by Karen Kay
What kept him? Dusk had slowly turned to the pitch-black of night, and Anna hugged her arms around herself to keep off the chill.
Not that it was cold. In truth, the night was balmy and warm. It was only that, with low clouds filling the heavens, there were no stars or moon above to bring about a feeling of contentment or warmth. Plus, the heavy humidity in the air easily forecast the possibility of rain.
Would she and War Cloud be able to complete the marital act if it rained? Oh, why did he not hurry?
Anna began to wish that she had paid more attention when she had been younger and the other girls in the orphanage had spoken of the marriage bed and what was expected of a woman at this time in her life. As it was, Anna really had no idea of what was to come. Perhaps, she thought, if she had more of an inkling of it, she would not be so inclined to fret.
She heaved a deep sigh, had done no more than let out her breath when the wind blew up, seeming to whisper in her ear, soothing her…making her lids drop. Something startled her and she flung open her eyes, only to realize how tired she was…and she was still standing.
She sat down, leaning back against the trunk of the willow as the gentle breeze touched her face. Surely War Cloud would find her when the time was ready.
She heard the drums in the distance, watched the eerie light of their fire, saw the leaps of their dancers.
She edged closer. Was this where she would find War Cloud? Was it an enemy camp? A friendly one?
With amazement, Anna realized that there would be no friendly Indian camp for her.
Ah, there he was. Her hero, her protector. But what was he doing? Why wasn‘t he participating with the others?
Although he did not see her, Anna followed him through the camp. She would go where he went, see what he saw. She would understand what drove this man.
And then what would she do?
She would love him, she decided. She would simply love him.
It is as the wise men have said, War Cloud concluded, as he stood watching the shadows of those who have departed this world. These, his ancestors, were depending on him. The time was near. The curse could be broken.
Never before had War Cloud seen so many of the shadows of the dead gathered in one place. Never before had he seen so many of them drumming, singing and carrying on as though they were alive; some were even dancing, their figures no more than mere outlines.
Still, theirs was a feast for him; a time for encouragement. All his kin were here, his own father included amongst them. War Cloud watched their ghostly merriment with fascination, but he held himself back from them.
He had never enjoyed close contact with the dead, not even when a spirit spoke to him in a vision quest. Some of his people, even a few great warriors, trembled in fear of the spirits. While War Cloud was not afraid of them, his emotion toward them was far from joyous. If anything, he usually found himself to be more than a little annoyed after communication with them.
He expected it to be no different this time.
Troubled, War Cloud turned away and left their haunted circle to pace slowly toward the stream which lay not far away.
Coming upon it, he drowned out the clatter of the unearthly drumming and listened to the very real surge of water as it gurgled happily against its many rocks. The familiarity of this natural melody, along with the crickets playing their nightly serenade and the mournful cries of the wolves in the distance, calmed his soul, allowing him a moment of respite from his thoughts.
“E-peva’e tsexe-ho’ehneto, it is good that you came here, away from the others.”
War Cloud was not surprised to hear the words of his ancestor Sky Falcon. He glanced up to see the ghostly image hovering before him, there over the water.
“Henova’e he’tohe? What is it? Why are you not with the others?” War Cloud spoke harshly, though he knew he should temper his words.
“I must talk to you,” said the shadow of the ancient one, still speaking in the Cheyenne tongue.
“I need no talk,” said War Cloud. “Always when you seek to counsel me, you try to encourage me to do something that is not in my heart to do. Know that I am committed to breaking this curse and to helping you find peace, but I must live my own life as I would have it, not as you would see it.”
The ancient one, though in shadow form only, approached. It said, “I would not ask you to do something that is not in your nature to do.”
“Humph!”
“Henova’e he’tohe, what is it? Why is your heart heavy when the rest of us rejoice?”
War Cloud paused, and then said slowly, “I fear the consequences of coupling with the white woman, Grandfather.”
“Ah,” said the old one. “Speak to me of it, my son.”
War Cloud barely shrugged. “I fear that I am coming to like her too much, Grandfather.”
“Humph!” said the shadow.
“I find that I worry about her,” War Cloud continued as though the ancient one had remained silent. “And I no longer think of her as a white woman or as an enemy.”
“What is wrong with this?” asked the shadow.
“I fear, Grandfather, that I could be her destruction, and it is this that troubles me.”
“You will not harm her,” declared the shadow all-knowingly.
“Perhaps not this night,” answered War Cloud, “but what of the future? She is determined to marry. Yet, she knows that I cannot. What if I cannot prevent it?”
“Do not fight it so hard, my son.”
“And what of love? I cannot deny that I already admire her. I have never known a woman like her. She is brave when others would cower. She gives of herself when others would hold back. Grandfather, what if I begin to love her? Would not my love for her take her away?”
“It is a hard thing to predict, my son,” said the shadow. “But I think that it is only marriage that could harm her—if she is not strong enough to break the spell.”
War Cloud nodded. “I do not want her to try to break the spell, Grandfather. I fear this.”
“And yet,” the ancient one said, “I believe that she is the one. It is as she says, my son. Her beliefs are strong. They will protect her.”
“And what if they do not protect her? What if they fail her?”
The shadow of the old man appeared to pause as though in reflective thought, giving War Cloud the opportunity to continue speaking.
War Cloud said, “It is the man’s duty to set the course of his life with a woman. It is my duty to guide Nahkohe-tseske, for there is much about the curse and about our family that she still does not understand.”
“Think you so? She may grasp more than you recognize, I think. Remember that a warrior leads with his courage, my son, but a woman leads with her heart. Only this can I tell you. Follow her. You will not regret it.”
No sooner had this message been uttered than the shadow vanished, the abruptness of its disappearance leaving War Cloud feeling annoyed and strangely empty. Pulling his mouth into a grimace, he turned aside and, spinning around, bumped into something standing directly behind him.
Out of habit, his body tensed and he bent, ready for action, grabbing hold of his knife at the same time. Instinct had him wielding the object in his hand ready for use. Looking up, he took stock of who stood before him.
Nahkohe-tseske’s green eyes stared straight back at him.
“Saaa,” he said, relaxing his stance and sheathing his weapon. She had surprised him, for he had not been listening for the sounds of another soul sneaking up on him.
And it appeared, he noticed, that he had startled her as well, if her expression were a mirror to her thoughts. She stared back at him with eyes that appeared unusually wide and unblinking. He sighed and said, “You heard? You saw?”
She did not speak, merely glared at him.
He threw back his head and groaned. “So now you know.”
One moment followed upon another until at last she muttered, “What have you done to me?”
W
ar Cloud slanted her a frown and, when she remained silent, again asked, “Did you see? Did you hear?”
“I’m not sure what I saw.”
He let out his breath. “Did you hear?”
“Hear what?”
Ah, he had forgotten that he had been speaking to the shadow of his ancestor in the Cheyenne tongue. She would not have understood, if she had heard anything at all. It was good.
She repeated, “What have you done to me? Not in all my life have I seen anything like…this that I saw tonight.”
The sinew in War Cloud’s arms went rigid as she spoke. He knew of no way to make this easy for her.
It was not a simple thing to do, to see the spirits, to speak to them. Few people were ever given the opportunity. He wondered if she knew the compliment his ancestor paid her.
Anna straightened away and glanced around her. “Was the image I saw here tonight the one you called Sky Falcon?” she asked.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “It was.”
“I do not believe in ghosts, Mister War Cloud.”
He shrugged. “I cannot help that.”
“Did you hypnotize me?”
“I do not know this word, hyp-no-tize.”
She stiffened her spine. “It is a new word in the English language,” she explained, “and it means to put someone into a waking sleep, so that they are not seeing the things around them, but rather observing objects that another suggests to them.”
“Ah…”
“Did you do this to me?”
He paused to collect his thoughts. When he did at last speak, he began slowly, as though only in this way could he bring her to understand. He said, “I do not cause all things that happen on this earth. If I can, I try to understand them, that is all. If you saw something this evening, know that it was you who experienced it—for I made no suggestion.” His voice caught on the last word.
“Very well.” She appeared to accept this without further difficulty. “And the drumming and singing?” she asked. “Have we camped next to a band of Indians?”
He stuck out his chin and jerked his head to the left. He said, “You heard them?”
She snorted. “A body would have to be deaf not to.”
War Cloud let his gaze roam up and down Anna’s figure, noticing for the first time the distinct upward tilt of her head. He commented, “You are privileged, then.”
“What do you mean?”
She shivered, and War Cloud noticed for the first time the meagerness of her dress. He asked, “Are you warm enough?”
She nodded.
“Then follow me and we will go into this camp that you might see it for yourself. There is little I can do to explain it to you. You must see it for yourself.”
“But—”
“Ne-naestse, come. If you have become aware of the noises of the evening, if you saw that which spoke to me, then I would have you see the rest, that you might better understand what is happening here.”
And giving her no choice but to follow him, he tramped in the direction of the ghostly camp. Perhaps it was a good thing; she might think twice before trying to convince him again to marry her.
Chapter Eighteen
Drums beat out a slow cadence while phantomlike figures danced to a centuries-old rhythm. With only an illusionary fire to serve as their lighting, it was difficult for Anna to make out more than mere outlines of those dim shapes.
She clung to War Cloud’s arm in silent alarm and scooted close to him. “War Cloud,” she whispered, “what is this?”
“It is a dance of my ancestors,” he answered. “They are celebrating.”
“Why?” she asked.
He paused for a long time. Moving closer to him, she nudged him and asked again, “Why are they celebrating?”
He stared straight ahead of him, and in the dim light, the only thing she could see of his features was an outline. She could not read his thoughts, nor observe his reactions. At length, he answered, his voice no more than a whisper, “They believe that the curse that binds my kin is almost at an end.”
“They do?”
“Haahe, they do.”
“Why?” she asked.
She felt him take in a long breath before he answered, “Because of you.”
“Me? What has any of this to do with me?”
She felt him shift his weight from one foot to the other. And though it was obvious that the man was uncomfortable, she would not withdraw the question. She had to know. Impatiently, she waited for his response, still clutching his arm.
Finally he said, “They believe that you are the one to set them free. They have long awaited a time when the curse could at last be broken.”
“They have? But why me?”
He straightened himself up to his full height before glancing quickly down at her. He said, “You are the first woman in all these years who is unafraid of the curse. Because of this, my ancestors believe that you are strong enough to overcome its power.”
She had no reply to that. While on the one hand she might be flattered, on the other, these things he spoke of frightened her.
“Do you think I am the one, too?”
He sighed before he said, “I do not know what to conclude. I would like to think that you can help lift the curse, if only because I have been trying to overcome it most of my life.”
“You are uncertain?”
He shook his head. “I fear the curse’s power. If you are not the one, or if your power is weak, there would be great harm done to you.”
She shivered, but asked, “How?”
“I have already told you the consequences of a union with me.”
She nodded. “If I marry you…but I don’t believe in curses.”
He gestured toward the figures. “And do you believe in these?”
She stopped perfectly still. She did not, yet she could not deny what she was seeing.
“Ah,” he said, “now you know my problem. I would like to think that you are the one. I fear the consequences if you are not. Know that your belief in yourself must be strong—for there might come a time to test you. Know this.”
“I don’t understand.”
He shrugged. “Nor do any of us. Had we the knowledge of how to cast off the spell, it would be gone. Know only that there will come a time when you will need to be strong—if you are to help us.”
“Help you? I am trying to, but I still don’t understand. Tell me, what is it that you wish from me?”
He stared down at her, but it was too dark to see his features. He said, “I do not know. But if you are the one and we commit the marital act, you must be warned that there is great risk.”
“Even if we have the liaison, but don’t marry?”
He nodded. “I fear there is danger either way.”
She frowned. “But if we don’t marry, the curse would not affect me. Is there another kind of danger?”
She thought she heard him curse in English. But the words were said so quietly, under his breath, that she was uncertain. She asked again, “What kind of danger are you talking about?”
He looked away from her, his posture tense as he explained, “There is danger that I may fall in love with you.”
In love with her?
She had to be dreaming. She pinched herself—only to find that she was still standing beside War Cloud.
Dazed, she found herself asking, “And you think there might be a risk of this happening?”
He shrugged. “I already admire you, and I desire you. There is a next step, and perhaps taking you to my sleeping robes might be that step.”
Then by all means, do it, she said to herself alone. Aloud she voiced, “And if I fall in love with you?”
He sent her a swift glance. “Do you think that you might?”
She caught her breath and, unable to say the words, sidestepped the question altogether. At length, she nodded.
He said, “Then there is more trouble than I feared, for you must not stay with me. Promise me now,
no matter what happens, that you will leave me when the time comes for us to part.”
She remained silent.
“Promise me.”
She groaned. “I cannot do that. Know that I do not put any faith in this curse. What if there is a problem and I am required to remain with you…for the children? I cannot see into the future easily enough to give you that promise. I am sorry.”
He grimaced. “Then we must be careful, very careful with each other, and we must not nurture a feeling of affection between us. Promise me that you will at least try to do this.”
What could she say? “I will try,” she murmured at last. But she knew that even this promise had come too late.
She already felt more than a little affectionate toward War Cloud. If he only knew…
The shadows lingered, dancing under an overcast midnight sky, their outline highlighted only by the ghostly fire in the middle of their circle. Most of the figures were clean silhouettes, except for the special features a few wore on their heads—a buffalo headdress or a horned hat. All wore breechcloth and moccasins. All were clothed in mist and mystery.
She wanted to leave this place, but she dared not do so. Something kept her here, though she would have been hard-pressed to put a name to exactly what it was.
Presently, one of the figures distinguished itself from the others, and she recognized the image of the same old man she had observed speaking with War Cloud earlier, by the stream. The ancient one looked different now, however, with no more than a buffalo robe drawn over one shoulder.
A cloud sailed across the sky overhead, allowing a beam of moonlight to shine down on them. It bathed the image in an unearthly light, and for a moment, she saw the shadow distinctly.
Dear Lord, this was a likeness of no man she had ever before witnessed. Tattoos marred the ancient one’s perfect complexion. They were everywhere on his body: on his cheeks, on his chin, on his arms. His long, gray hair hung down to his hips, while a single feather, attached to his hair, fell from his head.
The image came forward.
All at once another image joined his, that of an old woman, and in her arms the female shadow bore a dress—a white buckskin dress, heavily decorated with colorful quills and shells.