by Jenna Kernan
Truthful Woman held a finger in the air and the women stopped working.
“They are coming out,” she said. The women made no show of hiding. They continued to sit in a ring outside the lodge. Listening to the conversation saved time. If they heard what was said, their husbands would not have to say again the words spoken. The council members would return to their lodges for a midday meal and listen to the opinions of their families, especially their wives and mothers, before returning to their talk.
The council members filed out followed by her brother, the war chief, their medicine man and several other warriors who had been asked to join the council and render opinions.
“Grandmother, do you think they will follow Father’s request?”
“Opinion seemed mixed. Now they gather the thoughts of all.”
“If they will not free him, what will I do?”
“Your father offered a suggestion to me about your young warrior this morning without knowing he had done so. I have been thinking it over since.”
“What suggestion?” The panic crept up into her throat again.
Her grandmother gathered her quillwork and rose. “Come now, it is time to make the meal, and if you are to be a wife, you must learn to cook.”
A wife? The best she could hope for was that Running Wolf regained his freedom. She would never be a wife.
Raven gathered her arrowheads and hurried after her grandmother.
“Do you think I should go with him? Perhaps find another tribe of the Sioux?”
“No, daughter. A man comes to his wife’s tribe, not the other way around.”
“But, Grandmother, you heard Father. He will never be a Crow.”
“I did hear your father. But in his words I heard room to wiggle, like a weasel through a very tight spot. Did you know my husband called me Little Weasel? It was his pet name because I was so good at getting through tight places.”
Raven grasped Truthful Woman’s arm. “Please tell me. What do I do? I will do anything you say.”
“First we see what the council decides. You have never seen a male captive in our midst. But I have seen many. Sioux, Blackfoot, even a Cree boy. But that was past. Perhaps you would like to help me feed your young man.”
“Should we not speak to Father?”
“We should feed him, but do you think your father is unclear as to your wishes?”
“No.”
“Then, you do not need to talk.”
Raven helped her grandmother prepare a stew and a flatbread from the remains of the flour that Truthful Woman had ground at breakfast. Bright Arrow and Six Elks ate first and did not linger. Raven choked down a small portion of stew because her grandmother refused to go to Running Wolf unless she did so. She carried the kettle across the camp. Her grandmother spoke to everyone they passed. Raven was in a hurry and she found the delays tiring.
“It will be dinner before we get there,” she whispered.
Truthful Woman cast her an indulgent look. “These women are speaking to their men about your young man. They will be more inclined to help you if you are not rude to them.”
Raven, properly chastened, took her time to speak to each person they met from there on, accepting welcomes and catching up on the news she had missed.
She was careful to include one example of how well the Sioux had treated her. They let her hunt. They gave her food. Her warrior’s mother taught her how to pack a household, which she had never done here. And helped her learn to prepare buffalo for drying. She told them that she had prepared several hides on her own. So now she felt better ready to be a wife.
“His mother treated her like her own daughter,” said Truthful Woman.
Her grandmother told of how this brave man had rescued all the captives, not just the woman he loved, and brought them home. “And he saved my granddaughter from the one who stole my beads. He killed four blue coats who tried to molest our women. And even when captured, he rescued my little warrior from herself.” She touched the wound on her granddaughter’s neck. “I remember being so in love. This Sioux brave is a good match for my granddaughter. They have the same heart, brave and free. It is not just any man who would understand a woman who would own her own horses and hunt buffalo.”
They finally reached the far edge of the camp.
“Do you think that helped?” asked Raven, looking regretfully at the cold, congealed stew.
“Opinion is more important than truth.”
“They should call you Opinion Woman.”
She smiled. “Yes, they should.”
Again the guards would not let Raven enter, so she waited outside as her grandmother fed Running Wolf. When she came out, she spoke to one of the young warriors.
“I released his legs and left the gag off. He said he will not escape.”
Both men stared at each other and then back to Truthful Woman, mother of the chief.
“You should not do that.”
“My granddaughter would hear his voice to know he is well.” She turned to Raven. “Go on.”
Raven glanced about to see that several women of her tribe stood near, listening. She didn’t care. Perhaps her words would help him.
“Running Wolf,” she called to the lodge. “I am here for you. I am going to get you out of this.”
“My heart is glad to hear you,” he said. His voice sounded hoarse. Was that from the gag?
“The council is considering setting you free because of your bravery in bringing us all home.”
There was a long pause.
“I would not leave you.”
Tears burned her eyes.
“But I would have you live.”
There was no reply. Her grandmother pulled her past the guards and women toward home. The women of the tribe watched her pass, weeping as she went, and they said nothing before returning to their lodges and their husbands.
The council reassembled in the late afternoon after a meal and some rest time. There was plenty of time to talk. When they returned to the council lodge, more women gathered. Truthful Woman made the rounds with Raven, telling of how she loved this young man. How it would break her granddaughter’s heart if he were killed. How she tried to end her own life to stop the young warriors from making sport of him. She showed them the scar on her neck.
When the council settled to work, the women buzzed for a time and then listened to the men.
“Grandmother, do you think the women are with us?”
“Yes, my darling. Women love a love story, especially an impossible love story like yours. They are with you.”
But as the afternoon turned toward evening, the council talk turned toward the danger of freeing a Sioux. How he would reveal their position. How a captured warrior was not set free. They had the war chief of the Sioux.
“Grandmother, they are against him.”
Her grandmother looked disappointed. “They forget the voices of their women and think only of war.”
When the council filed out, Raven’s defeat was complete. They had only to speak the words condemning him to death. But the decision was already made. She rose and turned to go.
“Where are you going?” asked Truthful Woman.
“For my bow. They will not test his courage while I live.”
“Stay,” ordered her grandmother. “You are too like them, ready to fight before the negotiations are over.”
“But they have decided.”
“They have only decided not to free him. Things must be done in the correct manner.”
Something in her grandmother’s look made Raven take notice.
“Grandmother, what will you do?”
“I will do all I can.”
Her father moved to a place by the fire, and the people of the tribe gathered in a la
rge circle, their faces illuminated by the orange flames. Six Elks lifted his arms and the fringe of his shirt swung gently. He wore his war bonnet, displaying his many coup feathers.
He looked powerful, and Raven felt the deep respect her people held for her father. She glanced from one face to another, thinking of which among them had lost a friend, a brother, a wife or a child to the Sioux. When she had finished her study of the circle of faces she felt more hopeless than before. The council would not let him live.
“Your leaders have thought about this captive over many pipes. While it is true he saved the life of my daughter in battle and, according to her words, on at least two other occasions, it is also true that he is an enemy. And one does not let an enemy live. We are chased from the mountains by whites and we are killed by the Sioux when we enter the prairie. The whites have guns and terrible diseases. At least the Sioux fight with honor and with rules we understand. This warrior knew what would happen when he came here. It is the opinion of the council that he be made a captive and treated as such. We will not let him free.”
Raven sagged against her grandmother. A male captive would receive the harshest treatment. He would be humiliated at every opportunity. By her intervention she had saved his life and robbed him of the chance to die with honor.
Her father’s voice continued, “As with any captive and with respect for what he did to save my daughter, I will ask this question to our people. Is there any among you who have lost a loved one who wishes to replace that person with a full-grown enemy warrior?”
He waited. The people murmured. For just an instant, Raven thought her father would take Running Wolf, since he had lost a brother. But then he looked directly at her and she saw the hatred for the Sioux burned too hot for him to do this, even for the daughter he loved.
No one spoke. No one would be senseless enough to adopt a warrior.
“I will.”
Raven’s head whipped around to see who was speaking and saw her grandmother. Raven’s mouth dropped open, and she turned back to her father to see his expression thunderous.
Raven moved closer to her grandmother, taking her by the elbow and nestling close for support.
“Grandmother, do you know what you are doing?” she whispered.
“I am doing all I can. You were willing to die for him. That is recommendation enough for me.”
Six Elks looked across the fire to his mother. Truthful Woman straightened and still did not reach Raven’s shoulder.
“I have lost a son. He was brave and strong and noble. Now I have no husband and so will need a son to hunt for me.”
“I hunt for you,” said Six Elks. “Your granddaughter hunts for you.”
“My son was Black Lodges and so I adopt this warrior, Running Wolf, and make him one of the Black Lodges people.”
“You are leaving us?” asked Six Elks.
“Unless you can convince me that my son will be welcome here. My younger son will not be of the Low River people.” She looked at her granddaughter. “Unless he marries a Low River woman.”
Raven hugged her grandmother.
“Mother, please. He is dangerous and this is no game.”
“All men are dangerous.”
The women around them laughed.
“And all life is a game. As in any game it is well to know when you have been outplayed.”
Her son said nothing further to his mother. Now he spoke to his people, calling for the drummers to play, and the celebration continued well into the night.
This night Raven danced and danced as the joy in her heart filled her entire body.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The drums lulled Running Wolf to sleep and roused him from slumber. Had he been here three days or four? He could not recall. But he had memorized each imperfection in the skin of this lodge.
He hoped the old woman would come again, because she brought him more than food. She brought him news of Snow Raven. His little warrior was safe. She was with her family. She was fighting the men of the council for his life. Obviously she had managed something, for a warrior in his camp would have already been in the midst of a long and painful death. A brave man might last four or five days and never utter any sound but his death song.
Yet he languished day after day in this lodge. His legs were good, for he could move them, but his neck and shoulders throbbed from the unrelenting position, sitting up with his back braced against the cursed rough-hewn pole with his hands tied together and to the pole. He had tried to keep the blood flowing to his arms, but eventually they went numb from the elbows down.
The drumming seemed to be getting closer. He straightened, listening. The sound of many voices, singing, chanting and shouting, reached him. What was this? He did not know but he did know that the time he had dreaded and prayed for had finally come.
The death song sprang to his throat and he released it, letting go of all the love and pain. He prayed to see Snow Raven again and prayed to die a good death as the guards entered the lodge and cut him from the pole. He was hustled outside and the women took over, pushing him along. He searched the sea of unfamiliar faces for her but she was not there.
They pushed him forward, their many hands guiding him as they laughed at him. He expected a fire, a low, hot fire of coals for roasting. Or four stakes where he would be tethered spread-eagle.
What he didn’t expect was to see the entire tribe assembled upon the banks of the river.
The men stood on his left and the women on his right.
Where was Raven?
And then he saw her, standing knee-deep in the river with the old woman who had brought him food. His arms prickled and burned with each movement, the pain intense as the blood now flowed to his hands. He clamped his jaw closed and allowed the women to guide him to the riverbank. There they tugged away his shirt and untied his leggings until he stood in only his loincloth.
The women released him and shouted for him to wade into the water. Their voices reminded him of a flock of crows all calling at once. He did as they bid him. Did they plan to drown him, then?
Another man entered the water. He wore only a loincloth, and his wrinkled flesh showed he had survived many winters. He carried a staff topped with the body of a golden eagle. Strands of bone and claws hung from the talons of the eagle. His chest had been painted in blue with the symbol of lightning. Upon his head sat an elaborate headdress fashioned from the horns of a buffalo and feathers with all but the tips stripped of their finery. Weasel tails hung from the bottom of the headdress in long white cords. It was a fine bonnet with much medicine and he knew this person, though not the chief, was someone of great importance.
He thought from the symbols of power and the necklace of eagle claws that sat above his medicine bundle that this man must be their shaman.
The man lifted his staff and all the chanting and drumming ceased.
He raised his voice to be heard by all.
“This one comes to us an enemy. But the river will wash him clean.” He placed a hand on Running Wolf’s head.
Running Wolf had time to look at Raven and see her smiling face. A possibility dawned and he held his breath, allowing the medicine man to dunk him into the water three times. When he was allowed to stand, he found the women cheering.
The shaman lifted his arms again.
“This man is now an Apsáalooke of the Black Lodges people. All traces of the enemy are washed away and even his blood is pure. He is the son of Truthful Woman. We welcome him to our midst.”
Could it be true?
He faced Raven, only now noticing that she wore a stunning dress of red buckskin, adorned with elks’ teeth. Her short hair gave the illusion of length because of the artful way it was arranged. He went to her and reached for her, but the old women stepped in front of Raven. The women around them lau
ghed.
“My son,” said the woman. “I welcome you home.”
So this was the one crazy enough to adopt a warrior. Did she really think that dipping in their river would make him less Sioux?
“I would like you to meet the daughter of my other son. She is of the Low River people.” She presented the young woman at her side. “This is my granddaughter, Snow Raven.”
Running Wolf smiled, feeling suddenly that being a member of the Black Lodges might be exactly what he wanted to be. Raven kissed him on each cheek. “Welcome home.”
Someone shouted from the bank above them. “Truthful Woman! How is your son to be called?”
Truthful Woman turned to the women above them on the bank. Running Wolf saw nothing but joy and acceptance on the faces of the women. How was that possible?
Truthful Woman laid a hand on his shoulder.
“This is my son, Iron Wolf.”
The tribe cheered and the drum began again, echoing the beating of his heart. Raven took his hand and led him forward to meet his new people. He had always known he would take a wife. But he never imagined he would have to travel so far to be with the woman he chose or that he would marry, not out of duty but out of love.
* * *
A moon passed and the seasons turned. The wind changed direction again, foretelling the coming cold and the snows. The Apsáalooke tribes gathered together for their winter camp and the captives reunited with their families. Stories were told and retold of their daring escape.
Iron Wolf was brought before the council of the Low River tribe to recount all that had happened. Raven could not speak before the council, but she could speak to guests in her father’s lodge. So the council met there and she retold all that had come to pass.
Iron Wolf began to play his flute and Raven came out to stand with him in a blanket while her grandmother made dinner. Afterward all went inside the lodge because Iron Wolf was her son.
It was a tangle for Iron Wolf to ask his adopted brother to marry his daughter. Iron Wolf had only Black Lodges blood now and was therefore free to court any woman in the Low River tribe.
A few women even made their interest known. He was a handsome warrior, after all, but Snow Raven let it be known that he would be her husband before Six Elks had accepted the offer for her hand.
