Beyond that, there was nothing to do but wait. He took a sip from his water skin and settled himself to watch the setting of the sun. Sun Boy had chosen his paints well tonight. The reds and purples, made more brilliant by the presence of a few clouds to the west, had never been more intense. He watched the bright disk slide beyond earth’s rim, and twilight began to settle across the prairie. Far below him, in the giant oaks along the stream, Kookoos-koos, the great hunting owl, sounded his hollow rendition of his own name. A cautious doe and her fawn made their way out of a thicket of dogwood on the slope below him and ventured into the open to browse. Far to the north, across the river, a coyote called, and another answered. Stars began to appear, one by one, and Small Elk tried to guess the location of the next one he would see. He abandoned that pastime when suddenly it seemed the sky was full of the tiny points of light, and the background had faded from gray to the deepest blue-black.
Something at the edge of his vision made him turn to see the fiery circle of the rising moon sliding into sight in the east. How odd, he wondered, the size and color is so different when it first rises. He had always noticed this, but tonight it seemed especially so—the glowing red, with the markings in purple on its surface. So plain tonight… a face, a rabbit, or a woman combing out her long hair, depending on how one chose to perceive it. He watched with fascination while the disk became smaller and brighter. Soon its light was silvering all of the prairie in a ghostly splendor. He was no longer bored. He felt that he dared not sleep because he might miss something on this night of beauty and enchantment. Surely it was a night of strong medicine.
Even so, the moon, now tiny and white, was directly overhead before Small Elk began to realize that perhaps this was a part of his fast. The sharpness of the senses, the intensity of color, the distances that he could see across the silvery prairie… were these the early effects of the fast?
He was a little startled when he suddenly awoke with the sun shining in his face. It was morning, and he had not expected to sleep. There was no mistaking it now. He felt a sense of exhilaration and well-being that he had never known before. The hunger pangs had ceased, replaced by a calm confidence, a clarity of understanding. That made such things as an empty belly completely unimportant. The joy of this new sense of perception made the day pass rapidly. He observed the world with new insight, from the hugeness of the clouds in the distance to the smallness of the tiny creatures in the grass at his feet. All seemed to have their place in the world.
That night he began to dream, but the dreams were not materially different from the things he had observed while awake. This in turn led to a strange trancelike state when he woke in which he could no longer decide what was dream and what reality. He felt that there was nothing that he could not do. He could fly from the top of his hill if he wished, to soar high among the clouds with the eagles. He could burrow into the earth with the lesser creatures if he wished.
From that point on, it became impossible for him to distinguish… no, not impossible, but unnecessary to distinguish even night and day. His existence seemed above and beyond such mundane things as days, or even moons, so he was never certain afterward when the visions began.
They were not actually visions—in the sense he had expected, anyway. He had thought of them as… well, maybe bizarre night-dreams of exceptional clarity. If he actually had an expectation that could be defined, that was it. So he was confused, even in his dream-state, when it began. It was, at first, merely an understanding. He was looking at a distant antelope (or at a vision of one, he was never certain) when he suddenly realized that he was thinking the creature’s thoughts. They were shy, timid thoughts, yet curious. He knew that the creature could see far greater distances then he and that the ability to do so was part of the fear that the antelope felt. Fear of some distant, as yet unseen predator. The animal now raised its head, flashed white rump-patches, and disappeared over the hill.
He lifted his attention to the red-tailed hawk that soared above. Its attention was focused on a tuft of grass as it hovered, watching for any suggestion of motion. Small Elk’s spirit now seemed to enter that grassy clump, to feel the terror of the white-footed mouse which crouched there, afraid to run, yet afraid of the terrible strike of the hunter’s talons.
The hawk decided that the clump held no food and lifted a wing to catch a rising air current and soar away. Small Elk diverted his attention closer, where a bird sat on a stem of sumac and scolded. It was an urgent tone, and his searching spirit entered the head of the bird to experience its alarm at the approach of a great blue snake. He transferred his thoughts there and found that the snake was hunting, looking for a nest. It had actually been attracted by the bird’s protest. It could not find the bird’s lodge, however, and moved on. So did Small Elk, or at least his spirit. He experienced the dull awareness of a large fish that lay under the roots of a sycamore, waiting for prey to drift past.
He enjoyed a mud slide with the spirits of a family of playful otters as they plummeted down a steep bank into the pool below.
The process of getting “inside the head” of these creatures was becoming easier, more rational. He spent a little while with the thoughts of a coyote as she hunted. There was not an urgency to the hunt as there had once been. Her pups were grown and were hunting for themselves now.
He moved among a herd of buffalo and felt the calm reliance on the herd for protection, a group spirit. A large bull grazed quietly, and for some reason, the spirit of Small Elk moved toward it.
Welcome, my son. I have expected you.
It was not a spoken statement, only a thought, but it came to him with shocking clarity.
You are my medicine animal? My spirit guide? he asked.
There was no direct answer, but he felt that it was true. There was a feel, somehow, of humor, as if his surprise had been mildly amusing.
What am I to do now? Small Elk thought to himself.
Continue your visions, the thought came.
He was not certain whether it was an answer to his question or merely a coincidence. The buffalo grazed on, and now he felt a sort of oneness with them a part of the herd-feeling.
It was then that the visions began which were to prove so puzzling. He was traveling, in spirit, over great bodies of water and large areas of land. There were plains and forests and great areas of snow and ice, but he did not feel the cold. He saw wondrous things, the stuff of dreams and unreality. There was a real-bear, which prowled across endless snow when it should have been hibernating. It was not the color of a real-bear either as it stood on its hind legs to see farther across the snowpack. It was pure white.
He moved on, and saw great cats like the long-tailed cougar, but with heavy manes like the buffalo. There were strange, ugly creatures like large deer with a deformity, a hump on the back, that did not seem to bother them at all. A huge creature with great flapping ears appeared to have a tail at both ends, but one proved to be an extension of the nose with which it pulled down trees to browse. There were little men with tails who appeared to live in the tops of trees. All of these things were seen in rapid sequence. They seemed quite believable in the dream-state, as even ridiculous dreams will. Most of them were quickly forgotten, as dreams usually are when confronted with reality in the clear light of day.
One of his visions, however, persisted. In later days, even years later, it would somehow recur unexpectedly. It was as nonsensical as the other visions but was certainly more persistent. In this vision or dream, he watched from a hilltop over a vast expanse of grassland. Below him grazed a scattered herd of animals, moving slowly across the prairie, like buffalo. But they were not buffalo. They were long and lean like elk, but they had no antlers or horns. They were all colors—black, white, gray, red, and spotted. Yet all were formed alike and appeared to be the same species.
One came running, fast as the wind, across the plain and up the slope toward him. He was frozen with fear, but the creature may not even have seen him because it paused nea
rby and rose on its hind legs to give a long wavering call. In its eye was a proud, confident look, like the look of eagles. It gave the cry again, a sort of challenge like the bellow of a bull elk at rutting season. But different… there was no question that this creature was different from any others he had ever seen. And his heart was made to feel that it was real. The other fanciful creatures of his vision might be purely dreams, but this one was significant in some way.
After he woke, he tried to remember all he could about the creature. An elk without horns, but… aiee, it made no sense at all! When it had stood on its hind feet to thunder its challenge across the plain, it had pawed the air with its front feet, directly in front of him. He had seen the feet plainly. That was the thing that assured him that it was either a bit of madness or a creature of the supernatural. Still, he was certain what he had seen, as clearly as if he were awake: The creature had worn a turtle on each foot!
15
“A turtle? On each foot?” White Buffalo was incredulous.
“Yes, Father, it seemed so. Can this be?”
The medicine man pondered a moment. “Who knows what can be?” he answered thoughtfully. “And this seemed to be your medicine-guide?”
“What? No, no, Father, I think not. It—”
White Buffalo held up a hand to stop him. “Wait. You need not reveal your guide tome…to anyone.”
“But I may?”
“Of course.”
“It seemed to be a buffalo.”
White Buffalo was pleased. That would seem to say that Small Elk’s medicine inclined him toward the buffalo medicine of his father. He nodded.
“We will talk more of that, but now, tell me of the strange creatures.”
“It is as I have said, Father. There were many strange creatures. Some I have forgotten. The visions did not last. But this one is still quite clear in my head. It was as big as an elk… bigger, maybe. They were of different colors, but the one I saw closely was gray.”
“And it wore a turtle on each foot?”
“Yes, Father? What does this mean?”
“It could mean many things, my son. But I did not see it. Tell me, what did you see as its meaning?”
Small Elk shook his head. “I do not understand it all. I saw many things, but this one… I am made to think it is more important than all the other visions.”
“Yet this is not your spirit-guide, your medicine animal?”
“No. That is the buffalo. But this one… with the turties … is of great importance, somehow. Aiee, I do not know!” He shook his head in despair.
“Do not be concerned, my son,” the holy man advised. “Some things we understand now, some later. Some, never, maybe, because they are not meant to be understood. But now, about the buffalo. You think that is your medicine?”
“Yes, Father, I am sure of it now. And I am made to think that I should follow you. Can it be so?”
White Buffalo nodded, pleased and proud. “Of course, my son, it is good that you wish to learn the duties of the medicine man. But it is hard. You must accept much responsibility.”
“Yes, I know. I am ready.”
“Good. What about your marriage?”
“I cannot do both?”
“It would not be best. Either would demand your complete attention for a while. But why not start your instruction and plan for the marriage later?”
Disappointed as he was, Small Elk managed to control his feelings, at least in part. After so long a time, when he felt he had lost Crow Woman forever, it had been such a thrilling discovery to find her again. Their reunion had been partly marred by the necessity to part again, even for a little while. Now he had the vision quest behind him and was looking forward to planning their own lodge.
But he could see the difficulties in a marriage at this time. It would be very hard to turn aside from the company of Crow Woman in their own lodge to devote time away from her to learning. Aiee, there should not be such a thing, the necessity to make such a choice. But it must be. He should not postpone his apprenticeship now that the trail lay plainly before him with his quest behind. And now that he and Crow Woman had resolved their misunderstandings, they would be able to share each other’s company. What little time he was able to spend away from his duties as the medicine man’s apprentice they could share.
He dreaded telling Crow Woman of his decision. He was certain that she had her heart set on an immediate marriage, as he had. Now he must explain….
“It does not matter,” she assured him. “We were apart for a long time. Now we can be together when we can, when your duties allow. And later, together always.”
She snuggled next to him in a suggestive way that implied that the rewards would be worth whatever delay was necessary. Aiee, this could become more and more frustrating!
He also told her of his vision quest, omitting the part in which he identified his spirit-animal, the buffalo. Later, perhaps, it would be good for her to know that too; he felt a closeness in their spirits that said so. But he wished to share now the visions of the strange creatures, especially that of the hornless elk with the turtles on its feet.
“You are joking,” she accused, eyes wide with wonder. “You are teasing me.”
“No, no, it is as I told you. It came close to me, rose on its hind legs, and pawed the air!”
“Like the real-bear?” she asked. “The bear-that-walks-like-a-man?”
“No, not like that. It is hard to tell, but it was different.”
“And it seemed something special? Your spirit-guide?”
“No. White Buffalo asked me that. That was another… I will tell you some day. But this… Crow, you know my spirit well. What could it mean?”
“Aiee, I know nothing of vision quests, Elk. It must be something of meaning. If it is for you to know, someday it will be shown to you. You have dreamed of it since?”
“Yes, twice. It was the same both times. The strange animal came and stopped on a hill near me, to stand and cry out. Its cry was frightening and loud, a roar almost, but there seemed little danger.”
“Then it must be a good sign. I do not know, Elk.”
There was little time to wonder. Now that the decision had been made, White Buffalo was anxious to proceed with his son’s education. Elk was only too willing. The sooner he began, the sooner he and Crow Woman could establish their own lodge. However, he had not counted on the immense quantity of information that his father was eager to give him.
It was nearing the Moon of Ripening, when all things that grow are completing the year’s cycle and preparing for the winter’s sleep. It would be a while before that process would be completed. But already, the bluish stems of the big grasses were pushing upward, sometimes taller than a large man before the seedheads opened.
In the giant oaks along the streams and in the canyons, busy squirrels hurried to gather and store acorns. Sometime soon, the restless herds of buffalo would be migrating, drifting south for the winter. It would be a time for the People to hunt, to store as much food as possible for the winter. It was the responsibility of White Buffalo, possessor of the buffalo medicine, to predict their arrival. He would also assist with the plans for the hunt, sometimes using his calfskin cape to mingle with the herd and gently maneuver them to an area favorable to the hunters.
“But how do you tell when the buffalo will come?” asked Small Elk.
“Patience!” White Buffalo said impatiently. “You have much to learn before that.”
They walked the prairie together. White Buffalo sniffed the air, seeming to study the maturing grasses, the stage of development of the nuts and acorns along the timbered streams, the profusion of golden flowers of different types.
“At this moon, most of the flowers are yellow or purple,” he pointed out.
“Why, Father?”
“To tell that it is the Moon of Ripening!” White Buffalo said.
Small Elk wanted to ask about the buffalo but sensed that it would not be advisable.
&n
bsp; “Now, at about this season,” his father was saying, “there will come a change in the weather. Rain Maker has been resting, and the land becomes hot and dry. Then comes the change, and that tells the buffalo to move. One day we notice that the prairie smells different, feels different. We must be able to tell, just a little while before it happens.”
Elk started to ask why, but realized his own answer. The holy man must be ready to tell the others, so that they could be ready for the hunt.
“There are many things to watch for,” White Buffalo explained. “Hear how the insects in the trees sing at evening? It is their time.”
Small Elk remained quiet, sensing that more was coming.
“The change sometimes comes with rain, sometimes not. The summer wind is from the south. When it begins to change—but look! There is a sign!”
He pointed across a little meadow. Elk saw nothing except some swallows, apparently from nests in a nearby cliff. The birds were swooping low, crisscrossing the meadow, darting after an occasional insect.
“But, I—” Elk began, but his father held up a hand.
“When birds fly low, the weather is about to change. Rain, maybe.”
“Why, Father?”
“Aiee, Elk, you have asked such things since you were small! Maybe they are hunting insects, and they fly low. Yes, ‘why?’ I suppose. There is a difference in the air… do you not feel it?”
Elk nodded. It was something that could not be described, but it was there. A different spirit The wind, which had been blowing steadily from the south for many days, was now quiet. The air was still and heavy.
“The South Wind,” said White Buffalo. “It is resting. A change is coming.”
Strange, thought Small Elk. This had been happening each autumn since he was born. No, since Creation maybe. He had never noticed before—well, that the wind usually came from the south. That was a recognized fact and gave the area one of its names. There was even a tribe who called themselves South Wind People. Small Elk had noticed that the wind sometimes changed and that the change often meant rain, but he had not even begun to realize the intricate connection here, the thing his father was teaching him. This change, this time in the late summer, was a signal. At least, it seemed so.
The Changing Wind Page 8