by Karen Kay
Here was a meadow of newly growing green grass. To his right was another sea of green, which was littered with a profusion of flowering dogwood, pink twin flowers and a-sat-chiot-ake or purple locoweed. He took careful note of the latter, for it had a medicinal purpose.
After swinging his left leg over his pony’s neck, he jumped down and walked the short distance to the other meadow, where he proceeded to gather up parts of the plant. They might prove useful later, for their medicine was often good for sore throats or swellings.
The scent, as the wind blew its fragrance around him, was clean, balmy and full of the perfume of the grasses and flowers, and he relished it as he drew in a deep breath. Even the smell of balsam wafted through the air, for this part of the prairie was flanked by stands of pine trees.
In the distance from these meadows, and due north, were snow-capped mountains, majestic looking, steep and rugged, though from this angle, they appeared deceptively serene. These would be the mountains that Effie’s party would either skirt or cross, depending on the safety of the various trails. It was his hope to escape the dangerous mountain passes and bypass them entirely.
“It’s like a fairyland, isn’t it?” He recognized Effie’s voice at once. On foot, she stood above him, since he was still hunched over the ground.
“Fairyland?” he queried, gazing up at her.
“A place of mystical beauty. That’s what a fairyland is. I think that when I was younger I fell in love with this country.”
This he could understand. “I, too, love this land…almost as much as I love and respect my…people, my grandfather.”
“Yes. What is it you are collecting?”
“A plant. We call it a-sat-chiot-ake or purple locoweed. It is used as a medicine for sore throats. We may have need of it later.”
She nodded. “How many days’ journey are left before us, do you suppose?”
“It will depend on the weather and the trails, and if we are bothered by the Crow tribes or not.”
“Bothered?”
“We are in Crow country, and though they are friendly to whites, they are my traditional enemy. Many of their warriors would covet my scalp, if they see I am here. It would not be a good thing, since we are vulnerable to attack.”
“We are?”
“Aa, we are. Though there are four other men with us, I have not observed that any of them are good shots. Perhaps they fight better in a hand-to-hand fight. I do not know. I can only hope that the fear of the whites and fear of their retaliation will keep the Crow from attacking us.”
“But we never had trouble when I was here with my father, many years ago.”
“As you have already told me.”
“I guess we were lucky back then.”
“Perhaps you were,” he said. “And I pray that luck is with you as much today as in the past.”
“As do I.” She dropped to her knees beside him. “May I help you with that?”
“I would welcome it. You must pick the flower up, stem and all. Do not bother with the roots, for it is the flower and stem I require.”
“All right.” She fell into silence as she worked, but after a moment, she said, “Mr. Hawk, I wish to speak of a delicate matter between us.”
“You may say whatever you please to me.”
Her look was guarded at first, but then she shook her head. “Very well. I have many questions I might ask about you, your life and the Lost Clan, as you well might understand. But first there is another matter that sits heavily on my mind.”
He raised an eyebrow at her.
“Truth be told,” she continued, “I never did answer your question as to marriage, and you have never inquired after it. Have you changed your mind?”
Her question, as well as the subject itself, was indeed delicate. It also had the effect of knocking the breath from him, but he kept the reaction to himself.
“I do not change my mind,” he said, dismayed to hear that his voice was unsteady. “I simply try to give you space to consider it, as well as some time away from me so as to decide the matter for yourself.” He paused. “Did you think I might have changed? That I would take back my offer?”
“Yes.” Her glance skimmed off of his. “You have been…distant from me since we started this journey.”
“I have much on my mind—it is my duty to lead and to protect us.” Again, he hesitated, then, “Did you have an answer for me?” He didn’t look at her. He dared not.
“Yes.” She reached out to touch his hand. “I…I am afraid…that I cannot marry you.”
He nodded without looking at her. It was as he had expected.
But then she added, “Now…”
“Now?”
“I need to find out more about you, about what you said about the Lost Clan, before I can… I was so startled by what you said,” she continued hurriedly, “and you left so quickly after, that I haven’t known what to think. So as you see, I have many questions.”
“Aa, I have had much to consider. But I am here now. If you have other things that trouble your thoughts, feel free to question me.”
She didn’t respond right away. In truth, she seemed to be carefully choosing her words, as now and again she sent him a tentative look.
Gazing at her now, with her fiery hair as well as her dress blowing softly about her, she presented such a beautiful picture, it was almost more than he could do to keep himself from staring at her like a lovesick buffalo calf. Though she was on her knees picking several flowers, she now and again frowned at him, and he felt urged to smooth out those two wrinkles between her brows.
“Very well,” she acknowledged, sitting back. “My first question is about the Lost Clan.”
He nodded. “I thought you might have questions for me about that.”
“Yes. Well, what I’ve been trying to understand, and what I can’t quite comprehend is this: You said that you are of the Lost Clan?”
“Aa.”
“But how can this be so? They are a clan of legend, are they not?”
“’Tis so.”
Her frown grew deeper. “I still don’t understand. I am here to dig for evidence that they did at one time exist…but in the past. To say you are of that tribe would infer they are in the present, and not in the past…” Her voice trailed away.
He hesitated and considered her question solemnly. “I understand your confusion, and you are correct, the Lost Clan is a clan of legend. But it is also a clan the Creator blessed with a chance to end the curse.”
“Yes. That’s right. I had almost forgotten that part of the legend. Once a generation, a boy is chosen—”
“To take on real form,” he continued for her, “and to go out into the world in an attempt to end the curse for the Clan.”
“Real form? Then what you’re saying is that you were once entrapped in the mist?”
“Aa.”
“Excuse me, but I find that a bit hard to believe.”
He shrugged, looking away from her, and glanced back toward the ground. It was as he had thought. The truth was too bizarre to be accepted.
She continued to speak, however. “So what you are saying is that you are one of those boys who was chosen to try to end the curse?”
He grimaced. “Aa, it is so.”
“Hmmm…”
“And yet, no, I am not truly a chosen one.”
She shook her head. “Now I’m really confused.”
“Let me explain. The elders did not wish to choose me. It is as uncomplicated as that.”
“But if they didn’t want to—”
“They had no one else from whom to pick. The rest of the boys from my tribal band were injured.”
“Oh.”
“That day when we met, I was coming from the council that named me as champion.”
“Were you? How
exciting. You must have been delighted.”
“No,” he said flatly. “Though I had long wished to be champion, knowing I was picked only because there was no one else was not the way in which I had dreamed of becoming our tribe’s defender.”
He noted that whether she believed him or not, she at least bestowed upon him a sympathetic look, and said, “I’m sorry.”
“You do not need to be. Regardless of how it was done, I am still the one who must break the curse for my people or live with the knowledge of my failure. I take that obligation seriously, if for no other reason than to make my grandfather proud.”
“And so you should. That is very commendable. I notice you speak of your grandfather often. You must love him dearly.”
“Aa, it is so. He adopted me when I was so young that I do not remember it.”
“Adopted?”
“Aa, though I am of Blackfoot descent, the Lost Clan is not my tribe of birth. My parents, who were visiting the Clan at the time when the trouble began, were killed by the Thunderer. I would have been left homeless, were it not for Grandfather.”
“Your parents were killed by the Thunderer?”
“Aa, aa. In my youth, I often dreamed of revenging myself on the Thunder Being or the Thunderbird, as he is sometimes known, because I blamed him for all my troubles. But I have since grown up, and I have put those desires of vengeance away from me…or at least I have tried to. Now I only seek to free my people, my grandfather.”
“I see.” She drew her hand over the ground, as though trying to decide which flower to pick next. “But tell me, if all you say is so, why are you here with me now? Why aren’t you out somewhere trying to break the curse?”
“Because,” he said without even hesitating, “I am out somewhere trying to break the curse.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You are somehow connected with the Clan.”
“Oh, am I?” She brightened suddenly. “I think I’m beginning to understand what this is all about. It’s the artifacts, isn’t it? Somehow, these artifacts I carry, and those I search for, are important to you. Am I right?” She looked to him hopefully.
He didn’t respond. He couldn’t and remain true to his vision, for a vision, if told to anyone other than a medicine man, was to render the prophecy powerless.
She gazed away from him, and all the while the reddish strands of hair that framed her face fluttered prettily in the wind. He wished he could take her in his arms, if only to make her believe him. But he knew if he wanted her to trust him, to really trust him, he dare not.
At last, she said, “I don’t know what to think, Mr. Hawk. Your story is fantastic. Nevertheless, my father certainly believes in the legend, which is the only reason why I am here. However, I have to admit that not only you, but this entire trip, is incredible, more like fantasy than real life. Perhaps if we lived in a more mystical place and time, I might be more inclined to believe these stories. At present it is difficult.”
“Mystical? What do you mean by this word?”
She arched a brow at him. “Mystical means something to do with those things that are not necessarily of the flesh—those things of mystery, of magic perhaps.”
“Haiya, but there is mystery all around us.”
“Is there, now?”
“’Tis so.” Sitting back on his haunches, he motioned to the environment that surrounded them. “Have you never wished for something, and it came true? Never seen the birth of a colt? Never witnessed the Creator’s hand in every blade of grass that grows? Is it so unusual that the Clan is cursed? After all, there is a price to pay for all one’s ill deeds. Grandfather told me before I left the Clan, no one can escape the consequences of his own acts, for life is an endless circle, and what one forces another to experience, one will, himself, be made to endure. The Clan killed the children of the Thunder god, and now they pay the price for having done so.”
She exhaled. “I think that whether I believe you or not, your grandfather was a wise man.”
“Aa, he was, he is. I have tried to remember those words, for the urge for revenge still festers within my heart.”
“Truly?”
“Aa. I am a warrior. I would risk a warrior’s death to avenge my parents. But I cannot. I must not. I am on a quest—I can never lose sight of that. Grandfather, my entire Clan, depends on me.”
“It is indeed a hefty responsibility that you carry.” She paused, then sat forward, so she might look behind her. “Mr. Hawk, listen. Do you hear them? The wagons? They are not far behind me, and I would like more time to speak with you earnestly about one or two other things…”
“Other things?”
“Yes. More about the Lost Clan—I still have questions—also, I feel I should tell you that I think someone could be following us. I’m not certain, for I have seen only shadows, but I fear we might indeed have a straggler in our midst.”
“Humph!” Red Hawk considered her words somberly. “I have not been scouting to our rear. Perhaps that has been an error.”
“Perhaps. I will leave it to you to determine. But again, I would like a moment more of your time—away from the others.”
“Aa,” he said, then suggested, “we could talk again while the others take their noonday nap.”
“We could, or maybe we might have our conversation tonight? Once the others are asleep?”
“It could be arranged.”
“Very well, then. I look forward to seeing you tonight. Thank you for your time.”
They both stood then. She turned toward him and dazzled him with a radiant smile. He took hold of her hand, and as awareness of her swept through him, he wished to never let her go, to never let this moment slip away.
But time has a way of plodding forward, and no man can hold it back. Eventually, she pulled her hand away. Before she left, she brought forward from a hand she’d been hiding behind her back the bouquet of flowers she had picked. “My gift to you.”
It was a simple overture. Still, he hardly knew how to react. As he watched the sun dance off the unusual color of her hair, it came to him how utterly beautiful she was. The freckles on her face had become more pronounced under the steady influence of the sun, and after raising his fingers toward her, he touched each golden fleck on her face, one by one.
It was almost as an afterthought that he accepted her gift, though as he grasped hold of the flowers, his fingers caressed her palm, stroking her sensitive skin.
Tentatively, she raised her gaze to his. Her lips parted, their wetness engaging, inviting. Unable to help himself, he accepted what he hoped was an invitation, and he bent to press his lips to hers, gently, adoringly.
Desire shot through him. Raising his head only slightly, he brought up a hand to smooth over her cheek, moving down to her neck, her shoulders, pulling her in closer to him.
He said, “Kitsikakomimmo,” then he kissed her again.
“What does that mean?” she whispered, her breath coming in short gasps.
“I will tell you tonight.”
“Do you promise?”
“Aa,” he murmured. “I promise.”
Her eyes were closed, and bending, he smoothed his cheek against hers, confiding in her ear, “I have something for you too.”
“Oh?”
“Keep your eyes closed, and give me your hand.”
She complied.
Reaching up to the back of his head, he unfastened an eagle feather suspended from his hair, drew it off and urged it into her hand.
“Open your eyes.”
She did so, and seeing the gift, she smiled up at him.
“’Tis from a golden eagle,” he said. “For you are like that bird to me. Proud, protective, majestic. Kitsikakomimmo.”
“Kitsikakomimmo,” she repeated after him, and listening to her speak the words, even though he knew she di
d not grasp their meaning, had his insides tied in knots.
He swallowed hard. “I, too, hear the sounds of the wagons, and they are close. Soon they will be in view, as we will be to them. We will finish our talk tonight.”
“Yes. Tonight.” She stepped back, out of his arms, and he immediately felt bereft. “Thank you for the feather.”
He nodded, then watched as she turned and walked away. Soon, as she stepped toward the wagons, she faded from sight. Though he knew he shouldn’t, he couldn’t help but think, Oh, that she had said yes.
Chapter Thirteen
It was evening. In the distance, Effie could barely discern the figures of Red Hawk and Henry Smith as they sat at the edge of their encampment, huddled together. That Red Hawk was initiating Henry into the finer points of standing the evening watch was without doubt, for now and again Red Hawk would add gestures that were all too recognizable.
Carl was watching the two of them as well. “I suppose it will be my turn to stand watch tomorrow evening…yet again.”
“I think you’re right,” said Effie.
Carl paused, then, “Do you know if Mr. Owens or his butler will eventually be taking their turns at this?”
“I don’t believe they will.” Effie laid aside her soup bowl and spoon. “Though at first Red Hawk did expect them both to take their turns, they have refused.”
“Refused? Is it possible to refuse?”
“When you’re as old as they are, it is. Though I must admit that Red Hawk does not understand why I’m acting so leniently with them. Apparently in Red Hawk’s tribe, an elder considers such duty a compliment.”
“Well, if you want my opinion,” Lesley spoke up, “I agree with Red Hawk. It seems to me that Father and his man, Fieldman, should take their turns with the watch. We are a small group, and it would certainly relieve Henry and Carl of this constant every-other-night vigil.”
“I understand, Lesley,” agreed Effie. “And you make a good point, but I also sympathize with your father. He’s worked hard all his life so he can enjoy his later years with a little more leisure. We are actually lucky he has agreed to this excavation. There is no better field supervisor to be found than he.”