The People of Twelve Thousand Winters (2 page)

In the afternoon, all the women and children go into the forest to gather hickory nuts, black walnuts, chestnuts, and acorns. It is hard work, but the women sing and the children are given time to play. Heart Berry strings acorns to make little dolls. Little Talk and I play
kokolesh
, Cup and Pin, a game he is good at.

But when I return to our village carrying Little Talk and our baskets, Father frowns. Later, he takes me to a lone lodge at the edge of our village down by the river.

“Walking Turtle,” Father says sternly, “in just one more winter you will come here to warrior school.”

I shiver as the trainer makes the boys plunge into the icy water to swim beyond the river's bend and back. Next they hold their breath and run as far as they can to make them long-winded. My lungs burn as I try to hold my breath as long as they do. Near the fire, some boys are trying to catch corn pone on the end of a pointed stick. If they miss, they do not eat. I see the hunger in their eyes.

Then Father speaks. “Walking Turtle, here in warrior school you will face many tests. You will learn the ways of a great hunter, a proud and brave warrior. It will not be easy.” Father crosses his arms in silence, a sign his words are finished.

But I know what his unspoken words are saying. I must come to warrior school but Little Talk cannot. How can I come here without Little Talk?

Inside, I do not like this, but I answer with respect, “
Ahikta nux
. Yes, my Father. I know.”

Father is Soaring Hawk. He is well respected in our village as a fair and honest trader. He has traveled as far west as
Shamokin
on the great Susquehanna River and as far south as
Shackamaxon
, the center of
Lenapehoking
. He trades our fine beaver pelts, deerskins, antler pipes, and seashell beads that Grandmother makes. Sometimes he brings back things from afar like a woodland buffalo robe.

Someday, if I do well in warrior school, I will go with him. But I worry about Little Talk when I am gone.

Tonight is our Giving Thanks Ceremony in the Big House. Everyone sits with their own clan. Little Talk, Heart Berry, and I sit behind our mothers and grandmother. We are of the Turtle Clan. Father sits with the Wolf Clan and Little Talk's father sits with the Turkey Clan. But we are all Lenape. We the people have gathered to give thanks to
Kishelemukong
, our Creator.

It is a chilly night. Mother makes us wear our leggings. She wears her turkey feather cape. Her long black hair is dressed with a shell comb and she has painted small red dots on her cheeks and eyelids. I think she looks beautiful.

Like most of the hunters and warriors, Father's face is painted part black and part red in honor of
Mesingw
, the Good Spirit Being of the forest who keeps watch over all the trees, plants, and animals. A special dancer wearing a bearskin and the mask of
Mesingw
appears to remind the people to be grateful to
Mesingw
, especially for the hunters' safe return.

Then, the Big House grows silent, waiting for White Antler. White Antler is our
sakima
.

All at once, our drums begin to beat. Louder and louder they pound until they become the very heartbeat of the earth. My heart beats with the drums until it is pounding, too. Suddenly the drums go silent, and my heart seems to stop.

There stands White Antler, dressed in the head, antlers, and hide of a huge white stag, with dried deer hooves tied above each knee. They jangle as he dances from one end of the Big House to the other, shaking a turtle shell rattle in his hand. Little Talk and I watch every move until White Antler stops in front of our carved center pole.

“Lenape, first people of the sunrise. Listen well to my words.”

“
Kishelemukong
, our Creator, has given our people a land that stretches far beyond our Great Salt Sea and Sky Blue Mountains. I have seen the valley of our Ohio brothers and the Big Waters of Michigane. I have heard of the long river of the Mississippi people that divides and washes wide places of grass. I have heard of high mountain peaks of purple that stand guard over other valleys crowded with giant trees and rivers that flow down to another Great Salt Sea where Brother Sun sleeps each night.

“We the people, first to welcome Brother Sun, must be ever grateful to
Kishelemukong
for this vast land beyond our mountains. We must show our thanks by being the caretakers of this bountiful land, in harmony with
Kishelemukong
.”

Our drums start to beat. Our people begin to dance. Then Little Talk whispers, “Walking Turtle, carry me up to the thinking place.”

Unnoticed, we slip out of the Big House into the night air. We climb the hill above our village and perch on a big overhanging rock. A cold wind blows from the north as gray clouds race across the starry sky. My mind races too, thinking about warrior school and Little Talk and White Antler's words.

Could there be two boys like us on top of those purple mountains, gazing up at the same stars? Could two boys be finding shells in the white salty sand where Brother Sun sleeps? Could White Antler be right? Are we the caretakers? Is this why I must go to warrior school?

I stare up at the Great White Path, searching the ancient stars for an answer. But the stars are silent as they arch across the night sky.