The Cry of the Wolf Chapter 14

For seven long days, Guillaume was tortured. They burned him slowly until chunks of flesh fell off his body, slicing his private parts until he was completely castrated. He fought cries of pain until he was almost certain he would bite his tongue off before losing consciousness.

The natives removed him from the stake, giving him water and allowing him to rest.

Mercy?

Within a few hours, he was dragged back to the stake in the center of the village, the inhumane torture continuing.

"One soul..."Guillaume breathed before singing in his native French tongue, "Jesus thou son of David, have mercy on me."

The song became the cry of his heart when he realized they were never going to let him live.

On the seventh day, he breathed his last, his final thoughts on the glory of Heaven that awaited him.

Chief Long Knife entered the wigwam, for once unwilling to participate as the men cooked Guillaume's remains before eating him, ingesting his life force.

Their numbers were greatly depleted from Iroquois raids and outbreaks of cholera. Guillaume had shown intense bravery and, in superstition, they absorbed his strength knowing in the morning, they once again would become the hunted.

The Wyandotte Nation could never be safe.

Chief Long Knife and Falcon did not allow their women and children to step out of the wigwam until no trace remained of the Frenchman. It would be easier this way for them to adapt if they never knew.

The Iroquois women who had been taken captive on the first raid exchanged looks, knowing full well what happened to captives. After all, it was their own nation that was known for even greater brutality. They glanced over at the pale-faced women who huddled together, their eyes relaying a message:

Welcome to our world.

If they wanted to encroach upon their land, they would face the same fate as Native captives had for centuries. It was nothing personal.

"Come," Small Bird smiled, motioning the shy women to join her, "It is time for you to become Wyandotte."

They hesitated, uncertain of what she was trying to say.

Other elderly women stood, placing their hands on the pale-faced women's arms, guiding them down to the river, their source of life. Removing their clothing, they were scrubbed hard until their skin turned bright pink.

The men had withdrawn into the shadows of the trees, affording the women privacy. Only Dark Cloud remained in the entrance, his eyes watching the children's every move. Iroquois children who'd been taken captive crouched beside Adelaide's children, refusing to let fear show in their wild eyes. This was the way of their people. It must be accepted with bravery. Their mothers would return from the river, Wyandotte.

****

The rippling water tinkled like tiny bells. Maggie stared straight ahead with unseeing eyes, unaware of the first shoots of green grass lining the lakeshore or the sunlight which glinted off the rippling water.

Her stomach lurched again, her arm held over her mouth as she tried to suppress her dry heaves. The trauma of the past week didn't help matters. Unaware that her husband's bones lay in a shallow grave near the clearing, Maggie watched and waited for any sign of her husband.

Adelaide assumed he may have been sold as a slave, traded, or best yet set free. It was too strange that they had never seen him again. Adelaide hoped for the best, but Maggie's intuition was quite the opposite.

Falcon had escorted her into the wigwam on her first day in the village, motioning to a pile of furs covering a raised platform. She quickly learned that this was to be her sleeping quarters and where she would remain, guarded by the imposing warrior who scarcely uttered a word.

Occasionally he left, but never for long and when he wasn't there, Small Bird or another woman took his place, keeping a watchful eye on the woman who wasn't able to stray far.

Adelaide, on the other hand, was kept with her children and was given more freedom, if it could be called that. She too was unable to leave the confines of the wigwam but was permitted to venture as far as the fire in the heart of the dwelling and approach the other dark-skinned youngsters who studied her with wide eyes. Perhaps it was because Adelaide had young ones that she trusted more.

A mother wouldn't leave her children.

"You must eat something," Adelaide whispered, holding a dish of steaming broth that reeked of fish.

The odor caused Maggie to lose the contents of her all but empty stomach, gaining the scrutiny of more than one of the matronly women within the longhouse.

Aquene clucked her tongue, helping scrub the mess, ignoring Maggie's cheeks, flushed scarlet.

"I'm sorry," the young brunette murmured, but it was pointless, the only one understanding also helping clean up the evidence of her companion's frailty.

The women weren't foolish. They'd been around long enough to see that the natives despised weakness. Fear clutched at their hearts, the women unaware of the consequences should they break rules they didn't yet understand.

Food couldn't be wasted, so Adelaide passed the dish to her daughters who shared the simple meal.

"If you don't eat, you'll waste away," Adelaide rubbed Maggie's back, "We need our strength if we are to escape."

The language barrier only worked in their favor.

Chief Long Knife had taken a special interest in Adelaide although he, like the others, rarely spoke. A slight nod appeared to be sufficient, yet Adelaide had caught him watching her more than once.

It was unnerving, yet she was determined to prove she could be trusted. A little more freedom was all they needed to make a break for it. At this rate, Maggie wouldn't make it far.

Small Bird appeared to hold the most weight among the women. Turning her attention to the aging woman, Adelaide motioned with her hands in a cupping motion then brought her cupped hands to her mouth before pointing to Maggie.

Frowning, Small Bird rose, speaking to Falcon who sat nearby, vigilant as always. Small Bird clutched Maggie's arm, motioning Adelaide to follow.

The children refused to be left alone in the longhouse, stepping out for the first time into the blinding sunshine.

Now Maggie knelt on the edge of the river, gazing down with unseeing eyes at the shimmering water. One tip forward was all it would take for her to be swept away, unable to swim. It would be so much better than having to return to her captors. Just one little thrust forward...so why did she hesitate?

Cupping her trembling hands, Maggie slowly brought them to her parched lips, the warm sun caressing her ashen features. She blinked back unbidden tears.

Maggie needed to believe her husband was free. If she didn't pull herself together, all that remained of her husband would perish, and that is something she would never forgive herself for.

Straightening her slender shoulders with a renewed resolve, Maggie dipped her hands into the refreshing water once more, drinking deeply of the life-giving source.

Adelaide glanced over at her friend and smiled, noticing the glimmer of determination in her friend's dusky eyes.