For five years, the conflict raged. The Hu raided the valley of the River, the River People raided the plains. Men were killed and women were; many children didn’t have a chance of seeing a good life. The drought ceased after two years, but that didn’t matter, for the fight over resources had long given way to fight for revenge.

Big-Eye took part in the raids along with everybody else. He killed the foes and tracked their trails. His keen skills earned him the trust and respect of his fellow warriors who saw him as their leader. When not on raids, he trained young men the way Uncle Wara-Hiitali used to train him. He trained many thankful hunters and warriors who made the clan stronger than ever. He got a hold of a rare eastern wood they called maple. Out of that wood, he made bows strong and sturdy, and with those bows, the River People wreaked havoc on the people of plains who stubbornly clung to their spears and javelins.

With all his work, Big-Eye earned the rank of Qaoron. He was the one who the people listened to; he was the one whose leadership wasn’t questioned. He was the one who truly succeeded his father.

 

*Tsho-Jibji*

Tsho-Jibji was the son of Tsho-Tchii. From his earliest age, he swore to avenge the death of his father. From the first moments of his holding a weapon in his hands, he dreamed of slaying Big-Eye with it.

He was eleven when his father died and had to wait until the age of sixteen to take part in raids. He listened to the stories of warriors who returned from raids with passion and envy, dreaming of a day when he himself would get a chance to kill a River Man. However, just when the time of his coming of age came, talks of a truce began spreading across the Plains Clans.

“The River People are rats,” the Hu said to each other, “scum without honor, killing us with their bows like cowards. They are dirty people, but fighting them is no use at this point. We shall be reasonable.”

The rage which enveloped the young man was irrepressible. Once he finally underwent his rite, he took his spear and javelins and without telling anybody went out on his own personal raid.

So it happened that being young and inexperienced, he passed the territory of a young lion on his way. The fierce cat attacked him, and in no time, the hunter became the hunted. Tsho-Jibji scrambled atop a boulder and fought for his life with his half-snapped spear. He was sure that he was finished, when suddenly, two arrows hit the charging cat, one in the cheek, and one in the heart—the predator fell dead. Tsho-Jibji looked around and saw Big-Eye standing nearby with his bow at the ready.

Big-Eye was Tsho-Jibji’s savior. He went to the predator’s body and cut off its ears.

“I say we celebrate it as our joint kill!ˮ He said to Tsho-Jibji and gave him one ear. “Let us go to my clan, gather men to haul the beast, and have a feast!ˮ

Hesitant and cautious, Tsho-Jibji carefully climbed down from the boulder.

“You know I’m from the Hu?” he asked.

“Yes, I see that,” Big-Eye answered. “But we fought this fight as allies. So why not consolidate this and become actual allies? All this bloodshed should have stopped long ago. What is your name?”

“My name is Tsho-Jibji. I’m the son of Tsho-Tchii.”

The smile escaped Big-Eye’s face.

“I pray that Payahas take good care of your father’s spirit. Please, be my guest, Tsho-Jibji!”

Tsho-Jibji, at last, agreed. They went to the Green Pond, where Big-Eye’s clan resided. They gathered some men and carried the lion over to the settlement. There they butchered it; women took the hide, mane, and tail for crafting, men extracted the teeth and cooked the meat. Big-Eye held his word and told his fellows that he killed the beast together with the Hu hunter, so the lion’s upper teeth were to be split between them.

Celebration went on all night, and the next morning, Tsho-Jibji left. Big-Eye was hopeful that he waved goodbye to his first friend among the Hu. Oh, Big-Eye little did you know about the intentions of the young man. “You saved your own death,ˮ Tsho-Jibji muttered heading south.

During the night, Tsho-Jibji had managed to get a bunch of Big-Eye’s hair. With that hair he went straight to a shaman of an eastern tribe near the Salt Lake in the southeast. He promised the shaman a multitude of sacred stones in return for his help.

“Make him suffer!” Tsho-Jibji said.

“What suffering do you suggest I inflict?” the shaman asked.

“What would be the worst for a man?ˮ Pala-Jibji returned with a grin.

It so happened that right at that time, Big-Eye was supposed to be married. His peers had been urging him to settle down for a long time. At last, he agreed, and with loud songs and dances and loads of gifts, the procession from Clan Kizhji entered the settlement of Clan Hoagha¹/ˌhoaˈga/ where the fiancée was. The girl’s name was Ra-Su (Red-Moon) and she had been looking to marry Big-Eye for many years.

The ceremony was held during the summer gathering. But, just as the devoted one in charge was to break the wedding medallion over their heads and pronounce the name of their marriage, the gathering was attacked by a swarm of wasps. Stung by the nasty insects, people cried and spread away, hid under sheds, and jumped into the water. The attack soon was over, though, and people returned, playing it off as a funny incident. The ceremony proceeded, and the newlyweds took the name of the Strong Ones.

For that night, the young were left in a separate reed house and it was that night when the worst of those bites was found—Big-Eye could not perform his male duty. With the help of his entire clan, he tried countless remedies but all to no avail. Ra-Su waited patiently for twelve days. On the thirteenth day, though, she confronted her husband and said,

“I thought you were a hero, a man! And what do you turn out to be? Gha’²/gaʔ/ - where ʔ is a glottal stop as in ‘oh-oh’; local slur!ˮ

She renounced the marriage and took back all praises, and returned all gifts. “Gha’!ˮ she cried again and ran away, leaving the Stork Brothers in frustration.

“Don’t take it too close to the heart, brother. We will resolve this problem, and this woman will run back to you begging for forgiveness!ˮ Brother Tushiklu-tu-Wagha said.

“I do not take it to heart, brother,ˮ Big-Eye replied, “I am sure we will resolve this, but I will not take this woman back even if she threatens to incite both Light and Shadow against me.”

They went to the northern shore, to Shaman Ira-Wyghu who lived there under a dead acacia. Ira-Wyghu was a very experienced shaman. He was already in his fifties by then, a hunched-over and dry old man, but still strong and very agile.

They found him and told him of Big-Eye’s problem. Ira-Wyghu inspected his body.

“Has anything unusual happened to you prior?ˮ he asked.

“No, except for that weird occasion when a swarm of wasps attacked us at the gathering.”

Ira-Wyghu sat down and remained silent. He sat pondering for a long time and the brothers waited patiently. At some point, Tushiklu-tu-Wagha wondered if the old shaman was still with them. Brother tried to touch the shaman, but Ira-Wyghu jumped up and disappeared into a hole under the tree. He then returned with many sheaves of grasses and gave them to Big-Eye to be smelled in order. He gave him a sagebrush and Big-Eye puckered. He then gave him asparagus, and Big-Eye didn’t smell anything. Then he gave him giwellir—Big-Eye sneezed. Then eastern tarragon—Big-Eye winced in disgust. Then he gave him nettle root, and Big-Eye couldn’t smell it again.

“Asparagus with nettle root,ˮ the Shaman concluded.

“And what is the meaning of this?ˮ Hala-Totala-Skuu inquired.

“Southeastern shaman practice. Follow me.”

Ira-Wyghu went into the desert. The Stork Brothers followed him, almost running, marveling at how fast this old man trod. They came to a round depth surrounded by steep slopes. In the middle of this place, there was a pool of black gurgling bitumen.

Ira-Wyghu told Big-Eye to strip everything off his body and get into the pool.

“What? In there?!ˮ Big-Eye cried. “No way!”

“Yes way, in you go,” the shaman retorted and pushed Big-Eye into the bitumen.

For three days Big-Eye floated in the pool of the black mass while Ira-Wyghu performed strange rites, and the Stork Brothers lingered on guard nearby. At the beginning of each day, Ira-Wyghu gave Big-Eye asparagus and nettle root to smell. For three days, Big-Eye couldn’t smell them, but on the fourth day, he finally could. Ira-Wyghu let him out. Big-Eye’s manly function was restored, and the brothers returned to their settlement. Ra-Su, hearing of this, returned and begged for his forgiveness, but Big-Eye kept his promise and did not take her back as his wife.

The Strong Ones fell apart in four days.

 

*The Madness*

More hardship, however, awaited Big-Eye.

Clans from both the plains and the River sent each other envoys with gifts in order to sustain the shaky truce. Tsho-Jibji came to Clan Kizhji as well. He met with Big-Eye as a friend and listened to the story of his ailment.

“My friend, the world is full of ills and evils,ˮ Tsho-Jibji said, nodding along to the story. “You should be careful of whom you trust, and who you share with.ˮ

“By our River custom,” Big-Eye answered, “I have to trust everybody unless I see explicit ill intentions.”

“Friend, I admire your noble mindset, but this is the way to your death!”

Tsho-Jibji spent a night with the clan, and in the morning left with many gifts, among which—another bunch of Big-Eye’s hair. He brought it to the shaman at the Salt Lake.

“Your spells proved useless. I ask you once more: make him suffer. Make him mad. Yes, make him truly mad!”

“What about the sacred stones that you promised?” the shaman said.

“I will give you ivories and rhino horns alongside the stones. Do the sorcery!” Tsho-Jibji urged him.

The Stork Brothers were in a raawu in the lower reaches of the River, when they felt a strange anxiety and heard a strange sound.

“What is this?ˮ Hala-Totala-Shkuu asked, bewildered.

“I’ve never felt such fear before,ˮ Tushiklu-tu-Wagha said.

“It’s as if the world is moving in on me,ˮ Big-Eye confirmed.

The Brothers heard a splatter behind them. They turned around and saw their Stork—torn, bitten, and bleeding. They had not seen the fight that had happened between their guardian and the black bird sent by the Salt Lake shaman, but they felt it. The Brothers watched the Stork die in front of them, and their hearts sank.

For without a guardian to protect you, the tricksters and ill spirits of the surrounding world flood your insides and your mind immediately. So it happened with the Brothers—all three of them went mad.

Hala-Totala-Shkuu visioned himself having hair.

“Look at these beautiful locks!” he cried to the baffled people, running around the raawu, pointing at his bald head. His happiness didn’t last for long, though, for he felt the hair turn into a thousand of spider legs sticking out of his skull. He screamed and tried to tear the legs off. He almost scalped himself to the bone—six men were needed to immobilize him.

Brother Tushiklu-tu-Wagha saw the fallen stork and thought to himself, this will make a splendid dinner! He took the body of the bird and without plucking or cleaning it, put it on the fire.

“What are you doing?” the people around him asked.

“I’m making dinner.”

“But this is the Stork—your own guardian!”

“I’m making dinner!”

Big-Eye imagined being chased by the wasps again. He ran in circles begging for somebody to protect him from ‘them’.

“From who?” people asked him.

“Please save me!” Big-Eye screamed.

“But how?”

But Big-Eye could not answer. Six men chased him around but couldn’t catch him. He ran past Tushiklu-tu-Wagha, who was watching the dead stork burn in the fire—‘I’m making dinner!’—and cried to him,

“Watch out for the wasps!”

“The wasps?” Tushiklu-tu-Wagha asked. Now he too saw swarms of insects. With a shriek, he left his ‘dinner’ in the fire and dashed away, throwing his hands around. They both ran out of the raawu and sprinted along the shore, tribesmen following behind. They ran towards a place that the locals knew was a hippo’s territory. People urged the brothers to stop, but they did not listen. With cries, they splattered into the water, seeking to hide from the imagined wasp swarms. For a moment, they thought they were safe and resurfaced, but the next thing they saw was a wave approaching. With a fierce bump, Big-Eye was thrown back to the shore, and his tribesmen caught him there and forced him down. He and the tribesmen watched from the shore as Tushiklu-tu-Wagha was clenched in a hippo’s maw, shaken around like a rag, torn apart like a leaf. His body was retrieved down the stream the next day, cold and shredded.

Old Father Tlun-Shiklu took the remaining two brothers to Ira-Wyghu. Sitting under the big dead acacia with his eye looking everywhere and nowhere, Big-Eye screamed, “High, high! All high there! Aya!ˮ Tlun-Shiklu called him by his name, but Big-Eye did not respond, still fighting the hallucinations.

Hala-Totala-Shkuu was steadfast. Father Tlun-Shiklu said his name, but he did not react, staring into the air.

“What am I to do with this?” Tlun-Shiklu threw up his hands. “Young men in their best years, falling to a fate like that. Oh, Wara-Hiitali, if only you were around!”

Ira-Wyghu sat chewing a root. A guardian killed was an unprecedented complication. He ruminated on a solution to this matter.

“What did Big-Eye like when he was young?” he asked at last.

Tlun-Shiklu tried to remember. He recalled his wife telling him once that their little boy loved mint. He told that to the shaman, and the shaman disappeared into the hole under the tree, soon returning with a bunch of dried mint. Big-Eye, seeing the grass, suddenly jumped and ran away.

“Get him!” Ira-Wyghu shouted, and old Tlun-Shiklu had to chase his son all around the acacia. Together with the shaman, they finally caught him and forced him down. Ira-Wyghu put the grass into Big-Eye’s face. Big-Eye screamed and fought, but then gradually ceased the fight and calmed down.

“What is your name?ˮ Ira-Wyghu asked releasing him. Big-Eye sat up bit did not respond, so the shaman repeated the question.

“I have no name,” Big-Eye muttered.

“Big-Eye,” said his father. “Big-Eye. You’re Big-Eye, the Stork Brother!”

The son looked at his father with blank eyes. “I have no brothers,” he said and burst out sobbing.

While Big-Eye sat in tears, Ira-Wyghu returned to Hala-Totala-Shkuu. “What did he like in his youth?” he asked Father Tlun-Shiklu, but the father could not say. “What did he fear then?” And to that, the Father recalled that Hala-Totala-Shkuu has always feared drowning, for he never learned to swim.

Shaman Ira-Wyghu disappeared again into the hole under the tree and reappeared with a pot of water. He sat beside Hala-Totala-Shkuu and carefully put a hand on his head, waiting for him to pay attention to the shaman. Hala-Totala-Shkuu slowly turned his head; the shaman forced it into the pot. Hala-Totala-Shkuu screamed and fought, but the shaman kept his head in the water. Then he let him go, and Hala-Totala-Shkuu fell down on the earth, gasping.

“What is your name?ˮ Ira-Wyghu asked.

Hala-Totala-Shku caught his breath and looked around.

“I have no name,” he said.

“Hala-Totala-Shkuu,” Father Tlun-Shiklu said quietly. “Featherless-Bird is your name!”

Shaman Ira-Wyghu made a verdict: the two had to be re-initiated. Without a guardian spirit, they were back to being children—nameless, powerless, useless.

Thus, the two brothers went onto the southern shore in search of the Boar. Not knowing how to find him at this time of the year, they roamed the savanna. One day, they saw a waratota³/ˌwaraˈtota/ - a bird species. IRL is known as secretary bird (lives in Africa)—a rare occasion in that area. It was caught up in a snare under a tuskuna tree⁴/ˌtuskuˈna/ - a made-up tree species; resembles the Joshua tree. No hunters were around, so the brothers approached it. It did not fear them and was calm, having accepted its fate.

Big-Eye crept closer. With his knife, he cut the snare and released the bird. With a brief shriek, it flew up and sat on a branch of the tuskuna. Big-Eye watched as it moved its head around. They looked each other in the eye, and Big-Eye was sure that the Waratota tried to say something with its beak. The bird spread its wings and flew away, gracefully soaring just above the grass.

“We follow,” Big-Eye said, and the two brothers ran after it. The bird led them around a ravine and in between the hills.

“The Boar! Right there,” Hala-Totala-Shkuu cried. A young boar surged from the grass and sprinted across their way. Without a second thought, Big-Eye caught up with the pig and grabbed it with a single jump. They slid over the dirt a dozen steps. Holding the squealing pig tight, Big-Eye said in its ear,

“Grant the eyes, lend the ears, open your mind. Heed! I say to you our names. Our names are Big-Eye and Hala-Totala-Shkuu. I give them to you. Run with them. Hide with them. Use them for whatever they are good for!”

He let the boar run away. Waratota was now soaring high. It followed the pig, and the brothers followed the bird. It showed them a hilltop with a steep cliff on its northern side. On that hilltop, they trapped the boar and chased it around for a long time, and sometimes, the pig chased them. But eventually, they caught the boar with their hands. Once again, it lay pressed into the dirt under the weight of two hunters, and it did not make a sound this time.

“Worthy,” Big-Eye gasped. “Still worthy.”

“You bet!” Hala-Totala-Shkuu whispered.

“You hear us, Boar? We’re still worthy. Close your eyes, lower your ears, withdraw your mind. Give us back our names!”

Thus, Big-Eye and Hala-Totala-Shkuu retrieved their names and returned to the clan as the Waratota Brothers. Their new guardian drove away all the ill spirits, catching the intruder black bird too and bringing it to Shaman. Their minds healed, their positions in the clan were held, but their brother was lost. In their mourning for him, they spent eleven moons.

 

*Black Fever*

Tsho-Jibji paid another visit to Clan Kizhji. Big-Eye told him the story of his curse.

“My friend,” Tsho-Jibji said, “you put too much trust in people. Somebody is working for your death, and you just go around doing nothing.”

Another night, Tsho-Jibji spent in the clan’s settlement, on the shore of the Green Pond. He left in the morning with a pouch of water from the pond and went straight to the southeast—to Salt Lake.

“I will get you whatever you want,” he told the shaman there. “Do you hear? Whatever! Take this water and do what you can. Make this whole River rot. Make these people suffer, all of them!”

The shaman performed his sorcery and did it diligently. For a whole subsequent year, the River was plagued by black fever. In the span of that year, Big-Eye lost about all that was dear to him.

Father Tlun-Shiklu died in pain on the second day after the summer solstice.

Mother Tushiklu-Yogha died ten days later.

Hala-Totala-Shkuu’s mother, Si-Kishoo, died thirty days after the summer solstice.

Aunt Nawa-Tlo-Lii died fifty-seven days after the summer solstice.

Hala-Totala-Shkuu too was close to his death. For days he lay with a grizzly fever, and if not for Ira-Wyghu and his keen and experienced mind, Big-Eye would’ve stayed all alone.

“Who could do such a curse on such a scale?” Big-Eye asked the Shaman after his friend showed signs of relief.

“There are practices in the southeast,” Ira-Wyghu answered. “Around the Rivers and near the salty lakes live shamans who can inflict enormous damage with just one reference.”

“A reference?”

“The things that define the victim, an ingredient. A hair, a part of a talisman, a handful of tribe’s earth. A drop of tribe’s water. Say, Respected Qaoron, have there been any souls around you recently with unclear motives that you might have let too close to you?”

“I only let my friends approach me. Those who are my enemies I do not let close,” Big-Eye said with resolution.

“And you are sure they see you as a friend as well?”

“I have never seen anybody try to get my hair or our water, that’s for sure.”

“As if they’d try it with you looking,” the Shaman sneered. “It could be done without you noticing, while you were distracted, while you were asleep. This is why I’m asking about people and not about what you saw. Think, Qaoron. Those who are strangers. Those you could’ve hurt personally. Think about those you let close enough when you shouldn’t have. Who could that be, Qaoron?”

Big-Eye thought, and the only one he could think of was Tsho-Jibji.

 

*The Fight*

Shaman Ira-Wyghu prepared the feathers of the bird that Waratota caught. He also prepared a pouch of dead frogs for the two Brothers.

“Show a shaman these feathers,” Ira-Wyghu explained. “If he is the one you’re looking for, he will recognize them, and when he recognizes them, he will fight back. And when he fights back, drop these frogs around—your guardian will come and deal with the shaman’s tricks while you chase him.”

With the feathers and the pouch, the Brothers set off onto the southern shore in search of the shaman that wretched Hu performed his evil through. They went around the Rivers, and past them, and south of them, and visited many caves and groves to no avail. Then one day, they reached the Salt Lake. In a ravine on its shore lived the shaman they were looking for. They stood above him on the edge of the ravine, and Big-Eye showed him the feathers.

“Tell me, old shaman, do you recognize these feathers?”

The old shaman flinched, jumped, and threw an azure orb. Forty wild dogs came from that orb and charged up the ravine, while the shaman doddered away.

Big-Eye swung his spear around, fending off the dogs, and Hala-Totala-Shkuu threw out the frogs. Waratota descended from above and fought the hounds.

“Run, friend! Get the shaman. We will deal with the dogs,” Hala-Totala-Shkuu shouted, and Big-Eye jumped down into the ravine. He caught the shaman quickly and easily, for the shaman had been sitting in that ravine for many days and his legs were stiff.

With the shaman as their captive and sixty men from the River Clans behind them, the Waratota Brothers went to Tsho-Jibji’s clan. They demanded a gathering and Tsho-Jibji’s presence.

Reluctantly, the Hus gathered their men and listened to the Big-Eye’s story.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” the qaoron of the Hus said, “but we can’t take your accusations for granted, can we?”

“Maybe you can’t, but we have the shaman who helped Tsho-Jibji with his evil,” said Big-Eye. The captured shaman was brought forth. He told the story of his wizardry, and he told of the instances when Tsho-Jibji had come to him for favors.

“Do you know this man?” the qaoron of the Hu asked Tsho-Jibji; Tsho-Jibji said, “No.”

“You worthless liar!” Hala-Totala-Shkuu cried.

“You don’t dare to call me a liar, you worthless fowl!” Tsho-Jibji yeled.

The captured shaman then told them about the rewards Tsho-Jibji promised in exchange for his sorcery.

“Did you give him anything?” the qaoron of the Hu asked Tsho-Jibji; Tsho-Jibji said, “No.”

“That’s right,” the captured shaman cried, “you deceived me. You gave nothing. You liar!”

Tsho-Jibji jumped from his place, livid.

“You dirty cats. You killed our mates, and you killed my father, and now you want to kill my honor? And you dare to call yourself my friend?” he said, looking at Big-Eye.

“I killed your father in a fight,” Big-Eye said. What happens in a fight stays in the fight, and the fights are over.”

“We don’t have such customs! Our fight is over for the time, but my father’s death lives on in my heart forever, and your insult will live there forever, and one day I will make you pay for both.”

But the qaoron of the Hus put an end to the exchange.

“Then let us make it a custom,” he said. “Let the men fight for their mutual offenses and let this fight remain outside of our clans’ businesses.”

The Hu were doubtful of the idea. Ashort argument ensued. ‘What if their man wins?’ the Hu inquired. ‘Then this man is right,’ the qaoron said. ‘But what if his win is the result of their own sorcery?’ the men argued. ‘We will build holy fires to see that,’ the qaoron suggested. ‘But what good is having a custom like that at all?’

“The spirits see more than us,” the qaoron insisted. “The spirits will arrange this fight the right way. For the sake of solving this without war, let the spirits settle this fight.”

The Hu men pondered over the suggestion.

“Let us see how the fight goes,” they said at last.

So, the two men had their fight. In the ring of smoldering fires, surrounded by people, they attacked each other with shortened spears, moving back and forward, circling around under the loud cheers of their clanmates. They could not have help from their guardians, they could not have assistance from their mates. A man fought a man one on one, and each of them relied only on themselves. Tsho-Jibji faltered, Big-Eye feigned an attack. Tsho-Jibji started forward, and Big-Eye slashed his shin from the side. Tsho-Jibji knelt and when he knelt, Big-Eye grabbed him from behind. Tsho-Jibji shrieked and begged for help; Big-Eye choked him, and Tsho-Jibji struggled. Big-Eye clenched him stronger, and then, Tsho-Jibji weakened, dropping his weapon. Big-Eye threw him down and stabbed his heart.

Thus Big-Eye defeated Tsho-Jibji. Having killed the father, he killed the son. Having gotten rid of the curses, he acquired a renewed war.

The Hu, seeing how the fight went, switched in their thinking. The qaoron was dismissed, and his newborn custom overthrown; the war resumed—for the sake of avenging the Hu killed by the River Man.