by Parris Match
The exhausted warriors halfheartedly mimicked their previous battle cries, racing down and from the river-foothills heights, and dashed along the lower edge of the disintegrating mountain slide. Prolonged endurable back-tracking slowly corroded into buggered humiliation; they were assured of nothing, like a covey of quail scurrying down the path with their heads chopped-off, frenzied anger from impotence intercepted their eager purpose; if not for Tah’s fathers repeated constant prodding, the wearisome men would have fallen into a collapse and brooding morass.
They steadfastly sprint the nethermost sandstone length on the edge of this slightly slanted mountain range, came upon the rising pathway leading to the restricted ledge, and clumsily slipped and clambered up the rough gritty slick trail. With the exception of Tah’s father, the men were overcome with bitterness and indignation, but were still ploddingly driven by their sense of duty; step after step, tramping and sliding on the steep and crumbling dust tempest of the other pathway, as the extending muted second shadows, promised a soon to be vanishing light of day. Tah’s tenacious father, followed by the most apathetic warriors, crossed the solid threshold of the ledge; in spite of their blinded anger, they immediately noticed the obvious flaunted display spread upon the ground; walked over to, and encircled the unmistakable placed exhibit, and within an instant understood; and disdainfully looked down upon the stain of the bloodied garment, and the conspicuous conclusive evidence of the ornamentally festooned moccasins.
The cliffs final dimming curtain passed over the telling display, Tah’s father had come to the end of his decisive path; Tah was ruined forever, she had been despoiled and tainted, the yield from her dormant vessel could never be trusted; the season for a son, assuring his security and perpetuity, and the obligation of loyalty, was lost. If the enemy were overtaken and eradicated, she also would have to be killed, Tah had no further value to himself or to the people of the river valley; no real property had been taken.
Tah’s father leaned forward and brusquely folded the fine moccasins inside the sullied garment; he must return these possessions to Tah’s mother, to burn on a fire of implacable sorrow. He stood with his only material goods in his open hands and stated bluntly; “Tah is dead”, “I have lost ‘Nothing’”. Turning to the breached narrow divide of and in the unyielding sandstone wall, the devoted father repeatedly screamed why and howled thru the twilight, the shattering shrill cry of a broken-heart, a mournful wail into the unforgiving rupture, to the harshly unrelenting stone.
Far distant, deeply ensnared within the rough winding barbed rift; the timid rabbit convulsively shuddered, when he heard the misunderstood sorrowful howls, conveyed by the blustery eventide shifts of the colder winds; the threatening cries of persistent pursuit, passing-over the sharply carved suppressing rim of the dark closing canyon. The seemingly impartial highest Spirits of the Stone remained in their utter silence. Dacoh must press-on with all his strength, even as the last breath of daylight was being sucked-out of the deep narrow crushing chasm; while the hideous red-eyed, growling, gnashing, canine pursuers were breathlessly panting hot on the nape of his neck. The still dearly appreciated cumbersome burden, compressed heavily into his shoulder; whereas Dacoh, at irregular intervals, climbed and descended, the lengthily spaced sandstone steps, rising strenuous feat and then footsteps down, traveling further and further, into and through the twisted snaking pit of the darkened corridor.
Very little, sympathetically inclined, reflected moonlight penetrated and touched the neglected footings of the always deep and somewhat darkly narrow canyon. Dacoh slowly but surely shuffled then staggered along the blackened stepped passageway, his extended right hand protecting and guiding his way by the least diminishing light of the slightly irradiant stone. Suddenly, his foot, to snag the edge of a splintered rock; to then again stumble, he pitched forward, falling abruptly, upon the rough jagged pathway, the bundle landing with a thudding harrumph; a projecting rocky fragment ripping into Dacoh’s thigh, his shifted shoulder crashing against the ground. He reached into the dark and ran his hand over the body of his tender sweet cargo, inspecting her for any damage, relieved and satisfyingly feeling her light steady comatose breathing; he returned to his own throbbing injuries, finding nothing broken, but the trickle of moist blood seeping from the slash in his leg, and the agonizing pain emanating from his crushed bruised shoulder. Disengaging his wedged squashed arm from under the bundle, Dacoh stood with piercing painful difficulty, bent and re-wrapped his warm little treasure, determinedly swung her over his shoulder, and laboriously hobbled-on through the murky labyrinth of the sandstone trench.
Dacoh must not allow a short pause for a critical moment; the frightful snarling pack of enraged wolves, were doggedly pursuing his scent of fear. He staggered step by step, elapsed time subdued, pressing every muffled footfall, up the sinister twisting canyon, telltale smatterings and tiny blatant droplets of salient crimson blood, detrimentally marking the powdery trail.
Overcome by absolute exhaustion, Dacoh eventually lurched into a round open space that contained the shallow, somewhat sulfurous, bubbling so bitterly scented, serene-lit dreamlike pool; still wavering moonlight eerily glistened on the surface, of the nearby unruffled glossy sheet, of faintly effervescent water. He could finally and clearly distinguish his surroundings; carefully he laid his treasured bundle upon the ground. He had heard little from his captive over the long tedious trip up the pitch-black canyon, small groans confirming her consciousness, occasional beseeching strange nonsense mutters, of; “Kala”, “Kala”, “Kala”, “Help Me Kala”; now and then stopping, only to gently guide a slight dribble of saved water upon her touched lips.
Dacoh removed the moccasins from his stubbed damaged feet, stripped the provisions and loincloth from his sweated grimy pulsating torso, and imprudently stepped into the tepidly warm pool of lightly tainted water. He slowly crouched and coarsely bathed his battered physique, washing away the briny dried-blood grittiness from his body and tautest skin, feeling the soothing oily relief penetrate into his worn out weakened muscles. He then heard a faint disturbing moan coming from the edge of the dreamlike pool.
The innate power of the protector sprang forth from his bound sympathetic heart, Dacoh instantly regained his refocused strength; he climbed from the pool, untied his restrained acquiescent captive, lifted her in his open arms and stepped earnestly back into the awaiting shallow heated temperate pond. With determined control of will, he slowly but warily crouched with his tender burden and gently laid her into the pool of silken water; her surprised body flinched and stiffened as she was lowered into the unanticipated wet plunge. Making sure her head was cradled and propped upon some rocks on the waters-edge, Dacoh sat on his haunches with his legs spread and pressed against the maiden’s flank, cautiously secured her wrists with his hand, holding them down upon her concave constricted tummy. He leaned forward and with his free hand he sluiced and stroked the cleansing mineral water over her entire, puffed and peaked, shapely body; a tentative fearful doe-like manifestation emanated from the young woman’s eyes in the nebulous light of the inquisitive moon. Dacoh became most rigid in his excitement, his hot searing engorged skin compressed against the captive’s outer thigh, his breathing quick and strong; the hallowed ghost of his in sensed musky aroma, thoroughly permeated their confused passions, beneath the misty layer of the lunar blur, within the obscure silent darkness of the glaze mirrored grotto.
Effervescent shivers exploded up Dacoh’s tauten rippling brawny back and shot down his tensed muscular arms, quickly chilling him into this moment; apprehension of the unknown, effected the woman’s rejection without her moving, but for an imperceptible inner tremble; although her instinctive subtle senses whiffed his manly scent, and ahhh-whispers of submission lightly blew, on the downy lobes of her ears. Dacoh slightly tightened his grip on the wary captive’s wrists, continuing to knead and pet her smooth creamy body. “Schkreee”, “Schkreee”, “Schkreee”, a flutter of perceptive eager wings erratical
ly dove in and out of the canyon; immediately, Dacoh lifted the woman out of the water, stepped over the edge of the pool, placed her on the deerskin, donned his loincloth over his declining thickened member, secured his provisions around his waist, brushed his bruised feet, and put his moccasins on; wrapped the deerskin around his tempting charge, flipped the bundle over his shoulder, and resolutely marched out of the dreamy moonlight, up into the utterly darkened stone chasm.
The uncertain beginning twilight of the day had just passed beyond, while the possessed translucent nighthawk flew, from the lighted vipers den; when Dacoh with his captured treasure alit within the filled arena of the leaning and tumbled massive mixt slabs of inclined sandstone. Those divisions and flat segments of stone, deeply engraved with the ancients calling. He laid his golden bundle before the draped, silvery gray and moss-clothed, weeping wall; rinsed his hands in the cool fresh water, transferred a small amount of the saving nectar to the woman’s lips, and lightly caressed her face, with his dampened kindly hands.
Spent dazed eyes followed Dacoh’s every move as he attentively refilled the water bladders; then, splashing the water on his face and chest, rejuvenated himself upon the trickling wrinkled facade, the soppy and dribbling wet wall and countenance of the high granite Spirit. He propped her up and let her drink her fill; her staid black eyes and her heavy breathing slightly softened. Even nearly sapped of all his strength, Dacoh, knowing he could never linger long, must vacate the perilous snare of this confining canyon, those rabid bloodthirsty revengeful pursuers would surely seize him, and ferociously rip him apart.
Regretfully leaving the ancient’s, open always to the elements, excellent tome of splendidly scribed stone tablets; Dacoh turned to look upon the beckoning profusely etched gallery for this last time, longingly captivated by the mysterious messages from the Spirits of times past. Dacoh with his carefully wrapped bundle secured over his shoulder, still wearily trudged through the remaining narrower section of the final branch of the confining canyon. Then his eyes looked out upon, the flat vacuous nothingness of the immense hazy dry-lake; one unyielding hopeless field of sand and sparkly silica. An empty lifeless arena of wasteful influence and evil: the constant abode to the wicked and decadent; sedimentary to eroded, solid stiff-necked Spirits of the fated organized Games.
Dacoh would challenge the dubious compassion of the contemptuous indifferent Spirits-divine; by the time he reached the leading edge of the dry lake bed, his overly exhausted body was wrecked in pain, and his mind-set was deadened and bewildered. The clearly perceived risk of offending the actual ghosts of odium; was replaced with the befuddled urgency to escape his pursuing human enemies, and to attain his sheltered home. The judicious route around the western edge of the dry lake to reach the opposite shore; to the point of rough departure, where he had secreted a third water-bladder, just before the shallow cut through the low mountains; was ignored by the withered and bias-dazed Dacoh. He struck-out directly, across the dried up, skim-mist lake bed, straight southwest, passing much too close, by-way the gigantic monoliths of stratified stone, menacingly standing in the near distance, between him and his objective goal.
Before long, within that short incursion into the flat dry lake, Dacoh’s moccasin-ed footsteps steadily crunched and crackled as he broke thru the thin whitish saline-mud crust; each hostile inset step to announce his fretful approach to the slumbering stone giants. He would sensibly by pass it; to shun the standing corrupted Spirits, somewhat beyond their menacing and shifting lengthy shadows, darkly inching closer to him, across the sometimes tempest-buffered even floor of the dry-scummed lake.
Keeping his sleepless averting eyes still frightfully fastened to the ground, Dacoh’s’ plodding moccasin-ed feet crossed an almost imperceptible groove, imbedded within the marbled and crackled, dried level, white scum-glaze of the evaporated exceptional surface, from the long-deserted lake. When he came upon a second conduit, much deeper-set, more clearly discernible rut; his forced curious eyes slowly followed the impressing indentation, away from the overshadowing presence of the intimidating giants; where a polished rock orb, pitted with dark empty sockets, a petrified head-boulder lay, at the end of the circumscribed engraved trail. He slightly raised his eyes, to see much of the same strange phenomenon, appearing ahead of him; a cold shudder quickly stirred through his body, sprightly beads of sweat burst upon his skin, a tiny uncontrolled startling whimper, held panic pressure, escaped from his tightly pursed lips.
Dacoh remembered; Ahcoo’ah had told the grisly story many times, to the awestruck eyes, around the flickering revelations of the firelight; about the ancient depraved self-seeking, forever dead; bitter rejected Spirits; untimely reminded by the blustery harsh winds after midnight. Once spoiled and addicted human beings, perverted in garish evil habits, then banished from the acceptable family of mankind; who monotonously played horrifying casual games, with their good brother’s and good sister’s decapitated heads. Wantonly thigh-thwacking and punting their white-eyeless pucks; fresh and bloody, detached open-mouthed head-balls, nonchalantly back and forth; skidding the whipping and splattering soccer balls, to and fro, to and fro, across an open public playing field, as a contemptuous to reach boresome spectator sport.
Dacoh’s quailing bowed head, with terrified glazy wide-eyes, involuntarily leapt to the natural shifting wind-carved images, of the, gargantuan and insidious, overshadowing stone monstrosities. Clever radiant blinding golden aureolus, glittery bedazzling false coronets, allowably permitted by the progressive morning Sun, confused his innocent real perceptions. A vague surreal imaginary nucleus-haze, formed a looming crushing threat, to his once simplified existence. The utterly spent legs and undefiled body of Dacoh instinctively bolted for safety; he frantically tread heavily towards the outer defined boundaries of the enraged tyrants’, embittered desiccated slurry, to plead for sweet free refuge.
Slamming his feet through the, thin and snapping, midpoint crust of the abandoned lake’s white veneer of dried out shiny scum, tightly hugging his suitable treasure. New fear-beads of prickled sweat, to pop out on his fore brow, as the heavily burdened Dacoh wildly dashed for the protective rocky outer margin of the slated eternal parchment; of the, flat and almost forever dry, forbidding lake bed. On reaching the furthest and highest-tide shoreline and escaping the possessed playing field of the giant monoliths, those hateful and selfish pillars in state, timeless Spirits of Conceit; Dacoh exhaustedly collapsed upon the very rough hallowed ground, still tenaciously clutching to his highly-valued wrapped reward.
With grueling concerted effort, Dacoh arose again and secured his draped prize upon his shoulder, stumbling a little further from the boundary-line of the re-occurring evil Spirits; escaping from the vastly regulated sphere of the very tall Deceivers’ sporting field. Dacoh fortunately located the hiding place with his stash of water and a small sack of dried deer meat. He placed the girl sitting against a jumble of rocks, firstly ensured her need of water was satisfied, and then tenderly rinsed her delicate pallid face. He knew he must rest; to go on without any sleep would be inviting serious injury and assured the failure of his entrusted mission. Dacoh was entirely numb and absolutely exhausted. With measured wariness, but hesitantly, he again detained his captives wrists, she was as depleted and worn-out as he; chafes, scrapes and bruises covered her battered body, she was totally wilted and unresponsive. They both fell faint and slept, his securing arm and cupped hand gently covering his complete reward.
Bear-ly growling because of his hindering contracted muscular aggravation, Dacoh stiffly stretched and un-crooked his gnarled physique, cramps--drawn--out; it was late afternoon; they must endeavor to look out over the open sprawling desert of the Rabbit People, before the forthcoming nightfall. Sleep had been fitful, confused imaginings filled with ravenous snarling beasts, overbearing gnashing of fangs, in fierce pursuit; Dacoh glanced down on the awakened maiden, she had regained a modicum of composure, her clear black eyes searched curiously, instinctively appraising th
e primeval scented man who stood over and before her.
They had not reached the farthest-summit of the rounded crest, ascending the gentle slope, then passed through an ordinary shallow valley, to overlook the wide expanse of the many mounded high-desert; his aimed at eager purpose just out of sight, before the thin cloak of even darkness, halted this ponderous onward advance. Dacoh knew he could not falter, in his necessary return passage, through the maze-like land, of the timid and the skittish, distractive Rabbit People. On the following day they must travel through this dusty, concealed and puzzled path, desert land without stopping. The numerous scattered dirty thatch hovels of the scuttling indeterminable Rabbit People, posed too great a threat; and the prolonged additional risk of accidental detection could be fatal to his cause.
The zealous hot threat of fear from his bloodthirsty pursuers, the deep throated bay of the hunt, from the invisible wolves of the green River Valley, had fortuitously diminished. Dacoh’s constant backward observations of the countryside, he had just passed over, clearly viewed from the still inclining cut through the low barren mountains, revealed no indication of whatsoever thing following. The welcome relief from this knowledge strengthened him, although tomorrow’s long ordeal weighed gravely on his mind.