A Flight of Arrows (16 page)

Planting Moon

A
day's journey north of Fort Stanwix, with a moonless night closed round, Two Hawks and Ahnyero settled in the lee of a ridge. They lit no fire. Even within sight of the fort, it was possible to be ambushed by Mississauga or even Mohawk scouts.

Ahnyero took first watch, but Two Hawks found his mind yet running its trails. The other man stood some paces off, a pillar against the stars, alert for disturbances beyond the rustlings of night creatures. Two Hawks sat up, hooding his blanket, and just loud enough for Ahnyero to hear said, “That new commander at the fort, he is a friend of yours?”

Ahnyero stood silent a moment, then came and settled on his haunches near Two Hawks, rifle resting in the crook of his arm. “Peter Gansevoort is a friend to the People. It is good he is come to command. He will lead well when attack comes.”

When
. Not
if
.

The new fort commander was an imposing white man, tall and thick chested, not yet thirty. He and the first of his New York regiment had arrived before Two Hawks and Ahnyero set out to scout northward. Gansevoort had taken swift charge of the fort's repairs and planned to improve the road running east to Fort Dayton at German Flatts. Something was also happening west of the fort, which occupied the Carrying Place between Wood Creek, passage to Fort Oswego on Lake Ontario, and the Mohawk River, passage to Albany and the Hudson.

“As we were leaving,” Two Hawks said, “I saw the party he sent to Wood Creek. Why does he risk men out that way?”

“He has them felling trees across the water. The British will need to move all those trees from their path to bring their cannon and supplies to the fort, if they try to come that way. Like the path you wish to clear, eh?” Ahnyero wasn't referring now to the clearing of a creek. “Tell me what weighs on you, brother. Then maybe you can sleep.”

Though his belly churned with the bad feelings he'd carried away from Anna Catherine, Two Hawks was glad to be prodded to speak of it.

“I did a shameful thing. Her father caught me.” He told Ahnyero how Aubrey found him watching his daughter bathe, though he'd done so only for the time it takes to draw a startled breath. A breath too long. He told how Aubrey ordered him, not yet healed from saving his boats, to leave. “I went to that place wanting to remove every branch from the path between my heart and his,” he said, hearing the bitter current in his voice. “Instead I felled a great tree between us.”

He was glad no one but Ahnyero heard these words. He'd held them inside, unable to tell even his mother, afraid to see relief in her eyes. She liked Anna Catherine, but he knew in her heart she wished him to marry a woman of the People. He thought of Strikes-The-Water but shook the image of her away.

“What have your parents said about this thing that happened?”

“I did not tell them.”

Ahnyero let his silence speak to that. After a moment, he said, “It seems to me it was not a thing you meant to do, nor a thing for which you should feel shame. You did what a white father would want you to do. You looked away. He was too harsh about it, I think.”

“Her father did not know what was in my heart.” Two Hawks surprised himself by defending the man. “But if I could find my brother, maybe I could convince him to come back and that would clear a whole forest between Aubrey and me. If Creator wills it,” he hastened to add.

Beside him in the darkness, Ahnyero made a low sound. Laughter. “That is why you are with me now? To help Creator's will along?”

Two Hawks frowned, unsure whether he'd been reproached. Out in the dark, a branch cracked. Ahnyero stiffened, then relaxed when a raccoon trundled into starlight, chittered at them, then hurried on its way.

Ahnyero squeezed his arm. “Sleep, brother. Or if you cannot for thinking, talk to the Almighty about it.” Concern warmed the blacksmith's voice, mingling with wryness as he added, “Only do your praying in your heart. I would like some quiet.”

Next morning they met scouts coming south. Two were Oneidas from Oriska Town, known to Two Hawks. The third was known to him by reputation alone.

Born to an African father and an Abenaki mother, adopted by Caughnawagas, Louis Cook had fought against the British in their war with the French. Two Hawks watched the dark-skinned man with his head shaved to a feathered crest and ears heavily pierced as he spoke of what he'd seen in Montreal, a place he could enter with safety, being fluent in French and known as a Caughnawaga.

“The British are at Lachine, preparing to push up the St. Lawrence from that place. They will gather at Oswego, on the lake.”

It was momentous news, no matter how long expected.

“When will it begin?” Ahnyero asked.

“Before summer is much advanced. That is all we three know at present.”

They spoke a little longer before Two Hawks dared interject, “What of Johnson's regiment? Are those soldiers at Lachine?”

Louis turned dark eyes on Two Hawks. “They are. Have you business with them, young brother?”

“It is a brother I have with them. The brother born with me that I have never seen.”

Recognition lit the warrior's gaze. “You are the son of that woman captured and held at the British fort, who gave birth to two but brought away only one?”

“I am that one she brought away.”

Louis regarded him. “I am heading south now and cannot turn aside, nor say where my path will take me in coming days, but if it takes me again among the ranks of Johnson's Greens, would you have me look for him, this one who wears your face?”

Two Hawks stiffened his knees, weakened with a wash of gratitude. He hadn't looked for such a thing from this great warrior. “I would. He is called William Aubrey. I am told he does wear my face, but as a white man wears it. His eyes are blue.”

“If ever I am among those Royal Yorkers, I will look for him. If I find him, what would you have me say?”

“Tell him of me, of our parents, that we want him to return to us. Tell him so, and if he will come away with you…”

Louis Cook gripped Two Hawks's arm in farewell. “If he will come, then I will lead him home.”

At midday they paused to eat a handful of parched corn and drink from a burbling stream. They continued north, bearing a little west on a path that cut back and forth across the stream, skirting stretches of swamp. Beside them ran a series of ridges. Ahead rose higher peaks, patches of late snow clinging in their shadows.

Behind them someone followed.

It took no more than a shared glance to confirm what both had sensed. Moments later, when Ahnyero veered off the path at a place where
the ground was moist but passable, Two Hawks guessed what he intended. With a fierce surging of his blood, he followed. Skirting the marshy place, they made a wide, staggered turn, following the terrain of a hillside, weaving through downed timbers, heedless of tracks left in the wet ground. Thus they circled back until they reached their own tracks on the trail they'd abandoned.

There were three sets of footprints now.

They set their ambush simply, each sheltering behind a tree, one to either side of the trail. There they crouched, rifles primed, and waited. Perhaps they would watch and let the tracker pass. It was only one enemy and they were two. Maybe killing wouldn't be—

The arrow thunked into the tree inches from Two Hawks's face. He felt his bowels seize, then caught Ahnyero's gaze and knew their trap was prematurely sprung. Two Hawks hesitated, waiting to let Ahnyero be the first to fire.

In that moment a voice called out in a tone that hinted of humor, “
Shekoli
. It is one you know who follows you!”

Two Hawks knew the voice well. Motioning Ahnyero to hold his fire, he stepped out from behind the tree to see Strikes-The-Water stepping from behind another tree, a second arrow fitted to her bowstring. In the time it took Two Hawks to reach her, astonishment worked itself into vexation so hot it clogged his throat.