“Is that the same meaning of the one you wear each sun and moon?”
Kionee touched her cheek and felt the covering that shielded her secret. “Black tells us we are nothing without Atah’s creation, guidance, and protection. The colors and symbols tell of the hunter’s lands: red is for earth, green for forest and plains, blue for water, and yellow for the sky with its sun. All tivas must wear these colors. Our fathers choose the sizes, shapes, and places for our marks when we are but five summers and paint them on in a sacred ritual. So we do not forget our masks when we bathe, they are placed on our hands. When we are young, other tivas paint them on after bathing until we are skilled enough to do so ourselves. Our fathers make our ceremonial masks and give them to us at our last ritual when we are sixteen summers old. Tivas are chosen by Atah before our births. Our duty is to our family and people. We do not join to mates or have children; they would distract us from our sacred vows. We wear masks to remind ourselves and others we are tivas. That is all I can tell you.”
Stalking Wolf realized Kionee had told him more than most people knew about the mysterious society. He let his friend know he honored that request by talking about other things. “You are a great hunter and fighter, Kionee. You trained your horse and companion well; he is skilled and smart.”
“Your words warm my heart. White Cloud is a good horse; you trained him to ride as one with you.”
“He lets no one ride him but Stalking Wolf. No enemy can take him. He likes Kionee, for it is not his way to touch others as he does you.”
Kionee recalled how the white stallion allowed her to stroke him and how he nuzzled her hand when she finished. For some reason, a bond had been made between her and the majestic animal. “He knows I am a friend to White Cloud and Stalking Wolf. The same is true for Maja, Recu, and Tuka; they are friends to my first friends.”
“We are good companions, Kionee; we also ride and hunt as one.”
Companions, her troubled mind echoed, that is all they could be.
After they entered camp and tethered their horses, Moon Child approached with fresh water for them. Kionee noticed her sister’s suppressed giggles, and furtive looks at the Cheyenne. The girl had lived sixteen seasons and would soon become a woman when the blood flow came to her. It was obvious Moon Child found their visitor appealing. Kionee decided it was best to whisper a warning to their mother so Martay could scold the girl to prevent trouble and suffering.
Part of the meat, feathers, furs, and the hide were given to older tivas who lived in a large tipi. Stalking Wolf was impressed by Kionee’s generous and respectful nature, as it was also the Cheyenne way to share with others and to show honor to elders, especially those left alone without families to care for their needs. Kionee possessed a gentle and kind manner which touched his emotions and caused him to like and admire the hunter more each sun. As he watched Kionee with the old ones from a distance, their laughter, movements, and voices reminded him of elderly women. He assumed it was because the Hanueva were a tranquil people, content to live in peace and happiness amongst themselves. It was sad the Crow would come to try to destroy their harmonious existence. He knew that threat was real because his shaman had seen it in his visions, and Medicine Eyes was never wrong. He was proud to be the one chosen by the Great Spirit to save Kionee and the Hanueva, for in doing so, great honor and magic would come to him and to the Cheyenne Strong Hearts. The two tribes’ destinies were entwined this season. How, he did not know. Why, he did not know. When his test of courage and prowess would come, he did not know. As for Kionee’s part in it, he did not know. But soon…
After the evening meal, many hunters and tivas gathered in a clearing to talk and play games. Once more, Stalking Wolf noticed how the tivas kept to themselves, when his societies intermingled at such times.
Night Walker called the visitor over to where he stood with Little Weasel, Red Bull, and other men. “We toss hoops. Is your aim true?” he queried.
Stalking Wolf sensed it was a challenge by the chiefs younger son. “I will join you,” he accepted with a genial smile, and saw the man’s sly grin.
Stalking Wolf looked at the six hoops of willow, each one smaller than the one before it. He studied the stakes, each one set farther away than the one before it. Standing behind a line drawn on the ground, he was to begin with the largest circle and closest stake, decreasing the hoop’s size and increasing the distance thrown with each of the six throws. He realized everyone in the clearing had stopped what they were doing to observe him. He checked the wind to make certain it did not work against him, then extended his left foot and wiggled its moccasin in the dirt to give him balance and control. He fastened his tawny gaze to the first target and concentrated on victory. He took the largest hoop from his right hand, brought it to his stomach, and flung it with the precise speed and angle to ring the slender post. Repeating his action five times, he then recovered the circles from their confining stakes and returned them to his rival.
The Cheyenne’s success annoyed Night Walker. His tension caused his hand to quiver in dread of missing. He almost sighed aloud in relief when he did not. With haste, he passed the rings to Red Bull and refused to glance at Kionee, the object of his desire.
The chiefs son was right; Kionee was observing the game with keen interest, and with worry. She suspected Night Walker had wanted to best the Cheyenne, and any opposition to their visitor could be perilous.
“Night Walker and Stalking Wolf have great prowess,” Taysinga whispered. “They will help protect us from the evil Crow. They are both handsome and of age; I wonder why they have no mates.”
“The son of Bear’s Head needs a strong and brave woman to become his mate,” Kionee whispered in return. “If his brother falls to our enemies, Night Walker will become our chief. What woman among us matches him? Your skills are as great as his, my brother, but you are a tiva.”
Taysinga did not get to respond, as they were summoned to shoot arrows with the rest of their group. As usual, Kionee and Regim struck their targets more times than the others and at greater distances.
When Taysinga fretted over her few misses, Kionee suggested she ask Night Walker for help. “It will enlarge his pride to be asked to do so.”
Night Walker was pleased to be approached for guidance, so he could avoid the hand-to-hand practice fights. He did not want to be selected to battle with Stalking Wolf, as the Cheyenne’s size and strength were greater than his own and he must not lose before Kionee. He needed to prove he was worthy of Kionee and to win her heart and acceptance. He worried he could not do so with such a skilled warrior around. To show his prowess was equal to or better than Stalking Wolf’s would only be achieved in glorious victory over the Crow. Somehow that had to come about…
As Kionee moved her weapons stand outside, she stole glances at Stalking Wolf. He faced the dawn sun and prayed to his Great Spirit to guide him through the coming day. His torso was bare and his hands were uplifted as he performed his daily ritual, his communion with Maheoo. She saw the firm muscles ripple in his back, his broad shoulders, and his strong arms. She eyed the claw marks of the grizzly he had defeated, at the same time noting how narrow and tight his waist was, how tall he was. She watched the wind lift strands of his golden brown hair, which hung free except for two thin braids beside his breath-stealing face. How wonderful, she mused, it must feel to have hair unbraided and playing in the breeze. Hers was never loose long enough to enjoy that sensation, but she knew how glorious it felt to have the sun kiss her face and to have rain splash over her unpainted skin when she bathed in secret before reapplying her mask. How she wished she could enjoy that feeling every day.
When Stalking Wolf finished his ritual, he joined Kionee near the entrance, which did not face the rising sun as was his people’s way. He noticed the excellent condition of his friend’s weapons and their fine craftsmanship. He knew from overhearing requests for his services that Kionee was viewed as one of the best bow and arrow makers of the Hanueva. He also
knew he had placed the “tipi-of-power” outside to allow the weapons to absorb the sun’s power. The poles of the conical stand drew other powers from the earth to renew a hunter’s skills. The same was true of his people’s custom. But one item was missing: a medicine pipe. From his observations, no tiva possessed or used one. When he was with Kionee longer, he would ask why that was so, but not this soon. It was not because the Hanueva did not believe in the sacred pipe, breath of the Great Spirit, as all other men had and displayed one. It was another mystery about the tiva society he felt he needed to solve.
“The sun is warm this day, Kionee,” he observed. “Grass grows fast; soon buffalo will gather in large herds on the plains and we will hunt them together.”
Together, her mind repeated. How wonderful and painful that experience would be. Could he not sense her strong feelings for him? Could he not sense her torment? Could his instincts and skills not tell him she was a female? It would be agony to be near him and never touch him. But it would be greater agony to never see him again. To think of him with another woman ripped into her heart like a knife. “We must hunt game to prepare for our long journey. We break camp in eleven moons.”
Stalking Wolf perceived that something grave distressed Kionee. He reasoned it was not polite to ask. If his friend wanted to tell him those worries, he must do so willingly. “I will bring White Cloud and Tuka while you get water and food. Come, Maja, walk with me.”
The wolf looked at Kionee as if asking permission to go. At her nod Maja followed Stalking Wolf to the edge of the forest where the horses were tethered.
Kionee sighed. It had been three days since she watched the Cheyenne toss the hoops. It had been two since a joint hunting party where Night Walker fired his arrows before others were ready. She guessed he had meant to show off his skills before her and to best Stalking Wolf. Though he had not spoken openly to her about his feelings, she surmised Night Walker was worried about her being drawn to the Cheyenne since they spent so much time together. Even so, she could not refuse to ride with Stalking Wolf without creating suspicions that might lead to trouble. All she could do was hope and pray the chief’s son did not expose her sex to their visitor. If Stalking Wolf ever learned she was a woman and he revealed any desire for her, her battle to resist him could be lost. If so, the punishment would be harsh.
Regim had repaired her kim, but perhaps her female spirit was still roaming free. Perhaps that was the reason why she was so tormented by her sacrificial existence. No, it began long ago, before the kim was broken. Stalking Wolf only intensified the reason behind her misery and unfulfillment. As surely as she breathed, what she felt for him were love and passion. Fight them, Kionee, fight them as your worst enemies as Regim warned.
As the sun rose high overhead, Maja stopped loping beside the couple. His body stiffened. His tail lowered as the ruff on his neck stood up and his ears lay back. His nose wrinkled and he growled.
At almost the same time, Stalking Wolf seized Kionee’s arm and warned of approaching peril: it was a large band of Crow from the noise he heard, too many for them to battle. “Haesto notseoo. Hoeeve.”
Kionee’s ears detected the sounds of “many enemies” and realized they must “hide,” not in cowardice but in caution and wisdom.
Without giving away their presence, they slipped into a deep ravine edged by thick bushes to conceal themselves and their mounts. They commanded their loyal horses to silence, and were obeyed by the highly trained animals. No order was needed for Maja, who sat down on his haunches nearby, ready to defend the one he loved.
Stalking Wolf and Kionee crawled up the bank, taking care not to disturb dust or small rocks. They peered through the lower branches of the bushes where no leaves obstructed their view.
“Ooetane,” he whispered.
But it was unnecessary to tell her the men were Crow. She guessed from the markings on their bodies, possessions, and horses. There were ten heavily armed and painted Bird Warriors. The men were riding away from the Hanueva camp. She was relieved they led no stolen horses and had no captives from her people. She reasoned they were a scouting party and had not attacked the Hanueva. It appeared they were heading home or to a location to make camp. Their reprieve must be over and their enemies were preparing to raid them. She did not know if she should be pleased or more alarmed when her friend echoed her conclusions.
As the riders came nearer, Kionee saw the Cheyenne narrow his gaze and stare at the leader. “Nevaahe tsethoe?”
“Hawate-Ishte,” he revealed the man’s name through clenched teeth.
Kionee gaped at One-Eye, a fierce and famous warrior, a man who felt and showed no mercy to those whom he hated. She had heard terrible stories about him and his deeds but had not seen him until this moment. A chill raced over her body. When the Crow party slowed their pace to a walk and came closer, her heart beat fast in trepidation. She wondered how and if she and her companion could defeat such a force if they were discovered. Now she understood the terror and immobility Taysinga had experienced during that last confrontation. Yet, Kionee knew without a doubt she would unfreeze and fight to the death if they were attacked. She glanced at Stalking Wolf whose expression and gaze exposed no fear. She read an eagerness in him, but something stayed his hand; perhaps a sense of duty to protect her. When she stole another—longer—glance at him, she was calmed a little by his confidence and prowess. If she had to die, she mused, what better place or time than with the man she loved? Their bodies were close, touching in several areas. A heat spread over her and she knew it was not because of the warm sun overhead. Are you my true destiny?
A shrill cry of excitement escaped one of the Crow’s lips, jerking Kionee’s strayed attention back to their perilous threat. The band was moving so slowly that she feared they were about to halt and dismount. She caught words of their talk and was horrified by them. The winds of destiny were gusting over her and she warned herself to prepare for the storm they were blowing in. Help us to survive, Atah. Let him live to help my people and I will obey all commands from You.
8
STALKING WOLF LOOKED AT Kionee from the corner of his eyes. His friend’s full attention seemed focused on the Crow party. For a few moments, he had imagined Kionee was studying him in a strong and curious manner like a female examining a pleasing male. He scolded himself and discarded such a foolish idea. He had reflexively placed his hand on Kionee’s head and pushed it downward when One-Eye looked in their direction. To prevent more movement, he left it there, his arm resting on the hunter’s small shoulders. Again, he was reminded of how little his companion was compared to most men. Kionee’s body and garments smelled clean. His braided hair was as dark and shiny as a raven’s wing in sunlight. A hoofprint of a buffalo—provider of life—was beaded into the Hanueva’s browband. Once more he noted Kionee’s delicate profile and features. For an instant, a wild thought flashed through his mind as he envisioned Kionee as a woman beneath that guise, the female he had dreamed about not long ago. He dashed that image aside when he found it arousing.
Kionee was stimulated by Stalking Wolf’s contact. She found strength and comfort in his arms and from his touch. His scent was rich and heady. His prowess was unmistakable. She felt torn between her world and the one she craved with him. For a life with him, she must defy and deny all she was and had. That would be selfish and wrong because her family needed her. In this season of perils, her people also needed her. She must ignore all female desires, emotions, thoughts, and actions. She must not battle her destiny and fail, or those she loved would be endangered.
“It is safe,” Stalking Wolf said after the Crow were gone. When Kionee looked at him, the hunter’s gaze locked with his and exposed an anguish—and other emotions—he did not understand. The Hanueva’s gaze was almost pleading. “Henovae?” he asked what was wrong.
Kionee came to her senses and took a deep breath. “The Crow plan to attack my people. One-Eye says their shaman and his vision are dead. He wants captives, horses, and p
ossessions; he craves the magic and power he thinks tivas have. He says he will become chief over Swift Crane if he can gather many coups from raiding us and the Cheyenne. One-Eye’s heart is evil; he listens to no voice except his own. He goes to camp not far away, to wait for the coming storm to pass before he attacks in three suns.”
Stalking Wolf gaped at Kionee, whose gaze returned to the vanishing enemy band. “How do you know his words? How do you know mine?”
“The tongues and signs and ways of the Cheyenne and Crow are known to my people. After tivas are marked at five winters in a sacred ceremony, we go to live and train in the elders’ tipi and tiva lodge until we are sixteen summers and return to our families as their Hunter-Guardians. The Old Ones teach us so no enemy or trader can fool us with unknown words.”
“You speak three tongues?” he asked in amazement.
“That is true. A trick came to me as—”
Kionee’s words were halted as Maja climbed the bank and squirmed between them as they lay on their sides facing each other and talking. The couple shifted to make room for the persistent animal. The wolf lay down, placed a paw on Kionee’s chest, and licked the hand she held out to him.
Kionee smiled as she ruffled Maja’s neck fur, impressed as always by the animal’s intelligence, and grateful for his help and protection. “E’fa, Maja,” she told him he had done good to create space between her and temptation. “We must go, Stalking Wolf. I will share my plan as we ride for home.” As she scrambled down the bank with Maja close behind, she said, “It is good we have no fresh meat with us to call birds of prey to our hiding place; if Crow saw them circling, they would come to see what lured them here. Or they would have caught the scent of a fresh kill when they passed. Atah guides and protects us this sun.” He does not punish me for my weakness; He must have a great task awaiting us. I do not understand why He sent you into my life and heart—perhaps to test my strength and loyalty. When He takes you from them, it will be a cold, sad, and bitter moon, for I cannot help how I feel about you.
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