Bombogenesis

The Bomb Cyclone has smashed into the East Coast, ringing in Jan. 4, 2018, with a winter wonderland.

Bombogenesis is a weather term totally new to me. Bomb cyclone. It rolls off the tongue with a brittle fury that demands we sit up and listen.

It also inspired me to write today's short story about a similar weather situation, although mine takes place two centuries ago. 

Enjoy my story, Buffalo Woman's Price.

Buffalo Woman’s Price

2018 © Farley Dunn

IT WAS A place he hoped he’d never see again.

Crazy Crow Coloradas shifted his buffalo robe, pulling it tightly around his neck to thwart Wind God’s fingers from reaching in and stealing his warmth. He had little enough of it, and he couldn’t afford to share.

Across the frozen lake, falling snow whipped into dervishes, sons of Wind God, stirred by the anger of the Far North, and come to berate the People for not doing what they had been commanded. Just at the edge of Crazy Crow’s vision, a tendril of smoke curled, barely visible against the gray sky. Trees, tightly wrapped in snowy robes, hunkered against the landscape, mushroom fingers of white, their caps drooping with the weight of the storm.

White coated the world.

It was a bad day to be out, to leave his family huddled around a fire in their teepee. It was worse for him, with his hatchet at his belt, and the hardness in his heart. White Buffalo Woman had come to him in a dream, reminding him of the great herds that once roamed the land. Now, his family hungered, for the White Man had wreaked havoc upon his world, and the buffalo had died by the thousands.

Today was a day for White Buffalo Woman’s revenge, to revisit the massacres of the White Man from Crazy Crow’s youth.

Crazy Crow lifted an arm, and a dozen warriors, also clothed in buffalo robes coated white, appeared as if by Buffalo Woman’s magic. They were dervishes themselves, disappearing when they paused, and only alive again when Crazy Crow pulled them forward with a motion of his hand. Each carried a blade at his side, prepared to also fulfill the demands placed upon them.

The ice snapped and spit as Crazy Crow stepped onto the frozen lake. His warriors were spread out to distribute their weight, but as they joined him, the ice grew angry. He could hear her voice, and he whispered a prayer to placate her irritation.

“Mother Water, nourisher of children and harbinger of life, bear my weight with patience and fortitude. I walk upon your shoulders at the request of Buffalo Woman. I carry nothing with me except my life, and I take nothing away except what you will.”

The wind whipped the words from his mouth and carried them to the ice. It did seem the creaking lessened, and Crazy Crow breathed easier. As they plunged farther from the shore, the wind-whipped snow thinned, revealing the fractured, seamed ice beneath their leather-wrapped feet. Sleek shapes bearing great fins moved within the darkness, seen through the translucent ice.

“Brother Fish,” Crazy Crow whispered, “I will come for you in spring. Be prepared to share my table. You’ll help my children grow strong against the white invasion that has injured our land.”

Again, his words were whipped away, and he decided not to speak again. Wind God tried to find its way inside his mouth each time he did, and his lips had grown numb. Crazy Crow pulled his robe tighter, barely leaving room for his eyes to peer from within his cocoon of warmth. He looked for the smoke rising against the horizon, telling of his destination, and only finding it after some searching. It would be easy to lose his way in the storm, and while he held no fear for his life, he worried about his family. How would they survive if he didn’t return?

After what seemed hours, the storm-battered ice was no longer clear of snow, and Crazy Crow began lifting his feet higher with each step, fighting his way through the snow. He held up an arm, reached to his back, and removed his ash wood and woven leather shoes for walking in the snow. He knelt and strapped them to his feet, knowing that his companions were doing the same. He stood and waited for a time, to ensure all were ready to move on, and began to make his way toward the White Man’s cabin once again.

Red snow would signal Crazy Crow’s compliance with White Buffalo Woman’s request. A life for each of the thousands of buffalo slaughtered upon the plains was little in return, but it had been spoken in his dream. His hatchet must be bloodied and wiped clean in the snow, and then the White Man’s structure must be burned, and the ashes scattered, to remove the disease of his presence from the soil.

The buffalo would return to feed Crazy Crow’s people when this deed was done. White Buffalo Woman had assured him with signs and portents of a future abundance. Life for life. He must trust the dream.

As Crazy Crow felt the land rise under his feet, he thanked Mother Water for allowing him to cross the frozen lake. He searched the place the smoke should be and couldn’t find it. He lifted an arm to gather his warriors, and with pointed hands and a decision made, they headed up the hill the direction the cabin must be.

The area around the small building was dismal, with tumbled remnants of life, now covered with snow. A dead horse was crumpled in a corral, with snow dusting its coat. Crazy Crow whispered a benediction that Brother Horse might run free under a summer sun for all its days.

With determination in his heart for what must be done, Crazy Crow pounded on the rude door to the White Man’s abode, and he called out in his native tongue for the White Man to open the door.

Silence answered him. With one hand on his hatchet, he lifted the other in a sign, and he forced the wooden door wide. As one, the warriors burst inside.

In the light of the dying embers, a man and a woman, starved and frozen, huddled in an embrace of death. A small child, wrapped in layers of cloth, cried with hunger from inside its crib.

Crazy Crow hefted his hatchet. Blood must be spilled. Buffalo woman had demanded her price, and he could not refuse.

Once outside, he wiped his blade in the snow, leaving a jagged red smear to stain the white. Buffalo Woman was appeased. When he stood, he pulled his buffalo robe snugly around him to keep the baby warm. The pain in his tightly-wrapped hand would fade, and the injury would heal. As Crazy Crow walked away, the cabin blazed in flame, casting leaping shadows across the frozen expanse. They would return in spring to scatter the ashes, and the land would be healed.