Running-Into-Darkness
Seneca Territory (Modern-Day New York)
It was a great relief, to be sure, when the men returned. Running-into-Darkness was shaken awake by his new mother, who told him the news. He rushed to dress himself and look presentable. He knew it was an act of folly, that his father would no longer care either way. Still, he refused to give himself to that despair of truth, keeping himself hopeful. The way he saw it, if he just accepted the way things were, the bleak reality of the present, he would be giving up on the future. He could not let himself wallow in that stagnant misery—for himself, for his love, he would strive to change the world around him rather than succumb to it.
What he could not ignore, however, were his legs. True to her word, Invincible had secured him a new wheelchair, more comfortable and mobile than the last one. But these chairs were built to traverse the paved sidewalks and hardwood floors of the white man, not the uneven terrain of the natural world. Once the villagers of Ganondagan had stripped and set the wood needed for their future villages, they embarked on a pilgrimage to Invincible’s village, the last one standing in Western Door territory. They carried the wood with them for miles, and with no men to shoulder these burdens, the journey was an arduous one. Running-into-Darkness carried his weight like everyone else, at least what he could, but he soon found this to be an impossible task. Try as he did, he could not wheel himself for the journey, not up and down the hills and through the dense forests. Many times he was forced to dismount and be carried, and even when he was in his chair he was pushed by someone else. Despite all the work he had done during the first stages of the rebuilding, Running-into-Darkness felt more like a liability than anything else.
If there was any consolation, it was Invincible. She was his rock, never letting him sink into those comfortable doldrums of self-pity. It would be easy to lament his state, to simply claim that he was worthless now, to abandon all hope. It was hard to work each day proving otherwise, finding new ways to contribute, whatever he could despite his disability. Through it all, he was thankful he had her. He would not have the strength to go through this alone, despite her assurances otherwise. To him, it was just a testament to her resolve, and to her love.
He caught a glimpse of her as she left the longhouse they now shared, headed out to greet the returning men. Often she appeared to him as some ephemeral, transient thing, some impossible dream that he would eventually wake up from. Yet day after day, she remained, and day after day she continued to love him. Now, they shared a village and a home, even before they were properly married. And while he lamented the circumstances that caused it to be so, he could not help but smile at the good fortune that had strangely come from all this tragedy.
Running-into-Darkness struggled to wheel himself down the hill to where the others were gathered. This village was still foreign to him. Back in his own, before it was burned to the ground, he had become accustomed to the patterns of worn footpaths in the dirt, to the places the roots stuck up and could trip him. He was also used to the more gradual incline of Ganondagan’s hill. This one was far steeper, and as he made his way down, he felt himself losing control of the chair. He careened down towards the crowd, and fear clutched his heart. He opened his mouth to yell, to warn the onlookers that he was about to crash into them, when his chair suddenly halted. Someone had grabbed it from behind, and Running-into-Darkness shot forward from the momentum. He grabbed the arms of the chair to keep him from flying out of it, and another hand strapped across his chest to help.
Wondering who his savior was, he tried to turn his chair, and as if to answer him, the figure leaped out in front of him. It was Red Fox, grinning ear to ear like a child. A wave of relief washed over Running-into-Darkness to see his brother alive and well, a feeling that Red Fox showed through his shining eyes and smile.
“He’gë:’”, Running-into-Darkness exclaimed. He held out his arms, and the two embraced, clapping each other on the back.
“You saved me,” the elder brother continued.
“You know, I thought against it for a split second,” Red Fox said. “Just to see what would happen. I’ve never seen a wheelchair crash into a bunch of people before. Now I’m kind of regretting it.”
“Please tell me you’re joking.”
Red Fox smiled sheepishly.
“Only halfway. But I am so happy to see you. I’ve got so much to tell you about, hahji’. We went to an English city! It’s unlike anything you’ll ever see—they cramp themselves into these tiny houses, even when they have so much space. But they have ships in the harbor as big as the largest longhouse—no, bigger even!”
“Huh. I never knew that. Why do you suppose their houses are so small if their ships are so big?”
“I have theories, brother!” Red Fox practically vibrated with excitement. “Loads of them! I—”
Before he could continue, their father stepped through the crowd. He placed his hand on Red Fox’s shoulder.
“Come, son,” he said. “We must learn what has happened while we were gone, and we have much to plan.”
“Yes, Father,” Red Fox replied. The Smoke Rises said nothing else, and merely began to walk up the hill to the first Longhouse, where the elders were gathering.
The two brothers lingered for a moment, an uncomfortable air between them. It was not lost on either of them that he had completely ignored his eldest son. It was almost a comical cruelty—there was no doubt that he saw Running-into-Darkness, that he was aware of him. They lived in the same house, for Sky Mother’s sake, sleeping not two feet from one another. And yet he upheld this ridiculous farce, for some reason that eluded his sons. Even if they believed, as he did, that Running-into-Darkness was no longer a man, that he was as good as dead, what good did the shunning do? What was its purpose, other than to free a father from the shame of a worthless son?
Running-into-Darkness grit his teeth, his hands balled into bitter fists. He always tried to not let it affect him, to tell himself he didn’t care what his father thought. But he did care, of course. How could he not? All his life he had been the golden child, the subject of his father’s and family’s pride. He was the eldest son, the heir to carry on his father’s legacy. How was he supposed to feel, now that he was nothing? No, lower than nothing. He carried less consequence to his father than an insect upon the ground, less than a speck of dust in the fire pit. What was he supposed to feel, if not despair?
In the blurred haze of his periphery, he saw some movement. His brother, he supposed, walking up the hill to follow. He was surprised, then, when he felt two hands grip the handles of his wheelchair, pushing him up the hill. It was Red Fox, who did not meet his brother’s gaze as he turned back.
“What are you doing?” Running-into-Darkness asked.
“Taking you up to the longhouse,” his brother replied. “What else?”
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“I… I’m not supposed to be at the meeting,” he protested. “Father didn’t ask for me.”
“He didn’t not ask for you. As a matter of fact, if my memory’s right, he didn’t say anything about you at all. That means he couldn’t have forbidden you to attend, and that also means he can’t complain if I bring you there.”
Running-into-Darkness sighed with a feigned acceptance of his fate, but in truth, he felt a tremendous love from the gesture. He chided himself for ever resenting his brother after the accident. Even as he took over the mantle of heir, Red Fox never gloated in his new role as favorite. He even protested it more often than not, fighting to preserve his older brother’s role and presence in the family.
“Thank you,” Running-into-Darkness found himself saying.
“Don’t ever thank me,” Red Fox shot back, in an almost scolding tone. “Not for this. Do you remember when I fell from the tall tree by the creek last spring? I didn’t thank you when you bandaged me up. I don’t even think I should have. I expected it from you. That’s what brothers do. I’m not some kind of hero just because I treat you like a person. It’s everyone else who is wrong.”
“Still, I am grateful. It means more than you know.”
“Wrong again,” his brother said with a smile. “I know full well what it means. Why else would I be doing it?”
Running-into-Darkness smiled back. This was how Red Fox had always been, ever since he joined the family. He was always so ironclad in his beliefs, like it would be ludicrous to think any other way. Part of Running-into-Darkness’ resentment had come from jealousy, envious of his kid brother’s conviction in everything. Where did he get it from?
As he wondered, more questions boiled up in his mind, some that had been there for a long time. Eventually, he blurted one out, unable to keep it in any longer.
“Did… did you have brothers before? Before us, I mean.”
Red Fox stopped dead in his tracks.
“You’ve never asked me about before,” he said. The queer confidence he always wore in his voice was gone.
“I know,” Running-into Darkness stammered. “I know. I’m sorry. I… I shouldn’t have asked.”
Running-into-Darkness found himself hot with a strange, embarrassed panic, one he was unused to in the usually-comforting presence of his brother. It was of course taboo to even acknowledge the lives of replacements before they were Haudenosaunee. It was not even explicitly forbidden, more that it would never cross anyone’s minds to ask in the first place. The tribes they had come from were inferior, lesser peoples, not even worth the thought. The Smoke Rises always deflected the questions the boys had about it, pretending as if it was some act of the heavens that miraculously replaced their beloved dead, rather than a deliberate act of violence.
Red Fox made his way around the chair, squatting in front of his brother and looking at him dead in the eyes.
“I was an only child, actually,” he said emotionlessly, like he was orating a history he wasn’t a part of himself. “In fact, I had always wanted brothers. You know how I’m… well, I don’t know. Strange, I guess. That’s what the other kids would call me. They didn’t really like playing with me. I always figured that if I had a brother, he would have to be friends with me, because that’s how brothers work. So I whined and complained to my parents, begging them to have more kids. I would pray to the spirits every night that they would grant me a brother, or better yet, two. It’s pretty cruel, don’t you think? The way they grant your wishes.”
He didn’t give his brother time to answer. Red Fox stood, walking back behind the chair, and continued to push it up the hill. Running-into-Darkness said nothing else. Part of him believed he had said too much already, dredging up painful memories that were better left buried. Part of him wanted to ask a thousand more questions, the curiosity gnawing away at him. It was hard for him to swallow or even wrap his head around—there was a part of his brother that was a stranger to him, and perhaps always would be.
Inside the longhouse, elders were gathered inside in their usual configuration—the female clan leaders around the fire, their men standing behind them. As Red Fox wheeled his brother in, the Smoke Rises noticed them. Visibly perturbed, he broke away from the circle, trying to intercept them.
“What are you doing?” He asked, in almost a hiss.
“What do you mean?” Red Fox asked with a blank expression, hiding his coyness behind the guise of his usual blunt manner.
“Take it out of here,” he said, like his own son was a dead bird a dog had dragged in.
Behind him, the circle shifted once again. Bear Mother rose from her seat, and made her way over to the disturbance.
“Is there something wrong?” She asked.
“Forgive me, Akne:hö:s,” the Smoke Rises said. “I am handling something with my son.”
“With both your sons,” she reminded him, with a stern coldness. “You have been away for some time. All of you. This one has risen to the occasion, taking the place of fifty men all by himself. Come now. You are delaying the start of this meeting.”
And that was it. The Smoke Rises acquiesced to his mother-in-law, and returned to his place by the fire. Red Fox followed, his brother in tow. Both of them were surprised by Bear Mother’s defense. She, like most other people in the village, had started to ignore her grandson after the accident. Even as he worked during the rebuilding, she had not said a word to him. Even now, she spoke about him as if he were not there in front of her. Still, that she spoke highly of him was a blessing, one he was not about to squander. They gathered behind their father, listening as Bear Mother cleared her throat to speak:
“The first phase of this grand reckoning is over,” she said. “The French have come, as we knew they would. They have chased us into the woods, they have burned our homes and crops. And here we still stand. We, of course, have still lost many lives, tilting the balance of the cosmos further than we would have wanted. It is time, then, for the next step. Already we have prepared our grand rebuilding. Our new villages will not share the same sites as the old and dead. We are not content to just harken back to the past, to try and mend what was broken. We will build anew, stronger than ever. Ganondagan, Totiakton, Gandougarae. They are gone forever now, and we will mind the lessons their destruction has taught us.”
Bear Mother took a stick, drawing their territory in the dirt by the fire.
“Our towns were built to defend against our neighbors,” she continued. “But we have new neighbors now, with new tactics. In our fervor to expand westward, we stretched ourselves thin, our settlements too far from each other to reinforce and defend. Our new homes will be built to the East, past the lake Canandaigua, close to our Gayogo̱hó꞉nǫ brothers and sisters. Onaghee, Ganechstage. Two towns, for now—too many longhouses lay empty in the former three.”
She traced the outline of the lake, poking small holes near it to signify the planned sites. The other women vocalized their approval, which of course they had spent weeks already deliberating on, and the men just nodded.
“It will take a year for the wood to be ready to build with,” The Smoke Rises said.
“Yes, indeed,” Bear Mother replied. “And we will not spend it idly. Rather, we have much to do.”
She stood, addressing the men now.
“I am afraid you will have to leave again soon,” she told them. “We have received word from our raiding parties in Illinois country. Their campaign has not been as successful as we had hoped, and they will not have enough new family to bring home. You will have to find more. Go out to the great frontier, men! Bring us home sons who will fight for us! We will build a new army the likes of which we have never known, an army to destroy all who oppose us!”
The men whooped and cheered. All the while, Red Fox stayed silent. Running-into-Darkness looked into his brother’s eyes. They were filled with terror. Just by seeing them, he felt it too. His own brother, who loved him dearly, was ripped from his own home and family, submitted to torture and torment. Now, after he had survived it all, he’d be made to do the same. Red Fox caught his brother looking at him, and tried to feign a smile, but it was in vain. The brothers looked at each other, no words exchanged, none needed. The brief joy Running-into-Darkness had felt from his grandmother’s acceptance washed away like sand in the tide. Despair, that familiar friend, set in again, mocking him for ever hoping for anything. So often his lover would whisper in his ear, telling him that they could change this world, that they would. Yet here before him lay the ugly truth, clearer than it ever had been: despite their intentions and efforts, that endless cycle of fiery pain would keep on burning.