Lakota Winds (Zebra Historical Romance) (3 page)

Chumani observed Wind Dancer from high above him in the tree.
She made certain to remain silent and still. She did not even flinch
when a bug crawled over her hand and bit it. She prayed Cetan would
not return from his hunt and give away her position or attack Wind
Dancer. She remained there until the bewildered man shrugged, took
a deep breath, and returned to the clearing, where he mounted, took
the tethers of the Crow horses, and rode away, out of her life forever.

When she was assured he was gone, she scampered down the tree
with the agility of a squirrel. She walked to where her horse awaited
her, with Cetan perched on a nearby branch, watching her with his
keen eyes.

"There you are," she murmured to the beloved hawk she had kept
since she was ten winters old. "Come, Cetan, we ride for camp," she
said, holding out her arm with a wide leather band now secured around
it. After the bird settled himself there with his tawny gaze on her,
Chumani reprimanded in a playful tone, "I may have needed your help
if Wind Dancer had not appeared and rescued me from our enemies.
But it was not a good sign to meet him up close, Cetan, for he stirs
strange feelings within me. I must make certain our paths never cross
and our eyes never meet again."

As soon as those words escaped her lips, Chumani frowned and
scolded herself once more for having such forbidden feelings and
thoughts. She kneed her mount and headed southward to her village.

As Wind Dancer approached his people's winter encampment the
next day, the shaman of their tribe halted him before he reached the
numerous tepees which were set up amidst tall green pines and stillbarren hardwoods in a northern sheltered valley of the Paha Sapa. He
smiled at his mother's father, as he loved and respected the wise and
powerful man. Despite the clouds within his grandfather's eyes, which
whitened more with every circle of the seasons, he noted an odd gleam in them and an unusual expression on the old man's heavily creased
face.

Nahemana rested a wrinkled hand on the warrior's muscled thigh,
locked gazes with him, and said, "Remember the past sun, he who
dances with the wind, for your feet have touched the path to your
destiny."

"I do not understand your words, Grandfather. I have battled and
defeated Crow many times. Their horses are a gift to you for trade.
Their belongings will be given to those with loved ones slain by our
enemy."

"Your heart is good and generous, micinksi. " Nahemana praised
Wind Dancer, calling him "my son," since he had helped rear this man
as was the people's custom. "Wakantanka will reward you on the hunt
and in battle. Soon, the words the Great Mystery put within my head
will become clear to Nahemana; this is not the sun for Him to reveal
their meaning or for us to speak of them. Walk with me, micinksi. Tell
me all your hands did, your ears heard, and your eyes saw since you
left camp on the past sun."

Wind Dancer was eager to go to his family's tepee to show them he
had returned safely. He also wanted to share his exciting news with his
best friend, Red Feather, and his younger brother, War Eagle. Yet, he
always obeyed his grandfather, so he slid off his horse's back, secured
four sets of leather thongs to bushes, and followed the slow-moving
shaman to a small clearing surrounded by black boulders. As with
Nahemana, he sat on the ground cross-legged, facing him and with
little space between them.

"The air grows warmer each sun, micinksi, but a strange coldness
attacks within me." Nahemana revealed his concerns in low tones. "I
have not felt such trouble in my heart and mind since my firstborn
daughter vanished many seasons ago. I fear danger rides toward us at
a fast pace and great suffering lies ahead for our people if we do not
find and defeat it. My daughter's safe return was a great victory over
our enemy, but soon we must seek an even greater victory over them."

Wind Dancer remembered the painful time when all believed his mother was dead for two circles of the seasons. That had been twenty
winters past when he had lived to four marks on a growing stick. It
was during that tormenting time when his father had felt and shown
his only weakness, but that was not something either he or Rising Bear
wanted to recall. It was strange, he reasoned, that the number two played
another agonizing part in his life, for two winters' past, it felt as if his
heart had been torn from his body when his son and wife were slain
by a Crow band. At times, Wakantanka worked His will in mysterious
and cutting ways, yet, an honorable man accepted those challenges,
without anger and a loss of faith in Him. "When will you seek answers
about me and our danger from the Great Spirit, Grandfather?" Wind
Dancer asked.

From his grandson's expression, Nahemana knew his mind had visited
the past once more, and silently grieved with him for a while. "I will
do so on the next full moon," he finally answered, "as He told me in
a dream when I last slept. The ice which chills my thoughts and body
comes from the direction of the rising sun and from where the winter
winds are born and blow toward us."

"You speak of two different perils, Grandfather?"

"Yes, micinksi, but the two threats will melt into one force as the ice
arrows on the trees melt into a stream and mix with its waters. If we
do not control it and keep it within its banks, the new water has the
power to flow over us and destroy our people and camp."

Wind Dancer felt his own heart chill and his spirit tremble at the
use of the number two again. "Do not worry, Grandfather," he tried
to assure the Shaman, "we will keep it within its banks."

Nahemana's weakened gaze locked with Wind Dancer's. His grandson's eyes contained a contradictory mixture of confidence and uncertainty, as did his own heart. "That task will be yours, micinksi, for you
also walked in my dream when I last slept. You have been chosen as
the Great Spirit's weapon against our enemies. As has another who is
a stranger to us, but will become our ally and your helper. I will pray
for your courage and skills to help you walk the path He will set before
you."

Wind Dancer wondered who that "ally" and "helper" would be and
when he would come. "What words must I speak and what deeds must
I do to save our people and our land, Grandfather?" he asked with great
curiosity.

"The Great Spirit did not allow me to hear and see them at this
time. Soon He will speak them in a loud voice for my old ears to hear
and He will uncloud my eyes so I may see them and reveal them to
you and others. I will go to Mato Paha for my vision quest on the next
Wi minbe. "

Wind Dancer's heart filled with anticipation and he prayed he could
meet the unknown challenge which loomed before him. But what, he
wondered, did his coming duty have to do with what had taken place
on the past sun? Did his task and destiny involve the fallen Apsaalooke
warriors, or the spirit woman who still haunted him, or both? He had
no choice except to live through twenty-one suns until the next full
moon at their sacred Bear Mountain where his grandfather, their shaman,
would be granted his answers.

Following their daily morning prayers and meal, Wind Dancer and Red
Feather sat on rush mats near a pine tree while working on their weapons.
Beside each man lay a pile of shafts from the chokecherry, gooseberry,
and willow. Already those slender limbs had been measured and cut for
the proper length, bark peeled away, straightened of any curves, shaved
with a knife to make them as identical as possible, notched on one end
for fletching, and grooved on the other for a piercing head. Strong
sinew and glue made from buffalo hooves for securing the points and
feathers to the shafts lay nearby. Though some of the other warriors
used iron obtained from trading with the wasicun, both men preferred
to use stones they found and chiseled into arrowheads, a task done often
during the long winter.

"Where does your mind roam, mitakola?" Red Feather called Wind
Dancer "my friend" with great affection and respect. "You wrap the
sinew around the tip and shaft many times, only to remove it and do
the task again when it was right the first time. I have made ten arrows
while you play with one."

Wind Dancer laughed as he laid the chokecherry shaft across his lap
and looked at Red Feather. "It thinks of the woman I met in the Brave
Heart's forest three suns' past," he confessed, as the truth had always
been spoken between them. One of the greatest honors and enjoyments
in life was a friend-a kola-who loved and protected another's life as much as his own. It had been that way between them since they were
small boys. They had played and trained together with their fathers,
grandfathers, and other males in their family circles. Later, they had
ridden together on hunts and into battle, their bond as close as blood
brothers. "There were many enemies in the forest that sun; I wish to
know if she returned home safely as I did."

"You speak of the wit-stealing wicagnayesa, " Red Feather jested as
he recalled what his friend had told him about the mysterious woman
upon returning to camp.

Yes, Wind Dancer's mind concurred, she was a "trickster" who had
eluded him and bested his tracking skills, a beautiful woman who
invaded his thoughts when awake and his dreams when asleep. He did
not understand this powerful pull toward her, but it could not be denied,
though he made every attempt to do so. He did not want a woman to
become special to him, another woman who could die at an enemy's
hand, and at a time when a dangerous and unknown challenge loomed
ahead. Yet, it was as if she called out to him, and he could not seem
to resist that summons.

After Wind Dancer whispered those thoughts to him, Red Feather
said, "The Brave Heart camp is within a sun's ride. We can say we
come to see when they break camp to head for the grasslands to hunt
buffalo."

Wind Dancer refuted his best friend's suggestion. "It is too soon to
hunt the buffalo; the females are bringing forth new life at this time.
And the great hunt always takes place after the growing and mating
season."

"We can say we come to see how they survived the cold season."

"That would not sound true, and we must not speak false to those
we may need as allies or they will turn against us."

"We can say we come to ask if more Crow have encroached on their
hunting grounds or attacked their camp in the night."

"That would reveal I have done the same," Wind Dancer pointed
out.

"But your reason was a good one, to spare Wakantanka's creature from suffering; they will understand and accept it. Or you can speak
the truth."

Wind Dancer shook his head at his friend's playful hint. "I must
not ask about a woman who may have a husband, a warrior who would
not like my interest in her. Perhaps she was not supposed to be in the
forest alone and that is why she sneaked away and took no battle prizes.
To seek her out would expose her disobedience."

"That could be true, mitakola; you told me of her bad ways. The
women of our band would be punished for such behavior toward a
warrior."

"Perhaps there was a good reason for her mean words and manner."

"Perhaps the fierce and powerful Waci Tate frightened her into a
loss of wits. Or perhaps she was angered and shamed because you filled
her body with desire when her husband is ugly and selfish and does
not give her pleasure upon the sleeping mat or he is too old to do his
duty there."

Wind Dancer chuckled at his friend's jests. He called to mind her
beautiful image and how she had looked at him with interest, a remembrance which sparked fiery hunger within his loins. The thought of her
being captured and abused by a Crow enemy sent quivers of fury throughout him. He even felt nibblings of envy and jealousy toward a possible
husband, a man who could enjoy her body every moon and enjoy her
beauty, smiles, and laughter every sun. Why, he wondered, had his wife
never made him experience such potent feelings? But he knew the answer
as he asked himself the question: she had been chosen by his father, not
him, after he had reached manhood and it was time to mate and bring
forth children. Even so, following her death, he had not wished to repeat
that experience. No woman had tempted him until-