“Each is important, large and small,” he said, “but none more so than the one who honors that importance.”
I just stared at him
“Irorie. The flower is called an irorie.” Taninto turned from the streambed toward the east mountain.
Following the curve of the mountainside, he climbed up then back in the direction of Two-Falls-One. He was more like an old man fighting against the mountainsides since losing his walking stick. With just one good hand, he pulled himself from tree trunk to branch up the steep incline. I needed both to keep up. Little Pup struggled behind, sliding in the dried leaves and loose rocks, but she never gave up.
Near the top, in a gentle gust, I heard the falls somewhere far below. Closing my eyes, I tried to feel the roar. Like the wind, it passed but with the hope that the vibration would flow over me again when the time came.
The forest opened to mountain meadows of tall brown grasses bent by the winter winds. Scattered about were large, thick briar patches with sprouts of new green. The early morning sun highlighted ridges in the grass like the furrows I had noticed in the snow.
Little Pup waited in my arms for our guide to weave a trail across the meadow. I followed, feeling the rise and fall of furrows under the newly stomped grass. The path led to the only boulder about, marking a high point in the field. So out of place, Taninto must have been drawn to it, as I was.
Sandy-smooth, like so many rocks I had picked up in the Buffalo River, it appeared completely round. A round stone like the one Taninto had sat on the night before but much larger and not half-buried. It lay on top of the ground, as tall as my shoulders.
Taninto pulled a handful of cornmeal from his bundle and laid it on top of the rock. He prayed, “Ancient spirits honor our meager offering. Grant easy passage through the land of your toils.”
I followed him in silence through meadows spreading one into another. Here and there, the gray tops of other round rocks seemed to bob above swaying grasses. The once well-tended land offered a clear view in every direction. There were mountains rolling into mountains but no lodges, no gardens not even the wisp of a campfire. No one was around where many must have toiled for generations.
Behind those empty fields, the forest stretched out in a tangle of grays. Before us, off to the east, the ever dark greens of cedar and pine mixed with hazy yellows from post-oak shoots and white patches from cherry blossoms and the bare trunks of sycamore trees. Ranges of red varied from the dark first leaves of the water oak to the bright blossoms of the dogwood and hints of green glimmered off tender young leaves. Altogether it presented a sight more like autumn than the beginning of spring.
Taninto slowed his pace as we crossed the last open field. He turned back. “I found the land of Two-Falls-One,” he said, “more than thirty winters ago.”
I stepped closer.
“It has called me back many times. Each time, I found more round stones, various sizes in different places. I found more furrows but no people, no villages, no lodges.”
I held Little Pup while the old man studied the land.
“I have walked through this place of mystery for the last time.” He squinted at the horizon. “Only now do I understand. The question is not where the Orb Stones came from, but where are the people who moved them about and cared for them?”
I dropped Little Pup and let her chase after Taninto while I lingered. In lifetimes to come, someone will discover Taninto’s valley like this, empty and abandoned. I reached out and touched the branches of a young elm tree. I wondered, Will they find anything to tell them I lived there or why I left?
Like petals from a flower, shiny new leaves piled up in my fist as I pulled the limb through my hand. I pressed my nose into the soft scent. Few trees had leaves. I pulled off a handful of those that did and all smelled like spring. The season began as it always had; the difference came from within me.
I caught Little Pup and gave her a big hug. She wiggled free and ran down the steepening trail after Taninto. Glimpses of water shimmered below. Across the way, a mountainside of rock ledges stretched ever higher as we made our way down.
Close to the bottom, he said, “Wait here while I scout the creek crossing.”
As he hobbled away, I thought about the many times he had left me alone. I pulled my friend in tightly as I sat down, but she spotted a rabbit and jumped out of my arms. Quick but inexperienced, she soon lost the chase only to have a grasshopper land near her.
Little Pup tilted her head to one side, watching for the slightest movement. I smiled at her seriousness. When the grasshopper jumped, she hopped just as high, again and again. I giggled until I heard Taninto walk up.
“Children,” he grumbled, “come.”
“I am a woman!” I shouted.
He whistled. Little Pup ran toward him, but I grabbed her. Taninto spun around and started down to the valley. I plodded along until we reached a wide ford in the creek with gentle, shallow ripples.
“A buffalo crossing,” he said and waded in.
I sat Little Pup down at the edge of the creek. She backed away. Taninto stumbled across the channel. It reached no higher than his thigh. I stepped into the cold water, and Little Pup whimpered as she glanced from me to the old man.
“Come, Little Pup,” I called as she ran up and down the shoreline.
Taninto whistled to her as he waded back toward us.
“Come on, puppy. Come on, come on,” I called until she edged out into the water.
Coming up behind me, Taninto whistle again. His wake splashed over Little Pup’s head. She turned around.
“I will carry her across.” I said as he brushed past.
He jerked her up under his good arm and waded upstream from the crossing. I followed. Midstream he stopped, and pitched Little Pup into the air. She landed in the deepest part of the channel. Water splashed up and out. Little Pup went under. The rapids returned.
I held my breath until a black nose popped up between ripples. Her ears followed eyes wide. I lunged out into the channel. The water pushed back. I stumbled forward.
“Let the current carry her to you,” Taninto said while he made his way to the other shore.
“She needs me!” I yelled.
“Do not pick her up,” he barked. “She must learn to swim.”
“She is going to drown.”
“No,” he shouted. “Stay close if you must but let her do it.”
Little Pup looked more determined than frightened. She held her head high, and her feet moved faster than she could ever run. I eased my hand under her belly.
“Do not be afraid,” I said, but she did not want my help.
As soon as she could reach the bottom, she scampered across the shallows. Once on the shore, Little Pup shook, rolled, and barked at both of us.
He walked off into the tree line without ever turning around.
“How far will he go without us?” I asked Little Pup. She did not wait to find out and ran after the one who had treated her so harshly. I followed the wide trail to the foot of a rock ledge slanting up from the valley. Ledges lined the steep mountainside one above the other, receding out of sight.
Little Pup climbed back down the ledge to show me the way. She scampered under the short, stout cedars and briars that slowed my climb.
“Follow the pup,” he commanded from the ledge above me.
Little Pup sniffed out Taninto’s trail but never got too far ahead. Another ledge and more cedars and flowers with long pink petals drooping from a large reddish-brown center edged the trail. Just steps away, a line of tiny flowers waved with the breeze on a thin, knee-high stem. The top bud, the only one open completely, had a yellow cone glowing at its center surrounded by five petals that changed from a faint pink to rich red at their tips.
On the next ledge, I found the largest spring flower I had ever seen. Morning had long passed, but drops of dew still lay among the folds of the bright yellow petals as wide as Grandfather’s hand. Taninto grunted at me from the ledge
above. I sat down to watch the sunlight ripple on the creek below and take in a deep breath of this, my season. Little Pup barked. I exhaled slowly.
The mountainside overtook the last ledge, rolling up to a forest of great sycamores and spruce with little underbrush. Here and there, the forest opened with small meadows but no furrows or Orb Stones. Taninto kept a good pace across the mountain plateau. It was almost dark when he turned downhill to a grove of cedars on the other side of a lazy stream. He stepped across its shallow pools and sat down his back-bundles. Little Pup waded in. I waited on the other side with her while she drank and explored.
Thick, flat rocks lay on both sides of the stream. An odd three-sided one caught my eye. Like the rest, it had a strange mix of brown and gray except for the blood-red that lined the oblong hollow on top, pooled with rainwater.
“Come away from there,” the old man called from his side of the stream where he prepared a campfire.
Little Pup laid down next to him.
“Sit here,” he said. “I will tell a story while we wait for this pot of hominy to boil.”
Chapter 29: Revenge and War
Taninto’s Journey
One week after “their” arrival - June 29, 1541
I stood upon the land of the ancient enemy of my people, watching a great party of strange men, stranger beasts, and their slaves cross Chewauhla Swamp over a bridge I helped build. One of the four horsemen from the advance scouting party galloped back toward the bridge.
“Rápido,” he called to the Spaniard leading a party of foot soldiers. Creeping across the last section, they struggled to hold their weapons while keeping a grip on the handrails. A short leap to dry land and their confidence returned. Two lines quickly formed, and on command they marched to the top of the ridge. Spreading out in an arc, backs to the swamp, they stood ready to protect the crossing.
Behind the last soldier, horse tenders and slaves burdened with saddles and armor hurried off the bridge. From the shoreline, they searched for their horse among the herd swimming across the open channel. As the horses came into the shallows, slaves washed away the dark mud while others wiped them dry. As fast as a tender could saddle his horse, a conquistador mounted it and grabbed up his shield and lance from a waiting slave. Soon there were as many horsemen guarding the ridge as foot soldiers.
More soldiers and more slaves crossed the bridge as another group of horses swam into sight. First among them was Lord de Soto’s black stallion, its noble head high above the sparkling waters of the channel. Just a few other Casquis remained on the Pa-caha side. We knelt and bowed when Lord de Soto stepped from the bridge. He mounted his black stallion and bounded up over the ridge.
Chewauhla Swamp filled with more horses, stretching back to the Casqui shore. I could not see Shadow Wind, but Cooquyi was among the crowd of tenders crossing the bridge. I shouted his name. He raced into the shallows without even a glance.
I ran toward him and Shadow Wind. “Cooquyi!” I shouted louder.
He ignored me and continued to wash the thick mud off Shadow Wind’s front leg. I stepped to his side.
“I am here to serve, once again,” I announced and started rubbing the horse’s other leg.
“You fool, one leg at a time,” he snapped. Shadow Wind shook his head as if he agreed.
I turned to brushing the water off as I had seen the other tenders do.
“Start at the top of his back,” Cooquyi said, grabbing my hand. “Pull the water down his side then down the legs.”
Wasse arrived with Shadow Wind’s saddle and blanket. He smiled when he saw me. I think I smiled, too.
Master Diego slapped me on the back. “Ardilla,” he said and laughed. After mounting Shadow Wind, he spoke to Cooquyi, repeating the word ardilla when he glanced at me. He rode off after Lord de Soto.
I waited for Cooquyi to tell me what he had said.
“Ardilla is the Spanish word for ‘chipmunk’.”
“Chipmunk?” I questioned.
Cooquyi frowned. “Yes, my master named you ‘chipmunk’.” His face hardened. “He told me to watch over you.”
More soldiers crossed the bridge, followed by a long line of the Spanish slaves carrying all manner of supplies, much of it gifts from the Casqui people. All four of the advance scouts returned, reporting no signs of Pa-caha people or their villages nearby. Lord de Soto ordered camp set up on the flat plain beyond the ridge but in sight of the bridge.
So much had happened since my uncle called me away from my village. Now, I lay in a camp of strangers in the land of my enemy. No one around me cared, but I fell asleep believing Saswanna would.
“You sleep like an old woman,” Cooquyi said when he woke me.
“Forgive me. I have not had much rest for the last two days.” I stretched. “Let me make amends for my laziness.”
He stood with his back to me, brushing Shadow Wind. “You need to prepare,” he said.
“For what?” I asked.
“For the path you have chosen.” He threw a heavy woven blanket over the horse’s back. “Today, you will see war the way the Spanish fight.” He turned around. “Do not lose your life to the fury of war nor your soul to its glory.”
“What do you mean? You know there will be war?”
“I may not know this land or its people, but I do know the Spanish,” he said. “There will be death. There will be punishment.”
“Punishment?”
“Yes,” he said, “for the Pa-caha’s attacks on the Spaniards when we first reached the Mizzissibizzibbippi River.”
“Well,” I boasted, “if twenty men are killed before me, I will not go back.”
“There will be more, hundreds maybe.”
He could see my doubt.
“Listen to me, seasons ago when you were but a child and Hernando de Soto was not yet a lord. As just a captain, he marched with a small army against the Incas, a nation far older and mightier than ten Pa-caha Nations. The Spanish asked to meet in peace.
“When the Inca king, Atahualpa, approached, Captain de Soto took him captive. In the battle that followed, the conquistadors killed more than a thousand Incas in one day.”
Cooquyi turned back to the horse. “I am taking Shadow Wind to Master Diego,” he said, and tightened the saddle. Shadow Wind danced with eagerness. “Come if you must.”
I walked tall behind Cooquyi and Shadow Wind through the confusion of a Spanish camp preparing for battle. De Soto’s black stallion waited outside his tent with several other horses and their tenders.
Lord de Soto stepped out of the tent with Master Diego and six other conquistadors. As quickly, slaves took down the tent while others packed away the rest of the camp. De Soto mounted his black stallion. Cooquyi steadied Shadow Wind for Master Diego. Master and beast turned and trotted away.
“Stay close,” Cooquyi shouted.
I fell in behind him as he ran after Shadow Wind. Spanish captains shouted commands. Lord de Soto waved his arm, and the march against the Pa-caha Nation began. Only a helper to a horse tender, I still held my head high and eagerly scanned the horizon.
“Cooquyi, why do you take so little notice of the land through which you pass?”
“Is this my homeland? Are its people my people?” he asked
I shook my head in silence.
“Then I care not.”
Most of the morning, the surrounding Pa-caha land showed little difference between it and Casqui. Open forests of black willow, swamp cottonwood, and king-nut trees spread out across a flat terrain to a distant growing field off to the north. Lord de Soto dispatched a thundering charge of twenty horsemen toward it.
The sight of shining warriors riding beasts as fast as the wind frightened and scattered the women and boys working in the fields. They ran for a small village just over the ridge. The conquistadors chased the Pa-cahas like a coyote playing with an injured rabbit.
A Pa-caha fleet of two hundred boats had tried to stop the Son of the Sun from crossing the Mizzissibizzibbi
ppi River and now the Spanish were having their revenge, poking and jabbing with their long lances. They gathered the prisoners and herded them back to the waiting Spanish army.
Two of the boys suddenly turned and ran from their captors. A single horseman pursued them. He stowed his lance as he came up behind the smallest boy. The horse slowed. The rider pulled out his sword and swung it broad side down. The blow knocked the boy off his feet. He fell under the hind legs of the horse, bounced off the ground, and never moved again.
The other boy changed direction, as did the conquistador, one way and back the other. The Spaniard taunted him, waving the sword above his head. Then it came, sharp edge down. The boy jumped aside, but the sword caught his arm, slicing through the bone. I had never seen or heard of a blade so sharp. The boy dropped to his knees, cradling his dangling arm.
The Spaniard circled. He leaned over in his saddle and raised the sword high. The boy looked up but did not move otherwise. It took but one swing to cut through his neck. The head fell forward. His body crumpled to the ground.
A great cheer went up. At that moment, the might of the Spanish and their weapons overwhelmed me. This would not be the war my ancestors had fought for generations. The Spanish killed without concern or hesitation, without ritual or purpose. They fought to kill.
“Stay here with the other servants.” Cooquyi ran after Master Diego as he joined the attack on the village.
The conquistadors killed the weak and chased down and captured those fit enough to be slaves. The few allowed to escape spread an epidemic of panic. Fear raced ahead of the Son of the Sun and his unstoppable army.
They found and killed only three Pa-cahas in the next village. The one after that was empty. Foot soldiers plundered the lodges and storage cribs, taking anything of value, then burned the village. My chest swelled for a moment before I remembered Cooquyi’s words: “Do not lose your life to the fury of war, nor your soul to its glory.”
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