On the walls of the fort swayed the murdered bodies of our kinsmen. Naichise. Parcohte. Naite.
Huten.
They had been hanged, ropes looped around their necks, and left dangling until the life was choked from them.
With a wild, tormented cry, Chodini himself slew our captives: swiftly, cleanly, as becomes a warrior. Even so, they did not meet death with courage, but soiled themselves in abject fear before Chodini pulled his knife across their throats. The horror of his kinsmen’s murder was compounded by their mutilation – for in this way they would enter the afterlife. Huten – that mild, sweet-tempered youth – would walk for ever with a stretched neck and blackly swollen tongue.
In revenge, Chodini tied the dead White Eyes by their ankles and dragged them behind his horse, galloping around the fort in fury, heedless of the shots that flew past him, that the White Eyes’ chief might see what his actions had cost him.
For now Chodini made a fresh vow and one which would not be broken: he would wipe the White Eyes from our land.
We rode once more to the pass; now no White Eyes would enter that place and leave it alive.
On Chodini’s command, Golahka and I rode beyond it to seek the Dendhi and ask for their help; Ozheh went west to the Chokenne; Punte east, to the Hilaneh. Our women and children were camped high in the mountains. For now they were safe, but when the winter came, it would be cold and comfortless. If the White Eyes were still roaming the mountains by then, our people would become penned in like cattle. There they would starve. If we were to defeat the White Eyes, we must do so now.
I did not doubt that Sotchez and his warriors would follow Ozheh and join us on the warpath, for the blood ties between our two chiefs were strong, and Sotchez owed a great debt to Chodini for the freeing of the captives from Marispe. And the Hilaneh, already roused against the White Eyes, likewise would follow Punte. Chodini was not so certain that the Dendhi would take our part, as he knew well that their chief, Toah, had once promised safe passage to the White Eyes, and he might yet wish to keep the peace.
It was not until Toah called his warriors to council that I learnt of his hatred of our enemy, and saw the injuries that had caused it.
The Dendhi were camped between the gently swelling hills. Trees ran down to where the broad river wound across the valley floor, and it was here that the tribe’s tepees stood. As we rode into their settlement I felt a sudden, unmistakable chill of hatred and looked to see from whom it came. An old man stood glaring fiercely, his eyes fixed not on myself but on Golahka.
“There is one who loathes you,” I said quietly. Stupidly. Had I thought, I would have guessed that this was the father of Tehineh.
“I know it,” Golahka answered. “And I cannot blame him. If I had not made his daughter my wife she would yet be living.”
Tehineh, who had ever been kind to me. Tehineh, who had loved me and called me little sister. Tehineh, whom I could not now recall without the fevered pain of jealousy clutching at my heart.
Toah came from his tepee to greet us, but said little. As his disfigured mouth often made speech difficult for him, words of welcome were instead spoken by his wife, Kaywin, sister to Golahka. She embraced him fondly, and then turned to me.
“You are Siki, the warrior? Much have I heard of your prowess. Come sit beside me. We shall eat, and you must tell us why you come.”
Scarce had we eaten on our ride from the Black Mountains, and we accepted Kaywin’s food with pleasure.
Later, with full bellies, we sat amongst the Dendhi warriors at council. I saw but one face I knew well: Chico, from whose ears dangled ornaments of feather and turquoise – who had raced beside me, close as my own shadow, in our game of shinny. It seemed many moons indeed since we had camped victorious on that high plateau.
Golahka spoke first.
“I come once more to ask for help, not on my own behalf, but for my chief, who has been greatly wronged. The White Eyes have slain his brother and his brother’s sons.”
An angry outcry followed this news. It was a long time before Golahka could speak further.
“Chodini has made a vow to drive these intruders from our land. My kinsmen, will you join us?”
For a long time, there was naught but silence. Toah’s eyes were lowered, and he gave his warriors no sign of his own feeling.
At last Chico said, “I am sorry for this great wrong. But the battle at Jujio cost many Dendhi lives. We still feel our losses.”
Another warrior spoke. “I do not doubt the justice of your fight. But the insult was given to the Black Mountain tribe, not to our own. By you it should be resolved.”
Murmurs of assent rippled through the Dendhi warriors. Golahka could do nothing but nod. He could not force them to fight. It seemed we must return to the pass alone.
It was then that Toah stood. I thought he would call the council to an end. But the Dendhi chief – so inflamed with passion that his words flowed with ease – began to speak.
“My brothers, before you make your decision, hear me. There is something you must consider before you answer Chodini’s request. All know that lately I rode to the new-made settlement where the White Eyes dig for gold.” Toah looked at myself and Golahka while he explained, “I went to talk with their chief, for there has been much trouble between our peoples, and I sought to bring an end to it.” He addressed his warriors once more. “You know that he would not hear me, or listen to our just complaints. You know that he regards the Mexican, not the Apache, as his friend. But you do not know what more happened to me in that place, because until now I have been unable to speak of it. I have felt too ashamed; I did not wish to expose my humiliation before you, my brothers. But I speak of it now.”
Toah pulled off the shirt that covered him and turned. Horrified gasps escaped from his warriors’ mouths. His back was slashed – lacerated across its full width from shoulder to waist – with many deep wounds. There was silence as all waited for their chief to continue.
“Alone as I was, unarmed as I was, peaceful as I was, they laid hands upon me. They tied me to a post. They whipped me.”
No angry clamour erupted at his words. In truth, Toah’s warriors were too shocked to speak. No Apache would treat a dog thus. To do such a thing to a warrior was past imagining. To do it to a chief was unforgivable.
“Brothers, these creatures – I cannot call them men – have come upon our land and tear its flesh like vultures. While they remain we shall have no peace. You must do as you wish. But I shall join with Chodini in driving them from the face of Mother Earth. For me, that day cannot dawn too soon.” Toah finished and, replacing his shirt, sat once more.
“I will come.” It was Chico, his voice low, his eyes flashing with menace.
“And I.”
“And I.”
One by one the warriors agreed. No hesitation was there now.
So Golahka spoke of Chodini’s plan. “Our warriors are at the pass. No White Eyes can now travel through it. Every wagon, every mule train, every stagecoach, is to be destroyed. Thus the soldiers will be drawn from the safety of their forts. We will do battle there, where the shape of the land gives us the advantage. There we will win.”
Four sunrises hence, the warriors of the Apache nation gathered either side of the pass. Our force numbered near three hundred, but most remained hidden beyond the brow of the hills so that our enemy would not know our strength.
I was but newly made a warrior, and now I would have to prove myself. I stood beside my chief, ambushing and slaying the White Eyes that ventured through the pass. We gave no mercy, for we had been given none. And now I felt the value of the gun Golahka had set in my lap long ago. With this I could kill from a distance: I needed neither to look into the eyes of my enemy nor to feel their dying breath upon my face. I felt such loathing of those who came upon our land with contempt in their hearts that I was glad to keep far from them; I did not want to inhale their sour smell, touch their skin, see the stain of their blood.
&nb
sp; For many days, we made attacks. But these were mere skirmishes; all waited for the time the troops would come, and the real battle would commence. They were slow to leave the safety of the fort, where even now the dangling bodies of our kinsmen were being picked clean by birds.
Only after one moon did the column of soldiers begin its reluctant march towards us.
At sunset my palms began to prick, and in the leaping flames of a campfire I saw the face of the White Eyes’ chief.
“They come,” I told Chodini. “The day that follows this. When the sun is high, they will be here.”
Chodini nodded, and rose from the ground to spread word amongst the warriors.
The great ceremonial fire was built, and drummers split the night sky with the rhythm of war. As they sang – fierce angry chants that set my blood racing – warriors came out of the darkness and began to spin in the firelight. More and more joined them as their names were called. My own was shouted with a wild cry, and with an answering yell I joined them, dizzy with the rage and hot joy of battle.
But strangely, as I whirled, the buckskin strap holding my quiver to my back snapped, and my arrows scattered upon the ground, falling at the feet of the spinning Golahka. He stopped, frowning, and the turning circle of dancers wheeled past us.
“Be glad it did not happen in battle,” he said, bending to pick them up. It was then he saw the arrow that I kept wrapped and hidden, for its cover had come adrift. The blood drained from his face. He held it before me, and asked softly, “Your father’s arrow?”
Mouth dry, I nodded. At that, Golahka gripped my arm and pulled me from the dance into the shadows where we might talk unseen.
“How came you by it?” he demanded.
“It was given to me,” I replied. “By an old man of the Chokenne.” I did not wish to say more, but Golahka’s tone was full of quiet menace and would not be refused.
“Why did he give you this? Where did he find it?”
For a moment, I hung my head, but only for a moment. Was I not a warrior? I would not be cowed by Golahka. I was no traitor. That fault was my father’s. Not mine. I lifted my chin high and answered, “He pulled it from the breast of my dead father.” I met his eyes. “I know not who fired it.”
Golahka’s brow furrowed, and then his gaze slid from mine and rested upon the dark earth. He said nothing. Snapping the arrow in two, he walked silently from me.
But at last I had been given an answer to the question that had long festered within me.
Now I was certain. Golahka had killed my father.
How was I to cope with this knowledge? How was I to feel, having placed my heart at the feet of the man who had slain my father? My father, who had led his brothers into an ambush. Who had fled, and been killed for his cowardice.
I slept little, curled upon the ground with my hands balled into fists that I pressed against my eyes to stop the images that rippled across the lids. At the massacre of Koskineh … at the battle of Jujio … at the mine of Marispe … in the search for Keste … Golahka had always known of my father’s treachery. Even as he agreed to train me he had known this betrayal was in my blood. No wonder, then, that he had watched so carefully for signs of it in me.
At sunrise we took our positions. The mass of our force remained hidden high on either side of the pass. But Chodini took his place low down, below the spring, where the thirsty soldiers would be drawn like cattle following their long, dusty ride. I went with him, as did Ozheh and Golahka. We would allow them to glimpse us; allow them to think there was but a small group of skirmishing Apache. When they came towards us, they would make a fine target for our warriors.
When the sun was overhead, Punte – who was scout – came swiftly to tell of their approach.
“Many soldiers, and two covered wagons. Their chief rides at the rear.”
I shook my head, thinking how contemptible was this man, whose own actions had made us enemies, and who now drove his guiltless soldiers ahead of him to die.
Before long, we could see the clouds of dust thrown up by their horses’ hooves, and I felt as though our warriors took a great inward breath together and then held still. It was as if the valley itself froze motionless, and waited.
The soldiers rode into the valley and gathered about the spring, allowing their horses to drink, and filling their own vessels with water. Chodini stood briefly, letting them see him before seeming to duck in hasty concealment behind a rock. Thus did Ozheh, and then Golahka. A simple ruse that an Apache child would not have believed. But the White Eyes took the bait. We were below them – they thought they had the advantage of the land. They bunched together and began to move towards us.
The rock Golahka had chosen to move behind was the one where I was already hidden. We crouched, side by side.
“The time is almost upon us.” Golahka’s breath was hot against my neck.
I must speak. “I am not my father,” I said.
Lightly his fingers brushed my cheek. “Siki…” His voice was gentle. Tender. “I know it.”
The heavy-booted tramp of many feet thudded on the living earth.
Our eyes met. “Fight well, little sister,” he whispered, “but fight wisely. I would not have you enter the Happy Place yet.”
“Nor I you,” I answered.
A clasp of hands, and he was gone, for Chodini had fired his gun. The signal was given: our mass of warriors crested the hills. Low as I was in the valley, I could see how mighty a spectacle they made: many painted warriors on horseback outlined against the wide sky. The soldiers froze, aghast, for they knew themselves doomed.
Our great Apache force paused upon the hills, the victory to come already tasting sweet in their mouths. And then Toah gave a mighty shout that was echoed with a roar from the throats of the men who rode beside him. From the opposite hillside rang the answering cries of Sotchez and his band. They sent their shots raining down upon our enemy and then rode in a glorious, sweeping charge down into the pass, encircling the White Eyes and cutting off their retreat.
Desire for blood burned hot within me, and from the cover of the low-lying rocks I fired, and loaded, and fired again at the soldiers. When my ammunition was all gone, I let my arrows fly forth into the breasts of these vile intruders.
Golahka had gone higher, and from there he fired with the skill and ease of a consummate warrior: not a single shot was wasted; each one found its mark.
Chodini watched for his quarry: he wanted the White Eyes’ chief, for he would have revenge. But Red Face had climbed into a covered wagon and no doubt cowered there in terror, surrounded by soldiers who defended him. Many horses had been shot as our warriors charged, and the White Eyes used their bodies for cover as we did the rocks. Victory was ours – I felt the fist of the Apache almost close upon it – when from the covered wagon there came a sound I had never heard before. It was so loud that it sent the very air rushing from it in a solid wave that threw me onto my back.
When I stood, a terrible sight greeted me. Three warriors lay dead near by. Chico was one of them, his turquoise ornaments dripping with blood. They were not slain with guns or swords, but torn apart – limbs scattered – as though ripped to pieces by some savage creature. Before I knew what had happened, the sound came again, and I felt a great blast hit the opposite side of the valley. I looked at the White Eyes, for truly I knew not what had caused this noise, unless it was the mountain spirits shouting their outrage. Perhaps Mother Earth herself was roused to fury. I expected to see the soldiers quaking in terror.
They were not.
Their wagons were covered no more. Red Face stood, screaming at his soldiers. And already they were loading once more: two giant guns that they had fired upon my people.
Never had we seen such weapons. They could not be fought. All knew at once the battle was lost. And thus my brothers slipped away, riding swiftly from that place and dividing into small bands.
On foot as I was, I too turned and fled. But as I ran up the hillside, I stumbled and f
ell. I tripped not over rock, but over a body.
Golahka.
He breathed still.
The great gun had hit the very rock he hid behind, sending a huge shard of stone crashing down upon his head and rendering him senseless. He bled from a wound that gaped wide, showing the gleaming skull within. There was no time to bind it. I had to run. Hide. But I could not leave him there for the soldiers. We were yet hidden from their gaze. My eyes searched swiftly for shelter.
There! A slab of rock fallen across two low boulders. A space beneath. I dragged Golahka to the place, folding his uncooperative limbs and wedging him tight into the gap. Scraping at the earth, I scattered handfuls of dust upon him to conceal his shape, rolling a large stone to rest before him. Scarce had I covered our tracks, and rubbed earth on my own skin and in my hair, before I heard the heavy tread of the White Eyes’ boots. I moved quickly to the other side of the slab and crawled in beside Golahka.
I shut my eyes too late against the horror that followed. I saw what they did. And in the long, cold nights that came afterwards, I wished with all my heart that I could wipe their butchery from my mind.
They took knives and, laughing, cut at the bodies of my dead brothers. They took trophies of flesh. And now my kinsmen walked the spirit world without hair. Without noses. Without ears. If the Apache became savage in the coming years as the White Eyes said, then it was these men that taught it us, for I had never seen anyone scalped until then.
One came, whistling, his feet crunching upon the fallen rock. He sat on the slab above me, his monstrous boots swinging but a finger’s width from my face, and, striking a match against the rock, proceeded to smoke a pipe. I moved not, for well I knew that the smallest flicker would tell him of our presence. I felt the body of Golahka tense beside me, and knew he had come back to his mind. Apache as he was, he remained still, but my relief that he lived was so strong that I was certain I had set the air about me quivering like the rising heat from the desert plains.
But the White Eyes have no feeling for living things. The man was no more aware of me than of the rock he sat upon. When his chief gave commands, he stood. He folded the bloodied ears of Chico – the ornaments still dangling from them – within a white cloth and slipped them inside his pocket. Still whistling, he went on his way. Soldiers were being sent into the mountains of the Dendhi to search for our people. I could not see them, but I doubted not that others were being sent into our own Black Mountain range.