"I am."
"Why do you go?"
"I do not know. Perhaps because it is a place I do not know.
"One night I awakened in the darkness. It was very still. I lay wide awake, listening for something, and then it came to me. A voice said, 'Go!'
"One afternoon I was alone upon a mountain and I looked westward and a voice said, 'Come!' It is my destiny, I think."
The old man was silent for several minutes and when the silence grew too long I started to speak but he lifted a hand.
"The Natchee are a strong people. We are Children of the Sun. But one day a woman arose among us and spoke with a strange tongue. She spoke aloud with the voice of a man long dead and she said an enemy would come among us, an enemy who would seem to be a friend. This enemy would bring strange goods and strange presents and he would speak good words to us, but one day one among them would seek to destroy our sacred places and drive us from them to live like dogs, with no worship, with no ritual, with no memory of what we were or what we had been.
"We were to find a new place. We were to prepare to leave all behind and go into a strange, far land and prepare a place against the time of madness. We were to go where the sun goes behind the mountains and there find our place. In her man's voice she described the place and told us where to go."
"But you have not gone?"
"It was but one voice, and none of us wished to go. We love our land. It has been ours forever, I think. We lingered on, but the voice came again, and then a strange boat came and men gave presents and took things from us and went away.
"Now some began to believe, and at last it was said that some should go and find the place that is to be ours. Most did not believe, but finally one was chosen to lead the way."
"And he went?"
"Shewent. Fourteen in all. Ten men and four women went." He paused. "None have returned. We fear them dead."
The tall young man we had first seen, spoke suddenly. "She is not dead. She is mine."
I did not like him.
"They are to be joined together," the old man said.
"This has been decided? I do not know your customs."
"Shewill decide. She is a Sun, a daughter of the Great Sun." The old man paused and I thought I detected a gleam of humor in his eyes. "She is a strong woman. Beautiful, but very strong. She will decide." He paused again. "He believes he will decide. He is a Stinkard."
"I can see that."
The old man explained. "Ours is a different world from yours. First are the Suns, who rule. Second are the Nobles, third are the Respected Men, and fourth are the Stinkards. It is our custom that a Stinkard must always marry a Sun."
"So he will marry this woman?"
"As I said, she will decide."
"Iwill decide," the young man said.
"His mother was of another people than ours. Among her people women spoke when spoken to. He often speaks of this. Yet," the old man added, "he is very handsome. Many women look upon him with favor. He is a great warrior, one the greatest among us."
"And why have you come to me?"
"You go westward. You are a great wanderer. I think you could find this woman. I think you could tell her she is needed."
For a moment I thought of this. "If she is to be his woman," I said, "why does he not go?"
"He is needed. We have trouble."
"How long has she been gone?"
"Four moons. She is great among us."
Four months? There would be no tracks. How to find her? It was impossible. Nothing was known of the land to the west. There were vast plains into which no man ventured unless he could follow a stream, for none knew where the water could be found, and most said the distances between water were too great. Later, when men had horses to ride, they might venture into those plains. Now it was foolhardy and not to be seriously considered.
"Do you know where she went?"
"We know. Wethink we know."
He sat silent for a few minutes, thinking. Then he said, "Tonight, upon a skin, I shall draw a map. I do not know if it is the place, but such a place is in our memory. It was to such a place she went."
"Or planned to go. Who knows what has happened? There are other Indians." I glanced at the old man. "She is beautiful, you said? Such a one would be wanted."
"She is no ordinary woman." The old man's eyes met mine. "She can be dangerous."
"She is a witch?"
"No! No. But we Suns have knowledge--" he shrugged. "Nobody will live who tries to take her without her wish." He gestured at the young man, now across the camp. "Not even he will attempt her."
We talked longer and of many things. I did not want to look for this woman, nor did I wish to find her, but he had come to me for help, believing in the Sacketts. After all, we were going west.
In that I was like my father. From the day he landed upon our shores his one wish was to travel to the far blue mountains, yet once there he wished to see beyond them. So it was with me. All this land about us was unknown and I wished to be among the first to see it. I wanted to drink from those lonely streams, walk the high passes of the mountains, and travel down the valleys by paths I made myself.
Was that all I wanted? Until now, yes. I wished to see, to know, to find a world of my own in an unknown land. I did not know what else remained for the future, but there was in my dreams something haunting, something shadowy, something that would take no shape. Whatever it was, it was a place or a time that I must find.
We slept that night beside the stream. Keokotah was disgruntled, and I thought perhaps he might leave me and go on by himself as he had been before our meeting. Yet he did not.
Before I fell asleep I considered long the problem of the Natchee woman. My father had built a reputation as a trusted man. He was known as a warrior, yet he was also known for wisdom, and that respect and reputation had gone far afield. Such people as the Natchee, whom we did not know, knew of him. When in need they had come to him, or to us, for help. How could I do less than carry on in my father's name?
The land that lay before us was vast and unknown, even to most of the Indians. Anyone traveling west must confine himself to the rivers and streams, and all of those streams must begin in higher ground, probably in the mountains.
Every step of the way was a step into danger. There had been rumors of strange Indians coming down from the north, a fierce lot who destroyed all before them, but warlike Indians were to be expected upon the plains. Long ago an Indian had told my father they could not live without war, and certainly they did not wish to.
Our choice was simple. We would avoid trouble when possible, face it when necessary. We would have to scout the country with care. When we found Indian sign along the stream we would have to swing wide into the plains, holding to low ground. I was still thinking of this when I fell asleep.
Keokotah was irritable when morning came. "I no like," he spat, and he indicated the tall young man whose name I had not yet heard. "I will kill him, I think."
"Wait," I advised, "his time will come."
"Hah!" Keokotah said contemptuously. "His time has come and passed. He should have been drowned at birth."
Unfortunately, I agreed, and it was not fair of me. What did I know of him, after all? He seemed arrogant, and he wanted the Natchee woman, but since she was beautiful, no doubt many did. I had never seen her but I knew I did not want her. She did not seem like an easy companion.
True, I knew little of women, but I had seen my father and mother together and theirs was an easy, friendly, loving relationship of mutual understanding. Each had a role to fill and each did so, and together they made a team. In another way, Yance and his wife were the same. The examples I had were all of women who were not abrasive, each strong in her way, and each a companion as well as a wife.
Yet I was not looking for a woman. My time would come, but a wide land lay before me and it was to that land that I belonged. I would drink from a hundred streams, make paths where no men had been, and eat the meat
of strange animals before I died.
Our campfire was lifting a thin smoke to the sky when the old man came to sit near me. He passed me a roll of hide, but when I made to unroll it he put a hand on mine. "Only when alone," he said. "I trust you."
Well, all right, but did I trust him? I decided that I did and wondered if I was too trusting.
"He," the old man indicated the young man who was not near the fire, "must not know. He would go to her, and there would be trouble." He paused. "I do not know how it is with your people but in ours there are people opposed to people. He is of one group, I am of another."
"And she?"
The old man hesitated. "If the Great Sun dies it is she who will say yes or no, and the Great Sun is not well. He," the old man indicated the young man, "wishes the power. If he marries her he believes he will have it."
"If they are married will he become a Sun?"
"No, he will remain a Stinkard."
I did not wish to become involved in the affairs of a people of whom I knew little and could not know who was right or wrong.
"I am going west," I told him, "and I will look for this woman, and if I find her I will tell her she is needed at home. I can do no more."
The old man stirred the coals. The fire was dying. Soon we would be moving along.
"It is a fair land," the old man said. "I envy you. Never before have I regretted my youth, but now I would be young to walk west beside you.
"I do not know what lies westward, but we have heard strange stories of ghost cities among the mountains, vast cities hidden in the folds of canyons. And we have heard of witches and wolves and of skinny, naked things that run in the night, things not to be seen by day and things that bring fear to the heart.
"I do not know what lies out there, but you will see it all, come to know it. My body is old but my heart is young. It will go west with you."
He arose suddenly from beside me. "Find her, Ju-bal. Find her for us. It will cause much trouble if you do not."
"What if she does not come back?"
He turned to look at me. "If she is happy, it will be well. You may think I only look to our people, but it is not true. She is not my daughter, but she is like a daughter. I was one of her teachers, and believe me, I wish only happiness for her."
"She will be happy with you?"
"Who can say? She would not be happy withhim . He is a bitter, ambitious man. She would rule, and not him, although he does not believe that, nor does he want that. She would kill him, or he would kill her. I feel sure of that."
"I will try to find her, and if I do, I shall deliver your message."
"Remember, she is a Sun. Elsewhere she would be less than with us. The beliefs of others are not ours, and their ways are different. She is accustomed to power and the use of power. She is a strange woman."
Why it should come to me then, I could not say, but suddenly I remembered words from the Bible. "For the lips of a strange woman are as honey, and her mouth is smoother than oil."
I shook my head irritably. A vagrant, foolish thought. If I found her I would tell her to go home, although something in my mind said, not to him.
Chapter Four.
Long we sat by the fire, speaking in the Cherokee tongue. The old man was named Ni'kwana, and the fierce young man was Kapata, with an accent on the first syllable. Kapata was also the name for the hawk. The name suited him well enough.
He held himself aloof, disdainful of our conversation, but several times I saw his eyes straying to the buckskin on which Ni'kwana had drawn his map. I moved it closer to me. He saw the move and his eyes flared with anger.
He was taller than I by several inches, a lithe young man of uncommon strength. He could prove a dangerous antagonist.
Ni'kwana spoke of the prophecy. "We have seen no such men since the Warriors of Fire," he explained, "but each wind brings whispers to make us wonder. Is it true, then? Are the Warriors of Fire returning?"
The Natchee Indians were one of the few who had any tradition of De Soto, with his muskets and cannon, and it was his men who were known as the Warriors of Fire.
"He will not come again, but there will be others," I admitted. "You would do well to beware."
"Our neighbors, too, grow in strength," Ni'kwana said, "and as they grow stronger they become more arrogant. The Creek were once our friends but I fear they are no longer. They look with envy on our fields and our stored grain."
He was silent then, thinking as he stared into the fire. Finally he said, "I fear for our people and our way of life. Strange men come and go and the tribes are restless. Our people are uneasy in the night and the young men are restless, their eyes always looking to the horizon. You come from another world. Tell me ... what is happening?"
"There is but one thing we know, Ni'kwana, and that is that nothing forever remains the same. Always there is change. Your people have remained long undisturbed by outside influences. This may seem good, but it can be bad also, for growth comes from change. A people grows or it dies.
"Over there," I gestured toward the east, "are people without land. Others have land but wish for more. Now this land has been discovered by them and they will come seeking."
"Westward there are vast lands and no people. Will they not go there?"
"I wish it might be so, but those who come will not go further than what they can see. They will buy some land but will take more. They do not believe this is wrong, for they, too, believe they are The People, and it has been the way of the world for men, animals, and plants to move in wherever there is opportunity and where they can survive.
"In the land where my father dwelt there were a people called Picts, then Celts moved in, and after them, Romans. When the Romans moved out the Angles, Saxons, and Danes moved in, each new people taking the land and pushing the others out or making slaves of them. Then the Normans came and dispossessed all the others, and their king took all the land for his own, giving it to those who served him best."
"It does not seem just."
"It never does to those whose land is taken." I paused and then asked, "And your people, Ni'kwana? Did they always live where they now are?"
His eyes met mine and after a moment a faint smile came to his lips. "We, too, came from elsewhere. It is not remembered whence. Some say we came from the south, some from the east."
"It could be both. You may have come from the south, settled for a while, and then moved westward."
"It could be so."
We talked long into the night, and the fire burned low. The others slept. "This woman we are to seek? She has a name?"
"She is called Itchakomi Ishaia. We know her as Itchakomi, or even as Komi."
"Is it not unusual to send a woman on such a quest?"
"She is a Sun, a daughter of the Great Sun. Only he, she, or I could decide our future. Only she is young enough or strong enough to travel so far."
"And you, Ni'kwana? Are you a Sun?"
"I am." He looked into my eyes again. "I am also Ni'kwana, master of mysteries."
What we Sacketts knew of the Natchee Indians had been little enough and that mostly at secondhand, from tales told by the Cherokee, Choctaw, or Creek. These tales might or might not be true. The master of mysteries was akin to a high priest, but something more, also.
Ni'kwana then asked, "You, it is said, are a medicine man?"
This was believed of me by the Cherokee, for twice they had come to me when illnesses among them did not yield to their own practice. My father's friend Sakim had taught me much, and I had learned much from medicine men of the tribes who were friendly to me, yet Sakim had taught me much else besides, and some word had gotten about of my Gift.
"So it is said."
"It is also said that you, among your people, are also a master of mysteries."
"I am no master, Ni'kwana. I am one who lives to learn. I go west because there are lands there I do not know, and perhaps to find a home for myself."
"Perhaps your home will be ours, also."<
br />
"If the Ni'kwana is there, then I could learn from him?"
"Ah ... The way is long, and my muscles tire. I do not know, Ju-bal, I do not know. But," he added, "you could be one of us. I think your ways are like our ways." He smiled wryly. "At least, the ways of some of us.
"It is wise," he spoke suddenly, sharply, "not to trust too much. We Natchee do not all believe alike. There are factions."
"Kapata? You said he was not of your blood?"
"His mother was a Karankawa, from the coast far to the south. Kapata has much of her ways and her beliefs, and they were a wild, fierce people. His mother, it is said, was a fierce woman, and the Karankawa were eaters of men."
"This I have heard."
Rising from beside the fire I said, "Tomorrow I must go. And you, Ni'kwana? Do you return to your village now?"
"I have been too long away, and the Great Sun will need me. He grows old, and he is not well. You will find Itchakomi?"
"I will try."
With my blanket I went alone to a place beside a rock, and there I slept. When dawn came Ni'kwana still sat beside the fire as he had when I left him. Whether he had moved or slept I did not know, but Keokotah was ready and waiting, impatient to be away from these people he neither knew nor trusted.
We ate lightly, but as we moved to go, Kapata was waiting. "She is my woman," he said, glaring.
"Convince her, not me," I said, and moved to pass him.
He reached for my shoulder but my knife was drawn. "Touch me," I said, "and they will be calling you Kapata the One Handed."
For a moment I believed he would attack, but my knife was inches from his belly, so he held his hand. It was well he did so, for I am a man of peace and would not have liked to send him crippled into the time after this.
We walked away then and left them staring, some with hope, some with hatred. For myself, although I liked Ni'kwana, I was pleased to be on my way. Keokotah, even more eager to be away, took the lead and soon broke into a trot. I followed, running easily and liking the path as it wound through the greenwood.
When we came to where the path divided, I took the easternmost. Keokotah hesitated. "The other is closer to the Great River," he said.
Jubal Sackett (1985) s-4 Page 3