Sun is Burning at Dawn 1 page

Tiopa Ki Lakota

Tee-oh-pah kee lah-koh-tah) The Lakota Doorway

D. Jordan Redhawk

Note: A glossary of Lakota terms used and the cast of characters are listed at the end of the book.

Chapter 1

Wi Ile Anpo
(wee ee-leh ahn-poh)

Sun is Burning at Dawn

The warrior sat at the fire, quietly smoking a pipe. He had a buffalo robe wrapped about him to keep out the chill of the late winter evening. Before him was a fire that crackled and popped. He was not alone.

A woman, his woman's sister, was bustling around the fire to one side. As she finished preparing the evening meal, she divided her attention between two little girls. The youngest was three winters and the oldest six. The woman handed the eldest a clay bowl of stew. "Here. Bring this to your father."

With an eager smile and nod, she carefully took the steaming bowl and approached the warrior. "Ate?"

The man looked up from the fire. "Yes, cunksi," he said with a smile. He took the food from her. "Thank you, little one. Now go help your aunt with the baby."

Stopping only long enough to give her father a hug, the girl returned to the duties of keeping her little sister occupied.

Setting the bowl to one side, the warrior finished smoking his pipe in silent contemplation, steam from his breath mingling with the tobacco smoke.

Before him lay the winter camp of the Oglala Lakota. About thirty ti ikceyas lay around a large cleared area in a near circle. The only open space among them was on the eastern side where the entrance would face the rising sun. At the exact opposite of the communal space was a larger ti ikceya that was used as a meeting place for the elders and chiefs.

Finishing his tobacco, the warrior emptied the ashes into the fire so that the spirits could have the sacred smoke. His woman's sister was feeding the baby and his older daughter was seated nearby, watching everything with large brown eyes as she ate her own meal.

Behind the warrior was his woman's ti ikceya. In the flickering firelight, designs could be seen painted on the buffalo hide. The doorway was closed, a separate leather skin covering it. But it didn't close off the noises coming from within. A man's voice, the medicine man, was singing. Another's, the shaman, was chanting a spell of protection. Beneath them could be heard the sounds of a woman moaning in pain.

The warrior ate his meal quietly. Around the clearing, other families were gathered around their own lodges, all minding their own business but also out and about in silent support of him. The elders were gathered at the main fire by the council ti ikceya, smoking their pipes and discussing where to set up the summer camp in the following months.

In the lodge behind him, a sudden piercing scream rent the air. The camp seemed to freeze, all appearing to hold their collective breath in trepidation. And then a thin wail from an indignant newborn christened the night sky and the camp returned to its activities in relief. A few more moments passed as the men inside finished their prayers and incantations. The babe's voice eventually died down.

When the shaman and medicine man stepped out of the ti ikceya, the woman by the fire gathered up the children and herded them both inside. This seemed to break the tableau around the camp. As the two men sat at the warrior's fire, the women from the other lodges began trailing closer, intent on offering assistance to the new mother.

The three men sat in silence for a few moments. The shaman pulled out a bundle of fur and carefully unwrapped a pipe. It was made of an antelope antler and intricately carved and decorated. The other men watched as he carefully loaded the bowl with tobacco. He crouched forward and, with nimble fingers, used two twigs to lift a burning ember, lighting the pipe.

The glow from the fire lit his fairly unlined face. His name was Inyan Ceye and he was young to be a shaman. Only thirty-four winters. But his father had taught him since he was a boy and, with the elder's death this past winter from the coughing sickness, the younger had taken over his father's duties in the camp.

He spoke a prayer as he offered the smoke to the four directions. And then he took a puff of the pipe, using his free hand to guide the smoke towards his head and behind. Smoke was sacred and of the spirit. Its protective powers were legendary.

The shaman handed the pipe, stem first, to the warrior who repeated the process of smoking and guiding the cloud closer. And it was passed to the medicine man who did the same. The men sat in silence, finishing this ritual. When the bowl held nothing but ashes, the shaman tapped it into the fire, releasing the last of it for the great spirits that ruled their world.

The warrior waited patiently, although his worries were growing by leaps and bounds the longer the wise men remained silent. He breathed a faint sigh of relief when the medicine man cleared his throat in preparation of speaking.

"It was a difficult birth," the old man observed as he stared into the fire. "Your woman will not have any more children."

The warrior nodded. "And the child?"

"Healthy and strong," the elder informed him. "Did you hear her cry out?"

A girl. "Yes, I did." The warrior stared into the flames, as well. Another girl. And no sons.

Sensing the warrior's sinking thoughts, the shaman spoke up. "I received a vision as she was placed into my hands, Wanbli Zi," he intoned, leaning forward and peering intently at the warrior.

The warrior's dark eyes were dragged towards the shaman's and snared. He could feel a sense of waiting fill him.

"When she cried out, I could hear the scream of the igmu in her voice. In her eyes was the fire of a warrior. She will follow her father in his path."

Wanbli Zi frowned, eyes narrowing in disbelief. "But.... But it is a girl child. My cunksi."

The shaman leaned back and broke the gaze. He carefully rewrapped the pipe in his hands. "Her destiny does not lie in women's work." he insisted softly.

The warrior turned to look in puzzlement at the medicine man.

The elder shrugged. "It has been done before, though not for many, many seasons. A woman being raised as warrior and hunter for her family. She could do this thing."

"Yes," the shaman agreed, putting the now bundled pipe back into its leather pouch. "And you will have a cinksi to care for you - to hunt when you can no longer, to protect you from war, to support you in you elder seasons."

The warrior sat in silence, contemplating this odd turn of events. The pair of wise men remained quiet, as well, giving him room to think. If what the shaman says is a true vision.... No man will be able to tame her. No man will want her.

The shaman and medicine man sat and waited. Women and children bustled quietly past the trio to the ti ikceya and away with their offers of help and gifts and food.

After quite some time, Wanbli Zi rose to his feet and strode towards the now busy opening of his woman's lodge. He scattered several women and children like quail flushed from high grass. He ducked inside and was back out in seconds, a lively bundle squawking at the rude interruption. He returned to the fire and settled back down. Behind him, his woman's sister and mother peered out of the ti ikceya.

With surprising gentleness, the warrior unwrapped the bundle, revealing a newborn girl with thick black hair and ruddy, wrinkled skin. Her tiny hands were in fists and she flailed them around, shivering in the cold air. Wanbli Zi held a finger out and one fist swatted it before grasping with a strong grip. The digit was brought promptly to the hungry mouth and he could feel tiny gums against the finger pad. Her cries silence, he leaned closer.

Dark eyes stared back up at him.

Coming to a decision, he smiled. He rose and looked to the two men at his fire. Holding the baby high overhead, her cries vied with his voice as he made an announcement to the camp. "This is Cinksi, my son of the heart. She will grow strong. She will learn the arts of war and how to speak with the spirits. She will become a fierce hunter and provide for her family."

His voice carried throughout the camp. Once he finished, he sat back down and bundled his daughter against the chill. There was a hubbub of voices as the women and older children discussed the implications of his pronouncement. The younger warriors quietly scoffed, knowing that no woman would ever best them. And the elders remained silent, smoking and contemplating this turn of events.

Cinksi fought her natural childish instincts to fidget. It wasn't that what her father was doing wasn't interesting. It was the pack of boys that kept distracting her as they rampaged past, whooping and brandishing small weapons at each other.

"Watch closely," Wanbli Zi instructed, drawing his daughter's eyes back to the task at hand. "This is the knot we use." And he slowly demonstrated as he tied the wet rawhide strip on the spear haft. Once complete, he turned it to study the handiwork. "When the rawhide dries, it will tighten and the spearhead will not fall out." He used his other hand to gesture the girl closer.

She scooted forward on the buffalo robe and peered at the spear. With careful hands, she tried to wiggle the head but it held fast. She looked at her father, impressed. "It is already so strong, Ate.... Even wakan tanka couldn't move it when the rawhide dries!"

The warrior chuckled. "If wakan tanka were to want this spear in pieces, it would be so, child," he murmured.

The crowd of rowdy boys ran past and Cinksi's eyes were again torn away from the spear.

With an understanding smile, Wanbli Zi put the spear to one side. From beneath another robe, he pulled a second spear out, this one a miniature version of his own. The tip was made of blunted antler. "Cinksi."

The girl turned back to her father. When she saw what he held, her eyes widened and a hopeful smile creased her face.

"For you, Cinksi," the warrior handed the smaller weapon to the girl. "Now, go. Show the hoksila that you are far better than any of them."

Cinksi needed no further prodding. She took the spear, gave her father a huge hug and raced away to catch up with the boys.

Wanbli Zi watched his daughter go, clad only in moccasins and breechclout. What the shaman had said six winters ago had become true. The warrior simply could not envision his youngest child as a proper girl. Her aptitude and interests lay with her father's in all ways and had done so from the beginning.

The warrior looked up to the sky and sent a silent prayer of thanks to the spirits before cleaning up the detritus of his project.

The boys were huddled behind the furthest tent on the north side of camp. There were seven of them, ranging in age from six to nine winters, dressed in breechclouts and moccasins. They heatedly debated something among themselves, their voices trailing off as the newcomer's presence was noticed.

Cinksi had slowed to a walk when she got close to them. Her heart beat loudly in her chest as seven pairs of eyes stared at her. The girl could hear her father's voice in her ear. "A true warrior feels fear yet moves through it, becoming brave."

"Be brave," she murmured to herself. The girl threw her shoulders back and raised her chin to stare haughtily back as she marched forward. Stopping before the biggest boy, she glared up at him and set the butt of her new spear on the ground by her foot. A small puff of dust arose from it and settled back down.

The taller boy examined her much like she was a particularly fat bug underneath a rock. "Who are you?" he demanded, knowing the answer. No one was a stranger in the camp.

"I am Cinksi. My father is Wanbli Zi," was the regal reply.

The boy looked her up and down. With a playful tug at her breechclout, he snickered, "I heard you were a wicincala."

The other boys chuckled as well, but the smaller girl in their midst refused to be daunted. She didn't flinch away from the tugging on her clothing. "I am."

The boy immediately lost interest in her. "Go home, little wicincala. We don't play with dolls here." His dark eyes fell on the spear she held. "And you don't play with weapons." He plucked it from her hands.

Cinksi was stunned. She watched the boy heft the spear her father had given her, checking its weight and balance as he turned away. The other boys in the group were laughing, preparing to follow. It was utterly inconceivable that the boy would do such a thing, let along think he could get away with it. The world seemed to slow down as the adrenaline of anger sparked the fire the shaman had seen so many winters ago.

The spear was a good one, the weight comfortable in his hands. Wanbli Zi made it well, the boy conceded as he prepared to trot away. And then he was on the ground, gasping for breath as an angry child pounced on him. He was more surprised than hurt but the girl had driven the air from his lungs and he couldn't collect himself enough to respond. Two of the other boys in his pack pulled the small girl off him and he clambered to his feet.

Cinksi continued to struggle with her captors, growling wildly. The ones holding her, were now fearful for themselves and weren't about to let her go. The other boys stood back in awe as they watched the altercation. The eldest rose to his feet and dusted himself off.

He crouched down in front of her, studying her curiously. "You are crazy, wicincala," he said. "You should not fight me. I am older and stronger and bigger."

The girl had lessened her struggles a bit and glared back at him. "I will still fight you! Until the day I die!"

"But, you will lose, Cinksi."

"I do not care! Someday I will be bigger and stronger and then I will win."

The boy picked up the spear that had fallen to the ground during the scuffle. He looked it over carefully, dusting it off a bit and adjusting a feather that was adorning it. "All this for a spear?"

The girl's teeth could almost be heard grinding. "My father gave me that spear as a gift. It would dishonor him and myself to let it be stolen from me." She left unspoken the thought of who else would be dishonored.

She has much courage for being a wicincala. Looking up to the boys holding her arms, the eldest said, "Let her go."

Cinksi nearly stumbled as she was suddenly released. She caught herself and pulled her small frame upright in a proud stance. "I will fight you now."

The boy silently handed her the spear instead.

Frowning, the girl took the spear back into her possession. Her dark eyes narrowed as she studied her tormentor.

"My name is Nupa Olowan. My father is Wi Sape. I am very sorry for the dishonor I have shown you."

The rest of the boys stared at him as if he'd suddenly grown two heads.

The girl thought about it for a few seconds before appearing mollified. "I will still fight you," she offered in a calmer voice.

Nupa smiled at her. "If you wish. Can you and I have a truce? Until you get older and stronger?" He refrained from laughing at her serious demeanor as she considered his request.

Finally, the girl nodded. "Yes. You and I can have a truce until then."

"Good!" He straightened and looked at the other boys. "Cinksi stays with us. I never would have thought I would see the day when a wicincala would fight me for a weapon!" He inhaled deeply of the summer air. "Let's go hunting!" he yelled before turning and running off.

As expected, the boys hared off after him, accepting his decision. Cinksi stood in place for a second. Just a second. That was much easier than I thought it would be. And then she raced after them, adding her own voice to their whooping and calling.

After two moons in the company of the boys, Cinksi was accepted as a well respected member. She and the oldest boy, Nupa, had become fast friends. If one did not think of some sort of mischief to get into, the other did. And, despite her age and size, Cinksi was becoming very adept at beating the boys on all levels of physical prowess.

Currently, the eight of them were playing near the camp in the tall grass. It was towards the end of summer and their naturally dark skin had grown a deeper shade of brown under the sun's ministrations. Less than a mile away a cloud of dust rose from where the hunting party was attacking a herd of buffalo in the last communal hunt of the season. The herd had been sighted three days ago and the entire camp had traveled to this spot.

In response to all the excitement over the last few days, the pack of children had begun their own hunting party, preparing to swoop down on the buffalo - a mangy bitch and her three puppies. They had split into two groups to outflank their quarry, Nupa leading one and Cinksi the other.

A drop of sweat trickled down the girl's intense face, but she didn't wipe it away. Her party had closed in on the left flank and she didn't want to move and give her position away to the dogs. It had taken the better part of the morning to gain this spot, a small hillock with a dip in the center that kept the small family beneath her hidden from general view. The inexperienced hunters had flushed the mother and her pups twice already. One more time and Cinksi was going to forget about the elusive bitch and return to her mother's ti ikceya for something to eat.

On the other side of the dip, she could see a spear head slowly raise from the ground. It waved gently side to side, two times. In response, the small girl used hand signals to her party, preparing them for the attack. And then she heard Nupa's war whoop and the eight of them surged forward, hollering at the top of their lungs as they 'hunted' the dogs.

The puppies scattered in clumsy surprise, yelping in fright at the sudden cacophony about them. The boys and Cinksi pretended to thrust spears into them as the trio scampered away. Their mother, a mean spirited animal by most of the camp's definition, got hold of one boy's spear and a tug of war ensued. Eventually, the remainder of the hunting party had forgotten the pups, laughing at the antics of the boy with the spear as the dog growled and gnawed her way on the haft.

Nupa finally aimed a kick at her, to distract her from her chewing, and she pulled away to snap at his moccasin before trotting back towards her offspring. Once she was sure that all her pups were present and unharmed, she urged them away from the gaggle of attackers, keeping a watchful eye.

Cinksi threw herself down onto the grass, peering up at the deep blue sky. Most of the other boys followed suit. The only one remaining on his feet was the boy who was studying the damage to his weapon.

One boy pulled a waterskin from where it hung across his shoulder and took a long drink before passing it along. "I wonder how many buffalo my father took down?" he idled.

"Your father is a good hunter," another answered. "But my father and brother will kill more than him."

Nupa had his turn at the waterskin before handing it to Cinksi. "I had a dream last night. A vision."

That information garnered the attention of the group, several sitting up to peer at the oldest boy closely.

"What did you see in your vision?" Cinksi asked, intrigued.

"My father, Sape, killed two bulls. Your father," and he nodded at the girl beside him, "killed a bull and a cow." And then he went around the circle and pointed to each of the boys, informing them how many kills their fathers and brothers had made.

One boy looked suspicious. "Are you sure it was a vision, Nupa?"

Indignant, the older boy puffed his chest out. "Want to bet on the outcome of the hunt?" When there were no immediate takers, he said, "Unless you believe my vision was a true one."

"I bet my spear that you are wrong," the smallest boy said with a stern expression.

This seemed to be the catalyst and each child began making bets of their personal items and toys. Those who believed in Nupa's vision put up their items to back his. The spear that Cinksi's father had made her two moons ago was bet in support of her friend.

There was the sound of a horse and Nupa rose to his feet, he being the tallest to see over the small hollow and tall grass they were lying in. "There's a rider! The hunt must be finished!" He looked down to the pack, excitement in his dark eyes. "Let's go see if I am right!"

The eight of them stood and trotted towards the camp that was now humming with industriousness.

Once word of the hunt being finished reached the camp, the women and older girls gathered their knives and other accoutrements. All members of the camp proceeded to the killing fields with an excited buzz. They soon began picking over the corpses of the huge animals that had been slain by their warrior husbands and sons and brothers, identifying each by markings on the arrows and spears that were used to kill them.

The boys all gathered with their older male family members, as the excited tales of the hunt began to be discussed. Soon, as the women and girls worked in the field skinning the great beasts, the men were sitting at the council fire, smoking pipes and filling the boys' ears with stories.

Cinksi hung on her father's every word as he described waiting on the ridge above the tiny valley. She could almost feel the dry wind as her father received the signal to attack and swooped down on his pony to harry the herd.

The buffalo had been startled, initially milling around in surprise at the sudden danger before finally settling on a course. They had stampeded and the sounds of their hooves on the hard packed earth were like the thunder in a stormy sky. Her father had pulled his horse near a well grown bull and had let his arrow fly. The buffalo had stumbled and fell to its death as he continued on to his next likely target. The second was a pregnant cow that hadn't die immediately. Her father had stopped his chase and put the cow out of her misery, a dangerous task as the wounded animal thrashed in terror and pain. By the time that was finished, the hunt had been completed, the remainder of the herd stampeding off.

As the stories trickled through, some of the older girls began arriving with the raw livers of their kills. Cinksi's eldest sister trotted up with a breathless smile and handed three of the livers wrapped in a skin to her father with an exuberant smile.

Wanbli Zi took his delicacy, thanking his daughter. He settled the bundle on the robe he was seated on and pulled a knife of obsidian form the sheath hanging around his neck. With great care, he sliced the two larger livers into chunks and passed them to others around the fire even as they did the same with their own prizes. The liver of the animals were strong in spirit and endowed the Lakota hunters with strength and courage. In this way, all the men of the camp could partake of the spirit, even the elder council members who did not participate in the hunt.

The smallest liver, that from the fetus held within the cow Wanbli Zi had slain, was held up in front of Cinksi. The warrior looked down upon his youngest daughter with grave intent. "This is the liver of the unborn tatanka whose mother was killed by my hand. Tonight, we will all feast on it after it has been boiled."

Cinksi's eyes were full of love and adoration as she listened avidly.

"Today, however, I give this liver to you, my cinksi of the heart, so that you may grow strong and brave." And the warrior handed the small organ to his daughter.

The girl's dark eyes widened in surprise. "Thank you, Ate," she murmured with delight in her voice. She received the meat and bit into it, savoring the saltiness of the fresh blood, the tenderness of the organ's texture. Cinksi could almost feel the surge of energy from the unborn buffalo's spirit fill her as she finished her treat. And then another warrior was speaking, telling his tale of the hunt and all eyes were on him.

And so the late morning went. After the women had finished their duties of skinning the animals and slicing up the meat, everyone in the camp returned to where the carcasses were laid out and helped transport them back to the camp. By the early afternoon, the hides had been staked out and meat was cut into strips to dry in the sun. The atmosphere was one of happiness and excitement, as the camp prepared to feast that evening.

There was a creek nearby that the warriors cleaned themselves in while the shaman, Inyan Ceye, was off seeking a vision. Cinksi ran off after the pack of boys as they scampered off to reenact the hunt as they had heard it. The women and girls had already cleaned themselves of the butchering and were beginning to roast meat or tan the hides of the buffalo.

"Nupa!" the girl called. "You were right! My father did kill a bull and a cow!"

This brought the attention of the other boys. They all considered what their fathers and brothers had told them of the hunt, comparing it to what Nupa had seen in his vision the night before. Eerily, the eldest boy was correct in all of his accounts.

"You should be a shaman," a boy said, his dark eyes wide. The others agreed with him.

Nupa shook his head in scorn. "No. I do not wish to be a shaman. It was just one dream. Nothing more."

"Maybe we should start our own society from your vision," Cinksi suggested.

Around her, the boys gave their heartfelt approval to the idea.

"We could create a ritual and a song," one added.

Another boy spoke up, fingering the feathers on his spear, "And a special dance."

As the pack bowed their heads together, ideas filling the air around them, a thunder could be heard in the distance. It took a few moments for any of them to notice, until Nupa suddenly sat upright and said, "Wait! Listen!"

The thunder grew louder and the reverberations in the ground under their behinds signaled something moving closer. Most of the pack stood and peered around, searching for the source.

It was still light out, the end of summer allowing for the long daylight yet. The warriors of the camp had noticed the approaching riders, as well, and were up and ready for whatever came their way.

In the distance, a group could be seen approaching on their ponies. As they came closer, their appearance became one of the Lakota band under the chief, Zintkala T'e Zito. They came from the south, but circled around the established camp until they reached the eastern entrance. There they rode into the cleared area, a group of seven warriors, none of them looking particularly happy.

As the party had entered through the proper entrance of the camp and the two bands were not at war, most of the warriors relaxed a bit. But their weapons were still kept close at hand. The pack of younger boys and Cinksi came pelting back into the clearing to watch the proceedings.

The obvious leader of the party glared down from his pony.

Their own chief, Wagmiza Wagna, approached with a welcoming smile on his face. "Please! Come to our feast this night! The great wakan tanka has blessed this camp with great bounty and we would enjoy it with the brave warriors of Zintkala T'e Zito!"

"Hoh!" the new arrival spat. "Your people have chased away the tatanka that we were preparing to hunt. We will not eat the meat offered from thieves!" His pony pranced around in response to the rider's agitation.

Wagmiza Wagna sobered at the insult, his face becoming stone. He cast warning looks at the younger warriors of his camp who bristled in response. "No man owns tatanka. The meat cannot have been stolen from you and yours. Had we known you were in the area, we would have offered to hunt with you."

"That is not acceptable! We will return to our people and seek a vision of war." And with that pronouncement, the leader whirled his pony around and raced out of the camp, his party of warriors following, whooping and hollering.

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 899