Chapter 19 #3
There was a long pause of silence. Bailee waited. Then Leona spoke, her tone clear and unwavering. “You speak not with the voice of a medicine woman…but with the voice of one who seeks, and that has its own kind of power.”
Elder Red Elk murmured, “Then let her carry them.”
Cheyenne River Reservation, Lakota Territory, South Dakota
The road curved wide around a sun-bleached ridge, and there it was, just off the shoulder, planted in rusted earth.
NOW ENTERING CHEYENNE RIVER RESERVATION – LAKOTA TERRITORY
She eased off the gas. Her fingers tightened on the wheel. The weight of what she carried hit her all over again. The land felt different under her feet.
She hadn’t traveled this road in years, but the wind still moved through the cottonwoods the same way, and the gravel still crunched like it remembered her name.
This ceremony of returning the spirits of their fallen daughters would take place at the central fire, its flames holding profound spiritual and cultural significance.
Wak?á? T?á?ka Fire or the Sacred Fire was a symbol of unity, connection, and the ongoing presence of the Great Spirit in her community.
It was a tribal gathering ground used for Wacipi powwows, naming ceremonies, seasonal gatherings, and a protected and consecrated space where Bailee was to receive her spiritual calling, Wí?ya? Wakhá?, Medicine Woman.
It sat in a clearing just west of the river bend, nestled in a grove of old cottonwoods where the grass always seemed greener, even in winter.
Elders called it the breathing place, where the ancestors came closest to the living, where songs meant more, and silence carried weight.
As a girl, Bailee had come here for solstice gatherings and naming days. But tonight, she was here to bring the lost daughters home.
The fire crackled beneath a sky blanketed in stars.
Bailee stood in the circle of families and elders, a medicine cloth wrapped around her shoulders. The carved cedar boxes lay before her. Each one wrapped in ribbon and prayer ties.
Her grandmother sat among the watchers, silent but steady. Leona stood beside her, drum in hand, humming low under her breath.
Bailee stepped forward. One by one, she called their names.
“Chenoa Ironheart. Waniya Two Elk. Sahoni Red Feather. Taryn Thunderhawk.”
She handed the boxes to the families, mothers, sisters, children, and lastly to her Aunt Marla, her eyes full of both sorrow and gratitude, and each time, she knelt. Each time, the family wept and thanked her. Each time, the wind picked up just slightly, like breath drawn in from another world.
Afterward, her grandmother approached, her weathered face warm and welcoming. “My granddaughter has come home. We have been waiting for you to join us, return to us. I can see by the weight that has been lifted from your shoulders that you have found not only your peace, but your path.”
Bailee burst into tears, wrapped her arms around her grandmother, and they held each other. “I’m sor—”
“There is no need for forgiveness. The ancestors pushed you in the direction you were meant to go. It has been your journey to complete, and now that you have, you’re home.”
“I heard your voice calling me,” she whispered. “It grounded me, saved my life out there in the wilds of the world. I love you.”
“I will always be in the wind, my child.” Then she set her palm over Bailee’s heart. “Here…always here. I love you. We will talk once you’re done.”
She stayed at the fire long after everyone had left.
Only the embers remained. Her arms were wrapped tight around her.
Leona approached, offered a single word. “Stay.”
“Thank you for the invitation, Wí?ya? Wakhá?.”
Leona pulled a small pouch out of her belt, set it over Bailee’s head. It touched her chest with a snap of power, and she gasped. “You’re accepting, not your Thunderhawk legacy, but your legacy, seeker…Wi?hóza Wak?á?.” Spiritual Seeker.
Leona left, but her presence remained in Bailee’s skin, her hair, and in her chest. She knelt, the flames of the fire bathing her in heat and comfort.
She closed her eyes as she drew the scent of the smoke deep inside her, cedar, woody, earthy, evoking a sense of grounding and strength, reminding her of ancient trees that have stood as silent witnesses to her people’s history.
The pungent herb sage’s cleansing scent purified the air, carrying away negative energies and leaving a sense of clarity and renewal, and sweetgrass, the grassy fragrance soothed and uplifted her, symbolizing the sweetness of life and the blessings of the Great Spirit
As the smoke swirled around her, a deep sense of peace and connection surged through her, the essence of her ancestors present and guiding her.
She stared into the flames, and colors shifted and flickered, creating a hypnotic draw.
Its glow cast a warm, golden light on her face with soft, ethereal radiance.
The rising smoke was a bridge between the physical and spiritual realms. As it ascended, it carried her prayers and intentions to the sky, where they were heard and honored by the Great Spirit, residing and living in each cell, molecule, dream, and hope.
The flickering flames were a living tapestry, each flicker and spark a whisper from the spirits.
The glowing embers were like stars fallen to earth, each one a tiny universe of possibility and potential
They massed before her and began to spiral. Slowly at first, then faster, until the sky itself became a wheel of light. In the center, a woman stepped forward. Taryn. Her hair loose. Her eyes alight. Her face full of strength and fire. She didn’t speak. She just nodded.
Behind her, the sky stretched into a long, narrow road, paved with stars. On that road stood Ayla. She turned, her hand reached out to Taryn, and their fingers touched. Taryn smiled, drifting away into smoke and starlight as Ayla turned again, and her feet touched the stars and she began to glow.
Then he was there, shifting from man to bear and back again, savage, wild beautiful, his growl flowed into language and meaning and love, a voice that was steeped in silence and reached to the heavens, stars and moonlight in his fur and on his skin.
He reached out his hand, and her heart answered as her whole spirit reached back for him.
Then a voice…many voices, woven into one breath, whispered, We waited for you. Walk now.
Bailee gasped, and the fire flared behind her closed lids, a mesmerizing dance of light and shadow.
She opened her eyes to find the embers glowing hot and full, a wind rising through the cottonwoods, and her heart beating with a rhythm older than her bones.
“I answer your call with conviction and purpose, and I choose a path that is rocky, treacherous and dark. I’ll answer with a full heart and a devoted spirit to you, to the land, to my people.
I won’t fail them, I won’t fail you, and I won’t fail myself.
Thank you for this gift. Thank you for him, Dakota Locklear.
” She rose, clutched the bag around her neck and left the flames burning behind and deep inside her.
The morning after the fire, Bailee stood at the kitchen sink, cradling a warm mug in her hands, the silence still full of embers.
A knock came at the door.
Ayla stepped in like she’d always belonged there, eyes clear, braid loose over her shoulder, purpose radiating from every step. Her visit to Taryn’s family had shifted something in her, refined her spirit into steel and grace.
They didn’t need words to greet each other.
Ayla walked over and touched Bailee’s arm. “You’re coming back to Pine Ridge with me.”
Bailee blinked, something softening in her chest. “I think that’s a perfect idea.”
She reached for a small carved box on the counter, her hands trembling as she turned and pressed it into Ayla’s palms. “We found this when we found Taryn’s bones,” she whispered. “I wanted to return it to you…with something of her.”
Ayla’s breath hitched. “What did you do?”
“Open the box.”
Her fingers shook as she set it on the kitchen table. The latch gave with a soft click. When she lifted the lid, her breath left her in a single, sharp sound.
Nestled inside lay the horse her grandfather had carved for her so many years ago. But threaded on the same smooth leather cord was something new, something sacred. A small hawk carved in Taryn’s style, fierce and proud, wings flared as if ready to take flight.
Ayla’s soft cry broke the quiet. She turned and threw herself into Bailee’s arms, sobbing into her shoulder. “You gave me her to take with me,” she wept. “Fierce like a hawk. Our Taryn.”
They held each other for a long, trembling moment, two women bound by loss, love, and survival.
When Ayla could breathe again, Bailee gently lifted the necklace from the box and draped it around her throat, her own tears slipping free. The leather settled against Ayla’s skin like a claim. Like a blessing.
“Thank you,” Ayla whispered, voice raw as she touched both symbols she loved.
Bailee wiped her cheeks, nodding. “I’m ready.”
A slow, sly smile curved Ayla’s mouth. “Good. Because he’s waiting. Not quite patiently. He’s turning into a big ol’ grizzly bear.”
Bailee let out a quiet breath, heart pounding with certainty. It was time to take a personal path, and the beginning of that way waited for her, growly and hers.
She turned, walked back into her room, and opened the cedar chest at the foot of her bed.
Inside, the star quilt waited, soft and warm with memory. She folded it gently, pressed it to her heart, then grabbed her suitcase. When she stepped out into the morning sun, she didn’t look back. She didn’t need to. Her grandmother knew she’d be home again.