Sellen was tall and broad-shouldered. His hair, worn long as a sign of free birth, was held out of his eyes by a leather band displaying his clan symbol. Leather chaps, worn smooth and shiny by hours of riding, covered his legs down to his boots. He wore a leather vest over a shirt of woven cloth. The others were similarly dressed, including the two dark-skinned southerners. Grinning broadly, he said, "I read trails the way you seem to read the minds of men." Leaning down, he offered his hand to Fors, who clasped it warmly. Turning, Sellen whistled towards the trees. One more Plainsman came forward, leading four riderless horses.
For Fors and Boros who were veterans of the lowlands, horses were familiar. To Wenna and Kreston, they seemed huge. Sellen, sensing their discomfort, helped them up and steadied them. Then, swinging effortlessly back on his own mount, he led the procession back towards the trees. They rode through the forest for a time, and then debouched onto a sunlit prairie. On the horizon, Fors could see the smoke from many fires, the sure sign they were approaching a sizeable village. As they came closer, Fors saw sure signs of civilization. Cultivated fields, small herds of grazing horses, all connected by a series of well-worn paths. Men and women were working in the fields, both dark and light-skinned. They crested one last small ridge and the panorama of huts and skin tents was revealed. It had only been a season since Fors last visit, yet the number of dwellings had grown. And people. Everywhere, there were people.
After a seemingly interminable ride, they arrived at the complex of structures that served as the center of government. Dismounting, Fors heard a familiar voice call out. Turning, he greeted Arskane.
“Brother, I am glad your journey was a safe one.”
For the rest of that day, Fors met in council with the Plainsmen and Southerners. With care, they melded their separate ideas into a unified plan. After a restful sleep, the morning’s first light saw the travelers cinching packs and attaching carts to the ponies. Finally, they were ready to go. Sellen, in his role as Trail Captain, waved his arm and the group moved out at a brisk pace.
They traveled for several days without incident, proceeding in a generally northwest direction. By agreement, they stayed clear of ruins because they had a long way to go and time was of the essence. They journeyed through endless prairie. The land was covered mostly by tall grass, although the landscape was dotted here and there with grains that had grown wild from previously tilled fields. Game was plenty enough to fill their pots, though rivers and streams were few, forcing them to manage their water supply. On they rode, a main column of the supply horses and carts with groups of outriders on both sides scouting the terrain. The terrain was mostly flat and the rivers that had to be crossed were easily forded. The carts had been built to be watertight, so when the horses and ponies waded into the waters, the carts floated along behind them, like boats.
As the days wore on, the weather grew warmer and more humid. On the 9th day, the expedition encountered heavy thunderstorms. Fierce lightning bolts split nearby trees and hail poured out of the sky, injuring a few riders. However, Wenna’s treatment was swift and effective, and they were soon on the mend. While they were stopped, though, a curious event occurred. The air, so recently stormy grew very quiet, the sky taking on a greenish hue. To the north, a large cloud began to rotate and out of the bottom came a funnel-shaped cloud. It roared along the ground for a mile or so before lifting back into the sky. Later, as they approached that area, they saw that the ground had been scoured and swept clear. Trees lay twisted and broken along the storm’s path. The mountaineers were certainly no stranger to violent storms, but this was something utterly outside their experience and it frightened them.
In the third week of the journey, they came upon the junction of two great rivers, one flowing south, the other west. A large city lay right at the junction, but luck was with them and they found two intact bridges over which they carefully crossed. The westward-flowing river must have been a transportation system of great commerce, since several very large ruined cities lay along its shores. However tempting it was for the Eyrie contingent to explore, Fors knew that the calendar was against them. To avoid any hostile contact, they gave the ruins a very wide berth, though taking the time to carefully plot them on their maps. Another seven days, and the great river took a bend to the northwestward, again in the shadow of another large city, and they followed it’s shores until they came to a branching river. At this point, they had to cross the great river. Too deep and swift to ford, and the available bridges too fragile to use, they made camp and spent several days building rafts to carry them across. The crossing was difficult and dangerous. One of the rafts snagged on an under water tree limb and upended, spilling its horse, cart and passengers into the brown waters. Two of their party vanished, a southerner and a plainsman. The horse, though frightened, managed to make the far shore along with the cart floating compliantly behind.
Grimly, they pressed on. Another month went by, day after day of endless prairie. Fors passed the hours learning from Sellen the language of signs they would use to converse. Sellen also told Fors about the tribes themselves, what history he knew and some of their customs. Fors listened intently. Even the most primitive groups of humans had rites and protocols which had to be observed. He had no intention of allowing this opportunity to vanish in the flame of an insult, however unintentional.
They stayed close to a smaller river lined by cottonwood trees. But even this smaller course held unseen dangers. Kreston waded into the waters attempting to capture some fish with a net he had fashioned, only to be stuck in a queer kind of wet sand that pulled him slowly under. Responding to his calls, a rope was swiftly passed to him, although it took four strong men to pull him from the river. One of the Plains horses was struck by a large snake, its powerful venom killing the animal in minutes.
For all their encounters, the apparent emptiness of the land was almost overwhelming. The tall prairie grasses, bending in the ever-present winds, made a steady shh-ing sound that not only became annoying, but also blunted their hearing. Even Fors had trouble isolating any sounds other than the winds and the grass.
Then one day, they crested a low ridge to behold a sight that would stay with them to the end of their lives. Below the ridge was a massive herd of creatures unlike anything they had ever seen or imagined. Covered in brown fur, the head was massive and fronted by two horns. Behind the head was a massive hump that tapered to the rear hips. The legs seemed impossibly small to carry such a bulk. This herd covered the ground for as far as they could see. Suddenly, one of the beasts looked in their direction and snorted. With that warning, the entire herd turned and ran, fortunately in the opposite direction from the expedition. They stood, awestruck, as the ground shook with their passage.
On a hot day, five weeks into their journey, they made their first contact. It was a brutally hot day and the heat had made them all somnolent. Fors had been watching the horizon and glanced away from the endless rolling grassy hills. When he looked back, he saw a horse and rider at the crest of a ridge. At first he thought it was one of the outriders, but as he focused his vision, he knew immediately.
“Sellen. Visitor. Up ahead on the ridge.”
The Plainsman squinted into the bright sunlight, then raised his hand, halting the column. Turning, he said quietly. “Wait here.” Turning to the mountaineer, he said, “Fors, with me.”
Spurring their horses, they cantered towards the ridge. As they came closer, Fors saw that the rider was bare-chested, his skin showing a distinctly red hue. Around his waist, he wore a simple cloth secured by a belt from which hung a hunting knife. His shoes were made of soft leather and around his neck was some kind of necklace that looked to be made of eagle claws. The face was angular with dark, piercing eyes. Like the Plainsman, he wore his hair long, but in braids. And unlike the light brown to yellow hair of the Plainsmen, the stranger’s was jet black. On his head was a leather band holding a single eagle feather. Sellen stopped a short distance away, then after a pause, raised his right hand, open palm towards the mysterious rider, who responded with a like gesture. Sellen then began a complex series of signs, which were rendered too fast for Fors to follow. After apparently completing his message, the rider responded with gestures of his own. Then he turned to look along the ridge, making a minute gesture with his head. Fors was shocked to see others dressed similarly rise from the tall grass where they had been hiding. There were about 50 of them, all seeming to appear out of thin air. The rider signed back to Sellen, after which the Plainsman turned and waved to the column to follow. They followed down the back side of the ridge and came upon another group surrounding the expedition’s six outriders, obviously captured.
For the next hour or so, they traversed the landscape. Then they crossed a shallow stream, climbed a low hill and found themselves looking at a village. Conical-shaped dwellings of animal hide were arranged in circular groups, all lying along the twisting shore of a small river. They paused at the crest of the hill until they were recognized, and then went down the hill into the encampment. Intently, Fors tried to take in as much as he possibly could. There were women and children present, the women and girls wearing dresses of fringed leather, the boys wearing the cloths around their middle. Remarkably, as they approached, the members of the tribe paid them almost no attention. A few smaller children stared curiously until rebuked by their elders. The tribesmen who had escorted them – Fors was still unsure whether or not they were prisoners or merely guests – went their separate ways, going to their individual dwellings. One of them turned and made gestures to Sellen. After responding, he turned and told the group, “Dismount and rest, but keep watch over the carts and supplies.” Turning then to Fors and Arskane, he said, “Follow me. We’re going to meet the Chief of this band.”
The three dismounted, taking the time to remove their leather chaps. Three young boys came up and took the reins of their horses. Sellen nodded at the other two. “They will see to our horses.”
Stiff from the long ride, they walked towards the center of the camp. There they saw one dwelling on one side of a circle of stones. Sellen murmured, “Watch me carefully and do what I do.”
Entering the circle, instead of walking straight to the dwelling, he followed the circle around until they came to the entrance of the hide shelter. There, they stopped. As they waited, Fors noted with interest that the hide was decorated with pictures, hundreds of them. They seemed to be arranged in specific ways, and the Star Man wondered if this was a record of some kind.
Presently, a woman approached from the opposite arc of the circle and without a word or glance at the visitors, went inside. Fors could hear the murmur of some conversation, then the hide door opened again, and the woman bade them to enter. Sellen gave them one more whispered advisory: “Remember! Walk around the circle, never across it.”
Fors, following Sellen, stooped low to enter the dwelling. Inside, it was very dim, almost dark. The transition from the very bright sun outside was abrupt. They waited for a few moments until their eyes adjusted enough to see. In the middle was a small circle of glowing embers. What they were using for fuel smelled sweetish, unlike no wood Fors, a veteran of many campfires, had ever smelled. Arranged around the fire like the spokes of a wheel were robes of leather on one side and masses of long, matted fur on the other. With a start, Fors realized that these beds were lined with the skins of those magnificent creatures they had seen on the prairie. The dwellings must also be the hide of those creatures, as large as they were.
Suddenly, a voice, not loud but deep and penetrating, issued from an individual sitting cross-legged on the floor, directly opposite the door. “Welcome to my lodge. Sit and we will smoke your arrival.” Though heavily accented and occasionally mispronounced, it was nonetheless the familiar sound of the Plains tongue. Inwardly, Fors breathed a sigh of relief. His task had just become much easier. The woman gestured to one of the beds to the Chief’s left and the three sat down and crossed their legs.
The Chief produced a curious instrument. It consisted of a long tube with a small cup or bowl on one end, and decorated with feathers. Reaching into a pouch, he took some of the contents and filled the bowl. He then reached into the fire and removed an ember, which he touched to the contents. Suddenly, the inside of the tent was filled with a delightfully spicy smell. The Chief then made a series of gestures, which Fors surmised constituted offering the pipe to the four compass directions. He then placed one end of the tube in his mouth and drew the smoke into his lungs. He then passed the pipe to Sellen, who imitated the gesture. Arskane, whose tribal rituals included pipe traditions, drew the smoke easily into his lungs. Fors was curious. Being of the mountains, smoking was unknown to them, since tobacco of any kind was never available to them. Arskane passed the pipe, and after a slight pause, Fors placed the pipe in his mouth and inhaled. The taste was pleasant, but the smoke was not. Fors desperately wanted to cough, and he felt immediately light-headed and dizzy, but managed to get through the ritual without falling over or throwing up.
The pipe was passed back to the Chief, who emptied the remaining contents of the bowl into the fire. After carefully returning the pipe to its rightful place, he then turned to Sellen and began to speak.
“Horseman, I am pleased to be with you once again. You have made the long journey in the cause of peace and friendship and my heart soars. Who are these others you have brought with you? They are so very different than you.”
Sellen nodded. “We are different in skin and hair, but our hearts are all straight with each other.” Indicating Arskane, he continued. “This is Arskane of the Tribe of Silver Wings. His great-great-grandfathers once flew in the skies in craft like birds.” Turning to the mountaineer, he said, “And this is Fors of the Tribe of the Eyrie who live in the Mountains which smoke. Their great-great grandfathers once dreamed of journeys to the stars.” He paused, “My brothers, this is Dancing Eagle, Chief of the Medicine Wheel band of the Lakota Tribe.”
Turning to Fors, the Chief said, “You are the Peace Talker. I have been told that you have the gift of tongues and hearts. You help those who are blind to each other see clearly.”
Fors glanced at Sellen, who nodded, then replied, “We have come in peace, seeking friendship and knowledge. We desire to help the people of all tribes to live together in understanding, and to forever eliminate the scourge of war.”
Dancing Eagle regarded Fors for a moment, then said, “Your heart speaks honestly, and your words are in harmony with your heart. Welcome to my lodge.”
The three were then fed a simple ceremonial meal of stew in clay bowls. They spoke several more times, then the Chief arose and indicated that the three were to follow him. They exited the lodge as the sun settled into the western horizon to find the entire tribe assembled just outside. The Chief spoke for a few minutes, a speech animated by gestures with a ceremonial lance. At the end of the speech, the tribe undertook a remarkable transformation. Their faces, which had been watchful, yet unexpressive, suddenly lit up with smiles as they welcomed, not only Fors, Arskane, and Sellen, but the entire party.
That night, a feast was given. The expedition contributed food from their supplies, giving the Lakota a sampling of all three cuisines. Some of the Lakota men performed a dance around the blazing campfire. Following their lead, some of the Southerners danced as well. Four Plainsmen sang a series of their tribal songs. Fors, lacking any talents for song or dance, presented to Dancing Eagle a silver headband etched with the Eyrie’s symbol and the crests of the twelve clans. His gift caused a chorus of “How-How” to rumble from the Lakota. Glancing quickly at Sellen, he was reassured by a smile and a nod.
Eventually, the celebration wound down and the Lakota began to return to their lodges. The expedition quickly set up their tent shelters and retired, utterly exhausted.
Over the next week, they all fell into the rhythm of the Lakota life. They were delighted to discover that several members of the tribe had learned the Plains language. Through them, they spoke with many others, learning of their culture, beliefs, and traditions of the tribe. They discovered that the Lakota were a large tribe, numbering in the tens of thousands, scattered in small bands, like the Medicine Wheel across a wide swath of territory. They also learned that the Lakota had enemies, tribes called Pawnee and Crow, which whom they had fought for centuries even before the old ones had arrived in their territory.
A story was told repeatedly of the old one’s war, a tale of fire arrows rising out of the ground and soaring into the sky. At first, Fors tended to dismiss the story as part of an imaginative lore. But one day, a warrior named Rising Star took Fors, Arskane, Sellen, along with Kreston and Wenna, on a journey to the north. After several hours, they came upon a curious structure. A hard concrete surface covered the ground. In the center was a dark, dank hole that disappeared into the ground. Rising Star took them to a small structure off to the side and into a door. They carefully descended into the depths on hard, but slippery steps. Entering one chamber, Rising Star lit a small torch and directed them to a diagram on the wall. Pointing at the object, he said, “The fire arrow.” They studied it for a few moments, but it was Arskane who recognized it for what it was.
“This was a missile. It was how the Old Ones sent their bombs towards their enemies. See, here at the bottom was where the fire came out that drove the missiles into the air. And at this end,” indicating a cone-shaped structure at the top, “was where the bombs rode.” Turning to Fors, he continued somberly, “In another form, this is what your forebears would have ridden to the stars.”
They climbed out of the structure back into the bright sunshine. Fors felt the old frustration at the Old Ones. Such magnificent knowledge, and yet they turned it against each other, destroying the promise of the future.
They started on the journey back to the village a quiet group, each alone with their thoughts. After a couple of hours, they saw Rising Star suddenly wheel to the right, urging his horse to a wild gallop. The rest followed, slower. When they caught up to their companion, he had gotten off his horse and was creeping slowly up a low hill. Following suit, the rest of the party crept up as well. Looking over the crest of the hill, they saw a herd of small animals, resembling deer, but smaller and with straight horns on their heads instead of antlers. Arskane whispered, “What are they?”
Rising Star grinned. “Fresh meat!”
The hunt was planned carefully. They would approach the herd from four sides at once, hopefully giving them no place to run. Kreston waited at the west side, Arskane and Fors taking the north and south sides, while Rising Star took the longest distance, and the most critical position on the east.
When they were ready, Rising Star sent an arrow into the animal nearest him. That sparked the whole heard to turn to the west. And could they run! Fors had never seen an animal with such speed. But before they went too far, Kreston stood and quickly loosed three arrows, dropping two animals. The herd then split, half going north towards Sellen, and the other half heading in Fors’ direction. Fors fired a half-dozen arrows in quick succession, then the herd was upon him. The animals did not trample him, but rather made quick, graceful leaps over and to either side of the Star Man. Fors drew his sword and managed to drop four more animals before the remainder of the herd flashed by to be swallowed up by the prairie.
Fors could see that Sellen had been successful as well, getting three with his rope-and-stone and two with his lance. All told, eleven of the graceful animals, which Rising Star called Antelope, had been killed. They dressed the animals for travel and loaded them onto the horses. Before leaving however, Rising Star summoned Kreston. When the boy came close, Rising Star cut into the chest of one of the Antelope and pulled out the heart, bloody and still palpitating. With great relish, he bit into the heart and swallowed it, letting out a joyous yell. He then held the heart out the Kreston. The boy paled, but after a bit of hesitation, bit into the red mass. He had to chew through the blood vessels, but managed to gnaw off and swallow a suitably sized chunk. Although looking a bit ill, he also let out a yell to Rising Star’s apparent joy. Immediately, the Lakota removed a claw necklace from his neck and placed it on the boy.
Fors walked with his son back to their horses. “How do you feel?”
The boy stopped. “You know, it was pretty bad at first. But when I swallowed it, I felt my calves hum like I could have run for days.” He paused, then looked up at Fors. “Was this something you call “Diplomacy?”
