The Arrow That Would Not Miss
Page 2
Single file, we followed the drummer as he led us to a nearby mountain stream. He did not even pause at the bank. He just continued walking into the water. The stream was cold, clean and shallow. We had to lean against current of the quick flowing water. But, it felt good against our overheated skin. We lined up facing east and seven times George said a prayer and seven times we said ‘Amen' and plunged ourselves below the moving water.
And, then it was over.
Together we wandered back over to the sweat lodge and picked up our shirts. Then, with dry shirts and water soaked pants and shoes, we squished our tennis shoes over to a picnic table where some Cherokee women were setting up a breakfast buffet.
It was an amazing spread of traditional and Native American breakfast foods. We had country ham, egg and cheese casserole, a tasty Cherokee bread pudding, bacon laced hominy, grape dumplings and plenty of warm Indian fry bread.
We ate and ate until we could not hold another bite. Then we sat drip drying in the early morning sun, sniffing wood smoke and listening to the bird calls echoing through the tall mountain forest. We felt a kinship with the Cherokees and were honored to share their wondrous Qualla homeland.
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Chapter Five – Secret of the Arrow
Drinking in the still of the morning, we relaxed as our breakfast digested. But, before long, Toby and Bogdon began questioning George about the Cherokee religion.
“I was surprised,” Toby observed. ”Your ceremony incorporates so much orthodox Christianity.”
“Well, boys, that has long been the Cherokee way.”
George went on to explain, “Before the Europeans set foot on this continent, the Cherokees worshiped a single creator God. And, that God was a trinity of three spirits called Flames. And, we worshiped our God's Son, who suffered for our redemption. Eventually, Missionaries came to the Cherokee and brought the white man's religion. What they found was the God of the white man was already the Cherokee God.”
“Amazing,” exclaimed Bogdon. ”So, the Cherokee already practiced an indigenous form of Christianity?”
“That’s right,” George agreed.
“Well, what about the Bible?” Bog inquired. “Do the Cherokee accept the Bible as the Word of God?”
“Absolutely,” George replied. ”But our understanding of God is flavored by our history of living close to the land and the animals. We have many Cherokee biblical scholars. And, the Bible was one of the first books printed using Sequoya’s alphabet. Of course we also have our own stories of God's work among the People. The Hebrews were shepherds and people of the desert. The Cherokee are farmers and people of the forest. So, in our stories our faith is revealed to us by the forest and the animals that live in it.”
“Okay,” Toby examined. “If you had to sum up the Cherokee religion in 100 words or less, what would you say was its main tenants?”
George thought for a minute. Then a smile slipped across his lips.
“‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ and ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’”
We were awed by the simplicity of George’s testimony.
”That sounds good to me,” I said. “But, how does this arrow fit into Cherokee theology?”
“Well,” George explained. ”It's not really part of our religion. It's part of our folklore. Sometime in our deep past, close to 1000 years ago, a Ruby was found here in the mountains of North Carolina. It was commonly believed among Native Americans that gemstones get darker as they mature. So, this Ruby that was large, blood red and flawless was seen as an important elder among the crystals. With great ceremony, the Ani-kutani, the priest sect of the Cherokee people knapped the ruby into an arrowhead. This was before we adopted Tobacco for our sacred offering rituals. So, the story says that the priests made blood offerings to sanctify the stone. Once the arrowhead was ready, the premier fletcher of The People fitted it to a choke cherry shaft and fletchets made only from the white feathers of an eagle. Following days of prayer and fasting, the chief priest of the Ani-kutani received a vision. The arrow would never miss its target. In addition, it could divine the truth.”
“At first, the arrow was a great blessing to the people. Once a year for the harvest festival, it was used in a ceremonial hunt. And, year after year the arrow never failed to bring down its quarry with a single shot. The arrow came to symbolize abundance and plenty for the People. And, it was used to settle disputes and arguments that came up. The belief was that the arrow always pointed to the truth speaker. So, the arrow brought justice and peace.”
“That arrow does not sound so bad to me,” Shad observed. ”It might put all the lawyers out of business, and that might be a good thing. So, why do you think its evil?”
George pondered for a moment.
“The arrow is not evil. It is powerful. And, when evil men use its power, then we have a problem. Eventually, a group arose among the Ani-kutani who began to use the arrow for their own selfish ends. If someone spoke against these priests, the arrow was used to identify the dissenter. At first it was used to point out those that objected. But, eventually the priests began to shoot it into a group of suspects. According to legend, the arrow never failed to lodge in the heart of those who opposed the Ani-kutani.”
“So there was no trial? No hearing?” asked Charlie.
“No,” replied George. ”There was no discussion. There was no dissent. There was just an arrow to the heart. And, the Arrow That Would Not Miss went from being a blessing for the People to being a curse. It was a terror weapon in the hands of these evil priests. And, no one dared stand against them. No one could oppose the priests and survive. The Ani-kutani lived like princes. They took what they wanted: always the best and the most. And, the People suffered for the next hundred years.”
I shivered, as George continued, “finally a group of freedom loving braves made a secret pact. They agreed to give up their lives to free the People of this oppression. A band of 50 warriors called the Dead Men came to stand against the evil priests. They resisted knowing full well that the arrow would kill the bravest and purest among them. With the release of the bowstring a young Cherokee brave named Badger Boy fell mortally wounded and the remaining Dead Men attacked. These 49 quickly fell in the battle. However, their sacrifice bought time for a group of Cherokee women to retrieve Badger Boy's body with the arrow still jutting from his chest. When the body was removed and hidden, the Ani-kutani lost their terror weapon.”
The old man shook his head in disgust.
”The priests were ruthless as they tried to regain the arrow. Entire villages were burned to the ground. Hundreds, maybe thousands, were executed. But, the arrow was never recovered. And, these final merciless acts pushed the People into rebellion. The former slaves rose up against their masters. And, the Ani-kutani were overthrown and hunted almost to extinction.”
“The Cherokee were finally free once more.”
George paused.
“The arrow has been hidden for over 800 years. It was not seen again until yesterday, when Jeep found it lodged in the cliff face at Mingo Falls.”
We stood in silence, reflecting on the story, and the casual cruelty of a random arrow to the heart.
“Maybe we should put it back,” I suggested. ”I don't want anybody to be hurt because of some rock I found.”
George looked at me in surprise.
”You would throw away a priceless treasure just like that?”
“Hey. Easy come. Easy go,” I replied weakly.
George smiled and put his hand on my shoulder.
“You have a good heart, Jeep. But, The Arrow That Would Not Miss was not found by accident. For 800 years, the arrow lay in wait. It called out to you because it's time has come again. Once more it is the season for abundance and for truth. The People just have to learn from their mistakes. The Arrow must be kept by those with pure hearts and hands.”
“That's why the first thing we did was purify ourselves!” observed Toby.
“Exactly,” replied George.
“Well, where do we go from here?” asked Charlie.
“To the museum,” George answered. ”We'll go to see Walter Yellow Horse. He's a city Indian. But, he's good people.”
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Chapter Six – The Museum of the Cherokee
The Museum of the Cherokee Indian is a modern wooden frame building in the center of the undersized city of Cherokee, North Carolina. It is carefully arranged in the middle of the heavily landscaped property. And, the walkway leading to the museum entrance is dominated by a giant wooden carving of Sequoyah that must be 20 feet high. The great statue shows a square faced man with a strong jaw and a prominent Indian nose and a turbaned head. From the back of the turban, a flat wooden feather juts up six or eight feet.
As we stood around admiring the statue, Shad could not resist showing off.
“You know, on the History Channel they said that Sequoyah once had three wives at the same time.”
“Three wives!” I exclaimed. ”He must have liked taking orders!”
“Anyway,” Shad said, ignoring my comment, “he built each wife an identical thatched roof house made of river cane and plaster. He brought one wife a rug made from buffalo hide – and she bore him one son. He brought the second wife a rug made from antelope hide – and she bore him one son.”
Shad grinned.
“Then, he brought his third wife a rug made from hippopotamus hide – and she bore him two sons.”
Shad was smiling like a Cheshire cat and I knew we were in for a groaner.
“Does anybody know why the last wife had two sons?”
We all shook our heads, except George.
“That's easy. its simple mathematics,” George answered. “The squaw on the hippopotamus is equal to the sons of the squaws of the other two hides.”
“Ohhhh!” we groaned.
Freddie rebuked the jokester, “Shad, try not to embarrass us in front of the Native Americans.”
“And a word of advice,” George added smiling. ”Don't ever try to fool on old Indian.”
After that, we made our way into the lobby of the museum where George approached the ticket desk and spoke to a pretty dark haired woman. She immediately got up and slipped through the door behind her. Soon, she returned with a young Cherokee man wearing a grey suit with a starched white shirt and a maroon power tie. He had traditional Indian features and shoulder length hair but also he wore large black rimmed glasses and looked very official.
George introduced us.
“Boys, this is Dr. Walter Yellow Horse. He is the Director of the Museum of the Cherokee and has a PhD in archeology from the University of North Carolina.”
We shook hands all around as Dr. Yellow Horse led us through the door and into the Director's office. Once we were settled around his desk, George explained why we were here.
“Walter, these boys were climbing at Mingo Falls yesterday and they made a very important discovery.”
The Museum Director smiled, “George, if you say it's important, it must be. You are a hard man to impress.”
“It's Ani-kutani, Walter,” said George as he lifted the gym bag and placed it carefully on top of the desk.
“Ani-kutani? Are you sure?” Dr. Yellow Horse inquired. ”How did you date the find?”
George unzipped the bag and reached inside.
“We did not have to,” George explained. ”There were two stone tablets filled with Ani-kutani pictographs.”
Gently, George removed a tablet and laid it on the desk top to admire.
“Oh my,” replied a stunned Dr. Yellow Horse.
He leaned over to inspect the tablet and you could see his hands were trembling slightly as reached down to caress it.
“You were right, George,” he stated softly. ”This is very important.”
As Dr. Yellow Horse stood admiring the tablet, George put him on the spot.
“Walter. When was the last time you were purified?”
The director was transformed. He was suddenly a school boy who had forgotten his homework.
“Oh. Um... Let's see. Ah... I was going to do it today, but I had an early meeting. I, ah… I guess it was a week ago Saturday,” he admitted finally. ”Why?”
George paused for a second. Then, he confessed the main reason we were here.
“They found The Arrow, Walter,” George said quietly.
“What do you mean?” the Director asked with puzzled look.
George repeated himself. ”These boys found... ‘The Arrow'.”
The Director gasped, suddenly making the connection. “You mean The Arrow That Would Not Miss?”
George reached back into the bag. He removed the arrow and held it out with both hands.
“The Arrow That Would Not Miss,” George confirmed.
“Oh my,” said Walter Yellow Horse, PhD.
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Chapter Seven – A New Home for an Old Treasure
It took a while for Dr. Yellow Horse to come to grips with the fact that we had truly found the historic Cherokee treasure. When it finally hit him, he got very excited and George had to calm him down. But, eventually Dr. Yellow Horse’s Scientist side emerged. He moved us to the Museum's laboratory where he began recording everything and taking pictures and weighing stuff.
However, George would not let the Director touch The Arrow, until he completed a quick smudge purification. This is a process where a mixture of sage and cedar is burned and the smoke is used kind of like one of those mosquito candles. Except in this case, instead of mosquitoes it keeps away wickedness.
At some point, the Director was hit by a practical streak and he asked who exactly the arrow belonged to. So, we had to have an official Ranger meeting to figure that out. We met in a small conference room in the Museum and discussed the question.
Charlie pointed out that we always give stuff back when we know who it belongs to. In this case The Arrow obviously belonged to the Cherokee people. And, we all agreed to that.
However, Thor was wise enough to point out that we needed to insure that The Arrow was not misused. While The Arrow belonged to the Cherokee people, the only person we trusted to hold onto it was George.
So, Toby made a motion and Shad and Freddie seconded it and seconded it once more. Then, we voted unanimously to give The Arrow to the Cherokee people as long as its usage was approved by George Guest.
I think both George and Dr. Yellow Horse were pleased with our decision.
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By now, it was Sunday afternoon, and we had to start making our way back home to Granite Falls. We were convinced that things here were well in hand. Dr. Yellow Horse assured us that the museum would make a press release and have a proper exhibit opening for the items as soon as possible. And, the Rangers would get a formal invitation as Guests of Honor for the event.
George loaded us all into his old red pickup and drove us back to the camp ground. Our climbing instructor, Alton, helped us pack up all our camping stuff and load it into his van for the ride home.
Before we left that day, George Guest thanked us again. Then he prayed over each of us in Cherokee. And, lastly he mentioned something odd. He told us to get ready because we would be receiving a gift on account of our service to the People.
We had no idea what he meant. But, we were real tired and anxious to get back home. So, we threw the last few things into the van and climbed on board. Then, Alton started her up and we waved goodbye to George as we pulled out of the parking lot.
The ride back was quiet and uneventful. Once we got to Granite Falls, Alton dropped each one of us off at our respective homes. And, Mom and Dad met me at the door as I dragged in.
Mom asked me how my trip was, and I told her it was fine. Dad asked me if I met any Indians and I told him yes. Jenny sat on the couch watching TV and only looked up long enough to make a face.
Following the inquisition, I dragged myself upstairs where I unpacked my bag and threw the dirty clothes down the laundry chute. After a shower, I collapsed into bed. I could not ever remember being that tired. And, I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
The adventure was over. Or, so I thought.
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Chapter Eight – A Gift from a Friend
The full moon shone brightly on the clear cool evening. Heavily filtered light sprinkled down through the canopy onto the forest floor. But, my eyes saw through the darkness like it was midday.
I crouched low in the grass scanning for movement. When I was sure the coast was clear, I hopped up and padded silently through the undergrowth.
Sniffing the wind, I caught the scents of a dozen forest creatures. But, none was a threat, and I was not in a hunting mood. So, without a sound, I traveled down a well used game trail to where the forest met the mountain. As I moved up in elevation, the brush grew less dense.
I came to a spot where a giant boulder jutted out of the hillside. In silver moonlight, it was like the bow of a great ship, sailing out of solid rock. On my sure footed paws, I scampered up the side of the boulder. My claws had no trouble finding traction in the cracked stone.
I clambered on top and stood out on the rocky surface like the king of the world. Surveying the forest below, I was confident and relaxed. It was my home and my domain.
Suddenly, George Guest materialized on the rock beside me chanting in prayer. He smiled and raised his hand in friendship.
“Jeep,” he said. ”It's good to see you.”
I made my way over to the old Indian and rubbed up against him. Then, like some over large alley cat, I stretched out my front paws and purred softly.
George reached over and scratched between my ears. He spoke in Cherokee. But, I understood every word.