The Cry of the Wolf Chapter 57

The labor lasted far longer than Dark Star had remembered with her other children. And the pain…

"One last push," her mother-in-law encouraged her that the end, at last, was in sight.

Within moments the lusty cry of a newborn's protest filled the longhouse bringing smiles to the women surrounding the squirming chief's heir.

"Ah, a boy," Small Bird grinned, kissing her grandson's pudgy cheek. "My son will be pleased."

At that moment Chief Long Knife entered the lodge, his eyes glowing with unmistakable pride.

"Thank you," he murmured, sending his wife a look that spoke volumes.

Dark Star's heart fluttered as she watched her husband reach for their squalling son.

The baby would not have received his name yet according to Wyandotte tradition until his ears had been pierced, but he was not Wyandotte. The child in his arms was Mohawk- the eternal enemy of his people.

Swallowing the tears that burned at the back of his throat, Chief Long Knife raised his son so everyone gathered could see the infant.

"My son, Peter-Torris Hendricks of the Mohawk tribe."

Strong Oak looked away, ashamed of the part he had played in the fate of his tribe. A simple, "I'm sorry," wouldn't change the course of history. The warrior was all too aware that the choices he had made couldn't be reversed. Not now, not ever.

He glanced over at Jaira whose features were as dark as an oncoming storm. Surely the Great Spirit had punished him for his sins by bringing Jaira into his life.

Dark Star, however, was the first to speak.

"Peter...Hendricks? Why that name?"

The name Peter Hendricks that had been given the chief by Brebeuf only stirred memories she'd rather forget. If the chief hadn't shunned the old ways and angered his people...no, that wasn't why her children had died but it was the reason she could never visit their graves. The name broke her heart.

"I owe Brebeuf a debt of gratitude. If it were not for him…"

"You don't know, do you?" Jaira interrupted, unfazed by the chief's position of authority. Not waiting for an answer, Jaira continued. "Brebeuf is dead."

Chief Long Knife's features darkened. "How do you know this?"

The chief had barely acknowledged Jaira's existence and right now she wished he would continue to ignore her, squirming uncomfortably under his penetrating gaze.

"He was killed. He didn't make it through the week."

Chief Long Knife knew exactly what she was referring to. The tiny man wouldn't have survived the week of brutal torture the Iroquois Nation was notorious for. "Man-Eaters." They thrived on brutality and now, he led one of the tribes within the dread nation. His stomach clenched as he willed his features not to betray him.

Chief Long Knife stepped forward menacingly, passing his son to his wife. He would personally avenge the priest's murder.

Jaira backed up as the chief advanced.

"Tell me!" The chief snarled.

This wasn't the time to play games of cat and mouse.

"Jaira…"

Dark Star was clearly fighting tears over the senseless death of her friend.

For Dark Star's sake, and her alone, Jaira told the truth.

"The Iroquois tortured Brebeuf until he died."

Chief Long Knife emitted a chilling, blood-curdling cry.

"Think this through," Kajirowirago reasoned with the younger man. "You are the chief of the Mohawk now. You cannot battle against your own nation without destroying this confederacy. I can see how much this man meant to you, but you must let it go. In this, your hands are tied."

Chief Long Knife pried his arm away from the tall blonde man, rage clouding his better judgment.

****

Timing was everything and Chief Long Knife wasn't a fool.

Kajirowirago approached the young chief, solemnly in his eyes.

"Enjoy the birth of your son, my chief. Your wife needs you by her side now. I know you are a Believer, that is why Chief Black Bear chose you to lead our people. The Bible says "Vengeance is mine, I will repay, sayeth the Lord." I never had the privilege to meet Brebeuf, but I can see what a great impact he had on you and your coming to know Christ. Trust me, you do not want to bloody your hands avenging his death. I am certain Brebeuf would not have wanted you to…"

Chief Long Knife knew Kajirowirago was right. He may be German and a foreigner, but the older man spoke with wisdom.

"It is our way," Chief Long Knife wouldn't yield quite yet.

"Was your way…" Kajirowirago softly corrected. "You are a new creature in Christ Jesus. Old things are passed away; behold, all has become new."

Brebeuf and the tall German had an uncanny similarity, spouting off memorized Scripture. Had they met, they surely would have been great friends. Yet what kind of man would Chief Long Knife be if he allowed his friend's senseless murder to go unpunished? Innocent blood had been spilled and a nation looked up to him as their leader. It was his duty to lead them on the warpath or he would look like a spineless fish in their eyes.

At a fork in the road, Chief Long Knife's decision would have long-lasting consequences.

"This is not over," Chief Long Knife held out his hands for his son. "Today we will celebrate the birth of our future chief," his face erupted in a joyous smile. Just maybe the Scriptures spoke the truth. His new God restored what was taken.

Peter-Torris Hendricks slept blissfully unaware of the turmoil in his father's spirit or the sorrow in his mother's heart. The future leader of the great Mohawk people suckled his tiny fist, unaware of the legacy resting on his tiny shoulders.