Savage Betrayal (33 page)

This brutal reminder subdued Sarita and she followed him as carefully and as silently as she could. He must have taken her words to heart, however, for she noticed he no longer walked as briskly through the brush and she was able to keep up with him.

At last they reached a small cove. She recognized it immediately as the cove where the women anchored the large chunks of cedar bark underwater in preparation for softening the bark. She glanced quickly around, but could see no one on the beach.

Rottenwood bent over a small patch of bush and grunted as he tugged heavily at the dark form of a canoe. Rushing over, she added her strength and together they dragged the canoe out of the brush and onto the gravel beach. She took the bow of the canoe and he lifted the stern. Together they managed to pull and push the heavy craft into the shallow waves.

Suddenly Sarita darted back for her basket; she’d almost forgotten it in her haste. She flung it into the canoe, then hastily clambered aboard and crawled to the bow again.

At the stern, Rottenwood had placed one leg in the canoe, and propelled the craft into deeper water with the other. They were off!

Sarita shivered with barely repressed excitement. “We made it!” she whispered exultantly.

“Silence,” came the hissed reply. “Sounds carry over water.”

She refused to let the man’s caution dampen her hopes. “Nevertheless,” she insisted, “I know we’ve made our escape!”

She heard his deep chuckle in the darkness. “Perhaps,” was all he said.

* * * *

Sarita sat scrunched in the bow of the canoe, her arms dipping the paddle repeatedly as she pushed against the choppy water’s heavy resistance. Her mind was intent on only one thing—paddling to freedom.

Had she cared to, off to her left she could have looked out over the vast gray water, where caps of white foam flicked across the rippled crest of each wave. Off to her right rose high, sheer mountains, covered by towering forests. In the early morning dimness, the mountains appeared as giant, charcoal-colored sentinels looming out of the mist. The usual thick fog was absent this morning, but she neither noticed nor cared.

She hunched over, the jerky bouncing of the canoe making her nauseous. Salty spray drenched her face and hair. She felt sticky all over. Her hands were blistered, and her back ached from paddling in one position all night. Her legs had long ago gone numb—she’d kneeled the whole night through. Privately, she doubted she’d ever walk again.

As if taunting her with the insignificance of her problems, the vast morning sky began to blaze crimson, amber, and magenta. Never had she seen a sunrise to rival this one, she thought to herself. And the knowledge that she was free added to the glorious beauty!

She stopped paddling to admire the dawn sky and savor her freedom. Never again would she take her liberty for granted. She had worked too hard to recapture it.

She glanced back over her shoulder at Rottenwood. His eyes looked sunken in the dim light. She knew he was tired, probably close to exhaustion. “Would you like some more fish?” she asked solicitously.

Rottenwood shook his head and kept paddling. He was determined to reach Hesquiat village and Spring Fern, but he knew if he stopped paddling now, he’d never start again. He suspected Sarita knew it too.

Sarita shrugged and took up the paddle once more. It felt heavy in her blistered hands. She resumed paddling and they traveled without further conversation.

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.

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--?”