The Echoing Woods (pt. 4)

The Hunter

Ramón Mendoza Duero felt the urge to check once again just to make sure. He was not a forgetful or nervous man, nor one who worried overmuch. Those were not the traits associated with his family, one that had endured many hardships in their journey from the old country to the new. He was a prudent and decisive man, and these qualities had saved his life many times before. 

He looked at the rifles once again. There were fifty odd weapons, joining another assortment of knives and guns and hooks that they would be carrying. Nothing too heavy, for in these types of expeditions it was best not to be encumbered by heavy weapons. It was best to rely on what was true and reliable, and these were all the same weapons that had been used by the soldiers five years ago, when they were completing their mission of pacifying the northern territories.

A well-made rifle when held gave pleasure. It was a source of comfort, and in these lands, so dangerous before, it was best not to leave it out of sight. These rifles were well-made, and while the Indios had also used guns and rifles that had by and large been stolen or seized by the first rebels thirty years ago, they had never learned to use them well, or even to maintain and care for them. The Indios were fearsome with horses, and with knives, and with ropes and rocks and axes, but they quickly ran out of ammunition, firing wildly in that first movement that had so surprised the colonist so long ago when they were overpowered and massacred, with few survivors able to return south.

Ramon was a man who knew the meaning of duty. He hardly gave much thought to the things that he found himself doing, never questioning the orders he received, and never failing to seize an opportunity that might provide an advantage. Ultimately, he had seen many other weak men fall, because they hesitated, or because they had qualms about what needed to be done in a time of war. But he had seen war for many years, and he knew that that it was something best performed blindly, with little thought given other than to strategy. He had been surrounded, he had been stabbed, and he had had his leg broken, but he had survived. And he trusted his rifle more than he did any prayer.

Ramon turned around to see the man who had just entered the storeroom. It was a sprightly and thin man who looked older than his years, but who was a familiar sight to Ramon. His name was Juanito, and he came carrying leather pouches that held ammunition destined for the rifles and guns. The man was dark and very wrinkled, and while he was apparently in his early to mid 40s, he had a look of a man who was oblivious to the passage of time. He was an Indio whose family had originally lived in the southern edges of the planos, and his family had joined with the colonos and fled with them to the south, when the rebellion broke out.

Juanito was missing several teeth, this gave his face a hollow look. He was quiet, and he spent most of his time with the other Cristian indios, with men like Lorenzo and Tino-maki, trustworthy soldiers but always a little diffident in their ways. They spoke Cristiano, but also, retained the knowledge of the Indian languages. They chose not to use them when among the other soldiers, for they seemed to be aware of the distrust they inspired in some of the other men, but nonetheless, it was a skill that was prized and useful for the army, for few colonos had bothered to learn the languages of the pagans.

Ramon greeted Juanito as he set the leather pouches next to the rifles, and he nodded his head and touched his chin, in a greeting he had learned was innate to many of the natives of the planos. If this mission was going to be successful, much was riding on the these men, they who were scheduled to join the regular group of colonos who had been conscripted into this newest venture. The wars had been fought and won, and the colonos were trickling back, but the land was still not spiritually pacified. In order to do this, it would be necessary to enter into the woods, and to search out the mysteries that lay within.

During the last few years of final pacification of the north, Ramón had seen and done many things that he was loathe to remember. That had long been his strength, his ability to forget, to lay things aside, to concentrate on what needed to be done and to justify them as duties that had been imposed on them. He prided himself on having a cold heart, and in war, brutality was a necessary tool. The land needed to be pacified once again, and he knew full well how other soldiers had fallen when giving in to moments of weakness or self-doubt. In the early years, the colonos had been brutally massacred, and it was said that this was in reprisal for offences against the natives that had long been endured but never acknowledged. Those natives had been deceitful, and if the those early colonos had failed, this was due to the fact that they hadn't been hard enough.

For a time, the northern territories were left abandoned to the natives. The central authorities had troubles enough, dealing as they did with other rebellions to the south, and there were little resources for sending armies to retake the lands that had been lost to the north. But when the time came, they would be retaken. There were men who would remember this rebellion, families that had been lost, and many resources at stake.

Ramon looked down at the rifle he was holding. He had cleaned his weapons many times before, and doing so somehow cleared his mind. Holding a weapon reminded him that he had power, that he could control his faith, and with a little intervention from above, he could do what needed to be done to carry out justice while fulfilling his mission. A rifle needed to be cleaned and oiled regularly, and with care, would last for a lifetime.

He prided himself on being an impeccable marksman, able to hit target from 300 feet away or more, and this had saved his life many times. This, and the fact the he always wore a medallion around his neck with an image of the Virgin. She had, undoubtedly, saved his life many times, even if she was forced to look at and remember many scenes that he would prefer not to have seen himself. In reality, the medallion reminded him of his mother, who had died many years ago, in his youth, in another act of savagery committed by bandits who had invaded his father's homestead, men who carried with them a need for blood. It felt as if this medallion was a memory that would cleanse him even as he did what needed to be done.

Riding hard for days on end on the open plains, enduring the heat and loneliness of long hot days, and the blistering cold of the fearsome winter nights, he himself had been cleansed and tempered by heat and cold. He had never found it easy to express his emotions, because he grew to be reticent, never giving more than he felt was right, but he was a reliable man, and fearless. He had killed bandits and runaway prisoners in his youth, as a member of officially-delegated security bands on the frontier lands, when it was a folly to think that the people of the frontier could rely on anyone other than themselves. They were a long way away from the fabled cities of the south, from the soft men with the arrogant voices. He didn't trust those men, those administrators, those priests, those who talked about the laws of books and not the law of blood.

There would be sixty men in all, most of them old and weathered soldiers, many of whom had settled into the northern frontier once it had been pacified, and many of whom had grown a little bit weary with the peace that had been imposed on the rebels. The days had grown quiet, and the last holdouts had been tracked down and, for the most part, disposed of in a way that served to signal a new type of regime. Ramon approved of this hard-nosed and swift justice, but he and the rest of the administrators and settlers noted how so many of the natives still seemed to hold out a hope of resistance that was centered on the woods that lay to the west of the plains, and that led up to the mountains. "El bosque encantado", as the earlier waves of colonists had baptized it, leaving it alone in a gesture that Ramon thought had invited the resistance that coalesced and took form thirty years ago.

Without a doubt the indios of the region held many superstitions. They were all superstitious, all a bit naïve, and all in need of a controlling voice and a firm gesture, as his ancestors had inculcated in him long ago. They were pagans, unwilling to listen to the dictates of a new order that was destined to take control of these lands, but it was his firm belief that they were also deceitful. In reality, he admired their resolution, once they took resolution, and their fighters were indeed to be respected. They killed and mutilated the corpses, sparing no one, not even children, and they were able to endure hardships that cristianos were unable to endure. Ramon had seen their fighters jumping from one horse to another while in full run, and had seen them wield lassoes with heave stones tied to the ends with deadly accuracy, dodging bullets and disabling men with crushing blows. But strength and vigor and agility were only part of the equation, and Ramon knew enough to know that stealth and craft compensated when he was otherwise outnumbered or otherwise disadvantaged. Stealth, craft, and his own brand of brutality.

These Indios were still haunted by the fact of their defeat, and seemed shell-shocked and listless. They moved about mechanically, and almost all of them had seen multiple family members killed. There were many orphans, some of who were adopted by the surviving Indio families, but many others were thrown to the mercy of the priests and their charity. They had been a nomadic peoples, but now, they were forbidden to ride horses, and they were forced to live in confinement in the settlements that sprang up in the runs of the former establishments that had cropped up decades ago and that had been burned and destroyed in the first rebellion.

Many of the Indios quite frankly had killed themselves when faced with the new circumstances that awaited them after their defeat. There were stories of entire families that had slashed themselves, bleeding to death, aided as they were undoubtedly by that pernicious weed that they termed "Paruntha", the sacred weed, that dulled their senses and prepared them to enter in to the next realm. Many grew withered and refused to eat, and when forced to work in the new fields that were planted, they wasted away. These were the stalwarts, the weak ones in the view of Ramon, who lacked any other resources and whose loss was not to be lamented, especially not by someone such as himself, an old soldier who had seen many of his comrades killed.

But there were others who shambled about and tried to move on. They grudgingly accepted the new order, and they began to dress once again as cristianos, and they began to attend church and to make a semblance of adapting themselves to the new order. The new authorities were careful to monitor them, and they were forbidden from congregating outside of church in groups bigger than 10 people. Slowly but surely they were picking up the language of the colonists, and they were quick to look away, never daring to meet the gaze of the colonists who shouldered by them, waiting for their turn to attend church services.

The forest, though, continued to loom large in their consciousness. It was a place of hidden hopes, a pristine territory that had not been retaken, a place where they seemed to believe they had left a part of their soul. It was evident to the authorities that this was an old superstition that was proving difficult to destroy, for it was a part of their most treasured lore. When questions about what was found within, they insisted that they themselves had never seen it with their own eyes, but that it was the domain of the wolves, the protectors, who prohibited anyone from entering. It was a place that was to remain sacred, and indeed it seemed to offer up an impenetrable wall that proved infuriating to the settlers who resolved to do what the first colonists had not done.

Plans were made to mount an expedition to enter and explore these woods. These woods could quite evidently be used as a resource for the settlers, who had need to rebuild their settlements, and who could use the woods as a place to establish a garrison, as well as a place for hunting. It was evident that the woods would need to be traversed in order to find a direct path to the mountains beyond, those mountains that undoubtedly held the promise of gold and other minerals that might be useful for the development of the frontier. In a place of conflict, one could not allow the woods to remain unexplored nor unutilized. But the problem remained, however, that the indios refused to join in the expedition that was being planned.

This resistance was met with severe punishment. Those that refused where subject to thirty lashes, and the work quota for their families was increased. And yet, they all refused. They had no will to venture into the forest, and they accepted their punishment with grim resignation. It became more urgent to find others who would join the expedition, and generous fiscal incentives were offered for those former soldiers who would be willing to join. There were promises of special recognition, and of honors to be shared by their families, and even, pardons for those who had been accused and found guilty of minor crimes.

And, to round out the expedition, they resorted to a practice that had been useful to the settlers and colonists from the very beginning. Since they would need to have some indios in the expedition, as people who might bring a special insight into what they saw and who might serve as go-betweens, and since a suicidal and fearful indio was not to be countenanced as a member of the expedition, they were forced to recruit Indios who were not local, but who came from further south. These were indios such as Juanito, Tino-maki or Genaro, the collaborators who had lived long enough among civilized people to be able to overcome their superstitions, or at least, realized that they needed to participate in this expedition if they were to conserve the precarious acceptance they had earned for themselves and their families in this colonist society. Ramón and his men had need of these indios, for he suspected that the expedition would find people within the forests, and he had no particular knowledge or ability in the learning of Indian languages, and thought it would be prudent to take other indios who might understand or be met with acceptance because of the similarity of their countenance.

They had been preparing themselves carefully during the past few months, making plans, as they waited for the long winter to end. During their weekly meetings the men would gather on cold nights to talk about tactics, and share stories about past encounters, stories that had been handed down from generation to generation by their own ancestors. It was a given that the men would have to stay together as much as possible, but they would also need scouts, those who were resourceful and could venture further faster. These were not to be their indios, but men that they could trust implicitely, for they couldn't run the risk of their indios, however much they had proved their loyalty in the past war of reconquest, might chose to conspire with any tribes they might encounter ahead, and set an ambush for them.

They would also take sundry items such as polished plates, beads and brightly dyed fabrics that they would offer as gifts. They also had with them images that had been printed, religious icons showing the magnificence of the saints and the royal authorities, as well as images of churches and other religious iconography. They would not offer metal items, of course, and would keep their weapons always by their sides. They did, however, contemplate, taking choice coins, of silver and gold, to convey through demonstration what they hoped to find up in the mountains.

Ramón was a veteran, in his forties, and his oldest son was now 18. His son would be left in charge of protecting his mother and his younger siblings, and however much he would have preferred to take his son Gonzalo with him, he dismissed this thought by reflecting that this would be an uncertain mission. He had little worry about leaving his son in charge, however, for he had trained him well in the use of weapons and in the appreciation that stealth and discipline was needed to wield them. Ramon trusted no one else to defend his family while he was gone, and however much Gonzalo might have wished to come with him, he put up no protest, and took the responsibility with a reassuring degree of seriousness.

If there was anything to criticize, it was the fact that Juanito and the other Indios who would be joining the expedition were so given to silence. There had to be no hint of dissension or disunity among the ranks, and the natural hierarchies that prevailed in the settlements must prevail within the expedition as well. These old indios, however, had the habit of sitting in a huddle away from the other soldiers, preferring to spend more time with their horses and pack animals and with each other than with the pureblood cristianos.

Ramon had observed how they traded quiet glances with each other from time to time. It was obvious that they shared a secret language, one based more on gestures than on words. Ramón had watched them for many years, and he noted how they always seemed to be aware that he was looking at them. He considered Juanito his particular friend, for they had been in combat together, and had saved each other several times, but there always seemed to be a level of distance between them, a wall that hadn't been scaled yet. He would have preferred to hear their indios speaking freely with the colonos, trading jibes, talking about their plans for their homesteads, and just laughing from time to time. That was it. They didn’t laugh. At least not among them.

They would be leaving in another week. The other colonos were on their way, and would bring with them many of their own supplies. The expedition was formed by experienced hunters and experienced lookouts, but they had a priest who, it must be said, was not his first choice. This priest was necessary, it had been decided by the governor of the newly reconquered planos, this this particular priest was a case of "worse is no one". Peor es nadie.

Father Diego was an earnest young man, but a bit soft, and altogether too lenient with indios of his parish, a parish in which he was one of three priests. He was a man who was suspect, because he seemed to have a hidden affinity for the indios and their ways.

He was fond, for example, of stories told by and about the indios. When he first arrived, he had antagonized many of the old soldiers by his reluctance to assume a stern visage with his indian charges, and instead, he made it a point to seek out their wise ones, their storytellers. He was known to visit them in their humble domain, and to spend many hours in their company, going so far as to learn a passable version of their language.

For the weekly masses, the fathers in the parish rotated confession duty. Father Gaspar, as the eldest, always preached, but the other two fathers assisted him in his duties. These regular masses had only recently resumed in the makeshift church that had been set up, but from the very beginning it was evident that Father Diego seemed to attract more devotion among the conquered indios, who would spend more than the ordinate amount of time in confession with him.

A colono might wait in line and faithfully discharge his Christian duty in ten minutes of confession, but the indios would last up to an hour, sometimes even more. Whether they were involved in conversations about things other than the obligatory recitation of sins was something that received much attention among the colonos, to the point that it was found necessary to always have two priests officiating confession, Father Diego for the indios, and one of the other two fathers for the colonos. The latter would finish in a few hours, while Father Diego would frequently be hearing confession all through the night. He would then be seen to discreetly meet with the authorities, proposing new reforms and new approaches that were meant to more fully incorporate the new brethren who had been welcomed to the fold.

But Father Diego was soon to learn about the difficulties that faced an expedition such as the one that was planned. Ramon had no doubt that once he had been in the woods for several weeks, and if they should come under attack, the Father would learn the folly of his lenient ways. In reality, he blamed the church authorities for having send a priest from the interior so far from home. The frontier had need of frontier priests, and Father Diego had been instructed in a seminary far to the south, farther south even than the real abode of the Viceroy, and he had no doubt that this must explain why he had no appreciation for reality. He would have to learn his place, thought Ramon, for otherwise the father might imperil this whole mission, and cause them unnecessary harm.

And, finally, he had need of a few more pack animals and a sturdy handler to take the load of supplies. The original handler who had been chosen had lost two of his animals, and was in a state of despair because he also had a sick wife who was due to give birth in a few weeks. He suspected that this arriero had done something to his animals, laming them in suspicious accident, as a way of avoiding joining the expedition. He had no way of proving this, and he had no wish to alienate the friends of this man, Pedro el Bizco, who had served the colonos well in the past. Thus, he had a decision to make.

The old man who had arrived last week, one by the name of Felipe, had no particular ties to this or any other settlement. He was old, it was true, but looked to be sturdy enough. He would have to be conscripted into joining the expedition, and this meant that he would have to make arrangements for the small child that Felipe had brought with him after his latest trip. Undoubtedly, this would mean placing the child with one of the local parish families.

This should be easy, for by Felipe's admission, she wasn’t his actual child, merely an orphan he had rescued from the wastes. There was no other choice. He needed a sturdy arriero, but this action would also give him a measure of mental relief, because there was something strange about this girl as well. It was hard to place, maybe it was a nightmare vision that came unbidden when he first glanced at her, a vision he would prefer to forget. She had looked at him with a look of fear and hate when he saw her in the plaza, but hid this by looking quickly away when he stared back at her.

The vision that came to Ramon was that of a burning Indian village, and of the pitiful cries of women and children, cries and wails that grew more piercing as his men proceeded to do what they needed to do, which was fulfill their duty and pacify this territory. Many things had been done, many people had been killed, and he himself had entered into many huts to be confronted by terrified women and children who huddled in the corner as he pointed his rifle at them and shouted at them to be quiet, to shut up, and to make their peace with the lord.

It was a vision from the recent past, and a memory that had been retained of a sparkling and terrified gaze that had met him during one of those long and deadly nights.

OGRomero © 2014
(Copyrighted by OGRomero, 2014)