Chapter 1
Chapter
One
— MORGAN BAILLARGEON they know me. They will tell him of the deception, for they cannot lie.”
“But as long as the Long-haired Show Man does not ask them if you are who you say you are, no one need lie, not even you.”
Black Lion exhaled an extremely deep, drawn-out sigh.
Said Two Bears, “Think on it, my kola. Think on it.”
Black Lion hesitated. Inwardly, he wanted nothing to do with it.
If he left here, it would, indeed, place him at a disadvantage.
But Black Lion also knew that if Two Bears were in his place, his kola would do this for him, and more.
Was that not the very meaning of a man’s kola?
Was it not a friendship which placed honor to each other above all possessions, including one’s life, one’s vow to another?
At last, Black Lion nodded. “I have no need to think on it further. Of course I will do as you ask. You are right, I will have two years left when the show is ended, and were our places reversed, I know you would do this for me. Therefore, I will go in your place.”
Two Bears breathed out slowly, and across the room could be heard a feminine sigh of relief.
Two Bears bobbed his head. “I ask much of you, my brother. This I will admit. Know this, however: if I were not so ill, I would never presume to impinge on you, on our vow of friendship. But I promise you this: in return for what you will be doing for me, when you come back to the reservation, I will help you in your quest in any way I can.” As though the mere speaking of these words taxed him, Two Bears lay back upon his bed of soft and warm buffalo robes, pulling a white man’s trade blanket up around his neck.
“But have you considered that perhaps, what you seek may not be in this country? The white man is a cunning enemy, to be sure, and he lives in many different places. Perhaps what you hope to find is not here. Maybe this is the best chance you could ever have.”
Black Lion inclined his head. “Sece, perhaps. It could be.” Although personally, he didn’t think it was so. “Come, my friend, you need your rest. And I think your wife, Rabbit Leggings, is happy about our talk. But she is also waiting to serve you dinner.”
“Stay and partake your meal with us,” said Two Bears. “It would honor me if you would do so.”
In the not-so-long-ago past, Black Lion would have accepted the invitation without hesitation.
But not now. Food was too scarce here on the rez.
He shook his head. “I thank you for asking, but I must decline. If I am to leave with the Long-haired Show Man, I must find a spot where I might seek out the Great Spirit, for I would not go on this journey without His guidance.”
Two Bears jerked his chin to the left in a typical Lakota gesture. “Hau, yes. Go. Seek your vision as the old ones used to do before the white man came and forbade us to speak to the Creator as our fathers thought was right.”
Black Lion frowned. What his friend said was true. No longer could their people worship the Creator as they had always done. Indeed, so many Lakota traditions were now changed since the people had been forced onto these small reservations. In truth, the Lakota were almost a different people.
Black Lion said, “This is good advice. But I fear the Indian agent will never let me leave the reservation to seek this vision.”
“Then perhaps you could slip away undetected for a day or two without the Indian agent being the wiser. Certainly, our old scouts would have been able to do so. Seek out their advice.”
“Hau, hau. You give me good counsel. This I will do.”
“Waste. Good. It is good.” Two Bears lay back, inhaling an unsteady breath.
“And now I will leave you, kola. I will let you rest. I only ask this of you: once I go with this Long-haired Show Man, you will promise me that if it be in your power to do so, you will be well when I return.”
“I will give it all my best attention.” He grinned slightly.
“Then I can ask no more than this from you.”
The two men clutched arms, and, with a slight nod, Black Lion came up to his feet. Without another word, he let himself out of Two Bears’s shabby cabin.
Naked, Black Lion sat in a circle of the smoking, fragrant herbs, those of sage and sweet grass.
As the Lost Clan’s medicine man, White Claw, had directed so long ago, Black Lion had cleansed his body in the herbs’ sacred smoke.
Alert, Black Lion watched the morning sun rise into the eastern sky, and even though his spirits were low, he rejoiced in the new day set out before him.
Standing up atop a lonely butte, he raised his arms to the heavens. Lifting his voice so the Great Spirit heard it, he sang:
“Wakantanka, Great Spirit, I come to you to ask advice. What must I do to end this curse for my people?
Wakantanka, I leave this country to go with the Long-haired Show Man across the great water, for I am honor bound to defend my friend.
Wakantanka, help me. I do not know what I am doing wrong. Have I not shown my enemy mercy; have I not bestowed kindness? Why does the curse still remain?
Wakantanka, I go because I must help my friend. I only ask you to understand.
Wakantanka, I will return when the show is ended for this season, and when I come back, I promise I will not rest until I discover how to end this enchantment which binds my people.
Wakantanka, to show you how much my heart is in the right place, I offer you not only my flesh, I proffer you the best possessions I have. My robe, given to me by my Lakota grandfather, is now yours. My arrows, bestowed upon me by my father who is still imprisoned in the mist, I give to you.”
Black Lion placed the robe and the arrows on the ground before him.
Then, as he had been guided to do by his elder, White Claw, Black Lion knelt down and cut off sections of his flesh on both of his arms, offering the gift to He who stands above all others.
Returning to his stance atop the butte, there amidst the aromatic herbs, he continued:
“Wakantanka, hear my plea. If you accept these gifts, I would ask your guidance.
Wakantanka, I have said it. My prayer is done.”
Black Lion came down into a squat. Fanning the gentle smoke onto his body, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. It was then when he heard it.
A song. A beautiful yet strange song wafted to him on the wind.
It was unlike any other melody he had ever heard.
It was also sung in a language he did not understand.
The structure of its refrains was different than those he was accustomed to, and he wondered at it, for it had a strong beat, and then two small ones; then again, a strong beat, and then two small ones, over and over.
Gradually, he began to hum along with the strain, finding it pleasing, soothing.
But who was singing this melody to him? He glanced to his right, to his left, behind him, all around him. There was no bird here, no other person to be found on this butte, which itself was stuck out in the middle of the prairie. Then came the words:
“Human!”
Who was talking to him?
“Human, hear me,” said a voice. Looking in the direction from where the words came, Black Lion recognized his namesake, the mountain lion, or perhaps more correctly, lioness.
“You must seek this song, and the singer of it. Look for it in a place far from here. Seek it wherever you may go. It is a white man’s song, it is true, but its heart is Indian and will always be so.
Once you find this most sacred melody and the person who owns it, you must sing it with a brave heart, and not one word must be missing from its verse.
If you do this, you will pierce the Thunderer’s heart.
The melody will heal his anger as well as his need for revenge, and he will cease to be your enemy.
When this happens, your people will be freed from their entrapment.
I will sing the song one more time. Listen well, for when this moment comes, remember that not one word must be misplaced. ”
Black Lion nodded. “I am listening. Will you chant it more than once so that I may learn it well?”
But the lioness didn’t answer. Instead, she sang the song one more time, and Black Lion, attending to it well, memorized every word.
From high up in a cloud, the Thunderer watched the mountain lioness and this last champion. He grumbled, and the skies echoed the sound. So, thought he, this last champion means to find a song. Did the mountain lioness possess some magic unknown to him, a god?
A song? To heal his heart?
The very notion was impossible. Glancing toward the golden effigies of his four children, the Thunderer knew true rage, for, while his children were caught in stone, in image only, most of the clan now roamed free upon the earth.
“Never will my heart heal,” he exclaimed, and thunder tossed through the heavens. “Never! Only when my children are free will I ever think to forgive. So sing all you desire, you, who are the last champion. It will do you little good. In sooth, it will do you no good. None!”
He laughed, the sound of it echoing down to the mountaintop below.
Black Lion, hearing it, felt his spirits sink.