He paused as a low pale shape padded soundlessly through a patch of moonlight in front of him; letting out his breath when he recognized it as one of the village dogs. The animal stopped and stared at him through yellow eyes before it moved on, into the night.

As Kodjeote approached the fire, the robed figure standing guard there rose to its feet.

“Was it not Deskaheh’s turn to tend the flames?” Cageaga said, frowning.

“I could not sleep, Uncle,” Kodjeote said. “I told Deskaheh I would take his place.”

“He did not ask it of you?” the older man enquired suspiciously.

Kodjeote shook his head. “The choice was mine.” His gaze turned from his uncle to the scaffold’s slender framework, outlined against the stars. “Deskaheh says he cannot remember the last sky burial.”

Deskaheh was Kodjeote’s brother and his senior by five years.

“He’s too young,” Cageaga grunted. “It took place before he was born.”

“Did you see it?” Kodjeote asked. “Do you remember?”

“I remember it was a long time ago.”

“Why have we not placed him in the ground?”

“Because this was his wish.”

“For the flesh to fall from his bones for all to see and for the birds to peck at his eyes?” Kodjeote said doubtfully.

The response was curt: “No, it is so his journey from the earth to the sky world will be a short one.”

“The Christian fathers say the dead should be buried below the earth and—”

“The Christian fathers say a lot of things,” Cageaga sniffed dismissively. “Just because the white man tells us something does not mean we have to take their word for it.” Cageaga’s face darkened. “That is how our lands were stolen from us.”

“So you believe in the Great Spirit?”

“More than golden idols and wooden crosses.”

Kodjeote looked pensive.

“When the time comes, we will bury him. Not because the Black Robes say so, but because that has always been our custom.”

The Black Robes were the Jesuit missionaries – les prêtres français – who had come to the land of the Iroquois to spread the word of their god. Their first converts had been the Huron, enemies of the Mohawk. When Kodjeote’s ancestors had launched raids against Huron villages, they had returned with Black Robe prisoners. Many of the priests had died under torture, while others had been ransomed to the authorities. Some, however, had forged bonds with their captors and had remained, hoping to persuade the Iroquois to abandon their beliefs. Over the years, they had won many converts, until the Christian god had as many followers as the old religion.