The Earth Remembers
By Shevlin Sebastian
Ahiga touched the rock. It was warm. When he slept next to his mother, sometimes, he touched her face. The same warmth. Ma, you left so early.
He caressed her necklace around his throat. My lucky charm.
'Ahiga, come.'
He turned back.
It was Dakota.
He looked at the fire. The meat was turning brown.
He moved closer.
Dakota pointed at the ground. Ahiga sat next to him.
Inola poked the fire with a long stick. Flames flared up.
He said, 'Ahiga provided this bison.'
The group clapped. Ahiga looked around. Everybody had smiles on their faces.
The moment he spotted the bison, his heart started racing. He approached on his horse from the right. He aimed for the sweet spot, behind the front leg. The shot punctured the heart. The bison let out a deep guttural groan. And fell with a thud to the ground.
Ahiga's breathing quickened. 'Thank you.'
Inola added, 'When are you getting married?'
Ahiga scratched at the mud.
Dakota poked his ribs.
'I don't know. Waiting for Seone.'
'To say yes?'
'Yes.'
Onacona smiled. 'I see you are always wrapping a blanket around Seone near the stream.'
Sweet Seone. Her braided black hair. Her mischievous smile. Oh, her fragrance.
Ahiga touched his warm cheeks. 'Very cold.'
Dakota said, tongue in cheek, 'She also had her blanket.'
Ahiga blurted out, 'It was still cold.'
'So two blankets needed,' said Inola.
The laughter echoed in his ears.
Ahiga pointed. 'Meat is ready.'
'Changing the subject?' said Inola sarcastically.
Ahiga looked up. The flap of the tepee opened. Chief Wohali straightened his headgear.
That terrible day. All of them on horses, in the canyon. A shot rang out. From the mountain on the left.
Neske fell. Bow and arrows scattered. His horse neighed, the muscles trembling. Chief Wohali bent down. His son had died instantly. Ahiga's hand holding the stirrup shook.
A few went in chase. But the white man left no trace. Wohali's eyes. Red all the time. His wife Behita with her stooped shoulders.
Wohali sat down.
'Onacona, tell me, what's the latest?'
'Chief, the whites have set up their homes.'
'Where?'
'A few miles from here.'
'What did you see?'
'Rifles and pistols.'
'And we have only bows and arrows.'
'Yes, Chief. We need to move fast.'
Ahiga's heart sank. His time with Seone at the stream. Finished.
Somebody said, 'Will we find water?'
'I don't know.'
The aroma of roasting meat arose in the air. Ahiga's nose twitched.
Wohali looked at the men one by one. Ahiga met his eyes. 'We will move tomorrow.'
The meat had been cut. Ahiga wrapped a bit in a leaf and took it to his tepee, to eat with boiled beans and corn. Should I call Seone?... not today, tomorrow.
Inside, his father, Kohko, was lying on a rug on the floor.
'How is your shoulder pain?' Ahiga said.
'Improving. Have put a wild mint poultice.'
Ahiga peered closer at the dark green paste. 'Ma always said this works.'
'Yes.'
'Here, take some.' Ahiga shared the meat with Kohko.
They ate.
Kohko looked up. 'Your bison?'
Ahiga nodded.
'First?'
'No. Third.'
'Good. You're getting better than Neske.'
Ahiga's cheeks turned warm. It was so quiet inside the tepee. Ma was the chatterbox.
The sound of a rattle. A sweet voice arose. Oh, that's Inola's wife, Neva. She's singing a lullaby.
'Sleep, my little one, sleep.
The buffalo are near.
The stars watch over you.
Sleep.'
'Did Ma sing this?' Kohko said.
Ahiga let out a sob. His throat burned.
Kohko touched him on his arm with his callused palms. 'It's all right.'
Somebody began playing a flute.
Ahiga bent and tightened his moccasins. He pulled the strap with the bow and arrows across his back. 'Father, I have to go.'
He parted the tepee flap and stepped out. As he walked, he patted his full stomach. He burped.
Most tepees were in darkness. The flute-playing stopped. He moved silently, and reached the outcrop.
'Hi Dakota.'
'All quiet?'
'Yes.'
Ahiga threw twigs and leaves into the fire.
They sat on their haunches in silence.
He turned to Dakota. 'Do you have anybody?'
Dakota stared at the fire. 'Not yet.'
He patted his friend's back. 'Be patient. You will find somebody.'
Dakota swallowed and looked away. 'Hope I'm alive till then.'
By 1 a.m., Dakota’s head drooped. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Ahiga looked up. Neske. Ma. Ma. Neske.
A coldness at the side of his neck. He reached out with his hand. Blood spurted out.
The knife sliced through the neck.
As they stared at Ahiga, Austin whispered to his friend, Brock, 'The bastard's smiling.'
Brock leaned close. 'You're right.'
'I feel bad. A strapping young man.'
'Kill or be killed, Austin. You know that.'
Brock fingered the necklace. 'Look at the necklace.'
Austin peered.
Brock said, 'Take it. Give it to Susan.'
'What will I say?'
'Bought it at the trading post.'
'Good idea.'
He lifted the necklace, then wiped the blood off on Ahiga's leather trousers.
Austin and Brock beckoned with their hands.
Several men came up. They had tied their horses some distance away around a few tree trunks. The men walked the rest of the distance, coming in from the other side of the stream.
The men had brought burning coals with them in a hollowed-out bison horn. One by one, they lifted the flaps and threw the coals inside.
The tepees caught fire.
As the flames grew in intensity, the shouts of the Cheyenne rose in a crescendo.
Thick plumes of black smoke rose into the sky. There was an acrid smell.
As the families came rushing out, the frontiersmen opened fire. There were shouts and agonising groans. A woman sobbed as she held a dead child in her arms. Moments later, she was shot dead. A Cheyenne placed an arrow against his bowstring. A bullet pierced his forehead. Inola's throat had a large hole. Wohali soiled his pants. He sat up, murmured, 'Behita' before falling back dead.
Neva lay on her back, her baby on her chest. Both were dead. Right next to her lay an unmoving Seone, wearing a small heart pendant, drenched in blood. Blood flowed from wounds on the head, face, chest, stomach, and legs.
'Okay count them,' said Brock.
Two men walked about. 'Forty.'
They brought the shovels that had been kept in pouches strapped to their saddles.
They moved a few feet away and dug into the ground. The men let out grunts and exhaled.
The minutes passed. A small mound of mud formed at the edges. Everybody inhaled the damp smell.
It took two hours to build a large enough pit.
One man held the hands and another the feet and they threw the bodies into the pit. For the children, one man could do the job, holding their legs with one hand. They tossed them as if they weighed nothing. The bodies lay piled up, one on top of the other. Finally, they threw in Ahiga and Dakota.
The men stared at the pit. They wiped their faces with a kerchief. Some sat on their haunches, trying to get their breath back.
In the eerie silence, a coyote let out a bark followed by a howl.
They shovelled the mud back into the pit, and covered it. The men used the back of the shovels to tap down the mud and make it a smooth surface.
Austin went to the stream and washed the necklace. Now it shone in the moonlight. He placed it in his pocket.
With sweaty foreheads and open mouths they trudged towards the horses.
The next morning, Austin took out the necklace and presented it to Susan with both hands.
Her eyes bulged as she held it in her palms. 'So beautiful. Where did you get it?'
'Trading post. Wear it.'
She did. Stepped back. 'How do I look?'
'Beautiful.'
He reached out and kissed her. She nuzzled his nose. 'You're kind. Thank you.'
'How did the battle go?' she said.
'Easy. They ran away.'
She held Austin's eyes. 'Just like that.'
He looked away and said, 'Yes.'
A day later, the men poked the ashes with wooden sticks to look for valuables. Some found silver rings and beaded necklaces. Brock found a flute.
He played a few notes.
'Hey, can I take it?' said one of the men.
'Sure.'
Within a few days, the white settlers took over the land. They began building their cabins. In the daytime, the boys ran to the bank of the stream. They took off their shirts and jumped into the water, letting out squeals of delight.
They were not aware that other children of their age were rotting in a nearby pit, killed by their fathers. Sometimes, the women took the clothes and scrubbed them by the side of the stream. It was calm and peaceful beside the stream.
There was no sign anymore that there had been a Cheyenne camp anywhere.
Soon, flowers, grass and weeds would grow over the pit. The bodies would decompose. A few bones would remain.
Only the earth would remember.
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