The Pythagoras Curse Part III

Death In The Territories

It was the smell of smoke, an acrid blend of burning dried grass and mesquite which alerted me. I gently pulled back the reins and let the scent surround me as my mare pawed the ground beneath her hooves impatiently.

I paused as the scents drifted past, listening for sounds carried by the lightly stirring wind. I dismounted then led the mare to a nearby post oak sapling and tied her up.

The trail I was on had disappeared at the base of a large hill.

Under a noon day sun the ground shimmered from the intense summer heat. Tufts of sandreed and lemon sumac covering the slope danced in the heated air curling up from the roasted sand.

I scaled the hill, reaching the crest quickly then stretched out on my stomach. I removed my hat and peered over the edge. Below me, splayed about in a tiny gorge forged by a tributary, tepees were cloistered in a small village.

I counted fifteen.

I spent minutes watching women and children and a few elderly men, dressed in European style clothing, dutifully carrying on with their daily routine.

Nowadays, it wasn’t surprising to see a sight like this in the Territory.

In eighteen hundred and thirty, the President of these United States signed an atrocity into action which ultimately spelled the incarceration of an entire nation of people.

It was known as the Indian Removal Act.

It gave the government the right to negotiate with all southern Native American tribes for their removal to a place known as the Territories.

The Chickasaw, Choctaw, Seminole, Cherokee and Creek resisted. They became known as The Five Civilized Tribes.

It took forty six years and many casualties on both sides of the conflict but in the end the massive ignorance of the United States governing powers along with the might of soldiers and prejudicial public opinion forced the tribes to submit.

I knew I was gazing at a small splinter of one of these tribes. I also knew forty six years of persecution had instilled a common hatred for those of fairer skin such as myself.

And yet I knew what I must do.

I returned to my horse, removed my gun and looped it around the saddle horn. After sliding the young boy from the mare I hefted him into my arms and began to walk.

The heat of the sand scorched the soles of my boots, but I continued to walk up the hill and carefully lest I slip and fall, down the other side.

I was spotted the moment I reached the foot of the hill. Women and children armed with arrows notched at the ready in bows, spiked clubs and a few elderly men with Spencer carbines rushed toward me.

In seconds I was surrounded.

I knelt and bowed my head, holding the young boy in my arms. Should they choose to shoot me, or pierce my heart with an arrow it would do me no harm.

I know this because twice before when the insanity of my curse drove me to an unbearable state of desolation I tried to take my own life.

Each time I came back. My body used a soul I possessed to revive me.

Another aspect of the curse. There will be only one of two circumstances when I will be free of it.

Should I fail to honor the anniversary or when I have spent the last of the souls I carry.

I continued staring at the ground. Conversations were taking place, and yet I could not understand. Someone stepped directly in front of me and stopped. As I gazed at a pair of feet wearing shoes of animal hide I felt something prod my shoulder.

“Chahta imanompa ish anompola hinla ho̱?”

Confused, I shook my head, “I mean no harm to you and your people. I found this boy on the trail and only wish to bring him back to his family.”

I felt another prod against my shoulder, this time more forceful.

“Chi hohchifo yat nanta?”

Again, I shook my head, “I do not understand.”

I kept my gaze upon the ground and after a time another pair of shoes joined the first pair.

“You no speak Choctaw. What name?”

“My name is Petra Aller. I found the boy resting against a mesquite tree south of here.”

“You no harm him Peeeta?”

I shook my head, “no. He died before I could help him.”

“He Falaya Talako. Mean Long Feather.”

I sensed movement and continued to stare at the ground, now shadowed as someone knelt in front of me. When I raised my head I came in contact with a woman’s face, her eyes, dark brown and brooding. Tears were streaming down both of her cheeks. She reached out and caressed the young boy’s face then folded her hands across her bosom and moaned.

The agony in her twisted expression imparted an understanding which tore at my heart.

As I studied her face, and listened in silence to her weeping, I knew I was face to face with this boy’s mother.

Again she reached out and let one hand glide down the boy’s matted hair, a cheek and against one side of his neck.

“You come,” she whispered as she rocked back against her heels and stood. I struggled for balance and stood, adjusted the young boy in my arms and followed. Without a sound the ring of the tiny community parted.

She led me to one of the larger teepees, pulled back a flap and bent at the waist as she entered. On the ground was a bed of hides and blankets. Silently, she pointed to it. I carefully placed the boy on the hides and stood.

I needed to get back to my mare and be on my way, but for some reason I could not tear myself away. She continued to stare at her son and weep.

Suddenly I felt her pain, understood her loss.

And I was ashamed.

Hundreds of years ago I had taken the lives of women and children in the name of God.

Women of this woman’s age, mothers to children of this boy’s age.

I had slaughtered thousands of them.

“I can help. I can bring him back, restore his soul.”

Her eyes widened and she stepped away from me. She glared suspiciously, her body trembling. I watched her gauge the distance from where she stood to the flap of the teepee.

“Impashilup, stealer of souls? You took soul of Falaya Talako?”

“No, let me speak. I have a gift. A gift I will share with your son. A gift which will restore his life.”

“You sent by Great Spirit?”

I did not understand what this woman meant, but I nodded.

“Yes, the Great Spirit led me to Falaya Talako. The Great Spirit wishes me to help him. Now you must leave me to my work. For the time is upon us and I have much to do. Go. We will come to you when it is done. You will see.”

The expression of doubt on her face made me wonder if she would honor my request and yet I knew she would.

In any civilization a mother would do whatever necessary to save her son.

Life and death in the Territories was no different.

She left us hesitantly, and as she did she closed the flap of the teepee.

I knelt and placed my hand upon his chest, then closed my eyes, all the while praying to God this soul I was about to share would not be my last.

READ ON — THE PYTHAGORAS CURSE PART IV

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII, Part XIV, Part XV, Part XVI, Part XVII, Part VIII, Part XIX, Part XX, Part XXI, Part XXII Part XXIII, Conclusion

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