December 1773

The road to the manor was deep in snow, clogged and white and silent. It was a grey day, heavy with the threat of another snowfall, and I was on horseback so I could travel as quickly as I could. Every now and then a tree dropped a slithering load of snow on to the path, or a bird scuttled in a bush; but there was something about the silence and the light that made me rein in my horse, anxious not to make too much noise.

At first glance, through the trees, the manor looked dead, but when I came to the wide white space in front I saw that there was smoke coming from one of the chimneys, and the doorstep had been swept clear of snow. In summer the sandstone would have been the colour of honey but in this light it was grey, like everything else.

Connor was waiting at the bottom of the steps when I arrived, as had become a tradition over the last few years. I had finally broken it to Lydia that I (sometimes, I had said) stayed with Achilles and Connor in their home, and she had taken it rather well.

Connor had cleared the snow from the dirt road and fresh tracks were cut into it by Achilles's wagon. He watched me from afar, faux-judgemental, as I brought my horse to the stables and began the arduous process of untacking and feeding him.

When I finally finished, rubbing my hands together (for my fingers were numb in the cold), I picked my way through the snow to the front door, where Connor still waited. When I was close enough, I said, "Ew. Why are you here?"

He grinned and reached out to cuff me across the head. "Oh, look. A drowned rat."

"Who let their pig out of the yard?" I retorted, hitting him back.

The air was still and glittering white, and behind me the bushes began to rustle. Connor would have shot back a further playful insult had his eyes not been drawn to the movement, more animal than anything.

He must have seen something I hadn't, because the corners of his mouth twitched. I half turned. "What–"

–and got nailed in the head with a snowball. A group of children burst from the bushes - the kids of Terry, Godfrey and Lance all liked to play together - and laughed until they couldn't breathe when I staggered, one hand coming up to rub my poor face. The eldest child couldn't have been older than nine.

Even Connor laughed at me, but when he was struck, too, with a snowball the war began, with both of us against the gang of children. Icy ammunition was fired across the road at each enemy side, and we ducked behind banks of snow like they were trenches. Behind our own bank, Connor began to build up a pile of snowballs.

We shared a grin and for a moment the snowballs stopped raining down. We remained unmoving, biting back laughter as the children muttered their confusion. As one we leapt to our feet and threw our snowballs back at them. The cold stung our cheeks rosy but we didn't care.

Finally one of the children peeked over the barricade, waving a white handkerchief in the air. Behind him, the others were still laughing. Connor volunteered to be the diplomat from our side, and he climbed out of our trench to meet the leader; they shook hands across the battlefield, clumsy with the cold.

When they ran away from us, throwing snow at each other once more, I said, "Goodness, it's cold."

Brushing past me, Connor glanced over his shoulder with a grin. "I know what will warm you up."

"Yes," I said, "a nice cup of tea."

His eyes gleamed. "Not quite."

*

He gave me an hour to settle in before we went to the basement. We were in the small ring, and what had started out as a genuine sparring match was quickly devolving into a lighthearted wrestle.

Connor had managed to pin one arm behind my back, but I refused to let that deter me. Before he could force me to my knees I hooked one foot around his ankle, which sent us both tumbling to the ground. I spat out dust.

He tightened his grip on my arm, pulling my back tight against his chest. My shoulder strained, and I hissed through gritted teeth, but I refused to tap out. There had to be a way out of this.

As he pulled tighter, the pain grew more and more distracting. Both of our chests were heaving, sweat dampened our clothes, but neither of us was willing to be the first to let go. His other arm was across my chest, pulling me down further in a way that made the pain blinding. I bared my teeth at the stone ceiling (freshly cleared of cobwebs, I might add) when he leaned down to my ear and purred, "Ready to give up?"

An idea struck me. I wrapped both of my legs around one of his and pushed with a reasonable amount of force; one wrong move from me and his knee would break.

"Oh, I see." His breath warmed the side of my face. "Break my knee, and I will break your shoulder."

"Break my shoulder, and I will break your knee," I hissed back.

We struggled in vain for a few moments, but this only resulted in both of us tightening our hold on the other. "On three?" I panted.

"Three."

As one we let go, and Connor pushed me so that I could lurch forward into my own personal space. After a few moments a laugh bubbled up from my chest as I rolled my shoulder back and forth. Connor, bending and straightening his leg, laughed with me, and reached over to push me with one foot.

We both sobered when we heard the tapping of Achilles's cane on the wooden stairs, and he shook his head at us when he reached the bottom, more affectionate than disdainful. "Could you pair of fools spare a moment?"

"Of course." Connor helped me to my feet, and I dusted myself off.

"Have a look at this." Achilles held out a long rope, which bore a heavy metal end, sharpened to a point like a spear.

"What is it?" asked Connor, taking it to further inspect it. I lifted the blade into my hands; it was heavy and solid iron. Noticing the gleam that came into Connor's eyes, I took a step back as he began to slowly swing the blade back and forth.

"A sheng biao - or rope dart, if you prefer," Achilles said. "One of the many plans given to us by Shao Jun to—"

He was cut off by the sound of the blade detaching from the rope and implanting itself into one of the wooden boards by the wall. For a moment, Connor froze in surprise, and I laughed at his peril. Achilles only sighed heavily and grumbled something about still having a lot to teach the stupid boy.

"Sorry," Connor said.

"Hmn," Achilles muttered. "We'll have to work on that."

Connor grumbled something under his breath that I didn't quite catch as he pulled the blade head from the wood, but Achilles whacked him with his cane. "Watch your language, boy. And fix that rope dart while you're at it."

"You provided us with faulty equipment," Connor muttered.

Achilles said back with a lighthearted sharpness, "The equipment is free and as such it is you who must deal with the consequences, or leave. Not you, Cassandra," he added. "We are thrilled to have you here."

"Happy to be here." I grinned.

Grumbling under his breath, Connor retreated to the back of the room and sat on the table by the Templar portraits to fix the rope. I took up a broom and began to sweep up the dust that had been misplaced in our scuffle. Achilles stepped back, quite politely, to allow me to sweep the entire floor; without looking up from his work, Connor lifted his feet so I could sweep the floor under the table.

When I finished, I replaced the broom in the corner and said, "Don't wait for me; I'm changing clothes."

The knees of my trousers had worn down so much that when I pulled them off in my room they tore straight through. For a moment I glared at them (more mending work for me to do) and sighed. I changed into a comfortable working dress and brushed my hair back from my face.

There had been no fire lit in my room since the last time I was here, so it was achingly cold. Once I had wrapped myself firmly in a wool shawl, I set about lighting the hearth.

By the time I came down the stairs Connor had finished fixing the frayed end of the rope (his solution: cut it off and start again), and he was busying himself with writing in the ledger that Achilles had shown us. Two more young people had moved to this Homestead after we helped them out of sticky situations: Myriam, a huntress with a preference for solitude, and Norris, a miner hailing from Montréal.

"Anything interesting?" I leaned against the doorway to the study.

He glanced up. "Myriam will stop by tomorrow to trade part of her catch. Hunting is hard this winter."

"What will we give in return?"

He gave me a blank look. "Money."

I sighed. "I meant something nice. Like a gift."

"We do not need to reward people for simply doing their jobs."

"You don't like positive reinforcement?"

He closed the logbook and placed the pen back in its inkwell. "Is that rhetorical?"

"Is it?" I countered. Though he had come a long way from the green boy who had turned up at Achilles' door, not yet house-trained, there was still some buffing to be done to his social skills. Like learning rhetoric.

I could almost see the wheels turning in his mind as a retort started to form, but before he could breathe a word, a hard knock on the front door interrupted him. We met eyes across the study - and he grinned.

"Sorry," he said. "I have to answer the door."

"I'll get you next time," I muttered.

He pretended to ignore me and opened the door. A beat passed and then he said, "Kanen'tó:kon?"

Now this was interesting. He had spoken much of his people and his village - his mind rarely left them, truth be told - and he often visited them while I was spending weeks with my family (now that Ryan was toddling my stays at the manor were becoming more irregular - I would spend more time among my family than with Achilles and Connor). As time went by he began to look more and more like them - not that I had much to base my assumptions on. This was my chance.

Kanen'tó:kon was almost as tall as Connor, and his dark eyes were every bit as bright. His hair was a touch darker than Connor's and was gathered in two long braids by either shoulder, and the hair at the top of his head had been cut short and stood straight up in a line down the centre of his head.

Connor and Kanen'tó:kon began to chat in rapid-fire Kanien'kéha, but I still pretended to know what was going on and glanced between them as they spoke. There were similarities between them: they had the same eyes, the same sharp cheekbones and strong foreheads - perhaps their mothers were related? - but Connor had freckles scattered across his face that Kanen'tó:kon did not.

When they laughed I laughed, and then Connor switched to English. "Kanen'tó:kon, please meet Cassandra."

The look I was given by the aforementioned, though judgemental, was not hostile. "Greetings, pale face," Kanen'tó:kon said.

I smiled and dipped a polite curtsy. "How do you do."

"What brings you here?" asked Connor. Upon seeing the grave expression on his friend's face at the question, his eyes lost all humour. "Is the village all right?"

The beads adorning Kanen'tó:kon's braids rattled as he shrugged. "For now."

"What do you mean?" Connor stepped outside; his breaths fogged in the cold air. "What has happened?"

Now that he spoke in English, I couldn't help but note his pronunciation of his words; even if one did not know him, one would still think that English was not his mother tongue, for though he spoke Kanien'kéha with a smooth fluency, his English was slower, more precise - like he focused on making sure he pronounced every word correctly.

"Men came, claiming we had to leave," Kanen'tó:kon said. "They said that our land was being sold, and that the Confederacy had consented. We sent an envoy, but they would not listen."

"You must refuse." Though his voice was firm, Connor's eyes were wide. He crossed his arms over his chest and tucked his hands under his arms.

"We cannot oppose the sachem, but you are right as well. We cannot give up our home."

Disturbed by the noise, Achilles came to the door to see what was going on. Connor was now pacing between the two pillars on either side of the door whilst he thought. Achilles and I shared a look, but of what I cannot be sure.

Connor lay a hand on one of the pillars like it grounded him, like it brought him back to Earth. "Do you have a name?" he said quietly. "Do you know who is responsible?"

Kanen'tó:kon took a moment to form his words. "He is called William Johnson."

Of course it was him. As the Superintendent of Indian Affairs, he had close relations with the Kanien'kehá:ka - he had learnt their language and their customs - since he established Mount Johnson along the trade route by the Mohawk River; during the French and Indian War he had recruited Iroquois warriors to fight for the British. He had been with Lee the day that Connor's village had burned.

The full force of Connor's attention was now on Kanen'tó:kon. "And where is Johnson now?"

"In Boston making preparations for the–" Kanen'tó:kon gestured with his hands, which were covered with thick hide gloves– "sale."

"Sale?" demanded Connor. "This is theft."

"Connor, take care," said Achilles, quietly. "These men are powerful."

Upon hearing the name Achilles had given his friend, Kanen'tó:kon's mouth twitched, but he wisely said nothing as Connor whirled on the old man. "And what would you have me do?" he snapped. "I made a promise to my people."

Achilles considered him for a few drawn-out moments, cold and calculative. "If you insist upon this course of action," he said finally, "seek out Sam Adams in Boston. He'll be able to help again."

This seemed to satisfy Connor, for he held out one hand to Kanen'tó:kon. I half expected Kanen'tó:kon to take Connor's hand - though such an action from Connor of all people would certainly be scandalous - but I did not foresee his friend handing over a heavy stone tomahawk.

Connor looked at it for a moment, like he was steeling his nerves, and then swung one arm and embedded the axe head in one of the granite pillars. The porch shuddered as the stone cracked, and small flakes and chunks trickled to the ground.

"What have you done?" gasped Achilles, staring with wide eyes at his ruined pillar.

"When my people go to war, a hatchet is buried into a post to signify its start." Oh, Connor was well beyond angry now - so great was his fury that he was eerily calm. "When the threat is ended," he said, "the hatchet is removed."

Achilles groaned. "You could have used a tree."

His words affected Connor little, bouncing off him like rain, and as one he and Kanen'tó:kon turned and headed down the path to the wagon. The snow was still scuffed and marked with footprints after our battle outside.

"Make sure he does nothing stupid," Achilles muttered to me.

His implication for me to join them was clear. "I'll do my best," I said, "but he's taller than me. He's got a slight advantage."

He only huffed. "You know where the spare key is."

"I do." There was a slightly loose brick under the ledge of the second window on the right hand side of the door, and behind that Achilles had, very cleverly, hidden the spare key to the front door.

By the time I made it down to the open-backed wagon, which we generally used whenever we took trips to Boston for supply runs, Connor was at the stable to fetch a horse to lead us. I climbed in the back of the wagon and wrapped a blanket over my shoulders.

I offered one to Kanen'tó:kon, who sat in the front seat, but he declined. "I don't see a horse," I said. "How did you get here, might I ask?"

"I got a ride. The roads are treacherous, so tell Ratonhnhaké:ton to be careful."

It took a moment for me to realise that Kanen'tó:kon did not know the name Connor. It was as unfamiliar to him as rain was to a desert. To him, his friend was Ratonhnhaké:ton, and only that. Connor did not exist.

By the time Connor had returned and hitched up a horse, the skies had darkened further, and we teased that it was almost as dark as Connor's anger. This at least cracked a smile from his stony face as he climbed in to the driver's seat next to Kanen'tó:kon.

And so we set off down the road, with the two men sitting in the front, and me in the back, bundled in blankets like some tramp. Connor and Kanen'tó:kon kept up conversation as we went, sometimes in English while others in Kanien'kéha - not that I minded either.

The wagon trundled along, and I shuddered along with it while I pulled my blankets tighter around myself. As we came to a crossroads, Kanen'tó:kon said, "I will depart from you here."

Though he hid it well, Connor was disappointed that his friend was leaving so soon. "Oh?" he said. "Will you not come with us to Boston? Your aid would be welcomed."

Kanen'tó:kon shook his head. "We both know that we are not welcomed by the colonists. You can dress yourself to blend in among them, but it is not so easy for me. Enhskón:ken." (I'll see you soon)

"Ó:nen ki whi," (Goodbye for now) Connor said and stopped the wagon so his friend could get off.

Kanen'tó:kon gave me the blanket with a knowing grin. "It was pleasant to meet you, Cassandra."

"You too." I smiled back at him. "I hope you don't have to walk too far in this snow."

He waved it off. "I have faced worse, little pale one. Some snow is nothing." As he walked away, a bold dark figure against the snow, he turned over his shoulder and called, "Wakatsennón:nih Sha'tekohsehra." (Happy Sha'tekohsehra*)

I waved until he disappeared into the trees, and then Connor twisted around to face me. "Do I not get a blanket, no?"

"No." I pulled them away from him.

He withdrew. "Fine, then. At least sit beside me and keep me company."

"I'm quite happy back here, thank you very much." I nuzzled my face into the blankets.

"Fine." He turned away again and tapped the reins against the horse, and the wagon jarred into motion once more. "I will just sit here, then," he said. "Alone."

I sighed. "Oh, you prick." As I climbed into the seat beside him, I shrugged off one of the blankets and dumped it over his shoulders. He shoved me with his elbow, digging right into my ribs, and I coughed out my breath before whacking him across the head.

If anything, it lightened his mood - and that was all I had wanted, if even just for a moment. The storm clouds dissipated, but not for good.

That was fine with me. I did not live in the future. I lived in the time of now, and now, Connor was smiling softly with amusement, now Connor was tugging the blanket tighter around him, and for now, that was all I needed.

* the first day of the week-long Mohawk celebration of Midwinter, which takes place five days after the first new moon following the winter solstice. Sha'tekohsehra is the day of the stirring of the ashes; the ashes symbolising the body of Mother Earth and her renewal at the turn of the year.