Brindle's Odyssey

by Nicholas Antinozzi

I tried not to think about Soliah’s promise, but it would rise up from time to time and slap me across the face. I also tried not to think about what he had said about my true destiny. That too, would bubble to the surface and cause tears to spill down my cheeks. I couldn’t be like him, I just couldn’t be. I stumbled on through the night, blindly negotiating my way across the rocky floor of the dark forest. Just as I began to notice a hint of light in the eastern sky, I spotted the glow of a distant campfire. I was suddenly full of energy and I raced towards it at full speed.

  The two of them were sitting cross-legged at the campfire; Dog Breath and Crooked Walker, old and wrinkled, but alive and in the flesh. I collapsed to my knees. “He’s got them,” I cried. “He’s got Grandfather, Man Killer, and Red. “He’s going to kill them!”

  The two old men looked at me like I had sprouted a trunk. The look threw me for a second, before I realized that these men had lived against impossible odds for their entire lives. This was merely a bump in the road compared to what they had seen. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I just thought you might like to know.”

  Just then, Aunt Bea flew down from the sky and landed on my shoulder. To me, it felt as if a strong hand had just been placed there.

  “Are you going to introduce us to your friend?” Crooked Walker asked with a wry smile.

  Aunt Bea had somehow restored my composure and I quickly made the introductions. Aunt Bea then recounted our story from her eyes. To that, I added our earlier confrontations and the terrible losses after each battle. The old men said nothing as we spoke and they sat in silence after we had finished. Aunt Bea flew from my shoulder and stood between the two. “Make sure the fire is gone before you leave,” she said, adding: “Come on, Huckleberry, we still have a long way to go.”

  “We will need tobacco,” Crooked Walker said. “We must smoke on this.”

  After both men stared at me, expectantly, Dog Breath’s expression turned dark and he produced a small leather satchel. “This is all I have left; I was trying to save it.”

  Crooked Walker dug in a canvas sack and came out with a long antler, fashioned into an ornately carved pipe. He pinched tobacco from the satchel, filling the bowl full. He then dipped the pipe into the flames and began to puff. Satisfied, he handed the smoking pipe to Dog Breath. Crooked Walker then motioned for me to sit and join them. I did as he asked, taking the pipe from Dog Breath. I drew on the pipe and my mouth was filled with the taste of a strange tobacco, nearly as sweet as candy. The old men began to chant as we continued to slowly pass the pipe. The forest was suddenly full of a warm, glowing light; it was as if the campfire had intensified a thousand times over. I stared into the growing flames as they rose from the firewood, before taking the shape of a man.

  And that’s all I remember until Dog Breath’s scowling face came into view. “What is the matter with you?” he barked at me. “You missed everything!”

  “Shit,” I said, rubbing my eyes and sitting up. “What do you mean?”

  “Kids,” muttered Crooked Walker, dismissively. “The Great Spirit is very disappointed in you. How could you fall asleep during the Tobacco Ceremony? He’s pretty angry.”

  “Oh, that’s just great,” I said. “I didn’t fall asleep, I passed out. What was in that pipe, anyhow?”

  “That was tobacco,” spat Dog Breath. He then glared at me with such fury that I scooted away from him.

  “I don’t know what happened,” I said. “But I certainly didn’t fall asleep. Tell the Great Spirit that I’m awake now and I need to hear what he has to say.”

  The old men exchanged a look and they both began to laugh.

  “Let’s go,” pleaded Aunt Bea, who had landed on my knee. “We can leave these old fools out here by themselves.”

  “Old fools?” asked Dog Breath. “You better watch your beak, my friend. My stomach is telling me that it is time for a meal.”

  Aunt Bea sprang to my shoulder. “If you’re nice to us I can tell you where to find a great herd of buffalo.”

  “Buffalo?” asked Dog Breath, jumping to his feet. “Where, Canada?”

  “Not far from here,” Aunt Bea said. “First, you need to tell Huckleberry what the Great Spirit had to say. After that, I’ll tell you where to find the buffalo.”

  I could see that Aunt Bea had gone straight for their throats. The old men licked their lips and rubbed their small bellies. Crooked Walker nodded his head. “They had better be close, or we will have robin for breakfast. Telling Huckleberry what he was meant to hear, is not how he was intended to hear it. The Great Spirit might become angry with us. That would not be good.”

  “He could send us back,” Dog Breath hissed. “I have found that I do not miss my wives all that much. I am not ready to go back. Fifty wives are too much for one man, even me.”

  “What did the Great Spirit say?” I asked, trying to get him back on course.

  “He said that you will have to fight the Evil One. It has been told since the beginning of days that there will be a great battle; and that you were born to take our fight to the Evil One. The only hope you have of defeating him is by being part of him. You must fight him on his own level. You must hurt him, and keep hurting him until he dies a slow death. That is the only way he can be defeated.” Crooked Walker then crossed his arms and stared at me.

  “Keep hurting him until he dies a slow death?” I asked. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  There was an explosive: crack! The thunderbolt landed close enough to throw me face first into the pine needles.

  “That is all we can tell you,” said Dog Breath with a fearful eye to the purple light above. “Trust us on that. Now, Aunt Bea, tell us where the buffalo are.”

  They were back at our little camp an hour, or so, later. Each held a great horn in one hand as they dragged the massive dead animal across the forest floor, as if it was made out of cardboard. The beast had at least six arrows buried into its hide. One look told me that they had already cut its belly and had removed his organs. Steam rose from the split sternum of the buffalo. They dropped the animal across from Aunt Bea and me, with the great head looking directly at us. I found myself growing hungrier by the second.

  “Fresh buffalo!” exclaimed Dog Breath, as if this were the first he had ever killed.

  “I have a good knife in my things,” said Crooked Walker, excitedly rummaging in his sack.

  The great buffalo suddenly raised his head and stared directly at Aunt Bea. “You’re a bitch,” he said, blood bubbles forming in its huge nostrils before the giant head fell back to the earth.

  “How do you like that?” said Crooked Walker. “You don’t see that everyday.”

  Aunt Bea looked at me and I saw shame on her face. She flew up into the trees and I never saw her again.

  The old men quickly went to work and soon there were three thick slabs of buffalo meat roasting over the fire. We had different tastes when it came to how well done we liked our meat, with the old men opting for extremely rare. I had mine done medium. I had to admit, as sorry as I had felt for the poor buffalo, he sure tasted good.

  We finished our breakfast and after we had extinguished the fire, we set off into the woods. The morning was bright and a little cool, with only a few, high thin clouds to blemish the sky. As we walked, I began to have that familiar dizzy sensation, and I knew we were traveling much further than our feet carried us. We walked into present time, my present time. The sight of a hundred abandoned vehicles, just where I had left them, suddenly lay before me.

  We were back at Spirit Lake.

  Chapter Twenty-Five