Everyone returned to the village and gathered around the war chief.
“You have all seen what happened,” he said. “That man was brave, but now he is gone.”
Everyone agreed, even the second assistant war chief, whose heart was filled with sadness. Although everyone else slept soundly that night, that one man stayed awake, praying to the Creator.
Before daybreak woke the village, he was the first to leave his lodge. He looked toward the direction of the great waterfalls and in the early light before dawn saw a plume of smoke lifting like a raised hand. When he told the great war chief what he had seen, the chief sent two runners to see who was now camping by the river.
As soon as they came in sight of the little hill above the falls, they saw who was there. Sitting in front of his fire and smoking a pipe was the man who had gone over the falls when they cut the branch he’d been sitting upon. Seeing him frightened them. After what they had done, would this man who clearly had great power seek to do them harm?
“Who are you?” the first of the runners asked him.
“I am Skennerahowi. I am the one you saw fall into the gorge,” he said. “Do you need more proof that I have come to bring peace?”
“We believe you,” the men replied. “Come back to our village.”
“Go back and tell your chief to make ready. I will come there soon. But I will not stay long, for I have much more work to do and many more to visit.”
The runners went back to their village and told the great war chief what they had seen.
“We will prepare a special place for him,” the chief said, and he gathered everyone in the village. When the Peacemaker arrived, they made two lines of people for him to walk between on his way to the council house. There he was welcomed and given a seat of honor by the chief’s side.
“We asked you for proof,” the great war chief said. “You have given us that proof. I had been waiting for your arrival, hoping that peace might be possible. Now I believe it to be so. I accept your message.”
Then the two assistant war chiefs spoke. “We accept your message as well.”
“Do all of the people accept the message of the Peacemaker?” the head war chief asked.
And all of the people answered with one voice, “Yes.”
The Peacemaker stood then and looked around at everyone gathered there, waiting to hear his words.
“Now,” he said, “we will soon enter a new time, a time of peace. We will all have a good mind, speak with one voice, and live together as one family. No longer will we have chiefs who lead us to war. Now we will elevate new kinds of leaders, men of good mind who will be known as royaners, peace chiefs.”
He turned to the head war chief. “You, great leader of the Flint Stone Nation, your name will always be spoken first in the roll call of these new chiefs because you were awaiting my arrival. Even though you doubted me, you came to accept this message. So your name will be He Who Was of Two Minds. I appoint the women of your clan to watch over you and make sure you always keep a good mind and abide by the will of the council of the clan mothers. When you leave this world, they are the ones who will choose whoever follows you and carries that same name.”
The Peacemaker then turned to the second assistant war chief, the one who had never doubted him.
“You, great leader, you never slept while awaiting my arrival. You spoke about my message of peace before anyone else. Now you will put away all thoughts of fighting and war. You will do the work of our Creator and you will find a way to remember all that happens here. You will be second on the roll call of the royaners, but first among them. Your name will be Hiawatha, He Who Is Awake. Soon, but not yet, you will travel by my side and become my voice.”
Then the Peacemaker turned to the first assistant war chief. “You doubted me and you were confused about what to do. But you also came to accept the message of peace. So you, too, will no longer be a war chief. Instead, you will work on behalf of the people. Because your decision would have gone either way, your name will be Equal Height. Like your two brother peace chiefs and all others who become royaners, the women of your clan will advise you and raise up whoever follows you to carry that name and responsibility when you leave this world.”
He Who Was of Two Minds spoke then. “It is good that we will follow the way of peace. But what of those who have not accepted this peace? How will be defend ourselves if they attack us?”
“I am going now to speak to those other nations, to bring them the message of peace. When all of you People of the Longhouse are of one mind, no longer will you fight with each other. You will use your good minds to avoid conflict and come to agreement together. Because your nations joined together will be strong, that strength will prevent other nations from attacking you. But even with other nations, you must use persuasion and the power of the good mind to prevent war.”
The Peacemaker looked around again at the people who were listening closely to his every word.
“I am going now to visit other nations and bring them this message of peace. There will come a time when all of us will be called to gather at Onondaga, where a giant war chief controls others with his power. But first I must clear a path.”
Then the Peacemaker, his face turned toward the direction of the sunset, left them.
* * *
• • •
When Carries had finished his second story about the Peacemaker, everyone was silent. It was not just that Carries was such a good storyteller, his voice even and calm, each word clearly spoken. It was the story itself that brought such thoughtful silence.
Especially to Okwaho. That story was magic.
It had not been like listening. It had been as if he had been carried there, placed to stand at the edge of the cliff and see it happen, watching the Peacemaker plunge into the great waterfall and then—with those men who saw his smoke rising the next day—feel the same wonder they must have felt at his miraculous survival.
Okwaho looked around at his father, his mother, Burnt Hair and all the others who had been listening as intently as he. The looks on their faces were the same. Even Burnt Hair was nodding his head.
Finally Wolf Woman broke the silence.
“Will we see this man?” she asked. “Will he come here?”
Carries smiled. “Yes. And it will be soon, before Grandmother Moon’s face is full again in the sky. Those of us who have been carrying the message that he will soon arrive have now visited almost every village. The Great Stone People, the Swampy Land People and my own Flint nation have all come to the decision to join their minds and heart together. I have just come from the village of the Standing Stone People closest to yours and they, too, have said they are willing to give up the way of war—as long as the Onondagas agree to the Great Peace. It seems that your great war chief, Atatarho, will be the last one to decide.”
chapter eleven
THE BLUEBIRD
Okwaho sat in his sleeping rack, thinking of what had happened.
“Da neho,” Carries had said. “That is all I have to say. I am done.” Then he had looked around at the people of their little village.
“What does everyone think?” Wolf Woman had asked.
And there had been no hesitation on the part of anyone in their little village. Everyone had agreed they should welcome the Peacemaker when he came at last to them. A desire for peace was the reason they had left Onondaga.
Okwaho thought of the look on the face of Carries as he told them about the Peacemaker. It was a look of calm, of belief. Of hope. A similar expression had come to the faces of his mother and father as they heard the Peacemaker’s message. His father had been so convinced that he had agreed to travel with Carries to other villages, helping them prepare for the coming of the man himself.
Okwaho lay back on his sleeping rack. But as soon as he closed his eyes, he began to think of something else. Those h
e’d lost. Peace could not bring them back. And with that thought the anger that had briefly left his mind came flowing back in like a black river.
Even if a new dawn of peace did come, it would be too late for those who had been killed or taken away as captives. His uncle, At the Edge of the Sky, would still be dead. His best friend would remain far away, being taught to forget his old life, his former friends, even his name.
All of Okwaho’s excitement faded away as those dark depressing thoughts, like clouds bringing cold rain, settled around his shoulders.
When the Sleepmaker finally came, sleep brought him little rest. Instead, it dropped him into a dream. He found himself reliving the events of that day when his friend was caught. He woke up again and again during the night, sitting up and shouting “No!” It was not until just before dawn when he finally fell into an exhausted and dreamless sleep.
Okwaho looked up at the elm bark roof of their longhouse and sighed. His stomach felt as if a fist were clenched inside it. He swung his legs over the side and dropped down to the floor. A pot full of chestnut mush hung over the fire, left there by his mother so he would have food when he woke. But he did not want to eat. He did not know what he wanted. He pushed open the skin door and went outside. He walked past the men working on the wall.
Muskrat and the five other little children came running up to him.
“’Kwaho, what shall we do today?” Muskrat asked.
Okwaho paid no attention to him. He just kept walking until he passed through the open gate of the stockade.
* * *
• • •
Okwaho was not sure where he was going as he walked. But even though he felt as if a wrestling match were going on inside his head, he stayed alert. He would not go far from the walls of their settlement. He would not be foolish as he and Tawis had been. He would stay where he could see—and be seen from—their village. He just needed enough space to be by himself.
Finally, his feet led him to the top of the small hill just a bit farther than an arrow’s flight from their stockade’s walls. He could easily see their community, the nearby river where the women of their village were already working in the corn field they’d planted where the spring flood had deposited fertile soil. Their stockade sat in the middle of a wide clearing. Removing all the brush and trees around their new home and their fields had been one of the first things they had done as soon as the decision to move had been made. That way—during the daytime at least—no one would be able to approach without being seen. At night fires were kept burning and sentinels were always posted. Even though their desire was to live in peace, it did not mean they would hesitate to defend themselves and their families.
The moss was thick and dry near the base of a chestnut tree. He and Tawis had come here often. It was a good place to sit—especially since the two boys had carefully cleared away all of the thorny chestnut burrs that encased the sweet-tasting nuts that fell here in abundance each autumn.
As he sat there, a bluebird came and rested on the low-hanging branch of the nearest chestnut tree. It bobbed its head at him, then began its low-pitched warbling song, repeating it again and again. It was as if the bird were trying to send him a message. His mother often told him to listen closely to everything around him. Sometimes a bird call or the sound of the wind in the trees might be telling you something that you need to know, she said. If you listen long enough and well enough, you can sometimes understand what the natural world around you is trying to say. It might be advice or perhaps a warning. You may even become one of those people, a real listener, one who understands almost everything the forest is saying.
Okwaho listened hard to the bluebird’s song. It was pleasant to hear, but was it more than that? Was the little bird telling him not to give up hope? Or was it just singing to tell the world this branch, this tree belonged to it? He was trying to become a good listener, but what was he hearing?
Okwaho shook his head. He could not understand anything. Not only the bluebird’s song, but why his friend had been taken, why so many loved war. Why so many others seemed to accept that things could not be changed, that to hope for peace was a foolish wish.
Someone cleared his throat behind him. His leg muscles tensed. He almost jumped up to run. But just as quickly he realized that whoever it was behind him was trying not to startle him. That was why he—and it was surely a man from the deepness of his voice—had politely announced his presence. Plus, that bluebird was still singing on the branch. Perhaps it was telling him there was nothing to fear from whoever just arrived.
“Gwey-gwey,” the man said in a soft voice. “Hello.”
Okwaho turned. It was Carries, the one who had arrived with the message about the Peacemaker.
“I hope I did not startle you,” the tattooed man said. He smiled as he said those words. That small, gently teasing smile showed he knew he had almost made Okwaho jump out of his skin. “I have always had this habit of walking quietly. It is even more necessary these days as I go from village to village. Even though I carry a message of peace, I’m still traveling through a land of war.”
The way Carries spoke to him was good to hear. The man’s voice was soft but confident, and the light in his eyes showed he believed in what he was doing.
“Gwey-gwey,” Okwaho replied, though he did not smile back in return. The last time a smile had come to him had been that day when he and Tawis were fishing. Perhaps he would never smile again.
“This is a pleasant place. May I join you?” Carries looked up at the bluebird, still bobbing and trilling its song. “You and your small friend there?”
Okwaho reached out and touched the mossy ground next to him.
Carries sat down. He did not speak for a time. Neither did Okwaho. The two of them listened to the bluebird. Every now and then Carries would nod his head—as if understanding what the bird was saying. Perhaps he was one of those people his mother had told him about, a real listener.
Finally the bird finished its song, then bobbed its head up and down, as if saying farewell. Then it fluttered away.
Carries cleared his throat again. “You are Okwaho,” he said.
Okwaho looked at him.
“I have heard from your mother about what happened,” Carries said. “A hard thing.”
Okwaho drew in a breath, then bit his lip. What right did a stranger have to talk with him about this? Part of his mind wanted to tell him to go away and leave him alone. But another part of his mind was thinking differently. Let this man speak, it was telling him. Carries had told such good stories, perhaps he would tell another one now. Okwaho put his hand to his forehead, trying to sort out the confusion he was feeling.
“It is a very hard thing to lose a friend,” Carries said. “I had a twin brother. His name was He Is Standing. He was taken by war. But he was not taken as a captive like your friend. An enemy arrow pierced his heart. I held him in my arms and felt his spirit leave. I felt broken. My mind became so full of loss and anger that all I could think about was revenge. I needed to take one of their lives in return.”
Okwaho looked at Carries. The man’s voice had grown deeper as he spoke of that loss.
“Did you do that?” Okwaho asked. “Take revenge?”
“Oh yes,” Carries said. He patted his right arm and then held up both hands as if aiming a bow and releasing an arrow. “I was a good warrior then.” He slapped his hands together. “I took one of their lives.” He slapped his hands a second time. “And then I killed another.”
Carries shook his head. “But it did no good. The pain I felt in my mind did not go away. Not until I met . . . him.”
Carries took a deep breath and looked off into the distance. It was as if he was going back to that moment of meeting the Peacemaker. Okwaho said nothing, waiting until the man was ready to speak again, but also eager now to hear what he would say. Perhaps it actually would lift his heart and giv
e him hope.
chapter twelve
A FIRE THAT IS BURNING
Carries nodded his head as if he’d just heard something spoken that only he could hear. Whatever it was, it brought a small smile to his lips, making the tattooed fish twitch its tail. He turned back to Okwaho.
“Do you know how someone looks when they are bringing good news? Like a grandmother announcing to the people the birth of her first grandchild? Or perhaps a hunter returning from the forest carrying a deer over his shoulders? Imagine such a look on someone’s face and then imagine that look being many times as happy and self-assured. That is the way the face of the stranger in white appeared to us. So, even before he spoke before our council, I was ready to listen.
“His words to the council were simple and clear, as clear as water that seems shallow but is actually very deep. He told us he had come as a messenger from the Creator, who was not pleased to see the human beings always fighting each other and suffering. He said he had come to help bring us together as we were meant to be.”
Then Carries coughed out a laugh. “Do you remember the story I told? How we were by the lake and saw him approaching in that strange white canoe?”
Okwaho nodded.
“I was not the first to reach him. Long Feather, our fast runner, got there a spear’s throw ahead of me.
“‘Throw down your weapons,’ Long Feather shouted, drawing his bow and aiming an arrow at the tall, good-looking man’s chest.
“But that tall man, simply stepped from his canoe and held out his empty hands. ‘I carry no weapons,’ he said.
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