Destiny Mine Page 5

  Kionee realized her father was saddened by his helplessness when war might loom on their horizon and that he yearned to defend his family and people. Whatever came, she was ready to confront it, and she would do her best to obtain victory. Perhaps Stalking Wolf and the Cheyenne Strong Hearts would come to help them if—Forget him.

  On the fifth day after meeting Stalking Wolf, Kionee and Regim went hunting. After spending the last few days in the menses hut, Kionee was charged with tension and needed the exercise and diversion. Regim sensed something was disturbing her niece and hoped to learn its source.

  Kionee felt as if her emotions would get out of control if not discussed with someone who was loved and trusted. She needed advice, understanding, and comfort. What better source was there than the person who had trained and almost reared her, who was her mother’s “brother,” who was the Tiva-Chu—leader of the Hunter-Guardian rank—and who would never betray her confession no matter what it was.

  “I have worn my mask for fifteen summers, Regim …” she began, “but it has not become like part of my skin and life as I was told it would.” Kionee paced and frowned as she disclosed, “When the sun blazes down like a fire in the hot season, water runs from under my breast band and slips down my body like tiny rivers. The deerskin tightens as it dries and I can hardly breathe, but I dare not loosen or remove it. With each circle of seasons, my mounds grow larger and it becomes harder to flatten them into hiding. When I am captive in the Haukau during my blood flow season, I grow restless and angry, for it serves no good purpose. Why does Atah not halt it and dry up our breasts? He has the power and magic to remove such reminders we are female. Why are they not captured and placed in our kims with our female spirits?”

  Kionee halted her movements and looked at the older woman, but the Tiva-Chu’s expression was unreadable. “No matter how long and how good we live as men, Regim, we remain females in body. Atah did not change us into the men we live as; we have not grown shafts and bags between our legs. We train, hunt, and council with men, but they do not seek us out at other times as friends; they still view us as females in their hearts and heads. We do not smoke the sacred pipe or share the sweat lodge or bathe with them; we are treated as females in those ways. Women pretend we are men—sons and brothers—but they know we are not; they are happy they are not tivas and must live as we do. When Mother Earth renews her face after each season of snow, strange and powerful urges call to me and attack me without warning and mercy. Their voices shout to me of mating and bearing children. When my hand lies across my chest at night, I think of children who will never feed there. Why must only tivas be denied such joys and victories? Why can we not be mates and mothers and still be Hunter-Guardians?”

  Regim was astonished by this unexpected revelation. She had guessed something was troubling Kionee but not a matter this serious. “If such unions were allowed, who would do the woman’s work and tend the children while a tiva hunts or fights for her own family?” she replied. “A man cannot do so and it is not the duty of other women to do so, for they have their own tipis and families to tend. It would be dangerous and impossible for a tiva who is belly-carrying or breast-feeding a baby—or has other little ones and chores—to ride on the great summer hunt for the buffalo. If bound to a family, she would be unable to leave her children to battle enemies if we are attacked; that would deny her family and our tribe of a skilled fighter. Her presence would be required in camp to give her baby milk, so she could not go when long hunts are needed at times when game roams far from us in the cold season. And how could a joining between two ‘men’ be explained to visitors and children?”

  Regim grasped Kionee’s hands and gave them a gentle squeeze. “If a tiva cannot be a full-time mother and mate, she must not leave her rank and join to a man. She can join to one only if our tiva laws are met. Few men have the skills and strength to provide game and skins and defense for two families, three if he is responsible for his parents. It would risk the tiva’s family going in want, perhaps both of their families going in want. It is our duty as Chosen Ones to make these sacrifices. Tivas which number less than the fingers of a hand have joined with mates since before my mother’s birth. By the time we are released from our duties at our parents’ deaths, we are too old to bear children and most men have wives. Those who lose mates do not want one who cannot accept their seeds of life in old bodies. Only three times have girls in training had their kims broken to release their female spirits when their mothers gave birth to sons, all before they were ten seasons old and long ago. Tivas cannot allow themselves to have such selfish thoughts and feelings. You must do the same, Kionee, or you will suffer great sadness. To desire what cannot be causes a hardness to enter you.”

  As a vivid image of the Cheyenne warrior galloped into her head, Kionee asked, “What if a tiva cannot control such forbidden thoughts and feelings?”

  “Do you wish to yield to Night Walker’s desire for you? Is he the one who stirs such conflicts within you?”

  “No, never him. He is not my destiny. There are many things about Night Walker and Little Weasel which trouble me. They whisper of rising hungers to battle the Bird Warriors for coups and excitement. Already they speak such words aloud in council. Each time they leave camp to hunt, I fear they will seek a path to provoke the Crow against us so we will be forced to fight them. I do not like or trust the burnings in their eyes or the strange eagerness in their bodies for war. I do not like the fire in Night Walker’s loins for me. He has never accepted me as a man. He is careful with his words and actions, but I see what lies beneath their sly coverings.”

  “Your eyes and wits are sharp, Kionee, for you grasp how he looks at you and hear the softness in his voice when he speaks to you. As snow blanketed Mother Earth, I watched the hunger in his eyes grow larger and its fire burn brighter when he thought no one saw them. It will be hard to deny him when he pursues you after the buffalo hunt, for I am sure he will. He waits only for you to pass twenty-one circles of seasons, as is our tiva law, before he speaks openly to you and to others of his desire to join with you.”

  “I pray that is not true, but I fear your words are wise and knowing. I fear the trouble his chase will bring. Before his mouth opens to speak such unwanted words, I will do all I can to prevent them from spilling forth. I must halt him from trying to clear a path I do not wish to travel.”

  “Do not forget: he is our chief’s son; he is a man of high rank. If his brother is slain, he will become our next chief. Most will think it is a great honor to become his mate; most will be angry with you for refusing him. He has the skills to provide for and protect his mate and children, and your family. He has the prowess to best you in the hunt, and in hand battle. He meets all of the commands in our law.”

  “No, Regim, he does not, for I will not accept him. I do not love him or wish to share a tipi and mat with him.”

  Regim studied the expression in the troubled gaze of her sister’s child. “Is there another you would accept? Wish to accept? Has your heart been seized by a skilled hunter who does not meet our laws for freedom?”

  Kionee tensed and wondered if she should expose the astonishing truth.

  3

  KIONEE’S GAZE LOCKED with her aunt’s, whom she trusted, respected, and loved. Her decision came swiftly. “Yes, but he is not of our tribe. He does not know I am a woman.”

  The astute Regim added up the recent clues to Kionee’s increased restlessness and withdrawal into herself. “The Cheyenne warrior from the hunt six suns past. Tell me about him and this power he has over you.”

  Kionee wondered how—with only simple words as a tool—she could describe such a potent force like Stalking Wolf. How could she explain this irresistible attraction to him? Yet, she must try. “Since we met, he steals into my thoughts when I am awake and he enters my dreams when I sleep. I am drawn to him as a bear to honey or as our people to the sacred mountain. I feel a strong and strange bond to him.”

  “You must forget him, Kion
ee, or you will be tormented by reckless longings for what can never be. Our people do not join outside our tribe; it numbers only thirty-two stones over a thousand, but we keep the Hanueva alive and pure with laws to ban joining with outsiders and no joining between close kin. If we mix our seeds with others, one sun there will be no Hanueva bloodline. If one is allowed to break that law, others will be tempted to do so. If outsiders are allowed to join us, they will bring trouble and changes, and expose our tiva secret. You must make this new sacrifice for the good of Kionee, your family, and our people. Drive him from your head and heart.”

  “That is like telling a river to stop flowing, or snow to cease falling in the cold season, or the sun to never rise again, or the wind to stop blowing. I yearn to see him, to touch him, to feel his embrace and kiss. But you must not worry or fear, Regim, for our paths will never cross again. We do not camp or hunt in the same areas. Tivas do not visit trading camps, for we must always stay apart from others to guard the truth, as you well know.”

  “Pray your feet and his never walk the same trail and your eyes never meet again,” Regim still warned. “He is forbidden to you, and punishment for breaking our law is harsh. Even with your great skills and courage, you would not survive it.”

  Regim clasped Kionee’s cold hands in hers. “I love you as my own child and I have helped train you since you were five summers. I beg you: let me help protect you and guide you away from this evil magic. Do not break your vows. Do not dishonor yourself and your family. Do not bring down Atah’s anger upon you and us. See this as a test, a challenge; and win it with wits and courage and strength. When we go to the sacred wheel after the buffalo hunt, make offerings to Atah for forgiveness and seek His help in walking the path He cleared for you. If you must step from it, do so either with Night Walker or another Hanueva of high rank and skills.”

  How so, Kionee wondered, when no Hanueva stirred her blood, enflamed her body, and enticed her to think of defying her vow as Stalking Wolf did? “Who made such laws, Regim? Why must we pretend to be what we are not? Why does the Creator allow us to have such feelings and thoughts if they are wrong? Does that not seem cruel?”

  “It has been the way of our people since before we can remember,” Regim reminded her. “There are many things we do not know or understand, but still must obey. We must not question or doubt the will of the Creator and High Guardian.”

  “With every tiva family circle that closes because she leaves no children behind to continue it, our tribe grows smaller and becomes more vulnerable to enemies,” Kionee argued. “It would help our tribe be larger and stronger if tivas were allowed to join and bear those needed children, who will bear other children, so our people will not cease to exist one season under the evil hands of attackers.” She raised pleading eyes to search Regim’s face. “Have you never experienced love and desire for a male? Do you not understand how these emotions make me feel?”

  “Yes,” she answered quickly, “but I cut them from my heart and mind, for it could not be. You must do the same. In time, such forbidden and dangerous feelings will vanish and the joy in your rank will return.”

  “Do they ever leave, Regim? Will it return, my Tiva-Chu and friend?”

  “Yes, Kionee, my loved one, if you do not resist the truth.”

  Kionee nodded as if in acceptance of that advice, but suspected the woman had lied to her for the first time. She forgave Regim because she saw the affection behind that tiny deceit.

  Many days’ ride beyond the Hanueva winter camp, Stalking Wolf came upon a sight that partly explained why Crow warriors were raiding in areas where they should not be. He considered visiting the Hanueva to give them a warning but decided against any delay in returning home. Bad weather had held him captive at the sacred mountain wheel two days longer than he wanted and needed to stay after receiving his strange vision. In twenty suns, he would ride into his camp and report the bad news and his suspicions.

  Images of the white-clad Kionee with a colorful facial mask and a silver wolf at the hunter’s side flickered through his mind, and he asked the Great Spirit to protect his new friend. I do not know how or when, Kionee, but our paths will cross again, for I have seen it in my sacred vision. We have faced battle and death together and now we are bonded in a mystical way. When I reach camp, I must ask the shaman to tell me the meaning of my vision. If this is the season for me to take a mate, why does no woman of our tribe touch my heart and flame my body? What is the “powerful destiny” Medicine Eyes sent me to seek? Have I displeased the Great Spirit and He did not reveal it to me? I must have answers soon.

  “You make a new bow, Kionee. Is it for the hunt or a coming battle?”

  “I will use it as Atah guides me, Little Weasel.”

  The man eyed the symbols on the discarded piece of chokecherry, their colors indicating the deeds for which they were earned. Again, she had chosen chokecherry for her new weapon, the best wood to use but the hardest to find in the right length. He had watched her figure the needed size by measuring the distance between the tips of her fingers on an outstretched hand across her body to the opposite hipbone. He noticed the skill she evinced in attaching the leather grip that was edged with snowy fur. He observed as she stood and braced one end with her calf and ankle and pulled the other toward her chest to slip the boiled and dried sinew into a notch and lock it in place to test the sinew’s tension. Nearby lay a wrist band for protecting her arm against string slap, a beaded carrying bag with a quiver attached, and two extra sinews for replacing a broken or weakened one. “You have many marks, old and new, to paint on it. Will the sun rise when your deeds are more than it can hold?” he questioned.

  Kionee glanced up at her cousin and noticed his frown, one that matched his bitter tone. As usual, she ignored them both with hopes they would cease one day. “Only Atah sees into suns not lived. He has given me many good deeds, and I am thankful. It has been fourteen moons since our men left to visit the Crow. Do you think they will return soon with good news?”

  “If they return,” Little Weasel responded to her obvious change of subject, “I believe they will be slain or held captive. Night Walker agrees.”

  “You are angry Chief Bear’s Head and the council did not send you and Night Walker,” she said.

  “Crow hearts are as black as this night will be without a moon. We should scout and trap them, not cower in fear and beg for peace. The arrows you make would serve us better if shot into Bird hearts, for a dead man cannot raid and kill and cannot plant seeds in his mate for new enemies. We would have more people if tivas are allowed to have mates. Kionee could become a mother. Night Walker would take you as his woman.”

  “That is not our way, Little Weasel, and it is wrong to speak of it.”

  “Perhaps it is time for changes in our customs if we are to survive.”

  Kionee watched her cousin stalk away from her position at the edge of the forest. Her horses, Recu and Tuka, shook their heads, silent signs, it seemed, that they understood his words and fiercely disagreed. Maja nuzzled her arm as if to say, I am here and I will protect you from harm. She whispered to the large silver wolf, “They are bad, my friend, and I fear the threat they will bring to our people. We must pray and hope for peace. If the council had sent tivas to speak with the three Crow bands, they would listen. But it is good they did not send Little Weasel and Night Walker, who seek only adventure and glory. They crave to show their cunning and courage, Maja, but in the wrong way. If war is to come, my friend, Atah will guide us through those dark suns. We will fight together as one.”

  Kionee lifted her club. A skilled weapons-maker, she had fashioned it from a willow rod while still green and wet enough to be bent and stretched over the head of a stone and attached with wet rawhide, which shrank and tightened as it dried. She wondered if she would use it as a weapon one day soon.

  She fingered a hunting lance, which was longer and thinner than a war lance for battle. Hers was a head taller than her height, whereas a war lance was
its owner’s height plus the tip. She had no doubt she could pierce a foe with the blade, but would she be compelled to take lives with it?

  Kionee’s gaze drifted over a pile of arrows she had made, some this very day and some during the long winter, as each required long labor on shafts, tips, and fletchings. She had gathered the lengths of willow before winter while the sap was down, peeled and dried them, and secured them in bundles until she made them into weapons. Most were sized to the span she required for accurate firing, and painted with her ownership markings for joint hunts. Others were longer and unmarked for trading, as twenty good arrows were worth a horse or twenty superior hides. A good bow brought two horses or forty superior hides or other trade goods.

  Of course, she mused, Little Weasel would never trade with her for weapons, though he was not as talented as she was. She wished her cousin could make weapons, hunt, and fight as she did so he would not be jealous of her superiority. I know that is why you wish me to throw away my tiva vow and join to Night Walker after the buffalo hunt. I see, his hunger growing larger. I have felt his presence in hiding when I bathe; he has seen my face and body and knows I am a woman. But I will not be a woman for Night Walker. If a man is my destiny, it is Stalk—No, Kionee, do not let him fill your thoughts.

  Nine days passed as the Hanueva men and tivas readied weapons and practiced fighting skills afoot and on horseback to prepare themselves for a conflict that most prayed would never come. The weather went back and forth between warm spring days and cool nights to chilly days and nights with light to heavy snow as Mother Nature resisted a seasonal change. Everyone noticed that the six men sent to the three Crow camps did not return or send messages of success or failure, so worry increased and training intensified.