by Bill Myers
“This is a waste of time,” Scott complained. “We need to tell the village about Swift Arrow’s council. We’d better forget about Ryan until later.”
Becka sighed. Forgetting about Ryan was the last thing she wanted to do, but she knew her little brother had a point. “I suppose you’re right. I just feel like he should be with us, that’s all.”
Scott nodded. “I know. But we’ll look for him later. I promise.”
It didn’t take long for the two to visit the people of the village. In less than an hour they had nearly finished going up and down the rows of small homes, speaking to the people they met. Whenever they encountered a villager who wasn’t quite as fluent in English, they showed a message Swift Arrow had written out for them in the tribal language. In fact, they were showing this very note to an old woman when Dark Bear himself stepped out from behind the door of the house.
When Becka saw the shaman, she went cold. He looked even more menacing close-up than when he was perched high atop the rock. He approached them, his eyes steely and full of rage. Instinctively, Scott and Becka stepped back.
“Depart from here,” he growled. “This is not your battle. It’s about the ways of my people.”
After a moment Becka finally found her voice. When she did, she was surprised at how even and controlled it sounded. “No. That’s not all that this is about.”
“Beck . . . ,” Scott warned.
But she had already started, and there was no backing down. “It’s about truth. Spiritual truth. And that is the same for everyone.”
Dark Bear glared at her. “You risk much, girl . . . This is not your fight.”
Becka was breathing harder now, but she forced herself to continue, trying to stay collected and calm. “Listen, Mr . . . Dark Bear. Why don’t you come to Swift Arrow’s council tonight? Not to fight, but just to listen to what he says. Later, after you’ve heard Swift Arrow’s side, maybe you can decide what’s really right for your people to believe.”
She waited for an answer as Dark Bear’s eyes shifted from her to Scott. She wasn’t sure what he was looking at . . . until she heard the choking sounds.
She turned to see Scott holding his throat with both hands. He was gasping for breath.
“Scott!” she cried. “Scotty, what’s wrong?”
But Scott couldn’t answer. All he could do was gasp, pointing to his throat, trying to catch his breath.
Becka spun back to Dark Bear. She’d seen this before in past encounters. And she knew the solution. The shaman’s gaze was fierce, intimidating, but she knew who had the real authority. “Release him!” she ordered.
Dark Bear glared at her, but she would not back down. “In the name and power of the Lord Jesus Christ, I command you to release him.”
At first Dark Bear smiled, but then, as Becka stood her ground, he realized she meant business. Slowly his smile faded.
Scott coughed loudly and started breathing, dragging in deep gulps of air. Becka glanced at him. She knew the choking was a tactic to try to scare them. But she also knew that, because they were committed believers in Christ, Dark Bear had no real power over them. These were just more “special effects” in an attempt to frighten them. And they weren’t going to work.
Becka smiled at Scott, and he nodded. They turned to face Dark Bear, to continue the encounter . . . but the medicine man had disappeared.
Ryan and Little Creek sat cross-legged in the coolness of the cave. Little Creek had lit a small lantern, and the light hit the wall. Immediately, the painting of the great warrior hunting the buffalo appeared in the light. Ryan stared intently at the warrior’s face. Was Dark Bear really a direct descendant of this brave as he’d claimed?
Ryan’s thoughts were interrupted as Little Creek took a small flask from his shirt pocket. “It’s the tea I told you about,” Little Creek said, smiling.
“Tea?” Ryan repeated.
“Yes, remember? I said it will help you better hear the call of the Great Spirit.” He leaned toward Ryan and held the flask out.
Ryan hesitated.
“Don’t worry. There is only a small amount of the red berries in this mixture.”
“Red berries?” Ryan asked, staring at the flask.
“Yes. It is berries that give the tea its hallucinogenic powers. I just put a little bit in because this is your first time. It won’t hurt you, honest.”
Again Little Creek held it out to him, and again Ryan hesitated.
“It’s okay. I promise. You’re a spiritual person, Ryan. It will be easy for you to contact the Great Spirit, but you must do so with the tea.”
The little tug hit Ryan again, telling him it was wrong, to be careful . . . But weren’t they all talking about the same God, the one and only Great Spirit? And if this were really a way to connect with God, if he could combine the best of both worlds — his Christian faith and this spiritual ritual with the tea — then what was the harm?
Little Creek continued holding the flask out to him. “If you really want to understand our ways, this is the fastest and easiest method. Please, it is okay. I promise.”
Ryan watched as his hand reached out to take the flask. It was almost like watching someone else. Then he raised it to his lips. He hesitated and looked at Little Creek one last time. The boy smiled, and Ryan opened his mouth to drink the tea.
For a while nothing happened. As before, they discussed the history of Little Creek’s tribe, his beliefs, and his heritage. Then Ryan felt a wave of dizziness. At first he shrugged it off. They had left camp before breakfast, and he was getting pretty hungry. It was only natural that he would feel a little light-headed.
Then he noticed something else. On the cave painting. He hadn’t seen it before, but in the right-hand corner perched on a cliff was an eagle. It was so small, it was no wonder he hadn’t noticed it before. But as he watched, the bird started to grow.
Ryan turned to Little Creek and tried to tell him, but the words wouldn’t come. “Thhhhe paintttting . . .” was all he managed to slur.
Little Creek smiled. “Relax, my friend. The tea is taking effect. Focus inward, and see what the Great Spirit will show you.”
Ryan couldn’t focus on anything. He felt like he was going to throw up. His head began to spin, and his stomach started to churn. When he looked back at the painting, the eagle appeared as large as the hunter. What was worse, its wings moved in a steady rhythm!
Ryan closed his eyes, hoping to force himself back into reality. It was as if he were looking over the edge of a very high cliff or stumbling through a dark tunnel knowing that there was a great hole somewhere in front of him . . . a huge chasm that went on forever. If he wasn’t careful, he would stumble and fall to certain death.
When he reopened his eyes, the eagle loomed so large that one of its wings pushed out of the painting, extending across the cave wall.
Ryan’s heart began to pound. He started breathing rapidly. What if the drug didn’t wear off? What if it damaged him? What if he had to live like this, with his brain scrambled, for the rest of his life?
Or, worse yet, what if the images he was seeing were real?
All of these thoughts froze when the eagle turned its lifeless eye directly toward him. It had seen him. Ryan was sure of it. Just as he was sure that it wanted him. Slowly, with great effort, it detached itself from the wall and started flying toward him.
With open beak, it drew closer and closer. Ryan covered his face. And still, somehow, he could see it coming — its jet-black, lifeless eyes growing larger and larger as it flew closer. Suddenly Ryan realized it wasn’t the creature’s beak but its eye that was going to devour him. That eye was going to absorb him, swallow him . . .
The eye . . . the eye . . . the eye . . . the eye . . .
Two hours later, Ryan woke up. He lay outside the cave, vaguely aware that Little Creek was wiping his forehead with a damp handkerchief.
“How are you feeling?” Little Creek asked.
Ryan bobbed his head. “I d
on’t know. Woozy, I guess. How did I get out here?”
“You got up and started to run. We were just sitting there looking at the painting when you jumped up and tried to run. You managed a few steps before you crashed into the wall. It knocked you out cold.”
Ryan winced as he touched the lump on his forehead. “That would explain this headache.”
“I carried you out here hoping the fresh air and sunlight would help. You’ve been sleeping for a long time.”
Already memories of the vision were returning. “I – I saw an eagle,” Ryan stammered.
“An eagle?” Little Creek’s mouth dropped open. “Really?”
Ryan nodded. “It flew out of the painting right at me.”
“There is no eagle in that painting,” Little Creek said, unable to hold back his excitement.
“But I’m sure — ”
“No, no, but this is a wondrous sign. The Great Spirit is sending the eagle to you. This means he has much to teach you!”
“Really?”
Little Creek smiled broadly. “I was right! You are an initiate. The Great Spirit will use you in many ways. Congratulations!” Little Creek extended his hand toward Ryan.
Ryan looked at it for a moment and then shook it warmly. “Thanks,” he murmured. It was hard not to catch Little Creek’s excitement. So he had been chosen. Chosen by the Great Spirit himself. And the eagle, the eagle was coming . . . coming just for him!
As evening approached, most of the village turned out for Swift Arrow’s council. Scott and Becka stayed in the background since they didn’t want their friendship with him to cause a problem. He had already been accused of following the ways of the white man, and having two white kids by his side probably wouldn’t help him much. Still, from their vantage point they could see most of the tribe and enjoy looking at all the ceremonial clothing.
“I wish Ryan were here,” Becka sighed for the hundredth time. “He would love this.”
“Yeah,” Scott said, apparently barely listening. “Check out that fellow over there. He must have a thousand feathers.”
Becka turned to see a tall brave wearing a full headdress made of bright red feathers from head to toe. “Wow!” she exclaimed. “He looks awesome.”
Scott nodded. “But he must have wiped out the entire cardinal population from here to the Arizona state line.”
“Those aren’t cardinal feathers.” Becka almost laughed. “They dye the feathers to get them that color.”
“Oh yeah,” Scott said, obviously trying to cover his ignorance, “I knew that.”
Becka smiled.
“But the thing that really gets me is — ”
“Shh,” she said, “Swift Arrow is talking again. Listen.”
They directed their attention back to the clearing where Swift Arrow stood on a tree stump, trying to explain Christianity to his people. “You need not be afraid of angry gods,” he was saying. “There is only one God, and he is a loving God. The Father of us all.”
There was a quiet buzz among the people. Swift Arrow continued, “The evil in the world comes from the devil. But he is not all-powerful. He is only a fallen angel. You do not have to make sacrifices to him for protection. All you have to do is believe in God’s Son, Jesus Christ. He came down from heaven to die for what we have done wrong. He came to suffer and take the punishment for our sins. We need only believe in him and ask him to be our chief, our Lord. We need only obey him and accept his free gift of salvation in order that we might have everlasting peace with our Father.”
“What of the teachings of our ancestors?” a tall brave with three feathers in his hair demanded.
“It is as you’ve always suspected,” Swift Arrow answered. “Some of it is true, and some of it is false. Dark Bear has twisted the teachings to suit himself. He is keeping you from the real truth.”
Scott leaned over to Becka and whispered, “He preaches a pretty good sermon.”
Becka nodded as she searched the crowd.
“Who are you looking for?” Scott asked.
“Dark Bear. I was hoping he’d at least drop by for a listen.”
“Or a major showdown,” Scott added.
“Well, even that might have been okay. But if he’s not here, where is he? What is he up to?”
Not far away, at the site of the avalanche and Dark Bear’s holy place, a small fire burned. And Dark Bear danced around that fire furiously. He paused only for a moment, just long enough to throw an angry look back toward Swift Arrow’s council. And then, ever so slowly, he reached into the satchel hanging around his neck. He pulled out a handful of fine, blue powder, then tossed it into the fire.
There was a loud whoosh as flames shot high into the sky, then immediately died down. Once again, Dark Bear lowered his head and began dancing . . . and chanting . . .
“Jesus Christ is not the white man’s God.” Swift Arrow continued speaking to the crowd, and some were beginning to listen. “He is everyone’s God. He was born a Jew and lived and died in Palestine two thousand years ago — nearly fifteen hundred years before the white man came and drove us from our land. The white man has embraced his truth, yes, but so have millions of Chinese, Africans, Latin Americans, and people all over the world. The God of the Bible is not the God of the white man. He is the God of all people.”
A loud crack of thunder jolted the group. Instinctively, Swift Arrow turned toward Dark Bear’s holy place. In the distance, he could see the reflection of a fire as it burned. Against the cliffs, he could make out the flickering of a shadow . . . the shadow of a man dancing.
Swift Arrow forced himself to continue. “It is not my fault that the rain has not come. It is not a punishment from the gods. Dark Bear has misled you.”
A handful of people nodded their heads in agreement. A few coughed lightly. Soft at first, the coughing grew until it was obvious someone was starting to choke.
Becka tensed. It was the same choking Scott had experienced earlier. Now others were starting to cough and gasp for breath.
Becka threw a look to Scott. This was not good. Not good at all. One, two, a handful of people dropped to their knees, coughing, choking, and struggling to breathe. And to make matters worse, they were the very ones who had been nodding their heads in agreement. “Dark Bear,” Becka whispered.
“We’d better do something fast.”
“Like what? What can we do?”
“Satan,” Scott spoke softly, “in the name of Jesus Christ, we command you to stop this coughing.”
“That’s right,” Becka whispered in agreement. “In the name of Christ, we demand that you stop this attack.”
Scott nodded. “Whatever evil is at work here, we remind you that the name of Jesus is stronger than any other name, and it is by his name that we order you to leave and command that peace and health be restored back to these people. Now. We command you to leave now!”
Immediately, the coughing subsided. While a few people remained on the ground, trying to recover their wits, others rose and began to breathe normally. Most, however, were simply anxious to leave. They knew what had happened, and they wanted no more of it. They started moving, shoving, and trying to get as far away from Swift Arrow’s council as possible.
Swift Arrow watched helplessly as his people left the clearing and headed for their homes. He looked broken and defeated. His council was over. And if anything had been proven, it was that Dark Bear’s strength and influence were more powerful than his own.
8
Before going to bed that night, Becka and Scott offered to pray with Swift Arrow. He clearly felt defeated, and they wanted to encourage him.
“Listen,” Becka told him, “when things get the toughest, that’s when God works his greatest miracles.”
“That’s right,” Scott agreed. “When we’re our weakest, that’s when he’s the strongest.”
Swift Arrow nodded, but it was obvious his heart was anything but encouraged. He had finally worked up the courage to face Dark Bear, and al
l he had been met with was defeat.
“Dear Lord,” Becka prayed as they bowed their heads together, “we know you shine brightest in the darkest places. And right now, at least on the surface, everything looks bad. We ask — we pray in Jesus’ name — that you step in now. That you take what our enemy has chosen for evil and turn it around for good. We ask this because of your great love for us and for this whole village. We ask this in your Son’s precious and holy name. Amen.”
Scott and Swift Arrow joined in saying amen. Then, before they headed off to bed, all three agreed to pray again first thing in the morning. Becka could see that that gave Swift Arrow some assurance, but she was still concerned. About Ryan.
She hadn’t seen him all day, and her worries had only increased. She chose to wait up for him. It was nearly ten o’clock when he finally lumbered into camp. He looked very tired, and there was a strangely distant look in his eyes.
“We missed you tonight,” Becka said as he approached, heading for his tent.
He slowed to a stop but said nothing.
She tried again. “You would have really loved the council. Swift Arrow made a great speech, and you should have seen all the people dressed in their outfits.”
“Ceremonial clothes,” Ryan corrected her.
“Right, ceremonial clothes. It was great.” She waited for him to say something else, but when he didn’t, she finally asked, “Where were you?”
“Off with Little Creek. He’s teaching me a lot of stuff.”
It was Becka’s turn to remain quiet. The silence grew.
“Listen,” Ryan finally said, “I’m sorry I haven’t been around very much lately, but I’m really trying to make the most of this trip.”
“Sure,” Becka answered hesitantly, not really understanding. By “making the most of this trip,” did he mean staying away from her? Was he saying he wanted to cool off their relationship? Or was it something else? Was it more about God than about her? There was so much she wanted to ask Ryan. Maybe another moonlight stroll on the ridge would help. Maybe there he could finally open up and share what he was feeling. She was just about to suggest it when he turned abruptly and started for his tent.
