by Jenna Kernan
Of course she could not. A man was expected to generously give to the family of his intended. The number of hides and horses was a mark of her value. Since they would separate soon there was no need except the perception of others and their curiosity should Storm not gather a dowry.
“My mother crossed the sky road to the spirit world three winters past. My aunt and uncle will expect no dowry because I am not their child.”
“You have a father,” he said.
“And it is traditional for the father to accept the bride’s dowry, which is the very reason my father will not accept it. As a heyoka, he cannot.”
“You will care for your aunt and uncle and father in their winter years?”
“Of course.”
“Then they have good reason to receive reassurance that the man you marry can provide for them, as well.”
Of course, her aunt and uncle would expect that. They would not know that Night Storm would not join their tribe but instead go to the tribe of Beautiful Meadow after Sky set out his things, bringing their marriage to an end.
“I will provide for them,” she said.
He nodded. “I know you will do so, but would you have all know that I feel you are of no value?”
Sky’s mother had seen to their needs with only her quillwork, refusing the offer of the chief to have his sister, Snow Raven, hunt for them. And when Sky showed an interest in healing, her mother had arranged for the shaman’s wife to help teach her, building on the knowledge of her grandmother.
He let the robe slip from his shoulder and rose, offering her his hand.
“We should go in,” he said.
She smiled at the quickening inside her at just the touch of his hand. He assisted her and then laced his fingers with hers as they ducked into their lodge. If she did not know it, she would think this man had real feelings for her. But he was just playing a part. Wasn’t he?
She readied their robes, setting hers beside his. He lifted a brow.
Sky told him that she wished to sleep beside him as they had that first night, and she tried to say this but then felt anxious.
“In case you need me in the night.”
His warm expression died and she felt sorry she had protected her pride at the expense of his. He said nothing to this, but the corners of his mouth dipped and he settled in his robes. Frost lay beside him and she beside Frost. He did not need her in the night and she wished she had never said that he might, for it touched off a yearning for foolish things she would never have. The yearning now grew past the need to know a man. She wanted this particular man and not just until the winter camp. The bargain she once saw as a blessing now seemed a curse.
She had only the War Moon left before their people made preparations to gather. Then he would return to his path and she to hers. He was healing, becoming stronger, and soon would have no need of her. But her need for him grew greater night after night. Soon the longing would be too powerful and she would abandon her pride and ask for what she most wanted.
In the darkness of their lodge Sky began to wonder what it would be like to make him her husband for the time they had left. Living with him and beside his family made her consider she might not really be as odd as her own people believed. Here she found Storm’s sister willing to learn from her, and only Beautiful Meadow and her friends disliked her—and with good reason. Was it possible that she had not found a husband at the fall gatherings, not because she was odd but because she believed she was odd?
One thing she had not changed her mind about was sharing him with Beautiful Meadow. But she saw now an opportunity. She cared for him, respected him and was more than attracted to him. Why then should she not take him to her buffalo robe?
If the Great Spirit allowed, she might leave this marriage a woman in all ways. She stared across the darkness, wondering if she might convince Storm to give her a child.
Sky dozed and tossed, unable to find a comfortable position or quiet the thoughts that grew like clouds in a summer sky. She woke to find Storm up. She rose, fuzzy headed, to see that he had already stirred the fire to life, a job that was hers.
“Good morning, wife.”
She rubbed her eyes.
“You see I did not need you in the night?” He spread his arms wide to show himself fit and whole.
She wished she could say the same.
“That is good,” she murmured. She excused herself and scooped up the water vessels. Frost accompanied her. She was halfway to the river when she became aware of a commotion behind her. Sky turned to see Prairie Flower running along beside the tribe’s medicine man, Thunder Horse. Sky knew him from a distance because of his buffalo horn cap threaded with hundreds of brown weasel tails. Between the twin horns stretched a bit of sinew threaded with what looked like the vertebrae of snakes. His shoulders were draped with a green medicine shirt with the symbol of lightning blazing and forking across his chest. In his hand he held a staff fluttering with blue feathers that came in trade from the people of the Pueblos far to their south. Below the leather grip hung many sacred objects including a small turtle rattle, the head of a hawk, eagle feathers and the skull of a raven. On the very top was the claw of an eagle holding a smooth rust-colored stone. Pipestone, she knew, was also sacred and powerfully connected to the spirit world. All in all he was a fearsome sight.
The medicine man ignored Prairie Flower, who trotted beside him with her son clasped to her chest. She was pleading with her shaman and Thunder Horse turned to shake his medicine staff at her. Skylark pressed both hands to her chest. She did not know why the medicine man was so angry.
Prairie Flower fell to her knees and wailed and sprawled before him. But her son pushed himself to his feet, then squatted beside his wailing mother and tugged at the shoulder of her dress.
The boy seemed fully recovered and that made Sky smile until she noticed that Thunder Horse barreled forward with his eyes fixed on her.
Sky shrank away from the shaman. His face was nearly purple and the look he shot at her had all the sting of a slap. Behind him, Prairie Flower drew up and ran away. Sky watched her go, wishing she could do the same.
It was clear from the shaman’s fixed stare that she was the object of his journey. Sky drew herself up and prepared as best she could. She did not know what he wanted but knew it would be bad.
“You are an evil woman,” he said.
Chapter Fourteen
Sky had been called odd and worse. But never evil. She frowned. The insult stung and then she realized that this arrow had a barbed tip. If others believed everything this man said, he was threatening her now. Reflexively her hand went to her skinning knife and she wrapped her fingers around the quilled sheath that lay centered between her breasts.
“I am not.”
“Do not speak to me. I have heard of your ways. You used sorcery to bewitch a warrior of the Black Lodges. Did you also make him fall in battle?”
Sky noted that his barking words were now drawing the attention of others. Several of the tribe stood to watch the unfolding scene. One of the faces beamed with a wicked smile. Beautiful Meadow.
Her appearance at this exact moment could not be coincidence. This was her uncle, after all. Sky now saw a double threat.
Frost began to growl. Thunder Horse lifted his staff and the dog slunk back.
Thunder Horse spoke to the gathering now.
“This woman has tended a warrior. Drained him of his power and made him useless.”
Was he referring to Broken Arrow? If so, that was a lie. She had only removed a simple fatty growth from above his eye.
Thunder Horse continued on. “She has interfered with forces she cannot understand. The boy was marked for death and she has changed his path. Now I have ghosts demanding his spirit. She is bringing ghosts to our tribe.”
Was that so? She had never h
eard such a thing. At home, her healing talents were sought after and she had never been chastened for saving a life.
“She endangers us all.”
Sky looked from one face to another. More than one of those gathered had requested her help for a remedy. Yet none came to her defense.
“She is dangerous. You must all avoid her medicines. The spirits tell me that it is because of her that Night Storm fell in battle. I have heard the owl and followed it to their lodge.” He pointed at her. “This one can call ghosts.”
The people shrank back. Skylark’s stomach clenched as she realized she was alone in this. None here would speak for her, a woman of the Low River people.
If her father were here, he would likely fall down before Thunder Horse and cry to show all that their shaman was behaving as a child who had lost a favorite toy. But she was no heyoka and could never speak to a shaman in such a way. In fact, she should not speak to him at all.
The people exchanged nervous looks and she could not tell if they were frightened of her or for her.
A voice came from behind Thunder Horse.
“Thunder Horse, if you have issue with my wife, you should first speak to me.”
The man turned and Sky saw Night Storm striding forward, with Prairie Flower jogging along at his side still clutching her child.
Thunder Horse glared back at her and then directed his attention to Storm.
“You have been ill. Now I see the cause.”
“You said the cause was a crack in my skull, which is still healing.”
“Such a crack is like a tunnel opening to all manner of evil. This woman you have chosen as a wife is no healer. Only I see what she is.”
Storm moved to stand between her and the medicine man. Sky knew that he now placed himself at risk for her. He had gone to great lengths to keep his people from seeing his weakness. Now his defense of her brought that weakness to everyone’s attention.
She glanced to Beautiful Meadow to see her scowl deepen as she glared at Sky. Clearly she had not wanted Night Storm to come into this.
Storm spoke. “I will promise Thunder Horse that my wife will not treat any of the warriors here and that she will help only those who seek her remedies.”
“None will seek them,” said Thunder Horse. “They are bad medicine.”
The words hung like the vibrations of a struck drum. No one moved or spoke.
Storm stepped too close to Thunder Horse and leaned in. His words were a whisper and even Sky could not hear them.
Thunder Horse stiffened and his face turned purple. He backed away and aimed his staff at Storm.
“You should break this marriage. She will not help you. If you keep her, she will ruin you.” He turned to the others and swung his staff in a wide arc. The turtle shells, skulls and talons rattled ominously.
“Keep clear of this one. She speaks to owls. This is owl medicine and it brings death.”
They all stood as Thunder Horse stalked away. Beautiful Meadow waited until he was far ahead and then set out to follow. No one else moved. Sky narrowed her eyes upon Beautiful Meadow and realized that men were not the only ones who went to war.
Prairie Flower looked to the retreating medicine man and gathered up her son and ran in the opposite direction. Broken Arrow remained in the circle of onlookers, his stitches raw and angry above his brow. All could see the warrior she had dared to treat, and she hoped they could see he was better for it. But he said nothing as he retreated back and out of her sight.
Why had she not considered that by healing the boy that Thunder Horse had condemned to die that she had shown his mistake to all? And in the process she had made a powerful enemy.
The people gradually returned to their morning routine and Storm led her toward the river, where she filled her buffalo bladders with clean, cool water.
He walked with her on the way to their lodge, speaking to many along the way. They returned his greetings but cast her only nervous glances. At their lodge they found Prairie Flower, her child and Broken Arrow.
“I cannot have her remove these stitches,” he said to Storm.
“Can you tell me what to do?” asked Prairie Flower.
Sky gave instructions for the timing and how to make a salve to keep the wound free from pus. The couple departed.
“This is very bad,” said Storm.
“What should we do?”
“I cannot let you journey out alone. You must stay with me until the gathering.”
This made her tremble. Clearly Storm thought the threat to her very real to take such a precaution.
“Thunder Horse is afraid. I see now that he is not a strong medicine man and he dreads that others will also see him as he is. He fears you because you are a greater healer than he will ever be.”
She sucked a breath between her teeth.
“He will hate me.”
“Yes. It is good you will not be here long.”
“He saw the owl,” she said. “If he sees you fall...” She understood his need for secrecy. Why did the council fail to see that their shaman was not a holy man? “Storm, you are risking everything for me.”
He took her hand. “And you are risking much to stay here, Sky. You have come to heal me. You left your family to do this. It is my duty to protect you. I must stay with you.”
“But you must go on the raid. Your vision. Your friends. They need you.”
This time he did not deny his vision, but his mouth grew grim.
She started to cry. “What should we do?”
He gathered her in his arms and held her tight as the tears choked her.
“Hush now.” He lifted the flap to their lodge and led her inside. There he held her, stroking her head and keeping her close to his side.
She did not know how or when it happened, but gradually her tears ceased but his caresses did not. His hand moved up and down from shoulder to hip. She rested her palm over his heart and looked up into his eyes. His smile was tender. She pressed her mouth to his cheek. He held her then and lowered his lips to hers. Sweet, gentle kisses covered her face, brushing away the tears.
Her breathing increased and she lifted her arms to hold him. Their kisses changed as the heat flared. She needed to touch him and had the urge to press herself tight to his chest. Her breasts grew heavy with an exquisite aching pressure that even the grasping pressure of her embrace could not assuage. She needed him in the most desperate and intimate way.
“Storm,” she whispered. “Make me your wife.”
His hand slipped beneath her dress, his fingers dragging up the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh. She gasped as her head lolled back at the feathery touches that made her ache.
“Skylark? Are you there?”
She glanced to the entrance and realized they had left the flap up.
Storm released her and slipped away an instant before his sister’s face filled the opening. Fills a Kettle motioned over her shoulder and Sky saw two people behind her.
“May we come in?” asked Fills a Kettle.
“Of course,” said Sky, tugging down her dress and trying vainly to still the furious thumping of her heart.
Instead of his parents, the two faces that next appeared were Winter Moon and Wood Duck. What were her aunt and uncle doing here?
Sky shot to her feet and Storm rose beside her.
“My aunt and uncle,” she said.
“Terrible timing,” he muttered, and lifted a hand in welcome.
* * *
Sky greeted her aunt with open arms. To have a familiar face here was greatly comforting. She realized as she hugged her uncle and invited them to share a meal that had they arrived a few moments later they would have received a very different welcome. This night they would share their tepee with her family, of course. From th
e forced smile on Storm’s face, she knew he was well aware of this.
Her uncle had presented her with a horn ladle for cooking. Her aunt gave her a fine two-skin dress with decorative white elk teeth across the yoke and the long fringe she never before thought she wanted.
The gifts only made her feel worse, especially when she saw the pride her aunt had in her marriage and the relief on her uncle’s face. When had she become a burden to them? Sky straightened. If they were both here, who was looking after Falling Otter?
“Where is my father?” she asked. “Is he well?”
Her aunt’s smile faltered. “Truly, I hoped to find him here with you.”
Sky’s eyes rounded with concern. “I heard him my first night. And once since. But I have not seen him.”
They exchanged a worried look. The men took their leave of the women soon afterward to gather together and smoke and talk with the other warriors. They would exchange information and smoke well past dark. Meanwhile, she introduced her aunt to Storm’s family and the women went to the river to bathe, as they did each afternoon when the weather was good. Her aunt took special pleasure in washing away the dust and sweat from the journey.
That evening the men returned for their meal and then departed again, leaving Sky with her aunt. She wondered how much to tell her. She decided to speak of the trouble she had with Thunder Horse.
“You should come home with us. There is no need to remain here with his people until the gathering.”
None except she had given her word to do so and Storm’s vision of his friend’s death on the upcoming raid. He must be here, so she must be here.
“I will speak to my husband about that.” When had she begun thinking of him this way? When had the lie become a reality to her?
“This shaman is dangerous. Tomorrow I will help you strike your lodge and we can go.”
But she would not go. Sky knew that.
Late in the evening Storm returned with Wood Duck and the men settled beside their wives. Wood Duck’s familiar snore filled the air a few moments later, followed by the soft breathing of her aunt.
She told Storm what her aunt had said.
