In the Season of the Sun (12 page)

Sparrow Woman reached up and caught her husband by the arm. “Husband, what is it? Our son is with us, yet at times his heart seems far away.”

Lone Walker shook his head, then tried to smile reassuringly at his wife. He patted her hand.

“I will find out.” He shifted his gaze to the scabbarded cutlass dangling from a lodge pole at the foot of his hide-covered bed. “A dream took me to where the sun sleeps and we did not understand then,” he reminded, and in amusement added, “Why should we understand our son now?”

When Lone Walker stepped out into the cool night air, he found Jacob Sun Gift standing a few yards from the tepee and watching three young boys at play in the glow of their firelit lodge. One of the boys pretended to be a buffalo while his two friends chased him round and round in the patch of light. Suddenly the “buffalo” halted in his tracks and charged the “hunters,” one of whom leapt to safety and in passing tapped the buffalo boy on the shoulder with a willow branch that seemed to be a pretend rifle.

It had not taken long for the episode to become public knowledge. Of course, the buffalo boy was Crow Fox, a nephew to Otter Tail. Still, the whole village would know of it by morning, of that Jacob had no doubt. He turned and studied Lone Walker's expression. The Blackfoot nodded as if reading the younger man's thoughts.

“I spoke to Otter Tail,” he acknowledged. “Our people could have made much use of the kill.”

“Otter Tail talks too much.”

“And you, not enough.”

“I knew the kill was important.” Jacob walked away from the lodges and once more to the shore of Medicine Lake, whose black and glassy surface appeared as unfathomable as the human heart. Father and son continued together along the shore, moving away from the village readying itself for night.

In the distance, a wolf bayed and on the hillside, the horses, with a will of their own, started down toward the comforting glow of the Indian lodges.

“You're right. A fat buffalo would have filled many bellies,” Jacob repeated. “But I could not take its life. I don't know why.”

“A man's spirit can starve as well as his stomach,” Lone Walker said gravely. “You did well. There is no harm in what you did. The
Iniskim
shared his spirit with you. It is a powerful sign, whether for good or ill I do not know. Let Otter Tail jabber like the crow. He has never learned to obey anything but his belly. A man must listen to more than that.” Lone Walker paused and breathed deep, filling his lungs with pine-scented air. “Otter Tail and Yellow Eagle are young. They think they know everything.”

“But they don't know that the stranger who watched us was a girl.” Jacob described the young woman he had chased and lost. Lone Walker listened intently.

“A girl?” he exclaimed. Jacob's companions had spoken of the stranger, but they had thought it was a man. “What was her name?”

“I don't know.” Jacob kicked at a stone underfoot. He brushed a straw-colored strand out of his eyes. “But I intend to find out. She is Blackfoot, I think. And she lives up there, beyond our hills, where the winds call the Cold Maker by name.”

“She lied!” Lone Walker scoffed. “No mere girl could live alone up in such a wild place. Better you seek her out among the bands of our people. Perhaps the plains folk count her among their number.”

“She did not lie,” Jacob retorted. His father's sudden reaction surprised and alarmed him. It also made him all the more stubborn. “I will look where she told me.”

“A fool's search,” Lone Walker snapped. “But if you must, wait till the Berries Ripen Moon so you will not run the risk of being trapped by the snows.”

“It is too long to wait.”

Lone Walker threw up his hands in disgust and strode up from the lake, trampling the dry winter grass in his wake.

Jacob listened to him depart, taken completely off guard by his father and the way Lone Walker had ended the conversation. Did the older man know more than he was telling? Jacob quietly called to him. He received no answer, only the hollow echo of his own voice sounding uncertain and vulnerable in the night.

13

M
orning, and a blind old man dreamed of the summer of his youth; thoughts warmed him, ah, the memories of comely girls, flirting girls, teasing girls in the days when he thought he would never grow tired and feeble and sightless. And yet, being blind made it easier to shut out the bothersome world around him—this world of barking dogs, gossiping women, and child pranksters—and enabled him to have a clearer vision of the past. From the vantage point of his infirmity, the old man could study his life and thereby attain wisdom.

His name was Two Stars. And this morning, the world intruded more than usual. He had a visitor …

“Two Stars, may I enter?” Jacob called out.

“Why not? You have already disturbed my sleep,” the venerable war chief answered.

Jacob shoved aside the flap and stepped inside and around the glowing embers of the campfire. His eyes quickly adjusted to the lodge's interior. War shields of toughened buffalo hide were set against the wall. And near the old man's wicker bed, an obsidian-tipped lance rested.

Time had shrunk the war chief, rendering his once proud physique stooped and vulnerable, wrinkling his flesh and curving the spine that in his youth had been arrow straight.

Two Stars sat up on his bedding of bearskin and bulrushes and propped himself against a willow backrest. He pulled his blanket around his bony bare shoulders and turned his sightless eyes toward Jacob, who shifted uneasily where he sat on the war chief's right.

“I left a slab of rib meat with Calling Dove,” Jacob said. A large-boned, rotund woman maneuvered her great bulk through the flap and waddling like a she-bear in the Birth-Giving Moon, she crawled to Two Stars' side. She placed a chunk of fry bread in his hand and a clay cup of whiteweed tea she had brewed to ease his back pain. She wore a buckskin smock with leggings, and strips of leather and beads tied her braids. She was thick necked, and round cheeked, and she rarely smiled. The top of her nose was scar tissue, a sign she had been unfaithful to her first husband. Two Stars had shown her pity when the others of her tribe, the plains people, had turned their backs on her. Now with Two Stars enfeebled, she took care of him. Calling Dove made a gesture of hospitality toward Jacob and offered him some tea which the white Indian declined. Calling Dove shrugged and worked her massive bulk back through the entrance, rattling the whole tepee in the process.

“And what do you ask tomorrow, my young friend,” Two Stars said, “for the feast you have provided today?”

“Only the gift of your knowledge and experience,” Jacob replied. “There is a path I think I must walk.”

“What do you want? My eyes are dim; I can no longer follow a trail.” Two Stars softened the bread by dipping it into his tea, tore a morsel loose with his few remaining teeth, and relaxed, chewing; a trickle of moisture formed at the corners of his mouth.

“My eyes are sharp. They can see past the tired flesh and bad temper of an old man to the heart of fire within.” Jacob leaned forward, determined not to be dissuaded by the war chief's seeming hostility. “I see a heart of courage and a mind wise from the many moons you have roamed these mountains.” He sat back and with gentle humor added, “Do not think to deceive me, old one. I'll wager you can still outwrestle the young bucks of this camp. As for the women,
sa-yaa
, Calling Dove looks well satisfied.”

Two Stars doubled over, cackling. He slapped a bony knee and spilled tea on his crossed ankles. The laughter triggered a spasm of coughs that the war chief finally brought under control, though not without effort. The tea seemed to soothe his irritated throat.

“Ahh, the foundling son of Lone Walker has poor talent for lying. Much like Lone Walker himself,” Two Stars said, his formidable veneer tempered now with amusement. “You have become a skilled hunter, so I hear. Now you count coup on the buffalo, elk, deer, and when your belly grows empty, you simply call out and the game comes to your lodge to sacrifice themselves.” Two Stars nodded sagely, his gray braids dangling as he bowed forward. “Such magic in one so young.”

He sighed and finished his tea as Jacob shifted and squirmed, grateful the old man could not see his embarrassment. And Jacob vowed Yellow Eagle and Otter Tail would pay for their loose tongues. Two Stars settled against his backrest and folded his hands across the shallow draft of his belly.

“Let no anger steal into your heart. A man's life is empty without magic.” Two Stars scratched at his leathery neck; it sounded as if he were raking his fingernails across a stiff, dried-out hide. He started to elaborate, paused, and decided to keep some memories to himself.

“Can a woman be magic?” Jacob asked shyly.

“All women are magic. But there is good medicine and bad medicine. Who do you mean?” Two Stars' seamed features brightened. “Has a girl caught your eye, you-who-were-not-born-of-us-yet-are-one-of-us. Sparrow Woman will be pleased.”

“The woman I have seen is not of our village. Nor of any village it seems.” Once again, Jacob described the young woman who had eluded him and who took on the aspects of an apparition the more he described her. And when he had finished, Two Stars tilted his head back, his mouth hung open, and the muscles along his throat stood out as if threatening to rip through the skin.

Jacob stared at the old warrior in disbelief, wondering if the man was dying. Instead, Two Stars gave a loud cry. “And the child,
Saaa-vaaa-hey
! Does he live, still?” The blind warrior's bones creaked as he stood and reached out his hand. “Jacob Sun Gift!” Jacob immediately crossed to the old man's side and offered his arm for support. “Take me to your father!”

“But I don't understand,” Jacob protested. He had come to Two Stars for advice. The war chief's reaction had come as a complete surprise. And Jacob was uncertain how to react to it. So he did as he was told and brought the old warrior out of the sepulchral confines of the tepee and into the morning sunlight.

Calling Dove looked up from the hide she was scraping and uttered a sharp protest, ordering Jacob to stop and leave her husband alone. Her worst fear was that Two Stars might die and leave her to fare alone among this high country band of Blackfeet.

“Be still, Cut-nose Wife!” Two Stars cruelly snapped. “While I live it is good to feel the warmth of the sun on my face.”

Calling Dove dutifully returned her attention to the task at hand but the war chief's rebuke had deeply wounded her.

Old man and young, blind man and sharp-eyed youth, continued through the village at an old man's pace. There were children playing and young girls hurrying to the hillsides to search for succulent wild roots or to bathe in the lake while the few remaining young men rode out of Medicine Lake Canyon to patrol the valley and the pass beyond. The lodge of Two Stars occupied a spot roughly in the center of the village and Jacob had to follow a winding path among the lodges as he guided Two Stars toward the lodge of Lone Walker.

The Blackfeet highly esteemed the war chief at Jacob's side; man, woman, and child cleared out of Two Stars' way. A few minutes later Jacob reached his father's lodge. Sparrow Woman sat outside, her shadow stretched forth on the brightly painted walls of the tepee as she busily repaired a moccasin for her husband. She spied her son and Two Stars, ducked her head inside the tepee, and a few seconds later emerged to resume her work. Jacob noticed a horse was tethered nearby and it hadn't been there earlier when he had left his supposedly asleep father to visit Two Stars. When Lone Walker emerged dressed for the trail, it only confirmed Jacob's suspicions that the spirit singer knew more than he was letting on.

Lone Walker was dressed in buckskin shirt and leggings and carried a heavy capote on his arm, which he draped over the back of his horse. Sparrow Woman finished her repair and Lone Walker slipped the calf-high moccasin onto his bare right foot. He seemed a bit embarrassed that Jacob had discovered him before Lone Walker had slipped away.

“You're leaving, my father?” Jacob said as he brought Two Stars up to the tepee. The blind man turned toward the sound as Lone Walker replied.

“Yes.”

“To the backbone of the world?”

“Yes,” Lone Walker answered, unable to lie to his son however easy it would make things.

“I'm going with you,” Jacob said.

“No!” Lone Walker was emphatic.

“Stop me.” Jacob brushed past the spirit singer and entered the tepee. Lone Walker glanced toward his wife, who held up her hands in a gesture of helplessness.

“Do you think it is she?” Two Stars spoke.

“Then Jacob has told you,” Lone Walker said, kneeling by the war chief, his counselor and friend.

“I told him.” Jacob reappeared with an armful of trail gear. He carried extra powder and shot, a parfleche of jerked meat, a capote, and a cap made from the pelt of a red fox and adorned with an eagle feather and quill beadwork. “Now someone tell
me
what is going on. I saw a girl. I don't know who she is, but I wish to find her. I think she is of our people, but I don't know her name.”

“Tewa,” Two Stars said softly, sounding frail yet anxious. “The daughter of my daughter. I have not seen her for fifteen summers. Yet what other young woman of our people lives upon the backbone of the world?”

Jacob sat by the old man's side. The white Indian was confused and showed it. He looked beseechingly at his mother, who at last took up his cause.

“Husband, there is great magic here,” said Sparrow Woman. “First, buffalo spirit comes to our son. Then the daughter of the wolf.
Saa-vaa
, you must tell him.” She blushed as she rose and placed herself between Lone Walker and his mount. She placed a restraining hand upon his arm and he could not avoid the wisdom in her gaze.