Jean Genie
Copyright© 2026 by Rachael Jane
Chapter 25: A Bridge Between Worlds
I can sense through the bracelet that Agnès detects the mood in Trois‑Rivières changing hours before the news arrived. To those who know the land and the three rivers that give the settlement its name, the different sounds from the normally noisy forest, and the complete absence of birdsong, are a warning of trouble. People start speaking in lowered voices. Children are kept closer to cabins. Hunters return earlier than usual, glancing over their shoulders as though the forest itself has teeth. Rumours move faster than the wind.
“Iroquois near the river bend.”
“A farmstead burned.”
“A scout has failed to return.”
“Tracks. Human. Too many to count.”
Fear spreads through the settlement like smoke. Agnès hears every whisper. She feels every tremor beneath the words. And she is called to translate as the French officers try to organise a defence of the settlement.
French soldiers gather near the palisade, stamping their boots against the cold, muskets slung over shoulders. Their captain, a hard‑jawed man with little patience, points at the forest.
“We need more land cleared. More fortifications. Move the Algonquian camps farther out.”
Agnès stands between him and a group of Algonquian elders, her mantle pulled tight, her breath visible in the morning air. She translates the captain’s words. The elders stiffen. Although the recent raids to the east and west of us have been carried out by Iroquois, the French settlers are just as quick to accuse the Algonquian of betrayal.
One of the elders, old enough that his hair is silver beneath his fur hood, answers sharply. Agnès translates back: “You push us farther away from the river every season. You say it is for safety. But safety for whom?”
The captain scowls. “For the settlement. For the King’s subjects.”
Agnès’s pulse quickens. She’s heard the captain use this tone before and she knows where it leads. She tries to soften the words, but the captain cuts her off.
“Translate exactly.”
She does. The elders’ eyes darken. One spits into the snow. At a time when the French settlers and the Algonquian tribes need peace between them, the captain’s arrogance, and the elders’ stubbornness, are going to place everyone’s lives in danger.
“You build walls. You cut trees. You trap on our land. And now you want the land itself.”
Agnès feels the tension rising like a storm wind. She reaches for the bracelet and summons me and I appear. Only she can see me in my ethereal form, standing just behind her shoulder. I speak softly, only for her.
“Words can save lives or ignite war.”
She swallows hard. She chooses her next words carefully.
“Perhaps,” she says in Algonquian, “we can discuss boundaries together. Not today. But soon. When tempers are calmer and the threat of an Iroquois raid is less.”
The elders consider her. They trust her more than the French, but not fully. Her mother was Algonquian, but her father was French, leaving her stuck between two very different cultures.
The captain huffs. “We don’t have time for tempers to calm.”
Agnès turns to him, her voice steady. “If you push now, you will provoke a fight you cannot win. You may have muskets but the Algonquian outnumber you, and they know the forests better than you and your men.”
The captain bristles. “Are you threatening me?”
“I am warning you,” she says quietly. “As someone who knows both sides.”
I apply a soothing magic to the captain’s temper, which prevents a further outburst. The bracelet’s influence can only guide a person, not override their beliefs. The captain mutters something about “savages” under his breath. Agnès flinches, but only inwardly. She translates nothing. The elders leave, stiff‑backed and offended, but not enraged. The captain storms off toward the palisade.
Agnès stands alone in the early winter snow, breath trembling, hands cold despite her gloves. I step closer.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.