Old World Thunder, New World Fire

White Sky, Black Bird

The Great Lakes

It was late in the day when Waabigiizhig and Memeskoniinisi arrived at the trading post. What was once a small collection of makeshift shelters had blossomed over the past few years into full-fledged buildings, though as far as the two traders knew, few people lived here permanently. It was a place where anyone looking to make some coin wandered to and from, transient hopefuls just like the boys. And so it was that they found a strange sense of community in this ever-changing place, despite the impermanence of it all.

People here hardly knew each other’s names, as everyone was here one day and gone the next, but over time one became accustomed to some of the recurring characters. The Englishman who was always dressed in a full suit with a top hat and monocle, the French lumber dealer with arms like tree trunks, the man with skin dark as night who panned for gold and precious metals in the distant mountains. The two boys were determined to be recognizable here, too, and more, to have their names known. That was no easy task in a place like this, but no goal was worth it to White Sky and Black Bird if it was not a challenge.

The post itself carried a brutal reputation. If you were found to be underhanded or untrustworthy, you were practically exiled–all the buyers and sellers talked, and there were no second chances. That didn’t stop unlawful behavior from occurring of course–people’s wares would go missing all the time, and if you were generous enough with the barter, many of the merchants didn’t ask where the goods came from. It was an elaborate game of cat and mouse–get caught, be ruined. Stay undetected, and you would reap the rewards. There was more too, a political game between the wealthiest merchants that the boys still didn’t understand, and were desperate to get involved in. There were even rumors of a few shadowy figures who ran the whole operation, who could make or break one’s fortune on a whim. The danger and risk only excited White Sky and Black Bird more, another challenge waiting to be conquered.

Today, however, they did not bother with the tumultuous chaos of the market square. Perhaps many moons ago, when they were still new to this place, neophytes in the game. But their hard work had paid off, and they had a contact now–a contact with strange and specific demands, and who paid good money to see them met. They had run minor errands for him many times at this point, but this was the first time he had sent them on a lengthy excursion, and they could not wait to reap the rewards.

The boys carried their canoe over their shoulders as they made their way through town, their cargo nestled safely inside. Thankfully, the canoe itself was rather lightweight, being made of birchbark, so the two could handle it themselves, though this was one of the heaviest loads they’d carried so far. Their arms were well tired after a day of rowing, but they couldn’t stand to wait any longer before they delivered it.

They made their way around the outskirts of the main market square, careful to avoid the usual traffic. Because it was late, some of the shopkeepers had already begun to pack up their stalls for the day, though some would still be out for many hours into the night. The boys refused to deal at night, though–that was when the seedier folks tended to make their appearances. They wanted to be players in the game, winners even, but they wanted to win fairly, if such a thing was possible. It was important to them that they maintained a reputation of being honest men who traded in quality, and they drew the line at anything less. Sometimes they argued about where that line lay–Black Bird was always more zealous, White Sky more cautious. Still, neither of them would make a decision without the approval of the other–they worked in tandem as one, which was their greatest asset in a game of selfish players.

It wasn’t long before they reached their destination–a small cabin by the lake. The entire post was situated on the western lip of the Leading Sea Niigani-Gichigami, the easternmost Great Sea the white men called “Ontarí'io”. Strangely, Black Bird sometimes called the place Ontarí'io too, a Longhouse word from the Wendat island-dwellers that jutted out unnaturally in his usual Odawa tongue. His speech was often peppered with little oddities like that, but he rarely spoke about it when White Sky asked. There were parts of the older boy that were hidden inside a protective turtle’s shell, a side of him he never showed, even to his best friend. It created a distance between them, a distance that both knew would ultimately hold them back. They were meant to operate as a single unit, two strong antlers atop a buck’s head. Yet despite all they’d been through together, there was some secret part of Black Bird that made him a stranger.

The boys set down their canoe outside their cabin, and Black Bird knocked on the door. No one answered, but that was normal. Black Bird tried the door–it was unlocked, so the two went inside. Whatever one would expect the inside of a log cabin to look like, the interior of their new patron’s home was the exact opposite. The only normal item was a large bed along the northern wall, stuffed with soft down. The entire cabin was one large room, filled to the brim with all sorts of random things. Lining the western wall were a wide variety of metallurgic objects, from blow torches and welding masks to spears and rifles. On the eastern wall was a cot and two crates of medical supplies next to an exam table covered with glass vials and a large microscope. Lying between these two polar opposites were all manner of other strange devices, some lying on the ground, some packed haphazardly inside wooden crates until they overflowed. Most of them the two boys had never seen before, and had no idea what they did, if they even worked at all. Even the structure of the cabin itself had been drastically changed, chunks of wall cut out and replaced with chimneys to ventilate the forge in the southwest corner.

The two boys found him sitting at his workbench along the south wall, humming as he soldered something. His stark white hair shot out from his head in all different directions, as if gravity had no effect on it. The center of his head was bald, meaning his wild hair sprouted from two distinct spots on both sides like frayed wings. The traders weren’t sure quite how old he was, but they placed him around eighty or so, rivaling the ages of even their wisest elders. But despite his age, he showed no signs of it, constantly bouncing around the place with a seemingly unending energy.

“Dr. Härkönen!” Black Bird yelled, trying in vain to be louder than the rest of the cacophony. The old inventor could hardly hear the boy over his work, his back to them. Black Bird approached the man from behind, tapping his shoulder. The doctor leaped up in surprise, burning himself in the process. He shouted a series of what were no doubt expletives in his native tongue (something he called “Finnish”), waving his hand through the air to cool it.

“I thought I told you not to sneak up on me like that,” the old man scolded in French, the only common language they shared.

“I did try calling your name,” Black Bird said.

The man just scowled, dunking his hand into a bucket of cold water nearby.

“You boys are late,” he said. “You were supposed to be here a week ago.”

“We had to take an alternate route,” White Sky explained. “Too many Snakes on the main riverways.”

“Snakes would have been good. More subjects.”

“We routed a small band of them,” Black Bird said. “And robbed the camp of another at night. Why don’t you come and peruse our wares before making judgments on our slight tardiness?”

The old man nodded, and followed the two boys outside. They uncovered the top of the canoe, and began unboxing their cargo. In truth, their partnership with the eccentric doctor had proven fruitful for both of them. Their crates were what originally caught the scientist’s eye, reinforced with beaver and otter skins that not only waterproofed the boxes, but could be inflated to make them buoyant. Impressed by White Sky’s ingenuity and craftiness, the inventor had taken both boys under his wing, so to speak.

Every time they returned from some errand, he would pay them not only in currency, but with knowledge. He had taught both of them to read in French (and currently working on English), lecturing White Sky on engineering and thermodynamics, and Black Bird on world history and rhetoric. In his youth, Dr. Härkönen traveled all over the world, scouring every nook and cranny for information to further his knowledge. Now, he was glad to pass that wisdom onto these young men, telling them of faraway places they had never even heard of.

In return for his sage wisdom, the two young traders offered him two things. The first was an opportunity to test his many inventions. Most of the contraptions and gadgets they used on the river were gifts from him (though White Sky had tinkered with them and created some others on his own time). To the traders, this was just another boon, free technology that gave them an edge on the competition. What the doctor got out of it was still unclear to them, but he made them speak in detail of how they used them whenever they returned from an excursion, taking detailed notes in one of his many journals.

The second thing they offered him was access to an eclectic and strange mix of goods. Dr. Härkönen cared little for furs, or gems, or any of the other usual prized commodities the other white men cared about. Instead, he would send them on seemingly random quests to obtain all manner of different things: bladders and other organs from specific animals, unusual metals, weapons and cultural artifacts from neighboring tribesmen. He hardly explained his reasonings for any of them, and the deal was good enough for the boys, so they didn’t ask.

This time, their primary quarry was the strangest yet. He had tasked them with gathering the scabs and wounds from victims of the pox, and ideally, a cadaver that had been inflicted with it. It was no easy task–the Anishinaabeg and other tribes treated the pox like the plague it was. Those infected with it were sequestered away, visited only by healers of the Midewiwin. Harder still was to find someone willing to part with the corpse of a dearly departed family member–the boys had resolved not to resort to grave-robbing.

Despite this, there were few issues that some honeyed words and a few bribes could not fix, and the boys were lucky enough to find a fresh cadaver that was easily transported–the body of a young child of five. He had died the day before they arrived at the village, a Faith-Keeper town in the north, and the child’s mother gave the body to the boys for free, telling them she could not bear to look at it another day. The boys packed it carefully in a coffin-shaped box filled with salt to prevent it from decaying. The rest of the scabs and wounds they got from a variety of nearby villages with some persuasion, thankfully before they retrieved the body, allowing the most desired item to be the most well-preserved.

The doctor unboxed the goods, using a handkerchief to cover his mouth. He inspected the five-year-old’s corpse, careful not to touch it. Satisfied, he sealed the crates up again, standing and clapping the boys on the back.

“Well, done,” he said. “Truly, well done! I’m surprised the cadaver is in as remarkable a condition as it is.”

“And, as we mentioned before, there’s a bonus this time,” Black Bird said, gesturing to a few spiked tomahawks and other items they’d pilfered from a few Big Snakes on their way.

“Well, I must say you have outdone yourselves, gentlemen. Help me get these inside, and I’ll see to your reward.”

The boys carried the boxes inside, setting them down among all the other crates that cluttered the floor.

“Now, first, a debriefing,” the old man said, grabbing one of his journals from his writing desk and sitting on his rotating stool. “Did you use the proper precautions when obtaining the goods?”

“Of course,” White Sky said. “We used all the materials you gave us.”

“Good. And have either of you caught the pox yourselves, or carried any symptoms of it?”

Both the boys shook their heads.

“Excellent. Now, I heard you had an encounter with some of the Iroquois, the ones you call ‘Longhouse Folk’. Do you know which of the tribes they hailed from?”

“We’re not sure,” White Sky began. “We–”

“They were probably Keepers of the Western Door,” Black Bird interrupted. “I’ve seen their dress before.”

White Sky shot him a look.

“Like White Sky said,” Black Bird continued. “We’re not entirely sure, but if I had to guess, I would say they were Westerners. Besides, being the Westernmost Snakes, their hunting grounds are the closest to the river we were attacked on.”

White Sky’s eyebrow raised as Dr. Härkönen took note in his journal. Black Bird had never mentioned this until now, and he was the only Trade-Keeper he knew who could distinguish the different nations of Snakes by looking at them. Some of the wisemen from the Faith-Keepers who dealt with the Snakes diplomatically knew of those subtleties, but not a simple fur trader. Just another thing to add to the list of Black Bird’s mysteries, White Sky thought.

“Now, describe the battle in detail, start to finish,” Dr. Härkönen instructed.

The two did. They were accustomed to telling the doctor about their battles and skirmishes at this point, and he always took a unique fascination to them, scribbling furiously as they spoke. When they were finished recanting it, his eyes lit up, glimmering with excitement.

“Brilliant strategy, Black Bird,” he commended. “And in the heat of battle as well. You would make a fine commander of your people’s military, if you chose to pursue such a thing.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Memeskoniinisi replied.

“And it seems, then, that la petit couleuvrine I gave you last time was helpful.”

“Yes, it was. Though I wouldn’t mind if you came up with some way to prevent it from destroying my nethers every time I use it.”

“I can only recommend some kind of cushion. You need to hold it in place on a small vessel like your canoe, for if it falls overboard, most of the lakes and rivers you travel are too deep to retrieve it.”

Black Bird grimaced at the memory of how his groin ached for a full day after firing the tiny cannon.

“The shield was helpful as well,” White Sky said excitedly. “We’d probably be dead without it.”

The old man smiled.

“Yes, well, that was primarily your idea, wasn’t it? I just helped you with some of the pulleys and rigging, really. You should both be very proud of yourselves, winning a fight with those odds. And to reward you, I have some new toys to tip the scales even further in your favor.”

Dr. Härkönen rummaged around in a nearby crate, tossing different gadgets aside haphazardly onto the floor. After enough digging, he found what he was looking for–two ornate wooden boxes in a rectangular shape. He handed each of the boys a box, and they eagerly opened it. Nestled inside were two pistols, lying delicately in perfectly-cut depressions with dark green flocking. They were much more ornate than a typical musket, cast in swirling silver. They had rounded butts that protruded from the ends of the handle, and the metal around the muzzle was shaped to look like the head of a serpent. On the side of the arm was a strange and complex contraption involving a series of springs and latches all connected to what looked like a spinning wheel.

“The French call these ‘dragons’,” Härkönen explained. “Do either of you know what a dragon is?”

The boys shook their heads.

“It’s a mythical beast from the folklore of Europe, the land myself and the other white men come from. It’s an enormous lizard with wings like a bat, who breathes fire. The heads of these guns have been shaped to look like one.”

“Gaasyendietha,” Black Bird suddenly said. Both the doctor and White Sky looked at him, confused.

“The Longhouse folk speak of a similar creature,” Black Bird explained. “Only there aren’t several, just one. It’s an enormous serpent who flies in the air and breathes flame. They say he lives at the bottom of this lake, actually.”

“Since when are you an expert on Longhouse mythology?” White Sky asked incredulously.

Black Bird only shrugged. “When elders and others tell rumors and tales, I listen to them.”

White Sky chose to ignore his non-answer, as dwelling on the subject would only bother him. He turned his attention back to the pistol.

“It’s got a different firing mechanism than our rifle,” he said.

“Indeed,” Dr. Härkönen replied. “It’s called a wheel-lock, and it’s harder to fire than your flint-lock, so I’ll need to instruct you on its use and maintenance. Once you’re familiar enough, though, it has two distinct advantages. The first is that it’s much quicker to fire and load, and you will each be able to do so yourselves without much trouble after each shot. The second is that it’s able to be fired in the rain.”

Both of those points caused the boys’ hearts to race with excitement. The time it took to load and fire their rifle was one of the main weaknesses in their defense, and neither the rifle nor the tiny cannon could have their fuses lit in heavy rain or snow, a common enough occurrence to be concerned about. This shored up what had been their only flaws thus far–now they would be unstoppable.

“Now, I must be clear,” the old man continued. “These do not boast the same range as a rifle. You should almost think of them as a melee weapon like a dagger or tomahawk, only meant to be used against those right next to you. The advantage of these over a melee weapon, however, is the same as your petit couleuvrine. They are designed to shoot a spread of shot over a wide surface area, preventing the need to aim precisely, and allowing you to potentially kill two attackers if they’re close enough to each other.”

“These are wonderful,” White Sky exclaimed. “Thank you, doctor.”

“Of course. These were hard to come by, and worth a pretty penny, but I am more than willing to part with them if it means they’ll go into your hands. Now of course, you must inform me every time you use them, and in great detail.”

The boys nodded.

“And here is your other payment,” the doctor said, reaching into a bag. “And I’m including a little extra given the bonus items you’ve managed to find during your trip.”

The doctor produced a large belt of wampum, ornate beads fashioned from whelk and clam shells. Wampum resembled many things to the people of this land, valued highly among all tribes, from the eastern Dawnland folk to the Anishinaabeg and even the Longhouse people. A belt of wampum could be a proof of status or authority, a pedigree, a treaty between two nations, or a record of history to be read and orated by village elders. Ever since the white man came to these shores, it had also become a currency. Wampum was so universally valuable that white men had built factories in their cities to produce it, which in turn had decreased its value. But the doctor always traded in traditional belts not made in any factory, which made them worth more to the boys and many of the folks they traded with. This belt was the largest they had ever received, and trading it could get them food and supplies for months.

“Is there another task you have in mind for us?” Black Bird asked. “We’d like to get all our business done soon, before the winter comes.”

“Sadly, no,” the doctor replied. “I was waiting for your arrival to finish my work here. This is no place to stay the winter, and this winter especially.”

“What do you mean?” White Sky asked.

“There is war coming,” the old man warned. “I can feel it in my bones. This post is too close to warring borders, and considered by the Iroquois to be a French asset.”

“But the Big Snakes don’t fight in the winter,” Black Bird replied. “None of us do.”

“True. And a black bear can be scared off by shouting making yourself large, only it will attack with the ferocity of a grizzly if it feels it’s being backed into a corner. There are rumors the French plan to attack the Iroquois in the winter, and only a fool would believe the cold will deter them from retaliating.”

“Where will you go?” White Sky asked.

“I’m not sure. I have asked a few local tribesmen if they’d let me stay with them for the winter, but I’m still considered an outsider and invader to most. At the same time, I have no desire to seek refuge in one of the European cities, as that would only exacerbate that reputation.”

“Well, why don’t you stay with us?” Black Bird asked. White Sky quickly jabbed him in the side.

“Ow!” The older boy exclaimed.

“Excuse us for a moment,” White Sky said. “We need to discuss something outside.”

The younger boy stood, practically dragging the other out of the cabin with him.

“What was that for?” Black Bird asked, rubbing his ribs.

“You're staying in my village this winter,” White Sky said, pointing a finger at him. “I had to ask my family for permission. Who do you think you are to invite some outsider without even consulting me?”

“He needs our help,” Black Bird replied defensively. “I didn’t think you'd have a problem.”

“He’s a white man. Some villages have invited them into their midsts, but mine has maintained a strict rule to only deal with them outside the village. We have never allowed a white guest, and certainly not to stay for a whole season.”

“So we will ask the elders’ permission, just as you asked permission for me.”

“Admitting a Trade-Keeper who’s practically a brother to me is one thing. A white stranger is something else entirely. I know he’s been helpful to us, and I’m glad for our partnership, but do you really trust him enough to share a roof with him?”

Black Bird thought for a moment. Despite having worked for the man for the past few months, neither boy knew much about him at all. He was strange, eccentric, even secretive at times.

“I’m not sure,” Black Bird replied. “But I am sure of one thing. He’s right about the war that’s coming. Look.”

Black Bird pointed across the lake. White Sky had to use his spyglass to see–Black Bird had eyes like the hawk that carried his totem, a near superhuman feat that never ceased to amaze his younger ‘brother’. On the opposite shore of the lake lay the French fort. A billowing smoke cascaded from the inside into the sky, larger than White Sky had ever seen.

“A smoke that size means an enormous fire,” Black Bird said. “A fire to warm a great number of soldiers.”

The sight of those rising black pillars filled White Sky’s heart with dread. A war this close would no doubt bleed into nearby territories, maybe even into their village.

“I don’t fully trust the man,” Black Bird said. “But he’s been kinder and more helpful to us than any other white man we’ve met. For all he’s done for us, imagine what he could do for the village as thanks for sheltering him. More than that, he is an indispensable source of furthering our knowledge and wisdom. We can spend the winter learning from him, studying his books and listening to his lectures. Can you think of a more productive way to spend the months we cannot trade?”

“I… I can’t,” White Sky sighed. “Fine. We will take him with us when we return, and we will pray to the Creator that the elders see your reasoning.”

Black Bird smiled. “Hey, if we can convince people to turn over their sick and dead, we can convince your elders to harbor a white man for the winter.”

Black Bird went inside to tell the doctor the good news. White Sky lingered outside for a time, eyeing the fort in the distance. He closed his eyes, whispering a silent prayer that Black Bird was right about the elders, and wrong about the looming smoke that continued to grow, darkening the twilight sky.