Light Bird's Song
By Sydney Tooman Betts
Click here to read the first seven chapters of Light Bird's Song
Chapter 8
Pacing Wolf's heart contracted uncomfortably when his captive bride turned toward the place that he stood dressing. She looked like a child sleeping peacefully between his buffalo pelts. As he considered the strength hidden beneath her delicate exterior, he thought her much like the blossoms that would soon paint the prairie. Each spring they refused to sleep safely in the earth's womb, exposing their beauty to the scorching sun. She is worthy of the fiercest warrior!
His dead woman had been more like the showy blooms of a crabapple tree: beckoning the eyes but falling away as soon as they are touched. As her sly looks at his handsome Fox rivals slipped into his musings, he gathered the time-toughened sheath more tightly about his heart and sharpened his knife so violently that Light Bird stirred.
Still caught in a haze of sleep, she explored his side of the pallet, hunting for the one benefit of marriage she welcomed without reserve—her captor's warmth. The morning light offered little heat, but she had grown too chilled to defend her dreams against its ever-brightening invasion. Amused and deeply gratified, Pacing Wolf watched her hand wandering among the hides and contemplated slipping quietly back beneath them. He wished he could delay their return home. Her willingness last night had created a flicker he looked forward to coaxing into bright flames; but her kinsmen's discovery of the cavern yesterday made staying there impossible.
Reluctantly waking, Light Bird rose on one elbow and looked groggily about for the intrusive sound of repetitive grating. Her eyes danced over the room, landing to rest on her husband, who sat cross-legged a few feet away, a small ring of many-colored porcupine quills and two eagle feathers brushing his ear in rhythm with his chore. From behind disheveled locks, she noted several others peeking up from both his crown and the opposite side of his head. They proclaimed what she already knew: he was a highly honored and accomplished warrior.
He looks almost handsome , she decided, surprised he'd donned his regalia for her. A warrior dressed splendidly to impress a woman he courted, but not for one he already owned. Glancing into his keen black eyes, she discovered he'd noticed her admiration—they brimmed with pride and returned her gaze boldly. Perhaps my acceptance last night has pleased him, she surmised as blood rushed into her face; but, afraid to hope and ashamed that it mattered, she concluded that the loss of his chosen woman was too recent. I have awakened his vanity, not his heart . Apprehending a more plausible reason for his display, her countenance abruptly fell: We are leaving for his village!
Pacing Wolf felt perplexed and keenly disappointed. He had enjoyed her admiration and the warming color on her angular cheeks, but her furrowed brow and compressed lips strangled his satisfaction.
“Dress yourself quickly!” he ordered. “We go.”
Thrusting his knife into his belt, he rolled up his pelts almost before she could step out of them, carelessly scattering her line of dried sumac leaves. Light Bird scurried after them, her loose spirals cascading about her hips. Just like a woman, he i nwardly scolded, tending to unnecessary matters when a long journey lies before us! He was in no mood to admit that her conservation of resources pleased him, but as he grabbed her wrist and plunged through the cliff's belly, he added this trait to his agreeable store of observations.
His agitated pace allowed Light Bird little time to braid her hair, marvel at the length of the passage, or consider why he had turned hard as stone. When at last he brushed away the thick barrier of branches and pushed aside the vines, she was astounded by the change in terrain. In place of thick trees covering her people's hills was a flat plain, as vast and bleak as the new life her enemy-husband spread before her.
The sorrel began neighing, anticipating his release from the secluded pen, and gladly accepted a beaded bridle. Following the horse's lead, Light Bird thrust her head forward as Pacing Wolf made a loop in his rope, but her acquiescent gesture changed his mind. Irritable, but not calloused, he swung her up unbound behind him and urged his mount forward to a gallop.
Light Bird tried vainly to suppress her fears. Her husband's people would scorn the enemy blood running through her veins and hate her for her kinsman's cruelty. Even the sporadic patches of gray-green brush seemed to mock her bleak prospects. They remind me of his tenderness, offering brief respite but too sparse to shelter hope. She wondered if he had more wives. He had not mentioned any, but her lot would be much worse if he did. Elder wives gave new ones the hardest chores and often beat them severely if they faltered or complained.
Why did he grow angry? she wondered. Are my features so poorly formed that they offend? Amnon, she recalled, despised Tamar once he had forced her into his bed. Perhaps this is the natural way with men. The story had unsettled her faith as a child, and her mother's answer did nothing to ease her present distress: ‘ God gave men freedom to love or reject Him. One person's sin often harms many others.'
I must have pleased him a little, she reasoned, why else would he keep me from Wild Dog and show mercy to my family? However , as the question she had posed: ‘What is the strongest warrior against seven?' echoed in her heart, her stomach began to sink. My father and uncles are enough to frighten any man, and Grandfather is nearly as strong...even Straight Arrows has won tokens in battle. Perhaps fear, not mercy, kept them safe? Her stomach gave way altogether while considering her demonstration of gratitude last night, and she no longer was sure what was true or how to feel. If only he were cruel; then I might also turn hard as stone.
As if it happened yesterday, something she'd once asked her grandmother sprung vividly to mind. “Why do we call Swallow Woman after such a pretty bird? I would call her Stone Heart Woman.” Two Doves had told her to pray, not criticize, whenever she saw flaws in someone else's character; but Light Bird had secretly thought Swallow Woman beyond hope. Now, she felt ashamed of her lack of kindness and wondered what sorrows had etched the once beautiful face with such bitterness. O Lord, I take my wish back—I don't want to be made of stone. Please show me how I can remain …
Before she had completed her prayer, the verses she could not retrieve two days ago poured into her heart as if the Creator had spoken them aloud: “If you do what is right and patiently endure suffering, this is commendable before God. To this you were called, because Christ suffered for you, leaving you an example to follow in His steps. He committed no sin, nor was any deceit found in His mouth. While being reviled, He did not revile in return; while suffering, He uttered no threats, but kept entrusting Himself to Him who judges righteously.”
“Lord, this is different! ” Light Bird protested; but scouring her memory for the context, she realized she was wrong. Peter had written the instructions to slaves whose masters treated them unfairly . And I am property also… punished for the deed of another...“Lord, help me. I do not want to turn bitter and cold. How then could I reflect You to anyone? ‘Your grace is sufficient for me. Make Your strength perfect in my weakness.'”
Knowing that Jesus promised to grant her anything she asked in keeping with His will, she lifted her face hopefully from Pacing Wolf's back and the view that greeted her took away her breath. Enormous peaks, more imposing than any she had ever seen, stretched determinedly before the slightly setting sun. Lined up in rows, one after the other, they seemed as fearsome and magnificent as a huge party of Allied warriors arrayed for battle.
Pulling to a halt beside a small creek, Pacing Wolf motioned to a clump of low trees where Light Bird might gain some privacy. He watched her normally nimble legs wobble as she walked away and wondered if the long journey or apprehension had placed the unsteadiness there. Blackening the whole of his face, he concluded: She has much to dread. I have paid my debt of vengeance, but my dead woman's mother will not let her forget. Let Marks-His-Face and the other Kicked-in-the-Bellies summer with Those-Who-Live-Among-the-River-Banks.
Glancing back toward her captor-husband, Light Bird's insides once again dropped. He had braided his sorrel's tail and was painting its rump for his victory ride through the Sparrow Hawk village. Leaning back against the rough bark, she breathed deeply to calm her heart; it had taken off like a deer sniffing a wolf's distinct odor on the evening breeze. “ The Lord is my light and my salvation, she recited over and over, whom shall I fear…the Lord is the defense of my life; whom shall I dread?”
“We go!” he called, impatient to finish the impending unpleasantness.
Scurrying to rejoin him, her abject spirits kept her gaze pinioned to the red stripes painted across his leggings; but feathers, dangling from the staff he held beside them, coaxed her head upward. Her eyes climbed token after token until her racing heart lurched to a painful halt: at the top hung Large Man's silken hair. She envisioned it fluttering high above as Pacing Wolf dragged her behind him through a jeering, hate-filled throng. His rope would bite into her still-tender neck while she ran to keep up, cutting off breath every time she stumbled.
Tottering backward, she glanced at her husband's face. It held pride and confidence natural to a warrior of his stature—and a look of triumph at her wonder that made her feel ashamed. She could not help being impressed with his skill—his lance boasted nearly as many feathers as her father's—but she felt a traitor to the Allied scalps he might add to it one day.
Pacing Wolf saw her inward battle and fought his own also. He had intended to awe her but detested the unfamiliar vulnerability her regard provoked. Closing the gap between them, he slipped one hand behind her skull and with the thumb of the other smeared lines of red paint across her cheeks, repeating the action until she wore stripes that marked a captured bride. His heart swelled even more, anticipating the envy she would inspire; but this, too, produced its own war: Coveting walks inside envy's footsteps…
“You are my woman,” he announced gravely.
She was unable to tell if he offered comfort or impressed his ownership upon her but acknowledged his statement with an equally solemn nod. His next declaration turned her spine cold.
“This night, we sleep on the Cliffs-That-Have-No-Name!”
Those who look to Him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame.
Psalm 34:5
Author Bio
Sydney Tooman Betts currently resides in Florida with her protagonist-inspiring husband and two teen-aged children. When not engaged in writing, she spends most of her time home schooling, mentoring, leading the women's Bible study at her local church, or painting.
While single, Ms. Betts (B.S. Bible/Missiology, M.Ed) was involved in a variety of cross-cultural adventures in North and Central America. After marrying, she and her husband lived in Europe and the Middle East where he served in various mission-support capacities. Her teaching experiences span preschool to guest lecturing at the graduate level and she has been privileged to serve as Sunday School Superintendent, Children's Church Director, or Women's Ministries facilitator in several evangelical denominations.
Before her first novel, A River too Deep, she had ghostwritten several stories included in an adult literacy program.
Contact Sydney at: www.LightBirdsSong.com
To Purchase “A River Too Deep” and “Light Bird's Song”: www.e316.com , www.Amazon.com , www.authorhouse.com