The Legend of Tyoga Weathersby (18 page)

Raising his fist as if to strike Tyoga, he took two determined steps in his direction. As he stepped forward he pushed Tes Qua out of the way, which nearly threw him to the ground.

Recovering from the shove that turned him completely around, Tes Qua caught a glimpse of a hazy gray presence darting through the underbrush. Righting himself, he looked again towards the thickets beyond the bank. He saw nothing.

Seven Arrows approached Tyoga with his fists clenched high over his head and murder in his eyes. His charge was so fierce that he fully expected Tyoga to cower in fear, move out of the way, protect his head from the blow or run for cover in the woods. But he didn’t flinch or even uncross his arms. Standing tall and strong in the face of Seven Arrows’ attack, he allowed him to get as near as he dare.

When Seven Arrows got close enough to see the ominous sizzle of Tyoga’s piercing golden eyes, he found himself frozen in place. A tiny, nearly inaudible gasp accompanied his quick step backward towards his companions. At that instant, he realized who had been shamed into cowering with fear.

Tyoga had done it again.

With his fists still clenched and held over his head, Seven Arrows screamed out loud in anger and frustration at the indomitable bearing of this powerful adversary. Turning quickly away from Tyoga so as to avoid the menacing glare of his transforming eyes, he began pacing once again.

He didn’t know what to make of the change in Tyoga’s eyes. For years he had heard the story of the boys’ encounter with the Runion wolf pack as it was retold around countless lodge fires in the Shawnee village. He was young when the battle with the commander had occurred, and he had discounted the stories as fanciful yarns told by the elders to entertain the women and scare the young braves. But the savage slaughter of his two brothers on Mount Rag had forced him to consider the possibility that the stories were true. Could he be at this very moment tempting fate by facing down a living legend? Staying a safe distance from Tyoga, Seven Arrows yelled again with less intensity, “You killed by brothers. They were only young boys.”

“I never killed anybody, Seven Arrows,” Tyoga replied. “I never even saw who was up on the mountain. We never set eyes on who was chasing us. Alive anyway.”

“Liar! You tore them apart.” He was near tears. “It was I who led the party to recover their bodies. You left my little brother, Spotted Calf, without a face.”

The three braves with Seven Arrows had stepped away from the two warring Titans. The battle between their leader and the Legend of Tyoga Weathersby was an encounter of more intensity than they wished to stomach. Standing off to the side, close to the underbrush that ringed the campsite, was the better part of valor.

Abruptly, they looked at each other and cocked their heads inquisitively as if questioning the silent signals they both were sensing. Their years in the wilds of Appalachia had taught them to read the air and smell the wind. An unaccounted for presence never went unnoticed. Whispering to each other, they reached over their shoulders and pulled arrows from their war quivers. As they each notched an arrow in their bowstring, they bent at the waist while peering into the underbrush behind them and to either side.

The bushes were still. The ground undisturbed. It was as if the presence was part-of rather than separate-from the very air that surrounded them. It was everywhere—and nowhere at all.

In a low, controlled voice Tyoga said to Seven Arrows, “I told you that I didn’t hurt anyone.”

Tyoga’s chest and arms swelled with the blood rushing to his muscles and engorging them with the power of Wahaya. The final tinge of hazel drained from his eyes to allow the hot yellow-gold to penetrate the morning mist with indifferent resolve.

The transformation, though subtle, was readily apparent to Seven Arrows. He would tell his grandchildren that on that day he witnessed the transformation of man into beast. He would go to his grave swearing that the legend of Tyoga Weathersby was no legend at all. He trembled with fear.

He heard one of his companions say, “Eh no tuta lo eh alo. Reshkulu na tay ya.”

“A – ho. Le nasht tsy la.”

Seven Arrows instinctively understood that he could not run from the encounter. To do so would be to turn himself into prey. He wasn’t sure if he was dealing with man or beast, but he would not risk triggering the predator’s attack. His mind raced as he tried to think of ways to quiet the demon bubbling up from deep within Tyoga’s soul.

Assuming a more apologetic tone, he said to Tyoga, “So maybe it wasn’t you that killed my brothers. Maybe it was your spirit wolf. Maybe it was your Wahaya.”

As Seven Arrows slowly backed away, he continued to stare into Tyoga’s vacuous amber eyes. He could not break away from the haunting glare that penetrated his façade of bravado and peeled away his shallow veneer of bravery. The blood draining from his head and hands, he stammered. “Or maybe … maybe you are the spirit wolf. Maybe you can’t control it. You don’t want these bad things to happen. Is that it, Tyoga Weathersby? Is it true what they say about you? Answer me! Why won’t you answer me?”

His words were swallowed by the icy gray gorge. A deep guttural rumble filled the campsite from the forest floor to the tree-top canopy high above. Filling the space with the chilling pall that accompanies inevitable finality, its presence was palpable. Nearly inaudible at first, the rumble grew into a growl of such unearthly intensity and volume that its meaning was discerned not by sound, but by the visceral interpretation of heart and lungs and bowel.

Bow strings drawn ready to fire their obsidian-tipped arrows into whatever evil lurked in the shadows, Seven Arrows’ braves pivoted on their heels in search of the source of the warning.

The sound saturated the scene with a paralyzing terror that awakened a palpable recognition that nature’s power unchecked is devastatingly cruel in its dominion and finality. It was the terror. It surrounded them, penetrated them, and became them in its rawness and truth.

Eyes riveted on Seven Arrows, Tyoga allowed the truth to be heard before issuing the command, “Nay-ya Wahaya-Wacon.” He said to the wind, “Etsola.”

The growl stopped. Its echoes receded into the morning mist.

“So … it is true,” Seven Arrows said. “The spirit wolf does watch over you.”

Tyoga took two steps toward him, and bowed his head so that his chin was nearly resting on his chest. “Leave us,” he whispered in a voice that was no longer his own. “Leave us in peace.”

Tyoga’s fists were clenched but at his sides. His focus never left Seven Arrows. He took another menacing step forward so that he was only inches away from his painted face.

Lifting his head so that he was staring straight into the eyes of his foe, Tyoga whispered again in a low measured other-worldly voice, “Go. Now. Before something terrible happens to you and your men.”

Leaning into Seven Arrows so that his lips almost touched the Indian’s pierced ear, he whispered nearly inaudibly, “I won’t tell you again.” When Tyoga was finished speaking, he did not pull his lips away. He remained bent at the waist, his face menacingly close to Seven Arrows.

Seven Arrows was forced to back away from Tyoga’s threatening posture. The deferential retreat caused him to quake with a shame that emptied him.

“We will go, Tyoga Weathersby. But this day is not over. This day will not end until my brothers are avenged. I will find a way.”

The three young Shawnee braves with Seven Arrows had preceded him in backing down the path toward the woods with their bow strings still drawn.

Before they disappeared into the woods, the wolf could contain himself no longer and loosed a deafening howl that pierced the shadowy fog, and shook the trees with its power and might. The overpowering force of the haunting scream caused all of the men, save Tyoga, to clamp their hands over their ears. The Shawnee braves, still covering their ears, ran as fast as they could towards the woods and away from the oppressive howl.

As Seven Arrows backed down the trail, his gaze never left Tyoga’s eyes.

“Your life may not be the price that you are forced to pay Tyoga Weathersby. But the day will come when you will know that your life would have been a bargain.” He turned. And they were gone.

Chapter 18

Green Rock Cove

T
hree days later, when the young men arrived at Tuskareegee, the unsteady stares from those they passed gave clear indication that something was amiss.

They kept up their deliberate pace towards Nine Moons’s lodge. “Ty, what do you think is going on?” Tes Qua asked. “Why is everyone staring at us?”

“Don’t rightly know, Tes,” Tyoga replied, “but somethin’ ain’t right.”

When they passed by the council lodge, nine-year-old Paints His Arrows Red came running up to Tyoga with a prideful grin on his face. He had been the one chosen to go forth to ask the question of the great warrior. His friends peered from around the corner of the lodge while watching the scene unfold from afar. “Is it true, Tyoga?” the young boy asked walking with a sideways skip to keep up with them. “Did you do it? Did you send Wahaya to do it?”

Tyoga looked down at him and said rather brusquely, “Go away. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The young boy skipped away toward his friends with his chest puffed out, swollen with the pride of having spoken directly with Tyoga Weathersby. He was greeted with congratulatory slaps on the back.

“What was that about?” Tes Qua asked.

“I don’t know, but I reckon we’re gonna find out right quick,” Tyoga replied.

They entered Tes Qua’s father’s lodge. Nine Moons rose to his feet as soon as he saw them. “Good. You have arrived. Are you hurt, my sons?” he asked while hurriedly embracing them both. “I was afraid that you had been injured.”

“No, Father,” Tes Qua said. “We are fine. Why would you suppose that we had been injured?”

“So you do not know what has happened?” Nine Moons asked. “That is both good and bad, my sons.”

“Why, Father?” Tyoga asked. “What has happened?”

“We have heard of your trouble with Seven Arrows two moons ago.” Looking toward the lodge fire around which Tes Qua’s mother, True Moon, was cooking, Nine Moons he added, “Two of the men that were with Seven Arrows were found dead in Fifer’s Pass. They were torn apart in a savage attack, much like the braves who were killed on Mount Rag.” He paused to take a deep, slow breath. “Chief Silver Cloud wishes to speak with you in the council lodge.”

Tes Qua said, “My father, we will go speak with Chief Silver Cloud, but I want you to know that neither I nor Tyoga had anything to do with the deaths of these Shawnee. If they were attacked by wolves, it has nothing to do with us.”

Nine Moons held up his hand as if to stop Tes Qua’s words. “We will see, my son. Sometimes the truth is not nearly as persuasive as what appears to be.” He added, “We will see.”

The gravity of being summoned to the chief’s lodge was not lost on Tyoga and Tes Qua. They had been in wilderness campsites for the past six days. They were dirty, smelled of smoke and ash, and Tyoga’s pelt-like beard concealed his face from below his eyes to his collarbones. He appeared more animal than man. Before presenting themselves to the leader of the clan, they both needed to wash and change into clean clothes.

True Moon told them, “I will get you both clean clothes. Tes Qua, you wash in the basin. Tyoga, go to the river and fetch more water so that you can clean up when Tes is finished. Hurry now. You don’t want to keep Silver Cloud waiting.”

“Mother,” Nine Moons said, “let the boys eat some food and rest a bit before going to the council lodge. They are hungry and tired, and Silver Cloud will wait. Get them something hot to eat.”

“Tes, you go ahead and use the water in the basin,” Tyoga said, “I’ll go to the river to bathe and shave. If e-tsi
(mother)
is good enough to fix her son a plate of her venison stew, I’ll be back in plenty of time to eat and rest a bit before we go to Silver Cloud.”

True Moon smiled. “Go clean up, my son. Your stew will be here for you when you return. Go.”

Tyoga removed his sweat soaked doeskin shirt, threw it over his shoulder and headed for the river.

The sun was warm, the sky was clear, and the temperature unseasonably mild to make for a beautiful fall day.

There were two coves in the river that the villagers frequented to bathe. Flat Rock was the inlet closest to the village, and the one most often used for communal bathing.

The Cherokee were a vibrant people who recognized few barriers to sating their sexual desires. There were very few taboos. Tribal norms permitted couples to pause along a mountain trail for a sexual tryst for nothing more than the shear joy of the experience. Men and women bathed together without any regard to their nakedness. It was as natural to the Ani Unwiya as eating together, sleeping together, and making love in the family lodge.

Unmarried maidens often used the pond or stream to take advantage of a solitary brave. The young girls were sexually aggressive. Bearing the child of a particularly brave or strong warrior out of wedlock was not considered a social faux pas. On the contrary, the bearing of a child from such a union, especially if it was a male child, was seen as an honorable accomplishment for which the woman was held in high regard.

When Tyoga arrived at the Flat Rock, Lone Dove, Morning Sky, and Walking Bird were bathing together. Sisters, Morning Sky and Lone Dove were taking turns washing each other’s back.

Finished with washing her hair, Walking Bird was quietly braiding her wet locks when she noticed Tyoga along the trail. “Eh ya, Ty,” she said to her companion bathers while flicking her head in the direction of the stunning young man.

The maidens’ dark eyes riveted on Tyoga’s naked muscular chest. Their heads gently swayed in rhythm with the roll of his broad shoulders and swing of his powerful arms. Morning Sky and Lone Dove stole an impish sisterly gaze before making their way out of the deeper water. They reached water shallow enough to expose their breasts as Tyoga rounded the bend.