Shortly after Chumani and Wind Dancer reached the campsite, the others arrived and dismounted with haste. War Eagle hurried forward and embraced him, and Red Feather did the same.
"It is good to look upon your face again, my brother."
"It is good to look upon yours, War Eagle. I am happy you returned from the Crow's reach in safety," Wind Dancer told the four people. "It stirs my heart to know you would risk all to save me."
"How did you do such a large deed, Dewdrops?" Zitkala asked. "When Cetan brought your husband's arrow to us, we feared to trust our eyes."
As if speaking his name summoned him, the hawk swooped down and landed on a branch nearby and sent them a shrill greeting. Chumani smiled and praised him, and the bird extend his chest and lifted his head in pride. "I did not free him from our enemies," she began her astonishing revelations. The others stared at her in amazement, then asked questions and made comments after she finished the stirring tale.
"Surely the Great Spirit watches over us, guides us, and protects us."
"That is true, Zitkala. Now, my husband will tell you of Sroka's attack and what he saw and heard and endured in the Crow camp."
Wind Dancer related those incidents and sufferings, increasing his friends' awe. "I do not know if they were flesh, blood, and bone or if they are spirit helpers. She did not speak, but her touch was real. She gave me powerful medicine in water to drink and poured it over my body; it gave me the strength to flee the camp and to travel here."
"Your body says Sroka's tribe was cruel to you, mitakola. "
"That is so, Red Feather, but it will heal. Dewdrops tended me with her medicine bundle when we stopped to rest. I was to be slain on this sun, but I live and ride free with the help of my wife, brother, two friends, Wakantanka, and the old woman and her dog. I will prove myself worthy of such good deads and love."
"You have done so many times on past suns, my brother. I strive on each new one to be a great warrior and wise leader as you are."
Wind Dancer smiled at War Eagle and nodded his gratitude for those words. "We have not seen Crow following us, but we must put more distance between us; there is much sunlight left for us to do so."
"It is strange, mitakola, but the Crow do not come after us, not even a small band," Red Feather disclosed. "After the hawk flew your arrow to us, we watched their camp for a time with Dewdrops' magic eye to be certain we grasped its message. Their scouts were summoned and they break camp to leave that place. We do not know why, but they do so in a hurry, as if evil spirits or a powerful force drives them away from it."
"Perhaps the old woman and her dog did bad magic there and frightened them. Surely they are good spirits sent by Wakantanka to help us."
"What is the magic eye you possess, mitawin?" Wind Dancer asked instead of remarking on Chumani's previous speculations.
"Your wife will show you, my brother," War Eagle said, and retrieved it from his bundle.
Chumani told him where and when she had gotten the fieldglass and from whom her father had received it. "This wasicun gift is good, for it helped us to watch their camp. That is why Wakantanka sent the hairy-face to us long ago, to prepare us for this sun."
Wind Dancer nodded. "The Creator knows all things and has prepared us in many ways on past suns to meet our challenges." He looked at his brother. "Soon you must leave us, War Eagle, and ride swiftly to our camp," he said. "You must tell my Strong Heart brothers to prepare the sacred cottonwood pole. I must submit myself to the Sun Dance after I return."
"No, mihigna, you cannot do so! It is too soon to face such great danger while you are injured and still weak. You will not survive it."
Wind Dancer caressed her flushed cheek. "Until I purify myself in the sweat lodge and surrender to the Sun Dance Ritual, I am unworthy of my duty as a Shirt Wearer and of my ranks as a Strong Heart and future chief and Vision Quest rider, and I am unworthy to touch you again."
Chumani struggled to quell her anxiety and to soften her tone. "That is not true, my beloved mate. There is no loss of face and honor in being captured while trying to save a friend's life and for yielding to a foe to halt an attack upon your people."
"That is true," he admitted, but added, "I have been touched by the enemy and am stained in body and spirit. I must cleanse myself of their evil and I must give thanks to the Creator for saving my life. I must prove to myself and others I am strong and brave enough to lead them. If the Great Spirit was ready for me to join Him this season, I would walk with Him this sun. He did not call me to Him, for He has many tasks here for me to do."
Chumani exchanged gazes with him for a short time as they spoke without using words. With misty eyes and a troubled heart, she nodded he was right and acquiesced to his intention, as it was their way.
Chumani sat on a rush mat and tried to quell her fears and doubts. She stared straight ahead as her husband came forward to be prepared for his perilous challenge, as defeat or death was a grim possibility; and she knew he preferred the latter of those dark choices. Although she was in a large gathering of their people and was positioned between his parents and hers, she felt alone. Since their return to camp one and a half suns ago, Wind Dancer had refused to even kiss, until he felt worthy to do so again. She had needed that comfort badly, but understood his motive and had to respect his decision. He had allowed her to tend his injuries and they were healing more rapidly than she had imagined. She wondered if that was a result of the old woman's medicine. Even so, he was still weak from the abuse his body had taken from the Crow.
He had purified his body and readied his spirit in the sweat lodge at dawn, which had drained him of more energy. Now he lay on the ground awaiting the next step of the ritual. Usually it required four days, but custom had been put aside to make it shorter. There had been no ceremonial dancers with painted bodies to perform the preliminary Buffalo Dance. No warrior had been chosen to select a cottonwood tree to be sacrificed, and no women had chopped it down and debarked it: those tasks were done by members of the Strong Heart Society who also painted and carved the sacred symbols upon its smooth surface and who would take turns dancing around it and blowing eagle-bone whistles during the entire ritual to show honor to their leader and to give him encouragement. No other man would participate in any of the many levels-no dancing and chanting until one could no longer stand and speak, and no offerings of tiny bits of flesh to be removed and placed at the pole's base. Only Wind Dancer would perform the rite and at the highest level of difficulty and danger, the final feat of self-sacrifice and endurance. Once he began, there was no turning back until he either pulled free or yielded defeat or died trying; and Chumani knew it would be the first or last of those three choices. She recalled what Sees-Through-Mist had told her at sunrise: "Do not worry, Dewdrops, for he will survive this great challenge." She prayed that was true, yet, could not help but fear the worst.
Nahemana leaned over the prone warrior, smiled, and cut two slices on the left side of Wind Dancer's chest, then did the same on the right with a ceremonial knife. Blood seeped forth and rolled toward his armpits. The shaman forced the sharp talon of an eagle's claw through the sensitive underflesh. He pulled upward with the bird's leg to lift the pierced section so he could pass a long thong through one opening and out the other. He repeated that procedure on the other side. He gestured for his grandson to rise, and the thongs were secured to a rawhide rope attached to the cottonwood pole. Nahemana noted with great pride and love that Wind Dancer never winced or flinched, only kept his expression impassive, his tongue silent, and his body motionless. He placed a peyote button in the participant's mouth, though Wind Dancer would not chew it until later in the ceremony. Before stepping away, the shaman fluttered an eagle feather over his entire body as he chanted a prayer to invoke the attention and help of their Creator and the forces of Mother Nature.
Wind Dancer summoned his courage, sent forth a prayer of his own to ask for survival and victory, and began to dance around the pole as he blew on his eagle-bo
ne whistle. Often, he would pause to lean backward to force the thongs to pull on his chest confinements. The more times he did that, the more pain he experienced. Blood now ran down his stomach and soaked the waist area of his breechclout, his only garment. His secured flesh became raw and swollen, and sharp twinges radiated through his entire torso, up his neck, and pounded agony inside his head.
Soon, it hurt him even to breathe; and to blow on his whistle, part of the ritual, became even more difficult. His throat was dry, as were his lips. It was difficult to lift his now heavy feet to take another and another step on legs that trembled. His arms, hanging by his sides, felt as if some unseen and strong force pulled them toward the ground, and his fingers were going numb. Yet, he must continue until he pulled free, as failure was not an acceptable alternative.
Chumani observed the arduous ritual in rising apprehension and empathy. His suffering knifed at her heart and mind. Yet, great pride and deep love and respect filled her at his awesome displays of courage, prowess, and dedication to their Creator and their beliefs. He had known what he must endure, as he had submitted to the Sun Dance long ago and bore the scars of that ordeal. As Chumani watched the solemn event, she prayed for a speedy end to it.
At last, one side was released from its torture, and the jagged ends of Wind Dancer's torn flesh protruded from a bloody and gaping wound. He was given encouragement and a burst of energy from that first victory. He used a trotting dance step to approach the pole to touch it with his open hands to elicit power from it, and to retreat to the full length of his remaining tie to the revered cottonwood. Each time, he flung himself backward to put a straining force on the thong, but it refused to tear loose. The sun blazed down on him, causing salty sweat to pour from his body and to sting his ritual wounds and those he had received in the enemy camp. He knew his flesh exposed many bruises, pricks, and cuts. Yet, the sweat lodge and the moisture flowing from him now would cleanse him of all impurities.
Wind Dancer chewed and swallowed the peyote button with difficulty, for his throat had grown more parched with each minute. As soon as he felt its first stimulating effect, he jerked backward with his remaining strength, pulled the rawhide rope taunt, and pitted all of his weight against the stubborn thong. He clenched his teeth and continued his leaning and yanking actions as he blew rapidly on the whistle. Sweat dripped from his body and blood flowed from the resistant spot.
I beg you, Great Spirit, the almost frantic Chumani prayed, accept his great sacrifice and release him from more suffering. She sent forth another prayer of gratitude as a divine response came rapidly as the bond suddenly gave way and released him.
Wind Dancer almost fell to the ground, but managed to prevent it. He let the whistle drop from his mouth, as it was suspended around his neck. He lifted his hands and said, "It is done, Great Spirit, and I thank you for my survival and victory."
Chumani did not leap up to assist him as she yearned to do, but watched him as he walked to the Strong Hearts' meeting lodge to be tended by its members and their shaman, as custom dictated. At last, the perilous feat was accomplished. He was alive. He was freed of any shame and weakness. He had proven his value to his people and to himself. Now he could return to normal life and recover fully. Now he would consider himself worthy to touch her, and she could hardly wait for that special moment to arrive.
As Wind Dancer remained in the other tepee to rest and complete the vision-inducing portion of the peyote, Chumani lay upon their buffalo mat alone, missing him and recalling the events of the last few suns. They had reached camp without confronting any trouble from Sroka's people, other enemies, or nature's forces. They learned that Raven had been replaced during their absence as a Sacred Bow Carrier by Talks Little. Upon their arrival at camp, Raven's brother had gifted Wind Dancer with a buffalo horse to replace the one slain during her husband's attempted rescue of Raven. Later that day, Wind Dancer's weapons had been purified of the enemy's touch by smoking them over a low fire made of special herbs and grasses and sacred tokens. Their people were awed by details of the stampede and the strange appearance of the old woman and the dog, and the assistance they had given. Their bands were jubilant to hear that Sroka's people were last seen loading up to move, and everyone hoped their destination was far away.
During a short council meeting, it was voted that retaliation against Sroka would take place later if the Crow remained in Dakota territory, as they must prepare for winter before heading into battle.
After a feast the previous night, they were honored with coup chanting. It was evident their people loved, respected, and were grateful to them. And their parents, friends, and the men's societies were filled with pride and elation with their deeds and safe returns. Rainbow Girl had been so overjoyed to have her husband back alive and unharmed that she could not keep her eyes off him and quickly coaxed him away to privacy.
Chumani wished she had privacy with Wind Dancer tonight, but that was not to be. Worse, they were breaking camp at first light to move to their next hunting site, as they must follow wherever the largest buffalo herds roamed. Chumani closed her eyes and ordered herself to go to sleep, for there was much work ahead for her.
They traveled for several days past small groupings of buffalo and halted when their leaders sighted an extensive herd and with a river nearby to provide fresh water. The men began carrying out their chores, and some were assigned as guards around the large camp, others sent to scout the surrounding area for signs of enemies. The women went to work setting up their tepees and drying racks while young girls fetched water and collected buffalo chips and scrubwood for fires, and the elders tended their grandchildren for busy parents. Soon meals were being cooked, and the willow hut to seclude themselves during their blood flows had been erected.
The willow hut was completed shortly after Chumani's flow began and she went there in a near dejected spirit. She was happy she was not with child at this busy and hazardous time, but she had looked forward with great eagerness to a passionate night alone with her husband. It had been eighteen moons since they had last united their bodies, and hers was starved for his intimate touch.
During their journey to this campsite, Wind Dancer had ridden close to her for most of the time, as he was still recovering from recent events. He had been in a good mood every sun and moon, and grew stronger with the passing of each. His injuries, except for those received from the ritual, were healed, and those sacred cuts were doing fine with her tending. She had enjoyed his conversation and light touches, but she yearned for more, something that sleeping in the open amidst a crowd did not allow. Soon, she told herself, as three days of separation was all she required.
As other females joined her in the cansakawakeya, Chumani received news of the happenings beyond her confinement. As planned, they were situated closer to the enormous herd than usual so the hunters, butcherers, and travois riders could be protected during their tasks, along with those working near their lodges. A hunting party did not have to camp on the grassland for days before changing places with the next one; it could return at dusk and leave again the next dawn, as the men were careful to hunt on the herd's fringes and to prevent spooking the beasts into moving away.
The women in camp had busied themselves drying meats to prepare in several ways, washing garments at the river, collecting plants and berries and soils for making dyes and paints, and doing other daily chores.
Some groups of women gathered sources of other foods, medicines, and flavorings from along the banks of the river and nearby streams and on the bountiful Plains.
So far, no trouble had struck at their bands, and Chumani was relieved. Yet, she felt helpless and excluded and tensed by this natural part of a female's Life-Circle, as there was much she wanted to be doing, much of which included being with her beloved husband. She scolded herself for some of those bad thoughts and feelings, but they continued to creep into her mind.
A full moon seemed to pour liquid light through the top ventilation flap which was spread o
pen to its widest angle for fresh air, as the entry flap was sealed. Its glowing stream washed over two naked bodies positioned beneath it as Wind Dancer and Chumani finally cuddled together after their lengthy separation. At last, twenty-one moons of denial would end, and they were filled with joy and excitement.
Wind Dancer was thrilled to be holding her again. Even passing one sun without her in his arms or sight was a great sacrifice. He lay with his left hip touching the buffalo mat and his right leg nestled intimately between hers. For a while, all he did was admire her beauty. Thoughts of her had helped him endure both the Crow brutalities and the demands of the recent ritual. He could never love or possess her enough to sate himself.
Chumani used the sole of her left foot to stroke the hard muscles on his calf, delighting in the feel of his flesh. As his hands roamed her body and fondled her breasts and his mouth teased a meandering path across her face and neck, her fingers wandered over his strong back and shoulders. She was careful to avoid the injured areas on his chest where a snug leather band was secured to hold the jagged flesh in place while it healed. Her lips pressed kisses to his temple and hair as his head moved constantly to give her various pleasures. She could not suppress happy giggles as his tongue playfully flicked her nipples, then he nibbled at her earlobe.
Wind Dancer paused to murmur, "It is good to hear your laughter again, micante; its sweet sound touches and pleases me as the songs of the Creator's birds." His questing mouth closed over hers and he welcomed her ardent response.
"I love you, micante. You fill me with more joy and peace each sun than I believed was possible when I joined to you, and that was as high as a mountain and as wide as the Plains. You are as much a part of me as my body and spirit, and they cannot survive without you to feed their needs. I thank the Great Spirit every sunrise for giving you to me."
Lakota Winds (Zebra Historical Romance) Page 29