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The stars still sprinkled the inky black sky, the world immersed in silence. Leaves whispered in calm, hushed tones as though sharing a secret before the heralding of a new day.
The women were the first to awaken, shifting wordlessly from below thick furs as they withdrew from the comforting warmth of their husband's bodies. Greeting each other with a smile, words were not essential as they began to prepare the morning meal. Their men would be departing at daybreak, their meager food supply sorely diminished. Their hunting party would rejoin the tribe at twilight if they were successful - their first hunt since the recent death of Chief Raven.
Chief Long Knife stood at the opening to the longhouse observing the sun ascend over the hillside just above the treeline. Leisurely sunbeams expelled the final shadows of darkness away. Gentle Doe, heavy with their first child, joined him breathing in the crisp morning air. She placed her hand on her husband's sinewy forearm but didn't say a word. Gentle Doe didn't need to tell Chief Long Knife she would yearn for him, or that she was proud of him and the leader he was to their people. Chief Long Knife didn't need to tell her how much he cherished her, having shown her completely the depth of his devotion throughout the long night. At that moment they shared, Chief Long Knife tenderly caressed Gentle Doe's extended womb. Eagerly anticipating the birth of their first child after so many years of barrenness, he was certain the long-awaited baby would be a boy - the next chief.
Silence. Perfect silence enveloped the couple. Chief Long Knife's eyes searched the tree line, a premonition something wasn't right settling on his spirit. There was no movement, yet he couldn't quell the feeling of sinister foreboding.
His people were famished, eating the last of their rationed food supply. Iroquois patrolled the waterways, yet they could not hide from their enemy indefinitely. With no alternative but to venture out, they prayed the Great Spirit would give them success. Without it, they would starve. The heavens had been closed up for weeks now, the ground as dusty as ash.
Chief Long Knife gazed down into Gentle Doe's mahogany-hued eyes, the silent exchange between husband and wife reassuring her of his love before he turned, following his wife back into the longhouse where he ate the corn mash Gentle Doe brought him, tearing off a chunk of the dried venison with his teeth. Without a word, he glanced over his shoulder at the men who had finished eating. Standing yet straighter, he gave Gentle Doe his empty dish, their fingers touching before the new chief led the way to their waiting canoes.
As silent as a dragonfly hovering over the water, the men submerged their oars into the water, birch canoes gliding over the glistening waves. Arms flexing as they paddled, Gentle Doe watched until they faded from sight before returning to her people. There was much work to be done.
****
GENTLE DOE STOOPED over, her fingers delving into the dusty soil, probing thin roots. Most of the green shoots had turned brown, drooping underneath the unrelenting heat, unusually humid for this time of year.
They needed rain desperately. If the rain didn't come, they would have to move. Even if it rained, they would still likely have to keep moving, the Iroquois advancing from the East, forging into the Wyandotte Nation's territory. A harmonious tribe, they did not seek trouble, instead, withdrawing from their deadliest enemy, the unrelenting Iroquois Nation.
Chief Long Knife, her husband, adhered to optimism, waiting for their village shaman to pacify the Great Spirit into sending rain. So far, his best efforts had been to no avail and the tribe had begun to murmur behind his back. Bear Claw wasn't his father, after all. If he had been, no one would have dared voice their discontent - even in whispered tones. Bear Claw, the son of Chief Raven's elder brother and Aspen was young - far too young to fill his father's shoes. At twenty years old, the new shaman remained in his father's shadow and, try as he might, couldn't seem to appease the Great Spirit into sending rain. Perhaps Chief Long Knife would make his decision after the birth of their child. It wouldn't be long now and time was running out.
The women worked side by side, children dashing about snagging their baskets and other small trinkets. The young ones believed that the one who could capture the most without being detected was the most quick-witted. The adults esteemed intelligence and those who were the most clever were particularly special.
Aquene called out a warning for the little ones to play closer - not so near the forest. With the men away... The children obeyed Aquene, the widow of Chief Raven, their carefree laughter musical in the breeze. In twenty years, no one cared to remember the aging woman who had once been an Iroquois - at least most no longer cared. Aquene had proven her loyalty time and again to not only her husband but to her stepson and held great respect within the Wyandotte tribe.
Gentle Doe stood, massaging her lower back before reaching for her basket. A stew could be made from the few scraps of greens she'd managed to salvage along with the unusually small roots. A movement from the corner of her peripheral vision was the only indication that something was amiss before the trees exploded with painted warriors on horses, many holding rifles. Their shrieks shattered the stillness, infusing dread into the hearts of the women and children who had been left behind.
Gentle Doe struggled to escape but was unable to see her feet beneath her sizable womb. Young girls screeched as they were swooped up off the ground. Their brothers, forcing themselves to be courageous, refused to show their captors the slightest indication of fear.
The children were shown mercy, flung unceremoniously onto the horses' backs, the invading warriors pinning them in place so there could be no escape. Older children rode behind the painted warriors, their limbs instinctively gripping their captor's hips. Children screamed for their mothers who fought back, tigerish in the face of fear.
Other women, unmarried or childless, ran, tripping on branches as they fled into the shelter of the forest. There could be no escape, Iroquois warriors claiming the women as they fled. They were surrounded on all sides.
A powerful arm swept beneath Gentle Doe's bosom, lifting her effortlessly off of the ground. The warrior kept her firmly in place in front of him, pinning her against his chest. Escape was futile Gentle Doe realized as she was taken once more, memories of her parents' death after a raid just like this once more surfacing. Long Knife had found her and brought her back once - it was the only hope Gentle Doe had to hold onto as the warrior turned the horse around, galloping in the opposite direction her husband had taken with his hunting party.
Abandoning the venerable and aged, the invading tribe set fire to the longhouse, the flames licking up the dry grass around it. A blazing inferno was the only evidence they'd visited the peaceful tribe before retreating within the forest. Flames crackled as they licked the sky, black smoke thick.
Gentle Doe blinked back tears. She wouldn't cry. Whatever her fate, Gentle Doe was the wife of a powerful chief. He would come for her and their baby. She needed to trust him and concentrate on surviving. The Iroquois, after all, was a merciless tribe.
Straight-back and defiant, she focused on the hand restraining her. His hand was smooth, brawny sinews just beneath his skin. Young, Gentle Doe assumed as his horse raced sure-footed between the dense foliage. At this break-necking speed, they would put too much distance between what was left of their home and wherever they were going.
Her captor relaxed his grip on her, allowing Gentle Doe to expand her diaphragm. Swallowing great gulps of air, tears burned her eyes.
The children and other women would need her to be courageous. Until the men rescued them, as the chief's wife, she was their leader and wouldn't be defeated now. Chief Long Knife would be proud of her.
Tucking her hands into the horse's mane, Gentle Doe attempted to conceal her emotions betrayed by her trembling fingers.
Gentle Doe knew the truth - she wasn't likely to see her husband again.
Aquene gasped as a tall warrior leaped from his war-painted horse, before holding out his hand to the elderly woman who stood clutching Small Bird's hand.
"It can't be..." Small Bird whispered the first to find her voice.
"Come," the chief commanded, but there was a tenderness in his deep baritone voice.
"After all these years..." Aquene whispered, blinking back unbidden tears as she looked up into her son's eyes.
"Did you think I had forgotten?" Chief Red Hawk drew his mother against his heart in a long-overdue embrace before helping her and his aunt mount his horse. "Let's go home."
As much as Aquene had grown to love her husband over the past twenty years, nothing compared to the joy of seeing her eldest son again. As Chief Red Hawk led the women away from what remained of the Wyandotte village, Aquene didn't look back at her husband's grave. She and Small Bird were finally going home.
"Strong Oak - my son," Small Bird couldn't keep her tears from falling.
The young warrior was with Chief Long Knife's hunting party.
Chief Red Hawk glanced over at his aunt, surprised to see her tears. He naturally assumed she would be overjoyed to be returning to her people and tribe.
"The baby. Do you remember him?" Aquene quickly explained to her son. "He is on a hunting trip with my stepson, Chief Long Knife."
A muscle clenched in the chief's jaw at the mention of his mother's new son, but he remained silent for a long moment."
"I will have Eagle search for him, but in the meantime, I give you my word that no harm will come to Strong Oak. He is my cousin, after all."
"Thank you...and my son, the chief?"
"I make no promises. The Wyandotte killed my father. Have you forgotten so soon, Mother?"
Of course, Aquene couldn't forget, but for her, Chief Raven's love had healed her heart. Her son, Chief Red Hawk, apparently hadn't been as lucky, the pain of his father's murder still very raw.
****
CHIEF LONG KNIFE LED his men as they returned with enough fish to nourish the tribe for the next few weeks. Instead of being greeted by their women and children, their home lay in ashes, the sound of mourning reaching their ears.
"Iroquois," those who survived the raid informed their chief.
Fish abandoned, the men ran into the forest, arrows drawn as they searched for the perpetrators of the crime. Hoofprints had trampled the parched grass pointing in one direction. East.
Returning to the charred clearing, Chief Long Knife indicated for his companions to make quick work of gathering what could be salvaged. With sorrowful hearts, they turned their faces towards the East.
"Long Knife," Aspen's voice was soft as she stepped out of the forest, her son, the shaman, at her side. "Aquene and Small Bird were taken - I saw it with my own eyes from where we hid. There was nothing that we could have done to save them."
After all this time, Aspen still couldn't refer to Aquene as Long Knife's mother. Chief Raven had been loyal if nothing else, devoted in his love for his Iroquois bride. In time, his brother, the shaman, had married the chief's sister-in-law, but it was more out of duty, she supposed, than love. Bitterness had been the only thing they had in common until the birth of their son. Wolf had helped heal the raging sorrow after her only sibling's untimely death, but Aspen had never forgotten. There was no love lost between the women even now.
"I will bring them home," Chief Long Knife vowed.
It was time to fight fire with fire.
Chief Long Knife had waited too long, retreating from the Iroquois advances. Now they had his wife and child as well as his mother and aunt. There would be no more retreating.
"Come Strong Oak," the chief called out to the man who was his cousin and brother-in-law, both by marriage only, yet he was more like an elder brother to the young man who approached, standing at the chief's side.
A muscle clenched in his jaw as Chief Long Knife and his cousin led the way toward enemy territory. The Iroquois had raided the wrong camp.
****
SETTING UP TEMPORARY wigwams, the Wyandotte camped on the shores of what is now known as Lake Ontario while the men raided tribes nearest the lake. In the evening they always returned with captives. Yet each night, Chief Long Knife returned without his wife.
Sitting in front of the fire, Chief Long Knife fixed unseeing eyes on the flames, his heart tormented. He would not give up.
"We will raid again at dawn. This time, we will divide our number," Chief Long Knife indicated to the men sitting on his left side, "You go farther inland, and I'll lead these ones further up the river."
There was no arguing with Chief Long Knife. Besides, they were hungry for revenge. Unable to find their wives and children, in this final raid, no mercy would be shown.
Revenge never tasted so sweet.