Destiny Mine (3 page)

Kionee was disappointed by his refusal, as she yearned to study him longer. To guard their secret,
tivas
were not allowed to visit trading camps, and they remained at a safe distance when others came to theirs; yet she had heard many glorious tales about such famous Cheyenne warriors. She felt honored by
Atah
to be in his presence and to speak with him. The way he carried himself shouted that stories about his prowess and courage were true. Hanueva protectors, she mused, could learn much from a warrior like him.

Despite his distraction, Stalking Wolf perceived warnings of danger: with the wind in his favor, he caught scents of tipi smoke, cooking odors, and bear grease on skin and hair. “If you hunt alone, enemy eyes watch us,” he whispered. “Prepare to fight. It is not the smell of my companions.”

Kionee was not so lost in her observation and admiration of him that she failed to notice the same clues. She also glimpsed and heard movement behind the Cheyenne warrior. “They are not my people. Three enemies try to circle us; their faces see your back. Their garments say they are Crow.”

Though the Hanuevan appeared to be looking at him, Stalking Wolf realized the clever son of Strong
Rock was peering beyond him. He was impressed by the hunter’s calm. “They have trees to protect them from our arrows. We will use the elk as our shield. When I signal with—”

Kionee’s action cut off his remaining words as she lifted her bow, with its arrow still nocked, leapt to his left side, and fired. A loud yelp of pain and surprise said she hit her target as it moved from tree to tree.

With haste, the huntress and the Cheyenne dropped to the snowy ground and used the slain animal for cover. Two arrows slammed into the beast’s body near their heads.

“I take him as mine,” she said, selecting the enemy on the right with a nod of her head. “They are still three; the first is only wounded.”

As Kionee wiggled on her belly and forearms toward the elk’s rear end, Stalking Wolf did the same in the opposite direction. With the way the animal’s neck was bent, the large rack was not an obstacle for him. Both spotted their goals from arrowtips left carelessly in view. Neither wasted weapons on unstrikable targets; they waited for the right opening to fire.

Without warning, fierce and loud growls filled the quiet air as a large silver wolf raced with lightning speed and darting agility toward the two concealed Crow. It was enough of a threat and surprise to flush them from hiding as they whirled to defend themselves against a ferocious enemy.

The Crows’ panic placed them in sight and jeopardy. Stalking Wolf and Kionee jumped to their feet, aimed, and fired. Their shafts whizzed through the small clearing and struck home. After the dead men fell to the ground, the silver predator halted his advance and looked at the victors. It was the strange man who captured Maja’s attention.

When the Cheyenne nocked another arrow, Kionee
grabbed his arm and shouted in her language,
“Gat!”,
as she shook her head to halt him.

The warrior glanced into doe eyes that were flooded with panic. “He is a crazed wolf to behave as he did. He might attack us next.”

Fearful for her pet’s survival, Kionee forgot to fully disguise her voice. “He is mine. He will not harm you unless I order it. He is Maja, my friend of ten winters. He helps me and protects me. You must not slay your spirit sign, Stalking Wolf. Come, Maja,” she summoned him.

The Cheyenne watched the wild creature join his owner, and saw the slender hunter stand between them as if protecting the animal from him. Its muscled body moved with power and ease. He admired the wolfs courage, intelligence, and stealth: traits that obviously matched its owner’s. He watched Kionee run his fingers over its thick shiny fur; The wolf nuzzle Kionee’s small hands with affection and gentleness. It was clear these two were close friends, and he was not in danger since he presented no threat to the
tiva.
He recalled the prayer in his vision quest: “Make me as the wolf, Great Spirit,” and wondered if Maja was meant to help him fulfill his destiny.

Noise from the brush reminded Stalking Wolf of the third enemy. “I must go after the one you wounded. He saw your face mask; he will think we are Hanueva. If he escapes, he will tell others Hanueva attacked them. His band will come for revenge. Remain here and I will return soon.”

“I will go; it was my arrow that failed.”

“Let me do this deed for you; I am a trained warrior, as is he. You must live to hunt, to protect your family. I have no mate and children who depend on me. Come if you must, but let me defeat our enemy for you.”

Kionee was warmed by his offer and—strangely—by
the news about himself. “You are good and kind, but it is the duty of the one who wounded a beast to track and slay it. I am skilled with weapons and hands.”

Stalking Wolf decided Kionee stated a fact, not a boast. Yet, he did not believe one so small and gentle could defeat a large, experienced, and brutal warrior in close battle, as the Hanueva were known to be a peaceful band of hunters. He gave a nonchalant nod, but assumed he would be the one to fight when the time came.

Kionee ordered Maja to guard their meat from scavengers. The wolf sat down and obeyed. She followed the warrior to the spot where their enemy had sneaked from his hiding place. Together they trailed the Bird man from crimson drops and moccasin tracks in the snow.

They reached the place where their attackers had left their horses. They saw the injured man attempting to mount to flee. Hearing them, the foe turned, drew his knife, and took a stance of self-defense.

That was not the main thing Stalking Wolf noticed: it was the horses and possessions of his two companions. He yanked a knife from his sheath. “You die this sun, Crow dog!”

“He is my duty,” she reminded as she reached for her weapon.

“He is mine,” the Cheyenne refuted between clenched teeth. “I must take revenge for my friends. The Crow have their horses and belongings; they are dead. He is mine, Kionee,” the man stressed in determination as he shook off his buffalo robe to ready himself for battle.

She knew it was futile to argue when a blood lust filled a man’s eyes. She nodded and said, “It will be as you say. May
Atah
protect you and guide your hand. If He does not, I will avenge you to the death. I will place your
body and weapons upon a scaffold as is your custom, Stalking Wolf, and send word to your people.”

“Stalking Wolf,” the Crow warrior echoed in a surly tone as he recognized that legendary name. “If you fight no better than your friends, your scalp will be on my lance this moon and your weapons in my tipi. After you are dead, I will slay the coward with you. Hanueva are weak as women; they hide from real men.” To Kionee, he sneered, “I will cut the mark from your hand and sew it on my shield; others will see
tivas
are not sacred and have no big medicine. And if you do have magic, I will steal it with my knife. Coyote Man will make me strong and swift; victory is mine.”

The warriors hunched forward into stooped positions, feet apart, arms and hands hanging loose, and knees bent. Their expressions revealed their hatred and contempt for each other. Light glittered off their sharp and menacing blades. They circled as they watched and waited for the perfect opening to attack, cautious on the snowy terrain. The Crow lashed out at the Cheyenne but missed his nimble enemy, who easily dodged the premature thrust.

Stalking Wolf laughed and made no attempt to return the careless action. He saw fury—and unbidden respect—fill the Crow’s eyes.

Half crouching, the Crow began another try for success. He knew, as did the Cheyenne, that the man who drew first blood had an advantage. He half turned partially to throw his rival off guard, then whirled and kicked at Stalking Wolf’s groin as he lashed out with his knife. His enemy laughed again and parried the blows, and sliced through his shirt into his arm. The Crow gaped at the blood that oozed from a large gash and soaked his sleeve. “You will die!” he raged.

“Foolish words cannot harm me, Crow dog. Fight if you know how.”

The Bird warrior desperately flirted with death to draw his competitor into a reckless move, as he was weakening fast from his two wounds. He was angered and provoked by the way the Cheyenne danced in and out as the man and his knife chewed at his body with little nicks. The cold weather did not prevent sweat from beading on his face and torso. He hated the slashes in his clothes and flesh; he hated the warrior who might beat him, slay him. It would be a great coup to take the life and possessions of Stalking Wolf. It would be a larger coup to take those of a Mask Wearer afterward.

Evading and injuring his opponent, the Cheyenne stayed alert. A wounded man or animal was dangerous and unpredictable. He saw the signs of fatigue and worry on his enemy. It was difficult not to flaunt his superiority and imminent victory.

The Crow sank to his knees, taking deep breaths and lowering his head as if in shame and in resignation. Yet, his gaze locked on the Cheyenne’s feet as he readied himself to act when his rival came forward for the kill.

Stalking Wolf guessed the ruse and pretended to fall into the trap. He came forward, even as Kionee yelled a warning to him.

“He cannot fight more,” Stalking Wolf shouted. “I will finish this deed, then tend my fallen friends.”

As the Cheyenne came within striking range with his knife hand lowered and in sight, the Crow used the last of his energy to lunge upward to his feet, lifting his blade high to stab forcefully. The Bird warrior’s gaze widened in astonishment and fear as he saw the Cheyenne’s other hand plunge downward and bury a second knife in his chest. He dropped his weapon as his hands clutched the death tool but could not remove it. He looked at his killer before sinking to the ground and closing his eyes forever.

The Cheyenne lifted his arms skyward and howled
like a wolf before thanking the Great Spirit for giving him victory and revenge. He looked at Kionee who was observing him in awe.

“You are a great warrior, Stalking Wolf; your skills cannot be matched. I am honored to witness such a glorious battle.”

The Cheyenne was pleased with the
tiva
’s praise. He was touched by the hunter’s earlier offer to avenge him if necessary. He spoke words of gratitude before he said, “I must tend the bodies of my companions before I continue my journey. It is too far and long to carry them home. I will take the Crow horses and you will take those of my friends; it is a good trade, and theirs must not be found in your camp. After I build their scaffolds and sing the death chant for them, I will come for my meat. If you must ride home, leave it where it lays.”

“I will help you; it will be a long and hard task, for winter lives in
the
hearts of trees and they will not yield with ease. What will we do with the Bird warriors? If others come and find their bodies, they will attack us.”

“I will place them on their horses and carry them far from your land. Fresh snow this moon will cover our tracks.”

As he loaded the body and gathered the horses, she said, “That is good, Stalking Wolf; you are wise and skilled in head, heart, and body. My people will thank you when you come to visit us. To this sun, few Crow attack us, for they think we are weak and worthless, and their shaman told them it is bad medicine to slay those whose people were given the sacred Medicine Wheel. We offer no challenge to Bird warriors; they attack the Cheyenne and their friends, the Oglalas.”

“Your people must stay alert and trained, for those few will raid again and will tempt others to join them. Many see
tivas
as holders of great magic and wish to steal it. Hunger and evil can dull even the sharpest wits.”

“We train to fight, for we know peace will not always live with us. We do nothing to make the Crow forget their fear of us; it serves us well.
Tivas
are Hunter-Guardians; that is our purpose in life. We do not fear death, for
Atah
is with us and His will must be accepted.”

“That is true,” Stalking Wolf concurred. He led the horses to the attack site and loaded the other two bodies. He secured the bridle ropes to nearby trees until his departure.

While he did so, Kionee sent Maja to fetch her horse. The wolf returned soon with the pinto, and she stroked both animals with affection. Again she ordered Maja to remain with the elk to guard it, and he obeyed. She mounted her horse and followed Stalking Wolf.

Both read the signs that said the two Cheyenne had been attacked from hiding, refused a chance at honorable death in battle.

“They struck as thieves in the night and stole their lives.”

“They have been avenged; they will sleep well and safely until
Atah
claims them. Let us do what we must before snow comes.”

They constructed two wooden beds from limbs Stalking Wolf gathered and she tied together with his friends’s ropes. He bound his friends in their robes, along with their weapons. He secured the bodies in place and used his horse to lift the burdens into the trees to rest on large branches where they would be safe from animals. When the task was finished, he sang the death chant to alert the Great Spirit to their fate and location.

“Does your brother go to meet the Great One?” she asked as she took a last look at the wooden mats above them.

“Five Stars remained in camp to hunt for our family and to protect them. The shaman picked the men to
ride with me to Medicine Mountain. If I had come alone, they would still live.”

“Only the Creator can choose the sun we die and knows the reason for that time; He guided the shaman’s words. You are not to blame.”

They returned to the elk to complete their work there. He packed the Crow weapons and possessions to carry with him to give to the families of those slain. He would keep their sacred tobacco pouches for himself as coups of this deed. He squatted to watch the
tiva
skin the elk, and noticed how slender and delicate the hunter’s hands and wrists were. Without his white robe, Kionee appeared even smaller in size than he had imagined. His gaze traveled the Hanueva’s profile and found the hunter’s features were not large and they reminded him—even with a colorful shield—of a female’s. Perhaps if all
tivas
were similar in shape and looks, that explained why the Crow called them women and weaklings. Yet, he had witnessed nothing to hint at the latter being true about Kionee.