Chapter 20
The mood at the next day’s council was tense. Few comments were made after Kilakota and Tewaugh agreed that war was inevitable. The Willamettes and Klatskanias had pledged blood and already sent appeals to allies for warriors next spring. The Tsinuks would have to answer that cry.
It was fortuitous that just weeks before, Comcomly, Kilakota and Tewaugh sent discrete messengers to pass on the names Oluck Kiya mentioned. After directly hearing the bragging taking credit for the wedges, they were ready to send their warriors down to us.
I had never before heard of a Tsinuk problem that wasn’t settled by negotiation. Whether trade or wrong doing, there was always resolution. But no one looked for settlement now. Instead of answers, both sides sought confrontation. Whether rationalized by revenge, defending our selves or defending our right to haul goods, everyone seemed to want war.
It certainly looked inevitable. There was a need to control Klatskanias raids and defend our Great River trade. But the coming violence promised little but tragedy and the cessation of trade. I trembled, powerless as the world chanted for blood.
In none of the councils I sat through did anyone talk of reducing tensions. Preparing for war was the only conceivable action.
It made little sense. It had always been claimed that nothing was more important than trade. That position seemed forgotten now. All agreed it threatened stability, but nobody voiced moderation. Self-righteous glorification of fighting seemed virile. Now no one acknowledged that the Willamettes and Klatskania’s had valid grievances.
Sitting in my temple gazing out through the drizzle my meditation was turbulent and my feelings boiled. My heart ached at the hatred pouring into the world. Two generations ago, the sea sent waves taller than trees because of human disharmony. That we would risk such retribution again left me cold.
The summer was gone and we eased toward fall. Yakala’s name remained unreclaimed. Comcomly had assembled the wealth for the potlatch. But instead we planned for war. Reared in a scholar’s house, then a monastery, I was ill equipped to address such things. Perhaps I’d focused too long on the Dharma. Reality didn’t fit my Buddhist proverbs.
We resettled into old routines. I spent my mornings with Nowamooks and evenings sitting behind Comcomly; mid-day I sat in my temple, weeded my moss and helped Uncle Tanaka. Language instruction gave way to coaching on cultural subtleties and political nuance. Nowamooks and I whispered in the dark of night, simply enjoying each other’s presence.
One morning Nowamooks told of dreams about a sea otter inviting her into the sea. I listened but paid more attention to the delicate line of her lips.
Dreams are curious creatures.” she yawned. “They can burrow into our minds and cause trouble.”
“My own dreams don’t.” I stroked her hand. “Do yours?”
“They whisper ‘Nowamooks is a queen’.” She chuckled derisively and pushed me back into a pile of blankets then scrambled to her feet.
Laughing, I struggled to catch up.
Though she claimed she was just beginning to understand her new bundle she already had people coming for its assistance. As in China, when anything is begun it’s felt best to acknowledge the spirits involved. And taking her role seriously was obviously good for her. Considering the reputation of Frog Earring’s malevolent spirit, I was amazed at her casualness.
It took greater strength than mine to work with such an entity. Whether or not it was truly malevolent, she had harnessed its power and bent it to serve her needs. She was paid irregularly; sometimes only a fish or berries. But people deferred now, stopping to nod respectfully.
She was asked to reconsecrate lodges, bless children and perform Raven clan rituals. Following the advice of her mother and uncle our business interests prospered. She bought a share of a canoe with the profit of leased fishing places, and constantly nurtured business by giving things away. Giving away a constantly she became influential, each gift and offer of assistance adding to a tide of goodwill.
I finally understood how giving bound us to neighbors and strengthened our place in the world. As the patron of artists she sponsored the repainting of our lodge-front and had masks carved for both Eagle and Raven clan ceremonies. Trading dentalia for Red Cedar rights allowed Tlkul Te-peh and Ta-mo-lich to make eighty talismans to protect every dwelling around the bay.
At last the fall clam festival arrived. It drew visitors from far inland wanting to feast on shellfish and see the ocean, most would return home with painted tokens and strings of dried clams as gifts. There will be profit even with family and friends with free room and board.
While families slowly gathered for the festival, a “coming of age” feast was being prepared for Comcomly’s niece Blue Thorn. Blushing and proud, she was taken aside to learn the rituals of her new status. The preparations consumed our village. Both her clan and her father’s societies pledged participation. Her relatives will shower her with presents and the village will witness her receipt of an adult name.
Moolack Okchock danced through the village with an entourage of Eagles. A selected few were being invited to a private mid-day gathering. I had expected to attend with Nowamooks until she informed me it was it was Eagle Clan business…and strictly a clan event. She was not invited. It was not for the ears of Ravens.
I was seated in a place of distinction, directly beside Comcomly, for I was expected to lend weight to the gathering and make a substantial donation. The feast would be expensive and as an Eagle and responsible Tsinuk, my support was rightfully expected. The mood was buoyant and expansive as our work-party dug ditches from the fire circle, hiding kelp speaking tubes so spirit voices would arise from the flames. Then we stretched strings overhead, so we could “fly” spirit doll from the shadows.
Eagle clan visitors had come from around the bay. There was constant activity as costumes were readied and gifts piled in an alcove. Soon, endless platters of food were being passed. Comcomly hovered proudly, greeting guests and arranging details. Thoroughly enjoying myself¸ it was late when I returned to give Nowamooks an account of our efforts.
With, Nowamooks readied baskets of gifts for the approaching Clam Festival. “It’s a time to be generous,” she insisted, “I’ll help choose you gifts.”
“Expensive ones?” I asked innocently.
“Of course, you foolish man.” She stood with her hands on her hips and her head cocked to a side. “Do you fear going hungry? Giving is a good tradition.” She pulled out a fist-full of dentalia.
“How about one of our fishing places.” It might be worth more than a casual gift should.
“That would be good.” she smiled.
“My war clubs?” I teased.
She grunted and blinked, disapproving on principle before making a face and nodding unsurely, embarrassed by my quirk of not valuing weapons. I fell asleep musing that no matter how much I gave away; my continual receipt of gifts defeated my nearly forgotten vow of poverty.
In all truth, acquiring things to give them away was good. I agreed with Nowamooks; the more valuable the gifts, the better. Our wealth was almost meaningless to me anyway. As she pointed out, we were far from hungry. I could easily afford the little I wanted. I found a strange attachment to having things that I’d never recognized as part of me before. It was far better to give them away.
The clam festival was a success and on it’s last afternoon Blue Thorn’s feast proved a boisterous affair. Visitors and villagers in elaborate dress sauntered through the village to gamble and watch the drumming and contests of skill. Kilakota led in the young woman and her mother to places of honor. Blue Thorn’s hair was braded with shells and her elaborate shawl hung open to her waist. Beaming and proud with all the attention, her cheeks were painted with Eagle symbols, her labret was reddish wood and abalone shell pendants graced her ears. Floating gracefully among us, her beauty was disarming.
Standing with Ellewa before the assembly, Comcomly shouted for attention and announced with a formal air
. “I present my niece Blue Thorn. She is now a woman of the Eagle clan and mother of all Tsinuks.” From all around came encouraging shouts and shaking rattles. “Childhood is behind her, she brings honor to our village.”
He smiled across the gathering. “As an elder of our Eagle clan, I’m proud to grant her the name of Ona Powitsh, the revered name of my great-grandmother. From this day, Blue Thorn, you are Ona Powitsh. Your name lives again within our clan.”
A great swelling cry filled the air. Drums were struck, rattles sounded, all around us people sang “Ona Powitsh...Ona Powitsh.”
She led a procession around the village, stopping at each lodge to blow feathery down through doorways and receiving the congratulations of other women. Then she toured the beach, blessing boats with a gracious wave.
I was with them in spirit, but held back from the throng. Between the traders and clam festival visitors, every lodge in the village was filled. Needing time to gather myself, I wandered to my temple for my afternoon meditation.
When I returned, Ona and her mother watched what seemed an uneven wrestling match. A tall, heavy youth was pushing a smaller boy into deeper and deeper water, but then was cleverly upended for his effort. At that moment Moolack Okchock announced the feast and with a cry of approval the crowd turned away, leaving gamblers arguing over who’d won.
Comcomly gave a short speech and settled beside Tewaugh. The crowd picked delicacies from bowls and listened to Moolack’s words. One group after another rose to honor Ona.
Then, four strangers rose and moved forward. From the outset they seemed nervous, the tallest giving a halting greeting in imperfect Tsinuk as they made their way toward the elders. Once they were close, the first one screamed, “We strike coup for the deaths of my brothers.” Cursing and pulling out weapons, they fell upon our elders.
Time was upended a breathless moment before the scene pitched headlong into chaos. After glancing around in confusion I noticed Comcomly sprawled unconscious before me and just beside him a man bleeding profusely from a slash across his face. Then the entire scene erupted and became a knot of writhing bodies as villagers dove-in to help.
Ona Powitsh stood among them shrieking at the top of her lungs spattered with blood, wide-eyed with her hands to her ears. I hugged her close to shield her. She was clearly in a dream; her opened eyes saw nothing as she fell limply into my arms. Trying to protect her from the tumult, I cradled her against me, murmuring meaningless reassurances, frantically looking about for Nowamooks.
The four strangers received a savage beating before our Black Mouth warriors waded among the confusion of limbs to haul the bloodied, barely-conscious youths away. Then as the confusion cleared, Ellewa and Nowamooks came to coo and fuss over Ona’s twitching body.
It was unspeakable, dishonorable behavior for a guest to attack a host, but such things were not unheard of. Somebody harangued from a lodge-front that the Willamettes were honorless cowards and that simple death of those striking the blows was too cheap a price to exact for the crime. Calls for war echoed and weapons were shaken as the setting sun touched the clouds with pink and gold. The village was filled with wailing sobs and a churning, angry crowd.
Comcomly barely breathed. A stone club struck his head at least one blow, opening his scalp, tearing an ear and breaking both skull and the bones of his shoulder. Komkomis had a long gash and rapidly darkening bruises on his forearms, Tewaugh suffered a broken wrist and Moolack Okchock lay senseless from a head-blow.
Since their injuries could certainly have proved far worse it was generally acknowledged that our Tsinuk totems offered protection. If the Willamette village had been closer there was little doubt that a revenging party would have left that evening–with or without our Black Mouth leaders. But Kilakota and Tewaugh withheld comment as night descended. Bonfires sent sparks skywards and Tsinuks circled about enraged, but no official plans for revenge were discussed.
We carried Ona Powitsh to our lodge, making a pallet in a front corner to keep her away from the wailing about Comcomly. Eyes open, she lay as if a ghost, staring blankly and mumbling nonsense. First her cousin Yakala was murdered and now her father and uncle were attacked before her eyes. Other’s blood streaked her face and clothes. Her world had been torn apart, her celebration ruined beyond retrieval.
Nowamooks and Ona’s cousin Squirrel Tricks soon appeared to carried Ona to a canoe and spirit her across the bay. I watched as they paddled away, hoping like everyone else that Ona would regain her soul.
That evening I kept to myself, away from the brewing violence. Gathering an armful of wood and carrying an ember from our lodge fire, I repeated Uncle Tanaka’s fire prayers and fed our sweat lodge’s fire, pulling my cedar shawl close before staring up to the eternal stars. A half-moon floated above as our village honed its hatred. Komkomis emerged from the dark and settled beside me without a word and we sat in quiet communion, poking at the coals and throwing twigs into the flames.
At long last he broke the silence. “My father is injured badly, Chaningsit. He probably won’t survive.”
I met his eyes in the flickering light and nodded.
“If he dies, I will be chief.” There was another long silence. His voice trembled. “I’m a second son. This wasn’t meant to be. I wasn’t raised to lead.”
He weighed a branch in his hand as slow, lamenting, songs wailed in the dark. Carefully placing his branch in the fire he leaned back and tapped his fingers nervously against his knee. “Tell me, Chaningsit, what do you know about leadership?”
I took a long moment before answering, silently watching him readjust a piece of wood in the fire. “A sage-king does not react to events and he’s glad for things to be done well.” I repeated the quotes feeling each one of that uncountable li separating me from such wisdom. “He embraces all people as his children.”
Komkomis’ fists clenched and then relaxed. “Even the Willamette? Even those who struck my father?” The yellow flames danced in his eyes.
I looked at him sadly. “Who is not guilty, Komkomis? Both sides share guilt. Who killed the boy’s brothers and cousins? Who killed boatmen on the River? Didn’t we discourage trade with the Klatskania and threaten those using Willamette boats? Who’s evil was first…back in ancient dreamtime? People have sought revenge ever since. As leader you must decide where it ends.”
“Easy advice… but I’ll be expected to do something. But just what Chaningsit? What? Tomorrow the Black Mouths will formally ask for revenge, the village tastes blood already. Those four who attacked are nothing and they won’t long live. They aren’t the problem. My mother wants those who sent them to scream with anguish.”
I poked the embers and watched sparks lift into the air. “Today people want revenge, tomorrow they’ll be angry because of no trade. Which value do you serve?”
He sighed. “The tribe will not follow a chief who won’t defend their honor. And my mother will not let this go unpunished.”
I took a breath and let all cluttering thought fall away. “My brother, you are my chief…but tonight and tomorrow you must have the strength to not respond with war.”
“Not taking revenge could lose the tribe’s support.”
“Could you act, but not attack? Perhaps that’s your answer.”
“Bad advice, Chaningsit.” Komkomis growled.
“Revenge quenches one thirst…while causing another. Willamette revenge will follow yours.”
“That’s just it, Chaningsit. I feel I’m a fish in a net, I don’t see what to do, but take revenge. Of course I understand you; the attack was intended to provoke anger. Attacking would be doing my enemy’s bidding. But there is more involved than meets our eyes. This is neither revenge nor business. There is something else going on.”
“Things will not be easy.”
“I know, friend. I know.”
We sat as our fire burnt to coals. Far above us the star-studded darkness stretched to infinity. We sat in moody silence, listening to the night when Newha Mok
st, the Black Mouth leader approached. I rose to leave, but Komkomis caught my wrist and motioned for Newha to sit. Short and broad shouldered, Newha Mokst’s chest bore the ragged scars of three sun dances. His cheeks were scared and his nose lay misshapen above broken teeth. He held himself stiffly, almost haughtily, but his eyes were clear and his voice relaxed, his carefully chosen words were almost musical.
He recited his lineage and credentials as Black Mouth leader for he was speaking in his official capacity—this was not a social meeting. His formality made it an affair of state. “Two were Willamette, two were Klatskania.”
The air about us suddenly twisted with subdued hostility. Newha and Komkomis remained studiously polite, but Komkomis’ words were terse. “Are they alive?”
“The Willamettes are, the Klatskanias aren’t. They were questioned through the night for the little truth we have.” Newha’s melodic, gentle voice was at odds with the substance of his words. I felt there was something odd about him coming to us here.
Komkomis looked up to the treetops beyond the village before looking back to Newha’s eyes, “Why? Their reasons.”
“All of them had missing brothers or cousins.” Newha Mokst stared directly at Komkomis, his gaze unwavering. Everyone already assumed that.
”Is there more?”
“They were naïve youths…manipulated. They were told that it was honorable.”
“And?”
“The Willamettes were commoners…they only knew rumors.” Newha dismissed them with a wave of his hand. “It was simple revenge for them...any Tsinuk blood would serve.”
Komkomis waited silently.
“But the Klatskanias wanted revenge against Tewaugh personally and Comcomly as Tsinuk chief. Their villages have seethed with anger and frustration since last year. Anger brought them, but they too came for honor.” Newha snorted contemptuously. “Their elders will pay for their sons attack…we’ve already asked for compensation. Their families will claim revenge, but it was their own elders who talked the boys into coming. They were manipulated with a loftier ruse.” Newha glanced at me and then quickly back to Komkomis. “They all knew of the old woman forced to drive the wedges.”
“Personal reasons…” Komkomis seemed relieved.
“Those aren’t the real reasons…they’re not enough to die for, but they believed them.”
“Who were they to come here to die?” Komkomis blinked, his voice had a tremor.
Newha gave a wry smile. “Well chosen nobodies, with no connections to anyone important. Sons of minor nobles…that’s the real message; they were chosen as a sacrifice. The Willamettes were commoners, just yokels being used.”
Komkomis glanced over at me, pausing two full breaths before asking, “Do you think they came for personal reasons?”
I shook my head and looked from Newha to Komkomis. “Of course I do; youth is romantic. But their reasons for coming aren’t important. What matters are the reasons of those who sent them.”
Newha smiled grimly. “They came without any chance of escape. Knowing they would die makes it personal. But they know nothing of the politics behind it; coming wasn’t their idea. Chaningsit’s right, their ignorance doesn’t change the politics.”
Komkomis straightened his back and sighed. “The Willamettes will be no problem. Commoners attacking nobles...their clans will pay dearly and we’ll disgrace them. The Willamettes survive on their upriver trade, but have lost both wealth and honor. This isn’t just about hauling freight.”
Newha grunted at the obvious.
“I assume they brought witnesses?”
“We assume it. Most visitors left quickly.”
The conversation fell to silence. Komkomis and Newha Mokst stared into each other’s eyes, each waiting for the other to break the spell. Finally Komkomis leaned closer. “They were an unlikely group to work together. Do we know who directed them?”
Newha smiled grimly. “Of course. Your mother knew when it happened. But there’s no proof.”
“And, it doesn’t explain my brother’s murder…”
Watching them talk I realized there was something false going on. It sounded rehearsed; they weren’t talking naturally. Instead of clarifying things they deliberately obscured them. Were they simply withholding parts or was I missing something obvious? Why try to mislead me?
“There were Black Mouths on the Willamette boats.” Komkomis’ his voice hushed. “Tewaugh and my father are rumored responsible, what mood are your brothers in? Who do they think is at fault?”
I held my breath. The tension was as brittle as glass. Time inched through uncomfortable silence as they sat like statues. Even the air was still.
Newha Mokst looked levelly at Komkomis, pursed his lips and carefully considering his words. “Some suspect Tewaugh…he had reasons and ability, but we don’t know. The ocean and rivers take boats and lives regularly. Maybe it wasn’t intrigue. If it is, revenge will be paid, but I’ve known Tewaugh all my life. Things are seldom what they seem. The Willamettes might have settled an internal score. Tewaugh has always been smart, he would know he’d be the first suspected.”
He had addressed Komkomis, but his words were for me. Whoever was at fault, blame obviously spread far wider than one person. Tewaugh, Yakala and Comcomly, even Komkomis and Kilakota benefited and had resources. This meeting wasn’t a discussion; it was theater.
Komkomis coughed impatiently. “More violence is rumored.”
“We assume so.” Newha shrugged and changed the subject. “But the Willamettes hear things from Tewaugh’s lodge before we do..”
Komkomis stared into the night, “I’ve heard that….” He seemed to consider another question, but gave a sigh and straightened and didn’t ask. “Thank you for your efforts, please give my thanks to your brothers. There will be recognition within the moon. Tell your society my family thanks them for their loyalty in everything.”
Newha Mokst nodded and rose to his feet.
“The Willamettes,” Komkomis added, “are they alive?”
“But broken badly. You’ll have to send word quickly to make best use of their dishonor. We’ll return the Klatskanias’ heads without ears or scalps. Their bodies will go to the dogs.”
Komkomis grunted approval as Newha slipped away.
I stayed behind when Komkomis returned to our lodge, feeling sure something about the meeting between Newha and Komkomis was wrong. It hurt me to think Komkomis would want to mislead me. With Nowamooks across the bay I felt adrift and more an outsider than I had in months.
After meditating, I wandered the beach and didn’t return to our lodge until morning. Settling beside Comcomly, I listened to his raspy, irregular breath. Sitting against the wall, Kilakota had fallen asleep. I didn’t disturb her. I knelt beside Comcomly, knowing in my heart he would not recover, whispering quietly to him in Chinese, passing on the information traditionally whispered to dying monks, sure that his spirit would understand.
“Your tasks in this life are finished, my father.” I murmured quietly. “You are dying now. As you slip from this sphere, desperation and confusion may sweep around you, but you must remain calm while your injured body fails and dies. You must remain calm even though you face losing all you have ever known, you must release all longing for the things you have cared for. For you this world is already gone. Your time here has passed and a new path lies before you. This cannot be changed. You must accept this truth, my father. Stride purposefully into your future without looking back.”
I recounted our talks and his wise council and told him of my deep admiration. I called him “father” with all sincerity and willed him to remain centered within his being despite the evil that robbed him of life. I assured him that my spirit would steady him and my meager strength was his for those first insecure steps when no familiar sights would reassure him. I sat with him a long, long time, then curled by myself under blankets in our alcove, thinking of Nowamooks.
It was only hours later, as I sat in meditation,
when the wailing cry arose from the village. Without being told, I knew my father-in-law, our chief, was dead. He probably slipped away without regaining consciousness—each hour his breath had grown shallower and his skin dryer. Now grieving…his broken bowl had emptied and his village spirit soaked into our common dust.
I mumbled a private prayer as I walked back to the village, listening the wailing spread. The sun was high as canoes from about the bay pulled ashore and family and friends gathered to share their common grief. The death was expected, the Raven clan contracted to handle the corpse were already opening a hole in the roof to remove his body so his unhappy spirits would not know how to return.
Nowamooks returned as the sun eased past noon. Some people wailed in displays of grief others sat numb and empty. I sat beside Nowamooks greeting mourners as baskets and trays of food piled up uneaten. Visitors spoke quietly, exchanging gifts with rueful thanks. Shadows were lengthening by the time the food was disbursed among the crowd.
Nowamooks, Komkomis and Kilakota and I fasted two days, mourning while his spirits came to grips with their plight.
The second evening, Nowamooks and I stood together staring out over the bay. “Another death Chaningsit...”
I nodded and squeezed her hand.
“Komkomis needs you, but there are things you need to know.”
I tensed. I’d avoided him since that evening by the fire.
“Kilakota was the one who sent Newha Mokst. She wanted you to understand.”
I stiffened warily and looked out over the bay. “Understand what?”
Her voice lowered. “We’ve tried to teach...but you don’t understand.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you really understand our waiting for revenge? Kilakota wants you to know that we won’t act in anger. But also know that there must be revenge, not for our grief, but to heal our communities and trade. She wants you to know that we wait because there is so much unknown. Do you see how Tewaugh is suspected by the Black Mouths, but they wait because there is more to understand? Do you understand? If he is responsible, no one will save him. He could try and run, but he doesn’t.”
I squeezed her hand, but waited the space of two breaths before starting slowly. “Sweet one, please tell your mother I I’ve always understood her delaying revenge, I understand why you wait…I think it’s wise and skillful. I don’t understand her wanting revenge more than peace and trade and good neighbors. It’s revenge I don’t understand. If revenge hurts trade, how can it be wise?”
In truth, I suspect there are problems such as the Klatskania raiding traders, the attacks here, lost boats, murders, the division of the world, vows to burn our lodges, where it might be skillful to strike hard. For me that is different than revenge.
“Tell your mother that I support the delay; I understand cautiousness, but not Newha Mokst’s half-truths.” Your mother tried to manipulate me. I feel insulted and mistrusted by that. I’m not told truth. If I’m not trusted how can I trust her? I pretend ignorance because I don’t want to catch her lying.”
“Oh.” Nowamooks straightened and her lips puckered into a smile. “I see.” she laughed. “You do understand.” She smiled and her eyes glistened indulgently as she nuzzled against my arm. “Sometimes I forget you are a shaman with your own invisible ways and not the simple-minded stranger you appear to be. Do you think revenge can help us return trade to our lives?”
I whispered “No.” Then looked away, trying to decide if I was being insulted.
“Chaningsit?” she murmured quietly.
“Yes?”
“Remember Raven’s Heart’s warning? This attack was not an act of passion by angry youths. She warned us it was planned…two moons ago. Kilakota plans over years…long before the excuse of revenge.” She touched my cheek and led us back to our alcove.
I lay awake that night as my thoughts streamed on. So the “meeting” was staged. She felt no shame at telling half-truths. It wasn’t intended as an insult, it was how she acted. Whether or not it was Tsinuk, it was her way. It explained Newha Mokst’s unease and the story’s incompleteness. But why on earth go through the trouble?
I felt a profound sadness. Despite my constant effort, despite adoption, marriage and initiation I would always be a stranger. I hadn’t see things as they were, but as they effected me. The webs connecting me to our family as well as those connecting our community and the spirit realms to the world were all badly torn and frayed. With a war looming, each village felt alone and isolated. Like them, I felt adrift, un-moored from all that sustained me.
Ignorance and blindness I could understand, but how could I help if I wasn’t thought of as someone valuable enough to be told truth? And, why was Yakala’s potlatch put off yet again?
Nowamooks was right, I understood only the sunlight glittering the surface of things and had little grasp of the current and rocks below. I was no closer to the truth than a year ago. Perhaps I would never be Tsinuk.