Dangerous Dreams: A Novel

by Mike Rhynard

  She felt Shines’ eyes upon her, forced a tepid smile while her mind wrestled with the thought of ending her relationship with Isna that very afternoon. But, dear Lord, how?

  Shines suddenly smiled, looked up at something behind Emily.

  Emily turned, saw Isna looking down at her with his wry smile. She sprang to her feet, lunged to his arms, leaned her face against his chest, closed her eyes, and whispered, “Isna, my love . . . please, never leave me . . . never.” Her resolve to end their relationship evaporated like steam from a boiling kettle. Desire flooded her mind; she decided she was incapable of anything but total, abiding love for him, no matter what pain was imposed by his leaving, determined to revel in his presence for as long as it lasted, ignore her life’s daunting tribulations.

  Lieutenant Waters’ boundaries did not apply to the Chesapeakes and Lakota, so Emily decided she was Lakota when she was with Isna. Thus, the two again sat by the stream at her special place; and though she felt vulnerable to the Powhatans, she decided that dying with Isna at their hands was preferable to watching him walk away forever. She smiled coyly as she reached into the canvas bag on the ground beside her, stole a quick glance at Isna, then suddenly turned her back toward him to block his view as he peered around to see what she was doing. “Perhaps Isna will be patient and not try to see what he is not yet meant to see.”

  Isna recoiled, frowned, looked away with an insulted scowl.

  Emily removed something from the bag, quickly held it to her chest, shielding it with her hands. “ Isna may now look.” She turned toward him, smiled, handed him a shiny metal hatchet with an eighteen-inch-long wooden handle and a nine-inch head, one end of which was a four-inch-wide cutting edge, and the other, a three-inch spike. Her eyes sparkled as Isna looked at her, slowly slid the hatchet from her hand.

  He gripped the handle in his right hand, made several thrusting motions in different directions, rubbed the thumb of his left hand across the cutting edge, nodded, smiled. “Light . . . good balance . . . sharp. Isna has never seen such an axe. What rock is it made of?”

  “It is called iron. We build all our weapons with it. ’Tis more difficult to break and much lighter than stone. We call it a hatchet, but the Chesapeakes and the other peoples here call it a tamahaac.”

  He nodded, smiled. “It is a good gift. Isna thanks Emily. He will kill many enemies with it . . . perhaps even Tayler.”

  A wisp of alarm blew across Emily’s face. She opened her mouth to admonish him, sighed instead, shook her head with a futile look, then smiled. “Here.” She reached into her bag, pulled out a knife with an eight-inch blade and wooden handle, the blade and part of the handle encased in a buckskin sheath decorated with red, yellow, and blue designs. “This is for Isna’s other hand . . . when he fights Lakota enemies.”

  He took the knife, pulled it from the sheath, made slicing and thrusting motions, again tested the balance and edge, then slid it back into the sheath. “Emily gives Isna another good gift. He again thanks Emily.” He studied the artwork on the sheath. “Good colors. Did Emily make the sheath?”

  She beamed. “Yes. Shines showed Emily how to sew it and make the colors from berries and animal fat. Here, look at this.” She rolled over so Isna could see her back, pointed at a similar sheath and knife tucked in her belt at the small of her back.

  Isna smiled as she rolled back toward him. “As Lakota women do—out of the way for work but quick to find when needed.” He studied her eyes for a lengthy moment, gradually trading his smile for a somber, reflective look. “But Emily is not like a Lakota woman.”

  She gasped; her eyes widened with shock then misted; her lower lip curled downward in a pout. “But Isna said Emily possesses all the virtues of a Lakota woman.” She unconsciously rubbed her eyes.

  Isna reached out, touched her cheek, softly brushed the tears from beneath her eyes. “Isna spoke poorly. Emily possesses all four Lakota virtues . . . and she is better than any Lakota woman. It is in good ways that she is not like a Lakota woman.”

  Emily raised a suspicious eyebrow, pressed her lips together, then relaxed into a cautious half smile. “What does Isna mean?”

  He smiled. “Emily looks into Isna’s eyes. Lakota women do not look into the eyes of a man they are not related to . . . and sometimes not even into their husband’s eyes.”

  Her smile deepened.

  “Lakota women do not give gifts to a warrior until they are married. Nor do they speak to him, other than secretly with their eyes.”

  Deeper smile.

  “And Lakota women always do as their husbands command.” He shook his head. “ Isna thinks Emily will not be like this.”

  Wide, beaming smile. “Isna is right. Emily is a Lakota woman in spirit, but the rest of her is English. ’Twould be impossible for Emily to be otherwise.”

  “Isna understands this . . . he loves Emily as she is . . . he does not ask her to change.”

  They smiled softly, silently at one another for half a minute before Emily abruptly turned, pulled yet another item from the bag—a grainy, gray stone about four-inches square and an inch thick—handed it to him. “This is for Isna to sharpen his tamahaac and knife . . . so they do as he commands, quickly and cleanly.” She abruptly turned away, dabbed sudden tears, sniffled. “Each of these things Emily gives Isna so he will remember her . . . as she will remember him with her doeskin dress . . . when he returns to his people.”

  Isna studied her with concerned eyes; slowly extended his hand, touched her cheek; slid the hand down her neck to her shoulder, pulled her to his side. “Isna’s leaving troubles Emily.”

  She snuggled close, reached her arm around his waist, nodded slowly with closed eyes.

  “It troubles Isna, as well, for we are past the Moon-of-Popping-Trees and have begun the Lakota Moon-of-Sore-Eyes that brings bright, shiny snow that blinds the eyes—the moon the people here call the planting moon.” He eased her back, touched her eyelids, gently raised them, and stared into her sad eyes. “Certain Lakota talk of returning to the people in this moon . . . for it will take nearly two moons to reach them; and by then it will be the end of the Moon-of-Tender-Grass, and time for hunting, fishing . . . and for fighting Lakota enemies. All warriors are needed for these things . . . but still, Isna is uncertain.”

  Emily looked up at him. “Why is Isna uncertain? He must do what is right for his people.”

  “Like all human beings, Isna’s spirit is his truth-bearer—the one who tells him what to do, but never what not to do. So Isna alone must decide what to do after his truth-bearer has spoken.” He looked silently at the forest then back at Emily. “ Isna’s vision showed him what would happen in his life; part of it he understood and has fulfilled; but other parts remain mysteries and have not been fulfilled and cannot be fulfilled if Isna, who owns the spirit of Grizzly, is not with the little white fawn; for in the vision and in Emily’s dream, Grizzly and the little white fawn are together before all else happens. So Isna’s uncertainty is how his vision can be fulfilled if he leaves the little white fawn and returns to his people, as he must.” He shook his head, breathed deeply, searched her eyes, then suddenly smiled. “But while this leaving confuses Isna, he knows he yet has many years to understand and fulfil his vision—and Emily’s dream—for Isna knows he will live to be an old man and count many coup before he dies.”

  Emily again raised an eyebrow. “How can Isna know this?”

  “Because Striped Face has told him.”

  “Striped Face?”

  “Striped Face . . . though he stands close to the ground and is not large, he is the most ferocious four-legged, next to Grizzly. He possesses great strength and knowledge of things to come; and if a man kills a Striped Face, lays him on his back, cuts him open, carefully removes his insides without spilling his blood, lets the blood thicken, then looks inside, he will see an image of himself. If the image is of a young man, the warrior will die young; but if the image is that of an old man, the warrior will live to be very ol
d. Isna did this as a young boy, and he saw the face of an old man. This is how Isna knows.”

  Emily grinned. “We have many such beliefs. We call them superstitions; sometimes they are right, and sometimes they are wrong.”

  Isna didn’t smile. “Isna has never known Striped Face to be wrong; thus, he knows he will count many coup, kill many enemies, and live to be an old man with a walking cane in his hand. So he also knows he has much time to be with Emily and understand and fulfil the spirit vision.” A thread of doubt suddenly wove its way into his expression. “But since Isna, who owns the spirit of Grizzly, must now return to the Lakota, how can he be with Emily, the first little white fawn in the vision . . . to honor and protect her for all her life . . . unless . . . unless he returns to her here? For if Grizzly and the first little white fawn are not together, how can the later brown and white fawns—their children—appear and follow them for a time before they go off on their own? And without that, how can all the fawns vanish, except for the one brown fawn that turns into the old woman with the two black stones around her neck and Isna’s vision pipe in her hands? And without the old woman, how can the new little white fawn appear beside her; so the old woman can place her hand on its head and a moment later vanish, along with the pipe and two black stones? And then, unless the old woman vanishes, how can the last little white fawn be left alone, grow into a mother blacktail who has her own little white fawn, who then has Isna’s pipe and the two black stones that suddenly appear around her neck? She cannot.” He sighed, shook his head. “But Wakan Tanka and Isna’s truth-bearer have told him only that he must return to the Lakota . . . and that the vision will one day be fulfilled—not how or when. Isna’s confusion is that he cannot see how both can happen, unless he returns here to Emily . . . but Wakan Tanka and Isna’s truth-bearer have not yet told him to do this . . . which means, in time, they must tell him to do so . . . or to do something else.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps they themselves do not yet know what to tell Isna and so, will wait until they do.”

  Emily’s face bloomed with hope. “Does Isna say he could stay with his people for a time then return here to be with Emily?”

  “It is possible . . . for Isna wants to be with Emily more than his words can speak.”

  Her cautious smile brightened to outright delight. “Emily loves Isna the same, wants with all her heart to fulfil the vision with him; she prays to Wakan Tanka that it be so.”

  He deliberated for a moment before his lips curved into a broad smile. “ Lakota men live in the family circle of their wives, so why should this not be true for Isna and Emily?”

  Emily’s shoulders tingled; she smiled, flung her arms around his neck, kissed him long and hard. “Oh, Isna, yes, please do this. Emily would be with Isna forever. It can be so.”

  His eyes slowly contracted; his smile faded. “To do this, Isna would have to leave the Lakota forever . . . become like a white man.” He stared at the forest. “Isna is a Lakota warrior . . . unlike a white man. He is not certain what a white man is . . . or that he can learn to be one. And what would Emily’s people say?”

  “Isna will be with Emily, and . . . and her people will accept Isna.” She suddenly frowned, realized they’d never accept someone they considered a Savage marrying an English girl. And what would Mother think? Could any of them understand . . . or accept a Lakota in the colony . . . much less as my husband? She felt warm tears fill her eyes, trickle down her cheeks, then visualized Isna leaving, never to return. But she suddenly recalled that they treated Manteo well in England . . . treated him as an English gentleman . . . and Shines . . . everyone treats her well. So why not Isna? A sudden surge of hope pulsed through her veins. Perchance it could work. But marriage would be a far different matter, and . . . she noticed him watching her with an amused smile and admiring eyes. “What is it?”

  “Emily and Isna need not decide now how they will fulfil Isna’s vision and Emily’s dream; but they must do so soon . . . and Isna must learn what a white man is, so he can decide if he wants to be one . . . Emily must help him understand this.”

  She stared into his eyes, felt her excitement subside to reality. How can he become an Englishman? He and his people are so different from Manteo and his, so . . . so Lakota, so deeply warlike . . . how could it be? And how could I ever ask him to give up what he is . . . to become something he will surely despise? And what of Tayler . . . and the baby . . . and . . . dearest Lord, what an endless nightmare my life has become. She unconsciously shook her head. ’Twould not be fair to him, and ’twould be completely selfish of me. Tears flooded her eyes. “Isna, I cannot ask you to be a white man . . . an Englishman.” She shook her head; pressed her body against his, squeezed him with all her strength; fell into deep sobs, trembled.

  Isna held her tight, closed his eyes, laid his head on hers, then whispered, “ Isna will do this for Emily.”

  She looked up at him with tormented, teary eyes, shook her head. “No, Isna, I . . . I cannot let you give up everything you are and love. You will hate it.”

  He pulled her close, softly rubbed the back of her neck, kissed her hair. “ Isna will do this for Emily.”

  “No, Isna, ’twould not be right, and . . . and . . . there is something Emily must tell Isna.” She paused, summoned her strength, leaned back, looked into his eyes. “When the white man, Tayler, took Emily’s body, he made her with child, and—”

  “Isna knows this,” he spoke flatly.

  She blinked, gaped at him with disbelieving eyes. “How . . . how can Isna know this?”

  “Isna knows. He has known from the beginning . . . and it matters not.”

  Tears again flooded her eyes. “But . . . but . . . oh, Isna.” She pulled him close. “Emily loves Isna with all her heart.”

  “As Isna loves Emily . . . and will love her child.”

  “Isna, Isna, my love, we must find a way. I cannot be without you.”

  “Emily and Isna will be together . . . they will find a way. Their truth-bearers and Wakan Tanka will show them that way.” He eased her slightly back, stared into her eyes, moved his lips slowly toward hers until they touched in soft, gentle passion.

  They had sat a long while facing each other, hand in hand, searching their own and each other’s minds for answers, when Isna finally spoke. “ Isna will stay with his people for three moons before starting back to Emily at the beginning of the Moon-of-Ripening. The return trip will be quicker because of paddling downstream on the Mother-of-All-Rivers rather than upstream; so Isna could reach Emily in the Moon-of-Colored-Leaves, before the cold moons begin. The slowest part of the trip will be paddling up the large river that flows into the Mother-of-All-Rivers from the north and east.” His face suddenly brightened. “But if Isna does not carry furs of Tatanka, he will not need to paddle a canoe up the big north-and-east river; he can instead follow a straight path from the Mother-of-All-Rivers to, and then over, the mountains.” He looked away, smiled as if he’d suddenly recaptured a lost thought, again faced her. “ Isna now tells Emily that it was at a place far up this large north-and-east river that the Lakota once lived. From there they often traveled to a big lake four days’ walk to the north—a lake with water that could be drunk and which was too wide to see across, but much smaller than the Mother-of-All-Lakes near where the Lakota now live . . . which is not far from where the Mother-of-All-Rivers is born.” He smiled again. “The grandfathers say that it was at this smaller lake, in those old years, that Ptesanwin brought the sacred pipe to the Lakota. They also tell that in those times Tatanka roamed on this side of the Mother-of-All-Rivers, all the way to the mountains to the east, and became the center of life for the Lakota and other peoples.”

  “Why did the Lakota leave this place?”

  “Too many strong enemies.” He looked remote, lost in thought, then suddenly smiled. “The grandfathers also say it was at this same smaller lake that the Lakota first saw white men”—he paused, thought for a moment, then flashed ten fingers three tim
es—“ nearly that many grandfathers ago.”

  “White men . . . then? Isna . . . that’s . . . that’s thirty generations . . . 600 years. What . . . what white men could have been here then? Do the grandfathers tell what these men looked like?”

  “Yes. They were strong men with much fair hair on their heads and faces; and some wore hard hats like your warriors, but different . . . more round. And they carried big axes . . . much bigger than Isna’s . . . and big knives like some of your warriors carry, but wider and shorter. The grandfathers still have some of these knives and axes, which seem to be made from the same stone as Isna’s knife and hatchet . . . but a brown and red dust now lives on them.”

  Emily’s eyes were wide with awe, her lips agape. “Rust.” She pondered for a moment. “Does Isna know where these warriors came from?”

  He shook his head. “Isna knows only that they first came from somewhere across the large water that cannot be drunk, to the east . . . the same water as here.” He swung his hand from north to south. “They came in big canoes, each with a tall, fierce wolf’s head with big teeth, on the front. And each canoe had a big skin the color of snow on a tall pole in its center and many long paddles on the sides. It is said they first camped for a long time on a big island in the large water, many days north of our lake; but one day they brought their big canoes up a large river south of their island, pulling behind them smaller canoes that looked like the big ones. They left the big canoes at a place with white, churning water and carried the smaller canoes over the ground until they again found deep water and paddled further up the river to a large lake. The wind then blew them across the lake, where they continued up the river to a great waterfall; there they again had to carry their canoes on the ground until they could re-enter the river. They paddled upriver to a second big lake—the Lakota’s lake—where they met the Lakota and remained with them for many seasons . . . made children with them . . . which is why, today, some Lakota, like Isna, have lighter skin and noses and cheeks more like white men than Lakota.”