The boy prophet of Mother Earth and his flesh-demon from Sunset regarded each other from a kind of trance. He felt his eyes heat up and then gathered himself, submerging the Oneness within by the welcoming chant done with spreading arms and expanding chest. After seven sacred barks in imitation of the Perfect White Dog his eyes had cooled and he smiled to his friend, “Bluebird, welcome back. We waited for you to do our vanishing trick—the AllPeople disperse to their homes. Where shall we go my chief? The warpath does not end until the warriors are home. Where is our home today Bluebird?”
The man was weary. “Lez ged back ta da Plantin’ Valley. Headin’ back ta da Frederick area Doc. Ya can egress from dare.”
Bluebird then shook hands with Bruco and RavenSong. He made a gift of the woman to Bruco, and then tilted his shoulders so that the pain-wracked Spaniard could stand on his one good leg while leaning on his captor, who, to the amazement of all, doted on him like to a wounded brother.
Bluebird breathed deeply, “Doc, dis is Juan—a caragess dude. Could ya fix ‘is knee?”
RavenSong approached Three-Rivers as Healer examined the captive. “Thunder-Boy, what is the matter with my war-brother? Why has he not scalped this stinking dog?”
Paint this word picture well prophet.
“Oh chief, this man is actually an orphan boy who was tortured by his evil half-brother and forced to fight a bobcat before his fifth winter. He is in fact a gentle soul. However, his child-woes and the unnatural state of living suffered by the Sunset People have resulted in his being possessed by the flesh-demon known as DeathSong. His symptoms can be inconsistent but he is certainly insane. My father once told me that it was my duty to care for his possessed core as compensation to The Beginner for my summoning and commanding of him in his possessed state.”
RavenSong seemed perplexed. “I have never seen such a ruthless killer, yet now he is kinder than a grandmother. Can you predict his possessions and lapses?”
“Oh my chief, with a certainty; he lapses quickly in the presence of women and children. He also has the weakness of coming to like his enemies. This hurts his soul, but it is useful for his handlers, since it makes adoption of some very worthy defeated enemies likely. You see, he probably just admires this fellow for his loyalty, so he wishes him for a brother. This has been interpreted as his demonic fury actually being the descendant soul of a Longhouse warrior of Mother Earth, perhaps a half-mortal son of He-Who-Makes-Rivers. I disagree with this. I think he is a transmigrant wolf-spirit. You see wolves are loyal. But these are only guesses my friend, for only The Beginner truly knows.”
RavenSong seemed satisfied. “I would like to go to my grandfathers having truly known my war-brother. Please, translate his conversation with the White medicine-man.”
At this point DeathSong was on the ground using Bruco to demonstrate for Healer how he had torn the Spaniard’s knee apart with a leg-breaking trick. When they rose they laid down the Spaniard and Healer cut open the dirty leg-coverings of the man to reveal a hideously twisted and swollen knee.
“Jesus Stud, what am I supposed to do with this? I can’t treat this in the field. He’s maimed. It would have been better if you just cracked his skull or broke a bone. I can’t repair joints under primitive conditions.”
“Den take ‘em Doc.”
“What?”
“Well, ya don’ wanna go back in da raw again. Anotha body ‘ill allow haulin’. ‘Sides you wantin’ ta fill in da blanks wit’ European stuff. Dis dude is a veteran—served in Europe fer sure ‘cause he speaks some Dutch. Take ‘im back en squeeze ‘is brain—en he loyal Doc, real loyal. You fix dat knee en he yo man, will take a bullet fer ya Doc.”
Healer considered these words with a furrowed brow, and then, to Three-Rivers amazement, spoke to the wounded man in Spanish, “I am Doctor Daniel London. I was born three-hundred-and-forty years in your future. I am just visiting and cannot reconstruct your knee in the field. I will have to take you back to my time to treat you. This will be very disorienting for you and you will lose contact forever with those loved ones you leave behind in this time. After you heal I can employ you as my bodyguard, as per this man’s request. Well Juan, do you wish to limp around this land, or travel to an unimaginably confusing world and regain full use of your leg?”
Wounded Knee called Juan looked around to faces both hard and kind. He spoke with a raspy voice, “It is as us soldiers supposed. We knew we were up against sorcery. You and this heathen boy, you are sorcerers?”
Healer seemed grave. “It can be explained no other way. But I am a Christian Juan, a Catholic.”
Juan seemed almost relieved to find out he was dealing with magic-workers. He then nodded to Bluebird. “And this savage, my Lord Enrique swore was the vengeful shade of Achilles summoned by some savage enchanter—the bright-eyed heathen boy here, correct?”
Healer was getting uncomfortable discussing the true nature of demons and medicine-men, it being a heresy of Science to consider such things, so Three-Rivers interjected, “Wounded Knee, your captor is DeathSong, a flesh-demon under my control, but obstinate at times. He likes to be called by his childhood name Jay. Who is this Achilles?”
“He was the matchless, fleetest, avenging warrior of antiquity, a captain of boundless rage. Such as I will sometimes pray, having won victory, to him—though it be against the Church—to lend swiftness to our pursuit. Likewise, when beaten, we pray to Hector—he who Achilles cruelly slew—to draw him off our heels and take his spear in our stead once again. So you boy, you must be old Daedalus in a youth’s guise?”
Not wanting to lie outright in front of Healer, but wanting desperately to be perceived as this renowned Daedalus, Three-Rivers instead flashed a blink of sun-fire eyes at Wounded Knee and grinned, “So Wounded Knee, do you wish to accompany Healer beyond the Veil of Night to The Sunset World?”
Wounded Knee nodded and saluted to Healer. “I swear to serve and protect my Lord London the Sorcerer, even on pain of the inquisitor’s iron.”
He then looked up to Bluebird. “Much thanks to you Jay.”
Wounded Knee then lost consciousness from pain and exhaustion. Three-Rivers kneeled to his side and placed the Hand of Repose upon his dirty forehead and willed that the man sleep in peace through the bumpy journey ahead.
Yes son, feel the heat in your belly turning cool with peace-of-mind. Let it flow into him who suffers…
