Firebird
Copyright© 2025 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 14: The Surrender and the War Chief
January - March 1879
The winter camp near the creek became their home for the next two months.
Little Wolf forbade any major movements while negotiations were underway. Runners went back and forth between the Cheyenne camp and Fort Keogh, carrying messages, testing positions, slowly feeling out what terms might be acceptable to both sides.
The Army wanted surrender. Complete, unconditional surrender.
Little Wolf wanted guarantees. The right to stay in Montana. The right to hunt. The right to live as Cheyenne, not as prisoners in another Oklahoma hell.
It was a delicate dance, and everyone knew that one wrong step could mean annihilation.
Meanwhile, life in the camp went on. Hunters brought in what game they could find—mostly rabbits, some deer, occasionally an elk. It wasn’t enough, but it was better than Oklahoma. Women repaired clothing, prepared hides, tried to keep children warm. Warriors kept watch, ready to flee or fight if the Army changed its mind about negotiating.
And Firebird grew weaker.
The brutal journey north, the constant stress, the inadequate food—all of it had taken its toll on her damaged body. Some days she couldn’t get out of her sleeping robes. Other days she managed to move around camp, but slowly, carefully, like an old woman though she was barely forty.
Morning Star was frantic with worry.
“You need to eat,” she said for the thousandth time, trying to coax Firebird to take even a few spoonfuls of broth.
“I know,” Firebird said wearily. “I’m trying.”
She managed a few sips before the familiar nausea rose. She handed the bowl back, breathing carefully through her nose, waiting for the queasiness to pass.
“This isn’t sustainable,” Morning Star said, her voice tight with fear. “You’re wasting away. If we don’t find better food, if you can’t start eating properly—”
“I know,” Firebird repeated. “But there’s nothing to be done about it. We have what we have. I’ll manage.”
“You’re not managing. You’re dying.”
The words hung between them, brutal and true.
Firebird reached out and took Morning Star’s hand. “If I die,” she said quietly, “you’ll be all right. The children will be all right. Tall Elk is nearly a man. Little Bird has her gift. You’re strong. You’ll survive.”
“I don’t want to survive without you,” Morning Star said, tears streaming down her face. “We’ve been through too much. Lost too much. I can’t lose you too.”
“You won’t,” Firebird promised, though they both knew it might be a lie. “I’m stubborn. I’ve survived this long. I’ll keep surviving.”
But she wasn’t sure she believed it anymore.
In late January, a breakthrough came in the negotiations.
The Army, embarrassed by the Fort Robinson massacre and facing public outcry, was willing to make concessions. If the Northern Cheyenne surrendered peacefully, if they gave up their weapons and came to Fort Keogh, they would not be forced back to Oklahoma. They could stay in Montana, at least temporarily, while the government decided on a permanent reservation.
It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t freedom. But it was infinitely better than Oklahoma.
Little Wolf brought the terms to the people.
“We surrender,” he said. “But we surrender here, in Montana, in our homeland. Not in Oklahoma. Not in a place of death. We give up our weapons, yes. We live under the government’s rules, yes. But we stay in the north. We breathe the air of our ancestors. We can see the mountains, hunt in the valleys, live as Cheyenne. That is worth the price of surrender.”
The people agreed. They were exhausted, starving, freezing. The fight had taken everything they had. If surrender meant staying in Montana, then they would surrender.
Preparations began for the journey to Fort Keogh.
Three days before they were to leave, Tall Elk came to Firebird with a request.
“I want you to come with me,” he said. “There’s something I need to do, and I need you there.”
Firebird was having a better day—she could walk without too much difficulty, and her stomach wasn’t actively rebelling. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
He helped her onto a horse, and they rode out of camp together. Morning Star watched them go with worried eyes, but Tall Elk had assured her they’d be back before dark.
They rode for about an hour, following the creek upstream, until they reached a place where the water ran fast and clear over smooth stones. The cottonwood trees were bare, their branches stark against the winter sky, but there was a stark beauty to the landscape.
Tall Elk dismounted and helped Firebird down. She was breathing hard from the ride, her damaged muscles aching, but she was here. That was something.
“Why are we here?” she asked.
“Because this is where I’m going to become a man,” Tall Elk said. He looked at her with his father’s eyes, and Firebird’s breath caught. “I’m seventeen in three months. But I don’t want to wait. I want to do it now, before we surrender. While we’re still free.”
Firebird understood. He was talking about a vision quest—the traditional Cheyenne ritual where a young man went into the wilderness alone, fasted, sought a vision from the spirits that would guide him into manhood.
“You should have your uncle here,” Firebird said. “White Bull, or one of the other elders—”
“They’re all preparing for the surrender. And besides...” Tall Elk met her eyes. “You’re the one who trained me. You’re the one who taught me everything I know about being a warrior. I want you to send me on my quest. Not an uncle. You.”
Firebird felt tears prick her eyes. “Your father should be here for this.”
“I know. But he’s not. You are. And you’re enough, Mama. You’ve always been enough.”
She pulled him into a fierce hug, this boy who had become a man almost without her noticing. When had he gotten so tall? When had his voice deepened completely? When had he stopped being her little boy and become this formidable young warrior?
“All right,” she said when she could speak. “I’ll send you on your quest. But we do it properly. The traditional way.”
She had him strip to a breechcloth, despite the cold. She painted his face with ochre she’d brought, marking him with the symbols of a vision seeker. She gave him nothing—no food, no water, no weapons, no shelter.
“You stay here for three days and three nights,” she instructed. “You fast. You pray. You open yourself to the spirits. And when the vision comes—and it will come—you listen. You remember. You bring it back and tell me what you saw.”
“And if the spirits don’t speak to me?”
“They will. You’re Red Hawk’s son. You’re meant for great things. The spirits know it. They’ll speak.”
She made him a small fire to start him off—he’d have to maintain it himself—and then she prepared to leave.
“Mama,” he said as she was mounting her horse. “Thank you. For everything. For raising me. For training me. For keeping me alive when we could have all died a dozen times over. I know I haven’t always said it, but ... thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me for loving you,” Firebird said, her voice thick. “That’s not work. That’s just what mothers do.”
She rode away, leaving him alone in the wilderness, and tried not to think about all the things that could go wrong. Bears. Freezing. Soldiers. A hundred dangers.
But he was his father’s son. He would survive. She had to believe that.
The three days Tall Elk was gone were the longest of Firebird’s life.
She tried to keep herself occupied, but worry gnawed at her constantly. Morning Star and Little Bird were equally anxious—they knew what Tall Elk was doing, knew the significance of it, knew the dangers.
“He’ll be fine,” Little Bird said with the certainty of someone who’d seen the future. “I saw him. Years ago. He’s a great leader. He’s magnificent. That vision was true. He has to survive to become that.”
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