Comanche Dawn

by Mike Blakely

  The woman at the cook fire looked up from an iron pan and smiled. “Looks Away, the wife of your husband’s son is here,” she announced.

  It was Slope Child’s voice that replied from inside the lodge: “Even one so pure becomes unclean.”

  Laughter erupted inside the lodge. Looks Away stepped out, eyes cast low, not wanting to take part in making fun of Teal.

  Teal touched Looks Away as she passed her, then she marched close to the lodge and spoke loudly: “Is that the mother of Coyote’s child?”

  The women gasped, then burst into laughter again.

  Slope Child had never married, but had a daughter. She would not say who the father of the girl was, and most women agreed that it was because she did not know who the father was herself. Among the Noomah, such a baby was known as Coyote’s child. When she came to the lodge for unclean women, Slope Child had to pay someone to look after her daughter. This did not seem to bother Slope Child. She always had plenty of things to pay with, even though she had no husband.

  “Perhaps it is Coyote’s daughter,” Slope Child answered. This was a scandalous thing to say, for the elders often told the story of how Coyote tricked his own daughters into coupling with him. Slope Child seemed to enjoy shocking the women by saying such things.

  “When you leave this lodge,” Teal said, knowing Slope Child would go back to camp on this day, “I know a place where you can gather much stone seed.”

  The women howled with laughter, for Slope Child was said to take stone seed to prevent getting pregnant. Slope Child stepped out of the lodge and glared at Teal. Finally, she smiled, and said, “Do not trifle with me, pure one. Is this true about the stone seed?”

  The women laughed, and even Looks Away smiled, though she covered her mouth with her hand.

  Teal set her back rest on the ground, and sat down to lean against it. She began eating a piece of boiled breadroot that she had brought along with her. The woman at the fire was adding honey and water to the melted tallow to make a fine sauce. She offered some to Teal, that she might dip her breadroot in the good sauce. Unclean women were forbidden to consume meat, but they could still eat well.

  “Where did you get that iron vessel?” Teal asked, enjoying the sweet sauce.

  “My husband traded two good robes for it at Tachichichi. The Tiwas there have many metal things.”

  Teal ate until she was full, then began to work on her new pouch. Slope Child was gathering her things and preparing to go back to the camp.

  “You leave early,” Teal said.

  Slope Child smiled wantonly. “I would rather be among men now. I have stayed long enough among women.”

  As Slope Child turned, a sound like that of a lightning bolt erupted from upstream, but no clouds hung in the sky. A scream and a chorus of war cries followed, like the songs of geese in the sky. Hooves rumbled across the valley, and two more guns fired.

  Teal sprang from the ground and sprinted beyond the timber shielding the women’s lodge from camp. She saw the camp’s herd of horses stampeding her way. Looking into the camp, she saw strange warriors running on foot among the lodges, shooting arrows into the doorways that were open.

  The women who came up behind Teal began to scream and cry, but she thought only of Sandhill, and ran immediately toward the camp. The horses were galloping her way, so she waved the quilled pouch that was still in her hands, turning part of the stampede into the camp. As hundreds of hooves shook the ground to either side of her, she saw a mounted warrior driving the ponies. She recognized his appearance from the stories she had heard in the winter lodges of the elders. The warrior’s hair grew long on the right side of his head, but was folded over and up, with the end tied to the top of the long lock. His hair was cut short above his left ear, giving him an evil lopsided look. He rode near enough for Teal to notice the red stripe painted across his eyes and the bridge of his nose, but he would not come near her, seeing that she had come from the unclean women’s lodge.

  She saw another enemy warrior driving the horses, then another. They were Na-vohnuh, the most ancient of all Noomah foes. A born hatred gripped her heart like a hand just pulled from icy water. She kept swinging her pouch over her head to keep the horses from running over her, and followed about twenty ponies into the camp.

  The Noomah warriors were rallying now, and even women were stepping from the lodges with weapons. Everything had gone suddenly crazy in a camp so peaceful just before dawn. She caught glimpses of Na-vohnuhs darting among the lodges. They had come from upstream, against the wind, and had run on foot all the way through the camp to the downstream side. Many of the warriors of Teal’s camp were now pursuing them, or trying to catch the horses that Teal had so luckily driven among the lodges. She kept weaving through the ponies and frightened people to get to the lodge of Trotter and Mouse.

  She picked up a warrior’s lance from a tripod that had been knocked over by horses, and ran toward the lodge where she had left Sandhill. She saw Bear Heart on a pony that dragged a rope, and knew now that he would help other men catch mounts, drive the Na-vohnuh foot-warriors from the valley, and maybe even recapture the ponies that had been stolen. It was well that she had divided the horse herd and frightened some of them into the camp, yet Teal could not feel any relief from her terror until she knew her son was well.

  When she came to the lodge, she saw an enemy warrior trying to get in. She ran at him with her lance, and he looked at her, piercing her with his evil glaring eyes. Teal was afraid, but she ran ahead anyway. Then a pogamoggan swung through the entrance to the lodge, bashing the warrior on the side of his head and knocking him back. As he hit the ground, Teal drove her lance into him, possessing the presence to turn the edges of the flat flint blade upright so they would slip between the ribs of the attacker when she stabbed him.

  The enemy warrior screamed and grabbed the lance shaft, trying to get up, but Mouse sprang through the entrance and smashed his face in with the war club. Sandhill came to the entrance and looked out at the dying enemy warrior bleeding at his feet outside the lodge. He stared, but said nothing. Teal stepped in front of him, to shield him from arrows.

  “Where is my mother?” Mouse screamed, glancing around the camp.

  Trotter rode bareback to the lodge on a pony, and motioned for the war club in Mouse’s hand.

  “Find my mother!” Mouse shouted.

  Trotter took the pogamoggan and wheeled his pony, looking for his mother-in-law. Then Teal herself spotted River Woman, standing outside her lodge, singing a death song, an arrow sticking out of her back. As Trotter rode to her, a great war cry rose, and a long line of enemy foot-warriors appeared on the river bank upstream.

  The first assault had been a ruse by the bravest enemy warriors to decoy most of the Comanches downstream. Now the main enemy body was descending on the upstream side of camp. Yet, Teal knew that the horses she had frightened into the camp would give the Noomah men power and quickness. They would come at a gallop and clash with the enemy, she hoped before the horrible Na-vohnuh reached her son.

  Shoving Mouse back into her lodge, she said, “Get your baby.” She pulled Sandhill out of the lodge. When Mouse came out with her baby in his cradle board, Teal said, “Take them to the riverbank, away from the enemy. Hide in the bushes.” She pulled the lance from the dead Na-vohnuh and handed it to Mouse.

  Sprinting toward the enemy attack, Teal reached her own lodge, wishing now that she hadn’t closed the flap with the wooden peg. She pulled the peg out, flung the flap aside, and dived inside to retrieve her bow case and quiver full of hunting arrows. She strung the bow inside, shaking as she listened to River Woman’s death song and the screams of the attackers. When she stepped out of her lodge she saw Trotter pulling River Woman onto his pony, the strap of his pogamoggan looped around his wrist. It made Teal proud to see Trotter protecting his mother-in-law, as every Noomah warrior was sworn to do.

  Teal notched an arrow and looked for a target. They were already near enough to shoot. She a
imed at a Na-vohnuh raider headed for Trotter, and saw her arrow speed into the enemy warrior’s hip, crumpling him instantly. Trotter whirled his mount to take on the next warrior, who ran upon him and stabbed his pony with a knife as Trotter knocked his shield away with the club. An enemy arrow hit the already wounded pony in the neck, and Trotter’s second blow crunched the skull of the Na-vohnuh.

  Teal drew the bow again and saw her second arrow go all the way through the next attacker. As she groped for a third arrow, she saw Trotter take River Woman away, the pony leaving a solid line of blood on the ground. Beyond Trotter, the enemy foot-warriors had invaded the camp and were leaping into lodges, screaming battle cries.

  Teal turned away from the attack. She saw Noomah horsemen coming like hawks that dived on mice. Suddenly, the horse-warriors and the foot-warriors collided all around her, and the battle screams made her skin crawl as she dodged the chaos of gnashing weapons. She looked for Mouse and the children now, and saw her husband’s sister holding off a warrior with her lance.

  Sandhill was standing behind Mouse, holding the cradle board with the baby, looking bewildered and afraid. Teal drew her bow, saw her arrow drop low, into the ankle of the enemy, spinning him, and giving Mouse a chance to stick the blade of the lance into his guts.

  Mouse dropped the lance, and turned to take the cradle board from Sandhill. She grabbed for the boy’s wrist, but he had seen his mother, and was running toward Teal. An enemy foot-warrior broke through the line of horsemen and scooped Sandhill up like a puppy before Teal’s very eyes. She would not shoot with her son in the warrior’s arms. She feared she could not catch the enemy raider, and if she could, was not sure she could kill him, for he was muscular and scarred from many battles. He was grizzled, one particular scar raised in an ugly welt across his face. Teal knew this warrior as Battle Scar, the Na-vohnuh chief.

  A black craziness tried to possess her, until she remembered Mother Killdeer. She dropped her bow and quiver, holding only one arrow. Lifting her antelope skin dress she stabbed herself high on her thigh. The hunting point came back out easily, and with it came the blood, and a searing pain. She gritted her teeth and snapped the arrow shaft one fist behind the point. Keeping the killing end of the arrow in her hand, she jabbed the broken stob of the back portion of the shaft into the wound she had made, so the feathered end stuck out of the wound.

  Now she screamed in hideous pain and saw the horrible eyes of Battle Scar look at her. She pulled her dress higher to show the curve of her hip, and limped piteously toward an abandoned lodge, as if to hide there. She shook her hair across her face, and through the dark tresses saw Battle Scar drop Sandhill, and run for her, drawing his knife. She gripped the forward shaft of the broken arrow in her hand, and crawled into the entryway of the lodge, dragging her bleeding leg behind her, like Mother Killdeer luring Coyote away from her chicks.

  She fell into the lodge and saw the shadow of the evil one follow her. She turned, saw his loin skins fall away as he descended on her with a leer and an iron knife. She slashed suddenly at the bowels of her attacker, saw the pain of surprise in his face as he reached across his belly to hold his own entrails in. She scrambled out from under him with the quickness of a frightened ground squirrel, rolling away from his knife hand. She sprang to her feet and ran right over his back to get out of the lodge.

  Mouse had collected Sandhill again, so Teal pulled the arrow shaft out of her wound and ran to help her sister-in-law. Her leg throbbed with pain and gushed blood. The enemy foot-warriors had been pushed all the way back to the edge of camp now, and had begun to run back upstream, away from the ferocity of the horsebacks. Teal saw Battle Scar crawl from the lodge, holding his guts in. He was too badly hurt to do anything but skulk away, hiding from the Noomah horsemen as he retreated. She wished for her bow and arrows, but could not find them now.

  The sounds of the battle faded, leaving the death song of River Woman to pierce the dusty air. The Noomah horsemen broke off pursuit under Bear Heart’s leadership and circled the camp, preparing for another attack. Blood stained the ground in pools and trails all through camp, and young warriors began to compare wounds, but it seemed only River Woman was dying. She stood facing the rising sun, her arms held high, her voice climbing in pitch.

  The Na-vohnuh raiders stopped on the highest part of the riverbank and began shouting down at the camp. They threw dirt into the air and taunted the Comanches. The attackers had managed to drag all their dead warriors away with them, leaving the Comanches no one to scalp, and some of the young men wanted to ride after the raiders.

  “No!” Bear Heart shouted. He rode in front of the younger men, his face bloody from a scalp wound, his expression like that of a snarling wolf. “We will stay to protect our women and children. Listen to the death song of River Woman. Let her pain into your own hearts and hold it there. Let her pain turn to anger in your hearts. Let it swirl like a whirlwind and hold it there. Release it only when we go to take our revenge on our enemies. When we take our revenge, Horseback and Shaggy Hump must ride with us, for one is the husband, and one is the son of River Woman. Then we will take our scalps. Then we will count our blows in battle. Then we will reclaim our horses. Now we will guard our camp and mourn our dead and let our anger grow like a thundercloud.”

  The True Humans began to gather around River Woman, who stood singing, the arrow still protruding from her back. Blood ran down the back of her legs and pooled at her feet. No one touched her, for it was known that she possessed strange power. Her song chanted meaningless sounds. Then it came in real Noomah words, saying,

  “Hear the sound the sun makes,

  Hear the sound the sun makes.

  The Great Deer sees a nation.

  A nation in the mist

  A nation in the mist.”

  Teal stood touching Mouse, and Mouse had tears streaming from her eyes, though she made no sound. Both women held their children.

  “Yesterday, my mother gave me her best awl,” Mouse said.

  “She gave me a fine hide scraper,” Teal replied, “all wrapped with new golden rawhide.”

  * * *

  River Woman lingered the rest of the day, singing on her knees. Mouse and Teal knelt to either side of her. She died the moment the shadows of the mountains fell upon her. The camp mourned her death. Teal and Mouse cut their hair off and scratched themselves across the legs and breasts with the points of knives.

  The next day, the body of River Woman was taken to an outcropping of rock near the river, where a crack in the rock made a good burial place. She was wrapped in a good robe and lowered into the crack. Her daughter and her daughter-in-law lowered rocks onto her to cover her. Teal sprinkled the crushed leaves of sweet sage over her.

  At the camp, women began preparing to move. The ghost of River Woman would surely haunt this place if they stayed. No one would speak her name again, for to do so would summon her specter down from the Shadow Land and remind those who loved her of the way she died. Those who wished to speak of her would call her Horseback’s mother, or Shaggy Hump’s first wife.

  Teal was still mourning and packing her parfleches at dusk the day after the battle, when she realized that her time of bleeding had not come. This could mean only one thing, for her time came at twenty-eight days, as sure as the rising of the moon or the circling of the stars. She was going to have another child. She hoped she would give Horseback another son.

  If only the Na-vohnuh had not come. She could have surprised Horseback with her news when he returned, and he would have rejoiced with her. Now she would have to tell him that his mother had died, and though she had protected Sandhill, she had failed to protect her mother-in-law. Mother Killdeer had wakened her with a warning, and Teal had not listened. She felt foolish and ashamed. Perhaps River Woman was laughing now on her way to the Shadow Land, but Teal was weeping on earth.

  56

  In winters to come, through the days that followed the time of his walk on earth, the elders who had witnessed it
would tell the younger generations about Horseback’s return to his camp on the River of Arrowheads. The Great One was wounded with an arrow in his chest, they would say, and his mother had been killed by Na-vohnuh raiders while he was away. For two moons, the old woman had been teaching her daughter all she knew about healing with plants and prayers. She had seen her death in a vision, but had told no one about it.

  The Great One had allowed no one to remove the arrow from his chest, knowing that his mother would treat the wound better than any other. But when he returned to his camp, he heard the wails of mourners and learned that his mother had been killed.

  And the wailing became louder with the Great One’s return, for he brought news of two more deaths, and the dead ones were not gray-haired women, but strong young men. One of the slain warriors was a man from a distant band called the Grasshopper Eaters. The other had been a Foolish One at the time of his death. This one left a wife, who had been taken from the Metal Men six winters before. When she heard of her husband’s death, this woman began to slash her legs and breasts with a knife, for she had loved her husband. She mourned so long and piteously that the women who heard her wept, and the men looked at the ground in pity.

  These were the dark days of the New Nation. The Great One grew weak from his grief and his wound. He slipped away to float under the pass to the Shadow Land. His sister could not treat his wound in the ways she had learned from her mother, for such familiarity between a brother and a sister was a bad thing. The Great One’s father had to carve the war point out of his chest while warriors held his arms and legs. The Great One hovered under the pass, wasting away, as those who loved him prayed for him—for the nation.

  The people of the Great One’s camp wanted to move away from the bad place where three deaths had been mourned. His wife and his father put him on a pole-drag and moved him to a new camp, upstream. The new camp was on a small creek that flowed from the south into the River of Arrowheads. This new camp was nearer to the Yutas, who were allies of the True Humans in those days.