by L. E. Waters
After the summer thunderstorms are over and autumn starts to come, I still go into their camp to watch Wakinyan from afar. I look on as her adopted father leaves an elk outside camp, and she and her mother go to drag it back. I watch her cut and stack wood and follow her in the grasses as she goes to feed and water the ponies.
I become so frustrated when I have to go hunting or I’m forced to stay in camp. Even when I’m creeping up on a herd, I’m thinking about where she is and what I’m missing. Whenever I see her with Mika, I have to stay farther back. Mika is far too quick and spins around as soon as she hears a twig break.
One day Mika yells out, “Glued-to-a-Canoe, come out!”
Then silence. After a long pause and hearing nothing, I decide to bring my head up slowly to see what has happened to them. Seeing them gone, I straighten to try to see where they went, and two rocks hit me in the back. I spin around as Mika and Wakinyan drop to the ground, laughing.
Mika says, “We should now call him Squats-in-Grasses.”
The heat rises in my face, and I march to my horse to leave, but Mika says, “We are coming.”
I’m confused until they both come back on small ponies: Mika on a black-and-white pinto and Wakinyan on a brown-and-white one. I jump on my pony and kick him into a nice gallop across the plains. I check behind to see Mika and Wakinyan crisscrossing each other, back and forth. Until Wakinyan veers off to her left, crouching low and holding onto the pony’s mane. I decide not to follow, since I have been embarrassed before, and try to keep going straight, pushing my pony to his limit. Not hearing anyone behind me, I slow and search across the rolling grassy hills. I hear the songbirds silence as a falcon circles high above. I kick my pony to go back in the direction I saw Wakinyan go and, sure enough, the two girls are laughing and riding circles around each other. I gallop back and try to do the circles with them, but they laugh harder at my attempt to fit in.
I leap off while my pony is at a run, roll upon landing, and get back up to climb to the top of the highest knoll. Interested in what I’m doing, the girls trot their ponies over and watch as I roll all the way down to the bottom. Wakinyan jumps off as soon as she sees the fun I’m having and runs up the knoll while Mika looks less excited about it. Wakinyan calls to her to come and join her and, after some coaxing, Mika unhappily gets off and climbs to the top of the hill. Wakinyan lies down, grabs hold her hands, and Mika gives a nervous yelp as Wakinyan yanks her, spinning, down the hill. They separate halfway, and Wakinyan rolls down to me, laughing, as Mika hits a large rock and gets up, rubbing her back.
We get back on and let our ponies all dance in the wavering golden grasses, in the low orange sunset. When twilight falls upon us and the coyotes begin to howl, Mika and Wakinyan say they have to go back. Even though I want them to ask me to stay, I foolishly trot off, as though I want to go back to my camp. I watch them gallop away together, as the grasses turn purple and the sky lights up with icy stars.
Chapter 6
I awake to grandfather sitting outside, his warm breath fogging in the chilly autumn air. Frost covers the grasses, making the whole landscape sparkle.
“Early for frost,” he says, as he watches me take it all in. “We usually do not have frost until after the buffalo feast.”
“The sun is still strong though.” I squint at the bright sun, which is already melting the ice. “It is only the month of Leaves Turning Brown.”
He nods. “Early frost means early winter.” He turns to check the sun’s position. “I will tell the Chief to start the hunt.”
I sit down next to him as he cleans his medicine pipe. The many ornamented scalps on his lance blow in the wind like cottonwood branches. “Why are scalps so sacred?”
He stares at his scalps and slowly says, “Our people believe that scalping makes it impossible for the soul to go to the Happy Hunting Ground. Why would we want our enemies to go to the afterlife with us?”
He concentrates on emptying the old tobacco out of the pipe. “There are two reasons why our people will not bury the dead: if they have been scalped or if they have taken their own life. Neither will make it to the afterlife, so why bother to bury them? We leave them to the wolves. It is the worst medicine to touch those bodies.”
I’m quiet as I think of the scalps that float in the breeze.
He continues. “These scalps are sacred because I have captured these warriors’ souls.” He takes out a piece of deerskin and rubs the pipe clean. “When you become a warrior, you will learn to risk your life to pull a fallen brother, War Chief, or friend from the field. To save their souls for eternity.”
“I have heard great warriors are never scalped. Is that true?”
“If a warrior has shown great ability and courage even our worst enemy will recognize that and spare his soul. It is a good reason to act bravely.”
I nod in agreement as he smiles at his cleaning job and blows through the pipe. “The way we fall in death is the way we will appear in the afterlife. It is important to die a good death.”
He gets up slowly, with his pipe bundled in his arms like a baby, and walks back toward the medicine lodge. It’s not the Lakota way to preach our values and religion. The belief is that everyone has to seek the answers themselves. However, whenever I’m alone with Weayaya, I attempt to have another mystery answered. Yet I’m usually left with more questions.
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That night, the tom-toms sound far off in the other camp. Some sort of celebration is taking place. I give my mother a look, and she smiles and nods. I run off on foot, since collecting my pony from the large herd will take too long. The whole tribe has gathered, and everyone is dressed in their finest celebration clothes. From the distance, the crowd is a mass of colors and feathers, like a tree full of colorful birds. I run up and push my way through the bodies to see Mika in the center, dancing alone. She’s dressed in a lovely, fringed, long skirt and around her neck hang many beautiful necklaces, of all different colors. Her wrists and ankles are wrapped in copper with little beads and feathers hanging from the cuffs. This is her woman’s celebration.
The tribe is acknowledging her introduction into adulthood, and now she can be married. I guess by the look of her, that she might be twelve or thirteen winters, and Wakinyan might be only a year or so behind. Anxiety flashes as I realize Wakinyan soon too can be married. Mika moves rhythmically to the sound of her honoring song, which is sung only for her. She is beautiful and, from the expressions on the young warriors’ faces, I can tell she is highly desirable. She will be married within days for sure.
One face in particular stands out to me—the paleface who danced the snake dance with her. Only now, away from the fire’s orange glow and in the fading light, can I tell that the young man has the strangest color of eyes I have ever seen. They’re a dark indigo, the color of deep river water. He is in a trance, watching, as she spins around, shaking all her beads and waving her dyed feathers. She wears a single eagle feather upright in her hair, displaying her purity. The song finishes, and she smiles at her admirers, then goes with her father, mother and their medicine man into the teepee her mother constructed just for the sacred feast.
I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn, hoping it’s Wakinyan. I’m disappointed to see Hanska.
“How many ponies do you think I would need to offer?” he asks, watching her through the teepee flap.
“You have not even had your vision quest yet.”
“You will see. I am going to go out and steal as many ponies as I can.” He tears his eyes away from her. “You are near twelve winters. You should be coming with us to raid.”
“Do you think the council will let me go?”
He measures me up and down. “I think we should ask the elders and then you can watch my courageous feats that will win me Mika.”
He blows his chest out, stands tall and looks back over toward her.
“I think someone may beat you to it.” I point to the white man.
&nb
sp; Hanska glares at him. “The paleface never has to prove his manhood. He just hands over guns and objects from his world and out-does us all.”
Wakinyan and a few other girls dance, without music, into the circle, amusing themselves. Hanska sees who catches my attention. “You should begin right away, if that is who you want to win. Many have their eyes on her too.”
I take Hanska’s hand. “Let us go now and speak to the elders.”
Hanska pulls away. “Mika will be dancing again after the feast. I am staying.”
I run off anyway. I think I hear my name being called but, when I turn, I don’t see anyone. I keep running to the council lodge.
The elders sit in a circle around the teepee fire, smoking their pipe. No one turns at my entrance. I go and sit beside my grandfather. He puffs the pipe and slowly lets the smoke seep out of his nose. After he passes the pipe, he asks, “Grandson, why have you come to council?”
“I came to ask the council’s permission to begin raiding with the older boys.”
“Does this have anything to do with Mika coming of age tonight?”
Some of the other elders laugh quietly at this.
I honestly reply, “No, Grandfather. I am ready to prove myself.”
He sits up straight and looks at the other elders. They all slowly nod their heads and Grandfather turns to me. “It is so.”
I run out and all the way back to the other camp to tell Hanska. Mika must have finished her dance, and now the rest of the village dances in celebration.
As Hanska talks to another young warrior, I proclaim, “They have said yes! I can go with you on the next raid.”
He smiles. “Now you will see what I can do.”
“When is the next raid?”
“We go tomorrow in the early dawn, before the squaws build their fires.”
Wakinyan walks by, arm in arm with Mika. Hanska and I are silent as they come by, and when I go to follow them Hanska says, “No one can speak to Mika now unless they court her and give offerings to her father.”
“I wasn’t going to talk to Mika. I was going to talk to Wakinyan.”
“Well, you must wait until Mika is away from her. This is the way.”
I follow them from afar, and they stay attached, laughing and dancing on their own. Days ago, I could have gone up to play with them, but now I realize I will never get to speak to Wakinyan. Hanska finds me. “Come, Kohana. We must go.”
My teepee by the edge of camp is dark, with my mother and brother asleep inside. Before I crawl in with them, I force myself to drink water, filling my bladder to ensure I will wake early.
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I awake when the sky is still purple. I creep out of bed to relieve myself and see that no one in the camp has yet stirred. I take some dried meat and stuff it into my bag, chewing a few pieces for breakfast. I go to wrangle my fastest pony. My father had six ponies when he left us: two fast for fighting, two trained for the buffalo hunt and two pack ponies that are getting old. Every Lakota knows their own ponies, and no one within the tribe ever tries to steal what isn’t theirs. I decide to take the black-and-white pinto that has one white foot. By the time I ride back to the edge of camp, Hanska and a few other older boys are seated on their ponies and horses, all painted up. Hanska gets down from his horse and spreads some of his red paint below my eyes, down my nose and on my pony.
“There. We need to go to the other camps and collect some more raiders. The more we are in number, the braver we can get.”
Paytah rides up next to me and greets me. He is my father’s sister’s son, two winters older than me. “Are you nervous for your first raid?”
“Lakota men are never nervous.” I look off to the distance. “I am excited, not afraid.”
We only ride halfway to Wakinyan’s camp before seven riders, all painted up too, meet us. The one in front I recognize as the one who threw Mika and Wakinyan in the water.
Hanska points. “That is Chayton. He is the oldest boy in their group.”
Chayton is thin, but his pronounced sinews are strong and flexible. All of the other boys look up to him and even Hanska allows him to lead. Chayton’s eyes are small and beady, and he has a slight dip in his bony chin. We go out half-a-day’s ride, and while we water our horses I have a chance to talk to Hanska and Paytah. “What tribe are we raiding today?”
Hanska replies, “We are headed north to try to find some small Ojibwa camps.”
I ask, “Are we waiting until dark to sneak up?”
“No. To die in the dark will mean you will walk in the dark eternally.” Worry flashes in Paytah’s eyes.
Hanska shakes his head. “No. We must try to surprise them and take whatever horses we can get.” He holds up his rawhide lasso.
I look down at my father’s, tied on my belt. “How will we shoot and throw our lassos?”
Hanska laughs. “You can only do two things at once. Hold your shield, and you can lasso and get horses; hold your shield and bow, and you can protect; or you can use your shield and lasso, and go get a woman. You get a woman and you can become a warrior right away.”
We follow Chayton back up to the top of the valley and gaze down upon a herd of ponies. Far off, in the distance, we can see their camp of teepees. There are only a few women feeding the ponies. Hanska smiles, seeing the unguarded women. “Hurry. It will take the men some time to get their ponies.”
Paytah throws his arm out to halt Hanska. “I think we need a plan.” Splotchy welts start up his neck, and his face turns red as clay.
Chayton puts his finger to his lips and makes hand movements to each of us. He points for me to go the far left of the herd to move the ponies right. He gives each of us a different direction to circle the herd in order to corral them so that we can have a greater chance of lassoing. Then he makes a movement to watch him for command.
Chayton kicks his horse to start down the center and, as soon as we all follow, the women down below scream wildly, grabbing each other’s hands and running toward their camp. We rush down, and I go left as we all form the circle. The ponies panic and attempt to clump together. I don’t have time to pick a good pony. I simply throw my lasso and pull back as a brown and white pinto fights my rope like a strong fish. I pull the pony in next to mine as I ride in the circle Chayton commanded. Hanska breaks from the circle to gallop after the women. They scream even louder and draw the men from camp with their guns and bows in hand. Hanska only has moments to try for the women before the men are within range.
My heart stops as he throws his lasso to grab one of the smallest girls. All the other women try to pull her back, and one of the older women draws out her knife to cut the snare. But Hanska gives a great tug, pulling the girl away from them and, once the other boys start after the women as well, the women give screams of great fear and run again, leaving the roped girl behind. Hanska leaps off his horse and wraps the crying girl in the lasso, binding her arms and legs, then throws her onto the horse and gets back on behind her. I ride off just as the Ojibwa men start shooting. The other boys hold up their shields to deflect the bullets. Chayton gives a whoop and spins his hands in a circle above his head, signaling to flee, and the other boys take off behind him with their ponies.
We get to the ridge by the time some of the Ojibwa mount their ponies, and Chayton takes off to the river. We gallop down the river, Hanska last with his heavier load. Chayton then pulls his horse quickly out of the water and charges up a ravine. As soon as we get up behind him, he motions us to stand with our bows. The girl, even gagged, still makes quite a bit of noise. Below, ten warriors follow our tracks. Chayton puts his hand up and then drops it, and our arrows stream down the steepness toward the men. We keep shooting arrow after arrow, making a constant hail upon them. After a few arrows find flesh, they give up on the girl and ponies and retreat.
We ride home, carefully watching behind us. Hanska comes trotting up with his back straight and the girl now riding in front of him. I say, “I th
ought you wanted Mika?”
“I will still win Mika, but a great warrior can never have too many wives.” He lifts up the girl’s chin and studies her face. “She looks Ojibwa, but she will do.”
Chayton comes up on my other side. “Congratulations, Hanska. You will be made a warrior for certain tonight.”
Hanska bows his head proudly. Chayton then turns and says, “A fast pony such as this on your first raid is good, Kohana. Some still have not stolen their first pony yet.” My eyes go to Paytah, who still hasn’t lassoed one.
Once we come back to camp, the warriors, squaws, old men and children all come out to greet our return. Mother comes running with my brother and proudly takes my pony from me to lead to the herd. Hanska gets great acclaim from the warriors for being bold enough to take a girl, and the older squaws take her away to break in. Immediately the Council of Elders gather in the lodge to decide if any are ready to become warriors. Apawi comes in last, walking backwards, and sits facing away from the circle.
Eyota speaks first. “Who will call out the honored ones of this raid?”
“I am honored.” Hanska stands up for himself.
Apawi laughs and points out, “Not if you must call out yourself.”
Hanska is ready for Apawi’s remarks and simply ignores him. “I have stolen a woman from the northern Ojibwa camp—”
Apawi makes passing gas noises.
Hanska pauses at this but then continues. “I left the raid for ponies to risk chasing women down as their men came to their defense. I lassoed the youngest girl—”