He had learned that a wise man sought out Hunonpa, the bear, who was a source of knowledge and wisdom; that Tatetob was four gods in one, representing the four winds, and that Tatetob ruled the weather and the directions; that Yumni was the god of the whirlwind.
He knew that red was the color of the sun, blue represented the sky, green signified the earth, and yellow was the color of rock. A red forked zigzag was the sign of Wakinyan, the thunderbird. Sage smoke could drive away certain evil forces; a buffalo skull contained the power of Tatanka.
Shadow Hawk had learned well. He had passed all the tests required of him and now he faced the biggest test of all. His courage and his confidence had always been strong. He prayed fervently that they would not fail him now.
The evening before the chosen time, he went down to the river to be alone.
A chill wind blew down out of the mountains, whispering to the cottonwood trees, sighing as it danced over the tall grass.
Shadow Hawk took a deep breath. He refused to admit he might be afraid to enter the sacred cavern, that the calling of a holy man might not be his.
He squared his shoulders and shook off his doubts. If Heart-of-the-Wolf could travel the Spirit Path and return unharmed, so could he.
Shadow Hawk smiled faintly as he recalled years past, remembering how awed he had been at the old medicine man’s unerring predictions of the future. Heart-of-the-Wolf had always known when it was time to move the village, where to find the buffalo, how to avoid the white men who ventured into their country.
Shadow Hawk had marveled at the old man’s powers, but now he knew where those powers had come from. Now he knew that the Cave of the Spirit Path was more than just a legend.
And tomorrow night he would enter the cave and learn its secrets.
Shadow Hawk shivered as a gust of wind embraced him, whispering in his ear that once he crossed the threshold of the sacred cave he would never be the same again.
Standing there, gazing at the starlit sky, he saw a great black hawk soaring overheard. Closing his eyes, he willed his spirit to join with that of the hawk and he felt himself soaring upward, felt the power and wisdom and patience of the hawk flow through his soul, and he knew that no matter what happened at the cave, his medicine spirit was still with him, still strong.
Gradually, the spirit of the hawk faded, leaving him feeling refreshed and at peace. Tomorrow night he would enter the Cave of the Spirit Path.
Chapter Four
Shadow Hawk left his mother’s lodge early the following morning, walking purposefully toward a quiet bend in the river to offer his Dawn Song to Wakán Tanka. It was a song of joy that lifted to the sky like the sacred healing smoke from a holy fire; a song that told of the earth and the sky and the great circle of life with the Great Spirit in the center, and man yearning to be a part of it.
“Hee-ay-hee-ee!” he cried, lifting his arms overhead. “Help me, Wakán Tanka, guide my steps.”
He lowered his arms, listening to the sound of the river as it eddied and swirled at his feet, to the carefree song of a bird as it flitted from tree to tree. In the distance, the vast Lakota horse herd grazed on the short yellow grass.
Looking up, he gazed at the clear blue sky, felt the warmth of the new sun caress his bare shoulders and chest, and once again he lifted his arms overhead.
“Hear me, Wakán Tanka,” he murmured earnestly. “Grant me the courage to do what must be done to help my people.”
He stood there for an hour, his heart and mind sending silent prayers to the Great Spirit as he prepared himself to do what must be done.
At the appointed time he went to the sintkala waksu with Heart-of-the-Wolf. The medicine man had dug a small iniowaspe, or pit, in the middle of the sweat lodge to hold the sacred stones, which were called inyan. The pit made a circle within a circle, representing life which had no end. The door of the lodge faced the setting sun, the floor was covered with a blanket of sage. The dirt which had been removed from the iniowaspe was used to make a small mound about two paces from the entrance. The mound was called hanbelachia, the vision hill.
Between the pit and the hill, the dirt had been cleared to form a path called the smoothed trail, which symbolized the path Shadow Hawk would travel to find his vision. Tiny bundles of tobacco were attached to sticks and placed on the west side of the vision hill; the sacred pipe was also placed on the hill, its stem facing east.
Naked, Shadow Hawk entered the sweat lodge. Heart-of-the-Wolf’s nephew, Black Otter, remained outside to tend the fire and pass the heated stones into the lodge.
Shadow Hawk took a deep breath and released it slowly as Black Otter passed in the first four stones, lifting them with a forked stick.
With great ceremony, Heart-of-the-Wolf took the pipe and touched the stem to one of the stones. “All four-footed creatures,” the medicine man murmured reverently, for his power came from the wolf.
He passed the pipe to Shadow Hawk, who puffed it four times and passed it back to the medicine man.
This was done four times, until the tobacco was gone, and then Heart-of-the-Wolf reverently returned the pipe to the hanbelachia. Pipes were smoked to prevent storms, to ensure a successful hunt, to invoke the blessings of the gods, or to denote peace and friendship. They were considered sacred, their smoke carrying the prayers of the people to Wakán Tanka, and thus they were handled with great care and respect.
“All four-footed creatures,” Heart-of-the-Wolf intoned solemnly, and taking up a spoon made of buffalo horn, he tossed cold water on the stones.
He did this four times, as four was a sacred number. There were four directions to the earth, four elements above the earth—sky, sun, moon and stars. There were four seasons to the year. There were four classes of animals—flying, crawling, two-legged and four-legged. There were four parts to plants—roots, stem, leaves and fruit. And, finally, a man’s life was divided into four parts—infancy, childhood, adulthood and old age.
As great clouds of steam filled the lodge, Heart-of-the-Wolf began to chant, begging the spirits to purify them.
Shadow Hawk gasped for air as the heat engulfed him. The cold water and the hot stones united him with the earth and the sky, the water of life and the sacred breath of the Spirit. As he inhaled the steam, he inhaled the water of life, praying for strength, for courage, for wisdom.
And suddenly she was there, the woman of his vision, her curly black hair falling about her shoulders like a dark cloud. Her lips were the color of ripe berries; her eyes, as blue as the wildflowers that covered the hills in the summer, were filled with tears.
She was sitting in an odd-looking box with big wheels like those on the wagons of the bluecoats. Behind her, Shadow Hawk could see a drawing of a tall Indian man sitting astride a big calico horse. The Indian wore a necklace of bear claws; the horse looked exactly like Ohitika. Despite the stifling heat within the lodge, Shadow Hawk felt a sudden chill spiral down his spine.
“Do you see her, old one?” he whispered, hardly daring to speak aloud for fear of chasing the image away.
Heart-of-the-Wolf grunted softly, astonished by the clarity of the vision, troubled by the Spirit Woman’s ability to manifest herself to Shadow Hawk within the sacred circle of the sweat lodge, and even more alarmed that he was able to see another’s vision. What manner of white woman was this, to have such power?
Heart-of-the-Wolf leaned forward, his gaze focused on the drawing behind the woman. No, he thought, it could not be Shadow Hawk…
“You must put her from your mind,” the medicine man said sternly. “You must think only of the cave, and the vision that waits for you there.”
Shadow Hawk nodded. “I hear you, Tunkasila,” he murmured.
As soon as he spoke, the image of the Spirit Woman began to dissolve until all that remained was the memory of the unhappiness he had seen in her eyes.
Chapter Five
Shadow Hawk reached the entrance to the Cave of the Spirit Path as the sun began its descent behind th
e distant mountains. His heart was pounding like a Lakota war drum as he took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly.
The cave was located on a narrow plateau near the crest of the hill, surrounded by trees whose branches were woven so tightly together they blocked his view of the sky, leaving the face of the cave shrouded in darkness and mystery.
He took another deep breath, for courage. He had done all that Heart-of-the-Wolf had commanded. He had not eaten for one full day. He carried no weapons, he wore no coup feathers in his hair, nor did he wear his bear claw necklace.
Clad only in a deerskin clout and moccasins, his hair falling over his shoulders, he took his first step into the cave, which was cut into the side of the hill.
For a moment, Shadow Hawk stood just inside the entrance letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, which seemed blacker than the night. He had expected the cave to be musty and damp; instead it was cool and sweet-smelling.
He took four steps, his moccasined feet whispering over the ground, the sound of his heartbeat echoing in his ears. He had known fear before, but nothing like the nameless anxiety that brought a fine sheen of sweat to his brow.
Reminding himself that Heart-of-the-Wolf had entered the cave and survived to tell the tale, he took four more steps, and then four more before he stopped, deep in the heart of the cavern.
Removing a small deerskin bag from his belt, he reached inside and withdrew a handful of corn pollen, scattering a small amount to the east, the west, the north and the south, to the Great Spirit, to Mother Earth. When that was done, he poured the remainder back into the bag, then sat down facing east.
The cave’s darkness closed around him, so thick he could almost touch it. Head high, his body tense, he faced the east wall of the cave, silently beseeching the Great Spirit to grant him a vision that he might obtain the knowledge that Heart-of-the-Wolf required to lead the people through the coming year.
Over and over again he uttered the same prayer. He lost track of time. Indeed, time might have ceased to exist. The darkness seemed to have a life of its own, moving over his bare skin like a caress, its touch probing, testing, challenging.
Hands clenched, Shadow Hawk stared toward the east wall, all his thoughts and energy focused on the future.
Slowly, so slowly he thought he must be imagining it, a faint light began to glow on the face of the cave and at the same time images began to appear within his mind, images that grew stronger as the darkness within the cave seemed to grow thicker, heavier, until he thought he could feel it sitting beside him, an entity with a life force of its own.
In the back of his mind he heard Heart-of-the-Wolf’s voice warning him to concentrate on the future, only the future.
Shadow Hawk shook off the fear crowding his heart as the glowing light and the images in his mind grew more distinct, and now he saw the Lakota village clearly in his mind’s eye. He saw his own lodge and that of Heart-of-the-Wolf. Snow covered the ground, the sky was gray and lowering. It was the winter camp in the Black Hills, he thought, surprised. The images seemed to fill the cave now and he seemed to be a part of it. He felt the cold wind, inhaled the scent of smoke and roasting meat. He shivered as it began to rain, but the rain was blue and dry and wherever the rain touched the snow the flakes were stained with crimson.
Startled, Shadow Hawk recoiled, then gasped as he felt something warm and wet slide down his right side.
“A-ah!” he exclaimed, and the images in his mind melted like frost beneath the sun. The light disappeared, the air lost its heaviness, and he felt suddenly empty and alone.
Rising, Shadow Hawk hurried from the cave, surprised to find the sun climbing over the mountains. The early morning sunlight seemed unusually bright after the darkness of the cave. He felt weak and lightheaded, as if someone had drained all the strength from his body. There was a sudden pain low in his right side and when he looked at it he saw a bright splash of blood just above the belt of his clout. Blood where there was no wound.
Bewildered, he turned to stare at the cave entrance, wondering what it meant, and she was there, silhouetted in the mouth of the cave, her black hair becoming one with the darkness behind her.
The Spirit Woman.
“Not real,” he murmured, yet he saw her clearly, sitting as though trapped in the thing-on-wheels, her arms outstretched, her deep blue eyes silently entreating him to come to her. A soft breath of cold air blew out of the cave, chilling him to the bone.
“Not real,” he said again, and resisting the urge to run, he turned and started down the mountain, certain he would never be warm again.
Heart-of-the-Wolf listened intently as Shadow Hawk related his experience in the sacred cave. His eyes grew thoughtful, his expression pensive, as the young warrior told of rain that turned the snow to blood.
“Did you see any wasichu in your vision, Shadow Hawk?”
“No.”
“But the rain was blue and the snow turned red?”
Shadow Hawk nodded.
“It is not good,” Heart-of-the-Wolf mused slowly. “I think we will not get to the Paha Sapa this winter. The blue rain represents the soldier coats. The red snow is the blood of our people. Wakán Tanka is warning us that soldiers will attack our village.” He nodded as if satisfied with his interpretation. “We will find another place to pass the winter.”
“Have the visions in the cave always been true ones?”
“Ai, if they are interpreted correctly.”
“Have you ever been wrong?”
The old man nodded. “Once, long ago. Some visions are not easy to understand.”
“How can you be sure you are right this time?”
“The blue rain always means the wasichu.”
“Perhaps the red snow means the whites will lose.”
“Perhaps,” Heart-of-the-Wolf allowed. “But we will not take that chance. Did you see anything else?”
Shadow Hawk shook his head. “No.”
“Perhaps there was nothing more to see.”
“I broke the silence of the cave when I felt the blood trickling down my side,” Shadow Hawk confessed guiltily, “and the images in my mind dissolved.”
“Ah. Then you must go back. The visions do not always come in the order they will happen. Your vision took place in winter, and it is only spring. There may be another vision waiting for you there.”
“Go back?” Shadow Hawk said reluctantly. “When?”
“Tomorrow night, while the moon is still full.”
Shadow Hawk nodded. He would go back because Heart-of-the-Wolf required it, but he would not like it. “The blood on my side? What does it mean?”
Heart-of-the-Wolf stared at the dark stain on Shadow Hawk’s right side. He had examined the skin beneath the dried blood carefully. There was no wound, not even a scratch.
“I am not sure,” the medicine man replied, his expression somber.
Shadow Hawk took a deep breath and released it slowly. “The Spirit Woman was there, at the cave,” he said leaning toward the medicine man. “What does she want of me? Why does she summon me with her eyes?”
Heart-of-the-Wolf shook his head. “I cannot answer these questions now. I must meditate on the vision granted you in the Sacred Cave. We will speak of it when you return.”
Shadow Hawk nodded, then rose to his feet and left the old man’s lodge. Later, always later, he thought as he walked down to the river and washed the blood from his side. How long must he wait to find the secret to the Spirit Woman?
His mother was waiting for him when he entered the lodge. She had prepared food for him and the air was redolent with the aroma of succulent buffalo ribs, thick berry soup and strong tea. She did not question him while he ate, but he could feel her. concern, her need to know what had happened in the cave.
He smiled at her as he licked the grease from his fingers. “I am well, Iná,” he assured her. “Let us talk of it tomorrow. I would sleep now.”
Winona nodded, her curiosity replaced by motherly concern as
she watched her son stretch out on the buffalo robes in the back of the lodge. What had it been like within the sacred cave? Had he seen a vision? What did the future hold for the People?
Chapter Six
A shrill cry of terror shattered Shadow Hawk’s sleep. Rolling nimbly to his feet, he reached for his bow, grabbed a quiver of arrows and hurried out of the lodge.
For a moment he could only stare at the chaos before him. The setting sun cast a crimson shadow over the village so that everything looked dreamlike and unreal. Men, women and children ran wildly through the village while the hated blue-clad soldiers rode amongst them, shooting everything that moved. People, horses and dogs fell prey to the rifles of the Long Knives. The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder. And blood.
Rage filled Shadow Hawk’s breast as he reached for Ohitika’s reins. Even now, Red Cloud and a handful of the tribal elders were in Washington talking peace. How like the white man, he mused, to hold out the promise of peace with one hand and strike down women and children with the other!
Swinging onto the stallion’s back, Shadow Hawk swept his gaze over the area as he searched for some sign of his mother, but he could not find her in the surging crowd.
Ohitika reared up on his hind legs as a blue-clad trooper came hurtling toward him. With a wild cry, Shadow Hawk nocked an arrow to his bow and let it fly, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction as the arrow pierced the man’s chest.
Shadow Hawk rode into the midst of the battle, rage building within him as he saw a small child trampled beneath the iron-shod hooves of a cavalryman’s horse. He saw his best friend, Red Arrow, plunge a knife deep into the throat of one of the wasichu, saw a hairy-faced trooper skewer a child with a bayonet.
A scream of outrage rumbled in Shadow Hawk’s throat as he rode the white man down. From the corner of his eye he saw one of the soldiers struggling with Red Arrow’s wife.
Slamming his heels into Ohitika’s sides, Shadow Hawk rode the white man down. He caught a brief look of gratitude from Red Arrow’s wife and then she was lost from sight as she grabbed her young son by the arm and ran for cover.
The Spirit Path Page 2