“My heart is with you and my people at this perilous time. My daily prayers are for you.” Son of Great Bear paused as if to indicate a new paragraph or a different train of thought. “My bones grow weaker with each setting sun though my heart is strong, my mind clear.” Son of Great Bear’s eyes met Great Owl’s.
Great Owl nodded. A look of resigned sadness filled his eyes.
Son of dreat Bear continued at a pace that allowed Walker to interpret. “The holy spirits living here on Nuvatukya’ovi, our sacred mountain, have answered my many prayers. The way to save our people from hunger, sickness, and death has been made known to me. My time and our people’s time is short. I feel the presence of Masau’u, that great and terrible spirit of death, drawing nearer with each sunrise. I do not tremble at meeting death myself, but for my beloved people I fear.” Son of Great Bear paused; his eyes glistened with tears. His voice was soft but firm as he finished. “Great Owl, my trusted friend and Seer, now is the time. Now is the time that we have spoken of so often in whispers, hopes, and fears. Now is the time for your holiest prayers and strongest powers.”
Silence filled the room. Every eye was on Great Owl. Tears stood in the old man’s eyes. He looked across at Walker. Walker felt his scalp tighten. A tingling sensation worked its way up his back.
A loud popping sound from the fire broke the intense silence.
“Lone Eagle’s message is clear,” said Great Owl in a low voice, “and all has been done.”
Son of Great Bear drew in a deep breath of air and let it out. He looked relieved, but his eyes still reflected worry. Turning to his brother-in-law, he went on, “White Badger, our chief sends you this message.” Again Son of Great Bear’s manner of speaking changed as he recited the words he had memorized. “To White Badger, our people’s chosen Warrior Chief, I send you greetings. At tomorrow’s first light, my men and I will leave the sacred mountain and start the journey home.” Son of Great Bear paused.
When he continued, it was in a very low voice. “I am sending Son of Great Bear ahead to give you this warning. The days ahead will be full of strife. Be strong in your leadership over our people in my absence. Beware of him that hungers for power, like a hungry wolf stalking his prey. He would go to great extremes to seize any and all authority. Under his selfish leadership our people would die a slow, agonizing death.” Son of Great Bear stopped.
White Badger’s eyes were clear, his face set firmly. He nodded his head, the meaning of the warning understood.
Son of Great Bear continued the message, “The time draws near when you must stand united with the one chosen to be the new chief. You must be strong.”
A heavy silence filled the dim walls. Each person seemed deep in his own thoughts and fears. Walker tried to piece together the two messages in his mind but couldn’t. What was Lone Eagle trying to tell both Great Owl and White Badger that he couldn’t just say outright?
Son of Great Bear broke the thick silence. Now that the messages were delivered, he spoke in his normal tone. “Our Chief is so weak that the men must help him walk and he must rest often. Even with this, if all goes well, they will be here in two or three sunsets.”
“I must have medicine ready for him,” stated Flute Maiden, beginning to rise.
“It is too late for that, little sister. Masau’u’s deathly fingers are on Lone Eagle already,” said Son of Great Bear, looking at her with compassion.
Flute Maiden nodded. She folded her hands in her lap, lowering her eyes to the ground. Tears washed her cheeks. Walker’s heart ached seeing her so saddened.
“We must be ready when the mantle of leadership is changed,” Son of Great Bear continued, looking toward Great Owl, then to White Badger. “From just the few moments that I spent with Gray Wolf today, I am afraid that there may be violence.”
“Yes, all the years of hatred and bitterness boiling in his heart have made him very determined and dangerous,” Great Owl stated. Meeting Walker’s questioning eyes, he explained, “Long ago, before Lone Eagle became our leader, a man named Single Feather was our chief. He led our people, as his father before him, with wisdom and love for many, many years. He began to grow little with old age. His back became stooped and weak. His eyes became clouded over. Since he had no son to become chief after him, he announced that on the next moon he would appoint one to be the new chief.” Great Owl closed his eyes as in mental pain.
After a few seconds, Great Owl’s eyes opened and rested upon Walker. “As is our custom, Single Feather greeted each new sun in prayer to ask for the well-being of our people. He sought rain and sun to insure plentiful crops. He prayed for many healthy children in our village. He was always the very first to offer such prayers each morning when the sky was gray before the morning light. The place he chose for these morning prayers was a ledge overlooking our canyon. Two days before he was to name the new chief, while he knelt in prayer he fell to his death.”
Walker translated Great Owl’s words to Tag.
“Sounds a bit suspicious,” Tag whispered back to Walker. “What happened?”
As if Great Owl had understood the bahana’s words, he continued, “In choosing a new chief the village became split into two groups. One group wanted Gray Wolf’s father, Red Hawk. The others wanted Lone Eagle as their chief. After much disagreement and discontent, the men in the village cast feathers to determine who would be the new chief. When the feathers were counted, the greater number lay at Lone Eagle’s feet. He would be the new chief. Red Hawk was bitter, but the choice had been made. This was years before Gray Wolf was born. From the day he was born, Gray Wolf was fed on his father’s bitterness until his heart became filled with hatred.” Great Owl gazed into Walker’s eyes.
Looking back at Great Owl, Walker said, “If his father had won, Gray Wolf would be the next chief instead of Lone Eagle’s son, so he feels cheated.”
Great Owl nodded.
“Twice cheated,” stated Son of Great Bear in a firm voice. “It is our way to let the people choose the Warrior Chief, who is second in command. The Warrior Chief is always chosen by casting feathers. Eleven moons ago, our Warrior Chief became mysteriously sick and died very fast.”
“Too fast and too unnatural,” whispered Flute Maiden.
Son of Great Bear continued, “Gray Wolf wanted to be the new Warrior Chief. He tried to gain the support of our men. Some did follow him. Those that didn’t were threatened and accidents just seemed to happen to many of these men. Again the harmony of our people was destroyed. Only Lone Eagle’s strength and wisdom held our village together until the day when the feathers were cast. On that day when the most feathers were placed at White Badger’s feet, Gray Wolf swore by Masau’u that he would not be cheated a third time.”
Only the soft sounds of the crackling fire filled the rock dwelling. Walker watched the small, flaming wick floating in the black-and-white ceramic bowl. The mysterious feeling had wrapped its icy fingers around him, squeezing his breath from him. The smell of death filled his nose. Masau’u was near. Walker’s mind tried to fight off the suffocating feeling. “Death . . . Death . . . Death,” the feeling thundered in Walker’s ears and heart.
16
Where is Lone Eagle’s son? Why hasn’t anyone introduced us?” Tag whispered to Walker in the dark. They were lying on sleeping mats next to the front wall of Great Owl’s home. Great Owl, Flute Maiden, and White Badger were asleep on mats in the back of the room.
Walker answered, “I guess he is with his father. It would be natural for him to go with Lone Eagle.” Even though the answer was logical, Walker had a gut feeling that it wasn’t true.
“Well, maybe. Doesn’t it seem strange that we haven’t even heard the son’s name?” Tag flopped over on his stomach. “Hey, maybe they don’t want Lone Eagle’s son to be chief. Maybe he’s a jerk or something.”
“Hmmm,” Walker mumbled, pushing a strand of hair out of his eyes. That was a point he had not thought of. Maybe Tag was right. Was it possible that Great Owl and Whi
te Badger were actually plotting against Lone Eagle? Did they want Son of Great Bear to be the next chief? What kind of political intrigue had Tag and he stumbled into? Had Great Owl saved them from Gray Wolf just so he could use them as a sacrifice later to further his own ambitions for political power? How was Flute Maiden involved in all this? Walker’s heart began to beat faster. Sweat wet his forehead. Had he been too trusting of these people sleeping just a few feet from him? Were things not as they seemed to be? Which way was death coming from—both? His mind was so tired now that everything seemed unreal—like a bad dream.
Walker put his hands over his eyes. He remembered Singing Woman’s words, “See with your heart.” He tried to block out his thoughts, letting his feelings speak. A deep warmth began filling his heart. Of course he trusted Great Owl and his family. He had no choice but to trust them. Gray Wolf had made his intention toward him crystal clear from the very beginning.
Tag shifted his long body on the thin mat, trying to find a comfortable position. “They’re not telling us something, something important.” He turned completely over, flipping the mat out from under him as he did. “This ground feels like cement,” he mumbled, trying to get the woven mat back under him. “It’s a wonder that any of these people can even walk after sleeping like this night after night. Back in the future, I thought my mom was really mean for forcing me to make my nice, soft bed every morning. Boy, was I ever a crybaby back then.”
“It sounds like you are homesick,” observed Walker in a low voice.
“Of course I am not homesick.” Tag’s voice sounded indignant, then it softened. “Well, maybe a little, but just for my bed.”
Whispers in the back of the room woke Walker. His head was still full of uneasy sleep. He heard Son of Great Bear’s worried voice whispering in fast, short sentences. Flute Maiden’s alert, low voice answered back.
Walker pushed up on one elbow. Seeing the doorway bathed in darkness, Walker knew that it was still night or very early morning. The cooking fire had died, leaving the room pitch black. He could hear Tag’s heavy breathing beside him. From the back of the room he heard quick movements.
“Son of Great Bear, please carry this. I have everything else. Let’s go,” Flute Maiden’s soft voice said.
Son of Great Bear crossed to the door and went out. Flute Maiden followed. When she came close to Walker, he whispered her name.
Flute Maiden knelt down next to him. “Morning Flower’s baby is about to be born. I am going to help her. Son of Great Bear brought Small Cub here. He’s asleep on my mat. When the others wake up, please tell them I am next door.”
“Is there anything I can do?” asked Walker.
He felt Flute Maiden’s warm hand touch his shoulder. “If we need anything, I will send Son of Great Bear. Thank you.” Then she was gone.
Silence again filled the darkness. The four-foot rock-and-mud walls dividing the two homes muffled the sounds from next door. Walker lay back down on his mat. A cool breeze drifted through the door, bringing the dry scent of sage with it. Tag mumbled something in his sleep. A deep cough came from the back of the room, then the sound of someone turning over.
Silence.
Walker closed his eyes, but his mind was alert. He tried to reassess the situation. His thoughts went in circles and nothing fit together in a logical way. What am I missing? What is so obvious that I cant see or feel it?
A muffled scream reached through Walker’s troubled thoughts, bringing him to his feet and out the nearby door. The cool night air brought goose bumps up on his bare chest and back.
In the bright moonlight, Walker saw Son of Great Bear come tumbling out of his doorway. Seeing Walker, he cried, “Light! Flute Maiden needs more light to see by.” There was desperation in his voice. “Wood—get more wood. Hurry, hurry! Morning Flower is . . .” he couldn’t finish. He brought his trembling hands to his face, shaking his head.
“Son of Great Bear!” Flute Maiden’s voice from within the house was urgent. A long, painful cry followed.
“Light—get more light!” Son of Great Bear pleaded, looking at Walker. He turned and scrambled back into his house.
Walker took two giant steps, bent down, and crawled through Great Owl’s doorway. With one more step he was next to his sleeping mat. In the darkness, his fingers searched for his backpack. He found Tag’s foot instead. It was soft, gritty, and cold.
“What’s wrong?” Tag’s voice sounded as if he were talking in his sleep.
Walker’s finger’s felt his backpack. Grabbing it, he turned, and started toward the door. “Morning Flower is having her baby.”
“Oh, is that all,” Tag’s voice floated back into sleep, as Walker went out the door.
Bending down again, he slipped through Son of Great Bear’s doorway. In the dim light of a small fire in the corner of the room, he saw Morning Flower lying on the ground. Son of Great Bear was kneeling, holding her head in his lap. Morning Flower’s cries of pain filled the air.
Flute Maiden knelt between Morning Flower’s drawnup knees. She was speaking in a soft but firm voice to her patient. “Pant, Morning Flower, pant as if you have been running. Don’t push. Good. Keep panting.” Tenseness filled her voice. “Something isn’t right, but I can’t see what. Light! I need more light!”
Walker fumbled at the buckle on his backpack. His fingers seemed thick and clumsy. His palms were wet with sweat, his fingers sticky as he got the buckle loose. Reaching inside, he felt the soft feather on the prayer stick. Gently, he dug under the fragile paho. He felt the rough, cotton flour bag that held the red cornmeal. Spirit food. Walker’s blood suddenly felt like ice. He pushed the bag to one side of the backpack, feeling for his flashlight. Where was it? The seconds seemed like years. Groping, his fingers came in contact with hard, smooth steel. With quick steps, Walker moved toward Flute Maiden. Flicking the flashlight on, he knelt down beside her. “Is this enough light?”
Flute Maiden gazed at the unknown source of bright light for a split second, then returned to her work. “Yes, now I can see what must be done,” her voice trailed off.
Walker held the light steady. Morning Flower cried out in agony.
“No, don’t push. Don’t push—not yet,” ordered Flute Maiden. “Pant!”
The seconds became hours. Walker’s forehead was wet, and his heart beat against his chest as he watched Flute Maiden work. In these primitive conditions how many women die in childbirth? How many babies survive? “Great Tawaa,” he prayed silently, “guide Flute Maiden’s hands and mind.”
“Good,” Flute Maiden’s voice sounded confident. “Now things are as they should be.”
Within minutes, a healthy cry filled the home. A tiny, beautiful daughter with black, downy hair lay in Morning Flower’s loving arms.
Walker slipped outside unnoticed. The sky was growing gray with early morning light. The moon and its sister star hung in the far west. Walker closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The air smelled clean, fresh—new.
“My son,” Great Owl’s voice sounded like a gentle breeze in the pines.
Walker turned to see the old man standing outside his house. “You have a new granddaughter,” Walker said, warmth filling his heart.
“Then we have much to thank Taawa for this morning.” Great Owl moved slowly down the trail. Walker followed.
He led Walker to a flat, rocky ledge overlooking the canyon. Using his carved staff, Great Owl knelt. Then he lifted his arms toward the sky and closed his eyes. In a deep, throaty voice, he began to sing a prayer of thanks.
Here prayers are also offered to the first rays of sun each day, just as it is done at my village, Walker thought. He knelt down not far from Great Owl. His mind and heart were full. For the first time since Náat’s death, Walker felt joy in living. He had seen a new life begin and he had helped in his own small way. Was this the reason he had been sent back here—to help this small infant into the world? Would she play a significant role in her people’s future? If this was the reason he had
been sent, it was enough. With a smile, Walker closed his eyes to pray.
Finishing his prayer, Walker opened his eyes. He spit over his right shoulder. Now he was cleansed and ready to start a new day. He rose to his feet. Great Owl was still kneeling. Walker stood listening to his deep, humble voice petitioning for guidance.
Suddenly Walker felt the hair on his neck rise. With a swift movement he jerked around toward the trail. Standing there with a smirk on his face and hatred burning his eyes stood Gray Wolf. He held a spear in one hand, while his other hand rested on the knife strapped on his waist. “I will not be cheated a third time,” he growled just loud enough for Walker to hear. Giving a short snort, he turned and stalked out of sight.
“. . . while saying his morning prayers, he fell to his death . . .” The words spoken the night before echoed in Walker’s mind.
17
The news of the baby’s birth spread like the sun’s early morning rays. Even before Great Owl’s household had finished eating a meager breakfast of small, round corncakes, village women began to arrive next door at Son of Great Bear’s house.
Standing just inside Great Owl’s door, Walker watched small groups of women, two or three at a time, come walking up the trail. Each woman carried a large, ceramic bowl or pot slung over one hip. Upon reaching Son of Great Bear’s door, the women patiently waited outside until Son of Great Bear came out to greet them and to invite them in. Sometimes a group had to wait five or ten minutes until the women in the previous group left. While waiting, the women visited and laughed in soft voices. Walker recognized most of them by name.
“What’s happening?” Tag asked, looking over Walker’s shoulder. He shoved the last bit of a corncake into his mouth. His hair was a tangled mane of curls. But somehow his freckled face was clean.
“Women are coming to see Morning Flower’s baby.” Walker moved a bit so Tag could see out the doorway.
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