Zadayi Red

by Caleb Fox

  The woman wandered in her talk. From the blessed comfort of a borrowed pallet Sunoya asked what kind of adolescent Tensa had been. “One of them boys with high ideas, the kind people call noble and lotta families hope for. This un thinks maybe Ninyu hoped his son would become a White Chief.” Of the three chiefs, most people thought White was the highest station.

  The crone shook her head, as though people were foolish to want such high things and meddle in such impertinences as government.

  Mother pulled away from Dahzi and wandered outside.

  Sunoya forced another question from her weary throat.

  “Yes, one of Ninyu’s daughters is nursing. She has a boy nearly two. My grandchildren, they’re grown already. Got me two great-grandchildren, one on the way, and I hope a passel more to come.”

  Bleary with fatigue, Sunoya snuggled Dahzi closer and gave herself up to sleep.

  The baby sucked at the dry deer hide that covered her breasts.

  Time had never jangled so hard against itself. In the afternoon Ninyu and his family buried their only son properly. In the evening they enclosed themselves in their house to mourn. They grieved the loss of a yuwi, a being of spiritual energy, a unique life.

  The next morning, hesitantly, the family gathered around their home’s center fire and marveled at the new grandson in Sunoya’s arms. Each of them felt the finger-webbing, each murmured, “The child of prophecy,” and added phrases of hope.

  Sunoya took a risk. “The Immortals have given him to me to raise,” she said. “When they gave me Su-Li, they forbade me to have children. Because they intended me to bring up this medicine bearer, and train him for what he should become.”

  They studied the medicine woman uneasily. Ninyu took three or four deep breaths and settled it by saying, “Of course, you will be his mother.”

  So they made the other practical arrangements. The younger wife, Detala, was already giving Dahzi a breast. “And that boy is as hungry as his name,” she exclaimed. Everyone agreed to tell Dahzi, when he was old enough to talk, to call Ninyu “Grandfather” and address his wives Detala and Nuna, which meant “awl” and “potato,” as “Grandmother.”

  “And he’ll call you ‘Mother,’ ” said Detala to Sunoya.

  Su-Li rasped from the smoke hole at the top of the hut. Ninyu looked up at him. The buzzard didn’t like to be confined, but he wanted to hear.

  “Naturally, you and the boy will live with us,” said Ninyu.

  Sunoya felt a sting of fear. She opened her mouth for a quick refusal when Su-Li interrupted in her head. Accept. Too dangerous for us to live alone.

  Sunoya considered, but she was still uneasy. “Ninyu, I cannot let any man . . .”

  “We remember the old stories. If you have a spirit animal, no man touches you.”

  Su-Li a-a-arked.

  You will be a virgin and a mother! Thunderbird’s words rang in her head.

  Sunoya felt the tears come and then ordered them back. To weep with joy in a household drowning in grief—that would be thoughtless.

  She looked at Ninyu’s bleached face. She felt a swirl of fear and joy. From childhood Ninyu’s face had scared her. “Thank you,” she said. “I am honored, greatly honored, to be mother of the medicine bearer, the child of prophecy. Also honored to be taken into the home of the Red Chief.”

  No one spoke for a moment.

  Sunoya checked the zadayi disc inside her dress. In the action it had flipped over. She turned it red side out.

  Then she reached over and put her hand on Ninyu’s arm. “How are you?” she asked him. It was out of line to ask, except that medicine people had certain privileges.

  The chief’s face rippled like darkening water. “Our family lost one yuwi and gained two.”

  She knew that he was only putting the best face on things. In any man’s heart a newborn grandson would not make up for the death of a grown son.

  After the week of intense mourning, the family took Dahzi to the village’s Medicine Chief, who gave the boy a special blessing, carried him in a circle around the village, announced his name as Dahzi, the Hungry One, and led an honor song for the child of prophecy. The family joined in first, then all the people. They had heard rumors of the miracle child, but now they saw him for themselves, and smiles were broad. Most were glad that they, the Socos, and not the Tuscas, were given this boy. Su-Li flew slow loops above the celebrants.

  Sunoya watched on tenterhooks. The Medicine Chief looked so decrepit that he might drop the boy. At the end of the song she clasped the child to her breast.

  Ninyu raised his voice above the hubbub. “I have something to say.”

  People stopped talking. The Red Chief took Sunoya by the sleeve, strode to the middle of the circle so everyone could see them and hear him.

  “Tensa has been murdered by the Red Chief of the Tuscas. That will lead to war between our villages. I tell you, though . . . I tell you that my son’s death has awakened my heart. I will not lead such a war. Here and now I retire as Red Chief of the Socos.”

  He put his hand gently on Dahzi’s forehead. “My new grandson is a medicine bearer. I hope that he will be able to turn every Soco’s zadayi back to victory.”

  He walked to his own house with Sunoya, his wives, and his children trailing.

  He waited until after supper to spring his next surprise on Sunoya. He took her out into the night air where they wouldn’t be overheard. Su-Li rode on her shoulder.

  “Sunoya,” said Ninyu, “I want to ask for a great act of kindness from you.”

  In the darkness she couldn’t read the eyes in his white face.

  “I have spent my life on war, and it has brought me to grief. I am forty winters old. I’d like to follow the path of my own grandson. I want to spend the rest of my life learning medicine. Will you be my teacher?”

  Sunoya was stunned. “I am much younger than you.”

  “Please.”

  She was taken aback to hear the word please from a great man. “Of course.”

  The moon caught his eyes, and she could see the light in them.

  During the next moon, the Moon of Short Days, by ancient custom the villagers would have gone to the Grandmother Sun Dance at the Cheowa village. However, the White Chief, Red Chief, and Medicine Chief talked it over and decided to stay home this year. After all, a War Chief of one of the villages had actually killed the son of their War Chief.

  Instead of attending, the village sent a delegation of the three chiefs and well-armed men to register their protest at great council. If they did not get satisfaction, they would declare war on the Tuscas.

  For Sunoya it was a horror. Here was what her dream had predicted, the ruining of the Cape of Eagle Feathers, and all the misery that would follow.

  Yet it was inevitable. She herself could not have gone and danced, drummed, and sung with Inaj, the murderer of her child’s father. She would not have exposed the baby to the wrath of his vengeful grandfather. Inaj’s spear had set these consequences in motion.

  When the three chiefs and the soldiers left for the ceremony, she was already sure that she and the Galayi had only one hope, that the child of prophecy would somehow save them.

  So she spent the Moon of Short Days tending to her son. She was not the Medicine Chief here, and did not bear the daily obligations of that position. True, the Soco Medicine Chief was not a shaman of Sunoya’s power. In his lifetime he would make only one journey to the Land beyond the Sky Arch. By the beat of her drum and with the help of the u-tsale-ta, Sunoya could soar to the land above and seek the counsel of the Immortals.

  Sunoya was satisfied with her position—she felt honored. As the second most powerful medicine person in the tribe, behind only Tsola, she was given responsibility not for her village but for the medicine bearer. In him, and through the blessings of the Immortals, her special abilities would bear fruit.

  For now, she enjoyed the routines of taking care of Dahzi. When he wet himself or soiled himself, she changed his blank
ets and stuffed the inner bark of the cedar tree in them as an absorbent. She played with him. She babbled with him, napped with him, held him.

  She also reveled daily in commonplace activities she had missed during her years devoted to training as a shaman. She played sister to Ninyu’s grown children, and co-mother to their children. She gossiped with his wives, especially about who was courting who, which woman was pregnant, and which man was slipping around with whose wife. She helped prepare food, sew clothes, clean the house. She mended cuts and scrapes, soothed feelings, settled squabbles, and helped make their home a happy place to live. Though she was forbidden to love a man at night and start a child in her own belly, she took pleasure in the sounds that told her that other women were doing that. She happily watched the children grow, especially her own son. Son—that word rang in her heart.

  Before the end of the Moon of Short Days the delegation came back with the inescapable news. They had demanded that Inaj cover Tensa’s bones, that is, make lavish gifts to his family as recompense. Inaj had defied them. He had declared to the council that he wasn’t the murderer—Sunoya was. She killed his daughter and stole his grandson. Publicly, loudly, he declared that he would kill this evil woman and reclaim his progeny. If he had to shed the blood of all the Soco villagers to get justice, he would do it.

  The council ended in acrimony, the ceremony in disarray.

  “Don’t worry,” said the White Chief. All three chiefs were sitting with Sunoya, Ninyu, and the entire family. Detala had served the adults sassafras tea. “Socos stand up for each other. We will fight Inaj if we have to, however we have to, for as long as we have to.”

  The Red Chief put in, “We do think you should take some precautions. I’m sorry to have to say this. Inaj will sneak first, attack second. One of your relatives, men you trust, should stand guard on Sunoya and the baby every moment of every day. When Sunoya walks through the village, when she sleeps, even when she goes to the river to pee. Every moment.”

  “Agreed,” said Ninyu.

  The Medicine Chief said, “What can your spirit guide do to help?

  Su-Li said, Tell them I’ll keep watch from the skies. Anything else is between you and me.

  Sunoya said, “He has the eyesight of an eagle and a nose that’s even sharper. He can smell enemies from the tops of mountains. He’ll keep a sky watch for us.”

  “Good.”

  Sunoya smiled at her buzzard friend. He’d also enjoy being aloft, not sitting around trapped in a hut.

  When the chiefs left, Ninyu said, “It’s all right, Sunoya. We are honored to take care of you and the child.”

  She thought, No, it’s not all right being watched every moment. It’s like being in prison. She said, “You’re very kind to us.”

  Within a week a Soco man out hunting deer got a spear through the belly. Though the killer took the spear away, no one had any doubt who was responsible.

  Within a moon two women gathering rose hips along the creek were kidnapped. One moon later they straggled into the village. Their tale was rape. They said their bellies could be full of children by any number of men, Tusca men. One added, “Probably Inaj.”

  The chiefs of the Socos did the inevitable. They declared that Inaj’s acts demanded much more than satisfying the cry of Tensa’s spirit for redress. This was no longer just a matter for Tensa’s clan or the need for balance in the world. “We are at war,” they declared, “with the Tuscas.”

  That meant their new Red Chief was now the village governor. No Galayi band had ever been at war with another.

  Sunoya and Su-Li conferred quietly with Ninyu. “Do anything to stop this declaration of war,” Sunoya said. “It will delight Inaj. It will make him all-powerful.”

  Ninyu said, “I am no longer a chief—this was bound to happen.”

  Word spread as fast as storms blew across the land. A runner came from the Cheowa village, begging the Socos to revoke the declaration.

  “Did you tell Inaj the same?” the Red Chief asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Inaj mocked me.”

  A runner from the Cusa village came with words even more urgent. The Cusa village was traditionally a place of sanctuary. They never entered into war for any reason, and offered refuge to any person being threatened. The messenger reminded the Soco chiefs of the great commandment of the Immortals when they created the People of the Caves, that no Galayi might ever shed the blood of another. He begged them to consider what punishments the Immortals might rain down upon the tribe if two bands made war on each other.

  The chiefs told him to go home without even repeating this foolishness to the Tuscas. The Red Chief said, “The land is already aflame with war.”

  “Now Inaj is laughing,” Sunoya told Ninyu. “He’s laughing at us, laughing at the world, laughing at the Immortals.”

  Ninyu asked Sunoya, “How long will Inaj go on?”

  “As long as we don’t turn Dahzi over to him. You’ve got to do something.”

  “There’s nothing I can do. For the moment, Ahsginah, the Evil One, reigns.”

  16

  When spring came, the two warring villages risked going to the Planting Moon Ceremony. It was the dance that brought full bellies to the people for the entire year—the corn crop, ground, was a staple during the winter. Besides, no one would dare violate the truce of these sacred dances.

  “Still,” said Ninyu, “we’ll keep two guards on you and the Hungry One all the time.”

  As soon as they made camp along the river above the village, an old man brought Sunoya a message. “Tsola wants to see you tonight. You and the child.”

  Sunoya smiled. She knew this old man for what he was.

  She had made a full day’s travel carrying Dahzi already today, but for Tsola she could walk another hour up to Emerald Cave. “Eat with us and we’ll go.”

  “We’ll wait until dark,” said the old man.

  The two guards were mystified when Sunoya told them she and the child would be going to the Emerald Cavern that night with the old man. They were more scandalized when she said she’d be taking the child, and petrified at the edge of the camp when the old man began to change. Fingers to claws. Arms to forelegs. Skin to fur. Face to muzzle. Teeth to fangs.

  The panther turned to the guards. “Just follow and keep calm. I see well in the dark.”

  In the middle of the night, though the Cavern knew neither day nor night, Tsola held the Hungry One, the child of prophecy, and giggled. Sunoya laughed. She wasn’t used to seeing the Wounded Healer act this way. Tsola even held the child toward the fire, for his sake, though she preferred the cool of the Cavern, and the darkness.

  Sunoya reached up and stroked Su-Li’s feathers. He still disliked caves, especially this vast one, and he could travel to the spirit world without Tsola’s help.

  Tsola got an extra blanket, wrapped the child tighter, and sat a few steps from the embers. “I have something on my mind.”

  “Talk her out of it,” said the panther, Klandagi.

  Sunoya frowned at him. She was used to Klandagi’s voice, human with a hint of growl, but this was abrasive.

  “I’ll take this tone with her if I have to,” said Klandagi. “It’s my job to save her. The people need her.”

  “Let me tell Sunoya,” said Tsola.

  When Tsola finished her proposal, Sunoya was rigid with fright. Tsola uncovered the child’s face and looked at it, waiting for Sunoya to say something.

  After a long pause, Klandagi spoke instead. He howled like a beast, a wail of woe. Then he said, “If you do this, the clansmen of the chiefs you offend will rise up and kill you.”

  His mother gave him a stricken look.

  “All I will be able to do is die trying to protect you.”

  Tsola seemed to go away for a moment.

  “When the tribe loses you, it loses everything,” the panther argued.

  The Seer composed herself and answered evenly, “If I don�
�t do something, they’ve already lost everything.”

  She let them sit on this notion. Klandagi padded to one of the clay-covered walls, stood up with his back against it, and scratched his spine, mucking his glossy coat with mud.

  “I have to do my work,” she went on. “Sometimes being the Seer is hard. I can’t just wait and hope that this baby—”

  Knowing his mother, Klandagi said, “And what are you not saying?”

  Tsola sighed, looked long at the child, and said, “I love to wear the Cape. Wear it and hear its music. That is the legacy of the Seers.”

  Klandagi eyed his mother hard.

  Tsola said to Sunoya, “What are your thoughts?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. It’s daring.” She cursed herself for being mealy-mouthed. “Seer, it’s . . . You just can’t.”

  Tsola blanked her face with thought—Sunoya was amazed at how smooth and beautiful the face was—and after a few moments snapped back to them. “When I took on this task, I accepted everything that goes with it,” Tsola said.

  Klandagi said, “It’s their problem.”

  Tsola’s eyes shot a plea to Sunoya. Her pupil and friend pursed her mouth and drew an idle pattern in the cave floor with a finger. After a while she said, “Well, then, let’s figure it out.”

  Tsola motioned for Klandagi to join them. Her son didn’t move.

  “Listen to me,” she called across the room to him. “I’m not going to live forever.” Seers and their families had the gift and burden of living for a hundred and thirty or forty winters. “I’ve always had the power of the Cape. The people have always had the benefit. It’s my calling.”

  Klandagi rumbled from the wall, “Think of what the people will lose.”

  “They need the Cape.”

  The man-panther curled his lips in thought, then walked forward and coiled next to his mother. His tail snaked up and down on the ground like a rattler.

  After a few minutes of talk the two women grew excited, and Klandagi was helping out.