by J Gurley
Kena questioned Grey Eagle’s behavior. “You look worried. Are we in danger?”
Grey Eagle replied without taking his gaze from the horizon. “We should have been met by scouts from our village. There is no sign that they have been here, but there are signs that others have passed through and tried to cover their tracks.”
Even as he spoke, the first arrow struck the ground at his feet.
“Take cover!” he yelled. “Over there.” Grey Eagle pointed at a pile of nearby boulders.
As Hramack ran, he saw one of Grey Eagle’s men lying on the ground with an arrow protruding from his back. The man had not screamed. It was the first time he had seen someone killed other than by accident. He did not even know the man’s name. Then he noticed the dead man had carried all their weapons. They lay scattered across the ground where he dropped them. Without weapons, they were defenseless. Ignoring the danger, he took a deep breath, leaped from the protection of a small shrub, and ran to retrieve the fallen weapons. Another arrow sang, passing within inches of his ear as he sprinted for the cover of the rocks. He smiled as he handed his father his bow. Kena’s stern look wiped the smile from his face.
“That was dangerous,” he snapped.
“Tsosts’id,” White Elk broke in. He held out his hand with fingers spread widen and raised two fingers on his other hand. “Seven of them.” He looked at his companion lying on the ground and frowned. “Little Otter is dead.”
Grey Eagle at Kena grimly, then at Anseer cowering behind a boulder. “If you three can fight, we may have a chance. I see you have your weapons.” He glanced at Hramack with admiration in his face for his Hramack’s quick actions.
Kena strung his bow and, after taking careful aim, let fly an arrow. A sharp yell erupted from the tangle of shrubs. He looked smugly at Grey Eagle.
“You’ll do,” Grey Eagle replied.
“Little Otter carried most of the water,” White Elk said. “We cannot wait them out until help arrives. It will be sunrise soon. We must make our move soon while it is still dark enough for cover.”
The others nodded their agreement.
“Travin and I will work our way down that arroyo and try to get behind them. You two can cover us.” Kena looked at Hramack. “Watch our flank, son.”
Hramack gripped his Little Otter’s bow and took a deep breath before signaling his readiness. He lacked his father’s skill with a bow, but his knife was of little use to him in this situation. He felt an uneasy queasiness in the pit of his stomach much like when he had faced the nightstalker, but knew he had to summon his courage. This was no time to let his fear endanger the others.
“Try to stay low,” Grey Eagle advised. “If things go bad for us, go to Pueblo Nuevo. Tell them Grey Eagle vouches for you.” He clasped Kena’s hand firmly. “Et eh, together.” When Kena opened his hand, a small, carved wooden amulet lay in his palm in the likeness of an eagle. Kena thrust it into his pocket.
Grey Eagle and White Elk let loose a flurry of arrows as Kena and Travin crawled down the length of the small arroyo. Hramack slipped into the brush on his hands and knees, paralleling his father. Cover was sparse, but he used the deep shadows cast by the moon. The soft whisper of the bowstring came from just ahead of him as one of the hidden Marauders fired an arrow. He watched with apprehension as his father worked his way out of the arroyo and into a mesquite thicket. Kena drew himself to his knees, sighted along an arrow, pulled tight the string, and released it – all in a split-second.
A yelp of pain and the thud of a body falling signaled his arrow had found its mark. As Kena turned to motion for Travin to join him, two men suddenly jumped him. They wore rags for clothing and had rags wound around their heads and faces like a burnoose. Their hands held long knives whose blades gleamed wickedly in the moonlight. Kena parried their blows with his bow, trying to pull his own knife with his free hand. Before Travin could assist Kena, a third Marauder attacked him as well.
Without thinking, Hramack dropped Little Otter’s bow, rushed across the open ground, and leaped into the fray, quickly knocking one man from his father’s back. This gave Kena the time to draw his knife from its scabbard and plunge it deep into the second man’s chest. Hramack’s foe picked himself up and turned to flee. He had gone less than three paces when he staggered, an arrow suddenly protruding from his neck. Grey Eagle stepped from behind a boulder.
“I thought you might need some help. I saw them headed towards you and decided to join in.” He used his foot to turn over the Marauder lying on the ground with a deep wound in his chest. Barely visible through the folds of cloth encircling his face, the man’s skin was alabaster white. Dark bands circled his eyes, giving him a skeletal appearance. “Dead.”
“This one still breathes,” Travin said. He stood over a third Marauder. His knife protruded from the man’s shoulder. The Marauder moaned in pain. Travin ground his foot into the wound and yanked his blade free. His moans turned to screams of pain.
“Good. We’ll take him to the village for questioning.”
Hramack examined the dead Marauder more closely. The Marauder had filed his teeth to sharp points. Grey Eagle’s tales of cannibalism seemed less a fantasy now. The idea of eating human flesh sickened Hramack. He rubbed his finger along the man’s cheek. It came away white, revealing heavily tanned flesh beneath it. He sniffed the greasy smudge on his finger and snorted.
“It smells like rancid meat.”
“They cover their flesh with a mixture of rendered fat, talc, and creosote to protect them from the sun,” Grey Eagle said. “It smells slightly less offensive than their bodies.”
A scream in the distance made Hramack to jump. Grey Eagle shrugged. “The remaining three tried to flee, but one carries your father’s arrow. White Elk sees that they do return to carry word to his friends. He will also make certain no more marauders are near. He will catch up later. Come. Let’s carry this devil spawn with us.” He looked at Kena, Travin, and Hramack and grinned broadly. “You did well. I will speak for you before our Chief.”
Travin stared toward the scream and growled, “I will help White Elk.”
Before Kena could stop him, he loped away. Grey Eagle watched Travin’s departure with a frown.
“Your companion is fearless, but he carries a heavy burden on his shoulders. Darkness surrounds him like a cloud. I fear for him.”
Hramack wanted to go after the taciturn hunter, but Grey Eagle was eager to leave. Binding the wounded Marauder securely, they half-dragged, half-carried him back to where they had left Anseer. The young woodcarver leaned against a boulder with his knife in his hand, trembling in fear. He lowered it when he saw them.
“I thought you were dead,” he gasped.
No,” Grey Eagle said. “Your friends fought bravely.”
“What of Little Otter?” Hramack asked, glancing at the fallen man.
“White Elk will bury him when he returns this way.” Grey Eagle walked over to Little Otter and removed a colorful beaded necklace, carefully worked with silver threads, from around his neck. “We will return this Betrothal Locket to his wife. It will serve for the Parting Ceremony.”
The Marauder moaned. Grey Eagle hit him with his bow. “Walk, carrion,” he yelled. “I will not carry you. I will stake you to the ground for the vultures to enjoy.”
Hramack was not certain if Grey Eagle would do such a barbarous thing, but the Marauder seemed to have no doubts. He walked. Hramack studied the Marauder carefully.
The Marauder wore a mix-matched set of ragged, filthy clothing made from roughly woven cloth and poorly cured leather and a pair of worn leather boots. Angry black and brown patches, like a rash, covered his skin visible through the foul-smelling grease covering his flesh. He was filthy and stank like carrion. His body was emaciated and most of his teeth had fallen out, leaving only the sharply filed canines.
“Scurvy,” Kena said, noticing Hramack’s interest in the man’s missing teeth. “A lack of fruit causes it. I imagine his bones are b
rittle also.”
“I will break them for him if he dawdles,” Grey Eagle threatened.
“What is the rash?” Hramack asked.
“Probably skin cancers caused by prolonged exposure to the sun,” Kena replied. “The animal fat they rub over their bodies might reduce sunburns, but it won’t keep out Ultraviolet radiation as well as our sunscreen.”
“Is he dying?”
Kena nodded, his face expressing deep sorrow in spite of the fact the marauder tried to kill him. “He will never see thirty years.”
It was more than Hramack could imagine – dying so young because of your lifestyle. Most villagers in Ningcha lived until their eighties, some longer. They would have to do something for these people if they were to rebuild the world. With their prisoner in tow, Grey Eagle, Kena, Travin, Anseer, and Hramack soon came within sight of Pueblo Nuevo. White Elk and Travin caught up to them a short time later, but said nothing about the other Marauders, though the blood smears on their clothing spoke volumes. Grey Eagle merely nodded at their arrival. Hramack noticed a look of satisfaction in Travin’s eyes, as though he had finally found an outlet for his suppressed anger. The village hunter had become warrior. Though he could not see the dark cloud Grey Eagle had described, Hramack worried for him.
16
Pueblo Nuevo
As they came to the first building at the outskirts of the village, Kena stopped and retrieved the amulet from his pocket. “You might need this,” he said as he returned it to Grey Eagle.
Grey Eagle took the amulet and placed it around his neck. “I thank you. It was given to me long ago by my wife the night before our Betrothal.”
“I noticed the word Nada inscribed inside. Isn’t that Spanish for nothing?”
Grey Eagle chuckled. “Nada is my name, Nada Puhuyesva. I am Hopi of the Mishungovi clan of the Third Mesa. Grey Eagle is my warrior name.”
“We have no other name. I am simply Kena.”
“Then I will give you one for your bravery. You are Toho, the cougar, for your bravery.”
“Toho, I like it.”
Grey Eagle nodded. “Ya’ateeh, it is good.”
“What about me?” Hramack asked, feeling left out. The idea of having a second name that described your attributes delighted him. Others often called his father, Healer; Kaffa was Precept. Even Chu Li was High Priest.
Grey Eagle smiled. “You will be Ta’avo, the rabbit, for your speed.”
“Ta’avo,” Hramack repeated to get the pronunciation right. “I suppose rabbit is better than mouse.”
Shouts of joy greeted them as they entered the village. The chorused ululations of the women startled Hramack, but he soon realized they were vocal displays of happiness. Hramack counted over five hundred people who had turned out for their arrival, more people than he had ever seen in his life. Grey Eagle, it seemed, was a well-respected member of the pueblo.
White Elk quickly disappeared into the crowd with a beautiful young girl, who Grey Eagle explained was White Elk’s fiancée. Hramack felt a pain of longing for Teela, but his curiosity drew his attention back to the village. He was amazed at the pueblo’s strategic location. Built into a massive hollow carved by the wind into the native rock much like Ningcha, it was high enough above the valley floor to provide protection, yet was easily accessible by a broad, winding path. Two stone towers, one on each side of the path, guarded it from attack. The overhang of the cliff protected them from dangers above as well as from the worst of the sun’s fury and the elements, yet it had none of the rough, unfinished feeling of Ningcha.
Groves of trees, most of them bearing fruit, lined the path and were scattered in small copses across the valley’s broad floor. Carefully constructed stone aqueducts carried precious water from large, rock-lined pools and cisterns higher up the mountain to each small grove and garden. The roof of each pueblo contained a small garden, many with vines cascading over the edge of the roof and down the sides of the walls. The people of Pueblo Nuevo utilized every square meter of their small domain to provide sustenance both for the body and for the soul. The village was hauntingly beautiful. Hramack thought Pueblo Nuevo made Ningcha look like a ground squirrel’s burrow hastily scratched in the earth. Grey Eagle was right to be proud of his village.
“How do you maintain the plants without the water from the springs?” Hramack asked of Grey Eagle. He hoped he could learn how to save Ningcha’s slowly dying crops. “There is a small artesian spring bubbling from the back of the overhang,” Grey Eagle explained. “It provides enough water for now, along with that which we have stored in our pools, but without the underground wells, our cattle and sheep will soon die. We cannot provide enough water for the grasses they eat, and we cannot move them elsewhere with the threat of Marauders looming.”
“Then it is to both our village’s mutual benefit to seek out the source of the springs and try to aid their return,” Kena added.
As they spoke, a small entourage of men made their way through the gathered crowd toward them. The woman leading them wore a long tunic of brightly colored woven wool. She carried a long shepherd’s crook with bands of around the crook glinting like fire in the bright sunlight. Though her long, white hair showed her to be older than Grey Eagle, she retained a look of vitality and strength that marked her as a vibrant leader. She walked proudly, her sandaled feet almost gliding along the path.
“Our Chief, Kosono the Seer,” Grey Eagle presented his leader to them.
Hramack noticed the sudden tenseness in Travin’s stance as the leader approached the group, though he did not know if from fear or respect. The hunter’s hand tightened on the hilt of his knife, whose blade still bore traces of blood, and then slowly relaxed, as she smiled.
Chief Kosono halted her small train of attendants a few steps from the group and raised her hand palm outward. Her languid but intense eyes scanned each of them for a long moment. Hramack felt certain the Chief could read his mind and tried to quiet his thoughts. His anxiety vanished as the Chief extended both her hands to Grey Eagle, who clasped them and touched them with his forehead. She repeated the gesture for Kena and Hramack, who followed Grey Eagle’s example. Hramack noted the leader’s hands were wrinkled and calloused, but her grip remained strong.
“So, Grey Eagle, I see you have returned with friends,” Chief Kosono said with a glimmer of laughter in her eyes. “It is good. This I saw in a vision. I have arranged for their comfort. It may be that they are our only salvation. The stars themselves move for them.” She turned to Kena. “I bid you welcome to our pueblo and extend to you all that we have to offer.” As she waved her arm to encompass the village, two women came forward, took Kena and Hramack by their arms, and began to lead them towards the pueblo through the throng. Kena glanced at Grey Eagle questioningly.
He smiled broadly. “Please go with them. You will be able to bathe after your long journey and to eat. I will inform Chief Kosono of all that has occurred and of what you seek. She will seek council with the Elders and call for you soon. Go. Rest.”
“What about Anseer and Travin?” Hramack called out.
“Your weary friend will be sent to our hataalii, our medicine singer, to tend to his needs.”
Kena protested. “He needs more than songs sung over him.”
Grey Eagle smiled. “Our hataalii is wise in our traditional ways and natural remedies, but she also employs knowledge and tools gleaned from the biligana. He will heal.” He pointed to Travin. “This one will accompany me to my home.”
Travin turned to Grey Eagle and nodded his acceptance to the invitation. Hramack glanced at his father. “They will be safe, as will we,” Kena said.
Worn out from the long journey, the idea of a bath and rest sounded too good to be true. Hramack allowed the young woman who held his hand to lead him away from the crowd. He caught a glimpse of Kena ahead of him. He turned to his sponsor. Her dark eyes looked him up and down appreciatively.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Asea
ra,” she answered smiling. Her voice was a song spoken. Her lips were full and colored with a red substance that made them luscious and inviting. “What is yours?”
“Hramack,” he answered, trying not to stare at her.
“Come, Hramack.”
Aseara took Hramack to a small but comfortable pueblo near the edge of the canyon. Her home was on the lower floor. It consisted of a large open great room with comfortable couches and chairs, a kitchen that opened onto a covered veranda, and a bedroom. A fireplace dominated the great room. A large black kettle hung suspended over a low flame from a metal rod. The people of Pueblo Nuevo cooked with fire, as did his father. A neat stack of twigs and small sticks gleaned from the grove of trees for fuel rested beside the hearth. The fireplace, like the walls, was made of stone covered with a smooth, plaster-like substance. Hramack ran his hand over it.
“It is adobe,” Aseara told him. “We make it from clay.”
Many colorful tapestries depicting stylized figures of people and animals hung from the walls. Similar rugs covered the mosaic tile floor. Small, delicately carved animals sat in niches in the walls. The villagers of Pueblo Nuevo surrounded themselves with art.
Trying not to be too obvious, Hramack examined his hostess.Aseara was older than he by a handful of years, but her dark eyes were bright and full of mischief. Her long, silken hair reminded him of Teela, though Aseara’s hair was as black as a moonless night and as straight as the fall of water plunging into the Pools of Yarah. When she stood near him, Hramack caught the faint scent of apple blossoms. In spite of his thoughts of Teela, Hramack felt himself drawn to this exotic woman.
“You must remove your clothing now,” she said.
“What … I don’t …” he stammered in embarrassment.
Aseara smiled and pointed to the veranda. Hramack noticed a paper screen at its edge. “You may bathe there. I will take your dirty clothes.”