Eagle People (15 page)

Lum, his injury hurting, knew his pain was nothing compared to what these warriors would do to him. He pulled his knife, but a warrior kicked it from his hand and said, “We have one warrior for the women to play with, and he is enough. Let us return to the village now.”

Seth was almost to the cave when he stopped and thought,
Good God, I can't just lead them to the cave. Of all the tribes, the Big River People are the closest to being animals. I need to circle around and try to lose them if they're on my trail. Lord, get me through this.

Four hours later, he entered the cave and said, “Lum has been captured by Big River People.  We'd just downed a deer when they hit us.”

“Are you certain?” Byron asked.

“I saw them with my own eyes, and there were at least a dozen warriors.”

“Why did you not fight to the death?” Ora asked.

“I would have fought, but there were too many of them. I do our people no good if I die foolishly.”

“I would have pulled my—”

“Enough!” Byron said, “There is no use talking about what should have been done. What's done is done, and Lum has been lost to us. It could have happened to any one of us. I think the Big River People will soon number much less than they do this day. They will torture and kill Lum, but he will kill many by giving them the disease.”

“Karma.” Seth said.

“No, that is not so.” Ora said and then added, “It's an illness and has nothing to do with Karma.  It will kill, or try to kill everyone it touches, both good and bad people.”

“Do you think you were followed?”  

“No, because I hid under some brush for well over an hour, watching my back trail and never saw a soul.”

Ora said, “I think it was a raid to capture a man or woman to provide their village will some entertainment. Lum will die a hard death.” His narrow eyes stared hard at Seth.

“I do not feel well, so if you two wish to argue or fight, go outside. I will try to sleep.”  Byron said and then wrapped up in his blanket.

“I could do nothing, Ora.”

“I am not well myself, but we'll discuss this another time, my friend.” He wrapped up in his blanket too and added, “You can stand guard. You may be the last one we have for many long days.”

Lum tried to get the warriors to look at the red dots on his shoulders and forehead, but they weren't interested. They continued to move east, toward the Mississippi River. They claimed all the land from the big river to the western most line of the old state of Missouri. While they were fierce warriors, they lacked enough warriors to protect what they claimed, and were unable to stop other tribes from doing as they wished with their lands. The Eagle People even went so far as to claim most of the land as their own, and they could enforce their ownership. As a result, Lum knew as a hated Eagle warrior he'd die a painful death.

During the night Byron felt as if he was on fire, with sweat streaming down his forehead. His vision was blurred and he sipped on whiskey to make him sleep. He wondered how the others were doing, but he was too weak to check on them. It seemed as if every muscle in his body was sore or tired. At one point he woke, heard moaning, raised his head, but saw nothing and sipped more whiskey.

It might have been a week later or an hour, he had no idea, except his eyes opened and he found himself laying is his own waste. He reeked of urine, crap, and vomit. Ora was beside the fire, his back to him, and squatting, so he must have come around first.

“O . . . Ora.”  Byron said, “Drink?”

Ora's head snapped around and met Byron's eyes, as he said, “Sure, let me get the water.”

“You . . . your cheeks . . . scars.”

Moving to Byron, he raised the sick man's head and let a little water fall from his canteen into his mouth. “I know I have deep scars, and so do you. Seth doesn't though, but he died at some point the last few days. I found his body when I came out of it late last night and he was already stiff.”

“We . . . we were lucky.”

“Blessed by God is my guess, but I have no idea why. Do you hear the rain?”

“Sure, and it's raining hard. Ora, is it dark in here?”

“It's late at night, why?”

“I can't see as clearly as I did before I got sick.”

Ora placed his hand right in front of Byron's eyes and asked, “Can you see my hand?”

“Of course, I see your hand, but when I look around, everything has a haze around the edges.”

Ora thought for a moment and then said, “I'm no shaman, but it might be temporary, and you'll recover in a few days. But, to be honest, I have no idea.”

“I know.” Byron said and then sat up. His head was pounding, so he took a long snort of the whiskey and said, “My head hurts like a bitch.”

“I just got rid of my headache earlier this morning. I have some broth cooking if you want a cup or two.”

“I don't want it, except I know I need to drink some. Any idea how many days we've been sick?”
“None. I went into a fever coma, woke up a few times, went back to sleep, and finally came around. From the looks of things around camp, I'd say at least three days, but maybe as much as five.”

Over cups of broth they discussed what to do next, and neither was sure if they were safe to return to the village yet or not. Finally, they decided to wait another week, then return. In the mean time, they pulled the dead Seth from camp and left his body about a mile from the cave. Neither man had the strength to bury the man, so he was left out in the open. They washed below the cave, where the stream met a small river, and both felt much better after a cleaning. Fresh clothes were donned and both were much improved in health and mood.

“How badly is my face scarred?” Byron asked.

“About a dozen pock marks on your cheeks. Most on the left side, and me?”

“I'd say about like me, so don't worry about it. It does mean we'll never die from the disease now too, and can't get it again. That's pretty much all I know about the illness.”

Ora laughed and said, “Well, we survived and I'm sure others that came in contact with the illness died. I've never been so out of it as I was when sick.”

“Fever grabbed us, is what happened and if our fevers had gone too high, we'd have died anyway, but they didn't. Now, we need to get some fresh meat, because I'm suddenly hungry as hell.”

“We can do that, but don't eat too much at first, or it'll kill you. The first day back on food, we need to eat many times, but a little each time.”

Lum was untied when they reached the village and secured to a pole in the middle of the village. It was a burning pole used to burn captives to death, after days of torture. Damn me, I need to piss one of these warriors off enough that I'm killed instantly, he thought in his fever slowed mind. He was sick now, with a high fever and sweating, as well as body cramps and aches. He was naked, with his arms and legs secured to the pole and a rope was also around his neck. The rope on his neck kept his head up, so all could see his pain and suffering.

A shaman neared to paint him for death, and carried black and white paint in a wooden bowl.  The colors were symbolic, with white meaning life and black for death. Placing his bowls of paint on the ground beside Lum, the shaman suddenly gave a loud gasp. His eyes grew larger and his mouth fell open in surprise. It was then Lum heard the words, “Good God, small pox.”

“Guard, get the chief—now!” the shaman ordered as he back away from Lum. He fell to his knees and began to pray, asking Him to protect his people.

Five minutes later, Har, the chief neared and asked, “What in the hell is so important that you interrupted my meal?”

Standing, the shaman said, “Those fools brought back a sick man for the women to enjoy.”

“Who cares if he's sick, you old fool, he's to be killed anyway.”

“Har, you must listen to my words closely. See the red pimples on his face, neck and chest?”

“I see them.”

“They are not pimples. This captive has small pox.”

“What is small pox?”

The shaman looked him in the eyes and replied, “Small pox is death. Within two weeks most of us will be sick, and by the end of this month, many, if not most, will be dead.”

“You are sure of this?”

He slowly nodded and then said, “We may lose fifty percent or more of our people to this one illness.”

“Damn, and you can do nothing?”

He shook his head and said, “Not a thing can be done. The dead will have to be burned, and the living will need water and meat broth while they are ill. We must start to prepare now, while we can still move and do what is needed.”

“Guard! Have all warriors meet me here and tell them to come now.”

When the guard left, Har said, “What of the captive?”

“Kill him of course, but since he brought us the disease, make his death special.”

“I don't understand what you mean by special. I'm not in the best of moods right now, so speak to me in a way I can comprehend. Damn it all, losing over half of my people! What will become of us?”

“Let me kill this warrior, and I will do the job slowly.”

“Shaman, do as you wish with the captive. If left to me, I'd stick a knife in his guts or cut his throat.”

Soon warriors were gone, all hunting meat, fetching clean water, caring for their mounts, or running other errands the chief needed completed. He'd agreed that at dusk the shaman would start the torture of the prisoner, and the chief knew it would be the last group gathering for many of them. At first he wanted to put the leader of the warriors who'd captured Lum to death, but the man was innocent of wrong doing. Not a single warrior would have thought the red spots could kill people. His anger, building inside, had no release and that was why Lum had to die a slow death. Perhaps with the death of the captive, he'd gain some release, and The People would avenge their own deaths.

At dusk the whole village assembled to watch Lum die.

Lum was unconscious when the shaman pulled a sharp stick from a basket and walked to the man. He quickly stabbed Lum's right thigh, but it brought no scream of pain, no look of fear on his face; it brought forth nothing. The shaman pulled his knife and removed Lum's penis, which brought a low grunt, but no scream.
He is past the stage of feeling pain,
the shaman thought,
so I might as well just kill him, because this is wasting our time.

With a quick slash of the knife, he cut's Lum's throat and people screamed in anger that the torture ended so quickly. The shaman said, “Quiet down and listen to me!
Quiet, I said!
”

When the crowd grew quiet, he continued, “This man is ill, as all of us will soon be, and he cannot feel pain. I have killed him by my hand, but that is the best that you will see on this day. The red dots you see on his body will soon cover most of us. I have prayed and suggest all of you pray as well.  Many of us will be dead within a few weeks at most, unless we take care of each other, look out for each other and love each other. This sickness is very serious.”

The crowd, angered over the quick death of the Eagle warrior, returned to their lodges. By morning, over fifty of the people were gone, running from the illness in all directions. The shaman smiled, knowing most would have died anyway, but Har was apoplectic.