They set up camp in a clearing by the edge of a gurgling creek that stitched its way through the fabric of the green forest. Uncle Matthew was hoisting trout after trout from the creek, as if the fish bit onto the hook by command. Jason was busy rearranging the stones of an old fire pit, while Jesse was given the task of collecting dry twigs and branches. Jesse dropped another load of sticks in front of Jason, who crouched as he organized the tinder. Jason waved him down and Jesse, tired from the long walk, thankfully collapsed onto his knees.

      Jason raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to see an old Indian fire-making trick?”

      “Sure,” replied Jesse.

      Jason grinned. “Now watch carefully.”

      Jason brought his two hands close together. Starting slowly at first, he began to rub his palms together, gradually picking up speed. Jesse was amazed at the concentration on Jason's face. The hands were now a blur, and Jason's breath grew ragged.

      “Almost…there,” he grunted.

      Jesse jumped back as a flash of flame leapt skyward. A small, orange fire burned like magic from the skin of Jason's cupped hands!

      “Whoa!” yelped Jesse, as he watched the flame suddenly disappear, not believing his eyes. “How did you do that?”

      “I told you,” said Jason innocently, “it's an ancient secret. I can't go just around telling everyone.”

      “Please?” begged Jesse.

      Jason looked at him suspiciously. “Can I trust you to keep a secret?”

      “Sure! Tell me!”

      Jason paused. “All right, then. Put your hands like this.”

      Jesse cupped his hands as Jason directed.

      “Start slowly and rub your hands back and forth. Speed up the rubbing, that's it. Good. Now go as fast as you can!”

      Jesse winced. His hands were starting to hurt from the rubbing. “I can't go any faster. What do I do now?”

      “Now for the most important step. Ready?”

      “Yes, I'm ready!”

      “Flick the lighter.”

      Jesse froze. “What?”

      Jason opened up his hand. Sitting inside his cupped palm was a disposable lighter.

      “Flick the lighter, see?”

      The lighter burst into the same orange flame that Jesse had seen earlier. Jason collapsed onto his side, laughing.

      “Oh, man, I got you good!” howled Jason. “You should've seen your face!”

      Jesse didn't know whether to feel angry or amused. Seeing his cousin rolling around on the ground tipped the balance. Jesse broke into a grin.

      “You're an idiot!” he growled and playfully pushed his cousin back into the dirt. “I'll never believe another word you say!”

      The laughter broke Jesse's sombre mood, and the two boys chatted about the Toronto Maple Leafs, school and the fact that they both liked to play lacrosse. Jesse was amazed by how quickly he took to his cousin. Usually shy, it sometimes took weeks before he would joke around with a new friend.

      Within minutes, the fire was burning brightly, and Jason went to get drinking water from a shallow well that had been dug near the creek. Jesse wandered over to his uncle and watched as he expertly cut open and cleaned the half-dozen trout. Noticing Jesse turning pale at the sight of the gutted fish, he pointed him in the direction of a small clearing and a patch of raspberry bushes. Jesse, bag in hand, was put in charge of foraging for their dessert.

      After a delicious dinner of pan-fried fish, boiled knotweed root and raspberries, Uncle Matthew produced a bag of hot chocolate powder. As they chatted and sipped the warm drink, darkness seeped into the forest. By the light of the fire, they spread out the sleeping bags in a circle around the burning timber. Soon they were lying back, looking up at the stars that blinked on and off through the gently rustling leaves. Flames from the fire seemed to bring the swaying branches to life. The surrounding limbs and leaves danced fiercely to the flickering orange tempo. The show was hypnotizing.

      Uncle Matthew broke the spell. “Tomorrow we will hike to another site. It is a site of our ancestors. It was a place that your father held close to his heart. Before he became sick, he told me that he was looking forward to taking you there himself.”

      “Why was it so special to him?” asked Jesse.

      Uncle Matthew poked at the glowing ashes of the fire. “It will be easier for you to see for yourself. You'll have to wait until tomorrow.”

      Jesse rolled to face his uncle. “I remember mom telling me that my dad's family was from Quebec. Why would his ancestors be found here, near Georgian Bay?

      “The world is always changing,” explained Uncle Matthew, “and things have not always been as you see them today. Our people, the Wendat, once lived in this area.”

      “Wendat?” asked Jesse. “I thought our ancestors were Huron.”

      “It was the European explorer Champlain who mistakenly called us Huron. Before the Europeans arrived, we were a strong nation located in many villages throughout this area. Our territory stretched between the shores of Georgian Bay to the edge of Lake Simcoe. We had our own government, grew our own food and traded with neighbouring nations. For many years, our people lived in happiness and peace.”

      “Then how did our ancestors end up in Quebec? That's like a thousand kilometres away from here.”

      “First contact, Jesse,” said Jason. He looked like a spirit himself with his face swimming in the flickering orange light of the fire. “The Europeans wiped us out.”

      “You mean with guns?” asked Jesse, not sure if he would like the answer.

      “If only it had been guns. It would have been a lot more humane,” groaned Jason, as he rolled onto his back, his gaze drifting skyward.

      Jesse looked to his uncle. “What Jason means is that when Europeans first arrived in North America, they brought with them many terrible diseases. In the twenty years after Champlain first came to our nation, measles, small pox and the flu killed over half of our people. Our elders, being the most frail, were the first to die.”

      “But I've had the flu,” argued Jesse. “Sure, I had a fever and felt terrible for a couple of days, but it didn't kill me. How could it wipe out half of our ancestors?”

      Uncle Matthew sighed. “You have to remember that the flu has now been in North America for over four hundred years. Those of us who have survived have now built up a resistance to the disease. But our ancestors had never experienced such diseases. An inconvenience to the newcomers proved to be deadly for us. Yes, it was a long and painful death for many of our people.”

      “It was also the death of our culture as well,” added Jason. “We didn't have a written language, so we didn't keep historical records in books or on paper. All of our history was kept in the memories of our elders. How to make certain medicines, when to plant crops, the detailed history of our people…Lots of important information died with our elders.”

      Uncle