Lakota Winds (Zebra Historical Romance) (6 page)

"What Fire Walker says is true, my chief," Gray Fox concurred.
"Many of the whites and those of other bands and tribes were struck
down by the evil. The hairy face said any man who returned to his
camp while sick would spread death among his people. We camped a
sun away until we were certain we did not carry the sickness with us,
for the hairy face said the sickness rears its head in one to three suns.
We are fortunate to be untouched by it."

"Many seasons ago, the white man brought another sickness to many
bands," the shaman reminded everyone who had gathered around to
listen, "a sickness which brought forth ugly marks upon their skin. This
is a sign to us to avoid the white-eyes or they will bring more evils to
us. Long ago, the whites were few and offered us friendship and trading.
With each new season, more come, and those who do will never leave
our lands unless we drive them away. Those who call themselves trappers, traders, peddlers, soldiers, and homesteaders roam our lands and claim
them as their own. Our grandfathers and fathers allowed many to hunt
and trap and travel our land; it was wrong and foolish, for they hunger
to stay, for more land and furs. They make paths they call roads across
our hunting grounds. They cut trees in our forests. They shoot buffalo,
deer, and elk. They dig into the face of Mother Earth to plant seeds to
grow their strange foods. They make wooden tepees with trees lashed
together around them; they make villages they call trading posts and
forts for soldiers. They bring weapons which spit fire and thunder. They
bring water which burns the throat and steals a man's head and causes
him to act foolish and to fall asleep. We grow smaller and weaker from
attacks by our Crow enemies and this white man's evil while our two
enemies grow stronger and larger."

While the shaman continued to speak, Chumani recalled the fierce
Crow attack two summers ago when she lost her husband and son.
Now, the Bird People were leaning toward becoming allies with the
white men, which would make a great force against them. If the Great
Spirit had chosen her to help defeat either or both forces, she was ready
and willing to do so, eager for revenge, especially upon one particular
Crow whom she would recognize if she saw his face again. If Wakantanka heard and answered her prayer, she would be guided to him. But
why must she take another husband, she wondered, and who would
that man be? There was none among her people who caused her heart
to sing and her body to warm; nor had her first mate. Surely she deserved
such happiness this next time.

"When Grandmother Earth was a young maiden and Wakinyan, the
Thunderbird Spirit, was angered, he hurled great thunderbolts across
the sky and made rips in it. The rains came for many seasons until the
world was almost covered with water by a great flood. The two-leggeds
and four-leggeds fled to higher and higher ground, but could not outrun
the waters. The People perished; their flesh and blood created the sacred
red stone from which our sacred pipe is made. When the waters flowed
to the edge of the world and mourning songs were sent skyward, the
Great Spirit sent a giant eagle to pick up a special maiden who was trapped on a tall peak. He carried her to the last tree on the highest
peak, to the Center of the Hoop of the World. There, he changed into
a mighty warrior and protected her until the waters returned to the
banks of their streams and rivers. Then they left the mountain and gave
birth to our nation. Wakinyan is angered again by the coming of the
white man and the attacks of our enemies. He has the power over life
and death to people, creatures, and the land, but he does not wish to
destroy all who live upon it. We must seek a way to defeat our enemies
so the sacred hills will not shake with the thunder of his voice again."

"How will we defeat such powerful enemies, Wise One?"

Sees-Through-Mist glanced at Chumani and smiled before he replied
to her brother, "Soon, Fire Walker, Wakantanka will give us a sign to
guide us to that path. It will come like the morning mist which blankets
the face of Mother Earth on a new sun. Long ago, when the Great
Spirit painted the flowers and they lowered their heads and asked where
they would go when the White Giant came from the north and they
were slain by his cold breath, Wakantanka said they would travel to
the Happy Hunting Ground on the rainbow which steals some of their
colors in passings. If we do not follow His message to us, we, too, will
travel that beautiful trail. Return to your tepees and work, my people,
and prepare yourselves for what lies ahead while we await the sign from
the Great Spirit."

Chumani headed for the forest to finish gathering wood with her
mother, her best friend, and other women. As they worked a short
distance away from the others, she whispered with Zitkala about what
the shaman had said and given to her, as the two shared even the
innermost secrets in their hearts. "What if I fail in my dream task, my
friend?"

"You will not fail, Dewdrops. Your skills are as great as any warrior's.
Your wits are keener than those of most men. Wakantanka would not
have chosen you if you are unworthy of your challenge."

"But what of the man I must bond with soon? I do not wish to take
another husband not of my choosing. Why must others pick them for
me?

"This time, Wakantanka does the picking, Dewdrops," Zitkala
reminded. "He knows and sees all; He will not make a bad choice for
you."

"I hope not, my friend. Would you not feel worried in my place?"

Zitkala laughed softly. "No man has touched my heart in such a
way. That is good, for no man wants me and I am happy to remain
alone on my sleeping mat and in my family's tepee. Since I have no
brothers, my father and mother need me there to hunt for them and
protect them."

Chumani knew why her friend believed herself undesirable to men:
Zitkala was quite masculine in appearance and manner. Yet, beneath that
misleading outer shell, she was very much a woman. Surely, Chumani
reasoned in hope, a great warrior would come along one sun to steal
Zitkala's heart, just as Wind Dancer had-No, Dewdrops, you must not
think of him! She chided herself.

"Soon, we must go to Mato Sapa so you can hang your son's hairlock
upon a prayer tree there; it is time to say a final farewell to him and
the past, for a different destiny shines before you."

Chumani's fingers touched the leather-bound hairlock she had worn
around her neck since her son's death. She vowed to never part with
it until his slayer was dead by her hand. How could she ever forget a
child she had carried within her body and reared to two winters old, a
son she had loved with all her heart despite a lack of similar emotion
for his father? Was it time to place this remaining reminder of him in
the hands of the Great Spirit? That was a decision to make later, but
for now a visit to Bear Butte to make offerings and send up prayers
was good.

Their chore finished, Chumani looked at her other companion on
the branch of a pine tree. "Home, Cetan," she instructed the hawk.
"Night approaches." As does my destiny.

Wind Dancer and Nahemana sat cross-legged in the sweat lodge which
had been constructed by their helpers and protectors, Red Feather, War
Eagle, and Strong Rock. Perspiration poured from their bodies, clad
only in breechclouts and moccasins. No fresh air entered the turtleback-shaped dome made of thick buffalo hides thrown over the bowed
limbs. It was stuffy and oppressive in there, but neither man complained
about the ritual which would purify their bodies in preparation for their
impending visionquests. For the previous two days in their small camp
on the northern side of Bear Butte, they had fasted and prayed before
entering the sweat lodge. Their three helpers-without talking and in
a reverent manner-heated rocks in a campfire outside, exchanged them
with chilled ones in a shallow pit in the initipi, and poured water over
the new additions which sent forth sizzling steam inside the darkened
enclosure.

Soon it would be time to sit upon a high location in Wakantanka's
view, eat the sacred peyote, and allow the Great Spirit to speak to
them in separate visions. They would remain there-exposed to the
elements-until their task was completed. Afterward, they would purify
themselves again, partake of food and water to replenish their strength,
rest for a while, and return to their camp. Once back with their people,
either their visions would be kept secret in their hearts and minds, or
would be shared with others if so commanded by Wakantanka.

Chumani and Zitkala approached the southern side of Mato Sapa
which sat upon the face of Mother Earth as a tall tepee, a short distance
from the Black Hills. Both knew that the Cheyenne, and most Indian
tribes, viewed the site as a spiritual one. Noavosse in the Cheyenne
tongue was where Sweet Medicine and Erect Horns of the Cheyenne
received their Maahotse-Four Sacred Arrows-the power of Esevone-
the Sacred Buffalo Hat-the Sun Dance, the war shield, and other
rituals and commands. People of many tribes, bands, and nations visited
Bear Butte to pray for guidance and protection, to give thanks for their
blessings, and to present offerings to Wakantanka. Even some white
men had encroached on this peaceful and powerful setting over a hundred winters past and continued to do so on occasion. Yet, rarely did
an Indian attack another Indian, as most believed it was bad medicine
to battle and slay on sacred ground or to interrupt a sacred ritual. For
that reason, the females felt safe in journeying together and being there
without the presence of men.

The women dismounted and made their way up a gently rising slope
to where other short trees and bushes were decorated with bits of cloth,
feathers, beaded objects, and leather pouches of special belongings. Some
areas were barren rock and others were dotted by evergreens and small
hardwoods and various grasses. Two steams crossed the surrounding
Plains near the base of two of its sides, opposite of each other, and
provided water for weary and thirsty travelers. The first flowers of the
new season mingled with verdant grass, their colorful heads and the
numerous blades swaying to and fro in a strong breeze. The day was
exceptionally warm, the sky was clear and blue, the sun was sinking
toward the heart of Mother Earth, and all snow had melted. Birds,
animals, and insects now flourished and feasted and roamed upon the
new growth. Those sights and sounds and smells filled the two women's
hearts and souls with the serenity of the Hoop of Life.

Zitkala-her hair secured by two thick braids with leather thongswas attired in a buckskin shirt, breechclout, and leggins, but, Chumani
wore a fringed dress. For her communion with the Great Spirit, her garment was simple and unadorned, and she wore no beaded wristlets
or choker. Even her long black hair was unbound and held no decorative
ties or rosettes.

After praying to Wakantanka to keep the spirit of her lost son close
to His side, Chumani removed his leather-enclosed hairlock and secured
it to a branch. She closed her dark brown eyes and said a final farewell
to him. As she reopened them, her gaze locked upon the two scars on
her left arm from cuts made there during the mourning of his death.
Those were two memories-one representing each winter of his lifeshe could never remove. The thought of joining with another man and
bringing forth another child was both elating and frightening to her.
It would be wonderful to hold another son in her arms, but it would
be an even worse torment to lose him to an enemy. Since her child's
death and her return to her parents' tepee, she had lived from sun to
sun without giving thought to any changes in her life.