White Flame

by Susan Edwards

  After an hour, he went to the edge of the cliff and surveyed the land that stretched out into eternity. As far as the eye could see, prairie, broken only by the occasional rolling hill or flat-topped mesa, met his gaze. Plumes of smoke from several campfires drifted toward the heavens.

  Returning to the circle formed by the four rocks, he untied his medicine pouch. From inside, he pulled out some sweet sage, crushed and sprinkled it across the rock that was inside his rock-formed boundary. Then he donned the newly tanned robe he’d brought. He’d painted it with white streaks of clay to signify purity.

  His hands held up he continued to lament, asking Mahpiya, the spirits of the heavens, to honor him with another vision. As he did so, he walked slowly from rock to rock, staying inside the bounds he’d outlined. His feet moved painfully slowly. One full circle took him nearly an hour. When darkness fell, he sat but still chanted.

  For the next two days, he alternated between walking, sitting and standing. He took no food or water. His voice grew hoarse. Cold, exhausted and hungry, he refused to let up. He had to prove to the Great Spirit that he was worthy of a vision.

  Emma fretted over Striking Thunder’s absence. It had been several days. How long would he be gone? She seesawed between wanting to see him one last time and the need to escape before he came back. “You are quiet these past few days, Emma.” Starting guiltily, Emma glanced over at Star. She truly liked the woman; she had become the older sister Emma had never had. If only circumstances were different. “I must be tired,” she offered as an excuse. The last thing she needed was for Striking Thunder’s sister to learn of the turmoil she fought.

  Star gave her a penetrating look but didn’t question. Instead, she packed her and her children’s belongings, as Emma did the same with her own. Once again, the tribe was moving to a new location. Within minutes, the tipi was dismantled, their poles tied to the horses to form travois on which all their possessions were carried. Emma trudged alongside the horse.

  At her side, Morning Moon slipped her hand into Emma’s. Emma’s heart tugged for the bittersweet relationship she’d formed with the girl who reminded her of Renny. She missed her sister—missed her terribly—and not a day went by when she didn’t think of and pray for her. How could she ever have thought she could turn the girl over to their father? Only now did she realize just how important Renny was to her. And when she found her, she’d never let anything separate them. Fighting tears, she took a deep, shuddering breath.

  “You are sad.”

  Emma glanced down into Morning Moon’s intense brown eyes. Her first reaction was to lie and make excuses but she couldn’t. Though the girl was just a year older than Renny, there was something mature about her. She was a quiet and reserved child, but at times, like now, those young eyes held a world of wisdom in their depths.

  “Yes, I am sad.”

  “You miss your sister.”

  Again Emma nodded. “Yes, I miss Renny.”

  Morning Moon tipped her head to one side. “I’d like to know more about her. Tell me about her.”

  Star joined them. She spoke to her daughter. “You must not ask questions. You made her cry.”

  Emma brushed back the tears. “No. It’s okay. I’d like to tell you about Renny.” Star already knew how her father had left her and Emma’s devotion to Renny. So she pulled from her heart anecdotes of her sister’s escapades. They headed north. The Black Hills were on their left and the river to their right. At the split in the river, they changed course, heading west. Emma kept track of their position.

  A halt was called near the base of the hills, the site for their new camp. But this time, instead of forming several circles within circles, each family set their tipi up along the banks of the river. That evening, they had visitors in the form of a group of warriors on horseback, who were greeted warmly and with much enthusiasm. Emma turned to Star Dreamer. “Who are they?”

  Star was evasive. “They are Cheyenne.”

  “Are they friendly?”

  “We are friendly with the Cheyenne.”

  Emma, her time with Yellow Dog still fresh in her mind, looked doubtful. One warrior glanced at her and when he came near, she refused to cower though she wondered what would happen should he decide to claim her and take her from the absent Striking Thunder.

  When he reached out to finger one of her long braids, she stepped back. Forget being brave. She’d run like mad if she had to. No one was taking her anywhere. But to her surprise, he turned his attention to Star Dreamer and said something, using hand gestures as well. He pointed to her hair several times, then returned to the fire where his warriors were eating the meal being served to them.

  “What was that all about?”

  Star Dreamer didn’t answer. Her manner turned evasive once again. “He just made a comment on your hair.” Standing, she hurried to her parents’ tipi to help her mother serve hot stew to their guests.

  Emma, relieved to have the visiting warrior occupied, stood. Perhaps she’d spend the evening in the tipi. Striking Thunder’s warning of tribes was ringing in her ears. But before she could slip inside, a resentment-filled voice stopped her.

  “Star does not tell all.”

  Recognizing the spiteful tone of Tanagila, Emma was tempted to keep going and ignore the troublemaking girl. She was tired of being taunted every time they came face to face. Yet, something in the girl’s voice made Emma glance over her shoulder. “If you have something to say, Tanagila, say it. I do not care to decipher your riddles tonight.”

  Something in the girl’s features changed. Her gaze shifted, turned sly and calculating. “This maiden knows what you do not.” Grabbing Emma by the arm, she pulled her away from the camp. “Come.”

  Emma tried to stop but was dragged along. Finally, Tanagila stopped next to a tree. The dark shadows concealed them. “Star Dreamer not tell you Night Hunter has captive with red hair.”

  Emma eyed Tanagila. “So? What does that have to do with me? I feel for the poor woman, but there is little I can do?”

  “Ah, I never said it was a woman.”

  It didn’t take but a split second for the words to sink in. Emma closed the distance between them. “It’s a child?”

  Tanagila smirked and walked past Emma. “Now you understand.”

  Emma grabbed her arm. “Wait. Tell me. Where is his village?”

  “I do not know.” With a shake of her head and a slyly cast glance, Tanagila smiled coyly. “I could find out.”

  At that, Emma snorted in disbelief. “Why would you help me? Do you expect me to trust you?” Thinking furiously, she knew this could be her chance. So far, there’d been no hope of escaping. The horses were too well guarded. But if she had help?

  Intense, all coyness gone, Tanagila lowered her voice. “You have no choice but to trust me, white girl. I want you gone.”

  She was right. There was no choice for Emma. If Renny was safe, and in Night Hunter’s village, she had to go after her. No matter the risk. “How am I to get my sister from Night Hunter’s village?”

  Tanagila shrugged. “I will give you a horse. You will go. That is all I care about.”

  Emma knew the girl was threatened by her presence. It was no secret Tanagila turned down other warriors’ bids for marriage because she wanted the chief. But to consider Emma a threat? She flushed, recalling what had happened between her and Striking Thunder and conceded that the girl had every right to be worried—not that Striking Thunder would marry a white captive.

  That desire, that hope that she shared with this girl gave her the courage to accept her offer. “All right. You find out, but I will decide when and how I leave.”

  The girl nodded. Emma hurried back to the tipi. Inside, she paced. She had to leave immediately, before Striking Thunder returned. Even then, what she planned was risky. She knew only too well she risked capture again, but she had no choice. She had to find Renny.

  Staring out into the night, she considered several plans. The village was spread out
, which meant there wouldn’t be as many watchful eyes. And though the weather had turned cold, she had warm clothing and a thick buffalo robe. She grew warm. It was the one they’d nearly made love on.

  Pacing, ridding herself of that memory, Emma focused her attention on what she planned to do. Though the dangers were great, there was no choice. To die trying to rescue her sister was better than to live with the guilt of betrayal if she did nothing.

  Hugging herself, she knew once she left, there would be no turning back. She’d have to find Renny and get them both back to the fort safely on her own. Her mind turned to Striking Thunder. He’d come after her, of that she had no doubt. Her only hope lay in getting a large lead on him. Though her mind was made up to leave before he returned, the thought of never seeing him again sent black despair seeping into her heart. But once again, family must come first.

  For two days, Emma hoarded food, careful to take only her share and eat little. Tanagila had given her a general idea where to find Renny and she was anxious to leave. But she cautioned herself to do it carefully and methodically, so she watched, learned the routes of the guards and studied the layout of the land when she went to gather wood. The only thing that worried her was acquiring a horse. Stealing one was out. Not only were they well guarded but stealing was a severely punished crime. Of that, she’d been warned.

  But, there was one horse, the one she’d stolen from Yellow Dog. Technically, it was her horse. Just because Striking Thunder had taken it from her didn’t make it his. So be it. She’d find a way to get it. Passing the small lodge reserved for women during their monthly bleeding, she glanced inside.

  It was empty. She’d spent one week there, in the company of several other women. Rather than feeling ostracized, the women used that time to gossip, rest and work on whatever they wanted. Other women brought food and water. Returning to the hut, she studied it. Smiling, she went to find Tanagila. They had plans to make.

  That afternoon, she packed the belongings that she would take with her and moved into the women’s lodge. All the next day, she went through the motions of a woman having her flow. Star brought her food and she accepted it but declined any company, pretending to be in pain. She felt terrible for deceiving her, but it couldn’t be helped.

  That night, when no sound came from the sleeping village, Emma dressed warmly and pulled a dark buffalo robe around her shoulders and head. Taking a deep breath, she slipped out of the hut and into the dark. Around her waist, she’d tied bundles of food, and on her feet, she wore her lined moccasins. With silent steps, she followed the river east. As arranged, Tanagila had left her horse with added supplies tied to her back. Mounting, she kept the horse at a walk, glancing constantly over her shoulder. In her mind, she replayed the directions she’d been given. When the river splits, follow it to the south, keeping the Black Hills to your right. Night Hunter’s camp was located farther south from where they’d last been camped. Though Emma worried about finding it and freeing her sister without being captured herself, she had to try. Even if she were caught, then she’d be with Renny. Together she’d find a way for them to escape.

  When she deemed she was far enough from Striking Thunder’s tribe, she urged the horse into a steady gallop. She had to put as much distance between them as possible. Her only chance lay in having Striking Thunder’s people believe she’d ridden east, toward the fort. They wouldn’t look for her in the west.

  Striking Thunder sat in his circle atop Great Gray Rock, palms up, eyes closed, facing east, waiting for the appearance of Wiyohiyanpa. Today, the spirits would talk to him, guide him. After two full days with no food, water or sleep, his body was pure, cleansed. And spending those days walking within the confines of the rocks, praying and lamenting, never stepping out of the circle, his mind was now ready to receive a vision.

  Standing on weak legs, he swayed in the wind. He continued to chant, his voice low and hoarse. The hours passed. The sun rose into the sky and still there came no vision. His vision blurred, his mind wandered and his legs shook. By afternoon, the air had turned bitterly cold, promising snow, yet he persevered.

  But by nightfall, he had no choice but to sit, cross-legged, the backs of his hands on his knees, palms up. His lips moved, yet no words sounded. He closed his eyes, focused his mind on that to which he sought answers: the white woman and her hold over him. Why did she affect him so? Why could he not put her from his mind? Even now, images of her danced behind his eyes: her head tilted back, exposing her long, slender neck, her mouth, slightly parted, her eyes closed, her red-dusted lashes brushing her cheeks. Her hair spilled down her back and swayed against her buttocks.

  He sucked in a breath. The image of her became so startling clear then shifted, blurred and reappeared, but this time, he saw himself, in an identical pose. Moving slowly, the couple in his vision came together. Heads and bodies moved close until they touched from the chest down. Their arms lifted, their palms pressed together over their heads.

  Then they turned so they were back to back. Their hands lowered to their sides, fingers entwined. Again, they tipped their heads back, faces to the moon rising above. Her head rested on his shoulder, his leaned against hers. They were one. Red hair mingled in the breeze with black. Warmth surrounded him, inside and out. Curls of wind wound around them, lifting them high above the ground.

  Then, without warning, a jagged bolt of lightning shot from the sky, separating them. Emma faded into the darkness. Striking Thunder fell back to the earth. Standing, he found himself surrounded by enemies on one side and his people on the other. They crowded around. Shouting, gesturing, demanding. Louder and closer, until they blurred into one mass and he could no longer see, no longer feel.

  Emma! Where was she? Cold. He felt so cold. The vision faded. Opening his eyes, he realized the cold came more from within but he was too exhausted to give it thought. Lying on his side, pulling his buffalo robe over him, Striking Thunder slept.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Pinkish streaks across the sky heralded the arrival of the new day. Sun lifted herself over the horizon and, leaving her partner, Old Woman Moon, in their lodge, took her place in the sky. Peeping down, she sent fingers of light over the mountains, chasing away dreams brought on by her counterpart, Hanwi. Seeing the still form of an Indian warrior asleep on top of Great Gray Rock, she sent a beam of warmth sliding over the warrior, warming him, luring him from the darkness of the night.

  Striking Thunder woke as soon as the ray of light struck his closed eyes. Before taking refreshment, he stood and greeted the four superior gods and their associate gods. First, Inyan, the Rock, ancestor of all gods and all things; then Maka, the Earth, mother of all living things. Skan, the sky, and source of all force and power, sat in judgment of all gods and spirits. Last of the superior gods, but the highest ranking among them was Wi, all-powerful, defender of bravery, fortitude, generosity and fidelity.

  After performing his morning rituals, Striking Thunder drank a little water from his pouch and chewed a piece of jerked buffalo meat as he stared out toward the distant plains. With his mind clear and his body refreshed, his vision returned to him with startling clarity. In the clear, cold light of day, he gave it careful thought and consideration. Though visions were usually interpreted by holy men, Striking Thunder knew he and Emma were to become lovers. That didn’t surprise him. He’d been fighting the inevitable.

  But the difference in his acceptance of it came with the knowledge that Emma would leave when the time was right. That had been the message of their abrupt separation. Rather than feeling pleased, the thought left him feeling bereft. Yet keeping her was out of the question. Letting her go was as it should be, and this laid his mind to rest with regards to Star’s visions of Emma. He’d feared Emma’s presence in his life would become permanent.

  His life was mapped out. When the time was right, he’d take to his tipi another wife, one of his own, an Indian maiden who would give him strong sons and daughters, as his mother had given his father. He d
idn’t think of his mother as white. Her Sioux blood flowed strong in her, and she’d passed it on to her four children. Even his brother who lived among the whites did so to help The People. His spirit was Sioux, even if his eyes and hair were not.

  But Emma was wholly white. She had nothing to offer the Sioux. But she has much to offer you, his heart cried out. A lump formed in his throat when he recalled the feel of her, the taste of her, and the sound of her passionate cries in his ear. His heart jumped and his body sang with a life of its own. He craved her, craved what she and only she could offer him. Never had a woman touched his heart as this white woman had.

  A shaft of sadness arrowed deep into his heart. He had to remain strong. There was no room for weakness. She was his only until he’d avenged the death of his wife. After that, she’d no longer be needed. In the meantime, he’d take her to his tipi and rid himself of his obsession. Then, come spring, he’d send Emma back to her people.

  Satisfied, he gathered his supplies then remembered how cold and alone he’d felt toward the end of the vision, just before he’d slept. Frowning, he glanced around, wondering if that had been part of the vision, or if it had been his body’s reaction to the weather and lack of food and sleep.

  As much as he longed to put it down to the latter, he couldn’t. In a vision, everything was important. Even colors and patterns. And the more he thought of his vision, the more confused he felt. Though he was eager to see her again, now that he had the spirits’ blessings to take her to his mat, a niggling worry ate at him.

  He buried it. What would be would be. The will of Wakan Tanka, the chief god, would be revealed in time.

  Leaving the top of the tall granite rock, he drank more clear, cold water from the stream and ate a bit more. After a quick wash, he headed east, taking the direction in which he knew he’d find his tribe. Each tribe moved in a fairly set pattern. A warrior could always find his people, no matter how long he’d been gone.