Storykeeper

by Daniel A Smith

  She pushed harder across the flat land. The only mountain ridges in sight were those just above the hills behind her. Unlike the steep drop-off at the Edge of the Mountains to the east, here they slowly faded away, each ridge smaller until there was no rise at all.

  Late in the day, Manaha came to a stream muddied by the tribe’s crossing. On the other side lay several mounds, not much higher than a knee. Manaha chose one just off the trail with little growth under the spread of a single red oak. In the fork of its split trunk, Manaha wedged her bundles and leaned her walking stick. The tree supported her back while she rested and listened to the stream flowing close by then off to the south.

  The tribe would have already set up camp. How far ahead she had no way of knowing. She had not seen them again since that morning, but she believed Ichisi would do as he had promised.

  After a time, Manaha stood and pulled down a dead branch. She used the thick end to clear a place for a fire. Under the leaves and dark-brown earth, a black layer crumbled as she scraped. Onto that, she piled dry grass, pine cones and twigs. She surrounded it with a good supply of wood, but decided to let Ichisi start the story-fire.

  She took some jerky and a knife from her pouch, and sat down with the walking stick. She carved and waited. It was getting too dark to see in the moonless night when a faint light fluttered in the distance.

  “Ichisi?” she called out.

  The boy came running, carrying a fading torch. She pointed at the pit, and he laid it in among the kindling.

  “Did you have to travel far?”

  “No,” he said, still trying to catch his breath. “We are camped on this same stream not much farther south.”

  He knelt and blew on the kindling until flames crackled. She offered him some jerky. He took a piece and gave her a loaf of hard bread he had brought from camp. Manaha cut a piece and dropped it in a pot of water to soften it.

  “Toss some more wood on the fire,” she said as she gathered the wood shavings.

  Sparks swarmed up as the fire struggled then took hold. Dropping in pieces of lightning wood she had just carved from her walking stick, Manaha chanted louder than she had ever chanted.

  “I have a listener round about.

  I have a listener round about.

  I have a listener round about.”

  Chapter 34: Edge of the Mountains

  Nanza’s Journey

  Forty-nine years after “their” arrival

  A new woman, but I giggled like a child when Little Pup licked my face that morning next to Big Creek.

  “Stop it, I am awake,” I said and rolled the pest over on her back. I rubbed her belly until she lost her fight. “Do not lick me when I am asleep,” I scolded her.

  She cocked her head and stared me down. I tried not to, but I laughed. With that, she twisted around to her feet and scampered after Taninto, hobbling down to the creek. The night before, he said if we kept moving all day we could reach the Edge of the Mountains. I wanted to believe, but as I hurried back from my time at the creek, I wondered.

  Little Pup ran at me. “Are we going to see Nine-Rivers Valley today?” I asked. She hunched down, tail in the air, nipped at my toes, then ran back to camp without answering.

  “There is a crossing, just up the creek,” Taninto announced and started off in the direction of the dry streambed we had seen the day before.

  Now, a day after the storm, it flowed with clear water and a song. I glanced back to where we had camped. The black jagged bluff stretched up and out toward the horizon, waiting for the next wanderer.

  We jumped the stream and I chased after Little Pup. She ran a short spurt and crouched down in the grass. As I came close, she barked and darted off again. I finally caught her at the creek bed. We sat together and watched Taninto trudge across. Rapids swirled around his legs up to his knees.

  I took off my moccasins, put them in the back-bundle, and tied up my skirt. Little Pup hesitated but followed when I waded in. Eyes round and full of determination, she fought the current. Once her feet reached the bottom on the other side, she hopped across the shallows and onto the bank. She shook off the creek and looked to Taninto. He said nothing.

  “Good puppy,” I said and reached for her.

  She sprang off toward Taninto so fast it seemed her hind legs would overtake the front two. Around him, back to me, and around again, she ran. I watched him as he watched her. For a moment, his face swelled and grinned, just a glimpse of the boy lost long ago, then it faded.

  “Nanza, do not dawdle,” he said.

  Little Pup dropped down next to me while I put on my moccasins. I whispered, “We do not need him. We can find Nine-Rivers Valley ... if we have to.”

  Taninto pushed the pace once we caught up. The land rose in a steady march up from the creek. The forest rose to a thick tangle overhead, but its floor was open except for the occasional spread of a towering cedar. On the surrounding hills, new shades of green stood out among the gray haze woven of countless branches.

  I walked up next to Taninto when he stopped and squatted.

  He jerked me to the ground and whispered, “Listen.”

  Far off to the left, I heard the rustling and snapping of something large moving through the forest. I shook my arm free of his grip. Little Pup lunged at a sudden, low rumble between a snort and a growl.

  He grabbed her up and whispered, “Buffalo.”

  I squinted into the bright morning sun. Buffalo? I had never seen one. He hunted buffalo, but he always left me behind, alone in his valley. It seemed so small and far away, now.

  “A mountain forest like this,” he whispered, “is a good place for a hunting party to stalk a herd on their way to the lowlands. If there is a party following, we must cross in front of the herd to hide our tracks.”

  A great bull stepped into a pool of morning light streaking through the canopy. Huge black eyes sunk deep in a large head of thick wool stared straight into mine. For a time, no one moved.

  “Hold her snout.” Taninto handed Little Pup to me. He nodded to the east. “Palisema,” he whispered, slowly stood, and pulled me up as two other buffalo ambled into view.

  They stopped behind the first one. Taninto gripped my arm and headed straight across their path. The old bull shook his head and snorted.

  Little Pup fought to wiggle free. Taninto paced on without a glance. I hid my fear but kept an eye on the growing herd.

  Once the buffalo were out of sight, he hurried us away over unbroken land, dipping and rising only slightly. From the next ridge, I could see long, flat mountaintops standing far apart and dark blue against the light sky that spread from shoulder to shoulder in every direction.

  Taninto walked on without resting or eating. We stayed with him, eating bits of jerky when we could. He kept going, long after we should have stopped to set up camp. Father Sun faded at our backs while the sky in front rippled in thin rows of red.

  We crossed a stream. Darkness caught up with us, but he walked on. A half-moon cast a glow through the clouds, racing to fill the sky and block the stars. Together we crested the ridge.

  The forest opened, and the mountain fell away. Before us spread a dark land of which I could see neither an end nor a mountain. Could it be? Did I stand at the Edge of the Mountains? Did the land of Taninto’s stories, the Nine-Rivers Valley, lie below? I began to prance, ready to race across the field, down the slope, dodging trees, and leaping for joy.

  “Too late to continue,” he said as clouds covered the moon, its light and my hope.

  I could hardly see his face. “We have to go on,” I demanded.

  “No! We will camp for the night back at the stream.” He turned and walked away.

  Little Pup followed. I stayed.

  The flowers of yellow and purple, the leaves of green, the blue sky, and the earth had all faded to one color. I stared hard into that grayness, searching for the fires of Palisema. The only light anywhere came from the small campfire behind me.

  Little Pup greete
d me as I walked up. Taninto said nothing.

  After a moment, he stood. “If you like, I will tell a story.”

  Chapter 35: ¡Oro!

  Taninto’s Journey

  July 4, 1541

  I walked freely about the conquered main town of Pa-caha. The only Casqui inside of the walls while outside bands of Spaniards attacked the villages of my people for what they had done in the battle for the island. The Spanish had settled into the Pa-caha town as if it had been built for them. The king’s lodge became Lord de Soto’s. The Pa-caha Council House became a place of Spanish talk. Only a Spaniard could climb the Temple Mound without a guard.

  The horsemen and captains took the finest lodges in the town; foot soldiers filled the rest. They herded the prisoners, Casqui and Pa-caha alike, into the center of the plaza. Horses and their tenders gathered south of the mound in the shade of three giant oaks. From there, they could easily get in and out through the unfinished section of the wall.

  The day after the failed attack on the island, the brother of the King of Pa-caha, pretending to be the king, came with a large party of brightly feathered nobles to address Lord de Soto. The Spanish quickly unmasked the deception and took the brother prisoner.

  Lord de Soto sent the party of false nobles back with a message. If the king did not present himself before the governor, his brother would be tortured and killed. The next day, the true Mico of Pa-caha, King Na-acha, marched through the gate with an even larger party.

  “He comes to make peace with Lord de Soto,” prisoners murmured.

  “And join in the war on Casqui.” Cooquyi added.

  “Why would you say that?” I asked before I walked away.

  Every Spaniard seemed to know I was a Casqui but none gave me reason for concern. I stood among them as King Na-acha strutted across the plaza. Much younger than King Issqui, he moved with ease and confidence.

  When he reached the top step of the mound, I could see the weight of anguish fall on him. The desecrated and burned remains of his father, his father’s father, their nation’s grandfathers lay scattered around him. For all the power he had, all the lands he ruled, and all the battles he had won, at that moment he was a defeated, broken man. I felt shame for what a few Casquis had done.

  Now King Na-acha moved as though he had grown as old as the few bones he could find. He placed the sacred remains into one scorched burial chest and carried it into the Temple of the Dead. The Pa-caha warriors in his party, not allowed on the mound, wailed and shouted curses against the people of Casqui. I hung my head.

  When King Na-acha came out of the temple, he had changed. His face had hardened, his stride long and direct. He entered the Council House with no resistance from the Spanish guards posted outside the door. I wandered off with the crowd and through the town, lost in troubles that I alone knew or felt. I heard Cooquyi call my name.

  “Come, quick!” he shouted. “Your master wants his favorite dog beside him.”

  I did not understand the anger in his voice. “What does Master Diego desire?”

  “Taninto, your king is outside the gate, requesting permission to enter.”

  “Enter Pa-caha? But ...” I stammered, “why do you call for me?”

  Cooquyi glared at me. “Master Diego wants you on the mound with him when Lord de Soto receives King Issqui. You are to listen to every word your king speaks then tell it to me and I to Master Diego.” Cooquyi turned and shouted over his shoulder, “Go to the mound.”

  Master Diego slapped his thigh with the flat of his hand and called from the plaza, “Come, Chipmunk.”

  No one stopped me as we crossed the inner plaza and started up the steps of the Temple Mound of Pa-caha. I climbed a step behind Master Diego while studying the orderly town arranged around the plaza.

  The largest lodges stood to the left of the mound with many of their thatched roofs still green while on the other side of the plaza stood two long mounds. The same shape and size, both had one lodge on top. Off the left corner of the plaza rose a spiral mound with no steps or lodges.

  From the top of the mound, I could see over the walls of Pa-caha. Small villages surrounded it, except on the backside where the swamp with its thick forest of cypress spread north toward the Mizzissibizzibbippi River. The newly-dug canal channeled the muddy swamp water around the town and had provided the means of escape for the people of Pa-caha.

  Master Diego jerked me to his side and marched toward the Council House. I walked close as we passed the guards. Inside the lodge, a jester sent by King Issqui tumbled and hopped about, trying to entertain the Spaniards scattered around.

  Seated on the raised platform built for the Pa-caha king, Lord de Soto looked on without expression. King Na-acha stood off to the left of his platform with his council of warriors. Between the Pa-cahas and the Spanish lay baskets of smoked fish and heaps of well-dressed skins, recent gifts sent by King Issqui and the people of Casqui.

  A few of the Spaniards laughed when the jester staggered, fell then rolled out of the lodge. With every head turned toward the door, King Issqui stepped through.

  “Cobarde,” Spaniards mumbled, “Coward.”

  “Death!” the Pa-cahas shouted.

  Issqui walked through the threats straight toward Lord de Soto. Na-acha rushed in between. He planted his feet and raised a Spanish knife.

  “¡Non!” De Soto shouted and waved his hand. Issqui made no sign of retreat or effort to defend himself.

  King Na-acha turned around. “Great Lord,” he said, “I and my people could have done grave harm to your men who were abandoned on the island by these Casquis.”

  De Soto twitched and straightened but said nothing.

  “Now, with your gift of the shining knife, allow me to slash the face of a coward who betrayed your trust.”

  “Do not harm him.” The interrupter repeated Governor de Soto’s command.

  Issqui stepped around Na-acha and knelt before Hernando de Soto. He spoke, head down. “Son of the Sun, Lord of Lords, please accept these meager gifts as a sign of the great respect and honor that I and all of my people have for you, our Lord.”

  The governor nodded slightly as he listened to the translation. It pleased the Pa-cahas when he leaned forward and shouted. “Stand up, Casqui! I bear great anger for you and your people. Come before me and explain your deceit.”

  King Issqui spoke for all to hear, including the Pa-cahas at his back. “I and mine belong to you. My territory is yours. If you destroy it as is your own choice, it is your people you will slay. All that falls from your hand, I will receive as my Lord’s gift. Know that the service you have done for me in leaving the cross has been a sign and more than I deserve. No sooner than we had thrown ourselves on our knees before the Cross—asking for the needed rain—He sent it. Your god has heard us by means of the Cross.”

  Lord de Soto listened to the translation of the eloquent words, and the hardness of his glare relaxed. The Pa-cahas began to mumble among themselves until de Soto raised his hand.

  “When you fled without my permission,” he said, “I thought that you held the teaching we had given to you of little account and with contempt.”

  De Soto clenched his fist. “I wanted to destroy you.”

  Issqui stepped in closer. “How is it possible, my Lord?” he asked. “After having given me the pledge of friendship, and without my having done you any harm, you desire to destroy me, your friend and brother? You gave me the cross for a defense against our enemies.”

  Issqui pointed to the Pa-caha warriors, each one with a newly fashioned cross in his headdress. He raised his voice.

  “Yet now, with the sign of the Cross,” he said, “you seek to destroy me and the faith and confidence which my people, friends of the Cross, have in you.”

  “I wanted to destroy you,” the Son of the Sun said as he stood. He took a deep breath. “Supposing that in pride, you had gone off. Pride is the sin which our God most abhors and for which He punishes us the most.”

 
Lord de Soto glanced around the lodge and back, glaring at Issqui. “It is for us to do what our God commands, which is not to lie. Now that you have come in humility, I believe that you tell the truth, since to speak a lie is a very great sin amongst us. Be assured that I wish you greater good than you think.”

  King Issqui bowed deeply. The Pa-cahas grumbled loudly as their king, with his knife down at his side, stepped up next to Issqui. Face to ear, Na-acha spoke softly.

  The governor demanded to know what had been said. The interpreter repeated Na-acha’s words for all to hear.

  “You must be exultant, Casqui, to have realized what you never dreamed or hoped to obtain with your own forces, revenge for your injuries and affronts. Be thankful to the power of the Spanish for this. Someday they will go away and we shall remain here as we once were.”

  Lord de Soto stepped to the edge of the platform and spoke down to the two leaders of nations as though scolding children.

  “The Spanish people did not come into these lands to leave the Indians more inflamed in their wars and enemies than they had been before.” He held out his open arms. “We came to bring peace and harmony.”

  The two chiefs remained rigid then hugged for a moment like long-lost friends. Their faces showed the truer and greater emotion, but de Soto seemed pleased.

  “Come, King Issqui and King Na-acha, sit beside me and enjoy a meal and our friendship.” He led the way to a long table outside the Council House set with all manner of food.

  The governor sat at the head of the table. Both kings started for the position on his right side.

  The Pa-caha pushed ahead. “You know well that I am a greater nobleman than you. I am of more honorable parents and grandparents. To me belongs the higher place.”

  “True,” said King Issqui, “your forebears are greater than mine. Since Lord de Soto tells us that we must not lie, I will not deny the truth. But you know that I am older and mightier than you.”