Week 2 Story: The Warrior's Journey

(Night Owl by Lee Romao)

As I gathered my meager belongings  I wondered what hardships I would face on my journey. I rocked back on my heels and stared into the crackling fire. The flames flickered and threatened to die. The dying fire caused ghostly apparitions to dance in the shadows. I sat staring at these shadowy figures for a moment longer then returned to my work. I gathered some dried buffalo meat mixed it with wild berries and rendered fat for this would be my only nourishment along my path. I sharpened my knife against a stone and affixed it to my belt. I then packed my pouch with tobacco and emptied my pipe. I tied my pouch to my belt as well. After I had gathered my few belongings I wandered to the stream and filled my skins with the cool water. The moon shone overhead and its beams danced in the ripples on the surface of the water. I stood and regarded the beauty for a while before returning to camp. The fire I had abandoned had all but died when I returned to my camp. The dying light from the coals created an uneasy feeling in my soul. 

Would this journey end well? 

I pushed the uneasy from my soul and retired for the night. I would begin my journey with the sun. I arose with the sun and started on the warpath. I had prepared my belongings in the night so that I would not have to waste the daylight for everyone knows that journeying at night is an invitation for misfortune. As I walked I took in the sounds of the forest. Birds chirped, eagles cried, and the wind danced through the rustling leaves. As I walked I thought I had heard the faint sound of someone speaking but saw no one around. The more I walked the quieter it became until finally, I came to an opening in the wood. A clearing. As I entered the clearing an owl called from its perch offering a greeting to me the stranger in his home. I stopped as a shudder ran through me. I remembered the stories my grandmother told me underneath the live oak as a child. The words rang in my head - “the owl brings death.” I did not wish to stay in this place any longer but I was quickly losing the sun. I pushed the thoughts of death and the owl from my mind. The owl had only cried once - maybe he had flown from this place. I assured myself that all was well and busied myself with making camp for the night. 

I built a small fire and filled my belly with the buffalo meat mixture. I splashed my face with the cool water from my skins and loaded my pipe. I settled in and smoked for a while contemplating the passage ahead. Images of battle flickered in the flames of the fire. I had undertaken the warpath alone. I alone could return victorious or die. There was no other option. I stoked the fire until it blazed bright - a small glow in the unending blackness of the night. A blazing fire may keep death at bay. As the fire blazed I settled in for the night. I wrapped myself in my blanket tight. Sleep did not come easy. But as the night drew on and the blackness began to close in, from weariness, I finally gave in to an uneasy sleep. At the darkest hour of the night, my eyes popped open suddenly when I heard an unfamiliar sound. I was afraid to open my eyes but the sound grew louder.

The wailing of a woman?

I thought I heard the cried of a distressed woman. But when I had arrived in this wood there was no one around. 

Had someone crept into the home of the owl as I slept?

I was terrified and refused to open my eyes. I pulled the rough blanket over my head. The wailing continued until curiosity got the better of me. I peered out from beneath the blanket and beheld a woman. The woman walked through the clearing drawings ever nearer. The firelight cast her in a ghostly glow. She was clothed in the old way. She wore a dress of hides and beaded leggings. A necklace of bone and teeth that hung around her neck chattered as she walked. She drew closer and closer but still, I did not move. I lay completely still and silent with the blanket drawn over my head. The woman stopped at my feet. She examined me closely then knelt and looked at my feet. She cocked her head to one side like a confused dog. She wrapped her icy cold fingers around the ankle of my right leg. She lifted my leg and let go, I let it fall limply back to the ground with a thud. She repeated this maneuver a second and third time and still I did not move. It was clear she thought I was dead. She removed an ancient knife from her belt and was poised to cut into my leg just below the ankle when I leaped up and yelled, “What are you doing!” The woman dropped the knife in bewilderment and ran screaming into the night. I was shaken but somehow felt like she would not return. I returned to my blanket on the ground. I could not sleep. I once again pulled the blanket over my head but still sleep would not come. So I laid there perfectly still until the sun began to peek over the trees. As the sun rose I began to take in my surroundings. When I had come into the clearing it was already near dark, but now with the morning light, I could see the extent of the owl’s home. In the middle of the clearing, ragged and collapsing stood a burial scaffold. The remains of the dead were long gone but tattered pieces of blanket remained, flapping in the wind. I wondered if this scaffold had belonged to the woman who had visited me in the night. Grandmother was right, the owl brings death.

I gathered my things and continued on my path. I was eager to leave the events of that night far behind me. As I walked my thoughts turned to the loneliness of my endeavor but I knew that it was my task and mine alone. I walked along, my journey being rather uneventful. I was grateful for the ease of travel because I was still shaken by my encounter with the ghostly woman who tried to steal my foot. Once again I had to find somewhere to stop for the night because the light was dimming quickly and soon the moon would be on the rise. Once again I came upon a clearing in a wood. No owl created me and I took this as a good sign. I hoped for rest. I was weary from traveling all day on so little sleep. I busied myself collecting brush for my fire. I smoked a pipe as I went. While collecting brush along the far side of the clearing I heard a strange noise.

Singing?

I left my brush and sticks in a pile and tried to find the source of the sound. As I had already said daylight was waning so I tried not to wander too far from the clearing. I puffed out a cloud of tobacco smoke and called out for the singer. The singing stopped but they made no reply. I hastened back to my pile of brush and hurried to the center of the clearing to make camp. I built my fire large and strong. I did not want it to die in the night and leave me in darkness. The chatter of the ghostly woman’s necklace was still ringing in my ears. I sat near my fire chewing a wad of the buffalo mixture and reloading my pipe. Across the clearing, I saw shadows moving in the distance. A figure stepped from the gloom. The figure advanced toward me and I stiffened. The figure that approached me seemed to be a floating skull devoid of all flesh. The skull poked out of a buffalo robe - beneath the robe I presumed was the rest of this skinless, fleshless creature that was once a man. As he drew near I heard a raspy voice flow between the yellowed teeth of the skull,

“Spare some food?” it asked

“I have none,” I returned. 

“You lie. I know what you have,” said the bony apparition. 

By now the skeleton-man was standing over me, blocking the light from my fire with his ghastly shadow. The robe fell from his shoulders and revealed the rest of his skeletal body. Not a scrap of flesh left. He held out his bony hand and grasped my tobacco pouch with his bony fingers. He produced a pipe from somewhere in his robes and loaded it. He lights the pipe with a burning twig from my fire. He puffed and as he did so smoke billowed from his ribcage. He smoked for awhile regarding me. He gazed at me with empty eye sockets and eventually said,

“We must wrestle.”

I stared at him blankly.

“Wrestle?” I questioned.

“Yes, wrestled. I would like to make a bet with you. If you wrestle me and are victorious then you will return from your warpath victorious with a bounty of stolen horses. But, if you cannot best me you will never succeed and will be doomed to wander your warpath forever, never to return home.” 

I sat and stared at him, unblinking. I worked his offer over in my mind. 

Surely I could best a skeleton. He has no muscle to speak of; but, again he is a skeleton who walks among the living. Could I best his magic?

I turned these thoughts over and over in my head. Finally, I decided I would wrestle the creature. If I could ensure my path then it must be done, by any means. I told the demon that I agreed to his terms. I rose from my bedroll and stoked my fire. As I turned to face the skeleton to ask him the rules of this fight, he rushed me. I stood my ground and readied myself for his attack. His bony fingers cut into my arms as we grappled. I tried to push him off of my but his bony feet dug into the dirt and he pushed back with powerful legs. Then I noticed something. When we drew near the fire in our contest the demon’s strength began to wane. But when we drew closer to the realm of darkness, his realm, his strength grew. I came up with a strategy. I pushed with all my might to draw the creature near the fire. I pushed and pushed and when I had him near the fire I kicked out, sending the rest of my collected brush flying into the fire. As the fire blazed, the creature weakened. But it wasn’t enough, the brush quickly burned down and we continued to struggle. We fought and wrestled until I felt like giving up. I felt like wandering forever could be better than enduring any more pain. But as soon as I had resigned myself to giving up the dawn started to break! Golden light pierced the darkness and the creature howled because he knew his time was almost up. He had the advantage in his time of darkness but his time was drawing to a close as mine drew near. The time of light, the time of good, the time of day. I gathered what strength I had left and pushed with all my might. The skeleton-man howled again as I shoved him toward the dying fire. His skeletal foot caught a stray stick and he stumbled backward. I took advantage of this moment and pushed him as hard as I could. He collapsed into a pile onto the ashes of the fire. I had won!

I vanquished my enemies and returned home with enough horses for every man, woman, and child in my village. I am a warrior. I wrestled a ghost. 

Author’s Note:

I tried to keep the original elements in the story the same while also expanding some of the more interesting aspects. The story “The Indian Who Wrestled with a Ghost” tells the story of a young man who ventures off on a warpath by himself. While on his journey he comes in contact with several supernatural beings. He encounters an owl, which is usually regarded in Native American mythology as the bringer of death, a ghostly woman who tries to cut off his foot after he tricks her into thinking he is dead and s ghostly skeleton that challenges him to a wrestling match. The wrestling match, if won, will allow the young man to kill his enemies and steal some horses. 

I took this story and placed it in the first person. I thought it made it more accessible that way and more intriguing. I also added some details of my own while removing some details from the original story. I thought changing some of the details about the ghosts as well as the risk/reward narrative made the story more gripping. I wanted to take the intrigue of the original story and turn it up a few notches.

Bibliography: “The Indian Who Wrestled with a Ghost” from Myths and Legends of the Great Plains by Katharine Berry Judson (1913)