by Jenna Kernan
“It’s too late. She is gone.”
Running Wolf broke into a sprint.
He reached the lodge of the chief to find the flap down and Laughing Moon sitting before the entrance. No one, not even a wife, would sleep in the lodge of the dead. At a glance he saw that Laughing Moon had not yet cut her hair or painted her face black. That meant she still had duties to perform.
“Where is she?” he asked.
Laughing Moon’s gaze moved from him to the lodge. “There.”
He opened the flap and looked inside. He saw Iron Bear first. He lay on his back in his war shirt, his body unnaturally still. Beside him lay his weapons and pipe. He was already half sewn into the buffalo robe that would protect his body from attack by predators of the air. None of the birds could puncture the hide of a buffalo, and the ground predators could not jump high enough to reach the scaffold.
Running Wolf’s gaze flicked across the fire to the second body. She lay inside a second robe, sewn up to her neck, the flap down to reveal her face. Her face had been painted white and the symbol of the bear covered one cheek. Her eyes were closed, but her mouth was open and her tongue swollen and black.
They had strangled her.
Rage filled him. Who had done this?
But he already knew. Red Hawk would have volunteered. Running Wolf felt the need to put his own hands about the warrior’s neck and squeeze until his tongue bulged.
Running Wolf looked at her long hair now covered in white paint, the small braids at each temple neat and secured with the cord she always used.
“No,” he whispered, and began to crawl inside.
Someone grabbed him by the arm and tugged. He lifted his fist to strike and saw Weasel and Big Thunder. His friends. His friends who had let them do this and who had kept him from saving her.
“I will never forgive you,” he said to them.
“I hope you have many years to hold your anger, for I would have you angry and alive,” said Big Thunder.
“The captives are waiting,” said Weasel.
“Captives?” He did not know what Weasel was talking about; he could not think past the black rage before his eyes and hollow emptiness in his chest.
“Iron Bear agreed to free them and assigned you to lead them home.”
He remembered now. The reason Raven had traded her life was to save them, her tribe. She had acted like a warrior and true leader. She had given everything to free them.
The least he could do was see them home.
“We will go with you,” said Crazy Riding.
“No,” he said. “I will go nowhere with you.”
“But you will take them?” asked Weasel.
He nodded. “First, I tell my mother goodbye.”
Running Wolf walked on legs of wood across the camp. He felt the silent stares of the people. He did not speak or look at them. They were dead to him. He had made his choice. He had wanted her and they had taken her because she had a warrior’s heart.
At his mother’s lodge he collected his weapons, bridle, saddle and food supplies. Ebbing Water appeared from the river. Running Wolf saw that tonight she had to carry her own water.
“I am going,” he said.
“Yes. Be careful of the Crow. As soon as you sight them, let the women go and you ride swiftly home.”
“I am not coming back.”
“After your vision quest. After that you can return. You can rise as a great leader, just as you were destined.”
“I am not coming back.”
“But you are my only son. What will I do without you?”
“Marry again, Mother. It is that or become like Pretty Cloud. You are not too old to have more children. You have kept my father’s memory alive too long. You filled my heart with your hate and it has cost me all.”
“I am still here. I still love you.”
“You did not love me enough to help me keep her.”
“Because she tried to take you from me,” cried his mother, and she fell to her knees. “Do not leave me.”
“I go. You will not see me again.” He swung the saddle frame over one shoulder and went to the herd to select from his mounts. He chose his horses, including Eclipse, his warhorse, and Song, the horse of the bravest warrior he had ever known.
He rested his forehead on the large flat cheek of her mare.
“She is gone, my friend.” His voice cracked and he thought he would cry, but then he saw the people gathering, watching him in silence as he prepared his horses.
Big Thunder fixed a travois behind the last of the line. The two long poles were attached by harnesses to either side and crossed above the animal’s withers. The two beams were roped together behind the horse, making a platform long enough to carry household goods, children or in this case the one captive who was so ill she could not walk or sit upon a horse.
Mouse, he knew, was dying. Yet somehow she survived, while his Raven was flying to the Spirit World.
Weasel began to saddle Eclipse.
“No,” said Running Wolf. “I ride this one.” He pointed to her horse.
Weasel hesitated and then moved the pad and saddle. Others joined in. Soon they had six horses, including the one dragging the travois and one packed with robes and a lodge. He was ready for a journey with four captives and an infant.
They came in a line, three walking, one limp body carried by two men. Each woman’s face had been blackened to honor the chief, but in his mind they honored Snow Raven.
The ill woman was placed on the travois and tied down so she would not tumble from the platform as it bounced over uneven ground. He barely looked as the women were assisted into place upon the horses. The one with the infant removed the cradle board from her back and hung the strap over the pommel of the saddle. Her baby’s face was also black, though he seemed to be sleeping. The walking horse would rock him as they journeyed from this place.
He looked to the scaffold on the hill, empty now, but soon she would rest beside their chief.
“They are ready,” said Big Thunder.
“And I am ready.”
“Until we meet again,” said Big Thunder.
Running Wolf nodded and pressed his heels to his horse. The women followed, some leading their horses, some riding. He did not look back.
He walked her horse up the rise toward the scaffold and paused to take in the sight, memorizing this place, promising to come back for her bones. He saw a horse lying beneath the scaffold, the creature’s neck slit and the wound already buzzing with flies. The chief’s buffalo horse, he knew.
Song caught the scent of death and shook her head in a restless bobbing motion. She was anxious to be gone from this place, and so was he.
* * *
Raven woke to the gentle rocking motion. She opened her eyes and saw that everything was black. Was she dead?
She looked for the Sky Road but this was not the sky before her eyes. The air was stuffy and smelled of tanned leather and buffalo. She had a powerful thirst.
She could not be dead if she was thirsty. What was that sound, that murmuring sound like the humming of bees over blossoms?
Snow Raven moved her head and felt a sharp pain behind her eyes. She closed them again and rode the wave of dizziness that followed. Better to drift back to silence than to suffer the thirst and the pain. She felt her body dissolving away as she floated up in the air like a speck of dust in the sun.
She woke again to the stifling heat, her face dripping with sweat and the sweltering shroud still covering her. She struggled and this time managed to toss away the buffalo robe covering her face. She lifted her hand to wipe the sweat from her forehead and it came away black.
What was happening?
Someone pressed her hand down. She stared up at the stranger walkin
g beside her. She glanced behind her to see the hindquarters of a horse, walking along, dragging her upon a travois. She tried to recall what had happened but it was fuzzy.
She had been waiting for something.
Death, she recalled.
But this was not the Way of Souls. She looked at the woman again. She had cut her hair short and her face and arms were black.
“She’s awake,” said the woman, and Raven recognized the voice. It was Wren, the one who lived with the old woman, Pretty Cloud.
Another woman stepped into view—Snake, she realized. Where was Mouse? She was the one who should be riding in the travois, not Raven.
And then it came rushing back. The tea, the dizziness. Mouse telling her she was going to see her husband and son.
“She tricked me,” Raven said, but her tongue was thick and her words slurred.
“Get her some water,” said Snake. Wren disappeared from her view. “Don’t talk now. He might hear you.”
“Who?” She formed the word but nothing came from her mouth. The need to sleep dragged at her but she pushed it away.
“Running Wolf. He is leading us home. But we don’t know if he will continue if he finds out what she did. He might take you back. He might take all of us back.”
Was she gone, then? Raven looked up at the blue sky, picturing the road of stars that could only be seen in the night sky. They took her at night, yesterday? She stared at the sun and said a silent thank-you to the dove who had tricked a raven.
Someone helped her rise and held the horn cup to her lips. She drank thirstily and felt better. Her body still seemed to be moving in slow motion, but her mind was clearing.
“The one who did this. She is gone?”
Wren nodded, fat tears rolling over the black paint on her face.
“Then I will cut my hair.” She fumbled, and then found her hair cut short.
“They told us to cut it for the chief. But we are in mourning for our sister,” said Snake.
“She saved my life,” said Raven.
“Yes. And she left you a message,” said Snake. “She made me repeat it.”
Raven waited, anxious and fearful of what Mouse had said. She’d held much hate against those who had killed her husband and son. Would her last message be one of revenge?
“She said that she loves you, loves all of us, and that we should remember her as a young mother with a fat, healthy son and a good husband. That she would be that again when she crossed the Way of Souls. She said she would see us all one day, but between now and then, we should live in happiness and joy.”
That caused Raven to weep. Soon they were all weeping as they walked along on a path that would take them home. Was Mouse home already?
The horses continued along through much of the afternoon. Raven wanted to get up and walk, but they insisted that she must stay hidden. When the horses stopped, she knew that this would no longer be possible.
What would Running Wolf do when he recognized her? Would he be the man who loved her or the warrior who must do his duty to his people?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Running Wolf saw to the horses, hobbling most, staking Song and Eclipse beside the lodge the women erected with a swiftness born of experience. Then they erected a second.
It was disconcerting to see them going about the mundane chores of setting the camp while still in their mourning black. Firewood, water, preparing the meal. All seemed so ordinary. His circumstances were anything but.
He was commanded by his chief to take these women home and then to pursue a vision quest before returning to his people. Did he want to return?
Once he had thought all he desired was to lead his people in war and in peace. He had thought to be Iron Bear’s successor. Soon the people would choose. The council of elders would make the selection, but only after consulting with wives and warriors alike. The choice was an important one, and the chief must have the support of all.
His name, he knew, would not even be mentioned. If they asked him to assume the post, he would refuse. He was too broken inside. He had made his choice. Raven over his people.
And he had lost both.
The appointed leader of the women, the one with a son, the one Raven called Snake, came to speak to him.
“We ask to remove the black from our faces and bathe in the river.”
He nodded. He did not care. They would see to themselves and he would see them fed as he took them across the plains to the lakes and mountains that were the home of the Crow people.
If they had not ventured into Sioux territory, he would never have met her. His life would have gone on as before and he would have been forever blind to the kind of love that took everything and gave everything.
Would he have been better off?
He did not know. He did know that he would not have traded one minute with Snow Raven for a lifetime as the leader of his people.
The sound of splashing at the river told him that the women were having their bath, scrubbing away the grease and charcoal that marked them. In time their hair would grow out as well, and there would be no outward sign of their captivity.
But inside, they were marked. He did not think it was right, taking captives. Women were not like horses, to be stolen from their homes in the night.
The screams reached him a moment later. He leaped to his feet, thrust his war club into the waistband of his leggings and scooped up his bow and quiver. He had the bow strung as the others shouted.
This time the shouts were for him. “White men! Four! Riding with rifles.”
What woman had thought to tell him not only the source of the threat but their number? The voice was familiar, but that was not possible.
Running Wolf cut the tether that held Song to the picket and leaped onto her back. He rode toward the women, ready to protect them with his life.
An instant later he saw the men. All wore the dark blue uniforms of the fighting white men. Two sat on horseback on the far bank, rifles across their knees as they laughed at the half-dressed women scrambling in the opposite direction. The other two charged into the water as if hunting game.
Did they think these women had no protector?
Running Wolf notched an arrow and shot both men before they even knew he was there. Both men in the river continued toward him, advancing on the women who had reached the near bank. One reached for the closest female, still in the water—Little Deer, he realized. The second man leaned far out to grasp the other, dressed in the dress of Mouse, but not Mouse.
Running Wolf’s eyes must have deceived him, because for an instant he had thought...
He gave a war cry.
The closer man pulled up, glanced back toward his fellows to find them both lying on the ground with arrows through their hearts. These whites who came to their territory were becoming more of a menace than either the Crow or Blackfoot. Running Wolf aimed at the nearer man, but the white pivoted and his horse turned as they made their retreat, so he swung his arrow to the man still advancing, still reaching for his prize.
He recognized her now. He did not know how it had happened or if he was only dreaming. But there was no doubt.
The woman in Mouse’s dress was Snow Raven.
She turned toward her pursuer as Running Wolf reached for another arrow. Before he had it notched, she grasped the man’s extended arm in both of hers, placed one foot on the horse’s shoulder and pushed. The combination of his lean and her kick took him too far off balance. Running Wolf aimed but held fire as the white man toppled into the water with Raven. When he came up, Raven was on top of him and Wren had his rifle.
Raven rolled away and Wren danced backward with her prize. The man stood, drawing his knife. He had time to look once more at the two women before Running Wolf drove the arrow cleanly through the intrude
r’s chest. The arrow passed through and out the other side and the man fell backward into the water. The current took him as his horse watched his master float past.
All the women stared at him, watching, waiting. Little Deer, Snake holding her infant son, Wren and Snow Raven. He did not understand how that could be her in the dress that belonged to Mouse. Mouse had been ill, too ill to walk.
All this time, he had been dragging Raven on that travois. Which meant Mouse had taken her place and...
Now he understood the silence and the worry in their eyes. What they had done was dangerous, improper and so brave.
He stopped trying to think.
He swung down from the horse—her horse—and set aside his bow. Then he walked down the steep bank. She met him halfway.
He opened his arms to her and she clasped him about the middle. As he held her, he closed his eyes and thanked the Great Spirit for anything and anyone who had kept her here with him.
“I never thought to see you again,” he whispered. His fingers raked through her thick, short hair and he laughed through the tears. “Why did you not tell me?”
“I did not know. They did not tell me, either. One moment the drums pounded and then next I woke on that travois.” She drew back to look at him. “Are you not angry?”
“No. I am grateful for anything that brings you back to me.”
The women gathered about them. Little Deer spoke first.
“It was Mouse’s plan. She said you would forgive Raven. She knew because she said her husband would have forgiven her anything.”
Snake pointed to the dead men. “What do we do with them?”
Running Wolf released Raven and then immediately dragged her to his side again. “Strip them of everything. Collect their horses and leave them for the carrion. I will scout. When I return we will travel through the night. This place is too close to the twin tracks of the wagons.”
Raven started to move away but he pulled her back.
“You come with me, Little Warrior. We will scout together.”
He retrieved the reins to Song and handed them to her. Then he returned to the camp to saddle Eclipse, his warhorse. Finally, he collected his lance and handed Raven his bow and quiver.