The Legend of Tyoga Weathersby (6 page)

Tyoga clutched his newly fashioned weapon in both hands and prepared to plunge it deep into the wolf’s back. He fought the urge to throw the spear at the wolf and stop him in his tracks before he was close enough to pierce with hand-held lunge. He couldn’t risk throwing the spear. To miss would mean certain death.

The wolf’s approach became more deliberate and determined. Tyoga could see the fleshy ribbon-like black lips framing the deep blood red of his gums and tongue. The three-inch incisors were bared by the demonic snarl. A pasty thick saliva drooled from his mouth and dripped to the ground. The rumble resonating from deep within the cavity of the wolf’s barrel chest grew in intensity and pitch.

The stalk was over.

Tyoga had to do something to take control of the impending attack. If he couldn’t regulate the ferocity of the charge, perhaps he could control the timing. With a stomp of his foot and a scream like an eagle, he triggered the charge.

The wolf took two lightening quick steps and leaped for Tyoga’s throat. Tyoga and Tes Qua responded with horrifying screams when the beast’s massive body left the ground. The treacherous jaws were open wide and the wolf’s aim was true. Tyoga’s throat was but inches away when he stepped backwards, planted the shaft of the spear against the ground, and heard the woosh of air as the knife blade plunged deep into the wolf’s heaving chest. Caught at the apex of his six-foot leap, the wolf’s one-hundred-and-fifty pounds slithered along the shaft of Tyoga’s spear until the blade reappeared through the muscle and flesh of his back. With a pathetic cry, the deed was done. The magnificent hulk lay lifeless at Tyoga’s feet. He grasped the handle of the old trapper’s knife, its pitted blade dripping red with the blood of the beast. He placed his foot on the warm, lifeless body, and pulled the shaft of the spear free with a forceful tug.

Tyoga and TesQua’s eyes met briefly before a second wolf appeared from the shadows. This one was smaller than the first. Quicker. Less tentative. Less fearful. Dispensing with the stalk, the wolf took two bold lunging strides and catapulted himself into the air towards Tyoga’s chest. The wolf was fast, but Tyoga was faster. With a lightening quick juke to the left, the wolf missed his mark and flew past Tyoga. Pivoting to his right, and bringing all his weight to bear on the shaft of the spear, he thrust the weapon through the wolf’s shoulder blade even before he landed on the ground. Keeping a firm grip on the lance he followed through with all of his body weight until he felt the knife blade pierce the wolf’s chest wall and sink into the soft ground.

Before he could remove the lance and turn, the next warriors were creeping from the shadows. This time there were two.

Tyoga faced the beasts with no weapon in hand. Surveying the ground at his feet, he picked up a rock and plucked a partially burning pine bough from the dying fire. The two wolves extended their muscular necks, dropped their heads, and began their menacing approach. They didn’t step in tandem, but each silently stepped forward after the other had made its move. This hunting technique broke the prey’s concentration by dividing its attention between the two advancing animals. Though no more than a fraction of a second, the diversion was all that a pair of stalking wolves needed to make the kill.

Tyoga backed away while not diverting his gaze from animal to animal, but staring directly between the two advancing wolves. Their pace quickened.

Unexpectedly, the wolves stopped their advance. They raised their heads and cocked their ears while listening to a sound not yet detected by the boys. When the piercing cry of the Commander’s howl was audible to Tes Qua and Tyoga, the wolves had already disappeared into the cover of the thick underbrush.

A second howl filled the night air with icy contempt. There was no mistaking the audible signature of unquestioned authority that was the Commander’s voice. The order had been given to retreat. Despite the easy prey at hand and the gnawing hunger in their bellies, the pack was subject to his absolute authority. He ruled his domain with the majesty of a conquering warlord. His justice was meted out with cruel indifference. With no deference to sex or age, to challenge his authority was to invite a swift and slashing death by lethal white fangs and savage raw fury. The pack obeyed.

Tyoga looked at Tes Qua. As if in slow motion he bent his knees and whirled around to scan the underbrush. His ears piqued to determine the direction from which the cry had come. He absently dropped the stone from his right hand, and placed the smoking bough back into the fire pit. It burst into flame and light danced off of the huge trunks of the surrounding pines.

“This ain’t right, Tes’a. Somethin’ ain’t right.” Tyoga removed the spear from the lifeless body of the beast that had only moments before lusted for the taste of his flesh.

“Why did the other wolves leave, Ty? Why did they up and go?”

“Don’t know, Tes’a. Shhhhhhhhhhhh. Somethin’ ain’t right.”

The boys were quiet. In the silence, they could discern the flowing of their blood through their veins, the pounding of their hearts, and the rivulets of sweat soaking their quaking frames.

Tes Qua looked around the campsite. The fire was slowly dying. He looked up at his friend and said in a slow measured, commanding voice, “Tyoga. Run. Leave me here and run away. I’m gonna die anyway. Run, dithili. Save yourself. Run as fast and as far as you can.”

“Seysha! Seysha, TesA, Nay ya ho!” Tyoga barked back. “That’s exactly what they want me to do. They want us to separate. Alone we don’t have a chance. Together we can make a stand.” He took a deep breath, stood up tall and strong and said, “We walk out of here together or not at all. That’s just the way it is, Tes.”

Tyoga could sense that the Commander was near. He was coming for him. He would not sacrifice others of his pack to Tyoga’s cunning and speed. He would do the deed himself.

The boys smelled his musky coat before they heard him make a sound. The rustling of the underbrush was his only betrayer.

Tes Qua said in a hushed voice, “Behind you, Ty. He’s behind you.”

“I know,” he responded in a near whisper. “Stay quiet and low. Git as low in the rocks as you can.”

Tyoga looked up towards the stars and inhaled the clean night air.

“If he kills me, Tes’a …”

“I know. I know.”

Chapter 6

The Exchange

G
lowing amber eyes filled the darkness all around the boys’ campsite.

From the south, two of the Commander’s foot soldiers paced on the other side of the big rock against which Tes Qua was leaning. The rustling in the underbrush to the north signaled the presence of other members of the pack. The ravine and the feeder stream the boys had been following on their way to the trout pond was in front of them, to the west, and about forty-five feet down a steep rampart. A hundred yards downstream was Blackwater Falls, a 200-foot step in the gorge that had pounded the rocks below for all of time.

Tyoga looked at the lay of the land and knew what was happening. Wolves are pack animals. Not only do they rely upon the safety in numbers for physical protection in times of territorial confrontation with rival packs, but their prowess as a living, thinking hunting machine was so sophisticated that it served as the model after which humankind fashioned their own hunting strategy. The wolves were boxing them in by using the environment as their tool.

Cunningly, the boys had been cut off from any possible retreat.

Like an apparition forged from the vacuous shadows that bridge the light to the dark, the Commander materialized from the darkness. His eyes were filled with a dispassionate resolve that projected an odd separation from the outcome of the impending confrontation and the decisive role he was to play in it. With a weary determination, he advanced toward Tyoga.

Tyoga watched as the Commander’s eyes lowered ever so slowly toward the ground. He saw the wolf extend and tighten his huge neck muscles and assume the aggressive stance of a mighty stalker before downing a two-ton buffalo or fending off the slashing antlers of a bull elk. Sure of the outcome of the battle to come, he didn’t slow his pace like the others had before him. There was no need for stealth or hesitation. He would kill the smelly hairless creature before him, not only because he had killed members of his family, but because if he could not, then the legend would go on to proclaim that Tyoga Weathersby was the one.

Tyoga backed away. The ball of his foot touching feather soft upon the pine covered loam. First the left foot. Then the right. He did not take his eyes off of the Commander. He was sure that the others were not invited to this dual.

“A ho ya, Ty.”

Tyoga did not reply to Tes Qua’s admonition to stop backing away. Although he hadn’t heard the words, the message had registered. He slowed his retreat, and prepared to stand his ground. He would live—or die—on this spot. Neither was true.

The Commander slowed his pace. Each massive paw hesitated in mid air before being carefully, thoughtfully placed in advance of the other. Unblinking, his eyes burned with a lustful hatred. The deep resonating rumble of contempt echoing from the barrel chest of the beast changed to a more aggressive pitch; shallower, more deliberate, ready to attack. Tyoga sensed that the charge was only seconds away.

He tightened his grip on the shaft of his makeshift spear, planted his left foot against a protruding root, bent slightly at the waist and waited. He was covered in the sweat and dirt and blood of both man and beast. The braids of his long sandy hair had long since fallen into disarray. Wet matted strands clung to his brow and fell about his shoulders and back. His breathing was fast and shallow. He fought to stay focused and calm.

Everything in him told him to run. This was a fight that he could not win. He could run a few hundred yards downstream, leap from the falls, and swim free from this nightmare. How joyous would be the embrace of the cool, dark, mountain water filled with the sweet tannins that gave Black Water Falls its name as it washed the sweat and blood from his tired, aching body. How wonderful it would feel to gulp mouthfuls of cold, sweet mountain water. He could feel the bubbles lifting him to the surface, and see the acrid tan of the water break into the joyous clarity of the crisp night air as he was lifted free … lifted free …

The strike was lightening fast. Sensing that Tyoga had lost his concentration, the Commander struck with savagery. He did not leap into the air and aim at Tyoga’s throat as he had expected and prepared himself for, but the full force of his charge was focused at Tyoga’s knees only inches below the knife blade of the makeshift spear. All two hundred pounds of the beast slammed into the boy to knock him flat on his back to the ground.

Tes Qua watched in horror as the makeshift spear went flying from Tyoga’s hands and into the underbrush beyond the light of the dwindling fire. In the blink of an eye, the wolf pivoted and embedded his fangs deep into Tyoga’s right thigh. Before Tyoga had time to realize what had happened, before he even realized that his spear had flown from his hands, the massive beast was dragging him by his thigh towards the fire and Tes Qua.

Flexing his abdominal muscles to keep upright, Tyoga threw his arms behind him to cling to the dirt in order to slow the death drag toward the fire, Tes Qua, and the rest of the pack lurking in the shadows. He felt his fingernails bend to the quick and break while he frantically searched for anything within his grasp that he could use as a weapon. The beast’s massive head was within striking distance of his right hand, but he would not relinquish the purchase of soil that was slowing the horrifying cortege to strike at the wolf. Instead, with their eyes locked in an embrace that would not relent, he kicked at the head of the dog with his left foot.

Intent on the kill, the wolf was not making a sound. He was drooling uncontrollably and Tyoga felt his face being slathered with the thick pungent mucous with each kick.

The death drag continued towards the fire and Tes Qua.

Through the din that was most assuredly his dirge, Tyoga began to make out the cries of his companion.

The legend does not say what he was screaming. But when Tes Qua came into view, as if in a dream, Tyoga could see that in his cocked right hand was the glistening blade of the obsidian tomahawk.

“Closer, Ty. Let him drag you closer. Don’t stop him. Don’t stop him.”

Just as Ty relinquished his rake-like grasp of the forest floor, he felt the outline and weight of a jagged granite stone. He secured it in his right hand, and let the procession proceed.

The wolf had taken only three more steps when Tyoga heard the whirl of the spinning tomahawk. As he saw its flight he lifted the stone and pounded it down as hard as he could upon the head of the deadly beast.

The weapons hit simultaneously.

With a chilling, human-like scream of pain, the wolf released his grip on Tyoga’s thigh.

The tomahawk had hit the Commander hard in his left haunch. While its flight was true, its edge was not; but the sting of the impact left its mark. The crushing blow to the wolf’s head had been even more exacting and the wolf spun twice to nuzzle his thigh and shake the pain from his brow.

“Tes Qua’. The fire. Git the fire goin’. Quick.”

“Ty,” Tes Qua shouted. “Your leg.”

Tyoga looked down at his leg. The fangs had torn flesh and muscle, but the puncture wounds had not incised any major vessels. The wounds were not bleeding badly. “It’s okay, Tes. Ain’t bad. Tend the fire. Quick. My spear. Can’t see the spear, Tes. Did ya see where it went, ‘ta?”

“No time, Ty. He’s coming again’.”

Tyoga did not have the time nor strength to get to his feet. Like a crab scurrying to safety, he shuffled backwards towards the ledge while searching with hands and feet for anything to use as a weapon. When the wolf launched a crazed final charge, his hand felt the handle of the tomahawk. With a powerful swing of the weapon, he stemmed the horrific charge with a cutting blow to the wolf’s left foreleg. He heard the sickening thud and muffled crack of bone as the weapon found its mark. With a wimpering scream of indignation, the wolf backed away while limping toward the shadows beyond the fire’s glow.