Apache

by Tanya Landman

  I dared to approach.

  I sat behind the line of the youngest warriors – those who had not yet been tried in battle. Women warriors are not unknown amongst the Apache; yet not many choose the path I now followed. Squatting in the dust beside Chee, awkwardly conscious of my strangeness, I sat with those youths who had but lately begun their training. We were permitted only to listen; none but the warriors were allowed to speak.

  No one challenged me. The slightest tilt of Chodini’s head gave me to understand that I was permitted to join them. I could not see the face of Keste, but my presence was like a pebble dropped into a still pool: his ill humour rippled outwards, causing Chee to raise his eyebrows and then suppress a smile. I did not doubt that Keste was my enemy, and yet I knew not what had roused him so against me.

  When all had assembled, Chodini stood and addressed the council.

  “My kinsmen. My brothers. All have seen what the Mexicans did to our people. All have suffered. No family has escaped without loss. All mourn loved ones.”

  He paused, letting his eyes rest upon Golahka, who had lost all. The warrior’s face was unmoving and cold as stone.

  Chodini spoke once more, his voice rich with passion. “These Mexicans are but men – mortal men – as we are. They invited us to trade in a time of peace. Then they rode against our women, our children, against those who were powerless to protect themselves. We shall repay their treachery. We shall repay it tenfold. Let us go forth and avenge this wrong!”

  His voice was barely a whisper when he asked, “My brothers, will you come?”

  None were compelled to fight. It is not the Apache way for a chief to order his warriors into battle; he may lead, and they may follow, yet each man is free to make his own decision.

  None refused. All were willing to take the warpath to Mexico. Each man shouted his assent, until the mountains rang with their fierce cries.

  And now my heart pounded and the blood raced in my ears. It was possible that I too would return to the land of my enemy. I might be allowed to accompany and serve the warriors as a novice if I were deemed worthy. If I were deemed worthy. I was determined that it should be so.

  Chodini invited Golahka to stand. Laying a hand upon his shoulder, our chief addressed the council once more.

  “We are but few and the Mexicans are many. And yet the wrong has not been done to our tribe alone: it has been done to the whole Apache nation. Golahka shall journey to our brother tribes to ask if they will join us. He shall ride to meet the Dendhi and the Chokenne.”

  On hearing the word “Chokenne” my heart contracted. It is the common custom of my people that when a man marries he will join the tribe of his wife. Not all do so. But my parents had followed this tradition. My mother had been of the Black Mountain Apache, and when he took her as his bride my father had become one of Chodini’s warriors. But he had been born Chokenne, and grew to manhood in their craggy mountain range that ran deep into the land the Mexicans now claimed as their own.

  The warriors were nodding and calling out their approval of Chodini’s choice of envoy; all were content for Golahka to go forth, for he was eloquent, and in the ways of war his prowess was unrivalled.

  The warrior council dispersed. I did not move. Chee rose, but I did not go with him. When Golahka fixed me with his bleak eyes I did not flinch from his gaze, though my heart pounded hard against my ribs. Instead I sat, and waited until we two were left alone.

  And then Golahka came to me and spoke. “You wish to return to Mexico?”

  As I looked at him, I felt my eyes blazing with the lust for revenge. “Yes” was my only answer.

  Golahka nodded. “It may be so,” he said. “Indeed it may. But first you must prove yourself worthy to tread the path of the warrior.”

  I nodded. I knew what lay ahead. Rising to my feet, I stood silently while he spoke of what I must do.

  “At dawn you must depart, alone. Follow the mountains. Take food for seven sunrises. Speak to none but Ussen. Be with none but Ussen. Examine your heart. When I return from the Chokenne, you will know if you are worthy.”

  Excitement rose in my chest. Excitement – and fear. But I nodded, readily accepting my trial.

  “Go then,” he said. “Make your preparations.”

  As I turned from him, he said softly, “While you are away, do not scatter the deer.”

  I spun on my heel to face him. “I did not!” The words tumbled from my lips before I could stop them. Swiftly I slammed my mouth shut, biting my tongue to stop more spilling forth. In the coming days I would face worse perils than the false reports of Keste. I would not trouble Golahka with pettish quarrels.

  The faintest flicker of wry amusement passed across the warrior’s face. He said quietly, “I know of no boy – nor any man – who has caught a running deer. And I do not believe that any who could do as you did would have misjudged when to strike.”

  At that, he turned and walked away.

  Small wonder that my heart became swollen with pride.

  It was to Dahtet I went in search of dried meat and fat for my journey. When I made my request, it seemed I need not have wasted words in asking, for she had already packed provisions into a hide bag and filled a vessel with sweet spring water. Smiling, she handed these to me.

  “Your training has begun, has it not?” she said softly. “And now you must go forth.” She paused, and then murmured, “Be careful, Siki.”

  She said no more: she did not need to. I had known these mountains since my infancy, but I had never gone forth entirely alone. Bears roamed amongst the pines; mountain lions made their homes between the rocks. Alone, I would be small match for either beast. I felt a stab of panic.

  But I had my spear – Tazhi’s spear – my newly fashioned bow, a quiver full of arrows and my flint knife. They would serve me well. I could survive. I must. I thanked Dahtet, and turned to the task that faced me, thinking only of the morning.

  I did not sleep: I could not.

  I had always prized solitude, always cherished my stolen snatches of freedom. Yet at nightfall I had always been glad to return to the warm familiarity of my tribe. The coming nights would be long, and lonely, and I was afraid.

  Seeking strength, I reached for my father; his eyes had held me firm in the tree at Koskineh and I hoped his memory would now lend me fresh courage. But each time I grasped for his face it evaded me, slipping like water through my fingers. As the sky started to lighten I sighed, and turned my mind instead to the task that lay before me. And then – for one heartbeat – I caught a glimpse of him. An image flashed in my mind, bright as the sudden lightning that turns night to day. But he was not standing, not holding me with his gaze. This time, my father was leaning against a rock, panting, exhausted, and his eyes were wide with fear.

  When the sun lit the sky with golden streaks, I heard the soft footfalls of Golahka. Then there came the hoof beats of a horse departing from the camp through the mountains towards the south, where dwelt the Chokenne Apache. Senseless it seemed to remain tossing restlessly, listening to the breathing of Dahtet’s family as they slept, and thus I rose also to depart for my trial of endurance. I gathered my weapons, my food and my water vessel, and turned my face to the north.

  As I left the tepee, I saw the hoof prints of Golahka’s horse clear in the dust. And it was then, in my youthful pride, that I was seized by a fresh conceit. I suddenly thought to trail Golahka; to pursue him by furtive means as I had once pursued my playmates; to track him silently as I had tracked the deer.

  Golahka had told me to go alone into the mountains, but he had not said into which range I should go. Little difference then, I reasoned, if I remained in the craggy peaks of my home, or if I followed him to the sierras where the Chokenne dwelt and where my father had grown to manhood.

  My heart was filled with rushing excitement for the task I had set myself. I would trail the mighty warrior unseen into the heartland of the Chokenne; I would witness their council – with Golahka all unknowing.
When he returned to question me of my trial, how startled he would be by my knowledge of his journey.

  True enough, Golahka was on horseback, and I was on foot. But as I read the tracks, I could see he had not ridden fast; there was no need for him to do so – he was not pursued by enemies. To follow a man so dulled with sadness that he moved without caution or fear would be an easy task. I could do it.

  I turned my face to the south, and began my journey.

  The mountain ranges in the great land Ussen gave to the Apache run from north to south. It is possible to travel for many miles through the safety of the high rocks, where there is fast-flowing water, plentiful game, much wood to make fire, and cover so that the hunter may move furtively, unseen by the prey he stalks. But to journey from one tribe’s heartland to another, it is necessary to cross the vast plains that divide the ranges.

  For the length of a day, I trailed Golahka to the very edge of the Black Mountains. On horseback, he had to follow the winding trail that zigzagged between the outcrops of stone. My path was swifter, for I was on foot and could climb sheer places where a horse could not go. Thus I kept him in sight. He reached the plain at sunset, and made his camp at the foot of the hills. In a deep arroyo where he could not be seen he lit a small fire.

  Cooking vessels are fragile – fashioned from clay and easily broken. To travel carrying such a thing would be an awkward encumbrance. Thus the Apache keep many such things stored in secret caches throughout the land. I watched as Golahka broke away crusted earth and stones that sealed a small cave. Pulling out a red-baked pot, he crumbled into it a handful of the dried, pounded meat from the bag at his waist, poured on water, and set the whole in the fire to cook. The meat, I knew, would swell and yield enough to fill his belly.

  It was not so for me. I did not dare to light a fire of my own. Instead I drank such sweet spring water as remained in my vessel and – with the scent of Golahka’s mash filling my nostrils and making my mouth run with saliva – chewed on a strip of deer meat. The handful of berries I had gathered as I walked finished my small meal. And then I sought a place where I might try to sleep through the long night that fast approached. I would not rest under the cover of a tree, for I had known since infancy that this was the first place a wild beast – or an enemy – would search for me. Rather I settled at the foot of a rock face, that I might climb swiftly to escape if danger threatened.

  Golahka had wrapped himself in his blanket, and I envied him. In my great haste, I had left my own behind in the tepee. I had no fire, no covering. Sleep did not come easily.

  At dawn, Golahka began his long trek across the broad plain. I watched from the mountains as he travelled; he did not ride at speed and once more I was grateful, for my progress would be slow indeed. There was sparse cover, little that would conceal me from his view, so I had to keep low, crawling where the vegetation grew thin. Travelling thus, I could not cross the plain before evening so would have to continue my journey at night. Darkness would conceal me, and I could then move more swiftly, but I would face new dangers, for at night snakes slide silently across the earth bringing painful death to those who walk unwary.

  From my hiding place in the hills I scanned the flat land below, seeing where the patches of green growth showed the presence of water. These I fixed in my mind, for I would be in need of a drink before the day ended; and, first refilling my vessel, I began to traverse the plain.

  On the third day, at sunrise, Golahka entered the mountains of the Chokenne. When he rode, I hastened forward, for there would be cover where I could follow close and remain unobserved.

  For a long time I crept in the path of Golahka’s horse. In these mountains I could take no shorter route, for I did not know them as well as my own. Golahka too was tracking, searching for the signs that would lead to the Chokenne.

  Once, I came almost upon him. He had suddenly turned back, swinging his horse hard round and startling me. I slipped into a narrow crevice and froze, utterly motionless, until my sinews screamed and my muscles throbbed in desperation. The eye must always be drawn to movement – the smallest flicker of a bird’s wing, the slow glide of a leaf dropping to the earth – and will pounce upon it as the mountain lion leaps upon the deer. I was so placed that if I moved even a hair’s breadth, Golahka would know of my presence. And so I remained still.

  The warrior stopped to set a fire burning, and began to eat agonizingly slowly. At last, when I thought I must give myself away, so desperate was I for movement, he rode once more.

  And now in the distance I could see smoke from the Chokenne campfires rising in the evening light. In my youthful stupidity, I believed I had reached the end of my journey – that I had only to follow the direction of the smoke to come secretly upon the camp. Thus I thought to keep myself further back from Golahka; I would not risk being discovered by him or any of the Chokenne.

  As the sun began to sink, I saw a small stream in a gully below me. I was thirsty, and sought to replenish my water. I needed to rest and to chew on some dried meat. When I had drunk of the clear water and eaten, I climbed back to the trail of Golahka. I came to a jutting rock and as I rounded it, I saw to my dismay that I had been mistaken.

  The mountain fell away sharply before me, as steep as if Ussen himself had cut it away with his flint-sharp knife. Golahka could not have ventured down it on horseback; indeed, it would be impossible to pass that way on foot. A gaping ravine lay between myself and the camp of the Chokenne. I knew not where Golahka had gone.

  I was in unknown territory, and I had lost the warrior’s trail. Greatly vexed, I berated myself for my folly. I cursed aloud, the words spilling freely in the mountain air.

  It was then that I felt the knife against my throat.

  I was filled with such terror as I hope never to feel again.

  I did not fear to die: it meant but a passing from this life to the next. There I would hunt and ride as I did upon the living earth. Death held no horror for me. But I had seen what the Mexicans did to my mother before they killed her, and I knew that there are things worse than a swift and easy death.

  My mind was frozen with fear. I did not move; I made no sound. I stood still while the cold knife grew warm against my throat. And then at last the man who held me fast relaxed his grip and spun me round. I could not help myself: I shut my eyes. I did not wish to see the face of my tormentor.

  It was the last time I ever showed such weakness.

  Only when he spoke did I realize who had rendered me witless.

  Golahka.

  At once I was flooded with relief so strong that my legs struggled to hold me; I was unsteady as a newborn deer who takes its first quaking step. And then I felt shame, burning hot, pricking my eyes with salt tears. I would not let them fall. I sank my nails into my flesh and clenched my jaw tight.

  “I should leave you here for the lions and bears to prey upon,” Golahka said, his voice ringing with anger. “Foolish girl! For three days you track me. Yes, I knew you followed! Why else would I ride so slow? For three days you keep well hidden. Then you forget yourself! Did you think your journey was ended? Is that why you let slip your caution?”

  He spoke true: I had relaxed, and come from the stream carelessly. Worse, I had cursed aloud – aloud! – when I should have kept my silence.

  “A thoughtless warrior earns nothing but a shameful death,” spat Golahka. “And you – you – who wished to follow the warpath to Mexico, to walk in the land of our enemies! You should not have been so easily caught!” He shook his head, and said in a voice that shrivelled my spirit, “Be glad I was not a Mexican.”

  Shame tore at my chest sharp as a wolf’s teeth. To be disgraced before any warrior would have been hard indeed to endure; but to be disgraced before Golahka – whose esteem I had longed to win – was beyond bearing. Had he ordered me to leap into the ravine before us, I would have done so; it would have been easier than suffering such humiliation.

  He walked away, and the briefest jerk of his head told me to f
ollow.

  His horse was tethered along the track – the very track I had followed before I had set off to the stream. Had I kept myself alert on my return I would have seen the beast and known of Golahka’s ambush, and yet I had wandered blindly into his trap. It was the end of my training. Bleakly I knew I could not now earn the title warrior – I did not deserve it. Hope vanished, as the sun behind a storm cloud, leaving only cold and darkness and freezing rain. To be shamed is bitter indeed to the Apache.

  Golahka sprang upon his horse in a single bound and extended his hand for me to grasp. Clumsy in my disgrace, I scrambled, ungainly, behind him. Grunting with contempt, Golahka urged the animal forward, and we rode, by a perilous winding trail, towards the camp of the Chokenne.

  It was full darkness when we came to their settlement, and the fires burned bright. The smell of cooking hung upon the night air, and yet I felt no hunger, for shame had dulled my appetite. When those of the Chokenne stood and stepped forward, I could not meet the gaze of any who came to greet us.

  The great chief, Sotchez, embraced Golahka as a brother. When the women came to claim me as their own, I did not resist. I was banished from the path I desired and with a heavy heart I knew that now my fingers must learn to coil baskets and bead moccasins.

  But the anger of Golahka had softened in the warmth of the campfire.

  “Do you go with the women, Siki?” he said. “Are you vanquished so easily? Do you fight no more?”

  At last I lifted my eyes to look at him, and with joy I saw no rage burning there.

  “No,” I answered, striving to keep my voice strong and steady. “I am shamed … shamed indeed. But not vanquished.”

  He nodded.

  And then I found the courage to ask him, “How did you know I would follow?”

  At that Golahka laughed: a loud, clear peal that rippled across the night sky and set the stars jangling. “How did I know?” he echoed. He leant forward so that his hair brushed against my own, and said in a soft voice that none but I could hear, “Because it is exactly what I would have done myself.”