by V. Campbell
Redknee looked up. Sinead stood over him, concern in her eyes. Was she really still his friend? “Why do you care?” he asked.
She knelt and gently traced the grey circle on Silver’s forehead with her fingertip. Silver’s paws twitched a fraction.
Redknee felt a sudden pang of jealousy. “You care more for that pup than you do for me.”
She drew back. “I gave you Flame Weaver, didn’t I? And when you arrived at Svensbyan Ragnar was all for killing you – even told Olaf to do it. But I—”
“Olaf wants to speak to you.”
Redknee looked up to see Toki standing over him. He glanced back to Silver; a fine mist trailed from the pup’s nostrils. The paste Running Deer applied had hardened to a crust. He appeared to be out of immediate danger.
“I’ll watch him,” Sinead said.
Redknee hesitated then got to his feet.
“Word of advice,” Toki said as they approached where Olaf sat near the fire, “don’t lose your temper again.”
Redknee shook his head in dismay. If Olaf wanted a fight, he wasn’t going to be the one to back down.
Olaf motioned for Redknee to sit beside him. Harold was standing a short way off, talking to Mord and Ragnar. He cast Redknee a defiant look. Before Redknee could draw his sword, Olaf was on his feet, standing between them.
“Don’t even think about it,” Olaf said. “Now sit, before I kill you myself.”
Redknee reluctantly did as he asked, but sat so as he could keep one eye trained on Harold at all times. Olaf told Redknee he had to stay away from Harold, or leave the group.
Redknee protested. “Your son killed good people, murdered them in cold blood. He has to pay.”
Olaf shook his head. “He says he didn’t kill Karl or poison the stew. And I believe him. Yes, he admits giving Mord information about the location of our village, about the fact we had the Codex and were going to seek Saint Brendan’s treasure. But that’s all he did.”
“But even that—”
“Come now,” Olaf said, placing a hand on Redknee’s shoulder. Redknee guessed it was meant to be reassuring, but it felt like a threat. “I’m as sorry as you are about what happened to the village,” Olaf continued. “By Thor’s hammer, I lost my daughter. I’m sorry Harold had a part in it. But I’m not going to punish my son. He’s suffered enough. And let me warn you now against seeking your own revenge, because I don’t believe Harold capable of the terrible crimes you accuse him of.”
“But he attacked me.”
“You forget he was trying to save me from your temper. Look, Redknee, I never thought it would come to this. I respected your uncle. Loved him even, like a brother. I always said I’d look out for you, if anything happened to Sven, but the time has come for us to part ways.”
“But it is Harold who—”
Olaf raised his hand. “Let me finish. Ragnar is leaving here now. He doesn’t want to be around when the other clans arrive. To be honest, you’re lucky Ragnar hasn’t already killed you. You have the slave girl to thank for that. Now you can do what you like. Stay with the Flint People, or go your own way. But you can’t come with us. I won’t have my son’s life endangered.” He sighed, “One day you’ll understand I’ve done you a favour.”
When Redknee left Olaf, anger burned in his veins. Whether Harold had actually slit Karl’s throat, or put the wolfsbane in Thora’s stew was only a detail. Harold was a traitor, and traitors deserved to die.
Redknee rejoined Sinead at the edge of the camp. She had Silver across her lap, her arm curled protectively around his stomach, her fingers balled into a fist, tufts of white fur protruding between her mud-stained knuckles. Silver was still sleeping, but every breath seemed to wrack his too-thin body with pain.
Sinead looked up. “He’s a fighter,” she said, her eyes glassy.
Redknee knelt beside her. He spoke quietly. “Ragnar is moving out. He doesn’t want to be here when the other clans arrive. Olaf and Harold are going with him … I’m not welcome.”
“I’m sorry.”
Redknee shook his head. “I’ve no wish to serve Ragnar.”
“What will you do?”
Redknee shrugged. He hadn’t thought about it. He wanted to ask Sinead to forget her father, to come with him. But the words sounded stupid, jumbled in his head. Instead he watched as Running Deer approached them carrying a bowl of water.
“I thought Silver’s wound might need—” she began, her voice drifted off. She was staring at a spot just behind Redknee. He turned. Deganawida stood in the shadows. The old man shuffled forwards, his footsteps silenced by the carpet of moss. A shaft of moonlight caught him and his white hair gleamed like ice against his weathered skin. How long had he been standing there, Redknee wondered? Listening to their conversation, taking stock of the camp.
Ragnar strode over. “What’s he doing here?” he demanded.
“He’s come for the peace ceremony,” Running Deer said. “The weapons you dug up – they must be reburied.”
Deganawida sat cross-legged beneath the White Pine and closed his eyes. Ragnar’s men cast curious glances his way as they readied to leave, but they didn’t taunt him; despite his years and apparent frailty, he had the other-worldly power of a sorcerer. Hiawatha also kept his distance. But every so often Redknee saw him cast an equally wary glance the old man’s way.
Redknee recognised the beat immediately. It echoed through the trees, shook the very ground. His chest tightened. He would know it anywhere. The sound of Bear People war drums.
“I thought it was a peace meeting,” he said to Running Deer.
“It is,” she replied, her eyes anxiously seeking out her father.
Hiawatha heard it too. He ordered his warriors to stand in a circle round the White Pine, bows at the ready. Only Deganawida remained perfectly still. Though Redknee could swear he saw a flutter of excitement behind the old man’s lids.
The chief of the Bear People entered the clearing ahead of his tribe. He carried a war club in one hand and a tomahawk in the other. His warriors fanned out behind him, facing Hiawatha’s braves. Ragnar, far from fleeing, strode over, and greeted the Bear People chief as an old friend. It seemed Ragnar had changed his mind.
They didn’t have to wait long for the other four clans to arrive. Running Deer explained for Redknee as each new clan filtered into the uneasy space between Hiawatha’s men and the Bear People: the People of the Standing Stones with their alleged power to vanish at will; the People of the Great Hill with their single-feathered hats; the People of the Hills with their two feathered hats. Last to arrive were the People of the Swamp, who were easy to identify because of their mud-caked feet. Running Deer said they made up for this by having the fanciest headdresses of all.
When everyone was assembled, Deganawida stood on a small mound beneath the White Pine and began speaking. Silence crept over the gathering, as one by one, the clans stopped to listen. He didn’t raise his voice above a whisper, but every syllable was delivered with the sweet crispness of a mountain stream. When he eventually stopped, Redknee turned to Running Deer and asked what he had said.
“He said the White Pine is a good place to meet because the spirit force, which runs through all things, is strong here. He wants to stop the fighting between the clans. He wants to set up a council of leaders – or sachems – one from each clan, who will meet here twice a year. He likened the land to a great longhouse – with each clan given a role. The Flint People, my clan, will be Keepers of the Eastern Door, the People of the Great Hill keepers of the Western Door and the People of the Hills keepers of the Central Fire. He was asking permission of the spirit force to hold the councils here.”
“Will the clans agree to this?” Redknee asked.
Running Deer shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s been done before, a long time ago, as you know. But it’s never lasted. And now we’re on the verge of full-scale war.”
“What about your father, Hiawatha. Will he agree to be part of this council?�
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Hawk stuck his head between them. “Hiawatha only ever agrees to what suits him.”
“That’s not true,” Running Deer said.
“He promises his warriors land, women, furs, if they’ll fight for him. How will he keep his power if there is no war?” Hawk asked.
Running Deer shook her head. “My father is a very spiritual man. He wants peace. He wants to please the spirit force.”
Hawk snorted and turned forward to face the proceedings.
Hiawatha had joined Deganawida on the mound. He began addressing the crowd. He spoke faster than Deganawida, moved his hands forcefully. Suddenly, a great cheer went up among Hiawatha’s men and the People of the Great Hill. The other clans drew their weapons.
“What did he say?” Redknee asked.
Running Deer opened her mouth to speak, but Hawk cut her off. “Hiawatha believes the Flint People and People of the Great Hill, as protectors of the Eastern and Western Doors are more likely to encounter hostile tribes and should be allowed additional sachems at the council,” he said dryly.
The Bear People started stamping their feet on the earth and chanting. Clouds of dust rose into the air.
“Oh no,” Running Deer said, glancing fearfully at her husband, “that’s their war cry.”
Redknee watched as a chasm opened in the crowd, the Bear People and People of the Hills on one side, the rest of the clans on the other. Insults were lobbed at Hiawatha and his men. A Bear People archer raised an arrow to his bow and took aim. Everything seemed to slow … the archer uncurled his fingers … his arrow thrummed through the air with dreadful finality. The scream that came from the Seneca warrior as the flint tip lodged in his thigh sounded through the forest as a call to arms.
Deganawida moved with an efficiency that belied his age. Gone was the shambling old man welcomed in every village. He stood tall and straight, the years melting away as he leapt between the two forces and held up a large strip of purple and white wampum as if it were a shield of steel, fit to repel all foes.
The warriors watched him as he spoke. His words rang scornful and proud. Running Deer translated as quickly as she could, “Is this what you want? To paint your story in blood? One day you will be the ancestors. When your children’s children come to you for advice, will you tell them to slaughter their brother? Or will you tell them to live in peace, rich in land, and children and time?”
A murmur rippled through the crowd as this was discussed. Hiawatha stepped forward. He looked uneasy. Again, Running Deer translated. “Perhaps I was hasty, the Bear People and the People of the Hills will bring much to the council. Their representation should be the same as … my people. What’s more, Tadodaho, esteemed chief of the People of the Hills, should lead the council.”
The Bear People and People of the Hills stared at each other, confusion writ large on their faces.
“Why is he doing that?” Redknee asked. “Doesn’t he want to be leader himself?”
Hawk smiled. “My wife’s father plays a dangerous game.”
Tadodaho stepped forward. He wore his hair in many braids that hung down his back and squirmed like snakes when he walked. “I thank Hiawatha for his proposal. He thinks it will convince me to join with him against my friends.”
Hiawatha laughed. “The Bear People are not your friends. Only yesterday their chief tried to convince me to join with them in an attack against your lands.”
This time the Bear People warriors drew their weapons alone. Tadodaho looked uneasy. The air crackled with energy. Redknee could almost see the Tadodaho arguing with himself.
“Come, wise Tadodaho,” Hiawatha said, “I have already spoken with the other chiefs. They would be glad if you were to lead the council – as first among equals. Without the People of the Hills, whose lands lie in the centre of our great longhouse, the confederacy of clans cannot work. You must take this role.”
Tadodaho nodded. It was a small movement, but it was enough to send a wave of cheers through the crowd. Only the Bear People remained silent. Although sorely outnumbered, Redknee thought their chief was going to order his warriors to attack. He even glanced at Ragnar to see if the Northmen would fight for him. Ragnar pointedly avoided eye contact.
The Bear People chief turned from the clearing and motioned for his men to follow. The Bear People would not be part of Deganawida’s great peace.
They called Deganawida the Great Peacemaker. Running Deer said this event would be remembered for a long time. New weapons were buried beneath the White Pine and the tree itself was renamed the Tree of Peace. Deganawida asked all gathered to send thanks to “He who Holds the Sky” for allowing the peace to be agreed.
Only the absence of the Bear People cast a shadow. But Hiawatha seemed pleased as he danced and sang with his warriors.
Hawk joined Redknee where he was sitting quietly beneath the White Pine, still holding Silver.
“Why didn’t Hiawatha want the Bear People in the confederacy?” Redknee asked.
Hawk shrugged. “I assume he didn’t want his own influence diluted by such a powerful faction.”
The other Northmen were joining in the celebrations. Sinead danced with Thinking Owl, laughing each time he linked his arm through hers and spun her round. Even Mord was trying to learn the steps of their intricate dance, despite the weight of his mailcoat.
Redknee nodded in Sinead’s direction. “You think she’ll be happy with her father?”
“She won’t be with him for long; I hear she’s to be married to a Norse prince – one of King Hakon’s sons. Thought I doubt he’ll mention her former slave status. Probably say she’s an Irish Princess – so often the facts are in the telling.”
Redknee flashed a wry smile and rubbed Silver behind the ears. The pup blinked. He had regained consciousness, but was still in a lot of pain.
“Do you know who?” Redknee asked, thinking how his words of warning to Mord had been fatefully prophetic.
Hawk shook his head. “But I could find out for you … if you want to know.”
“No. That’s all right.”
Hawk nodded and moved off to join his wife who was dancing round the fire.
Redknee leaned back against the trunk of the White Pine. He’d failed. In every respect. There was no treasure. He’d hadn’t found his father; had failed to fulfil his mother’s dying wish. His search had only brought him further from the truth. Now he didn’t even know who his father was, never mind where he might be, or if he was alive. His attempts had fallen on deaf ears. No one, it seemed, either knew, cared, or would admit to knowing.
Sinead was right. What did it matter? It wouldn’t change who he was. He would still be a nobody; with no friends, no land … no future. He could see his life stretch before him … an itinerant wanderer … perhaps he should join one of the brotherhoods who raided the southern shores of Britannia, who welcomed anyone with a strong arm and their own sword.
Of course, Sinead had changed her attitude now she’d found her own father. Never mind that he was a murderer, a henchman for King Hakon. Now she had a home, and a family, a place in the world. Things that had been taken from Redknee.
“Deganawida wants to talk to you.”
Redknee looked up to see Running Deer standing over him, Deganawida at her side. The old man sat opposite Redknee and stared straight into his eyes as he spoke. Unnerved, Redknee didn’t know whether he should look away. Instead, he held the old seer’s gaze.
When Deganawida stopped, Running Deer translated. “War, the glory and riches it brings, is a desire my people have long nourished. Today they have buried their enmity with their weapons.” She hesitated. Deganawida nodded that she should go on. Her voice sounded almost apologetic. “When you seek one truth with all your soul, it is easy to forget the good things that have been around you all along. False idols must be buried before you can find your destiny. Take Hiawatha. He’ll finish his wampum now … now that he has put thoughts of war behind him, he will become the great peaceful leader he was
meant to be.”
When Running Deer finished, Deganawida stood, made a little bow and shuffled away. “It is a great honour,” she said as Redknee watched the old man’s retreating figure, “that he wanted to speak to you.”
“Thank you. His words are those of a true visionary,” Redknee said. Running Deer smiled and went to rejoin Hawk in front of the fire.
Redknee slumped against the tree trunk. Deganawida was right. This voyage, this quest for treasure, the search for his father, had all been a waste of time … a distraction from the real truth. He looked up at the canopy. The moonlight seemed far away through the tangle of branches. He thought again about Deganawida’s words. Perhaps there had been value in the journey precisely because it had failed ...
He watched as Astrid moved through the crowd, a basket of seeds and nuts slung under her arm, offering handfuls to whoever was hungry. It wasn’t like her to be so thoughtful. Perhaps she’d caught the festive mood.
“Can I sit with you?”
Redknee looked up to see Toki smiling at him.
“Do you remember what I said that first time we came into this vast forest?” Toki asked.
“About how it could make a man rich?”
Toki nodded. “Ragnar is going home. Returning to the Northlands with his men.”
“I thought you were one of Ragnar’s men.”
Toki laughed. “I’m my own man, lad. Thought you knew that by now. And I knew your mother well … as a friend. Which is why I’ve come to you with this idea.”
“Go on.”
“Ragnar is going to sail home in his clunky, iron-clad ship. It’s an ugly thing, if ever there was. And it’s slow and sits low in the water. He might allow you passage if you asked nicely – you are a favourite of his daughter, after all. But I got to thinking, Wavedancer is a very different sort. She’s long and light in the water. She won’t carry a lot of cargo – she isn’t a knar, but she would do for exporting timber. The Greenlanders and Icelanders have none of their own – we’d be rich as kings!”
Redknee scratched his head. When they’d first arrived he’d wondered if Saint Brendan had meant the land itself and its fruits when he talked about finding a great treasure. Certainly, this island was vast, vaster still than Iceland or the Sheep Islands combined. Perhaps something real and tangible could still be garnered from their voyage. Something more than a lesson.