The Legend of Tyoga Weathersby (34 page)

As the gentle hazel hue slowly replaced the feral amber sting in his eyes, his body relaxed. He felt himself return. He pushed back from the spot in which he was sitting when the blood draining from the warrior’s neck to his right drained onto his britches. He drew his knees to his chest, and looked beyond the three dead men and out into the open meadow they had crossed.

Tyoga understood the brutality of the murders he had committed. He also knew that when the bodies were found, the degree of cruelty and mutilation would be the measure by which time would be purchased for Sunlei and Walks Alone to get away.

Ultimately, those sent to find Sunlei and bring her back or kill her would always remember the carnage visited upon the first party sent to recover her. Their enthusiasm for the hunt would undoubtedly be tempered by the fireside tales of the gruesome scenes created this day. He had taken advantage of the legend that had grown around him and calculated that the terror evoked by the savage revenge of the wolf-man he had become would serve to protect him and those that he loved.

This time, no one was left to tell the tale.

He lay down in the grass and went to sleep.

In the Shawnee village of South Fork, Two Fox and Sky Hawk and the others who Yellow Robe had sent to carry his son home placed his cold, pale body at his Father’s feet. With tears streaming down his cheeks, he gazed at his son lying motionless on the floor. He remembered the pride he felt at his son’t first deer kill and the celebration that lasted all night after he had taken his first woman. His father’s eyes would not allow him to see the wretched human being that Seven Arrows had become. Blinded by parental bond, he remembered only the joy that his son had brought to their family in his younger years.

Falling to his knees in desperate grief, Yellow Robe gently placed his strong, calloused hand under his son’s blood soaked head. Bending at the waist he touched his tear stained face to his son’s chest.

At the low, shallow exhale, Yellow Robe’s eyes opened wide, and he sprang to his feet.

Chapter 39

Chickamaugua

S
unlei and Walks Alone arrived in the Cherokee village of Chickamaugua in only two days.

It had been an arduous trip along some of Appalachia’s most rugged trails. The route had taken them through Indigo pass and over Shorts Mountain, just south of Mount Mitchell, the highest peak in the Blue Ridge. By creating an inhospitable environment for all but the most sure-footed creatures, the tall jagged peaks of the Blue Ridge resisted intrusion. The deer trails followed by Native Americans were intuitively the lines of least resistance; they were steep, narrow, and provided few spots to make camp. The deep, flat lowland valleys provided little respite because the next steep climb was but a ridge away. Above the timberline, rocky peaks jutted straight up into the clouds and the trails up the nearly vertical slopes became little more than treacherous sheets of slippery shale.

They did not stop to make camp or to sleep through the night. They only rested for half-hour intervals; for sustenance, they sliced meat from the carcass of an elk and ate the flesh raw.

When they entered the village of the Chichamaugua Cherokee, Walks Alone was carrying Sunlei like a child—sound asleep in his arms.

Her clothes were torn and tattered, and she was covered with scratches from the thorny brush through which they had trekked.

Walks Alone placed Sunlie into the arms of Lone Bear’s wife, Blossoms in Spring, and fell to his knees, completely spent. Lone Bear’s sons rushed to Walks Alone’s side, lifted him to his feet, and escorted him into the lodge where he collapsed onto a pallet of soft bear hides. They slept for two days straight.

Lone Bear’s family took turns sitting with Sunlei so that someone would be with her when she finally awoke. She did not arouse to eat or drink. She did not awaken even to relieve herself. While she slept, Blossoms in Spring washed the dirt and blood from her wracked and battered body, and cared for the still open wounds on her back from Seven Arrows’ beating. Most importantly, her soft touch allowed Sunlie to sleep.

On the third day, Sunlei awoke to the smiling face of Standing Bird, Lone Bear’s eldest daughter, who asked, “Agi yo si?”

Rubbing her eyes and stretching, Sunlei replied, “Yes, I am hungry and thirsty.”

When Standing Bird announced to the lodge that Sunlei was awake and hungry, it set off a whirlwind of activity that was so orchestrated that it seemed rehearsed. Lone Bear’s daughters rushed to prepare an enormous plate of food, while others scrambled to be the first to present Sunlei with the new doeskin tunic and sandals they had made in anticipation of her arrival. Lone Bear’s three sons pushed and shoved each other to be the first to enter the lodge to gaze into the open eyes of the beautiful Indian maiden that they had heard so much about. Blossoms in Spring walked over to greet the new arrival in a more measured, maternal way.

“There, there, my little one, how tired you were.” Blossoms in Spring sat down next to Sunlei’s bed and folded her in her massive loving arms.

There was magic in her touch.

Blossoms in Spring was a huge, fertile woman who had not only given birth to thirteen children, but had extended her maternal compassion to all the children in the village. Her smile enveloped with love and her hands comforted with a sense of security and trust that made everything right in the world. “You have had a long hard journey, but you are safe with us now.” She combed Sunlei’s tangled raven mane with her pudgy weathered hand.

Sunlei was in the midst of swallowing her second bite of food and could only look up at Blossom with gratitude.

“That’s it, my little one,” Blossom said while Sunlei continued to place handfuls of venison stew into her mouth. “Eat until you can eat no more.” Throwing her head back, Blossom let loose a roaring laugh that filled the room with cheer.

The infectious lilt captured all within earshot. A chorus of raucous laughter spilled beyond the lodge and into the communal square.

Sensing that there was no need for words of thanks, Sunlei dug into her plate of food with a gusto that triggered another round of hearty laughter.

Over the next several days, Sunlei enjoyed the comfort, companionship, and safety of her new home. She told Lone Bear and his sons the story behind her being turned over to Seven Arrows, and the details of her rescue as best as she could recall. She recounted her harrowing escape, running naked through the night while trying to catch up to whoever it was that had slit Seven Arrows’ throat, and of being hidden from her pursuers in the recesses of the moss-covered grotto by Wahaya-Wacon. Tears filled her eyes when she told of being miraculously delivered into the safety of Tyoga Weathersby’s strong arms.

Her mention of Tyoga and the wolf opened the door to a barrage of questions about him and Wahaya. This was the first time that Sunlei had been exposed to Cherokee people who were not of her immediate family or village. To witness the regard in which they held the man who she knew only as a gentle loving soul astonished her.

“We have heard that Tyoga Weathersby is more wolf than man,” Lone Bear said while they sat around the lodge’s fire pit. More of his family gathered around. “It is said that when he becomes angry, Wahaya-Wacon is awakened within his soul. The spirit wolf changes this man into a savage beast that thirsts for blood. Is this not so?”

“No, Lone Bear. You do not understand,” Sunlei blurted out before she was able to consider her words. “Tyoga is a good, kind man who seeks to harm no one unless they threaten those he loves. It is true that he saved my brother, Tes Qua Ta Wa, from certain death at the jaws of the Runion wolves. It is also true that he spared the life of Wahaya-Wacon. That the story has given rise to the legend of Tyoga Weathersby is not of his doing, nor by his choice.”

“The legend holds that Tyoga is—and is not—of this world,” Lone Bear continued. “It is said that the spirit of Wahaya has caused him to see the world through the eyes of our animal brothers. Is it true that he sees like the eagle, hears like the owl, and fights with the savagery of the wolf.”

For a long time, Sunlei thought about her answer to Lone Bear’s question. Her answer was important because the boundaries between animal and man were as important to the Cherokee as the connections that made them one with the Medicine Wheel. Her words must not do any harm to Tyoga, the man, but must not denigrate his connection to the spirit world.

“In return for sparing his life, Wahaya-Wacon has shared his spirit with the man,” Sunlei replied. “The spirit that he has shared has opened the door to visions of the world that reflect its truth and the rightness of nature’s judgement. Tyoga is guided by these visions of truth and honor and justice. It is difficult to explain, but you must believe that the strength of Wahaya fills him with restraint and wisdom and a knowing of things that are hidden from his Cherokee fathers. It is a wonderful gift. And he uses it well.”

Lone Bear did not reply, nor did any members of his family. So passionate was Sunlei’s defense of the man—and the beast—that no one dared question her explanation. They spoke of other matters.

On the fifth day of her stay, Sunlei awoke to the not surprising news that the South Fork Shawnee had gotten word of her whereabouts. While the Appalachians can guard a secret for eternity, those who understand her ways are rarely fooled. She walked over to the lodge fire to find Blossoms in Spring crying and Lone Bear deep in thought.

“What are we to do,” Blossoms was asking her husband.

Squatting down next to Blossoms, Sunlei lovingly wrapped her arm around her and rested her head on her shoulder.

Staring into the fire, Lone Bear said, “It is not a decision that we can make alone. I have sent Stands with Rock to the Chief to ask for a council this very night. We must decide as a People what is best to do.” He looked over at Sunlei, and then back into the flames.

Sunlei stood, and looked down at Lone Bear who would not return her gaze. “The decision of the council will be just. Tyoga told me to listen to you. I will do as you say.” Turning toward the entrance to the lodge, Sunlei headed toward the door to go outside.

Lone Bear glanced over at his son, Runs Long, and jerked his head in her direction.

Runs Long stood up immediately and grabbed his bow to follow Sunlei outside.

“Where do you go, my child?” Lone Bear asked.

“To check on Wahaya-Wacon, my father,” she replied. “He must remain strong. I fear that we will be traveling again very soon.” She ducked her head and left the lodge.

That night at tribal council, the People of Chickamauga rallied to Sunlei’s defense. They vowed to take up arms to protect her and to put an end once and for all to the merciless hunt for her that was threatening to tear apart the Appalachian confederation.

As she had pleaded before at the Cherokee Council in Tuckareegee, Sunlei begged that others not be asked to sacrifice their lives for her sake. She remained adamant that others should not be punished for the deeds of an unknown assailant, and that killing in her name was a burden that she was not willing to bear.

The council agreed to steal Sunlei away in the night, and to let the information leak that she was no longer with the tribe. A party of five Chickamauga braves accompanied her to the land of the Osage.

In three week’s time, Sunlie’s travels were lost to the realities of frontier life that distanced occurrence and news by weeks, months, and sometimes years.

Chapter 40

Confession

A
fter the mutilated bodies of the Shawnee war party were discovered, the legend of Tyoga Weathersby grew in stature and consequence beyond that associated solely with the presence of the spirit wolf. Nine Shawnee braves had been butchered without a single witness to tell the tale.

This time, the tracks of Wahaya-Wacon were nowhere to be found.

Stopping only to rest when his legs would carry him no further, and eating only some pemikan that he took from the Shawnee war party’s camp, Tyoga arrived at his tiny makeshift lodge on the overlook at Tuckareegee after midnight of the second day. Pushing aside the deer hide entrance flap, he stumbled across the milled plank floor, and collapsed into a heap of buffalo robes.

He awoke to the scent of roasting venison wafting into the shelter on a cool autumn breeze. Someone had removed all of his clothes, and bathed him. He found himself lovingly wrapped—toes to chin—in the warm red blanket that had been his traveling companion since leaving Sunlei with Walks Alone at the secret hollow.

Even before Tyoga had the chance to clear his head and rub the sleep from his eyes, Prairie Day was holding a steaming cup of asi at his side.

He looked up into her gentle eyes, the first kindness he had beheld in a week’s time, smiled faintly, and whispered through partched, crusty lips, “Prairie Day.”

“Shhhh,” she replied gently pushing his thick brown hair away from his eyes. She stared at him with sad eyes full of compassion and unquestioned devotion, as a tiny smile parted her full lips. Softly, she cooed in a voice as comforting as his own mother’s. “Drink this, Dhitili. Rest. You have been asleep for two days.” Getting to her feet, she went to the entrance of the tiny lodge, and pushed aside the deerhide flap so that the sunshine streamed into the lodge.

Tyoga held up his hand to block the sunlight from his eyes and brought the clay bowl filled with the piping hot dark caffeine-rich asi to his lips. The bitter, strong drink had the effect of rousing him to his senses almost immediately. He realized that he had not had anything to drink for several days, and before he could ask for water, Prairie Day was once again at his side with a clay urn filled to the brim with clear, cool water. He emptied the urn and asked for more.

Tyoga sat up in bed and stretched. Wincing in discomfort at an unexpected pain, he reached around to feel behind his left shoulder. He fingers smeared the sticky bear fat poultice that had been applied to the wound on his back. He remembered that River Claw, the leader of the Shawnee band who he killed in the ravine had not submitted to his fate without first delivering a forceful blow to his back with his tomahawk.