by Sadie Conall
As Ryder hobbled the horse near their own, Madeleine reached for what little remained of their meal of wild turkey and shared it out between the starving pair. The girl took it greedily as the elderly woman slowly roused herself and sat up, whether from the smell of food or the warmth of the fire but her whole body trembled from the effort.
Ryder glanced at Madeleine and she saw the question in his lovely eyes. “I met her at the Mandan village. She was trying to tell me something, but I couldn’t understand her. Perhaps she was asking me to take this child with us. When we left, she must have decided to follow us.”
Ryder shook his head in frustration. “What on earth does she expect us to do with her? Good Lord, she’ll have the whole Mandan nation down on our heads, stealing a child away from their village.”
It was pointless trying to communicate with the woman for she was too feeble to do anything other than eat. And even that seemed to exhaust her for after a few meagre bites she lay down, cradling the little girl in her arms before she fell asleep. The child lay utterly still, never taking her beautiful dark eyes off Madeleine or Ryder, even as the woman snored softly next to her, her lungs full of fluid.
*
Hanyewi’winyan woke towards dawn and saw Ryder curled in his furs, fast asleep on the other side of the fire. The young woman was sitting crosslegged some way behind him staring out into the grey light of dawn, focused, her head turned slightly to one side as though listening for something, or waiting for someone, acutely aware of everything around her. Her face was quite beautiful and there was an energy to her that was almost luminous, yet there was also something hard and unyielding about her as well.
Hanyewi’winyan drew in a sharp breath as the young woman suddenly turned and looked at her, as though she knew Hanyewi’winyan had woken and was watching her. For a moment, Hanyewi’winyan held the young woman’s gaze, finding her lovely gold brown eyes intense, as though she could see into one’s soul. And Hanyewi’winyan recognized her in that moment as one who held the powers of a shaman.
She curled back within her blankets, grateful to have found her, grateful for the man’s generosity and the warmth of his fire and the food he shared. Hanyewi’winyan glanced across at him. He was big, with a face that held a strength to it, yet she also saw pain in his blue eyes which suggested he had known suffering. But she also saw in him a man who gave his word and kept it.
They were obviously a couple for there was a palpable beat of heat and familiarity between them, their bond clearly strong and Hanyewi’winyan wondered if they had a child or children of their own. She would like to see such a child, for surely the babe would own some of this couple’s strengths.
She closed her eyes, taking comfort in the fire’s warmth and thanked the Great Spirit for bringing them here safely. She didn’t remember much of the journey, except being deathly afraid during all of it. But at least the girl was safe now, for she trusted this couple as much as she trusted them with her own life.
Madeleine turned away from the old woman, deeply aware of her sickness and something else. For with the arrival of her and the child came a catalyst for something, although she knew not what. But she had felt the change happen sometime during the night and it wasn’t the shadows which lingered around the old woman, those other worldly beings which waited patiently for her last breath, but something else, something tangible and real and dangerous and it was out there in the dark and would be upon them soon.
She shuddered as she looked out beyond their campfire, aware of the sense of darkness all around them and the unwelcome energy which the woman and girl had brought into their lives. And for the first time since she was reunited with Ryder at the Omaha village, Madeleine felt truly afraid.
Two
We rode at a walk for the following two days, so the woman and little girl could keep up. Ryder and I had both tried to have the child ride with one of us, to lessen the burden of her weight on the woman who was clearly struggling, but the child refused to be parted from her.
We found the girl unusually quiet. She rarely made a noise. She certainly never spoke. Indeed, the only sound I heard her make was a pitiful whimper in her sleep. Ryder wondered if she were mute, although we both knew her hearing was perfectly fine.
We found it astonishing that they had travelled from the Mandan village all alone, with barely enough food and water and although we would have loved to have discover why, it was impossible to understand the dialect the woman spoke. Although we did discover her name was Hanyewi’winyan and that the little girl’s name was Wi’keya. But we couldn’t understand what they wanted from us. All we could do was carry on west to the Hŭŋkpapĥa and let Te’tukhe or Allard make sense of it all, for they spoke Sioux fluently.
When we came upon a clearing near a shallow river late one afternoon, Ryder suggested we stop and make an early camp for the night. I agreed and saw the relief on Hanyewi’winyan’s face. We hobbled the horses then left to hunt, leaving Hanyewi’winyan to make a firepit with Wi’keya’s help, but there was plenty of deadwood and kindling scattered around our camp.
We didn’t take our muskets, nor our horses, only our bows and sheath of arrows. We quickly found deer tracks, along with sightings of wild hares and as we made our way silently through the woods, we both stopped in surprise when we came upon what looked like a bivouac just ahead of us. It seemed to hang in mid-air some fifteen feet above the ground, as though some giant had built it high up within the tree. We moved back under cover, crouching low, looking about the dense wood for signs of life, although I felt no danger here.
We skirted around the trees, keeping an eye on the bivouac until we realized it hadn’t been built within the tree at all, but on a bank behind an ancient elm, giving a good view over the forest. And then we saw the massive branch which had broken off from the elm’s main trunk, allowing the bivouac to be seen by anyone walking below. There were thick heavy vines which someone had twisted and plaited to create a ladder, still tied to the branches of the tree. Ryder moved to climb them, pulling himself up easily and as the vines took his weight, I followed him, swinging up onto a smaller branch and then across to the bank.
The bivouac had been made with care, large enough to fit two people although it now lay empty. Whoever built this solid structure had probably done so to winter over here, probably a fur trapper, for no man from any local tribe would winter in the wild alone, not when they could enjoy the security and warmth of a village. But all we found were cobwebs and spiders, a cold fire pit, the ashes blown about the floor. Ryder turned and took my hand, having seen enough. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
We climbed back down the tree but as we moved on through the woods to follow the deer trail, I looked back at the shelter. From this angle, the bivouac was once again hidden behind the foliage of the elm and had that branch not broken, I couldn’t help but think what a perfect hideaway.
*
We killed half a dozen hares, for the woods were rampant with them and once back at camp Hanyewi’winyan and the little girl helped me skin and butcher them while Ryder set up two more fires and built wooden frames of ironwood to place over them to smoke the meat. He also found a hickory tree, hacking off some leaves to add to the fires to give the meat more favour. That night we ate well, other than Hanyewi’winyan, for she seemed to have little appetite. When she went to the river to wash before dusk we heard her collapse with a coughing fit. I ran to help but she waved me away, even as she knelt on the ground struggling to breathe. When she returned to camp some time later, she accepted my small clay bowl and the potion within it, of pleurisy root and milk-vetch to help with her cough and aid her breathing. I had found the herbs while hunting with Ryder and hoped these would help her, for the willow bark and feverfew seemed to have little effect on her illness. When she finished, she turned to me and Ryder and used sign talk to thank us, her hands going to her heart, showing us love. Then she pulled Wi’keya into her arms and wrapped her in one of her blankets, hugging the child a
s she spoke softly in her own dialect.
But as night came down, as she curled within her blanket lying close to the fire seeking its warmth, I thought she looked defeated, as though she had lost what little energy she had, even as the child curled up beside her. Ryder and I sat opposite them and talked softly in English, wondering what to do with them. And we agreed that if they didn’t want to stay with Allard’s family or the Hŭŋkpapĥa, then they could come west with us to the Bannock, although we both doubted the woman would live that long.
When I suggested I take the first watch for I felt on edge and knew I wouldn’t sleep, Ryder went to his furs. He was asleep within minutes. I watched him for a little while, taking pleasure in him, then I stood up and circled our camp, moving out into the dark beyond the light of our fire.
But in all truth, it was finding the bivouac which made me uneasy. Even though we had left it some five miles behind us, I wondered who had lived there. And who else lived secretly within these vast forests, aware of us as we rode on by. For even now someone could be watching us, alerted to us being here by our wood smoke.
*
It was an hour before midnight and just a little while before I woke Ryder to take his turn at watch when our horses suddenly whickered and stamped their hooves with fear. I moved quickly, my musket held out before me, about to wake Ryder, but found nothing there. No scent of man nor predator, no sound, no movement.
Uneasy, I remained by the horses for a while, aware of the rustle of night creatures, an owl swooping low overhead, a racoon making its way over dried leaves, a mouse skittering across a fallen log, but there seemed nothing here that might disturb the horses.
I turned around, feeling something, like a strange energy all around me and knew then that the change I had sensed two days ago, when Wi’keya and Hanyewi’winyan first arrived at our camp, had begun.
I shivered as a gentle wind stirred the trees, although the night was still. Unnerved, I glanced back towards our camp in time to see the flames of the fire flare as though someone had just placed new wood on the hot coals, only to see the flames die away as suddenly as they came. I blinked, hardly daring to breath, but knew I hadn’t imagined it. For I knew what it was. The darkness was coming.
I took a step away from the horses to once more do a loop around our camp, when I saw them come for the old woman. They were nothing more than flickering shadows, just quick sudden movements seen out of my peripheral vision. And when those flickering shadows slowly grew into shafts of luminous radiance, I fell back as Hanyewi’winyan took a long shuddering breathe before sitting up, her eyes wide and afraid as she took another awful breath. And then it was over. She fell back on her blanket as thought her body were nothing but fluid.
For a moment, no more than a heartbeat, there was deep utter silence. Then everything changed as Hanyewi’winyan moved to stand with all the grace of a young girl, the sick and frail body lying beneath her now forgotten. She turned to look across at me and smiled, her face radiant, her body strong with all the vigour of youth, giving me a glimpse of the beauty she had been. She didn’t look back at herself, as if that body held no interest for her. Instead, she continued to look at me and then her lips moved, her voice nothing more than a soft whisper in the night yet I understood her every word.
She is close, yet so afraid. I beg you, don’t leave this place without her
And then she was gone, leaving nothing behind her but a luminescent mist and within moments that too had gone.
I remained where I was, panting with fear, knowing I must go to the woman who now lay dead by the fire with the child in her arms. But I could not.
Hanyewi’winyan looked like she lay sleeping, her mouth lifted a little as if she had known great joy at the end. But she had died in her sleep surrounded by strangers and a little girl who was now alone in the world, whose identity would remain a mystery, her family unknown.
That thought motivated me to move and I went to Hanyewi’winyan and gently lifted the tiny girl from her arms, placing her by the fire to keep her warm before I turned back to Hanyewi’winyan and pulled the blanket up over her face, for her features were already beginning to change in death. I remained beside her until Ryder began to stir then I got up and went to him, moving to lie beside him, feeling the warmth of him along with his vitality and his strength and his youth, even as he came fully awake.
“What is it my love,” he asked, his voice husky and deep with sleep. “You are trembling. Are you cold?”
I shook my head, feeling the hard, warm bulk of him, unable to bear the thought of him leaving me again, not even in death. I wouldn’t survive it a second time. I would follow wherever he went, a willing captive to his heart and soul for I loved him beyond life itself and as I reached out to hold him, as he came fully awake, we both heard a child’s anguished cry.
Wi’keya had woken, startled to find herself alone and was looking in dismay at the blanket which covered Hanyewi’winyan’s face. Her small fists went to her eyes as she began to cry, too young to understand what had happened.
I left Ryder and went to her, even as he uttered a soft oath and pushed aside his furs. And astonishingly, the little girl allowed me to pick her up, as she sobbed pitifully into my shoulder.
“She went peacefully not an hour ago,” I said to Ryder, as he came across to join us. I said nothing about the spirit beings.
We buried Hanyewi’winyan the following morning in a shallow grave, covering her with stones. The child never made a sound, not even when Ryder said a Ugákhpa blessing over the grave. Then we rode on, the child now secured to me by a plaited vine which Ryder hastily made. And unlike Harry who chatted away constantly or who was often restless and full of energy when riding with me, this child said not a word but sat in silence, looking ahead.
Hŭŋkpapĥa territory: May 1805
As they reached the last hill within the wooded valley they reined their horses in and dismounted to take a break. Wesa'shangke pointed to the rolling prairie lands way in the distance, the home of the Hŭŋkpapĥa. And just a few miles from that village lay Allard Lemoine’s cabin.
“Another few days,” Wesa'shangke said, as Aishi-waahni’ laughed and bent down to swing Harry up in his arms, pointing at the distant hills to show the little boy where they were heading.
Poongatse and Wannge’e were elated to hear this news for they were looking forward to the rest which Allard’s home offered, along with the knowledge that they were now only a few months away from reaching the Snake River Plain.
They had been blessed with good weather for most of their journey north, not bothering to raise the teepees unless it rained and then only raising the larger of the two. And the five of them had made happy travelling companions, the girls taking care of Harry and preparing the meals while the men hunted and stood guard at night.
Although Wannge’e wished every day that Te’tukhe was with them. And as she looked out over those rolling hills, wishing they were there already, she put a hand on her belly. There was no movement yet, but it would come. And by her calculations, the babe would be born at the end of the year, in the depths of winter on the Snake River Plain, within the Bannock village.
She glanced at Poongatse and saw her friend look away, but Wannge’e felt no remorse on finding herself with child. Indeed, she had planned it. For she knew as did everyone else that Te’tukhe was not a man who settled anywhere. And if she couldn’t have him, she would have his child, a part of him to keep with her always.
She had loved him the first moment she saw him, when she was a child of ten. And when he crawled into their teepee in the middle of a storm last year, she knew it was destiny he had come back into her life. When Esa-mogo'ne’ realised that Wannge’e and Te’tukhe had become lovers while still at the Omaha village, she had insisted Wannge’e take the stoneseed herbs to prevent a babe. And for a little while Wannge’e had done as Esa-mogo'ne’ asked, until she decided she wanted more from Te’tukhe than he was willing to give.
Althou
gh she was a little apprehensive about what he would say when he arrived at the Hŭŋkpapĥa village, for the pregnancy would be more advanced by then and she would have begun to show. But she thought herself brave enough to face his wrath and she was prepared to face the consequences of her decision, along with Esa-mogo'ne’s disappointment. Although, Wannge’e knew well enough she had betrayed them both by conceiving this babe.
She turned at the good-natured banter between the Comanche and the Ugákhpa. The men didn’t yet know of her pregnancy for she had been able to keep it a secret, even from Esa-mogo'ne’, for on the few mornings she had been sick she had hurried off into the trees alone. Only Poongatse knew of it, but Wannge’e trusted her completely, for the girls shared a close bond and had been through too much over the past five years not to support each other now.
in the wild: May 1805
Te’tukhe crouched at the grave, his hand on the stones, unable to understand this. By his calculations, Mi'wasa and Esa-mogo'ne’ had camped here not three days ago, along with two others.
He stood up and looked once more around the clearing. He had already found the spoor of their horses along with the third, so whoever had been following them had finally caught up, yet at what cost. For here lay a recent grave.
Te’tukhe dared not disturb the stones to see who lay beneath, for he could see the grave was shallow. Although he knew it wasn’t his brother or Esa-mogo'ne’, for he saw their footprints all over the campsite, including where they had mounted their horses and rode off. Yet, he also found the light print of another woman. Or a small man. Along with the print of a child.
