Calling Crow

by Paul Clayton

“I will toss you overboard today and then we shall go home,” said Garcia as he quickly recovered his momentum and stalked after Mateo.

  Mateo feigned a lunge, and after Garcia half-completed his swing, jumped in to deliver a stinging blow to Garcia’s mail-encased legs. Cursing in fury, Garcia ran heavily and slowly at Mateo, swinging the huge two-handed sword powerfully in a wide arc. Mateo backed up nimbly, bringing his sword up to fend off the blow. The shock of it numbed his hand, and before he could recover, Garcia’s sword was again arcing across at him. Mateo brought his own sword up late and Garcia’s blade clanged loudly against it, breaking it in half.

  Garcia’s men broke into a cheer and crowded closer. Mateo fell to the deck and rolled clear. Garcia pointed his great sword at Mateo and lumbered forward.

  Mateo tried to get close enough to deliver a blow with the broken sword and found it impossible. Determinedly he parried blow after powerful blow as Garcia, breathing heavily, advanced unrelentingly. A wide swing from Garcia clanged into Mateo’s sword, knocking him to his knees. Mateo’s sword went flying. His right arm and hand were numb from the shock, and he used his left arm to push himself up off the deck.

  “Son of a monkey fucking Indian!” Garcia cried in triumph. “Now I shall cut you open and feed your shit to the fishes!” He ran at Mateo with his lumbering gait, his sword held high. Mateo danced backward nimbly as the wide blade sliced right and left. Backed up against the rail, he dove out of the way as Garcia brought his sword down, driving it deep into the oaken rail. As Garcia struggled to free it, Mateo got to his feet and jumped at him. Garcia yanked the blade free just as Mateo’s hands closed around the hilt. They struggled and fell to the deck. Cursing furiously, the men got to their feet, neither relinquishing his death grip on the sword. Mateo slammed Garcia back hard against the rail, and the crowd roared as he struck hard at Garcia’s unprotected face. Garcia returned the blows, his gauntlet-encased fist bloodying Mateo’s face as they fought for possession of the sword. Mateo grabbed Garcia’s beard and pushed him up and out over the rail. Fear blossomed on Garcia’s face as he suddenly realized what Mateo was attempting. Mateo waited for the heaviest swell. When it heeled the boat over, he dug his feet into the wooden deck and pushed with all his strength. Garcia fell backward, tearing at Mateo’s hair with one hand as he clutched the long sword with the other. He splashed into the water and sank quickly like a large stone.

  The men crowded about the rail. “Get a rope,” shouted Roldan, and his men rushed toward the rigging.

  Mateo quickly took Paco’s sword and thrust it into Roldan’s face. “Any of you who touch a rope, I will kill!”

  The soldiers looked at each other, each waiting for the other to make a move.

  Diego ran over. “Francisco, you have won! It is over. Now we must bring him up or we are no better than they.”

  Mateo never took his eyes off Roldan. “I am sorry, Diego. They have made their decision and now they must pay for it.”

  “Look,” cried Miramor, “in the water. He moves!”

  The men turned away and rushed back to the rail to look over the side. Garcia could be seen below, slowly pointing his sword aloft as great silvery bubbles left his mouth and floated upward. In the brightly lit depths, his polished armor shone like mother of pearl. Turning, he used the sword as a staff and began walking in the direction of the beach, clouds of silt spreading out behind him. The soldiers leaned over the rail as they cheered and screamed encouragement. Some of them looked back to sneer at Mateo, while others exchanged money as they bet on the outcome. After a few moments Garcia stopped and looked round to get his bearings. The brown cloud of silt that had been following him now engulfed him, obscuring him from view. The shouting died.

  Diego grabbed Mateo’s arm. “Francisco, by all that’s holy, throw him a rope!”

  Mateo turned away from him and looked down with the others.

  Garcia crawled out from the brown cloud, and the men erupted in cheers. Paco pushed through to the rail, pointing to the sandy beach. “That way, Senor, that way. It is not far!

  Shouting began anew as Garcia slowly got to his feet. Evidently having seen Paco’s outstretched arm, he headed in the proper direction. The men roared with approval. The shouting of the men grew in intensity as Garcia moved further and further away from the ship, and then he dropped the sword. Falling to his knees, he crawled a few steps. Then as the shouting died, he pitched forward, rolling onto his back. A single shining silver bubble the size of an orange left his mouth and wobbled its way to the surface as his arms came to rest, curled around like a babe’s.

  Miramor began crying and Diego went to him, pulling him from the rail. “It’s over, boy. Go below.”

  Mateo stared into Roldan’s eyes. “And now I shall expect your full cooperation.”

  Roldan said nothing.

  Mateo shouted to his men. “Ready the boat to take the horses ashore. We must find some water and provisions.”

  The men left the rail slowly and reluctantly as they went about their tasks. Mateo knew that his victory was only temporary and there would be more treachery.

  Chapter 8

  Calling Crow sat in the middle of the canoe, paddling furiously as he watched the dark clouds building. Runs Like Deer sat forward of him, the muscles in his back rippling rhythmically as they raced the squall for the land.

  Calling Crow yelled back to his cousin, Big Nose, who was steering. “Can we reach the land in time?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  Calling Crow wasn’t so sure as he gauged the distance between the canoe and the shore. A sudden gust of wind slammed broadside into the canoe, sending stinging spray into their faces. Looking downwind, they saw the same wind taking the whitecaps off the waves as it made a moaning sound. “Aieyee,” said Calling Crow quietly. As the image of his father’s overturned canoe drifted into his head, he prayed to the Great Spirit to calm the waters. For two days now they had been paddling steadily south and had seen no evidence of the cloudboats. Calling Crow decided that if they survived the storm, they would look for two more days and then return home.

  Two gulls suddenly appeared flying low overhead. They were headed toward the land, but north of the direction the canoe was taking. Calling Crow saw it as a sign, an answer to his prayer to the Great Spirit.

  “Turn about,” he shouted to Big Nose. “Follow the gulls.”

  Big Nose quickly turned the canoe toward the disappearing gulls. A few moments later they saw the gulls sitting on the calm waters of a small bay on the other side of a thin spit of land.

  “There,” said Calling Crow, “head in.” Just then a hard rain struck, punching holes in the sea where it fell. They paddled quickly, barely able to make out the land as the heavy rain turned all to a blurred curtain. They paddled furiously, and when they were the distance of an arrow’s flight from the beach, the storm suddenly stopped. Runs Like Deer turned round and raised his arms, screeching out a victory cry. Calling Crow was about to tell Big Nose to head in to the beach when he noticed a large group of gulls congregating on the water, some of them sticking their heads beneath the surface. Intrigued, he told Big Nose to steer for the spot.

  As they approached, the gulls worriedly took wing, singly and in pairs, until there were none. Big Nose paddled the dugout in a circle while Calling Crow and Runs Like Deer peered into the depths.

  “What is it?” said Runs Like Deer.

  A dark mass could be seen resting on the bottom. As Calling Crow studied it through the undulations of the waves he saw that it was either a large man such as he had never seen before, or a spirit. It seemed to be moving ever so slowly toward the beach.

  Calling Crow and the others leaned closer to the surface of the water to see it more clearly. It wore a great silver seashell on its head, and a great mass of seaweed grew from its face, moving in the water like a ghostfish. Its eyes were dark and cavernous and expressed a deep sadness. Calling Crow and the others were not sure whether it was alive or dead.

/>   Runs Like Deer extended the full length of his lance into the water to prod the thing. The surge picked up again, moving the thing forward a bit, turning the large head as if it were trying to look up at its tormentors.

  “Aieyee!” said Runs Like Deer, drawing back to hide in the dugout. “It moves!” They watched in awe as the thing slid over the small rocks and continued its snail’s pace toward the beach.

  Calling Crow turned to Big Nose, who continued to maneuver the dugout. “Let us go to the shore. We will wait for it there.”

  A short while later the form broke the surface of the water and did not move. Calling Crow and the others waded slowly into the sea. Calling Crow held his knife outstretched. Big Nose put an arrow to his bow and Runs Like Deer raised his lance and prodded the manlike thing. Nothing happened.

  “Let’s pull it out of the water,” said Calling Crow.

  The other two grabbed the thing by its legs and dragged it up onto the sand. It was very big. Big Nose jabbed at the gleaming shell-like skin, his lance glancing off with a loud clatter none of them had ever heard before.

  “It has magic skin,” said Big Nose.

  “Aieyee,” said Runs Like Deer.

  “There are some openings in it,” said Calling Crow. He took an arrow from his quiver and pushed it between two segments of the magic skin. A froth of blood bubbled out.

  “It is like a man,” said Runs Like Deer, “it bleeds.”

  “Yes,” said Calling Crow, “and it is dead.”

  “I will make sure,” said Big Nose. He walked off and returned with a rock the size of his fist. Kneeling down, he pounded the arrow into the creature’s body. A powerful blow snapped the arrow off and the rock struck the strange man in the abdomen.

  “Aieyee!” said Big Nose, as a large pink bubble emerged from the creature’s mouth, reflecting sun and sky.

  Big Nose jumped back, ready to attack, but the creature didn’t move. The bubble burst and he knelt and pulled at the magic skin. A section of it came loose. He plunged his knife into the man-thing’s purple flesh and it went deep. Nothing happened.

  “That is enough,” said Calling Crow. He looked up at the darkening sky. “It is dead and cannot hurt us or it already would have tried. Come. We must find a place to spend the night.”

  They camped high on the beach behind a huge fallen tree. Calling Crow pulled his bark blanket about him as he looked up at the mass of stars spilled out across the black sky. Low on the horizon the Hunter could be seen stalking his prey, while the surf rumbled and hissed like a chorus of drums and chanting voices. The wind moaned steadily across the sand and periodically an owl called out. It was all beauty, he thought, a song of beauty from the Great Spirit, but he could not truly appreciate it. The specter of the Destroyer waited just beyond the edge of his dreams, like an enemy in the darkness outside the glow of the fire. What did the strange creature down on the beach have to do with the Destroyer? If only in his vision he had been able to see the face of the Destroyer. Then he would be able to recognize it when he found it. He could never rest until he was sure that it had gone far, far away from his people and Tumaqua. He thought of these things for some time and then slept until the sound of Big Nose’s and Runs Like Deer’s voices roused him.

  “What do you think of the thing from the water,” asked Runs Like Deer.

  “I don’t know,” said Big Nose. “It is a bad thing. I am sure of that.”

  “Calling Crow,” said Runs Like Deer, “what do you think?”

  “Remember what Mennewah said,” said Calling Crow. “He said that if the creatures fall from the cloudboats onto the land then they will die. Perhaps this one ventured onto the land and died before he could get back onto his cloudboat.” As he said this, Calling Crow hoped that the cloudboats were truly gone and not just waiting in the sea out of sight. The other two men grew silent as they pondered Calling Crow’s words. Soon they slept.

  Despite Calling Crow’s brooding thoughts, he slept well. The sea sang to him and an owl remained nearby, calling out all during the night, unafraid. In the morning they separated briefly to bathe in the sea and pray. When they came together Calling Crow led them down the beach to see if the creature was still there. The tide had pulled it back out into the surf, but parts of it were still exposed and a small flock of gulls covered it, screaming and flapping their wings.

  “See?” said Calling Crow. “The gulls are eating it. Whatever it is, it is dead. Come. Let us search for a stream.”

  They walked the beach for most of the morning and then Runs Like Deer spotted something in the sand ahead. When they drew near they saw it was the tracks of four men who had come out of the trees. By the looks of the footprints, they had grossly deformed flat feet, with no evidence of toes, and they had been carrying heavy loads.

  Calling Crow and the others followed the tracks for most of the afternoon, pausing briefly in several places to rest. When the sun began to sink low over the forest, they came upon a large dune that stretched from the forest down to the beach.

  “Let us rest here,” said Calling Crow. They sat down in a weed filled depression at the base of the dune. Out of the constant blast of wind and sand, Calling Crow’s skin warmed and tingled as he thought of the strange events of the past days. Who were the men who had left those prints? The Flathead People never came this far north. Perhaps the Mountain People were now hunting in this land. If that was so, he would have to meet with the Council of Old Men and the other braves to discuss it. As Calling Crow thought these things, he watched a line of pelicans flying, angled out toward the sea, as they struggled up the coast against the strong breeze.

  “Listen,” said Big Nose, “what is that?”

  Calling Crow stood, exposing his head to the constant wind that filled his ear with noise. There was a small sound in the wind, a strange, repetitive sound. He looked down the beach from where they had come as Big Nose and Runs Like Deer got to their feet and looked toward the tree line. It was a sound none of them had ever heard before. It had a deliberate quality, as if someone were chipping an arrowhead, but no rock made a sound like that. Calling Crow nocked an arrow into his bow. He looked at his friends. “It is coming from the other side of the dune.”

  Calling Crow led the way up the dune. When they reached the crest they froze. At the bottom were a dozen or so man-like creatures. Resembling the creature they had found in the sea, they were pale of color and had long hair growing wildly out of their faces. Some were dressed in fine brown or tan skins cut from some unknown creature. Incredibly, one wore a garment that was greener than the greenest tree in the forest, while another wore a coat bluer than the sea seen from a hill on a summer day. Some of the creatures wore large silver shells on their heads. They sat in the sand, talking and laughing.

  Calling Crow motioned Big Nose and Runs Like Deer to crouch down out of sight. When they were hidden, he turned to Runs Like Deer. “Take the canoe and go back to Tumaqua. Tell them we have found this Destroyer and his army of demons. Tell them to bring all the braves and we will kill them here!”

  Runs Like Deer nodded grimly. He moved away and quietly crept down the dune. Looking back only once, he took off at a run. Calling Crow and Big Nose watched him in silence until he disappeared around the curve of the beach. Only then did they creep back up again to watch the strange creatures.

  “Aieyee!” whispered Big Nose. “Look!”

  Calling Crow watched in disbelief as one of the creatures used a claw-like hand to remove a glowing coal from a smoking box. He then held the coal against a black rock and beat it with a club, producing the same striking sound they had heard earlier. Holding it close to his face to inspect it, he seemed satisfied. He then dipped it into a large gourd full of water, causing it to bubble and hiss.

  “Like a hot rock dropped in a soup,” Calling Crow said quietly to Big Nose.

  Big Nose nodded as they continued to stare.

  Another creature got to his feet and squeezed a skin of some kind back and forth, an
d it wailed and shrieked as if alive. Two others got up and danced as if overjoyed at its tortured cries. In astounded silence, Calling Crow and Big Nose watched these and the other activities of the strange creatures until the shadows grew long. They were about to back away down the dune to find a place to hide for the night when they spotted another strange creature far away on the beach. Approaching at an incredible speed, it raced through the surf, kicking up a froth. Calling Crow and Big Nose were so overwhelmed by the sight that they made no move to hide themselves. The creature was much bigger than the others and appeared to be half hairy faced demon, half huge, four legged beast. The top half had hair like fire and swung a long knife of some kind, while shouting an alarm in a loud squawking voice. When it drew closer the men below suddenly turned as one to look up at Calling Crow and Big Nose. The shock of discovery broke the spell that had frozen them, and they turned and ran down the dune.

  “Quick,” said Calling Crow, “into the trees.”

  As they ran for the tree line they heard horrible shrieks behind them. Calling Crow turned briefly and was relieved to see that the demon men were falling behind. Moments later his relief turned to fear. The large, four legged creature was racing after them, gaining quickly.

  Calling Crow’s heart pounded in his ears as they ran for the green safety of the forest. He ran faster than he had ever run before, but soon he could hear the creature’s labored breaths and feel its hooves thudding in the sand behind them. He turned his head. It was so close the man half of the beast looked him in the eyes. Big Nose nocked an arrow into his bow as they ran. He turned quickly and released it, the arrow going high over the creature’s head. Calling Crow put an arrow in his bow. He stopped and turned, taking aim. As soon as he released it, he felt a surge of triumph, knowing it had gone true. Then, he watched in horror as the arrow glanced noisily off the creature’s magic skin. Calling Crow drew his knife and stood his ground, but the creature raced past him, knocking Big Nose to the ground.

  Big Nose tumbled, throwing up a spray of sand. The creature shrieked as it raced past. Calling Crow tried to get another arrow nocked, but the creature had wheeled around. Suddenly looming huge, it struck him with its flank, knocking him away as if he were a fly. Calling Crow sprawled breathless upon the sand. He struggled to his feet, looking about for his bow, but the creature had already scooped it up. It now circled them. Big Nose struggled to get to his feet and Calling Crow ran to help him. He heard a shout from behind and turned. The band of shouting demons would soon overcome them. Calling Crow drew his knife. He screamed out a war cry as he waited for the demons and the charging four legged creature.