The Spirit Path

by Madeline Baker

  The Spirit Path

  Madeline Baker

  Dedication

  Love and Hugs to my son, David, and his wonderful family.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Epilogue

  Sioux Glossary

  About Madeline Baker

  He walks in my heart

  This man of Yesterday;

  He stands tall and proud

  This bronze god of mine.

  Is he only in my mind,

  And in my heart?

  Or is he out there, somewhere,

  Waiting?

  Did he leave this world

  To walk among the stars?

  I see him standing tall

  Against a pink and purple sky,

  His bronze skin aglow

  In the evening light;

  His strong and rugged face

  Shows no emotion;

  His eyes are black as midnight.

  If you look deep, you can see into his soul.

  There is pride and love there,

  For this land and his people;

  For who he is, and where

  He was born.

  Is that a tear I see

  Gleaming in his eye?

  Is it for people who

  No longer roam this land,

  For battles lost, for a way of life

  That can never be again?

  My heart cries for you…

  My Lakota warrior.

  —Mary Lou VonMeter

  Chapter One

  Dakota Territory, 1872

  “She is not here.”

  Shadow Hawk frowned at the aged medicine man sitting across from him. “Not here? I do not understand.”

  “She is not here. She is not of the People.”

  Shadow Hawk was silent a moment. Not of the People. What did it mean?

  But before he could put the question to Heart-of-the-Wolf, the wizened old medicine man leaned forward and gazed intently at Shadow Hawk, his dark eyes probing deep into the younger man’s soul. “How brave are you, Cetán?”

  Shadow Hawk cocked his head to one side, puzzled by the question. Then, with a hint of a smile, he lifted a hand to the necklace of bear claws at his throat, then dragged a well-callused thumb across the ragged Sun Dance scars that adorned his chest.

  Heart-of-the-Wolf nodded. “You are a man of strength. You have killed matohota and sacrificed your blood and your pain to Wakán Tanka. But I ask you again, Shadow Hawk, how brave are you?”

  In a movement uncharacteristically graceful for such a tall man, Shadow Hawk rose to his feet, his hands curling into angry fists as he glared down at the medicine man. “I do not understand your answers or your questions.” He thumped his chest with his fist. “I am Shadow Hawk. I have proven my courage at the Sun Dance Pole. I have counted coup in battle. I have taken the scalps of our enemies, the Crow and the Pawnee. Why do you question my courage now?”

  Heart-of-the-Wolf nodded, unruffled by the younger man’s outburst, and after a moment Shadow Hawk sat down again.

  Heart-of-the-Wolf took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. When he spoke, he chose his words carefully. “I have been the eyes and ears to the future of our people for more than forty years, Cetán, but each day it grows more difficult for me to guide the Lakota. The strength is going from my legs, my eyes grow dim. Only my heart remains strong.

  “These are trying times for our People. I fear the wasichu will soon cover the land of the spotted eagle like the prairie grasses in the summer. Our People look to you to be their next holy man. And so I ask you once again, Shadow Hawk, how brave are you? Do you possess the courage to travel the Spirit Path and see what the future holds? Are you strong enough to make the journey? Are you brave enough to enter the Sacred Cave and seek the vision that lies within?”

  Shadow Hawk gazed at Heart-of-the-Wolf, wondering at the sudden chill in the lodge. Had the small fire crackling in the center of the lodge lost its warmth, or was it the medicine man’s words that had turned his blood to ice?

  The Cave of the Spirit Path. Its legend was woven deep into the fabric of his people’s history, but he knew of no one who had entered the Sacred Cave and returned to tell the tale…

  He looked at Heart-of-the-Wolf sharply. “You have been to the Sacred Cave! That is how you knew we were in danger two summers ago. That is how you knew the wasichu were coming last fall.”

  Heart-of-the-Wolf nodded. “I fear worse things lie ahead. I need you to be my legs, my eyes.”

  Shadow Hawk lifted a hand to the necklace of bear claws at his throat. There were many kinds of courage. Did he possess the kind of courage required to follow the Spirit Path, to face the unknown? The proud words he had spoken earlier tasted like ashes in his mouth.

  “You need not answer now,” Heart-of-the-Wolf remarked softly. “What I ask is not easy, but remember, I do not ask it for myself, but for the People.”

  Chapter Two

  Leaving the medicine man’s lodge, Shadow Hawk caught his big calico stallion and rode into the hills. He needed time alone, time to think.

  Shadow Hawk gave the horse its head, and Ohitika, the brave one, ran effortlessly, its long legs eating up the miles as it climbed higher and higher, gliding over the low, grassy hills like an eagle skimming the sky.

  Shadow Hawk put the medicine man’s question from his mind. He knew the answer to that. What Heart-of-the-Wolf asked of him might not be easy but it was a great honor, and a sign of the old shaman’s faith in him, that he would trust such a momentous responsibility to another. Shadow Hawk would go to the Cave of the Spirit Path when the time was right and look into the future, but it was not the future that haunted him, it was the woman in his vision.

  Shadow Hawk drew Ohitika to a halt at the crest of a tree-studded rise. It was here he had first seen the Spirit Woman. He had been fourteen at the time and earnestly seeking a medicine dream to guide him on the road to becoming a warrior. Even now, eleven summers later, he could remember that day.

  It had been Wazustecasa wi, The Moon When Strawberries Are Ripe. The sky had been blue and clear, the air warm. Clad in nothing but a clout and moccasins, he had stood on the blanket his mother had made for him, his arms raised, his head thrown back as he gazed up at the sun. Three nights and four days he had waited for a vision. He had offered tobacco to the four directions, to Mother Earth, to the Great Spirit Above, but he had
seen nothing, heard nothing.

  Weak with hunger, his mouth and throat dry from lack of water, he had uttered a final prayer to Wakán Tanka, begging for a sign, a vision, to guide him through life. He had been about to give up when the shadow of a huge black hawk had fallen over him. Mesmerized, he had stared at the shadow on the ground and, gradually, his image had merged with that of the shadow of the hawk until they were one. He had legs and wings, hair and feathers. And he could see for miles as though he were looking through the far-seeing eyes of the hawk. Time lost all meaning and he felt as though he was soaring, gliding, chasing the wind.

  For a long while he was alone in the skies and then, to his surprise, he was leading other birds—sparrows and jays and one lone eagle, leading them away from the blood-stained claws of a vulture. Using the keen eyes of the hawk, he had searched for a haven of safety, away from the sacred land of the Lakota into a land northward. But before he could find refuge, the eagle overtook him, and then, before he had time to wonder what it meant, the shadow of the hawk was gone and he stood on the mountain, alone.

  He had stared after the hawk until it was out of sight and then, too weak to remain upright any longer, he had dropped to his knees and closed his eyes. It was then he had seen the Spirit Woman’s shadowy image for the first time.

  He had not mentioned the mysterious woman to Heart-of-the-Wolf when he told the medicine man of his vision. Perhaps he had only imagined her after all.

  Old Heart-of-the-Wolf had interpreted his medicine dream. The first part of the vision meant that he would be as strong and wise as the great black hawk so long as he followed the Life Path of the Lakota.

  “And what of the second part?” Hawk had asked.

  Heart-of-the-Wolf had not answered right away. When he did speak, his voice was troubled. “You will lead our people away from our enemies.”

  “I hear doubt in your voice.”

  Heart-of-the-Wolf nodded. “It may be that you will not lead the people yourself but that you will lead the eagle who follows in your shadow. But know this, you have been chosen by the Great Spirit to be a leader of our people. You shall have a new name. From this day forward you shall be known as Shadow Hawk.”

  He had been twenty when he saw the woman’s ghostlike image a second time. It had been summer again, during the time of Wiwanyank Wacipi, the Sun Dance. Tethered to the sacred pole by two lengths of heavy rawhide fastened to skewers embedded in the muscles of his chest, he had danced forward and back, offering his blood and his pain to Wakán Tanka, beseeching the gods of the Lakota to bless the People through the coming year.

  Staring at the sun, he had pulled against the rawhide, his teeth tightly clenched to hold back the groan that rose in his throat. One last jerk against his tether and his skin had given way, freeing him from the Sun Dance Pole. He had stumbled backward then dropped to the ground, his chest warm with his blood.

  As he lay there, his eyes closed against the pain, the Spirit Woman’s image had appeared before him. He had not been able to see her face clearly, only the glow of sun-gold skin and a riot of curly hair as black as the wings of his spirit bird. And even as he watched, the shadow of the black hawk he’d seen in his vision seemed to merge with the woman and he heard a voice echo in the back of his mind, the voice of the shadow hawk.

  She is waiting for you. The words were no more than the merest whisper, yet they rang loud and clear in his mind. You cannot fulfill your destiny without her.

  He had seen her for the third time just before going to Heart-of-the-Wolf’s lodge that morning and he could not attribute the vision to fatigue or loss of blood this time. He had gone into the woods to pray and as he gazed heavenward he had seen her face, her mouth full and red, her eyes as blue as a midsummer sky. Who was she? Why did her image intrude on his prayers and dreams? What power did she have over him, that he could not forget her. What magic did she possess that made him think of her day and night? What did she want of him?

  One mystery at a time, he thought with a wry grin. He would venture into the Cave of the Spirit Path and seek the answers to Heart-of-the-Wolf’s questions, and then he would seek to unravel the mystery of the Spirit Woman.

  His mother, Winona, was waiting for him when he returned to his lodge. She never seemed to age, only to grow more beautiful with the passing years. He smiled at her as he took a seat and reached for the bowl she offered him.

  “You have seen the woman again,” she said, and it was not a question.

  “Yes.”

  “Could not Heart-of-the-Wolf tell you what it means?”

  Shadow Hawk put the bowl aside. “We did not speak of her. He wishes me to go to the Cave of the Spirit Path.”

  Winona stared at her son, one hand over her mouth to cover her astonishment.

  Shadow Hawk smiled at her. “He wishes me to be his legs and eyes.”

  Winona shook her head. “Heyah!”

  “I must do it.”

  “Heyah,” his mother repeated. “No.”

  “What would you have me do?”

  “No one but a holy man must enter the cave. For another to do so means death,” Winona said fervently. “If Heart-of-the-Wolf has lost his power then it is time our people found a new medicine man.”

  “He has not lost his power. His heart and his mind are still strong. Only his legs and his eyes grow weak.” Shadow Hawk gazed at his mother for a long moment. “I will be the next medicine man.”

  “He has made his decision then?”

  “Yes.”

  Winona stared at her son for a long moment and then she smiled, her eyes filled with quiet pride. “It will be good to have a holy man in my lodge.”

  Shadow Hawk nodded soberly. To be a Wicasa Wakán, or holy man, required much learning and carried a great deal of responsibility. Holy men had to be able to interpret dreams and visions, to settle disputes, to be well versed in knowledge of the Lakota gods. Wakán Tanka was the supreme God who ruled over all; four gods ruled beneath him: Wi, the sun, ruled the world; Skan, the sky, was a source of power; Maka, the Earth, was the mother of all living things; Inyan, the Rock, was the protector of households. It was Skan who judged a man’s spirit at the time of death.

  Shadow Hawk took a deep breath. He had learned much from old Heart-of-the-Wolf and he felt a deep sense of pride that the old medicine man considered him worthy to succeed him, but it was the Spirit Woman who occupied his thoughts most often these days.

  “When I return from the cave I will ask Heart-of-the-Wolf to tell me of the Spirit Woman,” he remarked, putting his thoughts into words. “She troubles me, Iná. I would know what she wants of me.”

  Winona shook her head as she squeezed her son’s arm affectionately. “Sacred caves and spirit women! Wagh! Forget this wasicun winyan who haunts your dreams. It is time you took a wife.”

  Shadow Hawk took a deep breath and loosed it in a long sigh. His mother was right. It was far past time when he should have taken a wife. But none of the Lakota maidens drew his eye. Many were beautiful. Many had looked at him with warm eyes. All would make fine wives and mothers. But his blood did not heat at their nearness, his heart did not beat fast for any of them. And so he remained alone, a man apart. He had war honors. He had been gifted with a vision and endured the pain and the reward of the Sun Dance. But he had not found a woman to share his lodge.

  Perhaps the fault lay in him. Perhaps he was meant to live alone, or to be one of those men who was neither man nor woman.

  Shadow Hawk shook his head in disgust. He was a warrior. He had proven himself in battle many times. He had counted coup more than any other man in the village. He would not sit with the women. He would not live his life alone.

  A wry grin turned up the corner of his mouth. Perhaps his mother was right. Perhaps it was time to take a wife.

  But first he must travel the Spirit Path.

  Chapter Three

  Old Father Wi had crossed the sky five times and now Shadow Hawk sat in the lodge of Heart-of-the-Wolf again,
learning the things he must know before he could venture into the Cave of the Spirit Path.

  “You must not eat or drink for one full day before you enter the sacred cave,” Heart-of-the-Wolf said quietly. “You must not wear coup feathers in your hair, nor adorn yourself with enemy scalps. You must not carry any weapons, nor should you wear the claws of matohota. One must be humble to enter the realm of spirits. Wear only a clout of deerskin and your oldest moccasins. You must not braid your hair, or wear paint of any kind.”

  Shadow Hawk nodded solemnly.

  “When you enter the cave, you must offer sacred pollen to the four directions, then to the Great Spirit, and then to our mother, the earth. When that is done, you must sit down facing east. It will be dark in the cave, but you must not light a fire and you must not speak. You must think of the future, nothing more. In your mind and heart you must ask Wakán Tanka to show you what the next year holds for our people.”

  “Perhaps the Great Spirit will not reveal the future to me,” Shadow Hawk remarked. “Perhaps I do not possess the power to communicate with Man Above.”

  Heart-of-the-Wolf placed a gnarled hand on Shadow Hawk’s shoulder. “You will not be in the cave alone. My prayers will join with yours. My spirit will be there beside you.”

  “When?” Shadow Hawk asked. “When do I go to the cave?”

  “The night of the next full moon.”

  Three days, Shadow Hawk mused, and felt his insides grow taut.

  The next two days passed slowly. Shadow Hawk spent many hours contemplating what he was about to do, wondering if he had the courage to enter the cave, if his medicine was strong enough to summon the power of the spirits. Heart-of-the-Wolf had taught Shadow Hawk all he knew about healing, instructing him carefully in the many chants and rituals a medicine man must know, imparting to Shadow Hawk the knowledge he would have passed on to his own son if he’d had one. Shadow Hawk had listened attentively to everything Heart-of-the-Wolf said.