Swift Hawk swallowed hard. “And so although it seems to us that we fall asleep each night and awaken the next morning, is it true that a generation has passed?”
“Aa, yes, my son. Perhaps twenty-five snows have fallen.”
Swift Hawk jerked his head to the left. “Then tell me, Grandfather, in all this time, have there been no others sent out upon this quest?”
“Aa.There have been others.”
Pressing his lips together, Swift Hawk carefully cleared his throat. “Then, Grandfather, please tell me, have no others succeeded in breaking this spell?”
White Claw sighed. “One did once. Only one.”
Someone had? Someone had actually broken the enchantment?Swift Hawk puzzled over this piece of information. “Grandfather, if this is so, why are the people still living as shadows?”
“This is a good question.” White Claw paused to bring his glance to Swift Hawk. Older eyes met those of youth, and then the elder continued. “It is a question that has confused us for many centuries. But I believe the answer lies in the fact that each one of you may only break the spell for your own particular clan. That is why none of you are from the same tribal band. That is why more than one boy goes forth.”
Swift Hawk sat still, momentarily stunned. “Grandfather, tell me. The band that broke the enchantment—they are no longer with us?”
White Claw nodded, a brief smile lighting his face. “Is it not within your memory that the Yellow Crow Clan is gone?”
“But,” replied Swift Hawk, “I thought they had moved to a different hunting ground.”
“No, my son,” responded White Claw. “They were freed from the mist by a youth named One Raven, who, like his namesake, could not be killed by the Thunderer. His people, too, became real and went to live out their lives in peace.”
This seemed incredible news to Swift Hawk, since none of the tribal legends had ever told of this story. Yet Swift Hawk digested the facts without a single word or gesture.
White Claw, his eyes still on the young boy, nodded. “Are there any further questions?”
When no one answered, White Claw picked up the sacred pipe, but before he overturned the ashes onto the bowl set upon the floor, he paused and said, “You are now ten years of age. Remember that you are given twenty years to break this spell. Ifyou do so before your thirtieth birthday, your clan will go free. Observe well, do well. Know that your people depend on you. Now go.”
The old man spilled the pipe’s ashes into the sacred bowl, thus ending the council. One by one, the boys, along with their fathers, arose and departed, that they might each prepare for what was to come.
And though each left in silence, there was perhaps a feeling of gloom in his heart.
Chapter
Three
It is said that in all the world there is nothing so strong, so dutiful, or so binding as a daughter’s love for her father except, perhaps, that for her erring brother.
—ANONYMOUS
Mississippi, March 1834
“You what?”
“Don’t look at me like that, Angel. I had no option. My honor, Papa’s honor, is at stake.”
“Yes, I know. But a duel? At midnight tonight? How could you be so foolish?”
“Foolish, am I? Lowdry called Papa a… Well, I cannot repeat the word in your presence. But it was a bad word, and it was said in front of Papa’s new congregation. And in front of my new… Well, no matter. The fact is I had no choice but to agree to a duel. Even you would have done as much had you been there.”
“Oh, Julian.” Angel spread her hands nervously down her apron. “You know as well as I do that Papa has been called many things, in many different places.” She gazed at her blond-haired, blue-eyed brother with a glance mixed with humor, though her heart was, for the moment, introspective. “Remember the time we were stationed at that railroad town, and he invited all the Asian workers to our house?” She grinned. “And then there were those times he spoke up for the Catholic Irish in his sermons.”
“There is nothing wrong with that.”
“But in the English and Protestant town of Wayside, Pennsylvania?”
“Prejudice is a very great evil.”
