"You understand anything I'm saying?"
The boy looked at the gun, then back to Jem. Jem decocked the hammer on his Defeater and put it into his holster. As soon as the gun was out of his hand, the boy took off into the shadows.
"I'm not going to hurt you," Jem called out. He thought he could make out where the boy was, or at least had a rough idea which patch of darkness he'd vanished into. Jem picked up the spit and held it out. "Here. Take it. It's all right. I've got enough for all three of you."
Hours later he shivered himself awake and opened his eyes to see the pale sky. His fire was a pile of smoldering ashes and the food was missing from the spit. He checked for tracks around the campsite, but saw neither animal nor Beothuk boy footprints. The destrier was standing only a few yards away, gnawing on branches. Jem tucked a pinch of sweetweed behind his lip and climbed up into the saddle.
It was noon. Sweat dripped from the brim of his hat when Jem took it off to wipe his forehead. Coarse thorn-ridden vegetation spilled over the edges of the cliffs above him in long vines that swept the trail on either side of him. There were piles of leaper bones tangled in the vines, their blood spattered across the rocks beneath.
Jem stopped his destrier and dismounted. The bones were picked clean but the blood was fresh. Strange paw prints were stamped into the ground around the kill site from an enormous animal with razor sharp claws. No, he thought. Several animals.
His destrier snorted and stomped impatiently for Jem to climb back on. He unholstered a Defeater and cocked the hammer back, scanning the trail and cliff walls. "Easy," he said, patting its neck. "Nothing to worry about."
He steered through the vines, forcing her to walk slowly as he kept his head on a swivel and his gun at the ready. The trail bottomed out into a dried riverbed with massive stones sunk in the clay. The damp muck sucked the destrier's hooves as they travelled the embankment, searching for a path that would let them up onto the other side.
Jem saw them enough times that he gave them names.
He called the oldest boy Squawk. All three of them would ride along the edge of the cliffs above Jem, but it was only Squawk who stayed whenever Jem looked up. Squawk who stared back. Squawk who let Jem know he was not afraid of the White Man.
The second boy was thin and long-limbed with a hooked nose and inverted chin. His appearance reminded Jem of a character from a book that his mother once to read to him. He called that boy Ichabod.
The smallest had long, dark hair and a face that resembled Squawk's. He scurried out of sight whenever Jem looked, but laughed and made it a game. Squawk reproached the boy every time, looking thoroughly annoyed. It didn't matter. The game continued. Bug, then, Jem decided. Your name is Bug.
The mountain pass ended at a wide meadow made of tall, swaying grass and cool air that blew across Jem's face. The destrier licked the air with its long red tongue, lapping at it playfully. He eased her down the embankment and she trotted across the flat land, kicking her knees in the air and flinging mud from her hooves. "Feels good to be back on soft ground, don't it?" he said, patting her side. The destrier snorted and spun around in the air, whipping her tail.
A cheer broke out from the mountain behind him and Jem saw the three boys sitting on their destriers, watching him. Bug had his hands raised in the air and Ichabod was clapping. Squawk barked at the both of them, and Ichabod said something back, then pointed at Jem and made circular motions with his finger. Squawk sneered and bunched up his destrier's mane in his hand and kicked it in the sides.
Squawk's destrier bolted down the path toward Jem and trotted around him in a circle, both rider and animal prancing with their heads held high in defiant arrogance. Jem folded both of his hands on the saddle horn and said, "You gonna do something beside try and make me dizzy?"
Squawk slapped the rear end of his mount and gave a command that sent it rearing up on its hind legs with both front legs sticking straight in the air. Squawk let go of the mane with one hand and leaned back, keeping that pose until the animal finally came back down. Jem stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly. When Squawk turned around to join the others, Jem noted a small smile on the boy's face.
Jem waved to the other two and said, "Come on, now. Let me see what you've got."
Ichabod rode into the meadow. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he brought the destrier's speed up, reaching a full gallop before gently pressing himself out of the saddle. He stood to his feet, grasping the mane with both hands and shifting hesitantly from one foot to the other. He suddenly let go of the mane and clapped both hands over his head, then dropped back down onto the animal and hugged it for dear life. Jem whooped and hollered as Ichabod rode past.
He looked over at Bug and pointed. "What about you, squirt? Got any tricks?"
Bug kicked his small mount into motion and took off running with an excited shout. He passed Jem at full speed and jumped to his feet, surfing on her back with one hand high in the air. The boy stood straight legged as the animal whipped around Jem, and he let go of the mane and spun in the air, landing backwards on the beast with his arms folded in a relaxed pose. The animal seemed to steer itself while the boy smiled and patted his mouth, pretending to yawn.
Jem's mouth fell open and he said, "Holy shit." As Bug spun back around to ride back to the others, Jem grabbed his hat and stood up in saddle, waving it and cheering.
The sun retreated from the mountains and Jem gathered the collar of his coat under his chin to keep out the cold wind. He gathered sticks in a pile and built a ring of stones around them then lit a match and flicked it into the kindling. He rubbed his hands over the blaze and sat down.
The boys were watching him from a safe distance. Only Squawk refused to cross his arms over his bare chest and shiver. The other two looked pitiful. Jem waved for them to join him and said, "Come on. Don't be stupid."
Squawk gave a command and the other two boys nodded and ran into the darkness. Squawk bent low in the grass and moved into the shadows. "Have it your way," Jem said. He uncapped his whiskey flask and took a sip and tended to his fire.
That Beothuk boy I shot wasn't much older than Squawk, he thought. He took down a full grown deputy in the darkness and scalped him. Jem took a second, longer sip of whiskey. He was gonna come kill me and Claire, too. Screw that. I'm glad I shot him.
Jem thought about the story Walt Junger, Billy Jack Elliot and Old Man Willow told about finding Sam's body. A Beothuk massacre. So bad they couldn't bring the body home. Jem took his knife out of its sheath and twirled it in his fingers, watching the firelight reflect off its blade. He drank again. "Sheriff Walt Junger," he said.
A fat conejo landed dead on the dirt in front of him.
Jem looked up to see a triumphant Bug raise his hands in the air and cheer.
"Let me guess. It was a contest and you just won," Jem said. He grabbed the conjeo by its ears and slit it open with his knife. Bug bent next to him, watching in fascination at how he prepared it.
Branches cracked and something heavy was sliding across the dirt toward them. Squawk came into the light, dragging a doe by her legs. He deposited the animal at Jem's side with a grunt and looked down at the conejo in Jem's hands. In the flicker of the firelight, for the briefest moment, the brave warrior was just a disappointed little boy.
Jem looked over the doe and said, "That has got to be the biggest female leaper I ever seen. I'm impressed." He patted the animal on the side and nodded approvingly at Squawk. Squawk plopped down cross-legged in front of the fire and sulked as he waited for Jem to finish gutting Bug's catch.
Jem got the meat roasting in minutes and showed Bug how to work the spit. He watched the boy try it himself and then said to Squawk, "All right. Stop pouting, we'll do yours now."
Squawk's head shot up and he held his hand up to tell the other to stop talking. All of the muscles in his body coiled like springs.
Bug whispered something, but Squawk hissed at him to be silent. Jem searched the darkness but saw
nothing, heard nothing, until a high-pitched cry rang out like an animal being torn apart at the joints. Squawk leapt to his feet and ran in that direction.
"Lakhpia-sha," Bug gasped. The child's eyes went so wide that Jem could see white on nearly all sides of them. "Lakhpia-sha!"
"What the hell is a Lakhpia-sha?"
There was a second scream and Jem realized Lakhpia-sha was Ichabod. He scrambled to his feet and ran until he could make out Ichabod's flailing hands and feet pinned under the form of a massive, silver-furred beast.
The creature was shaking Ichabod by his left arm, its drooling fangs sunk deep in his flesh. Squawk leapt onto the beast's back and wrapped his arm around its throat, trying to wrench it off of Ichabod enough to free his arm.
Jem raised a pistol and shouted, "Get out of the way!" but Squawk could not let go. Jem yelled as loudly as he could, trying to scare the thing off but Ichabod's arm was clenched in its mouth, shredded to a tangle of bone sinews.
Jem grabbed Squawk by the shoulder and ripped him off of the animal's back. He grabbed a tuft of the creature's thick hide and jammed his knife into its throat. He pumped the knife back and forth like he was trying to get water out of the beast's neck, and finally, a jet of hot black blood spurted onto his hand.
The beast let of Ichabod and ran off, taking Jem's knife with it.
Jem raised his pistol and fired twice into the darkness but heard nothing. Ichabod moaned, lifting his ruined arm and staring at it in disbelief.
"What the hell was that? Son of a bitch." Jem looked up and saw Bug riding for them on his destrier, coming across the meadow at full gallop. Two small flames appeared in the darkness near Bug and Jem realized it was the shining yellow eyes of a second creature. Bug's destrier screeched as the beast leapt and bit its neck, splashing Bug with her blood.
Jem grabbed the boy by the ankle to pull him free of the thrashing mount. He fired at both animals rapidly, shooting Bug's destrier and its killer until both of them were writhing on the ground in a mewling mix of bloody fur.
"Werja," Bug shouted, spinning around and around, pointing into the shadows. "Werja!"
A third beast had been creeping up behind them and had its jaws open for the back of Squawk's head when Jem turned and fired a bullet past Squawk's ear that cleaved the animal's skull in two.
Squawk did not flinch. He tore pieces of his loincloth into small strips with his teeth, hurrying to get them around Ichabod's arm. He chattered to Ichabod, smacking him on the cheek and shaking him, but the boy had stopped moving.
Jem thought he saw movement in the darkness and pulled the trigger. His gun clicked, empty. Two werja ran forward so quickly that Jem barely had time to get his other gun free. He fired blindly, counting his shots, conserving his bullets until he had a clear target even if it meant waiting until the things were right on top of him. He needed to save three bullets, he thought. I'm not letting these kids get eaten alive.
Jem cocked the hammer back and waited, trying to breathe. One of the beasts roared, coming close enough that Jem could see its bright eyes as it leapt from the ground at him but did not strike. The animal's open jaws sagged and it dropped at Jem's feet with an arrow sticking out of the side of its skull.
Whistles filled the air as arrows showered down around them, followed by the thunk-thunk-thunk of struck targets and the roars of dying werja.
Jem held his arms in front of the boys as shadowy figures approached them, coming through the steam escaping into the cold air from the bodies of the werja. He heard their beads rattle and saw their tall bows first. Their arrows were trained on him now and Jem did not move away from the boys as the dozen Beothuk warriors closed in.
"This boy's hurt," Jem said. He pointed down at Ichabod and said, "He needs help."
One of the men broke through the ranks and shoved Jem out of the way, looking down in horror at Ichabod's injuries. He scooped up the boy in his arms and held him to his chest, then lifting his head to shout, "Mahpiya! Mahpiya!"
The warriors parted as a withered-looking savage limped through the crowd. He was dressed in long white robes and used a staff to support his lame right foot. He bent to inspect Ichabod's arm and reached into his robe for a small bottle. He uncorked the top and poured something foul-smelling onto the wounds, making them sizzle.
Ichabod groaned, and the adult savage rocked him back and forth, wiping the boy's hair out of his face. The old man poured the last of the liquid onto Ichabod's arm and removed a clean cloth from his bag that he gently wrapped around the wound. He spoke rapidly at the men nearest to him and waved for them to come over. They picked up Ichabod and carried him to a destrier, then laid him across the back of the animal and secured him there. One of them leapt up onto it and galloped away.
The warriors lowered their bows but kept their arrows notched as a tall, handsome savage came toward, moving anyone in his path aside with one look. His long grey hair was twisted in braids that were intertwined with feathers. Beads rattled from the fringe of his boots as he walked.
Bug ran to the man and wrapped his arms around his waist, saying "Noshi."
Squawk stood up and took his place at Jem's side, thrusting out his chest and swallowing so hard that Jem actually heard it. Jem looked from Squawk to the man, then to Bug and said, "Let me guess, Daddy's here."
The man stopped in front of Jem and began to speak, but as he looked at Jem's face his words stopped and his eyes widened. Squawk seized the chance to step in front of Jem and start in, chattering non-stop while the man continued staring.
Squawk started to act out the attack of the werja and smacked Jem across the chest, pumping his fist for emphasis. The man folded his arms and waited for Squawk to finish speaking. Squawk finally ran out of breath and the man waved him out of the way with the back of his hand. He lifted Jem's chin and inspected both sides of Jem's face. He looked down the length of his nose at Jem and smiled gently before letting go and turning to seek out one of the fallen werja.
He rolled the animal's carcass over and grabbed the handle of Jem's knife that was sticking out of its neck. He grabbed the handle with both hands and put his foot against the beast's head to draw the blade from its hide. He peeled back its thick black lip and stuck the knife into its gums, prying the longest razor-sharp fang until it popped out in his hand.
He held the fang up to the several dangling from his own neck and nodded with approval. He wiped it on his loincloth before dropping the tooth into a pouch on his belt. "I am Chief of this tribe. My name is Thasuka Witko. We camp nearby and you will come with us."
Jem looked at the Chief and said, "Uh…I…am Jem Clayton."
Thasuka Witko turned to walk toward the others and said, "I already know who you are."
12. The Medicine
They called the elder "Mahpiya," and he remained seated at Ichabod's side within a tent, fanning the boy with a smoldering plant that smoked white and fragrant. He draped talismans on the boy's chest and painted symbols on his body while singing and chanting. Jem looked through the tent flaps and watched, but Mahpiya did not acknowledge him.
Squawk tugged on Jem's sleeve and pulled him away from the tent toward a clearing where the rest of the group was gathered. The men were seated in a circle surrounding a roaring fire. They stopped talking and sat up straight and became tight-lipped at Jem's approach. Only Thasuka Witko leaned back and relaxed, playing with a long, unlit wooden pipe as Jem joined the circle and sat down.
Two Beothuk warriors moved aside from Jem and both he and Squawk sat down. Those two watched Jem from the corners of their eyes while others only nodded curtly. Thasuka Witko raised his voice to say, "Welcome to the circle of warriors, Jem Clayton. You take your place amongst the true people of Seneca and have earned the right to sit among us. Only one white man has ever earned the right to do so in my lifetime, and it was also through an act of bravery and humanity toward the people. He lives in our stories as El-Aquila."
The name brought murmurs from the men and many of them loo
ked at Jem with renewed curiosity. Thasuka Witko waited for everyone to be silent before continuing, "When El-Aquila sat in our circle, he asked Chief Hoka-Psice how the Beothuk came to this place and why we make war on the outsiders. Our stories had never been shared with a white man before."
The Chief looked at the faces of the men seated around him and said, "It was my father's belief that by telling the white man about our people, he would take our stories back and enlighten the rest as to the ways of the Great Spirit. I argued that no white man's ears could hear our truths and it was a waste of time to try. Hoka-Psice was a wise Chief, and ignored me, as I will ignore those who sit here and would try to stop you from hearing the same story."
Jem looked around at the brown faces in the circle, seeing that none of them looked very pleased. "If your young ones are an example of your people's character, there is much more I'd like to know."
The flames flickered in the Chief's dark eyes and he looked up at the sky and pointed his finger at the stars, "In the first days, the Beothuk were slaves in a far away land, made to work for cruel masters. It was The Enlightened One who led our people to freedom and told them to take a fire wagon by force and escape. They found this place where no one would bother to look for them. Many of our ancestors complained that this place was not fit for them. They saw no forests or oceans. They said the land was too hard and the sun was too hot, but the Enlightened One scolded them, for this was a place he felt they could live in peace. If this planet had no riches for the White Man to plunder, the White Man would never come.
"The Beothuk populated the planet and learned its ways. They harvested the harsh ground and plucked fruit from the agave plant. They fed on the fast, long-legged awiyusti and the slow, fat agana. They fought the mighty werja and fashioned their skins into blankets to protect themselves during the cold desert nights.
"Our people made trinkets out of the strange glittering stones that sometimes appeared at the mouths of caves, or rattled around the bottom of our water jugs when we filled them in the streams. The Enlightened One could not have dreamed that someday Outsiders would come with enormous machines that bored holes in the ground to drill for these stones.
Guns of Seneca 6 Box Set Collected Saga (Chambers 1-4) Page 10