CHAPTER FOUR- WELCOME TO THE NEW WORLD
Wednesday 24th June, 1699- COLONY OF WILLOW IN FRENCH AMERICA
“Are we getting closer to Okwata?”, Nathan asked the young Native American boy. “Yes sir. It’s just over there”, the young boy replied. Nathan Noir had settled well in the French Colony of Willow for 17 years, the 38-year-old French explorer’s dreams had been realized when he discovered WILLOW. Naming the land in the honor of King Louis the 14th, and the fact the land was covered in lush green Willow trees. Willow was a sight to behold, the sun had always cast its golden rays along the coast, with the ever-blue sky and bright clouds greeting back both the French Colonists and Native Americans. The ever-stretching line of Willow trees further added own to the ethereal mystery that this land possessed, especially on misty nights. It was if the lanky leaves of the Willow trees whispered their secrets to Nathan. ‘WILLOW’, when Nathan heard that name on Saturday 21st March, 1682, he knew it was perfect name fit for a king’s territory and for the land itself. Graceful, Serene and Enchanting.
The young Native American boy accompanying Nathan was called Kai. The 14-year-old boy had been his faithful guide and friend during his many years of exploration in the New World. Maybe more so than Nathan’s mentor, Robert de La Salle, who had also accompanied the pair. As Nathan and Kai continued their journey through the lush Willow forest, the air was filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers and the songs of birds. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm golden glow over the landscape. Nathan felt a sense of fulfillment and awe, knowing that his efforts had led him to this beautiful and bountiful place. The rest of his countrymen and Captain Hawkwood were at the newly established settlement of New Salem, named for its founders’ hope for a prosperous future in this new land.
As Nathan and Kai ventured deeper into the heart of the Willow forest, they approached a small clearing where a gentle stream flowed through. The water sparkled under the fading sunlight, creating a mesmerizing display of light and reflection. Nathan saw it as a sign of them getting closer to Okwata. Okwata meaning ‘Wide Water’, it was what the Natives took to calling the lake that was north of New Salem. Today was to be a Frenchman’s first look at its crystalline waters. Robert de La Salle, a seasoned explorer and adventurer, stood nearby, silently acknowledging Nathan’s success in discovering and settling this land. La Salle had been a guiding force in Nathan’s journey, imparting knowledge and skills that had proven invaluable in navigating the challenges of the New World.
As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, painting the sky with vibrant hues, Nathan couldn’t help but feel a sense of responsibility and duty towards this newfound colony. The Colonists who had accompanied him to Willow were driven by dreams of a better life and the opportunity to build a thriving community. Nathan was determined to ensure that their dreams came to fruition. Finding Okwata was just one step in that. It was believed by some of New Salem’s best cartographers such as Marie de La Salle, to be connected to the Mississippi River. Or ‘La Rivière Saint-Louis’ as Robert liked to call it, also naming a landmark in honor of the French king back home. As ‘La Rivière Saint-Louis’ meant ‘The Saint-Louis River’, although the Spanish were already quick to give it their own name in 1541. ‘Rio del Espiritu Santo’ which meant ‘River of the Holy Spirit’. ‘Mississippi’ was simpler for explorers of the New World, especially for those not of French or Spanish descent.
As Nathan, Robert and Kai climbed a small hill, they were astonished to see a vast body of water that stretched as vast as the horizon, despite being only a lake. Marie de La Salle had been right, the presence of wetlands and tidal marshes had been evidence that suggested a lake this big existed. The lake was so vast that Nathan nearly believed it to be another side of the Gulf of Mexico, but the absence of salty air and the sight of freshwater birds confirmed that it was indeed a lake, albeit an incredibly large one. The water appeared calm, mirroring the sky above, and its beauty left Nathan and his companions speechless.
“Robert, par ici — (Robert, over here)”, Nathan said in French, “Voyez-vous la petite rivière s’étendre du lac? — (Do you see the little river extending from the lake?)”. “Oui, Nathan mon garçon, selon les calculs de Marie, la rivière devrait mener au Mississippi ou à un autre grand lac. — (Yes, Nathan my boy, according to Marie’s calculations that river should lead into the Mississippi or another large lake.)”, Robert replied in French. Even though Kai wasn’t a seasoned explorer or cartographer as either of the two, he could still understand what they were saying in French. As the 17 years of interaction between the French Colonists and Native Americans resulted in the creation of a pidgin language called ‘Français-Chitimacha’ or ‘Willowish Creole’. It was not only a fusion of French and Native American Chitimacha, but was a blend of English, West African Yoruba, West African Igbo and European Spanish.
“Kupup, qué deberá nous nombre él? — (‘Lake, what shall we name it?’ or ‘What shall we name the Lake?’)”, Nathan asked in Willowish Creole, noticing Kai’s presence. “Cómo bawo Lac Santo Lu… — (How about Lake Saint Lou…)”, Robert relpied in Willowish Creole, but was quickly shutdown by Nathan. “Euh, euh. Assez de ces conneries de Louis. L’ego du bâtard est aussi plein qu’il est. Nommons-le autrement. Comme, Lake Academia ou quelque chose comme ça. — (Eh, Eh. Enough of this Louis bullshit. The bastard’s ego is as full as it is. Let’s name it something else. Like, Lake Academia or something.)”, Nathan replied in French, hoping to confuse Kai, as the boy had not yet learnt any swear words. “Lake Academia?”, Robert asked in English, “I’m fine with it”. “Then Lake Academia it is”, Nathan said, “What do you think Kai?”. “Creo que es una perra excelente. — (I think she is an excellent bitch.)”, Kai replied in European Spanish. “Oh Merde. — (Oh Shit.)”, Nathan said in French but with disappointment.
With heavy laughter from Robert. Nathan and Kai stood there, gazing at the vast lake and the little river that extended from it. The realization that they had discovered a significant waterway that might connect to the Mississippi River filled them with excitement and a sense of accomplishment. This could open up new trade routes and opportunities for the burgeoning colony of Willow. As the last rays of sunlight dipped below the horizon, the group decided to make camp near the lake for the night. They set up a small fire and sat around it, sharing stories and discussing the possibilities that lay ahead. Nathan couldn’t help but feel grateful for the companionship of Kai and Robert throughout his journey in the New World. They were like family to him.
In the distance, the Willow trees swayed gently in the evening breeze, and the stars started to twinkle in the darkening sky. The night was peaceful and serene, giving Nathan a chance to reflect on his life’s journey so far. From his dreams of exploration as a young boy in France to this moment, where he had discovered a beautiful land and begun to build a community upon it, he felt a deep sense of fulfillment.
Friday 23rd March, 2018- NEW SALEM, STATE OF WILLOW, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
(8:45 PM)
The Artist had awoken from their potential grave in a fit of fury, noticing they were still underneath the 13-Ton JayJay’s delivery truck. The Artist had thought what transpired between them and that creature of old was a nothing but a nightmare. The Artist could never forget its long twisted rotten bark wood arm, its sickly aura of decay. But it was not a nightmare, as The Artist quickly felt rapid stings of pain across their body. They felt as hot as flames and as deep as daggers. The pain was unbearable, but was not as bad as compared to the amount of blood The Artist lost. The Artist felt the same warm red liquid pass in-between their fingers, it was almost as thick as the engine oil the delivery van was losing. The Artist felt as if the blood around them could fill almost six Olympic swimming pools. “Fuck”, The Artist thought. Panic set in as The Artist felt a surge of helplessness wash over them. The Artist began to wonder if they were truly alive or if this was some sort of purgatory— a twisted reality between life and death.
The Artist began to calm done. They realized they couldn’t be dead, as the average Human body has 5.7 Liters of blood, if they even just lost around 45% of that, The Artist would be dead. Despite the pain, the memory of the encounter with the creature flashed in their mind. The Artist couldn’t shake off the image of the creature’s grotesque twisted arm and the sickly aura that surrounded it. They tried to piece together the events leading up to this moment, but found their memory foggy and fragmented. As the pain continued to course through their body, The Artist’s anger started to overpower the fear and despair. They refused to succumb to the darkness that threatened to consume them. With grim determination, they focused on trying to find a way out from under the truck.
The Artist then managed to crawl out of their potential grave with much effort, pulling and kicking against the ground underneath them. Dan seemed to notice The Artist coming out of truck bed, but was more concerned with the new danger they had to face. The Artist, fueled by a mix of adrenaline, anger and determination. Stood up with the help of Dan, who seemed to be both relieved and focused on the immediate danger. Dan handed The Artist a Beretta M93R, a semi-automatic pistol capable of burst fire, and urged them to be ready to defend themselves.
As The Artist looked around, they realized they were surrounded by a group of armed robbers, all in their 20s. The situation was dire, but The Artist remembered some of the self-defense teachings Dan had shared with them in the past. They took a deep breath, trying to calm their nerves and focused on the task at hand.
The armed robbers, initially taken aback by The Artist’s sudden emergence from under the truck, quickly regained their composure and closed in. The Artist knew they had to act fast. They held the Beretta firmly in their hands, remembering the instructions from Dan about how to handle a firearm safely and effectively.
With the setting switched to burst fire, The Artist aimed at the closest robber and pulled the trigger. The gun’s rapid bursts startled the group, causing them to take cover momentarily. The Artist’s shots had managed to kill about two of the armed delinquents, which startled The Artist as they had never taken a life before. But right now, The Artist did not care, it was do or die, there was no remorse or sorrow for these hooligans. Drawing from the pain they had endured and their determination to survive, The Artist moved strategically, taking cover behind the truck and firing controlled bursts towards the robbers, forcing them to stay back. The Artist tried to make every shot count, aiming for the robbers’ head or neck, trying to get a straight kill shot.
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As the situation unfolded, more and more of these leather-clad delinquents showed up, armed with M1911s— a semi-automatic pistol, H&K MP5s— a fully automatic submachine gun capable of semi-automatic fire and burst fire, and Combat Knives. Despite the pain in their body and the overwhelming odds against them, The Artist managed to hold their ground for a few crucial moments. But The Artist was only one person and an injured one at that. Dan, who had been defending himself with two of his own personal .454 Revolver Cannons— a double-action revolver chambered in the heavy .454 Casull caliber. Had been keeping an eye on The Artist, providing support whenever he could. He knew they needed a way out. He spotted an old, abandoned building nearby that could offer some cover and a potential escape route. He shouted to The Artist, directing them to make a run for it.
With the last reserves of their energy, The Artist sprinted towards the building, firing a few more bursts to keep the robbers at bay. The abandoned structure offered temporary shelter as the attackers hesitated to follow them inside. The Artist took advantage of the moment to catch their breath and assess their options. They knew they couldn’t stay in the building for long, the robbers would soon surround it and force them out. The Artist and Dan quickly conferred, formulating a plan to escape the immediate vicinity and find help. They decided to make a dash to the nearby Fleuve Street where they hoped to flag down passing vehicles for assistance.
As they made their escape, the pain in The Artist’s body was excruciating, but they refused to give up. With Dan’s guidance and support, they managed to reach the road and frantically waved down a passing car. Unfortunately, the pair couldn’t make it to the street as the armed robbers had already entered the abandoned building, surrounding every entrance, every exit and every corner.
“It’s over!”, one of the robbers shouted, “Just give up!”. The Artist seeing the foolishness of submitting to such a request, pulled Dan behind row of crates and took cover behind them. “Look. I saw an unmanned exit just left of us”, The Artist said while pointing at their salvation, “While running to the right, I’ll fire some shots to distract them and…”. “No”, Dan replied, “Your already injured and…”. The Artist looked at Dan, determination burning in their eyes. “I can do this”, The Artist said firmly, “I won’t die here. Not now”.
Dan hesitated for a moment, but he knew that The Artist was right. They needed to make a move, and they needed to do it now. With a nod of agreement, Dan said, “Alright, but be careful. We’ll do it your way”. Taking a deep breath, The Artist steadied themselves and prepared to execute their plan. They peeked out from behind the crates, assessing the positions of the armed robbers. The robbers were still taunting them, not realizing that The Artist and Dan were about to make their move.
As soon as The Artist saw an opening, they sprinted to the left, firing a few shots towards the right to distract the robbers. The sudden burst of gunfire caught the attention of the attackers, and they shifted their focus to where they believed The Artist and Dan were. Using the distraction to their advantage, Dan grabbed his two .454 Revolver Cannons and fired a series of deafening shots towards the group of robbers. The powerful rounds tore through their defenses, creating chaos and confusion among the attackers, as Dan managed to kill five of them. The Artist made a daring run towards the unmanned exit, gritting their teeth against the pain shooting through their body. Dan followed closely behind, providing cover fire and taking down any threats that dared to pursue them.
As they reached the exit, The Artist felt a mixture of relief and apprehension. The escape was within their grasp, but they knew they weren’t out of danger yet. The surrounding streets were still filled with armed robbers, and they needed to find help quickly. Gathering their remaining strength, The Artist and Dan sprinted towards the exit, which led to another alleyway, but they both realized that it was one of the nearby alleyways that led to JayJay’s. Using every bit of cover they could find along the way. The sound of gunfire echoed through the air as the robbers continued to chase them relentlessly.
Reaching the alleyway, The Artist and Dan sprinted from what was about 750 meters until they reached the backdoor of JayJay’s Jazz Bar, Pub & Grill. Dan Russell, being the owner of this fine establishment, obviously had the spare keys. He frantically fidgeted around his pockets looking from them. Pulling out a dull steel key that fit the backdoor, Dan quickly unlocked it and ushered The Artist inside.
Inside, The Artist recognized that this was the hallway behind the bar counter that led to Dan’s back office and other rooms within JayJay. The pair could still here the banter of patrons at the bar, drinking their outs out and singing karaoke alongside the jazz machine. There were also faint sounds of a scuffle that The Artist detected, but didn’t mind because of the severity of their wounds. It was a Friday after all. There was always bound to be trouble on a day before the weekend. It was a chance to rest after those five days of hard work, and for those to unwind in peculiar ways.
As The Artist stumbled inside the back office, their energy waning. Dan hurriedly closed and locked the door behind them. He knew they couldn’t stay in the bar for long, but it was a temporary sanctuary where they could catch their breath and regroup.
“Sit down here”, Dan said while guiding The Artist to a nearby chair, “We need to tend to those wounds before we figure out our next move”. The Artist winced as they settled into the chair, their adrenaline slowly ebbing away, leaving them feeling drained and sore. Dan tore another piece of fabric from his jacket, and with a sense of urgency, he applied makeshift bandages to The Artist’s most severe injuries. “We can’t stay here for long”, The Artist managed to say through gritted teeth, “They’ll find us eventually”. “I know”, Dan replied, glancing around the office, “We need a plan, and we need it fast”. “Police?”, The Artist suggested. “No”, Dan replied, “It will only make things worse. We already had a State Lockdown. I don’t need some good for nothing cops snooping around the bar. I’m former U.S Military. Marines, 1st Marine Division. 1st Marine Regiment, 1st Battalion”.
The Artist nodded, understanding the need for discretion. The last thing they needed was unnecessary attention from the police after a State Lockdown. The situation was already perilous enough. They both knew they had to handle this on their own. “Go home, rest up, and I’ll contact you later”, Dan said, “That’s the plan. Do not tell Sarah about this, do not tell that Detective Minnesota about this, do not… I say do not tell anyone about this. Not even if it involves your missing parents. That’s the plan. I’ll call you in a few days’ time”.
After The Artist wounds had been properly patched up, using some water and stitches. The Artist did just as Dan said with zero protest. They had managed to reach Apartment D6 on the 11th Lane of Fleuve Street at around 10:48 (PM). The Artist weakly walked towards the master bedroom. The Artist had taken to settling there after their parents’ disappearance two months ago. As The Artist entered the master bedroom, they felt a rush of mixed emotions. This place used to be filled with warmth and love when their parents were around. Now, it felt empty, a constant reminder of their absence. The room was still untouched since their disappearance, with photographs of happier times adorning the walls, and the scent of their parents’ belongings still lingering in the air.
The Artist laid down on the bed, feeling the exhaustion from the events of the day weighing heavily on them. Despite their injuries, they found it hard to sleep. The adrenaline that had kept them going was slowly wearing off, leaving them with a mind full of questions and concerns. The encounter with the armed robbers was a harrowing experience for The Artist, but it also awakened something inside them— a fierce determination to protect themselves and others. Little did they know that the encounter with the grotesque creature and the armed robbers was only the beginning. The Artist couldn’t help but feel that the two were somehow connected or were working in tandem somehow. New Salem was full of secrets, just like their parents.
In the midst of their thoughts, The Artist’s mind drifted back to their art, the one thing that had always been a source of solace and escape for them. They reached for a sketchbook and pencil that they kept on their bedside table. Despite their weakened state, they felt a compulsion to draw, to express the turmoil and emotions they were experiencing. With shaky hands, they began to sketch, allowing the lines and shapes to flow from their subconscious onto the paper. The drawing started to take form, a depiction of the grotesque creature they had encountered earlier. It was a cathartic release, a way to process the fear, anger and confusion that had built up inside them. Before they drifted off to sleep, The Artist made a silent promise to themselves and to their missing parents. They would find the truth, no matter how perilous the journey, and they would bring their parents back home, no matter what it took.
Sunday 24th August, 1710- COLONY OF WILLOW IN FRENCH AMERICA
“The Africanss can have service here separately”, said the priest dressed in white catholic robes, with the iconic white Chi Rho. Which was used to mark the Feast of Saint Bartholomew. The Feast of Saint Bartholomew was an annual event held every 24th August to commemorate Saint Bartholomew the Apostle, one of the twelve apostles of Jesus Christ. According to Christian tradition, Saint Bartholomew was a close disciple of Jesus and played a significant role in spreading the Christian faith after the resurrection of Christ. He is often identified with Nathanael mentioned in the Gospel of John. The white Chi Rho (☧)— a Christian symbol that consists of the superimposed Greek letters ‘Chi’ (Χ) and ‘Rho’ (Ρ), which are the first two letters of the Greek word ‘ΧΡΙΣΤΟΣ’ (Christos), meaning ‘Christ’. Was used during the feast to symbolize to symbolize the Christian faith and commemorate Saint Bartholomew’s role in spreading Christianity as one of the twelve apostles of Jesus Christ. The color white being used to symbolize purity, innocence and holiness.
“I agree Father Francis”, Nathan said, “We already let the Yoruba and Igbo slaves practice enough of their customs. I doubt they would grasp the meaning of European customs”. “Thank you for seeing reason, Nathan”, replied Father Francis, “We cannot mix the belief of white men with that of pagans”. “However, we must be cautious not to entirely dismiss their customs and beliefs. We don’t want any slave revolts do we now?”, Nathan said, “I suggest you preach to them your own version of the Feast of Saint Bartholomew”. “Then what of those Native savages?”, Father Francis asked, “Are we to integrate them into the church as well? Last week I saw a group of them sacrificing a herd of deer to their Godforsaken ‘Kaitonchukwu’. Are you telling me the church must integrate that?”. “The Native Americans? Leave the issue of their ‘Kaitonchukwu’ to me”, Nathan said, “I am yet to figure that out. I know for a fact the word ‘Kai’ means ‘Willow Tree’ in Navajo, but strangely enough it also means the same thing amongst the Chitimacha. These two tribes are almost 2000 kilometers apart, that’s about 80 days on foot or 29 days on horseback nonstop. And evidence doesn’t suggest the Chitimacha were nomads. This means they must be some sort of linguistic coincidence or shared cultural influence from a common source”.
“So, it’s a tree deity of sorts. Reminiscent of the high presence of Willow trees in this area”, Father Francis replied, “Fascinating. Tell me more”. “Exactly”, Nathan replied, “The words ‘ton’ and ‘chukwu’ mean a ‘chief of sorts’, with the word ‘chukwu’ being the feminine variant of ‘chief’ in Chitimacha. So, it could mean a ‘Chieftess of Willow Trees’ or ‘Queen of the Willow Trees’. I am yet to find out more”. “Nathan my boy, you are onto something”, replied Father Francis, “After this whole Kaiton…whatever nonsense is solved, we will finally have complete control of the colony. I will do as you say. Let me just get my things to perform service for these Africans. I’m sure you know how to preach to the Natives in their tongue”.
As Nathan Noir left Father Francis’ office, he left one final word of precaution. “Ah, y el Padre Francis Gonzales. Trate de ser amable, use criollo Willowish o Yoruba o Igbo. Al menos algo que puedan entender. Volveré. — (Oh, and Father Francis Gonzales. Try to be gentle, use Willowish Creole or Yoruba or Igbo. At least something they can understand. I’ll be back.)”, Nathan said in European Spanish. “Lo haré Nathan. Lo haré. — (Will do Nathan. Will do.)”, Father Francis replied in European Spanish, as he packed his things while Nathan closed the door behind him.