The Legend of Tyoga Weathersby (9 page)

Tyoga rubbed the sleep from his eyes and checked on Tes Qua. He was shivering with fever and dripping with sweat. Seeing that he had succumbed to fatigue near a stream, he pulled some clean maple leaves from low lying branches, soaked them in the water, and touched the wet leaves to Tes Qua’s dry, cracked lips. He did not awaken to drink.

As soon as he noticed the sudden quiet, Tyoga dropped to his stomach beside his friend. The birds had stopped their morning chatter and the only sound was the rustling of the breeze through the pines. Off in the distance, he heard what he thought was the sound of human voices over the rise. He remained perfectly still.

As the voices grew fainter, the terror that numbed his hands at the realization that someone was headed their way was replaced with the terrifying thought that maybe they weren’t. He had to know. With the effort that it takes to move toward the unknown, he gathered himself and began moving quickly and quietly through the underbrush. Staring into the distance toward the voices, he instinctively placed his bare feet on the mossy patches on the north side of the trees to keep from alerting the party to his presence. He would only have seconds to decide whether it was help or harm that was on the other side of the hill.

He listened.

He couldn’t hear the voices any more.

As he got to the top of the ridge, he caught a glimpse of four or five men rounding a bend that looped down to the stream on the other side. He could tell by their gait and the confidence with which they moved that they were seasoned warriors, but he was too far away to distinguish the tribe or village of their origin.

Fear of being left alone with his dying friend overwhelmed reason.

Standing on tiptoe on the very crest of the ridge he shouted out as loudly as he could, “O-si-yo!”
(Help!)

The men stopped.

Jumping up on a hickory stump, he shouted again. This time he heard them crash through the brush as they ran towards him.

Falling to his knees atop the stump, he repeated in a failing voice, “O-si-yo.”

He didn’t care who they were or from what village or tribe they hailed.

He was spent. His spirit was exhausted.

Sitting back on his haunches, he said again, “O-si-yo.”

When the men got to his side, they found Tyoga sitting with his eyes closed, shoulders slumped, head bowed and his raw swoolen hands, palms up, resting on his thighs whispering, “O-si-yo.”

Without a word, one of the braves folded the shaking Tyoga in his arms while the others rushed to where Tes Qua lay next to the stream in the gultch below.

He felt a strong thick palm caress his cheek and looked up into the kind gentle face of Yo-nev ga-do-ga (Standing Bear) the medicine man.

They were saved.

Chapter 9

Recovery

T
es Qua slipped in and out of consciousness for days. The medicine man had cured animal bites and skin rashes; lanced boils and set broken bones. He had treated braves returning from battle by cutting arrowheads from organs and limbs, binding open wounds, treating the fevers that frequently followed infection and illness. Never before had Yo-nev ga-do-ga’s skills been so ardently tested.

He administered willow bark and Yarrow tea to battle Tes Qua’s fever while his body fought the infection from the bear trap wounds and the bites inflicted by the wolves. He managed Tes ‘A’s pain with a bittersweet herbal tea that acted as a powerful sedative. A salve of hog lard mixed with greenbrier leaves and bark controlled the bleeding.

After several days it became apparent that the mangled ankle and broken leg, which included torn sinews and slashed tendons, were beyond the means of a Native American medicine man. Yo-nev ga-do-ga knew that he would have to rely upon the white mans’ medicine to repair Tes Qua’s injured leg. He asked Ani-gilo-hi (Hair Hanging Down) to go for Tyoga’s mother, Emma.

Tyoga’s grandmother, Rebecca Weathersby, was the daughter of Jacob Entwhistle, a reknown physician in Chenowith on Moor in Southern England. Rebecca had grown up watching her father tend to the ill and seriously injured. She brought with her to the New World herbal remedies, bleeding instruments, and the necessities to fight inflection and close wounds with needle and thread—a concept foreign to Native Americans. In her time, she had been known throughout the region for her medical knowledge and skills. Rebecca had been midwife, dentist, herbalist and bone setter for the settlers and tribes that dotted the Appalachians. She had taught her daughter-in-law, Emma, everything that she knew about the healing arts.

Emma was more than willing to come to the Ani-Unwiya village to tend to the injuries of her son’s Indian brother. She reattached torn tendons, repaired severed muscles, and stitched torn skin. The wound was dressed with linen binding wrapped around hickory splints to stabilize the damaged joint. The rest was up to Tes Qua and E-do-da (God).

While the worry surrounding Tes Qua’s recovery was palpable throughout the village, the talk around the lodge fires in the evening when the elders passed the pipe was of the battle young Tyoga had waged with the leader of the Runion pack. Although Tyoga did not share the events of that night with anyone but Sunlei, Tes Qua told his father and the other elders about the savage encounter. The People spoke in hushed reverent tones about the magic that had infused their white brother’s soul. They could see how the spirit-life he now shared with Wahaya-Wacon
(the spirit-wolf, the great-wolf, a descriptor that confers a spritual component to greatness)
had transformed him.

Since the battle on the ridge, Tyoga began to see the world through the eyes of an observer—at once engaged, but oddly apart. He experienced the natural world not in terms of sight and sound, but rather in the context of time, space and dimension. Those around him revealed themselves not in the actions observed by others, but in the subtlety of expression, carriage and gait. Deception betrayed by texture, tone, and scent, honesty revealed by sincerity of eye and crease of brow. People revealed themselves in myriad ways, unknown even unto themselves— and he wondered why others couldn’t see.

Days went by while Tes Qua fought for his life. Tyoga and Sunlei never left his side. By day, they tended to his needs and bodily functions. By night, they slept by his side bathed in the warmth of the fire and confident in the gentle ease of lying in each other’s arms.

“Ty, et ta yaheh?”
(Are you asleep?)
While Sunlei spoke English well, she and Ty always spoke in Tsalagie when they were by themselves.

Tyoga opened his eyes and saw that Sunlei was snuggled so close to him that her forehead nearly touched his lips. The warmth from her body radiated through the collar of her doeskin tunic, carrying the sweet scent of cinnamon and sandlewood. The fire flickered silently in the center of the lodge and the crickets and tree frogs filled the night air with a reassuring stuccato sizzle.

Tyoga inhaled deeply and replied, “No. I’m awake.”

Sunlei wiggled closer to Tyoga and he draped his right arm around her. They breathed in unison for a long while.

Sunlei whispered, “Ty, do you think that my brother be all right?”

He didn’t answer right away. He thought back to that night and the horrific battle that both of them had been through. He was amazed that Tes Qua had survived at all. He propped himself up on his left elbow and turned his head toward Tes Qua.

“Tes is strong,” Tyoga replied. “You should have seen him fight the wolves, Sunlei. Even with his leg still caught in the trap, he saved my life with a toss of a tomahawk. He’s strong and he’ll never give up.”

While reassured by his words, Sunlei knew Tyoga so well that she was certain that he wasn’t saying what was really on his mind. She let it go. He would tell her when he was ready.

“Ty,” she began in that halting voice that indicates reticence to continue, “the People say that you defeated the wolf pack because the great spirits willed it to be so. They say that you now have strong medicine and will be a great man someday.”

Tyoga got up and threw some ceder onto the fire. The flames sent shadows dancing up the walls of the lodge, and illuminated Sunlei’s face in the richness of a pastel amber glow. He sat down cross-legged on the floor in front of the fire and stared into the flames. He remained silent for a long time.

He finally replied. “At first, I thought that we survived that night because it wasn’t our time. But now I know that there was something more to it.” He paused to choose his words carefully. “Sunlei, I’ve watched wolves hunt plenty of times. They hunt as a pack. They work together to corner their prey. They stalk together and think the hunt through. They know where each member of the pack is supposed to be and they kill all at once with every wolf taking part. The Runion pack could have done that to us—but they didn’t. The two wolves we killed would have killed us for sure if we hadn’t killed them first. But I think that the big one—the leader—sent them in to test us. Two more were coming in to get us—but the big one called them off. Then, he came at me alone.”

She joined him by the fire. Standing next to him, she brushed his hair from his eyes, sat down, and leaned her head against his shoulder. The flames danced in the inky blackness of her beautiful dark eyes. She placed her hand on his thigh, when Tyoga began to speak again.

“He never even looked at your brother. He never took his eyes off of me. When I looked into his eyes as he was moving toward me I thought they were filled with hate. I don’t think so now. He didn’t want to kill me at all. It was like he was testing me.”

Sunlei lifted her head from his arm and looked up at him while he continued to stare into the flames. “Testing you? That doesn’t make any sense, Ty. He’s just a wolf.”

“Is he?” Tyoga asked

He stood up and walked over to some sweet basil hanging on the wall. He pinched off a tiny stalk of the dried herb and crushed it in his hand. Bringing his palm to his nose he closed his eyes and inhaled its pungent summertime fragrance. He smiled at the memories it triggered.

He remembered that day on Carter’s Rock when he stood with his papa and the secret was revealed in the blinding light of the new dawn. Since that day, that very moment, he had experienced the wonder of the promise in a thousand different ways. The whispers of the dawn, the silence of the sunset and the dizzying array of indulgence introduced in between.

He hadn’t really understood how the revelations of the promise would change his life—but the truths revealed to him on that day so long ago were codified in the life and death drama that played out on the plateau that dark and dangerous night. The baptismal journey through the night to save Tes Qua’s life while repeatedly falling to his knees only to rise again and carry on, and his Ani Unwiya brother’s remarkable recovery all made sense somehow. How could he explain it to Sunlei in a way that she could understand?

Turning toward Sunlei, who lay with her eyes closed, curled up next to the fire on the soft bear hide, he smiled at the changes that had taken place in his childhood playmate. While her physical beauty was apparent to all as adolescence chiseled away the pudginess of childhood, it was the ethereal beauty of her gentle face that was slowly transforming her into an astonishing young woman. There was a mystic quality of joyous independence that oozed from the depths of her boundless black eyes. She radiated a oneness with the universe that was born in the wisdom of acceptance far beyond her years. She too was part—but separate. She mattered—but sought no recognition. She followed—and led from behind.

That Tyoga and Sunlei were meant to be together was an accepted destiny as incontrovertible as summer following spring and the eagle owning the sky. The friendship they had shared from their earliest years did not need the bridge of puppy love to blossom into commitment and devotion. The connection between them was so strong, that even when separated by the length of a lodge, that they were together was evident to all. Their eyes would lock in an impassioned embrace that silenced the world around them while asserting their oneness in a communion that transcended words. With no regard to distance or time, their spirits were now and forever as one.

When Tyoga sat down next to her, she opened her eyes. He lay back, propped himself up on an elbow and continued, “When he first charged me, Sunlie, he didn’t go for my throat like the others. He knocked me to the ground. He grabbed me by my leg when he could have grabbed me by the throat and killed me. When he had me clamped in his jaws, he dragged me towards the fire and Tes’A. The pack was in the same direction. He could have called them in for the kill at any moment, but he didn’t.”

“Why, Tyoga?” Sunlei asked. “Why do you think he did that?”

“I don’t know.” He brought the crushed basil in the palm of his hand to his nose.

“I don’t understand why.”

They both fell silent. The sounds of the night filled the lodge. Sunlei tried to comprehend what Tyoga was trying to tell her. She understood the words, but struggled to make sense of their meaning. She knew that she was lying next to a young man who would one day leave an indelible mark upon his adopted people. She hoped that the lore that would follow him into eternity was one of which she and their children would be proud.

The gifts he had been given would orchestrate the rhythms of his life and one day reconcile the man he was to become and the journey that he was destined to take. The day would come when he would walk alone, and in that aloneness, his path would be different and unique. He recognized that the difference he would have to endure was both the gift and the curse of the promise.

“Tes’A says that you defeated the leader, but you didn’t kill him,” Sunlie said with her eyes heavy with sleep. “Why did you not kill him when you had the chance? Why did you allow him to live?”

“It wasn’t I who allowed him to live. It was he who spared my life.”

“I don’t understand,” Sunlei whispered as she fell asleep with her head on his shoulder.

“Neither do I,” he sighed to the flames. “Neither do I.”

Chapter 10