by Vella Munn
"Why? Because I'm making you face the truth?"
"Because you have lost the truth."
He blinked, and in the gesture's aftermath she saw that she'd both angered and hurt him. The anger she understood, but the other... "You tell me I am wrong to believe that life springs from Kumookumts, but if not from him, where then?" He opened his mouth, but she didn't give him time to speak. "I will tell you something and then maybe you will understand."
"What?"
"I would be dead if Eagle hadn't come to me."
Again he blinked, and in the vast amount of time that seemed to take, she realized she was going to tell him something she never thought she would tell a white man. How he'd been able to wrench that out of her, and why she believed he should know, had a great deal to do with the look in his haunted eyes and the anger in his voice, but it went beyond that.
In a voice that stumbled and hesitated, she told him why she'd fled her parents' wickiup in the middle of a storm, all those years ago. He regarded her gravely, but said nothing. "For many nights after I returned home, my father acted as if I was dead. He stared at the mark Eagle had left on me, but I did not know whether he believed. Then his greed overcame him. I looked up from my work one day to see several soldiers approaching. Although I did not understand their words, I knew what they wanted of me. I knew my father was responsible."
"What did you do?"
"I wanted to run." She should be watching Jed so she could see his reaction, but even after all these years, the pain of that day remained, and she was forced deep inside herself. "My legs danced with the need to flee. But they were on horseback; I could never have escaped them."
"Your feelings meant nothing to your father?"
With her eyes closed, she shook her head. "Not long after my oldest brother was born, my father fell while hunting mountain sheep. The shaman's magic made it possible for him to walk, but he never hunted again. My mother made baskets which he sold to the settlers so we would not starve. Still, his heart became as twisted as his knee."
"I'm sorry."
She wanted to believe him. "I wish I had known him before. My mother is a gentle woman. Surely she must have once felt affection for him."
"Is she afraid of him?"
"Yes. She—once she ran. Another took her in, but my father threatened to kill that man, and his children, she returned."
"Luash, the day the soldiers came for you—what happened?"
She opened her eyes, but her vision was too clouded to make out his features. "They grabbed me. I fought, screamed. That only made the soldiers laugh more. I was alone, fighting. Alone." Despite the years that separated her from that day, the memory of the terror she'd felt hadn't faded. "One slapped me, but I couldn't stop screaming."
"Didn't your people hear?"
"I was in the forest, searching for pine nuts. My father must have known where I was going and sent the soldiers after me. Great fear filled me. I knew what my mother had endured. I was afraid I would die."
"And then?" he prompted when she couldn't make herself go on.
"And then Eagle came. Only, you don't believe that, do you, Lieutenant Jed Britton?"
He stood before her, his body so still that she wondered if he had turned to stone. Still his voice, his surprisingly gentle voice, brushed over her like a feather. "Just tell me what happened."
She could do that. "I heard a great cry, a scream unlike any other. Maybe Eagle had been in the clouds, watching over me. I do not know. Suddenly he was among the men, tearing with his beak and talons. They shrank before his fury. Some tried to fight him, but they had set down their weapons. Eagle buried his talons in their faces. When they lifted their hands to protect themselves, he attacked those as well."
Jed didn't say anything. She waited, barely aware of her ragged breathing. In her mind, she saw the three men cowering before Eagle's attack, their faces and hands and arms stained with their own blood.
"And you've never been bothered again?"
She shook her head. "The soldiers must have told him, because when I returned home, my father was waiting for me. He was furious, demanding to know what had happened. When he tried to strike me, Eagle attacked him."
"No."
"Yes. Eagle slashed at my father and tore a great gash in his head. Since that day, Wa'tcaq has not touched me, not tried to sell me to the soldiers. Not spoken to me. It was then that I asked my uncle to take me in." It was not the end of Luash's story, but it was all she needed to tell Jed.
She wrapped her arms around her waist, surprised to discover that her robe was covered with flakes. Still, she didn't feel cold. She glanced up at the steadily falling snow, stared at Jed who was rapidly disappearing underneath a white coating, his head cocked to one side to let her know he too had been listening to the wolf. The world around them had faded, leaving just her and this army man who hated and killed Sioux and had come here, maybe, to kill Modocs.
"Then I feel sorry for you, Lieutenant Jed Britton. To be without belief..."
"It isn't your concern. It will never be your concern. What is this: Convince your uncle to surrender. Otherwise, none of you are going to be alive to see spring."
* * *
It was nearly dark by the time Luash returned to the lava beds. Although two older women were still some distance away, carrying heavy loads of dead sage for their morning fires, she didn't see any children. The rich aroma of roasting beef wafting in the air told her that dinner would soon be ready. She spotted Kientpoos's young wife Whe-cha sitting outside their cave staring up at the sky.
"I am a foolish woman," Whe-cha said, laughing softly. "I grow cold waiting for the stars to show themselves."
"Maybe tomorrow."
"Maybe. I heard Wolf earlier and told myself that he was welcoming the stars." She sighed and stared behind her at their cave-house's dark entrance. "It is as if life has stopped here, as if spring will never come."
"Spring will return," Luash reassured her. "It always has."
"I know, and I must not tell my husband how hard it is for me to live this way, but there are times when I feel as if I am nothing more than a rock."
"Whe-cha, you are young!"
"Am I?" she whispered, and kicked at a chunk of lava rock at her feet. "Luash, you know how much I want my husband's child, but it still does not grow inside me. Maybe—maybe the fault is with me. Or maybe my husband worries so about what will happen to our people that his body is incapable of anything else."
Luash leaned forward and kissed the top of Whe-cha's head. "You worry too much. Worry is not good for a woman's body."
"So the shaman says, but knowing that and changing what is inside me is not a simple thing."
"I know. Whe-cha, I will sleep elsewhere tonight. If you and my uncle have privacy—"
"It does not matter." Whe-cha pointed without looking up. "He is with Cho-ocks again. I fear he will not come to me tonight."
Wondering if Whe-cha was right, she gave her friend a comforting hug before picking her way over the rock-strewn ground to the sentry outpost where Kientpoos and the shaman who whites called Curley Headed Doctor knelt as they looked out over the land. These days there was always a guard stationed there, since from that vantage point, the Modocs would know if the enemy was approaching long before anyone got close enough for an accurate shot.
Wishing she dared wait until she and Kientpoos were alone, she forced herself to walk up to her uncle and the shaman. Cho-ocks, looking barely older than a boy, glared at her, as she expected. His little eyes, which seemed out of place with his broad temple and generous mouth, hardened. "What are you doing here, Luash?" he demanded. "This is men talk, nothing to concern you."
"I think different." The wind hit her and she shivered. "The army general is at the soldiers' camp."
"I know," Kientpoos said.
"You do? How?"
"Cho-Cho was near their camp last night. He saw things, heard things that make him believe the army men are scared rabbits running fr
om shadows."
Although she didn't believe that, she nevertheless nodded to give herself time to think. If she told her uncle and the shaman that she'd been talking to a soldier, they would demand to know why. But she had to tell them about Jed's warning.
"Eagle came to me today and gave me his wisdom. The general has told the soldiers that it is time for war," she said. "They will never turn their backs on us, never leave us alone."
"What would you have us do?" Cho-ocks challenged. "Surrender? Walk up to them like cattle ready for slaughter?"
"I did not say that. I—"
"Enough, Luash!" Cho-ocks interrupted. "The army men call me a murderer, me and other braves. They may simply take you back to the reservation, but they would hang me."
The image of Modocs she'd known all her life swinging from a rope sent a spasm through her. "You should not have—"
"They burned our village. We sought revenge."
Although she would always believe that killing unsuspecting ranchers was wrong, it was too late to argue that. "Uncle, you were not one of them. They do not hate—"
"Luash, please," Kientpoos warned. "The time for arguing, and for peace, is behind us. Look around you. The army will never be able to overrun us here. We are safe."
"But—"
"What is it?" Cho-ocks sneered. "Have you become a frightened old woman?"
"No! Never." Clinging to what Kientpoos had just said, she reminded herself that the Land of Burned Out Fires indeed protected the Modocs as surely as the frozen lake protected the fish. Forcing tension out of her body, she smiled at her uncle. "Whe-cha waits for you."
Grunting, Kientpoos got to his feet. "Alone?"
"Alone."
"That is good." He took a few steps, then stopped. "Cho-ocks, you will spend the night here? You do not want me to send another to watch for the enemy?"
"There is no need," Cho-ocks said. "My eyes are keen, my magic strong. We are safe."
Luash wanted nothing more than to believe him.
Chapter 7
January 16,1873
"It isn't going to work. The terrain's impossible. Fighting the weather's like fighting another enemy—one that will demoralize these unproven troops."
"I've had enough of your opinion, Lieutenant!" Captain David Perry glared at Jed through eyes closed to mere slits against the harsh wind. Behind them, some two hundred soldiers and volunteers gathered behind a series of low bluffs in preparation for tomorrow's attack. "You've already expressed yourself more than adequately," the captain continued. "We all know you believe we're on a fool's mission. However, this is the United States Army. The general, the other officers, and I have made our decision based on tried and true battle strategy. As soon as the Modocs see the extent of our strength, they will surrender."
Jed snorted. "They're already aware of our so-called strength. Who do you think fired at us yesterday? They're taunting us. More importantly, they know this land; we don't. It's been almost two months since they fled into the lava beds. If they didn't believe they could outlast us, they wouldn't still be there. Believe me, they're not going to turn over their weapons simply because we march on them." Try to march on them.
"So you insist, which I heartily dispute. Our numbers alone will demoralize them. However, should those miserable cowards attempt to flee, they will find that impossible."
Jed grunted, frustration boiling inside him. If only he was back with Custer! Instead, he was trapped here without a troop to command or any decision-making capacity. He could offer advice—but that advice, more often than not, was ignored, even by General Canby, who was under incredible pressure to put an end to what politicians called a minor uprising.
Damnit, hadn't he offered to ride out with a couple of reservation Indians to try to talk to Captain Jack about surrendering peacefully? Although he had a strong suspicion he would have been turned down, because the Modocs who'd murdered settlers were afraid of reprisals, he hadn't even been given the chance to see how the offer would be received.
Instead, the war campaign had begun. Colonel Bernard had sent troops to capture the Modoc canoes so the Indians couldn't escape by water as they'd done at Lost River, but so far there had been no word that they'd achieved their objective.
Thanks to the dense, bone-numbing fog that clung to everything for miles around, Bernard's men had probably missed the canoes altogether. Not that that would make any difference, since the Modocs obviously had no intention of fleeing their stronghold. Why, he'd asked over and over again, would well-hidden Indians desert their natural cover and expose themselves on the flat land beyond the lava beds?
The answer he'd been given was so naive that he nearly laughed. Superior forces and weaponry would win the day against a handful of savages.
Damnit! The only thing that would be gained by forcing half-frozen soldiers to ride closer to the Indian fortress was that the exposed skirmish line the officers insisted on would give the Modocs a clear shot at their enemy. Ride! What a joke that was. Horses were less than useless on this uneven, treacherous ground.
Although Captain Perry looked ready to continue the argument, Jed turned his back on him and made his way to the edge of one of the bluffs that overlooked the distant stronghold.
Those few infantrymen not huddled around sagebrush fires lay on their bellies staring out at where they expected to fight tomorrow. The fog, which had shown some signs of dissipating earlier, had settled once again over the ground. The short day was ending, making it impossible to get a decent look at the lay of the land. From here, the country appeared perfectly flat, an easy march for the men. What they couldn't see was that the terrain was hard, uneven, and frozen, calling for a torturously slow march.
Ignoring the cold, Jed found a mound of shale to sit on and stared out at what looked like a shallow, quiet lake but in reality was the blanketing fog. Hidden by lava outcroppings were countless caves, narrow channels, stone hills, and valleys, and beyond that, the relatively flat stretches of land where the Modocs kept their few remaining horses and the cattle they'd stolen.
Luash was living in one of those caves. Maybe she'd left its shelter and was staring this way. Maybe she was thinking of him. Rightly calling him her enemy.
"Your pessimism only serves to demoralize the privates and volunteers. If that was your attitude at the Black Hills, I can see why Custer sent you here."
"My military attitude has never been anything but appropriate," he told Captain Perry without looking at him. "However, as you have so frequently pointed out, I have not been put in command of any troops. Thus, morale for the green recruits and untrained volunteers is your responsibility."
"Morale could not be higher," Captain Perry hissed. "Perhaps you did not see the letter Lieutenant Colonel Wheaton sent to the War Department. As he pointed out, the troops are in better condition for hostilities than any he has ever seen. He ended by praising how well the regulars and the volunteers work together."
Jed hadn't seen the letter, not that it surprised him. The more he expressed his opinion that the officers were underestimating the tenacity and determination of the Modocs, and overestimating the determination of the troops, the more he found himself excluded from both casual conversations and decision-making meetings.
But, damnation, he couldn't sit back and nod approval at the endless delays, lack of planning, inexperience, and ignorance. "Tomorrow we will see how well they carry out their orders," he muttered. "One thing I know; by nightfall either you or I will be right." He took a long breath. "I hope it's you, because if not, we'll be burying some of these boys."
To a man, the sentries turned and stared at Jed. For a moment, he wanted nothing more than to order these youngsters to run for their lives. But he was a soldier; he couldn't remember having been anything else. And in his world, dying walked side by side with living.
"Keep your eyes and ears open, boys," he said. "That's the way you stay alive."
"We shouldn't even be here," one of them muttered. "Look at thi
s land. Hell couldn't be any worse. Let the savages have it; it ain't fittin' for anyone else."
Captain Perry ordered the sentry to be silent, but Jed found nothing to argue with in the boy's statement. Surely the ranchers who'd been clamoring to have the Indians removed could have found more fertile ground for their cattle. This place was worthless to everyone except the Modocs.
To Luash.
* * *
Turning her back on the vast stretch of land that surrounded the stronghold, Luash stared down at the red rope made of dyed tule fiber which extended in a wide circle around the Modoc camp. Cho-ocks had placed it there after much making of magic, declaring that the rope would protect all who remained inside its shelter.
Now, as the shaman ordered tail feathers from a great hawk, an otter skin, and several white-haired dog skins to be attached to his medicine pole, she carried yet another armload of sagebrush close to the magic fire. If Cho-ocks saw her, he would insist that her presence angered his spirit, but she couldn't sit back and do nothing when tomorrow weighed on her heart like a great rock.
She'd heard the braves taunting the Klamaths who'd helped guide the army here. She understood that few Modocs felt their lives were in danger. She knew that the army was too slow and awkward and noisy to catch her people. Still—a shudder surged through her at the thought of how close the army had, come already, of war.
Cho-ocks left his medicine pole and walked over to where the musicians, seated on rocks around the sacred dance circle, were already beating their drums. He was soon joined by the rest of the men, all with their faces painted red except for two black lines down each cheek. The droning song of courage and victory began while the braves stood and stared at each other, their bodies motionless. Then they began moving slowly around the fire, alternately stepping and sliding their feet.
The drumbeats and monotonous chanting continued until she could no longer remember hearing any other sound. Even though she kept to the shadows with the other women, she felt herself being caught up in the ghost dance. Movement blurred as the dancers became more and more involved in what they were doing. Even the berdaches, those who sought pleasure with other men and were not wanted in battle because their magic was said to be weak, had been allowed to join in.