The Legend of Tyoga Weathersby (17 page)

With long legs and a lean torso, she was taller than the other Ani-Unwiya. Her athletic build bore witness to her tomboy adolesence of following in the footsteps of Tyoga and Tes Qua while they glided along the mountain trails of Appalachia.

On the brink of womanhood, Sunlei no longer roamed the village nor ran through the woods in the joyous freedom of naked abandon, but wore the mid-calf length doeskin tunic common to young maidens. She walked with a steady, confident gait that without effort or design produced a seductive rhythmic sway as enchanting as the gentle swells of the tidal bay. Through the softness of her doeskin tunic the sensual curves of her exquisitely muscled buttocks were clearly defined. Her sculpted thighs tugged at the deer hide dress with each determined step. Her voluptuous breasts bubbled from the neckline of her tunic to keep time with her silky cadence. The creamy softness of her butternut skin shimmered with a honey glow in the noonday sun, and scented the night with a loamy musk. She could not move but that all eyes fell upon her.

“Ya know, Tes, I don’t know what I would do without her,” Tyoga said. “We’ve been together our whole lives. When I’m without her, it’s like part of me is missing somehow. When she’s not around I feel like … I feel like the eagle without wings. The stars are silent, the sky shares no secrets, and the wind whispers no truths. It is as if the promise is with me no more.”

“Have you told her these things, my brother?”

“Ahhh, there ain’t no need, Tes A,” Tyoga replied.

“I don’t know, Ty. She isn’t the little girl who used to follow us through the woods. Sunlei is a woman and a woman likes to hear the words.”

They were still for awhile as Tyoga contemplated the wisdom in Tes Qua’s reply. He knew that he should tell her how he felt, but somehow the legend that he had become made it all the more difficult for him to speak the words of love he knew that she longed to hear.

He thought about how his soul had melded with that of Wahaya-wacon. He knew it to be true, although he would never say the words out loud—not even to Tes Qua. The revelation that his feelings for Sunlei were somehow mirrored by his connection with the wolf caught him completely off guard. Before he could think to check the words, he blurted out as if talking to himself, “It’s the same as when I watched my reflection dissolve away into the eyes of the wolf. She reflects me.”

Tes Qua understood exactly what Tyoga was trying to say. While neither young man could fully comprehend the meaning of Tyoga’s connection to the wolf, the mysterious alliance described in terms of the dissolving reflection provided a context that somehow made sense. “I understand, Ty. But if you feel this way, my brother, why do you not ask her to be your wife?”

“Because I am afraid, Tes ‘A. I am afraid of what the future may hold.”

“Afraid!” Tes Qua propped himself up on his elbow. “Ty, you have nothing to fear from any man. You are Tyoga Weathersby. Wahaya-Wacon, the wolf, is your spirit guide. From every valley, from every mountain top, your name is honored by the white man, the Cherokee, the Choctaw, the Arapaho and even the Osage.”

“My fear is not for any harm that could come my way at the hands of another,” Tyoga replied. “I am afraid because the world that we have known all of our lives, Tes Qua, is coming to an end. The end of that world will mean that our children will belong to neither the white man’s world, nor to that of my red brothers. They will be torn between two worlds. They will be shunned as half-breeds. None of us—not me, not Sunlei, not our children—will be welcome in the white world. And, my brother, that is the world in which we will all live one day.”

“But your family will always have a home with us,” Tes Qua replied. “Your children will not be shunned by the People. You are a member of the Wolf Clan just as if you had been born an Ani-Unwiya. Your children will grow up to be strong and respected braves, and you will have everything that you could ever need or want.”

“I will have everything except the respect of the white world. And that will be everything in the years to come.”

Tes Qua was struck by the honesty with which Tyoga had expressed his conviction that one day, the world that he had known—the world that defined the Ani-Unwiya since the beginning of time—would one day exist no more. All that he and his ancestors had known would be replaced by a world of symmetry and design, the measures by which the English, Dutch, German, and Irish settlers gauged a culture’s civility.

Tyoga was torn between despair and reconciled acceptance. He knew more intimately than most the terrible price that would be exacted by the white wave that would flood the ancient lands of the Cherokee, Choctaw, Iroquois and Chippewa. Like the ocean ceaselessly pounding the sandy shore, the footprints of the Native Americans would be wiped clean by the waves of white settlers who would wash over the mountain in torrents. With their advance, the stories told around campfires would be replaced by books in white clapboard school houses; clergy in steepled churches would supplant the shaman, spirit guides, and the sweat lodge; and wheel-rutted roads would replace his beloved mountain trails. The ways of living in, and as part of, the natural world would be lost forever.

After some time had passed, Tes Qua began the conversation anew.

“What about Praire Day, Ty?”

“What about her?”

“She wishes you to take her. All the People know that she wants you very much.”

“Tes Qua, she is Chief Silver Cloud’s daughter. He will arrange her marriage and he will choose Wind Rider or Stands with Fist.”

“Be careful, my friend. She has you in her sights, and she is a very good shot with a bow.”

They laughed. Tyoga not as hard as Tes Qua.

Alone in the silence of the night with their thoughts, the patter of the rain lulled them to sleep.

Chapter 17

Seven Arrows

T
he young men began to stir shortly before sunrise. The rain had stopped during the night and the morning air was damp and brisk.

Tes Qua was the first to hear the mocassined feet clumsily shuffling through the leaves and carelessly breaking branches as they approached the makeshift shelter.

Whoever was approaching their campsite was not concerned about a steathly approach. They had the young men trapped. The spit of land upon which they had camped was surrounded by the raging waters of the Rapidan on one side, and the Rappahanock on the other. There was one path in and only one way out.

“Ty!” Tes Qua exclaimed in a whisper that was louder than he would have wished it to be.

“Yeah.” Tyoga was already reaching for his rifle.

The reflexive reach for his weapon was the instinct of a seasoned mountain man. The blood draining from his head with the panicked realization that their flintlocks were dismantled and that they had no firepower between them was a response more primal still.

He looked at his companion. “Tes, the rifles.”

They were unarmed and defenseless.

The sanctuary of their lean-to had been transformed into a trap.

The footsteps grew louder and closer. The voices of the men approaching indicated a party of more than two.

They grabbed their knives. Tes Qua picked up his Cherokee tomahawk.

“Nay a, Tes Qua. Don’t let them see the tomahawk. Put your knife in your belt under your shirt. We’ll go out like we’re unarmed.”

They heard the footsteps stop just outside of their shelter.

A booming voice thundered “Eh ya taho, indea a ho, eh alo”

“What did he say, Tes?” Tyoga knew only a little Shawnee. However, Tes Qua was a good speaker of the language.

With the water roaring at full volume into the confluence of the two rivers, it was difficult to hear the words. The voice from outside repeated, “You in the shelter. Come out.”

The giddiness of the voices surrounding the spokesman indicated that they were perhaps in for some hassle, but not in any real danger. A second miscalculation.

“Eta ho, Tes,” Tyoga said calmly. “Let’s go see how we can entertain our guests.” He shot Tes Qua a crooked grin.

Tyoga’s nonchalance encouraged Tes Qua, and he flashed back a nervous grin.

They put on their dry moccasins, and climbed out of the lean-to on their hands and knees.

Tes Qua was out first. Tyoga crawled out of the shelter, rose to his feet, and stood alongside his friend.

When he turned to face their “guests,” he stared into the smirking, painted face of Seven Arrows

The Indian’s eyes opened wide in amazement at the sight of Tyoga Weathersby standing, a prisoner, before him. Although they had not seen each other for many years, Seven Arrows recognized him right away. He had listened half-heatedly to the tales of the legend growing up, but more importantly, had felt the sting of Tyoga’s alpha male domination on more than one occasion.

Seven Arrows’s reputation had grown along with that of Tyoga, but his was rooted in fear and loathing. As the overindulged eldest son of Yellow Robe, Chief of the South Fork Shawnee, he was pampered as a child, tolerated as an adolescent, and feared as a ruthless young adult who wielded the power of his station with disregard for collateral consequence. He bullied his way through childhood with a cadre of obedient pawns who understood the important role that he would one day play as the result of nothing more than accident of birth. Torturing and killing for nothing more than the shear joy of being acknowledged for the deeds, he carried on with the slaughter of innocent animals that he had started with the baby ducks at So-hi pool.

The Shawnee called Seven Arrows, Puta Loga, which translated loosely to “strangler of life,” and he lived up to the sobriquet in every possible way. He snatched joy from celebration, squelched laughter from festivity, and quelled honor from sacrifice and courage. His savagery knew no bounds and his ruthlessness no limitations.

The only person who had been able to keep him in check was Tyoga Weathersby.

Ever since the incident at So-hi pool when Tyoga shamed him into submission with no more than his words, Seven Arrows had made him and Tes Qua the target of his special attention. A few years younger than Tyoga and Tes Qua, Seven Arrows and his Shawnee companions would follow them as they traveled through the mountain passes, disturbing the game they were stalking, harassing their campsite through the night, and stealing from them whenever they could. Their game came to an abrupt halt one late July afternoon when, Tyoga and Tes Qua had turned the table on Seven Arrows’s plan to raid their campsite along Dawson’s Creek. Waiting in ambush to catch him and his companions as they made off with Tes Qua’s best bow and nearly all of their provisions, Tyoga and Tes Qua forced them to walk home, eight miles along the Appalachian Trail, completely naked and empty handed. At thirteen years of age, they were well past the time that young boys covered themselves with loin clothes. Their naked entrance into South Fork was far less an insult to their pride and machismo, than the fact they had been forced to surrender their bows, arrows, and knives. It took Seven Arrows months to reestablish his position and stature. Those accompanying him never rebounded from the shame.

Tyoga had not encountered any members of the South Fork Shawnee since the misadventure on the summit of Mount Rag. He learned long ago that two of the Indians mauled on the mountain top were the sons of the Chief of the South Fork Shawnee, and Seven Arrows’ younger brothers. That the older brother of the two dead Shawnee Braves would be the first person from the tribe Tyoga should come across was but an unfortunate happenstance of fate. He was sorry that it should be so.

As the morning fog greeted the new day with its timeless descent to the floor of the river gorge and an icy mist shrouded the young men in a cape of chilling gray, Tyoga said with indifferent dismissal, “A-ho Sesche picqua.”

Tes Qua began to shiver when the muddy ground soaked through the leather soles of his once dry and warm moccasins, and the breeze from the rushing water slapped the saturated air against his naked arms.

Tyoga’s feet were equally cold and wet, but he did not allow himself to shiver. Steely eyed and with no hint of concern, he remained calm, cool, and collected. His eyes left Seven Arrows for only a split second to scan the underbrush to their right along the shoreline. He saw what he needed to see.

Three young Shawnee braves were with Seven Arrows. They appeared to be in their late teens to early twenties. Their faces and bodies were painted with the colors and designs that clearly identified them as a marauding band of dog soldiers out to rob, kill, and scalp any unfortunate passers-by be they Indian or white settlers. In deference to his age and rank, the three remained a respectful distance behind Seven Arrows who stood directly in front of, and very close to, Tyoga. The condescending smirk left his face as he leaned forward and sniffed at Tyoga’s head and neck—a sign of disrespect.

“Tey a taya ucun skinuka,” Seven Arrows said with obvious disdain, and then spit on the ground.

The braves with Seven Arrows slapped at the air, and at each other, as they laughed out loud in a rowdy chorus of consent with his remarks.

Tyoga, who had riveted his gaze on Seven Arrows until that moment, looked away and turned his body so that he was not facing him. This was understood by the Indians as an insult of equal disdain.

Still looking away, Ty asked, “What did he say, Tes?”

“You don’t need to know, Ty.”

The slight of averting his gaze and turning away deeply offended Seven Arrows. He expressed his agitation by pacing randomly about the campsite. He was a powerfully built young man. His broad shoulders and upper arms were painted in black, and his biceps were accentuated by the leather adobes that encircled each arm. His left eye socket was painted black from mid-cheek to above his eyebrow, and his head was shaved save for a bristly brown stripe from his forehead to the nape of his neck. As he nervously paced, he never took his eyes off of Tyoga. Filled with years of festering rage at his disgraceful naked march through the woods to South Fork, the recent loss of his two younger brothers on the summit of Mount Rag, and the disdain with which he was presently being treated, he was unable to contain his anger any longer. Exploding in a convulsion of rage, Seven Arrows screamed so that words spit into Tyoga’s face, “You killed my brothers!”