Passion's Series (6 page)

The Chief had spoken the truth. There was much to be done. There was beadwork to be done to their special breechclouts, which were only worn on such occasions. Also each of the baskets of their ball sticks needed to be repaired and decorated with feathers and other items of special importance to its owner.

Last, but not least, a great deal of male grooming must be performed. Heads had to be shaved and chests plucked. Although James would not allow half of his head to be shaved he did agree to the plucking that he found to be tiresome, not to mention painful to the point of torture.

He was convinced the sparsely haired warriors found perverse pleasure in his discomfort. Their sniggers gave them away.

As evening approached Dancing Cloud's wife served her husband's visitors while they sat and worked beneath the heavy, sprawling branches of on old oak. The massive tree had been there for more summers than the oldest person in their village could remember.

Each warrior sat deep in his own thoughts when finally Silent Deer addressed James. "You will join us in the ball play."

James' gaze, as was meant to, was drawn to Silent Deer's large pectoral muscles that he flexed for James' benefit.

Silent Deer was a large warrior with exceptional strength. He was also the village's Most Beloved Warrior. He made a habit of strutting about camp, his black hair blowing in the mountain breeze, his chest and arms well greased to show off his muscular form and his legs bare so all could see his graceful power.

Children followed behind this big warrior whenever he would allow it. Young women scurried about trying to outdo each other to attract his attention. It seemed only appropriate. In a culture where it was a necessity for a man to be strong and fierce to protect his family, this man symbolized the ideal warrior.

James nodded once. This was the invitation for which he waited. It was not uncommon for a warrior to lose his life in this game called The Little War. No blood cry was allowed for such a death. It would be a demonstration of a lack of honor and considered a sign of weakness in the person seeking revenge. He prayed that DuPrey would enter the game. Silent Deer puffed his chest higher and fixed his gaze over James' left shoulder in the typical show of challenge. "Prove your manhood, white man. What do you wager?"

James waited for a long moment, wanting to drag out his response and heighten the tension. The Cherokee were engrossed in betting and often lost all they owned, even parts of their body such as a nose, or ear, or even a finger…and sometimes their lives. The thought echoed in his mind.

Strangely enough, the only thing they would not wager was the carefully beaded cloth about their waist. He couldn't fathom why. No one could possibly make the mistake of thinking a warrior modest.

In the long, drawn-out silence, only the loud smacking and sucking noises Thomas made over a rack of venison ribs could be heard.

"The boy ain't got nothin" ta bet." Thomas offered into the silence as he paused to study his rack of ribs for any part of greasy meat that might still cling to the smooth bones.

"Why, he's as poor as a church mouse!" He sucked his few remaining teeth noisily and then opened his mouth to let a low, rolling belch erupt from between his greasy lips.

James pressed his lips tighter to prevent a grin. No doubt Thomas would want something in exchange for that bit of help.

Thomas’ remark would help to convince Silent Deer of his own attachment to the rifle he intended to wager.

His premature thoughts of reluctant praise however, were cut short with Thomas’ next words.

"Tha only thing he has of value is that crazy horse of his."

James slowly turned his head to look at Thomas who winked in response and chuckled with genuine glee before poking another greasy finger into his mouth and noisily sucking it clean.

James controlled his features and consoled himself with the thought that any other man would have had both hands placed securely about the old fool's neck by now.

Silent Deer allowed a small smile to twitch at the corner of his mouth. "You will lay down horse." This he said with a great deal of smugness.

James mentally counted to ten in every language he knew.

Deer sat very still, not moving a muscle. "You will lay down horse or you prove nothing," Silent Deer spat. "You are soft like a woman. I have heard stories of your softness," he sneered with disgust.

James glanced at Thomas again and raised a questioning brow. At least Thomas had the good grace to look away.

Silent Deer pulled James' attention back to himself. "If you are too afraid to make a good bet then you should not be in the game."

This was now serious business. All eyes were on James. The air cracked with tension as the logs sizzled in the fire between them.

"What do you put down?" James asked Silent Deer.

Silent Deer pulled a knife from its leather sheath at his waist and laid it before the fire. The handle was intricately carved from a deer horn. It looked more ceremonial than useful.

James looked from the knife to Silent Deer. A slow cocky smile split his face and Thomas groaned.

"You are afraid, Silent Deer," James announced smugly.

Silent Deer's expression didn't falter.

James pressed on, "If you were so sure of my softness you would not be afraid to lay more by the fire. You will lay down your fire-stick as well."

Silent Deer squinted his eyes as he studied the strange white man and then quickly turned his gaze away.

"I cannot lay down fire-stick. It is too valuable to me," he intoned seriously.

James gritted his teeth ever so slightly, "Then you admit that you are afraid." He intentionally drew out his next words, "You are afraid you have misjudged me. You are afraid I will take your knife and your gun and ride away on my horse. If you do not lay down your knife and your gun too, everyone will know you are afraid of a white man."

Silent Deer rose angrily to his feet as he swung his rifle from over his shoulder. He held out the long flintlock with both hands.

James also rose to his feet.

Silent Deer spoke loudly, "If you are carried from the field by the women before the twentieth ball, your horse will be mine!"

James' face held no expression as he answered, "If you are carried by the women from the field before the twentieth ball, your knife and your fire-stick will be mine!"

Everyone waited in silence.

At last Silent Deer tossed his rifle to the ground to land near the knife. He turned on his heel and stomped off into the darkness.

Dancing Cloud sat silently and listened. Mumbling could be heard among the warriors as they talked about how angry the white man was and how Silent Deer had bargained well.

Thomas snickered as he followed James to their lodge. "Shit, boy, don't you know that an Indian's firearm is not his most valuable possession. They're easy enough for a red man to get. He just steals um! The red devils are at times inclined to put more store in a string of glass beads they can use to entice some pretty little squaw into giving 'em a good time, than a fire-stick he can steal a dozen times in one day."

James stepped into the darkness of the cane and clay lodge as Thomas paused just before the entrance and chuckled again. Without warning a hand shot from the interior of the lodge, gripped a handful of Thomas’ rawhide shirt and jerked him forcefully inside.

Before Thomas was quite sure what happened, he lay belly-down in the dirt with his head pulled painfully upward. James increased the pressure by shoving a knee into the small of the man's back. Then James actually pressed a sharp blade against Thomas’ throat.

"Listen here, boy. I done whipped your arse once. You sure you want to try it again?" Thomas half-chuckled. He had to admit, if only to himself, he liked the young man's spunk. And even if he had come out on top in that first encounter, he'd suffered from the painful reminders of that scuffle for days. It was a glorious scuffle, even though he suspected James had let him win.

James gave a quick tug to Thomas’ hair as his knee bore down on his back. He slid the razor sharp blade lightly over the skin of Thomas’ neck.

Thomas felt the sting of splitting skin and tried to chuckle bravely, but the sound was like a nervous whine even to him. "You just got to calm down...you put a little more pressure on that blade an' it'll cut clean through to my neck bone." He silently reminded himself that the kid was just showing off.

James growled as he leaned close and a shiver erupted in Thomas’ belly.

"You listen to me, old man, and you had better listen closely. Didn't George warn you about me before we left the post?" He gave another quick jerk to his hair. "I lived like one of these savages for the past year-and-a-half that I spent with the Choctaw. I wasn't just with them; I became one of them. And I'm going to get just as close to being a Cherokee. I suggest you don't underestimate me again.

Anything happen to my horse and I will cut you from ear to ear. You got that, old man?"

Thomas swallowed hard and found his throat too dry to answer. James allowed him a little slack and he nodded slightly.

"Good!" James said with false cheer as he pulled Thomas to his feet. "Now go and keep an eye on Eagle. And you had better hope that no overly zealous brave takes it into his head to steal him. If he's not where I left him come morning, it's your scalp I'll come looking for." With a hard shove he propelled Thomas outside.

As Thomas burst from the doorway, several nearby Indians whooped in fun. When he wiped his hand across his throat and looked at the blood on his fingers, they laughed even harder.

Thomas looked at the blood. "I think tha kid got a mite carried away." To the onlookers he waved his arms and yelled, "All right, all right, the show's over. Ya can all go home and go ta bed now." He knew exactly whose lodge he was going to visit tonight. With a chuckle he headed off. Ta hell with the horse!

Inside the lodge, James stretched out on his furs as a grin crept across his features. The Cherokee had no way of knowing how proficient he was at the game or how determined he could be when it came to getting what he wanted.

His brow furrowed slightly when he thought of Thomas bringing Eagle into the bet. It had taken months of worry and great expense to have the thoroughbred shipped over from England.

Horses were rare in Indian Territory. Most of the villagers were still wary of the large animal. But now, with the village's Most Beloved Warrior showing an interest in him the others would be more curious.

At least Eagle would be safe enough until after the game. No Indian would steal what was up for wager. After that, only respect for the horse's owner would keep him from being fair game. It was another reason for James to make a good showing.

James pulled a robe up over his chilled body and willed the tension from his limbs. Finally, as Morpheus guided him into the blissful realm of dreams, his mind filled with visions of New Moon. Her pride in him reflected in the dark pools of her eyes as she stared lovingly into his face.

A Cherokee magi would have told him that his dreams were messages from the spirits. That they told of what was, or what could be, or what was to come. But to James, dreams were nothing more than a mirror's reflection of what a man already knew in his heart to be so.

Chapter Six

As the evening drew near James joined Silent Deer and the other game players outside the Asi, the Cherokee name for a low-built hot house. Here their purification for the game would begin.

With a smug grin Silent Deer stepped close to James, “Are you sure you want to join us in the purification?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," he replied in as solemn a tone as he could muster for such a flippant answer, then threw in a curt nod so Silent Deer would have no difficulty understanding his intent. Deer slapped him hard on the shoulder before turning and bending low to enter through the small door. James followed his lead.

Once inside each took a place around the fire that burned in the center of the small structure. When all were in place they lowered themselves into a cross-legged position.

James looked around the circle of warriors. Being allowed to sit with these warriors in the Asi was to be given a great honor. He could have thought it was his past association with Cloud, but no one knew of their friendship. In fact, it was Deer who invited him to play, and was therefore responsible for his presence here.

He stole a glance at Deer who sat stiff with his eyes closed. Deer was playing an important role in James' becoming accepted into the tribe. He wondered why.

The door flap opened and a young boy stepped from the waning light into the dark, hot house. His job would be to keep the sacred fire burning while the Beloved Old Man told the stories of The Principal People. The old warrior, by reciting the legends, would explain the beginning of their world and the importance of the purification rituals they must now endure.

James waited patiently as the old holy man adjusted his aging body for the long night ahead. Beads of sweat rolled down his back and chest as his gaze went again to the Beloved Old Man and wondered how one of such advanced years could withstand the building heat inside the Asi throughout the long hours of the night.

The boy added a handful of kindling to the fire. The crowded, over-hot room grew hotter. Smoke stung his eyes as the tears that ran down his cheeks mingled with the sweat that popped from his pores. The air was thick with the odor of smoke and heated bodies; still the boy added tender to the fire.

Finally, the old man cleared his throat and all eyes turned respectfully to him. He began his story quite simply at the beginning.

"The earth is a great island floating in a sea of water and is suspended at each of the four points by cords hanging down from the sky vault, which is of solid rock. When the world grows old and worn out, the people will die and the cords will break and let the earth down into the ocean. All will be water again."

James closed his eyes and let the low, monotone wash over him. The stories became a thread on a tapestry and the teller a weaver of dreams.

His mind glided on the wings of the great eagle and his vision drank in the sights of The People's beginning and their struggle to survive through time. Words that drifted through his consciousness called him a warrior, a protector of his people, one whose love for his people, his homeland, and all of nature was stronger than his fear of death. Pride of being a warrior filled him.

A sense of solid earth beneath him came upon him gradually. The voice that had carried him along for an unknown time became louder, the words more distinct.

The old man was telling of the first ball play between the birds and the animals and why the spirits of only the fastest and most cunning of those first ball-players would be called on to aid them in their game. Then there were no more words.

James opened his eyes to see the old man rise slowly to his feet and hobble on stiffened limbs to the short doorway and raise the flap of heavy hide.

The warriors pushed to their feet and filed out of the Asi as calmly as they had filed in. James felt wobbly on his feet but did not show it. The slow walk to the water was in itself a test of will.

The solemn row of players stopped a few feet from the gently flowing water and removed the only piece of clothing they wore. Here they waited silently for the next test of endurance.

The old man walked up to James and held a comb of bone before his face. James obediently looked at the comb and nodded. Though he'd played the game before with the Choctaw, he'd never endured the purification ritual.

The honor, he reminded himself, had been bestowed upon him by Deer's invitation. And honor was how he must view this torture. Few white men were ever allowed to experience these tests. Too much depended on the ability to endure.

The old priest placed the sharp teeth of the comb to James' shoulder and raked it down the length of his arm. Satisfied that the white man did not flinch he moved from his side to stand directly in front of him.

His boisterous chanting paused as he stared in confusion at the four angry, red whelps that New Moon in her anger had stretched across James' chest.

James tightened his lips to control a grin. There was no telling what the old man thought. Ancient eyes lifted to his and there was no doubt that whatever thoughts gathered in the priest's mind, the result boded ill for James.

He was not mistaken. The old man moved stiffly to his other side and watched the white man's face closely as he pushed the sharp points of the bone well below the skin line and then drew it slowly down. James focused his eyes on the dark horizon, and did not flinch. Giving a satisfied grunt the ancient soul moved to the next warrior.

James felt the warm blood running freely down his arm to drip from his fingertips. The bleeding would stop soon. He was not concerned. If DuPrey were successful in turning the support of the Cherokee to the French, there would be much more white man's blood than his own feeding the soil of this world.

Just as the sun stained the eastern skies with its first fiery rays the holy man ran the sharp comb down the last arm and gave the command for the warriors to go to water.

The coldness of the mountain stream stung the deep scrapes on James' arms as it forced the heat from his body, causing the bile to rise in his throat and his muscles to contract in painful spasms. With iron control he forced himself to dip, as did the others, below the surface seven times.

Once this was completed and the final prayer spoken by the magi, the warriors lined up and sang as they marched toward the playing field.

The village watched their warriors coming forward in silent awe, but as soon as the first foot touched the field the loud cheering and whooping of the crowd drowned out the warrior's song.

James and Silent Deer fought like the warriors they were. Between them they disabled six of the opponents. Everyone knew the two had a wager going, and each tried to outdo the other but in so doing they were single-handedly winning the game for their team.

James' only regret was that DuPrey was not on the playing field.

As the game wore on, Dancing Cloud observed his sister.

New Moon, unaware of her audience, watched James with rapt attention. She watched the long heavy muscles of his legs as he ran and jumped and her heart beat faster. She watched the rippling play of strength along his back as he swung the ball stick and her stomach tightened. His great strength was obvious to the eye, but she had not expected the stamina or the skill he displayed.

She never expected a white man to last so long.

One of the opponents struck a vicious blow across James' body with the hard wooden ball-stick and she cringed. Why should she care, she reprimanded herself. She couldn't stop the small smile that curled her lips when he delivered his own bone-cracking blow.

Even though blood flowed freely from his nose and facial wounds to drip and smear along his powerful chest, he continued to push, run, throw, and punch his way rapidly about the field. This game would be remembered for a long time to come.

New Moon stole a glance at her brother, Cloud. His face glowed with pride as he watched the blue eyes. She contemplated her brother's recent
actions as well as his obvious pride in this white man. There was something here she did not know.

Her mind drifted to a story her brother often told of a white man, one he had come to know while visiting in a land called Eng-land. Her eyes turned back to James.

Dancing Cloud had said the man was tall, and built like a warrior. In fact, Cloud said he was a warrior, one of the Great White Father's best and most beloved warriors.

She watched closely as James ran with the ball stick. Not only did she observe the play of his muscles but the form of his movements as he swung the stick as if it were a kind of weapon unknown to her. Maybe they had a similar game in the land called Eng-land.

Cloud said everyone called him by a woman's name, Robin. Cloud teased him about it until his new friend explained to him that the name was for the color red rather than for the small bird.

Since the color red to The People represented war and fearlessness in battle, Cloud understood the significance of his name. He admitted that, though they chose a feminine representative for the color, it was a good name.

It had been told as a lesson to the children of the village that one must look closely to see the color of a man's heart.

New Moon had never heard of a white man called by an Indian name before. If he were accepted into the village the old magi would give him another Indian name.

New Moon grinned, she was certain he was the warrior from Cloud's stories. Her body tingled. This time she didn't mind so much. She should have recognized sooner that he was a true warrior. Tilting her head to one side, she studied the white man from a new perspective.

When had he actually shown fear or weakness? He'd shown no fear when he rode into the village with Thomas, only wonderment. Without the least show of awe or discomfort he sat down with the chiefs and conducted business.

He teased the children. He even dared to touch her! And she had hurt him. Why had he allowed it? A warrior with only half the skill he demonstrated would have been able to prevent it, but he had not expected her to fight back. Her strength had surprised him.

The only other break in his composure was when she stepped from her hiding place among the cane. She'd thought then that his reaction was one of fear, was sure it was fear, but he did not back down. Every warrior knows fear, she reminded herself. Fear is not a bad thing.

This newcomer to their village was more a warrior than she had first noticed. Memory of her vision drifted before her mind's eye. This time it brought less pain to her as she considered the feats of this white man. For a No Thing he moved well and with courage.

James ducked a swinging stick and swung his own out to catch behind the knees of his most recent antagonist. The unfortunate warrior fell hard on his back as James leapt nimbly over him and jumped, higher than his bulk should have allowed, and caught the ball with his stick.

He swung the stick sharply around and sent the twentieth ball to pass neatly between the goal sticks at the moment two opponents hit him from different directions.

The three bodies fell to the ground in a tangled mass. New Moon stood rooted to the spot while spectators from both teams rushed onto the field in a frenzy of excitement. Within moments James was raised above the heads of the warriors and ceremoniously carried from the field.

New Moon watched as his arms dangled from his body. Unreasonable anger flared in her heart as she dashed toward the receding parade. She pushed and shoved her way to the warriors that carried him on their shoulders. Dashing around them she planted herself firmly in their path.

"Stop!" she demanded as she placed a small, yet determined hand on a broad chest. "I must see his wounds!"

The warrior looked down in puzzlement, "If he were wounded we would take him to the Medicine Man. Get out of our way, woman! He has need of water."

At the sound of New Moon's voice James rose up from his precarious perch and looked groggily down at her. With the most irritating grin he said, "Did you see that, Little Wa-sa?" Then in a serious tone he added with an
impudent swing of his arm that nearly toppled him to the ground, "Get out of the way, woman. I must go to water." The warriors laughed with great merriment as they stumbled with their load and made a wide circle around New Moon.

How could she have been so foolish? The white man was nothing to her. He was a No Thing. But in her heart a seed of doubt had been planted.

"Little sister."

New Moon turned toward Dancing Cloud before focusing her vision somewhere over his left shoulder. "Why have you not told everyone who he is?" She demanded petulantly.

"So you remember the story." Cloud did not hide his pride in her for her cleverness. He studied the firm set of her jaw and found amusement in the way she refused to look at him from beneath lowered lashes.

"How long have you known?" He asked, not letting his amusement make its way to her ear.

"Just today. Why have you not told anyone?" she persisted.

Dancing Cloud studied her proud profile. Cherokee warriors did not look eye to eye when they spoke, but rather straight ahead over the other's shoulder. It was their way of proclaiming their independence.

This show of independence was not tolerated often in women, who should drop their chin and lower their eyes to show proper respect, but Cloud did not scold New Moon. It pleased him to show tolerance of her uncommon forwardness.