The People from the Sky
Eric S. Brown and Robert E. Waters
Near modern-day Rhode Island
Summer, 1636
Fast as Lightning’s spirit lifted as he stepped into Sun Rising’s longhouse. The aged Narragansett sachem was still alive. Praise the Red God, Fast thought as he took a few steps toward the fire pit. The flames were low, but hot. Fresh kindling was tossed in the smoldering ash. The fire quickened in a pop of sparks and smoke. Without a word, Sun Rising offered up his pipe. Fast accepted it quickly to help hide the incessant shaking of the old man’s hand from family members who stood away from the fire, but close enough to observe. The expression on their faces was clear.
Sun Rising is dying . . .
“Come,” the old sachem said coughing, “and sit. Let us talk.”
Fast sat and drew a long draft of smoke. He had smoked with Sun Rising before, the most recent occasion being just two winters ago. Then, he and Speaks His Mind, sagamore and son of a Montaukett sachem, had sat inside this very longhouse, around this same fire pit, and discussed securing peace with Raging Wolf and his Mohegan warriors. A peace necessary to stand against the coming of the up-timers, the people from the future, and the terrifying changes that they might bring. But that peace had been broken when Raging Wolf ambushed them in the deep snow, killing Sun Rising’s nephew, Good Hawk, and badly wounding Speaks His Mind. Since then, there had been no peace between the Mohegans and the Narragansett, and Fast wondered if there ever would be again.
Sun Rising drew generously from his pipe. He let tendrils of smoke leach out of his dry, thin mouth like coiled snakes. He coughed, winced in pain, and said, “They say you killed the Black Tooth.”
Fast nodded. “Yes, Sun Rising. It was necessary to protect the Narragansett from future attacks.
Plus, he threatened the lives of Raging Wolf’s children.”
Sun Rising smoked again, and smiled. It was good to see that. “And yet, the Mohegans have not recognized your sacrifice to their people, protecting their future sachem from certain death. They continue to raid our villages.”
“Yes, they do. It is Uncas who feeds their anger and distrust.”
Sun Rising handed over the pipe. “Uncas’ anger is with Sassacus and his own standing among the Pequot. He is taking his frustrations out on us and trying to assert an authority he does not have.” Sun Rising straightened his back and slowly crossed his legs. The fresh leather of his leggings and breechcloth held clean streaks of red-and-white clay. “Killing the Black Tooth, though, caught his attention. No small task for a simple Narragansett warrior like yourself.”
Fast smoked and shrugged. “The Red God kept me safe.”
“Ah, yes, your up-time Manitou.” Sun Rising coughed again. “Someday, you will have to introduce me to this red god of the sky.”
Fast remembered the moment that he had discovered the up-time Red God. Then, he had been known as Runs Like Deer and had been a member of the Deer Clan. But inside the satchel of an Englishman who had died of a snake bite, he had found a brightly colored book. On its cover was the depiction of a man dressed in red. He wore a symbol that could only represent lightning, brightly emblazoned on the skintight red armor that covered him head to toe. Smaller lightning bolts were affixed to the sides of the mask that left only his eyes and his nose and mouth exposed.
Being unable to read the book’s words did not stop him from going through the book page by page, examining everything carefully. The story within seemed to be told by drawings as much as by the words in the white circles and boxes that broke up the pictures. It was clear the man—if he was a man—was a great warrior among his people. There was one drawing where the man in red was confronted by half a dozen other white men in odd clothing. The others all had the loud weapons of the white men pointed at him. In the next drawing, they fired at the man in red, but he moved so fast that death could not catch him. Swerving among their shots, he raced toward them. As the story continued, he took their weapons, throwing them aside. The man in red swept in to defeat the others with only his speed and bare hands.
It was to Fast an epiphany, as a Christian colonist might say. He felt an immediate connection with this man, this god, and from that day forward, Runs Like Deer was Fast as Lightning, and he would be so until his final day.
“Someday, my friend, I will tell you,” Fast said politely, but knew that that day would never come. He could hardly take time to explain now, nor would there be time later. But they smoked and shared the lie together and spoke of other pleasantries until Sun Rising’s dog, Kitchi, came through a small gap in the longhouse wall and rested his panting snout on Sun Rising’s thigh.
Kitchi brought joy to Sun Rising. He patted and rubbed the dog’s sides and boney spine. He leaned over and placed a small kiss on its head. He seemed most happy in the presence of his pet. But was that a tear brimming at the bottom of his left eye? Was his lip quivering?
“Sun Rising,” Fast said, leaning closer, “why have you called me here? What is wrong?”
The sachem blinked away his tear and said, “The time of change has finally come. The up-timers have arrived.”
Breath caught in Fast’s throat. Those were the words he had been expecting, anticipating, for a long time. He had been north and west, moving from one Narragansett village to another, helping to keep them safe from Uncas and the Mohegans. He had heard, and seen, nothing of this.
“Are you certain?”
Sun Rising nodded. “Both the Niantic and the Wampanoag have seen a flying ship, one that floats on the clouds as easily as a canoe on the river. It is a big ship, they say, and it bristles with life and color. Tiny men are seen on its deck. It is moving from one white settlement to another. There is no doubt what it is. The up-timers have come, and they mean to make war on us all.” Sun Rising sighed, fought back the pain that gripped his expression, and said, “Everything that comes from Europe is a poison.”
Fast was shocked at such words. Certainly, Sun Rising did not believe that, since he was good friends with William Bradford from Plymouth Colony. The Englishman had personally helped Fast during the Black Tooth incident. Bradford was no poison. But looking at Sun Rising now, so close to the end of his life, perhaps his anger, his defeated words, stemmed from a life of missed opportunities. Fast shot glances around the longhouse. War clubs, bows, arrows, and a small leather cord of teeth from vanquished Mohegan and Pequot foe hung from a post nearby. Signs and symbols of war in the home of a man who had always prided himself as a peacemaker.
“What can I do?”
Sun Rising made a chi-chi-chi sound with his tongue, and Kitchi jumped into his lap. He was a modest-sized dog. Brown-and-black fur. Part wolf and another breed that William Bradford had brought with him from England years ago. He was a good dog, loyal and obedient, and one of Sun Rising’s favorites.
“I ask that you take Kitchi to Ninigret and offer him as a gift. He has always admired my dogs, so I will give him one. I fear that my desire to find peace with Uncas and the Mohegans is no longer possible. So be it. Let them live or die at the hands of white Europeans and up-timers as they may. But I wish to ensure that the Narragansett and the Niantic maintain their good relations so that we, together, can survive the coming storm. Go to Ninigret and reaffirm my friendship, and his commitment to our alliance, with this gift.”
Now, Fast understood where the sachem’s tears had come from. To give away Kitchi, to give away any of his dogs, was more painful than death. To do so, then, would be seen as the highest honor. For Ninigret to refuse . . . well, what if he did? Fast did not know what to do in that situation, but he’d figure it out when and if the time came. The Red God had given him the power to think quickly and efficiently under stressful, uncertain situations.
He nodded. “Very well. I will take your gift to Ninigret and secure his commitment to us. But I must confess, Great Sachem: dogs do not like me.”
Sun Rising forced a laugh and patted Kitchi’s head. “Then take Little Bear with you. He is more than capable of helping if you run into trouble.” He smiled. “And he loves my dogs.”
Fast took his leave. He paused outside the longhouse and looked into the sky. A storm cloud was forming, thick and black. Rain would fall soon. But there was no up-time sky ship to be seen.
* * *
Despite his name, Little Bear was a brute of a man. He was tall and stocky, almost twice as wide as Fast, and three times as strong. Sun Rising was wise to recommend him for this journey. If things did go poorly, Little Bear would be a great benefit.
They walked through the woods with Kitchi between them. The dog was in good humor. The chill of the coming night filled Kitchi with energy. Fast felt much the same. The up-timers from Europe had finally arrived. He hoped very much to catch a glimpse of their flying ship, as Sun Rising had described it. He hoped even more that, during the course of their journey, the Red God might bless him with the chance to speak to an up-timer. In his heart and mind were questions about the Red God that he knew only the up-timers could answer. But the skies remained clear, save for storm clouds. Rain had been falling on and off throughout the day.
Little Bear pulled him out of his thoughts. “We should make camp soon. I am soaked to my bones.”
“You are right,” Fast sighed, his excitement suddenly dampened by memories of Sun Rising. The old chief would almost certainly have passed on by the time they returned home. His spirit had been barely clinging to his old and sickly body when they had departed. Sun Rising had been a fair and
wise leader. Fast respected the old man, and his loss would hurt their people.
Finding a spot suitable for the night, Fast built a fire. Kitchi huddled with them as the sun set. The dog chewed generously on the remains of a squirrel that Little Bear had shot out of a tree. The dog seemed content.
“Kitchi,” Little Bear spoke loudly, “would you honor us with a story to help pass the night?” Fast stared at Little Bear with a smirk on his face. “What are you doing?”
“I am trying to get Kitchi to tell us a story. I thought it might help you take your mind off your troubles for a time. Give you some peace.”
“Dogs cannot speak.” Fast laughed. “They did once.”
Fast grunted and shifted into a more comfortable position at the fire’s edge. Its warmth felt nice and was already drying parts of his breechclout and leggings.
“You don’t believe me?” Little Bear frowned.
“I have heard the story,” Fast said, “but I don’t believe it.”
“It is true, though. Dogs once spoke as we do. Do you not know the legend?”
“Go on then,” Fast urged Little Bear on, seeing that his friend desperately wanted to tell it. “Give us the story.”
“Long ago, dogs spoke just as we do,” Little Bear began. “Dogs lived side by side with Man as they do now, and back then it was their sacred duty to warn us of approaching strangers. They, too, would search the forests for game and tell us where it could be found. In this time, there were evil spirits that dwelt beneath the earth in the dark belly of the ground. These spirits, these creatures, were foul and mischievous things. They were our enemies.”
“Have we not enough of those,” Fast asked, “in our own lives? We do not need evil spirits to—”
“Are you going to let me tell this story or not?”
“I am sorry. Please, continue.” Fast motioned for Little Bear to get on with it. “These imps from beneath the earth . . . ” Little Bear started.
“I thought you said they were evil spirits?”
“Does it matter?” Little Bear gritted his teeth in frustration. “I suppose not. It’s your story. Tell how you want.”
“These spirits came to the dogs one day, offering wondrous treats and much more. The dogs were so overcome by what was given and promised that, in their greed, they forgot to warn the village about the spirits.
“Late that night, the spirits . . . those foul imps . . . crept into the village and took away everything they could carry. The village was left with nothing of what they had stored to get them through the coming winter. The dogs never once issued a warning. They slept, content and full, by the fires, never raising their voices.”
“And they lost their voices for it?” Fast asked, pushing Little Bear’s story along.
“I am getting to that.” Little Bear grimaced, annoyed by yet another interruption of his tale. It was not Fast who interrupted the young warrior this time, however. It was Kitchi.
The dog’s ears perked up at something neither of them had heard from the surrounding dark wood. A low growl came from the dog as it rose up from where it lay near Little Bear.
Hearing the distant twang of bowstrings, Fast launched himself up and over the fire at Little Bear. His friend grunted as Fast’s weight hit him, taking him down. An arrow thudded into the ground a few feet from where they lay. Another slammed into the fire itself, sending embers soaring. Fast rolled away from Little Bear, both of them scrambling to their feet as war cries rang out among the trees.
A painted warrior came bounding into their camp. His face was slicked with red-and-black clay. The sweeping, upwards angle of the clay that marred the warrior’s cheeks in two black streaks with a bright red line in the center of each was a pattern that Fast recognized immediately. The burly warrior, with a four-foot war club held ready to swing, was a Mohegan. There were a pair of other warriors behind him, racing toward the camp. They had cast aside their bows, one drawing fierce knives, the other hoisting a heavy war club from where it had bounced on a cord at his waist. The blade of the knife gleamed in the light of the fire as they entered the camp. The war club waved dangerously in the smoky air.
Fast thanked the Red God for the speed that had saved himself and Little Bear from the arrows of their enemies many times in the past. That speed, unfortunately, wasn’t enough this time to avoid the war club that was swung violently toward his head. It was Kitchi who saved him.
The dog leaped at the enraged warrior, teeth sinking into the soft flesh of his thigh. The Mohegan screamed as Kitchi tore a chunk of meat from his leg. Fast yanked his tomahawk free from where it hung on his belt. The warrior in front of him was reeling from the wound in his leg and hadn’t yet recovered enough to bring his war club to bear again. Fast took advantage of the enemy’s painful hesitation, burying the blade of his tomahawk in the center of the Mohegan’s chest. The Mohegan’s eyes went wide. He opened his mouth as if to curse Fast, but only blood poured over his chest in stark contrast to the streaks of war clay that covered his bare skin. Fast ripped his tomahawk free from the collapsing Mohegan. His two conspirators were in the camp now. Kitchi confronted one of them, Little Bear the other.
Little Bear flashed a knife. It was a poor weapon against a war club, and as he raced toward the snarling Mohegan, he took a blow to the side of his face that sent him sprawling onto the dirt. He did not get up.
Kitchi was faring better. The dog leapt through the air at the other Mohegan who had lost footing. Its teeth closed around his neck. The Mohegan slashed at the dog, cutting a long but thin gash along its body as he tried defending himself. His effort was fruitless. Kitchi’s teeth had already torn out a chunk of throat. Kitchi yelped, darting away from the Mohegan as the warrior fell to his knees, hands clasping at the bleeding red meat of his throat.
The Mohegan who had downed Little Bear moved quickly against Fast. Standing his ground, Fast let the warrior approach. His tomahawk lashed out to meet the warrior’s knife hand as the Mohegan thrust it forward. The Mohegan cried out and withdrew his bleeding hand as his knife fell from his grasp. Fast finished him, chopping away half his face in a single swing of his tomahawk.
The night fell silent, save for the horrid, wet gasping of the Mohegan as he bled out. Fast stepped forward and buried the blade of his tomahawk in the top of the Mohegan’s skull.
Little Bear groaned where he lay. Relief washed over Fast as he saw that his friend was alive. He mumbled a prayer of thanks to the Red God as he moved to kneel next to Little Bear. “Come on. Get up,” Fast said.
“Give me a moment,” Little Bear said, touching the bleeding wound on the side of his head. He seemed embarrassed that he had been bested by one club swing. “I took a war club to the head.”
Fast grunted and waved off any concern that Little Bear might have had about his weak effort. “You are lucky it is intact. Thank the Red God for that hard head of yours.”
Little Bear accepted Fast’s hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. “Who were . . . ?”
“Black Tooth’s men,” Fast said. “They were not seeking coup this night. They were seeking revenge for what I did to him.”
Little Bear frowned. “Do they come at you often?”
Fast nodded. “From time to time. They will succeed eventually I am sure, Red God or no.” Little Bear nodded. “Thankfully, they did not succeed tonight.”
Kitchi, wounded but alive, joined them near the fire. Little Bear leaned over carefully and patted the dog’s back. Kitchi licked Little Bear’s dirty, bloody hand. “I did not finish my story.”
Fast snorted as he motioned to one of the dead Mohegans. He grabbed the man’s arms, Little Bear his legs. As they pulled him toward the edge of the wood and away from the fire, Fast said, “That is fine, Little Bear. Dogs may not be able to talk anymore, but we should be most thankful that they can still growl.”
* * *
The clouds opened, the sun shone bright, and there it was. Fast as Lighting felt both elation and fear. He had never seen anything like it. Nothing like it had ever existed in all the world. How was it possible? And yet, there it was.
It was wooden like a canoe, but larger. Its hull was painted a dull yellow. It did not have a rudder, but it had three circular blades that rotated on its sides and at its rear, like the weather vanes he had seen in Plymouth Colony. It looked like it had satchels of some sort hanging off its sides, and beneath it rested what looked like steel arms or legs. Above it all, tethered to a wooden frame and wrapped with some kind of rope, sat a large bladder, all puffed out and full with . . . what? Air? Spirits? Smoke? It must be lighter than air, Fast figured, for how could it just float there, moving slowly but deliberately, up the coast toward the same place that they were traveling? How could this be?
They moved into Niantic territory, keeping close to the coastline, but far enough back from the water so as not to be seen by the tiny little men who moved about on the sky ship’s deck. Fast tried many times to steal a better view of what they looked like, but it was too far away. In time, the sky ship lifted into the clouds and was gone.
They arrived at Ninigret’s village soon thereafter. The young sachem was not in his wigwam. He was standing quietly in the middle of his village, bare-chested save for a red vest that a European colonist had given him as a gift. Some of its brass buttons were missing, but it was clear to Fast that Ninigret gloried in the look. His long, dark hair fell over the shoulders of the vest. He looked proud and powerful.
Ninigret greeted Fast warmly. He then frowned, looking at their wounds and dishevelment. “You’ve had trouble.”
Fast as Lighting nodded. “Black Tooth’s men.”
Ninigret sighed and shook his head. “The Mohegan would have us all killed.” He pointed to the sky. “You have seen the ship?”
“Yes. We followed it for a while. I believe it is coming this way.”
Ninigret’s expression turned cold. He reached over and laid his hand on the head of a young boy standing beside him. “I do not fear these up-timers as others do. I do not believe that they would come here and fly like birds above us, exposing their bellies to our arrows, if they intended to do us harm. Nevertheless, I am concerned. I fear trouble is coming.”
Having seen the sky ship himself, Fast doubted that any arrows could bring it down, though perhaps striking its bladder might do so. “What do you fear?”
Ninigret pulled Fast aside while children played with Kitchi. Little Bear did not follow, content to stay and talk with the young girls who had come out to greet them. They introduced him to a bowl of boiled maize, kidney beans, and shad. It smelled wonderful.
When they were alone, Ninigret grabbed Fast’s arm and squeezed. “Our brother Niantics near the Connecticut River have been heavily influenced by the Pequot. They live in the shadow of Sassacus. They feud with white settlers far too often. Too much blood has been shed, and this has caused a rift between my people. Something is being planned. I do not know what it is, but I fear that my Western brothers are leading us to war.”
“Ninigret,” Fast said, standing tall, “Sun Rising has sent me here to gain your pledge to the Narragansett people. As his show of loyalty to you, I have brought Kitchi”—he gestured toward the dog— “as a gift. Please accept this gift and honor me with your pledge so that I may give Sun Rising peace in these times of trouble.”
Ninigret watched Kitchi play with the children. He smiled. “Kitchi is a good dog. I accept Sun Rising’s gift. You may tell him that he has my loyalty now until my end comes. But you must do something for me first. You must go to Mentotopha and my Western brothers and put a stop to their plans.”
Fast stepped back. “I am honored by your faith in my negotiation skills, but it is not my place to— ”
“It is, and you must,” Ninigret said, stepping forward. “I cannot go. I am not afraid of the up-timers,
but many of my people are. I must be with them now, to keep them calm in the shadow of this ship that floats in the sky like the hawk. You must speak with Mentotopha and keep him from bringing death to us all.”
“What about your father, Sassious?” Fast asked. “Can he not speak to Mentotopha?” Ninigret shook his head. “He has important matters to attend elsewhere.”
Fast as Lighting felt trapped, like a beaver in a snare. He did not want to do this. He wanted to return to Sun Rising and give him the news before he passed from this world. Yet, seeing the sky ship himself, confirming its existence with his own eyes, did make the situation more urgent. Like Ninigret, he did not fear the up-timers, but perhaps he should fear what their arrival might bring.
Fast sighed and nodded. “Very well, Ninigret. I will go and speak for you.”
* * *
The sun was approaching its zenith as Fast and Little Bear reached the outskirts of the Western Niantic village. A pair of warriors, carrying bows and war clubs, greeted them.
“Hold,” one of the warriors warned, holding up his hand.
Fast stepped forward. “I am Fast as Lightning. I come in peace to address Mentotopha.” The two warriors exchanged glances. One nodded to the other.
“Come.” The smaller warrior motioned both Fast and Little Bear to follow, and he led them through the village. Children were playing, and the Niantic women worked at various tasks. All of them stole glances at the two newly arrived strangers. All through the village, young warriors were readying themselves for a fight.
“They are preparing for something,” Little Bear whispered. “Something very big.” Fast frowned and nodded. “Then let us hope we have arrived in time to stop them.”
They were taken to a wigwam in the center of the village. The young warriors opened its flap to allow them entrance. Inside, a man sat near a small fire, smoking a pipe.
“These men have come to see you, Mentotopha,” the young warrior said as he introduced them to his leader.
“Sit,” Mentotopha ordered, gesturing toward the small fire. “I welcome you to my home.”
Fast and Little Bear sat. Little Bear accepted the pipe and drew slowly, his young lungs still weak against the strong smoke swirling through them. Fast hid his amusement and worked to stay serious in the presence of a man who sat like stone in the flickering light of the fire.
Mentotopha, Four Bears, was a sagamore. He was a bright, fiery man, full of life and ideology. Fast had met him only once in passing, but had held him in high regard. Back then, however, the relationship between the Niantic and the white settlers had been more pleasant. Now, Fast could see a quiet anger on Mentotopha’s face, a face now streaked with the dark clay of war.
“Most honored Mentotopha, we have been sent by Sachem Ninigret,” Fast spoke, accepting the pipe from Little Bear. He held it, but did not draw.
Mentotopha looked them over, then frowned. “You are not Niantic.”
Fast nodded. “We are Narragansett, but we are your brothers. We speak on Ninigret’s behalf.”
Mentotopha worked the muscles in his jaw. “Young Ninigret does not understand the deceits of the white European. He seeks to live in peace with them. That is folly and cowardice. His father understands this, but is too old to do anything about it. Ninigret does not see that we must strike at the white man now. If you have come to broker a peace, to convince me not to do what must be done, then your journey has been pointless.”
“What do you intend to do, O great sagamore?” Fast asked, making sure to accentuate the fact that Mentotopha was no sachem.
Mentotopha ignored the insult, clenched his teeth, and said, “A white man by the name of Mad Jack Oldham is anchored near Block Island. He has brought upon us many privations, and so he will pay for them now before he and his up-time allies can join against us. We will row out to his ship in the dark of night, ambush him there, and his wooden decks will run red with his blood. Then the white men will see that we will not allow them to continue treating us like this world is no longer ours.”
There was venom in Mentotopha’s words. Little Bear had gone pale from the violence in the sagamore’s voice.
“The strength of your arms is great.” Fast nodded, remembering the number of warriors preparing outside the wigwam. “You would indeed kill many. Yet, is this a wise course to take, Great Sagamore, when it is clear that the up-timers have arrived and can fly through the sky like birds? Do you not think that they have ways of stopping such an attack?”
Mentotopha leaned forward and glared. “Are you afraid of the white men too, Fast as Lightning?”
“No. Their Red God protects me in all things. I have no fear of them or of any other white men. But the up-timers have arrived, as you know, and so perhaps it is best to show restraint and wait and see what they will do.”
Mentotopha shook his head. “Blood will be answered with blood. We will tolerate the white men’s presence in our lands no longer . . . up-timers or no.”
It was clear that Mentotopha’s mind was set. He had already streaked his body with clay, and this pipe he smoked was one of war, not peace. They could go round and round this dwindling pit fire forever, and nothing would move the sagamore from his decision. Fast did not have time to find a Niantic sachem to order Mentotopha to stop. Whatever was going to happen, was about to, and what could he do about it?
He thought quickly. “Then if I cannot talk you out of this course of action, then perhaps I and the Red God will join you.”
Little Bear started to speak up, but Fast stopped him, reaching over to place his hand on the worried boy’s knee.
“As you said, we are not Niantic,” Fast continued, “but we too have had our issues with the white men. If you will not be convinced to heed Ninigret’s urgings, then I will join you in your fight. The problem of the white men is one that must be dealt with and we have traveled too far to do nothing. I will fight with you . . . if you will so honor me.”
Mentotopha grunted approval. “Very well. And let us hope that you are as fierce in battle as you look right now. Go join my warriors in their preparations, and may Gitchi Manitou guide you.”
“Thank you, Mentotopha.”
As soon as they were out of the wigwam, Little Bear grabbed Fast by the arm.
“What are you up to?” Little Bear asked. “I thought we were supposed to be stopping these people from starting a war, not joining up with them.”
“Mentotopha will not be made to see reason,” Fast explained. “His path is set. By going with them, and perhaps with the help of the Red God, I can at least mitigate the damage they will inflict upon this Mad Jack Oldham and his ship. Maybe I can even find a way to stop it before it happens.”
“That sounds very risky to me,” Little Bear sulked. “I would prefer it not be our blood that gets spilled.”
“It won’t be your blood, Little Bear,” Fast said, placing his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “You are not going.”
* * *
Little Bear was angry that he was not given the opportunity to go and redeem himself for his poor showing against Black Tooth’s men, but Fast was adamant. If things went afoul and he did not return, he needed Little Bear to warn Sun Rising of what had happened on Block Island, for the aftermath would surely cause grief to the Narragansett people. “How can you stop it?” Little Bear had asked. “I do not know,” Fast had answered as he climbed into the war canoe to sit behind Mentotopha. “The Red God will guide me.”
Block Island was not far off the coast, but there was need for haste in order to reach their rendezvous point with the Niantics waiting there quietly in the wooded shadows of the shoreline. The Niantic sagamore on the island was Mentotopha’s good friend and blood brother. They had planned this ambush together, and now it was finally going to happen. Fast assisted in the rowing of the canoe whenever he could, not content to just be a bystander. It was his duty to pitch in, and it also gave the Niantic warriors around him the belief that he was one of them and that he shared in their struggle. He did on some level, but not when it came to killing a white captain and his men on his own ship. Nothing, nothing good would come from such an attack.
They met the two other canoes filled with warriors just as the sun was setting. The Block Island Niantics were dressed and streaked with clay in similar fashion to those that had come from shore, and they had muskets, which they hid beneath a fold of deerskin in the bottoms of their canoes. They shared a few with Mentotopha. The guns would remain hidden until they got close to Oldham’s sloop, and perhaps they would not even be needed. In the cover of darkness, perhaps club, spear, and bow would suffice, and they would cause less stir and alarm for any of Oldham’s men belowdecks when the attack occurred. Speed and silence would bring them onto the deck of the ship; victory would follow. Fast had the speed, but he hoped to use it to stop the attack, not participate in its success.
The canoes moved quietly through the calm water. The poor weather of the past couple days had not stirred the ocean, and they moved quickly toward Oldham’s sloop with a slight breeze assisting. Fast’s mind worked to figure out what to do, when to try to stop the attack. Now, or wait until they reached the ship itself? By then it might be too late.
In front of him, Mentotopha took up his war club and stood, readying himself for the assault. Fast prayed to the Red God for wisdom, calling upon his Manitou for speed of thought, and he found his hand moving toward the knife at his waist. He lifted his head and stared into Mentotopha’s exposed back, in the small space right above the seamline of his breechclout, the place where a blade could strike death quickly. Yes, that was the best way to do this: remove Mentotopha and take over the attack. The other Niantic sagamore would be angry, but if Fast could force the retreat of at least his own two war canoes, then perhaps the other two would relent and retreat as well. Yes, there was a chance.
Fast drew his knife and stood.
A long shadow fell across the water. It was as if the moon itself had died. Fast looked up and there it was, the up-time sky ship, moving lower than he had seen it earlier, so low as to almost be in the water itself. Even as a dark shadow it was majestic, powerful, and it covered their approach in complete darkness.
Fast took an unbalanced step backwards. A shot rang out.
Two shots, in fact. Or perhaps three, perhaps four. The echo of each was strong. Fast as Lighting looked up and saw just a simple blink of fire from where one of the shots had rung out. Then he heard a moist thunk! as Mentotopha yelped, and then fell backwards with a spray of blood bursting from his back. The shot went straight through his body and splintered wood in the canoe side.
Fast dropped his knife and caught Mentotopha as he fell dead. The sky ship moved on, and the Niantic warriors began to shout in confusion and fear.
The ruckus alerted the men on Oldham’s ship, and they fired a few shots themselves toward the canoes. In the darkness, none hit, none like the one the sky ship had fired. All four canoes were now flailing chaotically, as men took up paddles and began rowing in many directions. The Block Island sagamore called for a retreat and slowly, slowly, they obeyed and turned the canoes around.
The ambush had failed. Fast was pleased.
But sorrowful as well. In his arms lay Mentotopha, bleeding his life into the canoe hull. And all it took was one shot from the sky ship—in total darkness—and a prayer to the Red God. Was it my prayer that had brought on the wrath of the sky ship? Fast did not know for sure, but if it were true, it was the most terrifying, exhilarating thing that had ever happened to him.
What if the Red God is on the sky ship? What if he has come to meet me?
Questions swirled in his mind as the men behind him rowed their canoe toward Block Island. Fast held Mentotopha tightly, watched him die, and sang a warrior’s song.
* * *
It was Fast’s obligation to deliver Mentotopha’s body to his people. He wanted to stay on Block Island, for the sky ship had touched down near the shore and its occupants were having a meeting with the very men who had participated in the ambush. It was not fair that he had to depart immediately, but what could he do? He had decided to leave Little Bear behind in safety. The young man could easily have been the one to deliver Mentotopha to his people, and Fast could have stayed behind and spoken with the up-timers, to finally meet them face to face. But that was not the decision he had made, and there was no changing the course of fate.
He and Little Bear stayed with Mentotopha’s people to aid them in their preparations to ensure their sagamore’s spirit would not roam the earth and to prepare him for his continued life in the spirit world. It was a sad time, but Fast enjoyed his stay with them. It was clear that these people were afraid. They felt trapped between the Pequot and the Mohegans further west and their Niantic brothers and Narragansett cousins to the north and east. What would the future hold for these simple coastal folk? If one bullet from an up-time sky ship could take away their sagamore, how many were needed to destroy their entire way of life? Despite what had happened, Fast still did not believe that the up-timers had come here to harm anyone, but it was hard to look these anxious people in the eye and convince them of that. The subtle, awesome power of the sky ship had definitely convinced Fast of one thing: all people everywhere, all the tribes, must join together to stand against whatever the future may bring. But how could he make this happen?
Two days later, Niantic men from Block Island arrived with word that a large gathering of people would occur at Fort Sovereignty near the mouth of the Connecticut River. Everyone was going to be there, including the up-timers and their sky ship.
“That is where we are going, Little Bear,” Fast said, as he tucked away Mentotopha’s pipe that had been given to him as a gift. “And I will finally speak with these up-timers myself.”
Fort Sovereignty
At the mouth of the Connecticut River
There were Paugussets, Wangunks, and Hockanum Podunks. Quinnipiacs, Wampanoags, and Mattabesics. Other Niantic and Narragansett tribes had sent people as well, though Sun Rising and Ninigret and his father Sassious were not among them. There were Nipmucks and Mohegans and, of course, many Pequot. All camped along the banks of the Connecticut River. It was the largest gathering of people that Fast had ever seen, and his heart rejoiced. Rejoiced . . . until the sky skip arrived.
It touched down, as light as air, resting comfortably on steel arms that supported its weight. Up closer, it seemed no bigger now than a small boat, almost canoe-like, though it was much wider than a canoe, and certainly had more of an elegant—wasn’t that the English term for it?—construction than one. Oh, what it must be like to be flying like a hawk among the clouds . . .
“What are you doing?” Little Bear asked him late one evening as they camped near a Narragansett fire.
Fast dipped his fingers into yellow clay, and then ran it across his bare chest in a pattern of the jagged lightning bolt he saw in the dead Englishman’s book. It was not as even or as beautiful as the picture he had seen, but it would do. “Preparing myself.”
“For what?” Little Bear asked. “To meet the Red God.”
The sky ship was guarded. The large bladder, which had been all puffed out and prominent in flight, was now deflated, still and limp, and it sagged down onto the hull’s structure like the bark covering of a tipi. In its current state, the sky ship did not look so impressive; and yet, Fast could not think of any other place to be but on its deck.
The guards were white, but were they up-timers? They looked like Englishmen from this distance. He could not tell, but one thing was certain: they were lazy, complacent, and too confident in the muskets that they held. Fast looked past them and toward his target. All he needed now was for the moon to drop behind the clouds and then . . .
He moved quickly, just as the Red God had shown him in the book, unburdened now by anything but a thin breechclout. His bare feet were silent among the dry tufts of grass and weeds and small pebbles that lined his approach. He jumped straight over a tiny hillock, landed, rolled, and waited. The guard closest to him sniffed, turned as if he had heard something, paused a moment, sniffed again, cleared his throat, then returned to his post at the prow.
Fast crawled through the wet grass, worried that it would smear the yellow clay on his chest. But he kept crawling until he put his hand out and touched the hull of the sky ship.
It was dry to the touch. Its dull yellow sides felt no different than any other piece of wood he had felt. With his other hand he touched its steel leg. It was cold and smooth, smoother than anything he had ever felt in his life, save for perhaps the top of a lake or the cold rush of creek water. He was close enough to reach out and touch one of its circular blades, but was afraid to do so. What if they were sharp and cut him? What if they were poison? There was also fear that touching too much would awaken the great ship, and then what would happen? Was he fast enough to get away then?
He ignored his concern and all the questions in his mind and pulled himself close to the ship. He wriggled himself underneath the limp folds of the ship’s bladder. The guards were talking quietly near the prow, and there did not seem to be anyone else on guard. Fast raised himself up slowly, pushing against the heavy bladder. Light from the moon, which had now cleared the clouds, shone into the small gap that his pushing had created, and it spread across the deck of the sleeping sky ship. “O Red God,” Fast whispered, “Are you there? I have come to meet you. I am your servant, Fast as Light—”
But all he heard was the loud, uncontrollable snoring of a white man whose bearded, sweaty face shown in the moonlight. The man suddenly awoke, blinked many times, and raised his head. His breath was foul. “Who are you?”
Fast was gone. He dropped to a crouch and ran headlong toward a patch of trees where Little Bear awaited him. He could hear the guards calling after him, threatening him to stop, but they made no attempt at firing their muskets, nor would it have worked. No one ran faster than he.
“Did you see the Red God?” Little Bear asked him as he reached their hiding place. “Did you speak to him?”
What should I tell him? Breathing hard, he shook his head, and said, “No, I did not speak with him.
He was . . . sleeping.”
* * *
Three days later, the man everyone was waiting for arrived.
The great Pequot sachem, Sassacus, had seen well over seventy suns, and yet he still held the attention and loyalty of many sagamores and sachems from other tribes. He was considered by many to be the greatest chief to have ever lived. Fast had never met him, but immediately understood the sentiment. Sassacus had a way of walking, a way of holding himself upright which revealed his inner strength, his courage. Fast watched the Pequot sachem as he and his entourage passed by and wondered how the Red God might manifest itself through a man such as Sassacus.
Powerful . . .
Sassacus and the other tribe leaders gathered in a longhouse hastily constructed for their meeting with the up-timers. Englishmen Standish, Mason, and Endecott were there as well, along with the Mohegan sachem Uncas, who had tried to seize power when Sassacus’ father had passed. But that bit of rebellion had failed, and thus, Uncas had pledged his allegiance to the Pequot leader. Under duress, Fast had no doubt, but in the shifting alliances and motivations of the Algonquian people, a public display of support was sufficient.
Due to his status among the Narragansett, Fast was allowed inside the tent, though he was not as close to the up-timers as he would have liked. He did not object, however, for his heart was beating so fast that if he had been nearer, he might have passed out. Weak behavior by a true Narragansett warrior and a follower of the Red God, but there it was. He was finally, at long last, going to see an up-timer.
Introductions came first, and then the passing of a pipe. Sassacus introduced himself. The other sachems in attendance came next. The Englishmen did the same. The up-timers were last. Gordon and Peter Chehab. Interesting names. Interesting faces. Not much different than English faces. Perhaps Peter had been the one Fast had seen the other night sleeping in the sky ship? It was hard to know for sure. Both he and Gordon looked similar. They spoke English well, but had a different tone and inflection than the Englishmen. Fast could understand neither very well, but certain words were clear. The tone of the conversation was very clear: a sachem, an English king, had sold the British colonies to the French.
The French were coming.
And it did not appear that, despite all their power, the up-timer Chehab brothers were in a position to do anything about it. Not right away, at least.
Up-timer Gordon was calling for all the Algonquian tribes and the English colonists to set aside their differences, to unite against the mutual threat that the French posed. He implored, in fact. But looking around the room, Fast could see skepticism in everyone’s eyes. All present did not doubt the danger that the French might pose, but why were they any different than any other European power that had made promises to them in the past? The English. The Dutch. The French. There was little difference between them in the eyes, and memories, of all in attendance. Sassacus seemed willing to discuss the future and the unification of all the tribes . . . under his control, of course. For him, such a unification was beneficial. For Uncas, who sat near the Pequot sachem in silence, such an agreement was offensive. Uncas’ face was calm and stoic, but Fast could see the boil of rage below the surface.
They broke the meeting with a promise to continue their talks in the afternoon. As people filed out, Fast stood tall and thrust his chest forward so that the Chehab brothers could steal a glimpse of the yellow lightning bolt on his skin. For a long while, they did not look his way. Look at me . . . look at me! Do you not see your Red God’s totem on my skin? Do you not see the blaze of his fire in my eyes? See me, and talk to me. I can help forge the path forward . . .
Peter Chehab did finally look his way. The up-timer paused, stared deeply into Fast’s eyes, then glanced down at the faded yellow lightning bolt on his chest. He seemed to study it, then shrugged, and stepped away.
Uncas pushed his way out of the tent, and Fast followed.
* * *
Fast emerged from the tent. Uncas wasn’t far away. He had stopped to speak with one of his warriors, a lean, muscled fellow with a long knife at his waist, a quiver of arrows on his back, a bow in his hand. Uncas hadn’t noticed Fast follow him out of the tent. Fast stood where he was, staring up at the sky, but his ears were focused on what Uncas was saying to the warrior. Fast couldn’t understand exactly what was being said in their muffled tones. It was obvious, however, that Uncas was telling him something about Sassacus. The warrior nodded generously, smiled, and gripped his bow. Then they walked away. Fast, having heard what he needed, watched them leave and then went to fetch Little Bear.
He found Little Bear and said simply, “Follow me.” Little Bear, confused, nodded and followed.
They left the camp, tracking the warrior that Uncas had been speaking to. They held back far enough not to be seen, but close enough to know where he was headed. Little Bear, despite his size, was very good at moving quietly, even better than Fast in many ways. They watched and followed, watched and followed, until they came to the edge of the wood.
Sassacus had left the meeting with a lone guard and had wandered through the woods to this clearing, likely to have time alone so that he could collect his thoughts and ready himself for the afternoon smoke and discussion. Sassacus came upon a quiet spot near the tree line and stopped. Uncas’ warrior scampered up a tree with the bow in his hand. He climbed up with great care to keep quiet and his presence unknown to Sassacus and his guard. Once he had reached a good position in the tree, he readied his bow and aimed it at the Pequot sachem’s back.
“Coward!” Little Bear whispered and spit. “He is going to shoot him in the back. Coward!”
Fast nodded. He looked around, studied the approach. The distance between them and the warrior’s tree was great.
“No,” Fast muttered, pushing Little Bear aside. “He won’t.”
Saying a prayer to the Red God and touching the yellow lightning bolt smeared on his chest, Fast broke into a run. He focused all of his energy into his legs. Only the Red God’s power could save Sassacus now, and Fast dug his feet into the soft ground, gaining speed with each stride. The warrior in the tree was so focused on Sassacus that he didn’t see Fast coming.
Fast threw himself into the air toward the tree. He slammed into its trunk just below the warrior’s position, giving no shout, no yelp of pain to reveal his presence. With his left hand he held onto a branch; with his right, the warrior’s ankle. The warrior’s bowstring sounded, but the arrow flew off target. It thudded into a tree between them and where Sassacus stood. Neither the Pequot sachem, nor his guard, moved.
Fast’s tug at the warrior’s leg rocked the man off balance. The warrior toppled from the tree, crashing to the forest floor. Little Bear came up quickly as the warrior tried regaining his feet. The warrior opened his mouth to shout. Little Bear’s war club struck the man’s head and knocked him unconscious. Little Bear then pulled leather cord from his waist and tied the man’s hands behind his back.
Fast jumped from the tree. “Quiet!” he hissed, as he held Little Bear down behind foliage and waited until Sassacus and his guard walked away. Little Bear then finished his binding.
Together, they hoisted the man up and onto Little Bear’s shoulder. Fast then slapped his friend on the back. “You did well, Little Bear. Thank you.”
“It is you I should be thanking,” Little Bear said, securing the unconscious man on his shoulder. “I’ve never seen anyone move as fast as you just did.”
Fat shook his head. “Do not thank me. Thank the Red God . . . and thank the up-timers for bringing him to us.” Fast checked to make sure the man’s bindings were secure. “Now, bring him. We have much to discuss with Uncas.”
* * *
They walked right into the center of Uncas’ camp, with no fear or concern on their faces. Fast was clenching his teeth for sure, knowing that at any moment, several Mohegan warriors could reveal their weapons and attack, and would he and Little Bear survive such an assault? Up to this moment, the Red God had favored them with his gifts of life, speed, and vitality. Would he continue to do so? Was his patience with Fast infinite? He did not know, nor was he willing to test such a thing. But they walked, unfettered, up to Uncas anyway, letting the Mohegan warriors around them see their lack of fear.
Little Bear dropped the unconscious man at Uncas’ feet. Uncas, his eyes never leaving Fast’s stern face, knelt beside his man and studied the large, bloody knot on his head. He then turned his attention to Little Bear. “You did this?”
Little Bear nodded. “Yes, and I will do it to any man who tries to draw near.”
Fast put up his hand to end the conversation before it spiraled out of control. “We are here in peace, Uncas. We come as brothers.”
“Brothers?” Uncas stood and spit the word back at Fast. “You come in peace, and yet, you bring a great Mohegan warrior, bloodied and beaten, and drop him at my feet. How dare you speak of—”
“A great Mohegan warrior who was about to put a shaft into Sassacus’ back. Sounds more like a coward to me.”
Uncas raged, stepped forward, and put his face a mere inch from Fast’s clenching jaw. Little Bear reached for his club. The Mohegan warriors pressing in reached for their weapons. Uncas, his eyes wide, puffed his foul breath onto Fast’s chin. For his part, Fast stood like stone, never blinking, never wavering, though his heart was beating very fast.
Finally, Uncas relented, stepped back, took a deep breath. “What do you want, Fast as Lightning?”
“I saved your life, Great Sachem Uncas. Konchi Manto was watching over you today.” He pointed at the bloodied warrior at their feet. “Had this man put his arrow into Sassacus’ back, and if the attack had failed—which was likely given how powerful, how mighty, he is—the truth of your involvement would have been discovered. This man would have died, and so would you, slowly too, at the end of Sassacus’ own knife.”
Uncas shook his head. “I know nothing of this man’s actions.”
“Do not lie to me, Uncas.” Fast raised his voice. More than he wanted to, but enough to send the message. “I saw you speaking with this man right after the meeting ended. I then followed him. He did not wander from his path. He spoke to you, and then he climbed a tree to his killing spot—”
“And Fast stopped the attack,” Little Bear interrupted, “by moving faster than any man I have ever seen. No man, anywhere, can move as fast as he.”
Fast breathed deeply, letting his chest expand to reveal the lightning bolt. “The up-time Red God gives me powers that you cannot believe, Uncas. I walked into Raging Wolf’s own longhouse and counted coup against him. I then saved his children from the Black Tooth. I then killed the Black Tooth, something that no Mohegan warrior was ever able to do.
“I can catch an arrow flying. I can snatch a single raindrop falling from the sky and hold it gently between two fingers. I touched the sky ship—”
“I saw him do that,” Little Bear confirmed.
“—when everyone else was afraid to go near it. And I walked right into your camp with no fear and laid a coward at your feet. These things and more have I done, and can do, Uncas. And so hear me, when I ask you for an agreement.”
Uncas raised his brow. “What kind of agreement?”
Fast paused, then: “The war between the Narragansett and the Mohegans must end. You have heard the words from the up-time Chehab brothers yourself: the French are coming. And if we are killing each other, then they will easily take our lands, scatter and kill our people. We must unite, now, so that we may stand against them and anything else the Europeans may bring to our shores.”
Uncas huffed. “And if I refuse to agree?”
“Then I will tell Sassacus of your attempt against his life. And he will believe it too, for he sees, like I do, the anger and resentment on your face. You are not the leader of the Mohegans and Pequot nations, but you wish it. You wish it so badly that you are willing to risk this man’s life and your own for a chance to see the great Sassacus dead. If you do not agree, he will learn of your deceit, and he will watch you die slowly, in disgrace, and your spirit will roam the earth forever, with pain and suffering.”
Uncas struggled to find a response in his own heart. It was clear to Fast that the sachem was confused, uncertain as to the right answer. To help, Fast added, “And if you agree . . . then I will support your desire to be made great sachem. Sassacus will not live forever. He will die, normally, in good time. When that day comes, I will support your claim to lead the Pequot and the Mohegans. I can think of no better man than you.”
“You give me your word?” Uncas asked. “I do.”
“What will Sun Rising say of this?”
Fast swallowed. “It saddens me to confess it, but he will be dead soon, if not already. He will not express an opinion.”
“What about Canonicus?” Uncas asked, folding his arms across his chest. “I do not think he will happily accept your authority. He has authority of his own.”
“Canonicus is a great man,” Fast said, “and if the world were the same today as it was yesterday, I would follow him gladly. But the up-timers have arrived, in sky ships that can fire lightning bolts from their decks.
“I saw this myself. You have heard the stories by now, I am sure. I was behind Mentotopha in the canoe when the up-time sky ship struck him with lightning. I have seen their power up close, Uncas, and I have survived it. I thrive in it.” Fast preened again to ensure Uncas saw the lightning bolt on his chest. “I understand it better than anyone. Better than Sun Rising. Better than Canonicus. Better than you.
“The French are coming . . . and then what after them? More sky ships? Fleets of them? We cannot hope to survive the relentless coming of the Europeans and the up-timers without joining together and defending what we have. So I ask you again . . . shall we stop this war before we are consumed by it?”
Uncas stepped away, turned, his arms still crossed. “This is something we should discuss over smoke.”
“We do not have time,” Fast urged. “We must agree now, before the meeting continues. I have given you my offer. I now give you my word: I will support your claim to great sachem when Sassacus dies if you agree to end your attacks against my people, forever and always. Do you agree?”
Uncas considered a little longer. Then he turned and nodded. “I agree. We will keep all of this quiet for now. But the time will come, Fast as Lightning, when I shall expect you to publicly declare your support.”
“I will.”
Uncas flicked his wrist as if he were swatting a fly. “Go, now, before there is talk. The war between the Mohegan and the Narragansett has concluded. And I pray to Konchi Manto that you keep your word, Fast as Lightning. For if it is broken, then no two warriors shall ever clash with such blood and sorrow as we. That is my warning to you. Remember it.”
Uncas walked away.
Fast and Little Bear left the camp. As they walked back to their own encampment, Little Bear said, “That was a deadly threat. Do you think he meant it?”
Fast shook his head. “I am not worried. We embarrassed him today by walking unafraid into his camp and throwing his assassin at his feet. He needed to save face in front of his men. We will let him boast, but he will keep his word. His thirst for power is too great, and my endorsement of him too important.”
Little Bear looked at Fast in surprise. “Are you going to declare yourself sachem when Sun Rising dies?”
Fast shrugged. “I do not want to. But what I said to Uncas was true. I may be the only one of our people to understand the up-timers and what they may bring to our shores. But first, we must deal with the French. The French first, then the up-timers. And I will do what I have to do to ensure that our people survive them both.”
They reached their camp. A strong smell of roasting fish and boiled maize and beans struck Fast as he walked past a fire.
As they sat and ate and prepared for the afternoon’s meeting with the Englishmen and the Chehab brothers, Little Bear asked, “Was Mentotopha struck by lightning? You said it was a ball from a rifle.”
“No lightning. I lied to Uncas about that one.”
“And raindrops. Can you really catch a raindrop falling from the sky and hold it between your fingers?”
Fast looked up. A few clouds, but no rain. It was a pleasant day, and he had accomplished a lot on their journey for Sun Rising. The sun was not rising. It was falling, but it was warm and pleasant. He was alive, and life was wonderful. For now, anyway.
Through the Red God, I can do anything.
“Can I catch a raindrop?” Fast asked. He leaned toward Little Bear and smiled. “What do you think, my friend?”