The villagers formed a procession behind the four of them: Flint carrying his son, Firefly, and Shannon. Struggling under Storm Dancer’s weight, Flint walked with his head high. Firefly was equally regal. No tears stained her cheeks, no emotion showed on her proud face. Only by looking deep into her eyes could Shannon see the desolation and fear hovering in the shadows. The deep boom of a water drum echoed through the cabins, the dull clacking of gourd rattles, and the high thin piping of a bone flute wailed above the quiet sobbing of the women.
Flint reached the center of the village, laid Storm Dancer gently on a raised bed of logs cushioned with pine boughs, and took a position at the foot of the bier. Firefly moved to her son’s head. Dancers swirled around them, one wearing a wolf’s head mask and cap, another in antlers and deerskin robes.
Shannon recognized the healer, Egret Hatching, face painted black, naked except for an apron of white feathers, a band of otter fur covering her withered breasts, and high leather moccasins. The old woman’s movements were slow and shuffling as she circled the open space where Storm Dancer rested. In one hand she carried a long stick covered with shells, and in the other, a turtle-shell rattle. Egret’s thin arms and legs were covered in tattoos, her hair so thin and wispy that she appeared nearly bald, but her eyes gleamed brightly in the wizened face.
The entire scene had the appearance of a dream to Shannon. Smoke rising from the four fires around Storm Dancer was not gray, but red, blue, green, and yellow. And the fog that had covered the mountain last night had become a mist that lingered beneath the trees, hung low over the cabins, and filled the gullies. Words drifted to her ears from the chanting hymns of praise the Cherokee sang.
“…Warrior…courage…faithful…honor…”
And through it all, Storm Dancer lay as though one already passed over. His features seemed carved of rock; his eyelids didn’t flutter, and his arms lay limp at his sides. His hands—strong hands that had gripped a horse’s reins…skillful hands that had drawn a bow…tender hands that had made love to her—were still as stone.
Shannon dropped to her knees, rested her head on his hand, and prayed silently for God to spare his life. Cherokee or English; it didn’t matter. Skin color and language meant little. What mattered was that the Creator show mercy to this man…her man.
Time passed. Hours or minutes, Shannon couldn’t tell. Her agony was so deep that she had lost all reference. Clouds thickened, and the pale sun vanished beneath dark thunderheads. Far off, lightning flashed. The wind picked up and it grew noticeably cooler.
The drummers and dancers did not cease their vigil. Flint and Firefly remained at their posts, unmoving. The flutes continued to play, the rattles to clack. Raindrops spattered across Shannon’s arms and the back of her neck. On the far side of the gathering, Oona ran for shelter with Acorn on her back, still snug in her cradleboard. Other young mothers carried and shooed their children to shelter.
Thunder rumbled in great crashing bursts. On the next mountain, lightning struck, and a tall pine burst into flame. Shannon threw herself across Storm Dancer’s chest, her tears mingling with the rain to fall on his face. “Don’t leave me,” she cried. “I can’t live without you.”
He coughed.
Shannon started up, just as a bolt of lightning flashed and trees exploded at the edge of the village, nearly deafening her. The smell of sulfur filled the air. Rain fell in sheets, cold and hard, biting into her skin.
“Are you trying to drown me?”
She stared at Storm Dancer’s face. His eyes opened, eyes no longer lost in fever, but clear and bright. “You’re alive?”
“Not for long,” he rasped. “Not if you don’t get me out of this river.”
Storm Dancer’s recovery took weeks. The cornstalks grew tall; pumpkins and squash blossomed and ripened. Children played hide-and-seek among the thick leaves of the climbing beans. High on the mountaintops, trees began to change the color of their leaves, and nights, which had been so hot and still, turned cooler. Summer had not yet released her grip on the land of the Tsalagi, but soon would give way to the rich harvest days of autumn.
Every day, Shannon cared for Storm Dancer in his mother’s lodge. Firefly had moved out temporarily, so that the two of them could have privacy. At first, because Storm Dancer was too weak to walk without assistance, his father would come to help him out of the house so that he could sit in the sun and regain his strength.
Firefly brought broth and soups, and Oona came to deliver her medicinal teas and herbal remedies. But mostly, Shannon was alone with her husband, alone to talk, to share hopes and dreams, even to joke about his waking on his own funeral bier to find his wife and clan mourning his death.
Gradually, the color came back in Storm Dancer’s cheeks, and his eyes took on their old sparkle, but the effects of the poison lingered. Much to Shannon’s disappointment, they had not yet been able to resume their physical lovemaking. Instead, they lay naked, side by side on the sleeping platform, touching and caressing each other, all the while whispering sweet nothings.
She amused him by singing the Irish ballads her father had taught her, and Storm Dancer returned the favor by reciting Cherokee legends and stories. And when darkness fell softly over the camp, he played courting tunes on his bone flute and sang love songs to her in a deep and husky voice.
In the days of Storm Dancer’s recovery, it seemed to Shannon as if she discovered a quiver full of new aspects to his personality. He was funny and serious, tender and fierce. She had fallen in love with a stranger; now she came to know and love her husband more with each sunrise.
The morning that he felt strong enough to walk as far as the village spring to drink and then bathe in the river with her made Shannon’s pulse quicken with anticipation. Tonight, she was certain, they would make love again. And the weeks of forced separation would only make their coming together even more special.
“You’ll not escape me tonight,” he promised.
She laughed and splashed water in his face. “I’ve not been running all that fast.”
Quick as a snake, he grabbed her and yanked her against him. A thrill went through her as they kissed, both naked as Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, both laughing for the joy of being alive and together. But as they walked out of the creek and up the bank, hand in hand, three women came out of the trees.
“It is time,” Corn Woman said.
Yellow Bead looked solemn. “You must come with us.”
The third woman was the ancient healer, Egret Hatching. “You must come,” she echoed in her high, thin voice. “It is time for the judging.”
Shannon’s eyes widened with apprehension. “Storm Dancer, must I go with—”
He squeezed her hand. “You must. If we are to live among the Tsalagi, you must prove your innocence.”
“Have courage, daughter,” the old medicine woman whispered. “If you did not steal the mask, you will go free.”
Quickly, Shannon donned her vest and skirt and thrust her feet into her low moccasins, the ones Snowberry had helped her to sew and decorate. She glanced back at Storm Dancer. “You believe me, don’t you?”
He nodded. “Of course, my heart. And soon everyone will know the truth.”
“Will you be all right?” she asked. “Are you strong enough to get back to the house?”
“Don’t worry about me,” he answered.
Reluctantly, Shannon accompanied the three down the woods path, but they didn’t take the fork that led to the village as she’d expected. Instead, they took the right path, went about a hundred yards, and turned right again. There, Firefly, Snowberry, and Blue Sky waited in a grove of cedars.
“This way,” Egret Hatching said.
The trail led uphill and into a tiny hollow tucked between the mountainside and a stand of red oaks. In the center of the clearing stood a low, round hut, smaller than a dwelling, formed of saplings and hides. Smoke came from a hole in the roof. Around the hut, the grass had been flattened down and patterns
of white stones formed a labyrinth. More of the village women and teenage girls waited. In all, Shannon counted more than fifty.
Her heart thudded as she followed Egret Hatching down the pathway to the low opening of the hut. The women ahead of her stripped off their clothing to enter naked. Frightened, Shannon glanced at Blue Sky. She smiled and beckoned.
“It is a sweat lodge,” Egret Hatching piped. “No harm will come to you there, daughter of Truth Teller.”
Uncertain of what would come next, Shannon removed her clothing and followed the medicine woman inside. Instantly, a wave of moist heat hit her face. The low structure was larger inside than it had appeared from the clearing, and it seemed to be set down into the earth. Shannon descended two steps and followed Egret Hatching to a seat along the wall.
It was difficult to see because the only light came from a tiny smoke hole in the ceiling. Rocks surrounded the fire pit. A woman that Shannon didn’t know poured dippers of water on the rocks, causing clouds of steam. Some women held small bundles of willow switches, and they used them to beat their bare backs. Shannon was relieved that no one offered her any willow switches.
Outside, near the far wall, a drum beat a steady, mesmerizing rhythm. Corn Woman shook a gourd rattle. Blue Sky removed a tiny wooden flute from her thick hair and began to play. Sweat poured off Shannon’s skin, as the women around her began to chant. The air smelled strongly of herbs, and the swirling steam distorted Shannon’s vision, so that the room seemed larger yet. Around her, it seemed that more and more women pressed close without touching her, singing, rocking back and forth in time to the drum and the flute. In the air, Shannon thought she saw tiny lights, like lightning bugs, flick on and off.
Someone passed her a gourd. “Drink,” the woman said.
“What is it?” Shannon asked.
“Only water.” It was Storm Dancer’s mother. “Trust me,” she said. “Only water.”
The water was warm but clean and refreshing. Shannon drank and passed the container back.
“No, to your left,” Firefly instructed.
Shannon did as she was told. The singing stopped. The drum and flute went silent. The women around her clapped, once, twice, a third time, only one clap each time.
And then Corn Woman spoke. “Spirit of Cardinal, tell us true.”
Firefly joined in. “Spirit of the Corn Mask, tell us true.”
Someone threw water on the rocks again. Hissing filled the hut, and for an instant, Shannon thought she saw something blue and shapeless hovering over the fire. Then all the Cherokee women began chanting again.
Shannon wasn’t certain if she fell asleep or if a great deal of time had elapsed, but someone tugged on her arm. “Come,” Snowberry urged. “It is over.”
“Over? What’s over?”
Snowberry took her hand and led her out into the sunshine. Firefly threw a blanket around Shannon’s shoulders. One by one, the others emerged from the sweat lodge. Blue Sky caught Shannon’s hand.
“Come,” Woodpecker’s mother said. She was smiling. “Come. Now we swim.” She led the way into the tall trees. After only a short distance, they reached a sandy bank. Beyond that was a pool completely surrounded by evergreens. “Come in,” Blue Sky called. She threw off her own wrap and jumped in.
The water was shallow, no more than chest deep, but it felt heavenly to Shannon. All around her, the others were splashing and laughing. Even the elderly matrons seemed to join in the fun. Women retrieved small bowls of paste that made suds when they rubbed it into their hair. Someone passed Shannon a dollop and she washed and scrubbed until her skin tingled.
“Now, we are ready,” Firefly said. She motioned to Shannon. Corn Woman and Snowberry waited beside her. When Shannon climbed out of the water, they dried her body with furs and rubbed sweet-smelling oils into her skin and hair.
Shannon looked into Firefly’s face. “What’s happening? Am I going to die?”
Firefly laughed. “We will all die someday, but not today, daughter. Not today.”
“Corn Woman is my sister,” Snowberry explained. “She is the mother of Cardinal. She wants to take you as her daughter in Cardinal’s place.”
“Adopt you,” Blue Sky explained. “You will be Deer Clan as Cardinal was. You will be the child of Corn Woman and also of Snowberry. Do you agree?”
Shannon looked around at the women. They were all smiling and nodding. “It doesn’t mean I have to give up Storm Dancer, does it?” she asked.
Firefly smiled. “No, child. It doesn’t. Since Cardinal was the person who testified against you, and she is no longer here, something else had to be done.”
“The trial must be fair,” Egret Hatching said. Her dried-apple face beamed.
“You chose to stay among us when you could have gone back to your own kind,” Yellow Bead said. “You passed the test of truth. Today was only the final step.”
“You are Tsalagi now,” Blue Sky exclaimed. “Now you can wed in the Tsalagi way.”
Firefly unfolded a white doeskin dress, fringed from the hip to the ankle. “For you, my daughter,” she said, “if you will forgive me and accept this token.”
Shannon nodded, too full of emotion to speak. Storm Dancer’s mother lowered the dress over her head, and then other women combed out her hair and settled necklaces of shells and silver beads around her neck. Corn Woman offered a pair of moccasins adorned with tiny silver bells, and Snowberry hung shell earrings in Shannon’s ears.
“You are very beautiful,” Blue Sky said. “Even for one with strange colored eyes.”
Children came out of the forest to shower Shannon with wildflowers as she started up the hill toward the village, surrounded by the singing women. The men came out of each house; some beat drums, others pipes or rattles. And when they reached the center of the town, where only weeks ago, Shannon had thought she would lose the man she loved, he was waiting for her.
Storm Dancer was clad as fine as she, with high fringed leggings, a butter-soft vest worked with porcupine quills, armbands of beaten copper, and a fringed loincloth. His hair was combed out long and straight, still damp and gleaming. When he saw her coming, he smiled, held out his hand, and led her into a circle of wildflowers.
Old Yellow Bead came to them and handed Shannon a cake of cornbread. She didn’t have to be told what to do. She offered the bread to Storm Dancer. He smiled and whispered, “Together. We bite it together.”
Laughing, they held the cake high and nibbled the edges at the same time. Then Egret Hatching handed Storm Dancer a gourd of water. He lifted the cup first to his bride’s lips and then to his own. Next, Firefly approached. In her hands was a cord woven of the horse-hair and decorated with beads. She motioned to her son and he held out his left hand.
Speaking ancient words, handed down for a thousand years from generation to generation, Firefly bound Storm Dancer’s wrist to Shannon’s. Flint stepped forward and clapped once.
“It is done,” Firefly cried.
Everyone cheered. Young girls rushed toward the bridal couple and tossed dried beans, and the village maidens began a slow circular dance around the square. Drums beat, and men and women came forward to offer gifts and food for the feast.
“Am I truly your wife?” Shannon asked. She was so happy that she wanted to pinch herself to make certain she wasn’t dreaming. “Truly?”
“Truly,” he answered.
“You knew, didn’t you? You knew what they were going to do, and you didn’t tell me?”
He smiled at her. “I couldn’t. You had to face the trial alone to prove your innocence.”
“You’ll pay for that,” she promised.
He bent and kissed her to the cheers and laughter of the onlookers. “Promises, promises,” he teased.
“I hope we aren’t supposed to share our lodge with your parents or all our wedding guests tonight,” she said.
He laughed. “No. We go to a special place in the mountains just for newlyweds, and when we come back, you’ll have a n
ew cabin. It will be all yours. I can’t even come in unless you invite me.”
“Maybe you’ll get lucky.”
He kissed her again. “I love you, Spring Rain.”
She looked up at him, puzzled. “What did you call me?”
“When you became Tsalagi, you shed your old name. Now you are Spring Rain, heart of my heart.”
“Spring Rain. I think I like it.”
“The earth would not come to life after winter without the rains of spring. And I was never alive until I found you.”
She leaned her head against his chest and closed her eyes, oblivious to the laughing villagers around them. I’ve come home, she thought. I’ve finally come home.
Chapter 28
As Storm Dancer had promised, they were able to slip away late on their wedding night. They took the horses to save him from having to walk too far, so that he could save his strength for her, he teased. Storm Dancer rode his black stallion; she was mounted on Badger. And long after they’d ridden down the valley, they could hear the drums and singing rising behind them from the village.
The moon and stars shone brightly, illuminating the forest floor where light pierced the foliage overhead and making the game trail easy for their mounts to follow. Ancient trees stretched their branches overhead, and the air smelled sweet with the odors of rich earth and pine needles. The muted clip-clop of their horses’ hooves added to the merry symphony of frogs and crickets chirping in the darkness.
“Will your mother accept me now?” Shannon asked. Her voice echoed through the trees, but it wasn’t a lonely sound. Rather, she felt protected by these giants, and by the man she followed.
“She will accept you. She has to.” Storm Dancer reined in his horse so that she could bring the pony up beside him. The black horse pranced and arched his neck.
Badger snorted and bared his teeth at the stallion, clearly unimpressed by the taller animal. She pulled up his head. “Behave yourself,” she chided the pony. “You have the manners of a goat.”
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