Part Four: Indelible Scars
The following morning, Desmond stretched and blearily made his way to coffee. Blessed coffee. He realized belatedly how much he missed American coffee; he'd been drinking Italian coffee in their tiny cups for months now, and having instant, over processed, coffee grounds in a giant 12 ounce semi-styrofoam cup was a breath of familiarity the moment the scent hit his nostrils. After making some breakfast, he went through his exercises, since those would be fleeting the longer he stayed in the Animus and micro-movements or not, he wanted to feel like he was staying in shape. His father was still asleep, no surprise having taken first watch again, so Desmond stretched his legs to the gate where Shaun and Rebecca were.
"Would you look at that," Shaun was muttering as Desmond walked up the steps.
"What is it?" Rebecca asked.
"If I had to guess, I would say that's a counter," he said, pointing to symbols that were steadily changing to different symbols. "And judging from the iconography, I think it's safe to say when that's emptied... the end begins."
"Damn," Rebecca whispered, her shoulders taught.
"Ain't that just peachy," Desmond added.
"Hello, Desmond," Shaun turned, greeting him. "How's things."
"Same old," he replied lightly. "Another day, another ancestor. Hopefully a better one than Haytham Kenway."
"Who'd have thought that you had a Templar in your family tree?" Shaun grinned.
Desmond shrugged, thinking back to how Haytham thought and his memories of his father, his sister Jenny. "I think he started out as an Assassin. They must have turned him..." Like they turned Lucy...
"Right you are, in fact!" Shaun smiled, already pulling out his tablet and books and sifting around. "I've been reviewing our archives and it appears that Haytham's father was indeed an Assassin. Which means he was likely one too. At least for a little while..."
"But not knowing," Rebecca nodded. "Not from what we saw with you."
Desmond's brows reached up to his hairline. Assassins had archives? He didn't think they'd had anything. "What else did you find?"
Shaun smiled. "That fellow from the opera, Reginald Birch – Grandmaster of the London chapter of Templars. He and Haytham's father – a man named Edward – well, they were longtime rivals."
"Gee, I wonder why," Desmond said sarcastically.
"Now it appears Birch got his hands on Haytham at a rather young age, working his wiles to convince Haytham to switch sides."
"Ten," Desmond replied. "Haytham was ten when he lost his father and sister. Something about a fire. He didn't dwell on it very much before burying it again. I think Birch raised him after that."
"Convenient," Shaun sat back. "Wonder how Birch arranged that. I'll see if I can't dig up more... I must say your family tree is impressive."
Desmond smiled.
"Well, I'll start booting up the Animus," Rebecca got up. "I assume it's back to work?"
"Yeah, there is a deadline and all," Desmond said, gesturing to the counter.
Rebecca headed back down the steps.
"Hon-" Shaun hesitated, lowering his voice. "Honest answer please, Desmond," the historian asked quietly. "Do you think we're getting out of this alive?" Shaun's eyes lingered on Rebecca with worry creasing his brows.
Desmond looked away. "I don't know... I mean, it's a pretty tall order," he answered. "If the First Civ couldn't save the world, how the hell are we supposed to swing it?"
"We have some time," Shaun groused.
Desmond gave a reality check. "We have less than two months! They had decades and a lot more resources. And the worst part..." he glanced away, "is that we knew this was coming for, what, hundreds of years?"
Shaun reverted to professorial mode. "History repeats, it seems. The First Civ was so busy with their war against us, no one even noticed what was happening. We get advanced warning and then fall to fighting with the Templars... Lovely."
Desmond sighed, tired of gloom and doom. "Hopefully, whatever's behind that door will make a difference.
"And if it doesn't," Shaun said quietly, "well, at least we tried."
Desmond nodded.
Rebecca looked back at them and smiled, waving.
"Time to get to work."
Six year old Ratonhnhaké:ton squinted, trying to make sense of the squiggled lines on the page. It was a book of some kind, and he expected that it belonged to his father. It must have. Only the white man could make words appear in such squiggles, and Ratonhnhaké:ton knew his father was a white man. His mother never spoke of him, always changed the subject, but he did know a few things. His father's name was strange, stranger than the usual white man's name: Haytham. And his father had somehow hurt his mother. It was the only reason he could think of on why she didn't like speaking of him. Maybe if he could figure out these strange markings he could understand his father better, and then understand his mother better. What was the magic that made the squiggles words?
But the more he stared, the more the squiggles didn't make any sense.
He heard footsteps outside and Ratonhnhaké:ton panicked. He slammed the book shut, dropped it to the floor, and kicked it under the tied wood holding up herbs to be dried. He turned and looked as innocent as he could, shifting his weight away from the herbs and the book and more towards the fire.
His mother came in, tall and beautiful, one braid in front, the other having fallen behind her shoulder. "Se'wánde, Ista," he said as sweetly as he could manage.
"Hmmm," she narrowed her eyes. "And what are you up to?"
How did mothers always know? "Nothing!" he said quickly, "I uh... I was only... just..."
"Ratonhnhaké:ton, come play with us!" came another voice. Kanen'tó:kon came running in, as naked as Ratonhnhaké:ton was, as expected for any child under thirteen years of age. "The others have gone hunting and we're bored!"
Escape!
Ratonhnhaké:ton quietly shuffled past his mother, running up to his best friend. He glanced back to his mother, hoping she saw nothing wrong.
She gave a quiet smile, her eyes gentle. "Go on," she gestured. "But do not venture past the valley."
"This way!" one of the girls cried, and soon a whole troop of children were heading out beyond the wooden staked walls, and out into the vast massive valley that was their home.
"Be home by sunset!" one of the mothers called out, watching the children dash through the longhouses.
"Hén, Ista!" the children all chorused.
They traipsed through the woods for almost an hour, laughing and giggling, picking up the colorful leaves that kept falling in the breezy autumn day. Several children split into their own groups; Ratonhnhaké:ton had three others with him: his best friend Kanen'tó:kon, the twins Teiowí:sonte and Kahionhaténion, both five, and a tiny four-year-old girl named Aarushi. Kanen'tó:kon was the oldest, beating out Ratonhnhaké:ton by three months; the tallest and heaviest, he was chiefly in charge of getting the children out of the walls of Kanatahséton. The twins unanimously were responsible for causing trouble, and Ratonhnhaké:ton often had the arduous task of getting everyone out of trouble. Their mothers all agreed, Ratonhnhaké:ton seemed to have the right qualities to be a Roiiá:ner; a chief for the Haudenosaunee Grand Council. The children all agreed that the Oiá:ner were biased, since Ratonhnhaké:ton's mother was an Oiá:ner, they thought that Kanen'tó:kon was the better choice.
Soon they were far from the village, and Aarushi started to get scared.
"Maybe we should go back..." said the four-year-old.
"Hén, they say there are wolves out here as large as bears!" Kahionhaténion whispered, perfectly willing to scare her.
"And strange men who shoot fire from their hands!" Teiowí:sonte added, grinning at his twin and sharing a nod.
"I hear they live in stone villages," said Kahionhaténion.
"Filled with victims taken from these woods!" Teiowí:sonte said, reaching out and ghosting his hands over Aarushi's back, making her shriek.
"Don't listen to them," Ratonhnhaké:ton admonished. Those were the legends of what a white man was like, myths to scare children like them. The white man couldn't all be bad; after all, his father was white.
"I had a dream," the four-year-old girl said, trying to change the topic, "A bad dream. Can we act it out later to remove it? I don't want the bad dream to come true on a really important day."
"Of course."
The girl sighed in relief.
"Almost there," Kanen'tó:kon said.
A tall outcrop of stone towered over them, horizontal gouges seeming like shelves buried in leaves and pine needles. They all gathered in the shade. "What will we play?" Ratonhnhaké:ton asked.
"Hide and seek?" Kanen'tó:kon suggested. The others were quick to agree, it was a challenge and test of skill that everyone wanted to be best at. Ratonhnhaké:ton's best friend quickly scoured the ground. He reached down and picked up a bunch of different sized sticks. "Draw."
Each of them picked a stick, and Ratonhnhaké:ton grimaced as he got the short stick.
Kanen'tó:kon laughed. "You're it! Come on, let's hide!"
Ratonhnhaké:ton sighed, but he crouched down, put his pale hands on his eyes, and started to count. "One, two, three, four..." His sharp ears picked up all the footsteps, all heading uphill from him. But he kept counting steadily.
"One hundred!"
Ratonhnhaké:ton looked to the ground, seeing the footprints and the disturbed leaves, which were easy to follow. The easiest to find was Kanen'tó:kon, who's steps were heavier than the others given his more chubby nature.
"You're too good at this..." Ratonhnhaké:ton best friend mumbled. Joining him the six-year old went back to start and followed the next set of footprints.
Following the trails, it didn't take long to start finding all the other children.
"There you are!"
"Awwww..."
"How did you know?" the four-year-old Aarushi whined. Then a new thought entered her young head, and she immediately changed topic. "Can we go fishing later? We should look for shells when we're done!" Then came a pout and another change in topic. "I'm hungry."
The twins just laughed. "She is such a baby!" Teiowí:sonte said. "We can focus much better, don't you think, Kahionhaténion?"
"Huh?" his brother asked. "What did you say?"
Ratonhnhaké:ton and Kanen'tó:kon both laughed. Soon they came back to the outcropped rock to draw sticks again. Ratonhnhaké:ton smiled as his best friend got the short stick this time. Perfect! He had just the hiding spot! The six-year-old ran up the hill's steep slope, through the maple and oak before spotting the pine boughs he had spied earlier. He lifted one of the dead branches, hoping to sneak in when a fox barked and darted out, scared of the sudden intrusion. Ratonhnhaké:ton gasped, scared himself, and decided not to bother the fox's hiding place. He crouched behind the boughs instead of inside them, hoping the animal would return when she saw her home was unbothered. Between the boughs and the massive trunk he was perfectly hidden, and he mentally dared Kanen'tó:kon to find him now.
He closed his eyes and listened, trying to see if he could hear Kanen'tó:kon counting, but his voice was nowhere to be heard, meaning he was far away indeed. Good! His best friend needed to move around as much as possible. Ratonhnhaké:ton wondered... if he was silent enough... could he steal Kanen'tó:kon's feathers right from his scalp? The thought made him smile, and he waited to be found. For some time he crouched down, imagining his victory over his best friend, wondering if he could do the same to the younger twins as well; they often needed to be put in their place for the trouble they caused. He was just beginning to taste the victory when he was jerked out of his thoughts by a firm, painful grip on his arm that yanked him from his spot. Who saw him? He was so well hidden!
Skittering away from the pine boughs and rolling, he looked up to see a man paler than even himself; the fabled white man – dressed in layers and layers of woven cloth and holding a fierce looking stick of wood and metal. The barrel of the metal was aimed directly at Ratonhnhaké:ton, and he remembered with dread the stories the twins had recited: shooting fire from hands and stone villages made of bodies. Could this construction do exactly that? Shoot fire? This close, what would it do to him?
The white man said something, words that Ratonhnhaké:ton only vaguely recognized. He tried to remember the words, the sounds his ista had taught him and what to say, but the sight of the metal and wood stick was too terrifying.
Panic filled him, and he scrambled to his feet to run away. He needed distance, he needed to think about the language his mother taught him. What was the phrase he was supposed to say? What was he supposed to say? Think, Ratonhnhaké:ton, think! He plowed full speed away from the stick, away from the fear, when he saw too late other men behind a tree, and one slid his foot out, and Ratonhnhaké:ton tripped, his mind not following the actions fast enough to compensate. The strong incline of the hill sent him rolling down through the dead leaves and ferns until he smacked his head on the flat of the massive stone rocks that littered the valley. The impact sent a wave of pain through him but it also broke through the panic. Maybe if he played dead? Maybe if he pretended to be a possum they would lose interest and move on; then he could run to his ista and tell her what happened. She would know what do to. She had dealt with the white man many times before his birth, she knew their language and she knew their magic of making squiggles make sense, and she was the strongest woman in the world. He held his breath, trying to keep still as he pretended, hoping the pounding of his heart was not as loud as he thought it was.
He heard footsteps, loud and heavy, the sounds of men who did not stalk the woods, men who did not respect the valley or the people in it. One, two, three – no, four – sets of feet. He ran out of air and exhaled, desperately trying to be quiet, trying to be dead. The feet were moving towards him; his plan had failed, they knew he was alive... or worse, they thought him dead and wanted to use his body to make another stone village. The thought terrified him. They should not have gone so far from the village; what of Kanen'tó:kon, the twins, little Aarushi? Where were they? Or were they dead? Whisked away to make a stone village?
Ista... where was Ista?
What was he supposed to do?
Another rough hand spun him around, and he looked up to see the man who had tripped him. Dark hair, round forehead, hair under his nose – did it tickle? - and blue eyes so intent in staring at him that Ratonhnhaké:ton was motionless under their gaze. The man with the stick stood off to the side, and another man, taller and thinner, held another such stick and looked bored. Another man with dark hair, they all looked alike, but the fourth had a blanket with Haudenosaunee patterns on his shoulder. Ratonhnhaké:ton tried to catch his eyes, tried to see if that tiny bit of familiarity would save him. The blue-eyed man however, was still glaring at him, face intent, gaze hard.
"You look... familiar." The words were spoken slowly, with a curious tone, and it gave Ratonhnhaké:ton time to translate the words. The next sentence was spoken much faster however, and it whistled over his head. The two death sticks were still being waved around, by the bored man and the heavy man, and Ratonhnhaké:ton had no idea what to do. He looked to the white man who wore the Haudenosaunee blanket, trying to figure out what he was supposed to do. The man spat on the ground and, failing to see any other sign and uncertain what it meant in the white man's culture, Ratonhnhaké:ton took a deep breath and spat up at the man glaring down at him.
For a moment, everything froze; and Ratonhnhaké:ton wasn't sure what that meant. The glaring blue eyes finally broke their gaze, a shockingly pale hand reaching up to where the spittle had landed. Ratonhnhaké:ton looked around, trying to look for a reaction, breath coming out in quick bursts as he saw the man in the blanket close his eyes and sigh, disappointed. Iá, iá, iá iá iá iá iá iá iá iá-
"That wasn't very nice," the blue-eyed white man with hair under his nose said, the words slow and deliberate again, and Ratonhnhaké:ton could hear anger in the man's voice, and he knew he was dead. His arm was grabbed, and he began to drag across the ground, the leaves crunching up against his bare skin and his mind finally, finally, remembered a phrase from the white man.
"Let me go!" he shouted, hoping he said it right. His feet struggled up and down, trying to stop his inevitable death, trying to make all of this stop and go away.
The blue-eyed man and the bored one talked for a bit, laughing over something and only causing terror in Ratonhnhaké:ton. He threw his gaze once more at his one hope, the man with the Haudenosaunee blanket, but his eyes only held sadness. The blue-eyed man hauled Ratonhnhaké:ton to his feet and slammed the six-year-old against the tree, the rough bark scraping at his back and cutting into him. The blue-eyed man said something, too fast for Ratonhnhaké:ton to understand, and he threw his eyes to the man with the blanket once again, having nowhere else to look.
"He says we have questions for your elders," the man said in Ratonhnhaké:ton's own tongue. "He says to tell us where your village is and you can go. Best do as he asks, child," he added, voice low and resigned.
The village? Kanatahséton? These white men wanted to go to his home, with their metal and wood sticks? And do what? What would Ista do? What would she say? Would she give up their home to save her own life? What would these men do there? The blanket man spoke of questions? Who would treat children like this if they only asked questions? Who would aim those terrifying sticks for only questions? Ratonhnhaké:ton froze, breathing heavily, unable to speak, unable to think, unable to do what was necessary.
The evil man holding him lost his patience. Ratonhnhaké:ton wondered if this was a servant of Hahgwehdaetgah, Flint, the evil twin grandson of the sky goddess Iottsitíson. The blue eyes spoke of destruction, death, night, everything that Flint represented. Which of the spawn of the evil twin was he? Atenenyarhu? The evil man lost his patience, he placed his powerful hands on Ratonhnhaké:ton's neck and began to squeeze. The six-year-old's eyes widened and he instinctively tried to gasp for air. Air! Air! He needed air!
The servant of Flint spoke again, his voice rolling and full of arrogance and hatred. Ratonhnhaké:ton did not understand the words, but all the same he knew what the Atenenyarhu, the Stone Coat, was saying. This man would eat him and think nothing of it. His vitriol oozed from his mouth, and it soon became all that Ratonhnhaké:ton could perceive as his vision darkened and his hearing dimmed, all he could recognize was the foul stench coming from the Atenenyarhu's mouth, the hatred of it.
And then, all at once, he fell.
Air rushed into his lungs at such speed that he could not take it, and the child coughed and gulped at the precious commodity entered into his tiny frame. The Atenenyarhu was speaking again, but Ratonhnhaké:ton was too busy regaining his senses. The man with the blanket and also had hair under his nose, he knelt down and spoke in Ratonhnhaké:ton's tongue.
"He says he's sparing you, that you may carry word to your people. Let them know the sooner we are given what we seek, the sooner you can return to your lives."
Ratonhnhaké:ton looked up, knowing now that the blanket man would not help him. He looked instead to the Stone Coat, the servant of Flint. He struggled to think through the fog of his mind, struggled to work his mouth around the sounds.
"What," he gasped in the foreign tongue, "is your... name?"
The Stone Coat chuckled, somehow amused by the question. "Charles Lee," he said slowly, a sneer on his mouth. "Why do you ask?"
Ratonhnhaké:ton coughed, still gasping for air, and worked to find the right words. "So I can... find you."
The Stone Coat, Charles Lee, smiled, blithe, humoring, condescending. "I look forward to it," he said, contempt in his voice. He straightened, glanced at the bored man and turned his back. The bored man lifted his death stick and struck Ratonhnhaké:ton on the head, and the boy knew no more.
Cold.
Ratonhnhaké:ton shivered, and pain erupted in his head.
The late fall air bit into his skin and he curled into himself, a hand going up to his forehead and touching it. He felt blood and the thick sensitivity of a bruise. What had hit him? Where was Ista? Why was he in the valley? A moan escaped his throat, and he eventually struggled into a sitting position. Looking around hurt, his eyes watered as they tried to take in the details around him. He was up near the valley wall, near some pine boughs and a tree. Hide and seek... they had been playing. Had they forgotten to search for him? It hurt too much to think, and he bent over into a ball, trying to get the waves of pain subside.
Slowly, eventually, he was able to get up to his feet, and he pressed his hands to his head. A warm breeze ghosted over him, and that was surprising for the late autumn air. He glanced up to the sky, squinting up to see darkness and a waxing gibbous. Night? Why was it night? Didn't the village go out and look for him if Kanen'tó:kon and the others couldn't find him? Another moan vibrated in his throat and he slowly started putting one bare foot in front of the other, the hard ground chilled against his toes and the breeze still warm.
He found the path leading to the village finally, and began the descent, still holding his head. Everything was spinning, blurry and hard to focus. Tears rolled down his eyes at the pain, and he tried to work his way through it. He needed to find Ista, his ista could make the pain go away, and she could explain what it was he was missing. Did he have a dream about Stone Coats? That was a scary thought, and he couldn't imagine how to erase that dream with his friends.
His lungs burned, and there was a scent on the wind that Ratonhnhaké:ton didn't immediately recognize, even though he knew he should. All he could really understand, however, was the pain in his head, and slowly it began to fade to a throbbing sensation. Looking around, he saw he could focus better, and he dared to pull his bloody hands away from his forehead. He made his way down to the river, slowly tracing the path that he knew so well, down the slope to the brightness of the village.
Wait. Brightness.
Ratonhnhaké:ton looked up, wide-eyed, as he realized the scent on the air: smoke.
Fire.
The village was on fire.
Kanatahséton was on fire.
"Iááááááááááá!" he shouted, unable to comprehend the horror.
Any thought to his own pain vanished, and he stumbled his way down the path, tripping over a terrified animal that ran across his path. Deer were screaming off in the distance, though that paled in comparison to the much closer and more intimate screams of his village. Ratonhnhaké:ton ran past the narrow entrance and all he saw after that was red. The crops to his left were burning, and people were gathering to his right. Two of the longhouses were aflame, and the smoke was so thick he couldn't even see the river. He ran to the group; Kanen'tó:kon and the twins were there, crying with their mothers.
Ista?
Ista!
"Ista!" he called out, coughing through the smoke and running up to his best friend. "Where is my ista?" he shouted, the sounds of the flames loud in his ears.
"Ratonhnhaké:ton! You're alive!" his best friend cried out. "We could not find you, we thought the white men had killed you; they killed the Rottiá:ner! Fire sticks are real!"
"But where is Ista?" Ratonhnhaké:ton insisted. "Where is she?" He looked up to Kanen'tó:kon's father, but he shook his head; he had no idea.
Unable to accept that answer, Ratonhnhaké:ton ran from the group, ignoring their cries for his return, and pushed deeper into the village. He saw a woman of the wolf clan collapse from the smoke as her brother ran to her. One of the longhouses was not yet on fire, and he darted inside, trying to see if anyone was inside through the smoke. "Ista!" he cried out, trying to find her. The crackle of the fire was so loud it seemed to turn into a roar, making hearing difficult. Seeing was also difficult, and he rammed into a fallen series of beams, knocking what little air he had out of his lungs. Coughing for several moments, he crawled onto his belly and shoved himself underneath, rolling away and looking up in time to see a canoe hanging above him sag under the burning beams supporting it and begin to fall. He rolled to his left, the boat missing him by mere inches, and he dashed out the far side of the longhouse, scared and crying and trying to find his beloved mother. She was the strongest person in the world, she would know what to do!
Outside the smoke had thickened, determined to choke him as the Stone Coat Charles Lee done, and he did not know what to do. What was he supposed to do? He was so scared...
"Ista!" he shouted, a sob shuddering through his small frame. "Ista! Where are you?"
"Ratonhnhaké:ton!"
The voice instantaneously lifted his spirits, his head jolting up before he realized it had even drooped. All at once every sense was alive, clarity filling his mind as he heard that one beautiful voice. Ista! Ista! She was in their longhouse, the one they shared with the rest of the Turtle Clan. She was there! She would know what to do!
Renewed energy surged through his tiny body, and he staggered to the longhouse. The main gate had been closed, and Ratonhnhaké:ton pounded on the wood, trying to climb it but unable to get a handhold. "Ista!" he shouted. "I'm here! I'm coming!"
"Ratonhnhaké:ton..." his mother started to say, but Ratonhnhaké:ton moved to his right, around the wall of flames, trying to find someone. "Help us!" he shouted, looking for someone, anyone. "My ista is still inside! I need help!"
A horrible cracking sound, followed by a thunderous snap, erupted behind him, and instinct more than understanding had him rolling forward. He turned and saw the entire side of the longhouse had crumbled, weakened by the fire. There was no time left...! Coughing, hoping someone had heard him, he staggered inside, moving to his place in the longhouse, where he and his mother slept. "Ista!" he called, and he saw movement through the smoke, saw that wonderful profile of his mother. "I am here, I am here!" he called. She was trapped, it seemed, under the fallen beams and canoe that had almost hurt Ratonhnhaké:ton. He tried to climb over it, but the wood was too hot for his bare skin. He tried to crawl under it but there was no place large enough for him to squeeze in. He would have to lift it. All he had to do was just get to her, then everything would be fine. "It is going to be fine," he said, pulling at one log and managing to roll it aside. "It's going to be fine," he said again, looking at his mother's silhouette in the smoke. "Once I get there everything will be fine!"
Another log, easily twice his size, managed to give and Ratonhnhaké:ton was able to pull it back enough to step beyond it. He could see more clearly now. Her face was covered in blood, and her arm was clutched to her chest, bone sticking out at an awkward angle. She was hurt...! She had never been hurt before, she was the invincible Clan Mother who always knew what to do; she should never get hurt! What did this mean? What was he supposed to do?
He got a grip on another log.
"No, my son," his mother said. "You must leave. Now."
"Iá," Ratonhnhaké:ton said, shaking his head and struggling to get the massive log to move. "Not without you."
His mother also shook her head, leaning over the wood, reaching out with her good arm and touching his hand. He looked up and their eyes met. "It's too late for that," she said, her voice as calm as it ever was, always so certain of what she was saying. She took a deep, shaky breath. "You must be strong, Ratonhnhaké:ton. You must be brave."
Was she...? Was she...?
Iá. Iá. Ratonhnhaké:ton shook his head violently, not wanting to listen. "Stop it. Stop it!" he shouted, smoke burning his lungs. He pulled harder. Please. Please...!
But Ista kept talking, her voice soothing, accepting, everything that – for the first time in his life – he didn't want to hear. "You will think yourself alone," she said, eyes watery but determined, "but know that I will be at your side. Always and forever." She smiled, soft and gentle even as the fire caused the entire longhouse to shudder under its anger. "Ratonhnhaké:ton," she started to say.
But arms were around him again, lifting him up, hoisting him away from his mother like he was little more than a feather. Iá, IÁ, NOT LIKE THIS!
"Iá!" he shouted, reaching for the receding sight of his whole world. "Stop! Let me go! Let me save her!"
And even over his shouts, even over the sound of the collapsing longhouse, his eyes locked on the one person in his life that mattered more than anything, he saw through the blood, he saw her lips move, and he heard her soft, gentle voice.
"I love you..."
"ISTAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
And, at the tender age of six, Ratonhnhaké:ton's world collapsed in on itself, and the most beautiful piece of himself died.
"Fuck," Desmond cursed, gasping and relieved to be in the white loading room of the Animus. He put a hand to his face, sliding into a cross-legged sitting position. "Fuck," he cursed again. "Jesus Christ." He wiped his face, trying to scrub away the tears.
"Rebecca," he said, voice shaky. "I already lived through the immediate aftermath of Ezio losing his family; please don't make me live that kid's."
"I understand, Desmond," Rebecca said. "William's asleep right now, I can skip ahead without much fanfare."
"... Thanks," he said softly. "Just... give me a minute."
"Take all the time you need. It's three in the morning here."
Desmond laid flat on his back, closing his eyes, assimilating that terrible memory. God, Ezio had been fucked up when this happened to him and he was just seventeen. What would happen to this kid? Radon... Ratonhn... he wasn't used to the language yet, and he felt deep into his mind at the partition Clay had taught him to create, touching it for the information he needed. Ratonhnhaké:ton. A spirit that has been scratched. Son of Kaniehtí:io and Haytham Kenway.
Bastard. Fucking bastard. Haytham sent his troop of Templars to level Kaniehtí:io's home, and for what? To get more information on the Grand Temple? Desmond didn't think the man was that far gone. Templar or not, the prick at least believed in no unnecessary deaths, at least he wanted to be a good shepherd. This was fucked up, fucked up beyond belief, and Desmond could admit to himself that he dreaded any confrontation Ratonhnhaké:ton had with the old prick.
But, then, that was where this all lead; this was how he learned where the key Juno was so anxious about was hidden. This was the inevitable conclusion.
Desmond took a deep breath, accepting it, compartmentalizing it, and at last, he opened his eyes. "Okay," he said. "I'm ready."
And he sank back into the past...
Ratonhnhaké:ton sat on the base of a fallen tree trunk, worn smooth over the years since its fall. Fourteen years old, he was perfectly still, as solid as a mountain, looking out over the valley and brightly colored trees. The deerskin leggings were already worn after a year of use, and the deerskin shirt had been his own kill from his first hunt. Harvest season was in full swing, the three sisters had been generous this year in their yield, and the entire village was thankful. There would be a dance tonight, celebrating their good fortune. The community would thank each other for their hard work share stories of the year, laugh and feast and talk, and nobody would mention the fire and the lives lost that day.
He glanced up to the trees, wanting to climb them, to get high above the ground, high were it might almost be safe.
Except nowhere was safe. He had learned that when he was six years old. Nothing had been the same after the fire. When the atenenyarhu, the Stone Coat named Charles Lee had come, the creation of the evil twin Flint was nothing like Ratonhnhaké:ton had expected. Atenenyarhu were rock giants, twice as tall as humans and covered in rock hard scales. Impervious to normal weapons, they were cannibal monsters that ate humans. They brought winter and ice to freeze the ground and make the world more like them. Charles Lee looked nothing like an atenenyarhu, but Ratonhnhaké:ton had come to the conclusion that he was a Stone Coat never the less, for he had done all the things the legends spoke of. He came in late fall and brought the winter with him, he froze Ratonhnhaké:ton with his blue eyes – the color of icy stone – and his fire stick, called a musket in the white language, had made him invulnerable to all the men and women of the village. And, the most terrible similarity of all, he ate people.
Charles Lee had eaten his mother, little Aarushi, several of the Rottiá:ner chiefs, and a half dozen others. Their deaths had fed his evil nature, and Ratonhnhaké:ton could not understand how the village had simply moved on from the tragedy. All of their vulnerabilities had been laid bare, the Kanien'kehá:ka were poorly equipped for the creatures of Hahgwehdaetgah, the creatures of the evil twin Flint.
Ratonhnhaké:ton was anxious. Ever since the fire he felt uncertainty, nervous energy as he waited for the next assault from the Stone Coats, the next atrocity that would come. Nobody was safe, and he could not understand why everyone would act as if they were. He tried to talk to others, Oiá:ner who had taken him in after the fire had listened the most; she alone seemed to understand his fear, and gave him tools to try and compartmentalize it, understand it, use it for greater things. Stillness, she said, was his greatest ally. To take the momentous energy that boiled inside him and hold it perfectly still was a trial; a trial of patience, of strength, and of stamina. If he could learn stillness, he could master the pain that ached in his chest when he began to worry. If he could learn stillness, he could master his mind and he could see what it is he needed to do.
He had still to master these things; he had still to understand how being still could make him know how to protect Kanatahséton, but she was wise and the entire village looked to her, and so did he.
Though he was impatient to learn the secret of stillness, he could understand, in a practical sense, how it could help him. At fourteen he was one of Kanatahséton's greatest hunters because his stillness brought silence, and many regaled him as a genius of the hunt.
He was no genius, Ratonhnhaké:ton knew. Only a boy who listened to those who knew better.
Speaking of which, the sun had been up for a very long time; where...?
"Peace!" Kanen'tó:kon said, darting up.
Ratonhnhaké:ton pursed his lips. "You're late," he said simply.
His best friend smiled, self-effacing and unapologetic. "Sorry. You're not still mad at me, are you?" His bow was slung along his back along with his quiver. Three turkey feathers poked out from his hair, and his deerskin shirt was heavily detailed, patterns woven into the shoulders and fringes dangling along the line of his collarbone. Ratonhnhaké:ton saw little use in such decoration, he was practical down to his bones, wanting to look as plain and invisible as possible so the Stone Coats would not see him again. Anxiety of the thought shivered over him and he took a deep breath, remembering stillness.
"Come," he said instead. "We have work to do. Oiá:ner has asked us to gather materials for tonight. We'll start with the feathers. We can scout the area for bird nests from up there." He pointed up along the trunk he had just been sitting by, having already traced a path to a massive tree that easily extended sixty or eighty feet in the air. From there they could spy likely spots for nests to gather feathers for the dance. Kanen'tó:kon, heavy set and always slightly lazy, looked up the route and gulped audibly, his slight double chin making the motion more visible. His eyebrows rose into his high forehead and he gave Ratonhnhaké:ton a worried glance.
Ratonhnhaké:ton shook his head slightly, and calmly darted up to the flat trunk and up the fallen neck of the oak, the circumference of the tree comfortably thick and its dead branches under it easily supporting its weight. "See?" he said. "Not so bad." From there he hopped down to the abbreviated limb of a pine, the branch thinner and giving under his weight, but Ratonhnhaké:ton was nimble and only stayed on the branch for a fraction of a breath before hopping up to a split in the pine, the tree having chosen to grow in two directions. A glance behind showed his heavy-set friend following at a much more tepid, tenuous pace. That was fine, and Ratonhnhaké:ton took a breath and skittered up to the next branching of the pine, his hands hooking around old knots and long dead twigs. The bark was rough, and the pine sap saturated his hands, making them sticky. That only helped him climb and soon he was standing on another bisection of the tree.
"There's nothing to hang on to," his friend said from below.
"Hén there is," he replied, "Look for places where the bark knots."
It took ten minutes, but soon Kanen'tó:kon was as high as he was.
"Better?" Ratonhnhaké:ton asked.
"... It is beautiful," Kanen'tó:kon said, eyes soaking up the view. His turkey feathers blew in the wind, and he leaned against a branch, awe-struck at the view.
Ratonhnhaké:ton agreed. He could see the entire valley through the boughs of pine, saw all the valleys cut from the river and the trees reaching up towards the Sky Goddess Iottsitíson. Atahensic, the Earth Mother, had created a beautiful world for the Haudenosaunee to live; it was plentiful of game and fish, the three sisters fed them well, nothing went to waste. Indeed, it was everything a person could ask for. And yet... And yet...
"But for how long?" Ratonhnhaké:ton asked. "Come spring two dozen men will have moved here. By fall there will be two dozen more. They will hunt in these forests. They will settle on this land. In less than a year there will be a hundred of them. In time they will swallow us whole." The white people were dangerous, they hid the evils of the world, the dark creations of the evil twin Hahgwehdaetgah. A hundred years ago, they bothered other tribes, the Mahican and the Pennacook, the Pocumtuk and Munsee and Unami. Before that the Wappinger, the Mohegan and the Pequot, the Wampangag and Narraganset and Massachuset. Bloody wars came from the nations that saw the danger, but many simply did not realize the trap. They allowed the white men to come and use the land, they traded away all of their traditional territory because the white man saw the land as something to be owned.
Warraghiyagey said that the difference in culture was staggering, and that agents like him tried to bridge the gap, that white men and native peoples could live in harmony so long as intermediaries existed, so long as the Covenant Chain existed. Ratonhnhaké:ton did not trust the man, did not trust someone who interpreted his name to mean He Who Does Great Things. There was an arrogance there, it made him anxious as everything about the white man did. For all of Warraghiyagey's words, still they crept into the valley. They were as snakes, and the ohdow who lived underground to keep such creatures under control could not contain them. No, the extinction of his people was nigh, perhaps even at hand, and Ratonhnhaké:ton could not understand why the others didn't see it.
Kanen'tó:kon exemplified his thoughts by saying: "They are still far away."
Ratonhnhaké:ton was frustrated. "Hén. But they are closer than they were. We need to do something. If we do not act, if we do not fight, it will happen again... The atenenyarhu will come and eat us with fire as they did before..." He had to stop it. He had to protect his people, or he would never feel safe again. Anxiety set his nerves on edge, his toes curled in his moccasins, and he had long ago lost all thought of the errands he was supposed to run.
Kanen'tó:kon knew his moods well, and like any best friend he knew when to push and when to retreat. "Enough of that," he said gently, closing the topic. "I thought you were teaching me how to climb."
Ratonhnhaké:ton closed his eyes, and reached for stillness. "Fine," he said, opening his eyes and focusing on what he had been tasked to do. His eyes caught an old giant, leaning out over a cliff and with a nest resting on it. "There," he said, pointing. "An eagle's nest. The feathers will be finer than the others."
He friend audibly gulped at the height, suddenly acutely aware of how much he weighed and what he could and could not do. He offered an excuse. "But we are not supposed to leave the valley..."
"No one needs to know, do they?" Ratonhnhaké:ton replied, offering a smile he did not feel, trying to reassure Kanen'tó:kon that all was well even when it was not. "Let's see if we can make it there without touching the ground."
"This is a bad idea..."
"Do as I do," Ratonhnhaké:ton said, and with abandon he leapt from his perch down to a dead branch he had spied earlier, waiting for the swing to absorb the energy before he flew around the trunk and to another branch, hopping to a second tree and up and down and up again, his feet barely touching the wood, the pine and maple sap giving his hands better grip, his eyes darting left right and center to find his next handhold, his next leap, his next tree. There was a freedom in this, his mind was completely focused on the run, and for a brief time his anxiety left him, and he was able to feel calm.
He made it to the river, crouched on a dead stub of a white oak, taking a moment to breathe and figure out where to go next. Ratonhnhaké:ton had challenged himself to not touch the ground, and he needed to figure out how to cross the river. There was a branch stemming the distance, and a massive bolder placed by the Gahonga Stone Rollers... Yes, he had a route. Leaping off the branch he had been resting on, he extended himself fully and just barely made his sticky hands wrap around a pine branch, shaking cones out from the boughs and to the forest floor twenty feet below. He swung from one branch to another, working his arms to their fullest before landing on a tree growing at an angle. One hop and he was one a stone outcropping. His body felt positive energy, and he looked behind him to see Kanen'tó:kon only just barely visible.
"You are too fast!" he admonished. "You were just humoring me earlier! Ah, I need a moment!" He finally caught up and panted, a hand rubbing his thick middle as he gulped for air and tried to calm his heart.
Calm, energized, unwilling to stop, Ratonhnhaké:ton curled his toes and hopped onto the log and continued their trek. The valley wall was upon them now, and already his mind was darting ahead, planning to get up high again; there was a crevice perhaps fifty feet up that would be perfect...
"Ratonhnhaké:ton!"
Turning, he saw Kanen'tó:kon had lost his balance and falling into the freezing river. This always happened; Kanen'tó:kon did not have the invisible drive that Ratonhnhaké:ton did, and his tepid, lazy nature got him in trouble. Ratonhnhaké:ton, however, would be a poor friend indeed if he did not accept these faults in his friend's character, just as Kanen'tó:kon accepted his seemingly unconquerable anxiety. Tiptoeing back over the log, Ratonhnhaké:ton took a moment to place his feet for balance and reached down, grabbing Kanen'tó:kon's hand and lifting him out of the water. He shivered, reaching up and checking the turkey feathers in his hair, and took a shaky breathe.
"Niá:wen," he said gratefully.
Ratonhnhaké:ton nodded, the pair shared a real smile, and they moved on. Ratonhnhaké:ton now remembered his pace, pointing out knots and crevices in trees to grip and letting his friend take an easier route. They stopped in the branches of another tree, Ratonhnhaké:ton perfectly placed to start his climb up the cliff wall. "Now we climb," he said, anticipation starting to fill him.
Kanen'tó:kon shook his head. "This is too much," he said.
"How do you hope to improve if you don't push yourself?"
"But what will happen if I fall and die?"
Ratonhnhaké:ton shook his head. His teeth were in his goal now, and he was loath to drop it now that he was so close. "There should be some other nests nearby. Search those," he said. "I'm going up."
Kanen'tó:kon smiled, shaking his head helplessly at his friend's determination, and without a word he shimmied his way down to a stone outcropping, happy with the easier task Ratonhnhaké:ton had given him. Ratonhnhaké:ton, by contrast, immediately leapt out over the drop, hands grabbing onto the moss covered rock and hoisting himself up onto the desired shelf.
The beginning of the climb was easy, just a mass of shelves, rock piled on top of one another that he hopped and hoisted and lifted himself onto, easily gaining twice the height he had started in the span of half an hour; after that was the crevice he had spied, and progress slowed rapidly as he made certain of his hands and feet. It was not long before he was sweating in the chill air, the moisture wearing away the sap clinging to his skin and making him doubly careful of where he placed himself. Still, by the end of the hour he was up on the shelf that the tree had fallen, and he looked up. The base of the giant was even higher up, and for a moment he was tempted to find his way up there, to see the world from so close to the sky. Oiá:ner's list still persisted in his mind, and the last thing he wanted to do was disappoint her. Instead he crawled out on the remains of the tree. He was so high up he felt breathless, and he kept his legs fully encircled around the limb as he shimmied forward, looking out to the valley and the great lake; marveling once again at the gifts the spirits had given them.
The eagle nest was massive, easily six feet wide. This late in the year all the children had left the nest leaving only the fine down of feathers mixed with bits of eggshell and the other sundry elements that make up an eagle nest. The feathers were massive, to be expected from such large birds, and Ratonhnhaké:ton easily grabbed four or five, each larger than his hand spanning from fingertip to well past his wrist. One almost went to his elbow, and he vary carefully tucked them away into his hunting pack, appreciating the excellent find.
That was when he was spotted.
There was a pitched shriek above his head, and he looked up to see that the owner of the nest was swooping down, claws extended.
Startled, Ratonhnhaké:ton lost his balance and swung to one side, his legs scraping the circumference of the log and suddenly hanging upside down, his arms flailing over his head to the deadly drop below. "I understand," he said quickly, "I will leave now!"
The eagle caught a draft and lifted back into the sky, and Ratonhnhaké:ton used the reprieve to get his hands secured and began back sliding the way he had come, shimmying for three or four feet before risking the arduous task of putting his weight on the log instead of under. No sooner had he righted himself did the eagle swoop down again, its massive wings flapping and its claws scratching at his deerskin shirt. A quick swipe shooed the bird away, and Ratonhnhaké:ton moved faster, finally making it to the shelf and ducking into the shadows, a squawk of energy bubbling up from his throat as he ran to the vertical crevice. Swinging over the edge, he began a furious descent down, the eagle determined to protect its territory, and harassed him for several feet before at last Ratonhnhaké:ton was deemed far enough away to no longer bother with. He was left panting on one of the lower shelves, stunned and full of energy and surprised to find himself smiling.
After several minutes of catching his breath he finished his descent, and saw the gleeful grin of Kanen'tó:kon. "Are you proud to upset a mother so fiercely?" he asked, voice coy.
Ratonhnhaké:ton pleaded ignorance. "What?" he asked. "I did that on purpose. Did you get many feathers?"
"Many," Kanen'tó:kon answered. "Almost a dozen; robins, bluejays, and several hawk feathers. Color and strength. Did the eagle allow you her feathers?"
Ratonhnhaké:ton pulled out his feathers. "Hén," he said simply. Kanen'tó:kon whistled. "Now we hunt."
Kanen'tó:kon sighed. "I've never been a good hunter. And don't say it's because I'm fat!" he added defensively.
"Follow me, then," Ratonhnhaké:ton said. "I will teach you." Together they pulled out their bows and each took an arrow. Flint had been replaced with metal long ago, trade with the white people brought some advantages to their lives, and Ratonhnhaké:ton stalked the woods on silent feet. Kanen'tó:kon was silent enough, but he did not have the lessons on stillness that the Clan Mother had so earnestly enforced on Ratonhnhaké:ton. His motion was obvious to all the animals, and his lack of balance and extra weight made the paths he chose harder to stay hidden in. Eventually, however, they found a patch of ferns and were able to settle in. Several snares had been set by the river for beavers, in a grassy field for rabbits, and on a hill for foxes. Those would be full by sunset, and now they needed bigger game.
Ratonhnhaké:ton spotted a deer, female, poking through the woods towards the river for water. He gestured at his friend before drawing the bow and taking deliberate aim. Afterwards, he went over skinning and helped Kanentó:kon do it properly. The work took them well into the afternoon, and they had several pounds of meat, bone, tendon, teeth, and hide to carry back to the village. They almost didn't make it, the drums were beating and the singing had already started. Kanen'tó:kon was happy to display the bounty, and soon he disappeared into the crowds, telling stories of Ratonhnhaké:ton's battle with a bald eagle, exaggerating it to include an impossible fall into a pile of pine boughs. Many were gathered around the fires, ready to celebrate the bounty the three sisters had provided.
The anxiety began to fill Ratonhnhaké:ton again, seeing the celebration and the joy when he knew all too well that this was an illusion, that they were not safe. He frowned, reaching for stillness, trying to put his tension away to enjoy the evening.
A hand touched his shoulder and he looked to see Oiá:ner at his side. She was weathered by time, trial, and wisdom; her face showing the weight of the life she had lived. Her hair was a solid grey, pulled into two braids instead of the traditional one, and she wore the pattern of her station as clan mother: shell earrings and necklaces, deeply embroidered deerskin dress, a scarf that told the story of her life wrapped loosely around her shoulders to keep the autumn chill out. In her hand was a wrapped staff displaying the power she held over the village. Oiá:ner was the oldest of the oiá:ner, and it was she who decided the fate of everyone in Kanatahséton. With little more than a gesture Ratonhnhaké:ton took his cue to follow, and they entered into the rebuilt longhouse that had been destroyed in the fire created by the Stone Coat Charles Lee. Ratonhnhaké:ton took his place at the center hearth and Oiá:ner began to speak.
"I know you wonder why it is we do not wander from these woods," she said slowly, her voice as weighed down as the lines of her face. "Why it is we do not join the other Kanien'kehá:ka in war. I know you feel anxiety over the safety of this village, that you would have us pick up and move away from the white people and search for safety elsewhere. Tonight," she said sitting down gingerly, in respect to her old bones, "you will have your answers. Our village sits on sacred ground. And it is our duty - above all other things - to keep it hidden from the world."
He had heard this before. The clan mothers and clan chiefs all spoke of how isolated they were, even with the other Kanien'kehá:ka, and of how they needed to maintain that. "Even if it means allowing our enemies to gain strength?" he asked. "Even if it means the white settlers crawl in, a little at a time, until attrition comes and we are eaten by atenenyarhu that are hidden in their midst?"
Oiá:ner shook her head. "It is a difficult position for us. We are caught between the need to act," she gestured with one hand, "and the knowledge that doing so endangers us," she gestured with the other. Her shadow danced across the far wall of the long house, large and looming, the fingers of her hands blurry and indistinct. Was the choice truly so hard? Was the solution not obvious? It was to him, but what was there that he was missing?
"What is so important that you would see us imprisoned by ourselves?" he asked.
Oiá:ner nodded, getting up and walking over to a simple wooden box, opening it and pulling out a curious object. A sphere like a perfect drop of water, large enough to wrap both hands around with room to spare, and clear as the sky. She held it delicately, gazing into it with contemplation, before walking around the fire and placing it in Ratonhnhaké:ton's hands.
"What is it?" the boy asked.
"A door," she said simply.
And then his world was filled with light. Fuck I know what this is. Ezio went through this twice! The sphere of glass glowed so brightly he winced against it, and when he could at last open his eyes he saw he was alone. "Oiá:ner?" he asked, but the longhouse itself had been transformed, misshapen into lines of darkness and light, texture emboldened by the thin gold strips of light, the fire reduced to a small swell of gold on its own, but even it paled in comparison to the globe he held in his hands. He had never seen anything like this before, he felt scared, uncertain. Was he in the spirit world? Was the evil twin Hahgwehdaetgah to come and do him harm? No, if his village was here to protect something, then perhaps it was the good twin Hahgwehdiyu, he who put a plant into his mother's body to grant the gift of maize, one of the three sisters. Or would he see something else all together? What was happening? What was happening?
"Greetings guardian."
Eyes snapped forward, and before him was a woman of white holy fuck that's Juno! white veil, white dress, white shawl, and skin so white that Ratonhnhaké:ton could not fathom why the white settlers considered themselves white. Dark, finely braided hair seemed to flow about her, and a serene smile was centered on her face.
"Are you," Ratonhnhaké:ton asked, afraid to voice his question, "a spirit?"
"You may think of me as such," the woman said.
"... Where am I?"
"You are where you were before. If you mean to ask what it is you now see - it is known as the Nexus. From here, probabilities are calculated so that the proper path may be chosen."
Path? "What path?"
Behind the white smile were white teeth. "Yours."
And Ratonhnhaké:ton was engulfed in white.
And then he was flying.
He was...
He was flying!
And endless sea of clouds spread out before him, the sun a bright gold to his right and the massive silhouette of a tree off in the distance. For a time all he could do was stare, unable to comprehend that he had been taken to such a beautiful place. It was only when he started to fall that he realized the danger of being so high up. He flapped his wings instinctively, trying to compensate for the dip and swooped up effortlessly on an updraft.
Wait... wings?
And, indeed, he had wings, and talons, and a beak, and eyes that could drink in every detail of the cloudy world that he was flying above. Senses were awakened as he had never known before, sight and hearing and sensation rippled through him, he tried to scream but an eagle shriek echoed out of him, high and elated.
"Follow me."
Only then did Ratonhnhaké:ton see a golden eagle – literally, an eagle of golden light – flying below him, riding the air currents with majesty and skill.
"What have you done to me?!" he demanded, surprised that his voice echoed not from his throat but into the echoes of the world. How as this possible? How was any of this possible?
"I have selected a form familiar to your culture. It is designed to ease navigation." The spirit said little more, simply flying through the air, and Ratonhnhaké:ton could only follow through the golden rays of the sun, towards the massive canopy of a tree in the distance. Elation and apprehension filled him in equal parts. The Spirit World was beautiful, flight was beautiful, once he mastered it, and he felt as though he could ride these winds forever. He had a new respect for Tekawerahkwa, the Breath of the Wind and daughter of Iottsitíson the Sky Goddess and the gift she gave the world; he had never felt such powerful winds, had never known that birds could live and play in such a magnificent world. At the same time, he feared what this spirit – what was her name? - had to show him. Dreams were one things, direct visions such as this... he had never heard of them, and he dreaded to learn of the fate that was about to be given to him. Would a fate be given to him? Or would this woman lead him to his mother...?
"We have waited millennia for your arrival. You - who will bring to him the last piece. That he may open the door."
"I do not understand."
"Nor need you."
The golden eagle dived into the clouds, and Ratonhnhaké:ton followed, the rush of the wind and the sense of a perfectly controlled fall sending a thrill through his new body. No wonder that eagle had attacked him so vigorously, perhaps she wanted the enjoyment of diving like this...!
The world below was not as the paradise above. Winter covered the cliffs and the lands below. There was a sense of cold, darkness, and bleak danger. All the feelings from the fire suddenly flooded him, anxiety bursting in his new chest and making his wings quiver as he continued his dive. His feathers threatened to molt from his body as an icy wind coursed through him, and he could only think of the atenenyarhu, the Stone Coats. He felt small, insignificant, alone in such a desolate winter, much as he had as a child, and he felt uncertainty and pain. Why was he going on this journey? Why was this spirit seeking to show him something and yet deem it unnecessary for him to understand? Did he truly matter so little?
"I sense my words cause pain," the golden eagle said, her words carrying over the wind and snow and whispering in his ear. "But such was not my intention. You are important, child. In more ways than you will ever know."
Important? Important in what-
An unexpected downdraft caught Ratonhnhaké:ton unawares, and with it a new vision splashed across his sight. Men sitting around a table, faces burning into his brain. One man sat at the head, the others looking to him for guidance, faces he had seen before, faces that he would never forget. Charles Lee and his compatriots! Led by a man he did not know.
"As we speak, forces gather in secret," the spirit said, "preparing to seize control of the land."
It was Ratonhnhaké:ton's worst fear come to pass. The Stone Coats sought to eat his people.
Another vision arrived, the man leading the atenenyarhu with his hand raised in order, an object to his side smoking and an explosion seen off in the distance, Charles Lee looking on. "If they succeed," the golden eagle said, "the sanctuary will be breached."
Then Ratonhnhaké:ton was right. They needed to leave, all of them. The entire village must flee to save themselves from the spawn of the evil twin Flint. There was no hope. What could he or his people do against the Stone Coats? They were impervious to weapons! He was wrong to seek to fight as the other Haudenosaunee did, but he was right that staying here would only lead to obliteration.
Beyond the vision was the spirit world again, this time basked in the late evening glow of summer; everything was gold, the scent of pine and hickory thick in the air, maples and oaks and birches thickly knotted, giving Ratonhnhaké:ton a maze to navigate as he flew. The pleasant imagery did not give him comfort, and he could feel his wings straining with the tension his body felt against the knowledge of futility. It could not be so fatalistic; surely, surely, there was something that could be done? Some way to stop what this spirit was predicting? Who was she, that she knew so much?
"Yours is a special lineage," the golden eagle said. "Past. Present. Future. Many are connected to you; many who have changed the world; who will change the world. So too, shall you. I have called you here that you might know your duty."
Duty? What duty? What was he to do? What could he do in the face of this awful future?
"You must protect the sanctuary from those that would undo our work."
Again, sanctuary. "What sanctuary?" he asked. "What work?" Who was she?
Through a field and swooping through a narrow pass, the world abruptly turned to winter again, the chill and bleak anxiety returning with it. An updraft sent him unexpectedly up, he had to shift his wingspan to compensate, and beyond him was the massive tree of before, the distant horizon had at last arrived, and that was when he realized where he was. This was... This was the great tree! Below was the hole into which Iottsitíson fell from the sky; he was journeying to the center of the earth, where the giant turtle was, that saved her and brought her back to the surface. This was no ordinary spirit, this was Iottseitíson, the Sky Goddess herself! The stories of her difficult journey were legend, and pain began to fill his wings and talons as another downdraft caught him, pulling him down into the dangerous thorns of the roots of the tree. More visions were ripped into Ratonhnhaké:ton's mind.
All the faces of his village filled his sight, faces etched in horror and pain and fear, settler crosses and grave markers hanging over their heads. Death. Death was to come. "Maintaining your current course will result in a negative outcome," Iottsitíson said, confirming Ratonhnhaké:ton's fears. Another sight burned into his mind: stone buildings, villages he had never seen before, faceless people, all suffering in some way, fighting, blood was everywhere. "Premature access will destabilize the region. Your village and its people will be destroyed."
Fire was everywhere. Ratonhnhaké:ton felt sick to his stomach. How could this be stopped? How could any of this be stopped? What... what...
"What am I to do?" he begged, flying through the roots of the great tree, threatening to clip his wings, to halt his progress, to stop him from his journey. He rode whatever currents of wind he could find, praying he would not die prematurely, hoping there was light at the end of this terrible darkness. He pushed forward, trying to find an end to the sadness, the despair. The roots seemed to move and undulate, closing in on him and giving him narrower and narrower places to fly. He was afraid.
Iottsitíson spoke again, her eagle no longer gold but red, burning embers flying away from her, hot to the touch. "You will learn of a man who will provide additional training," she said, showing a picture of Ratonhnhaké:ton taking something from a man in shadow. "Seek this symbol." An arrowhead such as he had never seen before filled his mind, and he unconsciously flew towards it, seeing it over and over, taking him through narrower and narrower openings. The roots were everywhere, on fire, threatening to burn him alive, and still he tried to follow the arrowheads as they appeared, clinging to the missive Iottsitíson had given him, hoping it would lead to the end of the madness.
At the end there was a burst of light, white and consuming and causing Ratonhnhaké:ton to disappear into it as his very soul was ripped apart.
"No doubt you have many questions. Time will see them answered. For now, you must follow. Leading is for later."
Author's Notes: Whew, what a chapter. And not just Ratonhnhake:ton's emotional roller coaster.
The culture dump in this chapter is substantial. We've tried really hard to explain it as we go and still make it natural, but some things relate to bigger themes of the story and so there a couple things to point out. One: Iottsitison the Sky Goddess. If you've played Rogue you know her origin story - fell from the sky through a hole in the ground made by a tree; inside there was water from which a great turtle appeared and took her back to the surface; and depending on the legend gave birth to Earth Mother. Earth Mother in turn gave birth to twins: Hagwehdiyu and Hagwehdaetgah (Sky Holder and Flint respectively). Hagwehdaetgah/Flint is said to have burst from his mother's side, killing her, while Hagwehdiyu/Sky Holder planted a seed in his mother's corpse and from it, maize (one of the three sisters) was born. Juno took the form of Iottsitison and Ratonhnhake:ton refers to her as that for the rest of the fic.
Two: legend vary A FREAKING LOT in Haudenosaunee/Iroquois culture, and the twins are either seen as Good Twin/Bad Twin (which the two of us as twins will grumble over for all eternity) or as the two sides of human nature. Obviously, for Ratonhnhake:ton, his village considers them good/bad twins.
Three: there are a BUNCH of spirits, animals, and creatures in Haudenosaunee-Iroquois mythology, but the one that's most important for Ratonhnhake:ton is the Atenenyarhu, which translates as Stone Coats. As explained in the chapter, they are stone covered creatures that bring winter and eat people, and that is the effigy Ratonhnhake:ton has settled on to make sense of what happened to him as a child.
As a side note - according to the game Ratonhnhake:ton is four when this event happens, and that's a bit of a stretch for us to believe for several reasons. He doesn't look four, he doesn't act four, and at the age of four his memories aren't going to be clear enough for him to remember all of this for when he's older. His game model looks closer to eight or ten, so we split the difference and made him six.
Four: Dreams are a big thing in Haudenosaunee/Iroquois culture. Dreams were considered to be prophetic, and so bad dreams meant bad things were going to happen. Say, someone dreams of loosing a lacrosse match. To undo the bad dream, said someone and their friends will act it out, i.e. play a lacrosse game where the someone looses, to prevent it from happening at an important or big event/time in their life.
Five: Throughout the rest of the fic, because Ratonhnhake:ton is a native, he will use native names rather than white names for various tribes, people, etc. The Mowhawk are Kanien'keha:ka, Iroquois are Haudenosaunee, etc. Iroquois is the french pronunciation of Hirokoa, which is actually an insult to the Haudenosaunee. The rival tribes who spoke the Algonquian language called the Haudenosaunee hirokoa, which means "killer people." By default we've (perhaps obviously) decided to use it as the native word for Assassin.
Six:If you ever have time, go to google images and look up native american tribes before colonization. Balk at the number of tribes that lived JUST in New England. One great flaw in this fic is that we just couldn't reach all of those tribes, customs, stories, or even anything relevant to them. We don't even get into the rest of the Haudenosaunee, the Sullivan Expedition notwithstanding. Remember, there used to be 42 MILLION people living in the "New World" before we went and exterminated them.
Next chapter: A Boorish Man, from a different perspective.