“Barely,” Jed whispered. Breathing had grown steadily more difficult, and saying that single word made him see stars. He felt the Indian run a hand along the back of his neck and discover the step-off of bones.
“I’m guessing you already know.” The Mohawk had the typical features. Black hair shaved in the traditional Mohawk fashion. Dark, intelligent eyes and an expression that spoke more of pity than opportunity.
All Jed could do was blink.
“I will stay with you,” he stated in the usual stoic Mohawk fashion, and sat next to Jed. “I am Kioawa, and I will be the last face you see.”
Jed’s last night fell slowly. He tried to remain awake, but an all-consuming fatigue pulled at his eyes and mind. He wanted to thank the Indian for not letting him die alone. He had always imagined that his death would be a solitary affair, especially since Magraw was gone, but as the moment neared he was suddenly afraid of being alone when he drew his last breath. He tried to speak but the words wouldn’t come. It was all he could do to draw small bites of air into his lungs. It would be the last of many things he would leave undone.
“Kioawa quietly sang as the stars began to appear in the fading light. Jed tried to focus on the soft chant and not the anger and fear in his heart and mind. He knew some of Kioawa’s language and realized that the Indian was praying to his gods to receive his brother, a fellow hunter who braved the dangers of the mountains. Understanding dawned slowly in Jed’s receding consciousness: by staying with him, Kioawa was making a promise to care for Jed’s mortal remains. He finally closed his eyes, no longer having the energy to fight off the enveloping darkness in his mind. His last thought was a question: How did he get down here?
“Jed awoke in his bed early the next morning. Now, I know what you’re thinking, that this was some sort of copout and that he had dreamed the entire affair, but you would be wrong.”
In truth, I immediately flashed to the TV show Dallas and their lame return of Bobby Ewing (the nicer of the Ewing brothers). For those of you under forty, let me explain. Patrick Duffy played Bobby Ewing, and sometime in the 1980s decided to strike out on his own, so the writers killed off his character. Mr. Duffy later decided to return to the show, so those same clever writers decided to make the entire previous season all simply a dream. Voila! Bobby Ewing suddenly steps out of a shower and magically everything is as it was. Is there a stronger term than lame? For the record, I have never seen an episode of Dallas, which should tell you how much people disliked this little trick.
“He was in the very bed that his friend James Magraw had died in, and that fact was not lost on Jed. He looked around and found that his neck, while sore, was no longer broken. He flexed his fingers and toes and felt them slide beneath the blanket of bear fur that covered him. He had never seen this blanket before, and the irony of it was not lost on him. He lifted the pelt with newfound strength and discovered that he was naked, save for a small cloth undergarment. His torso and arms were covered with fresh clotted blood. He dropped the blanket and looked for his clothes and found the tattered remnants of his leather shirt and pants draped across the bedside chair. He had had them made by a tanner in Boston almost three years ago and regretted the loss of such new and fine clothes.
“He tried to sit up, and not surprisingly the world around him began to swirl. He waited a moment and then tried again. He managed to pull himself to a sitting position, where he waited for the vertigo to subside. The blanket slipped to his lap, giving Jed a better look at the extent of his injuries. He had been torn to ragged pieces and counted at least a dozen claw and bite marks from his shoulders to his waist. He had at least one more in his right thigh, which pulsed with pain. That was the one he remembered the best.
“‘I should be dead,’ he said. His voice was weak and raspy, but to his ear he sounded like himself. The blood loss alone should have killed him, not to mention the fractured neck, which had miraculously cured itself. The memory of not being able to move or breathe was fresh in his mind, and he took a deep breath just to prove he could. The fuzzy, nothing feeling from his neck down had been replaced with blessed pain. Every inch of him screamed, and it made him laugh with joy. And then there was the slow slip into oblivion. He hadn’t dreamed that any more than he had dreamed the wounds that covered his body. He looked up into the clear light of morning utterly perplexed and found a bare-chested figure curled up on the floor just beneath the window. ‘Kioawa,’ he said, and the Indian stirred from sleep. He rolled onto his back and then in one fluid movement was on his feet, a knife in his hand, his eyes sweeping the room. Kioawa’s expression was a mix of surprise, confusion, and fear, and if he hadn’t been armed Jed probably would have laughed at his benefactor. ‘It’s all right, there’s no one here but us.’
“‘Who are you?’ he demanded a moment after confirming that they were indeed alone. The large knife that Jed recognized as his own had dropped slightly but was now pointed directly at him. Kioawa’s English was just as perfect as it had been the night before.
“‘I am the man you helped on the ledge. My name is Jedidiah Woodman, and I am in your debt.’ Jed wanted to bow as manners dictated but could only manage a simple nod of the head.
“Kioawa just stared, his knife still raised. He said something Jed could not recognize and then repeated it in English. ‘I saw you die.’ He took a step backward, openly suspicious of the white man. ‘Are you a spirit?’
“It was a fair question, and a possibility Jed hadn’t considered. How does one know if they are a spirit? When he was a boy his mother had taught him to read the Bible, so he knew that lots of people came back as spirits. Jesus returned as a spirit and He walked around like everyone else. He ate and drank; Thomas even probed his wounds (something that had left an impression on a young Jedidiah), but He never told anyone what it was like to be a spirit. ‘I don’t know,’ Jed finally answered. ‘So you didn’t cure me?’ Kioawa shook his head. ‘No Indian magic?’ The question sounded ridiculous, but he had to ask. Jed had heard so many stories about Indian magic that he had begun to believe in it, as much as he believed in anything he hadn’t himself witnessed. Kioawa’s faced darkened as if he had been insulted.
‘Stupid white man,’ he sneered, and he lowered the knife. ‘Why did you bring me here?’ Kioawa edged towards a rough-hewn chair that Magraw had made weeks before he died and slowly sat, still eying Jed suspiciously.
“‘I didn’t. I couldn’t. I can barely sit.’ Jed tried to raise an arm to prove his point and found that his shoulder wound had begun to bleed. A small rivulet of blood tracked down past his elbow. Both men watched as the stream of blood reached his wrist and then dropped to the floor. Each man had the same thought, but it was Jed who voiced it. ‘Do spirits bleed?’ He felt light headed and asked himself if spirits also pass out.
“‘No,’ Kioawa said definitively, establishing that between the two he was the expert on spirits. The small but growing puddle of blood seemed to distress the Indian more than the possibility that a spirit had spirited him away. He continued to stare at the bloody floor even after Jed had swung back in bed. ‘Spirits do not bleed. Maybe you were sent back.’
“The room had stopped spinning as soon as Jed’s head hit the straw pillow. He had heard Kioawa but needed a moment to respond. His mouth was dry, and he felt his heart thunder in his chest. If he was a spirit, he was a pretty poor one; he couldn’t even sit. ‘Sent back from where?’ he managed to say once he regained control of his body.
“Kioawa didn’t answer. Instead, he got up and silently walked to the small collection of blood, dipped a finger in it, and tasted it.
“‘That’s disgusting,’ Jed said. The Indian responded by prodding Jed’s injured leg, which sent a bolt of searing pain to his brain. ‘Damn you,’ Jed said, kicking his good leg towards Kioawa.
“‘You are a man,’ he finally concluded, and he backed away from the bed, his eyes never leaving Jed. Kioawa returned to the chair in the front room and sat, but only after pointing the
knife back at Jed. ‘Tell me why I am here or I will kill you, again.’ He awkwardly added the last word. His tone was threatening, but his countenance spoke more of fear.
“‘I don’t think it would take much to kill me, again or otherwise, but I assure you I have no idea why you or I am here. All I remember is slipping away into something completely black and cold. So cold,’ he repeated. ‘Then I woke up here in this bed.’ Jed had managed to pull himself into a half-sitting position, his head resting on one of the logs that made up the wall. ‘What happened after I—’ he hesitated
‘—after I died?’
“Kioawa searched Jed’s face for a trace of a lie. Experience had taught him not to trust anyone outside of his clan, especially the white men. They were master deceivers, but Jedidiah appeared sincere, and too weak to lie. ‘A great sleep took me.’ The night before he had watched Jed take his final gasp and then become still and cold. He had seen men die before, and this man’s death had been no different. He rolled the body away from the edge of the ledge, retrieved Jed’s knife, and then was overwhelmed by a sudden and unnatural heaviness. He sat beside the body as energy drained from him. He dropped the knife, thinking that it had been cursed, and then kicked it off the ledge with a final effort. That was all he remembered until now.
“‘Then someone else must be responsible for our present condition.’ Jed said, and he mentally added, Someone who could fix a broken neck and bring people back from beyond the edge of death.
“‘What were you doing on the ridge?’ Kioawa asked.
“‘Talking to the man who built that chair, only he wasn’t talking back.’ Jed was trying to find the position that hurt the least and eventually found himself reclined forty-five degrees with his neck flexed, his chin almost to his chest.
“‘I have seen you talk to the grave before.’ Kioawa lowered the knife and then slid it back in its scabbard.
“‘That’s mine, you know. I’m not asking for it back, but just so you know.’ Jed had painfully canted his head to look at the Indian. ‘So you’ve been tracking me?’ It was a question but clearly also an accusation.
“‘No. I have never tracked you, only seen you in passing.’ Without further comment, Kioawa stood and went outside.
“Jed waited for his new partner to return, but after a half hour he become concerned that the Indian had left him. He slowly worked his way back into a sitting position and finally stood. The world tilted and whirled for a moment, but he managed to stay upright and stumble to the chair by the door. He sat in it so heavily that it threatened to tumble backwards. The sun had cleared the trees outside the small cabin and a bright beam reached the threshold. Jed watched it slowly walk across the floor, and then Kioawa returned as suddenly as he had left.
“‘Whoever brought us here left no tracks or signs.’ Kioawa handed Jed his knife and the carcass of a fat rabbit. ‘Do you know what to do with this?’
“Jed nodded his head and began to skin the animal. It took him about five minutes to do what would normally take ten seconds, but he managed to strip the carcass. He felt exhausted and hoped he could summon enough energy to walk back to the bed. He was getting the distinct impression that there was a limit to how much help he could expect from Kioawa. He tossed the fresh meat on a small, rough wooden counter next to where Kioawa stood pounding a handful of bitter roots into a paste. Jed had done the same thing many times before for James Magraw in the weeks before he died. The mash made a palatable meal, but a better poultice. Jed went back to the skin and began to carefully peel off the thick fat layer from the hide. The cabin was warm enough that the fat began to liquefy quickly. ‘Here, take this.’ Jed said, and Kioawa turned and scooped the glob of dripping fat from Jed’s cupped hands. He mixed it with the mash of bitter roots and then kneaded it with his hands.
“‘You must wait for it to thicken’, Kioawa said minutes later. He used a strip of cloth that once had been a shirt of Magraw’s to wipe the slimy mess from his hands. He then turned to the meat and began to strip the bones.
“‘Where did you learn English?’ Jed asked as he accepted a small cut of meat.
“From the Lord Constable Bryson.’ Kioawa stepped to the wall next to the small fireplace and sat on the stone.
“‘Of Boston?’ Jed was surprised to hear a name he recognized from his youth. His father and Lord Bryson had known each other. ‘I think I knew him. In fact I believe we once celebrated Yuletide together.’ Those had been better days for Jed, meaning that his mother was still alive and his father still had hopes that Jed would grow up to be someone respectable.
“‘I was brought there when I was five. My people traded with the Dutch, something the civilized British found objectionable, so a group of you attacked our village in the middle of the night and killed everyone but the children. Being good Christians, you couldn’t offend God by letting us starve, so you sold us as slaves and displayed us as curiosities.
“Jed sat quietly, chewing the raw meat as a foggy memory about a cold Boston night and a dark-haired boy with a wild look in his eyes began to clear. It was very possible he had met Kioawa many years earlier. ‘I remember seeing a boy at Lord Bryson’s house.’ He spoke slowly, as much out of fatigue as uncertainty and embarrassment.
“‘Then it is possible we have met before.’ Kioawa gnawed a small bone, unfazed by the possible convergence of their pasts.
“‘Where were you going when you found me?’
“Kioawa turned his head away from the question. He flicked a small bone into the fireplace and then stared past Jed to the open door. They sat quietly for several moments before Kioawa spoke. ‘I was going nowhere. I have nowhere left to go.’
“Now, normally, Jed was a fairly perceptive young man, but he could have been as dumb as a bag of hammers and still picked up on the fact that Kioawa had a story to tell. A story that he didn’t seem to want to share, but considering the very strange circumstances the two found themselves in, it could very well prove to be important. Still, he hesitated. He was a private man naturally and out of necessity. The code of the mountains was not to ask questions. A man’s past was his to keep. Reluctantly, Jed let the moment pass. ‘I think that’s ready now.’ He stretched painfully and sunk his fingers into the pile of yellow-green goo and gently began rubbing it into the bites and lacerations that covered his torso, shoulders, and thighs. Kioawa continued to stare at the trees just beyond the clearing. Jed slowly stood and hobbled back to his bed and collapsed.
‘It took the better part of the next week for Jed to regain his strength, which, all things being equal, was rather remarkable.
“‘I do not think you will need my help much longer,’ the Indian said after Jed had built a small fire in the hearth. The weather had turned, and despite it being late summer, snow had fallen the previous two nights. Jed sat down on his bed and Kioawa had settled into wooded chair, which had become their nightly routine, only the Indian, instead of staring out the open door or the window, turned his gaze on Jed.
“‘I’m starting to feel my old strength return,’ Jed said after several uncomfortably quiet moments, and he stretched his arms as proof. ‘I can’t thank you enough for all that you’ve done.’ Kioawa continued with his penetrating stare, not even recognizing that Jed’s comment had violated their unspoken agreement to avoid any discussion of the strange events that quite literally brought them to the small cabin.
“Kioawa’s only answer was an occasionally tilt of the head as he continued his study of Jed. After several full minutes, he sat up suddenly as if he had finally made a decision. ‘I have lived beyond these woods and mountains. I have learned your ways and your language. I have been taught to pray to your God, but none of that has made me forget who I am, and where I come from.’ Kioawa began. ‘I saw you die, of that I am certain. But now you live. The history of both of our worlds is shaped by men who have returned from the dead. All have a purpose. What is your purpose?’
“Jed of course had ruminated over this very question f
or the past several days, but despite hours of solitary contemplation he was just as lost as he had been when he first awoke. ‘I don’t know,’ he finally said, sounding pathetically weak.
“‘When I think as a white man I too find no meaning. Your Jesus Christ brought the word of God to all those who would listen. You bring no such message. What need has He of reanimating the body of a . . .’ Kioawa finished his sentence with an unintelligible Mohawk phrase.
“Jed didn’t know whether to ask Kioawa to explain his phrase or the definition of reanimating. ‘Then if it is not my God, what of yours? Tell me why you were on the ridge. How did you find me?’
“This you will remember is the very question Jed had asked earlier only to have Kioawa respond with an answer so enigmatic that it cut off any further discussion. He continued his study of Jed and then turned his gaze to the floor. ‘You told me that a giant bear attacked you.’ Kioawa paused to allow Jed to nod. ‘There are no giant bears in this mountain. The land is too steep for even a small bear to hunt or to forage.’ Again, Jed nodded. This was something else that had consumed his thoughts. In all the years that he had lived in the shadow of this mountain, Jed had not seen a bear of any size near the meadow or on the nearby slopes. He had seen hundreds of bears elsewhere, but never here. It was one of the reasons Magraw had chosen this site for their cabin. ‘I believe that it was Tawiskaron that attacked you,’ Kioawa said. ‘I believe that you have offended him in some way and he has brought you back.’
“Are you familiar with the Iroquois legend of the Twin Brothers,” Adis asked me, and it took several seconds for me to realize that he had dropped out of the story.
“Not really,” I finally answered.
The Unyielding Future Page 28