“‘Your father,’ she said, ‘is out on the back porch and wishes to speak with you.’
“It was hard for me not to laugh. My father always likes to pretend that he is the one who runs our household. ‘My son,’ he said. ‘I, ah . . . ah . . .’”
Yugi chuckles. “My father paused just then because he looked up and saw that my mother was standing in the doorway watching us. ‘I, er, we have decided,’ my father said. ‘Is that not so, my wife? Yes, we, your mother and I, have decided that it is good for you to learn this thing. Is that not so, my wife? Yes, that is what I have decided.’”
CHAPTER 21
Footsteps
The night is darker than I’d expected. The full moon should have been lighting my way, but clouds must have blown in to cover the sky while Yugi and I were working together on learning my father’s syllabary.
As soon as he looked out of the door of his mother’s cabin and saw just how dark it was, Yugi turned to me.
“Uwohali,” he said, “my friend, it is later than we thought. You must spend the night here.”
“No,” I said. “It will be fine. I have walked the trail between your house and mine so many times that I could do so with my eyes closed. My mother is expecting me and will worry if I do not come home.”
So, despite his misgivings, I set out on my way.
At first, the walk seemed easy. Perhaps it was because we had made so much progress in our learning that I felt so sure of myself. And this was, indeed, a walk I’d made countless times before. But this night was unusually dark. So dark that I stumbled over a stone in the road and fell to my hands and knees. And that is when all of my certainty left me.
For in that moment before I began to rise to my feet again, I heard a sound behind me. It was a sound that sent a shiver down my back, a sound I recognized as footsteps. Only a few steps before whoever it was that followed me stopped. And the fact that those footsteps stopped worried me even more than hearing the sound of those feet following me.
I realize now how foolish I’ve been. I should have stayed at Yugi’s cabin. The silence behind me means that whoever it is, is trying to be unheard, matching their steps to mine. And what is even worse is that I am certain what I heard was not the sound of only one person walking, but at least two.
Even on the darkest night, the sky is always a bit brighter than the land. So I do something my uncle Red Bird taught me. I do not rise to my feet, instead, I put my head as close to the ground as possible and look back along the road. And, just as he taught me, I am able to see something. There, outlined against the sky, are the shapes of two people, no more than a stone’s throw behind me, both standing still and keeping quiet.
Who could it be? All I can see are their outlines, but from the size of them, they look to be grown men. And though I do not know who they are, I think I can guess. They are two of those men Yugi heard speaking at the store about burning Sally Guess’s cabin and killing my father and my sister and me. Udagehi’s father, perhaps, and one other. And I do not think I have to guess why they are following me. They mean to do me harm.
What shall I do now? If I leap up and try to run, that will alert those men that I am aware of them. They will start running, too. Maybe they have torches with them that they will then light. And because I’ll be running without light, I might just trip and fall again or run into something. Then they will surely catch me.
Never show danger that you are afraid of it. Those were Red Bird’s words. I speak them to myself in my mind as I stand up.
Never show danger that you are afraid of it.
Then, pretending to be unaware of the men following me, I rise to my feet and begin to walk.
As I walk, the wind changes. It’s no longer blowing in my face, but coming from behind me, from the direction of those men stalking me. It brings to me a faint scent that I recognize all too well, the same smell that was on my father’s breath in those days when I was a small child and he was almost always drunk. Alcohol! The men following me have been drinking. And that worries me even more, for a drunk man will do awful things that he would not do when sober.
I keep walking, hoping my pace is just quick enough to stay ahead of those following me. But what if they are not the only ones? What if other men are waiting ahead of me, waiting in ambush?
I look up at the sky. Is it brighter than it was before? Yes. That same wind at my back is also blowing high above me. It is moving the clouds away from the face of the moon. Now there’s only a thin layer like tattered lace across the sky. And now the moon is beginning to show and her light is being cast on the land, making the path before me clearly visible.
I risk a quick glance over my shoulder. And I am both glad that I did so and frightened at the same time. Those two men have come closer. They’re no more than a hundred feet behind me. I still can’t make out their faces, but I can see that both of them are carrying heavy clubs.
“Stop!” one of them shouts, his voice slurred from drinking.
“Do not move!” the other man yells, raising one of his arms. “Stay there.”
That is a command that I would be foolish to obey. There’s only one thing for me to do now.
Run!
Flight is my best hope right now. Just then something whizzes past my face as I take to my heels, moonlight flashing off it as it just misses me.
A knife was just thrown at me, I think, and run even faster.
I hear their feet pounding the earth behind me, but I don’t look back.
“Stop,” the first man shouts again.
The men behind me are larger than me, armed with clubs and perhaps even more knives. Drunk as they are, they will not hesitate to do the worst to me if they catch me. But because they are drunk, perhaps they will not be able to run as swiftly or as sure as they could when sober. And though I am not the fastest runner among the boys of my age, I am far from being the slowest.
My attackers are no longer shouting. They are just concentrating on trying to catch me. But I can tell from the sounds of their heavy breathing and their feet thudding against the trail, that I am gaining ground. They are farther behind me. The moonlight is so bright now that it casts shadows on the trail.
But my mother’s cabin is still some distance away. The moon is bright now, but the clouds are still moving across the sky and its light may be blotted out again soon, well before I reach the safety of my home. And there are narrow places on the trail ahead of me where someone might be waiting in ambush. There is a prickling at the back of my neck, another sense beyond sight or smell or hearing that is warning me of more danger than those two pursuers who are now so far behind they have lost sight of me.
Where?
I slow my pace just enough to scan the trail ahead of me. There! That has to be the spot, there where a huge old oak tree overhangs the main path. If I keep going, I’ll reach that narrower place in the path before the clouds blot out the moon again. I don’t see any motion there, but I can sense a presence. Someone, another attacker, is waiting there to waylay me.
I can’t go on and I can’t turn back. But luck is with me because I have come to the one place along this trail that circles around Willstown where I have a chance of escape. The steep ravine that falls off to my left is the one that holds the hidden path to the Four Bears. I find its entrance just as the moon again begins to slip into its cloak of clouds.
I duck down, push a branch aside to enter the nearly vertical hidden trail, slide down it perhaps fifty feet. Then I stop, holding on to the base of a sapling to keep myself from slipping. If I go any farther the sounds of brush rustling and stones dislodged by my feet rattling down the hill may give me away.
Just in time. I hear heavy feet—coming not from one direction on the trail but two. Then there is the scratching sound of flint striking steel, a spark, and then light as torches are set flaming. I can barely see the light through the heavy brush above me, bu
t even so I close my eyes and lower my head so that no stray beam of light will reflect from my face.
“Did . . . you see . . . the boy?” Though his voice is still slurred by drink and he is breathing hard, I recognize who is speaking. It’s Udagehi’s father.
“We . . . we . . . were right behind him,” a second voice speaks, the voice of the man who raised his hand and threw that knife at me.
“No,” says a third voice, that of the man I sensed waiting in ambush. “I saw nothing. Are you sure he went this way?”
I listen as they continue to talk, stumbling about as they do so. I keep my head down, trusting that they will not find the hidden entrance to my secret trail.
Then there’s another sound.
Whoot-too-whoo.
The call of an owl from the branches of one of the trees next to the trail. Although another thought comes to me as I hear that call. Is it really an owl? Or is it my father, who can make any sound like that of the kingfisher when he came upon me at the stream?
“Eeee-yah!” one of the men cries, fear in his voice. “Did you hear that?”
That first owl’s call is answered by another from deeper in the woods.
Whoot-too-whoo.
“Ah-ah-ah!” Udagehi’s father says. “Two of them!”
Among our Tsalagi people, the owl is usually seen as a bird of ill omen. Some say that sorcerers can take the shape of an owl, and it is believed that the call of an owl can mean someone is about to die.
But I also know that it is not at all unusual to hear owls hoot like that at this time of year. It’s the time of year when the owls call to one another this way, hoping to find a mate. I learned that from my uncle Red Bird, who told me that sometimes an owl is just an owl and that people who are feeling guilty will always find something to fear.
Like those three men on the trail above me. Those men do not like the sound of those owls. And whether it is really an owl or my father protecting me, the result is the same.
“Forget the boy.”
“This is an evil night.”
“Let us leave here now!”
Their frightened voices and heavy footsteps grow fainter as they move away.
Perhaps it would be safe for me to come out and continue home. But perhaps not. I make my way down the steep trail until I come to the place where I can crawl through the bushes to the Four Bears. I lean against the nearest of the bears, feeling its comforting presence. Even though I have no blanket, the night is not cold and I close my eyes, certain the old stones will guard me.
The next thing I know, a hand is grasping my shoulder, shaking me.
“Uwohali, Uwohali?”
I open my eyes. The bright daylight filtering in through the trees that arch overhead blind me for a moment. Where am I? Then I remember. I am at the Four Bears. The one who just pulled me out of sleep must have been my friend Yugi. Who else knows this secret place?
But to my great surprise, as my eyes focus, I see that it is not Yugi at all. It is a grown man, a large man with a wide face and dark eyebrows that join in the middle. I blink my eyes twice before I recognize him. It is my uncle White Raven.
“Are you badly hurt?” White Raven asks me in his deep voice, squinting at me as he speaks, his broad face showing a look of concern.
His words confuse me.
“What? No? Why do you ask that?”
Then I feel the stiffness on the right side of my face. I lift my hand to my cheek and it is painful to the touch. Something dry is stuck to my face all the way down to my neck. Blood. The knife that was thrown at me didn’t miss me after all. It must have been so sharp that when it grazed my cheek I didn’t feel it cut me.
“Hold still.”
My uncle keeps his left hand on my shoulder as he explores the side of my face gently. Then he settles back on his heels.
“Just a small cut,” he says. “I thought it might be something worse. But it bled so freely that your whole face on this side is caked with blood. Did you catch it on a sharp twig? And why did you spend the night here? Your mother was worried and came to my house to ask me to help find you.”
“How did you find me here?” I ask.
White Raven chuckles. “Who told you about this place to begin with? Your mother, yes? And who do you suppose showed your mother how to find our Four Bears but her older brothers? Now, what happened?”
There’s no point in keeping it from him. I tell him everything—about the men who pursued me, the knife that was thrown, the third person waiting in ambush, and how I recognized the voice of Sharp Teeth, Udagehi’s father. A look comes over my big uncle’s face like a dark cloud. White Raven has always been known to be peaceful, but he is also very large and strong. I have heard it said that no one ever wants to face his anger—like the anger that is darkening his eyes right now. I worry for a moment if he is thinking about taking revenge on Sharp Teeth. Then another look comes over White Raven’s face as his thoughts take him in another direction. I remember how this uncle of mine has also become known for his political skills, for working with people rather than opposing them.
He reaches out a hand to pull me to my feet.
“Come along, nephew,” he says, determination in his voice. “First we take you home to your mother. Then, when my brother returns from his travels, we will speak with your father and our village chief. It is time we found a way to put an end to this foolishness.”
CHAPTER 22
The Village Chief’s Visit
Several more days have passed. Each day both Yugi and I have gone to work with my father at his wife’s cabin—being careful to always stay on the main road and avoiding any of the small trails where someone might lie in wait. Am I afraid? No, I am not afraid. I am like my father. I am becoming a man and so I am not afraid. Instead, I am determined.
It’s a bright morning. A sun as golden as the one on the quilt our mothers made is shining in through the window. As Yugi and I sit at the table, practicing our writing under my father’s gentle guidance—and with the help of my somewhat annoying but bright little sister, Ahyokah—a voice calls from outside.
“Oginawlee, my friend,” the voice calls. “Are you home? It is me, Agili.”
Agili is our village chief.
My father stands and limps over to open the door, a smile on his face. “Welcome,” he says. “Wado. Thank you for coming. Come in.”
It is not a surprise that Agili has arrived. I am the one who was sent yesterday to invite him to come to see my father because there was something important that Sequoyah wished to share.
Agili had listened to my invitation, a serious look on his face. Then, just as my father had said he would do, he had run his finger along his nose three times and nodded.
“Tell my cousin,” Agili had said, “that I will meet him tomorrow morning at his wife’s house.”
And now he has come as he promised. My father steps aside but Agili does not enter. He remains just outside the door. He is a tall, distinguished man, with a long face and a high forehead. He has a reputation for his great intelligence and his honest and forthright ways. Like my father, he served in the Red Stick War, but he did so as a major, a leader of many men. He also is a fluent speaker of English, which is another reason for his position as the head of our village. Dealing with the Aniyonega and helping protect us from the desires of some of them to cheat us and to take even more of our land is another of his jobs. The white men know him as George Lowrey, which was also the name of his white father. However, Agili, He Is Rising, is his true Tsalagi name.
His ears, like many of the men of his generation have lobes that have been cut and stretched so that they hang down almost to his shoulders. He is wearing large, round silver earrings as big as the palm of my hand and a nose ring the size of a silver dollar. Those were made several years ago by my father. His wearing them today is, I think, both a sign that
he still respects and sees him as a friend.
“How are things with you, cousin?” Agili asks. His words are polite, but he is still staying on the porch.
My father smiles and nods, rubbing his chin with two fingers as he does so. “They are well,” he says. “And getting better.”
Agili shakes his head. “That is not what I am hearing. Before, people were just whispering about you. Now some of the more foolish ones are saying these things out loud. I have spoken and told them just how foolish they are. But I cannot tell another person what to think. And when someone’s ears are closed to reason, it is hard to convince them that their thoughts are wrong. I am worried for your safety.” Agili looks in at me. “And the safety of your family.”
Sequoyah just nods, the gentle smile still on his face. “Come in,” he says again. “I will show you something.”
Agili is still hesitant. He slowly lifts one foot, like one about to wade into dark water without knowing how deep it is. He lifts his handfto run his finger along his nose. Once, twice, three times. Then he steps over the threshold.
“Osdadu,” my father says. “Good. Now let me show you something.”
He limps over to the table where we are sitting. Agili follows close behind him.
My father nods toward Yugi and me. “They are learning to write,” he says. “They are just beginning to learn. Soon they will be able to do as I do. I can write down anything that any of our people can say. Anything. Then I can put it aside and pick it up later and there find all of it just as it was said.”
He picks up a folded piece of paper and opens it. “This is a message that I took down over a month ago in Arkansas from Chief John Jolly. At first, like you and most of our people here, he was uncertain about what I made. But when I showed him how it worked, how it could help our people, he became convinced.
“So, asking me to use my way of writing, he spoke this message to bring to you. It says this:
“‘My cousin and clan brother Agili, this is John Jolly sending you this message. I ask if you are well. I urge you again to think of joining us here in these new lands away from the Ani-yonega. Now I send you my greetings in this new way that Sequoyah has made. Now we can have our own talking leaves just as do the Aniyonega. I will now tell you something so that you know this message is from me and no one else, I will remind you of something that only you and I know about. Do you remember when we were little boys and took that pie from the window where it was cooling? Do you remember how we took it into the woods and ate it? Do you also remember how you were then stung on the lip by a wasp that also wanted that pie? Do you remember how sad I was that you were stung because it meant I had to eat the rest of that pie all by myself?’”
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