Red Fox
Onondaga Territory (Modern-Day New York)
In the end, they put the bear to the spear. It was not a fate delivered without pain or regret, but a necessary tragedy—it was the bear’s life or theirs. Then again, it could have all been avoided if Red Fox hadn’t listened to the boy they captured.
He still wasn’t sure why he helped them escape. He figured he would wonder why for a long time, perhaps forever. It would be a shame to submit a girl so beautiful to the gauntlet, with flaxen hair and eyes of autumn brown. That was his first thought, at least. As a child, his birth mother would tell him stories of the Old Swan Mother, who gave birth to three beautiful daughters. A man came to the Swan’s house, looking for a wife. The Swan Mother let him choose between her daughters, but after speaking to each one, the man simply turned and left. He couldn’t bring himself to marry any of them, even the eldest, who was the most beautiful, for doing so would take her from the serenity of the lakehouse back to a world of wicked men. Red Fox never understood the story until he saw the French girl. Even her skin was the color of the swan’s plumage, without a single scratch or bruise or blemish upon it. How could he submit her to the trials of Shenandoah, to see her endure what his new mother had?
When they first captured the two, Red Fox didn’t think much of it at all. It was honestly an inconvenience more than anything—the group was en route to Onondaga, the capital city for its namesake people, an unexpected and foreboding detour. They found the two interlopers almost by accident, and almost considered ignoring them to prevent the headache of hauling them along in binds, but it would set a bad precedent if they let foreigners trespass on their lands, especially the French.
As the hours passed, and Red Fox became more and more smitten with the girl, he began to see it as a positive thing. Even if the girl’s innocence and unblemished face would be ruined by the gauntlet, she could join the village if she survived, and perhaps his father would permit him to marry her (though it would be a hard ask, her having no clan, and thus, no power). He could have her all to herself then, and protect her from any further horrors she would suffer. This thought pleased him, for a time, or at least gave him a thought to muse on through the tedium of the long walk to Onondaga.
Then he talked to the boy. He was from some foreign nation, though Red Fox couldn’t place it. He spoke in an odd dialect, but it wasn’t hard to understand him. It was strange—all his life, Red Fox had struggled to understand people, what they really wanted. It wasn’t really his fault—it was theirs. Everyone spoke in innuendo, couching their true feelings in masked pleasantries for reasons he could never understand. But when the boy spoke, he spoke from his heart. His eyes didn’t wander or waver—they stared into Red Fox’s, steadfast and passionate, small dances of light in them from the campfire.
“What’s your name?” He asked.
“Red Fox. What’s yours?”
“I’m named for the Black Bird with red wings.”
“That’s a good one to be named after. One of my favorite birds.”
The boy smiled.
“You look different from the others,” he said. “Your skin’s darker. Your jaw’s sharper. Is Red Fox your real name, or just your newest one?”
Red Fox wrung his hands. His chest grew hot and tight thinking about it. He hated the feeling.
“It’s my name now,” was all he could manage.
“I thought so. What’s your real name, friend?”
“It’s gone now. I’ve forgotten it.”
“Oh, come on. You can’t forget something like that.”
“What would you know about it?” Red Fox spat. He turned away from the boy, unable to look him in the eye any longer.
“It’s gone,” he continued, the heat in his chest growing. “I can’t remember it if I wanted to. I can’t remember it, you understand? I… I made myself forget.”
Red Fox caught himself. His voice was growing loud enough to stir the sleeping men—he saw his father turn and mutter some drowsy utterance.
“I understand,” Black Bird whispered. “I’m sorry.”
Red Fox grit his teeth, but he turned back to the older boy and nodded.
“Not your fault,” he replied, returning to his hushed tone.
“Can I ask you something? Two questions.”
Red Fox shrugged.
“Has your village brought any other captives recently?” Black Bird pressed. “Another boy, a bit younger than me, a bit older than you. He looks like me, kind of—shorter and thinner. Ponytail. Good looking.”
“I don’t know.”
Black Bird leaned back against the tree he was bound to. He meant to look resigned and aloof, but there was a pain in his eyes Red Fox could just make out in the dim light of the fire.
“No one’s been brought lately,” Red Fox admitted, after the guilt weighed on him. “I haven’t seen anyone that looks like that. I’m sorry.”
Black Bird nodded, and a somber smile spread on his face.
“Not your fault,” he replied.
The two boys sat in silence for a while. Next to them, the campfire smoldered to ash, and they were left in total darkness. It was a welcome thing to Red Fox—it meant, among other things, he would no longer have to see the sorrow in his captors’ eyes. It filled him with a tremendous guilt, and not a new one either. There was a part of him that believed he was a traitor—to his old people, to himself. He joined the Western Door because he had to, and he had wrestled with it ever since. Night after night, he told himself he had no choice, and that his existence was still a privilege—he could be dead, or lost and alone. He had a home, a bed, two brothers who really did love him as their own. He should be happy, to count his blessings and to ignore the rest. Because, after all, if he listened to that nagging doubt, it would tell him his whole life was a lie.
“What was the second question?” The boy found himself asking. He waited in the darkness for a reply.
“Would you help free us?” Black Bird asked.
His bluntness took Red Fox aback. How could he ask me something like that? He shifted on the soft earth beneath him, confused and yet strangely relieved. Here this stranger was, speaking to him with a clarity and honesty he had wanted from everyone else in his life.
“If I undo your bindings, they’ll know it was me,” Red Fox argued. “I’ll be punished.”
“I know. I have a plan for that.”
Red Fox shook his head, as if it would clear his mind of these stupid impulses. He had just started to get into his father’s good graces with their recent trip. Why would he ruin things for two strangers?
Then there was that other voice—smaller, deeper inside him. And yet it always cut through the rest, piercing straight into the forefront of his mind. He thought of the innocent girl, of the fate that would befall her. He thought of the boy, who could have been a friend in another life. He thought again to his father, who favored him now only after his eldest son became paralyzed. He thought of his mother—new, old, and even older, who he had tried so hard to scrub from his memory. He thought of his forgotten name, that eternal, mourning ghost in his mind. And he knew the answer.
“What did you have in mind?”
And so it was that Red Fox found himself sneaking away in the earliest hours of the morning, well before any of the men would stir. He was fortunate to find three rabbits caught in the traps the men had laid out before making camp. He took the creatures from their traps, skinned and gutted them. He walked upon the footpath he and the others would take today towards Onondaga. Every four steps, he scattered some meat upon the trail, hoping it would bring some salvation to those two poor souls.
It was his small rebellion, the only thing in his life he could control. With each step he took, each entrail tossed onto the dirt, he grew in his confidence and surety. He was doing the right thing, saving these two from the fate he himself had suffered. A part of him felt guilty for not maintaining the mandate of his new people. A part of him felt jealous—why should they be spared when he wasn’t? Why should they escape and live free lives when he must wake up tomorrow and continue to pretend?
In the end, Red Fox realized, it didn’t matter. This was his burden to bear, not theirs, and he would deal with it in his own way. Their fates would be different, determined elsewhere, and he would do what little he could to send them on their way. Whatever happened to him, whatever came tomorrow, he would rest easy knowing he had helped them.
It broke his heart to watch the bear die. He had always been a gentle soul—when he was a little boy, he would cry and cry when his father would bring dead animals home to clean and cook. He cried for the ducks and the rabbits the most. How far he had come—he felt almost nothing now when he saw these ones in the traps. Was it a good thing? Was he mature now, that he no longer mourned for these creatures?
The bear was different. She did not choose to martyr herself for the two captives’ sakes—her only sin was seeking food for her two cubs, lured by the meat Red Fox had laid out. He knew there was a chance she would have to die, and he made his choice knowing that risk. But how could he make that choice for her? Were two humans’ lives worth more than hers?
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It all happened too fast to take anything in. The roar, the scramble for spears and muskets, the captured boy rolling down the hill. The chaos was intentional—it would help them get away. Red Fox tried to contribute to it subtly, to make sure. But when the time came, he found himself frozen in fear, staring down the bear’s snarling maw. The creature lunged at him, and he could not move, his feet like rocks planted in the ground.
His father, of all people, was his savior. He lunged forward, catching the bear’s teeth in his spear. The others moved with him, moving in coordinated tandem despite the circumstances. They pincered her from both sides, where she would be overwhelmed and unable to defend. She cried out in pain as the spear tips dug into her. She swiped at one with a claw, but it only grazed him, her movements slowed from the spears stuck in her. Then another, then another. One by one, they pierced her brown hide, until she slumped to the ground, unable to fight any longer.
Red Fox knelt on the trail, eyes lost in the pool of blood growing inch by inch. He felt a hand grab him by the neck like a wolf scruffs its young. His father pulled him up to his feet, looking him in the eye.
“You cannot freeze,” he scolded him. “You die the moment your fears take control.”
“I… I’m sorry,” Red Fox stammered. “But how can I not feel afraid when it comes for me?”
“Did I tell you to feel no fear? The fear will come, little one. When the French surround you with their rifles and chant for your death, when you can see the bloodlust in their eyes, the fear will come. Your job is to never let it win.”
Then, something unexpected happened. The Smoke Rises embraced his son. He had never done so before—affection was rarely doled out at all from him. Red Fox stood there in his father’s hug, unsure of what to say or do. Unsure if he deserved it, knowing that he had caused all this. Unsure if he wanted it at all from a man who only called himself his father.
“Come,” The Smoke Rises said with a pat on his son’s back, not giving him time to find an answer. “Let us pray for forgiveness.”
The men gathered around the bear. The spears were removed, wiped clean. The two captives were dismissed—an unfortunate loss, but their capture was already a hindrance, and no one would lose sleep over two wayward teenagers in the end.
The two cubs sat by their mother, pawing hopelessly at her lifeless body.
“What will become of them?” Red Fox asked, the guilt growing in his heart.
“They keep a bear in Onondaga,” his father said with a shrug. “Our best hope is that it will raise these two.”
He said nothing more on the subject—he was always a man of few words. He knelt in front of the bear’s corpse, and the others joined him. Now that the dust had settled, the crime at hand needed to be addressed. The unnecessary killing of any animal was frowned upon—it distorted the balance of nature that the Haudenosaunee believed themselves to be the arbiters of. This instance, however, was especially grave. They had killed a Bear, the symbol of Red Fox and his family’s clan. The bear was not just one of nature’s creatures—it was a family member, an ancestor, a teacher. And they had speared it to death.
The only possible way to atone for this was through ritual. Condolence and atonement ceremonies were most common between people to settle disputes and feuds—here, though, it would be used for an animal. Atonement was one of the core foundations of the Five Nations, built into its bones from the days of Hiawatha and Tadodaho. For upon his ascendance, Tadodaho was forced to acknowledge his past wickedness, to apologize and atone for the curses he had put on Hiawatha and his family. The Great Peace could not exist with bitterness and resentment between its founders—an understanding can not be made between people who hate one another. So it was then, so it was now. The Smoke Rises burned an offering of tobacco for the spirits. The smoke filled the air, and all the men closed their eyes in reverence. The Smoke Rises clutched a string of sacred wampum in his hand and began the rite:
“Gëgadanide:sta',” he said to the bear and the sky. “Please forgive my wrongs.”
The other men repeated his words after him.
“Gagwëgadanide:sta'! We beg you for forgiveness!”
“I did not mean to cause this harm. De’ágehdö:’.”
“We did not mean to do it! Gagwëʼágehdö:ʼ!”
“Your death will not have been in vain. Your meat will provide for us. Your fat will keep us warm and healthy. Nothing will go to waste. I thank you for your gifts. Degadënö:nyöh.”
“We thank you! Gagwëdënö:nyöh!”
“Do not worry for your children—we will find them a parent. We will keep them safe. Gaagi:wihsaöh. This I swear to you.”
“Gëgaagi:wihsa’öh! We swear this to you!”
Red Fox took part in all of it—kneeling beside the other men, closing his eyes, chanting. He couldn’t help but feel that his heart was empty, that his words were hollow.
Dusk had just begun to fall when they reached Onondaga. Despite being the capital of the most central and crucial nation, the city was around the same size as their own Ganondagan, perhaps even a bit smaller. Onondaga’s esteem and position within the Five Nations was not because they were more populous or powerful than all the others—it was given based on respect for their position and duty. Onondaga was the central nation, the core of the confederacy. Should they move any way, left or right, all the other nations would be forced to move with them. That was, in part, what made the news that caused their detour so distressing.
The clan mothers were standing in the town square to receive the group, though it was largely just for pleasantries, and most dispersed after the initial greetings until the feast that would be held later. The sole chief left among them, who Red Fox came to know as Otreö:ti’, led them through the village to their lodgings. It was a strange and sad comfort to know that Ganondagan was not the only city with empty longhouses.
Sure enough, there was a large wooden cage in the square, just far enough from the firepit that it wouldn’t catch flame, but close enough for the villagers to observe the bear inside during meals and gatherings*.
“We found him in the woods as a babe,” their host explained. “His mother had either abandoned him or died. He’s grown up with this village. He’s quite docile—you’d be surprised. We can’t let him out of the cage for long, of course, but sometimes he’ll let you pet him.”
“Do you think he would take care of these ones?” The Smoke Rises asked, his arms scratched and bleeding from carrying the two cubs.
“Why not? Even if he ignores them, we’ll be here to make sure they’re fed and cared for.”
Otreö:ti’ wiggled the latch on the cage door open, and Red Fox’s father scooted the two cubs into the enclosure, eager to give his arms a rest.
With that done, the men took seats around the fire to talk and rest before the feast.
“We were surprised to hear of your visit,” Otreö:ti’ mused, taking a seat on a stump. “But a pleasant one, of course. You are always welcome here.”
“Imagine our surprise,” The Smoke Rises returned, “To learn our brothers are so quick to betray us.”
The Western Doorkeepers all looked to Otreö:ti’. The air between them grew thick and heavy. A bead of sweat formed on Red Fox's head. He hated tense moments like this.
“Ah,” Otreö:ti’ said. “I understand. I suppose I should have expected this. You have heard, then, that we plan to make peace.”
It was grim news, salt pouring into the open wounds of their people. Not two months ago, the French invaded their lands, burned their crops, toppled their cities. Already, it seemed, the Onondaga were ready to forgive them. And where they moved, the other nations followed. The men here wanted revenge, but they would find none, not without the support of the other nations behind them.
“We’ve heard that you plan to surrender,” The Smoke Rises shot back. “That you would have these animals march into your brothers’ lands and thank them for it.”
“I understand your anger. We feel it, too.”
“Do you?”
"You forget that they have captured all our chiefs? That they rounded my brothers and cousins up like pigs? That they have Tadodaho, the greatest among us, and we are still unsure if he is alive or dead?"
"So we march to their country, burn down their forts, bring our people back."
“They are holding them hostage for this exact reason. Out of some cruel fortune, I was too ill to travel to that forsaken trap. I alone tend to this village, heeding the wisdom of the Mothers. I alone raise and teach our boys. And you would have me go to war? You, in your vengeance, would have me doom fifty innocent men?”
“They have brought the war to us! It is only right to return their bloody gift to them!”
The men cheered at that. Red Fox shivered to hear the sound of their fury, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling.
Otreö:ti’ sighed.
“Would you continue this cycle of violence forever?” He asked the men. “They invade us. We invade them. They kill us. We kill them. When do we decide to stop?”
“When they’re gone,” The Smoke Rises snarled. “When there’s no one left to invade or kill us. You act like we were the ones that started this. They came from beyond an infinite ocean, just to bring war and fire to our homes. This ‘cycle’ will continue for as long as they remain.”
The men cheered again.
“For what it’s worth, I agree with you,” Otreö:ti’ admitted. “But we cannot get rid of them in a day. How many decades have we warred with them now? It’s clear that bashing our head against the wall over and over again isn’t working. But we have a new plan. We have some ideas. I have been chosen to help design some of them, given my experience.”
“Yes, yes.” The Smoke Rises waved a dismissive hand. “We know how good you are at bending over for the French*.”
“If you recall,” Otreö:ti’ said through clenched teeth. “I made a buffoon of the last ruler they sent here. I talked LaBarre around a tree trunk until he tied himself into a knot.”
“And now his successor has come for revenge. And what will you do? Bend down and let him fuck you? You—”
A noise cut the bickering off, so loud and sudden that it alarmed all the men around the campfire. They jolted up, their eyes darting towards the enclosure behind them. The elder bear had attacked one of the cubs, and was starting to devour it.
The men shouted in protest. They ran to the cage, unsure of what to do. Otreö:ti’ followed, panicking—he fumbled with the latch, trying to open it so they could pull out the living one.
They were too slow. It was over in an instant. The bear slaughtered both of them in a sudden burst of fury. It bewildered them all. Did he see them as competitors? Usurpers? They couldn’t know. The men stood there in stunned silence, a darkness falling on the whole village.
“I thought you said it was docile,” The Smoke Rises barked at Otreö:ti’.
“He… he is,” The man said, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen him do anything like this.”
Red Fox fell to his knees, his hands gripping the bars of the cage. They fell, too, touching the warm fur of two small corpses. Is this the price of freedom? He wondered. Why? Why does it have to be so damn heavy?