The Orenda Joseph Boyden (41 page)

And now we must be almost there because I smell the scent of burning wood. Behind us, Christophe and the hairy crow don’t notice anything. They just keep talking even though they seem out of breath, neither of them paying attention in a place where there’s so much to be worried about.

Aaron signals for us to stop. I can see light through the trees farther down the trail, and that must be the beginning of the great cornfields of the Arendahronnon.

Something isn’t right, though. I look at Hot Cinder, and he has his fingers in his mouth. All of us crouch and drop back into the shadows. But the crows keep talking and breathing heavily, their feet slapping the ground in awkward strides as they come upon us. They’d walk right by, but I reach out my hand to them and signal for them to get down and be quiet. When they huddle with us, their eyes are round.

The smell of burning wood is strong. I’d assumed it was the scent of men clearing old stumps with fire, but this smell’s bigger than that. It’s far more pungent. And when I pick up the scent of cooking flesh
on the wind, too, the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Then the wind blows toward us, and I think I can hear the gleeful shouts of men doing something that gives them great pleasure.

Aaron crawls to me and whispers that he’s going to find out what’s happening.

I shake my head. “Don’t,” I whisper back. “Something’s very wrong.”

He ignores me and rises. “Wait here unless it becomes unsafe,” he says, then quickly moves toward the fields.

We wait for what feels like a long time. When he doesn’t come back, I signal for Hot Cinder and the crows to stay where they are.

The scent of fire grows stronger as I dart from tree to tree. The trail’s too dangerous to follow, and the light ahead through the new leaves grows brighter. I’m sure now that what I’m hearing is a war song, a victory song.

I crawl on my knees to the tree line where the three sisters have just begun sprouting. There’s no way to take cover there, so I can’t go any farther. But the open fields give me a view of the village. The palisades around it have been torched, and most of the longhouses within are burning or have already crumbled into ash. I’m shocked by how many warriors dance around the fires or torture the living. A large group of what must be prisoners sits on the ground with a few guards around them. It’s too far to make out the looks on their faces, but I know what they must be.

Hundreds and hundreds of war-bearers have come from all the nations of the Haudenosaunee. Then I realize with a shock that some of my relations must be in this great war party, too. Something almost like homesickness washes over me, but then I watch as a warrior raises his club to a man on his knees with his hands tied behind his back. The warrior smashes the man’s head and he falls over, his legs kicking in spasms.

All of it comes back. You, my father, and you, my mother, and you, my big brother. I don’t belong to you anymore. And I don’t belong to Bird’s people. The idea then comes to me that I’ll simply stand up and
walk across this field and let them decide who I am. If they still believe I’m one of theirs, they’ll keep me. If not, they’ll kill me.

Just as I stand to walk across the field, I hear the chatter of a squirrel. It’s Aaron, back in the trees and motioning for me to get down. I shake my head.

He sneaks over to me and whispers, “What are you doing?”

“I think these are my people,” I say.

“They’re no longer your people,” he says. “Come with me unless you desire a cruel death for Christophe and Gabriel.”

I won’t be responsible for any more deaths, my father. As a gang of Haudenosaunee warriors pulls people from the group huddled on the ground and drags them toward a bonfire, I make my decision. Despite Bird’s wishes, I’m not a Wendat. But I’m no longer a Haudenosaunee, either.

Back where Hot Cinder and the crows huddle, Aaron instructs us to head back down the trail as quickly and silently as we can. As we stand to move, I see Hot Cinder hesitate. I realize he is still part of this tribe, and I’m certain then of what he will do.

Just as I’m about to warn Aaron, Hot Cinder says, “Father Christophe.”

The Crow turns to him.

“You’re the only one who’s been kind to me,” he continues. “But those others, do you know what they did to me?”

We all stare at him, and I’m frightened his loud voice will give us away. Aaron tells Hot Cinder to hush, but he pays no attention.

“Two of the donnés,” he explains. “One holds me down while the other puts himself in me. They say if I don’t tell anyone, they’ll teach me the secret of the Captain of the Day.”

Christophe’s eyes widen and his mouth falls open. “That isn’t true,” he says. “It can’t be.”

“You don’t believe me?” Hot Cinder says. “Do you want me to show you where I bleed?”

“No, Joseph,” Christophe says. “Come back with us and we’ll punish
those men severely for this terrible sin. The Great Voice will punish them for eternity. I promise you.”

“There is no great voice,” Hot Cinder says. “You’d best get moving now.”

He runs away toward the village and the warriors who occupy it.

—

WITH NIGHT UPON US
, we move quickly but keep losing the trail. No one speaks, though I’m sure we’re all thinking the same thing, that Hot Cinder will have told the Haudenosaunee of our whereabouts, and that there’s no doubt we’re being pursued through the darkness. This keeps even the crows moving as fast as they can.

Exhausted, we stop to catch our breath beside a creek, and like a small herd of deer, we drop our heads into the water to drink. It isn’t safe, though, because we can’t hear if anyone approaches over the burbling of the water.

I lean to Aaron and whisper that maybe we should cut off the trail and find a safer place deep in the forest where we can hide and rest. “Look at the crows,” I say. “They can’t go much farther.” Both are slumped by the water, their chests rising and dropping.

We urge them to get moving again, Aaron leading us up a small rise. I hope he’s considering my suggestion. Just as we make it to the top, something large darts out from behind a tree and strikes him across the head. I run through faint moonlight back down the hill, my heart beating in my throat, and straight into the arms of a large warrior.

JESU, DULCIS MEMORIA

I watch three Iroquois build a fire in a copse of trees off the trail. The other two tied the four of us up and left us sitting in the middle of the trail as they apparently search to see if there are others in our party. Gabriel and I whisper a litany of prayers in Latin, but when the two Iroquois return, one walks up and slaps each of us across the mouth. We sit and wait as the five congregate to talk in the trees off the path. I begin to whisper my prayers again, and Aaron finally comes to. He looks around, surveying the situation, and after a few moments, rather than pray with us, he begins singing his death chant, much of it about his love for Snow Falls. My strongest convert, and he still slips back into his dark ways so easily.

Our hands are tied painfully behind our backs, our feet bound as well. The Iroquois tongue is difficult for me to fully understand, but from what I can make out, they will dispatch Aaron here and take Snow Falls, Gabriel, and me back to the village at first light, where I can only imagine the tortures we’ll face.

Dear Lord, I believe this will be the last time I see the sun rise upon this earth that You’ve created, and I pray You make me strong enough to accept with dignity and with grace the pain I’m about to endure, for my physical body is simply the vessel that holds my soul. When that vessel soon is shattered, my soul will rise up to You. For this I am grateful.

All five warriors are frightfully painted and glistening. They are
similar to the Huron in build and disposition, and it would be difficult for any stranger to tell them apart. Three of them now emerge from the trees and onto the trail and roughly check Gabriel’s and my bonds, then reach for Aaron, whose voice doesn’t falter, and drag him back to the fire in the trees. With even greater shock, I watch as the other two reach down for Snow Falls, pull her up by the hair, and walk her a little way down the trail. With dawning horror, I realize their intentions when one yanks her skirt up and the other flips his breechclout to the side, freeing his erection.

“The Great Voice commands you to stop!” I scream. Both are apparently taken aback by my ability to speak the language. They drop Snow Falls and approach me.

“So this charcoal has learned the words, has he?” one of them says. Their facial features are so similar I assume they’re brothers.

“What you wish to do to that girl,” I say, “will send you to a place where the worst caressing you’ve ever witnessed will pale by comparison.”

The other reaches down and slaps me so hard that the spine of my nose pops and warm blood trickles over my lips.

“You are in no place to threaten us, charcoal,” his brother says. Above his voice I can hear Aaron’s song, and I know that they’re cutting or burning him now.

“Snow Falls,” I shout, “tell them who you are and where you come from!”

Right after me, Gabriel calls, “Tell them you’re one of them, that they’re your people.”

The two warriors turn to her. She has crawled to her feet. “You’re not my people,” she spits at them. “No Haudenosaunee would dare rape a woman.”

One of them hits me so hard on the top of my head that my eyes go dim, but not before I see them walking back to her.

I will myself to stay conscious. “Gabriel,” I say, “we must stop this.” But he knows as well as I do that there’s nothing to be done.

“Let us sing a hymn, Brother,” Gabriel says. His dark eyes sparkle. “Our own death chant.”

“Yes, Brother,” I say, “let us sing, then.”

He lifts his voice into the first lines of “Jesu, Dulcis Memoria.” He sings it in French rather than Latin, and I listen to him sing a few lines.
“Jesus, the very thought of Thee, with sweetness fills the breast. Yet sweeter far Thy face to see, and in Thy presence rest.”

I join in on the chorus and our voices rise as the sky breaks purple over the horizon.
“No voice can sing, no heart can frame, nor can the memory find, a sweeter sound than Jesus’ name, the Saviour of mankind.”

The two warriors turn away from Snow Falls and walk back up the trail toward us, apparently humoured by our singing.

“Listen to that death chant,” one says, pointing to us.

“I’ve never heard such a sour sound in my life,” the other tells him.

“They’re like cow moose in rut!”

They both laugh at this, and as they do, I see a shadow flash across the trail behind them toward Snow Falls on the ground. At first I fear it’s another Iroquois warrior I had somehow missed, but this man bends over her and whispers in her ear. I raise my voice higher in song so the two standing by Gabriel and me don’t turn away. As the light grows stronger, I realize this is the young man who’s tormented me for so long back at the village.

He slips off the trail just as the two warriors turn their attention back to Snow Falls, one again lifting his breechclout and pushing her back so he can mount her while the other laughs and urges him on. Rather than fighting, though, she wraps her arms and legs around him as if in desperate want. Gabriel and I continue to sing, and as the one on top begins to try to enter the poor girl, the young Huron steps out onto the trail, brandishing his war club.

“Sing louder, Gabriel,” I urge. “Sing as loud as you can.” He looks at me, confused, but there’s no time to explain. I pray our voices cover up the sound of imminent battle that might alert the three warriors who torture poor Aaron to the enemy among them.

“
O hope of every contrite heart! O joy of all the meek
,” we sing as the warrior watching senses someone behind him, an alarmed look crossing his face.
“To those who fall, how kind Thou art! How good to those who seek!”
He picks up his own club as the young Huron swings his down hard with both hands onto the man’s head, sending him face first into the dirt. As loud as we can now, we wail, “
Jesus our only hope be Thou, as Thou our prize shalt be!
” The warrior on top of Snow Falls now realizes something’s wrong and struggles to pull away, but she’s wrapped about him too tightly. Taking his knife from his sheath, the young Huron straddles the warrior on top of Snow Falls and pulls his head back so that his neck’s exposed.
“In Thee be all our glory now, and through eternity.”
The young Huron runs his knife across the neck of the Iroquois, the blood in the pink light of dawn spurting onto Snow Falls.

The young Huron helps her to her feet. We’ve stopped singing, and I wonder what’s happening to Aaron. The sun’s high enough that I can make out the look on Snow Falls’ face as she bends to the dead man who’d been on top of her and whispers something to him. She then picks up a club, the young Huron picking his up, too. They run up to us and the young Huron cuts our ties, making the sign to be quiet. Then he and Snow Falls creep toward the fire, slipping into the shadows, the thorn clubs in their hands.

“What should we do?” Gabriel asks. “Should we sing again? Should we run?”

“We shall place our lives in the hands of the Lord,” I say just as shouting erupts in the trees.

—

WE POUR WATER
over Aaron’s wounds with our palms. Gabriel strips pieces from his cassock to bandage them. Aaron is missing two fingers from his left hand, the blood pulsing from them with each heartbeat. His stomach has been prodded with fire sticks, and the wounds are black from the cauterization. He gazes impassively up into the sky as
we tend to him as best we can. I ask if he still has faith in the Great Voice. He won’t answer.

Beside us, Snow Falls dresses the young Huron’s wounds that he must have received while attacking Aaron’s tormentors. I hear her call him Carries an Axe, a name I now remember. He took cuts to his chest and a blow to the head but still managed to kill all three warriors, I assume. His hands are shaking.

Snow Falls helps him to his feet and whispers to us that we must get going now, for certainly other warriors will be on this trail. Gabriel and I help Aaron stand, and he clenches his teeth but still doesn’t make a sound. We start up the same rise upon which we were ambushed in the night, and we stumble past the dead Iroquois, their fire now just a smoking ruin.