by Vella Munn
The woman nodded and pointed toward a hanging woven tule blanket that closed off a section of hut that hadn't been designated for his family. Wondering what was so important that Rabbit Dancing hadn't come out to greet him, he left his son and pushed aside the blanket.
Little light invaded the small area, and it took several seconds for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. He saw his wife first as a crouched form, then realized she was looking up at him.
"My husband," she whispered. Although she smiled at him, she didn't reach for him.
"I greet you, my wife. And, again, I thank you for my son."
"He eats like a man." Her voice was low, gentle and understanding. "He is no longer our baby."
"No, he is not."
Waiting for her to explain what she was doing, he gave silent thanks to the gods responsible for giving their son life. Rabbit Dancing had not danced during the last Hutash, the harvest ceremony, not because she didn't want to but because in the past year her legs had become slow to respond to her command. He had said nothing to Lame Deer when his grandfather told him he was to marry Rabbit Dancing because it wasn't for a boy to question his grandfather's wisdom, but Rabbit Dancing already had two grown children, A widow, she had lived with her eldest son.
"She is a skilled healer," Lame Deer had said. "The shaman listens when she speaks. Her hands have magic in them; I fear you will need that magic."
Lame Deer had gone to the 'antap seeking affirmation that Rabbit Dancing's time of childbearing wasn't yet over, and when he received it he'd encouraged his son to sleep with her often. Black Wolf had done as he'd been ordered, and his own prayers had been answered: he had a son. However, Rabbit Dancing had nearly bled to death while giving birth, and since then he seldom reached for her because their coupling pained her; no more children had begun to grow inside her.
"I asked," he told her. If she didn't want to embrace him, he would respect her wishes. "They assured me that you are well."
"I am. But he is not."
Only then did Black Wolf realize his wife was kneeling beside a blanketed figure. Squatting, he took in a feverish face, closed eyes, a slowly and painfully rising chest. The man, an Indian, looked more dead than alive. His right hand was tightly wrapped; the bandage was bloodstained.
"What happened?"
"If I say, it will only anger you."
"You are afraid of my anger?"
"I know you, my husband. You believe your shoulders are broad enough to carry the burdens of all who walk your way. I... I sometimes wish you cared about nothing except hunting and gossip."
"Sometimes I wish there was nothing more to put my mind to," he admitted. "Must I wait until he wakes before I know the truth?"
"No." She sighed. Then: "They cut off his hand."
They could only mean the leatherjackets. "Tell me," he ordered through clenched teeth.
Rabbit Dancing's explanation didn't take long. The injured man had been a slave at San Luis Obispo de Tolosa, to the north. For reasons he hadn't explained, he'd tried to run away. Recaptured, he'd been forced to kneel before the padre there as the mutilation took place:
"Despite his wound, he again ran," she continued, her voice thick with emotion. "I do not think he knew where he was going. Two of our braves found him, more dead than alive, near Tinliw and brought him back here."
"The shaman has been with him?"
She nodded. "Talks with Frogs has done much magic, surrounding him with curing stones and packing sage and willow bark around what is left of his hand."
"He will live?"
Her silence said too much. Black Wolf wanted to touch the injured man, say something that might help, but he had not yet been to the sweat house and was unclean from being around the leatherjackets.
"Where is Talks with Frogs?" he asked. "He should be here with you."
"I do not mind, my husband. Many have need of a shaman's powers these days, and there is little for me to do until it is time to collect sage and pirion nuts. Fox Running wants to be with the older children, and I let him because he is lonely when you are gone."
His throat constricted. "I do not want it like that."
"I know. I know. Black Wolf, there is another thing, something..."
"What?"
"This one." She indicated the unconscious man. "There is more wrong with him than the loss of what he must have to hunt and fight."
Because he'd never doubted his wife's wisdom about health and sickness, he merely waited.
"I fear his fever comes from the white men's illness."
Black Wolf took an involuntary step back. Then he grabbed his wife and tried to pull her with him, but she resisted and he broke off the contact. "You risk too much! What if you become sick?"
"It is too late, my husband," she whispered. "I spent much time with him before the fever came; if it is going to attack me, the danger began before I knew to protect myself."
"No!"
"Enough! I will not let you add my weight to the burdens you carry. And I beg you, do not remain with him. Do not touch him."
When she said that, he realized that she'd kept her body between his and the patient. "You cannot sacrifice yourself," he insisted. "I—"
"Listen to me, Black Wolf. I do what I believe is necessary. When the fever hit him, I thought about moving him away from the others, but I could not do that without help and I would not take the risk of asking someone to carry him, be touched by the air he breathes."
Placing her hand on her patient's cheek, she assured herself that his face was turned away from them. "I have not allowed Fox Running in here," she whispered. "I... I have not touched him in two days."
The thought of their son lying wasted and unresponsive shook Black Wolf deeply, and fear for his wife's health only increased the blow's impact. "There is nothing you can do for him? No herbs?"
"I have tried silktassel bush leaf, myrth, but nothing has strength against what the strangers brought here."
My people are dying. He'd told Lucita that and here was proof. How would she react if he forced her to see this?
"Leave him! You can do nothing for him."
"I wish it was that easy," she whispered. "But what if I carry the disease? Do you want me to walk among our people?"
A furious and yet helpless curse pressed past Black Wolfs lips, and Rabbit Dancing blinked back tears.
"Go," she whispered. "Please. I will not have you like him. I will not!"
"But you—"
"Go!"
She'd never been able to order her warrior husband, had never so much as tried. The fact that he'd turned his back on her and was walking out of the room served as proof that he knew she was right. Sinking into herself, Rabbit Dancing clamped her hands over her shoulders and began rocking back and forth, but pride kept her from crying.
Maybe Black Wolf would never know how much she loved him. He was so much younger than her, all energy and health when those things had begun to fade from her. They had their son in common, that and their love of being Chumash, but her husband's world existed far beyond her.
"I will not allow this to be the end of me!" she whispered harshly "We have not had enough time together, my husband! There must be more. There must!"
When Black Wolf returned to the central area, he was bombarded by questions about how friends and relatives were doing. He gave some answers freely, such as the effort he'd gone through to ensure that the enemy couldn't track him here; others, because he knew the pain they would inflict, took longer.
Fox Running had gone outside, and finally Black Wolf used that as his excuse to leave. By now, summer's heat had settled over the camp, adding to his need for sleep, but that could wait.
As he hoped, he spotted Talks with Frogs sitting outside the temescal used for sweat baths.
"I heard you had returned. I waited here because what we say is not for many ears," the shaman said. "Our wot has gone hunting, but I do not wish to wait for his return." The short, paunchy man patted the ground beside
him, and Black Wolf sat down.
"I must go back," Black Wolf said, his gaze locked on a cluster of seedlings growing in the shade of a large pine. He wondered how many of them would survive.
The shaman pressed his hand over his eyes, his thick knuckles turning white from the effort. "I see danger."
Danger. "It does not matter. I have no choice."
"What do you want of me?"
"Must I ask?"
Sighing, Talks with Frogs shook his graying head. "I do not want to do this, Black Wolf. My eyes tell me things that..."
Talks with Frogs was not a man given to silence. "I would not have a spirit helper if you had not shared your wisdom with me and my grandfather," Black Wolf pressed. "I cannot do this thing without you."
Instead of acknowledging him, Talks with Frogs got to his feet and entered the temescal through the roof entrance. Black Wolf followed him, climbing slowly down the interior ladder. Even before he reached the dirt floor, his sense of peace grew. The hot, nearly smokeless fire was already going, which made him believe Talks with Frogs had known they'd be doing this.
Black Wolf waited until his shaman had seated himself and then did the same. He immediately began to sweat, and his lungs felt as if they might close down. He shouldn't have allowed so much time to pass without renewing himself here. The thought made him ask himself if he'd ever do this again.
Ever see his son again.
No! Not as long as Wolf walked beside him!
When Talks with Frogs began chanting, sounds without meaning washed over Black Wolf. Surrendering to the sensation, he mentally took himself back to the mission, not because he wanted to, but because it was important that his people know as much as he did. He "stared" at the padres, "heard" the commanding bells, "smelled" the stench of melting tallow, "slammed" his fist against a careless cross.
"You do not want to be at that place," Talks with Frogs said, his voice a deep singsong. "Your heart beats fast and you cannot swallow."
Yes.
"You ask yourself if there could have been another way. If you had not plunged your spear into a leatherjacket, they would not now be hunting you."
I know.
"But that was yesterday's step and you did what a warrior must do. You can only walk in today."
Yes.
"You are right to go back; your people's future depends on what you learn."
Because of what I did.
"Seek the shadows, Black Wolf, your spirit always with you. Do what you must. Slip close to the leatherjackets and listen to what they say. Step into where they live and count their weapons. Ah! I hear your heart pounding, feel your determination. You want to seize the enemy's muskets, lances, and swords and bring them here so that strength will be in the hands of your people."
Yes.
"Be wise, Black Wolf. Put wisdom before all else. If you do not, your son will grow up without a father."
No!
"You sense danger. It comes on cenkes, the wind, but it is not a nunasis. There is no danger from a hate-filled supernatural being."
"I do not fear nunasis. I never have."
"Because your skaluks is so strong. No one's, not even mine, is stronger. But perhaps even Wolf lacks the power to protect you now."
"No!"
"I pray you are right. Listen to me. You remember when the leatherjackets rode down on your parents' village and murdered your father and threw a rope around your neck and dragged you off to live as a slave."
I will kill—
"Listen to me! Never forget the feel of that rope, but do not let your need for revenge rule you. Hatred is unwise, dangerous. Ah! Fear wants to wrap itself around you, but you turn your back on it, try to deny it. I say this to you—do not surrender to fear as a child does no matter what you must face. Instead, take the knowledge born from that time and those emotions and make them part of everything you are and do."
"I already have," he whispered.
Talks with Frogs rocked back and forth, his arms uplifted, eyes closed. "Yes. Yes. You carry much wisdom inside your heart and mind. That and more courage than most of our warriors."
The shaman lowered his arms and grabbed Black Wolf's ankle. "Wisdom lives in your heart, in your head. The courage of Wolf gives your muscles strength. These things are gifts from your skaluks. I pray... I pray the gifts will be enough."
His hold became tighter, but despite the sharp pain, Black Wolf didn't try to pull free.
"We are one now, one," Talks with Frogs said. "I walk in yesterday with you, know—ah!"
"What?"
The shaman's mouth worked and his lids fell and rose. Still, several seconds passed before he spoke. "This last time at the mission was different from those that came before. You saw and heard and experienced things you never have. I see inside you and know this."
Tell him everything; hold nothing back. "There is a new corporal," he said. "He walks like a bull and is always armed. He has vowed to kill me."
"No." The word came out a hiss. "That is not it. Not all of it."
Leaning forward, Talks with Frogs gulped in a deep breath. Black Wolf imagined his essence being sucked deep into the shaman and, along with it, perhaps more knowledge about his thoughts and emotions than he had.
"You do not yet understand the meaning behind this new experience," the shaman continued, "but it is changing you."
"Is this good? Wise?"
"I cannot answer. Only you can." Still holding onto Black Wolf's ankle, Talks with Frogs wiped sweat off the side of his neck with a trembling hand. "Dark clouds press around you. I hear your heart beating, hear the sounds of the, leatherjackets' horses and weapons. You do not run, because that has never been your way, but I say to you that standing to fight may be the end of you."
Black Wolf had never questioned his shaman's wisdom. Hadn't Talks with Frogs been the first to know Rabbit Dancing was carrying his son, that it would not rain all through the hot days of this summer?
"I am not afraid of death." Better mine than my son's.
"A wise man does not fear what comes for all of us. What I say to you is that great danger waits for you. Your people need you; your son needs you. Do not ever forget those things."
"What must I do?"
The shaman released his grip on Black Wolf's ankle and took hold of his wrist. Eyes closed, he again chanted. The meaning behind the sounds, known only to Talks with Frogs, went on and on. Finally: "Danger, danger for all of us. A leatherjacket with blood on his hands and murder in his eyes."
"Sebastian Rodriguez."
"How do you know his name?"
"His daughter told me."
"His daughter?"
"I forced the truth from her."
"Black Wolf, no!"
Startled by the shock in the shaman's voice, Black Wolf nearly touched him, but he dared not pull a spirit man out of his walk with those spirits.
"You killed her?" Talks with Frogs asked.."Her father's need for revenge—"
"No. I did nothing to harm her," he said and then told Talks with Frogs everything he could remember about the time he'd spent with Lucita.
"She did not run from you, did not cry out? That cannot be."
"That is what my warrior's heart told me, and yet it happened."
"I do not understand this woman."
"Neither do I," Black Wolf admitted. "After our first meeting, I again sought her out. She looked into my eyes and said she had not spoken of me to her father, and I believe her."
"But what she told you may no longer be."
Talks with Frogs placed Black Wolf's hand against his chest and held it there while he prayed.
"The spirits have spoken," the shaman whispered while the fire snapped and hissed. "The danger which surrounds you touches all Chumash. We must know whether we are safe here—or whether we must flee, again."
Sweat ran off Black Wolf, and he felt weak. Despite that, he nodded. "If I want to call myself a man, my eyes and ears must be where the enemy is. It can be no other
way"
"Ah! Take your charm stone with you. Take your strongest spear, your truest arrows. Never close your eyes. Walk always like a deer being stalked by a cougar."
"I will."
"I pray for you, Black Wolf. As long as we both draw breath, I pray for you."
* * *
"Wife. I want you."
A furtive glance told Margarita that Lucita had overheard her father's command, a fact that forced her to retreat into herself. Surrounded by silence, she stood and made her heavy-footed way to the door. When she opened it and peeked out, she saw that Sebastian was already heading toward the private space next to the soldiers' quarters that he'd claimed as his own. Certain the padres were watching and knew why she was following her husband, she kept her eyes downcast.
I submit, my Lord. Always I will submit. It is the cross I bear.
"Don't look so shocked," Sebastian admonished when they were alone in the room she'd been able to avoid so far. "It isn't a sin for a man and wife to be together before the sun sets."
"But... I thought you were busy." The room smelled of dry leather and his unwashed body.
"I have been; I have. But I don't have to tell you about my needs, do I?"
"No." Without waiting for him to order her to do so, she began removing her shoes. Most times his urges took such powerful hold of him that he didn't object to her retaining as much clothing as possible. All that mattered to him was that he have access to the most private part of her.
"Tell me." Hands on his hips, he watched her. "Do you regret coming to La Purisima?"
What she regretted but would never tell him was that her determination to minister to the neophyte's souls meant that for the first time in his career she had accompanied her husband on a mission. Always before she'd waved him off with relief lightening her load ; she hadn't asked herself how he satisfied his needs while they were apart.
"The need for salvation is immense," she said in a rotelike tone. "My heart is glad God has chosen me to be one of the instruments for that task."
"Hm. And I daresay your relief at not having to force Lucita to marry Senor De Leon is just as great."