Ride the Free Wind

by Rosanne Bittner

  “To think like the Indian, woman of Lone Eagle, you must first move as one with the land, the plants, and all living things. This much I tell you, to think of things not as separate. Do not say, ‘this is plant, with no soul’; or ‘this is buffalo, with no soul’; or ‘this is just dirt, with no soul.’” He took her hand with his free one and gently put the dirt into her palm. “We are one with all things,” he told her, “and all things have soul, a life source. We are all one step going onward, all moving as one. Think only of this for now—one step going on. Put behind you all thought of things white man think he needs to survive. Man needs nothing but this”—he squeezed her hand—“the earth. Nothing but that which the Gods provide for man’s nourishment, clothing, and shelter. This is why we ask an animal’s forgiveness before we kill it, for it is one with us. It knows its purpose on earth, that it was put here by the Gods to give food to man. All things are one, woman of Lone Eagle. Think only of this.”

  Their eyes held, and for a brief moment she saw a hint of respect and admiration in his own eyes. She felt as though she had just won one small battle.

  “It will take much more than two moons of living with our people to understand them, white woman,” he told her. “We have been going on for hundreds of moons, thousands of moons, since first the Great Spirit formed us from the earth. Birth, living and dying—all are the same to us. There is no fear of death. When we know we are about to die, we sing our prayer of death. The words of the prayer say, ‘nothing lives long, nothing stays here, except the earth and the mountains.’ The spirits take the man’s life and put it into a woman and more life springs forth. It lives and walks and breathes, and the most important thing it must do is to honor the spirits who created it—to be strong and brave and full of truth. Then, when it dies, that life can walk Ekutsihimmiyo, the Hanging Road between earth and heaven. Think on these things, and you will understand that if something has happened to Lone Eagle, his spirit still lives in the great bird of the sky.”

  He moved away again. “I go now. Tomorrow begins the ceremony of the renewal of the Sacred Arrows. This we must do before the Sun Dance. I and other dog soldiers must decide tonight who will be chosen to make the new arrows.” He rose to leave.

  “But what will happen, Swift Arrow?” Abbie stopped him. “What is the renewal of arrows all about?”

  He walked to the tipi entrance. “You ask many questions.”

  “How else can I learn?”

  “I have already given you much to think about.” He turned and left without another word.

  Abbie looked down at the dirt in her hand, rubbing it between her fingers. “We are all one,” she told herself. “All one.” She tried to let the thought penetrate her brain, and some of it began to make sense to her. For she realized she could be with Zeke no matter how many miles might be between them. All she needed to do was smell the sweet earth or touch the feathers or dance under the sky, and she was with him, for he was all of those things. She walked over to her parfleche and removed the blue crying stones; then she lay down and curled up under her robe. She held the stones to her breast.

  “Come back, Zeke,” she whispered. “Come back soon!” She fought against her own tears, remembering Zeke’s instructions to let the stones cry for her. She kept her hand tight around them and was soon asleep, unaware that moisture was appearing on the stones.

  The next day was filled with busy women and much visiting and laughter. It was time to celebrate the renewal of the Medicine Arrows. Abbie could get no more answers out of Swift Arrow, and so she turned to Gentle Woman who was busily refurbishing her husband’s war shield. Abbie sat in the woman’s tipi pounding some berries and meat into pemmican, trying to keep her mind off of Zeke.

  “Tell me about the arrow renewal,” she asked Gentle Woman. “What will happen?”

  Gentle Woman smiled patiently. “It is a time for celebrating,” she replied. “The Sacred Arrows protect us from bad things, and when we feel new protection is needed, the arrows are renewed for greater power. We have seen many white-topped wagons and know the diseases these new people bring us. We feel bad things coming, Abigail. And so we shall renew the arrows. All must attend—our tribe and all the Arapahoes who are with us, and any tribes to whom we send runners. If anyone refuses to attend, his lodge can be destroyed and his horses killed. If he still refuses, it is very bad luck for him, for he is not protected by the arrows. The warriors will purify themselves in the sweat lodges, and the Shamans will perform special ceremonies to cure the sick and afflicted. This renewal is being sponsored by Two Feathers, who was trampled by a buffalo on last winter’s hunt and seemed certain to die. But he survived. For this miracle, he has agreed to sponsor the renewal.”

  She looked over at Abbie and smiled at the way the girl was listening to her, like a little child listening to a bedtime story.

  “You have learned many things while you have been alone with us,” she told Abbie. “I feel in my bones that Zeke will come back. But perhaps it is good that he has been away longer than he thought. You are learning many things, and you are learning not to be afraid.”

  “I’m trying so hard to understand, Gentle Woman.” She tasted the pemmican and grinned. “It’s good!” she exclaimed, surprised that she could make this Indian food by herself. Gentle Woman chuckled and returned to sewing new beads onto the fringes of Deer Slayer’s war shield.

  “For two days we will celebrate and feast, Abigail. The men will be purified in the sweat lodges, and the Shamans will conduct the healings. Then”—she put down the war shield and dropped her voice—“then all of the dog soldiers and band soldiers will tell all of the others when it is time to go to their tipis and remain there. We cannot leave. We must be very quiet, while the sponsor, Two Feathers, goes to the lodges of four of the oldest and wisest men, who have been chosen by the council to make the new Medicine Arrows. Two Feathers will bring the four men to the lodge of the Arrow Keeper, who is Runs Slowly, a very wise and respected warrior. His job as Arrow Keeper will one day pass on to his son, Strong Arm. The Keeper will have a bundle of arrow shafts made of strong willow wood, and the four arrow makers will spend four days making the Medicine Arrows and will be watched by Two Feathers and Runs Slowly, members of Two Feathers’ soldier society, the old chiefs, and men who have taken part in other Medicine Arrow ceremonies. On the morning of the fifth day, the arrows will be displayed in front of the Arrow Keeper’s lodge, but only the men may look upon them.”

  “Why?” Abbie asked in surprise. “We have to wait in our lodges all that time, and can’t even see the arrows?”

  Gentle Woman smiled patiently. “That is the way.” She reached over and tasted the pemmican. “You are right. It is good!” she told Abbie.

  Abbie smiled with pride in her accomplishment. She dumped the pemmican from the stone bowl onto a piece of clean deerskin and began flattening it out to let it dry.

  “I will tell you something else about the Medicine Arrows so that you understand our hatred for the Pawnee!” Zeke’s mother told her, bitterness coming into her voice. “Many summers ago, maybe fifteen—sixteen, the Pawnee captured the Cheyenne Sacred Arrows. It was a great, great loss for the Cheyenne, and we believe it is why we have had bad luck with the white man’s disease and with poor hunts. We have fought the Pawnee to get the arrows back, but they have never been found.”

  “But weren’t new arrows made?”

  “Ai. But we have never believed them to be as powerful as those that were taken. Perhaps this renewal will bring the power we need to protect us from the sickness and help us find more food. But never will we find love in our hearts for the filthy Pawnee!” She spit into the fire, and it was the first time Abbie had seen any hatred in Gentle Woman’s countenance. She swallowed and did not reply, but only returned to pounding down the pemmican.

  The celebrating ended, and four days of quiet retreat inside the tipis began. They were long days for Abbie. Filled with restless worry over Zeke, her mind raced with a myriad o
f pictures of what could have happened to him. Yes, he had been hurt by her, but he was a man and she was a child and he loved her. He would not desert his wife. It was not like Zeke to do such a thing.

  With so much time on her hands while the arrows were being made, Abbie found herself dwelling on the past year, starting with the moment Cheyenne Zeke had stepped into the light of her father’s campfire and offered to scout for their wagon train. The memory of the first time she had laid eyes on Cheyenne Zeke still brought excited shivers to her body. He had simply stepped from the shadows, tall and lean and dark, fierce looking, yet with a gentleness in his eyes when first they rested on Abigail Trent.

  He was her first and only man. She had lain with him out of a mixture of terrible loneliness and terrible need, and it had been good and sweet and beautiful, as though the life he had poured into her that night had also poured strength into her. Even the pain of their first intercourse had been beautiful. And though at the time she knew he could not commit himself, he had branded her just the same. Now she wished the Arrow Renewal would end quickly, for she had too much time to sit alone and think about Zeke. It hurt to think of him. For he was not there, and she had no idea what could have happened to him. She refused to believe he could be dead. Not Zeke! Men like Cheyenne Zeke did not die. They survived! And they always returned to their women.

  On the fifth day of the Arrow Renewal the women waited in their tipis while each man took his turn at viewing the renewed arrows, and throughout the village there was almost complete silence. Abbie felt a strange new power hanging in the very air, as though God himself had come to dwell among them. She tried to tell herself it was only her imagination, but then again, perhaps this was the “oneness” Swift Arrow had told her about. Perhaps she, too, was finally caught up in this spiritual sameness, and was at last beginning to think like the Cheyenne. That thought caused her to suddenly become overwhelmingly curious to see the arrows with her own eyes, to look upon the strange, sacred objects from which the warriors seemed to feel they could gain protection from all evil. What was it about the arrows that made them feel this way? She wanted to understand. What harm could there be in seeing them for herself, if it might help her to understand the Cheyenne religion? It pushed at her as day turned to night, becoming an obsession. The child that still strongly influenced the sixteen-year-old “woman” teased her imagination and made her feel daring. Somehow she must see the arrows!

  By nightfall her curiosity knew no bounds. The men had returned to their tipis, and preparations were under way to continue the march northward in the morning; there in three more weeks they would form one great village with the Sioux and northern Cheyenne for the Sun Dance.

  The camp quieted with the onslaught of darkness, and owls hooted in the distance, while Abbie lay awake in her tipi thinking about Zeke and the Sacred Arrows. She seemed to be unable to separate the two of them—Zeke and the Arrows. The wonder of the magic fetish enveloped her. She longed to see the arrows, to feel their power; for she felt that if she could see the arrows, she would somehow know whether Zeke was alive or dead. She lay staring into the darkness well into the night, then rose, her restlessness and curiosity keeping her eyes from closing.

  She walked barefoot to the tipi entrance. All the women had remained in their lodges that night, going out only to go to the bathroom. But none walked near the Sacred Arrows, which by morning would be put back in the Keeper’s medicine bag and not displayed until the Medicine Arrow ceremony was again called for. If Abbie was to see them, it had to be this night!

  She quietly opened the entrance flap of her tipi and peeked out to see Swift Arrow curled up asleep beside the dwelling. She watched his rhythmic breathing for a moment; then she darted through the doorway and around the other side of the tipi. Her heart pounded with apprehension and fear, yet something urged her onward as she inched her way on quiet, bare feet toward the great central lodge where she knew the Keeper dwelled … and where the sacred arrows would be displayed.

  She stayed in the shadows along the outer rim of the village, priding herself on her ability to remain quiet enough to go undetected by the wary eyes and ears of the men who sat up guarding the village against enemies who might choose to approach by night. She had learned that much from Zeke—how to move like a shadow.

  But Abbie was not as clever as she thought, and she had underestimated the Cheyenne’s ability to detect the tiniest presence. Swift Arrow had not been fooled by the white woman. He followed her silently as she circled around until the Arrow Keeper’s lodge stood directly in front of her, past two rows of tipis. Her heart pounded so hard she thought she might die, yet she felt rushed along by something stronger than her own will. She waited in the shadows, listening to men’s voices coming from the Keeper’s lodge. Then she watched as Two Feathers exited the tipi, along with two other warriors. To her surprise, Runs Slowly himself also exited the dwelling and walked off into the shadows. Perhaps he had gone into the darkness to relieve himself. Whatever the reason, Abbie knew it was her one and only chance to see the arrows!

  She darted to the first row of tipis and ducked down, waiting. Then she dashed to the second row. So close! She was so close! She took a deep breath and looked all around. No one seemed to be looking, and Runs Slowly had not returned. She dashed to the Arrow Keeper’s tipi and ducked inside.

  The pungent smell of burned herbs filled her nostrils, and a powerful, unknown “presence” seemed to close in around her. Her breath came in quick gasps as her eyes fell on arrows that lay at the center of the tipi. She approached them and knelt in front of them.

  There were four arrows, two with shafts painted red, and two with their shafts painted black. Gentle Woman had told her the red arrows represented the procurement of food and were called Buffalo Arrows. The black ones represented war and were called Man Arrows. “They are our most sacred religious objects,” Gentle Woman had told her.

  Abbie stared in awe at the arrows, a wonderful peace filling her and making her forget that she should leave quickly. She did not want to leave. She felt hypnotized by the arrows, for she knew that they epitomized the root of the Cheyenne religion.

  “The arrows were first given us by Mutsiluiv,” Gentle Woman had told her, “Sweet Medicine, our prophet, who received them from the Great Spirit.” The buffalo arrows pointed up, and the man arrows pointed down. And Abbie knew that to look upon them was to look upon the beginnings of the Cheyenne—the People—Zeke’s people. From this blood, Zeke got his power and his strength. She felt a new understanding, and wondered if seeing her own Jesus would be like this. She wanted to touch the arrows, but an inner sense told her she should not, for it would be like trying to touch God. Only the Arrow Keeper and one who was a full-blooded Cheyenne had the right to touch the fetish. She felt humbled, unworthy to touch them, for her skin was white.

  A sudden, quick movement behind her, startled her from the near trance the arrows had imposed upon her. She whirled and gasped as she looked up into the furious eyes of Runs Slowly.

  “Heyoka!” the man roared at her. “E-have-se-va!” He grabbed her by the hair and she screamed as he shoved her roughly toward the tipi entrance. “Nonotovestoz!” he shouted, pointing to the entrance. “Nonotovestoz! E-have-se-va!” He kicked her in the rear and sent her flying through the entrance; then another hand grabbed her by the hair, jerking it. It was Swift Arrow, who looked as though he wished to sink a knife into her belly.

  “I did not think you would truly do it!” he hissed through gritted teeth. “I watched to see if you would be such a fool!” He threw her down. “Katum! You have done a bad thing, white woman! A bad thing! You give me much trouble now! Go to your tipi!”

  Abbie choked in a sob and ran off, her mind screaming for Zeke. Swift Arrow was angry with her now! They would all be angry with her! Who was there to protect her? Perhaps a woman’s punishment for looking upon the arrows was death, and perhaps they would not wait for Zeke’s return before they burned her at the stake or boiled her i
n a pot or cut out her heart while she was yet alive! Her mind raced with visions of all the horrible things they might choose to do to her, and she dashed into her tipi, flinging herself down on her robe and sobbing for Zeke.

  She heard running outside and scooted into the corner, grabbing up her carbine and making ready to fire it. In the next moment Swift Arrow darted inside, and she could hear a great commotion outside. She pointed the rifle at Swift Arrow, her breathing coming in quick, frightened gasps, tears staining her face.

  “I… didn’t do it … to dishonor the People!” she screamed at him. “I … had to see them! I had to … see them!” Her words came out in choked sobs.

  Swift Arrow’s eyes burned into her, and his hand gripped a quirt tightly. “I should whip you for this!”

  “I belong to your brother! It’s up to him to decide what to do with me!”

  “You are my property and my responsibility while he is gone! You make me look bad!”

  “You saw me going there! Why didn’t you stop me?”

  “Because I wished to see how much of a fool you still are, white woman!”

  “My intentions were good! Something made me go. A power stronger than I. Something made me go there! Don’t you understand?” Her body jerked in a sob. How she wanted Zeke! How she needed his reassuring arms around her now! Never had she felt so utterly desolate and set apart, not even when she had lost her family on the wagon train. “Something… wanted me to understand the secret … the power … the root of the Cheyenne!” she yelled at Swift Arrow. “I couldn’t stop myself!”

  Swift Arrow studied her silently; then he turned and barked something to the frenzied, angry warriors outside the tipi. They exchanged words of argument, but Abbie sensed that most of them were leaving. Swift Arrow turned again and walked straight over to her, paying no heed to the rifle, which he sensed she would not use on him. She kept hold of it until he grabbed it from her hands. He threw it aside and Abbie ducked down, putting her arms over her head, waiting for the sting of the quirt. But she felt nothing.