On and on Standing Bull tried to rally followers until Stone Face stood, and spoke in his low droning voice,
“Please! Standing Bull, let someone else speak.” The crowd laughed.
Pock Face stepped forward to shout, “Listen to Standing Bull. What do you know Stone Face, you haven’t even counted fifteen winters. Standing Bull has taken many Vardropi scalps.”
Mole Finger threw his arms up in the air. “Why does Standing Bull have to bully all the conversation, Pock Face? Others deserve a chance to speak too.”
Snake Horse spoke up, “Those scalps he took were probably taken off Vardropi that had already been killed by the Woondigo. At least that’s how I heard it.”
Mocking laughter echoed throughout the crowds.
“It’s true,” came a voice from the crowd, “I, Smoking Toad, was there. We didn’t even see Standing Bull until all the Vardropi were dead. But when his services were no longer needed, he and his renegades, like the vultures they are, picked over the corpses for the trophies he displays. It shames me that he wears the eagle feathers meant for true warriors. I know of no chief who sanctioned that.”
Laughter and derision spread through the throngs like a bouncing echo, growing stronger and stronger until the whole amphitheater reverberated with mockery.
Standing Bull stalked off in a rage. As he passed the council fire he kicked a log that scattered burning embers on the children seated nearby. With cries of pain they scrambled to brush off the hot coals and pumice.
The Quant shaman, Schmo Hollar, son of the Flying Wolf, scowled at Standing Bull. “There is no call for being so careless, Standing Bull,” he shouted.
Trills of approval rose up as some even shouted derisive insults, “Klamath reject! Klamath outcast!”
Mendaka again leaned over to whisper in Sur Sceaf’s ear, “All brute and no brains.”
Sur Sceaf grinned, “At least the crow has stopped squawking his nonsense.”
A talking chief named Charging Beef of the Bull Tribe, stood with a child in arms, waited till the throng quieted, then said, “Thank you Mole Finger and Stone Face for seeing to it someone else got a chance to speak. Standing Bull is like a young elk, too inexperienced to see he doesn’t have the antlers for the task. I know of no Sharaka, including my clan who wishes to leave the land of our ancestors, but when the forest is on fire, a wise man leaves.” He looked down at the baby in his arms. “My grandson, Earth Drum, may only ever know of this land in tales we tell him. I fear that the Pitters will take our forsaken lands and then it will be too difficult to wrest them back or at least too costly to us in lives. I repeat, I don’t want to leave my land, but Lord Sur Sceaf has made it apparent that that is the only way to preserve our ways. As Onamingo has approved of the plan of the Council of Three Tribes, so too shall I. For Onamingo has always foreseen the dangers ahead on the trail.”
During the buzz of comment that followed, a very old talking chief named Boots-Lost got slowly to his feet, assisted by a gnarled staff. When the crowd quieted, he declared in quavering voice, “I fear the old ways will be forgotten and the Sharaka will become White or at least think too much like the White Man if we leave. I know the Herewardi skalds. Yes, they are mostly good men, but they have already impressed our children with too much White thinking. I ask, will we still be Red Men when this is all over and we have left our woods?”
Snake Horse stepped forward into the council fire light and proclaimed, “I understand your concern, Boots-Lost. Your wisdom has led to the asking of a vital question, but it is my strong belief that we will always be Red Men. We will always be men of honor and courage. That will never change. And like the Red Men before us, we will move to new hunting grounds as needed. We will not be absorbed. We treasure our identity too much for that. I, too, say, as Charging Beef declared, we must leave this land in order to survive. I have fought the Pitters for many winters beside Onamingo in the Tahlequah. I know the Evil Spirit Sanangrar, with his legions. He has moved across this land like locusts killing everything and enslaving everyone in their path; men, women, and children. Of our people they captured, we never saw but a few again. The torture I have seen them inflict is too horrible to tell in words. Can any man believe we will have any life if we stay?” Snake Horse signed, ‘I am with Onamingo and Lord Sur Sceaf.’
Cries of support arose out of the crowds.
“So far, Surrey,” Mendaka whispered, “it looks good, but here comes your cousin, Schmo to speak, more Quailor than Sharaka, I fear. More Quant than Red Man.”
Schmo Hollar, son of Flying Wolf, held himself up with his prayer staff and spoke, “I believe we cannot fight so great an enemy. To do so would be running against the wind. The only way to win against these Pitters is through dreaming and dance. It is a spiritual war we must win against them, not a war of blood and iron. I’m with Standing Bull. I say, stay, pray, and pay.”
A few voices from the crowd shouted, “Stay, pray, and pay!”
This time the reaction from the crowds was mixed.
As Schmo Hollar made his way back to his mat, several braves loaded the fire with fresh pine logs causing it to flare up and send sparks flying into the moonlit night sky.
Sur Sceaf was surprised to see Sagwi jump to her feet and walk into the light.
“No!” Sagwi cried out with her nostrils flaring. “No, no, no, Schmo!” she said as Schmo flinched from his mat. “Indeed, ya speak part of da truth, but we is only gonna win dhat spiritual war by us keepin dhat dher spiritual flame from being blown out by da Pitter wind ya speak ‘bout. We’s all know how deadly dhat ole East Wind can be. Dherfore, it is da will of da Council of Women dat we join wif da Hyrwardi and da Quailor, dhat we no longer be see’n our sons and our husbands killed off and dhat we neber experience dhem dher death and labor camps again. Dher is a time for da spirit and dher is a time for da sword. I’m but a woman, but I tells ya dhis is da time of war.” A multitude of women arose to trill their approval.
Dancing Rabbit, Taneshewa and Sparrow Hawk at her side shouted, “I’m mighty surprised that the revered Flying Wolf hasn’t turned over in his grave and hid his face from the likes of you, Schmo Hollar. You ain’t got the guts he had. It ain’t your Sharaka Blood that’s speaking now. You think on that.” She signed powerfully, Taneshewa and Sparrow Hawk did the same. ’I am with Onamingo and the Lord Sur Sceaf.’
Schmo stood up, seemed to pause, then stepped forward again. His yellow painted face, with black lightning bolts exiting at the corners of his eyes, glinted in the firelight. The feathers sticking out in all directions on his head seemed to dance with the sudden gust of winds coming off the crater waters. He turned back and looked at Sagwi. “My tongue turns in me Sagwi and Dancing Rabbit, I’m only saying we need the gods on our side. I’m not sure the gods will follow us from this holy place.”
Sagwi put both fists to her hips, “Don’t ya be knowin da gods followed us all across dhis land? From one sea to the aether!”
Thunder Horse came out of the darkness to declare vehemently, “I have never taken the occasion to speak during these ceremonies except in the office spirit chief, and as such this calls for my scrying. For the past two days I have scryed the surface of the crater. All the omens say the gods are with us in living among the Hyrwardi.”
Schmo conceded, “The Thunder Horse’s magic is far greater than mine and if he believes this to be so, then I will yield to the decision of the talking chiefs.”
“I knowd your heart be in da right place, Schmo,” Sagwi said, then she turned toward the hemlock grove and called, “I tink it is time we heard from our bravest of warriors, Mendaka.”
The crowd in front of them turned towards the grove and parted, leaving Mendaka in open view, standing there by Sur Sceaf beneath the old gnarled ghost tree.
Mendaka groaned. He signed, ‘I would speak.’ He walked over to Schmo, took his prayer staff and began tracing a medicine wheel in the pumice.
A sudden hush fell like a blanket, draping the assembly.
Then Mendaka spoke, “As I draw this medicine wheel,” Mendaka declared in a loud, clear voice, “I see the serpents exit in all the directions of the heavens. Yet, they all come out of the same circle. The same black sun bore us all, the same Crater of the Well of Creation. As free people, each of us seeks our own spiritual direction. Despite our many viewpoints, as you can see we all begin from the same place.” Mendaka turned toward Boots-Lost and said, “We love our land.” His gaze shifted to Charging Beef. “We love our children and our families, we want them to be safe and some day we want to reclaim our land for Earth Drum and all the other children and children’s children to come.”
He paused and looked around at the multitude as the tension built. Then walked over to the blanket where his family sat. He rested the prayer staff against his shoulder, and put both his arms upon Little Doe and Going Snake. “I would not have my wife defiled nor my son enslaved by the rapine of bloodthirsty Pitters.” He looked directly at Schmo and thundered, “And I won’t be lulled to sleep by pacifists who wish this were a better world than it is.”
Going Snake reached up and clasped his father’s hand. Mendaka looked down at his son and smiled. Sur Sceaf thought on his own family and knew he would do everything in his power to keep them safe. Once again his blood-brother, Mendaka, made him realize how many good men there are and how they might indeed, ultimately prevail with such men as their champions.
After stirring the crowd, Mendaka returned to the center of the arena, strode over to Schmo. “To those of you who still hang on a fence, I say this, the strategy of the Council of Three Tribes, which our leader Sur Sceaf has brought us, will allow us to remain free while we build up our forces and prepare to overcome the Skull Worm and Sanangrar, both of whom we know as the Evil Spirit. The High Lord Sur Spear has already gathered great stones, marble, and granite, and stockpiled other resources for the building of a mighty city and fortress in Urford, a fortress to be unequaled in the West, into which we can flee when the enemy comes in his blood and horror. Then someday, when we have the numbers and the strength, we can reclaim all the lands of our inheritance and more.” Mendaka turned, walked over to the spot where Sur Sceaf still stood. In a voice ringing with passion, he declared, “I have fought the Pitters alongside my white brother, Sur Sceaf. I know him to be a strong and powerful leader, a much proven warrior.” Mendaka then raised the medicine staff high and said, “I will take him to be my leader.” He signed, ‘Shape it so.’
Following Mendaka’s speech, there was a great cacophony of comment filling the amphitheater. The moon rode on course towards the western horizon still bathing the land in its silvery pale light. A long silence prevailed. Mendaka assumed his place beside Sur Sceaf.
The Great Chief Onamingo walked to the center of the arena, raised his arms and spoke. “You have heard all the great counsel this night. You all know that I stand with Sur Sceaf and the Council of Three Tribes. Now the time has come for you to make your choice.”
Onamingo raised his hands again as the rumble in the throng quieted and the people fell silent. “All of those who spoke their concerns were indeed eloquent. As is our custom, I will now judge the two representatives of the opposing opinions. I now ask for Mendaka and Hotuekhaashtait the Standing Bull to come forth.”
Mendaka squeezed Sur Sceaf’s arm. “Now the people’s feet will show us where their hearts truly lie.”
As Mendaka made his way to Onamingo’s side, Standing Bull elbowed his way through the crowd and took his place to Onamingo’s other side, his expression reflecting both arrogance and premature confidence. Onamingo waited until most of the eager crowd stood up in anticipation of the vote.
“It is the time of choosing. What is decided this night will determine our fate. Who stands with Mendaka? And who stands with Standing Bull?”
The mass of talking chiefs, the Council of Women, and representatives for each clan and sub-clan, lined up behind either Mendaka, or Standing Bull. Some went quickly. Others appeared to be hesitant and were still debating. The voting went on for some time. At first the voters seemed evenly divided, but as time went on. More and more lined up behind Mendaka,
After clan leaders had made their choice, Sur Sceaf could see fully, that five-sixths of the talking chiefs stood with Mendaka. The rest, amounting to some six clan chiefs, stood with the Standing Bull.
The moon had now passed three-fourths of the way across the crater, casting angled beams and long shadows onto the pumice floor of the amphitheater where the council fire burned low. It was so quiet that Sur Sceaf could hear the hooting of an owl in the distance. His heart beat faster at the thought that most of the talking chiefs from every Sharaka settlement had chosen Mendaka and that meant they had chosen to follow the recommendation of the Council of Three Tribes.
Sur Sceaf walked up beside Onamingo and stood to observe along with Onamingo’s original talking chiefs.
After the choosing was completed, Onamingo stood tall and proclaimed, “Sur Sceaf, from this day forth, you are the father of our people. Lead us to good lands so that we may feed, clothe, and shelter our families in peace. As you are our sovereign, we will as equals defend ourselves from the inroads of the Pitter Empire. We hereby pledge the might of our warriors to join you in all battles for the safety and welfare of the three tribes. While we await your return to DiAhman with the Quailor Tribe, we will make all necessary preparations. Then we shall join in the march to Witan Jewell with you, there to sojourn for the winter. In the spring we shall move to our allotments on the Coasts of the Great Deep.”
The spirit chiefs, lined up behind Mendaka, sent up trilling chants of acclaim and praise, while the Council of Women danced with joy. As their eyes met, Taneshewa offered Sur Sceaf a warm congratulatory smile.
After it quieted back down, Sur Sceaf stepped forward. “It is a great honor to have the confidence of Chief Onamingo, the talking chiefs, the Council of Women, and the voice of the people. In this great endeavor, I will rely heavily upon your counsel and assistance. I also appreciate the support of all the Sharaka who have chosen to stand with me. I promise to never turn a deaf ear to any of you. I shall do all in my power to fulfill the trust you show me this night.”
Standing Bull brandished his tomahawk, his face twisting into a rage. “You are all fools to trust this pretty white boy, Surrey. Look how he struts himself on that white horse he rode into camp on. I will never take orders from any White Man, nor do I care for the Council of the Sachems. They are nothing more than a bunch of dusty old buffaloes. And the Council of Women is no more than a bunch of cackling old hags. I say to my braves, and I hope that includes you, Lone Dog, for you have long been my trusted friend. Let them burn the whole damned land behind them. We will live with the Klamath Tribe and become rich bargaining with the Pitters.”
Lone Dog, the young ruffian with the dog ear amulet, pleaded, “You shouldn’t make this judgment based on jealousy over a woman, Standing Bull. We should listen to Mendaka. He is a seasoned warrior with much wisdom. We cannot afford to let our pride get in the way of sound reason, my friend.”
“Damned if I care, go with them then. If you’re not my friend, go! Choose me or them!” Then Standing Bull spat in Sur Sceaf’s direction and shouted, “White Lord, don’t think you are the first man to have had Taneshewa. I put the first hole in her moccasin. I rode her hard and I used her up and tossed her away like the dirty shoe she is.” His teeth bared in a snarl as he stormed off in the direction of the horse corrals while his cadre of disheveled braves, including the reluctant Lone Dog, scrambled to follow him.
Chapter 12: Sur Sceaf’s Restraint
The fire of anger rose up like a thunderhead in Sur Sceaf’s chest. He drew his scramasax and started after Standing Bull only to feel Mendaka’s powerful grip clasp over his arm. “Not here my friend. Not yet. Hold yourself back or this will not end well for us all.”
Sur Sceaf’s chest boiled with suppressed rage, his nostrils sucked air and blasted it out like a mad bull. In his own land
he would be justified. Sharaka custom would not allow for it here. Mendaka pulled him into the shadows and urged, “Cool down your hot-head, my brother. I remember you getting us in some bad fixes because of that temper in our youth. It will only make it appear like you have already violated Taneshewa and we don’t want that.”
Sur Sceaf glared at him. “Surely, you don’t believe any such thing.”
“No, I don’t, but some would.”
“Then why--”
“These are my people, I know them better than you. They will not stand for any violation of the rules of the pow wow, especially when emotions are running so high. Stay your hand and a day of reckoning will surely come. For my sake, Brother, I ask you to show some refrain. If not for my sake, then for Ahy’s sake, stand down.”
Sur Sceaf shifted his gaze to where Taneshewa still stood. A look of shock and shame covered her face. Shame was worse pain than had he done something physical. As soon as she caught him looking at her she averted her eyes. He knew that in her culture a maid who gave herself to a brave before marriage would dishonor herself, her family, and her clan in a manner that some would deem unfit for marriage. Now, because of Standing Bull, unless he married her, she would be deemed unfit for marriage to anyone else in her tribe. No decent brave would take her to wife and have this much shame and humiliation to deal with day in and day out all the way from the wagging tongues of busy bodies to the vulgar jests of young braves.
The Sire Sheaf Page 27