, Serena became a sister. Her sister was everything she wasn’t. She was aptly named Modesta, and she never tried to eclipse her sister’s light. She was a born follower. She was the type of goddess that held a supporting role rather than taking strides through the world of ancient myth, establishing new rules. She was a quiet, good-humoured friend to Serena. She perfectly complimented her extroverted personality. The girls never fought, but Modesta couldn’t help believing that she was “less” than her sister. Her parents didn’t fuss over her as much. They forgot her presence for weeks on end. They were so preoccupied with her light-giving sister, the origin of life in the universe, the original source of all goodness. Everything she oriented herself towards thrived. She contained the energy that everything needed to survive. So, Modesta fell into the shadows. She was well able to accept that, having always been emotionally mature for her age. There was none of the typical sibling rivalry. She knew she couldn’t measure up to her sister, so she didn’t try to. Modesta suffered with her own quiet grief, but she never consciously thought of it, never mind sharing her feelings with anyone. She was often sad. That was the only sign of her feelings of small self-worth, and everyone was too busy to notice. She carried on, doing what she did best, shadowing everyone around her, providing a quiet glow rather than lighting up an entire universe.

People often talk about whenever someone walks into a room and lights it up with their smile. That was only a miniscule fraction of what Serena did. Every year, at their palace, they held a party. Her parents said it was to celebrate the strength of the sun. They showered their first-born daughter with gifts and placed her centre stage, to entertain all the party guests. Since she came from a mixed marriage, the party guests were mixed too. They varied from farmers and blue-collar workers to kings, queens and gods in their own rights. The room heaved with the number of bodies, both human and celestial.

On top of her heat and light, Serena had a very strong, clear voice. It could cut through a noisy crowd and grab the attention of every talker in the room. Modesta watched, year in, year out as her sister performed for the masses. She wore a gold gown that was so bright it was almost blinding, but still, they couldn’t convince their eyes to look away. They followed the sun by an act of obedience. She held all the power in that room. Modesta remained in the shadows, watching her sister fondly, wearing her own silver gown that subtly glowed in the darkness. It did so with less intensity, but whenever you were looking at it, it was notable just how much it lit up the darkness. No one was looking into the darkest corner though; they were fixated on the stage show. The more Serena sang, the more the strength of the sunlight increased. It was reflected in the sun as seen from earth. It fed it more and more firelighters and it kept burning bright like the unimaginably enormous star that it was.

After an hour or more of performing at her brightest, Serena didn’t show any sign of her energy ebbing away. Her parents looked on in admiration, as did her sister, sitting in the back of the room, with her beautiful spiritual awareness that everyone always missed. She was like an ocean filled with emotions, all of them gentle but life-giving in their own way. She emitted a vibe of rest – like the heavy-lidded eyes of slumber-seeking babies. It was a calming influence that could barely be noticed, unless you chose to shift your focus away from the sun.

Serena stopped singing and regarded her sister in the far corner of the room. Everyone paused what they were doing and watched Serena with a devotion that only gods can inspire. They followed the path of her vision and found her silver-gowned sister meeting her gaze with a small smile. She beckoned for her to come to the front of the room. Modesta got to her feet and walked slowly but with purpose towards her sister. Serena encouraged her to move onto the stage, but Modesta had no idea what she wanted her to say. When she climbed the steps and stopped by her sister’s side, Serena nudged her in front of her, so she obscured everyone’s view of Serena. Some rays of light escaped around her sides, but Serena moved Modesta’s arms to blot out every part. Serena started to sing a sad but beautiful song, and everyone fell into a lull: one that contrasted with the party but one they needed to feel. Darkness enveloped them, apart from her ghostly glow gently illuminating the room.

“And that,” winked Nannie Elaine, looking at her granddaughter, “Is how the solar eclipse came to exist, Pet.”