This side story is about a character who appears in the novel Vendetta: The Awakening. It will not ruin the story overall, and is meant as supplemental text. The events within this body of text have no bearing on the events of Vendetta: The Awakening.
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| Wandering Star |
They had been traveling with the buffalo herd when the white men came galloping up. The whites wore no colors of allegiance, but wielded rifles, pistols and swords, and they spat curses no one understood. Wandering Star recognized a few calls of revenge for some act committed against their numbers as the whites slaughtered his kinfolk. He tried to fight back, but his tomahawk, spear and dagger were nothing compared to what the white men used against him.
He saw them rape his wife, but could do nothing. His wounds were too great to allow him to move. They took his daughter, who was only just beginning to grow into her adulthood, and tied her to one of their horses. They took the other young women as well - seven in all - and slaughtered the rest of them, young and old, man and woman alike. Wandering Star had never seen such disregard for life. But what could he do? He gave all that he was to try and stop them.
He did not want to give up. He wanted to stand and follow them, as he knew others in his camp wanted to do as well. But he could not. The wounds in his chest and in his stomach had bled out too much, and he could no longer feel his arms and legs. His eyes wanted to close, but he wanted to remain awake until his last breath.
Thunder rolled above as the rain continued to pour down on him. He saw the sky light up and another tumble of thunder followed. He felt his eyelids grow heavy. He closed his eyes with the intention of reopening them, but found he could not. He willed himself awake, and opened his eyes for what he thought would be one last look upon the horizon where the white men disappeared. Lightning tore through the sky and down to the ground before him. A single bolt singed into the very fabric of reality before him.
He saw a man in a suit of what Wandering Star could only assume was armor. The man's shoulders, waist and legs had metal flaps that hung from fastenings. The man's face was covered by a furious mask and his helmet draped to each side of his head. A single lightning shaped sigil rose from the forehead of his helmet. The eyes behind the mask glowed with a fierce intensity and crackled with contained electricity. The man walked to Wandering Star, a single curved blade at his side.
The man unsheathed the sword with a flourish, revealing a shining silver metal that reflected a rainbow luster. He raised the sword into the sky and another lightning bolt struck the blade. The sword glowed with violent fervor. The man stepped over Wandering Star's body and pointed the sword down.
"I, RAIDEN," spoke the man in perfect Sihasapa tongue, "THE GREAT KAMI OF RAGE, ACCEPT YOU AS MY CHILD, AND GRANT YOU THE STRENGTH TO AVENGE YOUR PEOPLE. GO FORTH, SAVE YOUR DAUGHTERS, AND LET THE FOREIGN INTRUDERS KNOW MY FURY." The man calling himself Raiden stabbed Wandering Star square in the back. The lightning tore through Wandering Star's body, jolting him with pain and agony for every second it coursed through his veins. Yet, he felt each of his wounds close, and the bullets dislodge themselves. His arms grew strong again; his muscles tightened and expanded. He felt his mind sharpen and his skin grow thick and tough. Raiden removed the sword from his body, and Wandering Star looked up to find no one standing above him. The storm was the only entity keeping him company.
His body felt new. It felt revitalized. He rose from the ground, and re-armed himself with HIS tomahawk and spear. He sheathed his fallen dagger at his belt. He wiped the blood from his stomach and side and covered his face with the crimson war paint. He knew which way the white men went. Wandering Star would show them his fury - he would exact his revenge.
It took him two hours of walking and running to find them. They were twenty men camped inside a small outcropping of trees. Wandering Star was ashamed it took so little of them to kill he and his kin - but they had guns. His kin only boasted twelve warriors, including Wandering Star. But with women, elderly and children, their numbers added up to over fifty. Now, he and the seven daughters were the only ones alive. The white men would feel his wrath.
He approached low in the tall grass, and waited for nightfall. Only two men remained awake as the other eighteen went to sleep. The six of the seven girls were tied to a tree, and one was taken into the leader's tent. Wandering Star was unsure whose daughter it was, but since he was the only one of his kin remaining, they were all his. He heard grunting and screaming coming from the leaders tent - the other nine tents were quiet. The two guards - one with a grizzled beard and one with just a mustache - kept watch next to the small fire they built to keep warm. It was nothing but embers and smoke with the rain, but they kept it going nonetheless.
Wandering Star crept closer through the tall grass, and got behind the tree the bearded guard leaned against. The other guard kept his eyes on the fire. If Wandering Star was quick enough, he could slit the first guard's throat before the other noticed. Wandering Star put down his spear and tomahawk quietly, and unsheathed his dagger. He extended his arm around the tree trunk, and quickly flicked his wrist. Blood spurted out and onto the ground. A panicked sound came from the bearded man as he clawed at his neck. Wandering Star silently moved back into cover and readied his tomahawk as he saw the mustached guard look alarmed.
Wandering Star threw his tomahawk and struck the mustached guard in the center of the forehead, just as the guard was about to raise a shout. The guard fell back against the tree, and died with his eyes wide open. Wandering Star, after gathering his spear, moved softly towards the dead guards and dislodged his tomahawk from the second guard's forehead. He still heard the whimpering and grunting from the leader's tent. Wandering Star could not forget the leader's face - it looked like his nose was being held up by an invisible string, and his eyes bulged whenever he spoke. His face and lips were both fat, and his chin was small and dented. Wandering Star crept through camp, beside the six daughters tied to a tree, and beyond to the leader's tent.
When he entered, he saw what he never wished to have seen. His daughter - Running Fox - was being raped by the leader. He grunted as he moved in and out of her body, and a thin rail of a man watched from the other side of the tent, smiling and wringing his hands in anticipation. Wandering Star could not withhold his rage.
He threw his spear and struck the leader dead in the chest. The strength behind the throw forced the spear - haft and all - straight through the leader and onto the bed next to Running Fox. In the next instant, as the snake-like man's eyes widened in surprise, Wandering Star threw his tomahawk and hit the man in the middle of the chest. The thin man did not fall right away, so Wandering Star drew his dagger and threw. It lodged itself within the man's neck. The next second, he was removing Running Fox from the bed, and pushing the shocked leader forward. Wandering Star moved faster than he imagined. By the time he and his natural daughter stood at the entrance to the tent, both men had finally fallen, and were bleeding out onto the ground.
"Father - " exclaimed Running Fox just before Wandering Star covered her mouth.
"We must be quiet. The rest of the camp can wake up."
"How did you survive? I saw you die," she whispered low. Her soft face was covered with grime and bruises.
"The Great Spirits watch over us, my daughter. I will explain everything later." He looked out to the camp through the open tent flap. "There should be an Oglala camp near the Great Rock this time of year - go to them. Take the other daughters, take some horses and run." His voice was low and insistent. She did as he ordered.
When he heard the horses gallop away, after he finished scalping the leader with his dagger and collecting his weapons, he walked out to the middle of the dark camp. The lightning was the only illumination. The storm raged on above him. Wandering Star killed every last one of the white men as they slept, slitting their throats and hacking off their heads. He tied the heads together with a tent rope, stabbed his spear into the ground, and tied the tent rope of heads to the end of his spear.
He got on a horse and rode away into the night, content that his revenge had been quenched. The next group of white men would think twice about marching upon Wandering Star's kin.
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