I sleep outside with Wana as the old crones claim the hut, and we talk late into the night about what we want to do, the life she leads, and the world outside her tribe. We awake in the freezing morning, having slept as sisters, clinging to each other under a goat’s wool blanket.

After breakfast, I am summoned to see Broken Knife and keep my eyes down. “Look at me Little Girl; you will be tested today to see if you may learn the secret ways of the Mojave.”

“Will you test me?” I ask.

“I have already tested you; you will test yourself. I will be the judge of your fate.”

“I am ready.” I try not to show it, but I’m scared; Two Feathers, Wana, and Kuna have told me my life will be forever changed.

Broken Knife walks away and Two Feathers says, “Like dreams, a vision quest can be tricky, so can Broken Knife. I gave my word not to challenge him, but look to me if you need to.”

It is a long walk west to the sweat lodge. I expected something small, but this place is big enough for all the adults to fit inside. It is a round wooden mud hut built low into the ground, with a smoldering fire pit next to it, full of large flat stones heating in the coals of the fire.

The men strip to their loincloths, but the women remain clothed. Before I enter a man holds a bowl of vile-smelling brown liquid in front of me and hands me a wooden spoonful. I don’t breathe as I swallow the bitter liquid.

Inside everyone kneels on their haunches, facing towards the center. They sit me directly in the middle while two men carry in the hot stones, cradled on poles. The flap is pulled shut and an old man starts singing a prayer. After each line, he ladles a large spoonful of water over the rocks and steam rises to fill the room. Sweating, I close my eyes to listen. That drink is making me dizzy.

“Grandfather, one overall,

We have been seeking you on this

Road of Woe we travel on.

Father of the Sky, Wah-hoh-te

We give thanks for this land

We give thanks for our very being.

We ask only for your wisdom and guidance.

Grandfather, one overall,

Show us the sacred trail to your heart,

And give us the strength and fortitude

To go forth with our children

Through the dark world, we share.

Help us to help ourselves,

To save each other and to save all.

We shall start even today,

Even now,

Healing all.

We shall walk this very path.”

I open my eyes to stand in a barren valley with a dry stream bed. A large boulder rolls down from the hill to rest in the bed where two streams once converged into one. I walk around the boulder; it is too large to move, there’s no point. This is the driest place I have ever been. I see a crooked stick on the bank, and pick it up feeling its hardness; it would be a worthy staff if it was straight.

Holding it upright to see if it is a good walking staff, I rest the less crooked tip on the stream bed and water bubbles from the spot to fill the stream. Grass grows on the banks, and a man dances up the valley playing a happy tune on his flute. He stops and reaches into his sack to toss corn seeds over the ground and they start to grow. With a boyish grin, he winks at me, continues his dance, and is soon gone along with his music.

I am in Kuna’s hut where she lies on her bed, looking ancient. Her children stand around her, as well as Broken Knife who is crying. Wana wears a knight’s uniform, while I wear my black skirt.

A hand on the shoulder shakes me awake, returning me to the sweat lodge. I step outside with the other women into the hottest part of the day, Broken Knife is there. He asks me, “Did you find what you were looking for?”

I ask, “Is there a dry valley with a large stone in the middle of the stream bed?”

“It is known to us. It is a bad place where nothing grows.”

“I must go there.” I hear murmurs from the men and women.

“It is not a far walk, we will take you,” Broken Knife says.

We arrive at the valley and I see the boulder is bigger than in my dream. Walking around it I find the crooked stick, it is solid, and hooked on one end, a good staff. Standing in the stream bed closest to where I found the staff I use it to dig the gravel to reach hard clay. The men laugh and make rude comments. It is too late to back out; I must do this. Taking the staff up high I punch the straight end into the clay. It sticks. I attempt to pull it out but stumble backward, catching myself. My ears burn at the sound of men’s laughter, and I want to give up and run, but I see moisture on the tip of the staff.

I say, “I will now give forth life, a woman’s privilege.” It’s silly, but it sounds good, and the tribe quiets down. I again plunge the staff into the clay and wiggle it hard to ease it out. Water trickles out of the hole and the trickle starts to freshen, collecting on the stream bed to cover my toes. “Whose land is this?”

It is no one’s land, but it is closest to Kuna’s hut; she is its keeper,” Broken Knife says.

“I have a further vision. A young man playing a flute danced up the valley to spread seeds from his sack. He winked at me.”

“He is Kokopelli, the god of fertility and happiness; you will have many children.”

I place my left hand on my belly and with a sour face say, “I have no monthlies, and cannot bear children.”

Broken Knife is quiet a minute, looking at me and then Wana, he says, “Kokopelli has smiled on you and there will be children.”

I smile, knowing the truth of what I said, but the others believe Broken Knife. I do not mention my third vision of Kuna’s death. The power of my vision gives me the wedge I need; perhaps my plan will work. I say, “Wana would be a warrior and have great adventures, but she must marry Half Hand and care for Kuna in her old age. Do I speak the truth?”

“You speak the truth,” Broken Knife answers.

I spread my arms wide over the water to emphasize my rights. “I ask you for two boons, but first let us taste the water. Is it sweet?”

Broken Knife and I kneel in the ankle-deep brown water to scoop up a taste. He answers, “It is sweet water; it will grow corn. What is your first boon?”

“I will have a life for a life.”

The old man glowers at me and hisses, “I will not kill for all the water in the Mojave.”

It is what I needed to hear him say. “You admitted water is life, here is the gift of life given as its own reward. No, I will not kill anyone. I want the life of Wana; free her to live as she will, let her leave. I will give you my life, I will take her place, I will marry Half Hand, and I will take care of Kuna.” Glancing at Half Hand I see his scowl.

Broken Knife grimaces, “Will you do a Mojave woman’s duty?”

“I will.”

His face relaxes. “Will you take on the mark of a Mojave woman?”

I shudder, he means to tattoo me. I look at Two Feathers who shakes his head a little, signaling me to say no, but I know if I don’t say yes Wana will have to stay and die. I answer, “I will.”

Two Feathers closes his eyes. He cannot help me, not now. I am no longer his squire, I belong to Broken Knife.

“I will grant you that boon. What other boon do you ask of me?”

This is my one chance to avoid marriage. I smile and say, “Before I give up being a warrior, before I take on the mark of a Mojave woman, and before I become a humble wife, I would prove to all that I am giving up a great gift. I will fight one of your warriors as a warrior.” The men start to laugh at my foolishness; all except Broken Knife who I just challenged, and Half Hand who I must now marry.

“Who would you fight Little Girl?” the chief asks.

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“A warrior worthy of a challenge, a man hardened to the trials of life, he who is braver than all others. I will fight Half Hand.”

Half Hand howls in indignation while the other men hoot at him. “I will not fight this girl; it will bring dishonor.”

Someone shouts, “Are you afraid of a little girl, go fight a rattlesnake.” Half Hand’s face reddens.

Broken Knife grits his teeth for a full minute, but then smiles. “Little Girl Who Thinks She is a Warrior, only a Mojave may fight a Mojave for honor. You must first become a Mojave and take on the mark of a Mojave woman, that you will be ready for your duties as a wife.”

He’s seen through my gambit and I have nothing left to play. This is for honor, men and their damn honor, and it is Two Feathers honor. I promised Wana I would save her life. I look at Two Feathers who looks ready to pounce on Broken Knife, but I know he won’t. I must do this; I have given my word, and it is for keeps, I shudder and say, “I will take on the mark of a Mojave woman, and I will not bring dishonor to the house of Half Hand. Do it. Give me the mark, and I will do my duty. Do it now.” It’s only ink. Do it before chicken out,

#***

Broken Knife extends his hand to help me out of the knee-deep stream, locks his arm around mine, and we start the long walk back to Kuna’s hut where I will be given the mark. “I am just an old man, and I wish you no harm. It is better that you marry Half Hand, instead of Wana.”

“Why? I do not know the Mojave way and will bring trouble to your tribe. Is the reason I must marry Half Hand the same reason you will let Wana leave?”

I want Wana to live, I know what will happen if she marries Half Hand. You will not change our ways”

“Why will you force the marriage?”

“I must make Half Hand responsible for Kuna; it is to protect him and Two Feathers. They will be brothers and no longer fight.”

“Two Feathers is right; you carry a sharp blade.”

“A chief must be sharp. That is why Two Feathers does not challenge me. The first time I saw you, I knew you would be good for Half Hand.”

“And if we hate each other?” I ask.

“Hah, he already hates you.”

Kuna’s hut comes into view; children are playing and chasing the goats around, while the dog tries to round them back to the pond.

“We are here; it is time to take on your mark.”

“Will you make the mark ugly to punish me?” I ask.

“The mark will be good; I will not shame you. I must look to the well being of the tribe, even you.”

He tells me to sit on the ground by Kuna’s pond, and a sour old man, sits in front of me. He pulls out a small deep blue stone, knocks a chip off of it, and grinds it to a fine powder; not even enough to fill a thimble. He squeezes a few drops of sap from a cactus leaf onto the powder and mixes it into a royal blue paste. Tying two cactus needles together he makes a crude tattoo needle. Rough hands push me down on my back, stones are placed tight against the sides of my head and neck, and a hand holds my forehead down. I cannot move. My hands are held by the gentle hands of Wana and Kuna who tell me to be brave.

The first stab of the needle stings far worse than any wasp, but I do not cry out. The stabbing continues without stop, from the center of my lower lip to the bottom of my chin, pushing the ink under my skin. Not satisfied he goes over the same line again, adding more ink. He repeats the line from the right corner of my mouth down to the bottom of my chin, making it wider than the first line. He does the left side, and if to add misery to pain, he puts two more thin lines on each side of the middle line. Sitting back he smiles, but Broken Knife says something in Mojave, and the artist leans over to add points to the outside lines.

It is done. I sit up and lean over the pond to look at the mark. At first, I don’t recognize myself, but I see it soon enough. Perhaps I will never have to show it at school, or to the world. He has done it; Broken Knife has trapped me here. “Am I now Mojave?”

Broken Knife swings his arm to indicate the land about us. “From now until the sun sets on your life, you are Mojave, you are Wachinga. This is your home.”

“Wachinga?”

“It is your name.”

“I am Wachinga. I am Mojave.” I consider what I am to do next. He will make me marry Half Hand, and he has not yet given Wana her leave. “Will you grant me my second boon?”

“I will.”

Half Hand again protests, “I will not fight this girl. It will bring dishonor to my family.

Broken Knife fixes him with razor eyes. “You will fight her, or you will bring dishonor on yourself. My word has been given.” He looks at me and says, “You fight at sunset. After you lose you will marry Half Hand so he will have a warm bed tonight.”

#***

I am to be married right away. No courtship, no goodbyes, I will go straight to my marriage bed. I cannot become a knight; it was only a dream after all. I say, “I will prepare myself for my new life.”

I enter Kuna’s hut, followed by the other women. They give me hugs and tell me how good it is to have a new member in the tribe, all but Wana. She stands in the corner, tears in her eyes. I hug her and whisper, “You were never meant to be here, you are a warrior, and you will save others.”

“I shouldn’t have let you do this. I should have married Half Hand sooner.” Says Wana

Smiling to reassure her, I say “Our lives are what they are. I will be alright, and Half Hand will not have my children. Please let me have my time and send in Two Feathers; I must talk to him alone. Kuna chases the women out of the hut and Bear enters.

He asks, “Why did you do this? You are a white woman. There would be no dishonor in leaving as you were. I must soon leave, for Broken Knife will not let me stay to protect you. You cannot leave, not without his permission, and I believe he will never give it. When he passes on to the sky, Half Hand will be the new chief. I cannot stop this.”

I hold up my wrists to show my old scars. “Maud, the mountain woman, took away the scars on my face, but she did not take these away; I did this to myself, I wanted to die. Your sister plans to jump off a cliff, and this I cannot permit. Look after her, give her my money, I will care for Kuna.”

“You are my sister now,” says Two Feathers

“How do Mojave braves fight? Show me.” Behind the hut we practice with staves for hours, until the disk of the sun touches the horizon and Broken Knife comes to fetch me.

“It is time Wachinga,” says the chief.”

As we walk towards the group of men I ask him, “Are you the judge of the fight?”

“I am.”

“Will this be a fight to the death?” I ask

“It has happened in my lifetime, but I will not permit it to happen now.”

I squeeze his hand. “Do you think you can keep Half Hand from killing me after we marry?”

The Broken Knife stops to look at me, fear in his eyes. “No, I cannot.”

“I will submit to him, that he may have no cause to do harm.” I say, but I know what will happen after we are married.

Half Hand sees me and drops his shirt and trousers; he is wearing only a loincloth. He ripples his muscles and sneers in an attempt to scare me. I am tall, as tall as most Mojave men and have developed some muscles in the last few years, but he stands taller. I don’t fall for his threat and maintain a blank face. Two Feathers holds out my crooked staff, but before grabbing it, I drop my skirt and shirt. I wear a man’s loincloth and a thin breast band. My opponent stares open-mouthed at me and I jab the end of my staff into his ribs. It is as hard a blow as I can manage, he staggers back, but before I can attack again he starts to circle. I remember Bear’s lessons: only fight a winning fight, and, the longer the fight my chances of winning will disappear.

Half Hand snarls, “Little Girl, you will adorn my wedding bed tonight.” He swings at my ankle; I parry and follow with a blow to his shoulder. He steps back and reverses his grip; a look of cold meanness on his face. Whatever the outcome of this fight, there will be no wedding bliss for me tonight, only pain.

I parry a few light swings before he attacks hard at my leg. I jump to avoid a broken ankle, and jab the tip of my staff into the bottom of his jaw, causing blood to flow from his mouth. Showing no pain, he swings back at my shoulder and I try to parry, but miss. My shoulder splits open to an explosion of pain, and blood starts to flow. He charges in again, and I duck low, driving my head into his belly. He’s rock hard, but hooking the end of my crooked staff between his ankles I twist. He stumbles backward and I keep pushing. His head hits the ground with a dull thud and I land on top of him. Expecting to be grabbed by his arms, I scramble off, but he doesn’t grab me. Shifting my grip on the staff, I push it across his throat, and spin to sit behind his head, hooking my knees around both sides of the staff, and pull hard to squeeze his throat. He reaches up and hits my belly, once, twice, and again, but I am also tough. He weakens and his arms drop.

The end of a staff is pushed against my own throat. I look up at Broken Knife who says, “Enough.”

It is enough; I relax and unhook my knees to stand. I bow to Half Hand, to Broken Knife, and to the rest of the braves who stand in silence. I dress in my skirt and shirt while Half Hand slowly regains his wits and stands up. With dread I must now fulfill my bargain; kneeling before Half Hand, I look down and say, “I am now ready to marry and have you as my master.

The brave glares and I shiver when he kneels beside me; I believe this is the last peaceful thing he will do with me. Broken Knife stands in front of us and ties our wrists together with a short cord. He says a prayer in Mojave, and asks, “Are you ready?”

“I will live as a Mojave at the side of Half Hand. I will bear his children.”

Broken Knife reaches out to take our hands, but Half Hand stands jerking me up by the cord. He pulls out his knife and swings. I flinch and pull back as the knife slices down, but the blade is not for me; instead he severs the cord joining us.

“I will not marry a woman who cannot give me children. Someday I will spit on her body as it rots on the ground.” He turns his back to me and walks away.

I feel light headed and sink into the arms of Two Feathers.

***

It is dark when I awake, and Kuna and Wana are fussing over my shoulder, stitching the cut. It will be another scar to add to my list of body decorations. I look at Two Feathers and ask, “Did I win?”

“Yes, you have proven yourself a warrior.”

“I must hear it from Broken Knife himself.” Kuna looks at Wana and she leaves to fetch the chief. As the door flap is opened, I see that almost everyone has left Kuna’s land; the show is over, and they have their own lives to attend to. I wonder at the goats Kuna lost to feed that crowd; goats I must now herd.

Broken Knife enters and I motion for him to sit at the head of the table. “What do you want to know, Wachinga?”

“Have I succeeded in the warrior’s way?”

“You have.”

“Will you allow Wana to leave?”

Broken Knife smiles. “Yes, it is our bargain; you have saved my daughter.”

“Must I stay? That is also our bargain.”

He answers, “Who else will care for Kuna? Half Hand will not.”

Grrr… He owns me; I am trapped. I say, “She has three sons.”

Broken Knife looks at Two Feathers and says, “One who has left us, the other two are worthless.”

“Have they no father to teach them their duties?”

Broken Knife grimaces. “They have a father.”

I ask him, “Then he should care for Kuna until his sons learn their lessons. Is this not the way?”

“Two Feathers has taught you well. It is the way; it will be done.” He looks down a minute and back to me. “Perhaps it is better that you should go with Wana; you also carry a sharp knife.”

Broken Knife stands to leave, but pauses without looking when I say, “Father.” I see him no more.

I ask Kuna, “Mother, did I do right?”

“You did not shame him. The corn will grow and I am wealthy. Perhaps someday you will bring me grandchildren.”

“But…” I protest.

The old woman smiles at me. “Kokopelli has blessed you.”

I ask Two Feathers, “What does Wachinga mean?”

The knight smirks. “Like most Mojave names it has more than one meaning, some are not pleasant.”

With a sudden dread, I say, “Go on.”

“It means, Big Trouble in a Small Sack, like a rattlesnake in a bag.”

I ask, “Go on, give me the worst.”

“It could also mean an unpleasant woman, or a female dog.”

Grrr… Broken Knife again has his revenge. “Which one applies to me?”

“Hah, just Big Trouble, for no sack will hold you.”

“I like it. I’ll keep it.”