The Arrow Keeper’s Song (2 page)

“I will smoke this pipe,” said Coby. “For I am the killing storm, the blanketing snow and the crippling cold. I am your death. I am always seated at your fire. But as you honor me, I will stay my hand.” He puffed on the pipe three times and paused, allowing his words to ride the prayer smoke to heaven. He pointedly refrained from offering the pipe to Seth, who remained sitting on his haunches close to the fire. When Coby had returned the Medicine Pipe to Luthor White Bear, Seth leaned forward and untied the bundle of brushed deer hide and mallard skin and unwrapped its contents.

The Sacred Arrows were about six inches longer than a normal hunting arrow. Each shaft was ringed with varying bands of color corresponding to the painted elders: a white arrow, a black, a yellow, and a red. The Mahuts were tipped with glassy black obsidian arrowheads. Each shaft was trimmed with eagle feathers, although the arrows would never know the touch of a bowstring. Their power was mystical in nature.

Tom had seen the relics before, in his father's house, the first time as a lad of thirteen when he had furtively peeked inside the Medicine Bundle. He had been frightened, then, of invoking the wrath of a host of evil spirits. Now the Arrows meant no more to him than the tradition they represented. He had accompanied Allyn Benedict to the nation's capital and had seen the cities of the East, the power of commerce and invention that had fueled the white man's conquest of the frontier. Tom had glimpsed the future, that unstoppable juggernaut, progress, which the Southern Cheyenne could either climb aboard or be ground beneath. What were a bunch of wooden sticks compared to the raw power of industry? The sooner his people left the old ways behind, the better.

Seth Sandcrane looked down at the Arrows, his features remaining impassive. He'd been a fool to become involved with Red Cherries and should have kept his pants zipped. But Red Cherries was the kind of woman who could make a boy feel like a man, and an old man like a boy again. Seth sighed and, looking up, met Luthor White Bear's icy stare. There was no love lost between the two elders. Luthor had coveted Seth's role from the moment the bundle had been placed in Sandcrane's hands. Luthor made no attempt to hide the disdain he felt for his rival.

Coby Starving Elk cleared his throat and, with a wave of his hand, gestured for the drummers to cease. The three braves immediately complied, and a silence, broken only by the crackling fire, filled the lodge.

“Long ago, in the time of those who have gone before, Maheo, the All-Father, sent the Sacred Arrows to us. Sweet Medicine was the first Keeper. And after his death came men like White Thunder and Rides Horse. Once there came a time when the Pawnee stole the arrows and many Cheyenne rode the warpath to recover that which was taken. Great was the suffering. Five of those brave young warriors were killed before the Arrows were returned.” Coby looked from Luthor to Henry Running Shadow and Abe Spotted Horse and then settled his gaze on his old friend Seth Sandcrane. Regret was plainly evident in Coby's expression. But sympathy could not undo what had been done. Yet the two men had agreed on one way the Arrows might remain beneath Sandcrane's roof. Coby was willing to give his old friend one last chance, in a matter of speaking. “Our five grandfathers were killed recovering the Sacred Arrows,” he continued, “and so it was decided that the Arrow Keeper should come from one of our families. You have been the Arrow Keeper, Seth Sandcrane, as was
your
father, before Maheo called him by name. You have renewed the Mahuts with your prayers and sacrifice and guarded them well.”

“Until now,” Luthor White Bear spoke up.

“I have done what I have done,” said Seth Sandcrane. “I have brought the Mahuts and unwrapped them so that one and all can see they have been well cared for.”

“But they are heavy with your shame,” Luthor replied. “It is time for another Arrow Keeper to be chosen, or surely all our people will suffer for the actions of this one.”

“Luthor's words are straight,” Abe Spotted Horse interjected. He had often hunted with Seth, and the two had shared many campfires together. He took no pleasure in bringing Seth before the council, but the welfare of the Southern Cheyenne came first. The Sacred Arrows must be placed in proper hands.

“I have brought the Mahuts. I place them upon the earth before you. My hands can no longer reach them. Let another come forward and gather them,” Seth proclaimed in a voice thick with emotion.

That was all Luthor White Bear needed to hear. He rose from his place and started forward with a look of triumph in his eyes. “As Pipe Bearer, I must care for the Mahuts until the next renewal ceremony.”

“Wait, my brother,” Coby called out, blocking Luthor's path. The Pipe Bearer was caught completely unawares. Coby turned to face Seth and winked before explaining his actions. “Ten winters ago Maheo revealed to us that the Sacred Arrows should be kept in the lodge of Seth Sandcrane. Who are we to go against the will of All-Father?”

“But they cannot remain beneath his roof,” Luthor protested. “This one has dishonored the Sacred Arrows!”

“His son has not,” Coby said.

Seth knew what was coming and had to struggle to refrain from flashing a look of triumph at the Pipe Bearer. Thank the Great Spirit Tom had made it to the council on time. Seth watched with relish as Coby ordered the young men ringing the elders to stand back and form a path through their midst.

Tom blinked and came alert. My God, what was happening? Everyone was standing aside, and suddenly there was nothing but empty space between him and the ceremonial fire. A hand nudged his shoulder, and he glanced back to find Willem Tangle Hair, a freckle-faced, sandy-haired twenty-four-year-old half-breed grinning and urging him on. Willem, member of the tribal police, had worked his way around the perimeter of the lodge to stand alongside his childhood friend. It was said of Tom and Willem that they were two arrows from the same quiver. They had played together as children. And in the rough-and-tumble days of their childhood, one was always sticking up for the other.

“Looks like they want you up front, Tom,” said the blue-eyed breed.

“Damn,” Tom muttered beneath his breath. What had his father gotten him into now?

“Tom Sandcrane,” Coby Starving Elk called out. Beads of sweat had begun to glisten on the elder's thick features. Trails of moisture streaked the rolls of flesh beneath his chin. But his black, beady eyes glinted with crafty intelligence as he invited the son of Seth Sandcrane to join him in the center of the lodge.

All eyes were on Tom as he advanced toward the fire and gingerly approached the man who had called him by name. “I am here,” Tom said. His movements were cautious, his right leg threatening to cramp. The leaping flames highlighted the uncertainty in his eyes.

Seth stood up as his son entered the circle. The Arrow Keepers last official act was to surrender that which he treasured most. Seth placed a hand on Tom's shoulder and gave the younger man a reassuring pat, then turned and walked away from the Sacred Arrows lying upon the bundle. He held himself ramrod straight, head unbowed, clinging to the last remnants of his dignity as he walked with measured steps from the circle. It soothed his battered pride to think he'd denied Luthor White Bear yet again the role of Arrow Keeper. He retraced Tom's path through the crowd of Cheyenne, walking past the leaders of the various warrior societies who were waiting for the matter to be resolved. He reached the entrance to the lodge, pulled back the flap, and disappeared into the darkness outside.

The cold, clear moonlit air greeted Seth like a slap in the face after the stifling interior of the ceremonial lodge. He breathed deeply and exhaled slowly, managing to stifle the scream of anguish that welled up from his wounded spirit. He clenched his fists and walked to his horse, and there he waited on the edge of the wooded slope overlooking the deserted, wheel-rutted streets of Cross Timbers, the Cheyenne settlement nestled between two hills near the Washita River. An amber glow filled the windows above the mercantile, but the other four buildings that constituted the center of town were dark. Father Kenneth's mission church on the east end of town was ablaze with light. No doubt the choir of St. Joachim's was practicing for midnight mass. Lantern light also gleamed in the windows of several of the houses surrounding the settlement. He glowered at one in particular, the gray-washed walls of Allyn Benedict's home, there on the north hillside. Seth had no use for the Indian agent and resented the man's influence on Tom, who wasn't alone in abandoning the Old Ways.

Too many of the young men of the tribe shared Tom's sentiments. One by one the traditions and beliefs were dying. Yet there was still magic … still mystery … still power. The Sacred Arrows remained. And late last night, in the depths of the Arrow Keeper's despair, they had called his son by name.

Tom Sandcrane stared down at the Sacred Arrows while the room seemed to fill with an almost palpable silence. He still didn't understand what was expected of him.

“Gather the Arrows. And gather the People. You will be the Arrow Keeper.”

“No!” Luthor White Bear blurted out. “He is too young. It is not for him to claim the Mahuts.”

“It is not for you to defy the will of Maheo,” said Coby. The circle of Cheyenne crowding the lodge tightened around the elders as the curious struggled to hear what was being said. Henry Running Shadow stood with the assistance of a member of the Bowstring Society who lent the chief a steady arm. Henry pointed at Abe Spotted Horse.

“We have walked in a dream,” he said. Then, gesturing to Coby, the old man repeated himself. “Him too. We walked in a dream and the Maiyun guided us.”

Abe nodded. “Henry's words are straight. The last night of our sweat, the Spirits of Those Who Have Gone Before came to us and showed to us the will of the All-Father.”

“Each of us saw what we saw,” Coby added, fixing an accusatory stare on Luthor, for the latter had seen the same visions as his companions. Luthor grew less adamant and ceased his protests. Coby, satisfied, returned his attention to Tom Sandcrane. “Pick up the bundle.”

Coby's voice sounded far away, as if he were speaking from the distant end of a tunnel. His command reverberated in Tom's mind. The faces of the crowd became a blur. The longer he stood over the Sacred Arrows, the harder it became to focus on anything else around him. He could no longer feel the warmth of the fire or hear the crackle of the logs. A loud, rasping noise filled his head, and he strained to identify the sound, concentrating intently until it came to him. He was listening to his own breathing, each and every breath made resonant, yet for his ears alone. No sight, no sound, save for his hammering heart that seemed to increase in volume. Didn't they hear? Why couldn't they hear?

Tom shook his head and wiped a hand across his face to clear his vision. The Arrows were not for him. He had glimpsed the future and wanted to be a part of it. He wanted to be more than a reservation Indian. These beliefs and rituals were echoes of the old ways and would only hold him back. He tried to speak but his mouth had gone dry. He swallowed and tried again, this time managing a hoarse reply.

“I cannot.”

Coby looked stunned and retreated a step. “What?”

Tom met the gaze of each of the elders, looking from one to the other as he repeated himself. “I cannot.”

“But the All-Father has spoken …,” Coby began.

“He has not spoken to me,” Tom replied. He had to be careful now, for he had no desire to offend anyone. “I must follow a different path.” The faces in the crowd were a blur as he walked from the circle of light and followed in the footsteps of his father into the night air.

Tom paused to allow his vision to adjust and, breathing a sigh of relief, started toward his dun gelding. He spied Seth Sandcrane waiting for him by the tethered horses and dreaded what was to come.

Made a widower while Tom was still a toddler, Seth had raised the boy to manhood, unaided and alone. Tom knew he owed this man more than he could ever repay. Hurting his father was the last thing in the world Tom Sandcrane wished to do, but there seemed no way to avoid it. As he drew closer to the dishonored Arrow Keeper, Tom held up his hands to show they were empty. Seth's elation dimmed when he realized his son did not cradle the bundle in the crook of his arm. He frowned and his expression became puzzled.

“Tom …?”

“Now I know why you insisted I attend this … this ceremony. You are a wily old fox, Seth, but it didn't work. I'm sorry.”

A horned owl whooshed across the night sky. It glided from the tangle of live oaks and dropped onto a small rodent attempting to cross the clearing. With the bird's prey screeching in its cruel black talons, the owl lifted from the earth on great gray wings and rose to the safety of the treetops, where it nested in the cleft of a towering white oak and proceeded to feed.

“Coby said he would offer the Arrows to my son.”

“He spoke straight, father,” Tom said. “But I could not take them.”

“What?” Seth staggered back as if struck. “No!”

“I'm sorry. But the Arrows should be kept by someone who will follow the old ways … and the prayers and songs.”

“But the spirit songs … I taught them to you.”

“They are the echoes of the past,” said Tom. “The days of the buffalo are gone. It is time to learn new ways.” He placed his hand on his father's arm. “We must learn or we will die.”

“I think you are already dead,” said Seth, his voice heavy with resentment. Now the Sacred Arrows were indeed lost to him. He would never have the power again, never sing the songs of renewal or summon the Maiyun with a single prayer.
As my son has failed me, so I have failed all who have gone be fore
, he bitterly reflected. Cut to the quick by Tom's betrayal, Seth Sandcrane pulled away from his son. His gaze hardened until it became an impenetrable mask without a trace of paternal familiarity. He slowly turned on his heels and, with shoulders bowed by the weight of his despair, walked off through the darkness, following a trail that skirted the hill and the ceremonial lodge.