GHOST OF A CHANCE_CHAPTER 38_LAST RIDE OF LITTLE LAKOTA

{I am the Turquoise Woman.

You may call me Gaia if you wish.

If you are lucky, I will not answer.

I do not like to be disturbed.

Of late, I have been reading Roland's journal,

detailing his adventures in the fictional world he brought to life with his,

unknown to him, Lakota ability to speak and write worlds into being :

hence his name in the Shadowlands -- DreamSinger.

When we last left him, Death had saved him as she rode Epona, the last unicorn.

The ride is near to bursting the poor creature's heart. As strange creatures of myth attack them from the skies of Hell, DreamSinger speaks his borrowed strength, speed, and endurance into Epona to save her life :

An act that Lakota warriors would call "Icicupi," self-sacrifice.

And since DreamSinger has chosen to die like a Lakota warrior of old, Death determines he will have company on his ride through Hell.

Let DreamSinger's journal take it from there ...}



Death cried behind me, "So you would die like a Lakota warrior? So be it! You will have company on your ride through Hell, DreamSinger."

Like a Lakota warrior flinging his arms to the rising sun of his last day, Death thrust her open arms to the angry, boiling skies filled with giant demons.

She cried in an eerie wail I had never heard before in tones like winter given voice, "By Oak, Ash, and Thorn, I call out to thee, spirits of those who have fallen long since. The last Lakota rides through Hell.

He rides to his death for the sake of a friend. Will you let him ride alone?"

I shook my head. "No, Death, don't. Don't!"

But Death ignored me as was her custom and kept on, " --- Hear me! I am the child of the Great Mystery who breathed me to life long before thou wast even shaped in the belly of Creation.

Hear me and come, Honored Warriors! Wilt thou have he who praised thee fall to those who art not fit to step on thy shadows?

Come. Fight this one last, great battle, one that wilt be sung of for generations to come. I promise thee not that thou wilt survive, only that thou wilt never be forgotten. Come!"

And they came.

A short sentence that does no justice to the scalp-tingling awe and majesty of it.

Even the Klage-Weib pulled up short in their attack, hovering uncertain in the hell sky. From the four directions came the rumbling thunder of enormous hoofbeats.

Strange, black clouds slowly filled the horizon from never-ending to never-ending. The darkness billowed, then formed into seven mighty horses that were thrice the size of the Klage-Weib.

Horses of that Void which waits for each spirit that falls upon the field of battle.

Long spouts of living flame snorted from their flaring nostrils. Their streaking manes rippled in the frigid wind of their passing.

And with each snap of their sleek necks, eerie thunder rumbled in warning of death to come.

Their wild eyes were windows into that terrible furnace which sparked the birth of all the fiery stars who even to this day still sing of the glory of their awakening.

And atop their backs were the seven spirits of the Lakota warriors who had heard Death's cry in their soul-slumber. Heard and heeded.

Pizi, Tatanka Iyotake, Inkpa Duta, Tasunke Witko, Jiji, Sicangu, and Makhpiya-Luta -- or as the White Man legends sing of them : Gall, Sitting Bull, Red Butte, Crazy Horse, Light Hair, Burnt Thigh, and Red Cloud.

Gall, who had gotten his name, when as a famished orphan, he had eaten the gall of an animal slain by a neighbor, whooped and reached back into a strange quiver worn on his back.

His twin braids flying back from the storm winds, he veered his ChaosHorse from that of Sitting Bull, who glared at him. Once Sitting Bull's military chief, Gall had parted ways with his mentor over things no White Man may know.

Nearly as tall as Gall and almost as handsome, Crazy Horse already had the weapon Gall was reaching back for : a sizzling lightning bolt. Laughing and bold, he kneed his ChaosHorse straight down to the gigantic German banshees. The others started to join him.

But Sitting Bull raised a hand. "No, Tasunke Witko is drawing them out for us."

Red Cloud nodded his long, lined face. "Yes, but let us flank them at the same time."

Sitting Bull frowned but held the words that his expression said burned to burst through his tight lips. Red Cloud had proven his mettle by leading a winning campaign against the combined might of the Pawnees, Crows, Utes, and the Shoshones.

Whooping loud to draw the attention of the gigantic Death-Cryers, Red Cloud, the lone Thunderbird feather jutting straight up from behind his head, bent low, placing his lips next to his fearsome mount's right ear.

The two shot straight for the Klage-Weib, who parted in two groups to meet the two racing Lakota warriors. Crazy Horse and Red Cloud.

Faster even than the lightning bolts in the warriors' hands, the ChaosHorses of the five Lakota remaining shot around the enormous flying DeathHeralds. The Klage-Weib realized almost immediately that they were being flanked and ambushed -- but still too late.

All seven Lakota warriors let fly with their sizzling lightning bolts. The thunder of the fiery spears hitting bone and undead flesh was deafening. When the boiling clouds of vaporized flesh and cloth had thinned, not one Klage-Weib remained. Whether the explosion of seven lightning bolts had destroyed all of them or whether the survivors had fled was unclear.

Sitting Bull yelled, "To DreamSinger's side!"

I smiled grim. Company always made the journey better.

As fast as thought, the seven Lakota Spirit Warriors thundered beside me. Epona looked to me and whinnied, "This will be the ride of a lifetime."

I nodded grimly. The last ride of Little Lakota.
***
This version of CREEK MARY'S BLOOD by NIGHTWISH starts with a new minute and a half intro by John Two-Hawks. If you would know what Elu looks like, study his face.