Heart of the Storm. Lindsay McKenna

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СКАЧАТЬ “Rogan killed her daughter’s husband, Hal, as well. This is not news, of course.

      “We were all worried what he’d do with this pipe. Sell it to a collector? Try to use it himself? But why would a man want a woman’s sacred pipe, which can only be handled by one of the sisters? Men can never access that power, no matter how hard they try. We all wondered what would happen. Well, now we know what he was planning to do with it.”

      The women, who ranged in age from sixty to almost a hundred, all nodded in agreement. There were twelve of them present, representing a dozen Native American nations. Each medicine woman had been chosen, trained and appointed ambassador to this supersecret and sacred pipe society.

      Doris looked to her right, her gaze settling on a tall, thin Navajo. “Agnes Spider Woman, who is our oldest member, will speak now. Grandmother?”

      Agnes gave a slight smile of acknowledgment, her light-brown eyes watering, the lids sagging heavily at the corners. Her gaze moved slowly in a clockwise direction around the assemblage. Each medicine woman sat cross-legged on Navajo rugs that Agnes had woven by hand during her long life. Beneath the colorful rugs, the red clay was hard-packed, a reminder that Mother Earth lived with them in harmony. The rocks represented her bones, and the soil, her flesh. The only door to the hogan was open and a slight breeze entered, easing the stifling conditions. There were two small windows, one in the west and one in the south, that were open to allow a breeze. “Thank you, my sister Doris Red Turtle.”

      Like Sparrow Hawk, Agnes cradled a ceremonial pipe in her left arm, for the Navajo nation. Veins stood out dramatically beneath the coppery skin of her hands. She moved her arthritic fingers gently across the beaded deerskin pipe bag that carried it. “Greetings, my sisters. I had asked Red Turtle, who is a powerful voice among our nations, to bring you here.” Her voice was reedy but still strong for her age as she exclaimed, “May the Great Mystery bear witness to our plight and give us direction to change it.”

      Slowly lowering her birdlike arm, she said, “Rogan Fast Horse, a Cherokee métis medicine man from Nevada, plotted to steal a pipe from our Blue Heron Society. He made his intentions clear many, many years ago, but we gave his threats little attention. Our mistake was in not taking him seriously. We know there are some arrogant, power-hungry medicine men among the nations. Few, but they are there. Usually, they are blowhards, with no action behind their threats or bragging.”

      Looking down at the pipe bundle in her arm, the beading of which showed a great blue heron standing near water, Agnes shook her head. Then she gazed around the circle. “Our society was created so long ago that we have no way to know how old it really is. Doris and I figure it may have begun three thousand years ago. We are nations with oral history, not a written one. And from all I have been told, the Hokahto Society is very, very old.”

      Lifting her hand, Agnes gestured around the room. “Each of you carries a sacred ceremonial pipe from a time long ago that has come to you in the present. Each of you was specially chosen to represent your nation here, because you have a good heart and a good way of walking. Each pipe carried in this room represents Mother Earth, Father Sky, our sun and moon, in some way. Each is different. But each functions in harmony with the others to create a connection for all our relations.”

      Agnes paused to wipe the corner of her thin mouth with a white cotton handkerchief. She patted her lips with a trembling hand and tucked the handkerchief away once more. “According to tradition, only women can be members of the Blue Heron Society. Each pipe created was to be cared for and used by a woman. Only one of the sister-hood may open up the pipe bag, look upon the medicine object within, hold it and connect it to the stem for use. We are charged with working with the pipe to inspire life and harmony upon our planet for the good of all beings.”

      The breeze strengthened and the slanting sun brightened the shadowy space where they sat. Agnes welcomed the cooling breeze and silently said thank-you to Father Sky and the wind spirits. “Each of the pipes has tremendous power that has been gathered over time. That is why a pipe carrier is always chosen with the greatest of care. Each pipe is capable of positive deeds, or can be ordered by the carrier to wreak death and destruction.”

      Pulling out her handkerchief once again, Agnes dabbed at her watering eyes. “The Storm Pipe was given to the Lakota people. Not only has Rogan Fast Horse stolen it, we now know what he’s going to do with it—kill others. A month ago, I heard gossip from a young woman from the Crow nation. She said she’d heard that Rogan had vowed to use the pipe to destroy the white man and his government.” Shrugging her bony shoulders, Agnes SpiderWoman said, “It was gossip, and I don’t like tattling about others. The woman who told me was a good person with a good heart, but it was still gossip. Yet looking back, I know I should have listened and not dismissed her claims so lightly. It was the Great Mystery’s way of warning me.” Agnes’s mouth turned downward. “And I did not listen.”

      Silence hung heavy in the heated hogan. Finally, Sheila One Feather, of the Crow nation, spoke up. Her square face was deeply lined from eighty years in the mountains of Montana. “Rogan is a two-heart, Grandmother Agnes. None of us here likes gossip. We all know the danger of it. You cannot blame yourself for not listening. We’d all have done the same.”

      There was a faint murmur of agreement from the group.

      Kate Little Bird of the Iroquois nation spoke up. Her eyes flashed with fire. “Let’s face it—Rogan has stalked power all his miserable life! He’s bent on vengeance against anyone—red or white. Is that not so, my sister?”

      Sadly, Agnes agreed. “Rogan killed one of us to steal the Storm Pipe. We all felt that, since he was a man, he could not use it. But he has found a way to do so.”

      Kate scowled. “How could he use the pipe? It will only awaken and respond in the hands of a woman. I do not understand this. Do you?”

      “Yes,” Agnes said wearily. “This same young Crow woman told me that Rogan had gathered twelve women to aid him. He taught one of the twelve how to awaken the pipe and use it. With these women willingly cooperating, he was able to control the pipe for his own evil ends. I am ashamed of these women, for they are no better than Rogan. They seek power that is not theirs to use. They are all two-hearts.”

      “Power,” Kate Little Bird said, “is an aphrodisiac to those who have none. We all know that.”

      “Power is earned through walking in balance and harmony,” Doris Red Turtle stated. “It cannot be stolen, nor can shortcuts be taken to work with such power.”

      “Yet,” Agnes said, “that is exactly what has happened here. Rogan knew he couldn’t touch the Storm Pipe himself, or force it to work for him. So he’s spent the last two years seeking and finding twelve women who thirst after power like he does. Rogan assembled a team of medicine women to support his goals and vision. We all thought that the Storm Pipe would eventually resurface and we’d get it back. I didn’t dream that Rogan would devise something like this. None of us did.”

      “Do not blame yourself,” Doris advised the older woman gently. “When the pipe was stolen, we all felt it would return to us sooner or later. Ceremonial objects are taken all the time by those who seek power that is not rightfully earned, or theirs by heritage or training.”

      “Humph,” Agnes muttered. “We all thought since it was a woman’s pipe, it would be rendered impotent in Fast Horse’s hands. We underestimated him.”

      “No one has ever done this before,” Kate said. “How were we to know? Or guess?”

      Again, there was a murmur of agreement from the group. All shared in the blame.

      Blotting СКАЧАТЬ