Four Arrows
She rose from
the bed with a dark sense of foreboding. She shared a cave with her husband,
set in the high canyon. He had left before dawn to hunt. The larger game
migrated towards the east during the day while resting at night in the canyon
valleys nearby. He changed his pattern of hunting to track the mule deer as
they grazed before sunrise. She dressed slowly, aware of the shamanic energies
arising within her. They directed her to the imminent danger He was walking
into. She stood very still at the lip of the cave, observing the first rays of
daylight caressing the valley below their cave. She swayed back and forth
sensing the early morning breeze and the energies arising within her mind and
body. She stayed rooted in one spot, and concentrated on Him. She could foresee
the danger. Without waking her friend Long Willow, She took down her powerful long bow from the cave
wall, selecting His four best arrows. She knew she would need every one of them,
as she stilled her fear.
He had left
carefully so his tracks were scarcely visible. She drew on her mountain
upbringing where she knew the trace of every creature. She quickly found his
footprints, following them eastwards. She noticed a rock cache with small
animals that He had hunted, along with several broken arrows. Not the game He
was looking for, but vital to keep them alive. She carefully replaced the rocks
exactly as they had been built. The tracks led her to a dried up gulch where
she saw the heavier print of his forward foot. She again sensed the shamanic
energies. This was where He had stood to shoot a larger game animal from his
bow.
He had stood
in that exact spot at dawn, drawing a steady bead on a large mule deer with his
last arrow. His previous arrows had shattered on impact and He noted in his
mind the tree these arrows had come from. His final arrow was made from
stronger wood and would deeply penetrate the unaware mule deer, starkly
outlined by the early morning sun. As He released the arrow from his bow, the
prey moved in the same instant. The strong, swift arrow did not provide a clean
kill. It went deeply into the mule deer, high in the muscles of the left
foreleg. He whispered a prayer to the animal for causing unnecessary suffering.
He proceeded to follow the wounded creature to end its misery. The arrow had
not pierced the heart but had cut right through sinews and muscle. The erratic
and painful trail left by the dying mule deer strayed into Tonto Apache
territory.
Eventually He
caught up with the mule deer, exhausted and on its knees, close to a sandstone
butte reaching into the morning sky. He dispatched it with his hunting knife
and enacted his gratitude by cutting out part of the heart and liver, placing
it on a natural rock altar. He put tobacco by the stone as an offering. As He
began to gut and skin the mule deer, He became acutely aware that He was no
longer alone. He had been spotted earlier by a Tonto Apache scout as the
wounded mule deer drew him into their territory. The scout called in two other
warriors to corner this stranger hunting on their land. One of them – the
smallest – started to climb the sandstone butte to gain an advantage, while the
other two approached in a pincer movement that provided no escape. He saw all
three and knew they would kill him. He had only his hunting knife and a bow
without arrows. As He slowly backed into the rock face of the sandstone butte,
a spontaneous, silent shout screamed in his mind calling out to Her for help.
And there She
was. Standing with her bow fully drawn, She commanded the edge of a clearing
close to the sandstone butte, well shielded from sight by small ash trees. Her
first arrow sent death screeching to the scout climbing the butte. The arrow
pierced the climbing scout through the heart and he fell with a heavy thud on
the rocky floor below. This surprise attack made the tallest warrior run
towards her at the edge of the clearing, but an arrow was already coming his
way from her bow. It went right through his throat. As he turned, dropping his
weapons while clutching at his throat, her third arrow went directly into his
heart killing him instantly. The third warrior was in fierce hand to hand
battle with her husband and had gained the upper hand, throwing him against the
rock wall of the red sandstone butte. As he raised his battle axe to strike a
death blow, her fourth arrow, shot powerfully with great accuracy, entered
below his armpit, through his chest into the heart. The warrior fell forward.
Her husband tore the battle axe from his assailant and finished the death
process with a swift smash to the skull. It was over in a matter of seconds.
Breathing
heavily, He stood there with the warrior’s battle axe in his hand. She, with
the stealth of a mountain lion, approached the two other scouts, now motionless
on the ground. Her hunting knife was drawn, but there was no need. They were
both dead. She walked slowly towards Him. He was in total awe of this magnificent
woman, his wife. He fell to his knees in front of her and wept as He wrapped
his strong arms around her legs. She lifted him up and gently wiped his tears
away.
His voice
came out as a sob. “Did you hear me …….”
“My husband,
I heard your shouted scream long before you uttered it in your mind. I knew
what was to happen and have been tracking you since dawn, knowing the danger
that would befall you.”
He would
never understand her gifts of seeing and felt humbled by her presence in his
life. She was filled with gratitude that his life was still with her, as she
feared the dislocation a different outcome would have created. They stood
together, motionless for a moment, then His strategic sense quickly asserted
itself.
“We must take
the arrows out of the slain Apache scouts and from the mule deer. Leave the
bodies right here, just where they have fallen. The animals and vultures will
come and scatter their remains and cover some of our tracks.”
She nodded
her consent. The sun had begun to rise and they had to be meticulous. They created
a false trail to a pass in the canyon wall that lead to the southern plateaus.
Retracing their steps to the killing ground by the sandstone butte, they began
the painstakingly slow removal of all trace of their passage westwards. He took
care to relocate the rock cache he had built for the small animals he had
killed – two rabbits and two small grouse. He retrieved his shattered arrows
and threw the rocks in the pinyon forest, leaving one dead grouse for vultures
to find and scatter their unmistakable presence over their tracks.
As night fell they rested
under a large rocky outcrop sheltered from view by a clump of juniper trees. Safe
from any scouting party, it had a clear vista of the steep path that led to
this temporary sanctuary. The night was warm, as they listened carefully to the
sounds of movement. They did not detect any indication of an Apache pursuit. A
curious desert badger inspected them, grunting and growling. They saw the
outlines of mule deer in the valley below, as they listened to the evening
chorus of insects, toads and lizards. The deep coughing sound of a cougar
caused him to stiffen and regret that he had no arrows. He looked around for
rocks that would fit into his fist and glanced up at the evening light. A
golden eagle had settled in the high branches of a tall pine. He relaxed,
suddenly feeling safe with this night companion confirming affinity since his
childhood.
Before the
break of dawn they continued their careful journey, with many detours to throw
off any pursuers, before they got close to the safe haven of their cave. She
stopped and gave the woman’s small grouse call. Long Willow loomed out of the morning
darkness, with her long bow leveled at them, battle axe slung over one
shoulder. She had stationed herself at a hidden juncture of the trail leading
to their cave, ready for the worst. She had sensed the same foreboding that
drew Her out at dawn, but did not have the gifts of seeing. He whispered
briefly what had happened. Long Willow nodded silently and beckoned them to go
on to the cave while she checked that they had not been followed. Long Willow
returned several hours later in the dark. They did not light a fire, wrapping
themselves in blankets and animal skins for warmth. They humbly offered prayers
for the three slain Apache scouts. They did not leave the cave for a week,
surviving on dried berries, water and their scant supply of dried meat. Long
Willow maintained a sharp vigilance during this time, her long bow trained on
the trail far below.
No-one came
their way.
They were
safe.
Ian Prattis, Zen Teacher, Anthropology Professor Emeritus, peace and environmental activist, was born in the UK. He has spent much of his life living and teaching in Canada. His moving and eye-opening books, essays and poetry are a memorable experience for anyone who enjoys reading about primordial tendencies. Beneath the polished urban facade remains a part of human nature that few want to acknowledge, either due to fear or simply because it is easier to deny the basic instincts that have kept us alive on an unforgiving earth. Prattis bravely goes there in his outstanding literary work. A stone tossed in the waters of life.
Tags:
Short Fiction