Child of the Dead (23 page)

Still, it was exciting to be in the vicinity and imagine that one was seeing the same places that were looked upon by such as Eagle, Sees Far, Wolf’s Head of the Head Splitters, and White Fox, the holy man of the People. It was exciting.

Deer’s excitement was tempered by concern, however. What of the Southern band, her sons and their families? She had learned, at least, that there were some of that band alive. There must be, because the Growers knew where they had wintered.

They pushed on.

She knew that they were on the right trail when a broad track joined their path. A large band, many lodges, with pole-drags digging furrows in the prairie sod. This group had been traveling from the east, it appeared.
The Eastern band, maybe!
she thought.
No, they would come from the northeast. Besides, they are always late
.

That left only the New band, the group who had joined the People just in this generation. These outsiders spoke a similar tongue, and their ways were much the same. Despite early misunderstandings the newcomers had been well accepted. Some of the People even believed that these were the descendants of the Lost band, whose seat in the Big Council had remained vacant from early times. Most of the People did not think so.

The acceptance of the strangers, the New band, had been helped along by the perpetual need for hunters, trappers, and warriors for defense in case of attack. Already they had been granted a place in the Council circle. Not the empty place of the missing band, but a space between that and the seat of her own, the Southern band. Likewise, that was the segment of the camp circle that would be theirs at the Sun Dance encampment.

Maybe that had been part of their reason for choosing the same segment of the whole vast territory over which the People roamed. The southeast brought some danger of contact with the Shaved Head forest people, but what better area was there? The Northern band was
large and wide-ranging across their area. The Mountain and Red Rocks bands were far from the others. The newcomers had likely wanted to avoid too close an identification with the foolish Eastern band. So their logical range had become an area to the east, but well south of that band. Yes, these must be the tracks of the New band, headed for the Sun Dance.

Not far ahead, either
, Running Deer thought. The horse droppings were less than two days old.

“It is good,” she told Gray Mouse. “These are the tracks of our people. Now we just follow them.”

That night they could see the points of light from the campfires of the band ahead of them. Their excitement grew. It was useless excitement, of course. They could never close the gap, could come no closer until the other travelers stopped. They would not likely do that until they reached Medicine Rock. However, this country had begun to look familiar to her, and she felt that they were only a few days away.

The Sacred Hills … how restful to the eyes! Rolling grassland, now brilliant green with the Moon of Growing. (Grass-growing, some of the older of the People called it, to distinguish themselves from the Growers.) The paths of streams as they snaked through the hills were marked by the darker green of willows and cottonwoods. In the deeper gullies and canyons, great groves of hardwoods flourished. Walnut, oaks, sycamores, and maples.

Running Deer looked across this expanse of grass and sky and knew that it was home. The closest of the flat-topped ridges in the distance was a day’s travel away, and was bathed in a misty blue. Beyond that, another, and another still, each a slightly different shade, marked by the blue of distance. Each succeeding range of hills, more blue than the last, finally blended into the distant blue of the sky, and the world was complete. Running Deer took a deep breath of the clean prairie air. She had not realized how much she had missed the tall-grass prairie.
But I always do
, she told herself with a smile.

Somewhere out there now was the Medicine Rock, and the People, gathering for the Sun Dance. Deer felt good about it. Life was good, the world beautiful. She
felt better than she had for years. Since the loss of her husband, maybe. Strange, she had not thought of that for a while …

She could see the misty fog of smoke from the campfires of the People for a day before they drew near. It was a gray-white cloud that seemed to hover over the broad valley. The tracks of the New band were heading that way, so that must be the place.

She remembered the thrill of each band’s approach. The young men of the bands already there would ride out as newcomers were sighted, mounting a wild mock attack. The young warriors of the approaching group would join them, yelling the full-throated war cry of the People, waving weapons and, in recent years, firing thunder sticks. The joint company of warriors would then circle the entire camp a time or two. Or maybe, until the women began to complain about the dust in their cooking.

Often young women, unmarried or still childless, would join the mad charge. Deer had done it a time or two herself, before her marriage. It was a good way to attract the attention of young men, for the men of the People held great admiration for a “manly-hearted woman.” She recalled with pleasure the experience, wind in her ears, hair streaming behind, yelling with the others, screaming the war cry.
Aiee
, it had been good! She had not thought of that for years, either.

It had been exciting, even, to watch the younger ones with this informal introduction to the more structured days of the Sun Dance. She would enjoy it, this year! With some regret, she realized that no great charge of young warriors would mount a mock attack on an old woman, a little girl, and a dog.

And it was so. Two men, acting as wolves, rode out to see who might be approaching, alone and on foot. They reined in their horses and studied the travelers without speaking. Finally one, the older of the two, spoke to the other.

“Let us go and find the holy man, Singing Wolf,” he said. “I am made to think that this is the ghost of his mother!”

I
t was a strange experience to rejoin the People, not knowing what to expect. When Running Deer and Mouse arrived at the site of the Sun Dance, the Southern band was still in the process of regrouping. Word had gone on ahead from the wolves, and they had come to meet her.

There was a tearful reunion, and then the questions … Who had survived, who was missing? All of the other bands had arrived intact, each as a group. The families of the New band who had been just ahead of Running Deer were even now lifting the heavy lodge covers and establishing their presence.

But in the area assigned by custom to the Southern band, something was obviously amiss. Deer could see that where there should have been at least forty lodges, there were fewer than thirty … The light breeze shifted, and above the sound of activity that hums constantly around a big camp, she heard a voice or two raised in the Song of Mourning. She had known to expect this, but had not been ready. So many lodges … each a family. She could remember specific families. The lodge of No Tail Squirrel, with its distinctive designs in red and yellow, was nowhere seen. Others …

“Is this all?” she asked Singing Wolf, her voice husky.

“We do not know, Mother. We had split up for safety, after the first became sick.”

“Your families?” she asked, dreading the answer.

“All here. We were spared, Mother. Most lodges have been in mourning, though. And we do not know how many are still out there.”

“But we have to think, Wolf,” she observed, “that any who could, have already come.”

“That is true,” Beaver Track agreed. “We have talked of this, but not much.”

To speak of an evil event; might encourage it to happen. Deer nodded in understanding.

“But it makes our hearts good to see you, Mother!” Wolf exclaimed. “We did not know … we mourned … and the child, too!”

Gray Mouse stood timidly behind Deer, clinging to her buckskin skirt and peering around at the strangers.

“Here, Mouse, these are your uncles. This is Singing Wolf, the other, Beaver Track. They are your family, as I am.”

Family relationships among the People are sometimes strangely defined. Any adult male older than one’s self should be addressed as Uncle, to denote respect, regardless of blood relationships. In the same way, a child would regard as Mother or Grandmother any close relative of appropriate age. Even close friends of the family … A child might easily have several grandmothers and many uncles.

“You will come to my lodge?” Wolf asked.

That was already assumed. As the oldest son, he was responsible for the support of his mother, under these circumstances.

“Of course,” she agreed. “But the mourning … there is still sickness in the Southern band?”

“No, no. There has been none for several moons. But we have not been together. Some are only now learning of their losses.”

She nodded. “And the other bands?”

“None have had the sickness, Mother. Their hearts are heavy for us, though.”

For days, people inquired, gave sympathy, and adjusted to the changes in the structure of the Elk-dog
People as a nation. Some broken families now readjusted by joining relatives in other bands.

In one notable instance, a handsome young widow with three children took a visiting Head Splitter as her husband. There was gossip, because hers had been a family of great respect and prestige. Many thought that she remarried beneath her, but there were those who supported her strongly.

“So her husband was a subchief,” an old woman observed. “A leader in the Bowstring Society. But he is dead! This young man has a good reputation. He respects our ways. Did he not come to honor our Sun Dance?”

“Because Head Splitters have none,” her friend retorted. “But he can never be a leader like her husband was.”

“There are things besides politics,” the other snapped. “His heart seems good. I am made to think he loves her and will be a good husband. How many men would leave their own people for a woman?”

“But he will have to
earn
respect. He cannot take that from her dead husband.”

“Of course. Does not anyone have to earn his own respect?”

It would be a long time before such matters were smoothed out and the Southern band was able to see the changes objectively. Meanwhile, there were major political changes under way. Prestige shifts constantly, as new leadership rises and the old declines.

For many generations, the Southern band had held a position of great respect among the People. Even though the Real-chief of the entire nation was usually elected from the Northern band, the prestige and the wisdom of the Southern leaders were always strong. The other bands listened carefully to the voices of the Southern band’s leaders when they spoke in the Big Council.

But here was a new situation, one that might have a profound effect. The Southern band had been badly weakened. Broken Lance, their respected chief, had escaped the
poch
, but was not growing any younger. Several of the strongest and wisest who might desire Lance’s seat in the Big Council had been struck down.
In effect, then, the tragedy had created an empty space into which aspiring leaders might move.

Band loyalties were flexible. A band with a dynamic young leader might attract several families from other bands. People with vision, maybe, who saw in the charisma of this leader the possibility of gaining prestige. A two-edged weapon. Those with vision might strengthen a band and add to its prestige. Many times, however, those who shifted from one band to another were the misfits. There were always a few who seemed to jump from one band to another from season to season. Some minor quarrel with a neighbor, a jealous wife … There are many reasons to change bands. Some are good, some not.

It would remain to be seen, the composition of the Southern band after the Sun Dance. For this, naturally, would be the time when the shifting and repositioning would take place. When the bands separated for the season, those who had decided to shift loyalties would merely follow the band of their choice.

There was much behind-the-scenes discussion, some persuasion by friends and relatives. All of this political undercurrent, quietly taking place, almost unnoticed by many, would shape the course of the People for generations. Not only the Southern band, but the entire Elk-dog Nation, for good or bad …

There was a quiet struggle of a different sort taking place in the lodge of Singing Wolf and his wife, Rain. Not of the sort that one might think. Rain had always gotten along well with her husband’s mother. Deer was simply a part of the extended family.

True, there had been a time these last few years when the old woman was virtually intolerable. But that had not been a personal thing. Running Deer had been intolerable to
everyone
, not just her son’s wife. Privately, Rain had always admired the old woman’s spunk. She, Rain, had hoped to be as energetic and forceful as Deer.

Now it was with pleasure that she recognized the old spirit. Running Deer was herself again. There was none of the bleak, dark sadness and helplessness. There was defiance of ill-fortune, with an energy and enthusiasm
not seen for several years. The tragedy and the coming of the child had actually been good for Running Deer. The disagreeable, crotchety old woman was gone, and in her place had returned the wife of Walks in the Sun, the mother of Singing Wolf and Beaver Track, whom Rain sincerely admired. The bad times seemed behind them.
For which let us all give thanks
, Rain prayed silently.