Jonny liked the sound of those words — wilderness wisdom — especially since he had none of it. He would like to get to know this girl better. Maybe she could teach him a few things.
He spied Ernie crouching by the side of the path.
On the branch of a pine, a small bird covered in white feathers clucked in contentment. Its hooded eyes were half shut. Ernie rose and fired his slingshot in the direction of the tiny clucks.
The owl’s round yellow eyes flew open. It teetered for a minute and tumbled down.
“Got him,” Ernie crowed. “We can take him to …”
“You’re not taking him anywhere,” Silver Cloud said. “He already belongs to someone.” She placed the cage on the ground beside her and opened the door.
The tiny owl stood up, spread his wings, and snapped his beak. Half-flying and half running, he charged the boy who had knocked him off his perch.
Ernie turned to run, but tripped on a tree root and fell flat on his face. The owl pounced onto his back, ripping at his shirt with his claws and pulling at his hair with his beak.
“Stop him, stop him!” Ernie cried out.
Silver Cloud put her hands around the fierce little owl and lifted him off.
Ernie covered his eyes and rolled over. Peeking through his fingers, he saw the girl putting the owl into the cage. “That bird didn’t have much meat on him anyway,” Ernie said, as he dusted himself off. “It looks like we’ve got to find something else to eat.”
“Come with me,” Kalaku said, “there will be a feast in the village.”
“Count us in!” Ernie exclaimed. He turned to Jonny and slapped him on the back. “We can hang out with this old guy until my dad gets here.”
A sharp wind whipped the waves in the bay when they reached the shore. Jonny shivered as he crunched across the frost-stiffened shore grass. A canoe waited on the rim of clear ice along the pebbly shore. But it wasn’t made of bent wood and bark, like the ones at the school. This boat was a large hollowed-out log with a bow that rose from the water like a shield.
Kalaku handed each of them a furry cloak that smelled of rabbit and smoke. Jonny quickly pulled it around his shoulders as his thin, torn shirt offered little protection from the chilly air.
The old man stood at the edge of the driftwood strewn shore and extended his arms upward. His face was as brown as a dried apple with lines so deep he looked like a carving. “We ask for a safe journey,” he called out to the waves.
As the bay water pulled away from the bow, Jonny looked back. A blanket of fog hovered over the logs of burnished silver that covered the rocky shore. He tapped Ernie on the shoulder and pointed. “Look there’s no dock.”
“Storm must have wiped it out,” Ernie replied with a shrug.
Jonny continued to stare at the river bank. All he could see was the lush mantle of snow-covered cedars along the shore. As he breathed in the pungent sea air, the tang of seaweed seemed to be sharper. Surely there would be wreckage, he thought. It looked as if the dock had never existed. And what did the old man mean when he said it was time to begin again?
9
The Great Lodge
Across the bay, plumes of smoke rose along the horizon. As they approached the shore, a larger-than-life wood figure stood on the beach, with one hand shading its eyes, looking out to sea, the other reaching out in welcome. Large buildings of long planks, fronted by a wooden walkway, followed the shoreline. Icicles dripped from their curved roofs and painted poles.
Jonny and Ernie exchanged glances. Neither of them had seen anything like this before.
Several children playing with stones stopped and looked up. Their dark eyes filled with concern as they pointed to the boys’ jeans and boots. There was much chattering as they moved farther away.
“There must be at least twenty houses,” Ernie said and then he pointed to the largest building decorated with clan crests. “That’s gotta be the chief’s.”
From the front of this enormous lodge, a great wooden eagle surveyed the village. Thick tree branches braced his huge wingspan. The eagle’s only colour came from the stain of green moss. Compared to the rest of the colourful poles, this one seemed decrepit and unkempt.
“I thought the chief was the most important person in the village,” Jonny said, looking up at the weathered pole.
“He is,” Ernie said.
“Then why does the pole in front of his house look so bad?”
“That is the pole of the old chief,” Kalaku told them. “A new one will be raised to honour his successor.”
“So there is no chief now?” Jonny asked.
“The new chief must give a feast before he can claim his position,” Kalaku explained.
People began to gather and stare at the strangely dressed boys, often pointing at Jonny, the pale-skinned one with bright blue eyes.
Ernie raced along the beach to the pole in front of the chief’s house. He studied the bird’s deep-set eyes and great hairy eyebrows. “Look at how the artist carved his eyes,” Ernie called out. “It’s like he can see more than any other bird.”
“That pole,” Kalaku said, “was the work of my father.”
Jonny looked up in awe.
“How long did that take?” Ernie asked in an incredulous voice.
“We must pay our respects to our host,” Kalaku said, moving Ernie toward the walkway.
A small man wearing a shawl of shaggy wool sat on a wooden bench near the driftwood fire. The cold breeze from the water played with strands of his long dark hair and sent the smoke upward to the white streaked sky. He seemed asleep at first, with eyes lost in the lines of his leathery face. Seeing Kalaku approach, however, he jumped up and gripped the old man’s hands. The two men spoke in low tones, and then the chief led them toward the lodge.
The boys followed past carved sea lion posts that flanked the front door. In the dim interior, voices seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Jonny’s nostrils filled with the acrid smell of burning wood.
Their eyes adjusted to see enormous tree trunks supporting the huge timber rafters of the building. Topped with massive winged birds, each bird rested on the shoulders of a large animal holding a fish. The central beam looked like the scaly body of a giant snake. Long, red tongues curled past pointed teeth in the open mouths of the heads at each end.
Ernie looked up at the beam and nudged Jonny. “See that guy? He is pure evil. Weapons can’t even stop him,” he said. “Even though he is blind, one look in his eyes and you are gone.”
Kalaku smiled at Ernie. “The serpent is both good and evil,” he said. “He helps us to understand that life brings death and death brings life.”
Jonny stood examining the carving. The priests at the school often talked about an evil serpent, but it had nothing to do with life after death.
“Always remember, the blind two-headed sea-serpent can see both past and present,” Kalaku said.
He guided the boys to the fire that burned in a low dugout area in the centre of the house. Its smoke rose through an opening in the roof. The man who was about to become chief indicated that the boys should sit on the cedar-smelling mats around the pit. All around them women folded and piled blankets and capes. Men hung poles of dried fish along the beams.
The boys let their cloaks drop from their shoulders and made themselves comfortable.
“Is this some kind of storehouse?” Jonny asked, eyeing the stacks of decorated boxes and piles of carved bowls.
“A celebration like this does not happen very often,” Kalaku said. “The chief’s family has been preparing for a very long time.”
Jonny furrowed his brows. He had seen the priests prepare for the Christmas celebration, but never like this. “What does all this have to do with eating?” he asked.
“These are all gifts for the guests,” Kalaku replied.
“Do we get to pick ours out?” Ernie asked, as he reached for a carved bowl.
Kalaku removed it from his hands and returned it to t
he pile.
A woman placed a wooden vessel shaped like a seal in front of the chief. He took a drink from the carved ladle and passed it to the boys. They received small, smoked fish on wooden platters followed by flat cakes of small, dark fruit.
The chief turned to Kalaku when they’d finished eating. “I am pleased your work is finished, my friend.”
Kalaku nodded.
“But,” the chief said, with a slow shake of his head, “we must wait.” He placed his hands across his chest, fluttered his outstretched fingers, and looked behind him.
The boys followed the chief’s gaze. Cedar planks divided the back walls of the building into platforms. Jonny realized the platforms were beds and at the very back there lay a boy.
Silver Cloud entered the lodge carrying the caged owl and a small decorated basket. After nodding to the great carved birds, she went to the boy in the bed.
The boy raised his hand. A woman rushed to his side and conferred with Silver Cloud. In response to her directions, several men came to his side, lifted him, and carried him to the fire.
Those in the lodge stopped working and crowded around.
Silver Cloud circled the thin, weak boy, holding something in her cupped hands. She stopped at his head, lifted her arms to the air, and opened her fingers. Everyone murmured at the sight of the tiny white owl that ruffled its feathers. Silver Cloud moved to the boy’s side and placed the small bird on his chest. The owl ruffled its feathers again, but settled. She placed the painted basket over the bird, tapped the top of it and said in a loud voice, “Return!”
Everyone held their breath when Silver Cloud lifted the bowl.
The small owl lay still on the boy’s chest.
Mutters of discontent filled the lodge.
Silver Cloud replaced the basket. She took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and put her hands over her heart. She closed her eyes and made her request again, this time in a soft, pleading voice. “Return,” she said.
When she lifted the basket, the owl was gone.
Clapping and laughter filled the lodge.
The boy sat up, sending the basket rolling toward Jonny.
A woman ran to the boy with a bowl. He drank from it with several, loud gulps. Then he rose from the floor, picked up his mat, and went into the arms of the woman waiting by his bed.
Jonny picked up the basket and looked inside. It was empty. He frowned as he handed it back to Silver Cloud.
“The white owl was near the lodge when the boy became sick,” she explained to him in a low voice. “When it flew away, the chief’s son began his journey toward the sun. But I knew it was not yet time. There are many things he must do before he dies.”
The chief took his pipe from his belt and lit it with a glowing stick. He blew a puff of smoke out of the corner of his mouth and passed it to Kalaku. “Now we will raise the pole.”
The disappearing owl wasn’t the only thing that puzzled him. He had a good look at the sick boy. He looked exactly like Tommy-Two — the boy Ernie said had gone missing.
10
The Great Feast
For the rest of the week, many elaborately painted canoes glided into shore.
The chief greeted everyone in an open-topped wooden hat with long tails of fur hanging from its back. Each time he nodded, the soft bird down that filled his headdress floated about his visitors like snow.
The guests came in fringed cloaks, fur boots, and capes trimmed with fur and shell buttons. All wore woven hats and carried baskets and boxes.
Long into the night, people sat by the blazing fire, talking and laughing. Women moved about the guests pulling deeply carved wheeled tubs. From these animal-shaped containers they served fish stew, clam chowder and seaweed salads. Jonny filled his bowl again and again. For the first time in his life, he ate until he could eat no more.
The first evening of celebration ended when the chief approached the fire with a large piece of hammered copper. It reminded Jonny of the heraldry shields he’d read about in the history books. The decorated metal gleamed in the golden light of the gigantic fire.
The chief tossed it into the flames. The boys watched the beautiful metal object melt.
“Why did he do that?” Jonny asked with wide eyes.
“He wants everyone to know his wealth is not important,” Kalaku said.
“That’s as crazy as burning a hundred dollar bill,” Ernie said as the boys looked at each other, trying to imagine anyone owning so much they could destroy it at whim.
The morning of the next day, Ernie came close to falling into a large hole dug into the beach in front of the doorway of the lodge. “Is this supposed to be a trap?” he yelled.
Jonny looked up from the fire at the base of the wrapped pole and grinned.
Women placed mats of woven bark around the hole and the visitors took their seats.
“The time has come,” Kalaku said, signalling the waiting men. They removed the mats that hid the carved pole from view and lashed it with ropes. Dozens of strong arms hoisted the ropes to their shoulders and pulled.
The blackened tree base moved toward the hole to the sound of the beating drums.
The guests waited in anxious silence.
Jonny and Ernie helped pull the creaking ropes that raised the carved log. Others held ropes taut to stop the enormous pole from swaying sideways. Little by little they tugged it into an upright position. As the men filled the hole with rocks, six carved figures glared at the audience from heavy, wide-rimmed, painted eyes. Amid a furious thunder of drums, the crowd burst into cheers.
The drums stopped and the crowd went silent.
With a carved stick, Kalaku pointed to the carving of the human figure at the very bottom and said, “this honours the ancestor of the man who raises this pole today.”
The crowd oohed and aahhed.
He gestured to the figure above that of the chief’s ancestor and said, “Long ago the greatest hunter of the sea swallowed a woman whose boat had capsized.”
It took a minute for Jonny’s eyes to determine the shape Kalaku meant, for this figure wasn’t standing upright like the others facing forward. The Orca rested on his large, square snout, his tail fluke flipped up and onto his back. His pectoral fins clung to his side. In his large mouth of teeth sat the head of a human.
Everyone in the crowd nodded to one and another. Jonny realized they had all heard these stories before and knew them well.
Kalaku continued. “The whale planned to take her to the depths of the ocean to become his bride. But the people in the village sang to the Thunderbird. Thunderbird caught that whale,” Kalaku told them all, as he pointed to the huge bird with folded wings and long, sharp talons. “He carried the whale to his home at the top of the mountain.”
Jonny looked at the Thunderbird. One flap of those powerful wings would certainly make the sound of thunder and those large rimmed eyes could cause lightning to flash.
“The woman crawled from the whale’s belly into our cave. Inside, she gave birth to a son,” Kalaku recited. “But when this mother and son left the cave in the mountain, she was very much afraid to go near the water and kept her son from it.”
He pointed to the figure above the thunderbird. “Beaver, one of the woman’s friends, promised he would keep the whale away from her and her son with his great wide dams.”
Jonny smiled at the beaver’s huge incisor teeth. His cross-hatched tail, flipped up in front, gave him the appearance of wearing a fancy necktie. He held a strong stick in front of him.
Kalaku pointed to the man near the top of the pole. “That woman’s son became our first chief,” he said, indicating the figure wearing a necklace with long fringes of cedar hanging from a thick, braided ring. The people in the crowd nodded with pleasure at the similarity to their own chief.
“Our new chief,” Kalaku said pointing to the sky, “now has the eagle as his crest.”
All eyes went to the tremendous wings of multi-coloured feathers that jutted from the eagle’s p
ainted chest. Jonny counted a wingspan of six black and red feathers with a flare of four at each end. Below its glaring eyes, the bird’s sharp yellow beak shone in the sun.
To the sound of pounding drums, Kalaku, the carver of this amazing totem pole, walked to the chief and handed him the stick he had used to point out each figure. The chief held it high to show it was the exact replica of the pole that stood before them. Then, from a wooden box at the base of the pole, Kalaku lifted out his carving tools. Holding them above his head, he circled the pole, singing. Everyone rose and sang with him.
Kalaku danced his way into the lodge and the crowd followed. The lodge filled with people of all ages moving with steps as light as rain. Bracelets and armbands of copper gleamed. The beat of drums pulsed through Jonny’s body, filling him with an intense desire to belong to all these wonderful people.
He dropped to a mat close by the door to watch them move.
The young boy who had been ill and looked like Tommy-Two sat down beside him.
“I know where you came from,” he said in a whisper. “You’ll get used to being here after a while. At first I missed my family so much I made myself sick.”
Jonny didn’t respond. He had no family to miss.
“I should have never tried to escape with those boys,” Tommy-Two said. “They fought over paddling and we capsized.”
“But I saw Father John carry you back to the school,” Jonny said.
“When I woke, I was chained to a cot in the basement,” Tommy-Two said, looking down at his hands. “Father Paul said my punishment for trying to escape was losing my holidays.” His eyes filled with anger. “My sister was getting married,” he said. “I had to get home.”
“How did you end up here?”
“Father Gregory got a little too friendly, if you know what I mean.”
Jonny swallowed hard and looked the other way.
“We fought. When he left, the key to the cuffs was on the floor. I took them off and put one of my shoes half way up the coal chute to make them think I lost it when I squeezed through the window. Then I climbed inside the apple bin. When Father Gregory checked the basement, he believed I’d gone up the chute. He ran up the stairs, leaving the door wide open. I snuck out and hid under one of the canoes along the shore until the first launch arrived. I had to ride it to the last stop and then climbed the mountain to see where I was. I discovered the cave on my way up and went in for a rest.” The boy stopped talking for a moment. “Did you go into the hidden cave at the back?”
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