Читать книгу The Land - Robert K. Swisher Jr. - Страница 8
ОглавлениеBOOK ONE
THE INDIANS
The first Indians of this land were a community of people. They built their homes from rock and mud in rambling clusters. As families grew, more rooms were added to existing structures. They grew few crops but gathered from the land their food. The men were hunters hunting all animals from small birds and lizards to deer and elk. To them there was a god in everything that was, from the rocks and non-living things to all living creatures. They were a peaceful people not wishing war, but at the same time they were a practical people in that they elected men as warriors. The tribe was the center of life, each person in his own way was different but each was a integral part of the tribe. All worked for the common goal of the tribe. In the summer they wore few clothes, not feeling guilty in their nakedness and in the winter they wore hides and woven garments made from various plants of the region. They were a simple people accepting life as it unfolded around them and a superstitious people, believing in the dreams and visions of their medicine men. They were a people attuned to the earth, not taking more than they could use nor wishing for more than they needed. In their simplicity they were a well-structured society which moved through time with the seasons, accepting the good and the bad as the ways of the world and staying in tune with the earth and land around them.
CHAPTER 1
THE INDIAN — 1575 A.D.
Shining Moon sat beside the small cone-shaped cedar fire and looked closely at the large piece of black obsidian he held in his dark weathered hands. It had indeed been a magical day to find such a stone. He turned the approximately 8-inch stone in his fingers and smiled as the light from the fire danced across its dull black surface. Placing the stone gently on the ground he unrolled a deer hide piece of leather and looked at the tools that were exposed. Here were several hard wood chippers and various assorted pieces of iron ore and deer antler. With these was also a blunted wood hammer. Also in the wrap was a small bow and various rock and wood bits used to drill holes in objects. And in a small leather pouch was a handful of dirt given to him by Sleeping Bear.
One by one he picked up the pieces of hard rock, wood and deer antler and inspected them closely. He did not want to make any mistakes when he began to work on the obsidian. Not one chip would be wrong, not one missed blow with the hammer. Gritting his teeth lightly he chose a well-used antler tine. This would be the one. This antler would take the chips from the obsidian. This antler would form the obsidian into a spear point that would be far greater than any spear point every made by any member of the tribe. It must be perfect — it must shine like the stars and tell all of the love it held within itself.
Shining Moon lay the obsidian on the leather cloth and set the antler tine beside it. He tucked his feet underneath his buttocks and closed his eyes. Slowly with deliberation he removed all thoughts from his mind and in their place formed the picture of his love. He could see Flying Bird walking by a river. Her long black hair ran like the dark murky water of spring down her back and rested on the top of her buttocks. The elk hide dress she wore moved with the grace of her body and he could picture the ripeness of her breasts as they rubbed against the soft leather. In his mind he could see her black piercing eyes and the glitter of the turquoise earrings he had given her in the spring. They had snuck away from the watchful eyes of her mother and gone to the river. Shining Moon had been nervous and afraid to be alone with her. These were feelings he had never felt before. He was a warrior, protector of the tribe, supposed to be brave and strong. He would never forget how his hands trembled as he handed her the small turquoise earrings wrapped in the soft hide of a rabbit. What if she did not like them? What if he was rejected? It had taken him many weeks to approach the girl. Many weeks of building his strength, hiding his feelings. Many nights sitting beside his fire staring into the flames, trying to quell the beating of his heart or understand the feeling in his chest when he saw Flying Bird walk around the pueblo. There was no other woman like her. He heard the other men talk of her, laughing and wishing about her. About the other women he too would laugh, but when the men talked of her he felt anger swell up in his heart and a deep burn sweep across his chest. These feelings he hid from the others. But inside himself they lingered.
When Flying Bird had taken the rabbit fur in her small, long, delicate fingers and touched his hand, it had been like lightning sweeping up his arms. And when she giggled with happiness upon seeing the earrings and told him to put them into the holes in her ears, he felt the warm flow of passion sweep through his loins. In all time he would never forget this day. How the wind blew around them. How the river seemed to sing as they stood there. And the look of her back as she ran from him back to the camp unable to understand the feeling that swept over her or the yearning that crept into her upon being with Shining Moon.
As she scampered away he had felt full of life, full of the earth, and he went back to pueblo and taking his best pony he rode out into the vast emptiness around the pueblo. He kicked the horse and yelped and hollered to the sun and passing birds. Stopping only when the horse could run no more, he jumped from the frothing animal and stood tall and proud, raising his arms to the sun in praise and thankfulness.
After that Shining Moon would go around the pueblo being careful to be in spots where he could catch glimpses of the girl. Always trying to look preoccupied or busy. But the mother and the grandmother knew. He would catch their scornful glances at times, their eyes burning like daggers into his soul. But he did not know that at night around the fire the old women sat and talked amongst themselves about him, giggling and remembering their youth.
“He is a strong man, that Shining Moon,” Grandmother would say, just loud enough so that Flying Bird, grinding corn in the corner, could hear. “I bet his manhood is as long as this stick!” and she would laugh, placing a long piece of wood onto the fire.
Mother would click her tongue and make a sour face. “I suppose he is strong, but I bet Creeping Wolf is much stronger.”
To the young Indian girl the comments were beyond understanding. Did her mother and grandmother not see the yearning in her heart for Shining Moon? Were they as unimpressed by her feelings as they had been when she had showed the beautiful earrings? “Not like my husband gave me when I was young and beautiful like you,” Grandmother laughed. Her mother had only made a disgusted face.
Flying Bird did not know that the two old women knew her feelings. She did not know that it made them happy and brought back memories of youth and time. She did not know that they had seen Shining Moon follow her into the salt cedar by the river. The two old women were smart and wise with their time. They would let the two meet for brief moments. They would let them see each other from a distance but they would watch and always be close by. The two women loved Flying Bird and a match must be the right one. They knew of her beauty and knew of love, and Flying Bird would not be given to any man on some whimsical feelings. There would be time for the heart to know. Long sad time for the girl they knew but in the wisdom of age they knew it was the best. And no matter what Sleeping Bear, the father, would say, no matter the offer of horses or blankets, Flying Bird would go to the man of her heart. Mother had told Sleeping Bear this and in his love for her he had agreed.
Mother was very thankful for her man, he was a good man, not working her like many of the men did. Flying Bird would have a man like this. But in one respect Mother was concerned over her daughter. Shining Moon was a warrior, destined to be a warrior. Not a medicine man or healer but a man made to protect and kill or be killed. A man who would be gone for long periods of time. But Mother knew time would settle the matter and now she enjoyed talking with Grandmother and watching her daughter squirm in her new feelings of love.
Shining Moon opened his eyes and poked the dying fire with a stick. Placing several small cedar sticks on the embers, he brought the fire back to life. But even the fire was not like the warmth he felt for Flying Bird. Flying Bird was his soul and strength, his waking and sleeping moments. She was in the brightness of the stars and the sweep of wind over a hawk’s feathers. She was with him in all things. She was like the land, mother of all creation, strength to him and is people.
Shining Moon once again picked up the rough piece of obsidian. He held the stone up towards the stars and then placed it over his heart and in a muted whisper he prayed. “Stars, dark, moon and earth, give to this stone my heart, make it live with the beating of my heart, make it perfect like the living earth and make it warm to the touch of my woman and my love.” He placed the rough obsidian once more in the deer hide and carefully wrapped it up with the tools. It was not time to start chipping. There would be a time but he knew this was not the time. The bundle wrapped and tied with sinew, Shining Moon looked out into the darkness for the shapes of his ponies. Squinting his eyes he could see the shadowed forms of the five horses. He loved Flying Bird even more than his horses and for his horses he would die.
Shining Moon stood and stretched. It had been many weeks since he had been with the tribe. Many weeks since the Old Man had had the dream. Life had been much easier before the old man’s dream. Several days before the dream Shining Moon had gathered all his strength and taken six of his best horses and walked through the milling pueblo. He had walked straight and tall to the home of Sleeping Bear and in respect called out to Sleeping Bear. “Sleeping Bear, I bring you truth of my love.” Sleeping Bear had been pre-warned by his wife in time Shining Moon would come and in keeping with tradition he did not immediately come to the door but stayed inside smiling and poking his old wife. With a smile Mother pushed him towards the door and Shining Moon swallowed trying to find his voice. “I bring you these horses of mine and blankets to go with them for the hand of your daughter.” Sleeping Bear scratched his head and pulled tentatively on a large turquoise earring in his left ear lobe. He looked past Shining Moon at the horses. They were fine strong animals, well fed and groomed. Walking past Shining Moon, Sleeping Bear touched each of the animals and then turned. “They do not look like very good horses to me for such a daughter as I have.”
Shining Moon did not speak but watched anxiously as Sleeping Bear filled his pipe slowly still eyeing the horses. They were fine horses, too fine for an old man, but he could trade them for many good things. Baskets and blankets for his wife, bear and elk meat for the winter.
Sleeping Bear without speaking went back into his home and returned, his pipe lit with a coal from the fire. He eyed the young man. Such a strong and brave man he was. Standing with his hair greased and parted, two hawk feathers moving slightly in the breeze from his hair. He was naked from the waist up and wore only a leather loin cloth and short moccasins. His muscles were long and lean, taut from many days on his horses. But mostly the old man looked into the young warrior’s eyes. It was through the eyes one peered into a man’s soul. And in Shining Moon’s eyes he saw a sadness, a depth that most men did not have, especially warriors. Warriors were usually rash and wild. They used their women, more content to sit by the fire with other men and tell of their battles and deeds. But in Shining Moon’s eyes Sleeping Bear could see deep knowledge, a feeling, the look of a leader — a man not only of action but words. In time maybe a warrior chief, a man of decisions.
Shining Moon watched the old man. Inside himself the world was turning. He felt sweat forming between his shoulder blades and a cold icy feeling creeping into his heart. He must consent. If not he would steal Flying Bird. They would creep from the tribe to live as outcasts if they must. He would take her far away from the people. Far away to another tribe if he had to. She would come. He knew she would come with him.
Inside the hogan Flying Bird could not contain herself. She listened as her mother and grandmother talked around the fire.
“It is of no good,” Mother spoke.
“He is only a warrior with lousy horses,” Grandmother said. Both women kept themselves so Flying Bird could not get close to the door of the hogan and hear the words of Sleeping Bear.
To Flying Bird it was as though time had stopped. Her heart fluttered in her chest like a tiny frightened bird in a net. Her fingers were like the cold ice of winter and her tongue lay dry and lifeless in her mouth. If Sleeping Bear did not consent to the marriage, she would surely go out into the wilderness around the pueblo and kill herself. There was no life, no reason for being without Shining Moon. Surely she could not live with a broken heart. But try as she may, Mother and Grandmother would not let her get close enough to the door to listen to the conversation of Shining Moon.
By now the word had spread around the tribe that Shining Moon was vying for the heart of Flying Bird, and all the old women and men and children were forming a large circle around the poor anxious warrior. Giggles and laughs circulated throughout the crowd. But they were not mocking sounds. Some people whispered: He will not give her — Sleeping Bear does not like him. Others felt he would without doubt get the hand of Flying Bird. All looked at Shining Moon and saw in him the look of love.
Sleeping Bear knocked the ashes from his pipe and then with eyes glowing he looked at Shining Moon. “I will take these horses, but you must bring me one more.”
Shining Moon felt the tensions drain from his body and he cringed at the old man. “I will bring you one more horse in the morning.” Sleeping Bear looked at the horses and smiled. He knew he could have asked for five more horses and the young man would have given them.
Shining Moon turned, his heart on fire, and walked through the group, proud and happy. Sleeping Bear entered the hogan and looked at the two women and then at his daughter. And then with a smile he spoke: “You will marry Shining Moon in one month’s time.”
Flying Bird sank to the ground and began crying. The two women came to her side and cried with her. Women, Sleeping Bear thought, they cry over everything.
As the sun rose the next morning, Shining Moon returned with the horse. He tethered the horse to the pole outside the mud home and sat down.
When Sleeping Bear came out in the morning, he stood. “Come with me, my son,” he spoke as they walked towards the bushes. The rest of the pueblo was just waking, dogs barked and fires were rekindled. Standing by a tree, Sleeping Bear began to speak.
“For the next month you may come and see my daughter in the evening. You will sit by our fire and eat with us. You may not touch her or speak to her directly. Any question you have you may ask Mother or Grandmother and they in turn will ask Flying Bird who will answer them and they will answer you. You will not be with her in camp nor sneak with her to the trees. This is my wish, this is my demand. You will at all times treat my daughter with respect and as your equal. She will be the staff in your life and the keeper of your soul.” Sleeping Bear turned and looked at the young man and placed his hand on his shoulder. “You will make me proud.”
Sleeping Bear began to walk slowly and Shining Moon strode beside him. Around them the earth began to awaken. Birds began to sing and a warm breeze started to blow. Sleeping Bear began to speak once again. “We are nothing but men, my son, who must keep up with our world and learn how to survive. Right now the world is nothing but love to you. There is the song of my daughter in all you see and do. But this will pass as all passes. We are but moments of time. Little pieces of life that are but darting flames. Look around you,” and Sleeping Bear spread his arm out and circled the land around him. “This is the true mother, this is the tree, keeper of your soul. A woman is a companion but the land is our life. You must never forget this.” And the old man stooped over and took a handful of the dry earth and held it out to Shining Moon. “This is my present to you, this is my wish for you and my daughter. Let your love be tempered by the mother earth. Let your hearts never sorrow for each other and hold always to the truth between yourselves.”
Shining Moon held out his hand and took the handful of dirt. He would put it in a pouch and place it with his other medicine things.
Two nights later Shining Moon sat in the home of Sleeping Bear. Flying Bird was in the corner busily cutting deer liver to bake over the fire. Mother and Grandmother walked busily around the room clicking their tongues and feeling warm inside. Sleeping Bear talked on and on of his youth — hunting trips into the mountains. Hard winters. The first coming of the Spanish and how they had driven the Spanish back to the south. But in so doing they had gained the horse. Shining Moon tried to listen but his eyes darted from the face of the old man to the sight of his love who worked trying to quell the beating of her heart with her love so close. The old man was quiet for a moment, Shining Moon spoke.
“Mother, will you ask Flying Bird does she feel well?”
Mother looked at Flying Bird, “Are you well, my daughter? A man in the house wishes to know.”
Flying Bird looked at her mother. “Tell the man I am quite well and am to be married soon.”
Mother looked at Shining Moon and repeated what her daughter had spoken.
During dinner the women sat quietly in the corner as the men ate in silence. Dinner over and a pipe shared, Shining Moon stood. “I must leave. Thank you for dinner, and, Mother, would you tell Flying Bird there is nothing in life as beautiful as she?” Flying Bird blushed and was silent.
Outside Shining Moon looked at the night sky. All across the heavens was the face of his love. Sleeping with his horses outside the pueblo, Shining Moon could not help but think of his love and their first night to come. He would lay her down softly in the marriage home. With trembling hands he would undo the thongs that held her dress together. He could feel her breasts within his palms and smell the scent of her womanhood as her body desired him. This night he did not sleep well but tossed and turned, dreaming of the charms of his bride and the touch of her skin.
But all of this was before the medicine man’s dream. Shining Moon rose early one morning to try and catch a glimpse of Flying Bird going for the morning water. The pueblo was already awake and a nervousness was upon the people. By noon the chief had called all the leaders together and by early afternoon orders had been dispatched. The medicine man had had a dream. A dream that a great tragedy was going to befall the tribe. Over the past years there had been many tragedies. Starting with the Spanish who came and killed the people. They had been repulsed but life had never been the same. This was before Shining Moon was born, but he had been told the stories by the old ones. Since then the tribe had always been wary, always on guard from the strange brown men with their armor and horses.
In the early evening large fires were started and the warriors were painted and dancing. They would go out into the vastness around the tribe and look for danger. Finding danger the brave would ride back to the tribe and tell the chief, Black Bison. Several suns away there was a mountain with a box canyon, the sides too steep to scale by men or animals. Here the tribe would go if necessary upon word of danger and all braves, finding the pueblo empty on their return, would go there. Whatever the medicine man’s dream had been, it was a powerful one — one powerful enough to send the men out into the wilderness.
Shining Moon had been heartbroken. So close to his wedding. In the excitment of the day there had been no time to see Flying Bird, and he knew it would be no use to go to her home. Mother and Grandmother would not let him enter. Long after the fires went out Shining Moon sat waiting for the dawn and when he would ride out. He had already prepared his ponies. He would take the remaining five. They were well-trained and the ones he did not ride would follow him. He would change every day. He had been told if within one moon he did not see danger, to return. The chief was wise enough to know dreams were not always what they seemed to be.
Sitting with his horses, for the first time in his life Shining Moon was distraught and confused. He had never felt this way. There had never been confusion in his life. Was love like this — warm and happy, sad and bitter? And if so, why should that be? He sat with the night but could find no warmth in the stars.
Flying Bird lay on her hides and listed to Mother and Grandmother snoring. She stood slowly and crept from the home. She did not know that Mother watched but did not move. Outside the door Flying Bird ran to where she knew Shining Moon slept. She ran, feeling a great sadness in her heart, and as she neared Shining Moon’s fire, she could not help but cry out when she saw him. Shining Moon jumped up, hearing her cry, and they circled their arms around each other. They did not speak but each felt the warmth from each other’s body and the beating of their hearts merged into one. Stepping back, Flying Bird with a delicate finger traced the outline of Shining Moon’s lips. “My husband to be, I fear so for your safety.” Shining Moon looked into the dark eyes of his love. “I am forever safe in your love, my little one.” Then turning abruptly like a frightened deer Flying Bird ran back to her home and stole back to her bed.
In the morning when Flying Bird went to get water, Shining Moon was gone and she felt empty and alone. Mother and Grandmother in their hearts were sad for her and each prayed to the sun to watch over Shining Moon.
Shining Moon rode, his heart heavy in his chest. Around him the dry southwest air circled over the cactus and rocks. There was no warmth in his soul, no rhythm to his heart. It was as though his heart had been torn out of his chest. There was no happiness with the sunrise, no joy in the circling of the hawks or the squawking of the dark crows. But as the day passed he slowly thought his way out of his sadness. And once again he could see the sky and the birds, “My love, my love,’ he spoke to the blue sky, “You go with me in all things.”
Sitting back down by the fire, Shining Moon did not rekindle the dying flame. Already to the east the first silver darts of a new day streaked the sky. Five or six suns and he would be back with the tribe. Five or six suns and he would see Flying Bird, and then a few more suns and he would be married. All the weeks he had seen no danger. Nothing but the land, the rocks, the scurrying lizards and small game. The medicine man had been wrong and he was returning to his love.
As the sun cleared the horizon, Shining Moon unwrapped the leather pouch, and taking the antler, he placed the antler on the obsidian and struck the rock. The first chip flew, exposing the deep black luster within the heart of the unworked obsidian. After the first chip, he worked feverishly, striking and moving the striking stone, chipping, feeling, touching the obsidian. Within an hour he had one side of the spear point roughed out. Holding it out to inspect, he was happy and satisfied. He retied the bundle and gathered his horses. Riding, he felt alive and warm knowing the stone was safely tied to his waist.
CHAPTER 2
THE MEDICINE MAN
Man of Darkness held lightly to the shoulder of Lame Deer as she led him outside the tent. It always filled him with joy in the morning to touch the shoulder of his wife as she led him outdoors. He did not know how he would have made it through life without her. Ever since the day when his sight had suddenly left him she had been there. She was his staff and confidante. One who he had hurt deeply years earlier. The knowledge of which would forever pain his heart.
As a boy he was a wild one. Always riding his pony faster and more daring than the others. Unafraid as a young man to sneak in and steal from the camps and settlements of the Spaniards. He was afraid of nothing, always testing his courage. Sleeping with all the young maidens he could. Not wanting love or marriage. Content to sit with the men and tell of his conquests and love affairs. But even as a youth Lame Deer had always loved him. Born with a limp, she was not desired by other men. An outcast by the gods, she was considered weak and inferior. But with all the pain and separation she was of such a heart she did not grow bitter but became inside a woman of great wisdom and feeling. Always ready to help a member of the tribe. Working with the sick or the old. Through her Man of Darkness learned deeply of the heart and the knowledge of sadness.
At times, Man of Darkness would sit and remember when he was young and how Lame Deer would always seem to be close to him. Always within her sight. And how he would ignore her. Afraid to talk with her or be kind to her in fear other members of the tribe would think he was weak. He could remember the day he did marry, how taking his young bride to his tent they had walked by Lame Deer and she was crying. But even with his marriage, Man of Darkness remained wild. It was not long before he was sleeping with other women and spending longer and longer time going into the land to raid the Spaniards. It was after one of his journeys he awoke blind. Going to bed at night he was fine, but in the morning it was as though the gods were cursing him for what he had been and he did not see. He stood and yelled, rubbed his eyes, but there was nothing. Gone was the sight of the world. Within a sun his wife had left him for another man and he was alone.
Soon after, he awoke one morning to the smell of cooking rabbit and he could hear the movement of another in his hogan. Feeling a warm touch on his face, he heard Lame Deer speak. “I have loved you since my eyes first set upon you and from this day forth, I will be your wife in all things.” He could hear the slight sobs in Lame Deer’s voice. “And in time you, too, will grow to love me,” she told him. It was then that his dreams began, dreams that would foretell of the fortune, dreams that came true. And with this, his name was changed to Man of Darkness.
In time the people knew that although he was blind, the gods had done this to him so in his darkness he would be the eyes of the tribe. He would dream and know if the year would be a good year. His dreams told him of good harvests, or good hunts. His dreams had foretold of the coming brown men and also of their explusion from the land. Of impending danger. He was not like other medicine men, sitting for hours in smoky rooms, eating peyote. His dreams came on their own. Cloaked in perpetual darkness, he was one step closer to the other world than other men. And now with his old age, Man of Darkness was the most revered of all the medicine men. No man in the tribe from greatest warrior to the men of the council had as much power over the tribe as Man of Darkness. But now with all the recent bad and confusing dreams, Man of Darkness’s heart was filled with despair. Without Lame Deer he knew inside himself he would just as soon be dead and gone from this world.
“It is a sunny and bright day, my husband,” Lame Deer spoke as they came out of the mud and rock home. Man of Darkness was still confused and musing over his dream that had sent the young warriors out onto the land looking for impending danger. He stood and breathed deep the morning air and pictured the sights around him. The memories of sight were bright as though he were young. He could see the running children and the dogs. He could see the sunrise and the curling of cedar smoke from the bread ovens. All things he could see as bright and fresh as though his eyes were alive and well and not dark sunken spots without spirit. He sat down on the ground in front of the house as Lame Deer went to the river to fetch water. Taking from a pouch on his belt a soft stone, he began to rub it gently. It was a magical stone, able to drift one into their thoughts, pulling out the doubts and confusions and leaving one rested and secure. But although he had sat the last days rubbing the stone, looking for answers, the stone had not brought him peace or answers but only more confusion and unrest.
Ever since Man of Darkness’s gift had been shown to the tribe, he had never felt confused. There had not always been good years, but there had been no confusion, and now he did not know what to do with the confusion or questions. Maybe the gods were taking his powers away. Maybe they were slowly giving his powers to a younger man as yet unknown to the tribe. It was strange. He had tried all his medicines but to no avail.
The dream had come as all the others, unexpected and unsearched. He never knew when the dream would come to him. They just came. Came in brilliant flashes of color and sound. Far more distinct than any mere focus of the eye. There were colors and shapes never seen by man that entered his mind. Shapes and sounds that only he could decipher. But this dream was beyond deciphering. Lame Deer had finished cooking dinner and all around him he could smell the odor of the fresh deer. After eating he had sat smoking his pipe peacefully when the dream came. There had been a large bright red heart that suddenly appeared in the sky. A heart that beat so loud it pained Man of Darkness’s ears and made him wince. Flowing out of the heart were the souls of his people. Each soul twisted in agony and each soul was covered with an object from the earth. There were trees and cactus, lizards and birds, deer and elk, buffalo and fish, but they were all dead. Dead and contorted in pain. And then from the heart came the earth. But it was not an earth of mountains and rivers, land and water. It was an earth covered with tall buildings like no man had ever seen. And in the buildings were men dressed in clothes unlike any man had seen. Clothes that fit close to the body and choked one. And the people were sad, but at the same time smiling. But the smiles were short and selfish. With one gasp the earth split open and all the plants and animals upon the face of the earth came out as teardrops. Great rushing torrents of water that were salty and dark. Water that swept out until the earth floated upon it like some floundered fish. And with a great rush the earth began to shrink and the large buildings that stood taller than any mountain began to crumble one upon each other until the earth and the animals and all things upon the face of the earth vanished into a small pinpoint of sand and then the grain of sand disappeared, and there was nothing.
Man of Darkness felt as though a great void had swallowed him. There was no life, no living creature. But then out of the darkness another earth appeared. A smooth orb of darkness that had strange crisscrosses running across it. A taut shiny object stretched between cut trees that crisscrossed the earth and in each of these crisscrosses was a house. Houses like the Spaniards built, but the men and women moving in the houses were not brown like the Spaniards — they were white and black and yellow. And they also were sad. Tears flowed from their eyes but they could not speak. Man of Darkness could see in their eyes great sorrow and unrest, deep fear. Then for a moment the dream had stopped and Man of Darkness took a deep breath, glad the dream was over, but then in another rush of color and sound the dream started again. A great tree with many branches came bursting forth from out of the earth. And on each branch was a member of the tribe. But they were not moving or alive but they were not dead either. And scattered on the tree were all the tools and implements of the people. Unused. And in a booming voice the earth spoke: I am lost. My people are dying. I, the mother, will forsake you, my people.
After the dream, Man of Darkness sat, the sweat dripping off his brow. With his strength regathered, he had Lame Deer lead him to the chief and in clipped statements he told the chief of the dream. But he could not tell him the meaning. There were no buildings taller than mountains, there were no objects that dissected the earth. But there was a danger, and with careful consideration the chief decided to send the young warriors out, keeping behind the majority of the warriors to guard the tribe.
Man of Darkness sat and rubbed the stone, beckoning with all his might for the gods to help him. Around him he could smell the smell of death, but he could also hear the sounds of the children and women. Down from his home several men spoke of the plentiful deer this year and others commented on the abundance of the corn crop. All was well, but there was a cloud, a deep dark impenetrable cloud that surrounded Man of Darkness.
Man of Darkness heard his wife returning with the water. He could tell her walk from the others. The one step and then the sliding of the lame leg. If only he could tell her of the beauty he knew she possessed. If only he could make her heart warm with his love. But whenever he tried to speak, there were no words that could convey his feeling. Lame Deer handed Man of Darkness a gourd full of water. “It is a beautiful day, my husband,” she spoke. “Hear the children play. Soon the warriors will be back.”
“How is Flying Bird?” he asked.
“Lame Deer smiled, “Her heart yearns more and more each day, but it is a good test of her love. What is love without its portion of pain? Love, as all things, must be tempered with life.” Man of Darkness drank the water and smiled. Lame Deer entered the tent to fix the morning meal.
Man of Darkness stood and stretched his tired old body. It had been a good life. All around him he could feel the wonders of the world. He could touch the blueness of the sky and the flight of the birds. He could see the fishes swimming in the river and hear the joy songs of the children. With his feet on the ground and his hands held up to the sky, he began to sing: “Mother, Mother of us all, bring to me the answers. It is dark and your dreams confuse me. I am old and slow, my mind tortures for the truth. Mother, O Mother, Mother of us all, let me taste of the truth. Bring to me the smell of the rain and the taste of the dirt that is our soul. Take from me the darkness that engulfs me not in sight but in mind.”
But there came no answers and after a few moments the old medicine man had to sit down and rest. Sitting down on the ground, he ran his fingers over the earth. “The earth has forsaken us,” he murmered. “The mother is hiding in her sorrow.”
That afternoon as Man of Darkness sat in meditation, the warrior Eagle Claw rode into camp with the news. One day’s ride away were over 200 warriors from the south riding towards the pueblo painted and dressed for war. Immediately the chief ordered the pueblo to be deserted and the march to the box canyon one day away to begin. Everything that was not needed would be left behind. Only the animals, weapons and food would be taken. Shelter could be made when they got to the canyon. The chief did not show his fear but deep inside he knew if they did not make the canyon they would perish and the women and young men would be taken as slaves to be traded to other warrior tribes from the south.
Man of Darkness sat and listened to the noise of the tribe as they hurriedly packed important items. But deep inside himself he knew that this danger was not the full extent of his dream. His dream was like the pictures carved on the face of the peak several miles from the camp. The strange peak that rose out of the hills that was an evil place, a place of the ancients. The place where man had been long before his people. Men who left only crude scrapings on the rocks as if to warn others of the peril man walked through with each of his days.
At dawn the tribe moved out. The old were tied to drags behind horses. The women and children carried whatever items they could and circling the mass of dust and animals the warriors rode in full battle dress. The tribe would not stop until they reached the canyon and its safety. But even here the chief knew there would be a great battle and many of his people would be lost. Although the sun rose in all its splendor there was blood on the horizon and a deep sadness in the heart of the chief.
CHAPTER 3
THE SPEAR POINT
Although Shining Moon was anxious to return to the tribe, he would in no way cut short his duties looking for the danger. Instead of riding directly towards the location of the tribe, he cut large zigzags over the land. Never for a moment could he let his love make him deviate from his duty. Although there was not a moment during the day he could not feel the presence of Flying Bird beside him, he knew that his happiness was not the primary function of his life.
Shining Moon rode and looked out across the land around him. At times he felt there were many eyes that watched him. Eyes of men long dead and gone who had walked this land. In the far distance he could see the pointed peak that forever had been a place avoided by the tribe. But it was strange — even as a child when the older men told him of the peak and its bad medicine, he had always been drawn to the peak. At times when he was young he would stand and look towards the horizon and the peak, and it was as though he was drawn to the strange spiral-shaped formation that loomed up out of the rolling pinon and cedar studded hills. Many times he had walked towards the landmark but the nearer he drew, the more the fear entered into his body, and he would reach a point where he could not continue.
But when he was seventeen years old he had ridden his first pony out away from the tribe and straight for the peak. And this time he was not afraid, and as he drew nearer he felt a great strength overcome him as though the souls of many brave men entered into his body. He was confused at the stories of bad medicine he had heard during his lifetime. Stories of evil spirits that would take the manhood from men and make women lose their voices. Stories of ancient people who would come out with the night and spread disease and hunger upon people who invaded their place of rest.
He rode his pony up to the peak that looked as though a giant hand had reached down from the sky and taken a great handful of dirt and then closed its hand and let the earth trickle through its palm until it was a tall spiral and then with careful balance had picked up a great flat rock and placed it on top. It was a tall spiral with a top like a table. And then with rain and snow and time the sand structure had become rock.
Shining Moon had dismounted from his pony and walked to the rock, and once by the spiral he was amazed by the etchings ground into it. There were round faces that smiled and other faces that frowned. There were marks where men had stood and ground out images of deer and bison and other men. There were large ovals of women’s breasts and serpents that spiraled around the rock. Shining Moon had stood and run his fingers over the etchings, and he knew that in time past a man like him had stood here and carved out the faces and images. And he also knew the man was now a part of the earth around him, long dead and turned to dust. His soul a part of the trees and living things that were life.
To Shining Moon, this was not an evil place, but a place of time. A place where man had worked and tried to discover his soul and heart. Here was the mark of men trying to transcend the ages. Men just like him. And then Shining Moon, who had never drawn or thought of drawing, searched around the spiral peak and found a hard-pointed stone, and returning to the peak he spent many hours scratching at the hard rock. When he was finished, he stood back and looked at the horse he had carved on the face of the rock. To him it was not a beautiful horse, but for all time, whoever saw this figure would know it was a horse. And for a moment, Shining Moon felt immortal. He felt beyond the grasp of time and death, love and hate, hope and dreams. He was a part of the timelessness of the rock. His soul would forever stand with the rock. And another man in another age would stand and look at his horse, and he would know that he was not alone. That there was an affinity between men. And Shining Moon was proud, but also a little bewildered. Never again in his life would he feel not needed but would always know he was a part of the chain. A small link that was mankind. From that day forward he was no longer a child, but a man. A man strong and unafraid of the world. But he would never return to the rock. It would never be the same. He would still at times look at the spiral from a distance and be able to retrace the strange faces and images of the ancients and see the horse he had etched upon the stone.
As the sun set, Shining Moon dismounted from his horse. It was still warm but one could feel the touches of fall approaching. Shining Moon gathered enough wood for the evening and then started the fire. The fire flaming, he took out the spear point. Over the past five days the rough obsidian had now become a 6-inch point, the first cuts being taken to form the center line sloping to each side and the point. Now he could take small chips bringing the edge of the point to razor sharpness. With each day the point became more and more a thing of wonder. Even to Shining Moon, he did not understand how he could have created such a beautiful point, although he knew it was love that guided his hand.
When at times during the day he would stop his pony, he would take from his pouch the point and hold it up to the sun. With the sun rays the point seemed to come alive and dance in his fingers. He could see the flowing dress and hair of his love. Inside the point he could feel the beat of her heart and the warmth of her breast, naked against his chest. Inside the point lay the seed to their children and the desires of his passion. And always after he put the point back into his pouch, he did not yearn for Flying Bird but felt her around him, her eyes guiding him and watching over him in all things that he did.
Shining Moon looked closely at the point and smiled, and then he took it and began chipping carefully on the edge. Soon in a few days it would be finished, and then he would take his drill and drill a hole though the end of the point. Through this hole he could put a thong, and Flying Bird could hang the point from her waist. Around him the night grew dark and the stars emerged bright and shiny and timeless. And for Shining Moon there was no time, no darkness, just the earth and the night and the feeling of warmth that came upon is heart.
In the morning Shining Moon once again mounted his pony and started his zigzag pattern back towards the people. It was a glorious day. On the horizon two hawks rode the updrafts for hours, looking for the scurrying rabbits or ground squirrels, and all around Shining Moon was peace and contentment.
CHAPTER 4
THE FLEETING
After a full day’s traveling, the Chief Black Bison knew his people were tired, but he also knew they dare not stop. The enemy would have found the abandoned pueblo by now and would drive their ponies on trying to catch up with the slow moving people. Black Bison was a good man and had been a good leader.
But after many years, Black Bison was growing tired. There had been so many things he had missed in his life. There was never time to sit and enjoy his children or his wife. His life must be the people. There was always some dispute or danger, some decision, filling his mind. If it was not the medicine men with their dreams and incantations, it was some man wanting another man’s wife. If it was not passion or hate it was the weather or a bad harvest. It seemed there was always something. It was a curse to be the leader. A curse to have to make the decisions.
Over the past several years Black Bison had wanted deep in his heart to take his wife and ride out into the wilderness. Out, away from the people, and build himself a small home. A home he would never have to leave. A home on some mesa top where he could stand during the day and look out upon the earth in peace. There had truly never been peace in his life.
When he was a young boy, the Spaniards had come into the land. A cold, greedy people. A people who did not understand the people or their ways. A people who only wanted to take from the earth and never return anything. Life for them was to conquer and die. To die so they could go to some heaven in the sky. Life to Black Bison was to live to see the sun and smell the rain, to make love to his wife and play with his children. But there had been so many battles. So many raids on the Spanish, so much hatred and revenge and so much fear until the Spaniards were driven from the land.
Whenever it seemed there would be peace once again, there would be danger. Not danger from the Spaniards but danger from the southern Indians. Indians unlike his people — these were cold-hearted marauding people, people who took what they needed from weaker peoples. Man was such a strange creature. Unable to live and let live. Always desiring, always hating, always wanting. It seemed there was no end. It was almost a shame to bring people into the world now. It was not like his grandfather told him the world used to be like. It was not a good place.
Black Bison looked from his pony at the procession of his people. There were ninety women, thirty-two children, twenty-nine old people, and over 100 warriors. Out still scouting were over twenty other warriors. Looking at his people plodding through the dry crust of the earth, Black Bison could not help but feel what would another man want with these people? Cannot we just live in peace with the earth?
Black Bison knew the people wanted to rest. He knew the horses were tired and hungry, but they must push on. Soon they would be in the canyon and the people could rest while the warriors took shifts watching and preparing for the battle. They would build fortifications across the mouth of the canyon and hope the gods were with them. He knew even the women would have to fight and the young boys. They were no match against the 200 warriors in the open, but cornered they would fight, fight to the death every man, woman and child if necessary before they would be slaves to any man.
Black Bison’s father had been a great chief. A good chief. And when Black Bison was young, his father had never bothered him with what would be his destiny. He was shown no special treatment or care, but was allowed to play with the other boys of the tribe. It was only when he was twelve years old his father took him outside one day to the top of the gently sloping ridge above the tribe and pointing, he spoke.
“All you see will be yours. The heart and souls of all the men and women and children will weigh on your back. For them you must live and breathe. From the day that I die you will never be able to love only one woman, for you must love them all. All children will be yours. The future of our people will be your decision and your decisions will become great burdens on your heart.”
And from this day forward, Black Bison was taken from the other boys and kept with his father at all times. He sat in council meetings, he listened to the medicine men. He listened to his father make decisions, and he grew to learn the respect and power his father held, and he knew that one day it would also be his. But he also began to feel the segregation from the other people of the tribe. He was different. He was to be chief.
While Black Bison rode in his thoughts, six braves who had found each other in their search for danger caught up with the tribe. They had ridden around the invaders. It would be very close to see if the people would make the canyon. Black Bison chose fifteen warriors who would remain behind and try to slow up the enemy, hoping it would give the tribe just enough time to make the canyon. Each of the young men knew he would die, and Black Bison looking at them could not but feel a great sadness in his heart. They were so very young, so full of life and joy. Looking into their faces he saw strength and pride, and he thought to himself how many children would these brave men have brought into the world. How many great things could they have done. It was such a waste, such a deep sorrow. As the tribe moved on, the women began a low deep wail, knowing that blood from the people would spill onto the earth. And the wail would not stop until the tribe reached the box canyon.
As the tribe disappeared from the sight of the fifteen, one of the warriors began to dance and yelp a song: “I who am chosen to die, will die with the blood of many enemies.” Soon the others were dancing and each in his words and thoughts made peace with the world and prepared to face the enemy and die brave and proud.
Several hours later, when the 200 warriors from the south approached the fifteen, the chief of the invaders, Blue Sky, was astonished. The fifteen sat upon their horses, painted for war. From their hair strung feathers and from their ponies’ manes were scalps of other enemies. The chief raised his lance and stopped his men. The fifteen were a beautiful sight, a sight of defiance and life, a sign of strength, and he could not help but feel respect for the men. He motioned to his men and asked in a loud voice, “What fifteen do I have who will engage the brave ones?”
Immediately fifteen warriors broke from the pack, their ponies prancing and fidgeting. Blue Sky lowered his hand and the fifteen kicked their horses and tore at the men.
Black Bison’s fifteen warriors in unison began their war cry. The fighting was furious and bloody. Men ripped into each other from frothing, kicking horses. Knives tore into flesh and stained the earth, and when it was done, eight of Black Bison’s men still stood, while around them lay fifteen of the enemy and seven of their own.
The chief once again raised his hand and eight fresh braves pranced forward. “Kill the brave ones,” he commanded, and the eight tore into the eight tired Black Bison’s men. But once again when the fighting was done, four of Black Bison’s men stood while all the others lay dead.
With this the chief sent out onto the bloody field a man under a banner of truce followed by several men with food. Dropping the food on the ground the man spoke to the bloody survivors. “Eat and sing your death song, brave ones, for in the morning you die.” With this the band of invaders spread out in a large circle around the four men and dismounted.
That night, surrounded by the campfires of their enemies, the men sat in a circle and ate, and then, throughout the starlit night, they sang their songs and relived their lives.
At times one would stand and shout into the darkness, “I am Snake Man, I am not afraid to die. You are but women in our way.” And the warriors circling the four could not but be impressed by their enemy. Inside the hearts of the four men, they knew they had won, for with each passing minute the tribe grew closer and closer to its destination — the safety of the canyon.
With the dawn, the invaders mounted their ponies and the four braves faced in four directions (north, south, east and west) and watched as the circle around them grew tighter and tighter, until by sheer numbers they were beaten from their horses and trampled into the ground by the hooves of the horses.
In ages to come there would be no trace of this battle. No monument to the courage of the men, no eternal flame to spur on the imaginations of the young. There would only be the rock and the cactus. The cedar and pinon trees and the lonely howl of the wind, forever shifting the dirt.
CHAPTER 5
SANCTUARY
By sunrise the next day the tribe arrived at the box canyon tired and exhausted. The canyon was cut out of a large granite hill. Too steep on the sides to be scaled by men or animal, its entrance a small opening no more than 100 yards across. The canyon itself in depth was no more than 50 yards. In the opening were large boulders scattered and crisscrossed across the mouth, making any entrance difficult. Between these boulders were ancient twisted and gnarled cedar trees, providing even more protection for the tribe. At the rear of the canyon was a small spring that bubbled and filled a rock hole about 5 feet across.
Even in their exhaustion the women were put to work gathering firewood for cooking fires. All dead wood was dragged into large piles. Next warriors, by hand and with horses, piled rocks between the already protruding boulders to form larger defenses. Then small shelters were erected anywhere they could stand. Crude shelters from wood and stone. Then and only then did the women and children sleep and the warriors gather for council.
The warriors were divided into three groups. One group would be to the front, behind the boulders. Another with bows would scale the sides of the canyon and rain arrows down upon the enemy and the other would stay behind the front defense, filling in men as others fell from wounds. Several men were sent out as sentries to return when the invading warriors were sighted.
With the darkness, the camp became silent. Women and children slept in the crude shelters. Warriors took turns sleeping. Overhead the night was bright with the full moon. Black Bison walked amongst his people, heavy of heart and deep in meditation. Man of Darkness had not had a dream. The spirits were not talking to him. This battle would be up to man alone.
In the morning Black Bison sat on a small rise within the canyon and looked at his people. He was very proud of his people and filled with emotion. Below him old women, bent and twisted with time, carried heavy loads of wood and piled it on the growing stacks. Old men sat working arrow shafts, their fingers barely able to withstand the pain. The children worked with the others but too young to know of the danger around them, they laughed and sang as if it was nothing but a great adventure that would end soon and they would go back to the pueblo.
Outside of the canyon men searched quickly for game, hoping and praying they could kill enough to feed the tribe during the upcoming battle. Around the rocks and trees of the canyon, birds darted and fluttered, chasing bugs. Overhead the sky was blue and small powder puff clouds moved lazily, as though dancing with the changing seasons. It was a good day to go out onto the land with one’s love and make love beside a river. Letting the cool air touch one’s skin.
Black Bison stood and looked out beyond the canyon and spoke to the breeze and the sky and his unseen enemy. “Whence do you come, my enemy? What have I done to bring you from the south with your pain and destruction? We are a peace-loving people, content to grow our corn, content to let children sing and play. Happy to let our warriors grow to old men without the taste of battle. But now you come, come like some dark demon with the day, bringing to our hearts sorrow and pain. Bringing to the lives of our women fear and grief. The sky is blue, but the earth will be red with our blood. And now we, with our love of peace and the mother earth, will fight you to the end. You will not make us captives to your bidding. We will not lay down before you like whipped dogs.” And with great sadness Black Bison lowered his head. “But I pray, mother of us all, in our battle do not make us hate. Life is too short for us to hate.”
Black Bison walked down into the canyon. He must go see Man of Darkness. Maybe he had had a vision. Maybe the gods had spoken and they would help Black Bison and his people.
CHAPTER 6
FLYING BIRD
When Flying Bird rose and went to get water the morning Shining Moon had ridden out looking for danger she did not know if she could withstand the pain of separation. Mother watched her daughter closely for several days, and then one afternoon she took Flying Bird aside and shook her firmly and spoke.
“You are to be married now, my little one, it is time to be a woman, not a child. There is much pain in this life but we must be strong.”
After this, Flying Bird held her tears, and although her heart was breaking she helped her mother and grandmother and kept her mind busy by working all her waking hours. When the brave returned with news of the invaders, she could no longer feel pain but was caught up in the frenzy of breaking down the pueblo. People rushed everywhere and many good and wonderful things were left behind. Pots that Mother and Grandmother had worked laboriously on were broken to release the spirit of the maker from them. Dried corn and beans were poured into large baskets and tied to litters behind pawing and snorting horses growing excited by the milling, chattering people around them. With the excitment and growing fear, Flying Bird felt growing in her stomach tight knots thinking about what the invaders might do.
She herself had never seen or been close to a battle. But she had heard tales of what strange men did to women of other tribes. Women would be tied to the ground and men at will would penetrate their separated legs. There were even tales of after the women were close to death, they would be cut up and fed to the dogs of the invaders.
When finally the packing was done and the tribe formed into a jagged line, then and only then did Flying Bird once again think about her love. Why me? she thought — so close to our wedding date. Surely the gods smile on us, there is no love like ours, no love ever in the world. And as they marched circled by the warriors, Flying Bird could not wail like the other women. Her sadness was beyond pain or sorrow but was a dark emptiness that seemed to sap all the hope from her body. My love is gone, she thought to herself. Gone out into the wilderness. Gone to find the danger that follows now at our heels like some evil wolf following a wounded deer.
With the beginning of the march Flying Bird was oblivious to the sound and movement around her. She walked in desolation. One step in front of the other, hour after hour after hour. She did not feel the weariness creep into her feet and then up her legs. She did not feel the blisters slowly forming on her heels or the weight of the straps from the basket she carried filled with beans. She only felt the heaviness in her thoughts, and thought terrible thoughts about Shining Moon. Deep inside herself she knew she would never see him again.
Mother walked slowly behind her daughter. And although she was tired she carefully watched Flying Bird. Inside herself she knew how the little one ached. But what was one to do over heartbreak? There were no words or helping things. There was nothing but the deep bitterness of it. The sleepless hours and the shallow days. Silently in between her own sorrow, she prayed for Flying Bird, hoping she would find strength and grow strong. She would watch the young girl who every other minute or so would reach up to her ears and touch the turquoise earrings Shining Moon had given her. “He is with you, my child,” Mother spoke to herself, “in all things he is with you. Now you see the bitterness of love, the longing and heartache. The first feeling of separation. Now you see you must learn to accept. Love is all things in happiness and agony.” Mother made a sour face and spit on the ground. Men, she thought, Love … and she let her thoughts trail off into happy thoughts of the past.
She remembered when she was a small girl and how she had longed for a brave named Tall Tree. He was such a handsome, brave young man, so full of life and health. When they were children she had fallen in love with Tall Tree, and as she grew up she would dream of the day he would ask her to marry him. But even as a youth she knew Tall Tree would never desire her. She was far too plain and not beautiful like other girls, and Tall Tree was so handsome he would hever marry a girl like her. But still she held onto her dreams of him. Watching as they grew together, he becoming more and more handsome and she staying plain and in her heart ugly.
It was a cold winter day and she was fifteen years old when the news came. Tall Tree had fallen through the ice of a river far to the north and was never found. Mother had felt as though the same cold river water flooded over her heart. For many suns it seemed she could not sleep, and in all her waking moments the cold of the ice held a tight hand around her heart. But in the spring Sleeping Bear had asked for her hand and her father had taken three good horses for her.
At first when the match was made, Mother hated Sleeping Bear. He was not handsome like Tall Tree. He was a short little man, not a warrior but a grower. A man who worked in the dirt. He was not brave. She told herself she would run away, but she knew in her heart she would never do that.
The day of the marriage she was sad, but Sleeping Bear sat across from her on the elk robes and looked deep within her eyes. For the first time she saw a great gentleness in this man of the earth. After several long moments, Sleeping Bear spoke in a soft deep voice. “I know that your heart rests with the spirit of another and I know I am not the most handsome man of the tribe, but I promise you in all things of my life you will be by my side and in all things I will treat you with truth.”
That night Sleeping Bear did not come to his new wife, but they sat and talked about many things. And in the morning as the sun rose, Mother stood with deep feeling in her heart and she took off her wedding dress and spoke, “Come, my husband, and lay with me with the rising sun.”
And Sleeping Bear entered into his wife with a gentleness of the earth and a touch that was soft and pleasurable. And never again did Mother compare Tall Tree with her husband nor wish for another life. Life had been good with this man whom she loved deeply.
After a day of traveling, Flying Bird was oblivious to the movement around her. Thoughts invaded her mind like bolts of flashing lightning that she could not control. Shining Moon’s face would appear before her, smiling and laughing and then in the next flash his face would be contorted in pain and blood would be running from a large gash in his side. But there was one vision that kept returning to her tired mind. Shining Moon was sitting by a small fire. All around him was black, but in his hands was a large glistening spear point. It was a spear point like none Flying Bird had ever seen. It shone like the stars and seemed to pulse with life and being. She could see the concentration as Shining Moon struck the chips from the living stone and feel the beat of her love’s heart and the sound of his breathing as he worked.
When the tribe reached the box canyon, Flying Bird was not conscious of thought or movement around her. Her body was racked by unfelt pain and her heart was only a dry stone in her chest. There was nothing, no air filtering into the lungs, no fleeting creatures before them, only darkness. She did not remember gathering wood or helping Mother and Grandmother build a small shelter. She did not remember the cool air of night nor laying down on the ground outside the shelter. She did not remember anything until the dawn when she awoke at first not knowing where she was or who she was with. Looking at the rising sun, the memories slowly came to her and with the memories the deep feelings of longing were released by the sun’s rays on the rocks of the canyon and by the small darting birds that greeted the day.
And with this she realized Shining Moon was in all things. He was in the earth and the trees. The sky and the heavens. He was within her, held tight by her spirit and her caring. He was in Mother and Grandmother and Sleeping Bear. There was nothing in the world he was not a part of and she knew he would always be a part of her in all things she did during her life. And in that moment, that small period of time, Flying Bird was no longer a child, but a woman.
Grandmother was the first to notice the change. It was deep in Flying Bird’s eyes. A depth of vision that youth does not have, a vision of time and death. A battle fought in the mind that settles deep within the eyes of men and women. Seeing this, Grandmother walked over to Flying Bird and took her in her arms and held her close to her large sagging bosom. “My child, my child,” she spoke deeply, “now there is only the future.”
During the day while the scouts went out looking for the invaders, the women escorted by braves went out and brought in more wood. They gathered the green pinon nuts and setting snares caught as many chipmunks, rock squirrels and rabbits as they could. Although the canyon was hard to attack, it was also impossible to escape from. There was only one way out and that was the way they had entered. They must have wood and food. Black Bison set up cooking stations and split the food into rations. There would be no full stomachs now, there would only be enough to keep one alive. The warriors would receive the larger rations. Already the older horses had been killed. Their flesh cut from their bodies in long strips drying on the rocks in the sun. Burros and young horses would be next.
Late in the afternoon the scouts returned. One thousand yards to the front the invaders had stopped. The standoff would begin. That night the tribe heard the songs and drums of the invaders. All night the chants went on until with the dawn the warriors, guarding the front of the canyon, looked out and saw the invaders on their horses. A man with nothing but a loin cloth and a lance kicked his horse forward and rode, his back straight and true, towards the canyon. Stopping only feet from the first warriors, he threw the lance into the ground and with motions of his arms and hands, told how his chief, Blue Sky, wished to speak with their chief. The message delivered, Black Bison several minutes later rode out of the canyon. Not a sound emerged from the lips of the people as he rode past. Not a look of fear crossed his face, not a sign of sadness. He was like a stone, untouchable, brave, true and hard.
Blue Sky watched the chief ride out of the canyon and dismount and sit on a large boulder. Blue Sky felt a deep respect for the man. His fifteen warriors had indeed been brave men. Surely now their spirits were in the heavens. They were true men, true fighters, and to Blue Sky there was nothing but war and death, strength and boldness. His people were far different than the people of the north. He had been told by his scouts that these people were mere farmers. That they would surrender like women. He had been told that their braves were weak like dogs. But he knew this now not to be true. His own people were hunters and invaders. They took from the weak of the earth. They were the chosen ones. Made and created to trample other people of the land. Blue Sky was not an evil man but he was like all men of conquest obsessed with their dominance, feeling they were the only people of the light. Not wishing or caring to feel the kinship of mankind. There was nothing but kill or be killed, conquer or forever live in shame. And this small tribe of women and children and old men with its small band of warriors would die as sure as their chief sat on the boulder waiting for him.
Blue Sky dropped his lance to the ground and rode out away from his braves. It was a beautiful day. One could feel the touch of the cool season and he felt invigorated and brave. He knew that the eyes of his warriors rode with him. He knew all of them wished to be like him. And in this feeling of power he found great strength. Approaching Black Bison he slid easily from his horse and walked up to the man. Black Bison stood and Blue Sky immediately saw a man of stature and strength. This chief was obviously not a mere grower of corn. Blue Sky made the motion of friendship and Black Bison responded. Dropping to the ground and sitting, Blue Sky took from his belt a long pipe and lit the tobacco with a coal wrapped in a reed-lined leather pouch. Puffing deeply on the pipe he passed it to Black Bison who in turn breathed deeply the strong white smoke.
“Destiny has brought us to this place,” Blue Sky spoke in sign language. “It would be far easier to surrender your people to me. So many of our people will die.”
Black Bison sat and did not reply, but looked directly into the chiefs eyes. After several moments, Blue Sky stood. “There is no reason to talk. Go back to your people and prepare to die.”
Black Bison was no sooner back into the mouth of the canyon when over one hundred warriors of Blue Sky’s yelled and charged their ponies into the rocks. But as they entered the mouth of the canyon, sheets of arrows fell upon them from the sides of the canyon and as soon as it started the first battle was over. Twenty-five of Blue Sky’s braves lay dead or wounded and not one of Black Bison’s. The wounded were soon dead, as warriors stole out from the rocks swiftly cutting their throats and taking from their bodies weapons and other useful items; also gathering the spent arrows.
Blue Sky, watching the quick skirmish, felt a deep anger spreading through his body. He had fallen into a trap. The fifteen braves were left behind to do exactly what they had done. Slow him and his braves up. He should have just trampled them into the ground with his entire force of men. But he had not, and now this battle would not be easy. His men were not prepared for a long battle. They did not have great stores of food, but were prepared for quick moving attacks, depending on their wins to gather food and restock arrows and weapons. He had made a mistake and now he must sit with his under-chiefs to decide on a course of action. When the survivors of the attack returned, he had the men all dismount and set a more permanent camp. In the morning they would resume the fight.
The people of the tribe were overjoyed with the first battle. They had not lost one man and maybe the gods were with them. Maybe the invaders would see the difficulty of the situation and go as they came. Disappearing forever into the land. But when Black Bison consulted with Man of Darkness, the old medicine man was still without dreams or visions, and Black Bison knew there would be much suffering and death before the ordeal was over.
CHAPTER 7
SHINING MOON RETURNS
Shining Moon lay the drill down on the ground and picked up the spear point. The hole was clean and exactly where he wanted it. Forever men would know he, Shining Moon, had created this point as they marveled at it hanging from the waist of his wife. With the completion of the point, Shining Moon felt a peace settle over him. He took the point and held it in both hands and raised it towards the sun. Blues and greens, reds and purples escaped from its black insides. It captured the golden ray of the sun and transformed them into all colors of the earth. It was like sunset and sundown. Placing the point on the deer hide cloth, he took the chipper and hammer and the drill and dug out a small hole in the ground. These would return to the earth. Never again could he use them. Their magic and power had been extinguished in his work. Shining Moon stood and gathered his horses. He would ride to the tribe now. He had found no danger. His duty was completed and he could return to his love and his marriage.
Riding he thought of his wedding day. Flying Bird would be dressed in her finest dress. Beads of red and blue, green and white would flow over the soft deer skin. From her hair would be small feathers from song birds and around her ankles delicate bells that would ring when she walked. Shining Moon would wear long elk hide britches with bead work down each side of the leg. His shirt would be laced with hawk feathers and his hair would be greased and parted in the middle. Around his waist he would wear a beaded belt. The beads depicted strength and love.
Fore the entire day before the ceremony he would be segregated from the tribe as Flying Bird would be segregated. The women would build a tent for them out past the others, and in this tent they would place many elk and buffalo hides, making a soft and deep cushion for the lovers. Inside there would be food for several days. Dried venison, dried fish, corn and beans and several gourds of water. Riding, Shining Moon could hear the women singing and see the sly glances of the older men, remembering their wedding night and the soft curves of their young wives. Of course there would be pranksters. Young boys sneaking up to the tent late at night. Pelting the tent with stones to disturb the lovers. And of course Shining Moon would have to run outside, feigning anger, yelling threats to the retreating boys.
After the lovers were married, Flying Bird would be stolen by his friends, and only after much bickering and bartering would he be be able to buy back his bride. Shining Moon rode and his heart was as the light spring breeze, as happy as a song bird greeting the day. There was no danger, there was nothing but his thoughts and his love.
Late in the afternoon, Shining Moon rode up to the edge of the sloping ridge that overlooked the pueblo. But when he stopped and looked down, his heart was seized by a terrible empty feeling. Below was nothing but signs of havoc. Scattered everywhere, pots and other articles of the tribe. He kicked his horse and rode recklessly down the face of the bluff, riding into the desolate village. He jumped from his horse, his heart racing, and ran around, looking at the desolation. There was no sign of battle, no blood, no dead animals. But he knew one of the braves must have discovered the danger, and the tribe moved quickly towards the box canyon.
Shining Moon walked quickly to Flying Bird’s hogan. Sitting outside, a great anger arose in his chest, and he turned his face towards the sky and a deep grief-filled yell came from his throat. “Those who have caused this will die. I will tear their hearts from their bodies and lay them out for the buzzards to eat.” Shining Moon walked back to his horses and mounted one. Following the tracks of his people, he began to follow the fleeting.
As night approached he came across the hoof prints of many horses, and he knew now what had been the danger. By the tracks he figured the tribe had been gone almost ten suns and the invaders were no more than one sun behind them. Shining Moon did not stop but continued to ride and change ponies randomly. By dawn he was tired, but he would not halt. Burning deep within him was the sight of his people and the sight of his love forced to leave their homes and run and hide like some mad and wild beast. By nightfall he stopped and rested, but again he did not sleep. His heart raced in his chest and his mind grew hard with the thoughts of death to his enemies.
Two days later Shining Moon, hiding with the dark behind a large cedar tree, saw the invaders’ fires. Directly to their front he knew the box canyon lay and inside his people. Somewhere with the rocks was Flying Bird. So close, but so very far away. He wanted to take his pony and ride through the enemy and into the canyon, but he knew this was a foolish act. Instead he rode back away from the enemy to sit and meditate on his actions.
Stopping about a mile from the invaders, Shining Moon tied his ponies. He took from his horse his bow and quiver of arrows and made sure his knife was secure on his belt. He felt for the spear point, wrapped in his pouch. Walking away from the horses, he sat down, and taking deep breaths, closed his eyes. He did not think of Flying Bird but only of the invaders. And in time he decided on a course of action. He would not break through to his people, but would instead with each night sneak in with the enemy and kill as many as he could. Silently, like a snake, he would creep close to them and cut their throats.
