by Karen Kay
Could his departure, too, like hers and High Wolf’s, have been the subject of mistakes? Had he been unable to correct the deed, once done?
Had she been judging him too harshly?
Perhaps, she thought. And yet, he could have returned at any time. He could have stopped the rumors. He could have helped her, saved their countries.
Dear Lord, help me to understand.
Silently, slowly, she trod toward High Wolf, aware of the soft sound of the grass bending with each step beneath her feet. The wind blew gently in her face as she slowly walked forward.
Why was she so aware of the day? she wondered. Of the sun beating down on top of her head, the dry feel of the air with each breath, the squawk of a hawk from high overhead?
She said not a word to High Wolf, but rather, kneeling next to him, placed her arms around him.
He didn’t move at first, but then reaching around toward her, he took her in his arms, and together, they cried.
Alas, she did grieve. Perhaps it was because High Wolf’s heartache reached out to her, and she found herself responding in kind. Perhaps it was because she had remembered Prince Alathom’s undying devotion to both herself and High Wolf. Yes, he had once been loyal to them…once.
And as though it were someone else speaking, she found herself saying, “I know you loved him. I did once, too. But at least he lived his life as he desired, and he died an honorable death, amongst the people of his choice.”
High Wolf raised his head, and placing a single finger beneath her chin, brought her face up to his, saying, “You are mine now. And no one in either heaven or earth shall come between us again.”
“Yes.”
“The prince could not give this to us in his own country. And it is my belief that he stayed away from you because he could not, he would not place himself between us. I think he believed you and I would somehow end up together.”
“Yes, you are probably right,” she said, reserving her own opinion on the subject.
“You know that this is his gift to us, do you not?”
Again, though Sierra had her doubts, she kept them to herself.
“I would never have had him give up his life for us.”
“I would not, either.”
“And yet he has done it.”
“Yes.”
“I love you, Princess. I swear that here, this day, before my friend, before the Creator, I vow I will stand by you. Whatever your problems, they will become my own. Whatever your dreams, those, too, are mine; mine to help you.”
Then looking toward the heavens, he said, “Do you hear me, my brother? I swear that I will make your death have meaning…by loving the princess as we both have loved her.”
And then looking back at her, he said, “I surrender my heart to you, and by doing so, I fully intend to help you make your peace with the prince, with your own people. This I promise you, Princess; this I promise him.”
Listening to him, with tears streaming down his face, had its effect on her. And without knowing why, moisture filled her own eyes. Alas, how could she have ever thought High Wolf an enemy? How could she have been so blind?
And without another moment passing by, she cried.
How she wished she could speak so eloquently, how she wished she could express herself so well, but not a single word came to her lips.
Instead, she took hold of High Wolf’s hand, and pulling him to his feet, led him toward a thicket of bushes, which stood off to the side. Once there, she pushed High Wolf down, forcing him gently backward until he lay on the ground. Tenderly she removed the parfleche bag he always wore, and the little bit of clothing upon him, which was no more than breechcloth, moccasins and weapons of bow, arrows and a knife.
“Are we safe here?” she asked.
He nodded. “Indians stay away from gravesites.”
And she said, “Then let us seal this pact between ourselves and the prince in the way that we should have done ten years ago.”
“Yes,” he said.
“I have been so lonely. Did you know that?”
“I, too, although I barely realized it.”
She ran her fingers down his chest, glorying in the way he shivered beneath her touch.
“How I have loved you,” she said. “I begin to think that the hate I felt when I first came here was strong only because we once loved so well.”
“Yes.” He groaned when her touch lingered over his groin. But in his eyes were tears. “It took the prince’s death to bring us together. I think it was his plan.”
“I, too, begin to think so,” she said, though still, there was doubt within her own mind.
And then she touched him there, much in the same way as he had done with her.
He caught his breath immediately.
“Does that feel good?”
He grinned. “You know it does. But I fear that if I am to please you, you must not keep doing that.”
“Perhaps,” she said. “But, this day, beneath the eyes of the Creator, I am here for you alone. You have made a pledge to me, and I mean to make one to you. But the words do not come easily to my lips, so I think I will show you the depth of my promise to you.”
“But you already show me in so many ways.”
“No,” she said, “you don’t understand.” And with this said, she began to kiss him, not on his lips, but in much the same way, and upon that same portion of his body, that he had once done to her.
And she gloried in his every groan, in his every whimper, and when he at last could stand it no more, and took control of their lovemaking, placing her beneath him, she knew she needed to tell him. Now, this minute, before he became the master, she had to communicate, and she said, “And with my body, I do thee adore.”
“Haa’he,” he said. “Oh, yes.”
And there, beneath the sun, they proceeded to show one another their devotion in oh, so many ways…
Chapter 23
I think I have said that no part of the human race could present a more picturesque and thrilling appearance on horseback than a party of Crows rigged out in all their plumes and trappings—galloping about and yelping, in what they call a war-parade.
George Catlin, Letters and Notes on the
Manners, Customs, and Conditions
of North American Indians
High Wolf left sweet sage on the gravesite, scattering bits of the herb in the wind. Sierra, on the other hand, honored the man she had once called a friend by placing flowers on the stones of his grave.
Golden rays of sunshine shone brightly down on them, a most welcome sensation, and truth to tell, Sierra did feel as though the three of them were together again. Meanwhile, High Wolf said another prayer; Sierra did the same, and then together, they spoke their good-byes.
“What should we do now?” Sierra asked, as they started to leave.
High Wolf placed his arm around her waist, pulling her in close. “I think,” he said, “that we should make haste to the Minatarree village, where you can visit Yellow Moccasin and pick up that pistol. Then, perhaps we should rethink our plans. We will probably find safe lodging at the Mandan village. And there we could discuss what problems you are having in your homeland. It is my hope that together we can decide what is the best thing to do.”
“Then you really are willing to go back there with me?”
He grinned at her. “Of course. You are now mine; I am yours. I meant it when I said that your dreams, your aspirations are mine now. Together, we will make them come true. Unfortunately, my problems are now yours, as well.”
She gave him a lopsided smile. “And do you have many?”
He tilted his head, looking at her obliquely. “Mostly my dilemma has been how to forget you.” He laughed. “On my honor, I look forward to putting to rest the rumors spread about you in your homeland. It will be my pleasure to find them and destroy them. I plan to devote myself to the task.”
Sierra threw herself into his embrace. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that I hav
e harbored such malice for you these past ten years. It has been very wrong of me, and very unnecessary.”
Again he shrugged. “I think you were deceived.”
“Yes, perhaps.”
“Come, whatever the truth is,” he said, “let us make our way back to the Mandan village, via the Minatarrees. Once there, we can decide what we should do first. Perhaps we might attempt to find your maid and steward before our return to your country.”
“Yes,” she said. “Oh, yes, we must do that.”
“Then, come, let us leave our friend here and make our way downriver. Perhaps at Fort Clark, we might be able to discover more clues about what has happened to your servants.”
“Yes,” she said. “And will we be traveling openly, or once again as wolves?”
A flash of amusement crossed his face, and then he grinned. “Traversing the countryside as a wolf is the safest way to get from one place to another.”
“Well, then, I believe we should retire to the river, my husband, where you shall paint me with earth, sand and charcoal.”
“It will be my pleasure,” he said. “My utter and complete pleasure.”
As they approached the Minatarree village, they were at once treated to the sight of a horse race in full swing. The track was set upon the prairie and a good deal of the village had turned out to watch.
From a distance, unobserved, unnoticed, High Wolf and Sierra sat and watched the race for several moments, before deciding to go on.
At last, they approached the main Minatarree village, and Sierra was the first to note the sounds of many drums from within the village.
“There seem to be more drums beating there than what I remember. Do you know why?”
“Perhaps the Minatarree are having a dance. Or maybe, if my vision is correct from this distance, we might find that there are Rain Makers on top of the council house.”
“What?”
“Rain Makers.”
“I have never heard of such a thing. What are they?”
High Wolf, who had been crawling through the shrub, stopped and turned toward her, his manner relaxed and full of good humor. And he said, “Have you seen that the Minatarree raise a great deal of corn and vegetables?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Have you also noticed that there has been no rain since we have been in this country, which is almost three weeks? That is a long time to go without rain, if one is raising crops.”
“Ah,” she said, “I begin to understand.”
“Do you? Here is what happens. When the crops are failing, the women, who raise the corn, appeal to the medicine men of the tribe to help. And if the women’s cries are sufficient, these wise, old men will parley in the council lodge. Here they will burn sage and other medicine herbs, and then they will appeal to the Creator for help.
“Now, this lodge is closed to all but a few—perhaps fifteen young men. These are the young men who are willing to risk their reputations against the force of nature. And with their own medicine, they appeal to the spirits to make it rain.
“If one of them fails, he will, then, never become a medicine man. But if he succeeds, he will become a man of some importance. Now, if I am correct, this could be the source of the drumming. Would you like to go and see?”
“Yes,” she said. “Most definitely. But if this is a ceremony, won’t we interrupt it?”
“No one will notice our coming and going. There is too much taking place here today, and people will be watching other things, not us. But hurry, let us go there quickly and find a good location where we could sit and watch, for I believe you will find it interesting.”
Slowly, he turned around and started in the direction of the river, where they might wash the mud from their bodies before approaching the village. But Sierra tapped him on the shoulder and asked, “Tell me, have any of these young men ever made it rain?”
“If their medicine is good.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, really.”
“And do you believe that one of them will do so now?”
“I do,” he said.
“And all because they implore the Creator for help?”
“Yes,” he agreed, “and because some of them have much medicine of their own, and can talk to the spirits. I have known such people.”
Her eyes filled with humor, and she laughed. “Well, I, for one, don’t believe it.”
“Don’t you?”
“No.”
“Would you like to make a bet?”
“Hmmm. Perhaps,” she said. “What would we be betting?”
His eyes twinkled as he said, “It is my opinion that a good, long back rub would be in order.”
“Very well.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “I seem to remember you asking for a massage once before. However, I feel that in this case, I will be the winner.” She gave him a merry, lopsided grin. “What do you think?”
He stretched, yawning. “Ah, I’ve always loved a good back rub…”
Entering the village as unobtrusively as possible, they made their way toward Yellow Moccasin’s lodge. Once there, they were able to quickly find a seat atop the earth lodge, sitting directly at the hut’s apex. That they shared their seat with several of the youngsters made it seem to Sierra as though she were on a picnic.
“Now there”—High Wolf pointed to a particular earth lodge—“is the council lodge, and inside are the medicine men who are singing and beating the drum. Do you smell the herbs? They are burning them, so that the Creator will be pleased and will take pity on them.”
“And the man on top of the lodge?”
“That is one of the young men, who is determined to test his prowess. This man I am told is Gray Elk. Look, he is about to start.”
Gray Elk was certainly an extraordinary man, Sierra decided. Tall, big-boned and well built, he wore a most beautiful costume of what must be elk skin, for it was bleached white. He also carried in one hand a war shield, and in his other, his bow and two arrows.
And brandishing his bow and arrows toward the skies, he began to sing, as though the very air were filled with spirits.
“What is he saying?” she asked.
High Wolf leaned close, and said, “At present, he is telling the crowd that on this day, their woes are at an end. He is here to sacrifice himself to the task of making it rain, for he knows well that if he fails, he will be disgraced. He says that his shield will draw a great cloud, which will give them all rain.”
Sierra glanced around her, at the cloudless heavens overhead, and said, “Is he a dreamer?”
“Perhaps. But he is given all day to make the rain fall from the sky. We have happened upon the fourth man to try.”
“The fourth?”
“Yes, and Gray Elk will be on top of that lodge most of the day, pleading to the heavens.”
“And do you think he will make it rain?”
“Perhaps.”
Again, she smiled. Such strange customs. Still, she glanced right and left, noticing that behind her, arising, from the west, was a small cloud.
“High Wolf,” she said, “look there.”
He did so, and then slanted her a look of delight. “Ah, I will enjoy that back rub very much.”
She chuckled, her glance skimming over the heads of the villagers, who had also spotted the cloud. And as Gray Elk’s pleas became more urgent, Sierra suddenly caught sight of something…someone on one of the other rooftops. An image of someone familiar…someone with dark hair, hair that was liberally sprinkled with gray, an oddity for one so young.
But it was not a Minatarree man. It was a white man. A white man she recognized…the prince.
Prince Alathom? Here?
But wasn’t he dead? Hadn’t they sung songs over his grave?
Was he a ghost?
No, he looked real, for he was talking and laughing with some children, who were gathered round him.
Dear Lord, what did this mean? Or more importantly, what was she supposed to feel? Rel
ief that a friend was still among the living?
Or remorse?
And that’s when it happened. The reality of what this would mean to her, to High Wolf, to them, took hold of her.
“Someday, I will have to leave this place, and when that day arrives, there will be no room in my life, nor in my heart for you. If you would love me, then you must do so knowing that this day will yet come.”
It had come. She would lose High Wolf.
No!
This could not be. She could change her mind, couldn’t she?
She shut her eyes, rubbing her forehead as her words came back to haunt her.
“We are not bound by rules so much as we are by duty. Duty to do the best that we can for our people and our countries. Rules can always be changed; duty cannot.”
No!
High Wolf could return home with her. High Wolf would become her prince. Not…not Alathom.
“I was adopted by the prince’s father and mother. Perhaps I could ease the situation between your countries.”
“I’m afraid that would make little difference,” Sierra had said. “Your relationship to Alathom’s family is not that of a blood lineage. You cannot inherit the throne or rule. It has to be the prince or no one.”
No!
She and High Wolf had at last found happiness, had at last obtained peace with themselves. Hadn’t they only realized that they would have the rest of their lives together?
And yet her duty would be to…
Perhaps it didn’t matter. Hadn’t she and High Wolf decided that Alathom had done what he had for them? So that the two of them could spend the rest of their lives together?
“A man can steal the wife of an enemy with little regard for his actions. But not so a brother. If your brother lives, you must give her up.”
Even Grandfather’s words came back to consume her.
No!
Perhaps she could pretend she hadn’t seen him. Could she sneak away? Or was that a coward’s way out?
Surreptitiously, she glanced to the side, where High Wolf still sat beside her, unaware of the momentous occasion so unceremoniously thrust upon them. She caught him in the throes of a great deal of humor, as, leaning toward her, he said, “Would you like to start that back rub now?”