The war with the French had gone on for five years now and Fierce Beaver was in the thick of it. The French forces had overrun the valley several times and yet the Oneida had retaken their ancestral homeland with help from the Tuscarora. The British colonial militia sat trembling in their hastily built forts and suffered terrible defeats.

The Lieutenant that Fierce Beaver had met was long gone, but the man Trent remained with them. They had become good friends and the man had acted as their guide, advising them before they went into battle. It seems he had some experience with the militia, but like most of the Oneida he kept wondering when the British would commit the army that had gathered along the coast.

The Bear Clan was comprised of great warriors, and with practice they did quite well with their muskets. But life in the village suffered, the corn had been destroyed several times and it was hard to get food up from the south. The Iroquois Confederacy had shattered as every tribal group sought to take care of itself. Only the Oneida and the Tuscarora remained bound together under their agreement with the British.

It was just as well, there could be no gathering to reaffirm old allegiances. Fierce Beaver's grandmother had fallen ill, a fever that almost swept her away. But although she recovered no one doubted her time was drawing near, her soul would return to the Great Mother and find peace.

"Come to me, boy ... hear my words," She said one night in the dim reaches of her longhouse. He was not the boy she had once known, but he understood. The eyes of age would always see him as a young child even though he had survived twenty winters and numerous battle wounds.

"You must do something before I leave this land and join our mothers in the sky," She said. "The stone ... you must protect the stone for all time. It must not be taken hostage by our enemies, and if it is left standing it will be found."

Fierce Beaver drew closer to hear her words, and she slid a small leather pouch into his hand with a smile. "It is for you that this must happen, for all that will come after. I am not so lost in my mind that I don't know what I am saying. I have said the Great One will come and I mean that.

"You may now be told that I don't mean you, but he will be the seed of your loins. Be glad that the task passes on and does not fall on you. This life has enough challenge for any one man, and yet you must help preserve the stone for him to build anew that which will be broken."

Fierce Beaver felt a wave of relief wash over him; he was not the chosen one. The thought of being the Spirit Warrior had been a burden he could hardly bear. It seems the time had not yet come, but he would be the source of life for this person. In his children's time or theirs, he could not know.

"What must I do, Aksotha?"

"Come closer so that I may whisper in your ear, for none shall know except those who have the power to understand the stone." And Ohni:ta Pebbles told him of her plan and how to accomplish it.

It was the time of the harvest moon and soon the land would be covered in a blanket of hard un-yielding soil. The French were once again fighting east of them in the area surrounding the minor lakes. Trent had taken a few warriors and gone to spy out the French down by Lake George. The British had quickly built a fort at the southern end of the lake, and then hoped nature would shut everything down while they awaited reinforcements.

Now was the time to go take care of the stone. Fierce Beaver would take a dozen warriors and travel west toward the great lake. The road south from the fort at Niagara to Lewiston ran close to the clearing, so close that it was a wonder the stone had not been discovered.

Fierce Beaver was only as spiritual as the next member of his village. Although his grandmother had been their spiritual leader he had not been taken in that direction. Instead he had chosen to be a warrior which was little more than a hunter of men.

But now he had been given knowledge of how to do the things that would assure the stone might remain safe. The warriors packed their kits and took to the trail. It would take two days if they didn't meet any resistance. With caution Fierce Beaver sent two scouts on ahead.

His skill in battle and the scars he bore had made the matron's name him a chief in the village, the youngest ever. His mother would be so proud, but Silent Deer had succumbed to the fever during the last moon of the previous winter. Fierce Beaver had consoled Black Fox and assured him that he would always have a place in their long house.

His grandmother had taken the loss with silence and prayer. There were other members of the extended family to care for the old woman. The moment had passed and only reminded Fierce Beaver that he should choose a wife very soon. And now the issue was pressing in upon him once again. His seed might be the chosen one, and yet all he foresaw for the immediate future was bloodshed.

Half the journey west was done at a run. It was urgent to get to the clearing, perform the task and return. Even if the French would withdraw for the winter it was never certain that the Mohawk or Algonquians would pull back. Their main objective for joining the fight was to capture booty, food and slaves for their own villages to the north of the great river.

On the second day Fierce Beaver knew they were close to their objective because the distant roar of the falls constantly filled the air around them. They stopped for the night and several of the warriors climbed trees to see if they could spot any fires that would indicate war parties. But the sky was dark; the world was asleep around them.

The stone held great magical powers, Fierce Beaver had always known that. It was said that if a man touched the stone he would lose his strength as a warrior. Only the sacred matrons could touch it unless the proper prayers were said. Grandmother Pebbles had told him what to say and where to touch the sacred symbols, it was now all a matter of belief that he could do this.

They arrived in the clearing just as Sky Woman was pulling back her blanket to banish the long shadows of night. Fierce Beaver almost missed the path into the clearing since it was obscured after every gathering. But finally he stood at the base of the stone and looked up at it with terror in his heart.

Maybe he should have brought a matron to say the prayers, but the presence of the other warriors made him realize he had to go through with this. He had told them that the magic would sleep after his prayers, and that Ohni:ta Pebbles would never risk the lives of such brave men. They would perform this task and return home where the memory would fade and they would all forget what they had done.

The stone stood twice the height of their tallest man, who would barely be able to wrap his arms around the circumference. Fierce Beaver looked up as the pale light of dawn lit the sky and raised his voice in prayer.

"Great Mother, give us the strength to protect your spirit stone. Draw forth the ancient spirits of our ancestors and let them rest in your long house until the stone is restored to its rightful place. Let the bones of the pale gods rest in peace until we return the stone to mark their place in our soil. Banish the magic powers and throw them at our enemies. We are thankful for your blessings."

Fierce Beaver rested his hands upon the two loops that surrounded the birds etched in the stone. He had seen his grandmother touch the stone there and that gave him comfort, otherwise he felt nothing. The magic was gone; it was just a big heavy rock now.

They tied six ropes around the stone and the twelve of them lifted at one time, but the stone would not budge. They took sticks and dug away at the base until the stone moved a little, then they lifted again. It came out of the ground very slowly and they laid the length down on the grass in the clearing. It was a mighty piece of rock, heavy enough for twelve men to strain themselves when lifting it.

"We will never be able to carry it far," Walking Raven said.

Fierce Beaver shook his head. "If the mighty Bear Clan cannot lift the stone we are lost."

"That's unfair, we need more men. How far are we supposed to carry this?"

"Due east until the sound of the falls disappears ... I will know the place," Fierce Beaver said.

"That could be a day's travel, we will certainly fail to even get it out of the clearing," Walking Raven groaned.

"Then let me make it possible."

Fierce Beaver opened the small pouch his grandmother had given him and began to sprinkle corn pollen dust down the length of the stone. The warriors watched him carefully and then resumed their place at the ropes.

"The Great Mother will assist us, this sacred dust holds her power ... let us lift again."

And they lifted until the stone left the ground. It was heavy, but each man would swear his burden weighed almost nothing. The ropes held as they made their way out of the clearing and down the path.

Fierce Beaver looked east and saw an opening in the trees ahead. The warriors turned with their burden and headed into the rising sun. They left the Niagara-Lewiston road behind and proceeded east ... due east. After spending his life in the forest it was not hard for Fierce Beaver to guide them on a true course.

They stopped when the sun was overhead and listened, the rumble of the falls was muted, but it was still there. They shared out dried rations and water, and then went back to work. They met no one on the crude pathway east, but they were away from the roads here and not close to any villages. The forest seemed to close in around them and Fierce Beaver held up his hand, a signal for them all to set the stone down.

The falls were far behind them and the sound had faded out until now it could not be heard at all. "Look for the sign the Great Mother will give you, there you will find a resting place for the stone," His grandmother had said.

This was Seneca land and much of it was unfamiliar. "We rest, I must look around," Fierce Beaver said.

"I will come with you," Walking Raven said.

The way east was slowly closing down as the trees grew denser, and now there appeared to be a hill in the way.

"We may have a better view up there ... what are we looking for?" Walking Raven asked.

"I have no idea."

They approached the hill through the trees and Fierce Beaver felt the hair on the back of his neck start to rise. He felt that when there was an enemy nearby, or in this case when he realized that the hill was nothing of the sort, it was a burial mound.

"Great Mother, we have found the place," Fierce Beaver said.

"I will go bring the others," Walking Raven said.

Fierce Beaver bowed his head. "Grandmother, we have found a resting place for the stone, it was just as you said it would be."

They carried the stone up the slope, struggling in the undergrowth and wild grasses that covered the mound. Like on so many other burial mounds the trees did not grow here, but the top was flat and long, long enough for a spirit stone. Fierce Beaver looked at his warriors.

"We must dig with our food bowls until the trench is deep enough to hide the stone. We will place it carefully and then plant grass and bushes around it until all traces of our work are hidden. These are the wishes of Ohni:ta Pebbles, I have heard them and we will obey."

The work took hours, the trench about three hands deep. The stone was lowered into place, the dirt spread over it and tamped down. The extra soil was scattered around the top of the mound and the grasses were replaced. Winter would take its toll and the changes they had made would go unnoticed.

When they were done it looked like a new garden, but that look would quickly change, the Great Mother would hide this place well. Fierce Beaver ordered his men off the mound and then he alone stood above the sacred stone.

"Great Mother we have saved your sacred stone. The spirits may return to guard it, the magic may be restored. The people are engaged in great difficulties right now, it may be some time before we return to restore this stone to its rightful place. Thank you for your blessing."

Fierce Beaver knelt above the stone and placed a hand on the soil. "I hope to see you again in my life, but the future belongs to my family. I can only promise they will know of your resting place. May the Great Mother keep you safe until it is time."

It was only a slight tingling, he might have imagined it, but Fierce Beaver felt that the stone had replied to his prayer. His grandmother would be pleased.

By nightfall they had stopped to wash off all traces of the soil and then walked cautiously into the village called Tonawanda. The Onandowaga were known to the British as the Seneca, a proud people, great warriors and currently ... their enemies. But Fierce Beaver was known here and they sat around a warm fire and shared a meal.

The village warrior chief was called Blacksnake and he didn't look very pleased to see them. Yet because of their old alliances he received the Bear Clan graciously, but the talk soon turned to the war.

"The Iroquois still move in our eastern lands, but your people have not harmed us," Blacksnake said. "We have spies out watching along the border and will quickly respond if you do."

"We have tried to remain neutral," Fierce Beaver said. "Our matron sent us out to seek the Mohawk and the Huron and they are our sworn enemies. I am sad that our friendship is broken, our people should not fight with you."

"My people tire of this war, when will these white men end it?"

"My mother's husband seeks an answer to that as we speak," Fierce Beaver said. "It is good the British send us powder and shot, but they need to make peace with the French. The white man uses us to fight his battles and harms the peace we seek under the Great Mother's guidance."

It was true; Black Fox had gone with Trent to the east looking for answers. They had taken a load of beaver pelts to trade, hoping to return with much needed supplies to last the village through the winter. Fierce Beaver had been expecting them back even before he left with his warriors to hide the stone, he was anxious to see what they had discovered.

"I look forward to the days of peace when we may resume our friendship. Until then I must ask you not to return," Blacksnake said.

"We will go now and I pray the Great Mother grant you a long life, my friend. Then maybe we will have the chance to grow old and sit before the fire with our grandchildren at our feet."

Blacksnake stood and clasped Fierce Beaver's arms. "May your prayers be answered soon, my friend."

They spent the night in the forest some miles from the Seneca village. But upon their return the Bear village was filled with quiet drumming and the matrons were sitting in a circle smeared with ashes and singing the death chant. It could only mean one thing, Ohni:ta Pebbles had passed from her life in this world and gone to the Great Mother.

With silent reverence Fierce Beaver entered the long house and saw the body of his grandmother wrapped in skins. Smiling Crow sat in attendance guarding her body to assure her soul had time to reach the sky.

"She left us in the night. I should have known, the signs were there, the moon was dark," Smiling Crow said as Fierce Beaver sat down beside him. "Did you accomplish your task?"

"It is done, the stone is safe."

"I will not ask, it was between you and her. We will perform the rituals and lay her body in the ground beside your mother. Black Fox has not returned, I am concerned," Smiling Crow said.

"It is a long journey, farther than even I have traveled," Fierce Beaver said. "Have the matrons chosen?"

"They have, Morning Dove will lead us, she has the skill and the patience we need at this time. A runner came from the Turtle village; the Algonquin were seen moving towards the eastern lakes. A great force is gathering to attack the British fort there."

"Now? It is almost time for the snows, what can they hope to accomplish?"

"The Huron and Ottawa are no strangers to the cold," Smiling Crow said. "We were told the British are attacking in the north and that is why the French withdraw. I wish them great success and maybe the French will not return so quickly."

Ohni:ta Pebbles, the fabled Moon Pebbles, spiritual leader of the Oneida was laid in her grave and two days later the first snow began to fall. The long house was quiet; the period of mourning would go on for some time. Morning Dove held her councils and the men went out to hunt. Fierce Beaver went out as well, but not just for game.

There were six Oneida villages to the south, and in the guise of preparing them for the spring campaign he went looking for a wife. The gatherings had allowed him to meet the elders of each village, now he looked to their children for a suitable mate.

A man of his years, a chief with such a good reputation and standing, might choose a girl of fourteen winters as his bride. It remained to be seen which girls he found attractive, the matrons would make all the arrangements once he had chosen.

His mother would have picked out a fine girl for him, but he was on his own now. He had many cousins who might serve him well, but Fierce Beaver figured he would know the one once he saw her. And so he followed the Ohio waters south, until he reached the furthest village, and there he had success.

Her name was Bright Eyes, a childhood name that suited her so very well. Her parents had died of the smallpox, and yet she had survived. Fierce Beaver took that as a sign of great strength since once ill with the pox that person never became sick again. She lived with her grandparents and aunt, Laughing Crane, who was matron of the village.

This village was unusual in that Bear, Wolf and Turtle clans all lived in one place. The years of war had forced so many out of the north, they had come together here. Fierce Beaver was welcomed, his reputation and family affiliation assured that.

"We mourn your loss," Laughing Crane said. "The wisdom of the people will never be the same without her. But our men are strong, is this why you have come?"

"It is," Fierce Beaver said, but his eyes wandered to the beautiful girl sitting quietly in the corner.

Laughing Crane knew that look; many men had looked at her niece in the past year. But none of them had come from such a powerful family; the girl could not do better.

"I will go and bring some refreshment," Laughing Crane said, and she rose before anything could be said and left the long house. Bright Eyes was astonished; it was her task to fetch things for her aunt. But now she was alone with this young warrior and it gave her a chance to look at him.

Fierce Beaver nodded her way and smiled as he saw the beauty in her eyes. They were not black or brown like so many of his people, but they were grey and he found that intriguing.

"You are named well," He said, and saw her blush. "I would like to know you better."

Bright Eyes nodded. "If that is what the great warrior chief wishes, I welcome it."

"We both share the same problem, our mothers have returned to the Great Mother in the sky. I will have my aunt speak with your aunt. The time of snows is here, I can stay only a little while before I must return to my village."

"Will you go to fight the French?" Bright Eyes asked.

"I will be needed there, but I will come back for you."

Laughing Crane returned and found the two young people smiling. Good, they had come to an understanding. Now the matrons would decide if in the spring they could be joined. It would be a blessing for this village since Fierce Beaver would be taken into his wife's family. It was made even better because the girl was of the Bear Clan, Fierce Beaver could become their chief.

Trent and Black Fox finally returned to the village. Their travel had been made difficult by the deep snow but they had persisted because of the news they bore. The British had the French bottled up in their city on the great river, a place called Quebec, the battle had raged for weeks.

This spoke well for the coming spring as Trent revealed that the British army would finally leave the coast and venture inland to reinforce the forts. Fierce Beaver had to confide in Morning Dove that he found himself attracted to Bright Eyes, as the matron of his village she would need to make the arrangements.

The winter months allowed them time to plan and prepare, even as news arrived that the Huron had attacked and destroyed a Turtle clan village. The war party had stayed one day too many and were wiped out by a force of warriors from the Wolf clan. The villagers returned to rebuild and all the other villages sent them aid to survive the winter.

The spring of that year was amazingly calm. The British forces were far to the north causing the French to remain at home and protect their cities. Morning Dove sent inquires to the south and Laughing Crane responded, the marriage was arranged.

The ceremony was held on the banks of the Ohio River with a small delegation of warriors and Morning Dove in attendance. Fierce Beaver and Bright Eyes held hands, the prayers were said and the waters of the river received offerings to grant a long life and many children. The new couple immediately went to work on the issue.

Fierce Beaver traveled with a small war party in mid-summer to once again meet with the British and hear their plans. He left the village with the certainty that Bright Eyes was with child; it was a happy time in their life.

One after another the British forts had succumbed to the French attacks, mainly because their Indian allies fielded thousands of warriors armed to the teeth. The word of native atrocities against the captured British soldiers was appalling. The wounded had been stabbed and scalped, their bodies torn to pieces; there was even talk of cannibalism.

Trent sat with Fierce Beaver as the British officers spoke, the anger in their voices was plain and needed no interpretation. The British had lost good men, including one of their great generals named Braddock.

But the winter had also been harsh on the French allies; smallpox had run rampant in the Algonquin villages and thousands perished which left fewer warriors to fight on the side of the French. In the course of the talks Fierce Beaver became aware that the war was also being fought by forces across the great water. At least the French were losing over there.

The British had landed twenty thousand soldiers, and with the addition of the militia had twice that many in the field. It was a number so large the Oneida representatives had a hard time understanding how vast a resource the Europeans could muster. But the British officers declared this would be the year the war ended, words they had all heard before.

The Oneida were invited to join with the soldiers and attack Fort Ticonderoga at the northern end of Lake George. It was to be a vast force of men comprised of regulars, militia and the native warriors, some sixteen thousand in all. Fierce Beaver was happy to learn that the defenders numbered only a few thousand. This would be his first chance to observe a major army in action.

The Oneida would supply three hundred warriors and they gathered to await orders from the British to move forward. Blue Raven drew the white pebble from the cooking pot as they cast lots to see who would carry messages back to the village. The man looked grateful; he would get to go home and help guard the families.

Fierce Beaver sent his regards to Morning Dove, and his love to Bright Eyes, offering a prayer that he would return in time to see their child born. Then it was time to travel and join the British forces. The road north would be fouled with mud, but the Oneida would take less used forest paths and hoped to forge ahead. It still took them over a handful of days to reach their destination at the southern end of Lake George.

Here the ruins of Fort William Henry stood to remind the British of the terrible defeat they suffered the year before. Trent went to seek out some of the British officers he knew, but he had not returned by the time the combined army boarded ships and moved north along the lake. By then the Oneida had moved into the hills above the Ticonderoga fort and were already in position.

The great French fort sat close by the water and had extensive breastworks built around the approaches. Fierce Beaver stood on a small hillock and stared out at the walls of the fort, he could not see how they might capture it. The large guns of the British might pound on those walls for a moon without damage, it seemed impossible.

The Oneida scouts had taken several Algonquin prisoners who spoke of how their warriors had deserted in great numbers upon seeing the size of the British forces. It seems the French had moved out of the fort into the forward trenches and were planning to defend themselves there.

The British disembarked from their ships and began to move towards the fort by taking a small road through the woods. A small French detachment attacked through the trees and was repulsed, but not before yet another British general named Howe was killed. The British were stopped until the following day.

Fierce Beaver and his warriors spent a quiet night around their fire in the hills overlooking the fort.

"The British do not fight like warriors, they scatter like women," Walking Raven said.

"They lost their chief, it left no one in charge," Fierce Beaver said, but he knew it sounded like he was excusing the cowardly behavior.

"Tomorrow they will have a new chief and they will shoot many of the large guns until the French run away," Smiling Crow said.

"We should hold back tomorrow and see where they need us to go," Fierce Beaver said. He was hoping Trent would come to advise them, but there was still no sign of the man.

But when morning came, the British cannon had not moved up, only their troops. The redcoats and militia lined up facing the French works, and as Fierce Beaver watched with horror they marched, and then ran at the emplacements. The French laid down a blanket of musket fire as wave after wave of British seemed to walk right into the bullets.

The front lines were strewn with bodies and the solders behind had to climb over those who had fallen. Fierce Beaver had never seen anything like it. No one in their right mind should fight this way. But then as the British forces pulled back the native allies of the French swept in from the flank and attacked those who were wounded and retreating.

A roar of anger swelled in the Oneida ranks, and Smiling Crow led his warriors down the hill and into the flank of the Huron and Algonquin warriors. The French could not fire for fear of hitting their allies; it was hand to hand combat between the Oneida and their enemies.

Fierce Beaver used the butt of his musket to club and smash the warriors who leapt at him. His arm took a glancing blow and the musket fell away so he grabbed his war club and began bashing heads. The occasional musket ball whistled by, but the Oneida never faltered.

The Huron broke and tried to return to the protection of the trenches, it was enough of a gap that the French opened fire, killing Smiling Crow. Fierce Beaver screamed in anguish and then quickly pulled the bow off his shoulder. Arrow after arrow sped into the retreating backs of the enemy as they ran. In less then a handful of minutes he was out of arrows and a dozen Huron lay dead upon the ground.

His single handed attack had seemed to stun the French in the nearby trenches, but once Fierce Beaver ran out of arrows they began to fire at him.

"Back to the trees," He yelled above the din. Musket balls came ever closer but he ducked and ran, pulling his warriors along with him. The French stopped firing as the Oneida gained the cover of the forest; they had left enough of their companions behind.

Walking Raven was shot in the leg and shoulder, Fierce Beaver was bleeding and yet no ball had found a solid mark on his body. The warriors regrouped and limped on back to their camp where they found Trent with his own wounds and a large bandage wrapped around his head.

"I was with General Howe's troops yesterday, the French ambushed us in the wood and killed the general, unfortunately I was standing beside him," Trent said.

"We have lost many today, Smiling Crow among them," Fierce Beaver said.

"Oh ... I am sorry," Trent said. "He was a brave man."

"We cannot leave the dead, how can we get them back?"

"When the fighting is done we will approach the trenches with a flag of truce, a white flag will tell them we only mean to recover our dead and wounded," Trent said.

Fierce Beaver shook his head. "The battle was lost before it began."

"Yes, the redcoats were led poorly today."

It was three hours later when they spied the British medical orderlies moving about in front of the French lines. Trent took a white cloth and tied it to a stick.

"Bring only a knife, no weapons," Trent said.

Fierce Beaver and a dozen men walked out of the woods with Trent in the lead carrying the flag. The French soldiers watched them carefully, guns at the ready. The Huron and Algonquin warriors lay scattered about; their comrades had not come back for them. They found Smiling Crow surrounded by a half dozen of the enemy; he had made a good accounting of himself before he fell.

Fierce Beaver stood over his body and felt like weeping. This man had been like a father to him, there was great sadness in this death. Trent stood with the flag and was startled as several French officers climbed from the trench and walked the fifty yards to where he stood.

"Excuse ... we do not wish to disturb your mourning," One of them said, and then he nodded at Fierce Beaver. "This warrior fought like ten men, his bravery was clear to all who saw him this morning. May we know his name?"

Trent translated the rough English for Fierce Beaver. At first he did not respond as he knelt and lifted Smiling Crow in his arms.

"You may tell them that I am not anyone special. The Oneida all fight as I do, as this brave man in my arms did." And then he turned back towards the woods to carry his burden in silence.

"What did he say?" The French officer asked.

"He is a chief amongst his people, a great warrior," Trent said.

The French officer nodded and the officers all stood with heads bowed as Fierce Beaver carried his best friend off the battlefield.

Mark awoke with a start. This had been an important dream, a vital dream. It had been a whole week since they had returned from meeting Russel and in the days since then there had been no dreams whatsoever. He was beginning to worry that Ronny was holding out on him, and if he was now he knew why.

The sacred stone had been moved and hidden away. Mark would bet that it had been lying in that burial mound ever since, but that would mean something had kept Fierce Beaver from returning to the site. The boy had grown, taken a bride and fought in a hugely decisive battle, all of which was enough to change any man's life.

Bright Eyes had been pregnant; Mark knew it would be a boy. It had to be for Ronny to have inherited this gift. The leadership of the Oneida and the family line flowed down through the women, but this had been different. Grandmother Pebbles had foretold of a powerful warrior, and it would seem any offspring of Fierce Beaver could fulfill that role.

It meant that Ronny was descended from a chief. If as Russel guessed this whole thing was on a genetic level, then even Ronny could father...Mark didn't want to think about that.

Ohni:ta Pebbles' prayer to the stone had the line about 'pale gods' and their bones resting in soil. Could the Europeans have made it that far so long ago? And if so, what magic had they brought with them?

The stone lay in a burial mound, but there must be hundreds of mounds scattered around the northeast. They would have to do some research on the area. Due east until the sound of the falls could not be heard was hardly enough of a clue to find the site. But somehow that stone was the key to this mystery. They would have to find it.

Taking Ronny back to the land of his ancestors would prove interesting, although the western part of New York State was completely developed now. The images in their dreams would not be of much help, only the details and words that had been spoken.

They would have to convince Russel to come with them because if they did find the stone ... yeah, what if they did? They had better have all their ducks in a row before they even started looking otherwise there would be trouble.

If the mound was known, which seemed highly likely, then it might be on private land and someone could claim ownership of the stone. Something that would take magic and twelve strong warriors to move was not going to be spirited away so easily.

The dream had come at a welcome moment, today they were off to join Russel and spend the weekend camping. Ronny had expressed interest in learning the old ways of survival and Mark could think of no better teacher than the old Nanticoke. It would prove an interesting few days.

He was just sliding out of bed when there was a knock at his door; it was only six-thirty in the morning. Mark shuffled down the hall and turned the latch.

"Come on in, Ronny," He said and headed for the kitchen.

"I know where it is," Ronny yelped.

"The stone ... yeah, I had the same dream."

"No, I know where that mound is ... I've seen it."

Mark whirled around just as Ronny jumped into his arms and gave him a big fat kiss. "You've seen ... when?" Mark asked.

"I was ... I was five and the thoughts were driving me crazy until my mother took me to see her Aksotha ... my great-grandmother. The mound was there on the reservation land, almost across the road from her house."

Ronny grinned and Mark put the boy down on his feet. "Oh Lord, I was afraid of something like this."

"What?" Ronny asked.

"Reservation land ... the stone isn't on private property," Mark said.

"What are you thinking; no one can touch that stone ... "

"You can, Ronny ... don't you get it? You are the seed of Fierce Beaver and no matter what you think ... the Spirit Warrior is you."

"I ... I ... " And Ronny fainted.


On to Chapter Seven

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"A Warrior's Promise" is © 2010 by Chris James.
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