“De Langdon is not here.” Kennedy had watched the duel in silence. “De Langdon is not in the village.” He held his shoulder, where blood soaked through his tunic.
“We can ask one of the prisoners where he is,” MacKim said.
“We took no prisoners,” Kennedy said flatly. “We killed them all.”
Kennedy was correct. When MacKim looked around the village, only women and children stood among the Rangers.
“You’re wounded, sir,” MacKim said.
“Only slightly.” Kennedy removed his hand, allowing the bloodstain to spread.
“If you’re sure, sir.”
“Now we’ll have to find de Langdon,” Kennedy said.
“If you recall,” MacKim said as he cleaned his bayonet, “the trail split a few miles back. I’ll wager de Langdon took the other track.”
“Then we’ll follow him,” Kennedy said. “We’ll find what food we can in the village, backtrack to where the trail split, find de Langdon and kill him.” He staggered as his wound weakened him, then recovered and lifted his musket. “Come on, Rangers.”
Leaving the village, Kennedy led the Rangers back to the split in the track. With every step, MacKim felt Tayanita’s presence at his side. He could hear the soft slap of her moccasins on the ground, see the gentle roll of her shoulders and hips, and smell her natural perfume. Yet he knew Tayanita was dead and gone; he had finally crossed the barrier into insanity.
Humming a Gaelic tune, MacKim eased along the faint tracks the Canadian had left. He knew the other Rangers were watching him, discussing his behaviour, but he did not care. Tayanita was with him, walking at his side, guiding his footsteps.
“This way,” MacKim said, as the Canadian’s tracks were as plain to him as a coach on the King’s Highway. He could see the imprint of every footstep on the ground and knew by instinct or unconscious reasoning which direction the Canadian had taken.
“He stopped here,” MacKim said, as a single broken twig told him the story as plainly as the printed words in a book. “And he met somebody over there.”
Aware of Parnell and Kennedy watching him askance, MacKim crouched on the ground, tracing the near-invisible marks of feet as Tayanita guided his fingers. “Look – one pair of man’s moccasins and one pair of woman’s. De Langdon met a woman here. She came from that direction.”
With no doubt in his head, MacKim traced the Canadian’s route between the trees, smiling at the places the couple stopped and singing his Gaelic song. Tayanita was at his side, walking soundlessly as she guided him along the path of insanity.
“Here.” MacKim pointed to a broken blade of grass. “They altered direction here and headed south-west.”
The Rangers followed MacKim without question, accepting his judgement as they recognised that something was guiding him that day.
“Stop.” MacKim raised his hand. “Here, sir. De Langdon is down there.”
They crouched on the western slope of a long ridge, with insects buzzing around their heads and the dying rays of the sun warming their faces. At the foot of the hill, another small village crouched beneath the shoulder of the slope.
“Are you sure de Langdon’s there?” Kennedy asked.
“Yes, sir.” MacKim saw Tayanita give a slow nod.
“You’ve guided us here,” Kennedy said grimly. “Now it’s up to me.”
MacKim glanced at Tayanita, who stood devoid of any expression. “Is that all right?” he asked her.
The Rangers stepped back, unsure to whom he was talking, now wary of their sergeant.
“Come on, Rangers,” Kennedy said. “Let’s finish this and get back home.”
A barking dog broke the silence of the sultry evening as the Rangers strode down the slope. MacKim saw a woman emerge from a house, carrying a baby while a small child walked at her side. A young man followed, laughing with the woman.
“It looks very peaceful,” Kennedy said. “Are you certain our man’s in there?” He paused before entering the village.
Again, MacKim looked to Tayanita, but she was gone. “Yes,” he said.
“Sergeant, take the rear. The rest, follow me.” Kennedy squared his shoulders and marched to the gate in the weak palisade.
The woman with the children screamed when she saw the Rangers stride into her small settlement. Her man stepped to protect her but, without a weapon, he was powerless. Parnell felled him with the butt of his musket, leaving the woman screaming as she crouched over her man’s unconscious body.
Lucas de Langdon emerged from one of the other three houses, wearing soft Indian clothes and with his hair tied back in a neat queue.
“Mon Dieu!” He looked at the grim-faced Rangers and altered his language to English. “What the devil are you doing here? The war in Canada is over.”
“I am Lieutenant Adam Kennedy, at your service, sir.” Kennedy gave a mocking bow. “Do you remember me?”
The Canadian remained as he was, standing in the doorway of the house. “I do,” he said. “We’ve been fighting each other for the last year.” As he spoke, a scared-looking woman appeared behind him.
De Langdon pushed her gently back.
“I’ve come to kill you,” Kennedy said.
“The war is over,” The Canadian said. “You won, we lost. Hasn’t there been sufficient killing?”
“There has been too much killing,” Kennedy said. “My wife, my children, my sister and my mother, all killed at the hands of you and your men.”
De Langdon visibly flinched. “War is cruel,” he agreed, “and the innocent suffer along with the guilty.” Reaching behind him, he produced a musket and bayonet. “Come then, Lieutenant Kennedy.”
“Sergeant.” Parnell’s voice sounded behind MacKim.
“Not now, Parnell.” MacKim pushed him away.
“Sergeant!” Parnell tried again, with urgency in his voice.
“Keep quiet, Private,” MacKim snapped. “That’s an order.”
De Langdon stepped clear of the doorway. “If we fight, and you prevail,” he said, “will you allow the people in this village to live?”
Kennedy glanced at MacKim before he replied. “My war will end when I kill you.”
“Do you give me your word that you won’t hurt the people or my woman?”
Tayanita was back, standing beside de Langdon. “She is my wife,” de Langdon said. “She had no part in the war.”
“Neither had mine,” Kennedy said.
Tayanita held a hand out towards MacKim, pleading for something.
What do you want, Tayanita? What must I do?
“We give our word,” MacKim said. “Your wife is safe, whatever happens.”
“Then we fight.” De Langdon stepped into the sunlight, with the tattoos prominent on his face and the musket in his hand.
“Sergeant,” Parnell said again.
“Tell me later,” MacKim snarled.
Kennedy stepped forward, staggered and collapsed.
De Langdon lowered his musket. “See to your officer,” he said.
“He’s lost a lot of blood.” MacKim knelt beside the lieutenant. “Take care of him. Bandage his wound.”
“I’ve been trying to tell you, sir,” Parnell said.
As the Rangers carried Kennedy to the shelter of one of the houses, MacKim faced de Langdon. “I’ll take over here.” He hefted his musket. “You killed my woman, de Langdon.”
De Langdon nodded. “There is no need for this.” He sounded tired.
When MacKim advanced, he felt his stomach wound open up. I’ll have to finish this duel quickly, or I’ll collapse as Kennedy did.
De Langdon was taller than the renegade had been but measurably slower, as if he had experienced his fill of fighting. His first thrust missed MacKim by three inches, and MacKim tripped the Canadian and knocked him to the ground. De Langdon lay still without even reaching for his weapon.
“End it, Sergeant.”
When MacKim poised his bayonet above De Langdon’s chest, Tayanita stood beside his woman, so alike they could almost be sisters.
MacKim felt his grief return, overwhelming even his anger.
“Why?” MacKim asked. He looked down at de Langdon, with his bayonet raised to plunge into the man’s breast. “Why did you kill Tayanita? Why did you decapitate so many British soldiers?”
De Langdon looked up with resignation in his eyes. “British colonials killed my wife,” he said simply. “They burned our village with my family inside, and when my wife escaped, a British cannonball cut her head clean off.”
MacKim paused. He imagined the hurt of this man, losing his wife and family in one horrific day. He imagined how that must have felt and lowered his bayonet. War damaged both sides and made monsters out of decent men.
“And this woman? You said she was your wife.”
“She is,” the Canadian said. “A man marries quickly on the frontier.”
“That is true.” MacKim looked at this man who was so much like himself. After following him halfway across Canada, now they were face to face.
Killing this man has become the mainspring of my life, yet now I have him, the desire has gone. I feel no hatred. My obsession has given me a purpose in life, when otherwise, I would have given way to despair and suicide. In some ways, this man saved my life, as much as he has attempted to kill me.
“Get up.” MacKim reached out his hand. “Get up.”
De Langdon took MacKim’s hand.
“You have a sister in Quebec,” MacKim said and turned away. “You are not entirely alone.”
He could sense Tayanita watching him, and she was smiling. He had failed in his quest for vengeance, but a weight had lifted from him. As he walked, he fingered the square of beadwork within his tunic.
Tayanita held out one hand, and only then MacKim understood. All this time, he had believed that Tayanita had been encouraging him to hunt down de Langdon. He had been wrong; her frown had indicated her disapproval of his actions, not his failure to kill.
As Tayanita faded away, MacKim wondered if he had ever really seen her, or if she had been a manifestation of his conscience.
Am I insane?
“De Langdon!” Kennedy sat up with his tunic soaked in blood. “Where are you?”
“Here, Lieutenant Kennedy.” De Langdon stepped forward.
“You murdering bastard!” Kennedy lifted MacKim’s musket, aimed and fired.
The ball took the Canadian high in the chest, knocking him backwards. His wife screamed once and covered her mouth.
“He’s dead,” Parnell said laconically.
MacKim looked down at de Lucas, wondering at the pointlessness of war. He lifted his musket. “Ramsay, MacRae, help the lieutenant. Parnell, you take the van. Dickert, you’re the rearguard. Let’s go home, boys.”
He looked ahead of him, but Tayanita was not there. He knew he would never see her again; her soul was at peace and he was firmly on the correct side of reason.