The Orenda Joseph Boyden

by Joseph Boyden

  I’ve not been able to force myself to have them whipped. It’s clearly becoming obvious to the rest that my distaste for punishment is a weakness. Then it strikes me. “I’ve been meaning to lead a small delegation to Bird’s village,” I say. “They need to know we still exist, that we still speak for the Great Voice. Why don’t I take the prisoners with me?”

  “Are you joking?” Gabriel asks. “You really wish to travel in this climate of hostility? You know that Iroquois raiders wait all around us for exactly that type of foolishness.”

  “I’ll deal with several problems at once,” I say. Aaron’s as good in the forest as any Huron I know. I’ll ask him to guide us, and force the prisoners to accompany us as punishment. “It’s high time the donnés understand the dangers that fester in this land,” I say. “Fear of the evil around us will lead them back to the fold, don’t you think?”

  Gabriel shakes his head. “Brother,” he says, “I hope you don’t mind if I’m left here to keep watch over the flock while you travel.”

  “Of course,” I say. “I’ll be fine.”

  —

  MAYBE I STRIKE OUT for Bird’s village as the first frost threatens because the realization sinks in that no help is coming from New France. If this is the case, I’ll need to convince Bird we’d all be better off if we joined together.

  Aaron leads us on the day’s walk, and I’ve kept the travelling party small, just the four ringleaders of the distillery, Aaron, and myself. If we’re to reach the village before dark, we need to move quickly. For the first hours, their eyes are wide in terror of Iroquois waiting behind every tree to jump out and brain them.

  When we stop for a rest, I whisper stories to them of the tortures I’ve witnessed and all the horrible ways one can die at the hands of the sauvages. They need to understand we are in grave danger and that their drunken disobedience can’t continue. What I’ve not told them is that I plan on offering their services to Bird for the winter. I think it’s best he keep them so they may learn something of this world they now live in. I also want to separate them from their friends and allies at the mission.

  Two are very young, maybe eighteen or nineteen. The boy with red hair has been trying to grow a beard to make himself look older. The other, blond and sickly thin, is the one who plays the fiddle music. The distiller and his helper are as old as I am, both of them with missing teeth and their hair falling out from the lack of nutrition.

  In the afternoon I see Aaron stop ahead of us. He looks down and then all around, turning his head slowly. When I join him, he’s standing over the remnants of a small fire.

  “Iroquois?” I ask.

  He nods. “We must be very careful now,” he says.

  The four donnés join us. “What’s this,” the distiller whispers.

  “An Iroquois fire. A recent one,” I say, letting the words sink in. He looks as if he’s about to faint. “We must be vigilant,” I say, “and stay as quiet as mice. They hear everything.”

  We move slowly through the afternoon when all we want to do is run as fast as we can. Not until we reach the edge of Bird’s cornfields does my heart begin to calm.

  —

  BIRD PROVIDES US an abandoned longhouse near the palisades. I’m shocked by how the village has suffered. So few of the houses are occupied. This evening, I gather all of us together and bless our temporary home, followed by my blessing each man. We bend our heads in prayer. Once we’ve finished, with a fire roaring in the hearth to warm the cold air and to burn away the sadness of the many families who died here, I tell the donnés they should make the longhouse as comfortable as they can, for this is where they will shelter this winter. I expected a strong reaction, but when the young blond one begins to cry and the others complain bitterly, I’m caught off guard.

  “This isn’t a death sentence,” I tell them. “There were many punishments I’d considered, but this one will actually teach valuable lessons.”

  “You can’t leave us here with these sauvages,” the red-haired boy says as he tries to comfort his blond friend, who’s now collapsed on the ground.

  “I beg of you, Father,” the distiller says. “Allow us to come back to the mission. We will take the lashes, as many as you think fair, if only you allow us to come home.”

  “Please, Father,” the other says, opening his arms to the room. “You can’t expect us to live like this. In this place? Surely these sauvages will kill and eat us.”

  I shake my head. “They’ll teach you important lessons about how precious life is,” I say. “And you’ll be strong and teach them the resilience of the Christian man.”

  —

  BIRD CALLS FOR ME in the morning. He lights and puffs on his pipe, and when he offers it to me, I refuse. Fox sits nearby but won’t join us at the fire.

  “How has the harvest progressed?” Bird asks.

  “Good, I think,” I say. “But the fear there won’t be enough to get us through winter will always be near.”

  He nods, contemplative. “Our harvest will only be enough for our mouths. There will be little trading this year, which is a shame. We need much after the sickness.”

  I look around me at the nearly empty longhouse. “It hasn’t been easy for anyone, but especially for you,” I say. “And this is why I come to visit. I’ve brought with me four of my people in the hopes you will keep them as servants for the winter. They’re hard workers. Let them collect your firewood and your water. They are in need of helping you.”

  Bird looks at me inscrutably. “You bring me the gift of four of your people?” he asks. He laughs to himself. “You think that passing on four of your problems is a gift?”

  “What do you mean, problems?” I ask. “They are not problems.” How does Bird intuit this? “They’re strong, for the most part, and they can be used by you in any way you like.”

  “We need no help,” Bird says. “But I feel you do.”

  “Bird,” I say, “listen once more to me. We are two small villages that together can become a large one. You yourself said the Iroquois will return in force next summer.”

  “What of my request to ask your war chief to surprise them in this season?”

  “I sent the messengers as you requested, but they haven’t returned yet, which makes me fear for them.”

  “And what of the new arrivals? Did they come?”

  I shake my head. “I fear the worst for them as well.”

  “And so you come instead with your gifts for us,” Fox says, his voice surprising me. He stands, and despite his small stature, I fear no man more. “You bring us four dogs instead of something useful?”

  “They can be useful,” I tell him. “They’re meant only as a sign of my good faith.”

  “That’s kind of you,” Bird says, “but we respectfully ask you take them home when you leave.”

  “We need no more sickness from you,” Fox tells me.

  “I simply come to request our two villages join forces,” I say. “If we’re to survive the Iroquois, we must work as one.”

  Bird tamps out his pipe, then stands and stretches. “It was nice of you to come all this way to visit,” he says. “And I thank you for your offer, but we can’t afford four more mouths to feed.”

  “Or the sickness they carry with them,” Fox adds.

  “I ask you to consider what I suggest,” I say. “We built extra lodging in my village in the hope of our new arrivals. There’s room for more. We can come together there as one.”

  Bird shakes his head. “When the Haudenosaunee attack you next summer, if there are any survivors, let them know they might be welcome here.”

  I wait for more, but he turns away so that I’m left standing alone, my right hand grasping my left uselessly.

  —

  AARON HAS GONE missing now that it’s time for him to lead us back to the mission. I gather the four donnés, who crowd around me, grovelling.

  “I’ve made my decision,” I tell them. “And this decision directly affects your futures.�
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  The men look at me with pleading eyes. “Tell us, Father,” the young blond says. “Please tell us we can go home.”

  “I’ve decided to take you back with me,” I say, “if you promise to abstain from your evil practices.”

  The men nod and hold out their clasped hands.

  “If I’m to let you return to the mission, you must kneel now and repent.”

  They race one another to find the ground with their knees. “We do, Father. We do,” they all cry out. I look down at them, as if still weighing their fate. Their eyes bulge with the desire to come back. Raising my right hand, I make the sign of the cross above them as we speak the Lord’s Prayer.

  We wait the entire day for Aaron to reappear. Children begin wandering by the longhouse to get a glimpse of us. Apparently they’ve been told not to come too close, for whenever I call out to them, they run away. A few men sit on their haunches at a safe distance, watching. They want to watch me, as well as the ones I’ve brought along. When I can’t stand to wait any longer, the night threatening, I walk out into the village to ask after Aaron. We must leave first thing in the morning. But everyone I encounter turns away without saying a word.

  When I’ve given up and go back to the longhouse, something’s coming from it that I’ve not heard in many years. I stop and listen. It’s an old song, one from my childhood. The melody is simple and beautiful. It’s about a shepherd guarding his flock from the beasts in the darkness, and the light of morning soon approaches. One of the men sings it in a lovely voice. It is a song my mother once sang to me.

  And then, as I conjure her face for what must be the first time in years, her dark hair framing it, a woman’s voice joins in the song, hushed at first but then becoming louder and more sure of itself. I’m stunned by it. Whoever’s singing has the voice of my own mother. It’s so eerily similar that hearing it almost brings me to my knees. Shocked, I start for the longhouse. It must be one of the young donnés who is able to sing so angelically.

  Tears in my eyes, I enter as quietly as I can, wanting to witness this small miracle. I look at the fire and the men standing around it, the distiller singing as the other three sway and listen. That’s when I see her. Gosling stands beside the distiller, watching his mouth intently as she sings along with him. When the song comes to an end, all the men hoot and applaud.

  “What an amazing mimic,” the redhead says.

  “To think that she can’t even speak French, and yet I sing it to her just once,” the distiller says, “and she masters not just the words but the melody.”

  Gosling looks to where I’m standing in the darkness. “Did it bring back memories for you?” she asks in Huron.

  I can’t find the words to answer.

  Gosling smiles and begins to sing it once more.

  —

  WE’RE FORCED TO SIT and wait another day before Aaron eventually returns, bursting into the longhouse panicked, telling us we must leave this very instant.

  “You can’t behave this way and expect me not to be upset,” I tell him.

  The donnés grumble. Gosling left soon after she spoke to me the night before, and the men blame me. She’s cast a spell on them. They’ve been unceasing in begging me to go out and ask her to come back. Of course I refuse.

  “We must go now,” Aaron says again.

  “What’s the rush suddenly?” I ask. “You’ve kept us waiting for two days, and now you decide it’s time?”

  Aaron simply picks up his bow and his club, waving us to follow. Outside, he sprints through the gates and into the fields, the five of us trying not to lose him. He keeps a desperate pace until I call out to him to slow down. He waits on the path, breathing heavily.

  “What’s come over you?” I ask.

  Aaron looks behind me, as if worried we’re being pursued. “Snow Falls is pregnant,” he whispers.

  “What?” I say, taken aback. “What business is that of yours?” As soon as these words leave my mouth, it all begins to make sense. “Are you the father?”

  “I don’t know,” he says. “But Bird will kill me if I am.” With that, he races down the trail.

  —

  NOW THAT AUTUMN’S coming, moving to keep warm is actually pleasant. The donnés don’t know how lucky they are. Staying with Bird and his people would certainly have taught them much more about obedience and fear.

  We reach the mission gates well after dark, Aaron steady in his direction, which impresses all of us, and the donnés praise his skills. They slap him on the back, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

  Inside our residence, finally, I sit with Gabriel and Isaac, all of us bursting to share what’s transpired.

  “I tried to give our four to Bird,” I say, “but he would have none of it.”

  “Never mind that,” Isaac says. “We have important news, good news, I think.”

  He’s smiling, but Gabriel is his usual frowning self.

  “Well then,” I say to the both of them. “Please do share.”

  “The soldiers and more donnés arrived two days ago,” Isaac blurts.

  I look at both of them. “This is extraordinary news,” I say, clapping my hands. “We must go immediately so I can greet them and pray over them.”

  “In due time,” Gabriel says.

  “What’s the matter, Brother?” I ask.

  “We were promised over a hundred souls, but only seventeen arrived.”

  “Will the rest come soon?” I ask. “Were they held up by weather? Are they lost?”

  “No,” Gabriel says. “There are no more.”

  “What?”

  “The governor decided he could spare only this many,” he explains. “And to make matters worse, our messengers were ambushed and killed. The Iroquois have made it clear they’re determined to get rid of us and our allies.”

  GO NOW

  I find out with the first frost that Snow Falls is expecting a child. It isn’t Snow Falls who tells me but Gosling. It appears my daughter is too afraid to let me know this herself.

  “Am I to assume that Carries an Axe is the father?” I ask.

  Gosling looks at me in a way that makes me suddenly even more upset. “That is for Snow Falls and you to speak of,” she says.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You should never question your daughter’s goodness,” she says.

  I ask where my daughter is, but Gosling claims not to know.

  “Maybe she’s with Carries an Axe,” she says. “He’s a good one for her. Indeed, he was a foolish child not too long ago, but he’s become a man, and he’s grown well.”

  “They’re barely adults,” I say.

  “They were forced to grow up quickly,” she answers. “And they do what’s natural, especially in a time like this.”

  I snort and walk out of my longhouse. I walk the whole village looking for Carries an Axe, and I can tell by the way people avoid me that trouble’s hovering in the crisp air. I see He Finds Villages and rush up to him. The strange young man with the missing fingers looks at me in horror and bolts away. I’m not sure what these charcoal are doing to make the ones who listen to them act so strangely, but it doesn’t befit a Wendat. My search for Carries an Axe continues. He’s lucky I can’t find him.

  —

  MOST OF THE FIELDS have been harvested now, and we can see clear to the forest beyond where the leaves shine gold and red. Snow Falls won’t say anything, and so we just simply walk, looking for any ears of corn the women might have missed. Conveniently, Carries an Axe is off on a deer hunt with his father, Tall Trees, and I’ve still not confronted him. Snow Falls has been staying with his mother, Sleeps Long, who is herself pregnant, or with Gosling. Snow Falls says she needs to be around women and there are none left in our longhouse. I can feel myself losing my daughter in bits and pieces each day.

  And now soon, when the women decide it, Snow Falls will move into Sleeps Long’s longhouse, as is our way. And soon it will be Fox and me, alone and bitter, two grumb
ling old men acting like a married couple in our bickering. I think I might ask Gosling to come and live with me as a wife. I’m tempted to speak of this with Fox, but then I realize I will only hurt him. There are few women alive now who aren’t already married or in a position to take him as a husband, despite his abilities and his reputation. In the spring, I’ll force him to travel with me to another Wendat community and make himself available.

  “Did you want this?” I ask Snow Falls when the silence gets too much.

  She won’t answer me.

  “Am I to take your silence as no?”

  Still nothing.

  “Was it forced upon you?” I ask, stopping her now and taking her arm, turning her to face me.

  Snow Falls erupts in tears. “I love Carries an Axe,” she says.

  “Did he force himself on you?” I ask again, my hand, I realize, squeezing her arm too hard. I let her go. “Please, Snow Falls,” I say. “I’m not upset with you. You’re not in trouble.”

  Her mouth quivers. She opens it to speak but cries even harder. “Not Carries an Axe,” she says in heaves. “Never. He’d never make me do what I don’t want.”

  “Someone else did? Is this what you’re trying to say?”

  She looks at me, pleading, and then looks away.

  “Tell me who it was,” I say. “Was it a crow? One of their stinking people?”

  “No,” she cries. “It … it was no one.” She sits down in the field, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “This is very difficult for me,” she says. The tears have finally stopped. Her voice is already calmer. “I love Carries an Axe, and I will have our child.”

  “Well, there’s no other choice, is there?” I say.

  “Gosling told me there are certain roots that will take care of the problem, if that’s what it is.” Her voice is flat now. The crying child in her has disappeared like morning frost in the sun. “But I’ve decided to have this child, and Carries an Axe has agreed as well.”

  I nod. “This is your decision, after all,” I say. “For you will be the one to raise it.”