《Old World Thunder, New World Fire》 Introduction This serialized story is an effort to understand an oft-underexplored point in American History: the period between the first European settlements in the Americas and the signing of the Declaration of Independence. Specifically, the serial will begin just before the onset of King Williams War, the second in a series of conflicts that are understood as the French and Indian Wars. In reality, these conflicts rarely started and stopped when the wars did, and represented a larger picture of trade, diplomatic agreements, and territorial disputes between the French, the English, and the three major tribal powers of the time: the Wabanaki Confederacy, the Five Nations of the Iroquois, and the Council of Three Fires. As this is a work of historical fiction, there will inevitably be a mix of real historicity and fictitious events. That being said, my intention is to try and represent the cultures of both the Native American tribes and the European Settlers as accurately as I can. If possible, the majority of the creative liberties will come from the historical events (the plot, so to speak) and with some of the historical figures present in the work, and not the cultures themselves. That being said, this is an exceedingly difficult task in practice. Much of what we know about the different Native tribes come from first-hand accounts from European settlers, accounts which are tainted by the prejudices the settlers carried against the Natives. While I have spent a great deal of time and effort to separate the colonial narrative from my understanding of tribal cultures, I cannot hope to fully represent everything in complete historical accuracy, and I take full responsibility for any mistakes I make over the course of the story. CJ Braden Traw If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. What''s in a Name? Throughout this series you will see a wide variety of names and terms used to describe different native tribes. While it would be easier to use one name, the fact is that different tribes were referred to as something different depending on who was talking about them. For example, the French and English refer to one tribe as the Maliseet. In truth, they are called the Wolastoqiyik. The term Maliseet is an anglicized form for a term used by the Mi''kmaq to describe the Wolastoqiyik, a term that means The Ones that Speak Slowly. Whether this was intended as an insult or not is unknown, but regardless, the Wolastoqiyik would not refer to themselves as Maliseet or any similar name. At the same time, it would be inaccurate to have the European settlers use any other name than Maliseet to describe the tribe, as that is what they knew them to be. Additionally, the names of all native tribes all had their own meaning in their native tongues. When European settlers made contact with native tribes, they would typically just anglicize or francize the tribal name, such as Micmac coming from the name Mikmaq or Megumawaach. Typically, when other tribes would refer to another, instead of using the literal name, they would simply refer to them by what the name means in their own native language. Below is a chart to serve as a guide to the different ways people referred to one another at the time. As you read the series, you will slowly adjust to the way all the different tribes and settlers referred to one another, until it becomes second-nature to you the way it was for them during the period. https://docs.google.com/document/d/1YWN2P8ee0VlQygOoJwOeqj-6EWAyp1Jd7Afxc5oK5vA/edit?usp=sharing Prologue It is the year 1687, and the new world is ablaze with the fires of war. Sixty-seven years since the Pilgrims from the Mayflower landed at Plymouth, and eighty-three since the French settled in Quebec. In the decades since, scores of folk from all over Europe have flocked to the budding colonies of New England and New France, enticed by the promise of opportunity and a new world waiting to be claimed. Only, this new world was not theirs to take, for a hundred tribes of native Indians called these lands their home. Thus began an age of great complexity, an awkward adolescence in the lifespan of a budding coexistence between the original custodians of the land and its unexpected new residents. An age of alliances formed and broken, of promises made in foreign tongues, tainted by foreign agendas. An age of death, riding on the wind in a blanket of shadow, covering the land in sickness and musket fire. Yet even in the darkest hours, hope remains. Even in these times of hatred and cruelty, love blossoms. And the future of the land and the people who tend to it remain ever-uncertain, as such times always are. The Puritans came to this brave new world to escape the yoke of religious oppression, yearning to establish their own communities, with their own rule of law. Yet by doing so, they unknowingly immersed themselves in another web of politics and spirituality, one they struggled to understand. Squanto, last of the Patuxet, served as both a guide to this new world and a diplomat, teaching the Pilgrims not only to grow food and survive in their new unfamiliar climate, but of the complex cultural and political dynamics of those the Puritans had written off as savages. Serving as an emissary of the Great Sachem Ousamequin (known to the colonists by his title Massassoit), Squanto brokered an alliance on behalf of his chief and the Wampanoag. Without the help of Squanto, Ousamequin, and the Wompanoag, the new settlers would not have survived. Just the same, the Wompanoag would not have survived without the settlers, as it was the Englishman Edward Winslow who saved the great chiefs life. This gesture endeared the Wompanoag to the English colonists, and because of it, the two groups enjoyed prosperity and peace for over fifty years. Massassoit would warn the colonists of planned attacks from other neighboring tribes, the Narragansett and Massachusett. In return, the English traded readily with them, arming them with rifles and the knowledge of how to use them. The peace was not to last. For no great ruler lives forever, and once the mighty Massassoit fell, relations between the two groups began to crumble and fade. After his passing, his eldest son, Wamsutta, became grand chief of the Wampanoag. He and his brother Metacomet traveled to Plymouth and asked to be granted English names, and so they were: Alexander and Philip. King Alexander, to be exact, for in the eyes of the Puritans he was the Wompanoags king, ruling over every tribe in the confederacy from the Aquinnah to the Pokanoket. And while the title bore the weight of the colonists respect, it brought all the paranoia that accompanied it. Rumors began to spread that Alexander was planning to infiltrate Plymouth from the inside, attacking the settlers when they were at their most vulnerable. Corrupted by a racist fear of savage invasion and a desire to spread their own settlements into Wampanoag lands, the English arrested Alexander after summoning him to the Plymouth court. Alexander fell ill and died during his capture. The Pokanoket Kings unlawful imprisonment and sudden death would mark the end of those hopeful early years. Massassoits younger son Philip took up the mantle of grand sachem, and suspected the colonists of poisoning his beloved brother. Alexanders widow, the wise saunskwa Weetamoo, urged Philip to maintain the peace his father had worked so hard for, but the seeds of mistrust had already been planted. Perhaps they might have never sprouted had the New Englanders not continued to water them. The uneasiness after Metacomets appointment as king only fanned the flames of their paranoia, and they demanded that the Wampanoag surrender their guns as subjects of English law. King Philip refused, as he was the ruler of his people, not some foreign pretender across the seas. But the Englishmen now refused to acknowledge his sovereignty, and when the praying Indian John Sassamon was murdered, it was the Englishmen who tried and hanged three Wampanoag men, one of whom was Philips counselor and friend. Whats more, they used the trial as an excuse to claim the land that Sassamon was murdered on as part of their brazenly false justice, and this outrage sparked the first flame of war. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. Thus began the deadliest fighting the continent had ever seen, a brutal and bloody conflict where mans animality was laid bare as both sides pillaged, raped, and slaughtered one another. By the time the war ended with King Philips death, thousands were dead, dozens of towns and villages were burned to the ground, and hundreds of captured Wampanoags were sold into slavery in the Caribbean, including King Philips only son. The colonists had won, but not without consequence, left with a scar from a deep wound that would never truly heal. It has been nine years since those dark times. But for many, the war didnt start with King Philips declaration, nor did it end with his death. For the Five Nations of the Iroquois won that war, too, sworn allies of the English against tribes they were already at odds with. Their mighty warriors had been fighting long before King Philip cast his fateful dice, armed with new European weapons and strengthened by their cunning tactics and fierce battle prowess. The five proud tribes that made up the Iroquoian Confederacy had been raiding surrounding villages and conquering weaker tribes long before the first sailing ship landed from Europe, and the promise of lucrative trade had only made them more belligerent, desperate to monopolize the trade with the English. For the Iroquois, this conquest was not just an expansion of territory or a securing of borders. It was a spiritual mandate given to them by the heavens, for they believed themselves to be keepers of a sacred balance in the grand cosmos. Thus, when they lost one of their own, they grieved more deeply and woefully than their neighbors. For their loss was not only a great pain to the deceaseds family and communityCit was a cosmic injustice. The dead did not only need to be mourned, and wept forCthe hole they left in peoples hearts needed to be refilled. And refilled they would be, for the Iroquois would wage their Mourning WarsCraids on nearby tribes not killing to avenge, but capturing to replace. The Iroquois absorbed defeated tribes into their own families and communities, using them to take the place of the beloved kinsmen they had lost. The passage of time is as inevitable as the change that passage brings. So too did it for the Iroquois, for the blistering winds of death blew upon the Five Nations. Harrowing plagues of smallpox and measles came in sickening waves, killing thousands. Over the course of eighty years the Iroquois lost three quarters of their entire population, reduced to a shallow husk of the people they had once been. For a culture who mourns the death of one person as a deep spiritual crime, a loss of this scale was incomprehensible. So the Five Nations continue their Mourning Wars, the stakes higher than ever with the loss of so many tribesmen, and the conflicts themselves deadlier than ever since the introduction of the musket. The cemetery of their victims contains many tombstones: the Huron, the Neutral, the Erie, the Wenrohronon, and the Mohican. And though they have claimed so many lives already, they fight on, desperately trying to recover what would likely be gone forevermore. In the face of this ever-growing threat, the tribes whose lands border Iroquois territory have taken up their own arms. They have begun to form powerful alliances, not only with their neighboring tribes, but with the French settlers to the north as well. The French are more than willing to help kill their English competitors primary Indian allies, all the while still benefiting from the high-quality furs only new world beasts can provide. The fur trade has become so profitable, in fact, that Louis XIV has trained and sent a full-fledged military force to reinforce the colony of New France: the Troupes de Marine. The arrival of Europeans to the North American continent started the spinning of a grand tapestry, a complex web of selfish diplomacy, religious fanaticism, shaky trade agreements, and uneasy peace. Now, these ever-rising tensions are set to boil over once again. The more lucrative the native trade becomes, the more the Crowns of England and France want to compete for control of it. They seek to use the natives as pawns to that end, while the natives hope to use their European allies to help vanquish their own enemies. The Indian sachems are as shrewd and calculating as any feudal lord or colonial governor, each of them working to further their own agendas, to strengthen their own tribes. Uncertainty looms like a ticking clock over the land, a forbidding omen of whats to come. Every man, woman, and child is a player in a game with no rules unbroken, and no end in sight. Anne-Marie de Parthenay 1 Anne-Marie de Parthenay New France For as long as she could remember, Anne-Marie had always been good at holding her breath. When she was little, before the hell of her teenage years, she took a habit of puffing up her cheeks and holding her breath whenever she got angry. Her father would always grow red in the face, and scold her not to do it ever again. Youll starve your brain if you deprive it of air, he would tell her. And Ill not suffer a fool for a daughter. As far as fathers go, hers was old. He had spent his youth campaigning on the frontier and winning the Kings wars for him, and there was no simply no time to have children. When he finally settled down, the horrors of what hed seen and done settled with him, and like many fathers, he passed them down to his children along with everything else. His mind never truly left the battlefield, but merely joined another: one against itself, against the man who had forced it to bear far too much. By the time she was eleven, she was holding her breath again, only this time it was the only way to get her fathers attention. He had lost so many battles with himself by that point, each defeat taking away some part of him. Year by year, he faded into the deep recesses of his mind, until he was little more than a ghost haunting his once-great castle of Parthenay. Nowadays, she held her breath whenever le Vicomte de Chatelleraut sauntered her way, for she could not bear the stench of his cologne. Her adoptive father after her own passed (though she would be loath to use that term for him), she and her older brother had been sent to become his wards when their father became sickly. Their house had already been falling into destitution before she was even born. Despite her fathers loyalty to the crown and success in battle, France had a new king now, one who did not recognize the Lord of Parthenays service, or his faith. Whats worse, he then demanded that nobles from all over the country must travel to the capital and reside in his new grand palace of Versailles. Her fathers sickness of body and mind prevented him, dooming the future of their house even further. Le Vicomte adopting them was practically charity, and he made that fact apparent whenever he could. Ever since the light first left her fathers eyes, Anne-Marie had hated her life, and recently she had begun to hate herself. She didnt care if she carried a good name or good blood at all. She had seen what a title and fiefdom really cost, how it twisted your heart and wrapped it in thorns. So many times she had thought to run away, even before her father died. But she had lived this way for sixteen years. This life was the only one she had ever known, and she was so scared of what lay outside the walls of the comfortable castle she had grown up in. Not that it mattered now. She chose to be cowardly when she could have run away for so long, and now shed be forced to live a new life anyway, one she didnt have a say in. Le Vicomte drew near from aftside, and she took a deep inhale just in time. They tell me well reach the New World within the hour, he said. He always stood too close to her. I see, she replied. She had gotten good at speaking without letting much air out after three years of practice. Have you seen Chrtien? I must tell him the good news! Hes below deck. Le Vicomte smiled and nodded. He turned to leave, but stopped on his heel, turning back and placing his hand over hers atop the guard rail. You will love it, Anne-Marie, he said. I promise. His piercing blue eyes lingered on her face like a hunting dog sizing up a lone rabbit. But her soft amber ones could not even feel his terrible gaze, too lost beyond the distant horizon where her home lay. Still, her ears were too sharp to ignore his words, and she knew what he was capable of when ignored. She smiled and nodded back politely, her eyes the only part of her that couldnt pretend. The slime of Chatellerault left her to her solitude, a depressingly comfortable state for her nowadays. She continued to look to the ocean, as if it would save her somehow. Her eyes fell to the choppy gray waters below. Perhaps they could. If they would truly lay anchor so soon, this would be her last chance to run from the inevitable hell of her future. She toyed with the thought, sticking her foot through the gaps in the railing and letting her slipper fall. She watched it go, studying the way the waves consumed the thing like it was nothing. It should have terrified her, but it only emboldened her further. If she jumped, maybe she wouldnt even drown. The fall was so high from here. Maybe shed be dead as soon as she hit the water. What would Le Vicomte do then, his precious little vase shattered to pieces on the day of his arrival? The petulant tantrum he would no doubt throw pleased her to think about, but not enough to make her smile. She realized she couldnt remember the last time she truly had. Through some newfound courage, or perhaps just spite, Anne-Marie hoisted herself onto the railing, sitting atop it and dangling her feet over the side. It would be so easyCone push, one leap, and all her suffering would be over. She would never again have to bear Le VicomteChow he stood too close, how he looked at her, how he whispered sick things in her ear just to watch her squirm. Never again would she be forced to smell his cologne, laugh at his hateful jokes, ignore the frightening gaze of his jealous and bitter wife. She would be free of this gilded prison, of her shackles of porcelain and lace. She leaned forward, closer to her escape than ever before. But she couldnt go through with it. Like always, the thought of leaving her brother alone kept her shackled to life. Even though the adoption was changing him for the worse, even though he was starting to take after Le Vicomte more and more with each passing day. She could not abandon him. As much as she wished to be rid of the pain of living, as much as she could hardly hope to bear another day. So many times she had thought to run, or to die, but she could never actually do it. She began to retract her legs back over the railing, succumbing to her fate once again. Only this time, fate had made the decision for her, and she slipped. The back of her head slammed into the wood behind her, and she toppled over the side, careening towards the tumultuous surf. She could not even think of how she lost her footing before she plunged headfirst into the icy waters of the St. Lawrence Gulf. To her terror, the fall was not enough to kill her, or even break a bone. Her head blared with the pain of impact, her body paralyzed with the numbing shock of cold. She surfaced briefly, gasping desperately for air before being submerged again. And though she was always good at holding her breath, she found the talent absent when she needed it most, her world turning to black as the waters swept her away. ****** Anne-Marie awoke in unfamiliar surroundings, surrounded by unfamiliar men. They were French, at leastCof that she was sure. Unfortunately, that meant that they were not angels, which meant that she was not in heaven. Nor could she be in hell, for she was sure all the demons would bear the face of Le Vicomte. As her vision slowly started to clear, her heart sank in her chest, realizing that even falling into dangerous waters and drowning would not be enough to free her. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Ah, ma chrie, you are awake, the man closest to her said. He smiled warmly at her, his bright eyes twinkling behind his half-rimmed spectacles. She assumed he was a doctor of some kind. The old man turned, addressing a younger man next to him. Tell Le Vicomte that his daughter is alive and well, he said. He will be glad to hear the news. The young man turned to leave the room. Anne-Marie tried so hard to reach her hand out to him, to cry out to him, to keep him from leaving. But she had no strength, and her outstretched hand was clasped by the doctors, who rubbed it to keep it warm. You must not overexert yourself, ma chrie, he told her. That was quite a nasty spill you took. It is a miracle of God that you are still alive. Anne-Maries vain hopes left her in the form of a sigh as she laid back on the reclining couch shed been placed on. No righteous God would make an innocent girl suffer so, and certainly not save her when she wanted so desperately to die. The doctor commanded the woman next to her as Anne-Marie resigned herself to her fate. Heat the kettle, he instructed. When its ready, bring her a cup of Chamomile teaCdo not make her any other kind, understand? And warm some more towels and blankets so that they are ready once her current ones lose their heat. Until she is recovered, you will warm more every hour. And when I say warm, I mean warm, not hot. God help you, woman, if you make them too hot! Yes, yes, the nurse said dismissively, waving him off as she walked to the door. As she left, Le Vicomte entered, his fancy heels clicking on the wooden floor as he paced quickly towards her. How is she, doctor? He asked the balding man. Remarkably well, he explained. She hit the back of her head during the fall, but appears to not be concussed or have any brain damage. Shell have a splitting headache and a nasty bruise for a few days, but no lasting injuries. We were worried that shed potentially swallowed water into her lungs, but a thorough examination proved that not to be the case. She is hypothermic, as I imagine anyone swimming in the St. Lawrence this time of year would be. She needs a week or so of rest, preferably by a warm fire. Other than that, shes fine. Shes incredibly fortunate. Yes, she is, Le Vicomte murmured, glaring at his adopted daughter like a Python. He gestured to the door. Do you mind? Id like to have a moment alone with her. The doctor shifted uncomfortably. He looked at Anne-Marie, then at Le Vicomte. Whatever vicious aura the man emanated, the doctor seemed to know it. Whether it was by experience or intuition Anne-Marie could not tell. Of course, the man said. But I must return in a few minutes to continue her treatment. She is not out of this yet. I understand," Le Vicomte returned. "Thank you, doctor. The sound of the door closing behind the doctor might as well have been a death knell. Anne-Marie feigned a waning consciousness, keeping her eyes off the man who towered over her, casting a sinister shadow. She could not muster the strength to hold her breath now, and his reeking perfume invaded her nostrils. She gasped in surprise as Le Vicomte lunged at her, gripping her jaw and forcing her face towards him. Look at me, he snarled. Look at me. She obeyed. Dont you ever do something like that to me again. Do you understand? In the vise of his knuckles, she nodded. Do you understand? She nodded once more, tears forming in her eyes. Le Vicomtes arms trembled with a poorly-hidden fury. Good, he said. Then he brought his face to hers and kissed her, forcing his lips onto hers, holding her jaw in place so she could not turn away. Not that shed have the strength to right now, but she tried what she could, hiding her tongue in the recesses of her mouth as he searched for it. After a few suffocating moments, he lifted his face from hers, and his grip on her loosened, his hand sweeping the tears on her cheeks away. You will never be put in harms way again, he whispered to her. Not by anyone. Not even yourself. You are too important to me, to the sons you will bear me. I will not let the whims of a foolish girl ruin my house the way it ruined yours. He backed away from her, eyes darting to the fine paintings hung in the room, to the flickering fire in the hearth. You could learn to love me, you know, he said, trying to calm himself down. If you welcomed me with open mind and open heart, stopped thinking of just yourself for once. I saved you, if you recall correctly. You and your brother were nothing before you came to me. Your father knew itChell, he was the one who sent you, who begged for me to take you in. And out of the goodness of my heart I did. I saved you both, from poverty and ruin. You should be worshipping the ground I walk on, falling to your knees at my feet for rescuing you from that doomed and decrepit hovel. He closed his eyes, realizing he was losing his temper again. He took a deep breath, then sighed, running his hair through his greasy black hair to comb it back. I understand why you hate me, he said. I dont even blame you, not really. But it was one thing to hate me when you were still a little girl. Now, youre practically a woman. Forgive me if I expect you to be a little more mature. Another year, perhaps, and youll understand how the world works. He leaned down to kiss her again, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. Damn doctor, he muttered under his breath. He paced to the door and opened it. To his surprise, it was a soldier who greeted him. Mon Capitaine the soldier shouted, saluting him. You are our new captain, yes? Monsieur Jean-Pierre dHarcourt? Yes, yes, Le Vicomte said. What do you need? I was instructed to find you as soon as you arrived. You and a company of your troops are to travel down-river to Le Fort Frontenac at once. But Ive only just arrived. I havent even unpacked! Yes, Mon Capitaine. But his lordship Le Marquis is soon to conduct a vitally important diplomatic meeting, and he has specifically and urgently requested your presence. Le Vicomte sucked on his tongue, a vein on his forehead pulsing in annoyance. Fine, he said. Lead the way. He almost slammed the door behind him, but to Anne-Marie, it could not have been a sweeter sound. She closed her eyes, trying to settle the screaming pain in her head. Her mind and body was exhausted, but her heart would not let her sleep, lest Le Vicomte return while she was unconscious and unable to defend herself. In a while, the nurse brought her tea and a new blanket, which helped. The doctor conducted a few more tests, and asked her some basic questions for his report. Part of her wanted to tell him the truth: that she had wanted to die, that it was the only way she could think to escape Le Vicomte. The knowing twinkle in his chestnut eyes told her he probably already knew. Not that he could do anything about it if he did. But he did insist on staying in her room until she was strong enough to stand, just in case. He explained it as a medicinal measure, in case she fell more ill and needed his attention immediately. But he sat his chair square in front of the door, and she could not help but notice the flintlock pistol hanging from his belt. As the fire crackled, the doctors gentle whistling soothed her to sleep, her mind at some strange peace for the first time she could remember. Perhaps the world was not some cold and uncaring place, if a stranger could know her worries so instantly, and even share in them, too. White Sky & Black Bird 1 White Sky, Black Bird The Great Lakes All great things can be found in pairs: sun and moon, fire and water, life and death. And so it was that the finest trader in all the Great Lakes was actually two traders: Waabigiizhig and MemeskoniinisiCWhite Sky and Black Bird. Of course, very few in the great lakes had ever heard of these traders, and even fewer would recognize them as the finest. But that did not concern them, for they knew they were the best. To them, once you were the best at something and knew yourself to be so, it was only a matter of time until others knew it, too. They were young, and did not have the connections and reputations of their older competitors, but that would come. For now, all they could do was be the best, and wait for the rest of the world to come to terms with their greatness. The traders hailed from different tribes, and bore different totems. White Sky was Fire-Keeper, from the clan of the Turtle. Black Bird was Trade-Keeper, and carried the fitting totem of the Black Hawk, though his father originally hailed from some other tribe and clan. White Sky used to ask which tribe and clan he came from, but Black Bird never liked talking about his father, so White Sky eventually stopped asking. At eighteen, White Sky was a little brother of sorts, just as the Keepers of the Hearth-Fire were considered the youngest brother of the Council of Three. At twenty, Black Bird proclaimed himself to be the leader of their group as its eldest member, a point which often led to arguments between them. Despite their frequent bickering, the two young men worked perfectly in tandem, as all their skills and passions were complimentary. They found this out quickly three years ago after each of them had tried trading on their own, and failed miserably. Thankfully, their failures caused their fateful meeting, and together, they were unstoppable. Black Bird plotted their routes, and White Sky secured the cargo. White Sky loaded and packed the gunpowder, and Black Bird fired the rifle. Black Bird spoke the languages of white men, and even those of the Five Big Snakes and smaller tribes in the region. White Sky spoke the languages of science and mathematics, and was responsible for the ingenious modifications that made their canoe the fastest and most powerful in the region. Today, as they rode down-river in their canoe, they argued about a new topic: who would win in a fight between a brown bear and a pack of four wolves. Absolutely no question, White Sky said. Its four against one, and the bear at most can use two of its claws. What is he supposed to do if surrounded? You assume the bear would allow himself to be surrounded, Black Bird returned. But the bear is as clever as he is strong, and would not allow himself to be caught in so simple a trap. Of course he would! Wolves can hunt a target for days on end, tracking their prey through the forest. Youre telling me the bear would maintain his guard all day and night for three days? Well even if he was surrounded, that doesnt guarantee the wolves a victory. All it takes is one error in their attack, one slight misstep. With a single swipe, the bear could easily crush one of their skulls. And if he did, the other three would seize the moment and attack the bear while hes defenseless. Oh, come on. Lets be reasonable in understanding their nature. They are not soldiers sworn to the Frenchman''s king, honor-bound to fight each battle to their last breath. They act in war like the Big Snakes doCkill one, and the rest go running with their tails tucked between their legs. So now youre an expert on the nature of wolves? Next youll tell me you were raised by them. Black bird grinned, leaning back in the canoe and pretending to faint. Your accusations wound me, you know, he said. You dont need to lash out at me just because Im right. We both know the bear would win against four measly wolves, or any other beast for that matter. The bear carries the largest clan and thus, the most powerful totem. The Bear clans size and prosperity reflect their namesake beasts own mightiness. You cant be serious, White Sky protested. Your arguments grow worse and worse by the day. Soon Ill need to find another fool to haggle with the white men. Are the names of our clans merely names? What do you mean? I mean just that. Do you think our totems are arbitrary labels, or do you think they represent something greater? Of course they represent something. They represent everything. Then you would agree that the bear being the largest and strongest beast is fitting for the largest and strongest clan. Perhaps. But I don''t find comfort in that answer, for it doesnt bode well for me as a Turtle. But a turtle carries his own virtuesChe doesnt have to be the strongest to be worth something. After all, it was the great snapping turtle who heeded Manaboashs plea, who carries the land we live on atop his back. And we would never argue over who would win between a turtle and a bear, because the argument has no merit. Neither does this one, really. At the end of the day, the fight we have argued for so long about would never take place. The wolves would never choose to hunt the bear over anything else, as they know they will likely lose, and the bear would never want to fight a pack of wolves if he could help it, as he knows them to be more trouble than theyreC A sudden gunshot rang out through the woods, the bullet just failing to reach the two traders, sinking into the water right in front of their canoe. The sound of the shot was soon accompanied by whooping and shrieking, sounding in the boys ears like the hissing of Big Snakes. Speaking of trouble, Black Bird remarked, tucking himself down into the canoe. Already on it, White Sky said. The two broke into action without another word. White Sky grabbed a lever inside the canoe and pulled hard, hoisting up their canoes shield, a thick tarp of hide reinforced with metal plates between its layers. Two more bullets came, but the tarp caught them, forming a protective tent over the canoe to halt the bullets momentum and drop them into the water. Black Bird did not hesitate either, and began to row as fast as he could. The best way of dealing with Longhouse raiders was to outrun them, their canoes slower and less maneuverable. Despite their recent expansion into the territory, the Longhouse folk were still strangers to these lakes and rivers, and their inferior canoes were evidence of that. Some fortunate ones had stolen the superior birchbark canoes from defeated enemies, but they did not yet know how to craft the vessels themselves, and none of those who sprung from the Creators divine breath would relinquish such a secret to the enemy. This time, though, a complication presented itself. Ahead of them, two canoes manned by Big Snakes broke from their cover of foliage by the riverbed, forming a wide formation to cut the two traders off. At the same time, two more canoes emerged behind them, rowing quickly to ram into them from behind. What do we do? White Sky asked, for it was Black Birds job to answer difficult questions. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. Black Bird took only a moment to analyze the situation, as a moment more would mean their doom. Full speed ahead, he commanded. Ram the one on the rightCtry to splinter it, if possible. We let them think theyve caught us in their net, and Ill spring our biggest surprise on the ones tailing us. White Sky nodded, and began to shift course. Black Bird began to loosen the ropes that tied their cargo to the canoe. It was White Skys idea to carry all their cargo in separate, buoyant packages that floated along with them. It started as a necessity, as they could hardly fit anything in the canoe now with all the modifications theyd made. In practice, they would cut the ropes free whenever they were in enough trouble, causing their canoe to instantly gain in speed from the massive reduction in weight. Better to lose your merchandise than your life. This time, though, the cargo was too important to hand over to them, and besides, keeping themselves slow for now was part of the plan. It was important that the two canoes in pursuit gained on them, that they believed they were winning. Need help! White Sky cried, as the raiders ahead of them began taking shots at the canoe with their rifles. The protective tarp covered both sides and the front, but it was not completely impregnable, especially after sustaining multiple shots. On it, Black Bird said, grabbing their rifle from the canoes floorboards. With his free hand, he grabbed one of their smoke bombs, hand-crafted by White Sky. He ignited it with his flint, then tossed it towards his two pursuers. The bomb exploded in a flash of light, filling the area with smoke from the gunpowder. At the speed the Snakes were rowing, they would quickly clear the smoke, but all Black Bird needed was a few seconds. He stood up, using the crook at the top of the tarps wooden frame to stabilize his aim. The two Big Snakes in front of him saw him ready his weapon, and began to fire at him, but they were still too far for their bullets to reach. Black Bird knew this, and waited until after they had fired, when they would be struggling to quickly reload. Close enough to hit now, he took aim, whispered a silent prayer, and pulled the trigger. The shot rang out, and his bullet landed square in the shoulder of the Snake aboard the right canoe. Black Bird cursed under his breath for not hitting a vital organ. If it had been a lethal strike, the fight could have been over by now. The People of the Longhouse warred for two reasons: to dominate the trade with the white man, and to replace their lost loved ones by adopting captured prisoners of war. The latter goal, which was their primary one, presented a weakness in their strategy: they would not continue to fight a battle once they suffered enough casualties, as losing more members would defeat the purpose of their raid. Still, the shot took the one out of commission for now, and weakened the right side of the Snakes net, which would have to be good enough. Full speed into the right canoe! Black Bird barked. Ive softened it up for you! Break their line and buy me enough time to set up the weapon! White Sky didnt need to be told twiceChe plunged his oar into the water, lunging towards the canoe on the right. Black Bird did the same, but only for two strokes, lifting his oar and putting it in the bed. He needed time to prepare their secret weapon. He uncased it: a tiny cannon, small enough to fit inside a canoe. The ones the French used were too large, built for the enormous decks of sailing ships. This one was custom-made for their use, small and compact. This of course reduced its range and power significantly, but that didnt matter. It had one job, and it did it well. Black Bird placed it in front of him, straddling it, and began packing the shot into the barrel. One of the pursuers fired at him with a rifle. The bullet grazed his ear, a searing pain blazing in his mind, but he ignored it. He did not even flinch, as a single moments hesitation would mean the difference between living and dying. Is it ready? White Sky asked. Not yet, Black Bird returned. He used the wooden plunger to ram the packet of pellets down into the barrel, packing it tightly. He lost his grip on the plunger as their canoe made contact with the right one in front of them, slamming straight into its side. They had outfitted the front of their canoe with a lightweight but durable steel blade like the axe-head of a tomahawk, and it sliced through the enemys flimsy Elm planks, splintering the canoe in half. Is it ready?! Not yet! The Big Snake on the now-destroyed canoe leaped to the one next to it, still clutching his wounded shoulder, and the one on the left boat prepared another shot. White Sky scrambled for his tomahawk, flinging it at the one with the rifle. The man dodged the tomahawk narrowly, but lost his footing in doing so, falling onto his comrade on the canoe and losing his grip on the rifle. Behind them, the two pursuers were almost at their heels, ready to ram and board them. Is! It! Ready!? Black Bird fumbled with his flint, his trembling hands barely managing to light the fuse. Fuse is lit! He called out. Just another moment more! They didnt have another momentCthe two Snakes in front began hacking at their tarp with their tomahawks, and the ones behind had reached them now. One slammed into the back, shoving the cannon forward. Black Bird winced in pain from the cannon crushing his feet in front, and bit his lip to make it through the pain, taking a cushion and placing it under his groin to brace for the coming impact. We need it NOW!!! White Sky yelled frantically as one of the Snakes managed to tear a hole in their protective shield. But they had stalled for just enough time, and their counter-attack was finally ready. Black Bird hoisted the cannon upwards to face the man who had just rammed them from behind, the light of the fuse disappearing into the cannons black iron. He gripped the cannon between his legs, and the sides of the canoe with his hands, bracing himself and everything else for the impact. The boom of the cannon shook the whole river beneath them, echoing out for miles into the wilderness. At once, the dynamic flipped on its head. The boat that had rammed them splintered to nothing, shredded to pieces by a sea of shrapnel. So too was the poor man aboard that vessel, the tidal wave of small metal pellets rendering the flesh from his bones. Due to the cannons small size, it could not shoot far, nor could it be cleaned and reloaded in a timely manner. But the two genius traders knew this, and had it built according to its strengths. The lip of the cannon flared outwards like a blunderbuss, loaded with a similar shot of small pellets rather than one large projectile. The result was a weapon with terrible range and accuracy, but one that could completely annihilate anything that came close enough. The second boon their secret weapon granted was thrust. The force of the cannon blew them forwards in the river, straight through the canoe they had split before and out of reach of any potential retaliation. The already-loosened cargo fell away from the push, accelerating them even further. With all the room between them and their pursuers now, they could reload their rifle, and White Sky began doing so. Black Bird reeled from the pain in his legs and groinCevery time they shot it, he needed to anchor the cannon in place by straddling it. He pushed through his aching legs to stand tall and proud in the canoe, baring his chest and whooping a defiant war cry to shatter his enemies spirits and morale. It workedCthe three Snakes that still lived immediately started rowing away, fleeing as fast as they could. White Sky finished reloading the rifle, handing it to Black Bird, but he did not even lift it to aim. They were well outside the rifles range now, and shooting would only waste valuable ammunition. Black Bird took a deep breath and closed his eyes. They had won. Black Bird sat back down on the canoe, he and his partner taking a moment to process what just happened. They sat in ponderous silence, adrenaline still coursing like liquid lightning through their veins. Black Bird raised his chin to the sky to thank Manaboash for blessing them with victory, and with survival. But they could not linger here foreverCthere was always a chance the Snakes would return, and with greater numbers. They rowed backwards to the wreckage, tying their cargo back to their canoe and picking through whatever spoils the enemy left behind. As he finished securing one of the packages, Black Bird caught White Sky glaring at him. What? Black Bird asked. Dont what me, White Sky said grumpily. Just get it over with. Get what over with? White Sky rolled his eyes. You were right, he admitted. I was wrong. A pack of four canoes for four wolves, properly surrounding us, and we routed them with a single swipe of our enormous bears claw. Black Bird grinned, as though the thought hadnt even occurred to him. What an awfully apt metaphor, he exclaimed. Waabigiizhig, where do you get such an inventive imagination? White Sky mimed the act of puking over the side of the canoe, and Black Bird just laughed. I hate to admit this, Black bird said. But Im afraid I was wrong in some regards after all. Oh? I said that such a fight would never occur, that both the wolves and the bear would be smart enough to never quarrel with one another, that they would know better. But the Longhouse people make war to replace the family taken from them, even when they know it was war that took them in the first place. Perhaps. But they dont choose their battles without strategy. They rightfully believed this fight would be an easy victory, and might not have attacked us if they knew our real power. Thats also true. We can only hope that this was a lesson theyll heed, and to leave us be next time. Bah. The Snakes are too stubborn for that. We both know they never learn a lesson the first time. The two boys laughed as they finished re-attaching their cargo, and continued on their way down-river. Despite their laughter, however, worries clung in the backs of their mind like looming shadows. Twenty years ago, it would be unheard of for the Longhouse tribes to be raiding this far west. So much had changed, in their fathers lifetimes, in their grandfathers. Slowly and steadily they encroached, conquering one small tribe after another, growing ever-stronger with each battle won. And though they were easily routed, that did not mean they were easily defeated. When they fought their mourning wars, often their victims were abstract, chosen randomly or through convenience. When their loved ones were taken by a particular enemy, however, the wars turned vengeful and precise. White Sky and Black Bird had won their victory today, but for every Snake they felled, the targets of bloody revenge on their backs grew larger. Chr茅tien de Parthenay 1 Chrtien de Parthenay New France Chrtien de Parthenay (though he wished he was Chrtien de Chatellerault) paced back and forth in his new chambers. He wondered if hed ever get used to it all. Not just the room: the house, Quebc, the New World. Everything was strange here. The capital of New France was hardly a city at allCmore like an enormous fort, one that felt naked without the strong castle walls he was used to. His new manor was tiny in comparison to any in the motherland, clustered right in between the homes of other high-ranking officials of the Compagnies Franches de la Marine. Everything was tight in this city, smothering. Including his room. What the homes here lacked in size they made up for in opulence. His room and every other in this house was decorated head-to-toe in all manner of finery. The glaring of gilded frames reflected through enormous mirrors and crystal chandeliers, causing the whole room to glow from the lighting of a single candle. It was almost blinding, and Chrtien found himself closing his eyes often as he paced just to keep a burgeoning migraine at bay. In truth, these were all distractions from his real worry: his sister. She was such a frail thing, far too delicate for her age. She was always getting herself into trouble, and foolish enough to think shed be rid of her worries if she flung herself into the sea. Chrtien wasnt blindCIt was obvious what Le Vicomte intended for his little sister. The lords wife had the misfortune of being barren, and could not grant him any sons, so there was no reason to keep her. Le Vicomte intended to be rid of her, and replace her with Anne-Marie. But what his sister saw as an inevitable prison, Chrtien knew to be a fortunate opportunity. In his mind, they both had to be realistic. Their name meant nothing now, not in King Louis vision for the future. There was no room for ancient relics like the castle Parthenay, and certainly not for Huguenots like his father. Le Vicomte was a man who knew exactly what he wanted, and didnt care how he got it. But Chrtien knew that there were far crueler nobles that his sister could be promised to, and far poorer nobles, too. In his nineteen years on this earth, he had learned that this was the way of the world: marry for power and money, bow and scrape to whoevers above you so he might look upon you fondly. Kill or be killed, eat or be eaten. Still, he did not wish his adoptive father to be rid of his old wife so quickly, and certainly not to make a new one in his sister anytime soon. Le Vicomte wanted a son born of his blood as soon as possible, and Chrtien would do anything in his power to delay that as long as he could. After all, Chrtien was a pawn in this familial game as well, disposable at a moments notice. Le Vicomte treated him well now because Chrtien was the closest thing he had to a son. As soon as there was a boy that carried Le Vicomtes blood, Chrtien would be discarded like trash on the street, and he was not about to let that happen. A knock on the door stole Chrtiens attention from his troubling thoughts. He opened it to see Le Vicomte de Chatellerault, dressed in his full uniform. Speak of the devil, and he shall arrive. Were leaving, Le Vicomte said, an urgency in his voice. Put on your uniform as quick as you can. Ill be waiting outside. Why? Chrtien asked. What of Anne-Marie? Shes fine. Doctor says shell make a full recovery. Then let me see her at least, just for a minute. There is no timeCwe leave at once. Unless, of course, youd rather miss a first introduction with Le Marquis himself? And on the savage front, no less? Surely I can speak to her for a brief moment. Shes myC She is my ward, as are you. And youll do as I tell you. I just want to make sure shes alright. What did I just say? Shes fine. Do you consider me a liar? No, butC But what? Chrtien bit his lip in frustration. No, Monsieur, he said. I do not consider you a liar. I would hope not, for your sake. Now get dressed. Chrtien wanted to shoot back with something, but he knew it was futile. So he did as he was told, closing the door and stripping his clothes to change into his military outfit. Normally, thered be a servant here to dress him, but they had fewer servants than ever here in the New World, and all the ones in the house were busy tending to his apparently-surviving sister. He really was glad she was alrightCnot only because he cared for her as a brother, but also because she was his key to remaining under the peerage of Le Vicomte. All he had to do was to delay her giving him a son until he could secure a proper place here in this wild frontier, after which it wouldnt matter anymore. She could marry him if she cared anything about her own future, or she could throw herself into the sea again if she didnt. Part of him hated himself for caring so little about his dear sisters plight, but he had no choice. Every event in his life leading up to this point had taught him one thing: look after yourself, because no one else will do it for you. Chrtien hurried to clasp the last buttons on his coat, inspecting himself in the grand mirror on the wall. All these years and he still wasnt really used to the way he looked. Despite the military garb he wore, and the haunted look in his eye, he had never been able to rid himself of the face of a child. Ready now, he opened the door and stepped out into the hall. You took too long, Le Vicomte said, immediately turning and pacing down the hallway. Chrtien walked briskly to catch up. Sorry, he said. Le Vicomte stopped, turning on his heel to look at the boy. Sorry what? He asked. Sorry, Monsieur. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. Satisfied enough with the answer, he turned back around and continued towards and down the stairs, though not before giving Chrtien a look. I trust you wont forget your manners when we meet Le Marquis and the other Capitaines who might be present, Le Vicomte said. I wont, Monsieur. You can rely on me. Clearly I cant, as youve just proven. Youre lucky Im so forgivingCa crueler man would have forbid you to come. Introductions are too important to spoil, especially with hosts such as these. Yes, Monsieur. I wont make the same mistake in front of them. I believe you, which is why Im letting you come in the first place. Dont fault yourself too harshlyCone cannot be raised by a jungle ape and expect to not beat his chest every so often. Chrtien took the mans words and ground them into dust between his teeth. An officer was waiting for them in the foyer, and saluted Le Vicomte as he drew near. Welcome to the New World, Capitaine, the man said. My name is Corporal Boucher. I am to escort you through the city to the river. A canoe awaits you there to transport you to Le Fort Frontenac. A canoe! Le Vicomte laughed giddily. How quaint! We are surely in the New World now! I understand you have arrived only recently, the Corporal replied. While we must make haste to the river, I will do my best to give you a tour of the city as we go. The three made their way down the large hill Quebc was built upon. Chrtien studied the row of houses that he and the other nobles lived in. In time, he would need to learn the inhabitants of each one, and commit them to memory. The politics of French nobility was an intricate and complex game of etiquette, secret alliances, and unspoken rules, and his swordmaster had always told him to never play a game if you were not familiar with all the pieces. You can think of Quebc as two cities, Boucher explained. We are now in the Upper Town, which is the military center of the city. Obviously, it is the site of the many homes of the towns leaders and marine officers, but it also houses the Jesuit college and the hospital. The hospital? Le Vicomte asked. So if I am wounded, I am to be treated alongside poors and savages? Yes and no, Capitaine. There are talks of building another hospital for the poor, though as far as I am aware there is a lack of funding for such a project at the moment. For the savages, there are few inside the city proper. Many are traveling constantly for trade, and those that have chosen to stay tend to live outside the walls in their huts. The Canonesses of St. Augustine have built an outpost of sorts there to tend to the sick and wounded among the savages, of which there always seem to be many. That being said, those that are wounded or ill inside the citys limits are admitted to lH?tel-Dieu, just as you would be if a doctors visit would not be sufficient. Hmph. Let us hope we never fall ill, for we are sure to catch other plagues in a hospital with no standards. I will pray for your health, Capitaine, the Corporal said, though Chrtien could swear there was a light mocking in his tone. Corporal Boucher led them through a gate in the wooden walls surrounding the Upper Town. The difference as they entered the Lower Town was immediately apparentCthe city was bustling with people. Smells of all different kinds permeated Chrtiens nostrils: meats, oils, perfumes. The fortifications here are rather sparse, wouldnt you say? Le Vicomte asked. They are all that is needed, the Corporal replied. The Iroquois do not raid this far into our territory. Chrtien watched Le Vicomtes reaction: his brow furrowing, his lip curling downward. He did not look convinced. They walked through a large square, squeezing through crowds of busy people as they shuffled by. Finally, Chrtien witnessed something he had never seen before, the thing he looked forward to seeing the most in this New World: the ones everyone called savages. Upon looking at them here, he could not understand the moniker: they bartered with Frenchmen just like anyone would, and looked civilized enough. Some of them wore strange clothes, and painted their faces, but some of them dressed in French garb and wore French hairstyles. He could have sworn he even saw one wearing a wooden cross necklace, even though hed been told the savages did not recognize Christ, and worshipped lesser things like beasts and plants. He would reserve his judgment thoughChe had often found first impressions to be deceiving. This is Le Place Royale, the Corporal explained. It is where most of the action is, you could say. If you are ever in need of something, you need only to send a servant to buy it. The markets here are host to all the splendors the New World has to offer. I see, Le Vicomte said. Given all the gold the King is spending to maintain our settlements here, I expected something a bit more grandiose. They passed by a stall of fine furs of all different sizes and colors, several of which caught Le Vicomtes eye. Perhaps I have misspoke, the lord chuckled. I will have to visit upon my return for a rug to christen my new home. As they made their way to the river, Chrtiens eyes were drawn to an enormous bust of King Louis in the center of the square. A not-so-subtle reminder of who really rules this place. The bust was the only thing in this part of the city that wasnt completely filthyCit must have been built recently, then. Chrtien committed the image of that bust to memory best he could, recalling another lesson from his swordmaster: a puppet who cannot see his strings can never hope to sever them. After their brief tour, the three finally arrived at the river, where two dozen long wooden canoes floated in wait. All but two were already filled with six soldiers apieceCChrtien recognized most of them as the ones who traveled on the same ship as him, members of the new company that Le Vicomte commanded. Oh! Le Vicomte clapped his hands in joy, as if the canoes were a zoo attraction. This is simply marvelousCnext well be handed tomahawks instead of rifles. The Corporal helped the two into a canoe, then boarded his own next to them. At once, the soldiers began to row. Chrtien noticed the ones rowing were the only ones he didnt recognizeCI suppose they dont want our new soldiers to make fools of themselves. I thought this would be akin to a Venetian Gondola, Le Vicomte mused. But we are traveling quite fast, arent we? Yes, Capitaine, the Corporal explained. The savages vessels are far superior to ours in the rivers and lakes of their lands, and they have taught us to craft and row them in exchange for our lessons in musketry. We are fortunate as well, for the tribes of our enemies and the English do not know how to make them, and their canoes are hewn from heavier wood. For them, this journey would take them two weeks or longer, but our veterans have traveled to this fort many times, and we should be there in a manner of days. It seems we have picked the right allies then, Le Vicomte mused. Though I am delightedly surprised to know that even savages can understand the value of naval superiority. Chrtien ignored the two mens banter, looking out to the surrounding scenery. It was late fall, and most of the trees had shed their leaves, casting a blanket of beautiful oranges and reds upon the ground. Some others seemed to be evergreen, though, creating quite the contrast in the tapestry of the landCneedles of green next to naked brown branches, both hanging above that autumnal sea beneath. As his adoptive father prattled on about nothing, Chrtien wondered why some trees were forced to shed their leaves and grow them anew. It must be exhausting work, being reborn. He wondered if the trees ever missed a certain arrangement, if they ever tried to replicate how the leaves grew in a past season. No doubt every time the leaves regrew, something was lost in the transitionCsome pattern, some memory, some fragment of the trees soul, if trees had such a thing. Perhaps that was what the savages worshipped: that divine soul of nature, that hidden essence present in all living things. It made some strange sense to him, in a way. After all, in all his years on this earth, he had never once witnessed the grace or mercy of God. Peter Sparrow 1 Peter Sparrow New York Life was pain. That did not necessarily make it dull or unvaried, for pain came in so many different forms. Pain of starvationCthe sharp, piercing stabs that eventually settled into slow, blaring aches. Pain of the bruises from neighborhood thugs and bites from stray animals in back-alleys, apex predators of the cobblestone jungle. Pain of the frigid winter wind ripping through you, of the nights spent on the streets by the docks, too afraid of the lethal cold to dare fall asleep. All of these pains and more were well-known to little Peter Sparrow. In fact, in his ten years on this earth, it was the only thing he had ever really known. Now, his pain was a new one: pain of illness. Of course, hed been sick before, but never like this. Hed lost count of how many days it had been since he was kidnapped, spirited away on this dark and cramped ship to some unknown destination. Despite having lived on and around the docks of Dublin bay for as long as he could remember, he had never stepped foot on a boat, and the constant ebbing and churning of the wooden panels beneath his feet ensured that no meal stayed in his stomach for long. Not that there was much to eatCthe cook fed him and the other captees leftovers that the paying passengers didnt finish. Whatever little he was able to keep down gave him cramps and chills bad enough to keep him from falling asleep Ironically enough, this was the best he had eaten in a long time, and given his life thus far, his imprisonment on this strange vessel could be considered a turn of good fortune. He didnt have to beg for the scraps of food he was given, and though he barely slept, the precious few hours his body allowed him were peaceful compared to sleeping on the street. Peter heard commotion on the deck above. Something was happening. He wondered if it was pirates. Thatd be exciting. His mind began to wanderChe found there was often no point in forcing it to witness such a cruel existence. Unlike Peter himself, the boys mind could travel wherever it wanted to, though its destinations were admittedly limited. He did not have the experience or education to imagine exotic vistas or vast riches, for even daydreams were a privilege for those that could afford them. His was a yearning for simpler things: clean clothes to wear, a warm fire to sleep by at night. Still, he had spent enough time begging on the docks to know of pirates. He often dreamed of pirates attacking, stealing him away and forcing him to work for their crew. Some might consider it odd to aspire to scrub the decks of a ship, but for Peter it would mean being part of something. Of course, being a scrawny young boy, theyd probably shove him around and bully him, but he was used to that. At least he would have a purpose. The hatch door swung open, and a sailor came down the stairs carrying a wooden box. He reached into the box and pulled something out, handing it to the first of the poor wretches who were kept down here. Many of the passengers only slept below-deck, and had their own cabins and bedsClikely the ones who could afford to pay for passage. The ones like Peter languished in the dark under-bowels of the ship where they wouldnt bother anyone, and hadnt seen sunlight since they departed. Most of them were older than he was, though some by only a few years. Many of them were even sicker than he was, splayed out on the floors like corpses. Peter strained to get a better look at the sailor and his box. His eyes widened when he saw what he was handing out. Lemons. Fresh lemons. He scrambled over to them, but was shoved to the ground as a larger boy saw the same thing. The others who were strong enough to move followed suit, forming a crowd around the sailor. The biggest among them began kicking and pushing to get to the front. The weaker boys like Peter and the girls knew by this point to wait their turn, and hope there would still be some left at the end of it. After the apex predators were satisfied, Peter tried to make his way to the box, but the sailor began to walk away. He went over to the ones who werent strong enough to stand, taking a lemon for each of them and forcing it down their throats. Peter waited patiently for his turnChe figured they needed the lemons more. He waited again once the sailor was done, because the girls wanted some, and many of them looked worse-off than he did. When they cleared, he eagerly walked up and reached inside the box, only to find no purchase. It was empty. The sailor didnt really careChe headed back upstairs, now-empty crate in hand. Peter slinked into the corner, watching the others eat their lemons. One of the stronger boys finished his, tossing the peel on the floor. Peter grabbed it. The rind was all that was left, but it was something. He put it into his mouth, sucking on the skin to savor what little flavor could be found. The commotion upstairs continued, but it didnt sound frantic or violent. Probably not pirates, then. Peter couldnt help but feel a little disappointed. Suddenly, the ship lurched, and Peter had to grab a railing nearby to keep his footing. They were laying anchor. Finally. Peter had no idea where they had stopped, or even if this was their final destination, but hed bet it was. Normally only the paying voyagers were offered fruit. The fact the sailor came down and offered it to the likes of them meant they had no need for the lemons anymore, and wanted to get rid of them before they spoiled. The hatch door opened again, and five sailors clambered down, one-by-one. MOVE IT! The one in front yelled, an enormous, barrel-chested man with a thick black beard. The five sailors corralled the aimless flock of wretches up the stairs and onto the deck. As he went, Peters eye caught one of the lemons given to the sick and frail. It was stuck in a boys mouth, perfectly intact. The sailors began to pick up and shove the weaker ones in line, but they didnt bother with this one. Peter stepped out of line for a second, feeling the boys forehead. It was cold as ice. He grabbed the lemon from the dead boys mouth, cleaned it off with his rag of a shirt, and put it in his pocket. Maybe this day will be different. Maybe this is the day things start changing for me. Peter and the other poor souls were led single-file across the deck and over the shaky gangway to a bustling port. They were lined up, with some overseer looking over each one, brushing their hair with his hand, adjusting their clothes to look nicer. In a few moments, it became clear for whom: a bevy of well-dressed gentlemen arrived on the scene. The unfolding scene was a strange symphony of organized chaos: the men went one-by-one, examining them closely. Some asked questions to the shipmaster or the kid themselves, some just inspected them, feeling their hair and checking their eyes, ears, and inside their mouths. After several back-and-forths, a man would exchange coin with the shipmaster, and the shipmaster would hand over the product and a piece of paper. Peter noticed the papers were taken from each of the wretches pockets when they were being sold. That was bad. Peter didnt have a paper. Maybe it wouldnt matter. None of the wealthy men gave the spindly child more than a cursory glance before moving onto finer specimens. Just as he thought that, a man stopped in front of him. Peter looked up, and the man looked down. He looked strange compared to the othersChe wore a cheap gray suit and a black tricorn hat to cover his salt-and-pepper hair. He looked the boy up and down through the lens of his monocle, twirling his gelled mustache in his right hand. Hello, lad, the man said. Whats your name? He spoke in a British accent, though the trip took far too long for them to be in Britain. Peter, Peter said. Have you ever worked on a farm, Peter? No, sir. Hm can you read or write? No, sir. Well, what can you do? I Peter thought hard of something that would make himself desirable to this man, any skill or talent at all, but he could think of nothing. Im not sure, sir, he said. Im an orphan. Ive never been given a job. I could only ever beg. The man grumbled. Open your mouth and show me your teeth. Peter tried his best. The man inspected his gums, and checked the boys arms, too. Well, its not all bad news, he said. He whistled and waved the shipmaster over. Ill give you a pound for this one, the man told him. You jokin? The shipmaster returned. I wouldnt even make back the cost of feedin him all this time. Oh, Im sure. I mean, look at how well-fed he is! The man poked at Peters ribcage through his shirt. Ten pounds, the shipmaster countered. Ten? Now youre joking. I spoke to the boy. Hes got no work experience, no skills, no trade, nothing. Hes too small to do any hard labor, and hes male and spindlyCno good for comfort. You wouldnt be able to sell him to anyone else here. Not true. They got boys like him running around in the mines south of ere. Pay a pretty penny for em too, specially if they got small hands like his. Oh, well forgive me. I had no idea you had so many contacts in the mining business. Oh wait: you dont. So how exactly do you plan on selling him before your departure? The shipmaster said nothing, gritting his teeth. Thats what I thought. Now, please dont keep wasting my timeCIve got a very busy day planned. Two pounds sterling, and thats my final offer. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. The shipmaster hesitated. He looked around to see if there were any other potential buyers eyeing Peter, but there were none. Fine, he sighed. The man smiled, and handed him two silver coins from his pocket. The shipmaster took them and hurried to his other buyersCclearly hed wasted enough time over Peter. Come, the man commanded as he turned and walked towards the bustling city. I trust you know whatll happen if you try to run. Peter nodded, and he followed. He found he had to nearly jog to keep up with the mans brisk pace as they waded through the crowded city streets. It was familiar in a way, reminding him of the tumult of Dublin. Where are we, sir? Peter asked him. Were in the New World, boy, the man replied. The grand continent of America. Specifically, were in the colony of New York, formerly New Amsterdam. Its a wonderful placeCyoull see. Peter looked around. While there were many similarities to his familiar DublinCthe crowds, the noise, the smell of the nearby sewerCthere was one thing that stood out to him. Rather, it was a color: a deep, dark brown, the color of a great many people he saw walking around in the streets. He had heard rumors on the docks of people from a faraway land called Africa, with skin as dark as night, but he had never seen one until now. And there were so many, more than the white folk sometimes. I, um Peter began, trying to keep his mind from wandering. I dont have a paper, sir. I know, the man replied. Dont worry, well get you one as soon as we get to my office. What is it? The paper, I mean. Its called an indenture. Its a contract for labor. You know what a contract is, dont you, boy? Yes, sir. Good. Most of the other passengers on that ship came here of their own free will, promising labor in exchange for their passage. You and a few sorry others, however, must have been snatched by a spirit. Were you by the docks when you were taken? Yes, sir. I beg for money thereCor, well, I used to. They must have grabbed you as an afterthought. Normally, they try to get young lads with well, with better prospects. Really though, you should have known better than to beg in such risky places. Peters face grew hot with shame, and he realized hed never been scolded before. So Ill be working for you? Peter asked. No, The man said. God, no. No, Ill be selling your indenture as soon as Ive written it to a friend of mine, a Mr. Solomon Peters. I owe him a favor, and unfortunately the boy who normally works his farm has gone and injured himself. Falls ending soon, and the harvest with it, and someones got to pull the crops before that happens. Ive never pulled crops, sir. I know. But you were cheap, and you were one of the only boys in that line that hadnt caught scurvy. Besides, Mr. Peters has a soft spot for pathetic little creatures like yourself. Hell work you hard, but dont worryConce your ten years are up, youll be free to do what you like. Ten years. That was as long as hed been alive, and hed spend that same amount of time working for no pay. Peter just hoped hed survive long enough to enjoy that impossibly distant freedom. The two arrived at the mans office, and went inside. Sit down, the man told him. Um whats your name, sir? Peter asked. Better for the both of us that I dont answer that, the man said. No more questions until we leave here, understand? Peter nodded. The man turned and hailed the black girl who was waiting patiently in the corner. Im writing two copies of an indenture for young Peter here, the man explained. When Im finished with the first, you are to deliver it to the clerk. But before that, go out and secure a carriage for us to Solomon Peters'' farm. The girl didnt respond, her eyes fixed on Peter. Peter realized he had been staring at her since the moment he walked in, and his face grew hot again. Did your parents ever tell you it was rude to stare? The man asked Peter. It was not two seconds before he corrected himself, smacking his forehead lightly. Oh. Thats right. Orphan. Well, Peter, this is Delia. The two kids just stared at each other. She must have been around his age, maybe a few years older. Oh, dont worry about him, the man told her. Hes never seen a girl like you before. Now, did you hear my instructions? Finding herself, the girl nodded. Yes, Mr. Daughtrey, she replied. Good girl. Run along now, and be quick about it. She did. The man took out a quill and ink, and began writing. Whats your surname, boy? He asked. I Im not sure, sir. Right. Well, youve got to have a last name. Contract wont work otherwise. Some of the others at the docks called me Peter Sparrow. Oh? They said I had thin little legs, like a bird. You realize they were insulting you. You want that to be your family name? Yes, sir. I rather like birds, actually, especially sparrows. I dont mind the comparison. Suit yourself, the man said. He began to mutter under his breath as he wrote: Peter Sparrow doth voluntarily put him self servant to Solomon Peters for and during the full space, time, and term of ten years As he wrote, Peter took the chance to eat his lemon. He struggled to get the peel open, his fingers weak and feeble from exhaustion. He managed, though, and began to ravenously devour the inside. It was the most delicious thing he could remember. It was tart and sour, and the acid stung the cuts on his lips, but he hardly cared. It was food, and flavorful food, at that. Suddenly, the door behind them opened, and a fat, balding man hobbled into the store. Goedemiddag, Mister Daughtrey, he said, speaking in a strange accent Peter had never heard before. Ah, Mr. Van Buren, the man said, finishing up the contract. What can I do for you? Well, I came to see about a new slave, but it seems like youve already gotten one for me, and of a much nicer complexion. Apologies, Mr. Van Buren, but this one has already sold. What? To whom? Im afraid Im not at liberty to disclose my clients. You wouldnt want me giving out your name to random people, I assure you. Just then, the girl Delia returned. I secured the carriage to Mr. Peters, she said, curtsying. The man grimaced, trying and failing to mask his annoyance. Thank you, Delia, he said through gritted teeth. Now, take this to the clerk. He handed her the contract, and she left with it. Peters? Van Buren asked. What Peters? Mr. Daughtrey said nothing. It better not be who I think it is, Van Buren continued. So youre dealing even with his kind now? You used to have standards. You know I cannot discuss my clients. How much is he paying you for the boy? It cant be much. Ill double it if you sign him over to me. Alas, as much as I wish I could, I cannot. I have already made the deal. Surely you dont honor it as a binding agreement? Next youll be making deals with apes, and chimps, and all the other African beasts youre cavorting with nowadays! Mr. Daughtrey stood, a cool anger seeping from his pores. Listen very closely to me, Mr. Van Buren, the man said, in practically a hiss. I will not allow you to come into my office and insult my clients, my business, and worst of all me. I run a tight ship around hereCI deal in only quality, and I dont settle. Thats why youve bought so many little darlings from me. So if youd like to continue to do so, I suggest you drop this whole thing, turn around, and walk out the door. Now. The air grew thick and tense between the two men, with Peter in his chair caught in their paths. He froze as best he could, half-eaten lemon still in hand. Fine, Mr. Van Buren said. But next time, if I find youve passed me or any other fine man up to trade with an animal, Ill make certain you never do business in this city again. With that, the man left, slamming the door behind him. Finish your lemon, Mr. Daughtrey told Peter, straightening his collar. Our carriage is here, and I dont want you spilling anything in it. Peter wolfed the rest down and followed the man out of the office and into the carriage. The two sat in a tense silence as the horses started walking. Peter was confused, and it must have shown on his face, because Mr. Daughtrey was the one to break the silence. Listen well, boy, he told him. Our world is one of dichotomies. Youve seen one already: master and servant. But within the class of servant is another dichotomy: the white servant, and the negro slave. You are a white servant. You will work hard and tirelessly for the period of your indenture, but once your indenture is lifted, you will be free. Delia is a negro slave. She will work for me until her body no longer lets her, at which point shell be put to death, because the city is too cramped, and because shell have fulfilled her purpose to me. Do you understand the difference? Peter nodded, even though he didnt. Good. Sometimes, there are wrinkles to thisCall rules are eventually broken. Mr. Peters used to be a negro slave for the Dutch, back when they ruled these parts. They set him and a bunch of other negroes free after they worked for enough time, treating them like they were white servants. So being a free man, Mr. Peters gets to own you. Now some people dont like the idea of a negro owning a white servant. While I can appreciate the irony of the arrangement, you should consider yourself very lucky. Whatever you might suffer, whatever might happen to you up there, you will still be lucky. Your ship couldve landed in Virginia instead, and youd be picking tobacco in the field until you passed out from the summer heat. That idiot captain couldve actually known someone in the mining business, and youd likely stay alive for a couple of months more at most. I couldve sold you to Mr. Van Buren, and he would do to you what he does to all the little boys and girls he buys. Do you understand?" Peter nodded, even though he didnt. Good. You should thank me for giving you such good advice, but Ill forgive you. Im nothing if not charitable. Thank you, sir, Peter said. He looked out the carriage window, and his mind began to wander again. He wondered what Solomon Peters was like. He hoped that he was nicer than Mr. Daughtrey, and certainly that he was nicer than Mr. Van Buren. Anne-Marie de Parthenay 2 Anne-Marie de Parthenay New France It had been a week since Anne-Marie fell into the sea and nearly drowned. A week, and still her brother had not visited her. She was told that he had gone with Le Vicomte to a distant fort in Indian country, but she did not want to believe it. Even if he had, he should have come. Surely he could have spared a single moment. Surely he would have wanted to check on her. Surely he was thinking of her now, and worrying for her. Anne-Marie spent that week in a self-inflicted torment, agonizing over why he had not come. She knew the likely culprit was Le Vicomte. Ever since they had become wards in his custody, he had tried to separate them. It was all part of his plan for them, the function he wanted his tools to perform. He would groom Chrtien into his perfect little pet, a model gentleman at his false fathers beck-and-call, to fight and earn glory and fame for his new house. Le Vicomte knew that they were close, and therefore knew that the key to winning Anne-Maries heart was winning Chrtiens. She knew her brother was no fool: he had to know Le Vicomte planned to marry her, and abandon him as soon as she birthed a son. But she also knew her brother was a pragmatist above all else, prioritizing survival over wellbeing, his or hers. If he believed it to be the best path forward, he would sell her to the highest bidder, if only after offering himself for free. It was a strange and self-destructive instinct, born from the years he spent shielding her from their real fathers ugliest moments. He had always done that, as long as she could rememberCmartyred himself so that she could remain innocent and optimistic. Even now, she remained unaware of most of the things her father did and said at the heights of his madness. There was a haunted look in Chrtiens eye whenever she asked about it, but he had never told her anything, and eventually she stopped asking. The door to her chambers opened, and Dr. Gusteau came in carrying a tray with her breakfast. The kind doctor had been her only source of joy this past week, and her only company. He was an old and jolly fellow, his eyes always seeming to twinkle behind his half-lens spectacles. His white hair grew in two distinct patches on either side of his otherwise-bald head, and his nose was always rosy from the cool autumn air. He had spent this past week nursing Anne-Marie back to health and reading to her, something her own father had never done. Here is your breakfast, ma chrie, the old doctor said with a smile, laying the tray on the table by her reclining couch. Thank you, doctor, Marie replied. Any news of my brother? Alas, I am afraid not. As far as Im aware, he and your father are still at Le Fort Frontenac. He is not my father. You would do well to remember that. Of course, ma chrie. I believe that might be the one thing you and he agree on. The doctor chuckled as he handed Anne-Marie her tea. She stirred it lightly, then began to sip. I know you are anxious concerning your brother, but he is safe, Gusteau added. Le Fort Frontenac is well-fortified, and Le Iroquois do not possess weapons to breach high walls. Besides, Le Marquis himself is there as well, and you can be sure he is always well-guarded. I am more wary of Le Vicomte than any Iroquois, Anne-Marie replied. You have no idea what hes capable of. I have been a doctor in the high courts for many years, ma chrie. He is far from the most evil man I have met, and even further from the most cunning. Your brother seems like a bright boyCI am sure he can defend himself well enough without your help. But you should not dwell on him nowCyour mind will grow sick with worry, and your recovery will be stunted. Instead, you should focus on the good news, for I bring with me today a visitor. A visitor? Who? A girl your age, looking for a friend, same as you. Are you feeling well enough to host her? Should I let her in? Anne-Marie nodded. Despite the doctors hospitality, he was still an old man, and she was desperate for someone else to converse with. Good. The doctor stood, smiling. I will be back in the evening with your supper and medicine. Do try to make nice with La Mademoiselle, for both your sakes. With that, he left, and her new guest replaced him, striding into the room as if it were hers. She smiled as she saw Anne-Marie, but Anne-Marie felt only a pang of jealousy. Everything about this girl was perfect. Her hair was coiffed so immaculately it seemed effortless, a beautiful array of dark curls laid neatly atop her head. Behind, a single ringlet wrapped around the back of her neck to rest on her collarbone, adorning and accentuating it along with her exposed shoulders and neck. Her features were waifish, yet not scrawny, giving her the appearance of both an innocent child and a mature woman. She was dressed as if Anne-Maries chambers were a ballroom, a voluptuous gown of elaborate brocade in patterns of flowers and butterflies, and a cap with golden butterfly pins to match. You must be Anne-Marie, the girl said, her voice honeyed and saccharine. She sat delicately on the stool next to the reclining couch, folding her dress neatly as she did. I I am, Anne-Marie said, struggling to find her voice. She didnt know whether to feel envious of this girls unabashed beauty or to be smitten by it. And to whom do I owe the honor of this visit? Oh, you neednt take such a formal tone, the girl said. My name is Jeannine. And if were to become friends, which I hope we are, we should hardly speak of honor or etiquette or any of that nonsense. Is that alright with you? More than alright, Anne-Marie replied with a smile. Though I cant promise I wont slip up every now and then. Old habits and all that. And Ill be sure to correct you whenever you do. I deal with enough empty pleasantries in this place already. Jeannines eyes fell to the book on the table. Do you enjoy reading? She asked. Oh, very much so, Anne-Marie replied. Though Ive been feeling faint ever since my accident, so the doctors been kind enough to read to me. I heard about that. Its a miracle youre still alive, and I thank God for that miracle. There arent any other girls our age here, you know. Well, theres Blanche, but theres something wrong with her. I think shes inbred, but my father says her parents are only second cousins, and their union shouldnt result in any deformities. And your father is? Oh, right. Hes Le Marquis. I suppose you would''ve found out eventually. She said it so casually, like it didnt even matter that she was the daughter of the most powerful man in New France. She took Anne-Maries book off the table and thumbed through its pages. Oh, but this is a book for children, she said. Is this what hes been reading to you? Well, yes, Anne-Marie said. Its what he had. I didnt mind it too much. Better than nothing. And worse than what a young woman ought to be reading. Dont worry. I have a contact at the port who ships in all the hottest publications from the salons in Paris. Ill share some with you. Oh, that would be wonderful! I dont know how to thank you. I do. You can start by telling me what theyre wearing in the palace nowadays. Its been two years since weve moved to this backwater, and Im painfully out of touch with the current trends. Ill try my best, though I must admit its been several months since weve visited Versailles. Nowadays it seems like the styles change every month, sometimes every week. Its dizzying to try and keep up, even if you live in the palace. Anne-Marie found the strength to sit up, and tried her best to stand. Her legs faltered a little, and Jeannine caught her, taking Anne-Maries hand in hers. Thank you, Anne-Marie said, blushing again for reasons that eluded her. She walked over to her wardrobe and opened it, taking down her newest gown and showing it to Jeannine. This was a gift from another family for my journey here, she explained. Its as close to current as I know, unfortunately. Its called a Mantua. You can see how it rises up to cover the shoulders and neckline. Modestys whats in now, I suppose. Its meant to be worn with a fontange, but I cant stand those things. Its impossible to keep them on straight, especially if youre meant to dance. Funny you should say that. Ive got a cousin whos flattening her newborns head with a marble slab so shell be able to wear one better. You lie. Jeannine grinned. Oui. I do. But imagine if it were true. Id like to retain my faith in people, thank you, Anne-Marie said, smiling. She put her dress back in her wardrobe and closed it. Well, now what should we do? Isnt it obvious? You havent left this room. Lets go out somewhere together, you and I. Oh, I shouldnt. The doctor said Im not fully recovered yet. Youre strong enough to stand. And if you fall again, Ill be right by your side to catch you. Surely you cant stand being inside another minute. What would you like to see? I can take you anywhere you want. Anne-Marie thought on her question, but she already knew the answer. Have you seen them? She asked. The savages, I mean. Of course, Jeannine said with a smile. Would you like to meet one? This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. Very much so. Im curious about them. Are they as bad as people say? Jeannine began to lead Anne-Marie towards the door, hand-in-hand. Im not sure, she said. What do people say? She opened the door, and addressed the guard standing watch in the hall. Were going out to the savage village, she told him. Mademoiselle, the guard protested. You know your father forbids you from leaving the Upper Town. I also know he pays your wages, and allows you to serve as a guard rather than on the front lines. If youd like that to continue, youll do as I say. Now lets go. Anne-Marie stared in awe at her new friends assertiveness. She would never think to speak of any of her servants that way, and certainly not a guard or military officer. How did you do that? Anne-Marie whispered to Jeannine as the guard began to escort them outside. Do what? Jeannine asked, as if it were nothing. Just tell him what to do? Oh, my dear Anne-Marie, Jeannine said in a lightly mocking tone. We will have to instill in you some confidence. You are a noblewoman from the finest kingdom on Gods green earth, and youll need to start carrying yourself like one. Outside for the first time, Anne-Marie beheld the neat row of noble houses. Towards the end was a grand mansion, which she could only assume was the Marquis. Its hard to believe theres not another girl our age in all these houses, Anne-Marie said. You have no idea how horrible its been for me, Jeannine said. Besides Blanche, the only other company Ive had is 11-year-old tiennette. Would you want to suffer through conversation with an 11-year-old? I am glad I came here, then. The girls locked eyes. Jeannine had dark eyes the color of the night sky, commanding and calculating, and eternally beautiful. As am I, Jeannine said. We must celebrate your arrival. Lets plan a ball in my manor. Itll be good fun. Oh, I would love a ball, Anne-Marie said. I was worried you wouldnt have balls and other things in a place like this. True, this is a savage and wild land, but we are not completely deprived of civilization. I hope there are more young men our age than there are young women. There are. So many, in fact, that they are in constant competition to try and woo me. Ill be glad for you to steal some of them from meCits been completely and utterly exhausting. Have any in particular caught your fancy? No, not yet. You know how boys areCtheir brains are the organs they think with the least. And you should know I have impossibly high standards when it comes to men. Jeannine helped Anne-Marie down a set of stone steps to a door on the wooden wall. Two guards stood by it, but opened the door as they saw Le Marquis daughter approaching. Do you visit this village often? Anne-Marie asked. Every now and then, when Im bored of the city. Its always fascinating to see how some people live, dont you think? They walked through the gate and were immediately greeted by a series of huts dotting the grounds outside the city walls. Anne-Marie watched the Indians with a fervent curiosity. As they walked, she found that she couldnt help but feel a little disappointed. She had heard so many tales of the savages, creatures that were ten feet tall and acted more like beasts than men. And yet here they were, carrying out their day-to-day business like anyone else, with no discernible difference than what shed expect from French peasantry. Her eyes focused elsewhere, she didnt notice Jeannine reach into her purse and fling a large handful of livre into the square before them. All at once the Indians turned and began hunting ravenously after the coins, grabbing them off the floor. Some of them began fighting each other for them, and Jeannine threw two more handfuls before grabbing Anne-Marie by the hand and running straight into the newly-formed crowd. Suddenly, Anne-Marie was caught in a whirlwind of people clawing for coins that were hardly worth anything in France since the introduction of the Louis d''or. Here though, it was as if each coin was a diamond. After a minute of pushing and shoving, both of the girls broke through the fracas to the other side. Jeannine helped Anne-Marie to sit by one of the huts, safely out of view. There, Jeannine said, dusting off her dress. Finally we can enjoy some privacy. Anne-Marie looked behind them. The guard that had been escorting them was nowhere to be found. Are you sure its safe for us to be here without the guard? She asked, panting from exertion. Oh, theres no need to worry, Jeannine reassured her. They may be savages, but theyre smart enough to know who I am, and to know what would become of them if anything should happen to me. She knelt next to Anne-Marie, taking her hands and cradling them in her own. Now that were alone, will you tell me something? What? Your accident. Was it really an accident? Anne-Maries face grew hot with embarrassment, and she looked away. I thought so, Jeannine mused. But why would you want to rid the world of such a precious thing? Theres a shortage of beautiful girls in this country, and you should be loath to contribute to it. Now Anne-Maries face was hot with flattery, and still she could say nothing in response. You can tell me things, you know. My lips are nothing if not tight. It wont do any good to keep secrets from your new best friend. Anne-Marie wrung her hands nervously. Promise you wont tell a soul? She asked. Of course. Anne-Marie bit her lip. She was never one to confide in others, but she was really starting to like this girl, and she figured someone as smart and resourceful as her would find out anyway. Its my father, she burst out. Well, hes not really my father, but he adopted my brother and I after my real father passed. Only, he doesnt see me as a daughter. I think he plans on being rid of his wife, and marrying me instead. But hes a slime, and I hate him. So I thought about jumping. I went right up to the edge. But I couldnt even go through with it. Everyones saying I did, that I did it on purpose, but I couldnt even jump. I just I just slipped. Im such a coward. Tears began forming in Anne-Maries eyes, but Jeannine wiped them away. Oh, you silly girl, Jeannine cooed softly. I hope youre smart enough to not try again. Now that Ive met you, I wont let you leave me here alone. I wont I wont but it doesnt even matter. He still aims to marry me, and theres nothing I can do about it. Would that be so terrible a fate? What? Of course it would. Hes old, and cruel, and disgusting. What worse fate could there be than to have to marry a pig like him? I can think of far worse. The fact of the world is that all men are pigs. Ive met and been courted by so many, and none of them, none of them will ever understand you the way a woman can. But does that mean we should despair? I dont think so. We have a power over them, the mindless and feeble creatures that they are. You have a power over them, over whatever husband youll marry. Men believe that they hold all the power, but power to a man means medals and titles to inflate their fragile egos. Whatever you do, whomever you marry, know that you are allowed your own power. Your own wants and desires. Your own indulgences. Do you understand? Anne-Maries face and chest grew hot, her hands sweating in Jeannines tender grasp. I I think so, she said. But I think youll need to show me. Jeannine smiled. It was such a beautiful thing, her smile. I intend to, Jeannine said. Come. I have something in mind. Hand-in-hand, Jeannine led Anne-Marie to the outskirts of the savage village. She navigated it so confidently, like she had been here a hundred times. She found a particular hut, and walked in. Inside was an Indian man, sitting cross-legged in the center of the room. He must have been thirty or forty, his long black hair tied behind his back. Across from him sat an Indian woman around the same age, but she quickly stood and left the hut upon seeing the two girls enter. What are we doing here? Anne-Marie asked nervously. She had heard many rumors and stories of what Indian men were said to do with young girls their age. She was surprised to see Jeannine so calm, and even more surprised when Jeannine produced another handful of coins from her purse. It was only a few livre compared to the ones she scattered in the square, but the man reached out his hand, taking them with a knowing understanding, like this transaction had been made before. He curled into a ball, prostrating himself before the two of them. Jeannine smiled before reeling her foot back and kicking him sharply in the side. A muffled groan of pain escaped the Indian mans lips, and Anne-Maries eyes widened in horror as she kicked him again, and then a third time. What are you doing? Anne-Marie asked. Im blowing off some steam, Jeannine said calmly as she kicked him again. Join me, wont you? Its quite therapeutic. But youre hurting him. No Im not. You wanted to meet a savage, and so Im introducing you to their kind. They dont feel pain, not the way we do. The grunts the man made every time her foot met his ribs made Anne-Marie doubt that claim. But he just takes it? Arent you afraid hell get angry and attack you? Of course Im not afraid. I told youCthey know who I am. He does it of his own accordCI pay him honest money, more than hed make in a months labor. Hes got a family to feed, you know. If it wasnt worth it to him, he wouldnt let me do it. Now come, so I can get my moneys worth. Anne-Marie just stood there, paralyzed. Had she misjudged her new friend? Had she made some horrible mistake? Listen, Anne-Marie, Jeannine said, her breath starting to grow short. She paused her assault momentarily to look Anne-Marie in the eye, laying her hands on the frightened girl''s shoulders. All our lives we are told to never be angry, to never be violent. While men can yell and scream and hit us and kill each other in their silly wars, we are molded to be quiet and obedient. It will drive you to insanity if you dont have ways to cope with it. You know that better than mostCyou flung yourself into the sea, for Gods sake. I want you to live, and to be happy, and you should want the same. Now close your eyes. Anne-Maries heart beat quickly from fright, but she did so. Jeannine guided her to take a step forward, and to raise her right foot. Now picture that lying at your feet is not a savage, but someone you hate, Jeannine explained. Someone you wish to destroy, who you would never get the chance to do this to. Picture him in your minds eye, and strike. Anne-Maries mind raced, her heart torn in two from conflict. This was wrong. She knew it was wrong. Yet the image of Le Vicomte curled up pathetically before her crept into her mind. How she wished it was him lying in a ball on the floor of this hut. How she wished she could beat him into a pulp, to make him whimper and beg for her forgiveness. And before she knew what she was doing, she felt her leg rush forward in a swift kick. She felt her foot make contact with the mans stomach, heard a gasp for air escape his lips. And with her eyes still closed, it was Le Vicomtes stomach she was striking, his gasp of pain. And so she kicked again. And again. And again. And it felt good. Even though it was a horrible thing, and she was horrible for doing it, she could not help but feel a sick, twisted thrill at picturing Le Vicomte as her victim instead of this poor Indian. See? Jeannine purred. Now, lets not get too carried away. We need him in good condition for the next time you feel like coming back. Jeannine took Anne-Marie by the arm, leading her out of the hut. Outside, the woman who was no doubt the beaten mans wife rushed inside to dress his bruises. The two girls walked together back through the savage village, towards the gate to Quebc. Jeannine prattled on about something or other, but Anne-Marie could not focus on a word she said, her mind still lingering in that hut. She could not help but feel that a part of her had changed today, that some portion of her heart had grown that much crueler. She wished she had the willpower to rebuke what shed done. She wished she could resolve herself, swear off ever doing something like that again. But she could not ignore the catharsis it granted her, the strange peace of mind of knowing that she did have power, and more, that she could wield it over someone else as it had so often been wielded over her. Maybe Jeannine was right. Maybe, in this world where monsters ruled, she needed to become one herself. White Sky & Black Bird 2 White Sky, Black Bird The Great Lakes It was late in the day when Waabigiizhig and Memeskoniinisi arrived at the trading post. What was once a small collection of makeshift shelters had blossomed over the past few years into full-fledged buildings, though as far as the two traders knew, few people lived here permanently. It was a place where anyone looking to make some coin wandered to and from, transient hopefuls just like the boys. And so it was that they found a strange sense of community in this ever-changing place, despite the impermanence of it all. People here hardly knew each others names, as everyone was here one day and gone the next, but over time one became accustomed to some of the recurring characters. The Englishman who was always dressed in a full suit with a top hat and monocle, the French lumber dealer with arms like tree trunks, the man with skin dark as night who panned for gold and precious metals in the distant mountains. The two boys were determined to be recognizable here, too, and more, to have their names known. That was no easy task in a place like this, but no goal was worth it to White Sky and Black Bird if it was not a challenge. The post itself carried a brutal reputation. If you were found to be underhanded or untrustworthy, you were practically exiledCall the buyers and sellers talked, and there were no second chances. That didnt stop unlawful behavior from occurring of courseCpeoples wares would go missing all the time, and if you were generous enough with the barter, many of the merchants didnt ask where the goods came from. It was an elaborate game of cat and mouseCget caught, be ruined. Stay undetected, and you would reap the rewards. There was more too, a political game between the wealthiest merchants that the boys still didnt understand, and were desperate to get involved in. There were even rumors of a few shadowy figures who ran the whole operation, who could make or break ones fortune on a whim. The danger and risk only excited White Sky and Black Bird more, another challenge waiting to be conquered. Today, however, they did not bother with the tumultuous chaos of the market square. Perhaps many moons ago, when they were still new to this place, neophytes in the game. But their hard work had paid off, and they had a contact nowCa contact with strange and specific demands, and who paid good money to see them met. They had run minor errands for him many times at this point, but this was the first time he had sent them on a lengthy excursion, and they could not wait to reap the rewards. The boys carried their canoe over their shoulders as they made their way through town, their cargo nestled safely inside. Thankfully, the canoe itself was rather lightweight, being made of birchbark, so the two could handle it themselves, though this was one of the heaviest loads theyd carried so far. Their arms were well tired after a day of rowing, but they couldnt stand to wait any longer before they delivered it. They made their way around the outskirts of the main market square, careful to avoid the usual traffic. Because it was late, some of the shopkeepers had already begun to pack up their stalls for the day, though some would still be out for many hours into the night. The boys refused to deal at night, thoughCthat was when the seedier folks tended to make their appearances. They wanted to be players in the game, winners even, but they wanted to win fairly, if such a thing was possible. It was important to them that they maintained a reputation of being honest men who traded in quality, and they drew the line at anything less. Sometimes they argued about where that line layCBlack Bird was always more zealous, White Sky more cautious. Still, neither of them would make a decision without the approval of the otherCthey worked in tandem as one, which was their greatest asset in a game of selfish players. It wasnt long before they reached their destinationCa small cabin by the lake. The entire post was situated on the western lip of the Leading Sea Niigani-Gichigami, the easternmost Great Sea the white men called Ontar''io. Strangely, Black Bird sometimes called the place Ontar''io too, a Longhouse word from the Wendat island-dwellers that jutted out unnaturally in his usual Odawa tongue. His speech was often peppered with little oddities like that, but he rarely spoke about it when White Sky asked. There were parts of the older boy that were hidden inside a protective turtles shell, a side of him he never showed, even to his best friend. It created a distance between them, a distance that both knew would ultimately hold them back. They were meant to operate as a single unit, two strong antlers atop a bucks head. Yet despite all theyd been through together, there was some secret part of Black Bird that made him a stranger. The boys set down their canoe outside their cabin, and Black Bird knocked on the door. No one answered, but that was normal. Black Bird tried the doorCit was unlocked, so the two went inside. Whatever one would expect the inside of a log cabin to look like, the interior of their new patrons home was the exact opposite. The only normal item was a large bed along the northern wall, stuffed with soft down. The entire cabin was one large room, filled to the brim with all sorts of random things. Lining the western wall were a wide variety of metallurgic objects, from blow torches and welding masks to spears and rifles. On the eastern wall was a cot and two crates of medical supplies next to an exam table covered with glass vials and a large microscope. Lying between these two polar opposites were all manner of other strange devices, some lying on the ground, some packed haphazardly inside wooden crates until they overflowed. Most of them the two boys had never seen before, and had no idea what they did, if they even worked at all. Even the structure of the cabin itself had been drastically changed, chunks of wall cut out and replaced with chimneys to ventilate the forge in the southwest corner. The two boys found him sitting at his workbench along the south wall, humming as he soldered something. His stark white hair shot out from his head in all different directions, as if gravity had no effect on it. The center of his head was bald, meaning his wild hair sprouted from two distinct spots on both sides like frayed wings. The traders werent sure quite how old he was, but they placed him around eighty or so, rivaling the ages of even their wisest elders. But despite his age, he showed no signs of it, constantly bouncing around the place with a seemingly unending energy. Dr. H?rk?nen! Black Bird yelled, trying in vain to be louder than the rest of the cacophony. The old inventor could hardly hear the boy over his work, his back to them. Black Bird approached the man from behind, tapping his shoulder. The doctor leaped up in surprise, burning himself in the process. He shouted a series of what were no doubt expletives in his native tongue (something he called Finnish), waving his hand through the air to cool it. I thought I told you not to sneak up on me like that, the old man scolded in French, the only common language they shared. I did try calling your name, Black Bird said. The man just scowled, dunking his hand into a bucket of cold water nearby. You boys are late, he said. You were supposed to be here a week ago. We had to take an alternate route, White Sky explained. Too many Snakes on the main riverways. Snakes would have been good. More subjects. We routed a small band of them, Black Bird said. And robbed the camp of another at night. Why dont you come and peruse our wares before making judgments on our slight tardiness? The old man nodded, and followed the two boys outside. They uncovered the top of the canoe, and began unboxing their cargo. In truth, their partnership with the eccentric doctor had proven fruitful for both of them. Their crates were what originally caught the scientists eye, reinforced with beaver and otter skins that not only waterproofed the boxes, but could be inflated to make them buoyant. Impressed by White Skys ingenuity and craftiness, the inventor had taken both boys under his wing, so to speak. Every time they returned from some errand, he would pay them not only in currency, but with knowledge. He had taught both of them to read in French (and currently working on English), lecturing White Sky on engineering and thermodynamics, and Black Bird on world history and rhetoric. In his youth, Dr. H?rk?nen traveled all over the world, scouring every nook and cranny for information to further his knowledge. Now, he was glad to pass that wisdom onto these young men, telling them of faraway places they had never even heard of. In return for his sage wisdom, the two young traders offered him two things. The first was an opportunity to test his many inventions. Most of the contraptions and gadgets they used on the river were gifts from him (though White Sky had tinkered with them and created some others on his own time). To the traders, this was just another boon, free technology that gave them an edge on the competition. What the doctor got out of it was still unclear to them, but he made them speak in detail of how they used them whenever they returned from an excursion, taking detailed notes in one of his many journals. The second thing they offered him was access to an eclectic and strange mix of goods. Dr. H?rk?nen cared little for furs, or gems, or any of the other usual prized commodities the other white men cared about. Instead, he would send them on seemingly random quests to obtain all manner of different things: bladders and other organs from specific animals, unusual metals, weapons and cultural artifacts from neighboring tribesmen. He hardly explained his reasonings for any of them, and the deal was good enough for the boys, so they didnt ask. This time, their primary quarry was the strangest yet. He had tasked them with gathering the scabs and wounds from victims of the pox, and ideally, a cadaver that had been inflicted with it. It was no easy taskCthe Anishinaabeg and other tribes treated the pox like the plague it was. Those infected with it were sequestered away, visited only by healers of the Midewiwin. Harder still was to find someone willing to part with the corpse of a dearly departed family memberCthe boys had resolved not to resort to grave-robbing. Despite this, there were few issues that some honeyed words and a few bribes could not fix, and the boys were lucky enough to find a fresh cadaver that was easily transportedCthe body of a young child of five. He had died the day before they arrived at the village, a Faith-Keeper town in the north, and the childs mother gave the body to the boys for free, telling them she could not bear to look at it another day. The boys packed it carefully in a coffin-shaped box filled with salt to prevent it from decaying. The rest of the scabs and wounds they got from a variety of nearby villages with some persuasion, thankfully before they retrieved the body, allowing the most desired item to be the most well-preserved. The doctor unboxed the goods, using a handkerchief to cover his mouth. He inspected the five-year-olds corpse, careful not to touch it. Satisfied, he sealed the crates up again, standing and clapping the boys on the back. Well, done, he said. Truly, well done! Im surprised the cadaver is in as remarkable a condition as it is. And, as we mentioned before, theres a bonus this time, Black Bird said, gesturing to a few spiked tomahawks and other items theyd pilfered from a few Big Snakes on their way. Well, I must say you have outdone yourselves, gentlemen. Help me get these inside, and Ill see to your reward. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. The boys carried the boxes inside, setting them down among all the other crates that cluttered the floor. Now, first, a debriefing, the old man said, grabbing one of his journals from his writing desk and sitting on his rotating stool. Did you use the proper precautions when obtaining the goods? Of course, White Sky said. We used all the materials you gave us. Good. And have either of you caught the pox yourselves, or carried any symptoms of it? Both the boys shook their heads. Excellent. Now, I heard you had an encounter with some of the Iroquois, the ones you call Longhouse Folk. Do you know which of the tribes they hailed from? Were not sure, White Sky began. WeC They were probably Keepers of the Western Door, Black Bird interrupted. Ive seen their dress before. White Sky shot him a look. Like White Sky said, Black Bird continued. Were not entirely sure, but if I had to guess, I would say they were Westerners. Besides, being the Westernmost Snakes, their hunting grounds are the closest to the river we were attacked on. White Skys eyebrow raised as Dr. H?rk?nen took note in his journal. Black Bird had never mentioned this until now, and he was the only Trade-Keeper he knew who could distinguish the different nations of Snakes by looking at them. Some of the wisemen from the Faith-Keepers who dealt with the Snakes diplomatically knew of those subtleties, but not a simple fur trader. Just another thing to add to the list of Black Birds mysteries, White Sky thought. Now, describe the battle in detail, start to finish, Dr. H?rk?nen instructed. The two did. They were accustomed to telling the doctor about their battles and skirmishes at this point, and he always took a unique fascination to them, scribbling furiously as they spoke. When they were finished recanting it, his eyes lit up, glimmering with excitement. Brilliant strategy, Black Bird, he commended. And in the heat of battle as well. You would make a fine commander of your peoples military, if you chose to pursue such a thing. Thank you, doctor, Memeskoniinisi replied. And it seems, then, that la petit couleuvrine I gave you last time was helpful. Yes, it was. Though I wouldnt mind if you came up with some way to prevent it from destroying my nethers every time I use it. I can only recommend some kind of cushion. You need to hold it in place on a small vessel like your canoe, for if it falls overboard, most of the lakes and rivers you travel are too deep to retrieve it. Black Bird grimaced at the memory of how his groin ached for a full day after firing the tiny cannon. The shield was helpful as well, White Sky said excitedly. Wed probably be dead without it. The old man smiled. Yes, well, that was primarily your idea, wasnt it? I just helped you with some of the pulleys and rigging, really. You should both be very proud of yourselves, winning a fight with those odds. And to reward you, I have some new toys to tip the scales even further in your favor. Dr. H?rk?nen rummaged around in a nearby crate, tossing different gadgets aside haphazardly onto the floor. After enough digging, he found what he was looking forCtwo ornate wooden boxes in a rectangular shape. He handed each of the boys a box, and they eagerly opened it. Nestled inside were two pistols, lying delicately in perfectly-cut depressions with dark green flocking. They were much more ornate than a typical musket, cast in swirling silver. They had rounded butts that protruded from the ends of the handle, and the metal around the muzzle was shaped to look like the head of a serpent. On the side of the arm was a strange and complex contraption involving a series of springs and latches all connected to what looked like a spinning wheel. The French call these dragons, H?rk?nen explained. Do either of you know what a dragon is? The boys shook their heads. Its a mythical beast from the folklore of Europe, the land myself and the other white men come from. Its an enormous lizard with wings like a bat, who breathes fire. The heads of these guns have been shaped to look like one. Gaasyendietha, Black Bird suddenly said. Both the doctor and White Sky looked at him, confused. The Longhouse folk speak of a similar creature, Black Bird explained. Only there arent several, just one. Its an enormous serpent who flies in the air and breathes flame. They say he lives at the bottom of this lake, actually. Since when are you an expert on Longhouse mythology? White Sky asked incredulously. Black Bird only shrugged. When elders and others tell rumors and tales, I listen to them. White Sky chose to ignore his non-answer, as dwelling on the subject would only bother him. He turned his attention back to the pistol. Its got a different firing mechanism than our rifle, he said. Indeed, Dr. H?rk?nen replied. Its called a wheel-lock, and its harder to fire than your flint-lock, so Ill need to instruct you on its use and maintenance. Once youre familiar enough, though, it has two distinct advantages. The first is that its much quicker to fire and load, and you will each be able to do so yourselves without much trouble after each shot. The second is that its able to be fired in the rain. Both of those points caused the boys hearts to race with excitement. The time it took to load and fire their rifle was one of the main weaknesses in their defense, and neither the rifle nor the tiny cannon could have their fuses lit in heavy rain or snow, a common enough occurrence to be concerned about. This shored up what had been their only flaws thus farCnow they would be unstoppable. Now, I must be clear, the old man continued. These do not boast the same range as a rifle. You should almost think of them as a melee weapon like a dagger or tomahawk, only meant to be used against those right next to you. The advantage of these over a melee weapon, however, is the same as your petit couleuvrine. They are designed to shoot a spread of shot over a wide surface area, preventing the need to aim precisely, and allowing you to potentially kill two attackers if theyre close enough to each other. These are wonderful, White Sky exclaimed. Thank you, doctor. Of course. These were hard to come by, and worth a pretty penny, but I am more than willing to part with them if it means theyll go into your hands. Now of course, you must inform me every time you use them, and in great detail. The boys nodded. And here is your other payment, the doctor said, reaching into a bag. And Im including a little extra given the bonus items youve managed to find during your trip. The doctor produced a large belt of wampum, ornate beads fashioned from whelk and clam shells. Wampum resembled many things to the people of this land, valued highly among all tribes, from the eastern Dawnland folk to the Anishinaabeg and even the Longhouse people. A belt of wampum could be a proof of status or authority, a pedigree, a treaty between two nations, or a record of history to be read and orated by village elders. Ever since the white man came to these shores, it had also become a currency. Wampum was so universally valuable that white men had built factories in their cities to produce it, which in turn had decreased its value. But the doctor always traded in traditional belts not made in any factory, which made them worth more to the boys and many of the folks they traded with. This belt was the largest they had ever received, and trading it could get them food and supplies for months. Is there another task you have in mind for us? Black Bird asked. Wed like to get all our business done soon, before the winter comes. Sadly, no, the doctor replied. I was waiting for your arrival to finish my work here. This is no place to stay the winter, and this winter especially. What do you mean? White Sky asked. There is war coming, the old man warned. I can feel it in my bones. This post is too close to warring borders, and considered by the Iroquois to be a French asset. But the Big Snakes dont fight in the winter, Black Bird replied. None of us do. True. And a black bear can be scared off by shouting making yourself large, only it will attack with the ferocity of a grizzly if it feels its being backed into a corner. There are rumors the French plan to attack the Iroquois in the winter, and only a fool would believe the cold will deter them from retaliating. Where will you go? White Sky asked. Im not sure. I have asked a few local tribesmen if theyd let me stay with them for the winter, but Im still considered an outsider and invader to most. At the same time, I have no desire to seek refuge in one of the European cities, as that would only exacerbate that reputation. Well, why dont you stay with us? Black Bird asked. White Sky quickly jabbed him in the side. Ow! The older boy exclaimed. Excuse us for a moment, White Sky said. We need to discuss something outside. The younger boy stood, practically dragging the other out of the cabin with him. What was that for? Black Bird asked, rubbing his ribs. You''re staying in my village this winter, White Sky said, pointing a finger at him. I had to ask my family for permission. Who do you think you are to invite some outsider without even consulting me? He needs our help, Black Bird replied defensively. I didnt think you''d have a problem. Hes a white man. Some villages have invited them into their midsts, but mine has maintained a strict rule to only deal with them outside the village. We have never allowed a white guest, and certainly not to stay for a whole season. So we will ask the elders permission, just as you asked permission for me. Admitting a Trade-Keeper whos practically a brother to me is one thing. A white stranger is something else entirely. I know hes been helpful to us, and Im glad for our partnership, but do you really trust him enough to share a roof with him? Black Bird thought for a moment. Despite having worked for the man for the past few months, neither boy knew much about him at all. He was strange, eccentric, even secretive at times. Im not sure, Black Bird replied. But I am sure of one thing. Hes right about the war thats coming. Look. Black Bird pointed across the lake. White Sky had to use his spyglass to seeCBlack Bird had eyes like the hawk that carried his totem, a near superhuman feat that never ceased to amaze his younger brother. On the opposite shore of the lake lay the French fort. A billowing smoke cascaded from the inside into the sky, larger than White Sky had ever seen. A smoke that size means an enormous fire, Black Bird said. A fire to warm a great number of soldiers. The sight of those rising black pillars filled White Skys heart with dread. A war this close would no doubt bleed into nearby territories, maybe even into their village. I dont fully trust the man, Black Bird said. But hes been kinder and more helpful to us than any other white man weve met. For all hes done for us, imagine what he could do for the village as thanks for sheltering him. More than that, he is an indispensable source of furthering our knowledge and wisdom. We can spend the winter learning from him, studying his books and listening to his lectures. Can you think of a more productive way to spend the months we cannot trade? I I cant, White Sky sighed. Fine. We will take him with us when we return, and we will pray to the Creator that the elders see your reasoning. Black Bird smiled. Hey, if we can convince people to turn over their sick and dead, we can convince your elders to harbor a white man for the winter. Black Bird went inside to tell the doctor the good news. White Sky lingered outside for a time, eyeing the fort in the distance. He closed his eyes, whispering a silent prayer that Black Bird was right about the elders, and wrong about the looming smoke that continued to grow, darkening the twilight sky. Chr茅tien de Parthenay 2 Chrtien de Parthenay New France The Corporal Boucher had told them that they would reach Le Fort Frontenac in a few days time. What the Corporal somehow omitted was how long and exhausting those few days of travel would be. The soldiers rowed for eighteen hours each day, stopping for short breaks every now and again. They slept for a scant few hours each nightCthe Corporal told them it was best to not stay in one place for too long on the trailC especially in these parts. Having just spent over two months at sea, Chrtien had grown somewhat used to churning waters and minimal sleep, but that didnt exactly make this a welcome respite. There were many twists and turns in the river, and at times they grew so rapid and rough that they needed to walk alongside the river until it calmed again, carrying the canoes on their shoulders. After five days and nights of harrowing travel, the company arrived at Le Fort Frontenac, overlooking the great lake Ontario. As the soldiers hoisted the canoes onto their shoulders and carried them into the fort, Chrtien took a moment to gaze upon the lake. It was like nothing he had ever seen, so enormous that it may as well have been a freshwater sea, stretching for miles until it formed its own horizons. He could not even make out what lay on the opposite lake banks, try as he did to squint in the earliest light of dawn. He found it hard to believe what the Corporal had told him: that this was merely one of five, and the smallest among them, to boot. When he had first learned they would be traveling to the New World, Chrtien balked at the idea that it was this magical and exotic place unlike anything else. Though he had never lived anywhere but France, to him, land was land, no matter where you were: mountains were mountains, rivers were rivers, and lakes were lakes. But now, gazing upon the pristine and near-infinite waters, the just-arriving sun casting its first shimmering rays of orange and purple upon them, he understood why the great kingdoms of Europe were so desperate to claim these lands as theirs. They were something special, more precious and beautiful than any gem or bauble one could ever hope to own. The large wooden gates of the fort slowly opened for the new visitors, creaking and shaking. Chrtien began to wonder what warfare and sieges looked like in this strange place. He doubted the savages had cannons, but they were said to use bows and arrows before they were introduced to rifles, so perhaps they could craft ballistae and other siege weapons. Then again, there was a chance they had no need for such weapons, even though this fort was reinforced with thick stone walls unlike the more meager fortifications of the capital. Chrtien had studied enough of warfare to know that you did not have to breach castle walls to lay an effective siegeCif you could surround the place and starve them from the inside, that was often enough for a victory. The Corporal led them inside. It was a typical fort, a welcome familiarity in this new and foreign place. The majority of the defenses were stone, seemingly replacing an original wooden foundation, which was still present along certain parts of the wall, and reinforced with sharpened stakes. The company walked through the courtyard, past the cow-pen, blacksmith, and soldiers quarters. Strangely, the courtyard was filled with long tables set for a feast, though the Corporal walked straight past all of them, so the rest followed. They were led up the stairs to an open-air parlour atop the furthest wall, overlooking the courtyard. The floor of the parlour was covered in couches and chairs, some empty, some filled by high-ranking officers of the Troupes de Marine. In front of all of them sat a noble dressed in velvet finery rather than a military uniformCthe prestigious Governor of the whole colony, no doubt. He wore a wig of black hair, long and curled, while his long curved nose and curling smirk created a constant look of polite condescension. Introducing Monseigneur Jacques-Ren de Brisay, Marquis de Denonville et Gouverneur Gnral de la Nouvelle-France, the Corporal said, saluting. Monseigneur, I introduce to you Monsieur Jean-Pierre d''Harcourt, Vicomte de Chatellerault et le capitaine de votre nouvelle compagnie de la Marine. Monseigneur, Chrtien mused. So he fancies himself a Prince. Hard not to, when the real King is so far away. Ah, Monsieur dHarcourt, the Governor Denonville purred, his open hand outstretched to welcome them. I was worried you would not make it in time. Come, I have saved the best seat for you. Le Marquis patted an empty chair next to his own. Le Vicomte removed his hat, bowing to show respect. Chrtien had to keep himself from smiling, watching the self-important Vicomte grovel to a higher authority. You are too kind, Monseigneur, Le Vicomte said. In truth, we have only just landed. Our passage was delayed by two weeks or more from a storm. It is a kindness indeed to finally rest. Oh, but your company must rest, as well. Le Marquis turned to address the Corporal. Show them to the barracks, and be sure to fill their bellies with food and wine once the feast is over. Theyll need to be well-rested for what lies in store for them. Oui, Monseigneur. The Corporal bowed, then led the rest of the soldiers back down the stairs. Chrtien stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to do. Ah, it appears one of them has lingered, Denonville observed. Oui, Monseigneur, Le Vicomte replied, waving Chrtien over. This is not a soldier, but my adopted ward, Chrtien de Parthenay. Chrtien removed his own hat and bowed in perfect form. It is a pleasure, Monseigneur, he said. Oh, how splendid! And here I was told you had no sons. I must punish my informants for misleading me. Le Marquis waved over a servant. Fetch a chair for him, and put it next to Le Vicomtes. The servant hurried to do so. Chrtien stood uncomfortably as he waited. You hail from Parthenay, boy? Le Marquis asked him. That old castle by Niort? Yes, Monseigneur, Chrtien replied. You know of it? But of course. My bloodline descends from Torquatus Byrsarius, who fought the Vikings and Bretons for Charles the Bald. Your bloodline helped guard and protect the pilgrims who traveled the Way of St. Jacques, an important and noble duty in those pivotal and tumultuous times. And not since then. Not for eight hundred years. Chrtien took the back-handed compliment nevertheless, smiling and nodding. But if you are not a soldier, why do you wear the uniform of one? It is a thing of aspiration, Monseigneur, Le Vicomte cut in, speaking for Chrtien like he often did. I was hoping, by your grace, that you might appoint him to lead a small company of troops. He is skilled with a sword, and his father, may his soul rest in peace, did well in schooling him on tactics and strategy. If Le Vicomte truly meant this suggestion, Chrtien didnt mind if he continued to speak for him. Getting to lead his own company would finally give him a chance to secure his own footing and escape from underneath his adoptive fathers thumb, even if it was only a handful of men. Le Marquis rubbed his chin in thought. He must be awfully studied, if you think him capable of leading troops without ever having seen battle himself, the governor mused. But I promise to consider it. A bugle sounded from the bastion nearest the gates, blaring loudly. Oh, but you could not have asked for more perfect timing, Denonville said, clapping his hands. Youve arrived just before the esteemed guests of our grand event. The servant brought the chair just in time for Chrtien to sit and watch a battalion of savage warriors enter through the gates. Chrtiens heart began to race, preparing for the worst, but the nonchalance of all the other nobles caused him to remain in his seat, even as it unsettled him. Whats happening here? And why? The savages took a defensive formation around the large dining tables. Each one of them was muscle-bound, baring their chests proudly as they sized up the nobles sitting in the parlour. One of them stepped forward, pointed towards the platform all the nobles looked down at them from, and spoke. He announces himself as Tadodaho, esteemed chief of the Iroquois, a priest standing next to Le Marquis translated. He asks if you are the chief of this place. Yes, yes, Le Marquis replied, waving his hand like he was shooing away a mosquito. The chief said something else. He says that while he is honored to accept your admission of defeat and promise of a treaty, he does not fully trust you, the priest translated. He declares that you must agree to eat and drink what they will be served to ensure it is not poisoned. Of course, of course. Le Marquis waved a servant over. Bring me some of the food and wine as our guests are served. Are are you sure, Monseigneur? The servant asked. Yes, Im sure. Do you defy your Governor? No, Monseigneur but But nothing! Go get me some food and wine, and tell the kitchen that our guests are here, and would like to be served. The servant complied, though he still looked hesitant about it. Chrtiens brain stirred as he tried to piece together what was going on. The Iroquois were the main tribe of savages the French were warring against. So why were they being hosted as dinner guests? And why did the chief claim the Governor was surrendering? Despite his confusion, Chrtien remained silent as a full kitchen staff emerged from an eastern building, carrying large trays and platters of delicious-looking food. Chrtiens stomach growledChe had not eaten since the day before. After the staff finished laying down the platters, they scurried back into the building they came from. The servant from before brought Le Marquis a plate of food. And the wine? Le Marquis asked. The the wine, Monseigneur? Yes! The wine! Go grab a bottle from the table before I lose my patience with you! The servant hurried down the stairs and to the table, scooting between the Iroquois warriors that made him look puny in comparison. He grabbed a bottle of wine and a glass from the table, rushing back up to the platform and pouring it for him. Le Marquis took the glass, toasted it in the air in the direction of the savages, and drank. He then took several bites of food from his place. Once he finished, he smiled, locking eyes with the Onondaga chief and holding the glass out to toast him. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Return the bottle, Le Marquis commanded. The servant clambered down the stairs with the bottle in hand, laying it on the table. The Iroquois chief eyed Le Marquis suspiciously, an uncomfortable and stark silence hanging between them. Le Marquis did not falter, however, and that must have been good enough for the chief, for he sat down at the table. All the other warriors joined him, and they began to eat and drink. Would anyone like to tell me what exactly is going on? Le Vicomte asked. Clearly he was just as confused as Chrtien. Not yet, Le Marquis replied. Its not time yet. Time for what? Patience, mon amie. You will spoil it if you keep acting so high-strung. Le Vicomte bit his lip to keep himself from retorting. Chrtien had to stifle a smile. He had never seen his self-important father so outranked, and so outclassed. But Chrtien did not linger on enjoying Le Vicomtes discomfort. He turned back to the feast, scanning it for any hint or clue as to what was going on. He was determined to figure out the answer himself, and if he could find it and Le Vicomte could not, all the better. Surely this had to be some sort of trap. There was no chance Le Marquis would actually surrender, at least as far as Chrtien knew. Yet the Onondaga chief had suspected it to be a trap, and came anyway. What did it all mean? Chrtien surveyed the other nobles in the open-air parlour. They just watched the savages eat in a quiet condescension just like Le Marquis did, some cool hatred lying behind their eyes. It was like watching a pack of vultures eye a starving cow, waiting for their chance to feed on fresh carrion. Beneath them, the warriors paid them no mind, filling their bellies with food and drink. That had to be one of the tricks, the reason why the nobles felt so secure inviting a battalion of soldiers who could easily destroy them. But the libations could not be poisoned, otherwise there was no way Le Marquis would consume them. Over the next few minutes, the pace at which the savages ate and drank began to slow. In fact, all of their actions didCthey moved as if they were submerged in molasses. Something was happening. Chrtien looked over at Le Marquis, only to find that the governors eyes were glazed over, shining like glass. It dawned on Chrtien: the wine was poisoned, and Le Marquis had drunk it anyway to convince the savages otherwise. Wellll... Ahthink its about-time, the Governor announced, his words slurred. He waved over the servant. Tell-them tbring dessert The servant ran as quick as he could down the stairs, but didnt head into the building the kitchen staff exited from, instead heading to another building on the opposite side. A building that looked like a barracks. Chrtiens eyes widenedCit all made sense now. He could not even finish piecing everything together as a battalion of soldiers burst onto the fort grounds, surrounding their esteemed guests, rifles drawn. They began to bind the warriors hands behind their backs in shackles, their new prisoners too drugged to resist. Oh, a splendid ruse, Le Vicomte cheered, clapping his hands. Although I am surprised the savages are so trusting of your promise to surrender. My idiot predecessor, Le Marquis spat, somehow sounding more coherent in his contempt. That clown La Barre He acshually surrendered theyre fools tthink me the same s that insect. I must mention, Monseigneur, Le Vicomte said, inching closer to Le Marquis ear like a buzzing fly. Before I left, His Majesty King Louis spoke of an express interest in shipping some savages back to France. He told me he is in dire need of galley slaves for his summer home in Marseilles, and such exotic specimens would be perfect to display for his guests. Hm? Oh very-wellll, Le Marquis said, waving over the Corporal Boucher, who had just climbed the stairs. Shackle-em-up, will-youCan shipem to To Marseilles, Monseigneur. Yesss to Marseilles Boucher nodded and saluted. The grin on Le Vicomtes face was hideous, a strange and crooked smile at knowing he had curried some favor with the King. Chrtien looked down at the feast. The warriors were shackled and shoved towards the barracks, but one put up some resistance. The chief, Tadohaho. He refused to be taken, fighting the French soldiers. Despite his inebriation, he was still blindingly quick, and cleaved the throat of one with his tomahawk. That one Le Marquis mused, pointing at him drunkenly. Hell make no-good in a summer home. YOU, BOY! Chrtien sat up, startled by the governors sudden shouting. He turned, realizing that Le Marquis was addressing him. Yes, Monseigneur? Chrtien replied. You want-to lead, dontya boy? To fight? Yes, Monseigneur. So prove it. Fight im. Le Marquis pointed a wavering finger at the monster of a chief below, who had taken two more soldiers. Chrtien swallowed. Are are you certain, Monseigneur? Chrtien asked. Yes! Yes I am! Le Marquis yelled, throwing his wine glass onto the floor and shattering it. He stood, gesturing wildly at his Jesuit translator. Im tired a being second-guessed! You, priest tell thchief Im letting im duel feur is life. Yes, Monseigneur, the priest nodded, knowing better than to second-guess him again. He turned to the priest and spoke in the savages tongue, causing the chief to stop quarreling for a moment, and respond. He asks how he can know you will keep your word, the Jesuit said. Given you have already broken it. Doesit matter? Ill just aveim shot if he refuses. The Jesuit translated. Tadohaho hesitated for a moment, but then responded. The Jesuit looked at Le Marquis, then at Chrtien, and nodded. Well Le Marquis slurred, waving at Chrtien. Get-to-it, then. Chrtien looked at Le Marquis, whose eyes were lost in some stupor. He turned to Le Vicomte, but he already knew he would find no help in him. All of the nobles watched the boy expectantly, several with pity in their eyes. There was no dissuading the Governor, and his word was law in this land. It might as well have been a death sentence from the King himself. Oui, Monseigneur, Chrtien said, bowing to the drunken Governor. He walked slowly down the steps to where his opponent waited for him, his heart thumping in his chest. He had been trained on how to duel for years by his swordmaster, for a nobleman who couldnt duel would not live long. Still, he had never offended anyone enough to be challenged, and no one had bothered offending him. Thus he had never dueled once, and certainly never with an opponent like this. Face-to-face with him now, Chrtien froze, paralyzed. The chief must have been twice Chrtiens age, his body brawny and battle-worn. This was a man who took down three soldiers at once just moments before, even after drinking the poisoned wine. What in Gods name was Chrtien supposed to do? Chrtien steeled himself, drawing his rapier and facing the chief. It was a gift from his swordmaster, the only real father figure hed ever known. He bowed, and took his stance. En gardeC Chrtien began, but he could not even finish the useless dueling etiquette hed been taught as a serving platter flew towards him. It hit him in the forehead, dazing him. He dropped his rapier from the shock, and at once the chief was upon him, tomahawk raised to strike. Panicking, Chrtien struck the chiefs wrist as hard as he could, knocking the hatchet out of his grasp. Tadohaho grabbed the boy and lifted him up, launching him onto the table. Chrtien heard something crack inside him as he hit the table hard, rolling off onto the ground. He gasped from the pain in his side, but he stood, searching desperately for his sword. It was all the way across the yard, and now the chief stood in between Chrtien and his only weapon. Not good. Tadohaho took advantage of Chrtiens hesitation, grabbing his tomahawk and sprinting towards the table. Chrtien put as much distance between himself and the chief as possible, using the tables as barriers between them as he tried to circle around to his rapier. Anything on the tables became a weapon, to be used by whoever could reach them first. Both of the combatants flung cutlery and platters at each other, the chief to close the distance, Chrtien to further it. The boys swordmaster had taught him that a real duel would not always be clean, but this was something he could never have prepared for. It was chaosCthe boy and his opponent constantly reached for something close to hurl, all while dodging whatever the other threw. Luckily, Chrtien was winning on that front. He was spry and nimble, and the chief, despite his immense strength, was still reeling from the effects of the drugged wine, his movements and reactions laggard. A bowl caught him in the face, knocking him backwards, and Chrtien took full advantage, beelining it to his rapier on the ground. He grabbed it, whirling around to see that the chief was already on his heel, having leapt over the table between them. Chrtien made a quick stab with his sword, and the blade struck true, piercing the chiefs abdomen. Tadohaho reeled, but grabbed the rapier by the guard so Chrtien couldnt pull it out. With his free hand, he readied his tomahawk to strike, forcing Chrtien to abandon his weapon and leap away from his assailant. Not fast enoughCthe hatchets blade sliced into the French boys arm, rending flesh and muscle. Chrtien turned to flee, but Tadodaho was on him in an instant, despite his sluggishness. The chief grabbed a fistful of the boys golden hair, aiming his tomahawk for another strike. Chrtien kicked at the sword embedded in the mans gut, causing him to loosen his grip. Seizing the chance, Chrtien grabbed a wine bottle and smashed it against the chiefs head. To his surprise, the bottle did not break, but it did cause enough of a blow to knock the chief down. Chrtien leaped onto the chief, pinning the mans arms down with his knees and slamming the bottle into his head, over and over and over. Still, the bottle did not break. Even as it caved the chiefs skull in, right above his brow, it did not break. And Chrtien kept going, screaming with every blow, until it was blood and not wine that began to leak. The chiefs arms struggled no longer under the boys knees, the mans mountainous body lying limp on the cold ground. The first thing Chrtien perceived as his mind recovered from its battle-crazed fervor was the sound of clapping. Still dazed, he craned his neck towards the platform above to behold the Governor Denonville applauding the slaughter he just partook in. Well, done, well done! Le Marquis said. He seemed more lucid nowCwhatever poison was in the wine, he had taken the antidote for it while Chrtien was fighting. Le Marquis stood from his gilded chair, walking down the steps towards the bloodied boy. He grabbed the handle of the rapier embedded in the dead savages stomach, pulling it out of the corpse and wiping it on the chiefs deerskin trousers. Chrtien just lingered there, still kneeling atop the mans chest. He did not have the strength or the wherewithal to do anything else. Having cleaned the blade from savage blood, Le Marquis placed it gently on the boys quivering shoulder, dubbing him. By my authority as Governor of New France, he declared loudly. I hereby declare thee, Chrtien de Parthenay, as Ensign in Les Compagnies Franches de la Marine. Ensign. It was only two ranks below Le Vicomtes title of Captain, but Ensigns did not lead companies, which is what Chrtien wanted, and what Le Marquis promised him. Above, the nobles atop the open-air parlour began to applaud him, as if he had won a game of tennis, and not bashed a mans head in with a wine bottle. Per your duty, Le Marquis continued. You are assigned to lead a half-company of men into battle, for your country and King. A half-company. So he was to lead. It was more than Chrtien hoped to gain in his first weeks on the continent, and yet he couldnt muster any joy at his victory. He did not feel anything, only the searing pain in his arm, and the widening void in his heart. Well? Le Marquis asked expectantly. Havent you anything to say? Chrtien swallowed, trying to find his voice. Even after all this, he was still expected to maintain his pleasantries. Th-thank you, Monseigneur, he barely managed. Youre welcome. I have imparted on you, but a valuable lesson. Whatever you think you know of dueling, or of tactics in warfare, you dont. Not here, in the savage lands. The sooner, Who knows? You just might survive the winter. Chrtien heard a commotion from the barracks to his right, but could not muster the strength to look. Oh, and how perfect timing, Le Marquis exclaimed. Here is your new company now. That got his neck turning. Only, Chrtiens exhausted eyes widened when he saw the new company he was meant to lead. Emerging from the barracks were two dozen savage warriors, dressed in uniforms of Le Troupes de Marine. But besides their dress, they looked just like the chiefs the French had just captured. These fine gentlemen used to be Iroquois, the Governor explained. Luckily for us, they have renounced their savage ways, and have sworn to fight with us against their former brethren. What better person to lead them than the man who defeated their former chief in single combat? Whatever brief pride hed indulged in at his new title immediately burned to ash in the pit of Chrtiens stomach. His new subordinates looked at him, knee-deep in their kinsmans blood, their eyes filled with hatred and disgust. You, Le Marquis commanded, gesturing at the savages. This is your new commander. Help him to the barracks, and see that his battle wounds are nursed and cleaned. And do try to be nice to him. One of the warriors nodded, seeming to understand French. He picked Chrtien up off the ground, tossing him over his shoulder and carrying him off to the barracks. With none of his strength left, Chrtien could not even squeak out a word of protest, let alone try to resist. Train the savages well, boy, Le Marquis called to Chrtien, waving a mocking goodbye. You have until the first snow falls upon the land, and I promise it will come sooner than you think. Little Bear 1 Nyagwaia:h was a Little Bear, the littlest he knew. All the other Bears were old and wrinkled, and always stunk of the many medicines and aromatics they carried with them. Then again, his older brother, Tgw?hd?:?:n?kwat, grew red in the face trying to explain to him that he was a Bear too, and so was their eldest brother, having all been born Bears from their Bear mother. This made little sense to Little Bear, for Tgw?hd?:?:n?kwat was not a Bear at all, but a Red Fox. Their eldest brother, Hogohs?dais, was not any kind of animal, but a boy who Runs Into Darkness. But no matter how many times Red Fox tried to explain that these were just names, and did not represent anything literal about them, Little Bear was not convinced. What was the point of names, then, if they didnt mean anything? There were lots of things that confused the Little Bear. Oftentimes he would ask about them, only to be told that he was simply a boy of six, and that he would just understand one day when he was older. That didnt make any sense to him, either, because age was just a number, and everyones birthday was different, so why would turning a year older make you magically understand something? Yet it seemed like no one else around him was bothered by these quandaries at all. Everyone seemed to understand everything, to flow along with it all, as if life were a series of unspoken rules known to all except the Little Bear. He just hoped he would know the rules one day, too. Today, his older brother woke him, shaking him in his bed. Little Bear tried to fight his brother off, kicking at him and pulling his doeskin blanket over his head. It was far too early in the morning to wake up yet, and Little Bear was far too tired. But Red Fox was much stronger than him being a boy of fifteen, and yanked the blanket out of the Little Bears grasp. What do you want? Little Bear groaned. Its time to wake up, his brother told him. Unless you want to still be sleeping when the war party returns. At once, Little Bear shot up, forcing himself awake. He looked around the LonghouseCeveryone else was already awake, and most of them were already dressed and ready. Only a few still lingered inside, Little Bear and his brother included. Why didnt you say so? Little Bear said, trying his best to stifle a yawn as he rubbed his eyes awake. You shouldve woken me up earlier. Fat chance, his brother teased. You were out like a rock. When are they getting here? In about two hours, they say. I let you sleep in so youd have enough energy for the celebration. Now, I need to get back and help with the preparations, but can you find Running-Into-Darkness for me? Find him? You mean talk to him for you. You already know where he is. Yes, yes, youre very smart, arent you? You know he hasnt been speaking to me. Just make sure he comes to the celebration. With the way hes been acting lately he might not even show up. Of course hell show up. Fathers returning, and if were lucky, hell have a new Mother for us. Thats the part Im worried about. You know how he felt about Mother. He was closer to her than all of us. Then he should be happy if we find a woman worthy of becoming her! You dont have to convince me, Little Bear. You have to convince him. I dont think he feels the same way as we do. And try to be sensitive about it. Dont just blurt things out like this, okay? Fine, Little Bear shrugged, even though he didnt really get it. Hes probably at his usual spot, right? I think so. Thank you, brother, and good luck. Red Fox patted his little brother on the head, then left the longhouse. Little Bear yawned, and fought off the urge to sleep for another few minutes. He put on his moccasins and draped a deerskin over his shoulders, since these past two weeks had grown colder. He jogged out of the longhouse and down the hill the village was built on, out past the large wall of wooden stakes that defined the villages border. He kept a good pace, breathing the cool air in and out to energize his body, until he reached the creek right next to the village. It wasnt a proper river, but it was wide enough to catch small fish in, and deep enough to bathe and wash clothes. And more importantly, it was where Running-Into-Darkness spent his free time when he didnt want to be bothered. At least, thats what he said, but Little Bear didnt believe it. Little Bear thought this was where he came when he wanted to be bothered, because both of his brothers always knew to find him here. Just as he thought, his eldest brother was sitting by the river, watching the water trickle by. Next to him sat his wheelchair, a strange contraption their father had traded with some Englishmen for. It helped Running-Into-Darkness move around ever since the accident. It happened a few months ago, in the early summer. Their father returned from a fight with the Frenchmen carrying his firstborn son in his arms. For though he was a boy Running Into Darkness, he could no longer run anywhere. A bullet from the enemy hit the bones in his back right above the waist, and the healers said it caused him to lose all control and feeling in his legs. Ever since then, Running-Into-Darkness had been a shadow of the boy he once was. He was a talented runner and fighter beforeCthe clan mothers said he would rival the greatness of even their father in a few more years, and he was the villages chief and strongest warrior. Now he couldnt run, or fight, or do much of anything. If he was a woman, he could still have a purpose, for women did most of everything in the village, and played a great many roles. They cooked the food and tended to the longhouses, they farmed the land and raised the little ones. The women made all the choices about the villages affairs. But aside from the old healers, men had one role: to fight. To fight, and to bring new family home. Running-Into-Darkness could do neither now. Hey, brother, Little Bear called out to him as he approached. His brother did not turn or greet him, his eyes transfixed on the water. Little Bear sat next to him anyway, following his gaze. Two pickerels swam in tandem just underneath the surface of the water, their silver bodies shimmering in the morning sunlight. Brother sent you to talk to me, Running-Into-Darkness said. Of course he did, Little Bear replied. He wouldnt need to if youd just talk to him. The older brother said nothing, resting his chin on his hand as he continued to gaze at the stream. Since the accident, Red Fox had become the oldest brother in a way, and Little Bear was sure that the real oldest brother was jealous because of it. He didnt even call Red Fox by name anymore, just Brother. Little Bear tried to think of something to say. He remembered Red Foxs warning to speak subtly, but that was never something he had been good at. He says Fathers coming home soon, Little Bear said, smiling. So well get to have a feast. Wont that be nice? Will it? Running-Into-Darkness asked. Yes, it will. Dont you want to eat food? Sure. I just dont want whatll come with the food. You mean a new mother." Yes, Little Bear. Thats what I mean. I think itll be nice to have her back." Running-Into-Darkness sighed, rubbing his temples. You dont really think itll be Mother, do you? He asked Little Bear. You know itll be a completely different woman. Well, shell come here as a different woman, but if the clan mothers accept her, shell become Mother, wont she? In title, and in name. What else is there? Everything, little one. Her personality, her way of speaking. Her essence. Who she is. You cant just give a random woman Mothers name and have her transform into her. Well, Brother Red Fox used to be someone else, right? He was, Running-Into-Darkness sighed. And still is. You were still too young to remember, but the old Red Fox was completely different. He was quiet, and timid. The other boys called him a coward. And then he got sick and died, and Father brought back a new brother, and gave him our dead brothers name, like our real one was never here. I like him, though. Hes smart, and brave, like you are. He isnt a coward. I know. But thats what Im saying. The Red Fox I used to know is gone now, replaced by someone who could never replace him. Can I tell you something? Whats that? Promise you wont be angry with me? Sure. I like you better when youre sad. All my life Ive asked you these questions, like why we replace people, and give them the same names, even if theyre different. But you never answered me like this until now. Youre finally honest with me. Im finally honest with myself, little one. I used to give you strange answers because I believed in them. I thought the people we brought did transform, that the names we granted them helped to do so. I believed that it was my duty to go out there, to bring them back to us, to relieve our sorrow. What do you believe in now? I Im not sure. I dont really know anymore. Running-Into-Darkness eyes glazed over at the water, dark clouds forming inside his mind. Little Bear tried to figure out what he was thinking, but he was no good at it, not like Red Fox was. Still, he did know some things about his oldest brother, things he never felt like he could talk about. So he ignored Red Foxs warningCto Little Bear, now that his oldest brother finally spoke in honesty and truth, he wanted to hear as much of it as he could. I know you wish you were out there with Father, Little Bear said. Im sorry. Yeah, Running-Into-Darkness said. Me too. You have to tell me what youre thinking, Little Bear said. Its the rule. His older brother paused for a moment. Promise you wont tell Brother, he said. I promise, Little Bear replied. Do you think Father will replace me, too? Running-Into Darkness asked, his voice breaking at the thought. Now that Im like this? Dont be silly. Youre still alive. Why would he replace you? Im barely alive. I cant fight, I cant hunt. I cant do anything that Im meant to, that a man is meant to. All I can do is sit here and wait to die. Father knows that, too. Hes already forgotten about me. Little Bear tried to protest, but he couldnt bring himself to do it. In truth, their Father barely spoke to Running-Into-Darkness anymore, and mostly treated him like he wasnt there. Red Fox was the new eldest brother now, at least the way Father treated things. Its not Brothers fault Father spends all his time with him now, Little Bear said. He tries to get him to talk to you, too. Ive heard him. I know. Running-Into-Darkness words came out shaky, trembling. I know it all. I know he loves me. I know he feels so terrible about what happened, and that he feels guilty for taking up the mantle since I cant do it anymore. And he knows Im angry at him for it, and he does it anyway, because its his duty. But what am I supposed to do? Just forgive him? Just tell him its alright that hes replacing me? I was going to lead this family, to lead the whole village once Father grew too old to be chief. Am I supposed to just be happy to be thrown aside? Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. Tears began to fall from his eldest brothers eyes, and Little Bear wiped them away, hugging his brother tight. Im sorry, Little Bear told him. I wish I knew all the answers. But I dont. Brother doesnt either. But you have to forgive him. You have to tell him how you feel. Otherwise youll just be sad forever, and well never get to laugh together like we used to. Dont you miss that? I do, Running-Into-Darkness sighed. I miss a lot of things, little one. But that doesnt mean Ill get them back. Doesnt mean you wont get them back, either. But things dont change unless you let them. Brother wants to be friends with you again, and Im tired of everyone acting like we arent a family anymore. Now are you coming to the celebration or not? Fine. Help me get up the hill, will you? Little Bear smiled, and nodded. This was why he knew that when his oldest brother came out to the creek, what he really wanted was not to be left alone, but for someone to come save him. Their village was built on top of a hill, and though getting to the stream was no problem, the hill was too steep for the wheelchair to roll back up. Running-Into-Darkness always needed help coming back uphill, and so coming to the stream was his way of asking for help, something he had always hated doing, as long as Little Bear could remember. Little Bear helped push his older brother back up the hill. Despite the fact that he was so young, he was strong enough to push his heavy brother. In fact, Running-Into-Darkness barely needed help at all nowadays. Ever since the accident, he had been coming to the stream almost every day, and every day he tried to wheel himself back up by himself. It was a point of pride for him, a way to show his freedom. His arms had grown as thick as tree trunks in the past few weeks, and all Little Bear needed to do this time was catch his brother the one or two times the chair started rolling backwards. Once they made it back to the village, Running-into-Darkness wheeled himself towards the huge fire pit in the center of town, seeing if there was something he could help with. Little Bear wandered around until he found his brother, who was busy painting his face red and blue for the celebration. I talked to him for you, Little Bear said. Thank you, little brother, Red Fox said, smiling. Howd it go? Hes still sad. I know. I think hell be sad for a while. Is he coming? Yes. Thats good, at least. A feast will lift his spirits. Can I ask you something? Of course. Do you remember who you were before you became our brother? Red Fox stopped putting his war paint on. Youve never asked me this before, he said, more serious than Little Bear had ever seen him. I know. Red Fox sighed. Maybe I do, and maybe I dont. Does it matter, Little Bear? Whoever I was before, Im not any longer. Ive been Red Fox for five years, and Ill continue to be him until I die. Does that bother you? Little Bear shook his head. It makes me happy. I like you as a brother. Red Fox made a face. Gross, he said, sticking his tongue out. I rather despise you as a brother. Take that back! Make me. Little Bear lunged at his brothers neck, and the two were off in a quarrel. Well, it could hardly be called a real quarrelCLittle Bear couldnt even reach his brothers vital spots, the Red Fox dancing mockingly out of his reach. Suddenly, the sound of distant whoops and shrieks tore through the air, and the boys stopped fighting. They recognized the noise as the defiant war call of their village, which meant the war band was returning. Red Fox scrambled to finish his face paint as Little Bear ran to the village entrance. Running-Into-Darkness was waiting with the women, and Little Bear ran to his side as the warriors came up the hill. Leading them in the front was their father, Howj?gweod?:, named for the Rising Smoke. Pride swelled in Little Bears chest when he saw him, for what a proud thing it was to be the son of the Bear Clans chief, and the villages strongest warrior. The Smoke Rises saw two of his sons waiting for him, and smiled at them as he continued his war chant, making his way into town. Behind the warriors walked a line of captives from other tribes, their wrists bound in front of them. There were a few women among them, but Little Bear wasnt sure who was meant to be their new mother. The women and children of the village cheered their warriors as their returned, and Red Fox joined the old men in playing a song of celebration on the drums. It was the same song that was played before the War Party departed to wish them good luck, and so it was they played it once they returned, to celebrate a triumphant victory. Normally, Red Fox would be returning with the war band, but his eyes had grown sickly pink right before the expedition, and he was deemed too sick to come. Thus he was happy enough to celebrate their return, banging on his drum merrily. The warriors led their quarry into the enormous square in the center of the village, where a huge bonfire burned. The clan mothers were all waiting there, to pass judgment the newcomers as they arrived, to deem whether they were worthy of joining their village and their people. We mourn great losses today, the Bear Mother called out in half-chant, half-song. She was Little Bears grandmother, and the head of the Bear clan, the largest and most powerful of the four clans in the village. Thus, she was the most powerful woman in the village, and in many ways more powerful than even the chief. She was the one who let The Smoke Rises marry into the Bear Clan through her daughter, after all, and the one who appointed him chief. If she felt that The Smoke Rises was no longer doing his duty as chief, she could remove his title as well. The other clans in the village, Turtle, Wolf, and Heron, were smaller in presence and power, and currently bore no chiefs, leaving The Smoke Rises to stand above them all with great pride. We mourn great losses today, the Bear Mother continued. We weep for the loss of ?sa:d?:s, beloved mother and daughter. We weep for the loss of W:g?:ne, beloved father and brother. We weep for the loss of De:he:w?:mis, beloved daughter and sister. We weep She continued this way, listing the ten members of the village who had died recently, and who had not been replaced yet. After each name was called, the family of the dead would cry out and weep in loud mourning, and the rest of the village would echo their cries as a call-and-response, to show how the whole village mourned for their loss. At the mention of ?sa:d?:s, Little Bear moaned like he should. He looked over at his eldest brother to see tears forming in his eyes, but he did not mourn their mother loudly like he was supposed to. Little Bear started to feel angry, but he calmed himself. Truthfully, he was just glad Running-Into-Darkness was here at all. The war party brought the captives around the fire, stripping their clothes off them and tying them to wooden poles. One by one, the Mothers of each of the four clans in the village walked by each captive, looking over them. The Smoke Rises stood by one of them, a woman around his age. That must be the one he wants for our new mother, the Little Bear thought to himself. All he could tell is that she was beautiful, and that she looked very different from his old mother. He hoped she was just as kind. After their initial inspection, the clan mothers sat, and the warriors began taking flaming sticks from the bonfire. They began to press the fiery ends of the sticks into the captives, all over their bodies. Many of the captives screamed as their flesh seared from the heat, but the smart ones new to keep quiet best they could. All of this was part of a test, for any man woman or child who was not strong enough to survive these flames was not worthy of joining the Haudenosaunee. The Smoke Rises burned their new mother himself, and she was wise enough to muffle her screams by biting her lip. That was a good sign, and bode well for her, for the Clan mothers had to approve any new member. If their father had found a woman good enough to make his new wife, he would want to make sure Bear Mother approved of her, as he would need her consent to replace his old one. A few of the captives screamed too loudly, some of them falling to their knees from the pain, and they were cut loose from the poles and carried away, failures that were not worthy of being adopted. After each of the captives were burned thoroughly, the warriors sat around the fire, handed cobs of corn by the women to eat while the next test began. The captives were untied, and made to run from one end of the square to the other while everyone else in the village watched. This running would last for hours until supper-time in the evening, and was the test most people failed. The point was not speed, but enduranceCas long one did not tire and collapse, they would pass. Of course, the real trial was more complicated than that, as all the boys too young to join the war party grabbed sticks to beat the runners with. This was Little Bears favorite part of the Mourning War celebration, since it was the one he got to participate in. He had grabbed his stick by the stream earlier after his conversation with his brother, and it was the perfect stick for whipping people withCnot thick or meant to bludgeon, but thin like a switch that would scrape and leave cuts in the skin. The pain was the point, not injuryCthe goal being to inflict pain rather than beat them until they couldnt run anymore. For pain was something that could be ignored, and pushed throughCthe runners who were able to do so were strong-willed, and thus worthy of joining their ranks. The pain also served as a reminder: the captives were not Haudenosaunee yet. They were members of some inferior tribe, losers who had been beaten in fair combat by the superior On?dowga, Keepers of the Western Door. But if they bore this pain, knew it well, and overcame it, they would be welcomed as brothers and sisters. Little Bear ran through the tumultuous chaos with all the other little boys, smacking peoples thighs and calves with his switch as they passed. He tried to follow his new mother through the crowd, to protect her if he could from some of the boys who just wanted to hit them as hard as they could. Little Bear was smarter than that, because his parents and brothers had taught him well on the reasons behind these important rituals. He caught up to her, flicking his stick across her waist as he pushed another boy away from her with his free hand. She was showing signs of promise so farCher resolve held firm even as her fingers and feet were burned, and she ran at a steady pace that wouldnt tire her out anytime soon. That was enough for Little Bear to want her for a mother, and besides, Father had chosen her, and he trusted his judgment. So Little Bear resolved to run with her for the rest of this trial, and to protect her, even as he whipped her himself. He would not have her forsake the challenge entirely, of course, because that would be cheating, and he would not accept a cheater for a mother. The festival continued this way until twilight, when the captives were finally allowed to rest. The ones who fell were dragged away during the test like the other failures, to be killed and cooked. If they were not strong enough to join the village themselves, they would be eaten by the villages members to be strengthened by their essence, like the meat of any animal. The women brought out large dishes of food for the supper: corn, squash, beans, venison, and of course the captives who didnt make it this far. Before supper was served, though, the final judgment had to be made. The four Clan Mothers approached each of the ones who had made it to the end. There were only seven, not enough to replace the ten that had died, which meant the war party would have to leave again to find more replacements. The Clan Mothers knelt in front of each of the survivors, saying the same thing in unison: You have passed our trials for you, they said. You are being offered a place in our village, to become part of our beloved families. You will renounce the name you have carried until now, and you will forget the memory of who you were before, as these are things you will no longer need. Do you understand? Each of the seven that remained said yes. So each of the survivors, one by one, were admitted successfully, each of them given a new name. Their new mother was given the same name as their old one: ?sa:d?:s, a beautiful and gentle name that meant She Loves You. Once they were given their names, food was served to all, including them, for they were captives no longer, but family. Little Bear smiledCafter mourning the loss of their mother for this past year, he and his brothers would finally welcome a new one. Their father had brought two back before, but they were not strong enough. The first one died on the way to the village, so weak that she could not even survive the journey. The second one screamed bloody murder the second the flame was pressed to her back, falling to her knees and accepting defeat. Little Bear was glad to wait for the right one, one strong enough to be the wife of the Bear chief, and the mother of the three boys. He sat by Running-Into-Darkness as Red Fox trotted up to them. Nyaw?h, brothers, Red Fox said, bringing the two of them wooden bowls of hot succotash. Nyaw?h, brother, Little Bear replied, taking one of the bowls. Sg?n? dihn?:h? H?:?h, I am exhausted from beating my drum and dancing all day. You should be too, little one. I saw how you were running after our new mother, and you kept it up the whole time. How are you not tired? I am. But Im too happy to think about how tired I am. I think shell make a good mother. I sure hope so. Father seems to like her, at least. Red Fox extended the second bowl to Running-Into-Darkness. What about you, Hogohs?dais? Sg?n? dihn?:h? To Little Bears surprise, Runs-Into-Darkness did not ignore him, but turned and smiled at him, taking the bowl of succotash from his hands. A:y?:, he said. n?:h hadegayei:. But I will be better, I think, once this party comes to an end. The victory drums tend to sound hollow when you cant dance to their rhythm. And who says you cannot dance? Forgive me, my brother, but it was my understanding that it was only your legs that are paralyzed. Last I checked, legs were a crucially important aspect to dance. But not the only aspect. You can clap, you can shake your arms. By the Great Spirit, the way youve been working out your arms, I half-expect you to be walking upside-down on your hands soon. Ive not been training them to walk on them. Someone has to defend the village while you have your fun out there traveling. Truer than you know. I spoke with Father earlier. He says the French are likely to attack soon. Tells me they lured the Onontake chiefs into a trap, captured them all like animals. They even got Tadodaho. What?! On my honor, its true. Runs-Into-Darkness brow furrowed in a deep worry. He was right toCeven a boy as young as Little Bear knew how important Tadodaho was. Tadodaho was not just a name, but a title of the head chief of the Onontake. Anyone who became the head chief bore the name Tadodaho, an homage to the man who was their chief before the Five Nations united as Haudenosaunee, a fearsome warrior of legend who was persuaded to join forces with the other nations by Hiawatha and the Great Peacemaker. As a testament to how feared he was, every man named Tadodaho since was not only the head chief of the Onontake, but of all of the Five Nations. He was the most important man in Haudenosaunee politics, and his kidnapping was therefore an incomparable loss. Whats worse, in the case of Tadodahos death, the next one chosen was always another chief from the Onontake, as their nation was the keeper of the council fire. With all of the Onontake chiefs kidnapped, there would be no one to take leadership of all the Five Nations. This is terrible news, Runs-Into-Darkness said. Why are we celebrating? Because today is a day of celebration, Red Fox said. I asked Father the same thing. He said tomorrow we will worry about the fate of Tadodaho. Let us save tomorrows worries for tomorrow, and enjoy todays victories today. And for our new mothers sake, I agree. Speaking of which Red Fox motioned to the other side of the fire, where their father and new mother ate the last of their dinner together. Having finished eating, The Smoke Rises began to enjoy her, running his hands over her naked body. Thats my cue to leave, Runs-Into-Darkness said. He wheeled his way back to the longhouse, and Red Fox started to follow. Where are you going? Little Bear asked. Im going to talk to him, Red Fox said. This is the first time hes spoken to me in weeks, and Im going to try and push my luck and see if I can get a whole conversation out of him. So the two brothers left the Little Bear alone, with little to do. He left his finished bowl by the fire, wandering out of the village back down to the stream. The sun was falling now, and it was too dark to make out any fish in the water. He skipped a stone across the brook, trying to find what made these waters mean so much to his oldest brother. He supposed, like many other things, he would simply come to understand it one day, when he was older. Anne-Marie de Parthenay 3 Anne-Marie de Parthenay New France Anne-Marie had not left her quarters since the day she kicked the savage man. Part of her was afraid of some retribution, that hed see her out in the city somewhere and decide to take revenge against her. Part of her was ashamed and horrified of what shed done, the memory lingering in her dreams every night. Part of her was afraid to see Jeannine again, for more reasons than one. She had dropped by a few times since then, and though Anne-Marie had hosted her politely each time, she tried desperately to limit their meetings to no more than a few short visits. Anne-Marie was of course worried that Jeannine was a bad influence, and that each hour spent in her company would corrupt her, little by little. But it was more than that. Jeannine was not just corrupting she was intoxicating. Anne-Marie had never met anyone else like her. She exuded an aura about her wherever she went, a palpable air of refinement and dominance. Jeannine was a young woman who knew what she wanted, and knew how to get it. Anne-Marie was jealous of thatCof her surety, of her confidence. She, in contrast, had no idea what she wanted, or even what she liked. All her life she had formed her identity around the needs of othersCof her ailing father, of her tortured brother. Now that she had witnessed Jeannines ambition, she realized she had none of her own, and that worried her greatly. Every time she thought about Jeannine, a swirling chaos of mixed emotions filled her heart and mind, at once confusing and overwhelming her. Was she jealous of her, or smitten by her? All she knew was that she hated the woman she was, and she so desperately wanted to grow and change into someone else, someone who she could be proud of. Someone who didnt live in a cage, sitting and waiting for someone to unlock the door rather than breaking free herself. But what was she to do? She did not have the strength to pry open the bars, or the knowledge to pick the lock. All she could do was wait to be rescued by someone who cared enough to take pity on her. The door to her chambers opened, and Le Vicomte sauntered in as if it were his. Her room, the prison cell that it was, never allowed her any semblance of privacy. Anyone who wanted access to her need only open the door, while she was expected to host her intruder with nothing but pleasant grace. A fire burned in her chest as she saw Le Vicomte enter, and she steeled herself with a newfound resolve. She would not be the docile little lamb he wanted. She did not know what she would be, what she wanted to become, but at the very least she would strive to be the exact opposite of whatever convenient form Le Vicomte wanted her to take. If he wished her to be soft, she would grow spikes. If he wished her to be pleasant, she would be rude and foul. And if he wished to wed her and make her bear his children, she would make him drag her to the altar, kicking and biting and screaming all the way. If she carried no other ambition than to spite him, then so be it. She ignored him as he thumbed through the books Jeannine had gotten for her on the mantle. She would not concede anything to him, not anymore, not even her attention. She opened the book shed been reading, as if he werent even there. He stood there by the mantle for several minutes as she paid him no mind, until he eventually got fed up of waiting for her to notice him. Im back, he said, trying to get her attention. Where is my brother? Was her only reply. Back at the fort, he said. Hell be stationed there for some time, Im afraid. Anne-Marie gripped the book tightly until her knuckles turned white. He was just waiting for a chance to separate them, to have the newly-budding distance between the two siblings grow and fester. The man knew Chrtien was the only one that would protect her from him, and now that sole guardian was out of the way, leaving her defenseless. What did you do? She asked, trying to retain her composure, though not well. Her voice trembled in anger, her fists shaking at her side. I did nothing, he said, feigning an offense at her accusation. Hes been assigned by Le Marquis himself to lead a troop of soldiers in the war, and hell spend the next month or so training them. You should be happy for himCits a grand opportunity for a boy his age. Anne-Marie tried to calm herselfCany anger she showed would only amuse Le Vicomte. So instead she smiled. That is good news, then, she said. When will he return? Thats up to Le Marquis, but likely not for several months. Hes planning a campaign against the savages in the winter. Isnt waging war in winter generally ill-advised? Is it? You should write a letter of complaint. Ill deliver it to him myself, tell him he should call the whole thing off because a little girl thinks its a bad idea. Anne-Marie bit her tongue to keep herself from retorting. Youre right, she said. Its not like I know anything about tactics or strategy. She returned to reading her book, ignoring Le Vicomtes gaze. Whats the matter with you? He asked. She lifted her face from her book to look at him, tilting her head to appear confused. What do you mean? She asked. That, he said, gesturing at her. Thats what I mean. Anne-Marie lifted her eyebrow in perplexion. Have I done something to offend? She asked. Le Vicomtes brow furrowed. He searched her eyes, trying to find some ulterior motive in her, but she would not show him any. No, he said. No, you havent. Then? Is there anything else you need from me? Le Vicomte hesitated. His lips squirmed with some discomfort, until they contorted into an amused smile. No, he said. There isnt. Good day, Anne-Marie. With nothing else to say or do, he left, though Anne-Marie noticed the smile on his face remained. That was good. He was amused, clearly, thinking that she had changed in the past two weeks. Something had caused her to have a change of heartCperhaps her near-death experience. Whatever it was, she had started to become the docile and submissive thing he wanted her to be, or at least appeared to. That appearance was everything, for as long as he continued to think she was conforming to his wants, he would allow her a certain degree of freedom. Ounce by ounce, she would obtain more, all the while pretending to submit to him. She would wait, biding her time and planning her next steps, until he became complacent enough to give her another opening to exploit, one to see her rebirth, or to see his end. She did not know what new form she would take upon reincarnation, but it would at the very least be free, released from Le Vicomtes slimy grasp. Anne-Marie stood, pacing back and forth across the room, her mind stirring with unanswered worries and hopeful plans. She did not have much time to resolve or enact themCwith every passing day, Le Vicomte grew bolder in his true intentions towards her. Though he considered himself to be a cunning and subtle courtier, he showed little of either quality in his dealings with women. Their servants often gossipped, attributing it to a boyish naivete, but Anne-Marie thought it was mostly due to the fact that he just didnt consider women to be smart enough to see through him. He viewed Anne-Marie as a naive child, and his wife as a lunatic, so he saw no reason to hide his nature from either. The only thing that kept Le Vicomte from marrying Anne-Marie was his wife, but even that was not to last. In the past year, she had finally grown mad from the way he treated her. That only served to make Le Vicomte despise her more, and to try and be rid of her. But there was a great shame in the court to divorceCmost men who hated their wives just took mistresses while keeping their marriage intact. Before they left, Le Vicomte tried to have his wife committed to an asylum, but she always conducted herself well whenever the doctor visited, Anne-Marie would have to do something soon, as If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. The doorknob clicked, and Anne-Marie banished her worries to the back of her mind, forcing a smile on her face to welcome whoever her next intruder was. Le Vicomtes wife, La Madame Juliette dHarcourt, rushed into the room, a cold fury in her eyes. Anne-Marie could not even greet her before her adoptive mother grabbed a fistful of the girls hair, pulling until her neck snapped upwards. Anne-Marie gasped from pain and shock, and La Madame produced a sharp knife, holding it to her now-exposed throat. What did you do to him?! She spat, venom dripping from her teeth with every word. Nothing, Anne-Marie pleaded. I dont know what you mean! You lie. Twenty minutes hes been in your chambers. Twenty minutes, and he leaves with a spring in his step and a whistling tune. His hair is messed, his cravat undone. You bedded him, didnt you? You whore. I didnt! I swear to you I did nothing of the sort! Liar. Whore. Show me what hes done to you. La Madame pushed Anne-Marie onto her bed, and began ripping her dress off of her, exposing her undergarments. What are you doing? Anne-Marie cried. Stop it! You let a married man defile you. Your words lie, but your body cant. The woman took her knife and cut open her undergarments, exposing the poor girls body to the cold air. Stop, Anne-Marie said, tears streaming down her face. Please! I would never do anything with him! You have to believe me! La Madame did not listen, tearing Anne-Maries clothes up with her knife and lifting her legs into the air, inspecting her most private areas like she was livestock. Afraid that she would take the dagger to her if she resisted, Anne-Marie could do nothing but lie there, sobbing. La Madame finished her invasion of Anne-Maries intimate regions, and sat next to her on the bed, holding the girls head in her lap as she stroked her hair softly. Forgive me, ma chrie, she whispered. You did not lie to me. I should never have doubted you. I should never have called you those horrible things. Please forgive me. Anne-Marie could do nothing but sob into the womans lap as she held her. Needless to say, her relationship with her adoptive mother was a complex one. She did not even blame her, necessarily. She knew that if she was in her place, if she had married a man only to be discarded like trash once he learned she could not bear children, she would be bitter and resentful, too. If her husband adopted a young girl half her age with the plan of abandoning his wife to marry her instead, Anne-Marie would be driven to madness just like La Madame. Knowing all this provided no comfort from that madness howeverCLa Madame was unstable, even dangerous. But what was Anne-Marie to do about it? What could she do, other than cry? Shhhhh, La Madame cooed, petting Anne-Marie to try and soothe her. Its alright now. Im sorry. Anne-Marie lay there, paralyzed in her captors embrace. Look at what hes done to us, she continued. Look at what hes turned us into. But we wont let him win, will we? Ill trust you from now on. I swear it. Youre my only friend, you know that? And now that your brothers abandoned you to go fighting, all we have is each other. We have to look out for one another, dont we? She continued to speak, as if her words were really meant to comfort herself. Anne-Marie just lay as still as she could, waiting for her to leave, for this torment to end. Thankfully, a knock on the door sounded throughout the room, saving her. La Madame went to the door and opened it. She spoke to someone outside, then closed the door. Get dressed, darling, she said to Anne-Marie. Your little friend is here. It must be Jeannine. Anne-Marie leaped to her feet, scrambling to find another dress in her closet. Would this day not end? Would her visitors and their torments never cease? She threw on something casual, standing in wait to receive her next guest. Sure enough Jeannine entered, looking effortlessly beautiful as always. Its so nice to finally meet you, she said to La Madame. Anne-Marie speaks very highly of you. Does she? La Madame replied. Bless her soul. Do you mind if we spoke alone for a moment. I do. Anything you say to her you can say in front of me. Her complete and utter rebuke took Jeannine back for a moment, but she smiled, taking it in stride, and walking to Anne-Marie. Hello, Anne-Marie, she said. How have you fared since we last spoke? Not tremendously, Anne-Marie said, trying to banish the prior events of the day from her mind. My brothers been stationed at a distant fort, so I havent been able to speak to him since my accident. Hes to lead a company of soldiers in a winter campaign against the savages. Oh, but what an honor to lead a company at his age! Worry notCmy father will not let any harm come to him. He is loath to make the same mistakes as the last Governor, La Barre. He practically groveled at the savages feet in surrender, you know. I didnt. How horrible. You have no idea. But we should speak of more exciting things than campaigns and battles. Jeannine produced an envelope, and handed it to Anne-Marie. What is this? Anne-Marie asked, unfolding it. Its an invitation to a ball my father is throwing in three days, she said. Oh, this is wonderful! But I am unsure if Le Vicomte will allow me to go. He better. The ball is in his honor, to celebrate the arrival of him and his many marine reinforcements. He will allow it, La Madame cut in, watching the two girls from the door. I will make sure of it. Its unbecoming to keep a young lady with so much potential cooped up in her room, rather than meeting suitors her age. Are you certain you can convince him? Anne-Marie asked. Dont you worry about that, La Madame replied. I will leave you two to plan for the ball. Leave Le Vicomte to me. With that, she left, and Anne-Marie let herself exhale at her departure, a weight lifted from her shoulders. Shes a strange woman, Jeannine said. Shes a witch, Anne-Marie replied. She was kind once, but shes been twisted into an evil woman by an evil man. Let us pray the same fate does not befall us, Jeannine said, motioning the cross over her chest. But our thoughts should not linger on old crones whose futures are already determined. For your future, my precious angel, is still to be decided, and I will settle for nothing less than the best for you. There are a great number of young men who will be in attendance, and youll need to know which ones to flatter and which ones to avoid. This is wonderful news, Jeannine, and I am glad for it. But I wonder if I could ask you a favor. Oh? Would you tell me about all of this another day? Im sorry, I justCits been a long day, and Im really rather exhausted. IC Anne-Marie stopped herself, realizing that there were tears in her eyes. Jeannines face softened, and she wiped the tears away delicately, her soft palm resting on Anne-Maries cheek. Of course, she said. I am throwing this ball for you. If my prattling is something you cant handle today, then Ill make you suffer it tomorrow. I dare not offend or upset youCthe sight of such a precious thing crying is more than I can bear. Thank you Jeannine, Anne-Marie sniffed. You are a true friend. Pas tout fait, she said. I am more than that. You will soon see. Ill come visit you tomorrow. Jeannine left, pausing for a moment at the door to look back at Anne-Marie with a smile. Once the door closed, Anne-Marie collapsed onto her bed, exhausted and overwhelmed. She allowed her tears to return, sobbing into her pillow as she curled her body into a protective ball. Despite the terrors of the day, the upcoming ball still excited her. If one of the boys was kind, and handsome, it would be a perfect opportunity for her. Courting a boy her age both spited Le Vicomte and freed her from La Madames paranoid suspicions. If she got one of the other nobles sons to propose to her, it would put Le Vicomte in a difficult position. He could not flatly refuse without exposing his own plot to marry her, and denying at all would be an insult to another family. But that was only if she met a boy, and only if he liked her. She clasped her hands in prayer, kneeling next to her bed. Please, God. Please let me meet a good husband. Someone who will protect and care for me. Someone who will free me from my shackles, who will take me far away from this terrible place. Please. Her prayer finished, she laid back on the bed, somewhat relieved now. She thought she had no allies left without Chrtien, but she was wrong. Jeannine was planning and hosting a whole ball just for her, which meant she both knew her troubles and how to deal with them. But why? Why would Jeannine do so much for her? Anne-Maries heart fluttered at the question, and excited her for the ball even more. She wanted more than anything to peer into Jeannines heart, to understand her real intentions. Like everything else, that girl hid them behind her dazzling dark eyes and an innocent smile. White Sky & Black Bird 3 White Sky, Black Bird The Great Lakes Autumn was nearing its end. Almost all the leaves had fallen off the trees, which meant that winter was soon to come. This of course meant that White Sky and Black Bird wanted to make it to the village as soon as possible, but they quickly learned their new companion made that an increasingly difficult task. The ever-eccentric Dr. H?rk?nen made for a challenging travel companion for several reasons. One was his cargo: the doctor refused to leave without bringing along his most important equipment, so numerous and bulky that the boys had to find him his own canoe to carry them in. Of course, H?rk?nen himself could not row his canoe or the cargo attached to it with his old and feeble arms, so the boys had to split themselves across two canoes, halving their usual rowing speed. This also meant both the traders tired quicker with each having to row a whole canoe on their own, which meant more frequent stops to rest. As if all these obstacles were not enough to delay their journey, the good doctor also seemed to have a complete lack of awareness when traveling through the more dangerous areas. More than that, it seemed as though he went out of his way to attract danger to them. White Sky even went so far to accuse him of intentionally doing so, for in the two times they had been ambushed by Longhouse raiders so far, H?rk?nen merely observed the boys fight against them from a safe distance, taking furious notes in one of his books. The morning after the second attack, White Sky had had enough. Hes putting us in danger on purpose, White Sky complained in their native Anishinaabemowin, so that the doctor could not eavesdrop on them. Hes not trying to be loud and cumbersome, Black Bird returned. Hes an old man whos been cooped up in his laboratory. You cant expect him to understand the nuances of discreet canoeing. And yet hes traveled all over the world, to further reaches than we could ever dream of. Youre telling me in all those decades hes never had to traverse dangerous areas? That hes never had to hide from brigands or cutthroats? Youre too trusting of him. Black Birds brow furrowed. It was a good point to make, and he could offer no rebuttal. Though they both hated admitting defeat, they had resolved long ago to acknowledge when the other had won an argument. I see your point, Black Bird said. So lets talk to him. Maybe he just needs some guidance from us. Black Bird turned to the doctor, who was sharing his canoe. Doctor, Black Bird said in French, trying his best to sound diplomatic. I was wondering if I could share some expertise with you. Oh? The doctor replied, looking up from the book he was reading. Its just remember yesterday, when we were discussing Aristotle? And White Sky got a bad feeling, and said we should stop talking until we were further down-river? Yes, but we didnt. Yes, and in fact after his warning you continued in a louder voice. And then we were attacked by those Snakes. Yes? Well, its just that had you listened to White Skys warning, there was a chance we would not have been attacked, and couldve avoided the Snakes altogether. Possibly. What of it? Well, White Sky is under the impression that whenever danger seems to be near, you try to attract it towards us, rather than try to escape it. Well, hes very astute. Thats exactly what Im doing. Black Bird felt his heart plunge into his stomach. White Sky shot him a look, sharp and piercing. But why? Black Bird asked. Dr. H?rk?nen took off his spectacles for a moment, rubbing his eyes. Listen, boys, he said. Let me remind you that I am not a philanthropist. I am a scientist, and you two are my enlightened and talented subjects. I have given you advanced weapons of warfare so that you may use them, and so that I may observe their effectiveness. That means I need you two to fall into danger, the more frequent the better. Black Bird couldnt believe his ears. White Sky became so angry that he stopped rowing. Let me remind you that you were the one that needed a safe place to stay in the winter, White Sky said, pointing an accusatory finger at the old man. Which means you are no longer a scientist or a philanthropist or anything else. Youre our guest. And thats only if the elders of my village accept our plea to let you stay. If this is how youre going to act in the village, you can forget my advocating for you. I wont let a Snake magnet stay under my roof and eat my food, lest you attract what youre clearly desperate to. Besides, if were endangered too often, your experiment will have diminishing returns, Black Bird said, trying to smooth things over between the two. The fighting exhausts us, and we sustain injuries, making us less effective each subsequent fight. Thankfully weve come out of these last two relatively unscathed, but the more we push our luck the more dangerous these scuffles become. Theres no point in your experiment if one of us dies, including you, by the way. The doctor scratched the bald spot of his head, as though it never occurred to him that they could lose one of the fights, and that his own life would be in danger. Youre right, he said. I hadnt considered either of your points. I apologize, gentlemen. I promise I shall not intentionally try to endanger us any longer. Thank you, White Sky said sardonically, returning to his rowing. Black Bird followed as well, though his worries lingered, troubling him. He had misjudged the doctor when White Sky had accused him, and it was not the only concern about him the younger brother carried. Black Bird had originally written them off given White Skys usual distrust of white folks, but if this one was true, the others suddenly carried more merit. The doctor was not exactly deceitfulCafter all, when Black Bird accused him of beckoning Snakes to them, he flatly admitted he was doing so. But did that make him trustworthy, just because he didnt lie? Black Bird couldnt tell yet, and that worried him greatly. If he attracted Snakes to the village just to satisfy some scientific curiosity, the results could be disastrous. Even if they werent, White Sky would never forgive Black Bird for convincing him to let the doctor come. Black Bird was already beginning to regret convincing him. In another hour or so, the boys stopped to take a break and rest their bodies. They took their canoes and cargo out of the river, setting them on the ground by the riverbank. They split up for different tasks for efficiency: White Sky, being the better scout, headed out to scope out the surrounding area to make sure it was safe and to gather some wood for a fire. Black Bird tied down and secured the cargo, then grabbed a small spear from his canoe to try and catch some fish for lunch. He squatted by the riverbank, trying to make out the discreet trails in the water. Dr. H?rk?nen sat behind him, watching him work. He doesnt trust me, does he? The doctor asked. You just admitted to purposefully putting him in harms way, Black Bird returned, trying to not let his frustration and betrayal show in his voice. Would you trust a man who did that to you? I suppose I wouldnt. But I rebuke the idea that I was putting you in harms way. You are both excellent warriors, equipped with superior weaponry. You will not lose to these small bands of thugs. You dont know that, Black Bird said. Every fight weve had so far weve been outnumbered, and the outcome is never clear. We should thank White Sky for always seeming to know when theyre comingCsurely youre not dumb enough to think superior weapons are enough to win even when ambushed. Youre angry with me. Black Bird ignored him. He saw a small disturbance in the water, and lunged at it with his spear. He pulled his weapon out of the waterCno fish. The boy stood and turned to the old man, unable to contain himself any longer. Yes, Im angry, he said, gritting his teeth. Im angry that you treat us like an experiment, that our lives are just some game to you. Watch your tongue, H?rk?nen replied, his tone more blunt and cutting than Black Bird had ever heard. I understand your anger, which is why I apologized, and Ive already agreed to cease my behavior. But you will not insult my experiment, and you will not call it a game. Just because you cannot perceive its scope does not mean this is something I do for frivolity or fun. This project is larger than the lives of you or your brother, and it is larger than me. Yes, I know that every time the Iroquois attack us, theres a chance the weaponry and training Ive given you are not enough, and that they might kill all three of us. Ive accepted that risk. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. But you havent shared that risk with us! You hide and obscure your intentions, and you feign innocence until I accuse you of something! Were supposed to accept how far-reaching and momentous your work is, but you dont trust us enough to confide in us the smallest detail, even as you use us to further it! The doctor sat on the ground, stewing in the boys words. To Black Birds surprise, the old man smiled. I should never have taught you how to properly debate, he said. I never thought you would use those skills to make a fool of me. Ive been arguing with White Sky for as long as I can remember. Youve schooled me on rhetoric and dialectic, but I had still been practicing both long before I met you. Youre like the other white men. You think you invented everything, that you are the pioneers of all advancement. Do you know how important dialectic is to the Eastern folk of the Dawnland? Every respected sachem they have is a master orator, capable of speaking for hours using only metaphors and riddle-like prose. You consider yourself a well-read scholar, but you would not even be permitted to read our Lore-Keepers scrolls, and you would certainly not be able to parse a single glyph on them! Youre wrong, Memeskoniinisi. Take a second to breathe and calm down. Youre angry, rightfully so, but it is starting to cloud your mind. Here, sit down with me. Let me try explaining my perspective. Black Bird didnt want to listen to anything the old man had to say, but he was right. He was angry, and his anger was only growing by the second. So he sat down. Thank you. ListenCthe other white men that are here, the English and the French, even the Dutch who abandoned this place. They all think that God chose them to claim this New World as theirs, and that you and all the other stewards of these lands are just unwashed savages waiting to be conquered by them. I know better. I have been all over this sphere we call Earth, enough to know that God does not grant a single race or culture his grace. He grants it to individuals, not peoples, and those individuals can be found all over. I have studied from the Sufis of Dhamar, the magicians of Cairo, and the Illuminati of Castile. I know the wisdom your elders carry, the knowledge youve carefully cultivated. The reason I want to stay the winter in your village is to learn a glimpse of that knowledge, in exchange for my own. Black Bird stood again. He was calmer now, but he didnt want to continue this conversation any longer. He was tired of listening to the doctor talk, and besides, he hadnt caught any fish yet. It is not my village, he said as he gathered his spear again, squatting by the water. Its White Skys, and its a substantial burden on him and his family to take care of us this winter. You should remember that the next time you try to get him killed. Black Bird did not even have time to catch anything before White Sky returned, a bundle of firewood noticeably absent from his person. We need to leave, he said, panting. I saw Snakes. Not safe. We keep moving, take another break in an hour or so. How many? Black Bird asked. What were they doing? Small bandConly three, I think. They captured a white man, and were torturing him. Strangest looking white man Id ever seenChis head was completely bald, but there was a long thin scar running down it, like someone had sliced his head open perfectly down the middle. AndC Hes missing his left ear, Dr. H?rk?nen interrupted. Yes, he is, White Sky said, surprised. How did you know? Dr H?rk?nen stood, his eyes darting around the place in worried contemplation. Boys, we need to ambush them, he said. Itll be two against three, but well have the drop on themCthe odds are good. Absolutely not, White Sky said. You just promised to not bring the Snakes to us, and now you think you can circumvent that by seeking them out instead? I realize that, H?rk?nen replied. But this is an exception. We should go now, quickly." You want us to fight for you, you need to confide in us, Black Bird said. Why is this suddenly so important to you? H?rk?nen hesitated, but the boys stood their ground. If they were going to get any information from the secretive old man, it would have to be when his back is against the wall. The man theyve captured H?rk?nen began. Hes a friend of mine. Another scientist. If they got him while traveling, he could have had his research papers on his person. Do you want the Iroquois to have whatever it is he was experimenting with? I dont know, but clearly you dont, Black Bird said. So what was he experimenting with? I I dont know. I swear I dont know. We only share our experiments with one another once theyre complete and we consider the results to be reliable. But its important, whatever it is, and more importantly its my duty to finish if the Iroquois kill him. I dont want it to come to that, but if hes still alive theres a chance. Please. The boys looked at each other, for once thinking the exact same thing. None of them trusted the doctor right now, and certainly they didnt want to stick their necks out for a random person. At the same time, the mystery of the Snakes captor and his research intrigued them. In the end, curiosity outweighed self-preservation Fine, White Sky said. But you will be quiet as a mouse, doctor. So help me, if you alert them to our presence I will feed you to the Snakes myself. The three crept up the hill and through the woods until they arrived at the Snakes camp. The Snakes delighted in torturing their captured victimsCfor them, it was a way to display their dominance, a way to truly show their captors that they had beaten them. In their process of forcibly assimilating their defeated foes, torture was also used as a rite of passageCbecause the Snakes considered themselves to be a superior people, unbothered by mundane troubles, one was only worthy to become a Snake if they were resilient enough to withstand a great deal of suffering. The three Snakes stood surrounding their captor, who knelt on the ground, his hands bound behind his back, his eyes covered in a blindfold. Sure enough, his head bore no hair, a perfectly straight scar bisecting his scalp. Where his left ear should have been was only a misshapen lump and a hole. The Snakes took turns mutilating his extremities, and must have supposed the man looked incredibly asymmetrical, for one began to carve off his remaining ear. The man screamed in bloody pain, and Black Bird and White Sky took positions behind trees on opposite ends of the clearing. Dr. H?rk?nen hid even further back, as the boys had told him to not involve himself until the fighting was over. The Snakes, preoccupied with their ritual, did not notice the rifle that poked out into the clearing, nestled in between the crook of the tree to stabilize it. Black Bird pulled the trigger, loosing the first shot into the closest ones back. The Snake fell, and the other two immediately turned to see Black Bird reloading the rifle. One sprinted towards him with his tomahawk in hand. The other ran to pick up his own rifle. The boys had prepared for this, though, of course, and it was White Skys turn to do his part. He rushed out from the closest part of the forest, rushing the Snake with the fishing spear before he could grab the rifle. The one in front was upon Black Bird before he could finish reloading, but that was fine. After all, Black Bird made a point of loading it slowly and conspicuously to draw their attention and ire for White Skys ambush, and leaped away from his rifle to avoid a tomahawk swipe. Normally, the snakes did not like to fight with their tomahawksCit was a tool first and foremost, only used for fighting when there was no other option. After all, it was far inferior in its reach to a spear, and Black Bird took advantage of this, retreating to stay just outside of his attackers threat range. The Snakes anger grew with every missed swipe, and with anger came an exploitable recklessness. After moving backwards several paces, Black Bird suddenly lunged forward as the Snake readied his next blow, taking him by surprise. That second of hesitation was all he needed to produce his dragon, holding it close to the Snakes chest and pulling the trigger. The second one fell. Back in the clearing, White Sky struggled more with his opponent, who seemed to be the strongest of the three. He had managed to grab his rifle, using it as a staff to deflect the boys spear stabs. A fully-grown adult, he easily outmuscled the young Fire-Keeper, and knocked the spear out of his hands with the butt of his rifle. White Sky scrambled to reclaim it, but the man was on him in an instant, kicking him onto the ground. White Sky barely rolled out of the way as the rifle slammed into the dirt next to him, fumbling for his dragon. The Snake readied another strike, and White Sky managed to get his hands on the pistol quick enough to pull the trigger. In his frantic haste, however, he failed to notice that the bald man was kneeling right behind his opponent. The dragon fired, spewing its breath on the Snake below the waist, but a score of the pellets flew through the Snakes legs and into the bald mans back. The Snake cried out in pain, dropping to his knees, and White Sky took the chance to grab his spear and pierce it through the Snakes heart. Black Bird ran to his friend, and the two knelt in the grass, panting heavily, energy coursing through their blood like a hot fire. The doctor rushed to the bald man, frantically trying to gauge his wounds. What have you done? Dr. H?rk?nen cried. Im sorry, White Sky said, his breath heavy. I I didnt mean to. Honestly. He was going to kill me I didnt see him behind Im sorry Hes dying, the old man said, I cant save him anymore. Klaus, he said, snapping his fingers in front of the dying mans eyes. Klaus, h?rt mir zu. Klaus! The bald man coughed a small pool of blood onto the grass, then looked up at the doctor. Ah. Paavo. Mein geliebter Rivale. Warum ist mir so kalt? Wo ist es, Klaus? Wo ist es? Sie haben es mir genommen. Irgendwo The mans voice faded, and the light left his eyes. He fell forward, collapsing onto the doctor. H?rk?nen pushed the corpse off of him, standing and wiping the blood off his tunic. He turned to the camp and began tossing around everything, looking for something. He pushed aside two sacks of food and grabbed an ornate wooden box. It reminded Black Bird of the wiigwaasi-makakoon, the protective boxes made of birchbark that the most important scrolls were hidden in. Thank God, he said, motioning a cross over his chest. He searched his friends body, finding a small gilded key. He opened the box with it, checking its contents. From the distance, the only thing Black Bird could make out was a piece of paper with a symbol drawn on it: a black cross nestled inside the petals of a red rose. Im sorry, White Sky repeated, too dazed from the fighting to muster tears for such a horrible accident. Dont be sorry for him, the doctor said. Be sorry for yourself. Youre the one who killed him, so youll be the one to finish whatever research he was working on. Its your duty now, not mine. The old man looked around warily. Lets get moving, he said. Since youre so concerned about danger, I dont want to stick around to see if these three have any friends." Black Bird helped his younger brother to his feet, and the two made their way back, shoulder-to-shoulder. There was a strange, somber dread that crept into their hearts whenever a fight was over, when there was nothing but the silence of death to follow the cacophony of desperate dodges and battle cries that filled the air just a few moments before. Though they had now slain their eighth Snake, it never seemed to get any easier. Chr茅tien de Parthenay 3 Chrtien de Parthenay New France Chrtien awoke on a cot in the barracks of Fort Frontenac. His wounds from his fight with the fearsome Tadodaho had been tended toChis arm had been treated and bandaged, and a cool washcloth covered his bruised head. As he came to, he tried to sit up and make out his surroundings. He was in a smaller room, sequestered from the barracks at large. It seemed to be the infirmaryCtwo other cots lay beside him, empty, and along the wall was a desk covered with medical supplies, but also an eclectic variety of roots and herbs. Youre awake, a voice said next to him. He turned to see an Iroquois man of all people, though he spoke in near-perfect French. He was an elderly man, dressed in leggings and a cloak of deerskin. His face was covered in strange tattoos, his head shaved bald. How are you feeling? The old man asked. Im alright, I think, Chrtien replied. Tired. Very tired. But of course. You have suffered much, and I can not heal every wound you bear. You should rest and recover, but your lethargy will remain, I fear, until you can cure it yourself. What do you mean? There are three kinds of ailments, my son. The first I have already taken care ofCthe physical. The battle-wounds from your duel with Tadodaho. The second kind I am afraid still ails you. It is an illness from your dreams. Do you remember any recent dreams, my son? No, not really. Should I? Always, if you can. When dreams do not come to you, you cannot learn anything from them. Within each dream is a message of hidden truth, a desire or longing that you cannot sate. This longing can torment your mind and souls if left ignored. Chrtien rubbed his tired eyes, trying to remember anything. He couldnt. It was just a void in his memory, empty and dark like the ever-growing hole in his heart. Whats the third kind of ailment? Chrtien asked out of curiosity. Ah, the worst kind. But you should not worry, for I dont believe you are afflicted by it. The third ailment is one caused by powerful people, wicked ones that curse others. What do you mean? Like magic? Witchcraft? If those are your words for it, yes, but I am unfamiliar with them in your tongue. Witch? A witch is like an evil woman who casts spells and curses to hurt people. Ah, good. Then yes, we are speaking of the same thing, though you should know there are just as many male witches as females. Chrtien sat up fully, trying to focus. Are we still in the fort? He asked. We are. Its been a day and a half since you killed Tadodaho, and since we have been placed under your command. Oh, right. Look, Im sorry about all that. The governor made me kill him, you see. I couldnt do anything about it. Why do you apologize? Well, I mean, he was your chief, wasn''t he? Or... The old man laughed. You think us all the same, he chuckled. You must be new to these lands. Not to worry, you will learn better soon enough. Tadodaho was the head chief of the Onontake, the Hill People. So too he represented all the Five Nations of the Haudenosaunee as a singular leader, a king in your culture, to rule over all the other kings. That does not make him absolute, as your Louis is, but he holds more power than the other chiefs. His death will create many ripples in the lakes. You should pray that word of your hand in his death does not spread to the southeast, as you would become the target of a mighty vengeance. Chrtien swallowed, a new worry growing inside him. He thought back to the speed and strength of his defeated foe, even under the influence of a powerful drug. Would he be able to fight a sober Iroquois? More than one at once? After all, he had been appointed to lead a half-company of troops into battle against them, but he had only barely managed to kill one whose movements were made laggard by poison. He never would have been able to win a fair fight, and if the Iroquois learned he was their beloved kings executioner, he would not live for long. So you arent Iroquois? He asked. No, the old man said. We are Chonnonton. In our tongue it means The Ones Who Tend the Deer. Specifically, we are Aondironon, one of the tribes who call themselves Deer-Tenders. Or, at least, that is what we once were, for our people have been dead for over thirty years. With his right hand, he took hold of Chrtiens jaw, his left pressing into his forehead to keep it stable. Open your mouth for me, he instructed. Chrtien obeyed. The man looked inside his mouth, inspecting each part as he began to spin another yarn. We are a dead people, my son, killed by the ones you call Iroquois. Once, we were our own mighty kingdom, thriving even with two foes on either side of us, the Iroquois, and the Wendat Island-dwellers. We formed an understanding with them, waging war instead with more distant nations. Our warriors were mighty and fearsome, as well as wise. Stick out your tongue. Chrtien did so. The old man grabbed a lamp from the nightstand to see better. Our great chief, Souharissen, led our warriors into glorious battle. We routed the Atsistaeronnon, the Fire Nation, drove them from their hunting lands. You can close your mouth now. I tell you this history because its important, because a chief needs to understand the people he leads. The old man took his fingers and pried Chrtiens eyelids open, inspecting the whites of his eyes. Then came plague, he said. And war. War unlike anything we had seen before, or since. Your people brought the plague with you when you came to these lands. Even now it blows through our villages like an evil wind, ripping husbands from wives, children from mothers. We lost more to sickness than to any battle. The Island folk, if you would believe it, were once greater in number and power than the ones you call Iroquois. But the pox hit them harder, until they were weak enough to be conquered. Tilt your head to the right, so your ear meets your shoulder. Chrtien tried his best. The old man stood, looking into his left ear from above. The Haudenosaunee turned on us, having lost so many to disease. They destroyed the Wendat, then the Khionotaterrhonon Hill Folk, then turned to us. Some were taken by them back to their villages, forced to abandon their name and their people. Many were just tortured and killed. Tilt your head back to the other side now. Thank you. So the reason I laughed, my son, is because had you not slain Tadodaho, one of our warriors would have surely stepped in and finished him. I suspect you will deal with a great deal of jealousy from them in these coming weeksCeach one of them wished to be the one to do it. Im sorry for thinking you were the same, Chrtien said. Do the others speak French too? No. Many of them understand it to an extent when spoken to, but the only ones who can speak it back are myself, and our chief, Jikonhsasee. She is a wise and capable leader, although she was rightfully upset to learn that your Onontio had appointed you to lead her people instead. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. Her? The marines dont allow women, and certainly not to lead anything. You will have to explain your strange rules to her, then. She wears the same uniform as you, and you should heed an elders advice, and not do anything to upset her. I worry if you were to provoke her to anger, she would challenge you to maintain her honor. Pray that never happens, for if you dueled her as you did Tadodaho, you would not last longer than a minute. Chrtien mustered the strength to get out of bed, and to stand. Where is she? Chrtien asked. Id like to meet her, and the rest of the soldiers Im meant to lead. They are training in the yard, but I would caution you. Best not to deal with Jikonhsasee at half-strength, or she will eat you alive. Well see about that. Lead me to them, please. Still weary, Chrtien had to focus on walking by himself as he followed the old doctor through the empty barracks outside. His company of Chonnonton warriors were running training drills, French Military-style. A tall woman stood in front of them, her hair tied in a single braid. She led the men through the drills, Jikonhsasee, the old man called. I have brought the new commander. I told you to not interrupt us unless it was important, Gyantwaka, she returned, ignoring them. Onontio has decreed it. He is to command you and the others. We should heed him. The woman turned on her heel, pacing towards the two. She stopped right in front of Chrtien, looking down at him with the eyes of a hawk. She was taller than him by a good foot at least, and her strong, wide shoulders made his already-thin arms look scrawny and weak. She bore tattoos on her face and bodyCall of them did. This is not a chief, she said. Or an ensign, or a commander, or even a soldier. This is a boy, shaking in boots he wont grow into for years yet. I wouldnt trust him to lead a troupe of ducklings. You will not disrespect me so, Chrtien rebutted, gritting his teeth. Why? Jikonhsasee asked. Because you were high-born back home, across the distant seas? Because that idiot Onontio would rather have a feckless boy lead than a woman? Look, I dont know how your people do things, but youve signed on to fight for the French marines, so you need to abide by French rules. In our culture, women do not fight. Women do not fight in our culture either, fool. Our women are meant for more important thingsClike leading. Unfortunately, we no longer have the luxury of clinging to our traditions. For decades the Five Nations have raided and butchered, while your marines have been helpless to do anything about it. I am here to fix that problem, and to win your war for you. You should be scraping at my feet in thanks. Chrtien clenched his fists. He had suffered insults all his lifeCfrom his father, from Le Vicomte. But to take them from a savage who knew nothing about him, and a woman, no less? It was more than he could bear. Perhaps you should hold warfare in higher regard, he spat. Otherwise you wouldnt have let the Iroquois beat you. As soon as the words left Chrtiens mouth, he regretted them. What did you say? Jikonhsasee asked, venom dripping from your lips. I Im sorry, Chrtien began. I didnt mean toC The proud Chonnonton chief cut him off, barking a command to one of the soldiers. He brought over two spears, giving one to her, and dropping the other at Chrtiens feet. Pick it up, Jikonhsasee said. W-what? Pick. It. Up. Chrtiens eyes wandered to the other soldiers, all of whom looked at him expectantly. Their eyes were mostly filled with pity, knowing what would quickly befall him if he acquiesced to her challenge. He looked at her again, and could only see a noble warrior, bound by honor to defend an insult to her people. Please, Jikonhsasee, the old man Gyantwaka pleaded with her. You know Onontio will be angry if you kill another of his commanders." He should have thought of that before assigning a puny idiot to lead my people, she spat. Chrtien swallowed. He knew leading this company would be a challenge, and he had failed the very first trial. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps Le Marquis had made a mistake giving him this honor, a title and duty he did not yet deserve. Regardless, he did not want to die, and certainly not to fight in his condition. Even once hed recovered, he was sure he would lose against her. He had made a stupid mistake, but he was determined to make up for it. He kneeled down to the spear, but did not take it. Instead, he bent over, prostrating himself at her feet. Forgive me, he said. I did not mean what I said. Your insults hurt me, so I said something careless to hurt you. I do not wish to fight you. Please. He lingered there, keeled over in pathetic apology, his nose tickled by the muddy grass of the yard. He heard her spit on him, and felt it hit him on the top of his head. Coward, she said. She turned, returning to her soldiers, and they began drilling again. Chrtiens fists clenched again, grabbing fistfuls of grass. What was he supposed to do now? This all seemed like an enormous practical joke at his expenseCLe Marquis showing a seeming grace, appointing him to command an army, only to be ridiculed and emasculated by the commander that army had already chosen themselves. What was he here for, then? What purpose could he possibly serve? After a minute, Chrtien allowed himself to rise, still kneeling in the mud as he watched his soldiers train without him. All of a sudden, a thought occurred to him. He picked up the spear, then rose, finding his footing. He walked over to the line of soldiers, taking his place at the end, and began drilling with them. The doctor Gyantwaka rushed over to him. What are you doing? He scolded. You should not be exerting yourself until youve fully recovered. I remember now, Chrtien said. I did have a dream last night. I had forgotten it completely. When I was lying there, in the mud, suddenly it returned. He thrust the spear forward with all his strength, even as his muscles screamed at him to stop. My father died three years ago, he said. And my mother died giving birth to my sister. We had no one to take care of us, and were adopted by another man who became our new father. He is a wicked, vile manChe wants to marry my sister, and to throw me out on the street. He turned, following the motions of the other soldiers best he could. He recognized the drill, though it was harder to perform with a spear than a rifle. I dreamed last night that I killed him, he said, thrusting his spear into the air repeatedly, his arms shaking each time. I choked him to death with my bare hands. It was so real, more vivid than any dream Ive ever had. I could feel his neck in my grasp, the way I crushed his windpipe with my thumbs. So you wish to kill him, Gyantwaka said. I do. I wish very much to kill him. But I cant. Not when Im this weak. Another thrust carried his weight forward, and his legs were too tired to hold it. Chrtien collapsed onto the ground, the spear falling from his grip. Take him away to rest, Jikohnsasee commanded the old doctor, waving her hand dismissively. No, Chrtien said, gritting his teeth. He grabbed the spear again, using it to support his weight as he forced himself to stand. You will die, boy, she said. No. I wont. Whatever you think of me, the fact is that you need me. Le Marquis will never let you lead this army by yourselfCif I go, hell find another sorry soul to replace me. At the same time, I know Im not ready to lead any of these men. So Ill train. Ill become strong enough to earn my place, to command these men and fight alongside you. Watch what you promise, child, she said. I will hold you to it. I will work you to the bones that gently cradle your scrawny flesh. I will not let you rest until you are worthy of fighting alongside the warriors of the Deer, and that is not a thing that comes easy. So be it. I am at your mercy. Jikohnsasee grinned. You will regret those words, she said. Until the first snows fall, you are at my mercy, and my mercy is a precious thing indeed. I am the descendant of Jikohnsasee, Born by the War-Road, Keeper of the Peace-Hearth. But there is no peace to be made now, and all that remains is fury. You will bear my fury and mercy both, boy, and if you survive them, you may just become a man yet. Chrtien commanded his body to move into formation as the others did, despite its desperate pleas to rest. Pain coursed through his body, and his arms began to lock and cramp up, but he bit his lip until it bled to steel himself, and pushed through it all. This was just pain, something he could overcome. The weather was already beginning to turn cold, and there was no telling when the snow would fall. He would be ready by thenCto lead, to fight, to die, if needed. He would save his sister, and kill Le Vicomte, and he would not let anything stop him, not even his own body. Peter Sparrow 2 Peter Sparrow New York Peter rode in the carriage with Mister Daughtrey for a while through and out of New York City proper, from bustling streets to quiet dirt roads. Mister Daughtrey had said nothing else to the boy, and started reading a book instead to pass the time. Peter didnt mindChe looked out the window the whole ride, taking note of everything he saw. In many ways, the city of New York was very different from the city of Dublin hed grown up in. In fact, the port and harbor were the only things familiar to him. Everything else was novel and alienCthe city itself was small and sparse compared to the tightly-packed clusters of tenements that lined the streets of Dublin. Instead were proper homes, almost all of them having been built in what must have been the style of the Dutch who built the oldest ones, walls of stone and brick with uniquely slanted roofs. All of them had windows of glass and chimneys, something only the newer houses in Ireland boasted. None of the houses bore roofs of thatch like the old ones back home, and there was more distance between the homes themselves, with most of them having their own backyards. That was the most striking differenceCthe amount of space, growing the further they traveled north. In comparison to what he knew, New York was barely a city at all, more like a large town, and one with not nearly as many people. The carriage passed by many landmarks of interestCthey crossed over a canal that forded a street over water, atop which many wells had been built. Peter saw an enormous fort out the left window, with a stone curtain wall ten feet high, four triangular bastions jutting from each of its corners. Through the active city square, with all its many visitors. Laborers and trademen, wealthy landowners, and slaves. Past the cemetery, beyond the homesteads on either side of the wide passage Mister Daughtrey called Broad Way. Peter darted back and forth on his seat, trying to see everything on both sides of him, until Mister Daughtrey shouted at him to settle down. Soon enough, they reached the outskirts of the city limits, marked by another enormous wall. Next to the gate was another bastion lining the wall, fifty feet wide and solid gray stone. Peter thought he could see a cannon poking out from over its pointed tip. In this way, he saw the city itself as one enormous fort, one that was well-reinforced to defend itself from invaders. But who those invaders were or would be was still a mystery to Peter, and after his recent outburst Mister Daughtrey seemed in no mood for questions. Beyond the city limits, the farmsteads grew even more spread apart. The driver led the carriage to a cluster of them, somewhat connected and closer together, but each with their own land surrounding. Peter looked out the windowCthey were not too far from the city proper, as he could still plainly see the enormous walls. That thought might have comforted him, but it didnt. Whoever those walls were meant to keep out would have free reign in these parts, with little more than wooden fences to keep in the cattle. The cattlepen was enormous, built in the middle of all the homesteads, like it was something shared between them. As they went, Peter began to notice another difference from the cityCthe people. They were all black here, not like the mix of different folks back in the town square. Men and women, and children, some of whom were Peters age. Peter studied each of them, wondering which one was to be his new master. The carriage came to a stop, and Peter swallowed, his heart beating in his chest. He had no idea what awaited him in this place, and though he could not imagine it being worse than his life up until this point, the fear of the uncertain still gripped him tightly. The driver opened the door for them, and helped Mister Daughtrey out. Peter followed closely behind, but tripped on the foothold, crashing into Mister Daughtreys back. The Englishman turned around, grabbing the boy by the jaw, his fingers digging into the bone. I will not suffer foolishness from you, boy, he snarled. Not now. Heed where you step, and shut your mouth until Ive sold you. I wont have you embarrass me in front of Mister Peters. He is extremely shrewd for a negro, and well both be lucky if he even takes you, so dont do anything to persuade him otherwise. Yes, sir, Peter said. Daughtrey released his grip on him, turning and walking up the hill towards a house atop it. The home was the northernmost of all of them in the areaCa plot of farmland lay past it, and beyond that field was wild forest. The hill itself gave a nice view of the other homes to the south, and even further to the walls of the city. Peter took a brief look at that view behind him as they made their way up, but only brieflyChe was careful not to lose his footing again, per Daughtreys warning. Mister Daughtrey knocked on the front door, and a white boy of all people opened it. He looked several years older than Peter, though he could not tell if he was an older boy or a younger man. His left arm was cradled in a sling, and he used his right to brush his messy brown hair out of his face. Good day, Leif, Mister Daughtrey said. I was looking to speak to Mister Peters. You here with me replacement? The boy said, a lighthearted mocking in his tone. Peter smiled when he heard the boys familiar accentCan Irish one. Believe me, boy, Mister Peters would not replace you, and certainly not with this one, he said, gesturing at Peter. That one? Master Petersll be right buile when he sees him. Ill deal with Mister Peters. Why dont you go fetch him for me? The older boy looked at Peter up and down. Peter tried to avoid his gaze, a heat of shame rising in his cheeks. Whatever his conclusion was, it must not have mattered much, because the boy closed the door. Peter waited anxiously, and after a few grueling minutes, the door opened again. This time an old black man stood in the doorway. He wore a fine black suit, and he walked with a cane. His small, coarse hair had receded and grayed, and his face seemed to wear a constant scowl. Good day, Mister Peters, Mister Daughtrey began, doffing his feathered cavalier hat out of courtesy. How have you fared on this fine autumn day? I dont need pleasantries, Daughtrey, The man returned. Just what Im owed. Wheres the boy? Here he is, Daughtrey said, stepping to the side to showcase Peter like he was a prized item. Peter had no idea what to do, but Mister Daughtrey had been very clear on what not to do. He stood there, trying to look as presentable as he could in the rags hed been wearing for his voyage across the seas. He squirmed under the scrutinous gaze of the man, and though he wanted to say something, he kept his mouth shut as hed been told, standing as still and silent as he could. His name is Peter Sparrow, like the bird, Mister Daughtrey said. I figured it would be fitting for a boy named Peter to work for a man named Peters, though I imagine it might come with some confusion. Mister Daughtrey eked out a fake laugh. Mister Peters was not amused. You come to my house, and you insult me on my doorstep? Peters asked, his brow furrowed in anger. I asked for a farmhand, not a skeleton. He looks like hes on deaths door, and when he keels over, I couldnt even use his bones for a stew. Not enough meat on them. I know he doesnt look like much, Daughtrey said. But hes a good boy, and a hard worker. Hell suit you just fine until Leifs arm is healed. The old man looked at Peter like he was a splatter of mud that had soiled a new pair of shoes. Peter looked at the ground, the heat in him overwhelming and horrible. Leif, Peters called into the house. The boy from earlier quickly returned. Yes, Master? Leif asked. Go take the boy around the place. Mister Daughtrey and I need to have a little talk. Of course. The house, too, or just the farm and quarters? Not the house. Are you dull? He''s completely filthy, and youd lead him inside? No, Master. Thats why I was checking, just to be sure. I can get him clean, if youd like. Now youre speaking some sense. Leave us now. Yes, Master. Leif dipped into a short bow before walking over to Peter. He grabbed his hand, leading him away from the two men. They walked together behind the house, and Leif opened the gate to the fenced-in backyard, where a brood of chickens pecked at feed on the ground. Whats yer name? Leif asked. Peter, Peter said. And yours is Leif? Aye, Leif said. Where are you from? England? Ireland? Youre accents a bit off. Ireland. From Dublin. Leif grinned. Likewise. What part? I begged down by the bridge, where the merchants trade. Used to beg by the innsCbetter money, but they kicked me out. What about you? I lived close north to the inns, actually, in the Wood Key. I walked by the bridge all the time. ShameCI dont think I remember you. Peter reflected on his own memories, and realized he couldnt recall a boy that looked like Leif, either. That was the way of things in such a large city, he supposed. He realized he could hardly remember any of the hundreds of faces that passed him every day back then. Most of them paid him no mind as they passed, so the only ones that stuck in his mind were the ones who were particularly kind or cruel to him. Leif led him over to the wooden chicken coop, lifting the roof off to show the roosts and eggs inside. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. Youll start each morning checking in here, for eggs, and putting fresh feed out on the ground for the hens, he said. Put them in a basket to bring inside, and be careful with themCGod help you if you break one. Peter nodded. Try putting the roof back on, Leif said, handing it to him. Its tough to get the corners fitting the first few times, so better to practice it now. Peter took the roof, and had to use all his strength just to carry it once Leif let go. He grunted, trying his best to lift it up and over the coop. He had to steady the thing with his knee, using three limbs to hoist it up on top. Once he got it up, he wiggled it until it fell into place around each corner. It was exhausting work, and Peter keeled over, leaning on the coop to keep his balance. T t cnmhach go leor, nach bhfuil? He said in their native Irish, poking an incredulous fun at Peters scrawniness. Not for long, hopefully. Peter returned in English. Though he could understand Irish, he had some trouble speaking it, as he was never properly taught it. You look strong. Do they feed you well here? Enough that you wont pass out in the fields, Leif laughed. Though not nearly as much as a tiny thing like you needs. Whats wrong with you, though? Cant speak Irish, and your English is hardly Irish, either. No ones ever taught me Irish, Peter explained. I learned English from an Englishman, so I talk like them, kind of. He was a baker who was kind to meClet me have the leftover bread that was too old to sell. Thats just embarrassing. An Irishman who cant even speak it? Thats whats come of the country these days, ever since that feckin bastaird Cromwell came. Irelands not for the Irish anymoreCcant be a Catholic, and they want you to use the Crowns tongue rather. Hell, if Master Peters didnt speak it, youd never hear a word of English out of my mouth. They''ve ruined Ireland, and they''ve ruined New Amsterdam." Could could you teach me Irish? Leif sighed. I suppose its my duty as an Irishman, isnt it? Just another thing to add to my list of chores. Youre a handful, arent you? Im sorry. I dont mean to be. Really Peters words drifted off, and he felt tears begin to well in his eyes. All his life hed been invisible, a small little ghost for people to ignore, or for the occasional passerby to help themselves feel charitable. Now, everyone treated him like something worseCa burden. He was used to being ignored, being a bit of trash on the side of the road to discard, but somehow this was worse. Everyone had expectations of him before they even knew them, and he was failing in all of them. Peter felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see Leif. Hey, he said softly. Dont worry so much. Mister Daughtreyll convince the Master to take you inCthose two go way back. Hes the one who sold me to the Master, you know. Youll work hard, and your bodyll hate you every day, but youll have food and a place to sleep. And youll sleep like a rock after a day in the fields. There are worse lives to live. Hell, youve already lived it, beggar boy. Okay, Peter sniffed. Leif knelt down towards the chickens. This one is Tiya, Leif said, pointing to a hen with dark brown plumage. Shes the oldest hen in the coop. Her names African, from where Master Peters came from. Ive asked him about it, but he doesnt like talking about the past. Hes named all the oldest hensCthis ones Zahina, and these two are Nsimba and NsukaCtheyre sisters, actually, Tiyas chicks. The newest ones hes let me name, thoughCthis ones Croia, and that one over by the fence is Deidre. If you work hard, the Master might let you name the next one we get. Open out your hands. Leif poured a small bit of feed into his open palms. Hold it out to them, he instructed. Peter did so. One by one the chickens came, enticed by the new batch of feed. They began to peck at his hands, tickling him. The sensation startled . Leif just laughed. Come on, Leif said. Got to show you the rest of the place, and get you washed off. Peter nodded, and followed Leif out of the backyard into the field behind. Thisll be where most of your work is done, Leif said. You can see most of the crops from falls harvest are still in the ground. I was fixing some tiles on the roof, see, and I fell. Broke my arm in two different spots. Doctor said it could take up to a year to heal, and Im no good with my right hand, so youll have to do most of it. Ill help where I can, though, and Ill teach you. But not today. Come on this way. Leif walked across the field to the other side to a small barn. This is where youll sleep. Ive already claimed the loft, so youll have to make do with the ground down here. It gets softer when weve got some fresh hay in, before we feed it all to the cattle. You saw them as they came in, right? Yeah. All the folks in these parts share their cattle, and feed them together. Thats lucky for youCit means the hay doesnt go too quick. You wanna see my bed? I''ve earned mine. Sure. Leif clambered up a wooden ladder to a loft above. Peter swallowedChe had never been very high off the ground for any reason, so climbing anything made him extremely nervous. He steeled himself, though, taking it rung by rung until he was at the top. Here it is, Leif said, displaying his area proudly. It was a quaint and humble living spaceCa wooden floor, a few boxes of personal items, and a bedroll to sleep on. Regardless of its meagerness, a pang of jealousy ticked in Peters heart. He had never had his own room, or belongings, and certainly not a bed. Got my name on the wall and everything, Leif said, pointing the letters out on the wall. Painted it myself. Peter pretended to read it like he knew how. Its a strange name, isnt it? Peter asked. Ive never heard it before. Its a Viking name, Leif explained. Ive got Viking blood in me, from me Daids side. Always told me our ancestors were the ones to found Dublin, traveling from the Norselands on their raiding ships. Proud enough of it to name me after a Viking explorer. He was the one to find this land, you know, before Columbus. At least, thats what me Daid said. I never knew my dad, Peter said. I wish I knew who my ancestors were. Bet theyre nowhere near as exciting as Vikings. Im jealous. Leif grinned. You wanna see something cool? Sure. Leif went over to the wall, prying a plank of wood off of it to reveal a secret cubby. He reached in and pulled out something that shocked. It was a proper axe, forged of sharp iron, inlaid with swirling nordic patterns. Its a proper Viking axe, Leif said, brandishing it with great pride. Its centuries oldCme Daid said it''s been passed down through his family." Its amazing, Peter said, his eyes wide in awe. Have have you ever used it? Not yet, thank the Lord, Leif said. But there was a close call, about a half-year ago. We arent safe out here outside the city, not really. Theres Indians to the north, and they come raiding sometimes. Dont worry too much, though. The main group that comesre called the Lenape, and if you just give them what theyre after, theyll leave without much trouble. But once or twice the Iroquois have come, all the way from far in the north, and theyre trouble. When they come, they want more than cattle, or chickens, or vegetablesCthey take people with them. How can you tell the difference? Peter asked. Two ways: by sight, and by sound. They mostly wear the same clothesCshirts and leggings of animal hides in the winters, and in the summers they hardly wear anything at all. Best way to tell is to look at their heads. The Lenape are bald mostly, with a single bit of hair in the middle, and itll be spiky, sometimes painted red. The Iroquois warriors wear crowns of wood on their heads, with a few feathers sticking out of them. And sometimes their clothes will have beads of some kind of animal on them. Peter nodded, trying his best to commit all of it to memory. Leif turned back to the cubby, putting his axe safely inside. To Peters surprise, he then pulled out another one, showing it to Peter. This is a Lenape axe, he said. Found it in the woods not far from here. Its called a tomahawk. Do you like it? Peter nodded, eyeing it with a fascinated curiosity. This one looked very different from the Norse axeCthe wood handle was studded and engraved with a cross-hatched pattern on the tip. Opposite the sharp, curved head was a small protrusion, cylindrical and hollow inside. Ill tell you what, Leif said. If Master Peters takes you, and if you work hard for the harvest, Ill give it to you. That way we can both have a treasure. Really? Peter asked. You would just give it to me? Sure, Leif said, shrugging. Itll be nice to have someone else to talk to around here, and well be sleeping under the same roof, so theres no point in not being friends, right? Peter smiled. He couldnt believe the words. A friend? For him? We should get back, Leif said, putting the tomahawk back in the cubby. Theres a well out back we can use to clean you. The frigid water of the well chilled Peter to the bone, and he stood in the grass, naked and shivering, as Leif brought him some of his old clothes to wear. Despite the fact that they were hand-me-downs that were too big for him, they were the nicest clothes he could remember owning, and he could not help but swell with hopefulness. Leif combed the boys wet, greasy hair with his hand to make him look more presentable. Well have to spring for some shoes for you, he said as he tried fitting some old ones onto him. You cant work in the field with shoes too big. Ill talk to Master Peters about it. How is he? Peter asked. Master Peters, I mean. Leif sighed. Hes fine enough. Cranky as any old man at times, and other times he can cross the line into cruelty. But like I said, theres worse lives to live. Hell feed you, long as you work hard. He doesnt like slacking, though, and especially not complaining. Keep your head down, dont talk back or ask questions, and youll be just fine. Speaking of, we should get back to him. Try not to trip in those shoesCyoull have to wear them to help his impression of you, but you can take them off after. The boys walked back across the field and around towards the front of the house. As they approached, Peter could hear angry shouting between the two men, but whatever their argument was, it died down by the time the boys got close enough to make anything out. Weve returned, Master, Leif said, bowing again. He looks much better, I think. The old man turned, looking at the boy. Peter tried his best to stand up straight, feeling much more confident in his new clothes. Oh, he looks like a brand new boy! Mister Daughtrey exclaimed, clapping his hands emphatically. Why, with a few square meals and some weeks of honest work, hell be fit enough to plow the fields come springtime! Mister Peters grunted disapprovingly. Fear crept back into Peters heart. Please, sir, Peter said. I know I dont seem like much, but Ill work hard. I promise. Ill hold you to that promise, Peters said. And you have no idea what working hard means. Not yet. Furthermore, you will not call me sir. You will call me Master, for that is what I am to you. Are we clear? Peter nodded rapidly. Yes, Master. Leif, Peters commanded, waving his hand at him. Go inside and gather a sack of eight potatoes for Mister Daughtreys fee. Yes, Master, Leif said, rushing quickly into the house. Peter swallowed. Mister Daughtrey had bought him for two pounds, and sold him for eight potatoes. Peter wasnt sure which one was worse. Leif soon returned with a small burlap sack, and handed it to Mister Daughtrey. A pleasure doing business, Mister Daughtrey said, taking the sack. You would be wise not to swindle me again, Mister Peters replied, a subdued anger in his voice. I trust you are not fool enough to need reminding of the consequences. Of course, Mister Daughtrey said, bowing and smiling politely. But, and I must protest slightly, I have not swindled you. Peter is a good boy, and hell do right by you. I look forward to visiting soon, and Im sure that when I do, youll have changed your tune about him. Mister Daughtrey placed his hat back on his head, tipping it towards Mister Peters. As he did, he cast a harsh look at Peter. The message was clearCPeter had better impress his new Master, or else. With that, he turned, returning to his carriage with the sack in-hand. Go on inside, Mister Peters commanded both the boys. Its almost time for supper. You, boy, will help Leif in the kitchen, and youll clean it after. Go now. Yes, Master, Peter said. He followed Leif inside the house, and as he did he could not help but feel a sense of hopefulness. Whatever hardships awaited him, he would face them with a new resolve, a new shirt, and a new friend. Anne-Marie de Parthenay 4 Anne-Marie de Parthenay New France It was the day of the ball, and Anne-Marie was a mess. As it turned out, three days was not nearly enough time to prepare for an event of this magnitude. She had been practicing her dance for hours each day, and still it did not feel enough. It was not that Anne-Marie was a poor dancerCher father had spared no expense to hire a tutor from l''Acadmie Royale de Dance who had apparently trained under Feuillet himself. At first, only her brother took dancing instruction from him, as it was not the trend at the time for women to participate in la belle danse, but after enough complaining, Anne-Marie was allowed to take them, too. Now that female dancing was not only popular, but expected, Anne-Marie was glad to have complained. While the countless hours she had spent training as a little girl instilled in her a certain degree of confidence in her dancing skills, it was not enough to still her trembling heart. This would be her debut to the rest of the nobility in New FranceCwith Le Vicomte and her brother having been gone on their escapade to Fort Frontenac, no one bothered to introduce themselves to a random girl, and so Jeannine was the only high-born person she knew here. First impressions were everything, and if she embarrassed herself in any way in front of the other families, it could stain her reputation in these parts for years. Whats worse, the dance was one meant for couples, and not knowing anyone else in this place meant Anne-Marie had been practicing a two-person dance by her lonesome. Jeannine had promised to secure her a partner for the ball itself, but had eschewed the usual practice of selecting one well in advance. Her reasoning was to give Anne-Marie a wider degree of choices, saving her selection of a partner until she met all the potential suitors at the ball, but that gave Anne-Marie no comfort. Rather it deepened her anxieties, adding an additional burden on her shoulders. Now she needed to find the perfect partner at the ball and perform the dance immaculately with him without ever having even seen the boy dance. There was so much that could go wrong, and each item on that ever-expanding list wrapped around Anne-Maries brain like a constricting snake. It also felt like a trap. Anne-Marie had been given no reason to distrust Jeannine, per se, and she was kind enough to host this ball just for her, but the situation made her nervous regardless. She was completely dependent on Jeannine in this strange and foreign land, socially and otherwise, and as eager as she was to forge her independence in this frontier, a part of her enjoyed this dependency. There was a comfort in having someone to rely on, someone to trust, even if that trust was not ironclad. Anne-Marie had no doubt that Jeannine was as cunning as her father, and that she carried a multitude of secrets and ulterior motives within her. All Anne-Marie hoped is that Jeannine truly did see her as a friend, and that both of them would maintain their friendship for a long while. The clock struck five, and so it was time to leave. Catherine, the head chamber-maid, helped Anne-Marie with the finishing touches of her dress and make-up. To fit in better with the other noblewomen here, Anne-Marie had adopted the outdated look she saw Jeannine wearing on their first visit. Her dress of blue-green brocade carried a revealing bodice that exposed her shoulders and neckline, and she eschewed a fontange for her hair, sticking to a more simple style of structured curls clustered on each side of her head to frame her face better. With her hair, dress, and make-up finished, Anne-Marie took a deep breath to steel herself, then took a step through the front door, ready to face the world. The square was packed with all the other noble families making their way to the governors palace at the northmost end of the city. All of them went in large groups or cliques, clusters of allied families with mutual goals and mutual enemies. Anne-Marie, in contrast, was alone. Catherine was her sole company, following close behind her to prevent the train of her dress from dragging along the dirty ground. Le Vicomte and his wife had left before her as the guests of honor, leaving her to fend for herself, as always. If it was up to him, Anne-Marie would not even be in attendance, lest a boy her age take a fancy to her and steal her from him. La Madame had kept her word, though, and successfully convinced him otherwise. How she managed to do so was a complete mystery, but Anne-Marie was content enough to not find out. She knew by now that some things were best left as secrets. All the nobles of New France filed into the two enormous open doors of the governors home. It was a veritable manor among a ring of small, clustered townhomesCmuch to the nobles chagrin, there was simply not enough room within the city walls. This in turn no doubt fostered a resentment towards whoever got to live in that manorCfor now, it was Le Marquis. All the other noblemen sat in their modest dwellings, waiting bitterly for their chance to strike and claim the manor for their own. Le Vicomte was among them, and Anne-Marie could not help but smile at the thought of him being so humbled by something as trivial as the size of a house. But then again, in the French court, nothing was trivial. Every action, every word, every article of clothing and lock of hair was a messageCof status, of wealth, of power. These were people born with silver spoons in their mouths, who had nothing to do but play these little games with each other. Anne-Marie was a pawn in that game, but she did not carry the ambition to play a greater role. Instead, she longed to be free from the game entirely, to escape from all of it. She supposed she never would. In the foyer, valets and attendants met and greeted guests, directing them towards the ballroom, which Anne-Marie was eager to get to. She bid Catherine farewell, and made her way through the crowd of aristocrats, trying to find Jeannine. She entered the ballroom, perhaps the largest room in the entire mansion. The center of the room was completely clear, a tremendous glass chandelier hanging above to illuminate the place. To the sides, ornate stretches of gobelin rugs covered the lacquered hardwood floor, and a series of armchairs lay on top of them for the non-participants to sit and watch. Immediately, most of the families took seats in them, as if everyone knew where they should sit except for Anne-Marie. She looked around, but she could not see head or tail of Jeannine, or even Le Vicomte. There were no familiar faces here, nothing for her to cling to. Anxiety rose in her again, and she froze by the entrance to the ballroom, unsure of where to go or what to do. Oui, madame? She asked. You looked like a lost little deer, the woman. Who are you here with? M-my name is Anne-Marie, of Parthenay. Im the ward of Le Vicomte de Chatellerault, but I am unsure of his whereabouts. Ah, the esteemed guest of honor. Hes around somewhere, but dont worry about that. You can call me Margueritte. Im the wife of another Vicomte, of Rennes. Youll meet him eventuallyChes hard to miss. Come, Ill introduce you to the other women. Anne-Marie smiled, and she followed La Madame to a section of seating on the eastern side. A gaggle of noble hens sat in a cluster, most of them middle-aged. Jeannine had been rightCthere was no sign of anyone here Anne-Maries age. Some women appeared to be in their late twenties, but that was the closest. Ladies, La Madame de Rennes interrupted their chatter. This is the new commanders girl, Anne-Marie de Parthenay. The hens clucked as hens did. One by one, La Madame de Rennes introduced them all, but after the third name and title they began to all blur together in Anne-Maries mind. She had never been good at remembering names upon a first meeting, a painfully important skill to have in the court. She tried her best, but it was a futile effort to keep track of ten different Jeannes, Jeannines, Colettes, Maries, and Madeleines, all from different parts of France. All she could do was smile and nod after each one, and resolve to try and meet each of these ladies one-by-one to learn who they were properly. Its wonderful to meet you all, Anne-Marie said, mustering a small bow. As she looked at each of them, though, a horrifying dawned on her. None of the women were wearing the same dress as her. In fact, all of them were wearing what she would have originally wornCmantuas with underskirts, all in different patterns and colors, and fontanges to stack their hair high like a tower. Oh, but this wont do at all, La Madame de Rennes tutted disapprovingly, running her hands across Anne-Maries dress. Youre painfully out of date, my dear. Far too exposed. Modestys whats in style now. You of all girls should know that, having only just arrived from the mainland. The rest of the women muttered a collective disapproval, looking at Anne-Marie like she was some harlot who had stumbled in here off the street. Right then, Anne-Marie wouldnt have minded much if she just keeled over and died. In the three weeks since she told Jeannine about the mantua, all the noblewomen in New France had gotten one of their own. But that didnt make senseCit would certainly take more than three weeks to place an order for dresses and have them shipped across the Atlantic. What was happening? Anne-Marie felt a hand tap her shoulder, and whirled around to see Jeannine. Can I steal her for a moment? Jeannine asked the women. They nodded in an agreement, and Jeannine grabbed Anne-Maries hand, leading her away from the crowd. I was beginning to worry you wouldnt come, Jeannine said. Of course Id come, Anne-Marie replied. But you told me that everyones here behind on fashion. I just saw them, and now I feel like a complete fool for dressing in something older. Oh, my God, Jeannine gasped, looking at Anne-Maries dress. Im awfully sorry. I should have told you. Every few months we get an enormous shipment of dressesCsometimes youre lucky, and theyll come staggered, but often they come all at once. Its a complete nightmareCall of the women fight over who gets to buy them first, and a lot of them bribe the docksmen to know when the ship will be in. Two days after we first met, a ship came in with all the dresses you see here tonight. I should have told you. Jeannine smacked herself in the forehead. Anne-Marie couldnt tell whether her guilt was genuine or a ruse. Im a terrible friend, Jeannine insisted. I wouldnt blame you if you never spoke to me again. Really. Well, I wouldnt go that far So youll forgive me, then? Well, I just Anne-Marie felt tears begin to well in her eyes. I just felt very foolish, is all she stammered. I was just trying to make a good impression and fit in, but Shhhhh, Jeannine cooed, wiping the tears off Anne-Maries cheek. Forget about it. These women are complete hypocrites. A month ago their entire wardrobe looked exactly like what youre wearing tonight, but once the new styles come in, they burn everything old and pretend they never even liked it. You shouldnt care about what they think, especially tonight. You need to focus on more important things. Look over there. Anne-Marie gestured across the ballroom, where a group of teenage boys stood awkwardly in their fine suits, looking around the room aimlessly. See one you like? Jeannine asked. Just give me the word, and Ill work my magic. Anne-Marie squinted, trying to make them out better. Most of them looked rather similar, though Anne-Marie supposed she likely didnt look that unique compared to other girls her age, either. They were all fairly unremarkableCaverage height, spindly, pale, and nervous-looking. Then she saw himCa taller boy, maybe seventeen or eighteen. His hair was a refined set of brown curls la comte, and carried himself with a confidence she couldnt see in any of the other boys. That one, she said. Which one? Jeannine asked. Point to him. Im not going to point. The tall one, with the curly brown hair. Jeannine smiled, and poked Anne-Marie in the rib. Gustave de Lyon, she said. Remember the name, and thank me later. All of the guests started to take their seats. Its starting soon, Jeannine said. Go sit with the women from beforeCtheyll take care of you. Ill see you later. With that, Jeannine disappeared into the settling crowd. Anne-Marie returned to the group of women from before, her heart skipping in her chest. If she got to dance with this Gustave, it would be worth all the humiliation she faced over the dress situation. The crowd grew silent, and at the head of the room, four figures took their own seats in seats large enough to be thrones. Anne-Marie recognized Le Vicomte and La Madame, and the other two had to be Le Marquis de Denonville and his wife. Le Marquis stood from his seat, addressing all of the guests.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. My friends, he said. We are gathered here today to celebrate the arrival of Monsieur Jean-Pierre d''Harcourt, Vicomte de Chatellerault, as well as his wife and his two children. In his seat, Anne-Marie could see Le Vicomte bristle at Le Marquis calling her and Chrtien his children. Along with them came four companies of new marines, fresh and ready to take the fight to the Iroquois! The crowd applauded in approval. Of course we must honor and thank our benevolent King for his grace to send Le Vicomte and his armies here. Let us make a toast in all their honor. Everyone raised their wine glasses with a smile. Le Marquis did the same, then downed the entire glass in one gulp. And now the time for speeches is over, he mused. Let us move to the time for dancingCmuch more entertaining. The crowd applauded again, and Le Vicomte. Their dance was first. They took their place in the center of the ballroom, bowing to Le Marquis and his wife, then turning to bow to each other. The foolishness of these elaborate rituals was laid bare the further one got from Versailles. All of them were created for one purposeCto appease and honor King Louis. But the King was thousands of kilometers away, all the way across the seas, and so Le Marquis was his own kind of King here, a petty ruler lording over who wanted nothing more than to devour him whole and take his place. Anne-Marie wished Chrtien were here to see itCshe could always rely on him for a scathing critique of hollow etiquette. Le Vicomte and La Madame walked to the south end of the ballroom, then began their dance, a slow and methodical courante. Behind them, a band of musicians played to accompany them as they ambled in rhythmic curves from the south of the ballroom northward. It was a fitting dance for a couple who despised each otherCthey did not have to face one another for most of it, instead standing at each others side and facing Le Marquis and his wife as they danced closer and closer. La Madame was as stoic as alwaysCshe never let her madness show in public, and certainly not at an event with other gentry. She put on her porcelain mask of a noblemans wifeCrefined, polite, and most importantly docile. They finished their last steps, turning to acknowledge one another briefly before returning to their original position and bowing to Le Marquis. The crowd applauded, and Anne-Marie followed suit. It was a rather slow and boring dance, performed with a mediocre grace, but she had seen far worse performances, even by the same two dancers. Her heart beat frantically in her chest, and she tried her best to breathe in her tight dress to calm herself. Her dance was next. As her caretakers took their seats, Le Marquis rose again. My, what talent our King has blessed us with! He exclaimed. And we are in for a treat as well, for the next dance is to be performed by their ward, Le Mademoiselle Anne-Marie de Parthenay! Where are you, Anne-Marie? Anne-Marie swallowedCit felt like a peach pit was stuck in her throat. The women next to her all looked at her expectantly, and she tried her hardest to tune their gazes out. She stood, making her way to the center of the ballroom. Ah! There she is! And joining her for this dance is none other than Jean-Pierre, the son of Fran?ois de La Cour! Anne-Marie froze in place. Who? She was supposed to dance with Gustave de Lyon. Was there some kind of mistake? A bit of motion caught the corner of her eye, and she turned to see a boy walking out to her side. One thing was certainChe was not Gustave de Lyon. He really was a boyChe couldnt have been any older than twelve, short and scrawny. His face was as pasty as a sheet, his dark brown hair hanging around his head like a drooping bowl. He stood there next to her, looking at her with a timid fear, sweat beading on his forehead. Clearly he had never danced with a girl before, and certainly not a sixteen-year-old one. Anne-Marie whirled her head around, trying to find Jeannine, or Gustave, but she could make out neither of them among the mass of hats and wigs that dotted the ballroom. A paralyzing heat rose in her, starting in her chest and quickly spreading to her arms. This was a nightmare. She was sure of it. She was meant to dance an allemande of all dances with a boy half her height? It was impossible. Surely they would not make her do it. Her eyes fell on Le Vicomte, and her heart plummeted into her stomach when she saw his look. It was a stern, cold sneer, the kind that told her exactly what he would do to her if she did not indulge this boy with a dance in front of all these people. She swallowed again, her throat dry and hot. He cant be serious. He cant actually expect me to She looked back at the boy. He stood there like a statue, frozen like her. If there was some comfort in all this, it was that he clearly did not want to be doing this any more than she did. Whatever was happening, she would not let it defeat her, and the dozens of expectant gazes that pierced her from both sides of the ballroom would only grow worse the longer she delayed. She could do nothing but acquiesce to this horrible circumstance, and so she did. She took her position, and seeing her do so, the boy followed, each of them facing Le Marquis, Le Vicomte, and their wives. They began their bow. The boy did his trembling, but Anne-Marie ignored itChowever fool he would make himself look, she would become his foil. She pushed her feet into first position, clicking her heels together and forcing her feet to face away from each other, in a perfectly straight line with her shoulders. The key to dancing for a woman was to accomplish what required a great amount of effort while looking completely effortless. Movements that were shaky or imprecise were a death knellCshe folded her arms in front of her, bending her knees at a pace that was not too fast or too slow. Then she rose, and faced the boy, and the two bowed at each other. The boy Jean-Pierre just stood there, unsure of what to do next. Anne-Marie held her hands out to himCeven if he was completely clueless, she would lead him through each step. She was not about to have a stupid boy ruin her debut in the New World, not now. The music began, and so the two initiated the first steps of the German dance. Anne-Marie began to panic as the band played. This was not the piece she had practiced. It was a completely different tempo, and one far too fast for an allemande. Still, she would not be defeated, she took it in stride. Then came the next hurdle. Allemande in many ways could not have been more different from the preceding couranteCthe dancing couple was meant to complete the entire dance while holding hands, which was exceedingly intimate and physical compared to other styles. Whats more, one of the first moves involved the woman turning underneath the mans right arm, but that was completely impossible given the difference in their height. Anne-Marie adapted, instead turning in place, keeping the boys hand at waist level instead of over her head. The boy followed her cues, letting her lead as he made his own turn under her hand. Jean-Pierre finished his rotation, and now the real challenge would begin. The next part of the dance involved two rosettes, back-to-back, which would be even more impossible than a simple one-person turn. Still, she was determined to try. She took both of Jean-Pierres hands in hers and began to turn, and he as well. She strained her spine, bending over backwards to make the height difference work as best she could, all while maintaining the faster tempo of the music. They finished their first rotation in tandem, and began the second. After this, it was almost over. A few more moves, and it would all be over. Though it happened in a manner of seconds, Anne-Marie saw it unfold slowly, like Jean-Pierre was moving through molasses. Three-quarters of the way through their second rosette, the poor boy tripped on the train of Anne-Maries dress. He careened forward, flailing hopelessly with his arms as he slammed face-first into the hardwood floor. The band stopped playing. A chorus of shrill gasps pierced the air. Anne-Marie, still almost through her rosette, finished it, then just stood there, her mind having yet to fully process what had just happened, let alone what to do next. Then, the worst thing imaginable happened: the boy started to cry. Not a sniffle or stifled sob, but a full-on wail, like he was a child of five who had just skinned his knee. Just like that, all the hope Anne-Marie carried of potentially making it through this unscathed came crashing to the ground in a fiery chaos. She was now in an impossible position as this caterwauling babes dance partner. If she remained standing here, she would be seen as heartless, but if she went to help him, she would be breaking etiquette. Her eyes fell on Le Vicomte, writhing uncomfortably in his chair, and it suddenly occurred to her that there was only one option. She completed the last few steps of her portion of the dance seamlessly, then bowed to the squirming man and the chuckling governor before taking her exit. She completely ignored the boys cries as she made her way back to her seat. Cruelty could be forgiven in the French court, but acting in a manner unbecoming of a young lady was a mortal sin. There was no rule in French etiquette that would force her to soothe a sniveling child, and besides, she had resolved to execute her part of the dance flawlessly, and she did. It wasnt her fault the boy was made to dance with her and failed miserably, but she would find out whose fault it was, and make them pay for such an embarrassment. A woman that must have been Jean-Pierres mother ran to him, picking him up off the ground and helping him away from the ballroom floor, all the while shushing and cooing at him. You were magnificent, darling, La Madame de Renee whispered. Given the circumstances. Thank you, Anne-Marie replied, forcing a smile. The womans words did relieve herCthey seemed to echo the thoughts of the other ladies, none of whom carried the same pharisaic looks any longer, replaced instead with a mixture of approval and sympathy. Anne-Marie took a deep breath. She had made the right choice then, leaving the boy on the floor. Eager to move on from the embarrassment, Le Marquis stood once again. Well, let us move to our third performance, from the greatest dancer in all of New France: my beloved daughter, Jeannine! Anne-Maries eyes widened in horror when she saw Jeannine approach the center of the ballroomCnot because of her, but because of the boy she carried with her on her arm. It was the one Anne-Marie had chosenCGustave de Lyon. Her stomach began to boil with a furious rage as the couple took their positions and bowed. It all made sense nowCthe old dress, the child partner, the music change. Every inconvenience, every obstacle was a deliberate act of sabotage, carefully planned to humiliate her. Anne-Maries face grew red and hot, stifling in her dress. How could she do such a thing? And how could Anne-Marie be so blind, thinking she was actually a friend? Anne-Marie watched on in horror as the two began their dance. It was a volta of all things, a dance so salacious in its movements that it would have never been allowed in court during the last Kings reign. Anne-Marie turned delicately on point around Gustave, then the boy took hold of her, his right hand on her stomach, his other on her back, just above her waist. With his new grip, he lifted Jeannine into the air as she kicked her feet in rhythm, her hand resting gingerly on Gustaves shoulder. The sight of him holding her like that was more than Anne-Marie could bear. She knew it would be improper to make a fuss, that she should just stay and endure it, but she didnt care anymore. She stood, walking down the side of the and out of the ballroom. She tried to be discreet in her exit, but honestly, she didnt care if the whole room was watching her at that point. Once she was out, she broke into a run, rushing across the foyer and bursting out of the doors into the night air. There, she collapsed upon the front stone steps, sobbing uncontrollably. It was all so horrible, so overwhelming. She had finally begun to think that she could confide in someone, that she could depend on someone. How could she be so naive? She should know by now that no one in this world truly cared about anyone else besides themselves, that every person alive would hang their neighbors to widen their own fences. She should have known the second Jeannine brought her to the savage village, the second she made her watch as she relentlessly beat that poor man on the floor of that hut. She should have known. In all her sixteen years on this earth, Anne-Marie had never felt so foolish. She wasnt sure how long shed been out in the cold crying, but she heard the clicking of heels on the stone steps behind her. Anne-Marie, someone called. It was Jeannines voice. Anne-Marie, look at me. Anne-Marie recognized the bottom of the girls dress as she stood in front of her, and she shook her head. No, Anne-Marie said. I wont. Youre an awful, horrible person. Just look at me. No!" Anne-Marie felt the girl grab her by the jaw. She was so shocked at the sudden motion she couldnt even fight back. But Jeannine did not jerk her chin to look at her the way Le Vicomte didCshe merely lifted it gently, until the girls met each others gaze. Do you know why I did it? Jeannine asked her. W-what? Anne-Marie sniffled. Do you know why I did all those terrible things to you? Do you want to know why I did them? ICI dont know. Its because I know what you want, what you really want. You think you want to dance with Gustave de Lyon, but I know hes as dumb as a brick and his breath reeks like the sewers of Paris. You think you want all those hens in there to cluck approvingly at you, but I know theyll never see you as their equal until you marry into a family higher than you were born. And lets be honest, you were not born high. You were heir to a decrepit castle in the middle of nowhere until poor Daddy died, and then you had the fortune to be adopted by a family with an actual semblance of a future. And you think you want to escape from that family, to run away as fast as you can, but you dont really want that, either. Anne-Marie had no idea what to say. She was still so angry, so embarrassed, so sad. She just sat there, stewing in all her emotions. You arent like the other girls that have come in and out of this place, Jeannine continued. And youve spent your whole life trying to convince yourself that you are. I did all this because Im tired of you lying to yourself, and you needed something drastic to see the truth. You dont want to be courted, or doted on, or served tea and biscuits on a silver platter. You want to be needed. You want to have a purpose, and Im the only soul alive who cares enough to give you one. Then, Jeannine did something Anne-Marie never would have suspected. She bent down and kissed her. And not a peck on the cheekCshe brought her lips to Anne-Maries, kissing her. Anne-Marie was so surprised she had no idea what to do, her mind running haywire. So she listened to her body, and returned the kiss. It felt confusing, and amazing, and horrible, all at once. Listen to me, Jeannine said, her face inches away. From now on, you are mine. Mine to tease, mine to kiss, and yes, mine to humiliate when I feel like it. Your purpose will be my entertainment, whatever form that might take. Anne-Marie could say nothing, her mind in a state of utter shock. Tell me that you understand. Ive always gotten everything Ive wanted, and I wont be told no now. Tell me that youre mine. I I do. The words left Anne-Maries lips like she was caught in a trance. Im yours. Jeannine smiled. Good girl. Now, lets get back to the party before anyone notices weve been gone. And of course, not a soul in the world will know about this besides you and me. Itll be our little secret. She strode past the messy pile of a girl on the steps, back into the manor. That pile took a while longer, struggling to gather her thoughts. Despite all the thoughts and fears and emotions that swirled in a maelstrom inside her, she could think of nothing but the feeling of that kiss. White Sky & Black Bird 4 White Sky, Black Bird Bodwadmi Territory (Modern-Day Michigan) After two weeks of travel, the three finally arrived at White Skys village. Between the Great Crosswater to the south and the Chain of Lakes to the north lay another lake, this one much smaller, called Waawyaataan for its curved shores. White Skys village was thus Waawyaatenak, lying just beyond the eastern edge of those shores, making it one of the westernmost villages in Bodwadmi territory. While the southern sea was claimed by both the Snakes and the Odawa, and the north by the Deer-Tenders and Island-Dwellers (before the Snakes ate them both), this little lake was the Bodwadmis. Of course, they still shared it with the Odawa and Ojibwe, like all their possessions, but given that their older brothers had dominion over their own larger lakes, the Keepers of the Hearth-Fire tended to enjoy this humble stretch of water for themselves. After the chaos and danger of the past few months, White Sky and Black Bird were pleasantly relieved to find that their last two weeks of travel bore no Snakes hiding in the grass. It wasnt a complete surpriseCthe Snakes, like all tribes on Turtle Island, tended to retreat into their own territory when winter came. Warring and raiding during winter was costly, tiring, and often futile. It was much harder to maintain a supply of food and water for a raiding party with all the game in hibernation, and it was much harder to lay siege to a village with all its warriors home for the winter. Despite this, however, the boys were not completely at ease. For the truly frightening quality of the Snakes was their unpredictability. Their elders had warned the boys that the traps they would most likely fall into would be the ones of their own making, meaning to never fall complacent and thus victim to the unexpected. So too were they taught to always remember the past, and pay it mind, and though the neighboring Island-Dwellers and Deer-Tenders fell before either of the boys were born, they learned that the Snakes sieged them throughout the whole winter, staying in the wilds of the enemy territory and attacking the women whenever they left their protective palisades to gather crops. The Island-Dwellers were unprepared for such an assault, and could not withstand it, eventually crumbling under the endless pressure. Thus, it was not impossible for the Snakes to employ the same tactic now, and with both nations destroyed, all that was left in these lands were the Bodwadmi. Those from the Island or Deer nations that were not assimilated into the Snakes fled north and east to French settlements, leaving towns that were once renowned for their impregnable palisades abandoned and empty. The journey to White Skys village was like wandering through a land of ghosts, farmlands turned battlefields with deep scars only three decades old. Their arrival was seen from a distance, and by the time they reached the outskirts, the whole village was there to greet them. Though Black Bird was not Bodwadmi himself, all councilmembers of the Three Fires were brothers, and so he was treated like family here. The villagers had gotten to know him well, too, as this was the village they returned to after their trading expeditions, with Black Birds own village being further away. This would be his third winter here, and he didnt mind that at all. In fact he preferred it this way, as it meant he would not have to spend the winter under his fathers roof. White Skys parents stood at the front of the small crowd. They were always happy to see him return, a sentiment Black Bird could not help but feel envious at. Ngwes, White Skys mother said as she cupped her sons face, dimples forming in her wrinkled cheeks with her smile. Ni je na? Nbekte, White Sky replied. Black Bird smiledCafter weeks of eating tack and pemmican, all either of them could think about was a home-cooked meal. Bozho, Mskwang, White Skys father said to Black Bird, clapping the young man on the back. The Bodwadmi pronunciation of his name always sounded strange to him, despite the usual similarities between the Bodwadmi and Odawa dialects. Bozho, Black Bird returned. How has autumn treated you? Its been a long time since weve seen you. Good enough. The harvest could have been better, but we will have enough to last the winter, at least. And who is this? The man gestured to Dr. H?rk?nen, who stood behind the boys awkwardly. Hes our patron, White Sky explained. Hes the one that buys most of our goods, and he pays handsomely for our services. The boys produced the large belt of wampum they had recently been awarded, which turned heads among the onlookers. He didnt have a place to stay for the winter, White Sky continued. Hes been a help for us, and I was wondering if we could repay him by letting him stay here, just until the spring. The boys father furrowed his brow in suspicion. You know we have never let a white man stay in this village, he warned. We have seen the patternConce one comes, others follow. They will come with missionaries who spread their false religion, and divide our communities. They split the Island-Dwellers in two, and attracted Snakes to their doorstep. Hes not a missionary, Black Bird replied. Hes a doctor. Hes traveled all over the world, and learned about things we did not even know existed. We would benefit from his wisdom. Hmph. If you both trust him, I am willing to consider it. But ultimately, its not for me to decide. Let us go to the elders, and we will abide by their choice, whatever it may be. The parents turned, and the handful of villagers behind followed them into the town. Whats happening? Dr. H?rk?nen asked. Were going to see the elders, White Sky explained. We need their permission to let you stay. Ill let you speak for yourself to try and convince them, and Ill help translate. A few men helped the boys with their two canoes full of cargoCthey had been dragging them along the ground for the last leg of their journey on foot, since the old doctor was too frail to carry his own. The boys were glad to be home for many reasons, but certainly because they could rely on others to help shoulder that weight now. It did not take them long to reach the villages center. Many Fire-Keepers did not stay in their villages during the winter, choosing instead to disperse into small groups in warmer areas, regrouping once again once the spring came. White Skys village was a little differentCbeing so close to the Island-Dwellers and the Deer-Tenders, they had taken some customs from them. One was evident, lying smack-dab in the middle of the villageCan enormous longhouse, an unusual building among the small, dome-shaped wigwams most Anishinaabeg used. The longhouse provided a place for the larger families to keep warm in the winter, sharing a communal fire in the longhouses center. It was also where the elders stayed, and where important meetings were held. White Skys parents went into the Longhouse, and White Sky turned, straightening Dr. H?rk?nens jacket and trying to flatten his wild and unkempt hair. Follow my lead in there, he instructed. Any rudeness on your part, intentional or not, will make it impossible for me to convince them. I trust you will handle the pleasantries and etiquette, the Doctor said. I am unfortunately still unfamiliar with the customs of your people. I know that. Thats why youll watch what I do and how I do it, and emulate it if I instruct you. Follow my lead, and do not under any circumstances do or say anything without consulting me first. The doctor nodded. White Sky took a deep breath to calm himself, then the three of them went in. Inside, the eight eldest men in the village were already gathered around the council fire in the center of the longhouse. The eldest of all of them sat at the far end, observing the white doctor with a scrutinous eye. His name was WasegishgoneneCMan of the Distant Sky, and leader of the Bear clan, the most powerful of the clans in the village. The Bodwadmi did not have a single chief appointed to lead the whole villageCinstead, decisions were made by a group of elders, who weighed the positives and negatives of each choice until they agreed on a conclusion. Despite this, Wasegishgonenes opinions and insight were trusted more than anyones since he was the eldest, and he was always the one to settle even disputes. The rumor was that he was a hundred years old, but White Sky had no idea if it was true. Welcome back, Wabegishek, Wasegishgonene said, addressing White Sky the way the Bodwadmis pronounced his name. Your father tells me you have returned with not one, but two guests for the winter. Yes, White Sky said. I know its unfair of me to ask the village to bear the burden of two more people, but Black Bird has stayed with us before, and has proven himself a help to the village. I am not concerned with the young Mskwang. He is a resourceful and respectful young man, and we would not turn away a Trade-brother from our home. I am concerned, however, with your other guest. Yes, Nkyekyam. I understand your hesitation, but he has been a significant help to me and Black Bird, and I believe he carries knowledge with him that would help us. He does not claim allegiance to the French or the EnglishChe hails from another country entirely called Finland, which has no claim on these lands and makes no quarrel with anyone. The elder stroked his chin, looking the doctor up and down. I assume he does not speak our tongue, he said. No, Nkyekyam, but I can translate for him. Have him introduce himself, then. I must understand who this man is before any of us can make a decision. White Sky nodded, and turned to the doctor. You are to introduce yourself, White Sky said. Of course, the doctor replied, taking a step forward. Should I bow? White Sky shrugged. Its not really something we do, but I guess it couldnt hurt. The doctor did so. I am Doctor Felix H?rk?nen, he said. I am a scientist who has traveled the world in an endless pursuit for knowledge and truth, and my travels have now brought me here. White Sky translated for him, but stumbled on the word for scientist, as there was not a word in their language for it. He instead used the word for doctor, which would go over smoother with the elders anyway. He also brings gifts, White Sky added, turning and giving the doctor a look.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Oh, yes, H?rk?nen said, rummaging through his bag and producing two gifts of plants wrapped neatly, both of which they had gathered or traded for on their journey here. The first was tobacco, which was expected to be given at a meeting like this, especially if you were asking for something. The second was a small collection of ground laurels, small shrubs with white flowers. The ground laurels were used by many tribes for their healing qualities, but were of particular import to the Bodwadmi, who considered it their tribal flower. The elder sitting closest to them, Mywkt the Trailblazer and head of the Crane clan, took the gifts. He is lucky you have taught him what gifts to bring, the skinny man mused. He was the youngest of the elders, and often scolded for not taking things seriously. He was the one who asked me what would make good gifts, White Sky added, a little white lie that no one would notice. He did not plan on coming empty-handed. We appreciate these gifts, of course, Wasegishgonene said. But he is another mouth to feed, and our harvest this year was not generous. These are not enough to warrant his stay, even if he is not French or English. Of course, Nkyekyam. But he is extremely well-studied, and knows many things we do not. I believe the main gift he can bring us is that of knowledge. White Sky turned to the doctor. Tell them about your studies, he said. They want to know what wisdom you can offer them. But of course, the old man said. Tell them that, as far as Im aware, there is a society of powerful doctors and shamans among your people. I believe you call them Midewiwin. White Sky was taken abackCclearly the doctor knew more about their people than they originally let on. Yes, he said. What about them? Tell them that I am a member of a similar group among my people, and thus carry similar knowledge. The primary difference between our two groups, however, is that the membership to mine is a closely guarded secret, known only by other members, and rarely then still. White Sky translated. Why do you tell us this? he replied, relaying the elders question. We could relinquish your secret to the next white man we saw, if we wanted, exposing your membership. Thats true, but I trust that you wont, the doctor replied through White Sky. If I am to stay here, we should trust one another, no?" The symbolism of the doctors gesture was not lost on any of the men in that room. The elders themselves did not interact with white men, as they were not allowed in the village, and even if they did, telling a stranger about a random man and his supposed inclusion in some secret society would likely mean nothing to them. But his admission was not an empty one, for it was the act of confiding a secret that represented a step towards creating trust, one the elders would have to return for posteritys sake. They said theyd like to see a demonstration of your knowledge, if you have one, White Sky said. Of course. Id need to do it outside, though, if theyre willing to indulge me. Oh, and Id also need to gather the twenty strongest men in the village. White Sky was confused, but he relayed the information, and the elders agreed to it. They all walked outside into the village square, and the doctor began to as the others gathered the twenty strongest men in the village. Had he had been a bit younger, White Skys father would have partaken, but the man was at an awkward age in his lifeCbarely too old to be among the strongest hunters and warriors, and barely too young to be taken seriously as an elder. He was the eldest man in the Turtle clan since his own father passed eight years ago, and thus was the clans leader in this village, but he would not carry the same weight and power as the other elders for at least a few years more. As they finished gathering the men, a crowd of women and children gathered behind them, everyone in the village curious to see what was going on. The doctor finished what he was setting upCtwo copper domes the size of large turtles shells, each of them half of a whole sphere. He clasped them together, then handed it to White Sky. Take these two halves apart please, if you will, the doctor instructed. White Sky did so, and looked at the doctor, confused. Perfect. Can you tell everyone how difficult it was to do that just now? The doctor would like me to tell you that I separated these two halves very easily, White Sky said. Good. Now give them back, please. White Sky handed them to H?rk?nen, who put them together again, then attached a hose to one of them, which was connected to some kind of metal contraption with three legs. He grabbed a lever on the contraption with both hands, pumping it up and down repeatedly. After a minute or so of pumping, he screwed a valve closed, removed the hose, then handed the intact sphere back to the boy. Try again, please. White Sky did so, but he immediately found it to be an impossible task. It had been easy as anything before, but now the two hemispheres acted like they had been fused together. He put it on the ground. Now, now, dont strain yourself, the doctor said. Youll put your back out. Explain to them that now, the halves are impossible to separate. The twenty strongest men are to stand on each side of them, ten apiece, and to try to pull them using the rope attached. White Sky translated, and the men took their positions at either side of the copper sphere. White Sky and Black Bird stood in the lines as well, pride swelling in their chests at being old and strong enough now to stand among the strongest in the village. They stood on opposite sidesCthe Bodwadmi separated their men into odd-born sons and even-born sons. The firstborn son would be odd-born, for example, the second even, third odd, and so on. This helped to create a balance during competitions like lacrosseCone team would be made of the odd-born sons, and the other of the even-borns. Normally, both of the boys would be odd-born, with both being the firstborn sons, but though they considered each other brothers, they were not related by blood. Besides, they were as fierce rivals as they were close friends, and refused to be on the same team for any competition if at all possible. The men all grabbed the rope with both hands, and began to pull. The sphere did not budge, and so the men pulled harder, digging their feet into the ground and straining their muscles to their limits. Nothing. The men, however, did not want to be beatenCthey screamed in rage, pulling with all their might. After ten minutes of trying, however, they gave up, dropping the ropes and massaging their sore arms. Its not possible, White Sky complained. Ah, but it is, the doctor replied. He unscrewed the valve, which caused tight air to scream out of the hole. After a few seconds the air was gone, and he easily pulled apart the two sides again, to the surprise and shock of the men who had tried and failed just moments ago. Its a nice trick, Trailblazer said. But of what use does it have to us? This is just an example of what I can bring, the doctor replied with White Skys assistance. You see, I have traveled all over the world, and each place Ive visited has a treasure trove of their own unique knowledge. These hemispheres come from a land called Germany, and their use has many applications. The true gift I could bring your people however, comes from even further away, an enormous and exotic country called China." And that gift would be? A cure for the pox. The doctors words caused a stark silence to wash over the crowd. Out of the many diseases that the white man had brought with them to this land, the pox was by far the deadliest. It is what originally spurred the Longhouse folk to wage their Mourning Wars, their population having been decimated by the tens of thousands in just a few short decades. It was a plague with no cure, that arrived swiftly and killed even moreso. A cure for the pox would not only save the lives of the villagers and their Anishinaabeg brothers if shared, it could single-handedly change the tide of their frequent battles with the Snakes. I trust a man of your age knows not to lie, Distant Sky Man said. And that you know the gravity of what you claim. You will explain yourself. Alas, I cannot, the doctor replied. I understand if you do not believe my claimCI would be skeptical in your position as well. However, if I described the method to this technique, I fear it would cause you to distrust me even more. Though its effectiveness has been well documented, plainly speaking, it sounds terrible, and you would think I was an evil man who intended you harm for even suggesting it. The elders spoke in hushed whispers, debating among themselves. White Sky swallowedChe was prepared for none of this, and especially not as outlandish a claim as to be able to cure the pox. I intended my demonstration of the hemispheres to show that I boast a wide breadth of knowledge, H?rk?nen continued. And I have brought you gifts of Tobacco and Mayflower to show I am grateful for your hospitality. I have also confided a secret of mine that you are now the sole keepers of. Respectfully, I would ask that you consider these enough to let me stay for now, and that once enough time has passed that I have earned your trust, I will confide in you the cure I would propose. The elders mulled over the doctors words, returning again to speak with one another. After a few back and forths, they arrived at some conclusion. We understand that your method may seem untrustworthy, Distant Sky Man said. At the same time, we cannot accept something you do not present honestly, even if you believe it to be for our benefit. You will describe the method now, and we promise to listen to it with an open mind, free of prejudice and judgment. We will reserve our decision on whether or not to attempt this cure until such time that we believe you to be truthful. Your earnestness in your claim will determine whether or not we let you stay here in the first place. Dr. H?rk?nen nodded, bowing again. I understand, he said. He grabbed another item from his bag, a small book, placing it in front of the elders. This is a treatise written by a man named Wan Quan, he said. In it he describes a method of treating the pox. It involves taking scabs from victims of the disease and inserting it into a healthy mans body, through the nose. The theory is that if a man is infected with a large amount of the pox, he will grow sick and die. But if he is infected with a tiny amount, for whatever reason, the body will combat it, and strengthen itself against larger infections in the future. You mean to cure us of the pox by infecting us with it? White Skys father asked incredulously. You cannot be serious. I told you it doesnt sound good, the doctor said, his hands in the air. But the treatise documents its effectiveness. White Sky picked up the book. If the doctor was telling the truth, there would be no way to tellCthe book was written in strange symbols none of them had ever seen before. It looked like the hieroglyphs the elder Faith-keepers wrote on birchbark scrolls, collections of ancient wisdom and their peoples histories that could only be read by them. But the symbols themselves were entirely different, written in an alphabet none of them could hope to understand. Even if it does work, you would not find a man among us stupid enough to try it, Trailblazer retorted. Have you tried it before? White Sky asked. No. But I am confident it will work. The elders looked at the man with a renewed distrust as an uncomfortable quiet rose between them. Ill do it. Everyones head turned to Black Bird, who had stayed quiet this whole time. Now, he stepped forward. Ill volunteer to be the first one to try his cure, he said. Its what I should do, after all, to repay you for letting me stay here for several winters now. We would not ask that of you, White Skys father told him. You should not suffer such a burden for a village that is not your own. But it is my village, Black Bird said with a smile. Ive spent the last three winters here. My own village would be a foreign place to me now. Please. Like I said, Wasegishgonene interrupted. We will not make that determination now. The white midewinini has made his claim, and for our part, we will allow him to earn our trust. He will be allowed to stay for now, on the condition that he stays in our longhouse where we can keep a close eye on him, and that he spends his days providing his wealth of knowledge to the community, and proving himself a boon to the village. If he does, we will consider this proposal at a future time. If not, he will be removed from this place. Thats all I ask, the doctor said after hearing White Skys translation. Thank you for your hospitality. Then we will adjourn, Wasegishgonene replied. Come. We will show you where you will sleep. The doctor bowed again, and followed the elders back into the longhouse. The boys watched them leave, then turned to each other. They didnt need to say anythingCeach of them knew what the other was thinking. They were hopeful, and skeptical, and frightened, all at once. They wanted more than anything for the doctors claim to be true, as it would change their future in ways they could hardly begin to imagine. But they knew the doctor better than anyone else here, and thus knew that he was a secretive man who cared little if he brought danger to their doorstep, as long as he could study it. What were his true objectives? Why did he really come here? The boys supposed those answers would only come in time, and for now, all they could do was wait. Chr茅tien de Parthenay 4 Chrtien de Parthenay New France The days began to bleed into one another, and for that Chrtien was thankful. It was a welcome change, to have a routine, to know what was coming each day. Every morning started in the same wayin its earliest hours, before the sun rose, he and his fellow soldiers would wake, and leave the confines of the fort. Behind the forts back walls lay a small plot of farmland that this company had created themselves to avoid the bland and nutritionless rations of porridge that were fed to the other marines. Every soldier in the Deer-Tender company, Chrtien included, spent the first two hours of each morning tending to the three crops grown here: squash, beans, and corn. They were all grown together on that same plot, which was the complete opposite from the farms in France. Though Chrtien had never worked on a farm, he picked the skills up rather quickly, and even enjoyed it. He owed this in part to his two teachers: Jikohnsasee and Gyantwaka. The two Deer-Tenders could not have been more different in their teaching methodsCJikohnsasee preferred to bark orders at him, and call him out in explicit detail whenever he did anything wrong. Gyantwaka took a more patient approach, walking him through each step and explaining the reasons behind everything they did. In this case, these Three Sisters, as the Deer Folk called these crops, were grown together because they helped one another. Gyantwaka explained that the stalks of the corn gave the beans something tall to grow around, and in turn the beans helped keep the cornstalks stable when the winds were fierce. The squash carried thorns in their stems that kept pests away, and the kind they had planted could last well into the winter when corn could not. Every living thing has power inside it, the old man told Chrtien. These things are not just tsyunhehkwaCthey do not grow and die for the sole purpose of sustaining us. By eating them, we absorb some of their energy into us. In your language you might call it a soulin our tongue we call it orenda. But the concepts themselves are very differentyou Europeans view the world through a selfish lens. You believe each of you carries a singular soul within you, tied to yourself and isolated from everything else until you die. But that is not the truththe world is more interconnected than that. A mans orenda is inseparable from the orenda of the people around him, or from the animals he hunts, or the vegetables he eats. Look at how the Three Sisters grow, how they help each other. If they were selfish like the French and the Dutch, they would wither in this place with poor soil, so close to the winter. The grasping vines of beans would find no purchase above them, the corn would collapse from the breeze, and the squash would falter in such lonely soil. It is through cooperation, then, through using your strengths to shore up others weaknesses, that everyone may thrive. Chrtien didnt know how much of what the old man said was true, but he was sure of one thingChe had never felt as energized as after eating the Three Sisters. After tending to the garden, the soldiers took the Sisters they harvested into the kitchen. Jikohnsasee commanded the kitchen, ruling it like other things with an iron fist, barking orders at her subordinates to maintain an orderly and efficient system. Corn was given highest priority to cook, as they were harvesting the last of it now with the winter so close. Then came beans, as the winter squash could keep and last through the cold months (as its name suggested). Right now, the succotash they made for each meal consisted of a mixture of all three, but would be reduced to just beans and squash once the winter came. Though in Chonnonton culture it was custom for women to farm and cook, the company eschewed this tradition due to there being a single woman in the whole fort. Jikohnsasee took her role as the sole female very seriouslyGyantwaka explained that in their culture, women not only performed all the most important roles of the village, such as farming and cooking, but were also the ones to make decisions regarding just about everythingCwhere to send the men to fight, who their children could marry. Thus Jikohnsasee led her company with a fierce pride that a French woman would never be allowed. Chrtien wished Anne-Marie would be here to behold the woman, that she might impart a small fraction of her ambition and fervor on his hapless sister. The soldiers cooked all their meals for the day in the morningCexcess rations would be reheated for lunch and supper later. The succotash filled each of them with an immense energy unlike anything Chrtien had ever felt, lending some credence to Gyantwakas belief that they were absorbing the vegetables orenda. And they would need that energy, too, for the next ten hours of the day would be spent performing constant drills and combat exercises to prepare them for the coming war. The first snow was almost at their doorstep, and Chrtien could not have felt less prepared. Despite having been raised from birth to be a military commander, he found his training meant almost nothing here. The tactics he had spent countless hours as a boy memorizing, for example, were developed around companies of cavalry on horseback or coordinated volleys of gunfire from soldiers standing in wide lines. While these tactics were effective in the open battlefields and hills of Western Europe, they had no purpose in the dense forests of these lands. The drills the soldiers practiced emulated the way fights would take shape hereCclose-quarters, fast-paced, and chaotic. While Chrtien considered himself a good swordsman, all his teaching had been geared towards winning duels one-on-one against other noblemen that took quarrel with him. Now, he sparred against two or three Chonnonton warriors at once, because a two-person duel was an exceeding rarity on the battlefield. In the beginning, Chrtien failed miserably. He was still recovering from his fight with Tadodaho, and was wholly unused to the physical demand of Jikohnsasees training. As the weeks went on, though, he grew in both ability and confidence. While he still was not close to emerging victorious, he could now score what would be a fatal blow with a real weapon on one of his fellow soldiers before one of them scored on him. In fact, this was his stated goal and intention, one given to him by Jikohnsasee. Even if he was as old as most of the other warriors, he would still not win if outnumbered. So the goal then became to kill one, and try to retreat immediately. This goal was one adopted by all the soldiers in the company, for two main reasons. The first was due to the way the Iroquois waged war. Jikohnsasee explained that the Iroquois were incredibly methodical in the way they approached a battle, because their purpose behind fighting was to try and capture their defeated foes to replace their own members who had died. As a result, any losses they suffered would be taken far more severely than they would in a European battle. If a fight broke out between a hundred Iroquois and a hundred French marines, for example, and the Iroquois lost fifty of their members, they would consider it an unequivocal defeat, even if they killed every single marine. The battles Chrtien had been schooled on were large, sweeping affairs often fought to the death. Fighting with the Iroquois, by contrast, would be broken up into a series of smaller skirmishes, for the Iroquois tended to attack, flee and retreat after suffering enough losses, only to attack again soon after, whittling down their enemies numbers through persistent and frequent ambushes. The second was due to an uncomfortable truth, one each soldier in the company had come to terms with. War was deadly, deadlier in these lands than it ever had been ever since the rifle was introduced. If Chrtien was fortunate, he would survive until the end of the campaign, but survival would be owed more to chance and luck than fighting prowess. Even the mightiest warriors were eventually outnumbered, or shot from behind, or assaulted at night while they slept. The best any of them could do then, in such a situation, is to try to make the fight winnable for their brothers-in-arms. Thus, if Chrtien could kill one Iroquois warrior before the others killed him, the battle would become that much easier for his comrades once he fell. It was a macabre reality to grapple with, so different from the lofty ideals of conquest and glory he was spoon-fed as a boy. Still, adopting this mindset and striving every day towards it brought him closer to his comrades, something Chrtien was determined to do if he was ever to lead them in Jikohnsasees stead. The training was broken up into two five-hour sessions, with an hour in between them to eat and rest. Chrtien did not spend his lunch hour idly, however. He knew each minute was precious, and so he spent his lunch working while he ate to translate what he had been taught of military tactics to this new frontier. While the tactics themselves did not function here, the philosophies behind them could be adapted to their advantage. For example, every noble boy by the age of ten would know that the best way to defeat a cavalry charge is with infantry armed with pikes or halberds. The goal of cavalry was often to try and outmaneuver the infantry, attacking from the flanks or behind where the spears were not pointed. When faced with this threat, then, the spear infantry should adapt a hollow square formation rather than a usual line, with all four sides of that square pointing their spears outwards in a different direction, leaving no part unprotected. While there was no cavalry here, Chrtien suggested using a similar tactic if ambushed by all sides by the Iroquois, as the effect would be the same with bayonets if they were close enough to fight in melee. Every time he suggested one of these tactics to Jikohnsasee, to his surprise, she listened, taking heed of everything he said and suggesting alternatives or changes based on her knowledge of fighting the Iroquois. After their first meeting, Chrtien considered her to be a hot-headed and reckless woman whose fierce pride would be her Achilles heel. What he discovered, however, was that she was deeply considerate and serious about defeating the Iroquois, and would swallow all her pride if it meant emerging victorious in this winter campaign. Though she considered Chrtien to be a foolish boy who was clueless when it came to New World warfare, she still listened to his counsel when he tried adapting his learned tactics based on her knowledge. Oftentimes, he would come to her with a new idea or tactic, and they would spend the rest of the lunch hour discussing its potential strengths and weaknesses, often spending the next few lunches ironing the details out until both of them were satisfied. Once finalized, Jikohnsasee would incorporate it into their training, working with Chrtien to instruct the soldiers on the motions. It was this symbiosis that began to kindle a growing respect between the two commanders, and with the other Deer warriors as well. Chrtien provided his years of military schooling and a symbol of French leadership to placate the non-indigenous companies in the fort, while Jikohnsasee provided her veteran knowledge of practical fighting and the existing trust all the soldiers in the company had for her. The soldiers played their part as well, drilling tirelessly each day and supporting one another through every hardship. Stalk of corn, vine of bean, and thorn of squash. After the last drill, the soldiers bathed together in the lake, washing the sweat of the day off their bodies. Though some of the rivers nearby had started to freeze, the great lakes that the Deer-Tenders called seas would not solidify for another two or three months. Still, baths at this time of year were increasingly short affairs, with the soldiers jumping into the frigid waters as briefly as they could to keep themselves clean and refreshed. At first, Chrtien found it strange to share these baths with Jikohnsasee, but she was just another soldier at the end of the day, and none of the others ever snuck looks at her.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. Then was supper. Despite all of their meals consisting of the same dish, Chrtien did not tire of it, for it was more delicious and nutrient-filled than the entrees his chef served him back in Parthenay. What he did miss were French dessertsCCalissons and Souffls and MendiantsCGod, what he would do for a Mendiant on Christmas Eve. He tried his best to describe them to his fellow soldiers, who he had gotten to know well enough over enough dinner-time conversations, despite the language barrier. He made an explicit effort to learn each of the names of his two dozen comrades, and commit them to memory. He would not be a commander like his father or Le Vicomte, who viewed their subordinates as expendable playthings to throw at the enemy. At the same time, he was wary of overfamiliarity, as getting too close to any one of them would make it all the more difficult if they fell in battle. It was a tender and strange balance to strike, and Chrtien could not help growing close with each of his comrades as the weeks went on, despite his best attempts to keep them at arms length. It was nice for a change to belong, to have brothers-in-arms to share in every triumph and hardship. It was something, Chrtien realized, he had never truly experienced. After supper, the other warriors in the company quickly collapsed onto their beds, their bellies filled with food and their bodies exhausted from the day. But Chrtiens day was not over. He was not content enough to fight alongside his Deer comradeshe had been appointed to lead them, and he was determined to earn that leadership. Every evening he crept into a small attachment next to the barracks, which Gyantwaka had fashioned into a doctors office, being the only one with any sort of medical training in the fort. There, the old man would regale the boy of the history and lore of these lands. Chrtien knew that if he was ever to lead these men who were so different in culture and upbringing than him, that he would need to understand those differences. More than that, though, he found himself enraptured by the elders yarns, fascinated by an intricate world with a depth his fellow Frenchman had written off as the ramblings of uncivilized savages. He had learned, for example, that Jikohnsasee was named for her famous ancestor, like the dynasties of different Louises and Charleses that ruled France for centuries. This ancestor, Gyantwaka said, was a wise woman, who as her name suggested in their tongue, lived on a road that was tread by warriors of different tribes on their way to war. The elder Jikohnsasee would welcome these warriors into her home, regardless of their tribe or allegiance, and thus her hearth-fire became a melting pot of different peoples, all agreeing to remain neutral while under her roof. It was here that the renowned Iroquois hero known as the Great Peacemaker took his first steps into achieving the treaty he was named for, working with Jikohnsasee and the orator Hiawatha to broker a peace between the five tribes that would eventually form the Iroquois confederacy. There were two main obstacles Deganawidah faced, Gyantwaka explained. The first was a personal one. The Great Peacemaker could not speak wellChe was born with what we would call today an impediment. This of course would be a death knell for any would-be diplomat, but the Great Peacemaker found an ally in Hiawatha. He was a wild man when the Peacemaker found him, murderer and cannibal, but Deganawidah spoke to him of his plan for a grand alliance and of the virtues of peace, and Hiawatha was suaded. He proved to be a brilliant orator, and eventually became a chief of the Onontake tribe. The two worked together, spreading their message of peace to the Onontake first. The second obstacle was the same one you faced when you came here. For the principal chief of the Onontake and leader of all of them was named Tadodaho. He was a wicked man with fire in his eyes and venomous snakes in his hair. Hiawatha, in fact, was given that name by the Peacemaker. In our tongue it means A man who combs, an aspirational name so that he may comb the snakes from Tadodahos hair and smoothen the tangles of his twisted mind. Hiawatha spoke at many councils held by the Onontake, but Tadodaho thwarted his attempts at every turn. Tadodaho was also an agotkonit is a word both for the spirits in the sky world, and the powerful people who can commune with them. You would call him a witch, and a powerful one at that, with a mighty orenda. Now, not all those gifted with magic use it for evil purposes, and have different roles and abilities. I, for example, am a saokataI commune with the spirits to determine the nature of peoples illnesses, and to heal them. Tadodaho used his magic only to inflict harm on others, and so he cursed the peace-broker Hiawathas family. One by one, each of them diedChis wife and three daughters. Stricken with grief and fearing for his life, Hiawatha fled to the Kanien?keh?k Flint-Wielders, where Deganadiwah had been working tirelessly to convince them of peace. "The Flint chiefs did not harbor the same wickedness as Tadodaho, and agreed to work towards peace. They traveled to the other nations to convince them as well, working together as you work with Jikohnsasee. Whenever they traveled, they stayed with her ancestor at her peace-home, and she provided words of insight to help convince the other nations. It was her idea that eventually led to Tadodaho relenting, which was to suggest that he would become the first principal chief of all Five Nations. This stoked his ego, and though he was originally still inclined towards war and destruction, a great eclipse blackened the sky, a foreboding omen from the heavens to accept the peace deal. So they created the Great Law of Peace, and the Five Nations have cooperated with each other ever since. To pay him homage, the principal chief of the Onontake is always granted the name Tadodaho, which is not their birth name, but a title they bear when they assume their station. He is considered the most powerful of all the grand chiefs, and is the one to have the final word in important decisions. Gyantwaka turned to his desk, drawing something on a piece of paper. He showed it to Chrtien. It was a rendition of Frances flagCa deep blue background, with three fleurs-de-lis to represent the holy trinity. This is your flag, yes? The banner that represents your nations identity. The Haudenosaunee have their own, only it is not a flag, but a belt, made from wampum. We do not write our treaties on paper in ink, but with patterns in wampum. He made a second drawing on the same paper. It was a long rectangular belt with five shapes across it, each of them connected by a single line. Two squares on each outermost side, followed by two rectangles, and the shape of what looked like a pine tree or arrowhead in the middle. This is the treaty all five nations signed with the help of Deganadiwah, Jikohnsasee, and Hiawatha. Each shape represents one of the tribes. The eastern and western squares, as you might guess, represent the Keepers of the Eastern and Western doors, Kanien?keh and On?dowga. The rectangles, then, are Onyota''a:ka and Gayogo?h?n??. In the middle lies the tribe of Tadodaho that tied the whole confederacy together: Ono?dageg,or as we call them Onontake or Onontaerrhonon. But you said the Great Peacemaker did not come from any of the five Iroquois tribes, but from the HuronCsorry, I mean the Wendat, who lived in this area, and Jikohnsasee is from your tribe, who are not Iroquois either. Why did neither of their peoples join the Five Nations? A good question, and one with two answers. The first is that neither the Wendat nor the Chonnonton needed to be brought to peace at the time, for it was mainly the Five Nations who were warring against each other. We are taught that Deganawidah was the son of Tarachiawagon, the mightiest of spirits who holds up the sky world. It was his duty from birth to bring peace to the Five Nations, and not to the Wendat, despite him being born among them. The other reason is that neither nation would not consider allying themselves with any of what were then lesser tribes. While that might seem ridiculous now, given that the Haudenosaunee are still here while both our nations lie in ruin, when I was a young boy, the Five Nations were the smallest and least powerful confederacy of the three. All three confederacies are very similar to one anotherCwe all speak the same tongue, more or less, and we share the same religious and cultural teachings, but we do not consider each other the same people. You could consider each tribe in the Five Nations brothers, with the Wendat and Chonnonton being half-brothersCsame ancestral father, but different mothers, and thus different clans and lineages. This is, in fact, why the Five Nations targeted us first for their Mourning Wars, as we were the best candidates to replace their dead, being already so familiar with their customs. Do they really replace them? Like directly? Yes. They bring you to their village, beating and torturing you, some to death. The few that manage to survive the many ordeals they suffer are adopted, forced to abandon their names and identities and don new ones. Though some villages have altered their method slightly in recent years, mainly due to needing too many people to replace to care about all the intricacies. I have heard rumors that some among the Wendat and my people have formed their own villages in Haudenosaunee territory, and only have to put on airs of being Iroquois when another tribe comes to visit. So if the Iroquois took people from your tribe and others, they couldnt have taken you all at one time. Does that mean then, that during the wars between your peoples, the ones they adopted were made to fight you and capture more? Gyantwaka gripped his wooden staff, his brow creasing with a great pain. Yes, he said. It was a horror I would not wish upon my worst enemy. To fight your own tribesmen, to watch them pretend that you were not once neighbors. It is why Jikohnsasee hates the Haudenosaunee so, why she has sworn a great vengeance against them. She was but a child when our nation fellshe carried the fire to fight within her, but not yet the strength. She spent the years afterwards honing her body until she had the muscles of the strongest men, and led small raids into Western Door territory until we decided to align with the French. I feel like such a fool for misjudging her, Chrtien said. I misplaced her passion for bloodthirst, with no idea why she cared so much. I cant believe I judged her without knowing a single thing about her. A lesson well-learned then, Gyantwaka said, his old cheeks wrinkling in a smile. And you are not the only one to learn it. Jikohnsasee, after all, misjudged you as well, as a foolish boy with nothing to offer her. But you have proved otherwise, and just as it is my job to teach you, it is also my job to teach her. Thank you, Gyantwaka. Really. And thank you for indulging me each night like this. It is my pleasure. In truth, it is my greatest fear that one day all my knowledge will be lost and forgotten, that these precious stories will disappear from the minds and hearts of our people. Though we are scattered now, I have hope that our flame will not be snuffed out completely, and will one day be re-kindled. Perhaps if it is spread to foreigners like you, it will linger even if we do perish. A darkness shrouded the old mans eyes, but he cast it away soon enough, clearing the air with a hearty laugh. Besides, it is an old mans greatest joy to ramble about the past to the young ones, he chuckled. None of the other warriors will let metheyve heard these stories a thousand times from their parents and grandparents. Ill remember every story you tell me, if I can. And if I survive the winter, Ill return to France and have a historian document it all in writing, and store them in our great libraries there so they will never be forgotten. These sessions with the old man always lasted longer than both of them planned for, and by the time they retired to their own beds, it was always well into the night. Most often, Chrtien crashed immediately, his body exhausted from the day and his mind exhausted from the evening. The night he learned the truth about his comrades being forced to fight their fellow people, however, he found no sleep. He tossed and turned in his sheets, haunted by nightmares of being hunted down by the many butlers and maids that made up his staff in Parthenay. Their eyes bore no recognition or memory of him, despite having raised him more than his own father, and they set upon him with an animal ferocity, tearing his stomach open with their bare hands and devouring his entrails. Even in the nights after, every now and again, that same dream would come to him. He hoped more than anything that Gyantwaka was wrong about dreams, that they had no bearing on what was to come. Running-Into-Darkness 1 Running-Into-Darkness Seneca Territory (Modern-Day New York) The village buzzed with activity, for the clan mothers had called a council. The leaders of the closest five villages had all traveled here, and would remain for the next few days until a resolution was reached. Some councils were held at regularly scheduled intervals, like the upcoming grand council in Kahnawake, which was held between all tribes in the area every three years, regardless of political affiliation. This one, however, was called impromptu, in response to the disappearance of Tadodaho and the other chiefs of the Onontake. It was a national tragedy on a scale rivaled only by the pox that had decimated their communities for decades, and a loss they were wholly unprepared for. Tadodaho was the head chief of all the Five Nations, and if something befell him, another would have to be appointed among the other Onontake chiefs. With all of them gone, there was no one to take up the mantle. Another council would likely be called later, including all the leaders from the Five Nations, but this was the soonest they could gather the leaders from the other Keepers of the Western Door in one place. Today, the final group of villagers arrived, hailing from the town furthest from this one, to the southwest. It was where The Smoke Rises was born and raised until he married his wife. As was custom, once they married, he came to live in his wifes longhouse, leaving his parents behind in their own village. Marriages like these brought two villages closer to one another, and so the two villages had begun fostering a close friendship ever since The Smoke Rises came. Despite this kinship, Running-Into-Darkness did not wait at the entrance to greet these visitors, for he was trying his hardest to avoid someone who would no doubt be among them. Specifically, a girl. He had fled the village in the early morning, wheeling down the hill and up the stream towards a small waterfall. He left his wheelchair at the bottom of the cliff, using his arms alone to climb up to a small pool nestled between the dark rocks. The water cascaded down from a larger river above that led all the way to the Lake of Shining Waters, but he did not yet have the strength to make that climb. This was his sanctuary, where he came when he needed to be alone. The pool was high up, isolated from the rest of the forest by steep rocks, and thus disturbed by no creature except the occasional bird. The water was clean and delicious to drink, bearing no sediment or any other contaminants from the lower stream or upper river. And though he often drank from it, he had resolved to never step foot into the pool. It was a sacred place to him, and he would not do anything to disturb the waters pristine surface. Despite his best efforts to hide from her, the girl still found him. She always had a knack for finding him, tracking him through the forest like a wolf with her prey. Perhaps it was not all that difficultCthe wheels of his chair left lines in the dirt where he went, and snapped small twigs on the ground in two. Perhaps a part of him wanted to be sought out and found. Even before his accident, he had found it hard to face his problems head-on, or ask for help when he needed it. He blamed this on his father, who had always told him that he needed to always be strong and never show weakness, being the eldest son. It was his job to shoulder every burden of his younger siblings, taking them all in stride with maturity and manliness. Only now that he had lost the use of his legs, he lost that role too. His father treated him like he was not even here, and after twenty years of being the firstborn son, Running-Into-Darkness had not yet adapted to the role of family ghost. Hohs?dais, the girl called to him from the base of the waterfall. He tucked himself out of sight, retreating further into the rocks. This did not deter her, however, for in a moment she had clambered up the cliff with all the agility of the wolf her clan was named for. Her name was D:gan?go:She Is Capable of Anything, She is Invincible, She is Unlimited. One born with such a name would be expected to live up to it, and she didshe was ever-achieving, ever-striving to achieve any goal she set for herself, to obtain any prize she desired. For the past few years, that prize was Running-Into-Darkness. Akn?kw??h, she told him, crossing her arms over her chest as she sat on one of the black rocks. I have walked five days through the wind and the rain, just to find an absence of you. Your brothers were there to greet and welcome us, and you, meanwhile, were nowhere to be found. My mother is beside herself, and your brothers are kindly explaining your behavior to her to salvage your reputation. Am I supposed to care what your mother thinks? Dont be stupid. It doesnt suit you. Running-Into-Darkness sighed. He found it hard to look in her fiery eyes, so he kept his eyes on the still, tranquil waters of the pool. You act like shell approve of me now, he lamented. Like shell let you marry a worthless man. She will if he shows an ounce of self-respect, she rebutted. And some decorum, for pitys sake. Look at you. You stink like you havent bathed, and sulk like you havent slept. Youre like a dejected little puppy who''s been abandoned by his mother. Thats because I am. You have no idea what its like to lose everything. My father treats me like Im no longer his son, and my mother is gone, replaced by some stranger who hasnt made the slightest effort to know me. Invincible just rolled her eyes. So what, then? She asked. Are you just going to keel over and die? Lie in squalor and darkness and hope the world forgets about you? I dont know! He burst out, angry. Why do you expect me to have all the answers? Its been five months since my whole life was changed, and Im supposed to know how to pick myself up and move on? You didnt even visit when it happened! Running-Into-Darkness turned away from her, tears forming in his eyes. She crept over to him, sitting close behind. Is that why you hide from me? She asked, her voice softer now, stroking his hair gently. You know I couldnt leave my village during the harvest. There are eight women left after the outbreak in the spring. My aunt and grandmother died, and have yet to be replaced. My brother did not return from the last war party. I love you, fool of a boy, but I am not idleCI have my own struggles, my own pains to bear. H?wehyan?se: is dead? His Tracks are Fresh was a good friend, and Running-Into-Darkness had not been told of this. We dont know. They didnt find his body, but he hasnt returned in a month, and the journey was only a week south. Running-into-Darkness throat tightened, bitter and dry. Do you ever think Turtle Island is cursed? He asked. Not just us, but the whole land, maybe even the whole earth world. How many have we lost to the pox, to the bullet? Two hundred years ago we had none of these worries. Now people are shot and killed, or lose their legs and rendered worthless. Its a matter of perspective, I think, she said with a soft smile. You can lose your legs, and yet you live in a time and place where you can get that miraculous chair you love to abandon at the bottom of waterfalls. Two hundred years ago, you simply would have diedyour family and village would have abandoned you, since you could not hunt or travel with them during a migration. Now, we stay in one place, and we farm for our food, which you dont need legs for. Maybe in two hundred years from now, your ailment will be a thing of the past, and the Bear medicine men will know how to fix legs and arms and everything else. And maybe, just maybe, that time will come within your lifetime for you to enjoy it. But who are we to sit and wish that things would be different rather than making them so? We are each given a path by Haw?ni:yo and Aw??hai. Sometimes the road is dark, and covered in thorns and rocks. But it always leads somewhere, so what else can you do but walk? But I cant walk. So? You made it all the way out of the village and up this fall without your legs, and still you act like you might as well be dead. Because I might as well be. Sometimes I wish I was. I dont even know what you want with me now. The girl turned him around, grabbing him by the cheeks and looking straight into his eyes. Her eyes were infinitely deep, with small white specks that dotted her black irises like stars in the night sky. Listen to me now, He Runs Into Darkness, of the Dz?nga: she said, her voice stern. I love you. That is not something I say lightly. I loved you with your legs, and I love you now without them. And even if you lost your arms too, if you lived every day confined to your bed, I would sit by your side every day and feed you each meal, because I love you. My love is a precious thing, reserved only for you, so do not squander it, and dont ever say anything about wanting to die ever again. Then she kissed him. It surprised him, but he was in no state to protest. Nor did he want to. He took her hair in his hands, holding her to him, and him to her. They lingered in that kiss, here in their sanctuary, oblivious to the world and all the tragedies they were made to endure. The worries and fears faded from Running-Into-Darkness mind, and as the two finished their kiss, he realized that none of them seemed so daunting when he was with her. Youre right, he said. Youre always right, damn you. Its quite annoying, actually. Invincible smiled. And I am so fortunate to be able to annoy you. Now, are you going to end your hermitage here? Running-Into-Darkness sighed. I suppose so. But I still dont think your mother will approve of me, or us. Oh, you arent going back like this. Youre still filthy. Come into the waterCIll wash you clean. The boy hesitated. Ive never stepped into this pool," he said. "Ive come here since I was old enough to climb the rocks, and Ive never once done anything more than drink. I dont think I can do it. Its too perfect, untainted by the wickedness of men. You think yourself wicked? I think us all wicked. If men were kind, we would not fight, or steal, or kill each other. Bears kill, and you are a bear. Bears kill for a purposeCto feed, or to defend their cubs. We kill because we delude ourselvesCwe think it will solve a dispute, or rid us of an enemy, or bring us glory and pride. We mutilate and torture, strip flesh to bone, burn the wound so it doesnt bleed until were satisfied. No beast or bird Ive ever seen does what we do. To his surprise, Unlimited smiled. This is why I like you, she said. You arent content with the way things areyou want the world to be better, people to be better. I do, too and together, we will make the world a better place for our children and grandchildren. But you will have to start by stepping into this pool. You are not a wicked man, and the pool will not object to you bathing in its waters. Here, I will ask it. She bent down, lowering her nose to right above the surface of the water. O:negase:, she whispered softly. O:negi:yo:h. O water, fresh and pure, hear my solemn prayer. The man I love is covered in grime, and must be washed if I am to present him to my mother. Would you mind if he bathed here, in your domain? She turned her head, lowering her ear to listen. The pool was silent, like the surrounding forest, the water still as always. The two sat there in anticipation, but nothing came. Would you look at that, she said, turning to the boy with a coy smile. The water is indifferent. Youre making fun of me, he scolded. Oh, you must indulge me in some light teasing, she said. For I plan to tease you for many years to come. But I dont intend to insult. This place is important to you. I do not make light of that. It is a special placeI feel a distinct orenda that emanates from the waters. Im sure you feel it too. But still, you must bathe here. You think you would sully and ruin it, but those are your feelings, not the pools. Like you saidyouve been coming here ever since you could climb the rocks. How many hours have you spent with this pool over the years? Do you not think the two of you are friends now? Do you really think it wouldnt want you to wash your stink and worries away in its waters?If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. It was something Running-Into-Darkness had never considered. He pondered on it, eyes lingering on the water. Is it really alright? He thought, as if he was asking the pool with his mind. It was something serious to himCall things in nature had power, and places like this were said to wield a consciousness of their own. This pool to him carried a sanctity, and if he disrespected that sanctity, he would never forgive himself. He was taught that plants and objects could bear ill will towards someone, cursing them with the same power as an agotkon. He reached out with his feelings, trying to glean the smallest ounce of reciprocation. In the end, he could feel nothing from the pool itself, but the wind blew him ever so slightly towards the pool. He took it as a sign. Alright, he said. Ill do it. Running-into-Darkness took off his moccasins and stepped into the pool, breaking the surface tension and forming a singular ripple that echoed outwards. It was cold, but not frigid, and he steeled himself against it and continued further. He doffed his deerskin leggings, using his arms to sink to waist-height. He had lost much of his feeling in his legs, but the water brought some of it backhe was fortunate, he supposed, to at least be able to feel cold. He took a seat on a rocky shelf, resting his back against the lip of the pool. Invincible smiled, and took off her clothes before joining him in the water. She tilted Running-Into-Darknesss head back to rest on the rock, and cupped the water from the pool in her palms, bringing small batches of it out to pour over his hair and face. She took a tincture of sage from her bag and poured a bit of the oil into her palms, then began rubbing it into his hair. It felt nice, to be washed, to be touched with such a tenderness. Running-Into-Darkness, let himself relax, closing his eyes and sinking into the rock. He relinquished himself to Invincibles care, letting her do whatever she wished to him. Invincible continued to bathe him, interspersed with kisses on his cheek and neck. She finished conditioning his hair and his eyebrows, and so her hands moved on and downwards, to his face, to his chest. And when they went even lower, he did not protest, or even move. And when her hand arrived at his waist, and caressed the inside of his thigh, something happened he thought impossible. He became aroused, and it showed. It had not happened since the accident, so he thought he would just have to live without ever fully enjoying the sight or touch of a woman. But then again, he had not seen her since the accident, and certainly not bathed with her body pressed against his. Would you look at that, she mused, admiring him beneath the water. And here I thought it would be a lost cause, and we would have to make do without. Her hand encroached farther, feeling all of him, grabbing hold of it. He tensed, writhing uncomfortably in her grip, which amused her greatly. She giggled like she was an innocent girl and not a young woman of twenty-two, and used her other hand to take hold of his hair, pulling his head up to hers. She kissed him again, long and deep, and he returned it. She wrapped her leg around him, straddling him on the rock as they continued kissing, all the while maintaining her hold on him. With her weight on top of him, he could not even hope to leave the pool now, nor did he want to. He was at her mercy, and what a wonderful torment that was. ***** The two returned to the village about an hour later, hand-in-hand, trying to hide their stupid grins like children who had caused some mischief. Invincible pushed Running-Into-Darkness up the hill and towards his longhouse. In decades past, her family might have shared that house with him during their stay. Now, most villages had lost so many members that they had at least one empty longhouse for guests and visitors to stay in. And any guest would make sure to stay in the empty one, and fill it best they could. An empty longhouse might as well have been a gravestone marking the death of all the families that once lived inside it, a shame no village should be made to endure. This village had two empty longhouses, the second-most in the area only to Invincibles village, which recently went from three to four. This would have made it the ideal meeting place for local councils with so much room for the visitors to stay, but Running-Into-Darknesss village was more central, so the tribal leaders chose it instead. This fact brought a guilt to Running-Into-Darkness. We should be going to her village instead, he thought. It lies practically empty now, and theyre supposed to just grin and bear it because theyre a few days further for everyone. He realized that, like any young married man, he would go to live in his wifes village. That was a rather somber prospect given the state of things, and a part of him hoped he could bring his own village with him when that day came. Invincible left him at the door to his longhouse. Im going to go soften my mother up for you, she said. Well see you at dinner. Dont you dare dirty yourself up again before then. You look nice right now, you know. Im really quite pleased with my handiwork. She pecked him on the forehead before running off to the guest longhouse. He watched her leave, and as soon as she was gone, the dread in him returned. Despite what she said or thought, getting her mother to agree to their marriage would be like asking him to climb a mountain in his wheelchair. A man who lost the use of his legs was no longer a man, for he could no longer perform a mans roles in society. Yet he could not assume a womans roles, either, at least not completely, for he was not a woman, and thus did not hold the power of one. He was something in between, then, or neither of the two, something lesser than both or either. And what mother in their right mind would let their daughter marry such a creature? Though her name was She is Capable of Anything, and she had earned that name in her life thus far, he had no doubt that convincing her mother would be her greatest trial yet. Running-Into-Darkness tried his best to banish those worries for his mind as he wheeled into his long house. He stopped when he saw that the only person in his familys area was his new mother, sitting on her bed and weaving a basket. Come here, boy, she called out to him, stopping him before he could turn and leave. He turned back to her to her, sweat beading on his forehead. He wanted to avoid his new mother as much as possible, and had successfully done so since she arrived, but he would be a fool to disobey her in the longhouse. The inside of a longhouse was an interesting forum, half-public, half-private. Each longhouse sheltered twelve to twenty families inside it, all sharing the space and the hearth-fire at the center when it was cold. Any indignance he showed towards his mother would be seen by the other families, and would no doubt find its way back to Invincible''s mother. Word spread through these tight-knit communities like a flame on dry grass, and bad reputations were hard to change once cemented. Yes, Akn?h, he said, wheeling up to her. He sat in his wheelchair next to her, his throat growing hot with every silent second that passed between them. You have been avoiding me like Im a snake, she told him. It was not a scolding tone that he might expect, rather a calm, stoic one, like she was simply stating a fact. I promise I carry no venom, and I do not bite. I Running-Into-Darkness stammered as he found himself disarmed. The usual shell he kept around himself like a turtle had been melted away by his earlier encounter, and he could muster no defense into his new mothers prying. He changed tactics, then, and decided to just speak honestly. Forgive me, Akn?h, he said. I am just taking some time to adjust. The loss of you just a month ago was difficult. We were very close. He found it strange to talk about his mother to his mother. After all, he was meant to act as if his new mother was his old mother, and had simply replaced her, even if they were nothing alike. He supposed, though, that he had no idea if they were alike or not, since he knew nothing about his new one. Of course you were, she said. She never looked up at him, keeping her eyes on the basket she was working on. You were her first, and therefore her favorite. I bet she spoiled you. SheI mean, you did. And when this happened to you, she said, gesturing at his legs. I bet she cried every day and night for weeks, and she tended to your every need like you were dying. She was so frank about everything, so no-nonsense. She did not refer to herself like she was his old mother, breaking that illusion so calmly. Her honesty plucked the defensive spines Running-Into-Darkness had built up around him, until he felt no need to uphold the lie, either. She did, he said. Hmph. You should know I will not be the same. Oh? Will you have a different favorite child? That remains to be seen, and it will not be for any of you to know. I intend to love you all equally, or at least never act in a way that would make you think otherwise. I cannot promise we will return the same impartiality. Red Fox seems to be allergic to women of all ages right now, while Little Bear has already taken a shine to you. At the mention of his littlest brother, the woman smiled. It was the first time he had seen her do so. He is a sweet one, isnt he? She said. And what about you? What about me? Are you allergic to women? I see no rash on you. Shouldnt you have gotten one from that pretty little thing you came in with? A heat rose through Running-Into-Darknesss chest, smothering him with embarrassment. His new mother just smiled. Come sit closer to me, she said. Help me with this basket while you tell me about her. I dont know how to weave baskets. Then I should probably teach you, shouldnt I? You will need something productive to do this winterI will not have a son who doesn''t contribute to his village. And luckily for you, there are a great many helpful things you can do while sitting. Now come here. Running-Into-Darkness hesitated for a moment, but ultimately obeyed, inching closer to her in his chair. She placed two of the strips of the black ash tree called splints into his lap. Most of the hard work has been done for you already, she said. The wood has been cut from the tree, and then sliced into splints. All you have to do is weave them together. Over, then under, then over, like this." He followed her motions as she performed them slowly, trying to mimic them the best he could. Every other weave, you fold the splint around itself, making a small loop on the outside, like this. Nohere, let me help you. She took a hold of his hands, walking him through the step physically as best she could. After the first part, she let go, letting him try it on his own. Its a little unsightly, she said. But your form will improve, like all skills, with practice. Dont worryI will train some grace into your large and clumsy man-fingers. Its really quite good for your first attempt. Work hard at this, and youll make your mother proud. Now, work on these next two splints, and tell me about this girl. Shes from the far village to the southwest, he said, trying his best to focus on his weaving as he talked. Her name is D:gan?go:. Shes two years older than me, give or take. Ha. A name like that tells me all I need to know about her. Is she good to you? Yes. More than a man like me deserves. Dont hear her or her mother hear you speak of yourself like that. A man who does not respect himself is bound to not respect his wife. Yes, Akn?h. Do you love this girl? Yes, Akn?h. Very much so. We have known each other since we were children, and have always been friends. We have talked about marrying each other for years now. And what clan does she hail from? Got:y?:nih. Hmmmm. Running-Into-Darkness swallowed nervously. It was not an ideal pairing. Ancestries in the Five Nations were broken up into clans. Some clans were shared between all five tribes, while some were unique and exclusive to specific nations. Marriage within a clan was completely and totally forbiddenif a boy from their village wanted to marry a girl all the way at the Eastern Door, if they were both Wolf clan, it would be seen as incestuous, even if they had no blood relation at all. Thus marrying outside ones clan was necessary, and further than that, marrying between tribes and nations was encouraged most of all. It was seen as bringing two different people together, strengthening bonds and communities through that union. Invincible was On?dowga just like he was, and their two villages had already been brought together in many respects by his fathers marriage. His union with Invincible then, would provide diminishing returns, which would further disincentivize her mother from approving of it. Whats more, the Wolf and Bear clans, among the On?dowga, were part of the same phratry. The On?dowga, along with the Onontake and Gayogo?h?n?, dichotomized their clans into further sub-sections called phratries based on intra-tribal political affiliations. The Bear, Wolf, Turtle, Snipe, and Eel clans were all part of the first On?dowga Phratry, and thus were already well-connected with each other. So for a Bear clan boy to marry a Wolf clan girl, both being of the same tribe, was a rather dissatisfactory union politically for the couples mothers. It will not be easy convincing her mother, his new mother said, as if that wasnt obvious. I know, he replied. But what am I supposed to do? I love her, and she loves me. Shouldnt that be enough? Look at me a second, boy, she said suddenly, pausing her weaving. Look in my eyes. He did so. Beholding her like this for the first time, he realized that she was rather beautiful, even if she could never be as beautiful as the mother who birthed and raised him. Do you love her? She asked him. Honestly and truly? Yes, he said, and he meant it, too. With all my heart. Do you wish to marry her, to provide her with children if such a thing is possible for you? Yes. Do you swear to do right by her, and right by yourself, and to work past your unfortunate circumstances to forge a life you will take pride in? Yes. He held steadfast, holding her gaze firmly. The woman smiled, and she simply nodded, accepting his answers. I will speak to her mother, then, she said. Really? He asked. You would do that? Of course. You are my son, and I want nothing but happiness for you. Oh, thank you! Thank you, Akn?h! You are welcome. Now, let us finish your first basket. We will need to be quick if we want to have something to help us at dinner. It will help persuade her, I think, if we present it to her as a gift. Ill help you with the loopsyou will struggle with them your first few times. The two resumed their weaving. And though he continued to stumble through each step, Running-Into-Darkness didnt care. His heart was filled with a newfound hope, and a newfound purpose. He discovered that he rather liked the rhythm of weaving the splints in and out, over and under. Perhaps he would learn to like other tasks too, even if he was the wrong gender to do them. And perhaps, if he was good enough, no one would mind. Anne-Marie de Parthenay 5 Anne-Marie de Parthenay New France It had been three months now since Le Vicomtes ship had laid anchor in the New World, and Anne-Marie had still not found her footing. Just when she thought she understood the way things worked, something would happen to turn everything on its head. Despite their sordid kiss on the front steps, she had not seen hide nor tail of Jeannine since that day two weeks ago. Nor had there been another ball, ballet, opera, or even a soiree. Nothing at all had happened, leaving Anne-Marie confined to her chambers. Oftentimes she had asked Le Vicomte, but whenever he wasnt off planning something with the other generals, he denied her every request to leave, using the time in a vain attempt to court her. She rebuked all his slimy advances, of course, but he didnt seem to care. The facts were plainshe was his prisoner, and prisoner by law of marriage soon enough. His wife, meanwhile, had only grown more manic and intense. She would stalk through the hallways at night armed with a candle, as if she would uncover some sinister affair afoot on the staircase. Sometimes she would barge into Anne-Maries room, and torment her until she was satisfied, or until her mania turned into a depression. Hes going to kill me, she would wail. Hes going to kill me, and its your fault! Even her usual calmed temper outside the confines of their home seemed to be deteriorating. The staff were now on full alert at all times around her. At night, the doctor Gusteau who tended to her after her fall would stay with her at night, guarding the door. She always thanked him profusely for his kindness, and he always made some excuse to dismiss it, saying he had nothing better to do or he was just looking for a quiet place to read at night. One day, she decided to push that kindness to its limits. I was wondering if you could do something for me, she said. Oh? Well, you just seem like youve been here a while, and know the ins and outs of this place. And youre the only person here I can trust. Ask away, then, and I promise to try my best. Its just that I havent seen my brother since we landed. They say hes been spirited off to some fort, but its been months. I just I want to see him. I want to make sure hes alive, and talk to him. I know its a lot to ask. The old doctor scratched his head, pondering something. It is a lot to ask, he said. But not from me. Its a long journey to the fort you speak of, and not something a lady your age should undertake. Please. I wont mind it, no matter how long or how hard. Im sure there will be danger, too, but Ill risk it. Im going mad in this place, doctor, and the only person who can remind me of my sanity is my brother. I fear what will happen to me if I stay trapped in this room any longer. The doctor sighed. I cannot deny the hopeful plea of a young lady, he said. I promise to look into it. But you will have to muster some excuse for your parents of why you will be gone so long. It will be two weeks there, and two weeks back. If you find some miracle that will explain a months disappearance, perhaps I can arrange something. That night, she broached the subject to her Le Vicomte. Vicomte? She asked innocently at the dinner table. The commander stopped eating, looking up at her, surprised. Normally, the three of them ate their dinners in complete silence when they ate together at all. Nowadays, La Madame sequestered herself in her chambers, paranoid that any excursion could lead to her untimely demise. This left Anne-Marie to eat most of her meals alone, or with Le Vicomte whenever he wasnt busy. What is it? He replied. I just I wanted to ask if you knew about the upcoming trip la Madame de Renees was planning. I figured I ought to ask your permission to go, but Im just not sure youre supposed to know about it. What? What trip? What do you mean? Anne-Marie pretended to fidget, like she was hiding some secret. Well, Jeannine is the one who invited me. You know, Le Marquis daughter? She said that she and the other daughters are all leaving to Acadia until the winter campaign is over. But thats preposterous. A group of children, traveling to Acadia? We arent going alone. Madames Renee and Bacqueville are going with ustheyre to be our chaperones. Why havent I heard anything about this? Le Marquis hasnt mentioned anything of the sort. I Im not supposed to tell you, Anne-Marie said. You arent supposed to even know its happening. Please dont make me tell you more. Everyone was told to keep it a secret. Listen to me, girl, Le Vicomte snarled, pointing his fork threateningly at her from across the table. You will not keep secrets from me under my roof. Youre foolish enough to let you think Id let you go on an excursion like this at all, let alone one I know nothing about. ButC But nothing. You will tell me the full details, here and now. Promise you wont tell. If the other girls learn I was the one to spoil the secret, theyll make a fool of me. You are a fool. Now tell me. Anne-Marie pretended to look hurt. Over the years, she had grown good at forcing her eyes to waternot enough to cry, usually, but enough to look like she was about to. It was Madame de Bacquevilles idea, she said, wiping the fake tears from her eyes. She said her husband used to be stationed down there, during the last war. Theres supposed to be a lake that doesnt freeze over in the winter, and miraculously stays warm. They say theres something underground that makes it that waylike a thermal vent or a volcano or something. No one really knows, but its the perfect place to go when its cold out. It was her idea to have a place for the ladies and young girls to go to while the men were fighting your campaign. Well, that seems rather reasonable. Why on earth keep that a secret? Promise you wont tell. I promise nothing. But if its in my own best interest to keep the secret, then I will. Anne-Marie hesitated. Now, Anne-Marie. Le Marquis thinks theres a mole among the commanding officers, she burst out. Thats what Jeannine told me. The trip is supposed to be safethe only savages in the area arent for many miles, and theyre our allies, anyway, and hate the Iroquois. But Jeannine told me her father thinks that one of you has been feeding information to the enemy, and that word might get out of our expedition to Acadia. Think what could happen if the Iroquois learned of our tripa party of ladies and young girls, all daughters of enemy commanders, with only a handful of guards to protect us. She had laid her bait, and now she waited patiently for Le Vicomte to take it. A mole? He said. He hasnt said anything to me about such a suspicion. Well, I dont presume to know whether Jeannine was right about what her father said but you know how close they areThe story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Anne-Marie lingered on it for a moment, then feigned a sudden epiphany, gasping. You dont think she began. No, Le Vicomte replied. Thats preposterous. Anne-Marie had to keep herself from smiling. It was working. The commanders brow furrowed as he paced back and forth behind his chair. I would not be among those suspected, he continued as he paced. It would be impossible for me to even contact the savages. Ive only just arrived here, for Gods sake. Perhaps he has told none of the commanding officers, for safetys sake, she said. Even if he does not suspect you, suppose you told one of the other officers in confidence. But I am scrutinous. I would not relinquish such information to a mole. I agree, Vicomte. But if you do not know who the mole is, how are you to know who to tell and who not to? Her question seemed to trouble him greatly, and from the look in his eyes she knew she had him. Please let me go, she pleaded with him. And please don''t mention any of this to anyone." "This is all hard for me to believe. When is the trip?" "We leave in three days." "Three days? That''s far too short notice. No, I won''t approve of your going on this trip. You need to stay here, where it''s safe." I understand, of course I do. Its just that all the other daughters have already gotten permission from their mothers. And if I am the only one not in attendance well, I hate to think of how Le Marquis would take it. Le Vicomtes eyes widened with the realization. No, he said. No, of course, you must go. It would look strange, to be sure. Fine. You will go, but you will speak nothing but highly of me to Le Marquis daughter. I will not have this house put under a spyglass when I have done nothing wrong. Are we clear? But of course! Oh, thank you, Vicomte! You are too kind! I promise you will not regret it! Anne-Marie finished her dinner early, leaving Le Vicomte to ponder her ruse alone. She practically skipped down the hallwayit was all going to plan. She would get to see her brother. If there was one thing she was thankful for, it was that Le Vicomte was as gullible as he was wicked. She departed three days later. The doctor held up his end of the bargainhe told her he had an old friend who knew his way to the fort, and who owed him a favor. Unfortunately, the doctor himself could not accompany her, something that worried her a good deal. What do you mean youre not coming? She asked him. I cannot leave my post, mon chri, He said. And I cannot be seen with you in or outside the citytoo much suspicion, too much heat. But you can trust this man as you trust me. His name is EzekielI have described you to him, so he knows what to look for. Hes waiting for you down by the river, at the third small dock from the left. Go straight ahead here until you reach the wateryou cant miss it. Thank you, doctor. For everything. I dont know how I can repay you. Ah, but as you said, I am a doctor. We do not ask for repayment for helping those in need. Now go, before anyone sees you. Anne-Marie hurried off, making her way through the lower city. It was her first time in this place, but she found herself strangely at peace. The crowded marketplace reminded her of the streets of Paris, and though she grew up in the country, it was the most familiar thing to her motherland that she had experienced in months. She pushed through the tumult of traders and peasants and made her way to the river. She counted to the leftCone, two, three, but there was nothing there but a canoe, with a savage standing beside it. She looked around, but all of the other docks were empty. That just cant be, she thought. Slowly, she made her way up to the man. Ezekiel? She asked. The savage looked at her, and nodded, stepping into the canoe and taking a seat. Fear gripped Anne-Maries heart. She was completely at the mercy of this stranger, and a savage, no less. She looked around, weighing her options as the man waited impatiently. But what else am I supposed to do? Im not even safe here, not in the house with La Madame. Whatever could happen to me out there could just as well happen if I stayed, and at least Ill be free of this place. Resolved, Anne-Marie took one last look at the city, took a deep breath, and stepped onto the canoe. She struggled to find her footing, but managed to sit opposite the savage man, placing her bag of things between them. As soon as she did so, he began to row. The canoe moved much quicker than she ever could have expected, and before she knew it, Quebc was getting further and further out of sight. She watched it grow smaller in her view, until it was little more than a dot on the horizon. Her eyes then turned to the savage man, sneaking peeks at him as he rowed. He did not look at her, but rather past her, to the river beyond. She could not shake the feeling that he looked familiar, and then it suddenly hit her. He looked just like the man she and Jeannine had kicked on the floor of that hut. Anne-Marie panicked, gripping the side of the canoe. She couldnt be sure it was himshe never really got the best look at him, and she had not seen enough savages to be able to tell them apart, but what if he was? What if he recognized her? Anne-Marie sat still as she could, frozen in fear, as if breathing would somehow cause him to remember her. You dont have to be afraid, the savage man said to her. She was taken by complete surprisehe spoke in French. He was not fluent, and he stumbled through the words somewhat, but he was easy enough to understand. Needless to say, she had no idea how to respond. W-what? You dont have to be afraid, he repeated. If I wanted to take my revenge on you, I would have done so. I bear no ill will for your transgressions towards me. So it is the same man. Despite his words, fear and dread ran like a cold current through Anne-Maries veins. She had no idea how the doctor knew him, but he couldnt have known he was signing her death sentence. God. Oh, God. Im going to die. I Anne-Maries brain scrambled to say something that would save her. Im really sorry Like I said. If I wanted to kill you, you would be dead. But I owe the doctor a favor, and so I will ferry you to your destination. But really, I feel just terrible about the whole situation. Anne-Marie found herself talking in frantic, rapid gasps, like every word she spoke somehow brought him closer to forgiving her. And I want you to know I never wanted to do anything like that in the first place. It was the other girls idea, the whole thing. I The man raised his hand to stop her. Thats not true, he said. She set you on the path to violence, but you were the one who took the first step. Take some responsibility for your own actions. Again, Anne-Marie was at a loss for words. The man was so calmthere was no animosity in his eyes. He still did not even look at her, keeping his eyes focused on the waters in front of him. He meant what he saidhe cared only about bringing her to the fort. This filled her with a shame even greater than she felt after kicking him in the first place. I she began, trying to find the words. Youre right. She was the one who told me to do it, but I could have refused. I wanted to hurt something, and I took it out on you. Im sorry. I forgive you. You are not evil like the other girl. If she were the one sitting in front of me instead of you, things would be very different. But even then, I would not want to harm her, I think. But why? Anne-Marie was surprised she even asked such a question, but the words left her lips subconsciously, a gut reaction to the mans nonchalance. Why would he not care? In her mind he should want to hurt Jeannine for what she had done, maybe even hurt her. Out of all my neighbors, I am the richest, the man said. I can buy fine clothes that last, feed my wife and daughters, and help the poor in my community, all because I submit myself to some injury and shame. I cannot say its a good living, but I have endured worse in my life. Then again, he pondered, leaning backwards a bit. That girl is wickedshe hurts people because she enjoys the pain, and the world would be better without her. Perhaps I would kill her then, if not for my own vengeance, then for the world that would be relieved of her absence. The mans frankness astounded her. In the French court, no one ever spoke their true intentionsevery word was wrapped in some lie, every goal and thought masked behind a pleasant veneer. This man, in contrast, spoke of everything as it came to him, with a plain honesty she had never heard from anyone. Can I ask you something? She said, finding some courage. Yes. Why is your name Ezekiel? The man reached into his shirt, and pulled out a necklace with a wooden cross. I am Christian, he said. And my mother was Christian. Your people came to her village when she was younger, and taught her the story of the man Jesus Christ. One day, the ones you call Iroquois came, and burned the village and the Jesuit mission. We fled to the island Gahoendoe to escape the carnageyour people named it after the Saint Joseph. The winter was harsh that year, and there was not enough food on the island. But the people could not leavethey were afraid of being attacked. Many people starved and died. My father, my older brother and sister, all while my mother was still pregnant with me. When she gave birth to me, she gave me the name Ezekiel. She read in the Bible that God spoke to Ezekiel, and told him that the wicked nations around Judea would fall and perish. Ezekiel foresaw the doom of five nations: Ammon, Moab, Edom, Philistia, and Tyre. She gave me his name, then, that I would see the doom of another five nations: in your tongue you call them Maqui, Oneida, Onondaga, Cayuga, and Sonountouans. Five Nations of Iroquois. The man continued to row, but his face fell, a somberness growing in his eyes. I have not lived up to my name, he said. My people are gone now, scattered to the wind, and the Five Nations are larger now than ever. And they will all survive, I think, long after I am dead. It pains me to think about. I am done talking nowdont ask me any more questions. The rest of the journey was quiet, long, and arduous. Thankfully, the river was rapid enough to not freeze over from the cold, but there were still chunks of ice in the water that Ezekiel had to avoid. Often small waves would crash into the canoe, dowsing Anne-Marie with a deluge of sheer cold. At night, the cold became nearly unbearable, even sitting right by the fire Ezekiel lit to keep them warm. Anne-Marie found no sleepnot only from the cold, but from a lingering fear of what he could still do to her. Even though those fears were never realized, even though he did not even speak a word to her for the remainder of the journey, she did not feel at peace until she could see the walls of the fort in the distance. Chr茅tien de Parthenay 5 Chrtien de Parthenay New France Chrtien awoke from being shaken. Gyantaka stood above his bed, rustling him lightly. You have a visitor, the old man said. What? Chrtien yawned, half-asleep. Who? Im not sure. A young lady. Chrtien practically fell out of bed, throwing a jacket and pants on. His body was still sore from yesterdays training, and his thighs burned with every step he took. He made his way out of the barracks with Gyantwaka. As soon as he opened the door, he stopped, his eyes widening. His sister, of all people, stood in the courtyard, accompanied by what looked like a Wendat man. Chrtien rubbed his eyes to make sure he was not dreaming, but she was still there. Anne-Marie? He asked. What on earth are you doing here? I came to see you, Anne-Marie said. And I wouldnt have lasted another hour in that house. Is it alright if I stay for a few days? Chrtien mustered no response at first, still dumbfounded that she had found her way here in the first place. And who is this? He asked, motioning at the man next to her. Oh, this is Ezekiel. Hes well, hes the one who brought me here. Chrtien walked up to the man, holding his hand out. Nyaweh, he said to him. I am in your debt for bringing my sister safely. How can I repay you? Ndyo, he replied, smiling at being thanked in his own tongue. I have been paid already, so there is no need. I must go now. I will stay in the village near here until she is ready to return. I will be easy enough to find. Chrtien nodded, and the man turned and left the fort. Gyantwaka, Chrtien said. Could we use your office for a while? Of course, he replied. The door is unlocked. Thank you. Tell Jikohnsasee I wont be able to farm or drill today, and apologize on my behalf. Come on, Chrtien said to Anne-Marie. She took his hand, and he led her through the barracks of still-sleeping Deer soldiers to Gyantwakas doctors office. He shut the door behind him, sitting her down on one of the cots, while he took a seat in Gyantwakas chair. I dont even know where to start, he said. Do you have any idea how dangerous this little stunt of yours was? The rivers are filled with ice this time of year, and Are you serious? Anne-Marie interrupted. I havent seen you in three months, and the first thing out of your mouth is a lecture? Not gosh, Anne-Marie, its so nice to see you again, or how have you been, Anne-Marie?. You still treat me like Im a child. Chrtien sighed, and he embraced his little sister in a hug, sitting on the bed next to her. I am glad to see you, he said. Its just completely unexpected. How on earth did you manage it? I fed Le Vicomte a lie that he bought, and the doctor who took care of me is well-connected in the city, and he agreed to help me. He secured my passage here and back. Still, it was foolish. Youre lucky you didnt freeze to death on your way, and youll have to leave in no more than a day or two. Im being deployed soon, and therell be nowhere for you to stay here if youre just trying to run away from home. All the more reason I needed to come. What am I supposed to do if you die out there, God forbid? Am I supposed to just mourn and move on without having seen you one last time? A silence fell in the office, both of them trying to come to terms with that reality. Soon enough, Chrtien would be sent to war, and he might never come back. These might be the last few days they would spend together. You look well, she said, trying to move past it. Better than Ive ever seen you, actually. They must be feeding you well here. Youre twice as big as you were on the ship. I am, and they are. You know Ive always been spindly. What kind of soldier would I be if I didnt bulk up a bit? Id get swept away by the winds with how strong they are in this place, and blown all the way back to France. Anne-Marie laughed. Chrtien realized how much he missed the sound of his sisters laugh, and how he might never hear it again. I assume things are as bad as theyve always been back in the city, he said. No, Anne-Marie replied. Theyre worse. La Madame has lost herself completely. She locks herself in her room most days. Shes convinced Le Vicomte is trying to kill her. Is she wrong? I I dont know. I suppose it would rid her of him, but do you think he would actually do such a thing? Chrtien thought for a moment. Hes certainly wicked enough, he said. But hes not stupidwell, hes not completely stupid. He wouldnt kill his wife in cold blood if there was any chance of it being traced back to him. Everyone knows they hate each other, and he would be the only suspect if she turned up dead. I think itd be more like him to just wait for her to kill herself, or to become mad enough that he could have her committed. And besides, La Madame is not exactly known for being of sound mind when it comes to well, just about anything. She tried to cut me. What? One night, she came into my chambers with a kitchen knife, and tried to cut me. Shes threatened me with a knife before, but this was the first time she actually tried to use it on me. I had to roll off my bed, and she tore through my pillow where my head was not two seconds before. I screamed, and ran from the room until I found Catherine. And what are the staff doing about all this? What little they can. They are still her employees, her servants, her subordinates. Theyve tried to help, but they have to follow her orders, unless Le Vicomte contradicts them. Catherine has promised shell protect me, but I dont know. I just dont feel safe there anymore. Anne-Maries hands balled into worried little fists, and Chrtien pulled her closer with a half-hug, his left arm wrapped around her shoulder. Im sorry I cant be there, he said. Its alright. I know you have your own struggles. Im trying to protect myself, you know, to not need you all the time. Thats good. The silence returned. Neither of them really knew what to say. All their life, they had been rather inseparable, a symbiosis born from necessity. They were the only ones either of them could truly rely on growing up, and it was through protecting each other that they were able to survive all these years. But that also created a dependence between both of them, one that was exposed like a raw wound as soon as they were separated. The past few months had forced both of them to abandon those comforting blankets they were used to, hardening their soft exteriors like calluses on well-worked hands. So too had it hardened their souls, turned them colder and more bitter. Even though they had suffered the pains of a mother who died young and a father who lost his mind, they were still born into a privilege others only dreamed of. Their house was a castle on a hill, their every need and want catered to by a staff of butlers and chamber-maids. But the winds of this New World were strong, and stripped bare all pretenses and illusions that drifted here from the Old World. The French nobles here lived in what was practically a large fort, surrounded not by gilded rafters or great stone parapets, but by a palisade of wooden stakes. It was a wake-up call, a shattering of the grand illusions they were fed about the world by the gaudy splendor of Versailles. The court of France was a mocking facsimile of life, where those who could not even picture hardship or hunger played games of favors and deceit to amuse themselves. The real world was harsh, and cold, and deadly. The shrewdest players would all be devoured here, in this world where every day was life or death, where pox spread like wildfire, where great nations of powerful tribes collapsed and vanished in mere decades.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Perhaps the worst realization of all was that the real world had no sympathy for any of the plights its inhabitants suffered, and certainly not for the suffering of two little nobles. In these three months, Chrtien and Anne-Marie had learned that not only could the two not rely on each others help and protection, but that the only ones they could truly rely on were themselves. Have you made any friends, at least? Chrtien asked, trying to lighten the mood. I Im not sure, Anne-Marie replied. What do you mean youre not sure? Well, its just I might have made a friend, only I might have instead made an enemy. And also I might be in love. Chrtien rubbed his temples, trying to make any sense out of what she just said. One at a time, he said. Explain, please. Well, I met this girl. Her names Jeannineshes Le Marquis daughter. And she said she wanted to become friends, and in a way, we have. Only she has spent half the time weve known each other tormenting me. I think she likes it, having someone to pull along on a string like a puppet. And I hate her for itI hate being used, being put on display to ridicule. But I dont know. I think she does care for me, really. I just think she has no idea what caring for someone else looks like, what shes supposed to do. I dont think her parents have ever spoken more than a few words to her in one sittingshes been practically raised by her chamber-maid, kind of like we were. But her parents are actually alive, they just couldnt care less about her. Dont you think that would make you an awful person? I suppose. She just acts so strangely. Shes completely unpredictableI feel like I have no idea what shes thinking, or what shes going to do next. But thats kind of what excites me about her, you know? I wish I was spontaneous like that. All Ive ever been was plain and boring. Be careful, Anne-Marie. The people you can never predict are the ones who are the most dangerous. If you have no idea of her next action, you can never be sure that that action wont bring harm to you. I know, I know. But shes enchanting, like no man or woman Ive ever met. I cant explain it to you without you having seen her, but theres just something about her that captures you, puts you into a trance that makes you want to relinquish every part of you to her. She kissed me, you know. She what? She kissed me. Right on the front steps to her manor, like it was nothing at all. And I know it was my first kiss, but I dont think Ill ever be kissed like that again, not by anyone but her. Its all Ive been able to think about. I know Im not supposed to like it, to like herI know its not right. But I dont know. I just dont know about any of it. Thats why I needed to comeyoure the only one who I can speak about these things honestly with. Chrtien scratched his hair, trying to make sense of it all. He had only been away for a few short months, and already the straight-laced do-gooder of a sister he once knew had kissed the daughter of the most powerful man in New France and run away from home on a Wendat canoe. But do you think you love her? He asked. I mean, if she is cruel to you, do you think you can work past that? Do you think she will learn how to be kind to you? Im not sure. Ive never been in love with anyone. But she makes me feel things Ive never felt before, and I think I feel what love is supposed to feel like. I just hope she can changethe way she acts sometimes right now, she scares me. But theres a good person inside her, I think. And, hypothetically speaking, do you think you could ever feel the same way about a man? If this Jeannine was a man, for example, do you think you would love him the same? I Im not sure. I think so. I mean, I dont think I feel the way I do towards Jeannine because shes a girl, per se I just dont know. I suppose, if I were to meet a man as unique and interesting as she, then I might grow to love him, too. Good. Then thats what you should plan for. Thats it? Thats all you have to say about it? Look, Anne-Marie, he sighed. You know I want nothing for you but happiness in life, whatever manner that might take, even if its unorthodox. But you have to be practical. What do you think will happen if you pursue this love of yours? Do you seriously think Le Marquis will allow you to court his daughter, let alone marry her? Even if you were a man, we are too far below his station for him to even consider marrying his daughter to the likes of us. Maybe she would hire you as a lady-in-waiting, and you would become her mistress. You would provide her some sexual escape from her tiresome marriage whenever she felt inclined to it, and you would delude yourself, like all the other mistresses in Versailles, into thinking that one day she might leave her husband, and run away with you into the country. Is that the future you want for yourself? Do you think of nothing but practicality? All I said was I thought I was in love. I never said anything about marriage, or mistresses, or anything of the sort. Youre always thinking of what society expects of us, what were meant to do because of these unspoken, arbitrary rules placed on us from birth. Why should we care about any of that? Oh, stop it. Were not children anymore, sitting and daydreaming about what wed like life to be like. We have to face the brutal, ugly truths of the world, of the roles we have in it, of the inescapable duties and burdens we bear. You are a woman. Your worth is determined by your marriage to a man, and your ability to birth sons for him. I am a man. My worth is determined by my ability to kill other men. His last words caught them both by surprise, and that ugly near-future that loomed overhead returned to cast its shadow in that tiny doctors office. We shouldnt be fighting like this, Chrtien sighed. We dont have much time together. Le Marquis will return here as soon as the first snow falls, which could come any day now. Ive been watching the sky every day, praying to God that the gray clouds overhead will give me a little more time. Youre right, Anne-Marie said. But here Ive spent this whole time talking about myself. How have you fared here? What have you been doing? Can I be honest? Of course. Ive never been happier. Not that its easyI work myself ragged every day, and I go to bed exhausted each night. But I have a purpose here. I have comrades who train and fight alongside me. I am thriving here, Anne-Marie, and I only wish that one day soon, you will find a purpose as I have found mine. Is it true Le Marquis made you commander to a troupe of savages? Theyre not savages. They are proud warriors of the Deer Nation, and I respect each of them a great deal. There are only one group of savages in the New World, and thats the Iroquois. Chrtien balled his hands into fists, and gritted his teeth. You have no idea what they do, Anne-Marie. Theyre animals. They take you from your home, maim you enough that you cant run, and make you walk for days on end through the forest. Then when you get to the village, they begin their tortures. They mutilate your fingers and toes, cut them off and eat them in front of you. They hang you up by your neck, and cut you down right before you pass out. The children throw hot coals at you, laughing as they do it. And if you survive those weeks of pain and suffering, they strip you of everything else, make you relinquish your name and memory to join their ranks. Most dont make it that far. He stood, unable to sit still in his hanger. He paced back and forth to calm himself. Their empire is ever-expanding, he continued. They devour all the smaller nations around them into themselves, ravaging them until theres nothing left. The Wendat, the Chonnonton, the Erie, the Tionontati, the Wenrohronon. All of themgone. Chrtien turned to his sister. To his surprise, she was smiling. What? He asked. Why on earth are you smiling? Im sorry, she said. Its horrible. Its all horrible. But Im still happy. Its justIve never seen you so passionate about something. All these years, youve never spoken like this about anything. You were always just so quiet, and so sad. Look at you nowyour face is full of color, your hair is wild, your body is strong. Youre like a completely different person. Im envious, if Im honest. I know you are. Im thriving here, actuallyIm learning something new every day, and getting stronger. I have to owe it in part to my captain, Jikohnsasee. You will have to meet her, Anne-Marie. I promise she is like no woman youve ever met, or will ever meet. Shes incredible. If she was ten years younger, I might have asked her to marry me by now. Chrtien laughed, and he sat back down in the chair. Im glad you cameI really am. And its nice to know that you think Ive changedwell, that Ive changed for the better, that Im different now. You cant really know for sure without someone else telling you, you know? I do. And Im trying to change, too. I want to become more independent, to not be so frightened all the time. Thats good. Im sorryI blame myself for your timidity. I always sheltered you from everything when we were younger, thinking that if I could keep you from seeing all the ugly and frightening things in life, that you would be protected from them. In hindsight, all it did was leave you unprepared for the real world. Anne-Marie fidgeted with her hands uncomfortably. Can I ask you something? She asked. Sure. Can you tell me about them now? Like what happened with Father? What he did to you? Chrtiens face flushed cold, and he froze in place. I know we shouldnt speak of such awful things, not when we have so little time together. But I have to know. Ive wanted to know the truth all these years, and you always kept it locked up inside you. You shouldnt have to bear that alone anymore. Does it matter anymore? Hes been dead a long time. Let it die with him. I cant say if it matters, can I? I have no idea about any of it. The maids wouldnt tell meeveryone acted like I was this precious thing that couldnt be spoiled. Its like everyone else knew who my father was, who he really was, except for me. Im tired of being kept in the dark. If you knew, you wished you wouldnt. Can I determine that for myself for once? Please? Chrtien sighed. He was torn in two. As long as he could remember, all the ugly and sordid bits about their father had been a painfully-kept secret from Anne-Marie. After all, she was a little girl, and it was the opinion of the maids and butlers who raised them both in their fathers stead that she should be kept blissfully oblivious to the truth of things. But now she was grown. She had grappled with ugliness in the world, fighting off Le Vicomtes shameless advances, placating La Madames insane suspicions. Perhaps she was ready now, then, to know who her father really was. Come on, Chrtien said. Lets take a walk. He stood, holding his hand out to her. Are you hungry? He asked her. I could certainly eat, she replied. So could I. Lets go, then. Theres something you should see. White Sky & Black Bird 5 White Sky, Black Bird Bodwadmi Territory (Modern-Day Michigan) Those precious few weeks between the arrival of Dr. H?rk?nen to the village and the beginning of winter were some of the happiest in the boys lives. Every day brought something new, and every day after was something to look forward to. The doctor kept his word, teaching the elders of the village and others who were interested about all sorts of thingsmedicine, science, but also of the world, of politics. He described great empires, Chinese and Ottoman and Mughal, of ancient civilizations, Greek and Roman and Egyptian. Eventually, most of the others in the village tired of his lessons, caring little for things that had no bearing on their own lives. The boys, however, were different. They hung on his every word, devoured every ounce of information he gave to them. So it was that after a week or two, the good doctor spent most of his time in the company of those two boys, lecturing them on any number of topics. Sometimes, the lectures were more direct, especially when learning languages. Both of the boys were improving their English at a rapid rate, and were practically fluent in French by now. What had really helped was a foray into another language called Latin, allegedly spoken by the ancient peoples of Rome. It was similar to both French and English in more ways than one, and learning some of the Latin words helped the boys fundamental understanding of both languages. Between the two, though, Black Bird was the prodigy when it came to languages. Each of them had their strengthsBlack Bird was a natural at history, politics, theology, philosophy, rhetoric, and language. White Sky, on the other hand, excelled at physics, geometry, alchemy, algebra, botany, and morphology. It was their differences that made them such a formidable pairthe two always worked in tandem, cooperating to help each other understand topics that came more difficult to them. Sometimes, however, and especially on the topics that required more than rote memorization to learn, the doctor would instruct them in a different way. It would take the shape of an open dialogue between them, in a series of questions and answers. The doctor said it was a method developed by an ancient Greek teacher named Socrates. The doctor himself was an incredible teacher, always using the boys own points of reference and connecting them to the concepts at hand. Tell me how your people think the world came to be, he began his lecture today. Ill explain it, White Sky said, raising his hand. He always wanted to get the first word in when it came to explaining their peoples customs and cultures, his chest swelling with pride every time he did so. The world was created by Gitche Manitou, he began. Manitou is like well, its something powerful inside you, an energy created by each living thing. Gitche then is the greatest of all of them, the Creator of everything. Gitche Manitou created the sun and the moon to be the Grandfather and Grandmother to the Mother Earth. Gitche Manitou filled Mother Earth with plants and animals, and finally, humans. We were the last to arrive on earthGitche Manitou put us all in a miigis shell, and lowered us to earth. We are Anishinaabeit means the men from whence lowered, meaning we were the original people, the first Gitche Manitou created. Whats a miigis shell? H?rk?nen replied. Ive never heard of the term. Its like a small shell, that hm well, its hard to describe. White Sky turned to Black Bird. How would you describe a miigis shell to someone whos never seen it? Black Bird scratched his head. Hm I dont know. Thats tough. Itd be easier to draw it, I think. The doctor handed him a piece of paper and a small stick of charcoal. Black Bird was a talented artist, and drew a small, oblong shell in the shape of an egg, the middle of which was bisected by a long, narrow opening running from top to bottom. Each side of the opening was marked by small, tooth-like indents. This is what it looks like, basically, he said. The mouth is only on one side, and its got these small little teeth, like that. Theyre usually brown and white, and pretty unique, as far as shells go. Do you have one here? The doctor said. Id very much like to see one. White Sky shook his head. Theyre very rare, he said. They say youll have good luck for the rest of your life if you find one and hold on to it. Most of the ones we do have are owned by the Faith-Keepers. Hm the doctor said, scratching his head. Clearly he was bothered by something, but he brushed it off. Nevermind me. Apologies, White Sky. Continue your story. So the people finally arrived on the earth, White Sky said. And things were fine for a while. But eventually humans began to fight, destroying things around them and killing each other. They needed guidance, so the Creator made Manaboash to teach them, but they didnt listen. You say that like its humanitys fault, Black Bird cut in. Completely omitting the fact that Manaboash carried the reputation of being a trickster. Not in the beginning, White Sky shot back. How can someone carry a reputation when they havent arrived on the earth yet? Be serious. Slow down, boys, H?rk?nen interrupted. Who is Manaboash? Man? Woman? What? Neither, Black Bird said, like it was obvious. Manaboash is a shapeshifterthey can take a variety of different forms. The Creator first sent them in the form of a large rabbit. Sometimes theyre a man, sometimes a woman, oftentimes an animal. The doctor nodded, apparently satisfied with that answer. Anyway, White Sky said. Manaboash tried to teach the Anishinaabeg, naming the animals and plants for them, but they didnt want to listen to him, and continued fighting. Gitche Manitou became despondent at the state of the world, and so he decided to wash it all away in a massive flood. Manaboash was the only man to survive, and he floated atop a piece of driftwood. Sometimes, he would find an animal survivor, and he would let them take turns sitting on the driftwood, treading water while they rested on it. He made several animal friends this way, so that eventually, there were too many to rest on the driftwood. So Manaboash came up with a plan. Ill dive to the bottom of the waters, he said, and bring back some dirt so we can make a new island to live on. He dove down, but the waters were far too deep for him, and he surfaced with nothing. A few of the other animals volunteered to go after, because they were skilled diversthe crane, the grebe, even the turtlebut they couldnt reach the bottom, either. And then, the muskrat spoke up. Ill try, he said. Black bird rolled his eyes. This is his favorite part of the story. Shut up, White Sky shot back. Anyway, all the other animals made fun of the muskrat for even thinking he could do it, because he was small, and not nearly as good at diving as the others. But the muskrat was determined, and he swam all the way down to the deepest depths of the sea, grabbing a fistful of land in his paw. The waters were terribly deep, though, so deep that he did not have the strength to make the journey back. With the last of his energy, he gripped the earth as tight as he could. By the time he had reached the surface, he was dead. But his sacrifice was not in vein, for he still had the earth clutched in his paw. Manaboash took it, and placed it on the turtles back, and it soon flourished into these lands, the ones we live on today. Hm, Dr. H?rk?nen said, scratching his chin. Very well. Today, gentlemen, we are going to delve into the story of your creation, and break it down to its bare essentials. Lets start with the story itself. Why do you think the story exists? Why do you think your parents and grandparents have passed it down for generations? Now the lecture had really begun. H?rk?nen would ask, the boys would answer, and both parts of this dialogue would both continue, and be analyzed themselves. Every question and every answer would be analyzed, picked apart, and critiqued, until the very meaning of the words they spoke came into question. It was, needless to say, the boys favorite part of all. To tell us about our history, White Sky answered. Everyone should know their history. Mhm, mhm. Black Bird? What about you? Black Bird thought for a moment. He had found that the best way to get to the root of these conversations was to ignore the first answer he thought of, the one that sprung up subconsciously. What he tried to do instead was to search deeper, to take his first answer and flip it on its head, discovering the true meaning of it underneath. I dont think its history, Black Bird said. Not exactly. But I also dont think its completely fable. I think the stories are ways for elders to teach children in a way that interests them. Like, I dont literally believe that a muskrat swam to the bottom of the sea and scooped up enough dirt to make an island, but when me and White Sky were children, his story resonated with us. White Sky used to be a lot smaller, and he was picked on by some of the other kids in the village, like the muskrat was, and we both wanted to be able to defy those odds anyway, like he did. On the other hand, I remember one winter when I was little, a traveling Faith-Keeper came to stay with my father. He recanted the prophecies to us over dinner, and I actually fell asleep because of how boring it was. My mother chewed me out something awful, but I think thats the point. I cared about the stories of Manaboash because they were funny, and because they all had a lesson at the end. The prophecies, H?rk?nen mused. Tell me about them. Black Bird and White Sky looked at each other. The Seven Fires of Prophecy, like all of the oldest and most revered of the Faith-Keeper teachings, were something sacred, and not something to be shared with outsiders. I cant remember much, Black Bird lied. But were taught that we were visited by a series of prophets in ancient times, over a thousand years ago or more, who set us on the path that we have taken, and told us of what to come. Have the prophecies come true? H?rk?nen asked. All the ones so far, White Sky butted in. Theyre chronological, so some havent had the chance to happen yet. They were what caused us to migrate from the east, leaving the Dawnland Folk, who we were once a part of. They were what told us to seek out the miigis shells, and led us to Turtle Island. They predicted you, by the way. White men. Some would come with the face of brotherhood, and some would come with the face of death. Sound familiar? Fascinating, the doctor said, reclining in his chair. But let us not stray too far from the topic. The reason I asked about the prophecies is to see how they differed from the story of your creation. I assume, for example, that there are some differences between the stories around creation and the actual oral records of your peoples history? The boys thought for a second. Actually, White Sky said. I guess there are. I mean, in the story, Turtle Island is the only piece of land that survives the flood, which was placed upon the turtles back, but the prophecy is the one that told us to seek out Turtle Island in our journey away from the Dawn Lands. And no one had ever seen miigis shells before we left, Black Bird said. We found the first, according to the elders, during our journey here. But how could that be true, if Gitche Manitou placed all of us in one big miigis shell when he lowered us to the earth? Good. You are separating lore from fable. Lore is real, tangible history, passed down through oral record-keeping, or in your peoples case, I have heard your elders actually write it down, which keeps your lore better-preserved than the other tribes in the area. Fable, on the other hand, while often based on lore, and sometimes containing similar information, is condensed and shaped for narrative purposes, often to simplify information or convey moral lessons. While I would venture to say that a muskrat did not, in fact, dive to the bottom of the sea to bring back all this land, ultimately that is secondary in importance to what the muskrat represents. This will be our first topic of discussion. The doctor lit his pipe, and puffed on it thoughtfully. So let us start with the muskrat, he said. What do we think he represents? What is his role in the story? An underdog, White Sky said. A martyr, Black Bird said. Two different answers, and yet both are correct. We shall examine each one, for both roles are intentional. The first role is the one we are first presented with: the underdog. For the muskrat is the last of all the animals to make the attempt, yes? Thus we see the attempts of the prior animals, the ones who would be more likely to succeed. Their failures frame our expectations. We know that the muskrat is a swimming animal, but that does not make him a diving animal. One would never expect the muskrat to dive deeper than a grebe or a turtle. So therefore, by showcasing all the other attempts first, we are more likely to assume, as the other animals did, that the muskrats attempt would be completely futile. In fact the narrative goes so far as to have the other animals. Now why do we think that part is important? It teaches us to not make judgments about other people, White Sky said. That when someone says they aim to do something, we should not laugh at them or put them down like the other animals did. Black Bird? I agree. I think its included for the lesson. Ah, but there is another reason as well. It also conditions us to root for the muskrat, to hope he wins. If we were simply told that a muskrat swam down and got some dirt, thats not all that remarkable. But because Manaboash and all the other animals failed first, his feat becomes miraculous. Can I ask you a question, doctor? Black Bird asked. Of course. Do you think the story is just a childs fable, and nothing more? Is that how you see the rest of our religion? No. Religious mythoi are filled with allegories like these, and I for one, believe they are not meant to be taken literally. This does not mean, of course, that they are not useful. For example, when I was a boy, I was taught that there were two humans in the beginning: Adam and Eve. They lived in a perfect place called the Garden of Eden, where there was no pain, or hunger, or suffering. There was just one rulein the center of that garden, there was a tree, with enormous ripe fruit growing on its branches. God, the creator of everything, told Adam and Eve to never eat the fruit on that tree. One day, Eve was admiring the tree, when she saw a snake in its branches. The snake spoke to Eve, and told her to try the fruit. Eve said that it was forbidden, but the snake whispered in her ear, seducing her, telling her that she would gain great knowledge if she consumed it. Eve was persuaded, and cut the fruit and shared it with Adam. But they broke the cardinal rule, and thus were expelled from the Garden of Eden, leaving them and their descendants to forever suffer in the world. Now, many biblical scholars believe that this snake was more than a snake, and was an incarnation of Lucifer. You could consider him Gods evil counterpart. But what do I think? Do I believe that a real snake talked to one woman, and that each and every one of the millions of people on this earth suffer through life because of her decision? No. Nor do I think the snake was Lucifer, really. I think, instead, the snake is a representation of temptation, the kind that leads to sin. Greed. Hubris. Taboo. This is what the essence of that story is about, not snakes and fruit.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. The doctor puffed on his pipe, and the boys eagerly awaited his next point. Now, where were we? Ah, yes, the muskrat. You pointed out another quality, Black Bird: his martyrdom. Why do you suppose that people venerate martyrs to such a degree? Because theyve made the ultimate sacrifice, Black Bird said. In our culture, we have Seven Teachings from the Grandfathers, seven values that make up our ethical core, I guess. One of them is Dabaadendiziwin. It means well, I guess its hard to translate into French. But essentially it is to know yourself in relation to others, to have compassion for others in relation to yourself. Martyrdom is like Dabaadendiziwin to an extreme degree, which I suppose makes it an extreme virtue. Good, the doctor said. Martyrdom is the ultimate selflessness, sacrificing ones life for the good of others. But not only that, we also venerate martyrs because we dont want their deaths to lack purpose. Dying is a frightening ordeal, especially at the hands of some Do the Christians venerate martyrs like we do? asked White Sky. In response, the doctor began laughing so hard he fell out of his seat. Oh, forgive me, he said, wiping tears from his eyes. I dont mean to make fun of your question, honestlyits just quite refreshing to have someone so unfamiliar with the faith. It just so happens, my dear pupil, that martyrdom forms the absolute core of Christian thought. Christ, whom the religion is named after, was a martyr, sent by his father, the Lord God, creator of all things, for the explicit purpose of martyring himself to absolve all of humanity for their sin. All throughout the history of Christianity, martyrs have been veneratedthe ones persecuted by the Roman Emperor Nero, for example. Now that Christianity is large and powerful, organized into a central church, martyrs are given official status by one of the Christian groups as being holy and divine themselves, being given the title of saint. The doctor managed to regain his composure, standing back up and sitting back again. For example, he continued, straightening his glasses. Im sure you have seen the Jesuit priests about these parts, yes? The Christians with dark robes that come trying to convert you? There was one in these parts many years back now by the name of Isaac Jogues. He went to live among the Hurons, you know, the ones who used to live on the peninsula right next to us, where we passed through on our way here. Well, as you might suspect from such a time and place, the village where he had set up a mission was beset upon by Iroquois, the Eastern Door tribe, if I remember correctly. They took Isaac captive, and tortured him mercilessly. Now, as you likely know, the Eastern Door folk tend to either torture their captives to death, or assimilate them into their villages. They did neither with Isaac, keeping him alive just to torture. They starved him, mutilated every part of his body, flogged and beat him. This lasted for a full year. Thankfully for Isaac, the Dutch who traded with the tribe learned of his capture, and bargained for his release. Upon escaping that hell, he returned to Europe, and traveled to the Vatican, which is the headquarters of the Catholic church. He spoke to the Pope, the highest figure in Catholic culture and the most powerful man in Europe. The Pope beheld Isaac in his current state, and the mans deformities were so incredibly severe that he was declared a living martyr. Think about thatto be so disfigured, so unrecognizable as a living human, that you are declared to have sacrificed your life, despite the fact youre still breathing. This is off topic for our discussion, but what do you suppose he did after that? The two boys thought long and hard, but neither of them could come up with an answer. He went back, the doctor said. After all that pain and suffering, he returned to the Iroquois. Of course, the question on everyones minds is: why? Why on earth would he return to no doubt face more of the tortures he had suffered so long already? The answer: martyrdom. Poor Isaac had been granted martyrdom without actually being martyred, at least in his eyes, and felt that after suffering all that only to survive defeated the purpose given to him by God. Theres a lesson there, I think, about the danger of adhering to ideals too fervently. For Christians, being a martyr is so sought after that its most zealous champions will willingly seek out death. And what happened to Mr. Jogues? Not two weeks after he arrived back in Mohawk territory, they buried a tomahawk in the back of his skull and dumped his body in the river. So what was the more deterministic event in determining his sacrifice? I think we can all agree that it was his original, and not his subsequent and rather unceremonious murder, that was more important in the grand scheme of things. Food for thought. I have a question, White Sky said. And I know its off-topic, but Im wondering now. Youve been all around the world, right? Is there any place youve been where they despise martyrs rather than praise them? Or do all people youve met feel the same way about self-sacrifice? The doctors face lit up like a lamp. My dear boy, you are not off-topic, he exclaimed. For, in fact, this is the exact place I was heading with this whole lecture. You are asking about ethical universals, which is a fascinating topic of study. Let me give you an example: in the Christian Bible, there is a story in the book of Genesis. It says that there was a time of great debauchery and sin, when mankind had abandoned civility and ethics for hedonism and selfishness. God watched them kill each other, and became grief-stricken at how corrupt the world had become. He searched the world, and found one righteous man, named Noah. God told Noah that he was planning to flood the world, to erase man and his wickedness from the earth. With Gods warning, Noah built an enormous canoe to weather the flood, and took with him all manner of animals so that they would survive once the waters receded. He looked at White Sky with a wry smile. Sound familiar? Youre trying to proselytize to us, White Sky accused. This is exactly what those Jesuits did to the Island-Dwellersthey came in, drawing parallels between the Island faith and their own to help convert them. Were not converting to Christianity, if thats what this whole lecture is about. Oh, pleaseI dont expect you to abandon your faith for mine, or even particularly want you to. Make no mistakethough I am Christian, I dont particularly care what you believe. In my mind, I know the truththat truth is the divinity of the Lord God, and of Jesus Christ. Whether or not you are able to see and accept that is your problem, not mine. But no, the reason I bring this up is because of universals. Your flood story is almost the exact same as the one in Genesis, despite there having been no contact between Christians and your people before about a century or so, give or take. But both stories are thousands of years old, so neither of us could have borrowed it from each other. Whats more, this story is found elsewherein the Hindu texts of a distant land called India, for example, there are two stories. One is a story of a man named Manu, who was warned by a fish of an impending flood, and built a canoe to survive it. Another recounts a story of the god Vishnu commanding these heavenly beings called asura to take a mountain into the middle of the ocean. The asura were foolish and self-serving, and abandoned the mountain, letting it sink to the ocean floor. Vishnu took the form of a turtle, and swam to the bottom, collecting the mountain and placing it on his back. Isnt that so similar to the story of Turtle Island? So too exist similar myths in the Epic of Gilgamesh, the oldest written work in the world. Why do we think this is? Because there really was a flood, White Sky exclaimed. I mean, all these people from all over the world, all having the same story in their histories? It must mean it was a real occurrence, then. Doesnt it? Perhaps. What do you think, Black Bird? Black Bird sat there, eyes clouded over in thought. The two let him ponder it as long as he needed. It took many minutes, and the wigwam was silent for the first time in hours. Maybe its the opposite, Black Bird said. Like you said, doctor, maybe its not what the story says itself, but what it represents. Water is a powerful thing, in many different ways. It can heal and nurture, but also destroy, and wash away things, wipe them clean. If you have too little water, you starve, and die. But if you have too much, you drown, and die. Both extremes lead to ruin, and maybe because of that, the flood is metaphorical, caused by an abundance of people living in excess. There is something in all people around the world then, that at some point experienced that excess, a great corruption of their people, and witnessed a collapse caused by that lack of ethics. To fix the depravity, they might have needed to change things so drastically that it was like a flood came through and washed everything away, uprooting every tree and plant and leaving only seeds that would grow again, with new guidance. Good, H?rk?nen mused. Good. Excellent answers from the both of you. And predictably, as it seems to be the case with all our seminars, you have found yourselves at opposite ends of the spectrum. What we have arrived at is a long-discussed conundrum with the concept of universals. There are shared qualities that many different things possessif that is the case, then, what is the meaning of those shared qualities? Do those qualities exist outside the objects they attribute? Is that existence something meaningful? Let us explore. He took a piece of paper, drawing a crude rendering of what looked like a turtle on the back. All turtles that we know of possess shells to cover their backs, for example. Now, there are a great many other animals that have shells, but only turtles have turtle shells. And we can say with a certain degree of confidence that every turtle is born with a shell, which means that a turtle shell is an inseparable aspect of what makes a turtle a turtle, and not anything else. Plato believed that this, among other things, contributed to what he would call the Form of the turtle. He believed that everything had an idealized Formplants, animals, objects, people. This Form was the absolute essence that determined the identity of any given thing. A turtle, then, is not actually a turtle, but a manifestation of the Form of turtleness, a quality unique to turtles that each of them embodies to varying degrees. Youre starting to lose me, White Sky said. Thats alrightwell go one step at a time. Picture, if you will, the inside of a cave. In the cave there are people sitting. They are chained to the floor, and cannot movethey have lived all their life like this. The only thing they can see is the wall of the cave in front of them. Behind them is a large fire, and in front of the fire are more people, who are invisible to the chained prisoners. The people behind them carry objects, which cast shadows on the wall from the light of the fire. The invisible ones say the name of each object as it casts its shadow. What then, do you think the response from the prisoners would be? They would see the shadows as the objects themselves, Black Bird replied. Since its the only thing theyve ever seen. Correct. They understand a vase to not be a vase, but the shadow the vase casts on the wall. Yet, as we know, shadows are not representative of the objects that cast themthey can be too tall, or too thin, or any number of different distortions. Plato believed that everything we see and behold in this world is a mere shadow, a reflection of a true Form that exists beyond the confines of physical space. The shadows are not perfect, as shadows are, which is why we get different variations of the same thing. Is he right? White Sky asked. I mean, are we just supposed to believe that nothing we hear or see around us is actually real? Its all a matter of perspective, the doctor replied. After all, how are supposed to prove with a degree of certainty whether or not everything we see, hear, or touch is represented correctly or not? What are they supposed to look like, if not what we perceive them as? It was this issue that caused Platos pupil, Aristotle, to contradict his masters theory of Forms. He too believed that universals pointed to a Form, but that what we perceive that Form to be is a proper reflection of it, rather than a shadow of something more ideal, as Plato suggested. For example, one could study turtles in great detail, all the while becoming more acquainted with what turtleness is, because the more similarities you notice between all the different turtles, the more you can identify its true Form. Those similarities, those universals, are what define the truth of what a turtle is, and thus, what is most universal is also the most true. The boys took a moment to take everything in, and rationalize it. This was the point in which their discussions became the most challenging, but that also meant it was the point in which they were at their most fascinating. After a few minutes of quiet contemplation, the doctor continued. Now, the problem of universals has traditionally been applied to generic, more mundane aspects of things, like color, shape, and size. But since we are on the topic, why not extend this line of thinking to cultures, systems of law and ethics, to mythologies and religions? Think back to the issue of the incredibly ubiquitous flood. There are, off the top of my head, two main ways in which you could explain this. The first is White Skys takeawaythat these stories are all based on a universal flood that all peoples on this earth experienced. You could also apply the theory of Forms, either Platos or Aristotles, in which you could say that there is an innate floodness to the human psyche that causes us to perceive floods as bringers of both destruction and renewal, and thus write floods into legend to warn the younger generations against debauchery and excess, as Black Bird suggested. There are two further ways to interpret that as well, depending on whether or not floodness is a fundamental true aspect of human nature, or whether it is simply a distorted fragment of something deeper beyond our perception. But which one is the correct answer? White Sky asked. He always struggled with the discussions that were more open-ended and vaguehe wanted a solution to every problem, a finite and definitive answer to every question. Which one do you believe, doctor? That is an excellent question, and one I have been trying to solve for quite some time. It is, in fact, the ultimate question. What is humanity? Is there a universal Form or truth of us, that all peoples share, regardless of distance or cultural contact? Are all our faiths, our values, our codes of law, a mere imitation of some deeper existence that we have not attained? I doubt any of us will ever get a concrete answer, and my opinion on the subject seems to change all the time. For example, it changed today, as a result of this discussion. What do you mean? A smile spread across the doctors face like a giddy childs, and he grabbed the charcoal making another. It was a symbol, one that neither of them had seen before: ؐ. This is the root character of the Chinese word for money, he explained. Does it look familiar to either of you? The boys shook their heads. The doctor took the charcoal, and added two small tails onto the bottom of Black Birds rendering of a miigis shell. It looks the same, Black Bird said, his eyes widening with the realization. Exactly. Chinese characters are originally based on drawings of things they represent. In this case, the character for money is represented by a cowrie, what you two call miigis shells. Many Oriental cultures valued the cowrie highly, and used it as a form of currency before they began minting coins and other things. Whats fascinating to me is that, as far as Im aware, cowries are not endemic to this area. They are found on the coasts of India and Africa, all the way across the Atlantic. How then, do you suppose your people found cowries during your westward migration? The boys sat in silence, trying to think of an answer. At the same time, both of them looked at each other, their eyes glistening with the light of epiphany, for they had reached the same conclusion. A flood, Black Bird said. If the world was flooded with water, sea creatures from all areas would coalesce into one great pool. And if the waters receded afterwards, it would leave behind things like shells in places they wouldnt have been otherwise. Precisely. Before today, I was leaning towards your conclusion, Black Bird. But if I am correct, if your miigis shells are indeed cowries, then I think that might lend a credence of great import to White Skys belief. Much to think about, boys. Much to think about. After their lesson, the boys would go into the nearby woods, looking for remnants of small game before the winter truly set in. Today, however, their plans changed, for by the time they had exited their wigwam, the ground was covered with the first snow of winter. It was just as wellthis particular discussion had exhausted the boys minds, and they were already worried that they wouldnt be alert enough to catch anything. So they abandoned their duties for the rest of the day, running out to play in the snow with the other boys in the village. Once the sun set, they settled into the wigwam they shared together. White Skys parents stayed in one adjacent, and the doctor slept in the elders longhouse, per his agreement with them, which meant the space was for the two of them, and them alone. They couldnt have asked for better luck than to have this wigwam be empty for them, for if they slept in the one next to them, White Skys mother would have gone into a fit of rage to keep them quiet. They always talked, far into the night, even on this one, with their minds and bodies exhausted from the day. I want to go to China one day, I think, White Sky said as the two stared at the ceiling together. If the doctors right, I want to see their miigis shells for myself. How will you manage that? Black Bird laughed. Will you sail around the whole world just to look at some little white shells? Why not? Once we become rich enough from trading, well be able to go anywhere we want. Where would you want to go, if you were to leave these lands? Im not sure. Ive never really thought about it. You know, growing up, I thought Turtle Island was all there was. Even though I knew the white men were here, I never really thought about where they came from, or what that meant. I still find it hard to picture just how big the world is. Do you think anyones seen it all? Well have to ask the doctorif anyone has, hell know it. And if anyone hasnt, well be the first to do it. Will we now? I suppose youre dragging me along for this grand expedition. Of course. You wouldnt have me go alone, would you? Ha. We would have no time to marry, or to have kids, not with all that traveling. Thats fine by me. I dont want to settle down with a woman and childtoo boring. Not when theres so much out there to see. Yeah. I want to see the Vatican the doctor was talking about. And all the other churches and cathedrals, like the one in Italy, with the paintings of the heavens on its ceiling. Do you really think he doesnt care about our faith? White Sky asked. He said he didnt, but Ive never met a Christian who wasnt ultimately trying to sway you to their side. Im not sure, Black Sky said. Everyone has different perspectives, I guess. The doctor said he knows his religion to be the one true one, and so he isnt bothered by non-believers, because its their choice to not see the truth. But the Island-Dwellers believed the opposite. They thought that whatever you believed became real for you, because it was your truth, and that was what mattered. If you believe in the Christian heaven, thats where you went, and if you believe in another afterlife, thats where you go instead. Or at least, thats what Ive heard. A silence fell in the wigwam. You know a lot about the Island-Dwellers, brother. White Sky looked over at Black Bird, trying to glean anything from him. But his friend just kept his eyes on the ceiling, on the distant night sky through the smoke-hole. Yeah, he said. Yeah, I guess I do. Chr茅tien and Anne-Marie de Parthenay 6 Chrtien and Anne-Marie de Parthenay New France Chrtien and Anne-Marie left the barracks behind. They hurried through the empty courtyard before breakfast was over and the soldiers filled out into the yard for their first drills. Out of the fort and across the way they went, to the small settlement at Cataraqui nearby, their breaths fogging from the cold. The settlement was too small to be called a town, but not quite a village, either. It was a strange eclectic mix of architecture, with french-style buildings interspersed with the small huts Anne-Marie had seen in the savage slums outside Quebc. Most of the Indians here and back in the city are Wendat, Chrtien told his sister. The French call them Huron, but thats not their real name. They were great allies to us, but the Iroquois destroyed their villages and conquered their territory, scattering them all over. They normally live in huge longhouses made of wood, but there arent any here, I dont think. Why do they live in huts like this now? Im not quite sure. I think they just dont want to commit to anything. A longhouse is something permanent, immovable. I think theyre still afraid the Iroquois could attack at any moment, so they live in small huts that can be picked up and moved if they need to run. Thats very sad. Isnt it? I imagine they also feel like they dont want to build any permanent homes outside their old territory. It would be like accepting defeat, you know? Having to acknowledge that youll never be able to return to the home you grew up in. Why do so many of them look empty? Because were paranoid, stupidly so. Le Marquis was worried that some of them would run and tell the Iroquois hes been hiding so many troops in the fort, and had a lot of them arrested and taken to Montreal as hostages, because hes an idiot and cant tell the different tribes apart. The Wendat are our allies, and have been for decades now, but Le Marquis is a neophyte here, in the grand scheme of things, and thinks of anyone with brown skin and moccasins to be an Iroquois enemy. He even turned his eyes to my company, but thankfully I talked him out of it. Honestly, I dont know how he expected to navigate Iroquois territory without some Indian trackers among our numbers. I cant believe hes running the whole thing, but then again, Le Vicomte got appointed here, so I assume Louis doesnt exactly send his best and brightest to this place. Im jealous. Here you are learning about all sorts of things and people while Ive been confined to my chambers. Youve even been learning their language, havent you? What was it you said to Ezekiel? Oh, that. Its just nyaweh. Its probably the most important word in their language. It means thank you literally, but it can mean all sorts of things in practice. Like, it also means hello, because when you greet someone, youre actually expressing thanks to see them in good health and good spirits. Nyaweh skeno. And you also say Nyaweh if someone insults you. Its meant to be like turning the other cheekyou thank the person who slanders you, and move past it. It shows youre taking the high ground. Chrtien led his sister into the tavern, the largest building in the area. It was crowded, filled with the odors of traveling fur traders and vagabonds in this wild part of the woods. Many of them cast eager glances at Anne-Marie, and she ignored them as best she could. Their language is deeper and more complex than you could possibly imagine, Chrtien said as he made his way up to the bar. He waved his hand at the barmaid to grab her attention. Two bowls of soup with bread, and two mugs of wine. Well sit over there. He pointed to an empty table, the two made their way there. French is childs play in comparison. Ive been learning every day, and making some progress, but Im nowhere near where I need to be to feel confident. Nouns and even adjectives are fine for the most part, but verbs? Verbs are like a whole other language, just on their own. Theyre Chrtien was cut off as another patron bumped into him, knocking him backwards. He was a frenchman, likely a fur trader, tall and wide, and a deep gut that protruded over his tightly-drawn belt. Watch where youre going, the man spat, backhanding Chrtien across the face and knocking him to the ground. Anne-Marie gasped, and rushed to his side, but the man caught her by the arm, reeling her back towards him. Hush now, ma petite jolie, he said, his mouth twisting into a grin. He gripped both of Anne-Maries arms to keep her from moving. You havent got a speck of dirt on that dress. Thats no goodthere aint a girl around these parts who isnt a little filthy. Anne-Marie tried to fight the man off, but he was strong, and his grip tightened on her arms like a vise. He sat back on his stool, pulling her onto his lap. Chrtien stood, finally recovered from his blow. He grabbed a wooden mug of wine from the table next to him, hurling it as hard as he could. It landed true in the bastards jaw, spilling wine all over his shirt. The blow was enough for him to loosen his grip for a moment, and Anne-Marie cut loose from him, running towards her brother who was standing now. The man snarled at Chrtien, and pulled out a knife from his belt, charging forward with it bared. Chrtien pushed his sister to the side to get her out of the way, and lunged towards his assailant, staying close to avoid stabs from a distance. The man readied his knife, but Chrtien was on him in an instant, using his momentum and the mans weight against him to pull the knife arm forward. He was taken off balance for a single second, which was all Chrtien needed to grab his wrist, forcing the knife from his grasp. He took the blade in his hand and dug it into the mans gut, then sliced across it, cutting his stomach open like a fish. He dropped like a felled tree in the forest, and Chrtien kicked him over so he would fall backward rather than forward. In an instant, he turned and grabbed Anne-Marie, pulling her towards him. Look at him, he said to her. She just stood there, paralyzed in shock and fear. He shoved her forwards. The man lay on his back, gurgling his death throes as blood spilled out from his belly. Look at him, Anne-Marie. You want to know the truth of things, the ugly and the good? You want me to tell you about dear old Daddy? Then look. II cant, she stammered. I cant Then you dont deserve to know the man our father was. Why do you think I took you out here? This is the world, Anne-Marie, the one you are so desperate to know. If you were here alone, he would have defiled you, and gutted you once he was finished, just like I gutted him. Youre so eager to be freed from your cage, only you have no idea what its kept you safe from. Youre rightyoure a grown woman now, and its high time you know what life really is. But do you truly want that, or do you want to go back to where youre protected and coddled, where things are easy? The choice is yours, but if you want the truth, the real truth, you will look. He watched his sister tremble, and a pang of guilt rang in his ribs. As brutal as it was, it was the truth, and it was precisely why he had come to this seedy tavern with her. He needed to prove a pointshe was foolish for coming here To his surprise, though, she stopped trembling, and stood firm. She opened her eyes and looked down at the soon-to-be corpse, at the mix of spittle and blood that flowed in bubbling spurts from his lips, still locked in a sneer. He watched her gaze, making sure she saw it allthe way his body twitched, the entrails that peeked out from his wound. And he kept her there, watching all the while, until the last light left the mans eyes. It was what no one should be made to witness, but it was an ugly truth, one everyone in this New World came to face with, sooner or later. Chrtien had seen it in his fight with Tadodaho, and now Anne-Marie had seen it, too. Satisfied, Chrtien turned to the barmaid, who eyed the body with some disdain. Shes probably thinking how much of a pain hell be to clean up and haul out of here, he thought. Est-ce un problme? He asked her. Non, she replied, shrugging. He was a pig, and so he dies like one. She turned, calling to someone in the back. Marcel, she said. Come clean this man up. Poor chap fell on his own dagger. This table will need another mug of wine, Chrtien told her. He turned, apologizing to the patron whose mug he had flung. The old man who was sitting there just laughedclearly he was just glad to be part of the spectacle. Chrtien led his sister to the table he had pointed to before, and the two sat down. A man with huge black sideburns walked out from the bar, and began to deal with the body. The barmaid pushed past the mess, putting down two plates with bread and bowls of meager soup. Chrtien began to eat, and Anne-Marie just stared at him. How can you eat after that? She said in horror. I feel like Im going to puke. Eat, Chrtien said, taking a bite of the bread. I know youre hungry. And if you feel it coming back up, wash it down with some wine. Anne-Marie ignored him, looking around the tavern. No ones hardly batted an eye, she said. Whats wrong with people? This is a tavern on the frontier, Chrtien said matter-of-factly. Half of the traders that come through these parts are scoundrels who have fled here to escape the Crowns justice, and the other half are opportunists who would slice a mans throat to make a quick coin. Its kill or be killed, eat or be eaten. New France is not like the oldits just wild country, dotted with the occasional paltry fort. The marines are all clustered by the Iroquois front now, ready to launch Le Marquis campaign. Who is left, then, to police the rabble and the rogues, to arrest the wicked and protect the meek? No one, Anne-Marie. Its everyone for themselves. Chrtien started on his soup. It was bland and mostly empty (not that he was expecting much from a place like this), but at least it was hot. He blew on it to cool, then sipped a few spoonfuls. He noticed Anne-Marie glaring at him. What? He asked her. Are you going to tell me now? She replied. I did it. I looked at him, didnt I? So tell me. Chrtien sighed. Fine, he said, scowling. He hated thinking of the past, especially in relation to his father, but he would hold up his end of the bargain. You know he fought in the Thirty Years War. Yes. Did you also know that he also fought in the war with the Spanish, another with the English, another with the Ottomans in Algiers, and the Ottomans in Crete, and the Ottomans in Hungary? No Oh, yes. Our father was a prolific killerone of Louis XIIIs favorite little errand boys. But despite all of his many forays to exotic vistas, he spent far more time killing his fellow Frenchmen in his own country. Have you heard of the Vaudois?This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. The who? The Vaudois. Theyre a small clade of religious fanatics over in Savoy, near the Italian border. Theyre not all that important, but they made the mistake of challenging the authority of the Catholic church. The Duke of Savoy, in turn, told them they could either leave their homes and flee the country, or convert to Catholicism. The Vaudois, obviously, chose neither, and started a rebellion which our father helped put down. Now, you might askwhy in the world would our father, Lord of Parthenay and a Gendarme in the Kings army, be doing all the way over in Savoy? Wouldnt a small rebellion by a bunch of ascetics in the hills be handled by the Duke of Savoy and his own army? You might also ask: why in the world was a Huguenot putting down a protestant rebellion and killing people for the Catholic church? Thats because our beloved father was part of a special unit of the Kings army, and that was something he put above all other allegiances, even his faith. These specialized killers were deployed by the king himself for special tasks, and to assist with all sorts of different conflicts, especially internal ones. Their ilk had no shared name, no title, no formal group. They were all chosen because they obeyed orders, and because each of them had a certain specialty that made them desirable for these less savory tasks. Our fathers specialty was fear. Chrtien took a second, downing his mug of wine, which helped numb the pain of the memories he was dredging up. Do you remember that suit of armor in his study? He asked. The one that used to give me nightmares? Yes. It was designed that way. To inflict fear. Hell, the helmets got devil horns, for Christs sake. Did you know he used to wear it into battle? But soldiers dont use full suits of armor like that anymore, not for a hundred years. But that doesnt matter, you see. What does matter is that its terrifying to look at. The long black cloak, the visor thats hooked and pointed like the beak of a bird of prey. We stopped using full armor because its too heavy, and doesnt work well against musket fire. But our father, believe it or not, was strong as an ox in his youth, and the weight of the armor didnt slow him down at all. Imagine sitting in a trench or waiting behind a corner, reloading your musket, only to see that armor barreling towards you with a mace. Yes, our father was known for fighting like a medieval knight on the battlefields of the modern day. Its a miracle he survived all of them, but that was in part due to his ruthless cunning, and due to fear. He was brutal. He chose the mace because of the way it splits your head in two, how it makes a crack that anyone near the impact can hear quite well. Its all part of the terrorhe would smash someones head in, grab a knife from his belt with his free hand, gut the man, reach inside him and pull out his entrails to show his other enemies the fate they would all share soon. Chrtien noticed Anne-Marie was no longer looking at him. Her eyes were lost in the wood of the table, her mind elsewhere. I can stop now, if youd like, he told her. No, she said, shaking her head. I want to hear all of it. Fine. When he had the opportunity, there was a particular move he was fond of. You see, peoples noses are really quite fragile, as far as body parts go. If youre strong enough, you can crush it with your thumbs while choking someone, and if youre really strong, with a bit of effort, you can shove the nose bones back into someones brain, killing them almost instantly. I dont see why you need to harp on the gruesome details, Anne-Marie cut in. I dont see where any of this is going. Im getting to my point. Our father was a demon in a mans skinevery waking hour he did not spend killing, torturing, and terrorizing, he spent thinking up new methods to do so. Only, once he eventually retired, as you might expect, there was not a tremendous use for his well-honed talent. Now, though he was a sadist, he was not a complete cretinhe wasnt going to do any of those things to his own people, mainly because he had not been given permission by the King. And so, with nothing else to do with his skillset, the best he could do is pass it on, like all fathers with their trades, to his son. Every weekday I would train with the swordmaster, he continued. For hours, until I could barely feel my arms and legs. After every lesson on the sword, my father gave me another in fear. He would describe to me his exploits in great detail, with great pride. He would explain how to really fight, how to injure not just a mans body, but his mind. How to break an enemy battalions morale, make them flee, just so you can hunt them down and finish them off. Other things, toohow to walk without making a sound, how to make yourself a shadow, and the many methods in which you can kill a man quickly with your bare hands. Like many fathers, he saw me not as my own person, but as a vehicle to carry his legacy upon. And that was my lifeall the time you saw me alone with Father in his study, while you were out playing in the courtyard. I was learning how to make my enemies afraid of me, how to kill them as efficiently and gruesomely as possible. Ever since I was seven years old. I Im so sorry, Chrtien, Anne-Marie said. I had no idea about any of that. I understand why you wouldnt Oh, I wasnt done, Chrtien said. He was angry nowpartially at his sister. Though he knew he shouldnt blame her for wanting to know about all the things their staff had worked so hard to hide from her, he could do nothing but blame her for bringing these things back up, things that he had kept locked inside him all his life. She had forced him to reconcile them, to make him think about things his younger self had blockaded away in his mind for his own protection. Not only that, his subconscious was still screaming at him, every part of him still raw from killing the man in the tavern, despite his best efforts feign a nonchalance about the whole ordeal from his sister. And so he continuedif she was going to know it, she was to know all of itevery last horrible little detail. That wasnt the worst of it, he said. Not even close. You remember when he started to lose his mind, truly? I was about your age, maybe a little youngeractually, I know I was fifteen, because I turned fifteen two months after his first little incident. It was a slow declinehe lost a bit of himself year by year, as long as we could remember, didnt he? But that was the year things started to go dark very quickly. You probably remember the way he wasaimless, rambling, wandering through the halls like he had no memory of them. He suddenly lost his memory of many things, including, rather tragically, of me. Chrtien swallowed. He realized his throat was dryfar too dry, and he was far too sober. Are you going to drink this? He asked, pointing at Anne-Maries mug. Anne-Marie shook her head. He reached across the table to grab it, downing it quickly so his brain would soak up the wine sooner. At first he thought I was a stranger in the castle, he explained. Some visitor who was passing through, and would leave soon. Despite my frequent pleading with him to remember that I was his son, despite my hours of recalling the times we shared in my youth. None of it meant anything to him, and I think he probably forgot everything I told him as soon as he heard it. The staff tried, too. You remember Ricardo, the Spanish butler? He was a kind old soulalways worried about the two of us, always trying to make things right with Father. Chrtien stoppedhe realized he was starting to choke up. More wine, he called out to the barmaid. You dont have to keep going, Anne-Marie said. If its too painful, you dont have to talk about it. No, Chrtien said. I do. You wanted to know, and so youll know all of it. Youve opened Pandoras boxdont you dare try to shut it now. The barmaid filled the two mugs on the table, and Chrtien started on one, guzzling the wine like it would make him forget. Like I said, he thought me a stranger for that first year or two. After that, he declined even further, and began to believe that I was one of the Vaudoisan enemy. He would accost me constantly, try to lay hands on me. Poor Robertohe started staying in my room each night, sleeping on a chair by the door in case Father came. Do you remember what happened to him? He left, didnt he? Returned to his family in Murcia. Chrtien smiled sadly. No. No, Im sad to say, he did not. One night, Father burst into my chambers. Now, before this, he had only ever assaulted me. Might have killed me in his younger days, but his age had finally caught up to him, so I was usually just left with a bruise or two. That night, though, he drew his rapier, the one that used to hang above the mantle. Its such a fascinating thing, to think of how he lost himself. He receded into the memories of his youth, but even then they were tainted by his madness, by the wrinkles of his own mind. He would never think to use a rapier, the small and quaint arm that it is, back in his heydayhe preferred the weapons that really made a mess of things. Still, he knew how to use it, clearlyhe came at me with it in hand, striking at me. I was half-asleep, and fell off the bed trying to get away from him. Roberto came to my aid of course, trying to subdue Father. But of course, he was still the butler, and could not muster any force that would bring some real harm to Father. Roberto hesitated because of this, and Father, being the cunning veteran he is, saw the moments chance, and ran him through with the sword. What? Father killed him? But no, it cant be. It can. You have no idea how diligent our maids arethey cleaned up the whole affair that very night, and the room was spotless by the time you woke up. But the story doesnt end there, dear sister. I saw Father run him through, you see, and I just lost it. I was very close to Robertocloser than I was to Father, obviously. Everything happened in a blurI ran at Father, and let loose on him. I knocked him away from the sword and Roberto, shoved him out of the room as I beat on him. You remember where my room was in the castle? Second floor, right next to the stairs. Anne-Marie gasped. You dont mean she began. Chrtien nodded. Their father had fallen down the stairs two weeks before he died. The doctor never told me if it was the fall that did it, he said. I think he just took pity on me. I think he knew. Itd be awfully convenient, though, if it was something else, dont you think? The two sat in silence as Anne-Marie processed it all. Chrtien did too, even if he had known it all along. There was something about speaking that past into existence that rekindled something in him, a part of himself he had kept buried all these years since. He had never really been honest with himself about any of it, especially when it happened. It was too painful, too horrid to think about. But it was an incontestable truth, however ugly, that Tadodaho may not have been the first man Chrtien killed. And soon enough, he would kill many more, just like his dearly departed father before him. The doctor who cared for me after my fall, Anne-Marie suddenly said. His names Gusteau. Hes started doing the same thing as Roberto. He stays with me every night, to protect me from La Madame. Im sorry to hear that, Chrtien replied. He realized he had not given his own sisters plights enough credence, so preoccupied with his own. Perhaps thats what he had always done. He had thought that all this time he had kept his sister oblivious to protect her innocence, but perhaps it had also served to protect himself. Its good you left when you did, then. But youll have to return eventually. Even having to endure those two is better than trying to make it alone in this place, especially as a girl. I know that. I just I don''t know, Chrtien. Im scared. I really do think she might try to kill me. Chrtien took his sisters hand. Instead of holding it to comfort her, however, he shaped it into the shape of a hard palm, the kind one used to strike. He brought her hand to his face, placing the butt of her palm up against the underside of his nostrils, flush against the base of his nose. Right here, he said. Hard as you can. Right into the brain. Anne-Maries eyes widened in horror as she realized what he was saying, but she nodded. Chrtien stood, finishing the last mug of wine. His legs wobbled a bit from the alcohol, which was perfecthe was finally at the level of inebriation needed to deal with all of this. Well, thats it, Chrtien said. You know the whole story now, more or less. I suggest we get out of this horrible place, and spend our precious few days together on happier matters. Anne-Marie nodded, and stood. The two headed out of the tavernAnne-Marie took her brother by the shoulder, keeping him steady as he hobbled drunkenly towards the bar. Chrtien loosened his purse from his belt, and dropped it onto the countertop. For our tab, he told the barmaid. And for the trouble. Your whole purse? Anne-Marie whispered to him. Chrtien shrugged. We grow our own food at the fort, and I wont have any use for coin where Im headed, anyway. The two stepped out, and started to walk down the dirt road back to the fort. Suddenly, Chrtien stopped in his tracks. In front of him, falling slowly to the ground, was a single snowflake. It landed in the mud in front of them, dissolving instantly. He looked up to the sky, at the foreboding gray clouds overhead. Another snowflake came, floating gently onto the tip of his nose. Merde, Chrtien muttered under his breath. He stood there, watching the rest of the first snowfall, the wine not enough to allay the rising dread in his gut. He felt Anne-Marie rest her head on his shoulder, and wrap her arm around him, the way he used to do with her when she would cry as a little girl. The dread receded, and Chrtien thought about how foolish it was to be afraid of a little snow. Sure, in a few days, he and his Deer comrades would be sent into Iroquois territory, to fight and die for a country across the sea, for a King who had no idea they even existed. But today, at least, he could stand in the snow with his sister, and fill the emptiness inside him with wine. Peter Sparrow 3 Peter Sparrow New York When Peter was first brought to Solomon Peters home and exchanged for a sack of potatoes, he was filled with hope for the future. He was in a new place with a stack of hay to sleep on, and best of all, he had found a friend in Leif. Now that his indenture had begun, however, that hope had quickly turned to despair. Solomon Peters was a brutal master, cold and ruthless, and though Peter had lived a life of begging on the streets and sleeping in the cold, in many ways that life was preferable to that of a slave. Peter woke up each morning with the roosters crow. He was to gather eggs and milk for Solomons breakfast before he woke, which miraculously happened at the exact same time every day. He likely woke upon hearing the crow as well, only taking some time to dress himself and prepare for the day, which did not leave Peter much time to gather the food at all. And he could not risk being even a minute latehis new master expected perfect timeliness, and he was always crankiest in the morning. The first time Peter overslept, Solomon dragged him from his side of the loft, where he had gathered a bundle of hay for a bed. He held him over the edge of the loft, peering down at the ground eleven feet below. Peter screamed as he dangled there, his arms flailing to prevent him from falling forward. Please! He cried. Please, dont drop me! Im sorry! Ill never be late again! Solomon shoved him back onto the loft, then beat him for his insolence. And after that little ordeal, Peter never overslept again. Peter found himself getting beaten quite often, for any number of reasons. Tardiness, laziness, or performing any of his chores poorly in the eyes of his master. Solomon used a variety of toolshis cane, when it was most convenient, smacking Peters back and shoulders like a switch, or a large wooden paddle in the house he used for spankings. Out of all of his many punitive devices, however, one was his favoritea black leather sap, one he carried on his person at almost all times. The device, although small, carried a mighty wallop, and produced a deep and hollow ache wherever it struck that lingered for hours. While a smack with the sap was the punishment his master preferred most often, it was not the one Peter dreaded the most. To him, the worst was by far the paddle. It was not just the instrument itself, but the ritual surrounding it, that made it so horrible. The way he was made to standknees straight, back bent over, hands holding the back of the kitchen chair. It was those grueling seconds of anticipation before the wood actually hit him, when he just stood there, trembling and watching the kitchen wall, waiting for the paddle to come. And, of course, it was the soreness afterwards, the constant stinging of raw skin whenever you sat down. It was the punishment Master Peters chose most often for the crime of laziness, as it discouraged the boy from sitting again at all for a day or two. Despite his apparent zealousness for violence, Solomon Peters was always careful. He hit Peter in a way that would not permanently maim or injure himafter all, he still needed the boy to do all the chores, and it would do no good to beat him so hard that he broke a bone or sprained a muscle. His master struck him on his cheek, on his stomach, on the flesh of his arms, or on the back of his shoulder blades, where there were no vital organs or fragile bones. This meant of course that after each of these beatings Peter was made to immediately resume his task, only now while injured. Peter had never before considered how hard it was to scrub potatoes with callused hands, or dig up crops from the field with sore thighs covered in bruises. Worst of all was that Leif, who Peter had thought to be his friend, seemed completely unbothered by all of it. I told you to be quicker, he would say, shrugging. He would always respond with some excuse, saying thats the way it was, and Peter would simply get used to it eventually. But Peter didnt get used to it, and worse, he grew jealous. He never saw Solomon hit Leif the way he hit him, and so he began to resent Leif, perhaps even more than he resented Solomon. Why should Peter get beat day in and day out when Leif remained unscathed? He was barely doing any work, rather he just told Peter how to do it, and watched, calling out to him whenever he did something wrong. Even if his arm was in a sling, he was still the older boy, and could surely help out more than he did. Why did Solomon blow up over Peter for slacking, but let Leif amble around the place freely? It wasnt fair. And that wasnt the only strange thing about Leif. Sometimes he would have the strangest reactions to things, like when Peter asked him about the door in the masters house, the one that was always locked. Dont ask, he hissed, grabbing Peter by the cuff of his shirt. And dont ever try to open it. Its locked for a reason, you hear? Its not your business to know whats in there, so dont ask again. Ever. If you forget everything else Ive told you, God save you, youll remember to never bother with that door. One day, the endless labors and abuses finally broke him. It was three and a half weeks since Peter began his indenture, and his master was more brutal than ever, working him tirelessly to get all the crops harvested before the winter came. Youre too slow, boy, he spat, kicking him lightly towards the stalks of corn he was crouched in front of. Faster. Id be faster if you stopped kicking me, Peter muttered under his breath. He had no idea what possessed him to say such a stupid thing, but the words came out without him even thinking about it. His master, of course, responded the way Peter knew he would. What was that? Nothing, Peter said, trying to return to the corn. Solomon grabbed the boy by his shirt, lifting him up towards him. You will not lie to me, he said. When I ask you what you say, you tell me. Im sorry Master. I didnt think about it. Its nothing important, really, I promisejust something stupid. Please, Ill just go back to my work. What. Did. You. Say? I just I just said that I think Id work quicker if you didnt kick me, is all Im sorry Master, really I am. Its just thatwhen you knock me over, it makes it harder for me to pull the corn out. Peter regretted those words as soon as he said them. Solomon was surprisingly strong for his age, and threw the small boy to the ground, giving him another kick for good measure. You will pull up the rest of the corn by the end of the day, he snarled. Winter is almost upon us, and I will not suffer an empty harvest because of the misfortune of being saddled with you. The old man stopped, his eyes distracted by somethinga small snowflake, cascading down between them. He looked up to the skymore came, laying a soft blanket of white on the field, still half-full with crops. The sight of the snowfall made Solomon go berserk. He kicked Peter hard in the ribs, knocking him over on his side, then started on him with the leather sap. Leif saw the commotion from across the field, and ran over as quick as he could. Lay off him, Master, he pleaded. He cant get the crops up if you break him. Solomon ignored him, beating the boys arm relentlessly. Peter screamed, tears falling down his face as he curled into a small protective ball. Leif had to pull Solomon off of him, but that only served to make him angrier, and he turned his anger to him instead, and began beating him. He kicked the older boy to the ground, beat him a few times with the sap, then kicked dirt in his face. Leif just lay there and took it, holding his arms out to block some of the blows. After a few strikes, the old man stopped for a moment. taking some breaths to compose himself. He reached into his coat pocket and checked his pocket watch. Clean him up! Solomon yelled at Leif. And get him back to the field! The snows already here, dammit! You both have until the sun sets to get the rest of them. But I cant pull the crops, Leif pleaded. I dont care! You want to help him, so help him. The job is both of yours now, and God have mercy on your soul if those crops arent up by nightfall. The old man turned on his heel, and walked briskly back into the house. Leif sighed. Come on, he said. Peter just lay there, shivering from the cold. Come on, Leif repeated, impatient now. If you want me to dress your wounds before you get back out there, stand up already, for Gods sake. Peter didnt want to. He wanted to lay there in that field, and let the snow wash over him until he died. At least then he wouldnt have to get beaten anymore, and he wouldnt have to work the field until his body wouldnt let him anymore. But he knew he would have to work the rest of the day, and as terrified as he was from what just transpired, he was frightened even more of whatever his master would do if the work wasn''t done today. So he forced himself up. Leif held his hand out to him, and Peter grabbed it, and together the two hobbled through the field to the house. Inside, Peter sat down on one of the kitchen chairs, while Leif soaked a rag in turpentine. You really are a handful, Leif said as he started to apply the rag to Peters scratches. Peter winced at the way it stung, but he bit his lip, staying still as he could. Im sorry, Peter said. I didnt mean to upset him. But you did, Leif shot back. You mustve said something to make him so angryhe doesnt blow up like that for no reason. Youre always saying stupid things, you know, talking back. What did I tell you when you first came here? Just do your job and keep your mouth shut, and youll be fine. But you just dont listen to me. But hes cruel to me. Yes, yes, hes so very cruel to you. And your smart idea of fixing it is to invite more of his cruelty. Hows that working out for you? Peter felt tears well up in his eyes again. Im sorry, Peter sniffled. I just I dont know what Im supposed to do. Dont give me that. Your excuses dont work on me, and they wont work on Master Peters. Youre supposed to work, and work hard. The crops still arent in, and now with the snow and cold, half of themll be ruined. Thats why he beat the life out of you. We need those crops to survive the winter, and if you cant get enough, were all gonna go hungry. But theres so many of them, and my arms stop working after I pull twenty or so. More excuses. You know I was your age when I started working for the master? About five years ago now, almost six, come April. I mightve been a little fuller than you in the arms, but so what? Did I whine and cry all the time? Did I ask the master questions when I didnt need the answers? Did I shoot back and complain when he was awful to me? No. And wouldnt you know it, here I am today, doing just fine for meself. Those licks he gave me are the first ones Ive gotten in months, and now Ill be sore the rest of the day, thanks to you. Im sorry. Dont be sorry. Work harder. I see you in the field sometimes, your mind lost somewhere, daydreamin. Theres no time for that, not ever. You can dream all you want when you sleep, and that should be enough. But it was never enough for Peter. As soon as he found himself working a task with any degree of monotony, his mind began to wander, whether he liked it or not. It wandered even now, leading his eyes around the room. Solomon had come back into the house, but he was nowhere in the main area, and the door to his bedroom was open. So where was he? He must be in that room, beyond the locked door. Peters eyes drifted to it, lingering on the shiny black doorknob that looked like no hands had ever touched it. All the other doorknobs in the house and even in other buildings on the property were exactly the same, and all shared one key, which Solomon always carried on his person. This one though, was different, and newer, and the keyhole was unique and much smaller, something you couldnt peer through. The door and its mysteries had fascinated Peter ever since he came here, despite Leifs warnings to ignore it all. A sudden pain burned on his knee, and Peter recoiled. Leif had gripped it hard with the rag, and looked him in the eye with an unexpected seriousness. Dont look, he hissed, his voice hushed now. Dont even think about it. Im tryin to help you, for fucks sake. So stop being so damn daft, or you wont last the winter. Peter nodded, even as the curiosity nagged in the back of his mind like the buzz of a flitting mosquito. Leif finished with Peters wounds, wrapping a bit of bandage around his knee and elbow. The rest are just bruises, he said, standing up. Youll get over them. Lets get back out theretheres way too many to gather by the end of the day, so well just try to get what we can.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. The two spent the rest of the day together, out in the fields. It was hard and grueling work. To Peters dismay, some of the crops had already gone bad from the cold. Leif said to not even bother with them, and to focus on pulling the ones that were still Salvageable. And, despite his best efforts, Peters mind still wandered, out of his head, away from the field, and up into the clouds. He shook his head, trying to force his mind back inside him. He saw Leif harvesting the wheat with a sickle in his only free hand. Maybe talking will help me focus, Peter thought. Plus, itll keep the boredom at bay. Theres an awful lot of crops, arent there? He asked Leif. And we use them all for the winter? Yes. But theres too much for three people to eat, arent there? Leif sighed. Youre always asking all these questions, he said. I told you, you dont need questions, and you certainly dont need answers. But But nothing! You ask the master questions like this, and he knocks you silly for them. Everyone knows you shouldnt be askin them except you, for some reason. Peter shut his mouth. He had never felt as stupid before he came hereit seemed like everything he did was wrong, that everything he said was something he shouldnt even have thought of. It made him feel horrible, guilty just for existing the way he was. From his periphery, he could hear Leif sigh. If I tell you, will you promise to mind the master, and stop getting into trouble? I dont mean to get into trouble. You know what I mean. Will you just keep your mouth shut around him? Okay. I promise. We keep four peoples worth of food for the winterone extra just because. The rest we split into two portions: some to sell, and some to pay tribute to the Lenape. What do you mean, pay tribute? Like I said, the Lenape come by every now and then, and when they do we pay them what theyre owed, or face the consequences. But thats not fair, is it? Why isnt it? This whole farms on Lenape land. These plots were given to Master Peters and the other free negroes by the Dutch West India company that enslaved them, but it wasnt their land to give. They took it from the Lenape, and so now that theyre gone, the Lenape want it back. But the negroes cant just up and leavetheyve got nowhere else to go. So they reached an agreement that every now and again they pay the Lenape tribute, and the Lenape in return leave them alone. If youre mad about it, blame the Dutch, or better yet, blame the English. Theyve been trying to rid the negroes of their land claims ever since they took over New Amsterdam, and the poor saps were slaves most of their lives, not lawyers. They dont know enough about the law to try and fight back. Peter looked down the hill at the other homes that made up the free black frontier. Are they all as mean as Master Peters? Hah. No, not really. Most of em are kind, but some are even meaner. Just like any neighborhood of folk, I reckon. And dont let the master hear you call him mean, or hell rub you raw. The two boys worked quietly the rest of the time, though sometimes Leif would whistle an Irish tune or two to keep the rhythm as they went. Leif was a fantastic whistler, which made Peter jealous, because he couldnt whistle at all. But Peter knew the tunes, especially the famous ones they sung in all the pubs he used to beg next to. So instead he sang, filling the air with his meek little voice, high-toned and dulcet, intertwining with the melodic whistling. And through the many hours they spent there in the field, though they were long and tiring, Peter found a peace he hadnt felt since he came here. As I was goin over the far-famed Kerry Mountains I met with Captain Farrell and his money he was Countin I first produced me pistol and I then produced me rapier Said stand and deliver, for I am a bold deceiver Musha ring dumma-do, dumma-da Whack for the daddy-o, whack for the daddy-o Theres whiskey in the jar As the sun set, the boys collapsed onto one another, exhausted. Miraculously, they had managed to get the rest of the corn and wheat pulled, but despite this, they were not happy with the harvest. Rather, they dreaded reporting it back to their master, for Leif had been rightabout half of the crops left from the field had spoiled from the cold. Gotta get up, Leif panted, though he himself was still lying on the ground next to Peter. Gotta get these into the pantry before it gets dark. Alright, Peter said. You get up first. The two just lay there, both of their bodies sore and screaming. Aw, hell, Leif laughed. You called my bluff, ya bastaird. Alright, well rest here a tic, but then weve got to bring them in. The boys lay there, looking up at the sky. The snow was still falling, though it came in infrequent spurts, and not enough to cover the ground. The flakes just melted once they reached the ground, forming small puddles in the dirt. Will we celebrate Christmas in the house? Peter asked. Not really, Leif said. Master Peters is a Christian, Im pretty sure, but Ive never seen him pray, or celebrate much of anything. But you and I can have our own Christmas, in the barn. Thatd be nice. Ive never gotten to celebrate Christmas before, not a proper one. Well, I wouldnt call two boys in a barn a proper Christmas. But I guess thats how it started, wasnt it? Three wise men in a barn, and a baby. So I guess twos not so bad. Weve just got to find a third, which shouldnt be too hard. Now getting the babythatll be the tough part. Peter laughed, and the two lingered there for a while. But the sun was setting faster than either of them wanted it to, oblivious and uncaring to their ordeals, and so they helped each other up, grabbing armfuls of wheat and corn and making their way to the pantry. It was a detached little building next to the house, kind of like a shed. Peter struggled to unbar the door, lifting the heavy black iron bar off of the front and setting it on the ground. The two took many trips back and forth, carrying. Since he couldnt carry much with one arm, Leif put his load in the wheelbarrow, which was of course difficult to steer with one arm, too. It didnt take the boys long to just decide to work together, and so they steered the wheelbarrow together, filling it high with both their loads of crops. Inside, they placed the crops in six distinct piles that were already made from the crops gathered previously. Just like Peter said: three piles for the three of them (and one extra, Peter assumed, for emergencies), one to sell, and one to pay tribute to the Lenape. They prioritized Solomons pile first, then the extra pile, then Leifs and Peters last, since he was the newest and the smallest. By the time they finished, the first two had decently sized piles, while Leifs was meager, and Peters was quite small. Its not enough, Leif said, his voice trembling, worry flickering in his eyes. It wont be enough. Damn it all. What are we going to tell the master? The truth. Theres nothing we can dowe just have to tell him whats what, and accept the punishment he gives us. No point in trying to lie to him. Im sorry, Peter said, his eyes welling with tears. You were right. I shouldve worked harder. I couldve gotten more up. This is all my fault. Its alright, Leif said, trying to comfort him. The master knew there wasnt enough time to get the crops up after I was injured, not for a tiny thing like you. Thats why he asked for an older boy, but that Daughtrey shafted him. I forgive you, though. Youre new, and you dont understand how things work yet. But youve got to learn quicker, or else you wont make it. Im trying to look out for you, you know, when I scold you. I know. Im sorry I get cross with you sometimes. Likewise. Can you blame me, though? Youre a right bastaird, when you want to be. Wait here, will you? Ill go fetch the master so we can break the bad news. Needless to say, Solomon Peters was furious. He grabbed Peter under his armpits, hoisting him up and pinning him against the wall. Peter just dangled there, eyes wide with fright, waiting for whatever it was his master planned to do with him. Its not his fault, Leif said, coming to his defense. If he had been given the full harvest, he couldve done it. Hes too young. I dont care, Solomon spat. Hes too lazyeating my meals, sleeping under my roof. He cant even earn his keep with all Ive given him. Hes been spoiledthats the problem. But dont worry. Well fix that, wont we? He dropped Peter onto the ground, then left the pantry in a hurry. Peter and Leif ran to catch up to him, crossing the field towards the barn. Peter watched in horror as his master grabbed large handfuls of the hay he used for his bed, taking them outside and scattering to the wind. No! Peter cried. Please, dont, Master! Its all I have to sleep on! Solomon belted the boy in the mouth, hard enough to knock him to the ground. So Peter just lay there in the dirt, watching as the last remnants of hay blew down the hill and out of sight. You will sleep on the ground, His master told him, sticking his finger in the boys face. Maybe that will teach you the value of having a bed. And maybe, just maybe, youll be able to earn it back. He turned to Leif, the anger still in his eyes. And you, he said. Have forgotten how to speak to me. Who is the master here? You are, Master, Leif said, bowing his head. And dont forget it. You are too soft on him, which is your right, but you will not tell me what to do with my property. And if I find that youve spoiled him again, if you give him some blanket or something soft to sleep on, so help me, I will take your own bed out of here and burn it in front of you. Do you understand? Yes, Master. With that, their master paced back towards the house, leaving the two boys with their sorrow. The snow continued to fall, and Peter began to hate it. It wasnt even frequent or heavy enough to look nice, to provide him some comfort. All it made him was wet, and cold. He writhed uncomfortably in his clothing, soaked from the damp mud he was knocked into, and the only thing he could think of was how this horrible feeling would be his singular experience every night from now on. That night, long after Leif and Solomon had gone to bed, Peter stood up, creeping out of the barn. He was not able to sleep, not with the hay gone, alone on the cold wintry ground. He was too wet, too cold, and too angry. He had been sad at first, but that had turned to anger, to fury. Everything was Solomon Peters fault. Peter knew he wasnt useless, or stupid, or lazy. Those were all attributes his cruel master had given him, and he alone made Peter feel that he was. He was horrible to Peter, and he was horrible to Leif, too. And so Peter made a decision he never thought he would come to. He had resolved to kill his master, to murder the bitter old man while he slept. Peter slipped into the houseSolomon kept it unlocked at night, because sometimes in his age he would have some accident, so Leif would come check on him every now again through the night and morning to make sure he was okay. But Leif would not do his first shift for many hours, which gave Peter time. He grabbed a long knife from the kitchen, sneaking towards Solomons bedroom. His heart was filled with terror, and of course, with guilt. Peter had never really hurt any creature, not even the stray dogs and cats that attacked him on the streets for his food. But in his mind, all of his problems would be solved if Solomon Peters just went away. He and Leif could take over the farms themselves, and between the two of them they would have plenty of food for the winter. No one would hit them, or scream at them, or call them names. They could work together every day happily, singing and whistling together without a care in the world. But only if the master was gone. Peter opened the door, pushing it open as slow as he could so it didnt creak. To his dismay, the door still whined on its hinges, but the sound didnt cause his master to stir from his slumber. Peter crept towards the old man, knife in hand. Only suddenly, he stopped, his body freezing in place. His master slept on top of the bed without a shirt, despite the cold of the late autumn, and through the window, the white light of the full moon shone through, illuminating the room. Peter saw his masters back, and suddenly his guilt overwhelmed him, and he could no longer bring himself to do it. Solomon Peters back was so disfigured, so deeply mutilated, that Peter almost didnt recognize it as a persons back at all. The skin had been flayed so thoroughly that his whole back was a series of deep pock marks and fleshy ribbons. Peter had seen enough sailors working in the summer to know exactly what did it. It was a unique scar, a flesh scourged and shredded in a way that could only be done by a cat o nine tails. A hideous flail with nine whips attached to it of leather or thick cord, it carried the reputation of scourging the back so thoroughly that it left marks deeper than a normal whip. Only, Peter had never seen a scar from it as severe as the ones on his master. They covered his whole back, top to bottom, every inch a mess of deep trenches between warped mountains of protruding flesh. The mere sight of it made Peter sick to his stomach, and filled every inch of him with a despair so heavy he could not even lift the knife anymore. Peter backed away from the room, shutting the door. He hurried back to the kitchen, put the knife back in the block, then ran from the house as fast as he could, back to the barn. He sat there, in the dark, cradling himself as he rocked back and forth. None of it made sense to him. Whatever torture gave Solomon Peters those scars were worse than any beating Peter had endured. It must have been from the time when Peters was a slave for the Dutch, before he had been granted his freedom. Leif had told him that the Dutch were brutal to their slaves, like all the white slaveowners were, but he had no idea the extent of it. But this only made him more confused. Solomon Peters knew what it was like to be beaten, to be thrown around and treated like dirt. So why did he do it to the boys? Shouldnt he know better? Why did he treat the boys the same way he was treated? It was all too much, too complex for a boy Peters age to grapple with. He was too exhausted, too hungry, too cold to think of why a man who had been hurt so much would turn and hurt others. So he didnt. He just sat there, rocking himself to sleep, crying soft sobs deep into the snowy night. Red Fox 1 Red Fox Seneca Territory (Modern-Day New York) Some things in life were constant, things one could always be certain of. The changing of the seasons, the coming and leaving of the sun and the moon. These constants provided a sense of relief for most people, their predictability reassuring in a world of constant change. For a young Red Fox named Tgw?hd?:?:n?kwat, that constant was the feeling that he didnt belong. Of course, it was not a feeling that was unique to him. He imagined all the other boys and girls that had been taken to these lands and assimilated must feel a similar way. After all, they did not belong here by virtue of their birththey were all members of different tribes once, forced to abandon their memories and identity and adopt new ones. But that was an impossible task, especially the older you were when you got captured. As much as he had tried to forget himself (and he had tried to), he couldnt help but be haunted by his old village, his old family, and his old name. More than that, though, Red Fox had always felt this way, even back in his own village. He was an outcast among the other boys, for reasons that still eluded him. He looked mostly the sameaverage build, not too tall or short, too skinny or fat. In fact he looked remarkably plain, so much so that he often tried to wear his hair or clothes in unorthodox ways just to stand out. Perhaps that was why he was ostracizedall the other kids in his old village had always called him strange. But he didnt feel strange, not really. He knew strange, enough to know that he was not it. Strange was the adoption ritual, beating and harming strangers after hauling them for miles, only to make them members of your family. Strange were the white men who came and traded, who always spoke rudely and acted callously. Strange were the False Faces, healers even more powerful than the old Bears, bearing false faces with twisted features of warped wood. They came and went in secret, and worked with dreams and magic. Red Fox, in comparison, was normal, simple, even. But no one else seemed to agree. Here, the adoption ritual was an everyday custom, the White Men were welcome visitors, and the False Faces were revered and respected. And if you thought any differently, it was you who was strange. In time, Red Fox had come to understand that when most people said strange, what they really meant was quiet. And Red Fox was quiet, moreso than most. He was not especially timid or anxious, per sehe just found that most of the time, he didnt have much to say. He preferred to watch, to listen, and to mediate. When he was younger, whenever two kids had an argument, he would mediate between them to try and resolve their dispute. He did this so often they called him Deganawidah, a playful moniker likening him to the Great Peacemaker who brought the Five Nations together. Despite his silent nature and inclination towards peace, he did not shy away from violence when necessary. When he did get into a fight, he was quick and brutal. The first time a boy had quarreled with him, he broke the boys arm, which earned him a proper scolding from his old father. Red Fox had never understood why he was scolded. It was the other boy who had started the fight, after all, and in his mind, when you start a fight with someone, you accept any outcome of it, even if you die. Thus, whenever he did fight, even in small scuffles that young boys often got into, he fought to maim, and to kill. His new father had warned him against this inclination. After all, the Haudenosaunee did not just want to mindlessly slaughter their enemiestheir real goal was to bring them back, replenish the numbers they had lost to the pox or other battles. Red Foxs perspective, then, was not helpful for their goal. But Red Fox had not yet been given the opportunity to fight. He had only recently turned fifteen, the age when boys could start going on raiding parties, but he had come down with some illness, and missed the last one. He lay in his bed in agony until the party returned, anxiously awaiting his next chance. For though he considered his new family strange, he was still a part of it, and was eager to make his new father and community proud of him. Today, Red Fox took extra time getting ready, for today was an important day. It was the day of the war council, the grand meeting that all the other villages had traveled here for. He dressed himself in his deerskin leggings, moccasins, and cape. He fastened a silver bracelet his brothers had gotten him to celebrate turning fifteen, and fastened his gusto''weh on top of his head. Gusto''wehs were like little crowns of wood that Longhouse men wore, and you could tell which Nation a man was a part of by the arrangement of the number of feathers in their gusto''weh, as well as their position. Their tribe had the simplest arrangement, which suited Red Fox wellthe On?dowga wore only a single feather in their headdress, which always pointed straight up. Red Fox started with his face paint next, unscrewing the small wooden container he kept his in. Face paint came in a variety of colors, and obviously were patterned in whatever manner the particular man wanted. This endeared Red Fox to it, and quickly became his favorite part of dressing himself, being one of the few ways he could express himself freely. His favorite paint was that of a deep blue, a shade which was harder to come by, making it rather precious. Normal blueberries made a lighter color, especially the ones that were grown in the gardens instead of the wild. But there was a specific kind of wild blueberry that could be made into something darker. They were not found anywhere near the village, but far to the southeast, which made getting them highly impractical. But the color was his favorite, so he made it workhe made long trips by himself (or with Running-Into-Darkness before the accident) to the southeast. The trip was not foreign to him, for he knew that areaafter all, that was where he was brought from when he was captured. He would gather enough berries to last him a while, then return, and make the paint all by himself. As a result, his paint was a unique blue that no one else in the village wore, something he was very proud of. Ga:jih, Tgw?hd?:?:n?kwat, Red Fox heard behind him. It was the sound of his new mothers voice, so he pretended he didnt hear it, and continued with his face paint. He, like his brother, had been avoiding her as much as she could ever since she arrived, although he suspected he had a very different reason for it than Running-Into-Darkness. Come here, little Fox, his mother repeated. Come and talk to your mother. Red Fox knew better than to ignore a direct order from a mother, and so he complied, putting his paint down and walking over to her bed. Yes, Akn?h? He asked. Come sit next to me. He did. His mother peered into his eyes, and he tried to avoid her gaze, like she would know all his secrets if he looked back at her. Since the second you saw me, you have been avoiding me, she said. Your brother thinks its because youre allergic to women. Are you? No, Akn?h. I dont think so. Then? Red Fox shuffled uncomfortably. He looked around the longhouse, but it was mostly emptymost of the others were outside eating breakfast, something he always skipped on important days, because he often became nauseous if he attended a big event on a full stomach. Youre Shenandoah, he whispered to her. Arent you? I remember you. The woman stiffened. It was her old name, the one she carried before she was ?sa:d?:s. It was a name from their own people, their own village by the muddy river to the southeast. They were from the same tribe, the same village even, and they had suffered much, even before their recent captures by the Haudenosaunee. Shhhhh, boy, Shenandoah replied. You will get us both in trouble. Red Fox couldnt help but smile. You were the chiefs wife, he said. Do you remember when the white men came? They tricked your husband and the four other chiefs to a peace meeting, then killed them. The whole new village we had built was set ablaze, and my mother was killed. I tried to find my father, but he was somewhere fighting them. I was so young, and so afraid. You found me, and together we ran and hid in the forest. I was crying, but you sang to me, and calmed me down. Do you remember me now? To his surprise, his new mother pulled him close to her, and kissed the boys tuft of hair softly. Yes, little one, she whispered. I remember. You cant imagine how happy I was to see you again here, to know that you were alive and well. Even before I was named your mother, I loved you like a son. Shenandoah started to cry, and Red Fox realized that he was crying, too. They held each other there. It was a miracle, to be surethat two people from a village who had suffered as much as theirs, who had been forced to travel south, only to be attacked and scattered, had found each other again. They relished in that miracle, thanking whatever spirits granted them this comforting respite in an otherwise confusing and cruel life. But that is the last we will speak on such things, Shenandoah said, wiping the tears from her eyes. The two ended their embrace, leaving the world of nostalgia and memory and returning to the grim reality of today. I am ?sa:d?:s now, she told him. And you are Red Fox, and not the fletchers son from the muddy river. Perhaps one day, we will be free to reminisce, but today is too important for that. Are you ready? Your father told me this will be your first war council. Yes, Red Fox said. At least I think so. I guess Im a little nervous. Youll be fine. Remember to never speak until spoken to, and to try and listen to every word. The good news is you are young, and you are a man, so your presence is ultimately not essential. If you lose someones words or forget something, it wont be the end of the world, but still try your best. Outside, the two heard the war drums begin to beat. Its starting. Hurry and finish your paint. I love you. For some reason, those three words rang louder than the drums outside in Red Foxs chest, and his heart ached from her saying it.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. I love you, too, he said, beaming. He went back to his paint, wiping the tears from his eyes and face, lest they ruin the paint. He applied the rest of his signature look as quickly as he couldtwo thick lines from the bottom of his eyes to his jaw. The war council entered the longhouse, The Smoke Rises leading the rest in. Shenandoah nodded at her new husband as he entered, and stood, taking her leave from the house as the others piled in. If it was the old mother, she would have stayed, as daughter of the Bear clan mother and an influential woman in the village. But Shenandoah, although she had been granted the same name as her predecessor, was still not fully accepted as one of their own, and therefore not trusted with important meetings such as this one. One by one, all the important leaders of the village took their place around the council fire. The clan mothers of this village, as well as the principal chiefs of the surrounding villages. Normally, the larger villages would have multiple chiefs, leaders of their respective clans, but for the purpose of councils involving multiple villages, a principal chief was elected from among them to represent the entire village. And while the clan mothers were the most powerful people in the village, they tended to not travel for councils like these. Being the centers of society that they were, they typically stayed in their own villages to anchor them in place and prevent them from falling into disarray. The clan mothers were the ones to appoint the principal chiefs in the first place, respecting their judgment enough to act as a mouthpiece for the mothers wishes in their stead. We call a council today to discuss the impending encroachment of the French on our northern borders, The Smoke Rises began. And to what our response, as On?dowga of the Five Nations and Keepers of the Western Door, should be. Are we certain they are amassing troops? Asked the chief from the southwest village, the one his older brothers little lover-girl was from. What evidence do you have? They are not exactly subtle. The smoke that rises from the fort to the north of here tripled in size a few months ago, and around the same time, our scouts have reported that the Wendat have abandoned their huts in that area in a great number. We suspect they were likely abducted out of some paranoia, with the French confusing them for us. A chorus of chuckles passed through the crowd. The only thing the French were known for more than their haughtiness was their ignorance. There is more, Red Foxs father continued. Per our intel, a new Onontio has been appointed to lead the French, which means our relationship with them has changed. The last one, La Barre, was a coward and a pushover, and we could manipulate him in any way we pleased. If our information is correct, his cowardice obviously did not please the French King across the seas, and so he was stripped of his position and replaced like the unworthy chief he was. Clearly, if that King bears the same wisdom as a clan mother, would want to replace him with a man the direct opposite of La Barre. Thus, we have reason to believe this new Onontio will act in an opposite manner, and launch a full-scale offensive into our territory. Thats a lot of conjecture, the principal chief of the westernmost village spoke. His name was Hoy?gwagwasHe Gathers Tobacco. And were supposed to go to war over a supposed new appointment? What would you prefer? That we sit here idly until the French are at our doorsteps, burning and pillaging? Come now, gentlemen, Shog?dzo:wa: interrupted, named for his enormous forehead (and he certainly lived up to that name). He was the oldest of the principal chiefs, from a village to the east near the Gayogo?h?n?? hunting grounds. Why fight amongst ourselves when the real enemy is to the north? Speculation on this new Onontio or not, there is clearly enough evidence to suggest that the French are amassing their forces. The Smoke Rises is overzealous sometimes, but he is right. We should not be without a plan if they decide to invade. We need a plan of action. Where is the fort? The Bear clan mother asked her question suddenly and without warning, and all the men turned to her, as hers was the most important voice in the council. North of here, The Smoke Rises answered his mother-in-law. By the eastern edge of the Lake of Shining Waters. And where else could they attack from? All from the north, for the most part, he said. I imagine most will come from across the lake, and they will probably send flanking units from the east through our new territory we claimed from the Island Folk. Id like to see them try, He Gathers Tobacco scoffed. He had moved his village onto the peninsula almost two decades ago now, after they won their war against the Island-Dwellers. That was not an insult to your battle prowess, The Smoke Rises sighed. The warriors from your village are strong and brave, but that does not make them great in number. If the French dedicate a big enough force, you will be outflanked and outmanned, regardless of your valor. The two men began arguing, as they often did in these kinds of meetings. He Gathers Tobacco was the head of the Hawk clan, after all, fierce and eternal rivals of the Bear. But the Bear mother raised her hand, and the two men were ushered into silence. I have arrived at a conclusion, she said. Mothers, will you allow me to speak on all our behalf? The other mothers nodded in agreement. All of them knew that Bear Mother was the oldest and the wisest, and trusted her to lead all of them, despite individual differences between them. Hoy?gwagwas, she said, addressing He Gathers Tobacco. You are to evacuate your village. When the French begin their western assault, they will find no success, as all our villages in that area will be deserted. But what of our stores of food for the winter? He Gathers Tobacco asked. You will gather and store what you can, and burn the rest, so the enemy cannot use them. The other villages will share their own stores if need be, but the villages must be empty. The western flank will be forced to march through the whole of the peninsula just to cross into our territory, by which time their forces will be depleted. But that is not so great a distance. Even in the winter, they will not lose too many soldiers. That is your second responsibility. The westernmost war bands will split into two large groups: the first will stay in the peninsula, and wreak havoc and chaos on the French as they march through it. You will not stay in one place, or build any encampmentsyou will hide in the deepest forests and caves, where the enemy cannot find you. You will attack in small ambushes, then retreat immediately as soon as they can form a counter-offensive. The goal will not be to defeat them outright, for you do not have the numbers. Instead, you will whittle them down, attacking them incessantly in rotating groups, so that you may rest while the enemy cannot. The French are weak-willed, and their morale is easily brokenby the time the invaders from the north cross the lake, the western group will be too fatigued and broken to join them in full force. Her plan was beginning to gain tractionafter each sentence, the chiefs began to agree, replying with emphatic grunts of acknowledgement. The second group will go further, Bear Mother continued. West and south, to capture and bring back more warriors for our eventual counter-attack. We will lose many warriors, but we will make sure they lose more. And when the second group returns, we will replenish our losses, and dig our tomahawks into the wounds we have just left them. Another wave of grunts, louder now. An energy was building in the roomthe Bear Mother was successfully whipping the men into a war frenzy. It was the mark of the most powerful clan mothersthe ability to imbue fire in the hearts of men. Red Fox felt a kindling inside him, his skin tight with goosebumps from the feeling that was building in each and every one of them. And what of us, Bear Mother? The Smoke Rises asked. Are we to take the fight to the French coming from the lake? No, Bear Mother replied. You are to take your war party and travel southeast, beyond our territory. Then, what is to become of the village? You will abandon it and burn your stores like the western group, right? No. We will stay. But the village will be defenseless, Mother. How will you survive the French assault from the north? The Bear Mother said nothing at first. Instead, she reached into a jug of liquor on the floor nearby, then dipped her soaked hand into the fire. Everyone gasped as she held out her hand, burning with hot flame. This is war, she thundered, her voice as deep and powerful as the greatest canyon. The enemy comes in great numbers, and they fight to kill and destroy. Only a child would think we will avoid losses. No, we will not flee. We will stay here, and play our own role. The French will come from the lake to find the northern villages unguarded, filled only with women and children. We will put on a great performance, fleeing and hiding in the woods as they ransack our towns. They will grow overconfident in their easy victories, as we know they have, and they will push further south and east. They will meet much resistance eastwardwe will the ask our Gayogo?h?n?? neighbors to defend their borders vigilantly. So they will be forced south, further than they can handle in the darkest winter. All the while, we will regroup, and cut them off, surrounding them inside our own lands, where there will be no escape. A few whoops echoed through the longhouse as Bear Mother slapped her flaming hand on the earth beneath her, dousing the fire. She then turned to her son-in-law. You will go southeast, she told him. To the nations of the English, and seek their aid. They will not pass up an opportunity to attack the French, and we will combine our forces once our trap has been sprung, counter-attacking with an army of an impossible size, one they will never see coming. Red Fox saw his father smile and nod, grunting fervently with the other men. A pride filled his chest, and Red Fox grunted too. And we will destroy their invading force, Bear Mother continued. She stood from her seat, standing over the fire, the light casting stark shadows that danced across her wizened face and silver hair. The men began whooping and shrieking, beating their chairs like war drums as she spoke. And we will not finish there. We will launch our own invasion, march into the heart of their lands, past the Shining Waters, to their capital! Yes! The men cheered, clapping and stomping in rhythm. We will slaughter every soldier, every trader, every woman and child, until there are no French left in this land! YES! The men shouted, their stomps shaking the foundation of the longhouse. And we will crush the head of the Snake of France, and slice open its belly, and devour its entrails! We will push them all into the ocean, back from whence they came, until there are no masters of these lands but of the mighty Five Nations! The longhouse erupted in a blazing fire of fury and bloodlust. The men shrieked and screamed great war cries, so loud and fierce that they would strike fear into the hearts of any man who heard them. They beat their chests with their fists, and their drums with their palms. And so the council ended, and a decision was reached. Everyone filed out of the longhouse, the men all forming a large hunting party to satiate their desire to kill that the Bear Mother had brought out of them. The first snow had begun to fall on the land, but the men did not even notice it, their eyes drunk on the thought of vanquishing the French. They ran out of the village with thunderous speed to hunt, and Red Fox ran with them, his heart filled with fire. Because even though he was not born here, even though he was assimilated, he carried with him all the pride of the Haudenosaunee. It was what made their adoption rituals so successful, why men from other nations fought and killed their former tribesmen after being converted. The Haudenosaunee were strong, and that strength imbued them with an unassailable pride. They believed themselves to be champions of the earth, to be above all other nations and peoples. If Red Fox was Haudenosaunee, then, he was a champion of the earth, too. And as he sped down the hill, fire coursing through his veins, wind flowing through his hair, he forgot all about the muddy river he used to call home. He was a Keeper of the Western Door, fierce and mighty, and soon the whole world would know it. End of Autumn Gentle Wind 1 Winter Gentle Wind Penobscot Land (Modern-day maine) Her name was Wlel?msen, named for the gentle breeze. All her life, her community knew her to be calm, thoughtful, and serene. Sachems from nearby bands often called her The Wife who Ponders Quietly and Speaks Softly. Yet her soft-spoken words always carried the great weight of wisdom behind them, and though she was not a saunskwa herself, any tribal leader would be wise themselves to heed her words and her guidance. For forty-five years she has pondered quietly and spoken softly. But today, she was silent. Today, in the earliest days of the harsh Dawnland winter, was the day of her husbands funeral. The dearly departed, known by all as Great Runner, took over leadership of the village and their band after his father died. But although he was a great runner, and an even better fighter, he was not a good sachem. He was too trusting, too susceptible to gifts and flattery, to whispered promises from the white man. Worst of all, he had no way with words. Among the sachems of the Abenaki, eloquence was perhaps the most coveted skill to possess, for how could one be a good leader if they were not persuasive? Thankfully, Gentle Wind was his wife, and she did enough thinking for both of them. For all his shortcomings, Great Runner was smart enough to always take his wifes advice, even bringing her to meetings with other sachems and white men. And now he was gone. The death of anyone in the village was to be mourned, but the loss of a sachem was a great one indeed. And so it brought with it the rituals of such magnitude, and Gentle Wind was made to bear them all. In the early hours of the day, as the first suns light graced the land, she was visited in her wigwam by the elder women of her village. They lamented the loss of her husband, expressing their sympathies and draping Gentle Wind in a black veil. The veil marked her as a widow, and she would wear it for a full year until the next winter. One by one, more visitors came to her wigwam, representatives of nearby bands, each of them paying their respects and condolences. She greeted them with half-hearted smiles and simple pleasantries, but her mind drifted elsewhere. Great Runner was not just a mere manChe was a sachem of his village, and the death of any sachem was like dropping a heavy stone in a pond, casting great ripples upon the water. After a sachems passing, an election was held to replace them, to fill the hole they left in the community. Her village would wait a year after the deceaseds death, after which a great council would be held with the other sachems to elect the next one. Therein lay a problem for Gentle Wind. A mourning widow was expected to conduct herself in a certain way, to follow certain rules until her black veil was lifted. If she did not, the elder women would rip off her veil prematurely to her disgrace, branded as one who did not respect her departed husbands memory. At the same time, she needed to spend this year in preparation for the election. She did not sit patiently at her husbands side for thirty years just to be discarded once he passed, and she would not remarry just to keep the same position. She intended to take up the position in her husbands stead, becoming saunskwa. But there were competitors in her village, young men with ambitious heads and prideful hearts who sought to lead themselves. They would spend this next year building their reputations, laughing and drinking with neighboring sachems to win them over come election time. But she could not do the same without breaking the pact of the veil placed upon her. As a widow, she would be expected to mourn, and to isolate herself to that end. She could not drink, make merry, or interact with men in an unbecoming manner. But every day that she acted as a widow should, shed slowly lose her claim to rule. What was she to do? Her worried thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the next visitor to her wigwam. Another problem for her to deal with, and this one far more troubling. For this visitor was a sachem of the Shining River, and her closest childhood friend. His name was Taqanansis, which in the Shining River tongue meant Little Salmon Who Has Never Seen the Sea. But Taqanansis was far from littleCrather he was a mountain of a man, his shoulders and chest as large as a bears. It was said he could split the trunk of a tree with his bare hands, and he played into the reputation, choosing never to wear a shirt or cloak even in the coldest winters. He stood in the doorway of her wigwam, his towering figure ever-imposing, his long black hair tied tightly behind his head. Yet he gazed upon Gentle Wind with such a softness, his dark brown eyes glistening in the light of her hearth-fire; in truth, he was her first love, and she was his. Wlel?msen, he called to her. Her name from his lips was a sound so sweet, like the gentle coo of a warbler in springtime. Try as she might, the usually-stoic Gentle Wind could not hide her feelings from him. She stood, turning her back on him as he entered her home. Forgive me, Little Salmon said. I should have sent word of my coming. The word would have arrived the same time you did, she returned. A silence hung in the wigwam. Neither could look one another in the eye. It seems the pox only takes good men, he continued. And allows the wicked to live and prosper. Did he suffer greatly? Only at the very end, they tell me. The Midewiwins medicines eased his pain, but they would not let me see him, lest I catch it too. It is a miracle, then, that it came to him while away, and that you have avoided the sickness yourself. I only wish I had gotten it in his stead, as my passing would leave no widow to mourn me. Wlel?msen turned to Taqanansis, her face stern. Don''t say things you do not mean, she scolded him. A man will not speak falsely under my roof. Her accusation caught the big-bellied man off guard, but only caused his face to soften further. Youre right, he said, his eyes darkening. In truth, I have been overwhelmed with guilt, for my first reaction upon hearing the news was joy. I feel so ashamed. He was my friendCno, more than that, even. We were practically brothers. I couldnt count the number of times he saved my life, or I saved his, or how many battles we fought and won at each others side. And yet, I couldnt feel anything but happiness to know that you would not be married to him another day. Is that why you came? She asked, turning away from him again. To court me? You intrude into my home on the day of my husbands funeral. You bear witness to my widows veil, and yet you mock it, speaking of your own selfish feelings so brazenly when you know I cannot return them. Do you intend to mock his memory, too? No, he rebutted, his voice gaining strength now. He stood tall in the wigwam, baring his muscled chest proudly. Nor do I intend to hide my feelings any longer. So many years has my heart spoken its truth to me, and so many years have I denied it. I loved your husband as a brother. But you and I both know that he was a flawed man, gullible and simple-minded, not deserving of a wife as smart and cunning as you. By the Great Spirit, we both knew him to hardly want to be married to you, or to any woman for that matter. You will not insult him so! I do not speak to insult, he continued. Rather to speak truth. You said a man will not speak falsely under your roof, and so I will not. How many years were you married to him? And yet through all of them you bore no sons or daughters. Never was a word spoken by any Midewiwini that you could not bear children, or that he could not give you them. And yet for so many nights you would not find him asleep in your bed. How many weeks did he travel away, beyond your watchful gaze? Even after the war, even during these years of peace? Why do you suppose he spent so much time away from his loving wife, from the people he claimed to watch over?This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Gentle Wind could take his callous words no longerCshe whirled around, aiming to strike him across his face. But the battle-wizened man reacted so quickly, catching her wrist before it landed upon him. Immediately, his grip on her arm softened, and he took her open palm, cupping it to his cheek. He took his own hand, large and calloused, using it to wipe away the tears forming in her eyes. Do you remember the night we spent together, all those years ago? He asked her, his voice soft and quiet now. Does it play in your mind constantly like it does in mine? Each of us leaving our own villages on our vision quests, each of us so young, ready to be rid of the childs soul inside ourselves. Each of us strayed far into the woods, so far we became lost. We were told we would find our guardian spirit, that they would guide us back home as grown adults. But instead we found each other. What a miracle that was, to stumble upon you. I remember being so afraid, so worried that I would be lost forever, but I found myself in your eyes, in your tender embrace. And when we fell asleep together under the stars, I knew I would return to my village a changed man. Every night since then I have looked up at the sky, and every night I have been disappointed. The stars have never shone as brilliantly as they did that night, and for thirty years I have worried they never will. Wlel?msens heart ached with every word he spoke. In truth, she wanted nothing more than to relinquish herself to her own feelings, to collapse into his arms, to hold and be held by him. But she would not dishonor her husbands memory. Even though he had never given her a child, even though he spent all his time away from her and the village. Even though he had never really loved her, and she had never really loved him. She knew her duty as wife and widow, and she would not forsake them just to chase the fleeting memory of a teenage love. I do not ask that you betray your late husband, Taqanansis said as if he could read her mind, his voice almost a whisper now as his face inched closer to hers. I only ask that once your veil is lifted, you would consider a new husband in me. Wlel?msen took the mans hand, cupping it to her cheek as he did hers. I will not settle for just being a wife, you know, she told him. I have led my people in all but name for decades now, and I will not abandon them just to chase after the fringe on your leggings. And so it shall be. You will be saunskwa of your White Rock, and I will be sachem of my Shining River. We are in such a time where peoples merge, anyway, so let us merge our peoples. I will support your bid once the election comes, and I know many who will follow me in kind. In the winter, you and your people can live in my village where it is warm, and we will join you by the sea in the heat of the summer. And we will record this great marriage in wampum, not just of two lovers, but of two villages, so that our children and childrens children will forever know the deepness of our love. We will share in everything: our food, our drink, our dances and songs. So long as I live I promise I will not keep anything from you, even my most treasured secrets, even my deepest shames. Everything I have will be yours, and every burden you bear I will shoulder. I swear it to you. These words hurt her even more, for they were the words she had been waiting to hear from him all her life. How badly she had wished to marry him when she was young instead of Great Runner. But her father would never have allowed it, for Taqanansis father was his greatest rival, and neither would ever have approved such a union. But both of their fathers were long gone now, and there was no one left to oppose their love for each other. Do you ever think about all the wasted time? She asked him, her eyes watering again. Always, he said. But I do not dwell on it. Rather I think of the time we have yet to spend, of the future we will have together. We are old now. I can bear you no children. And yet I will still ask Gluskabe for fortune that we are granted one. In these unpredictable times, who is to say what can happen and what cannot? Miracles are known to happen every day. How else could we have found one another in the forest that fateful night? Gentle Wind could bear it no longerCshe flung herself into Little Salmons enormous arms. She knew she shouldnt. She knew that if any of the elder women saw her, she would be scorned forever as an outcast. But she didnt care. For once in her life, she indulged herself, throwing caution to the wind to embrace her innermost desires. This time, it was Little Salmon who stepped away. Not now, he told her, his large stature thankfully blocking the view of the doorway from any snooping eyes outside. As much as it pains me to tear myself from you. Not today. We are meant to mourn your late husband, to remember him, and I intend to. Forgive me for tempting you with my thoughtless words. I know, Gentle Wind said. By the Great Spirit, I know. I just its been so long. So many wasted years, desperately hoping for something to change. I feel as though I wont be able to wait another day, let alone a year. You will. You are the strongest woman I have ever known. In all these years, I have never taken a wife, for I have never met another that measures up to you. You will bear the trials of this year of mourning, and once it is over, it will make our reunion that much sweeter. He turned to leave, the flames of the dancing hearth-fire casting flickering shadows upon his broad back. Tomorrow, I will embark on a long journey. I have been summoned to the place where the river turns rapid, where the Bear People hunt and fish. Every sachem from all across the Dawnlands will be there. A great council will be held. I would like you to accompany meCnot as my wife, or even as my guest, but as a representative of your people. It will be a year before a new sachem is chosen, but your village deserves to have their voice heard at this council. No one will deny that you are the best choice right now, even if you are in mourning. Wait, she said, clutching his arm. Through the small gap he left in the doorway as he turned, she could make out two figures outside in the village square. She recognized them instantlyCthey could be no other than the sachem Madockawando and the Frenchman Saint-Castin. Both of them sat in the midst of six other sachems exchanging pleasantries and anecdotes with scheming smiles. She watched them intently, trying to glean even an ounce of their true intentions from their faces. Why is he here? She asked Taqanansis. The Frenchman? He replied. Come nowCyou know that he has lived in Madockawandos village for years. Hes even taken one of his daughters for a wife. I dont trust him. He wears the smile of a fox. You have nothing to fear from a foxs smile, unless you consider yourself to be a rabbit. He was a valuable ally during the war, and has learned our ways and practices them with respect. What reason do you have to distrust him besides the paleness of his skin? It is because of the paleness of his skin that I do not trust him. The white men are snakes that can hide their fangs so as to seem toothless. They make treaties with us only to break them on some technicality, twisting our lack of understanding their laws like a knife in our gut. They say they respect our sovereignty, only to encroach upon our lands and act offended when we accuse them of the crimes they blatantly commit. Let me ask you this: have you ever seen a white man with the pox? I have not, he admitted. It is something I have pondered, too. When I first learned that some of my neighbors were leaving the village, that they were going to move to a praying town and worship the white mans god, I was so angry. I confronted them, and demanded to know why they would forsake the teachings of their ancestors. Their answer was simple: they had never seen a white man with the pox, and believed that it was the worship of the man called Jesus Christ that protected them from sickness. They said that if they started praying to Jesus Christ, they too would be protected. The white men came and brought weapons we had never known of before. Now we know the rifle well, and use it to destroy our enemies, but it was foreign to us before they came. What if the pox is the same? What if its a weapon of their creation, one that they can wield to sicken and kill those who oppose them? Little Salmon scratched his chin, thinking deeply on her question. Im not sure, he said. A worrying idea indeed. But I will choose not to believe it. For if it is true, it means their sagamores have a magic so much more potent than our own, and that we have no hope against them. But that hasnt been the case, at least so thus far. True, we have lost so many, but the white men cannot just do as they like. Still they are forced to negotiate with us, to make treaties and trade agreements. If the pox was truly a weapon they could wield and control, they would never have had to rely on us in the first place. Little Salmon smiled, placing a reassuring hand on Gentle Winds shoulder. I understand your concern, he told her. And I will keep an ever-watchful eye on any white man in our midst, even the Saint-Castin, who I do believe to be trustworthy. But we should not dwell on such suspicions today. Will I see you tomorrow when the sun rises? Will you accompany me to the council? Gentle Wind nodded. In truth, he didnt even need to ask. You dont know how happy your answer makes me, Little Salmon said with a grin. Ill be waiting outside your wigwam at first light. Good day, and please, forgive my insolent transgressions, especially on such a sacred occasion. I am but a slave to the beatings of my heart. Gentle Wind watched him leave, her own heart aching more and more with every step he took. More visitors came, even Madockawando and the Saint-Castin, but she could barely hear a word they spoke. After she had finished entreating everyones sympathies, she left her wigwam, walking out of the village and up the hill nearby to the top. There lay her late husband, interred in a coffin of birchbark. Nestled in his arms were the things he kept closest to him in lifeChis tomahawk, his waterskin, his hunting rifle. Her eyes lingered on his once-beautiful face, forever scarred by the horrible disease that took him. Fear and worry crept into her heart where a hopeful love had just briefly filled, even if it was only a passing visitor. In the late autumn cold, the ground was too hardened to bury anyone, so her poor husband would stay above ground until the spring. He would linger for months here atop the hill overlooking the village, a constant reminder of his death, and of her duty. No New Chapter this week To all my readers, There will not be a new chapter of Old World Thunder, New World Fire this week. I''m giving myself a break after the Writathon to rest and recuperate, since writing so much in such a short span of time was pretty exhausting and I need some time before I can continue to the next part of the story. I plan to resume my usual schedule next week, so expect a new chapter next Friday. In the meantime, there should still be a nice chunk of chapters to get through from the Writathon, so please enjoy them. Thank you all for your patience and understanding, and I will see you next week.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. J Braden Traw Chr茅tien de Parthenay 7 Chrtien de Parthenay Former Wendake/Huronia (Modern-Day Ontario Peninsula) With the first falling of snow upon New World soil, the French offense into the Iroquois frontier had begun. Le Marquis had gathered forces numbering just over two thousand soldiers for the main assault from the west. A thousand more would join them once they had broken into Seneca territory, arriving quickly on fleets of small bateaux and canoes across the lake from Fort Frontenac. The companies that had been stationed at the fort were reinforced by a large force of regular marines from the capital, led by Le Marquis, Le Vicomte, and a few other commandants of their own companies. Le Marquis had ordered Le Vicomte and his men to tend the second force, despite Le Vicomtes pleading to be included in the main assault. Chrtien and his deer warriors, on the other hand, were assigned to lead the charge into the lands the Seneca had conquered from the Wendat. The look on Le Vicomtes face when he learned his ward of all people would have the glory and honor of leading the charge was pricelesslike a sad, dejected dog who had begged for scraps and shooed away. But Chrtien felt no honor or glory at being assigned to the vanguard, for he knew that he and his company were chosen not to lead the others into glorious battle, but to soak up the aggression and musket fire from the front. He and his Deer Warriors were expendable playthings to Le Marquis, human shields of savage flesh that would martyr themselves to protect his precious French marines. There were two silver linings to the imminent doom he had been assigned. The first was that he and his half-company would not have to run in and die aloneanother company of native warriors fought alongside them. Strangely, they were Kanien?keh:kaFlint-Wielders, what Le Marquis and the other Frenchman called Maquis. Chrtien was of course skeptical upon learning they were Iroquois, but he soon learned that their origins meant little to inform their current allegiance. Each of the two hundred warriors in that company were outcasts from the rest of Iroquois society, exiled for having converted to Christianity. Given their new faith and subsequent rejection from their people, they had left Iroquois territory and settled their own village called Kahnawake. Gyantwaka suspected that there were likely Wendat and even maybe Chonnonton among them, having been assimilated into their tribes decades ago, or some having fled there to be among other Christians. The second hidden blessing was that there was no group of people Chrtien would rather march through these lands than his Deer comrades. Though they were not Wendat themselves, their territory was so close that the boundaries often overlapped, and his soldiers were more than comfortable with the layout and terrain of this place. For many of them, it was even nostalgic, places they would visit as children before the great nation of Wendake fell. It was bittersweet, then, as they marched through ruins of once-great villages that now lay empty and destroyed. It reminded Chrtien of Parthenay once his father dieda castle with no lord, stone walls with no enemy to keep out. Once a home to him and her sister, filled with the bustle of butlers and maids, now with nothing left but hallways and rooms that lay hauntingly empty. The first five days of their expedition were uneventful. Each day they marched, and they slept when they could not march any longer. After setting up camp each night, Chrtien took the opportunity to become familiar with the chief of the Christian Flint-Wielders, since they would be fighting together. They were led by a man named Athasata, who had been given the Christian name of Joseph upon his baptism. He must have been in his thirties, with a strong yet nimble build. Atop his head he wore a crown of wood covered in feathers, with three large ones pointing to the sky to mark him as Keeper of the Eastern Door, and a fourth added across the feather in the front, forming a cross to mark him as Christian. It was the configuration all the men in his company wore with pride. What marked him as chief and leader of all of the other Flient-Wielders was the belt of wampum he wore across his chest. The belt was a tableau of purple beaded shells, bisected in the middle by a cross of beautiful white. It was this belt, Athasata had told Chrtien, that marked their official departure from the rest of the Iroquois, renouncing their traditional ways and their people for the teachings of Christ. Can I ask you something? Chrtien asked him as he studied the intricate lines of beads on the belt. Sure, Athasata replied. The chief took a drag from his pipe, then passed it to Chrtien. He obliged, breathing in a puff of smoke. The smoky tobacco coated his lungs, filling his body with a comforting heat to ward away the cold of the wintry night. Why did you do it? Chrtien asked the man. Youve been baptized as a Christian, and you left your people because they wouldnt accept you. And now you fight your old countrymen, cousins and brothers. Is it worth it? Chrtien passed the pipe back to Athasata, who took another drag, releasing a stream of smoke from his nostrils that cascaded towards the night sky. A good question, the chief said. And one that I am still trying to answer myself. But your question is in fact two separate ones, and it merits two answers. The first is of my faith. Let me ask you, then: why are you a Christian? Me? Yes, you. You are a Christian, arent you? Isnt that what your name means in your tongue? Well yes, it is. And yes, I am. But everyones a Christian in France. For us, its less of a question of whether or not youre a Christian, and more of what kind of Christian you are. My father was the wrong kind, according to the King.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Youre avoiding my question. Why do you worship the man named Jesus Christ? Well I I guess Im not completely sure. I was born into it, I guessmy father was Christian, so that made me Christian. Not that I dont believe in it allI believe in God, I think, and Christ, the Redeemer. But Ive never really thought about it much. That is a telling answer. You have never thought about your faith because youve never been forced to reckon with your faith. I envy you. The chief reclined, placing his hands behind his head. Would you believe me if I told you it was a marital dispute? He laughed. In fact, it was because of faith. The pox had come to our village, and devastated so many families, especially the family of my wife. She lost her mother and father to it, and her younger brother, and her nephew, who was only a baby. You understand that the pox makes men desperatewe see so much death, and look for anything to save us. Some believe that if you convert to Christianity, if you worship Jesus Christ, that he protects you from the pox. My wife heard those rumors, and pleaded with me to convert so we could be saved. But what was I supposed to do? Abandon the old ways, the teachings of my mother and grandmother? So as you were born Christian from your father, I was taught from my mother. If you were asked to abandon your teachings for my old ones, to relinquish the memory of your ancestors, just for some selfish hope of saving yourself, would you? No. No, I wouldnt. Neither would I. So we fought, and I left. I wandered north in my anger, and stumbled upon Kahnawake. I stayed there among the Teiaiasontha Onkwehonwemy brothers who had chosen the Cross, out of spite. I wanted to see the folly of their faith, the chaos it surely sowed here, as it had sowed so much in my own life. Athasata leaned forward. He took another drag of the pipe, a sigh releasing from his chest along with a puff of smoke. But I didnt. Instead I saw order, and harmony. Kahnawake is a village unlike no otherit is a place for all peoples, settled by all peoples. There are Kanien?keh:ka, and Wendat, and Anishinaabe, and Abenakiall have gathered there, every one of them bound by nothing but their love of the Lord. And then I came to love the Lord, too, for it was there that I witnessed a miracle. There was a girl who lived there, Kateri. Her whole family had been stricken with the pox. She was the sole survivor, and even then the disease had claimed much of herher face was scarred and disfigured, her limbs thin and frail. I met her only onceshe had heard a non-believer had come to the village, and tried to speak to me about the mercy of God. I was defiant and stubborn, and ignored her every word. Two weeks later, she died. I, in my arrogance, decided to visit her deathbed. Im still not sure why I did it. I think I wanted to prove my wife wrong, to see this Christian girl that had succumbed to illness just the same as any of us. But Id like to think it was God himself that guided me there, to show me the truth. It was unlike anything I had ever seen, or have since. You must understand that when she was alive, her face was mottled and pock-marked. She covered her head with a shawl to hide the way she looked. But upon her death, all her scars disappeared. Her face was beautiful and serene, at such peace that I was in a jealous fury. I left her home, and fled to the woods, out of the village. I slept that night outside among the stars, looking for some meaning to it all. Then, if you would believe it, I saw Kateri again. She was right there in my camp, smiling at me. She told me that I would understand now, that I could be welcomed into the kingdom of heaven just like her. And I swear I saw her ascend, float above the fire and into the sky. And the next morning, I learned I was not the only one. Several others in the village saw her too, and witnessed her ascent into heaven. It was a miracle of God, and in that moment I knew His power, and His grace. The chief reclined again, gazing up at the sky, as if Kateri would suddenly appear to both of them. And Chrtien could not help but be taken by some envy that burned in his cheeks and chest. This Iroquois spoke of his devotion to Christ with a fervor and dedication that would rival those of a Cardinal, while it was hardly an afterthought to Chrtien. Perhaps being born and raised into his faith made it more mundane, dampening whatever magic and mystique that had won the chiefs heart. But there were always those devout, even for those born into it, devout enough to commit ones life to it, to venture out to foreign lands and risk life and limb to spread the good word of God. Why was Chrtien not the same? He realized that, like his sister, he ultimately lacked conviction for anything, including faith. But how could he? How could you believe in the grace of the Holy Father when your own father had gone mad and tried to kill his only son? To answer your second question, Athasata continued, oblivious that Chrtien was now lost in his own thoughts. I have no qualms about fighting my countrymen. It was their choice to rebuke the teachings of Christ, to banish those who worshipped Him from their lands, to kill the priests that try to come and help them. Kahnawake is a place of many peoples, and thus many chiefs. Even among the Kanien?keh:ka there, I am only one of many chiefs. Another of them, and one with more influence than me, disagrees with me. He is Aronhiatekha, and he still believes that we are part of the Five Nations, and we must respect the treaty of peace imposed by the belt of Hiawatha. We have argued over it many timesin my mind, it makes no sense to cling to your bonds when you have been outcast and shunned by them. But he is set in his ways, and I in mine, I suppose. He and many other Kahwanakeronon have chosen to take no part in this fight, but the two hundred I have gathered here share my point of view, at least. Chrtien nodded, but he was no longer listening. His mind was lost in the chiefs words, in the story of his conversion and the miracle he witnessed. What miracles had Chrtien ever seen? Everything in his life thus far had convinced him that there was no loving Godif there was a God who could see everything that happened on this earth, he was either a sadist or just apathetic. But he admired Athasatas conviction, enough to be jealous of it. At least, he thought could form his own conviction, one that would keep him going for now. He would survive this winter offensive, he would win each battle he fought, and he would bring Jikohnsasee and her brethren the justice and vengeance they deserved. At night, Chrtien tried his best to find sleep in between alternating shifts of watch. When he did, he would dream. He dreamt of Kateri and her ascent to the stars, uniting with Christ and Michael and all the angels of heaven. He dreamed of the Great Peacemaker, and Hiawatha, and Jikohnsasee, and all the figures of legend Gyantwaka had told him stories of. But in all these dreams, with all these people, he could never make out any of their faces. All the rest of them were in perfect, crisp detailtheir hair, their clothes, but never their faces. When he woke, he could never tell if he saw their faces and simply didnt recall them, or if they were blank and featureless in his dreams. It was something that haunted him ever so slightly, something that lingered in the back of his mind as he pushed through the monotonous doldrums of the cold winter march. John Goodman John Goodman Boston, Massachusetts Bay Colony Like all God-fearing men, John Goodman strived to espouse many virtues, to fulfill many roles. As a Harvard-educated lawyer and former member of the Council of Assistants, he sought to help his countrymen, to preserve justice and order in the colony. As a family man, he strived to perform those dutiesa good husband to his wife Pleasance, and a good father to his two daughters, Grace and Mercy. But most of all, he wished to serve God, to live in a way that would uphold the Lords teachings, each and every day. Only, as the years passed, those ideals grew more and more distant. As it turned out, justice and order were not clear-cut, but rather fickle things that ebbed and flowed with the law, while the law itself was not always just. Nor was there a guidebook on parenthood, or how to deal with the burgeoning emotions of teenage daughters. And sometimes, to Johns great dismay, God was terrifyingly silent, and often when he needed His guidance the most. Then came war. War like these lands had never seen, war that John could never have imagined. War that made beasts of good men, and devils of wicked ones. Once-beautiful fields and forests, great landscapes sprung from Gods paintbrush, battered and defiled. Women and children butchered in their homes, babes ripped from their mothers arms. John witnessed horrors he would not wish upon any of Gods creatures. It was war that caused his fraying ideals to finally crumble. There was no honor or justice to be found on the battlefield. Rather, it was a war borne of injustice, of a hasty trial and hanging of three Indian men, of a false arrest of an Indian King. On the battlefield itself, the only law was that of animalskill or be killed, eat or be eaten. His family became an abstract memory for him, an ideal that kept him going on the coldest winter nights and through the most grueling of battles. And God was nowhere to be found. He could not be here, among the scattered corpses, the awful stench of blood and death. But no, that wasnt quite right, was it? God was omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent. God had preordained it allthe hanging of those three Indians, the death of King Alexander in prison, the massacres of innocent women and children. And what could that possibly mean? By the time he returned from those three years of hell, his whole life had changed. His eldest daughter was now of marrying age, and the younger Mercy was not far behind. The Council had been dissolved and reformed with the formation of the Dominion, leaving him jobless unless he submit himself to the Crowns yoke. Old Englands influence and false religion spread through these Puritan lands like a disease, with old churches turning to Anglican ones, popish and profane. Worst of all, the devil had come to New England. A wolf in sheeps clothing, he wore the skin of a man, the invisible crown of England lingering like a blasphemous halo above his head. He had conveniently come to this place a year before the war began, and used it to propel himself to the highest seat of power. In its latest attempt to squeeze the last drop of independence from its fledgling colonies, the Lords of England had united all the colonies of New England north of Pennsylvania, called the Dominion of New England. This wolf in sheeps skin, the devil named Edmund Andros, was named its governor, to tighten the iron grasp of Mother England on all the people who had worked so hard to escape it. And it was this man that John Goodman found himself at the behest of, and who had summoned him for a meeting today. Johns breath fogged as he made the walk down the Boston Common towards Sam Willards Church. Only it was Sam Willards church no longer, having been commandeered by Andros to perform the Anglican churchs rites of popery. It was also the building Andros used for his meetings whenever he came to Boston. The governors summons were vague, leaving John with little idea why he was here, but his arrival was always an ill omen. John suspected it likely had something to do with whisperings from the north, from the rumors of French aggression into Seneca territory. An attack on the Five Nations was, to a certain extent, an attack on England, who had allied themselves with the Iroquois. To John, though, he did not care much. He was not fond of dealing with the Iroquoisif he had his way, he would have never broken relations with the Wampanoag and the Narragansett. But relations were broken, bridges burned that could never be rebuilt. John was there when their former allies proud king was shot in the back, gunned down in the swamp like an animal. He was there when his body was quartered, his head hung on a pike, the rest of him draped from tree branches like macabre ornaments to some pagan fte. He was there when the mans wife and children were put in irons and shipped off to Bermuda as slaves, along with all the other captives. No, there was no going back now. The tribes who were once the New Englanders greatest allies were dead or scattered, the few that remained now bitter and resentful. Meanwhile the colonies had latched onto the support of the Iroquois, regardless of the consequences. And Andros, in a way, was behind much of it. Back before the Dominion, when he was merely the governor of New York, he managed somehow to convince the nearby Mohawk to attack King Phillip, and join the war on their side. What followed was the first turning point in the fighting, a move that finally put the Wampanoag and their allies on the back foot. But at what cost? It was impossible to tell. No one seemed to know how it was that Andros convinced the Iroquois, and it was far too early to know what fruits their new alliance would bear, and what thorns would grow along with them. At the very least, there was one thing John Goodman was certain of: the loss of the Wampanoag was something huge, like dropping a boulder in a lake of still water. Years ago, John helped serve as an interpreter, learning their language to help mediate negotiations. He made many friends among the Indians, some of them closer than any he had made among his own people. Now, all but one were dead, ghosts that haunted his dreams and conscience. The large wooden door of the Third Church creaked open as John entered. As expected, Governor Andros was there, sitting in the wooden pulpit like it was a lofty gazebo. The pulpit was one of several recent additions since the genesis of the Dominion, a blasphemous Anglican addition to this once-righteous place of worship. Ah, there you are, the Governor said as John entered. Evening, Goodman! It was a play on words, one that always brought a stupid smile to Andros blocky face. Every man was a Goodman here, when addressed politely, and every woman a Goodwife. John, then, was Goodman Goodman, if you were strictly technical about it, an ironic little repetition which Andros loved to point out. John just raised his hand in acknowledgement, mustering the bare minimum required to keep the Governor satisfied. He took his seat in the front pew by the pulpit, and nodded to another man who was seated in the lectern opposite. His name was Increase Mather, named for the never-to-be-forgotten Increase of Gods favor upon his birth. As one would expect from a man with such a name, Increase was a man of Puritan godliness, which of course put him at odds with Andros and the Dominion. Despite this, he always managed to find out about informal meetings and summons like these, and he always managed to show up at them, even though he no longer held any power. John wasnt sure why Andros kept allowing his presence, given that he was so adamant about eschewing the rest of the status quo. His best guess was that it was some kind of secret olive branch, an attempt to placate the Old Guard of Puritans who were constantly fighting against his reforms. Of course, it would never work. The only thing that Increase and the others cared about was re-establishing their Puritan theocracy, one that shut out false religions that undermined the law of God. I hope your trip was pleasant enough, John said to Andros. It was rather awful, actually, he replied. I dont need to tell either of you how cold it is this time of year. And worse, I received the most disturbing letter upon my arrival. Governor Denonville has broken the treaty I worked so hard to broker between us, and is marching into Seneca territory as we speak. I even sent him another letter of warning, which must have never reached him, because he would know better than to ignore me.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. John shifted uncomfortably in the hard wooden pew. The newest Governor of New France had proved to be an increasingly large thorn in the side of Englands colonies ever since his appointment. A year ago, he had sent marines to assault and seize three outposts in Hudsons Bay, effectively cutting New England off from the fur trade in the north entirely. Now, he was invading the territory of their sworn allies, and the Seneca would expect New England to honor their alliance. Whats more, tensions were growing back in Europe. King Louis had just emerged victorious over the Dutch, and was ever-gluttonous for more power, to extend the borders of his grand empire. He had already begun encroaching into the territories of Spain and the Holy Roman Empire, and England would surely be next. Given that the Kings of both France and England were staunch Catholics, they shared an uneasy alliance, but one that could easily be broken. It was hard to know everything that was going on in the motherlands, so far away, but there were always rumors and distant rumblings. If things continued the way they were, it could lead to a war between England and France, which would no doubt spill over to its colonies. That would be nightmarish for John and all the other Puritansto be made into warrior-puppets, fighting for the glory of a nation and ruler they had crossed the Atlantic to escape from. I hope thats not the reason you summoned me, John said. No, of course not, Andros said. What on earth would I have you do with the French, let alone the Iroquois? Thats not your skillset. Although, the task I have in mind is not completely unrelated, either. What I need from you, Goodman, is to take a little trip north to visit the Abenakis of Acadia. Why? Have they joined the quarrel between the French and the Iroquois? No, not yet. But we dont really want them to change their mind about that, do we? I dont need to tell you that the Abenakis took the side of our enemies during the last war, and that their warriors almost swung the pendulum to their side. I am not about to risk that again if France decides to extend this little excursion of theirs into a full-fledged offensive. What makes you think they will be swayed to our side? Mather cut in. We have nothing new to offer them, and they still resent us for defeating them in the last war. As I understand it, you had a point of contact with the Abenakis, Andros said. Yes, John said. His names Great Runner. He did seem amenable to supporting our side, though I imagine his support would come with a price. The issue was not with him, however, but with the others. Getting one chief on your side is one thing, but the Abenakis do not have just one ruler. And from what I could tell, Great Runner is not a persuasive chief, and holds little power among the others. Well need many more than him if were going to convince them. Well, if my informants are correct, we may have been granted an opportunity. Your contact, as it seems, has died. His wife is apparently set to replace him, and therein lies our opportunity. Your old chief couldnt convince the others, but a woman might have more sway with men, and better yet, she might be looking to remarry into a family with a little more political weight. Have you met her? John thought hard. I remember her, I think, he said. He always brought her with him, to consult with her. But she never spoke with me, not directly. She would whisper to him, and he would speak to me. I dont know if shell be agreeable or not. Well, thats what your little trip will be for, wont it? Oh, and youll be accompanied by a William Marley. I believe youre already acquainted. What!? John suddenly stood from the pew, his fists balled so tight his knuckles whitened. Is there a problem? Andros asked. Yes, theres a problem, John hissed. Youre not sending me on a diplomatic mission. Youre sending me as a distraction. Anything that John had to resist the urge to spit on the ground in this holy place, eager to rid the name William Marley from his mouth. While he and his countrymen saw many horrors during King Philip''s War, and even committed some, he walked away knowing most of those men still had a conscience. That did not apply to William Marley. He was the type of man who relished in others pain, who sought to cause as much misery and suffering as he could. The battlefields of King Philips war had been his playground, one that awarded his penchant for pure brutality. You dont have anything to worry about, Andros said. Marley is just there to be my eyes and ears, and as a failsafe if things go south. Marley will cause things to go south, John said adamantly. There will be no negotiations if hes there. If you truly cared about winning the hearts of the Abenaki, you will keep William Marley far away from them. And I will not travel by his side. All of a sudden, the governors usual coy demeanor turned sour. Am I to understand that youre disobeying a command from your Governor? He asked. John stiffened. At the end of the day, he was still a subject of the Crown, and it was errands like these that kept his family fed since the dissolution of his old job. He turned his eyes to Mather for aid, who had been sitting there quietly this whole time. You must understand Johns hesitation, the man mused. After all, Marley does carry a rather brutal reputation from the war. But of course you will need an emissary to represent you at such meetings, and we can provide none for you. Why dont we send a third man, then, to help put Johns poor soul at ease during his travels. Someone he can trust, who can help in the negotiations as well. What about Sam Appleton? Youre joking, Andros scoffed. You know that Sam Appleton is currently in prison, dont you, Mather? Well, he could be pardoned, just for this excursion. John reeled at the suggestion. Not that he wouldnt love to travel with an old friend like Sam Appleton, and certainly he would be glad if he were freed from his unjust imprisonment. But that was not why Mather suggested it. After all, Appleton was arrested in the first place for defying Andros, for possessing, as his warrant stated, a seditious inclination. His arrest was a warning against further opposition, a message to all the other rebellious Puritans to know their place. Mather wasnt really trying to help Johnhe rarely did. He was here to further his own agenda, to start chipping away at the armor of the Dominion he so vehemently opposed. Absolutely not, Andros said. Its out of the question. I understand, Increase replied, conceding the point immediately, to Johns surprise. But surely we can find some compromise, thensome middle ground. Is there another you could trust, John? One who would put your mind at ease about this whole Marley situation? Now, both the men turned to John, who tried his best not to squirm under their intense gazes. Both of them sat on opposite ends of the church, like an angel and devil upon his shoulders. Only it was not that simple, for Mather was not an angel. In many ways, he was just as scheming and manipulative as Andros, the only difference between them being their faith. To John, one could not espouse the virtues of God through subterfuge, a belief which Increase and many of the other Puritans who used to hold power did not share. John could not help but feel like a puppet whose strings were being pulled in two opposite directions, slowly tearing his body apart. Still, he was more than a mere puppet. Andros would want him to select some Anglican sympathizer, while Increase would want him to bring a theocrat. But he would do neither. He would not kowtow to Andros or the Dominion, and he did not trust Mather, despite their religious kinship. Isaac Alderman, he said. He knows the area better than I do, and he has family among the Abenaki. The suggestion surprised both Andros and Mather alike. Isaac Alderman was an Indian, of the Wampanoag, no less. He had been an advisor to King Philip before the great chief turned against him, causing him to flee and join the New Englanders. It was Alderman, in fact, that landed the fatal shot against King Philip, ending the war once and for all. And unbeknownst to Andros, he was one of Johns closest friends. Fine by me, Andros said. Ill not deny you a war hero to guard you on the road, and having an Indian along for the talks will surely help smooth things over. You can fetch him on your way north. Thank you, John said. He mustered a quick bow to the Governor, though it made him want to puke, then turned and walked towards the door. Oh, and do tell him to bring the hand with him when you all return for debriefing, Andros said with a wave. Ive never gotten the chance to see it. John ignored him, walking out of the church and into the cold winter air. A nausea rose in the pit of his stomach. It was a feeling he always got before something went wrong, a feeling of imminent dread. It was not a perfect prescience, but at the very least it told him one thing: this trip would be far more trouble than it was worth.