“Pick up your feet, Snow Owl. Your father is waiting for us at the Dreamer’s wigwam.”

I reluctantly picked up my pace behind the Chief’s youngest daughter, Black Feather. Her twin sister, Swift Mouse, was already waiting with her mother by the secluded, sacred cave next to the large wigwam. The two of us were the last ones to report to my father for a joining ceremony.

“Black Feather, I am as eager as you to find out who our parents decided will be my wife. I am frustrated about how vague my father has been about his dream regarding my future. As the People’s medicine man, he sure does enjoy his secrets. Has your father said anything to you?”

“No,” she answered, lengthening her stride up the dirt path. Yet, she smirked at me and continued, “Spirit Talker’s vision has excited my father, but at the news, my mother is living up to her name.”

Thorn. She has always carried hard feelings about me, I thought. I do not understand why the twins and the Chief’s wife need to bear witness. I feel like I am losing my best friends to some strange woman, and they had to see it.”

“You have such strict parents, but perhaps that is because you are half-white,” she observed. “They truly tell you less than most parents.”

My father’s secrets hurt me at times, but I did not believe it was due to my devil blood. “I will be a dutiful Penateka,” I assured her, tightening my resolve and hardening my heart to the approaching duty.

It was late summer with enough sun for a comfortable temperature. Our tribe had stopped on the sacred mountain to pay our respects before moving on to visit a friendly Shoshone tribe. The rumor I had heard from slaves was the twins were going to marry into the Shoshone tribe to bring good fortune and strengthen our alliance. My thoughts had been dark clouds ever since. The twins had been my friends since I had joined the northern Comanche tribe as a slave at age 8. They had said they loved my blue eyes. When they became young women, they both danced with me at their Sunrise Ceremony, which had upset their mother. However, it was a special time of power and each female participant selected their own dance partners. Not that I was the only male to dance with them. They had many suitors.

Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t notice Black Feather slowing down until almost stepping into her backside. By refocusing on my surroundings, I noticed she had more wiggle in her hips today. She had developed into a tall woman with large breasts and shapely curves. I had tortured dreams about both sisters ever since I had hit puberty. They were the only women in the tribe as tall as me and those nighttime desires had pitched them in every horizontal position imaginable.

Both women had learned from their mother to boss me around, but unlike their mother the twins softened their tone as they came of age. Their soft eyes had seemed to see me as a man when I delivered my first deer to their father’s tent. It had been upon my mother’s advice and it had won me a point of respect with the Chief. Fortunately, later events lifted his goodwill towards me even more.

“Stop sulking, this is a happy occasion. Trust our fathers, they act in the best interest of the People. I am sure you will have fun with her,” Black Feather declared. She was probably thinking of her own happiness and her future with the Shoshone. Our tribe was struggling with the waves of palefaces. Why shouldn’t she seek a stronger tribe?

The cave was a long walk from my tent. We were not greeted by Thorn, but Swift Mouse smiled and greeted us at the mud wigwam.

“You found him, sister?”

“He was dressing a huge buck for his future wife,” Black Feather responded. “One shot to the heart.”

“He has always had keen eyes,” Swift Mouse answered, adding a giggle.

Thorn beat on the wigwam’s door. Chief Broken Horn and my father stepped out of the Dreamer’s hut. Both wore a full headdress with many eagle feathers. Each warrior stood to his full height, looking splendid in their best clothes. Their bulky bodies blocked any view inside the hut.

“Snow Owl are you ready for my decision?” The Chief asked.

“Yes, sir. I have four horses for the woman’s father at my tent.”

“Double the normal bride price. I am pleased with you,” Broken Horn answered. I looked about for the bride’s father, starting to suspect something was odd. “I accept,” Broken Horn continued, “You have captured fine horses.”

I gasped at his words. Both fathers smiled. Behind them, Thorn’s dark eyes told me her thoughts.

“Spirit Talker has convinced me we must embrace his vision,” Broken Horn commented. “He has had it three times in three days, while in the cave of our ancestors. That is strong medicine.”

“I saw a white owl on a forked branch holding an eagle feather in one talon and a live jumping mouse in the other talon. After smoking in the dreamer’s hut, I understood the vision. An owl can see in the dark, allowing them to see beyond what others perceive. In this time when we must deal with the numerous palefaces, we need new eyes. With a black feather of wisdom and the successful journey of the mouse, you will help guide the People,” my father announced while rattling his medicine stick.

Now how a mouse clutched in the grip of an owl was a successful journey evaded me. Looking at Thorn it evaded her understanding too. Nevertheless, the twins just beamed at me with pride and happiness.

The Chief looked at my father with respect, as if he had heard the most profound words of his life. “You will marry my youngest daughters for the good of the tribe. They have been trained well by my wife.”

He didn’t have to convince me, so I said, “I am honored. You have many brave sons and a respected elder daughter. These two will be the gems of my teepee.” The Chief had a liking for shiny rocks found on white women. He called them gems, which he used in trade with white trappers.

Both men seemed pleased with my words and turned to the women. Black Feather and Swift Mouse stood in formal solidarity with their mother. Their stone faces showed respect to the two most important men in the tribe. They knew when to be silent, and when to hide their smirks and smiles or their anger.

Broken Horn hugged and kissed each daughter. “They are in your hands now. I return to the tribe. The mothers will watch the ritual. I go to claim my horses and celebrate with my sons.”

With that, he left, and my father directed us to enter the door. Inside, wool blankets covered the dirt floor, a wooden table contained a bowl and drinking horns, and a small fire burned in the center of the room. My mother, Shaking Bear, stirred the coals of the dying fire. The low light was desirable, given the anticipated rite. My mother smiled at me but said nothing. Her pride-filled eyes gave all the approval I needed. She had always been my protector.

We all sat on the blankets as my father sang a song and beat his feet around the room. The room was a spartan affair. Like me, I doubted either mother had been in the hut before, but there wasn’t much to the holy hut. It was the ceremony that was impressive. After another song that praised our ancestors my father stopped. My mother put some ingredients next to the bowl on the table for my father. I could see the bowl already had goat milk and crushed leaves in it. He added some crushed seeds, honey, and another mystery liquid.

My father swished the bowl and seemed satisfied. “Drink.”

He offered it to me first and then to my brides. We all drank the bitter concoction.

The bowl remained half full, so Spirit Talker offered the bowl back to me. “Drink.” Once it was empty. He said, “May the fruit of this day bring our tribe a new life. Now, wait, soon your animal spirits will talk to you.”

I was speechless until he got to the door. “That is all you are going to tell me?”

He smiled at both of the mothers, then turned to me. “In a few hours, the wisdom of the ages will be yours and your brides.’” He pointed at me, and then to my brides. “Wait in mediation for answers. The mothers will watch and protect you from any evil spirits. I will return to the cave of our ancestors until your watchers come to me.”

It was awkward to look at Thorn’s cold eyes. My mother had her eyes closed in prayer. Black Feather mirrored my mother’s pious form, crossed legged. Swift Mouse knelt with her hands on her thighs, never letting her eyes wander from mine. Time moved on but without the sun I couldn’t count the eternity that it felt. The best I could do was count the recited requiem prayers of my mother. The fire burned lower and its heat seemed to transfer to my crotch. A familiar tingling sensation warmed to my stomach. It felt like the room was becoming a dream. It was hard to think clearly. Happy feelings fueled the burning in my manhood.

Swift Mouse broke the silence. “Do you feel the joy of our ancestors yet?”

“Not yet, little one,” I answered, feeling embarrassed at my true heat.

More time passed, but time seemed to dim even further, and I felt light as a feather.

Black Feather said, “I feel warm in my stomach.” She did not open her eyes, but she stood up.