Little Bear

  Seneca Territory (Modern-Day New York)

  It was like something out of a dream. Or rather, a nightmare, the worst Little Bear had ever had. He knew it was coming—new Mother had told him so.

  “They will come with fire,” she said. “And swords, and rifles. They will try to hurt you, Little Bear, so you must run. Run as fast as your legs can carry you, and hide where they cannot find you. Be brave, and steel your heart—it will not last forever.”

  But despite all her warnings, Little Bear found that he was wholly unprepared for the horror that came to his village. He was playing outside when he heard the first sounds of the monsters’ screams from the forest. Everyone began to panic. The women rushed to gather their children. The men of the village were long gone—this was all part of the plan, he was told. Everyone had a part to play, and for Little Bear and the other kids, that job was to run away and stay safe as best they could.

  Little Bear looked around frantically, but he couldn’t find his mother or brother anywhere. He had seen both of them just this morning—where could they be? Fear began to grip his heart as he searched for them, all while trying to navigate the chaos of the panicked crowd. Women screamed, children like him started to cry. Little Bear felt tears of his own well up in his eyes, but he shook them off. Mother told me to be brave, he thought. So he focused, and tried to find himself in all the chaos.

  “Nyagwai’a:h!” A voice called to him from behind. He wheeled around to see new Mother rushing towards him.

  “They’re coming,” he told her. “I’m being brave like you asked.”

  “That’s good, little one,” she said. “You need to get your brother. Check the longhouse—he can’t get out by himself. Go now—I need to help the older women. I’m running to the southeast—that way. Remember what I told you—run and hide. I’m counting on you. You’ll make me proud, won’t you?”

  Little Bear nodded. New mother smiled, and it warmed the Little Bear’s heart, briefly keeping the terrors at bay.

  “Good, child,” she whispered. “Now go.”

  With that, she stood, and took one of the elder women by the arm, leading her towards the exit. Little Bear started running towards his longhouse, keeping his eyes peeled for his brother. New Mother’s helping everyone. I’ve got to do my part, too.

  Sure enough, he saw his brother emerge the longhouse in the wheelchair, his eyes wide in surprise

  “What’s going on?” He asked.

  “They’re coming,” Little Bear told him. “The French, I mean. We need to run like new Mother told us.”

  “She’s just Mother,” Running-into-Darkness corrected him. “Alright. Let’s get out of here. Help push me, will you?”

  Little Bear ran behind his brother and tried to reach the handle on the back of the chair. It was too tall for him, and he strained to even grab hold of it. But he wasn’t about to give up—there was too much at stake now.

  “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  Running-into-Darkness began wheeling himself out of the village as quickly as he could, and Little Bear just tried to keep up. He found himself running behind the wheelchair rather than pushing it—it was unreal how strong his brother had gotten in the months since the accident. All around him, he could hear the French soldiers beyond the walls, whooping and shouting as they began to burn the palisade and tear it down, plank by plank. We have to hurry.

  Suddenly, the wheelchair hit a rock, and Little Bear tumbled forwards with his brother, both of them losing their balance. Running-into-Darkness flew off his chair, landing hard on the ground, and Little Bear crashed into the wheelchair, smacking his face into the hard wood. As he fell, his knee hit the rock, and scraped it badly. Little Bear winced from the pain, but ignored it—the soldiers were getting closer with every passing second.

  “Come on,” he yelled. “We’ve got to get you back on—”

  He stopped in his tracks when he noticed it. One of the wheels on the chair had dislodged from the crash, and now lay on the ground. Little Bear panicked, and grabbed the wheel, trying to fit it back onto the axle, but it wouldn’t go. He tried again, and again, but it didn’t work at all. It was broken, and he couldn’t do anything to fix it.

  “Forget it,” his brother said. He had pulled himself up, and just looked at the chair hopelessly.

  “But you can’t get far without—”

  “It’s alright. I’ll hide in this longhouse, make myself small. They won’t find me. You need to go, though, while you still have time.”

  “No. I’m not leaving you.”

  “You are. I’ll just slow you down. Now go.”

  But Little Bear wasn’t having it. New mother had told him to look after his brother, and that was exactly what he planned to do. He stared his brother down hard, standing his ground. Running-into-Darkness sighed.

  “Fine,” he said. “Help me get inside.”

  Little Bear grabbed his brother by the hand and helped lead him inside the nearest longhouse. By now, the enemy had started to break in, and despite his best efforts to be brave, Little Bear’s heart filled with fear. They were not men, but demons with white skin and bayonets, shrieking wildly, their eyes filled with bloodlust.

  Thankfully, the closest longhouse was just a few paces away, but it felt like a great distance to drag his brother. Once inside, they began looking for somewhere to hide.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  “There’s a small cubby back here,” his brother said by the corner of the room. “We just need something to cover us. Look around for a blanket or something.”

  Little Bear did so, scouring the top bunks for something useful. Then he found it—a big cloth blanket, large enough that it could conceivably cover both of them. Just as he did, though, he heard a noise. He curled into a ball and hid himself on one of the upper beds as a Frenchman burst into the room. He was squat, and ugly—his nose bulged out like he was sickly, and his mouth hung in a constant sneer. He saw Running-into-Darkness immediately, and raised his musket to fire on him. Little Bear felt his body move on his own, like he had no control over it. His instincts compelled him forward, and he leaped from his height on the bed, crashing onto the soldier below. A shot rang out, knocked off its trajectory by the collision. The bullet caught Running-Into-Darkness in the shoulder, and he reeled in pain.

  Little Bear was on top of the man now, but he had no idea what to do. The momentum had caused both of them to fall, and the scrape on his knee still screamed in pain. He had never done anything like this before. More than anything, he was afraid. Little Bear tried to punch the soldier, but the older man just shoved him off. Little Bear hit the ground hard, the wind knocking out of him.

  The man stood, cursing in his foreign tongue as he fumbled for his musket. Little Bear tried to think of what to do. Should he run? Should he fight? He found himself frozen there, paralyzed by fear. He knew he shouldn’t—he knew he had to do something. But he couldn’t. At the end of the day, he was just a Little Bear, not yet ready to take on the trials of a grizzly. All he could think about was how much he wanted his mother.

  The Frenchman grabbed the musket, and started towards the Little Bear, his bayonet pointed to kill. I’m going to die, he thought. This is it. I’m going to die here, and my brother, too. I’ve failed us both. I can’t do anything right.

  The man raised his musket to strike, but was caught by Running-into-Darkness, who tackled him to the ground. The two wrestled on the floor of the longhouse—Running-into-Darkness was stronger in the arms, but also lacked the use of his legs, which made the quarrel even. Little Bear saw the musket out of the corner of his eye. It was just lying there—the Frenchman must have dropped it when he was tackled. He ran over to it, picking it up with both hands. It was heavier than he thought it would be.

  “Brother!” The Little Bear cried. Running-into-Darkness turned for a moment, and saw it. He took the musket from his little brother’s hands, and immediately plunged it into the Frenchman’s chest. The man yowled in pain and anger, but his movements began to slow. Running-into-Darkness dug the bayonet deeper into him, twisting it into his heart. The man’s grunts and cries slowed to gurgles, and his arms fell limp at his side, his body twitching. Little Bear covered his eyes—he couldn’t bear to see it. It was horrible, all of it. He tried to calm himself, telling himself that this was all a dream. It has to be, he thought. He took a deep breath. That’s exactly it. This is all a bad dream.

  “Nyagwai’a:h,” he heard his brother call. The Little Bear opened his eyes.

  “Get the blanket,” Running-into-Darkness panted. “We need to hide. Now”

  Little Bear just sat there, still paralyzed by fear.

  “Come on,” his brother barked. “Are you not the third son of The Smoke Rises, the bravest and strongest warrior of our nation? Go and get the damn blanket.”

  Somehow, Little Bear found his courage. He swallowed, and nodded. He rushed up to the top bunk, grabbing the blanket and bringing it down. His brother had already started crawling to the cubby in the back corner, and Little Bear joined him there. He tucked one tip of the blanket into the top bunk by the corner, the other between two logs of the wall. It draped in front of them like a curtain. It wasn’t perfect, but it was all they had.

  “What are we going to do about the body?” Little Bear asked as he nestled in close with his brother.

  “There’s nothing we can do. Neither of us are strong enough to hide it. We just have to stay here, and pray they don’t find us.”

  “But what if they do?”

  Running-into-Darkness reached under the bed next to the cubby. He pulled something out from underneath—an iron dagger, with a handle of deer bone.

  “Hah… He-Lies-in-Wait always said he hid a dagger under his pillow… I’m happy to know he’s not a liar.”

  He took the weapon, and held it out to his brother.

  “You have to do it,” he said, his breath weak. “My right arm’s no good… bullet’s taking its toll. I… I’m sorry, little one… I’m not strong enough… Despite all my hard work… I… I’m just not strong enough.”

  “It’s alright. You don’t have to do everything by yourself. Me and brother Red Fox are here, too. We can help.”

  “Heh. I know. I hope he’s alright, down in English country with father.”

  “Me too. Give me the knife.”

  Little Bear took the dagger in both his hands, and held it towards the makeshift entrance of their hiding spot. His breath drew quick, his whole body pulsing with fear and anxiety. Beyond them, near the entrance to the longhouse, he could hear the sound of footsteps. Little Bear swallowed, and tried to find his courage again. I have to defend Brother, he told himself, over and over. He saved me, and I need to save him. I’ll… I’ll kill anyone who finds us. I will.

  But as he heard the footsteps encroach, he found his courage faltering. As he saw the blanket in front start to rustle, he felt it leave him completely. And when it was drawn back, and he saw another Frenchman staring down at the both of them, he could do nothing but tremble. He looked into the soldier's cold blue eyes, half-obscured by his messy, tawny hair. He was young—younger than Running-into-Darkness, he thought, maybe even younger than Red Fox, or at least looked to be. Please, the Little Bear prayed. Please, don’t hurt us. I can’t—I can’t kill you. I’m not brave enough after all.

  The French boy said nothing—he just looked at the two boys in their hiding spot silently. Beside him, Little Bear could feel his brother’s whole body tense. But neither of them could do anything. They just sat there, awaiting whatever fate this boy would deliver them.

  Then, the strangest thing happened. The French boy raised his hand to his lips, placing a single finger over them.

  “Shhhhh.”

  He closed the blanket drape, obscuring them once again. Little Bear listened close—he heard a few more footsteps, then talking. He gripped the knife handle hard—he couldn’t understand a word of what they were saying. But after what seemed like an eternity, the footsteps grew quieter—they were leaving. And then he could hear them no longer. They were gone.

  The thousand pricks of fear left his body, and sorrow filled the hole they left. He had nothing else left inside him. Little Bear began to weep.

  “I’m sorry,” he cried quietly into his brother’s chest. “I couldn’t do it. I’m not brave like you are, like Father. I’m a coward.”

  “Shhh, shhh,” Running-into-Darkness whispered. He held his brother in an embrace, patting him softly on the head. “Don’t say such things. You are brave. You’re the bravest little bear I know.”