Part Eleven: Death of a Sachem

The meat Myriam offered was good, but not enough with both Stephane and Duncan at the manor, so Connor spent much of February out in the forests, catching, curing, and preserving enough food to finish the cold, short month, and also March and possibly into April, depending on how long winter lasted this year.

He returned with his yield and Stephane gleefully looked at the variety and started muttering in French about different recipes and eagerly took to the kitchen.

"He's a fiery man, that Stephane," Duncan chuckled.

"That fire will burn him to ashes if he isn't careful," Achilles grumbled. He turned to Connor. "It's too late in the day for you to practice forms, and too cold for these old bones. We've gotten more word from Boston and you'll be reading through those and analyzing how the climate is changing. You've a month's worth of newssheets and letters from that Committee to look through. We'll discuss it at dinner."

Connor balked. That was a lot of reading to get through and it was already mid-afternoon! "Old Man," he grunted.

"I expect to hear a lot of silence," Achilles called back over his shoulder as he headed down the hall to his room. "Reading requires silence, after all."

Duncan gave a low chuckle. "A harsh taskmaster, that man."

"That is one way to describe him," Connor replied.

"Let's get down to the cellar," Duncan smiled warmly. "I want to talk to you about somethin' and down there the Old Man won't hear a thin'."

"Very well."

Down in the root cellar, Connor lit the lamps as Duncan went to the portraits on the wall, staring at them. On a small table was the stack of newssheets and correspondences and Connor just shook his head at the pile. It would be a lot to get through.

"There was something I've been meaning to tell ye..." Duncan said softly. Connor turned. "I met your Da. It was a long time ago in London."

Connor stiffened, uncertainty and anxiety rising within him. His father. He knew little of his father. His mother never spoke of him, and all he knew was that he had betrayed her and she had left. Coming to Achilles, he'd learned how his father had betrayed his mother: by being a Templar. His father worked with Charles Lee, the atenenyarhu who had destroyed his village. Achilles would sometimes share stories of facing off against the Templars during the war, but Connor still knew so little about the actual man that was his father. He did not know what to feel, how to act. And so the anxiety rose and he clenched his jaw to hold it back, to reach for stillness.

"I was just a boy," Duncan stared at the portrait, his mind far back in a memory, "well, I didn't meet him really, just saw him do a fella in at the London Opera House. Me uncle..." Duncan shook his head slowly. "I was sitting in the balcony with that uncle of mine. Went to have a piss and when I came back, there's your Da. Dashin' as they come, he was, shirt, jacket immaculate. Me uncle was just slumped there. Looked like he was sleepin'. But I knew better even if I was a child. Me uncle taught me better than that."

Duncan sighed and turned. "Your Da locked eyes on me. And I don't think I've ever been so frightened as I was in that instant. It wasn't a fear that he was going to cause me pain, it was a sense that he saw right through me – into my heart – and he'd crush it if it pleased him. But he didn't. He just raised his finger to his lips and gestured for my silence. I complied. Then he was gone."

Connor tilted his head. His father, a Stone Coat who ate others, had spared Duncan? That was not in the nature of an antenenyarhu. Charles Lee and the Templars with him had left him for dead, content that they had eaten him. For his father to see one alive and not eat him... It was strange and it bothered Connor. His father was a spawn of the evil twin Flint. He should not have such mercy or compassion.

It confused him greatly, and did not ease his anxiety.

But Connor said nothing of it. Instead, he said softly, "He would have sailed for the Colonies not long after. I am astonished that you were actually there. In a world so vast and with so many people, you have seen my father, survived, and are now with me fighting him. Iottsitíson must have some plan in guiding you and me here."

Duncan gave another of his small chuckles. "You can imagine my surprise when I saw his face," he said, pointing behind him to the portrait. "Took me a while to piece it together but... there you have it. Thought you'd like to know."

To that, at least, Connor smiled gently. "Thank you."

The Committee of Correspondence was still sending word as people took to the meeting houses to worry over what England's response would be to the dumping of the tea. A Committee of Safety had been formed as a precaution and tensions were not unbearable, but still there as England continued to debate a proper response. Word that did reach the colonies from people who had visited Parliament did not look good, but the anger at how unlawful London had been toward the colonies did not dim. Word spread that Parliament wanted payment. The cost of all the lost tea was to be repaid to the East India trade company, and as word of that spread, the richest colonists all sailed to England in order to offer payment. The Prime Minister refused them.

Lance often spoke about this and how frustrating it was that for every step they made towards making the point that England was wrong, the English seemed to dig in their heels further and further. Godfrey and Terry, being more directly from the Empire in their conquered Scotland, were a bit more hesitant to go so far, but agreed that the heavy-handed approach very rarely ever got the point across. The debates the three of them got into were often heated, but always ended on a friendly note that as long as they worked together in the homestead, they could argue all they wanted. Especially where Godfrey and Terry enjoyed a good argument, it seemed.

The weather was finally starting to warm, and the Freemans were running about their farm, planting as fast as they could so that they'd be ready for the coming growing season, even though both the house and barn weren't quite done yet. Warren would happily talk about how, after this year's growth, he'd likely have enough money to start looking at cows and chickens to get milk and fresh eggs.

Norris was pleased with the mine, finding some sort of iron ore in abundant supply. Myriam wandered out of the woods from time to time, always with pelts to sell or salted meats. Terry's children still ran about the property, though after Connor had a firm talk with them about the dangers of the woods, they stayed closer to people's homes. Godfrey's children came by to visit and were happy to share how their apprenticeships were going.

Connor couldn't help but be amazed. It had been a quiet valley when he'd arrived, with only the manor and the Old Man. But now it seemed he was always going down the hill to join someone for dinner, or provide an extra hand. Achilles always told him to get going, that interacting with people was the best way to learn culture, and to get out of the house so that he could work more closely with Stephane and Duncan.

Had it really been five years? Connor had just turned eighteen and he still could not believe he'd been so far from his home for so long.

One morning, before the sun had even peaked across the horizon, Connor had pulled Duncan and Stephane out of the manor for their morning run. Duncan, who had lived this training as a child, had grumbled and groaned, but always dragged himself out of bed. Stephane, who'd never had this sort of training before, was always difficult to wake.

Once they were up, Connor started running. He did not go as fast as he would like, instead keeping a good pace with his fellow Assassins. When they finally paused and turned to head back, Connor would finally put on a burst of speed to see how far he could go. Then he would turn and walk back.

That morning, on the walk back, he was stopped.

"Connor! Oh, Connor, do you have a moment?"

Turning, he looked to his right and found Diana waving from down by the river, where she had a bucket of clothes for washing. "Good morning!" he called as he walked down from the path. "I see you are busy early."

Diana gave a light giggle. "You've been busy earlier," she noted. "We never see you go by, but we always see ye walking back. I don't know how you wake so early."

Connor shrugged. It was just something he did. "How may I help you?" he asked.

Diana hesitated, nervously pushing hair back from her face. "I... I think I need you as go between."

"Oh?" Connor blinked. "Have you argued with someone? I thought that was best left to your husband."

Diana laughed at that. "Oh, my Terry, he's a good one for picking a fight alright." She rubbed at the clothes and slapped them on a nearby rock. "No, it's just something that Catherine and I have noticed and we're worried. The farmers..."

"Warren and Prudence?"

"Aye," Diana looked to the clothes. "Catherine and I... we..." she let out a sigh. "Women folk like to talk just as much as the men," she said, looking out to the water. "Catherine and I, we talk all the time. We know that our husbands don't understand all we talk about and label it as 'mysteries of women', but we women need to be... social."

"And you have been most kind to me," Connor smiled warmly. "And to Achilles and Stephane and Duncan."

Diana giggled. "Yes, all the men folk about. But Prudence... we've invited her over for tea or dinner, her and Warren both but... they never come. Warren will drop by, offer apologies, he's always so polite about it, but we haven't seen hide nor hair of Prudence since ye introduced us. And she keeps sending our children back home saying a farm is no place for them." Diana shook her head in frustration. "If'n I didn't know better, I'd say she's terrified of us, but we don't know why."

That was strange. Warren and Prudence were both friendly and open with Connor and Achilles, and Connor knew that Lance was happy to work with them on the farm with building their home and barn. Prudence was weary of new people, but she didn't avoid them from what Connor had seen.

"I will speak with her."

"Just..." Diana looked down to her laundry again. "Tell her we're sorry. That whatever we've done to frighten her we never meant..."

"I understand," Connor said softly, his face as somber as the worry.

"Thank ye, Connor. Truly, we're blessed to have you as Lord of the Manor."

Connor shook his head. "I am no Lord."

Diana smiled warmly. "Ye might as well be. The best kind, the kind that fairy tales always speak of. The wise and just man who help all around him."

Blushing brightly Connor awkwardly shifted his weight. "I am no savior or knight. I merely do what I must, as any would."

"Not anyone," Diana smiled. "That's why."

Not liking this awkward conversation, Connor gave a polite, stuttering goodbye and headed back up to the path.

Connor considered going down the river to the Freeman's farm, but decided against it, Diana's words having flustered him too much. He returned to the manor, ready to have breakfast and hoping that whatever physical practice Achilles had in mind would finally put his mind back at ease.

Stephane and Duncan had already had breakfast and they were already down in the root cellar. Sparring if the grunts Connor heard were any indication. There was a small breakfast laid out in the kitchen for him, likely from Stephane, and Achilles was sitting at his usual spot, looking out to the ocean.

"Good morning," Connor greeted.

Achilles nodded, sipping his coffee. With the calls for boycotting British tea, coffee had quickly become the most popular substitute. "You're later than usual. Did you get farther this morning?"

Connor sat at his place and shook his head. "No," he said softly, his cheeks getting red again. "I was... held up."

Sharp, dark eyes regarded him and Connor could not quite stop the squirm. Eighteen. Even at eighteen he still squirmed under the gaze of an elder, be it Oiá:ner or a Roiá:ner such as the Old Man.

"Held up by what?"

Connor squirmed some more, his face getting redder and redder. "Diana..."

"Is a married woman."

"I know," Conner replied stiffly and vaguely insulted. "I would never...! It's just... she said that I..."

"Don't get me wrong," Achilles said, still sipping his coffee calmly, "it's good to know that you can at least notice a woman. You've been so single-minded that I-"

"Old Man!"

"You were saying?" Achilles arched a brow.

Connor let out a long and heavy sigh, explaining how Diana thought of him as Lord of the Manor and how that bothered him so.

Achilles chuckled. "Don't worry about it," he said. "Those lumberjacks, they're from Scotland. They're relating to you in a way that they understand from centuries of a feudal system. It's not accurate or correct by any stretch, but it's something that they can understand. I doubt Lance or Myriam or even Norris think that way."

"No," Connor replied, feeling a bit better. "They have never said such..."

"And you might have noticed," Achilles added, standing, "that those lumberjacks defer to you because they view you as Lord of the Manor. My heir. Lance, however will speak up if he disagrees. So will Myriam. Because they don't see you that way. Culture, Connor. There are many and various cultures all around the world. They may seem strange or backwards or tilted, but by understanding culture, we understand the lens through which people view us."

Achilles headed down to the cellar and Connor was left with his thoughts.

The talk with Achilles was perhaps the first time that Connor really saw why the constant study of culture was so important, he saw why the Old Man sent him to the cities or had him deal with the business of the property. It was a way of studying culture up close and interact with it, and he couldn't help but start to think of the backgrounds that the people he had met and how that had shaped them into the people they were.

It was a different method of thinking, and one he wanted to adjust to before going into a city like Boston with its diverse peoples.

But that didn't change how Diana had asked a favor of him, so, by the end of the week, Connor was heading down the hill to go to the Freeman farm. Warren and Lance were in the barn, finishing up the building for the growing season. Christopher, Lance's apprentice, was outside, sawing at planks of wood.

"Hello, Connor!" Lance called.

"Bonjour!" Warren greeted. "It's nice to see you!"

"Hello. I do not wish to interrupt..."

Lance laughed. "Oh, I think you have some good timing. We could use a break." He turned to his apprentice. "Christopher! Come here, I want to show you how we did this..."

Warren also laughed, pushing back his straw hat and wiping his brow under the warm day. A cool late-April breeze blew through as Warren walked over. "I don't think I've ever thanked you enough for all you've done for us."

Connor shook his head. "I did nothing. I brought you here and Achilles gave the land freely to you. I had little to do with it."

Warren put a hand to Connor's shoulder. "You are far too humble a man. Come, let's take a small break. Godfrey and Terry will be by soon to help with the larger joists."

"I actually wished to speak to you about Godfrey and Terry," Connor said, "or rather, Catherine and Diana."

Warren's smile cracked a little as he looked down to the ground. "Ah... I suspect I know what you are asking."

"Diana and Catherine wished to apologize to Prudence for whatever they have done..."

Warren shook his head. "They have done nothing. They are not wrong..."

"But..."

Warren looked sadly out to the field, where Prudence was crouched and digging, continuing with the plantings that would give the farm their first yield. "It is... a difficulty that has been growing for years now. And it..." Warren shook his head again. "I will keep praying." Turning back to Connor, the dark man gave a soft smile. "You should tell those ladies that it is not their doing. Prudence will adjust... in time."

It was not an explanation that made any sense. But Lance had called Warren back over and they leaned over the framing, explaining things to Christopher.

Connor sighed, not satisfied. It was clearly something painful to discuss, but things needed to be discussed. Diana and Catherine were attempting to figure out what was wrong on their own with little information and were apparently coming to the wrong conclusions. This would lead to misunderstandings and perhaps hurt feelings. The Freemans had seen enough suffering and Connor did not wish for a simple matter of a lack of clarity to lead to more difficulties. So he walked out to the field.

"Would you like some help?" he asked softly.

Prudence looked up with a bright smile. "Oh, Connor! That would be kind of you. I could use a few minutes."

"Your methods of planting are different than mine. Would you explain what to do?"

Prudence gave a soft giggle. "Of course. I've seen your small garden up at the manor. Is there a reason you plant three seeds together?"

"They are the Three Sisters," Connor said, digging into the soft soil. "I suppose by your culture, it would be a religious reason, but it is a matter of harmony. The three grow best together, supporting one another and helping each other."

"Warren and I were thinking of trying that in a small garden to see how it compares. But we need to have our first yield before we try other methods."

"You are welcome to observe the garden at the manor whenever you wish."

Prudence smiled.

"I wish to ask a question, but I am uncertain if this would be... prying."

She giggled again. "Best ask. I'll be the judge of that."

Connor sat back. "I wish no harm to come to any in this valley. But I think there is a misunderstanding that is hurting people and I do not understand the root of it."

"A misunderstanding?" Prudence asked, her face confused. "I don't know of any..."

"Why do you not see Catherine and Diana?" Connor asked directly. "They believe they have wronged you in some way and wish to apologize."

Connor did not expect tears to well up so swiftly in Prudence's eyes, spilling over as she slumped back. "Oh..." she said softly, struggling to control her breath, "oh..."

"Prudence?" Connor leaned forward, worried he that he had upset her so. "I apologize, I have pried..."

"No..." Prudence bit back a sob. "No... Clarity is necessary but I... I..." She wiped at her eyes with a rag. She closed her eyes tightly, and held a moment of stillness. Given Connor's own difficulty with seeking stillness, he gave her the moment and sat back as well, letting her pick her pace.

After many moments of silence, Prudence took a deep breath. She was still crying, but she spoke anyway. "There is only one thing in this entire world that I have wanted, ever since I was young," she said softly. "All I have ever wanted was to be a mother."

Connor blinked, not seeing the connection.

"Warren and I, we have been together for ten years now. And we have been trying for ten years to have a child."

The enormity of that sunk deep into Connor, and the familiarity of it. He had been seeking Charles Lee for twelve years now. He understood far too well longing for something and the weight of waiting and the toll it took. It was the greatest source of his anxiety, knowing that Lee was still alive and that he still wasn't ready to face him. Warren and Prudence may not have been waiting for someone to die, and their weight was probably greater, because what they wanted was life.

"I am not getting younger," Prudence continued, tears still spilling down her cheeks. "There will come a time when I will be unable to have any children at all. And every day I get closer to that time. I have miscarried twice now. Warren thinks perhaps we should think of a life without a child... But I... b-b-but I..."

She was sobbing again, and Connor reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Seeing those beautiful children..." she sobbed, "I know it is wrong... but I can't! Catherine is so proud of her two boys, Diana is still herding her children about... And I can't..."

"It is painful to see others enjoy what you do not have," Connor said sadly.

"Please..." she whimpered. "Tell them that they have done no wrong... That I am... alright."

"I shall."

Prudence was composing herself again. "I worry Warren so," she wiped at her eyes. "I mustn't show him such tears."

"It will be our secret."

"Ah, the lumberjacks are here," Prudence kept wiping at her face. "Go and help them finish our barn. We'll need plenty of space for the grains, maybe a few stalls for a horse or two to help with plowing and bringing our crops to others..."

Connor nodded. "I am sorry to have bothered you."

Prudence gave a watery laugh. "You haven't."

"I have upset you and brought up your misery to the fore. For that I am sorry."

"You're such a sweet boy," Prudence smiled warmly. "Your mother must be so proud of you."

The old ache in his chest seared forward and Connor looked away. "She has been dead for over a decade."

"Oh!" she said, her eyes suddenly wide. "Now I must apologize."

Connor smiled. "I think we have apologized enough."

Prudence let out a loud, bell-like laugh. "Oh, I think that is quite true."

Standing, Connor nodded. "Then I will help finish the roof of your barn. Perhaps then you will allow your own home to be finished?"

Prudence smiled.

Back at the barn, Lance and Christopher were still measuring planks over and over, "Measure twice, cut once!" while Warren was hitching up a pair of horses, one being Connor's strong mare, to the pulleys that would haul up the beams. Terry and Godfrey were already up in the rafters, calling down directions and needs.

"How may I assist?" Connor asked Warren.

"An extra hand above, I think," the farmer replied. "Those two are good at what they do, but they'll bicker over the smallest of things."

Connor nodded and easily scrambled up the wall to the beams above.

Terry whistled, impressed, and Godfrey called out a hello.

It was easy for Connor to walk along the beams and check in with both of them. "We are ready," he called down.

"First beam, coming up!" Lance shouted. Warren clucked his tongue and the horses started forward.

"Easy," Lance called. "The wind is starting to twist it a bit!"

"I got it!" Terry called, reaching out and grabbing one end.

"You skinny runt!" Godfrey shouted, "don't lean out so far!"

"I told you I got it!"

Connor was reaching out now to grab another part of the beam.

"Watch how you place-"

But it was too late. A strong breeze blew through and Terry, not balanced well, lost his grip on the beam and fell.

"Terry!"

Connor was in motion as soon as Terry lost his balance. He leapt on to the beam, ran to one end, letting the beam slide and tilt down to a sharp angle like many pine branches did. Controlling his slide, Connor wrapped his legs around the beam and leaned forward, reaching for Terry's hand, grasping the wrist. He did not have enough grip, but Terry did start to swing, sliding out of Connor's hand and landing hard on the ground.

"Terry!"

"Terry!"

"Damned fool!"

Connor released his grip on the beam and had a more controlled descent to the ground, bending his legs to let them absorb the impact.

Everyone was racing to huddle around the Scottish lumberjack, who was grunting and swearing. Christopher went tearing off, likely to get Diana.

"Terry! Are you hurt?"

But Terry kept swearing, on his knees and keeping one leg out and hovering over the ground. Finally the Scotsman glared to Godfrey as he came down the ladder. "I told you I had it!"

"Argue later," Connor growled, coming forward. "Terry, where are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, I—"

"Where?" Connor stood firm and unyielding.

"My foot."

Warren had run to Prudence and they were coming forward with a bucket and towels. Lance seemed to understand what they were doing and raced to the well and started to crank it.

Connor focused on Terry. He felt along the leg, trying to feel the bone as he had seen Oiá:ner do once. "The bone is solid," he said, but as he approached the ankle, Terry tried to jerk away.

"That hurts, you savage!"

"You blockhead! He's trying to help!" Godfrey cuffed Terry soundly on the head.

Connor's jaw tightened, forcibly reminding himself that Terry wasn't thinking and in pain, as he pulled out his knife and cut down the side of the boot. The brief touch he'd felt of the ankle showed that it was already swelling. It would be impossible to remove the boot without cutting it open.

"Redskin heathen! Don't go cutting up another man's-"

Godfrey slammed a hand over Terry's mouth and held it there. "Keep going, Connor."

"Terry!" That was Diana as she came running up, skirt hitched up almost to her knees. Warren and Prudence were there with the icy water and towels, which Connor used to clean the foot and get a better feel for it. Terry viciously fought back, mostly against Godfrey, but Connor was able to get a good start to see what was wrong.

Diana was by his side, also running her hands along the bones.

"Praise be nothing's broken," she let out a sigh.

"His ankle is twisted, as Lance's was," Connor explained. "But I can not be certain as he keeps moving."

Diana glared at her husband. "Terry Rodric Blair, you hold still this instant!"

That, it seemed, finally cut through to Terry, who stilled. Godfrey hesitantly pulled his hand away from his countryman's mouth.

"Diana?"

"Yes, you daft fool. Now hold still and let's see how bad this is." She turned and smiled sweetly to Connor. "Let me have a look."

She pulled back the cold damp clothes and gently ran her hands around the ankle. "Hard to say for sure," she said. "I think you're right and it's just twisted, but there might be a break."

"It's not broken! I can't stay laid up for who knows how long!"

Diana looked at him firmly and raised a brow.

Terry turned and broke off into a quiet torrent of swears.

"Come on. Help me get him home and then we can wrap this."

After the excitement and getting Terry home, Connor returned to the Freeman farm to help finish the roof. It was more quiet and more somber, and there was a great deal of double checking, but Connor had promised Prudence that the roof of her barn would be done that day and he made certain it was. Christopher, after getting Diana, had also run up the hill to explain to Achilles what had happened, and Connor soon found Duncan and Stephane with them also helping to finish the framing of the roof and nailing in the shingles. The sun was sinking into the horizon when they finally finished, but Connor was glad to feel some sort of accomplishment after such a long day. Warren and Prudence were both glad to have the roof done, but there was a lack of energy with Terry having been hurt and the difficult conversations Connor had had with both of them.

"Cheer up," Lance said as they finished. "That Terry, he's as mule-headed as they come. He'll be back on his feet in no time."

Connor only nodded, still hurt at the words Terry had used in pain, but he kept repeating to himself that if Achilles could bear such words with grace, he would as well.

Even if he wanted to pound Terry into the ground.

The following day he walked down to see how Terry was doing. The Scotsman was still swearing up a storm and not caring for his bed rest. Instead he hopped delicately around the home, not using his ankle at all and grunted whenever the children ran by and brushed against him.

Diana was very welcoming and grateful that Connor had dropped by, offering many thanks for his trying to help her husband and the swiftness in which he went to treatment.

"I was the oldest girl of six children," she explained. "I've been treating cuts and scrapes and twisted ankles since I could walk."

"I am glad that your husband let a savage heathen look after him," Connor replied, not quite able to hold back his anger at the words.

"He said that?"

Connor looked away. "I apologize. I should not have said anything."

"Terry Rodric Blair!"

Terry seemed surprised he had used such words and gave a grunted apology, but Connor still felt better for it.

It took six weeks for Terry to get back to his feet and to say that he was bad tempered throughout would be an understatement. His usual grumbles turned easily to wild roars as he felt completely useless stuck at the house and unable to do anything. His attitude grew worse as, after Lance had fashioned a crutch, he hobbled to the mill and realized that Godfrey, working alone, was not getting a lot done. The arguments were long, loud, and even Achilles, who rarely left the manor, said he could often hear its echo.

But as April stretched into June, other news came in.

Sam Adams sent word that London had decided on what to do and it wasn't pretty. Boston Harbor was to be closed, strangling the city until the East India Company was repaid, despite the offers of the wealthiest colonists to do so. The entire Massachusetts government was disbanded and there would be no more elections. Any need of governmental supervision was to be appointed by either the governor or by London and town meetings were only to be held once a year. Despite the hard work of John Adams in proving that acquitting the officer in charge of the Boston Massacre, it was declared that Boston courts couldn't be trusted and any offenses would be tried in London. Travel would be reimbursed, but not lost earnings, meaning that witnesses and such would lose money if they were needed to go across the Atlantic and London didn't care. But while all this was directed at Massachusetts, the entirety of the colonies was now forced to give up homes for British soldiers. It was supposed to be any unoccupied home, but as Stephane could attest, that was not always the case.

The colonies were already crying out in outrage that their governments, some of which had been working peaceably for over a hundred years, could be brushed aside at such a whim. In another letter, Sam explained that Virginia, a colony far to the south, had invited all thirteen colonies to Philadelphia to discuss how to present a unified response to such Intolerable Acts. They would meet in September, and with Boston Harbor closed, colonies were already sending supplies so that Boston would not die in starvation and sickness.

Stephane shouted about l'injustice and how the British were holding themselves above their own laws. Lance often echoed him, unable to believe that the British had not listened to the admirable Sam Adams who had proved his case continuously in his rhetoric.

Connor and Duncan had been having Dutch tea with Prudence, Duncan explaining certain herbs he'd heard of in his travels that might help with fertility, and Connor was enjoying a more pleasant conversation instead of the shouts and anger over what was happening with the colonies.

"Best I've heard of is Evenin' Primrose," Duncan said. "Now mind ye, I've never seen it work or anythin' like that. But people have come seekin' advice and offerin' it to others, and I'd guess that's the best bet."

"There is a small field of Evening Primrose just west of here," Prudence smiled. "We will likely be using the field next year, but I can perhaps get some cuttings, grow a small garden here of it..."

"Master Connor! Master Connor!"

Prudence hid her wince well and turned to bustle with the teas as Terry's son ran up.

"Easy there, boyo," Duncan said gently. "Take a breath so we can hear ye."

"But," the boy panted. "Dad and Godfrey are fighting! You need to stop it!"

"They're always fightin', lad," Duncan replied.

"Not like this, come on!"

The boy took off and Connor and Duncan followed. They ran up to the river to where the lumberjacks had been slowly clearing the forest and dragging the logs to the river to send down to the mill. The wagon that held the logs was almost bowing with the weight and the horse was flicking its tail, waiting to move as it munched happily on a nearby bush.

Godfrey and Terry were in a brutal shoving match, shouting obscenities at each other.

"Look how far behind you are!" Terry bellowed. "You shoulda been working harder!"

"Harder?" Godfrey yelled back. "You're the fool who said he could handle that beam and got yourself laid up. I've been workin' my ass off trying to do all this alone!"

"If you had just listened to me when I said I had it, none of this would've happened!"

"Quit puttin' this on me! Shut your mouth!"

Connor immediately went for Godfrey, since he was larger, while Duncan grabbed Terry and yanked the two apart.

"There, now, easy now," Duncan said. "Looks like a few of us be needin' a break. Terry, I could use a nip, ye want to join me?"

"I-"

"I got a nice bottle up at the manor I've been savin'. Come on."

"Come Godfrey. Is the order Achilles placed ready yet? The fence will likely not last the winter."

With some very firm yanks, both lumberjacks were separated. Godfrey let out a heavy sigh once Terry and Duncan were out of earshot.

"We're running a bit behind on orders, Connor," Godfrey said, heading to the horse and pulling it along. "But I'm sure you know that."

Connor blinked, surprised. "Are you not angry, Godfrey?"

"Me?" the Scotsman chuckled. "Not at all! Terry's just got himself a temper and I won't let him get away with it. Neither will Diana. It's really no trouble. He'll calm down. The runt couldn't do much damage anyway!"

Connor creased his brows. "Does this happen often? I have not seen you two go at each other like this before."

"Ha!" Godfrey chuckled. "I was just telling Lance the other day how I can set the calendar by these events. I knew we were due for one and I knew it would be about him being laid up. It's not really a worry, Connor," he said with a warm smile. "But I appreciate your concern."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No, we've been settling these kinds of scraps for years now."

"Very well."

Connor helped Godfrey with the lumber, loading what was in the wagon to the river and letting it float down stream to where it would catch at the bridge and then Godfrey and Terry would load them to the mill, rather than wear down the house.

The work took them well into the afternoon and Connor couldn't help but still be a little worried about the two lumberjacks.

He walked over to the Blair house and found Terry sitting by the well with Diana taking a clean cloth to his face. One eye had swollen to black and blue, with blood dripping from his nose.

"Are you alright?" Connor asked softly.

Terry only grunted.

Connor frowned. "Such fighting. There is no need for this. You normally get along so well, even with your arguments."

"Bah," Terry spat. "He's a block-head."

Diana firmly grabbed his chin and pulled his face back where she could see it. "He'll cool-off in a spell. Just needs some time is all."

Connor nodded and left, not wishing Terry's temper to attack him again.

It was a week later that Connor visited the lumberjacks again, and watched from the bridge. They were arguing, but that was no surprise, and were seamlessly pulling logs up from the river to bring into the mill.

Nodding to himself, it seemed that the two Scotsmen were fine again.

For now.

If they ever became so violent towards each other again, Connor would intervene more directly.

June passed into July, the summer getting hotter and hotter. Warren and Prudence, seemingly immune to the heat and humidity, worked with smiles on their faces as they tended the soil, built irrigation ditches, and continued building their homestead. The Scots women were less tolerant of the heat, often seen soaked in sweat and finding excuses to wash laundry by the river when they wanted to step away from the heat of the kitchens. Lance, too, worked up a healthy sweat, using the Scots different forms of wood to fashion furniture now that the main struts and structure of the farm was built. The days were busy, the nights warm; windows and doors were left open to all, the narrow halls of the house creating wind tunnels that cooled the occupants. Stephane and Duncan, both accustomed to fighting, advanced much faster than Connor when he first arrived to the manor in some areas, and were slower in others. The two actually complimented each other well, Duncan was even tempered and quick witted, while Stephane was passionate and aggressive.

The two were below, working through forms in the relative coolness of the root cellar. Connor was above with Achilles, discussing how to proceed with their training, and also planning Connor's next hunting trip. Myriam helped a lot, but she was just one hunter.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton! Ratonhnhaké:ton!"

The voice burst from the front door, and Ratonhnhaké:ton whirled around, seeing his best friend Kanen'tó:kon darting into the hall, his face pinched in worry and fear, turkey feathers flitting back and forth.

Anxiety filled his chest, and he spun on one heel to meet his friend. "Kanen'tó:kon? Why are you here? Has something happened?"

"Warraghiyagey has returned," Kanen'tó:kon said, voice louder than it needed to be with his fear, "with all the money required to buy our land."

… What?

… What?

"He meets with the elders as we speak," Kanen'tó:kon was saying, his desperation filling every syllable. "I have begged them to resist. But I fear he shall have his way unless you intervene."

His land... his people... all that work to prevent this very thing from happening. Fear and confusion burst in his chest in equal parts, unable to understand how any of this was possible! Warraghiyagey... Johnson... he was going to eat Kanatahséton! How?!

"How is this possible?" Ratonhnhaké:ton demanded. "We destroyed the tea. That was the source of his money!"

"English, Connor, I cannot understand you."

The young native whirled again, seeing Achilles and remembering that he did not understand his native language. He quickly translated. "I do not understand," he said, "How is this possible?"

Achilles, however, did not act at all surprised. Instead, he simply sighed, pursing his lips as he had done many times before, the look of a man who was waiting for a student to understand a lesson. "The Templars are nothing if not resourceful," he said simply. "You should have heeded my warning."

"Please," Kanen'tó:kon was saying in their native language, "you have to stop him."

Yes. That came first. Accusations from the Old Man could come later.

"Of course," Ratonhnhaké:ton said. "Can you tell me where they are meeting?"

"Johnson Hall, in Johnstown," Kanen'tó:kon said, leading the way out of the house. "Many elders are there, including our roiá:ner. He is not optimistic. If Warraghiyagey buys the land, we will be overrun in less than a year, just as you said. I do not know what else to do. It is as you said, he is determined to eat our very homes. I see now why you call him an atenenyarhu."

They walked to the stable, Ratonhnhaké:ton saddling his black mare in record time as well as the old nag. They both mounted, Kanen'tó:kon with some difficulty, and they broke into a full gallop. Warren and Prudence, walking up to the house, startled at their rapid departure, and Diana and Terry's children both had to scramble to get out of the way of the horses. They rode south along the path until they hit the main road, and then turned west. Ratonhnhaké:ton had learned from their hurried ride to Boston, and he spared the horses and Kanen'tó:kon as he could. They rode through Amherst, stopping briefly for supplies, and then pushed further west over the Berkshires, crossing the invisible boundary of Massachusetts to New York, hitting Albany almost immediately and then turned north, and at last into Kanien'kehá:ka territory.

It was the second week of July when they arrived at Johnson's Hall. Built in 1763 by Johnson himself, when Ratonhnhaké:ton was but seven, it was less a home and more a homestead, with a grist and sawmill both on the property, as were the sixty slaves he owned and tenant farmers and other pieces of white man culture. Few were visible, all out in the fields doing their work, and Ratonhnhaké:ton wondered briefly what would happen to the slaves when his deed was done. Would they be free? No, that had to come second – the safety of his people was the priority. For the first time, he realized what Sam Adams spoke of so often, that change could not come all at once. He shook his head to the thought, however, knowing that there was a difference between waiting a few weeks to waiting decades, and he promised himself he would do something after his valley was safe and the Stone Coat was dead.

"What are we going to do?" Kanen'tó:kon asked. "How will we stop this?"

Only then did Ratonhnhaké:ton realize he had no plan, only the resolution that Warraghiyagey needed to die. He took a deep breath, reaching for stillness, trying to calm himself enough to think. Slowly – very slowly – a plan began to form. "You say that roiá:ner are there, hén?"

"Hén," Kanen'tó:kon said, trying to get comfortable in the saddle. "Almost all the roiá:ner from the Kanien'kehá:ka are there; our land is the most affected by the sale, and the Haudenosaunee thought it best to let us lead."

"Then we will just walk in," Ratonhnhaké:ton said. "We are two more natives in the coalition, who would say otherwise?"

"But what will we do?" Kanen'tó:kon asked.

"We kill the atenenyarhu."

Kanen'tó:kon gasped. "But he is sachem!" he cried out. "He speaks for us in the world of white men! He is a diplomat!"

"He is a diplomat who has just bought up all our land for other settlers," Ratonhnhaké:ton said, his voice low and angry. "How is that the action of a sachem?"

"But..."

"What would you suggest?" Ratonhnhaké:ton countered, impatient with the disagreement as he dismounted his horse and pulled off his hood and coat. He needed to look more native than white, and so the European clothes had to go. He put his wampum armbands over his bare arms, skin open to the air and running his hands through his hair, pressing his palms to his face and hoping his rough idea would work. He did not relish the idea of killing others, only the Stone Coat. Taking a deep breath, he looked up to see Kanen'tó:kon off the horse. He tied the animals to a tree, just outside the settlement, and the pair simply walked into Johnstown.

Nobody gave them even a second glance, the precious few that were not in the fields, women who ushered their children back to their skirts as they approached, their nervousness obvious. It filled Ratonhnhaké:ton with sadness, that no one could understand that people were people, and only culture was different, and culture could be understood. Sighing, he moved to the homestead.

The wood had been painted white, and looked like stone from the distance. Two men with muskets stood at the doors, and they said nothing as Ratonhnhaké:ton and Kanen'tó:kon entered.

Inside it was obvious where the meeting was being held, the familiar flood of Ratonhnhaké:ton's native language washing over him from the back of the house.

"Brothers, please," said one such voice with an accent that he could now identify as Irish. Johnson. "I am confident we will find a solution."

"We are not your brothers," said one of the roiá:ner.

"Do we not seek the same things?" Warraghiyagey. "Peace, prosperity, fertile land."

"You seek land, true enough," said the roiá:ner. "Land that is not yours, nor any person's. Land is not a thing to be owned, a fact that our people did not understand when you came and asked to buy it. We thought you meant to buy the right to use the land as we did, we thought you understood that land is used and not owned, crops are to be grown and not owned, places in the hearth of the longhouse are not owned. We live in community, we live hand in hand, but you want possession of everything you can touch, and in your grasp for it you have demeaned everything the Haudenosaunee stand for."

"I only wish to keep you safe," the Stone Coat was saying. Ratonhnhaké:ton and Kanen'tó:kon entered the room, the discussion so heated that no one noticed, and they sat carefully in the back. Kanen'tó:kon looked around the room, nervous to be around such wise men of the tribes, more nervous to know what was to come, terrified of what was to happen. Ratonhnhaké:ton practiced stillness as Achilles had taught him, as Oiá:ner had taught him. Anxiety was in his chest, and nearly unbearable, but Achilles had told him over and over to wait for the right moment. He focused his eyes hard on Warraghiyagey, focused his eagle, and slowly calm began to settle over him.

"There are those who would betray and manipulate you. Or worse yet - take the land by force."

"We are all too aware of the expeditions your people send against us."

"What do you mean, my people?" Johnson said, genuinely hurt. "We are all one! We should act as such."

"How?" pressed the roiá:ner. "By signing our lands over to you? Then we'll be as one - in your debt forever. Would you seek to own us as well as our land?"

A different roiá:ner spoke up then. "Warraghiyagey may have a point. What hope do we have against their black powder and iron?"

"The spirits will guide us as they always have," said a third.

"Did they not guide us here?"

"Yes," said the first. "That we might unmask the great betrayer."

"This is a mistake," said the second roiá:ner. "We should sign."

"Peace. Peace!" Johnson said. "Have I not always been an advocate? Have I not always sought to protect you from harm?"

"If you wish to protect us, then give us arms," said the roiá:ner. "Muskets and horses that we might defend ourselves."

"War is not the answer," Johnson said. "You know this as well as I. We both remember the French and Indian war, the arrogance of the British commander. I stood up for you then. You helped us take Lake George, and I mourned the loss of Theyanoguin just as the rest of you. I stripped naked to express my disgust at how the British treated you. We all of us were hurt by that war, you most of all. I have protected the Confederacy for years! I went all the way to Detroit to meet with natives such as yourselves, to prevent even more bloodshed, we know where that leads, fighting the settlers will do you no good. Let me take ownership of the land, we shall keep the Haudenosaunee, refurbish it with me at the center, so that I may speak for your people and prevent the distrust of the settlers."

The first roiá:ner shook his head, voice becoming heated. "We remember Stanwix!" he said. "We remember you urging us to sign then, that it would create a permanent boundary and prevent the settlers from coming in and destroying us. We remember you said it would prevent war. And we agreed, one member from each nation of the Haudenosaunee signed that paper, and it was only after that we learned: We remember you moved the borders! Even today men dig up the land - showing no regard for those who live upon it. Your words are honeyed, but false. We are not here to negotiate. Nor to sell. We are here to tell you and yours to leave these lands. You and your British allies are not to be trusted."

"Roiá:ner speaks the truth," Ratonhnhaké:ton said, having found his moment. "This man is not to be trusted. He is an atenenyarhu who will eat our land and everyone on it."

He stood, and all eyes turned to see this youth who spoke out.

Warraghiyagey frowned at the youth, before turning pained eyes to the roiá:ner who was so vocally against him. "Thought you might send one of your own to oppose me?" he said. "Besmirch my good name and label me a cannibal? Have you lost faith in me so completely?" Everyone was silent.

Ratonhnhaké:ton continued to advance, pulling out his tamahaac, making several sachem and roiá:ner gasp and stand, but Ratonhnhaké:ton paid no mind, his mind focused and his chest strangely calm. This was what he had trained for, this was what Iottsitíson had bade him do: protect the valley, protect his people, to destroy the atenenyarhu. He lifted his tamahaac, heedless of the growing horror around him, eyes only on Warraghiyagey, focused only on William Johnson, whose eyes were wide and very blue – like the stone of his true form – and strangely hurt.

He struck.

Blood splattered everywhere, and there was a sharp intake of breath, several cries of horror, as Johnson fell to the floor. Ratonhnhaké:ton knelt down, and silence fell over everyone, shock muting their voices, as Johnson took a deep, bubbly breath.

"Ah, no," he groaned, "What have you done?"

"Ensured an end to your schemes. You sought to claim these lands for the Templars," Ratonhnhaké:ton said.

Warraghiyagey's eyes widened, realizing just who Ratonhnhaké:ton was. His head fell back to the floor. "Aye," he admitted. "That we might protect them. Do you think that good King George lies awake at night hoping that no harm comes to his native subjects? Or that the people of the city care one whit about them? Oh, sure, the colonists are happy to trade when they need food or shelter or a bit of extra padding for their armies. But when the walls of the city constrict - when there's crops that need soil - when there's," he coughed, a watery sound, and tried again. "When there's no enemy to fight - we'll see how kind the people are then."

Ratonhnhaké:ton shook his head. "The colonists have no quarrel with the Haudenosaunee."

A bloody smile crossed the dying man's lips, filled with irony. "Not yet," he answered. "But they will. 'Tis the way of the world. In time, they'll turn. I... I could have stopped it. I could have saved you all..."

And he died.

"May the Faceless One grant you the peace you claimed to seek," he said.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton!" Kanen'tó:kon said, standing up in horror. "You really did it!"

"What have you done?!"

"Did you hear what he said? He really was trying to protect us!"

"He really did know our plight better than anyone. We should have signed!"

"Now he is dead, the only white man who could represent us!"

"Will we be blamed? What will happen to us?"

"What if we are blamed? It will be war, and we stand no chance against their muskets! We will be slaughtered!"

"Who is this boy? Why is he here?"

This was most certainly not the reaction he had been expecting. Ratonhnhaké:ton blinked, staring at his chiefs, uncertain how things had changed so completely. "My name is Ratonhnhaké:ton," he said slowly, "from the village of Kanatahséton, of the Kanien'kéha:ka. This man, Warraghiyagy, is an atenenyarhu. He and others came to our village when I was a child and burned it down, killing my mother and eating many others. Iottsitíson came to me in a vision and demanded that I stop him and the others. Roiá:ner," looking to his village's chief. "You know I speak the truth."

But Roiá:ner stared at the boy, uncomprehending. "You mean..." he said slowly, "You mean to say that the boy I knew and helped raised, the child who cried for his mother for years, is now an hirokoa – and expects us to believe it is the will of the Sky Goddess?" His eyes snapped to Kanen'tó:kon. "Did you bring him here?" he demanded.

Kanen'tó:kon was just as speechless as Ratonhnhaké:ton. "Our land was about to be sold!" he said. "You said there was nothing to be done! What else could I do? We knew he was being trained to protect our people, it was the perfect time to call on him!"

"And did you know he would kill Warraghiyagey?" Roiá:ner demanded.

Kanen'tó:kon squirmed. It was all the answer anyone needed.

"You have shamed us!" Roiá:ner said. "You have killed the only white man able to protect us! You lack the wisdom to lead. Oiá:ner was wrong about you, you do not have the qualities to be a roiá:ner. You will never be chosen for this!"

Both young men were startled by the turn of events, and Ratonhnhaké:ton tried to save his friend. "I am the one who killed the atenenyarhu," he started to say.

"No! Do not speak!" Roiá:ner said. "You are dead to us!"

It was a punch in the gut, and Ratonhnhaké:ton was left breathless to the declaration.

"We must leave," one of the other roiá:ner said. "We can say that we left unsatisfied, and will come back tomorrow. Let us be surprised by the death."

"You mean lie? Like the white men?"

It dissolved to chaos after that, many chiefs leaving others to debate what to do before William's Johnson's son John came to ask how the meeting was going. That made the decision for them, fear of restitution for Ratonhnhaké:ton's act making them lie in fear, stooping lower than anyone had thought possible, and left. Roiá:ner abandoned both Ratonhnhaké:ton and Kanen'tó:kon as soon as possible, sating firmly that neither would be allowed at the hai-hai and that the two of them would have to live with the bad luck that resulted, his glare hurting more than anything he had ever experienced save the loss of his mother. He suddenly wondered what she would think of this. Uncertainty made his breath quicken, and he shared a horrified look with Kanen'tó:kon, neither one certain what was going to happen.

They rode northwest, into the woods, the game trails, the quiet.

Towards home.

Neither spoke for the first two days, neither willing to give voice to the horrible truth that they were about to face.

Kanen'tó:kon would never be chief.

Ratonhnhaké:ton had killed a man.

"... What if they return?" Kanen'tó:kon asked as they neared the valley. "What if there are more?"

Ratonhnhaké:ton's chest swelled with anxiety, the knowledge that there were others: Benjamin Church, Thomas Hickey, Thomas Pitcairn, and Charles Lee. Would more incursions follow? Warraghiyagey, Johnson, he claimed to buy the land to protect the people living on it. That was of course sophistry, atenenyarhu did not save people they ate them, but that the man seemed so sincere, was so genuinely hurt when Ratonhnhaké:ton made his accusations, that he was not certain how he was to feel about that. He had expected to feel gratification, relief that one danger had been removed, and his people that much safer. He did not feel those things.

"We should have listened to you," Kanen'tó:kon said. "Then, we might be better prepared to deal with these threats."

Ratonhnhaké:ton shook his head. Sharply. "No. Our people are not meant to fight, it is not our way. I will watch over our people, protect them from the dangers of the other Stone Coats, make sure that no one else bears this burden."

"But will it be enough?" Kanen'tó:kon asked. "Kanatahséton is small, yes, but it is not that small. One man cannot protect us from all the threats that seem to surround us."

"It will be enough," Ratonhnhaké:ton insisted, his voice loud with his anxiety. "Iottsitíson gave me this task, no one else. There is no need to trouble you when she has determined that I am enough."

Kanen'tó:kon looked at his friend, eyes wide at the strength of his voice.

Ratonhnhaké:ton continued softly. "I have already defeated one Stone Coat, and I am barely eighteen. In a year or two, perhaps three, I will be strong enough to have others defeated. By the time five years are passed, surely we will be safe."

Silence dragged out between them, but Ratonhnhaké:ton could not put off his one regret.

"Roiá:ner," he said softly. "He said you will not become roiá:ner. I am sorry. That you will not be part of the hai-hai."

There was a painfully long pause, and Kanen'tó:kon gave a weak grin.

"Oiá:ner will make sure I am at the funeral ceremony. And we both know I'd be too lazy to be sachem," he said.

"Iá," Ratonhnhaké:ton said. "Oiá:ner said you would be a perfect roiá:ner since we were children. We both knew it would fall to you. I did not have the qualities." He had no skill in mediation, he could never compromise his ideals, he did not rely on others. The last time he relied on anyone was his mother and... he did not feel safe to do so again. As a child he was compelled to do things himself, to figure it all out on his own, to push himself as far as he could, so that he would not be that vulnerable again. So that he would not be that hurt again. Kanen'tó:kon did not have those worries, however, even after the fire. Kanen'tó:kon was healthier in that respect, he could listen to an oiá:ner's advice and take it to heart, he knew what to imbue, and he was the natural leader of the children. Lazy though he was, he had the gift of getting others to agree on one thing or another, he could calm tempers and quell anxieties even as large as Ratonhnhaké:ton's. He would be a fine addition to the Haudenosaunee, but his gamble to bring in Ratonhnhaké:ton had destroyed that hope, and the young Assassin felt nothing but regret over the result of his actions.

"You must come to the funeral," Kanen'tó:kon stated firmly. "You must not have the evil brought on you for not being part of the hai-hai. Oiá:ner will make certain of that."

They entered the village at dawn, Kanen'tó:kon making his greetings and Ratonhnhaké:ton watching with the horses. Oiá:ner was still sleeping; he wanted her council, but was afraid Roiá:ner had followed them home. He gave a small nod instead to his best friend across the way, both of them sharing a look, before Ratonhnhaké:ton mounted and turned his black mare and nag back up the mountains and away from the valley. He watched the funeral and requickening from afar, hoping it was enough to prevent evil from befalling him. None saw him, though he knew that both Kanen'tó:kon and Oia:ner were aware that he was there. His chest hurt, not in anxiety, but in something else as he finally rode away. This was the first time he had left his home not feeling refreshed but rather... regret.

It bothered him the entire ride home.

His mind was lost in his thoughts as he rode across Massachusetts and up to his other home, the Davenport homestead. Many of the settlers came out to welcome his return; Catherine and Diane and the children all coming out to wave, Godfrey and Terry stopping their work to watch, even Norris, walking the path up from the bay, smiled and welcomed him home. The warm expressions strangely vexed Ratonhnhaké:ton, he did not feel worthy of their well wishes when he felt this conflicted over his sworn duty of defeating the atenenyarhu. It should be simple, easy. How can a person be called a person when he or she saw wrong being done? Already, he had killed many Stone Coats, men who ate others: men who wished to eat Lance, or Warren and Prudence, or Myriam. It was easy, then, because it was clear cut: they would have hurt or killed any of them, and Ratonhnhaké:ton did his duty. There was no need to even question it. But now...

The roiá:ner were all convinced that Johnson had been their only hope, their only way to live peacefully with the settlers. How could they have been so blind to what Johnson was doing? Even Ratonhnhaké:ton, once he had realized Johnson and Warraghiyagey were the same, knew immediately that only ill could come from working with him. Even Kanen'tó:kon had seen the danger, why not the roiá:ner? And now the consequences reaped of his duty were not what he had expected. Now Kanen'tó:kon would never become sachem, his promising future denied because he had acted justly. Ratonhnhaké:ton, too, now suffered the wrath of his chief. Would Oiá:ner scorn him as well? He'd been too afraid to wake her in the valley, and now uncertainty bled together with anxiety, and he did not know what to do with himself.

Achilles was standing at the front door, as he often did when Connor returned, and stepped back into the house as the young Assassin dismounted and took care of the saddle and tack. Connor entered an empty house, Duncan and Stephane both gone. Achilles was in the root cellar.

Connor approached the paintings, moving to stand next to the older man, and stared up at the portrait of Johnson, Warraghiyagey staring back at him and looking almost innocent. His last words whispered in Connor's ears. "Do you think that good King George lies awake at night hoping that no harm comes to his native subjects? Or that the people of the city care one whit about them?" His words were true, though Ratonhnhaké:ton did not wish to admit it. He had seen how even Sam Adams, an enlightened man in many respects, had taken Ratonhnhaké:ton and Kanen'tó:kon and used them for his own purposes. He had seen how full blooded natives were treated in the cities, even as he saw how the slaves and freedmen were treated, with suspicion and malice. Stories of scalping enemies ran rampant among the colonists, a ceremony both sides participated in but the colonists would pay money for, making the Haudenosaunee and other nations victims of a desperate musketeer. But did that tension make it right to buy up the land, force his people off of it, and then say that he was "protecting" them?

He stared at the portrait, uncertain what he was supposed to feel. Achilles stood by his side, waiting.

"... I thought it might bring clarity," Ratonhnhaké:ton said softly. "Or instill a sense of accomplishment. But all I feel is regret."

Achilles looked at him, his eyes bright in the dim light, hard but understanding. "Hold fast to that," he said. "Such sacrifices must never come lightly."

"I had to do it," Connor said, looking at the eyes of Johnson, trying to see past them, through them, to get to the heart of a dead man. "Not only for my people, but for all the others Johnson would have harmed."

"That is why we do our work," Achilles said. "It is not meant to be a joyful task, it is not meant to bring pride or even satisfaction. It can only bring regret, but with it we can also bring solace. We rationalize that we are doing good work, and we are, but the way we do it is through slaughter. We are iroquois, as the French has labeled your people: killer people. Many times, our work seems almost meaningless."

Connor turned to Achilles, surprised to hear such a reflection. "This is natural, then? The conflict?"

A slow blink and a widening of the eyes. "My dear boy," Achilles said, a brief flicker of surprise in his voice. "I've been worried that you haven't felt like this before now."

That surprised Ratonhnhaké:ton. "Why?" he asked.

Achilles sighed, his dark hand gripping his cane and turning away from the paintings, hobbling back to the training ring and up the stairs. Connor followed, uncertain where this was leading.

"Connor," he said in his papery voice. "For all that you consider yourself an adult you are still a child. When your mother was murdered a piece of yourself froze in fear, and even now it has not melted, and you've yet to understand that you cannot grow until you move on. Since you were six years old you have classified these men as Stone Coats, as demons to be fought against. As a metaphor I find it quite appropriate; but you, Connor, don't see it as a metaphor. You think it is real, that these men really are demons. I can assure you, they are men just as we are. Just as Lance and Godfrey down the path, or Sam Adams and his Sons of Liberty in Boston."

He entered his study, sitting heavily in his chair, Ratonhnhaké:ton sitting across the way. "The Templars will eat people, yes, they would eat the very world if they could, but not in the literal definition you have given them. The Templars seek to own the world because they see themselves as shepherds, they hold themselves so above others that they think that they are the only ones who have the right to steer humanity. Some of them are gentle shepherds, like Johnson; but many of them are so drunk on the power they have given themselves and use it to enact their will as they will. The slavery here and down south is an example of that. The pioneer spirit that pushes people ever to the west regardless of whoever is on the land is an example of that. Even husbands who beat wives that dare show a mind are an example of that. I'm sure even in your village, sheltered and removed from European cruelty as it is, has men and women who hold themselves above others. It is a natural trait of humanity.

"This is why the Templar ideology is so pernicious: because we all have the potential inside of us to be Stone Coats, as you call them. You have seen this yourself: you've killed bandits, abusers, and poachers because you so quickly identified them as the demons of your childhood. The night we met you killed would-be robbers without even blinking an eye. Your callous treatment of death has worried me for years, boy, but now I see you were just a child."

"... And now?" Connor asked.

Achilles leveled a long look at him, making him feel like squirming.

"... It's a start," he said. "At least now you recognize that this is not a childhood quest to rid the world of villains. No one in this story is a true villain, not as you believe them to be. Even Charles Lee-"

"He is atenenyarhu," Connor said, immediately cutting the Old Man off. "The others may not be all atenenyarhu, but he is."

"Don't be a child, boy," Achilles said with a sweep of his hand. "If you can acknowledge that Pitcairn and Church and the others are not Stone Coats, then surely you must see—"

"Not him," Ratonhnhaké:ton insisted. His chest was tight with anxiety, thinking about Charles Lee as anything but a Stone Coat... no. There was no other explanation, no other way to justify what happened that day when he was a child. It had to be true. It had to be.

Achilles gave another long look, this time filled with disapproval, but he moved on. "As you wish," he said in a knowing voice. "But to truly be free of Templar influence, all of them must be dealt with in turn. Even your father."

Ratonhnhaké:ton squirmed again. "I know."

This Achilles did not let slide. "You speak the words, but do you believe them?"

"Hén."

"English, Connor."

"Yes, I understand," he repeated, irritated and springing to his feet. "I will kill my father as readily as I will kill Charles Lee, as I will kill the other men; as my duty as an hirokoa."

"That is not what I meant," Achilles snapped, his papery voice still thin, still soft. The whiplash of his words, however, immediately sent Connor back to his seat. Like a child. He chaffed. "What I am trying to get you to see is the weight of what you are doing. With Johnson's death you spoke of regret. That is a feeling that will follow you for the rest of your life, and will grow with each Templar death you garner. It is a weight that has crushed other men. That is what it means to be an Assassin, to carry that regret with you all the way to your grave, the regret over the men you kill, the regret over the people you could not save, the regret of fallen brothers and sisters, the regret of broken friendships and lost dreams and dead children. And the greatest regret of all will be when you finally kill your father, because Haytham Kenway is a man so intimately tied to you that even your binary attribution of Stone Coat will not hide that regret from you. But even as you feel hesitation you need to understand that he and they have to die, and for the exact reasons you have stated: For your people. And for the people they have not yet harmed."

"I said I understand," Connor insisted, even as he felt uncomfortable. He wanted this conversation to be over already, he didn't like what Achilles seemed to want to discuss, he didn't want to think about his knot of feelings about his father.

A long pause drew out, Achilles watching, Connor squirming.

"We can only hope that you do," Achilles said in a resigned voice. "Duncan and Stephane are on a supply run. They should be back by the end of the week."

"I see. I need to unpack."

"I am not stopping you."

Connor immediately retreated to his room, going through the motions of taking his things and putting them away before retreating out into the heat and climbing the tree he knew so well along the north side of the house. He had climbed it hundreds of times in his years of training, could name every knot and branch and twig he used just by feel alone. He ascended as high as he could go, leaning into the trunk and looking out on the ocean, seeing the Aquila sitting at the dock, between voyages.

He did not want to admit the truth of Achilles' words: that this terrible feeling of regret was only the beginning and that it would only grow worse. Nor did he want to admit that he would eventually have to confront his father when he was so uncertain how he should feel about it – any of it. Nor did he want to admit that Charles Lee was anything other than the spawn of Flint, perhaps even Hahgwehdaetgah himself. The anger he felt at Lee for what he had done was unquenchable, even now as he slowly realized that his other targets were actually people, as Kanen'tó:kon had said in Boston, he could not believe that the evil that existed in Lee was anything other than the Evil Twin himself, bent on killing his mother by bursting from her side in birth. Ratonhnhaké:ton was not so arrogant to think himself the good twin Hahgwehdiyu – he could not grow maze from his ista's body as Sky-Holder had done – but he could come up with no other way to describe the battle he was fighting. The Templars wanted to eat the world, and Connor and the Hirokoa fought them.

But... he felt the regret. He knew what he had done to Kanen'tó:kon. He knew what the sachem thought when they heard Warraghiyagey's last words.

It bothered him.

It bothered him for days.

Author's Notes: And lo, the first Templar is dead! It only took eleven chapters to get that far...

The memory is once again played a little bit differently by having Kanen'to:kon there with Ratonhnhake:ton as he makes his latest kill. In order to justify at least some of the break that happens later in the game it's important to see how Ratonhnhake:ton's actions affect others - not only his best friend, but also the village as well. He will visit Kanatasehton again, but he will no longer be welcome by anyone other than Kanen'to:kon and Oia:ner, one of whom has paid an extremely heavy price for killing Johnson. In other words, hold that thought, it all comes back again.

Ratonhnhake:ton is once again hit over the head with his rigid viewpoint and the price he is paying for being so unflappable. For the first time he starts to see what Achilles is telling him, but he isn't convinced yet. Charles Lee is a dominating influence on his view of the Templars and he simply can't let that go. And Haytham is its own gordian knot. Ratonhnhake:ton is split: he had one very specific idea about Lee and one very different idea with Haytham, and the two won't reconcile in his head for a very, very long time. Hold that thought as well.

Also, Prudence, we're starting to spin her plate and introduce what her struggles are. We actually pulled from real life, it took six years before we finally came to our mother and she often talked about the depression and anxiety she went through before she found out she was having us.

And Terry once again opens his mouth and inserts his foot. And Connor is still too young to shrug off foul language like that. Don't worry, though; he'll learn. He shouldn't have to, but he will.

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