CHAPTER 37
Thousands of tribals stood around the path Wovoka walked as he headed back to the Elder Hall. The last two days had been spent hearing the stories of Wovoka, Celetain and John with the Elders and chiefs asking many questions. Now was time for the decision to be handed down. Wovoka kept his eyes straight ahead.
“Where is Jaret?” Wovoka asked coolly.
Keokuk sensed the undercurrent in the question. He walked quickly to keep pace with Wovoka. “He is on the Diegueño land. He and Alexa have been isolated in a remote area.”
“The Elders imprisoned Alexa with him?” Wovoka asked incredulously.
“No, neither of them are imprisoned. Jaret has been isolated to protect him from angry tribals.”
“Well, when are they getting Jaret off planet, back to the UDA?”
Keokuk didn't look at Wovoka as he answered. “They're not. In a week, Jaret goes into path trial to become a full tribal.”
Wovoka’s stride quickened. “That's insane. He is responsible for the death of thousand of tribals.”
“So are you.”
Wovoka let the comment fall and entered the Elder Hall with Keokuk. It felt like it had all been a dream. Numbness continued as he and his brother took their place next to Celetain Prax and Elder John. The four stood with their backs to the far wall of the Elders hall. Nine chiefs, two brand new to their positions, sat before them.
Morgan Weaver stood and walked slowly. He spoke quietly and yet in the cavernous hall his voice was heard clearly. Misty rain fell through the hole in the top of the roof but the fire blazed with light and warmth. “The chiefs, the people, have had a difficult time calculating, weighing what has been lost and what has been gained. Naanac was quite firmly in our grasp.”
Wovoka struggled to process that Wolf Plume sat before him as a chief. The Nez Perce chief had given his life trying to get tribal children onto the departing shuttles before the Nagasphere was detonated. Wovoka shook his head at the oddity of a Russian Nez Perce chief. Odder still, the Nez Perce had embraced this non-black chief.
Morgan Weaver's words were correct. After the Nagasphere detonation the AmerIndian Confederacy had sent a very clear, short message to Earth. “Naanac and the surrounding fifty billion kilometers are territory claimed by the AmerIndian Confederacy. If one UDA ship enters that space without authorization directly from the Elder Council one third of the population of all outposts and colonies will be annihilated by a second Ghost Dance. We demand all UDA citizens wishing to come and join the AmerIndian Confederacy be allowed freedom to do so.”
Riots erupted on all eight colony planets and on many outposts. UDA citizens made it clear to their leaders that Naanac meant nothing to them and the AmerIndian Confederacy should be left alone. Not a single ship approached the AmerIndian Confederacy's claimed space. The AmerIndian Confederacy now indisputably controlled Naanac and even a dozen or more outposts due to masses of AmerIndian Confederacy sympathizers. Privilege Colony officially recognized Naanac as an AmerIndian Confederacy settlement and began trade talks. It was a posturing gesture because the UDA did not allow any trade or diplomatic contact by colonies to enemies of the state. The direction of sentiment concerned UDA leaders nonetheless.
It could not be ignored, however, that UDA Grand Admiral Lige delivered the greatest blow to the AmerIndian Confederacy since the White Earth Massacre, forcing them to detonate a nuclear device on their own land, their own people. No one in the UDA knew exactly what had happened. Stories ranged wildly from one newscast to the next.
Morgan Weaver stopped walking. “We have gained our Homeland. Every AmerIndian Confederacy tribal has worked tirelessly toward that goal for over two decades. It was the preeminent task facing all tribals. All else was secondary and all else could be sacrificed toward that goal. Now the Elders and chiefs are gathered to sit in judgment of each of you. Yet we are obligated to thank each of you for your role in accomplishing what the human race had thought impossible, claiming a Homeland for the Native American people, dispossessed for seven centuries. You will be remembered in song and in tales of every generation to follow. Thank you.”
There was a moment of quiet and each chief nodded in thanks, echoing Morgan's words. Morgan stared ahead. Water trickled down the carved flow paths of the hall windows. “But we have also suffered the greatest loss of life since the White Earth Massacre, all for one man, a man who would have given his life for any one of those tribals. Lige defeated us because of a foolish, selfish decision that the Elder Warrior Stormseeker rightly advised against. You, Elder Shaman Prax, made that decision and you, Elder John, supported it. However, we as a body, do not question your passion for or your loyalty to the AmerIndian Confederacy. We know your decision was made out of love for our Elder Creator, Potlatch Weaver. You will retain your status as honored Elders and there will be opportunities for you to erase the damage you have caused.” Morgan Weaver waited, looking at Celetain and John.
Celetain and John nodded, accepting the chiefs and Elders decision.
Morgan Weaver continued. “The Elder Council is broken and a new circle must be forged. An Elder Warrior must be chosen. We as Elders try to listen to the clear and direct will of the tribals. Potlatch Weaver, we ask you serve the AmerIndian Confederacy again and search among our number for the tribal to assume Stormseeker’s duties. The tribals crave your love, your words, your guidance and by doing them this service you will be among them again. Perhaps their love can heal your wounds as well, father.”
Potlatch Weaver, seated away from the group, began to shake his head. “I am not worthy and I have never been wise. I should not choose-”
“The man who has no desire to bend others to his will is best suited to lead.” Morgan said the words with a smile. They were a direct quote from Words of a Tribal, Potlatch Weaver's first work.
“I will serve,” Potlatch Weaver said flatly.
Morgan turned to Wovoka. “Wovoka, you have served most valiantly as White Buffalo. Now the prophecy will be fulfilled in full. You alone ordered the death of a thousand tribals. Harm from one tribal to another is always answered with banishment. It is with shame and pain that I command you to leave the Homeland and the tribes and never return.”
Gasps rose from those in the room. The news passed outside the Elder Hall in seconds and a din of outrage and triumph erupted from the thousands of tribals waiting outside. Cavaho strode forward to stand next to his banished leader. His position made it clear that Wovoka's banishment would also be his own. Only Keokuk noticed Celetain turn away, her face showing only loss.
Wovoka stepped forward. “You are a wise council. You have made the right decision. I will leave Naanac immediately and I shall not return to you for as long as I live.”
Cavaho stared at each of the Elders and chiefs with barely controlled rage.
With the same decisive manner he had used to lead the tribes, Wovoka ended the meeting by turning and exiting the Elder Hall. Cavaho shadowed him. Apaches opened the doors for him and others got down on one knee as he passed.
Thousands of tribals hushed as the White Buffalo appeared before them. “Tribals. I have been banished as the prophecy declared. I am not ashamed or angry because of this. I am the White Buffalo and the Grandfather's chose the path I now follow. I chose to pay the price that has always been demanded for land. I will never forget the tribal blood that I have shed and I will never regret my decision. I leave you now and wish only peace and harmony from this day forth.”
Wovoka strode forward, the crowed parting before him reverently.
Keokuk ran to walk with him. “I will come with you, Brother.”
“No, Keokuk. Your place is here. I cannot enjoy what I gained for the tribes but you can protect it. Your place is here.”
Keokuk knew Wovoka was right. “Thank, God, our mother is settled on Windhome,” Keokuk thought. “Seeing this would break her heart.” The tribals surrounding them where continuing to bow before Wovoka but there were also the balef
ul stares of many that felt the loss of their children, brothers, sisters, wives, husbands, friends.
Keokuk hurried to keep up with his brother’s pace. “We regain the Homeland after seven centuries and the Elders and chiefs condemn you leading them to it,” Keokuk shook his head.
Wovoka did not take his eyes from the tribals along the path as he walked, but concentrated on remembering the feel of the ground beneath his feet. “I deserve to be banished. I am only worried for Celetain and John. I am not sure they will be able to enjoy what they have won. I think John is provoked that Potlatch Weaver is the only Philosopher King of the AmerIndian Confederacy. Perhaps he will use his time to write. I myself am looking forward to going over Potlatch Weaver's work during his missing years. John told me it is brilliant and may be added to the sacred texts. I do not know how Celetain will fair.”
Keokuk looked up as the White Buffalo’s outrider ship blasted down to land on Naanac's wet surface. The chunnel had been expanded by the Apaches to allow even the largest outrider ships to come through. The Nez Perce’s finest outrider ship was the vessel Wolf Plume had chosen to send Wovoka off in. It was crewed with tribals loyal to Wovoka, crew that would serve him for the rest of their lives, unable to return to Naanac. Wolf Plume had to choose from thousands of tribals that had asked for the privilege to serve the White Buffalo, even in banishment.
The ship’s ramp extended down and tribals pulled close to the last point their greatest hero and most dangerous leader would stand on Naanac.
Wolf Plume made his way through the throng. He wrapped his arms tight around Wovoka. “I will miss you, tovarisch. You did well, what had to be done.” Tears streamed down the old Russian’s face. “Spasibo for letting me serve with you. You gave an old man the adventure of his life.” Wolf Plume hugged hard before letting Wovoka go.
Keokuk embraced his brother. “I will protect what you have gained for us.”
Celetain stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Wovoka. “I am sorry.” It was all she said.
She turned abruptly to Cavaho. He met her eyes and she ran to him, burying herself in his arms. She clutched and kissed him. He released her and she backed away. They would be apart now. A love never given time to blossom, challenged from the start. Celetain ran away, the crowd swallowing her.
Potlatch Weaver stepped forward and the crowd hushed to hear his words. “Your father served the AmerIndian Confederacy all of his life and then gave his life without hesitation. He would be proud of you because you achieved the goal despite the cost. You are your father's son and you are the White Buffalo. I thank you for what you have done, the sacrifices you have made and I wish you all of Wambli's freedom and beauty in your life. However, as my son has said - you are banished. No tribal will ever again heed your words, nor will you walk on the Homeland again. Make your way, White Buffalo.”
Wovoka stared into Potlatch Weaver's eyes a moment before he bent to the ground. He placed his cheek against wet moss, spreading his arms wide to embrace the Homeland. He rose and walked up the ramp of his outrider ship. His crew had sacrificed their right to ever be called tribals again to serve on his ship. Serve how? What would be the direction of his life now that he had been banished from the only people and home he had ever known?
Wovoka walked to the observation deck of his ship and watched as the grey-green planet he had killed one thousand tribals to save fell away. His outrider ship hit the chunnel at speed and the rocks that filled the sky streaked across Wovoka's view through the glasteel. Stars exploded into view and the ship arced forward into outer space.
Autumn Sky approached. Cavaho stood between her and Wovoka instinctually. Wovoka touched Cavaho's shoulder lightly and he stepped aside. Autumn Sky wore a dark uniform without insignia. Behind her stood a thin teenager that Wovoka recognized as Derek, the new AmerIndian Confederacy sympathizer from New Angelos. Wovoka smiled at the boy and the boy beamed back.
“Where shall I take her, White Buffalo?” Autumn Sky asked.
Wovoka turned back to the waiting stars. “Deep Periphery.”
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AmerIndian 2192 Page 37
