GLITTER GULCH

Prologue: Raging Wildfire

Blood everywhere. Piercing screams echoing through the valley. Strangers running past him, knocking him down. Tears were streaming down the nine year-old’s face, his cries lost in the noise.

"Okaasan!"

Crack! It was one of the thunder sticks the invaders used. He had seen one of those weapons take down the strongest and bravest of the tribe’s warriors. This time he feared he’d find his mother if he followed the noise.

"Onegai tomete!" <Please, stop!>

"Okaasan!" The young boy ran toward his mother’s voice. Then he saw her. She was holding onto the end of one of the thunder sticks a stranger held. Fire from the burning teepees flickered and threw monstrous shadows over her red kimono. The boy’s eyes followed the direction of the gun and saw his father’s body lying on the ground. His buckskin was covered in blood, the feathers in his hair stained pink. The boy’s eyes watered. "Otoosan…"

"Let go, bitch!" The stranger hit his mother with the thunder stick, drawing blood. She clawed through the mud toward his father’s lifeless body. The stranger in the dark blue clothes yanked his mother back by her comb-pinned hair, sending cascades of black down her back. She struggled to free herself and a jade handled knife fell from her sleeve. She cried out in despair as it fell from her grasp.

The young boy stood frozen, fear forming blocks of ice in his heart. The stranger slapped his mother and growled, "I’m not done with you yet." He wrestled her to the ground. She fought but never cried out. Horrified, the boy could only watch as the man fumbled with her clothing. His mother paid no attention to the man; her eyes focused on the jade handled blade. Tears of frustration streaked her white painted face as her fingers closed on the blade.

"Okaasan?" Her eyes lit briefly on her son, begging his forgiveness, then she turned her face away and slit her own throat.

"Okaasan!" The boy lurched forward. Cool gray eyes met his briefly. He was jerked off his feet and thrown into a wagon. The fearful eyes of Cherokee women and children stared back at him. He clutched the small marble his mother had given him tightly to his chest. The symbol inside flickered in recognition. Biting his lip, he turned and looked out of his prison. He watched as the gray-eyed stranger took the knife from his mother’s dead hand. He wiped the blood on her kimono and placed the blade in his belt. Blue clad soldiers walked by and kicked his parents’ corpses.

Anger boiled away the tears. Never again would fear claim him. Never again would he let someone he loved die. The spark had been lit and little Ryo vowed revenge.