The Warrior's Captive Bride

by Jenna Kernan

  “If you don’t wake, I will have to guide him to the ghost road,” said the owl.

  Night Storm startled awake. Beside him, Frost rose to his feet and Sky pushed up onto her elbow, blinking at him with tired eyes.

  The light visible through the top of the lodge was now brighter than the light of the fire. Dawn, he thought, or just before dawn.

  The visions rushed back to him. The boy. The owl.

  “I have to get up.” He told her all he could recall.

  “Who is this boy?”

  He did not recognize him although he had seen him clearly because the black paint covered his face.

  “Perhaps he is of my people,” she said. “I will ask my aunt if any are ill. White berries, you said?”

  Night Storm rose to find himself in an unfamiliar lodge. Sky explained where he was. Why he could not remember coming here was obvious. Night Storm rose stiffly but was unsteady on his feet. Wood Duck assisted him out of the lodge.

  Skylark joined him a few minutes later. She set a backrest made of a series of sticks laced with buckskin on a frame before her aunt’s lodge and covered it with a buffalo robe. He was shamed that he needed help to lie down, and felt dizzy and sick just from the exertion of relieving himself.

  “I asked my aunt if any boys are ill and she said she did not think so, but she sent her husband to ask our shaman.”

  Sky settled beside him to grind Timpsula into flour.

  “Who saw my fall?” Storm asked, already knowing the answer.

  The pestle stopped in her hand. “Everyone.”

  His shoulders sagged. So, the worst had come at last. He would be asked to come to the council lodge and then he would learn if he was to lose his position or be banished.

  “Were you staring at the river?” she asked.

  He looked up at her. “What?”

  “When you rescued me from the Sioux warriors, you were riding fast. Were you staring at the waters of the river?”

  He thought back. The sunlight had been bright on the tall grass, flashing past him, flashing and flashing until it flashed bright as lightning.

  “The sunlight on the tall grass.”

  Was she still trying to fix him? There was no point now.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said.

  Light leaked into the eastern sky dulled by gray clouds. The river meandered along and women paused in their conversations until after they passed the strange warrior who wore an owl feather in his hair. Around them, men sang their morning prayers and women began their ceaseless work.

  Frost remained close to Storm, which worried him. It meant that he might expect another fall.

  “Flashing lightning, the sun flickering through bright new green leaves, the sun dancing on blue lake waters, the sun during your sun dance, the sunshine flashing on tall grass.”

  “You think Wi, the sun, is bringing my moth madness? It cannot be. I had a fall during the raid, or I nearly did. I closed my eyes and it went away. Wi does not shine at night. Only Hanwi, the moon.”

  “Light,” she said. “It is light or sun or moon. I think it is your fractured skull and light. The two together. Flashing light of any sort.”

  He tried to think but the knowledge that his secret was out, coupled with the dullness that followed an attack, made it hard to concentrate.

  “I cannot avoid light.”

  “Perhaps not. I must think on this. Usually, I deal with healing plants. But perhaps my grandmother was wrong. Perhaps not all conditions can be healed or need to be.”

  So even she had given up on him. Could he really blame her? He thought back to their bargain. He had been selfish to tie her to him until the gathering.

  “It doesn’t matter. You set out my things so I am not your concern.”

  Storm closed his eyes against the nausea that rolled inside him.

  She told him of her discovery that her father was not who she had been told. She said that at the time of her birth that her father had offered to claim her before all the people. The news lifted his spirits for the time it took to realize that he was no fit husband for such a desirable wife. She was now the daughter of their shaman and he was a man who saw things that were not there and had fits. He could not offer to make her his bride, no matter how many horses he had. And she would be foolish to even consider him as a suitor now that her options were so vast. He could not make her his wife. Skylark waited to ask him what he thought of her news.

  He opened his eyes to look at her beautiful face.

  “It is good that you have set my things outside our lodge because many men will now seek you out.”

  She frowned, clearly displeased with his answer. He did not care. It must be done.

  She took hold of his hand. “There are still a few days yet until the fall gathering.”

  He drew his hand away from here. “I release you from that promise, Skylark.”

  She stared at him with wide eyes and her breathing came quick.

  Frost lifted his head a moment before the lodge door lifted and Wood Duck appeared.

  “I have seen the shaman. He says no children are sick.”

  Sky’s shoulder’s sagged in relief.

  “He also said that Night Storm is to come to his lodge and stay there until he can return to his family at the gathering.”

  “But we can care for him,” said Sky.

  “It is done,” said Wood Duck.

  Storm tried to rise but, to his great shame, he had to be carried by travois through the village to the lodge of the shaman, Spirit Bear. His shame was now complete.

  After Storm was sent to the lodge of the Shaman, Skylark tried over several days to see Night Storm, but Starlight Woman, the shaman’s wife, always said he was resting and could not be disturbed.

  On the day before the camp was struck, Sky even had the audacity to approach Spirit Bear as he left the council lodge. Instead of allowing her to see Night Storm, Spirit Bear asked her if she knew how the warrior in his lodge was connected to owls.

  “How do you know this?” she asked.

  “I see them in the smoke and in my visions. I think that one has visions, too, though he does not know what to do with them. There is power in him. But it is a spiritual power and he seeks only physical power. Odd. Very odd.”

  Sky was so shocked she did not know what to say to Spirit Bear.

  “He tells me that you are the one who recognized that it is the light that triggers his falls and that you stopped one fall simply by covering his eyes.”

  She nodded.

  “Has he told you of his visions?”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “May I see him?”

  Spirit Bear motioned in the direction of his lodge. Spirit Bear called a greeting and asked his wife to come out. She appeared a moment later, her step lithe and graceful despite being in her winter years. She left the flap up so Sky could enter. Sky hesitated as her anticipation faded to dread. What if he still did not want to see her?

  Sky gathered her courage and stepped into the dim light of the lodge.

  Night Storm was there, sitting before the fire, shirtless and dressed only in his loincloth. Beside him, Frost lifted his head, sighted her and thumped his tail upon the buffalo robes.

  Storm glanced up at the visitor and drew in a breath as he recognized Skylark. He felt the immediate tug in his middle and his skin tingled as he resisted the urge to reach for her.

  She fell to her knees beside him and threw her arms about him. The familiar fragrance of growing things surrounded him. He breathed deep. It was hard not to embrace her. But he could not. He was no longer a warrior of the Black Lodges. In truth he did not know what he was. The shaman had told him many strange things and he was struggling to find his new path. Sky stiffened and then withdrew, her expression now
uncertain.

  “What is happening? My uncle says we will wait for the gathering and then turn you over to your council.”

  Did she also know that they would likely strip him of his position and banish him?

  One look at her worried expression and tightly locked hands told him that she understood.

  “Soon we will know.”

  “We will strike camp tomorrow,” she said. “Are you well enough to walk?”

  It hurt him enough that he could not ride. To be dragged behind a horse again was the ultimate shame. He did not think his pride could survive it.

  * * *

  The following day he did walk for part of the morning, but the journey cost him dearly. He did not fall, but his vision was bad with much rolling and waving. His muscles trembled and Spirit Bear called from a travois.

  “A man rides,” said Night Storm.

  “Falling Otter does not ride. I do not ride. We are both men.”

  Spirit Bear helped Night Storm onto the travois and he fell back to the hides wearily. Instead of riding the perimeter and guarding the women and children from attack, he trod among them, eating the dust of those who traveled before him. Spirit Bear’s wife walked with him as she guided a second travois full of the household belongings.

  It was an even greater shame when he saw the moving caravan of his people, the warriors whooping and calling greetings. After the two groups merged, several broke away and he recognized the spotted stallion of his father’s favorite traveling horse. It took little time for his father to cross the distance between them.

  Storm met his father’s stern, judgmental stare. Storm lifted his hand in greeting but his father wheeled away, galloping from the line to rejoin his men. Two trailed behind the others, waiting at the side of the slow-moving line of women. He had the shame of being dragged past his friends, Laughing Jay, Little Elk and Charging Bull, who sat astride their horses in silence as he passed like a ghost and then galloped forward to join the warriors.

  That evening, they made a temporary camp. Skylark came to offer him buffalo stew, but he had little appetite for food or company.

  It was well into the third day before they reached the place of the winter camp. They were not the first to arrive. Already the Wind Basin people had set their lodges along the far side of the winding river. Only the Shallow Water tribe had yet to arrive.

  Storm glanced about at the familiar place. This encampment had been winter base for as long as Night Storm could recall, because it had good water and wide stretches of grassland for the larger herds of horses. Most importantly, the hills surrounding the camp gave good wood for the hungry fires and protected the people from the roaring winds of winter.

  The Low River people and the Black Lodges people were greeted warmly, and the camping sites were chosen at random. Some preferred to stay with their tribe and others found places near the families they had left to marry. Soon the men would go on a buffalo hunt to bring the winter meat and the women would follow to butcher their kills. Where would he be then?

  * * *

  Storm did not have long to wait. For he was called before his council the afternoon after the camp was set. He went alone, for neither his father nor his brother came with him. Outside the large communal tepee of the Black Lodges, he found two men waiting, Falling Otter and Spirit Bear. Spirit Bear wore a cloak made from the skin of a bear, the skull forming the headdress that covered much of the top of his head. Falling Otter had painted himself yellow but was otherwise dressed as a man, which was a relief to Storm. He did not think matters could be any graver, but seeing the heyoka made him wonder.

  Outside the lodge sat many women he did not know and four he did. His sisters, mother and Skylark sat among them, eager for news from the council lodge and within easy hearing of all that would be said. Somehow their presence gave him the strength he needed to enter the lodge and face their decision.

  Spirit Bear called a greeting and Night Storm was asked to enter. Spirit Bear did not join him at the council because he had not been invited. This business was for the Black Lodges only. Falling Otter did not wait to be invited. Night Storm took his seat and Falling Otter joined the circle, puffing up his chest as if he were very important, indeed. Night Storm found himself smiling as he realized how important and unimportant each man really was, which may have been Falling Otter’s intent.

  The proceedings began. Night Storm was accused by Thunder Horse of being possessed by ghosts and evil spirits. He blamed the daughter of the heyoka for Night Storm’s trouble and assured all that he had cured Storm of his injuries after the fall, but that the hole in his skull had allowed bad spirits to enter.

  When the talking stick was passed, many of the men spoke of Storm’s bravery in battle but also of the changes since the fall. Some said he could no longer serve as a warrior. Thunder Horse called for Storm’s banishment.

  “He is possessed by ghosts and evil spirits and must not be allowed to draw them to the living.”

  His shaman passed the talking stick to the warrior next to him, the leader of the Black War Bonnet society, Many Coups, Night Storm’s father.

  “I know that my son cannot ride. But some injuries take time to heal. A broken leg might take three moons or more. Should a broken skull be any less? I ask for time for my son.”

  Storm felt his chest tighten. His father had done what he could, but Thunder Horse had the stick again and was warning of all the evil that storm could bring. Sickness. Poor hunts. Heavy snows. Outside the lodge came the shout of a woman and then several voices as some sort of disturbance ensued.

  The stick was passed and no other spoke of waiting and time. Falling Otter snatched up the stick and rose. He did a fine imitation of Thunder Horse calling for banishment and warned that there was no place in any tribe for a man who did not ride and raid. Then he pointed the stick at Thunder Horse who did not ride or raid and then at Night Storm and finally at himself. His message was received. Many men among them served the tribe without mounting a horse. Finished, Falling Otter passed the stick to Storm’s longtime friend, Two Hawks, and then lay down to take a nap.

  “I have heard that this one has visions,” said Two Hawks. “And that in those visions he saw a raid by Sioux warriors that came to pass as he predicted. I believe that Night Storm has become a farseeing man, that his fall allowed him to walk the ghost road and then return. One like this is important and must find a place among the people.”

  The stick came to Night Storm. He held it, thinking of all he might say and all he should say. Instead, he handed the stick to his friend, Charging Bull, who also spoke for him.

  “My friend has been injured. He needs time to heal. I say we wait until the Fast Water Moon. Then we will know what is best to do.”

  And Night Storm would be allowed to stay in camp during the time when the White Man of the north took over the earth. It was a stay of judgment.

  Thunder Horse interrupted. “We could all be dead by then.”

  “Night Storm is a brave man,” said Charging Bull, ignoring the rude interruption. “And he has hunted and fought with honor. He deserves this consideration,” said Charging Bull, and then passed on the stick.

  Thunder Horse did not wait for the talking stick to reach him but broke in. “He is a threat to us all. I am a seer of spirits. And I see that this one is haunted by the ghosts of his enemies. Those ghosts will lead the living warriors to us. He must go now.”

  Night Storm listened as the discussion continued. He had no choice but to abide by the decision of the leaders of his people, but in his heart he knew that the worst had already happened.

  It had taken a lifetime to become a warrior and only the turning of a day to cease to be one.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Sky sat among the women as, one by one, the men left the council lodge and went to their wives to con
firm the decision. Night Storm was no longer one of the people and was no longer welcome in their camp. She stayed where she was as their chief, Broken Horn, left with Storm’s father, Many Coups. Neither man looked at her. Most of the tribe remained, waiting for Night Storm to emerge for all wanted to see the haunted man before he left them for good.

  Finally Night Storm emerged, looking gaunt and pale, but he held his head up as he walked among them. Frost stepped forward to greet him, but he was the only one. All the people stood back, staring at the banished man.

  Sky had not seen Beautiful Meadow, but she recognized her now as she came forward with a woman who looked very much like her, but somewhat older. On her other side was a man of importance, judging from his elaborate headdress and the ermine strips fixed to the sleeves of his shirt. Her father, Sky guessed, who was a member of the tribal council of the Wind Basin band.

  It was the man who spoke. “Night Storm, you have deceived my daughter into believing you could provide for her. You are unfit to be a warrior of the Black Lodges and so you are unfit to be a warrior of Wind Basin. I am here to tell you that you are not welcome among us and that you will not have my daughter for your wife.”

  Night Storm nodded to the warrior who was to be his second father. Sky wondered why his own father was not beside him as Storm faced this man.

  “I release her from her promise,” said Storm. “And wish her every happiness.”

  Beautiful Meadow stepped forward. “You are not a man.”

  Her father took hold of Beautiful Meadow and guided her away. She made a great show of weeping and her mother wrapped an arm about her as the crowd moved to let them pass.

  All was silent and Sky did not know what to do. Should she go stand beside Storm? Where were his sisters and mother?

  And then Falling Otter appeared wearing a metal cooking pot on his head. He shouted edicts to the crowd, banishing everyone because they had not served him a midday meal and then blessing them because they were punishing a very bad man.