Читать книгу Christopher Dinsdale's Historical Adventures 4-Book Bundle - Christopher Dinsdale - Страница 10

Jesse pried opened his bleary eyes and stared into the worried gaze of his uncle. Uncle Matthew held up his hand. In his palm was a ball of tissue blotched with blood. Jesse tried to sit up, but his neck suddenly erupted in pain, and he collapsed back onto his sleeping bag. He touched his neck. It felt warm and sticky. When he looked at his fingers, they shimmered with crimson in the early morning sun.

“You've cut yourself badly, Jesse. I think you must have gouged yourself on the zipper of your sleeping bag.” His uncle held up the corner of the sleeping bag. “See? The zipper has snapped in half, and what remains of it is very sharp.”

“A zipper?” Jesse couldn't help but think of the arrow that had struck him in his dream. Perhaps it was the zipper cutting him during the night that had first started his bizarre dream.

“I'll walk you down to the creek. We'll wash it off and see how deep it is. We may have to leave the woods in order for you to get a couple stitches.”

Jesse climbed out of his sleeping bag and walked with his uncle to the water. Using a washcloth, his uncle carefully cleaned the area and examined the wound.

He smiled. “I guess you are just one of those bleeders, Jesse. This doesn't look too bad after all. It's actually just a graze.”

“A graze,” laughed Jesse, wondering what would have happened if the arrow in his dream had hit him in the chest. “I guess it could have been a lot worse. Uncle Matthew, has anyone ever died by impaling themselves on a zipper?”

Uncle Matthew chuckled. “Not to my knowledge. I suggest we try to keep you out of the history books.”

Jesse shook his head at the irony of his uncle's comment. If he only knew. But the dream was simply too weird to share with anyone. Uncle Matthew would think he had a lunatic for a nephew if he confessed to the dream he had experienced last night. Jesse decided to keep it to himself.

After a breakfast of blueberries and trail mix, Uncle Matthew taught Jesse how to tie flies for fishing using a hook and the feathers of a blue jay. By lunchtime, Jesse was ready to try out his new creations in the creek using a thin willow branch and some twine. His first two flies didn't see any action, but the third was hit by a hungry brook trout almost immediately. Within an hour, Jesse had caught dinner for the two of them. The euphoria of catching fish with his own handmade craft was cut short by a deep rumbling in the forest.

Uncle Matthew looked up. “What do you make of those clouds?”

Jesse peered up through the trees. Great grey and white mountains with scalloped summits were forming in the sky. “I'd guess those are storm clouds moving in.”

“By the sound of the thunder, I think you're right. We'll need to build a shelter. Go back to camp, take my small hatchet and chop down several saplings. We'll tie them together to make a matchejin.”

“A match-a-what?” asked Jesse.

“A matchejin is the Indian name for a lean-to. But we'd better hurry. The storm will be upon us soon.”

“What about Jason?”

Uncle Matthew smiled. “Knowing Jason, he's probably already started his own lean-to by now. Don't worry, he'll be fine.”

Jesse ran back to the camp and grabbed the hatchet. He chopped down a dozen small trees, then dragged them back to camp. His uncle then skillfully chopped the trunks into poles. They jammed one pole horizontally into the V-shaped trunks of two nearly identical young maples. They then used the sideways pole to build a rectangular frame that angled down from the pole to the ground. Next, they built a second frame just above the ground and under the first angled frame.

“I'll cover the roof of the lean-to with leafy branches,” Uncle Matthew explained. “I need you to go and find birch bark for the frame on the floor. The bark will help keep the sleeping bags from getting wet during the night. Luckily, we have the small tarp to keep the kindling dry.”

A clap of thunder sparked Jesse into action. It was getting darker by the minute, and he knew it was only a matter of time before the rain began to fall. There were no birch trees in sight, so Jesse jogged along the bank of the creek until he saw a stand of birch on the opposite side of the water. He carefully stepped across the shallow creek, being careful not to slip on the slimy surface of the stepping stones. As he sprinted for the trees, he stumbled into a ditch. Unhurt, he brushed himself off and noticed that the ditch curled around the birch trees, then back towards the creek.

He left the ditch and approached the nearest tree. He tore off loose pieces of birch bark, careful not to strip too close to the trunk and possibly damage the entire tree. Moving from tree to tree, he quickly built up a pile of white, papery pieces of bark. Satisfied, he bent down and picked up his load, but several loose pieces of bark dragged across the ground. The bark brushed away a layer of dead leaves, exposing the surface of a large flat rock. Jesse froze. He had seen that rock before. Shocked, he dropped the bark and looked around. The ditch! It was about the same size as the meander from his dream. If that dream had been real, then the meander would have existed hundreds of years ago. Over time, the meander would transform into an oxbow lake and eventually dry up, leaving a curved ditch just like the one in front of him!

Jesse shook as he stared at the rock. He had to lift it and find out for sure. Large drops of rain began to explode on the surface of the stone as Jesse wrapped his fingers about its edge. He heaved. His arms and fingers burned with pain as he managed to slide the rock several feet from its resting place. Jesse dove to his knees and peered at the round depression of dirt. He could see only worms, and a salamander which quickly scampered to the protection of another nearby stone, in the rich soil. A wave of disappointment rushed over him, although he knew he had no reason to believe that the knife would actually be there in the dirt.

A flash of lightning cracked across the sky, and to Jesse's amazement, a tiny twinkle appeared in the soil. Eagerly, he dug into the earth. His fingers touched something hard and metallic. He gently pulled the object from its resting spot. A hunting knife materialized in his hands.

A terrific crash shattered the forest, and the heavens opened up. Jesse shoved the knife into his back pocket, grabbed the bark and ran. The wind howled ferociously as branches as big as small trees thrashed above him. The heart of the storm lashed at the green sea above, whipping the leaves into a frothing emerald tempest. Jesse rounded the hill and threw himself into the lean-to as a mighty crack shattered the air around him. The bark flew across the wooden frame as he tumbled in a heap before his uncle.

“Jesse, you're soaked!” Uncle Matthew could barely be heard above the raging storm. “Why didn't you come back right away when the rain started?”

Jesse's wet clothes were the last thing on his mind. “Never mind that, Uncle! Look at what I found!”

Jesse pulled the knife out of his pocket and passed it to his uncle. His uncle gasped. His fingers quivered as he gently rubbed the dirt off the rusty blade. Using the loose bottom of his flannel shirt, he cleaned the handle and examined the intricate carvings of symbols and animals.

“This is the most beautiful artifact I have ever seen. The carvings of people and walls in the forest tell the story of a traditional deer hunt. This knife has to be at least several hundred years old. And the metal blade. Blades such as this were European in origin. Do you realize what you have found?”

Jesse shrugged innocently.

“It's definitely Wendat. This knife should be shared with our people. What a beautiful piece of our history. I've never seen anything quite like it. Where did you find it?”

“Under a rock.”

“What?” He stared at his nephew, surprised.

“I lifted a rock, and the knife was in the dirt beneath it.”

“But you were out gathering bark,” exclaimed Uncle Matthew, pointing to the pile of birch at the back of the lean-to. “What were you doing looking under rocks?”

Jesse hesitated, then told his uncle the story of his dream, the shape of the creek and the recognition of the rock at the centre of the old oxbow lake. His uncle listened carefully, his faced lined in thought. Jesse was relieved to have finally shared the story. When he had finished, the two sat quietly and listened to the storm rumble itself into a steady downpour.

Jesse stared at Uncle Matthew's hands. His fingers gently caressed the blade, as if he were now listening to the knife's version of the story.

Uncle Matthew then passed the knife back to Jesse.

“You were meant to find this knife. It is yours to keep. It will help seal the bond between you and Iondaee.”

Jesse took the knife and placed it on his lap. His uncle didn't laugh at his story. The dream was real? Jesse sat, stunned. He remembered what had happened in the village just before he had left. The arrow. The young warrior returning to the village with bad news. If what had happened was real, then the message was now important to him. Jesse had to find out.

“Uncle Matthew, tell me about Ste. Marie.”

“Was Ste. Marie mentioned in your dream?”

Jesse nodded.

“Ste. Marie was the first European settlement in Ontario. It was also Ontario's first fortress and quite large for fortresses in North America at that time. Inside the defensive walls of timber were European residences, a blacksmith shop, a kitchen with a common eating room and a church. There was even a small, guarded canal to the river for canoes to safely enter and leave Ste. Marie. The Jesuits, who had built the fort, lived separately from our people, although they allowed several longhouses to be built next to Ste. Marie for visitation purposes. Since Ste. Marie existed in Iondaee's time, we now know when he lived.”

“When?” asked Jesse, excitedly.

“Ste. Marie was built and lived in by the Jesuits between 1634 and 1643.”

“Wow,” whispered Jesse. “That's almost four hundred years ago. But what happened in 1643? Why did Ste. Marie last only nine years?”

“Near the end, the Iroquois continually raided Ste. Marie and the other nearby villages. Our people were still too sick to fight back properly, and the Jesuits did not have enough French soldiers to properly defend the fort from an all-out war with the Iroquois. After a failed attempt at a peace treaty, the Jesuits knew it was a hopeless situation. The decision was made to burn Ste. Marie to the ground instead of letting it fall into the hands of the Iroquois.”

“You mean that the Jesuits themselves destroyed Ste. Marie?”

“Yes.”

“But what about the Wendat people?” argued Jesse. “Who was going to help protect the Wendat from the Iroquois?”

Uncle Jesse looked off into the misty woods. “After the destruction of Ste. Marie, many of the Christian Wendats retreated with the Jesuits to an island in Georgian Bay for the winter. They had hoped to build a new Ste. Marie on the island, but the following winter was devastating. Almost all of the Wendat people either died of exposure to the cold or died of starvation. The Jesuits and the French soldiers who survived returned to Quebec, never to settle on Wendat land again.”

“But not all Wendat people were Christian,” pointed out Jesse.

“That's true,” agreed Uncle Matthew. “Some of the traditionalist Wendat villages chose to resist the Iroquois. Everyone in those villages was killed by the attackers. Other villages asked to join the Iroquois confederacy. Most who asked were accepted, and soon those Wendat people lost their Wendat customs and language and were absorbed into the Iroquois culture.”

“That's it?” asked Jesse, quietly. “Our people were either destroyed or became Iroquois?”

Uncle Matthew put a hand on Jesse's shoulder. “Not all, Jesse. Several villages left this land in search of a new home. Some went south and built villages in what is now the state of Kentucky. Others went east and settled the province of Quebec.”

Jesse suddenly stiffened. “So that's how our ancestors ended up in Quebec.”

Uncle Matthew nodded.

Jesse gripped the knife tightly in his hands. Iondaee mentioned that Ste. Marie had been there for ten years. Then he remembered the words of the warrior who had shot him. He turned to his uncle.

“Does the word ‘Tin-hat-in-a-ron’ mean anything to you, Uncle Matthew?”

“Taenhatenaron? I know of it. It is an old, much larger village than that of Iondaee's. The site has been found by archeologists. It's further down this creek, towards Georgian Bay.”

“What happened to it?”

“Just before Ste Marie was burned, the Iroquois attacked Taenhatenaron and captured all of its inhabitants. Two Jesuit priests were also captured there. They were tortured and killed. Let's just say it was not a good time to be a member of the Wendat nation if you were living in Taenhatenaron at that time. Why?”

Jesse's stomach tightened. “I heard its name in my vision as well.”

Uncle Matthew stared at Jesse, but realizing he didn't want to be questioned any more, reached back and grabbed a handful of bark. Together they worked in silence, organizing the birch bark over the frame on the floor. When they had finished, Jesse finally took off his wet clothes and crawled into his sleeping bag. Uncle Matthew offered him some trail mix for dinner, but Jesse declined.

His mind was still swimming with the thought that the lives of the villagers he had met had ended so horribly. He wondered whether if he had listened more carefully during history class, he might have been able to recognize the danger and somehow save the village. He should have known about Ste. Marie and its deadly fate. He couldn't help but feel responsible for the death of over a hundred of his ancestors. The face of Iondaee's little baby boy in his wife's arms would not leave his mind. He crawled into his sleeping bag and shivered. Finally, the sound of the rain trickling down the leaves above his head lulled him into a restless sleep.

Relentless taps to the top of his head jarred Jesse from his exhausted slumber. Raindrops! That was all he needed. The lean-to had sprung a leak, and he was now completely soaked. He forced his tired body to roll over as he reached out for his uncle.

“Uncle Matthew, there's a leak in the roof. What should I do?”

Jesse's hand waved slowly back and forth, searching, but there was nothing there to touch. Surprised, he slowly opened his eyes. Not only was his uncle missing, but so was the entire lean-to. He sprang to his feet and shook the water off his body as if he were a dog. He then realized he was no longer human.

The sky was just wakening to the first hint of dawn and a steady drizzle fell through the trees. Jesse looked around to get his bearings. A familiar meander in the creek told him that he had woken up in the exact spot where he had first met Iondaee. The village! Jesse sprang into a blazing sprint through the forest. He dug his hooves into the slippery surface of the wet hill and skidded to a halt at the summit. The village was spread out below him. It slept before him in utter silence. He waited anxiously for some sign of human activity. Only the excited cries of small forest creatures waking up to a new day brought life to the tranquil village scene. His heart sank.

He leaped down the steep slope, entered the village gate and stopped. In the mud were hundreds of footprints, all leading out and away from the village. He was too late. How long had he been away since his previous dream? Was it only hours, weeks or years? Had Taenhatenaron already been captured and Ste. Marie burned to the ground? Had his friends been tortured or killed? Helplessness and despair swept through Jesse. He sensed he was too late.

Then, in the morning mist, just a hint of burning wood tickled his nostrils. Fire! And fire meant people. Trying not to get his hopes up, he trotted to the entrance of the largest longhouse and looked in. There were long rows of sleeping benches on either side of the longhouse. A fire pit was located about every three metres along the central walkway that led to a distant exit at the far end. Jesse counted a total of twelve pits. His sensitive nose twitched again. There was definitely smoke still in the air. But the pits looked dark and cold. How long had the fire been out?

Nervously, for deer are always nervous creatures, Jesse carefully stepped into the longhouse. Piles of wood for winter had been stored underneath the sleeping benches. Discarded blankets lay on several beds, and food still filled baskets that hung from the ceiling rafters by rope. Many valuable items had been left behind. The people had left the village in a hurry. He approached the first fire pit. He carefully lowered his front hoof into the inky ashes. Warmth tingled his cold foot. Jesse figured it would only take a day for the pits to grow cold. That meant the village must have been abandoned only hours ago! Perhaps there was still time!

Jesse launched out of the longhouse. The sky had lightened. He had no time to waste. If he could reach the villagers before they made it to Taenhatenaron, he could warn them of the impending danger. Once they were within the village's walls, Jesse would be killed by either French or Wendat hunters long before he could ever relay his words of warning to Iondaee.

As Jesse took his first steps toward the gate, a distant shadow made him freeze. Something was wrong. The forest was suddenly still. The chattering squirrels had become quiet. Even the light breeze that had been blowing now seemed to be holding its breath. A scent of danger drifted past his quivering nostrils. Humans. A second shadow leapt from one trunk to another with the silence of a spectre. Iroquois!

They were beginning their attack on the village! Jesse's eyes widened in fear. With the people gone, the only thing remaining for them to attack was him! There was no time to hesitate further. With all of his natural speed and agility, Jesse flew for the gate. Bodies suddenly appeared from behind dozens of trees to the south of the village. There wasn't a whooping charge of crazed attackers as he had seen portrayed in the Saturday afternoon movies. Jesse's heart pounded as the only movement from over a hundred warriors was to simply raise their bow and take dead aim at the fleeing deer.

Jesse nearly lost his balance as he dug his front hooves into the soft dirt outside the gate and veered hard to the left. The sudden change in direction saved his life. Dozens of arrows zinged past his backside. The deadly, stone arrowheads sounded like a rapid-fire cap gun as they smacked hard into the outer stockade. Jesse's massive back legs launched him through the vegetables and along the curving outer wall. Shocked by the unexpected bolt of the deer, the other warriors, who had resisted firing, readjusted their aim. More arrows sailed above his head and into the dirt by his hooves. One missile, heading for his ribs, was miraculously slowed by a ripe ear of corn. The impact ripped it clear from its stalk, and the cob merely bounced off his pumping flank.

By the time the Iroquois warriors had reloaded their bows, Jesse was now far enough around the stockade that it acted as a shield from the onslaught. He took a quick glance over his shoulder to ensure that he was well-protected by the wall before changing course again and sprinting through the remaining field of vegetables and into the protective curtain of the surrounding forest.

There was no time to pause. Jesse's mind was completely focused on the task at hand. He had to find the villagers. Trees blurred, and his breathing deepened. He let his deer instincts take over and guide him through the deadly maze of trunks and fallen debris. He effortlessly leapt streams and rocks, bounded up and over hills, and flew over the mossy forest floor until his legs ached with fiery cramps. How long had he been running? He'd lost track of time. His legs buckled from exhaustion. He had to stop, if only to catch his breath and give his legs a rest. A larger river came into view as he burst into a small clearing. He slid to a stop and used precious seconds to drink water from the cool surface of the river. It instantly refreshed him.

Jesse gazed both ways along the river. The villagers' trail led to the river's edge, but it had now disappeared. Did they cross the river? He doubted it. It would have taken a small navy of canoes to carry the entire village across. Then they must have followed the river bank. Did they go upstream or downstream? Jesse tried to remember what Uncle Matthew had told him about Taenhatenaron. Iondaee had also mentioned that Ste. Marie, near Taenhatenaron, was close to the Great Water. Jesse tried to picture the map of Ontario in his head. The nearest Great Lake would be Lake Huron and Georgian Bay. He knew that all the rivers in this area would likely flow into the Georgian Bay basin. His decision was made. He would travel towards Georgian Bay and hope to pick up the trail further downstream.

His animal instincts told him to travel within the cover of the forest. He left the bank of the river and scampered back into the safety of the trees. Keeping an eye on the river to his left, he darted as quickly as he could through the thicker vegetation. The floor was no longer wide and open as it was in the heart of the forest, so he had to be careful not to get tangled up in the undergrowth for fear of breaking a leg.

He came to a trail. It snaked through the green forest floor towards the north and Georgian Bay. The human footprints in the soft earth were all going in the same direction, downstream. He lowered his nose and sniffed. The familiar scent told him that it was indeed the people of the village. Taenhatenaron and Ste. Marie must be close. If he was seen by the Jesuits, he would likely be shot and served up as tonight's dinner special. He had to catch up to his friends before he became their last supper.

The path left the river bank and took a big curve around a swamp. Although he was scared to move into the open, Jesse saw the swamp as an opportunity to eliminate precious minutes from the chase. Without hesitating, Jesse launched himself into the water. He splashed mightily through the hoof-sucking goo. It was exhausting, and his legs began to buckle, but somehow he forced himself onwards. He had almost made it to the safety of the other side when he heard a sharp crack. Something whistled just over his head and a tall, dead tree stump next to him exploded into a hail of splinters. Shouts of anger burst from the river. The shouts were in French! Jesse glanced over to see a man reloading his musket, cursing at the other in the stern of a rocking canoe.

Panicked, Jesse dove for the cover of the far shore. Just as he ducked behind the first bush on dry land, a branch above his head was blown off its trunk. His chest heaving, he had to stop to catch his breath. He pulled up behind a thick bush. He had made it back to cover and safety.

The sudden crying of a baby caused him to stiffen. The wails were so close! He peered through a hedge of bushes. Just a stone's throw away was a parade of women and children moving in a line through the forest. They looked weary and dispirited. The children were openly complaining that they wanted to rest, but the mothers simply shook their heads and kept them marching. He recognized Asitari, the hunter who had shot him, leading the procession, weapon in hand. Jesse didn't want another encounter with him, even if Iondaee had explained everything to him after he had left. At the end of the line was Iondaee. He also had his bow drawn, walking backwards. His eyes were scanning the woods for danger, and he was crouched for action. Jesse waited for the group to pass and for Iondaee to move closer.

“Iondaee, over here!”

Instinctively, Iondaee wheeled around and pointed the deadly arrow at Jesse. Just a flinch of his finger, and the arrow would fly to its mark.

“Don't shoot! It's me, Jesse.”

Iondaee lowered the arrow just a fraction. “Jesse? Where are you? I can't see you.”

“Towards the river and behind the bushes. I need to talk to you. It's important. Don't let your people go any further. Stop them here!”

Iondaee took a step towards him, unsure. “How do I know it's you? Show yourself.”

“I don't want to start another riot with your people. Look, I'm right here, see?”

Jesse poked his head around the side of the bush. Iondaee's face immediately lit up in joy.

“It is you!”

“Shhhh!” begged Jesse. “Just get your people to stop! Don't let them go any further!”

Iondaee whistled to Asitari. Getting his attention, he hand-signalled a halt. Silently, Asitari brought the procession to a stop. The children thankfully sat down. The mothers, worried by the sudden order, did their best to quiet the children. Everyone feared that the enemy was near. Iondaee signalled for Asitari to stay with the village. He nodded but looked confused. Iondaee ignored him and disappeared into the bushes.

Iondaee grinned. “It's good to see you, my friend.”

“How close are we to Taenhatenaron?” asked Jesse.

“It is just around the next river bend.”

“That was too close,” whispered Jesse to himself.

“We all ask your forgiveness for what we did to you,” replied Iondaee. “The whole village is devastated by your injury. We thought you had abandoned us.”

“No, of course not. I had to go for other reasons. Someone else needed my help,” Jesse lied.

“That is good to know,” sighed Iondaee. “My people will be very happy to hear that news.”

Jesse looked around nervously. “They won't be happy to hear my news.”

Iondaee sensed Jesse's edginess. “What is it?”

“The Iroquois will attack the entire Wendat nation very soon.”

Iondaee stiffened. “Then we must hurry to Taenhatenaron for protection. Asitari and I will meet with the other returning men, and we will counter-attack! ”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“Because Taenhatenaron will be captured by a huge force of Iroquois. Not only that, but Ste. Marie will also be destroyed! The Jesuits themselves will burn it to the ground! After hearing of the fall of Taenhatenaron, they will decide to destroy their own fort rather than have it fall into the hands of the Iroquois. And once Ste. Marie is gone, it will be the beginning of the end for your people.”

Iondaee hesitated, then locked eyes upon Jesse. “How can you be sure?”

“Trust me. I've seen the future. If you go to Taenhatenaron, you will lead not only yourself into capture or death by the Iroquois, but also your entire family and everyone else in your village.”

Iondaee looked over his shoulder at his people, then nodded solemnly. “You are a spirit of the forest. I do not doubt what you say.”

“Good!” Jesse exclaimed, as he stomped his hoof impatiently. “Then let's get your people out of here before they get hurt!”

“Wait.” Iondaee held up a hand. “I cannot simply walk away from my brothers and sisters at Taenhatenaron. If what you say is true, then we must do something to help them.”

“How can you change the future?” asked Jesse.

“You may have seen the future if we had continued to Taenhatenaron. Are you so sure the future will not change now that we have decided not to go?”

“No,” Jesse admitted. “But is it possible to change the future?”

“Since a spirit does not know the answer to my question, then I am at least willing to try and help the rest of my people.” Iondaee thought for a moment. “I will send Asitari on to Taenhatenaron. He can warn our people of the impending danger. Perhaps with warning, our people may be able to prepare themselves better and, in turn, save their lives. Perhaps your warning was not only meant for the people of my village, but for all Wendat people.”

Jesse didn't know whether it was possible to change history. Could it be that he might have completely different history books when he headed back to school in the autumn? It was hard to imagine that he was capable of changing the future.

“You do whatever you feel is right, Iondaee. But do it quickly. All I want us to do now is get out of here.”

Iondaee nodded and ran back to the villagers who were still murmuring in fear. A collective sigh could be heard when Iondaee waved him out of the bushes. They gathered around Jesse, but without the excitement and squeals of their first meeting. The mentioned doom of their people created a sombre mood in everyone. A little girl toddled up to him. Jesse lowered his head to her. She gently cupped his face with her tiny hands and rubbed her cheek against his soft nose. He gave her a half smile as she scurried back to her mother's side.

Jesse's heart thumped as he looked into the little girl's eyes. Was he doing the right thing by chasing down these people and telling them of their future? Or was he only making matters worse for them? Perhaps they would now end their lives in a far more horrific way because of his interference. Had he now brought even more pain into their lives? Jesse tried to clear his mind of such thoughts. These people were about to walk to their deaths. What could possibly be worse than that? No, death was not an option. He had to at least try and do something to save their lives.

The village waited quietly as Iondaee, Asitari and Jesse walked a few steps away and spoke in whispers.

“You must try to get through to Taenhatenaron and warn our brothers and sisters of this terrible news. Jesse has told me that if we do nothing, the Iroquois will destroy our nation.”

Asitari answered without hesitation. “I will go.”

Iondaee clasped Asitari's shoulders. “You are a true warrior, my friend.”

Asitari turned to the deer, but he could not look into Jesse's eyes. “I know you could never forgive me for injuring you, spirit of the forest. I have shamed both myself and my people.”

Jesse felt for the brave warrior. “It was not your fault, Asitari. You were only trying to protect your village. Please, look at me. I forgive you.”

Iondaee translated. Asitari nodded thanks, only briefly glancing up at the spirit. He turned back to Iondaee.

“I will make our people proud.”

“I know you will.”

“If we at Taenhatenaron should prevail, where shall I find you?”

Iondaee looked at Jesse. Jesse thought for a moment, his eyes going up to the sky, his uncle's words of the past returning to him.

“Tell him we will head east.”

Iondaee was confused. “East?”

Jesse looked at the moss on the trees and then nodded to his right. “In that direction. Towards the rising sun.”

Iondaee explained what Jesse said to Asitari. Asitari stepped up to Iondaee and embraced him as a brother. “Look after our people, Iondaee. After today, you may be the last warrior of our nation.”

Iondaee nodded sombrely. Asitari went back to the people and sought out a young woman. Her eyes were anxious and uncertain. Asitari embraced her, gently put his forehead against hers, and spoke softly to her for several seconds. Then, with bow in hand, he sprinted down the path and disappeared.

“Who was that?” Jesse asked, looking at the young woman, who was desperately trying to hold back tears.

“That was his wife, Tutayac. They were married only three weeks ago.”

Jesse wanted to say something, but didn't know what words could describe the feelings churning within him. He just watched the bravest man he had ever seen disappear into the woods, rife with swarming enemy, without even a glimmer of fear. He hoped that they could somehow meet again.