Comanche Dawn (11 page)

A tiny point of white, flashing momentarily, caught his eye on a hillock he could not have reached by sundown at a dead run. Shadow knew that signal meant antelope, for the tail of that animal could be seen flashing in the sun even when the animal itself blended into a far-distant slope. He wished he might run back to his camp to tell the hunters about the antelope he had spotted and about the dust haze he thought he detected so far away to the south. But even these matters of sustenance and survival for many became lowly cares for one who had come to seek medicine. He cast aside his thoughts of food, stood facing the south, and made his heart speak to all the unknowns.

*   *   *

At dusk, he was thirsty and hungry, but this only made him proud. He started a fire and lit his pipe, patting the smoke onto his shoulders, chest, and head as he prayed. Stars began to appear as he finished the smoke, and he stood again, facing east now. As the sky grew darker, he remembered the many stories he had been told about the evil little people called
Nenupee
—how they would shoot wanderers of the night with arrows that never missed and always killed. This high promontory also made him think about the great cannibal owls who hunted humans at night on wings that made no noise. The old men of his band had shown him the huge bones of these giant owls, turned to stone and found in ravines. Shadow had never met anyone who had actually seen one of these owls against some waning moon, but the bones proved they haunted the dark night sky.

These things made him long for the noise of his camp, but he knew to return would cause him great humiliation. The girls would laugh at him and call him elder sister. They would mock his fear. No, he would remain here and let the little people and giant owls kill him if they must. He stood straight, defying fear as the stars came out, glimmering faintly at first, like the flashing tails of spirit-antelope. Sister Moon was yet sleeping.

The sky grew blacker behind a growing nation of stars. Some of them flew long across the curve of night the instant they appeared. Shadow stood in wonder of them until his neck hurt from looking up at their numbers. Many were the nights he had lain on the ground in his camp to look up at the stars. But, here, alone and hungry, his thirst for magic even greater than his thirst for drink, he felt a far greater awe of the distant and mysterious beings of light. He prayed to them in his solitude, taking his mind away from thoughts of evil night things.

At last, he found himself shivering in the cold, weaving from exhaustion, unable to maintain his sense of balance. He lay down and wrapped himself in his robe, feeling the warmth envelope him head to foot. Though his dry mouth tasted of bitter smoke, and hunger prowled his stomach on grasshopper legs, he drifted instantly into prayerful sleep.

*   *   *

Father Sun looked over a far slope and shamed Shadow for waking so late in his robe. The seeker threw the hide from his shoulders and stood to see the great sun spirit rise. His mouth was dry and his stomach pinched, but he had known these feelings before over dry trails and hard winters. It was nothing to stand straight after his sleep, so he locked his knees and threw his chest forward. Yesterday's invitation to the spirits was now almost a taunt, for Shaggy Hump and Spirit Talker had advised him not to grovel in sight of the gods, but to greet them with confidence they would admire. Shadow's pluck bordered on arrogance.

His hunger rose like the sun, but it was his want of drink that made Shadow long for the time to pass and his guardian spirit to arrive. Occasionally, when the wind died and the world of mortals invaded his link with the Shadow Land, the seeker could hear the spring gushing from the foot of the butte. When this happened, he would force a hot chant up his dry throat and lift his arms to the Great Mystery, that he might forget his longing for so common a thing as water.

Wind spoke from the grasses and sage, birds from the limitless sky; still Shadow failed to interpret their voices. Father Sun watched the smokes, and heard the prayers, but passed over the hopeful warrior like a father of eaglets with nothing yet to feed them.

The second night had scarcely fallen before Shadow was asleep. He dreamed of rattlesnakes.

He was standing on the third day before Father Sun stalked quietly to peek over the curves of Mother Earth. His hunger was only a cold weight within him now, no longer gnawing, but his want for water made his tobacco-scorched mouth feel like rawhide. Each dry breath he drew seemed to blister his throat and prick his tongue, which felt large in his mouth.

Late in the third day, as Shadow stood bobbing on legs that refused to lock at the knees, he heard what he took to be a spirit-voice. Opening his eyes, he soon found that the sound was that of the Thunderbird, far away to the west, blasting the world of humans with bolts of fire shot from his eyes. The storm that hid and protected the great bird rose out of the distance, billowing toward Shadow's butte, coming between the seeker and the sun.

He turned from the south, to the west, thinking perhaps the Thunderbird would be the spirit to guide him through life, though he had never known or heard of a warrior with such medicine. The shadow of the great bird's cloud felt good. It refreshed the seeker and gratified his nostrils with the musky scent of summer rain.

Now the cool winds gusted down from the very wings of the Thunderbird, and the playful shafts of deadly fire cracked all around Shadow's butte, near enough that he could see things instantly blasted to dust where the shafts struck. This was a test he could not have dared hope for, and he set his teeth hard together to brace himself against fear of that unseen spirit-bird.

A large raindrop thumped hard against his brow as the seeker's hair twisted on a windflaw and his empty stomach fluttered with doubt. Would the wily Thunderbird tempt him with water? He was forbidden to drink these four days of his quest, but the smell of rain and the cool dot on his brow made him long to wet his tongue. He put his finger on the damp spot, felt a second drop hit the back of his hand, which he might have pressed against his lips.

Lighting struck a tall
tecamaca
tree on the banks of Sometimes Water below, splintering a limb—a warning from the powerful Thunderbird. Shadow began to know now what Spirit Talker meant when he spoke of the dangers and burdens of strong medicine.

The drops began to beat his head like a drum, and Shadow's eyes bulged with fear of his own failure, dread of the Thunderbird's vengeance. Was this his due for taunting the spirits? Rain was collecting on his face, trickling down. He shook his head to shed it, emptied his lungs in a single blast to turn the water from his lips. A drop cooled a crack in his lip, and the seeker closed his mouth tight, defying his tongue to lick the rain away. A magical gale spattered him with a swarm of tiny droplets, making his whole face wet. The water hit hard now, soaking him. His long hair grew heavy. And he knew he might twist its ends over his mouth and wring out enough to swallow, but the eyes of his ancestors were upon him, and they would know his shame and punish it.

Rendered mute with his sealed mouth and his swollen tongue, the seeker could only grunt as he shook the rain from his face and snorted like a horse at the wonderful scent of his temptation. He pressed his lips together tighter, forging a grim visage of marvelous determination that would return to him in days to come—hard days of pain and sacrifice.

His whole body was wet. The wind made his own locks whip him. The wing feathers of the Thunderbird rumbled slowly through the black air of the vast mystic cloud, taunting him:
Drink! Drink! Drink, human!
Shadow shook his whole body in blatant defiance.

Now, he heard a sound that could only be the eyes of the great bird turning in their sockets. The screech from the hard beak came, instantly lost in the roar of shadow-fires. He felt the talons prick his back as heat slammed him to the ground. He slid briefly through thin mud, grit and rocks catching the flesh of his palms, chest, and face. He cowered, his ears ringing, until he realized he had kept his lips sealed against the rain. This triumph gave him courage to look behind him, where he beheld a small cedar in flames.

He heard Spirit Talker's voice: “
Stand
before the spirits! Do not grovel!”

Summoning courage of ancestors unknown, the seeker blew wind from his nostrils and stood again, returning to his high perch atop the bluff. He would not cower—in this world, or the next. Facing south again, the flames to his back, Shadow turned his wild eyes and drawn mouth to the sky. He made claws of his fingers and recklessly raked a challenge to the land of spirits.

The gods answered with hail, the first large stone thumping the top of the seeker's foot, smarting even through his hide moccasin, and making him hop. The next stone split flesh on the bone above his eye, causing him to look respectfully downward. Even still, Shadow refused to crouch. He stood upright under the icy spears that ranged down upon him without mercy. He felt ashamed for even thinking of crawling under his buffalo robe. Throwing one forearm across his eyes to protect his face, and using the free hand to cover his testicles under the flap of his loin skins, he grunted his defiance through his nostrils at the flocks of hailstones that made his limbs flinch and his skull ring.

The scourge of the Thunderbird was hard, but fleeting. The hail passed, taking the rain, leaving only the gusts of wings that had gone to hover over other heights. The seeker found himself trembling, hurting all over outside, and inside as well, where his heart had pumped courage with the force of swollen rivers. His lips remained pressed until the rain had dried from his face, but the blood still ran. This, he tasted, as no
puhakut
had forbidden him to drink his own blood. It dried in crooked scrawls that streaked his face, shoulders, and torso—war paint styled by unworldly artists.

He felt exhausted, yet charged with emotion. Never had he heard of such a quest as this, his own, and he had yet to receive his vision! The Thunderbird had challenged him, and he had withstood! The cloud was still lingering on a dark eastern horizon, tickling Mother Earth with quick, playful strokes of fire.

*   *   *

He awoke well before dawn. Kicking his warm robe away, he saw Sister Moon promising that her father would follow. He scratched at the dried blood that flaked away from his skin. The drill and the tender were still damp from yesterday's visit from the Thunderbird, so Shadow stood in the cool night without smoking.

By midmorning, the tobacco had dried, spread out in the sunshine that came down between large white clouds, well spaced. The seeker labored clumsily with the drill, feeling weak, finally getting the tinder to burst into flame. His eyesight seemed poor today, unable to see the bowl of the pipe clearly as he lit it. His mouth felt full of dirt and ashes, and the smoke from the pipe made him cough. His stomach felt twisted into a hard knot.

He was confused, and worried. This was the fourth day. He had prayed and smoked. Still, he felt no nearer to the spirits, save for his brush with the Thunderbird. He would have to go home at sundown and explain his failure to his people. Then he would have to try again—another four days. The hope given to him by the Thunderbird yesterday now seemed only a false promise designed to humble him.

Still, Shadow held to his duty, standing under the sun, facing south. He was like a hunter who would wait and watch the trail until the last light of day had faded. The south seemed sacred today, wavering under the illuminating gaze of Father Sun. It was brown in the light, gray in the shadow of the clouds.

The seeker felt the butte slam against his shoulder and found himself gasping for air. He felt weak and ashamed for having fallen. Laboriously, he pushed himself up to his knees, wondering why the butte was turning. He pulled his moccasins under him, but it was like standing on the back of a skittish horse. He looked at the sky, and saw Father Sun disappear behind a large cloud.

A curious thing happened to this cloud. It grew in size, quickly and silently, until it joined Mother Earth at the southern horizon. Now the cloud took on the color and texture of land, and became a huge world in the sky where morning was breaking, for Father Sun was coming over the edge of this new sky-world.

The horizon of the sky-world became so bright to look upon that the seeker thought he would be blinded, yet he seemed unable to close his eyes or look away. With this dazzling light, came the sound of crackling fire that quickly changed to the strain of hard hooves skittering over rocks. And as Shadow watched, he saw the silhouette of a creature emerge in the bright ball of sunlight that came around the sky-world. The creature loomed huge and grew larger than Father Sun, soothing the seeker's eyes with its shadow.

Now the rattle of hooves became so loud that it hurt Shadow's ears, and his eyes saw that the creature that had emerged from the sun was a huge deer, with antlers as large as twin trees and shoulders like hills. This giant deer had eyes that sparked, and it began to run down the cloud-slopes of the sky-world, descending on the seeker in heroic bounds, snorting whirlwinds from its nostrils. It ran hard toward Shadow, its antler points sweeping through the sky and dripping with globs of clouds like melting fat. It leapt from the sky-world onto Mother Earth and ran directly toward the butte upon which Shadow sought his vision.

The beast was powerful, but the seeker was not afraid. As the deer ran toward him, it diminished in size, until it assumed the stature of a natural deer, yet with sparks still glinting in its eyes and tiny whirlwinds still swirling from its nostrils.

“Rise!” said the deer, his voice crackling loud like popping fire and rattling hooves.

Shadow felt himself lifted to his feet, and he stood effortlessly, looking with wonder at this spirit-deer.

“I have come from the Sacred South,” the deer said, his muzzle moving like the lips of a man, “where buffalo number like the drops of rain; where the spirits cause many horses to rise up from the ground; where elk and antelope and deer feed the
Na-vohnuh,
enemy of your grandfathers' grandfathers.”