by Parris Match
In varied extended measures of time, the cautious people fleetingly freed themselves of their ominous fear, the internal foreboding of the vast unknown; and The Forgotten Ones gradually moved slowly, further and further, westward into the hazy mysterious land of the end of the day’s darkening wilderness, where the unsettled earthly Spirits of Men disappear. Oceh’ah died, and Camoo’ah assumed the coherent duties of the Story Teller; to the dispossessed people, to the overlooked people, to the abandoned people, to The Forgotten Ones.
The Forgotten Ones, deficient of the good Spirit, impoverished colors of the palette, nevertheless tenaciously steadfast, through numerous generations, journeyed to their inexplicable fate, guided and counseled by their succeeding chosen Story Tellers; first there was Bahcoo’ah, followed by Oceh’ah, then Camoo’ah, Hahdoh’ah, Ohbeh’ah, Aiedoh’ah, and then to Dahmoh’ah. Time spans gone by, nightly repeated, beside the flames of the central firelight; rhythmic pleas, faithful metrical mantras, to the starlight and the moon-glow, and into the hollow dark emptiness.
Long time and far-away into their forever aimless wandering, The Forgotten Ones happened upon a small primarily rushing turbulent stream, flowing from the hostile remote northland, very deeply imbedded in a narrow gravelly-sided gulch; the loose-rock banks of the waterway so steep, as not to permit an extended interval, in their endlessly bleak, journey of life. Dahmoh’ah incentively decided to follow the murky river downstream, to find a somewhat flattened alluvial relief, from their long-suffered miseries. The directed and driven people scrambled over the boulders and the rockslides, along the muddle-clouded stream of confused waters, slowly descending this unknown copious tumbling flow, towards something better. Lower and lower, carefully circuiting the frequently funneled brawling boisterous rapids, they eventually entered a magnificent sheer-sided burnt-orange cavernous canyon, below and relative to the strata of time. With just enough room on the gigantic boulder strewn, nearly always shaded, banks of the now quieted river; for the calming reassured people to make their byway along this variable narrow silted footpath, beside the exact course of the temporarily lowered levels of the humbled wider stream.
They stopped briefly on the very limited, fully sunlit, projecting sandy downstream cusp of an island, within the confined winding river. Standing fast on a precisely illuminated tapered point, of the gravel bordered strand-bar; to reflect on the spectacular light, burnt-orange and soft yellow-ocher; the rift-chiseled and eternally water-carved, unpolished gritty gemstone facets above their heads. The time-worn, strictly defined, amber-pastel, splendid well-formed sculptured canyon walls encompass them; arising vividly into a cloudless, so brilliant blue, transparent sapphire sky. A grand magnificent clearly open way station, from somewhere to somewhere. The eye capturing restful beauty of the smooth, wind and water formed, pleasingly curved canyon, calmed the apprehension of the passive people; and Dahmoh’ah daringly led his obedient family, further through the declining twisted direct channel, between the two-faced equal common illusive phantoms, of doubt and fear.
Reaching another flat sandy gravel-lined projection on the now constantly shaded river, Dahmoh’ah and the exhausted family, settled down for the night. The faceless Spirits’ indirect dusty-rose descent, remained upon the saintly Sunlight’s considerate pause, over the canyons sharp brim; then disappeared within a single moments’ mica flash, suddenly inhaled from the tunneled confines of the blackened canyon. Thereafter, the coldest of harshest winds, forcefully blasted downstream, the higher boisterous demon’s wrath, wildly ricocheting astray; swirling and whipping the rough pelted grit and wee gravel, between the opposite sides of the buff-sculptured walls, to easily define the cleaved cliffs, smoothly curved and exquisitely formed graceful appearance.
Ensnared in the pitch-black canyon, over-whelmed with the contemptuous bellows of the angry winds, loud threats from the stone-interred, wailing evil-spirits of the darkness; the made timid, huddled people, spent a long… uneasy night, then they lastly slept. Soon after the uncertain dawn, the wind direction reversed; first a light stale breeze, and then a mild cool current of air, breathed up the river’s canyon. Both Dahmoh’ah and the, asleep then aroused, people could pleasingly smell their desired anticipation in the gentle wind; a heady, ever so sweet, fugitive scent. The vital delicate summoning aroma of greening grass, loam’s harmonious composition of fermenting warm wetness, bursting to blushed buds of new life, the Mother Earths’ arresting moist pervasive fertility.
Forsaking the cramped flatness of the transitory graveled sandbar; leaving the tablelands times of tedious monotony, with slight regrets; descending downstream towards the source of their dreamt desires. Making their rigid way along the limited, enormous boulder blocked, bank of the muddy river; tensely crossing the rippling and surging superficial flood from side to side, if the ascending precipitous choice was not available. Fording the deep cloudy pools when no passable margin existed, circuiting the collapsed mammoth mountains slide, radiant visions of a fragrant paradise around the next turn in the virgin crooked path. Hanging tenuously on the very brink of the flowing unsure murky stream, the doubted once possible events never run clear. The Spirits’ slow muddled water, and the Fates’ current course, was constantly in question; should we not go forward? Must we not go back?
Dahmoh’ah and the impatient anxious people escaped into blinding brightness, eagerly pouring from the crushing darkness of the deep narrow thoroughly shaded canyon, into a more inviting shallower canyon; still with steep confining cliffs though formed cast sand on both sides, but with the visible horizon’s promise of hope around the next muddy bend in the river. On leaving their rear view of the binding restricted channel, through the rugged barrier of the mountain escarpment, behind their weary backs. They wound their way further down the milky-brown descending river, now easily flowing towards the open sky to the south; the hard sand-packed banks of the river, widening ever so slightly. Entering into an expanded, deformed mesquite-tree filled, level sandy shelf, above beside the quiet frothy stream; Dahmoh’ah and his withered lackluster people, gathered together in the middle of a softsand beach, underneath the slight very thin shadows of the almost bare branches, by the unsubstantial scraggy trees, to only sit and rest.
The lethargic brothers, under the prudent direction from Dahmoh’ah, were told to spread-out and search for any sole of a foot or vestige; to disperse curiously from their miss-shaded site, beneath the disappointing scrawny mesquite; to explore their new locale. Before long, several of the brothers returned and excitedly informed Dahmoh’ah that they had surprisingly discovered the remains of an old campfire, and other slight evidence of prior habitation. Dahmoh’ah carefully considered their options; and then he ordered three brothers to act as forward extended scouts for added protection of the family; he selected Ooba and Dehmoo, for their experience, and a young brother Ahcoo, for his swiftness.
The Forgotten Ones sat still for the remainder of the day, and then stayed through a restless, quiet…, fireless night; on the closely set, mesquite-covered sandy platform, left raised and deserted from the slow swirling, gradual sludge silting, of the unconcerned muddy gurgling stream. Stand-fast guards were placed sensibly, posted at the furthest yelling perimeter of their intimately gathered campsite; rigid listening sentinels through the tense enveloping darkness. With the click…, and the clack…, of the near amorous cicada, or the appealing call of the crooning lonely coyote, on the moonlit pulpits of a branch or a far distant overlook; incidentally disturbed, made then quiet, warning critical messengers of the otherwise silent glitter field night.
The three scouts, Ooba, Dehmoo, and Ahcoo; left the nestled encampment amongst the thorny misshapen mesquite, earliest in the morning, making their circuitous upper green-edged descent away from the lower rivers soft mucky shoreline. Ooba instructed Ahcoo to lag behind, just keeping sight of his two elder brothers, but to proceed stealthily, and to remain undetected; and at the first sign of impending peril, to run to Dahmoh’ah and the family, and to al
ert them of the danger encountered. The sand-banked canyon started to broaden, trees and brush became more plentiful, and then the brothers entered a wider twisting little valley, with graveled and boulder placed alluvial deposits, on either side of the filtering clearer stream. Both full fields of random sand and knobby rock, sparsely covered with skeletal mesquite, and a scattered patchwork of tall spindly pole-pines, with a glittery reflective colony of spotted quivering new green aspen, and an occasional larger stately oak.
Keeping strict surveillance on the valley from the ramparts of the surrounding low light-brown hills stood alert sentinels of spired spiny cactus and huge deposited lone boulders, watching the intrusion of the brothers below; resemble vigilant vultures’ agape, leering and apprizing their prey, those tasty human morsels, passing within their deadly sight. The limited valley opened onto a widening dry-bleached sandy plain, filled with countless, layered-clay and brushwood-covered, sand-blown mounds, closely dotting the otherwise flat hardpan landscape; the river spreading, and slowing, and filling more sandy shallows. The two brothers, Ooba and Dehmoo, weaved through and passed between the many concealing brushy islands of crumbling siltstone, a short distance away from the desired river, for they could not travel along the river bank, because of the thick thorn-covered underbrush that over encroached upon the water’s edge. Ahcoo, the obedient youth, followed lowering his ears and tail, like a red-blooded little fox, slyly darted from mound to mound, always keeping his trusting brothers and their new surroundings under calculated close observation.
The people of The Forgotten Ones, intently trailed within the disengaged limits, two stones found upon a noticeable stone, marked barely visible tracks of the extended forward trustworthy scouts.
Although the eroding fret of evident separation by the twists and turns of their single-file advance, through the previously unseen narrow canyons, had taken its quiet toll on the spiritless people; the wider valley was somewhat of an uplifting welcome relief to the Story Teller, Dahmoh’ah, and the family. The openness let them cluster closer together, in their shared dragging passage, through the rocky, but still… auspicious valley. While the looming cacti on the rim-sit of the hillside; many perched sneering ugly buzzards, hungrily gawped downward on the tripping line of the thinnest people, whom remains a vulnerable feast of the stumble-footed flock of geese. One Hundred and Thirty-Five, tired but determined people tread wearily…, wearily…, heavily weighted down with all of their worldly possessions, trudging down the winding graveled valley, on this tedious journey to their mysterious destiny.
Ahcoo to sustain his trusted vigilance remained concealed, sneakily following behind the brushwood mounds, but throughout, keeping a close-eye on his brothers, Ooba and Dehmoo.
The brothers, Ooba and Dehmoo, were leaving the mounddotted flat sandy basin, crossing an open dried smooth clay hardened surface of whitish silt, and about to enter a raised cluster of brush and trees; when they were suddenly and immediately surrounded, by a fangs-snarling pack of howling and high-pitched screeching, spear-armed strangers. The surprised brothers stood petrified, knowing they could not flee; they dropped their spearheads to the ground, appearing docile and not the least bit threatening, not moving a muscle, arrested in place. Ahcoo, on hearing the startling clamor, slammed to the ground, crawled forward remaining well-hidden, espied over the top of a layered mound, through a pocketed opening in the thickened clump of brush, to witness the distressing plight of his brothers, Ooba and Dehmoo.
Ahcoo could count eight strange growling wolves, circling their prey, snapping and yelping wildly, and taunting his compliant withering brothers. Ooba halfheartedly motioned to the east, trying to explain that, he and his brother, they were visitors to this land, and meant them no harm; Ahcoo could clearly hear Ooba’s plaintive plea of sincere apology, and for their kind acceptance.
The strangers did not understand what Ooba was saying, but they instinctively recognized, the shrinking stance of the submissive crouching canines, their disrespectable powerless shameful quick acquiescence; and teasingly poked at the cowering offenders, to prod repeatedly with the wider blunt handle of their spears. Although their appearance was seen as unusual, they wrongly surmised that these two trespassers belonged to the dirty little Rabbit People. The filthy weak Rabbit People were not permitted to ever set their feet upon our pure land!
One of the shortest strangers jabbed his spearhead lightly into Dehmoo’s upper thigh, always the first to bite; he jerked back in pain, blood trickling down his supporting stem. Laughing, another mean-spirited stranger gently stabbed Ooba in the small of his back, driving him forward into the piercing point of another raised cruel belittling lance. Bloodshed drove lust for blood, each must get his quick sting; the eight goaded strangers insanely seized a willing savage frenzy, vehemently prick-stabbing their honed wooden shafts into the innocent Ooba and Dehmoo, over and over again, joyfully beating the victims to the ground. Then raising their dripping spears, with both hands, they all thrust the spear-heads deep into the bellies of the thrashing bloodstained bodies. Ooba and Dehmoo, their guileless desecrated carcasses, lay bleeding in spreading crimson pools, on the flat, white parchment, blank slate of choice. The strangers raised their well-honed spears high in the air, chanting false falsetto in their savage kill, “Yie, Yie, Yie, Yie, Yie”.
Ahcoo’s stones shrank in the swamp of despair, he couldn’t breathe, gritting his teeth from a sudden scream of anguish; he was momentarily bewildered, frozen in place, by the vicious wanton brutality he had just eye witnessed. Regaining his violated senses, Ahcoo back-slid from his unwilling spectator’s niche; scooting out of this hiding place, he turned and crabbed away; crouched ever so low, the obedient dutiful Ahcoo, reluctant to leave his brothers, began to run bent-back to alert his people. Feeling confident that he was beyond the sight of the barbarous strangers, but still unsure that he was not under surveillance by the yellow eyes of the dark-winged predator, Ahcoo ran as fast as a skittering lizard on scorched hot sand; dodging back and forth between the onesided mounds, remaining focused on his randomly raised upper vision of course, head furtively glancing from side to side for the gruesome voracious enemy. Although Ahcoo was filled with overwhelming distress over his fallen brothers, Ooba and Dehmoo; he raced single-mindedly to tell Dahmoh’ah, and to forewarn his family of the annihilating menace in front of them. With his eyes glazed in fear by the senseless horror he had witnessed, his heart pounding wildly and a dry guilty rage burning in his chest; Ahcoo reached his people just before they entered into the sandy basin, starting to come around the last bend of the river, from the narrow valley. Ahcoo ran up to Dahmoh’ah and quickly wailed-out his account of the wanton horrible slaughter of Ooba and Dehmoo; Dahmoh’ah placed his hand on the young-man’s shoulder to calm him and to assure him that he had honorably performed his duty to his people. Ooba’s and Dehmoo’s, intimate families softly whimpered in the background.
Dahmoh’ah quickly surveyed their very constricted vulnerable position, within the spilling spout of the funneled narrow valley, and surmised that they must first put the river between them and their brutal enemies. He ordered the compliant people to move to the steepsloped edge of the stream, to enter the rippling unsure waters, and to secure the possible safe passage, by and through the rivers divide. Once on the brink of his decision, Dahmoh’ah realized the hazard to his people, on crossing the river at this raised dangerous point; the impatient rushing current, and the intensified undue depth, were extremely perilous at this certain place on the hurried to fast moving river.
The swift astute Ahcoo could immediately see and understand Dahmoh’ah’s dilemma, and he quickly stepped forward and bravely informed Dahmoh’ah, that if they went a little farther down the river, it entered a flat-sand plain and the river outspread, thus the people could more safely wade across there. Dahmoh’ah accepted the young boy’s naive brash proposal, and he instructed the people to enter the water’s edge and make their way cautiously and quietly downstream, using the rivers
steep margin to hide their presence, as well as keeping the rivers rapid boundary as panic’s alternative escape route. Partially hidden by the descending riverbank, the people struggled through the rock-filled rippling water, sometimes swiftly flowing and then eddying back on this side of the river; fully aware that they may be advancing towards their impending doom. Dahmoh’ah and his people arrived at the flat sandy basin, but continued to slog forward in the slowing and settled, silty soft bed of the wider stream, by-passing the overhanging prickly brushwood alongside the riverbank, silently agonizing that at any moment they could be discovered, and suddenly ambushed by their invisible enemy. Reaching a shallower wide-ranging spot in the lolling river, Dahmoh’ah herded his people across the yawning torpid stream, stepped with carefulness through any unseen inset undercurrents, and quickly disappeared into the brushy alluvial maze, of countless crumbling mounds of sand, on the clumpy siltstone opposite side of the variable diverging river.
Dahmoh’ah had two vigilant brothers crouch-watch behind, after they all crossed the separating stream; hidden in the screening mounds, with a clear view of the widespread watercourse, to ensure that they were not being followed. The people hurriedly scrambled into a deep-set gully on the western boundary of the river basin, and huddled closely together within a group of huge boulders, to wait in hushed trepidation. In an excruciatingly long period of trembling, the rear guard emerged and informed Dahmoh’ah that there was not a sign of the cruel vicious enemy. Dahmoh’ah knew his people could not linger in the killing fields of the well-watered river-valley; so he roused them up and started to lead them out of the coveted enticing temporary valley of lost hope. The single procession of people going deeper into and up the side of the gradually rising ravine, keeping their heads clear of the crests open detection; to protect these, wilted and wasted, wavering emigrational flock of pale people, from their obvious disappointment, or of being discovered by this barbarous enemy of the spirit.