King Phillip's War: Ruins of New England

The colonists called him a demon. He called himself Hanno. Hanno shot the last arrow in his main quiver, then moved through the forest away from his prey. His long killing thumb claw almost caught on a tree branch. He stretched his long carnivore body and shivered as the cool early June breezes ruffled down-like feathers.

I think this belongs in the ASB forum. The premise is an impossibility - a literal alien intervention.
 
Indian raiders destroyed the one partially completed powder mill in New England. Gunpowder grew scarce.

Offensive spirit ebbed away. Massachusetts leaders dusted off a proposal to build a twelve mile long, eight foot high stockade to keep Indians out of the core of the colony. The stockade would have left Groton, Lancaster, Concord, Sudbury and Marlborough, among other towns, to the Indians.

Benjamin worked to get a message across the frontier. He knew Indians well—knew which Praying Indians had contacts with hostile leaders. A week later, he gathered his little band around him outside the frontier town of Framingham.

One of the men looked at the Mohegan standing impassively nearby and said, "Why put yourself in Uncas's trap? Yes, you may find the demon, but only to be killed by it."

Benjamin knew that was all too likely. But the Mohegans hate the Narragansetts more than they hate us, and if we lose, they would face the Narragansetts alone. And Uncas sent one of his remaining sons. It's worth the risk. Out loud he said, "I will go. I will meet Uncas. If I find the demon, I will try to kill it. If I live, I will be back."

He nodded to the Mohegan and followed him into the forest, almost as silently as the Indian. They walked for an hour, then the Mohegan led him to carefully hidden horses. They rode the rest of the day. Benjamin watched the Mohegan dismount awkwardly. The Puritans tried to keep Indians from getting horses before the war, but some of them somehow learned to ride. Now many had horses, but most rode and cared for them poorly.

For a poor rider, the Mohegan had a great deal of endurance. He rode silently until the horse was exhausted, then rested only as long as he had to before continuing. They crossed into Connecticut, into Mohegan country, and finally stopped near a small Indian camp on the eastern edge of Mohegan country, near the Narragansetts.

The Mohegan said nothing to Benjamin during the ride. Maybe this really is a trap. Maybe Ruth has what she wants of me and sends me to my death.

He dismounted and followed his guide to the camp. He recognized Uncas and nine other prominent Mohegans—not just warriors waiting to kill him.

Uncas stood and looked at Benjamin. "You look for the demon. It would be good if you find him.”

***

Hanno scouted the meeting site carefully. He saw tracks of more than a hundred Indians, but they were more than three days old, from before the last rain. He found the trail of Uncas and his party, ten Indians and a colonist. Uncas seemed to be keeping his word. I don't trust him, but have little to fear from ten Indians.

Hanno prowled around the meeting site once more. Nothing. Yet my deep mind screams a warning. Why?

Finally, he stalked into a clearing where ten Indians and Benjamin Church stood. The danger time was now. Further away his bow outranged them. Closer and he could be among them before they raised their muskets. The Indians made no sudden moves. Uncas gestured, and Benjamin limped forward, his arms tied behind him. The colonist climbed onto a stump in front of Hanno. Hanno said, "Turn around." He checked the ropes. Tight and secure. Why does my deep mind still scream warnings? Hanno made Benjamin face him, then glanced back at the Indians. Muskets were still on the ground. No threat there.
 
I think this belongs in the ASB forum. The premise is an impossibility - a literal alien intervention.

Hi Rich. As I mentioned earlier in the thread, I was a little torn as to where to put this, because some of the fiction part is definitely ASB, but both parts should give people a better understanding of King Phillip's War.

In the fiction, Hanno and his two human allies are the only non-historical aspects of the story. Towns, battles, leaders are all historical unless influenced by Hanno and company. Benjamin Church did create the first rangers as a response to this conflict. Major Henchman did build a fort on one end of the swamp while King Phillip escaped on the other. Captain Turner and his 180 men did sneak up to an Indian encampment and fire a volley into it (and historically won a major victory there). Stonework John did exist and helped build a carefully hidden stone fort for the Narragansetts that wasn't discovered until after the war ended. Indian craftsmen did repair muskets in forges hidden in the wilderness.

So where do you put something that contains one element of fantasy in an otherwise historical setting? I'm not sure. As I said earlier, I wouldn't be surprised, (or angry) if moderators decide to put this in ASB or the Writer's part of the forum. It's a tough call, and I understand and respect that.
 
The colonist moved suddenly, kicking up at Hanno's chest. Hanno saw a knife blade smeared with mud except at the edge, and attached to his captive's boot. Hanno brought his thumb claw down to block the knife, but the foot shot sideways at the last minute. Hanno felt a small tug. Missed. The knife came down at angle and sliced into Hanno’s leg.

He fell sideways, grazing the colonist's cheek with a slash of his thumb claw. The Indians grabbed their muskets. He reached for his bow, then felt the snap as the bowstring gave way. He cut the bowstring. Hanno braced for the volley to come.

Uncas stared at him over a musket barrel and grinned like a wolf. "It is time to speak of dead sons and payment."

"Have I not helped you find payment?"

"You have not paid. Only you can."

"How long have you thought that?"

"From the beginning. I read the woods as well as any man. I know who killed my son. That man is dead. I also know who set Englishman and Mohegan against each other like dogs. I knew that from the beginning."

Hanno stared, bewildered. "Then why did you turn on the English?"

"For my people to live, I must think of a path, not one day's journey. I see the path of the way the English grow. You let me bend their path so my sons and their sons may breathe."

"Why stop me?"

"Their path must be bent. It must not be broken. If we broke the English, we would starve as our muskets no longer shot. We would go naked as we no longer had clothes. And the Mohawks would kill us."

"You did not starve before the English came."

Uncas said flatly, "We no longer know how to live without the English."

"But they will destroy you if they win this war."

Uncas shrugged. "The English will forgive much if I give them their demon. My remaining sons and their sons will live. The sons of their sons must find their own way. But they will live to find it."

Human thinking. Even the wisest wild humans see only fifty or one hundred cycles ahead. But if his people die in fifty cycles, the longer path doesn't matter to him. Hanno turned to Benjamin. "Why do you risk yourself and your family?"

“You put your mark on their foreheads and hands.”

“Just like your holy books says.” Hanno stared at Benjamin. “I claw at the minds of the foolish with this. It is of no importance.”

"You think you know us, but play with powers you don’t understand.” Hanno recognized the revulsion on Benjamin’s face. It faded, and the man said, “We looked hard for a stump high enough I could cut your bow string. I thought I missed until it broke."

Hanno put his front claws on the wound in his leg to stop the bleeding and gauge the extent of the injury. He slowly moved the leg. Not as bad as they think. Tendons weakened, not cut through. I can run, but not fast enough to get among my enemies and slash them before their muskets kill me.

Benjamin used his knife to cut the ropes on his wrists. Then he turned to Hanno. "Give us your arrows, clothes, bow, everything."

Hanno snarled. The Englishman picked up a musket, then said, "This trap is inside a larger trap. More than a hundred Mohegan warriors have been waiting four days. They haven't moved all that time. They are between you and the Narragansetts."
 
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Hanno took off his equipment. A trap worthy of a Thinker, but why have they not killed me? They play with their victory, taste it but do not make it sure. How can I make them pay?

The Indians tied Hanno's arms behind his back, roped his ankles together so he could only shuffle and tied a rope around his neck to lead him. More Mohegans arrived from the woods. Hanno studied them. They were still careful, but less so as their numbers grew. Still a time to wait, unless I bleed too much.

Hanno checked the wound. It still bled, but slowly. He tested the ropes around his arms. They would have secured a man, but Hanno’s arms and hands worked differently. He could be free, but not quickly enough.

The Indians and the colonists walked for an hour, deeper into Mohegan country. Hanno's slender form towered among them. Hanno thought about the trap and came to a conclusion. He looked down at Benjamin. “The woman you know as Ruth is my Thinker. I set her to spy on you. She told me your wife and son were on Aquidneck Island.”

The colonist said, “I know.”

Hanno walked on, trying to understand. Does she betray me to save herself, or does she weave a more subtle web? Did she know I would see her hand in this and plan so that if I told the Englishman who she was it would not harm her?

He weighed the consequences of defeat. His death would rip the heart from the Indians and give the English victory. If Thinker helped the English with all her mind, that victory would come soon. His bloodline would send scouts to this wilderness eventually, but this chance would be gone, and the colonists stronger. If I escape, I will go to the Narragansetts and hide while I recover, then go to my bloodline and bring warriors back to destroy the English.

Finally, the Mohegans stopped in a clearing where they had hidden their horses. The horses were skittish this near Hanno, but they didn’t bolt as long as he didn't come too close. The Indians let Hanno walk ten feet in front of them, held at that distance by the rope around his neck. Hanno calculated the distance to the nearest Mohegan village. They would arrive near sunset. The humans would be tired and think their job done. He refined his plan as he walked. It was risky, but he could foresee no better time.

Hanno studied the Mohegans from the corners of his eyes, noting the alert ones. He also studied Benjamin. He's my biggest danger.
Hanno filled in details of his plan, incorporating his knowledge of individual Indians. As they came within sight of the village, he worked the details of its layout into his framework. Indian women and children poured out of the village. Warriors around him relaxed slightly and turned their attention to wives and children. Benjamin glanced at Hanno's arms, then focused for a second on the Indians.
 
Hanno slowed to let the colonist's horse move a little closer, then bared his teeth. The terrified horse occupied the colonist for a crucial second while Hanno bent his arms in a way no human could have and slashed the ropes with his claws. Then he grabbed the rope around his neck and unhorsed the Indian holding it. He grabbed the Indian's knife and cut the rope hobbling his legs. Warriors leveled their muskets. Hanno roared, and horses bolted. He dashed into the crowd of Indian women and children, bending so his captors couldn't shoot without firing into their families.

He dashed through the village and into a field of foot-high growing corn on the other side—not fast enough. His wound slowed him. Hooves clattered behind him. He glanced back. Benjamin raced after him on horseback, sword drawn. I can't outrun him now.

Hanno roared, but the horse kept charging—sensing his weakness and gaining courage. Hanno turned and raised a thumb claw to deflect a sword slash aimed at his head, but without its iron backing, the thumb claw barely slowed the sword and was sliced through. He dodged, stepped aside and killed the horse with a slash of his other thumb claw.

Benjamin swung his sword as the horse fell. The blade slashed through Hanno’s wrist and his severed hand fell.

The colonist jumped clear. Hanno growled at him, pushing the pain to the back of his mind. The Indians were too close for him to finish this. He bared his teeth. "I'm only the first. Next warm season or soon after, hundreds of my people will sweep you away."

Hanno turned and dashed into the forest, holding his mangled arm to slow the blood flow. The Mohegans followed, but as night descended he heard fewer signs of pursuit. He trotted toward Narragansett country until he could no longer run, then walked. He slowed the blood loss, but not enough. If he didn’t stop, his wounds would be fatal.

Hanno was almost dead when Narragansetts found him and guided him to their village. He rested, hovering between death and recovery for weeks. Then infection sent fever through his body, and he knew he would never see his bloodline again.

He called Canonchet, Maker and Stoneworker John to his side. "Tell the Mohawks I no longer protect the Mohegans. When I die, hide my body between the walls of the fort and tell your people I have gone back to my country to bring more like me. Let the English fear me even in death. And while they still fear me, harvest them. Drive in the towns. Spend warriors and powder like water if you must. Then, while their fear is greatest, make a peace that will keep you strong until my people come to help you. Make a peace with claws to tear at them. I will show you how."

He spent the day concealing his pain as he helped Canonchet and other Narragansett leaders plan. He gave them words of power to use on tame humans and told them how to use those words. The effort took his remaining strength, but he walked back to his hut with no sign of weakness. As night fell he felt his life seep away and knew he would not see morning.
 
Benjamin temporarily gained influence in colonial councils for bringing the Mohegans back to the English side and bringing back the demon's hand, but when he pushed for aggressive raids to keep the Indians off balance, using Mohegans as scouts, his influence faded.

Indians attacked the frontier with a new series of well-planned and effective attacks. The melting of frontier towns became a flood of hungry refugees and captives led into the wilderness, as the outer ring of colonial defenses collapsed. Quinsigamond and Marlborough fell, then Groton and Sudbury.

The colonies used scarce manpower to shore up surviving towns. About half the Mohegans feared the demon’s wrath enough to defy Uncas and continue fighting the English. The rest sat in their villages. Epidemics weakened them, and Mohawk raids kept them on the defensive.

Benjamin spent much of his time in the forest. On the surface he was searching for hostile Indians. He told himself he sought signs of the demon’s survival. In reality, he sought an end to the guilt that kept pushing into his mind. A vile and secret betrayal. Did it buy me the demon’s death?

One day in late July, Benjamin saw Ruth for the first time since he returned from his fight with Hanno. She smiled at him from beside her husband. “Is he dead?”

“I think so.” Has he been waiting for you in the forest? Has he tried to kill you for betraying him?

“I felt a weight leave my mind. I think you did kill him.”

The Indians began peace talks. Benjamin was at the fringe of those talks, but he recognized that the Indians had learned from the demon. They let the threat of the demon’s return hang over the negotiations. They used their many captives as a club. They reopened old disputes and suspicions between colonies.

They had plenty of disputes to work with. They played on boundary disputes between colonies. They played relatives of captives against people with claims in Indian-held land. They played royally appointed Governor Andros of New York against independent-minded colonial governors of New England.

Negotiations continued, but the fighting slowed and stopped. Colonists could no longer carry the war into Indian-held territory. Benjamin suspected the Indians were as exhausted as the colonies. Indian and colonial captives trickled home. A smattering of colonial captives wore the demon’s mark, twelve in all. Among those wearing that mark were Alice and Thomas Church, Benjamin’s wife and son. Both were physically healthy, but Alice did not speak and Thomas made no sound, not a gurgle or a cry. Neither showed any expression. Benjamin spent much of his time sheltering them from the stares and suspicions of his neighbors. He talked to his family incessantly with no response. Church services became an ordeal, enduring hostile or curious stares directed at his silent wife and son.

He saw Ruth rarely, and only at church. When he saw her, he noted her gradually swelling belly and both cursed himself inwardly for the bargain he had made and tried to justify it. He considered breaking his word and denouncing the woman as the demon’s accomplice, but could not justify breaking yet another vow. As far as he could tell, Ruth was playing the dutiful Pilgrim wife in both word and deed, with no sign of any effort to undermine the colonies. As she pledged.
 
Summer turned to fall, then winter, a cold, silent, hungry winter as the colonies tried to stitch their society back together in overcrowded towns full of impoverished widows and orphans, towns isolated by blizzards and fear that the still fragile peace wouldn’t stop Indian raiders. The hunger didn’t ease with the spring thaws, but in March of 1677 people began moving more freely between surviving towns.

Benjamin heard from neighbors that Ruth now had a son. He avoided any show of interest, but tensed at every church service, and felt his heart jump a month later when he finally saw the smiling mother and her son. Ruth didn’t react to his presence.

The long Pilgrim Sabbath dragged on, and with it the ordeal of the silent suspicion directed at Alice Church. The early April day drew Benjamin with a nearly physical pull; the grass with its vivid greens and first flowers called him. His attention wandered, then abruptly yanked back to the service. A tall man stood and walked stiff-legged to Ruth. He pulled a long hunting knife and lunged at her. She grabbed the hand, twisted it, still holding her son with one hand.

Benjamin lurched to his feet and ran toward them, but the knife fell to the floor beside her before he got close. Several men grabbed the assailant and pulled him away. He went rigid, then spoke half-a-dozen guttural syllables. Ruth screamed, then grabbed the knife. She turned its point toward her heart and moved it toward her, arm trembling as through her muscles were fighting one another. Her husband grabbed her arm, but his frantic efforts had no impact on her struggle. Benjamin reached the two of them, but she released her infant as he reached for her knife arm. He grabbed the child to keep it from falling. As he did, the knife arm descended, only to turn away at the last moment and slice into Ruth’s shoulder. The knife clattered to the floor as blood seeped down her sleeve. Benjamin passed the little boy to someone behind him and grabbed the knife.

The wound did not appear life-threatening. Ruth grinned an oversized grin in spite of her wound, her cheeks flushed. Then her face went pale. “Where is my son?”

Benjamin turned, scanned the church. The little boy was nowhere in it, or anywhere nearby as a quick search confirmed. Benjamin helped with the search, frantically scouring his memory for any hint of the identity of the person he handed the child to. He found no clues in his memory or in the church or its surroundings. On careful investigation he did discover that one of the returned captives was gone. Headed to Narragansett country. Benjamin couldn’t confirm that suspicion, but he knew it to be likely. The assailant collapsed and died, though he had no wounds.
 
A few days later, Ruth’s husband summoned Benjamin. They strode together to Ruth, who sat in a darkened room. She questioned Benjamin about his memories of that Sunday, then dismissed them. As he left, she slipped a folded paper into Benjamin’s hand. Later, when he was alone, he read it.

B:
Hanno and his kind control their human dogs through words of power. I thought to kill him before he could use them against me. He seems to have taught them to his captives. I could not stop my hand. It took all my mind and my husband’s hand to change its course. In the end Hanno or his Indian allies have taken our son, and he has killed me. Hanno’s kind leave little to chance. The knife blade was coated with a slow-acting poison, one that will make my death agonizing and long if I choose to endure it. I feel it coursing through me. I will not choose to die slowly.

Hanno has not yet won though. I know how to make New England strong enough to fight his kind when they come again. I will not be here to see that triumph, but you can lead it. I secreted away two books which can lead you.

The road to that victory will have a price far higher than the one that led you to kill Hanno. It will lead through betrayals far more vile. If you cannot pay that price, the burden will fall on others. You will have five days to decide.

You probably hate me and rejoice at my impending death. Despite that, in my own way I have loved you from my first glimpse of your face. I die to save you and your people. I wish you the long and happy life I no longer can hope for.

The rest of the letter contained directions to the books, and at the end a set of syllables with the notation. “I know some of Hanno’s words of power. Say this in front of your wife and son.”

Benjamin put the note in his pocket. He didn’t bring it out again that day. He sat in the stiff silence of his wife and son. In the evening he received word of Ruth’s death. He took out the paper and stared at the syllables at the end. He hesitated, searched the room for weapons and removed them, aware that the words could mean death for himself or his family. Finally, he stared at Hanno’s mark on Alice Church’s forehead and said the syllables.

Alice and Thomas Church stared at him, their faces rigid. Finally Thomas relaxed and smiled a toothless smile. A tear drifted down Alice’s cheek. She opened her mouth and the words came out slowly, gratingly, as though her throat was rusty. “Is it over?”

“No. It’s just beginning.”
 
And that's all I have, folks. This was intended to be part of a series of inter-linked novellas, with the next one a generation or two in the future. I may well write the others after I take care of a very long list of novels and novellas that are all almost ready to publish.

I originally wrote Ruins of New England over a decade ago, as one of my first half-dozen attempts at science fiction. Like most of those efforts, it then sat on my computer for ten years or so. Finally I looked at it again and realized that the idea had quite a bit of potential, but about half the scenes needed total rewrites, while the others needed a lot of editing.

Rereading the novella as I posted it, I could, unfortunately, tell at a glance which scenes I had edited and which ones I had rewritten. If you noticed that some of the scenes seemed much more vivid than others, that would be why.

I wrote Hanno partly as a sort of anti-Kzinti. He's an intelligent carnivore, but he is a planner, not a scream and leap-type, cautious, thinking ahead decades and generations. My opinion: that's a more realistic carnivore. Impulsive carnivores starve to death because their prey escapes, or because their prey injures them and they can't hunt.

I hope you enjoyed this. I hope it kindles an increased interest in King Phillip's War, which was a very dramatic and hard-fought episode in American colonial history, and deserves more what-ifs than it has gotten so far.
 
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