the spirit within must obey the new owner. In this case, Rogan must have had Blue Wolf connect with the pipe, for he cannot.”
“That’s right.” Agnes sighed and wiped her mouth once more. “It is up to us to stop him and retrieve that pipe for our society. Dana is charged with doing this, whether she knows it or not.”
“And is she trained in the art of war in the other dimensions? Is she physically fit for such a mission?” Kate Little Bird inquired.
“Let me sing you a song that has always been with the Storm Pipe. Perhaps it may answer some of our questions.” Agnes cleared her voice and began to sing in a wobbling soprano.
“Come to me, pipe who works with the storms
I am your friend, I am your friend
Come to me, pipe of the storms
I am your friend, I am your friend
Wind mixes with fire, and Mother Earth cries
I am your friend, I am your friend
Pipe of storms, fire of the sky
Come to me, come to me
Thunder walks, the wind screams and blood flows
Come to me, come to me
Blue heron lies dead, iron hand moves, and the nighthawk rises
Thunder and iron hand join battle, fire holds the key
Come to me, come to me….”
The energy in the hogan throbbed as Agnes finished the sacred ceremonial song linked to the Storm Pipe.
“Fire holds the outcome,” Sparrow Hawk said. “That could easily mean nuclear annihilation for all of us!”
Patting the pipe bag she carried, Agnes said, “That is one possible way to interpret this song. I prefer to think that Dana Thunder Eagle will have the ability to work with the thunder beings, who bring fire in the form of lightning, in order to destroy Rogan and bring the Storm Pipe back to us.”
Sheila One Feather groaned. “Agnes, you live in a world of dreams. Few who have aspired to work with thunder beings are alive! For their power is as great as a nuclear blast. No human can physically withstand the surge in order to harness it for use.”
Shaking her head, Sparrow Hawk insisted, “No, fire means a nuclear war, not lightning, in this song.”
“What choice do we have, my sisters? Do we sit here deciding that the sacred song of the Storm Pipe makes us paralyzed with fear?” Agnes voice lowered with scorn. “I say we contact Dana and get her to help. You forget that if the thunder beings choose to work with and through her, they will protect her from their power and fury. She would become an open conduit for them to send their energy to Rogan and his followers, but she herself would remain unharmed.”
“Wait, wait!” Sparrow Hawk held up her palm. “What do you make of this ‘iron hand’ in the song? What does this have to do with the outcome?” She looked around at the group.
Doris cleared her throat and gave Agnes a significant look. When the older woman nodded, Doris told them, “I have the answer, my sisters. Agnes is aware that one of my grandsons, a Cheyenne Lakota, carries the name Iron Hand.” She held Agnes’s gaze. “I believe that my grandson, Chase Iron Hand, will work with Dana to secure the Storm Pipe from Rogan and his women. And Chase has strong ties with you, Agnes. You, as our leader, are charged with getting him to help us in our dilemma.”
“You are right,” Agnes said. “Chase is a member of the Blue Turtle Medicine Society, a group of men and women who are powerful psychic warriors and healers. He is not only trained in the art of warfare and protection on the energy level, but he’s also just recently left Delta Force and the U.S. Army.” She gave them a narrowed look. “Chase is the ‘iron hand’ referred to in the song. As I speak, he is up on a bluff on my reservation crying for a vision.” She lifted her head, her voice becoming strong and clear. “He came, unannounced, to my hogan a week ago. He asked me to prepare him for a vision quest. His time in the army has left him wanting. He came home to hear what the Yei, our gods and goddesses, have decreed that he become from this time onward. Chase Iron Hand is a man of honor, with a military education and training. I can ask him for his help. Who better to pair with Dana in this effort?”
Sheila One Feather snorted. “Indeed? Does Chase know what he’d be getting into?”
“No,” Agnes said pertly, “but he will soon enough. And so will Dana.”
CHAPTER FOUR
DANA MOANED IN HER SLEEP and tossed the sheet aside. Brow wrinkling, she shifted to her stomach, stretching her arm toward Hal’s side of the bed. The dream that gripped her was the same one she’d had two nights in a row. In it, thunderclouds smudged out the dusky light, looming closer and closer, like angry brooding faces. A chill moved down Dana’s spine and she rolled onto her back, dragging her eyes open.
Vaguely aware of the sweat trickling between her breasts, she pressed her hand against her cotton gown.
“Hal?” Her voice was thick with sleep. Husky with hope.
No…he’s dead. Two years ago, her mind whispered back to her. Tears formed in Dana’s eyes and she shut them tightly. How long was this cycle of grief and nightmares going to last?
The bedroom was silent. It was June in Ohio, and she purposely had kept the window near her bed open. The air cooled her overheated skin, and Dana focused on the crickets chirping happily outside the window. Now and then, frogs croaked. The natural sounds soothed her fractured state of confusion, grief and loss.
It was more than missing Hal. She missed her mother, too. Groaning, Dana tried to escape the questions that often haunted her. Had Cora and Hal suffered terribly after being attacked? Had they died slowly? What were their last thoughts? Panicky ones, probably. Rubbing her moist eyes, Dana flopped onto her back and stared up at the darkened ceiling, those questions like knives assailing her heart and gut.
As she rested her arm across her closed eyes, loneliness snaked through her. The only thing that helped assuage this overwhelming pain was the personal pipe she carried. Reaching out, she found the deerskin bag that lay on the pillow next to hers. Hal’s pillow. He was gone, but the Nighthawk Pipe had given her solace on nights like this. Pulling the pipe bag to her breast as she rolled to her side, Dana closed her eyes, tears matting her lashes.
“Nighthawk, help me. I hurt so much,” she whispered, pain making her voice hoarse. “My heart feels as if it’s going to burst with loneliness.”
Dana felt a warmth begin to emanate from the long, rectangular bag. From the spirit that lived within the pipe, she knew—the one she had bonded with when she was young. The spirit answered her plea and sent waves of healing warmth into her heart. Holding the pipe bag securely against her, Dana mentally gave thanks for this unconditional love.
Like rivulets, the warmth spread from the center of her chest outward, flowing throughout her body. With the healing energy washing through her, Dana felt an incredible sense of peace and wellbeing. Nighthawk’s love was dissolving her fear and her anguish.
Dana released a tremulous sigh. Sleep would come now, and
