Puzzled by Ralph's statement, Byron asked, “What are you talking about, Eagle?”
“Have you ever heard of small pox?” Ralph asked and then grinned. Deep inside, he knew he spoke the truth, but he didn't want to infect the whole Wolf Clan with small pox. Lord, I cannot allow my illness to spread if I can prevent it in some way, he thought. If they choose not to believe me, that is their choice, not mine.
“Good God!” Ora said, and his eyes grew wide.
“You lie!” Seth yelled.
“What is it? What is this small pox?” Lum asked, but was ignored.
Byron laughed and said, “You have no pox. Where are your red dots filled with pus? If you had the disease your face would be covered with leaking pimples.”
“In my mouth, because when I clear my throat, I can feel the mucus. My back hurts, I am feverish, and ache. I know, because the man who once owned the sword the ugly one now carries had red dots on his face.”
“Tilt your head to the sun and open your mouth. I will see.” Byron said.
Ralph did as instructed, but the leader remained silent, as he tilted the prisoner's head in different angles.
“Well?” Ora asked, his apprehension easily heard in his tone.
“He has —good God— small pox. I see the red dots in his throat.”
“What now? We can't take him to the village or everyone will get sick, right?” Lum asked.
Ora, riding beside the captive, brought his sword up in one fast sweep and brought the blade hard into Ralph's neck. The prisoner's head rolled from his torso, a fountain of blood shot into the air, and the sword continued through the swing. Ralph's body suddenly slumped forward and the smell of fresh blood made his horse skittish. Blood from the severed neck ran freely down the horse's front leg, which caused the animal to prance. After taking a few minutes to get the horse under control, Byron, who held the reins said, “Damn you, next time make the sonofabitch dismount. Blood is everywhere.”
“He angered me, but why did he tell us of his sickness? I would have kept quiet and infected the whole village.”
“Perhaps he did not want the village to get ill.” Lum said.
“You killed him instantly and he knew someone would, so I think he wanted a fast death.” Byron said and then added, “But, this brings up a new problem.”
“Oh?” asked Lum.
“Now we will all become ill over time. Also, how do we warn The People of small pox? I am a warrior, not a shaman, but we need to get the word to The People.”
“How do others get the disease? No one has answered my questions.” Lum asked.
“Through touching, breathing around a sick person, drinking or eating after them, I think. I am unsure.”
“Can we not ride close to the village and then yell our information?” Ora asked.
Ralph's body was now hanging grossly to one side, so Byron said, “Yes we can do that. Ora, dismount and untie the dead man from his horse.”
As Ora worked, he asked, “What about us?”
“What about us?”
“Who will care and feed us when we turn ill?” Ora said as he cut the ropes holding the body and allowed it to fall to the ground.
“We will help each other. Now, we will find a spot up ahead near a stream, and all will stay except me. I will ride to the village and warn them of our illness. Once they know of the disease, I will return.”
Lum suddenly laughed, which caused all of them to look at him, and after growing sober, he said, “All my life I have trained to be a warrior and expected to die fighting my enemies. Our enemies are hard men and women, but now you tell me I might die of a sickness.”
Ora said, “I'll admit, it's ironic, but I think you'll find our enemies weak compared to this sickness. I remember hearing of this when I was but a small lad, and as many as six out of ten died from small pox. If a single one of us four survives, it will be the will of God.”
“When I speak with the village, I will also speak with our new shaman to see what we can do and learn all I can about this sickness. I think he may know a cure.”
Ora chuckled and said, “We can die, is all I know of this damned thing, and I'm sure some magician we call a shaman will tell you the same thing.” He then gave another laugh, but this one sounded insane.
Four days later, Byron returned to his men at the camp beside a slow moving stream, and shook his head as he dismounted. He walked to the dancing flames of the fire and asked, “Is everyone well?”
“No signs of the disease yet, but what did you learn?” Ezra asked.
Shrugging his shoulders, he replied, “Very little. The new shaman, who is really little more than a boy, said he did not know of the disease. I had to wait as a council of elders met and discussed the sickness. It was finally decided we should remain where we are and see if we become ill. Each day that passes with us still healthy, I am to mark a tree limb near the trail with a notch. At the end of fourteen notches, if we feel well, we are to return to the village.”
“Did you speak with Asa?” Ora asked with a grin.
“Yep, and he was pissed that the women got away. I told him the location of the Eagle People, but he does not know the place. I then asked him to pray for us, so someone could one day lead him to our enemies.”
Ora laughed and said, “You know you pissed the man off, right?”
“Uh-huh, but we're in danger of dying while he is still playing his power games. He told me to go to hell, so I said if I died from this illness, I would save him a seat beside me and wait.”
Lum said, “I can face any man, but I don't want die with a fever covered in red dots.”
Ora said, “Life doesn't often give a man or woman the choice of how they'll die. My friend, I don't think you'll have much say in the matter.”
Chapter 9
MONGOOSE SHOOK HER HEAD at the words from Julian and then said, “You mean we already have people ill from the disease?”
“No, not sick, but our first death. A young mother brought her infant son to me late last night, and fever claimed the child as I held him in my arms. I did what I could, which was very little, because the willow bark tea I give everyone with fevers hadn't had time to even boil.”
“And what of the body?”
“I took it from the mother and burned it this morning. The mother was heartbroken, but I reminded her the good of The People came first, and that I would speak with God on her behalf.”
Stunned, Mongoose said, “Lord, it has started. It has killed the first of us.”
“The first to die will be the young and old, so prepare for their deaths. I know in days to come there will be so many deaths they will become common, but for now, it looks as if God has cursed us.”
“God has no reason to curse us. I want you to tell the one person among us with the biggest mouth, the village gossip, what what has happened. It may be a quick way for others to learn of what is to come.”
Amon and ten of his men and women, moved slowly over the hills of the plains toward the spot where salt was to be found. He'd returned to the village, reported the death of Ella and the capture of Ralph, and Mongoose sent him out looking for the missing salt people. He suspected a battle had been fought and if so, the disease may have already spread to other tribes. He had no idea when the illness was contagious and when safe, but most of his warriors were now complaining of headaches and sore muscles.
“Look in the air, right in front of us.” a warrior named Gideon said, and pointed to the clear blue sky.
Amon saw a bunch of vultures circling over an area maybe a quarter of a mile away. At times, one would slowly drop in a circle to the ground below.
The birds of death. I think we've just found our missing folks. We must remain strong for our people, he thought as he signed for everyone to stop.
Then he noticed the man he had on point, Aaron, was returning and moving his horse at a fast pace. He pulled up short, about ten feet from the rest of the riders and said, “I found the party we're lookin' fo
r, but they ain't pretty anymore. All ten were butchered after bein' killed, and I mean cut to hell and back, scalped, with even penises and heads cut off. I've been a warrior for twenty years, and I ain't never seen such a nasty mess.”
“Any idea who did the job?”
“Yep, Northern Plains People did it, or that's what the arrows say. Ain't no way we can identify our people, and the deaths happened within the last twenty-four hours. That's my guess anyway.”
“Were the women used?” a warrior called Rachel asked.
“They were, but you suspected that, didn't you? I even think a few of the men were taken alive and used as well, uh, because of the dried blood I found. Sodomy is not uncommon with the Northern Plains People, and neither is mutilation.”
“We'll not bury them or even visit the scene, because we'll soon have enough nightmares. Aaron, lead us around the place and let's move now.” Before he moved, Amon had a quick thought and asked, “Was there salt with them?”
“I counted five bags that might weight twenty pounds a bag.”
“There is no need for all of us to see this butchering, but we need this salt. Who wants to go with me to gather the salt?”
All hands went up and Amon was suddenly proud of his warriors. They were not some untested young men or women, but tough fighting braves of truest fashion, and they were putting The People first. No one, not even the most hardened and experienced warrior, liked to visit ambush sites.
“I need only another person besides myself and Aaron, so Rachel, you come with us. The rest of you form a defensive circle and wait for our return.”
Rachel smiled, but Amon thought it rather out of place and suspected she dreaded seeing the dead as much as he did. Folks react to stress in different ways, he thought. He once knew a warrior who entered each battle scared to death and he would break out laughing once the fight started. He'd known others to curse, some to yell Bible scriptures, and many to throw up following combat. Each reacted differently.
Way too soon, they approached the site of the killings. Aaron had been right; the mutilation of the dead was horrible, and the smell was so bad they had to tie rags around their noses and mouths to ride forward. The first warrior Amon saw was a woman; he knew because a single large breast remained, but otherwise he had no idea of her gender. The next was a man, with his penis and balls cut off, and crammed into his mouth. Many of the women had their public hair scalped, as if the taker had removed it to prove his hard won victory over a dead woman.
Rachel leaned from her horse and vomited.
Three heads were loosely thrown together, near the first dead man, and but the faces were so mangled it was impossible to tell who they were.
Amon said, “In the books written by the Ancient Ones, it speaks often of the mutilation of the dead done by red Indians in the 1800's. It was religious in nature, or something like that, if I remember correctly.”
“No, you are wrong, my friend. It was done to prevent meeting your enemy on the other-side, following death, and then having to fight him once again. They felt a body would appear in heaven as it looked last on earth.” Aaron said and then quickly added, “Which is pure bullshit.”
“Why do some of the women have breasts cut off, and the men are missing scrotums?”
Aaron again said, “In the days of the Sioux, a small breast or scrotum of an enemy was often tanned and made into a tobacco pouch, or a medicine pouch to wear around the warriors neck. It was unusual for a large breast to be taken, due to size. Smaller ones, complete with the nipple, was a novelty and a real discussion piece. It might hold tobacco, sage or other small sacred items.”
“If you two are done with the nasty-ass history lesson, let's load this salt and get the hell out of here. For all we know, we may not be alone.” The smell of human waste and blood was hard on Amon and while a fearless warrior, butchering others was not something his people did often. They did interrogate and then torture prisoners to death, but this was totally different. I've seen men take an ear, nose or even a scalp, but there is no reason to mutilate the dead like this, he thought as he handed to the bags to Rachel.
Then, he handed two to Aaron, and had the last bag in his hand, when an arrow flew through the air, just missing his face. He mounted, retained the grip on his bag of salt and yelled, “Back to the others!”
Arrows flew and one stuck into the cantle of Aaron's saddle, but on they rode at a gallop, right for their people. The others, seeing them near, rose from the grasses and sent arrows at targets behind them. Rachel screamed and fell from her horse, slid in the grasses and finally stopped right beside Gideon. The enemy had turned tail and was gone, so the warrior looked down to see Rachel sitting up.
“Are you okay?” Amon asked.
“I'm fine. I fell from my horse.” She lowered her head in embarrassment. Her horse was standing off to the side, bags of salt still tied to the back of the saddle.
“Aaron, are you okay?”
“Had an arrow burn my left forearm, but I'll live. I suggest we get moving. The important thing is, we have the salt.”
“You're right. I want you to dress your injury as we move. Gideon, you take drag and Aaron, you're our point rider. Let's shake a leg and get back. I don't intend to stop until we reach the village.”
The ride back was uneventful except at one point he'd dropped back and told Rachel to stop talking about what she'd seen at the battle site. I suspect talking about it is good for her mind, but I don't need idle chatter as we move. I need all eyes on the trail and all ears listening for sounds, he thought just before he said, “Rachel, that's enough talk, and no sign either. We need to be scanning the countryside. This is not a picnic we're on.”
Rachel thought, I'll shut up, because he's right, but I ain't ever been on a picnic in my life. I wonder what people do on a picnic? I know they eat, only, what else? She chuckled silently, but instantly sobered as she remembered the mutilated women. May God welcome those folks into heaven, because they've already been to hell. Some of them could have been still alive while being cut on and that would have been a horrible death. Butchered alive. She shivered.
Rachel didn't live in a fantasy world, and became a warrior after a group of Southern People captured her, along with her husband, and some other women one early morning years ago. The men, including her husband, were instantly put to death, but the women were raped one-at-a-time and then butchered. She was lucky that day, because the Eagle People rallied and attacked the Southern People, killing all and saving Rachel and one other woman—but not before they were both repeatedly raped. She still carried the dreadful memories and nightmares with her.
They were about halfway back to the village when they encountered a small group of The People, also moving in the same direction. There were ten in the group and all were excited when they ran into their own warriors. Having recognized Amon, the leader of the group, Zan, rode right into the group before they could be warned of the infectious disease. Amon quickly explained the illness and saw many of the new warriors continued to smile. They must not understand this can kill them, he thought. Zan has been away from the village for over a year and he may be confused by this.
“Amon, we have many wonderful things to tell you and Mongoose. We left over a year ago, to explore the lands of the Mountain people. During our travels, we ran into a strange clan of people, unlike any you have ever seen. They carried guns and lived in a hole in the ground, a cave in the side of a big mountain. They had a steel door on the cave and no man can ever enter once closed.
We were able to speak with them and to make friends with their leader, who is called Colonel. Once at the village, I will show you some things we have that were given to us as gifts. They are called the Cheyenne Mountain People.”
“This illness is very serious, and just being around us may make all of you sick or kill you.” Rachel said.
“It is a risk worth taking for the good of The People. Mongoose must know of the Cheyenne Mountain People, because they have
many wonderful things we can trade for.”
Amon, angry at Zan's senseless exposure to the sickness said, “Come, we must return to the village. We've already had one death because of this disease, and our people need this salt.”
When they returned, the village was in total turmoil over the sickness. Fourteen days had passed since the fight with the Mountain People and now folks were growing ill in large numbers. Three elders were no more and another infant was dead. The shaman, Julian, now kept a fire burning continuously to dispose of the infected bodies. The Shaman knew it was just a matter of time before more died and he wanted to be ready. His cheeks were stained from tears.
Women had huge clay pots on cooking fires, boiling broth around the clock. Others, now that salt was available, were mixing salt and honey in large pieces of clayware, which the people used as water storage containers. The people had learned to make pottery years ago, by reading books, and discovered a kiln wasn't really needed, but a hot fire was a necessity.
Mongoose was tired and not feeling well, but she moved to Zan and said, “Come with me. We must talk.” I need to know what he's learned, because many of us will die in the days to come and if Zan dies, so does some very important information, she thought as they walked to a meeting with others at her lodge.
Once sitting around her small fire, she said, “Tell me what you discovered during your travels.”
“For most of our journey we met no one and avoided enemies we recognized, like the Black Mountain People, and continued looking for the Cheyenne Mountain Complex. If you remember, one of our Learned Ones read about the place, and had a general idea where the place was located. Well, over the years, the countryside has changed a great deal and the images in the book look nothing like the real place.”
“How many warriors did you lose?” Amon asked.
“Three, and each died in battle with our enemies. At one point, bad water threatened all of us with death, but we recovered. We discovered the Cheyenne Mountain People at this location.” He then pulled a crudely drawn map from his pocket and handed it to Levi, the leader of the Learned Ones.
Eagle People Page 9
