CHAPTER 5
Lone Wolf's hasty attack lifts the morale of his enemies. They respond by drawing the strings of their bows, eagerly awaiting the symphony notes they will add to the chorus of war cries.
"See how afraid they are, my brothers!" Black Bear shouts. "Only one warrior is brave to fight!"
Black Bear points his magical lance at the painted bowmen.
"Deliver death!" the Cheyenne chief orders his longbow archers.
The snap of their strings unleashes a whistling wave of arrows, which arch high in the blue morning sky.
Lone Wolf watches the distant splinters scatter like swarming locusts. They peak at a high arch, level out, and then the tips tilt and they come raining down. He sprints for a fallen tree that the men have been hollowing out for a fishing canoe.
Arrows dive into the earth. Wobbling three-foot-long shafts thunk as they strike the trunk. Their distinct markings identify the owners as the Cheyenne tribe. Additional markings show that they are actually several bands of the Cheyenne nation.
From Black Bear's vantage point, Lone Wolf's position is riddled with arrows. He hails his victory with a bold war cry that excites his reserves and makes them froth for the attack. The archers fire a second wave.
Flint-tipped arrows continue to strike all around Lone Wolf. He sees the arrowheads spark when they smash against the ground and snap in half.
"Thank you, Taime, for sending me an enemy that has poor craftsmanship," Lone Wolf whispers to his god. "And thank you for letting Water Boy play in the grass last night. Had he not skipped and danced all about, poorly made flint arrows could have sent your other son, Fire Boy, to destroy us."
Bodies covered in black-and-white paint sprint across a wide-open field that separates the Kiowa from the forest. Half of their bodies disappear in the tall lime-green grass.
Bushy dome-shaped war bonnets made of ravens' feathers swoosh back and forth as they go. The enormous size makes their heads seem much larger than they really are.
"Nat hey, hey ya!" The Cheyenne scream their war song.
Lone Wolf can tell by their aggressiveness that these relentless warriors have one ambition, to wet their weapons with Kiowa blood. The thought of his children or his brothers being harmed ignites a fire that feels like an exploding sun. Courage melts to hatred. What can be done? They wave their weapons wildly and sing for our scalps, he thinks.
Lone Wolf lies low against the grass and watches to see how the Cheyenne move. He intentionally placed the village a good distance from the forest for this exact reason. At the time it had seemed like a good idea, but now that he sees the quarter mile the Cheyenne must sprint across, he knows it was wonderful wisdom!
From the Cheyennes' perspective, the waist-high grass makes the village seem closer than it actually is. The bravest, most excited warriors separate from the pack.
Lone Wolf pushes his seething rage back to clear his mind. He does as his father taught him: watch, plan, act.
Most of the Cheyenne run at a similar pace, but what makes Lone Wolf happiest is seeing the increasing number of stragglers exhaust themselves and slow to a trot.
In your weakness, I will take strength! Lone Wolf thinks, biding his time.
Behind the patient, motionless warrior, the lingering hazy smoke cloud begins to clear. Seventy men and women painted blood red grip their weapons of war.
Half of the Kiowa spearmen hold long metal-tipped spears twice the length of their bodies. Archers carry fine bows and metal-tipped arrows. The Dog Warriors ready their shiny steel tomahawks and their buffalo-hide shields.
When the Kiowa can finally see the Cheyenne approaching, they release a war cry with one loud voice, which surges like a wave over the field and causes some of the Cheyenne to rethink their attack.
Chief Lone Wolf's confidence rises to elation when he sees that his enemies' arrowheads aren't the only weapons made of stone. Their tomahawks, spears, lances, and crude weapons are all crafted with some use of stone, which means they won't cut as deep, fly as far, swing as fast, or do nearly as much damage as his tribe's superior weapons.
"Bad day to be Cheyenne," Lone Wolf mumbles.
Rather than sprint toward their enemy, the Kiowa start at a steady pace that keeps their group united and focused.
Lone Wolf smiles broadly. "Now when we fight, we fight as one!"
He waits for the Cheyenne warriors to get even closer before standing up.
Gray Hawk, Chief Black Bear's son, stops in his tracks as he approaches their spent arrows. Unable to locate their kill, he looks behind him and realizes that his raiders have dispersed.
"GET UP HERE, COWARDS!" he orders the stragglers.
Though they are near, they are still too far behind.
"Wait for the others!" Gray Hawk shouts to his sprinting brothers. "We must be united!" But weapons once unleashed are hard to tame and impossible to control.
Something doesn't feel right, Gray Hawk thinks. He turns back and tries to motivate the larger separated body, but the temperature has risen to the point that they are panting.
From the safety of the forest, Black Bear revels in the soft glow of his power until he sees his youngest, and favorite son, Gray Hawk, trying to stop the assault. He watches his bloodthirsty braves within reach of the Kiowa village and wishes for his son to be with them.
Show no weakness! Glory is yours, my son! the impatient chief signs.
At the edge of the village, hidden among the tall grass, several Kiowa braves spring up from the earth and snap the strings of their bows. They quickly cycle through their stash of arrows and laugh as they watch their projectiles puncture the sinister Cheyennes' bodies. One by one the raging lead element falls.
Lone Wolf watches their blood wet the grass. He patiently waits for their bold cries of war to change to the chorus of agony.
All of the Kiowa Dog Warriors, spear holders, and archers quickly reunite with the night watch and gain ground. The Dog Warriors raise their shields to make one solid protected line. Kiowa arrows rain down upon the stragglers, and soon Gray Hawk feels the effects of his divided attack.
"Here I stand," Lone Wolf shouts, goading the straggling Cheyenne.
"I see you, coward! You hide in the grass like a snake. I will separate your head from your body! That is what we do to snakes!" Gray Hawk shouts, reuniting with twenty or so warriors to press onward.
"AH-HOE!" Lone Wolf screams.
"AH-HOE!" The warriors echo his war chant.
In a blur of the chaos, Gray Hawk leads his troop in a heated attack against the full force of the Kiowa.
The Cheyenne slam against Kiowa shields. On the first impact, the Kiowa stand strong. Lone Wolf orders the Dog Warriors to kneel, and when they do, the archers fire into the horde.
Some Cheyenne fall, but the warriors do not slow in their aggressive assault. They renew with vigor. They swing their weapons wildly and hurl their spears with fatal results.
Next Lone Wolf orders the Dog Warriors to step forward and stand. As they do so, the spearmen thrust at the Cheyenne, pushing them back. For the Cheyenne, the strategy is brutal aggression. They push against the shields, probing for the weakest point. When they see a Dog Warrior fall, they focus all of their efforts on the opening. Their hand-to-hand skill is much greater than Lone Wolf had expected.
For the Kiowa, the fight is tempered calm. They work together, shield men blocking the attack, archers taking shots where they can, and spearmen puncturing warriors who get too close to the line.
Most tribes would fall back when facing this kind of skilled warfare, but not the Cheyenne. Always pushing, thrusting, attacking, they are like the red ant of the Indian nation.
With eyes fixed on Gray Hawk, Lone Wolf seeks to change the tempo of the fight. He skillfully sifts through the warring crowd, ignoring the cries of pain around him. He moves with such swiftness no Cheyenne is prepared for his aggressive attack and none can repel him. For when he seems like he's coming straight, he turns at the last minute, bends low, and strikes a leg. Then he runs past and hits an arm. His intent is not to waste his energy fighting all the warriors, just wound as many as he can to get to the leader.
As the Dog Warriors disband and follow Lone Wolf, the spear warriors spread out and form a long reverse V-shape that protects the Kiowa flanks and keeps the archers safely in the middle. It isn't long before the Cheyenne realize they are actually fighting two enemies. One body of the Kiowa uses marksmanship and control. The other uses chaos and raging hand-to-hand combat.
In truth, bloodshed sickens Lone Wolf. He detests the brutality of it. He hates the sound bones make when the tomahawk strikes. He finds no joy in the maiming of limbs or disfiguring bodies. In fact, it all disgusts him. He detests the bitter rusty taste of human blood when it splashes in his mouth. The salty aroma causes him to gag, but he knows one single truth: If the Cheyenne weren't bleeding and dying, the Kiowa would be.
It is our right to defend ourselves. No living thing when attacked rolls over and dies. That clarity forces him to hack, chop, and slash through Cheyenne warriors until he finally reaches his destination.
"Your wife and children will be my slaves, Kiowa!" Gray Hawk whoops, pointing his blood-soaked tomahawk at Lone Wolf.
Lone Wolf sees images of Grass Woman, his wife, and feels his love for her fuel his rage. He reels back his weapon and ferociously swings at Gray Hawk's blood-drenched face.
To the reader: Ever expect life to go one way and then it goes another. I suppose o'l Chief Black Bear felt that way. Oh I'd pay money to see his face right now. Any who, Christmas is right around the corner. Books make great gifts. You can find this book on Amazon where you can get the book/kindle. Simply search "Harvest Moon," by Zachary H. Lovelady. If you would like to see the story come to life, check instagram:harvestmoonofficial