Comanche Dawn by Mike Blakely Page A

the south. But even these matters of sustenance and survival for many became lowly cares for one who had come to seek medicine. He cast aside his thoughts of food, stood facing the south, and made his heart speak to all the unknowns.
    *   *   *
    At dusk, he was thirsty and hungry, but this only made him proud. He started a fire and lit his pipe, patting the smoke onto his shoulders, chest, and head as he prayed. Stars began to appear as he finished the smoke, and he stood again, facing east now. As the sky grew darker, he remembered the many stories he had been told about the evil little people called Nenupee —how they would shoot wanderers of the night with arrows that never missed and always killed. This high promontory also made him think about the great cannibal owls who hunted humans at night on wings that made no noise. The old men of his band had shown him the huge bones of these giant owls, turned to stone and found in ravines. Shadow had never met anyone who had actually seen one of these owls against some waning moon, but the bones proved they haunted the dark night sky.
    These things made him long for the noise of his camp, but he knew to return would cause him great humiliation. The girls would laugh at him and call him elder sister. They would mock his fear. No, he would remain here and let the little people and giant owls kill him if they must. He stood straight, defying fear as the stars came out, glimmering faintly at first, like the flashing tails of spirit-antelope. Sister Moon was yet sleeping.
    The sky grew blacker behind a growing nation of stars. Some of them flew long across the curve of night the instant they appeared. Shadow stood in wonder of them until his neck hurt from looking up at their numbers. Many were the nights he had lain on the ground in his camp to look up at the stars. But, here, alone and hungry, his thirst for magic even greater than his thirst for drink, he felt a far greater awe of the distant and mysterious beings of light. He prayed to them in his solitude, taking his mind away from thoughts of evil night things.
    At last, he found himself shivering in the cold, weaving from exhaustion, unable to maintain his sense of balance. He lay down and wrapped himself in his robe, feeling the warmth envelope him head to foot. Though his dry mouth tasted of bitter smoke, and hunger prowled his stomach on grasshopper legs, he drifted instantly into prayerful sleep.
    *   *   *
    Father Sun looked over a far slope and shamed Shadow for waking so late in his robe. The seeker threw the hide from his shoulders and stood to see the great sun spirit rise. His mouth was dry and his stomach pinched, but he had known these feelings before over dry trails and hard winters. It was nothing to stand straight after his sleep, so he locked his knees and threw his chest forward. Yesterday’s invitation to the spirits was now almost a taunt, for Shaggy Hump and Spirit Talker had advised him not to grovel in sight of the gods, but to greet them with confidence they would admire. Shadow’s pluck bordered on arrogance.
    His hunger rose like the sun, but it was his want of drink that made Shadow long for the time to pass and his guardian spirit to arrive. Occasionally, when the wind died and the world of mortals invaded his link with the Shadow Land, the seeker could hear the spring gushing from the foot of the butte. When this happened, he would force a hot chant up his dry throat and lift his arms to the Great Mystery, that he might forget his longing for so common a thing as water.
    Wind spoke from the grasses and sage, birds from the limitless sky; still Shadow failed to interpret their voices. Father Sun watched the smokes, and heard the prayers, but passed over the hopeful warrior like a father of eaglets with nothing yet to feed them.
    The second night had scarcely fallen before Shadow was asleep. He dreamed of rattlesnakes.
    He was standing on the third day