Storykeeper

by Daniel A Smith

  I wanted to yell as loud as I could, but I stomped my feet instead.

  “This is not Blue Spring or close to it,” he said.

  I shook and snorted at him.

  “It did not happen here.”

  “How can I believe you?”

  “Not now,” he said and trotted away.

  I knew he would not stop or say anything more. I followed as he climbed the ever-steepening slope to a plateau of brown switch-grass rustling in the warm breeze. Long blue ridges stretched in every direction, layering one mountain beyond another. Across the endless forest, scattered blossoms of red and pure white brightened my spirit. Patches of faint green and dark yellow marked a new beginning.

  We traveled east. The land became more uneven, broken up by jagged stones and boulders. Taninto led us down to a small creek. The water sparkled and raced past as we slowly made our way along the bank. High bluffs of knotty boulders closed in on both sides.

  Long ago, one of the boulders had tumbled from its lofty perch down into the creek. Behind it, the water spread wide. In the shallows, he crossed to the other side and climbed up to an overhanging ledge. “We will camp under here,” he said and did not speak again until we had set up camp and started a fire.

  “Nanza.” He gently laid his hand on my arm. “I know you are angry at me, but I have told you all that I know about your family.”

  Instead of pulling away, I stared down at his hand, tracing the deep wrinkle to nowhere.

  “I kept all stories from you—at first because you were too young, then because I wanted to protect you in my valley. Now, to be safe, you need to know all that I know.” He waited for me to look up.

  “Nanza, listen and always remember.”

  Chapter 17: Shadow Wind

  Taninto’s Journey

  The day after - June 23, 1541

  Like all of my people, I was humbled by the conquistadors and eager to pay homage to their leader Hernando de Soto, the Son of the Sun. Issqui, the Great King of Casqui, had stood before him and spoken elegant words of honor, service, and peace. He presented many fine gifts and offered the comfort of his own lodge.

  Lord de Soto gave in return no gifts, few words, and a rejection of the finest lodge in all of Casqui. At his wish, the Spanish camped outside the walls, east of the north gate, among the town grove. Orders were given for poles, branches, and twine to build shelters and for firewood.

  After I put away my shirt and feza, my uncle sent me to help where I could. I knew the groves of Casqui well. I had spent many summer days eating early-ripes from the mulberry and pear trees, climbing to the top of the tallest pecan tree, or wandering among the walnuts and persimmons. Keepers of the grove burned off the brush and the undergrowth each spring, making newly fallen limbs easy to find.

  Before I could gather an armload, the Spanish had posted guards around most of the grove. One of them, with his sword drawn, stepped across my path. I raised my collection of firewood. He motioned me around to the west past two other guards.

  Although the Spanish language sounded like no other and their weapons seemed magical, their manner was not so different from ours. Their unusual appearance owed much to their clothes, armor and hats of metal. Yet for all the power and uniqueness of these strange men, their beasts intrigued me the most. I felt drawn to them. I could not keep my eyes off the proud animal they called “horse.”

  Young servants who all appeared to come from different nations tended to each horse as if it were an honored elder. With my second armload of wood, I risked a closer look at three of the animals tied to a rope stretched between two pecan trees. A horse tender worked to undress one of the horses. He swayed under the weight of the shiny cloak pulled from the animal’s back. It was a cloak woven of metal like many of the conquistadors wore.

  The true measure of these beasts lay bare; every part of their body rippled with power. Their eyes were deep, black, and full of understanding. Grace could be seen in their slightest movement. When they held their head high, there was no manner of man that stood prouder. Their skin glistened, each one a different color. Two were brown, one lighter than the other, and the largest and proudest, a dark gray.

  A boy, not much older than I, wearing nothing but the bruises 1and scars from a long journey, stroked and brushed the gray horse. He worked his way around to the other side, and I crept in closer.

  The gray broke his stance. His ears flicked in my direction. The fine black hair atop his head ruffled as he turned his long, graceful neck. He cast his eyes on me. I looked into the blackness and wanted no more at that moment than just to touch the great beast. When the horse snorted, the servant looked around. He grabbed the leather strap around its head, but did not say anything. I smiled. He smiled. I took another step forward.

  With a sound like none I had ever heard, the gray jerked his head up, throwing the servant off to the side. Growing ever larger, the beast rose, standing upright on hind legs. Lips curled. Teeth flashed. And heavy hooves kicked about my head.

  I turned to run, stumbled, and crawled away, trying to get back on my feet when a Spaniard grabbed me. He held me by the arms and yelled at the servant. I could not understand the words, but I understood the threat. I wiggled one arm free. He gripped the other harder and reached for his sword.

  “Señor, Señor de Guzman,” the horse servant called out. The Spaniard drew the weapon. With a blade raised above both our heads, the servant knelt beside me, bowed, and humbled himself in the language of the strangers. He pointed at me and the horses as he spoke. The Spaniard slowly eased his hold.

  I took my first breath of the foul air that surrounded my captor. The strangers bathed little for many had a great fear of water. Among the Spaniards, he was a large man, taller and thicker than most. Without his headdress of metal, I could see his small eyes set in a round face with a great wooly beard. Altogether he was more a point of regard than fear.

  The horse tender shouted, “El desea servir al español,” twice.

  “¿El desea servir al español?” the conquistador asked.

  “Si,” the servant answered.

  The servant turned to me and said, “The man who holds you is Master Diego de Guzman, and I am his servant.” He spoke to me in a language I had learned from travelers and traders. “Those are his horses,” he said as two other servants tried to calm all three animals.

  “I told my master a snake had frightened the horse and you intended no harm.”

  I started to explain. He held up his hand. “Before you speak, know that I also told him you wish to serve the Spanish masters.” He repeated the words in Spanish, “El desea servir al español.”

  “Tell your master,” I stammered, “for his mercy, I offer my humble service for as long as he remains in the lands of Casqui.”

  As the servant repeated my words in the strange language of the Spanish, I could hear flutes playing in the distance. The Spaniard seemed pleased with my pledge and released his hold. I nodded to the servant and bowed deeply to my new master, Diego de Guzman.

  Three men of different lands reached an understanding then with a common curiosity, all turned in the direction of the music. Women’s voices mingled with the sound of flutes. Led by the singers, King Issqui and a party of headmen, tassettis, and old warriors advanced on Hernando de Soto’s camp.

  Diego ran toward the party as fast as a man of his size could. The horse servant returned to his duty, and I followed my new master. The conquistadors quickly formed a line in front of Lord de Soto’s tent. They stood feet spread, fists clenched, but their swords sheathed.

  I moved in behind Master Diego. The man to whom I had just pledged my loyalty pushed me out front. I stood between the line of conquistadors and the approaching leaders of Casqui. Of all those gathered, I was the least worthy. I knelt, and tried to make myself appear as small as I felt.

  The music stopped when Lord de Soto stepped out of his tent with guards at either side, their swords drawn. Every Casqui knelt. King Issqui rose first.
As the singers scampered to the back, he walked past the flute players, unchallenged by the guards.

  “Hernando de Soto, my Lord,” he said and bowed from the waist.

  De Soto nodded and sat down on a throne that had been carried from his tent by two guards.

  Issqui straightened and said, “Receive these gifts and the headmen, who brought them.”

  One by one, the leaders from each village came forward, bowed, and presented their gifts of fine cloaks, baskets, and pottery.

  When all had passed, King Issqui said in a loud voice. “My Lord, I stand before you the worthiest among all these noble men to speak in your presence. I know, and have been counseled by many, that you are a man with great power. Some say a son of the sun.”

  As he spoke two men were led from the back.

  “Though I am the leader for all the people of the Casqui Nation, I regard each one as if they were my own children.” He motioned for the men. “The two sons before you are blind.”

  The men knelt where they were left.

  “My Lord,” Issqui called out, “I beg you to give sight to these empty eyes.”

  The blind men waved their arms and shouted, “Oh, Son of the Sun have mercy. Have mercy.”

  Lord de Soto raised his hand. Everyone fell silent. He turned to his interpreter and spoke without looking at the blind men or Issqui.

  “There is one and only one,” the translator began, “who reigns from the heavens above and has the power to make these men whole. That one is the Lord Jesus Christ to whom my army and I bow and from whom all blessings come. For He alone can grant your request.”

  Every Casqui head, bowed or not, sank a little lower. The translator paused and looked back at Lord de Soto. He motioned for him to continue.

  “As governor of all these lands, I will pray to my Heavenly Father on behalf of your sons.”

  The two men were led away still blind, but hopeful. Issqui took another step forward.

  “My Lord, for one to hear your words is to know that you are a man from the sky.” King Issqui raised his voice and declared. “The Son of the Sun!”

  The people cheered, and Issqui continued. “As such, it is necessary, I know, for you to go away. Our crops have long needed rain, and so it is, our people suffer. I beseech you, leave a sign which we may honor and pray to in times of need.”

  De Soto stood. “My Lord is Lord of all Lords. He suffered and died for the sins of all men on the earth. So that you may know Him, and your faith continue once I have gone, I will place within your town a blessed sign of Our Lord.”

  Issqui, King of all Casqui, fell upon his knees at these words, as did all those in his party. De Soto turned and walked away, giving several orders before entering his tent. The line of conquistadors remained in formation as the king and his party retreated.

  I ran back to where Master Diego’s horses were tied. The servant who had spoken on my behalf stood between the two brown horses.

  From a safe distance, I called out, “I have returned to fulfill my promise to your master.”

  He looked me over while shaking his head. “For too long, these confused Spaniards wandered about the swamps in your land,” he said. “The horses are in need of fresh, flowing water.”

  “I would be hon—”

  “Show me,” he demanded, “a cool creek where we can bathe the horses.”

  “The River of Casqui,” I boasted, “is not far. Its waters are cool, but muddy. Some call it the Little Muddy.”

  He stared at me and said nothing.

  “I can take you to a place upstream where the water is clearer.”

  He turned and called to the other horse tenders.

  “If you will, but answer my questions,” I added.

  “And you talk of honoring a promise.” He scowled.

  My head dropped.

  “As to answers,” he said, “I abide few questions. Choose your words and time well.”

  I said nothing else while I led him, the great gray horse, the two browns and their tenders out of the grove. When we approached the north gate, my chest swelled with pride. People gathered on either side of our passing, some followed along. I strutted out front, nodded to anyone I recognized, and some I did not.

  The horses cautiously crossed the dried riverbed to the water’s edge. Their tenders waded in without hesitation and played like children as the horses drank. I watched in amazement as they took each horse out into the river and bathed it.

  “He is called Sombra Viento,” the tender said as he led the big gray horse out of the river. “It means ‘shadow wind’.”

  “Shadow Wind,” I whispered. I started to ask about the other horses, but stopped myself.

  He said nothing more. The other two chattered all the way back to the Spanish camp. I listened closely, but understood very little.

  Saswanna stood among the crowd who watched our return. I straightened my shoulders, swelled my chest, and acted as though I had not seen her.

  Close to the grove, I let the other servants take the lead. I fell back alongside Shadow Wind and the servant.

  “I am called Taninto by my friends,” I said. The young horse tender stopped and turned to me. “And I, Taninto, ask of you only one question.”

  Shadow Wind tugged on the rope. The horse tender motioned the others to walk on.

  He looked me in the eyes until I flinched, then he nodded.

  “By what name would a friend call you?” I asked.

  Slowly, a smile turned over his sneer. “I am Cooquyi of Ocute on the Ocmulgee River,” he said with pride. His gaze slowly drifted down. “The land of my ancestors is many days far to the east.”

  I took a step back.

  He looked up and chuckled. “Taninto, you have chosen your question well.”

  We both laughed. A question, an answer and we parted friends.

  Chapter 18

  Manaha’s Journey

  Ninety-four years after “their” arrival

  Manaha watched the clouds rolling up from the southwest drift past the half-moon while her shadow listeners slipped silently away. She placed a night log on her campfire and fell asleep with little effort.

  The next morning, with no need to go into the fields, she ventured down the island channel and around to where a tree lay across the creek. Blown over in the storm, water had built up behind the tangle of its roots and other limbs. Manaha enjoyed a tranquil morning bath in her own pool.

  She decided to spend the day away from the clamor of the village and explore her island. Could I become a hermit like my grandfather? She wondered for a moment.

  “A ... ya ... ya ... ya ... ya.”

  The single warbling yelp came from across the creek to the south.

  “The hunting party is back.” She waited for the flurry of yelps that should be coming from the rest of the party. When they did not come, she mumbled, “Only one returning?”

  She hurried back to her campsite, stirred the cook fire, and added a log. Another messenger, she hoped, this time with good words. Those not already in the plaza scurried in with Manaha.

  “Ta-kawa has returned,” she heard as she wandered in between people and bits of conversations.

  “No others?”

  “Where are the others?”

  “Only Ta-kawa and two outsiders.”

  “Two outsiders with a slave?”

  “One old, one young.”

  “They wore war paint.”

  “The young one and Ta-kawa.”

  “Ta-kawa painted for war?”

  “He said nothing.”

  “The outsiders are in the village-lodge.”

  “And Ta-kawa.”

  “He would say nothing?”

  “Nothing of the others?”

  “Only to the Council of Elders.”

  Suddenly, the crowd parted. Casinca and Koyota, the only elders remaining in the village, walked through the plaza, each carrying a gift of but a single skin: one a fox, the other a beaver. The elders passed in silen
ce and disappeared into the village-lodge. No one had a guess as to what it all meant or knew what to do.

  Through the eyes of an outcast Manaha watched trouble settle over her people. She could be silent no longer.

  “We must treat our visitors well,” she said, “if we are to hope for good in return.” Whether it was the power in her voice strong from nights of storytelling or the truth in her words, she drew their attention.

  “Why should we do your bidding, old woman?” someone shouted back.

  “Generosity toward a guest is our custom, not the bidding of an old woman,” Manaha said.

  No one could argue against that.

  “Wives, who fear for your husbands,” Manaha called, “bring out your best foods. Brothers and sons, offer your best tobacco.”

  Still, no one moved.

  “Hurry!” Manaha shouted. “Do not let our guests go unattended and think ill of our people.”

  Some turned to what they knew was their duty, but others remained in the plaza to ask the same questions and find no new answers. The wife of Ta-kawa returned first with his council robe and a loaf of acorn hard bread. The village had little to spare. One by one, worried wives and mothers humbly entered the council lodge with their gifts of berries, pears, nuts, dried fish, and some meat.

  Manaha had no food to offer, but she could gather wood. A council fire must burn bright for the elders to find the best path. Near the door of the village-lodge, she placed her gift of firewood and added three shavings from her lightning-staff. She could do nothing more in the village, but she could prepare for her next story.

  Darkness settled in, well before her story-fire flickered. The moon and stars hid from her and the Hachia people. A large fire burned in the plaza. Manaha could see its light dancing in the treetops. Most everyone would be there, waiting through the night.

  For a moment, she imagined herself before such a fire surrounded by listeners, telling her stories. She shook herself. Nothing surrounded her, but an empty circle.

  She stood, faced the darkness, and chanted, “Listeners come round. Come round, come round. Listeners come round.”