Stolen Away (17 page)

“Good evening,” she said in Celtic. “My name is Kiera.”

The man's mouth gaped open in surprise. He tried to respond, but the words were caught in his throat. He wheeled around and ran into the woods, yelling at the top of his lungs in a language that Kiera didn't understand. Chocan, now at her side, laughed.

Kiera shook her head. “I don't know why I have that effect on people when I first meet them.”

“Come on. Let me show you my village.”

Together, they followed a short path through the woods that ended at a large clearing. Kiera stopped in her tracks and gasped. Memories and images from her childhood flooded back into her mind. There, in full glory, was an almost exact replica of her Irish village, complete with a protective, picketed fence. In the centre of the village stood a magnificent stone church, complete with a huge wooden cross and sod roof. An Irish stone building! Just the sight of it alone brought tears to her eyes. Kiera surveyed the rest of the village in disbelief. A central wooden tower, similar to the ones she had seen in Ireland, rose up from behind the church, giving scouts a view of both the forest and bay. Tiny sod huts were clustered together to the west side of the village like a group of oversized anthills.

On the east side of the village stood a more typical native settlement. Wigwams lined the inside of the protective fence. There was also a large outdoor meeting area, a cooking shelter and racks for the diying of skins. Word of the newly-arrived strangers spread like wildfire throughout the community . People poured out of the wigwams and woods, gathering at the village entrance in a silent mass. As they approached the gate, Kiera studied the sea of curious faces. Their open eyes and slightly wider cheekbones quietly echoed their common ancestry.

The crowd parted, allowing them passage through the gate and into the village. An older man materialized from the crowd and stood before them. Kiera and Chocan came to a halt while he examined them thoroughly. Chocan stepped forward, lowered himself onto one knee and kissed the leader's right hand. The older man put his weathered hands on either side of Chocan's face and gently brought him back up onto his feet. Kiera could sense something more than just recognition as they stared at each other in silence. Finally, Chocan leaned forward, wrapping his arms around the fragile shoulders of the older man.

“Father!”

The elder embraced his son. “How are you, Chocan?”

“Very well, father.”

They pulled away from each other. Chocan's father turned to face Kiera.

“And who have we here?”

“Father,” Chocan said, proudly, “I would like to introduce you to my friend, Kiera. Kiera, this is Niskamij, my father.”

Kiera looked down humbly, knelt and greeted Chocan's father in the same fashion.

“Thank you for allowing me to visit your wonderful home,” she said in Celtic.

“Ah, the tongue of the Teachers,” Niskamij said, his brow wrinkling in recognition. “You have indeed travelled a long way. This is certainly a cause for celebration. Welcome to our village, Kiera. There is so much for us to talk about.”

Chocan placed a gentle hand on Kiera's back. She looked up into his eyes. There was more than excitement in his gaze. His hand slid down to her arm and gently took her hand in his. Kiera returned the smile in a way that Chocan had only dreamed he would some day see. At that very moment, their spirits entwined and became one. She squeezed his hand. Her voice could simply not find the words.

He tilted his head toward the village.

“Let me show you around.”

Chocan led her forward. Close behind followed the dozens of villagers, chattering among themselves about what all of this could possibly mean. Niskamij guided them towards the cooking area. The aroma of a dinnertime meal tickled the senses of the hungry travellers. But as they passed through the centre of the settlement, Kiera came to a stop.

The huge cross that she had seen from a distance was beautifully carved with traditional geometric Celtic patterns. Kiera took the cross that hung around her neck and gently rubbed it between her finger and thumb. She allowed the image of the cross that dominated her vision to sear itself into her memory. Savouring the moment, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and smiled. Her soul, for the first time since she was a little girl, was at peace. She was home.

July 12th, 1604
Southeast shore of Cape Breton Island

“Over there?”

Stunned, Samuel de Champlain pointed to the far shore of the bay.

The old chief nodded.

Samuel could not take his eyes off the stone that hung around the chiefs neck. It was an intricately carved Celtic cross. It was impossible that the Irish had recently arrived here in these lands. Ireland was the poorest, most backwardsthinking country in all of Europe. They didn't have one vessel capable of making this journey across the Atlantic. Yet, here was this native chief with a piece of classic Celtic adornment.

Although Samuel had been hired by Commander De Chaste to map the recently claimed French coastline, Samuel himself could not resist a good mystery. Ever since he was a child, he had dreamed of one day making a discovery that would make him famous. He had already travelled with his father to the fabled city of the Aztecs called Mexico in the far south of this New World. He was stunned by the wealth and riches that had been acquired by the Spanish through the pillaging of both the Aztec and Inca lands. He wondered whether this northern wilderness might hold a similar find of history-changing proportions. A Celtic cross on the wrong side of an ocean was certainly an intriguing clue to a mystery.

After several more hand gestures and a bag of glass beads, Samuel convinced the chief to loan him two of his Mi'kmaq warriors and a canoe so that he might investigate the area to which the chief had pointed. He turned to a young French officer, who was overseeing the loading of wooden casks filled with fresh drinking water. One skiff was already rowing its way back to the majestic three-masted ship that lay anchored further out in the deeper water of the bay.

“Oh, come on, Henri,” Samuel teased, shoving his friend. “I know you have an ounce of adventure somewhere in that officer's uniform. Let's go find out what these natives are hiding on the other side of the bay.”

Henri shook his head. “No way, Samuel. If I leave my post, De Chaste will have me tied to the mast and lashed. You're not an officer of the French navy. If you want to take off with these savages and have a knife put in your back when you're not looking, that's up to you. Just don't expect us to drag your stinking hide all the way back to France. If you die here, then De Chaste will bury you here.”

Samuel shook his head, smiling. “I just don't understand you, Henri. You travel all the way across the ocean to this magnificent, unexplored world and you're still happiest when you have locked yourself away in your cabin. How can you possibly choose reading over a true adventure?”

“To each his own,” rebuked Henri.

Samuel started for the canoe. “I'll return shortly.”

“God be with you,” Henri quietly muttered to his friend, then turned his attention back to his crew. “Come on! Put your backs into it! We have to get these casks filled and returned to the ship before sundown!”

Samuel helped push the canoe into the water, then climbed aboard between the two lean warriors. He took in a deep breath of the fresh summer air as the canoe slid through the water towards the far shore of the bay. He couldn't help but smile. Truly, he didn't care if all he found were simply more trees and rocks. It was invigorating to finally be by himself, far away from the ship that had held him captive for almost four months.

He allowed his thoughts to wander into the future. The King was paying him handsomely to map out the best locations for future villages in this massive territory. Using his imagination, Samuel could see French fishing boats plying the water with their bountiful catches, children playing under the wharfs along the shoreline and the smell of homemade bread drifting across the still water. Yes, New France would soon be a sight to behold. He felt honoured to be playing a key role in its nurturing and birth.

The canoe slid to a stop in the soft mud. The silent warriors held the canoe while Samuel stepped out, almost losing his balance on the slippery surface. Safely on firm ground, he waited for the warriors to store their paddles and join him on shore. They led him along a well-worn path into the woods. After a two minute jaunt, the trees suddenly opened up into a partial clearing. A green mound rose up from the centre of the clearing, while smaller, less prominent mounds were scattered around the periphery. Younger trees were flourishing throughout the area, their branches stretching out to the life-giving rays of the bright afternoon sun. Samuel could gauge roughly by the age of the trees that the clearing had been deserted for at least several decades. Even worse, there was nothing here that pointed towards the possibility of treasure. The area was quite unremarkable.

Then, to his surprise, the two warriors turned to the right, fell onto their knees and made the sign of the cross on their chest. After that, they lowered themselves until they were prostrate with the forest floor.

The sign of the cross? How could they possibly know that? But then what about the Celtic cross of their chief? Perhaps this area did require further examination.

He left the warriors and stepped forward. Something snagged his foot, and he fell hard onto his hands. He looked down and discovered that his feet had become entangled within a collapsed heap of long, rotting branches. Some of the branches were still bound together, as if they had been part of a fence at one time. Moving more carefully, weaving in and out of the young saplings, Samuel worked his way towards the centre of the clearing. On either side he noticed the distinct mounds. Something bothered him about the symmetry of the whole area. He had seen it before, from one of the hundreds of maps he had studied over the years. The answer was frustratingly beyond his reach.

When he arrived at the centre of the clearing, he began to climb the hill, but stopped again when his ankle slipped into a rocky fissure. The small hill was actually a pile of stones. Some were still fitted together as if they were once part of a building. He had yet to see any evidence of stone buildings in this new land. The mystery deepened.

He began to search around the hill for more clues. His foot hit something solid. Bending over, he pulled at a mat of vines until the object was partially revealed. It was a large, carved piece of wood, roughly the size of a ship's beam. He continued to remove the creepers and weeds, following the beam until it intersected with a second larger piece of wood. He froze. It couldn't be…

Samuel, his hands trembling, quickly finished the excavation. Fully uncovered, he stood back in awe, stunned at the enormity of his discovery. The pile of stones, the symmetrical mounds and the natives crossing themselves at the edge of the clearing all suddenly made sense. He now knew exactly what this place used to be.

His jaw dropped even further as he looked off to the far edge of the clearing. In the direction of the warriors stood a small field filled with row upon row of small wooden crosses. Some were so old that they lay sprawled on the ground, decomposing. Others, however, were upright and very recently constructed. A graveyard that was still in use! No wonder the warriors had bowed in respect.

Samuel ran. The natives, surprised to see him fly down the path, took chase after him. By the time they had caught up, Samuel had already pushed the canoe back into the water. He was wildly signalling for the warriors to paddle him directly to the anchored ship.

In the confines of Commander De Chaste's private cabin, Samuel breathlessly explained to him what he had found. De Chaste, considered one of The King's most loyal commanders and awarded accordingly, sat behind his mahogany desk, his narrow eyes sizing up the young mapmaker.

Samuel shifted uncomfortably. The commander was as cool as ever, but still, Samuel could sense something was wrong.

“Does anyone else know of this discovery?” asked De Chaste.

Samuel shook his head. “No, sir. I came straight to you.”

“That makes it much easier,” De Chaste muttered to himself.

“Makes what easier, sir?” asked Samuel, confused.

De Chaste leaned forward and stared at Samuel with a gaze that could wither the most hardy plant.

“You are to tell no one about your discovery.”

“Tell no one? I don't understand, sir.”

The commander leaned back in his chair. “I want to see this place for myself. Are those savages still on board?”

“I believe so. But sir, I…”

“Then we will leave immediately. They will take us. Go make the arrangements.”

As Samuel de Champlain led Commander De Chaste up the path to the clearing, he was confused by his commander's coolness to the discovery. He had not asked a single question during the canoe trip. Even more surprising was the commander's strict order of secrecy.

Surely, thought Samuel, seeing the sight will change his attitude. As they broke into the clearing, the two warriors once again crossed themselves and fell face down onto the ground. The commander was unmoved by their actions and simply stepped over the savages. Samuel led the tour.

“It is definitely a village built on the Irish design, sir. These tangled pieces of wood used to be a stockade-style defensive wall. The wood itself is no longer bound together, but you can still make out the circular shape. We just passed through what would have been the gate to the village and this pathway led down to the village centre. Over there, those long mounds would have been the living quarters for the families of the village. And I think that pile of rotting wood may be what is left of a watch tower.”

“I've been to Ireland,” commented De Chaste finally, and much to Samuel's relief. “Their villages look nothing like what you are describing here.”

“Ah, perhaps not now,” explained Samuel, “but I have studied the designs of villages built hundreds of years ago. This village has exactly the similar dimensions and structures as those earlier Irish settlements. I am guessing this village is based on a design that was used between 700 and 1000 A.D.”

De Chaste snorted. “I find this all hard to believe.”

Samuel smiled. “Wait until you see what lies in the centre of the village.”

Samuel led the commander to the rotten, but enormous uncovered cross. Samuel beamed with pride as if he had found the treasure of King Solomon. De Chaste looked down at the cross, then scanned the entire village area with a cold, calculating gaze.

“Is this it?” he asked.

Samuel's face dropped. “Uh…yes, sir. Isn't the cross magnificent? And these stones behind me are what I think must have been a church. Commander, we have just discovered an Irish settlement that is likely hundreds of years old! It is an incredible find! Who would have thought those primitive Celts could have travelled so far in their skin-covered boats?”

De Chaste turned to Samuel, his face warming ever so slightly. “Samuel, you have discovered nothing. This is simply a series of dirt mounds and a pile of rocks. Perhaps it was an ancient native burial site.”

Samuel gaped at De Chaste in disbelief. “But…but what about the cross, sir?”

De Chaste kicked the base of the cross. The impact instantly collapsed a chunk of the cross into a pile of rotted dust. “A remarkable coincidence. Two logs falling on each other into the shape of a cross.”