Salem's Fury (Vengeance Trilogy Book 2) by Aaron Galvin

will feast.
    All save me.
    My sight meanders to the sweat lodge near the council longhouse. Again, I ponder on what spirit will seek me out to guide me on my path.
    The weakness in my flesh warns the answer comes soon.
    I drive away the scents of food by pricking my finger. The bone needle I use to thread the moccasins cuts sharp and serves my purpose well. I rub the blood droplets with my fingers and look on its scarlet color in the firelight. The mere sight forces me to swoon and calls my spirit to a different hunger, one not slaked by feasting on Three Sisters stew or even elk meat.
    “Becca…” says Numees.
    I look away from my finger and follow her point.
    Our shaman, Creek Jumper, has left the council longhouse. His gait steady and sure, he looks at no one as he leaves the gathering place, carrying a bundled fox pelt in hand.
    I stand with the others in my tribe. We gather around as Two Ravens and his men empty out of the longhouse. Not a one gives any sign as to the council’s decision.
    Anger swells within me as Ciquenackqua emerges, his head held high. His father, Whistling Hare, follows him out, acknowledging our people with a curt nod.
    Sturdy Oak and Father exit last. Like the horned owl whose feathers he wears tied in his hair, Father masks his emotions with fierceness. He strides toward Two Ravens, holding the calumet in his left hand.
    “My people,” says Sturdy Oak, calling my attention. “We have met with our cousin tribe and listened to all they would say. Two Ravens asks us to make war on a mighty people and avenge those we do not know. I counsel we, too, are like to have no people if we fight such a powerful nation.”
    I expect such from our peace chief, yet having sat with Father at Sturdy Oak’s fire many a night, I know him wise where others might deem him cowardly. Our peace chief must believe we cannot win this fight.
    “We are a fierce and proud people,” Sturdy Oak continues. “But even the strongest bear cannot withstand a pack of wolves. We are one nation. The Iroquois are six united, since the Tuscarora joined them five years past.”
    Our peace chief raises his arms as if imploring us to heed him.
    “Two Ravens says the French will join our cause.” Sturdy Oak shakes his head. “I say the English will rally to the Iroquois. All this and more we spoke over the smoke pipe. I would keep our men from this fight, but this is matter of war. Its final decision lies with my son and war chief, Black Pilgrim. He will decide.”
    Father steps forward, and my eyes flit to Sarah. Her face resigned, as if it matters not what the decision will be.
    My heart turns icy at her resignation and that she does not stand supportive as any good wife should do. My stare swivels from her and back to Father.
    He stands between Sturdy Oak and Two Ravens, his gaze locked on the calumet .
    I wonder what answers he believes lay in the pipe for it to hold his attention.
    He looks up, and I believe he searches for Sarah, yet he passes over her with little regard. Only when his eyes find mine does he hesitate. His eyes squint, and his face sets in grim determination.
    His left hand shoots to the sky, holding the calumet high over his head.
    Someone in our crowd shouts a war cry. Others take up its echo until I swear even my brother at his trading post will hear.
    A broad grin breaks across the face of Two Ravens. He and Father grasp each other’s forearms, symbolizing the new union betwixt our tribes.
    Drums mix with the jubilant war cries, and I smile at their combined meaning.
    Numees takes my hand. She and I join our tribe, gathering round the bonfire. Together we sit among other familiar faces, all of us awaiting the ceremony to come. I search around the circle and see myself not the only one enthralled.
    The young ones watch the old in eager wait. Not a few of the elderly keep time with the drums. Some nod their heads. Others pat the backs of their grandchildren’s hands, teaching them the beat.
    My soul