Savage Betrayal (2 page)

“Maybe Fighting Wolf is tired of war,” sighed Spring Fern. “I know I’m tired of talking about it.” She caught Sarita’s eye and grinned as she added, “Maybe he’s heard how beautiful you are and wants to marry you for that reason.”

“Hmmph,” sniffed Sarita. “I suspect a man like Fighting Wolf, trained only for war, does not concern himself with things like beauty. He would have no softness in him. Besides, he probably has his pick of beautiful women.”

When Spring Fern raised a brow inquiringly, Sarita explained, “Women taken as slaves in the many raids he’s led.”

“Oh.”

Sarita continued her musing, “No, there must be something, some reason, why he offered for me.” She paused in her picking. “Spring Fern, I don’t like it. I don’t trust him.”

“Your father does,” shot back Spring Fern.

“Does he? You say that because he’s agreed to give me to Fighting Wolf,” stated Sarita slowly. “Or is Nuwiksu forced into this alliance as much as I am?”

Spring Fern could see no end to Sarita’s speculations. She decided to distract her mistress. “My cousin is visiting me. She comes from Yuquot.” Spring Fern watched as Sarita turned to her pensively, still preoccupied by thoughts of Fighting Wolf.

“Yuquot?” Sarita asked dazedly. She gave a start, coming out of her reverie. “Any news from that town?” she asked, feigning interest.

Spring Fern smiled. “My cousin says there have been many changes in Yuquot since the
mumutly,
the white men, came there, many moons ago. They came in their big ships…ships longer than your father’s longhouse and with big tall trees on them.” Spring Fern paused, catching the spark of interest in Sarita’s face.

Satisfied that her mistress’ curiosity was aroused, she continued, “My cousin says the
mumutly
are crazy for sea otter furs. They’ll trade anything for the furs, even for old robes no one wants to wear any more. They’ll even take old sea otter blankets, good only for sleeping on! And it’s hard to believe, but for those ancient furs, our people can get hard metal fishhooks. We can get weapons like knives and daggers. We can trade for kettles, pots, and jewelry too. Very valuable things! The traders have beautiful blankets, too…some red ones and the prettiest blue ones, woven from soft cloth. Fit for a chief.” Spring Fern herself would never have such fine things, but perhaps Sarita would.

Spring Fern continued, “My cousin even said,” and here she lowered her voice in a conspiratorial whisper, “that some of the
mumutly
traders have a new kind of weapon, things called ‘mus-kets.’ But she didn’t know how they worked.”

Sarita was becoming interested in what her slave was saying. She knew little about Yuquot, only that the small village had sprung into prominence since the recent coming of the white men. Yuquot was to the north of Sarita’s village, some two days’ travel by canoe. “Is it true,” she ventured, “that there are now many more people living in Yuquot that ever before? Did your cousin mention that?”

“Oh, yes,” nodded Spring Fern. “She says there are many more people now. Too many. She’d like to leave, but she can’t.”

Sarita guessed the cousin was also a slave.

“Everyone who wants to trade goes to that town now. People from up and down the coast travel for days so they can get the hard metals or weapons. My cousin said the chief, Maquinna, owns the
mumutly
traders and will not let them sail their ships to any other village. He told them they’re safe at Yuquot; they won’t be eaten. Everywhere else lurk dangerous cannibals!”

Amused, Sarita asked, “And they believe him?”

“They must. They don’t trade anywhere else.” Spring Fern chuckled. “My cousin tells me that when the
mumutly
first came to Yuquot, Maquinna and all his people thought the
mumutly
were Salmon people.”

“What?” exclaimed Sarita, intrigued. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Well, you know stories are told that deep under the sea there’s a great house where the Salmon People and the Herring People live. We must honor the Salmon and Herring People, and give them gifts, otherwise they’ll become angry and dangerous; they may even leave and we’ll go hungry.”

“I know that,” interrupted Sarita impatiently.

Spring Fern continued hastily, “When the
mumutly
first came to Yuquot, they stood on the decks of their big ships with the tall masts. Our people paddled out in canoes to get a closer look. There was a fat man, very red-faced with a big nose. “Oh, he is a coho salmon, ready to spawn,’ one man said. Another
mumutly
had a very hooked nose. ‘He must be a dog salmon, that one,’ said someone else. Still another had a hunchback. ‘See the humpback salmon,’ exclaimed somebody else in the crowd. So it went. Every
mumutly
on the ship looked like a fish of some kind. And after all, they were floating on the sea, where the Salmon People come from.” She paused. “Of course, it didn’t take long to find out they were just men.”

Sarita was fascinated. “What else did your cousin say?” she asked.

“Hmmm, well. When the
mumutly
first came to our shores, they gave out gifts to all the people. Everyone received a round, flat, hard thing with tiny holes poked in it. No one knew what to do with such strange things, but everyone was too polite to ask. Some people used them for good luck charms. Others thought they were pieces of polished wood. Most used them for souvenirs but a friend of my cousin’s used one to wipe her breasts when her baby wouldn’t drink all the milk. Nobody really knew what to do with the things. The
mumutly
called them ‘pilot bish-kit.’ One day, a Yuquot man watched in astonishment as a
mumutly
popped a bish-kit in his mouth and ate it!” Spring Fern paused dramatically. “And so, to this day, pilot bish-kits are eaten.” The women laughed together at the story.

“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.”