“Those mumutly sound like strange creatures,” marveled Sarita. “Fish who eat wood.”
“Very strange indeed,” agreed Spring Fern. She continued, “At this first meeting, a high-ranking chief was given a hatchet with a leather thong on the handle. He hung in around his neck and paraded around with his beautiful new ‘necklace’ for all to see! Can’t you just imagine him strutting about with a heavy axe weighing him down?” Both young women burst into giggles at the picture.
Suddenly Sarita looked around. The other women were far down the hillside, winding their way back to the village. The sun was slipping towards the horizon. “Oh, we must hurry! We’ve been so busy talking, we’ve hardly picked any berries!”
Laughing, the two hurried to join the others. For a brief time Sarita had relaxed, forgetting that in five short days she was to be married off to the enemy.
* * * *
It was dusk. Sarita’s thoughts returned again and again to her conversation with her father as she sauntered along the beach under the watchful eye of her aunt. Bird-on-the-Sea often hovered quietly nearby, but Sarita had grown accustomed to chaperonage, and accepted it.
Unlike most noble girls her age, Sarita had not been kept within the dark confines of her longhouse from the time of her puberty ceremony until the day of her marriage. She had long ago persuaded her father to let her roam freely about the village. Crab Woman, her father’s first wife, had proven an unexpected ally. Declaring that she would not “spoil and coddle” her highborn stepdaughter, Crab Woman had insisted that Sarita perform the same chores as other women did, be they commoners or slaves.
Much to Sarita’s surprise, she found she liked doing the different tasks. It was certainly better than sitting around a dingy longhouse, learning housekeeping chores and waiting to be married off. Sarita was far too active to take kindly to such a life, and her father had wisely recognized that fact. He gave Sarita considerably more freedom than other young women were permitted by their families.
On one point, however, Sarita had found her father adamant. On those few occasions when she was not surrounded by other women, he had demanded that Sarita be chaperoned. So whenever she left her home alone, Bird-on-the-Sea, his widowed sister, walked along to protect her niece from the young men who tried to talk with her. Sarita appreciated that Bird-on-the-Sea was tactful in her watchfulness and never imposed upon or embarrassed her young charge. The young men still attempted conversation despite the aunt’s vigilance.
Seeing her eldest brother, Feast Giver, far down the beach, Sarita quickened her pace. He and several small figures were hunting for the tiny crabs that hid under the large rocks on the pebble peach. The children were laughing and jumping on him, trying to persuade him to overturn a particularly big rock.
Sarita was proud of her brother. He was a tall man, muscular, with ebony eyes. Sister and brother shared the same lightly tanned skin, but Feast Giver’s hair was jet black. He was their father’s heir and a chief in his own right. Perhaps he could explain why their father was marrying her off to a hated Ahousat.
As with most men of her village, her brother was dressed in a knee-length kutsack, a woven cedar robe tied at the left shoulder. Of course, as with all the younger men, Feast Giver was beardless. Many times, Sarita had watched him pluck his beard hairs with two small clam shells as tweezers. One time, she remembered, she asked him if it hurt. He had only patted her on the head and laughed, assuring her the pain was worth it.
On his head he wore a cone-shaped cedar hat, the badge of his chiefly status. A graphic design of whale hunters chased their giant prey around the brim. That design was especially appropriate, thought Sarita. Feast Giver was one of the best whale hunters in the village. Only chiefs could hunt the leviathans, and it required much skill to harpoon the huge gray whales from the bow of a canoe. Feast Giver always took several men with him, but the actual killing was his responsibility and his right.
“Catlati, brother, are the children teaching you how to catch crabs?” Sarita asked innocently. “Pay attention. Once you know how to catch the tiny crabs, it will be no time at all before you can go after the big gray whales!”
Her brother looked up at the sound of her voice and his face broke into a grin. “Sarita,” he exclaimed. “I’ve been looking for you. I want to talk with you.”
He tried to walk over to her, but two little boys clutched at each leg, making it impossible for him to walk. He unwound the tiny arms from around his legs, only to have others replace them. “Help me, Sarita,” he joked. “I’ve been attacked by a giant octopus!” Sarita laughed, watching him gradually free himself and slip away from the grabbing children. Reluctantly, they let him go.
Leaving the children behind, he drew Sarita off to one side, out of their aunt’s considerable hearing range. But before he could say a word, she burst out, “Catlati, please tell me why Nuwiksu is marrying me off to that Ahousat! I thought the Ahousats were our enemies! Does Nuwiksu love me so little that he would give me to our enemies?”
He looked taken aback at her outcry. “That’s what I wished to speak with you about,” he began. “Your marriage to the Ahousat is very important, but I can see you’re very upset about it.”
Sarita nodded. “More than that. I don’t want to marry him. Not at all!”
He watched her seriously, as if wondering how to begin. “You know Nuwiksu loves you,” he assured her. “Are you not his favorite daughter?” At her tentative nod, he continued, “Nuwiksu’s been watching for an opportunity to make peace with the bloodthirsty Ahousats for the last two years.”
Sarita looked at him in surprise.
“Yes,” confirmed her brother, “he has. He’s convinced your marriage to Fighting Wolf will be the best way to achieve peace.”
“Oh? And why should Nuwiksu want peace?”
“You know as well as I do that many of our women and children have been stolen by that tribe. Many of our warriors have been ambushed and killed in the night.”
“I know, believe me, I know.”
“We’re losing too many people. We must have an end to the war or there’ll be no Hesquiat people left,” he said bitterly. “That’s why Nuwiksu accepted the marriage suit of Fighting Wolf.”
Sarita looked down at the ground. She had been right. Nuwiksu was losing the war and wanted peace. But that still did not explain why Fighting Wolf wanted the marriage.
When Sarita remained silent, her brother continued, “You are Nuwiksu’s last hope for peace. He told me he was getting desperate until Fighting Wolf suddenly offered for you. Nuwiksu accepted gladly.” He added softly, “Sarita, he’s hoping to spare the lives of our people.”
That brought Sarita’s head up. “And so I should do my duty. Is that it, Catlati? I should go to my enemy husband quietly and spare our people’s lives?”
Her brother was silent. Sarita noticed he did not contradict her. She could barely suppress the pain, the violence, in her voice as she said to him, “It’s my life we’re talking about. My life!”
Their eyes met and he looked away. “It’s the Hesquiat people’s lives, too,” he answered quietly.
Defeated, her shoulders sagged. “And what of Fighting Wolf? Why does he want this marriage?”
Her brother shrugged. “Probably a strategic alliance. If he allies himself with us, he can fight some other tribe. He knows we won’t attack him any longer, once you’re married to him.”
It makes sense, thought Sarita.
“The best thing for you to do is to accept this marriage. It seems our Nuwiksu is determined to go through with it.” He paused for a moment. Finally he pointed out, “You’ll be in a position to help our people. If you can gain—and give—this man love and respect.”
“Love and respect!” she flared. “How can I love and respect a man who kills our people and sells our women and children into slavery? How can I overlook that?”
Her brother had no answer. He could only stand helplessly in the gathering dusk. Reaching to touch her
arm, he quickly dropped his hand and shrugged, as if knowing nothing would comfort her. Not while her anger and agony were so fresh.
Sarita sorrowfully turned away, bitterness and despair washing over her.
Chapter Two
The village of Ahousat sat nestled at the foot of several high mountains, their tall forest-covered peaks thrust into curling white clouds. Twenty longhouses were stretched across a narrow field of yellowed grass that fronted a gravel beach. On this sunny day, small waves danced in from the broad green sea, teasing the shore. Behind the houses, a forest of graceful alder and tall cedar trees rustled in the summer wind.
Canoes lay on the beach, resting at crazy haphazard angles, waiting for the tide to come in and once more restore their dignity. Up and down the beach raced small children, shrieking and chasing each other. Nearby, their mothers watched with benevolent brown eyes while smoking salmon on racks over the open fire pits.
Summer was the time to dry salmon, pick berries, and preserve foods for the oncoming winter when rain would keep the people bundled up in their cedar cloaks and cedar homes.
In the darkened interior of one longhouse set off from the others, a large group of men huddled around a smoking fire. The lean, brown, muscular men squatted or hunched in various positions as they listened intently to the tall warrior speaking in their midst.
Fighting Wolf, war chief of the Ahousats, addressed his warriors with his customary air of imperious command. His wide shoulders tapered to a lean waist and narrow hips that were hidden by the cedar robe he wore tied cavalierly at one shoulder. He stood with muscular legs planted firmly on the floor, his bearing confident and majestic.
Shoulder-length, blue-black hair framed the hard planes of his face. The cleft in his chin was the only gentle feature in an otherwise rugged, masculine face. It was his eyes, however, that held the combative audience of fighters in thrall. Jet black eyes, glinting with anger, surveyed his fellow warriors…eyes that captivated, then dominated the battle-scarred veterans.
“Men,” he exhorted. “Many times you’ve fought for me and for our people. Many times you’ve gone forth in battle against great odds. It is because of you, your bravery, your ferocity, that we are the strongest people on this coast today!”
Here he was interrupted by cheers and loud exclamations attesting to the truth of his words. “Yes, the name ‘Ahousat’ strikes fear and terror into our enemies.” More cheers. When silence was restored, he continued, “I am asking you to once again take up arms against our enemies, the hated Hesquiats.”
Some groans were heard. Fighting Wolf frowned briefly. “This time, however, I can promise an easy victory.” Mutters of interest ran through his audience. “This time you will have a chance to revenge yourselves—“ the mutterings increased, “—on the murderers who killed your beloved chief, my father, just twenty-six moons ago. On the murderers who slaughtered many of our beloved brothers and sons!”
He paused for effect. “You, Otterskin, you lost your brother in that raid.”
A grim-faced man nodded.
“And you, Comes-from-Salish.” A barrel-chested man straightened, his full attention on the dynamic speaker. “Your only son was blinded when that cowardly Hesquiat speared him with a lance.”
The father glowered. “I’ll follow you, and gladly, whenever you care to lead a war party against those Hesquiat dogs!” He spat on the dirt floor for emphasis.
The serious look on the men’s faces told Fighting Wolf he had not only their bodies to command, but their hearts as well. “I’ll need brave men like you when we raid those bastard Hesquiats. For two years, I’ve waited for the right time to take our revenge. That time is now!”
Lusty cheers broke into his impassioned speech. He waited patiently until they died down. “This time we’ll use cunning as well as weapons to bring the Hesquiat worms down. They’ll be like the dirt beneath our feet when we’re done with them.”
Shouting and stamping interrupted him once more. “Their names will be spat upon by our neighbors up and down the coast. Our friends will have nothing but contempt for the name ‘Hesquiat;’ for the name ‘Thunder Maker;’ for the name ‘Feast Giver.’ Hah! The only feast he’ll give will be for the dogs.” Gruff laughter greeted his sally.
“We’ll take their women and children as slaves, the only status a Hesquiat deserves. We’ll laugh at their shame!”
This time the shouts were interspersed with eager whoops. Time to calm them down and tell them my plans, he thought. “No longer need we torment ourselves over the treachery of the Hesquiat killers. No longer need we fear another brutal slaughter like the one that took my father’s life.”
Hoarse murmurings and low rumblings could be heard as the warriors remembered the humiliation inflicted from the vicious Hesquiat raid. Fighting Wolf spoke in a calm, deadly voice now. “They killed our war chief, the greatest Ahousat war chief we’ve ever had. And why? Merely because we killed one of their chiefs. An insignificant chief, at that! No, we cannot allow our beloved chief’s death to go unavenged!” Thoroughly angry now, the men were ready to kill every Hesquiat still alive.
“Listen closely, men. I want these plans completely understood. This is what we’re going to do…” and he smiled to himself as his warriors leaned closer to hear his long thought-out plans of revenge.
* * * *
“So you’re planning a wedding with the Hesquiats?” began Birdwhistle conversationally as the warriors gradually dispersed from the meeting.
Fighting Wolf looked at him. Since childhood the two cousins had clashed, competing over everything from the number of salmon caught to the number of enemy killed. As he sauntered through the doorway of the longhouse into the bright sunlight, Fighting Wolf answered casually, “You heard the plans, cousin. Any objections should have been raised at the meeting.”
Fighting Wolf began walking toward the beach. Falling into step with him, Birdwhistle responded, “Oh, I’ve no objections.” As they walked along, he toyed with the sea-otter fur on his kutsack, the cedar robe he wore. “I'm just wondering what this woman, Sarita, looks like.”
Fighting Wolf shrugged. “What does it matter? That’s not my concern. All I care about is that her father agreed to the wedding.”
“Did you get to see her?”
Fighting Wolf shook his head. “No. The marriage negotiations were carried out between my messenger and his. I sent a relative to ask Thunder Maker for his daughter. My instruction to my messenger was to convince the Hesquiats that peace would come from such an alliance. Thunder Maker sent back his answer, by his own messenger.”
“Sounds like you two don’t trust each other.” Seeing his companion’s sardonic look, Birdwhistle added hastily, “But at least Thunder Maker agreed to the marriage.”
“All too readily, I thought.”
“How so?”
“He seemed most anxious to give her away. He didn’t reject my offer the usual two or three times before accepting. Any respectable father would have said ‘no’ the first time I asked. But not Thunder Maker. He agreed to the marriage on the first request. He didn’t even demand any expensive gifts for the bride. Practically shoved her at me,” said Fighting Wolf.
“Ho, ho, cousin,” laughed Birdwhistle, “It sounds like she’s someone he wants to be rid of.” His eyes twinkled. How amusing to see the proud Fighting Wolf stuck with a flawed bride. “Probably ill-tempered.”
“Or ugly,” added Fighting Wolf with disgust.
“Or has already been married two or three times. You know how some upper-class fathers marry their daughters off every few years to a new husband. Each time it’s to a man more exalted than the last. Maybe that’s what Thunder Maker’s doing. You should be flattered he thinks so highly of you, cousin,” smirked Birdwhistle.
Fighting Wolf frowned. “I’d prefer a virgin.” Then he added lightly, “Perhaps she’s just an uncontrollable nag.”
“Or missing a few front teeth.” Birdwhistle chuckled at Fighting Wolf’s mount
ing dismay.
With great enthusiasm, Birdwhistle launched into an eloquent, unflattering description of Fighting Wolf’s bride-to-be. How pleasant to goad the younger man.
At last Fighting Wolf wearied of the game. “Cousin,” he said, “if she’s as bad as you think she is, I promise I’ll give her to you…as a symbol of my esteem.” He snickered.
Birdwhistle eyed him warily. “No, no, I insist you keep her. After all, it was your idea to get ‘married!’"
Fighting Wolf laughed, and clapped his cousin hard on the back as they shared the private joke. “Ah yes. Married.”
* * * *
Fighting Wolf walked through the village. The afternoon sun slanted through the clouds and illuminated the Ahousat village longhouses that stood so proudly.
A longhouse was as wide as seven men laying head to toe and twice that distance in length. The height of the house was equal to two tall men. A frame of long cedar ridge poles ran the length of each side, and was supported by sturdy posts at the four corners. Two stout posts framed the main entrance.
A carved sea lion figure-post stood at the back of the house. Poles as high as two men, and carved in human design, supported the central beam. Long cedar planks made up the siding of the house, and a gabled roof of rafters, covered by cedar planks, kept the inhabitants dry through the long, rainy winters.
From inside the house, smoke holes were made by shoving roof planks back with poles. During winter storms, large stones and logs anchored the roof and kept its cedar plank covering from blowing away. At various places along the back side of the house were small doors—escape hatches should enemy raiders come sweeping into the village.
As he neared one of the longhouses, Fighting Wolf heard his name called. There, leaning in the doorway, stood Limpet. She took her name from the small, pointed-shelled sea animals that clung firmly to rocks at the tideline. Limpet was a woman who, it seemed to Fighting Wolf, had dedicated her life to making herself his mistress.
Savage Betrayal Page 2