"I'm sorry ... I didn't know he would pass out, but what I said was a shock to him," Mark said. "Me and my big mouth."

"It's no wonder, he didn't think this would become so personal," Russel said over the phone. "If the boy isn't injured in any way then we should still get together as we planned. Thomas is looking forward to this."

"I think he'll be all right, we'll see you at ten," Mark said.

Ronny was still lying on the couch where he had been placed after the fainting spell. Mark brought a glass of orange juice from the kitchen and knelt on the floor.

"Are you feeling better?"

Ronny nodded. "I don't know why I did that, it was dumb."

"I just need to watch my mouth, I gave you a shock," Mark said.

"I considered what you said, we even talked about it before and I laughed at you. I'm no warrior ... I don't even shave."

"Ronny, there are other ways to fight battles; it doesn't always have to be physical. I want us to go camping with Russel, maybe he can shed some light on what we dreamed."

"Yeah, I want to go camping ... but I want something else first," Ronny said.

"Sure, name it," Mark replied.

Ronny reached out a hand and encircled Mark's neck, pulling their mouths together into a kiss. The shock kept Mark from pulling away, but Ronny's tenderness allowed it to continue until the boy was done. He let go of Mark's neck and they parted.

"Yeah, I wondered if we would be any good at that," Ronny said. "We Spirit Warriors usually get what we want."

Mark raised his eyebrows and Ronny started laughing. It was funny and Mark shook his head and chuckled. But when he stood up Ronny got off the couch and held out his arms for a hug. They embraced and Mark rubbed the boy's back with affection.

"We're not supposed to kiss like that," Mark said.

"I had to, there was no other way to find out," Ronny said.

"I'm afraid to ask ... find out what?"

"I choose you, even if I have to wait for years ... you're the one," Ronny said.

"Oh ... that. Fine, I respect your patience ... but three years is a long time," Mark said.

"You won't be my teacher then."

"Yes, I know," Mark said. "I'm gay, Ronny ... but you already know that. I don't want you to make that decision yet, and please don't decide you're gay because of what you feel for me."

"We can talk about it, right?"

"We can talk about it all you want, but right now we need to get things together and go meet Russel."

"Mark?" Ronny said, peering up with a smile. "I love you."

The eyes were filled with the feeling; Mark could see the boy was very serious. He ran his fingers over Ronny's cheek.

"I love you too. Let's not lose our heads over this feeling, okay? We have a lot of life to live between now and your eighteenth birthday."

"That's time enough for me to catch up," Ronny said.

"Catch up to what?"

"My education and my life. I've wasted so much time; it's time to get my brain in gear."

"There is nothing wrong with your mind, there never has been. I think now that you understand what's been happening you can focus better. But Russel and Thomas will be waiting for us in Georgetown; we need to get on the move."

Russel's large pickup truck was waiting for them in the parking lot of the drug store, right off the traffic circle in the middle of Georgetown.

"Good morning, can I interest you in a bagel?" Russel asked.

"Bagels ... where did you get bagels?" Mark laughed.

"Right over there at the bagel shop, town keeps growing more every year. So I have everything we might need, do we need to make any stops?"

"No, I think Ronny is anxious to get moving," Mark said.

"We'll put your car over there in the county lot and take my truck, no sense in taking two vehicles into the park," Russel said.

"Sounds like a plan."

Ronny and Thomas sat in the rear seats of the extended cab and began talking about what lay ahead. It had been Russel's idea to include his grandson since both boys needed this type of education. Mark could only agree, Ronny needed to learn better social skills and Thomas was within his peer group, if just a few years younger.

Redden State Forest was only a few miles north of the town, and yet it seemed a world away. The eastern part of the state was covered in scrub pine, but there was also an old growth forest of oaks, elms and ash. Across the road from the park was a wildlife area that Russel knew very well.

"I started bringing my grandkids up here once they reached the age of reasonable thought," Russel said. "It's a good place to study a small creature's habitat."

They stopped the truck in a small gravel parking lot beside a Jeep belonging to the park ranger.

"Hey, Martin ... anything new?" Russel called.

"Hey, Russel ... who ya got there?" Martin replied.

The man had on the official ranger outfit, right down to the Smokey the Bear hat. But the face said native, and that made Mark curious.

"Couple of friends," Russel said. "You know my grandson, Thomas. This is Mark, he's a teacher over at the Wainwright School in Easton. And this is Ronny; he's of the Oneida people and came to get in touch with his roots."

"Oneida? Wow, I've never met your people before. Hey, Ronny."

"'Hey' means hello in Delaware in case you wonder," Russel said. "Martin is of the Lenape, and there used to be a lot of his people around here."

"Shekóli," Ronny said. "That means hello in the Iroquois language."

"Great, glad to learn something new. So I guess you want that Sherman campsite by the pond? It's in good shape, I even left you some firewood," Martin said.

"That's nice, thank you," Russel said.

"We have some new bog turtles moved into the wetlands south of the pond so watch where you step. In fact I damn near got bowled over by a Tom turkey the other day as I was walking up the north road, big old fella. Lots of things for you guys to see, Russel knows them all," Martin said.

"I suppose we better get moving and set up camp, drop by later," Russel said.

"I will, but my daughter just graduated and came in for a visit so I have to spend the afternoon with her. See you all later." And Martin drove off.

"Martin was the first local native the parks people hired about ten years ago," Russel said. "He knows his territory, maybe we'll get to see those turtles. As I recall they're still on the endangered species list."

Russel had divided up the load into four packs, leaving room for their personal gear on top. Mark and Ronny had each brought a change of clothes and little else, but the packs were heavy.

"We walk in, no road where we're going. It will take us about half an hour, that won't be too bad." Russel hefted a pack and slid it on Ronny's shoulders. "You get the light one."

"Light? That's pretty heavy," Ronny said and Thomas laughed.

"I'm joking; they all weigh about the same. We have to bring in our own water, that's where the weight comes from. It will be easier on the way out. Are we ready?" Russel asked.

The pathway through the scrub pines was flat and dry even though they'd had occasional rain showers that week. But the way was lined with wild flowers of all different shapes and colors and that was cause for some conversation.

Thomas had been here before and so he pointed out the more obvious features he remembered. Mark could see a break in the pines ahead and a taller clump of trees beyond. They had to skirt a marshy area and Russel stopped, holding up his hand and then pointing.

"Look ... isn't she pretty?"

Standing in a small patch of water was large bird that Mark knew was a blue heron. The long slender neck on the bird was stretched out as she sought something in the water. Her head dipped and came up with a small fish in her beak.

"Excellent hunters," Russel said. "You'll see lots more of them."

The campsite was in the shade of the old growth trees. A large grassy clearing with a fire ring in the middle away from any combustible material and a sturdy looking picnic table. Russel said the boys could set up the tents and remarked that he would share with his grandson. Mark had assumed the boys would share, but then thought better of it.

If Ronny dreamed they certainly didn't want Thomas caught up in anything. This transference Ronny was capable of performing was still a great unknown. They stood back and watched the boys struggle.

"Mark, let's leave them to work it out, I want to show you something," Russel said.

They followed a path through the tall trees and came out on the far side beside a pond. The place was teeming with birds wending their way in and out of the tall marsh grasses and reeds.

"This is the way it used to be hundreds of years ago," Russel said. "I assume you've had other dreams since we last talked."

"I've had one, but it was very important. Can we discuss these things in front of Thomas?"

"I don't think so. He sees Ronny as a friend and I don't want this to come between them. You can always tell me what you saw and we'll work on it together, let's let the boys be boys and enjoy their adventure. We'll talk about it later."

A fish jumped, a turtle pushed its way through the reeds and a small snake slithered across the grassy bank of the pond. They returned to camp and found the tents erected and their gear stored inside.

"Well done," Russel said.

"We were going to start a fire but I can't find any matches," Thomas said.

"Hmm, were you planning to cook something?" Russel asked. "We won't need a fire until it's time to eat, let's not waste the wood."

They took a hike around the pond and then off into the scrub. Russel assigned each of the boys a task and said he would keep score. They each had to find the habitat of a ground dwelling animal and another of a tree dwelling creature. He asked them to find signs on the ground of where the creatures had walked or some other means of identifying their tracks.

They discovered raccoon tracks by the water, squirrel nests in the trees and mouse holes beneath the pines. They found a place where deer had been feeding and saw baby turtles in the marsh. This area was protected land and the creatures thrived because of it.

"This area used to have small predatory cats, wolves and even the occasional bear," Russel said. "Now the only predator is man. In the time of our forefathers the deer were plentiful, the rivers and streams teeming with fish. A whole village could live off the land if they wanted, and yet they planted corn and vegetables. Do you know why they did that?"

"They needed corn for bread," Thomas said.

"I would think that eating fish all the time would get pretty boring," Ronny said.

"Both of you are right," Russel said. "A balanced diet kept them healthy. Corn was grown because it could be ground and baked, but it could also be dried and stored for the winter. Nature will always provide if man is smart and patient.

"Long ago the native people learned to use the plants that grew around them as medicine and food. The study of herbal plants is very important because there are some powerful results available to the healer. Eating the leaves, stems or roots of a plant was something man had to learn, and he usually did it by watching the animals."

They examined various plants around the pond and Russel cautioned them about eating anything wild until they had better knowledge. He pointed at a low tree covered in hard dark berries.

"That's a juniper. The berries make a strong medicinal tea, but that will clean you out in no time." The boys laughed but Russel shook his head. "Medicinal plants are best left to the experts."

The afternoon became hot and they retreated back to their camp under the trees. Russel unpacked a bag and produced corn meal and cast iron fry pan.

"Hey, that's the pack I was carrying," Ronny said. "No wonder it was heavy."

Russel grinned. "If you like to eat you have to pay the price. So who wants to start the fire?"

He chose Thomas, handing the boy a small rock and a steel bar. "What's this, where are the matches?" The boy asked.

Mark sat with amusement as the boys each took turns with the flint in trying to start a fire. The small tuft of grass finally caught and they fed small twigs to the flames. Russel mixed the corn meal and water, making small cakes that he fried up in the pan with a little shortening.

"I thought the women did the cooking?" Thomas said.

"They do, you planning to get married next week?" Russel asked. "A man must have skills to survive and eat."

They ate the bread and opened a few cans of beans. The cans were crushed and placed in a trash bag; nothing would remain behind when they left.

"I wish we could swim in the pond," Ronny said.

"I'm sure the turtles would enjoy munching on your toes," Thomas laughed.

"What are we making for dinner?" Mark asked. "I hope it's not beans."

Russel laughed. "No beans, I promise. Martin will be by and bring us some dinner, it's all arranged."

They allowed the fire to die out and scattered the ashes to make sure, and then Russel led them into the trees. This was a different look at nature for the hardwoods attracted different wildlife. The path led them into a slight valley where a stream tumbled through the rocks on its way to the pond.

"Okay, Ronny, here you can swim," Russel said. "Just watch where you go."

The boys stripped off their boots and socks and waded into the water. The small creek was only a few yards wide and maybe all of a foot deep. Thomas got right down to it and stripped off his jeans and T-shirt, plopping down in the water wearing only his boxers. Ronny wasn't far behind.

Russel and Mark sat in the shade and watched the boys at play. "So what made Ronny faint?" Russel asked.

"I mentioned that he might just be the Spirit Warrior. I should have qualified that statement first, it was too much for him to absorb."

Russel nodded. "I think he is the fulfillment of the prophecy. Nothing says he has to be a warrior, there are no battles to fight."

"Pretty much how I explained it to him," Mark said. "But in the dream we saw the Oneida warriors move the standing stone and hide it. Ronny says he knows where it is, he saw the place when he was just a child."

"I knew that was coming ... and now you want to go find it?"

"I don't know ... maybe, but why? What would we do with it? Ronny seems to think it's still loaded with magic and that no one can touch it. If he's the one in the prophecy then only he can lay a hand on it, and I don't think a fifteen year old boy can move it alone."

"The dreams must hold a clue," Russel said.

"They do ... there is a prayer that was said before the stone was moved," Mark said. "But what startled me more was the reference to 'pale gods' and the mention that they were buried in the soil at the spot where the stone stood."

"Ah, the runes. The only mention I've found about early Europeans coming here were references to Vineland and the early Vikings who went there and explored." Russel sighed. "You realize that the stone would be quite valuable to archeologists. If the original place of the stone could be located and bones found ... but that's all speculation."

"I've thought of all that," Mark said. "What I want to know is what it will mean for Ronny, what will it do for the Oneida?"

"Good questions, something we need to think about. The State of New York and the Oneida are at odds in federal court at the moment, and have been for years. The state seized Oneida land and paid them a pittance. The U.S. Supreme Court voided all that. Seems only the Feds have the right to sign treaties and control sale of Indian land. It's a real mess."

Mark nodded. "Finding that stone sure would put a high profile on the Oneida's plight."

"Another court fight, someone is going to claim it and try to take it away," Russel said.

"I don't think they can, Ronny says it's on reservation land in a burial mound."

Russel laughed and slapped his knee. "Really? That's the best news yet."

They returned to camp and found a cooler sitting beside the tents with a note on top.

"Sorry, I know I promised you dinner and here it is. But I have to take the daughter and her family out for dinner, sorry I missed you. You can drop the cooler off next time you see me. Martin."

Russel opened the top of the cooler and laughed when he looked inside. "He's gonna miss a good meal."

It was Mark's turn to start a fire and the boys were amazed at how easy he made it look, in no time they had a decent cooking fire. Russel prepared the steaks while Mark tended the foil wrapped corn in the coals. There was a large jar of lemonade, containers of salad and to top it off Mark held up a chocolate cake.

The light was fading as they sat by the fire and Russel smiled. "There are many stories and legends shared amongst the native people in this country. Creation stories that did all they could to explain how we got here. Thomas has heard many of them, and I think he even remembers a few.

"The Christians came and tried to tell us that these stories were harmful and pagan. But to me they teach valuable lessons or give us a glimpse of how our ancestors thought. The many things in the sky over our heads defied explanation for centuries, even in the white man's world. To give them meaning our forefathers expressed these unknown things in terms of nature.

"The world sits on the back of a turtle is one of my favorite concepts handed down over the ages. The source of wind and rain ... and even fire have an explanation, all of it more fantasy then fact. Yes, fire ... I love the Delaware explanation for how we were given fire. Do you remember that, Thomas?"

"The rainbow crow, I know that Lenape story."

"Then you may tell it," Russel said.

"Um ... okay. At the beginning of time the crow was one of the most colorful birds on the earth and admired by everyone. The Creator was pleased and saw that the crow was one of the best things she had thought into existence. But the world was changing and when the Snow Spirits arrived the people and animals were freezing to death.

"They decided to send a messenger to the heavens and the rainbow crow was chosen because he pleased the Creator. Upwards he flew until at last he was in the presence of the Creator where he sang a beautiful song and begged for the warmth to return. The Creator said she could do nothing because she had also thought of cold and it had to exist.

"But then the Creator thought of fire and dipped a stick into the sun which burst into flames. She told the crow to return to earth and bring fire to the people and animals for warmth. The crow sped back to earth as fast as he could fly but the fiery stick burned all his feathers and the smoke and ash got into his throat.

"So now the crow is black and has an unpleasant voice when he caws, but he is respected and revered by all the other creatures of the earth. To this day hunters don't kill crows and if you look closely at his black feathers you may see the sheen of his former rainbow glory."

"Well said, Thomas," Russel said. "Do you know any stories of the Oneida, Ronny?"

"I don't know any legends, but I know the true story of Polly Cooper."

"That name sounds familiar," Russel said. "Please, tell us who she is."

"It was in the time of the Revolutionary War and the Oneida people had taken sides with the Americans. Some of the other Iroquois people sided with the British and became our enemies, but the Oneida had made an agreement. It was a severe winter that year and the great Chief Skenandoah heard that the American soldiers were suffering at Valley Forge in the cold and had little to eat.

"He knew they had plenty in their storehouses and so a group of men and women walked hundreds of miles from their homes in central New York to Valley Forge, bringing corn to the soldiers. It had to be prepared carefully and when the Oneida discovered the soldiers didn't know how to do it a woman stayed behind and sent the others home. The soldiers called her Polly Cooper because they did not know her Oneida name.

"Her dedication came to the attention of the commander of the troops, George Washington. She would not accept payment for what she had done so Martha Washington gave her a bonnet and a shawl, which I believe her relatives still have somewhere. That's about all I remember."

"That was excellent," Mark said and Ronny beamed.

"Ronny, have you ever been to Washington, D.C.?" Russel asked.

"No ... I've never been there," Ronny said.

"The National Museum of the American Indian is there on the Mall, its part of the Smithsonian. I think you need to go see it," Russel said.

"What's in there?"

"A great piece of our history is on display, and there are some things from the Oneida."

"Awesome, maybe Mark can take me," Ronny said.

Mark nodded. "I can do that, and I'm sure Katherine will think that's a very good idea."

The explosive sound of a musket shot rang out among the trees, echoing up the snow covered hillside until it was lost in the trees. The buck which had been standing a hundred feet away took several tentative leaps and then fell as his legs collapsed, his antlers digging a furrow into the underbrush.

"You shot well, my son," Fierce Beaver said.

Grey Eyes nodded and tried to hide the smile of satisfaction from his father. He was at that age when serious thoughts occupied his mind, and yet he did not wish to show pride, it was not the way of a warrior. He had reached his fourteenth winter and learned his lessons well; after all he had the best teacher in the village, if not the entire nation.

"I chose a buck too large; we will have a difficult time carrying that back to the village before it snows again."

The boy was right, except Fierce Beaver had a plan. "We will carry the carcass on a pole down to the Turtle village and trade them meat for corn. Then we may send a party back to pick up the corn next week while we take the hindquarters back to our village."

Grey Eyes laughed. "I should have known. Mother just mentioned we could use more corn and that the Turtle had grown too much."

"As I grow older being clever is all I have left," Fierce Beaver laughed.

"You are not old, Walking Raven is old."

Fierce Beaver laughed even harder now. "And if he hears you say that he will skin you alive."

They cut a green pole and tied the legs of the buck to it. "How far is the village," Grey Eyes asked.

Fierce Beaver looked at the sky. "We will be there before darkness falls."

Fierce Beaver could take a father's pride in the way this boy shouldered his responsibility of hunting and other duties for the family. This would be his thirty-fifth winter, a time he never expected to see. The British had been grateful for their assistance in running the French off the continent, and then released a flood of colonists in their direction.

To the north of the great river the new colonists struggled with the cold and remnants of the once proud natives, but here they acted as if the land was theirs. In the great cities along the coast plans were made to carve up the wilderness all the way to the valley of the Ohio, at least this is what Trent had been telling them.

The man had remained behind after the war, endearing himself to the clans and taking a wife from the Turtle village. But now he spoke of armed clashes arising from the trade agreements of the colonies and the British across the great ocean. Fierce Beaver wanted no part of that conflict if he could avoid it. But he was concerned about Grey Eyes because of what the boy desired. He wanted to become a Christian.

It was right after the French war that the preacher named Kirkland arrived to convert the Oneida. He spoke of this new God who would ensure everlasting peace between the people. But religion was not the sole objective; Kirkland began to learn the Iroquois language and traveled about with his sons.

The chiefs did not understand the ways of the white man and Kirkland advised them to side with the colonists against the British. The advice was sound, especially as the Mohawk and Seneca had sided with the British. The Oneida and Tuscarora tried to remain neutral but were left allied with the colonies. It would be the same as the last war; the young warriors would leave to fight.

Chief Skenandoah, the great Oskanondonha, was a leader who had made a name for himself in the war against the French; he was also a close friend to Kirkland. Fierce Beaver could see that his son was swept up in both the missionary's zeal and the call to war against their old enemies.

Grey Eyes had been taught the ways of a warrior, and yet to Fierce Beaver there was little comfort in watching the boy develop his skills. Bright Eyes had given him two daughters, but only this one son. The warriors would probably assemble when warmth returned to the land, only this time Fierce Beaver wasn't sure he would go with them.

He was principal chief of his village and Morning Dove, who was still their matron, depended upon him for so many things. Trent had been teaching him English words and he had developed some skill at speaking the strange language. It had allowed them to increase trade with the white men who were becoming more numerous in the valley.

But not long after Fierce Beaver and Grey Eyes returned from their hunt a runner arrived from the eastern villages, Chief Skenandoah had called a gathering. The word was to be prepared to travel a far distance and bring corn, all that could be spared.

The harvest had been abundant that year and Fierce Beaver figured there was a village in need, but he wasn't prepared for where they were actually going.

"South," Trent declared. "The colonial army of the Americans suffers greatly with sickness and hunger, Kirkland thinks we should feed them."

Fierce Beaver nodded. "It is our way; we have a treaty with them."

"Kirkland says it is the Christian thing to do and Skenandoah agrees."

Fierce Beaver smiled. "It matters not who takes the credit, we will know in our hearts why we did it. We have plenty, it needs to be shared."

The Oneida gathered, and the group marched south through the snowy landscape carrying sacks of corn. It took them a long time to traverse the miles. Fierce Beaver carried his share of the load, and beside him walked Grey Eyes.

If the boy should fight it would be good to see the proud soldiers they would be fighting beside. But none of them were prepared for the squalor and misery they discovered in the camps at Valley Forge. The soldiers looked gaunt and many of them were ill from poor sanitation. Many had no shoes and wrapped their feet in rags; the hearts of the Oneida went out to them.

They stayed for many days, sharing out the food and teaching the soldiers how to cook the corn properly. The women tended to the sick while the men sent out parties to forage for fire wood and carry fresh water. But soon they would have to return north, for even in winter there was always the chance the Mohawk would raid their villages.

Fierce Beaver had watched the soldiers very carefully. He learned that they had already fought against the British and had won little. Now the redcoats were back in their great cities along the coast sitting beside the fire while these men suffered in the cold and became sick. He didn't see how they could win this war.

The soldiers had been grateful for the food and care; Fierce Beaver had heard their words of praise and understood them. The Oneida women had worked tirelessly and even as they prepared to leave some would remain behind, especially those who would cook and care for the sick.

The woman he observed that last day was stirring a huge pot of corn mash. Fierce Beaver did not know her name, but heard the soldiers call her Polly. It was not unusual for the white men to give a native some name like that, much of the Iroquois language was difficult to pronounce.

Grey Eyes had worked with the wood gathering parties and spent some time helping the soldiers patch up their tiny cabins. He had been beside his father working with a group of soldiers when a tall distinguished looking man approached and the soldiers stood up respectfully.

Fierce Beaver could see that the man was a chief; his manner of dress spoke of his importance. He walked up to their group and nodded to the Oneida.

"Thank you all for your kindness," The man said quietly.

"You are welcome," Fierce Beaver replied, pleased that he could say something in return.

The man smiled. "You speak English?"

"Small words ... I learn some."

"We are so grateful ... thankful for your gift to us. My name is General Washington, George Washington."

"I know ... you are big chief," Fierce Beaver said. "I am called Fierce Beaver of the Oneida Bear Clan, I am small chief." He smiled at the joke.

Washington chuckled. "You may be a small chief, but you are a big friend to us. Thank you."

Fierce Beaver stuck out his hand and Washington shook it, giving a slight bow in return before he let go. Washington looked at Grey Eyes and stuck out his hand which the boy shook.

"My son," Fierce Beaver said. "We will fight with you."

Washington nodded. "I will be grateful for your help. I know you will go home now to your village, but come see me when you return."

And with that Washington touched his hat in farewell and walked on down the row of cabins. Some of the soldiers smiled at them.

"The General likes you, maybe he'll make you an officer," One of them joked.

"No, I fight like warrior ... this you need most," Fierce Beaver said.

And he knew it was true. He would fight because his son was now a warrior and the family tradition must be maintained.

"You spoke the words of English with the Great Chief, I must learn these things," Grey Eyes said.

Fierce Beaver clapped a hand on his son's shoulder. "You will be taught the words ... and many other things."

It was time for the boy to know of the promise he had made to the stone. It won't happen in my lifetime, Fierce Beaver thought. There were too many conflicts between people who ought to know better.

Their ancestors had left them that stone as a sign of unity and communion with the Great Mother. He now knew it would take many generations for the hatred to be gone from their lives. Only then could the stone regain its rightful place in their hearts.


On to Chapter Eight

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