The Legend of Tyoga Weathersby

by H L Grandin

  “His demands will be much because he has lost much. It is right that it should be so,” Night Bear said.

  “If he asks for weapons, rifles, and knives, we do not have these things to give,” White Wolf said. “Even if we did, it would be foolish to give weapons to those who would use them against us.”

  Nodding in agreement, the others did not respond out loud.

  Taking a firebrand from the firepit, Silver Cloud touched the flame to the bowl of the tan clay pipe and sucked mightily to ignite the coarse cut tobacco leaves. Looking at Tyoga between puffs, he asked, “My son, is your spirit wolf with us this day?”

  Tyoga glanced at Tes Qua, picked up a dried pinecone lying on the ground at his feet and began tearing it apart. “He has been following us on our journey, A-do-da (father). He is in the bushes down by the river.” He nodded his head toward the west.

  Clouds of acrid smoke engulfed the chief’s head, and drifted slowly toward the open side of the lean-to. Drawing deeply on the stem of the pipe, Silver Cloud asked, “Will he remain with us?”

  “He will watch over us through the night, and keep us safe.” Tyoga looked into the eyes of each of the elders. What he had been asked was intended to solicit a response to a more important question. He pinched what remained of the pine cone into a powdery dust, and watched it slowly disappear into the grass. “But, a-do-da, I cannot stop him from killing.”

  The men acknowledged his answer with a chorus of noncommittal grunts.

  Night Bear said, “It would not go well with us if he choses this time to kill again.”

  “Night Bear speaks the truth,” Not Afraid of Knowing chimed in. “My son, you must do all that you can to make sure that he does not harm any Shawnee while we are here.”

  “Adoda,” Tyoga addressed Not Afraid of Knowing with the title of respect. “If I knew how to stop him, I would.”

  All the men bowed their heads in deference to Tyoga’s reply. There was nothing more to be said.

  While the men sat around the fire in silence, pondering what Tyoga had said, a group of Shawnee women appeared walking toward the shelter from the village. They had removed the bells from their ankles and they approached the campsite quietly and in a manner that conveyed friendship. The women were carrying baskets and bundles wrapped in bright, colorful blankets.

  “Hey-Heya.” In response to Tes Qua’s alert, Prairie Day and Sunlei came to the entrance of the lean-to to greet the women.

  The Shawnee women nodded as they passed by the braves. The young lady in the lead who spoke a little Tsalagie greeted Prairie Day. They laid their baskets and blankets on the ground in the lean-to, and quietly turned and walked away. The baskets were filled with deer and bear jerky, cooked squash, beans and corn, and a variety of dried fruits. The council feast would not begin until after sundown, and the travelers had not eaten since their morning meal of beans, dried fish and ga-du (bread). The gift of food was a kind gesture of welcome.

  While the men watched the Shawnee women dissolve into the distance, Sunlei appeared at the doorway of the tiny lodge to invite the men in for a late afternoon meal.

  “A do fi la hitse a-lista-yuni-ti,” (Our hosts have brought us food to eat) she announced. “Gi-yu-ha.” (Come in)

  The men stood up and began making their way inside to eat and rest.

  Tes Qua turned to see Tyoga getting to his feet, but instead of heading in the direction of the lean-to, he was turning back toward the river. “Coming in, Ty?”

  “You go ahead, Tes Qua. I’m going to go to the river to sit a spell. I’ll be back after a while.”

  Tes Qua smiled, nodded and went inside.

  The sun was making its slow decent to the western horizon, and the temperature was dropping rather quickly. Tyoga had noticed the open space of the river’s wide expanse when the group walked along the river bank on their way to the Shawnee village.

  It called to him now.

  In the woods and along the mountain trails, one sees only what the immediate surroundings permit. Unless standing on a rocky outcropping or perched upon a summit rock, the view is bound by the density of the underbrush and proximity of the trees.

  Outcroppings and summit rocks were Tyoga’s favorite places in the mountains. The outcroppings permitted him to see from mountain range to valley below, and the summit rocks open the vista from horizon to horizon. Absent the confines of space and time and place, his spirit was free to soar. Open space beckoned to Tyoga like the glow of a flame to a maple moth in the evening shadows.

  Even more than the openness of the river’s wide expanse, it was the rhythm of the water that lured him with overpowering necessity.

  If Wahaya was Tyoga’s spirit-guide, water was the shepherd of his soul.

  The integrity of its eternal ebb and flow was as apparent to Tyoga as the cycles of the moon that made it so, and the rhythm of the rising sun that blessed its journey anew at the start of every day. The honesty of the images its surface reflects are as true as the seasons and time itself. Pretense and charade are absorbed by its depths revealing the truth, unvarnished and raw, to be reconciled or denied. The water will abide no lie nor suffer injustice. The water tells only the truth.

  The banks of the Chappawana River were only about one hundred yards away from their campsite.

  The winding path that led to the river was lined with briar and berry patches, and Tyoga stopped to pick and eat some of the remaining dew berries. He was hungry. Fussing to claim a comfy perch for the night, the birds were scurrying about in the upper branches of the large oak trees. Gazing up into the trees while he maneuvered the path, Tyoga mimicked the repetitive crescendo of the darting cardinals. He smiled as they enthusiastically answered his ruse.

  He turned his attention back to the path when it dipped into a ravine. He scurried along the downward slope, and put his back into the three steps needed to get him to the top of the rise on the other side.

  As he crested the slight ridge, he stopped short in his tracks.

  Twenty-five yards from the water’s edge, Seven Arrows stood in the middle of the path. “Ay-ho, Wahaya,” he sneered through the cruel grin that skewed his thin lips. He was standing where the safety and cover of the woods ended.

  Tyoga did not reply.

  The path to the river broke into an open meadow of grass and wild flowers. The Shawnee village was about two hundred yards to Tyoga’s right. To his left, open meadow and a turn in the river redirected its course to the south.

  Seven Arrows noticed him taking stock of the situation. Holding his arms out to his side and looking around, he asked in a taunting tone of voice, “So, Tyoga, you are alone? Where is your Wahaya?”

  Tyoga stared into his eyes, but said nothing.

  A derisive smile tightened Seven Arrows’ lips. “It does not matter. Even he could not stop what will happen to you at council tonight.” His demonic smirk broke into a toothy grin. “Tell me, Tyoga, Sunlei came with you to South Fork, yes? Is she back at camp preparing your bed? Do you think that you will be lying next to her this night? Will the softness of her body keep you warm? Hmm?”

  Tyoga’s hands began to clench into steely fists. He felt his heart begin to race and his breathing become shallow and sharp. He recognized the focused stare that presaged the transformation. On most occasions he fought the invasion of Wahaya-Wacon, but today, he lowered his chin to his chest and welcomed the spirit to enter. He extended his arms out to his sides ever so slightly and felt his muscles engorge with the naked abandon of the wild. His pupils ignited as the world around him came into sharp focus and the crispness of contrast stripped the world of color and hue.

  “I told you that the day would come when you would pay for what your spirit wolf has done.” The smile left Seven Arrow’s face and he took two fast deliberate steps toward Tyoga. He threw both fists into the air and screamed with all his might, “That day has come!”

  He stepped back and pretended to listen intently. Cupping his hand around his ear, he said, “No dist
ant howl. Perhaps your spirit wolf has left you, Tyoga Weathersby. Or maybe only you are able to hear him. Is that it? Or are you truly alone?”

  Without lifting his chin from his chest so his eyes were concealed from Seven Arrows, Tyoga said, “He is here, Descota.”

  “Oh? He’s here? Where? Show me.” Seven Arrows barked with growing confidence at seeing no sign of the wolf. “Show me this fearsome beast that protects the soul of Tyoga Weathersby. Call him out. Make him show himself.”

  Tyoga raised his head and stepped toward Seven Arrows with determined measured steps. “He is here, Descota,” he repeated in a demonic voice that was no longer his own.

  Seven Arrows stumbled over himself backing away from the frightfully cold glowing eyes that were filled with hatred and murderous intent. He fell to the ground, but quickly rose to his knees before the advancing Wahaya-Wacon. He got to his feet and ran as fast as he could for the safety of South Fork.

  Tyoga watched the coward retreat in horror at what he had witnessed. When Seven Arrows was no more than a speck in the distance, he turned and returned back through the woods. His visit to the river’s edge to quiet his soul would have to wait for another time. He did not want to face the horrible truth that the river’s surface was sure to reveal. The water would accept no mask nor suffer disguise. It would reflect the naked truth that tethered him forever to his spirit guide.

  The reconciliation of colliding truths would have to wait.

  Chapter 24

  The Call to Council

  The evening shadows were filled with the thunderous beat of the ceremonial drums. It was the signal that Yellow Robe and the Shawnee elders were ready to receive the Cherokee delegation.

  Silver Cloud and the others were on edge. Their brief welcoming encounter gave no hint about the true nature of the Shawnee’s invitation to council. The parlez would be about the death of six Shawnee braves, and reparations would surely be demanded for the loss. How the meeting would end, and what repayment would be demanded was anyone’s guess.

  The sound of the drums poured into the Ani-Unwiya’s lean-to with a thunderous roar that filled the Cherokee with dread. Seated around the fire, they looked into each other’s eyes and recognized the fear they each harboured within their own trembling hearts.

  Chief Silver Cloud stood up. With confidence in his eyes and courage in his heart, he looked at each member of the tribe seated at his feet. His gaze paused at each one in turn. He nodded his head, and the group rose in unison. Exiting the lodge, they headed for South Fork.

  The sound of the drums grew in intensity as the small band approached the village. The space between the staccato beats filled with the resonating sound of the drumheads until the thunderous noise melded into an atonal cascade devoid of measure and beat.

  It was obvious that the entire village had turned out to mark their arrival. The Shawnee stood shoulder to shoulder to create a wall through which there was no discernable opening for them to pass. There was no mistaking this pageantry for a welcome greeting. It was an intimidating display made all the more ominous by the deafening roar of the repetitive drums and the rattlesnake sizzle of ankle bells and cowry shells.

  As they neared the human wall, Tyoga and Tes Qua feared for Silver Cloud’s safety.

  What if the people would not part to allow him to proceed into the village?

  The act would be a gesture of disrespect and hostility so intolerable that propriety would demand nothing less than all out war.

  “Tes Qua, ech ta eh alo,” Tyoga said while quickening his pace.

  Just as they got to either side of Silver Cloud, the Chief held out his hand to indicate that they were not to pass in front of him. They slowed their pace, but stayed within striking distance of their chief.

  Without slowing his pace, Silver Cloud marched defiantly up to the wall of Shawnee. With but two steps left between him and the human stockade, the sheer force of his dignified presence caused a gap to open. The human wall yawned a widening pathway that led to the edge of the ceremonial fire ring. Silver Cloud stopped and stood in the glow of the bonfire. Surrounded by the deafening, threatening din, the Cherokee waited.

  The haunting chant continued to build in intensity and volume until it broke into a wild chorus of howls, hoops, and high-pitched screams when their chief made his appearance.

  With pompous excess befitting his station, Chief Yellow Robe stepped out of the darkness, and into the amber glow of the enormous fire. The Shawnee chief had been transformed from the man that they had met earlier that afternoon. Underneath the glorious yellow buffalo robe, the Chief wore a beautiful doehide tunic with matching leggings that glowed a powdery butternut in the light of the flickering flames. The luster of a dozen necklaces strung with chickpea-size fresh water pearls bridged the deep V of the chamois-soft chemise. Bathed in the fire’s amber glow, the pearls cleaved the light into beams of dazzling color that danced from the ochre painted skin of his broad muscular chest. Deer hide fringe and tufts of feathery fox fur were sewn into the seams of each sleeve of the tunic. The mid-thigh bottom hem was ringed with red squirrel tails. His leggings were similarly fringed. The length of the fringe from the waist to mid-calf decreased as it descended his long muscular legs. His tunic was ornately appointed with elegant needlework patterns made of tiny puka shells, bone shards, and soap stone. The talons of an eagle were outlined on his left breast, and five bear claws decorated the right. Metal bracelets fashioned from various ores were wrapped around his wrists, and multicolored leather laces looped around both forearms.

  The most striking difference between the Yellow Robe that greeted the group earlier in the day and the man who stood before them now was the black war paint that covered the top half of his face. From a line that ran laterally from each nostril to the lobe of each ear, and all the way to the top of his shaved head, his face had been smeared with bear grease infused with the coal and ash of burned walnut wood. The umber pigments contained in the heartwood of the walnut tree gave a reddish tinge to the black bear grease to add a demonic dimension to the chief’s appearance.

  Accentuated by the blackness that surrounded each socket, his eyes flashed an incredulous expression of surprised intent, which was oddly disconnected from a premeditated plan. A two-inch stripe of red ochre ran below the blackness of the top half of his head across his cheeks to his upper lip.

  He wore a crown made from the antlers of a white tail buck. Like pleading hands begging the heavens for mercy, the ten points reached to the heavens in a magnificent display of nature’s symmetry and balance. The breathtaking crown added nearly two feet to Yellow Robe’s already impressive stature.

  He raised the scepter that he was carrying in his right hand high into the air.

  The drums stopped.

  All grew deathly silent.

  In a tone and volume that seemed inappropriately mild for the occasion, Yellow Robe said, “I welcome the members of the Ani-Unwiya Cherokee to the land of the Shawnee and to our homes at South Fork. You have come in peace and you will be treated as our honored guests. There is much for us to discuss. First, we will eat.”

  Silver Cloud only nodded at the end of the welcoming speech and stepped aside when Yellow Robe and the other Shawnee tribal elders made their way through the crowd to the place of honor where they and their Cherokee guests would eat the evening meal. Silver Cloud followed behind the last of the Shawnee elders and took his seat next to Yellow Robe. The rest of the delegation sat down behind the elders on the pallet of bear, beaver and elk hides.

  As they took their seats,Tyoga said to Tes Qua, “Do you see them in the shadows? They are along the tree line to the north.”

  Tes Qua answered, “Yes, I see them. They are down along the river too.”

  Sentries were posted all around the circumference of the village.

  “I guess they reckon that we’re both pretty dangerous fellas,” Tyoga said to Tes Qua with a wink of his eye. Tes Qua managed only a nervous grin as he took his seat behind the
elders.

  Sunlei sat down in between Tyoga and her brother.

  Praire Day, who had taken a seat between her father and White Wolf, got up and sat down on the other side of Tyoga.

  Taking notice of the move, Sunlie fidgeted nervously and moved closer to Tyoga.

  The elders ate in silence while staring straight ahead into the darkness of the night. The Shawnee villagers ate with vigor while laughing over friendly conversation, and dodging the children who were allowed to run wildly through the crowd while chasing dogs and chickens. The Shawnee served generous portions of elk and bear, maize and beans, and a pleasant beverage made of a blend of fermented peach and apple ciders.

  While the crowd ate and drank with ever increasing revelry, Tyoga sensed a disquieting agitation growing in the young Shawnee braves. The others felt it, too.

  “Ty?” Sunlei’s questioning tone indicated her nervousness at the boisterous advances of the crowd.

  “It’s okay, Sunlei. They don’t mean no harm. They’re just hoping to make us uneasy, that’s all. No need to worry.”

  Sitting on the outside edge of the dining group, Prairie Day was the closest to the Shawnee mob. She moved in closer to Tyoga so that their knees were touching.

  He turned to her. “It’s okay, Prairie Day.”

  Tes Qua said, “Ty, you see the one with the eagle feathers in his braid and the scar on his face?”

  “Yeah, I see him, Tes,” Tyoga replied.

  “You see the way he is looking at Sunlei?”

  “Easy, Tes Qua.”

  Tyoga watched the young brave who was drinking more than he was eating while grinning lustfully at Sunlei. He was stroking his crotch vulgarly while his companions egged him on with their drunken laughter and taunting.

  Recognizing the sensations that presaged the sizzle that would drain his eyes of hazel-green, Tyoga took slow deep breaths. “Tes, do you see Seven Arrows?”