Apache

by Tanya Landman

  “Keste…” I whispered pleadingly, as my fingers fumbled for the gun’s trigger. “I beg you…”

  “You sought to take my place amongst the warriors,” he said, his voice soft as the hiss of a serpent. “You! A girl whose father was traitor to his tribe! Now know that I have bested you.”

  He raised his bow again and aimed.

  But Keste too had been slow to learn from the errors of the past. Once more he was deceived by me.

  With my remaining strength, I pulled the gun from beneath me and fired.

  I had no time to aim, and in truth I would scarce have known how to. The noise was what I desired, for it would alert our warriors to danger. They would come, and come swiftly. Keste knew it, and would have killed me before they arrived, had I not chanced to strike him. It was not a direct hit; I had but wounded him slightly. It seemed the shot had rebounded off the rock and a small splinter had pierced his bow arm. He bled. Clutching his wound lest falling drops make his trail easy to follow, Keste fled, melting into the rocks like grease in the fire.

  It was not long before the softly moccasined feet of Golahka ran swiftly towards me. Kneeling beside me, he asked urgently, “Siki! Little sister… Speak! Do you live?”

  I lived, but barely. The medicine man made many chants over me, and dressed my wounds with herbs that Ussen placed upon our land, but of this I knew nothing. It was not only the injuries to my legs that rendered me insensible – in firing my gun so poorly I had been hit by its recoil. The weapon had cracked against my skull, splitting the skin and driving me into darkness. I was carried to our camp on the back of Golahka, and now Hosidah – who could not tend Dahtet – cared for me with great skill, as lovingly as if I were her daughter.

  In the days and nights that followed, I felt my own mother lingering at the doorway to the afterlife, as though she waited to take my hand and welcome me into the Happy Place. It was a sore temptation to cease my struggle, to step willingly into her fond embrace, and leave hatred and enmity far behind.

  But on the fourth night that followed Keste’s ambush I heard someone call my name.

  “Siki!”

  Four times.

  And then the voice of Ussen whispered in my ear.

  “You will not die here, Siki, and you will not die now. You will live to be a warrior. Your people have need of you.”

  And with those words Ussen unrolled a vision before me. A vision whose meaning I did not comprehend, but which filled me with wondering awe. The red and black animals painted upon the tepee wall danced in the firelight; I watched them leap and spin. And then they gathered together as they had once before into the shape of a child – an infant whose skin was pale as the waxing moon. This time the image did not dissolve, but grew and spread in its intensity.

  The child wept. It sat alone and helpless in the dust, its face pinched with hunger. There came a woman – an Apache – who fed the child with strips of meat from her pouch. She gave freely, for all will give of their best to strangers who come upon our land – this is the rule of hospitality – and besides, who could not aid a child?

  The babe ate greedily, but was not satisfied. It begged for more, more, more, its cries rising to hideous, demanding shrieks of command. No matter how quickly the woman fed the infant, she could not quell its hunger. And now it began to grow and swell until it stood tall as a pine. This monstrous infant stamped its foot until the ground beneath it shook.

  Casting its eyes about our land, the child’s gaze at last settled on the distant hills. There amongst the trees stood a dark-haired man. One hand shaded his eyes from the sun so that his face was obscured. He beckoned and the child walked towards the mountains.

  The mountains of our home.

  The vision’s meaning was beyond my fevered comprehension. Sorely troubled, I fell into an uneasy, restless sleep.

  It was fortunate that Keste had wished to maim before he killed me, for the arrow he sent into my thigh was not tipped with the poison he might have used had he simply intended to deal death swiftly. Some Apache know how to brew poison of such intensity that with the merest scratch the victim will sicken and die in but a few heartbeats. I did not doubt that Keste was one of them. But my wound was clean, and the flesh began quickly to heal.

  Bones take longer; they must be rested, bound, immobile, until they begin to knit. It was with irritable temper that I sat idle, my shin outstretched, feeling the strong hardness of my legs wither away until the muscle was soft and the skin slack as an aged man’s. My hands I kept occupied shaping flint arrowheads until my quiver bristled with them: I would not be caught weaponless again. It was not so easy to fill my mind, and my thoughts returned always to Keste.

  He had been trailed but had not been found. Of course he had not. Nor would he be, for Keste knew and excelled in every skill the Apache possess. He would keep himself hidden until he wished to strike once more. And now another certainty settled in my mind: Keste was the dark-haired man I had seen in the tent of the White Eyes. He had followed us from there with great swiftness, and could with equal speed have returned to them. And they would, by now, have moved on. In this great land, how could any even begin to seek him?

  A new stricture descended upon our tribe in the days that followed, for if Keste had – as it seemed – tipped from haughty pride into madness, it was not I alone who was now his enemy. Any who had thwarted him must watch for their safety. Golahka was ever alert, ever wary, and Chodini moved with caution. Those boys who wished to begin training to become a warrior would have to wait; they could not go and test themselves for worthiness, for our chief would not permit any to go alone into the mountains.

  The mother and father of Keste, and his young brother, moved around our camp with their heads down, their eyes fixed to the ground. They seemed like ones shamed by the actions of their son, and yet I could not be sure if it was so. For I had seen Punte’s heart and knew of his anger. Thus I kept far from their tepee.

  Dahtet’s parents avoided them likewise. Her father trembled with rage when he considered how Keste had disgraced his child; the two men could not pass by each other without furious looks and muttered words. Her mother seemed to feel no wrath, but only fear: fear that gnawed at her in the darkness of the tepee; fear for her daughter. For when Keste had been hunted in the mountains, our warriors had found not a trace of Dahtet.

  My broken leg was bound with sticks so that it might heal straight. After one moon, and with the aid of Golahka, I was able to move about the camp. As I sat propped on a rock, he began to teach me mastery of the gun. I disliked the weapon’s great noise – with each shot it declared my whereabouts. How could one be stealthy armed thus? And yet I had to admit its usefulness, for though it had knocked me senseless, it had also saved my life.

  With the passage of two moons, I removed the splints from my leg and began to walk once more alone. At the start, I felt unsteady; the bone was mended, but my leg was wasted and my gait rolling and uneven.

  In healing, I had grown soft and weak. I could not remain so. And thus with Chee and Ishta and Huten I resumed the training of the novice. Three more times I had to accompany the warriors before I could join their council. Before then, I needed to submit once more to Golahka’s teaching.

  “To live is to struggle,” Golahka told us. “Each fight you have – even those you lose – will make you stronger for the next. Suffer. Struggle. Be strengthened.”

  We were to run to the mountain top as before, carrying water in our mouths that we would spit at Golahka’s feet on our return.

  On the first morning, when we ran the trail before sunrise, my lungs felt as though they would burst, my heart as if it would explode from my chest with the strain of keeping pace with my fellows. Even Huten outran me. I – who had once been fleetest of foot and had caught a fleeing deer. Now I limped, ungainly as a hobbled horse. My body was sheened with heavy sweat, but I kept running until at last my leg was seized with such a powerful spasm that I tumbled headlong upon the path.

&nb
sp; In the grey light, I found that Huten, Chee and Ishta had stopped with me. To my great surprise I saw that they kept me surrounded within their protecting circle as though they would stop Keste’s arrows with their own bodies.

  Chee spat out his water. “We do not leave you alone, Siki,” he said. “For now, you see, we are all bound to you.”

  Since Tazhi had been slain, and indeed even while he walked the living earth, I had often felt the people of our tribe looked at me as one whose ways were different. I was so used to solitude that at first Chee’s words alarmed me; I was nervous and felt some unease. But then – even as the rising sun drives the cold from the desert plain – I began to glow with sudden warmth. What pleasure was there in earning the respect – the friendship – of my brothers! I basked in the light of their esteem.

  We returned from our run late. The sun had climbed into the sky as we descended, and Golahka was fast coming up the trail to find us. None of us could spit our water upon the ground before him – it had been lost when my leg’s seizure halted our run.

  Golahka was not interested in hearing our explanations. “Have you been gossiping as you dawdled upon the path?” he exclaimed. “This was not to be a maidens’ outing! I thought you wished to be warriors? Acting thus, you shame yourselves. It must not happen again.”

  Loudly Golahka berated us, and yet to me there seemed little real temper in his voice. I had seen his expression when he viewed us ahead: the relief that we lived had been unmistakably etched upon his face.

  It was many days until I could keep pace with Chee, and a whole moon had passed before I could outrun him as I had the previous summer. Much joy I felt when I pounded into the camp ahead of him, spat my mouthful of water at Golahka’s feet and saw my triumph reflected in the warrior’s black eyes.

  My former strength had returned, but when Chodini led a small number of men to hunt deer on the broad plain, I did not go with them. For my chief had drawn me aside, and said, “Siki. Daughter, I know well you are a fine hunter. And yet I would ask you to remain amongst the women. Keste will not look for you there, as he may watch those who hunt.”

  I yielded to his wisdom, and yet it was with simmering resentment against Keste that I went to gather the nuts and berries that hung ripe upon the trees. My clumsy fingers seemed to squash as many as I saved. The tedium of the task left my mind free to wander, and again and again it returned to the memories of my father. I picked them over, looking for signs of rottenness, even as I did with the plucked berries.

  I recalled the time – at six summers old – I had been mounted upon a small pony and recklessly challenged my father to a race.

  “What will you give me if you lose?” he said.

  So I had wagered the doll my mother had lovingly stitched for me. My doll against his flint-bladed knife.

  We set off, and at once I knew the rashness of my gamble, for my father’s horse took but one step to my pony’s three. He could outride me with ease, and yet, teasingly, he kept just within reach. Hot, angry tears pricked my eyes and blurred my vision.

  “Yield,” he shouted over his shoulder.

  I would not. I kept urging my pony forward. And in turning to torment me, my father did not see the rabbit hole that pierced the earth before him. His mount missed its step, stumbled and he fell.

  I bested him. I kept my doll. His knife was the one I still carried at my waist.

  There had been much laughter from those who had watched our race, and my father had joined in the merriment, lifting me off my pony’s back and swinging me through the air, before setting me high upon his shoulders. But there had been an achingly long pause before he did so – a long, breathless silence when his eyes had met mine. I saw he was enraged. He could not endure losing.

  I crushed a berry between my fingers and smeared its juice into my palm, as I considered that in this, my father was like Keste.

  As a girl, I had seen only perfection. Yet now I looked afresh with warrior’s eyes, and began to see the faults that tarnished him. They were tiny fissures like those in a clay vessel. But the slightest crack will split a pot apart when it is heated. Had it been thus with my father?

  I said little during those long days of gathering, but listened instead to the gossip of the women. Huten was with us, not standing guard, but deftly picking as he chattered. With each step the rest of the novices had taken along the warrior’s path, Huten had seemed to fall further behind. It caused him much anguish. Yet here he was all peaceful content. I watched him, thinking how strange was our destiny. For had I possessed half his skill in the women’s tasks, I would have stayed amongst them, and not ventured to be a warrior. I would never have provoked the enmity of Keste, and the fate of my father would have lain, unquestioned, in the shadows where it belonged.

  I knew I should leave it there, look no more upon it. I pushed thoughts of my concerns far away, and let Huten’s laughter fill my ears and flood my mind. Warriors had come with us, and stood alert and watchful as we worked, but of Keste there was no sign. Untroubled, undisturbed, we returned to our tepees some days later, baskets brimming with food.

  It was not so for Chodini.

  After an absence of seven sunrises, he came back to our camp empty-handed. The men had tracked through the northern hills and far across the wide plain but had not been able to find any herd of deer that grazed there.

  Instead they had come upon a settlement of White Eyes. Many soldiers, who had hacked down living trees, and gouged rocks from the earth, and had fashioned for themselves a large dwelling in the great land Ussen had created for the Apache.

  Chodini related his tale with no sense of alarm. He was troubled by the lack of game, for without meat his tribe faced hunger, but the coming of the White Eyes concerned him less. Our land was broad and spacious; there was room for all to walk upon it. He had greeted the strangers and had bid them welcome. He had sworn brotherhood.

  I did not know the cause of my unease. I did not link my disquiet to the vision of the child Ussen had sent me, for what bond could there be between that monstrous infant and this regiment of soldiers? I said nothing. The hunt’s failure was of greater importance. Chodini would soon ride to the east of our mountains, where he would once again seek deer.

  Many of our tribe had come forth when Chodini returned, and now stood anxious, for it had been near eighteen moons since Tazhi had died, and winter would soon be upon us once more. The tribe was not well provisioned with food. Thus Golahka spoke to all when he said, “I will go into Mexico for cattle. I depart at sunrise. Will any ride with me?” His eyes burned at the prospect of a return into the land of his enemy.

  It was not a war party that Golahka sought. For stealth, the numbers he chose would be few. Yet none but Golahka had an appetite to return so soon into Mexico. The memory of our losses there was fresh in many minds, the grief still raw. Such a journey would be fraught with danger, and many chose instead to fill their families’ bellies in hunting deer, or antelope, or rabbits in the upland meadows. For some time, none spoke.

  Then a voice broke the stillness. “I will come.” It was Naite, nephew to Chodini, who had but lately become a warrior. His desire to prove himself was strong, but he was also of sound judgement and even temper.

  Clasping Naite’s shoulder, Golahka said, “I am glad of it. You will ride well.”

  When the next man spoke, a murmur rippled amongst the watchers, for it was Punte, father of Keste, his eyes downcast as if expecting to be refused. “I too will follow you into Mexico.”

  Golahka gave a swift nod. “You are welcome, brother,” he said, though for an instant I saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes. Punte had disowned his son when Keste made himself outcast. But the bonds of blood run deep. Keste had made Golahka his enemy: would his father do the same?

  No other warrior spoke, and the tribe went back to its tasks. I turned to go, for I knew that so few warriors would scarce have need of a novice. But Golahka called my name, and was suddenly before me, eyes glinting blackly, sa
ying, “Siki, you have not spoken. Do you wish to come?”

  I was startled to be asked; if I went it would be my second journey and thus my second step along the warrior’s path. I was young to be advancing so fast, and was astounded to be honoured so far above my fellows. My mouth did not at once obey the command of my mind. When my voice at last burst forth from my gaping lips it resounded like the crack of a gun. “Yes! Yes … indeed.”

  “Then it shall be so. Make your preparations.”

  A raid does not have the sacred solemnity of a war party, although as a novice the strictures I had to observe were the same. But there were no dances in the firelight on the eve of our departure, no dawn farewells from the assembled tribe. Instead, at sunrise we silently slipped away towards the south.

  For speed we rode. When we neared the land of our enemy, the horses would be hobbled and concealed, that we might proceed on foot for secrecy.

  We moved with great caution, even upon our own land, for neither Golahka nor I knew if the eyes of Keste followed us. And yet as we went forth, I felt my spirit rise with the joy of freedom, for in truth the friendly solicitude of my fellows had begun to weary me. I had scarce been able to move without Chee or Ishta or Huten by my side – they had become as shadows to me. Grateful as I was, I could not help but feel oppressed to be watched so constantly.

  And yet as we journeyed, I found I had but changed their vigilance for another’s. The eyes of Punte – their expression carefully veiled – seemed always to be upon me. As we rode, as we rested, as I tended the horses, gathered wood, cooked, I felt the weight of his gaze. Perhaps he thought to find me wanting. If so, I was determined to give him no cause to complain. I worked hard; I left no task undone. And yet still those eyes followed me. Punte had seen my father flee. I began to think he looked for signs of cowardice in me, fearing I too might betray my fellows.