Running-Into-Darkness

Seneca Territory (Modern-Day New York)

The village buzzed with activity, for the clan mothers had called a council. The leaders of the closest five villages had all traveled here, and would remain for the next few days until a resolution was reached. Some councils were held at regularly scheduled intervals, like the upcoming grand council in Kahnawake, which was held between all tribes in the area every three years, regardless of political affiliation. This one, however, was called impromptu, in response to the disappearance of Tadodaho and the other chiefs of the Onontake. It was a national tragedy on a scale rivaled only by the pox that had decimated their communities for decades, and a loss they were wholly unprepared for. Tadodaho was the head chief of all the Five Nations, and if something befell him, another would have to be appointed among the other Onontake chiefs. With all of them gone, there was no one to take up the mantle. Another council would likely be called later, including all the leaders from the Five Nations, but this was the soonest they could gather the leaders from the other Keepers of the Western Door in one place.

Today, the final group of villagers arrived, hailing from the town furthest from this one, to the southwest. It was where The Smoke Rises was born and raised until he married his wife. As was custom, once they married, he came to live in his wife’s longhouse, leaving his parents behind in their own village. Marriages like these brought two villages closer to one another, and so the two villages had begun fostering a close friendship ever since The Smoke Rises came.

Despite this kinship, Running-Into-Darkness did not wait at the entrance to greet these visitors, for he was trying his hardest to avoid someone who would no doubt be among them. Specifically, a girl. He had fled the village in the early morning, wheeling down the hill and up the stream towards a small waterfall. He left his wheelchair at the bottom of the cliff, using his arms alone to climb up to a small pool nestled between the dark rocks. The water cascaded down from a larger river above that led all the way to the Lake of Shining Waters, but he did not yet have the strength to make that climb.

This was his sanctuary, where he came when he needed to be alone. The pool was high up, isolated from the rest of the forest by steep rocks, and thus disturbed by no creature except the occasional bird. The water was clean and delicious to drink, bearing no sediment or any other contaminants from the lower stream or upper river. And though he often drank from it, he had resolved to never step foot into the pool. It was a sacred place to him, and he would not do anything to disturb the water’s pristine surface.

Despite his best efforts to hide from her, the girl still found him. She always had a knack for finding him, tracking him through the forest like a wolf with her prey. Perhaps it was not all that difficult–the wheels of his chair left lines in the dirt where he went, and snapped small twigs on the ground in two. Perhaps a part of him wanted to be sought out and found. Even before his accident, he had found it hard to face his problems head-on, or ask for help when he needed it. He blamed this on his father, who had always told him that he needed to always be strong and never show weakness, being the eldest son. It was his job to shoulder every burden of his younger siblings, taking them all in stride with maturity and manliness. Only now that he had lost the use of his legs, he lost that role too. His father treated him like he was not even here, and after twenty years of being the firstborn son, Running-Into-Darkness had not yet adapted to the role of family ghost.

“Hohsöda’is”, the girl called to him from the base of the waterfall. He tucked himself out of sight, retreating further into the rocks. This did not deter her, however, for in a moment she had clambered up the cliff with all the agility of the wolf her clan was named for. Her name was Dó:ganö’go:’—She Is Capable of Anything, She is Invincible, She is Unlimited. One born with such a name would be expected to live up to it, and she did—she was ever-achieving, ever-striving to achieve any goal she set for herself, to obtain any prize she desired. For the past few years, that prize was Running-Into-Darkness.

“Aknö’kwë’öh,” she told him, crossing her arms over her chest as she sat on one of the black rocks. “I have walked five days through the wind and the rain, just to find an absence of you. Your brothers were there to greet and welcome us, and you, meanwhile, were nowhere to be found. My mother is beside herself, and your brothers are kindly explaining your behavior to her to salvage your reputation.”

“Am I supposed to care what your mother thinks?”

“Don’t be stupid. It doesn’t suit you.”

Running-Into-Darkness sighed. He found it hard to look in her fiery eyes, so he kept his eyes on the still, tranquil waters of the pool.

“You act like she’ll approve of me now,” he lamented. “Like she’ll let you marry a worthless man.”

“She will if he shows an ounce of self-respect,” she rebutted. “And some decorum, for pity’s sake. Look at you. You stink like you haven’t bathed, and sulk like you haven’t slept. You’re like a dejected little puppy who's been abandoned by his mother.”

“That’s because I am. You have no idea what it’s like to lose everything. My father treats me like I’m no longer his son, and my mother is gone, replaced by some stranger who hasn’t made the slightest effort to know me.”

Invincible just rolled her eyes.

“So what, then?” She asked. “Are you just going to keel over and die? Lie in squalor and darkness and hope the world forgets about you?”

“I don’t know!” He burst out, angry. “Why do you expect me to have all the answers? It’s been five months since my whole life was changed, and I’m supposed to know how to pick myself up and move on? You didn’t even visit when it happened!”

Running-Into-Darkness turned away from her, tears forming in his eyes. She crept over to him, sitting close behind.

“Is that why you hide from me?” She asked, her voice softer now, stroking his hair gently. “You know I couldn’t leave my village during the harvest. There are eight women left after the outbreak in the spring. My aunt and grandmother died, and have yet to be replaced. My brother did not return from the last war party. I love you, fool of a boy, but I am not idle–I have my own struggles, my own pains to bear.”

“Höweh’yanöse:’ is dead?” His Tracks are Fresh was a good friend, and Running-Into-Darkness had not been told of this.

“We don’t know. They didn’t find his body, but he hasn’t returned in a month, and the journey was only a week south.”

Running-into-Darkness’ throat tightened, bitter and dry.

“Do you ever think Turtle Island is cursed?” He asked. “Not just us, but the whole land, maybe even the whole earth world. How many have we lost to the pox, to the bullet? Two hundred years ago we had none of these worries. Now people are shot and killed, or lose their legs and rendered worthless.”

“It’s a matter of perspective, I think,” she said with a soft smile. “You can lose your legs, and yet you live in a time and place where you can get that miraculous chair you love to abandon at the bottom of waterfalls. Two hundred years ago, you simply would have died—your family and village would have abandoned you, since you could not hunt or travel with them during a migration. Now, we stay in one place, and we farm for our food, which you don’t need legs for. Maybe in two hundred years from now, your ailment will be a thing of the past, and the Bear medicine men will know how to fix legs and arms and everything else. And maybe, just maybe, that time will come within your lifetime for you to enjoy it. But who are we to sit and wish that things would be different rather than making them so? We are each given a path by Hawëni:yo’ and Awëöha’i’. Sometimes the road is dark, and covered in thorns and rocks. But it always leads somewhere, so what else can you do but walk?”

“But I can’t walk.”

“So? You made it all the way out of the village and up this fall without your legs, and still you act like you might as well be dead.”

“Because I might as well be. Sometimes I wish I was. I don’t even know what you want with me now.”

The girl turned him around, grabbing him by the cheeks and looking straight into his eyes. Her eyes were infinitely deep, with small white specks that dotted her black irises like stars in the night sky.

“Listen to me now, He Runs Into Darkness, of the Dzöní’ga:’” she said, her voice stern. “I love you. That is not something I say lightly. I loved you with your legs, and I love you now without them. And even if you lost your arms too, if you lived every day confined to your bed, I would sit by your side every day and feed you each meal, because I love you. My love is a precious thing, reserved only for you, so do not squander it, and don’t ever say anything about wanting to die ever again.”

Then she kissed him. It surprised him, but he was in no state to protest. Nor did he want to. He took her hair in his hands, holding her to him, and him to her. They lingered in that kiss, here in their sanctuary, oblivious to the world and all the tragedies they were made to endure. The worries and fears faded from Running-Into-Darkness’ mind, and as the two finished their kiss, he realized that none of them seemed so daunting when he was with her.

“You’re right,” he said. “You’re always right, damn you. It’s quite annoying, actually.”

Invincible smiled.

“And I am so fortunate to be able to annoy you. Now, are you going to end your hermitage here?”

Running-Into-Darkness sighed.

“I suppose so. But I still don’t think your mother will approve of me, or us.”

“Oh, you aren’t going back like this. You’re still filthy. Come into the water–I’ll wash you clean.”

The boy hesitated.

“I’ve never stepped into this pool," he said. "I’ve come here since I was old enough to climb the rocks, and I’ve never once done anything more than drink. I don’t think I can do it. It’s too perfect, untainted by the wickedness of men.”

“You think yourself wicked?”

“I think us all wicked. If men were kind, we would not fight, or steal, or kill each other.”

“Bears kill, and you are a bear.”

“Bears kill for a purpose–to feed, or to defend their cubs. We kill because we delude ourselves–we think it will solve a dispute, or rid us of an enemy, or bring us glory and pride. We mutilate and torture, strip flesh to bone, burn the wound so it doesn’t bleed until we’re satisfied. No beast or bird I’ve ever seen does what we do.”

To his surprise, Unlimited smiled.

“This is why I like you,” she said. “You aren’t content with the way things are—you want the world to be better, people to be better. I do, too and together, we will make the world a better place for our children and grandchildren. But you will have to start by stepping into this pool. You are not a wicked man, and the pool will not object to you bathing in its waters. Here, I will ask it.”

She bent down, lowering her nose to right above the surface of the water.

“O:negase:’,” she whispered softly. “O:negi:yo:h. O water, fresh and pure, hear my solemn prayer. The man I love is covered in grime, and must be washed if I am to present him to my mother. Would you mind if he bathed here, in your domain?”

She turned her head, lowering her ear to listen. The pool was silent, like the surrounding forest, the water still as always. The two sat there in anticipation, but nothing came.

“Would you look at that,” she said, turning to the boy with a coy smile. “The water is indifferent.”

“You’re making fun of me,” he scolded.

“Oh, you must indulge me in some light teasing,” she said. “For I plan to tease you for many years to come. But I don’t intend to insult. This place is important to you. I do not make light of that. It is a special place—I feel a distinct orenda that emanates from the waters. I’m sure you feel it too. But still, you must bathe here. You think you would sully and ruin it, but those are your feelings, not the pool’s. Like you said—you’ve been coming here ever since you could climb the rocks. How many hours have you spent with this pool over the years? Do you not think the two of you are friends now? Do you really think it wouldn’t want you to wash your stink and worries away in its waters?”

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It was something Running-Into-Darkness had never considered. He pondered on it, eyes lingering on the water. Is it really alright? He thought, as if he was asking the pool with his mind. It was something serious to him–all things in nature had power, and places like this were said to wield a consciousness of their own. This pool to him carried a sanctity, and if he disrespected that sanctity, he would never forgive himself. He was taught that plants and objects could bear ill will towards someone, cursing them with the same power as an agotkon. He reached out with his feelings, trying to glean the smallest ounce of reciprocation. In the end, he could feel nothing from the pool itself, but the wind blew him ever so slightly towards the pool. He took it as a sign.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

Running-into-Darkness took off his moccasins and stepped into the pool, breaking the surface tension and forming a singular ripple that echoed outwards. It was cold, but not frigid, and he steeled himself against it and continued further. He doffed his deerskin leggings, using his arms to sink to waist-height. He had lost much of his feeling in his legs, but the water brought some of it back—he was fortunate, he supposed, to at least be able to feel cold.

He took a seat on a rocky shelf, resting his back against the lip of the pool. Invincible smiled, and took off her clothes before joining him in the water. She tilted Running-Into-Darkness’s head back to rest on the rock, and cupped the water from the pool in her palms, bringing small batches of it out to pour over his hair and face. She took a tincture of sage from her bag and poured a bit of the oil into her palms, then began rubbing it into his hair. It felt nice, to be washed, to be touched with such a tenderness. Running-Into-Darkness, let himself relax, closing his eyes and sinking into the rock. He relinquished himself to Invincible’s care, letting her do whatever she wished to him.

Invincible continued to bathe him, interspersed with kisses on his cheek and neck. She finished conditioning his hair and his eyebrows, and so her hands moved on and downwards, to his face, to his chest. And when they went even lower, he did not protest, or even move. And when her hand arrived at his waist, and caressed the inside of his thigh, something happened he thought impossible. He became aroused, and it showed. It had not happened since the accident, so he thought he would just have to live without ever fully enjoying the sight or touch of a woman. But then again, he had not seen her since the accident, and certainly not bathed with her body pressed against his.

“Would you look at that,” she mused, admiring him beneath the water. “And here I thought it would be a lost cause, and we would have to make do without.”

Her hand encroached farther, feeling all of him, grabbing hold of it. He tensed, writhing uncomfortably in her grip, which amused her greatly. She giggled like she was an innocent girl and not a young woman of twenty-two, and used her other hand to take hold of his hair, pulling his head up to hers. She kissed him again, long and deep, and he returned it. She wrapped her leg around him, straddling him on the rock as they continued kissing, all the while maintaining her hold on him. With her weight on top of him, he could not even hope to leave the pool now, nor did he want to. He was at her mercy, and what a wonderful torment that was.

*****

The two returned to the village about an hour later, hand-in-hand, trying to hide their stupid grins like children who had caused some mischief. Invincible pushed Running-Into-Darkness up the hill and towards his longhouse. In decades past, her family might have shared that house with him during their stay. Now, most villages had lost so many members that they had at least one empty longhouse for guests and visitors to stay in. And any guest would make sure to stay in the empty one, and fill it best they could. An empty longhouse might as well have been a gravestone marking the death of all the families that once lived inside it, a shame no village should be made to endure.

This village had two empty longhouses, the second-most in the area only to Invincible’s village, which recently went from three to four. This would have made it the ideal meeting place for local councils with so much room for the visitors to stay, but Running-Into-Darkness’s village was more central, so the tribal leaders chose it instead. This fact brought a guilt to Running-Into-Darkness. We should be going to her village instead, he thought. It lies practically empty now, and they’re supposed to just grin and bear it because they’re a few days further for everyone. He realized that, like any young married man, he would go to live in his wife’s village. That was a rather somber prospect given the state of things, and a part of him hoped he could bring his own village with him when that day came.

Invincible left him at the door to his longhouse.

“I’m going to go soften my mother up for you,” she said. “We’ll see you at dinner. Don’t you dare dirty yourself up again before then. You look nice right now, you know. I’m really quite pleased with my handiwork.”

She pecked him on the forehead before running off to the guest longhouse. He watched her leave, and as soon as she was gone, the dread in him returned. Despite what she said or thought, getting her mother to agree to their marriage would be like asking him to climb a mountain in his wheelchair. A man who lost the use of his legs was no longer a man, for he could no longer perform a man’s roles in society. Yet he could not assume a woman’s roles, either, at least not completely, for he was not a woman, and thus did not hold the power of one. He was something in between, then, or neither of the two, something lesser than both or either. And what mother in their right mind would let their daughter marry such a creature? Though her name was She is Capable of Anything, and she had earned that name in her life thus far, he had no doubt that convincing her mother would be her greatest trial yet.

Running-Into-Darkness tried his best to banish those worries for his mind as he wheeled into his long house. He stopped when he saw that the only person in his family’s area was his new mother, sitting on her bed and weaving a basket.

“Come here, boy,” she called out to him, stopping him before he could turn and leave. He turned back to her to her, sweat beading on his forehead. He wanted to avoid his new mother as much as possible, and had successfully done so since she arrived, but he would be a fool to disobey her in the longhouse. The inside of a longhouse was an interesting forum, half-public, half-private. Each longhouse sheltered twelve to twenty families inside it, all sharing the space and the hearth-fire at the center when it was cold. Any indignance he showed towards his mother would be seen by the other families, and would no doubt find its way back to Invincible's mother. Word spread through these tight-knit communities like a flame on dry grass, and bad reputations were hard to change once cemented.

“Yes, Aknó’ëh,” he said, wheeling up to her. He sat in his wheelchair next to her, his throat growing hot with every silent second that passed between them.

“You have been avoiding me like I’m a snake,” she told him. It was not a scolding tone that he might expect, rather a calm, stoic one, like she was simply stating a fact. “I promise I carry no venom, and I do not bite.”

“I…” Running-Into-Darkness stammered as he found himself disarmed. The usual shell he kept around himself like a turtle had been melted away by his earlier encounter, and he could muster no defense into his new mother’s prying. He changed tactics, then, and decided to just speak honestly.

“Forgive me, Aknó’ëh,” he said. “I am just taking some time to adjust. The loss of you just a month ago was difficult. We were very close.”

He found it strange to talk about his mother to his mother. After all, he was meant to act as if his new mother was his old mother, and had simply replaced her, even if they were nothing alike. He supposed, though, that he had no idea if they were alike or not, since he knew nothing about his new one.

“Of course you were,” she said. She never looked up at him, keeping her eyes on the basket she was working on. “You were her first, and therefore her favorite. I bet she spoiled you.”

“She—I mean, you did.”

“And when this happened to you,” she said, gesturing at his legs. “I bet she cried every day and night for weeks, and she tended to your every need like you were dying.”

She was so frank about everything, so no-nonsense. She did not refer to herself like she was his old mother, breaking that illusion so calmly. Her honesty plucked the defensive spines Running-Into-Darkness had built up around him, until he felt no need to uphold the lie, either.

“She did,” he said.

“Hmph. You should know I will not be the same.”

“Oh? Will you have a different favorite child?”

“That remains to be seen, and it will not be for any of you to know. I intend to love you all equally, or at least never act in a way that would make you think otherwise.”

“I cannot promise we will return the same impartiality. Red Fox seems to be allergic to women of all ages right now, while Little Bear has already taken a shine to you.”

At the mention of his littlest brother, the woman smiled. It was the first time he had seen her do so.

“He is a sweet one, isn’t he?” She said. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you allergic to women? I see no rash on you. Shouldn’t you have gotten one from that pretty little thing you came in with?”

A heat rose through Running-Into-Darkness’s chest, smothering him with embarrassment. His new mother just smiled.

“Come sit closer to me,” she said. “Help me with this basket while you tell me about her.”

“I don’t know how to weave baskets.”

“Then I should probably teach you, shouldn’t I? You will need something productive to do this winter—I will not have a son who doesn't contribute to his village. And luckily for you, there are a great many helpful things you can do while sitting. Now come here.”

Running-Into-Darkness hesitated for a moment, but ultimately obeyed, inching closer to her in his chair. She placed two of the strips of the black ash tree called splints into his lap.

“Most of the hard work has been done for you already,” she said. “The wood has been cut from the tree, and then sliced into splints. All you have to do is weave them together. Over, then under, then over, like this."

He followed her motions as she performed them slowly, trying to mimic them the best he could.

“Every other weave, you fold the splint around itself, making a small loop on the outside, like this. No—here, let me help you.”

She took a hold of his hands, walking him through the step physically as best she could. After the first part, she let go, letting him try it on his own.

“It’s a little unsightly,” she said. “But your form will improve, like all skills, with practice. Don’t worry—I will train some grace into your large and clumsy man-fingers. It’s really quite good for your first attempt. Work hard at this, and you’ll make your mother proud. Now, work on these next two splints, and tell me about this girl.”

“She’s from the far village to the southwest,” he said, trying his best to focus on his weaving as he talked. “Her name is Dó:ganö’go:’. She’s two years older than me, give or take.”

“Ha. A name like that tells me all I need to know about her. Is she good to you?”

“Yes. More than a man like me deserves.”

“Don’t hear her or her mother hear you speak of yourself like that. A man who does not respect himself is bound to not respect his wife.”

“Yes, Aknó’ëh.”

“Do you love this girl?”

“Yes, Aknó’ëh. Very much so. We have known each other since we were children, and have always been friends. We have talked about marrying each other for years now.”

“And what clan does she hail from?”

“Gotá:yö:nih.”

“Hmmmm.”

Running-Into-Darkness swallowed nervously. It was not an ideal pairing. Ancestries in the Five Nations were broken up into clans. Some clans were shared between all five tribes, while some were unique and exclusive to specific nations. Marriage within a clan was completely and totally forbidden—if a boy from their village wanted to marry a girl all the way at the Eastern Door, if they were both Wolf clan, it would be seen as incestuous, even if they had no blood relation at all. Thus marrying outside one’s clan was necessary, and further than that, marrying between tribes and nations was encouraged most of all. It was seen as bringing two different people together, strengthening bonds and communities through that union. Invincible was Onödowá’ga just like he was, and their two villages had already been brought together in many respects by his father’s marriage. His union with Invincible then, would provide diminishing returns, which would further disincentivize her mother from approving of it.

What’s more, the Wolf and Bear clans, among the Onödowá’ga, were part of the same phratry. The Onödowá’ga, along with the Onontake and Gayogo̱hó꞉nǫ’, dichotomized their clans into further sub-sections called phratries based on intra-tribal political affiliations. The Bear, Wolf, Turtle, Snipe, and Eel clans were all part of the first Onödowá’ga Phratry, and thus were already well-connected with each other. So for a Bear clan boy to marry a Wolf clan girl, both being of the same tribe, was a rather dissatisfactory union politically for the couple’s mothers.

“It will not be easy convincing her mother,” his new mother said, as if that wasn’t obvious.

“I know,” he replied. “But what am I supposed to do? I love her, and she loves me. Shouldn’t that be enough?”

“Look at me a second, boy,” she said suddenly, pausing her weaving. “Look in my eyes.”

He did so. Beholding her like this for the first time, he realized that she was rather beautiful, even if she could never be as beautiful as the mother who birthed and raised him.

“Do you love her?” She asked him. “Honestly and truly?”

“Yes,” he said, and he meant it, too. “With all my heart.”

“Do you wish to marry her, to provide her with children if such a thing is possible for you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you swear to do right by her, and right by yourself, and to work past your unfortunate circumstances to forge a life you will take pride in?”

“Yes.”

He held steadfast, holding her gaze firmly. The woman smiled, and she simply nodded, accepting his answers.

“I will speak to her mother, then,” she said.

“Really?” He asked. “You would do that?”

“Of course. You are my son, and I want nothing but happiness for you.”

“Oh, thank you! Thank you, Aknó’ëh!”

“You are welcome. Now, let us finish your first basket. We will need to be quick if we want to have something to help us at dinner. It will help persuade her, I think, if we present it to her as a gift. I’ll help you with the loops—you will struggle with them your first few times.”

The two resumed their weaving. And though he continued to stumble through each step, Running-Into-Darkness didn’t care. His heart was filled with a newfound hope, and a newfound purpose. He discovered that he rather liked the rhythm of weaving the splints in and out, over and under. Perhaps he would learn to like other tasks too, even if he was the wrong gender to do them. And perhaps, if he was good enough, no one would mind.