Peacemaker

by Joseph Bruchac

  He handed the string of shells back to Carries.

  “Niaweh,” he said. “Thank you.”

  The tattooed man smiled and the fish twitched its tail at the edge of his lips. “Do not thank me,” he said, “thank The One Who Grasps the Sky with Both Hands, the one who has sent us the Peacemaker.”

  “I’ll do that,” Okwaho said. “I’ll speak my thanks and offer tobacco to the fire. But when will they come here? When will I see Hiawatha and Tsakonsaseh and the Peacemaker?”

  “Soon,” Carries said. “The time is not yet, but soon.”

  “What can I do until then? I want to help bring this peace.”

  Carries put the string of shells back into his pouch, tied it, and hung it on his belt.

  “I was told by your mother that you like to sing?”

  “That’s true,” Okwaho said.

  “Then imagine a song of peace. Keep it in your mind and let it guide you. When the Peacemaker arrives at last at Onondaga, when he stands before Atatarho and speaks to him of peace, you will be ready to be among all those who stand behind the Peacemaker and support his message. Then the Longhouse of One Family will be established.”

  Okwaho nodded. He could almost hear that song in his mind already, a song as sweet as the singing of the birds or the voice of the warm wind from the summer land melting away the snow of winter.

  “I have other villages to visit now,” Carries said, looking down the hill. He pointed with his chin in the direction of the sunset land. “As far as the Great Hill People. They, too, will come to Onondaga when the time comes. Their villages have also been visited by the Peacemaker and they are ready to embrace peace. Those of us who’ve been chosen to be messengers are traveling now to remind them to begin making their way there. When the people representing all five of our nations have gathered there, then it will be time.”

  Okwaho felt his heart beat faster. That time would be soon! From Onondaga a good runner could reach those farthest Great Hill villages and be back within a handful of days. It would take longer for a large group of people to travel that distance, but it still meant that they could reach the Onondaga lands from their own homeland in less time that it took for Grandmother Moon to become full.

  “I’ll be ready,” Okwaho said.

  “I know you will, my young friend.”

  chapter fifteen

  THE SONG

  The song woke him. He had first begun creating it right after Carries departed. Each day he heard it more clearly in his mind. It was coming to him each morning from the chorus of birds singing to herald the arrival of a new day. It was being brought on the breath of the wind. It was in the waters of the creek as it rushed over the stones.

  For two handfuls of days he had been thinking of the song. He hummed it under his breath as he walked or worked. But he did not sing it out loud for anyone else to hear. It had not yet told him it was ready.

  Until now.

  The song seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at one and the same time. It was strong, complete, waiting to be sung.

  Okwaho sat up and looked around their longhouse. For the first time in a long time, he had been untroubled by bad dreams. Nor had he remained in his sleeping rack long after everyone else.

  No one else seemed to be awake. He climbed down quietly from his sleeping rack and slipped outside. The first glow of light before dawn was enough for him to see his way. He went to the hill that looked out over their village, climbed to his favorite spot, the place where Carries had spoken to him the words of condolence. He sat down and placed his back against the giant cedar that grew there.

  He looked around. No one was to be seen. That was good. He was not sure he wished anyone to hear this song yet. He began tapping his palm against one of the exposed roots of the old tree, making a sound almost like the beat of a water drum. Then he began to sing.

  “Aee, aee, yai,” he sang. “Aee, aee, yai.”

  As he sang, he felt as if the song was singing itself to him.

  “Aee, aee, yai,” he sang.

  He did it again and again, feeling more certain that this song was a good one, a song that called for what was most needed among all the people.

  Then he stopped. Though he had not heard or seen anyone, he suddenly had the feeling that he was not alone. But for some reason he could not explain, he did not feel afraid about someone coming up on him unawares.

  “Keep singing, little bird,” a gentle voice said from behind him. It was a deep teasing voice that called him a little bird. That voice was so gentle, so pleasant to hear, so full of kindness, that Okwaho was not startled.

  He turned to look. A tall man dressed in white deerskin stood there, smiling down at him. The light of the rising sun was shining on him, so brightly that it seemed as if the light was also coming from him.

  “May I join you?” the man in white deerskin asked.

  Okwaho nodded, finding it hard to speak. He knew who this man had to be.

  He touched the ground in front of him to indicate the man should have a seat. The tall man lowered himself gracefully to sit cross-legged across from Okwaho.

  “Would you continue?” the man asked. He spoke with a Wendat accent, but his words were perfectly clear.

  “Keep . . . keep singing?” Okwaho said.

  “Yes,” the tall man said. “I like that song. Will you teach it to me?”

  Okwaho found it hard to reply. This man was the one everyone had been talking about. The Peacemaker. But what could he, a boy of no importance, say to such a person? Despite what Carries had said, why would the Peacemaker come here to their little village? Was he not needed more in other places that were bigger and more important?

  The Peacemaker smiled at him, as if hearing Okwaho’s thoughts.

  “You wonder why I am here?”

  Okwaho nodded.

  “I have heard of this small village of people who seek to leave the trail that leads to war. The Oneida people I just left spoke to me of this place—a place that began trying to find the path of peace even before hearing the message I am bringing from our Creator. I knew then that the people of your small village must be women and men of great courage. I knew I would need such people by my side when I go at last to meet with Atatarho.”

  The Peacemaker looked at Okwaho. “Are you the one named Okwaho?”

  Okwaho was stunned. How could the Peacemaker know his name?

  “You know,” the Peacemaker continued, “before the Oneidas heard and grasped my message, they thought you people were foolish. Trying to find a path of peace in the midst of continual war. In fact, three of those Oneida warriors told me they had raided here about two moons ago. They had expected your men to respond. They were surprised when there was no reprisal, especially because they took a boy of your age captive.”

  Okwaho took a breath. The Peacemaker was talking about Tawis.

  “The boy they took,” Okwaho said. Then he stopped. Words were failing him.

  “Go ahead,” the Peacemaker said.

  “He was my friend, my best friend.”

  “Ah, then you are the one who escaped them?”

  Okwaho nodded.

  “They were sorry they could not catch you. They were sure you would make a good Oneida. They learned your name from the boy they took. Tawis?”

  Okwaho nodded again.

  “You are wondering now about your friend?”

  “Yes.”

  The Peacemaker smiled. “He is well,” he said. “And making trouble for them. He tried to escape many times before they convinced him it was no use. The family that chose to adopt him are kind people. Instead of punishing him, each time he was caught and brought back, they just treated him better, calling him their beloved son, giving him the best food to eat and a comfortable place in their lodge. They gave him the name of their boy who was his same age when h
e drowned.”

  The Peacemaker’s words made Okwaho both happy and sad. Happy that his friend was alive and being well treated. Sad because when someone accepted their adoption, they almost never went back to their old life. He had both found and lost his friend at the sametime.

  The Peacemaker placed his hand on Okwaho’s arm. “You may see your friend again soon,” he said. “When all of the other nations go to Onondaga, his new family will come as well and they will have him with them.”

  “Thank you,” Okwaho said. He took a deep breath. He had to tell the Peacemaker what had been in his heart for so long, what had been twisting his mind.

  “When they took him,” Okwaho said, “all I could think about was vengeance. I wanted to kill them. I was full of anger. But now . . .”

  “Now?”

  “Now, with what you’ve told me, my mind has finally become clear. It’s no longer twisted with anger.”

  He wanted to say more, but again could not bring words forth. All of his long days and nights of worrying about Tawis would now be in the past. His friend was alive. He was well. And they would see each other again soon. It was almost too much good. He couldn’t keep from smiling.

  “Thank you,” he managed to say.

  The Peacemaker smiled. “Thank our Creator,” he said. “That is where all good comes from. Kind thoughts, peace . . . and songs.”

  Okwaho nodded.

  “So, will you share your song with me now?” the Peacemaker asked. He sat back and began tapping his hand on the cedar root next to him, finding the same rhythm Okwaho had been using.

  Okwaho took a breath and began to sing. “Aeee, aee, yai.” He sang softly at first, but as he continued to sing, he could feel the song itself wanting to be heard and his voice became louder.

  “Aee, aee, yai.”

  The fourth time he sang it through, the Peacemaker joined in, his voice strengthening the song.

  Okwaho had not told him it was meant to be a song for peace, yet he could feel that the Peacemaker understood that.

  Words began to come to him. Words that spoke of how important it was to have peace. Peace was needed for the little children. It was needed for the elders. It was needed for all the people. Each time Okwaho sang new words, the Peacemaker sang them back to him. It was as if the song were embracing them the way a loving mother would hold her children.

  He was not sure how long they sang together. But when he stopped, the Peacemaker stopped with him in perfect unison. Okwaho looked up. Elder Brother, the Sun, had risen more than the width of three hands up into the sky. It was mid-morning.

  “Niaweh,” the Peacemaker said. “Thank you, little bird.”

  He rose to his feet. “Now I must go. Tomorrow will be a busy day for all of us.”

  “Tomorrow?” Okwaho said.

  “Yes, tomorrow is the day. All of the four nations will gather on the other side of Onondaga Lake. We are meeting Tsakonsase, the Mother of Nations, there. The Great Peace cannot be completed without the Mother of Nations bringing the power of women to us. Then our canoes will cross the lake together. We will walk as one to the place where Atatarho sits.”

  “How many will come?”

  “Hundreds of canoes.”

  Okwaho drew in a breath. He could already see it in his mind. Hundreds of canoes crossing the lake together would be amazing. Even Atatarho might be awed by that!

  The Peacemaker nodded. “It will be a great thing to see. And you will have a good place from which to see it. Those of your village have agreed to be waiting on this side of the lake to join us as we leave our canoes.”

  Okwaho could barely contain himself. He wanted to shout, to leap up and down. But somehow he managed to control himself and speak calmly the only words he could think to say.

  “Niaweh! Thank you,” he said. “We will be honored.”

  “One more thing,” the Peacemaker said. “May I have permission to carry this song of yours? I think it will be of use.”

  Okwaho nodded, but he also had to say something, words that came spilling out of his mouth like water from a dam that had broken.

  “I cannot say that song belongs to me. It came to me. It gave itself to me. It wanted to be heard. I am not the one to give permission. It is the choice of the song itself. I believe it wanted to give itself to you. Carry it with you, please. But do not say it came from me.”

  A broad smile came over the Peacemaker’s face. It was like seeing the sun rise above the clouds. “Shall I say then that a little bird gave this song to me?” he asked.

  Okwaho smiled up at him. “Yes, that would be good.”

  chapter sixteen

  A THOUSAND CANOES

  It was a day so calm that the clouds, still glowing from the rising sun, did not move or change shape in the sky above the lake. Okwaho and all the people of their small village watched from the shore in a small cove just to the south of Atatarho’s rock. They could not be seen there by Atatarho and everyone from the big village. It would be dangerous if Atatarho or any of his warriors spotted them. He might give the order to attack them and they would be wiped out before the Peacemaker’s arrival.

  Burnt Hair had scouted the big village the night before. He had seen all the warriors gather together. He had watched as they went by torchlight to follow their giant chief to the banks of the lake. Well before dawn, Atatarho and all his fighting men had gathered by the shore.

  “I overheard,” Burnt Hair had told everyone, “Atatarho telling his people that he had used his mystical powers to foresee the arrival of a man who was pretending to be a messenger from the Creator.” Then Burnt Hair had laughed. “As usual, he was lying to his people. We all know why he knew the Peacemaker was coming.”

  Indeed we do, Okwaho thought.

  Word that the Peacemaker was coming had been brought to Atatarho by Carries. The Mohawk messenger had gone to tell the giant war chief that all the nations of the Longhouse People would be coming to him with the dawn.

  Then, after seeing Atatarho, Carries had come to their small village to bring them the same news.

  “Did Atatarho threaten to kill you when you spoke to him?” Burnt Hair had asked.

  “Of course,” Carries replied. “We met in secret at his council rock. No one was with us except for four of his bodyguards. ‘Speak,’ he growled at me. ‘Then after you have finished talking I will kill you.’”

  “What did you say then?” Holds the Door Open asked.

  Carries smiled.

  “I asked if he could wait until after the Peacemaker visited him. I promised to come back the day after that so he could kill me then if he wanted. That made one of his bodyguards laugh in spite of himself . . . although when Atatarho looked at him, that laugh ended as quickly as the travels of an ant when a bear steps on it.

  “‘Go,’ Atatarho told me then. ‘Come back after I see the liar who pretends to speak to the Creator. Come back here and lay your head on my rock so that I can smash your skull like a ripe pumpkin with my war club.’”

  His story had sent a shiver down Okwaho’s back. Atatarho was so angry and so fierce. Powerful as the Peacemaker’s message was, would it be accepted by the great war chief? It hardly seemed possible, even though Carries seemed so sure that all would end well.

  Carries was not with them now. Before Elder Brother Sun went to rest in the west, he had gone back across the lake with the Peacemaker. There they would meet Hiawatha, Tsakonsase, and the many representatives of the four other Longhouse nations. That huge gathering of people would soon be crossing Onondaga Lake to confront the stubborn great war chief.

  Or so Carries had said. But the dawn was already here and there was no sign of the Peacemaker.

  Had something happened? Were they not going to come? Okwaho stared at the lake. The light from the sun was so bright reflecting off the calm waters that the far side could not be seen.<
br />
  Okwaho’s mother raised her hand.

  “Listen,” Wolf Woman said, shading her eyes as she gazed across the lake. “Listen.”

  Okwaho listened, as did all the others who heard what his mother said. A faint sound was coming to them across the bright water, a soft rhythmic splashing like the sound of the wings of water birds striking the surface before taking flight. Then, as it grew louder, coming closer, Okwaho recognized what it was. Canoe paddles, many canoe paddles being dipped into the water in perfect unison.

  Holds the Door Open dropped to one knee next to Okwaho and put his arm over his son’s shoulders. “Look, Okwaho. Look there!”

  Far out, not quite at the middle of the lake, bright shapes as white as seagulls were rippling into view. Canoes, big canoes each holding several paddlers and just as many passengers. Canoes made of glistening white stone. Then, remembering one of the stories Carries had shared with them, Okwaho realized the canoes were made from the bark of white birch trees—just like the one the Peacemaker used to reach the lands of the Longhouse Nations. In the moons since his arrival, he must have shown people how to make such canoes, ones that looked to be much swifter than the heavy dugouts the Five Nations always used before.

  As the great gathering of boats came closer, Okwaho began to count the canoes. Ten, twenty, forty, a hundred. He shook his head. There were too many to count. It was as if the surface of the lake had come alive, transformed into water craft. There were hundreds of canoes approaching, covering the surface of the lake—perhaps even a thousand of them.

  A thousand canoes filled with people!

  Something like this had never happened before. What a great thing it was to see, all of the warriors, clan mothers, and chiefs of four of their great nations joined together for one common purpose. That purpose was to bring the Great Peace to Onondaga and unite all five of their nations.