The elders wrung their hands in despair. It hadn’t rained for several months. As a result, a drought settled upon their land. With the hot wind and dust blowing, there
also came the desert locusts, which ate the meager plants to supplement their
diet. Because of the drought and hot
wind, game became scarce, and they were forced into adding the locusts to their
diet. They continued, in spite of the
furnace-like heat and great clouds of dust, to scratch out a harsh and lean
existence from the Great Basin, until a desert fire turned much of their
subsistence area into barren black ground.
During the fire, it seemed as though
Issa, their
chief god, had decided to end their miserable plight once and for all. In spite of it all, however, the elders
continued to pray:
“Save us Issa; we are your
chosen. You brought across the ice,
over the mountains, and into this dying land to test us and bend us to your
will. Do not abandon us now. Show us what to do. Help us to find rabbits and send us rain to
grow our plants. Don’t let us die of
hunger or thirst!”
Day after day, as starvation set in,
the elders prayed. They prayed
steadfastly to Issa—the Great Wolf and Creator God, performed the required
rituals, and just for good measure made offerings to the four winds. And yet Issa, who had not spoken to a man or
woman within the memories of the oldest elder of the people, remained silent. The Wind Spirits, who served Issa were of no
help nor was the ritual, which seemed to be waste of energy and time.
Now Gray Fox, leader of the Red
Mountain Band and oldest living elder, was delirious and sinking fast. His illness and inability to preside during
the crises seemed especially ominous.
“Why had Issa not spoken?” they now
asked. “Was Gray Fox’s sickness another sign of his displeasure? What had their patriarch done to deserve the
black sleep?”
Again they prayed, performed the
required rituals, and once more sprinkled dust to the four winds—foolish as it
seemed. But the answer did not come,
and Gray Fox fell into a deep coma—the black sleep, in which he would never
return.
When the food was almost gone and
water was scarce, the old and the very young began dying, beginning with the
band’s patriarch, himself, then the newborns, followed by children as yet
unweaned. These catastrophes seemed to
be proof that Issa was angry with them.
The Great Wolf was about to thin out the people, until only the most fit
were left to breed. Perhaps, he would
destroy most of them this time, as he once did in the far north, when Stone
Hand, the great sage, and his family were spared and allowed to go south. This legend, carried down from generation to
generation, gave no comfort to the mothers whose infants were dying before
their eyes. Nor did it comfort the
children whose hollow eyes held the shadow of death. But for the elders, it was a reminder that at least the strong
would survive.
******
For several more days the elders
quarreled about the omens so far. To
Old Raven and Walking Sticks, the chief religious leaders, it was a test from
Issa that they must pass. In their
stubborn minds, they saw this arid valley as the Promised Land. Someday, it would return to its normal self
(hot, dry, with sparse vegetation, and meager game). For many of the elders and young men, this thinking would not
suffice. Issa, they were certain, was
not listening. The patriarch’s death
was proof of this. In order to survive,
they would have to leave this barren land.
Perhaps, he had forsaken them, or maybe this was his way of telling them
that it was time to move on. Since in
their language there was no word for change, it was difficult for them to
express this desire.
As one young man said as he watched
his mother die, “The black sleep creeps over this land. Let us do as Stone Hand once did and head
south.”
“But where will that take us?” they
asked him, as he began building a travois to carry his mother.
“You can stay if you wish.” the young
man said with resolution. “But I’m taking my mother and brothers south. I don’t believe Issa wants us to die.”
With that simple declaration, Dream
Rider became the first of his people to leave the Promised Land and trek south. Following him hesitantly, were other young
men and one crotchety old man, Whispers-In-The-Wind, who had argued with the
other elders but given up in despair.
“Soon Issa will speak.” he promised
them feebly. “For now, the Great Wolf
is asleep. Come old cousins, let us
follow Dream Rider. It is better to die
walking than wait for the black sleep to come.”
After he turned his back, he could
hear other moccasins in the dust, and he knew that his example was still strong
in his band. Not far from their camp
two other groups of families led by Crow Foot and his father-in-law, Walking
Rabbit, had already broken with the elders of their band.
******
When Crow Foot’s daughter heard Dream
Rider and then the old elder speak, she snuck away with two of her children,
and hurried to her father’s camp. Her
husband, whose father was Old Raven, the chief elder among his band, had
refused to leave their camp. To save
her children and herself, she knew she had to go to her father’s band. Upon reaching his people, she immediately
told them what the other band had decided to do. The Fire Creek band had been decimated by hunger and disease, and
yet the elders begged them not to leave.
Crow Foot, who was, himself, an elder of the band, was, at that very
moment, trying to talk as many of his band members into leaving as he
could. When his daughter told him that
Whispers-In-the-Wind had followed Dream Rider south, he related this to several
of the doubters as evidence that Issa wanted them to leave. That such a great sage had followed such a
young man was a sign that their people must move.
“It is time act… to be different,” he
insisted, groping for the right words.
“The old thinking doesn’t work anymore.
We can follow the Coyote and Tortoise Bands or follow those elders to
the Land of the Dead.”
Turning to his daughter and her
children, he then motioned for old Walking Sticks and all the others who had
openly broken with elders refusing to leave.
With almost all of the Rabbit and Lizard bands following his example,
Crow Foot, the third great leader of their people went forth, arm-in-arm with
his daughter and wife, away from the Promised Land into the unknown.
******
After Snake Singer, the oldest living
elder, built a signal fire of dry brush, the remaining bands saw the migration
written in the cloudless sky. Two
Moons, a young elder of the Badger Band, had already talked most of his
immediate family into leaving. With
resignation in their vacant eyes the remainder of his band, including Two
Moon’s father, yielded to the message from afar. By the time they had passed the next band’s encampment, most of
his people would be on the desert, heading south.
In the forefront of these small and
decimated bands was Two Moons, the fourth great leader of the migration. Unlike many primitive peoples who, in times
of strife, might abandon their old and sick in order to conserve water and
food, their religion demanded that they care for the dying until the very end. Each self-made trailblazer tried on his own
to forcibly prod the old people along.
Sick people would be carried, if need be, on travoises, until their
destination was reached. On this
fateful day, it was especially tragic to die in this desolate land, and yet
many of the stubborn old men and women refused to budge.
Although Two Moons managed to coax his
own father along, the remaining elders of his band, which included some of his
own relatives sat down in the desert and watched their people depart, sending
curses after them as they walked dejectedly away.
******
Among the stragglers of the Toad Band,
reluctantly leading the remnant of his father’s band and bitter about the
hopelessness of his own plight was Old Raven’s son, Shadow Maker, whose wife
had rejoined her father’s band. A dark
vapor already controlled Shadow Maker’s spirit. Named because of a vision he claimed he once had, Shadow Maker’s
vision mirrored his membership with the religious elite of his people:
falsity. In his spirit quest he had
traveled across the burning desert in order to have the required communion with
god. But on the way, he had been
detoured by Soul Catcher, who whispered into his delirious mind:
“You are my child. Henceforth I will call you Shadow
Maker. When your people leave this
sacred land, they will be leaving their god.
You will fill the emptiness when you become the leader of the
bands. Your great magic will be to
convince them that Issa does not exist.
After this is done, you will lead them to me!”
Terrified by the message and the
apparition of a great dark bird flying overhead, he ran back to his band, and
told them what he had seen. But he
failed to tell them all he heard. He
also left one important fact out: the source of the voice. Now, after all these years, he realized that
he had been following Soul Catcher for years.
He was sure that he was following him now and that the prophecy was
about to be fulfilled. As Shadow Maker
led his band south, he could see the dust from other band several hills
ahead. Behind him on the desert were
the Fire Creek and Badger bands. To the
west of them, would trail in the remaining bands of his people. When night came, they would all assemble as
they had in the past to acknowledge a new patriarch, as they had done when
selecting Gray Fox.
Traditionally, this election would be
symbolic, since the patriarch was a focal point for religious ceremonies. The only other times that they would regroup
would be for special rabbit drives or warfare against hostile bands. Afterwards, each headman, who acted as
elector for his band, would return to his own camp and govern his own family as
he saw fit. But this time would be
different. They would not simply elect
a new leader, and go their own ways.
Shadow Maker, knew more than any other elder, that a new age was about
to dawn. The old ways would have to
change if his people were to survive.
The new patriarch would not merely be a religious leader. He must have the powers of a father over his
family or a master over his dog. Since
the prophecy was half filled, Shadow Maker wondered what Soul Catcher had in
mind for him now: leadership of the Imotl or something else. Perhaps, he would have to bide his time
until he was old enough for such a task.
Normally, patriarchs were elected from
families who had provided leadership in the past, such as the Red Mountain
band. Of course, the most important
qualifications were age and piety.
Traditionally, patriarchs were quite old. Gray Fox had been alive seventy summers before he was
called. He had also spent most of his
life celibate, fasting, and doing homage to God. Since Shadow Maker had never been pious a day of his life and was
one of the youngest elders of his band, he doubted if he would be elected. Although Stone Hand had only been a young
man when Issa chose him to gather the faithful and begin the long journey
south, such an exception was rare in their tradition. Standing Rock, in fact, the patriarch who led them finally into
the Great Basin and the Promised Land so long ago, was over one hundred years
old. So the odds seemed to be against
him unless the elders decided to bend the rules.
“Please, Soul Catcher,” he whispered
to himself “let them elect Whispers-In-The-Wind or Two Moons. I’m not ready for such a task!”
******
From the Great Basin, which had been
their home for thousands of years, they began their last migration; a journey
that had began thousands of years ago in the land across the ice. Over a barren, nearly featureless desert,
broken only by sagebrush, yucca, and an occasional oasis of cottonwood or pine,
they moved in a long straggling file, until congregating as one group in a dry
streambed that night. Several men and
women had gone ahead to prepare fires and forage for food. Unfortunately for many of the old and
infirmed, this would be the night in which the black sleep came. Everyone, except the very young, would go to
sleep hungry, because of the meager game to be found. Too exhausted to build shelters or prepare their beds, most of
them collapsed where they stopped, although a few guards sat stony-eyed before
their fires trying desperately to stay awake.
Among the self-appointed shepherds, alone, except for the unconscious
presence of his family behind, sat Dream Rider, his dark eyes staring deeply
into the fire.
A backdrop of moonlit night and
ghostly barren hills outlined his frame, while the blaze gave his brown skin an
ethereal glow. Out of nowhere, it
seemed, appeared Whispers-In-The-Wind, hobbling on the gnarled crutch fashioned
from a manzanita bush. For him, the
black sleep seemed always near, and yet his haggard face could always smile and
his withered limbs were always quick.
Tonight, however, Whispers-In-The-Wind remained silent and moody as he
joined Dream Rider by the fire.
When it became apparent that the old
man would not go away, the young man coaxed him to get his rest. “Go to sleep old one. We have a long journey ahead.”
“Tomorrow is an important day,” the
old man replied faintly, throwing branches onto the fire.
“Tonight is important, too.” Dream
Rider said, looking back at his family and then raising his eyes to the
starless sky. “I have felt it following
me since we began. There is an evil
presence in this camp since the Toad band arrived. I’ve never trusted Soul Catcher, an elder of that band.”
“We must join to live.”
Whispers-In-The-Wind set his jaw. “Now,
because Issa leads us, we are no longer Snakes, Rabbits, Badgers, or Toads; we
are one people. When we reach the
mountains, we must have one leader, not a bunch of quarreling men.”
“One leader?” Dream Rider sighed. “Who would want such a task?”
“I don’t know…. I hope it’s not me.”
The old man shrugged. Rising onto his
cane, he began hobbling into the dark.
“I must walk a ways before I can sleep.” Dream Rider heard him mumble to
himself, as he began climbing a nearby hill.
For a while, until he disappeared into
the desert, Dream Rider watched his crotchety walk, amazed by his stamina at
such a time. When everyone else was too
tired to even think, this old sage was wandering the desert absorbed in his
thoughts. A pang of shame filled Dream
Rider as he watched him retreat.
Tomorrow, he promised himself, he would listen more patiently to
Whispers-In-The-Wind. He was a kind,
considerate, and generous old man. But
tonight he, too, must take his own advice and get some rest. When his watch was up and his relief made
the correct call, he would begin wandering the dream world awhile. He needed guidance after today. In spite of hunger and exhaustion, his
premonition was still strong.
At first, after hearing his relief’s
call, he felt something terrible hovering over the camp, as if a great dark
bird was circling in the sky. His
concern for his mother and sisters remained a constant torment, and now, as he
fell into a deep yet troubled sleep, he felt as if the black sleep would take
them all.
As Dream Rider and his people slept,
Cactus Breeze groggily took the watch by Dream Rider’ fire, while Shadow Maker,
Little Dog, Cloud Dancer, and Eye-on-the-Ground took their posts on the four
corners of the camp. While they sat at
their posts, Whispers-In-The-Wind sat on a hill watching his entire nation
sleep. It was the most peaceful and
saddest sight he had ever seen: a people he sensed, without knowing the words,
in transition, who must change drastically if they were to survive. Somewhere to his left he heard the chirp of
a cricket and then the crunch of pebbles and twigs as an animal, probably a
coyote, lurked on the hill. The moon above
was like a great torch over his people.
Where it not for the shadow of this hill, they would barely need their
fires. And yet, as Dream Rider
correctly saw, there was a shadow over them now: death. How many would die only the morning would
tell. For a moment, as the old man
prayed, he shut his eyes tightly against this world. The world inside his mind was filled with a great faith, but the
body without was on the verge of collapse.
Rising shakily on his cane and heading back down the slope, he was drawn
by the nearest fire. Not realizing how
late it was, he expected Dream Rider to still be sitting by the fire. Instead, he saw two other men in the glow:
one of them, Cactus Breeze, was nearly asleep.
The other, who sat quietly nearby, said nothing as Whispers-In-The-Wind
approached.
“Good, the fire is still tall,” he
murmured to them as he approached the fire.
“I see only darkness.” Cactus Breeze
complained. “I’ve never felt so tired
in my life.”
“Sleep, your replacement is here,” the
old man observed. “Strange, I don’t
remember that face before.”
“Wha-what face? My relief is Three Birds,” the young man’s
voice trailed off as he slumped onto the ground.
“Three Birds?” The old man shook his
head. “That boy is too young to stand
watch.” “You’re not Three Birds.” He
then looked across the fire. “Come to
think of it, I don’t remember seeing you before.”
The man, who had the same loincloth
and cape that all the other people wore, looked increasingly familiar the
closer he came, reminding the old sage of countless men from his past… Uncle
White Dog,… the kindly old Whistling Waters,… and then He-Who-Sat-In-A-Cave, a
sage who had interpreted his dream. He
remembered then the voice that had come to him that terrible night when the
desert wind trapped him on that hill.
At first it had been a whisper, as the specter extended his hand. “Don’t be afraid.” he had murmured. But then his voice rose to a common level so
that the specter talked like a man. The
sages waiting for him to return from his vision quest could have also named him
“Talks-in-the-Wind,” but the first spoken words were considered most
significant by the elders then. Now, as
he drew back fearfully, he realized that this stranger was saying the same
things to him, first in a whisper and then with a gentle manly laugh: “Don’t be
afraid…. I just want to share your fire…. Please stay; I’ve brought you
something to eat.”
“Eat?” the old man said hoarsely. “Eat what?… Dried yucca?… Pine needles? . .
We have no food here. If you have any
food, you must give it to the children.”
Holding out a sack, the man said firmly,
“You must eat old man, or you’ll die.
Here take a handful. Tomorrow
you will lead your people toward a new land.”
“I will lead no one nowhere.” the old
man scoffed, taking a handful of the substance in the bag.
It tasted like dried berries and jerky
but was, at this stage, the most delicious morsel the old man had ever
eaten. As he gobbled up the mixture, he
noticed that the man was stoking the fire, but had not touched the bag. He wore his hair in the traditional fashion:
long and uncombed, except one long braid signifying the age of the man. Whispers-In-The-Wind had seventy knots in
his braid, while this young man had countless knots extending down his back.
Since it was impossible for a young
man to have so long a braid, the old man was ready, when he had finished
chewing, to make an issue of the knots.
But before he had a chance to speak, the young man bolted up suddenly
and pointed to the sky.
“Shush! “ He placed his finger before
his lips. “It’s passing overhead. Listen, do you hear his wings?”
“Dream Rider was talking like
that. You’ve both been eating
mushrooms,” the old man replied flatly.
“The only things flying over us now are buzzards and a few crows,
waiting to pick our bones.”
“Look! Over there!” The man pointed to one dark speck. “Since when do buzzards fly over the desert
at night?”
“Perhaps it’s an owl searching for a
rabbit.” the old man persisted, feeling a cold wind blowing his way.
“You are afraid, admit it old man….
You know who it is. He’s been following
your people since your journey began.”
“You mean Soul Catcher—the Evil
One?” The old man tried not to sound
frightened.
The truth was now he had seen
something flying overhead but kept his attention riveted on the man. Finding a strange strength in his presence,
he let the shadow pass over without another word, before he lowered his
crotchety old frame onto a log. Without
seeing movement or hearing a sound, the young man seated himself beside him and
placed a heavy hand on his knee.
“Listen to me Whispers-In-The-Wind,”
he said softly at first. “Your people won’t perish; they will someday bring
forth a new prophet who will bring new hope to the world.”
“We are a simple people who want
nothing to do with other people,” the old man explained, looking back into the
fire.
“From such strangers, I was first
known,” he said cryptically, rising to his feet. “Now over half of the world believe in me and yet they are as
divided as the pebbles below our feet.
This will change when he comes.
In deed, it must change because in those days the world, even for your
people, will be a dark and evil place.”
Understanding fell slowly over
Whispers-In-The-Wind. For his people,
the concept “world” was impossible to define.
Change was also incomprehensible in their minds, and yet, when the full
meaning of his words registered in his tired mind, the old man understood these
concepts clearly, and knew how very important this prophet would be…. But why
was he telling him this? Why not Two Moons,
Crow Foot or one of the younger men?
Surely such a revelation was wasted on his weary old bones.
When he opened his mouth to speak, he
realized that he was staring into empty space.
The young man had vanished during the blink of his eyes. And yet Whispers-In-The-Wind, the greatest
living elder, knew he would never again be alone… The great god, at last, had
spoken--in person, and he had spoken to him!
******
Although Whispers-In-The-Wind wanted
to wake his favorite pupil, Dream Rider, he knew that the young man would not
believe him at this late hour. The boy
needed his sleep, as he did himself.
After such an experience the old man wanted to dream. In such dreams, he had gained wisdom. According to tradition, all creation began
from Issa—the Great Wolf, but Issa, if that was his name, was a man like
himself. Now, the old elder questioned
tradition. How could he explain this to
his people? This wasn’t a vision quest
in which he would awaken with newfound wisdom. He wasn’t dreaming now.
That man came during his wake-up hours; he had been flesh and blood and
spoke like a man. Henceforth,
Whispers-In-The-Wind would have his own special name for Him:
Walks-Like-A-Man. Sleep would, he still
believed, bring wisdom, but it couldn’t replace direct communion with God… And
that’s who the young man was.
“You must talk to Issa,” he had always
told his students. “Don’t wait for him to talk to you.”
Strange, however, how he had never
totally believed his own words. They
were words based upon hope. The growing
heresy in his heart, that wondered if the dream world was not an old man’s
tale, now seemed to be correct. He knew
that God would return to him and bring knew wisdom, but he would talk to him in
plain, undream-like words, in his thoughts or from the clear sky. A bittersweet sadness filled the old sage
when he realized what Walks-Like-A-Man meant.
From this day forward, his people had a destiny that was intended for
other people too. Things would “change”
and never be the same. Tonight was the
beginning of a new age, and he Whispers-In-The-Wind was the first man on earth
to know.