Death Chant

by Judd Cole

  “Honey Eater is alive,” Yellow Bear said, as if reading their thoughts. “Or so the white devils claim. Their terms are hard. If I call off the war against them, Honey Eater will be returned unharmed. If I do not, she dies a horrible death.”

  Touch the Sky’s immediate relief at hearing Honey Eater was alive gave way to a sense of hopeless dread. Yellow Bear’s horrible dilemma was clear to all. His love for Honey Eater was being pitted against his duty to the tribe. The father in him was at war with the chief. Any attempt to save his daughter might result in the destruction of the tribe. Yet, any effort to save the tribe from the white men’s treachery would result in his daughter’s death.

  A murmur filled the council lodge as the warriors and headmen discussed this. Yellow Bear folded his arms under his blanket until all was quiet again. Clearly, judging from his next remarks, he had given great thought to this matter.

  “Brothers, hear me well! Your chief has had his life and feels no fear about leaving this world for the next. I will ride out alone to the whites and offer myself in exchange for Honey Eater. It is the just way. I have served my ten winters as your chief, and as you know, the chief-renewal ceremony will be held with the next melting of the snows.”

  The headmen and the warriors were stunned. Though Yellow Bear’s words showed wisdom, it was essential to the tribe that their chief, like the sacred Medicine Arrows, be protected.

  Arrow Keeper rose and spoke. “Brothers, I have heard Yellow Bear’s words. He shows both great courage and great love. But does he show great wisdom in this matter? I think the feelings in his breast have ruled his head. This scar-faced white devil will simply kill Yellow Bear and Honey Eater. He will collect the bounty on their scalps, then turn to the task of killing the rest of us.

  “Brothers! Count upon it, these paleface murderers are wily like the fox. Consider how easily they slipped past our sentries and raided our camp. I, too, love Honey Eater. I love her like my own daughter. If I believed that dealing with the long knives would return her safely to us, I would counsel for this. But these white men do not speak the straight word. I counsel for that which they do not expect: an attack on the camp where they hold Honey Eater prisoner. Thus she may die, but all of my medicine tells me she will die anyway if we trust white men.”

  Silence fell over the lodge like a shroud. Every man present considered these words carefully. No man in the tribe, not even Yellow Bear, was respected more for his wisdom than Arrow Keeper.

  It was Black Elk who next rose to speak. “Fathers! Brothers! Listen to your war chief. I have ears for Arrow Keeper’s words. Yellow Bear is a brave man and loves his daughter with a love as deep as the Great Waters. But in his desperation to save her, he has blinded himself to the treachery of the white man.”

  Black Elk paused before his next remark, his fierce dark eyes fixing on Touch the Sky. “No man here loves Honey Eater better than I. I counsel with Arrow Keeper, and I counsel for war! My band have proven themselves capable braves and warriors. They understand the arts of silent movement and surprise attack. A large war party would announce its presence and be doomed to fail. Our only opportunity lies in a surprise attack on the paleface stronghold. As your war chief, I will lead that attack!”

  His words met with great approval from both the warriors and the headmen. Even Yellow Bear nodded his head. The headmen approved Black Elk’s plan with a unanimous voice vote.

  Now, at least, the tribe had a plan for attempting to save Honey Eater. But Touch the Sky felt no relief as he filed out of the council lodge behind the others. He was exhausted from the recent hard ride, afraid for Honey Eater’s safety, and almost completely rejected by the tribe thanks to Wolf Who Hunts Smiling’s treachery. With Honey Eater gone and perhaps dead, old Arrow Keeper was his only remaining friend. His fortunes had not sunk this low since the time when he was first captured, tied to a wagon wheel, and tortured over fire.

  He stepped outside and found Arrow Keeper waiting for him. The old medicine man touched his shoulder and led him aside. He looked nearly as miserable and dejected as Touch the Sky.

  “Come to my tipi,” he said, his voice heavy with weariness. “There are important words I must speak to you.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “You are a brave now,” Arrow Keeper said, “a warrior. You have smoked from the common pipe with the headmen. There are certain things you must know now.”

  With surprising agility in one so old, Arrow Keeper lowered himself until he was sitting with his ankles crossed. He invited Touch the Sky to share the stack of buffalo robes with him. Daylight streamed in through the smoke hole at the top of the tipi and through the tipi cover itself, which was nearly transparent with age.

  “I have already mentioned to you,” the old shaman said, “the vision which was placed over my eyes at Medicine Lake, the center of the Cheyenne world. Do you recall this thing?”

  The troubled young Cheyenne nodded his head. Arrow Keeper’s vision told the medicine man that there would never be peace between red men and white men. Great suffering was in store for all Indians. During cold moons yet to come, the Cheyenne would be forced to flee into the frozen lands to the north. The old ones would freeze with the Death Song on their lips.

  “When I told you of this vision,” Arrow Keeper said, “I spoke also of a great Cheyenne chief named Running Antelope. He and his wife Lotus Petal were killed in a surprise Bluecoat attack. It was reported also that their infant son was killed with them. However, my vision spoke differently. This young man still lives. And the day comes when he will gather the Cheyenne people from all their far-flung hiding places and lead them in one last, great victory for the Shaiyena tribe.”

  “Where is this brave Cheyenne?” Touch the Sky said bitterly, thinking only of Honey Eater and her plight. “We could use him now.”

  For a moment, Arrow Keeper’s sad face almost seemed to break into a smile. “His medicine sign is the ferocious badger,” he said. “And we will know him by the mark he carries on his body—an arrowhead. The sign of the warrior.”

  Touch the Sky started at the reference to the badger. His own medicine pouch contained a set of sharp badger claws, which Arrow Keeper had instructed him to carry. His surprise deepened to curious suspicion when the medicine man rummaged around in a chamois bag and produced a narrow shard of mirror, part of the spoils from a raid on a white man’s freight wagon.

  He held the mirror just above Touch the Sky’s forehead so that the youth had to raise his eyes to see it. Then Arrow Keeper’s gnarled fingers gripped his dark bangs and pulled them back sharply, causing Touch the Sky to wince.

  “Look closely,” Arrow Keeper said.

  Now Touch the Sky vaguely remembered, when he was much younger and his white mother used to comb his hair, her remarks about a birthmark on his scalp. It was almost completely hidden by his thick hair. With Arrow Keeper pulling the hair well back and the light from the smoke hole striking it flush, he could clearly make out the mulberry-colored shape.

  A perfect arrowhead! The mark of the warrior.

  Touch the Sky was struck silent with wonder. Arrow Keeper resumed his explanation.

  “I have also already told you that you must face great trials and hardships before your triumph. This, too, was part of the vision. And now I understand that this terrible thing with Honey Eater is one of those trials. But no longer can my vision alone guide you. You must now seek your own medicine vision.”

  There was no time, the shaman went on, to return to Medicine Lake far to the east. First Touch the Sky must rest along with the others in Black Elk’s band. In one-and-a-half sleeps they planned to ride out toward the scar-faced white man’s stronghold, which the scouts had located in the Bighorn Mountains just west of the Bighorn river. But before he rode out with them, Touch the Sky must purify himself with a sweat bath. Then, Arrow Keeper instructed him, he must ride to a nearby lake and fortify himself in solitude for the upcoming ordeal.

  “I will explain to you what you must d
o when you reach the lake,” said Arrow Keeper, “but be warned: a medicine vision can be either a revelation or a curse. We do not always understand what Maiyun tells us to do. His orders might not seem clear at first. Or worse, an enemy’s bad medicine may place a false vision over our eyes, and we may act upon it, aiding our enemies and destroying those whom we seek to help.”

  A light feather of fear tickled Touch the Sky’s spine as he thought of something. “Does this mean,” he said, “that your vision about me could be a false vision?”

  His tanned and wrinkled face troubled, Arrow Keeper nodded. “Medicine visions are powerful things. But sometimes the people’s belief in them is abused. Dishonorable Cheyenne have killed red brothers and escaped the tribal law by claiming Maiyun told them to do it in a vision. And you must understand that, once you seek a vision and it comes, you must do what Maiyun tells you to do. If you do not, and it is a true vision, not only will Honey Eater die, but you shall surely go Wendigo. Or if Maiyun shows mercy, you will merely die.”

  Touch the Sky was deeply troubled. “But how can I know if I have experienced a true vision?”

  “It is a matter for the heart to decide. But sometimes, if Maiyun is benevolent, there will be a sign that the vision is his. Watch for this.”

  “What kind of sign?” Touch the Sky persisted.

  But Arrow Keeper only shook his silver head. “I have exhausted words. You will know if it comes. Now go rest. I will wake you in time for your sweat bath and the journey to the lake.”

  Reluctantly, the tall youth returned to his own tipi. Despite the worries and fears chasing around inside his head like frenzied rodents, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  It seemed only moments later when Arrow Keeper shook him awake. But the ring of light around the smoke hole of his tipi had turned a deep blue-black with twilight. Arrow Keeper gave him the simple directions for reaching the nearby, isolated lake. He also gave him instructions for obtaining the vision he sought. Touch the Sky was to ride there under the cloak of darkness and remain until first light.

  But first he purified himself with a sweat bath in the covered lodge beside the river. The hot steam drained the tension from his muscles and calmed him for the ordeal ahead. He rubbed himself down with sage, rinsed in the cold water of the river, then separated his dun from the pony herd, and rode southwest toward the foothills and the lake Arrow Keeper had spoken of.

  When he arrived, the moon was well up, glistening an oily yellow on the placid surface of the lake. It was completely surrounded by oak and cedar trees. Loons raised their eerie cries, and now and then a fish broke surface with a splash that carried easily in the cold, still air.

  He tethered the dun with a long strip of rawhide. Then, following Arrow Keeper’s instructions, he stripped naked and waded out into the lake.

  The air was cold against his naked skin even before he felt the water. But the lake itself felt even colder. His skin quickly went numb as he waded out up to his neck and turned toward the east and the direction of the rising sun.

  At first Touch the Sky’s mind was filled with thoughts of Honey Eater, of the war party setting out soon, and of the things Arrow Keeper had said. But soon the numbing cold seemed to penetrate his mind, too, taking over all of him. His skin shriveled in protest, his teeth chattered, the cold sliced into him like tiny knife blades.

  The moon moved slowly across the burial shroud of the night sky, trailing twinkling stars behind it. Slowly, gradually, the cold numbness became almost a pleasant warmth, and the emptiness inside his mind was replaced by dream images.

  He saw the faces of his white mother and father, of the pretty girl he had once loved, Kristen Steele. He saw the freckled face of his boyhood friend Corey Robinson, whose madman’s antics had frightened the Pawnee attackers and saved Yellow Bear’s tribe from destruction. He saw the white-bearded countenance of Old Knobby, the hostler who had prevented a Bluecoat officer from killing him.

  These images floated past like wraiths, like ghosts of smoke, and in their place came Honey Eater with her amber skin, beautifully sculpted cheekbones, and luxuriant black hair braided with white columbine.

  Following quickly upon this image came the vision that he sought. It came to him in one moment, entire, and then it was gone. One moment his mind was empty; the next he knew everything he was supposed to do. The knowledge shocked him, disturbed him. For the vision told him that he would have to defy Black Elk, defy the tribal law, or Honey Eater was surely doomed.

  With this vision came full awareness of his surroundings again. The pleasant warmth of the night was gone, replaced by a bone-numbing cold. His teeth were chattering so hard they sounded like hailstones rattling in the treetops. Startled, he saw that the sky over the eastern horizon was pink with the promise of the new sun.

  Stiffly, his muscles protesting in harsh pain, he made his way toward shore. His limbs felt as if they were weighted down with stones. He removed the blanket from his horse and wrapped himself in it, glad for the animal warmth still clinging to it. Then, exhausted, he fell to the ground and slept.

  It was an uneasy sleep, filled with troubling thoughts and images. Again and again the vision ran through his head, plaguing him with uncertainty even in sleep.

  Had it been a true vision, or the result of his exhaustion, of evil but strong medicine? Arrow Keeper’s words returned over and over, a disturbing litany: “Bad medicine may place a false vision over our eyes, and we may act upon it, aiding our enemies and destroying those whom we seek to help.”

  Suddenly, a loud crack of thunder startled him awake. It was daylight, but the sky had clouded over. Huge black scuds of cloud raced across the sky like a herd of galloping buffalo. The wind had picked up, turning the undersides of the leaves out as it always did before a hard rain.

  Touch the Sky knew he should start riding, storm or not. But he was still frozen with tormented indecision. The vision he had received, if accepted, meant defying the highest authority of the tribe. If he rejected such a dreadful course, he might be defying an even higher authority: Maiyun, In this case he would be killing Honey Eater, helping to destroy the tribe, and ensuring his own destruction.

  Muttering thunder gathered itself into a huge crash that echoed through the foothills. Jagged scepters of white lightning raced across the sky.

  Again Arrow Keeper’s voice drifted back to him: “Sometimes, if Maiyun is benevolent, there will be a sign that the vision is his. Watch for this.”

  After another huge explosion of thunder, large raindrops started falling, pimpling the surface of the lake. A sudden, intense flash of lightning made Touch the Sky look straight overhead into the black dome of the storm.

  He felt the hair on the back of his neck stiffen when he realized what he was beholding.

  For the space of at least five heartbeats, the lightning bolt formed a perfect arrowhead.

  The storm abated by the time Touch the Sky was halfway back to camp. The sun broke through and baked his limbs in welcome warmth. He made it back to the Tongue River village just in the nick of time. Black Elk’s band was preparing to ride out.

  “The scar-face’s camp in the Bighorn Mountains will not be easy to approach,” Black Elk was saying as he rode up. “We must cross a vast expanse of short-grass prairie to reach it, exposing ourselves to great danger. Our enemy’s sentries may spot us, or scalp-hunters may attack. Each of you must watch the horizon, listen for danger, stay close to the others.”

  Black Elk directed his fierce attention toward the furtive Wolf Who Hunts Smiling and Touch the Sky. “There will be no fighting among yourselves. Is this thing clear?”

  All five in his band nodded. Black Elk took his place at their head and led them west out of the camp. Many in the tribe ran along behind them for a distance, wishing them well. Yellow Bear, framed in the entrance of his tipi, raised his red-streamered war lance high in farewell. Black Elk returned the salute.

  When they had forded the river and reached the edge of the wide plai
ns, Black Elk dropped back for a moment. He rode so close to Touch the Sky that the younger Cheyenne could clearly see the crooked stitches where Black Elk had sewn his own detached ear back on with buckskin thread and an awl.

  “Hear my words well,” the war chief said. His voice was held low so that only Touch the Sky could hear him. “I know full well your feelings for Honey Eater. But I am your war leader. You will forget your love for her and do only as I command. Do you understand?”

  Again, despite the encouragement of the celestial sign, Touch the Sky felt terrible doubts concerning what he was about to do. But the vision was a higher law and must be obeyed at all costs. Even if the lightning sign itself was only part of a false vision, he was determined on his course of action and nothing would sway him.

  He averted his eyes now, ashamed of the lie. “I understand,” he said, “and I will obey.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The scar-faced white had instructed Yellow Bear to send the Lakota word-bringer back with word of his decision. A Cheyenne chief could not lie, not even to an enemy. Therefore the word-bringer could not be sent, or his arrival would mean immediate death for Honey Eater.

  Instead, the answer would come in the form of Black Elk and his band. They rode hard, due west toward the jagged spires of the Bighorn Mountains. The first day’s ride brought them safely across the prairie and into the foothills. The only danger was a squad of Bluecoat pony soldiers patrolling near the Bighorn River. But Black Elk spotted them in time, and his band sheltered in river thickets until the soldiers had passed.

  That night they found a cave big enough to shelter them and permit a fire. After a meal of jerked buffalo and ripe chokecherries, each Cheyenne attended to his weapons.

  Wolf Who Hunts Smiling had been triumphant ever since the incident with the white sentries. Now that he, too, had a white man’s scalp dangling on his breechclout, Swift Canoe was again befriending him. Even Little Horse and High Forehead were occasionally nodding to him. Touch the Sky was the only one who was alone.