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  Cloud (Wendigo Girl, #3.5)

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  Kaye Draper

  Copyright 2017

  Cloud’s moccasins were silent on the leaf-strewn ground as she walked. She pulled the soothing feeling the spirit of the forest about her like a cloak. The Falling Leaves Moon was upon them. It wouldn’t be long before the snows came, and their band of people moved their camp to Saginaw for the winter gathering.

  Once, Cloud had loved her trips into the town to trade furs for the things her tribe needed. Now, she was beginning to dislike the trips. What had once felt new and exciting, now felt tarnished. Ominous somehow.

  The old spirits were venturing into the human town, but the white people seemed to be horrifyingly blind to the invasion. Many of them could not see the memegwesi that scurried about. She had a terrible feeling they did not see the more dangerous ones either. The ones that fed on humans.

  But the white people could feel the creatures. Even if they didn’t know it. Their energies were growing darker, more suspicious, sharper, like hunted things.

  The merchant at the general store today had glared at Hanging Cloud with an evil glint in his eyes that was never been there before. One tainted by lust and bitterness. The sort of needless grasping greed that killed.

  She shook herself and ducked under a low-hanging tree branch. Standing, she let out a shrill warbling whistle, watching with a smile as her little brothers and a small herd of children started running to her. Squatting down, she bared her teeth and growled like a bear, then lumbered off, leading them on a wild chase to bring down their prey. She dropped the goods she carried and staggered, letting them take her down to the ground in a patch of tall dried grasses.

  “It was an honorable hunt,” she intoned, sitting up. “You will all be strong warriors.” Reaching inside her calico shirt, she withdrew the cloth-wrapped package she had traded for her own hides and woven creations. “And now you will reap the fruits of your daring hunt.”

  She laughed as she passed out rock candy and a few bright glass beads, loving the fierce joy on the little faces around her.

  “Hanging Cloud,” a dry, brittle voice intoned, sending the little children scattering off to get back to their respective chores. “Spoiling the young ones again?”

  She stood and brushed off her deerskin leggings. The first time the townspeople had seen her in pants, they had gone all round-eyed with offended pride and no small amount of envy. Apparently, it was strange for white women to wear anything other than their long, cumbersome skirts. Cloud felt sorry for them. It must be difficulty to live in a world that consigned a person to be only one thing at all times.

  “It brings me joy to see the young ones happy,” Cloud told the shaman. Then she smiled. “Don’t worry, Grandmother, I’ve brought enough for you too.” She held out a rock candy for her powerful elder, laughing when the woman grinned and snatched up the candy quicker than any of the kids.

  Popping the sweet in her mouth, the old woman leaned on her walking stick and nodded her head toward the herb plot behind the large wigwam shared by the elder Midewiwin, or medicine women. “Walk with me, Hanging Cloud,” she intoned, her voice growing serious. “Talk with me of the things you saw in the town today. Tell me of the things you felt.”

  Cloud sighed, but followed along out of respect. Her grandmother and the other elder women in the tribe insisted that Hanging Cloud was to follow in her grandmother’s footsteps one day. That she would become the elder shaman for their village—the wisest of counsel and the one who spoke to the spirits on behalf of the clan. Hanging Cloud glanced longingly at the horses as they passed the open area where they grazed. Most bands of Anishinaabe this far north didn’t have horses. But thanks to Cloud and her father, they did. She’d much rather feel the beast heaving under her and the wind through her hair than sit in a circle breathing herb smoke and speaking for the changeable—and often unreliable—spirits.

  Her grandmother squatted down to inspect a bit of sage. “The men are preparing for war,” she said, not looking at Cloud. “But they are fighting the wrong enemy.”

  Cloud sank down beside her to sit cross-legged on the ground. “They are extinguishing us,” she said urgently. “Grandmother, the white men are tricksters. They take the land, they kill and use without respect for what they are taking. They sign treaties that are actually traps. They send us to their reservations—where we will be out of the way, so they can continue to spread, like a disease.”

  Her grandmother nodded. “But once they treated us more fairly. They acted somewhat more rationally. The creatures are riding them, Cloud. They are using the unaware nature of the newcomers to bend and manipulate their minds and souls.”

  Cloud heaved a sigh. She had seen this. In the town.

  “The midewiwin hold a council tonight with the spirit world. You will come, Cloud. Perhaps you can bend your father’s ear, where the wisdom of the elders has failed to do so.”

  The old woman stood and dusted off her hands. “It is your place. Your responsibility to your people, daughter of the chief.”

  Cloud’s shoulders slumped. “Yes, grandmother.”

  The elder glanced over her shoulder as if sensing something behind them. “Perhaps giving your lovers a child would settle your blood. You need grounding Hanging Cloud. All wild things must come back to the nest to roost at some point.”

  Cloud stood, barely refraining from rolling her eyes. She loved children, but she had no desire to become a breeding mare, shackled to the village, when she could be free. “Yes grandmother.”

  The elder moved on, toward the center of their encampment, and Cloud turned away. A pair of teasing voices reached Cloud’s ears before the couple stepped from the trees. So that was why her grandmother’s lecture had taken on a chiding tone.

  Cloud smiled as Binishii and Animikii stepped out of the forest. Binishii carried a basket overflowing with nuts and berries and herbs, and she had wildflowers stuck in her long braid. Animikii had his bow slung across his back and a line of rabbits and other furry victims in his hand.

  “You’ve had a bountiful day,” Cloud said, gesturing to their finds.

  Animikii dropped his things at the side of the clearing and came to embrace Cloud, smelling of the cool river water he had used to wash after his hunt. His strong arms lifted her off the ground as he crushed her to him, and his wide mouth covered hers, tasting of the berries Binishii had gathered.

  Cloud wrapped her arms around him and returned the kiss, her frustrations for the moment gone, overshadowed by love. His name meant thunder, and he often had the talent of grabbing one’s attention like a thunderclap. He set Cloud on her feet and Binishii slipped her arms around Cloud from behind, dropping a kiss on her shoulder. Their little bird. “Was your grandmother convincing you to be a medicine woman?”

  Cloud turned to kiss those sweet lips, pulling back to tug Binishii’s braid playfully. “She tries.”

  Animikii ran a hand down Cloud’s arm and smiled fondly. “The elders will have to prevent you becoming a warrior first. And that, they could never do.” His eyes glowed with pride at Cloud’s skill. He knew first-hand that she could hunt and fight as well as any of the men.

  Scooping up Binishii’s basket, and Animikii’s bow, she walked with them into the center of the settlement. Cloud was blessed. She knew she was. To be two-spirited as she was and have the support of two such talented lovers, to be healthy and strong, a chief’s daughter, the shaman’s granddaughter. They were all great honors.

  But she felt restless. They had avoided the problems of the encroaching white men and the increasingly bold monsters that
lurked just out of sight for far too long.

  Cloud’s mother had once voiced her opinion that they should move the tribe, pick up and put some distance between themselves and the white men. Retreat, and reinforce their shamanic barriers against the creatures to keep their people safe.

  But, as much as Cloud might dream of an idyllic life with her thunder and her little bird at her side, she had a sinking feeling they were too late. That even if they pulled up their roots and retreated now, there would be no place to run. No place where the evil could not reach.

  She shivered as a raven flew overhead, its call echoing on the wind.

  *****

  The next day, she sat beside her grandmother in the council’s large wigwam. Cloud’s hair was braided in an intricate weave, and Binishii had woven feathers and beads and bits of colored cloth into it. Her skin shone with the oil she had rubbed into it before she dressed. The air in the room was heavy with smoking herbs meant to purify and bring clarity of mind.

  Currently, the tribe was arguing about a massacre that had happened to the south. The white men were becoming more tricky and unreliable. Their greed and disrespect for life knew no bounds.

  Her grandmother shook her head, waiting until the arguing settled down, as she knew it would. The angry, fearful murmuring waned, like waves lapping at the shore of the great lake, cresting, then receding. “The creatures are growing bolder,” the old woman said. “I think this and the aggression of our neighbors are related.”

  The murmuring rose again, a wave that once more receded in the face of the elder’s calm patience. “We should focus on the spirits.”

  Cloud’s father, the chief of their tribe, took a pull from the pipe and passed it to his neighbor. “The spirits are always there. This new threat worries me more. I think we should deal with the white men first.” He glanced at his shaman mother. “We have been asked to meet with them, to talk of what we can do to keep the peace between our peoples.”

  The two leaders, physical and spiritual, stared at each other stubbornly in a silent battle of wills.

  Cloud shifted her feet under her, to bring the circulation back to her legs. She hated these meetings. How drawn out every decision was. Why could no one just act?

  “Peace and respect, Grandmother—elder. Father—chief. You are both wise and skilled beyond my years. But I would offer council as well.”

  Her father frowned at her, but nodded. Her grandmother suppressed a proud smile, probably thinking Cloud was finally joining her in her shamanic role the way everyone expected her to.

  “Both pieces of this puzzle are important,” she said slowly. “But could we not address both issues? Perhaps the encroachment of the white man has stirred up the spirit world? Maybe the deviation from our ways had caused the discord?”

  “What solution do you offer, Hanging Cloud?” her father asked.

  She met his eyes. “We should not sit idle. We should ride out to meet the men who offer peace. See if they are also as infected by malice as the ones who live here. And if they are, we should take steps to prevent them from moving this way.”

  He nodded slowly, considering.

  She turned to her grandmother. “But that does not mean we ignore the boldness of the creatures. We should also cleanse the area of the aggressive creatures, give tribute to the Spirits, and prevent trouble with them as well.”

  Her grandmother was quiet for a time, while the others muttered in hushed whispers.

  “Hanging Cloud, you lack patience,” she said finally. “Your young blood would engage in conflict wherever it can. Like a storm cloud rolling over the plains. You would wage war with the spirits. You would wage war with the white men.”

  Cloud folded her hands in her lap and looked at her father.

  He sighed. “I, as much as anyone, wish to protect our people and keep them from harm. But sometimes conflict cannot be avoided.” He nodded. “We will take action to prevent this situation from getting any worse. I will take the warriors to the meeting and deal with the white men.” He nodded toward his mother. “The shaman and the elder midewiwin will stay and handle the matter of the spirits.”

  Cloud drew a breath. Finally. Action.

  “You will, of course, stay with us and lend your considerable shamanic energy to the efforts here, Hanging Cloud,” her grandmother intoned. Benevolent, supportive. Trapping her in the role she did not want.

  But Cloud knew she had pushed things enough for the moment. “Yes, grandmother.”

  The old woman suppressed a grin at her victory. No matter what Cloud did, the whole tribe was set on making her into something she did not wish to be.

  She wanted adventure, action, motion. Not to sit stagnant conversing with shadows and smoke and old women.

  And she promised herself then and there that she would follow her heart.

  *******

  The men left two days later to travel to the meeting place to engage the white men who offered peace and friendship. The left in the wee hours of the morning, before day broke over the horizon.

  Cloud woke in the darkness and slid from her cozy bed, slipping from beneath the warm furs and the silken caress of Binishii’s plump limbs and Animikii’s long, soft hair. She had made sure she wore them out and fed them wild berry wine last night, to ensure Cloud would wake first.

  Animikii was from a neighboring tribe. But he was one of them now. He would insist on fighting with Cloud’s people.

  She smothered a grin when he rolled over and pulled the furs over his head, snuggling closer to Binishii in his sleep. If he overslept and stayed behind with the old women and children, he would never forgive her.

  But if it came to war with the white men at the meeting and he was injured, she would never forgive herself.

  So, Cloud caressed the soft skin under which her lovers slept and tiptoed silently from her warm nest. She paused outside the house to pull on leggings and moccasins. She tied her hair back, still braided into two waist-length ropes from the previous night’s revelries. She took up her tomahawk and her bow, both of which she had stashed under a bush at the edge of the settlement. Then she tucked her knife into her boot and made her way to the open space where the horses were kept.

  The men were already mounted up and starting to move off. Cloud called a horse to her with a soft whistle, bridled it, and leapt astride just as the last of the men filed away onto the road. She kicked her horse into a trot and joined the ranks.

  The men weren’t fooled by her manner of dress and her weapons. They knew her horse. However, they also knew Cloud. They knew enough to keep quiet as she made her way toward the head of the line, to join her father.

  The chief glanced at her from his seat atop his tall roan steed. “The Midewiwin will call all the spirits to curse your unborn children.”

  She snorted. “Then may I never have children.”

  He sighed. “Do not tempt the Great Spirit with your ungratefulness, Cloud.”

  She shrugged. “I am grateful to have a man and woman loving enough to bear my children for me, so that I can do as I please,” she said with an impish smile.

  In fact, she suspected Binishii was already with child, but she kept that sweet thought to herself for a little longer.

  Her father shook his head, but didn’t send her back home. “I don’t know what this meeting will bring,” he said softly. “Likely bloodshed.”

  She nodded. “I know.”

  He glanced at her. “I brought an extra bag of arrows for you,” he said tiredly.

  She laughed at that, startling a smile from the braves nearest her. Her father knew her so well. He had raised her. And when her dual nature made itself known, he embraced her as both daughter and son. He had trained her along with the best of the warriors. He wouldn’t deny her this part of herself.

  “Let’s hope we return to happy sprits,” Cloud said with an eye-roll. Knowing her grandmother, she would have bored them all to death with rituals by the time the men returned and there wouldn’t be a cr
eature for leagues around who dared to risk another round of chanting and smoke.

  *****

  Everything was a mess.

  Cloud buried her tomahawk in the last of their attackers and stood, turning to survey the area with shaking limbs. Blood was cooling on her face as the sun rose.

  The remaining braves wordlessly started loading their dead onto the horses, to be taken back home for a proper ceremony.

  Cloud’s breath came in shallow pants. She was numb. Her body was so tired that her muscles quivered. She was bleeding from a gash in her side, a furrow torn there by a bullet. But she couldn’t feel anything.

  Her father was dead.

  He had been one of the first casualties.

  She watched as four braves wrestled his broad, heavy body onto the back of a horse. Not the chief’s horse. That poor animal was dead, shattered by bullets and the rough fall.

  Cloud wiped her weapon on her pant leg, then cast around for her bow. It lay broken under the body of a white man, snapped in half from when she had used it against him as a club. There was no salvaging it now. Still, she went and wrestled the broken wood out from under the man and broke off the cord that held a charm of feathers and beads carved from deer antler.

  She turned and made her way to the men with shaky legs.

  “Hanging Cloud,” one of the older warriors spoke softly. “Are you wounded?”

  She lifted her head, stuffing down her emotions and refusing to let herself limp as she took the reins of one of the nearby horses, which carried two motionless bodies. “I will survive. Mount the wounded on the remaining horses. Those well enough can walk.”

  She led the horse to the dusty road, and the others followed, their steps slow, but purposeful. They hadn’t even made it to the supposed meeting. They were ambushed several miles outside of the white men’s town. The men who attacked them were savage and vengeful. And Cloud had sensed the darkness that lurked around them. Something unseen drove them to this needless ferocity. But the white men couldn’t see the monsters.

  Cloud and one of their braves had managed to kill three shadowy creatures made of teeth and claws and hunger with weapons that had been blessed by the village shaman. But the spirits of the men they fought were already tainted beyond reason. The fighting hadn’t stopped until all the white men were dead.