Lakota Dawn (30 page)

This is the second saga in my four-book Lakota Skies Series about the three children of Chief Rising Bear and Winona, and Rising Bear’s son with a white woman. Each saga features the chosen mate, romance, and adventures of one of the children as the main characters, with the rest of the family playing minor roles as they did in this story. I hope you enjoyed reading about Cloud Chaser and Macha/Dawn and learning about the noble Lakota People, historical events, and other tribes. If you missed saga #1, LAKOTA WINDS featuring Wind Dancer and Chumani/Dewdrops, it is available now in paperback from Zebra Books or your local bookstore. An excerpt from LAKOTA WINDS follows this author’s note.

I also hope you will look for these future sequels in Kensington hardcovers and Zebra paperbacks: LAKOTA FLOWER: the story of War Eagle and a white captive named Caroline Sims/Kawa Cante/“Heart Flower”; and LAKOTA NIGHTS: the story of Hanmani (To Walk in the Night) and (Cheyenne warrior) Red Wolf.

If you would like to receive a current Janelle Taylor newsletter, bookmark, and descriptive flyer of other books available with pictures of their covers, send a self-addressed, stamped envelope (long size best) to:

Janelle Taylor Newsletter #36

P.O. Box 211646

Martinez, Georgia 30917-1646

Reading is fun and educational, so do it often!

Best Wishes from

Janelle Taylor

Here is an excerpt from the first book in Janelle Taylor’s Lakota Skies Series, LAKOTA WINDS, available now from Zebra Books. Read on to sample the wonderful love story of Wind Dancer and his beloved Chumani…

LAKOTA WINDS

By Janelle Taylor

APRIL, 1851

PAHA SAPA
(T
HE
B
LACK
H
ILLS
)

As the brave knelt by the fallen doe, a blade in his hand ready to skin and butcher the animal, Wind Dancer crept forward until he was close enough to prevent the stranger from having time to retrieve a bow and quiver of arrows from near a tree, and he cautioned. “It is not safe or wise to steal the hunt of another. Put away your knife and go in peace while I claim what is mine.”

The brave leapt to his feet and whirled to face Wind Dancer, whose eyes widened in surprise, for it was a woman—not a man—who stood before him. Long black braids hung over her shoulders. She was clad in a buckskin shirt, fringed leggings, and a breechclout—a man’s garments. But she was the most beautiful female he had seen, and for a short time, he simply stared at her in amazement. Her dark brown eyes studied him from head to foot, then she raised one brow slightly and looked directly into his gaze as she pointed her knife toward him. He wondered if she recognized him. He also wondered to which band she belonged, as nothing upon her unbeaded and unpainted garments and weapons gave him a clue to her tribal identity.
She narrowed her gaze and glared at him as if its flames of anger could sear away his life force. Then she spoke, her voice the sound of soft and slow-moving water, her words as hard and stinging as a thrown stone.

“It is not safe or wise to prey on another band’s hunting grounds. Why do you risk trouble by stealing an ally’s game? There is no coup to be earned by such reckless theft. Have your people slain or driven all creatures from your grounds? Is that why you encroach upon another’s?”

Wind Dancer did not know if her behavior resulted from shame, courage, arrogance, or ignorance but he was disappointed and vexed by her rudeness and apparent lack of training. He was a famed warrior, a man, son of a chief, a future chief himself. She should not speak such words to him. “The deer was not slain on your people’s grounds,” he explained. “A wounded animal roams where it wills; a hunter must track it and find it to end its suffering. She is mine, for my arrow lodges in her body. Look, it bears my markings.” He watched her eye the feathered shaft which he withdrew from his quiver and held before him, then half-turn to compare its painted symbols to the arrow’s which was embedded in the doe’s chest. Despite viewing that proof, she shrugged, frowned, and insulted him again.

“It is a long way to another’s hunting grounds. If your arrow had flown true, she could not have run so far before she halted to die. It is wrong to make the Great Spirit’s creatures suffer so much and for so long.”

Wind Dancer was astonished by her rebuke. He concluded that her parents and people had failed to teach her respect. He did not even want to imagine how his family and people would react to his sister if she dared to speak to a man in this offensive manner. His wife had never belittled, shamed, or scolded him. “My arrow missed its true mark when I was attacked by an enemy,” he said in his defense. “I could not track the Great Spirit’s creature into your people’s forest until that danger was past.”

Chumani noticed that he had received no injuries from that fight, and the fact he stood before her proclaimed him as its
victor. Yet, he did not boast of his triumph. And he mistakenly assumed she was of the Brave Heart band since this was their wintering section of the Paha Sapa, an area upon which she also was trespassing.

“I am Waci Tate of the Red Shield band of the Oglalas,” he identified himself. “My people’s winter camp is almost one sun’s ride from this place, but our hunting grounds travel closer.” If she recognized his face or name, it did not show in her now stoic expression, but he had seen her gaze roam his face and body for bloody signs of his recent struggle and markings of his tribal identity. He wondered if she was impressed by the fact there were none, or if she believed he was speaking falsely to her.

Chumani knew who the tall and muscular warrior was, but she was the daughter of a chief and a skilled hunter and fighter in her own right, and she did not fear him. Following a deadly attack on her people by the Crow two seasons past, she had trained every sun to master warrior skills and increase her stamina, strength, and wits until she could defend herself and help protect her people. She had seen this warrior of awesome prowess at a distance on the grasslands on several occasions when the many bands gathered for seasonal trading. As a woman, she had been compelled to remain at her people’s chosen camp site; it was the White Shields’ way of keeping their females away from the temptation of being drawn to and mating with outsiders, Indian and White. But she and her best friend had sneaked near the men’s location one night and spied upon them. After Waci Tate arrived, she had been unable to look away from him and thoughts of him had tormented her for many moons. Now, here he stood before her, overfilled with pride and scolding her as if she were a bad child!

As one who tried his best to practice the Four Virtues— Bravery, Generosity, Fortitude, and Wisdom—Wind Dancer doused his hot irritation. “If your family is hungry and you search for food, the deer is yours,” he offered.

“There are three skilled hunters in my family,” Chumani responded. “The deer is yours to take, but do not roam these
hunting grounds again. If I had known you pursued her, I would not have tried to take her.”

As she sheathed her knife and collected her bow and quiver, showing she either trusted or had no fear of him, he nodded. “That is wise. Now, tell me, who are you and where do your people camp?” Before allowing her time to respond, he added, “Rest while I prepare the deer and I will carry you to your camp on my horse. It is not safe for a woman to walk the forest alone when enemies are restless.”

Chumani’s wits cleared and she realized she was behaving badly, especially since he had offered her the doe and an escort home. Yet, she felt compelled by shame and another unknown feeling to deceive him. “I am called the Morning Mist. I know this forest and will be safe. Grandfather’s creature awaits your prayers and preparation.” She wanted to leave fast, as she, too, had unwittingly encroached upon the Brave Hearts’ territory, so deep were her thoughts as she enjoyed the forest during the rebirth of the land after a long and bitter winter.

Wind Dancer watched the stubborn female vanish into the dense woods. She was beautiful and shapely, he admitted, but her ways were unappealing. Yet, he experienced a strange attraction to her, more than a physical one, and that baffled and piqued him. He walked to his kill and knelt to thank it for its sacrifice and to praise its prowess. This was one of the few times he had ridden alone to either hunt or battle enemies. Usually his best friend, Red Feather, was at his side, and often, so was his younger brother, War Eagle. He did not know why he had wanted to travel alone on this sun, but the feeling within him had been too great to ignore. He was glad no one else had witnessed the woman’s bad behavior, as reporting it could have caused trouble with her band if she were mated to a great warrior, trouble he wanted to avoid at this busy time when Mother Nature changed her face and while a large group of men from their band was at Fort Pierre for trading. He had not gone with them to the enclosed village, which was called a fort but was only a trading post, as he did not like or trust those with hairy white faces, the
wasicun.

As he loaded the game on his horse, his body stiffened and
his mind came to intense alert as if something warned him of imminent danger. Perhaps, he reasoned, the enemy who had attacked him had not been traveling alone. His gaze was drawn—as if by a mystical force—toward the direction in which the woman had disappeared, and a voice within his head ordered him to ride quickly that way.

It did not take long for Wind Dancer to hear ominous sounds coming from a clearing beyond him. He dismounted and told his horse, a smart and loyal animal, to remain there. He sneaked to a location where the woman was encircled by three Crow warriors, their identities unmistakable from their garments and markings. Anger filled him at the sight of his enemies encroaching on Lakota hunting grounds and taunting the beautiful creature. No doubt the daring warriors intended to take her captive and steal her innocence. His fury increased as he saw them darting in and out as they played a cruel game with her. There was no way she could escape their human enclosure, though she held a knife at the ready in her right hand and appeared agile and alert. She moved quickly as she whirled about and slashed out with her blade to keep the three foes at a safe distance, threatening and insulting them with her shouts. He noticed there was no fear in her brown gaze, only sheer hatred and coldness. She looked as though she wanted to slay them bare-handed.

The men began taking turns with their sport, one resting and laughing while the other two continued dancing around her and thwarting her strikes with their lance points, their clinking contacts sounding loud in the forest’s quietness. He assumed she would soon exhaust herself, making her vulnerable to seizure and worse. With all of the stealth and skills he could summon, Wind Dancer approached the resting man.

With a loud yell and knife brandished, the oldest son of Chief Rising Bear leapt into the clearing and challenged his enemies, determined to rescue the woman even at the risk of his safety and survival. He had confidence in his prowess, for he had battled more than three foes at a time in the past, and he still walked unharmed and alive to chant those coups.

Wind Dancer sent his blade into the heart of the startled
Crow. Without delay, he set upon the second enemy, who charged at him like a raging buffalo during mating season, as the woman was fighting the third with skills which both impressed and astonished him. Though he was concerned about her safety, Wind Dancer was forced to focus his attention on his own battle, as his larger responsibility and duty were to his family and people as their future leader. He needed to use his strength and skills to best his foe, which he could not do if his thoughts were on her.

The Oglala and Crow warriors exchanged taunting grins, both assessing his opponent’s weaknesses and strengths. They stepped sideways in a circular pattern, each seeming to await an unspoken signal from the other to begin their struggle for victory. In the flicker of an eye, Wind Dancer fell backward to the ground and delivered a stunning kick into his competitor’s groin, causing the man to shriek in pain, double over for a moment, and then retreat with haste for recovery as he himself laughed at his successful maneuver and sprang to his feet with ease.

With lightning speed and hopes of benefiting from the man’s brief vulnerability, Wind Dancer raced forward and hurled his lowered shoulder into the man’s abdomen, bringing forth a rush of air from his lungs. As the Crow stumbled backward and gasped for air, Wind Dancer used his knife to slice across the man’s right side. His gaze flickered to the gaping wound and he thrilled at the knowledge he had brought forth the firstblood in what had to be a life-or-death encounter. He saw the Crow’s gaze darken and glitter with outrage and pain, then narrow in determination that this would be his first and last injury.

Both warriors shoved with powerful bodies, kicked with nimble feet and legs, and struck with hard fists as their battle continued at a fast pace. They grunted and taunted and sucked in air to aid their labored breathing as their physical conflict stirred up moist dirt, dead leaves, and small stones. The Crow slashed out in an attempt to carve a path across the Oglala’s stomach and chest, but Wind Dancer darted to his right and opened up another gushing red wound on the man’s arm which
wielded an equally sharp weapon. Wind Dancer read fury in the man’s gaze and tried to keep his own impassive to prevent exposing his strategy.