Infinite Loss (Infinite Series, Book 3)

by L. E. Waters

  But the haze keeps still. No wind for miles. I bring her back to her mother. Zonta screams when she sees me coming. She runs and collapses on the ground, crying. I lay Wakinyan on the ground in front of the shaking woman. She grabs her up in her arms, holds her, and sobs into her hair. She pulls the hair away from her forehead and sees all the bumps, bruises, and burns, then she looks up to me and cries, “I was wrong, Kohana.”

  I take Wakinyan from her and lay her on the ground with her arms folded over her chest. I swing the papoose around and bring it to the aged woman. At first she can’t see, could not see, what is before her. Suddenly she sees the green sparkling eyes, and she brings the whole papoose into her embrace. I put my hand on her shoulder and say, “Go now, Zonta. Wakinyan’s baby needs milk. I will watch over Wakinyan until you get back.”

  She stands up with the baby, gazing into its eyes again, and walks off to find a wet nurse. I stay there with Wakinyan until Zonta returns to prepare her. I follow her relatives as they bring her to a tree in our sacred burial grounds. The field of scaffolds and trees, all holding our ancestors high away from predators, high above floods, and high above insects. Zonta chooses the tree her mother and grandmother rest in, and they lay Wakinyan down on three poles and wrap her in their finest buffalo blankets. She is dressed in her green thunderbird dress, and her mother braids her hair and beads it. I ask Zonta to leave my moccasins on her feet, and she says, “She would want no others.”

  Before they bind her in the buffalo blanket, I take out my hunting knife, slash both my braids off, and put them in her hand. Warriors take her body and place her high in the tree. Young maidens climb the branches and hang green streamers to scare away birds. Weayaya calls to her ancestors to come and collect her for the Happy Hunting Ground. Apawi comes as we’re all walking back to sing again about the wonders of life.

  I call to Zonta as she heads back to feed the baby, “Is it a boy or a girl?”

  She smiles. “A little girl.”

  “Then you must call her Uzizitka—Rose—because of her vision.”

  Zonta agrees, knowing full well its meaning.

  ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

  I walk home on bare feet, my pony needing a rest. Nagi rides on my shoulder, his black feathers shine purple in the slanted light of sundown. I take my second fastest ponies and tie my guns, plenty of ammo, water, and dried meat on securely and give my poor mother a kiss on her forehead. I walk my ponies out in the darkness but feel a heavy hand on my shoulder.

  “They are not dead who live in the hearts they leave behind,” says Weayaya. “Life is not separate from death. It only looks that way.”

  I turn around to look at him. In the slip of moonlight, I see the dark eyes peeking out through decades of wrinkles.

  “You must remove this rage from your heart and continue on with your life now, Kohana.”

  I shake his words away. “I must do this, Grandfather. I cannot have any life until I take his.”

  “Listen, or your tongue will keep you deaf.” He tries to shake me. “You act as though you have no relatives. No one alive now to make life good enough. No children in the future to put all this behind you.”

  “I cannot put this behind me.” I turn to get on my horse.

  “At least wait until light. If you are killed in the dark, you will walk in eternal darkness.” He pleads.

  “I already do.”

  Chapter 24

  I know Peirpont and the trappers are already a day’s travel ahead. I have to ride all night and try to ride most of the next day in order to catch them. I switch ponies in order to keep them from exhaustion. I remember hearing Reynard tell stories of the fort, and I know they will be heading northwest. I follow the old hunting path, and Nagi flies ahead, scouting for me. He returns cawing after circling the area down below me. I know that it will be prey or the trappers. It’s night once again and if they weren’t in a hurry, I might have caught up. I take a moment to say my prayers to the Great Spirit and paint myself black with the red symbol on my chest. I put Nagi’s black feathers in my hair and tie a string around his foot and then to a branch. When I walk away, he flaps furiously to get loose to no avail. I can’t risk him getting hurt, and his eyes are not made for the dark. Smoke billows up from where Nagi has circled, and I whisper back, “Good Nagi,” causing him to flap even harder.

  I carry my two loaded guns with my arrows and bow on my back and a belt heavy with weapons. I make no sound as I step carefully down to them, and I stand like a tree in the shadows of the fire. I count seven trappers; Peirpont and Chase are among them. I don’t like the idea of shooting Chase, but I must. I see their horses tied up behind them in the brush and note their guns lying by their sides as they smoke their pipes and belch after eating. As I’m about to pounce, a familiar cawing shrieks nearer. The trappers jump to their feet, but the fire blinds them from seeing into the darkness. Nagi swoops down to stand on my shoulder and croaks happily to be back with me. The string had been untied and still dangles from his foot.

  Chase puts his hands out to the men and speaks in Lakota. “It’s only a disturbed raven. Nothing to worry about.” But when he sits down he’s the only one to keep his hand on his gun.

  Why would he speak in Lakota?

  The other men laugh at the scare, and Peirpont hobbles around the fire, flapping his arms feebly, screaming, “Caw! Caw!”

  I lift my musket and shoot him in the shoulder.

  He goes flying to the ground upon impact. Chase is on his feet with his gun, but he turns the gun on another trapper reaching for his weapon, shooting him in the chest. I throw down the spent gun, pick up the other one at my side, and shoot another trapper running for the horses. Chase turns and shoots the man nearest to him in the head as I pull my bow over my head and reach for an arrow. One man darts for his horse, as another brings up his gun and keeps turning left and right trying to protect himself from our assault. I let three arrows loose in attempt to hit the man untying his horse, but they all miss. The man with the gun turns on me, and Chase shoots him in the back. I search for Peirpont and see him crawling toward his gun. I kick the gun away and stand on his back with my arrow pointed at his yellow head.

  “Turn over slowly, squaw-killer.” Chase translates.

  He turns around with one arm up, the other bleeding profusely. I spit at his ugly trout face, and it hits him in the corner of his eye.

  “Get up and move to that tree.” I release the arrow and hit the center of the trunk. In seconds, I have another one in my bow.

  Peirpont gets up slowly; his right arm hangs limp. He strains to wipe away the spit with his left hand, but I demand, “No, leave it there.”

  I take out my rope and quickly wrap him to the tree. Peirpont says something to Chase in their language, and it only makes Chase smile and shrug.

  I turn to Chase. “He killed Wakinyan.”

  “He was just bragging about that at the fire. I was about to shoot him myself.” Chase sits back on the ground and takes up his pipe again. “I’m going to enjoy this show. Only thing that would make this better is if Hanska was here.”

  I take out the large metal spoon he beat Wakinyan with and hold it up to his face. “Remember this?”

  He looks at it and sneers. I crack him in the head with it. He screams as I hit him again in the injured arm, and he screams even louder as I push the ladle into his wound. I let the pain sink in as I walk over to the fire and stick the iron ladle in the embers, turning it from black to red. Peirpont pleads in his language, and I yell, “Chase don’t translate for him. Only for me.”

  He thrashes at his roping as he watches me come over with the glowing spoon, and I pull up his shirt and thrust the spoon hard into his most sensitive skin. Peirpont howls in agony. When I pull the spoon away, skin sticks to it. I yank the crisp skin off with a look of disgust and let it flutter to the ground. Peirpont is now in tears. He cries, “Wakinyan! Wakinyan!”

  “Do not say her name!” I grab my knife and p
ull his head violently to the side, and in one fast motion, tear his scalp off. He screams like a coward, and he makes me sick at the sight of him. I want him gone. I pick up his gun and point it at his head, and he nods happily that I won’t continue the torture.

  “All you had to do was give her back to me. That’s all you had to do.” I wait for Chase to translate.

  The gunshot rings out across the empty woods.

  Chase claps his hands. As I kneel down on the pine needles, I grasp the bloody straw-haired scalp in my hand. Happy now, that I’ve prevented him from interfering any longer with Wakinyan and I. His soul is now bound to walk this earth, this darkness, forever. Chase picks up the guns lying scattered around the ground and comes over to stand beside me. “You know that one that got away will get to the fort by morning.”

  “I do not care about anything anymore.”

  “Well, now that I’m a part of all this I’m going off to the east. There’s more Lakota out there, further on the prairie. Why don’t you come with me?”

  I think about it. The thought of starting over. I hear Weayaya’s words.

  “My ancestors are here. Wakinyan’s here. My mother is here. No, I will stay.”

  He shakes his head. “Well, you’ll know where to find me when the Militia comes looking for the Lakota that did this.” He walks to the horses, unties three, and brings the other three to me. “It’s been an honor to have known you, Kohana. I hope we meet again.” He gets on his horse and rides southeast.

  I call for Nagi and bring the horses home. I don’t speak to anyone and no one asks, seeing my war paint on, bringing French horses in tow. I go right to a sweat bath and stay until I’m completely cleansed. When I come out, most of the black and red paint has run off, leaving lines all over my body. I dive into the cold river water and immediately feel my sadness lift. I lay back and float in the sparkling, dancing water as I hear my people performing their morning chores.

  As the sun sets, I go to Wakinyan’s tree, where the green streamers twirl and dance in the wind. Everyone has gone back to camp, and I have a moment alone with her. I take Peirpont’s scalp from my belt. “He has taken your life. Now I have taken his soul. All is balanced again.”

  ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

  The next morning, I pay no attention to Nagi’s early wake up caw, until Mother screams. I jump up with my gun and prepare for the worst, but she stands there pointing to the top of our teepee. I turn around to see Nagi perched on one of the poles, cawing loudly.

  I laugh. “It is only Nagi.”

  “Get away from there!” she cries, trying to shoo him off the pole. Finally, he takes off in search of his breakfast.

  By sundown that day, the sound that I’ve been waiting for, comes. White man’s horns blast, announcing the Militia. I come out of my teepee to see many men on horseback lined up across the prairie. Squaws run for their children and old men run for the chief. Reynard stands next to me suddenly, looking out at his people.

  “In some sort of trouble?” he says to me with a one-eye-squinted, tight smile.

  I nod. “I killed five white men.”

  He whistles. “Yeah, that’s trouble.”

  The horns blast again, and three important-looking men ride out in the center of the prairie. Reynard turns back, waves for Eyota and Otaktay, and says to me, “Stay here.”

  They get on their horses and ride out to meet them. Reynard translates, and I watch the back and forth. Many times Otaktay and Eyota look at me. The French men get angry as Reynard tries to assuage the disagreement, but the Chief and Otaktay shake their heads.

  Eyota and Otaktay finally turn their horses and walk away. The French men stay to speak to Reynard before he follows back to our camp. Otaktay rides past me and says, “We do not agree with what you did, but we will stand by you.”

  They go to the center of the camp, and Otaktay cries, “Ayayayaayayayaya!” at the top of his voice, calling to the other tribes. They’re going to send out scouts to bring in all the warriors.

  Reynard comes back to me. “Once the other warriors come in, you’ll outnumber them, and you’ll win this battle.”

  “But then many more will come?”

  He looks at me with great honesty and nods slowly.

  I put down my gun, my knives, and my tomahawk. I turn to Reynard. “Will you please come translate?”

  He nods and, without words, follows me. I put my arms above my head and start walking out into the field. The men ready their guns as their leader yells a command. Reynard also yells out something to them, and the French men on horses come back to meet us in the center.

  Reynard speaks to them, gesturing toward me, while I turn to watch the prairie grasses wave. Reynard says, “They are going to tie you and bring you in to the fort for trial. I will go with you.”

  I know I won’t be able to make him stay. “Are they going to punish any more Lakota for this?”

  He translates. “No, they say they have a witness who saw you and Chase commit the murders.”

  “Make them promise that they will not hold my people responsible for this. Tell them this was my war.”

  Their French leader nods to me. He commands one of the men to dismount and comes toward me with rope just as the wind blows. I turn slightly and see a dark storm coming in.

  Wakinyan’s storm.

  I scream, “Wakinyan!” out to the clouds.

  The guns move and click.

  Glossy Nagi comes cawing from the prairie. Flying back to me, piercing the thick, charged air. I start to run, faster than I’ve ever run in my life. I hear the guns fire and watch Nagi’s shadow winding above me as I head toward Wakinyan’s tree.

  The guns sound like her thunder. The sun still shines through the clear sky behind me. My short hair whips behind my ears as the warm storm wind blows against me, spattering me with the first thick raindrops.

  I smile and scream, “In death I am born!”

  I fling my arms out like wings as something hits my back with great force.

  Ninth Life

  Yankee…Doodle…Dandy…

  Chapter 1

  “How long am I to sit here, John?” Honora whines from beneath the white, lace bonnet I designed for her. She swats at a fly that lands on her cornflower-blue bodice.

  I hadn’t expected the unseasonably hot English day and, as the beads of sweat upon my brow threaten to run into my eyes, I wish I wore linen instead of silk.

  “He’s almost, nearly finished,” Julia squeals. “It is a perfect likeness, John. You are a master!”

  I sketch the last detail of her angelic, fine-featured face on the miniature portrait and bring my chin back to look at it from a farther angle. “Yes, I’m finished, but I fear I haven’t done you justice in the slightest.” I wish I had made her smile so I could include the faint space in her pearl grin that I love so much.

  Honora gets up stiffly from among the tall grasses in the wildflower meadow and, rather ungracefully, trips on her long petticoat at every other step.

  “Julia, I think Honora is in need of a pudding cap to keep her from toddling injury.”

  Julia laughs as Honora keeps coming at me.

  I take the painting, pretending to hide it, and she drops her skirt-holding in an attempt to wrangle it out of my hands. Enjoying the game and her closeness, I pull it back and forth as she giggles, then I let her win. She looks upon it and simply smiles. “Well done, John. It will look lovely above my vanity.”

  “Oh, no, dear girl. I have made this for myself, because if ever you shall miss seeing your face all you must do is get a looking glass. It is a tragedy that I cannot do the same, and so I have drawn you out of necessity. And although this is but a shadow of your luster, it will get me through the hours I am forced to be away.”

  Julia spins around, clutching her chest. “What a lovely way to put it, John!”

  “If I had known it wasn’t for me I would have sat half so long,” Honora says, with a smile.

  “No,
this shall never leave my breast until my last breath, and even then, I hope it will turn to dust with me.”

  Julia puts her arms up in the air above her pink bonnet, with its rows of lush ruffles imitating the way her shining auburn hair curls under it. “I have a poem coming to me!”

  Honora and I have been trained to wait during her moments of inspiration, and I count her many lovely freckles as she stares off into a poesy-dream world. She moves invisible words around in the air until she is satisfied, and her light-brown eyes sparkle with emotion as she begins:

  “While with nice hand he mark’d the living grace,

  And matchless beauty of Honora’s face

  Th’ enamour’d Youth the faithful traces blest,

  That barb’d the dart of beauty in his breast;

  Around his neck th’ enchanting Portrait hung

  While a warm vow burst ardent from his tongue”

  Honora smiles happily at her best friend and praises, “Another wonderful poem! That is your third today.”

  “Yes, another spurt of brilliance, my dear Julia. You put us both to shame.”

  “Both? I am devoid of any inspiration. I am merely your grateful audience.” Honora says, “I am not the one memorizing Paradise Lost at nine years of age.”

  Julia acts offended. “Untrue. Your very presence is inspiration for us both. Our beautiful muse.”

  Honora blushes in accepting the flattery as Julia takes her hand and pulls her into a run toward the giant weeping beech tree near the lake. I give them a good head start, for their dresses impede their speed, and take in the Litchfield air and countryside. Grand estates litter the hills along with servant’s tiny thatched cottages, and a white, steepled church that tells me it’s three o’clock with its reassuring chimes. I take off running and scream, causing the girls to nearly trip in anticipation of me catching up to them.