Young Warrior drew the small guide to safety behind him and waited calmly for the visitors' reactions. His body dripped sweat from exertions among the trees and he stood balanced but unaggressive. If fear or second thoughts touched him they did not show, and though not as tall as the visitors, his body was corded with shapely muscle that should have given warning.
Barely coherent with insult and anger, the leader saw only a youth of lesser years. Uncontrolled, his words were a stutter and his features flushed black with fury.
"You have dared to strike Red Beaver, whatever you are called, and for that you will pay." His friends suddenly serious, spread out to prevent attempted escape, but their quarry did not take that direction,
Young Warrior raised an open palm and spoke solemn voiced, making his words serious and clear. "Beware, Red Beaver, I do not play your games. If you attack me, you may not again be the same."
Unheeding, Red Beaver signaled one smirking youth forward and leaped at the young warrior. Half snarling with eagerness to avenge his embarrassments he sprang like a wildcat, his clawed fingers reaching as both friends jumped to aid him.
For all of his years the youthful guide told the story. In time it became embellished until the three were many and Young Warrior swung among trees and tore his enemies unmercifully. His first tellings were more truthful and ended any probability of Young Warrior being again tested.
"The three were Red Beaver, Moon Son, and Dry Wind. All were second names and all were of the Shawnee.
"Like mountain lions, they circled Young Warrior and as one they leaped upon him. Their cries silenced the forest and their moccasins thrashed clouds of sticks and moss. Like clubs their blows fell and like knives their fingers clawed.
"Did one touch the body of Young Warrior? I did not see it. Like an eel he slithered low into Red Beaver and his fist struck like a snake into The Beaver. Like smoke Young Warrior rose behind where he jerked down with all his weight on the hair of Red Beaver. Back snapped The Beaver's head and for the moment I believed him dead.
"The leaps of Moon Son and Dry Wind had found nothing, and they turned too late to aid Red Beaver. Into Moon Son was thrust the body of The Beaver and onto Dry Wind landed Young Warrior. Too swift were the blows but as one Shawnee staggered beneath Red Beaver, the other's nose was snapped by an elbow and ribs were broken by knees and feet.
"Moon Son escaped Red Beaver only to receive Dry Wind's weight as Young Warrior swung him like a log. Then I saw clearly that Young Warrior kicked Moon Son so that he fell and then leaped upon Moon Son's chest with a knee that broke the chest bones with a crack like a splintering twig.
"Then Young Warrior stood alone. His breathing did not strain with effort and his limbs did not tremble. When he looked upon me his eyes were not terrible with rage or excitement. When he spoke his voice was as calm as morning and he said only, 'Go to the village and bring them help. None will walk, so many will be needed.'
"When the families came there was great excitement. One father approached Young Warrior with his hand on a hatchet and Young Warrior stepped forward to meet him. The father then removed his hand and only shouted and waved about in indignation. I was disappointed, for I hoped to again see Young Warrior's skills, but the father was wise; against Young Warrior, I knew he stood no chance.
"All lived—and that surprised most. Red Beaver's head does not turn and his voice is so hoarse he does not speak in council. Dry Wind's nose does not draw air and he cannot stretch his body. Moon Son's chest is sunken and aches during weather change. Yet none sought revenge, and as the seasons have passed each boasts of how he fought Young Warrior."
The teller would pause then and shake his head thoughtfully. "Even the injured are honored to have faced him. So strong is the power of Young Warrior that even his enemies take pride in having fought him."
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Chapter 8: Age 17
When the marking tree showed that Young Warrior's height equaled Friend Seeker's, the teachers knew that it was his time to become known by the Iroquois.
Among warriors familiar with the southern lands, the training of Young Warrior had been followed with some interest. More than a few had visited the lodge of Friend Seeker to benefit the student with their skills and knowledge, and each year Young Warrior had spent more than a moon at Shamokin among the people of the old warrior Oak Neck.
Oak Neck, once teacher of Friend Seeker and leader of a hundred raids; Oak Neck, who remembered the ancient warriors who had driven the enemy and secured their lands for the Iroquois. Oak Neck was a leader of presence and his words were cherished by those who followed the warrior's path. Oak Neck was pleased that Friend Seeker chose Shamokin as his student's first stop within the Six Nations.
"Young Warrior stands like a pine among saplings," Oak Neck gestured toward a group of his students. All of an age, the others came barely to Young Warrior's shoulders, and where their bodies were sleek without definition, Young Warrior's limbs rounded with corded muscle that matched Friend Seeker's and reminded the old leader of how he too had once appeared.
The Seeker nodded, stifling any hints of satisfaction. "He grows like a mushroom, Oak Neck, but he is like the hickory." Friend Seeker smiled, strong teeth showing and his eyes crinkling. "I have wrestled him for the last time, as he made my bones creak, and I was lame for two days." It was The Seeker's turn to gesture at the group. "See how easily he bends my bow. Few can draw it fully, yet he holds the draw without strain."
Oak Neck nodded and grunted satisfaction as Young Warrior's arrow drove into their straw target, "He should go to the Warrior's Marks. There he could test himself against those who have seen the enemy."
"And against hunters who have forgotten how to miss."
Oak Neck scratched idly before continuing their talk. " We need not question his strength or his quickness, but what of his heart, old friend?"
Friend Seeker shrugged. "He is quiet, Oak Neck, and does not seek difficulties. Although he has fought seldom he has never been beaten. When required, he has acted swiftly and with determination." He glanced a bit sharply at Oak Neck, "Is there reason, that you ask?"
Again Oak Neck pondered, "No, for he has always done more than asked. But . . .?" He sought the right words. "I have known others who grew large, and few of them were of great heart. Perhaps it was too easy for them, or their bodies may have slowed them, but they did not become all that was expected."
He smiled grimly and added, "Of course, there were the Susquehannocks! Mighty in all ways were those warriors." He shook his head in memory and Friend Seeker felt nerve ends tingle as The Oak continued.
"The Susquehannocks had been broken before my time, but in my early years small bands still raided our lands. Giants were their warriors! To face a Susquehannock alone was to tempt death and only our numbers gave us victory."
Lost in old memories, Oak Neck's eyes drifted, but after a moment he drew himself back. "But that was long ago and no Susquehannock has been seen for many seasons.
"The last was the one called Mud Dauber. Do you remember him, Friend Seeker?"
"I remember, Oak Neck. He was killed by a squaw."
"That is so. I had forgotten. But do not judge by that, oh Seeker. The Dauber was like a sore tooth among us. If cornered, he fought with a ferocity so terrible that none defeated him. He was more cunning than a fox, and though he came among us often and we killed most of his companions, Mud Dauber always escaped." He caught his wanderings and returned to his first thought.
"Let us hope that Young Warrior is like the Susquehannocks and that fire burns in his belly." Again there was slight hesitation. "Perhaps there is reason that I ask, oh Seeker. Sometimes I have sensed in Young Warrior a wildness that if released would envelop him like flaming pitch. He is the calmest of students and reasonable in all ways, but at times I have felt a savagery so intense that it raised skin bumps—but so controlled that Young Warrior may not feel it. It does not flash in his eyes or tighten his mouth. It seems to . . . come from
within him. . . like an odor not really smelled." Oak Neck finished hastily as though embarrassed by his inability to describe his feelings. "Have you felt any of this, my friend?"
He had, but the occasions had been few and inconclusive. Friend Seeker's respect for the insights of Oak Neck reached higher.
" I have felt it, Oak Neck, though I have not spoken. Once when a visitor was insulting, I felt it rise like a tide in Young Warrior, but I saw nothing and I became busy correcting the insult. That you too sense it is important and I will give thought to its meaning."
"Oh, I will tell you its meaning, my Seeker, for I have seen it in others; usually in small men who must forever struggle against those larger.
"Perhaps it will remain forever controlled, but if it breaks forth, it is like a madness. The spirit of Young Warrior will rage like a thousand panthers. His mind will close in a blackness beyond death. His strength will surge like a great bear's and he will crush and smash and rend and kill until he is finished. Wounds will not slow him, words will not turn him, and lightning of the gods themselves would only strengthen him.
"In battle I have seen this. Have you not also faced it, Friend Seeker?"
"I have seen such rage in enemies, Oak Neck, although it has been rare." Friend Seeker searched his memories. "As I remember those times, I do not see the furies as worthy. Some with their reasoning clouded died foolishly, and one was struck down while uselessly shouting and pounding his feet on the ground."
"Humph, that can be true, but were any of those so crazed of Young Warrior's size and skills?"
The Seeker's smile was grim. "No, and thought of facing such a raging warrior is not pleasant.
"Given more seasons, Young Warrior will be awesome in power, and he is already quicker than a snake. I believe he possesses a warrior's heart, but who can be certain before testing?"
"Perhaps it is time for that testing."
"Though he has grown mightily he is still of few years, Oak Neck. Would you send any of those others on a war path? They are his age, we must remember."
"They are but children, Seeker. At times they throw cones and pinch each other. Young Warrior could stack them like fire logs. Perhaps The Great Spirit did father him; he is far beyond his years. I believe that he is ready but it would be good to visit the Warrior's Marks where Young Warrior would compete among many. If he does well, you will know it is time, but if he cannot stand among them you should not yet risk the war trail, where a mistake can be costly."
Friend Seeker appeared to be weighing his words, so Oak Neck continued. "A wise teacher would warn him of the dangers of rage, but also explain the power of it. Rage too can be a weapon; there is time for the bow and another for the hatchet. There is also a place for reason and at times a need for hatred. Teach him, oh Seeker, to choose correctly."
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Throughout the summer they visited within the Six Nations. The Minsi of the Delaware made them welcome and along the Seneca Lake they saw the people of Young Warrior's mother. The Cayugas were friends and teachers, and they fished and hunted with the powerful Onondaga—those whose fires were the Iroquois heartland.
Among the Onondaga, Friend Seeker made Young Warrior well known. He explained the youth's powerful schooling and fostered the rumor of The Great Spirit's intervention. When Young Warrior stood tall and the Seeker told his few years, the stories took hold and even battle hardened leaders looked closer. When Young Warrior at last became The Warrior, the Iroquois chiefs would remember and use their fierce weapon more wisely.
After the central Onondaga, the travelers passed through the Oneida and lived shortly among the Mohawks who guarded the confederacy's eastern gate. Often at war with encroaching whites, the Mohawks were aroused and their council fires bristled with anger and confusion over continual disruption of ancient ways.
The lessons for Young Warrior were countless but he absorbed them with his customary calm acceptance. Only among the Mohawks did he become restive. The tales of recent battles and the planning for others stirred his spirit and he hungered for the time when he too would defend his people.
Not all that he saw was appealing. Near the whites there was avarice as men traded for iron weapons and even the noisy and ineffective long guns. Too many decorated themselves with tattoos and grotesque ear piercings, as though such embellishments could add honor otherwise not earned.
With some there was also excess of dress with great cloaks of bird feathers or vast headpieces of plumes and fur bits. The red blankets of the whites were indeed noble, but as Friend Seeker had taught him, the weaker the heart the greater the decoration. True worth showed in the glint of eye and the carriage of the body. Honored scars spoke of hard earned experience and paint should have meaning beyond fancy.
Without exception, true warriors stood out. In some there was brutality of spirit but among the finer there emanated auras of courage, discipline, sacrifice, and strength. Like his teacher, they were men above the petty maneuverings of peace leaders and law givers. They were the fighters Friend Seeker sought, for their examples would round his student's learning.
Before the leaves turned they left the still disorganized Tuscaroras and began long marches along the traveling paths toward the place called the Warrior's Marks. It was a meeting old beyond memories where braves from many tribes visited in peace to test themselves in friendly contests.
On a small stream that flowed quickly to the Juniata lay a valley rich with giant trees that had denied all undergrowth. Smaller trees did not grow, for they were cut as firewood and in time the death of some of the great trees allowed sunlight enough to create a glade warmly pleasant but well shaded where races and wrestling could vie for attention with arrow shooting and hatchet and spear throwing.
It was also a place of trading, and E'shan the Delaware arrowmaker was often in residence. Men with bow staves, arrow shafts, and iron tomahawks came to exchange what they had acquired for things they preferred.
At the fire circles the talk was of old battles and memorable hunts. Men spoke of historic feats and dreamed aloud of things that could have been or that might still be.
It was not a place for women or children's distractions. Hunters and warriors appeared to compete, eat at communal fires, and sleep beneath trees. They came as casually as morning fog and left with few noting their departures. At times the fields were busy with many contesting but often the games were few and the participants without fresh challenges.
The competition lasted only a short moon and few were present for all of the days. Friend Seeker and Young Warrior came during the height of it, and although he spoke no inkling of excitement, The Seeker saw his student's skin flush and muscles swell in anticipation, It was a good response, for it indicated interest without swagger or timidity.
Friend Seeker's instructions were succinct and freed Young Warrior to choose his own pace.
"Examine the contests, my student. When you are ready, test yourself. Choose the difficult but not the reckless. Intend to win and learn from each opponent. When you tire, rest. Later, try again. When the dusk comes you will find me at a friend's fire. Be then prepared to tell what you have learned."
His closing was his only gesture. Without words he took Young Warrior's weaker bow and hunting arrows, He handed across the powerful bow given to him for his youthful rescue of Late Star. He hung on his student his quiver of long shafted war arrows and turned away.
Friend Seeker had barely found companions to his liking when a tall Shawnee limped to their circle groaning dramatically and brushing at dirt crusting his sweaty body.
"I am told that you are responsible for the student called Young Warrior, oh Seeker." Friend Seeker's nod confirmed it.
The Shawnee grimaced and smiled ruefully. "I was proclaiming my wrestling skills when he accepted my challenge. Until my body struck the ground I intended to be gentle. Aroused, I decided to give lessons, but I somehow again landed painfully. More cautiously I rose and attacked with clever holds but your student had gr
own roots and stood like an oak. The third time I was thrown convinced me that I must be tired from earlier challenges." The Shawnee examined a skinned elbow and without losing his smile added, "I believe I will give up wrestling and try tomahawk throwing." With feigned anxiety he asked, "Your nephew does not throw hatchets, does he, Friend Seeker?"
After the wrestling, Young Warrior found a group leaping for distance. There was much laughter and friendly taunting among the jumpers, so Young Warrior joined the line. In his turn he leaped powerfully and landed gracefully far beyond his nearest competitor. Instead of amusement there was stunned silence, so he quickly moved on and barely heard the belated hoots of astonishment.
At each event there seemed to be a champion who devoured all challengers. He watched spear throwers, knowing he could hurl further than their best, and was again turning away when the strongest thrower hinted loudly that it was well that he did not attempt to throw against men.
This time, Young Warrior felt the heat of anger and turned stone faced to the grinning champion. Silently he took his challenger's own spear and hefted its balance while taking position.
For an instant his mind touched on the countless shafts he had thrown since earliest memory; then he shot forward in a short but powerful run and placed his body's weight behind his whip-like throw. High he aimed, for distance was the goal. At release the spear bent in the center and its flight could be heard. Far down the vale the spear struck point first and again Young Warrior experienced the long moment of shocked silence. Then men whooped and one slapped his shoulder in appreciation. The challenger remained speechless, dethroned by a throw that exceeded his own by many steps.
Pleased but outwardly unmoved, Young Warrior sought other contests away from the buzzing astonishment of the spear throwers.
The Warrior (Perry County, Pennsylvania Frontier Series) Page 6
