Comanche Dawn Page 9

  The scourge of the Thunderbird was hard, but fleeting. The hail passed, taking the rain, leaving only the gusts of wings that had gone to hover over other heights. The seeker found himself trembling, hurting all over outside, and inside as well, where his heart had pumped courage with the force of swollen rivers. His lips remained pressed until the rain had dried from his face, but the blood still ran. This, he tasted, as no puhakut had forbidden him to drink his own blood. It dried in crooked scrawls that streaked his face, shoulders, and torso—war paint styled by unworldly artists.

  He felt exhausted, yet charged with emotion. Never had he heard of such a quest as this, his own, and he had yet to receive his vision! The Thunderbird had challenged him, and he had withstood! The cloud was still lingering on a dark eastern horizon, tickling Mother Earth with quick, playful strokes of fire.

  * * *

  He awoke well before dawn. Kicking his warm robe away, he saw Sister Moon promising that her father would follow. He scratched at the dried blood that flaked away from his skin. The drill and the tender were still damp from yesterday’s visit from the Thunderbird, so Shadow stood in the cool night without smoking.

  By midmorning, the tobacco had dried, spread out in the sunshine that came down between large white clouds, well spaced. The seeker labored clumsily with the drill, feeling weak, finally getting the tinder to burst into flame. His eyesight seemed poor today, unable to see the bowl of the pipe clearly as he lit it. His mouth felt full of dirt and ashes, and the smoke from the pipe made him cough. His stomach felt twisted into a hard knot.

  He was confused, and worried. This was the fourth day. He had prayed and smoked. Still, he felt no nearer to the spirits, save for his brush with the Thunderbird. He would have to go home at sundown and explain his failure to his people. Then he would have to try again—another four days. The hope given to him by the Thunderbird yesterday now seemed only a false promise designed to humble him.

  Still, Shadow held to his duty, standing under the sun, facing south. He was like a hunter who would wait and watch the trail until the last light of day had faded. The south seemed sacred today, wavering under the illuminating gaze of Father Sun. It was brown in the light, gray in the shadow of the clouds.

  The seeker felt the butte slam against his shoulder and found himself gasping for air. He felt weak and ashamed for having fallen. Laboriously, he pushed himself up to his knees, wondering why the butte was turning. He pulled his moccasins under him, but it was like standing on the back of a skittish horse. He looked at the sky, and saw Father Sun disappear behind a large cloud.

  A curious thing happened to this cloud. It grew in size, quickly and silently, until it joined Mother Earth at the southern horizon. Now the cloud took on the color and texture of land, and became a huge world in the sky where morning was breaking, for Father Sun was coming over the edge of this new sky-world.

  The horizon of the sky-world became so bright to look upon that the seeker thought he would be blinded, yet he seemed unable to close his eyes or look away. With this dazzling light, came the sound of crackling fire that quickly changed to the strain of hard hooves skittering over rocks. And as Shadow watched, he saw the silhouette of a creature emerge in the bright ball of sunlight that came around the sky-world. The creature loomed huge and grew larger than Father Sun, soothing the seeker’s eyes with its shadow.

  Now the rattle of hooves became so loud that it hurt Shadow’s ears, and his eyes saw that the creature that had emerged from the sun was a huge deer, with antlers as large as twin trees and shoulders like hills. This giant deer had eyes that sparked, and it began to run down the cloud-slopes of the sky-world, descending on the seeker in heroic bounds, snorting whirlwinds from its nostrils. It ran hard toward Shadow, its antler points sweeping through the sky and dripping with globs of clouds like melting fat. It leapt from the sky-world onto Mother Earth and ran directly toward the butte upon which Shadow sought his vision.

  The beast was powerful, but the seeker was not afraid. As the deer ran toward him, it diminished in size, until it assumed the stature of a natural deer, yet with sparks still glinting in its eyes and tiny whirlwinds still swirling from its nostrils.

  “Rise!” said the deer, his voice crackling loud like popping fire and rattling hooves.

  Shadow felt himself lifted to his feet, and he stood effortlessly, looking with wonder at this spirit-deer.

  “I have come from the Sacred South,” the deer said, his muzzle moving like the lips of a man, “where buffalo number like the drops of rain; where the spirits cause many horses to rise up from the ground; where elk and antelope and deer feed the Na-vohnuh, enemy of your grandfathers’ grandfathers.”

  “What are you called?” Shadow asked, his voice a mere speck after the words of the spirit-deer.

  “I am Sound-the-Sun-Makes!”

  “Why do you appear as a great and powerful deer?”

  “I have many forms. I take this shape so you will understand.”

  “Why have you come?”

  “You have sought medicine, and I have heard your prayers. They sing like the good cry of an eagle and echo loudly in the canyons of the sky-world. I have come to teach you your own song.”

  The seeker marveled as the deer threw his head back and sang in a human voice, strong and pleasant to listen to:

  “The rising sun sings.

  The rising sun sings.

  Hear the sound the sun makes.

  Hear the sound the sun makes!”

  “Remember this song always, seeker. I have ridden the clouds from the Sacred South to bring you this song and much power.”

  “How shall I use this power?”

  Sound-the-Sun-Makes shook his antlers, flinging cloud-droplets. He snorted whirlwinds from his nostrils and blinked fire from his eyes. “Honor the deer, image of your guardian spirit. Eat no food the deer eats. Eat no meat of the deer. Tread not upon the trail of the deer. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” the seeker said. “What else?”

  “Keep sacred the horns of the deer. They hold great medicine for you.”

  “What shall I do with this medicine?”

  “Seek wisdom. But beware, for power follows wisdom, and foolishness follows power, and destruction follows foolishness.”

  “Sound-the-Sun-Makes, am I not to seek power?”

  “Seek wisdom!” the great creature roared. “Wisdom is strength above power.”

  “Shall I not use my medicine to seek power over the enemies of my people?”

  “Seek victory, quick and sure. Peace follows victory. Wisdom follows peace. But beware, for power follows wisdom. Much power.”

  “But, Sound-the-Sun-Makes, is the seeker of wisdom not also then the seeker of power?”

  “Seek wisdom!” the spirit bellowed, menacing the air with his antlers. “This is the magic of generations. Beware of the power that follows. There is much power. Wisdom will lift you high among all your people. Power will bring destruction of everything sacred! Know the strength of wisdom above power!”

  “If I make myself strong, sacred spirit, seek wisdom, and beware of power, will I be great among my people?”

  Sound-the-Sun-Makes ramped and pawed the sky between himself and the seeker. “Your people are poor. They starve in the winter. They hide from enemy slave-takers in the summer. If you fail, your weakness will make them die, and never more shall the blood of True Humans run in men who walk this world. But if you use your magic well, seeker, a new people will follow you to wealth above any you could know, and you will be the greatest and wisest of your people, for all generations, above all other peoples, on all other lands. For this, the spirits have sent a gift to you.”

  The seeker raised his arms, opened his palms. “What is this gift?”

  Sound-the-Sun-Makes laughed with the sound of an avalanche. He whirled and ran back toward the sky-world whence he had come, growing larger with each bound. Halfway home, he stopped, turned, and shook his head fiercely, causing his antlers to fly t
hrough the air toward the spring at the base of the butte. Laughing still, he bucked and whirled, his tail growing long and shaggy, along with a mane that sprang from his neck. His great magic mended the cleft in his hooves as he shaped himself into the image of a horse. This spirit-horse that Sound-the-Sun-Makes had become screamed the song of all the eagles of the earth, and leapt into the light of the sun, his scream becoming the sound of a raging fire.

  And everything dissolved into a great whiteness that burst four ways at once, and lingered, and cleansed, and made new, and gave the seeker mysterious medicine that he felt streaming into him from stars, from ancestors of the days when creatures spoke, from many suns yet to rise, from the same earth that pushed green things skyward and made wild things thrive, from the good dark magic of sleep that made once-weak mortals wake strong.

  11

  At twilight, he woke, thinking of Sound-the-Sun-Makes ahead of all other thoughts, even his thirst. He lifted the side of his face from the butte and brushed away the pebbles embedded in his skin. He sat up and looked to the south. The haze he had seen there almost four days before was back, renewing the hope for buffalo.

  Suddenly, he felt his medicine, and knew his quest was over. His breath rushed in hot, and his heart made his empty stomach hurt. Rising, he gathered his things and turned west.

  The bluff was easy to descend from the west side, which was the reason Shadow had avoided climbing up this way, preferring a more difficult ascent to prove his sincerity to the spirits. But now, a most powerful spirit had answered, filling Shadow with joy and anxiety, and he only wanted to get back to his village to tell his father and Spirit Talker what he had seen in his vision. But first, to drink! His mouth felt like the sole of some old man’s foot, and his whole body craved water.

  Trotting down the west side of the slope, the seeker turned south and found a game trail that led to the spring at the base of the bluff. He was warm from weaving down the hill, so he did not crouch quietly at the water’s edge, but walked straight in and fell forward.

  Sucking the cool water in too quickly, he felt himself choking and floundered to his feet in utter dread. To die for want of air—whether by drowning or suffocation or strangulation—was to deny one’s soul the way to the Shadow Land. This he knew. Finding wind again, he dropped to his knees and plunged his face back in the pool, taking three big swallows before pausing to breathe.

  Instantly, he felt the cool medicine stream into his chest, and knew he would have the energy, after a brief rest, to trot back to his village. He drank until his stomach hurt, then turned downstream.

  The sky was as dark as a vulture’s wing, and he swung his feet carelessly through the tangles of weed, brush, and vine in the creek bottom. His toe thumped against something hard and heavy, and he felt it pull against the undergrowth when it moved. Stooping, the curious seeker saw the curve of slick bone in the dying light, and lifted a large deer antler, so freshly shed that scarcely the tooth mark of a single mouse marred it.

  Gasping with excitement, he took off at a run to find better light out from under the tecamaca trees. He had sprinted only a few steps when something grabbed his ankle and threw him to the ground. Looking back, he found a second antler, a perfect match to the first. Holding them up to look at them against the sky, he began counting their points. He counted eight on the first antler. The same on the second. This was the sacred number four, four times over.

  Shadow broke into a run, the antlers pumping magic through his fists.

  12

  The old men had heard of the seeker’s vision, and thought long about it, searching wisdom as Shadow rested and ate. Now they had summoned the youth to join them in the big lodge of Shaggy Hump—eleven wise and powerful warriors and Spirit Talker, the old puhakut of the Corn People, possessor of strong medicine.

  As Shadow entered the council lodge he saw the eyes of all the men turn to meet him, bright with some new respect. No longer did they look at him as a loud and playful boy. He saw an empty place in the circle on the north side, facing south, and here he sat.

  The pipe was lighted without a word, and passed from Spirit Talker, on the east, to the man at his left, the pipe thus moving south in a curve as the sun moved through the great blue sky. When the pipe reached Shadow, he took a long pull and filled his lungs with the sacred cloud, sending it with a prayer to join the fire smoke on its journey through the vent above and on to the Shadow Land. His father, Shaggy Hump, was the last to smoke, sitting at Spirit Talker’s right side.

  When the pipe had completed the circle, Spirit Talker looked at him and said, “You have told us things about your vision, and we have all thought about it. Now it is time for you to sing the song that your guardian spirit has taught to you.”

  Shadow rose. Remembering the way Sound-the-Sun-Makes had sung, he angled his face upward and filled the lodge with his voice:

  “The rising sun sings.

  The rising sun sings.

  Hear the sound the sun makes.

  Hear the sound the sun makes!”

  He sang this four sacred times, forcing the words from his chest on high, strong notes, as he had heard the greatest warriors sing around the drum during war dances and scalp dances.

  After the song, Spirit Talker’s brow gathered in folds of weathered skin, and he placed his fingertips on his chest, as if searching his heart. He took a pinch of powder from his pouch and threw it on the fire. “I did not think the song would sound that way,” he said. “Tell me the story again, young horseback.”

  Shadow again gave the long recitation he had practiced and memorized and told and retold since returning from his quest. Twilight came as he spoke, and a good cool breeze streamed in under the raised covering of the lodge, and the men seemed to admire the words he chose.

  When he had finished, he sat back down, and Spirit Talker placed his fingers on his chest again and looked all around the inside of the lodge, his age-darkened eyes seeking. “Now I am not as sure as I was before,” he finally said. “The song changes my heart, the way it is sung. I must think about this carefully before speaking out.”

  The old man threw another pinch of dust on the fire and sat, contemplating. The fire burned down and Shaggy Hump added a few sticks. These, too, burned to ash, and Shaggy Hump added still more. When these were gone, Shaggy Hump rose silently, left the lodge, and came back with more wood. Stoking the fire again, he returned to his place in the circle.

  Still, Spirit Talker meditated, his eyes closed, head bowed, his breath coming in long rasps. To Shadow, he seemed asleep, but the young warrior knew that this was part of the old man’s magic.

  Finally, Spirit Talker lurched with a snort and opened his eyes. “I have it now,” he said. “My friends, help me rise.”

  Shaggy Hump and the man to Spirit Talker’s left lifted him by the arms.

  “On the day of this young horseback’s birth, First Horse ran through the camp of the Burnt Meat People and circled his lodge, and so he has been called Born-on-the-Day-of-the-Shadow-Dog through fourteen winters, for it was thought by a wise old man that First Horse was a dog from the Shadow Land. Now we know that the horse is not a dog at all, but a gift to the True Humans that will carry the young horsebacks into a new age. From where the sun now stands, he shall no longer be known as Shadow. His name now is Horseback.”

  He gasped slightly at the sound of his name, for in the language of the Noomah, it was spoken as Kiyu, and rang with grace and strength, like the call of a hawk. He looked into the eyes of his father, who was holding his face in a visage of fierce pride.

  “Horseback,” the puhakut said, “rise.”

  He rose.

  “Your medicine is strong. The strongest I have ever known, besides my own. You must understand that this is dangerous to you.”

  “I do not fear danger,” Horseback said.

  “It is not only you who must fear such power as is yours. It is your people. All the True Humans—even those who have crossed to the Shadow Land—even those y
et to walk upon this earth. I tell you these things, Horseback, that you may know this: The sun may rise on a day that you find this medicine too powerful to control. If this day comes, you may give your medicine back to the spirits, and no word will be spoken against you, in this world or any other.”

  “I do not think now of that day,” Horseback said.

  Spirit Talker raised a finger in warning. “All your life, you have been told of the horse that circled your lodge as you were born. Many eyes have watched you grow, expecting more from you than another boy. You are proud, Horseback, and your people are proud of you. Look, your father swells with so much pride that he is like a honey ant, ready to burst!”

  The warriors laughed, and even Shaggy Hump himself managed a smile.

  “But now comes the time of manhood, and no longer do you prove yourself by playing with wild horses. Do not hold more magic than you can handle simply because you have greed for it in your heart. Do not take too much pride in your power.”

  “Grandfather, I seek wisdom, not power.”

  The old man smiled. “I have spoken with the others in council as you rested. I have heard their words, all true, wise, and heartfelt. Now, I will tell you what your vision means.”

  “I am ready to hear.”

  “First, you must eat no food the deer eats. Now, the deer eats wild plums, but only as high as this,” the puhakut said, reaching one arm high and touching a lodge pole over his head. “Above this, the deer cannot reach, so you may stand on something or jump high or climb to pick the plums you wish to eat. When you take a woman into your lodge, make sure she knows this, for she must choose the right fruit for you to eat—that which is beyond reach of the deer.”

  “I understand.”

  “Eat no meat of the deer. You may kill the deer to feed your family, but you must not eat any of it yourself. You must honor the deer that you kill, thanking it in a prayer before you kill it. If you are starving and kill a deer, you may not eat this deer unless you give your medicine back to the spirits forever, or you will destroy everything sacred in the way of the True Humans. When you ride the war path, you must not kill a deer. No member of your war party may kill a deer or eat the meat of a deer. To do so will cause defeat. Besides this, you may eat whatever you want, as long as it does not go against the way of the True Humans—like eating a fish or a frog or a dog.”