Running-Into-Darkness
Seneca Territory (Modern-Day New York)
In the end, they burned it all. Though that young Frenchman showed him and his little brother mercy, leaving them safe and hidden in the longhouse, that brief respite was not to last. The French set fire to everything, and Running-into-Darkness and Little Bear barely escaped alive, forced to flee from their own home as it crumbled to ash around them.
It had been a week since it happened. The French had moved on to other villages, ever-hungry on their path of destruction. Little Bear was still traumatized from it all. He hardly spoke, his eyes still haunted. It was a struggle to even get him to eat. Running-into-Darkness didn't push it, though. He understood just how his brother felt. Besides, there wasn't even enough food to go around, so if anyone wasn't hungry, the food would go to those who needed it more. Ganondagan was the largest village in the nation, and home to the largest stores of corn, dried and painstakingly preserved to last many winters. They burned it all. Six years of food, gone in an instant. The French found no warriors to fight them during their conquest—a paltry force of five hundred warriors defended Ganondagan, the rest sent far beyond these lands for some unknown and distant scheme. Here, in the heartland, there was no war to win, no enemy to slay. So the white men found themselves a new foe. They turned their sights away from the far-reaching branches of the white pine*, instead hacking away at its very roots. They waged war not against another nation, but against the people themselves, seeking to destroy their future as well as their present. And Running-into-Darkness could do nothing to stop it.
Worse, perhaps, was that this calamity only watered the seeds of doubt in his mind. Why had it gone this way? Why had the men been sent away instead of made to stand and fight? All he knew was that it was Bear Mother's idea. He had not even been invited to the war council, not in his current state. All he could do was speculate, then, and his mind always went to the bleakest place possible. He did not see any wisdom in leaving your homes defenseless, in offering up your own women and children like bait.
If there was one silver lining in all this, it was that Running-into-Darkness was kept busy enough to not dwell on his worries or sorrows too often. With the village destroyed, and the others likely sharing the same fate, new ones would have to be built. This was no easy task without the men, but preparations could be made regardless. The day after the attack, the women set out to cut down the wood they would need to rebuild—elm for the siding and foundation, lashings of hickory to tie everything together. The elm came first—the sidings were made of long, thin sheets that were carefully laid out, and took a year just to dry and settle. What would they do until then? Where would they live? What would they eat? There were no answers to be found, only cavernous holes in a future filled with uncertainty and pain.
As the only man left in the village, Running-into-Darkness did his part, sitting and carving the large trunks of wood into the smaller shapes and functions needed. It was laborious and harrowing work, especially without the use of one’s legs. After the first dozen logs, his arms began to ache, and by the second they felt as if they were going to fall off. But this was a job he could do while sitting, and it was a job he could do as a man.
While his new role should have given him a sense of purpose, in reality, he just felt empty. Instead, his being here was a constant reminder of his new existence. He had stayed behind in the village not by his own choice, but because there was nowhere for him to go. He didn’t accompany the other men as they left because in their minds, he was not one of them. Even this job here was temporary and fleeting—what would he do once the town was rebuilt, once the other men returned? Who would need him then?
His worries drifted to all manner of things—to Red Fox, out there somewhere with his father, his whereabouts and safety unknown. To Invincible and her village—had the French reached them too? Was she alive? Was she safe? He wished more than ever that he was here by his side, her strength and confidence so large that he and everyone else in the village could share in it. Without her, all he could do was worry. He tried his best to ignore these thoughts, to immerse himself in the rhythm of the saw, in the monotony of his work. But they ate away at him bit by bit, phantoms of larger and darker worries that even lay beyond. The French invasion was a cursory one, like dipping your toes in a lake to test the temperature. They came to find the villages abandoned and empty, terrorized the women and children still present. While their villages and corn were gone, these precious things were still worth less than lives, and could ultimately be rebuilt. This meant that despite the destruction and hunger that would no doubt plague them for months, they had suffered no real defeat in this war, leaving the French with nothing to win. And while the other villagers celebrated this strange and hollow victory, Running-into-Darkness found no comfort in it. He knew that this was just the start of something bigger, something far more destructive. It was only a matter of time before their warriors counter-attacked, and only a matter of time before the French invaded again. On and on it would go, this never-ending cycle of violence and killing. Even in this preamble, he and his brother had almost lost their lives. If it were not for the benevolence of that young French soldier, they would both be dead.
And it was this thought, perhaps, that bothered Running-into-Darkness most of all. It was easy to think of the French, or all white men, even, as violent and barbaric. It was easy to fall into the trappings of stereotype, to look upon the other with disdain and contempt. But that’s what the French did to them, wasn’t it? This was the root of all this violence and hatred, and thus the only way to break free from the cycle was to see one’s supposed enemy as they were: a human being, just like them. This meant, of course, that the man Running-into-Darkness stabbed and killed was not some pallid monster, but just another man, with his own life, his own family, his own dreams. And he had cut all those short with the stroke of his knife. Not that he felt remorse, necessarily—it was self-defense, after all. The man would have killed him and his brother without a second thought, and almost certainly wouldn’t have felt the same guilt. And yet the memory of it still haunted his dreams and memory, the look in the man’s eyes as the life left them forever burned into his brain.
And so again, Running-into-Darkness was punished for thinking things through. Another man would be content with labeling all his foes wicked, leaving him with no remorse if he killed them all. There was bliss within ignorance, and with that comforting shroud cast off, he was left with nothing but harsh, cold dread. But what else was he supposed to think? How else was he supposed to feel? He had seen the white man’s barbarity, his evil, and yet he had been saved by his compassion. How could he not show the same in return?
“Hohsöda’is.” He heard someone call his name behind him, snapping him out of his contemplation. To his surprise, it was the love of his life, Invincible. His heart leaped just to see her, and all the worries in his mind faded in an instant.
“Dó:ganö’go:’,” he said. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“We heard the northern villages have been besieged and torn down,” she said. “We’ve come to help you rebuild.”
“Then…”
Invincible smiled.
“Yes,” she said. “They did not reach us, thank the Sky Mother. Apparently our remoteness does come with some benefits.”
His heart swelled with joy and thanks, and Running-into-Darkness was possessed to stand up and rush to her side, forgetting that he couldn’t. Thankfully, she saw the look in his eye, and ran to him instead, embracing him in his chair.
“I was so worried,” he told her. “I feared the worst.”
“You always do,” she replied. “And I’m glad to prove you wrong once again.”
She kissed him sweetly atop his head, and everything melted away. There was no war, no famine, no fire. Only her. The whole world could crumble around them, and Running-into-Darkness would not know or care, as long as she was still there beside him.
“How have you fared?” She asked. “Is everyone alright?”
“Mostly, yeah. The little one’s shaken up, but he’ll be alright. He’s so strong, that one. Saved my life, you know. But no boy his age should endure that hell. I had to kill a Frenchman right in front of him. He’s still having nightmares about it.”
“He’s lucky his big brother was here to protect him.”
“He was in danger because of me in the first place. Had to wheel me out of the village, and the damn thing tore its wheel off. It’s still broken, actually—I’ve had to crawl on my hands to get around.”
“Oh, you poor thing,” Invincible said, with a biting sarcasm. She lowered herself so she could look her lover in the eyes.
“When are you going to stop blaming yourself for everything?” She asked him.
“What do you mean?”
“Listen to you. You’re wallowing in your own self-pity. Instead of being proud that you saved your brother, you’re despondent at the fact he needed saving in the first place. You blame yourself for this. So what if he didn’t have to wheel you out of the village? You think he would’ve been completely safe if you weren’t here?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“That’s right. You don’t. You don’t know a damn thing. So you can sit there and think about all the miseries your presence might have caused, or you can look at the facts. The fact is that you were here, and you saved your brother. And now you’re the only one strong enough to do all the hard work around here. And I’ll bet you’re miserable about that as well.”
Running-into-Darkness started to argue, but stopped himself. She was right.
“You worry too much,” she continued. “You’re always preoccupied by some hypothetical, intangible thing. It makes you forget what’s right in front of you.”
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She’s right again, he thought. I hate when she’s right. But her words struck true with him, and so he decided to take her advice, and look at what was in front of him. It was the love of his life, and she was alive and well. And what a miracle that was. He smiled, and she grabbed his face and planted another kiss on his lips.
“But I’m not here to yell at you,” she said. “I’m here to help. Where’s your wheelchair? I’ll get started on fixing it.”
“Burned like everything else,” he said. “There's... there's nothing left of anything."
"Well, I'll send a messenger to buy you another one. There's a cadre of traders coming to visit in two weeks. I'll have them bring one."
"I don't know if they'll be able to. My first one was a special order—it's a rarity even among the white men, they say. Took over a month for them to come back with it."
“Have you forgotten my name, foolish boy?” She said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I am Capable of Anything. And how can I not be, when I have such lovely motivation? On my honor, you will have your chair back before you know it. Now, I've got to go drop this off with the elders. And I'll pay a visit to your poor Little Bear while I'm up there. I have a trick for always making him laugh, you know.”
Running-into-Darkness looked at his lover's face, and realized he hadn't even noticed the tumpline across her forehead. She had carried an enormous basket of corn from her village, using the tumpline to help bear the burden. The basket was twice the size and weight a man her age could carry, and she hauled it for days just to make sure there was enough for everyone. That was just who she was—an unstoppable force, a shining beacon of hope that inspired anyone who met her and knew her unyielding kindness and spirit. And to think she fell in love with a hopeless fool like him—he could only thank whatever strange twist of fate made it so.
"You have food," he said in disbelief. "But if you're bringing this much... you won't have enough yourselves."
Invincible just shrugged and smiled.
"My elders have spoken," she said. "We have enough food to share, and our village has many empty houses begging for families to fill them. You are not alone in your suffering, my love eternal, and we are here to help in any way we can. Once the siding is ready to be dried, everyone here will come and stay with us for a while. It's really rather fortunate, in a morbid sort of way. I don't know how else I would've convinced my mother to let you live with us."
With that, she pecked her lover on the cheek, and carried the corn up the hill to where the others were staying. Running-into-Darkness watched her leave, and allowed himself to exhale. It really was a relief to see her—despite all his worries about the future , they all paled in comparison to his fear that something had happened to her.
Only, this respite was not to last, for as he watched his lover leave, he saw another come down the hill towards his direction. Invincible's mother, She Is Sitting. His heart chilled—he had hardly spoken with the woman ever, and ever since the accident, had tried to avoid her. In his mind, she was already loath to approve of his being with her daughter, and now that he was crippled, it would be practically impossible. Still, she was headed this way, so he put on a smile to welcome her.
“Ganyóhšo:t,” he began, trying his best to still his nervous heart. “Nyawëh sgënö’.”
She placed her hand on his chest. “Strength be within you,” she said. It was a common way older folks would greet younger ones, and Running-into-Darkness could not help but wish her blessing would come to pass. Certainly he needed strength right now.
“Thank you,” he said. “Our village is so fortunate that you have traveled to help us.”
“And they are fortunate for you,” she reminded. “That you are miraculously here to protect and assist them.”
Her words were likely not meant to sting, but they did anyway. Running-into-Darkness bit his lip.
“You consider this a miracle?” He asked. He should not have taken such a hostile tone, but he couldn’t help it. It had only been half a year now since he lost his legs, and they were still a sore subject.
“In a manner,” she said. She took a seat on a sawn log next to him. “When a bullet is meant to take a man’s life, it’s a miracle if it leaves him with it, don’t you think?”
“Depends on what state it leaves him in, I suppose.”
“True. And it has left you with a mind sharp as a knife, and a tongue even sharper. Some would consider that a blessing.”
Running-into-Darkness sighed.
“Forgive me for my tone," he said. "Your daughter always scolds me for being too pessimistic.”
“Oh, don’t apologize. You have a right to be bitter, given your misfortune. But my daughter is right to scold you. It’s unbefitting of a husband to sulk and pout.”
At the mention of marriage, Running-into-Darkness sat up, straightening himself. He wondered if his hair looked alright, but it probably looked the same as the rest of his body—unkempt after a day of hard work, and covered in sweat. That thought made him even more nervous.
“I—I’m sorry for not speaking of my intentions earlier,” he began. “And I’m sorry I haven’t yet asked for your blessing properly. I—”
A raise of her hand cut him off.
“Your mother has spoken to me of your intentions,” she said, her face growing serious. “And I suppose you are already aware of my reservations.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And what do you think of them?”
“I think they are reasonable, of course. But… well, I imagine you’ve heard this before, but you don’t really fall in love because of politics, do you? That’s the way it always is—your parents want you to marry with your brain, but the only thing you can hear and trust is your heart.”
The woman chuckled, her dimples showing in her cheeks.
“And you trust your heart, do you? That faulty, wild thing?”
“I do. I have to. My brain is too morose. It focuses on my neighbors that have died, of the war that is sure to come again, of the evil of the world. It’s my heart that contradicts it—it tells me there’s good and kindness still, that there’s hope. And, well… it also tells me I am madly in love with your daughter.”
“It is death that always shrouds the hopeful heart,” she said. “It is a faceless, shapeless man named Shondowekowa. So often has he visited us as of late, stealing the breath from our very lungs. But all of us must die one day. One of our ancestors was the first to know that truth, and we would all do well to remember it.”
“I remember the story. Almost too well. That’s what worries me, actually, if I’m being honest. Our ancestor spoke to Hahgwehdiyu** himself, and learned this great truth and others from him. But even he could not tell us why this was the truth. Not even the spirits know why we must die, even of natural deaths, and here we are, fighting wars that will end our lives too soon. Does that not frighten you?”
“Of course it does. It is meant to, I think. If we were not afraid of death, we would not have a need to relish each day, would we? And yet now we know each day is a blessing, for we might not be here the next. I’ll tell you a story.”
Running-into-Darkness shuffled in his chair. Adults always told stories as parables, which he found varied wildly in how valuable they were. But he would pay attention to hers out of respect, and of course, to help win her approval.
“When I was a little older than your youngest brother,” she began. “I had a sister. A twin, actually, if you would believe it.”
“I had no idea.” This was the truth—even Invincible had never told him.
“No one will speak of it now. You know how they are, people—so superstitious, too often conquered by their own fears. There is a magic in twins, they say, a miracle to replicate the work of the Sky Mother. We were not treated like normal children—everyone saw us as this unearthly oddity, like we were practically born with cauls on our heads***. It was a strange and uncomfortable thing, and I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone.”
“I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for? You weren’t there. You didn’t gawk at me or clear sticks out of my way as I walked. You, it appears, were raised the right way. Allowed to make mistakes. Allowed to fall down and hurt themselves. Children who aren’t never learn to pick themselves up, you see. My sister and I certainly didn’t. We grew up thinking we were special, that the world smiled upon us and shielded us from any harm.
“And then, when I was about your littlest brother’s age, I was out with her in the woods. We had grown rebellious from our smothered upbringing, and were desperate to gain the freedom we had never been given. So we went out alone, exploring. We went past the village, further than we knew we should, until we no longer recognized where we were. It was the farthest either of us had been from the village, and certainly without our parents, and we became lost. We wandered for hours, and I started to fear that we’d never return home. And then, we fought. It was my sister’s idea originally, and I blamed her for all of it. We became angry, said things we shouldn’t have. She became determined to find our way back, and took the lead. And then the funniest thing happened. She slipped and fell. And I just stood there and watched it. It was so fast, and I had no idea what to do. I just remember thinking that I had never seen her fall before, not really. And it must have surprised her, too. She was never taught how to brace herself, how to protect the important parts of her. Her head smacked a stone on the ground, and she didn’t get up. I stood there and waited for what felt like an hour, and she didn’t get up. And I still couldn’t bring myself to move.”
Running-into-Darkness opened his mouth to say some apology, but he stopped himself. He didn’t know what to say. Who did?
“Eventually, they found me,” she continued. “I was sitting next to her, cradling her head in my arms and bawling. And yet, the next day, when I had slept through the misery and the horror, I felt something inside me, and not what one would expect or certainly want to feel. I felt relieved, almost glad. I was always forced to share everything with her—my clothes, my dolls. Everything. And yet she was born an hour before me, and I always got the feeling my mother favored her more. All my childhood I was jealous of her. I thought this way, with her gone, I would get to have everything. I would be pampered still, and never have to share anything again.”
“Were you right?”
“Hah. Things changed for me, at least. The birth of twins is miraculous. The death of a twin is calamitous. Everyone began to treat me like I was an ill omen, some accursed thing that would bring them bad luck if they got too close to me. My closest friends stopped speaking to me. Even my mother kept me at a distance, and I never really recovered until I met my husband. And do you know what he taught me?”
“What?”
“That no one will ever know the answer to your question. Not Hahgwehdiyu, not Ataentsic, not even the Ancient One. There are some mysteries in life that are impossible to know. Why are we here? Why do we make war with each other? Why do some die too young, and why do we die at all? We are not meant to know, I think. It’s the wondering that keeps us going.”
Running-into-Darkness pored over her words for a moment, trying to think of what to say.
“I see,” Running-into-Darkness said. “Thank you… uh… for telling me. That puts me at ease to know, I think. I’ll try my best to mind the lesson.”
But despite his words, her story did not give him any peace. If it was true that no one knew the answer, that perhaps there was none, even in death… that would be the most horrifying end of all.