“Wait!” Meny protested. “Let’s see if someone is brave enough to challenge Standing Bull. This time I’ll take your shell necklace and you can still take the bag, the chia seed, and the minks if he doesn’t beat his challenger.”
Mesculera’s men ran to him and helped him up. As he was escorted out of the rink, most of the crowd cheered in support.
When the cheers died down, Counting Bird shouted, “Have we no challenger for the champion.” The inflection in his voice almost bordered on mockery. Then looking out over the crowd added, “Have you all lost heart? Is there no wolf can match our mighty Bull? If I were a younger man, I’d be the first in this rink.”
Standing Bull strutted, menaced the crowd with his fists, and boasted, “Is there anyone else that wants to be crushed like a flea?”
Taneshewa turned her head. All at once, there was a stirring in the crowd. Sur Sceaf stepped into the rink. “Counting Bird, I challenge the so-called victor.”
A mighty rumble roared throughout the crowd as the men and women pressed forward to place their bets. Mesculera had returned and now stood in the front surrounded by his dog soldiers, a discernible smile of contentment on his battered face.
Taneshewa felt sick. Sur Sceaf was likely to lose. His pretty face would be smashed and bloody. Standing Bull was not only cruel and vindictive, but would take sadistic pleasure ‘in crushing him like a flea.’
Finally, the crowd quieted down to a few murmurs and the betting ceased.
Taneshewa restrained a retch at the smug look on Standing Bull’s face. “The arrogant bastard disgusts me. This time I will bet both my medicine bag and my shell necklace.” The chance of Sur Sceaf winning was small, but she would be praying for that chance anyway.
Meny gave her a troubled look. “I really don’t want to bet against Surrey, but I really want that medicine bag and would be foolish to let this opportunity pass.”
Taneshewa said, “And I really want those pelts and I pray to the Great Spirit that he humbles Standing Bull.”
Sur Sceaf appeared remarkably calm and quiet. As he walked to the center of the rink where Standing Bull and Counting Bird waited, he radiated a confidence and determination she could not fully understand. Though not a little man by a long shot, Sur Sceaf was still a half head shorter and a good fifty pounds lighter than the Bull.
“Please! Grandmother, grant Sur Sceaf the victory over this puffed up Bull, who has done me such harm as to break my spirit and will to have joy in life.”
There was the same kind of electricity in the crowd that occurred before a thunderstorm.
Her breath caught as she waited for the match to begin.
Sur Sceaf and Standing Bull locked in a wrestlers clinch, hands hooking one another’s necks. Snearing, Standing Bull said, “I’m going to enjoy seeing you eat dust, Quant.”
Counting Bird held up his hand, paused, and then dropped the lady moccasin. Lightning fast, Sur Sceaf butted Standing Bull in the face, smashing his nose. At the same instant he hooked Standing Bull’s foot out from under him sending the smug bastard tumbling to the ground. No one had expected such a swift move, most of all, Standing Bull. The crowd screamed with excitement and she felt her heart racing with joy.
Standing Bull rolled to one side, held his nose with a bloody hand, and got to his feet. His rage was all too apparent in the twisted scowl he wore. As his nose continued to drip with blood, he swung his massive fist at Sur Sceaf, who ducked and whirled, punching Standing Bull repeatedly in the kidneys. Finally, the brute collapsed upon his knees, breathing hard, clearly in pain. He raised a hand, the sign of ‘time out.’ For a moment she felt some pity for Standing Bull, but next to her, Meny was cheering wildly.
“What are you doing? I thought you bet on Standing Bull?”
“I did, it’s just so damned good to see him get his due.” She took Meny by the hands and laughed. “Praise be to Grandmother, I could not agree more.”
The time out, one of which was allotted to each combatant, was over. Counting Bird signed for the fighting to begin anew. Standing Bull rose up visibly weakened, with a river of blood running out his nose. Head down, he charged. Sur Sceaf sidestepped and whirled. The punch he delivered to Standing Bull’s chin sounded like a sledgehammer against a hollow willow, sending the Bull reeling backwards onto the ground. This time he didn’t move. He was out cold. The crowd roared.
Taneshewa shouted, “He’s unconscious. The bastard is knocked out! Sur Sceaf wins!”
Meny laughed, “You sound surprised.”
“I admit, I had my doubts, Standing Bull is so much heavier, but Surrey must truly be the great warrior everyone claims him to be.” She shot a look of approval at Sur Sceaf and caught his warm smile directed her way.
Meny said, “Aha! You called him Surrey. You can’t tell me the juices aren’t rising in your branches.”
“Those branches of mine, you speak of, shall soon be adorned with your fair mink pelts.” But privately she found herself exulting in Surrey’s victory. He truly was a magical beast as Meny had so often called him.
As she and Meny left the rink for the dancing at the crater, she found herself thinking what it would be like to be in Surrey’s arms.
Chapter 11: The Rings of Heaven
No one challenged Sur Sceaf, so Counting Bird declared him the Cock of the Rock. Mesculera was the first to congratulate him, while Going Snake and even Counting Bird praised him profusely. But it was the joyous smile that Taneshewa had offered him that meant the most. When he returned to his tipi to bathe, he cleaned up and dressed in his teal suit once more. He couldn’t wait to see her again and wanted to put his best foot forward. It was now midday and he wouldn’t likely see her until the Ring Ceremony which would take place at nightfall, but somehow he hoped to encounter her before then. Feeling the need to be alone and meditate he made his way to the lip of the crater and the spruce tree that afforded him privacy from those eager to celebrate his victory.
After a time of meditation and prayer he found himself thinking about the fight with Standing Bull and wondered if it might have been a mistake to engage Standing Bull in the fighting rink at all. Long Swan had warned him about showing off and the acts of pride and passion he had often been given to. Had he failed to hear the warning? What was it that made him want to humiliate the rhug so much. Was it pride? Jealousy? Vengeance? Arrogance? Justice? Perhaps all! One look at his bloody knuckles and he realized he must stop acting so impulsively. As the preferred leader of the three tribes, he could no longer afford the consequences of such brash actions. But, oh, how good it felt at the time! Best of all was Ahy’s smile. He would do anything to see that smile again.
As he sat on his haunches watching the Sharaka dancing, dogs chasing kids, braves sitting in circles telling stories, and women toiling over their campfires while gossiping, he took pleasure in his Sharaka heritage. These people were decent, loving, and kind, with a proud history. They were the most successful race in resisting the Pitters and all other tribes and races honored them for it. More than ever, he realized they deserved to be led by a man in charge of his own emotions; not by some hot head like the man he’d been that day. If he made such a miscalculation in a battle against the Pitters, it would be more costly than a few bloody knuckles and although he was sure that Standing Bull and his cadre were already his enemy, he knew these dogs would want to pay him back anyway they could. He shook his head and thought of more pleasant things. Mostly Taneshewa.
He allowed the sun’s warmth to caress his body. From below, the music of the dances lolled him comfortably. Though his head ached from his collision with Standing Bull’s face, the rest of him felt pleasantly soothed by the mingled scents of pine, spruce, and hemlock. He found himself looking forward to this evening’s events, when he would share the rings with Going Snake and Taneshewa. Then he would be in the Circle of the Three Rings precisely at the time the moon disappeared and reappeared from the Ea-Urth’s shadow according to the shamans and wizards. How he longed t
o steal a kiss from Ahy in that most sacred of moments.
Opening his eyes, he spotted Meny and Ahy by the Red Tent sitting and talking. Every once and a while one of them glanced his way, leaving him to believe they were talking about him. What might she be saying? Meny had promised she would plead his case to Ahy. If anyone could bridge their worlds, Mendaho could do it.
In the past, he had proposed to six women with very little effort. His marriage to Paloma had been arranged by their families because of their mutual king’s blood. Lana’s desire to wed him required her to overcome her Quailor family’s objections, but still went relatively smooth. Though, her parents disowned her. His betrothal to Faechild was due to close family ties and bloodlines once again. Milkchild was Faechild’s dear Jywdic friend, and Faechild had campaigned to make her his fourth wife. It all flowed ever so smoothly with nary a glitch. His fifth wife, Swan Hilde, came by way of his intellectual attraction to an equal while at the Academy at Maiden’s Head. Finally, Shining Moon the Sharaka, sought him out like a huntress, shy girl that she was. Capturing him with her beauty and boldness, she had proposed to him. But now he was on his own, out of practice at courting with still numerous cultural barriers to breach. Even with Meny’s help, the odds were against him. Besides, she was so much younger than him. He was in his thirty-third winter and she was still only on the edge of seventeen.
It was a pity he hadn’t felt more inspiration to court Mendaho, for then he could have easily just married both of them, but life taught him to lean wholly into the understanding and direction of the Ur Fyr. Meny was so beautiful, so intelligent, but the Ur Fyr had prompted him she had another future than one with him, nothing more than that. One does not tell the wind where to list nor does one command the Ur Fyr. It simply blesses you when you make the right choices.
Sur Sceaf glanced down the hill. Saw the shamans preparing another black sun from their black sand and grit and then pouring turquoise powder in its center to mark the crater as the center of the black sun and the navel of their world. He heard the drummers and fifers preparing their music for another ‘Lover’s Dance.’ Idly glancing here and there, he caught Mendaho and Taneshewa preparing for the dance. He felt jealousy that Ahy might have some other brave in mind for bonding. She had shown a liking to Mesculero and that lit some jealousy in him. But Sur Sceaf’s heart pounded in his chest as she turned a brief look up at him. The music began in earnest and he felt a prompting from the Ur Fyr to join in the dance. As he reached the flat of the plain below the rim, one dance had just ended with a maid walking off with the brave she pointed to with her moccasin. Another round of music began. Another maid came out, chose a brave, and they likewise departed the circle.
Why am I getting this prompting? Am I supposed to join in on the Lover’s Dance? Isn’t that too presumptuous on my part? He no sooner thought it than Taneshewa went into the black sun, touched her foot to the black sand, reached down, and untied her moccasin. She exited the circle of braves. His heart fell. Who would she choose? He was still a tree’s length from the circle when he stopped dead, his hopes plummeting. She must be going to join with a brave of her choosing. He waited and watched with his heart in his throat. But she didn’t approach any of the braves. Instead, she left the circle of her people and started towards him. As she approached, graceful as a swan across water, the gentle rattle of her doe feet klackers sounded like the rustle of autumn leaves in the wind. His chest swelled in anticipation and he found his breath clogged in his throat.
Stopping an arm’s length away, she used her best Herewardi decorum, purring in a sultry voice, “My Lord Prince Sur Sceaf, would you mind tying my lady moccasin for me?” Placing the tip of her right forefinger to her puckered lips, she gripped his shoulder with the left for balance, all the while extending her foot in bold confidence towards him.
It was an effort to steady his voice as he teased, “It’s a wonder you have any moccasins left as much as you danced last night.”
She laughed shyly. “I love the freedom of dance. It lets the body and the mind rejoice as one. Just like swinging in those rings. It is my form of worship.” Her scent enveloped him like a bed of lilies. Her long shiny hair brushed against his cheek as he watched her face flush with heightened color. The nearness of her face forced a warmth throughout his body. Were it not for all the eyes on them he would have kissed her.
Sur Sceaf grasped her ankle high moccasin by the heel and felt the warmness of its butter soft doeskin. He was careful to place her foot gently on his thigh, savoring the touch of it pressing against him. With a studied art, he tied a Herewardi knot on her moccasin whereupon she gave an inquiring glance.
In an emotion thickened voice he explained. “This is the Herewardi knot and it holds a special meaning in our culture. For it represents the binding of our hearts and bloodlines.”
“Yes I know,” she offered with shining eyes, “Sagwi told me. Perhaps you would tie the other with the same knot. If I am to marry you, I must adopt as many Herewardi customs as my quiver can hold.”
“It would be my pleasure.” He reflected on the permission her words gave to join him in marriage.
His skin was hungry for the warmth of her touch as he lowered her left foot and lifted her right.He finished tying the complicated knot, savoring every moment the touch her foot afforded him until he gently placed her foot back on the level.
Upon looking into her eyes, he felt a lightning connection before she lowered her gaze and shyly looked down as Sharaka custom so often dictated. “Ahy, my dear, you cannot know how happy I am at this moment. I will make this journey with you every step of the way.” He started leaning into her for a kiss. In a heartbeat, he was interrupted by the trilling beginning with Mendaho and spreading to the surrounding crowd.
Quickly glancing up, he realized that they were surrounded by a gathering host of curious onlookers and admirers. He spotted Mendaka and Little Doe, smiling broadly, and Going Snake’s eyes protruding. A brief moment of embarrassment was followed by gratitude for their approval. He waited for the cheering to die down.
Taneshewa’s three nieces came running toward them calling out Taneshewa’s name. Blooms Alone said, “Ahy is it true, you are going to marry a white prince?”
There was a moment of panic in her eyes before her smile erased it. “I have now set my feet in that direction.”
Going Snake followed close behind. “Surrey, I am the one who got you your bride. If it hadn’t been for Fur Puller, you wouldn’t have given her your shirt and made her so mad.”
Sur Sceaf laughed before noticing a blush spreading across her face. “Going Snake, I will thank you to never mention that again.”
“Why not, it’s the talk of all the young braves and maidens.”
The Lover’s Dance had continued for three more joinings before the music changed to the strong beats of the Stomp Dance.
Dancing Feather took Taneshewa’s hand. “Taneshewa, you promised, we would all do the Stomp Dance together. You really must come!”
She smiled warmly at Sur Sceaf and looked straight into his eyes. “Excuse me, my lord,” she bowed her head slightly, “I did promise.”
“May I join in then?”
Three Doves took his hand and said, “I’m really good. I’ll show you how.”
Sur Sceaf looked at Ahy. “We mustn’t disappoint any little ones. I can’t wait to tell my family we celebrated our first betrothal with a Stomp Dance.”
Meny laughed. “It seems very appropriate to me, Surrey. If you only knew how much she stomped on your shirt that day she first met you.”
Taneshewa shot her an annoying glance before trotting off with Blooms Alone and Dancing Feather.
Ahy took the hands of her two nieces and headed down to the dance arena swinging their arms as she went.
Meny linked her arm with Surrey’s, and with Three Doves at his other side. “Two weeks ago she was ice. Now we’re into Spring Thaw. I can hardly wait for the May Bloom.”
“Neither can I,
” Sur Sceaf agreed.
Just ahead Ahy and the girls had joined the circle of exuberant dancers. As he prepared to slip in behind her, he caught movement to his left. It was Standing Bull and his cadre glowering at him, his eyes blackened behind a swollen nose and bruised pride.
Meny said in a low tone. “You should have killed him in the rink when you had the chance. Rabid dogs must be put down before they bite.”
“Believe me, I was sorely tempted, but the Forty-Four Laws prohibit cold-blooded murder. Rebuke, yes, but he does not yet warrant death.”
Meny scowled at Standing Bull before offering, “Too bad! Be careful, hatred burns hot in those cruel eyes. You’ll never know how much he abused Ahy. But, I’m sure he will draw first blood and give you a pretext for killing him. It’s not like him to let anything go. He will never forgive you for the blow to his pride in the rink today. You shamed him before his doting flock of little girlfriends. And now you have also won the heart of the one he considered his property.”
“Your words give me pause, Meny. Do you think him likely to take revenge on Ahy?”
“Does a coyote thirst for the blood of a lamb it has bitten? You needn’t worry. I will look after Ahy while you’re gone. I’ll carve his black heart out if he even insults her.”
Three Doves pulled on his hand. “Come on, Surrey, just do what I do.”
As he and Meny followed the little girl into the dance, he glanced once more at Standing Bull, only to realize, the bastard and his pack of dogs had vanished somewhere into the crowd.
After the dance ended, Sparrow Hawk came to fetch the girls. She said, “Ahy, Mother and I want you to help us with preparations for the feast tonight. Meny, you promised to help too. Besides, Ahy, we’re dying to know about your sudden change of heart.” Sparrow Hawk glanced curiously at Sur Sceaf. “After my father closes the council fire tonight, we would be honored to have you join us at our campfire, Prince Sur Sceaf.”
The Sire Sheaf (The King of Three Bloods Book 1) Page 25
