Sacred Ground

By Henry N. Russell III

A Lakota medicine man has an experience so horrifying that he is shaken to his soul. Trying to balance the sorrow, anger, and the overwhelming feeling of helplessness of not knowing why this could happen, he spends many days in the wilderness with only the company of wildlife and the counsel of the Creator. When he comes back to his family and friends, he is a changed man with a prophecy that will greatly alter history.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 17, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477109090

Henry N. Russell III

Hank Russell is a retired secondary science teacher. He lives in Michigan with his wife of 48 years and devotes his time to photography, travel, and spending time with his children, grandchildren, and 1 great grandchild. During several visits to the western U.S. and Canada he developed an appreciation for Native American Art, which led him to begin reading books, articles and quotations from well known Native American authors. He has a profound respect for their culture and beliefs.

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Copyright © 2012 by Henry N. Russell III.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2012908656

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4771-0908-3

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4771-0907-6

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4771-0909-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Although this story is historical fiction, small changes in events might have made it reality. When you have finished reading – close your eyes and try to imagine living with the Lakota on Sacred Ground.

H.N. Russell III

Contents

Recurrent Characters in Sacred Ground

Sacred Ground

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Recurrent Characters in Sacred Ground

Spotted Eagle – (Spirit Speaker) – prophet and holy man

Running Elk – brother/friend of Spotted Eagle – medical doctor

Sarah – wasichu wife of Running Elk

Standing Bear – Spotted Eagle’s oldest son – war chief when adult

Medicine Shield – Younger son of Spotted Eagle – will become a seer and medicine man

Little Brother – 4 year old survivor of massacre

Turtle Feet – a greatly respected elder from Running Elk’s village

Sunny Sky – much loved daughter of Spotted Eagle

Fox Belly – senior medicine man in Spotted Eagle’s village – Medicine Shield’s mentor

Rattling Hawk – an Oglala war chief and leader of leaders whose bravery and brilliant strategies were highly esteemed.

Father Lincoln – The leader of all the Wasichu who helped preserve the Sacred Ground. He later became a revered member of Spotted Eagle’s family.

Sacred Ground

The five men sat silently facing the early light that slowly illuminated the horizon and began to give color to the rolling plains. It was the last day of the mourning period for the passing of the grandfather who had been the voice of the Great Mystery. His loss would change the world, just as his life had. The eldest unfolded, like a daylily, stood, and reverently moved to the bank of the creek. He raised both arms, palms up, to greet the new day. His thoughts echoed the feelings of his heart. He thanked the creator for the departed soul of his brother; he knew that all of the people were aware that they had been privileged to share his life – it was the essence of legend. The elder stepped into the frigid water, a school of minnows darted madly away from the intrusion into their world. He waited; the fish came back and nibbled at the torn fringes of his buckskins – the skin at the corners of his eyes wrinkled in a gentle smile. He was grateful to share creation with everything that lived. The sun finally broached the skyline, he slid his hands into the water’s surface cupping only what was needed to cleanse his face. Ashes mixed with water dripped like black tears from his face to his chest. The ancient medicine man returned to his previous spot, faced the sun and again sat silently. His eyelids closed but he still was aware that all of the other four men eventually greeted the morning in the same solitary way.

The grandfather’s body, wrapped in buffalo hide, had the feathers of his namesake sewn in a sacred circle on its chest. It rested on an elevated platform eternally facing east. The platform had been built on a small cliff surrounded by towering pines on the mountain where the creator had granted my brother his vision. This prophecy had given the people the guidance and courage to endure the great changes that would be needed to survive. When I opened my eyes I could see the buffalo streaming across the land as they had since the beginning of memory. My brother’s life required that we who knew him best should tell his story.

Running Elk

Chapter 1

Running Elk speaks:

The line of patients snaked out the door and onto the front porch of our two-room cabin. My wife and I were tending to the sick and wounded as we did every day that I wasn’t visiting a nearby village to bring whatever help I could to the grandmothers and grandfathers. Spotted Eagle sat on the porch steps telling stories to a group of children, quietly reassuring them that Wakan Tanka was watching over them and that I was a great medicine man who would surely do all he was able to make them whole again. The normalcy of the day was shattered when a small band of Cheyenne warriors brought their horses to an exhausted halt in front of our patients. Some of the men were bloody and barely breathing. All of those who were healthy hurriedly lifted the gravely wounded from their horses and brought them into my surgery. Later that evening I washed my hands for the last time and collapsed into a chair by the fireplace. My wife, Sarah, emptied the ruby colored water and stowed the bloody bandages to be washed another day. She came and sat beside me, we numbly stared into the fire and held hands – tears blurred our vision. Tomorrow we would have to face for ourselves the horrors described haltingly by those whose guilt at survival had made them into the walking dead.

There were a dozen of us slowly riding through the blowing snow. We started at dawn, led by two of the Cheyenne who seemed to have shaken off yesterday’s mental numbness. Sarah, Spotted Eagle, and I rode side by side, not trying to speak against the constant howl of the wind. By the time the sun was overhead we could make out the cottonwoods along the bank of the river and turned the horses toward the trees, looking for at least some shelter from the bitter cold. This was to be the best part of the journey.

As we huddled along the riverbank we could