Captive Spirit (20 page)

Between two sage bushes, I hung my belt across two branches, low enough for a jack rabbit. And I only needed one rabbit, even more for its fat that I would rub all over my face and arms. “The more you smell like an animal, the easier it will be to hunt,” Honovi told me the first time we hunted mule deer together, an endless lifetime of moons ago. At first I had thought Honovi was teasing, trying to see if a girl would do it. I remember thinking,
Who wants to rub greasy animal fat on their face?
But when Honovi and I watched a family of mule deer on the boulders above the river, they crept by us like we weren’t even there. All because of a little animal fat.

I held one end of my belt taught in my hand and waited with my snare, everything but my eyes hidden beneath my bearskin. The forest was filled with more jack rabbits than I’d ever seen in the desert, and as long as I remained motionless, I hoped that I wouldn’t need to wait long.

I was right.

Before the morning sky had a chance to turn from grey to blue, an unsuspecting plump rabbit with brown and black speckles walked right over my belt snare like it was part of the forest. I snapped my belt, catching the rabbit’s neck easily inside the loop. Its round eyes, mercifully, closed quickly.

With Diego’s knife, I prepared the rabbit and then hung it from a branch over my fire. I used a flat rock to catch the fat drippings, what little there was from a rabbit that was half as big as my forearm. Still, a few tender pieces of rabbit meat were all that I needed to quiet the growls inside my stomach.

After I ate, I prepared for the hunt.

I’d already decided that elk were too big and bear were too dangerous. And the Apache would howl with laughter if I dared return with a skinny coyote or a couple of rabbits.

No, I’d have to bring Manaba a deer to save Honovi, a deer for his life. It was a strange trade. But, sadly, it was the only way.

Fortunately, Honovi taught me well how to handle a spear and a bow and arrow. He even told me once that I hunted just as well as most of the other White Ant boys. He said, “Your arms might not be as thick, Aiyana, but you’re fast and you’re patient. Patience is what matters most of all.”

After smothering my face and arms with sticky rabbit fat, I was ready.

I tightened my belt and secured my knife. I adjusted the quiver on my back so that I could readily reach for my arrows.

With one hand clutched around my smooth bow, I walked deeper into the forest, hoping that I wouldn’t need to travel too far from the Apache village. The further I hunted, the further I’d have to carry the deer that would save Honovi’s life.

My feet stepped gingerly over twigs and rocks, careful not to disturb the forest or, worse, fall. I stayed close to the tall grasses and thick shrubs where the trees thinned, looking for signs. Finally, when the sun began to dip just past the treetops, I found shiny droppings that looked like black stones. They were too small to belong to the elk.

And they were fresh.

I smiled.

I crouched lower behind the grasses, scanning the forest. I tilted my head to block out the wind. I removed one bow from my quiver, just in case. I crouched just beneath the grasses, waiting, until my legs grew numb.

It was all for naught.

As the sun faded, my stomach began to tighten. I’d hunted and found nothing.

***

I spent the second moon in a cave on the side of a cliff that was just big enough for me and a small fire. It had an unobstructed view of a clearing below and protected me from the wind. I only slept in fitful spurts so that I wouldn’t miss when the sky turned from black to a misty grey. Dawn and dusk were always the best times to hunt.

I ate a handful of blue-black berries from a nearby thicket and didn’t bother to snare another rabbit or even a squirrel. I was too anxious.

In the clearing below, I spotted a small herd, no more than a handful. From where I watched, I wasn’t sure if they were elk or deer. Their coats were too similar, greys and browns.

Quickly, I ran down to the clearing along a rocky path that snaked along the cliff. I ran lightly on the balls of my feet so as not to scatter the herd. When I reached the bottom, the buck and his does still grazed on the wispy grasses in the clearing as if they were the only animals on the mountain. The grasses hid me as I crouched to my knees, watching. The wind was kind enough to blow through the grasses in the herd’s direction. My skin still reeked of rabbit fat.

Slowly, barely breathing, I crept below the grasses, my bow clutched in one hand, an arrow ready in the other. I moved but I was barely moving. When I breathed, I only drew air through my nose. The slightest crack from a twig, a strange tilt of a blade of grass, even a growl from my stomach would alert the herd. And I couldn’t take the chance.

I finally got close enough to see that one buck stood vigil over four does with three fawns scattered between them. They grazed lazily on the tall grasses in the clearing. They had greyish brown coats and white, bushy tails with white circles around their eyes; another white patch of fur lined their muzzles. Their ears weren’t as large as the mule deer I had hunted nor were they as big, but I took some comfort in knowing that if I took one of the does, the remaining ones would still care for all of the fawns.

I swallowed hard and crept closer, peering at the herd in the grasses. They moved so gracefully, extending their long necks and burrowing their muzzles in the grass.

The sun was just starting to rise over my back. I had a perfect view of one of the does; she stood on the edge of the herd with one of the fawns at her side. She was the smallest doe, but big enough to feed Manaba and his family.

Silently, I balanced my arrow against the bow. I closed one eye, lining up the arrow with my thumb and forefinger. I had a clear shot of the doe. Just as I started to stand above the grasses with my bow pulled back, the buck’s tail shot straight up in alarm. Every face in the herd rose and stared in my direction.

With a loud inhale, I leapt up from my crouched position and pulled back my arrow as far as it would go. The bow string sprung forward like a rattlesnake, hissing against my ear. The arrow sailed straight for the doe, but she was too quick. I only managed to sink my arrow in her rump when I was aiming for her chest.

The entire herd charged from the clearing for the shadows at the edges of the forest. I ran after them, never taking my eyes off the doe. She was stunned, but not injured. And she also had one of my arrows embedded in her backside.

I ran after them but it didn’t matter. They were too fast and leapt over rocks and sage brush like they had wings. Before my next heartbeat, the herd ran for the safety of the forest. I followed anyway.

At first, the herd climbed higher into the forest. Their hooves clunked collectively against the rock and sunk where the dirt turned soft. My legs burned as I struggled to keep up. It was like chasing after a whirlwind. If not for their tracks and the steady
clip-clip
of their hooves, I might have lost them.

We climbed until we reached another clearing atop another ridge of the Apache Mountain. Their mountain seemed to stretch unendingly into the blue sky.

By the time I reached the new clearing, my heart and temples pounded loud enough to drown out the birds and wind that circled around me. I stopped only briefly to check my bow and arrows, fingering the knife behind my belt, my water pouch. Everything was still in place. And despite the frigid, thin mountain air, I was sweating as if the Season of Longer Days had returned early to the Apache Mountain.

I reached behind my back for another arrow and, after blowing into my clammy hand, ran in the direction of the herd. They had scattered to the middle of the clearing, and I would need to take another shot at the doe before they climbed higher. It could be my last chance.

On the flat ground, I was able to run fast again after the herd. I pictured Haloke in front of me, her braid flying backwards, after having thrust her pointy elbow in my side. And then I pictured Honovi, his eyes locked onto mine, hidden behind the cheering Apache faces.

Energized, I ran faster.

I ran till I finally got close enough to see their tails twitching. The injured doe lagged well behind the others, my arrow still piercing her rump. Her fawn had already caught up to the other does, perhaps realizing its fate.

Near the middle of the clearing, they stopped to graze. Only the buck anxiously raised his head between each mouthful. His tail twitched as he chewed. I crept beneath the grasses again, one small step at a time, sweat pouring down my forehead and into my eyes. I studied the herd’s movements through the green slivers, careful not to frighten them again. I finally got so close that I could see the white patches along the doe’s stomach dotting her greyish brown coat. She would prove worthy to the Apache.

Barely creeping along a hair’s breadth at a time, I dragged my tongue across my dry lips, waiting for the perfect moment. Like the others, the doe grazed on the grasses but her movements had already turned sluggish. And the rest of the herd was starting to pull away from her, even the buck.

Peaking just above the grass, I closed one eye and ignored the sweat trickling from my forehead. I pulled back my second arrow and this time aimed at the doe’s chest. When I let go of the bow, the arrow flew across the clearing but only managed to graze the top of the doe’s head. The herd started to run again.

“No!” I said and frowned as the herd began to flee. I should have taken more time. I was too anxious. I had only one arrow left. And the sun was already well over my head.

There was no time to retrieve the second arrow.

Instead, I dashed after the herd, their white tails still poking above the grasses. They ran deeper into the forest but the thick pine trees made running fast almost impossible. Like me, they were too busy dodging the tree trunks that interrupted their path. But I still kept my eye on the doe. Incredibly, she still ran fast, despite the bright red blood that soaked her coat.

I chased behind her. When I reached behind my back for the last arrow in my quiver, my heart and breath competed mercilessly inside my chest. Still running, I aimed my last arrow at her neck.

This was my last chance.

With one eye closed, I pulled back the arrow inside the bow and watched it fly through a rare sliver of open forest. This time it landed squarely on the back of the doe’s neck.

She reared and then froze when the arrow pierced her skin. She wailed softly to the herd but the buck and the others kept running. They had no choice. Unexpectedly, my throat thickened as I watched her sink to the ground. Her front legs pushed and flailed but she couldn’t lift herself up. Finally, she just lay there, waiting.

When I approached her, her round eyes were wide and anxious as they tracked my movements. The arrow in her neck had broken in two when she crashed to the ground. I dropped to her side and carefully put her head in my lap. The fur around her head was soft. She moaned softly between my hands. Her eyelids grew heavy.

I stroked the soft spot between her eyes. “Thank you, Mother Doe, for providing me with life,” I said as a mixture of my tears and sweat sprinkled on her face. I watched as her chest slowed. “I promise that your fur will provide warmth when the nights are cold and your fine meat will feed a village. I will never forget you. Your spirit will live in the Apache people. Your spirit will always live in me.”

Just as her eyelashes closed over her eyes, blood began to drip in a thin line down her neck and pool on the ground.

I looked past her deeper into the forest as the last breath shuddered through her body.

Sunlight streaked the forest floor in thin lines even though the sun still burned brightly. I had traveled far from the Apache village.

And now that I had my precious doe, I had to deliver it to Manaba.

***

I sliced three sturdy pine branches as thick as my arm with Diego’s knife.

I wrapped the ends together and then laid the doe on top. I decided to drag her back to the Apache. It was the only way. She was small for a doe and almost as heavy as I was.

With my hands behind my back and my quiver and bow still threaded through my arms, I grabbed the long end of the tied branches and began to drag the doe across the rest of the clearing. Once I reached the forest, I had to drag her over rocks and sticks, sometimes stopping to move some of the larger branches out of the way when there was no other way to avoid them. My arms and legs ached but I kept walking, dragging the doe behind me, one determined step at a time.

I walked until the last of the sun completely faded from the sky. Then I stopped and waited for the Sky Wanderers. Beneath their muted glow, I walked a little further until my arms turned numb. When I finally stopped, the skin around my neck and back burned and tingled like I was covered in red ants.

Exhausted and sore, I built a fire, the biggest one I could manage, if nothing to ward off the coyotes or worse. Surely they smelled the blood of my doe. My hands shook as I stoked the fire, not from fright, but from dragging her.

As I watched the fire and listened for danger, I kept my knife in one hand and my bow and arrow at my side, the arrow saved from my doe’s rump. An owl hooted somewhere above me as my eyes turned blurry and threatened to close.

Thankfully, the throbbing in my arms and legs kept me awake till first light. And as soon as the sky turned from black to grey, I stumbled to my feet and began the slow march again.

I took only a few sips from my water pouch before I dragged the doe higher into the Apache Mountain. After a while, I didn’t hear sounds and barely saw color through my blurry eyes. Everything blended into one dull color; all the sounds were the same. Light was the only thing that mattered. I raced against it even when it felt like boulders were tied around my legs.

My breathing quickened with new life when the white shell from my necklace caught my eye. It sparkled at me through my hair which fell in wet, tangled clumps about my face. The shell captured a ray from the early sun and dangled from the lower branch of the pine tree, exactly where I left it. It gave me hope. It meant I was close to Manaba and his village.