Traders Beached on the Skeena

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Cranberry dabbed the blood from Snails’ bruised and bloodied face with some sphagnum moss, put on a fresh piece and bound it in place with a leather thong.  When Snails’ body had rolled in with the breakers, Cranberry, white-faced and exhausted himself, thought that there was no hope for Snail.  No breathing, drowned and bleeding heavily from a head wound. The tears welled in his eyes.  But then, he remembered Sol telling him that you didn’t bleed when you were dead, so he dragged him up on shore, pushed on his chest a few times and Snail started vomiting water, He was back!  Spitting water and bleeding profusely, grey faced and limp, but he was alive!  Cranberry dragged Snail up into the tree line and covered him in furs.

The sky was heavy with charcoal grey clouds and the wind was whipping through his wet clothes and hair, and lashed at the mountains to the south.  Earlier, the skies opened and drenched them with rain as hard as sleet.  They had tied the skiffs together with a plank for stability with hopes they’d stay together through the punishing storm. But Snail had been washed overboard into the ruthlessly cold waves and was lost from sight.  Cranberry, soaked and exhausted had been violently tossed onto the island beach with the skiffs.  He watched with slit eyes as the sky grew darker while the winds slew across the island.  He smelt thunder on that wind. Adrenalin fought exhaustion as he unstrapped the boats, emptied the trade goods, then pulled the skiffs ashore one by one up above the high tide line next to Snail, using a rope around a cottonwood for leverage.  Stumbling across the beach, he brought up the trade goods and covered them with cedar tarps anchored with rocks. He fought the weight of the skiffs and leaned them beside a big washed up cedar, then erecting his partly torn tarp for shelter from the icy winds.  It took him some time as his hands were stiffening with the cold, but he started a fire with driftwood, dry cat tail fluff, a bow and drill with an oily eulachon for flame starter.

Leaving Snail by the fire, he left the shelter to take a look at where they were and went through a mental checklist to assess their situation.  They were on a stony, fairly permanent sandbar on the Skeena.  They had lots of supplies. They certainly wouldn’t go hungry.  But they were going to have to rest up a bit to regain their strength and wait out the storm. He was covered in bruises and contusions; Snail was in worse shape and they were both exhausted. His eyes darted from time to time on the incoming rollers, watching for poor Shales’ broken and battered body, but to no avail.

 He tasted the water; salty.  Hmm.. they were nearer the mouth of the river than he was comfortable with. He really missed Shale now. He may not have been the most educated of folk, but he knew the waters, and had told them many tales of ship wrecks, waves and the tricky currents all at the mouth of the river.  Then he remembered with despair of him telling them with naked excitement of his first child, soon to be born.  Through the mist, he could just make out the glacial mountains surrounding him, and if he looked to the west, he could see a muted sinking sun, behind the rainstorm and overcast sky.  Probably past the Skeena Village but not quite as far as was the Limpet Gathering.  Problem was, they were midstream, and it was going to be tough to navigate their boats to the northern shore out here, where the river was so wide, and the currents so unpredictable.  Don’t want to take a chance on that southern shore.  He’s heard the tales of those poor lost souls who had dared to venture there.

He wondered how long it would be until they were missed.  He’d lost track of the days since the storm began.  They couldn’t just wait to get rescued.  They weren’t supposed to be out of the river this far.  How would the searchers that he knew would come, know to look here?  No, they’d wait out the storm, regain their strength, then pole back up the river a bit when the high tide came in to give them a little help.  Then maybe they’d have a chance to pole their way north.  Once near shore; they could flow with the low tide, out towards the Limpet Village.  They could do it.  He had to believe they could do it.  It was their only chance.

He shook the rain from his cape and hair and slipped back into their shelter and found Snail asleep.  He curled up in his fur, wishing he had Daisy, dear Daisy with him to keep him warm.  He reached for his amulet and realized it was gone.  It’s loss and the love it represented was on his mind as he let himself surrender to his exhaustion and he fell asleep.