White Dusk

by Susan Edwards

  Small Bird protested. “The boy. We have to take him with us.”

  “What boy?” Lone Warrior asked.

  “The son of Hawk Eyes. He is here.” But where? She looked around.

  Lone Warrior grabbed her shoulders. “We have to get you away. Forget him.”

  “No. We cannot. Where are the others?”

  “The others? I don’t know. I saw the campfire and came over to see what was happening, then had to wait till it went down to speak closer. Why is Moon Fire here? And who is this other—”

  Small Bird shook her head. “Many Horns. He is responsible—”

  “Ah, the enemy.” Many Horns’s voice rose behind them.

  Small Bird whirled around.

  Lone Warrior stepped forward, his knife outthrust defensively. “You will die for your crimes,” he promised.

  “Not so fast,” Many Horns said with a sneer. He moved into the moonlight, holding Golden Eagle in front of him.

  Small Bird tried to get around her brother, but he blocked her progress. When Moon Fire stepped out of the shadows, Lone Warrior shook his head in horror; he couldn’t believe that his cousin had truly betrayed her tribe.

  “What is going on?” the girl asked.

  Narrowing her eyes, hating to have to say anything, Small Bird lifted her voice.

  “Moon Fire is the one who is responsible for the deaths in our tribe. She told Many Horns about my wedding, she informed him of our camp’s defenses and told him when to attack.” Her throat was so dry, the accusation made her cough and fall to her knees.

  Many Horns glanced into the darkness, then eyed her. “Get up,” he ordered, waving his knife. He pointed at Lone Warrior. “The child dies if you do not toss your knife to the ground.” To show he was serious, he brought the sharp edge of his blade to the boy’s throat.

  Small Bird’s heart stopped. She stood. “We cannot allow harm to come to him,” she whispered to her brother. No sound came from the child, and the darkness kept her from seeing his features clearly.

  Lone Warrior tossed his knife to the ground. Many Horns laughed. “Good. But you will all die, anyway. Warriors from both tribes ride into my trap. What better revenge than to let them do my killing for me? I left a false trail for each to find. The mighty Hawk Eyes and Swift Foot will soon clash, and they will kill each other and you.”

  “And you can allow this, cousin?” Lone Warrior obviously couldn’t believe the girl’s duplicity.

  “It is no crime to want happiness, cousin,” Moon Fire said, her voice full of anger and disgust.

  “Take his knife,” Many Horns barked.

  Small Bird watched her cousin bend down, placing herself in the way of her lover. Many Horns’s view was obstructed. Seeing their only chance for freedom, she nudged her brother with her elbow, then glanced once at him, and once at her cousin. Moon Fire grabbed the knife, stood, then turned and started walking back.

  “Now,” Small Bird said in a hiss. Springing forward, she threw two fistfuls of dry, dusty soil and pebbles at Many Horns, then tackled her cousin. Behind her, Lone Warrior charged forward. “Run!” he yelled.

  Moon Fire screamed. Many Horns dropped his hostage as wind blew dust into his eyes. Lone Warrior knocked him to the ground.

  Small Bird held her breath and crawled to where Golden Eagle had fallen. He grabbed her, whimpering.

  “Run, Small Bird.”

  Lone Warrior’s voice spurred her to her feet. Weakened, she staggered as she lifted the child to carry him. She turned back to her brother. “I can’t leave you.” She jumped out of the way as the two warriors rolled toward her, locked in a life-and-death struggle.

  “Go. Find the others. Let them know you and the boy are safe, or it will be too late for everyone. The killing will be worse.”

  Realizing that neither tribe knew the truth—that Many Horns and Moon Fire were behind the kidnappings—Small Bird turned and raced off. Along a narrow fissure that split off from the main part of the ravine, darkness overwhelmed her, closing in on her. She moved forward blindly, stumbling over large boulders in her path, which forced to slow in order to avoid a fall that might injure the child. At last she reached the wide main body of the ravine, but she couldn’t figure out which way to go. She didn’t know where Many Horns had led the two tribes to fight.

  Tears streamed down her face. Fear for his safety demanded that she return to her brother, but fear for her people kept her going. Small Bird searched desperately for a path leading out of the deep ravine. Around her, its sides rose smoothly and sharply upward. There was no way out. Knowing that if Many Horns killed her brother, he would come after her, Small Bird let out a frustrated sob.

  “Where do I go?” she cried to the stars above. “Help us,” she sobbed.

  As if in answer, she heard a clear voice lifted in song. It came from the left.

  “The spirits hear you,” Golden Eagle whispered. “They sing for you.” Awe filled his voice.

  Small Bird crossed the stream and followed the voice of the spirit.

  Swift Foot entered the ravine from the south, followed by his men. There were two main entrances to this canyon, and several paths leading up the west side. The east was a sheer rock cliff.

  He rode slowly, unable to see any tracks. There were many recessions along the walls of the ravine. Small Bird had to be here somewhere, yet he dared not call out. He stopped often to listen, but heard nothing. Frustration and fear made him edgy. He was afraid to go on. His warriors spread out; they checked everywhere.

  By the time the darkness turned to the gray of predawn, he was afraid he was too late. Then he spotted a cloud of dust coming toward him. Stopping, he grabbed his bow and motioned for his warriors to regroup. Out in the open, they were unprotected, and there was no place to hide—just dry, dusty land and a riverbed that was half-full with autumn rain.

  An approaching group stopped a short distance away. Like Swift Foot and his warriors, the Miniconjou war party had no cover. The two tribes sat with arrows nocked and aimed. Given the short distance from each other, one volley could kill nearly every warrior present.

  “Where is my wife?” Swift Foot finally called out.

  Hawk Eyes shouted back, “I know nothing of your wife. You have my son. Return him to me or die!”

  Night Thunder and Kills Many Crows flanked Swift Foot. “They seek to trick us,” Night Thunder guessed.

  “If you have harmed Small Bird, your tribe and mine will never know peace!” Swift Foot promised. Anger roiled inside him, but he kept it under control. Before he killed his enemy, he had to find his wife.

  “You do not wish peace, or you would not have taken my son.” Anger emanated from Hawk Eyes’s entire tribe.

  Confused, recognizing that something wasn’t right, Swift Foot stared into the fury of his enemy. He tried to explain: “It is you who seek war. You attacked my people at my wedding. You stole my wife. The people of Hawk Eyes speak falsely when they say they wish to talk of peace.”

  “We speak falsely? Do you think I did not learn of your plot to attack and kill my son?”

  Night Thunder shook his head, furious. “We have two women missing. And we have proof you are the one responsible.”

  “Proof?” Hawk Eyes lowered his bow and arrow, and held up something else. “I have here the foot of Mastinca. It was found near my wife. You tried to kill her, then took my son, and now you lie about it. I ask one more time: Where is my son? Release him to me unharmed and I will spare your lives this day. I am tired of violence. However, kill me and the many warriors I left behind will seek out the people of Swift Foot forever and kill them.”

  Intrigued, Swift Foot lowered his own bow and removed the medicine bag from the bundle tied before him on his horse. “I know nothing of your child, Hawk Eyes,” he called. “I only know my wife is gone. This medicine bag belongs to you, does it not?” He threw it over to the other chief.

  Hawk Eyes caught the bag and stared at it. “This has been missing for many weeks. You
took it from me when we battled. This is not proof.”

  Once more both chiefs readied their bows and arrows. Beneath the pale dawn, arms trembled, eyes blurred and anger blazed.

  Just before Swift Foot loosed his first arrow, the first act toward total bloodshed, he heard a sound.

  A song.

  Blinking in surprise, he listened to the wind sing a sad melody. It was compelling: he wanted to lower his bow. Had exhaustion claimed his mind, or were the spirits already mourning his death?

  “What trick is this?” Hawk Eyes called out.

  Beside him, Kills Many Crows and Night Thunder both stiffened. Swift Foot realized they heard it also. Warily, he glanced around.

  “Look,” someone cried out.

  Swift Foot swung to the right. High on a rocky shelf, a lone woman stood with arms outstretched, her pale dress fluttering in the wind. High above, moon, stars and sun illuminated all. Long, flowing hair streamed around the woman’s head as she sang—of peace not war.

  Swift Foot glanced at his warriors, unsure what to do. Neither did the enemy seem to know. Bows on both sides were lowered, all attention focused on the woman. Then she stopped and stood there, as if watching them.

  “A vision,” Hawk Eyes whispered.

  “A message,” Swift Foot said, equally stunned.

  “Unhcegila,” someone gasped as a hunched, monstrous shape crawled out of the shadows and toward the vision. Gasps rose from the warriors.

  Held by the surreal play of spirits, Swift Foot urged his mount forward. He held his breath as the monster reached out a hand and pulled itself up over the ridge. The monster became two shapes as something fell off its back.

  A gasp left his mouth when the first figure stood. It was a woman. A child was the other shape. Swift Foot galloped forward. It couldn’t be. He prayed it was. “Small Bird!” he shouted.

  Spotting the gathered horde, Small Bird held out her hands. “Do not fight,” she called down in a hoarse voice. “Do not fight!” She slumped to her knees.

  The child beside her dropped also and stared down at them. “Father. Father,” he called, his voice weak as well.

  The woman who’d sung her song of peace stood above, as if guarding Small Bird and Golden Eagle. Without thought to his enemy or fear of receiving an arrow in his back, Swift Foot jumped down from his horse, ran to the sloping side of the ravine and started pulling himself up.

  Below, he heard someone climbing after him. It was Hawk Eyes, and he was murmuring, “My son, my son,” as he followed.

  Twice, both men lost their footing and slid down the steep slope.

  At last, Swift Foot reached the top. His first thought was to run to his wife. Then he hesitated, knelt and held his hand out.

  Hawk Eyes grasped his wrist. When the other chief came over the top, both men eyed each other briefly, then rushed to their loved ones. Swift Foot fell to his knees to make sure Small Bird was unharmed. Hawk Eyes gathered his boy into his arms.

  “My wife. Tell me you are unharmed,” Swift Foot said. He cradled her close, his lips on her hair, his hands sliding over her arms, searching for injuries.

  “I am fine.” She tried to lick her lips. “Lone Warrior—” Her voice broke off.

  “What about him?”

  “He is here. He saved us.”

  Swift Foot glanced around, just then realizing it was Willow Song who stood nearby. It had been her voice that had stopped the killing. With a sick feeling, he realized just how close to total destruction they’d all come. In the short time it had taken Small Bird to climb up, he and Hawk Eyes could have decimated each other’s tribes.

  “Where is Lone Warrior?” he asked his cousin. She’d again covered her head. Below, the warriors of Hawk Eyes stared in horrified fascination.

  “He comes.” She pointed.

  All eyes turned to the north: there a warrior struggled out from a narrow gap where the earth had split, and formed a hidden trail.

  Small Bird covered her mouth with her hands and cried out. “He’s safe!” She tried to rise.

  “We will see to him,” Swift Foot promised. Down below, several warriors had already ridden off to collect him.

  In his arms, his wife leaned closer. She licked dry lips, and he realized he had no water to offer her.

  “Here.”

  Glancing up at the strange voice, Swift Foot saw one of the enemy. The man had obviously climbed up behind his chief, and now he held out a water pouch.

  Swift Foot took it and gave his thanks. Then he offered the skin to Small Bird. She drank greedily.

  “Not too much,” he warned. Closing his eyes, Swift Foot realized that he’d nearly lost this woman. Tears sprang to his eyes. Unashamed, he let them fall. Suddenly, in this respect, control didn’t seem to matter. “I nearly lost you,” he said. He bent to kiss her temple. “I love you, Small Bird.”

  “I know,” she whispered. But he had never seen her look so content. “I am sorry I left camp,” she added a moment later.

  “You should be, wife.” Swift Foot’s voice shook as he once more considered what might have happened.

  “It was Moon Fire and Many Horns—” she explained, breaking off to cough.

  “Do not talk.” Swift Foot stood.

  Sighing, his wife tried to obey. “Thirsty. I’m so thirsty and tired.”

  “And I’m hungry,” came the voice of Golden Eagle behind her.

  Looking around, everyone laughed—nervous laughter, but laughter all the same.

  “My son will be all right,” Hawk Eyes said, his voice thick with emotion.

  Swift Foot felt his wife’s arms wrap around his neck. “I think we all will be all right,” she said. And he had a feeling she knew how to achieve peace between the two tribes.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Small Bird stared at the two chiefs. “Well? Is that not a good solution?” They’d been here for four days, and each had summoned his entire tribe. They were all now camped out on the plain. An uneasy truce had been reached between Swift Foot and Hawk Eyes in order for each party to care for their loved ones. Now they were speaking of peace—and they were nearing an answer.

  Hawk Eyes sat across from Small Bird, his son sleeping beside him. The poor child refused to leave his father’s side. Wind Dancer and three elders, along with Lone Warrior, sat between the two chiefs. Warriors from both tribes were gathered around, watching the talks warily.

  Realizing that neither man had answered, Small Bird leaned forward. “Joining the two tribes by marriage will end this war.” Her tone brooked no argument. She looked to Wind Dancer for support, for the two chiefs still said nothing.

  The medicine man spoke. “War started when such a vow was broken. Peace will be restored by righting the wrongs of the past.”

  Hawk Eyes finally nodded. He glanced over at Small Bird, some small admiration sparkling in his golden eyes. He addressed Swift Foot. “Your wife is as clever as she is brave. She tells us the simple solution, something we should have done long ago: we shall merge our families as they were once meant to be.”

  Swift Foot nodded at the sleeping boy. “You have a son. He is brave. I pledge my eldest daughter to him. And if we are not blessed with a daughter, then my son will marry your firstborn girl.”

  Hawk Eyes nodded as he stroked his son’s hair. “It is time to put the past behind us, to look to the future. I agree to join our families.”

  Wind Dancer stood and returned with a ceremonial pipe. He lit it, then offered it to the spirits before passing it to Hawk Eyes. Once it was given to both chiefs and each council member, the shaman proclaimed the marriage promise binding. Peace had been restored.

  A cheer rose around them. Swift Foot stared at Small Bird, his eyes filled with both admiration and worry. “I think it is time for my wife to return to her tipi to rest.”

  “Your wife is fine,” Small Bird said. For, truthfully, she didn’t want to be alone. Her husband had a duty to see to yet—the bodies of Moon Fire and Many Horns had yet to be deal
t with—and she wanted to be at his side.

  “Then let us eat,” Swift Foot said, standing up and taking his wife’s arm. A feast had been set up in the warm autumn evening. The scent of roasting meat filled the air. Women laughed and men talked. A group of boys ran to Golden Eagle and coaxed him away to play.

  “If you insist on staying up,” Swift Foot whispered, “then you will stay by my side.” He sounded pleased.

  Small Bird smiled. “I have no problem obeying your order, my husband.” Still weak from her ordeal, she was content to eat and observe. Dancers had already formed lines, and this celebration would last long into the night. She sat.

  Lone Warrior reclined across from her and Swift Foot. He had wide bandages wrapped around one upper arm, a deep gash in his shoulder that stopped him from using his other arm, and two deep cuts in his thighs. He’d fought Many Horns to the death.

  Then Small Bird thought of Moon Fire, her cousin. Rather than face her people after her treacherous actions, she’d jumped off a cliff and fallen to her death.

  Despite all that had happened, the knowledge that her cousin had killed herself saddened her. But deep down, she knew that Moon Fire had chosen her own destiny. She’d done wrong, and now perhaps she’d atoned.

  Shoving away the sad thoughts, Small Bird met her brother’s twinkling eyes. “Married life seems to agree with you, Lone Warrior,” she said.

  The big man grinned and accepted a bowl of steaming meat from Willow Song. He pulled his new wife down beside him and held the bowl between them. “As it does with you, my sister.”

  The siblings smiled at each other. Small Bird glanced over at Willow Song. Half of her face was as perfect and heavenly as her voice. And the other half, the half nearly everyone else had found so repulsive, was now hidden beneath a beautiful mask of feathers.

  The mask, made by Small Bird and blessed by Wind Dancer, was the perfect solution. Her bravery had not been enough for the tribes to entirely accept Willow Song. The woman’s voice had prevented the two clans from killing each other, but the tribes had both insisted she keep her face covered whenever she was in public.