The Changing Wind Page 5

  “My son,” he began, a dreamy look of nostalgia in his expression, “do you remember the day, there by the river, when you first watched me work flint?”

  “Of course, Uncle.” Bull Roarer smiled. “That seems long ago.”

  The old man nodded, and took a puff on his pipe.

  “Yes. I hoped you would find an interest in such work. You have.”

  “Your instruction, Uncle,” the young man began, “it has—”

  Stone Breaker waved a hand to silence him.

  “Hear me, Bull Roarer. I told you once that you would be as skillful as I.”

  “No, Uncle, I—”

  “Be still,” Stone Breaker admonished gently. “You are as skilled as I am now. Maybe better. You will gain skill, while I will lose mine.”

  “No, you are still the best,” Bull Roarer insisted.

  “My eyes are failing,” stated the old man. “You have not seen that I do not try the smaller, finer pieces that I once loved?”

  “I… I had not noticed, Uncle.”

  “Yes, it is true. I can still get by, feeling the edges on the larger things. Spear points, scrapers, but…”

  He spread his palms in frustration, then continued.

  “Well, I have many winters. I will continue to work, but I have something to give you.”

  “Give me?” Bull Roarer was puzzled.

  “Yes. I will give you my name. I will announce it at the next council.”

  Now the young man’s head whirled. He had not expected such an honor, perhaps the greatest that could be given to a young person.

  Since it was forbidden among the People to speak the name of the dead, it had become common to give away one’s name. Usually it was passed to a grandson or other close relative. There had once been a problem over this, it was said. A popular young subchief had been killed, gored by a wounded buffalo. Since he was young and had never given his name, it could not be spoken. It was an unusual name, worn by no one else, but contained common words, that, now forbidden, were lost to the language. The People had devised new words to replace the old, and in a generation, the original words were forgotten.

  This story ran through the mind of Bull Roarer as he sat dumbfounded before this respected man who had so changed his life. It made good sense, this gift of Stone Breaker’s; in all the tribe, there was no other who carried this name. This gift would prevent the loss of the words stone and breaker at the old man’s death.

  But more important, of course, was the honor. Few men of the tribe were so respected. Besides the skill that had earned the name, Stone Breaker was respected for his kindness and charity. He had always had a reputation as a teacher in the Rabbit Society, freely giving advice to the young in the use of weapons and tools. It was overwhelming to Bull Roarer that he should be the one chosen to carry on the honor of so respected a name. He swallowed twice to clear the lump in his throat before he could speak.

  “I am honored, Uncle. I will wear it with pride.”

  “And you will bring honor to it, my son,” said the old man.

  There was no public announcement until the next council, but that was not far off. With the fall hunts beginning, frequent councils were held, and it was not half a moon when herds were sighted and the hunters met to prepare strategy.

  It was then that Stone Breaker made his announcement, and young Bull Roarer stood to receive the approval of the band, it was given freely, because both Stone Breaker the Elder and the young man who now assumed the name and the prestige were quite popular and well respected. Several people made short speeches about the fine qualities of both men or complimented their workmanship. One suggested that now Stone Breaker the Younger would probably want to take a wife and establish his own lodge. Everyone laughed at the young man’s embarrassment. Crow Woman blushed becomingly, her face shining in the firelight, glowing with excitement and pride.

  The discussion quickly turned to the practical matters of the next day’s hunt. It was a time of happiness and expectation, and everyone in the band felt that times were good. The buffalo were moving, it was said, into an area where they could easily be maneuvered and trapped. White Buffalo performed the Dance of the Buffalo in his ceremonial cape, and the council began to break up.

  There would be little sleep tonight; excitement ran too high. Men would be talking and planning, checking bowstrings and the fletching on their arrows or the lashings of their spear heads if that was their preference in hunting buffalo.

  It was a time of expectation for the entire band, and there was much happiness. Everyone looked forward to the coming day.

  Everyone, that is, except one young hunter who had sat on the far periphery of the council circle. The firelight could barely push the shadows back that far, so no one noticed his glum countenance or that he slipped away early, before the council adjourned.

  Small Elk wanted to be alone. His heart was very heavy, and he could not find it in himself to appear pleased and excited over the events at the council. He had been especially hurt by the jokes about the taking of a wife by Bull Roarer, now Stone Breaker the Younger.

  9

  “Father,” said Small Elk, “I wish to go on my vision quest.”

  White Buffalo took time to think very carefully before he answered. The young man had weathered many disappointments in recent moons. His father had seen how the lack of success in the hunt had affected him. And in truth, there had seldom been such a persistent run of bad luck for anyone in the medicine man’s memory. Small Elk had not made a kill worthy of the term for two seasons. That was odd, too. On their first hunt, Small Elk and Crow had achieved such success that their prestige had been high. Then, abruptly, there was no more success. It had crossed White Buffalo’s mind that the strength of his son’s personal medicine was helped by the presence of the girl, Crow Woman. This was not uncommon. However, it was also a matter that could not be helped. One could not interfere in such things.

  He also suspected that part of his son’s problem now related to the same matter. He noticed Small Elk’s glum looks over the jokes about Stone Breaker’s probable marriage. White Buffalo was probably the only one who saw Small Elk slip away into the darkness, alone and dejected. He wished that he could bear some of the young man’s hurt.

  Now Small Elk had come with talk of a vision quest. He must be very cautious in his counsel now. This was a turning point in the young man’s life and must be handled carefully. It was unwise, of course, to enter the vision quest when one’s heart was heavy. The dark thoughts of personal disappointment might easily interfere. One’s mind and spirit must be free and open to receive the visions properly. Yet he had seen Small Elk’s anger flare over disappointments. It was unlike the boy’s basic nature, quiet and easygoing, but must be reckoned with at a time such as this.

  “Why do you wish a vision quest now?” White Buffalo asked cautiously.

  “It is time,” Small Elk answered vaguely. “I am grown now.”

  It was difficult. White Buffalo wanted to answer something like “then why not behave like it?” but knew that the matter was more complex than that. Such a remark would only drive the young man away. That would not be good, because at this time, Small Elk needed all the help and kindness possible.

  It was also difficult for White Buffalo, as holy man, to advise Small Elk in matters of the spirit. There was a certain conflict with his own feelings. Maybe, if he could maintain the purely detached approach of his office…

  “My son,” he began, “this is good, but there are things to consider.”

  He saw anger flare slightly in the eyes of his son, then come under control again.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, the season… that is probably all right. But you must be ready in your heart.”

  Small Elk said nothing, but at least he appeared to be thinking.

  “You see, it is not just the fast and the visions that are important, but also the preparation for them.”

  He paused, trying to think of a wa
y… ah, yes!

  “Remember, now,” he continued, “each spring, in the Moon of Greening, we burn the grass. This makes it come back greener, better for the buffalo. It makes the herds come back.”

  “But what has this to do with me?” Small Elk demanded.

  “It is much the same, my son. The buffalo will not return without the greening of the grass. A vision quest is not a success unless the heart is ready.”

  “But my heart is ready, Father.”

  It would not have been nearly so difficult, the medicine man thought, if this were someone else’s son. He could merely state “you are not ready,” and his judgment would be accepted.

  “Yes, your heart is ready,” he acknowledged cautiously, “but for what? No, wait… hear me out, my son. You have had bad luck in the hunt. Again. Your bowstring broke with the first shot today, I am told.”

  Small Elk nodded glumly.

  “And you feel that you must escape this season of misfortune?”

  “Yes. A vision quest…”

  White Buffalo nodded.

  “I can understand this need, Elk, but there are two needs here. One is the need to get away from the misfortune that follows you. The other is your quest. Now, what if the misfortune follows you, and your quest is spoiled?”

  He paused and saw that Small Elk was beginning to understand. No one would wish to risk his vision quest.

  “Maybe,” he suggested carefully, “you could get away somewhere first, leave the bad luck behind, and then, when that has been overcome, it would be a better quest.”

  The young man nodded thoughtfully.

  “Yes, maybe so,” he agreed. “But where?”

  “One of the other bands?” suggested White Buffalo innocently.

  This was the important moment. Small Elk must think it his own idea.

  “My mother’s people!” Small Elk proclaimed triumphantly. “The Northern band!”

  White Buffalo managed a look of surprise.

  “Yes!” he exclaimed. “It is good, Elk. Your grandmother would welcome you!”

  Now the young man was warming to the idea, showing more excitement for this than for anything since, aiee, how many moons!

  “Their band is near the Big River this season?” Small Elk asked.

  “Maybe so. But they said they will move to winter camp on the Salt River. You could meet them there, winter with them, and we will see you at the Sun Dance next summer. Then, that might be the time for your vision quest.”

  “Yes. It is good, Father!”

  His mother’s reaction was somewhat different.

  “Of course not!” Dove Woman sputtered at her husband. “Have you gone mad, to think of letting him do this?”

  “Be calm, Dove,” he said soothingly. “Look at him. This is the first interest he has shown. His spirit has been slowly dying.”

  “But how can he find them?”

  “Ask the Growers, if he must. But we know they will camp on the Salt River this winter. He has visited your parents there before.”

  “He traveled with them, after the Sun Dance! This is different. He must not travel alone.”

  White Buffalo took her hand and looked seriously into her eyes.

  “Dove,” he said, “that is the important part. He must travel alone. He needs to find himself.”

  Dove Woman shook her head.

  “It is too dangerous.”

  “I know, he is your youngest,” he said gently. “But he is grown. That is part of his trouble. He wanted to go on a vision quest. This is no more dangerous.”

  “Aiee, a vision quest!” wailed Dove Woman.

  “He can do this easily,” White Buffalo assured her. “He needs to regain his spirit. We will see him again in a few moons.”

  Reluctantly, Dove Woman finally consented. Now Small Elk became eager, restless to be off. The change in his spirit did not go unnoticed among the People. Several remarked to his parents that Small Elk appeared heavier, or seemed to be growing nicely. They replied that yes, he was preparing to winter with his grandparents in the Northern band.

  It was several days before his supplies were prepared and extra moccasins readied for the journey. By that time, everyone in the band was aware of his plan. Many of his peers stopped by to wish him a good journey, and many seemed a little envious. One even offered to accompany him, an old friend who had drifted away.

  “No, Otter, I must go alone. My father has said so.”

  “Ah, it is a medicine thing, then?”

  “Yes. A thing of the spirit. Like a vision quest, almost. But different.”

  White Buffalo, who happened to overhear, felt that he would be greatly pleased when his son actually departed. Small Elk was trying to gain too much prestige out of this.

  On the evening before his departure, Small Elk was surprised when Bull Roarer, now Stone Breaker the Younger, approached. The two stood, not speaking for a moment, both embarrassed.

  “I wanted to wish you well,” Stone Breaker mumbled.

  “And you,” agreed Small Elk, “though it seems you have already done well.”

  “Stone Breaker has been good to teach me,” the young man said modestly.

  He hesitated a moment.

  “Elk, we should not have drifted apart.”

  “That is true,” Elk agreed.

  It was difficult to remain jealous of the success of a friend who was trying to make amends. They stood, both awkwardly silent, for a little longer, and Bull Roarer-Stone Breaker finally broke the quiet.

  “May you have a good journey, Elk,” he said, extending a hand.

  Small Elk clasped the offered hand, still uncomfortable, and the other turned away. Elk watched him go with the rolling gait that now identified him. Now it seemed like a proud walk, this swing to the step of a successful young man. Elk found that he could not begrudge his former friend’s success. Their differences were like ashes in his mouth, and he left the camp to wander in the deepening dusk, alone with his confused thoughts.

  “Elk?” someone spoke from beside the dim trail.

  It was Crow Woman, standing in partial concealment behind some dogwoods.

  “I have seen you come here sometimes,” she said. “I hoped you would come tonight.”

  A mixture of emotions now flooded over him. He was angry at her. Why did she want to seek him out tonight, to confuse further his already confused thoughts? He was also angry at himself. Grow Woman stood there in the dimness of the fading twilight, her large dark eyes looking straight into his. He had never seen a woman half so beautiful. Her long body had ripened into the fullness of womanhood. The gangly frame of adolescence had now been filled out, angles replaced by soft and graceful curves. He had not been this near her for many moons. They had avoided each other, and now all the old hurt came rushing back.

  “Why?” he blurted roughly.

  “I wanted to see you.”

  “You could have done that at any time.”

  She chose to ignore the accusation.

  “I wish you a good journey.”

  Why would she do this? She had avoided him these past many moons; then, when finally he had nearly worked out a way to escape the hurt, she had gone out of her way to seek him out and hurt him again. Carefully, he held in his anger.

  “I am sorry, Elk,” she said softly. “I would not have hurt you.”

  It appeared for a moment that she would have come into his arms, but he turned away. It was partly from the darkness that he did not see the tears in the girl’s dark eyes. Partly, too, because of the tears in his own.

  10

  It was early in the Moon of Greening when the traveler stopped at the winter camp of the Northern band. He inquired as to the location of the lodge of the chief, so that he might pay his respects according to proper protocol. There he visited, exchanging small talk about the weather, the mild winter just past, and the season to come.

  He was traveling somewhat earlier than usual, the stranger said, to join the Eastern band before they broke w
inter camp. There was a girl there whom he had met at last year’s Sun Dance. He had been unable to dismiss his constant thoughts of her and with favorable weather, had left his own Red Rocks band far to the southwest to go to her.

  The old chief smiled. Ah, young romance! This young man had undertaken a dangerous journey in winter. But he had survived, and such a romantic effort would certainly impress the young woman of the Eastern band. Actually, the foolhardy journey would probably seem quite appropriate to the Eastern band. They had always had a reputation for foolish ways.

  “And where did you winter?” the chief asked.

  “I traveled some. I spent part of the Moon of Snows and the Moon of Hunger with the Southern band. Of course, I supplied my own food.”

  The chief nodded.

  “And now you travel on?”

  “Yes, my chief. I bear greetings from Broken Horn. He says they will meet you at the Sun Dance. Oh, yes… is there a young man, Small Elk, staying with your band? His parents wished me to bring him greetings. He stays here in the lodge of White Antelope?”

  “Yes, of course. He is with his grandparents. He wintered with us, you know. Is there any other news of the Southern band?”

  “No, I… yes! Their weaponsmaker is dead. Stone Breaker. He gave his name away. He was very old, I heard.”

  “Yes. A good man.”

  The traveler left the chief’s lodge to seek the lodge of Small Elk’s grandparents. There he was welcomed as a long-lost relative since he brought greetings and news from White Buffalo and Dove Woman.

  “Aiee, come inside, young man,” Fox Woman invited. “Tell us everything.”

  “Thank you, Grandmother.”

  He sat and carefully related all the details he could recall while Fox Woman prepared food.

  “That is all I remember,” he said finally. “They and their other children are well. They sent special greetings to their son.”

  He nodded across the fire to Small Elk, who had said little.