Destiny Mine (11 page)

The chiefs son was right; Kionee was observing the game with keen interest, and with worry. She suspected Night Walker had wanted to best the Cheyenne, and any opposition to their visitor could be perilous.

“Night Walker and Stalking Wolf have great prowess,” Taysinga whispered. “They will help protect us from the evil Crow. They are both handsome and of age; I wonder why they have no mates.”

“The son of Bear’s Head needs a strong and brave woman to become his mate,” Kionee whispered in return. “If his brother falls to our enemies, Night Walker will become our chief. What woman among us matches him? Your skills are as great as his, my brother, but you are a
tiva.”

Taysinga did not get to respond, as they were summoned to shoot arrows with the rest of their group. As usual, Kionee and Regim struck their targets more times than the others and at greater distances.

When Taysinga fretted over her few misses, Kionee suggested she ask Night Walker for help. “It will enlarge his pride to be asked to do so.”

Night Walker was pleased to be approached for guidance, so he could avoid the hand-to-hand practice fights. He did not want to be selected to battle with
Stalking Wolf, as the Cheyenne’s size and strength were greater than his own and he must not lose before Kionee. He needed to prove he was worthy of Kionee and to win her heart and acceptance. He worried he could not do so with such a skilled warrior around. To show his prowess was equal to or better than Stalking Wolf’s would only be achieved in glorious victory over the Crow. Somehow that had to come about…

As Kionee moved her weapons stand outside, she stole glances at Stalking Wolf. He faced the dawn sun and prayed to his Great Spirit to guide him through the coming day. His torso was bare and his hands were uplifted as he performed his daily ritual, his communion with
Maheoo.
She saw the firm muscles ripple in his back, his broad shoulders, and his strong arms. She eyed the claw marks of the grizzly he had defeated, at the same time noting how narrow and tight his waist was, how tall he was. She watched the wind lift strands of his golden brown hair, which hung free except for two thin braids beside his breath-stealing face. How wonderful, she mused, it must feel to have hair unbraided and playing in the breeze. Hers was never loose long enough to enjoy that sensation, but she knew how glorious it felt to have the sun kiss her face and to have rain splash over her unpainted skin when she bathed in secret before reapplying her mask. How she wished she could enjoy that feeling every day.

When Stalking Wolf finished his ritual, he joined Kionee near the entrance, which did not face the rising sun as was his people’s way. He noticed the excellent condition of his friend’s weapons and their fine craftsmanship. He knew from overhearing requests for his services that Kionee was viewed as one of the best bow and arrow makers of the Hanueva. He also knew he had
placed the “tipi-of-power” outside to allow the weapons to absorb the sun’s power. The poles of the conical stand drew other powers from the earth to renew a hunter’s skills. The same was true of his people’s custom. But one item was missing: a medicine pipe. From his observations, no
tiva
possessed or used one. When he was with Kionee longer, he would ask why that was so, but not this soon. It was not because the Hanueva did not believe in the sacred pipe, breath of the Great Spirit, as all other men had and displayed one. It was another mystery about the
tiva
society he felt he needed to solve.

“The sun is warm this day, Kionee,” he observed. “Grass grows fast; soon buffalo will gather in large herds on the plains and we will hunt them together.”

Together,
her mind repeated. How wonderful and painful that experience would be. Could he not sense her strong feelings for him? Could he not sense her torment? Could his instincts and skills not tell him she was a female? It would be agony to be near him and never touch him. But it would be greater agony to never see him again. To think of him with another woman ripped into her heart like a knife. “We must hunt game to prepare for our long journey. We break camp in eleven moons.”

Stalking Wolf perceived that something grave distressed Kionee. He reasoned it was not polite to ask. If his friend wanted to tell him those worries, he must do so willingly. “I will bring White Cloud and Tuka while you get water and food. Come, Maja, walk with me.”

The wolf looked at Kionee as if asking permission to go. At her nod Maja followed Stalking Wolf to the edge of the forest where the horses were tethered.

Kionee sighed. It had been three days since she watched the Cheyenne toss the hoops. It had been two since a joint hunting party where Night Walker fired his arrows before others were ready. She guessed he had
meant to show off his skills before her and to best Stalking Wolf. Though he had not spoken openly to her about his feelings, she surmised Night Walker was worried about her being drawn to the Cheyenne since they spent so much time together. Even so, she could not refuse to ride with Stalking Wolf without creating suspicions that might lead to trouble. All she could do was hope and pray the chief’s son did not expose her sex to their visitor. If Stalking Wolf ever learned she was a woman and he revealed any desire for her, her battle to resist him could be lost. If so, the punishment would be harsh.

Regim had repaired her
kim,
but perhaps her female spirit was still roaming free. Perhaps that was the reason why she was so tormented by her sacrificial existence. No, it began long ago, before the
kim
was broken. Stalking Wolf only intensified the reason behind her misery and unfulfillment. As surely as she breathed, what she felt for him were love and passion.
Fight them, Kionee, fight them as your worst enemies as Regim warned.

As the sun rose high overhead, Maja stopped loping beside the couple. His body stiffened. His tail lowered as the ruff on his neck stood up and his ears lay back. His nose wrinkled and he growled.

At almost the same time, Stalking Wolf seized Kionee’s arm and warned of approaching peril: it was a large band of Crow from the noise he heard, too many for them to battle.
“Haesto notseoo. Hoeeve.
”

Kionee’s ears detected the sounds of “many enemies” and realized they must “hide,” not in cowardice but in caution and wisdom.

Without giving away their presence, they slipped into a deep ravine edged by thick bushes to conceal themselves and their mounts. They commanded their loyal
horses to silence, and were obeyed by the highly trained animals. No order was needed for Maja, who sat down on his haunches nearby, ready to defend the one he loved.

Stalking Wolf and Kionee crawled up the bank, taking care not to disturb dust or small rocks. They peered through the lower branches of the bushes where no leaves obstructed their view.

“Ooetane,”
he whispered.

But it was unnecessary to tell her the men were Crow. She guessed from the markings on their bodies, possessions, and horses. There were ten heavily armed and painted Bird Warriors. The men were riding away from the Hanueva camp. She was relieved they led no stolen horses and had no captives from her people. She reasoned they were a scouting party and had not attacked the Hanueva. It appeared they were heading home or to a location to make camp. Their reprieve must be over and their enemies were preparing to raid them. She did not know if she should be pleased or more alarmed when her friend echoed her conclusions.

As the riders came nearer, Kionee saw the Cheyenne narrow his gaze and stare at the leader.
“Nevaahe tsethoe?”

“Hawate-Ishte,”
he revealed the man’s name through clenched teeth.

Kionee gaped at One-Eye, a fierce and famous warrior, a man who felt and showed no mercy to those whom he hated. She had heard terrible stories about him and his deeds but had not seen him until this moment. A chill raced over her body. When the Crow party slowed their pace to a walk and came closer, her heart beat fast in trepidation. She wondered how and if she and her companion could defeat such a force if they were discovered. Now she understood the terror and immobility Taysinga had experienced during that last
confrontation. Yet, Kionee knew without a doubt she would unfreeze and fight to the death if they were attacked. She glanced at Stalking Wolf whose expression and gaze exposed no fear. She read an eagerness in him, but something stayed his hand; perhaps a sense of duty to protect her. When she stole another—longer—glance at him, she was calmed a little by his confidence and prowess. If she had to die, she mused, what better place or time than with the man she loved? Their bodies were close, touching in several areas. A heat spread over her and she knew it was not because of the warm sun overhead.
Are you my true destiny?

A shrill cry of excitement escaped one of the Crow’s lips, jerking Kionee’s strayed attention back to their perilous threat. The band was moving so slowly that she feared they were about to halt and dismount. She caught words of their talk and was horrified by them. The winds of destiny were gusting over her and she warned herself to prepare for the storm they were blowing in.
Help us to survive, Atah. Let him live to help my people and I will obey all commands from You.

S
TALKING WOLF LOOKED AT
Kionee from the corner of his eyes. His friend’s full attention seemed focused on the Crow party. For a few moments, he had imagined Kionee was studying him in a strong and curious manner like a female examining a pleasing male. He scolded himself and discarded such a foolish idea. He had reflexively placed his hand on Kionee’s head and pushed it downward when One-Eye looked in their direction. To prevent more movement, he left it there, his arm resting on the hunter’s small shoulders. Again, he was reminded of how little his companion was compared to most men. Kionee’s body and garments smelled clean. His braided hair was as dark and shiny as a raven’s wing in sunlight. A hoofprint of a buffalo—provider of life—was beaded into the Hanueva’s browband. Once more he noted Kionee’s delicate profile and features. For an instant, a wild thought flashed through his mind as he envisioned Kionee as a woman beneath that guise, the female he had dreamed about not long ago. He dashed that image aside when he found it arousing.

Kionee was stimulated by Stalking Wolf’s contact. She found strength and comfort in his arms and from his touch. His scent was rich and heady. His prowess was
unmistakable. She felt torn between her world and the one she craved with him. For a life with him, she must defy and deny all she was and had. That would be selfish and wrong because her family needed her. In this season of perils, her people also needed her. She must ignore all female desires, emotions, thoughts, and actions. She must not battle her destiny and fail, or those she loved would be endangered.

“It is safe,” Stalking Wolf said after the Crow were gone. When Kionee looked at him, the hunter’s gaze locked with his and exposed an anguish—and other emotions—he did not understand. The Hanueva’s gaze was almost pleading.
“Henovae?”
he asked what was wrong.

Kionee came to her senses and took a deep breath. “The Crow plan to attack my people. One-Eye says their shaman and his vision are dead. He wants captives, horses, and possessions; he craves the magic and power he thinks
tivas
have. He says he will become chief over Swift Crane if he can gather many coups from raiding us and the Cheyenne. One-Eye’s heart is evil; he listens to no voice except his own. He goes to camp not far away, to wait for the coming storm to pass before he attacks in three suns.”

Stalking Wolf gaped at Kionee, whose gaze returned to the vanishing enemy band. “How do you know his words? How do you know mine?”

“The tongues and signs and ways of the Cheyenne and Crow are known to my people. After
tivas
are marked at five winters in a sacred ceremony, we go to live and train in the elders’ tipi and
tiva
lodge until we are sixteen summers and return to our families as their Hunter-Guardians. The Old Ones teach us so no enemy or trader can fool us with unknown words.”

“You speak three tongues?” he asked in amazement.

“That is true. A trick came to me as—”

Kionee’s words were halted as Maja climbed the bank and squirmed between them as they lay on their sides facing each other and talking. The couple shifted to make room for the persistent animal. The wolf lay down, placed a paw on Kionee’s chest, and licked the hand she held out to him.

Kionee smiled as she ruffled Maja’s neck fur, impressed as always by the animal’s intelligence, and grateful for his help and protection.
“E’fa,
Maja,” she told him he had done good to create space between her and temptation. “We must go, Stalking Wolf. I will share my plan as we ride for home.” As she scrambled down the bank with Maja close behind, she said, “It is good we have no fresh meat with us to call birds of prey to our hiding place; if Crow saw them circling, they would come to see what lured them here. Or they would have caught the scent of a fresh kill when they passed.
Atah
guides and protects us this sun.”
He does not punish me for my weakness; He must have a great task awaiting us. I do not understand why He sent you into my life and heart—perhaps to test my strength and loyalty. When He takes you from them, it will be a cold, sad, and bitter moon, for I cannot help how I feel about you.

Stalking Wolf sat up but did not follow right away. He could not forget the way Kionee’s eyes had softened and glowed, the way his fingers had looked while stroking Maja, and the tone of his voice as the hunter spoke Hanuevan words to the animal. As for Maja, the silver male wolf almost seemed jealous of Kionee’s friendship with him. It was as if the wolf saw him as a rival. What strange thoughts and images, he mused, were these which filled his head! How could the “son of Strong Rock” give him such strong physical and emotional stirrings? Was an evil spirit playing tricks on him and trying to defeat the sacred visions? Stalking Wolf knew he must
clear his thoughts of foolish ramblings, as something mysterious was afoot.

“E-hootseehe. E-neamookoho,”
he said as he joined the hunter.

Kionee glanced at the darkening sky, northward of their position. She saw the lightning he mentioned and agreed it was going to rain soon. Thunder rumbled. “We must hurry,” he commanded. “The sky is angry; the storm comes fast.”

The following day, Kionee and Stalking Wolf rode out as usual to hunt and scout, or so everyone thought. Their true purpose was to locate the perfect site and to make plans to carry out Kionee’s daring and cunning idea to frighten off the Bird Warriors until the Hanueva could break camp and depart.

They reached the area where they had hidden from their enemies the day before and rode in the direction the band had taken. The storm had washed away all tracks and another siege of bad weather was approaching, so they hurried to find the Crow’s temporary camp. Dark clouds concealed the sun. A brisk wind swayed trees and plants as it gusted through them. Muggy and oppressive air caused the riders to sweat. Perspiration glistened on their faces and wet their bodies beneath their buckskin garments. Soon a cooling and refreshing rain would come, and they must finish their task with haste as it was dangerous to travel when bolts of lightning shot like sharp and fiery arrows to the earth.

Kionee pointed ahead. “Smoke. A cook fire. We will hide the horses and sneak to their camp to see if more Crow join them. We must learn how many warriors we will battle soon and what weapons they carry.”

They guided their animals into a dense timberline and dismounted.

“I will go alone, Kionee; it is safer for one to get close than for two. Be ready to ride if they see me and I return in a run.”

Kionee decided it was best not to argue with Stalking Wolf, as his prowess and experience in such matters were greater than her own. The only thing that was important was success. She nodded agreement.

Kionee watched the Cheyenne head toward his target, using the landscape to conceal his advance. Her breathing was shallow and swift and her heart beat heavy in dread of his peril. A nervous sweat dampened her garments and body, but it would not damage her mask if she refrained from wiping the moisture from her face. Her legs seemed weak and shaky; they begged her to sit, but she did not, as she needed to keep watch. She struggled to calm her fears and not lose sight of him. Yet, soon he vanished over a hill. She examined the span between her and the verdant rise which hid the enemy camp from her line of vision. No one slipped from behind a bush or tree to trail Stalking Wolf, and she sighed in relief. She strained to catch any sound of exposure. She reasoned that if she could not detect his presence, neither could the Crow.

Time passed and he did not reappear. The sky darkened. Thunder boomed in the distance, its peals louder and nearer with each series. The wind’s force increased; it whipped limbs, bushes, grass, and wildflowers about as if determined to tear them from their trunks and roots. Displays of brilliant and multibranched lightning came at closer intervals and lingered for longer periods. As she waited in alert and tension, she feared the worst and prepared herself to come to his aid if necessary. When she heard excited yells coming from the Crow, she put her plan into action.

“You must help me save Stalking Wolf,” she told his
snowy stallion. “You must let me ride you and obey my commands.”

As if the horse understood, he allowed her to touch him.

In a rush, she removed all Cheyenne items and covered all symbols with white paint to make the animal look ghostly. She put aside the feathers and tokens taken from his mane, tail, and forelock. She suspended a large sunburst medallion around the horse’s neck, then added another lengthy thong which held the dewclaws of deer and jackrabbits’ feet. After yanking on white garments, she tossed a coyote’s skin over White Cloud’s back and tied another around her body. She put on a special mask and leapt upon the stallion’s back with her ceremonial shield clutched in her hand.

“Come, Maja, we ride as spirit warriors. Help us with this deed,
Atah.
Strike fear into their black hearts. Force them back to their land.”

White Cloud let Kionee walk him toward the camp, his hooves almost soundless on the thick spring blanket covering the ground. He seemed to sense his beloved master was in danger and the person on his back could save him. Stalking Wolf had taught him stealth and caution, and he used the lessons well.

It was the same with Maja; the silver creature’s paws treaded as silently as a mist drifting across a meadow. His taut, muscular body was ready and eager for action. His golden gaze and erect ears were alert in his great desire to protect Kionee.

Kionee halted and posed them on a grassy knoll that overlooked the campsite. She saw the Crow mounting their horses with weapons ready for use. Stalking Wolf was bound to a tree, but seemed unharmed. The Crow were probably planning to scout for Stalking Wolfs horse and for any companions concealed nearby.

Kionee lifted her shield and shook it as she shouted in
an angry tone in their language,
“Apsaalooke, dee!”
Grabbing their attention and ordering the Crow to leave the area, she told the startled men that
Isaahkawuattee
—Old Man Coyote—wanted the
Isaauushpuushe daache,
the Cheyenne captive. She warned if they did not leave she would call down the
baleilaaxxawiia
—evil spirits—to
dappee
—kill—them.

Kionee heard panicked shrieks of
“Tset-scu-tsi-cikyata”
and
“chia cheete, baaaxualeete akbilikkuxshe. Apasaxxiahche, biilapaache!”
Her mind translated their words: “The Wolf Mask Wearer,” “silver wolf, his spirit helper,” and “Gallop to safety, friends!”

One-Eye stared at the ghostly sight which had appeared as if by magic before an awesome backdrop of nature’s beauty. The Crow leader studied the rider who wore white garments and a coyote skin, carried a wolf shield, and sat astride a cloud-colored stallion which displayed sacred symbols of his god’s helpers: coyote, deer, wolf, and jackrabbit. His gaze moved to the silver beast and noticed its flinty-eyed glare and threatening posture. He knew of no warrior who had tamed a wild creature and rode with one as a companion. “Why does Old Man Coyote want the weakling Cheyenne?” he asked.

“He lives under the sign of the wolf,” Kionee replied, “Isaahkawuattee must take back that magic before he is slain.”

“I will slay him for Old Man Coyote,” One-Eye offered.

“No, if you slay him, the magic will flow into your body. Hawate-Ishte does not need it; he is a great warrior by his own skills.
Iichihkbaahile
stayed your hand; that is why the Cheyenne still lives until He could send me to claim him. Do you refuse Him this gift? If you do so, the Creator will turn His face from you on the battle and hunting grounds. If you do not obey, He will not guide you and protect you. Without the prowess of Hawate-Ishte
to help them, your people will suffer. He will order the Sun to send down fiery rays to burn up the medicine tobacco plants. He will call the storm to send thunderbirds to attack. He will order the wolf spirit to take summer from your land; grass will not grow and buffalo will not come. This is not the time to raid and kill enemies. Return to your people and prepare for the great buffalo hunt and for battling many Lakotas. If you do so, the Creator will reward you with many coups. Go fast before the storm.”

“Why do you not take the Cheyenne with you and leave us here?”

“The sacred ritual must be done where he was captured; it is not for the eyes of men to witness. If you do so, it will steal your sight. Leave this place where the spirits gather to take his power and magic.”

One-Eye stared at the potent image. Strong winds danced through the horse’s snowy mane and tail; it swayed fringes on the eerie rider’s shirt and leggings. Constant lightning streaked behind the warrior like vipers snaking and hissing across the sky; it roared like a grizzly and flamed like a magical fire when bolts struck the earth. Thunder pealed around them. A downpour was imminent. Yet, if Stalking Wolf truly possessed such coveted “power and magic,” One-Eye craved them for himself. His terrified companions urged him to leave:

“They are spirits, Hawate-Ishte. He has big medicine with him. He will slay us or call the thunderbirds to attack if we challenge him.”

“The Sun hides his face from us. See, the white wolf—helper of the Sun—rides with him for protection. The Sun will punish us as he did the fool-dog who dishonored the Sun’s mate and caused her death. We must go.”

“They bear the marks of Old Man Coyote. The Creator’s four helpers will take summer back to the Old
Woman if we disobey. Without summer grass and the buffalo hunt, all
Apsaalooke
will die. He speaks our tongue.”

One-Eye did not know if the ghost rider posed a true threat but decided not to challenge this day. “We ride,” he said. “Let
Tset-acu-tsi-cikyata
have the captive. We will take others from the Hanueva in two suns.”

The intimidated band gathered its possessions in a hurry.

As he mounted, One-Eye told the bound man, “If
Tset-acu-tsi-cikyata
does not take your life, Stalking Wolf, I will do so on another sun for you are weak.” To make certain his enemy understood, One-Eye repeated his message in signs all Plains bands used for intertribal communication.