Excerpt From The Myth

"I take the torch. I go in courage. I step forth on the way of terrors. The darkness rolls away. I am shown afar off the Land of the Little People. Mountains rise before me. I approach them. I ascend them. I see a broad valley of mystery and horror. Beyond that terrible mountains pierce the sky. They are lifted up and thrown down again to crush him without courage."

Indian Myths

The Death Song Of A Warrior

I am in the land of my enemies. I am a prisoner of war. I am bound to a stake. My foes come around me to see me die. I hate them. I defy them. I chant my song of death. Cowards, look upon me and learn how to die like a warrior! You fear me. I am a real man. I followed the warpath. It led to your towns. Many did I slay. Your chiefs did I strike down. I gave their bodies to the wolves and to the birds of prey. Nothing do I fear. The Wyandot feels no fear. The fire is my father. I am master of my own soul. Look upon me you cowards! See me rejoice in death! See me die in glory, as a warrior should die!

I am a dead warrior. My soul rises from my body. It is free. I journey. I stand by our Grandmother. She is in the great city built under the ground by Se’ sta. She speaks to me of the Land of the Little People. She directs me. She gives me the torch of Heno. It is a guide in the darkness. It is a weapon. None can stand before it. She tells me the brave can never fail.

I take the torch. I go in courage. I step forth on the way of terrors. The darkness rolls away. I am shown afar off the Land of the Little People. Mountains rise before me. I approach them. I ascend them. I see a broad valley of mystery and horror. Beyond that terrible mountains pierce the sky. They are lifted up and thrown down again to crush him without courage.

By valor do I conquer. I pass over the frightful hills. I stand at the border. At the foot of the tall rock a great black stream runs. I stand upon a crag. The river is under my feet. There is one more trial of my courage. I look beyond the river of darkness. I see the Land of the Little People. It is beautifu1. Great streams of light stretch across the sky. They reach to the ends of the heavens. Courage rages in my soul. It rises within me.

The black river thunders between its rocky walls. I come to cross it. It is the stream of Death. With the torch of Heno I strike the Flying Heads as they come about me with bloody fangs. And the serpent’s do I strike with my might. They utter horrible screams and flee away. I spring from stone to stone in the raging river. The furious waters are about me. They hiss and boil. I leap forward. I come over upon the far bank of the mad and raging water. There I see my mother. I see my father. I see all the warriors of old. They welcome me to the Land of the Little People. When I turn to see the terrible way over which I came into the beautiful land. I spread my arms and cry, “Flee away, ye monsters, and be forever gone! For you can never harm the brave. The long way is nothing. The terrors are forgotten. Upon this shore I am a god. I am in the Land of the Little People. It is mine from the beginning of the Lower World.”