Shattered Lives (Flynn Family Saga Book 1) (3 page)

And there stood a white man, pissing into the pool.

Red rage blurred Pathfinder’s vision, and he drew
his bow and shot the stranger without hesitation, thought or speech.

Eagle Heart got to his feet and ran from the sweat
lodge.

Keeper followed him.  He wrapped Eagle Heart in a
blanket.  “Do you wish to tell me what you saw?”

Eagle Heart nodded.  He turned to Keeper and told
him of his vision.  “I can’t—how can I avenge my father?”

Keeper was silent a long time.  “Who is your
father?  Who raised you?  Who taught you how to be a man?”

Eagle Heart opened his mouth and shut it again
without speaking.  He nodded, once.  Then, he turned and went back into the
sweat lodge.

Pathfinder stood slowly.  “You have decided.”

It wasn’t a question, but Eagle Heart nodded
anyway.  “I have.”  He drew a deep breath.  “I challenge you.”

For a brief moment, Pathfinder looked sad.  Then, he
nodded.  “I will meet you tomorrow.  Tonight, we both need food.  And rest.”

Eagle Heart nodded back.  He went to sleep with the
other unmarried men, and Pathfinder went to sleep with Sarah.

At dawn, Eagle Heart woke.  The peace that had
filled him in the sweat lodge was still with him.  He smiled.  He got up and
dressed with care.  He walked to the sacred circle.  He and Pathfinder arrived
at the same time.  Pathfinder nodded to him, and he nodded back.  Rob drew the
knife that Pathfinder had given him.  The two men circled each other warily. 
Eagle Heart made the first move.  Pathfinder danced out of his reach easily,
but Eagle Heart had anticipated that, and he followed up with another cut,
faster and closer this time.  Pathfinder’s hand moved with the swiftness of a
striking serpent, and blood trickled down Eagle Heart’s left wrist.  At the
same moment, Eagle Heart cut Pathfinder’s belly.  It was a superficial wound,
but it was more painful than the cut on Eagle Heart’s arm, and it slowed the
older man significantly.

Even so, the fight continued until noon.  Then, Pathfinder slipped and went down.

Eagle Heart straddled him and held the knife to his
throat.

Pathfinder met his gaze levelly and smiled.  “Well
done.”

Eagle Heart shook his head.  “I’m not done yet—Father.”

Pathfinder shut his eyes briefly.

Eagle Heart drew a deep, shuddering breath.  “Keeper
taught me the way of the Lakota.  In that Way, the sins of the fathers do not
have to beset their sons.  Each man is free to walk his own path.  Truly, you
were named Pathfinder, for you showed me my own path.  I have bested you, the
man who killed my flesh-and-blood father.  But I have bested him, for you have
taught me to fight with honor.  There would be no honor for me or my father’s
spirit in your death.  I hope that Sean Flynn finds the peace in the afterlife
that he never found in this life.  But I will not compound his desecration by
killing the man who was a true father to me.”  He jabbed his knife into the
ground.  He stood up and held out his hand to Pathfinder.

Pathfinder stared at it a moment, and then he took
Eagle Heart’s hand.  Eagle Heart helped him to his feet.

Pathfinder embraced him.  He said nothing, and
neither did Eagle Heart.  There was no need for words.

CHAPTER
THREE

Autumn came.  Sees Far rode into the village as if
the entire United States Cavalry was after him.  He leaped from his horse’s
back before the animal stopped and ran to Pathfinder.  “Buffalo, Father!  A
bigger herd than I have seen in eight summers!”

Pathfinder stared at his oldest son.  Slowly, he
smiled.  He turned to the other men of the village.  “Tomorrow, we hunt.”

The next day, Eagle Heart rode between his brother and
his father.  It was his first buffalo hunt, and he was both excited and
anxious.  The buffalo herds were smaller every year, and the People grew hungry
in the long, bitter winters when the wind swept down from the north, bending
the dry grass before it.

Pathfinder raised his hand.  Eagle Heart and the
others stopped and dismounted.  They crept forward as silently as the cloud
shadow that crawled along beside them.  At the edge of a shallow valley,
Pathfinder stopped.

Eagle Heart’s breath caught in his throat.  A herd
of buffalo filled the valley and overflowed onto the surrounding plains for as
far as they could see.

Pathfinder turned to him and grinned.  “You bring us
good luck, Eagle Heart.”

Eagle Heart felt the warm blood rush to his face.

Pathfinder sobered.  “Be careful, my sons.  The
buffalo are strong and brave, and they will not hesitate to defend their
families.”

Eagle Heart nodded solemnly.  At Pathfinder’s
signal, the men stood and began to fire their bows.

The herd moved as one, just like a flock of birds
when it wheels and turns in unison.  The thunder of their hooves shook the
ground.  Eagle Heart felt his own heart in his breast, beating hard, like the
wings of an eagle when it rises from a kill with its prey in its talons.  He
drew his bow and waited until stillness filled him with the strength of the
Earth.  He saw his target and released his arrow.  It flew, true and straight,
striking the huge animal in exactly the right spot.  He continued to run a few
steps and then fell, heavily.

Tears burned Eagle Heart’s eyes.  He felt sorrow for
the death of the great beast.  He stood, staring, as the other men made their
kills.  The herd ran westward, away from the river until they were merely a
dark cloud hanging low over the plains.

Then, Eagle Heart ran to his kill.  He knelt and
chanted the prayer that Keeper had taught him.  “Forgive me, Great One.  My
people hunger, and I must feed them, for they are my
tiyospaye
, just as
the cows and calves and bulls were yours.”

The breeze touched his long hair tenderly, as if in
a blessing.

Eagle Heart closed his eyes.  Gratitude filled him
for this second home he had found when his father died.  He heard footsteps and
turned.

Pathfinder stood behind him.  He nodded solemnly.  “Well
done, Eagle Heart.”

Eagle Heart bowed his head.  “Thank you, Father.”

Pathfinder turned and walked away.

That night, they ate what they could.  In the
morning, they butchered the rest of the kill.  Eagle Heart built a travois, the
way Pathfinder had taught him, and packed the meat from the buffalo.  He slung
the skin over the back of his pony.  Then, he swung up onto the back of the
small horse.  Pathfinder led the hunting party eastward, toward home.  Beside
him, Speaks to Birds took out his flute and began to play an ancient tune.  He
continued to play as they rode, and Eagle Heart didn’t recognize the melody.  “Did
you make that up?”

Speaks to Birds nodded shyly.

Eagle Heart whistled softly.  “I didn’t know you
could do that.”

“It is a great gift, Speaks to Birds.  You will play
tonight at our campfire,” Pathfinder said softly.

Speaks to Birds bowed his head.

Near sunset, they topped the rise that hid the
valley from the trail where the river of whites flowed from the east into the
plains.  Pathfinder frowned and held up his hand.  The hunting party halted, as
one man.  Pathfinder dismounted and crawled along the ground.

Eagle Heart stared at the sky above the valley,
trying to figure out what Pathfinder had seen.

“Smoke, Eagle Heart.  Too much smoke.  And vultures.” 
Beside him, Sees Far spoke softly.

Eagle Heart nodded.  He slipped from Snow Mane’s
back and crawled along the ground until he lay on his belly beside his
stepfather.  For a moment, he could not take in what he saw.  Slowly, the
images resolved.  Charred tipis filled the valley like blackened cones.  What
he had first thought were strange boulders were the bodies of the women and
children.  One child had reached the edge of the charred circle, but even he
was dead, his tiny hand outstretched toward the hill on which Eagle Heart, Sees
Far, and Pathfinder lay.  There was a bullet hole through the child’s head. 
The pistol must have touched his skin, because there was a black mark around
the wound.

Eagle Heart felt numb.  The destruction was too
great to take in.  Beside him, his stepbrother growled, deep in his throat,
like a wolf.  On the other side of him, Pathfinder lay utterly still, but it
was the silence before the storm.

Eagle Heart’s stomach tightened.  He turned to
Pathfinder.  “Father?”

Pathfinder’s hand cracked across Eagle Heart’s
face.  “You are no son of mine!  Go back!  Go back to your people. 
They
did this!”

Eagle Heart raised his chin.  “My people lie before
us, dead.”

Pathfinder’s hand tightened on his knife.  Slowly,
he opened his hand.  He stood and strode down the hill to walk among the dead.

Eagle Heart started to follow him, but Sees Far laid
a restraining hand on his arm and shook his head.

*  *  *

It took days to build scaffolds for all of the
dead.  Eagle Heart tried to help, but the men of the village chased him away.

Eagle Heart sat alone on the hill overlooking the
village.  The men had cleared away what was left of the tipis, but the ground
was still black.  Dimly, he heard the chanting of the men as they mourned their
dead.  He wished that he could cry.  Tears clawed at his eyes, and his throat
ached as if he had swallowed sharp, jagged stones.

But he could not cry.

Finally, the mourners fell silent.  They walked to
their horses and mounted.  Pathfinder climbed the hill on foot.  He stopped in
front of Eagle Heart.  “Come.”

Hope jabbed Eagle Heart, as sharp as Pathfinder’s
knife.  He nodded.  He followed Pathfinder to the picket line.

“Get on your horse, Rob.”  There was no emotion in
Pathfinder’s voice, and his face might have been carved from granite.

Eagle Heart raised his chin.  “My name is Eagle
Heart.”

“Your name is Robert Sean Flynn, and your skin is
white, and my people do not want you here.”

Eagle Heart shook his head stubbornly.  “My name is
Eagle Heart, and I am Lakota.”

Ignoring him as if he hadn't spoken, Pathfinder
turned and mounted his stallion in one easy motion.  Eagle Heart swung up onto
Snow Mane’s bare back.  He followed Pathfinder eastward.  When they reached the
fort, fear grew in Eagle Heart’s belly.  But if Pathfinder was afraid, there
was no sign of it in his face or his body.  He sat with his back straight.

“Halt!”  The sentry pointed the muzzle of his rifle
at Pathfinder’s chest.

Pathfinder raised his chin.  “You destroyed a
village where there were no warriors, only women and children.  This is the way
of the whites.  This boy is white, and I want no part of him.”  He knocked
Eagle Heart from his horse with one blow.

Eagle Heart stared up at the man who had been his
father for four years, the man who had given him his Lakota name and shepherded
him into manhood.  “No,” he whispered.

If Pathfinder heard him, he showed no sign of it. 
Instead, he turned and snatched the pony’s reins.  He rode back toward the
plains, heedless of the rifle aimed at his back.

The sentry closed one eye, and his hand moved on the
trigger.

“No!”  Eagle Heart leaped at the man, knocking the
muzzle of the rifle upward.  The sentry fired, but the shot flew harmlessly
toward the sky.

His face red with fury, the sentry slammed the butt
of the rifle against Eagle Heart’s head.

Eagle Heart fell into blackness.

*  *  *

He came to lying on a soft bed.  The room was small,
and the walls were built from logs, not buffalo hide.  He blinked.  For a
moment, he forgot what had happened and where he was.

Then, memory flooded back.

Tears burned his eyes, and grief weighed on his
chest like a stone.

The door opened, and a white man with a kind face
entered the room.  He looked familiar, but Eagle Heart could not remember where
he had seen the man before.  “How are you feeling, son?”

Eagle Heart was surprised that he still understood
English.  It had been a long time since he had spoken it.  “All right,” he said
tentatively.

The man smiled.  “Good.  I’ll tell the Colonel that
you are awake.”

Eagle Heart nodded.  It was a mistake.  His head
began to throb, and the room began to spin.

Another white man entered the room.  He wore the
uniform of a colonel.  “Stand up, boy!”

Eagle Heart hesitated.  Then, he obeyed.  The room
spun a little and then settled down again.

“What was a white boy doing with those savages?” 
The Colonel scowled at him.

Eagle Heart raised his chin.  “I am Lakota.”

The Colonel snorted.  “I never saw a red-headed
Indian.  You’re as white as I am.”

“I am Lakota!”

The Colonel sighed.  “How old are you?”

“Fourteen.”

The Colonel looked him up and down.  “Liar.  You
can’t be more than twelve.”  He turned to the other man, the one with the kind
face.  “They spend a year or two with the savages, and they can’t tell the
truth to save their lives.”  He sighed.  “Well, clean him up and get him some
decent clothes.  We’ll send him to the orphanage in the morning.”

“Yes sir.”  The kind man’s face was expressionless.

*  *  *

In the morning, the kind man led him to a horse. 
For a moment, Eagle Heart stared at the saddle.  Then, he swung up onto the
horse’s back without using the stirrup.

Beside him, the kind man chuckled.  “Showoff.”

Eagle Heart glared at him.  His woolen shirt itched,
and the new boots pinched his toes.

The kind man led the way out of the stockade and
turned his horse toward Lancaster.

Eagle Heart rode beside him in silence.

The kind man glanced at him and looked away.  “You
look mighty familiar.  Have we met before?”

Eagle Heart shook his head.

The kind man turned to him again.  “My name is
Ridgeton.  Alexander Ridgeton.”

Eagle Heart glanced at him and shrugged.  “I’ve
heard the name before.”

“Didn’t you come west about three-four years
ago with your folks?”

Eagle Heart ground his teeth together.

“That’s it!  Your Ma was a pretty little thing, and
your Pa—well, it seemed like he was angry at the whole world.  Now let’s see. 
What was the name?”  Ridgeton fell silent for a moment.  “Flynn!  That was it. 
Flynn.”

Eagle Heart reined in his horse and turned to face
Ridgeton.  “My name is Eagle Heart, and I am Lakota!”

“Maybe you were—until the soldiers massacred that
village.  But Pathfinder isn’t one to forgive and forget.”  Ridgeton rubbed his
clean-shaven chin thoughtfully.  “Now what was your Christian name? 
Richard?  Ralph?  Rob!  That’s it!  Your name was Rob.”

Eagle Heart turned away.

Ridgeton sighed.  “Eagle Heart," he said in
Lakota, "I loved a Lakota woman.  Old Keeper married us when he was just a
young man.  We lived together nigh onto thirty years.  She was a good wife, and
not a day goes by that I don’t miss her.”

“What happened to her?”

Ridgeton shrugged.  “She died of the smallpox.  It
seems to take the Indians even harder than it does whites.  She didn’t last a
week.”

Eagle Heart blinked back the tears that threatened
to shame him.  “I’m sorry.”

Ridgeton blew his nose on a surprisingly clean
handkerchief.  “Thanks, son.  And I’m sorry for your loss.”  He folded his
handkerchief and put it back in his pocket.  “Now, maybe Pathfinder adopted
you, like the rumors said.  But once he makes up his mind, no one can change
it.  So you’re going to have to learn how to live without your
tiyospaye
.” 
He shrugged.  “The same thing happened to me when Light On The Water died.  The
Lakota wouldn’t have me because they said the smallpox was a white man’s
plague.  And the whites wouldn’t have me because I had a Lakota wife.  So I had
to make my own way in the world."

Eagle Heart looked away.  “I am Lakota.  And
someday, Pathfinder will remember that I am his son.”

Alexander Ridgeton sighed.  “Maybe so.  Maybe not.  In
the meantime, I heard some terrible things about that orphanage.  I’ve got to
deliver you there, safe and sound, but if you decide you don’t want to stay...well,
you can usually find me somewhere around here all year.  I used to travel from
the Atlantic to Pacific and wander up and down the land, but after Light On The
 Water died, the heart kinda went out of me.  You see, every time I passed a
waterfall or glade where we spent the night, I’d think of her, and it would
hurt.  So if you ever need a friend, just head west.  You’ll run into me,
sooner or later.”

Eagle Heart didn’t know what to make of Ridgeton,
but he had learned silence with the Lakota, and so, he kept silent as he rode
beside this strange white man.

That night, they camped beside the Platte.  Ridgeton
knelt beside the water and chanted the prayer for the dead.

Eagle Heart hesitated, and then, he joined in.  He
glanced at Ridgeton and saw the glint of tears on the old man’s cheeks. 
Embarrassed, he looked away.

He lay down on the blanket Ridgeton had given him
and stared up at the stars.  He remembered the first time he camped by the Platte
and looked up at the stars, how happy he had been.