terrorist tactics and death to make a point.'
His eyes narrowed, and his teeth clenched as his temper rose again. 'That makes you a traitor, in my book-'
She cut him off, this time using the Power to choke the words in his throat. His mouth worked, without anything coming out. He was, however, so angry that he hardly seemed to notice.
Her own temper had reached the snapping point. 'Just who the hell am I being a traitor to, David Spotted Horse?' she snarled. She couldn't help but think, perhaps with some conceit, that her temper was the trained warhorse-and his the wild mustang. 'Why don't you go take a quick trip over to the morgue before you start on me? So far there are four people dead. Go look at what's left of the damn bodies, if you have so much courage! I did! A fair share of those dead bodies are our people, and red or white, their blood demands retribution!'
He continued to fight her control of him. She released her hold on his words before he really did choke. He spluttered for a few minutes before coming out with something coherent.
'Your problem is that you've forgotten that you're Indian-'
She choked him down again, reined in her temper to a walk, and gave him a Mooncrow Look from half-lidded eyes. 'Oh, no. I haven't forgotten. But your problem, David Spotted Horse, is that you have forgotten the words of the greatest spiritual leaders of all our nations. You have forgotten that we are all human. You are Cherokee first, then Indian, then human.' She finally let her temper show, just a little. It was enough to make him back up an involuntary step. 'When you get your goddamn priorities straight, and figure out that it should be the other way around, you can talk to me. Until then'-she gathered her power, and sensed Mooncrow following her lead- 'get out of my house.'
She pointed, and Grandfather mirrored her, both of them using their power to send David away. David tried to fight them; his muscles tensed, and his face writhed as he tried to stand where he was and continue the argument. But it was no use, not against the combined force of Jennifer's anger and Mooncrow's sheer ability. He found himself walking out of the door, down the steps, and to his car at the edge of their property.
As a final touch, Grandfather made the door slam shut behind him.
She stayed where she was, listening for the sounds of his car starting up and pulling away. When they finally came, she let her temper and her power go, taking deep breaths to help her release her anger, letting it all run away into the ground.
Then she yelped in outrage, as Mooncrow pinched her rear. She pivoted, to see him several steps away, too far away to have touched her-
-physically, the old goat-
-with his arms folded, grinning like a coyote. 'About that Blanket Ritual,' he prompted, puckishly.
'When I can take you on a genuine Osage Snipe Hunt,' she snorted; then he laughed, and she headed back to her room to finish cooling off.
For the next hour or so she sat quietly in the middle of her room, relaxing every muscle and nerve, trying to get rid of that incredible buildup of tension. There was more there than she had guessed. Was David making her that angry? Or was it something deeper than that?
And along with the anger, she was having to deal with a very sexual electricity, a force that had sprang up between them even while she was facing him down as if he were an enemy. Which might just be the reason why Grandfather had made that jab.
Odd. When I was really small, Grandfather was very open about everything. Never avoided any subject. Then when I hit puberty and I was feeling touchy and shaky about anything sexual, he kept things very low-key, and very clinical, and never brought it up unless I did. He never said anything about David or Saul or even Ridge, and I thought for sure he'd have a few choice comments about Ridge! But now, especially lately, it's like living with a New York street crew! He's flinging innuendoes at me all the time! Why? Is it because I can handle it now? Or is he trying to tell me something?
Like maybe I could use a good, therapeutic-
She shook her head, and bit her lip. No, it can't be that simple.
Mooncrow had not said or done anything 'simple' for the past four or five years. Whatever he was trying to tell her, it must be something else entirely.
She shook her head, loosening her neck muscles. Maybe he's trying to tell me I should become a nun, she thought wryly. Shoot, I might as well, for all the action I've had lately. The safest sex there is-none.
Now she was feeling sorry for herself. Any more, and she'd start playing Morrissey records.
Sauna, then shower. Just sauna, simple steaming out of nerves and anger, no sweatlodge stuff. Then I'll see if I can't get some direction in dreams.
The sauna made her relax in spite of her tension, and the shower, turned to 'massage' setting, pounded out every muscle in her neck, shoulders, and back. She concentrated on making everything that was bothering her wash out with the water and run down the drain, in one of the oldest cleansing rituals there was. Her people had always been ones for cleansing by water, both spiritually and physically; that was one reason why they always tried to camp beside running water. Even in the dead of winter, Osages would bathe.
Breaking the ice to take a bath. Glad I'm not living back then. I'd never survive a winter.
The missionaries had been appalled. They had been certain that so much bathing was immoral.
She came out of the steamy bathroom to find that Mooncrow had anticipated her needs, and had left a hot cup of-well, 'tea' wasn't exactly the right word for what was on her bureau. It was black, so dark it looked like strong coffee; redolent with two or three dozen different herbs and plants, it was without a doubt exactly what she would need for a minor vision-quest among her dreams.
She lifted the cup in an ironic salute to the electronic beeping in the living room, and downed it in as few swallows as she could manage.
As expected, it was absolutely vile. With no honey in it to cover the taste. Grandfather had never believed in disguising bitterness, either in Medicine or in truth.
Which is why we are so much alike. And probably why we get on each others' nerves.
Lights out, she did not exactly fall asleep, but the kind of trance she achieved was much deeper than the kind she had in the sweatlodge. This time, instead of looking for an answer within herself, she took form as an owl rather than a kestrel. She needed the senses of a night-flyer; she was going to be looking at a world only a little removed from the 'real.' In this shape, she soared into a sky that was an analog of the real sky over Oklahoma. The buildings of Tulsa loomed beneath her, and she kited on the thermals rising from hot asphalt.
Where should I look next? That was the question she needed answered. She framed her problems carefully in her mind. First, where should she go for clues? Not the site-she already knew she would have to make a careful examination there. But where else should she look? Somewhere out there was evidence-and it might not be in obvious places.
Brothers, sisters, show me the places that are not obvious. I have a shattered jar, and only a few of the pieces. Show me the places where some of the pieces might be.
Although in the real world it was still night, dawn-red crept into the eastern sky. Without thinking, she shifted from owl to kestrel, for now she was completely in the Spirit World, and now she did not need the special night- vision of an owl. She widened the circle of her hunt. Below her the landscape blurred and shifted. Her prayer had been heard.
Movement below her caught her eye, a pair of redtail hawks crying out over a despoiled nest.
In this world, there were always deeper meanings to things that seemed obvious. There was a deeper meaning to this than a hawk pair who had lost their nest to some interfering human.
And the redtail was, above all other birds, the sacred bird to the Osage. It was the redtail whose skin went into the sacred Wah-hopeh shrine, the redtail whose tail feathers were as red as the sun at dawn and sunset, and the redtail who told the Osage when it was to be war, or peace.
So-she folded her wings, and dropped lower.
The hawks faded; the nest became a shrine. One of the sacred Wah-Hopeh shrines of woven grass that housed the hawk that guided her people. The shrine had been broken into and the pieces scattered.
She kited closer. The broken shrine became landscape; roads and hills that she recognized; a house and several barns. A place up near Rose; a burial ground that was on private property.
A place she recognized, with a feeling of personal violation. Her ancestors were buried here; most of the Osage in the area knew about this place, though no one was likely to talk about it to an outsider.
