“Captain Lewis?” The youth came out from behind the trees, where he had apparently been keeping watch. He looked awake enough, his rifle in hand, his eyes bright. “Sir? What is wrong?”
“How can you ask what is wrong?” He gestured toward the river. “Can’t you see that the Indian woman took one of our canoes? Why did you not stop her? You’re supposed to be guarding our boats and provisions!”
The young man’s mouth opened, as though in shock. “Sir! When did she do that? I have not seen her at all. Was it in the dark last night, when I might not have seen her?” Agitated, Gass ran to the river, then turned back in confusion. “Sir…all the canoes are here.”
“Impossible. I just watched her take one.” Meriwether ran to the river and counted the canoes tied to the shore. None were missing. The more he pondered what he had seen, the more he realized that he hadn’t seen Sacagawea cut loose one of their vessels, only that she sat in one. “Impossible,” he said to himself.
When he’d been very small, Meriwether acquired a habit of sleepwalking, perhaps due to upset by the sudden death of his father. His mother would find him outside, wandering, and in his groggy state he would tell her of his father coming back, and the games they’d played. But that phase had long passed.
Had he sleepwalked now? Had he imagined the dog growling, and how he had run after Sacagawea? He suddenly noticed that Seaman hadn’t accompanied him as he followed her.
Confused and troubled, he walked back to his shelter to find the dog at the entrance to the tent. Seaman ran to him and greeted him with every impression of great joy. But that meant nothing. Had he actually dreamed seeing Sacagawea wander off?
He looked at the women working around the fire in the dawn, saw Cameahwait’s wife, but not Sacagawea. Meriwether rushed to the grass shelter where they’d put Charbonneau’s empty form, expecting to find her lying there alongside her husband. When he saw her there, his first impulse was to think that Sacagawea was asleep, but he noticed several things wrong. She wore the exact outfit he’d seen her wearing in his supposed dream, a new outfit of buffalo skin ornamented with many beads. It was a fine formal garment, the sort a respected person would wear when acting as an embassy to another people. It was both sturdy and practical, though also ostentatious to denote the wealth of the wearer. By her side lay the spear and the bow and arrows he’d seen her carry.
She didn’t stir.
The hair rose on the back of his neck. He noted how pale she looked, how shallow her breathing. He called out “Madame Charbonneau?” and then “Sacagawea?” three times, with increasing alarm. She did not move nor awake. In fact, she looked as comatose as her husband.
Her chest rose and fell in the regular motions of breathing. He touched her hand, and she felt cool to the touch. Meriwether tested, lifting her eyelid to reveal an unseeing eye that stared at nothing.
Had she sent out her spirit form with all the trappings, leaving her body behind? That might be what he had seen, or dreamed.
Alarmed, he left the tent and looked for Cameahwait, and then he asked the warrior’s wife. Though the woman spoke no English, he repeated Cameahwait’s name again and again. She answered in words he couldn’t understand. Cameahwait’s wife made an exasperated sound and bustled into a tent. He heard her voice raised in an irritated tone, and a man’s sleepy voice answering her. Finally, after more debate, Cameahwait emerged, looking worried and groggy. He had pulled on his clothes in haste.
He approached Meriwether. “What has happened?”
“It’s Sacagawea,” he said, and led Cameahwait to the tent. He knelt down beside his unmoving sister, quickly performed the same tests Meriwether had done.
“I don’t understand,” Cameahwait said, whirling to look at Meriwether. “Did the dragon sorcerer perform the same magic on her that enslaved her husband?”
Meriwether couldn’t take his eyes from her. “I don’t think that’s what happened. I think she did this herself.” He quickly described how he’d awakened and followed her form—exactly as they saw her now, with the same weapons—to take a canoe and vanish in the river.
Her warrior brother listened gravely. “I think I know what happened. There is a story…Come with me. We must see the shaman.”
Moments later they entered Dosabite’s shelter. As shaman, the man lived alone, and he slept in a corner of the tent, on an elaborate buffalo-hide robe. In the other corner sat knives, three pots, and woven sacks. He slept in the same clothes he’d worn the night before, although the coyote mask lay discarded by his sleeping mat. It looked like a predator watching them.
“Dosabite,” Cameahwait shouted, then spoke a string of words in his own language to rouse the man and beg his help. Exhausted from the magic he had invoked the night before, the shaman was slow to awaken. He moved sluggishly, rubbing at his eyes, but when Cameahwait described the state in which they found Sacagawea, the shaman’s expression grew more alarmed.
Dosabite pushed his way out of the tent, passing between Meriwether and Cameahwait. As they ran after him, he ducked into the shelter where Charbonneau and Sacagawea lay. After checking her, the shaman spoke a series of liquid syllables to Sacagawea’s brother, who protested. He turned to Meriwether. “Dosabite says that she has gone with her husband to the world of the dead.”
Meriwether stared down at the woman, who was still breathing. “So she is dead then?” Was dear Sacagawea now another terrible revenant?
“That is not what I said.” Cameahwait released air from his lungs, exasperated. Leaving the shaman, he waved at Meriwether to follow him. “Come with me.”
The two men took the same route when Meriwether had followed Sacagawea. Her brother stopped when they reached the river. “The Shoshone have a tale,” Cameahwait said. “I always thought it was just a story, but you know, since the comet brought the magic back, our people have found many creatures that we thought were only myths. We have a tale about women who get married to dead warriors and follow them to the world of the dead. Sometimes, their relatives would try to rescue them, and often the relatives themselves died. Other times, the grieving women would leave in spirit, abandoning their bodies, barely breathing, until the spark of life slowly faded away.”
Meriwether nodded “People back east have found magical creatures they believe in were real, too, after the magic comet.” Looking out at the empty river, Meriwether said, “You speak as though people can just choose to go on this journey to the land of the dead.”
Cameahwait made a face. “Yes, according to the legends, some people can. There are potions you can drink, magic-infused herbs that will send you there. Dosabite and I think that is what Sacagawea did. Last night, she must have made herself a tisane with herbs that sent her spirit out. Before she separated from her body, she dressed and armed herself for the battle against the great magic. The stories say a person can take the things she is touching when she goes on such a dream journey.”
Meriwether didn’t need to hear more. “That is exactly the sort of brave and gallant thing she would do.”
The other man did not disagree. “When she was a young girl, Sacagawea was always as brave, as daring, and as capable as any of the boys.”
Meriwether felt as though a great tragedy had befallen them. “How is this land of the dead, then? And do people often succeed in returning, in bringing people back?”
Cameahwait frowned. “They are stories, Captain Lewis. Brothers set out to rescue their sisters who married dead warriors, so there must be some possibility of getting them back. If it were always a forlorn endeavor, surely no brother would do it?”
Meriwether nodded, feeling sickened. “So, who will go rescue Sacagawea, since she seems to be married to the dead? You are her brother.”