Tykota's Woman
1849
Valatar, chief of the Perdenelas tribe, stood on the red rock cliff, his gaze sweeping across his vast tribal land. He was no longer a young man; his long hair was laced with gray, and his brow was furrowed with worries. But he carried himself straight and tall and dispatched with honor the obligations of a powerful chief. He wore an unadorned breechcloth, as did the other men of his tribe. But his leather headband, unlike those of the the others, bore a carved golden eagle.
His gaze moved to Mangas, who stood silently beside him. Mangas had been his childhood companion and was now teacher to his youngest son. "Find Tykota and bring him to me. Then tell my other two sons and their mother to come to the council room."
The old man left to do the chief's bidding, and Valatar returned to his thoughts.
Tykota was only in his sixth summer, but he was the son of Valatar's heart and destined to be chief. Tykota had been born to him from his first wife, Llena, long after they had given up hope of ever having a child. Although she had gone to the spirit world four summers ago, Valatar still thought of her daily and missed her deeply.
Again he gazed out over the Valle de la Luna, now bathed in silvery moonlight. The Perdenelas were cliff dwellers, and their homes had been artfully carved into the granite face of the Mountain of the Moon so they would blend in as a part of it. With its harmonious passages and family chambers, Moon Valley and its surrounding mountains had been home to the tribe for as far back as the Old Ones could account, long before the first white man had set foot on the continent. Legend had it that the Perdenelas had once lived many miles away but had long ago been forced to abandon their homeland because the river had run dry. The accounts handed down through the ages recounted that a giant eagle with golden eyes had led their forefathers across the desert to this hidden paradise.
The chief sighed, his heart heavy over what he must do tonight. When any of his tribe went against the laws, the chief had to dispense retribution. Over the years, many had suffered his stern judgment for their transgressions, but never members of his own family. Until now.
His gaze moved westward to the mountain passage that led, between twin peaks, out to the arid track of land his people called the desert of a thousand deaths. But within the valley, in the bright moonlight Valatar could see the swift, clear river that nurtured the fruit and nut trees and the blue moonflowers that dotted the meadow with their brilliance. He loved this land, and he loved his people. He would do what he must to preserve their way of life.
Valatar's footsteps were heavy when he entered the council chamber, where the Old Ones had already gathered. Age and wisdom were revered among his people, and a warrior had to live many winters before he was considered wise enough to counsel the chief. Each man greeted Valatar with respect, and, he thought, sympathy, because they knew he felt tormented for having to judge his own family.
There was also a white man present, an unprecedented event, especially in the council room, which was normally reserved for only the most powerful tribal advisors. Valatar acknowledged George Silverhorn's presence with a nod and seated himself on the white buffalo robe reserved for the chief. He silently motioned George to sit to his left, a position of honor. He would ask much of their friendship tonight.
There was a commotion at the entrance as a woman and two boys noisily entered the hallowed chamber. Petera was the second wife Valatar had reluctantly taken when his beloved Llena had seemed incapable of producing the necessary son. And since Petera was a Chiricahua Apache, Valatar had hoped that the union would end the bad blood between the two tribes. Although she was not as tall as Perdenelas women, nor graced with the high, delicate cheekbones or slender stature typical of the tribe, she was yet a handsome woman. Her forehead was wide, her face round. Her large dark eyes, her finest feature, now held a guarded expression as she cast a haughty look at the gathered men and stopped in front of Valatar.
"Why have you called me and my sons here?" she demanded.
Valatar stared at her, almost hating this woman who had given him two sons. "Woman, you will not speak unless I ask it of you!"
She fell silent, but her mouth pursed, and her brow creased in anger.
Valatar looked at the two boys. The elder, Coloradous, was tall and had the features of the Perdenelas, while the other, Sinica, was shorter and resembled his mother's people. Valatar had never felt close to either of them, although, as his eldest son, Coloradous should have held a place of honor in the tribe and in the chief's heart. Coloradous looked with uncertainly into his father's eyes, while Sinica's brooding expression mirrored the one his mother wore.
All heads turned as Tykota and Mangas appeared at the entrance to the chamber. The chief's youngest boy was intelligent beyond his years and had the look of his mother about him, reminding Valatar of his beloved Llena. The young boy stumbled, almost fell, and leaned heavily on Mangas. And fury raced through the mighty chief when he noticed how weak and shaky Tykota was.
Valatar, chief of the Perdenelas tribe, stood on the red rock cliff, his gaze sweeping across his vast tribal land. He was no longer a young man; his long hair was laced with gray, and his brow was furrowed with worries. But he carried himself straight and tall and dispatched with honor the obligations of a powerful chief. He wore an unadorned breechcloth, as did the other men of his tribe. But his leather headband, unlike those of the the others, bore a carved golden eagle.
His gaze moved to Mangas, who stood silently beside him. Mangas had been his childhood companion and was now teacher to his youngest son. "Find Tykota and bring him to me. Then tell my other two sons and their mother to come to the council room."
The old man left to do the chief's bidding, and Valatar returned to his thoughts.
Tykota was only in his sixth summer, but he was the son of Valatar's heart and destined to be chief. Tykota had been born to him from his first wife, Llena, long after they had given up hope of ever having a child. Although she had gone to the spirit world four summers ago, Valatar still thought of her daily and missed her deeply.
Again he gazed out over the Valle de la Luna, now bathed in silvery moonlight. The Perdenelas were cliff dwellers, and their homes had been artfully carved into the granite face of the Mountain of the Moon so they would blend in as a part of it. With its harmonious passages and family chambers, Moon Valley and its surrounding mountains had been home to the tribe for as far back as the Old Ones could account, long before the first white man had set foot on the continent. Legend had it that the Perdenelas had once lived many miles away but had long ago been forced to abandon their homeland because the river had run dry. The accounts handed down through the ages recounted that a giant eagle with golden eyes had led their forefathers across the desert to this hidden paradise.
The chief sighed, his heart heavy over what he must do tonight. When any of his tribe went against the laws, the chief had to dispense retribution. Over the years, many had suffered his stern judgment for their transgressions, but never members of his own family. Until now.
His gaze moved westward to the mountain passage that led, between twin peaks, out to the arid track of land his people called the desert of a thousand deaths. But within the valley, in the bright moonlight Valatar could see the swift, clear river that nurtured the fruit and nut trees and the blue moonflowers that dotted the meadow with their brilliance. He loved this land, and he loved his people. He would do what he must to preserve their way of life.
Valatar's footsteps were heavy when he entered the council chamber, where the Old Ones had already gathered. Age and wisdom were revered among his people, and a warrior had to live many winters before he was considered wise enough to counsel the chief. Each man greeted Valatar with respect, and, he thought, sympathy, because they knew he felt tormented for having to judge his own family.
There was also a white man present, an unprecedented event, especially in the council room, which was normally reserved for only the most powerful tribal advisors. Valatar acknowledged George Silverhorn's presence with a nod and seated himself on the white buffalo robe reserved for the chief. He silently motioned George to sit to his left, a position of honor. He would ask much of their friendship tonight.
There was a commotion at the entrance as a woman and two boys noisily entered the hallowed chamber. Petera was the second wife Valatar had reluctantly taken when his beloved Llena had seemed incapable of producing the necessary son. And since Petera was a Chiricahua Apache, Valatar had hoped that the union would end the bad blood between the two tribes. Although she was not as tall as Perdenelas women, nor graced with the high, delicate cheekbones or slender stature typical of the tribe, she was yet a handsome woman. Her forehead was wide, her face round. Her large dark eyes, her finest feature, now held a guarded expression as she cast a haughty look at the gathered men and stopped in front of Valatar.
"Why have you called me and my sons here?" she demanded.
Valatar stared at her, almost hating this woman who had given him two sons. "Woman, you will not speak unless I ask it of you!"
She fell silent, but her mouth pursed, and her brow creased in anger.
Valatar looked at the two boys. The elder, Coloradous, was tall and had the features of the Perdenelas, while the other, Sinica, was shorter and resembled his mother's people. Valatar had never felt close to either of them, although, as his eldest son, Coloradous should have held a place of honor in the tribe and in the chief's heart. Coloradous looked with uncertainly into his father's eyes, while Sinica's brooding expression mirrored the one his mother wore.
All heads turned as Tykota and Mangas appeared at the entrance to the chamber. The chief's youngest boy was intelligent beyond his years and had the look of his mother about him, reminding Valatar of his beloved Llena. The young boy stumbled, almost fell, and leaned heavily on Mangas. And fury raced through the mighty chief when he noticed how weak and shaky Tykota was.