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Chapter One
Come quickly—as soon as
these blossoms open,
they fall.
This world exists
as a sheen of dew on flowers.
—Izumi Shikibu
Minnesota—l840.
May, Wahbegoone-geezis, The Moon of the Flowers.
Spring had awakened across the land, giving rise to the lush blossoms of dogwood and redbud. They gave off no scent, but filled the days with their beauty, as did the forsythia bushes dotting the countryside with their bright yellow flowers.
Bees were busy at work, almost as busy as several small Winnebago girls who giggled and ran through the forest in search of the tiny violets that brightened the forest floor with their lovely purple faces.
When they finally found a huge cluster, they fell to their knees beside them and gently, carefully, plucked several from the earth to take back home to their mothers. The women would enjoy the flowers while doing the daily chores that all Winnebago mothers carried out each day with love and dedication.
Their hands filled with purple heaven, the girls turned back in the direction of their people’s village of one hundred tepees. The village had been established beside the Rush River, near enough for washing and drawing water, yet far enough for safety should the spring rains flood the river over its banks.
Sitting in the midst of the river was an island huddled in mystery. A lazy fog hung low over it at most times, even now making Shadow Island scarcely visible to the girls, who looked occasionally at it, but were not at all afraid of its mystery.
They knew who lived on that island.
Talking Bird.
Like everyone who knew him, they adored the old man.
Talking Bird was the Winnebago people’s ancient Shaman, who knew everything about everything.
But rarely did he leave the island.
Those who were in need of his caring touch and kind words were taken to him by canoe.
He was a man who had the skill to cure most ailments.
Rarely had his Bird Clan witnessed him at a loss as to what to do for anything that ailed their people.
The girls ran onward until they came into the village.
Each hurried to her separate home. They were anxious to give their tiny blessings to their mothers on this most beautiful of mornings.
Not far away, a huge hawk flew above the Rush River, soaring gracefully, peacefully, its bold eyes never missing the movements down below, nor the sounds that came from the island it was circling over.
Despite its watchful, knowing eyes, the hawk could not see through the foggy mist that it was now moving into, not until it was finally on land, standing amid a clearing of willows.
Suddenly a wolf appeared where the hawk had just stood. Powerfully muscled, it bound away into the forest and stopped near a large tepee where smoke spiraled lazily from the hole at the apex of the lodge.
As the wolf ventured onward toward the tepee, it transformed into the powerfully muscled and handsome Winnebago chief known to his people by the name Wolf Hawk. He was a man of twenty-five winters, a chief of well-balanced temper who was not easily provoked.
Clothed only in a breechclout and moccasins, his sleek black hair hanging long past his waist, Wolf Hawk stepped inside the lodge. He stopped there and gazed with love and devotion at his people’s Shaman, whom he was proud to claim as his beloved grandfather.
Talking Bird sat huddled beneath a blanket that was wrapped around his shoulders. He was gazing into the lodge fire that had been built in the middle of the tepee.
There was no sound except for the popping and crackling of the fire and some slight wheezing as Wolf Hawk’s elderly grandfather clutched his blanket more closely around himself.
He was a wrinkled, shrunken man, but his dark eyes were still brilliant and alive and filled with the wisdom he had gathered during his one hundred winters of life.
Talking Bird was known by all for his wisdom and kindness. He was always interested in the problems of his people. To Wolf Hawk, his grandfather was the best example of what a leader should be.
His grandfather had been like a parent to Wolf Hawk when his father was so deeply immersed in his duties as chief that he could not take time to spend with his son.
Ho, yes, Wolf Hawk and his grandfather had become kindred spirits. Talking Bird had taught Wolf Hawk everything he knew about animals, plants, and what was required of a man.
Awed by his grandfather’s vast store of knowledge, Wolf Hawk always loved to sit with him, savoring his words. Wolf Hawk knew he would never forget the insights Talking Bird had shared with him. They were the foundation of his life and would remain with him always.
Talking Bird sensed his grandson’s presence. He looked slowly up at Wolf Hawk.
“Ho, Grandson,” he said, his voice fil
led with love and respect.
He patted the blankets that were spread before the fire, then gestured with his bony, long-fingered hand toward Wolf Hawk.
“Come,” he said, in his gentle way of speaking. “Sit beside me. Tell me what has brought you to your grandfather’s lodge today.”
Wolf Hawk knelt and embraced his grandfather, then smiled and sat beside him. “I have not come today for any specific reason,” he said in a voice that was rich and deep. “I came only to be with you, and to listen to your wisdom. I must confess to you that I have been restless of late.”
For a moment, Talking Bird just gazed quietly at Wolf Hawk. He was proud to claim this man as his grandson. Wolf Hawk was a man of great dignity. He was tall and strong, a warrior loved and admired by all who knew him.
His face was handsomely sculpted. He had midnight dark eyes, and in them was usually an expression of gentle peace. But not today. Today Talking Bird could see the uneasy restlessness that his grandson had mentioned.
The Shaman looked more intently at his grandson. “You have confided in me that you are eager to take a wife, but can find none of the clan’s maidens who suit you. Is that what troubles you?”
“No, Grandfather,” Wolf Hawk said tightly. “It is more than that. I fear that the peace our people have found here by the Rush River cannot continue undisturbed. We have found such contentment in this refuge, but if white people discover it, I believe they will try to take it from us.”
“Whites are always ready to take,” Talking Bird said flatly. “It is a fact that we must always guard against the threat of white eyes.”
“Perhaps I have not treated this concern of mine seriously enough. Our people have had no trouble from whites since we moved our homes far from the rest of the Winnebago clans, who continue to be harassed by the white man’s government,” Wolf Hawk said. “Perhaps I have let our comfortable lives fool me into believing it will be the same forever. But we both know what can happen when the white eyes take advantage of our trust. My father trusted too much and because he did, several of our people died. He and my mother now lie in the ground, because he believed the promises of people with white skin.”
“Ho, under your father’s leadership many died, but we still survive as a clan, my grandson,” Talking Bird said thickly. “Just remember that our Earthmaker, our Great Spirit, made us all strong. Each of us has been given his own duties. We both, you and I, have been blessed. Earthmaker placed me in charge of medicine. You have been put in charge of our people, and you have proven yourself worthy of being their leader. We must remember these things, Grandson. Always.”
“I always listen well to your wisdom and use it daily,” Wolf Hawk said, humbled by his grandfather’s knowledge and caring. “Thank you for it.”
“Grandson,” Talking Bird said. He reached out a hand and gently touched Wolf Hawk’s smooth, copper cheek. “You have always found the good in all things and so shall you continue to do. You are admired by those who know you for walking the path of truth and honor.”
“Grandfather, you are everything that is good on this earth,” Wolf Hawk said as Talking Bird drew his hand back. “I cherish your blessings.”
