The Spirit Path (26 page)

Bobby stood at the mouth of the Sacred Cave wondering if he had the guts to take the first step inside.

That afternoon, he had called Veronica and told her what he was going to do, hoping, perhaps, that she would be able to talk him out of it.

And she had tried; perversely, all Veronica’s arguments had only strengthened his resolve. The need to be a warrior, to prove himself in battle, had been stronger than all her arguments, and in the end, she had begged him to be careful and promised to pray for him.

Jared and Joshua had volunteered to stay at the ranch until Bobby returned, and that tied up all the loose ends.

Staring into the cave’s darkness, Bobby took a deep breath. He wore the clout and moccasins he’d worn on his vision quest. He carried no weapons. He’d fasted for twenty-four hours. He’d prayed for help and guidance. He carried a handful of sacred pollen to offer to the gods. All that remained was to take the first step.

The brassy taste of fear rose in his mouth, not fear of the cave, but fear that he didn’t have what it took to be a warrior; that he didn’t have the fortitude to step into the cave and face the unknown.

Raising his arms overhead, he prayed for courage, for guidance, his heart pounding a quick tattoo as he stared at the full moon that brightened the night sky.

It was time, he thought. If he was ever going to do it, the time was now, on the night of the full moon.

His mouth felt dry, his palms were damp, his whole body quivered with excitement, and fear—fear of the unknown, fear of failure, fear of the death that awaited him if he was not worthy to enter the cave. Hawk had told him what to do, what to wear, how to behave. All that remained was finding the courage to do it.

“I am Proud Eagle.”

His voice was hardly a whisper and he repeated the words again, louder this time, stronger.

“I am Proud Eagle.”

He closed his eyes and thought of his vision, of the power he had felt as he became one with his spirit guide. And then, in his mind, he heard again the words he’d heard in the Sacred Cave.

Proud Eagle, you must follow the Hawk.

And he knew it was time to enter the Sacred Cave and follow the Spirit Path that would lead to his destiny.

With a final prayer for guidance, he lowered his arms and took his first step into the enveloping darkness of the cave.

It was still and silent as the grave. The sound of his heartbeat roared like thunder in his ears as he took another step into the cavern and then another.

I am Proud Eagle.

He said the words in his mind as he took another step into the Sacred Cave.

Sensations assailed him. The cave was cool but not cold. The ground at his feet was smooth and covered with sand. He took a deep breath, faced toward the east and reached for the small bag of pollen tied to his belt. As Hawk had instructed, he offered a pinch of pollen to the sacred winds, to Man Above, to Mother Earth, and then he sat down on the ground and concentrated on his people.

Fear rose within him, primal and unreasoning, as he felt the darkness close around him, exploring him with hands that had no substance, sniffing him, reading his mind and his heart.

I
am Proud Eagle. I must follow the Hawk.

He repeated the words over and over in his mind.

The darkness was all around him now, alive, breathing, a living entity with a mind and a heart of its own.

It was pulling at him, dragging him deeper into the darkness, into the very heart of the cave.

Knowing it was useless to fight, Bobby Proud Eagle surrendered to the blackness, felt himself falling down, down, into a swirling vortex that carried him into oblivion.

They rode all that night and into the dawn and when it seemed Hawk would ride nonstop until they reached Canada, Maggie began to complain of being tired. Hawk called a halt immediately, as she had known he would. In truth, she
was
tired, but it was Hawk’s well-being that concerned her. He looked pale and on the verge of exhaustion, and though he had traveled without complaint, she knew his broken rib must be causing him a great deal of pain.

In a matter of minutes, the women had small fires burning and were passing out jerky and pemmican. Maggie sat beside Hawk, studying him surreptitiously. Were his eyes too bright? Did he look feverish, or was it just her imagination?

He caught her worried look and grinned. “Mag-gie, I am all right.”

“Are you sure?” She placed her hand on his forehead, relieved to find it cool to the touch.

“I am sure. Do not worry.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Get some sleep. We will rest only a few hours.”

“How long will it take us to get to Canada?”

“We are going to Sitting Bull.”

“Sitting Bull? But why?”

“It will be winter soon. We will not make the journey to the Land of the Grandmother until spring.”

Maggie nodded. He was right, of course. They’d had to leave their lodges and most of their belongings behind, and they didn’t have enough warm clothes or enough food to see them through a long winter. It was now, in the fall of the year, that the Sioux would be hunting, storing meat to see them through the winter.

Maggie let her gaze wander around the small camp. Six men, four in their prime; nine women, most of them past childbearing age, and eight children under the age of ten.

She couldn’t help but wonder how many of them would survive the long journey north.

They reached Sitting Bull’s camp a week later. Maggie was deeply touched as she watched Sitting Bull’s people open their homes to what was left of Hawk’s tribe. The Hunkpapa women gathered hides and quickly erected lodges for the married couples; single women were taken into the homes of elderly couples.

Maggie and Hawk shared a lodge with Winona. It was not a situation Maggie was particularly happy with. For one thing, she feared that Winona was less than thrilled at having a white woman for a daughter-in-law. For another, having Winona in the lodge left them no privacy at night, and she felt odd lying in Hawk’s arms when his mother’s bed was only a few feet away. But it was only temporary. In the spring, they would travel to Canada, and then they would have their own lodge.

Sighing, she snuggled closer to Hawk, felt his arm slip around her shoulders to draw her close.

Burying his face in her hair, Hawk began to caress her, losing himself in her nearness. Her skin was as soft as the petals of the wild roses that grew along the banks of the Rosebud, her lips as sweet as the berries that grew in the summertime.

Conscious of her mother-in-law sleeping nearby, Maggie whispered, “Hawk, not now.”

“Spirit Woman.” He whispered her name as he caressed her breasts and her belly, and then he drew back, a look of wonder in his eyes.

Maggie blinked up at him, a little disappointed that he had given heed to her words so quickly, and then she frowned. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I feel life growing within you.”

“What did you say?”

“I can feel the heartbeat of our child beneath my hand. You are carrying a new life within your womb. A son, Mag-gie. We will have a son.”

Maggie shook her head. If she was pregnant, wouldn’t she be the first to know it? She frowned as she thought of the symptoms she’d been having the last few weeks, the queasiness in the morning, the tenderness in her breasts, the fact that her period was late. She’d attributed her lack of energy and all the other complaints to tension and stress. It had never occurred to her that she could be pregnant.

“There’s no way you could know such a thing,” she said, stunned by his revelation. “It’s impossible.”

“Spirit Woman.” He whispered her name as his hand slid reverently over her belly. “You should know by now that between us nothing is impossible.”

Filled with wonder, Maggie placed her hand over Hawk’s, and all the while she gazed into the depths of his eyes, feeling her soul communing with his.

And suddenly she felt it too, the promise of a new life, the echo of a heartbeat beating soft as a butterfly wing, and in her mind’s eye she saw a child, a beautiful little boy with smooth tawny skin and hair the color of a raven’s wing.

Hawk’s son.

A lasting link between the past and the future.

The following morning, the
Nacas
,
the leaders of the camp, decided it was time to move the village. A crier rode through the camp, announcing that the village would be moving in two days time. They would spend the winter in the sheltering wooded hollows of the Black Hills, camping where wood and water were abundant.

As soon as he heard the news, Shadow Hawk went to Sitting Bull and told him that they must not camp in the
Paha Sapa
that
year, that it would not be safe.

“How do you know this?” Sitting Bull asked, his tone skeptical. The Lakota had always found shelter from the harsh winter storms in the sacred hills.

“I have traveled the Spirit Path of the Sacred Cave, and it was shown to me that any who winter in the Black Hills will be destroyed by the
wasichu
.”

Sitting Bull considered Hawk’s words for a long time. The legend of the Sacred Cave was known to all the Council Fires of the Lakota Nation, though only the holy man of the Oglala tribe possessed the power to enter the cave on the night of the full moon.

“I hear your words, my brother,” Sitting Bull said gravely. “I will speak to the
Nacas
.”

Two days later the journey began.

It was an amazing sight, Maggie thought. Scouts rode at the head of the long column, followed by the warriors who rode their best horses and wore their best clothing. Following the warriors came the women and children, some riding and some walking, and then the vast horse herd.

They traveled leisurely, taking time out to rest, to hunt, to laugh and to play, to adjust the packs, to eat.

Maggie rode beside Hawk, fascinated by the speed with which the women had dismantled the lodges, amazed that a whole village could be moved so quickly and easily. She could find nothing to compare it to save the flight of the Children of Israel out of Egypt as depicted in the film
The Ten Commandments
.
Indeed, that was how the Sioux traveled, carrying with them everything they owned, leaving nothing behind save a few old lodge-poles and scraps of hide.

But it was the thought of being a mother that occupied most of Maggie’s thoughts. They had not told anyone their news, not even Winona, and Maggie held her secret close, cherishing it, dreaming the same dreams all women dreamed when they carried a new life under their hearts.

She looked at Hawk with new eyes now, seeing in him the epitome of what a father should be, a man who was brave and strong, protective and proud; a man who could defend her and provide for her, a man who would teach their son about loyalty and honor, respect for the land, respect for life itself.

He hovered over her, making sure she was comfortable when they stopped at night, making sure she had enough to eat, that she went to bed early.

Winona watched them through knowing eyes, remembering how it had been in those years long past when she had been pregnant with Shadow Hawk. Her husband, Gray Otter, had looked at her the way Shadow Hawk now looked at Maggie. It warmed her heart and made her sad at the same time. Knowing how much they yearned to be alone at this special time in their lives, she often left their temporary lodge in the evening, going out to visit with Sitting Bull and his family.

Shadow Hawk stared after his mother as she left the lodge, his expression thoughtful as he took Maggie in his arms.

“She knows,” he remarked.

“Do you think so?”

“I am sure of it.”

“Do you think she’s glad?”

“Is not every woman happy at the thought of a new life?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think your mother likes me very much.”

“She will in time.”

“I hope so.” Maggie pressed her cheek to Hawk’s chest and closed her eyes, content to listen to the steady sound of his heartbeat, to feel his arms around her. She didn’t feel pregnant, and yet she knew in her heart that she carried Hawk’s child. The thought filled her with joy, and fear.

“What is it?” Hawk asked, sensing the change in her mood.

“I…I’m afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Having the baby.”

“I do not understand.”

Neither did she, not really. How could she tell him she was afraid of childbirth, afraid of the pain, afraid of dying, afraid of having the baby in the Canadian wilderness? He would think her cowardly, weak, unfit to be the mother of a Lakota warrior. But she couldn’t help it. She was afraid.

“My mother will be there to help you,” Hawk remarked.

“I know.”

“There is nothing to fear.”

“I know.” But all the logic in the world couldn’t change the way she felt. And the idea of having the baby here, in this time, made it all the worse. Women frequently died in childbirth. Babies were born dead, or died of diseases that, in the future, were no longer considered serious or fatal.

“Mag-gie.”

“I’m all right,” she said, but she didn’t want to have her baby here. When the time came, she wanted a sterile hospital delivery room, and a doctor in a clean linen gown, and drugs to take the edge off the pain and modern technology in case something went wrong.

She snuggled against him, seeking the strength of his arms, finding comfort in the strong steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek. She wouldn’t be afraid. So long as Hawk was there beside her, she wouldn’t be afraid.

Shadow Hawk held Maggie close, her fears now his. He had never given much thought to the mystery of birth. It was a thing best left to the understanding of women. But as he sat there, holding Maggie close, he remembered that Red Arrow’s first wife had died giving birth to a stillborn child, and that, through the years, there had been many women who had died in childbirth and many babies who had not lived more than a few days. The Lakota way of life was hard. Only the strong survived. That was the way it was, the way it had always been. As a child and a young man, he had not questioned such things, but now…

He gazed down at Maggie, pressed so trustingly against him, and knew he would make any sacrifice to keep her safe. He would pray for her each morning and each night, and in the summer he would offer his blood and his pain at the Sun Dance pole, beseeching the gods of the Lakota to watch over his woman and his son.

And then he thought of what Maggie had told him of the future. The white men would be coming soon. They would find the yellow metal in the Black Hills, battles would be fought and won, fought and lost, and in a few short years his people would be defeated, at the mercy of the
wasichu
,
penned on a reservation… It was the reason he was taking his people to Canada.

It occurred to him then, with crystal clarity, that he did not want to go to Canada, that he did not want to live in the Grandmother’s country, that he wanted to live here, in the shadow of the Black Hills, where he had always lived, that he wanted his son to be born there.

But all that was impossible now, and for the first time, he realized what he was giving up.