“Perhaps not,” spoke the Creator. “And I understand, my friend. Yet, to take two thousand lives…and some of them innocent? Is this a deed that makes a god heroic?”
“I have no need to be a hero.”
“Have you not? Yet, you have now four of their women in your possession. Is this not a deed speaking of some heroism?”
“Nay, it is not. And you must not interfere.”
“Think you so? And yet I am. I must.”
In answer, the Thunderer boomed red sparks that spit through the darkened clouds like a fire gone wild. “But,” stormed the Thunderer, “these human beings took more than they needed in their kill, and they destroyed my first child when she came to earth to defend the buffalo. And now look what they have done. They have killed three more of my children, allthat I have, and for no reason other than the people’s corrupt nature. Were my children not singing peace songs? Were they not wearing the color of the rainbow?”
“Yes, yes,” said the Creator, “it is true. But to take two thousand lives in exchange for this is not something a spirit—or a man—should do without tremendous consideration.”
Silence, deadly and ominous, was all that met this enlightenment.
“No, my friend,” announced the Creator. “I have another plan. A better plan. One that gives these people a chance to redeem themselves.”
“It will never happen; it should never happen.”
“And yet, they must be given a chance.”
“No!”
“Yes. Here is what I will do,” spoke the Creator. “The people are to be banned into Oblivion…at least for a time.”
“Nay!” cried the people.
“Yes,” said the Creator. “They are to be banished to an ethereal existence, living not in the flesh, yet neither are they to be quite dead. Rather, the people will be cursed to live, yet not live, until?—”
“Yea,” interrupted the Thunderer. “This is a good plan.”
“Ah, I am glad you approve,” spoke the Creator. “And so it shall be. This village, its entire people, shall remain within the shadows of mist, here upon the earth. They shall be real, yet unreal; ghosts, yet not ghosts; living but not living, for they shall come alive in the flesh once with each new generation. On that day—which should happen four times in every hundred years—the people will spend their lives much as they always have. For some, those who are innocent, it will seem as though they live day by day, as do other creatures, for there will be no memory of having lived in the mist. But alas, in truth, in the time between when they lay down to rest and when they awaken, twenty-five years will have passed, though none will have aged but a day. However, for those who counted coup over the Thunderer’schildren, no innocence, no peace of mind, will be granted. These people will remain aware that they live a ghostly existence, each and every day of their lives. And so it will be.”
“Nay!” cried White Claw.
“However,” added the Creator benevolently, “once in each new generation, there shall come into being an opportunity to end the spell. From each of the separate tribal bands a boy shall be chosen who will leave his ghostly existence to become flesh and blood. They shall go forth into the world. Now hear me well. Each boy shall be given until the age of thirty years to break the enchantment that bewitches his people. And if he succeeds, his people shall be freed to live the lives they were meant to live.”
“No!” cried the Thunderer. “It’s unfair to give them such a chance.”
“But,” continued the Creator, “if by his thirtieth birthday, this boy is not able to break the charm that besets his people, the opportunity shall pass, and the boy—now a young man—will be relegated to live the rest of his life in the flesh, knowing forever that he floundered not only in his quest, but that he failed his people.”
“Yes,” rasped the Thunderer. “Yes.”
“And to you human beings,” spoke the Creator, “I would say this: Know that, while it is good and often necessary that a man defend himself and his people against the wrongs of other things, peoples or races, it is a sign of magnificence to show kindness to the face of an enemy, to even come to the aid of an enemy and help him, if necessary. Such is a mark of real valor. Remember this: Had you shown such a wisdom this day, the Thunder God’s children would still be alive, as would you all.”
And so it was done.
The general quietthat fell over the assembled guests, there within the old medicine’s man’s lodge, was sinister. No onemoved. No one spoke a word.
At last, White Claw roused himself. “And so it is that you four boys have been chosen to represent each of your tribal bands.Aa, yes, you will become real in the flesh, never again to fade into the ethereal existence, which fate befalls the rest of your people. But as you go out into the tangible world, know that you are charged with the task of undoing the spell that hangs over your clan. Know that others are depending on you.”
No one stirred.
“It is our plan,” continued White Claw, “that each one of you shall seek out a different tribe. You, Long Bow, will go to the Blackfeet, a cousin to our own people. You, Spirit Coyote, will find the Assiniboine camp. Spotted Wolf, you will travel to the land occupied by the Crows, and, Swift Hawk, you shall seek out the Cheyenne. Observe well. Learn about this new tribe; learn who are its enemies. But above all, remember the Creator’s words, ‘It is a sign of magnificence to show kindness to the face of an enemy, to even aid an enemy, if necessary.’ Fight well, show kindness. Give help.”
Questions, one after the other, came quickly to mind. Etiquette, however, kept Swift Hawk silent. Yet, if this were to be the last time he conversed with these wise men, he would know the answer to the questions that were burning to be asked. He bolstered his courage, and in a soft voice queried, “Grandfather, in the story, when this catastrophe happened, you were yet a young man?”
“Aa, yes. You are right.”
