After a long while, Rottenwood’s hoarse voice cracked through the stillness. “Over there.”
Sarita swung her gaze to where he indicated.
“That point of land is part of a large island. We’ll take shelter there. The Ahousats are far behind.”
They headed for the point and a short while later they wearily dragged the canoe up on the gravel beach. Now that the sun had risen, she could easily see the huge towering mountains. The island they were on squatted at the foot of the giants.
They pulled the canoe up above the high tide line so it would not float away. She stood staring dully as Rottenwood covered the craft with salal bushes. She guessed he wanted to be sure no passing travelers spotted it and came to investigate.
She was so weary. All she could do was watch as he took the basket and deposited it under a large spruce tree. Spreading branches made a natural shelter, and soft needles padded the ground.
“We’ll rest here,” stated Rottenwood. “Then when it’s dark, we’ll head out again.”
She nodded and headed back down to the beach. She started to collect pieces of driftwood for making a fire. Rottenwood stopped her. “No wood. No fire.” Seeing her uncomprehending look, he explained, “Smoke would give away our position. We mustn’t be seen by anyone.”
She nodded again, too tired to say anything, and turned back to the sheltering spruce. She couldn’t stay on her feet any longer, and she sank to the ground.
Thankfully, she reached up and accepted the piece of dried fish Rottenwood brought to her. He handed her the water bladder. Thirsty, she took it, threw back her head and drank greedily from the bladder. Water coursed down her chin and dripped onto her robe, but she did not notice. She was too tired.
Finished eating, she lay down, clutching her cloak about her. Stretching her legs luxuriously, she sighed heavily. Soon she was sound asleep.
Rottenwood surveyed the beach once more before he lay down a short distance away. Almost instantaneously, his eyes closed and he slept, snoring sonorously.
It seemed Sarita had only just fallen asleep before she was being shaken awake. She sat up and looked about her.
“Time to go,” said her guide. Seeing her dazed look, Rottenwood added, “You slept the whole day. It’s time to go. We’ve got a long way to travel.”
She nodded and got shakily to her feet, then bent low and stepped out from under the spreading tree. Stretching, she reveled in the feel of her body’s new strength. She ran her hands over her face and through her hair. Salt had tightened her skin and massed the strands of her hair. Oh well, she sighed, she would be home soon and could bathe then.
She turned and caught Rottenwood watching her. His narrowed eyes slid away from hers and she wondered uncertainly what he was thinking. “What is it, Rottenwood?”
He swung back to her and stared intently for a moment. Thoughts of Spring Fern slashed through his head, the desire to see her again nearly overwhelming him with its intensity.
Sarita swallowed nervously. Rottenwood’s gaze held hers as he asked softly, “Do you intend to stand by your promise to free me when we reach your village?”
The question hung suspended between them. If she answered “No,” Sarita knew she would not live long. He could either leave her marooned on this beach or kill her. Either way, he had nothing more to lose. If she said “yes,” would he believe her? Or would he think she was lying to protect herself?
“Rottenwood,” she began at last, “I owe you my life. Please trust me. When we arrive at my father’s village, I’ll do everything I can to see that you’re freed.” She gazed at him intently, her beautiful golden eyes willing him to believe her.
Spring Fern’s alluring form beckoned him in his mind’s eye. Finally, a small smile twisted one corner of his mouth, and his eyes shifted seaward as he answered gruffly, “Come, then. Time is wasting.”
Sarita’s shoulders slumped in relief. For now, he believed her.
They dragged the canoe from its hiding place and headed into the rapidly descending darkness.
Chapter Twenty-Three
As the small canoe ground into the gravel beach, Sarita was already dangling one leg over the side, just above the water. She jumped out, the knee-high water shocking in its coldness. Eyes focused on her father’s longhouse, she waded quickly to shore and dashed up the beach. Her heart kept time with her pounding feet.
She burst in the door. She looked about wildly. Fear of what she would find warred with elation at being home. Elation won out.
A banked fire glowed at the hearth. No one was in sight. Belatedly, Sarita remembered it was still early morning. “Nuwiksu! Nuwiksu!” she called. “Feast Giver! Where are you?” All the time she had been away, she had been so afraid for what may have happened to them. Now, faced with silence, her fears resurfaced. They were dead! Where was everyone? Why did no one answer her call?
Just then, a sleepy Abalone Woman shuffled into the main living area. She stopped and gasped when she saw Sarita. “What—where?” she cried. “Sarita! It’s you!” She ran to her and hugged her stepdaughter fiercely. Feeling Abalone Woman’s arms about her, a warm feeling stole over Sarita. At least some of the people in her previous world were still alive!
“My father, where is he?” cried Sarita through her tears of relief. Before Abalone Woman could answer, she continued, “And Feast Giver! My brother! Please, please don’t tell me he’s dead?” Her voice rose on the last word. The question hung poised in the air for a frantic heartbeat.
“No, no,” Abalone Woman hastily reassured her. “They’re here. They’re both here. Alive.”
Sarita almost collapsed with relief. “Where are they?” she whispered hoarsely. “I must see them!”
“I’ll wake them,” promised Abalone Woman. “However, you should know that your father, especially, is still weak. He’s recovering from wounds that will take a long time to heal,” she added enigmatically. Abalone Woman hurried away to fetch her husband and stepson.
Sarita squatted by the dully glowing embers, and stared unseeing at the gray mass. She heard a small noise behind her and whirled. “Feast Giver!” she cried and launched herself into his arms.
“Ho!” he laughed, knocked off-balance by her sudden action. He managed to catch her and steadied them both. “You’re back! How did you get here?” he asked, his dark eyes sparkling with happiness at seeing her. “I thought I would have to go to Ahousat and rescue you!”
“Don’t tease,” she admonished him playfully.
“I’m not,” he said soberly. “I’m serious. We were going to rescue you. In fact, I’ve already led a raid into Ahousat territory and captured—”
“Sarita!” her father’s voice boomed out. “Daughter! We feared we’d never see you again!”
“Nuwiksu!” She ran to Thunder Maker and hugged him tightly. Her father’s arms around her calmed her. She was home.
“But how did you get here?” continued the older chief. “Your brother was just about to start negotiating for you.”
“Negotiating?” asked Sarita. “But what--? How?” She took a deep breath. “I escaped, Nuwiksu. With the help of the slave, Rottenwood. We stole a canoe and paddled for almost two nights to get back here.”
“Mmm,” answered her father. “Very good. You are very brave, my daughter.”
Sarita released her tight hold on her father and stepped back. “I’d like to reward Rottenwood for helping me escape. I would never have made it without him.”
Her father nodded. “Yes, certainly.”
“He risked his life to help me, Nuwiksu,” explained Sarita. “I wish to have him freed.” She paused her wide eyes on her father.
“Freed! Isn’t that rather extreme, daughter? We could give him a canoe, perhaps even a wife. But to free him? How will I keep my wealth, if I go about freeing all my slaves?”
Dismayed, Sarita asked, “Do you value me so little, Nuwiksu?”
“No, no, it isn’t that,” blustered Thunder Maker.
“Then what is it?” pressed Sarita.
“You’ve just arrived. This is a fine welcome we’re giving you!” said her father in a louder, jolly voice. He lowered his voice to add, “Come, come, we’ll discuss this matter later.”
To one of his slaves, he shouted, “Rouse the household! Rouse the village! I’m giving a potlatch now that my daughter is safely returned to me!” The slave hurried away to do his master’s bidding.
Sarita turned away, piqued with her father. Surely he was not so cheap that he would not free one slave! She resolved to bring the matter up again. And, she promised herself, she would settle for nothing less than Rottenwood’s freedom. She struggled against letting her angry feelings overwhelm the joy of her homecoming.
Sarita caught her brother’s glance and hurried over. “Feast Giver.” Her concerned gaze took him in. “You look thinner than when I saw you last. Have you been ill? Were you wounded in the battle at my ‘marriage’?” she asked bitterly. Now that she was home again, the humiliation of the Ahousat raid returned in full force.
She regarded her brother closely. New, fine lines were etched at the corners of his eyes and deeper grooves were carved between his nose and the corners of his mouth. There was a newfound seriousness about him. He didn’t have that familiar look of laughter. She sighed, wondering what had happened to change her carefree brother into this stranger. Ruefully, she conceded that she, herself, was no longer so carefree, either.
“Yes,” he answered. “I was wounded.” He undid the knot on his kutsack and lowered it to his waist. A thick red scar between his ribs marred the fine brown skin. She gasped.
“It’s healing well, now, thanks to Abalone Woman,” he reassured Sarita. “I was also unconscious for a long time. I took a blow to my head.”
“Show me,” she demanded, tight concern on her face. Obligingly, he lifted one long wave of dark hair that had fallen across his temple. Sarita saw a thin white line, barely visible.
“Oh, catlati, brother,” she moaned.
“Enough of me,” he responded. “What about you? You’re the one who was stolen away from us. How were you treated, sister?” He frowned as he waited for her answer.
Sarita turned away. “I was treated like any other slave,” she responded calmly.
Her brother grabbed her arm. “Did that bastard hurt you, Sarita?” he demanded.
“No, no.” She shook her head. “He treated me well, after—”
“After what?” he growled.
“Can’t you guess?” she cried. “Do I have to say it?”
Feast Giver let her arm drop, a stricken look on his face. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I know it must have been difficult for you. It must have been terrible living in the longhouse of our enemy.” His face hardened. “But this I promise—you will be avenged.”
Sarita looked at him. “What--?”
He continued, “I’m going to lead a raid on the Ahousats. Fighting Wolf will pay, and pay dearly, for what he has done to you and to our family!”
“Catlati,” she began gently, “Go carefully. Before you lead this raid, I would have you know something. I carry—“ She stopped suddenly.
There, walking slowly towards her was a small, slim woman, her thick, dark braids making her instantly recognizable. “Precious Copper!” Sarita cried. “What are you doing here?” She stared open-mouthed at the petite woman.
Precious Copper walked up to her, a dimpled smile on her face. She laid a small hand on Sarita’s forearm. But before she could say anything, Feast Giver planted a possessive hand firmly on the small woman’s shoulder and stated, “Precious Copper is my hostage. I led a rescue party down to Ahousat territory, to find you. My men and I captured her. I brought her back here intending to trade her for you. Now that you’ve returned, I’ll have to think of something else to do with her.”
Feast Giver gazed at his hostage speculatively. Precious Copper saw the look and examined the floor intently.
“Oh, Precious Copper,” murmured Sarita. “I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry?” responded Feast Giver in surprise. “Sorry? Whatever for? This woman is the sister of our enemy! Don’t waste your pity on the likes of her!”
Sarita noticed that, despite his words, Feast Giver moved to stand protectively behind the diminutive woman, his big hands clasping each of her upper arms. Interesting, thought Sarita. Aloud she said, “I’ll have you know that this woman saved me from a terrible life in Ahousat village. She protected me when others would have molested me.”
“Did she protect you from her brother, Fighting Wolf?” sneered Feast Giver.
Sarita’s silence spoke volumes.
“Ahh, I thought not,” responded Feast Giver.
“Nevertheless,” continued Sarita evenly, “she made my life as a slave bearable. I will not turn against her now, regardless of who her brother is!”
Feast Giver’s self-righteous attitude annoyed Sarita. Taking Precious Copper’s hand, she started to lead her away. “And I intend,” she stated firmly, looking back over her shoulder at Feast Giver, “to see that Precious Copper is well cared for and protected from, uh, unwanted advances.”
Feast Giver frowned at Sarita. “She’s my hostage,” he warned. “I’ll decide what’s to be done with her. Not you.”
“Yes, Catlati,” answered Sarita sweetly. “Weren’t you just condemning Precious Copper because she couldn’t protect me from her brother?” The question hung there between the three. Sarita seized the initiative. “Precious Copper and I have a great deal of news to catch up on.”
Smiling, Sarita led the bewildered young woman away, leaving Feast Giver to stare after them, a thoughtful frown marring his handsome face.
Chapter Twenty-Four
That evening there was a feast given in honor of Sarita’s return. It was a lavish banquet, and the whole village attended.
Towards the end of the dinner, just before the ceremonial dances and singing, Thunder Maker slowly got to his feet. He stood quietly, with dignity, as he waited for his guests’ silence. A hush fell over the crowd as they listened respectfully to what he had to say. He began in stentorian tones. “Tonight I wish to announce that I will be giving a potlatch for my daughter, Sarita. This potlatch will be to restore her name and,” here he fixed his audience with a steely glare, “my family’s name now that she is free once again.” The audience was reverentially silent. Highly edified, Thunder Maker added, “The potlatch will be held ten days from now and all are invited.”
He waited patiently for the loud cheers to die down. When the happy cries finally stopped, he continued. “In addition,” he announced importantly, “I will be sending invitations to neighboring dignitaries. All will know that Sarita is indeed a worthy Hesquiat woman. All will speak well of her after they see the wealth that I, her father, can give away on her behalf.” With these parting words, Thunder Maker exited dramatically from the feasting area.
The Hesquiat people loved such theatrics and speculated happily amongst themselves about the forthcoming potlatch. Sarita, herself, was impressed with her father’s dignity and leaned over to say so to some of her companions.
She sat with the women of her family. Spring Fern was in attendance on her right, Precious Copper on her left. Abalone Woman and Crab Woman sat nearby.
The slave woman, Cedar Bundle, was seated next to Spring Fern. Sarita smiled at the woman, now having some understanding of how Cedar Bundle’s life had changed since her arrival in Hesquiat village. The woman smiled shyly back.
Sarita sat quietly savoring the sights and sounds of her home. Replete after a satisfying meal of smoked fish, roasted fern roots, and fresh salal berries, served with the ubiquitous oil, she was content in her newfound freedom.
She had yet to speak at any length with her father, and so far had not mentioned her suspected pregnancy to anyone. She wondered how her father would take the news. Ah well, she had been through so much and survived; she would survive this too, whatever his reaction.
&nbs
p; She idly surveyed the large feasting area. She was surprised to see how many young men were attending the feast. She wondered what brought them to her village.
She noted briefly that none of them were as handsome as Fighting Wolf. There he was again—creeping unbidden into her thoughts. Even now, surrounded by family and friends, she thought of him. Willfully, she purged him from her mind.
Her glance caught Feast Giver’s as he rose from his place and walked over to where she was sitting. “Greetings, Umiksu, Mother.” He nodded respectfully to Crab Woman. “Umiksu.” He nodded again to Abalone Woman. They murmured polite responses.
He squatted on his heels beside Sarita, blocking her view of the activities. “Well, sister,” he said. “Are you glad to be back home?”
For a moment, his grin reminded her of the old Feast Giver she had known, before the Ahousat raid had changed both of them.
She smiled back happily, pleased at being home, pleased at his present good humor. “I most certainly am,” she replied. “But I was wondering about something. As I looked around I see many young men—warriors—that I’ve not met before. Where do they come from?”
“Aah, Sarita, your sharp gaze misses nothing. They’re young men I’ve convinced to fight for me. Promises of wealth and fighting hold them.”
Sarita lifted one well-shaped brow. “Oh?”
“Mmmhm,” he went on to explain. “Most of these young men wish to join me in a raid on the Ahousats. For a share of the loot, of course.”
Sarita glanced at Precious Copper. Her eyes met her brother’s in a silent question. “No matter,” he said lazily. “She can’t warn her people of our impending attack. She only knows we will attack, she doesn’t know when, or how. Even Fighting Wolf must realize we’ll attack him eventually.”
He turned his gaze to Precious Copper’s. She met his unflinchingly, her chin thrust out. “Why don’t you try for peace?” she asked. “Hasn’t there been enough killing? Enough revenge?” Her musical voice was barely above a whisper. Sarita had to strain to hear her.
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