The Plains of Abraham

Epilogue

by Danielle Jordan

The exiles launched their attack, initially catapulting a solitary projectile over the city wall. A blazing fireball that floated, sputtering, in a graceful parabolic arc over the larder district until it struck Dubois Boulevard, where it rolled with a hollow whistling sound and crashed into a rickety wooden bakery.

The bakery went up. Fzzt! Whoosh! And the battle was on.

Fireballs vaulted across the sky. They found the wood, the trees and gardens, the silos of winter corn. Women ran through the streets, children clutched to their breasts, embers scurrying about their ankles.

The city's remaining martinets lined up in formation to meet the invading army. But they were picked off from behind before the invaders breached the gate. Bishop Bennett had planted soldiers inside Kebek beforehand, behind-the-lines volunteers who'd comported themselves as loyal citizens and waited for the first catapult volley to signal the attack.

A battering ram took down the main gate. The exiles charged in, firing arrows as well as muskets. Bennett himself led them, waving a yellow flag on a long pole. The martinets were caught between two forces. All the martinets, even those with their hands raised high in surrender, were callously shot, and the wounded dispatched with hasty machete slashes to the throat.

A pall of smoke covered the city. As fires were extinguished, columns of steam rose above the smoke and drifting ash. It felt like the inside of a crematorium. Bennett arrested Father Mitchell, charged him with treason against the people, and claimed Kebek in the name of the Society of Jesus.

*

René made it back to Bounty Rock. As he and Wilbur drew near, oaks and maples reached out with their branches to embrace them. Robins and wood thrushes sang greetings in chorus. Even the wild cows were happy. This is hyperbole, of course, but it's fun to imagine it really happened that way.

The breeze that had so reliably communicated nature's messages to my brother during his long journeys welcomed him to the Ellanoy country and spread the news to all life for miles around: "René has returned. René is home again." That much, at least, is no exaggeration.

He found Malcolm in the garden as usual, battling weeds, and joined him. After a few minutes of pulling and yanking in silence René said, "You beat me here."

"Hello, Grout. I waited all my life to reach this place."

"How did you know it would be so peaceful? How any place could be so serene, so tranquil?"

"You have to know these things—"

"—when you're a priest," René finished for him.

That first night back, in Adrienne's arms, under hide blankets, under a roof of bark, under a sky dense with stars, he only wanted to hold her, share his warmth with her, feel her skin against his. He'd been to the mountains and seen the lakes. The malachite and turquoise water. Reflections of the sun on vitreous surfaces, disturbed by translucent purple stones released one by one from his hand. He tried telling Adrienne about it but his voice broke.

"Your eyes..."

"I know," she said. "Yours too."

The breeze, its work finished, hurried back across the plains to attend to other urgent business.

***

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