a cool autumn breeze lash the Cape of AMBER-POINT, rippling the calm waters of Lake Ontario . The crisp air, full of sour scent of berries left to decompose on the thorns, he was carrying whirlwinds of leaves torn from the skeletal limbs of the maples and deposited on the liquid surface, as small boats of fire drifting. A canoe that opened the road between mulch and touched the shore. It went down a man with blacks and smooth hair topped by a three-cornered hat, and tan and naked body of an Indian.
The Indian pulled the canoe on dry land and, after having turned over and placed under the oars, he walked along a path that rode through the woods.
To the patriots of Fort Ontario, Shu-Wa-Kee, Sad Owl in the language of the whites, was a wiry. For his people, instead, he looked strong, that befitted his rank sakem of the four tribes.
the passage of the newcomer, the young warriors on guard along the way they left their shelter in the trees and, after bowing his head as a sign of respect, is queued to follow close.
As sakem that it approaches the village, the procession behind him grew thicker, and when he came in sight of the tents, behind him you could count about thirty warriors.
Dum-Maak, in his tent, felt the excitement that preceded the imminent arrival of Shu-Kee-Wa and was crossed by a thrill. He wondered if he really was the sakem be formidable, and if you told that man's eyes could peer so deep inside him to guess his secret.
Actually, at that time would have been capable even a blind man. Dum-Maak was pale and was breathing with pants hubs. He raised a hand before his face and saw that she was trembling. The tremors were extended in a second arm and shoulder and then the rest of the body, uncontrollable.
could not show up around the village in those conditions.
With frantic gestures, raised his leather mat lying in a corner and scratch with your fingers the way, until they found the subject hard and smooth a few inches below the surface.
He took the flask of metal just dug up and magistrate was vented on the cap, which jumped off and fell to the ground. Without bothering to pick it up, took the small container to his mouth and swallowed greedy gulps, accompanied by gurgling sobs of his goiter protruding. The liquid
effect immediately and he felt Dum-Maak be surrounded by a soft and warm feeling of wellbeing. His limbs trembled and stopped breathing became more regular. Took another sip, then picked up the plug, shut the flask and put it back into the pit. Compacts the soil and covered it with the palm of your hand. Finally, lay back on the mat where he had buried his treasure.
He looked around to make sure that those maneuvers were not surprises to foreign eyes, but he was not in the tent. His secret was safe.
lacked only one last trick. He took a bag from a handful of tobacco leaves, put them in his mouth and began to chew up compact to reduce them to a pulp. In this way, his breath would not have betrayed. He spat the bolus and left.
Mai-Rak was in a bad mood, that is worse than usual.
that morning had put the thought on several occasions in Manitou, cursing in his heart. Its people tolerate fools and eccentrics, considering the madness and other imperfections of the mind as gifts from heaven. But to him, in the deformed body, not reserved only disgust and contempt. Almost never openly expressed, of course, but he could see them, so they believe, in the furtive glances and whispered words to its passage, in the crease of a mouth that changes expressions, tone of voice and gestures whenever someone spoke to him .
And even when he was alone and there was no other remember, it was enough to lower his eyes to the ground, its shadow, to have always clear who or what it was.
In his state of mind, announced the arrival of Shu-Wa-Kee was like salt on a wound. Here is a man, he thought, that Manitou had given all his favors tall, graceful, powerful, a leader, admired and respected by his people and feared by all his enemies.
If men like that had not existed, maybe he could get some 'peace of the disfigured ...
gaze slid to the ground and took the shape of grotesque and twisted to his side. All at once, others more slender silhouette and harmony side by side and merged with it in a single dark spot, while the crowd gathered to welcome the arrival of sakem.
Keng-Ti-Sut towered over all other soldiers of the escort. It was massive and muscular, with broad shoulders and powerful, and exceeded his own sakem half a head. In a duel, was convinced that he can get the better of him and, if the opportunity arose, he would not be pulled back. In the four tribes had not yet met a warrior who excel in strength and courage. It would certainly be a worthy sakem, if one day the place was vacant.
Such insights, never fully expressed, humming in a recess of his mind. Perched somewhere and began to take root in more and more depths, waiting to give birth to her dark fruit.
Shu-Wa-Kee stopped. A crowd of women, children and old people looked at him with curiosity, had come almost directly from the Heavenly Meadows. The group backed up on two wings to arrange themselves around the circumference of the plaza, revealing the opposite end to which he was, the hieratic figure of the old chief Nantan, standing outside his tent.
When their eyes met, they nodded almost imperceptibly to the newcomer, a gesture of relief that only intimate Shu-Wa-Kee was able to grasp.
The old man raised his arm outstretched and the palm of his hand in greeting. Then he turned and went into tent. The sakem followed.
"The Phantom Warriors", a story written by Gabriele Ferrero and Alessandro Russo and illustrated by Paul Morisi on Commander Mark number 85, on sale from July 25, 2009.
(image © EsseGesse Editions if)
To the patriots of Fort Ontario, Shu-Wa-Kee, Sad Owl in the language of the whites, was a wiry. For his people, instead, he looked strong, that befitted his rank sakem of the four tribes.
the passage of the newcomer, the young warriors on guard along the way they left their shelter in the trees and, after bowing his head as a sign of respect, is queued to follow close.
As sakem that it approaches the village, the procession behind him grew thicker, and when he came in sight of the tents, behind him you could count about thirty warriors.
Dum-Maak, in his tent, felt the excitement that preceded the imminent arrival of Shu-Kee-Wa and was crossed by a thrill. He wondered if he really was the sakem be formidable, and if you told that man's eyes could peer so deep inside him to guess his secret.
Actually, at that time would have been capable even a blind man. Dum-Maak was pale and was breathing with pants hubs. He raised a hand before his face and saw that she was trembling. The tremors were extended in a second arm and shoulder and then the rest of the body, uncontrollable.
could not show up around the village in those conditions.
With frantic gestures, raised his leather mat lying in a corner and scratch with your fingers the way, until they found the subject hard and smooth a few inches below the surface.
He took the flask of metal just dug up and magistrate was vented on the cap, which jumped off and fell to the ground. Without bothering to pick it up, took the small container to his mouth and swallowed greedy gulps, accompanied by gurgling sobs of his goiter protruding. The liquid
effect immediately and he felt Dum-Maak be surrounded by a soft and warm feeling of wellbeing. His limbs trembled and stopped breathing became more regular. Took another sip, then picked up the plug, shut the flask and put it back into the pit. Compacts the soil and covered it with the palm of your hand. Finally, lay back on the mat where he had buried his treasure.
He looked around to make sure that those maneuvers were not surprises to foreign eyes, but he was not in the tent. His secret was safe.
lacked only one last trick. He took a bag from a handful of tobacco leaves, put them in his mouth and began to chew up compact to reduce them to a pulp. In this way, his breath would not have betrayed. He spat the bolus and left.
Mai-Rak was in a bad mood, that is worse than usual.
that morning had put the thought on several occasions in Manitou, cursing in his heart. Its people tolerate fools and eccentrics, considering the madness and other imperfections of the mind as gifts from heaven. But to him, in the deformed body, not reserved only disgust and contempt. Almost never openly expressed, of course, but he could see them, so they believe, in the furtive glances and whispered words to its passage, in the crease of a mouth that changes expressions, tone of voice and gestures whenever someone spoke to him .
And even when he was alone and there was no other remember, it was enough to lower his eyes to the ground, its shadow, to have always clear who or what it was.
In his state of mind, announced the arrival of Shu-Wa-Kee was like salt on a wound. Here is a man, he thought, that Manitou had given all his favors tall, graceful, powerful, a leader, admired and respected by his people and feared by all his enemies.
If men like that had not existed, maybe he could get some 'peace of the disfigured ...
gaze slid to the ground and took the shape of grotesque and twisted to his side. All at once, others more slender silhouette and harmony side by side and merged with it in a single dark spot, while the crowd gathered to welcome the arrival of sakem.
Keng-Ti-Sut towered over all other soldiers of the escort. It was massive and muscular, with broad shoulders and powerful, and exceeded his own sakem half a head. In a duel, was convinced that he can get the better of him and, if the opportunity arose, he would not be pulled back. In the four tribes had not yet met a warrior who excel in strength and courage. It would certainly be a worthy sakem, if one day the place was vacant.
Such insights, never fully expressed, humming in a recess of his mind. Perched somewhere and began to take root in more and more depths, waiting to give birth to her dark fruit.
Shu-Wa-Kee stopped. A crowd of women, children and old people looked at him with curiosity, had come almost directly from the Heavenly Meadows. The group backed up on two wings to arrange themselves around the circumference of the plaza, revealing the opposite end to which he was, the hieratic figure of the old chief Nantan, standing outside his tent.
When their eyes met, they nodded almost imperceptibly to the newcomer, a gesture of relief that only intimate Shu-Wa-Kee was able to grasp.
The old man raised his arm outstretched and the palm of his hand in greeting. Then he turned and went into tent. The sakem followed.
"The Phantom Warriors", a story written by Gabriele Ferrero and Alessandro Russo and illustrated by Paul Morisi on Commander Mark number 85, on sale from July 25, 2009.
(image © EsseGesse Editions if)
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