It seemed to Okwaho that he could feel the song gaining power from all those hundreds and hundreds of voices joined together, voices of the people of all five of their nations. They sang to bring an end to vengeance. They sang to bring an end to grief, of mothers weeping for the loss of their children. They sang to bring an end to such loss. They sang for the innocent children and those yet to be born. They sang for those children who would grow up surrounded by love and not anger and fear. They sang for the elders who were near the end of their journeys on this earth and deserved to enjoy their last seasons in peace, surrounded by those they loved. They sang for the end of warfare, of brother killing brother. As they continued to walk and sing, the presence of peace grew stronger and stronger around them, carrying them forward.

They rounded the corner and Okwaho saw that Atatarho and his warriors were standing by his rock. None of them were moving. The presence of so many people, the sound of so many voices joined together in praise of peace, was more awe-inspiring than any weapon. The Onondaga warriors and their giant chief stood there as if they were frozen in place, unable to move as the great crowd of singing men and women and young people came closer and closer, led by Tsakonsase, Hiawatha, and the Peacemaker.

The Peacemaker raised his hand again and the people stopped walking. He lowered his hand and although the singing ended, the powerful feeling brought by that song remained. It hovered like a great eagle with its wings spread over their heads.

To Okwaho it felt as if the air were trembling around them. What was it that had descended upon them? It was as if a great wave were washing over them. But instead of drowning in that wave, they were sharing a strength, an energy unlike anything he’d ever felt before. It was not just that they outnumbered the hostile Onotakas. This sacred power that surrounded them all was so great that no one, not even Atatarho, could resist it.

The Peacemaker and his two companions walked forward until they were almost close enough to the giant warrior chief to touch him.

“We have come,” the Peacemaker said.

Atatarho opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“We have come,” the Peacemaker repeated.

“Who are you?” Atatarho managed to say in a voice that was hoarse and uncertain. It sounded nothing like the roar of a great bear.

“You have heard of us,” the Peacemaker said.

“Yes,” Atatarho answered, his growl almost a whisper.

“We have come, all of the Five Nations brought together. We have come to form the great longhouse of one family, the longhouse of peace.” He looked toward Tsakonsase. “Here is the Mother of Nations,” the Peacemaker said. “Will you abuse her as you have abused all other women?”