NOW ENTERING CHEYENNE RIVER RESERVATION – LAKOTA TERRITORY
She eased off the gas. Her fingers tightened on the wheel. The weight of what she carried hit her all over again. The land felt different under her feet.
She hadn’t traveled this road in years, but the wind still moved through the cottonwoods the same way, and the gravel still crunched like it remembered her name. This ceremony of returning the spirits of their fallen daughters would take place at the central fire, its flames holding profound spiritual and cultural significance.
Wak?á? T?á?ka Fire or the Sacred Fire was a symbol of unity, connection, and the ongoing presence of the Great Spirit in her community. It was a tribal gathering ground used for Wacipi powwows, naming ceremonies, seasonal gatherings, and a protected and consecrated space where Bailee was to receive her spiritual calling, Wí?ya? Wakhá?, Medicine Woman.
It sat in a clearing just west of the river bend, nestled in a grove of old cottonwoods where the grass always seemed greener, even in winter.
Elders called it the breathing place, where the ancestors came closest to the living, where songs meant more, and silence carried weight.
As a girl, Bailee had come here for solstice gatherings and naming days. But tonight, she was here to bring the lost daughters home.
The fire crackled beneath a sky blanketed in stars.
Bailee stood in the circle of families and elders, a medicine cloth wrapped around her shoulders. The carved cedar boxes lay before her. Each one wrapped in ribbon and prayer ties.
Her grandmother sat among the watchers, silent but steady. Leona stood beside her, drum in hand, humming low under her breath.
Bailee stepped forward. One by one, she called their names.
“Chenoa Ironheart. Waniya Two Elk. Sahoni Red Feather. Taryn Thunderhawk.”
She handed the boxes to the families, mothers, sisters, children, and lastly to her Aunt Marla, her eyes full of both sorrow and gratitude, and each time, she knelt. Each time, the family wept and thanked her. Each time, the wind picked up just slightly, like breath drawn in from another world.
Afterward, her grandmother approached, her weathered face warm and welcoming. “My granddaughter has come home. We have been waiting for you to join us, return to us. I can see by the weight that has been lifted from your shoulders that you have found not only your peace, but your path.”
Bailee burst into tears, wrapped her arms around her grandmother, and they held each other. “I’m sor?—”
“There is no need for forgiveness. The ancestors pushed you in the direction you were meant to go. It has been your journey to complete, and now that you have, you’re home.”
“I heard your voice calling me,” she whispered. “It grounded me, saved my life out there in the wilds of the world. I love you.”
“I will always be in the wind, my child.” Then she set her palm over Bailee’s heart. “Here…always here. I love you. We will talk once you’re done.”
She stayed at the fire long after everyone had left.
Only the embers remained. Her arms were wrapped tight around her.
Leona approached, offered a single word. “Stay.”
“Thank you for the invitation, Wí?ya? Wakhá?.”
Leona pulled a small pouch out of her belt, set it over Bailee’s head. It touched her chest with a snap of power, and she gasped. “You’re accepting, not your Thunderhawk legacy, but your legacy, seeker…Wichóza Wak?á?.” Spiritual Seeker.
Leona left, but her presence remained in Bailee’s skin, her hair, and in her chest. She knelt, the flames of the fire bathing her in heat and comfort. She closed her eyes as she drew the scent of the smoke deep inside her, cedar, woody, earthy, evoking a sense of grounding and strength, reminding her of ancient trees that have stood as silent witnesses to her people’s history. The pungent herb sage’s cleansing scent purified the air, carrying away negative energies and leaving a sense of clarity and renewal, and sweetgrass, the grassy fragrance soothed and uplifted her, symbolizing the sweetness of life and the blessings of the Great Spirit
As the smoke swirled around her, a deep sense of peace and connection surged through her, the essence of her ancestors present and guiding her. She stared into the flames, and colors shifted and flickered, creating a hypnotic draw. Its glow cast a warm, golden light on her face with soft, ethereal radiance.
The rising smoke was a bridge between the physical and spiritual realms. As it ascended, it carried her prayers and intentions to the sky, where they were heard and honored by the Great Spirit, residing and living in each cell, molecule, dream, and hope.
The flickering flames were a living tapestry, each flicker and spark a whisper from the spirits.
The glowing embers were like stars fallen to earth, each one a tiny universe of possibility and potential
They massed before her and began to spiral. Slowly at first, then faster, until the sky itself became a wheel of light. In the center, a woman stepped forward. Taryn. Her hair loose. Her eyes alight. Her face full of strength and fire. She didn’t speak. She just nodded.
Behind her, the sky stretched into a long, narrow road, paved with stars. On that road stood Ayla. She turned, her hand reached out to Taryn, and their fingers touched. Taryn smiled, drifting away into smoke and starlight as Ayla turned again, and her feet touched the stars and she began to glow.
