by Andrew Nance
A shriek filled the lodge, and Shining Flower, Proud Antelope’s woman, collapsed to the earthen floor. At a gesture from Four Winds, she was taken from the lodge.
“We gave chase until the trail disappeared. We each went a different direction. I’d not gone far when I heard a shout and the sounds of battle, so I ran back to find spilled blood. What killed my brother warriors had dragged their corpses away. I followed the bloody trail, but it ended at Oaskaguakw, the black tree.”
Little Fox hated him for not searching more, and as tears tracked her cheeks, she realized she hated him doubly for being the last person to see her father alive.
* * *
It was hard to ignore the pain in my side and keep running, but in my training Father once said, “A warrior’s strength starts here,” and tapped my head. “It is here that you defeat pain and exhaustion.”
Like a following wind, the beast called, “Wait for me, Little Fox. I will be loving and will whisper your name as I devour your flesh.”
* * *
A Lenape warrior visited the village to say they too were hunted by the beast. “It took warriors, the elderly, and the young. We learned that it hunts only when the moon hangs full. On those nights we stay safe in our wigwams. None have been taken since.”
The Nanticoke then, like the Lenape, stayed secure in their wigwams on those full-moon nights, and no more were lost.
Time passed. Soon the boys her age would prove their courage and become warriors. Usually they were given grueling tasks or sent on long journeys, but fate provided a different opportunity. Mohawks had raided a Nanticoke village to the north. The warriors of the five villages of the Kuskarawaok River, including the boys she had grown up with, would make an answering attack of war to the Mohawks. She desperately wished to be included.
The warriors gathered at dusk in the meeting lodge for the war council. Little Fox snuck inside and stayed back in the shadows, but Four Winds had keen eyes.
“Hello, Little Fox. Have you come to wish us well?”
She stepped forward and said, “I will join those my age and go into battle.”
The others laughed, but Four Winds was fond of her and held up his hands for silence. “Little Fox, I know your courage exceeds your size, but you cannot join us in war.” He smiled warmly at her. “You are a girl. Girls become wives, not warriors.”
Flushed with anger, Little Fox left the lodge, wandered from the village, and came to sit on a rock in a stream. It was the night of a full moon, when the beast hunted, yet she didn’t care. Her thoughts were of the Mohawks. How could she prove herself to Four Winds and the village council?
“Oaskagu.”
She heard the word and looked up to see Raging Bear on the bank. She stood as he walked into the water and stopped several paces from her. “I am here because I respected your father, Silent Wolf. He was a great warrior. If I had been faster or stronger, then he might still live.” Raging Bear splashed to the rock and sat at Little Fox’s feet. “I wish to help you.”
Amazed, Little Fox sat at his side and asked, “How?”
“Oaskagu. If we go to Oaskagu and return with the carcass of the great beast, how could they say you are not a warrior and not allow you to join our war against the Mohawk?”
“Why do you help me?”
“I failed your father, and in so doing I owe his daughter.”
“When?” she asked.
Raging Bear smiled. “Now. The moon is right. Go prepare. I will meet you here.”
* * *
Several times I thought it possible that I had lost my pursuer, but would then hear the beast call out and taunt me. Without weapons, I realized I would probably die there in Oaskagu. But another of Father’s lessons came to mind. “No matter how hopeless a situation, there is always a chance to emerge victorious.” I thought of something that offered the most meager of hopes.
* * *
Back in her wigwam, Little Fox shaved her head into a scalplock, one long lock of hair that warriors wear into battle. Manito, the good spirit, was said to fly through the woods unseen. So too would Little Fox. She collected ashes and mixed them with berries and water into a thick black paste and drew designs of forest shadow across her body.
Little Fox loaded her father’s prayer pipe with tobacco. Women did not smoke, and if caught, her punishment would be severe. Sitting before the fire pit in the center of the wigwam, she lit it with an ember. With her first puff, she prayed for the swiftness of the eagle’s wing. On her next draw, she prayed for the strength of the cougar. With each inhalation, she prayed for the things Manito could provide—stealth of the serpent, agility of the squirrel, protection of the turtle’s shell—until the pipe was spent. She took up her bow and arrows and grabbed her heavy wooden war club. Outside, she ran silently through the village into the forest and joined Raging Bear, following him toward Oaskagu.
There were many tales of the dark land passed around campfires, like the one told by Broken Feather, who’d been setting traps near there when he saw a black stag. He said that its antlers did not grow from the top of its head but from its eye sockets.
“It had no trouble seeing,” Broken Feather had said in a whisper, “because each antler ended with a round, wet eyeball.”
At the border to Oaskagu, Little Fox sang a prayer of safe passage to Manito.
Raging Bear snorted and said, “Prayers will not help in there.” He leaned against a tree and looked at her for a long moment. “It amuses me to see you this way. A scalplock and arrows do not make you a warrior. You are a girl, Little Fox. When you become a woman, your place should be next to a man.”
“Then why hunt with me?” Little Fox spat.
Raging Bear repeated, “I failed the father and owe the daughter.” He watched her a moment, then said, “You have fire in your spirit.” He walked past her into Oaskagu and stopped to add, “Is it enough to keep you alive?” He disappeared into the thick woods.
She followed, and the moment she stepped over the invisible boundary, she felt corruption rising from the ground. Little Fox unslung her bow and notched an arrow.
* * *
My sense of direction is good, and I worked my way to the right so that I would eventually run in a circle that returned me to where the chase started.
* * *
Raging Bear led them into a clearing. In the center, in front of the full moon, stood a monstrous tree.
“Oaskaguakw,” he said, gazing at the tree in wonderment.
The bark was as black as obsidian. It was taller than the tallest pine with a trunk wide enough to hide ten warriors. Each limb, shrouded in dark moss, ended in a sharp point. A thick odor of decay surrounded the area.
Raging Bear, gazing at the tree, said, “The beast no longer eats the dead.”
“What?”
“It eats only the living.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The beast was a carrion eater, a scavenger that fed mainly on those already dead. But something changed, and it began to hunt the living Lenape. The Lenape learned when it hunted and cowered in their villages on those nights, so the beast began to take prey from our village. The Lenape shared their knowledge with us, and the beast turned to the Munsee. The Munsee, too, realized that it only hunts on the full moon and have secured themselves. The other tribes are much too far for the beast to reach in one night.”
“It has lost its prey?”
He didn’t answer, but said, “I lied to the village. Here is what really happened to your father.” Raging Bear leaned his weapons against the black tree, then sat cross-legged. Little Fox, confused, sat and placed her weapons within reach. He looked into her eyes and spoke. “Proud Antelope was the first killed. That left three of us—Silent Wolf, your father; Moss Back; and me. We followed the trail. At the base of Oaskaguakw, the black tree, we found much blood. We heard laughter from up high. The beast dropped Proud Antelope’s dead body onto your father and leapt onto Moss Back.”
Little Fox leane
d forward. “What—what is it?”
“A man,” Raging Bear said. “He seemed not much older than us. His eyes glowed like a night animal, and his skin was green, like leaves. He slashed at Moss Back with his fingers, and blood flew.”
“He kills with his fingers?”
“Longer than a man’s, claws on each. The skin around his mouth hung loosely and yet his lips snarled back like a dog’s. His teeth were sharp with a space between each. He glanced at me and saw I was too frightened to fight. So instead of coming for me, he buried his teeth into Moss Back’s throat. He lifted his head and smiled at me through a gore-smeared face, then chewed and swallowed the meat he’d taken.”
Little Fox shivered. “What of my father?”
“He struggled to free himself from underneath Proud Antelope’s corpse, but the falling body had broken many of his bones. The beast—the man—dropped Moss Back and started toward your father, who managed to sit up and notch an arrow onto his bow. He let fly and struck the man-beast directly in the heart. The man-beast remained standing with the feathered shaft protruding from his chest! What strength!”
“Did you—did you help my father then?”
Raging Bear’s eyes were wide with excitement. “No, Little Fox. I ran. I ran until the old man blocked my path.”
“Old man?”
“He came from nowhere, and I screamed like a…”
“Coward,” Little Fox finished.
“‘Surely I didn’t scare you?’ the old man said. ‘Are you not courageous?’ In that moment I felt shame.
“‘Do not worry,’ the old man said, knowing my thoughts. ‘You will be a great warrior.’ Frail, he gazed at me with rheumy eyes. His ribs pushed against his flesh. Hair the color of dirty snow hung tangled about his head. Half his nose had been rotted by disease. Your father’s arrow still pierced his chest.”
Little Fox gasped. “But you said the man-beast was young and strong.”
Raging Bear didn’t explain, but continued, “I tried to speak in a harsh tone but could only whimper, ‘Who are you, grandfather?’
“The old man laughed. ‘Me? I am not you, but you will accept me.’
“He beckoned me to follow, and we came to a clearing in which a fire burned. He sat on a rock and put a long pipe to his lips. I sat on a log across the fire. The old man gazed at me and drew on his pipe. Smiling, he exhaled and reached through the fire, ignoring the flames on his flesh, and handed me the pipe.
“‘This is special tobacco. Close your eyes and empty your lungs. Take as much smoke as you can.’
“Slowly I inhaled. I peeked through my lids and saw the old man reach across the fire. His arm turned to black smoke—and I sucked it into the pipe. It stung my throat. The old man’s shoulders and head changed, hung in the air, then followed his arm into the pipe. Finally my lungs were full and I exhaled, though no smoke accompanied my breath. I opened my eyes and saw the old man, now only body and legs, turn to smoke and drift over the pipe bowl. I breathed in the rest of the man-beast.”
Little Fox watched him suspiciously. “Are you the old man?”
“I am tradition, one that was born in Oaskagu. Before our fathers’ fathers, a flesh eater came to be. Our ancestors called him the beast. Though he fed mainly on dead flesh, he would take a live body when there were no dead.”
“How do you know this?”
“I took his knowledge. The beast was away for several generations, hunting in the far north, before returning. Your father’s arrow killed him. But flesh eaters are strong, and death comes slowly. Mortally wounded, he passed from his youthful strength into that dotty old man. At the fire I witnessed his death, where he passed the custom of eating flesh to me.” Raging Bear beat his chest as if it were a great honor.
Little Fox rose from sitting to squatting, hoping Raging Bear wouldn’t notice.
“Until a flesh eater receives a true death blow, like an arrow through the heart, he is immortal. He has the strength of ten warriors and the speed of the hawk. The old man chose me to carry on. I sneak from the village on the full moon and become the beast.”
“Why are you not satisfied with the dead? Why do you hunt the living?”
Raging Bear smiled as if he’d been caught doing something naughty. “I am supposed to be a scavenger. My first meal as a flesh eater should have been the dead, and in so doing the dead would have become what I sought. But if the first meal is living flesh…?”
Little Fox gagged.
“I know. It is wrong. I feel shame after I eat and vow to do it no more. But as the full moon approaches, the urge gets strong, I remember how good it feels—tastes. So I tell myself, Just once more, then I’ll quit. But no, the craving overpowers my will.” He wore a look of unfathomable sadness, then a smile came to his lips and he jumped up and ran to the black tree. “The remains of your father are here,” he said, rubbing the bark.
“In the tree?”
“When hunting near Oaskagu, all the man-beasts discarded the remains of their prey into Oaskaguakw. See where the first great limbs separate?” He pointed to a high spot where a dozen or more thick limbs branched off. “That is where a hole opens into the trunk and where we toss what is not eaten. This is your father’s Quiackeson.”
Little Fox’s rage ignited. “You ran like a child while the beast killed my father.”
“The beast let your father live.”
Little Fox gasped. Her voice quavered as she asked, “The beast didn’t kill him?”
“I returned to your father as he freed himself from underneath Proud Antelope’s body.” Raging Bear closed his eyes and smiled. His auburn skin shifted to a pale green. His hands twitched as black claws extended from lengthening fingers. “My first meal as a flesh eater was of the living. I am spoiled and cannot stomach dead flesh.” His eyes opened. “I fed on the father and now hunger for the daughter.”
Little Fox ran, stumbling when she realized she’d left her weapons behind.
Raging Bear laughed. “Don’t run. Join your father in my belly.”
* * *
It had been many miles, and the chase returned to Oaskaguakw. I was fatigued and could only lope into the clearing where my weapons lay. A root of the dark tree rose from the ground and it tripped me. I fell hard, skidded, and lay there a moment gulping air.
After resting, I crawled to my weapons and the clearing filled with a warbling howl. Rolling onto my back, I gripped the bow in one hand, an arrow in the other. My vision dimmed as I sat up, and I struggled to stay conscious. When my sight cleared, I saw Raging Bear approach like a charging grizzly. He ran on all fours, clawed hands digging into the ground and throwing up clumps of dirt. The chase had weakened me so that my bow seemed as heavy as stone. Still I raised it and tried to aim, but he moved too fast, and my exhausted arms shook. I am ashamed to say that I sobbed like a child.
Father spoke then. Not a memory—his actual voice came from the black tree: “Little Fox, you have to act quickly and accurately—or die.”
I unleashed the arrow.
* * *
Four Winds sat unmoving. Those gathered in the meeting lodge kept a respectful distance. Raging Bear’s weapons lay between them on a blanket. She had told her people the story, described how angry Raging Bear had become when the arrow pierced his heart.
* * *
“NO! I am to live a hundred lifetimes as the greatest flesh eater!” With the arrow in his chest, he ran at me. I dropped the bow and scooped up my war club. When Raging Bear got close, I turned as if to flee, but instead I spun around, and with all the strength that I possessed, I smashed the club into the beast’s knee. Raging Bear fell. I swung again and crushed his head.
Falling to the ground, I cherished each breath while enduring cramps in my sides and legs. Finally, I got to my feet and looked down at Raging Bear. He had a punctured heart and crushed skull, yet breathed. Our eyes locked and then he vanished. His breechclout and leggings collapsed on empty space. Black smoke floated where his body had been. Th
e cloud drifted toward me, and though exhausted, I had to run yet again. I tried hard, but my pace slowed until I stumbled through the woods. When I looked back, it was directly behind me, reaching out a tendril. It touched me, an obscene tickle on my neck, then I was past the dark land, out of Oaskagu, and I fell to the ground. The smoke stopped at the border and dissipated into nothing.
* * *
Four Winds gazed upon her. “You returned with Raging Bear’s weapons but not your own. Why?”
“After the smoke scattered, I returned to Oaskagu. At the black tree I dug a hole and buried my weapons. I sang a prayer that they be preserved should a warrior ever need them to fight the Oaskagu evil. I would have brought Raging Bear’s head to prove my story, if he had not turned to smoke. I brought his weapons instead.”
Four Winds stood and addressed the assembly. “When a warrior falls in battle, his memory is honored by the care of his weapons.” He tossed the club into the fire, and broke the arrows and bow. “No such honor shall come to Raging Bear.” Pulling Little Fox to her feet, Four Winds faced the tribe. “From this day forth, Little Fox is no more. She is Fox Warrior Woman—and she will lead our warriors against the Mohawk.”
Ian Tremblin gave Millie an appreciative nod.
“That was great,” I said.
Lucinda blew at her bangs, something I’d come to recognize as a sign of anger or frustration. “Did you help with her story, Mr. Tremblin? I mean, you have a book supposedly made from a black tree, and a black tree pops up in her story.”
Ian Tremblin held up his hands and laughed. “The only help I gave Millie was the title. The fact that she used the black tree is totally coincidental.”
“It’s always been a Nanticoke legend, Lucinda,” Millie said.
Smiling, Tremblin said, “You’re a suspicious one, aren’t you?”
She shrugged. “Mom says I have all the bad qualities that begin with s: suspicious, sarcastic, and cynical. One of these days I’ll point out that cynical begins with a c, but right now it’s my private joke.”
