The Legend of Tyoga Weathersby (5 page)

His reluctance to charge Tyoga resonated in the barely audible, yet deeply passionate, roar emanating from the wolf’s massive chest. The control of the growl belied the primordial hatred for this smelly white, hairless creature. For reasons not completely understood to the Commander, Tyoga required his deference. The two stared at each other for a long time.

Without warning or sign, the pack eased away, back into the shadows.

“Te da ho mena aiolluimet, Tes’a!!”
(Get the fire goin’!)
There was no response.

“Tes’a!! Tes’a!” Tyoga demanded in a voice just above a whisper.

Turning to catch a glimpse of his friend, he could see that the attack had begun before he had arrived. Tes Qua’s chest and arms were covered with bites and nips, each as clean as if inflicted by the slash of an obsidian blade rather than the rapier fangs of the killer wolves. They had played with him for awhile. Assessing his strength as a warrior, they had taunted and teased with half-hearted shows of aggression. One would charge and savagely bite at the flaming pine bough that Tes Qua was using to defend himself, only to retreat to the safety of the pack and fain honor and courage at the coup.

This cruel ritualistic behavior helped the pack determine the necessity for a quick kill. The stronger and more powerful the adversary, the quicker the deed must be done. It was discerned that Tes Qua was a trapped and powerless prey. They had used him for sport and would feat feast at their leisure.

Tyoga’s arrival had changed the dynamic. He was an adversary to be reckoned with—strong, powerful, and driven by an instinct the wolves understood and feared: protection of kind. He stood close to Tes Qua while calling to him at irregular intervals, not only to assess his condition but to reassure himself that he was not alone—though very much alone he was.

Tyoga used the few precious moments that were given to him by the pack’s unexpected retreat to tend to his friend. Never taking his eyes off the blackness into which the pack had retreated, he placed his foot on the handle of the tomahawk and slid it back to within Tes Qua’s reach. Slowly, quietly, he inched his way toward Tes Qua to reach with his hand behind his back to touch his friend’s bleeding shoulder. Tes Qua responded with a semi-conscious moan, and then sprang to alertness ready to fight for his life.

“Syla Tesa. Syla. It’s me,” Tyoga said reassuringly. “Are ya still alive?” he said only half-jokingly.

Before Tes Qua could answer, the pack began to slowly emerge from the cover of darkness.

The more dominant males circled the scene, while the weaker members hovered in the underbrush to await the Commander’s assessment of the intruder and the order to attack.

Tyoga’s eyes remained riveted on the more aggressive members of the pack as he made his way to the fire pit and kicked at the ashes and coals. A faint glimmer of red appeared deep within the pit. If he could get some dried leaves onto the coals, there was a chance that he could coax the ash to flames. Fire and light would be his greatest weapons.

But he needed time.

When the timid wolves ventured forth from the cover of the shadows to join the more dominant members of the pack, he thought, “Cain’t let ‘em regroup. Gotta keep ‘em scattered.”

Whirling the hickory stick that he had used to balance himself while trying to free the trap from Tes Qua’s leg high over his head like a battle-ax, and screaming his most horrific war cry, Tyoga charged the confused wolves with unchecked ferosity. Taken by complete surprise, the Commander bolted and charged off into the underbrush with the rest of the pack scattering in disarray.

With precious moments won, Tyoga wasted no time. Dropping his lance to the ground, he grabbed handfuls of pine needles; dried twigs and leaves; and threw them loosely on the bed of hot coals. He dropped to his knees and blew several precious breaths onto the coals. The tips of the pine needles began to glow, and tiny fragile flames licked the dried leaves until they burst into yellow smokey flames. He snatched the dried pine bough from Tes Qua and threw it upon the naissant flames. The dried pine ignited into billowing plumes of light that illuminated the forest floor like a cathedral foyer bathed in the light of votive offerings.

Tyoga could see ten to fifteen wolves circling in the shadows beyond the protective dome of light that momentarily enveloped the camp. The glassy red pupils of the wolves’ hollow eyes reflected the firelight—jagged amber orbs dancing in pairs as their majestic heads bobbed and weaved in a primal dance of ritualistic display. Circling restlessly in the silent shadows of the night, their restraint was like a scornful laugh mocking the futility of the combat to come. The dried kindling lasted only a few moments before the blaze dwindled to modest flame and the blackness of the forest descended like a death shroud upon their bleak encampment.

The darkness covered the wolves and Tyoga could see them no more.

He could hear the pack beyond the ring of firelight. They were so close that he could smell their stale breath. They seemed content to wait.

Tyoga took advantage of the time to tend to Tes Qua. The gashes inflicted by the snapping wolves ripped out chunks of flesh as if he had been whipped by a cat o’nine-tails. Tyoga cleaned the dried blood from his friend’s arms, chest and neck. Tes Qua revived at the gentle touch of his care and sat up more resolutely against the trunk of the tree.

“You came back, Ty,” he said through the painful grimace that contorted his face.

“Yeah. Heard them wolves sound the dinner bell,” he replied. “I figured it was you they was aft’r.”

“What are we gonna do, Ty?” TesQua asked. “They’ll be back. You stole their kill. Especially the big silver back. He’ll be back sure ‘nuff.”

“They’ll be back aw’right, Tes,” Tyoga agreed. “How are you doin’? How’s the leg?”

“Can’t feel anything, Ty. Except its starting to ache some above my knee. We gotta get out of here. I won’t last much longer in this trap. If we don’t get me to Yonevgadoga soon to take care of this—I’m gonna lose my leg like Sessqu’Na did. We gotta get out of here.”

“Ain’t nobody gonna lose nothin’, Tes,” Tyoga said with a hint of annoyance in his tone. “Don’t talk like ‘at. You always go seein’ the bad end of things. And don’t we always git loose? Don’t we git loose? Well, we’re gonna get quit of this mess, too. You just hang on. Just hang on.”

The rustling in the woods was closer now. But the sound of the wolves’ heavy breathing had stopped. Tyoga looked around for anything that would burn. There were plenty of dried leaves and pine needles. Some dead pine limbs overhead were still clinging to the trunks of trees. But there wasn’t enough wood to last until dawn and to venture beyond the dim light of the campsite was unthinkable.

“Not much here about to make a fire with, Tes, but we’ll manage. I’m gonna move you closer to the fire. You keep it burnin’, Tes. Not too big. Jest enough to give me some light. The wolves can see in the dark like its day. They’ll have the advantage. So keep it burnin’ jest enough for me to see.”

Tyoga lifted his friend in his arms and placed him next to the fire pit as the first deafening howl shattered the stillness of the night. The viciousness of the primal scream was overwhelming. When others joined the chorus, the boys clamped their hands over their ears to shut out the sickening dirge. They had to shout to one another to be heard over the din.

“What are they doing, Ty?” Tes Qua shouted.

“I don’t know, Tes ‘A!” Tyoga shouted back. “Never heard wolves howl like this so close.”

“They’re right there, Ty. We could reach out and touch them. Why are they howling?”

This was different from anything Tyoga had ever heard tell. Wolves howl to call to one another from great distances, to locate members of their pack or to help guide them home to their dens. A lone hunter will call to the pack to tell them of his location so that they can join in the hunt and the kill; but never had he heard of wolves howling so close to their prey.

This was a time for stealth and quiet.

His instincts told him that he was an unwilling player in a deadly game. But what were the rules? How was it played? He had to be ready for anything.

“I don’t know, Tes Qua!” Tyoga screamed.

The howling stopped as suddenly as it had started. There was a great crashing through the underbrush. They could hear the sound of the wolves’ paws penetrating the stillness of the night like the ridge of a screw through a pine board. They dissolved into the blackness.

All was deathly still.

Tyoga’s soul was alive with the night. The hair on his arms stood on end. His breathing came in shallow gulps. The mountain has its ways. It whispers in divine subtlety through an ether that permeates the pines and the moss. The alarm is carried on the silent heaviness of the air. The quiet is ponderous, dark, and engulfing. Every living thing, without understanding, acknowledges the intent. But those to whom the promise speaks glow in receipt of the silent cues like a towering pine in a lightening storm.

Tyoga knew. He understood.

“They’re coming, Tes. Get ready. They’re coming.”

Chapter 5

The Battle Begins

F
rantically, Tyoga grabbed the old trapper’s knife he had retrieved from the trout pond after Tes Qua had been snared by the trap. He found the hickory stick he had used as a lance to rush the pack, and knelt down next to Tes Qua.

“Tes, take off your che’wollas. Quick,” he said.

Tes Qua removed the ornamental dear hides he wore above his biceps and threw them to Tyoga. With rapid agile butchering strokes, Tyoga sliced the two-inch thick bands into slender laces a quarter of an inch wide.

“Tay chee n’qua lo’che mien.”

He handed the laces to TesQua who wadded them into balls, plopped them into his mouth and began to chew the raw hide. Tyoga filleted the other arm band and popped them into his mouth.

After a few minutes of chewing, the boys’ saliva had turned the leather laces into wet, rubbery bands coated with a natural adhesive the consistency of snail slime. Tyoga motioned for Tes Qua to pass the laces he was chewing to him.

“Nay cha.”

Flipping the hickory stick, Tyoga handed Tes the fat, rounded end. Placing the bone handle of the old trapper’s knife on the end he cradled in his lap, he quickly wound the wet leather lacings around the shaft of the lance and the knife handle. Faster and faster, tighter and tighter; he wound the lacings until he doubled over the end into the final coil.

“ Tes ‘A, a’loqua heta ‘slo day na’”

With a nod of his head, Tes Qua held the wet lashings over the heat of the glowing coals while Tyoga collected more wood and pinecones for fuel. The pitted blade gleamed in the amber glow of the rising heat. As the leather dried, the thongs constricted and the knife melded to the shaft of the hickory pole like it was one.

“Tes Qua, lean back against the rocks and keep the fire burning. Throw anything that’ll burn into the pit when you see the flames dyin’ down.”

Tyoga stood up, put his hand on his hips and surveyed the campsite. Staring off into the darkness he lowered his voice. “Tes Qua, we’ve got to make ‘em think that there are more than two of us here. If we make a lot of noise it may confuse them enough to give us at least a fighting chance. It’s all we got. Get ready.”

A lone wolf howled from the ridge over the rise across the stream from the boys’ prison-camp. There was no immediate answer to the call, only the gentle chirp of crickets and lonely call of night birds as the haunting invitation drifted away to the east. Several minutes passed before a reply resonated from the copse directly behind the two young men. It was a long, beckoning howl. Plaintive, yet resolute. The hair on the boys’ arms raised in attentive acknowledgement of the message somehow deeply understood yet bewilderingly elusive. Again, there was no immediate response to the cry. Several minutes passed before a new voice echoed in solilioquy. This cry was in the adjoining valley to the left, past the trout pond and beyond Clingham’s Dome.

“They’ve split up. Why? What are they doing?” Tyoga thought out loud.

“Ty, if they come at us from all directions we’re finished.”

“I know. But they won’t. ‘Least ways I don’t think that’s what they’re doin’.”

“Well, what are they doing? Why don’t they just come and get it over with? Kill us and get it over with,” Tes Qua said with a hint of desperation in his voice.

“’Cause it’s more ‘n that, Tes’A. It’s me and the silver back. There’s more ‘n that, between him and me.”

“What are you talking about, Ty. You’re talking crazy.” Inquisitive folds furrowed Tes Qua’s brow. He had grown to understand that Tyoga’s understanding of the natural world was experienced in foreign ways. As if to reassure himself that Tyoga’s declaration was nothing more than a passing comment, he reiterated, “It’s just a killer wolf wants to eat you for supper, that’s all, nothing more. What are you talking about?”

Tyoga’s response confirmed his fear that he was tuned into a reality beyond that which he was capable of understanding. “Don’t know yet, Tes. Can’t explain exactly. Somethin’ in his eyes when he looked at me. Something he knows that he wants to see if I’m worthy of knowin’ too.”

“You’re crazy, Tyoga! Loco. It’s a hungry wolf—wants to eat you s’all.”

Tyoga turned and looked hard into Tes Qua’s dark eyes.

“No, Tes Qua’,” he said with firm conviction. “There’s more.”

The forest became deathly quiet. Not a sound. No breeze. No movement at all.

“Quiet now,” Tyoga whispered. “Here they come.”

A magnificent beast appeared beyond the glow of the firelight. Head down. Burning yellow eyes pierced the darkness while looking beyond and through Tyoga. They burned deep into his soul.

He approached slowly, cautiously. He was stalking the boys as if they were unable to see him even though the wolf was completely vulnerable out in the open. As if following the command of hidden generals—there by order not by choice—he slowly picked up his left forepaw and allowed it to hover in mid-air before floating it silently into the dusky loam of the forest floor. He froze for an instant before doing the same with his right. His rear legs and haunches were slightly bent as if approaching a buffalo through the tall prairie grass. Fearful. Tentative. Resolute.