Authors: Stephen Zimmer
Deganawida paused for a moment, to take in the somber faces surrounding him. Several mouths were pensive, and many brows were furrowed in deep concern. Yet there was little that he could read in their expressions to know whether they understood the vital need for consensus, and the imminence of their peril.
“As we have always done, we must move as one will, as we have always made decisions of the Grand Council in consensus. I ask for you to listen to me now, and heed my words more than you ever have before. Know that this is the hardest counsel that I could offer you. It is a terrible thing that I ask, but there is no other path that I can see. My heart tells me that we must move our people to the south and east, towards the shores of the Great Waters,” Deganawida stated, with great solemnity. He spoke slowly, letting each word settle upon the throng of Great Sachems.
“It is our only chance. The villages, as you know, are no protection. The west is not a choice, as our enemies will be striking with great power from that direction. Our nearest hope for help lies to the east. We must seek help from others beyond our lands, and we must move our people as far from harm as we can. We cannot remain here.”
When Deganawida sat down again, it was with the heaviest of hearts. He realized what he was asking of all of them. An unsettling silence permeated the area, a foreboding and fearful atmosphere taking hold, as the sachems grasped exactly what he was proposing. There was an even longer silence before the next sachem rose to make the first comments following Deganawida’s response.
“If we have consensus, do we bring the tribes together and then go east? Or does each tribe move on its own?” Wadondaherha queried.
He was a Great Sachem of the Gayogohon, the northernmost tribe in the Five Realms. Their lands bordered the remnants of the war-like tribal groups that had long ago held power over most of the eastern forests. It was little secret that these brutal tribes were now aligning with the enemy. The pressure upon the Gayogohon, in particular, was very considerable, as they were likely to find themselves beset from two directions at once.
“We have held our enemies back for many long years,” Wadondaherha continued. He then added, before taking his seat again. “They watch us closely, and will surely seek to fall upon us as we leave our lands. It is better if we were to make haste to join our numbers with the other tribes, than to try to make the journey by ourselves, where a stalking enemy can better find a moment to strike.”
Deganawida nodded as he rose up, taking his place in the center yet again.
“Together is the only chance we will have,” Deganawida stated firmly. “There will be no villages left standing soon. No one tribe among us can withstand the attack that is coming. We must bring together our strength.”
“And the war sachems?” a shorter, stocky sachem of the Onyota, named Ronyadashayouh, asked Deganawida. “And the Bregas? The Bregas were the greatest of gifts from this land to our people.”
“Ayenwatha, a war sachem of the Onan, of the Firaken Clan, has sent messengers out with the ceremonial leaf to all the tribes. We will soon know who will join him,” Deganawida said, looking to the relatively youthful Great Sachem.
Like Ayenwatha, Ronyadashayouh was a skilled sky rider, and it was no surprise that his concerns included the noble race of the Brega. The Bregas were precious to all of the tribes, and Deganawida knew that any undertaking would have to involve an attempt to preserve the winged creatures.
“The Bregas should be brought along with us. Those of the west do not know the Bregas or their ways. We must try to save them, just as we try to save our people,” Deganawida answered.
“And what of the Wendaton? You have heard Wadondaherha of the Gayogohon. The Wendaton ever wait on the border of the Gayogohon. They have long hungered for all of our lands. And we have warred with all of the Anishin tribes, but it is also the Gayogohon that are next to lands where other Anishin tribes yet dwell. You know the scouts have said that several from Anishin tribes move among the enemy,” Ronyadashayouh stated firmly. “The Gayogohon have suffered much to hold the Wendaton and others at bay. They will take our lands if we leave.”
“They may for a time, yes,” Deganawida responded bluntly, for he could not soften the words. “You know that they serve our enemy, and our enemy may reward them with our lands.”
“Curses on them. They are no different than a tribe of witches,” Ronyadashayouh responded, all but spitting the words out after he sprang up and took his own belt. His expression darkened, tension and frustration chiseled deeply into his face. “I do not dispute you, Deganawida. But we must defend ourselves. Still, I must ask … what will happen when we reach the Great Waters? There is nowhere we can go then. Would it not be a trap?”
“We must keep our people alive,” Deganawida replied strongly, endeavoring to remind Ronyadashayouh of the priorities facing them. “It will do us no good to have our tribes slaughtered. It is a trap if we stay here. And we can be surrounded here. I have faith that Midragard will honor our friendship, in a brave and generous manner.
“It is not as the days far in the past, when their raiders first came to our lands, and some tried to settle. As Shadekaronyes of the Onondowa has said, there has not been any war among our peoples for many long years. They are a people of great courage and will. They also do not bow their knee to this Unifier. I do not think that they will abandon us. We have little other choice than to trust them. We have hope and a chance to the south and east. I cannot see the same if we remain here.”
There were many nods of assent among the gathered tribal sachems. Deganawida knew that they all felt a distinct difference in the manner of their trade with Gallea and Midragard.
The Gallean merchants were very discreet in their trade, as many of their clergy condemned association with the forest-dwellers, and their strange religious practices. To the east, many genuine friendships had risen up among the Midragardans and those of the Five Realms, including shared visits, feasting, and exchanges of gifts.
Gallea had always looked upon the Five Realms as something savage, primitive, and pagan, where Midragard’s sons and daughters had recognized a proud and honorable people, with a resolute spirit. As each sachem reflected on the individual Midragardans that they knew and traded with in recent years, Deganawida was confident that they could not help but believe his judgement, as to who would remain faithful to them.
Yadajiwaken, one of the newly risen members of the Grand Council, then hung his own shell-belt for the very first time. “Some among the Anishin are not our enemies at this time. Some have vessels that can travel the Great Waters far enough to reach the first islands. We should send our elderly, and the smallest children, mothers, and the great matrons. If the Midragardans decide to help, then the ones most vulnerable can take refuge on those islands.”
“You will be an excellent member of this Grand Council, Yadajiwaken of the Onan,” Deganawida stated approvingly, seeing that even in one of their darkest hours, new individuals were stepping forward with wisdom guiding them. “You speak truly. There are Anishin villages out on the eastern shores who are not at war with us. It would not be difficult to reach them.”
Yadajiwaken looked very pleased at Deganawida’s words, though he made no reply. After he returned to his place, he was followed by several others who spoke of the difficulties facing an exodus to the southeast, though Deganawida noted that none of the others counseled anything in direct opposition to Deganawida’s own advice. At last, there were no others that desired to speak.
Glancing upward, Deganawida saw that daylight was beginning to fade. The time had arrived for decision, and he hoped that there had been enough discussion. He feared for the worst, knowing that many lesser decisions of Grand Councils had taken days to deliberate and decide. What he had asked of them was monumental, and unprecedented, in comparison to those issues.
“Now, we must see if there is consensus. There is little time, and the day is nearly gone. Before we are in danger of coming under the influence of the Dark Brother, I put this matter before you to decide,” Deganawida said. “What do you say?”
One by one, the sachems indicated their opinion on the matter. Even when the first twenty of the sachems had agreed, Deganawida knew that he could not get his hopes up, as even one sachem’s disagreement was enough to negate a cohesive decision.
Yet he could not stop his hopes from rising, as the thirtieth sachem affirmed agreement, then the fortieth, and finally the forty-ninth. Ronyadashayouh, the fiery Onyota sachem, was the last.
He rose, looked toward Deganawida with a resolute expression. “I, Ronyadashayouh, sachem of the Onyota tribe and member of the Shadow Flyer clan, agree that we must act as one body, and move to the east as Deganawida has spoken wisely of. As I am the last to speak my mind on this matter, you now have full consensus.”
The tension building within Deganawida dissipated instantly, and he almost sighed aloud in his sheer relief. The Five Realms had not been saved, but their chances of survivial would be much improved. There was utterly no doubt within Deganawida about that aspect.
The consensus had been reached just in time, for the light of day expired just as unanimous agreement had been attained. In a way, as dusk settled, the Light Brother passed jurisdiction over to the Dark Brother, as it had always been.
While agreement had been attained, not everything was a relief. As daylight ebbed, Deganawida still could not help but think that the light of one age was coming to an end, and that a new, much darker age beckoned.
*
Ayenwatha
*
Deeper in the forest, in a more remote part from where the villagers sheltered, another council transpired the following day. With the signs of invasion imminent, the summons had been sent out well before the momentous decision of the Grand Council.
Ayenwatha had sent the messengers afar in great haste, bearing the sacred leaf of the tobacco, and braving great danger on Brega steeds to reach all parts of the tribal lands. They had issued the invitation to the War Council being called by Ayenwatha. In all cases, the recipients of the summons had smoked the tobacco leaf with the messengers, in distinctive pipes fitted with narrow axe blades at their farther ends.
Setting out immediately for the Onan lands, tribal warriors flocked in from all around towards the Place of Far Seeing. When the designated day arrived, Ayenwatha was able to convene a very large War Council; one that was united in purpose and resolve.
Great numbers of warriors had answered the summons from all over the Five Realms. It was a concentration of the strongest, the bravest, the swiftest, and the most resolute of the able males from the five tribes. When a few contingents from the Gayogohon had arrived, and every tribe had warriors present, the ceremonies had soon gotten underway.
As with the Grand Council, the great War Council worked to keep the tribal traditions honored as much as possible. A shell-belt made up of white figures with hands joining, set against a red background, was displayed to symbolize both the presence of war and the alliance among the warriors of the confederacy.
Ayenwatha, in what was perhaps his greatest hour, was convening the largest War Council known to tribal memory. As the one who had called the War Council, Ayenwatha was accepted by those who had responded to his summons as the leader of the coming effort.
The Onan war sachem and honored member of the Firaken Clan gained widespread goodwill from the massed warriors when he named his war lieutenants. Five were chosen for the high honor, one from each of the tribes of the Five Realms. Each one was an exceptional choice, well regarded among the people of their own tribe, as well as the populaces of the other tribes.
Discussion of what was to come, and what the tribal warriors needed to achieve, then occupied the warriors for quite some time. Deliberations had focused not only on methods of conducting the defense of the tribal lands, and speculations concerning the enemy, but also about the issue of supplies for a sustained fight.
Those arriving at the War Council had come prepared, with pouches at their belts filled with corn meal, and quivers filled with arrows. Whatever remaining supplies that could be used by the warriors would be gathered up from the ruins of the stricken villages, as well as those that remained intact.
Even so, food would run low and quivers would empty if the fight dragged on for any considerable length of time. There would be few opportunities for hunting, especially with the woods filling up with battling warriors. Plans and contingencies had to be made so that warriors did not weaken from hunger, and bows still had arrows to loose.
The forest had then been filled with the sounds of chanting and rhythmic drums, as the warriors engaged in ceremonial dancing and ritual purification. There was little available for the traditional war feast, but the warriors ate what they could, and viewed the meager amounts of food in its more symbolic light.
Ayenwatha had then guided the long streams of warriors back to his destroyed village for what was to become a very contemplative moment. The long march through the woods had allowed the warriors a period of inner reflection, culminating at the site of the unprovoked, brutal attack on the Onan village where the Sacred Fire had been harbored.
Within the village was a single timber pole, painted red. It had somehow emerged unscathed from the withering storm of rocks that had showered down upon the village, and Ayenwatha was determined that it would serve its intended purpose once again.
Surrounded as it was by the broken shells of longhouses, and the ponderous silence of the abandoned village, the final stage of the preparation for war was undertaken in a very emotional and heartfelt environment. The single red pole stood unscathed as a symbol of defiance, and survival, within the terrible scene of tragedy.
At first, there was a profound silence, as the horde of warriors assembled in a great mass around the red war pole. One by one, the warriors then began to build themselves into a frenzy, drums thumping as chants rose up into the skies. Over a very long, poignant sequence, the warriors of the five tribes moved in to strike the red pole, as they would soon strike their enemies.