Apache

by Tanya Landman

  “Feel it,” he murmured. “Know it. Find its limits. Go beyond it.” Thus saying, he placed a leaf upon the arm of Keste, and lit it.

  At once, Keste’s neck became rigid, the sinews standing proud of his skin as the roots of the oak upon the earth, his jaw clenched with the fierceness of his determination not to cry out. Sweat beaded at his hairline and gathered upon his lip. But he made no sound, and as the leaf crumbled into ashes, he earned words of praise from Golahka. Only I knew how much Keste’s effort had cost him. I sat facing him, and I had seen his pupils widen with the horror of intense pain. I knew Keste would not forgive me for seeing the weakness that lay beneath his skin. When he fixed his eyes upon me, they were dark with loathing.

  Huten faced his trial next, and did not endure long. The leaf had scarce begun to burn before he snatched at his wrist with his other hand to stop himself shaking the leaf free. Even so, long before it had crumbled into ash, Huten had thrown off the burning sage with a cry. He sat, tears streaming down his face, whether of the hurt to his arm or of the distress at his failure I could not tell. I was not sure that Huten knew which caused him to suffer more. Golahka said nothing to worsen his ordeal, but moved on to Ishta and Naite, while Huten struggled to compose himself.

  Both endured the leaf for little longer than Huten, their bodies at last instinctively throwing off that which burned them. Chee too struggled hard to maintain his silence. He did better than both Ishta and Naite, keeping the leaf on his arm until it turned to ash, but his face and body contorted with the effort, and his lips bled where he bit them.

  And then Golahka came to me.

  I held my arm towards him and he placed the dry leaf upon my skin. So intent was I, so determined that I must succeed in this trial, that my arm seemed to grow large and heavy and become burdensome. The nerves prickled at the leaf’s rough dryness. Next I felt the burning heat of the flaming stick he bore towards me. He lit the leaf and my body surged in response, wanting to quench the flame that licked and curled around the leaf. I resisted it, tensing even as I had seen Keste do. The pain rose and rose and threatened to engulf me. My back was hard and rigid. As I stiffened in an effort to rise above and away from the pain, suddenly I knew I could not thus evade it. The only way to endure was to pass beyond it, to a different way of being. And in an instant I knew I had been in that place once before – when I had sat that long, dead time in the pine tree at Koskineh, swaying in the wind, my head pressed hard against the rough bark. There I had found a place where I felt nothing.

  It was as though I plunged into a mountain pool. I stopped resisting. With a deep, calming breath, I dived into the pain. I found its heart and I swam through it. And came to a place far beyond, where my body ceased to matter.

  My mind did not return when the leaf had burnt to ashes. I know not how long I stayed thus. It was only when Golahka took my hand and called me four times by my name that my still-open eyes at last saw the world about me. The sun had moved; it seemed to me as if it had suddenly leapt across the sky. Keste, Huten, Chee, Ishta and Naite were there no longer. Golahka alone beheld me, his black eyes gleaming with something other than grief. Something that could have been excitement.

  “Siki,” he said quietly, “do you have Power?”

  Power. Power to see the future. Power to feel the spirits of the earth; to taste their magic and know their minds. And – for some – Power to hear the voice of Ussen, the Life Giver.

  My father had not possessed it, and neither had my mother, but amongst many of the Apache Power flows freely; it does not belong only to the medicine man. The gift – if it comes – comes with adulthood. A boy may feel it when he embarks upon his training as a warrior. A girl will know Power during the four-day ritual of her womanhood ceremony. I had had no ceremony, for lacking relatives there had been no one to make my feast, and thus when I left childhood I had not heard the voice of Ussen.

  Many of our tribe possess Power in some measure: a mother may sense when her child is in danger; a wife may know of her husband’s death in battle before word is brought of it. But there are fewer to whom Ussen will whisper. Golahka was amongst those favoured ones, and was thus greatly revered as a shaman of war.

  But I had heard no voice, seen no vision, and I told Golahka this. I had conquered my pain. That was all. So I believed. But Golahka made a noise in his throat: a thoughtful, considering grunt as though the matter was not yet finished. He questioned me no further, for Power is a sacred, private thing, not to be spoken of lightly. And yet I felt sure that Golahka did not dismiss my trance as swiftly as I had done.

  He bade me go, instructing me to partake of the food that Dahtet and her mother had prepared, for the sun was now low in the sky, but I did not return to the tepee at once. Rather I took myself to the river, where I might be alone.

  It was not until I sat watching the dark water flow over the stones that I remembered the face of my father. I had seen him at Koskineh, when my mind had been so crazed with horror at the slaughter below me that it had conjured his image from my memory. Thus I had thought. And I had considered that the glimpse of his terror-widened eyes, and even my dream of him running, were fevered imaginings sprung from the wretchedness of grief. But was it possible that the visions came from elsewhere? Had Ussen placed them before me?

  My heart pounded with excitement even as my mind puzzled over what I had seen. My father anguished. Exhausted. And – somehow spreading from him as though he were its source – the stain creeping like a shadow across the broad plain.

  If it was indeed Ussen who had drawn these images in my mind… For what purpose?

  Golahka continued our training. He was our teacher, our guide, our shaman, but often it seemed he was our tormentor also.

  Daily he made us run before dawn, pounding the trail to the mountain top carrying water in our mouths. This we could not swallow, but had to spit out at his feet on our return to learn how to govern our breathing. When the days grew cold, and the air sharp, Golahka made us plunge into the ice-encrusted river. Only briefly could we warm ourselves at the fire, before we must plunge into the freezing water once more, without murmur, without complaint.

  It became easier for me to find the place where I felt nothing, and to hold myself there until pain and discomfort had passed. But Huten was not so fortunate. He was determined to edge along the warrior’s path, but for him the trail was precipitous, and at each faltering step it appeared he might fall headlong into an abyss. Each test, each trial of agility or endurance, was cruel agony. He did not harden and flourish as the rest of us did; every day sapped him more, and it seemed sometimes that sweet-tempered, mild Huten would melt away with the ice when the sun came.

  One morning, Golahka led his pupils down from the mountains onto the plain. Each of us carried a slingshot. We were set to fight.

  It was a familiar game amongst the boys to flick stones at each other: to dodge, to aim, to strike one’s opponent. When groups of youths from our brother tribes met, they would sometimes hold pitched battles amongst themselves. I had often watched such contests, but as a girl, I had never been part of one. The sling was an unfamiliar weapon to me.

  Chee knew my lack of prowess with the weapon; and so, as we took our places for the fight, he stood facing me, intending that he should be my opponent. Chee would not drive me hard. Chee would not aim to injure me.

  Perhaps Golahka intended that I should be pushed to my limits, or perhaps he meant to preserve Huten’s brittle pride, for when he saw where Chee had placed himself, Golahka shook his head, and indicated that someone else should take his place. Chee he paired with Huten. Facing me stood Keste.

  Golahka, I knew, had seen the enmity Keste bore me. Keste did not trouble to conceal either his jealousy or his contempt. Indeed, before Golahka had given the command to begin, Keste had picked up a stone the size of my eye and slung his first shot. I dodged, but it struck a stinging blow sharp against my elbow, breaking the skin, and making me cry out.

  I looked at Gola
hka, but before words of girlish protest could fall from my mouth, the great warrior spoke.

  “On this day, you have no friends. On this day, you fight. There is no mercy. No softness. You think the Mexicans will be fair? You think the Mexicans will wait until you are ready? You think the Mexicans will show compassion for your weakness?”

  Golahka did not look at me, but I felt the rebuke in his words.

  “The one you face now is your enemy,” he continued, and as I glanced at Keste I knew he spoke perfect truth.

  Upon Golahka’s command we began.

  To me, it seemed suddenly as if the sky rained stones. Keste had quietly filled his hands with them while Golahka spoke, or maybe he had picked them up as we walked. He did not trouble with the slingshot in his first assault but simply hurled two handfuls of flint at my face. I could not dodge so many, but turned away that they might not strike my eyes, and felt many stinging blows against my head and shoulders. But already I searched for a stone of my own, and fixed it into my slingshot. As I spun back to face him, I flicked it low – at his shins, where he would not expect it – and was rewarded with a crack as it hit bone.

  Thereafter, Keste made a strange opponent. His desire to hurt me flared so strong it made him clumsy. He used such savage force to propel his stones, it was easy to see where he aimed and to step aside lightly and let them thud into the dirt. But I had no mastery of the weapon. My one shot at his shins was a lucky one, and I found I could not load the sling while I dodged his assault. He was so certain of his superiority, so certain of his skill. A simple task, then, to deceive him.

  As Keste fired a stone at my face, I turned slowly, and let it strike my raised arm. Blood flowed and I stumbled in the dust, falling awkwardly to my knees.

  Despite Golahka’s words, all knew that this was a contest amongst members of the same tribe, not a fight between enemies. We might cause injury, but it was not the intention to kill. I was downed, and thus it should have been time to cease our fight. Had Keste done so then, he would have been declared the victor.

  But I had judged him right: Keste could not let me rest where I had fallen. He ran swiftly across the plain, a rock the size of my head clutched in his hands. I kept my chin down, seemingly hurt, seemingly beaten. When he stopped and stood triumphant over me, he called my name that I might raise my eyes and look at him. He wished me to see his victory.

  “Do you cower?” he sneered. “How like your father you are.”

  He raised the stone high above his head, that he might bring it down and crush my face.

  It was not so. As I began to lift my gaze to his, my hand closed upon the flint I held, and I flicked it sharp and hard between his eyes. My aim was good. He recoiled, dropping his rock, clutching his nose. When his hand came away, it was bloodied. In fury, he dived at me.

  It was then the voice of Golahka whipped across the plain. “Enough!” It was a voice none dared disobey. At a sign from Golahka, Keste – shaking with anger – followed as the great warrior led us back towards the mountains and our camp.

  Chee waited as I rose from the dust. His face too was bloodied, as though Huten had struck him many times. I did not doubt that Chee had chosen not to hear Golahka’s words; he had been merciful with Huten, at the cost of his own blood, and I was glad of it.

  We walked together, side by side.

  “Dahtet will be much displeased,” Chee said, laughing. “You have spoilt the pretty nose of Keste.”

  I laughed too, but my heart contracted at his words. All were aware, then, of Dahtet’s liking for Keste. It did not take the voice of Ussen, whispering in my ear, to know that nothing good would come of it.

  We walked in silence awhile, and then I said, “Keste spoke of my father…”

  “To what purpose?”

  “He called him coward.”

  Chee frowned and shook his head. His eyes showed nothing but puzzlement, and I saw that whatever secret knowledge Keste seemed to have, it had not reached the ears of Chee. And yet I could not leave the matter to rest.

  “The raid from which he did not return…” I began. “Was not Keste’s father of that party?”

  “Punte? Indeed. But so was my own. Golahka too. And they have never said aught.”

  “But perhaps Punte saw something that … displeased him. He may have spoken of it to Keste.”

  At this Chee laughed. “It is not so! Keste’s words have no substance, Siki! He plucks them from the air to torment you. You must not let him!”

  I said no more, and for some time we walked in easy silence. But then Chee spoke.

  “Golahka has questioned me of the hunt,” he said quietly.

  I stopped then, and looked at his face that I might understand his meaning.

  Chee shrugged. “I saw nothing, Siki. I was reaching for an arrow when the herd scattered, and then I saw you run.” He laughed with pleasure. “Such a run! I told Golahka of your swiftness. All stood amazed by your feat.”

  This was but little comfort. My stomach stirred with uneasiness that Golahka had thus spoken to Chee. I had dismissed Keste’s false reports as pettish jealousy. I had kept my silence, and not confronted him with his untruths. Now I wondered if I had been wise to do so. Amongst our people the word of a warrior is binding. His honesty – his veracity – must be beyond question. It seemed this small squabble had grown into a larger creature which might threaten my reputation and devour my honour. For if Golahka believed the word of Keste, he must doubt mine. And twice – in taking his horse, and now in tricking Keste – I had shown Golahka my capacity for deceit.

  I wondered if, in pairing me with Keste, Golahka had not been setting us both a challenge. A challenge which one of us would fail.

  Thereafter, Golahka kept a distance between myself and Keste. In each trial, Keste excelled. He was fierce and strong; his skill in tracking was unsurpassed. With a bow his aim never faltered – each arrow struck its target exactly as he intended. Desire for fame and prestige drove him on to greater and greater prowess. Keste, it seemed, wished to shine as bright as the sun, so that while he walked the living earth all eyes would be dazzled by his glory, and none should notice the smaller stars that also hung in the heavens. It was easy to see that he would make a bold, courageous warrior. And yet … I felt something brittle was there too. Something that might yet shatter.

  As the days lengthened, and the trees’ tight buds burst open, our people at last prepared to break camp. There was a freshness in the air; the tang of sweet, new growth; a savour of excitement; the very wind seemed to breathe the promise of revenge. The mood of the warriors was as tense and heavy as the heated air before a thunderstorm.

  In the moon of fresh leaves, we were to meet with our brother tribes in the Chokenne mountains. There we would make camp, leaving our women and children safe in a hidden, secret place, while the warriors followed the warpath into Mexico.

  All were busy with the tasks of removal. Tepees were dismantled, and the long poles fashioned into litters that would be dragged behind our horses. These were stacked with hides, rolled and bundled tightly; baskets filled with provisions; and water jugs for our journey. Our camp was all confusion as it became smaller and smaller and finally shrank to nothing. The trodden grass and the burnt dark rings of our fires showed we had been here, but swiftly would these be hidden by new shoots of spring grass. Within the waxing and waning of a single moon no trace of our winter camp would remain upon the earth.

  At dawn we set forth, following the same way we had passed twelve moons before, when Tazhi and I had travelled with such joy, such lightness of spirit. A different mood it was that now possessed the tribe: we moved with the dark impatience of those hungry for battle. And now I was no longer the girl who failed always to achieve mastery of the women’s craft. I carried Tazhi’s spear, the flint blade gleaming – black as the eyes of Golahka – with its thirst for justice.

  And yet I knew not how to find the man who had slain Tazhi. If I were to accompany the warriors, it would be as a n
ovice. I would not be amongst those who fought on the battlefield. But even as I prayed to Ussen that he grant me my revenge, Tazhi’s spear seemed to hum with energy in my hand as if it were a living thing. And with each step I took, I felt a growing certainty that I would face Tazhi’s slayer.

  And I would kill him.

  In a few days, we were deep in the Chokenne range, and there it was that the Black Mountain, the Dendhi and the Chokenne Apache gathered. The place was well chosen – a hidden plateau high in the mountains watered by a gushing stream. The faces of rock that bound the camp ensured that it was easily protected from an advancing enemy. A single winding path was the only route by which a horse could pass, and along this trail many boulders and stones were placed that could be thrown down if an enemy rode upon it. In the warriors’ absence, the Mexicans could not steal upon the camp without being seen. If, by chance, they came in overwhelming numbers, the women and children would have much time to flee.

  Here it was that the tribes came together. Never had I seen so many of my people together in one place, nor so many tepees facing the rising sun, nor heard so many voices lift together to welcome the morning. In the warmth of the quickening spring, while the women chattered and sang, and the children played, the warriors of all three tribes met in council. Golahka, the great warrior, was first to speak.

  “My brothers, we have come together for a solemn purpose: to avenge our loved ones, blood for blood. The Mexicans shall rue their treachery. They shall grieve, and they shall mourn; they shall suffer, even as we have done. I know the land. I will lead you to their city. By hidden ways we shall approach their homes. Let them have no warning of our intent. As they came upon us – secretly and in silence – so will we come upon them.”

  All were agreed to travel on foot into Mexico. On foot, the warriors would not be seen. The Mexicans should not know of our approach until we were upon them. It was a plan of sense, but for long, thudding heartbeats I cursed it. Golahka, I thought, had promised that I would be with the war party. But much of the novice’s task is to care for the horses, and if the warriors journeyed on foot I dreaded they would have no need of me. I struggled to keep my silence; I would not help myself by calling out or begging that I might come. Biting my lip, I stared at the dust while the council drew to an end.