Eliot Pattison - Blood of the Oak

"Child!” Conawago growled to Analie. “The king will fall to the deserved victor if you would but stop showering me with Franklin’s sparks! I swear I am going to write the great doctor in London and let him know the French are perverting his science!”

Analie giggled, then drew another spark from Conawago’s fingers with the glass rod sent by Deborah Franklin in Philadelphia and skipped away, raising a deep laugh from their genteel host on the other side of the chessboard.

“I’ve begun to suspect you have bribed the girl to distract me, Sir William,” the old Nipmuc said to his chess partner.

William Johnson, baronet and Superintendent of Indian Affairs, looked up from his troubles on the board. “What an inspired suggestion!” he exclaimed, and tossed a sweet biscuit to the girl before refilling the china teacups on their folding campaign table. She broke it in half to share with Kuwali, who sat on the carpet with Sarah looking at a small slate where Sarah was teaching him the sounds of Iroquois words. Duncan looked up over the gazette he was reading, relieved to see the smile on Johnson’s face. The pain of his son’s betrayal had been easing since joining his friends but the scar inflicted by Francis, now gone across the Atlantic, would mark him forever. Analie grabbed Duncan’s hand and pulled him up from his reading. He handed his paper to Woolford and let her lead him outside.

In his advanced years Sir William liked to carry his comforts with him when he traveled. Duncan and Analie stepped out of the pavilion tent’s European world into a Haudensaunee town of bark-wrapped lodges. The castle of Onondaga, capital of the Iroquois nation, was a beehive of activity. Kettles of maize and venison stew hung over slow-burning fires. Dogs ran playfully with laughing children. Baskets of apples lined the front of one lodge, stacked pumpkins another. Duncan offered respectful greetings to matrons and chieftains as Analie pulled him toward the knoll behind the lodge of the Great Council.

The girl sobered as they reached the cairns of stones that flanked the path up the hill, and the warrior assigned as sentry gave them a stern inspection. She glanced down to make sure her bead necklace was not askew over her doeskin shift, then straightened like a nervous soldier. It was highly unusual for a child to be permitted up the knoll but, as the sentry well knew, she had been given special dispensation. The guard was Ononyot, and though a smile was in his eyes, their Mohawk friend gave the girl a strict examination, solemnly lifting and studying her beads before nodding his approval and gesturing them forward.

A slow, muffled drumbeat could be heard from the lodge at the crest of the hill. They passed the cedar-scented lodge where the sacred masks were kept and continued to the smaller, ivy-covered lodge behind it.

The grandmother of the Haudensaunee still lived. Adanahoe was weak but she was not the frail, fading creature to whom Duncan had given a vow months earlier. Her wrinkled face lifted with a smile as she saw her visitors and Tanaqua, so often now at her side, shifted to make room for Analie to sit beside the old woman. The celebration in the town was in honor of the tall Mohawk, for he was to be elevated to the Great Council that night, but he spent most of his time in solitude with Adanahoe. Duncan had seen despair on her face in the spring, and had known it was due not just to the stolen mask and death of her grandson, but also because she had been convinced she was dying and had not completed passing on the ancient ways to the next generation.

The Iroquois elder had insisted on hearing every detail of their experiences with Jahoska, and now had asked Duncan to come to relate what he had learned about the remarkable life of the half king of the south. She chatted amiably about the autumn harvest of pumpkins, the cherished gift of a teapot from Sarah, even the rumors of a white stag in the forest, until the cloth at the entry stirred and a young woman entered, carrying a small piece of skin stretched on a willow frame. As she settled in the shadows and extracted a charcoal stick from her cartouche, Duncan recognized her as one of the inscribers of the Iroquois records, an artist who produced the large pictorial chronicles on deer skins to memorialize people and events for the tribes. Adanahoe was making sure Jahoska was not forgotten.

For the rest of the afternoon they spoke of the half king and his long eventful life, with the Iroquois chronicler sketching notes as they spoke. By the time they finished, more drums were beating, and joyful chanting could be heard in anticipation of the approaching ceremony. Tanaqua seemed reluctant to leave the old woman, even when she struggled to her feet and pulled his hand to urge him to rise. Duncan did not understand the sadness on his face when he finally stood, nor the tear in Adanahoe’s eye.

An hour later, the clans of the six great tribes-Mohawk, Oneida, Onondaga, Cayuga, Seneca, and Tuscarora-marched up the pathway to the circle of the Great Council, past trees whose gold and scarlet splendor was embellished with garlands of berries and gourds. The final clan to climb to the ceremony was led by Conawago, Sir William and his wife Molly, followed by Duncan, Sarah, Woolford, Analie, and Kuwali. The moon was rising. Torches were being lit along the path. Bowls of smoldering cedar lined the earthen amphitheater where the joyful investiture was to take place.

“ Jiyathondek! Jiyathondek! ” the eldest of the chieftains finally called, silencing the assembly with a call to the spirits of the forest. The other great chieftains of the League joined in the opening rituals, in which the gods were reminded of their faithful children the Haudensaunee, and the great things they had accomplished through the centuries.

The moon had arced through a quarter of the sky before the speeches were completed and Tanaqua had accepted his honor. Duncan cradled Analie against his shoulder as they finally made their way back to Johnson’s comfortable encampment. He laid her down beside Kuwali on the blankets inside Johnson’s tent, near Sir William’s own cot, rubbing each of the children on the head. The two had quickly won the hearts of those in Edentown.

As he left the tent Ononyot was waiting for him. The Mohawk motioned Sarah and Woolford out of the shadows and silently guided the three of them back into town. Only Adanahoe’s lodge remained lit with torches. Ononyot gestured them inside then turned to guard the door.

There was an unexpected heaviness in the air, a melancholy that seemed out of place in the festive night. Conawago and Tanaqua flanked Adanahoe at her fire ring. The ancient strand of wampum that had been awarded Tanaqua as a symbol of his new rank hung around his neck, but so too did a bundle of feathers and bear claws, wrapped in white ermine. The Mohawk was there not as a chieftain but as the head of the secret society that protected the ancient spirits, a shadowkeeper. With a chill Duncan saw that he had painted white and red stripes on his face, the sign of a warrior embarking on a dangerous mission.

“ Jiyathondek ,” Adanahoe began, calling those on the other side to come witness. At first she used the familiar words of Iroquois ritual, but then after several minutes any sign of a ritual halted and she spoke in the tone of a eulogy.

“The spirits of the forest world grow weary,” she said, “and are in danger of becoming distracted by fear and worry. It is time to find rest for the old ones, time to let them turn away from this world so they can grow strong in the next.”

Sarah suddenly gasped and straightened. “Grandmother! No! You must not!” she interrupted. Duncan looked at her in alarm. It was unthinkable that she would show such disrespect for the venerated matriarch. He stared at her, confused, and with rising fear. She stood and leaned forward, as if she might physically stop Adanahoe. “You must not do this, grandmother! The people need-”