Apache

  At once Golahka leapt upon the rock I cowered behind, his eyes brimming with laughter.

  “A fine attempt.” He smiled. “But I am not ambushed.”

  In two short bounds, he was once more mounted upon the mare, urging her forward along the mountain track. He was laughing. He had believed in my witless attempt. And now he had relaxed his guard. He was almost within sight of our tepees; he had but to follow the winding path that led down to the valley. I could not get past him; I could do nothing to him now. Thus thought Golahka, I was certain of it. And I was as certain that I would yet prove him wrong.

  Leaving my food and weapons where I knew I could find them later, I ran to the jutting rock. I squeezed beneath it, edging round to where the entrance of the tunnel lay. An adult would feel but a gap, a slit in the rock, too small to pass through. Only a child could know what was beyond. I edged into the tunnel, feeling the tightness of the stone against my sides. I began my descent through the rock that had been worn smooth by the passage of countless Black Mountain children.

  But I could not glide as fast as I had once. When smaller, I had slid freely from top to bottom, where now I had to crawl, and squeeze, and force myself through gaps that did not wish to let me pass. But I was of slighter build than many of my age, and I could do it. I was slower than I had hoped. Yet when I emerged into the sunshine, I heard the hoof beats of Golahka’s horse still high above me as he zigzagged his way down the path.

  I went swiftly to the river, walking on stones so I would not leave tracks for Golahka to see. At the edge, I lowered myself into the cool, clear water carefully, so that I would not stir up mud and give myself away. A rock overhung the river, beside the place where Golahka and the mare would cross, and it was here I concealed myself, scarce daring to breathe in case the ripples should betray me.

  Here I waited, hoping, praying, that Golahka would rest and allow his horse to drink.

  Again Ussen was with me. Golahka did indeed stop. The mare lowered her head, sucking in cooling gulps but a hand’s width from where I lay. And Golahka was so confident of his success, that for a moment he released his hold upon the reins and extended his arms in a broad stretch.

  I moved. With the suddenness of a leaping fish, I hurled myself from the water. The horse, terrified, reared high. It was not enough to unseat Golahka, expert horseman that he was, but it did unbalance him. He rocked backwards, and before he could regain control I seized my chance. With all my strength I pushed at his hip. Taken by surprise by my audacity, this was enough to topple him. He fell in the dust on one side of the mare, and I sprang onto her back from the other, urging the animal homewards before he could respond.

  Thus I returned to our settlement of painted tepees after my first trial: weaponless, without supplies, dripping and sodden.

  On horseback.

  Triumphant.

  I had done as Golahka commanded, no more, yet still I feared his temper as I waited for his return.

  I should not have done so. He walked into our camp soon after my hasty arrival, seemingly afflicted with a heavy limp. The eyes of our people were upon him. Chodini himself came to meet him, to ask how he had fared amongst the Chokenne. Golahka gave swift reply to the question that buzzed in all minds like the hornet.

  “They will come,” he said, his voice carrying so that all our tribe could hear. “Our brothers ride the warpath with us!”

  Many nodded, satisfied at such an outcome. A surge of battle lust passed through the warriors. The very air seemed to taste of it.

  The women, who had paused while Golahka spoke, now went back to the tasks they had been engaged in. I waited, uncertain what I should do. Golahka relished my awkwardness. He rubbed his hip elaborately, as if it gave him much pain. I knew it could not; any warrior that truly suffered would give no sign of it. This was but play to heighten my discomfort.

  When Chodini asked what ailed him, Golahka replied without expression, “I was ambushed.”

  Chodini was surprised. “Ambushed? By whom?” he asked.

  Golahka looked at me. His eyes burned into my face while I tried, and failed, to hold his stare. “It was a water snake,” he said at last. “A treacherous serpent. It took me quite unawares.”

  I felt, rather than saw, the eyes of Chodini upon me as he tried to understand Golahka’s meaning. And then the sombre face of Golahka broke into a smile, and his ringing laugh sounded throughout the camp.

  “Siki bested me,” he told our chief quietly, as if he disbelieved the content of his own words.

  “You were bested by a novice?” asked Chodini. “You?”

  “Indeed! A mere stripling! But this novice has cunning, my chief. Be glad she rides with us. I would not choose her as my enemy.”

  Golahka turned to me then and said, “You discovered much upon the mountain, Siki; do not rest easy, even when your journey’s end is in sight. It was a lesson well learnt.” He laughed once more, and then added, “Ay, it was a lesson well taught too.” With that he left me to walk with Chodini and give him news of Goyenne, his beloved daughter; and the great chief Sotchez.

  Thus dismissed, I led the mare to where the horses grazed, smiling to myself. But as I walked, my arms began to prickle and bump as though a sudden chill cooled the air. It was as if I had entered a crevasse of deep shadow where the sun could not send forth its rays. I looked to see from whence the cold had come.

  Keste.

  He stood near the tepee of Dahtet, dripping icy scorn as I dripped water from the river. He said nothing, but I felt his eyes, unblinking, upon me, as though he sought to peel off my flesh; expose raw muscle; see what weakness lay hidden beneath my skin.

  His words, when they came, stopped my breath. “You think you will be a warrior?” he said softly. “You will not. You have your coward father’s blood. Some day it will out, and all will see you for what you are.”

  He turned and stalked away between the tepees before I had drawn sufficient air to demand his meaning.

  With trembling hands, I smoothed the mare, checking she had suffered no ills from her journey that might need tending. Then I released her to the herd. As I watched her scrape the ground and roll, kicking her legs wildly in the air, I fretted over Keste’s words. But then I was stirred with fresh resolve.

  I would not fear Keste, nor quake before the malice of one who was not yet a warrior. I – who had bested Golahka in a trial of wits; who had vowed to find Tazhi’s slayer and kill him – would neither fear nor fight one of my own tribe. I would treat no Black Mountain Apache as my enemy; thus was my solemn, silent vow made before Ussen.

  What sadness, then, that Keste did not do the same.

  Golahka rested but one night before he moved again, departing at sunrise on a fresh horse to seek the Dendhi Apache, as he had sought the Chokenne, to ask for their help. This time, I knew he would permit no follower. He had to go forth alone.

  Golahka’s wife, Tehineh, had been of the Dendhi, and had moved to the Black Mountain Apache when she wed Golahka. He had to carry the word of her death to her kinsfolk. Terrible would be the anguish he unloosed. Tehineh’s aged father yet lived. It was known amongst my people that the old man had been loath to part with his youngest daughter. Perhaps he had disliked the youthful arrogance of Golahka, for he had then been but seventeen summers old, newly admitted to the Hilaneh council of warriors, and young to be thus honoured. Perhaps her father wished to keep her with him to guard against the loneliness of his coming age. Perhaps he simply loved Tehineh too much to endure such a parting, for Tehineh was beloved by all who looked on her.

  The love that burned between Golahka and Tehineh had been plain for all to see, and yet still her father had resisted the match, demanding not one or two good horses as marriage settlement as would most fathers. No … Tehineh’s father had demanded ten of horse, and ten of beef – seemingly an impossible price to lay upon his daughter’s head. Golahka had said nothing, but departed at once, and returned some days later, driving a vast herd before him. Still
he did not speak, but sat upon his horse and extended his hand to Tehineh.

  She had never returned to her tribe.

  Golahka would not stay with the Dendhi and daily endure the enmity of her father, but neither had he wished to return to the Hilaneh, for they were of a peaceful disposition, much given to the growing of corn and melons. Golahka was no farmer. Instead he had joined with Chodini, for the great chief’s wisdom and prowess as a warrior were renowned throughout the Apache nation. Golahka had come with Tehineh and his widowed mother, Nahasgah, and become one of the Black Mountain Apache.

  Fierce now would be the grief of Tehineh’s father. Raw indeed would be his pain. Deep would burn his hatred of Golahka. Such private things were not to be looked upon by strangers. I stayed in our settlement and brooded.

  I could not understand Keste’s words, and yet neither could I dismiss them. Jealous spite had made him goad me, and yet I felt some measure of truth lay hidden in what he said. A secret lurked darkly in the shadows. I desired to know it – to drag it into the light.

  At sunrise, I did not join the men in the hunt, nor the women in their endless gathering of nuts and berries. Instead I went to the horses.

  I chose the dark mare – I had a fondness for this animal – and took a hunting club I had newly fashioned. I rode alone, intent on killing rabbits. I could not fail to see Keste’s mocking smile as I turned from the company of men and boys. I did not doubt that he thought of our last hunt, and believed his words had stung me. He thought I was beaten by him; I let him think so. Chee extended a hand as if he would draw me to the hunters, but I turned from him also, for I craved solitude.

  I hunted hard that day, and far, galloping across the upland meadows after skittish rabbits. The mare was but newly taken from the Mexicans, and had not yet become accustomed to Apache ways. At the start of our riding she was alarmed when, grasping her mane in one hand, I slid down her side and swung my club near her galloping hooves. I missed my first kill, for the mare jumped sideways in panic and sent me rolling upon the grass. But when she felt her freedom she did not run back to the camp to join the other horses, but rather stood, eyeing me warily. Curiosity kept her there, and I liked her the more for it.

  I approached her quietly, speaking soothing nonsense. There is a place on the neck where a horse cannot scratch itself; and so, in a herd, animals will often stand shoulder to shoulder – one facing the other’s tail – that they may bite and rub each other’s necks. I found the place and scratched the mare until her lip drooped and she began to nuzzle my shoulder in return. We stood thus for some time, and when I felt her trust settle upon me I did what I should have done at first – I let her see and smell the club. I rolled it over her skin and down her legs, passing it between her hooves so that she lost her fear of the weapon.

  Springing upon the mare’s back, I rode once more. She was swift to learn: an eager, intelligent mount. As a rabbit broke cover, she pricked her ears, and at my bidding ran in pursuit of the animal. I laughed aloud at her willingness, joying in her vibrant spirit as we galloped. I made my first kill when the sun was high in the wide sky.

  When the sun at last began to dip below the horizon, I turned homewards, ten or more rabbits slung across the mare’s neck.

  The flesh of a rabbit is not as highly prized as the flesh of the deer, but Dahtet’s family were glad of my offering. The deer hunt had returned with but two feeble animals, and I took grim pleasure from the galled look that flashed across Keste’s face when I rode into our camp.

  “Rabbits!” I heard him mutter scornfully. “The prey of infants!”

  I said nothing, for in truth, when the camp is settled in one place as we now were, warriors do not often waste themselves in hunting such small game. I wondered what Golahka would have said of my lonely pursuit. But Chee leapt to my defence.

  “Maybe so,” he told Keste calmly. “But a rabbit will fill an empty belly as well as any deer.”

  Keste spat upon the ground. I did not smile at Chee – to do so would only inflame Keste further. But my eyes spoke words of thanks.

  Having given my kill to Dahtet and her mother, I set about helping them skin the creatures, but Dahtet took the knife from my hands.

  “You are to be a warrior, Siki,” she said. “You must let me do this work. Besides, you will nick the skins and spoil them.”

  She spoke truth. Many times Nahasgah had despaired at my ineptitude in preparing hides. It was this that made Dahtet bid me cease, not my status as a novice warrior, for warriors must know and understand all the tasks of the tribe lest they should ever need them: they must stitch and sew and cook as well as any woman, as indeed the women of our tribe must shoot a bow and use a knife as deftly as a man.

  The quick, nimble fingers of Dahtet skinned the rabbits in the light of the fire. The shadows of the flickering flames seemed to set the painted animals on the tepee walls dancing. I sat watching the little red and black creatures leap and spin. For a slow, indrawn breath my sight blurred, and the beasts seemed to gather together and take the shape of a child – a strange, pale infant – but even as I looked the image dissolved and vanished and the animals were painted icons once more.

  Dahtet talked with her mother as she worked, a soft stream of words that meant little but were a healing balm to my troubled spirits. Wrapped in their familiar warmth, I slept.

  Golahka returned from the Dendhi with welcome news. Willingly they had agreed to ride the warpath with us. Once winter had passed, three Apache tribes would meet, and the warriors would set forth to spill Mexican blood.

  I was glad of it, and yet felt piercing sadness to see that all warmth, all humour, had been driven from Golahka’s face by his time amongst the Dendhi. The rawness of their mourning had torn all but hardness from him. When he returned to our Black Mountain settlement, his eyes were the eyes of a dead man once more. He looked as though he would never smile again, never laugh amongst his kinsmen, never mock my attempts at ambush. Sorely I raged with fresh anger; it seemed the Mexicans who had slain our loved ones had also done mortal injury to the spirit of a great warrior. Black burned my hatred of our enemy when Golahka gathered those who would become warriors around his fire to begin our training.

  I had proved my worthiness when I met Golahka’s challenge, and thus I sat, chin high, awaiting his instruction. Through the long winter that lay ahead, he would teach us mastery of our weapons and of ourselves. When spring came, if we had performed well the arduous tasks demanded of us, we might be permitted to accompany the men on the warpath as their servants. To become a warrior, a novice must make four such journeys. Only then will he be admitted to the warrior council.

  Chee was beside me. He too was only now taking his first step along this path; we began as equals. Opposite sat Keste. He had followed the warriors three times before, and thought himself already a man. He was within one journey of achieving the status he longed for. And yet his eyes gleamed with resentment as he glared at his companions. It was as though Keste thought that renown came only in a limited supply, and that another novice in doing well would consume and diminish the portion of fame he believed was owed to him. I knew Keste brimmed with rancour that I was amongst the youths Golahka would teach.

  There were others too: Ishta, who was perhaps sixteen summers, and had followed the warpath twice before. Naite, the son of Chodini’s brother, a tall youth of similar age to Keste. Like Keste he had completed three journeys, but Naite’s ambition did not mar his judgement. Last to join us was Huten, who was one summer younger than myself and Chee.

  I was surprised indeed that Huten had chosen to join us. He was hard and fit, as are all Apache children; boy and girl alike are strong and fleet of foot, and all must know the rules of survival. But Huten possessed a mild, sweet temper, and had little of the warrior about him. When he had been sent into the mountains alone to prove his worthiness, he had never entirely disappeared from view. For seven sunrises he had lingered on the mountain, just within sight of his mother’s tepee.
He kept his silence and spoke to no one, but he had had no relish for the task. I was astonished that he persisted thus with training. Not all boys will become warriors, and amongst our people no shame falls on those who do not wish to walk the warrior’s path. In our play as children, I had always thought Huten would be one of those who walked proudly amongst the women on his own, distinct trail, as I now walked mine amongst the men. But the Mexicans had also done mortal injury to his sweet spirit, for his grandmother lay amongst the slain at Koskineh, and his eyes now shone bright with anguish.

  “Pain,” said Golahka. “Pain and its mastery are what I teach today. Hear me, for I tell you now that pain can be overcome. No matter how deep it bites, it can be conquered. To face suffering with no fear: this is the way of the Apache warrior.”

  He held out his arm and placed a withered leaf of sage upon it. Then, taking a flaming stick from the fire, he lit the leaf. It caught at once, the flame flaring high and bright, and we watched as it burned and at last crumbled into flaked ashes. The smell of scorched flesh and hair was strong, and the arm of Golahka was marked with a searing blister where the leaf had been. But he made no sound. Not a cry, not a whisper. No muscle had twitched, and his eyes had not narrowed with pain. It was as if the arm was not his, so little did it trouble him.

  And now Golahka bade us extend our own arms towards the flames. Around the circle he walked, running a scorched stick that glowed red from where it had lain in the fire down the length of our arms. Try as we might, one by one we recoiled, drawing our arms back with a sudden breath of shock. It was instinct to do so: none would willingly endure fire. And yet this was what Golahka wished us to do.