“Morning Star, the star that shines brightest when all other stars go dim, the star that shines not with its own light but with the light of the Sun…”
Note: In most but not necessarily all cases, old Cherokee stories refer to the Sun as female.
According to the old ones, the house of the Sun is in the east, beyond the sky dome, but the Daughter of the Sun used to live in the middle of the sky. Every day, in her travels, the Sun stopped at her daughter’s house for lunch. It was at this hottest part of the day that the Sun would also pause to look down at her grandchildren on the earth. When she saw the people squinting back up at her, the Sun grew angry. “My grandchildren hate me!” the Sun exclaimed to her brother, the Moon. “Just see how they scrunch up their faces whenever they look my way.” In her wrath, the Sun grew hotter and hotter, until all the crops dried up.
In desperation, the people looked high and low for a solution to the problem. Finally, the Little People came up with what seemed to be a logical solution. Now, the Little People are spirit folk. There are some spirit people who are good and some who are bad. The Little People have much in common with us human beings, in that, they can go either way. They may be helpful, or they may be mischievous. They may act wisely, or their actions may prove hurtful. Here’s what the Little People did in this situation: They changed two men into snakes. The first they changed into the Spread-Head snake. The second was transformed into the Copperhead. These two were instructed to travel up the sky vault, to wait at the house of the Daughter of the Sun. “When the Sun arrives outside her daughter’s door,” the Little People said, “strike quickly with your deadly fangs.” The two snakes slithered away to accomplish their task, but when the Sun arrived, her light so blinded the Spread-Head that when he struck, he forgot to even open his mouth to bite. He flattened his nose against the Sun. Then, in his fright, he rolled on his back and played dead, stinking like a rotting carcass, just as he does to this day. The Sun called him a nasty thing and went on into her daughter’s house. The Copperhead was so afraid; he crawled quickly away without even trying to bite, and so these two returned to the earth.
After this first failure, the Little People decided to try again. They changed two more men into snakes. One of these became the Rattlesnake. The other became the Uktin, the Great Horned Serpent. So, you see, all of these four: the Spread-Head, the Copperhead, the Rattlesnake and the Uktin were once men. Well, just as the others had done, the Rattlesnake and the Uktin traveled up the sky vault to lie in wait outside the door to the house of the Daughter of the Sun. The Sun was still in there, having some lunch with her daughter.
The Uktin was very big and dangerous. His poison was so potent that even a little splashed on the skin could be deadly, and the mere look of the Uktin’s eye could kill. All the people were thinking, “As big and mean as that Uktin is, he is sure to do the job and kill the Sun.” But the Rattlesnake was quicker than the Uktin. Getting there first, he coiled up outside the door, nervously shaking his tail as he waited for the Sun to emerge. The Rattlesnake was so eager, that as soon as the door opened, he struck. But instead of striking the Sun, the Rattlesnake struck the Daughter of the Sun. The Sun went on her way, but the Daughter of the Sun died from the poisonous bite. As with the others before them, these two snakes returned to the earth.
The Sun burned hotter and hotter, so vengeful was she for the death of her daughter. The people could no longer leave the shade in the daytime. The trees and grasses were dying. Great fires were burning in the land. People were getting sick. It was really bad.
The Little People said there was only one solution. Seven men would have to travel to the West, to the Jusgina Ghost Country, and bring back the Daughter of the Sun. The Little People gave each man a sourwood stick, with instructions on how to use these when they arrived at the Ghost Country. The men also carried a large box in which to bring back the Daughter of the Sun. The final instructions of the Little People were these: “Once she is in the box, don’t open it, for any reason, until you are back here, in your own country.”
The men set out on their journey. Seven days later, arriving in the Ghost Country, the seven men found the people dancing in a great circle. Positioning themselves outside the circle, they waited for the Daughter of the Sun to come around. As she came by, the first of the seven men touched her with his sourwood stick. When she came around the second time, the next man touched her with his sourwood stick. This same pattern continued until all seven men had, in turn, touched the Daughter of the Sun with their sourwood sticks. At the touch of the seventh stick, she fell backward, as in a swoon. The men put her in the box, securely fastened the lid and headed back to their own country.
As the men walked along, carrying the box, the Daughter of the Sun awoke and began to complain. “I’m hungry,” she said. “Please open the box and give me something to eat.”
“Oh no,” the men said, remembering the warning of the Little People. “We can’t open the box until we are back in our own country.”
As they walked on, the Daughter of the Sun complained again. “I’m thirsty,” she said. “Please, oh please open the box and give me just a little sip of water.”
“Oh no,” the men said. “We can’t open the box until we are back in our own country.”
Finally, the Daughter of the Sun complained again. In a faint voice she said, “I can’t breathe. Please, please open the box. I think I may suffocate!”
The seven men stopped and looked at each other. It was well known that a person could live a long time without food. There were some who had lived as much as seven days without water. But air was something a person could not live without. “Maybe we should open the box,” one man offered.
“Don’t forget what the Little People said,” another cautioned. “We can’t open the box for any reason.”
“But what if she dies,” yet another man said. “We’re back where we started.”
Finally, someone offered an acceptable compromise. “Let’s open the box just a crack,” the man argued, “not enough for her to get out, but enough for her to get some air.” This course of action seeming reasonable to all, the box was unlatched and opened just the tiniest crack.
“What was that?” one man exclaimed. They had all seen a flash of red light, flying out from the box to disappear in the brushy woods.
“I don’t know what that was,” another man said, “but I think we’d better keep the lid closed tight on this box from now on, no matter what she says.”
The men went on their way, hearing no more complaints from the Daughter of the Sun. They worried that maybe she was dead. The next day, the seven arrived back in their own country. The box was opened, and to everyone’s dismay, it was empty.
When the Sun saw her daughter would not be returned to her, her wrath turned to sorrow. She began to cry, and the tears of the Sun threatened to flood the whole earth. The people tried their best to cheer her up. They sang their best songs and danced until their feet were sore. The heart of the Sun was touched by this effort, but her sorrow was not taken away. Then a flash of red was seen in the edge of the woods and a beautiful song was heard. Looking down, the Sun saw her daughter, who had become the Redbird, the Dojuwa, and had elected to stay in the earth. The Sun saw her daughter in the earth, and the Sun smiled.
