Chapter One (part one)

I.

A sad wind carried itself through the night and into the camp. The lonely moon glowed softly behind thin clouds above. There was not a single star shining in the cold autumn sky. Fires crackled and hissed with thick heavy cut logs. Pots of stew boiled above the strong fires while others had become nothing more than hot embers and ash. People sat around them dressed in nothing but buckskin and fur pelts. They nestled close to the warmth of the flames sharing bowls of soup and talking with each other about the day. They didn’t seem to mind the cold as their legs and chest were exposed and only their necks and feet were protected with fur. All of the men wore white bone chokers around their necks. Their left ears were pierced with long and jagged obsidian earrings. They yawned and passed around tobacco pipes each taking long deft drags and blowing out the smoke with closed eyes. For a moment they sat silently with their heads tilted back looking to the sky. A few women sat with their men. They shared a blanket and secret smiles. Sometimes a girl would giggle and push her man away playfully.

The night moved on and became colder and colder. The members of the camp slowly and tiredly retreated to their lodges one by one. The lodges themselves were all around in abundance. They were made of thirteen long poles made out of thin pine and bound together at the top with rope. This made a conical shape that was then wrapped in many canvas hides. The entrance was a round hole covered by a single flap of canvas. It could be lifted or moved to the side to gain entrance into the lodges. The people stumbled through the dark and bumped into logs or stumbled over horse saddles that had been left outside. With surprise they would catch themselves and move on. They thought about the warm blankets that awaited them and the comfort of sleep. One would come upon a lodge thinking it was his and open the canvas flap only to find a handful of children tucked into large fur robes. In time they found their lodges and nestle among the sprawled out bodies of their families.

The fires burned low and the voices died down. Only two people were left. One was an old lady with tangled grey hair in two braids that hung behind her ears. Her face was wrinkled with time and her eyes were going white with blindness. Both of her ears were pierced and had earrings made of bone that had been sanded down so smooth it shined by the dim fire. She wore a grey wolf pelt that wrapped around her neck and tucked into her faded buckskin gown. Earth colors of brown and tan quillwork made rectangle designs all down her white shawl. In her hand she held a thick walking stick made out of oak. She pushed and prodded the glowing coals of the fire.

Across from her sat a lean and well built man. He was pushing old age. Silver grey streaks ran through his long loose hair. His arms were bars of steel layered with scar after scar. His face was beginning to sag beneath his light brown eyes. In one hand he held a white blade carved from bone. He rubbed his thumb along the edge of it. His other hand pulled at a stone tied around his neck with a strap of leather. He didn’t wear furs or buckskin but was dressed in an unbuttoned worn out shirt. He had on rain faded jeans that were tight against his legs. He kicked a twig into the fire with his boots. The twig burrowed into the hot coals and began to light. He pulled a pouch from the long coat he sat on and began to roll a cigarette. He leaned forward and pulled the stick out of the fire and lit the end of his cigarette.

Both of them sat on logs staring into the flames. The man smoked slowly and the old lady rocked back and forth, holding her shawl tight around her and clutching onto her walking stick. The night carried on and coyotes began to howl. The moon danced in and out of view behind the clouds. The whole camp slept and dreamed dreams of simplicity and wonder.

Then out of the darkness came another person. It was a tall and slender man, young in comparison to the two sitting by the fire. He walked quietly and with grace, his black cloak sweeping the dead autumn leaves. He wore simple clothes, light shirt and long baggy pants for traveling. His cloak was thick to protect him from the tireless and violent wind. He wore it closed.

When he approached the two they didn’t give a reaction. They carried on as if he weren’t there at all. Finally the old lady motioned for him to sit. He sat at the north end of the fire between the two. He was offered a smoke but kindly refused by waving his hand and shaking his head.

“Won’t you introduce yourself?” asked the old lady. She didn’t look at him.

“My name is Sephen Viar Ven Tur,” He pronounced his name with a rolled tongue and a quick bow to each of them. “You can call me Viar for short. It’s a pleasure to meet the both of you.”

“They call me Unci,” said the old lady. “And he’s Byoden. Where are you from?”

Byoden shifted in his seat and pulled his coat over his shoulders. He then started to roll another smoke.

“I have come from many places. Where I was born I would not call home. But if that’s what you ask then I was born in the North Lands. When I became old enough I left that small town of Lussian and have traveled the entire continent. This is my first visit to the Valley.”

“You look well kept for a traveler,” said Byoden as he lit his cigarette. “I’ve traveled the continent also and would not be able to keep my hair as long and full as yours.”

“Be nice, Byo,” Said Unci. She jabbed her walking stick in his direction. “So this is your first time in the valley? What do you think, is it cold?”

Viar laughed and patted his knee.

“The Lion Mountains are colder than this, Unci, and you get short of breath higher up. I like it here. It’s beautiful.” He looked up at the moon. “The night is so clear and the air fresh. How could I not have come here in all these years?”

“I don’t think you had a reason. Do you have one now?” Unci took off her shawl and turned it around. She put it back over her and pulled it tight.

“I do,” He opened his cloak and pulled out a small leather bound journal. “In my spare time I make maps and keep them in here. A year ago I finished it, except there was a huge blank spot right in the middle of the continent. I asked around and heard of this place, the Valley. It was difficult getting here what with the desert to the west and the border covering the outside. And when I did get here I find that there are patrols that keep out unwanted visitors. Luckily I was able make some connections. And here I am, sitting here with the two of you.”

“You’ve come here to listen to stories? What would possess you to go through such lengths?” Byoden flicked his cigarette into the fire pit.

“Not just any story, although I know Unci here is famous for her legends and myths. I came for one story in particular. It’s a story I think both of you know very well.”

“I have lots of stories of that brat sitting there.” Unci laughed softly and jabbed her stick in the air towards Byoden once again. “I can tell you the most embarrassing things if you want to hear them.”

“Unci, I don’t think Viar wants to hear about me and mine.” Byoden leaned towards Viar. “What story do you want to hear?”

Viar put his journal into his cloak and pulled out a tiny pouch. He emptied the contents out in the fire pit. The hot coals ate up the incense and a smell of spring petals filled the cold air. Each of them basked in the scent before it was gone.

“That was lovely, Viar. Thank you for sharing the smell spring during this frigid and cold autumn.”

“You’re welcome Unci.”

“I would gladly tell you any tale you want to hear. Don’t be shy.” Unci smiled at Viar.

“First off, I don’t know anything about this beautiful Valley. Would you please tell me about it?”

“What do you want to hear?” asked Unci.

“Who are you, where do you come from, how do you live, what are your customs? That kind of stuff for starters.”

“The boy wants a history lesson. You’ll have to live here to know what it’s like. But I guess Unci here can weave a fine tale to give you some comprehension of it.”

“That I will Byoden,” Unci nodded. “It’s true what Byoden says. There are many facets to our culture. We have our ways that we follow and along with them comes our superstition, our taboos, ceremonies, and above all is our spirituality. This is the first tale I would tell you, Viar.”

“I’m grateful to hear it.”

Unci gathered her shawl and with a quick glance around she closed her eyes.

“Where we come from is a story passed on from generation to generation through our practice of oral tradition. So many times it has been told on nights like this; an elder sitting to the west, the direction of the setting sun, symbolic to the passing of life, with a group of children sitting in the direction of the East, the new rising generation. We keep no records and have no written history. In the minds of each live the tales and legends. We call them Stories of the Mind. Words are spoken and heard thus a new world is envisioned in the imaginations. Those who tell the tales take pride in memorizing them word for word as they were told. In so lives on a chronicle, untainted and older than anything I can imagine. The Stories of the Mind are kept alive and have never died in all our years. Through them we teach lessons of life and give knowledge. Others are used for the passing of time but are filled with wonder and peril.

“This is the first Story. It is the oldest and is the origins of us.

II.

Unci M’ka, the mother of all, kept her children safe in her womb. Darkness was this world. And so we named it Wi. It was an ever living shadow beneath the flesh of mother. We were still so young and could not live in a world so cruel. Innocence was ours and Unci M’ka guarded us with her love. So it was for generations.

Wanji Wakanyeja Sh’kata. A lonely child played. Her name was unknown. Anwi, the sun, he who watched over his lover the Moon, saw this lonely Wicincala playing. His heart called out to her, for he wanted a daughter so dearly. He asked and even begged Unci M’ka to have this little one. She said no. Her children were so young and could not survive the chaos of life. With this Anwi replied, ‘then they have no life.’

More generations passed and Anwi looked upon the girl each day until he slept. The world being old at this time had many ‘Ji’, Spirits, wondering around. When the brothers Hanji and Naji found out about Anwi’s obsession over the girl they devised a plan and offered their assistance to Anwi. At first Anwi was skeptical of the two for they were friends of the P’te, fierce four legged creatures that walked the earth. But in the end he gave in. The girl was nearing old age and was beginning to fall ill.

Hanji and Naji brought us forth from her womb. We were not yet ready to take the journey. They disguised themselves as Wakanyeja, a beautiful man with the finest silver fur robes and a lovely lady with skin like the moon and paintings of gold and silver. The sight fascinated some but others were unsure about the pair. They seemed wrong because they only showed one side of their face. The other was of snarling fangs and deep grins filled with rot and deceit.

A few of us followed them to the gate. Here they had to hold their eyes closed for Anwi was still yet to powerful for them. They could not go on. But Naji and Hanji were patient. They waited while the Wakenyeja became accustomed to the light. Among then was the girl whom Anwi wanted for a daughter. She was already used to the light for when she played alone she came to the surface to pick the flowers. She wanted to go with Hanji and Naji but they told her to wait for the rest.

Finally, one night, she could no longer stand it. She went through the gate. Fear made her turn to stone as she saw the P’te lined up for miles. All of them bared hungry teeth at her. Hanji and Naji pleaded with the P’te not to take this one. But they waited for so long to taste the young blood of Unci M’ka. They would take her and eat her bit by bit. Hanji and Naji told them to spare this one for Anwi and that there were even more Wakanyeja to feast on. They were waiting inside and would be able to come out the next two days.

It was no use. The P’te had already been waiting for two years since the bargain was struck. Hanji and Naji would learn the secrets of the P’te if they were able to bring them the best tasting flesh in the whole world. They could not hold back their hunger any longer after seeing such a fine morsel.

Anwi awoke with great ecstasy. Today was the day he would get to meet his daughter. Naji and Hanji would bring him a whole lot of children. They would also bring the girl he loved so dearly to be his daughter. But he was surprised as here they were sitting upon the highest and most open mountain, bowing before him, with no Wakanyeja. ‘Where are they?’ he asked. ‘Forgive us! The P’te have taken them from us!’ Hanji and Naji said in unison. ‘What!’ roared Anwi.

The earth was ruptured with the anger of Anwi. Many stars fell through the sky, each one destroying entire P’te clans. Finally the biggest and brightest arrived before the strongest P’te. He had the Wakanyeja in his custody and was ready to dine when the star passed over him. With a flash it was gone and there stood the most amazing man he had ever seen. He was tall and elegant, his skin glowed with the light of the sun and it was the light of the sun, for the entire world was dark that day. The P’te, named Ska’kyin, growled at the man. ‘Why are you in my way? It is time for me to feast so leave me or I will kill you!’ The man, who was Anwi, did not move, instead her gripped Ska’Kyin by the throat. ‘Why have you stolen the Wakanyeja from me?’ Ska’Kyin smiled that grin of deceit. ‘They were gifts to me from Hanji and Naji in exchange for the secrets of the P’te. They are mine! Anwi you are powerful but in the skin of man you are not as strong as the Star you were. Get out of my way or we will kill you’ Ska’Kyin raised his hands towards the legions of P’te surrounding Anwi.

‘Someday you will feel my wrath, Ska’Kyin; you have doomed your people to complete eradication!’ To this Ska’Kyin kindly responded, ‘You can’t kill what Unci M’ka has created. This is not your domain. I will live as she wants and when she wants. I am hers and do not belong to the Sun. Go now and know you can’t touch us.’

With this, Anwi evaded in a stunning blast of light. He silently vowed to keep his threat and held the P’te in his sight each day.

During his Hanji and Naji hid. They knew that either Anwi or Ska’Kyin would kill them on sight.

For the Wakanyeja who had been fooled it was a cruel fate. For Anwi it was devastating to watch his daughter live on as the pet to his enemy. Each day his heart sank.

III.

Viar and Byoden sat there in silence waiting for Unci to catch her breath. She shifted in her seat and pulled her blanket over her. She made little grunting noises as she tried to reorient herself.

“You tell the most amazing stories.” Viar said.

“Shut up. It’s not finished.” Said Byoden. He rolled a smoke during the short intervention and stuck it behind his ear for later. He rolled one more during the wait and gave it to Viar. This time Viar could not reject it as Byoden stuffed it into his hand. He got up and followed Byoden away from the fire.

The two stood out in the cold and noticed the falling of the first snow. Byoden only took half notice while Viar smiled and kindly embraced the falling flakes. He set out his tongue to catch one. Byoden laughed under his breath while lighting a cigarette.

“You’re an odd one. I see why Unci likes you. Have you ever smoked our tobacco?”

“No, why? Is it different from others?” Viar asked as he turned the cigarette over in his hands. He inspected it, from the contour of the thin paper wrap to the deep dark green of the tobacco. Byoden lit his and responded.

“Of course it is. It comes not from the tobacco leaf but from a sacred tree. The Willow.”

“I don’t know if a Willow is all that different from any other tree.” Viar said. Byoden laughed at his remark. “What did I say?”

“Nothing. Just a passage from one of my favorite stories. I’m not a story teller and can’t recall the whole thing, but I’ve memorized my favorite part. A dialogue between a young skill-less hunter and an old oak tree. In the story the boy, named Luta, gets lost in his first hunt. It’s raining hard and he takes refuge underneath a giant oak tree. When he sits down to cry his lonely shame he gets a splinter from the tree.

IV.

And it laughed at him. ‘such a meager boy to be hurt even while my bark is moist.’ The deep hallow voice frightened the young by and he jumped up in surprise with his knife if hand. He looked around for an enemy but saw none. ‘Why are you shaking? Are you that afraid? Look up at me when I am talking to you.’ The boy looked up at the tall dying oak. ‘please forgive me Old Oak. I am lost and alone. I wish to take harbor under you and be with my shame and sorrow.’

‘No.’ The Old Oak replied. ‘You have everything you need. You have your youth, your health, your body and most of all, your mind. If you want me to protect you then you are weak. I will not let such a stupid boy be my company.’

‘Please. Let me sit here and cry. I do not know what else to do.’

‘Then I shall help you this one time. Listen to me for my time is short. I have a brother living among the river. Go and fetch a bundle of him. Tell him I sent you and be respectful. Do not take him if he is too young. Do not take him if he is too old.’

‘How will I know?’ the boy pleaded.

‘Talk with him. He is noble and kind and will hear your words.’

So the boy went to the river in search of the Oak’s brother. There he found the skinny willow tree flowing with the wind. ‘How can such a weak thing help me.’

‘Who are you calling weak?’ The voice was all around him like a thousand whips cutting the air.

‘Forgive me, but I don’t know if a Willow is all that different from any other tree. I have been sent here by your brother, the Old Oak. I am to fetch a bundle and bring it to him.’

‘If my brother has sent you then you know that I need a gift. Bring me a young woman to bathe in the river so that I may gaze upon her beauty.’ The willow went silent and did not respond to the young boys questions. He finally gave up and went back to camp. Here he received the scorn of his father and the stinging laughter of all the warriors. How could he get a beautiful girl to go with him and bathe in the river when he was the shame of the day?

Years passed and he could not bring what the Willow asked for. In the while he became strong and was in good favor with the camp. His hunting skills became better and better. Soon he reached the age of marriage. A young girl fell in love with him and they wed. Years passed and he almost forgot the task the Old Oak gave him. So one day he took his wife down to the river to bathe.

‘You have returned! I thought you would never bring my gift. Please, take all the bundles you want while I’m distracted.’

Luta picked out a pack of strong bundles and left to the Old Oak. When he arrived the Oak looked dead. ‘So you’ve convinced my brother to let you take some bundles.’ His voice was strained and slow. ‘Please, there is a pond behind me. Skin the bundles and soak them until morning. During that time I will tell you what to do. You have to listen and remember each step because after tonight I will no longer be here to guide you.’

Luta did as told and skinned the bundles. He set them in the clear pond to soak for the night. Then he sat with the Old Oak and listened all night.

He woke up the next day. He said a prayer for his friend and went to fetch the Willow. He took each and fastened sharpened stones to the ends and feathers to the other side. He then put a notch at the ends where the feathers were. He took sinew and the longest Willow and tied the ends together until the sinew was taught. He placed an arrow against the bow and drew it back. He fired the first shot into the sun and it never came back. It was as the Old Oak had told him. ‘The first shot will never return to you. It is as you shoot it. Soaking in the pond has given it power for you and you only. Use this gift of bow and arrow to become a strong and fierce hunter. Never wage war with this bow, it is not meant to kill your brothers.’

He said his goodbyes and took the quiver of arrows and the bow back to the river. When he arrived the Willow screamed out to him. ‘Luta! I could do nothing! I am sorry but your wife has been killed by raiders!’

He found his wife’s dead body on the shore. She was raped and killed. Her arms were broken and her ankles tied together. He throat was slit. This sent Luta in a rage. With his bow and his hunger for revenge he rode three days until he came to the enemy’s camp. With the first shot he didn’t miss. The second and third shots found their mark. Soon the whole camp was silent and filled with dead bodies.