Then, after seeing Atatarho, Carries had come to their small village to bring them the same news.

“Did Atatarho threaten to kill you when you spoke to him?” Burnt Hair had asked.

“Of course,” Carries replied. “We met in secret at his council rock. No one was with us except for four of his bodyguards. ‘Speak,’ he growled at me. ‘Then after you have finished talking I will kill you.’”

“What did you say then?” Holds the Door Open asked.

Carries smiled.

“I asked if he could wait until after the Peacemaker visited him. I promised to come back the day after that so he could kill me then if he wanted. That made one of his bodyguards laugh in spite of himself . . . although when Atatarho looked at him, that laugh ended as quickly as the travels of an ant when a bear steps on it.

“‘Go,’ Atatarho told me then. ‘Come back after I see the liar who pretends to speak to the Creator. Come back here and lay your head on my rock so that I can smash your skull like a ripe pumpkin with my war club.’”

His story had sent a shiver down Okwaho’s back. Atatarho was so angry and so fierce. Powerful as the Peacemaker’s message was, would it be accepted by the great war chief? It hardly seemed possible, even though Carries seemed so sure that all would end well.

Carries was not with them now. Before Elder Brother Sun went to rest in the west, he had gone back across the lake with the Peacemaker. There they would meet Hiawatha, Tsakonsase, and the many representatives of the four other Longhouse nations. That huge gathering of people would soon be crossing Onondaga Lake to confront the stubborn great war chief.

Or so Carries had said. But the dawn was already here and there was no sign of the Peacemaker.

Had something happened? Were they not going to come? Okwaho stared at the lake. The light from the sun was so bright reflecting off the calm waters that the far side could not be seen.

Okwaho’s mother raised her hand.

“Listen,” Wolf Woman said, shading her eyes as she gazed across the lake. “Listen.”

Okwaho listened, as did all the others who heard what his mother said. A faint sound was coming to them across the bright water, a soft rhythmic splashing like the sound of the wings of water birds striking the surface before taking flight. Then, as it grew louder, coming closer, Okwaho recognized what it was. Canoe paddles, many canoe paddles being dipped into the water in perfect unison.

Holds the Door Open dropped to one knee next to Okwaho and put his arm over his son’s shoulders. “Look, Okwaho. Look there!”