The Orenda Joseph Boyden (52 page)

Carries an Axe has been asking to go out and scout as well, but I tell him he’s needed here to protect his family and the others. There will be plenty of action for you soon, my new son.

Stragglers from our village continue to trickle in. I keep hoping for more to show up but now, a few days after the news of our great defeat and slaughter, I’ve lost much hope. All told, I’ve counted maybe thirty survivors, including Fox and the ones who appeared that day. I’m numb. I feel like I suddenly live under water. I think we all do.

But we must fight through it. We throw ourselves into the strengthening of the defences, the collecting of wood for fuel, the rationing of food, and the planning of where to keep the women and children and old people when the battle rages.

This little river that the Iron People have dug into the community
will serve us well. I stand by it and study it in the sunlight glinting off its stillness. We’ll have more than enough fresh water to drink and to put out the fires the Haudenosaunee will start. But something about this strange creek continues to intrigue me. I feel something deep in my spine when I catch a glimpse of it, and I don’t know why. Clearly, I’ve dreamed of it. I will ask Gosling what she thinks its significance is. There’s no time for reflection, though. I do everything I can to keep my mind from what might happen, very soon, to so many of us.

—

FOX COMES BACK
with Tall Trees to tell us what they’ve seen. The Haudenosaunee have sent out small bands of their own scouts to scour the territory. Fox found the markings of where a few of them slept less than half a day away.

“I can see what they’re doing,” he says. “They’re finding the most efficient route here.”

I ask how long he thinks before they come to us. He says as soon as two or three days.

The night’s discussion around the fire is dominated by the question of how to get the women, children, and infirm to somewhere of safety. Where that might be poses only the first great problem. How they can be guaranteed this safety outside of the palisades is another. What they are to do without shelter or much in the way of food is still another. We can’t afford to send more than a few men, as we will need every one.

“I question if it’s sensible to do this at all,” Tall Trees says. “I for one am not willing to let Sleeps Long and our baby far out of my sight. Where would they go?”

“The islands in the Sweet Water Sea aren’t so far from here,” Fox says. “Wouldn’t this be a good hiding place?”

I know these islands, three of them, one large and two smaller. While fishing in spring, I’ve stayed on them. “It’s an interesting idea,” I say. “And if we had the time to make a camp for the women and
children, at least some protection from the wind and rain, I might say yes. But we don’t.”

Carries an Axe clears his throat. “I say we use the islands as a last resort,” he says. “I won’t let my wife and child stray outside of these palisades without me, either. If the worst happens and we need to flee, let’s put out the word to meet on the largest of the islands.”

“Well, the young man doesn’t speak from his ass,” I say, making the others laugh. It feels good. “I agree with you, my son.”

The others do as well.

—

I SIT BY THE FIRE
with Christophe Crow and try to explain to him that the Haudenosaunee will attack soon. He’s stunned, unable to focus. He doesn’t want to believe it.

“Do you think they’d make such an enemy of the Iron People?”

All I can do is nod. They would, but he doesn’t want to hear it. “At least let us be prepared,” I say.

“At first,” he says, “I didn’t want these war-bearers that my people sent me coming here. I thought they’d bring the worst of my people and their ways with them. But now,” he says, “if we’re to be attacked, they’ll probably be the ones to save us.”

I ask him again if there is more of the shining wood for his war-bearers to share with ours. “We have to act quickly to train my men,” I explain.

He shakes his head. “Very few of the men who were promised came last autumn. They brought very little with them. I’m sorry.”

I tell him to come with me to the head of his war-bearers and let him know that Wendat and Iron People alike now have to plan our defences together. The Crow, as if he’s just waking up, nods and climbs to his feet.

—

FOX AND I WATCH
from the ramparts as the hairy ones teach some of ours how to load the shining wood and how to aim it. I won the argument that it’s good for all to know how to use what we have at our disposal. They fire a few times to get my men used to the thunderous bark and the smoke. I have a group of younger ones, little more than boys, searching out the good hardwood for arrow shafts and scouring the riverbank for flint for the tips. They’ve already filled every kettle, bucket, and container they could find with water from the little river and placed these near all the buildings. The Haudenosaunee will no doubt launch a fire attack first to cause panic and confusion.

My own shining wood rests in my arms, a gift so long ago from their great chief. I’ve used it rarely. If I hunt with it, the sound scares game far away, and in a time of war, the first firing is impressive, but in the madness of struggle it’s very difficult to reload, taking too much time to make bark again.

“I’ll do what I can to help you prepare it if you need me,” Fox says, nodding to the shining wood. “Me, I’m going to rely on my bow and my club and my knife.”

We turn from the view below to the forest in the distance. The sun’s been our friend the last days, any traces of snow long gone. The rich dark earth of the fields heats in the sun’s warmth, and the wind blows its scent to us.

“I don’t think I’ll see another spring again,” Fox says.

“Don’t be so morose,” I tell him. “We have many more springs of fishing together. The Haudenosaunee will come here and think twice when we wipe out their first wave. They’ll have had enough quickly once they try us the first time.”

I look around me as if I see it from my enemy’s eyes. The palisades appear well built even if there’s only one row of them. Despite this, the stone corners of the village are something daunting that they’ve probably not seen before. We have only three sides to defend as a river runs along the back. I want to believe the enemy will be turned away and decide to leave.

“I’m not sad if I don’t see another summer,” Fox says, pulling me back to the two of us standing here. “I’m not being morose. I just tell you when it comes, that day, it will be a good one to die. I look forward to being with my family again.”

“Well, you’re just going to have to wait a little while longer to see them, my friend,” I say. The time presents itself to tell him, and so I will. “Gosling,” I say, “she’s pregnant.”

He looks at me flatly, but then his face breaks out in a grin. “I knew the two of you were much too close to simply be friends.” His grin turns to momentary confusion. “Isn’t she,” he says, careful with his words, “isn’t she past that time? I mean, understand it when I say that she’s beautiful. I’ve long dreamed of having her.” He realizes what he’s just said. We both laugh.

“My old friend,” I say, “there’s a reason the Anishnaabe are known for their magic.”

Evening is close when we climb down the ladder and walk to where Christophe Crow and his two others stand talking by their holy house. All three are visibly nervous, especially the one called Isaac, who mashes his club hands into his face. When I get closer, I’m surprised to see he’s sweating.

“It’s true?” he asks. “They come this way?”

I nod.

He moans, and the dark one, Gabriel, reaches out for him. “Be strong,” he says. “It’s time to pray and to reflect and to prepare.”

Isaac doesn’t seem to take comfort in the words. I can’t blame him. He knows what will happen if the Haudenosaunee are able to overwhelm us.

“When the assault begins,” Christophe Crow says, “we think it sensible the old ones and the women and children stay with us in the place of the Great Voice.”

I look at the building behind him. It might be large enough. “Why there and not somewhere else?” I ask.

“It’s a solid structure, and close to the waterway and food supplies. We have most everything we need there.”

Fox shrugs. “It’s as good as anywhere, I guess,” he says.

I nod. “It might be any time now,” I say. We’ll tell them all to gather there.”

I’m uncomfortable, even after all these years, allowing the Crow such proximity to everything I hold dear, but it’s too late now, isn’t it? Fox and I turn away then, the one called Isaac shaking and crying, and head out to spread the word and to check once again that all is as ready as it can be.

A COMET’S LIGHT

Something must be done about Isaac. Gabriel and I stand on the porch of the chapel, speaking quietly, Isaac inside with a cool towel upon his head. He’s been chewing the bark from a willow, claiming it eases his pain. He’s been learning all kinds of sauvage potions and cures and remedies, is becoming quite good, it seems, at pointing out the plants and roots and fungus that can help or harm.

“I understand his fear,” Gabriel says. “But this is too much to bear. We have enough trouble to contend with.”

“He faces his mortal terror,” I say. “And he’s losing.” We must figure a way to help him pull himself out of it, to help him strengthen his backbone.

“He responded strongly when we all agreed we were willing to die for the Huron,” Gabriel offers. “I think we should raise this conviction again, that we should grasp hands in a circle and pray with him right now. He just needs to see that he isn’t alone in his fear.”

Gabriel’s right. This is indeed what we’ll do. “The hardest part for him,” I say, “is the waiting. It’s the hardest part for all of us. I think they know this, too, and they use it as a weapon against us.” I ask that before we pray with Isaac, Gabriel take a brief walk with me to survey the defences one last time.

We walk as always with our hands clasped behind our backs, but instead of bowing our heads in conversation or in reflection, we study everything around us. The sun’s just set, and the sky flames orange and
red at the western horizon, incrementally turning from pink to purple as I look east. Soon it will be black. There’ll be no moon in the sky the next nights, and the timing couldn’t be worse. We want to be able to see the enemy sneaking across the fields. Will tonight be the night? It’s the same question I’ve been asking myself the last few evenings.

Numerous soldiers and a handful of sauvages walk the ramparts, looking intently in the direction from which the enemy might come. We have two dozen soldiers and three dozen donnés and laymen to fire thirty or so muskets, and maybe eighty or a hundred sauvages ready for combat according to the last report I received. At most, a hundred and fifty men against a force three times as large, by all accounts. I pray to You, Lord, that the palisades remain standing.

As we pause by the waterway, I look up to the darkening firmament, just as a comet streaks across it before fizzling out. I’m considering my childhood habit of making a wish when I see another, and then another zipping overhead. I grab Gabriel’s arm. Within seconds, dozens of flames lick the sky above us, many dropping into the mission. Voices erupt up on the ramparts, and the thundering boom of a musket makes me jump when I look over to see what I just now realize is a flaming arrow land on the roof of the granary, the thatch of it already beginning to crackle and catch. Men shout and fling pails of water, extinguishing the flames.

Arrows fly in, thick enough to begin lighting our way as Gabriel and I rush to the chapel, women and children and old people running from the longhouses to join us. I stop and shout, “Gabriel! Shepherd them into the chapel. Keep an eye for arrows landing on the roof and prepare to put fires out.”

“What are you going to do?” he shouts back.

“I want to make sure all the women and children know to come to us.”

I run off toward the sauvage quarters, the arrows continuing to fall with sparkling thuds. One whistles so close to my ear that I can feel its heat. The men on the ramparts fire their muskets toward the tree line,
more out of panic than aim, I fear. Those on the ground shout to one another for more water and begin forming lines as first one roof then another burst into flames. It appears, as I run by, that they’re putting the fires out as fast as they start.

Rushing into the first longhouse, I shout in Huron for the people huddling there to hurry to the place of the Great Voice. Looking terri-fied, they begin collecting their few belongings and slinging children onto their backs. They hurry by me in twos and threes as I tell them to be careful crossing the village.

I run to two more longhouses and do the same thing. We’ll be crowded there for all the souls, but I believe it best to keep all of us close for the safety in numbers. I’ll make sure that all available hands will stay vigilant for arrows lighting the thatch or the wooden walls. This is the best plan, is it not, Lord?

Once the Christian longhouses have been cleared, I run through the gate to the heathen side just as the nearest roof explodes in flame, a number of arrows hitting it simultaneously. The dry bark of the roof acts as tinder, and before I can even get to the door it’s a roaring fire. Hearing screams, I pull open the door to a thick wall of smoke that knocks me onto my back. Crawling on my hands and knees, I shout in the haze and choking smoke, the roof above ready to collapse any second. A child cries out somewhere close by and I feel for it with my hands, hot cinders falling down and burning through my cassock. I feel a leg and grab it, the child screaming. It must be the mother’s face that appears in the smoke, grimacing, and I grab her, too, dragging them back to the cool air. Just as we claw our way outside, the long-house caves in, the screams of those engulfed by the pyre the most horrific noise I’ve ever heard. I bless myself and whisper to You, Lord, that their suffering passes quickly.

By the time we get back to the chapel, the arrow attack has slowed, the odd one flaming in and hitting dirt before it sputters out. As I’d guessed, the building is full of frightened Huron and a smattering of other tribes, babies crying and women talking in low, excited tones to
one another. Some peer outside, and it dawns on them it’s safe to head out into the better air from the stuffiness of the building.