by Mike Blakely
For a long time, Noomah searched for his mother in this country. Then the memory of her grew dim, and he ceased to crave the taste of her milk. He joined a herd of young stallions, and they practiced the ways of war for the Time That Would Come. Noomah never questioned the mystery of the Time That Would Come. He simply knew he must learn to fight. Soon, he was able to fight better than the others, and proved it often, for there were many challengers. He knew he would not stay forever in the band with his young rivals. The Time That Would Come was calling him—calling them all.
Noomah heard other calls, as well. Most came from the Ancestors of Long Ago. They said, “Run … Kick … Fear … Fight … Live!” On the grasslands, these ghost voices would call to him when he smelled an odd odor, glimpsed a new sight, or heard a strange sound. Then he would run as if a nation of flesh-eating killers held his tail, and he would not stop until sweat foamed between his legs and hot pain filled his lungs.
In the summer he was the color of shadows and light that fell together on the ground, and this was good because Noomah liked to stand in the shade of the trees that fringed the banks of drinking places, where he melted from sight like a ghost horse. In the winter, his coat matched the pattern of patchy snow on the dark earth, and this was also good, for he would paw for dried grass in places where snow and earth mingled.
This coat of Noomah’s helped him hide from the two-leggeds, for they could not smell things on the wind, and relied mostly on their eyes. The two-leggeds were slow, but they would sometimes rise from the earth on the backs of horses, lending strange powers to the four-leggeds they rode. Noomah had known the presence of two-leggeds since the days of suckling his mother’s milk. He feared them. They were strange. They made sounds unlike any other in the land between the river and the mountains—shaking-singing-rattling-squeaking-thumping-croaking-whistling sounds.
Noomah especially feared the sight of a two-legged upon a horse. Any other horse he would fight. But a horse with a two-legged on its back would cause Noomah to run head high and eyes wide. The two-leggeds reeked with the odor of death and filth.
Still, Noomah would sometimes wander near the places where the two-leggeds gathered, for they kept horses there, and the scent of mares crazed him so that he forgot his fears of the odor of two-leggeds and ventured near. The Time That Would Come seemed to call him there. Then, some two-legged would rise from the earth and remind him of his fear with the terrible sounds and smells.
One day, the Time That Would Come arrived in the land between the river and the mountains. The scent of a filly came to Noomah on the sage flats, and crazed him beyond all reason. He charged into the wind until he found a herd led by an old gray stallion. This gray warrior flew at Noomah with all his hard weapons, but the young stallion was strong and quick and fired by ancient powers. He drove his hooves into the skull of the old one and ripped the gray coat with his teeth until the smell of blood hung everywhere on the wind.
The old gray one’s mares scattered as he limped away, and many young stallions rose from the earth to fight for them. Wild, violent clashes went on for days all across the land, until Noomah found himself in possession of four females. One was the filly whose scent had crazed him into battling the old gray one, for he had pursued her relentlessly and fought off all challengers who wished to possess her.
Now the voices of the Ancestors of Long Ago told him what to do. He mounted the filly and felt his loins explode with pleasure such as he did not know to exist in the hard world of snow and heat, rock and cactus, hunger and fear. From here forward, the Time was no longer a mystery to him, and he would marshal his herd with rapacious vigilance, and seek forever to bring more mares into his possession.
One day, while guarding his females, many two-leggeds came, riding the backs of horses. There were so many that all Noomah could do was run, driving his herd before him. He ran toward strange places, and the two-leggeds followed. Other horses joined him, and they all ran together until Noomah’s insides burned and his feet ached from pounding over rocky places. The mares from different bands became mixed, and stallions would clash and fight as they ran.
The flight from the two-leggeds carried the running horses into a tall barrier of dead limbs and things that looked to Noomah like the fearful stinking piles of driftwood along the river. He was afraid to approach, so he ran along the barrier, keeping between it and the two-leggeds on horses. Somehow, the barrier coiled around him like a huge swirl of wind, and Noomah was caught in it with all the strange horses.
The stallions continued to fight, and Noomah had to prove that he feared none of them. He was tired from the long flight from the two-leggeds, but so were the others, and he fought off each challenger with sharp kicks and bared teeth, though sometimes two and three at a time came to fight. The whole terrible place smelled like sweat and blood and dirt, and made Noomah go crazy with anger and fear.
When the fighting finally died down, he began looking for a way out of the circle of dead brush that stood between him and his home of open sage and grasslands. Dust clogged his nostrils and throat, and he snorted his anger. He rose and fought the barrier of dead branches that looked like the strange piles of drifted wood along the river. He stood high with his hooves flailing, and heard branches snapping as pieces of wood flew. He saw the light of the open sage flats in a hole he had beaten into the barrier and leapt through it.
In a moment Noomah was free and running. He heard the ancient voices singing: “Flee! Flee-ee-ee-ee!” He felt his heart pounding in time with his hooves as the sounds of the trapped herd fell behind him. But the two-leggeds came, and one threw a snakelike thing at him that caught him around the throat and choked him. Noomah fought, but the noose made him fall deep into a land of pain and black nothingness.
When he felt air in his lungs again, he rose from the ground to find a rope wrapped all about his head and stuck into the ground. He could not get away. He could not run. His fear was like a nation of biting flies that crawled all over him and made his skin twitch and tremble. He pulled against the rope until his head was sore and bleeding.
The darkness came. Then light. Then darkness. Then light. Noomah’s throat felt like a spider’s hole in the ground. His fear left, replaced by weakness. He thought of water, only of water, but none came under the circle of earth he could reach.
Finally, one of the two-leggeds approached. Noomah was too weak to fear. He let the two-legged pull the rope that held his head. The rope pulled, and he followed, for it hurt his head when he fought against it. The two-legged brought him to water, but not enough to give him strength. Only enough to make him live. Noomah liked the water, but he did not like the two-legged. He longed for his strength.
The days that followed were bad. The two-leggeds kept him tied in the sun, taking him once a day to water, once to graze for a short while. Noomah felt himself wasting away. He needed grass. He had to follow the two-leggeds who led him, but he hated them.
His life with the two-leggeds got worse. They would come at him three and four at a time. They would strap some bad squeaking thing around him tightly, and one of them would climb onto his back. It was like having a flesh-eater upon him, and Noomah would twist out from under the horrible beast. Then a pain would seize him across the nose and his lungs would burn for air. Sharp things would gall his ribs and two-leggeds would pull at his ears, making pain shoot all through his sore head. Always, the shaking-singing - rattling - squeaking - thumping - croaking - whistling sounds followed the two-leggeds.
Noomah learned to avoid the pain. Soon, he was standing still and letting the two-leggeds climb onto him. He would carry his rider until he was almost too weak to stand. Then the two leggeds would let him have grass and water.
The days got better. The two-leggeds took him to a place with good grass and water. He got stronger. To avoid the pain the two-leggeds knew how to inflict, he continued to let them crawl onto his back. He feared them less, but hated them more. Sometimes he would let his hatred go and kick or bite
one of the stinking two-leggeds, but they always hurt him worse. He needed grass and water, and for that reason only did Noomah let the two-leggeds ride him.
He grew stronger, but the two-leggeds only rode him harder. Now one of them in particular came to make him suffer. This one grew shaking-singing things from its heels that gouged Noomah’s side and made him run. This most horrible of two-leggeds would force a hard cold thing between his teeth. It would wrench his jaw with such pain that Noomah had to obey. This most horrible of two-leggeds carried a thing that struck like a tail caked with mud and gravel, and it too made Noomah run. Now he lived inside a circle of dead trees stacked one on the other, too high for him to jump.
Or so he feared. There was one low place in the circle. Noomah would stand and watch this place while he waited for torture, grass, and water. The place whispered to him, saying, “Escape … Run!”
One day near sundown the most horrible of two-leggeds came to the circle of dead trees. Others came with him. They made the loud bursts of sound from their mouths that Noomah feared, for often they came to beat him when they made this sound. Then Most Horrible forced the hard cold thing between Noomah’s teeth and tightened the squeaking thing on his back. But this time, the thing was not as tight as usual, and Noomah began to feel voices call.
There was something wrong with Most Horrible. His breath smelled sweet, and his movements were like that of a stumbling foal. When he climbed onto the squeaking thing, Noomah could feel him swaying from one side to the other. The two-leggeds perched on the barrier of dead trees made the loud noises that he hated. Noomah began to snort, for he was worried and confused. He began to look around the top of the stacked-up trees for the low spot that had whispered to him.
Suddenly, the squeaking thing slipped around Noomah’s chest, and Most Horrible fell to the ground. Straps slipped back on Noomah’s flanks and made him kick. He felt his hooves coming down on the flesh of Most Horrible, whom he was dragging through the circle of dirt behind him. Two-leggeds poured over the rails like wolves leaping a deadfall, and Noomah fled in terror, kicking at the squeaking thing and dragging the body of Most Horrible.
They reached for him, but he heard the voices screaming, saying, “Fight! Kick! Bite! Flee! Live!” He kicked and stomped and felt his hoof crush the skull of Most Horrible. The squeaking thing slipped over Noomah’s hips, and he felt speed gather behind him. He saw the low place and charged through the two-leggeds to fly over the rails. He ran, dodging, and felt his freedom. He stepped on something that wrenched his head down, but it broke, and he shook the painful hard thing from between his teeth.
Noomah ran all night. He found water and grass. He felt strong. He snorted his hatred of two-leggeds. He wished he could return to smell the blood of Most Horrible, but he still feared the other two-leggeds.
And they came after him. They chased him on horses and made sharp cracking noises, loud as thunder, that caused pain to sear the flesh across one of his shoulders. So Noomah ran. He sought the timber of the mountains he had once feared. He ran through places the two-leggeds could not ride. He ran until the slopes pitched easily down before him, and then he began to walk.
The two-leggeds were gone. Noomah was free. He would not go back to the land between the mountains and the river. He would follow these slopes downward.
When daylight came, he looked out from a high place. He could see something vast and pleasing far in the distance, where the warm light rose. It called to him. Noomah walked that way. He wanted to go to that pleasing place and run. Noomah loved to run.
55
The call of a distant killdeer woke Teal in her lodge. She kept her eyes closed but listened. She knew two things by the call. First, dawn had begun to break; second, Mother Killdeer had a baby in trouble.
Mother Killdeer was a wise bird. She would lure enemies away from her young by feigning injury to a wing, and by calling in such plaintive tones that even the trickster, coyote, would be fooled.
The desperate calls of the killdeer made Teal think of her own child, and she sleepily opened her eyes just enough to look upon Sandhill. He lay nearby in the pale light that fell in through the smoke hole. Teal smiled at his sweet face half covered by the soft, tanned calf hide.
Closing her eyes again, she listened to the sounds outside. She heard the rolling snorts and stamping hooves of horses, the squawks of crows who had begun to gather around the growing bone piles outside this camp, the melodic notes of warblers fluting in the sohoobi trees along the riverbank. Two camp dogs were growling, and it sounded as if they were pulling on opposite ends of a gut.
Teal wanted to sleep again, but thoughts of things she must do kept her awake. Her own mare—the one who pulled the pole-drag that carried her things—would surely foal any day. This mare had been tied near her lodge for protection from wolves whenever the foal came. She would have to be moved to new grass, which was becoming hard to find around this camp. And that was just the beginning.
She needed to make two new rawhide parfleches to replace old ones that had begun to crack and split. She had been thinking about what kind of designs to paint on these new carrying cases. She would need paints, and would have to trade something to River Woman, who always had the best paint powders in many bright hues, made from all kinds of mosses, roots, and berries. River Woman would let her have the paints for almost nothing, however, for she too wanted her son’s parfleches to bespeak his wealth and pride.
Yesterday, Teal had finished stitching the new covering for the extra lodge she and Sandhill sometimes slept in when Horseback wanted to be alone with his prayers and visions. But there was still the old covering to deal with. She would cut away the cowhide from the top of the old lodge cover, where smoke and grease from many fires had bestowed upon the hide a magic that would make rainwater gather itself into beads and roll away. This hide she would clean and cut to make a robe that would protect her husband from cold rains when he was caught far from his lodge in stormy weather. She would surprise Horseback with this garment when he returned, and he would be happy with her. The Thunderbird liked this good country of the south along the River of Arrowheads, more than the Noomah lands she had once wandered across with her band of Corn People. Horseback would use the rain shield often.
Trotter and Bear Heart and the Grasshopper Eater called Crooked Teeth had returned to the camp of the Horseback People two suns ago and told of the killings that had happened at Quivira. Yet, they had come back with many stolen ponies, making the people happy. Trotter had explained that the rest of the party had gone after the tall Osage warrior who had stolen Raccoon-Eyes’s sacred metal. Surely, Horseback and Shaggy Hump and Raccoon-Eyes and the others would return within a few suns.
All this made Teal sigh, for she knew she would not get back to sleep now, thinking of all the things she wanted to get done before her husband returned. Suddenly, her eyes flew open and she sat upright, tossing the soft robe away. This was the day! Twenty-eight suns had crossed over since the last time! Now she remembered. She would not make parfleches today, or rain garments, or even a meal for Sandhill. The bleeding would begin today and she would be unclean. She would go and stay with others in the lodge for unclean women, away from the rest of the camp.
A big smile crossed her face. Happily, she pulled on her moccasins, and threw a plain old antelope-skin dress over her head. She crawled to Sandhill’s bed, yanked the warm robe away from him and shook him. “Wake up, my son. Wake up, now! Today makes twenty-eight suns. It is always twenty-eight.”
She pulled the naked boy out of the lodge and he stumbled along groggily, rubbing his eyes with his one free hand. She went straight to the lodge of her husband’s sister, Mouse. Stopping before the doorway to the lodge, she said, “Sister, I am here. Your nephew comes to stay in your lodge.”
In a moment, the bear-skin covering flew aside, and Mouse looked out, bare-breasted from sleeping under the robes with her husband, Trotter. She smirked at Teal. “You wake early.”
Teal took
Sandhill’s face in her hand to make sure he was listening. “Be good in your uncle’s lodge, or Tso’apittse, the giant made of rock, will come from the mountains and take your head in his pitchy hands and carry you home for his children to eat!”
Mouse took the boy by the hand and pulled him into the lodge.
Turning away, Teal said, “Do not forget to move my mare to grass.”
Closing the doorway to the lodge, Mouse replied, “Do not forget to keep away from my husband’s shield and weapons.”
“I am not unclean yet, but it will begin today.”
Skipping back to her lodge, Teal gathered some things to eat, a wooden bowl, a buffalo-horn spoon, her back rest, and a new pouch she was decorating with dyed and flattened porcupine quills. Inside the pouch was her awl and some thread made of tendons separated from the back of an elk carcass, and also four dried buffalo bladder containers holding four different sizes of quills. The pouch would give her something of her own to work on while she spent a few days in the lodge for unclean women. She would not make anything for her husband while she was unclean, for her bleeding might taint his power.
When she left, she secured the door flap of her lodge with a wooden pin, in case rain fell while she was away. Then she trotted happily out of camp.
The lodge for unclean women stood downstream from the camp, around a grove of sohoobi trees that kept it out of sight. As she approached, she smelled the aroma of tallow melting. She smiled hungrily. Already, there was giggling in the lodge, though Father Sun had not begun to show himself.
