His face was not painted with the black and red war paint that was the trademark of the Shawnee warriors. Rather, his right temple was marked with a single white dot representing the color of wisdom. His left temple sported a single golden dot—the color of illumination and understanding. A single green dot was placed on his chin to indicate honor and trust. These markings clearly meant that Chief Yellow Robe was interested in talking things out rather than fighting to defend honor.
“Ay-Ho Ug-wi-yu-hi,”
(Welcome)
Yellow Robe said to Chief Silver Cloud. Speaking in Tsalagie, he continued, “My people welcome you to our village. We will care for you as our own. While you are with us, no harm will come to you or your people.”
This was the traditional welcome extended to visitors who seek shelter and food at a foreign village. While the warm words were welcome, Silver Cloud and his party remained on edge.
Chief Silver Cloud spoke in an unusually loud voice. “Chief Yellow Robe, we have traveled far to talk with the Shawnee about matters that have come between our peoples. It is good that we speak of these matters like men. It is good that we do not kill one another as in the old ways. The union of your daughter, Winged Woman with Grey Owl of the Mountain Clan forged a bond of peace between our peoples that must not be broken. Your grandchildren are of the Cherokee nation, and your wisdom to talk rather than fight is welcome by the Ani-Unwiya and all of the People.”
Chief Silver Cloud paused. He understood that what he had to say next would be difficult for Chief Yellow Robe to understand. Looking into Chief Yellow Robe’s eyes, Chief Silver Cloud continued, “We must speak of things that belong to the spirit world. It will be difficult for us to understand these things. My heart is heavy at the loss of your children. I, too, have lost children. I understand the tears of a father who cries in the night for his sons.”
As a sign of respect for the dead his words now called to mind, Silver Cloud paused again.
Continuing in a more somber tone, he said, “How these things have come to pass are difficult questions to answer. Some say that the death of your sons has come at the hands of our white Cherokee brother.” He pointed to Tyoga. “Others say that their deaths did not come at the hands of any man, but that the spirit-dog Wahaya-Wacon caused these terrible and tragic events. However we answer these troubling questions, Chief Yellow Robe, I must tell you that which you already know. Your sons will not return from the embrace of your ancestors. What has been done, has been done.”
Chief Yellow Robe and the other tribe elders nodded in recognition of the words Silver Cloud had spoken.
“Chief Silver Cloud is a great chief of the Cherokee People,” Yellow Robe replied. “His words are wise. The Shawnee have lived in peace with our Cherokee brothers to the north who allowed us to settle on this land. The peace that was broken by the dog soldiers who raided the village of Tussentee many moons ago when the men of the village were away on the winter hunt, was broken by Shawnee braves not of the South Fork Clan. They did terrible things at the bidding of the white eyes in exchange for whiskey and thunder sticks. They were bad men, and they were punished.”
Chief Yellow Robe now paused as Silver Cloud had done to indicate that his next words were of added importance. “What has come to pass has cost my people the lives of six young braves. Two of these braves were my own sons, Spotted Calf and Running Elk. Whether the lives of my sons and those of the other Shawnee braves were taken by the one you call your white brother, or by the spirit dog, Wahaya-Wacon, they are deaths that rest at the entrance to your lodge. Payment must be made for the lives we have lost.”
Recognizing that he was speaking with more passion in his voice than he had intended and to continue in such a manner would be considered an offense to their invited guests, Yellow Robe reined himself in. In a more gentle tone of voice, he said, “We will not speak of such matters now. Tonight, we will gather around the council fire in the great lodge. Now, you and your family need to rest and eat. We will meet after the setting of the sun.”
Chapter 23
Colliding Truth
T
he Shawnee had constructed a shelter on the outskirts of the village in which the Cherokee visitors were invited to stay. The campsite was located in a grassy plain about two hundred yards south of the village. A substantial structure, the lean-to even contained an inside fire pit for cooking and warmth. The campsite was comfortable, but did not afford the protection that being within the compound would have offered. Someone would have to stay awake on watch throughout the night.
The women unpacked their provisions and prepared the interior of the shelter for their overnight stay. They were meticulous in the preparation of a campsite, even if it was for a single night’s stay. The lean-to had to be arranged in accordance with Cherokee customs, and the women set about the task in silence.
The men started a fire outside of the shelter, and took stock of their weapons while speaking about the council that would take place that evening.
Chief Silver Cloud began, “I fear that Chief Yellow Robe will demand much in payment for the lives he has lost.” He reached into his adobe and removed a small pouch of crushed tobacco leaves. Placing the end of a long stemmed clay pipe into his mouth he blew hard to remove remnants of burnt tobacco.
“His demands will be much because he has lost much. It is right that it should be so,” Night Bear said.
“If he asks for weapons, rifles, and knives, we do not have these things to give,” White Wolf said. “Even if we did, it would be foolish to give weapons to those who would use them against us.”
Nodding in agreement, the others did not respond out loud.
Taking a firebrand from the firepit, Silver Cloud touched the flame to the bowl of the tan clay pipe and sucked mightily to ignite the coarse cut tobacco leaves. Looking at Tyoga between puffs, he asked, “My son, is your spirit wolf with us this day?”
Tyoga glanced at Tes Qua, picked up a dried pinecone lying on the ground at his feet and began tearing it apart. “He has been following us on our journey, A-do-da
(father)
. He is in the bushes down by the river.” He nodded his head toward the west.
Clouds of acrid smoke engulfed the chief’s head, and drifted slowly toward the open side of the lean-to. Drawing deeply on the stem of the pipe, Silver Cloud asked, “Will he remain with us?”
“He will watch over us through the night, and keep us safe.” Tyoga looked into the eyes of each of the elders. What he had been asked was intended to solicit a response to a more important question. He pinched what remained of the pine cone into a powdery dust, and watched it slowly disappear into the grass. “But, a-do-da, I cannot stop him from killing.”
The men acknowledged his answer with a chorus of noncommittal grunts.
Night Bear said, “It would not go well with us if he choses this time to kill again.”
“Night Bear speaks the truth,” Not Afraid of Knowing chimed in. “My son, you must do all that you can to make sure that he does not harm any Shawnee while we are here.”
“Adoda,” Tyoga addressed Not Afraid of Knowing with the title of respect. “If I knew how to stop him, I would.”
All the men bowed their heads in deference to Tyoga’s reply. There was nothing more to be said.
While the men sat around the fire in silence, pondering what Tyoga had said, a group of Shawnee women appeared walking toward the shelter from the village. They had removed the bells from their ankles and they approached the campsite quietly and in a manner that conveyed friendship. The women were carrying baskets and bundles wrapped in bright, colorful blankets.
“Hey-Heya.” In response to Tes Qua’s alert, Prairie Day and Sunlei came to the entrance of the lean-to to greet the women.
The Shawnee women nodded as they passed by the braves. The young lady in the lead who spoke a little Tsalagie greeted Prairie Day. They laid their baskets and blankets on the ground in the lean-to, and quietly turned and walked away. The baskets were filled with deer and bear jerky, cooked squash, beans and corn, and a variety of dried fruits. The council feast would not begin until after sundown, and the travelers had not eaten since their morning meal of beans, dried fish and ga-du (bread). The gift of food was a kind gesture of welcome.
While the men watched the Shawnee women dissolve into the distance, Sunlei appeared at the doorway of the tiny lodge to invite the men in for a late afternoon meal.
“A do fi la hitse a-lista-yuni-ti,”
(Our hosts have brought us food to eat)
she announced. “Gi-yu-ha.”
(Come in)
The men stood up and began making their way inside to eat and rest.
Tes Qua turned to see Tyoga getting to his feet, but instead of heading in the direction of the lean-to, he was turning back toward the river. “Coming in, Ty?”
“You go ahead, Tes Qua. I’m going to go to the river to sit a spell. I’ll be back after a while.”
Tes Qua smiled, nodded and went inside.
The sun was making its slow decent to the western horizon, and the temperature was dropping rather quickly. Tyoga had noticed the open space of the river’s wide expanse when the group walked along the river bank on their way to the Shawnee village.
It called to him now.
In the woods and along the mountain trails, one sees only what the immediate surroundings permit. Unless standing on a rocky outcropping or perched upon a summit rock, the view is bound by the density of the underbrush and proximity of the trees.
Outcroppings and summit rocks were Tyoga’s favorite places in the mountains. The outcroppings permitted him to see from mountain range to valley below, and the summit rocks open the vista from horizon to horizon. Absent the confines of space and time and place, his spirit was free to soar. Open space beckoned to Tyoga like the glow of a flame to a maple moth in the evening shadows.
Even more than the openness of the river’s wide expanse, it was the rhythm of the water that lured him with overpowering necessity.
If Wahaya was Tyoga’s spirit-guide, water was the shepherd of his soul.
The integrity of its eternal ebb and flow was as apparent to Tyoga as the cycles of the moon that made it so, and the rhythm of the rising sun that blessed its journey anew at the start of every day. The honesty of the images its surface reflects are as true as the seasons and time itself. Pretense and charade are absorbed by its depths revealing the truth, unvarnished and raw, to be reconciled or denied. The water will abide no lie nor suffer injustice. The water tells only the truth.
The banks of the Chappawana River were only about one hundred yards away from their campsite.
The winding path that led to the river was lined with briar and berry patches, and Tyoga stopped to pick and eat some of the remaining dew berries. He was hungry. Fussing to claim a comfy perch for the night, the birds were scurrying about in the upper branches of the large oak trees. Gazing up into the trees while he maneuvered the path, Tyoga mimicked the repetitive crescendo of the darting cardinals. He smiled as they enthusiastically answered his ruse.
He turned his attention back to the path when it dipped into a ravine. He scurried along the downward slope, and put his back into the three steps needed to get him to the top of the rise on the other side.
As he crested the slight ridge, he stopped short in his tracks.
Twenty-five yards from the water’s edge, Seven Arrows stood in the middle of the path. “Ay-ho, Wahaya,” he sneered through the cruel grin that skewed his thin lips. He was standing where the safety and cover of the woods ended.
Tyoga did not reply.
The path to the river broke into an open meadow of grass and wild flowers. The Shawnee village was about two hundred yards to Tyoga’s right. To his left, open meadow and a turn in the river redirected its course to the south.
Seven Arrows noticed him taking stock of the situation. Holding his arms out to his side and looking around, he asked in a taunting tone of voice, “So, Tyoga, you are alone? Where is your Wahaya?”
Tyoga stared into his eyes, but said nothing.
A derisive smile tightened Seven Arrows’ lips. “It does not matter. Even he could not stop what will happen to you at council tonight.” His demonic smirk broke into a toothy grin. “Tell me, Tyoga, Sunlei came with you to South Fork, yes? Is she back at camp preparing your bed? Do you think that you will be lying next to her this night? Will the softness of her body keep you warm? Hmm?”
Tyoga’s hands began to clench into steely fists. He felt his heart begin to race and his breathing become shallow and sharp. He recognized the focused stare that presaged the transformation. On most occasions he fought the invasion of Wahaya-Wacon, but today, he lowered his chin to his chest and welcomed the spirit to enter. He extended his arms out to his sides ever so slightly and felt his muscles engorge with the naked abandon of the wild. His pupils ignited as the world around him came into sharp focus and the crispness of contrast stripped the world of color and hue.
“I told you that the day would come when you would pay for what your spirit wolf has done.” The smile left Seven Arrow’s face and he took two fast deliberate steps toward Tyoga. He threw both fists into the air and screamed with all his might, “That day has come!”
He stepped back and pretended to listen intently. Cupping his hand around his ear, he said, “No distant howl. Perhaps your spirit wolf has left you, Tyoga Weathersby. Or maybe only you are able to hear him. Is that it? Or are you truly alone?”
Without lifting his chin from his chest so his eyes were concealed from Seven Arrows, Tyoga said, “He is here, Descota.”
“Oh? He’s here? Where? Show me.” Seven Arrows barked with growing confidence at seeing no sign of the wolf. “Show me this fearsome beast that protects the soul of Tyoga Weathersby. Call him out. Make him show himself.”