Page 7 of Red Hawk's Woman

Still, he could not bring himself to put these questions to his grandfather. To do so would be the height of dishonor, since it would show disrespect to a man who had given Red Hawk nothing but love.

So the boy let Grandfather lead him to White Claw, the Clan’s wisest of men. After throwing back the flap of White Claw’s lodge, Red Hawk’s grandfather stepped into the tepee’s quiet interior, and Red Hawk followed.

White Claw was seated against his backrest, which was made of willow branches. He looked perceptive, yet worried. Suspended from a tripod close to hand was White Claw’s medicine bundle as well as his quiver, decorated blue and white with porcupine quills. Arrows, meticulously fashioned to be straight, filled that quiver.

A lining, painted red and yellow, skirted the entire circumference of the tepee. In the center of the lodge was the ever-present fire, though its embers at this early hour were low.

Once seated, Red Hawk covertly gazed around him, taking in those assembled here. Though no boy’s countenance showed the results of what had occurred only moments ago, it was plain that a council decision had already been made. Why was he here?

The boys from Red Hawk’s tribal band were Talks-straight and Shows-the-enemy. Both were seated near places of honor. Neither spared Red Hawk a glance.

Also present in the council was a boy, Runs-with-his-horse, from the Black Fire Band of the tribe. That one looked proud, distinguished. Not so Talks-straight or Shows-the-enemy.

At last White Claw picked up his great pipe, filling it with the sacred tobacco, a combination of not only ordinary tobacco, but also the inner bark of the red willow. He took a puff then passed the pipe to Red Hawk.

As soon as Red Hawk had smoked and delivered the pipe back to its owner, White Claw spoke. “You, Poor Orphan, have been chosen as champion for the Yellow Shawl Band.”

For the beat of a moment, Red Hawk forgot to breathe. He? Was this possible?

Though this news both shocked and excited him, as was the way of most American Indians, Red Hawk kept his emotions as carefully hidden as possible.

“Perhaps it is well that you should understand why we have chosen you. You are our last choice,” spoke White Claw. “Both Talks-straight and Shows-the-enemy were first looked to as the Yellow Shawl Band’s champions. But Talks-straight fell upon entering the lodge this morning, and it appears he has broken his arm.”

Glancing toward Talks-straight, Red Hawk noticed the grimace of frustration on the other boy’s countenance. He gazed briefly toward Talks-straight’s arm, which Talks-straight was trying to hide from view.

But White Claw wasn’t finished. “We then looked to Shows-the-enemy. But Shows-the-enemy contracted a fever early this morning and must be attended to here. Though he assures us he could still represent his band, we cannot send him on a task such as this when he is sick.”

Red Hawk said nothing. Good manners dictated he give his elder a nod, indicating he had heard and understood what had been said. This he did.

“Therefore we have no choice,” continued White Claw, “but to enlist your aid in representing your band of the tribe in this, our most desperate need. Though you do not belong to the Clan by blood, it is still the family in which you have been raised. We look to you, Poor Orphan, to do your best. It is an honorable thing we ask. But know this: There will be much danger. As in all deeds, no man, no lad, need go where he does not will it. What say you? Will you accept the challenge?”

Red Hawk opened his mouth to speak, but to his horror discovered he could not say a word. His tongue felt stuck to the roof of his mouth.

White Claw repeated, “You may refuse if you wish. It is your right.”

Still Red Hawk couldn’t speak, couldn’t coordinate his speech with his will. All he could do was sputter.

“What say you?” prompted White Claw. “Do you wish more time to consider?”

When Red Hawk’s trouble persisted, he did the only thing available to him, he nodded, using signs and gestures to communicate his acceptance. It was only when White Claw said in response, “It is well,” that Red Hawk found he could at last utter, “Honored… I would be honored.”

Grandfather smiled, but not so any other man in the council. Most of the elders looked disgruntled, perhaps a little stunned. The two boys, however—those who might have been chosen, were they well enough—appeared angry and dispirited.

White Claw had more to say to both Red Hawk and the other lad present, Runs-with-his-horse. “Remember that you will each one go out into the world and become a part of another tribe. Runs-with-his-horse, you will seek out the Crow. Poor Orphan, you will go to the Southern Pikuni, our brothers. Learn who are their enemies, study your adopted tribe well and remember the words of the Creator, ‘Show kindness, help your enemies, understand them.’ For had we as a clan done so in the past, we would not now be enslaved.”

Both Runs-with-his-horse and Red Hawk nodded.

“Remember, Poor Orphan,” continued White Claw directly, “that you are your band’s champion. You are not on an errand of revenge. Study the Pikuni people well, learn who are their enemies, show their foes mercy, give aid, but most importantly, do not engage in battle with the Thunderer, even if you are challenged.” White Claw focused on the young boy, and, as though drawn by his elder’s glance, Red Hawk gazed into the medicine man’s eyes. “I must seek your word on this, Poor Orphan.”

Once more incapable of speech, Red Hawk simply nodded.

It was enough.

“Very good,” said White Claw. “You each one have until your thirtieth birthday to lift the curse. Your people are depending on you. Know this: The curse can be broken, for there are now three bands of our people who are no longer with us, having been released out of the mist. Learn well and quickly. Do not be diverted by things of the flesh or of revenge.” He stared at Red Hawk. “If you are successful, you will be honored by your people for all time. If you fail—as many others have done before you—you will live out the rest of your life in the flesh, knowing that you failed your people in their most urgent time of need. Remember to show kindness, give mercy, help an enemy. We look to you as our hope…our only hope.”

With this said, White Claw emptied the ashes of the ceremonial pipe into a shell directly in front of him. It was a signal that the council was at an end. “That is all.”

The boys, all four of them, along with Red Hawk’s grandfather, rose and as a single body exited White Claw’s lodge.