Tiopa Ki Lakota

Tiopa Ki Lakota

D. Jordan Redhawk

P.D. Publishing, Inc. (2000)

Wi Ile Anpo is a girl born to Lakota warrior, Wanbli Zi. But the tribal shaman has a vision that Anpo is wicakte - a two-souled person embodying both male and female spirits. She will become a great warrior and a great asset to her people. During a vision quest, Anpo finds that her life will be intertwined with the lives of a sacred white buffalo and a pale skinned woman with yellow hair, yet both will be wounded by her actions. Kathleen McGlashan Stevens has been captured by renegade Indians, and thrust into a terrifying and foreign culture where she must learn to survive. The sacred white buffalo brings Anpo and Kathleen together. As their relationship develops, Anpo wonders: Can she change her destiny, or is she fated to wound the woman she loves?

Tiopa Ki Lakota

(The Lakota Doorway)

Chapter 1

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

Sun is Burning at Dawn

1761

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 your 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.

1767

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."