The Gathering

by Sharon Sala

  Tyhen wasn’t the only one looking at how he had been laid out. Dakotah was remembering him as he’d been when Aaron dragged him back into the lodge and was most grateful for the fact both of his eyes were closed and that he was going to the Great Spirit with a warm buffalo robe.

  The warriors cautiously side-stepped the chief’s woman as they picked up the ends of the buffalo robe to carry body to the grave.

  In the distance drums began to beat, and then a singer from the tribe began singing the death song, letting the Old Ones know that a warrior called Rabbit Runs was walking the path to the Great Spirit.

  Dakotah was holding his breath, watching everything Chief Small Foot was doing, taking in every tiny detail of how they placed the body, how they straightened out the robe and then covered the body with a deerskin before they began to bury him. He heard the words the chief was saying and then glanced at the chief’s wife. She had been crying yesterday when he’d spoken to her and she was crying now. He wondered if she had ever stopped.

  Even though he knew the old man was dead, when the first handfuls of dirt they tossed in hit the deerskin with a thump it made him jump. After that, all he could think about was that Rabbit Runs could not breathe with dirt in his face, but they kept throwing in dirt until it was mounded over the body.

  Little Wren was still crying when the chief waved the warriors out of the lodge. There was a brief moment as they left when Dakotah believed Chief Small Foot had forgotten his promise. Dakotah was trying not to cry when the chief suddenly turned and pointed at him.

  “The drummers are still drumming. The singer is still singing the death song. It is time now for you. Tell the Old Ones that two more will be walking the path. Say their names aloud. Say them twice. Once so the spirits of your parents will hear your voice and know where to go, and once so the Great Spirit will know that they come.”

  Dakotah stepped forward, standing just outside the circle where the cooking fire had been, and looked up through the smoke hole to the small circle of sky and shouted.

  “Michael Chavez! This is your son, Dakotah! Hear the drums! Hear the death song! They are singing it for you.”

  Tyhen’s heart skipped a beat. The look on the little boy’s face broke her heart.

  Dakotah took a deep breath and then continued, speaking loudly as he’d been instructed to do.

  “Julie Chavez. This is your son, Dakotah. Hear the drums! Hear the death song! They are singing it for you.”

  Tyhen was so moved it hurt to breathe. Until now she had not known he had been saddened that they had left his parents among the rocks in the landslide, but she felt it now, and it was so strong within her heart she wondered if this was what it felt like to die.

  Tears were rolling down Dakotah’s face, but he didn’t falter as he loudly repeated the message—this time to the Old Ones.

  “Michael Chavez is walking the path. I ask the Old Ones to show him the way to the Great Spirit.”

  His voice quavered, and for a second Tyhen thought he was going to break down. Instead, he lifted his chin and spoke louder.

  “Julie Chavez is walking the path. I ask the Old Ones to show her the way to the Great Spirit.”

  He was soldier straight and stoic as he looked at Chief Small Foot for confirmation that he’d said everything right.

  The chief nodded.

  “It is done,” he said. “You are a good son. Their spirits are no longer lost. They are on their way home.”

  Dakotah nodded, then it seemed as if all the air left his body. His shoulders slumped as he turned and instead of walking to Lola, he went straight to Tyhen and wrapped his arms around her, his cheek resting just beneath her breasts.

  Tyhen was in shock. She couldn’t look at Lola for fear she would see disappointment on her face. Today was for Dakotah and what he needed, so she held him without moving until the chief led the way out of the lodge and walked back to their lodge with his wife at his side.

  Outside, the sun was still shining and the glare on the snow was still blinding, but the symbolism of walking from a dark tipi into light was not lost on any of them.

  Dakotah looked up at Tyhen and then put a hand on her belly.

  “The baby cried for me,” he said softly, and then fell into line behind Aaron and Lola as they followed the trail back to White Hawk’s lodge.

  Tyhen ran a hand over her belly as she watched him walking away, then turned as she felt Yuma’s arm on the back of her arm.

  “Did you hear what he said to me?”

  “No.”

  “He said the baby cried for him.”

  Yuma put his hand on top of hers.

  “He means our baby?” he asked.

  She nodded. “He laid his head against me. I thought it was for me to comfort him, but he was listening to her. How is he so connected to her when I am not? Why can’t I hear her yet? I don’t understand this.”

  Yuma cupped her face.

  “They are as we were—as we are now. Is it not true that we are complete only when we are together?”

  Her expression shifted from envy to understanding.

  “Yes.”

  “From the time you were small, you sought only my company. You trailed after me and not your mother or Cayetano.”

  Her shoulders slumped.

  “My mother must surely have felt abandoned.”

  “She understood the need for our bond, and she had Cayetano, just like now you have me. The baby will need Dakotah in the years to come.”

  “I know this is so. I didn’t think,” she muttered.

  “So, that is in the future. Now it is time to go back to Willow’s lodge. It is too cold out here.”

  He led the way back, walking single-file and following the path they made when they came.

  Tyhen was concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other in the narrow trail when she heard Evan’s voice.

  A chinook will come. The snow will be gone by morning.

  She stopped.

  “Yuma, what is a Chinook?”

  He turned around.

  “It is a warm wind. Why do you ask?”

  “Evan said one will come tonight and in the morning the snow will be gone.”

  He squinted against the glare of the snow and thought about the fire in Willow’s lodge.

  “Good. The sooner we can get south of this place the better. I don’t know how the seasons are at this time in this world, but in our time, south meant warm.”

  Tyhen smiled.

  “I like warm.”

  He laughed.

  “No cold and frozen for you, little whirlwind. You might be the Windwalker’s daughter, but you have Cayetano’s love of the Mayan jungle in your blood.”

  ***

  The wind came before sundown, expressing displeasure at the snow blanketing the land by blowing all night at a steady blast.

  The Cherokee fell asleep to the sound of dripping water and woke up in a meadow full of mud. Breaking camp was not only messy but slow. When Chief Small Foot finally gave the signal to resume their march it was with no small sense of relief.

  But as they moved forward, they shared a single thought—the early snow had been but a warning of how short their time before the real winter set in. They walked with haste, intent to be back in their villages before the endless nights of cold turned their world inward like a bear in its den.

  As the last of them were moving over a rise in the land, one of them stopped to look back.

  He saw the prairie of long grass, broken from the weight of the snow, and the large swath of blackened land in the middle of the forest—and one lone tipi that had been left standing—the one belonging to the warrior called Rabbit Runs who was, like the Cherokee moving East, already gone.

  ***

  Four days later:

  It was nearing mid
day when Chief Small Foot suddenly called a halt. A scout he’d sent ahead earlier that morning was coming back through the trees and brush on the run.

  The chief walked a distance away from the others, frowning as he went.

  “What news do you bring?” he asked, as the scout came to a halt.

  “There is a dead man ahead. He wears the clothing of the strangers who came to the Gathering to make us sick. Some of the bones are not there because his body was left unprepared.”

  Small Foot frowned. It was obvious the scout feared a lingering spirit and he knew if this wasn’t handled properly, every bad thing that happened from here to their village would be blamed on the angry spirit of the man’s dishonored body.

  His tribal medicine man had died on the trip to the Gathering. There were other probably other medicine men within the other clans on this march, but he didn’t know them and without one to make strong medicine for protection, they had no one to chase away bad spirits. Then he thought of the Dove and her brothers who were said to be shamans. He was about to send a runner back through the People to bring them forward when they walked out of the waiting crowd around him.

  He grunted in surprise as they approached.

  “How do you come before I have even sent for you?” he asked.

  Tyhen waved to the men standing on either side of her.

  “My brothers knew your needs and heard your thoughts. What must we do?”

  Chief Small Foot couldn’t decide whether to be upset that they had heard his thoughts, or grateful they were there to help. He settled for the help and began to explain.

  “The strangers you chased away from the Gathering have also run away from their duties. One of them died. His body is a distance ahead and they did not honor his body with a burial. My scout tells me the body has been disturbed and some of his bones are not there. If we walk past him without respecting the dead, I do not want my people to think we have dishonored this man. It will not be good for them to believe they could be cursed.”

  Tyhen looked at her brothers.

  “What do we do?”

  Adam’s immediate thought was how to satisfy their beliefs, rather than try to explain it would not matter, and so he was the first to speak.

  “Since the Cherokee believe a body must be whole before it is buried, burying the body as it was discovered will not relieve their worries,” he said.

  She frowned.

  “Then what do we do? Surely you do not mean for us to look for the lost bones? What if they were eaten or dragged away long distances?”

  When Evan’s eyes narrowed, she knew he was seeing not only the problem, but the solution.

  “Cover the bones with rocks so that the animals cannot scatter them further. Tell them that will keep the spirit satisfied and in place, and we can pass without fear of it attaching itself to us in any way.”

  Adam quickly added.

  “We stop here so that each one can find a rock. They are to get one as big as they can carry with ease, and then we will march. As we pass the bones, each one will lay their rock upon the bones until all are covered and we have passed without harm.

  Chief Small Foot was pleased and it showed.

  “I will tell them,” Tyhen said, as her brothers disappeared back into the crowd.

  When the chief nodded his approval, she took to the sky to deliver the message.

  Within moments people were scattering in all directions to search for such a rock to suit their needs as Tyhen landed beside Yuma, who had already been told a body had been found.

  “Is it one of the soldiers?”

  She nodded.

  “Are they still contagious? Would touching their bones cause any sickness?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I do not think so because it was the twins who devised this plan.”

  “Then it is good. Our things are with Willow. I told her to stay here and I will bring a rock for her.”

  She glanced at the old woman who was sitting motionless with her eyes closed.

  “She is very tired,” Tyhen said.

  “She is old and the trip to the Gathering was difficult for her. Going home is going to be worse because of the cold. So we should go rock hunting.”

  “I saw a rocky outcrop from above.”

  “Show me,” he said, and she did.

  ***

  The body was in a clearing near the banks of a dry creek. The entire tribe was apprehensive about walking up on the body until they saw it. The soldier had been frightening sitting high on the animal that ran so fast. He was not frightening anymore. The thing he had worn on his head was askew on the skull. Most of the flesh was gone and the clothing had been torn away, obviously by animals. Parts of both legs were missing. His boots were a short distance away with the feet still inside them.

  Now that their fear was gone, they began covering the boots, then an arm lying a short distance from the boots, and then the body. They did not toss their rocks, but bent down and placed them gently, taking care not to dislodge what was left of the Spanish soldier’s bones.

  About halfway through their passing one of the singers began singing the death song, telling the Old Ones that a stranger’s spirit was lost in this land and to help him find his way.

  The hair rose on the back of Yuma’s neck as the song sank into his bones. He had witnessed Dakotah’s ritual with an ache in his heart, reminded all too vividly of his own father’s death at the Navajo reservation while waiting for Firewalker.

  The drummers had drummed for his father. The singers had sung the death song for him, and then they had buried him beside their truck and Yuma remembered almost nothing of the ceremony—only that he had awakened the next day on top of his father’s grave. All he remembered after that were hours of fear, the scorching heat and then being in the canyon with the others, running for their lives with Layla Birdsong in the lead.

  His muse was interrupted when Tyhen paused beside him to place her rock upon the corpse. He laid his rock beside hers and then looked behind them to make sure Willow was still following. The old woman paused only long enough to place her stone and quickly fell into step. The warrior beside her was dragging her belongings, as was their habit. When the Cherokee traveled long distances, they took down their lodges, and using the lodge poles and the coverings as a kind of sled, they tied on everything else they would need and dragged them behind them.

  All he knew was that the fierce-faced warrior pulling Willow’s belongings was a family member, and only one of thousands traveling the same way.

  Satisfied that Willow was holding up, Yuma turned around.

  “Is everything okay?” Tyhen asked.

  He nodded. “I think water is ahead. Are you thirsty? We can fill our water pouches.”

  She frowned. “I should go see. I can fly more easily than Chief Small Foot’s scouts can run.”

  Before Yuma could answer he saw her expression go still.

  It was Evan’s voice was in her ear.

  Adam is walking with the Chief. He already told him the water is to the south. We will reach it before long.

  Will we have to be in that water to cross it?

  No, my sister. We will walk beside it, not through it.

  Good.

  Focus shifted when Evan was gone.

  “Adam is already walking with the chief to lead the way to water,” she said.

  Yuma dug through his pack, pulled out a piece from one of the rabbits Willow had cooked last night and turned around to look for Willow. She was even farther behind them than the last time he’d looked and so he backtracked to give her the food.

  “You should eat,” he said, and handed her the meat.

  Her dark eyes flashed with surprise as she accepted the food.

  “I thank you,” she said, and bit off a piece from the bone.

  The
warrior beside her seemed taken aback. Since the Eagle had returned from the dead, most of the tribe was afraid of him, and yet here he was offering food to an old woman.

  Yuma didn’t want to antagonize the man and nodded once by way of a greeting.

  “We come to water soon,” he said, and started to return to Tyhen when the warrior spoke.

  “I am called Wolf Moon, Chief of the Paint Clan. This woman is the sister of my mother.”

  “I am Yuma. I am the Eagle who watches over the Dove.”

  Wolf Moon nodded. He already knew who Yuma was, but the official trading of names was like permission to speak to each other whenever they wished.

  “You are good to feed my mother’s sister.”

  Yuma smiled.

  “She is good to shelter us in her lodge,” he said, and then jogged back to Tyhen, dug another piece of meat from his pack and handed it to her.

  Always hungry, Tyhen took a bite without thinking and then realized Yuma wasn’t eating and tried to give it back.

  “No, this is for you. Eat it,” he said.

  She frowned. “You fed Willow and you are feeding me, but you do not eat.”

  “I am not so hungry and you are. Remember, now you eat for yourself and our baby.”

  Without thinking, she brushed her hand across the coat covering her belly, as if making sure it was fastened to keep away the cold.

  “I didn’t think. I am sorry,” she said, and took another bite, a smaller one that she chewed more slowly.

  Yuma brown eyes darkened. “You do not apologize for anything, my little whirlwind… just eat.”

  She continued to nibble on the meat until there was nothing left but the bones then dropped them onto the ground where they disappeared beneath the dead leaves and grass.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Weeks later

  Daylight was becoming a rare commodity as winter closed in. Once they reached the mountains, which Yuma said in his time had been called The Appalachians, the different clans within the tribe began to separate from the whole, anxious to return to nearby tribal lands.

  Tyhen watched with trepidation as the a-ni-tsi-s-kwa, which Yuma called the Bird Clan, departed early one morning, moving down the mountain in a different direction. A few days later, the a-ni-ka-wi, also known as the Deer Clan in Yuma’s time, were gone before sunrise.