The Seeker rocked on his heels nodding agreement, but evincing little enthusiasm. Not until the leader again turned to his wounded foot did he speak.
"I, too, doubted my sight, Turned Ankle, for I have never seen its like.
"How can I describe it? It was not simply skill and quickness. A special power seemed in him, as though in battle all of Young Warrior's training blended too bright to be—except that we saw it."
"Others saw it too, old friend."
Friend Seeker agreed, grim-jawed and not overly pleased. "What must be asked is, did Young Warrior recognize it? For if he did, the way will become more difficult."
Turned Ankle frowned, not understanding.
"If Young Warrior knows superiority, will he listen as carefully or learn as thoroughly, Turned Ankle? Despite his skills, he is of few summers and a thousand lessons lay ahead.
"When it is time for Young Warrior to take his third name he must be finished and polished into the fighter he can be. From the beginning this has been our plan. To name him ready at this time would rob him of much greatness and limit what he might become."
Turned Ankle grunted understanding, so The Seeker continued. "When it is time to dance in victory and sing praises, award Young Warrior honors for courage and effort. Speak well of his wounds for they are evident and will become proud trophies, but award no feathers, grant no victories, and make no counts or comparisons. Leave our student believing that he did as others did—no better and no poorer."
Turned Ankle's acceptance twisted his mouth in irony. "You are correct, my friend, but it will be hard to keep silent when the heart sings at the birthing of a warrior who will become great among us." Again he shook his head, "Did you see him chop the leg from under the Cherokee, dodge one spear and block another, even as he removed one of his attacker's strong hands?
"It is no wonder that the Cherokee withdrew to ponder what had struck them."
"Some of it I saw, Turned Ankle, but remember again that he is only eighteen. What he will become is the question we must consider.
"As his teacher, I see mighty deeds threatened by lessons unlearned. Young Warrior will grow in body and his spirit must match it in size and strength. He must learn the tricks of war as he must understand that a poorly aimed arrow or a wildly hurled hatchet can find even the best, if they are careless or overconfident.
"Today, he fought a melee, next will come running combat and later, the subtle ambushes. If we now rob him of earned honors, we will grant him later victories of greater value. So it must be."
++++
"I did not fight my best, Late Star. My mind was not clear and I had no plan. I struck wildly and sought only to destroy what I could reach. Turned Ankle and Friend Seeker agree that I did well, and for that I am pleased, but . . . Young Warrior sought words, "next time I will do better."
"It is important that each combat teaches lessons, nephew. Friend Seeker has spoken of your actions and he commends your courage and your strength. Clear thought can come with experience and that it was not present this time is not surprising. You will do better, but know also that fury and reason strike strange balances in war. At times it is best to be the wise owl and at others the raging panther is best. You will learn, nephew.
"Now, join the young men at the village fire, and if he is finished boasting and grinding his teeth, ask Friend Seeker to sit with me for a pipe."
Young Warrior rose, lithe as a child which, with his size, never failed to awe Late Star, and strode away.
The Seeker settled with a grunt, facing his friend and reaching for the pipe. He rolled smoke in his mouth before expelling it and spitting aside. He returned the pipe, grimacing sharply in distaste.
"What do you smoke, Star? It tastes like bird droppings."
Late Star's answer was undisturbed. "Only you would know that, Seeker, for I have not tried them. I wish to speak of our student."
Friend Seeker sighed, "We have already talked of the battle. He was terrible to behold. You too agree that we mention little of it to him lest he lose his hunger to learn."
Star shifted impatiently, "I know all of that, Friend Seeker. I speak now of something that probably only I have noticed."
The Seeker's eyes lifted but he did not ask and Late Star continued.
"We often joke together, do we not, old friend?"
"Of course, though your jokes are rarely amusing."
Star ignored the bait. "Ask yourself then, how often Young Warrior has laughed?"
Somehow annoyed, Friend Seeker spoke quickly. "Our jokes are not belly shakers, Star. We do not laugh either."
"How often, Friend Seeker?"
"He is a serious youth."
"Once again, how often does he laugh?"
Evading poorly, The Seeker answered, "I have known him to laugh. Rarely, perhaps, for he is quiet."
Late Star sighed heavily, as though he had finally made his point.
"He lacks humor, Seeker. His smile is unseen and his eyes glitter with intensity."
"Well . . ."
"Does Young Warrior dance at the fire? No, he stands like a stone as though waiting for the foolishness to end.
"Did he rise among the war party to tell of his deeds, show his wounds, or display his trophies? No, he stood aside, watching and listening, cold as winter, without enjoyment."
"He is not without feeling, Late Star. Among the children he is gentle, and he is kind to the maidens and respectful to the elders."
"But he is without humor. . ."
"Perhaps he could enjoy more."
"Hah! Finally, you are ready to listen."
It was Friend Seeker's turn to sigh. "So what is it you wish to say, Late Star? That we must somehow teach him to laugh at bad jokes and slap his knees in pleasure?"
Star thought for moments before answering. "I am saying that Young Warrior did not experience play as a child. He has not known 'fun' as youths share it. He is alone, within himself, as no others I have known.
"Perhaps this is a thing of strength. I cannot be sure, but it may also be a narrowness, a weakness, something neglected."
Sobered, Friend Seeker scratched at his healing wound. There was importance in the thoughts of Late Star, but he could not trace a course to follow.
"I feel your thoughts, oh Star, but I cannot work beyond them. Perhaps I too feel a strangeness in our student. Oak Neck has spoken of black rages and you remark on lack of humor. Young Warrior claims to have felt no fear before his combat, and I believe him.
"Does he then lack emotions? Or does he possess a control that varies little until it breaks and allows a torrent to rush forth?"
Late Star's head shook slightly in indecision for he had no answer.
They sat in silence, watching flames heighten as dark descended, and Friend Seeker again tried the pipe with little success.
Late Star finally spoke. "Can humor be taught, my friend? I know that it can be driven away. Young Warrior stands alone. He accepts or rejects, but who can reach his heart?" Star appeared thoughtful before poking toward Friend Seeker with his pipe stem. "Probably only you, Seeker. I cannot, for though he listens with respect, he does not come closer."
Star's words were true and Friend Seeker was perversely pleased by them. Young Warrior had become the son he had not formed. The youth's ways were his. He moved with the Seeker's grace and squatted or gestured as he did. Their thoughts were often one and their choices seldom varied. Already Young Warrior passed his teacher, but still they would remain alike.
Why then did the youth ignore the good-humored joshing and harassing that was also a part of his teacher? Was he simply different in that respect, and was the difference without importance?
Like Late Star, The Seeker had no answer, but unlike his friend he suspected that Young Warrior would resolve internal conflicts and become what he must. After all, everyone struggled with some sort of inward balance that . . . Friend Seeker's head rang. Such reasonings were for Late Star. He and the youth were warriors. They wer
e weapons, finely tuned and pointed toward the dangers. Their thoughts should remain simple and uncluttered. Their visions should be clear, for when the arrows flew doubts or confusions could mean death.
Let the counselors pick at the whys. Neither he nor Young Warrior needed them.
++++
Chapter 10: Age 18
Since the Cherokee battle many things were different. For Young Warrior the changes were good. Somehow the vicious fighting had opened paths of understanding. The experiences made his training real and of immediate importance. Friend Seeker had told him that no longer would he wait in the village. If the Seeker went he would accompany, and if his teacher fought he would stand strong beside him.
The lessons too were new, and he did not carry logs or swing through trees. His panther tensings and stretchings were never neglected and he seemed forever running, but now there was more talk of old battles, clever maneuvers, and cunning strategies.
Often Friend Seeker would suddenly stop and require his student to recall details of the land just passed through.
"Suppose, Young Warrior, that enemy suddenly appeared. Do you remember the trail's turnings, the stream's fordings, or the impossible thickets?
"Ahead is a place you have not seen. Look about you. Could it be a wise ambush? Might enemy camp there? Can we pass silently and unseen?"
Young Warrior would judge the width of passage, the presence of water, and the wind's direction. If trees rose high there would be little undergrowth to bar their way, to create noise, or to shelter enemies, but open land allowed long arrow flights and little cover for themselves. Many were the choices and many more were Friend Seeker's questions.
In the village, too, there was change. Men sought his opinions and he learned to answer only that of which he was certain.
Pond Lily moved to the lodge of Friend Seeker, replacing a maiden who had been chosen for marriage. Young Warrior was comfortable with Pond Lily and her soft singing was pleasant to his ear. She smelled of the flowers and herbs she crushed on her skin and her eyes reminded him of a young doe's when wolves or hunters were unsuspected.
Friend Seeker seemed somehow amused by The Lily's presence and Young Warrior often saw him smile in some secret knowledge that he did not share.
The roached hair that Late Star had prescribed required almost daily attention. Pond Lily wisely decided that the hair requiring repeated shaving should be pulled out. Some would return, but in time, only the warrior's band would remain.
Using mussel shells, she clamped each offending hair and jerked its roots free. The experience was not comfortable, but her breath was soft on his scalp and her fingers warm or refreshingly cool as the weather changed. He found the time surprisingly pleasant.
Before the leaves fell, the corn was stored and the lodges moved to the winter village. Usually Late Star took them to Aughwick, though both he and Friend Seeker grumbled until spring allowed their return to the Buffalo Creek. Between the mountains lay their home. Aughwick belonged to others and, like his teacher. Young Warrior preferred the taste and feel of his home place.
Even in Aughwick the name of Young Warrior had grown. This winter he found his words listened to by many who would have spurned his thoughts a year previous. Few, however, heard his voice, for throughout his years he had spoken little and listened long. He felt no need to babble about camp dogs, old deer hunts, or the prettiest maiden. He remained silent and the cold glitter of his eyes discouraged most attempting to move into his shadow.
There were a few exceptions to Young Warrior's aloofness. With Friend Seeker he was as open as he could be. Late Star's acerbic tongue kept him tentative, but he spoke softly and often, if with careful reservation to avoid the verbal jabs and slashes.
One other walked easily through Young Warrior's guard. Barely a youth, Blue Moccasin, the budding message carrier, could charm old or young, turn the angry happy, or hypnotize a listening audience as a snake could a mouse.
Where others stepped carefully within reach of Young Warrior's icy gaze and hard features, Blue Moccasin might punch his rock hard belly or fling an uncaring arm over a broad shoulder. He paid no attention to the sternness of Young Warrior's demeanor and, if possible, even less to his brooding silence. At each instance, most expected the slender boy to be painfully chastened, but for reasons they could not find, the Young Warrior did nothing.
At fifteen, Blue Moccasin sped among tribes and clans almost without restraint. Eyes as blue as the moccasins he wore marked him as quickly as his bell clear voice and, that the Pistecataway had entrusted him to deliver word of the Cherokee approach, granted him importance as a carrier of messages.
He was a reed of a boy, whose quickness lay in vine like strength and willowy flexibility. With a countenance as open as the sky and as bright as a polished stone, Blue Moccasin gained easy acceptance, but that the new killer of enemies called Young Warrior permitted him familiarities amazed the villagers, and they waited with some trepidation for the youth's expected chastisement.
Young Warrior enjoyed Blue Moccasin. He was like a puppy, apparently unaware of dangers obvious to others and undeterred by maneuverings of brow or mouth lines. His brashness did not appear at awkward moments and a contagious warmth came from him that somehow pierced the invisible barricades Young Warrior had erected.
Blue Moccasin could even manage the prickly-tongued Late Star, and that to Young Warrior was indeed a marvel. He listened closely, but could not truly understand how the boy did it. Late Star's usual directness became diverted, and caught up in Blue's new considerations he neglected his customary acidity. Late Star in serious discussion with a mere boy? It defied imagining, but Blue Moccasin never failed. If he chose his moments with care, that was part of his skill, and Young Warrior felt respect.
The best for Young Warrior were the times when others were absent and Blue Moccasin sprawled on sleeping robes with only he and Pond Lily present. The Lily made much of the boy and clapped her hands delightedly at his stories of amusing happenings in other villages.
There was a great loosening in the breast of Young Warrior during those times. He found his mouth quirking in smiles and occasionally he pleased and startled the maiden with his soft but deep-chested laughter.
Unexpected bonds grew among the three and in thinking about it, Young Warrior supposed Blue Moccasin to be his friend. Except for his teacher, he had known no friend, so he treated its newness with watchful mind. Pond Lily. . . was she too his special friend? Her warmth reached him and . . . he shied from further discovery.
If the teachers enjoyed Blue Moccasin, they also had use for him.Both plied him with stories to be carried wherever he journeyed. They told of Young Warrior's closeness to The Great Spirit and of his strength and skill. The stories were to announce that another warrior now guarded the people between the mountains and that this one was destined for greater things.
Late Star chuckled a trifle grimly as he and Friend Seeker walked among the lodges of Aughwick. Star had wrapped himself in heavy robes so that little more than his nose showed and when he spoke, his breath puffed forth like signals from a blanketed fire.
"I have so often told the story of The Great Spirit fathering our nephew that I too begin to believe it." He rolled his eyes upward, "May The Spirit and our uncles long departed believe that we mean well."
"We do not know that it is not true, Late Star." The Seeker's voice did not wholly jest and Star jerked to a halt.
"Stop, you worn-out moccasin! Speak foolishness to others but not to me."
"Calmly, old one." Late Star particularly despised being thought elderly. "We have often said, 'Who can know about fathers?' We know only that the Seneca woman bore an exceptional son. Already he surpasses most others. Since the summer he has grown again and stands now among the sons of Large Fish.
"Could this not be the hand of The Great Spirit, my friend?"
"It is not the hand of The Great Spirit, you turtle, it is the seed of a giant Susquehannock."
"W
e do not know that."
"I know it."
"Have you lost faith in The Great Father's presence, oh Star?"
"Do not question my faith. If you spoke to him as often as I, your wounds would be fewer." He added grimly, "And your thought, clearer."
Satisfied to have irritated his friend, The Seeker walked again in silence.
Tugging his robes even tighter, Late Star's voice was muffled by layers. "They say that beyond the Cherokee is a land where the Frost Spirit is unknown. We should pack our lodges and go there."
Friend Seeker's laugh was light. "This is not the time to enter Cherokee lands, oh Star. We can be certain that squaws wail and men finger weapons. Surely, you cannot be cold within those coverings. Rain has complained that few are left for her."
"Men with little feeling, like the buffalo who simply endure, may not mind the earth turned to stone and the trees stripped and bare so that the smallest wind cuts like an iron knife, but those of greater sensibilities. . ." Friend Seeker interrupted.
"Did you see Young Warrior go forth this morning, Late Star?" Enthusiasm flushed the Seeker's voice. "He wore only a clout and moccasins and no goose bumps rose on his skin, though his breath steamed like water on a fire."
"Has he returned, oh Seeker?"
"Not yet, he . . . "
"Of course not!" Star's voice turned cunning, "He has secreted robes beyond the village, and now warmly wrapped, he laughs at fools who believe he can live unprotected in winter."
Young Warrior had thought long about how the animals lived through bitter seasons. Some, like the bear, burrowed deep, but others grew long hair and lived much as before. Could a man grow accustomed to cold until he too could ignore the Frost Maidens? Young Warrior doubted it, but surely he could approach such freedom if his body and spirit were prepared. To gain each ability, he had begun small and increased as he strengthened. The winter would be long and there were no war trails during it. The temptation to discover was powerful and he chose to accept it.
The Warrior (Perry County, Pennsylvania Frontier Series) Page 8
