The Orenda Joseph Boyden (35 page)

With the sun imminent, I ask my warriors to take their burning brands and try to make the prisoners beg for mercy. Both have gone silent now and there isn’t much life left to drain from them. The warriors insert the brands into the two men’s orifices and when they still don’t cry out, the warriors pierce the men’s eyes. Still nothing. The sun’s first rays begin to peek over the horizon. I nod, and my warriors use their sharpest knives to scalp the hair from the captives’ heads, then pour burning pitch onto them.

“These two are the bravest men I have ever had the pleasure of meeting,” I declare as the sun rises fully into the sky. “End it now.”

Tall Trees picks up his club, climbs the scaffold, and proceeds to smash the captives’ heads in. I watch young warriors make cuts in their own necks and line up below to allow some of the dead men’s blood to drip into their bodies. In this way, they know the Haudenosaunee will never catch them by surprise. Others cut open the captives’ chests and remove the hearts. They will roast and eat these, thus acquiring their courage. The people watch all of this silently. But tonight, when the sun sets, we’ll all make the most terrible noises we can manage, to drive our enemy’s spirits away from our village.

Fox leans to me. “That’s over now,” he says, trying to judge my mood.

“It is,” I answer. I only wish it had brought me more comfort now that the sun’s risen. “How do you feel?” I ask him.

He shrugs. “Tired. It isn’t something I’ve ever enjoyed much.”

“We weren’t able to make them beg for mercy,” I say. “This worries me deeply.”

“There’s still the boy,” Fox says.

I’d forgotten that. “My daughter asked that we adopt him,” I say.

“Will you?” Fox asks.

“You know I can’t deny her anything,” I tell him.

A NEW MISSION

Gabriel and I approach the scaffold once the mob’s thinned. The sun shines on the two men who’ve been pummelled and cut and burned to the point they’re hardly recognizable as human. I had so wanted one last chance to ask if they’d denounce the devil and accept the crucifix. Children run about with sticks to which strips of the prisoners’ intestines have apparently been tied, brandishing them like flags. Groups of young warriors huddle around two fires, roasting what I assume are the men’s organs. These are a ragged and brutal group, and I’m deeply confused how they at one moment can treat each other so gently and with unconditional love and then the next torture their enemy so horrifically.

I take a deep breath and then climb the scaffold, Gabriel behind me. I can feel the warriors watching, and I don’t know if I’m breaking some unspoken law, but I refuse to let them stop us.

With Gabriel as my witness, I bless the eviscerated corpses and then pray over them. It’s too late for baptism, and so sadly they can never enter Heaven. Given the stories of what they did to Bird’s family, I imagine they’ve already passed through the fiery gates of Hell, a place that will make the last night’s torture seem like nothing. Finishing my prayers, I take my crucifix in my hand and kiss it, reflecting on the tortures of Your only son.

Once we climb down, several young men surround us.

“What were you whispering to them up there?” one asks.

“I was speaking to the Great Voice,” I say. “I asked Him to forgive these men their sins.”

The warriors become upset with these words. “It’s not up to you, charcoal,” another says, “to beg forgiveness for our enemy.”

“If we were in their place,” another says, “they would’ve been just as careful. Probably more so. The Haudenosaunee like to take days with their tortures of us.”

“An eye for an eye,” I say to Gabriel in French. This further infuriates the men around us.

“What did you say?” one asks as they begin to jostle us.

“He must have just cursed us,” another says.

Before I know it, we’re on the ground, the men beating us. But as soon as it has started, it stops. The warriors bend down and pick Gabriel and me up, brush us off, and present us to Bird.

“They fell down,” one of the warriors says to him. “We were just helping them stand.”

“What did they do now?” Bird asks, looking amused. “Don’t even tell me.” He motions for Gabriel and me to walk with him. He leads us into the cornfields.

“I have news for you,” he says. “I think it’s good news. Our people have reached an agreement with your people. We’ve agreed to allow a large contingency of you to come to our lands on the promise you’ll trade solely with the Wendat.”

I see Gabriel smiles broadly. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen him do this. I realize I’m smiling, too.

“This is tremendous news!” I say. “When will they come?”

“Before the first snows fall,” Bird says. “We made a deal with the Kichesipirini to guide them here, and if they’re wise, they’ll be leaving soon so as to arrive in time to prepare for the winter.”

“We’ll have to make room for them,” Gabriel says. “I’m certain our small residence won’t do.”

“You don’t understand,” Bird says. “Enough of your people will be coming to form a small village. You’ll have your own village.”

I’m stunned. It’s as if I’ve been living under a death sentence and now Bird has announced I’m to go free. I hug Gabriel. Bird stares at us flatly.

“This is incredible” is all I can mutter.

“Come to my house,” Bird says. “Your people have sent packages for you.”

—

ISAAC CAN’T CONTAIN HIMSELF
when we tell him. Bundles lie upon the table and on the floor. Soon we’ll open all our gifts.

“Do you see what happens when we place ourselves in the hands of the Lord?” I ask. “Throwing that feast and emptying our pantry was the right thing to do.”

“Our own mission,” Isaac says, his eyes glistening. “This means we’ll be free of having to live like the Huron, doesn’t it?”

“We’ll build a mission that reflects our beliefs and our values,” Gabriel says. “We’ll lead through example, and the Huron will come to our ways. It’s inevitable.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I say. “Let’s open the packages and see what’s been promised before we make too many plans.”

Our gifts, in part, consist of new robes and underclothes. This is a very welcome gift. Our old ones, full of mending stitches, are so threadbare, the coming winter was a daunting thought. Years ago I’d requested a new Bible, as mine has been soaked so often it’s now twice its original size, and this, too, has arrived, along with a tin chalice, sheaves of writing paper, and pots of ink, all of it miraculously unscathed in the journey.

I’ve placed the letter I assume is from the governor of New France on the table and save it for last. Gabriel and Isaac look at it so often I finally give in to their silent wishes. It’s indeed from him. I read it aloud:

“‘I write in the hope that your health is good and that your mission of saving souls goes well. There’s been much upheaval on the continent
that I imagine you’ve heard little about, but I will spare the details. Suffice to say that God has smiled upon the great woman that is France as well as all of her dominions, and the powers that be have finally come to the understanding of the importance of our mission in the new world, especially the mission that you brave and loyal Jesuits have agreed to accept.’”

I read on to Gabriel and Isaac. The governor speaks of how Europe has become hungry for all things in this new world: the furs, the fish, the adventure and stories. I slow down when he explains that our journals that have made it back are being shared beyond the Church with the public, and these journals have captured the fancy of the aristocracy and even the common man, that our reflections on life amongst the sauvages have driven the public imagination. It’s hard to absorb. I must stop reading for a few moments and take a deep breath. My eyes burn with pride and with joy.

“Our cry from the wilderness has not just been heard,” I tell Gabriel and Isaac, “it has been answered.”

The governor explains that benefactors in France have opened their purse strings now that we and England are at least at a temporary peace, and the furs and timber and fish continue to stream home from the new world. He proclaims us Jesuits the leaders in a new, important era and verifies what Bird told us this morning. A large group of men, all of them sworn as donnés who will abide by our laws and our beliefs, men who will live like priests but who have yet to be ordained, are travelling toward us as we read this. We are to build a small mission that will serve as a fortress of the faith in this dark wilderness, and we are to grow our flock from the surrounding Huron, for this will help guarantee the French continue to be masters of this land.

“Your courage and your fortitude,” the governor finishes, “do not go unnoticed. We commend you for your undying duty. May the light of the Lord soon shine brighter upon New France.”

SEASON OF WITCHES

I’ve already heard the stories of this passing summer, of how the Crow performed rites that brought rain and saved the crops and then he threw a big feast that ended with a frightening display of magic. His medicine’s only been growing.

To further complicate things, I now find myself with a new child, one who probably wishes me dead after what we did to his family last night, this one who’s not a child at all but a young man. When my daughter tugged at my arm, though, her eyes full of tears, and begged that we adopt rather than dispatch him, some small memory I thought was long gone awoke in me and I agreed. Now I’ll have to work at making sure he becomes a family member. It shouldn’t be too hard, as he knows what will happen to him if he doesn’t ingratiate himself.

—

“A DECISION WAS REACHED
between us and our brothers the Arendahronnon,” I say to the crowd gathered before me, “to allow the charcoal their own village.” The sun is high and bright. Far too many have gathered to fit into a longhouse. “I know we’ve been having this discussion for many seasons.” People listen intently, but it’s hard to tell what they’re thinking. “The village will be small, and removed enough from our own so as not to interfere with our crops and our hunting and fishing grounds and our woodlots.”

“And who made this decision without our counsel?” an older man asks, one who I recognize as a distant cousin and who once desired more power than he was ever granted.

“Please remember, cousin,” I say to him, “the sheer size of our trading party this year. I chose it carefully, and virtually every family in the community was represented, and they agreed to this idea. And also, cousin, don’t forget that our brothers the Arendahronnon were with us on this voyage, and they too found it a good decision.”

I can tell he wants to say more, but he struggles for the words.

“Will Wendat be allowed to live there?” the young man called He Finds Villages asks.

“What Wendat would want to live there?” a woman answers, making many laugh.

“If one wishes to move to the village of the charcoal, I don’t think anyone will try to stop them,” I say. “It seems to me that only the very infirm or the very young or old tend to go to them.”

“What I’m most afraid of,” one of the elders says, “is they bring more of their diseases with them.” People nod.

“Never mind their magic bringing drought and famine,” another says.

“They’ll be far enough away that this won’t be an issue,” Fox says. I’m glad for his quick thinking.

“And we must remember the reason behind their coming here,” I add. “Their great chief has promised he’ll deal only with us in trade and will take up arms against the Haudenosaunee if they call for a bigger war.” I don’t mention that after our latest skirmish, this is sure to come. “As I see it, this is a good agreement, and the benefits outweigh the risks.”

Far more heads nod in approval, and some people even call out “Ah-ho!” I’d never wanted or thought, my love, that I’d be standing in front of my people arguing such important decisions, but it seems this is what I’m meant to do.

—

INSIDE THE LONGHOUSE,
still blinded by the bright light outside, I hear a voice I don’t recognize and one that I do. They speak in the Haudenosaunee language, not terribly different from ours, though I’m surprised my daughter still remembers it. She speaks to my new son. They don’t know I’ve come in, and I feel guilty for listening in on a private conversation, but I need to learn.

“My father,” she says, “is the bravest of men. He’s a great warrior, and everyone who knows him loves him.”

I’m taken aback by this and bow my head to listen more.

“He’s the same one,” the boy says. “I’m sure of it.”

“How can you know this?” my daughter asks. She scolds her raccoon for pulling on her hair.

“Your father was a relation of mine,” the boy says, and suddenly, I’m deeply confused. “The stories of his life and his death are everywhere back home.”

She talks of her dead family as if they’re still alive. At first, I don’t know what to do, but as they discuss their possible kinship, I grow calm. It’s simple. My child has been a complicated one from the start, and now that we’ve brought this boy into the longhouse, these complications grow like a summer thunderhead. I can’t allow this to go on.

—

MAYBE IT’S THE COMMUNAL
worry of what we’re about to give the charcoal, maybe it’s the season of witches, but as summer begins its slow turn to autumn and despite the crops’ abundance and the promise of a gentle winter for it, episodes of unhappiness abound. A number of women whose men journeyed with me on the summer’s trade have left them for others, more than a few of us have fallen sick, and now many claim they’re the victims of the crows’ sorcery. The elders watch this unhappiness persist, and I know they worry. The time of harvest is close, and it will clearly be a good one, so this general sense
of unhappiness is a bad sign. The happiness of our village must be addressed.

The council summons Fox, and when he returns we sit and talk. He’s been asked to venture to our cousins’ land, the land of the Tahontaenrat, the Deer people.

“Take Tall Trees and a few other good ones with you,” I suggest. “Haudenosaunee war parties might very well be wandering about and looking for revenge.”