Black Feathers Blue Moon

By Angel Cox

Aylen was a child when a group of Sioux Indians killed her family and took her captive. She soon found out why they had chosen her.
At Aylen's birth, grandmother knew the magic had been reborn through her granddaughter because of the mark on her face. She secretly taught Aylen about the Jo-ga-oh; how to listen to their voices, and call them when needed. She knitted Aylen scarves and told her to keep the mark covered as much as possible. Aylen didn't know why since they lived miles away from anyone in the badlands of South Dakota. The summer they buried her grandmother underneath the huge oak tree, she vowed to never wear the itchy scarves again.
Aylen was brought up as a Sioux, until the white men killed her people and burned the village. She was now truly alone, and didn’t know who she was or where she belonged. Was she white, or was she Sioux? Did she go back to the settlers, or seek out another tribe?
This is a story about a special young woman whose journey is to find out these answers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Angel Cox
• Release date: Aug 29, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370283316

Book preview

Part One – Pay

Chapter One

Girl! Go inside! Aylen’s father yelled to her as she picked wildflowers in the field by the cabin. She looked up to see several men on horses in the distance. Running into the house, she crouched by the window while her mother sat silently in the rocking chair knitting. That’s all her mother ever seemed to do anymore. She didn’t even notice Aylen had entered the room. The men on horses had no shirts on and their skin was dark. Most of them stopped before they got to her father, but two of them rode up to him and they spoke. Aylen could not hear what they said. There was a lot of hand gesturing, and then the two rode back to the group and they left.

Her father came inside looking upset. Damned Indians. He grabbed the shotgun leaning against the wall and filled it with gun powder. They’ll be back. Whatever they are looking for, they won’t stop until they find it.

***

She hid in the brush, terrified of the slaughter that was happening before her eyes. She watched as her father was killed with a hatchet to his head. His last words to her had been to run and hide as he woke her up and grabbed the shotgun, following her out of the door. He lay only a few feet from her in a pool of his blood. Her mother's screams had stopped moments after. She watched as her family was killed by the men who wore feathers and paint; the same ones that had come before. Some carried torches and searched the brush around the cabin, while others brought out their spoils from the sabotage. They held up afghans her mother had made and tried on her father’s coat and boots. The men with the torches continued to search for something. What could her family possibly possess that these men wanted enough to kill for? One of the men came out with her mother’s bible, lit it on fire, and threw it back into the cabin. Aylen watched as her whole life began to burn.

Her mother and father had been farmers who’d worked the land her grandmother had handed down to them. Not much grew in the Badlands of South Dakota, but her father had managed to grow enough for them to survive. Tragedy was not unknown to her family. They had lost two other children after she was born. Aylen would listen to her mother cry at night and ask God why he had taken away her two beautiful babies and left her the one who was marked. Her father had tried to comfort his wife. She was his only love, and her sadness was somehow Aylen’s fault. Eventually he just left her alone.

Her grandmother was the only one who ever made her feel special; the only one who would rock her to sleep when she was scared or tell her she was pretty. She covered Aylen’s ears at night so she wouldn’t have to listen to her mother’s cries and her father’s curses. Her grandmother also had a mark. It was on her left shoulder. She and Aylen shared many secrets.

She watched the man who had killed her father. He rode a magnificent dark horse, prancing back and forth, its coat shining in the glow of the burning cabin. The horse stopped right in front of Aylen, and the man looked at the spot where she was hiding. She heard the voices whispering in her head. They were the Jo-ga-oh, the spirits her grandmother had taught her about, and they told her, "Be still."

Aylen stayed statue still as she watched the men continue to search. She saw her father’s wagon and his best horses pull out of the barn seconds before she heard a sound behind her. Aylen turned just in time to see an older, painted man with what looked like wooden slats on his chest. Before she could bolt, he grabbed her by the wrist and whispered something in his native language. Looking straight into her scared, blue eyes, he reached into a leather pouch and blew some dust into her face. Immediately, her world went dark.

***

The young girl tossed and moaned softly, then she became silent. The old man saw two large, blue eyes, the same color as the summer sky, staring from the corner like a scared raccoon. He kept his movements slow and intentional.

Speaking to her was impossible. He knew the Sioux language had no meaning to her yet, but they both shared a language that was only understandable to them. It was the language of the spirits that spoke in their heads. He began to hum. It was the same song her grandmother would hum to her at night. Aylen wondered how this man knew of it also.

Spooning out the broth into a wooden bowl, the man set it next to her on the floor. He then moved away and fixed himself a bowl. The face paint and wooden slats had been removed. He wore leather britches and a bright woven blanket with a hole cut for his head. His skin was the color of the coffee her mom would drink on Christmas morning with lots of sugar and cream, yet it was wrinkled like the dried meat they ate during the winter.

She lay on a blanket, much like the one the man wore, on the cold dirt floor. The walls of the shelter were some sort of soft animal skin. The fire pit was in the middle of the floor allowing the smoke to rise through a small hole in the top. She smelled the broth in the bowl and picked it up with her shaking hands. The warm liquid ran down her throat and warmed her insides. Her eyes never left the man sitting on the ground near the opening. She finally felt warm, but not safe.

After he finished his bowl, he pulled out a pouch from his pocket and stuffed the tobacco into a pipe. It was different from the one her father would smoke, but it smelled the same. At that moment, she knew her existence depended on this man who had brought her here. His intentions were unknown. She thought about the protection chants her grandmother had taught her several years ago and said them softly to herself. The man seemed to notice her again and chanted the same words as if he could read her mind.

Chapter Two

When she woke, the room was cold. A huge animal skin had been thrown over her. She could not see the man, but knew she was not alone. She felt the restraint around her left ankle. He came through the opening, and she pretended to still be asleep, watching him through half-opened eyes.

She was young, maybe ten; tiny for her age with long, dark hair. Her skin was the color of a new fawn except for the patch of dark brown that ran from her right lower jaw and down her neck. It was the mark of a healer her grandmother had told her. Her mother called it a birthmark when talking to her, but under her breath she muttered it was the sign of the devil. Her father had sadly said it was what took his wife away from him.

When Aylen turned eight, her grandmother told her a secret about their heritage. Aylen's grandmother was the daughter of a Sioux healer and a beautiful white woman. She also had a twin brother, and the gift from their father had been passed to both of them, but since they were twins, the magic was halved. This meant not all of their children would be given the gift, but it did live in their blood and could be passed on to their children. The healer took his son and moved on with the tribe while Aylen's great-grandmother and her daughter stayed on the land her parents had left her. Her grandmother never saw her father or brother again, but she knew they lived near the Black Hills.

When Aylen's mother was born, she did not bear the mark, and was never told of the gift. At Aylen's birth, her grandmother knew the magic had been reborn through her granddaughter because of the mark on her face. She secretly taught Aylen about the Jo-ga-oh; how to listen to their voices, and call them when needed. She knitted Aylen scarves and told her to keep the mark covered as much as possible. Aylen didn't know why since they lived miles away from anyone in the Badlands of South Dakota. The summer they buried her grandmother underneath the huge oak tree, she vowed to never wear the itchy scarves again.

The man approached and tossed the blanket aside, gently taking her small arms by each wrist. He pulled some twine from a pocket and began to wind it around both wrists, not tight enough to cut her, but enough that she