by Dan Simmons
Good Voice Hawk and Good Thunder came back together an hour later, and Hoka Ushte’s heart sank at the sight of their grim faces.
His grandfather set a bony hand on the boy’s shoulder. “The elders have not been able to agree on what your vision means,” he said. “Good Thunder is traveling to Bear Butte to find some of his fellow wičaśa wakan so that they can help him understand this thing.”
Hoka Ushte’s shoulders slumped.
“Heya!” said his grandfather, slapping the boy’s arm. “They are sure that it is a real vision.”
“And I am sure that it is not from the Thunder Beings,” said Good Thunder. “You are not heyoka.”
Hoka Ushte brightened up.
“The Yanktonais, Two Kettles, Hunkpapa, and Miniconjou Ikče Wičaśa holy men are meeting at the bear-shaped holy hill north of the Paha Sapa,” rasped Good Thunder. “I will join them.”
Hoka Ushte frowned. “How do you know that the holy men of these tribes are meeting there, Ate?” There had been no runners or visitors in the village for months.
Good Thunder folded his arms. “I am wičaśa wakan.” His tone lightened a bit. “If your vision means that you are meant to be a holy man, then you too shall understand these things someday, Lame Badger, Heceutu! I go now.”
Much of the camp turned out to watch old Good Thunder with two of his adopted grandsons, Fat Pony and Tarries by the Water, leave on his mission. The ride to Bear Butte would take two days and it might be several more days until the other holy men found time to meet with Good Thunder to wrestle the meaning out of the vision. Meanwhile, Hoka Ushte went about his business in camp, but he soon became aware of a different attitude aimed toward him; the braves his age who had treated him with some contempt for not joining a warrior society now nodded politely or stopped to have conversation; the old women smiled openly at him and the younger wives peered at him from the corners of their eyes; Calf Running herself nodded and smiled as she walked toward the stream with her water skin. Hoka Ushte realized that they were no longer looking at just a young brave with seventeen summers, but at the future holy man of the camp.
And so it went for two days of Good Thunder’s absence. And so it might have gone until the real wičaśa wakan’s return, if Standing Hollow Horn and Loud Woman had not begun a premature celebration of their daughter’s marriage to the young man who had just completed his hanblečeya.
Loud Woman began it by telling everyone that her daughter was going to marry Hoka Ushte as soon as Good Thunder returned to tie the thongs. When Lame Badger’s grandmother clucked at this news, the boy said, “You are not pleased, Grandmother?”
The old woman did not look up from punching awl and sinew through the worked hide. “This thing is not right. The girl has not gone to her isnati for two moons.”
Hoka Ushte blushed and looked down, he was so shocked. He could not believe his grandmother was talking about isnati. The time of a woman’s bleeding was considered both wakan and fearful. The woman had to isolate herself during the four days she was isnati, more due to the fear of her power than from any sense of casting her out. Hoka Ushte did not understand isnati, but even he knew that a woman who was in that time could kill a rattlesnake by spitting at it. A wičaśa wakan who tried to treat a woman who was isnati could kill both himself and the woman by accident, so great was the woman’s power at that time.
These things he understood, but Hoka Ushte had no idea why it should be a problem if Calf Running had taken two moons off from her isnati. Would this not be a good thing? He decided to ignore his grandmother’s cluckings and concentrate on his newfound popularity.
After Loud Woman spread the word that her daughter and Good Voice Hawk’s grandson would be married soon, her husband, Standing Hollow Horn, complicated the matter by throwing an otuhan. Now an otuhan is a big give-away where a proud father sets out his blanket and gives away prize possessions to honor a child. In this case, the usually surly Standing Hollow Horn was giving away his second-best knife, his deer-hide bow cover, his best pony blanket, and other things to celebrate the coming marriage.
Hoka Ushte began to feel anxious. Things were happening too fast.
His nervousness grew stronger on the fourth day when Standing Hollow Horn held a feast and named Hoka Ushte guest of honor. Most of the men of the village were invited. Standing Hollow Horn raised the level of importance of the feast by making the main course dog soup. For a man to sacrifice a good friend such as his dog for another man was considered almost wakan. Of course, Standing Hollow Horn had no dog of his own and had to buy a puppy from Tall Horse, the son of Chased by Spiders, but it was the idea that counted.
The feast lasted much of that fourth night Good Thunder was gone, but Hoka Ushte was too nervous to enjoy it. He hardly smiled when six braves paired off in teams of two for the buffalo intestine-eating contest, each team starting from opposite ends of a long string of raw buffalo gut, chewing their way toward the middle. The older braves roared as the competing braves had to pause and belch from their meals of the half-digested and fully fermented buffalo grass that filled the intestines. Later, when it was Hoka Ushte’s turn to ladle out his bowl of soup, he came up with the puppy’s head. This was considered good luck for Hoka Ushte and a very good omen for the coming marriage, but Lame Badger’s sense of it all being too premature made him more nervous than appreciative. He did, however, appreciate the meal. Dog soup had always been a treat for him, and the puppy’s head was delicious.
Then, the next morning, Good Thunder returned with his adopted grandsons and all of the celebration ended. The angry wičaśa wakan called Hoka Ushte and most of the older men of the village to a meeting in his tipi that afternoon. After the proper offerings were made and the pipe was passed, here is what the holy man said:
“The other wičaśa wakans were waiting for me at Bear Butte. Drinks Water, the prophet, had had a vision of my coming with an important message. We retired to the sweat lodge at once. Besides the prophet Drinks Water, the wičaśa wakans Chips, Hump’s Brother, Refuses-to-Go, Fire Thunder, and Holy Black Tail Deer were there.”
At this, the men in Good Thunder’s tipi gasped, for these were the most famous holy men of the Ikče Wičaśa.
“I told them of Hoka Ushte’s vision,” continued Good Thunder, his voice flat, “and they smoked and meditated upon it. After some hours, we understood it.”
The silence in the tipi was thick as the smoke.
“Lame Badger’s vision is a true vision and an important one,” said the old holy man, his tone still more one of anger than of anything else. “Drinks Water confirms that this dream is of the wakinyanpi…that Hoka Ushte was chosen as waayatan, as prophet, to bring a message to all the peoples of the Ikče Wičaśa.”
Hoka Ushte set his fingers on the robe beneath him to hold himself upright. The smoke made him dizzy to the point of fainting. He saw his grandfather blink in surprise and Standing Hollow Horn puff himself up in importance. I will be wičaśa wakan, thought the boy. Calf Running will have a holy man as a husband.
Good Thunder inhaled smoke from the tribal pipe as if fortifying himself for what he had to say next. “Hoka Ushte’s vision is true sight from čante ista,” he continued. “From the eye of the heart. Its meaning is this…the Wasichu, the Wasicun, will someday overrun us. The Fat Takers will take away our life on the plains, take away the buffalo, take away our weapons, and steal the Paha Sapa—our holy Black Hills—away from us. The stone Wasicun heads mean this. Tunkan, the stone spirit who was there at creation and who gives us the Inyan, the holy rocks, has sent us a vision. There is no escaping this. The Ikče Wičaśa’s time as natural free humans is almost over…”
The men in the tipi shouted their anger and disagreement, ignoring manners by interrupting Good Thunder.
“No!” they shouted and murmured, and “Siča”—Bad!—and one warrior whispered that Good Thunder was witko, crazy.
“Silence!” said the holy man, and although he had not raised his voice, the entir
e tipi seemed to shake from the force of his command. Into the sudden silence, he said, “This is not good news but it is the truth. For a full day the other holy men and I sought our own visions, hoping against hope that Iktomé or Coyote were tricking us, leading us to foolishness through false visions. But the voice of Wakan Tanka was heard by each of us…this thing is true. The Wasicun will take our lives, our horses, our freedom and our future. The great stone heads foretell this. The life of the natural free humans as we know it will be finished. Rubbed out. But…” Good Thunder raised his hand to silence the renewed muttering. “But, there is some hope in Hoka Ushte’s vision.”
Hoka Ushte himself was barely conscious at this point. The sound of the terrible message that he had brought and the glares from the other men seemed to be far away down a long tunnel. He set his palms against the ground to keep himself from toppling over.
“The woman in the vision is not White Buffalo Woman, but she comes from the same place as White Buffalo Woman and may be her sister,” continued the holy man.
Dimly, at the end of his dark tunnel of perception, Hoka Ushte thought, But there were three women in my dream, Ate.
Good Thunder turned his head. His old black eyes bored into Lame Badger. “There were three women in the dream, but there is really only one woman… White Buffalo Woman’s sister with the shining robe. The other two women in the cave represent the evil sides of this spirit—the evil sides will want to punish us, the real sister of White Buffalo Woman will grant us salvation.”
How will I know which woman is the one who will save us? thought Hoka Ushte, already believing that the old holy man was reading his thoughts.
Good Thunder grunted and looked back around the circle of red-eyed men. “The fire in Hoka Ushte’s dream is the peta-owihankeshni, the fire without end, the same fire that has been kept burning in this tribal pipe since Buffalo Woman visited us so long ago. The presence of this flame in the dream is good. It means that there will be Ikče Wičaśa to hand down the flame from generation to generation. If Lame Badger makes the right choice…”
How, Father? Hoka Ushte pleaded mentally, already understanding that the choice was his and that the fate of his people was in his soft hands. How?
“The smoke from the fire in Hoka Ushte’s dream was Tunkashila’s breath,” continued the holy man, evidently not hearing the boy’s desperate thoughts, “and that is good. It is the living breath of Grandfather Mystery.” He turned to look at Hoka Ushte again. “And if your choice is correct, the end of the dream shall be as you have seen it…the natural free human beings will be free again. The Wasicun will be overthrown and will crumble to dust just as their stone heads did in the dream. The buffalo shall return, the Paha Sapa will belong to the people who love them, and the Ikče Wičaśa will walk in the sunlight of their natural ways once again.”
All eyes were on Hoka Ushte, but it was Good Voice Hawk who spoke. “When will this come about, Father?”
Good Thunder closed his eyes as if he were tired. “The choice must be made in this young man’s lifetime. The Age of the Stone Heads will begin in the lifetime of our children. Our return from the cave of exile will happen…” The old man sighed. “I do not know. We could not see far into the dream or into the future.”
“Moons?” said Without a Tipi, a brave warrior who had never been too bright.
Chased by Spiders made a rough noise. “In the time of our children,” he repeated. “Years then, Ate?”
Good Thunder’s eyes were still closed. “Perhaps hundreds of years. Perhaps a hundred hundred. Perhaps never.” He opened his eyes. “It depends upon Hoka Ushte’s choice.”
The young man looked back at all the eyes: shocked, accusing, curious, and angry. He wanted to say, I did not choose this vision.
It was Standing Hollow Horn who spoke. “But his grandfather and I have chosen the wife for him. It is to be Calf Running.”
Good Thunder made a dismissing motion with his left hand. “It is not to be Calf Running. This is clear from the dream.”
Standing Hollow Horn stood, cursed, slapped the side of the tipi, said, “But I have held a Big Give-Away!” saw the flatness of Good Thunder’s gaze, and left the tipi in anger.
Hoka Ushte sighed. Now he had made an enemy of the shortest-tempered man in the camp. All this because his child-maker wanted to stand as straight as a lodge pole.
“Is there anything we can do?” asked Hard to Hit. “Anything the people can do to change this vision?” He looked at Lame Badger and the boy could hear the unspoken question: To give the choice to someone else?
“No,” said Good Thunder.
Hoka Ushte licked his lips and spoke for the first time. “Must I go on another hanblečeya, Ate?”
“No,” repeated Good Thunder. “But the other holy men and I think that you should have a time of oyumni.”
Hoka Ushte chewed his lip. Oyumni was not a vision quest, merely a time of wandering. He felt sad and frightened at the thought of leaving the camp and his grandparents.
Then, despite the fact that a thousand questions remained in the hearts of the men sitting there and ten times that number in Hoka Ushte’s frightened heart, Good Thunder set down the pipe and said, “Mitakuye oyasin. All my relatives.”
And the meeting was over.
Hoka Ushte did not sleep that next night. Everyone in the camp had looked at him strangely after the vision-explaining ceremony with Good Thunder. Even his grandparents glanced at the boy as if a strange spirit being had come to live with them. It is all a bad dream, thought Hoka Ushte, but when he awoke the next morning the glances were still there, the weight of responsibility on his shoulders was still there, and his vision had not been a dream.
His grandfather found him sitting on a rock near the stream late that morning and said, “You have been invited to Standing Hollow Horn’s tipi for food this afternoon.”
Hoka Ushte felt his heart speed up. “Must I go, Grandfather? Standing Hollow Horn frightens me with his anger.”
Good Voice Hawk made a motion with his hand. “Standing Hollow Horn is not there. He left this morning to hunt buffalo. He is very angry.”
Hoka Ushte felt a surge of happiness. “Is it Calf Running who invited me?”
His grandfather shrugged. “Loud Woman gave me the invitation. I do not know if her daughter will be there.”
Hoka Ushte slumped at the thought of eating with the sharp-beaked older woman. “Must I go?”
“Yes,” said his grandfather. “And dress well. Wear your beaded shirt with the fringed sleeves.”
Two hours later, Hoka Ushte presented himself at Standing Hollow Horn’s tipi. The boy was wearing his best outfit with the beads and fringed sleeves. Standing Hollow Horn was not there. Calf Running was nowhere in sight. Only Loud Woman sat near the boiling pot, cutting vegetables. She waved him to a robe set near the fire and smiled at him. Hoka Ushte could not remember ever seeing the old woman smile before.
“I am honored that the vision-seeker has accepted my invitation,” said the woman, still smiling.
Hoka Ushte felt a rush of confusion. Was she being sarcastic? Ikče Wičaśa women are known for their sarcasm and sharp tongues. And no tongue was sharper than this crone’s. Or was she trying to curry favor with him now that he was famous? “I am honored to accept your invitation,” said Hoka Ushte, deciding to be polite.
Loud Woman continued smiling and continued chopping turnips. Hoka Ushte saw that she was using the large skinning knife. “What is it you are cooking?” he asked politely.
“Guess.”
“Timpsila,” said Hoka Ushte, since all he had seen go into the pot were turnips.
“No,” said Loud Woman, brushing the last bits of turnips into the boiling broth, “Guess again.”
Hoka Ushte rubbed his cheek. “Wojapi?” He liked berry soup, but he had never seen it with turnips in it before.
Loud Woman smiled but shook her head. “No. But it will be lila washtay. Very good. Do you want to guess again, or d
o you want me to tell you?”
“Tell me,” said Lame Badger. He felt ill at ease with the woman.
“It is itka, egg soup,” she said.
“Ahhh,” said Hoka Ushte, thinking: egg soup?
Loud Woman’s smile had grown into a broad grin. She stood. “Yes,” she cooed, “your itka. Your eggs. Your susu. Your balls.” And she jumped on Hoka Ushte with a wild cry.
The boy had the presence of mind to seize her wrist before the skinning knife descended on him, and the two rolled over across the robes and dirt, Loud Woman hissing and screaming like a Thunder Being, and Hoka Ushte gritting his teeth and struggling to keep his susu attached. The woman actually sliced through the flap of his breechcloth before Hoka Ushte freed his right hand, made a fist, and punched her hard on the jaw. Loud Woman flew backward, the knife spinning off into the high grass, and then she dropped heavily onto the embers of the fire, screamed, and rolled away onto the buffalo robes, embers still glowing in her hair and deerskin skirt.
Not a good way to treat your mother-in-law, thought Hoka Ushte, brushing himself off shakily. No, not my mother-in-law now.
He went back to his grandfather’s tipi. Both his tunkashila and his unči kunshi were outside waiting for him. His grandmother had tears in her eyes.
“I think I will leave for my oyumni now,” said Hoka Ushte.
Both grandparents nodded. His grandfather had one of his ponies ready; Hoka Ushte’s bow, arrows, knife, medicine pouch, robe, and extra moccasins were rolled in a bundle on the pony blanket. His grandmother gave him a bag with papa and wasna in it: traveling food.
“Toksha ake wacinyanktin ktelo,” said his grandfather with a touch of the boy’s forearm. I will see you again.
Hoka Ushte hugged his grandparents, swung himself up on the pony, and rode out of camp to the stares of many people. He decided that it would be best if he were far away before Loud Woman woke up; best if he were even farther away before Standing Hollow Horn returned from his buffalo hunt.
And thus began Hoka Ushte’s oyumni. His wandering time.
