Chapter 19
As we were constantly traveling, we were out of touch with the important news of the River. I was often included when messengers arrived, but it was seldom satisfying. I found that my pleasure with intrigue and secrets had dimmed. Being so far from the safety of home, I was constantly worried.
Visiting major traders and noble lodges was high on our list, but we also looked for smaller villages, sometimes visiting four in a day. Tewaugh felt small villages often had access to the best crafts, but fewer chances to trade. So we followed the Samish and Lummi coastlines with their infinite bays and islands like the itinerant traders carrying market stalls on their backs.
Among the endless islands I had opportunity to fine-tune my understanding of the Salish dialects. Trading was slow, tedious business and confronting a different languages was a pleasant novelty.
Besides carving large ocean-going boats, the NuuChaNulth harvested most of the dentalia traded throughout the world…and jealously guarded their secret. Trading with them had been our objective since Nahcotta. After trading there, our steps would be toward home. Our captains guided us around coastlines so identical that I kept assuming we circled about, but time after time I was wrong.
With their strong tides and currents, the inland waterways could be as rough as the ocean with waves that careened from all directions. We traced the forested coast to the mouth of sheltered bays where we were met by boats of singers that scattered feathers upon the water.
Many of the ancient NuuChaNulth lodges were elaborately decorated, with elaborately carved posts and beams. Their wealthy traders surrounded themselves with the best of everything. Here in the north, woven cedar bark replaced reeds for mats, and woolen blankets were everywhere. Their wealth was obvious, but it appeared they lived much as we did. So much their households had been imported that they revealed little of the local culture.
The first NuuChaNulth village claimed they weren’t interested in obsidian. “Gossip precedes us.” Komkomis mumbled as we traded pounded salmon, elk hides and tobacco for dentalia.
“Do they know we want dentalia?”
“We won’t admit it…but why else would we come so far?”
Tewaugh had anticipated such a ploy. We didn’t offer obsidian for the next two stops. When Nowamooks finally produced some, its worth had increased.
Our NuuChaNulth hosts were wealthy; maybe even wealthier than Tsinuks. As expected, they displayed their finest furnishings, exquisite bowls, exceptional baskets, and dog-hair blankets so soft they felt like feathers. Nowamooks guessed that they asked knocked-down prices because serious trade had fallen away and the market for local goods had collapsed. We heard rumors of hairy strangers trading beads, strange fabric and metal, but always somewhere far away.
I bought a woven NuuChaNulth hat for myself, with whaling scenes around the brim and picked another as a gift for Kilakota. Though walking away twice, I returned for a dozen more for gifts and trade, and found a rare bone handled knife for Comcomly and an Eagle clan bowl with tight-fitting lid for Uncle Tanaka.
We spent hours picking jewelry that might fit Tzum Tupso, Ellewa and Blue Thorn. Nowamooks insisted that anything suiting them would sell. I bought a beautiful pipe for Tewaugh showing a woman perched on the back of a raven with a frog in its mouth–the carving so perfect you could count the woman’s fingers and trace her smile. Bargaining was as important as in China, but I’d never been very good at it. Once I found something I left it to Nowamooks’ intimidating tenacity.
Late in the day the sky crowded with thick dark clouds and the winds whipped the bay into whitecaps; buffeting trees and swirling twigs and debris beside paths. Our boats were dragged up beside our host’s lodge and snug shelters made between them. They were barely finished when the storm descended with pounding rain and gusts that whipped the bay to froth.
Nowamooks and I pleaded fatigue and curled under our blankets, happy to escape the social whirl. The storm went on for two full days, but on the third, calm weather returned and a shy sun warmed the steep wooded slopes of the bay’s rocky shore.
After a final morning of trading our dentalia was divided between the boats and our diminished cargo lashed in place. I looked down on the NuuChaNulth beach under a sky of blue streaked with scuttling wisps of clouds. This land was blessed indeed.
We had all but exhausted our trade goods, the heavy elk hides and boxes of salmon were gone. In their place we had piles of soft northern blankets, cedar-wood boxes packed with bundles of elegant inlaid ware, tools and clothing and jewelry of every kind. We carried a fortune in dentalia–our boats would ride high as we returned. But now more than ever we were ripe for plucking. Our boats were left fully loaded while our crew kept their weapons close. We were wary of every shadow.
“Everybody knows we’ve been successful. Some must wonder if we might be careless.” Nowamooks followed my gaze to our boats.
The crews of the boats missing from the Great River must have known the risks as we did and had Black Mouth warriors for protection. But still they were taken. Any of thousands of coves and islands could hide an ambush. If our boats didn’t stay close we’d be near helpless on the water. Once ashore the combined warriors of a few villages could overwhelm us. Knowing our warriors would kill an equivalent number lent no assurance that we would survive.
But instead of pushing for home we traced a lazy route along the coves and bays, dawdling far longer than needed. I finally asked Nowamooks why.
“Because we haven’t finished what we came for,” she answered crisply.
“What can be so important? It risks everything.”
She gave an easy shrug. “An important piece remains out of reach.”
Two days later, Wickananish, the chief of a small Salish speaking village quietly escorted us to his small, but gracious lodge. Normally mid-day, any lodge, small or large, would be busy. There should be elders tending fires and children doing chores. But inside it was eerily empty; no idlers waited at the entrance. Its fires smoldered, unattended.
Wickananish led us through to the storage room beyond the ceremonial screen. It was a small room crowded with dusty boxes and baskets, supplies and masks–and a single person sitting quietly.
Oluck Kiya.
I felt my hackles rise but he sat calmly with his hands on his knees, looking up with half a smile. Wickananish simply gave a polite nod and ducked out. Nothing was said as his footsteps receded to the lodge’s door.
An awkward silence engulfed us. A vague murmur of activity came from somewhere outside, then even that distant sound grew still. Light from the occasional crack in the thick cedar walls and roof tempered the dusty darkness.
Komkomis settled before Oluck Kiya and nodded in a gesture of respect.
Unsure of what was unfolding I settled quietly beside Nowamooks.
Oluck Kiya’s face was relaxed. His breath was slow and even. A smile even tickled at the corners of his mouth. I looked from him to Komkomis, to Nowamooks and back.
“You have served us well my friend,” Komkomis began. “You’ve gone well beyond what we’d agreed. Your friendship is true.” Komkomis untied the bundle he carried and unrolled it before Oluck Kiya. It held dozens of prime pieces of obsidian and eight matched strings of unblemished dentalia.
I ran through some possibilities and came up blank. What service had Oluck Kiya performed worth such a gift? Hiring Oluck Kiya to kill Yakala to gain the chieftainship was unthinkable even if such rumors were common. If so, Nowamooks would be his accomplice. If it was so; they must assume I had equal guilt. I shook my head against the idea, and grasped for other answers.
Komkomis still smiled, Nowamooks showed no tension. But Oluck Kiya didn’t glance at the bundle. Finally Komkomis raised his hand. “All of us are victims, but your efforts have returned your honor. Please take these trifles; we’ve all grieved enough. With your news we can strike revenge.”
“I cannot mend your brother’s death and cannot clear my name. So I cannot accept you
r gift.” He folded the covering back over the gifts and pushed them aside. “When revenge is struck it will be an honor to fight beside you.”
He sat stiffly, staring straight ahead. “The wedges were driven by Quaempts, the old Klatskania wife of the Chehalis, Umtuch Selam. Before any of us were born she was captured by someone unknown and given as a child-slave to Tewaugh’s father. Knowing her unhappiness, he gave her to the Kwalhioquas because she had relatives among them. Eventually she married a Chehalis, but all her life hated Tsinuks because she remembered them after being taken from her family.”
“The day before the whale hunt a cousin visited...a Klatskania, who threatening to kill her granddaughter if Quaempts didn’t do as he demanded. He provided the wedges and put the hammer stone in her hand. I’ve learned this from a Klatskania, a cousin of her cousin.”
Nowamooks eyes grew round, but Komkomis maintained his partial smile, nodding at each point.
I began to understand. After accepting responsibility and having it look like he’d broken with his father, Oluck Kiya would be one of the few who could ask questions of the Willamettes and Klatskanias without suspicion. Gossip about his sister and father staying with us reinforced the idea that he hated Tsinuks.
“The Klatskanias claim they arranged it because Tewaugh made fools of them.”
“How sure are you?” Komkomis asked gently.
Oluck Kiya didn’t pause. “There may be other explanations, but I think it’s true. Quaempts story was what she believed when she took an old canoe to chase the setting sun. She humbled herself in telling the story and her daughters accept shame by repeating it. What would lying gain?”
“Quaempts hadn’t known anyone would be hurt…she only damaged the boat to get her granddaughter back. When people did die, she was disgraced and needed the truth told to salvage some honor. It made sense that she’d tell her daughters. The Klatskanias’ and Willamettes’ bragging confirmed it. Both claim the planning.”
Oluck’s delivery was calm as he quoted specific discussions and listed who was there. His command of detail was noteworthy and his memory seemed as least as good as mine.
Oluck Kiya took a breath and looked about as if measuring the stillness. “There is still violence planned against Tsinuks. Don’t take it lightly.” He shook his head sadly. “Now, I have repaid what I can…there is nothing more to tell.”
Only the slight creaking of planks and the distant barking of dogs could be heard. I felt the steady throb of my heart and realized I believed him.
Komkomis’ voice was soft and quiet. “Until our revenge is ready we will not speak of this.” He glanced my way, then back to Oluck Kiya. “The story of a dead woman will not justify revenge, but soon enough few will doubt it.” He gave a wry smile. “It must remain secret until then. You’ll wear dishonor a bit longer my friend, but before this ends I’ll proclaim your honor to the world.”
Oluck Kiya smiled a shyly. “No one besides ourselves and Wickananish knows and he is my mother’s third uncle.”
Komkomis held a fist to his chest. “No Tsinuk will betray us.” Komkomis, Nowamooks and I stood as Oluck Kiya strode away, leaving his bundle behind.
We reached the Makaha village by late afternoon and were welcomed with another feast. Komkomis talked about canoes, but the Makaha knew of our success and would not reduce their price, so we continued our journey south.
The last days of travel and trade were uneventful, but the sun grew warmer and the wind was barely a breath. The sea stretched slick and cold, offering a ripple-less expanse of low broad swells. We made cursory stops at friends, dropping off packages from Northern relatives and feasting on roasted mussels, but otherwise continued a steady pace set to the rhythm of chants and paddles.
After stopping at out Quileute neighbors on our last night, we set off as dawn’s pale streaks first spread across the sky. A bank of low clouds huddling on the horizon threatened weather, but we were safely back at home before the evening’s stars.
Snuggled among our blankets and surrounded by the familiar smells of our own lodge, I remarked that the meeting with Oluck Kiya was interesting but that with Quaempts dead, the story of placing the wedges would be a hard to use
“Oh no Chaningsit, it’s vital. It was the reason we went.”
“But we already knew the Klatskanias and Willamettes were responsible. We knew it the next day.”
She looked across with sad reproach and shook her head. “You watch the surface and miss the current.”
I raised a skeptical eyebrow, “Oh? Then explain what difference it makes.”
“Chaningsit...all existence is spun from details.” She rolled and pushed her cold feet against my leg.
I lay staring into the dark. I resented her answering with a proverb. If there was something vital in what Oluck Kiya said, I couldn’t fathom it. Komkomis and Oluck talked of some special information making revenge possible. But it wasn’t the story behind the wedges. Convinced I’d missed something, I went over it over and over.
I lay thinking in the dark a long while before finally smiling to myself and feeling satisfied. Oluck Kiya had mentioned specific Willamettes and Klatskanias who had admitted planning and arranging the wedges and listed the names of those who had heard them. If our allies carefully asked such people the right questions they might hear the true story. Our foes had bragged about it with considerable relish. Once that was done, Kilakota would have her revenge.
At last satisfied, I cuddled around Nowamooks and turned my attention to why she or her mother wouldn’t make it easier for me to understand.