The Angel and the Outlaw

by Madeline Baker

  “Hoof marks?”

  “Yeah. It seems the old man’s spirit guide is an elk.”

  Brandy shivered in spite of herself. She had heard of such things happening in the old days, among her own people, but she had never truly believed in such manifestations.

  “Anyway, tomorrow I’m going ‘crying after a vision’ as Wicasa Tankala calls it.” J.T. took Brandy’s hand in his. “Keep an eye on Tasina Luta for me.”

  “I will, but…” She tightened her arms around him. “I’ll miss you.”

  He’d be gone at least four days, she thought. Less, if a vision came to him sooner, but no longer than four days.

  She had a feeling it would be a long four days for both of them.

  Chapter Seventeen

  J.T. stood atop a pine-covered hill, his face turned toward the east.

  Clad in nothing save a clout and moccasins, he offered a pinch of tobacco to the earth and the sky, to the four directions.

  Raising his arms, he gazed at the fading colors of the sunrise. Never, he thought, never in all his life had he felt so alone.

  Three days had passed.

  Three days of fasting and fervent prayer.

  Three nights of looking up at the stars and wondering…wondering if the spirits were laughing at him. Who was he, to expect a vision? He was no warrior. He had never done a decent or honorable thing in his whole miserable life.

  Slowly, he lowered his arms, then sat down on the gray wool blanket his grandmother had given him. It was his only luxury. He sat on it by day, and wrapped himself in its warmth at night.

  He watched the sun take command of the sky, boldly painting the broad sky-blue canvas with vivid strokes of crimson and gold. He felt the first faint rays on his face, imagined that he could feel the colors of the sunrise on his skin, the crimson’s fire, the gold’s more subtle warmth.

  Staring up at the sun, he forgot the pangs of hunger that clawed at his belly, forgot the thirst that parched his throat. As though mesmerized, he stared at the sun until he saw nothing but her bright golden light.

  And out of that light, he heard a voice speaking his name. “Tokala.”

  “I am here.”

  “Your mother has named you well.”

  “My mother?”

  “Hin. On the day of your birth, Sisoka called upon the spirits, and I was chosen to be your guide.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Look in your heart, my brother, and you will see me.”

  For a moment, J.T. closed his eyes. When he opened them again, a fox stood before him, bathed in the sun’s golden rays so that its magnificent red coat seemed to be shimmering with iridescent fire.

  “I have waited long for you to seek me,” the fox said, a note of reproach echoing in its voice.

  “I could not find my way, until now.”

  “It is well that you have found the right path at last. The True Path. The Life Path. Do not stray from it again,” the fox warned, turning away.

  “Wait!” J.T. called, but it was too late. The fox was gone, swallowed up by the sun.

  He sat there for a long while, his thoughts turned inward. His mother had prayed for him the day he was born. The knowledge warmed him somehow, made him feel closer to her, closer to the Lakota. All these years, he had thought himself alone when he hadn’t been alone at all. All he’d had to do was ask for help, and it would have been there.

  It was late afternoon when he returned to the village. The camp looked the same, yet different, and he knew he was seeing it through new eyes, through Lakota eyes. His lodge, its top smoke-blackened, stood with the door flap open to welcome him home. He nodded at the people he passed—women tanning hides, men making arrows, children at play. He drew in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of smoke and sage and sun-warmed earth. The sky seemed bluer, the grass more green, the earth more solid under his feet.

  It wasn’t just his perceptions that had changed. He had changed. He felt a new sense of who and what he was.

  His steps slowed as Brandy stepped out of their lodge. She paused when she saw him and for a long moment, their gazes met and held. And then she was running to him, a smile on her lips, her arms outstretched.

  He caught her to him and hugged her tight. Three days without her. It seemed a lifetime. She melted into his arms, filling his senses. Hair like black silk. Skin like smooth satin. He took a deep breath, inhaling the warm womanly scent that was Brandy’s and Brandy’s alone.

  “I missed you,” he said, his voice husky. The thought startled him. He had never had cause to miss anyone in his life.

  “I missed you, too,” Brandy replied. She took his hand and they went into the lodge and closed the door flap. “Did you…were you successful?”

  J.T. nodded.

  “Tell me,” she said eagerly. “Tell me everything.”

  “Later.” He drew back the furs on their bed, unfastened his breechclout.

  A slow smile curved Brandy’s lips as she began to undress, everything else forgotten, burned away by the sight of J.T.. He stood near the center of the lodge, light from the smoke hole pooling around him. His skin was the color of dark bronze; his hair, longer now than when she had first met him, fell past his shoulders. Her gaze moved over him, noting each line of masculine perfection, from his broad shoulders and flat stomach to his long, hair-roughened legs. The sight of him, tall and strong and well-muscled, made her insides quiver with longing.

  Cheeks flushed, heart pounding, she stepped out of her tunic and into his arms.

  J.T. cradled Brandy against him, awash with contentment as he related what had happened during his vision quest.

  “I never really thought I’d see anything,” J.T. admitted. “Sometimes, late at night, when we were alone, my mother would talk about her life. She’d tell me about visions and spirit guides.” J.T. shrugged. “I guess, deep down, I always thought she was making it all up. You know, like fairy tales.”

  “Do you still intend to take part in the Sun Dance?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ve never seen one, but it sounds so…I don’t know, barbaric, I guess.”

  She watched J.T., hoping he would understand. She had always been proud of her Crow heritage, proud of the customs her mother had taught her, but she had always viewed the Sun Dance with mixed emotions.

  “I’m a little nervous about it,” J.T. admitted.

  In truth, he was more than a little nervous. He’d been shot. He’d been knifed, but the thought of standing still and letting someone deliberately slit his flesh and insert wooden skewers in the muscle over his breast filled him with trepidation. Would he be able to withstand the pain, or would he cry out like a child, thereby shaming himself in front of his mother’s people, in front of Wicasa Tankala? In front of Brandy?

  Still, it never occurred to him to change his mind. It was something he wanted to do, needed to do.

  * * * * *

  The Sun Dance ceremony lasted twelve days. The Lakota held it every year during the Moon of Ripening Chokecherries. The first four days were festive days. During this time, all of the People came together, and the campsite was prepared.

  The young women went looking for spears of grama grass bearing four heads. Such a find was considered fortunate, an omen that presaged good luck in love.

  Wicasa Tankala went through the camp, looking for worthy individuals to take part in the ceremony. Tatanka Ohilika was chosen to be the symbolic Hunter, Tatanka Sapa was appointed to be a Singer, two warriors J.T. didn’t know were selected as Digger. Several virtuous women were chosen to chop the sacred cottonwood tree that would serve as the Sun Dance pole. Chaste women were chosen to attend the dancers.

  J.T. watched it all with a sense of awe. There was a strong sense of unity, of oneness, within the camp as old friendships were renewed. The unmarried men and women slid curious gazes at each other. Mothers kept a wary eye on their daughters.

  With each passing day, J.T.’s nervousness intensified. He listened to some of the old
men talk about the piercing, about the pain, and wondered if he had the inner strength to endure the pain. The thought of crying out, of showing cowardice in the face of these people, filled him with ever-growing anxiety.

  Late one night, he left the lodge and wandered down to the river. Hunkering down on his heels, he stared into the dark water. He had never been much of a praying man. Before coming here, he could remember praying only once in his life, and that had been at his mother’s bedside just before she died. Since then, he had relied on his own strength.

  “Help me, Wakan Tanka,” he whispered. “Don’t let me bring shame to myself, or my mother.”

  Have faith, J.T.. Faith in yourself. Faith in what you believe…

  J.T. glanced up, expecting to see his guardian angel. Instead he saw his spirit guide standing across the river, his thick red coat shining like a living flame.

  “Have faith, Tokala,” the fox said, his voice sounding remarkably like Gideon’s. “Have faith.”

  A swish of his tail, and the fox was gone.

  On the morning of the fifth day, J.T. held Brandy in his arms for a long while. It was time for him to go to the special lodge that had been prepared for those who were to take part in the Sun Dance ceremony. He held her close, drawing on her love to give him courage and strength.

  “Brandy, I…” His gaze slid away from hers. “Say a prayer for me, will you?”

  Brandy nodded, her throat suddenly thick with the need to cry. “You can count on it.”

  He kissed her one last time, then left the lodge without looking back.

  Brandy stood at the doorway, tears rolling down her cheeks as she watched him walk away. It didn’t seem possible that she could love him so much. In the last few weeks, every thought, every dream, had been for J.T.. She wondered what kind of instruction he would receive. How did one prepare himself to be pierced? How would he endure the pain? How would she?

  She spent much of the next four days with Tasina Luta, who told her that Wicasa Tankala had been chosen as the shaman who would be responsible for the overall supervision of the dancers and their instruction. It was a great honor.

  Tasina Luta spoke of how her own husband had taken part in the Sun Dance, how proud she had been of her young warrior as he danced. No one saw him as a wasichu after that, she said, not even her parents, who had not wanted her to marry a white man.

  The last four days were Holy Days. On the first day, the ceremonial camp was formally established. A large circular dance arbor made of poles was built in the center of the camp. The outer circle of the arbor was covered with leafy boughs to provide shade for those who would assist the dancers; the inside circle was left uncovered.

  The sacred lodge, where the dancers would receive their final instruction, was rebuilt of all new materials.

  While the new sacred lodge was being constructed, Tatanka Ohilika went looking for the forked cottonwood tree which would be used as the Sun Dance pole. The tree was considered the enemy, and Tatanka Ohilika was the Hunter. When a suitable tree was found, the message was relayed to Wicasa Tankala. That night there was a Buffalo Dance, which included a processional to propitiating the Buffalo and the Whirlwind, the patron spirits of the household and lovemaking. A Buffalo Dreamer supervised the events. He danced the Buffalo Dance and blessed the feast that followed.

  The second Holy Day was devoted to the capture of the enemy, but first the camp had to be cleansed of evil spirits by Wicasa Tankala and the other medicine men. When that was done, the women chosen to capture the tree went to look for the enemy. They made three attempts, each time reporting that the enemy had not been found. On the fourth try, they found the tree, which had previously been marked with red paint by Tatanka Ohilika.

  The women surrounded the tree and bound it with thongs. The capture was then reported to the camp amid much rejoicing. Brandy watched it all, amazed that she was actually there, participating in an event that had taken place over a hundred years ago. She didn’t understand most of what went on, but she joined the procession as it made its way toward the tree. Halfway between the camp and the tree, they came to a stream of water. The procession paused here while Wicasa Tankala cleaned the water of evil spirits.

  When they reached the tree, four warriors symbolically counted coup on the cottonwood, thereby subduing its spirit essence. Children who were to have their ears pierced were honored at this time, and then Wicasa Tankala ordered the tree to be killed and each woman chosen took a turn at chopping the tree so that all who had been selected had a chance. When the tree was ready to fall, the woman honored to fell the enemy struck the final blows.

  The pole was peeled to just below the fork. Women gathered the twigs as protection against evil spirits. Then several young men lifted the pole with carrying sticks, for the sacred tree was not to be touched except by the shaman or by those who had previously danced the Sun Dance.

  When the pole arrived at the camp, it was painted, red on the west side, blue on the north, green on the east, and yellow on the south. A black rawhide figure of Iya and Gnaske, each bearing exaggerated genitalia, were attached to the fork of the tree. A bundle of sixteen cherry sticks enclosing an offering of tobacco, an arrow for buffalo-killings, and a picket pin for holding stolen horses were also tied to the fork. The pole was raised in four stages, four being a sacred number, and then dropped into the sacred hole.

  Brandy listened carefully as Tasina Luta explained things to her, grateful that J.T.’s grandmother spoke English so that she could help her try to understand what was going on.

  Later, the warriors danced the war dance, shooting arrows at the evil gods suspended in the fork of the tree, until they fell to the ground and were trampled by the dancers.

  The end of the day was given over to final preparation of the dance arbor. Rawhide ropes were attached to the hallowed pole from which the dancers would be suspended. Brandy stood on the outside of the arbor, staring at the ropes, trying to imagine J.T. dancing there, his chest red with blood as he strained against the tether that bound him to the pole.

  That night, after all the people had gone to their lodges, the shamans blessed the dancing area.

  Tasina Luta had told her that the medicine men would go up on a nearby hill the morning of the last day to greet the Sun, that they would pray for a blue day and invoke the powers of the Sky to give strength to the dancers. They would ask Bear for wisdom.

  Brandy pondered all she had learned as she went to bed that night. Her last thought was for J.T. as she prayed that he would have the strength and the courage to endure the pain that was to come.

  * * * * *

  J.T. stood in a line with the other candidates, waiting his turn. Four days of preparation stood behind him, and he waited patiently, his hands curled into tight fists.

  He took a deep breath as Wicasa Tankala drew up in front of him. The old shaman offered him a slight smile and then, chanting softly, he painted J.T.’s hands and feet red and blue, then painted blue stripes across his shoulders. And then the medicine man painted a red fox, symbol of J.T’s spirit guide, on J.T.’s chest.

  When all the dancers had been prepared, Wicasa Tankala left the lodge carrying a decorated buffalo skull. The candidates followed him from the sacred lodge along a marked trail to the site of the Dance Arbor. Inside, Wicasa Tankala placed the buffalo skull on an altar facing the Sun Dance pole.

  Now the people began to gather around. Brandy hurried toward the Dance Arbor, her gaze searching for J.T.. She found him near the end of the procession. Like all the dancers, he wore a long red kilt, arm bands and anklets of rabbit fur, and a fur necklace with a symbolic sunflower medallion. He carried a spray of sage in his right hand; there was a wreath of sage on his head.

  When all had entered the Dance Arbor, Wicasa Tankala brought harmony into the lodge by lighting and passing the pipe to all assembled, while his assistants made a fire of buffalo chips on the altar, to which they added sweet grass to purify the lodge.

  Each dancer was given a
blue willow hoop which symbolized the Sky, the emblem of the four directions, and an eagle wing whistle wrapped in porcupine quills, the tip of which was decorated with a feather of eagle down.

  J.T. nodded at his grandmother, then fixed his gaze on Brandy’s face as Wicasa Tankala came to stand in front of him. He held his breath as the medicine man took hold of the muscle over his left breast and pierced his flesh.

  Quick images and snatches of sound burned themselves into J.T.’s mind: the compassion and encouragement in Brandy’s eyes, the red of his blood as it dripped down his chest, the songs of defiance that rose from the lips of the other candidates. J.T. longed to give voice to his own pain, but he kept it locked up inside.

  He flinched as Wicasa Tankala pierced him a second time. Agony burned through J.T. as the long wooden skewers were inserted, and then he was a part of the sacred tree, tethered to the Sun Dance pole by a long length of braided rawhide.

  Wicasa Tankala signaled for the singers to begin the slow, measured music that opened the dance.

  J.T. glanced at Brandy for a long moment, and then be began to dance, his face turned upward, toward the sun.

  He was an infant again, helpless, vulnerable. The tether that bound him to the Sun Dance Pole was the umbilical cord that bound him to his mother, the Sun. He stared into her face, lost in the golden warmth of her smile. He danced to please her, begging forgiveness for his sins. In all his life, he had never belonged anywhere, but the earth beneath his feet belonged to him now. His sweat watered it and his blood nourished it, and he was no longer a wanderer.

  Gradually, he became aware that the music had stopped. During a brief intermission, Brandy came to attend him. She wiped the perspiration from his face and chest with wisps of sage, surreptitiously offered him a small sip of cool water. Her eyes smiled at him, she gave his arm a squeeze, and then she returned to the sidelines.

  When the music began again, the tempo was faster, stronger. J.T. pulled against his tether, trying to tear the skewers from his flesh. It was time to be free of the womb, time to face life on his own.