Ironhawk (Perry County, Pennsylvania Frontier Series Book 6) Page 8

  Rob snatched his creation. "You can describe what you have seen, Blue, but don't put hawk heads on any you make. This one is for Ironhawk, not the rest of the Delaware people, and for sure not for the Iroquois."

  He removed another metal device from among the iron things. "You figure it is about time, Blue?" Rob did not wait for an answer but added, "And don’t you go doing any imitating. I don't want his suspicions aroused. You hear that, oh noble carrier of messages?"

  Blue curled a lip. "Without my help your measly plan would have been nothing, oh killer of half-asleep Shawnee. I will stand silently, pretending admiration while you blunder through what I would do with flair and excitement."

  Blue's eyes studied the second tool that in Quehana's grip appeared small and insignificant.

  "On the other hand, I am pleased to allow you to do the next part without my assistance."

  Blue Moccasin whistled through his teeth. "I must admit that I would never have considered what you are going to do." His head shook, "You are more like The Warrior than even I might wish to admit, Quehana."

  Rob's voice was a growl. "I'll take that as a compliment, Blue." His attention turned.

  "Here comes Flat with her paint pots. No doubt she will have some handsome decorating in mind. We've got to look the part, Blue. This has to be a memorable occasion for our new nephew, Ironhawk."

  Chapter Eight

  The squaw called Flat prepared Young-Son for his naming ceremony. She rebraided his hair so tightly that his scalp ached. She provided a new loincloth of doe skin so white it hurt the eyes. Young-Son was pleased that the cloth was short like those worn by warriors and hunters and not the long-flapped kind preferred by elders and others who rarely left their camps.

  Flat had cleaned his traveling moccasins and burnished the worn leather until the footwear shown. She examined his fingers and used a small iron knife to trim his nails. Young-Son found that remarkable, as he shortened his nails with his teeth or by rubbing against stone, as did all others he knew.

  Flat had entwined a few small but brightly painted beads into his braids, and as a finishing touch she used her paint pots to draw the claw of a hawk on one of his cheeks. Flat announced that her color of choice was green to honor the woods and fields they lived among.

  A mystery of the decorating was a circle drawn in vermilion on the left breast of Young-Son, but his questioning gained only indecipherable responses.

  Flat attached the scabbard of Young-Son's own knife to his hip and considered the youth ready. She warned him that when the ceremony began he should lift his chest proudly and not allow his hands to dangle clumsily in front of his thighs. She positioned him near a small fire obviously prepared for the occasion and warned him not to sit lest he dirty the ceremonial loincloth. Then she departed for the iron-making place from which Young-Son could hear the clangs and ringing of Quehana hard at work.

  The boy lost himself in imagining what magical talisman the arrowmaker might be preparing for him. There could be iron arrowheads, for Quehana was noted for those. Perhaps Quehana would make a knife to honor the naming ceremony. That would be a handsome trophy to carry home to his father's lodge.

  Visualizing his triumphal return to the lodge of Tree Shadow opened a thousand excitements, and Young-Son wished mightily that his family could be present to share with him the glory of his naming by honored Delaware heroes.

  Flat returned only moments before the men. She carried a rod of metal that had a wooden handle. Before Young-Son could determine the rod's use the squaw thrust the iron deep into the fire’s glowing hard wood coals where it could quickly heat.

  The tapping of a finger drum diverted Young-Son’s attention, and his body straightened as Blue Moccasin led Quehana toward their fire. The message carrier tapped on his small drum demanding attention, and the mighty Quehana bore high the forked stick of a carrier of messages.

  The heroes strode proudly, and Young-Son felt goose bumps rise on his skin. He struggled to see everything so that his memory and his telling would be thorough and exact, but excitement tremored his knees, and he wished he had visited the woods before the ceremony began.

  Flat rose from her place at the fire and stood in respect behind his left shoulder. It was a mother's position during ceremonies, and Young-Son was grateful for her comforting presence. He stood as tall as possible, even stretching a hint so that his heels barely touched the earth, and his eyes told him that both Quehana and Blue Moccasin were striding in the straight-backed, chin-high ceremonial walk adopted by leaders for important gatherings.

  Blue Moccasin silenced his drum and took position to Young-Son's right. His forked stick raised, Quehana stood before the youth prepared for second naming.

  Chills coursed the spine of Young-Son for never had he seen a naming so formalized. Usually an announcement was made and those involved feasted at the lodge's expense, but this was a ceremony of great dignity, and Young-Son wondered where it was taught. A corner of his mind vowed to remember when it was time for his sons' naming. The thought of writing flicked across his awareness. Perhaps such ceremonies were recorded there.

  Halting before Young-Son, Quehana held high the stick of the carrier. His eyes rose to the Sky Father, and his voice was deep with emotion.

  "The children of the Great Spirit present to our Father the youth who has been called Young-Son." The boy feared his knees would buckle.

  "The Delaware people, who are the first people, present their son and nephew to the Sky Father that the Great Spirit may grant his blessing and his approval of this naming."

  Quehana lowered his eyes and his stick to address the small gathering.

  "Within the sweat lodge a voice spoke to the mind of Quehana. The name Ironhawk became large, and in time, Quehana knew who would bear the name and how the bearer should be marked to honor the name.

  "Yet, there is more than mere naming when thoughts and words are from the lands of the Great Spirit. Behind the name Ironhawk must be a way of living, a code of honor, and a path for the name bearer to follow.

  "In time, those directions became clear to Quehana who will now offer them to the youth who becomes Ironhawk of the Delaware."

  Quehana seemed to reach within himself to choose exactly the right meanings, and the fingers of Young-Son tingled in anticipation.

  "Ironhawk will place personal honor above all.

  "Ironhawk will stand before his lodge and his people as one who serves.

  "Ironhawk will know both the people of the Delaware and the people of the whites, for he is of both tribes.

  "Ironhawk will not seek war, but he will stand among defenders of his lodge and his people both Delaware and white.

  "Neither white nor Delaware will rise above the other in the heart of Ironhawk, and he will live in contentment among all.

  "Many will be the trials of Ironhawk, but his heart will not fail nor will his spirit falter. One who has been named by the Sky Fathers must reach higher than other men. It was so with The Warrior, as it was so for Friend Seeker, and also for the teacher Three Feathers, who passed even before.

  "Because his tasks are great, because his name has been chosen by the honored ones, and because no other may claim his name, Ironhawk will wear a sign that all can recognize.

  "Upon the breast of Ironhawk will be the brand of the hawk. Created by fire, the brand must be placed where the most honored wound struck the chest of The Warrior himself. Quehana has seen that this is the way."

  Young-Son's knees faltered, but Blue Moccasin’s hand steadied him, and he raised his chin to meet the glory being offered.

  Clear now to Young-Son was why the powerful voice had been that of The Warrior. From his new home in the hunting lands of the Great Spirit, The Warrior had chosen a youth to bear a name he himself had selected. The limbs of Young-Son trembled with the intensity of his hunger to become Ironhawk. To be marked as had been the mightiest fighter in all of the revered tales was honor heaped upon honor.

  Now Young-Son knew the
meaning of the iron heating within the fire coals, and his throat dried in fear that his spirit might fail in the trial that lay only moments ahead. The importance of the circle painted on his left breast grew bright, for there he remembered lay The Warrior's great scar.

  Quehana's voice shattered his wanderings, and his mind struggled to recognize the Arrowmaker's words.

  "Quehana of the Delaware, asks now if Young-Son of the lodge of Tree Shadow will accept the challenges of becoming Ironhawk, to live stronger and with greater heart than his friends and his companions whether white or Delaware?"

  Young-Son stood speechless until Blue Moccasin's grip shook him into response. He managed a chin-high acceptance but recognized his voice as little more than a frog's croak.

  Quehana's voice was soft. "Then it shall be so."

  Quehana extended a muscled arm that so resembled his memory of The Warrior's that Young-Son's overwhelmed mind confused his certainty of who actually accepted the white-hot iron from the hand of the squaw.

  Quehana held the iron before the boy's eyes, and Young-Son could feel heat pulsing from the glowing metal. He saw that the end of the rod had been bent and twisted into the head of a diving hawk. Clear was the cruel beak and the single eye seemed to focus on prey just beyond the reach of deadly claws.

  Young-Son prepared his mind for the agony that would seek to melt his spirit and leave him cowardly in the eyes of Quehana, Blue Moccasin, and even the squaw. He swore to himself that his lips would not part, that no sound would foul the moments, and that his body would not jerk or shudder as the fire bit home.

  He wished again that his father and his lodge could see, and he wondered for an instant why the people of Quehana were not with them. Then he realized that although they were of Quehana's lodge, they were not of the Delaware and should not be a part of such ceremony.

  He was aware that Flat also held something in readiness, but he could not bring his mind to consider what it might be.

  Quehana's voice rose in strength and power, and his words burned into the soul of Young-Son as if they too were fire.

  "Here stands the child of the Delaware called Young-Son." Quehana positioned the glowing iron before the boy's chest.

  "Now departs Young-Son for before us will now stand the youth of the lodge of Tree Shadow who bears the name, Ironhawk."

  Quehana pressed the scalding metal against the chest of he who had been Young-Son.

  The agony was beyond anything the youth had anticipated. Liquid fire seared his soul. A howl of pure anguish rose into his throat, but a hand of steel clamped his jaws choking away sound. His legs failed, but strong arms held him erect. The stench of cooking flesh struck his nostrils, and the smoke of his own burning stung his unseeing eyes.

  Awareness began to leave the mind of Ironhawk, but then it was over. The smoking iron was withdrawn, and the searing of flesh lessened.

  Instantly, Flat pressed ice from Quehana's cave upon the deep and still smoldering burn. Relief, almost as painful as the burning itself, flooded Ironhawk and brought him again to awareness.

  The hand of Blue Moccasin that had sealed his voice was already gone, and the grips of Blue and Flat eased from his biceps. He stood alone, he had not cried out, and Ironhawk felt again the thrill of the naming as it engulfed the pain-of-no-importance.

  Quehana laid aside the branding iron and gripped the shoulders of Ironhawk as if welcoming the return of a long lost relative.

  The eyes of the hero smiled, and his voice was warm with understanding. Hazily, Ironhawk realized that he looked almost directly into the eyes of Quehana and realized that he had been carefully placed so that the men did not tower above the boy.

  "Strong has Ironhawk stood, and with heart he has faced the pain of branding that has turned some into cowards. Never need Ironhawk fear, for he now knows that his will is as the iron in his name. If fear reaches into the heart of Ironhawk, his fingers need only touch the mark of his courage, and he will know that he will not falter."

  Quehana’s eyes stared unblinking into Ironhawk’s, and his voice filled the soul of the youth. "Proud is Quehana of the Delaware to call Ironhawk "brother."

  Ironhawk felt himself turned, and the eyes of Blue Moccasin held him as had Quehana’s. The words of the Delaware message carrier also flushed through the mind of Ironhawk, and the youth knew they were to be remembered for as long as he lived. Powerful were the spirits of the Delaware heroes.

  "Proud must be the name of Ironhawk for the path marked for his journey is littered with stones and brambles.

  "Ironhawk will know the whites. He will learn their language. He will know the secrets of writing, and he will be able to speak for his people before councils of Delaware or Whites because he will be of both people.

  "Tonight, Ironhawk will sit at the fire of Quehana, and he will listen to words of wisdom.

  "When the sun again rises, he will return to the lodge of his father to live as a Delaware, but when he has grown to the height of a man he will begin his time with his white side.

  "From many he will be taught the secrets of writing and skills to read writing so that all things known to whites will be known also to Ironhawk."

  The hands of Blue Moccasin rested as had Quehana's on the boy's shoulders.

  "Blue Moccasin, who has been friend to most, rejoices for Ironhawk and asks that the eyes of the Great Spirit be always upon him."

  Flat steered him away, and he was required to hold the soothing, if swiftly melting ice to his fire-scarred chest. They moved to a seat that stood against the wall of Quehana's lodge, and the people of Quehana rushed forth to see the brand of Ironhawk. The children's mouths grew round, and the Hawk believed he saw envy in their eyes. The woman of Quehana brought salve for the burn, and Ironhawk surrendered his ice to receive the comfort of an unknown mixture of herbs and grease. Relief was almost immediate, and the wound became numb to the touch. Ironhawk supposed the secret of the salve might also be found within the whites' writing.

  Marvels were still before him, and the finest was presented as the sun lost its strength and all of the world turned mysterious with approaching darkness.

  Clad again in his worn breechclout with the salve stunting the worst of the burning, Ironhawk learned that the iron for branding was to be his that he might place on all that belonged to him his mark of the hawk.

  Then Quehana brought forth his personal gift, and the eyes of Ironhawk flooded. Never, in even his wildest imaginings, had he hoped for such a weapon as Quehana held before him.

  The hands of Ironhawk trembled as Quehana allowed him to run his fingers along the cold and darkened metal of the hawk’s-head tomahawk.

  Yet, Quehana did not immediately surrender the iron hatchet to Ironhawk’s hungry grasp. Instead, he balanced the weapon on his palm and gripped it in different manners within his massive hands. Finally he spoke, and the words of Quehana were solemn and powerful in their message.

  "Only men bear weapons of war or of the hunt. To own a weapon is proud, as it can be the mark of a warrior, a hunter, or indeed of manhood itself.

  "Yet, there can be a trap in such a weapon, because he who wears such a tool is expected to understand its use, and to some, there is challenge in another's wearing of a hatchet or possession of a lance.

  "There are also those who will covet another's weapons and tools, and some will steal or even kill to possess that which they have not earned. The wearer of this tomahawk of iron must learn its uses. He must understand its strengths, and he must harden his heart with the will to use it in battle if the need appears.

  "Since the days of stone clubs with handles of wood the tomahawk has been the weapon of Delaware warriors. The Warrior himself wore two hatchets of iron at his waist.

  "This tomahawk will identify its bearer as Ironhawk of the Delaware. Word will pass that Ironhawk received his name from the spirit land, and that Quehana, the maker of arrow points created the tomahawk borne by Ironhawk. Therefore, great acts will be expected of Ironhawk, and hi
s friends at this fire will again name those trusts that must be held highest within the soul of Ironhawk.

  "Ironhawk will not seek war. He will be known as a man of peace and reason, but when needed, the battle skills of Ironhawk will be strong and they will be many. To provide those skills, Ironhawk will learn from all who have wisdom to share.

  "Ironhawk will learn the language of his white side, and he will make himself able to speak for both of his tribes.

  "For all of his days, Ironhawk will reach forth his arms to his people both white and Delaware, and he will be known for his wise council.

  "So it shall be for Ironhawk when he has grown into the moccasins of manhood."

  In the early dawn Ironhawk was wakened from his sleeping and placed on the path down the Little Juniata to return to the river and to the lodge of his father.

  Only the squaw saw him on his journey for this dawn, Flat informed the youth, neither Quehana nor Blue Moccasin had risen from their sleeping robes.

  The pack of Ironhawk was heavy with small gifts from the lodge of Quehana, and safely held in a leather sheath, the hawk's-head tomahawk weighted his belt.

  At times Ironhawk drew forth the iron weapon and tested its weight against the strength of his arm. Before they had slept, Quehana had spoken of tomahawks in war, and the thoughts were new to the mind of Ironhawk.

  "All who handle hatchets wish to throw them, but in battle it is rarely wise to allow your weapons to leave your hand. Spears are for stabbing, not for throwing, and so it is with the tomahawk."

  Blue Moccasin took up the instruction.

  "Perhaps Ironhawk has heard how The Warrior slew one of the murderers of Friendseeker, but even as we listen we must remember that The Warrior had skills others cannot claim.

  "When Friendseeker was stabbed by cowardly Tuscarora, The Warrior destroyed all but one of the murdering band. A living coward fled through the night, but The Warrior found him within a family traveling along the great path beyond the mountain Tuscarora. Then, The Warrior threw the hatchet from his right side. It has been said by those who saw that the tomahawk turned twice in the air yet never rose above the head of a man. The tomahawk whistled in flight and passed so swiftly that it seemed but a flash of sunlight. Into the skull of the Tuscarora coward the hatchet flew, and when The Warrior drew it forth, the entire body rose from the ground and had to be shaken free."