Colours of the Wind - Chapter Nine
Author: emocezi
Title: Colours of the Wind - Chapter Nine
Wordcount: 2272
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own Pocahontas nor do I make a profit from this work of fiction.
A/N: I'm so sorry this took me so long to write and post. I'm currently working two jobs and it's hard to find time to write, let alone breathe. Just a quick note, no matter what happens, this story is never going to be abandoned, there's just going to be long-ass wait times in between posts. Thanks to everyone who's holding out on me, waiting for an update. You guys are the wind beneath my wings. Special thanks to katrinbisiani, kyuubi_paw, and whogeek for attacking my brain when I had free time, listening to me whine, and betaing my horrible grammar. I love you guys.
Previous Chapters: ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT
Alawa had done most of the talking, with Thomas making small comments when it seemed he needed to. He'd begged, threatened and cajoled to keep the incident between them, but Powhatan hadn't been swayed by his words, and had sent runners to find the hunting party.
Nearly an hour had passed by the time Kocoum stomped into the hut, looking at Thomas, Alawa and Powhatan in turn, waiting for some sort of explanation for why he'd been asked to come back to the village before he was done checking his traps and snares for the day.
"Go ahead Miskwa, tell him what you told me." Powhatan said after a few moments of awkward silence. Thomas hesitated, not wanting to risk the chance of starting a war after he'd narrowly avoided genocide.
"John came today." Thomas blurted out suddenly, squeezing his eyes shut and wanting to get this over with. "John and the rest of them. They came here, they were coming to-" he couldn't make himself say the words. "I stopped them."
For a brief eternity the only noise was the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth at the back of the hut. Thomas kept his eyes squeezed shut, not wanting to see the judgment being cast upon him by the man he'd grown to, dare he say it, love.
He'd wanted to keep this silent, because the alternative, of everyone knowing, meant they would hate him. They would look at his pale skin and his red hair and see a paleface, see another white devil greedy for the sort of riches this land didn't offer. They would send him back to Virginia Camp, to be with his own kind, back to the life he didn't want any more.
"They were coming to kill us, to take you back?" Kocoum asked softly and Thomas nodded, not trusting his own voice. The brave moved quickly, rubbing his hands over Thomas' arms and then pulling him in close to hold him.
Thomas was shaking, his entire body trembling, it was clear he was afraid of Kocoum and what he would say. What he might do with the confession of a hundred white men coming to attack his tribe and steal Thomas like cowardly dogs in the night.
Kocoum felt rage burn through him, the need to fight back, fight harder, fight meaner. He felt Alawa's cool hand on his shoulder, and the rage cooled to something he could contain. He pulled back, wanting to look upon the man he'd taken into his home and into his heart.
Thomas looked afraid and yet resigned, as if he'd already decided on his own fate. Kocoum had a vague idea of what Thomas must be thinking, probably already fearing the reactions of the village, and there was no doubt on any one's mind that he was blaming himself for the actions of the people who had once been his own.
"Are you alright?" Kocoum asked, and from the way Thomas' eyes flew open, that was not the question he'd been expecting.
"I-yes. I'm fine."
"What did they do?"
"They just talked. We talked. I...I told them I wouldn't go back, that they'd have to kill me to get to the village." Kocoum breathed out a sigh and pulled Thomas back into a tight hug, looking over his head to stare at Powhatan, silently asking what they were doing.
The actions of the white men could have easily been declared war, and the entire village would have been ready at a moments notice to march on the camp, not to mention the surrounding tribes. If the white men were willing to destroy one village, what reason would they have to stop at others?
It was Alawa who spoke, her voice quiet and yet hard as tempered bone. "The spirits have chosen Miskwa to speak for them. He speaks wisely for one so young. It's been years since the spirits have spoken to me as they do for him, and I choose to listen to what he has to say."
Powhatan nodded once, face solemn. That was it then, they would wait for Thomas to make the decision, and whatever he decided, they would stand behind him.
XxX XxX
For all the faith that they'd put in him, Thomas had no idea what to say. The spirits, for all their meddling, had chosen to stay silent when Thomas needed them the most. Despite all the words that had been said about being on Thomas' side, he still carried doubts about where their loyalties lay.
Why would they put themselves in danger just to keep him around. He wasn't anything special. He was barely average.
He knew Kocoum was worried about him, and while he wanted to do nothing more then tell the brave that he was alright, that he knew every member of the village wanted him here and didn't think of him as just another white demon. There was still a small part of him that whispered how useless he was. Whispered that he was a scrawny, pale idiot and Kocoum was a fool to think Thomas was worth all this trouble.
So he stayed silent, drawing into himself for hours and making excuses for why he couldn't join the weaving circle, or tell the children stories of the place he'd come from, with the tall stone buildings pressed together so tightly you could barely squeeze in between them.
Kocoum let him be for the first few hours, understanding that Thomas needed space to make decisions for himself without anyone pressuring him. He ignored the way wind pressed and shoved at him with every step, trying to turn him back around, trying to make him go to Thomas and talk.
Sometimes, a person just needed to be on their own for a few hours.
But as the day drew to a close and Thomas was still making himself scarce, Kocoum knew something needed to be done to show the man that the village was his new home, his new family. They were his, and they weren't about to let him go just because the idiots who'd had him first didn't know how to share.
So he did what anyone would have done in his position. He lit the fire in the center of the village, the one that meant a meeting was being held, a meeting that would involve every member of the village.
It took barely a half hour for the last of the stragglers to gather round the fire. Kocoum had already gathered Thomas from their hut and herded him back to the fire, keeping their hands gently clasped together so Thomas would know that he had support without feeling caged.
Thomas stood at his side, staring at the ground and feeling horrible. He'd told John that he'd rather die then go back, but looking at the familiar faces, he knew that he had to go. If he stayed they'd come back and destroy everything. At least if he left he'd know they were safe.
It was the only explanation for why the village was meeting like this. They'd come to say their goodbyes. Why else would they be here, looking at him with their open trusting faces, believing he'd do the right thing to save them all.
He took a breath, ready to speak and say his goodbyes. Thank them for the time he'd spent here, thank them for everything. Instead Kocoum's grip on his fingers tightened to the point of pain and Thomas fell silent with a startled squeak.
"This morning the white men came to the village." Kocoum's strong voice poured over the crowd and all at once Thomas was afraid again. They'd kill him, string him up and hang him like they did to criminals and deviants back home. "They came for him." Kocoum held up their conjoined hands and Thomas felt like he was about to be ill. There was a reason he'd wanted to keep his quiet.
"Why?" Ahanu stepped forward, flicking his hair over his shoulder with a sharp twist of his head before starring Thomas down. "Why are we only hearing about this now?"
"It was decided by Alawa that Thomas be the one to make the decision of what we do now. His silence tells me he's making the wrong decisions." Kocoum turned to glance at Thomas, and the redhead couldn't meet his eyes. How could Kocoum have known what he was thinking of doing? How could anyone? "His silence tells me, tells us all, that he intends to go back, to save us from the white men."
"Save us from the white men?" Ahanu half snarled, his hands clenching into fists. Hassan laid a hand on Ahanu's arm and looked up at Thomas, a look of bewilderment on his face. As if he couldn't understand how Thomas could do this to him, to them.
"You don't understand." Thomas yelled suddenly, unable to keep his feelings buried any longer. "They're ruthless. They'll kill everything, everyone in the village. I couldn't stand it, I'd never be able to forgive myself if anything happened to you because of me. Because I could have done something to stop it."
"So that's it?" Awenita asked, hands on her hips, fierce anger burning in her eyes. "You give up everything you have here and go back to those monsters?"
"I don't have a choice." Thomas muttered, wondering why they weren't running him out of the village. They should be glad to see him go.
"Miskwa." Nakoma stepped up, Pocahontas by her side. "You always have a choice."
"But-"
"Stop thinking like one of them." Pocahontas said after a few moments. "You are one of us. You've been a member of this tribe since the day Kocoum carried you into the village like a war bride, and no matter the decision you make today you will always be a member of this tribe. You said it yourself; you will always be a man of two worlds."
"So that settles it." Ahanu's voice was as hard as steel and just as lethal. "We go to war."
"NO!" Thomas snarled suddenly, all the pity he'd been feeling for himself evaporating. "There will be NO WAR." He shouted, only vaguely aware of the entire village staring at him like he'd grown another head. He tightened his grip on Kocoum's hand, pleased to feel the brave squeeze back. "I didn't turn back the pale-faces at the edge of the village so you could fight them now."
"I will kill every pale demon I can get my hands on to keep you safe, Miskwa." Ahanu spoke again, only this time the sentiment was echoed by every warrior in the village, Kocoum included.
Thomas looked around the village, at the anger and hatred brewing in the hearts of these gentle souls. Saw their bravery, the way they fought, and the way they died. Watched as two peoples fought a war neither side could win, and all for naught. He looked at the braves and the women who made up his weaving circle and the children that followed him around and laughed at his pronunciations of certain words.
"NO!" Lightning slashed down from the sky to strike at the trees behind Thomas and the thunder that followed was so loud it made the very ground tremble. "There will be no war, no fighting. I forbid it."
"Then tell us." Alawa stepped forward, pleased that her protege had just shown such power over the elements. The spirits truly had great things planned for this boy. "Show us the way."
Thomas took a breath, fighting the urge to admit that he had no idea what he was doing. He had to do this, he had to find a way to make peace between both peoples or there would always be this between them, the possibility of war.
"There will be no fighting." Thomas repeated. "So we need to make peace."
Alawa smiled and in a move that stole the very breath from Thomas' lungs, she handed her staff to Thomas. The one carved from an Mountain Ash tree that had been struck by lightening ten years before. The one that signified her status in the tribe as shaman.
He reached out and took it with trembling fingers, feeling a surge of power through his entire body. He drew in a careful breath and let it out, his eyes drifted shut and he felt himself connect to everything. This was everything he'd never known he wanted.
"We must move forward, not as two separate peoples, but as one tribe." Thomas spoke after a few quiet moments of readjusting his world view. "If there is anyone who wishes to speak against this course of action, speak now." The tribe stayed silent and Thomas wondered how he ever could have doubted their actions. There were his people, they'd been his people since before he'd ever imagined what the new world would look like. And they would always be his people.
All that was left now was to meet with John Smith and the rest of the men that made up Virginia Camp. If there was to be any future with this land and its peoples, peace had to be made.
Title: Colours of the Wind - Chapter Nine
Wordcount: 2272
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own Pocahontas nor do I make a profit from this work of fiction.
A/N: I'm so sorry this took me so long to write and post. I'm currently working two jobs and it's hard to find time to write, let alone breathe. Just a quick note, no matter what happens, this story is never going to be abandoned, there's just going to be long-ass wait times in between posts. Thanks to everyone who's holding out on me, waiting for an update. You guys are the wind beneath my wings. Special thanks to katrinbisiani, kyuubi_paw, and whogeek for attacking my brain when I had free time, listening to me whine, and betaing my horrible grammar. I love you guys.
Previous Chapters: ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT
Alawa had done most of the talking, with Thomas making small comments when it seemed he needed to. He'd begged, threatened and cajoled to keep the incident between them, but Powhatan hadn't been swayed by his words, and had sent runners to find the hunting party.
Nearly an hour had passed by the time Kocoum stomped into the hut, looking at Thomas, Alawa and Powhatan in turn, waiting for some sort of explanation for why he'd been asked to come back to the village before he was done checking his traps and snares for the day.
"Go ahead Miskwa, tell him what you told me." Powhatan said after a few moments of awkward silence. Thomas hesitated, not wanting to risk the chance of starting a war after he'd narrowly avoided genocide.
"John came today." Thomas blurted out suddenly, squeezing his eyes shut and wanting to get this over with. "John and the rest of them. They came here, they were coming to-" he couldn't make himself say the words. "I stopped them."
For a brief eternity the only noise was the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth at the back of the hut. Thomas kept his eyes squeezed shut, not wanting to see the judgment being cast upon him by the man he'd grown to, dare he say it, love.
He'd wanted to keep this silent, because the alternative, of everyone knowing, meant they would hate him. They would look at his pale skin and his red hair and see a paleface, see another white devil greedy for the sort of riches this land didn't offer. They would send him back to Virginia Camp, to be with his own kind, back to the life he didn't want any more.
"They were coming to kill us, to take you back?" Kocoum asked softly and Thomas nodded, not trusting his own voice. The brave moved quickly, rubbing his hands over Thomas' arms and then pulling him in close to hold him.
Thomas was shaking, his entire body trembling, it was clear he was afraid of Kocoum and what he would say. What he might do with the confession of a hundred white men coming to attack his tribe and steal Thomas like cowardly dogs in the night.
Kocoum felt rage burn through him, the need to fight back, fight harder, fight meaner. He felt Alawa's cool hand on his shoulder, and the rage cooled to something he could contain. He pulled back, wanting to look upon the man he'd taken into his home and into his heart.
Thomas looked afraid and yet resigned, as if he'd already decided on his own fate. Kocoum had a vague idea of what Thomas must be thinking, probably already fearing the reactions of the village, and there was no doubt on any one's mind that he was blaming himself for the actions of the people who had once been his own.
"Are you alright?" Kocoum asked, and from the way Thomas' eyes flew open, that was not the question he'd been expecting.
"I-yes. I'm fine."
"What did they do?"
"They just talked. We talked. I...I told them I wouldn't go back, that they'd have to kill me to get to the village." Kocoum breathed out a sigh and pulled Thomas back into a tight hug, looking over his head to stare at Powhatan, silently asking what they were doing.
The actions of the white men could have easily been declared war, and the entire village would have been ready at a moments notice to march on the camp, not to mention the surrounding tribes. If the white men were willing to destroy one village, what reason would they have to stop at others?
It was Alawa who spoke, her voice quiet and yet hard as tempered bone. "The spirits have chosen Miskwa to speak for them. He speaks wisely for one so young. It's been years since the spirits have spoken to me as they do for him, and I choose to listen to what he has to say."
Powhatan nodded once, face solemn. That was it then, they would wait for Thomas to make the decision, and whatever he decided, they would stand behind him.
XxX XxX
For all the faith that they'd put in him, Thomas had no idea what to say. The spirits, for all their meddling, had chosen to stay silent when Thomas needed them the most. Despite all the words that had been said about being on Thomas' side, he still carried doubts about where their loyalties lay.
Why would they put themselves in danger just to keep him around. He wasn't anything special. He was barely average.
He knew Kocoum was worried about him, and while he wanted to do nothing more then tell the brave that he was alright, that he knew every member of the village wanted him here and didn't think of him as just another white demon. There was still a small part of him that whispered how useless he was. Whispered that he was a scrawny, pale idiot and Kocoum was a fool to think Thomas was worth all this trouble.
So he stayed silent, drawing into himself for hours and making excuses for why he couldn't join the weaving circle, or tell the children stories of the place he'd come from, with the tall stone buildings pressed together so tightly you could barely squeeze in between them.
Kocoum let him be for the first few hours, understanding that Thomas needed space to make decisions for himself without anyone pressuring him. He ignored the way wind pressed and shoved at him with every step, trying to turn him back around, trying to make him go to Thomas and talk.
Sometimes, a person just needed to be on their own for a few hours.
But as the day drew to a close and Thomas was still making himself scarce, Kocoum knew something needed to be done to show the man that the village was his new home, his new family. They were his, and they weren't about to let him go just because the idiots who'd had him first didn't know how to share.
So he did what anyone would have done in his position. He lit the fire in the center of the village, the one that meant a meeting was being held, a meeting that would involve every member of the village.
It took barely a half hour for the last of the stragglers to gather round the fire. Kocoum had already gathered Thomas from their hut and herded him back to the fire, keeping their hands gently clasped together so Thomas would know that he had support without feeling caged.
Thomas stood at his side, staring at the ground and feeling horrible. He'd told John that he'd rather die then go back, but looking at the familiar faces, he knew that he had to go. If he stayed they'd come back and destroy everything. At least if he left he'd know they were safe.
It was the only explanation for why the village was meeting like this. They'd come to say their goodbyes. Why else would they be here, looking at him with their open trusting faces, believing he'd do the right thing to save them all.
He took a breath, ready to speak and say his goodbyes. Thank them for the time he'd spent here, thank them for everything. Instead Kocoum's grip on his fingers tightened to the point of pain and Thomas fell silent with a startled squeak.
"This morning the white men came to the village." Kocoum's strong voice poured over the crowd and all at once Thomas was afraid again. They'd kill him, string him up and hang him like they did to criminals and deviants back home. "They came for him." Kocoum held up their conjoined hands and Thomas felt like he was about to be ill. There was a reason he'd wanted to keep his quiet.
"Why?" Ahanu stepped forward, flicking his hair over his shoulder with a sharp twist of his head before starring Thomas down. "Why are we only hearing about this now?"
"It was decided by Alawa that Thomas be the one to make the decision of what we do now. His silence tells me he's making the wrong decisions." Kocoum turned to glance at Thomas, and the redhead couldn't meet his eyes. How could Kocoum have known what he was thinking of doing? How could anyone? "His silence tells me, tells us all, that he intends to go back, to save us from the white men."
"Save us from the white men?" Ahanu half snarled, his hands clenching into fists. Hassan laid a hand on Ahanu's arm and looked up at Thomas, a look of bewilderment on his face. As if he couldn't understand how Thomas could do this to him, to them.
"You don't understand." Thomas yelled suddenly, unable to keep his feelings buried any longer. "They're ruthless. They'll kill everything, everyone in the village. I couldn't stand it, I'd never be able to forgive myself if anything happened to you because of me. Because I could have done something to stop it."
"So that's it?" Awenita asked, hands on her hips, fierce anger burning in her eyes. "You give up everything you have here and go back to those monsters?"
"I don't have a choice." Thomas muttered, wondering why they weren't running him out of the village. They should be glad to see him go.
"Miskwa." Nakoma stepped up, Pocahontas by her side. "You always have a choice."
"But-"
"Stop thinking like one of them." Pocahontas said after a few moments. "You are one of us. You've been a member of this tribe since the day Kocoum carried you into the village like a war bride, and no matter the decision you make today you will always be a member of this tribe. You said it yourself; you will always be a man of two worlds."
"So that settles it." Ahanu's voice was as hard as steel and just as lethal. "We go to war."
"NO!" Thomas snarled suddenly, all the pity he'd been feeling for himself evaporating. "There will be NO WAR." He shouted, only vaguely aware of the entire village staring at him like he'd grown another head. He tightened his grip on Kocoum's hand, pleased to feel the brave squeeze back. "I didn't turn back the pale-faces at the edge of the village so you could fight them now."
"I will kill every pale demon I can get my hands on to keep you safe, Miskwa." Ahanu spoke again, only this time the sentiment was echoed by every warrior in the village, Kocoum included.
Thomas looked around the village, at the anger and hatred brewing in the hearts of these gentle souls. Saw their bravery, the way they fought, and the way they died. Watched as two peoples fought a war neither side could win, and all for naught. He looked at the braves and the women who made up his weaving circle and the children that followed him around and laughed at his pronunciations of certain words.
"NO!" Lightning slashed down from the sky to strike at the trees behind Thomas and the thunder that followed was so loud it made the very ground tremble. "There will be no war, no fighting. I forbid it."
"Then tell us." Alawa stepped forward, pleased that her protege had just shown such power over the elements. The spirits truly had great things planned for this boy. "Show us the way."
Thomas took a breath, fighting the urge to admit that he had no idea what he was doing. He had to do this, he had to find a way to make peace between both peoples or there would always be this between them, the possibility of war.
"There will be no fighting." Thomas repeated. "So we need to make peace."
Alawa smiled and in a move that stole the very breath from Thomas' lungs, she handed her staff to Thomas. The one carved from an Mountain Ash tree that had been struck by lightening ten years before. The one that signified her status in the tribe as shaman.
He reached out and took it with trembling fingers, feeling a surge of power through his entire body. He drew in a careful breath and let it out, his eyes drifted shut and he felt himself connect to everything. This was everything he'd never known he wanted.
"We must move forward, not as two separate peoples, but as one tribe." Thomas spoke after a few quiet moments of readjusting his world view. "If there is anyone who wishes to speak against this course of action, speak now." The tribe stayed silent and Thomas wondered how he ever could have doubted their actions. There were his people, they'd been his people since before he'd ever imagined what the new world would look like. And they would always be his people.
All that was left now was to meet with John Smith and the rest of the men that made up Virginia Camp. If there was to be any future with this land and its peoples, peace had to be made.