Lakota Winds (Zebra Historical Romance)

by Janelle Taylor

  "It must be this way, my brother; do not resist the truth."

  Fire Walker nodded resignation. He embraced his sister, perhaps for the last time, his gaze misty with love.

  The four watched her ride away to skirt the distant hills, take cover where she had indicated, and prepare herself with the cunning disguise. They saw Wind Dancer's horse trailing behind her, Cetan perched on her shoulder, and all prayed for her safety and success.

  Wind Dancer felt weak and dizzy, more from a lack of water after sweating so heavily beneath the fiery sun, than from a lack of food or the many blows he had endured during the day. He was relieved night had come with a cooling breeze and his tormentors had taken to their lodges until morning. Secured in a standing position and his bonds tight, his body ached and felt numb in some places from restricted blood flow. He leaned his head against the large post and closed his eyes, causing his head to feel as if it were spinning in a whirlwind. His mouth and throat were dry. He knew his body was sagging, but did not have the strength to straighten himself; and the way in which his legs were bound refused to allow him to sit or even squat.

  Something caused him to open his eyes and he saw the nearest fire had gone out and the guard beside it was asleep, two lapses which would earn him great punishment if discovered. With night upon the land and no moon to brighten it, he could barely see beyond the tepeeencircled center where other small fires burned. It seemed unusually quiet; no sounds of crickets, frogs, or nocturnal birds reached his ears, and all enemy horses were silent. Was he the one who was asleep and dreaming? he wondered.

  He strained to see an old woman who now stood before him, as he had not heard her approach. A blanket was tossed over her head, shielding her face from his view. Her scent was unfamiliar, but since the camp dogs were quiet, it must be known to them. He was astonished when she held a buffalo horn cup to his lips and gave him water that tasted strange; then she used a buffalo bladder bag to pour water over his flesh. Oddly, his injuries seemed to gain comfort and his body to gain strength from it. He wondered why an elderly Crow female would help him and why she did not speak to him. Perhaps he was truly dreaming. Yet, it did not seem as if he were asleep. He felt as if he were growing stronger and he wondered what had been in the water he had drunk and which flowed over him. His hands and legs were freed then, and he was surprised his knees did not buckle on him. She grasped his hand and pulled on him to follow her, which he did without asking questions.

  She guided him past numerous tepees, some with fires nearby. He was amazed that no horse or dog exposed their presence. She led him into the darkness beyond the last circle of lodges and into the stream nearby. They walked for a while, then he felt the bank nudge his ankle. He stepped from the stream and felt his renewed strength vanish, forcing him to sit down. He extended his arms but could not locate the woman. Or perhaps it was a Bate, a feminine Crow male who dressed and lived as a woman, a rank which was accepted and even revered by the Apsaalooke.

  "Where are you? Who are you? Why did you help me?" he asked in Crow, then in Dakota, and received no response. A strange weariness crept over him and his body sank to the grass. His eyes closed and reality vanished into a beautiful and peaceful dream about his wife.

  Chumani kept pressing onward toward the dim fires in the Crow camp, taking careful steps to avoid obstacles and counting them so she would know how many to take when retracing her path to their horses. She prayed her disguise would trick anyone she encountered and her masked scent would fool the camp animals into allowing her to pass unchallenged. Cetan had been left with the horses, the signal feather secured to one leg in the event she did not return before dawn, as he would instinctively take flight then. Even if the hawk did not go to Zitkala without being ordered to do so, the feather on his leg could be sighted through the magic eye-glass she had left with them.

  As she moved along, Chumani told herself this situation had been the cause of her recent strange feelings, those chilling sensations. Just as she neared the fringe of the camp, a large dog blocked her path seeming to come from the night air itself. She lowered her head and gazed in haste to show she was not a threat, a sign of submission to animals, and tried to go around him. Yet, every time she sidestepped, so did he, as if he refused to allow her to enter the perilous area. She looked up and her gaze widened in astonishment: it was the same creature she had seen in the forest and who had helped them defeat Chaheechopes and his band!

  Her mind filled with questions. How and why had he traveled so far from those two sightings? How could she see him when there was no moon and the nearest fire was a good distance away? Surely his glowing eyes and shiny fur did not give off enough light to reveal his presence to her, but she could not deny reality. He moved toward her, and she retreated a few steps. He halted, nodded his massive head, and wagged his tail.

  When he moved toward her again, Chumani-her heart pounding and her body trembling, held her ground. When he reached her, he licked her hand, closing his jaws around it gently and tugged her in the opposite direction. She gathered he wanted her to follow him, but away from camp, away from her beloved? Why? Was he a spirit helper sent from Wakantanka to save her life? Was it too late to save her husband and would her life be endangered if she walked onward? Or was he a disguised evil spirit trying to lure her away from rescuing her love and perhaps lure her into a trap? Should she go with him or yank free and continue her quest? If she did the latter, would he attack her or send forth a warning to the Crow or allow her to proceed?

  Chumani yielded to her instincts, which were to trust the dog who had helped them in the past, for she believed he was a mystical being sent from the Great Spirit. Even if he were real, surely Wakantanka was using and controlling him and his actions. As signs of friendship and compliance, she stepped closer to him and stroked his head. He released a gentle grip on her other hand, turned, and flopped his tail against it. She deduced he wanted her to clutch it, so she did. They withdrew from the enemy camp and soon were blanketed by blackness. She could not see the creature or where they were going, so she held on to her link to him. She walked until he halted and turned her way, so she released his tail. He grasped her hand with his mouth again and pulled her toward the ground. As she obeyed, her other hand and knees made contact with a prone body. She reached for the face and fingered each feature as she had done many times in total darkness with Waci Tate; within seconds she knew it was her cherished husband who lay there. She leaned over and listened to his chest, rejoicing when she detected steady breathing and heartbeats. She trailed her hands over his entire body and discovered many cuts and abrasions, but she could not tend them without a medicine bundle. She gingerly pressed her lips to his parched ones.

  "He is weak and hurt, but he lives and is free. Thank you, Great Spirit, for returning him to me. And thank you, my friend," she whispered to the dog as she stroked its head and back.

  She lowered her mouth to his ear and murmured, "Can you hear me, mihigna? It is Dewdrops. You will be safe soon and I will heal you.

  A soft moan escaped his throat and he roused slightly for a momentthough not long enough to speak-before he was motionless and silent again. She sighed in relief, wondering at the same time how she could get him to their horses in his disabled condition. The path of retreat she had made in her head was of no use from this unknown location. Enemy campfires were still within viewing range, but she could not discern any symbols upon those tepees to use as markers to determine her origin point, and the landscape beyond them was obscured by darkness. Then, she heard hoof-steps and felt someone place tethers in her hand. Their surroundings must have lightened a little, for she could now see an old woman and the dog. "You come to help us escape?" she asked.

  Chumani saw the blanket-covered head nod before the woman bent over to help her get Wind Dancer on his mount's back. It was a struggle, but he managed to stir enough to assist them, as if the woman's touch gave him a short surge of fortitude. She heard the soft chatter of a beak and saw Cetan perched o
n a tree they were near. He made no attempt to attack either the strange woman or the dog. She leapt upon her horse's back, but the old woman took the tethers of both animals and guided them away from the stream, her companion loping beside her as if he possessed a wolf's blood and traits. Soon, that familiar ebony shade of a moonless night closed in on them again, but not before she saw Wind Dancer slumped over against his horse's neck.

  Chumani perceived a detail that oddly had gone unnoticed earlier: the wind's course, that told her they were withdrawing in the same direction from which she had come. Somehow the woman knew that, as she had gone there to gather their horses! She glanced over her shoulder and saw the dim glows of campfires as the distance between them grew wider and wider. She sat in quiet awe as they were led to safety, amazed her helpers could travel through near darkness.

  After a while, the horses were halted. She called to the old woman in whispers, but received no response. Using the wind's direction, she looked to their rear. No campfires were in sight. She reasoned the hill she had chosen and used earlier was between them, so she dismounted and helped Wind Dancer to the ground. She found the bladder bag and forced water into his mouth and held him nestled to her chest as if he were a child and let him get needed sleep. There was nothing else she could do until morning when the sun would guide her retreat.

  She reasoned the mysterious pair were gone, without the woman having spoken to her a single time. She held her beloved close and guarded him for the remainder of the night, thanking Wakantanka many times for saving their lives and for sending the Old Woman and her dog to help them. She kissed Wind Dancer's forehead several times, but resisted the urge to hug him, as she did not know the extent of his injuries and could hurt him. He was in her arms again and still a part of her Life-Circle and was getting healing sleep, which was all that mattered at the present. Reaching home and tending him were important things to be considered later.

  At the first sign of dawn's approach, Chumani was astonished when she saw her love's bow, quiver, and knife in the grass nearby; she was elated that Sroka would not have them as coup prizes and her husband would not feel shame in losing them to an enemy. She lay her beloved on the ground and removed one of his marked arrows. She held it out to her hawk and said, "Take it, Cetan, and findZitkala." She watched him leave his tree perch, swoop down, close his talons around the slender shaft, and take flight, to soar high overhead and locate his target. Chumani had no doubt he would succeed, for she had trained him to pass messages and weapons back and forth between her and Zitkala during hunts and battles. They had practiced that skill many times and he had never failed her. Yet, she prayed Cetan would reach her companions before they risked their lives to lure the Crow from their camp. Surely they would comprehend that the arrow which had Wind Dancer's markings upon it meant they were both alive and free and a decoy ruse was unnecessary.

  She could not wait around to see the results of her action; it was mandatory to get Wind Dancer farther away before the Crow awakened and found him missing and began a search for him. She pressed the water bag to his lips and coaxed him to drink. His eyes opened and he gazed at her, then darted to their surroundings.

  "You saved me from Sroka and his band," he murmured in a scratchy voice as he noted her disguise and tried to sit up to caress her dirty cheek.

  As she assisted him, Chumani corrected in a hurry, "Dewdrops did not free you, mihigna; it was the Old Woman Who Quills and her spirit dog. I came to rescue you, but they did so before I reached the enemy camp and guided me to your side. We remained here while you slept, for I had no moon to guide us. Our companions hide nearby and will join us soon along the way. We will speak of such things and I will tend your wounds later. We must ride before the Crow come looking for us; we are still close to their camp and the sun is rising. Can you climb upon your horse with my help?" she asked.

  "My strength comes and goes, but it is with me now. The strange water she gave me to drink and poured over my body returns it for a while, then seems to take it away again to force me to rest and sleep."

  "Then it is powerful and good medicine and must be obeyed."

  After he was mounted, Chumani asked, "How will I load your weapons, mihigna, as it is forbidden for a woman to touch them. Our spirit helpers rescued them from Sroka's grasp; they lie there upon the ground."

  Wind Dancer looked at his belongings. "Give them to me, mitawin, for your ranks as a warrior and vision companion make you worthy to touch them without staining them and weakening their powers. After we return to our camp, they must be purified of an enemy's touch." As my body must be, he told himself, as he did not want to worry her with that when she had other matters to concentrate upon at that time and place.

  Chumani passed the weapons to him and waited for him to suspend the bow and quiver around his torso and slide the knife into his sheath, which, strangely, Sroka had not removed. She leapt upon her horse and said with a smile, "I am ready; we must leave this place where evil now dwells."

  As the Crow camp stirred to life at dawn, Sroka left his tepee and made a shocking discovery. He rushed to the guard and kicked Apite twice to awaken him. "Where is my captive?" he shouted as more of his people spilled forth from their lodges and observed the event.

  The startled man looked at the empty post and things piled and painted there. Crane's gaze widened in fear and he replied, "I do not know. A strange feeling stole my eyes and body. It is the work of a Baleilaaxxawiia. "

  "No evil spirit did this thing! You failed in your duty and speak falsely to conceal your weakness. Your weapons will be broken; you will be beaten; your tepee will be cut to pieces; your possessions will be taken and given to others worthy of them. You have shamed yourself and must be punished."

  "I speak the truth. Do you not see the signs left there?" Crane refuted as he pointed to them. "An evil spirit came for him or Old Man Coyote desired to take his life. Or the Little People sneaked him away. Do you not see the marks of the Sun, coyote, and Thunderbird painted upon the post? Do you not see Sun Dance people laying there? Who could enter our tepees and take them while their owners slept except Little People or a Spirit?"

  Everyone looked at the solid yellow circle and at black coyote and buffalo tracks and an ebony Thunderbird symbol painted on the wood's surface. The Sun was viewed as their Supreme Being and called Old Man and Old Man Coyote. The Thunderbird was honored and prayed to for rain to give them a good tobacco-growing season. They saw the Sun Dance dolls of many warriors piled around it; the Ashkisshilissuua Baakaatkisshe were believed to possess great power. They were made by divine guidance through a sacred vision and were always protected at the first sign of trouble. The dolls were passed down from father to son and so on for countless seasons, and were easily recognizable by most tribal members. They saw withered tobacco plants and burned seeds scattered about the sturdy stake. The Creator had given the first sacred seeds to a past leader, No-Vitals. It was believed that as long as they planted, harvested, and retained seeds from those original ones, their people would live and prosper, though its tobacco was never smoked.

  "How could Crane do such things while he was held captive by a strange sleep?" Apite reasoned. "The Little People entered our camp and-"

  Although it was rude and rare to interrupt another while speaking, Sroka did so, "The Daaskookaate Bilaxpaake did not leave their small lodges in the crevices of Medicine Rock to do this wicked deed; they live to give our warriors strength and to make our aims true to their targets. They would not free an enemy to return with his people to attack us!"

  Frightened by the weird incident, Crane said, "We must leave to find a safe hunting and raiding ground. This place holds zawiia baawaa- lushkua. "

  "The only bad magic here lives within you, coward and liar! I should slay you with my bare hands for such weakness and trickery!"

  `7kye!"the chief shouted for attention as he lifted his hand for silence. He felt he had allowed the bitter quarrel to continue for too long between the confused guard and
their tribe's greatest warrior. "Akbaatatdia, He Who Made Everything, has sent us a message, Sroka. Old Man Coyote tells us to halt our raids on our enemies and to hunt the buffalo who provides our needs. He has freed Waci Tate or allowed him to escape so He can turn our eyes where they should be gazing. The summer season has traveled too far for us to ride to the land where water gushes and boils from the face of Mother Earth to hunt there. We must prepare for the winter season here in Da-kkoo-tee territory. When that task is finished, we must return to our land and not enter this one again. What do you say, my people?"

  Shouts of "E.!" and "Eeh.!" were sent forth, relating the tribe's agreement with that decision.

  Only Sroka scowled in rage. He stiffened himself in sullen silence, as arguing with them would be useless at this time. But soon they would be willing and eager to ride the warpath against the Red Shields and all Da-kkoo-tee, ready to take back this vast territory which had belonged to their ancestors long ago; he would make certain of it. He was convinced the men who rode in his band concurred with him, but they would not speak against their chief's and people's wishes at this time. There were sly ways they could provoke the Red Shields to attack them, and his tribe would be forced to defend itself.

  Unnoticed by the Crow, an old woman and a wolfish dog observed the scene from a hilltop not far away. Her shoulders were slumped, her hair was a grayish white, and her sun-darkened skin was wrinkled. Yet, she was strong, and wise, her mind and gaze, clear and sharp. The survival of her Dakota people was her reason for living. She wore the only garment she possessed, and carried no weapon or supplies. She teased the thick ruff on her companion's neck and scratched its ears in love and respect. She smiled as he looked up into her serene face and licked her hand in response. "We must go, my friend," she murmured to the loving creature. "Our task here is done and we have much work to do in our camp."