Prarie Fire Part 16

Oka kapa.s.sa made Sarah uneasy, but she couldn't understand why. Oka kapa.s.sa was tall, thin, and strikingly beautiful. Sarah thought of Devlin the first time she met Oka kapa.s.sa. Even though Sarah knew that Tima and Tekola had adopted Devlin, she found a remarkable resemblance between Devlin, Tima, and Tima's other sisters.

Oka kapa.s.sa was a basket maker. While all Chahta women could create baskets, her work was exceptional. Her baskets told stories within their weave. Sarah spied Oka kapa.s.sa watching her on occasion. When Sarah caught her eye, Oka kapa.s.sa would look away. The woman's gentle manner and her loving actions when caring for Hannah were a paradox compared to her relationship with Sarah.

When Sarah had to grind corn or make drying bundles from the plants she and Tima had gathered, she made a habit of doing her ch.o.r.es near where Oka kapa.s.sa was telling the children stories. She always filled her tales with laughter, love, and a lesson. Sarah couldn't have been happier with the way Hannah fit in with the people of the clan. Sarah credited much of Hannah's good behavior to Oka kapa.s.sa and the woman's quiet strength. Still, there was always something in her actions toward Sarah. It was nothing overt, but it was enough to confuse her.

Finally, Sarah's special day arrived. This would be the day she would make her quest. She would spend as much time as necessary at the sacred place. It was high up on the cliffs, among the ancient cedar trees. There she would make her pledge and offer prayers to the spirits who led the Chahta. She would not return to the village until she received a sign of acceptance from the sky, where Hashtahli lived.

Sarah awoke that morning full of nervous energy. By the time she finished feeding Hannah breakfast, she had developed a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She was worried about how long her quest would last. She remembered Devlin saying it had taken her a year of prayer and four days without food and water before she saw her vision of acceptance.

Then there would be the doubts; Keyuachi was the word Tima used. She explained that the Keyuachi were enemy spirits of Hashtahli and therefore enemies of the Chahta people. They would come to Sarah as doubts. They would use whatever means they could to draw her from her path. Tima warned that they would tempt her to walk away from the Chahta way, and their temptations would be enticing.

Stay focused. Stay strong. Sarah repeated Tima's words like a mantra in her head.

"How do you feel today?" Tima asked the pale woman.

"Like I'm going to throw up," Sarah said.

"Good." Tima smiled and touched Sarah's cheek. Sarah cast an unpleasant glance at Tima. "If you felt too good, I would think you were overconfident."

"I'm sorry, but I don't consider not feeling as though I'm going to lose my breakfast at any moment feeling too good."

"Here, drink some of this, it may help." Tima handed Sarah a warm cup of tea.

"Mmm, mint." Sarah murmured what she'd learned. "Mint is harvested in the summer when-"

"Sakli," Tima interrupted, trying not to laugh at Sarah's grave expression, "it's not a test."

"Whatever it is, I'm going to fail. I'm going to do something wrong like I always do."

"No, Sakli. There is nothing that can be done wrong. This is a quest. You go to search. Answers may come to you, or they may not. There is no right and wrong. You are thinking like Na hollo ohoyo when you believe there is only right and wrong, black and white. Open your eyes and see the way Hashtahli intended for you to see, with the light of many colors."

"I'm afraid, Nali. I've never said that before. I always pretend that I'm not." Sarah bit her lower lip.

Tima sat beside Sarah and took her hand. "Sakli, I will not promise you that there will be no pain a.s.sociated with your quest, but have you ever experienced something truly worth having that was easy to accomplish? You will walk from us today as Na hollo ohoyo, but you will return as a Chahta woman." She reached out and smoothed Sarah's hair away from her eyes.

"To fear something so important in your life is natural. I would think one weak and foolish who felt no fear at all. Your quest today will be as if your old self has died. It will be painful as you experience the pa.s.sing of old ways, but the result will be worth it. You will go through a life-altering process, but there is always pain connected with birth. You will be reborn and your fear will be forgotten in your happiness. Tell me, on the day when Hannah came into this world, were you afraid?"

Sarah couldn't help but smile nervously as she nodded. "I'd done it before, but when you're miles from nowhere with only a nervous husband for help...yes," she admitted. "I was terrified."

"But the fear you felt, this thing that had the power to terrify you, it could not last. Did it equal the feeling you had the first time you held your daughter in your arms?"

Sarah shook her head.

"Neither will your fear overwhelm you today. Fear is not bad, Sakli. It tells us when we have things that need to be brought into the light. They are as yet unknown to you, and the fear of the unknown is what terrifies us all. Deliver those fears to the spirits and have courage. I have faith that your strength will carry you through."

"How will I know if Hashtahli accepts me?"

Tima smiled. "Your sign will come from the sky."

Sarah sat in the middle of the healer's chuka. The council of elders sat around her in a semi-circle, three men to the left of Miko Kontonalah and three women to the right. Behind Sarah was the fire, its orange glow making strange shadows on the faces of the men and women who surrounded her.

The elders gave Sarah instructions for her quest. They repeated much of what Tima had taught her, but even so, Sarah listened intently. A trickle of sweat rolled down the skin between her shoulder blades. She wore a traditional Chahta dress, which fell to well below her knees. It was made of soft deerskin and dyed a deep reddish-brown color. Upon Tima's recommendation, Sarah wore men's leggings under her dress for the climb up the cliffs. Heavy knee-high moccasins completed her outfit, which was growing uncomfortably damp in the well-heated chuka.

Mantema came forward and sat before Sarah. Mantema was short, but what she lacked in stature, she made up for in girth. Sarah had rarely had an occasion to speak with Mantema, but she remembered that Devlin had said she was responsible for the first tattoo a Chahta youth received. Sarah thought about the pain a.s.sociated with the marking, but today, that pain was the furthest thing from her mind. As soon as Sarah returned to the village from her quest, Mantema would place a tattoo on her back, provided the Sun Father accepted Sarah as one of the Chahta.

Mantema brought out an old pouch made from some hide. She had nearly worn the bag smooth with years of constant use. Sarah could still see the faint outlines of power symbols that had been painted on it at one time. Mantema gave the pouch a few shakes and untied the piece of rawhide wrapped around the top of the bag. She opened it and held it in front of her.

Sarah paused and took a deep breath. She bowed her head and asked the animal spirits to guide her hand to the totems of the creatures that would be good animal medicine for her. She reached one hand into the bag. Tima had instructed her to reach in and, without conscious thought, pull out the first item that her fingers touched.

She pulled out the item and handed it to Mantema. One at a time, Sarah pulled seven icons from the bag. Some were claws and pieces of hide to distinguish the animal that the totem represented. Others were tiny carved fetishes. Mantema took each item and placed it within a coiled sweetgra.s.s bowl.

When Sarah was finished, she sat back and watched as Mantema picked up each item. She held some for long moments while she quickly placed others on the skin side of a small buffalo robe. The hide was small enough to have come from a buffalo calf, but on the skin side, someone had painted the Chahta version of the medicine wheel. Like a compa.s.s, there were points indicating north, south, east, and west. Three more spots were marked with symbols that Sarah knew meant above, below, and within. Finally, when Mantema had laid all the items on the hide, she looked up at Sarah and smiled. She moved to one side so the elders behind her could see. Some murmured a few words that Sarah couldn't make out. Others nodded appreciatively.

"From the east, we receive vision and illumination. It is good fortune indeed to receive owl medicine. The owl can see in the dark and is a silent hunter. He represents wisdom because he can see what others cannot."

Mantema went on to describe the other animal spirits that had elected to be Sarah's teachers, guides, and protectors. One by one, she pointed out the prairie grouse, swan, mountain lion, turtle, and ironically, the salmon. Lastly, Mantema held up a long object that appeared to be a bird's beak.

"The within animal instructs you on how to find your heart's desire. This totem helps to protect the you that no one sees, the sacred and holy beliefs that you hold deep inside. The hawk is your animal within." Mantema paused as if to give her words time to have an effect on Sarah.

Sarah felt herself smile. She could have told anyone that this was true. Devlin's clan name was Hasimbish humma, Redhawk. Devlin's power animal was the red-tailed hawk, and now Mantema was telling Sarah that her protector was the hawk. It made perfect sense to Sarah. Suddenly, Sarah felt the connection to the beliefs these people held so dear. She could never again count the occurrences of stepping into the spirit world as coincidence. That belief elated and frightened her.

"The hawk within will serve you well, Sakli. Heed its cry, for when the hawk cries out, there is danger at hand. Be aware and listen for its message." Mantema scooped her items together and placed them into her bag. Before she rose, she looked at Sarah. "We will see one another again...very soon. Inola, Sakli," she added to wish Sarah good luck.

Sarah sat on the rock ledge feeling disappointed. She had left the village determined to receive her acceptance into the clan within moments of setting out. That had been almost five days earlier. She was hungry, thirsty, sweaty, dirty, and tired. Perhaps she should have been none of those things. After all, although she was forbidden to drink water from the stream, Tima had taught her how to collect the dew from the morning leaves and to chew on the pulp of the p.r.i.c.kly pear to quench her thirst.

Even though she couldn't eat any of the plants or animals in the forest around her, she did have a small supply of banaha left. Of course, they weren't Tima's, which made them less appetizing. Sarah had learned to make the Choctaw bread, but her first efforts had been horrid. If she boiled the cornmeal inside the cornhusk for too long, they dried into something akin to musket b.a.l.l.s once they hit the air. Sarah had made the banaha she carried with her on this quest. They were not as light and fluffy as Tima's, but her Chahta culinary skills had improved considerably since those first attempts.

She never understood why she couldn't bathe, but as her mind wandered, she reminded herself to ask Tima about that. The leathers she wore smelled as if they'd just been stripped off some animal.

The forest was chilly, so Sarah sat in the sun, high on a ledge. She lay on her back and dangled her feet over the edge of the rock face. She thought it odd that she should have feared heights before this. She rolled onto her side and peered over the cliff. The feeling of dizziness that used to accompany heights was no longer there. She absently flicked bits of rock and twigs off the ledge.

Lying on her back once more, Sarah looked up at the ancient cedar trees that surrounded her. Sarah nibbled on an oblong piece of banaha and kicked her heels, enjoying the sound her leather moccasins made as they scuffed the surface of the rock. She looked at the bits of green herbs in her half-eaten bread, wondering what kind of plant they had come from. Tima handed her the herbs and told Sarah to mix them into her bread.

Whatever the mixture was, Sarah felt it helped her to stay focused. Immediately after she ate, she would grow sleepy, but after a few moments of sleep, she not only felt revived, but energized and able to think more clearly. She was amazed at the ideas and problems she had sorted out during that time after she ate. The energy would last for hours, but then the depression would return.

Sarah tried to be strong against the Keyuachi. The doubts were strong and they loved to tease and tempt her. She had seen what they looked like. At first, she thought Tima's Keyuachi were an a.n.a.logy of sorts, but the day before, Sarah convinced herself of their substance. She thought she could see them in the shadows. Sometimes they would offer a tempting meal or a cool cup of water, but Sarah stayed strong. When she thought of Devlin, it became difficult to remain committed.

"I will not go back. They'll have to come and bring my bones home because I'm not giving up," Sarah said aloud. Her brows knitted together and she wondered how long she'd been waiting on the cliffs. "I wonder if they'll come and get me. Maybe they already forgot about me. Maybe Dev has, too."

She thought of Devlin and remembered her strong arms around her. She remembered the pleasure of making love and the blue fire that seemed to light up Devlin's eyes from within. It was during her thoughts of Devlin that she heard the music.

It started out soft and light at first. It was flute music, low and mournful. It sounded as if it came from somewhere high atop the cliffs. Sorrowful at first, the rhythm changed and the flute lightened. To Sarah's ears, the music sounded like it was now something happy and light, a dried oak leaf floating on billowy currents of air. Suddenly, she felt herself as that leaf, blown into the water. She bobbed and fluttered, but remained atop the surface. She pa.s.sed by smooth rocks rounded by the water's pa.s.sage over time. She finally gave in and allowed the water to carry her along the top of the swiftly flowing creek.

Sarah opened her eyes again and realized she must have slept. She strained her ears to listen for the music. At first, she thought it must have been a dream, but there it was again. It wasn't as strong as before, but the unmistakable rhythms of Chahta flute music drifted down on her from higher up the cliff.

"Sarah..."

She sat up and looked around. She heard her name spoken in a familiar tone.

"Sarah..."

"Dev?" Sarah knew that was impossible, but she couldn't mistake that voice.

"Up here, Sarah."

She looked around and caught a glimpse of a warrior walking up the path to the top of the cliff. "Dev?" she shouted after the familiar voice.

"Follow me, Sarah."

She rose and hurried along the path, never quite able to catch up. The warrior was dressed as no one Sarah had ever seen. The outfit, even the paint disguising the warrior's face, was black and white. Eagle feathers and pure white buckskin contrasted starkly against the colorful autumn foliage of the forest.

Sarah had to scramble over the last few rocks to reach the top. She stopped short as she took in the sight. She stood upon a flat plateau of rock. It appeared as though it was another clan's village. People went about their daily routines and Sarah looked high up another cliff wall to see that there were lodgings hewn from the face of the rock.

I am Ankahito...I have always been Ankahito.

The thought came to Sarah unbidden, and in her mind, she knew what the statement meant and why she said it. In her waking mind, however, she couldn't grasp where she had heard such words.

The people of the clan paid her no mind as they went about their ch.o.r.es.

"I am here, Sarah..."

She spun around to find no fewer than twenty of the black-and-white warriors. They were all dressed and built alike. Broad shoulders tapered into narrow hips. Sarah couldn't tell whether they were male or female in their ornately beaded leathers. Long ebony hair fell to their shoulders and their faces were painted diagonally, half black and half white.

Sarah now realized that the flute music had changed once she began climbing up the path to the pounding rhythms of drums. The beat grew more powerful, and all at once, the warriors moved in a group dance. They moved in perfect synchronization. The dancing grew more frenzied and acrobatic as the drums beat out wickedly intense rhythm.

"Can you feel me, Sarah?"

She wanted to turn around and look for the voice that seemed to come from just behind her right ear.

"I want to be with you, Sarah. Come with me."

It was Devlin's voice, and the thought of Devlin caused Sarah's body to hum with the same pulsating rhythm as the music of the drums.

"One more day...surely, you can put aside this journey for one day..."

Louder and more urgent, the music matched the way Sarah's body felt.

"...to be with me."

"I-" The music hit a deafening crescendo. Sarah whipped her head around only to find empty s.p.a.ce behind her. She returned to scan the dancers and before her, inches away, stood her warrior. The warrior stood with head bowed and had Devlin's distinctive scent.

"Tashka?" Sarah asked.

Eyelids painted black slowly rose to reveal cornflower-blue irises. "Give up your fool's journey, Sarah. Come be with me."

Sarah watched as a strong arm extended forward and an open hand reached out to her. She became lost in the beauty of those blue eyes. She knew in that instant that she would give up anything for her warrior. She reached out her hand and the warrior smiled as Sarah drew closer.

Give up anything? Give up? Sarah thought.

Sarah jerked her hand back, but the powerful pull of the warrior's eyes had her trapped. Suddenly, there was a high-pitched keening sound and Sarah covered her ears in pain. When she looked into the warrior's eyes once more, they were no longer the deep blue she had remembered. She took a step back in shock and fright. The warrior's eyes had turned yellow with a reptilian slit in the middle.

From somewhere above her, she heard a scream. It was deafening to her sensitive ears and she looked up. High above her a hawk circled. It swooped toward her and cried out again.

Looking around, Sarah found herself alone on top of the cliffs. Gnarled old cedar trees, whose trunks looked as though they had been pulled and twisted like soft mola.s.ses candy, surrounded her. She dropped to the ground, unable to stand any longer.

The hawk screeched loudly once more. It was perched in one of the old cedar trees whose top had been sheered off by wind or ice, or both. The hawk hopped from the limb and opened its wings to take flight. It soared high into the sky until Sarah had to lie on her back to see it. She heard the hawk's cries as it appeared to fly into the sun. The brightness of the light blinded her and she held up a hand to ward off the glare. In the shadow caused by her hand, Sarah was able to see what she would come to think of as the first of many miracles in her life. It floated down at her slowly and steadily. A few moments later, a beautifully pristine hawk's feather wafted down onto her chest.

She held it in her hand and examined the reddish-brown side in contrast with the white side. It appeared to have lines waving through it. Sarah rolled over on the smooth rock, unable to keep her eyes open. She would have to examine the trap, which she had narrowly avoided, later. She had only averted her thoughts at the last moment due to the warning cries of the hawk. Otherwise, she would have given in to the Keyuachi's trick. Within her hands, she clutched the red-tailed hawk's gift, her sign of acceptance from the sky, where Hashtahli lived. Devlin's parting words came to Sarah as she fought to keep her eyes open.

Remember that I am Redhawk. I can float on the air and see for miles. Wherever your path leads, I'll be there alongside you. When you need me, sachu-kash, I'll be there.

"Thank you, tashka," Sarah whispered. She smiled as her eyes closed.

Chapter 14.

Devlin rolled over and spied the last two guards waking the cook before they headed toward their bedrolls. They didn't bother to remove their hats, knowing they only had another hour or two before breakfast would be ready and they would be back in the saddle again.

Devlin closed her eyes and attempted to ease herself back into sleep. They had been on the trail for a little over a fortnight, and she had yet to spend a night sleeping well. She hadn't expected it to be any different. Hadn't she antic.i.p.ated dreaming of Sarah every night? The previous night's dream, however, had seemed frighteningly real. Devlin grew up around people who took dreams seriously. Wondering whether Sarah was in trouble and being unable to do anything about it made Devlin surly.

Being the trail boss had its advantages. At least Devlin didn't have to wake up in the middle of the night to ride herd for two hours at a time. Still, while others lay snoring in their bedrolls, Devlin heard every rider come into camp during the night. She was a light sleeper at the best of times, but since the drive started, she was aware of everything that happened around them, especially at night. She had come to recognize the sounds particular beeves made as they situated themselves on the bed ground, and she could differentiate between the various riders by the sounds they made when they rode back into camp.

She lay there, staring into the dark sky. She watched as the darkness faded into a light, pre-dawn gray. She ran through the trail in her mind and what she would run into with the coming dawn. Every day that pa.s.sed without running into hostile Indians was a good day for Devlin. Two men had been trailing them for a couple of days, and she expected a Comanche party to ride up any day now.

The trail so far had been routine and every drover felt blessed because of it. After crossing Walnut Creek, they'd ridden through at least ten miles of barren prairie before coming to the South Canadian. Oak and cottonwood trees lined the river, and the south bank had afforded them a good camping ground. Mexican Bob had found an immense thicket of wild plums. He and Matt gathered enough of the ripe fruit to make fried pies, which encouraged the men greatly. Thirteen miles later, they crossed the North Canadian River, which was when they had picked up the two Comanche scouts.

There had been plenty of gra.s.s for the beeves and firewood for the cooks. The riders were able to add variety to their mostly beef diet by doing some hunting along the way. The upland plains leading to the Cimarron River yielded prairie chickens, deer, and an occasional antelope. The morale of the men had been relatively good, but Devlin knew they were still a long way from their goal. A lot could go wrong between here and Abilene.

"Come a-runnin', boss, there's bacon in the pan," Bob called out.

This first shout meant that Devlin, Hank, and the point men could eat breakfast. The other riders moved slowly, getting dressed, cleaning up, and picking up their bedrolls. Devlin tied her bedroll and dropped it beside the chuck wagon. The wrangler or nighthawk would gather the bedrolls and load them onto the c.o.o.ney, a cowhide suspended by its corners and slung under the chuck wagon. Most of the time, it held firewood or buffalo chips as an emergency fuel supply.

Usually Frankie, their nighthawk, would have carried the bedrolls in the second wagon, but as Devlin had predicted before starting out, they had to turn the second wagon into a blattin' cart. The cart was filled with one thing during the day-newborn calves that were too little to keep pace with the herd.

Devlin sat in silence and ate her breakfast as she watched the riders load the calves into the wagon. They had to take care, as Devlin had instructed Matt and Frankie the day after they started out. Cows often gave birth to late calves, and when the beeves rose from the bed ground in the morning, there the little ones would be. Devlin had been on a few drives where the trail boss ordered the calves shot and buried, so the cows couldn't find them. It had become a common trail drive practice, but she never saw the sense in it.

Each morning as the beeves were grazing, a rider roped the newborns and carried them off to the blattin' cart. There weren't too many of them, maybe five or six. Frankie, who drove the wagon during the day, kept a burlap sack marked with each calf's nickname or a number to identify them. A good rider always knew his cattle, and when he rode up to the wagon with his package, he called out the calf's marker. They would wrap the burlap sack around the calf and toss it into the wagon. The sack was an important step. A cow wouldn't tend to her calf if it had another calf's smell on it, and that was unavoidable in such a small wagon, so each day the rider wrapped the calf in the same sack. At noon and again at the end of the day, the riders brought the calves to their mothers to feed.

Matt woke with the other riders and stuffed his hat over his unruly hair. He gave Devlin a sleepy smile and went off to relieve Frankie of the remuda. The nighthawk would then sleep for a few hours before driving the second wagon. Devlin, Hank, and the point men, Willie and Jake, finished their meal and went out to watch the herd as they rose from the bed ground. While the riders ate their breakfast, Devlin and her group kept an eye on the grazing herd.

Over the next few hours, Devlin rode around the herd, checking on the beeves that she could now recognize by sight. Out of a few thousand, she could easily identify the troublemakers, the slowest, the most aggressive. Then there was Anabelle. To Devlin, it was as if the cow snorted and feigned swinging her wide horns at Devlin whenever she pa.s.sed by. Devlin would grumble and curse the cow under her breath, and Anabelle would snort so hard that dust blew all around her.

The point men positioned themselves back a bit from the lead steers so the cattle could spread out and graze at their own pace. Devlin pulled every trick out of her hat to keep the beeves happy and content, and she saw that the other foremen did the same. She wanted to get to market with as many of her original fifty thousand head as possible.