Glooscap

“Kwa, hail to the camp” Glooscap said, coming from the darkness into the forest clearing just big enough to break the canopy of trees above. The fire’s smoke floated lazily away into the cloudless night. Of the two finishing a late dinner he kept his eyes on the white man dressed in layers of black- black high boots, loose black pants, and an undone black overcoat- lounging against a downed log with his long legs stretched before him. The other man, an older native from a neighbouring tribe to Glooscap’s, sat mouth agape in surprise and fear, his stew sliding off his spoon and back into his bowl. The white man hadn’t spilled even a drop of the steaming liquid he was drinking from a white, elegant cup that shone softly like metal in the firelight. Glooscap had been completely silent and they could not have heard him approach. But the man in black hadn’t spilled even a drop.

“Welcome to the camp. Eat with us. Michael, give the man some food” the man in black said, his hand motioning French courtesy. The older native was Algonquin, but not Micmac like Glooscap. He was skittish, walking toward Glooscap with some stew all without taking his eyes from the ground to avoid eye contact. As the native man bowed to give Glooscap his food, Glooscap could see the hair and scalp of the crown of his head was gone. It wasn’t an old wound and the skull showing through was just starting to yellow in the middle.

“Thank you uncle- Michael is not your name though. What is your true name? ” Glooscap spoke this in their shared Algonquin language, and for the first time the native looked up, but it was the white man that answered, in Algonquin no less.

“Michael is his real name, his Christian name. He has found the one true god.” The native man broke eye contact with Glooscap and meekly made his way back to his seat, alternating glances between the ground and Glooscap.

The white man took another slow sip from his fine cup before continuing. “After your people scalped him and left him for dead-”

Glooscap interrupted “I am Algonquin of the Micmac tribe. That is the Iroquois’ way. Not mine. Not ours.” Glooscap tried to make eye contact with his Algonquin uncle, but Michael just stared into the fire.

“Well my way, our way,” the white man said throwing a compassionate smile toward Michael “is to help those in need. So when Michael came to us at Port Royal, we asked him to renounce his old life and baptized him on the same spot the Iroquois savagely cut away. It is exactly there” the white man said pointing at Michael’s head, “his old life ended and his new life began; an end to violence and the beginning of peace. He is re-born. Just like this land will be reborn a French, Christian Eden. You are present for great things.”

Glooscap couldn’t help but to smile at that.

“Would you like some coffee? It comes from another land not so unlike yours, and in my opinion is one of our best finds in this time of discovery. Or an apple? They are delicious. Soon the valleys of Acadia will be full of these.” He pulled a red orb as big as his fist from a bag and bit it crisply. Its sweet smell filled the air, competing with the campfire. “Enjoy” the white man said, before pulling another from a camp bag and casually flipping it through the air so that Glooscap had to catch it or let hit him in the face.

“I was just about to read to Michael from the good book and hope you will stay?” The white man put his cup on the ground and strolled back toward his horse taking a small, leather bound book from a saddlebag sitting on the ground. “My name is Jacques and this is Paris, my horse. Do you want to touch Paris? Have you ever seen a horse before?” Glooscap had but once from a distance, on the outskirts of Port Royal. It was huge, bigger than a deer and powerfully muscled. It was a strange animal with no spirit and it made Glooscap anxious. But he didn’t let it show. He had come here to learn and he needed to stay calm.

“No, thank you. I stopped by your camp to warn you: these are not your lands. It would be unfortunate if you were, accidentally, attacked.” The indirect threat hung in the air not a second before it was dismissed with a too easy smile from Jacques, who walked slowly back toward the fire, the book in one hand, the half eaten apple in another. He looped his pinky finger through a buttonhole in his undone black coat.

“We share this land and are building great things, the Algonquins and French, and I’m sure Michael and I will be fine. I am protected by both faith and these” he said while pulling back his jacket, directing Glooscap’s eyes to the two guns strapped to his waist. Apples and coffee Glooscap did not know, but guns he did. All natives did. “I find the two together have always protected me no matter what new lands I am in- Europe, Africa, the Caribbean, and especially here in New France, where I have been given my mission by god.”

Glooscap resisted the urge to feel his wooden warclub in his hand, and kept his eyes on Jacques. “I have also been given a mission by the gods. I wonder what we will do if our missions aren’t compatible.” Glooscap took a bite from the red orb, the apple. Sadly, it was delicious.

“There is only one true god my friend, so if our missions conflict, yours comes not from God”. Glooscap stood up and walked slowly toward Jacques, who though tall, was still shorter than Glooscap, a giant physical specimen of 7 feet, before counting the size of his hairlock, with loon feathers checkered down each side. It was a cool night so he had a doeskin jacket decorated with woven porcupine quills dyed black and white. When he was right in front of Jacques he stopped.

All eyes were on Glooscap, even for once, Michael’s. His wolf, Kwimu, stalked silently from the forest, grabbed a camp bag in his jaws, and slipped away without anyone, even the horse, realizing.

“Next time cross by water. Your king is not king here, and lands between your villages and forts are not yours, they are ours. I hope your mission will keep you safe and warm in one of your villages. The forest is a dangerous place, full of all kinds of spirits” Glooscap stood and deliberately handed back the half eaten apple on the side Jacques was holding his bible, forcing him to put it down.

Jacques replied, “You too stay safe. We are brothers in arms against the Iroquois, afterall. I hope one day we can be brothers in faith, as Michael and I now are.”

Glooscap walked away from the fire, just as Raven leapt from the branches and circled up and over the forest canopy, before turning to head in the same direction as Glooscap.

“What is your name? I need to know your name for my prayers tonight” Jacques asked just before Glooscap was about to disappear into the forest. “Glooscap.” he said, and used his power to put out their fire plunging the clearing in darkness as he heard Michael gasp. “You’ll have to read to uncle another day, your fire seems to have gone out. That’s why we keep our stories alive in song instead of dead in books. Maybe he’ll share one.” And with that Glooscap was gone, while Jacques simply took another loud bite of his apple.

2

Glooscap walked north where the beached canoe and his wolf Kwimu waited, sniffing at the bag he had stolen from the camp. His wolf was mostly grey with a few extremes of black and white, and his tail was wagging like a dog’s. Above his wolf Raven coasted in easy circles, waiting for Glooscap to reach their shared destination, the birchbark canoe.

As he got closer Raven dove in front of the canoe and in a puff of black feathers transformed into a man. A small, seemingly old man leaning over a long cane, his clawed hand resting on the exquisitely carved head of a raven, the long beak forming the handle. He pulled his cloak of raven feathers more tightly around him in the cool night. He had an intricately painted raven mask, which moved as if alive. Carved of wood, the large square eyes were rounded at the corners, and would move and even change shape, the pupils moving within, and increasing in size to focus. His long black beak opened and closed as he talked.

“Did you bring that apple thing?” The voice came from the mask, playful.

But Glooscap wasn’t in the mood. “Of course not.”

“Was it good? It smelled good. We don’t have those out west either. I’ll be an old man by the time they make their way that far.” Glooscap motioned for him to get in the birchbark canoe, before grabbing the bag and patting Kwimu on the head. The wolf jumped in just as Glooscap pushed off.

“You’re an old man now. You’ve come this far without an apple.” Raven sat in the bow of the canoe facing Glooscap, while the wolf curled himself to sleep on the bottom between them. Only Glooscap paddled.

“You were right not to kill him. Maybe next time he’ll have something even better than apples.” But Glooscap made no response, instead taking a long stroke and propelled the canoe faster than any mere man could.

Raven continued talking, but Glooscap hardly listened, lost in his thoughts. He had heard this speech more than once. “Our mission is best done in peace. The white man can’t help but be the white man any more than pines can help growing straight, deers can help running, I can help being so handsome, apples can help smelling so delicious-”

“I get it.” Glooscap interrupted. “I got it the first seven times you told me, even the first six times when I didn’t believe you, I understood.” The moon was slight, the river calm, and the trees lining the river beautiful in soft silver light. He did not want to leave; this was his home. He knew none of them would. It had been many moons since Raven had flown from the west, a stranger and familiar all at once, with the mission from the Great Spirit.

“Have faith Glooscap, you will need it more than all of us, once we begin. Faith is the only true power in the world. We are gods because our people believe we are gods. But we won’t be once they stop believing.” Glooscap paddled slower, so as not to startle the small tribe of otters resting on the northern bank.

“My people won’t forget me. I am, because they need me. Because they love me-”

It was Raven’s turn to interrupt. “And if you’re right you will be still, and able to return here when they need you. You are only as strong as their faith in you. But if you are wrong, you will be lost forever. The Great Spirit knows all and knows you must be there for our people, for all the peoples of Turtle Island when they need you most: when they believe the least. Your mission, our mission, isn’t to save the Micmac people, it’s to save their gods; all the gods of this land. We will be destroyed if we stay here and the spirit world will be no more”

Glooscap was resigned in his unchosen fate, paddling along the river. He couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever paddle this river again, as his future became a straight line pointing west.

“Let’s see what’s in the bag.” Raven opened it and peered within, his squarish pupils getting larger before pulling out a soft thin, smaller bag made not of leather. Inside was a brown powder unknown to both of them. Raven tried to feed Kwimu some, but the wolf just crinkled his nose and yawned.

Next he pulled metal forks and cooking knives, and then a light, white cup, with a blue picture on the side that shone slightly in the light.

“Pretty” Raven said and tapped it against the side of the canoe, breaking off the handle, the cup plopping into the water.

“Is it some kind of white clay?” Glooscap asked, curious to hold at least the handle.

“They called it a porcelain cup before you came into the camp. Broken now” and with that Raven threw the handle overboard and scooped up the metal cooking utensils dumping them overboard too. All Glooscap could do was watch them sink.

“This is their book of spells, the story of their god and his son” Raven pulled out the black leather bound book, the object of their visit. Raven flipped it open, focusing on a page for a long time, until his pupils filled his eyes.

“You can read their language?” Glooscap was surprised, but probably shouldn’t have been. Raven was a surprise to even himself at times. Raven continued to study the page, before flipping thoughtfully to the next.

“No, not a symbol. But I’m pretty smart. I could probably have it figured out before morning. This symbol here is round like the sun. Or maybe the moon. And this one looks like a tree or pole with no branches. But some of these don’t look like anything we have in our lands.” Raven flipped through the pages quickly now. “Needs more drawings.” Glooscap was craning his neck to get a look, when Raven threw it over his shoulder into the water.

“Why did you do that? It took us all day to track that white man and get his spellbook!”

But Raven just shrugged. “I might have lied. I don’t think I was going to be able to learn to read it by morning. But now we know it isn’t useful. And it isn’t our faith. It won’t give us its power, and we won’t give it ours. I don’t want it around.”

Glooscap couldn’t argue with that.

“Any apples?” Glooscap tried to ask casually, but he could still taste the last bite of the crisp red orb inside his mouth. Raven shook his head and threw the now empty bag into the river. “Don’t worry I have something better than apples.” Raven rummaged beneath his cloak of black feathers and pulled out two small whole smoked fish skewered on sticks, handing one to Glooscap. Glooscap bit off the head and chewed. It was better than a stupid apple anyway. Or so he told himself. So he needed to tell himself. Raven offered Kwimu one, but he just shook his head, choosing instead to close his eyes and dream, perhaps of apples.

“We need to call all of them. It’s time to visit the Grand Sachem of the animal tribes”. Raven was very matter of fact. Glooscap wished he could disagree. He had delayed moons but no other answer had come to him, and the camp visit had simply demonstrated it was best to call the powwow sooner than later. It was time. Whether he was ready or not, it was time.

Kwimu suddenly made immediate eye contact with Glooscap who spoke a manitou word of power, Kwimu transformed. Kwimu was average-sized as a wolf, but large as a loon. The red eyes remained in the loon’s soft black feathered head, the transformation complete instantly and silently. Where once was a wolf now sat a loon.

As a loon Kwimu was awkward on land, let alone the bottom of a canoe, and was instantly flapping his wings in an unsuccessful attempt to prevent himself from falling sideways. Loons can only take off in water, so Glooscap lifted him up and dropped him in. Kwimu swam gracefully and with power, getting up some speed before diving under the water. Raven’s pupils got small and floated to the side to peer. Kwimu was still underwater. He burst forth seconds later near the canoe, splashing Raven and Glooscap both with their small roasted fish on a stick, while he had a giant salmon in his mouth. He threw his head back and ate the salmon in two gulps, sending it down head first. He let out the loon’s call toward Raven, and Glooscap knew he was laughing.

“Fly ahead and tell Martin and Bear to prepare my warpaint. The loon called, and nodded, swimming on the surface to build up some speed to aid his take off. Glooscap pulled hard on the oar again toward the wigwam he called home, but Kwimu was already well on his way to the horizon.

3.

“They’re quite similar.” Raven was gazing at the coast, the wooden eyes of the mask animated and refocusing on the same tribe of deer that had come to the coast as Glooscap was. “-our coasts”. Glooscap doubted it. The deer tribe coming to the coast wasn’t that common at all. They were trapped on one side; a risk, just for the view. The coast was tinted red cliffs meeting a mostly at rest ocean at the bottom, and pine forests atop. In some places the rock had given way and the pine forest would spill all the way to the water. These were places for canoes to put in for their night camp, but this morning no fires could be seen.

The water was slowly climbing the cliffs and helping deliver him home to his wigwam on the point with a perfect view of the deep cliffed bay. The wigwam was of giant pines pulled to a central point and covered with bark. It was large, with room enough for him, Grandmother Bear and Marten. The sun was just rising in the direction of home. Pink clouds were bumping into each other trying to get a better view of the bay and his home. The far side was covered in mist: today would be colder than yesterday, but everyone, clouds, waves, and all between seemed quiet. Or waiting.

Raven didn’t pay any attention, instead carving a new head on his cane below the raven’s head that formed the top and held his weight. This one seemed just of the human tribe.

This was maybe the busiest spot in all the MicMac land, and Gooscap would watch it go by. French boats were now too common. He was uncomfortable with how it no longer made him uncomfortable to see French ships. With both a small sail and paddles for rowing, the French boats were so slow on the rivers. The wind isn’t good once in land anyway, and they were too wide to cut the water. Why do they want to stand on a boat? Where do you need to walk while on a boat?

On a beautiful, calm morning like today he wasn’t surprised to see a canoe and a small French boat, forming a giant triangle with his canoe in the largest bay in the Algonquin world.

As they approached the beach, Martin wasn’t hiding among the pines to greet him with a pounce. No wolf’s howl or loon’s call could be heard from Kwimu. Something was very wrong.

If Raven knew something was wrong, he didn’t say anything. He had stopped carving his walking stick and was as focused on the shore as Glooscap. Glooscap was already standing as the birchbark canoe slid onto the beach. Raven transformed into a bird and took to the air, some black feathers floating in to rest on sand and water. Glooscap loped up the trail connecting the beach and his wigwam up on the bluff, his bow was in one hand, an arrow in the other. Raven was making a wide circle the other direction, to try and get up and over the cliff and its crown of pines.

There were no tracks on the trail, but only because something heavy had been dragged over them, the groove in the sand compacting the dirt firm. It must have been heavy. Grandma Bear heavy.

The fire was out, but the breakfast stew grandma had been cooking was still simmering as it hung from the tripod over the firepit. The wigwam was empty save for a flurry of footprints. The floor had been packed hard over the years, but Grandma and Martin’s claw prints would still leave marks, as would any edge of the foot. A struggle had taken place and for some time: the footprints overlapped each other as the struggle had ensued. Martin and Grandma’s footprints never seemed to reach the door though.

“I might have found something” Raven was still outside, walking the perimeter of the bluff and looking out over the water. Glooscap ran to the shore beside Raven. Could the French boat have Martin and Grandma on it? He would be able to catch it before it could reach any French port, Glooscap was sure.

But Raven pointed straight down to the base of the cliff where something floated in the water. Glooscap looked down the cliff to the water, thankful it was high tide, and jumped off. The dive was clean and he came up not far from the large floating bowl. Inside the large bowl was a smaller upturned wooden bowl, and from within he could hear a small bark. Kwimu’s. Glooscap threw away the upturned bowl while treading water and saw Kwimu had been miniaturized by some manitou magic, and could now fit in his palm.

The miniaturized wolf jumped from the bowl to Glooscap’s arm and eventually to Glooscap’s head, licking his forehead while Glooscap carefully swam around to the other side of the peninsula, with the beach where he and Raven had made land. Kwimu jumped off before Glooscap stood up to doggy paddle the last few feet. Raven had come down the hill, holding his staff with two hands like a warclub.

“That is powerful manitou. Which sachem could have done this?” asked Raven, lowering his club but never taking his eyes off of Kwimu.

“Winpe.” Kwimu barked once in Glooscap’s direction, confirming his suspicion.

Raven hunched over his cane, again looking like the old sanchem Glooscap had first met nearly a year ago. “We knew he would test you first.” Raven said thoughtfully, almost relieved. “It’s better this way, before the powwow meets. It will give us a victory before we start to win over the rest and establishes you as the sanchem of the human tribe.”

Raven made good points, as he always did. Glooscap stared down at Kwimu. “I wonder how long the spell will last-”

“-not long” and with that Raven starting chanting and dancing around the miniature wolf. As he completed one rotation, a sigh in the wind was heard and Kwimu quickly grew to his full size. He jumped on his hind legs and put his paws on Raven’s shoulders, licking the side of his mask. Raven protested but smiled all the same, untroubled by the weight. Raven was stronger than he looked and Glooscap was glad for it given the challenges to come. Glooscap started up the trail toward the wigwam.

“Where are you going? We need to go after Winpe.” Raven called to Glooscap, while still standing beside the canoe.

Glosscap didn’t turn around. “Kwimu follow him and call out every 100 heartbeats. The wolf barked and ran into the water transforming to a loon to take off. “Raven, gather supplies. It’s time I put on my war paint.”

Chapter 4

Glooscap met Raven at the canoe. He was sitting on the beach, watching the haze burn off the water and spooning in the breakfast Grandmother and Martin had left behind, his clawed feet dug in the sand.

Glooscap had his bow, arrows, club, and war paint on. The centre band from eye to eye, forehead to neck was painted bright red. The rest of his face was black. Around his eyes were wide yellow circles.

But despite his fearsome appearance, his first words to Raven were “Grandmother is too good to date a lout like you. It would be an eternal race between cooking and eating.” Raven squawked in good homour. Raven was always in good humour. But then it wasn’t his adopted little brother and grandmother missing.

Raven pointed to a loon calling. His long finger was as much bird toe as finger. “He hasn’t gotten far. We will have Grandmother home in time to cook lunch.”

Glooscap shook his head while Raven slurped another bowl of the stew. “That is the first. They will be just in earshot of each other for us to follow.” Kwimu wasn’t their Sachem, but loons would answer his call in service of Glooscap, as needed. “It’s the first in a long journey.” Glooscap said. It meant he could track even over water. No one could hide from Glooscap with all the eyes of the loons and wolves in his service through Kwimu.

Raven climbed in the canoe, sitting in his usual seat in the front. “Where will Winpe be going?”

Glooscap took a whistle from a bag of provisions. He seemed to blow it hard, but no sound he or Raven could hear came out. “Our shared home, the red sand island to the north”. Glooscap often summered on the island and Winpe lived year round on the other end. It would be a suitable place to challenge Glooscap’s authority to become the sachem of the human tribe, of the Micmac. Glooscap loved it for its beauty and peace, but he would find neither when he got there.

“We’re not taking the canoe” Glooscap said to Raven. We’re going to catch a ride with an old friend” and pointed back behind Raven to the bay. A huge whale surfaced and displaced the beached canoe, carrying both it and Raven farther up on the beach before the water returned to the bay.

“Botup”. Glooscap said in greeting.

“Glooscap” Botup, Sachem of the whales, said back. He was a giant of his species with an animated face and more than a few old scars. He was higher that Glooscap was tall, and much much longer.

“No. I can’t swim underwater.” Raven was climbing out of the canoe, using his cane for balance.

Botup answered. “Only your feet will get wet. I will travel on the surface. Besides, Glooscap and I need to talk.” Glooscap didn’t like the ominous tone. He knew many of the sachems would have requests once the powwow was held and the mission explained. Glooscap could use friends ahead of the meeting of Sachems.

Glooscap jumped to Botup’s back, a huge leap that only a manitou would be able to make. “Come Raven.” Glooscap called behind him.

But Raven stood still, shifting from clawed foot to clawed foot. “No thanks, I’ll wait here. I don’t like getting wet.” Glooscap sighed a very human sigh. He didn’t have time for this.

Botup opened his mouth “Come Raven, “he said awkwardly, “there is a path up from the inside.”

“How convenient! Of course there is.” Raven made his way on cane into the whale’s mouth which closed. “There’s no light!”

Botup laughed a deep whale laugh. His speech came out garbled, forgivable with his mouth full of Raven. “There’s no path either so who’s to care? Now be still and quiet while Glooscap talks of the fate of the Abernaki and his warpaint.”

Glooscap understood. He knew some would ignore Raven as a noisy outsider. It would fall to Glooscap to convince the Abernaki gods, the sachems of each tribe living in the land of the dawn, of the importance of the journey to come.

5

Botup turned and with his powerful tail propelled them through the water at terrific speed, the water splashing up above Glooscap’s knees in the turbulence. Glooscap was prepared to let Botup lead the conversation in his own time, even though they were nearly at the top of the bay, and soon Botup would use his powers to lead them through a cave in the rock to take them out to the summer island of beaches.

“You’re better off in there Raven” Glooscap slid down to his belly as they went through the black cave half filled with water. Botup was using powerful magic, magic only the whale sachem had, to create the tunnel from the rock. There was only a crash of sound in the darkness. Glooscap felt wretched.

At last they emerged on the north side. Glooscap was glad to see the sun, even though it was soon to finish its journey for the day. Botup sneezed suddenly, and Glooscap sprawled as low as he could on the whale’s back, to no luck. He slid in the water as smoke and Raven went flying through the air pushed from Botup’s blow hole.

Raven made his way back on wing, and changed to his more human form. The mask and cane suddenly appearing, the plumage spread in the cape over his back and tied to his wrists.

“All I did was light a fire to –“ Raven couldn’t finish the sentence.

It was nearly dusk and the twilight sun did nothing but highlight the brutality and wonton nature of the whalers. Between the setting sun and Glooscap were hundreds of bodies floating on blood soaked waves. Even Raven, for once, was silent.

“They cut the fins from the babies so their mothers hear them crying.” Botup’s voice was steady but not calm. “And once the mother comes in they spear her and let her drag their boat until she is exhausted. The finless young they leave to die. Not enough blubber on them to be worth hauling them in. One camp kills 300 of my tribe in a season. You want me to take you to your family Glooscap, to help Marten and Bear? First you will help my family. Those still alive, anyway.”

Glooscap could have tried ordering Botup, Sachem of the whales to take him to Abistanooch the Martin and Nogome the bear, but he wouldn’t. His heart was full of anger. Anger at his world and what it was becoming.

“We should use Botup to lure them to sea and destroy one of their giant ships.” Raven’s eyes in the wooden mask were narrow, working out the rest of his scheme.

But it wasn’t time for tricks, it was time for war. And Glooscap was a warrior. “No. We attack their camp and destroy them all: every man, every ship, every barrel of whale oil.” It’s time for war.” Glooscap pulled the bow from his back. “Botup, call your warriors. We attack with the tide.”

And Botup, the last Sachem of the whales, gave a warcry which was answered by his tribe.

6.

Abistanooch, Sachem of the martins, dodged a broken branch which bounced harmlessly off the dirt floor of Winpe’s large birch covered wigwam where once he had stood.

“Where is he Martin? Why does he make me wait.”

Martin licked his wide sore paws. He curled up his long body and even his bushy tail to hide his face while he tended his paws. He had spent all day collecting the wood Winpe now threw around the wigwam at him to vent his frustration. Martin wished he had brought twigs. He of course hadn’t been hit even once, but Negome, grandmother bear, had a cut on her ear where one heavy piece of wood had hit. At least Winpe hadn’t targeted grandmother since then. Martin hoped it was because some part of Winpe was scared of what Glosscap would do to him when he found out.

Winpe stopped his pacing and sat cross legged in front of the fire, staring into it. He was bare from the waist up except for his tattoos and broad shouldered, though not as broad shouldered as Glooscap. Like all shamans, Winpe had a turtle rattle tucked into his belt where Glooscap, the warrior, carried his war club.

“Is he afraid? He must be. I almost beat him last time Martin.” Winpe fed the fire the last, un-thrown branch. “You didn’t gather enough wood Abistanooch. Go fetch more.”

Nogome growled low. She was as big as Winpe but some of the blood that ran from the cut on her ear into part of her grey muzzle betrayed her age. She was bear strong, but no fighter. And like all good cooks, she was fat. Martin didn’t cook well enough to ever get fat.

Marten picked up one of the branches thrown around the wigwam, but was interrupted from the task almost immediately by Winpe.

“Not those ones. I’m using those, as you know. Go gather fire wood.”

Winpe lifted his head, his rotten teeth grimacing at them both, the brown tattoo of a fanged predator ran from his forehead to cheeks and it grimaced just as menacingly under unkempt hair knotted with small bones.

“Now!” Winpe yelled so loud Martin thought his ears were going to start bleeding. A small display of Winpe’s manitou power. Martin got up and went out the doorway, pulling back the flap of bearskin keeping the bugs out. It was midsummer and still warm. Martin hadn’t eaten in days and he too wished Glooscap would soon show up and end this stupid rivalry with Winpe. He could have run but he couldn’t leave Nogome. He loved her almost as much as he loved Glooscap.

While Martin muttered to himself and fantasized about what Grandomother Bear would make first once they escaped- maybe fried smelts and boiled fiddleheads- he walked to the edge of the forest. He stopped, seeing a face not three strides before him, holding a finger up to his lips calling for silence. He was a warrior no doubt, but not Glooscap. His hair was in a tall mohawk, red with clay and ochre except for some clumps of hair that were weaved with snakeskins. His warpaint was black but for long slender fangs of red warpaint down each cheek from his eyes. He wore a buckskin shirt undone.

The Mohawk hair, his dress, and even presence all marked him as Iroquois even before he spoke. He was far from home and deep in Micmac land to be on this island. But really Marten wasn’t surprised to see him. The inevitable powwow had become the worst kept secret on Turtle Island and all were making their way to the sacred sweatlodge, even though Glooscap had yet to call them.

Two faces appeared from the trees behind him, both in masks. One wore a woven mask of dried yellow cornhusks frayed at the fringes, the other was Hadugona himself, the false face Manitou of the Haudanasee nation. He was known to all the tribes of the forests, identified easily by his red wooden mask with the broken nose and long knotted black hair. Last in the group was Kwimu in wolf form. Kwimu padded up and reached to lick Martin’s face.

“Glooscap is here?” Martin could hardly contain his excitement. Winpe would finally get what he deserved.

The Haudanasee warrior shook his head. “Not yet. Hadugona says he is delayed with Botup, sachem of the whale tribe.”

Martin couldn’t hide his disappointment as his head slunk toward the ground.

“But we will free you. Winpe is no match for me. I am Aharihon, warchief of the Iroquois. Are you ready to attack?”

Martin couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Glooscap had fought Winpe twice before and hadn’t been able to finish him.

Aharihon unslung his gun, but it wasn’t exactly the traditional white man’s weapon. The wooden stock that tucked into the body when it shot was newly carved into a warclub, a giant snake that held the carved ball of the warclub, which had been etched into some sort of relief Marten couldn’t recognize.

Snakeskins had been wrapped around the long metal barrel and the barrel seemed to come from the mouth of one of the snakes.

“Glooscap will be along shortly. Nogome is in there too. We’ll wait for Glooscap.”

Hadugona grabbed his arm, tightly. He shook his head and the vertical metal spikes that ran from between his large, shiny metal eyes up over his forehead to his hairline shone in the twilight of the setting sun.

“No. Glooscap has waited too long to call the sachems already. The French have four villages now, the English at least three, and the Dutch are coming up the river and now border our territory. Glooscap is out of time. It’s time for a decision.” Hadugona spoke with finality.

Abistanooch wanted to argue, but couldn’t. He heard this from nearly every Sachem he met nowadays. Even he was worried for his tribe, the martens.

Aharihon said, “Lure Winpe out of the wigwam by sundown or tell grandmother bear to get down, because that’s when I start shooting.”

Marten stared at Kwimu stretched out in a yawn before putting his head on his paws to rest. He would be no help today.

“I’ll do what I can” Marten said while making his way back to the cabin. Afterall, Glooscap could still be here by nightfall.

7.

The gulls were circling above them, as the evening tide started to come in. If their Sachem was among them, he was hiding himself as just another gull. A useful spell Glooscap could use wisely. A dozen large blue and right whales had answered Botup’s call, though none were nearly as big as their Sachem. The plan was mostly Raven’s, now circling above, sometimes harassing gulls when he got bored of waiting for the water to flow toward shore.

Glooscap regretted he would miss Botup’s big moment, but the camp could not be taken lightly. The sun was close to setting, and would be on their left as they came in. Once Glooscap killed his target, the sun would be behind him, silhouetting him and Raven on the tower to any survivors on the beach. True, the sun would be in their eyes, but it was weak today and shouldn’t matter much.

Raven circled back down towards Botup’s back, and turned back into his manitou form. He rested over his walking stick, which he liked to carve when moving to some place new. Always heads, his naturally on top, in his artistic flair.

“Now?” was all Raven said, the beak on the mask moving to the sound. Asking now was also all Raven had said the last two times he had circled down to Botup.

“Now” was all Botup said in reply, for the first time.

Raven produced a turtle rattle from under his cape, grabbing it by its long dried out, splintered neck. He began shaking the rattle and dancing. Each time it made a slightly different sound, as if filled with entirely different things, shook at entirely different strengths.

Dark clouds stated to form behind them and the wind picked up, pushing the tide, whales, waves.

“For family” was all Botup said before ducking his head under the water.

Raven jumped from Botup’s back and in a fluff of feathers turned into the raven form of his tribesmen. He was using his magic to be large and flew to where Glooscap waited knee deep in water with hands up, ready to grab Raven’s legs. Raven needed hard, full strokes to keep he and Glooscap above water, until the whales resurfaced just behind the crest of a large wave pushed towards the beach of the whale camp.

The whales’ massive tails pushed the water harder and faster. Glooscap let go of Raven and landed on Botup’s head at the centre of the wave pointed straight at Glooscap’s target, a tower. Glooscap loved this. How could a warrior not think war is the answer? A high metal sound clanged monotony from Raven’s target, the wooden tower, likely warning those on the beach of the rogue wave now heading toward them. The ship was massive with 3 full masts. There were a few people on the ship’s deck, and some cannons were still hidden behind the wooden walls. That was good. 20 cannons at the most.

The beach made him mad as a whale. In the middle of the beach a giant metal bowl the height of three men boiled whale blubber. A walkway with stairs was needed to get from the bottom of the beach where they slaughtered the whales to the top where pieces of blubber were tossed in.

In the village canvas cloth sails spread over bone and baleen, creating their wigwams. The beach by the water was blood red with the butcher of dozens of mostly female and young whales, their bones left to rot where they fell.

The men on the beach would be gone soon, cleansed with the bones and blood- though they didn’t deserve such an easy death. There didn’t seem to be too many scrambling from their wigwams. Most of the men were up near the cauldron, some butchering whales for their fat with giant metal knives, some with long poles stirring the oil in their giant metal pot.

The wind came stronger and it might have started raining, though Glooscap couldn’t be certain with the splash from his shins- either way his warpaint did not run. The wave grew too, and now it seemed even faster than the whales that had pushed it. The giant wave would soon outpace even Botup, who was nearly at the end of his pushing.

It was time; Glooscap jumped into the air from Botup’s back and kicked off Botup’s cresting tail as it came in a circle toward the tower. Raven was large and dark, sometimes nothing more than a cloud with great claws.

Glooscap landed on the tail just as its arc lined up with the top of the tower. He pushed off hard, trying to direct himself toward the tower while Botup slapped his tail forward, launching Glooscap like an arrow. Botup dived below and came out of the crest of the wave as it was across from the giant ship. The ship was being turned on its side by the front of the wave, just as the cannon before Raven fired.

Small metal shot and light flew in a cone toward where Raven seemed to be little more than feathers and cloud. Raven’s cry ripped the sky stunning everyone, and all turned their eyes to see regular sized black ravens and then red cardinals dropping from the dissipating cloud. They plunged still and seemingly dead, coming to just before hitting the angry ocean, instead flying away west. Glooscap’s target was watching in awe too, the fire stick in his hand hovering over the cannon’s fuse forgotten. The cannon was pointed at Glooscap as he was flung perfectly toward the man. Glooscap squeezed the handle of his wooden club, its head’s perfect ball smashing into the man’s face with such force part of his skull caved in. He braced his feet against the short wall of the tower’s lip to stop his momentum as he pulled his bow from his back, his eyes finding the man that had shot raven in the other tower.

A giant crash filled the air along with flying wood and splinters and even a few cannon as Botup had finished breaching the crest of the wave and smashing his side into the giant wooden boat. He could have looked but he wanted eyes on the man that had hit Raven, and in one smooth movement that drew an arrow, the bow and brought Glooscap to one knee, he fired. The arrow plunged through the man’s neck.

The wave pushed on the beach with thunder, putting out the fire below the giant cauldron and ruining the impressive stairs. The bones and the whalers were swept away for a burial at sea. The giant cauldron almost seemed to float for a moment before getting caught on the ground and spilling most of its oil into the water, beach, and even some of the white sailors, who screamed in agony. The white canvas cloth sails were lifted away by the wind and inside the ribcage of one former whale a white man was seen cowering, his beard shaking.

Glooscap drew and fired two more arrows killing two men on the beach trying to understand what had happened. The last of the men were drenched in whale oil, clawing at the ground as the wave tried to pull them out to sea. They had been screaming in pain even before the oil on them burst into flame with a single knock of Raven’s rattle.

Glooscap was relieved as he jumped from the top of the tower and into a dive off its lead side. Raven was alive at least.

8.

Negome wasn’t doing well. She was medewin and had Manitou power, but she was not sachem of the bears. She put up a brave growl, but she was bleeding from a few places and sleeping too much. If the Haudanosee attacked when the sun set, she could be hit by bullets as easily as Winpe.

Martin had to get Winpe outside, now. “I can carry ten branches of wood at one time, and Glooscap can carry twice as much as me.”

Winpe idly poked the fire with a stick, ignoring Marten.

“I challenge you to carry more wood than me. If you can’t carry more wood than me, you definitely can’t carry more wood than Glooscap.

Winpe didn’t even look up. “Carrying wood is the dream of a boy.”

Martin was almost out of time and clearly Wimpe wasn’t moving until Glooscap came. Which gave him a thought.

“He’s here Winpe. Glooscap has come for you. I’ll watch you die today.” Martin imitated Winpe in refusing eye contact, instead staring at the woods from the bottom of the fire, near the door.

Winpe rose in smooth motion clenching and unclenching his fists in strong strides to the door. His eyes as wild as his hair, he strode through the door and quickened his pace. He had been preparing for this moment his whole life. Being powerful, a manitou was one thing; being Sachem- of the human tribe no less- quite another. By morning he would be Grand Sachem.

But as he swept aside the door and strode in the clearing between the woods and wigwam, he found not Glooscap waiting, but the False Face of the Iroquois, Hadigona , standing at the edge of the forest. Arihon stepped out of the forest’s darkness on the False Face’s right, his rifle aimed.

“Is Glooscap with you? Glooscap!” Winpe yelled until the veins on his neck strained. All tribes of birds in eyesight took to the air in flight at the sound.

The warrior answered instead of Hadigona. “Glooscap is not here, but I am. Flee now or be punished.”

Winpe would not be scared off by Iroquois. Force would be met with force. Even though the False Face was far from home, he would still be dangerous.

Winpe locked eyes with the False Face, bracing his feet should-width apart. “Come and meet Winpe, manitou of the MicMaq. I challenge you to a test of strength”. As soon as he stopped speaking he began growing in size. He was approaching the height of a maple tree when Ahrihon the warrior replied for Hadigona.

“No.” was all he said before pulling the trigger of his rifle. The bullet struck Winpe in the chest and exited through his back. He collapsed immediately, and Ahrihon strode toward Winpe in measured steps. He jabbed the barrel of his rifle into the hole in Winpe’s chest, twisting until Winpe groaned. Standing with one foot on Winpe’s chest, Arihon turned his weapon around and grasping the gun with its warhead stock over his head. With a thunderous crack of the warclub’s ball, Winpe was dead.

Hadigona said “two more” and Arihon nodded once, watching the blood on the ball of the warclub simply disappear, seemingly sucked up by the round world carved as the ball of his warhead.

“Two more” Arihon replied.

Marten ran from the wigwam. “We aren’t the two more I hope?” Marten tried to smile, but the Haudanasee lived for war.

Hadigona laughed. “We are all in this together, and allies. Hadigona stopped them and turned to face Winpe lying on the ground. Arihon had flipped him onto his stomach, had his knee on Winpe’s back and was pulling the head up and back, held by a fist of hair. He pulled a small metal knife from a beautifully detailed leather scabbard and held it just below Winpe’s hairline.

Hadigona turned himself and Marten back toward the wigwam. “Is Negome hurt? You know I am a great healer, let me blow ash and heal her.”

Abstinooch relaxed at the mention of Negome. “Just a little, nothing you can’t heal. But she needs to eat and sleep well tonight.”

“A simple meal then tonight.” Hadigona said. What will it be Martin?”

Arihon ran to catch up to them, Winpe’s scalp in one hand.

Martin despised the practice, but it was the Iroquois way. “It will be stewed beaver on squash.”

“We’ve all been eating too much beaver these days” Hadigona replied. “A simple meal from the best of cooks was once a simple joy. I can give her perfect sleep too Marten. Kwimu needs to rest well too. I think he spent last night and half of today tracking you.”

“Stewed beaver on squash and a bite of Winpe’s heart sounds like a great meal” Arihon said, without humour.

Hadigona replied before Marten could. “Not to our taste Ahiron. Tomorrow we will hunt our meal on our journey how does venison stewed in wild rice with sunflower oil and boiled fiddleheads sound?”

9.

The attack had been successful, but Raven was injured. He sat on the beach, slumped onto the cane which barely held him up, his squared eyes closed. The top right piece of the mask had been blown off, and the new raw edge of the mask was seeping blood.

Botup stood uncomfortably in manitou form on the beach. His ethereally wet skin shone black and gold in the setting sun. He was big but awkward and short limbed under his giant head. He had a hand on Raven’s shoulder.

“This wasn’t part of the plan” was all Raven replied, forcing a smile that degraded to a grimace of pain. “I’ll be fine though, spending the night in my animal form.”

Glooscap reached into his medicine bag, and felt for the small clay pot. “This will help. Negome knows these things.” he said, smearing the poultice into the raw, bleeding edge of the mask.

“And chew this” Glooscap added, pulling some bark from the medicine bag before passing it to Raven. Raven did what he was told.

“Tasty” was Raven’s sarcastic reply.

“It’s better as a tea. We’ll boil some water and make some now” Glooscap said, strolling to Botup and grabbing his wrist in a warriors grip.

“Thank you Glooscap. The whales won’t forget what we did together today.”

“I wish I could do more” Glooscap replied. “How many whaling camps are there right now?”

Botup stared off to the sea. “At least half a dozen. This was the only one with towers, but there are other giant ships. It will be difficult without you.”

Glooscap felt guilty, but was now surer of the decision than ever. “That’s a good plan. I know now it is time to move to the new homeland, after seeing what the cannon did to Raven. The guns are not of our world and do not obey our rules. Our tribesmen, especially mine, believe in them more than us now, and belief is the source of power, defining the manitou world.” Glooscap bowed to Botup, before locking eyes with Botup. “I’m sorry you can’t join us on journey. But there is no salt sea.”

Botup walked toward the water, before stopping when waist deep.

“You and yours tribesmen weren’t always here, and neither were we. Maybe the whales should make a journey of our own. Will we meet as brothers next time we meet?”

“Brothers.” Glooscap replied and raised his hands in peace.

Botup did the same and disappeared under the waves. Glooscap turned to Raven.

“I will gather wood and make a fire. We will drink our tea, and then you will rest and I will kill all the men in the next camp over. Botup will need pleasant surprises in his future. Raven squawked in reply and flew into the air, diving farther down the beach to retrieve some wood for the fire.

10.

Kwimu heard it first. They were all about to break camp when Kwimu suddenly began running toward the water on their horizon. Abistanooch and Ahiron were about to run after him, when they too, heard the cry of the loons from the northeast. The loons were Glooscap’s messengers, and he was calling Kwimu back to him. Kwimu would jump in the water as wolf and emerge as loon to fly to Glooscap, following the loon’s cries. Instead of following, the rest moved on together where the canoes waited on one of the long sandy beaches for which the island was known and loved, a comfortable half morning walk.

Marten knew Glooscap was okay but the loon’s call confirmed it in a different way that made Marten relax. He couldn’t help but wonder what Glooscap could be doing that was more important. He had asked Nagome, but she had just smiled and teased him.

“I know. So should you.” Was all Negome had said before poking him on the nose with a smile. She was in good shape this morning, and though there was no rush, she of all in the group was pushing the pace with a light jog.

“Slow down Negome. Why do you rush?”

And then Abistanooch of the Martens knew. Every member of every tribe was shouting the warcall. Every bird, every squirrel, every deer, every thing was repeating one message in every tribe. Glooscap had called the powwow. All Sachems and many manitou would now be answering the call, and would soon meet for the grand council.

11

Glooscap and Raven were among the last to arrive at the grand council’s meeting place. Great bonfires had already been lit and their smoke rose among the thousands of birds from all tribes circling and chasing each other over the camp. Glooscap and Raven were still minutes out by canoe, but already the noise, the calls of all of the animals in the land of the dawn could be heard.

Along the cliff’s edge Keoonik the Otter was chasing Ableguhmooch the Rabbit as he always did for some trick which he was the victim of, except for those times when rabbit was chasing him for the same reasons.

Muin the sachem of the bears and keeper of the council fire was scratching his head, puzzling over something which could have been as complex as Iroquois relations or as simple as what to eat with salmon. All decisions seemed equally perplexing to the dim-witted Muin.

He was relieved to see Negome healthy and doing what she loved: cooking. She had two helpers today, Abstinooch was carrying a great tray of mussels and clams while uncle Mikcheech, sachem of the turtles, slowly trundled behind carrying a giant bowl of squash.

Ableguhmooch the sachem of the rabbits and Keoonik of the otters were the first to notice Glooscap’s canoe. The camp became suddenly and ominously quiet, some of the sachems moving to the edge of the cliff to watch Glooscap, Sachem of the human tribe, Sachem of Sachems, and his new odd friend from the west, Raven, arrive.

Most were milling in small groups, talking of what was to come. Azeban the raccoon was surrounded by his usual followers, skunk, squirrel, and porcupine, and was talking in hushed tones to Kebeet the Beaver. The Haudenasee False Face and warrior sat together observing as much as talking, and Tiam the moose stood alone, as he liked to do.

Glooscap could feel everyone turn to look at him, and strode confidently to Muin trying to light the sacred fire. The wood was piled in the shape of a wigwam, with the grandfather stones tucked safely into the middle.

“I can’t get it light” Muin said with some embarrassment, and Raven intervened.

“Blow softly on the wood and I will use my Manitou powers” and again Raven began chanting and dancing to the unusual sounds of his turtle rattle. The fire sprang to life with a whoosh, and poor Muin’s snout was singed. Raven laughed, but Muin did not. And neither did Glosscap.

“Why did you have him blow on the fire, you knew that wouldn’t be necessary.”

But Raven was in too good of spirits from the little trick to be affected. “I can never be sure how my powers will manifest so far from home.” But Glooscap knew this was but a lame excuse and stared in disapproval.

With the fire lit all the sachems began to remove their weapons and dress. Kokowes the Owl took off his collar of feathers, while Muin removed his wampum belt. Soon all were naked or in their loincloth, ready for the ceremony.

Glooscap realized dslkfjsdkl, Sachem of all the animal tribes was not present.

“Where is he Muin?” Glooscap asked, but Muin could only shake his head and draw his almost human snout into a thin, worried line.

“I don’t know Glooscap. He should be here, I’m worried.”

Glooscap was worried too. Without the endorsement of sdfkjslfj, some of the sachems of the animal tribe could more openly challenge Glooscap and Raven, and their elaborate mission. He could only hope they would all respect the unheard wishes of the Great Spirit.

The actual sweat lodge was about three paces from the council fire. It was a large wigwam, wrapped in the furs of all the animals to keep the heat inside. It had a dirt floor swept with branches and would be able to hold them all.

Glooscap approached Negome and Abstinooch. “Wish us luck. Torndasuk did not answer the call.”

Abstinooch scratched his chin. “Will anyone challenge because of it you think?”

Glooscap drew his lips into a thin line. “I don’t know, but will soon.”

After beaching the canoe and making his way up the path Glooscap found himself met with a long gauntlet of all the Abenaki Sachems, and of course the invited guests of the Iroquois tribes. Eyes large and small stared to greet him in eerie silence.

First was Kokowes of the owls. He said nothing and stared, his large yellow eyes unflinching. Which Glooscap met in kind, answering the first challenge he would have today from the other tribes. They stared at each other for long minutes. Glooscaps lids quivered, his eyes watered, but still he met Kokowes’ stare. Raven stood behind Glooscap and began to shake his rattle.

“No Raven” Glooscap said, his eyes tearing. He had to win this on his own power. Glooscap’s eyes strained and turned red, but still he held the gaze.

“Well met Glooscap” Kokowes said and slapped him on the shoulder with his clawed hand. “The owls are with you” but still he didn’t blink, instead turning to Raven and giving him a nod. Birds were always like that. Though Raven was masked they didn’t look so dissimilar in their human forms, though owl was younger and his head bigger.

Next were otter and rabbit, nudging each other out of place in line like children. Before either could issue a challenge they were once again fighting each other as the nudging escalated. Glooscap towered over both of them and pulled them apart, staring at each. Otter broke the impasse first.

“I’m with you if you leave rabbit here” Otter said, followed quickly by rabbit’s “if you leave otter here, I’m with you Glooscap”.

But this wasn’t the first time Glooscap had met these two nor settled their differences. Glooscap avoided the trap easily.

“If you don’t both come, then you will both stay here and be alone with only each other.” Rabbit blanched first.

“Don’t leave me with this imbicile. He is the worst company in all the lands of the dawn.” But Otter like usual, was only a step behind.

“No don’t leave me here with that imbicile. He is the worst company on all of turtle island!”

Glosscap ignored both, and raised them each off the ground from their necks. “Then you are both coming, yes?”

And with feet dangling, both rabbit and otter nodded in unison before Glooscap lowered them gently to the ground, clasping them each on the shoulder.

Azeban the raccoon trickster and Mekoo sachem of the squirrels were next. Glooscap had hoped to face Azeban last, but Raccoon had nudged his way to near the top of the gauntlet, only the first of his surprises.

“I’m with you Glooscap; we should all be together now more than ever” Raccoon said holding his hand out for Glooscap to clasp wrist to wrist, warrior style. Glooscap should have known to expect the unexpected from Azeban. Even though relief washed over him, he knew Raccon’s game was just beginning. Or maybe he didn’t want to be left alone, afterall who then would he trick?

Mekoo followed Aeban’s leand and held his wrist out warrior style. Glooscap took it and nodded.

Tiam, sachem of the moose stood silent and stoic across and simply nodded, so Glooscap did the same and moved deeper down the lines.

Beaver was next. None had suffered from the white incursion as much as Beaver and his tribe. “I will hear you Glooscap, if you will hear me. My tribe is already at war with the whites and I will try to convince you to join us, but only after the sweat lodge, after you make your case for moving west.” It was more than fair, and Glooscap nodded in appreciation. “You have suffered more than all Beaver. That’s all I can ask of you”.

Muin, sachem of the bears was with Negome and Marten. “I’ll with you Glooscap, if you can help me get the council fire lit” he said, scratching his head as he was prone to do. Glooscap smiled and clasped him on the shoulders. “Of course”.

Abstinooch of the martens was among the smallest and youngest of the sachems, but he puffed out his chest and looked as serious as he could as Glosscap approached. Which Glooscap ignored, lifting him up in a hug. “It’s good to see you. How’s our old friend Winpe?”

“Dead by gunfire.” Marten said, doing his best to remain formal, but a smile creeping onto his face all the same. It was a horrible way to go, by Iroquois hands no less”. Glooscap nodded. There was some bad blood between the Iroquois and Abenaki, but Glooscap hoped both sides would put it behind them in the face of the greater enemy they now all faced.

Negome gave him a kiss on the cheek and whispered in his ear. “Isn’t this exciting? I’m not even a Sachem!” Glooscap smiled and kissed her back on her cheek. “No but you are a great Manitou, and your friendship has always been magical to me”.

Negome smiled and hugged tighter.

Last were the Iroquois. Ahiron stood with arms crossed while the false face stood beside him and spoke for them both.

“Greetings Glooscap, sachem of sachems of the abenaki”. The Iroquois are inclined to fight but we will hear you, if you will hear us. Either way, we walk forward as brothers.” Glooscap nodded first to the false face, and then to the warrior Ahiron. He had known the Iroquois would want to fight, it was what they did best. But Raven would be compelling in the sweat lodge. Glooscap wasn’t worried, or too worried anyway.

“Where’s Daganwida of the Huron?” Glooscap couldn’t help but to direct his question to Arihon. Thr Huron and Haudanasee were nearly at war over the fur trade now, and it was only the the third iroquois power, now known as the Neutrals, that prevented them from open warfare.

13

It was rare for Glooscap to make his way this far north, few of his tribesmen lived here, and the coastline was new. They found a good place to land their canoe, and started the hunt for Torndusuk.

“He could be anywhere Glooscap.” It was hard not to hear the fear in Martin’s voice.

“True. But with two of the greatest hunters on his tail we might have him before nightfall.” Glooscap didn’t really believe it, but it made Martin smile.

Kwimu padded along beside them, sniffing here and there.

“Maybe we should find his wife. She might know at least where he was last seen.” It was a good idea from Martin, and Glooscap was glad he had brought him.

“Kwimu, find torndasuk, or at his wife.” Kwimu barked once and loped off to the north. Glooscap was tempted to force his transformation to a loon, but he had to trust Kwimu and his instincts. They hadn’t sent him in the wrong direction yet.

Glooscap found some elder berries and did some gathering for a snack on the trails. He and Martin made their way north, the terrain quickly becoming rocky and rough. The tundra was beautiful and different than home, in a rougher way. It was the kind of place life didn’t come easily, with scrub bushes clinging to cracks in rocks where they could find them. Glooscap wished he had invited Tiam, as poor company as he was. Moose scat was prevalent and having their sachem would have meant enlisting all the moose in this land to their cause.

He wondered how the other gods were doing on their trip to the new turtle island. Hopefully Raven would keep Azeban in line until he got back. Beaver’s departure still stung Glooscap, though he regretted his role in Beaver’s leaving. He would need to track him down next, but one thing at a time.

The hours stretched by in rhythm to their steps, and it wasn’t long until nightfall was upon them. Glooscap considered pushing on, but decided on patience and rest while Kwimu did what he did best.

A painful, un-natural howl interrupted their light dinner. Martin jumped, his tail nearly sweeping the fire in the process. “What was that?”

Glooscap knew. “Cheeno.” Martin shuttered at the name of the unnatural beasts. They were long-limbed creatures with a terrible war cry that could stun a man. Unlike the other gods in the land of the dawn, the Cheeno were not formed of the faith and belief of any tribe. They were the manifestation of fear and greed, and there was a lot of both going around now. The Cheenos had hearts of ice and the cold went before them. They never had lips, having gnawed them off themselves in their insatiable hunger for flesh.

Glooscap feared the worse for Torndusuk. He had been battling the Cheeno for generations, but if they were stronger than ever, it was hard not to fear the worse.

“I’ll take first watch Martin. Sleep well under my protection.”

Martin smiled and curled himself up behind his bushy tail.

They awoke with Kwimu entering the camp just as dawn was breaking, trailed by a large caribou. The caribou transformed into a beautiful older woman with caribou features, her face long, her nose black and wet.

“Kwa Glooscap. Kwimu found me.” Kwimu gave Glooscap a lick and then went to sniff the bones left from last night’s dinner.

“Where’s Torndusuk? He didn’t show for the great council meeting and we all fear the worst.” Lsdkfjsdlkj locked eyes with Glooscap.

“As do I. The Cheeno have a new Sachem and he is the biggest and strongest we have ever seen. He is determined to consume us all. Torndusuk was tracking his movements south.”

South for Cheenos and Torndusuk was still north of where they had camped, but it was still farther than the Cheeno generally came, especially in summer.

“Do you know where he was heading?”

“Yes. Past the field of stones.” Glooscap nodded. The field of stones were thousands of rocks broken apart by the ice and thaw, in the cycle of Summer and Winter. It would be rough going and even if torndusuk had passed through the area, there would be no tracks.

They cleaned up camp and set out for the long hike. The trees were different here, growing new leaves and needles only on the side away from the ocean’s spray. Peat moss overwhelmed the low areas, except when they came across a stream where a riot of flowers would grow along their healthy banks. But still, everything seemed smaller for the cold here, even the trees.

By noon they had come to the field of rocks. It was barren with no sign of Torndusuk. Glooscap was getting dismayed.

“Where would he have gone, dlkfjsldkfj?”

Sdlfkjsdklfjd was now in the form of her tribesmen to ease her walking. She scanned the area thoughtfully before transforming back into her humanoid, Manitou form to speak.

“North I would think. I guess he would start here and sweep north. Let’s look for good caves he might have rested in, and for us.”

Glooscap nodded, and off the group set to the north. It wasn’t long past the field of stones they saw it. It was out of place, a giant snow and ice mound leaning against the side of a rough hill. It shouldn’t have been in this weather.

“I don’t know what this is, but it’s not natural” Martin said to Glooscap, and Glooscap nodded. Though a warrior, Glooscap wasn’t without Manitou power. He looked at ldskfjsdlkfj, a true shaman.

“Do you need help melting the ice?” He asked, but she shook her head.

“If my love is under there, I will get him out”. She pulled a rattle from her belt and began to chant and dance, shaking it rhythm. The ice slowly began to melt, and Glooscap sat down cross-legged and decided to assist, despite her wishes. He concentrated hard and began a low chant. The ice began to melt faster, flowing away against the base of the rocky hill to ward a stream nearby. It wasn’t long until they could see the top of a cave entrance. As soon as there was enough room, Glooscap stopped chanting and turned to Martin.

“Can you get through that gap?” Glooscap asked.

“Of course! Martin said with pride, changing form to that of his triblesmen. He scurried up the now slushy hill of ice and squeezed himself through the opening, his bushy tail disappearing. He re-appeared from the hole now much larger, and changed back to his Manitou form.

“He’s there and in good health. He’s in a deep sleep, hibernating.

“Hibernating?” sdlkfjsdlkj interrupted, surprised. But it’s summer!”

Martin just shrugged. “Unless you know of another six-legged polar bear, it’s Torndusuk.” Martin replied. Sdlfjsdklfjsd looked worried. The gap was now big enough for all of them to fit thorough, and they entered the cave. And sure enough there lay the giant six legged polar bear, snoring softly.

Sdkfjsdkl sighed in relief and put her arms around him, nudging him awake.

Polar bears are hardly friendly at the best of times, and were absolute bears when woken. But Torndusuk was more confused than angry. He clumsily got to his feet and transformed into his Manitou form.

“Where am I?” he growled. “I was closing in on the Cheeno sachem when I stopped in this cave to rest for the night.”

His wife answered “We found the cave entrance buried in snow and ice. I think he found you while asleep, and used his magic to make it cold and trick you into hibernation.”

Tordusuk was by far the biggest sachem other than Botup the whale, approaching Tiam the moose’s height, and as powerfully built if not more so, than Glooscap. His arms and chest were criss-crossed with old scars, and a polar bear claw necklace hung from his neck. He had a giant branch roughly formed into a club on his back, which he grabbed reaching over his shoulder with his right hand. While six-limbed in the form of his tribesmen, he had no extra arms in his manitou, humanoid form. Instead he had two large pouches criss-crossed across his body from the shoulders, each a giant polar bear paw.

“So hungry” he said, eyeing Martin. Martin retreated back behind Glooscap and peeked from around his waist.

Torndusuk just laughed in good homour, instead reaching into one of the polar bear paw bags and pulling out some salted fish.

“Don’t worry little one. Any friend of Glooscap is a friend of mine. How long to the grand council? Do we have time to chase down the Cheeno Sachem?”

“The council has already met. Beaver has stormed off, and Azeban seems to have joined us for the wrong reasons, but it went reasonably well.” Glooscap replied.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to speak on your behalf Glooscap. I’ve broken my word.”

But Glooscap shook it off with a light smile. “It went as well as expected. Raven was convincing, and I don’t think any of us, even me, had realized how far and widespread the white people had come in just a generation. It scared us all.”

Torndusuk nodded, before turning to hug his wife. “I need to ask Glooscap’s help to get the Cheeno. It’s going to be dangerous. I think you should go back and watch our family.”

She nodded and returned his embrace. Be safe. We’re a long way from home.” And she kissed him on his white stubbled cheek.

Martin stepped from out behind Glooscap, smacking his little warclub against the palm of his hand. “Don’t worry. You can return with your wife if you want. I got Glooscap’s back.”

Torndusuk smiled and swept his polar bear cloak over his shoulders. “I don’t doubt it my brave warrior. But the Cheeno are strong, and tower over even me. With your permission Abstinooch, I would like to join you and Glooscap.”

Martin smiled. “Permission granted.”

14

Charles de Menou d’Aulnay, white people

15

After the stone canoe had passed the small trading fort, it should have been easy going. The gods of the land of the dawn took turns paddling at the corners of the island, and usually at least one shaman assisted. But the island was slowing down. Raven