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he might implode from the pressure. He’d made a vow to never call forth the virulent brutality, but rather
embrace the feral demon when it reared its ugly head.
He looked beyond the window in his cell before meeting her gaze again. “I’ve heard their pleas in my
dreams, old one.”
She took in his bruised body, her dark eyes settling on the gauze strips wrapped around his torso. “It’s not a
journey of peace this time but one of great violence and sorrow for the Tsitsistas.
Tsitsistas - the Cheyenne. He nodded and released a drawn-out breath.
“Sweet Medicine’s prophecy has arrived. Though we have welcomed the white-eye with open arms, he’s like
the fox, a trickster that smiles while stealing the hen from under your nose.”
Ethan glanced around the metal pen and decided her visit couldn’t have come at a better time. “I see many
soldiers in my visions, and blood—endless blood.”
“You cannot change events.” Her voice a whisper, she closed her eyes for a moment, perhaps seeking the
same visions. “If you accept the mission you’ll save as many Cheyenne as possible.”
He paused and thought about the danger, but only for a second. “What else will the Sacred Council require
of me this time?”
“You must resurrect your battle skills from past lives, lead them, and . . . .” Her voice faltered. “Cry with
them in times of sorrow.”
He sensed she had more to say, but common courtesy and a lifetime of knowing Cheyenne custom
compelled him to wait.
Stands-In-Light’s eyes took on an insightful gleam. “What else do you see while you chase dreams?”
He saw her as clearly as the fingers on his hand. “A woman with hair the color of the magpie and eyes
greener than pine needles.”
“Your visions reveal the truth.”
The significance of the metaphors hadn’t been revealed to him, but his journey to the past this time would be
cataclysmic. He felt it with every drop of blood in his veins, every breath passing through his lungs. “What of
me? Will I be allowed to return to my life here?”
“You always have the choice, Ethan, but remember the decision must be made in the whisper of a breath.”
Her words struck a chord of sarcasm. “Before I die, you mean?”
She withdrew her crooked fingers from beneath the blanket with a solemn nod and handed him an object
through the bars. He turned the familiar relic over in his hand—a time-honored whistle made from the wing
bone of an eagle. The spirit of Maheo washed over him, like it always did when he communed with the People.
“They won’t know you’ve returned from the future.” She tucked the blanket securely about her shoulders.
“The same as before.”
He wasn’t certain how it worked, but whenever he returned to the People, life picked up where it had left
off. No one, not even the tribal holy man, knew he’d been gone.
“Are you ready, I Am The Wind?” She glanced over her shoulder as if to confirm not a soul could hear their
conversation. “The Sacred Council waits.”
“What of you?” He peered through the bars and followed her gaze. “What will you tell my jailers after I’m
gone?”
“I’m not called Stands-In-Light without reason.” She shrugged. “I’ll be gone before they realize it.”
His thoughts shifted to the moments ahead. Soon he’d be standing in front of the Sacred Council. The usual
formalities would play out, and then he’d be asked if he’d accept. He knew he would. He always did.
Spreading his feet, he allowed his arms to fall at his sides and drew a deep breath. “I’m ready.”
She closed her eyes, lifted her face skyward and began the deep, reverent chant:
"I walk alone on the edge of time,
traveling far and near.
Born of the sun, kissed by the wind,
the call of the raven screams in my ear."
His vision blurred and the metal bars twisted, reminding him of slippery, silver cobras. Ribbons of scarlet