That first winter for the son of Jonathan Grimstone was colder than Christian passion and the snowfall was almost heavy enough to flatten the Alleghenys. Yet somehow the she-wolf, under the watchful eyes of the great hawk, kept the newborn infant warm and well fed. And so it went, winter after winter, the boy learning very early how to see to his own needs--to endure all manner of hardships with feral stoicism. Although the odds were against him, the boy virtually thrived upon his wild and rugged existence.
While ancient myths often tell of human children who were raised by wild animals, there have been a handful of documented cases of this having actually happened--though, of course, it is usually more a matter of the child learning early how to fend for himself since nature's children seldom pamper their young the way we humans do. Despite the fact that this particular tale cannot be said to be a documented historical fact, I am myself inclined to believe that this part of the saga is more fact than legend due to the nature and bearing of the grown man this boy became.
It was said that he had a natural way about him and an uncanny knowledge of nature that surpassed even that of the Native Americans. It was also rumoured that he could understand and in some way communicate with animals. Regardless of how much of this may be true, the child grew to be a tall, strong and rugged youth--a threat to wild predeatory animals and a legend among the Native Americans in the Allegheny Mountains of Pennsylvania.
The unnamed child came to be known as a "devil", as the white men often interpreted the various Indian words applied to him, but perhaps it would be more accurate to interpret these similar words in the different Native American tongues as "savage spirit of nature". At any rate, whenever the child was glimpsed by a hunting party, no effort was ever made to capture or follow him. He was left alone and regarded with great awe. Some hunters swore that they had seen the "savage spirit" accompanied by a large she-wolf, with a tremendous hawk circling overhead. Naturally, such tales as these greatly interested the Sun Hawk People, and no one among that band was more interested than their grey-eyed shaman, Sly Wolf.
Now Sly Wolf was a mysterious and powerful, sometimes comical character--a man who seemed to have always been old and grey, yet straight and strong as granite. Of course even grey-eyed, grey-haired Sly Wolf had once been a boy, and a mighty peculiar boy at that--a born shaman with a unique understanding of nature and all of her animals, including the human animal. And it was only natural that Sly Wolf would grow especially fascinated with the talk about the she-wolf and the great hawk following a "spirit" with grey eyes. The hawk was, of course, the totem animal of his small band, had been ever since anyone could remember, and the wolf was the form in which his own guardian spirit or manito had manifested itself to the shaman time after time since his vision quest many years earlier. Of particular interest to the old man was the talk about the "savage spirit" having eyes like cold winter clouds with a hint of warm blue sky behind the grey, for grey eyes among the usually dark-eyed members of the Sun Hawk People was considered the sign of a great shaman, and having no sons of his own, Sly Wolf needed someone to pass his knowledge and position to before he died as all men must die. The she-wolf, the hawk, the eyes and the very nature of this mysterious "spirit" were signs that old Sly Wolf could not ignore.
And there were his dreams.
A ferocious black force descended upon the hunting grounds of the Sun Hawk People, driven from the highest peaks of the Pennsylvania mountain range by the freezing cold, high winds and heavy snowfall. Driven too by starvation and madness. Filled with the spirit of thunder which could be heard when it growled, possessed by the spirit of lightning which flashed from its great teeth and claws, this monsterous black force slew mercilessly, ripping to shreds with tooth and claw every living being that it encountered. Sometimes it slew its victims to devour their flesh and sometimes this hellish nightmare killed simply for the sake of killing, contrary to the way of nature's children. It was an abhorrent freak of nature--a thing gone mad.
Sly Wolf, tall and powerful, his face stern, his icy eyes glinting like chips of ice in the red light of the setting sun, stood upon a rugged crag, his cloak wrapped about him. He looked out upon the winter-bound country that should not yet have been so, and he witnessed the terrible destructive force enter the land of his people. Its cry shook the mountains and created an avalanche, shaking the medicine man's very soul. Sly Wolf narrowed his eyes against the glare of the dying sun's reflection on the horrid thing's talons and fangs.
As it came, the hideous black force struck down men, women and children, decimating his people. Whole hunting parties were destroyed by the creature. The carnage was horrible to behold. Then out of nowhere, as Sly Wolf watched from his lofty vantage point, a powerful she-wolf leaped forth, its jaws locking on to the black thing's throat. The wolf fought fiercely, valiantly, but it was to no avail. The abhorrent thing was far too mighty and its long, curved claws too deadly. The monster's voice a thunderous cry of insane hatred, it grabbed the she-wolf with one massive paw, its tremendous claws sinking into the wolf's flesh, pulling her off its throat. It grabbed the wolf's head once she had been wrestled from the creature's thickly muscled neck and with the other paw and hardly any effort not only broke the she-wolf's neck, but nearly tore her head from her shoulders.
The ferocious dark force then turned sharply to look into the distant shaman's eyes as if to say, Now you, old man, and all of your people will fall before me.
Sly Wolf knew not how to stop this thing for it was powerful medicine--bad medicine. White men would say that it was "unnatural", but the medicine man and his people knew that nothing in nature could be unnatural. However, they also recognized that there were many forces in nature that were little understood and very strange, sometimes frightening. This dark thing was just such a force. A creature of nature that acted as if it were demon-possessed.
Out of nowhere there came a war cry that momentarily stilled the air, rivalling the thunderous growl of the great destructive force. It was a cry of anger and sorrow. The cry of a human beast whose close companion had been cruelly murdered. From overhead there came the piercing call of a hawk, its voice also betraying both anger and sorrow. Sly Wolf looked into the West, directly at the blood red eye of the sun, and it was as if the great hawk, totem of his people, had torn through the celestial orb. From out of that source of life came death in the form of a wild human child, a boy with flashing grey eyes and bared teeth. As he leaped forth from the solar light, a living projectile aimed straight for the evil black force, the savage boy's hand went up, a great iron dagger clenched tightly in his fist--a curious thing upon which was engraved the symbol of the shaman's people. Then down the boy's arm went, driving the strange iron dagger into the heart of the monster, again and again. Yet, just before the thing died, its large paw inflicted a mortal wound in the boy's chest--a wound that would have killed any other, and yet which failed to end the almost supernatural life of this boy.
The mighty black force defeated, the savage boy looked up, blood seeping from the wound in his small but well-muscled heaving chest, the monster's blood dripping from the weapon in his fist. His grey eyes looked deeply into the medicine man's grey eyes, shrinking the distance between them, and Sly Wolf knew that they were in some strange way kin. Their spirits were one spirit.
As the dream ended, each and every night Sly Wolf had had it, the shaman knew that what he had dreamed would one day come to pass.
Thus, when the slaughter began, Sly Wolf became very interested indeed in this story about the "savage spirit".
The Fall of 1849 was unusually harsh and the northwest wind had a cutting edge to it that seemed capable of slicing through solid rock. Game was difficult to find as the animals were apparently migrating early, partly because of the weather and its effects upon vegetation and partly because something fierce and powerful was frightening the animals off, killing indiscriminately. The signs were easy to read, but frightening in what they implied. An unusually large, fierce black bear had come down from the higher elevations. Its appetite was extremely voracious and it seemed to go contrary to its nature and kill simply for the sake of killing, often not touching its prey after it had been savagely slaughtered.
Some of those who ventured away from the village of the Sun Hawk People encountered the wild thing and fled in fear. When hunters were sent out after the thing, more a war party than a hunting party, few returned. The remains of the bear's victims were torn limb from limb. The weapons that could be found were stained with the deep red blood of the monsterous brute, and yet the slaughter continued unabated. It became clear to all that the wounds the braves had inflicted upon the creature only served to drive it to greater madness and rage.
On one particularly windy day, Sly Wolf, alone, led by the dream, ventured forth. As he walked through the woodland, frozen fallen leaves crackling beneath his moccasins, the sun began to sink in the West. It was with a sense of calm expectancy rather than surprised amazement that the shaman spied the very same crag that had appeared to him in his dream night after night, and to that crag he went until he stood atop it overlooking the countryside.
The wind tore at Sly Wolf's buckskin cloak with razor-sharp icy talons as an early snow began to fall and lay upon the cold ground. He narrowed his grey eyes against the glare of the reddening sun, surveying the land before him, waiting expectantly for his dream to come true.
Suddenly the screams of a child cut through the howl of the wind and Sly Wolf turned instantly in the direction of those screams although a white man would have been baffled by the echoes that followed. His eyes keen, Sly Wolf saw a small figure far off, a human being, a young boy. When he focussed his eyes more sharply, the medicine man easily recognized the somewhat feminine look of the boy's clothing and knew him to be Two Doves Dancing.
Two Doves Dancing, a boy from Sly Wolf's village who had just barely reached puberty, had been blessed by two spirits, which was to say that it was believed that he possessed in him both the spirits of a man and a woman, a thing greatly respected among the Native Americans and foolishly hated and even feared by the white men. Two Doves Dancing had a sweet, melodic voice and he was renown as a singer, also excelling in the art of weaving and similar crafts, so much so that he was already teaching many of the young women of the Sun Hawk People that which normally their mothers taught them.
But why had little Two Doves Dancing cried out?
Sly Wolf, his long grey hair whipped about by the wind, sharpened his gaze and saw that which he had expected to see--the monsterous black bear that had been insanely ravaging the countryside. What it was that had driven the creature wild Sly Wolf did not know, but he did know that if it was not stopped immediately Two Doves Dancing would become just another victim of its infernal rage.
The shaman had with him his bow and a quiver full of arrows. The distance between man and beast was great, but the animal was still within range. The wind, however, would grab the arrow and throw it far off target, Sly Wolf was certain of that, and he feared that not only would he miss his intended target, but that the capricious spirit of the wind might plunge his arrow into the young body of the much beloved Two Doves Dancing.
The old man considered descending the crag, but he knew that he could not get to the boy in time. Then he pulled himself together, remembering the dream, and stood firmly upon the crag waiting for the rest of it to come true. When the tremendous rampaging aberration was nearly upon the boy who was frozen with fear, something grey flashed through the trees with a smooth, graceful loping motion. It was a timber wolf, and it leaped at the bear, its powerful jaws driving straight for the bear's throat. There was a terrific but brief struggle which ended as old Sly Wolf had expected, with the poor she-wolf's head being nearly torn off, its limp carcass carelessly tossed aside when the monsterous thing again focussed its glaring eyes upon Two Doves Dancing.
The impulse to try to descend the crag and rush to the boy's assistance was almost too strong to ignore, but Sly Wolf knew that there was no way he could get to the boy in time and he felt that he had to have faith in the dream to make it come true. If, he thought, he did try to save Two Doves Dancing, the rest of the dream might fail to happen, he would of course fail to save the boy, and the boy would die. He himself might even fall victim to the creature. So fragile are dreams.
The freakish black bear was only a few paces from the frightened boy when the howl of the wind was cut by the war cry of another and the screech of a mighty hawk flying above the western horizon between Sly Wolf and the descending sun. From a massive, twisted tree, the red sun setting just behind it, the "savage spirit" Sly Wolf had heard so much about and seen in his dreams leaped to land brutally upon the thickly muscled shoulders of the wild bear. Fiercely the human child clung to the bear's coarse black fur, and although it growled and twisted about desperately, the creature could not grasp or shake loose the "savage spirit".
The boy, seemingly impervious to the bitter cold, was clad roughly in what appeared to be buckskin, but somewhat differently finished and cut than Sly Wolf was used to seeing. While it was obvious that the boy could have been no more than eleven or twelve winters, he was taller and more sturdily built than most of the boys his age.
Out of the folds of his clothing the wild boy produced a great iron dagger, and although Sly Wolf's keen vision was not sharp enough to discern any details from the distance between him and the struggle, he knew that the totem of his people would be carved on the hilt of that curious weapon.
Once, twice, three times the boy's slender but muscular arm arched up and drove the long iron dagger deep into the bear's chest, blood gushing forth, pumped by an enraged heart, covering the boy up to his shoulder in the sticky red fluid, proving that at least one thrust had driven the knife's point into the bear's most vital organ.
After the third thrust with the knife, the bear let out a horrible scream, half pain and half madness, and it backed up swiftly until it collided with the huge twisted tree, smashing the boy against it. The "savage spirit" was stunned. He lost his grip upon the coarse dark fur and fell to the ground dazed, the iron knife falling from twitching fingers. Sly Wolf fought with his impulse, but he could not interfere, and after all, what could he do anyway, being so distant to the event?
The enraged bear, blood still pumping from its labouring, damaged heart to mat its thick black fur, stood over the boy growling, swinging its great arms, sharp talons tearing at the air. The stench of decay on the animal's hot breath beat against the boy's face. Foam appeared around the mouth of the bear that was running with drool and blood. The boy tried to rise, still dazed, but his movement only served to increase the creature's wrath and it lashed out with one clawed paw that was larger than a full grown man's head. The boy was hit hard in the chest and thrown back against the tree. Before the monster could deal another blow to the child, Two Doves Dancing began a whoop and holler, chiding the aberrant creature.
The bear turned its attention away from the dazed boy on the ground to look back at Two Doves Dancing who stood there insulting the creature in the hope of distracting it enough so that the other boy could pull himself together and get away. When the bear turned away from Two Doves Dancing to again focus upon the downed boy, there came a piercing scream from out of the frozen grey sky. The bear's head jerked up and at that very moment the great hawk swooped down talons first to tear at the monster's eyes before rising again into the air, effortlessly avoiding the bear's attempts to grab him.
For a full two minutes the bear was distracted by Two Doves Dancing's insults and the swooping attacks of the hawk, and during that time the boy on the ground shook his head, clearing it, refocussed his eyes, regained his breath, and fought for control of his hand. The "savage spirit" got back up on his feet, the iron dagger in his hand, let out a war cry that attracted the monster's attention, and then lunged at the brute, driving his weapon deeply into the bear's chest a fourth time. The wild thing staggered back, its head rolling as it shook the very heavens with its death cry. For only a few seconds did it again manage to focus upon the boy with the blood stained iron dagger in his hand, then the black bear fell heavily to the ground and breathed its last.
Sly Wolf could no longer stand and watch and he had begun his descent from the crag while the battle was coming to its finish. Finally he stood there at the edge of the small battlefield. Two Doves Dancing ran to Sly Wolf and embraced the shaman, relieved to be alive and in the presence of the respected old man.
Sly Wolf and the "savage spirit" stared deeply into one another's grey eyes, and the medicine man saw behind the coldness of those eyes a flash of blue fire. The grim child, holding the knife tightly in his fist, let a low growl escape from behind his bared teeth as if to say This is my kill, old man...stay away. Then a cloud seemed to pass over the boy's face and he fell to his knees. His buckskins, the old Indian noted, were the remains of an old, large coat. The sleeves had been removed and turned into leggins, a strip cut and looped around a belt in back and in front to make a kind of breechclout, while the remainder of the coat had been fashioned into crude mocassins to give the boy's feet some protection from the elements. The furred animal hide the boy had worn over his torso had been torn from him and most distressing to the shaman was the spreading stain on the front of the boy's chest--blood seeping from a horrible wound and running down his tanned flesh.
Carefully Sly Wolf approached the "savage spirit". At first the boy glared at the old man and growled once more, but again he grew faint and could offer no resistence. Sly Wolf made an exclamation of surprise filled with awe, knowing that if this boy had been a normal human being he would be dead. The mere fact that he was still clinging to life, the dagger held tightly in his hand, told the shaman that this boy was no average human being. He was indeed a "savage spirit" of some kind who could resist death itself. This was a powerful sign indeed, for it was said that the greatest shamen cannot be killed by normal means as they protected their hearts from danger by hiding them.
"Do not fight me, savage spirit. I only wish to help you. What is yours is yours. No one will steal from you. Let Two Doves Dancing and I take you back to our village and I will heal your wounds. Do you understand my words?"
The boy, too weak to fight any longer, looked up at the old man, eyes glaring, teeth clenched against the pain, struggling to remain conscious, and he said in the Indian's tongue, "I will kill you if you are lying to me."
The old shaman smiled, knowing that the stories of the "savage spirit" spying on his people were probably true.
"You will not kill me, grim one. I will not give you cause to kill me. I and my people are in your debt for saving the life of Two Doves Dancing who is very precious to us."
The nameless boy nodded--then passed out.