The Orenda Joseph Boyden (54 page)

“I am Tekakwitha,” he says, “and I have been given the solemn duty of asking you this only once. Will you surrender to us?”

To put down our arms and allow them in means that most all of us men will face the caressing while our women and children are taken away to become Haudenosaunee. Everyone in this village knows that.

As if Fox reads my mind, he speaks. “I’d rather die a war-bearer than a prisoner. If they kill us today, they’ll take our women and children anyway. Me, I’d rather go to Aataentsic smiling and on my feet.”

I let out my fiercest shout, my throat tight.

Tekakwitha drops his arms and is swallowed up by his war-bearers, who, answering my scream, advance once more.

“Wait!” I call out to the men around me. “Wait until they fire first and keep low, then return it.” My shining wood is cocked, my bow ready beside me after I take that first shot.

Their warriors are now close enough to shoot at us, and they drop onto one knee, aiming up. Others arrive and stand behind them, still others pulling back on their bows, ready to release.

“Drop your heads!” I shout just as the first blasts rip into the grey morning air, the noise so loud it draws my breath from me. I cover my face with my forearms as the sound of iron tearing into the wooden stakes sings out, and some men above and below scream as the wood splinters and pierces them, the smoke of the shining wood bitter enough to burn my nostrils. I see some men stand to return fire too early, and a second wave of blasts erupts, sending them flying back off the ramparts as they hit hard ground with a thud.

“Now,” I tell Fox, and we both stand, surprised at how close the Haudenosaunee are below us, their faces, some painted like charcoal with snow dots, others in strips like blood, all of them with long feathers tied in their hair, look up at us or frown down at their weapons, struggling to reload them. I choose the biggest warrior I can see, aim, and fire at his chest. The lead ball rips through the wooden breastplate
he wears as he flies onto his back. In the time it’s taken me to shoot once, Fox is already notching a third arrow and takes down an enemy who decided to run away from us.

I grab Fox and pull him hard just as arrows slice through the air, sticking dully into the palisades or flying overhead. Only then do I realize my ears are filled with a dull pounding as if I were standing close to a waterfall.

I can feel more than hear the thumping as Haudenosaunee chop at our defences with their axes as quick as they can. Those who are able pour boiling pitch down onto the heads of the ones below. The screaming and thundering are a throb in my ears.

Rather than reload, I pick up my bow and, peering through the palisades for the right moment, I stand, the arrow ready, and fire into another Haudenosaunee. At least now the waves have stopped approaching. The ones who have decided to brave this frontal assault are all crowded below, shouting and firing back at us or working their axes on the logs of the palisades.

Pushing Fox’s shoulder, I point out to him where a group is trying to get the stakes to burn, laying torches at the base. We both stand and aim, taking out two of the men, which causes the others to retreat.

As our men all along the ramparts continue aiming down from our better vantage, the Haudenosaunee begin to pile up, and more and more start retreating to the tree line, falling back and then stopping to fire at us, covering their others who in turn run to them. In this way, the siege ends for now, the sudden silence falling like a blanket over us. I watch Fox’s mouth move but I can’t hear him. It’s as if someone’s stuck cattails in my ears.

WILL HIM TO WAKE

When it’s quiet enough to do so, we women head into the fresh air again and watch as our men swing open the gates so that a group of warriors can make their way out. I wonder what they’re doing and why they’d want to leave the safety of the palisades until they begin returning with bows and arrows and knives and shining wood in their arms. There must be many dead out there. A few men stand up on the ramparts, shouting out, celebrating the retreat of the enemy. My baby wakes with a start and begins to cry.

“Hush, my girl,” I say as I rock her. “Why don’t you and I go find your father and wish him a good morning?” As if she understands, she stops crying.

Many are dead on our side, too, I see as I walk along the palisades, looking for Carries an Axe. Men have begun to collect the bodies, dragging them to one of the buildings where I guess they’ll keep until it’s the right time to bury them. I picture all of the dead men inside the building, stacked like ears of corn on top of one another. Again, my fear that Carries an Axe is gone washes over me. I can picture him in there, his body squeezed between French and Wendat warriors. I need to stop being stupid. The Haudenosaunee might come back any time now, and I want my husband to see his daughter, if only briefly.

A group of Wendat are talking and smoking pipes up ahead. I ask them if they’ve seen Carries an Axe. One with a large cut above his
eye, the eye itself swollen shut, points to a ladder. I look up and recognize my man’s fine legs as he stands watch, peering over the fence.

When I whistle, he looks down, and a smile spreads across his face. He says something to the man beside him and scrambles down the ladder.

“Let’s go for a walk,” I say as he gently takes our daughter. His cheeks are blackened from the smoke, and the paint on his face needs tending. We go toward the river where it’ll be safest and find a patch of grass to sit upon.

“Our child needs a name,” Carries an Axe says.

I nod, taking her from him and telling him to lie back and rest his head on my lap. He looks exhausted. “She’ll find her name,” I say. “There’s no need to worry about that right now.”

Within a few breaths, my husband’s fallen asleep, his chest rising and falling deeply, his eyes darting beneath his lids. The baby begins to stir, and I put her mouth to my breast. In the distance, somewhere outside the village in the forest, I hear the sound of wood being chopped. It makes me wonder. My head tingles when I gaze at my husband, and it feels as if I can’t breathe deep enough to get the needed air in. I want this feeling to go away. I whisper to Carries an Axe, “Please be careful.” I want to wake him up, but he needs the sleep. Still, even though it’s selfish, I will him to awake.

A VERY DANGEROUS PLACE TO BE

After the morning’s vicious attack, our day is spent tending to the wounded. More and more come to us, and we’ve opened the large dining room of the refectory since it’s the biggest available and as removed from the palisades as possible. French and Huron alike moan out or lie unconscious on blankets or furs or simply on the cold wooden floor. A few of our countrymen who’ve been trained in such things do their best to treat the burns and the bullet wounds, the bodies pierced by arrows. Ultimately, though, the most we can do is offer a little comfort and water to drink.

Several of our sauvage women have come in to try and help, the sorcerer Gosling included.

“What does she hope to do,” Gabriel whispers, “shake more sand from their bodies?”

When she sees us looking at her, she smiles, one that appears genuine. She’s bending over a warrior who took wood shrapnel to his face and eyes. She’s asked another woman to hold him steady as she plucks long slivers from his cheeks and around his eyes as he shakes but remains silent. When she stands to stretch, leaning back, I can’t help but notice that her stomach seems to be rounded. She couldn’t be. Surely she’s too old. But it’s hard to tell with these people.

So far I’ve counted thirty of our own dead since the battle began last night. Another twenty or so lie too wounded to be of service. By my estimation, we’ve already lost a third of our men.

“How much longer do you think we can sustain such assaults?” Gabriel asks, as if he’s read my mind.

I look around the room and see Isaac knelt to a wounded Huron, speaking to him while he holds his hand. “Let’s get some air and talk,” I say.

The sky remains low and seems to threaten rain. “Wouldn’t a good storm be a blessing,” Gabriel says. “Especially if they plan to launch more flaming arrows against us.”

I only partially listen. “I don’t think we’re going to survive this,” I say.

Gabriel stops walking.

I turn to him. “I don’t mean to be fatalistic, but I’ve heard how many of the Iroquois roam out there. They’ve already done great damage to the palisades. It’s just a matter of time before the defences collapse or burn up.”

“So what do you suggest?” Gabriel asks, frowning.

“That we prepare to leave our earthly bodies and be welcomed into Heaven. If we are captured alive, it’ll be very difficult for a couple of days.” I can see the fear flash in his dark eyes. “It will be especially diffi-cult for Isaac. But I ask you to be the one who prepares him. He seems to have gained resolve. We must keep it that way.”

Gabriel nods. “I’ll speak to him again this evening.” Clearly, he wants to say something more.

“If ever there was a time to talk,” I say, “it’s now.”

“Would it be a sin,” Gabriel asks, “if indeed the worst comes in the next while, that we ask Isaac to man the ramparts in order to bring our men comfort?”

“But that’s a very dangerous place to be,” I say. “It’s far too easy to be killed in the thick of it.”

He nods. “I know,” he says. “But if Isaac were to die in the helping of our soldiers, wouldn’t he ascend to Heaven that much quicker?”

Now I understand Gabriel’s line of thinking. “And it would save
him the hellish tortures that he’s already survived once,” I say. “But is it immoral?”

The two of us walk again, contemplating this as axes ring out in the wilderness, reaching us on the wind.

THE DEAD BELOW

All day we’ve listened to the Haudenosaunee out in the forest, chopping down trees. “Are they building their own village?” Fox asks.

“Maybe they’ve decided to live in peace with their new neigh-bours,” I say. Despite our laughing, neither of us can figure it out.

I look down at all their dead below, most of them stripped of anything valuable now, their bodies starting to bloat in the afternoon warmth. There’d been talk of hauling them away as they’ll begin to stink by tomorrow morning, but it makes more sense to leave them there where the living will have to trip over them as they try to get close to our walls.

“How many are there?” Fox asks. “I’ve counted over fifty, but I got lost after that.”

I tell Fox I haven’t counted, but obviously we’ve killed more of them by far than they have of us. They’ve come with such great numbers that they knew they could risk this loss in order to test our resolve.

All in the village have been tense today, as all are expecting another attack. Nothing so far, and as it gets closer to dusk, I know the enemy’s decided to wait until the darkness of night. We’re left to sit here, straining our eyes as we stare into the forest, the Haudenosaunee felling trees.

—

OUR EVENING MEAL
consists of the same ottet we’d normally eat on our summer voyages. Fox reflects out loud on some of his favourite trips. Still, he says, his most enjoyable by far was the one when Snow Falls chopped off my finger. I smile, but I’m preoccupied.

“I’m willing to bet that as soon as it’s dark enough,” I say, “the Haudenosaunee will launch another flaming arrow attack.”

“I’ll take you up on that,” Fox says. “They’d never be so predictable. My bet is they’ll try another big assault.”

We agree to wager our best pipe, and sure enough, just as dusk settles to darkness, the flickering of arrows overhead and landing in the village begins once more. The attack seems twice as large as yesterday’s, arrows coming in heavy and hitting longhouses too quick for us to put the fires out. Already it appears most of the village is on fire or in a smoking ruin. With the women and children and old ones in the crow house, I’ve ordered our water-bearers to stay close by it. It’s all we can do now.

“Looks like you won this one,” Fox says.

“Unfortunately, I think we both did,” I say as Haudenosaunee rush out of the darkness, their shining wood booming and arrows striking against the palisades.

This assault’s so heavy we no longer have the luxury of waiting with our heads down between rounds of fire. All of us now stand and pour everything we have onto them. I’m running low on arrows and decide to reload my shining wood. As I squat down and finish ramming the stick into its mouth, Fox grunts and crouches beside me, holding his side, the long shaft of an arrow sticking out of him.

Laying down my weapon, I examine him as he grimaces. The arrow has pierced the sturgeon tattoo on his stomach and its tip pokes out of his back.

Fox tells me that the arrow must have shot through the crack in the palisades. “All I felt was a punch and the burning.”

It’ll be easier to continue to pull the arrow through him than pull it
out. “Hold on to a log,” I say. He does, facing away from me. Taking my knife, I trim away the feathered fletching.

Hoping that it hasn’t pierced his liver or his stomach, I begin to pull, and Fox moans out. It doesn’t want to move. Firming both my feet, men all around me shouting and fighting, I pull hard as I can, and the arrow begins to move before it slips right out of him. He collapses onto his stomach, and I stand to fire my shining wood at a Haudenosaunee below me, chopping with his axe at the wall. I can see I’ve shattered his shoulder as he spins down to the ground, crying out.

Bending back to Fox, I reach into my pouch and take fingers full of tobacco out, stuffing it into the wound that pours blood out of his back. I then cut a strip of hide from the pouch and stuff it into the hole to slow the bleeding.

“Turn around,” I say. I do the same to the front of him. I believe that the arrow didn’t strike anything vital, or Fox would have already gone still. Instead, he pushes himself up to standing and asks for his bow.

For a second time, we repel their attack, sending them scurrying back to the woods, our war-bearers roaring. Looking around, though, I see we’ve lost many more.

Fox tugs at me, pointing to the crow house, smoke still rising from the partially burnt roof. “That was close,” he says as we watch people fill buckets in the little river and pitch water onto the roof and walls.