the LEGEND of She-Cat

Chapter Seventeen

They didn't know what to do with me. A woman alone, seemingly vulnerable, but who made such a bold claim that touched the deepest part of their superstitions, I saw the indecision on their faces. Finally, the leader of them took a step forward, lifting his hands as I shifted to face him.

"There is nothing for you here." He said firmly. "Come with us, and no harm will come to you."

"I will not be a slave!"

"If you refuse, I will kill you and your body will rot beneath the sun, your spirit cursed to wander lost, forever. Come, and you will be treated well."

I could see he was sincere, and it lessened my fear. Slightly lowering my knife, I glanced between them all.

"I desire to mourn the death of my man. Then I will go with you."

They didn't like it, but the warriors were still uncertain of the strength of my medicine, the one having actually touched me not looking my direction at all. Strong medicine meant power, victory over one's enemies, it meant the favor of the Great Spirit. They were not sure they wanted to challenge my claim...not yet. Again, it was the leader of the party that spoke.

"Leave with us now, and tonight you can mourn him."

It was more than I had expected, and with nothing holding me here, I nodded. Allowed to ride the mare untied, they formed a loose circle around me to make sure I did not attempt to flee. Shoulders stiff, head up, my heart was cold, empty, as we rode away from the small camp. I wanted to cry, to scream, to fight, but held myself very still, my muscles rigid as I tied down every emotion inside me, burying them deep. If this must be, it must be.

We rode swiftly, the grass whispering as we swept through it, the sky a brilliant blue that stretched in all directions. For a long while the only sound was the beat of hooves, then the leader slowed his horse, hand lifting for silent attention. It was a gesture I'd seen before and my skin tightened, mouth going dry. We were no longer alone out here.

All but one slipped off their horses, and they moved off carefully, disappearing into the tall grass. I stayed, the mare shifting beneath me, the warrior who had touched me left behind, watching closely. There was an abrupt scream then the rapid echoes of thunder, loud yells and whooping war cries. My heart squeezed, but I remained still.

"Walking Arrow has been victorious." His voice startled me and I looked at the warrior, who smiled grimly. "Many white soldiers have fallen before him."

"He does not wear the paint of war," I responded quietly. "Does he make war whenever it suits him?"

"This is the land of the People!" The man defended, irritated. "White men are not welcome here. We will drive them away, or kill them!"

I looked away, unimpressed but thinking. Sotaeo'o warriors were dangerous when roused, fearless, and cunning. Much had changed in the years I had been gone from my homeland, trouble stirring between the nations and the white man. Would my people have joined this growing unrest? Had my village survived?

Loud whoops and laughter drew my attention as the others reappeared, some speckled with blood, but all carrying stolen weapons and fresh scalps. Walking Arrow gestured at the man with me.

"Go! See the strength of your brothers! Count coup over our enemies!"

With a smile, he leaped from his horse and ran toward the scene of the massacre. While they were still celebrating, there came the sharp bark of thunder and we all stopped, silent. Then Walking Arrow ran toward the noise, the rest following. I walked the mare up the soft ridge, stopping as the scene came into view. The Indian warrior lay on his back in the grass, a red hole through his chest. The soldier who had killed him lay on his stomach in the bloody grass, a pistol in his hand, arm outstretched. The top piece of his hair was gone, leaving behind a wide strip of raw flesh. He was dead, his final act one of revenge.