Friend Seeker did not go far. Soon he circled and slipped silently into a secure watching place. Small Warrior had been told to wait. Would he attempt to gain advantage by moving before dark? The temptation would be strong, for the distance was long and the way strange. The student had always been trustworthy, but each testing strained further the youth's will—the Seeker hoped he would not bend.
For a time, Small Warrior sat unmoving and seemed to be studying the fall of the land he would traverse. Then he rose and the teacher's heart trembled, but the doubt was groundless and the soul of Friend Seeker rebounded as Small Warrior occupied his time with the panther stretches that were prescribed for spare moments.
Before full dark, Friend Seeker slipped away. Small Warrior would obey his teacher, and. the Seeker believed, accomplish his task as expected.
Finding his way was more difficult than Small Warrior had expected. Until the moon rose he floundered down the mountain unable to strike a useful trail. Although he had not seen it, he believed a good traveling path would lie in the main valley that opened toward the two rivers. If he could find such a trail, he might follow it until close to his destination. He had placed the stars in his mind and determined the wind's direction. If clouds did not obscure the moonlight he might move swiftly.
Lower on the mountain, tree cover hid the stars and stopped the wind, but he worked downward, sighting when he could. Near the bottom the moon slid above the western rims and added its weak light to his efforts.
A path lay where he thought it might. Low enough to be level, yet avoiding the bogs of the beaver ponds, the route meandered eastward in the valley. At times he could trot, but with his legs still unrested he moved mostly at a rapid walk.
The moon would not wait, and its passage across the night sky was relentless. If he hurried, his wearied legs might fail and he would lose more time resting, but if he loitered, the night light would pass before he gained familiar ground. Husbanding his strength he trotted downhill and for short distances on flat ground. Uphill, he walked and slowed enough to keep his breathing even. It was a careful balance that he broke only to rinse his mouth and drink from cool runs. His belly rumbled emptily but he was without food or time to search for it. He hardened his heart and struggled on.
The long march allowed time for many thoughts and Small Warrior let them fill his mind. Friend Seeker had pointed to his mother's resting place but, as always, there was no mention of his father. Was The Great Spirit truly his father? It was often hinted, but no one knew for sure. As a son he prayed to The Great Spirit, but unlike Late Star, he heard no answers.
He dreamed also of the time when he would be The Warrior and how he would return with brave tales for his teachers, who would be old and who would listen with admiration.
Then he would be large like Friend Seeker and his muscles would roll with strength that all would envy. He too would have scars that in modesty he would ignore and not paint as some did. Certainly he would not tattoo his body or distort his ears with bright hangings as did many.
He wondered if Rain would give him some of her pemmican when he came in. Hers was the best in the village and the thought of it brought saliva to his mouth and rolled his stomach again. Late Star ate little despite Rain's fine cooking. The Seeker claimed it was because he did nothing, so, like a turtle, he did not eat much.
The sons of Late Star provided well for both lodges, although Star complained that they were dull and not as interesting as a group of frogs. His daughters had married well and they too aided the lodge of their parents and his warrior friend. Late Star often declared himself worthy of attention because he was gifted with powerful visions and weighty reasonings. One of those reasonings was that Friend Seeker deserved little because he only rushed about the forest threatening the innocent and scaring away welcome visitors.
Then Friend Seeker would tell the story. Rarely was it the same and always Late Star grumbled that it was not that way and offered clarifications that only confused the tale. All knew the story and all enjoyed its retelling, especially when there were embellishments that insulted the one not telling.
The last time Friend Seeker had told it he had said: "When I was a youth and the lodge of my mother stood in this village, I lead a number of others along the creek path in search of better pools for swimming. One of my followers was Late Star, then known by his child name.
"From ambush leaped fierce Pistecataway warriors. Our friend Eagle fell before a club and Late Star was held by a smaller enemy." Star squirmed and tried to interrupt but Friend Seeker held attention.
"Mightily I battled the giant chieftain, Hawk's Claw, but others came and I was subdued." Late Star groaned aloud and many smiled appreciation.
"Bound by thumbs, wrists, and elbows we were forced along the path. At the cane field where boys still play I cleverly escaped. Late Star too attempted freedom but, lacking skills, he was quickly taken.
"For a season's turning Late Star lived as a slave among the cat people on the river Potomac. He performed only the lowliest of women's tasks and was regularly beaten by ancient squaws. His body grew even weaker and his skin hung sickly like a shedding snake's. His eyes lost their fire and were dull like a fish placed long in the sun." Friend Seeker particularly enjoyed this part and rolled it long on his tongue to his audience's delight and Star's exasperation. Then he told of his own year and his rescue of the puny and helpless Late Star and the beauteous Rain.
In Friend Seeker's telling, he trained mightily and was Late Star's only hope. With the cunning of the wolf he found the year-old track and located Star's village.
He had plucked Star and Rain from the Pistecataway with an owl's wisdom and a bear's ferocity. After sending them to safety he had alone fought off much of the Pistecataway nation and gained the respect and friendship of the great Hawk's Claw.
Late Star told the story differently, but the people always liked Friend Seeker's versions best—and that too galled the proud Late Star.
Before the moon faded, Small Warrior turned north and reached the Buffalo Creek. The night was far gone and without moonlight the forest was black, but here the path was familiar and he could feel his way along it until the false dawn. Then he could run the final distance and be waiting for his teacher's arrival.
For a time he lay on his back with his feet elevated against a tree. Friend Seeker taught that the body more quickly regained strength if feet were placed high. Small Warrior had tried it before without certain results, but this night he could feel weakness depart. He would have given much to drift into sleep but he fought the desire and rose before his limbs stiffened.
The narrow creek path was more difficult than expected. In the dark, branches lashed him and vines tripped his stumbling legs. He feared his passage was more like the buffalo's than the fox suggested by Friend Seeker.
Before dawn he fell hard, sprawling full length across roots with his head stuck in spikey undergrowth. For a moment he lay stunned and windless, thorns stinging face and shoulders, his legs numb and unresponsive. With vast effort he rolled into slumped sitting, feeling his heart pumping with a heavy desperation that warned of severe exhaustion. Mildly astonished, he wondered if his legs would support him and tried to judge the distance still untraveled.
If only he could eat and rest, then strength would again reach him. How far had he come since his last sleep? For a full day he had trotted behind his teacher. They had eaten when the sun was high, but since then he had tasted only the earth of his lands. As light was near he had walked—stumbled—away nearly a full night. He measured distance and truly it was great.
His legs had been lacerated by a thousand unseen thorns and his arms and body had fared little better. Their stings were as nothing compared to a warrior's wounds but . . . ".
The thought burst in his mind, jerking him from lethargy and swamping his soul with self-scorn. Friend Seeker spoke of days without rest and longer days without food while fighting and outwitting deadly foes. He spoke of wounds that bl
ed and blows that crushed as the chase continued, and of fighters who surrendered only to death. To that, his suffering was nothing, and he loathed himself for allowing self-pity.
Small Warrior lunged to his feet. Staggering but unmindful, he made the creek and sank into its refreshing flow. He pumped his lungs with rich night air and hardened his mind to what lay ahead. When he rose, courage ruled, and his body responded with a strength from deep within. He took the path with his mind closed to all but his goal, and his spirit coiled like an angry snake's waiting to strike at anything that threatened. His body leaned hungrily and his features set in undivided determination. When the teachers rose, Small Warrior would be waiting.
Late Star had complained that it was too much. "Small Warrior has only two hands of summers, Friend Seeker. The task is too great."
The Seeker did not think so, but he listened, for Late Star was an equal teacher.
"To run a full day across these ridges is more than many hunters will attempt, and to find his way through the night across valleys he has never seen is beyond asking."
"It is time for this testing, Late Star."
"It is never time for certain failure, oh Seeker. It is too much to expect. Would you ask half of it from any other of your students?"
"No, for they do not seek the warrior's way."
Star turned sarcastic. "The warrior's way! You and Three Feathers before use the words as though The Great Spirit gave them. We have known warriors without honor, others who were clumsy, and many who were surely sons of turkeys. The warrior's way—what is it but a dream believed by a few and practiced by still fewer? Such words do not make all things possible!"
The Seeker remained calm. "Small Warrior has labored all of his seasons toward that dream, oh Star, yet he is barely on the trail, it is my task to know his abilities and to stretch them. The heart of Small Warrior must grow as his body strengthens. It too must suffer or it will be weak and unsure.
"Failure can come, Late Star, but, if The Great Spirit wills it, Small Warrior can succeed. If he appears at our morning fire his spirit will have grown, and he will know his heart as he did not before. You are right, failures should not be practiced, but success is sweet only as it overcomes difficulties." The Seeker gouged lightly at Star's prickly ego. "Surely a counselor of even small importance knows that the easy deer tastes poorly, beside the long hunted one."
"He will fail and be poorer in spirit for it."
"He will not fail and be stronger and more certain."
"What will you wager, oh ax swinger?"
Friend Seeker thought a moment, rubbing a finger along his nose in concentration. "If Small Warrior fails, for a full moon I will sit silently at each council you attend, but if he appears at our morning fire, you will, for a full moon, praise the warrior's way at each council."
"The terms are not fair!" Late Star glared, but Friend Seeker was unbending. "It is agreed that you will leave the boy on the far mountain and he will not begin his return until full dark?" The Seeker nodded and Late Star reluctantly accepted. "But I will question him closely, Seeker, that you did not shorten the distance."
Small Warrior reached the camp edge almost too exhausted to realize his success. Rain was only now laying new sticks and blowing heat into old coals. A few squaws were at the stream but no men had yet appeared.
He slumped against a tree, wondering that he had covered the final miles. He remembered little of them; the concentration demanded to endlessly place one foot before the other without losing balance and crashing off the trail had dominated.
Even with the beginning light he had done little better, for his body was finished and only his heart pulled him,
But he had arrived! Realization began a surge through his exhaustion and the need for a proper entrance reached his mind. Proudly he would stride to the fire, his bloodied legs and scratched body telling of his journey. The teachers would respect his success and understand its difficulties and he . . . A new thought touched him and as it grew his lips quirked and he knew it to be a better plan.
For moments he struggled with the effort of it, wondering if he had the strength, but the plan pleasured him so thoroughly that it alone gave him the needed prod and he gained his feet and limped a staggery path to the creek edge.
When Friend Seeker emerged, Late Star was seated at the fire. He extended no greeting but his obvious smugness tempted the Seeker to give him memorable lumps.
Small Warrior was not to be seen and though his features betrayed nothing, worry began its rodent gnawing.
Late Star studied the village with exaggerated care that further irritated Friend Seeker. Then he asked, "Have you hidden our student, oh Seeker? Strange that he has not appeared. Could it be that Late Star was again correct and the words of the follower of the warrior's path were but campfire smoke?"
Friend Seeker wished to spit! Star was difficult to tolerate at best but with something to gloat about—strangulation lurked nearby.
Young laughter sounded from behind him and Late Star's stricken features with open mouthed astonishment quickly turned him.
Even as his heart leaped in relief Friend Seeker feared his own eyes bugged, for carrying a water jug as though it weighed nothing, appeared Small Warrior and a squaw.
Clean from bathing and his eyes smiling, the boy appeared freshly rested and utterly unaware of his teachers' surprise.
Belatedly seeing them, he handed the squaw her burden and hurried to the fire circle. His greeting possessed its proper humility and he sat alertly, as usual waiting instruction.
Though astounded, Friend Seeker reveled in it. Only for an instant had the pose fooled him. Though washed, the multitude of bruises and thorn scratches were plain. To an eye that knew, the laxity of exhausted muscle was not hidden and behind the bright look lay desperate tiredness.
But Late Star—surely his guts soured. If his face grew longer his spindly neck would disappear. Rarely had The Seeker enjoyed more complete satisfaction.
Late Star had nothing to say. There was excitement in their student's victory, but being wrong made his jaws ache. He avoided seeing his friend's sickening contentment, but knew it was there. He could smell and taste it. For a full moon he would have to proclaim the warrior's way. He was certain that severe illness threatened him.
They did not keep him long for fear he would fall asleep as they talked. Friend Seeker claimed other duties and Late Star pleaded a need to be alone. They turned away so that his unsteadiness in rising was not seen and continued to talk as he wobbled to the comfort of his sleeping robes.
Small Warrior did not sink into his bed; he collapsed upon it. For only a moment did he savor his teachers' astonishment and Friend Seeker's obvious approval. Later his muscles would stiffen and his wounds itch, but for now? Small Warrior entered sleep as instantly as a torch is doused in a river.
++++
Chapter 5: Age 12
Busy with his labors, Small Warrior saw a canoe bearing three Delaware men leave the channel and approach the fishing village. In the fall the Juniata ran shallow and unless care was taken, paddles could be cracked on the stony bottom. It appeared that the Delawares would land and there might be things to be learned. Small Warrior willingly departed the tedium of exercise and trotted toward the village.
He carefully circled the lodge of Late Star lest he be seen and directed back to his duties. He could hear men's rough laughter and maidenly shrieks before he reached the water-taking place. He ducked through a giant raspberry thicket and popped into view near the excitement.
The visitors were young men, not long freed from their own times as students. Judging their decorations, Small Warrior supposed they were en route to the Warriors' Marks among the Standing Stone people far upriver. There they would visit and contest with weapons while feasting and exchanging news of distant happenings. He envied them and wished for a few years growth so that he too could show his skills among the hunters and warriors.
The men's play was rough and it seeme
d to Small Warrior that they pursued the young women more vigorously than courtesy allowed. Most of the village girls were annoyed and slapped aside their pawings with frowns and hard words. Small Warrior shifted uneasily, wishing village men would appear and gentle the visitors' playfulness. A few girls, however, seemed to welcome the rude attentions and their willingness was enough to make him indecisive, but he expected that if Friend Seeker was not away the Delawares would already have been chastened.
A younger girl, heavy in build and bearing a small brother on her back became the focus of the men's harassment. She attempted to ignore them, but they began calling her buffalo woman and comparing her burden to the hump of mountain beyond the river. The three danced around her pawing the ground and grunting like bulls. Other women raised their voices in protest but their shrill calling only increased the men's antics. When they began pushing the girl from one to another, Small Warrior decided to act, but even as he approached, the maiden fell awkwardly and the Delawares hooted and shared each other's mirth. By then Small Warrior was angry and reluctance was buried by an increasing hunger to place marks on the intruders.
Unnoticed by the frolickers, he chose thumb-sized stones and drilled one in a hard throw between the largest Delaware's shoulder blades. The stone created a satisfying thump followed closely by the brave's bellow of outrage. Eyes jerked to Small Warrior and his voice came clear in the startled silence.
"A warning, strangers. Men come from our village, and they will not be pleased by disrespects to their daughters."
The stone had bitten deep and the hurt destroyed the Delaware's amusement. He strode toward Small Warrior with fury in his eyes and one companion close behind. When he spoke, anger rode his voice making it coarse and vicious.
"No child may stone White Oak! Your men will also be displeased with your bruises." With careless confidence, he reached for Small Warrior.
Small Warrior's second stone was aimed at his face. It was thrown without warning or waste of motion. Instinct only partly saved the Delaware and the jerk of his head glanced the stone from behind his temple, ripping the skin and causing him to stagger.
The Warrior (Perry County, Pennsylvania Frontier Series) Page 4
