Destiny Mine

by Janelle Taylor

  As Stalking Wolf listened, Red Bull related those two events in detail. “We will call our daughter Ae-CultaKionee. She-Who was saved by-Wind of Destiny,” he translated for their guest. “The naming ceremony and our new season dance is on the next moon; you are welcome to join us.”

  “That is kind, Red Bull, and I will do so. I have spoken my words and we will make plans on another sun,” he announced to let them know he was finished. As Stalking Wolf reflected on the man’s revelations, he was astonished to learn that a male of Kionee’s diminutive size and almost feminine appearance could defeat such awesome forces. Though he had seen Kionee in action long ago, he knew he had misjudged the extent of the mask-wearer’s skills. Surely, he reasoned, his new friend was the person who would help fulfill the sacred visions.

  To end the meeting, as darkness was near and a meal waited to be eaten, the chief said, “We will smoke the pipe of peace with the Cheyenne and offer thanks to Atah, Creator and High Guardian, who sent him to us.”

  Spotted Owl prepared the redstone bowl with tobacco and lit it. He drew two puffs, one of truce which he blew straight from his mouth and one of thanks which he sent spiriling upward toward Atah’s domain. He passed the pipe to his right, to the chief who did the same.

  Following the eight council members, Stalking Wolf took his turn. As the heohko made its rounds of the hunters, occasionally being refilled with more peeonoe, the Cheyenne warrior noticed the tivas did not share the pipe or even touch its stem to pass it beyond their position. Yet, they made the signs for peace and thanks in unison as one man rose and carried the pipe to the man on the other side of the group. He could not determine the meaning behind such an omission. Perhaps it was a sacred vow or sacrifice, as they were not a warrior or social society. Another point troubled him: in their visions, both he and Medicine Eyes had heard the spirit wolf speak the words, “The wind of destiny will blow over you this season.” That had to mean there was a mystical bond between him and Kionee, and a great quest stood before them. Soon I will understand.

  As the men and tivas were leaving the area, Strong Rock approached Stalking Wolf and offered, “You are welcome to eat and sleep with my family. My tipi is large and good, for Kionee is a skilled hunter and provider.”

  The Cheyenne warrior pretended not to notice the man’s crippled leg as he smiled and accepted, “That is kind, Strong Rock.”

  “Come, we eat, talk, and rest. Kionee, we go. Stalking Wolf stays with us, my son.”

  “I will join you after I check my horses and Maja,” she responded. She needed time and privacy to master her rampant emotions at that news. Her father did not even suspect how dangerous it was to place that great temptation within her reach! She must remain on guard at all times to prevent weakening toward him and exposing herself. You should not have done this deed, Father, for it is hard to be near him and control myself. Please help me to resist him and his magic, Atah, or I am lost.

  6

  KIONEE WAS NOT GIVEN time or privacy. Stalking Wolf accompanied her to the secure area where their horses were tethered near the woods so he could check on his stallion and gather his belongings.

  During their walk, she coaxed, “We must hurry, for Mother has the food prepared and it grows late. Our talk was long and grave.”

  Stalking Wolf stole a glance at the hunter. How, he wondered, could one so small and almost feminine be such a great fighter? To beat one Crow warrior was a large coup, but to have victory over five in the same battle was an awesome deed. If news of it reached enemy ears, Kionee’s big medicine would be sought by many. “Do not worry, my friend; Our People will protect your tribe during the buffalo hunt. Before we join them, I will see no harm comes to the Hanueva. You will be my companion, for your skills are many and few warriors possess those to match yours. You are well trained and blessed. On this moon, I do not grasp the vision given to me at the sacred Wheel, or those given to our shaman, or Maheoo’s joint plan for our tribes, but they will all be revealed to us when the best sun rises.”

  She dared not look at him as her gaze might be filled with desire. She struggled to master the tone of her voice to keep her feelings hidden. “Your words please me, Stalking Wolf, and I will help you and my people. No greater warrior could be chosen to be our shield and weapon.”

  He detected a strange tension in his companion and realized the hunter was refusing to look at him. “Your words please and honor me, Kionee. I do not know why I was chosen by Maheoo, but I will not fail Him or my duty. I vow to protect your people with my skills and life.”

  “No harm must come to you!” she blurted out. “It is not our way to bring suffering to others,” she added to cover her odd outburst.

  “It will not, for you will ride with me as my shield and friend. It is an honor to have a child named for you and your brave deed. I have fought the great bear and only defeated him with Maheoo’s protection.” He paused and pushed up his right sleeve to show a scar. “I carry the marks of his claws and anger. We battled a long time. I jumped on his back and rode him as a wild horse. My blade crossed his throat before he shook me off.” He noticed the hunter’s touch was soft and light as Kionee halted to finger the healed slashes and stare at them. Again, that odd sensation chewed at him, but he brushed it away in annoyance. “It is good Red Bull’s child is female and will carry her name until she lives with the Great Spirit.”

  Kionee walked faster to escape the delight she’d felt in touching him. “Hanueva do not seek visions and change the names our fathers give us. We are called by what is seen or felt or where we are when we enter life. When my time came, a great wind blew over our camp and took down many tipis. We moved to another place which was safe and calm. The one we left was covered by rushing water; many lives would have been lost if we had not changed camps. Father called it a wind of destiny, for it saved us from death. I was born that moon. Why are you called Stalking Wolf?”

  “When I received my vision, I saw a man dressed in wolf skins,” he began his explanation. “He was a hunter of skill and silence. I was told to learn the way of the wolf and to take it as my sign. Many times I ride at night with the moon to guide me as I stalk my enemies. I must be swift, bold, and cunning. I must have courage, strength, and be wise. As with my spirit sign, when I join, it will be with one woman and it will be for as long as we live. Do you have a mate and children?”

  Pain stabbed Kionee’s heart. “No, it is not the tiva way. We allow no person or thing to distract us from our duties to our family, tribe, and Atah. As with all creatures, Atah gave each a different role; for me, it is that of a tiva. You protect well, Maja,” she spoke to her pet to change the disturbing subject. She ruffled the hair on his neck and smiled when he licked her hand.

  Stalking Wolf was sure he perceived bitterness in his friend’s voice. Perhaps, he reasoned, Kionee had been chosen to become a tiva and it was not the destiny he wanted. During his stay with them, he would observe the tivas and see what he could learn about them, as he could not ask questions; that would be rude and unacceptable.

  His tawny gaze followed the gentle curve of Kionee’s jawline. He studied the hunter’s features: small nose, soft lips, thin brows, and delicate bones. When Kionee leaned forward to stroke Maja, Stalking Wolf saw something else unusual: Kionee’s neck was slender for a man’s. Perhaps the tivas concealed their appearance because they were too feminine and pretty and might encite teasing from men of other tribes. And perhaps those feminine traits were what made him uneasy at times.

  Kionee sensed the Cheyenne was making a furtive study of her, and it warmed her body and thrilled her entire being. For a wild and crazy moment, she did not care if he guessed her secret and almost wished he would. If he did, she mused, what would he do? If he saw her unmasked and unclothed, would she be appealing to him, as he was to her? In haste, she scolded herself and regained her control.

  Stalking Wolf finished collecting his possessions. “I am ready.”

  Kionee nodded, not trusting her voice, and le
d the way.

  The family of Strong Rock and their guest sat in a circle around the cookfire. As was the Hanueva custom, women and children did not have to wait until the men finished before they enjoyed their meal. They devoured the venison stew Martay had prepared. It was flavored with wild onions, dried thistle, sage, milkweed buds, dried fruits and berries, and newborn roots of yellow bell. Corms of spring beauty, slowly roasted in dying coals, were served. Drinking water was poured in buffalo horns which were balanced in holes in sturdy wood blocks. The men sat on rush mats, while the women relaxed on squares of thick hide padded with soft fur. A refreshing breeze wafted through the circular entrance and left with smoke via the pinnacle opening where many poles were lashed together. Burning pine and spruce needles gave the tranquil area a fragrant smell.

  Stalking Wolf noted the tipi was large, comfortable, and clean, attesting to both Kionee’s hunting skills and Martay’s feminine ones. The exterior was unadorned, and the flap opening bore only the symbol of Strong Rock on both sides, announcing its owner whether tied open or closed. Some possessions were stored in various sizes of parfleches; others were suspended from pegs and thongs at the top of a dewcloth, a decorative section which ran from shoulder height to the dwelling’s base. Its main purposes were to divert rain which ran down the poles and to keep out winter drafts. Sleeping mats, rolled and secured by thongs, awaited their nightly use. Two tripods holding weapons and sacred items stood like guards on either side of the entry, and it was evident from markings which one belonged to Kionee. Perhaps, he thought, he would be given a chance to examine the young hunter’s, as they appeared well made.

  Stalking Wolf smiled, nodded, and held out his wooden bowl for another serving of stew to let Martay know how much he enjoyed her cooking and appreciated the Hanueva’s hospitality. The females remained silent and respectful as Strong Rock told the story of how a wounded buffalo had half crippled him and how Kionee had come to be the family’s sole provider and protector at such a young age. The proud father could not help but repeat the telling of his son’s recent victories, while Kionee ate with his head lowered humbly.

  “It is good the Great Spirit gave you a son with such great skills. I saw them with my own eyes when we battled three Crow together. But it is bad in another way: enemies will seek his big magic and medicine. He must be alert each sun and moon to guard against them. While I am among you, I will protect his back, as he would defend mine.”

  Strong Rock and Martay thanked him, and Kionee nodded gratitude.

  Blue Bird retrieved her talking feather and shook it for permission to speak to a stranger. When her father granted it, she asked, “Will you teach my brother and his friends how to defeat our enemies? Will your people help us if we are attacked in large numbers?”

  Strong Rock grinned and explained, “Blue Bird fears for the life of one called Runs Fast; he plays the flute for her and chooses her this season.”

  “If trouble strikes, I will keep my eye on the love of my friend’s sister,” Stalking Wolf answered solemnly. “Do not fear, Blue Bird, for I have seen no Hanueva who is not trained and prepared to fight well. My head tells me it is the same with Runs Fast.”

  “Thank you,” Blue Bird said, and returned to her meal.

  As Moon Child poured Stalking Wolf more water, he saw how she lowered her gaze in shyness. Perhaps she found him appealing. Even if she were allowed to join outside her tribe, the girl was too young to interest him. From her looks and manner, she had not reached the tipi to womanhood. Still, it was unwise to encourage such feelings in her.

  When the meal ended and things were stored, Martay fetched and unrolled the sleeping mats, placing hers with Strong Rock’s, the two girls’ on their right, and Kionee’s on their left.

  Stalking Wolf placed his mat beyond his new friend’s and sat down on it to remove his moccasins, leggings, and shirt. He folded them and put them with his belongings. With a guest present, the women removed only their moccasins, but Strong Rock did the same as he had, exposing the extent of his injury and evoking Stalking Wolfs empathy. The Cheyenne was aware Kionee did not wash off his mask or remove any garment except his footwear.

  The huntress struggled to keep her gaze off the magnificent male nearby. She had glimpsed the Sun Dance scars and red handprint—symbol of the Strong Hearts—on his muscled chest. The warrior’s body was sleek, hard, and strong; Kionee struggled to douse the flames of desire which Stalking Wolf kindled within her. She was glad she was tired. Sleep would help her escape his captivating pull, at least for a while.

  After the fire died, darkness engulfed the tipi and slumber captured the six people inside it. But the dreams of two females—Kionee and Moon Child—were filled with images of the handsome and virile Cheyenne nearby.

  As for Stalking Wolf, his sleep was disturbed by strange visions of a beautiful woman. Shiny black hair streamed down her back and strands blew in the wind. Her shapely body was cloaked in a white buffalo hide. Her arms were outstretched in beckoning for him to seek his destiny within them. Her expressive brown eyes glowed with love and desire and then a mysterious anguish. A silver wolf spirit paced back and forth behind her, then lifted its head to send forth eerie and soulful howls to a full moon. Each time he tried to approach her, a cloudlike barrier rose between them and he could not penetrate it and seize her for his own.

  The next day, Stalking Wolf recalled the troubling dream and the words of his shaman which said he would find a mate this season, and also find his parents’ killer. Perhaps, he reasoned, that was why his path had crossed with Kionee’s; he was convinced the Hanueva hunter would be the one to help him locate and win the vision female and help him defeat his parents’ slayer. That would explain why the shaman’s vision said it was necessary to protect the Hanueva and have them camp nearby during the buffalo hunt. His true destiny, he felt, was at hand, and he would find it with Kionee’s help.

  The time arrived for the Naming Ceremony, spring dance, and feast. The men had hunted that morning and the women had cooked all afternoon. The men had bathed in one area of the river, the women in another, and the tivas in a third. Everyone had donned their finest garments or regalia, ready to share in the pride and joy and reverence of this occasion.

  Parents with children born since the last naming ceremony were called forward to participate in the first ritual. Mothers held freshly washed and herb-rubbed infants who wore breechclouts and were wrapped in animal skins. Blowing Rain’s child wore the hide of the grizzly killed by Kionee. Fluffy white breathfeathers were secured in the children’s dark hair. Unlike most tribes, the names these babies received today would be carried for life, never to be changed through a visionquest or by choice.

  The shaman lit a cured braid of grass taken from the plains during the last great buffalo hunt. Entwined with it were sweet sage, blue flax, pine needles, and wildflowers. As smoke drifted upward, Spotted Owl used his medicine fan of eagle feathers to waft it over each child in turn as he prayed and dedicated them to Atah’s and their people’s service. “Be true and generous to Creator, your people, and your family. Have courage, honor, and strength in all things. Do only good and kind deeds. Do not forget you are Hanueva. Never shame yourself, your family, people, or laws.”

  “Fathers, lift your children so Atah and His spirit helpers can view them as you speak their names,” Spotted Owl instructed.

  One by one, fathers held the infants high and spoke their names. Afterward, babies were returned to mothers’ arms and warming skins.

  Spotted Owl looked from couple to couple as he reminded them of their duty to rear their child by Hanuevan laws and customs.

  All the infants were males except for the child of Red Bull. Kionee prayed a son would be given to the couple so her namesake would not be forced into a tiva’s sacrificial existence. She watched the parents’ gazes glow with love, pride, and joy. She envied them. Then she realized the naming ceremonial prayer almost matched the tiva dedication and vow. Three of the words—“in all things�
��—echoed through her mind many times. Soon, parts of two other commands did the same: “Do not forget…” and “Never shame…” She told herself she had been weak and wrong even to consider doing so in a forbidden desire for their guest. The Cheyenne warrior had been sent to them to ensure their survival, not to sway her into disobedience and dishonor. She vowed she could and would resist temptation, as Atah willed.

  The dancing and singing began. First came the celebration of new life and the continuation of the Hanueva bloodlines through these infants. Gifts for the children were placed on large hides near their parents’ sitting mats. Kionee, a skilled weapons maker, presented the boys with small bows. To her namesake, she gave a small medallion with a bear beaded in its center.

  That dance and song were followed by ones to entreat a good hunt, peace, and survival from their Creator and protector and to thank Him for past blessings. Only men and tivas performed and sang as drums sent forth a melodic beat and a huge campfire lit up the clearing beneath a waning full moon. Next, hopeful couples danced within shared blankets to ensure a fertile season on their mating mats. Single males made their future choices known by asking their loves to join them in the outer circle where they danced in place while facing each other. It was no surprise to anyone when Runs Fast invited a blushing Blue Bird to be his partner.

  Stalking Wolf observed the ceremonies, the tivas in particular. He realized no coups were chanted, though—in his opinion, his new friend’s recent feats deserved such recognition. He noticed no tiva participated in the last dance, and recalled they had not bathed with the other hunters. Tonight, the group of over forty sat together, and a little apart from others, but near his position. They were clad in highly decorated and colorful regalia: shirts, leggings, moccasins, and breechclouts were adorned with painted and beaded designs from nature, some with feathers and claws attached. Their black hair was worn in the same manner: two braids down their backs. It was their disguises that captured his attention: deerhide masks molded to their features with cut-outs for seeing and breathing. One had to look close at several to notice it was not real flesh. He assumed the deerskin had been treated in a special way and worn until it hardened into the shape of its owner’s face. Feathers of various colors, kinds, and lengths banded those skin covers in a full circle along their borders. The patterns were splendid and the work was done by skilled hands.