Infinite Loss (Infinite Series, Book 3)

By L.E. Waters

With lessons and lives of sacrifice and devotion behind her, Maya must continue the journey into her next incarnations as a young and passionate Lakota warrior on the Great American Plains; the dashing British spy Major John André, fighting the tide of a great revolution; and the desolate master of the macabre, Edgar Allan Poe.

Each life is touched with love but strained by unbearable grief. Maya must experience life’s most trying lesson...the devastation of loss.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L.E. Waters
• Release date: Mar 11, 2013
• ISBN: 9780983911159

L.E. Waters

L.E. is the author of four novels of the Infinite Series, a reincarnation fantasy saga. She received her degree in Animal Behavior, which to her father's prediction, she only uses to raise her two children and menagerie of animals. She loves so many things and now writing is the passion keeping her up at night and her excuse for not cleaning the house.

Book preview

Foreword

I researched the time periods portrayed in my books and pulled many of my ideas from historic events. When I involve historical people in my books, I try to portray them accurately but take fictional liberty with conversations, timelines, and mysteries—filling in the details absent from written record. The reader must remember that this is, first and foremost, historical fantasy fiction. I maintained a sense of magical realism throughout and hope the reader will take such leaps of imagination with me, assured that there is fundamental support underneath this novel but keeping an open mind to enjoy the story envisioned.

If there are any doubts as to the accuracy or plausibility of story lines, please visit my website, www.infiniteseries.net, where I dedicated a whole section to a bibliography, historical quotes and poems I included within my stories, and more detailed research behind this fictional piece just for those who might enjoy reading further about these cultures, events, and people.

In regard to the spiritual/religious aspect of this book, it is not meant to come across as non-fiction. This is how I perceived heaven to be in an artistic sense and hope there are readers out there who will consider it enough for the simple enjoyment of storytelling.

If at any time, you should find yourself confused with so many intricate character histories, I have provided a helpful chart that tracks each character’s traits and progression at the end of each life. It is there to use at any point to enhance the reader’s experience. I would love to take this moment to thank you for reading this novel, and if you could take a moment to review my book where you purchased it, I would be extremely appreciative. Reviews are essential to independent authors like me and even one or two comments can do wonders for my series’ exposure.

Eighth Life

Bad Medicine

vignette

Chapter 1

The warm light streams through the teepee opening, cutting my dreams short. Squinting against the glare of the sun appearing on the horizon, I search for the familiar image of my mother busy starting the fire. However, she is nowhere to be seen, and the fire is dark. I push off my buffalo blanket and jump through the teepee opening to find her. The spring ground is wet and cold on my bare feet. A sharp whistle pierces the air, and I spin to see father sitting on the grass beside the teepee. His red skin glows in the early sun, and his shiny hair is decorated with blue and white beads. He concentrates on the arrow he’s carving and slowly strips away splinters from the shaft.

Mother? I ask.

He pauses for a while, eyes set on his craft, and, without looking up at me, he says in his slow and low voice, It is the baby’s time.

I glance toward the thickets where the mothers in camp go to have their babies. I can’t see her and know I will never hear her—Lakotas do not show pain. I spot her things by the outdoor fire and wish she would return soon. I look to all the teepees around us and see everyone is beginning their day. Squaws fetch water from the river with their daughters, boys run around the camp like playful puppies, and men get ready for hunts. The teepees glow in the yellow sunlight as the many horses graze calmly in the background. Father stays quiet, and I know not to bother him. I squat nearby and watch his movements.

Are you now six winters?

I nod.

Bringing the arrow up to scrutinize the notches, he asks, Have my arrows shrunk?

I notice they’re indeed half the size of his usual arrows.

Father gives a long sigh. Well, these are no good to me then. I wonder who would be so small to use them?

My shoulders straighten, and I gasp. I am small!

He laughs calmly and sweeps his long, black hair out of his face, revealing two familiar black spots on his jaw. Reaching down behind him, he brings up five other arrows of the same size and a small bow. I jump to my feet and try to grab them, but he gives a half-smile and pulls them back. A man must make his own arrows. Father nods, and his dark-brown eyes give me a serious look. He hands me a small knife. This is your knife. Every Lakota must carry their own knife. It makes good arrows.

I gaze at the beautiful, white bone knife and run my finger along the dull side to feel its smoothness.

He then reaches for another stick. Learn.

Father begins to shape the arrow, and I know I have to watch everything, since he will only show me once.

This bow is made of pine and will suit a boy of six winters well. Carving the notches carefully, he continues. The only wood for the bow of a great hunter or warrior must be ash. Many have to treat, dry, and cure the wood for five winters. But the Great Spirit led me past the river and into the woods for days, until I found what I had seen in my vision. In the center of a circle of the tallest ashes was a split and charred ash that had been hit by lightning. All Lakota know it is a rare wood to find, and many warriors hunt for years searching for this wood, which makes the strongest bows any man has seen. Since the lightning is sent by the Great Spirit, the wood is instantly cured. The greatest strain creates the greatest strength.

Father ties the piece of flint onto the notches. You tie the flint or bone flat to pass through a four legged’s ribs, but you tie the other way if you need to pass a two legged’s. He hands me the last arrow. You cut barbs into war arrows so they cause great damage when removed. Hunting arrows need to pull out smooth.

He gifts me a small deerskin belt to hold my knife. I eagerly tie it around my bare waist and slip my knife into the pouch. I’m instantly older and stronger. Father goes inside the teepee and brings out the bow I know so well. He lovingly shows me the dark, firm wood, then holds it up and pretends to snap it, shooting the invisible prey in front of him. Father turns back to me. If I should leave for the Happy Hunting Ground, do not send this bow with me. Leave me another, for this should be yours.

I now stare at the bow with even more respect, knowing it will be mine one day. Just then the thickets rustle, and I turn to see Mother. She has a proud smile on her beautiful spotted face and the papoose tied to her back. Father stands up as she comes to show us the little round face, surrounded by dark hair, poking out of the cradle hole. She says with great esteem, Another son.

He looks deep into her eyes. Winona, he is yours for the first few winters, but then he is mine. He picks up his bow and arrows and walks off toward where the horses graze but then turns around to shout to me, Don’t return until you have killed something for your mother to cook. Father walks off to hunt.

I begin to run after him but mother says with a smile, Not until you eat something, little hunter. As she goes to get my breakfast, she sees my new knife and bow. What fine things your father has made for you. Care for them well. He will not make you another. You must learn to make them yourself now.

I nod and, as she turns, see the little face deep within the papoose, all bundled up in rabbit furs and wrapped tight in deerskin. While she sits down on a log and wipes the dried blood off her legs, I eat the meat she gives me as quickly as I can. After stuffing in the last piece, I jump up, grab my weapons and run off to the grassy hills in search of small things hopping or flittering around.

Mother shouts, No bears now!

I try, until the sun is in the middle of the sky, to hit one of the prairie birds. The skin on my arm reddens and breaks from the bowstring’s sharp snapback. The birds are far too quick and small for me to hit. I decide to find a rabbit’s hole, and once I find its other exit hole, I roll a rock over it and wait by the entrance with my arrow ready. The sun turns orange on the western hills when finally the rabbit emerges. I wait until it’s within five paces and release my arrow as hard as I can.

A hit! The poor thing kicks for a moment but then is still. I give it time for its spirit to leave and then I grab it up by the ears and run home as fast as I can.

Mother sees me coming from the edge of camp and puts her arms out to embrace me. I run hard into her and hold my offering up for her to see. She gasps. That is the largest rabbit I’ve seen. You are a great hunter to have learned so fast. Most boys bring their mothers a tiny bird to put in a broth, but this is a feast.

I can’t be more pleased with myself. She goes right to skinning the rabbit and preparing it for us. Sit down, and I will tell you the story of how the rabbit lost its tail.

This story is one of my favorites.

I watch her in the orange glow of the fire, as she repeats the story exactly the same way as she has done so many times. Halfway through the tale the baby starts to fuss and cry. Mother goes over quickly, pinches his tiny nose between her fingers, and gently shuts his mouth. The little thing turns red from having no breath and then mother releases him. He screams out in great protest, but she quickly does the trick again, and this time he just pants angrily.

Mother takes him, still within the cradle, and brings him to her breast. I ask, Why did you keep him from breath?

We are all creatures of nature, and there are always things that will be drawn to a baby’s cry. It is best for him to learn this lesson early.

Father returns with a small deer on his horse. Upon seeing the rabbit turning on the spit, he gives me a nod of approval. Then I will name you Kohana.

Because I run so fast? I ask, happy with my new name.

It is true, you are fast, but no. I name you Kohana because you learn quick.

With that he reaches into the teepee, takes his pipe and leaves to smoke with our grandfather, the medicine chief. All the squaws come to welcome the new baby to the tribe, and they bring gifts and food to us. Apawi, our tribe’s Heyota, comes and cries in great agony, yanking on the feathers hung from his pointed ears and singing mourning songs. As we all lay down together in our blankets, I ask Mother, Why is the Heyota crying?

He reminds us all how fleeting life is.

I think about this as my eyes grow heavy, and I fall asleep in the arms of my mother, in the arms of my father.

vignette

Chapter 2

I stand on the jagged cliffs at the prairie’s edge where the earth drops low to the river, and men stampede buffalo in great numbers over the edge to kill them all quickly. The wind, coming up from the water below blows in circles, causing my hair to lift and rise like fire. Suddenly five people are beside me, and I look around to see who these strangers are. They’re not Lakota and are all pale. One is an older boy with the same two dots my father has on his jaw. In his hand is my father’s lightning-ash bow. He turns to me and opens his mouth, to show me he has no tongue. Horrified at his mutilation, I look away and see a beautiful woman of mystical power. She has the pointed face of the trappers who visit our camps, but the same long, dark hair of our people. She stares at me with her large, honey-brown eyes and exposes a white line on her forehead.

A whinny draws my attention, and the woman takes a few steps back to reveal a man seated on a pinto pony with three white feet. He looks down at me with beady eyes and gives me a slight nod. The pony moves even farther back so another shape beside him appears. A man stands there with no hair on his head, as though he has been scalped, but the shiny skin is still there. He stares back, and I notice strange red splotches on his face. I look away to my left again, to a man standing beside the boy with no tongue. He is a handsome paleface—tall and straight. He gazes at me with his green, sparkling eyes and smiles, revealing a small gap between his front teeth.

Each one, having acknowledged me, faces back, in a trance, to watch the horizon. I stare down and see I’m not a boy any longer. I bring my strong arms up within my heavy clothes and see they’re white. I am white.

I’m distracted by a shuffle to my left. The boy walks forward with his eyes fixed on the horizon.

I scream, Stop!

But he doesn’t hear me and takes a small step off the cliff. I run to look below. His body has vanished.

I sit, staring up at the top of the teepee, studying its crisscrossing sticks, as I hear the soothing sound of mother already stacking wood for our fire. I try to think of what my dream means, for all dreams are dreamt for a reason. Even though the people were strangers, I feel in some odd way that I know them well. I tell no one of my dream but think of it all day long and still when I close my eyes for sleep.

My eyes open again in pitch darkness to the vibrations of the ground. Frantic yelps erupt within the camp, and Father springs, yelping, from our teepee. Mother grabs for my little brother in the papoose and takes me by the hand to flee with the other women and children. Everyone runs and screams—all except for Apawi, who lies down on his buffalo blanket in the center of camp for us all to see and sleeps soundly.

In the faint light of early dawn, the men grab their bows and lances, jump on their ponies and hurry to make the formation to protect the camp—the formation of wild geese. Father whoops and leads the group, taking the very top of the line. They all stand their horses still as the thundering sound comes closer, shaking every living thing awake and running for cover. The dark shapes charge toward us with a cloud of dust reaching high into the air above them. Mother holds my hand tight as she watches with worried eyes. We all know if they can’t divide the herd we will be stampeded, and everything we own will be destroyed. Many of the old people standing with us begin to chant and reach their arms to the sky in prayer.

As the cloud of dust nears, the men give their loudest war cries and release arrow after arrow, trying to kill as many rushing buffalo as they can, since only by killing the ones in front can you split the herd. I watch proudly as Father stands strong ahead of the chief’s horse. Some of the dark shapes plummet to the ground, causing the shapes behind them to crash into the fallen, and chaos ensues. Some of the smarter ones on the sides split, but the ones coming in the center keep charging forward. The warriors, releasing their arrows as the cloud of dust seems to part, try to keep their ponies still—not an easy feat since a pony’s greatest fear is charging buffalo.

Finally, the buffalo form two thundering rivers around our camp but, just as mother releases my hand in relief, a stray buffalo careens from the river and charges right toward father. He throws down his bow, reaches for his lance and holds it up as the beast crashes into him. He and his horse disappear in a rolling cloud of dust, and the other men on horses move out of the way, breaking the formation. Mother screams and drops to the ground, shaking the baby and causing him to cry. I start for Father as Grandfather tries to grab my shoulder, but I break free and run through the island amidst the churning sea of buffalo. The warriors have to regain the formation so the herd stays split and can’t come to Father’s aid.

As the dust settles the buffalo rights itself, with the dripping lance impaled in its side, and staggers off, wide-eyed in shock. The horse spins its back legs, trying to get back up, although badly wounded. I can’t see Father until I get to the horse. He lies under his best hunting horse with his eyes closed, grimacing in great pain. I try to pull the horse off, but he screams louder at its movement and the horse seems too broken to get up. I kneel beside his head and, wincing, he opens his eyes.

Father chokes out, Find my bow.

I search around through the dusty air and see the bow by the horse’s back legs. I fetch it, and I’m shocked to see it remained intact under the great buffalo’s feet. I bring it back to Father’s fisted hand. He tries with all his might to lift the bow and says, This is yours now. Remember, great strength…comes from great challenge.

Every time the horse tries to rise, it causes Father more pain, although he holds in his cries of pain by squeezing his eyes closed tighter. I take out my knife and slash the horse’s neck, causing it to relax and be still. Father looks at me proudly. Take care of your mother and brother. He holds his breath briefly and then lets it out. And I will watch you…smiling. He never takes another breath, and his eyes freeze in his last stare to the emerging dawn.

The sun no longer causing him to blink, he now can see the sun.

The last buffalo has run off, and the camp is safe. The men now gather around us as the sun rises. Grandfather puts his hands on my shoulders and pulls me up off the ground. He looks down upon his son and says, Akecheta, my last son, has lived up to his name. A great fighter in battle and a fighter in his last stand for our tribe. I am proud.

The men place him on a scaffold to the sacred east outside of our camp. They bring his fallen pony to him and lay him underneath Father’s body. Father is dressed in his finest adornments: feathers and beads in his hair, beaded deerskin shirt and leggings. He is wrapped in his best buffalo robe, and all his weapons, except for his bow, are placed around him to have in the afterlife. The women, young and old, come with food and lament at his scaffold. As the whole tribe mourns, Apawi comes out in his celebration attire and dances around the wailing women, singing sacred songs of rebirth, and rejoicing in Father’s entrance to the Happy Hunting Ground.

My grandfather puts a light arm around my shoulders and says, When you were born, you cried, and the world rejoiced. Live your life so that when you die, the world cries, and you rejoice.

As we walk back to my teepee, Apawi spins by us, smiles with his eyes wide and strange, and says, Isn’t life wondrous? Then he spins back off again, screaming, Thank you, Great Spirit!

I’m not sure if I’ll ever understand Apawi.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Mother has to move our teepee from the inner part of camp to the edge where all the widows, wintes, and childless elders are expected to live. Right next to our teepee lives a winte—a man who decides he doesn’t want to be a hunter or warrior and puts on a skirt to do woman’s work. There he stood, watching us sadly as we put up our teepee. Mother befriends him right away and tries to learn the winte’s tanning and beading secrets. Mother always says, No woman can compete with the skill of a winte. Some nights a man will sneak into his teepee, but it’s well known it brings bad luck to spend time alone with the winte.

The tribe now will provide us with some of what we need, but I want to make Father proud. I go out every day for the next week and crawl for hours in a buffalo skin, inching up, step by step, getting closer and closer to the fast antelope that graze in the open plain. Finally, when I’m within but a few paces, I pull up my father’s bow and quickly release the only shot I’ll get. Many times I miss, and walk home empty-handed to Mother. But this time, as I throw the buffalo skin off, I’m pleased to see one of the antelopes slowing and falling over with my arrow stuck in its ribs. I look to the skies, and a sudden wind comes and throws my hair back, and I know it’s Father.

Dragging the antelope by its thin horns, I pass right by my father’s resting place and see my mother there, wailing as she makes small cuts up her arm to relieve her grief. After she clears the tears from her eyes, she sees me with the antelope and comes to help drag it home. Once back to the camp, she says, You have made your father smile.

I never miss again.

vignette

Chapter 3

Six winters later, in the month when the Sun Stands in the Middle, the air is so hot and suffocating that Mother tells me to walk to the river near the neighboring camp and take my little brother swimming. She knows I have no love for swimming but she hits my backside gently, pushing me to leave her to her chores in peace. I begrudgingly walk the long distance to the wide river and hear the children and squaws splashing and laughing from many paces away.

It’s strange for a Lakota child to have such an aversion to water. Most are thrown in as soon as they can walk. Mother has done so, many times, but I always came up clinging to her. The banks of the river are crowded with residents from all the neighboring camps who come the distance to cool off in the hottest time of the day. My brother runs at the sight of the water and dives in, making me angry that he takes to it so well. He comes up from under the sparkling depths with water running into his little brown eyes and splashes at me on the bank, taunting me to come in. I bend over and see my wavering reflection on the surface. I see how I’ve changed since last summer. I see my father in my dark, shining eyes, broad cheekbones and lean build.

I turn to see if anyone else is afraid of the water, but see only Apawi pretending to swim in the dirt. He stares at me, winks, and sticks his face in the dirt. He turns over on his back in a fluid movement and spits the dirt up in the air like water as he paddles backwards in great, sweeping motions.

Kohana, someone calls. I scan the naked, smiling people and can’t tell where it’s coming from.

Kohana! he yells even louder.

I see him, sitting in a small birch bark canoe, holding his paddle high in the air for me to see.

Hanska! I exclaim, so happy to see the answer to my dilemma. They named him Hanska for his great height. He approaches manhood and, even now, is taller than most of the warriors. Hanska is my mother’s sister’s son. He paddles quickly to rocky bank where I’m standing. I jump in effortlessly, take the other paddle, and we go up against the current. I look back to check on my brother, who looks just as happy to be swimming by himself. We paddle up the middle of the river where few are brave enough to swim. As I put my paddle in each time, I stare into the uninviting depths. When we’re far up the river, Hanska says, Let us lie back and watch the clouds as we float our way back.

The air is much cooler on the water. I rest into the crook of the wooden frame and can smell the warm pitch used to hold the seams together. The thick white clouds move slowly on this windless day, and Hanska and I call out which animal spirit we see in each puff. The canoe lurches and, to my great horror, we flip over into the water.

I come up sputtering, grabbing hold of the seat to stay afloat inside the flipped canoe. Alone and afraid, water drips down my forehead and chin into the river and echoes in the cavernous underside. A form emerges in front of me and comes up with its long hair covering its face. The person splits the dark hair down the center of their face and pulls it back, revealing the delicate features of a girl. She wipes the water away from her eyes and grabs up to hold on to the other side of the seat, brushing my clenched fingers in the process. She laughs and gives a wide smile with a slight space between her front teeth. I’m shocked to see light-green eyes instead of the usual brown or black eyes of our people.

She says, Do you live under here?

I’m unable to speak, still suspended by her eyes. She is so close to my face in the dark of the canoe, I can feel her sweet breath touch my face. She giggles again and sinks down so that only her sparkling eyes flash above the water and then quickly squirts me straight in the eyes and disappears.

I hear much laughing outside the canoe. Come out, Kohana! We need to flip it back over.

I’m petrified to let go of the seat but, after seeing the beautiful girl who is so brave to be out in the middle of the river, I don’t want to seem a coward. I take a deep breath, force myself under the cool water and come up into the sun, still holding on to the edge of the canoe.

He is attached, I think! another girl says, laughing at my expense. She is slightly older than the green-eyed girl and is also beautiful but in a much more traditional way.

No, I protest. I am flipping it back over.

They laugh again as Hanska makes his way over to right the canoe. The girls dive after each of the floating paddles and when Hanska asks for them back the one with the large, honey-brown eyes says, For a kiss.

Hanska looks at me, surprised at her request, and eagerly swims back out to where she floats with the paddle. With his eyes closed and mouth puckered, he goes to kiss her as she leans in. Right before he gets close, she splashes him in the face and pushes away, laughing, letting the paddle float toward him. The girls and I laugh as the odd girl swims away.

She calls back to her friend, Ask Glued-to-a-Canoe for a kiss.

Green-eyes looks at me, and I shake my head immediately, making the girls reel with giggles. The green-eyed girl throws the paddle into the air with such great aim that I catch it from where I still hold on to the canoe. She yells, I would not want you to have to swim for it.

The heat rises in my face as she shames me, and I watch her swim like a fish back to her friend. Hanska, also shamed by the other girl, wipes the water from his scarred eyebrow and says, Girls, then spits out the water in his mouth.

The two girls dive down at the same time so that their small rear ends float above the surface. When they come back up, they’re laughing like loons. Hanska and I get the canoe flipped over, and both of us have trouble getting back into it without footing. As soon as we’re in, we try to paddle quickly away from the girls, but we keep turning to keep an eye on them. Once we go back to my brother, I help Hanska pull the boat from the water and carry it back to our tribe.

Do you know those girls? I ask.

Yes, I have gone to their dances a few times.

Why does that girl have green eyes?

He strains to better position the canoe on his shoulder. Her father was a squaw man. He bought her mother and took her back to his French trading post. When she was still a baby, he left them and went back to his homeland across the big water. Just left them like most trappers do. So her mother returned, to her people, and for years no man would take them until Mato took her on as his third wife.

I yell over my shoulder to my brother, Keep up with us or the wolves may get you! I hear his little feet quicken, and his hand grips my hip, trying to stay close to me now. Do you know their names?

You are interested in these girls, I see. He gives me a sly smile.

Fine. I don’t care. I kick a rock hard into his calf, which makes him laugh.

The green-eyed girl is named Wakinyan, and the other is named Mika.

Strange names. I say, thinking about why the green-eyed girl is named after the sacred and feared thunderbird.

She was named Mika because she was born with a darkening around her eyes, like the raccoon, that lasted for days.

I nod. I want him to talk more about Wakinyan, but I don’t want to seem too curious. We walk the rest of the way back in silence and, later, as I sit at Mother’s fire, I glance in the direction of Wakinyan’s camp. Mother notices my faraway look. Did you leave something at the river?

She breaks my trance, and I say, No. But she can clearly see from my reaction her instincts are right.

You are past ten winters now, and that is a good time to start visiting other nightly celebrations. She lets my brother crawl into her lap as I eat my supper. She continues, Soon you will start to look for a wife, so it is good to get to know all the girls, to see which ones you favor.

I nod, and she says, After your belly is full, you can go out to that camp, if you like.

I stuff the rest of the meat in my mouth and take off running across the prairie in the direction of the drumming as the sun lowers on the horizon.

vignette

Chapter 4

I can see the glowing teepees from far off. The drums get louder, and their voices rise out to me. I run into the village as the evening star appears and find a place at the back of the large circle formed in the center of camp. A great bonfire reaches up to the stars, casting mysterious shadows over all the faces, making them hard to recognize. It seems the entire village is out tonight, either dancing or singing. I look around, trying to see the cause for such a celebration and, there, sitting by Chief Eyota are two white men, dressed in the thick, stiff clothes of their kind, smoking the peace pipe with the chief and council elders. Now and again, the white men come into our village to trade furs for guns, and they stay in the camp for some time before they go back to their trading posts.

I can’t understand a word of their strange tongue and don’t like the way they walk and stare at things. I push my way into the circle and sit down with my legs crossed, watching the warriors dance around the fire. When the song is over, some of the young maidens get up to dance, and I notice the white men stop talking suddenly to watch. One white man is much older than the other one, who looks like he must have just reached manhood. When I look back to the maidens dancing, I realize that two familiar young girls have joined in.

Mika and Wakinyan are adorned in their finest skirts and beaded necklaces. Mika wears mostly blue, and Wakinyan is in green. They both have their hair tightly braided, with feathers tied on each braid. Wakinyan dances around the older maidens as a child would, spinning and hopping with a large grin on her face, but Mika seems to have already learned the maiden dance and follows the other maidens. She is the most captivating dancer among them. As she circles around, every gaze sets upon her and follows her around the circle. Her feet taps are as light as an antelope’s, springing up on the quick beat. She dances low while tapping and then spreads her feather-adorned arms wide in perfect rhythm.

When the dance ends, Eyota motions for the snake dance—a courting dance for young couples—to begin. Some warriors take the hand of the maiden they’re already courting and lead them into the circle, while others simply start to dance alone, waiting to be joined by an interested pursuer. The chief pushes the two trappers to go and pick a maiden for the dance. The older one goes immediately to a shapely maiden standing near Chief Eyota, while the young one walks through the whole circle to ask Mika to dance. She shakes her head at first, since no maiden can dance the snake dance until she has had her women’s celebration, but Eyota gives a quick nod and hand swipe indicating that, in this instance, she should dance.

A pang of anger washes over me that this paleface gets special treatment, but then I decide it will be much fun to watch him dance. White men are terrible dancers, swaying as stiff as trees, legs planted and arms tightly moving. When all maidens are paired, the drums and flutes begin, and I smile as the trapper tries to follow her fluid movements. The trapper is much taller than Mika, who seems not yet fully grown. He hovers above her, and she smiles sweetly as he catches on. Not only does he catch on but, by the end of the dance, he moves as if he has been dancing the snake dance for many moons. When the drums stop, they’re moving as one.

She hops back to the spot near her mother. The trapper watches her sit and then goes back to the chief. The other man brings back the maiden he danced with and has her sit close beside him. The maiden looks pleased to be chosen and giggles to her sisters on her other side.

Wakinyan sits with a few girls her age, playing with the beads in their hair. Though the flutes continue and an elder gets up to sing alone, I see Eyota talking to the trappers again. I speak to the older boy beside me. Why are the palefaces here?

He turns to see if he knows me and quickly replies, They came in the morning, bringing five ponies for the chief. The old one lived with us a year ago, and now he’s back with a young one.

Wakinyan gets up and walks away, and I follow her. She hurries along, winding through the empty teepees. I hang back so she won’t notice me. I follow her down the knoll near the river to one of the teepees on the eastern side of camp. Wakinyan puts her hand in the bowl left by the entrance and bends down to take a drink. She then wipes her mouth and steps into the teepee. I come out from my hiding spot, attempting to memorize her exact teepee as her head pops back out, and she throws a moccasin at me. I dodge right before it hits my head, and the teepee erupts with giggled laughter. I run all the way home.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

I come back again the next night, with Hanska leading the way. This time, the circle is much smaller. Many in the tribe are walking around, visiting and talking, since darkness is always the tribe’s leisure time. All children who have grown out of their cradles are free to run through the village and return to their teepees when they need rest. Hanska goes to sit with those gathered near the light of the fire in the big council teepee, and I follow. The circle is made up primarily of warriors and a couple of council elders. The two white men are there again and are the subject of much interest. The older white man speaks our tongue surprisingly well, but he seems to be teaching and translating to the young one. It’s such a hot night that the circle sits away from the fire, and the white men sweat in their cloth. The younger one keeps coughing and only breathes through his mouth.

The older white man snickers and turns to us. It will take a little while for him to get used to the bear grease.

Palefaces always have trouble getting used to the grease we use on our hair and skin.

An elder speaks, And how long will it take to get used to the smell of him? We all laugh, and even Reynard chuckles a bit at this. White men smell like wet dogs when their wool clothes get wet and steam by the fire.

The white man points to us. "Are they from the west camp?’

Hanska nods for us.

"What are your names?’

Hanska and Kohana, he says.

The older man points to himself. They call me Reynard, and this is Chase.

What is he doing here? Hanska asks without a smile.

Reynard laughs. What are any of us doing here?

Eyota and some of the elders laugh along with him. He translates for Chase then replies, He says he is here to steal your women.

Reynard laughs hysterically along with Chief Eyota, whose deep dimple shows. Hanska is getting bothered.

Everyone except this one. Reynard pulls the young maiden he’d been dancing with down beside him. Oh, and—he belches mid-sentence and resumes—this one too. He chuckles as he brings down another young girl serving him food. He squeezes them both to him.

Hanska gives Eyota an agitated look. Eyota puts his hand up slightly and shoots him a stern glare.

Apawi enters the teepee, rear end first, and comes rolling over backwards into the circle. When he gets up, he sits backwards with his face toward the teepee skin. Chase and I seem the only ones amused by this, and Chase says, Ha.

Then Chase almost jumps out of his skin when Apawi immediately, and much louder, yells, Ha!

Chase stops laughing and looks to Reynard with his hands up. Reynard twists his fingers around his ear and rolls his eyes around strangely in some unspoken gesture. Always nice to see you again, Apawi, Reynard says, in a much-too-sweet tone.

Apawi breaks out in hysterical laughter, slapping his knee. Reynard looks around in wonderment, and his lips purse at the insult. Chase says something that amuses Reynard and Apawi breaks out in mimicked-laughter too.

Eyota speaks, I light the peace pipe to smoke with my old and trusted friend.

Apawi guffaws, rolling back and forth on the ground. The Chief, who only allows a Heyota to insult him, smokes and passes the pipe to Reynard first.

Reynard pushes the girls off to free his hands and holds the pipe up. Thank you to everyone for welcoming me home.

Apawi, of course, laughs at this the hardest and slams his hand on the ground. After smoking and passing the pipe to Chase, Reynard lifts his knee up slightly in Apawi’s direction and breaks wind. Now that’s something to laugh at.

Apawi is not amused, and quiet comes over the circle. The trappers break out in sputtered laughter, and Reynard lifts his large head to the ceiling, rolling it back and forth to contain his outburst. Everyone else smokes in silence and, as soon as Apawi takes the pipe, he coughs dramatically until he hands it on.

I decide to leave to see if I can find Wakinyan. I go straight to her teepee and see two women sitting outside talking. One quickly points to me staring at them and I run off. I walk by every teepee, trying to find her but don’t even see Mika anywhere. Girls usually don’t go far from camp without their mothers. Then I hear a great splash and a girl laughing.

I know where I will find them.

I creep up behind the cottonwoods growing by the river and try to watch without them seeing me. I hear many girls’ and boys’ voices. The children dive under the shimmering black water and pop up, surprising each other. I have never wished more than I do now that I liked to swim.

I move to sit down behind the tree, and Mika hears me. Who is spying on us?

She tries to see where I am, yet since the moon is but a sliver, it gives off little light. From where I’m sitting, I can only see the water shining off their dark hair and shoulders. I’m starting to memorize Wakinyan’s shape and size. I can pick her out every time she runs out of the water and goes jumping back in with a huge splash. When I see one of the taller boys pick her up and carry her, giggling, out of the water with her arms wrapped around his neck, I quickly decide to jump in. I hit the water with great force, and the coolness does feel good on this hot night. When I come up, someone swims near me, their face dark with the moon behind them. I hear Mika say, Hard to recognize you without the canoe.

Another head emerges from below, and I can see it’s Wakinyan. She laughs and says, We will have to find another name then.

My name is Kohana.

Mika bursts out laughing. Not in the water! she replies, and dives back down.

Wakinyan laughs, and I stare at her but can’t think of anything to say. After the quiet moment, she just pushes off toward Mika. When I see the older boy swim after her, I decide to follow them too. Mika and Wakinyan throw themselves on top of the boy and try to push him back under the water. He grabs Mika and launches her through the air as she lets out a yelp. Then he picks up Wakinyan and jumps, taking her under with him. When they resurface, she paddles away from him. As he tries to plunge after her, I jump on top of him, taking both of us under. He comes up, spitting water, and says to Mika, Who’s this?

We flipped his canoe. She looks to Wakinyan. This is the second night he’s come.

Oh, so he’s suddenly interested in our camp then? A white smile glows from the darkness of his face.

Interested in Wakinyan’s teepee. Mika spurts in laughter as Wakinyan tries to push her under before she says more.

The boy laughs as well, and as soon as Mika comes up, he picks her up and carries her to the bank, away from us. Wakinyan looks uncomfortable and seems to struggle for something to say.

She dives down, disappearing, only to pop up on my shoulders and pushes me into the water. Her skin is so warm on my back that it sends chills up my arms. I try to do just what I saw the boy do, and I lift her up and throw her out into the water. She comes back up smiling and wiping the water from her eyes. I pray secretly she will return to let me do it again, but she paddles off to Mika and the boy.

A tall form calls out from the bank, Kohana!

Hanska?

"Are you in the water?"

Yes, I say, hoping he won’t say anything embarrassing.

You never go swimming.

And it was too late.

I hear the girls laugh, and the boy replies, He does when Wakinyan’s in the water!

I have had enough and start to walk out to Hanska. Is Mika in there too?

I nod, and he dives in immediately. Hanska, older and taller than the boy, quickly takes his place swimming with Mika. The boy drifts back to the other boys. I sit on the mossy ground, watching and waiting until Hanska is ready to go home. Perhaps displaced by Hanska’s attention to Mika, Wakinyan gets out of the water. It almost hurts to look at her wringing the water from her hair. She reminds me of the swans I’ve seen preening their feathers. I could watch her all day. She steps into her skirt and calls to Mika that she is going to bed. Once she is gone, there is no reason to stay. I yell to Hanska, I’m going back to camp, with or without you.

I turn and go right by her teepee, but the fire is out and the teepee is dark. Hanska is suddenly next to me, and we walk back soundlessly, trying not to draw attention from the wolves.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Two days later, I bring three rabbits back to Mother early and have time before it gets dark, so I walk over to the other camp alone. I sit under the cottonwoods near her teepee and wait, concealed behind the high grasses. She appears, dragging a large stag to her teepee. Her mother takes the skin off in one piece, and Wakinyan goes to stretch it. They work together, cutting the meat away and, when her mother leaves to cook it, Wakinyan searches the ground. With her braids pulled back, she walks around all the teepees in the area. Grinning, she pounces on something and puts it in the fringed pouch tied at her side. After a few more finds, I realize she’s collecting beads that have fallen off clothing while the owners performed chores or danced in celebration.

Something rustles in the brush next to me, and I tense. The thing pops his head up, searches around wide-eyed and then disappears again.

Apawi.

He reappears, closer, and stares at Wakinyan, only to pop back down again. I know he is mocking my sneaking around, so I grab a heavy rock near my foot and aim it right for his hunched back. A great scream peals out as it makes contact, drawing the attention of the people nearby. Wakinyan spins from her searching to watch the dramatic clown crawl out on hands and knees, rubbing his back, crying with great exaggeration. I seem to be making a fool of myself wherever I go. I step out of the grasses and see Wakinyan’s face go from puzzlement to understanding the clown’s actions.

Her mother comes around at this time and says, Daughter, help me hang the meat to dry now.

She walks away, obeying her mother, and I leave to go back to mine. As I pass by Apawi, still on the ground, he gives me a mischievous smile, so I throw another little rock at him.

Over the next few days, I decide to keep away from the other camp. Instead, I search the ground of our camp and fill a small buffalo horn cup with beads. I can hardly wait until sunset when I can run to the other camp with my hand covering the horn to keep the mix of colored beads from spilling. Afraid of being caught sneaking up again, I go directly to the teepee and see her mother standing by the outdoor fire. She notices me right away and gives me a hard-to-read look, her eyebrows pinched together and her lips tight. I quickly bend over, place the little cup by the entrance to the teepee and dart off into the grasses.

I stay to watch as her mother slowly goes over to see what I have brought. Her face spreads with a big smile. She takes the beads inside the teepee and immediately Wakinyan steps back out to scan the spot where I hid before and, on her tiptoes, she searches the camp for me. Not finding me, she goes back inside, and I turn to go home before it gets too dark.

vignette

Chapter 5

As I’m walking around the camp searching for more beads, I haven’t noticed that I walk right by my grandfather. He says, Many only look forward, but it is the wise man who looks to the skies and where he places his foot.

I run over to where he’s sitting in the grasses with his white long hair billowing in the wind and his wrinkled face to the sun. He throws dry dirt into each sacred direction. I sit down beside him as he closes his eyes and is quiet for a moment. He opens his eyes. Kohana, usually the father gives his family his medicine for protection. But since he has left this world and you are going to be raiding soon yourself, I will give to you my medicine until you are old enough to find your own.

Grandfather, why can’t I use my father’s medicine still? I show him the little sack I carry in a small pouch on my knife belt.

He takes a deep breath, and in his low, calm voice he says, Even though your father was a brave warrior who died protecting his people, it is looked upon as bad medicine that such a fate befell him.

I study the little bag that I watched my father fill with the ashes of a rabbit’s paw.

He continues, We will burn this right here in this hole, and I will give my powerful medicine for you, your brother and your mother to wear.

His old, cracked, red hands scrape into the dark soil. He puts his open palm out for the bag and a part of me wants to hold onto one of the things left by my father, but I know I have to trust Weayaya. He places the pouch in the hole then takes a stick from the fire next to him and lights the bag with the eager flame. Once it’s burning, he takes three pouches out of a beaded bag on his side and places them in my hand.

What is your medicine? I ask.

He smiles, which makes his high cheekbones get round and lines crinkle around the mole beside his eye.

It changes whenever I have a new vision. But for now, it is the powder made from an elk heart.

When will I get my medicine vision?

When you become a full warrior you can go have your vision quest, and the Great Spirit will show you your medicine. If it is strong, then it will protect you from bullets, arrows, disease…everything. He nods. But for now you will have mine.

He then closes his eyes again and sings a song of prayer. Taking his two eagle feathers in either hand, he moves the smoke around in spirals, sending it in different directions.

I know he wants to be alone and have taken a few steps away to tie my bag back on when I hear a strange shuffling. After completing the knot, I look up to see Apawi staring at me. He grins way too wide and, taking a pouch hanging from his hair, dangles it in front of his face, going crossed-eyed as he watches it. I go to turn away from him, but he reaches out and stops me. I have powerful medicine. You can sense mine from far away.

He opens the little pouch enough to fit his finger in and pulls it back out slowly like every bit is precious. Yearning to know what medicine he has, I let him bring it up to my face but immediately recognize the smell and pull away from his grasp. Apawi snorts with laughter and dips