The Arrow Keeper’s Song Read Free

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.
    â€œGather the Arrows. And gather the People. You will be the Arrow Keeper.”
    â€œNo!” Luthor White Bear blurted out. “He is too young. It is not for him to claim the Mahuts.”
    â€œIt 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.
    â€œWe 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.”
    â€œEach 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