The Legend of the Silver Werewolf

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

CHAPTER 1

He was old. Exactly how old, no one knew. He was thin and stooped and frail-looking. Anyone could see that at one time, this man was large and powerfully built. Even though he was elderly, he still had some strength in that frail-looking body. He still did everything for himself.

He would hear people talking about him. The Storyteller looks frail. Somebody should look in on him. Where is his family? I don’t know; I have never heard him speak of any. He always smiled when he heard people asking such questions. He was past his prime, yes.

But he still walked the four-mile round trip to the store and back. He would never accept a ride. I don’t like cars, he would say, or I just prefer to walk. And that was true. He never did trust automobiles. He believed that using a car made a man lazy. People would always ask each other, what is his real name? I don’t think I have ever heard it. Well, ask him. And whenever someone would ask him his real name, he would just smile at them, and say, my name is Storyteller. He loved telling stories to the people but he needed to get home.

The kids would be stopping by soon. After he got home, he put all his things away, made a pitcher of lemonade, and opened a pack of chocolate chip cookies. He brought them out to the living room to set them on the coffee table. Almost ready. The storyteller looked at the clock and went back into the kitchen for a stack of plastic glasses. The storyteller sat down on his couch to wait for 5:30. The kids were home from the reservation school. After dinner, they liked to come over and hear one of his stories. He has told all of his stories to everyone around. To these children and their parents.

Even the grandparents of many. He looked up at the clock next to the door. The old man could hear the children on his front porch. He was waiting for one boy in particular, Billy, to knock on the storyteller’s door as Billy was the one who always knocked.

He was slightly older than the others and was the leader. Come in, children. Eight excited children walked in and the senior man closed the door behind them. Have a seat. I have lemonade and cookies. Please, help yourself. They all sat down in a semi-circle in front of him, ignoring the lemonade and cookies, for now anyway, anxious for that day's story. What would you like to hear? Storyteller asked them with a small smile. Billy spoke up.

We want to hear a story about you, storyteller. This took the storyteller aback as he asked, Me? Why? We have all heard your stories, but no one seems to know anything about you. Well, that’s because no one has asked for more than my name before. Is that what you all want to hear?

The children all nodded in agreement, encouraging the historic gentleman to tell a tale of his past. He looked at their eager faces for a moment before he conceded to their joyful wish. Alright then. They all went quiet. No one talked during one of his stories. Let’s see. He took a deep breath, my earliest memories are walking with my grandfather while he collected herbs. He was the medicine man of my tribe, the cliff dwellers. For generations, my people lived in the cliff dwellings of the desert.

Once long ago, even before my grandfather was born, my people lived in lodges made of animal hide attached to long poles. Though, we could not get along with the Navajo or the Apache tribes. There were plenty of other tribes that we had traded with however, like the Hopi and the Maricopa and the Mojave and the Piute and the Tohono O’odham tribes. My people came here many generations ago, and I think that is why the Navajo didn’t like us.

They claimed we were on their land. They called us Anasazi; it means enemy in their language. And the Apache. I never heard of anyone getting along with them for long. My people were tired of wars with the Navajo, so they built the village into the cliffs using stones and mud.

We grew corn to make our flour, dug and traded turquoise stones and, later on silver, we traded with other tribes for other things we needed. My name was Little bear. I was only 4 summers old, but every morning, I went out early with my grandfather to gather his herbs. I wanted to be a healer, just like him.

He knew I wanted to follow him, and that made him very proud that I wanted to be the tribal healer. So, every morning he would take me out with him, and teach me about the herbs that healed and which ones were poison, or useless and what they looked like. ‘Some of the dangerous plants look like the good plants,’ he would say, then he would show me how to tell the difference.

For several moons, my Grandfather had been sending me out on my own to collect the herbs. Then he would examine them to see if I had picked the right herb or not. There had been mistakes, to be sure. But he would smile and say that I was learning. That day was no different. I have been getting up before dawn since I was 3 summers old. It has become a habit.

I got up and looked around. My parents and my little sister were still asleep. It wouldn’t be too long before they were awake. I stoked up the fire before I put on my moccasins and my vest and tied my hair back. Then I climbed the ladder, unlatched the door and slid it open. After I secured the door shut, I stood up and looked around.

Our home was near the top of the dwellings. I could see the sentry fires with the men on watch, and I could hear other people stirring. I looked up at the stars. I loved being able to see the stars before dawn. I always marveled at the thought that they were no closer here than they were on the ground. I turned and started walking to grandfather’s. I once asked him what the stars were.

All he would say was only the creator of the sky and the world knows for sure. That was his way of saying he didn’t know either. I knew grandfather would be awake before I ever got there, he always was. I climbed up to the roof as quietly as I could, and just as quietly, I crossed the roof and reached for the door as his all-knowing voice announced, Come in, Little bear. I never could fool him, no matter how hard I tried. It must be his magic. I opened the door and climbed down the ladder. When I turned around, he was sitting next to the fire with a grin on his face. I loved the smell here.

Herbs were hanging from poles to dry and jars lined one wall. All had herbs in them, and he knew what herb was in every pot. I could still see the stars through the small window set high on the wall to keep enemies from attacking that way. Also to let smoke from the fire out.

Sit down, Little bear. I sat down across from him. Good morning, grandfather. Good morning, my son. He picked up a stick that had a piece of venison cooking on it. I reached for a piece as I had not eaten yet.

No. Grandfather said harshly that made me stop and look up at him. Today you can’t eat. Why, grandfather? You must take this pot and go to the sacred cave, and gather the red ochre. He put the pot and digging stick into a small shoulder pouch, and handed it to me.

Take that water skin and go. Yes, grandfather. I will get my blanket, it’s chilly today. No, you must go as you are. It will warm up soon enough. Yes, Grandfather. One more thing, Little bear. You must get there and back today. It will be dark before I can get back, Grandfather. Can’t I just sleep in the hills and come in tomorrow morning? I had whined slightly. No! Now, go! Yes, grandfather.

Chapter 2

Grabbing the pouch and the waterskin, I scaled up and out of the door. I turned to descend down the ladder and walked to the other end of this level. I lowered myself down to the next level. I rotated and peered down. I had to keep declining downwards on separate rungs to each level.

Sometimes, the process felt like it took much longer than it really did. Then I had to sink lower by using the hand and foot notches cut into the cliff. Usually, I am with my grandfather going out to gather herbs.

Today, I was alone and headed to the caves to get Red Ochre to be used in ceremonial paint. It will take me all day to get there and back. However, grandfather said I have to be back by tonight. I couldn’t help but wonder why. I had no time to think about it. I had to go.

Soon, Grandfather would announce in front of the entire tribe that I would learn the ways of the healer. Everyone already knew it, but it won’t be official without the proper ceremony. I won’t find out exactly what is expected of me until then. All that I know is that there is a test, and, if I pass it, I will learn the ways and the magic of the healers.

A thought came to me. Maybe this is part of the test. It could be. I looked at the sky. It was turning pink as the sun rose. I loved walking through the hills this time of day, even though it was chilly. The hike to the caves was a long one. The morning was cool and most of the animals were still asleep. I still had to be careful. There were snakes that hunt by night, and holes in the ground that could break my leg if I stepped in the wrong place. I could accidentally fall into a ravine.

There are other men out here as well. And not all are friendly. We had also heard rumors of strange men far to the east of us. You can’t always pay heed to rumors. Everyone knows false tales travel farther and faster than the truth.

As I walked, I listened to the world around me. Both my father and grandfather have told me many times that I must learn to listen to the world without thinking about it. I finally figured out that all it meant was to see and hear everything. To be in harmony with nature and everything in it. Like the rabbit, I could hear chewing on the bark of a tree. I heard it without thinking about it, but I knew what it was and where it was. I could just barely make out the shape of the hills and boulders. It won’t be too much longer before the sun is up.

My stomach grumbled. I guess I was used to having food in the morning. I must do as grandfather told me, only water until he says otherwise. The world was waking up. The morning birds were waking up and singing. I stopped and investigated the environment around me. I could see an eagle flying across the sky and, in the distance, I could hear the morning scream of the great cat. I don’t want to meet one of them.

The sun rose higher as I walked. I could see the painted mountains in the distance and the hills. I stopped long enough to watch a herd of deer walk up and over the ridge of a hill in the distance. The world is a beautiful place, but dangerous as well. I thought as I watched a scorpion scuttle around on a flat rock. I could see lizards coming out of their holes to warm themselves in the morning sun.

As I stood there, a bird swooped down and snatched one lizard and flew away. I had walked all morning, and the sun was directly overhead at midday. Finally, I was in sight of the caves. Grandfather told me that the old ones had once lived in these caves, a long time ago before they knew how to make lodges.

These people were not like us, he said. Not men, but not animals either. They were short but very strong and used their hands to speak in signs because they had no voice. Whatever happened to them? I asked once. They had been killed in wars with men and others died off. Why did they die off? They could not adapt to the changing times as men can. Who were these people, grandfather? These old ones? We call them the old ones because they had no name. But that was long ago, and now all that remains of them are some paintings on the walls of caves. I had seen them the first time I came here with my grandfather.

Not all were paintings, some were just hand-prints dipped in paint and pressed into the wall. I made my way up the hill to the cave. It was dark inside. I looked around until I found the torches dipped in pine pitch. Using my flint, I struck a spark and got the torch lit. It burned bright, but gave off a lot of black smoke. As I entered the cave, I could see the black smoke from other torches had stained the roof of the cave. I wondered how many others they had sent to this cave for red ochre in the past. I went deep into the cave, past the fading paintings, until I found the ochre.

After I filled the jar, I tied a piece of leather over the top to keep it from spilling inside the pouch, and to keep it from drying out too fast. When I came out of the