The Oak Hotel - Watty Awards 2013 Finalist

Chapter Forty-five - Mothers

Chapter Forty-five

Mothers

They arrived at the Arapaho encampment, hovering fifty feet above the ground.

Tipis, some twelve feet high, others much taller, sat in a rough crescent shape against the western side of a hill. Many were partially surrounded by trees that had been lashed together, acting as windbreaks against the impending winter. There was little movement due to the late hour.

I will guide you now in the manner in which I viewed the world as a newly transformed being. My first thought, of course, was to see my mother.

Lincoln moved downward, closing in on Sapana’s tipi. The rough, tanned buffalo hide had been ornamented with many symbols and characters.

It was common for Arapaho boys and men to decorate the hide flaps of their own tipis with chronicles of their adventures. Since I was not allowed on the hunt, I made my own stories; this was allowed since my mother was the storyteller.

Passing through the thick wrap of hide with ease, they settled slowly to the still form covered in intricately patterned blankets. Moving to the left and lowering to the ground, Lincoln knew without a doubt that this was Sapana’s mother.

Kayleigh? he asked, using the only voice he had.

I’m here, she said. Don’t worry.

Sapana spoke:

I settled down beside my mother like this and gently touched her mind. She was, truly, dying. My grandfather hadn’t lied about that, but I was correct in not trusting his motives. My sweet, frail Baha explained that she forbade her father to seek me out. She wanted me to be free, to escape tradition and breathe of the new and changing world. Without a doubt, she loved her Arapaho family and remained their chronicler and storyteller until her last breath, but—

“Sapana,” the bundled woman rasped. “The roses… have no fear.”

Lincoln heard Sapana sigh, but it was a moment before she spoke again.

Baha used to tell me to be like the rose—the desert rose, which is strong and beautiful and well protected by thorns. There was a creation myth story she would tell the children. Long ago, a young Arapaho girl became lost. To protect herself from the sly desert fox, she turned into a rose. The fox took a thorn in the paw when he tried to pluck her and died.

You became a rose of light, Kayleigh said, her voice distant and ethereal.

I told Baha what happened to me, about the Ydra. I tried to give her the power, so she could leave her worn body and travel with me. I did everything I could.

Why didn’t it work? Lincoln asked.

I… don’t know, Sapana said. But she believed me. She was happy I had found a way to escape. She said I would know what to do and to trust in love.

Before them, Baha slowly brought her hands to her face and kissed the center of each palm. Rolling onto her back, she held her arms out and smiled.

I am sorry, dear ones, Sapana said. I cannot watch my Baha die again.

There was a sense of motion as Sapana’s sawol rose up and through the tipi.

I wish we could have gotten to know her mother, Lincoln said.