****
When Matt drifted back from his dream world, the warriors were breaking camp. He turned on his side to watch, although even turning triggered a flood of sharp jabs through his shoulder. They bustled about, rolling up sleeping mats and stuffing food and utensils into deerskin sacks. Some had reapplied paint to their faces and slung quivers of arrows over their shoulders.
“Are you leaving?” asked Matt, as Segoleh walked past.
Segoleh pivoted back on his heel and tipped his head towards Matt. “Must attack next villages. Reclaim land.”
“I thought this was Algonquin land.”
Segoleh laughed, although Matt didn’t get the joke. “Algonquin bear dung,” he said.
“Wouldn’t it be easier if you just tried to get along?” Wow, he sounded like Sarah now.
The warrior frowned.
Well, if he was heading down that path, why not go all the way? “You know, make peace.”
Segoleh spat on the ground. “No peace with bear dung. We destroy them, take land.” His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why you want peace, English? You great warrior.”
Matt realized his mistake like a splash of cold water in the face. He tried to sit up, but the wound—still far too tender—screamed in protest. With gritted teeth, he sank back down and peered at his shoulder. It was bound with leaves and some kind of animal skin—a bristly nest of a bandage.
“Some warrior,” he hissed under his breath. “I can’t even sit up.” To Segoleh he replied: “Warrior scout, yes. If war could be prevented, I would be happier.”
“Happiness not important.”
“You might die,” said Matt.
“Better to die than let others take our land, steal our trade.”
Matt winced. It seemed so senseless that these tribes fought with each other, when the Europeans would eventually bring about their downfall. Whether it was the kindness they’d all shown him—Chogan, Segoleh, and Segoleh’s people—or some benevolent part of his character that made him speak up, Matt didn’t know. He couldn’t let this squabbling continue, even to save his own life.
“You shouldn’t be fighting each other,” he said. “You should join with the Algonquin and try to stop the men from across the sea.”
Segoleh tilted an eyebrow. “You are from across the sea.”
“Sort of, yes. But I’m not important. By the way, how do you know English?”
Segoleh massaged his neck, paused for a second, then he began to speak. “I met Englishman many moons ago, in the land of the Susquehannock. We go down to make war on the tribe—they great enemies—and we come upon Captain John Smith.”
“John Smith? Pocahontas’s John Smith?”
“I know not Pocahontas,” he said. “But we meet English and one man come back with us for a time and teach us words.”
“That’s great,” said Matt. “I think.”
Some of the warriors were calling impatiently to Segoleh. He waved them away and sat down beside Matt. “Why worry about men from across the sea? They only here for trade.”
“No,” said Matt. “For land.”
“They occupy small parcels of land only,” said Segoleh, a question in his voice.
“They’ll take more and more, until there is no more.”
“They will kill us?” he asked.
“If you fight, they’ll kill you. Even if you don’t fight, their diseases will kill you. They’ll push you into small tracts of land where you can barely survive and take everything that was yours.”
“How you know this?” asked Segoleh, his voice striking a lower note.
Matt struggled to sit up again. Segoleh helped him so they could face each other. “Because I know the Europeans—the people from across the sea. They travel everywhere and they take land.”
“Why you tell me this? You want me to fight you?”
“No,” said Matt. “I want you to stop them. Not fight against them. That will never work, because there’ll eventually be too many. But if you join your brothers—”
“They not brothers, they—”
“Bear dung, I know. But they live on this land. They fight for this land. You will all die, or wish you had, if you can’t unite and devise a plan to save yourselves.”
Segoleh tapped his toe in the dirt, his face crinkled in deep thought. “If I do this,” he said, “what I do with you?”
Matt scratched his head. Maybe I should have thought of that before I opened my big mouth. “Well, I hope you won’t kill me. You could bring me with you, to the Algonquin, and we can try to make peace.”
Segoleh shook his head. “This not good,” he said. “This not work. They not trust us. We not trust them.”
“You’ve made peace with the Five Nations,” said Matt. “You can make peace with the bear dung.”
“Maybe,” said Segoleh, rolling the word over his tongue as if he were considering the notion. He tapped Matt on the head. “You a strange warrior, that betrays his own kind.”
“I don’t like to be lumped in with them,” said Matt. “I believe in justice. What will happen to you if you don’t stop them is savage. And they call you savages.”
A frown rippled over Segoleh’s face as a long minute passed. “No,” he finally said. “I cannot make peace. Bear dung killed all people in my village. We make war on bear dung. If you join us, I make you honourary Kanienkehaka.”
Kanienkehaka? Oh, right. Matt remembered the reference in his father’s book and what Annawan had written on the board in class. That was what the Mohawk called themselves—People of the Flint.
Matt sighed when he realized what his failure meant. Now he’d have to travel with the Mohawk—Kanienkehaka—and possibly even fight against Chogan’s people. It was insane, but Segoleh could not be dissuaded.
The warrior grasped Matt firmly under his uninjured shoulder and hoisted him up. He called to the other warriors and gathered them together. Fire danced behind their eyes as they discussed their next attack. All Matt’s arguments had amounted to nothing. The First Nations were destined to meet their fate. Segoleh returned to the dying fire after the powwow and filled Matt in on their plans. Matt grimaced when he heard the word Odawa in a context he’d never imagined. Ambush.