Strong Heart

by Charlie Sheldon

  I watched our camp as we left, looking at the body as it smoked on top of the flaming driftwood. Weeps a Lot lay upside down. The eyes in her smashed head followed us. I felt a cold breath in my soul. It was not the terror of facing an animal, but the deeper fear of an unknown spirit watching and judging before taking revenge.

  We passed to open water. Ahead all we could see was water. If the people’s home lay ahead, it was not yet in sight.

  Now we were four new wives, not seven. Rock Hide, Weeps a Lot More, and Weeps a Lot were dead. Cold Eye lived, and was now under Pretty Face’s robe. Tree Hide and Woman Too Soon were both gaunt, like women who had reached the end of their lives, not women barely starting. I had been small when I had been taken, and I was smaller now, this I knew. My hipbones jutted like spears, and my ribs were just beneath my skin.

  Fat Hair was no longer soft like a woman. His small eyes were pinched and sad. Watcher had been thin and all vein and muscle when I first saw him and he remained so. Bright Eyes, like the rest of us, was all bones, yet she was carrying a journey child. When the sun rose she was ill. Then she paddled.

  Pretty Face was not so pretty. His thin face, once flush with smooth skin and life, now held lines. His chin was sharp and cruel. His beautiful limbs and muscles were scarred and, like me, his hipbones stuck out. Thrower’s big ears seemed bigger yet. He had become thin and bony, his eyes huge. Since we had left the headland he had grown half a hand span. He was now as tall as Bright Eyes. Anger remained broad, with huge bones, a long head, but she too was worn. Her breasts were gone, and she had a rash on her skin made worse by the salt water. Each day her skin was more and more scabbed. She would scratch until she bled.

  The canoe leaked. We had to bail.

  I could feel Pretty Face’s eyes on me as I paddled. I knew he feared I would speak of his treachery to the others. I knew as the days passed his uncertainty about me would grow.

  As the sun crossed the sky the wind continued. Gulls flew around us, crying. We saw several big whales, leaping from the water and landing on their sides, throwing water the way the ice bear’s teeth threw water.

  All of us paddled. Fat Hair would call out if he wanted someone to bail, and then that person would untie his or her paddle and take a bucket and empty the canoe.

  We paddled through the night. Nobody slept. The sky was clear, the moon high and only days from being full. Spirits streaked across the sky, our ancestors calling our names.

  The sun rose. We were out of food. The canoe was foul. Still, we had to keep on, always on.

  Cold Eye slowly bailed. I could hear her behind me, throwing water, and the throws were far apart. When she finished, I did not hear her retake her place at the second thwart behind me to paddle. Instead she squatted on the robes under the tent.

  “I will rest.” She lay back on the robes.

  Woman Too Soon, who had been on the second thwart paddling opposite Cold Eye, brought in her paddle and loosed the strap around her paddling wrist. She said nothing and joined Cold Eye on the robes. Now instead of nine of us paddling, we were seven.

  “Return to paddle.” Fat Hair, paddling opposite Pretty Face in the rear of the canoe, spoke with force. “We are losing our race with the teeth of the bear.”

  We had been blown toward the ice bear. Off to the left, I saw large pieces of ice, barely rising above the waves.

  “I cannot.” Cold Eye remained on the robes.

  Fat Hair came forward, passing Tree Hide. The canoe lurched. Watcher struggled to brace himself as he fought with the steering oar.

  Fat Hair took hold of Woman Too Soon and struck her with his fist. He hit her on the shoulder, but not too hard. She cried out. He struck her again. She stumbled out of his grasp and climbed forward of the second thwart and took her paddle. She was nearly asleep, even while standing.

  Cold Eye did not move, even after Fat Hair struck Woman Too Soon. She lay on the robes, first looking at Fat Hair and then toward Pretty Face. Fat Hair struck her just as he had struck Woman Too Soon. Cold Eye cried out and seized her shoulder. She behaved as if Fat Hair had broken her arm. Cold Eye was acting, trying to make Fat Hair appear cruel in hopes Pretty Face would come to her aid.

  Pretty Face did not move, but then Fat Hair struck Cold Eye again, on the other shoulder. Pretty Face threw off his paddle and rushed at Fat Hair. Watcher, standing above in the steering position, reached down and grabbed Pretty Face’s long hair. Holding the steering oar in a grip between his right arm and his side, tight, Watcher pulled Pretty Face’s head up by the hair with his left hand, hard.

  Fat Hair had his hand raised to strike Cold Eye a third time. Watcher held Pretty Face by the hair. For a moment everyone stood so, as the canoe lurched and swung and some spray came aboard. Then Cold Eye, cowering, came fully to her feet and took her paddle. Fat Hair said nothing. He returned to his thwart. Watcher continued to hold Pretty Face, whose eyes were wild.

  Fat Hair ignored Pretty Face and retook his paddle. Now Watcher let Pretty Face go. Pretty Face nearly fell when Watcher let go. He was dark with rage. Cold Eye paddled, her face purple with shame and anger. Pretty Face returned to his position and took his paddle. He was across the canoe from Fat Hair. Between him and Fat Hair, Watcher steered.

  “Paddle.” Watcher spoke clearly.

  The high, jagged ice to the east rose to a distant, domed crest that seemed to stretch across all the sky north and south. South, I now saw mountains. These must be the mountains spoken of by these people, blocking the ice to the east, leaving open land to the west for the people’s home. Watching Thrower, I could see how much it meant, seeing his home rise before him.

  As we sailed, I saw a distant mountain ahead, with two black points like ears, great wide ice between, rise before me. The two points rose somewhat higher than the mountains around. These mountains blocked the great ice.

  Watcher cried out, pointing east, and I saw, beyond the distant crest of the ice bear, a perfectly shaped mountain, smoking. “We are home. There lies our mountain that smokes.”

  I heard Watcher, Fat Hair, Anger and Bright Eyes all talking. I heard joy and relief as they spoke, but in Fat Hair’s voice I only heard a deep sadness. He was returning with wives, but not his wife. He was returning with a journey child, but not his journey child. I did not hear Pretty Face.

  East, the ice bear came closer, the face rounded like a great snout into the ocean, pushing west, eating. The sun was bright, the wind strong. We could see, ahead, mountains, thick green forest, and the long slope of the lands west of the mountains, with no ice, there for use by the people. I could now even see, ahead, the shore we were approaching, distant but clear. I saw the flat sheen of a river, and beyond, the river’s deep valley, extending back into the mountains, leaving a deep shadowed wedge extending south and away. I wondered what my life would now be like, here, in this land.

  Watcher began to sing the return home song and Anger joined in. Bright Eyes sang with them. They sang to the twin-eared mountain ahead standing guard over their land.

  Pretty Face struck.

  I heard a great crash. Someone screamed. The canoe swung left, across the waves, and nearly turned over, leaning to the right. I was tossed against Thrower, who in turn nearly fell into the water as we rolled. Behind me, past the swinging sail, Fat Hair and Watcher tumbled toward the lowered side of the canoe. Pretty Face stood behind, knife in his hand. A great gash stretched across Fat Hair’s throat, and Watcher had a long gash in his leg. Fat Hair fell. Watcher fell against the lower rail of the canoe, held only by the ties around his waist to keep him on the thwart. Pretty Face cut those ties and Watcher fell out of the canoe into the water, bleeding. Bright Eyes, thrown to the bottom of the canoe, now rose with a razor stone knife in her hand. She threw it in one motion at Pretty Face. The knife struck his left eye, point first, and entered his brain. In an instant, he went rigid and collapsed, dead.

 
“Come.” Anger leapt for the steering oar. Bright Eyes kept her eyes on Watcher, who was trying to swim in the steep seas. His flailing arms rose and then he was seen no more. Bright Eyes began her loss song.

  Thrower helped Anger grab the steering oar. The others struggled to pull down the sail, because the canoe had turned and the wind in the sail pushed the canoe on its side. We lowered the sail just as Anger and Thrower got control of the steering oar. Thrower tied himself in and began steering the canoe.

  We managed to turn the canoe downwind. Tree Hide and Bright Eyes reset the sail. We surged ahead toward the shore, the mouth of the river now close. Chunks of ice filled the water, which we struck, again and again.

  Watcher was gone. Fat Hair lay dead, his throat cut open and bloody. Pretty Face lay on his back, the handle of the razor stone knife sticking from his eye. His other eye faced the sky. The smell of blood and death filled the canoe.

  Long Braid had been correct—life is difficult. Now, facing the beautiful mountains, hearing the calls of the gulls above me, seeing rainbows in the sea spray, I knew life was also beautiful.

  The shore approached. The waves grew steeper. Thrower struggled to keep the canoe straight. Then we slewed to the left as the waves from the sea fought against the outgoing river current. In the water below me I saw many huge salmon heading toward land, seeking their home just as we were seeking ours. Then I stumbled and fell.

  I awoke to feel cold water splashing on me, yet my hand was in hot water. Across the water, I saw the eyes of a bear. I was in the dark but for the light cast by those eyes. I lay there for a long time, until I understood I was no longer in the canoe.

  The eyes watched me. They blinked, and I knew it was time to leave. I followed the bear as it led the way. The path was difficult and frightening, leading down, then climbing up. The bear patiently led me. My head hurt and my hands hurt. At times I felt as if I was back in that canoe. I saw us swamping in the surf, then, half-filled, coming to shore, my small form lying in the bottom, in the water. But this was like a dream, not real. Being in the dark and trapped under the rock, this was real.

  We climbed. It was not far, this rocky passage, and then I saw light. I had to crawl beneath low rock, on my belly. My hands were torn and slick with blood. I crawled out into heavy rain and thunder. My eyes hurt. Lightning flashed close by. Thunder roared. I smelled smoke, and in the lightning flashes, ahead, I saw two people behind a sheet of falling water. I felt weak. I could barely walk. I fell.

  When I woke, I was dry and clean. I seemed in another dream, another place. Everything I had been through, all those days, all those memories, became as a dream. All during that time on that journey, I had not given a thought to this time and people, nor the way people spoke. I slept again.

  When I next awoke, I knew this language and I knew these people, the big ugly Haida who could be Watcher, his Sol Duc daughter who had captured me and carried me, and the man who was my grandfather, the man who had come to love me. I did not know why I was here, but these people, I knew.

  “Smoke, Tom.” It was still dark. William had risen and put on his boots. The sky was clear, with no wind. He had smelled smoke, but not campfire smoke. This smoke was acrid and sharp, the smoke from burning trees. Myra emerged from her tent, and Tom poked his head from their tent. Sergei rose from his tent, pulling on a long sleeved shirt.

  “Probably smoke from that Dodger Point fire,” William said, but he was doubtful. That fire was high on Dodger Point ridge, west. The fire was a long way above them. It wasn’t a threat to them here.

  “Maybe.” Myra laced her boots. “It could be whatever started last night behind us, too. I’m going to take a look.”

  “I’ll go with you,” William said. “Tom, Sarah, Sergei – we’ll be right back. Start packing up. Tom, try your radio, see if you get anything.”

  Myra and William mounted headlamps, turned them on, and started quickly up the trail. Without the lamps they would have been much slower, for here by the river the trail was beneath trees, rocky, and twisting, covered with branches and roots.

  They walked half a mile. The smell of smoke was strong but it was not hard to breathe.

  “I don’t know what to think, any more.” Myra led the way. “How could Sarah tell a story like that?”

  “I’ve heard elders describe their visions, Myra. So have you.”

  “But a months-long journey? Like that? Do you believe it?”

  “I always know the bear’s behind me in the sweat lodge, but I’ve never had an experience like Sarah’s. I don’t know what to think. I envy her.”

  “When she claimed to see that bear, near here, last spring, I envied her then, dad. I still do. I think Sergei, of the three of us, may believe Sarah the most. Did you see him, last night, listening to her? He kept nodding.”

  “Do you remember, Myra? He was going to tell us all something, just before we were attacked by Buckhorn?”

  “Don’t remind me, dad. I’ve treated him like a jerk this whole trip. His father just died.”

  “So maybe he’s not the monster you thought he was?”

  “He hasn’t been the monster, dad.”

  Half a mile up the trail the meadows of the upper Press Valley opened. All this distance, the smoke was present, but not too thick. As they approached the meadows, the smell grew stronger. Ahead, to the south, over the meadows, smoke concealed the stars.

  Myra stopped. Ahead, they saw flames, red dancing light among the trees. The fire was against the slope, over the trail, even burning the grasses of the meadow. Smoke billowed, blacker than night. As they watched, a thick cloud drifted over. William’s eyes watered.

  Myra turned around and started back. They walked fast. As they walked, the sky brightened. By the time they reached camp the stars were fading and William could see color.

  “I thought you said just a minute or two.” Tom was in his boots, waiting.

  Myra waved back up the trail. “We walked to the valley meadows. The fire that started last night’s there, maybe a mile from us. It’s growing, probably now covering 20 acres. It’s across the trail.”

  “Hell.” Tom’s radio sat on a stump. He pointed at the radio. “It was scratchy but I heard it. This trail’s closed. That fire down at the Lillian Crossing is 150 acres, right on the trail, up high before the trail drops to the bridge.”

  Now the sky was light. Sarah sat by the fire ring with Sergei. She had packed all her and Myra’s gear, including their sleeping bags and tent. Tom had done the same with his pack and William’s gear.

  William could see everyone was ready to go, but go where? Overhead and west, the rising sun caught the top of Dodger Point ridge. A pillar of smoke rose from the fire there. Down by the river smoke tendrils drifted through the trees, faint but clear. South, above the trees, William could see the column of smoke from the fire up by the meadow.

  Sarah watched the four adults.

  “Let me see the map, Tom,” Myra said.

  Tom handed her his map. She put away her headlamp and sat near Sarah.

  Sarah squinted at the map. “Are we trapped?”

  “If by trapped, Sarah, you mean unable to get out of here on trails, I think maybe we might be. We can’t go ahead to Whiskey Bend because five miles that way is the Lillian fire. We can’t go back south to the Hayden Pass Trail or Low Divide because of the fire that started last night a mile behind us.” Myra pointed to Dodger Point ridge. “We could try the Dodger Point trail, which leaves the river near Elkhorn, but that fire up there looks to be right over the trail where it traverses the ridge.”

  Sarah said nothing. Sergei rose and came over to stand by Tom.

  Tom turned to Myra. “What do we do, Myra? Didn’t you duck some fires when you did the Pacific Crest Trail last summer?”

  “Don’t remind me, Tom. At least here we know where the fires are. Last summer I smelled smoke and ha
d no idea. Go forward? Go back? Climb off trail? It was scary.”

  Tom watched Myra trace a line with her finger on the map. “We’re going have to go off trail, aren’t we?”

  “We could just sit somewhere down here, maybe Elkhorn, hope these fires go out. I’m pretty sure they won’t burn all the way to there.”

  “Been a damn dry summer.”

  “I know, Tom. Despite the rain when those thunderstorms went through. Even if none of these fires gets close, the smoke will get thick here.”

  William bent his knees, two or three times. He knew with a pack on his back they would hurt.

  “Look.” Myra had the map on her knees. Tom and William bent over her shoulder. Sarah looked on from one side, Sergei the other.

  “We’re here, a mile south of Elkhorn. See? On each side of this river, steep high ridges. There’s the trail up Dodger Point ridge, west, a mile ahead, but there’s a fire up there. The smoke would be deadly.” Myra pointed across the river, up the slope of Dodger Point, at the thick smoke rising. Then she pointed east. “But if we go east, off trail, behind Elkhorn, where we camped coming in, that ridge seems less steep, and there’s a source of water. See?”

  The map showed a slope east of Elkhorn rising four thousand feet. This was the ridge that separated the Lillian River from the Elwha River. If they climbed that slope, they would eventually come to an unnamed lake just west and 500 feet below Windfall Peak.

  Tom traced the ridgeline from Windfall Peak east toward Mt. Lillian and Grand Peak.

  “Myra have you ever been on this ridge? Is it even possible?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s away from the fires.” Myra folded the map, handing it to Tom. “We stay down here, it’s smoke and no way out. We hike to that lake, we’ll have water, no fires, and a way to escape. It may take a couple days and some time, but if we bushwhack over to Grand Valley there are people, rangers, and help.”

  Sergei put on his pack. “William, you told me you would show me your park, but you failed to mention I would be attacked and then trapped by fires. Now it seems we must flee these fires and then find our way across unknown cliffs to safety.” Sergei studied Myra. She studied him back. “I have confidence in Myra.”