A Find Through Time

by Marianne Petit

  Tucking himself through each hoop, Little Wolf intertwined and connected the hoops. He looked like a prisoner in a cage; which is where he would personally put him, Two Moons thought with venom, if he ever tried to harm his woman again. His palms were itching for a fight. His blood pumped. Soon he would get some answers, soon, when the dance was over.

  He drew his attention to the woman beside him. “Little Wolf holds Mother Earth around him, as all men are one with the forces around them.” He studied Blue Eyes' face, lit by the crackling fires throughout the camp, happy to see the deep interest in his words.

  “There are many worlds. Those above and those below. Many levels, many roads. As Little Wolf steps from one hoop to the other, as he brings each hoop over his head, he is traveling, passing and leaving behind a part of his being in one sphere, moving on through the next, until he steps into the fourth world. The world of the Great Mystery…”

  ****

  “Hambeday, means 'mysterious feeling'-a consciousness of the divine. So when you are dreaming, you are in another place, no?” John asked.

  Roy scratched his itchy palm and stared over the blazing campfire, listening as John continued.

  “It is said my people possess a great occult power. Our spirit is tuned into a higher level, to the vibes not commonly felt by others. So perhaps it is because we are one with the world around us that we not only live with nature, but are one and the same.” John, with a theatrical gesture, placed his hand to his heart. His eyes closed briefly. “So perhaps that is what keeps our spirit sensitive.”

  Roy shifted his position. Sensitive. That was a word that described how he felt. For the last hour his thoughts had been of Gabrielle. The darkness of the sky reminded him of her hair, the fire flaming before him-of her spirit. He had to find her.

  He picked up a rock and hurled it into the fire. Ashes flew and sparks of amber crackled.

  “So there are many songs out there. The fire sings, the rocks. Each has a language of their own. The earth sings and you must listen,” John stressed, nodding in his direction. “So, only then will you come to know the truth.”

  A powerful wind from the east swept across Roy's body and with it came a foreboding sense of the unexplained. “I'm not sure what you mean.”

  “When the spirit comes we don't ask questions. If you don't understand, hold onto it, the answer will follow.” The old man's voice was low, he had to strain to hear him.

  “The fire is energy. The flame, like a pulsing heartbeat is spreading energy and awareness within and around you. Let it fill you. Let its warmth, bring comfort.”

  John's voice was quiet, hypnotic, lulling and an unexplainable weighted down feeling seemed to surround Roy, taking hold. His eyes felt anchored, glued to the golden blaze.

  “When you are remembering the past you can only feel the emotions, but can't feel the scene. When you are reliving it, you become completely absorbed. So hear, see, touch, taste and smell the sights and sounds around you.”

  Roy's thoughts began to spin. The sweet smell of what he could only guess was marijuana, seeped up into his nostrils. Yes, that would explain this feeling of weightlessness, of expansiveness, a disconnection to his body, of floating.

  His throat dry, he swallowed, then swallowed again. The light of the fire seemed to dart back and forth. Muted flames leapt at him from all directions. He closed his eyes.

  A buzzing sensation like a million swarming bees, hovered above-around-beneath him. Vibrations of energy cloaked its warmth over and throughout, in every muscle, every bone, every tissue and every organ of his body. What was real, or seemed to be real, slipped into a crack in time.

  “What do you see?” John asked.

  Trance-like, Roy answered. “A man, a warrior.”

  “What is he doing?”

  “Staring-watching. There’s a ceremony.” Peering into his eyes was like looking into the warrior’s soul.

  “You share the same spirit.”

  Roy felt the man's longings, frustrations and love, yes love. They shared the same love. And he saw her, through this man's eyes; and the need to wrap his own arms around Gabrielle was so great his heart seemed to tighten and swell like a balloon that only she could burst.

  “Gabrielle!” He reached out his arms, seeing her in the distance.

  Only she could quell his growing need for her. Only she could make him feel whole. And this he knew, without a doubt.

  “So. Where are you now?”

  “In a village.” He heard himself say. “Surrounded by tepees. I hear drums-music.” Droning voices of chants filled his head. Rattles shook. He could taste the smoky fire on his tongue, could feel the night breeze ruffle through his hair.

  And a wind from the west took him-took him up to stand above the clouds, looking down over the battlefield, Custer's Battlefield. And there below, where once white slabs of stone had marked the dead, the ground ran red with blood; and the screams of men and the cries of the women filled his head. And then he saw her lying beneath the tree.

  “Oh, my god!” Roy gasped, feeling like the air had been knocked from his lungs. “Gabrielle!” The shouted word echoed in his ears. “N-ooo….”

  White lights flashed under the darkness of his lids like popping light bulbs, blinding him. In his reverie Roy felt himself catapulted through space and time. His body jerked. He began to shake. Broken images swirled around like bits of fractured glass. Blending, unrecognizable sounds roared in his ears like a passing, speeding train, leaving only the ringing wind and then echoing silence in its wake. He felt himself being sucked down; then a familiar heaviness settled in.

  He opened his eyes and stared into the flames.

  Something deep, dark and unsettling, embedded itself in his heart.

  John's droning voice seemed miles away. “So, she is your semantic link which has brought the two worlds together.”

  Physically and mentally drained, Roy slumped back in his chair and let the world of darkness as he knew it, embrace him in slumber.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Other worlds. Traveling through time. In a way that could be what Two Moons was saying. A breeze blew. Gabrielle shivered. He might believe her, if she told him. He might. Maybe he wouldn't think her strange, not if his people believed in more than just a heaven and hell. He had said many worlds. The music came to an abrupt stop.

  “Come. Soon the morning will be upon us. You must leave and get some sleep.” Gabrielle could hear the controlled tautness in Two Moons’ tone. His firm grip on her arm seemed possessive, his manner anxious.

  A twinge of disappointment squeezed. Sleep? That was the last thing she wanted. Why the sudden change in attitude? “What's wrong?”

  He cupped her chin in his hand, brushed a gentle finger across her jaw. “Nothing. Do not let your heart be heavy. It is not of your concern.”

  Was he kidding? He wanted her out of there. Why? Even now, seeing his attention focused on her, she got the feeling his thoughts were somewhere else. “Two Moons-”

  “Go,” he commanded.

  “Fine. I'll go.” For now. She swiveled slowly, teasingly, knowing only too well his gaze rested upon her back. With a voluptuous sway, she headed to his tepee. She reached his tent in a matter of minutes. Without hesitating she stepped behind the hide structure, then quickly doubled back to the dance site.

  Peeking from behind still another tepee, she saw Two Moons silhouetted by the fire talking with Kills Pretty.

  The sharp knife of jealousy prodded Gabrielle to take a faltering step from her hiding place. She caught herself and held back. She strained to listen to their words, annoyed to hear voices raised in Lakota. Damn! She swore beneath clenched teeth. She wished she understood what they whispered in the shadows.

  Kills Pretty pressed her body seductively against his. She locked her arms around his neck.

  Shock held Gabrielle rooted. Doubts aroused old feelings and uncertainties. She couldn't be wrong about him. She couldn't. He loved her, not Kills Pretty. S
o why? Why would he seek Kills Pretty out, when his desire for her had been so apparent? There had to be an explanation. He’d said she was no longer his slave. What did that mean, that he no longer wanted her? That she wasn't his responsibility? No, there had to be an explanation. She couldn't believe-didn't want to believe-all men were the same cheating…

  Two Moons withdrew Kills Pretty's arm from his neck and turned away with an abrupt twist. Gabrielle could see by his quick steps, by the tautness of his straight-backed body, his clenched hands and tight jaw, that he was mad-gloriously mad. A triumphant smile slid across her face as she watched him walk away, leaving Kills Pretty to sulk in the shadows.

  Quickly, Gabrielle followed him, ducking past tepees, darting behind people and bushes. Her gaze glued, her mind, congested with questions, she watched him stop before Little Wolf's home. An angry scowl crossed his face. Two Moons, wasn't paying a welcoming visit.

  “My son goes to fight in your honor.”

  Gabrielle spun around, startled by Rattling Blanket’s voice. “What do you mean, my honor? How do you know that?”

  “You belong to my son and thievery is punishable by death.”

  His possession. God, she hated that. She made it sound like she was a piece of store-bought goods.

  “My son calls to Little Wolf. He is telling him to come out and face him like a man. To meet his challenge.”

  Little Wolf stepped from his tepee. His bare chest barreled, his shoulders arched back, he glared at Two Moons as if saying, I'm not afraid of you.

  “My son says Little Wolf had no right to sell you to the Long Knives. He is challenging him to a fight. Little Wolf has accepted. He has waited many moons for this night to come. He says the ground will grow red--” Rattling Blanket paused, as if stabbed by sudden grief and despair; then she lifted her chin and continued, “… with my son's blood.”

  “You must stop them,” Gabrielle demanded, her voice shrill.

  “It cannot be stopped.”

  Guilt hammered her brain. Rattling Blanket was right. She did bring Two Moons nothing but trouble. “Please believe me. I didn't mean for this to happen.”

  Without replying, Rattling Blanket drew her gaze away.

  Gabrielle watched as Little Wolf and Two Moons stripped themselves of their leggings. She watched Little Wolf slip his beaded breastplate over his neck; watched as Two Moons removed the silver bands from his bulging forearms. But Little Wolf's arms were just as muscular; his chest was just as solid.

  Wearing nothing but their breechclout’s and moccasins, both men moved into the clearing to stand beside the fire.

  Gabrielle started toward them. Rattling Blanket placed a restraining hand on her arm.

  “You must not. My son is a proud man. Do not shame him in front of the others.”

  They threw both men a knife and a tomahawk. Gabrielle noticed the gleam of light that bounce off the weapon Little Wolf held in his hand.

  She guessed it was inevitable, seeing the hatred burning between the two, but she didn't want them to fight over her. No matter what they portrayed in storybooks and on TV, she wasn't thrilled, or honored-not in the least. She was petrified.

  Two Moons’ attention seemed calmly focused. His brow appeared dry, his composure cool. Hers was about to crumble. She clasped her clammy palms tightly. Sweat dotted her brow.

  Kills Pretty stood across from her, her face swathed in uneasiness, her jaw clenched. Gabrielle could feel her pain. They both stood to lose the man they loved. And no one should have to feel this terrorizing fear. No one.

  ****

  “You will die tonight my brother. Do you not feel the hand of death squeezing your throat?” Two Moons asked.

  Circling Little Wolf, he focused on his opponent’s face. He stared deeply into his eyes, reading into his thoughts, guessing at his next move.

  “Blue Eyes belongs to me. You had no right to decide her fate,” Two Moons continued, his voice edged with hostility. “No one steals what is mine.”

  Little Wolf plunged.

  Two Moons jumped back as Little Wolf's tomahawk swooshed through the air, missing him.

  “Your blue-eyed one is not worth this.” Little Wolf spit.

  Two Moons could feel the spittle on his cheek.

  “I wish I had ridden her first, before I gave her away.” Little Wolf's nostrils flared. His eyes narrowed. “Do not be mistaken my friend. I do not fight over her-”

  Again he plunged.

  Two Moons swerved to the right.

  Swoosh. The blade sliced the air.

  “I fight to prove once and for all which, of the two of us, is the stronger one,” Little Wolf snarled.

  They circled like vultures around one another. Each one watching the other; each one waiting for the right moment, in which, to bury his hatchet.

  From the corner of his eye Two Moons could see Blue Eyes standing alongside his mother. The fear touching her face cut as deeply as if Little Wolf's blade had pierced his skin. He wanted to shield her from this fight, had tried to keep her away-

  He felt the sting upon his shoulder before he saw the blood.

  A sneer of triumph twisted up the corners of Little Wolf's mouth.

  Two Moons forced a smile above his pain. “Come, try again. See how my blood runs.” He gestured Little Wolf closer.

  “Come.”

  Wheeling his tomahawk above his head, Little Wolf charged.

  Two Moons dodged as the blade made a long high arc to fall beside him. Little Wolf stumbled forward. Dust swirled up around his feet as he caught himself. He whirled around, only to find Two Moons' tomahawk count coup on his shoulder. Realizing the bravery of his action, anger blazed in Little Wolf Eyes.

  “Has the white man's firewater made you slow?” Two Moons asked.

  “You fight like an old woman,” Little Wolf replied.

  The two men stalked each other, each close enough to touch the other. The veins in Little Wolf's neck bulged. “My blade will make you a woman.”

  They grappled in a fierce, well-matched struggle. Two Moons thrust his leg behind Little Wolf's knee and sent him crashing to the ground

  The knife flew from his grasp.

  With a quick dash, Two Moons kicked the weapon from Little Wolf's reach, then threw himself on top of him. Before Little Wolf could rise, Two Moons locked his knees around his hips. His hand pressed deeply into Little Wolf's throat. His knife raised above Little Wolf's chest, Two Moons felt him shudder beneath him. Little Wolf's lips trembled with fear. His eyes squinted shut. His head tilted to one side, he cringed as he awaited the final blow. Disgusted by what he saw Two Moons dislodged his hand from Little Wolf's neck.

  “Henala,” Two Moons shouted. Enough. “You will live, for I do not wish the blood of a coward on my hands.” He leaped to his feet and watched in disgust as Little Wolf crawled away, then stood at a distance.

  “Leave this place and never show your face among our people again, for you can no longer call yourself a Sioux warrior. And take Kills Pretty Enemy with you.”

  Surprised murmur rose around him. Two Moons continued. “I began to wonder what, other than your hatred of me, would make you do such a foolish deed. Other than a few bottles of whiskey, what, Little Wolf, would you gain by kidnapping Blue Eyes?”

  Dead silence hung, as all eyes watched and all ears listened.

  “You want my sister and everyone knows how my mother has no love for you. So now I look to Kills Pretty, whom my mother treats as one of her own. Did she promise to convince Rattling Blanket to change my mind about the marriage? And Kills Pretty, “he turned, directing his words to her, “how your anger must have risen when Blue Eyes reappeared in our village. It was your idea to return her to the fort.”

  “No!”

  “It is true. A moment ago, before the fight when we spoke, your words told me of your deceit. When I told you of my displeasure with Blue Eyes, you suggested we give her back to Golden Eagle. Back. Only the one who had arranged her abduction with the Crow war
rior would call him by name and know they had been together. Did you think I would not search for her? Did you think without her presence I could care for you?” Two Moons shook his head. “Never. So go.” He pointed toward the woods. “Both of you. Jealousy and hate are good comrades.”

  Kills Pretty hung her head in shame. A dull twinge of pity settled in his chest. She had been a good woman. A moment’s sadness darkened his soul, but he pushed the feeling aside. Blue Eyes was not safe when she was around.

  “Watch your step and look behind you.” Little Wolf brushed the dirt from his face and chest. “For I will be following close behind.” He spun around and walked stiffly toward the elders, who glanced away as he passed. Women turned their backs on him. Children called him names as they flung pebbles and rocks his way.

  Kills Pretty slunk back into the shadows and disappeared.

  “Two Moons.” Blue Eyes flung her arms around his neck. “Thank God-thank God.”

  Her body melted against his and his thoughts reveled in her closeness. He wrapped his arms around her. Her voice trembling, she murmured incoherent words into the hollow of his chest. He could feel her warm lips, her warm tears, against his skin.

  “To whose god, do you thank?” he teased.

  She drew away. Staring up into his eyes, she smiled. “To yours.”

  Her words pleased him. Soon she would no longer think in the white mans world.

  Her glance dropped to his shoulder and her smile fell. “You're hurt.” Lightly she touched his wound. He grabbed her hand; brought her fingers to his lips and kissed her warm flesh. “I am fine. It is nothing but a scratch.”

  She slipped her hand from his. “It is not and you'd better let me clean it if you don't want an infection.”

  “I do not know this word ‘infection,’ but cleaning me…”

  He paused and lightly ran the back of his fingers against her jaw. Her beauty was like the sunlit blossoms of the flowered covered prairies. His shoulder throbbed, as did his groin. He grinned. “…cleaning me makes me think all kinds of interesting thoughts.”