by D C Young
Sam smiled again.
I guess chivalry isn’t completely dead!
“Knock yourself out, fella,” she replied as she turned to go inside the gas station building. The door closed behind her as Lone Horn unscrewed the SUV’s gas cap and lifted the gas pump.
It wasn’t long before they were on the road and headed for Back water Bridge.
“I thought we were west of the Missouri. Why would we be crossing it to get to the reservation? Isn’t the land west of the river as well?”
Lone Horn explained that they would actually be crossing an off shoot of the river, a part of the Cannon Ball river system which emptied into the Missouri and formed the western border of the Standing Rock reservation. There were actually two bridges and they were very important to the reservation because without them both the Standing Rock Sioux would be completely cut off from Bismarck with the loss of access to route 1806.
His words rang out in the cabin of the SUV like a prophecy as they simultaneously noticed black smoke billowing on the horizon ahead of them.
“What in the hell is happening?” Sam asked, pressing the accelerator a little to speed up the vehicle.
“Please Spirit, let the bridge be sound.”
As they crested the small hill in the road and looked down towards Back Water Bridge, Lone horn’s worst fears were realized. There were sheriff’s patrol cars and for trucks parked on the north side of the bridge; blocking the entire road. Jets of water were spraying from the fire engines onto the bridge in long, relentless streams.
On the south side, there was a sea of people. Sam could make out placards being held up in the air, flags being waved and a banner being carried in the front of the crowd. Lone Horn got out of the car and stood on the side of the road watching. It seemed the two forces had been at a stand-off for the better part of the day.
Sam joined Lone Horn at his vantage point at watched the drama unfolding on the river banks. Soon another fire erupted on the south bank behind the protesters and that was all it took for the first responders to snap. The water jets were turned on the advancing crowd of people in an effort to aim at the erupting fire. The crowd went wild with rage. They charged at the patrol cars and fire trucks barricading the north end of the bridge and the jets were turned on them to push the crowd back.
“Shouldn’t we go down there and try to help?” Sam asked concerned at what she was seeing.
“Which side would you start the reasoning with, Miss Moon?” Lone Horn asked sarcastically. “Can you tell from here what has started this uprising? Which side is in the right and which is in the wrong?”
Sam remained silent.
“Neither do I. The troops have come to the plains, Sam Moon, and I fear things will unfold this time just as they always have in the times before,” Lone Horn said lowering his head sadly and turning from the scene. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“We’ll camp a little ways out and wait till dawn to cross the river.”
Defeated, Sam turned and followed him back to the SUV, turned it around in the road and drove back in the direction of the Crossroads service station.
Chapter Six
“Ishta,” the voice of Black Elk called out.
Tammy recognized the voice immediately. She resisted his call, rolling over in her bed and pulling the comforter up over her head. Though she wasn’t afraid and knew that the ancient man meant her no harm, she really did not want to be swept away, not in that particular moment, anyway. Some other time, maybe, but for then she just wanted to get some sleep.
“Ishta, why do you ignore my call?” Black Elk asked.
Tammy did her very best to block his voice out. She had been learning to gain a little bit more control over her gift, if that’s what one wanted to call it, but the pull of Black Elk was much too strong for her and before she knew it, she was sitting in front of the ancient shaman once more.
“What do you want?” she sighed.
“You did not like the stories I told you?” Black Elk asked. “You do not like knowing things that you did not know before?”
“It is not that,” Tammy replied. “It’s just…”
“You did not understand the stories?” he asked.
“I understand the stories,” she replied. “But what do they mean? What is their purpose? Why did you tell them to me?”
“I told them to you so that you would know things that you do not know,” he replied.
“So, now I know,” she answered. “Do you need to tell me another story, or something? I really don’t see any reason why I need to know these things and you might as well save your breath.”
A low chuckle came from Black Elk’s throat. The crooked teeth of his grin were on the verge of being frightening. “You are yet a youth, though fully grown.”
“Well I am a teenager,” she replied. “So, yeah, I’m yet a youth.”
“In form, perhaps, and in some of your attitudes,” he responded. “I suppose we all cling to remnants of our youth even after our souls have lived for thousands of years.”
“What are you talking about?” Tammy frowned at him.
“I suppose you have been asleep for such a long time that you are not aware of who you are,” Black Elk responded.
“Whom I am?” The crease in her brow deepened. A half smile formed on her lips. “I suppose you are going to tell me that I am Thorn Girl.”
“That would be the truth, Ishta,” he replied.
“Seriously?” Tammy responded. “I thought I was Ishta.”
“Ishta is a term of endearment in my tongue,” Black Elk answered. “It would be like saying my daughter.”
“So, you are serious, then?” The discovery that he was serious did little to rid her of the frown or the confusion causing it.
“I am serious,” Black Elk said in a grave tone. He remained silent for several moments as his eyes penetrated through her and into her soul once more.
Was it true? Was she really Thorn Girl? She couldn’t believe she was actually considering the question. Who in their right mind would believe that they held the spirit of someone from the ancient past; of some Native American girl? The problem was that she could tell that Black Elk was telling her the truth and because of what she had witnessed being around her mom, Allison and Rennie, the paranormal had pretty much become normal to her. She still didn’t know why Black Elk had chosen to reveal that identity to her.
“So, why are you telling me this?”
“Because Wazeya has gotten out of the pit,” he answered simply. “And we need your help.”
“How am I going to help?” Tammy protested. “I thought you said this Wazeya dude was supposed to be powerful.”
“He is powerful.”
“So, why don’t you send your Wakinyan, or whatever his name is, you know, the Chosen Warrior dude?”
“You don’t remember the story, then?”
“You mean that because he was so sad he turned himself into a bird?”
“A falcon.”
“In my tongue, that’s a bird,” she snapped. She immediately felt bad for having been disrespectful. Her mom would ground her for a month for talking like that to an elder, probably longer for talking like that to a spiritual elder, but she was frustrated. She was being asked to do something that was well beyond normal, maybe even beyond paranormal. That still does not excuse speaking to an elder that way, she could hear her mom’s voice saying in her head. “I’m sorry for snapping like that, but this is confusing for me.”
“I understand, Ishta,” Black Elk responded with a patient tone.
“I don’t know what to do. How can I help? What can I do?”
“You can help Wakinyan regain his warrior’s heart,” Black Elk answered as if he was asking her to go pick up a loaf of bread and gallon of milk at the grocery store.
“I thought the guy turned into a bird.”
“He did,” Black Elk responded with a smile. “Do you remember why he turned into a falcon?”
“Because
he was in love with Thorn Girl and because he was sad.” The moment she responded to his question, she began to see what it was that Black Elk was about to ask her to do. “You want me to… Uh uh, no, no way. I don’t like birds, especially not big birds.”
“Why don’t you like big birds?” he grinned as if he already knew the answer.
“Because they can fly around your head and peck at you and big birds, especially eagles and hawks and falcons, have those big, long claws that they can stab into your skin and… I don’t trust them,” she blurted. The moment she answered, she realized that Thorn Girl had refused Wakinyan because he had broken his promise and she did not trust him. Was that why she didn’t trust birds? Because she had been deceived by birds in a past life? That’s ridiculous!
“Let’s suppose I helped you. I’m not saying I will, but suppose I did, how am I supposed to talk to a bird or a falcon? I don’t speak falcon.”
“The very same way you are speaking to me. Your gift goes beyond languages, Ishta. It is a gift of your spirit.”
Her mom, Allison and Rennie had all told her that before, so it wasn’t that hard for her to accept. “So, what happens if Wazeya remains free?”
“In very simple language?” Black Elk asked.
“Yes, please.”
“He is a powerful force. He is what your people would refer to as wendigo, but one with several hundred years of anger stored up. In one word, he is DESTRUCTION.”
***
Lone Horn had struck up a good, warming fire in the shallow pit he had dug in the dirt. While he had been busy gathering wood, Sam had unloaded the travel case that housed the equipment she had brought for the trip and pulled out the slender tent from among the few creature comforts she’d packed for just such a situation. With a quick glance over the instructions, she had it erected and anchored to the ground beneath the large oak tree they had chosen to camp near.
“What else did you bring to the wilderness, Laura Ingalls?” Lone Horn joked.
Sam laughed at the Little House on the Prairie reference. “Not much more honestly. I mean, what do we really need to survive out here in our condition. We don’t need warmth or food or water. Or this tent or fire for that matter.
“But old habits die hard,” Lone Horn interjected.
“Yes, they do,” Sam concurred. “Assimilation has been the means by which our kind has survived, I believe. I figured during the course of the investigation, that I might have to camp among the protesters at Sacred Stone and I’m sure there’s no Holiday Inn there. I brought what would make my encampment look normal by the other campers’ standards.”
You’re completely right,” Lone horn said solemnly. “You haven’t got any whiskey in that case, have you?”
Sam laughed heartily. “I don’t drink whiskey,” she replied. “Just wine… and I didn’t have the good sense to bring any.”
“Good thing I got this flask at the Crossroads then,” he said smiling and pulling a bottle of Wild Turkey from his jacket pocket.
Sam set up the two camp chairs and pulled a blanket over her shoulders as she got comfortable in one of them. After poking at the fire a little longer, Lone Horn sat down beside her and handed her the bottle of booze. Sam twisted off the cap and took a sip, it wasn’t terrible and her preternatural body didn’t seem to reject it out rightly. She took another sip and handed it back to Lone Horn. Together they stared into the flames in silence and reverie passing the bottle back and forth.
***
“The bridge is under siege,” Black Buffalo said as White Eagle sat down across the fire from him in the old man’s tepee. The shelter was beautiful; erected specially for him in the traditional way by the young men from Cannon Ball. The skins had been tanned and stretched, then painted with murals of buffalo hunts, mountains, rivers and eagles flying over the prairies.
“What do you mean under siege? We are not in a war, are we?”
“The sheriffs say the protesters have been setting fires on it to destroy it and so they closed it to avoid further degradation. But the people here believe it was closed to cut us off from Bismarck and other outside access.”
“So the people went to clear it?”
“Yes,” the old man replied.
“I knew things were getting heated up here again,” White Eagle sighed. “It’s as if Black Elk was telling me to come here as soon as I could.”
“Black Elk? Of the Sioux? He spoke to you? What do mean by that?”
“He came to me in a dream a few nights ago and spoke of the burial grounds at Cannon Ball and a wendigo.”
“He said the word ‘wendigo’?”
“He did.”
Black Buffalo sighed heavily and rocked back on his crossed legs. He seemed to be thinking very deeply about something and the suspense was killing White Eagle. He watched as the old man once again leaned forward towards the fire at the center of the tepee and carefully lifted his pipe from a small pillow. He stared at a space above White Eagles head while he filled the bowl with tobacco and lit it. After a few puffs, he passed it to White Eagle and began to speak once again.
“Black Elk has come to me in visions also. At first, it wasn’t clear what he was trying to tell me and now I know why.”
“Why is that?”
“He was only preparing me to receive the people he gave his message to.”
People? Do you mean he has visited others besides me?”
“He told me so. I will meet three of you but there are others he has visited,” Black Buffalo paused to accept the pipe back. “This is already much bigger than just us, White Eagle. People are already dying to slake the beast’s hunger and that will not stop anytime soon.”
“Who else is coming here?”
“That I do not know but I am sure I will know them when I see them.”
“So what do we do until then? Wait?”
“Precisely, son. We wait,” the old man replied, blowing a long trail of smoke from his mouth and passing the pipe back to White Eagle.
Chapter Seven
It was still dark when Lone Horn and Sam awoke in the camp chairs to an empty field around them and the last dying embers of the fire. Neither of them spoke a word as they cast off their blankets and stood to stretch out their backs. Sam began packing up the camping gear while Lone Horn put the fire out safely and hoisted the repacked travel case into the back of the SUV.
As cautiously as she could, Sam pulled out onto the road and headed towards Backwater Bridge. There was fog lying thick on the road but she chose to use her enhanced night vision in lieu of the car’s headlights.
Not knowing who or what lay ahead of them at the bridge, the two chose to proceed with extreme caution. Both of them needed to get to Sacred Stone Camp that day and neither wanted to deal with any more unnecessary delays.
When they got to the crest of the little hill, Sam slowed to a stop. They looked out over the valley and felt a little relief. The barricades were down, the emergency vehicles were all gone and no one was in sight.
“Ready… set…” Sam whispered.
“GO!” Lone Horn finished for her.
With that, Sam stepped on the accelerator and simultaneously turned her high beam headlights on. She wanted to be able to temporarily blind or frighten anyone who might try a last minute ambush of the vehicle as they sped towards the bridge. No one appeared and they quickly crossed the river and kept going at a similar speed until Lone Horn pointed to the sky and said, “The fires of Sacred Stone Camp.”
Sam smiled and said, “Well, it’s about time.”
Once they parked the car in the tiny dirt patch reserved for the visiting authorities and news reporting crews, Sam and Lone Horn made straight for the Great Tent. Several tribes people and some reporters were already sitting at the makeshift dining tables sharing conversation over coffee and breakfast. They barely looked up to glance at the newcomers.
After a swift look over the room, Lone Horn said, “He’s not here.”
“Who?”
“Black Buffalo, the Holy man.”
“Oh, it just occurred to me that I never asked who we were coming to see here.”
“That’s because we weren’t coming here so urgently until I saw the melee at the bridge yesterday.”
“Indeed.”
They turned from the huge white tent and surveyed the rest of the camp. Suddenly, Lone Horn pointed to a traditional tepee at the center of camp and said, “That will be his tepee.”
“How do you know?”
Lone Horn chuckled and replied, “It’s the biggest.”
“That simple, huh?”
“Yes, that simple. We Lakota don’t like to over complicate things. Important man, big house.”
“That’s actually not so different from L.A.”
As they approached the entry flap of Black Buffalo’s tepee, a man emerged. Tall and well built, Sam couldn’t have confused him for anyone else in that moment.
“White Eagle!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here? We were supposed to meet in Fort Yates today.”
“Sam?” White Eagle replied, surprised. He looked Lone Horn up and down inquiringly, not sure what to make of the newcomer. “It looks to me like a lot of our plans have changed since we last spoke.”
“That’s the truth.” Sam put her hand on Lone Horn’s arm and made the introduction. “White Eagle, this is my friend, Lone Horn. He was asked by some mutual acquaintances to help me on the investigation and keep me out of the way in light of the ongoing protests and such. He is Sioux.”
“I can tell. Welcome brother,” White Eagle replied. “I’m glad your acquaintances were so forward thinking. I wish I had been. That stuff out at the bridge yesterday wasn’t exactly unforeseen. It was just a matter of time before the people took matters in their own hands and tried to reopen it.”
“How long has it been closed?”
“Several weeks, on and off. A few days ago, two braves had to take a young injured woman off the reservation and across the bridge on horseback to meet the EMTs after the ambulance couldn’t make it through. They barely made it in time and that set the whole crowd off.”