Ethan approached it.
When he did, the bird jumped up, and landed on his arm, holding onto him. It sat on his shoulder, watching all around him.
Behind him, the doors opened, and council stepped out, and gasped.
Lance spoke.
“There is the sign we were looking for,” he admitted. “We asked Timothy, the last Shaman to show us, and he has. It has been foretold.”
At the name, the big bird cawed again, and an army of crows, ravens, and all kinds of birds landed. It looked like a scene from a horror movie, as they all stood there, staring at them.
“Ethan Jackson Blackhawk, we welcome you back into the fold, as Shaman to our reservation. The previous Shaman has sent his blessings, and his choice. You are now, ours.”
Wyler whispered to the bird.
“Thank you, Dad,” he said.
That was when the bird took off, and his army of birds followed, back into the trees. He’d left behind one more thing. A large, blue-black feather.
Wyler picked it up and handed it to his son.
“For your warbonnet. It’s time you built it, and here is the first feather. Not of eagles, but of ravens.”
Lance approached him.
“Ethan Blackhawk Raven Talker,” he said, taking a beaded necklace and placing it over the man’s head. “Welcome home.”
The men on the council all gave him trinkets, and gave him space.
That’s when his father approached.
“Shaman,” he said, staring into his son’s eyes. “It’s official,” he stated.
Ethan was grateful.
“Granddad always was a bossy old man who had to get his way,” he joked, his eyes filled with tears.
Wyler kissed him on each one of the soot smudges made from the smoke, and rested his forehead against his eldest son’s.
The words he whispered in their Native tongue were of love, adoration, and from the last Shaman. Timothy had told him on his deathbed to make sure Ethan was told the blessing.
As he said it, tears fell from his eyes.
He knew the words.
He’d listened to Timothy say them to his eldest son when he was born.
And he knew.
Callen James, his son, would follow in his footsteps. He’d raise his hell, and he’d come home—just like he had.
From eldest son to eldest son.
When Wyler was finished, he stared into his son’s blue-black eyes, and smiled.
“I’m so proud of you, Shaman. Welcome home.”
And it was true.
