Calling Crow Nation (The Southeast Series Book 3)

by Paul Clayton

  Burton sat on the wooden bench, his wide shoulders sagging as the woman left to go get food. He was exhausted, having just passionately spent his seed. Someone approached and he looked up. It was the savage, carrying two buckets in his hands. The savage recognized him, but Burton ignored him. He was going to enjoy this as much as possible. He looked wordlessly at his feet.

  The savage did not go away. “Where is my friend?” he said in a plaintive tone.

  “Go away,” said Burton.

  The savage put the buckets down and came closer. “Where is my companion? Is he well?”

  Burton felt himself growing angry. He wondered who had first taught this savage to speak. Having the English language issue from his savage lips was an abomination. Burton stood and spotted Amorgh across the room. He nodded subtly. It was almost time to put the knife into this fellow.

  The savage stepped closer to Burton and touched him.

  “Where is he?”

  Burton’s face’s reddened with anger. “He is dead,” he lied. “Dead! Now, go away.”

  “No,” cried the savage, “not dead.”

  Burton looked at the twisted features of the savage and laughed. The savage stepped closer, putting his hands around Burton’s neck, pushing him backward. Burton struck at him, astounded at the man’s strength. The savage shouted hysterically now in his native tongue as he continued to push Burton backward. Where the hell was Amorgh, Burton wondered as he began to lose consciousness. A crash of sound brought Burton to. He sat up on the stone floor as Amorgh and the other Turk wrestled the savage away.

  Burton got to his feet, cursing bitterly. He spat as the savage’s screams echoed off the walls. Silence hovered in the room for a while, then the talk and laughter slowly returned. The girl rushed up. “Beer,” Burton demanded. He rubbed his throat. “Bring me a bloody beer.”

  Calling Crow awoke in his cell in a stupor. He got up carefully, his body aching and stiff from the many kicks and blows Amorgh and his man had inflicted upon him. The stones of the house reverberated only silence now and he went next door to Edward’s cell. He was gone, his door open. Calling Crow saw a wooden barrel of beer sitting on the table and took it back to his own cell. He drank thirstily, delighting in the cool rasp of the beer against his parched throat. So, Red Feather was dead-- The thought seemed to have melded into his flesh and bones now, so that they too, screamed out in pain, along with his heart. Calling Crow held the barrel up and drank more of the sweet liquid. So Sees Far had been wrong after all! Calling Crow drank more. If Sees Far was wrong about Red Feather, then could he not have been wrong about Calling Crow returning to his people with the shooting sticks? Aieyee! He hated to think these things, but they were possible. Calling Crow drank more and slowly, mercifully, discovered that he didn’t care.

  He staggered out into the corridor and headed for the stairs. Mary’s door was again open and he quickly entered and bolted it. “Where does this Amorgh sleep?” he demanded of her. “Tell me!”

  “I heard that your friend has died,” she said softly. “I am sorry.”

  Hearing this, he felt all the anger go out of him. He went over and sat on her bed. He cried drunkenly. “Where does this Amorgh sleep? Tell me and I will kill him!”

  She put her soft hand upon his head, pulling him to her breasts. Her flesh was warm and inviting. Unable to stop himself, Calling Crow ripped away her gown. She threw her head back and smiled as he mounted her, giving herself to him joyfully and with a passion that amazed and inflamed him.

  Later as he lay spent, she ran her fingers across his lips, looking down at him. George, the caged bird, sang prettily and unafraid, filling the room with his songs.

  Mary leaned down and kissed his head. “I dreamt of you again last night.”

  Calling Crow said nothing.

  Mary frowned. “It was most strange. In my dream there was a man with an arrow in his hair. Even though you had already killed him, he came from the beyond to threaten you.”

  Calling Crow turned away from her.

  Mary took a metal thing shaped like a little pot with two tubes coming out of it from beneath her bed. She then took a red silk pouch from beneath her pillow and removed a black sticky substance from it. She broke a piece off as big as a fingertip and kneaded it into a ball. Calling Crow’s sorrow and anger were building again, but he was intrigued by her actions and watched her closely. Mary took a candle from the table and lit it on the lamp. She held the candle to one of the tubes of the metal thing. She then placed the other tube into her mouth and drew upon it. As the candle flame bent at the waist, kissing the black ball, Calling Crow realized the thing was a strange medicine pipe. There was liquid somewhere inside it and it made a gurgling sound as sweet flowery smoke emanated from its top. Mary exhaled and handed the pipe to Calling Crow. He drew on the pipe, pulling some of the strange smoke deep into his lungs. After a moment he relaxed some, his anger and worry beginning to dissipate.

  Mary turned to him, her eyes as red as blood. She smiled a sad smile. “Better now, eh?”

  Strangely, as if it were someone else doing it, Calling Crow nodded his head. They continued to smoke and it seemed to Calling Crow that they were growing smaller and smaller until the bed became a vast, treeless landscape. Finally he fell into a deep, deathlike sleep.

  Chapter 33

  Despite the coming of autumn, the sun was scorching as Swordbrought, Crying Wolf and the file of four Cussitaw braves emerged from the forest and started across a field of cane grass toward the Coosa Town. Crying Wolf stopped and the four men behind him waited.

  “Swordbrought,” he said.

  Swordbrought turned.

  “I am not going back,” said Crying Wolf.

  “Crying Wolf, you must.” Swordbrought’s face was big with disbelief. “You will get a hearing before the Council and I will tell them of all that has happened. They will give you a chance to prove yourself again.”

  “For what I have done there can be no second chance, Swordbrought. I have no people anymore. I can never again show my face in Coosa Town.”

  “You are wrong, Crying Wolf,” said Swordbrought.

  Crying Wolf shook his head. “No. I am not wrong. All the things they said in Council are true. You are the best representative of the Coosa people. The Council chose well.”

  Crying Wolf turned away. Limping slightly, he ran back into the forest and disappeared.

  Swordbrought started toward the distant palisade, the Cussitaw braves following him. A group of boys playing outside the timbered walls spotted them. The boys watched warily, ready to run into the safety of the palisade. As the men drew closer, some of the boys recognized Swordbrought and they all ran out to meet him. The boys were smiling and talking as they approached but quickly lapsed into a wary silence when they realized that Fox-Disappears and his three men were not of their village. The boys followed the men inside, but hung back a dozen paces, talking in furtive whispers.

  The file of men moved along the village streets followed by a growing crowd of curious children. Some idle people noticed the men’s appearance and stopped their talking to watch them pass. In the cornfields, men broke up the ground with fish-bone hoes, the muscles in their backs rippling under their sweat-glistening skin, while women jammed finger-deep holes into the earth as they deposited seeds there in a swift motion. These took no notice of the arrivals.

  It was dark by the time the Council was ready to formally receive Swordbrought and Fox-Disappears and his men. They entered the torch-lit chokafa and seated themselves across from the Council of Old Men. Two Clouds was the first to speak. He got to his feet and looked at Swordbrought and the others. He then turned and addressed himself to Sees Far.

  “Sees Far, Swordbrought has brought back warriors to help us in our fight against the Timucua, but not as many as we wanted.”

  Sees Far nodded his grave face and the other old men smiled at this.

  Two Clouds turned back to Swordbrought. “Swordbrought, why have you brought
back only four men?”

  Swordbrought rose to his feet. “Grandfather, that is all they could spare. The Cussitaw people are off fighting a war against the Chellagee people. When they finish, many more will come here and help us.”

  Two Clouds nodded. “If we are still here. Mantua and his men are a day’s march south of us.”

  Swordbrought nodded toward the squat Muskogee brave, Fox-Disappears. “These people saved my life. With their help we will repel the Timucua.”

  Two Clouds turned to the other old men. “Well, I think we chose well to send Swordbrought. He did what was asked of him.”

  The old men nodded in agreement and Two Clouds turned back to fix his hawkish eyes on Swordbrought. “Sees Far tells me that he never sees your father anymore in his dreams, but that he is sure he isn’t dead.”

  “I am sure that he will return to us,” said Swordbrought.

  Sees Far nodded in seeming agreement and Two Clouds went on.

  “Swordbrought, we cannot wait any longer for Calling Crow. We must take action soon. Take Fox-Disappears and Little Bear with you and find out what Mantua and his men are planning. They already have over two hundred braves in their camp. That is more than enough to overrun our town and take our women and children prisoner. But they appear to be waiting for something before they attack. You men must go and find out what that is. We must know how much time we have.”

  Swordbrought’s smooth, young face grew grim. “Of course, Grandfather. We will do what you wish.”

  Chapter 34

  Always, the effects of Mary’s smoke stayed with Calling Crow long after he left her bed. These days he moved in a stupor through the steamy cubicles, carrying wood and pouring water. The shouts and bawdy laughter of the people no longer bothered him as they rattled off the wet stone walls, clattering in and out of his ears. Even more strange, Edward’s kind voice was just another noise to Calling Crow now as he moved about his tasks. Only the occasional echoing strains of Edward’s music penetrated the thick fog that had enveloped Calling Crow’s heart. When he heard the music, it was like the sight of a colorful spray of yellow flowers in a sunny clearing after one emerged from a dark cave. Then it was gone and the dark and quiet again engulfed him.

  Calling Crow did not know why they had taken his chains off, or why they left his cell unlocked. He tried to understand it, but his mind no longer seemed capable of clear thought. This night, like all the others, he looked up to see that the door that led to the women’s rooms was open. He quietly mounted the stairs to Mary’s room. They made love as if outside of time, their passion a meal they lingered long over, both giving and tasting all the flavors they’d enjoyed over a lifetime. Then they smoked and the pipe sucked Calling Crow dry of all sorrow and pain. This night he noticed that along with his sorrow, his body was drying up. He was lighter, weaker, like a gourd left to dry in the sun. They slept.

  Sometime before morning, Calling Crow and Mary awoke to the heavy thud of the front door. Voices argued loudly. Calling Crow went out and Mary followed him. They heard Amorgh’s familiar cough and Edward’s voice, and another voice that Calling Crow had not heard in a while-- Collier!

  Calling Crow and Mary crept closer around the stairwell. Amorgh and his man and Collier stood on the landing facing Edward. Collier wore a great black cape, having just come in from the cold. His breath billowed as he accosted Edward. “What did you take?” he demanded.

  “What are you talking about?” said Edward.

  Amorgh and his man grabbed Edward from behind, bending his arms around. They were hurting him and Calling Crow thought he should go to him, but the black smoke had taken all his caring. All he could do was hide and watch with Mary.

  “Don’t play innocent with me,” yelled Collier. “Someone broke into my carriage-- and Porter says he saw you in the town last night.”

  “I’m free to come and go as I please,” said Edward.

  “Yes,” bellowed Collier, “and I’m free to tell a certain sheriff where you are hiding yourself these days. Now, what did you take, you bloody thief!”

  “You have nothing that I would want,” said Edward with scorn.

  “Filthy Irish liar!” Collier grabbed Edward, turning him about. They fell to the ground and Collier rolled on top, straddling the smaller man’s chest. Edward cursed and laughed drunkenly. Collier grabbed him by the hair, lifting his head. Calling Crow opened his mouth but Mary held her hand over it, quieting him.

  Collier slammed Edward’s head into the stones. “What did you take?” he demanded. He slammed his head again with an awful thud. “What did you take?”

  Edward did not move as thick blood pooled beneath his head.

  “You’ve killed him,” said Amorgh worriedly.

  Mary cried out and made the sign of the cross. The men looked up in surprise as Calling Crow staggered down the stairs.

  “Get him,” shouted Amorgh He and Collier rushed up. No longer strong, Calling Crow was easily pushed back and overcome by the men. They beat him and he barely felt the blows. Then they took him back to his cell.

  After Edward’s death, Calling Crow went about his tasks mindlessly, not even minding the occasional sting of the whip. He continued to go to Mary’s room, but they no longer made love. They were both too sad and empty now. Instead, they smoked the pungent black tar that Mary kept beneath her pillow. It sent their souls on journeys to distant, featureless lands full of warm drifting fogs and devoid of people and animals. Once Swordbrought, Green Bird Woman and Bright Eyes appeared to Calling Crow. Bright Eyes held a child, his grandchild, out to him. He sat up on the bed and threw the bubbling pipe away as if it were a live thing. It clattered metallically across the floor. He turned to Mary, his eyes full of tears and blood, “I must leave! I must go home. Tell me where Amorgh sleeps.”

  Mary’s eyes were bloodied and vacant as she calmly shook her head. “Then he will kill you too.”

  Calling Crow stared at her, knowing he should feel anger and rage, but he could feel nothing. There was nothing inside him anymore. He left the bed and crawled across the stone floor to retrieve the pipe.

  “You need more, is all,” said Mary, placing another black piece of death in the pipe’s bowl. Calling Crow quickly held the candle to it and drew on it. The little flame curled over the edge of the bowl like water running over a fall as smoke gurgled through the thing. Calling Crow passed it wordlessly to Mary as the faces in his head dissolved. He fell back upon the bed. Soon his soul embarked on another journey to the strange dead lands.

  Chapter 35

  The topknotted Timucua braves made no attempt to hide themselves as they stood up in the dugout canoe and paddled out into the river. Many more braves lined the banks, sitting or standing to talk and watch the men in the canoe. From their hiding place across the river, Swordbrought, Little Bear and Fox-Disappears watched one of the Timucua lean out and jab downward with a five-pronged spear. He triumphantly hoisted a wriggling fish, its silver sides flashing bright sunlight. “He is the biggest one!” The voice drifted across the water clearly, as if the speaker were right next to the hidden Coosa braves.

  “Look,” whispered Little Bear, pointing at some Timucua working farther up the riverbank. The men waded in waist deep water as they pounded wooden stakes into the river bottom. “They are building a fish weir-- on our land!”

  Swordbrought watched, noting how the very big brave, Little Bear, quivered with rage after his pronouncement. They could do nothing now however, for there were too many. Indeed, there were too many Timucua for the village.

  Swordbrought ignored the noise the Timucua fishermen and workers made as he listened to the forest behind him. They had been here three days now and, even though they had left no traces of themselves, they must not relax their vigilance.

  Fox-Disappears tapped Swordbrought on the shoulder. Swordbrought turned to watch the tall Timucua chief, Mantua, carefully make his way down the mud-slippery bank to the river. Mantua bent at the waist to splash himself with water,
then looked at his top braves.

  “Avila brings in his ship in two moon’s time. We will get our camp ready and stock up on fish and meat. Then we will attack and take our slaves. When Avila arrives he will pay us in thundersticks and long knives.”

  The braves raised their axes skyward, shouting in anticipation. Then their voices lowered as they discussed further with their chief.

  Swordbrought’s face was grim as he turned to the other two men. “We have seen and heard enough. Let us start back before it gets too dark.”

  As they quietly made their way out of the thicket, a movement caught Swordbrought’s eye and he pulled his fighting axe from his belt. Little Bear and Fox-Disappears pulled theirs also. A loud cacophonous chorus of Timucua war cries erupted from all around as twenty or thirty men rushed at them. Swordbrought aimed a blow at a powerful-looking brave but he deftly parried it. There was no time for a second blow as several large braves slammed him painfully to the ground. Before Swordbrought went down, he had the satisfaction of seeing Fox-Disappears land a bloody blow to the head of a Timucua brave. Then they were being dragged swiftly across the shallow river, a man on each arm. Swordbrought regretted that he hadn’t taken them home the night before. Now it was too late. He prayed to his spirit guide that their deaths would be swift and that he would be brave.

  Chapter 36

  As Calling Crow carried the boiling water to the baths, Edward’s death was before his eyes. The picture would not go away. In Edward’s death he saw the death of others far away. They would soon die because he was here and powerless to help them. And there was not enough black smoke in the world to alleviate the pain of that realization. Slowly he went about his final task of damping down the fire beneath the great caldron. As he stared into the flames, the heat burning his face and arms, he found himself thinking of his people’s story about the coming of medicine. The story told how once there was no pain and sickness in the world to afflict people. Life was good for a long, long time. Then, people offended the animals by killing too many of them and not showing gratitude for those they had killed. The animals held a great council and decided to send sickness to the people. People suffered so much that eventually the animals took pity on them. They appeared to the holiest of the people while they dreamt, and told them what plants they should use to cure their sicknesses. They also told them how to use the sweat lodge to heal themselves.