The Sire Sheaf

by Russ L. Howard

  After expressing his thanks, Sur Sceaf carefully re-wrapped the pipe and placed it securely in his pack.

  “It will go to the father guardian after me and he will sing the praises of Onamingo around the council fires.”

  “When you return to Eloheh, you shall be the leader of this people. May the Nunnehi go with you my Quant brother and guide your feet to good trails. And now we go to prepare the way for our departure when you return.” Onamingo cast a quick look over his shoulder and then grinned. “I see the women wait impatiently to add their farewells to ours.” His grin widened. “Prepare yourself to be bathed in tears.”

  Onamingo departed with the other chiefs in tow. As soon as they were gone, Little Doe emerged from the tent, hugged him, and tied a bag of food to his saddle horn. “I am going to miss you my good friend. Please be safe. Good bye, my white brother.”

  Then he was greeted and hugged by Sagwi, “You be lookin just like your mo mo. You got dat same smile. I be prayin for you, son. Be careful of dhem Pitters. Good journey!”

  Sur Sceaf leaned forward, “Thank you Sagwi.” Then whispered, “Where is Taneshewa?”

  “She behind da tent,” Sagwi said motioning with her head. “Gimme dhem reins. I hold da horse while ju say jour good bye.”

  Sur Sceaf made his way to the back of the tent around where he saw Mendaho and Taneshewa standing by the cook fire talking with one another along with a maiden he did not recognize. In Taneshewa’s hand was a husk doll bound to an arrow that had the identifying fletching of the Standing Bull.

  As he drew near he heard Mendaho say, “Good! That will do.” In a twinkling as if sensing his presence, Meny looked up and said, “Look, Ahy, here comes the handsome highborn now! Almost everything went well last night. I’ll leave you two to talk while I join Sagwi.” She smiled at Sur Sceaf. “I wish you good journey, Surrey.”

  “Thank you, Meny,” he said, as they hugged each other. “Keep our words in mind when I am gone and farewell.”

  As Mendaho walked away, Sur Sceaf stepped over into Taneshewa’s space. “It appears you’re dealing with a curse too, I see one in your hand. I just rolled one in horse crap and burned it myself. I have no doubt it was Standing Bull’s work.”

  He noticed she seemed nervous, her eyes smudged from lack of sleep, and her skin had a pallid cast to it.

  “From now on, Standing Bull will only strike at you from the dark. I learned too late, that bitter fountains always yield bitter water.”

  “In our culture, he would be branded a besmieren, a woman abuser, and be banished from good society forever. I offer my apology for his disgraceful actions, for I fear I may have provoked him striking out the way he did. It is obvious he took his ire that was meant for me, out on you. Knowing that was the only way he could get to me.”

  She dropped her gaze to the doll in her hand. “Sur Sceaf, you need to know that Standing Bull and I once had a deep relationship. Not all he said was untrue. For my part I thought it was over, but friends helped me to see that there were a few embers left. His actions last night have turned those all too cold, dead ashes. Even though he made an open exhibition of my shame last night, I now see he has been pursuing me steadily since I left him a winter and two springs ago. Just before we left for the crater, he approached me in my tipi and asked if I would present my moccasin to him.”

  Sur Sceaf said, “It must have really galled him when you presented it to me.”

  Her soft mouth turned up into a fake smile. “Sparrow Hawk told me she saw his face and he looked like an over cooked deer kidney, ready to explode at any moment.” Her face turned somber again. “I have no power to slay him with my own hands, so this curse will have to do.”

  Feeling a little sheepish, Sur Sceaf said, “It was only the hand of my brother, Mendaka, that stayed me from killing him for you, last night.”

  “But then you would have suffered banishment. I’m so glad Dak stopped you or everything you have worked for and we have hoped for, would be gone. I would not have you ruin yourself just because I have been ruined.”

  Sparrow Hawk appeared to the side of the tent with a bowl of acorn dough. She halted, smiled, then turned back around and left.

  Sur Sceaf took her hand into his. “Taneshewa, in my culture a woman is not ruined by an act of love. Like the Sharaka, the Herewardi have many sacred rituals for the healing of the soul. In the Rite of the Veil a man or woman may have their misplaced affections purified, so that the original intention of love remains and is re-invested with dignity and wholeness again in their true love. Thereby whatever remains can only serve to enrich their next love. That way none of that love is ever lost and carries over to the next in full strength, unaltered, and undiluted.” Seeing a glimmer of hope kindle in her eyes, he reached into his chest pocket and pulled out his pouch, removing the golden coin. “I want you to look at this.”

  Taneshewa took the coin and examined it. “Wa-shing-ton. Is this man, Wa-shing-ton, a Herewardi chief.”

  “No, he was a great chief before the beginnings of our people in this land long before the collapse of the Amerikan Empire. Though, my people were connected to him. It is a gold coin from the Amerikans. Over five hundred years old. Like this revered coin, Taneshewa, you are made of purest gold. Nothing, and no one, will ever be able to besmirch you. I only wish I could stay here by your side as a show of support for you.”

  She handed the coin back to him. “I wish you could, your words warm me more than the sun, but I will heal, I know you have many more crucial things to deal with than me at this time.”

  Smiling he dropped the coin into its pouch and returned it to his pocket. “I’m dealing with crucial matters, but no one, and no thing, is more vital to me than your well-being.”

  He drew a little closer to her. “Remember what I told you, if you have questions, ask Meny or Sagwi. They both know our ways well and have no bias. When I get back, we will talk more. There is much you must learn so as not to see us Herewardi from the outside. It is time you get a view of us from the inside.”

  The hope in her eyes had grown stronger and her cheeks were no longer pale.

  Sur Sceaf said, “I hope to shine in your heart, as you shine in mine. For I believe you are the brightest star that has ever come into my life. Nothing has changed between you and me since I tied your moccasin. My heart cleaves to yours.”

  “I don’t know what to say. I feel the same towards you. You feel as bright as your gold coin to me.” Taneshewa reached inside her bosom and pulled out a furry object. “I made this talisman for you. It’s made from mink to remind you of me. And it has raven and owl feathers, that the gods may protect you by day and by night.” Ahy cast her eyes down. “I wasn’t sure there would be an opportunity to give it to you.”

  Sur Sceaf took it in his hand. “It’s finely crafted. I shall keep it over my heart at all times.”

  “As soon as I bury this,” she held the husk doll of Standing Bull in her hand, “I will think of you only.”

  Sur Sceaf whistled and a moment later White Fire appeared from the side of the tent and trotted towards him. “I leave you in the protective arms of your people and I yearn to return as quickly as possible.” He raised her hand and touched it to his forehead. “You will always be in my thoughts.”

  A beautiful smile lighted up her perfect features. “Good journey, my Lord Surrey, may the gods keep you.”

  Grabbing the reins, he mounted and smiled down at Taneshewa one last time before giving White Fire the knee command to move on.

  As the stallion walked slowly towards the side of the tent, Sur Sceaf encountered Meny and Sagwi heading toward the rear. He heard a snap, looked back, and saw Taneshewa had broken Standing Bull’s arrow in half. He waved, bade Sagwi and Mendaho farewell and clucked for White Fire to go.

  * * *

  Taneshewa watched as Sur Sceaf disappeared beyond the tent wall. Seconds later she heard the sound of trilling as the majestic white stallion carried him through the camp and off on the road
to the high desert. She was so overwhelmed by emotions. She dropped to her knees by the fire. Using a digging stick, she dug a hole in the coals, stuffed the broken arrow and husk doll replica of Standing Bull into it and placed a large rock over the spot. After getting to her feet with hot tears running down her cheeks, she kicked ashes upon it with her lady moccasin.

  Sagwi, sensing her pain reached over and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Dhis is da end of Standin Bull. Now you be ready to walk Surrey’s path wif a whole heart.”

  She nodded through tears.

  Meny started to say something, but instead jerked her head to the right, shaded her eyes with her hand and exclaimed, “Look at that, will you? The people will talk about this for a long time.”

  Mystified, Taneshewa followed Meny’s gaze. Surprise ran through her.

  Sagwi said, “Glory be! Dhat boy sure can ride.”

  The people who had lined the road to honor Sur Sceaf as he rode out had been filing back into camp when they straightaway parted to allow Sur Sceaf to ride back into camp toward her. Bringing his horse up beside her before the throngs of people whose eyes were glued to him, he caused his stallion to rear up and prance. Then he let out a Sharaka war cry. Taneshewa felt her smile go out to him as their eyes locked onto one another’s for an instant before he spun the steed around and galloped off in the way he had previously gone.

  “You know,” Sagwi said, leaning into Ahy, “dhis gesture shows all da people dhat Standing Bull’s words have done no damage to his affection for you. Dhis will put much right. Stop many tongues from waggin’. Because, Ahy, dis redeems you in da eye of da people.”

  Meny added, “Last night, I’m very sure, Surrey would have killed Standing Bull and gutted him on the spot. Had Mendaka not stopped him, he would have lost the confidence of the chiefs. That’s how much he was willing to sacrifice for your honor.”

  Sagwi nodded, “Burying dhat dher doll mean you took anofver turn in da maze. You’s on yo way down da path of love. Just follow dhat rope. Right soon it’ll be gettin’ time to make up yo mind.”

  “I already have,” Ahy said with a smile. For good measure, she kicked more ashes over the buried doll, before shifting her gaze the road where Surrey’s white mount swiftly covered the distance until the two of them disappeared around some trees. “Good bye, my love.” She said in a barely audible whisper. “I will be here waiting when you return.”

  Chapter 13: The Wayfarer

  The sun beat down at high noon throughout the high desert, when Sur Sceaf, not long on the road to Fort Rock, became aware that the terrain was rapidly changing from alpine forest to desert sage and juniper. Before he vacated his tipi in early morning he had sent off a pigeon which Long Swan had left him so as to relay the message that he was successful in the pow wow and was now underway to Fort Rock. When Long Swan received the pigeon, he was to notify their brother, Lord Pyrsyrus, that it was time for him to launch his caravan for Fort Rock so as to assist him in the immigration of the Quailor and Sharaka to the safety of Witan Jewell.

  A sudden silver platter of a cloud appeared as it emerged from the thunderheads above. This was followed by a magnificent dust devil that whirled in the broad expanse of desert almost directly below the strange silver cloud.

  “White Fire, that is the damnedest whirlwind I’ve ever seen. Do you think that cloud could be causing the dust devil?”

  White Fire nickered and swished his tail with a proud bearing that showed he wasn’t concerned. Strangely most of the clouds moved, but the silver cloud just hovered. The desert is a lonely place and he knew it could play tricks on the mind. This vast expanse gave one an awful sense of smallness and its enormity seemed to go on forever like a mint green tapestry covered with spots of juniper copse scattered apart at great distances. The only creatures that crossed his path in this lonesome wild were occasional foxes, lizards, and scorpions crawling on the desert floor. Occasionally he heard the braying of wild asses off in the distance.

  Glancing up to mark the sun’s progress, he spotted a flock of buzzards circling above a small grove of juniper in the distance. Within a matter of seconds, the whirlwind had dissipated. Yet the silver cloud that should have moved on with the other clouds didn’t. “How strange,” he said to White Fire. “It must be some sort of desert mirage. Perhaps a reflection from a pool or marsh gasses accumulating in the sky.”

  Realizing he was thirsty, he detoured to a small hillock to relieve himself. Poured a little water from his flask into a leather nose bag for White Fire, took a drink for himself, removed the nose bag, and the two of them took a rest in the sparse shade. While White Fire grazed on the buffalo grass, Sur Sceaf got out the protective talisman that Taneshewa had gifted him. He unrolled the soft white doeskin and ran his fingers over the rich mahogany-red mink talisman with its raven feathers and owl feathers which acted she said, ‘as a protection both by day and by night.’ Her voice echoing in his head.

  He ruminated over his show of affection towards Taneshewa. Then he realized he had once again acted very impulsively in riding back so as to prance on his horse before Taneshewa without knowing how or what reaction to that her people would have. Turns out it went well, but the last thing Long Swan had charged him with was to consider the consequences not just to himself, but for others before taking on any rash, instinctive behaviors, as was his bull-headed usual nature. As he rolled the soft mink talisman back up again, he reveled in the warmth of Taneshewa’s eyes whilst she had given it to him. He heard the sound of wings, only to duck as a large raven swooped over his head to alight strangely enough on White Fire’s head.

  To his shock, the stallion did not react with any alarm, but in fact bore it as if it were Brekka’s pet white raven which often visited his stable for spilled oats and seemed to have befriended the horse. The sleek blue-black raven cocked a head at him and for a moment he thought some intelligent communication came from the bird’s golden eye, a trait of no raven he knew. Sur Sceaf sat motionless in thought. Is this an omen from the gods? Does it have something to do with the talisman? Soon, the Ur Fyr stummed like a spider’s web that this was indeed a sign from the gods. The bird grokked and took flight to the north. Watching him go, Sur Sceaf instantly caught sight of a tall imposing looking man with a staff striding through the sage ahead. The man was obviously in crypsis mode because he was certain he had not seen him unto this late moment. It was as if he had simply appeared out of nowhere. The very colors the large man wore disguised him perfectly in this desert landscape. For a moment, but for his height, he thought it might even be the Wose.

  He carefully looked from side to side. Was this another joke that Starkwulf was playing on him. Certainly White Fire showed no sign of danger as Sur Sceaf quickly stowed the nose bag and talisman away and mounted.

  As he drew closer, he realized this could not be the Wose as the man was garbed in the traditional long Saxon green cape with the deep hood embroidered with golden Herewardi knots along the brim, indicating this man was a spirit master and high ranking member of the Roufytrof. But oh, how beautiful the staff was that he bore. It was tooled from rich, ancient yew wood and capped with a horned wisent head supported by two intertwining swan necks. Down its long shaft it was decorated with curious runic markings and Odhinic spells running the full length of the necks. One said, ‘Friends draw near,’ and the other, ‘Enemies stand off.’

  Drawing abreast, he saw that the man at least had a long white beard, although he could not see the rest of the man’s face by reason of being hidden in the deep hood. The wayfarer was clearly a man of great age, yet paradoxically his pace was robust and he appeared muscular. Although he and the wayfarer were moving side by side, with only a man’s length between them, the man gave no acknowledgement of his presence.

  The golden-eyed raven he had seen earlier was now joined by another black-eyed one. Their behavior seemed altogether unnatural as the grokking ravens flew from bush to bush in the proximity of the old one, almost as if they were escorti
ng him on his journey through the chaparral. It flashed into his mind that this could be a trick designed by the Pitters to ensnare him into a demonic entrapment. But surely, if that was so, White Fire would have already sensed it and warned him long before now. More likely, this member of the Roufytrof was on a mission to his sister, the Desert Queen, who entertained travelers and wizards from as far and wide as the Seven Kingdoms stretch.

  The road was broad enough to walk abreast so Sur Sceaf reigned in White Fire, dismounted to be on equal footing with the stranger, and walked beside him. In the slight breeze he caught a whiff of magnolia oil, the cologne of swan lords. His sense that this meeting was foreordained sharpened.Who is this curious man? And why is he walking alone in the desert?

  Still ignoring Sur Sceaf, the wayfarer continued to stride easily forward, neither turning to the right nor to the left as is often the custom among spirit masters in the Roufytrof who wear the deep hood so as to show that their face is set in their purpose and their focus will not be broken.

  “Os-Frith! What brings a fellow traveler to the high desert?” he asked in a respectful tone befitting one of this man’s status.

  Again, the spirit master did not look in his direction, thus arousing his determination and firing his curiosity even more to discover this man’s intentions. The wayfarer held himself with such majesty, such dignity, that he would surely stand apart in any gathering, but, as Sur Sceaf caught glimpses of his face, he could not remember ever seeing him in any previous convening of the Roufytrof.

  They strode together in silence until finally, the wayfarer spoke with a voice of such deep intonation that it permeated Sur Sceaf’s being to the core with a familiarity his mind raced to identify.

  “Os-Frith, Lord Prince Sur Sceaf, son of Syrus, the king of Herewardom, who is also known to many as Sur Spear the Traveler, hail and well met are you.”