Destiny Mine (4 page)

The Cheyenne saw how the silver wolf lay close to his owner, many times touching the Hanueva, and many times staring at him. He perceived a superior intelligence in the animal and a keen sense of loyalty. He had no doubt the creature would defend Kionee to the death. It amazed him how well the animal understood and obeyed commands. As he watched the hunter wield his knife, he realized the drawing on Kionee’s hand matched that of the facial design. He wondered if
tivas
ever washed off their paints and revealed their faces. He assumed the custom had a special meaning and he wished he knew what it was. His gaze drifted over Kionee’s weapons and admired their craftsmanship. The Hanueva’s hunting skills were obvious from the quality of his hides and garments. Yet, something about the younger man troubled him.

Stalking Wolf stood and walked to cast off a sudden feeling of tension and confusion. He wondered if Kionee had anything to do with the shaman’s words to him about finding his destiny and himself on this trip. Had their paths crossed by accident or by the Great Spirit’s intention? If the latter, what part would they play in each other’s lives? Perhaps he would get answers to his questions during his vision quest at Medicine Mountain.

The Cheyenne went to join Kionee when the skinning and carving were done. “Put this in your medicine pouch as a token of our deed and meeting.” He held out a ring he had taken from a Crow, as the Bird Warriors liked to highly decorate themselves, their horses, and tipis.

In the flicker of an eye, the silver wolf rushed forward and leapt against the Cheyenne warrior’s chest. The beast’s size, strength, and agility knocked the unsuspecting man to the ground. With its forelegs braced on Stalking Wolfs heart and with teeth bared, Maja stared into the man’s eyes, ready to tear out the warrior’s throat if he made even the slightest move.

“G
AT, MAJA!
Jante. Ombeg.”
She told him to stop, that the man was a friend, and to come to her. Without delay, the animal responded and took a protective stance near Kionee’s knees. “I am sorry. He thought you were a threat to me. He smells the dead wolf on you,” she added, nodding toward the gray tails dangling from his quiver and robe.

“They were killed when I defended myself in a cold season long ago and they were crazed by hunger. I do not slay my medicine sign and animal protector unless it must be so to survive.” He spanked snow from his leggings, brushed it from his long hair, and shook it from his robe.

“Maja must sniff your hand to know you are a friend. Offer it to him.”

The Cheyenne extended his hand, palm side up. The wolf came forward and smelled it, placing the scent and action in his memory.

“It is good; you are friends now. I must return to camp. Do you want to eat and sleep with us? Dark and snow will come soon.”

“I must ride far with the Crow bodies before others search for them. Mother Earth’s blanket is needed to conceal my trail to this place and yours to your camp.
We part as friends, Kionee. Perhaps we will hunt together another sun.” He extended his hand and they clasped wrists in a parting gesture. “I thank you for the game and for your help this sad sun.”

“I give
you
thanks for the game and help this sun. May
Atah
ride with you and protect you on your quest. Do not fall prey to Crow arrows.”

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 forgotten
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?”