by James Hadman
“Wait here,” Killer Whale Rider said, wading ashore. “I’ll see how far it is.” He was gone for a brief time and came hurrying back. “No problem. It’s only a short distance to the next lagoon. I think what we are looking for is there. I could see many birds circling up ahead.”
We skidded the canoe along, pushing brush aside until we broke out and looked across a second lagoon. This one was quite a lot longer than the one we’d left. We launched the canoe and paddled toward a huge cloud of birds at the far end.
More scavenger birds perched in the trees along the way as we paddled toward what appeared to be a large dark carcass. Frenzied birds pecked and clawed at it and made a deafening racket. We drew close enough to verify that it was a killer whale. It’s white markings were stained dirty yellow and it was bloated and stranded next to the beach in shallow water. The stench was appalling. I wanted to try and get the whale’s spirits without getting any closer.
“Quick, Pearl Shell Woman. Hand me the spirit axe,” I said, wondering if this dead whale could be an illusion. This encounter was too obvious. Had Bear Claw somehow created this entire scene like my flying dream?
Illusion or not, I would follow Sky Shaker’s instructions, I raised the axe over my head with its tongue-shaped blade pointed at the whale and began singing my only otter power song. My helpers joined in and we sang together as we drifted closer to the smelly carcass. I hoped our song would be enough to make this powerful whale spirit come to me. Our singing did startle hundreds of birds that flew from the whale, squawking, croaking, whistling, and complaining as they filled the air, but no whale songs came to me. I took out my rattle, donned my mask and we sang again but still no new songs. The stink was so bad it made me gag, but I had no choice. I had to get closer.
“Land the canoe, Killer Whale Rider. I think I need to touch the killer whale to receive her spirit.”
He paddled us to shore in front of the whale. I waded out in the frigid water and put my left hand over the dead whale’s blowhole. Chanting my otter power song, I tapped the spirit axe on one of the few remaining spots the birds hadn’t marred, a small shiny black area on the whale’s head.
With that touch, the words to a song flooded into my mind. It wasn’t another otter song, but I didn’t care. In a frenzy, I repeated the words and then sang them. I barely noticed the stench, or the icy water, or my openmouthed helpers. Killer Whale Rider recovered first. He began singing with me and Pearl Shell Woman joined us. We sang that complete song together another time. I tapped the whale with my spirit axe again and a second song filled my mind. I recited the words and we sang that one, too. A third and fourth tap also freed whale songs, which we sang. Some of the words confirmed that my whale was female.
I couldn’t begin to describe my elation. I wanted to dance. I wanted to celebrate, but I had to cut her tongue to make her spirit mine forever. While standing hip deep in the icy water, I tried but failed to open her huge jaw. I just didn’t have the strength. How could I be this weak? I wasn’t starving–I’d only been without food for a day. This spirit business had certainly sapped my energy, but I must cut her tongue.
Killer Whale Rider could see I was struggling and came to my rescue. He pulled a sturdy branch from a pile of drift, waded out, and began wedging the whale’s mouth open, so I could reach the tongue. When it was wide enough, Pearl Shell Woman brought another piece of drift and propped her jaw open. I was uneasy about crawling into that huge mouth with white conical teeth jutting from both jaws, but I had to cut her tongue. My head and shoulders were inside the whale’s mouth when Pearl Shell Woman handed me the mussel-shell knife. Using the exact motions Sky Shaker had shown me, I split a delicate slice from the left side of the tongue. I backed out of the killer’s mouth and Pearl Shell Woman took the precious but reeking slice of tongue from me, put it between two pieces of devil’s-club stem, and bound them together with spruce-root twine.
“Shaman,” Killer Whale Rider said, and it took me a moment to realize he was addressing me. “Would your killer whale spirit mind if I took some of her teeth to carve charms for you?” I waited for a moment to see if the question provoked a negative response from my new spirit. None occurred.
“My spirit will allow you take her teeth.”
I sat down on a drift log to rest and warm up while my helpers worked at removing them. I smiled when they grumbled about not being able to use iron tools, but they succeeded using the mussel-shell knife and a stone axe to wedge eight teeth free. They waded ashore and we smiled at one another.
“I doubt we’ll ever get this stink off ourselves,” Pearl Shell Woman said.
“Even if we can’t,” Killer Whale Rider said. “this was worth it. Abraham’s Copper Spirit is now a shaman.”
Agitated birds still circled above us, trying to return to the carcass, but eagles challenged them, keeping them at bay. While my helpers were drying off and packing the teeth, I was sitting on my log idly watching the birds interact when I caught sight of movement a few feet along the shore—a flash of white—an eagle’s head. The bird hopped up on a drift log, dragging her wing. Jumping to my feet, I walked toward her, pointing the spirit axe and singing my first new killer whale power song. Apparently, the bird wasn’t interested in becoming my spirit animal because she continued to struggle. Beating her one good wing, she launched herself. She fell, tumbling headfirst toward the beach until one of her talons caught in a fork protruding from the log. Her body stopped suddenly and her head struck hard against a sharp rock.
By the time I got to her, she had quit moving and her eyes were lifeless. A single bright red drop of blood ran from her nostril onto her yellow beak. I put the first finger of my left hand on her bloody nostril and touched her white head with the spirit axe. She surrendered the first of four power songs to me. I received three more from her after each touch of my axe. I began singing them out loud and my assistants joined in.
I had captured two new spirits in one amazing afternoon. I felt like celebrating, but I had six more days before my fast would be finished. I still hadn’t gotten my missing otter songs. I had more work to do.
Chapter Seven
Mar. 29, 1778: We paddled back to camp through the lagoons on a clear but chilly afternoon. We were in high spirits and our canoe fairly flew across the water. I could scarcely believe my good fortune. Both the killer whale and the eagle had become my spirit animals.
“What an amazing experience,” Pearl Shell Woman said. “You got two spirit animals and all their power songs in one day–I’ve never heard of such a thing, Shaman.”
Shaman—she too had called me Shaman. I had to admit I was proud of my success but, at the same time, cautious about celebrating. I wasn’t finished. I was still missing three otter songs. Spirits, like people, might not be cooperative if I showed too much pride.
“I still need my missing otter songs.” I reminded them.
“We’ll sing their songs until your new spirits help you get them,” Killer Whale Rider said.
“How do you suppose the killer whale got trapped in that lagoon?” I asked. “I’m happy she did, but it puzzles me.”
“I think I know what happened,” Killer Whale Rider said. “I found parts of a seal skeleton mixed into the drift along the tideline. I believe she was so hungry that when she saw a seal dart into that lagoon, she chased it without regard for danger. While she was distracted with catching and eating the seal, the tide began to ebb and carried that big pile of drift logs into the entrance. That blocked her escape and the poor thing died of starvation.”
“That makes sense. We’ve had really big tides this moon and those logs are making a huge barrier. Why was she alone? Where was the rest of her family?”
“She wasn’t very old,” Killer Whale Rider said, holding up a tooth. “See how smooth this is–no nicks or wear. Sometimes young killers get separated from their families and without the elders to help, I think she just mad
e a mistake. Anyway, I believe that’s what happened to her.”
“I’m sorry the poor thing died,” I said, “but I’m happy she gave me her power.”
Apr. 1, 1778: The next three days continued clear and cold and each morning I crawled out of bed and sat on my log all day watching the grave houses and waiting for I-knew-not-what.
While I sat and waited, my assistants worked on costumes to portray my new spirits and practiced the eagle and killer whale songs I had received. Favoured as I’d been, I still had a feeling of incompleteness. After all, the one spirit animal who embodied the whole world of shamanism, the Kushdaka, had been in my possession, ready to give me her power, and because of my ignorance, I’d only gotten one song. I reread my journal entry about the otter encounter, looking for some clue to help me summon her again. If it was there, I certainly didn’t see it.
I wrote each evening by the fire under the curious eyes of my assistants. I told them the journal was a special part of my quest and that I used it to communicate with the spirit of my dead father. I stressed that the journal must always be guarded and preserved.
Apr. 2, 1778: After the sixth day of fasting, the lack of food was taking its toll on me. Even though I was a strong young woman, a feeling of lassitude crept over me. Thinking of an alternative to sitting on my drift log and looking out across the water toward the grave house with the otter totem was beyond me. So, that’s what I did.
I wondered if I was just being impatient. I’d received two spirits within moments of each other by being observant to what was happening around me. Now I had been sitting on my log in the cold for days watching and waiting for something–anything–to happen. So, I decided impatience wasn’t my problem.
A mouse of panic scurried through my mind. What if the otter spirit didn’t come? What was I going to do? I was running out of time. Tomorrow was the seventh and final day of my spirit quest.
The sun was dropping swiftly toward a thick band of clouds that would soon snuff it out. Birds were flying overhead just as they did each morning and evening on their way back and forth to feed on the whale carcass. I wondered if my eagle spirit was among them. If she was, could she help me? I received no answer.
It was getting dark and I was stiff and cold as I struggled to my feet. I had to use a driftwood branch to balance myself. Carrying my shaman’s gear and my partially frozen basket of water, I made my way back to our shelter where a cheerful fire was burning brightly, but it didn’t do much for my feelings of despair.
“No luck with the otter spirit?” Killer Whale Rider asked, looking up from the whale’s tooth he was carving.
“No luck,” I said and slumped onto my bedroll. “No luck at all.”
Pearl Shell Woman looked up from the dance apron she was working on. “Your spirit will come to you, Shaman. If not on this quest, then certainly it will appear on another. We’ll be there to help.”
“I must have those three songs to become a powerful shaman and I’m running out of time. In the spring, I have to travel and warn the people of the great danger we face.”
“What danger is that?” Killer Whale Rider asked, holding his carving close to the fire and scrutinizing it. I wished I hadn’t said anything, but in my depleted state I had, so I went on to explain.
“You are my helpers and you’ve been very kind to me. What I have to tell you may sound strange, but it is very important. My dead father has given me the task of warning our people of the danger that he foresaw. Whiteface men will be coming to our land and they are the problem.”
Pearl Shell Woman looked up. “Why are these whitefaces such a threat?”
“My father says they will come and try to be our friends and trade with us, but this is the method they use to gain our trust and cooperation. He warns that their real plan is take our lands and kill us if we resist.”
“Many people, including other Haidas, would do the same if we let them,” Killer Whale Rider said. “Our warriors have driven off attackers before to keep Howkan safe. How are these whitefaces different? Can’t our warriors kill them if they threaten us?”
“Father told me the whitefaces have weapons that our people have never faced and Seal Killer confirmed that what he said is true. The whitefaces carry fire-sticks that can kill from a distance. Some of their weapons are so powerful they can destroy entire canoes from afar. When they point those things at you, you die.”
He was thoughtful. “Have you seen these whitefaces in a vision, Shaman?”
“I’ve seen them. They will come riding on giant canoes with many wind-wings.”
“It’s simple then. Like your father told you, we must travel around and warn the people to watch out for these whitefaces,” Pearl Shell Woman said. “If they spot them, all our warriors have to do is kill them before they can point their sticks.”
“It’s not that easy. Father told me the trade goods they offer are tempting and our people may be fooled into trading with them.”
“We’ll do our best to warn them of that peril. The most important thing is whether he told you how to resist these whitefaces. Did he?” Killer Whale Rider asked.
I explained Father’s strategy for combating the invaders that was in my legacy letter. Both of them looked thoughtful, then they exchanged worried frowns.
“How much time do we have?” Pearl Shell Woman asked. Her question pleased me. It showed she was ready to stand by me.
“The spirits have not shared the time of the whiteface’s coming with me,” I said. “My dream of seeing them arrive has recurred, so I think it will be soon.” Killer Whale Rider nodded. “Do you understand now why I must have all the power songs from my Kushdaka? I am certain she will help guide my eagle spirit to detect whitefaces when they approach our land. I will need those songs when I begin my travels to warn the people.”
“Do you have a village in mind for our first journey?” Killer Whale Rider asked.
“A famous war chief named Skull Breaker lives in Kasaan. He would be a valuable ally, so I plan to start there.”
“You have all day tomorrow to work on finding those songs, Shaman,” Pearl Shell Woman said, standing up to stretch. “But first, I have a surprise for you. Sky Shaker gave me that otter skin you brought with you. She told me it would be big medicine for you if I made it into a special bag to hold your shaman’s tools.” She reached into a box behind her and withdrew a dark, shiny pelt that had been cunningly fashioned into a generous bag by attaching the head to the tail to form a strap.
I was speechless, but she just smiled and said, “You will have good luck in the morning. I can feel it.” Then she helped me put my spirit axe, mussel shell knife, moon rattle and an otter mask in my new bag.
“Sky Shaker warned us that you must break your fast at dusk on the seventh day,” Killer Whale Rider said. “You will be in grave danger if you don’t eat then.”
I unrolled my sleeping robe and fell asleep moments after my head hit my pillow.
Apr, 4, 1778: When I awoke on the seventh morning, I barely had the strength to open my eyes in the dim light of dawn and when I did, I saw snow falling and thought, ‘Raven’s Blood! I don’t need this.’ Lassitude infected me to such an extent that it took all my effort to keep my eyes open and watch those useless snowflakes spiraling down. This was the last day of my spirit quest, my last chance to contact my otter spirit and retrieve my missing songs. I had to get up. I hummed the one otter song I owned and that made me feel better, but it didn’t summon my spirit.
I sat up and even that was a challenge. My helpers watched with worried faces as I struggled to my feet. I leaned on one of the poles that supported our shelter, waiting for my head to stop spinning.
“Here, take this,” Killer Whale Rider said, handing me a beautifully carved staff that had an otter figure clasping it. “I just finished this and I know it will bring you luck.”
I took the elegant staff,
picked up my wonderful new otter-skin bag and shuffled out into the snow which was falling thick and fast and quickly stuck to my braids, my cloak and my bag. I shivered and I was cold. However that wasn’t the issue that concerned me. I’d been cold since the second day of my fast, but the falling snow created a serious problem by hampering visibility. I pulled my cloak up to cover my head and slowly stumbled down the beach. I filled my water basket, brushed snow off my drift log and sat. I had never felt so weak. Sky Shaker was right–my fast must end today before I collapsed.
Falling snow absorbed all sound save for the tinkling stream. It was full daylight now, but I could barely make out the grave house with its otter totem. Somehow I knew that particular grave was the key to finding the otter spirit and recovering my missing songs. If the snow caused me to lose sight of it, my quest was doomed. I was relieved when the snow let up a bit and I could make out the little totem, which was sporting a jaunty headdress of snow that almost made me smile. I sipped water until my hunger pangs subsided. Then I took out my rattle to keep time as I sang my one and only otter song and hoped my spirit would hear it.
After I sang, try as I might to avoid them, doubts insisted on intruding. What was I doing wasting my time sitting here, chilled to the bone and starving in a snowstorm, waiting for who knows what? If I had listened to Mother, I’d be married to someone like that dear Killer Whale Rider and have babies and live in a nice warm house. But no–I insisted on doing things my way. So, here I was sitting in this lonesome haunted spot, cold and hungry, and waiting for a spirit I probably didn’t even need. I already had two good ones.
I took another drink. As the basket left my lips, I saw a ripple in the leaden water off the island in front of the otter grave house. It happened so fast I wondered if I had just imagined it. Perhaps I was seeing something that wasn’t there, because I wanted so badly to see something, anything at all.
Another small splash disturbed the calm surface and this time I was sure I saw a dark head. Just a seal, I told myself. I’d spotted a number of them during my sojourn on the log. The animal surfaced again and my heart leaped. When it lifted its head and upper body clear of the water, I could see this was no seal. It was an otter and a big one at that. It looked around and then disappeared.