by L. E. Waters
“He wants me to find out if you would leave Hanska to go to him.”
She looks off across the river and dips the bag repeatedly, filling it up. Then stands up straight. “You can tell him I will go.”
“Tell no one of this then, because you will be a great risk. You must wait until the perfect time.”
She nods, and Mother returns. “Squaws are coming.”
I walk off in the other direction.
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A few days later, Chase comes back into our camp. Hanska stiffens at the sight of him. Hanska turns to me that night and says, “I know what Chase is up to.”
I pretend not to know what he is talking about.
“Why is he now living in our camp with Reynard back with Otaktay?”
“Maybe he has had an argument with Reynard, which is why he left in the first place.”
Hanska digests this until the next day, when Reynard returns and moves his teepee right beside Chase’s. Chase comes to my teepee one morning. “I have not seen Mika outside her teepee for days.”
“My mother told me that she is being kept roped day and night.”
He sits down hard. “That makes things much harder.”
“And she said that he has paid for an old woman to sit with her when he leaves the teepee.”
“Ha!” He laughs. “At least I’m driving him crazy.”
I sigh. “This might be impossible.”
He laughs again. “Well, you sure have your work cut out for you.”
“What? I have already done my part of the deal. I have talked to her.”
“No, I said talk to her and get her to my teepee safely. So get to work, Kohana.” He jumps up and walks away.
I know my answer lies within the medicine lodge. I steal inside while Weayaya is out and search through the painted medicine bags, but nothing is named or described.
“What are you in search of, Grandson?” His voice makes me jump.
I realize I have other no choice. “I am trying to help Mika leave Hanska.”
He nods like he saw it coming. “Force, no matter how concealed, begets resistance.”
“Hanska has her tied day and night and watched while he is gone.”
He looks at the bags in my hand. “And you think you can find something here that will help her.”
“Please, Weayaya. Mika is unhappy—”
He stops me there with one hand up. “No need to lie to me, Kohana. I see what your motivations are.” He bends over and riffles through the little bags until he brings one up to the light trickling in through the opening. He smells it and pulls it away quickly. “Yes, this is the one.”
He places the sack in my palm. “Have her hold this under her babysitter’s nose, and soon after, she will sleep.”
It’s just the thing I was hoping for. Excited, I close my hand and turn, but Weayaya holds my arm. “Promise me, if you do not get Wakinyan, then you take another wife.”
I cannot lie to such a knowing face, and my silence is enough for him. He drops my arm and looks at me sadly. “You cannot see the future with tears in your eyes.”
Chapter 21
Mother stands close to Mika as she prepares Hanska’s supper. She slips the bag into her hand, and Mika stuffs it in the top of her skirt. Looking around to see if anyone sees her, Mother whispers the instructions and Mika nods. I go to Chase and tell him to watch for the next time the old woman comes because he will have to stay near his teepee.
That night I have the strange dream again.
I’m back on the cliff, looking down to see the boy who just jumped. Yet nothing lies below but the lazy river.
“Redmond!”
I turn to the beautiful, wild, white woman who is smiling at me as though she knows me. She dances a strange dance, with her arms still at her side and her feet moving so quickly I can’t follow them. She spins around, laughs, and dances right over the cliff. I try to reach out once I see her take that step over, but she is gone too.
The wind blows strong behind me, sending all my long hair, like whips, in front of me. I turn around to get the hair out of my face and see the bald-headed man with the red splotches looking down, contemplating the fall.
“Stand back!” I try to stop him, but he shakes his head and limps off the cliff. I look at the only two left standing with me. The man on the horse and the man with green eyes. We walk to the edge to see where the others have disappeared to…then I wake up.
Mother comes rushing over one morning, red from running. “The old woman has gone into Mika’s teepee!”
I slip around behind a neighboring teepee and wait. There’s slight struggle within the teepee but not loud enough to draw anyone’s attention. I expect to see Mika dash out the flap but something delays her. I wonder what that would be and realize it must be the ropes. I bet she forgot to have a knife with her and she is untying them all by hand. My heart starts to race as I spy Hanska walking back from the pony field to the campfire between his and Chases’s teepee. I start hoping that she will poke her head out first to see if he has returned, and my heart sinks as she leaps out with a rope still tied to her ankle. She runs as fast as a squaw can across the space, but Hanska sees the movement and charges right at her, catching her by the campfire. She screams as he grabs her roughly from behind, and she cries, “Chase!” right before he slits her throat.
A scarlet spray of blood reaches high over their heads, and Mika clutches her throat in a last attempt to stem the flow before falling. Hanska lets her fall but throws his guilty knife away. Chase rushes out of the teepee and sees her, crumpled and bleeding, on the ground. He gathers her up in his arms and tries to put pressure on the large wound. She holds his gaze for a moment before closing her eyes, but he doesn’t lay her back down until he feels the life leave her body.
Covered in her blood, he stands slowly to face Hanska. He lunges and throws Hanska in one quick movement and then hits him, over and over again, in the face and stomach. The other warriors, who Hanska was just sitting with, jump on Chase, but to no avail. Nothing can stop the power of such rage. Once Chase shows signs of fatigue, Reynard steps in to pull a severely battered Hanska free.
Chase screams, “He killed her!”
Hanska, spitting teeth and blood, holding his broken ribs, says, “She was mine.”
Eyota comes out and is quiet as one of the warriors relays what has occurred. Weayaya comes behind him as the village gathers to see what all the noise is. Weayaya gives me a look of disappointment as he sees Mika on the ground. The chief speaks as Chase still thrashes, trying to get at Hanska again. “It is a Lakota right to leave your husband’s teepee for that of another as long as they give proper payment. This squaw did not reach her lover’s teepee and so it is also the right of the husband to do what he wishes to her if he catches her.”
Chase breaks free at this and crashes into Hanska again. He knocks him unconscious as his head hits the ground and pummels him as he kneels over him. The warriors pull him off again.
Eyota shouts at Chase, “You have disrespected me by not accepting my decision. I do not want you back in my village ever again. You do not honor the Lakota way.”
He throws the two warriors off him and screams at the Chief, “I am glad I am not Lakota then!”
The warriors take out their knives at his disrespect, but Eyota puts his arms down to let him go. Chase goes over to Mika on the ground, the life spilled out around her. He pulls out his flute, puts it in her empty hands, and kisses her cheek. He then gets up on his horse and gives a nod to Reynard, looking utterly perplexed. He searches the crowd for me. Finding me, he shakes his head solemnly and rides off.
All hope is lost.
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Hanska purchases another bride within weeks. He never knows of my involvement, but it’s difficult to look him in the eye. Winter comes quickly, and the snow makes it hard to hunt. I’m surprised Chase has not returned to kill Hanska, and I wonder wh
ere he is now. The village seems full of despair since Mika’s death is bad medicine, and all wait for retribution from the Great Spirit. Paytah is seen every once in a while dragging about his teepee. He is never at the campfires anymore, and many say he has stopped eating all together. One day, I see what he keeps concealed under his buffalo robe, and I know they are right. I go into his teepee one snowy afternoon and find him, lying, staring up, watching the smoke from his fire drift out the teepee opening. He doesn’t turn the first time I say his name and gives me a far-off look when he does see me.
“I brought you some meat.” I put the sack inside his teepee. He only turns back to watch the smoke.
“Are you trying to kill yourself?”
He starts to laugh, and his frail body shakes. “It is a lot harder than it looks.”
“Paytah, quit this now.” I push the meat toward him.
“Kohana, leave me be.” He brings his arm out of the blanket to waft the smell of the meat away, and I see the cuttings all the way up his arm. I leave him alone and pull the buffalo robe around me tighter as the frigid wind steals the breath from me. Apawi crosses in front of me in only a breechcloth, bare feet sinking in the snow. He stares at me and pretends to wipe the sweat from his brow.
A week later, I’m snowshoeing a mile away from camp when Nagi goes flying off my shoulder, signaling prey, and I follow. I step carefully through the ebony trees and freeze when I see Nagi hopping toward a slumped over figure in a buffalo robe.
“Nagi!” I yell, not wanting him to get near it, and Nagi flies back to my shoulder obediently. I walk close enough to see the blue face of Paytah, with his mouth around an old musket, and the black blood splashed out behind him in the white snow. I can’t touch him or bury him since he took his own life—tribal rules. I’m forced to turn around and leave him to fade away, just like he wanted.
Chapter 22
Spring comes and renews everything around, except my soul stays frozen. Squaws set up teepees with happy faces while little children run, playing games and teasing their fathers like they’re supposed to. Why did I think things would be any different? Hanska forgot Mika. Wakinyan forgot me. And the whole world forgot Paytah. Why did I ever think the world held some promise?
Chayton comes and sits next to me. He looks so well, and his chubby little boy climbs up his back by pulling his hair. “Ouch!” he yells playfully, and the boy scampers off, giggling. I resent anyone who has moved forward. Apawi also comes and sits by my side as I wonder what joke he’ll try to make of me.
I stay quiet as he talks to both of us, and I’m not listening. Chayton must have asked me a question since he repeats it again.
Apawi jumps in. “He doesn’t speak to anyone anymore.”
Chayton asks his question again, loud, as though I’m deaf, “Are you going to volunteer for the Sundance?”
Apawi slaps his knee, jumps up, but leans over Chayton’s shoulder and says, “Beware of the man who does not talk, and the dog that does not bark.”
He saunters off. I look back toward where he’s heading and see some of the warriors already begin to paint themselves since the dancers have already collapsed.
“I might,” I say, getting back to my thoughts.
“I am going to. If you are too, we better go now to prepare ourselves.”
He points to the feather men. One jumps up and down, getting ready. I think about the pain and strangely welcome it. I nod and head over to the paint jars, taking black instead of my usual red. I cover myself from head to toe in black, and I make a large red symbol of the white man. The crossed symbol that lured Wakinyan away from me. Chayton, seeing what I’ve painted, gives me a tired look. He finishes his yellow and blue marks and leads the way to line up in the sacred circle.
Weayaya appears surprised to see me at first but then squints, wondering if I’m ready. He passes to look Chayton up and down and then measures the rest of the warriors who I give no time to getting to know anymore. He walks a few steps away and chooses. Chayton and I are among those picked, and he whispers in my cutter’s ear, “Back cuts.”
I am glad.
They cut Chayton first, and he stands strong. Then I’m next. I brace for the pain of the cuts, but I’m surprised by how numb I am. When the cutter reaches in with his toggle to loosen the flesh, the burning is a great relief. I feel something for the first time in months, and I want to feel more. We all stand, waiting for the drums. Once they start, I close my eyes and walk as far as my rope will reach. I put my arms out and lean forward, allowing my skin to keep me flying. I feel every muscle tear, and the skin stretches like well-beaten deer skin until—snap—I fall to the ground. Many people cheer for me, and I get back up see that Chayton and all the rest still struggle. I walk to the river and dive in. My wounds sting at the cold. I’m not even afraid of the water any longer.
When you have nothing to lose, fear has no power.
I sit back on my knees in the sandy dirt on the river bottom and watch the warriors jump and twist over the heads of onlookers. How ridiculous it all looks. Mother comes to the river’s edge. “Come now, Kohana. I will clean your wounds.”
I know she sees me disappearing the same way I watched Paytah. I get up and follow her back to our teepee without another word.
I look up at the man on horseback. He smiles down at me from his large brown horse. His face is angular, with a large cleft in his chin that makes his beady eyes seem sharper. He kicks his horse with a loud, “He-yah!” and the horse leaps into the air off the cliff’s edge and then falls front feet forward.
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The next day, when I’m walking through camp, Hanska runs up to me, which he has not done for months. “Chayton has fallen ill.”
“Did he free himself last night?”
“Yes, he was the next to free himself after you, but a terrible infection has set in and not even Weayaya can bring his fever down.”
I go straight to the medicine lodge and pass Apawi, who stands in the center of a large gathering with a great kettle boiling away before him. I know immediately that he boils a dog, for the only thing higher than Weayaya’s medicine is the Heyota’s Cleansing Ceremony. I arrive just as Apawi furiously chews and rubs tapejuta all over his arms and hands. The drums get faster, and Apawi reaches up into the air and then plunges his bare arms into the scalding pot, pulling out the dog’s head, smiling as he holds it up for us all to see. He pulls the rest of the meat out and cuts it up into pieces, making a powerful medicine a Heyota only gives to the sick and the poor. Apawi goes to Chayton, who is lying on his buffalo blankets with sweat beading on his skin, and puts pieces of meat into his mouth. Chayton can’t chew, he is so weak. Apawi pulls the piece back out and stuffs it into his own mouth. He chants as he keeps chewing the piece, then bends down and feeds him from his mouth: the most sacred medicine someone can receive.
The next morning, a great lament can be heard. The old women of the village tell us all that Chayton is dead. The other camps pack up immediately, and no one speaks of the terrible omen a death at the Sundance means for us all. There will be no war, no raids, in the midst of such bad medicine. The crying goes on for days as his closest relatives cut themselves in anguish. Ponies are sacrificed in great number for Chayton’s burial rite as everyone desperately scrambles to sacrifice something to appease the Great Spirit.
Chapter 23
On a hot summer night, I sleep outside by the river with Nagi and my guns. The air is only slightly cooler by the water, but it’s enough to finally be able to close my eyes.
It’s only me and the green-eyed man up on the cliff. The wind blows so hard that I keep losing sight of him every time my hair obscures my vision. I get glimpses of the strange white man walking around the cliff edge. The man then circles around me so that when I turn, my hair flies back behind me. He walks up right in front of me, and I see his green eyes up close. I know them like I know my mother’s. The eyes that torture me and fill me with so much happiness.
The man then steps back and brings his hands together in the sacred joined circles and runs so fast that he jumps far into the air and spreads his arms out to fly—
“Wakinyan!” I shout as I wake up. I grab for my guns, and Nagi squawks terribly at my sudden disruption. I dash to my ponies, grazing around the teepees. Nagi flies zig-zagged after me. I’m drenched in sweat, and when I ride my pony to her limit, the sweat cools and gives me a chill even in this heat wave. I chant over and over again as the sun rises over me, “Save her. Save her. Save her.”
It’s almost midday when I ride up the dirt path, not caring who sees me there. I ride straight to her dugout and shout, “Wakinyan!” But no one comes out. I hear a child cry. I search behind to see only the squaws moving about, and I call to them, “Where are the white men?”
A round, older squaw answers, “They have gone to serve with the French militia. She didn’t want to go.” I rush into the dugout, and once my eyes adjust to the lack of light, I see her, spilled out on the floor. A red-faced baby cries weakly in its papoose hung on the wall. I go right to her side and put my ear to her chest.
No sound. No life.
The tears stream down my face and all over her as I bury myself in her white man’s clothes. I don’t know how long I cried there, but when I pull away, I see that her head has been hit many times. I look around the floor and find the weapon—a bent metal ladle. I put it in my bag then kneel over her and rip off her white man’s shirt. I smile when I see she still wears her Lakota necklaces. I pull off her leather boots, remove the moccasins that she made me, and place them on her feet. I gather her in my arms and put her over my pony. I’m about to get on when I hear the baby cry again.
Remember the child.
I turn back to stare at the half-Wakinyan child. I go closer and see a rope around its neck with a wooded symbol of her vision. I put my hand around it about to rip it off but then realize this baby is Wakinyan’s third symbol. This is her wild rose. I lift the frightened baby off the wall. I stare into its sparking green eyes and smile when I see Wakinyan looking back at me. I put the papoose on and mount my pony. I carry Wakinyan again in my arms, and the other squaws sing for us as we ride out. I take Wakinyan across the fields where we rode and raced. I bring her up to the cliff where she was drawn to lightning. I stand there and shout, “Bring her another storm!”