The Gathering

by Sharon Sala

  “What is this message?” he asked.

  She pulled the fur down from around her mouth.

  “One of my brothers tells me one of the Cherokee is no more. His spirit left him last night during the storm.”

  The chief frowned.

  “What name did he wear?”

  Tyhen glanced at the chief’s woman. She didn’t know how, but she knew the old man was somehow connected to her.

  “Rabbit Runs.”

  The woman dropped to her knees and began to wail.

  “I am sorry,” Tyhen said.

  Chief Small Foot nodded.

  “His spirit was lost. He had been waiting for it to find him again.”

  “My brother said the old man ran out into the storm. New Ones were staying with him and one of them ran out after him. He was already gone before he found him.”

  The Chief was on his feet.

  “He went into the storm after Rabbit Runs?”

  She nodded.

  He grunted softly.

  “A brave warrior. He could have lost his own life for one who was already gone.”

  Tyhen shrugged.

  “It is how we live,” she said.

  The chief heard her words and was silent for a few moments before he finally nodded.

  “It is good,” he said. “Tell your people some will come to prepare his body, but that they will no longer be able to stay there.”

  Tyhen didn’t question the decision.

  “I will tell them,” she said, then glanced at the weeping woman one last time and left.

  She stood for a few moments outside the chief’s lodge to gather her emotions, and then she sent her brothers one last message.

  Adam! Evan! Can Dakotah hear you?

  They answered in unison.

  Yes. We already told him the Chief is sending someone for the body.

  She sighed, grateful for their presence.

  Thank you.

  They didn’t answer, but it didn’t matter. The situation was no longer her problem.

  She pulled the rabbit furs back up around her face and then took to the sky. She saw Yuma watching for her outside the lodge and when she landed the snow spun up around her.

  “Come inside quickly. Willow has hot food,” Yuma said, and then watched her eyes narrow.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  She shrugged.

  “Willow does not like me.”

  “But I do,” Yuma said, then pulled the fur down to her chin and kissed her.

  She kissed him back with quick abandon and then slipped inside the lodge with Yuma right behind her.

  Willow was kneeling by the fire. She looked up, frowning as the cold came in with them.

  Tyhen went straight to the fire to warm, and when Willow saw her fingers trembling from the cold and the red burn to her cheeks, her expression softened.

  “I think much of your life is given to others.”

  Quick tears burned Tyhen’s eyes but she blinked them away.

  “It is why I was born,” she said, but she was thinking of Dakotah in the tipi with a dead man and wondering how he fared.

  She let Yuma unwind the furs from her face and neck, and then sat with the heavy robe still around her shoulders until the lodge felt warm again.

  It was a sobering way to begin a day.

  ***

  Lola, Aaron, and Dakotah were sitting quietly within Rabbit Runs’s lodge when four women entered, followed by the chief and his wife.

  The moment they entered, the trio stood, their gazes looking down in respect to the grieving family.

  Chief Small Foot eyed the body beneath the buffalo robe, then looked at the New Ones standing before him.

  “There is a warrior waiting for you outside of this lodge. He will take you to the lodge of White Hawk. His leg is crooked and he can no longer hunt. You will feed him and he will shelter you. It is a fair trade.”

  “We thank you,” Aaron said.

  Small Foot walked closer, staring straight into Aaron’s eyes.

  “What are you called?”

  “I am Aaron.”

  Small Foot said the name, but it sounded strange on his tongue.

  “You went out into the storm for the old one?”

  Aaron nodded, then pointed to the boy. “If it had not been for Dakotah, we might not have known he was gone.”

  The chief then looked at the boy between them.

  “This is your son.”

  Before they could answer, Dakotah lifted his head.

  “I am Dakotah, the son of Michael Chavez.”

  Chief Small Foot frowned. In their culture, children did not speak for themselves unless asked, but these were the New Ones and it would seem this was no longer so.

  “Where is your father?” he asked.

  Dakotah’s chin quivered once, but his gaze never wavered.

  “He died running from the mountain that came undone.”

  Lola put a hand on the back of his head.

  “Many died that day, including both of his parents. He was alone. We have cared for him for many months.”

  The chief grunted, curious about such a boy.

  “You saw Rabbit Runs leave his lodge?”

  Dakotah nodded.

  “The cold air woke me up.”

  Small Foot pointed at his wife.

  “She is Little Wren, my wife. Rabbit Runs was her father.”

  Dakotah’s eyes widened. Without hesitation he pulled out of Lola’s grasp and went straight toward her.

  “Dakotah! No!” Lola said, embarrassed that he was not behaving properly in front of the chief.

  But the chief held up his hand, curious as to what this small boy would do next.

  Dakotah heard Lola, but the woman’s cries were louder and they hurt his heart. Within seconds he was beside her. When he touched her shoulder, he felt her flinch.

  “My father died, too. I am sorry for your sadness,” he said softly.

  It was the sudden appearance of a New One that stopped her tears, and the fact that it was a child trying to give her comfort was even more of a curiosity.

  Her face was still streaked with tears, but there was a look of wonder in her eyes.

  “What is your name, boy?” she asked.

  “I am called Dakotah.”

  “Your father is no more?”

  He nodded, then squatted down beside her, curious as to what the four women were doing.

  “What are they doing?” he asked.

  Little Wren took a deep breath and then wiped the tears from her face.

  “They are preparing his body. It is part of our burial custom.”

  “You do it every time?”

  She nodded.

  The frown between his eyes deepened.

  “What happens if you do not prepare?”

  She answered without thinking.

  “Then he would not be able to find his way to the Great Spirit.”

  Dakotah rocked back on his heels. There was a pain in the middle of his chest and it was getting bigger with every breath. He pressed a hand against his heart, trying to stop the ache, but it did no good. When the tears began rolling silently down his cheeks, Little Wren thought he was crying because of the dead body before him.

  “Do not be afraid of death. It is part of life,” she said.

  Dakotah just shook his head as the tears continued to roll.

  Lola ran to him, then knelt and took him into her arms.

  “Why do you cry?” she whispered.

  “We did not prepare their bodies. They cannot find their way to the Great Spirit,” he wailed.

  Little Wren looked horrified. She had not realized the consequences of what she’d said.

  “I am
sorry,” she said, and then looked to her husband for an answer.

  Chief Small Foot did not like it when women and children cried, especially for reasons such as this. He called out abruptly.

  “Dakotah!”

  The demanding tone of the chief’s voice got his attention.

  He wiped his tears and crawled out of Lola’s arms.

  “Yes, Chief?”

  “My wife did not tell you of all the traditions. What they are doing here is only when the body of the dead can be found. When they cannot, we have another ceremony to help them find the right path. We will say the name Michael Chavez aloud in that ceremony so that the Old Ones will know he is coming.”

  Dakotah wiped snot with the back of his hand.

  “And my mother… you will say Julie Chavez, too?”

  Small Foot pointed at him.

  “You will say the names. You will tell the Old Ones they are coming. Because you are their son, their spirits will hear your voice and will be lost no more.”

  A slow smile broke across Dakotah’s face.

  “I can do that?”

  Small Foot would not look at his people because they knew he had made all that up.

  “You can do that. These people who care for you. They will bring you to the ceremony for Rabbit Runs and then your sadness will be over. Yes?”

  Dakotah nodded.

  “Good. Then it is done. Go with the warrior outside now. He will come for you when it time for the ceremony to begin.”

  Dakotah gave Lola a hug and then ran to Aaron and hugged him, too.

  “We are having a ceremony!” he cried.

  “I heard,” Aaron said. “That is good, but we have to leave now. Get your pack.”

  Dakotah picked it up and dashed out of the lodge without looking back.

  “Thank you,” Lola said.

  Small Foot shrugged as he laid a hand on the back of his wife’s head.

  “She does not cry anymore,” he said gruffly.

  And that’s when Lola got it. Dakotah had done for Little Wren what the chief could not. It was the mutual suffering Little Wren had seen in the boy and clung to. He’d found a way to ease her heart.

  They followed Dakotah from the lodge and then followed the warrior to yet another Cherokee willing to share space.

  “I am called White Hawk,” the warrior said.

  They saw the crooked leg and the staggering limp and then looked away.

  “I am called Aaron. We are grateful for your kindness.”

  Lola began to unpack their things on the other side of the lodge then realized she had not spoken to their new host.

  “I am called Lola. This boy is Dakotah. We look after him. Do you have a woman?”

  “She is no more,” White Hawk said.

  “Then I am permitted to keep your fire and cook the food?”

  “It will be appreciated,” White Hawk said.

  “I will hunt for food,” Aaron said.

  “Snow is too deep. Animals not come out,” White Hawk said. “We have enough for now.”

  And so it went as the trio settled yet again.

  Like many of the others, Aaron plowed through the snow long enough to gather firewood from the abundance of dead wood while Lola kept Dakotah occupied enough that he did not bother the warrior willing to share his home.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Because of the rapidly changing weather and the urgency to get back to their tribal land, the Cherokee could not honor Rabbit Runs death in their traditional ways. All they could do was bury him.

  So while the women were preparing his body and gathering the best of his weapons and amulets to bury with him, warriors were inside his lodge, digging the grave beneath the smoke hole where the cooking fire had been.

  When they were ready, Chief Small Foot sent two warriors—one for the Dove, because she was the one who brought the message of his passing, and one for the boy called Dakotah who had ghosts to put to rest.

  ***

  The twins warned Tyhen what was about to occur, so she and Yuma hurried to make themselves presentable. It had been so long since she’d cared about personal appearance that it felt strange to be spending time doing it.

  She was trying to get tangles out of her hair with her fingers while bemoaning the fact she’d lost her comb somewhere between the prairie fire and the wolf attack on Dakotah.

  At that point Yuma tried to help, and then the first time he accidentally pulled her hair, Willow got up from her seat near the fire, waving her hands and talking so fast neither one of them could understand her.

  She pushed Yuma aside, ordered Tyhen to sit down, and then proceeded to remove every tangle out of Tyhen’s hair with what looked like the pointed end of a deer antler.

  For Willow, the fact that a Windwalker’s daughter was human enough to have tangles in her hair had brought her down to a level that the little woman could understand.

  Willow muttered and fussed as she picked out the knots, while Yuma slipped to the other side of the tent and stretched out on their bedding to watch Tyhen’s face.

  As thin as she was and as tumbled and tangled as her long dark hair had become, to him she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. The simple act of watching her eyes flash when Willow pulled at a knot made him want her—the way she jutted her chin in mute disapproval as Willow muttered behind her back made him smile. Being snowed in inside a Cherokee lodge with her would have been ideal if it wasn’t for the awkward presence of another woman. So he watched her with love in his heart, dreaming of their future and happier times.

  Tyhen felt like the prey Yuma hunted. He was following her every movement without moving a muscle, almost as if he was waiting to pounce. His eyelids were nearly closed and his mouth was slightly parted. She knew he was thinking about making love to her and the feeling was mutual, but there was Willow behind them and a body that needed burying.

  A few minutes later Willow grunted and laid the aged bone aside. She was through.

  Breathing a sigh of relief that it was over, Tyhen impulsively grabbed Willow’s hands and gave them a quick squeeze.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Willow tried to pretend it didn’t matter that the Windwalker’s daughter was pleased with her, but she was smiling as she resumed her seat by the fire.

  Within minutes they began to hear the steady crunch of snow. Footsteps! And when the footsteps ceased and then a voice called out, they knew the warrior had come to take them to the burial. She followed Yuma out of the lodge, leaving the old woman behind to tend the fire.

  After the dim and smoky interior, the glittering reflection of sun on snow was blinding. They were still blinking to adjust their vision as the warrior led them away.

  At first Yuma was focused only on Tyhen and getting her out of the cold, but as they walked through the camp he began noticing people coming out of their lodges and then standing in silence as they moved past. He had already guessed the deep snow was going to limit any kind of ceremony for Rabbit Runs, passing, but instead of staying in where it was warm, they were coming out to stand witness as a gesture of respect.

  Tyhen saw them and remembered leaving Naaki Chava without the ceremony they had expected because the downpour of rain was so heavy. And now the weather made it difficult for the people to get to the ceremony, so they had come to stand witness so the family would know they cared.

  Some were crying; others stared mutely as they watched them pass. She thought about all of the people they’d lost since their exit from Naaki Chava, remembering them with sadness. The Cherokee must be feeling the same way in losing theirs. These people had left their villages for her, to hear the message she would bring, and she could only imagine how many were wondering if it was worth it.

  She was still lost in thought when the trek ended abruptly at a lodge. She looked at
Yuma.

  “I thought he was taking us to the burial,” she whispered.

  “You will see,” Yuma said.

  “You wait,” the warrior said, and disappeared inside the lodge.

  When they heard footsteps behind them, they turned to see who was coming and when they saw Lola, Aaron, and Dakotah approaching, led by another warrior, they were surprised. They had been guests in Rabbit Runs’s lodge, but only for one night. She wondered why they were here when the rest of the village was not, but before she could ask what was happening they were summoned to enter.

  Tyhen glanced at Yuma.

  Is there a ceremony before the burial? Is that why we are here?

  Yuma shook his head.

  I think this is where they will bury him.

  “Chief Small Foot waits,” the warrior said, urging them inside.

  Yuma ducked down and led the way inside with Tyhen right behind him. It was very dim and cold without the fire and there was a shallow grave where the fire would have been burning. Yuma was right, she thought. Here is where he will be buried.

  All of a sudden Evan’s voice was in her ear.

  Dakotah is there because he has a mission to fulfill. It will help him deal with the grief of his parents’ deaths.

  She was startled. Unaware the boy was still grieving, she felt guilty for not knowing it.

  Yuma moved up beside her and put his hand at her waist, but said nothing. His gaze was focused on the boy, wondering if he was upset by this death, but could tell nothing from Dakotah’s behavior. He was as still and stone-faced as the chief standing at the foot of the grave.

  The chief’s wife, Little Wren, was kneeling beside her father’s body, quietly weeping.

  Tyhen glanced at her briefly before looking down at the old man and immediately thought of Stanley Blue Jacket. He had been small and withered like this.

  Rabbit Runs had been laid out on the buffalo robe under which he used to sleep, and they had dressed him in what must have been his best. His long white hair hung in two braids over his shoulders, and there was an eagle feather tied into his hair. A bear-tooth necklace spanned half the breadth of his chest and a design made of porcupine quills had been sewn into the tops of his moccasins. It was as close to the warrior he had once been as they could make him look.