Warbird (10 page)

Father Mesquin turned on his heel and left.

“Was it the Iroquois?” Etienne asked Nicholas in an incredulous whisper.

“No,” Nicholas said with wide eyes. “It was heathen Huron.”

The evening of the eleventh moon, a number of Hurons gathered at the main gates. Four highly-decorated warriors asked to speak with the Father Superior.

Father Brébeuf rushed to Etienne and Tsiko, his skirts swishing. “Fetch the Fathers.”

The door to Father Rageuneau's room sat ajar. Etienne knocked then gave it a small push. Father Rageuneau was working in the yellow glow of a candle at a small wooden table. There was no heat. He only made use of his fireplace when the weather was bitter, in order to set an example to those he directed. Above his desk, the Saviour hung painfully from the cross.

Etienne coughed, and Father Rageuneau looked up quizzically.

“There are Huron to see you,” Etienne said.

The Father Superior returned his pen to the inkwell. He closed his eyes, clasped his hands and tilted his head towards the ceiling in prayer.

In his own room, Father Mesquin sat on his wooden bench with eyes closed. His prayer book was about to fall
from his hand. He woke with a start when Tsiko removed it and placed it on his table. “What are you doing in my chamber?”

“Father Brébeuf . . .” Tsiko said as Etienne came to his side.

“You thought it was acceptable to enter without permission?” Mesquin asked.

“The door was open,” Tsiko said. “We came to tell you . . .” he started to say, but Father Mesquin ignored him.

“I was praying,” Mesquin said to Tsiko. “Who told you you could come in?”

“But . . . Father Rageuneau . . .” stammered Tsiko

The priest adjusted his skirts, muttering about how the Indians were unable to tell the truth.

Tsiko crossed his arms angrily. “I do not lie,” he said.

Etienne felt his cheeks grow hot.

The priest's eyes blazed like the hot coals of his fire as he stood up. His hand shot out from a long black sleeve. The smack against Tsiko's cheek startled Etienne. Even though he did not feel the sting, his own eyes filled with tears.

“You knock,” Father Mesquin said. “If there is no answer, you come back.” Then the priest sighed as if he was very, very tired and turned to Etienne. “What do you wish?

“There are Huron at the gate,” Etienne said.

“There are Huron everywhere,” the priest replied, pushing past them both.

Tsiko raised his chin and spoke through clenched teeth. “You do not know how to speak the truth,” he said to the empty room. He turned to Etienne. “He was asleep.”

The boys remained near the gate to watch. Nicholas, Ambroise Broulet, the cook, and Louie Gaubert, the blacksmith, joined him. Master Gaubert looked old enough to be Etienne's grandfather, but there was nothing frail about him. The wizened blacksmith kept Ambroise's cooking pots in good repair, which is why he got larger helpings than anyone else.

Father Rageuneau greeted the speaker of the Huron party. From his gown he drew a small bundle of sticks and handed it to the speaker.

“Why did he give the chief sticks?” Etienne asked in a whisper.

“It's the number of gifts the Hurons have to give,” Louise Gaubert said. “It's the punishment for murder.”

“I heard each gift is a thousand wampum beads,” said Nicholas.

“They should ask for one hundred bundles of beaver skins,” Ambroise Broulet replied.

“Gifts for the murder of a Huron man is thirty presents,” Tsiko informed Etienne. “Ten more for the murder of a woman,” he added.

“That makes sense,” Etienne said with a nod. It seemed a Huron woman's work never ended. She gathered the year's supply of firewood before sowing, tilling and harvesting. She smoked fish, dressed skins, and made clothing. Every day she prepared food. Even Etienne's mother received help from his father, when he had the time.

The day for the gift giving ceremony was set. The Huron chiefs left as the sky, feathered with wisps of white, faded to dark.

The crowd gathered in the field in front of the Mission longhouse. Etienne, Nicholas and Tsiko were to carry the gifts to the special platform built for their display.

The Hurons presented their first gifts at the gate. Father Brébeuf made a great show of examining the twists of tobacco, leather pouches and braids of sweetgrass.

“Please enter,” Father Rageuneau finally said.

The huge procession of moccasins moved past the gate into the clearing. Etienne's eyes scanned the visitors. Some men wore their hair above their ears in great rolls. Others braided it with feathers and wore it to one side. They walked in clans, wearing skins like cloaks, bodies painted, oiled and greased. Each chief carried a skin bundle, birch-bark casket or basket.

All was silent. Even the birds had stopped chirping.

“Did the people of your village come?” Etienne whispered.

“There are my uncles,” Tsiko said, pointing to two men passing through the gate. Etienne recognized a hunter from the day Tsiko had fallen into the icy water. The other man wore necklaces of animal claws and bones. Tails of fur swung from his eel-skin headband. Etienne knew him to be the medicine-man of the Cord People. The doctor often conferred with him.

“So you are Cord,” said Etienne.

“My father was Cord,” Tsiko told him, “my mother, Deer. Uncles said I must be Cord. But Owl Oki gave me great courage. I became Deer to make my mother proud.”

Etienne shot his friend a look of surprise. It would take great courage indeed to disobey those uncles. Tsiko wanted to please his mother even though she was dead. The thought that Etienne might never be able to please his mother again stabbed him like a knife.

The ceremony began when the chief of all the clans moved forward and spoke as the three boys carried the gifts to Father Brébeuf.

“Here is something by which we withdraw the tomahawk from the wound,” Father Brébeuf translated for all. “This present makes it fall from avenging hands,” he added.

Father Rageuneau accepted three magnificent mink skins dangling from a decorated pole.

The Huron presenting the gift grunted and moved back. Another chief moved forward.

“Here is something to wipe the blood from the wound,” Brébeuf called out. The Father Superior accepted a bundle of beaver pelts.

The next gift, an ice chisel, symbolized the earth cracking at the horror of the crime.

A magnificent pair of moose hide mittens, trimmed with fur, was for placing a stone over the crack. Then the whole assembly rose. They danced to stamp the earth back into place.

Etienne, Tsiko and Nicholas joined in, despite Father Mesquin's scowl of disapproval.

The gift of matching moccasins was to help make village paths peaceful once again.

The sixth gift was a three-pound plug of tobacco for
the father of the victim. A tobacco pouch, decorated with porcupine quills, was to restore the peace of mind of the offended father.

These gifts, placed into Etienne's hands, made his father's angry face loom before him. How would he restore the peace of mind of his offended father?

Tsiko passed with an intricately carved wooden bowl. It was to hold a drink for the mother of the victim, for she would suffer and sicken at the death of her son.

Etienne pictured his mother lugging a pail of water into the kitchen. The thought of her being sick left him cold. Would his disappearance have made her ill?

A large moose skin, so heavy that it took all three boys to carry it, was a place for the mother to rest during her time of mourning.

After that, Nicholas tiredly plunked himself down on the grass, but Tsiko pulled at his arm to rise. There was more to come.

“The next gifts are to help clear the way for the journey to the sun,” Father Brébeuf said, as a warrior laid a deerskin bundle at Father Rageuneau's feet.

“Brother Douart won't be leaving the cemetery,” Nicholas whispered.

Tsiko shot him a stern look.

“Don't say his name,” Etienne warned.

“Why not?”

“Just don't.”

Father Rageuneau unfolded the bundle to reveal four knives, each one different. He carefully examined the small crooked knife, the skinning knife, the hunting
knife and the snow knife. He nodded in approval.

The next warrior carried his bundle to Father Brébeuf himself. The four fox skins were to pillow the dead one's head.

As the sky faded to gunpowder grey, the wooden church melted into the shadows. The chiefs of the clans stood silent, waiting. The air filled with expectation in the torches' glare.

Father Brébeuf brought a small wooden box and placed it at the Father Superior's feet. With a wave, he dismissed the boys to the edge of the crowd.

The headmen of each clan stepped forward. Their upper bodies glistened in the light of the torches. Each presented Father Rageuneau with strings of beadwork to bring the bones of the dead man together.

Father Rageuneau stretched out his arms, and they laid their gifts across them.

Father Brébeuf opened the small wooden box. The revered Jesuit brought out a beaded belt. The chief accepted it as recognition of the restored trust between the Huron and the French. He grunted in approval and all withdrew in silence.

Once again Etienne dreamed. This time, he was sitting at the top of a tree overlooking the land. In the middle of the forest a great fire burned. A flock of blue jays on a nearby bough called to him, then they rose and headed for the fire. Some flew around it. Others flew directly into it, but they did not burn. Their feathers turned deep blue, then purple. They became crows.

Some of the crows returned to the branch where Etienne was sitting. They folded their stiff wings, fixed him with their beady black eyes and cackled. Others surrounded Etienne in a great flurry of dark wings. They scratched at his body with their claws. Some pecked at his chest. Then the attacking crows lifted him out of the tree towards the fire. He felt the heat of the flames as they flew closer and closer. As his body turned black, Etienne lurched awake.

At first, he wasn't even sure where he was, but the cook's morning murmurs brought him back to the mission. He glanced at the rays of the rising sun through the gap in the wooden slats.
No wonder this bed was empty when
I arrived
, he thought. The buckled and broken shutters did not close properly. Etienne often debated whether his blanket would be better over the window than covering his body.
If only I had kept that woollen cloak
. Each time he thought about it, his foolishness amazed him.

That morning, Etienne and Tsiko slipped their canoe into the morning river mist. Father Bressani had commissioned them to take letters to Father Daniel at Teanaustaye.

When they entered the village, an old warrior was squatting on the ground with a group of boys. Etienne and Tsiko stopped to watch.

The man scratched two large squares in the earth. Then he made several smaller ones inside. The man passed his hand in front of one of the boys' faces. The boy closed his eyes. The man filled some of his squares with nuts and stones and grunted. The boy opened his eyes and stared at the arrangement. Then the man covered his square with a basket. The boy picked up a handful of stones and nuts and arranged them in what he hoped was the same pattern.

When the man lifted his basket, the patterns matched. He patted the boy on the shoulder.

Father Daniel approached the small group with a smile.

“Where is everyone?” Etienne asked. The village seemed exceptionally quiet.

“They've all gone off to trade,” the priest replied. “Kettles and knives have become the most important things in life,” he muttered, taking the package.

The boys walked past the hut of the medicine man. Turtles without tails dangled from the doorway. Etienne
stared in horror at the sticky red blood draining into the gourd bowl below.

Tsiko shrugged. “Medicine man makes rattles,” he explained as angry voices shattered the silence. Dogs barked, then there were shots.

Tsiko grabbed Etienne by the arm and dragged him into his grandmother's longhouse. They peeked from the doorway at the band of warriors running into the village. There had to be at least twenty. All had painted faces and all carried muskets.

“Iroquois,” Tsiko hissed. With his finger to his lips, he motioned Etienne to get down.

“How will we get out of here?” Etienne whispered, frozen in fear.

Then they heard Father Daniel's voice call out, “Receive baptism before it is too late.”

The boys looked around the corner to see him hastening from building to building, calling on the Huron to be baptized. The boys pulled the Jesuit inside when he reached their doorway.

“You must hide,” Tsiko told him.

“The Iroquois will kill you for sure,” Etienne said, taking Father Daniel's arm.