by Paul Clayton
Birdfoot was running through the forest. He knew something was wrong, dreadfully wrong, as he crashed through bushes, stumbling, then wildly rushing forward again. Panting hoarsely, he came out onto the sandy beach of the dunes.
He picked up the trail and ran in the direction of the village. His heart sank when he got there. Tumaqua was in ruins! All the huts had been knocked flat and all that remained of them were a few upright sticks of rotted wood. A strong gust of wind suddenly pushed through the square, whipping up the sand stingingly as he searched in vain for any sign of life. He saw the vague outline of something ahead and walked toward it. It stood waist high and when he drew near he saw that it was the stone circle of the firewell. He looked inside and saw that the village’s sacred ashes had been swept clean by the winds, leaving nothing behind but earth. He sat down on the firewell as a great sadness filled him. He thought he heard a voice call out above the wailing of the wind. He turned and saw a man walking away from him toward the south. He ran after him, feeling revulsion as he saw the familiar garments. “You!” he shouted, “Stop!” The figure continued to walk away. Birdfoot finally caught up to him and the man stopped. Birdfoot felt afraid and stepped back a bit. Slowly the figure turned round and he saw that it was Calling Crow. Calling Crow smiled and raised his arm in greeting. Birdfoot threw up his hands and screamed.
***
Sun Watcher and Battle Face were looking down at Birdfoot in the torch light as the shaman came out of his trance. “What is it?” said Sun Watcher.
“I saw the one who has done this to us,” said Birdfoot.
“Yes,” said Sun Watcher as Battle Face looked on, his eyes wide with amazement and anger, “who is it?”
“It is the Destroyer.”
“Aieyee,” said Sun Watcher. “Yes! But who is this Destroyer?”
Birdfoot said nothing as he continued to stare blankly into space.
Sun Watcher shook his shoulder violently. “Who is it?”
“It is Calling Crow.” Birdfoot blinked his large eyes as he shook his head from side to side.
***
Birdfoot hurriedly ate the porridge Owl Woman had made for him to give him strength. Outside in the blackness he could hear the drumming and singing growing in intensity as Sun Watcher and the braves prepared to hunt down and kill Calling Crow. He must find him before they did. But where? Still dressed in his ceremonial feathers and paints, Birdfoot got to his feet and staggered toward the entryway. A crowd of boys ran, shouting and fighting as they kicked a ball in the chunkey yard. Birdfoot grabbed one of them by the shoulder. The boy looked at him, trembling with fear. “Have you seen Calling Crow?” said Birdfoot.
“No. I have not.”
Birdfoot ran down the trail toward the sea. Behind him the drumming filled the night like the pounding of an angry heart. He saw some people ahead on the trail coming up from Big Dune and he ran toward them. Tiamai was among them. She looked right through him as she carried her baby at her breast. Birdfoot saw that the baby was dead, but she seemed unaware of it.
“Have you seen Calling Crow?” he asked her.
She said nothing, continuing to walk.
He shook her. “Tiamai! Calling Crow, where is he?”
She smiled as if seeing him for the first time. “Ah, Birdfoot. He is down at Big Dune.”
He cast one last worried look at her and ran off down the beach.
***
Birdfoot saw Calling Crow sitting alone at the top of Big Dune. The sky was black but the western hills burned with a rosy glow. Birdfoot ran up the dune as quickly as he could. Breathing hoarsely, he stopped a short distance from Calling Crow.
Calling Crow turned and smiled at him. “Birdfoot, why don’t you come closer?”
Birdfoot’s words came out in a halting rasp, “Why? So you can kill me too?”
“What madness possesses you, Birdfoot?”
“Calling Crow, they are coming now to kill you!”
“What are you saying, Birdfoot?”
“Sun Watcher and the other braves are coming to kill you!”
Calling Crow frowned. “Why, Birdfoot?”
“Because it is you, Calling Crow. You are the Destroyer!”
Before Calling Crow could answer he heard shouts and cries of rage. He and Birdfoot turned as many braves emerged from the forest at the edge of the beach. Painted red for war, they raced for the dune.
Birdfoot turned back to Calling Crow. “Go! You must run away now!” Before Birdfoot could say anymore, an arrow struck him in the back and he fell onto the sand. Calling Crow ran and knelt beside him. Birdfoot took the iron club from around his neck and handed it to Calling Crow. “Take this and go.”
Calling Crow looked back at the war party. Sun Watcher was in the lead as the braves approached the base of the dune. Calling Crow ran back to the top of the dune and down the sea side, kicking up waves of sand as he pumped his legs furiously. He looked back and saw that he had a good lead on his pursuers, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it. Many of them were much younger than he.
Calling Crow crossed a tiny stream which ran into the sea, his feet splattering the water into the night air. Up ahead, the forest grew close to the sea and he came to a creek where three small dugout canoes were pulled up onto the sand. With the screams of the others growing louder, he quickly knelt in one of the canoes and began attacking the bottom of it with Birdfoot’s iron club. Soon water bubbled up through the hole he had made, and he jumped into the second. As he chopped, he knew that Sun Watcher and the other braves were very close for they had stopped their shouting and were now listening to him as he chopped. Finally his club cracked through the bottom of the canoe. He slung the club around his neck and grabbed the third canoe, pushing it into the surf.
In the dim starlight, the sea was black with patches of white foam. Calling Crow had barely made it past the breakers when his pursuers reached the two sabotaged canoes. He heard their surprised voices and then a scream of rage as someone spotted him.
Calling Crow dug the paddle deep into the dark water. He turned and saw a few heads sticking out of the black water behind him. They were swimming after him! As he listened to their angry shouts, he still could not believe what Birdfoot had said and what had happened. The entire village must be mad or else under some kind of spell. Why else would they say that he was the Destroyer? He looked quickly over his shoulder and was startled to see that one of the swimmers was gaining on him. Digging his paddle deep, he pulled as hard as he could, but the brave continued to gain. Again and again Calling Crow dug his paddle into the black water, driving the canoe ahead. Finally the faceless swimmer gave up and headed back to the shore.
After a while Calling Crow began to feel afraid as the cold rolling sea tossed the little canoe about. A creature followed along beneath the canoe. It was as large as a hut, a demon that could rise up and take his tiny canoe in its teeth, swallowing him up forever. He paddled as hard as he could, the effort blotting out the horror of the thought. After a while the dark shadow of the land melded with the blackness of night and he was unsure of the direction he should go in. Still he continued paddling as hard as he could, thankful that the sea, at least, had calmed. All night he paddled, sometimes falling asleep, but always paddling. Several times he jerked awake when the large sea creature came close. Once Calling Crow felt it scrape the hull of the canoe as if scratching its back. The vibrations passed sickeningly through the wood of the canoe and into Calling Crow’s bones. Finally the blackness of night began to lift, revealing a mass of gray clouds overhead and the dark shadow of the land behind.
Calling Crow turned the canoe and began paddling for the land. Now that the surface of the sea was visible, his fear of it grew. He prayed wildly that there would be no storms and he was grateful when the day brought no roughness to the water’s surface. As he drew closer to the land, he did not recognize it. He must have been caught in a powerful current during the night and been swept far away. At least he was safe from his pursu
ers for the moment. He reached the breakers after a long arduous morning of paddling, and once on shore, dragged the canoe up into the trees to hide it. He made a sleeping shelter inside a copse of myrtle trees, filled it with leafy litter, and fell asleep.
Calling Crow awoke in the afternoon. The day was cold and gray. He sat in the copse and stared out between the leaves at the clouds, seemingly unable to move. He thought, I lost my woman, Juana, and now I have lost all of my people. I must have truly died and must now be a ghost. All that remains is for my body to die.
He decided to stay where he was. If Sun Watcher and the other braves found him his death would be quick.
His decision made him feel a little better and he walked down to the beach. Staring at the sea, he sensed the presence of the creature that had followed his canoe. It was still out there beneath the water. He peered at the waves, but could not see beneath them. He went back up to the shelter and slept again, dreaming of Juana.
Calling Crow’s hunger woke him. He could smell the clams buried in the sands not far from him. He could hear the rabbits and rodents scurrying about in the leafy deadfall behind him. But he made no move to dig for food or to make snares. Instead he must quiet his hunger. Dead men did not need food.
The next day a light rain fell. Vigorously twirling a piece of maple between his palms, he made a small fire and sat unmoving in front of it. Then he slept. After several days of this he grew so weak he could hardly stand. One day the skies cleared and it grew very hot. When he felt the presence of the big sea creature again, he got shakily to his feet and walked down to the beach to shout at it. When it moved on, he walked the beach under the hot sun. At some point he fell in a faint and lay on the sand with the sun baking down on him. After a long time, maybe a day, he heard voices. Hoping it was Sun Watcher and the others, he opened his eyes, but there was no one that he could see. Then the voices came again. He knew they were discussing him as he lay there, but he didn’t understand what they were saying.
“Why has this come to pass?” he shouted at them, and for a moment there was silence. Then one voice began laughing, then another, then several more until the sound of their laughter was like thunder.
“Why?” Calling Crow screamed at them, and they only laughed louder. He shouted at them for a long time and then his anger broke and he, too, began laughing. He laughed until his voice was gone and something came into his head. It was a thought which had long eluded him. He was tainted with Spanishness! It was in him.
The more he thought of it, sadly, the more he knew it was true. There was Spanish in him and that was why he had brought the Spanish disease to his people. There was Spanish in Juana also. She had taken Spanish things to survive, but she had remained noble. And so had he! It was part of what brought them together, and perhaps why they were such a good match. His heart grew warm at the thought.
He got slowly to his feet. He went into the forest, away from the noise of the sea, into the soft light. He sat down on the long corpse of a fallen tree overrun with ferns and moss. The air was subdued. Bright shafts of sunlight broke through the overhead canopy of leaves. Dust motes floated through the nearest one, and it was very quiet. He remembered Juana laying her head on his chest. She said to him, “I go with you always and anywhere, my love.” He shed a single tear and clamped his eyes shut. He ran his hand across the thick coat of moss the log wore. It had a texture like Spanish velvet.
Something flashed by overhead and he looked up. A large black crow jumped from one branch to another, angling its head downward to get a better look at him. As Calling Crow met its scrutinizing gaze, it cawed loudly then took flight, flapping its black wings powerfully. It circled him once, then headed south, calling as it flew. Juana was that way, he thought. He got to his feet and followed it.
Make sure you read the other books in the series:
Flight of the Crow (Book Two of the Southeast Series)
Calling Crow Nation (Book Three of the Southeast Series)
Also, see my latest historical:
White Seed: The Untold Story of the Lost Colony of Roanoke
And my novel about the American war in Vietnam:
Carl Melcher Goes to Vietnam
And, coming in 2011:
The Blue Word and Other Stories
