Stalking Wolf released his grip on the Hanueva. Something about the way Kionee gazed at him made him edgy. He used a skin to wrap the hunk of meat Kionee had carved off for him. He helped load the hide and larger pieces onto his friends’ horses. He stared into Kionee’s face for a moment to dispel his uneasiness, then smiled and mounted. He gathered the ropes to the other horses and departed as large flakes began to fall.
Kionee locked her gaze to his back and tried to ignore the unfamiliar sensations that flooded her mind and body. He was a man above others, the kind of man she would want as a mate if that were allowed. She scolded her fingers for itching to touch him again. She scolded her lips for craving to meet his. She scolded herself for the curious heat and weakness racing through her. She scolded herself for praying and yearning to see him again when that would only distress her further. She saw him halt, twist on his horse, prop a hand on its haunch, and gaze at her. Her heart fluttered and the breath caught in her throat. It was if their gazes spoke words neither could understand. She lifted her hand and waved farewell to him.
The Cheyenne returned the gesture. He saw the silver wolf snuggle closer to Kionee’s legs as if to say, this is mine. Against a white backdrop and with snow drifting down on them, the two made a colorful and dramatic sight. For a crazy moment, he imagined Kionee as a woman, a beautiful and mysterious and magical and irresistible female. He was almost reluctant to leave. He shoved that foolish thought and feeling aside, nodded, turned, and did not look back again as he rode northward.
Kionee squatted and ruffled the fur on her pet’s neck. “He is gone, Maja. I do not understand and it is bad, but he touches me in a strange and powerful way. I trained, live, and look as a man; but I am not a man; I can never become a man. My life is as the canyon where we camp: it is as if tivas are on one side of the river which parts it and our tribe is on the other; we are always set apart from them. We share air, rain, food, and laws with men, but we are as different from them as the coyote to the deer.”
Maja licked Kionee’s hand to give the comfort he sensed she needed. He rubbed his head against her side to share closeness with her, and was glad when Kionee stroked his ears, then hugged him.
“We must go.” She mounted Tuka and led the gift horses away.
As she journeyed homeward, that now familiar feeling of unfulfillment troubled her. Stalking Wolf had only increased her sense of loneliness. When she bathed in the river and her face was clean of paint, she saw her true appearance and shape: undeniable proof she was a female, a pretty one. Yet, she was called “son,” “brother,” and lived as a male, a man as barren as a stone.
At sixteen summers, she had made her shield and weapons, received her ceremonial mask and dewclaw rattle, and sang the tiva song of loyalty and obedience. She had filled her medicine pouch with sacred tokens. Charms from her first kills on land, in air, and in water and those she gathered to empower her with nature’s forces rested in the beaded bag around her neck, along with the dried ovaries of a she-bear, the sign of a tiva. She had constructed and placed her tipi-of-power beside her father’s. Afterward, she had sat with the council, spoken openly and freely, voted on all matters, participated in rituals, hunted, and even fought against a few enemies. It was no secret she could ride, fight, track, hunt, and shoot better than most of the real men in her tribe.
Her cousin, Little Weasel, was annoyed by her skill. It was his fault—not hers—that he did not have as many beaded symbols of courage, daring, cunning, and successes on his ceremonial sash. It was not her fault her father’s accident had placed her as head of her family two summers past and she had done all she could to be the best hunter and guardian possible. Little Weasel should not envy her when he was free to live as he was born but she was captive to a sacrificial fate. The only man whose skills and deeds matched hers was the chiefs son, Night Walker, her cousin’s best friend; but she did not want to think about either man today. She wanted to think only of—
“Gat, Kionee! It is wrong and will make you suffer,” she scolded herself.
Despite that warning, images of Stalking Wolf filled her head. They warmed her body so much that the lowering temperature and increasing wind and snow went unnoticed. She visualized his tawny gaze and virile body. She remembered the strange way he looked at her in parting and wondered at its meaning. She knew she had not given away her secret. She was certain he accepted her as a friend, as the son of Strong Rock and Martay.
Kionee knew she could have no mate to love her, to share her life, to hold her and comfort her in dark times. She could bear no daughter to give birth to future Hanuevas. She could bear no son to take care of her when her seasons were many, her parents rested in death mounds, and her strength was gone. She would be forced to live with the tivas elders in a separate tipi and she—like them—would depend upon the younger tivas and male hunters to be generous with game and hides to fill their needs. She would never experience the passion she had witnessed between her parents and other happy couples. She would never feel the pleasure and joy of bonding with a special man on the sleeping mat. Her only memories and deeds would be of giving to, protecting, and caring for others.
Kionee looked at her pet whose gaze seemed empathetic, as if he saw into her head. “What of my needs and wants, Maja? What of my happiness? Is a tiva’s life all I am to have while I live? Do I not deserve more, to have the same things other women possess, when I am in truth a woman? Must I sacrifice all I am and can be for my family and tribe? Must I be denied Atah’s gifts. Are such things not for each of His children? Did He make such harsh laws, or were they made in olden times by men when girls were many and boys were few? Why can I not be a huntress and protector without painting my face or using a mask? Why must I hide my sex when being a female does not take away my skills? Will this law be here forever to ruin the lives of firstborn daughters in families without sons?”
Kionee went silent when she saw curling smoke from many Hanueva campfires. She had left this morning a tiva and returned near dusk a tiva; meeting Stalking Wolf had changed nothing for her. That is not true; he has changed many things in your heart and mind. He—
“Kionee!” Sumba called out and hurried forward to join her friend. “Your hunt was good. I am sorry you could not find me to go with you.”
“Atah guided me to a big elk. I will give the tivas elders a share.”
“Where did you get the horses? They bear Cheyenne markings.”
“I will tell you as we go to the tiva lodge to give them meat and these horses to ride to the grasslands. I must summon the council to hear this bad news, for powerful evil winds will blow on us this season.”
Sumba halted and stared at Kionee. “We are in danger?”
“Yes, my friend and brother, from evil Crow warriors. Already they sneak into our land and attack. Come, we will speak as we walk.”
Kionee finished revealing the grim news and took a seat on a mat in the meeting lodge. She had been careful to control her expressions, movements, and voice to conceal Stalking Wolf’s potent effect on her.
Chief Bear’s Head was the next to speak in council. “It is good you gave meat and horses to our past tivas; your heart is kind and your victory with the Cheyenne warrior is large. Your mother must bead this deed upon your sash. Do you see trouble in your dreams, Spotted Owl?”
“I have seen many strange things,” the shaman replied. “They have been clouded by shadows. When they are clear to me, I will reveal them.”
“Are the cloud blankets light or dark, Spotted Owl?”
“They are dark, my chief, a bad sign, one I do not understand. When He is ready, Atah will uncover them and show us which path to ride. Atah never fails to protect and provide for His children; He will do so as long as we follow His commands.”
“If Bird Warriors come to attack, we must fight and defeat them,” Night Walker said. “We must show them our strength and courage to strike fear into their hearts. If we look afraid and weak, they will laugh and raid us. Have we forgott
en Atah put us in this land first? He placed the Crow and others in lands far away. The Crow grew too large in number and parted into bands. Their longtime enemies forced many of those bands from their old hunting grounds and they rode into ours. All know that Atah’s land cannot be owned. Even so, we did not strike at them when they and others came and called parts of it theirs. The old ones accepted them in friendship and peace. They do not desire such good things from us or from others. If we do nothing to halt their greed and challenge, soon Hanuevas will have no land and life. I say we must train hard to be ready to battle them.”
“Once the war arrow leaves the bow, my second son, it cannot be returned to the quiver of peace. No trail must be ridden too fast and reckless. Atah must be the One to halt and punish them into retreat.”
“Are we not skilled weapons for Atah to use against them? Where is our pride, my father and chief, if we allow Crow to trample it to dust?”
“Words cannot harm a strong and wise man, my son, but enemy arrows send our hunters and protectors to live in the stars.”
“Some words are as strong as arrows and clubs, Father, for they have the power to make peace or war, to make friend or enemy.”
“That is why we must speak and live for peace. Enemies cannot battle men who refuse to fight. What honor and coups can Crow find in attacking those who have no desire to war with them, who offer the peace pipe?”
“If we live as frightened deer, we will be hunted and slain as such, for the chase and victory are as breath of life to Crow. The season has come when hiding and retreat must be put aside. Soon the Bird People will hunger for all land and game. What of the Hanueva then?”
“My friend and brother speaks wise and true,” Little Weasel concurred. “I say we make known the Hanueva prowess and frighten them.”
“Our chief is wise; once a blow is struck, it cannot be recalled,” Strong Rock argued. “We are a people of peace. War and coups are not our way, and all know this to be true. The Sun Dance is not our way. We do not change the names our fathers give us when we are born. We do not have warrior societies who seek to best each other. We do not steal from enemies or fight them for glory. To do so calls death to our lodges.”
The chiefs son asked Kionee’s father, “Is not honorable death better than cowardly existence?”
“Hanuevas are not cowards,” he announced firmly. “We battle when attacked.”
“Defense is not the same as preventing attacks, Strong Rock. It is better to reveal strength and courage to stop them from coming than to tend our wounds and bury our dead while we wait for others to raid again. If we sneak to their growing ground and destroy their tobacco plants—their sacred medicine—and steal their Sun Dance Dolls, they will lose spirit and weaken. They believe they will live and prosper only as long as they perform their tobacco ceremonies when the seed is planted and when it is harvested and have seeds for the next season—and as long as they have the power of their dolls and the power of those before them who had them.”
Kionee recalled that Stalking Wolf kept tobacco-seed pouches of the men who attacked them in the forest. She knew that to take one of the Crow’s holiest objects was a great coup; even as children the Crow wore a tiny bag of it around their necks for protection and to show unity to that cult and its beliefs.
“Night Walker’s words are strong with hate and with hunger for bad food,” another hunter said. “Do you forget that bad food kills and hate dulls wits?”
“Does Runs Fast forget we did not begin this conflict?” Night Walker scoffed. “Does Runs Fast not know it will grow worse if we do nothing? They care not for our words and ways of peace. Does Runs Fast desire even a life of fear more than holding on to our land and honor for our people?”
“We do not hide, Night Walker, but we must not gallop into the arms of death to seek glory as our enemies do. If they come in war, I will fight them at your side, but I will not chase or challenge them first. They are strong and many, and such action is foolish.”
“They have come to raid and to seek war, Runs Fast. Did Kionee not find them on our land, near our camp, weapons ready and eager to kill?”
“The Crow attacked a Cheyenne band they found in their scouting path; they are fierce enemies,” Strong Rock pointed out. “We do not know if they came to raid our camp and slay our people.”
“Did they not attack Kionee to slay a tiva?” Night Walker refuted.
“Kionee was with a Cheyenne when they saw my son.”
“Kionee’s mask told them he is Hanueva. Still, they attacked. I say, if Kionee had been alone, Kionee would be dead by a Crow arrow. I say, Crow no longer fear or flee from what they believe is tiva magic, for their hunger to capture such powerful medicine makes them daring.”
Spotted Owl reasoned in a soft tone, “We cannot know if your words are true, Night Walker, so to act on them is unwise.”
“We will place guards each sun and moon to watch for Crow raids,” Chief Bear’s Head ordered. “We must wait to see if trouble strikes before we move to the grasslands. Do not go looking for sly death, my son; wait until it stalks you to lay a trap for it.”
“Why do we not send peacemakers to Red Plume, Long Hair, and Swift Crane to see why they allow their warriors to attack us?”
“Your thought is good, Strong Rock; we will think on it until the council meets in ten suns and votes. Search your hearts, my people, for the path we choose to take will paint our destinies on our family hides.”
Night Walker’s heart pounded in excitement as he realized he had ten days to convince others to join his side against the weakling peacemakers. Somehow, he plotted, he and Little Weasel would provoke a conflict in which they could use their prowess to obtain glory. Never, he resolved, would he allow the Crow—or any others—to push him off this land or to make him cower in fear and ultimate defeat, no matter what he must do to prevent it.
“Where is my mate?” Martay asked Kionee upon her return.
“Father stayed behind to speak with friends. I grow weary, for there were many tasks to do this sun. I must sleep soon.”
“Will the Crow come to attack us, Brother?” Blue Bird asked.
“I do not know, Sister, but I worry over them sneaking near our camp. The one who died last did not fear us or tiva magic.”
“Will Runs Fast be called into battle?”
Kionee considered her sister’s expression and tone. “You fear for his safety and survival?”
“Yes, my brother, though I should not when he is skilled in fighting.”
“He has captured your eye and heart?”
“Yes.”
“If war comes, Blue Bird, I will try to guard his back for you.”
“That is kind, Brother, for your skills are as large as the mountain.”
“What of the Cheyenne warrior?” Martay asked. “Did he offer help?”
“The Cheyenne will be busy with the buffalo hunt and defeating Crow who challenge them. His skills are great, for he has fought many battles.”
“Would it not be wise, my son, to camp near them on the grasslands?”
“That is for our chief and council to say. None spoke for it, Mother. Little Weasel and Night Walker spoke for war.”
“War? We cannot challenge the Crow, my son. They are too many.”
“Do not fear, Mother; none took their bold words to heart.”
Martay fretted over her “son” going into fierce battle with such hostile and experienced warriors. She had lost one daughter to sickness in the chest many winters past. Blue Bird hoped to be joined to Runs Fast before the cold season, and Moon Child would follow that path in one or two more summers. It had taken her many seasons to accept Kionee’s change of fate, but her “son” had proven himself before and after Strong Rock’s accident. She was proud of Kionee and at peace with their life. Perhaps becoming close with Blue Bird during Kionee’s long absence from their tipi had mellowed her heart and taken away her anger.
Strong Rock entered the tipi, struggled to his mat,
and lowered himself to sit on it. He put aside the wood supports and took several deep breaths. He was glad no one offended his pride by offering to assist him. He was grateful to Kionee who had found the sturdy and straight staffs with forked branches to fit under his arms. His clever son had wrapped their tops in rabbit fur to prevent chafing and soreness in his armpits, had rubbed the limbs free of splinters, and had secured leather strips halfway for his hands to grip. Strong Rock tried not to resent his ill fate, but at perilous times like this, unwanted bitterness and a sense of failure crept into his mind and heart.
Strong Rock knew he and his family were fortunate and blessed to have a son like Kionee to take his place. The worried father did not want to imagine life without him as their Hunter-Guardian. “It is a bad sign the Crow resist their shaman’s words and steal near our camp for evil deeds. I do not want our protectors to ride the reckless trail Night Walker desires, but we must prepare for defense, for more are sure to come before we leave.”
“Friends of those we slew will seek a path to revenge, Father, for that is their way. It is good the Cheyenne warrior took their bodies far from our land and Atah sent snow to hide our tracks and deeds. When Mother Earth warms her face, the Crow will be busy with tobacco planting for a time.”
“You must picket your horses near our tipi, Kionee; Crow hunger for good buffalo and war horses. You have trained Recu to ride as one with you in the great hunt. You have trained Tuka for skilled riding and fighting. They would be great losses to you and our family. A strong and smart animal brings many hides and weapons in the trading camp. Few can be found and captured and trained well after they escape and run wild.”
“Maja guards them for me; he will alert me to an enemy’s approach. He knows all scents of our camp and will smell any strange ones.”
“It troubles me, my son, that Crow no longer fear tivas and now crave our mask-wearers’ big medicine. Bird warriors become leaders and chiefs by gathering many coups: by touching an enemy while fighting or in stealth, by stealing one’s weapons in battle or in secret, by stealing an enemy’s horse after a defeat or when it is picketed at his tipi, and by planning successful raids. Those with the largest number and highest ranking coups win those places. They are a people who love war, who seek it. We must pray for peace and survival.”
Destiny Mine Page 4