Chrétien de Parthenay

  Former Wendake/Huronia (Modern-Day Ontario Peninsula)

  It was no wonder that Hononwiredonh’s pack of wolves found them again. Perhaps it was fated, preordained by some higher power. Perhaps they had simply been waiting for them, just beyond the edge of the forest, stalking behind the trees as Chrétien’s company desperately tried to regroup with the main invading force. After all, to the Great Wolf, Chrétien and his deer were a job unfinished, prey that had somehow escaped his clutches. He would not let them escape again.

  Chrétien saw the first of them burst out from the treeline, running towards them with a musket in hand. He was surprised to see a man emerge before a bullet, but it soon became clear why—more came, whooping and shrieking, surrounding the deer company with their superior numbers. They didn’t want to shoot their prey. Too easy. No satisfaction. No, they were here for blood, and they would not leave until their fangs dripped with it.

  The deer men huddled together, their backs against one another, their eyes wide with fear. Chrétien tried to muster some words to encourage them, but he could not. He, too, was afraid, despite his resolution to avenge his fallen comrades. He found his resolve wavering like a windswept flame at the sight of their overwhelming numbers, at the look of bloodlust in their eyes.

  Then, he saw him. The Great Wolf took a step forward, towering over the others in the pack. His muscles rippled in the midday light, so sinewy they were almost grotesque. He hardly looked like a man. He was a beast in a man’s skin, or a monster, or perhaps something even worse. He looked upon Chrétien’s brothers like they were playthings, slabs of meat to chew and spit out.

  “Hononwiredonh!” Chrétien heard a voice call. Jikohnsasee stepped out from the trembling herd of deer, her spear in hand. She stood between her monstrous brother and her comrades, her eyes fierce and determined.

  “Fight me,” she said, gritting her teeth.

  Her brother’s eyes fell on her like she was a stranger.

  “Sure,” he said casually. “Once the rest are dead. You’ll be the last.”

  “Fight me now. I want to kill you at your full strength. Unless you’re afraid you can’t beat your little sister.”

  It was a childish taunt, but it still rang true. He could not ignore it without losing face—the other wolves all watched their leader with anticipation. Any chief had to address such a challenge, and certainly one made by a woman.

  “I have no little sister,” he replied. “I am Hononwiredonh, son of Gado:w?:s the Huntress, mother of the Wolf Clan. She has birthed no children but me. You are nothing to me.”

  “You’re wrong,” she said, and Chrétien could hear her voice choking in her throat as she said it. Then, it hardened, like her heart had in that tent in the snow, and he could hear nothing further from her lips but contempt. “I am Jikohnsasee, the last living woman of the Chonnonton. I am the bane of the Five Nations, a hateful specter borne of my people’s vengeance. I am the spirit of death, deliverer of your undoing. I am the last thing you will see as you bleed out on the snow, as your eyes turn cold, as you fade into nothing.”

  Her words were met with sounds of the lupine—barking and snarling and gnashing of teeth. The wolves bristled with anger at her declaration—who was she, a mere woman from some inferior tribe, to speak to their leader this way? It was an affront to him, to all the Haudenosaunee, champions of these lands, protectors of the cosmic balance. It was through their orenda that they had conquered, through their will and power that they had proved their dominion over their lessers. This fight would be no different.

  “You are so eager to die,” the Great Wolf said with a shrug. He gathered his own spear, and readied it. “So be it.”

  The battlefield shifted at once. No one else would fight until the duel was concluded, and the winner would decide the whole battle. The wolves gathered in a pack behind their champion, the deer in a herd behind theirs. Some of the men near Chrétien shouted cheers, but he could not. His heart was gripped in a fear he had never felt before. He knew that if Jikohnsasee fell, he and his comrades would die. If she won, though, the battle would completely turn on its head. The other wolves’ morale would crumble seeing the loss of their leader, and Chrétien and his deer would kill them all in a resounding victory. But that outcome seemed far less likely. Despite her size and strength, her brother was somehow larger and stronger, and if she froze like she did in the last battle, if she showed even an ounce of that hesitation, it would all be over.

  The fight began before Chrétien could draw another breath. Jikohnsasee charged at her brother, roaring a battle-cry. He sidestepped the first stab of her spear, then lunged at her with his own. Still caught in the momentum of her attack, she tried her best to turn, but the sudden motion caused her to stumble forwards. The spear grazed her arm, and she scrambled to stand back up as the Great Wolf pushed his advantage. She ducked to the side to avoid his spear, and readied another strike, but her brother was ready for it, and backhanded her with his free hand. The strike rang out, echoing across the snow, and the force knocked her backwards towards her men. The wolves cheered as she tried to gather her composure, and worry began to spread on the deer’s faces.

  “Don’t lose yourself to emotion!” Chrétien scolded her.

  “I’m not,” she panted.

  “You are. You’re letting him reduce you to a little sister again. Kill the heart in you that still beats for him. Turn yourself to stone, that no blade finds purchase in your skin. Get rid of your compassion, of all your feelings for him. They weaken you, and you can’t afford weakness. Not right now. Not against him.”

  With every word he spoke, his heart withered in despair. These were not his words, but his father’s, the ones he drilled into his son every day growing up. It was the counsel of a psychopath, a man who cut down his own countrymen with no remorse. But it was what she needed right now. As long as a shred of her still cared for her brother, she wouldn’t be able to kill him. All these years she had trained for that one purpose, and yet all these years she had carried some scant hope that he might be redeemed, that she could save him. But this hope was not the truth, and it would mean all their doom if she didn’t rid herself of it.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Jikohnsasee’s eyes locked with Chrétien’s, and they stared at one another for just a moment. She nodded—she understood. She gathered herself, turning back towards her brother. She took a step, then another, holding her spear to guard herself. But she no longer struck at him from some blind anger, no longer pulled her punches from some forlorn hope. Her eyes had changed—they were cold, calculating. Like a predator.

  The two circled around each other, both of them waiting for their chance to strike. But Jikohnsasee did not strike first—she waited for her brother, her whole body poised to react to his movements. He obliged her with a quick strike from the side, non-committal. It was an obvious feint, and Jikohnsasee did not budge. Frustrated, the Great Wolf lunged again, and again, and again. Each time, Jikohnsasee parried him calmly, blocking each strike with her own spear. Her movements, exaggerated and furious before, were lax now, spending as little energy as possible. Her entire demeanor had changed, like she had not spent every day since she was twelve years old training for this sole moment. This was just another fight, and she was starting to gain the upper hand.

  Great Wolf started forward with another stab, this one over-exerted, and exposed himself doing so. Jikohnsasee barely dodged it, and used the opening, returning with her own offense. Her brother immediately took several steps backwards, trying to keep his distance, but she kept on him, attacking him relentlessly. Stab the face, the shoulder, the stomach, sweep the legs. The enormous man dodged each one, but his own stature betrayed him—he suffered grazes from each swipe, one streaking across his cheek. It started to bleed, and Chrétien could feel the proud wind leave the wolves’ lungs as they saw it.

  “Yes!” He yelled as the deer cheered and clapped. “Keep going!”

  A fiery energy coursed through his veins, like he was fighting instead. It was almost more exhilarating to watch. In the heat of battle, so many things melted away, the mind focused only on survival, and killing the enemy. Here, he saw every movement, heard every grunt and struggle. Each blow Jikohnsasee scored, the deer roared in triumph, and each blow returned they gasped in fear. A second felt like infinity, their lives hanging on a thread between two edges, equally steep.

  Jikohnsasee pressed forward, trying to push her advantage, but Hononwiredonh rebuffed her. He avoided her spear, grabbing it with his free hand. He tried to wrest it from her grasp but she would not let him, gripping it with all her might. He resorted then to kicking its shaft in the middle, splitting the weapon in two. The force of it caused her to stumble backwards, and the wolves roared in victory.

  Immediately, Jikohnsasee self-corrected. She planted her feet in the ground, stopping her fall, then rushed back towards her brother before he could react. He began to guard, but she was armed with two weapons now, one in each hand. He blocked her right hand that carried the spear head, leaving him open to the left that carried the splintered shaft. She jammed it into his side, and it struck true, the splinters digging into his abdomen. He howled in anger and pain, but immediately struck her back, knocking her to the ground with his enormous strength. He lunged at her, stabbing with the spear, which she barely dodged, the spear lodging itself into the snow. She abandoned her own weapon, grabbing his spear with both hands and trying to kick him away from it. It worked for a moment—she tried to turn the spear and use it against him, but he grabbed the shaft again. They wrestled for control of it, but they both knew that he was stronger. So she used his tactics against him—she raised her legs while her back was still on the ground, kicking as hard as she could at the spear. Her feet went straight through the spear’s shaft and into her brother’s chest, knocking him backwards.

  The Great Wolf roared, tossing his now-useless weapon aside and running back towards Jikohnsasee before she could get up. She turned away from him, scrambling to try and stand, but he was already on her. He grabbed her hair in his fist from behind and slammed her face into the ground. And again. And again. Chrétien saw a tooth fly from her mouth, and his gut wrenched in horror. Somehow, she managed to turn herself around, enough to face her brother, but he still was on top of her. This was when a duel turned from graceful to ugly. Their weapons were in tatters, their lives on the line. All that was left was to beat each other to death with their bare hands. And in a fight like that, the bigger and stronger man would win.

  Hononwiredonh began beating his sister incessantly. She covered her face, trying to avoid the blows, but it was impossible. She reached out, trying to grab his arms, but he broke through her grip, his hands reaching for her neck. He wrapped them around her throat, closing them as tight as he could. Jikohnsasee writhed underneath him, her breath sputtering as she choked. Chrétien and the deer just watched in horror. I need to do something, he thought. I should run to him, stab him in the back. But he couldn’t. His body froze in place, his heart paralyzed by fear. He was just like Jikohnsasee when she saw him last. I’m a hypocrite. Tears began to well in his eyes. I admonished her, stripped her of her rank. And I can’t move a muscle.

  But Jikohnsasee was not done yet. She reached her arms up between her brothers’ before forcing them outwards, wedging a divide in his grip. In his surprise, he hesitated for just a moment, and she used that instant to grab both sides of his head. She rammed her face into his as hard as she could. And again. And again. Chrétien heard a cracking sound, and his stomach churned as he saw that she had broken both of their noses. Furious, Hononwiredohn reached out to grab her again, and she took one of his hands, biting down hard on his fingers. The Great Wolf howled in pain, and she did not relent a second, cleaving two of his fingers from his hand with her teeth. The other wolves yelled in protest—there was no honor in the way she fought. But this was a battlefield, where there was never any to be found in the first place. Honor was a privilege reserved for men, and war made only beasts.

  The Great Wolf reeled, his mind overwhelmed with pain. Jikohnsasee did too, but she gathered herself quicker. She did not spend all these years training for nothing. Even though he was bigger, even though he was stronger, he did not have the drive that she had. He had not trained countless hours for one sole purpose, for one sole vengeance. And now she had burned the last wisps of love she carried for him to dust. In her eyes was not her brother, but a traitor, the man who raided her village and butchered her neighbors. So she recovered, and set upon him immediately. She tackled him, both of them falling onto the snow. She planted her knees into his arms at the elbow so he couldn’t move them, and she slammed his face with her fists over, and over, and over.

  The Great Wolf’s breaths grew haggard and strained as he struggled underneath her. Jikohnsasee saw the broken spearhead lying on the ground next to her. She grabbed it, and did not hesitate for even a second—she would not make the same mistake again. She plunged the bladed edge into her brother’s throat, spilling his blood upon the snow. Drowned gurgles spit from his mouth, and he reached up towards her. His strength was leaving his body rapidly—he could not hit or choke her even if he wanted to. But he did neither. For just a brief moment, his hand curled softly, and caressed his sister’s cheek. Then it fell like a stone, dropping lifelessly onto the ground.

  The deer did not even take the time to cheer for her victory. At once they were upon the wolves, whose spirits had shattered like porcelain, falling with their chief’s hand. They began to flee, but it was too late for them—the deer began slaughtering them mercilessly, hollering their cries of triumph so loud the heavens themselves could hear them. Chrétien was with them, too, having found the will to move. He cut the wolves down that were near him, and fired on the ones that had made it further. One by one, they dropped, and Chrétien had found his place again. More than that, he was filled with that fire, burning hotter than he had ever felt it. Somewhere deep inside him, guilt and remorse cried out. You are no better than him, they said. Despite how you’ve tried to run from it. Despite your promises to be different. You’re just the same as him. But their worries just echoed inside his empty body, for his heart was nowhere to be found. All he could feel was the thrill of the hunt, and the swelling pride of his chief’s bloody victory.