Read The Spirit Path Online

Authors: Madeline Baker

The Spirit Path (3 page)

Chapter Six

 

A shrill cry of terror shattered Shadow Hawk’s sleep. Rolling nimbly to his feet, he reached for his bow, grabbed a quiver of arrows and hurried out of the lodge.

For a moment he could only stare at the chaos before him. The setting sun cast a crimson shadow over the village so that everything looked dreamlike and unreal. Men, women and children ran wildly through the village while the hated blue-clad soldiers rode amongst them, shooting everything that moved. People, horses and dogs fell prey to the rifles of the Long Knives. The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder. And blood.

Rage filled Shadow Hawk’s breast as he reached for Ohitika’s reins. Even now, Red Cloud and a handful of the tribal elders were in Washington talking peace. How like the white man, he mused, to hold out the promise of peace with one hand and strike down women and children with the other!

Swinging onto the stallion’s back, Shadow Hawk swept his gaze over the area as he searched for some sign of his mother, but he could not find her in the surging crowd.

Ohitika reared up on his hind legs as a blue-clad trooper came hurtling toward him. With a wild cry, Shadow Hawk nocked an arrow to his bow and let it fly, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction as the arrow pierced the man’s chest.

Shadow Hawk rode into the midst of the battle, rage building within him as he saw a small child trampled beneath the iron-shod hooves of a cavalryman’s horse. He saw his best friend, Red Arrow, plunge a knife deep into the throat of one of the
wasichu
,
saw a hairy-faced trooper skewer a child with a bayonet.

A scream of outrage rumbled in Shadow Hawk’s throat as he rode the white man down. From the corner of his eye he saw one of the soldiers struggling with Red Arrow’s wife.

Slamming his heels into Ohitika’s sides, Shadow Hawk rode the white man down. He caught a brief look of gratitude from Red Arrow’s wife and then she was lost from sight as she grabbed her young son by the arm and ran for cover.

Shadow Hawk scanned the crowd still hoping to find his mother. His nostrils filled with the smell of dust and sweat, of fear and blood. Off to the right a lodge went up in flames. The smoke and the smell of burning hides made his eyes water. His ears rang with the noise of battle, horses whinnying in panic, children crying in terror, women shrieking with fear, the moans of the dying. And over all, the shrill, ululating war cry of the Lakota.

He killed two more white men as he rode back through the village and then, to his left, he saw Heart-of-the-Wolf making his way toward the timber at the east end of the village and he rode after the frail medicine man.

Riding up beside Heart-of-the-Wolf, he leaned over the side of his horse, grabbed the medicine man by the waist, and lifted him onto Ohitika’s back, then headed for the cover of the trees, intending to leave the old man there while he returned to the village to search for Winona.

“Stay here,” Shadow Hawk said, reining the stallion to a sharp halt, but before he could lower the medicine man to the ground, a trio of soldiers rode up behind him, firing wildly.

“Hang on!” Shadow Hawk shouted. His heart pounding with fear for the old man’s life, he slammed his heels into Ohitika’s sides.

“The cave!” Heart-of-the-Wolf shouted. “Go to the cave. We’ll be safe there.”

It was in Shadow Hawk’s mind to refuse. His people were fighting for their lives and he wanted to be there fighting with them. But he could not abandon Heart-of-the-Wolf now. When the battle was over the people would need their holy man.

Shadow Hawk urged the big calico stallion to go faster. He could hear the soldiers hollering as they continued to give chase. The roar of gunfire seemed to grow closer, louder. He felt Heart-of-the-Wolf jerk against him, heard the sharp report of a rifle, and he drummed his heels into the stallion’s flanks, knowing their only hope was to outrun the soldiers.

They had reached the hills now. Higher and higher they climbed, driven on by the shouts and gunshots of the pursuing troopers, and then the Sacred Cave was in sight, its yawning maw as black as a winter night.

Reining Ohitika to a halt, Shadow Hawk dismounted. Ignoring Heart-of-the-Wolf’s protests, he lifted the old man into his arms as if he were no more than a child and hurried toward the entrance.

“Your weapons,” Heart-of-the-Wolf said as they reached the passageway. “You must not take them inside.”

Shadow Hawk hesitated only a moment, then he dropped his bow and quiver to the ground and stepped into the shadowed cavern.

Inside, he lowered Heart-of-the-Wolf to the ground. The old man was breathing heavily now and Shadow Hawk put his arm around the medicine man’s frail shoulders to steady him.

He tensed as he heard voices, and then he saw one of the soldiers approaching the mouth of the cave.

“Be still,” Heart-of-the-Wolf admonished quietly.

“I should have brought my weapons,” Shadow Hawk retorted. “We are trapped in here.”

“No,” Heart-of-the-Wolf said reassuringly. “Only wait and see.”

The bluecoat paused a moment at the entrance, silhouetted against the fading twilight, then, with his bayoneted rifle at the ready, he crossed the threshold and stepped into the murky darkness.

Shadow Hawk held his breath, certain he was about to die, and then he felt it, the cave’s blackness hovering all around him, a living entity armed for battle.

But there was no battle. Three more steps carried the soldier well into the cave.

Shadow Hawk stared at the white man, barely visible within the darkness of the cave. For long seconds there was only silence and then, with a strangled sound of pain, the white man collapsed.

Voices at the entrance to the cavern drew Shadow Hawk’s gaze and he saw the other two
wasichu
peering inside, apparently calling for their companion.

Shadow Hawk frowned, wishing he could understand the white man’s tongue. But he didn’t need words to know the two white men were arguing about whether to enter the cave. It was obvious they were bothered by the disappearance of the first soldier, and Shadow Hawk could see by their expressions that the two remaining white men were hesitant to enter the cave, not knowing what waited for them inside.

After a few minutes the soldiers shrugged and walked away.

“What now?” Shadow Hawk asked. He turned to face Heart-of-the-Wolf, though he could not see the old man’s face in the thick darkness that surrounded them.

“We wait until they go away.”

“I must go back,” Shadow Hawk said. Agitated, he began to pace back and forth. “The people may need me.”

“No. The bluecoats will kill you before you can reach your weapons. You will be of more value to our people alive than dead.”

“I should not have broken the silence of the cave during the vision,” Shadow Hawk said, his voice thick with self-accusation. “If I had not failed, we would have known of this battle.”

“Do not blame yourself. It takes a brave heart to enter this cave. You did well.”

Shadow Hawk shook his head. His people were dying because he had failed. Perhaps his mother was dead, killed by the bluecoats, while he hid in a cave like a frightened rabbit.

“I must go back,” he said, starting toward the entrance. “I will return for you when the battle is over.”

“Wait.”

The pain in the old man’s voice stopped Shadow Hawk and he returned to the medicine man’s side. “What is it?”

“You must not blame yourself for what has happened,” Heart-of-the-Wolf said, his voice suddenly weak. “Before this day is over our people will have need of a new holy man. Remember all that I have taught you.”


Tunkasila
…” Shadow Hawk slipped his arm around Heart-of-the-Wolf’s waist, uttered a soft cry of denial as he felt the warm blood oozing through the back of the old man’s buckskin shirt.

“There is nothing you can do for me,
Cetán
. May
Wakán Tanka
guide your steps until we meet again.”

“And yours.”

Shadow Hawk felt his throat grow thick with unshed tears as he lowered Heart-of-the-Wolf to the ground. The floor of the cavern was smooth and flat, covered with a thick layer of fine sand.

Heart-of-the-Wolf placed a hand on Shadow Hawk’s forearm. “Your mother is well,” he said. His voice was weaker now, barely audible in the hushed silence of the Sacred Cave. “
Cetán
, the Spirit Woman appeared to me in a dream just before the soldiers came. Listen to her. When the time comes she will tell you what to do…”

Shadow Hawk murmured the medicine man’s name as he felt the strength go out of Heart-of-the-Wolf’s grip, and he knew the life had gone out of the old man’s eyes as well.

He felt a sudden warmth, like a summer wind, whisper past his cheek and he shivered, wondering if it was his imagination or if he’d just felt Heart-of-the-Wolf’s spirit take its first step on
Wanagi Tacaka
, the Spirit Path, which led to
Wanagi Yatu
, the Place of Souls.

For a long while Shadow Hawk sat beside the old man’s body. Heart-of-the-Wolf had been a part of his life for as far back as he could remember, teaching him, helping him to be a warrior, answering his questions. And now he was gone. It seemed fitting, somehow, that the aged shaman had died deep within the heart of the Sacred Cave.

Shadow Hawk fought back tears of grief and anger as he smoothed the old man’s hair from his face, folded the gnarled hands over the narrow chest, gently closed his eyes.

Softly, his heart aching with his loss, he began to chant Heart-of-the-Wolf’s death song, beseeching the Great Spirit to guide the old man’s steps into the Great Mystery that was death.

He sat there for a long time, his hatred for the whites churning within him, making his blood burn with a need for vengeance.

Rising to his feet, Shadow Hawk walked toward the entrance to the cave, thinking to go back to the village, but the sound of voices changed his mind. The soldiers were still out there, waiting, and he had no weapons with which to fight them. He could see his bow lying where he’d dropped it, and there was Ohitika nibbling at a patch of yellow grass, but he could not see the bluecoats.

Returning to the rear of the cavern, Shadow Hawk sat down with his back to the wall.

For a time his thoughts wandered and then he stared at the east wall of the Sacred Cave, wondering if he had the power to summon the spirit of the cave without Heart-of-the-Wolf’s prayers to guide him.

Closing his eyes, he tried to focus on the outcome of the battle. Instead he found himself thinking of the Spirit Woman, and he seemed to hear Heart-of-the-Wolf’s dying words whisper in the back of his mind.
Listen to her. When the time comes, she will tell you what to do…

But Heart-of-the-Wolf was dead, and he would never learn her secret now…

Shadow Hawk sat up, torn from the brink of sleep as the spirit of the cave settled over him. As though drawn by an invisible hand, he turned his head, saw the east wall of the cave begin to glow as the square house of a white man materialized before his eyes.

“No!” Shadow Hawk shook his head as the spirit of the cave swirled around him, enveloping him, carrying him away into darkness…

 

He woke slowly, his mind and body feeling groggy, and then, remembering the battle, he made his way toward the entrance of the cavern.

Shadow Hawk paused there for a few moments, listening, and when he heard nothing, he stepped outside.

The sun was rising over the Black Hills, lighting the edge of the eastern sky, streaking the horizon with brilliant splashes of red and gold.

He stood still a moment, every muscle tense, but no bullet came to find him as he left the shelter of the Sacred Cave. There was only the soft sighing of the wind as it danced across the hilltop and the answering whisper of the leaves from a nearby pine tree.

It was then he noticed that his weapons were gone, and so was the big calico stallion.

Shadow Hawk took a deep breath, his hatred for the white men growing stronger, deeper, with each passing minute. Until today he had thought of them only as a peculiar race, a people who didn’t know where to find the center of the earth, but now he hated them with a rage that was all-encompassing. They had summoned Red Cloud to Washington to talk of peace when they wanted war. They had killed Heart-of-the-Wolf. They had stolen his prized war horse and his weapons.

He drew in a deep steadying breath, released it in a long shuddering sigh. And then he started down the hillside, wondering if anyone had survived the battle, wondering if he would find his people dead and the village burned to the ground.

But Heart-of-the-Wolf had said his mother still lived, and with that thought in mind he began to run, his heart pounding with hope and dread.

He was running down a narrow twisting deer trail, dodging left and right to avoid the prickly brush that covered the hill, when something slammed into his right side knocking him off his feet. He heard the report of the gunshot as he hit the ground. Seconds later a large buck bounded past him and disappeared into the underbrush.

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