Cries from the Earth Read Online Free

missionaries had tried to teach him that if he truly believed in their Book of Heaven then the Shadows’ savior would wash away their sins with his own blood.
    He shivered uncontrollably, wanting so to believe in the white man’s Akunkenekoo, his everlasting heaven.
    Eagle Robe closed his eyes, sensing the autumn rain growing very warm on his cold, cold cheek.
    *   *   *
    It was dark when he heard approaching footsteps. No, Eagle Robe felt them. The post against his shoulder seemed to vibrate with each step. Perhaps the Shadow had decided to return and finish him off, not give him a chance to live.
    Funny, he thought. He wasn’t going to live anyway. Just taking a long time dying … and he recalled the countless times he had tracked wounded game through the hills, following a small drop of blood here, a smear on some leaves there, the animal taking many miles and agonizing hours to die.
    Then the earth reverberated with an overwhelming sound, and Eagle Robe thought the cruel thunder had returned to awaken him.
    But he quickly recognized it was the pounding of pony hooves.
    Eagle Robe looked up, surprised to discover his own pony still standing over him. The animal stood motionless except that it turned its head to the side, its ears perked, poking its muzzle into the wind.
    â€œFather!”
    As Shore Crossing slammed onto the ground beside his father’s horse, the young man’s feet made a dull thud in the sodden grass. Eagle Robe’s son knelt in the mud beside his dying father.
    â€œDid the Shadow do this to you?” Shore Crossing asked, his words dripping with fury.
    â€œ Wahlitits  … you came—,” he sighed, whispering his son’s Nee-Me-Poo name.
    Then Eagle Robe knew he couldn’t talk anymore, because his chest was seized with a wet cough. No longer did he have enough breath to force out many words. He blinked his eyes and gazed up into his son’s face, realizing evening had come upon this valley, realizing that the storm was passing.
    â€œYou should have been back long ago,” Shore Crossing explained as he squatted to cradle his father’s head in the crook of his arm, hovering over the older man in the last of the rain. “I came to see what delayed you.” Then the son looked up, gazed around at the cabin where a lamp flickered dimly behind a window curtain. “The settler decided to stay, didn’t he? He has stolen our land.”
    Eagle Robe felt the young man gently withdraw his arm, positioning his father’s upper body back against the post. He looked at Shore Crossing, watching his son pull the long knife from the scabbard at his waist.
    â€œI will go take his scalp for you, Father,” vowed the young man of no more than nineteen summers.
    With the last of his strength, Eagle Robe reached out and snagged his son’s wrist in one hand, stopping the young warrior. “N-no.”
    Shore Crossing’s face hovered over his father’s as he said, “What? You cannot be telling me not to kill this man who has shot you!”
    â€œDo not…,” and he coughed. “It must end here.”
    â€œNO!” Shore Crossing railed against the falling of the light. “I will kill him with my own hands if I have to!”
    â€œPlease,” Eagle Robe begged. “Promise me … promise me you will not take vengeance—”
    â€œI cannot!” the young man shrieked.
    He felt the hot blood thicken at the back of his throat, swallowing hard in hopes of speaking more clearly to his son. “Promise me—,” and he squeezed his son’s wrist.
    For a long time the young warrior’s face was suspended over his in the fading light. Eagle Robe didn’t know if he would live long enough to hear his son answer with his promise. Then, finally, Shore Crossing spoke softly, reluctantly, and very, very sadly.
    â€œI promise you, Father.”
    Eagle Robe closed his