The Legend of Tyoga Weathersby

by H L Grandin

  A generous man, Tyoga helped those in need no matter their race, color, creed, or tribe. He denied no man food and shelter, and was willing to pay an honest wage for an honest day’s work. He was held in high regard, lavished with gifts of tribute and thanks, and protected by an unspoken allegiance with the Native Americans that shielded his estate from speculators, squatters, and raids from distant tribes. His kindness had been repaid many times.

  Forever wild, Wahaya remained on the outskirts of the Twin Oaks compound and spent most of his time on the eastern slopes of the mountain on the far side of the Mattaponi. He was covetous of the time he and Tyoga spent together, and reluctantly tolerated intrusions by others. He had grown to know the children and recognized them as members of his human pack. Joshia was five years old and their daughter, Rebecca Jane, was two. Sometimes, he would hide in the tall grasses on the banks of the Mattaponi to keep a protective eye upon them when they were in the yard.

  He had come to tolerate Brister, but shunned the company of others almost completely.

  When Tyoga traveled through the backwoods with others at his side, the wolf followed behind at a great distance. Tyoga’s traveling companions knew that he was always lurking in the shadows, but they made no effort to catch a glimpse him. When Tyoga visited villages and towns to conduct business, Wahaya would hide in the omnipresent divide that separates the tame from the wild in the underbrush.

  On a cool, late autumn evening in November, Tyoga and Brister were sitting in an ornate gazebo along the banks of the Mattaponi. One of his favorite spots, Tyoga would sit for hours staring into the distant mountains, and feeling the promise song fill his heart.

  The plaintive wail of the wolf descending to the water’s edge, spurred Brister to ask, “Massa-Ty, you notice sumpin different ‘bout da wuf?” His English had improved over the years, but he still had a strong accent and difficulty with tense and gender.

  “I have, Brister,” Tyoga replied. “Yes, I have.”

  “What wrong you tink?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but he has been awfully restless. I hear him calling from as far away as Lasiter’s Ridge. That has to be about seven miles northwest of here.”

  “’N da other evnin late, by da big house, he jes keep lookin’ to da west. His head no move. Jes’ look west. .”

  “I don’t want you to say anything to ‘Missy Jane,’ but I’m thinkin’ he wants me to go back over the mountains with him.” Tyoga paused, stood, and walked over to the railing of the gazebo. “Someone may need me,” he whispered to the wind.

  Since his arrival in the land of the Mattaponi, Tyoga had only spoken about Sunlei to Trinity Jane. Others had learned of his past through the legend that had grown around him. The loss of Sunlei and the brutal attack upon Seven Arrows that caused her to be sent away had morphed through time and interpretation into a story that reflected little of the truth. Some stories had Tyoga slitting Seven Arrows throat, while others told of his demise by the fangs of Wahaya-Wacon.

  The truth was quite different from the wild tales. Tyoga never let anyone know that he knew who had slit Seven Arrows’ throat.

  Although his old life at South Henge and Tuckareegee seemed a lifetime ago, he thought about home, and her, more frequently than he wished to admit.

  Tyoga didn’t share with Brister that he had noticed a great deal more about Wahaya’s behavior than simply staring to the West. Signs of his restlessness and his vocal imploring for Tyoga to follow him over the mountains were far from subtle cues.

  Something was amiss. He felt it in the breeze and smelled it pouring over the whispering pines.

  The reason for Wahaya-Wacon’s restlessness would become apparent very soon.

  Chapter 58

  Dreams of a Different Life

  It was nearly a perfect early-winter’s day in the later part of November. The golden maple and crimson oak leaves left clinging to the trees twisted in the breeze like tiny flags celebrating a life, well lived, but destined nonetheless to the ravages of decay.

  Tyoga spent the day hiking to a favorite campsite on the shores of a beaver dam about seven miles from Twin Oaks. He left the well-worn routes traveled by land speculators with their mules and clanking metal pots and pans to venture along dark, canopied game trails as old as the mountains themselves.

  With all of the land and wealth he had accumulated, he would give it all away in an instant to recapture the joys of his unfettered youth. He missed the old days when he and Tes Qua used to roam the Appalachians as wild as the eagles circling overhead and as care free as the frolicking squirrels. Even though he had a wonderful life—filled with the riches others worked a lifetime to possess; land, money, position, fame, and a wonderful companion who had given him two beautiful children—he would part with it all for just one more day running naked and free through the village of Tuckareegee with Sunlei and Tes Qua by his side.

  He walked on, lost in his private thoughts.

  Arriving at the beaver dam campsite in the evening, he started a fire, ate his venison jerky, turkey, squash, and corn, and lay back on the soft red blanket that had been his constant traveling companion for so many years. It was the red blanket that Prairie Day had given to Sunlei to pack for him when they crossed the mountains to attend the Shawnee council all those years ago. It was the same red blanket that he had covered Sunlei with when he carried her to his hideaway after rescuing her from the Shawnee braves searching for her after Seven Arrows’ throat had been cut. It was the same red blanket that Trinity Jane had around her shoulders when she stood in the doorway of Twin Oaks on the cold moonlit night when Wahaya returned.

  He turned on his side and brought the corner of the blanket to his nose and inhaled deeply. He wasn’t sure if he was searching for a reminder of Sunlie or Trinity Jane.

  Tyoga struggled to understand why circumstance had sentenced him to a life not of his choosing.

  How different my life might have been if the wolf had never come into it. What would my life have been like with Sunlie by my side? How gifted and beautiful would our children have been? What doors would her beauty and command of the English language have opened for me? What would it have been like to open my eyes in the morning and see the dawn kissing her beautiful face?

  “In all things, there are but two outcomes.” Tyoga shook his head as he looked over at Wahaya who was pacing nervously just beyond the firelight.

  Tyoga lay on the red blanket and stared up into the heavens above. The gentle swaying of the pine boughs and the chirping of the tree frogs calmed his spirit and soothed his soul.

  He remembered his awakening as a young boy of six while standing next to his papa on Carter’s Rock. He understood better than most that there was never any guarantee that life would unfold as one may wish. Indeed, the lesson of the promise was exactly the opposite. Therein lay the wisdom of knowing. The lesson of the promise was to accept the realities of the life one is given, and to passionately embrace the gifts bestowed for they are fleeting and fragile.

  His faint smile revealed the awareness that he had caught himself questioning the natural order of things and the ways that unfold simply because they must. Chuckling, he whispered out loud, “The answer makes no difference at all.”

  Wahaya had been restless the entire time that they were hiking through the mountains. He would bolt ahead on the trail, turn around, and beckon Tyoga to follow him with a whining bark that was impossible to misinterpret. When Tyoga did not increase his pace, the wolf would skamper back, circle in front of him, and race ahead while imploring him to follow.

  Restless now, he would not sit still. A nearly imperceptible high-pitched whine emanated from his throat, and would stop only when he needed to listen intently.

  “What is it, Wahaya? What do you hear?” Tyoga sat up and lay his flintlock across his lap.

  When the wolf’s whine changed into an aggressive growl, Tyoga got to his knees and cocked the lock on his weapon. With a single fluid leap, Wahaya poured silently into the
underbrush. Tyoga was right behind.

  When he was clear of the light from his fire, he pressed his body against the trunk of an enormous hickory tree, and listened intently for any sound that might give a predator—or person—away.

  The tree frogs and crickets were still blanketing the night with their incessant buzz. Whatever had spooked Wahaya was pretty far away. Tyoga heard Wahaya thunder over the ridge to the west. He ran back to the campsite, grabbed his powder horn and shot bag, and disappeared into the darkness of the Appalachian night.

  Chapter 59

  Reunion

  It was a clear, moonless night. Had the transformation not already begun, Tyoga would have had a difficult time finding his way. As the muscles in his arms, chest, and thighs hardened with the blood that engorged them with readiness, his amber glowing eyes pierced the darkness like a flaming arrow showing him the way. His senses were alive with the rhythm of the night.

  Running along a ledge that was higher up on the slope of the mountainside, Wahaya was a hundred yards ahead of him. The wolf silently sliced through the underbrush like an eel in the mudflats.

  Tyoga caught up to him on a rocky ledge overlooking a fifty-foot drop straight down into a boulder strewn canyon.

  His ears were piqued, Wahaya was staring intently down through the treetops to the canyon floor below. His concentration was broken for only a moment when Tyoga scurried onto the ledge and lay on his belly beside him.

  Tyoga heard them, too.

  Voices were bouncing along the dark granite canyon walls. Snippets of conversation escaped through the trees in an undecipherable fluid drone. The speakers were too far away for their words to be understood, but Tyoga could hear enough to know that they were not speaking English.

  He slithered on his belly so that his head hung over the ledge and cocked his head in the direction from which the voices seemed to be coming. He knew this canyon well. It was in the shape of a crescent moon and the curvature of the canyon walls made it difficult to see very far in either direction. Before he pushed himself back from the precipice, he felt the wolf leap over his back and charge along the ridge in the direction of the voices.

  He stopped himself from crying out, “Stop, Wahaya! Wait!” He had not yet descended into the depths of feral behavior responsible for his murderous rampage against the Shawnee braves nearly six years ago. Tyoga wanted to give some rational thought to what may await him in the gorge before releasing himself to the animal instincts that kept him alive.

  Before he had time to think, he was barreling along the ridge at top speed while following behind the thundering paws of Wahaya-Wacon. Together, they descended toward the canyon floor.

  He caught up to the wolf at a spot along the ridge that was directly above the campsite of the Indian party. There was no way to see down into the canyon from this vantage point, as there was a slight rise separating them from the wall of the gorge.

  The wolf was sitting on his haunches with his head cocked so that he could listen more intently to the voices coming from below. His body was relaxed, his posture made him appear more dog than wolf.

  Tyoga knelt at his side and peered up at the rise that was separating them from a clear view into the campsite.

  The voices were clearer.

  They were speaking Cherokee.

  To get to the canyon floor, they would have to continue past the point above the Cherokee campsite, and follow the ridge’s descent to the west.

  Recognizing the Cherokee, Tyoga’s mind was racing. He was anxious to get into the canyon to discover who these people were.

  The wolf did not race off in front of Tyoga this time, but waited for him.

  They hiked along the ridge until they rounded some large boulders and entered the narrow granite corridor. Once in the canyon, there would be no escape. There was one way in, and one way out.

  Concealing himself behind rockslides, Tyoga approached the campsite with caution until he could get near enough to the Cherokee to determine their origin and intent.

  The voices grew louder as he crept forward. Slipping from one hiding place to the next, he zig-zagged across the canyon. He looked behind him to see if the wolf was still close, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  He worked his away along the canyon walls until he was about fifty feet from the band of Cherokee. The curvature of the canyon kept them out of view, but he could hear the voices clearly now. To his amazement, they were speaking Tsalagi and using the dialect of the Ani-Unwiya.

  “Te ya wi-stan ge to (How much farther)?” Tyoga heard a familiar female voice ask.

  “Gay-de ye. Tah leh ya d’sge pem-i-can (Pass me some more pemican),” he heard another voice say.

  “Da gi o wiga, Mattaponi, su-na-lei (Will we reach Mattaponi, tomorrow)?”

  When Tyoga heard the English reply, “I reckon,” his hands went numb and his head swirled.

  His eyes filled with tears and the swelling in his throat made it impossible for him to utter a sound. He raised his trembling hands to his face, and buried his head to muffle his sobs of joy. Listening to the familiar voices around the corner, he allowed the tears to freely stream down his face. Filled with an indescribable joy, he dared not move for fear that the moment would die. After finding the strength to stand, he stepped around the bend in the canyon wall into the light of their campfire.

  He could not speak a single word.

  The first to see him standing in shadows of the firelight was Walking Bird. When she dropped the pouch of Pemican she was handing to Night Bear, all the braves instinctively reached for their weapons. They did not know what to make of the expression on her face, until they heard her breathlessly whisper, “Tyoga.”

  Tes Qua was sitting with his back to him. He looked up into Walking Bird’s face and saw the tears welling up in her eyes. Remaining seated, he slowly turned to face his life-long friend and savior, Tyoga Weathersby, glowing in the flickering shadows of their campfire.

  Tyoga could not move.

  Rising slowly to his feet, Tes Qua stepped over the log upon which he had been seated and began walking toward Tyoga. As he approached, a figure appeared overhead and to his left. On a rocky outcropping about twenty feet above the canyon floor, Wahaya-Wacon’s silver mane sparkled in the fire’s rising glow. Tes Qua peered up at the wolf for only a second before continuing his slow march toward Tyoga.

  “O-si yu, U-do.” Tes Qua said as he placed his hand upon Tyoga’s shoulder.

  “O-si yu. U-do, Tes Qua Ta Wa,” replied Tyoga while looking into his brother’s tearing brown eyes.

  As the two embraced in the manly bear-hug that, by force and impact, permits an otherwise unacceptable display of intimate contact and emotional exposure, Tes Qua whispered in Tyoga’s ear, “So, he picks this night to show himself to me.”

  “Don’t question him, my friend,” Tyoga said. “There is a reason for all things.”

  Chapter 60

  The Hot Embers Land

  Tyoga stayed with his friends in their canyon camp to talk through the night.

  He learned that Tes Qua and Walking Bird were married in the spring of 1701, and they had two strong boys, Two Clouds and White Bull. His cousin, Walks Alone, who had taken Sunlei to the Chickamawgua, married Morning Sky and they moved to Tuckareegee last year.

  Tes Qua told Tyoga about the death of his father, Nine Moons, and how devastated he was that his precious daughter, Sunlei, was not with him when he passed. Their mother, Wind Song, had moved in with her brother, White Feather, and was doing well.

  Tes Qua paused when he added that Prairie Day had become the bride of Talking Crow, the son of the chief of the Black Water Cherokee, the northern most member of the five-tribe confederation. They were the buffer clan between the mid-Atlantic Cherokee nation and the Iroquois.

  Tyoga looked up at the sliver of sky that could be seen from the depths of the gorge.

  Tes Qua guessed that something had happened between Prairie Day and Tyoga. He was even suspicious when it took Tyoga so l
ong to return from Green Rock Cove the day that they were summoned to Chief Silver Cloud’s lodge, but he never asked. He gave Tyoga a few minutes to cometo terms with Prairie Day’s marriage, before adding, “Tyoga. There is something else that I must tell you.”

  Tyoga veered his gaze from the sky to him, and asked, “What is it, my brother?”

  “Do you remember that night on the overlook when you told me and Prairie Day that you would leave the mountain?” Tes Qua asked.

  Tyoga nodded.

  “Do you remember what Prairie Day told you about Seven Arrows?” Tes Qua continued.

  “She said that he was not dead. She told us that his spirit lived,” Tyoga recalled.

  “She was right,” Tes Qua said matter of factly.

  “I know, Tes Qua,” Tyoga replied. “Seven Arrows is now the Chief of the South Fork Shawnee. I have known this for a long time, my brother. And still I do not understand how it is that he survived such an attack. I heard his men screaming that his throat was cut and that he was dead. How is it that he is still alive?”

  “I don’t know the answer to that, my brother. All that I can tell you is that when his body was placed at the feet of his Father, Chief Yellow Robe, the breath had not yet left his body. It is said that his hatred for you and Wahaya-Wacon is so great—he will not die until you and Wahaya-Wacon are punished for the death of his brothers. His revenge was to be his coupling with Sunlei. That did not come to pass. The debt that he now demands …” Tes Qua paused, “is the head of Wahaya-Wacon.”