Chapter 1
Chapter
One
The scent of sacred herbs, of sage and sweet grass, hung low in the air. With a steady hand, a naked young man bathed his entire body in the hallowed smoke. At the same time, he sang the good songs, his voice lifting to the heavens.
“Hi-ya, hi-ya, hi-ya, haii.
Hi-ya, hi-ya, hi-ya, haii.”
Night had fallen. In the distance, a wolf howled. Then came another wail, another and another, until the song of the wolf mixed with the rhythm of the night.
Ancient voices, long dead, and the beat of many drums rang out over the plains. A nighthawk squawked. The young man, although aware of these signs, paid them scant attention.
The howling of his spirit protector, the little wolf, could be heard over the rest. It beckoned. It was an encouraging sign.
At last, the young man was to communicate with the Creator; Grey Coyote was to have his vision.
Positioned high atop a lonely butte, Grey Coyote raised his arms to the heavens in silent invitation, his voice for the moment stilled. Then, as though the music of the evening surrounded him, he sang out,
“Wakonda, Creator, have pity on me.
What I seek is not for myself.
It is for my people.
Wakonda, I have been charged with the duty of freeing my people from the land of the everlasting shadows.
Wakonda, I am twenty-four winters in age.
And in all this time, I have not learned how to help my people.
Wakonda, Creator, have pity on me.”
Grey Coyote waited. He could not see his protector, the little wolf, but he could still hear its yipping off in the distance. Its song came closer and closer, until its noise grew loud even to Grey Coyote’s ears. But Grey Coyote did not draw away.
Rather, he reached out farther, so he might grasp hold of his protector. Perhaps he might touch something tangible, something which would show him that this time he was walking the good path, the right path. But he felt nothing.
Disappointed, Grey Coyote fell to his knees.
And then it happened, taking place so slowly at first Grey Coyote did not recognize the spirit for what it was. The little wolf’s howl had transformed from an eerie series of wails to words. They were yipping, guttural words, it was true. But to Grey Coyote, never had a sound been sweeter.
He looked up, and there on a ledge before him was his vision, his protector. There, too, was a faceless, dark-haired, white man.
“Seek out this man,” barked the little wolf.
“You will know him by his long, dark and stringy hair; you will recognize him also by his greasy, ugly appearance.
Many are the habits that this white man will do; they will repulse you.
But you must persevere, for when you have found him, you need only solve this riddle:
“Neither small nor large, nor wide, nor narrow, the white man possesses a thing that will propel you toward freedom.
Though he will think it is possessed by him and though you must possess it, and it will possess you, only when you are free from it, yet act as it, will your people be released from the mist.
“You alone must solve this, you alone must act on it, and if you do, your people go free.
Fail to settle the riddle satisfactorily, fail to act, and your people remain enslaved.
Further, if you err and do not solve this, you will live the rest of your life forever knowing you did not prove yourself worthy.
“I have spoken.”
The voice faded away, repeating these words over and over, Solve this, act on it, and your people go free, until at last the spirit itself began to evaporate.
“Ogluksa, wait!” cried out Grey Coyote. “Spirit Protector, have pity on me. I am but a simple man. And I do not understand this riddle.”
But the music had stopped. The ancient voices had stilled. Even the wolves in the distance no longer howled.
And though Grey Coyote cried out again, the spirit of the little wolf was gone. Grey Coyote was alone.