Gods & Werewolves

GODS & WEREWOLVES

by

Robert Segarra

GODS & WEREWOLVES

By

ROBERT SEGARRA

2000 Robert Segarra

All Rights Reserved.

Cover Art by Robert Segarra

For information write or contact:

Robert Segarra

upton.bailey@gmail.com

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise)without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents

either are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously,

and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events,

or locales is entirely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition 2011

USA

i

THE WOODEN FISH

Running Deer awoke from his sleep excited. He had experienced the same dream several days in a row now, but this morning was different. This time he could clearly remember the haunting lyric that had repeated itself over and over again, as it wove its way through the vivid imagery of his dream on each of the previous nights he had experienced it.

He recited the words many times out loud now as he woke, so that on this occasion he would not forget it. Every other morning since he had begun to experience this dream, the words and mages would vanish from his eyes as soon as the chilly morning air hit his face. But this time, for some strange reason it remained imprinted in his mind. This time it lingered, and for this he was happy.

He had something in mind for this poem. He wished to use the haunting images and words to his advantage. This dream would be his windfall, taking him from ordinary Running Deer, and propelling him to the forefront of life within the community, that is, if all went as planned. He had long wished to take his place as the tribe's Keeper of Legends and Storyteller, and this song, as he called it, would go a long way in convincing Chief Wild Bull that he was indeed worthy of assuming such a responsibility.

"Long, long,

Long ago,

There was fog,

There was mist;

And one morning

Long ago

Came the end of our bliss.

Joyous were the people then,

Magic lay upon the land,

Seas and oceans both were calm,

Sentries failed to sound the alarm."

He repeated this over and over, the melody burning itself into Running Deer's memory, vivid images once again and permanently imprinting themselves in his mind. Clearly he could see the well worn trail leading down to the Sandy Place with the view of Menatay, the little island in the Hudson River that would later come to be known as Manhattan.

In the dream, Running Deer pushed his way through the ash, willow and birch trees that grew down by the water, the air as sweet and misty as he had always remembered it. And also in his dream, each time he got to the shore, from out of the fog appeared a huge wooden fish. He knew it wasn't really a fish, but Running Deer felt more comfortable describing it as one. He knew it to be a canoe of some type, but it was unlike any he had ever before seen. The canoe was nearly the size of his entire village, and there appeared to be pale spirits manning the oars. But the oars they held did not even come close to reaching the water. And a shroud of pallid animal skin of some kind hung in the breeze, loosely suspended from large upright trees, bare of all foliage, that seemed to sprout from the deck of the canoe itself.

It was a majestic sight as it floated slowly, cutting mightily through the moist air and water. And always in his dream, Running Deer would awaken as soon as the spirits caught a glimpse of him hiding among the thick growth of vegetation on the shore. He would rise from his bed in the dark, his heart pounding in his chest. And it would always take him a long while to get back to sleep again. And sometimes he would not be able to close his eyes again, staying awake for hours, watching the sun come up over the nearby hills. But now at last things had changed. He would no longer have a problem recalling the events of this dream. He would be able to analyze and interpret it to determine what secrets it held. And now at last the young brave was no longer upset with himself, he was satisfied. Running Deer was pleased that he had managed to remember the passage, for now he would undoubtedly find an opportunity to recite his song to the elders and quite possibly Chief Wild Bull himself, whose daughter, Fleet Like A Deer, he had always wished he could take as his bride. He had been waiting for just the right moment to approach Wild Bull regarding the subject, but never felt confident enough to follow through. It was a big deal to approach an elder with such a proposition. One needed to walk among giants to wed the daughter of a chief as noble as Wild Bull was. Only those who had made a name for themselves   and this was something normally done in battle   could hope to marry the chief's only child. But with the epic lyric now rooted in his brain, Running Deer felt that he at last stood a very good chance of getting his wish.

Running Deer also hoped that with this song, when the winter once again came, with the passing of four new moons, he would have a new tale to add to the Lenape history. Every winter, the Lenape waited out the cold weather in long houses made of birch tree bark, with nothing else to do but eat food stores and tell stories, many of which had already been in the tribe for generations. This time, however, he would not just be repeating the stories and legends of the past, Running Deer would also be adding to them with one of his own. In his mind, Running Deer could even envision the smoke billowing up from the long house, rising lazily in to the air, with squaw, brave and papoose alike sitting spellbound around a fire, draped in buckskin and fur, safe from the cold, bellies filled with berry paste, dried seasoned meats, and ground maize, as he recited the tale of the giant wooden fish that swam around in the waters off Menatay.

As Running Deer walked to the stream in the early morning hours, fog and dew still heavy in the cool spring air, he saw that his friend, Thinks Like A Fox, was also out and about. His close friend was such a learned and respected young man that he had already undertaken the teaching of lessons to the other Lenape. His lectures on the safest places to forage, the construction of tools and dwellings necessary for Lenape survival, as well as safe identification of the types of mushrooms, berries, eggs, deer, shellfish, plants, fowl and other food stuffs that were part of their diet were memorized by every member of the tribe. Thinks Like A Fox had earned a position of honor and esteem before he had reached his twenty first year. Running Deer was happy for his friend, but could not help but feel just a bit inadequate as they were both the same age, and he felt he hadn't accomplished half of what Thinks Like A Fox already had. Had Thinks Like A Fox decided to choose a bride, there would have been few able to refuse him their daughter. And on the subject of taking a bride, Running Deer had already made his choice known to his friend, though never formally asking for the girl's hand, as he felt he had not yet distinguished himself in any area of Lenape life, as his friend had. And to make matters worse, the girl who had captured Running Deer's heart was none other than the daughter of Chief Wild Bull himself. Running Deer would have to really set himself apart from the other braves if he hoped to win her hand and Wild Bull's approval.

So, you are up already? asked Thinks Like A Fox.

Yes. I am. I had the vision again, he said, glowing with pride.

That same one? The one with the giant wooden fish?

"Yes. That is the one! Tell me, do you think it a story worthy of inclusion in the legends

of the people?"

Yes, I do. I think it is a fine enough song, and deserving of inclusion. Is it yet incomplete? I think that with a little elaboration it could become more than just a song, and more than just a ballad. I believe that with a bit of elaboration it could become a Lenape epic, Thinks Like A Fox said, full knowing that Running Deer had been having trouble remembering the entire piece, and had been struggling to find time to be able to work on and add to the lyric.

Yes. I have finally been able to memorize what there is of the poem. And I am pleased with it. But I will take what you say into consideration. Who would know better than you of the potential of my work? Now if I could only convince Wild Bull and Fleet Like A Deer that I am worthy of being tribe storyteller, then I will be a happy brave!

Have faith! They will like it as much as I do. Now let me hear the song again!

Running Deer began to recite the piece as the two men washed in the stream. It was a lovely work and a lovely morning, and the two combined only added to their enjoyment. Yet, doubts still did linger in Running Deer's mind. But soon even these would disappear, at least temporarily as they became lost in their breakfast preparations and their days' chores.

Shortly, the rest of the tribe also rose to begin their day. A group of women, young and old, foraged and washed