Touched by their concern, Sun Cloud smiled at his friends and said, “It is the will of Grandfather; it is my season to obey. As my father did fifteen winters past, I must be lifted up in sacrifice.”
“But you are tired and weak from your race and purifications,” Thunder Spirit protested, for he knew how fatigued he was and he knew how difficult and perilous the Sun Dance was, especially this part.
Sun Cloud clasped his friend’s arm and said, “It must be. I am ready,” he announced to the shaman and faced him, placing his hands behind his body and sticking his chest forward as he gazed at the sun.
The shaman took the sacred knife and made two slices half an inch apart on Sun Cloud’s left breast, causing blood to seep forth and ease down his bronzed abdomen. Using an eagle’s clawed foot, he forced one of the sharp talons through the sensitive underflesh, then pulled on it to lift the severed section from the warrior’s chest to allow a ten-inch thong to follow its path. He repeated the procedure on Sun Cloud’s right breast, and was pleased when the young warrior never grimaced or flinched. He gave Sun Cloud a peyote button to be eaten later to seek his vision, but after most of his ordeal. The holy man tied the two thongs to rawhide ropes which were hanging from the fork of the sacred pole, then called three men forward to raise Sun Cloud into the air and to secure the rope ends tightly to the base of the pole.
As the men lifted him, the thongs yanked upon his tender flesh and sent radiating pain through his chest and neck and arms. As he was pulled higher, the men’s movements sent agony charging through his body and mind and he felt as if he were being torn apart. At last, the jarring ordeal was complete and he was suspended three feet from the ground by his protesting flesh. He had never imagined pain could be this enormous, but it was. He could not understand how, with his heavy weight pulling on them, the severed sections of flesh held fast to his chest and he hoped they would tear free soon, though he was aware this excruciating ritual could take hours or all day. In fierce resolve to hold silent and to grasp victory, Sun Cloud recalled his instructions and his father’s Sun Dance. Ignoring his agony, he arched his back and left his arms hang loosely at his sides. He stared at the sun and blew on his whistle, each inhalation and exhalation increasing his torment.
There was no turning back; the sacrificial ritual was underway, so it was onward to victory or defeat or truce. The steady beat of the kettle drums was heard along with prayers and chanting. The other participants blew on their whistles as all involved began their bittersweet tasks as they mentally searched for savage ecstasy.
Hours passed and the men’s agonies increased. Many were consumed by a fear of defeat, and prayed for the determination to endure and succeed. Some could not help but cry out as flesh was ripped apart or staggering pain shot through them as they attempted to pull free to end this self-inflicted torment. Blood ran down stomachs and soaked breechcloths, their only garments. The movements of bare feet caused dust to rise and swirl about in the wind created by them. Some would slacken the ropes to rest a moment before straining upon them once more. Even after one side of a man’s torso was freed, the other seemingly resisted freedom more than the first. Clearly all of the men were becoming exhausted; some had fainted from pain or fatigue, some to regain consciousness and begin the ordeal once more.
Bright Arrow watched his brother submit to what he knew from experience was excruciating pain; yet, Sun Cloud’s expression and behavior did not expose what he was suffering. A new sense of respect and awe filled Bright Arrow as he observed his brother’s courage and stamina. At first, he had been angry with Sun Cloud for attempting two perils and challenges on the same day, then jealous at how his brother was succeeding with them. Slowly those forbidden emotions lessened and vanished, for he knew Sun Cloud was obeying Grandfather. His gaze went to the red bandana which Sun Cloud had tied around his neck, the one which had belonged to the slayer of their father. The air seemed charged with a strange force, and Bright Arrow felt it.
The heat and humidity made May seventh an unusually oppressive day, and the men’s bodies glistened with moisture. The ritual dancers halted one by one and took their seats. The men who had been pierced all freed themselves, collapsed to the ground, and were helped to their mats to be tended and refreshed.
Only Sun Cloud remained at the Sun Dance pole. Everything and everyone was silent, but for the kettle drums and Sun Cloud’s whistle. It did not appear as if his taut flesh had yielded in the least. Yet, blood slipped around his sides to saturate the back of his breechcloth. He hung limply as if he would either die or fail at this awesome task. When he wiped the beads of moisture from the humidity and his profuse sweating from his face, it caused the yellow markings to alter their shapes, to form dots and strips which could not be seen by those beneath his suspended body due to the backward angle of his head.
Suddenly his tongue shoved the whistle from his mouth and he lifted his arms skyward, calling out, “Hear me, Grandfather; Sun Cloud and his people need your help and guidance. Speak to us. Send us a sign.” He placed the peyote button in his mouth and consumed it, for he had endured this ordeal long enough to prove he was not fleeing it.
No one had noticed the dark clouds moving their way, until the wind picked up and carried them overhead, blocking the sun from view. It was almost as if dusk had settled over them. Bright flashes of lightning charged across the heavens and rumbling thunder followed it, rapidly moving closer and closer and louder and louder. Sun Cloud implored, “I call on you, spirits of thunder, lightning, rain, and wind, to bring us a message; tell us how to defeat our white foes.”
The ground seemingly trembled as the power of nature increased and boldly displayed itself. Rain began to pour upon everyone, but no one moved, for they felt as if the Great Spirit was communicating with them through Sun Cloud, as if the valiant warrior was the one calling down these powers to compel a message from them.
The sky grew darker and darker. Rain poured heavier and faster, soaking everyone and washing away all traces of blood and sweat. Lightning zigzagged constantly and fiercely across the heaven above. The thunder seemingly had no beginning or ending to his loud voice. Brisk winds yanked at tepees and clothing, and wet hair was whipped into eyes and faces. The storm raged in a powerful frenzy. It was raining so hard it was difficult for the people to keep their eyes open and heads upward to witness this stirring event. The sounds of pouring rain, booming thunder, and wild winds combined to almost painfully assail everyone’s ears. The Sun Dance pole appeared to sway eerily, and Sun Cloud’s body twirled slowly, tangling the rawhide ropes.
The shaman jumped up to chant and dance around the pole as the storm’s fury mounted and Sun Cloud prayed for a vision. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to travel with the force which was flowing within and around him. He was no longer aware of the agony in his chest, nor of his violent surroundings. Colorful images danced inside his head, changing shapes and sizes every few minutes. Far away he could hear something beating steadily, perhaps it was his heart or his life-force leaving his body to communicate with the Great Spirit.
He saw himself standing on a lofty hill, overlooking his lands. He saw units of bluecoats coming from every direction to band together to attack his people and other tribes. He saw his people using the Apache war skills to attack each band and destroy them. He saw a white man whose face was hazy approach him and shake hands with the warrior at his side; turning, he saw his father standing there. He watched the two make and accept the signs for peace, and heard his father call the man kola and Colonel Derek Sturgis, then Gray Eagle placed Sturgis’ hand in Sun Cloud’s and smiled meaningfully. His mother joined the two men and whispered, “Peace, my son, it is the only path to survival for the Dakota Nation, and it must survive.”
He saw a warrior whose hands were covered in blood, Indian blood, and his face was that of Silver Hawk’s. He saw himself walk forward and slay this wicked traitor, then hold out his hands in beckoning to the man’s sister, Singing Wind, and he saw her running
eagerly toward him with love in her gaze. He heard someone call his name over and over and he looked around to answer. He could find no one, but he recognized the voice from far away: Rebecca Kenny’s. He saw himself standing with his brother; he was wearing the tribal chief’s bonnet and Bright Arrow was adorned as the war chief.
Sun Cloud lifted his arms skyward once more and said, “It will be done as you command, Grandfather. Free me so I can obey.”
A strong gust of wind surged through the center of camp and, as if untied by its mystical fingers, the soppy bandana around Sun Cloud’s neck loosened and plunged to the ground. A dazzling bolt of lightning nearly sheared through the Sun Dance pole three feet upward from its mud-spattered base, sending forth a loud boom and an ominous cracking sound. Bright sparks shot in all directions and puffs of smoke swirled into the air, but the sacred pole did not catch fire. It swayed to one side, gradually splintered and eased to the drenched ground, lowering Sun Cloud without injuring him or ripping the thongs from his chest.
People squealed and scattered rapidly, but the pole landed between tepees as if intentionally avoiding all life and property. All eyes looked above and around them as the rain, wind, thunder, and lightning ceased almost instantly and simultaneously. A strange aura hung over the camp and its people. The storm rapidly moved off into the distance, leaving a colorful rainbow stretched across the horizon and fluffy white clouds leisurely drifting overhead. Gradually the sky lightened; the hazy mist cleared; the rainbow faded; and the sun climbed from behind what resembled a pile of clouds. The radiant ball peered over them, as if creating the same image as upon Sun Cloud’s possessions and his wanapin—which had been exposed to their eyes after the red bandana had fallen off. While catching his breath and summoning his lagging strength, he edged to the remaining base of the sacred pole and leaned his back against it. His long hair was soaked and nearly all of his body paint had been washed away, all except for the yellow strips and dots on his face, which formed the pattern belonging to Gray Eagle.
Sun Cloud gazed at the fiery ball which was shining brightly on his weary, but tranquilly victorious, face and reflecting off of his sun-and-clouds medallion. It was strange; his chest was sore and uncomfortable, but the searing agony had vanished. In fact, a numbing sensation seemed to engulf his injuries. His body was exhausted; yet he felt wonderful inside, where his spirit was soaring.
The shaman came forward with the sacred knife, dropped to one knee in the mud, cut the thongs which were still secured to the young warrior’s chest, and carefully removed them. His hands cupped Sun Cloud’s shoulders and he smiled. To him, it was almost like gazing into the face of Gray Eagle many years ago! “Grandfather honored and freed Sun Cloud, so we must do the same. Grandfather revealed a powerful vision with strong medicine to Sun Cloud. When we hear it, we must obey. Come, my son, you need care and rest.”
Forcing himself to ignore his weakness, Sun Cloud stood and looked around him. All who had observed this ceremony knew it was powerful medicine, and the warriors were eager to hear of his sacred vision. As with the shaman, others felt as if they were in the presence of Gray Eagle reborn and they could not help but stare at Sun Cloud.
“I must eat, drink, and rest for a time, then we will meet in the ceremonial lodge. There is much to tell.” Sun Cloud glanced at his father’s lifetime friend White Arrow and smiled, love and respect filling both men’s eyes as they seemed to talk without words. His gaze drifted around the front circle of council members and high-ranking warriors, wondering if any of their eyes and hearts had been opened to the truth; he smiled and nodded to each. His gaze lingered a time on his observant brother before he left with the shaman to have his chest tended and to discuss the meaning of his vision with the wise one.
As he doctored the young warrior’s chest—cleansing and then covering the wounds with potent healing herbs, pressing the flesh back into its proper place, and binding his chest snugly—Mind-who-Roams listened intently and reverently as Sun Cloud related his vision. He gave the young warrior nourishing food to eat and chokecherry wine to drink. The wine was laced liberally with a variety of medicinal herbs to promote healing, to prevent shock and fever, and to lessen pain.
The shaman remarked, “It is as I believed; you must become chief.” The older man smiled and stated, “You will become chief. You are much like your father. It is as if he has returned to us in you.”
Sun Cloud smiled gratefully and replied, “This is not the time to seize my advantage. Our warriors must stand and ride and fight as one, not battle over helping friends to win votes. I must see my brother before the council; there are special messages for him.”
Chapter Seventeen
Sun Cloud revealed his vision to Bright Arrow, except for the part about Silver Hawk, wickedness which he felt his brother must uncover on his own, for only then would Bright Arrow believe that his friend Silver Hawk was capable of such evil and treachery.
Bright Arrow and Sun Cloud were alone, so they could talk openly and honestly. Bright Arrow studied his younger brother and wondered how much, if any, of these stunning words he should, or could, believe. To accept Sun Cloud’s contradictory vision weakened or destroyed his own vision, denied him his dreams and desires. If Sun Cloud’s vision was placed above his own in power and meaning, he, Bright Arrow, first-born of Gray Eagle and Shalee, would appear a fool or an evilheart, a greedy misguider and deceiver, to his tribe and to others. His troubled spirit asked how could he lose everything again? How could he return to being an empty shell which did nothing more than fight, hunt, and exist? And all alone? He fretted mentally, why was Sun Cloud doing this to him? Why was Grandfather allowing it? “You say the bonnet I was wearing in my vision was that of the war chief?” When Sun Cloud nodded, Bright Arrow asked, “What of Big Elk? He is only forty-three winters old, too young to die.”
“Not in battle, my brother, but we must hold this sad news between us, for a man should not know when the Bird of Death is flying over his head. You are to be our war chief, my brother; this is the will of the Great Spirit and our father,” he stated gently, kindly.
“Is it the will of our people and our allies?” Bright Arrow scoffed.
“When the time comes, it will be so,” Sun Cloud responded softly.
“Do you tell me Rebecca still lives only to steal Singing Wind from my side? Do you crave her so much, my brother, that you would lie about a sacred vision? You did not share my vision; you do not know what I was told and shown. You tell me my headdress was that of the war chief’s in your vision; it was not so in mine. I cannot speak for the truth or power of your vision, only mine, and I must obey it. My vision said you would try to take all things from me, and though I doubted such bitter words, they have come to pass, as all things in it will come to pass. You must face what we both know to be true: Rebecca is dead; Singing Wind and the chiefs bonnet will be mine,” he vowed confidently, but his emotions were at war within him, for the man who had left the Sun Dance pole had done so with his father’s image, and he felt as if he were being tricked. He argued, “It was not a sacred vision which came to you this day, Sun Cloud; you were only dreaming from your pain and desires. You called upon your name and Sacred Bow spirits to help you; they should not have answered as you begged them and misguided our people. Cast aside their mischief or wickedness, my brother; it creates a cover of evil over our camp.”
Sun Cloud wearily shook his dark head and inhaled deeply. His somber eyes scrutinized his brother closely, gravely, regrettably. He was suddenly very tired and discouraged, as if he were being drained rapidly of life, hope, joy, and confidence. Even as a child, he had never wanted to weep more than at this moment. He was consumed by frustration and disquiet, for he realized that Bright Arrow truly believed every word he was speaking. In a tone which was low and heavy with emotion, he refuted, “You are the one who is misguided, Bright Arrow. How I wish Grandfather would open your eyes and heal your wounded heart quickly, for this conflict between us is painful and destructive,
and we must not allow it to cause dissension and rivalries amongst our friends and people…or we could all perish. Your vision was a dream of desires, not mine. Can you not see that Silver Hawk has misled you and deceived you? Can you not see how he tries to place your feet on my destined path? When Big Elk is slain and Rebecca returns, you will know I speak the truth. Make certain it is not too late to leave my path to return to your own,” he advised gravely. “When our foes have been defeated and our camp is safe, before the buffalo hunt, we must share the sweat lodge and a visionquest. Only then can we learn the truth, can we find and accept our true destinies.”
Bright Arrow watched Sun Cloud conquer his fatigue and weakness to stand. “What will you tell the council?” he inquired.
Sun Cloud met his gaze and answered, “I will not speak of Rebecca or Singing Wind. I will not speak of Big Elk’s death. I will not speak of the chiefs bonnet. I will not speak of you and your friend. I will speak only of war and peace, for only they matter at this time. Agreed?”
Bright Arrow was surprised and pleased by that news. Witnessing his brother’s concern and love for their people, he wished he had not made such cold and mean accusations, for Sun Cloud could be honestly mistaken, and he wanted to seek the truth through a joint visionquest. He and his brother loved each other, and they loved their people. They could not endanger their lands and tribe with a rash quarrel. The final decision belonged to Grandfather, so it was cruel and ruinous to clash with each other. He smiled contritely and nodded. “Do you wish the council to meet when the sun returns? The Sacred Bow race and Sun Dance take much from a man. You have honored yourself and our family with your two victories. No other warrior has claimed both in one day. You are much like our father, for he too chose the hanging rite.” He had noticed how shaky and pale his brother was, and it tugged at his heart and mind, for they had been close for years.
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