Love Lust (14 page)
Authors: Unknown
The power of the raven to surged through his veins. He tumbled through a dark tunnel faster than a meteor falling from the sky, struggling to emerge on the other side.
Brother to the open sky, ally to the distant sun, he’d soar above the clouds to where the rain is made.
* * *
Ethan stood before The Sacred Council of Arrows, acclimatizing his vision to the shattered fragments before him. Physically spent, his heart trying to dispel the ventricular contractions, he fought to school his breathing. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d traveled through time, yet the incredible impact it had on his body to revert from man to raven or vice versa still astounded him. To undergo the process twice in one day would tax his body beyond measure.
Drawing on endless hours of training, he collected his wits, mindful of the usual scents in the sacred burial ground--moldering, ancient smells of the dead. With the exception of Stands-In-Light, the Council was an assembly of corpses resurrected from the grave to serve the People.
He stood along the Tongue River, like he had so many times in past lives. Present life too. For centuries the Tongue had wandered for miles through Montana and Wyoming, yet today, not one remnant of the Cheyenne’s sacred burial ground remained. Therein lay the beauty of meeting the Council here.
Seo’ộtse,
dead spirits
,
sat on the ground before him. He studied each one individually: Vo’kaa’e, known in the white man’s tongue as White Lances; Kâhamaxe, his Cheyenne name meaning The Stick; Wolf That Speaks, a dignified, mystical guide; Stands-In-Light, the High Priestess; and three others, The Pacer, Man-Who-Paints-His-Shirt-Black, and Whirlwind, the father of all ghostly souls. Not a time traveler among them, but prior tribal members empowered to send wanderers through time to help the People.
White Lances rose. “Ethan, Stands-In-Light summoned you, gave you the basics of the mission?”
“Yes, Vo’kaa’e.” Ethan shoved his trembling hands, a result of the transformation, into the pockets of his trousers. “If I accept, I’ll be sent back to a turbulent time, one of death and great sorrow.”
White Lances nodded.
“What messages do I carry this time?”
The Stick lifted his head, his obsidian eyes glinting beneath the crescent moon. “For one,
Black Kettle should move his village.”
Ethan had studied the history, knew impending tragedy hovered over Black Kettle’s camp.
“It will be my honor to persuade him.”
“Battles will be waged, villages destroyed and the Dog Soldiers will retaliate.” The Pacer’s sorrowful voice drifted across the stagnant air. “Many will die.” Ethan met the man’s eyes and saw the flicker of pain before he looked away.
“You will lead them, of course.” Man-Who-Paints-His-Shirt-Black offered a subtle smile.
“Perhaps it will relieve the pent up rage in your heart.”
“That brawl in the bar. I didn’t seek.”
Black Shirt waved him off.
Her tone unrepentant, her chin resting in her hand, Stands-In-Light spoke. “The Council reminds you, a leader guides with a calm spirit, a commanding presence. If you are to guide the People through the chaos, it’s imperative you harness your fury until it calls out from the battlefield.”
“Yes, High Priestess.”
“You are a valued wanderer, “Whirlwind interjected. “It’s always our hope you return safe and sound.”
Ethan choked back a laugh, the reason behind the compliment clear. “So I’m alive to accept the next mission?”
Heads nodded in unison.
White Lances slumped to the ground. “Do you accept, I Am The Wind?”
“I do, Sacred Council.”
“Refresh an old man’s memory. What name do the People call you?”
His question came as no surprise. Kâhamaxe often forgot minor details.
“Meko, noble one.”
“Ah, yes, the word for
leader
.” The man pinched his forehead as if to blame a headache for his forgetfulness. “You’re excused now, Meko.”
Ethan offered a deferential bow and turned to leave when Stands-In-Light’s austere voice stopped him. “We spoke earlier of dreams?”
“Dreams . . . yes.”
“Mind you don’t sacrifice the interests of the People to chase them.”
A warm, alien emotion crawled through his gut. “Yes, High Priestess.”
Ethan removed his hands from his pockets, clasped them behind his back and fixed his eyes on the invisible burial platforms. A unified chant rose in the room, the same lament Stands-In-Light invoked while visiting him in jail. In short time, he’d be among the People in the sacred land of his ancestors―a Dog Soldier, the most revered warrior of the Cheyenne.
His last thought before leaving his present life concerned his prized garden. Who would water the flowers and herbs in his absence?
###
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