by Chris Blake
Gathering their courage, they crept inside. Several generations of Mohawk tribesmen, women and children slept soundly on raised platforms, covered with thick furs and heavy blankets. A small fire burned in the centre of the longhouse, giving them just enough light to see.
Zuma set Chilli down on the ground and whispered, “Help us find Laughing Brook, boy.”
They tiptoed through the longhouse with Chilli in the lead, sniffing frantically. As he searched for Rising Sun’s sister, Tom noticed something sparkling in the dim light. He crept closer to investigate. The light was shining from a belt made of woven rope and seashells that hung from a peg on the wall. And right in the middle was a gold disc with a sun stamped on it – the Aztec coin!
He grabbed Zuma’s hand and pointed. Her eyes lit up and she began moving towards the golden disc.
But just then Chilli gave a little yelp of delight. He scampered over to a sleeping figure huddled beneath a bearskin.
“Laughing Brook!” Rising Sun whispered.
Chilli began to lick Laughing Brook’s palm, hoping for another deer jerky treat. The Mohican girl sat up and rubbed her eyes, looking confused and afraid. But when she spotted her brother, a smile of joy spread across her face.
“Did you three come alone?” she whispered in disbelief.
“The others are outside,” Rising Sun told her. “We must hurry!”
Laughing Brook got up quietly and they started tiptoeing towards the exit.
“Wait,” whispered Zuma. “We can’t go without the coin!”
Tom’s heart raced as Zuma went back to where they’d spied the belt. When she was halfway there, a loud grunt sounded through the longhouse. Tom froze in terror and Rising Sun raised his tomahawk. But the grunt was followed by a loud snore, as a Mohawk brave turned over in his sleep.
Tom let out a sigh of relief. Only Chilli was unaware of what danger they were in. He wagged his tail excitedly, hoping that Laughing Brook would give him a deer jerky treat.
Zuma tiptoed closer to the belt. When she was nearly close enough to take it, Chilli’s wagging tail collided with a clay pot. The pot fell on its side and smashed, spilling beads everywhere.
Tom stifled a groan.
“Uh-oh!” said Zuma, freezing again.
The sound of the crashing pottery woke up the entire longhouse. Babies cried out and grown-ups yawned and stretched as they sat up and peered around in the dim light.
A large man leaped from his sleeping platform, instantly alert. From the way everyone turned to him for guidance, Tom guessed he was the Mohawk chief. The man grabbed a tomahawk and pointed it at the intruders.
“Mohican invaders!” he shouted. “Capture them!”
The Mohawk chief let out a war cry and charged towards them. The other Mohawk braves jumped from their beds, grabbed their weapons and joined the attack.
“Run!” cried Zuma, scooping Chilli into her arms and heading for the door.
Laughing Brook and Rising Sun were right behind Zuma, but Tom couldn’t move. If they left the coin behind, he and Zuma might be stuck here forever. Should he try to grab the belt in the confusion and run off with it? But Rising Sun and his sister needed their help. Should he go with them?
The Mohawk chief’s eyes flashed wildly as he came towards Tom, swinging his tomahawk. It was too late to run. Now Tom had no choice but to try and defend himself. He raised his own tomahawk and braced himself for an attack.
The Mohawk chief was almost upon him, but instead of feeling the impact of a blade, Tom heard a slipping noise, followed by a gasp. In the next heartbeat, he felt the whistling breeze of something flying just over his head. It was followed by a loud thwummmppp.
Tom opened his eyes to see the mighty Mohawk leader sprawled on his back on the dirt floor in a sea of brightly coloured beads. His tomahawk had flown through the air and lodged itself in the far wall of the longhouse.
Tom took off like a shot, following his friends out of the longhouse.
By now the whole Mohawk tribe was awake. A ferocious battle was in full force.
“We’ve got to get Laughing Brook out of here,” said Rising Sun.
“Let’s keep to the shadows,” said Tom. “If we stay close to the fence, we might make it to the entrance without being noticed.”
They pressed themselves against the tall wooden posts and pushed through the snow as quickly as they could. All around them spears flew and arrows sailed past like missiles. Even the howling of the wind couldn’t drown out the warriors’ cries as they flung their tomahawks around.
Although the Mohican were outnumbered, the element of surprise had helped them. Already, several Mohawk lay wounded in the snow. Tom saw Tall Oak and Gliding Eagle right in the middle of the fighting. Standing back to back, they fired off arrow after arrow, hitting an enemy target every time.
“Hurry,” Laughing Brook urged them. “The entrance isn’t far away.”
Tom felt a surge of relief, knowing they were so close to safety. Only a few more steps and they’d be—
“Where do you think you’re going?”
A towering Mohawk warrior stepped into their path. His face was splattered with blood and despite the cold his broad chest was bare, revealing scars from former battles. He glowered down at them.
“Er … nowhere,” said Zuma. “We were just leaving.”
The warrior laughed, but it was a humourless sound. “Nobody leaves unless I say so.”
“This is Wildfire,” Laughing Brook explained. “He’s the Mohawk chief’s eldest son.”
“At least let my sister and the two children go,” insisted Rising Sun. “You can fight me instead.”
“Well, this is a stroke of luck,” Wildfire said with a wicked grin. “Not only do we have the chief’s pretty daughter, now we also have his son! What better way to convince Tall Oak to turn over the hunting grounds and fishing weirs to the Mohawk tribe than by holding both his children captive!”
“My father would never do that!” said Rising Sun, standing tall and raising his weapon.
“He might,” said Wildfire, “if I threaten to scalp you! Which is exactly what I will do if you take one more step.”
Zuma gasped. Chilli whimpered. Rising Sun bravely positioned himself like a human shield in front of his sister. But Tom had an idea.
He quickly reached down, scooped up a handful of snow and packed it into a hard sphere. Then he flung the icy ball at Wildfire, hitting him right between the eyes.
While the Mohawk was wiping away the snow, Rising Sun yelled and charged at him with all his might. The Mohawk warrior fell backwards, the wind knocked out of him.
“He won’t be down for long,” said Laughing Brook. “Let’s get out of here!”
“You go,” said Rising Sun. “I’ll stay and fight.”
“So will I!” said Tom.
“Me too,” said Zuma, thrusting a squirming Chilli into Laughing Brook’s arms.
But before the three of them could enter the battle, Laughing Brook gasped and pointed.
“Look, there’s Waning Moon,” she said. “He’s in trouble!”
Moonlight reflecting off the white snow had lit up a terrible sight. A Mohawk brave had shoved Waning Moon against the wooden fence, and was holding a tomahawk to his throat.
“We have to help him!” said Tom.
“How?” asked Rising Sun, shaking his head. “We’ll never get there in time!”
“We don’t have to,” said Zuma, lifting her spear.
She bent back her arm, took aim and hurled the weapon with all her might. It streaked through the air, heading right for Waning Moon’s attacker. The tip of the spear caught the Mohawk by his buckskin shirt, pinning his sleeve to the fence. He dropped his tomahawk in surprise and Waning Moon wriggled free.
“That was brilliant!” said Tom.
But his relief didn’t last long. Because Wildfire had regained consciousness. He grabbed Laughing Brook’s ankle, dragging her down into the snow. Then he scrambled to his feet and s
tood above her, a murderous look in his eyes.
“Help!” cried Laughing Brook.
“Leave my sister alone!” demanded Rising Sun.
But Wildfire drew a knife from his belt.
“The son of a Mohawk chief will not be defeated by children,” he spat out. “If any of you so much as moves, the squaw dies.”
Wildfire jerked Laughing Brook to her feet and began pulling her towards a wigwam. She fought and kicked, but she was no match for the strong brave.
Tom knew it would take a lot more than a snowball to stop him this time. He thought about throwing his tomahawk at Wildfire, but the risk of hitting Laughing Brook was too high. Rising Sun’s aim was even worse than his, and Zuma had already thrown her spear. Tom had never felt so helpless.
The chief’s daughter was far more valuable to the Mohawk alive than dead, but there was something in Wildfire’s war-crazed eyes that made Tom think the warrior might scalp poor Laughing Brook just for fun. It wasn’t just about tribal rivalries now, it was about family honour. In the time he’d spent with the Mohicans, Tom had seen how much family meant to the Native Americans. Suddenly he had an idea.
He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted at the top of his lungs. “Chief Tall Oak! Laughing Brook needs your help!”
Even over the din of the battle, the Mohican chief heard Tom calling out the name of his cherished daughter. He spun in their direction, his arrow poised and his bowstring pulled taut. When he saw Laughing Brook being dragged off by the Mohawk warrior, he let out a cry of rage.
The chief let the arrow fly. Even though he was firing from a distance, the arrow lodged in Wildfire’s leg.
Howling in pain, Wildfire let go of Laughing Brook and grabbed his calf. Red blood poured out of his wound on to the white snow.
“Aaaaarrrrghhhh!” the Mohawk warrior screamed. The sound of his cry was so chilling that all the warriors stopped fighting.
“Finish him off, Rising Sun!” shouted Chief Tall Oak.
Rising Sun moved slowly towards the fallen Mohawk brave, tomahawk in hand. An eerie silence fell over the settlement as Rising Sun reached his enemy and raised his weapon. But instead of swinging it at Wildfire, he dropped the tomahawk down into the snow. He closed his eyes and began to chant. His words were barely a whisper, but they seemed to fill the air like the swirling snowflakes. Then he bent down and carefully removed the arrow from the Mohawk warrior’s leg.
Wildfire let out a sharp gasp, but his screams stopped. Everyone watched as Rising Sun took off his headband and wrapped it tightly round the warrior’s wounded calf.
“Why is he doing that?” Zuma whispered.
“He’s using it to stop the bleeding,” Tom replied.
“No, I mean why is he helping the enemy?” Zuma sounded shocked. “Wildfire threatened to scalp Laughing Brook.”
“All life is precious,” said Rising Sun, answering Zuma’s question. “Even that of my enemy. If I do not stop the bleeding, he will die.”
Wildfire lay shivering in the snow. He no longer looked like a terrifying warrior. Now he just looked scared. Zuma removed her fur cloak and gently laid it over the wounded man like a blanket. Tom offered his own cloak as a pillow.
Everyone watched silently as Rising Sun continued his chant, asking the spirits to help Wildfire.
Suddenly a shadow fell over them.
Tom looked up and saw the Mohawk chief looming above them.
Tom looked straight into the eyes of the Mohawk chief. The enormous man was holding an object high above his head. Thinking it was the tomahawk that had narrowly missed his head back in the longhouse, Tom raised his own tomahawk and dropped into a defensive crouch.
“It’s OK, Tom,” said Zuma. “I think he wants to be friends.”
The mighty Mohawk chief wasn’t holding a tomahawk. It was a peace pipe.
Now the chief raised his voice and called out to his warriors, “Drop your weapons!” Instantly, every Mohawk brave dropped his spear, bow and tomahawk.
“The Mohawk tribe surrenders,” said the chief, in a deep, steady voice. “We wish to make peace.”
Chief Tall Oak walked over to the Mohawk chief. “We would like that.” He ordered his own braves to drop their weapons, and all of them quickly obeyed.
“What made you change your mind?” asked Zuma.
The chief’s eyes settled on Rising Sun, who was still tending to Wildfire’s wound. “This young brave has helped my son. He asked the sacred spirits to ease my boy’s pain. He has taught me an important lesson – there is no greater power than kindness.”
Chief Tall Oak looked at his own son with obvious pride on his face.
Maybe he has learned that healers can be as powerful as warriors, thought Tom.
By now the Mohawk medicine man had joined Rising Sun. Together they spread a salve on Wildfire’s wound and chanted. The bleeding had stopped and he was no longer writhing in pain.
“I was wrong to wage war on my neighbours,” the chief said to Tall Oak. “The price of violence is much too high. Now I know how you must have suffered when we took your daughter. If I had lost my son, the pain would be too great to bear.”
“From this day forward, we will live in peace,” said Tall Oak. “We will share the vast forest and the deep waters, and all the bounty they provide.”
“And we will be grateful,” added Tall Oak, “for all that we have, and the beauty and goodness that the spirits have bestowed upon us.”
Rising Sun called over a group of Mohawk braves and instructed them to carry Wildfire back to his longhouse to rest.
“The storm still rages, and it would be unwise to venture back across the river now,” said the Mohawk chief. “You can warm yourselves here until it’s over.”
That sounded like a great idea to Tom. He was cold and exhausted from the long night of fighting. And they still had to get the gold coin!
“Quick,” he whispered to Zuma. “Let’s go back to the chief’s longhouse.” But before they could sneak away, the Mohawk chief made an announcement.
“Together we will all purify our battle-weary bodies and souls,” he said. He turned to his medicine man. “Clever Fox, go now and prepare the sweat lodge.”
“Sweat lodge?” said Tom. “That sounds … smelly.”
“We Aztecs have sweat houses too,” said Zuma. “Water is poured over hot stones to make steam. The heat makes you sweat and leaves you feeling warm, clean and very relaxed.”
“I suppose it will be nice to get out of this cold,” said Tom. But he didn’t have a choice. The Mohawk chief was guiding everyone who had fought towards the sweat lodge.
The next thing Tom knew, he, Zuma and the others were sitting on tree trunks in a steamy room. The warriors prayed and sang to their gods, as sweat dripped down their bodies. Even though the warmth felt nice, Tom couldn’t relax. He knew they had to get that gold coin!
“Zuma,” he whispered, “let’s see if we can sneak out now.”
The Aztec girl nodded, but as they got up, so did the other warriors. They began to file out of the sweat lodge. Outside, Tom was surprised to see that the snow had stopped falling and the air had lost some of its chill. A layer of fresh snow covered the village, erasing all trace of the bloody battle.
The Mohawk braves lit an enormous fire. Everyone gathered round, dancing and drumming, celebrating their new friendship. As the two tribes danced, Tom quietly slipped away from the crowd and headed towards the chief’s longhouse. But suddenly a large hand clapped him on the shoulder and pulled him back.
“Where are you going?” boomed Chief Tall Oak. “You helped bring peace to our people. You must celebrate with us!”
Tom didn’t dare argue. He returned to the party and joined in the dancing. As the sun rose in the dawn sky, the two chiefs brought the celebration to an end.
Gliding Eagle, Waning Moon and the other Mohican warriors went ahead to clear a path through the snow from the village to the river. Tall Oak, the children and Chilli stayed behind to sa
y goodbye to the Mohawk chief.
“Before we part, I wish to give a gift of thanks,” said the Mohawk chief, “to my neighbour and friend.” He handed Tall Oak an item made of rope and shells. “This is a storytelling belt. It recounts the myth of Sky Woman, and how she created the world.” His face lit with a smile. “A world made for all to share.”
In the pale glow of the sunrise, something at the centre of the belt caught the light, throwing off bright rays of gold.
“It’s the belt with the coin in it!” Tom whispered to Zuma.
Tall Oak took the beautiful belt and turned to Rising Sun. “This gift is precious,” he said in a solemn voice. “It represents goodness, wisdom and honour.”
“Yes,” said Rising Sun, “it is fitting that you should have it, Father.”
Chief Tall Oak shook his head. “It is even more fitting that you should have it.” He smiled and handed the belt to his son. “I am proud of you, Rising Sun. You are good, and wise, and honourable.”
Rising Sun smiled as he took the belt. “Thank you, Father. But I couldn’t have done it without my friends.” He turned to Tom and Zuma. “You two showed me that you don’t have to be a mighty warrior to be brave.” He held out the belt to Tom and Zuma.
“That’s really kind of you, Rising Sun,” said Zuma. “But we don’t need the whole belt.”
“You deserve it more than us,” said Tom. “But maybe we could just have that shiny round thing in the centre, as a memento?”
Gliding Eagle took an arrow from his quiver and helped Rising Sun remove the Aztec coin from the belt. Then Rising Sun handed it to Zuma.
As soon as the gold coin was in Zuma’s grasp, a magical mist began to swirl around her. Tom picked up Chilli and took Zuma’s hand. The mist grew thicker and spun faster around them.
“Goodbye, Rising Sun!” called Tom. “You’re going to be a great medicine man!”
“I will call on the spirits to guide you home safely, my friends,” Rising Sun shouted back over the wind.
