The Year the Cloud Fell

by Kurt R A Giambastiani

The man before her did not hesitate. He turned and applied his bulk to the crowd.

  “Eestseohtse’e is here,” he said in a loud voice. “Speaks While Leaving must address the Council.”

  A path appeared, lined with reverent faces. She heard her whispered name precede her like wind through tall grass, surrounding her but never coming near.

  Eestseohtse’e, the wind sighed. It is Eestseohtse’e.

  She began to follow her escort but tripped and stumbled to her knees. The wind held its breath. Her days without food or rest fell upon her and made the world dim. Friendly hands lifted her to her feet. She thought of thanking them but in concentrating on her goal the thought evaporated.

  The Council lodge was very tall. It stood before her, imposing, its top so very far away. The lodgepoles stuck out of the smokehole like a bristle of quills and from their tips hung over-the-smokes—decorations made of long tufts of buffalo hair and small silver bells that talked to one another in the lazy breeze.

  She stopped at the door to the lodge and looked at the faces behind her. She saw those she knew and those she did not. She saw faces of those she had healed or whose children she had healed. She saw the relations of those who had been beyond her aid. She saw warriors and wives, grandfathers and grandmothers. And in them all she saw herself reflected. She saw clearly the hope her vision had brought, the hope of a world where Ma’heo’o protected the People, and where battle was only a matter of honor, not of survival.

  But she also saw the name of Tsêhe’êsta’ehe—Long Hair. The name brought confusion and pain at the memory of those lost in the battle and fires along the Big Salty. Many of the People had died attempting to defend that land. Their names were still sung in lonely moments. She saw the pain of past loss cloud the vision of future peace and she knew that only she could cleanse their hearts, if indeed anyone could.

  She turned from them and faced the dark interior of the Council lodge. All was silent, within and without, her only companion the drum of her own heartbeat.

  One of the young chiefs who guarded the door beckoned with two fingers. She swallowed with a mouth suddenly dry and stepped from the past—from the vision and the dance—into the darkness and its reality.

  For a moment she was blind, but soon the lodgeskin above her became pale and the dark shapes on the ground became stern-faced men seated around a small, ceremonial fire. Smoldering sagebrush created a smoky spiral that spun as it ascended into the sunlight. It gave the scent of holiness to an air already heavy with tension. The sixty men—the forty-four chiefs of the People plus the sixteen from the allied tribes; the Inviters, the Little Star People, the Sage People, and the Earth Lodge Builders—sat cross-legged in a double-circle, the youngest of them closest to the door and the eldest and most respected toward the back. In the vá’ôhtáma—the place of honor furthest from the door—sat the four principal chiefs. Eldest among them was Three Trees Together, a venerable and most respected man of the People whose father had fought the iron-shirt-vé’hó’e of the south.

  “Nenáasêstse,” he said. “Come here so I can see you.” He patted the ground beside him.

  No one spoke as she walked around the outside of the circle of chiefs. She passed behind One Who Flies and Storm Arriving who sat near the wall. She passed behind her father, One Bear, who sat with the younger chiefs. When she reached the back of the lodge, Three Trees Together patted the ground again. She knelt at his side.

  He touched the rip in her sleeve, touched the dried blood on her arm. She felt his gaze searching her face. “You have had a hard ride, Daughter.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “And you have something you wish us to hear.”

  “Yes. About One Who Flies.”

  He lifted a hand that had seen a hundred summers. “Tell us,” he invited her. “We will listen.” And then he smiled, softly, gently. It filled her heart, his smile, and made her breath come easier.

  As she faced the circle of chiefs, she saw much hatred there, especially in the chiefs from the Inviters who had suffered the most and lost the most at the hands of the father of One Who Flies. She needed something extra to give her words greater weight.

  She went to the fire. She took four sprigs of grandfather-sage from the bundle that lay near the firepit. She touched the leaves to the coals. They crackled and snapped and curled up like a living thing. When they began to smoke she took them from the fire and placed them on the floor before her. The pungent smoke rose in a thick coil. She passed first one hand, then the other, through the cleansing smoke. Then she pulled the smoke down each leg and down each arm saying a silent prayer each time. The smoke purified her. Finally, with both hands she pulled the smoke over her head, completing the ritual. The chiefs would know now that when she spoke, she spoke the truth.

  “I have heard some of the words you have said about this man,” she said, pointing to One Who Flies. “They are wise words. They are cautious words. But I have seen something that you have not, and it is something you must know before you decide about this man.”

  She stood so that all could see her. She pointed at One Who Flies. “That man fell from the sky. I saw a thing that was like a cloud, but was not a cloud. It was white and it was big and it floated high up in the sky and it rumbled with thunder. I saw lightning flash upon it, too, but unlike any cloud it fell and after it fell I found him. One Who Flies. And when I saw his face, I knew that I had met him once before. This is the man from my vision, the one who will help us turn back the bluecoats of the Horse Nations.

  “He is the one I foretold.” The chiefs were disturbed by her words and looked at one another for answers. “But there is more you must know,” she continued. “After the cloud fell and the patrol came and left with One Who Flies, I saw another bluecoat; a survivor. He was wounded but alive and able to walk. He had hidden in the woods as I had. I tried to kill him but all I had was a stick and he had a pistol. He killed my whistler and I fled, thinking it better to tell you than end up dead with the Council not knowing.”

  She stepped back away from the firepit. “That is all I have to say.” The chiefs were silent as she made her way around the perimeter toward the door.

  Three Trees Together spoke.

  “Nóxa’e,” he said. “Stay with us a little while.”

  She agreed, unable to refuse the invitation, and seated herself outside the circle of the Council.

  All remained in quiet thought, considering Speaks While Leaving’s words. Then Two Roads, warrior chief of the Kit Fox soldiers, rose to speak. He was a brave warrior of many years and his arms and chest bore the scars of many battles. “Speaks While Leaving was right to tell this to the Great Council and I do not doubt her story.” Heads around the circle signaled their agreement. “There is one thing I do not understand, however. If you knew that One Who Flies was the man from your vision, why did you leave him alone on the prairie?”

  Two Roads sat, indicating that he was done. Speaks While Leaving stood. “I knew Storm Arriving was on patrol in the area. I knew he would see the smoke and would come and find One Who Flies.” She sat.

  Two Roads stood again. “But why did you leave?”

  Speaks While Leaving had known this question would come. She could only give one answer. “That is between Storm Arriving and me,” she said, and put it to rest. No one would pry further, at least not publicly. Queries would be made, quietly, one-to-one, and the truth would be known if it was not already—there were no secrets among the People—but Storm Arriving would not be shamed as he might were she to bring their private matters into the Council lodge.

  One Bear stood. Though the youngest of the chiefs of the Closed Windpipe band, he was highly respected. His chest and arms bore scars—some were the jagged lines earned in battle, but most of his were the methodical stripes and patches of a skin sacrifice. Eight finger-long lines on each arm, and two rectangular patches on his chest spoke of his devotion to the People. Speaks While Leaving listened with pride as her father spoke.

/>   “I, too, believe the words of Speaks While Leaving,” he said, “but not because she is my daughter. Her visions have always come true, given time, and when we danced her vision of the cloud-that-fell, we all felt the power of it.

  “I believe the claims of One Who Flies as well. It makes sense to me. We could not ask for a better tool than the son of an enemy’s greatest chief. As an ally, this man could tell us much. As a hostage, we could make Long Hair suffer and fear for his son’s life. And as a corpse, he is one less enemy to fight.

  “But this news of another bluecoat makes trouble for us. If he survived, Long Hair will learn of it. He will surely come after his son and he may come soon. We must be very careful in what we decide to do.”

  Dark Eagle rose before One Bear had retaken his seat—a rudeness that brought scowls of disapproval from the others.

  “We have been careful too long,” the young chief said heatedly. “It is time we dealt with this like the thing that it is: a war. Until we beat them, the vé’hó’e will continue to come into our land. I say that Ma’heo’o has brought us the son of Long Hair so that Long Hair will come to us. He will come, and we will attack him and kill him and feed him to our walkers. Then the vé’hó’e will leave us alone.”

  The impetuous chief sat down and, despite his disrespect to One Bear, everyone gave his words silent regard. At last, Three Trees Together spoke from his place in the vá’ôhtáma.

  “We have heard much today, and we must decide what to do. What shall we do with the vé’ho’e called One Who Flies, and what will that mean for our future? We must not decide this now. We must go and think and hear the wisdom of the People. We will meet again tonight, when the crickets are singing. Then we will decide.”

  The chiefs all rose from their places and filed out of the lodge. Outside, the crowd began to spread out with the news. Word would radiate quickly, ideas would be discussed over chores or a pipe of tobacco, and opinions would form and be shared. By evening, the chiefs would have heard from their clans and societies and they would reconvene to create a consensus. It took time, but long history had proven that the method was sound.

  Speaks While Leaving waited as the chiefs left the lodge. Then Storm Arriving rose and walked to the door, One Who Flies behind him. Speaks While Leaving lowered her gaze as the tall warrior approached. He stopped as he passed her and took a breath to speak, but the breath caught in his throat.

  She reached out for him before she could think. She froze with her hand suspended in midair, so close to his arm that she could feel the heat from his skin. They stood there for a moment in that way—nearly touching, nearly speaking—until he took another step and was gone from the lodge. One Who Flies followed him.

  She was alone then. The shaft of sunlight through the smokehole made the shadows dark and solid. She saw nothing in the darkness but her hand, hanging there where it had come so close to touching him. So close. She heard again his breath, the word almost spoken, the word that would free them both from their pride and their stubbornness. She ached to hear it, to hear his voice.

  Tears welled, hot and sharp. She did not fight them. She let them overtake her vision. They made the shadows writhe and ripple. They spilled from her eyes and fell into extinction against the hard, dry ground. She looked up. Sunlight filled her sight with white blindness like the world of her visions. She closed her eyes against it, and the blindness retreated. The tears advanced.

  George rushed to catch up with Storm Arriving. “What was that about?” he asked.

  The Indian wore a scowl that spoke of death and mayhem. “The Council is considering. They will meet again tonight and decide your fate.”

  “No, that much was obvious. I meant the woman. What did she—”

  “That was Speaks While Leaving, daughter to One Bear, a chief of the Closed Windpipe band. She told the Council that she saw your cloud as it fell from the sky.”

  George shook his head. “I mean between her and you. What just happened between her and….”

  Storm Arriving had stopped and George felt the Indian’s scowl turn upon him. His words became dust in his mouth.

  “I apologize,” he said. “She just seemed…I just meant…nothing. I meant nothing. I apologize.”

  They resumed their walk back toward the lodge, though at a much reduced pace.

  “How many wives do you have, One Who Flies?”

  The question took George off-guard and he laughed in surprise. The glare returned and he held up his hands. “I’m sorry. It’s just that in my country we never have more than one wife.”

  Storm Arriving agreed. “That is the usual way among the People, as well,” he said. “Do you have one?”

  “No.”

  They walked a bit more. George was not sure, but they seemed to be taking a more roundabout path to their destination than the one they had traveled in the morning.

  “Do you have a paramour?” the Indian asked. The word seemed odd coming from such a man, but George made no comment and simply answered the question.

  “No, I do not,” he said.

  It was bright as they walked past the lodges at the limits of the encampment and out towards the river. The dust that had dogged their footsteps did not follow them into the rough prairie grass. Sunlight reflected from stalks that bent in the ever-present breeze. From the river, the squeals of children at play could be heard. From the woods to the west George could see women returning with bundles of sticks for the evening fires, walking in a line as they came down from the hills; a hundred dark-clad figures singing an eerie tune as they marched toward camp all a-bristle with branches and twigs.

  Like Great Birnham Wood on the move toward Dunsinane, George thought.

  “Then you know nothing of women?” came the question.

  He shrugged. “I would not say that. I just haven’t found the right one to marry.”

  Storm Arriving picked up a stone and threw it out over the prairie. “I have.”

  “Speaks While Leaving?”

  The Indian shrugged. “Except she will not have me.”

  George ventured his opinion carefully. “Back at the Council lodge, she seemed to have some feelings for you,” he said. “But she would not look you in the eye.”

  They stopped walking. They gazed out to the east where the valley opened onto the plain. Clouds with towering white crowns slid across the land on blue-grey bellies. Columns of light slanted down from heaven to touch the earth.

  “I forbade her,” Storm Arriving said as they regarded the epic view. “In the third year of our courtship we had an argument. She said she could never be the wife of a man who thought as I did. She told me not to speak to her until I changed my mind. Out of spite I told her not to look at me until I did.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  Storm Arriving squatted and picked up another stone, a round green stone the size of a hen’s egg. He took two long powerful steps and threw it. It disappeared from sight while still in the air and George did not hear it hit the ground.

  “It has been four years.”

  George picked up a similar stone and felt its weight in his hand. He stepped up alongside Storm Arriving and threw it with all his might. It remained in sight and landed with an audible thud.

  “There is such a thing as too much pride,” he said.

  The Indian smiled as he looked out across the world. “If I am too proud, then she is too stubborn.”

  “Is there a difference?” George asked.

  Storm Arriving laughed out loud, a sudden, almost bitter sound. “No,” he said. “I suppose there is no difference.”

  They turned and began to walk back toward the camp.

  “By the way,” George said. “What was the argument about?”

  Storm Arriving’s smile lingered.

  “You,” he said. “The argument was about you, and about what we should do when you came.”

  George walked alongside his tall companion, putting the pieces of conversation together. “Wait. Do
you mean to say that four years ago you knew that I was coming?”

  Storm Arriving cocked his head to one side. “Not you exactly, but someone like you. And we did not expect you to be the son of a hated enemy.”

  George ignored for the moment the comment about his father. “And you knew this…someone…would come? Four years ago you knew this?”

  “No. Not four. Twelve. We have known you would come for twelve years.”

  George continued walking, mouth agape. “How?”

  The Indian’s smile had finally faded, replaced by features of a solemn mien. The two men were walking—aimlessly it seemed to George—but Storm Arriving had made a point of listening to every word George had spoken. Now, the Indian took a moment to phrase his statements with great care.

  “Speaks While Leaving is a woman of great power. Ma’heo’o and the ma’heono have sent her visions on several occasions. They have always come true. Her first vision came when she was very young. It was in the Ball Game Moon, and she was given the vision of a great snow that would come upon the camp. No one believed her except her father. He brought all his whistlers’ eggs into his lodges. During the night the snow fell and the air became bitter cold. Many families lost many eggs that night. They believed in the truth of her visions after that.

  “Then, twelve years ago she was given a very powerful vision. She saw a great conflict between the vé’hó’e and the People. She saw a cloud fall from the sky and a man upon it, brought to earth by the thunder beings. With his help, she saw the People make an end to the conflict.”

  They were walking through the camp once more. The families were spread out—a group of lodges here, another group thirty or so yards away. Women sat in the sun and worked at hides or sewing or grinding meal on flat stones. Men sat in groups making arrows or shields or talking and smoking their pipes. They all looked up as the odd pair walked past, but they neither spoke nor made signs of greeting to Storm Arriving. It did not seem to concern him, so George gave it no mind.

  “Four years ago, I asked Speaks While Leaving what she thought the vision meant and how she thought it would come to pass. She told me she thought that you would be—comment dit-on—un homme philosophique? She said that you would be like an advocate for the People; that you would help us make the vé’hó’e understand.”