by Chris Blake
“The where?” asked Tom.
“Yes, the weir,” replied Rising Sun.
Tom looked confused, so Rising Sun explained. “A weir is a pen for catching fish. It keeps them from swimming away, which makes spearing them a lot easier.”
As they got closer, Tom could see lots of fish wriggling just below the water’s surface. Rising Sun plunged his spear into the river and pulled it back with a fish skewered on the point.
“Brilliant!” cried Tom. Copying his friend’s technique, he jabbed his spear into the river.
Unfortunately, he missed.
He missed on the second and third attempts too.
At the sound of Tom’s frustrated sigh, Zuma opened one eye. “Problem?”
“I can’t seem to get the hang of this,” he said.
“Let me try.” Zuma took Tom’s spear, then she jerked her arm and sent the blade plunging into the weir. To Tom’s surprise, she caught a plump, shimmering fish on her very first try.
“Wow!” said Tom, impressed.
Zuma shrugged modestly. “I lived near a lake. My master made me catch fish for his family to eat.”
Zuma and Rising Sun caught one fish after another. Before long there was a large heap of silvery fish flopping about at the bottom of the canoe.
Chief Tall Oak called to them from the other canoe. “It’s time to head back to the village. There will be plenty of fish for supper!”
Tom and Rising Sun started paddling back the way they had come.
Suddenly, Chilli barked and leaned over the side of the canoe.
“What is it, boy?” Zuma asked.
Chilli wagged his tail and barked at something shimmering just below the water’s surface.
“There!” Tom cried, pointing into the water. “A huge fish!”
No sooner had he spoken than the enormous creature sprang out of the river. It flew through the air in a flash of silver before diving back into the water with a loud splash.
“It must be over two metres long!” gasped Tom as he watched it swim away.
“It’s a sturgeon!” said Rising Sun.
“Don’t let it go!” cried Zuma, reaching for her spear.
Tom and Rising Sun began to paddle at full speed, trying to keep up with the giant fish. Soon they were close enough to make out the diamond-shaped markings along its side.
Zuma quickly threw her spear. It flew through the air, the rope unfurling behind it. The weapon plunged into the water, spearing the enormous fish with its sharp tip.
“You got him!” cheered Tom.
He felt the canoe buck under him.
“Actually,” gulped Zuma, “I think he’s got us.”
The sturgeon broke the surface of the water, the spear sticking out of its back. The rope connecting the spear to the canoe pulled taut as the angry fish dived back into the water.
“Here we go!” Rising Sun shouted. “Hold on tightly!”
The huge fish powered through the water, pulling the canoe along with it. It began to swim faster and faster, desperately trying to get free.
Tom and Zuma clung to the side of the canoe as it bounced along. Cold water splashed Tom’s face as the sturgeon thrashed about in the water. Suddenly, the fish changed course and the whole boat tilted, nearly tipping them overboard.
“Cut the rope!” shouted Tall Oak.
The chief and the other braves were paddling their canoe as fast as they could, but they couldn’t catch up with the frantic fish.
But Rising Sun made no move to cut the rope. “No way!” he said. “I’m not letting it get away.”
The sturgeon dived deep, then rose out of the water again. But this time its leap was short and shallow. The fish was getting tired – and so was Tom. He felt as if his arms would break as he desperately held on to the canoe.
The sturgeon summoned one last surge of strength, darted forward and lifted the front of the canoe out of the water. Zuma toppled backwards, landing in Tom’s lap. But Rising Sun never lost control, even as the boat slammed down with a splash.
At last, the fish slowed and its fins stopped thrashing. Finally, it stopped moving at all. Tom breathed a sigh of relief as everything was calm once more. He and Rising Sun paddled back to shore and pulled the canoe up on to the bank.
Moments later, the other braves joined them. Tom and Zuma helped Rising Sun haul the gigantic fish out of the water.
Tom expected Rising Sun to show off his big catch, but instead the brave knelt beside the fish. He closed his eyes, raised his hands to the sky and began to murmur softly.
“What’s he doing?” Zuma whispered.
“He’s giving a blessing,” Gliding Eagle explained.
“For a fish?” asked Zuma.
“Yes,” said Gliding Eagle. “We believe all life forms are precious, so he is thanking this fish for giving up its life.” The warrior closed his eyes and made his own blessing.
When the blessing was complete, Gliding Eagle and Waning Moon helped Rising Sun carry the fish back to the village. Everyone was in good spirits, looking forward to the feast.
“Rising Sun, you showed great bravery,” Tall Oak said, placing a large hand on his son’s shoulder.
Rising Sun beamed with pride. “Thank you, Father.”
But the cheerful mood did not last long. They were halfway to the village when Wise Owl came hobbling down the path towards them, his wrinkled face full of worry.
“Hurry!” the medicine man cried. “The Mohawk have attacked!”
Everyone ran back to the village as fast as they could. Tom, Zuma and the elderly medicine man struggled to keep up with Chief Tall Oak and the braves as they raced down the path.
Before they even got to the village, they could hear wails of despair in the distance. When they arrived, they found the entire tribe huddled round the fire. Women were weeping. Children clung to their mothers, trembling with fear.
“What happened?” Tall Oak asked one of the women.
The woman’s eyes were wild. She was too upset to explain.
Wise Owl stepped forward, his voice choked with emotion. “The Mohawk attacked while the village was unguarded.”
Tom felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. The movement he’d seen on the riverbank must have been Mohawk scouts. When they’d seen that the Mohican warriors were out fishing, they’d known it was the perfect time to attack the camp.
“Has anyone been harmed?” asked Chief Tall Oak.
Wise Owl swallowed hard, then answered, “They have kidnapped Laughing Brook.”
The colour drained from the chief’s face. “They have taken my daughter?”
“No!” cried Rising Sun, clenching his fists. “I don’t believe it. My sister’s too smart to have been caught. She must be hiding!” Tears sprang to his eyes. “Did you look for her?”
The old medicine man confirmed this with a solemn nod.
“Then I will rescue her!” Rising Sun said through gritted teeth. “I’ll bring her back.”
“And we will help you,” Tom promised.
Zuma threw her arms round Rising Sun and hugged him as hard as she could. But Tom could see that Rising Sun didn’t want to be comforted. His sister was gone, and was possibly in great danger. The Mohican brave went into a nearby wigwam and came out holding a razor-sharp tomahawk.
It was time to prepare for war!
A full moon had risen, and stars shone brightly in the clear black sky. Tom and Zuma sat beside a blazing fire and watched with wide eyes as the braves danced to the pounding of drums. Their blood-curdling whoops and shrieks rang out into the night.
“What are they doing?” Zuma asked, pulling a woven blanket round her shoulders. There was a real chill in the air, and even Tom felt cold now.
“It’s a war dance,” Rising Sun panted, as he rested for a moment beside them. “It’s how we prepare for battle. We’re asking the spirits to guide us to victory.”
“I like the music,” said Zuma, nodding along to the beat of the drums.
&nbs
p; Gliding Eagle, who led the dance, looked terrifying as he stomped around the roaring fire. His face was streaked with war paint, and his tomahawk glinted in the flickering light.
Rising Sun stood to join in the dance again. Tom knew his friend wanted to be a medicine man, not a warrior. But now Laughing Brook was in danger Rising Sun looked just as fierce as the other braves dancing around the fire. He shouted and chanted as he waved his tomahawk menacingly.
“I hope Rising Sun is OK,” Tom whispered. “The Mohawks are known for their bloodthirsty instincts.”
“Well, the Mohicans look pretty deadly to me,” Zuma whispered back. “They’re even scarier than Tlaloc!”
Tom watched as the dance gained momentum, his heart thumping with nervousness and excitement. His feet couldn’t resist tapping along to the drums. They seemed to be pounding louder and louder now! In fact, they were as loud as … thunder!
The ground shook as Tlaloc stood in front of the fire, feathered and frowning. “So you still have not learned to speak my name with respect,” he growled.
“You heard that?” Zuma gulped. “Wow, you don’t miss a thing, do you!”
“She didn’t mean you aren’t scary,” Tom said quickly. “You’re extremely scary.”
“I will show you just how terrifying I can be!” Tlaloc boomed, his voice rolling like thunder across the black sky.
Glaring at Zuma with bulging eyes, he lifted his arms above his head and inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the frosty night air. Then he exhaled a powerful gust of wind. The blast was so icy that a few of the braves stopped dancing to rub their arms. The women and children who were sitting round the fire shivered and pulled their blankets more tightly. With another roll of thunder, Tlaloc vanished.
“What has he done this time?” Zuma asked, her teeth chattering.
“He’s made the temperature drop,” Tom said. He looked up at the sky, where the glowing moon was now lost behind thick clouds.
Rising Sun approached them. “It’s time to go into battle,” he said. “It will be very dangerous. You are welcome to join us, but I will understand if you wish to remain here.”
Zuma shrugged off her blanket and stood up. “Just try and stop us!”
Tom, Zuma and Chilli followed Rising Sun and the others to the water’s edge. Tom’s toes felt frozen in his leather moccasins and the wind off the river was so cold his eyes began to water. They got into the canoes and started paddling, but this time they weren’t going on a jolly fishing trip – this time they were going to war.
And then he saw them – snowflakes.
Normally Tom would be excited at seeing snow, but this time he realised it would make their mission to save Laughing Brook even harder. He suddenly remembered the words of the riddle: You’ll shiver with your quiver in an early snow.
“What in the world …?” breathed Zuma.
“Snow,” said Tom.
Zuma looked puzzled and Tom realised why – she had never seen snow in ancient Mexico, where it was always hot.
“Basically, it’s frozen rain,” he explained.
“How strange,” said Rising Sun, frowning as more flakes began to spiral out of the sky. “It is very early for snow. Autumn snow is not unheard of, but the sky was clear until a moment ago.”
It was clear until Zuma annoyed an Aztec god with magical weather powers, thought Tom grimly.
“We’ve been expecting a hard winter,” Rising Sun went on. “We’ve seen the signs in the changing of the leaves and in the thickness of the animals’ coats.” He flicked a few snowflakes off his painted face. “But we did not expect snow to come before the leaves fell from the trees.”
The river became slushy as a coating of ice began to form on the water’s surface. The storm had become a blizzard by the time they reached the far bank. Ducking into the wind, they hid their canoes behind some bushes, in case any Mohawk scouts were about.
“We don’t want to give them any warning,” Gliding Eagle explained. “We want to have the element of surprise on our side.”
Tom looked down at the ground, now covered by several centimetres of fresh powder. “What about our footprints?” he asked nervously.
Gliding Eagle shook his head. “The fringe on our leggings and moccasins will wipe away our tracks.”
“Cool!” said Zuma, shaking her leg to make the fringe swish.
Then Gliding Eagle handed out thick fur cloaks to protect against the freezing air and gusting wind. “These will keep us warm, and help to camouflage us,” he said.
The braves gathered up their weapons – spears, bows, blades and quivers filled with arrows. To Tom’s surprise, Tall Oak handed him a tomahawk. He gave Zuma a spear.
“You both proved yourselves today on the river,” the chief said in his deep voice. “I would be honoured if you would fight with us to save my daughter.” Then he turned to Rising Sun and gave him a bow and a quiver. “Son, this was my own father’s bow. Use it bravely. Will you ask the spirits to bless us in our task?”
“Yes, Father,” Rising Sun said solemnly. He chanted a few words and Tall Oak nodded his approval.
As they trudged through the storm, the snow flew in their faces, nearly blinding them. Tom heard a panicked yelp and turned to see that Chilli had fallen into a snowdrift.
“Quick!” cried Zuma. “Get him out!”
It took several minutes to dig the little dog out of the deep snow. When they finally pulled him free, the Chihuahua was shivering.
“He only has short fur,” Zuma said, rubbing him all over. “He and I just aren’t made for this cold.”
The war party fought their way through the snow until they reached the Mohawk village. Gliding Eagle, who was leading the way, stopped dead in his tracks. The other braves shook their heads. Chief Tall Oak looked utterly defeated.
“What’s wrong?” asked Zuma. “What’s the problem?”
“The problem,” said Rising Sun, “is that they’ve palisaded their village.” He pointed to the tall wooden fence that encircled the Mohawk settlement. It was made from tree trunks sharpened into dangerous-looking points. Tom guessed it had been built recently, as the wood still looked and smelled fresh. It had certainly taken the Mohicans by surprise.
“Palisaded?” Zuma repeated. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” said Tom, “that we can’t get in.”
“We can burn it down!”
Tom turned to see who had spoken, and saw that Waning Moon was already reaching into a beaded pouch on his belt for a flint.
“No!” said Tall Oak firmly, holding up one hand. “No fire.”
“Why not?”
“Because Laughing Brook is somewhere inside that fence,” said Rising Sun. “And we don’t want her to be hurt.”
Waning Moon turned away, ashamed he hadn’t realised that himself.
“Let’s just force our way through the entrance,” suggested Gliding Eagle. “There has to be a gap to let people in and out.”
The chief frowned. “The entrance will be guarded, and we’ll lose the element of surprise.”
The chief and the older braves argued, trying to decide the best way to get into the enemy village. As he tried to think of a plan, Tom picked up a handful of snow and absent-mindedly began shaping it into a sphere.
“What are you doing?” Zuma asked.
“Making a snowball,” Tom replied. “My friends and I do this at home when it snows. Then we throw them at each other.”
“That sounds fun,” said Zuma.
Tom laughed. “It is! We call them snowball fights.”
“What else do you do with snow?” Zuma asked.
“Lots of cool things. We build snowmen, and go sledging down hills. Sometimes, when the snow is deep enough, we even build forts by piling up snow really high and—” Tom stopped talking and grinned. He’d suddenly had a brilliant idea.
“I know how we’re going to get into that village!” he called over to the braves.
The warriors looked at To
m, clearly doubtful that a boy could have the solution, but they stopped talking and listened to what he had to say.
“All we have to do is pile as much snow as we can right up against that fence. If we pack it tightly and make a slope, we can climb up and jump over the fence. The snow on the other side will break our fall so we won’t get hurt.”
“How clever!” said Zuma.
The braves agreed and wasted no time getting started. Working quickly, they scooped up armfuls of snow. Luckily, the howling wind drowned out the noise they were making, so the Mohawk couldn’t hear them. Before long, there was a small mountain of snow beside the fence. Next, they shaped the snow into a strong ramp, leading right up to the top of the palisade.
That would be so fun to slide down, Tom thought wistfully. But this was no time for playing – they had to save Laughing Brook.
Rising Sun stepped forward.
“When we hit the ground on the other side, we’ll split up and start searching for Laughing Brook,” he said. “Tom, Zuma and I will search the longhouses. Gliding Eagle, you and Waning Moon get ready to attack; everyone else split up and look for her in the wigwams.”
As Rising Sun rattled off his orders, Tom glanced over at Tall Oak. The chief looked proud of the way his son was taking charge.
“We will catch the Mohawk warriors unawares, but their surprise won’t last long,” Rising Sun finished. “Thanks to Tom, getting in will be easy enough. But we will still have to fight our way out.”
Tom, Zuma and Rising Sun climbed the snow ramp first. The soles of their leather moccasins slipped on the icy surface, but after a few false attempts they made it to the top. Tom looked down at the Mohawk village.
It had wigwams and longhouses, just like the Mohican village. Hoping there wasn’t a Mohawk guard waiting below, he jumped over the fence and landed in the soft snow.
Zuma jumped straight after him, still holding Chilli, and Rising Sun followed. They could hear the other braves scrambling up the slope, but they didn’t wait for them. Moving as quietly as they could, they trudged through the snow towards the nearest longhouse.
“This must be the Mohawk chief’s house,” explained Rising Sun. “It’s the biggest one in the village.”
