Destiny Mine

by Janelle Taylor

Genres: Action & Adventure Romance; Historical Romance

Synopsis

JANELLE TAYLOR, bestselling author of CHASE THE WIND, now brings us the thrilling story of an Indian maiden who has been trained as a warrior-and the Cheyenne brave who is everything she desires. . .and everything that is forbidden. By the age of twenty the maiden called Kionee can ride, fight and hunt better than most men. Yet with her lovely face concealed behind a mask, she feels a secrets loneliness-knowing she can never marry or know a lover's gentle touch. Until an extraordinary vision brings her face to face with Stalking Wolf, the sensual half-breed whose passion will set her free, yet whose love is forever denied her. Set against the majesticWyoming wilderness, this is the haunting tale of a woman caught between honor and desire. . .and of her gradual awakening to the bittersweet joys of love. Tender, moving, and richly romantic, DESTINEY MINE is Janelle Taylor's most unforgettable novel yet.

Release date: October 24, 2011

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 358

Sample

September 1797

Big Horn Mountains

“IT MUST BE DONE on the next moon, my love.” Strong Rock told his grieving wife. “Kionee has seen the passings of five hot seasons, and Atah has given us no son. She is the oldest of our daughters; it is her duty, her sacred honor as a chosen one. It is the law of the Hanueva for her to take my place after my seasons are too many to provide for my family and to defend them and our people. If I lay ill or injured on my mat or if Atah calls me to Him while my hair is still dark as the night, she must step from behind Strong Rock and become as he was. We must do the marking ceremony for her to begin a walk on the tiva path as our Hunter-Guardian.”

Martay’s heart thudded in dread, though she had expected the bad news. “Forgive me, Strong Rock, for pushing no son from my body since our joining day. Four times I prayed to Atah for a boy to—” Her remaining words were choked off by sorrow and tears.

“Do not weep, Martay. If it is not the will of our Creator and Protector, He will give us a son before Kionee is sixteen summers and speaks her vows. The law of our people must be obeyed, and we cannot survive without a son to bring us food and guard us from harm when our seasons are many on Mother Earth. I will tell the shaman to prepare for the ritual here at our sacred mountain before we travel to our camp for the cold season. After the changing ceremony, Kionee will wear the marks of a tiva on her hand and face and will no longer live as a female. She must learn to think, speak, and be as a man in all ways but mating. On her sixteenth summer, Kionee will make a shield from hides of buffalo I slay and a bow from wood gathered in the sacred medicine forest. When her weapons are ready, she will place a tipi-of-power next to mine. She will receive a ceremonial mask and sing the tiva prayer. After that moon passes she will ride, hunt, and meet in council with the men until we live only in her memory.”

“Unless she is taken from Mother Earth,” Martay added. “If we are attacked by enemies, she must ride and fight as a warrior and defender. I fear for her safety and survival if that dark sun rises.”

Strong Rock caressed his love’s damp cheek. “She will be trained well by Regim and the other tivas to face and win any challenge. They will teach Kionee all she must know to accept her rank and to become one of them. Do not forget the Crow shaman believes Atah’s eyes shined on Hanueva by placing the holy Medicine Wheel and Great Arrow in our land. He told his tribe to leave us in peace or they would anger the Creator and His spirit helpers who guard us. He fears our tivas have great power and magic and it is bad medicine to slay one. Kionee will be protected by that fear. No tiva has been captured or slain and unmasked by a Bird warrior or their allies, so the truth remains hidden from them. It is a good trick and must continue for our safety. Crow chiefs believe the shaman’s vision; they warn their bands to fight only Blackfoot, Lakotas, and Cheyenne, which are many and strong—fierce and skilled enemies. To keep their pride uninjured, Bird warriors say to others they do not attack us because we are too weak and worthless for earning coups; they say it would be as if riding against women, children, and old ones. We cannot allow such insults to provoke us to prove they lie, for they are many and are experienced in countless battles.”

“What will happen when the shaman thes and his vision words are forgotten? What will happen if Crow cease to believe and fear them? Do you forget a few Bird warriors sneak raids on us in the hot season when we hunt buffalo on the grasslands in the great Basin of Thunder?”

“The foolish number small, Martay, and our protectors defeat them without provoking war or revenge. So it will be when Kionee is a tiva.”

“We have traded many times with those called Cheyenne; to this season, they are no threat to us. But what of other Crow enemies or their friends who are not bound by the Bird shaman’s words?”

“They treat Hanueva as wind, as if they cannot see us. All know we do not ride against other tribes for coups or seek to steal their hunting grounds and possessions. All know we are too few and peaceful to be of help as an ally to any large band. Yet, all know we will defend our camp and families if attacked. Those who would be enemies do not want to lose warriors’ lives and weapons fighting those they see as weaklings. As with the Crow, others believe Atah gave us the sacred Medicine Wheel and Great Arrow and He dwells near them. Kionee will be safe in my shadow and at my side.”

“Will peace always blanket us, my cherished mate?”

“Only Atah sees into new suns. Do not blame yourself for bearing no son; that is for Atah to choose. You are a good wife, Martay. Your face is easy to look upon and you give me great pleasure on our sleeping mat. You are skilled in all woman’s work. Our tipi is strong and warm. You have borne me four children and you teach them the best path to follow. It is a good deed for Kionee to become a tiva, so we must not fear or resist it. This has been our way since before we can remember, passed from father to son to son since Creator gave us life. He holds Kionee’s destiny in His hands. Until He calls her to Him, she will be our Hunter-Guardian. If it is to change, only Atah, the High Guardian, can do so.”

Martay grieved over the mother-daughter bond to be severed; it would be as if her little girl died. Kionee was her secret favorite—the child had been her shadow for five circles of the seasons. Her eldest child learned fast and helped with most chores, always willing and eager to do her best at any task. Kionee warmed her heart and made her smile or laugh many times each sun. When Martay tanned hides, cooked, or gathered food, water, and wood, Kionee handed her needed tools, fetched things to save her time, tended the three younger girls, and did other tasks. Kionee was learning to cook, learning which plants and berries to gather, and practicing with beadwork and sewing on small hides Strong Rock and Regim brought to her for that purpose.

Martay knew they would no longer share such times and joys after the marking ceremony. Kionee would be compelled to play boys’ games, learn boys’ tasks, do no girls’ work, and spend her suns and moons until sixteen with tivas in training for her new role in life. Instead of awls, fleshers, beads, and babies, Kionee’s hands would hold a bow, arrows, knife, lance, shield, and game. Instead of showing her beauty and gentleness, Kionee would conceal them and behave with the dignity and reserve of a man.

Martay wondered if her own mother had felt these same conflicting emotions when Regim became a tiva for their family. It was odd, Martay admitted, but she thought of her older sister as a man, as she could not recall Regim’s feminine side. Would it come to be the same with Kionee? At that agonizing moment, she did not believe it would. Yet, on the next moon, the little girl sleeping nearby would be lost to her; and unbidden resentment nibbled at the distressed mother’s heart and mind.

Martay scolded herself for wishing it was one of her other three girls who would travel the tiva path. Perhaps, she fretted, she was being punished for feeling more love and pride for one child than the others. It tormented her to think of perils Kionee would face on the hunt and in possible battles, as a female’s strength and stamina—no matter how well honed—were never equal to a man’s. Yet, no female had refused to accept her tiva role. She could not think of a single one who did not seem proud of and happy in that new destiny. All she could do was hope and pray it would be the same for Kionee, as she could not bear to see her beloved child unhappy.

As if his thoughts journeyed in a similar direction, Strong Rock said, “Soon Kionee must move her sleeping mat to the tiva tipi. She has many things and ways to toss aside, and many to gather and learn. The daughter of Strong Rock will become a great hunter, and a great warrior if that dark season comes. Strong Rock’s seed must never dishonor our family or defy our customs. It will be done as Atah and our law command.”

Martay sighed deeply, then gave her husband a sad smile. “Yes, Strong Rock; it will be done as Atah and our law command. I will do my best to make the change easy and fast for her.” And for me.

* * *

A quarter moon rode the eastern sky like a silent spirit who was coming to observe this awesome occasion. An autumn wind cooled the evening air and whispered winter was trailing close behind it. Scents of pine, spruce, and lingering wildflowers mingled with the strong breezes that often blew over Medicine Mountain. A temporary camp was situated within riding distance, where mothers nursing babies and older children tending siblings awaited the tribes’ return. Only Hanuevas of a certain age gathered at the holy site where numerous stones formed the sacred Wheel which was over seventy feet in diameter. Twenty-eight spokes radiated from the altar hub to its enormous rim. Seven stone cairns were spaced around the circle, all facing the direction of the rising sun. Weather-bleached buffalo skulls stuffed with and resting upon beds of sweet sage and herbs were positioned atop the hub, cairns, and where the spokes met the rim. Torches of pine stood in the ground at those same spots; their dancing flames brightened the setting and sent pungent smoke drifting upward in lazy patterns until breezes captured them and swirled them away. Tivas in ceremonial masks and their finest garments sat on rush mats inside the stone ring, while the tribe did the same beyond it. The shaman in full regalia waited near the altar with those requesting this rite—fathers and mothers and the two participants—ready for it to begin.

Drumbeats summoned the tribe and then prepared them to witness a sacred ritual, said to be handed down from ancient ones called the Nahane. Their tribe had lived in this territory longer than any could remember, and had watched other bands enter it and call it theirs. All knew of the Great Arrow of stones which Atah had placed on a mountain westward to point the way for His spirit helpers to this holy place where they gathered after the buffalo hunt to give thanks to the Creator and to evoke His future guidance. Time was short, for they must be gone before others arrived to do the same, especially the fierce Bird People.

After everyone was in place, the drumming halted and Spotted Owl shook his rattle to take charge of the event. The shaman’s action evoked a venerable hush; even birds, animals, and insects appeared to obey his unspoken command for silence, reverence, and attention.

Spotted Owl lifted the buffalo skull from the altar and held it toward the darkening heaven while he entreated in a melodic tone, “Atah, Creator and High Guardian, see and hear your children this moon. Hanueva come to ask You to make tivas of these girls. We ask You to guide and protect them as they train to fulfill new destinies, those chosen by You. Atah, Creator and High Guardian, we ask You to give them long life to serve their families and people, strong bodies to do their tasks and fearless spirits to challenge all perils. We ask You to give them joy and pride in their new ranks, success on their hunts, and skills to defeat enemies if they come. We ask You to keep them true to their callings by You and our law. We ask You to remove their past lives as daughters and to give them new ones as sons. We ask You to give them strength, courage, and many good deeds. We ask You to let no man or thing blind them to their duty or pull them from their new path. Atah, Creator and High Guardian, we ask You to hear our pleas and to answer our prayers.”

Spotted Owl replaced the skull on its bed of sweet sage and herbs. “Mothers, come forward and change their garments and hair,” he said. As the shaman sent forth prayers of dedication, the women obeyed.

Martay wove two braids from Kionee’s long black hair, for never again would she be permitted to wear only one or to let her shiny mane flow free. She removed Kionee’s dress and put on the boy’s garments she had made for this occasion: breechclout, leggings, beaded belt, and vest. After she finished her part, she returned to her assigned position with a heavy heart.

The shaman instructed in a resonant voice, “Fathers, hold up their kims so Atah can capture their female spirits; He will place them inside and guard them in these sacred vessels in the tiva meeting lodge.”

Two clay pots which were much smaller than the girls’ heads were held aloft by their fathers. Spotted Owl lit his sacred pipe and wafted its smoke over the children, then motioned for the vessels to be lowered. He blew smoke into the containers, from which dangled downy feathers and were adorned with the colors of nature. Inside were miniature toys and dresses to represent the putting away of feminine things, along with their female essences. Following more instructions, beaded pouches holding the dried ovaries of she-bears were attached to the girls’ belts. The bags would be worn in that fashion until the girls reached sixteen. At their final ritual, the ovaries would be placed in a beaded medicine pouch with other chosen objects and worn around their necks even beyond death.

“Fathers, paint on the mask you have chosen,” Spotted Owl said.

Kionee sat still, quiet, and respectful as Strong Rock applied the black covering from ear-to-ear and hairline-to-jawline. Her large brown eyes gazed at his serene face as he added blue, green, yellow, and red markings which he had selected as her pattern. The five-year-old did not understand the awesome and life-altering meaning of the ritual, but she knew this moment was special and that she was an important part of it. Pride and joy filled her because only she and her best friend Sumba had been chosen for this great honor. She watched her father smear liquid from the coneflower root on the back of her right hand, and felt it go numb with speed. She observed as he tattooed a beautiful mask into her flesh. She was surprised she did not feel pain as the porcupine quill pierced her skin countless times. She liked the colorful design he created for her to wear. She was eager to show it to the other girls tomorrow when they played with their small tipis and dolls, as no other children were allowed to attend the ceremony, and she did not know why. Kionee was sure they would beg to have their fathers give them one like hers and Sumba’s.

Martay watched the lovely face of her precious child vanish beneath the paints Kionee must wear at all times, except during certain rituals which would be performed after her sixteenth summer when she would use a buckskin mask with a full border of flowing black and white feathers, special markings, and breast-length tassels with beads and tiny plumes. She stared at the clay jar which held captive her daughter’s female spirit, one which would be placed in the tiva lodge with her own sister’s and the other tivas’. Martay’s eyes returned to the vivid mask on her beloved child’s face; then her gaze roved those of the other tivas, including Regim’s. She knew the reasons for the masking custom: to prevent men from thinking of a tiva as a woman during the hunts or battles or council meetings and from gazing upon one with desire. It caused other women to forget or ignore a tiva was a female, and give them proper respect. It also prevented men of other tribes from guessing the truth and attempting to steal and enslave tivas. Until a girl was old enough to reapply her face paint after bathing, other tivas were required to do so, using her hand tattoo for pattern guidance. Martay wanted to snatch the talking-feather from her belt and shake it for permission to speak to men in public. She wanted to tell them this practice of making girls into half-boys was wrong and cruel. Yet, she knew she felt this contradictory way only because Kionee was now included.

How can a female forget she is a woman when she has breasts and a lovely face to hide and is confined in the Haukau between the full moons when blood flows from her lower region? Martay fretted. She knew the alleged reasons why tivas could not have mates and children. But if a girl must be a Hunter-Guardian, she should be equal with Hunter-Protectors in all ways!

Martay rebuked herself for being selfish and angry, but she could not halt those emotions at this difficult time. If she had not been spared that rank by being born the second child in a family of only daughters, she would be a “man” this moon; she would not share a tipi and mat with Strong Rock. To never experience love, kisses, embraces, and children seemed a great sacrifice for only tivas to make. But the child of Strong Rock must not be the first chosen one to dishonor her family and people by refusing her rank or by fulfilling it badly. Martay realized she must pray and make offerings to Atah to give herself the strength and courage to do what she must, and to forgive her for wicked feelings and thoughts.

Spotted Owl motioned for the group of over forty tivas to come forward. He waited and listened as they promised to do their best to train the girls for their future duties and to teach them to be obedient to their fates. Afterward, the group returned to its assigned place.

Concealed behind rocks, the chiefs eight-year-old son and the boy’s best friend spied on the ritual with keen interest and amazement. They knew tivas of all ages but had not known they were girls and women until this moment. As they whispered back and forth, they guessed the secret was kept from children to prevent exposing it to outsiders who came into contact with the Hanueva. They talked of how other tribes would laugh at them for having female hunters and warriors, so they would never reveal the offensive truth. The secret explained to them why tivas did not swim and bathe with boys or men, and always kept their real images hidden. Wide-eyed and alert, they watched Kionee’s pretty face disappear behind one of those painted designs. They heard her declared to be a boy now! She would play, hunt, and train with them when the new sun rose! At times, they had been jealous of the “boys” and “men” with colorful faces who were said to be sacred “chosen ones.” Both boys sneered they no longer wanted to be tivas, and swore never to allow a girl to become a better hunter or fiercer warrior! When the climactic dancing, singing, and drumming began, the youths sneaked back to camp.

After the dreaded ritual ended and her child approached, Martay gazed into the upturned and colorful visage of her “son.” A bitter fate had been forced upon them: from this moon until Kionee’s death, she would wear the Mask-of-the-Hunter and live only for the survival of others. To hide her inner turmoil, Martay forced out a smile, which the “boy” returned with love and respect.

In a gentle but firm tone, Martay said, “You must go with Regim, Kionee; you will stay in the tivi tipi with the elders for a learning season. After you are trained and skilled, you will return home to us. This is a big task, little one, and you must do your best in it. Obey the tivas’ words as you obey mine and your father’s. Sumba will be with you in training.”

Kionee smiled innocently and nodded before hugging Martay. She accepted her aunt’s large hand and departed.

Martay’s burdened heart cried out, Good-bye, my little daughter; may you never experience the kind of searing pain which burns in me this moon.

March 1813

Wind River Canyon

THE SCENE BEFORE HER of three sisters working on a cradleboard for the first child of one of them became too much for Kionee to endure. As the women stitched and beaded, they made guesses about the baby’s sex and destiny. Becoming a mother was one of life’s glorious moments for a female, a great happiness and victory Kionee was denied in her tiva rank.

Young men were playing their flutes, giving doubleback rides, and taking long walks with girls. Soon snow would be gone; grasslands and trees would be green; flowers would bloom. Mother Earth and Nature would renew themselves and reproduce. Perhaps, Kionee reasoned, that was the cause of her discontent, envy, and tension during this changing season: female urges and instincts buried deep within her were straining to burst forth when she must hold them captive. It also was near the time for her blood flow, another reminder she was female, a reminder she was different and set apart from her true sex. She hated those few suns she was confined to the Haukau and often prayed they would cease since they had no purpose. The cold season had been too long and harsh and given her too much thinking time. Suns spent at weapon-making and repairs while trapped inside by snow and strong winds had kept her hands busy but left her mind free to escape and roam forbidden territory.

Though her feelings were in a turmoil, Kionee was too well trained in deceit and self-control to let it show. Yet Kionee felt as if the emotions might boil over at any moment, burning her and those around her. She realized she could no longer witness the tormenting scene and stay reserved, and she must not risk losing her pride and honor.

Kionee drew a quiet breath in resignation of her fate as the hunter and guardian of her family, as the son her parents could not have. “I wait no longer for Sumba. I will speak with your brother on the new sun.”

Before the tiva’s sisters could use their talking-feathers for permission to speak to a “man,” Kionee ducked and departed. In an agitated state, she decided not to search for Sumba, who had taken the tiva vows with her at sixteen. Though Sumba remained her best friend behind Regim and Maja and had shared her existence in the elders’ tipi for eleven circles of the seasons, Kionee had not exposed her inner conflict to her “brother” who was happy in “his” rank. Their winter camp was spread along the river for a great distance in the sheltering canyon, and Sumba could be inside any of the 258 tipis where over a thousand Hanueva lived. Kionee also needed to be alone to regain her poise and to clear her head.

“We go, Maja,” she told the silver wolf who joined her the instant she was in sight. Ever since she’d rescued him from certain death ten years before, the powerful and loving animal had been her constant companion and loyal friend, the only one at this point in time to whom she could spill her heart. On the way to her family’s tipi, Maja’s head grazed Kionee’s fingertips in affection and in comfort, as if he perceived her distress. In response, she glanced down, smiled, spoke to him, and ruffled the thick fur on his neck. “We are a pair for life, Maja, for we do not belong to our packs or have mates.”

In the distance, Kionee saw her father entering a friend’s tipi for a visit. He struggled with the crutches that enabled him to get around on one leg, as the other had dangled useless from his body after an enraged buffalo bull rammed his horse and trampled it two summers past. That was when she assumed the rank of sole provider and protector of her family. She was the youngest tiva with that responsibility, as most took control when their parents were older. She was aware of how much her family needed and depended upon her for survival. She could guess her family’s fate if anything terrible happened to her. For certain, she could never break her vow and leave them helpless, shame them and herself.

Kionee entered Strong Rock’s dwelling and told her mother she was going to hunt fresh game and to scout the departure of winter.

“That is good, my son. Watch the sky for danger,” Martay cautioned, her eyes aglow and her heart warmed by her child’s accomplishments.

“I need another deerskin, Brother, if you find one.”

“The hide I bring home will be yours, Sister,” Kionee replied to her oldest sibling, Blue Bird. “I will return before the moon comes.”

Kionee retrieved the bow and quiver of arrows from a wooden tripod which held her many weapons, her tipi-of-power. She took a large bundle outside to untie and unwrap it in fresh air, as a clever hunter never allowed cooking or heating odors, smells which would warn animals or enemies of his approach and presence, to penetrate his robe. Nor did she use grease on her hair and skin to help retain body heat. At the trees where she kept her horses secured and tended, she tossed a white throw over the pinto to hide his brown markings and put a braided bridle around his jaw. She settled the albino fur cloak over her dark hair and buckskin-clad body to keep her warm and to conceal her from prey and predators’ view. With Maja loping beside her, Kionee left the tranquil encampment.

Most of the ground was covered by a blanket of snow, but eager green shoots made their presence known here and there. Kionee passed the hot springs area where water refused to freeze even in the harshest weather. Nestled close to it, she saw plants with furry white heads which scattered like tiny feathers in a stiff breeze or if one blew rapidly on them. Pasqueflowers had pushed their stems through the frigid barrier and put forth blooms. Yellowbell had done the same, and it offered roots to be eaten raw or cooked. The white garments that trees and bushes had worn for so long were being discarded a layer at a time. The strong, bone-chilling winds had calmed for a while, and ice was deserting the ponds, rivers’ edges, and streams’ banks. Game was moving easily and more frequently through the forests, hills, and grasslands. In almost two full-moon cycles, Kionee recalled, her people would break winter camp to travel to the plains to hunt buffalo. Surely that would distract her from current worries. It must, as she would need all of her wits about her when racing with a huge and powerful herd of great beasts.

The tiva inhaled crisp, clean, cold air and enjoyed the gentle breeze wafting over her. She looked at the clouds in the pale-blue sky. More snow was coming soon. Perhaps it was Nature’s final attempt to hold off the warm season.

The huntress approached a peaceful forest where green pines and fir mingled with naked branched aspen, ash, and cottonwood. Kionee knew from experience that game might be located feeding on tender new grass along riverbanks or nibbling tasty bark in aspen thickets. She glanced at the rocky cliffs of red, reddish brown, and gray which rose above the timber. Snowdrifts bordered the meadows and heaps of white filled crevices in the broken range on either side of her. She silently guided her mount into the densest section of the forest, as most animals preferred cover to open terrain. She liked the wild and often fierce beauty of this setting; and she liked being alone with her wolf and horse for companions.

As the sun glittered off snow and ice, Kionee squinted her large brown eyes to thoroughly scan her surroundings. She knew animals often became almost invisible in tangly underbrush. She saw a mule deer bolt and flee, and knew it was useless to pursue it. A coyote darted into hiding not too far ahead of her. His pelt was as bold and noticeable against a stark white backdrop as were those of dark opossums who traveled snow-topped limbs above her in sluggish caution.

Then Kionee found the tracks she wanted: elk, a big one, moving at an unhurried pace. She must trail him deeper into the forest. The skilled huntress focused on each tree before her, the limbs in particular, as antlers and horns were often mistaken for them and ignored.

Kionee dismounted to check a spot where snow was melted; it told her the animal had urinated recently and was not far ahead. The wind was in her favor, but it did not bring her the scent of her prey. She listened for hooves crunching in the snow or for antlers scraping against a tree, but there were none. She proceeded with caution until it was time to dismount and continue on foot. She ordered Maja to remain with and guard Tuka so the elk would not catch their smell, panic, and escape. Accustomed to living and working together for years, the wolf and horse obeyed without hesitation, unafraid of each other.

Kionee closed the distance between her and her quarry. Trees and a snowbank concealed her advance. She heard the animal snorting. She slipped behind bushes, still laden with snow in the shade, and hid her painted face behind . . .