Sacred Is the Wind (24 page)

“You have done well,” Yellow Eagle said, when his throat had relaxed enough that he could speak. While Panther Burn's father strove to hold his emotions in check, Crescent Moon had no such reservations. She ran to embrace her son, sobbing as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. At last Panther Burn freed himself long enough to bring her to Joshua. Crescent Moon began crying all over again. Zachariah started backing away, looking suddenly lost and very alone. Panther Burn took notice and separated brother and sister to bring Crescent Moon over to the young boy.

“Mother,” Panther Burn said, “I have brought you another son.” Zachariah blinked in amazement. He looked bewilderedly past the woman as Crescent Moon swept him into her arms. Panther Burn returned to his father as Yellow Eagle concluded a word of welcome to McKean.

“You will always have a place at our campfire,” the chief of the Dog Soldiers said. He took a leather pouch adorned with the Morning Star from his side and handed it to Sabbath. “Keep this with you so that all will see it and remember. I would be grieved to have one of our young braves forget what you have done and kill you for revenge.”

Sabbath scratched at his shaggy red beard and spat on the ground. “That'd plumb grieve me too.”

Yellow Eagle turned to Rebecca, who had remained silent and watchful, feeling more than a little lost herself. “Where is Star?” said the Dog Soldier. He saw Rebecca's surprise and nodded. “I know you, girl.”

“My mother is dead.”

He studied her for a long moment and saw—what? Perhaps something of a wolf, of magic. “We will build you a medicine lodge that you may live among us. I think we will have need of you, Star's daughter, in the days to come,” Yellow Eagle concluded in a somber, worried tone, a mood his son was determined to lighten.

“Then build the lodge tall and wide, Father, for she will share it with your son.” Panther Burn reached out and took Rebecca's hand in his. “We are called together.”

Crescent Moon, hearing the pronouncement, rushed to her son's side. She glanced over at Rebecca, who smiled sheepishly beneath the older woman's scrutiny. Crescent Moon gave a soft cry and gathered Rebecca into her happy embrace.

“I am your mother now. I call you
na-htona
from this day forth.
Na-htona
… daughter.”

The flap to the tipi was pulled aside and Rebecca's heart leaped with the vain hope it might be Panther Burn, unexpectedly returned from the south country. Instead Crescent Moon ducked through the opening and crawled as silently as she could over to her daughter-in-law's side. An icy gust of wind followed the older woman into the tipi. Rebecca shivered and dug deeper beneath her buffalo robes. Seeing the kindly, weather-worn features of her mother-in-law reminded Rebecca of how Crescent Moon had organized her friends so that within a mere week all the provisions and tools and the clothes necessary to begin one's married life had been gathered. Under Crescent Moon's guidance, twenty-six buffalo hides had been used to make a dwelling place for the young couple. Rebecca wanted to snuggle in the warm robes and think back on the ceremony, but Crescent Moon's bustling attentions interrupted her dreamy memories. The older woman smelled of wood smoke and crushed chokecherries, fragrant and sweet, and carried a clay bowl filled with cakes made from dried berries mixed with cornmeal and honey; Crescent Moon was determined her son's wife not perish from lack of food. She placed a tin of hot cherry-bark tea by the circle of glowing coals in the center of the lodge.

“Na-htona,”
the woman cooed, brushing a lock of hair from Rebecca's forehead. “The child?” she asked in a whisper; Rebecca nodded. “My own was born on such a cold day as this. And my brother took far too long waiting for his vision to tell him what my little one was to be called.”

Rebecca understood, for it was the custom of the Southern Cheyenne as well as the Northern that a child's revered uncle choose his name. In this case, Joshua Bear-tusk had secluded himself in his tipi and smoked the medicine pipe that the
maiyun
might speak to him the name of the child, Panther Burn's son. Crescent Moon glanced wistfully over at the war shield leaning against the hide wall. It was a circle cut of hide stretched upon a rack of young sapling and adorned with the Morning Star symbol, a design painted coal black. “Yellow Eagle, my husband, has told me not to worry. That my son will be well. The All-Father protects him. But I fear he was too young to lead such a raid. And our allies the Sioux are a troublesome and headstrong lot. Will they follow Panther Burn?” Crescent Moon looked down, ashamed she might be causing Rebecca even more concern. “He is fine.”

She patted Rebecca on the shoulder and ducked through the opening in the tipi, choosing to leave rather than stay and cause Rebecca any further anxiety. A mother's fears are a solitary burden. Rebecca closed her eyes, picturing Panther Burn … alive.

“All-Father, hear me. Watch over your son, the Dog Soldier Panther Burn, my husband ….” She listened to snow settling over the land. In the distance, a pup barked in protest. A voice called out, one brave to another. Several footsteps … children running past. Then echoing down from the white-capped reaches of the Absarokas, the faint heart-stopping cry of a hunting cat. A panther stalked Spirit Mountain. Rebecca allowed her mind to drift again into memory, as if holding Panther Burn safe in her mind would guard him in the waking world. She saw again the great ceremonial fire, where she and Panther Burn had stood before Yellow Eagle and Tall Dancer. It seemed but a heartbeat ago, a time so close she could reach out and embrace it ….

The chiefs spoke eloquently of the goodness found in the Cheyenne way of life. They spoke of the Great Circle of life, of the many colors found in the ceremonial robes—blue for youth, red for the middle years, yellow for the days of wisdom, black for death becoming life once more. Then Yellow Eagle and Tall Dancer stepped forward and loosely bound the wrists of the couple to show that they had chosen to be bound one to the other throughout their lives. The ceremonial robe, of finely brushed soft buckskin, was draped across their shoulders, signaling for Crescent Moon and half a dozen other women to lead the couple to the lodge the women had built a week earlier. Rebecca was filled with a mixture of fear and expectation, wondering what would happen; how would she behave? She had no experience as a lover. Crescent Moon had done her best to impart what wisdom she had gleaned from her years as a wife and mother. At this moment, stepping into the tipi, Rebecca could not remember a single word her mother-in-law had said.

A small fire burned in the center of the tipi. Flames leaped up, coals glimmered and pulsed as if alive and mirroring the desire that coursed like fire through her veins now that she was alone with Panther Burn.

Rebecca opened her eyes. Something … a sound … she glanced about, saw that she was still alone. The baby continued to sleep. Rebecca yawned. Listened for the cry of the mountain cat, heard only the stillness of the snowfall. She closed her eyes and surrendered to her dreams. She had surrendered that night as well. And never done so more willingly once Panther Burn's kisses had roused in her a wanton courage that cast off all fears. Come now, a memory of brief pain, of savage ecstasy, of sweet fire, all-consuming. Come now, memories of love.

•   •   • 

Firelight on flesh. All that we have is here now, she thought to herself, all we will ever be. After the first brief pain, there was no other. Only pleasure, more than she had ever known, and the same for Panther Burn.

“Now now now …” The scream began in her mind, through lips drawn back as the pleasure exploded in the first release. Rebecca dug her nails into Panther Burn's back, drew furrows of blood as her whole being tried to draw him in. Two called together became one in the dearest of acts, in the greatest of trusts, in complete surrender. Two called together were made one in the violent rush of seed, in the onrush of breathlessness and tightened muscles as hands transformed into talons raked flesh. Pleasure burst the bonds of innocence and the two made one loosed a heartrending cry as flesh and bones strived to merge one beloved with the other. They cried their names in the night Such is the yearning-thankful-satiated song of love.

Rebecca tightened her hold, her legs wrapped around his waist. Panther Burn buried his face in the crook of her neck and repeated her name in a litany that seemed without end. Rebecca sighed, then caught her breath, surprised as he spasmed again, feeling within her an unexpected wave of warmth. She pressed him into her and whispered endearments in his ear and kissed his earlobe. And Panther Burn chuckled softly. “Again I have counted coup.”

“Saaa!”
Rebecca exclaimed, and rolled him onto his side. He laughed and feigned resistance as Rebecca reached down to cup his softened manhood. “See who has surrendered,” she exclaimed, daring him to challenge her. Her small breasts were round and taut from lovemaking. She covered them with a flick of long black hair. Panther Burn found her demure pose arousing. Her hands traced a line across his moist manhood. Once it had reared fierce and warlike. Poor proud stallion, she thought, playfully wicked, a romp in her fertile fields had gentled him. She traced a swollen blue vein that ran the length of his manhood to the black ringlets covering his groin. He gasped at her explorations. She looked at him, stretched out before her, muscles cording his powerful physique, latent power in his supine form. And yet, as he lay open to her, vulnerable beneath her, she loved him for that vulnerability. Her hands continued to play until the life returned to his once spent muscles and he pulled her down to him. Their forms entwined anew.

Their rhythm was as timeless as the wind in the branches of the ponderosas. Limbs shiver in the gentlest of breezes. Then sway as the breeze becomes a storm. And in the unleashed fury of the tempest, the tree shudders to its roots …
.

A sudden icy gust roused Rebecca Blue Thrush from her heated recollections. She started, disoriented for a moment, felt her baby stir and grope hungrily toward her left breast. Memories of passion faded. The infant demanded immediate attention and Rebecca readjusted her position accordingly, rising up to prop herself against a willow backrest. The infant's lips closed around his mother's nipple and the strong mouth began to suck greedily. Rebecca cooed to her baby and softly sang a mother's song.

Little one, little one
,

grow strong, grow brave
,

be true and generous
,

be wise with the sacred wind
.

Little one, little one
,

may the All-Father bless you

and guide you

along the path of the Great Circle
.

Little one, my little one
.

She glanced up, remembering in an instant the icy breath that had roused her from sleep. Someone had entered. In the dead of night with the campfire but a mound of pulsing red coals, it took several long anxious moments for Rebecca's eyes to adjust to the light. At last she spied Joshua Beartusk huddled in the shadows, his back against the buffalo-hide wall of the tipi.

“I did not mean to wake you,” the old man said. “For a moment I was uncertain if I had entered the right lodge. The snow … confused me. I could not find Zachariah. He broods and keeps to himself, angry that Panther Burn did not allow him to join the raid. It is more important to him to avenge his parents than to help this poor blind one.” A note of self-pity crept into Joshua's tone. The old man sounded tired. He cleared his throat, coughed, bent double, and sent a stream of spittle into the coals. “The winter will kill me. See, already it has counted coup. This will be my last season of snows.” He sighed, lost in his own reverie of remorse.

“Uncle …” Rebecca began. The urgency in her voice brought him back from grim speculations on the nature of his life and death. He laughed softly to himself. Feeling his way, he crawled forward until his fingertips touched the circle of coals, then drew back a moment. His seamed face loomed close to hers; he reached out and gently stroked the infant's cheek. The baby never paused, but continued to nurse, his priorities firmly established.

“Yes, I have heard the boy's name. The
maiyun
have told me, the fire in my lodge has whispered in my ear.” He eased back and smiled. “He will have two names, this one, a
ve-ho-e
name, a Cheyenne name.”

“My husband will be displeased,” Rebecca said. “Two names. What manner of visions were these? Why?”

“Panther Burn will accept what I have said. He has no choice unless he wishes to walk beyond the Circle. The child will be called Michael. And he will be called
Mahta-ho-nehe
, Spirit Wolf. Michael Spirit Wolf. He will walk the world of the Cheyenne and that of the world to come, the world of the white man.”

Spirit Wolf! Eyes of fire. The strange and wondrous visions Rebecca had experienced. It was a good sign.

“Michael Spirit Wolf. A child of the old ways, he shall walk in the new,” said Joshua Beartusk. “He will walk the path of
ve-ho-e
, the straight path that leads only to death, to nothing. And he will not be lost, for the Circle will be within him and the Morning Star will sing to him. And one day he will lead our people as his father does now. But it will not be down a trail of war, but a path of peace.”

Joshua rose, steadied himself, and started out of the tent.

“Uncle, stay awhile. There is tea,” Rebecca called to him. “Stay and warm yourself.”

“Crescent Moon, my sister, has cooked a nice fat rabbit for me. Anyway, it is best I find my sister and tell her that her grandson has a name. She waits to hear of my dream. And she can be impatient, such a one. I would rather face a she-grizzly than her wrath.”

“But the storm?”

“The snowfall only blinds those who can see. For me, it is all the same … sunlight or night. And as long as I keep among the Dog Soldiers, I will not become too lost. I have taught myself the way.” He smiled, then doubled over as another spasm of coughing shook his thin frame. “Funny … the
maiyun
… the
maiyun
spoke with your mother's voice.” He vanished into the night. Rebecca spied the downy white flakes drifting against night's black backdrop before the flap settled into place, hiding the outside world, secluding Rebecca Blue Thrush once again with her child, the two of them snug in their own private world.