The Cedar Face

PROLOGUE

Three hundred years ago.

Nass Valley.

Northwestern British Columbia. Canada.

The Wolf Chief bent over and looked closer. His vision had become noticeably weaker and he knew when it came to harvesting the Sockeye he would be blind.

The piece was almost complete; one more day should see it done. Then he would don his regalia and call everyone to witness the ceremony. Afterwards he would explain gently to the villagers. Tell them of his faltering skills and the light fading from his eyes. How, from now on he would spend his time teaching the children. Make sure they learned the ways to pass on to their own children and grandchildren. He would explain why they needed more discipline and how he hoped to persuade them from taunting the animals. It was imperative they heeded his warnings, upsetting the balance would bring reprisal, but not all would listen. Some who had reached the brink of adulthood often laughed at his old ways. He understood that every new generation had the right to question their elders, that new ideas and progress were instrumental in maintaining stability. What he would never accept was mans cruelty to man and his fellow creatures.

Once the leaves started to flourish again and the days grew warmer, the children would be his new eyes, helping him through the darkness. Suddenly he heard their voices; he stood up and listened, the wind had strengthened from the north. Turning his head, he sensed they were near the river, and from their high-pitched shrieks, playing games. The children were free spirits and allowed to roam. Sometimes though, he felt they had too much freedom. His people worked hard and supervising the children was not always possible. Parents had little time to chastise, which meant childish unruliness often led to erratic behaviour.

Leaning into the wind, he heard their voices echoing. Then an intermittent cry, someone was distressed, a young girl. Straightening up, he made his way to the river. His pace was slow and it took a while. When he came to the river's edge, he felt fearful. Many of the children had waded too far and the fast moving water was already reaching their shoulders. He shouted to them and they looked up, one held up a salmon, others were throwing the fish around as they would a toy. He could see the salmon were desperate to escape, and then an older child deliberately killed one with a wooden spike. This game of torturing these precious fish must cease. He had warned them before and the younger ones had given their promise to desist. Now they had broken that promise. He shouted again, told them to return to the riverbank, which they did, but carried on tormenting the frightened creatures.

On weary legs, he turned to walk away and at that very moment, the noise came. The sound in his ears was one he had never heard before, but he knew what it meant. In the distance, his eyes made out a vague, dark shape moving closer. For a brief moment he was deceived and mistook it for a rain cloud, but the smell rising to meet his senses told him no rain would fall.

Then he forgot about the children and the salmon. Before disaster struck, he must rescue his work and find someone to take it to safety. The old Wolf Chief gained strength in his legs and more light into his eyes. Panic confronted him when he came to the village, he watched people running everywhere, gathering possessions as they headed away from the dense black cloud and the rumbling, thunderous noise. Others seemed unsure how to escape, running wildly in the wrong direction. He shouted to them to stop but no one listened. Desperation hung in the toxic air and time would not stand still to alter the outcome. Returning to his dwelling, he retrieved the mask. He turned it over in his hands wishing he could add the final touches. There was so little of his life left and he must find someone to keep it safe.

He began to chant, hoping to attract attention. A young man approached him and asked if he could help. The Wolf Chief struggled to utter words of gratitude. Instead, he handed over the mask and pointed. 'Go in that direction and you will be safe,' he said.

'Come with me,' the young man said pulling at the Chief's elbow.

The old man shook his head. 'I must stay here, this is my destiny. I must face the river of black. You will survive, as I hope this mask will. I leave a legacy from my culture for future generations to show them the way.

The young man hid the mask under his blanket and ran. The Wolf Chief stared after him until he disappeared.

From Nisga'a oral tradition

When the volcano first erupted, it was like smoke from a burning house. No one knew how quickly their lives were about to change. The poisonous gas drifted ahead as the lava slid slowly down the mountainside. As soon as the villagers smelled this gas, they began to suffocate and their bodies grew stiff. The garound began to tremble and shake, for nature could not restore the harmony.

A scout came to investigate and from the top of Gennu'axwt. He saw smoke and flames and ran to warn the rest of the people of their fiery destiny. Panic followed, some villagers fled up the mountain. Others canoed to the far side of the river but the black lava overcame them. Some did escape and from a distance watched the lava flow over their villages. Gwaxts'agat, a powerful supernatural being, suddenly emerged to block the lavas advance. For days, Gwaxts'agat fought back the lava by blowing on it with it's great nose. Finally, the lava cooled and Gwaxts'agat retreated into the mountain where it remains to this day.

CHAPTER ONE

Friday May 10th. Nine am

'Why the hell did I buy this useless foreign shit,' Jackie Kilmartin shouted at the RAC mechanic after he told her the Toyota Corolla had transmission problems and he couldn’t fix it there and then.

'Most cars are foreign these days,' he added, slamming down the bonnet.

Jackie looked at her watch then kicked the nearside back tyre, forgetting her open toe sandals offered no protection. She bent down and tried to rub away the pain. Late again, she thought, and this time I've run out of excuses. She'd blamed her car on the previous occasion, even though it hadn't broken down. Twice in a month sounded suspiciously like lying, except this time it was the truth. Jackie didn't have a problem with lying when life seemed out to defeat her. Recently it had been one damn thing after the other. Pay back perhaps, she briefly considered, for making sure Wilson didn’t get the job.

She sensed the mechanic’s irritation and was about to remind him about the term chivalrous. A buzzword once used by his company's advertising campaign, aimed at women drivers to describe a modern day knight rescuing them from dark, dangerous roads. Glancing at his expression she realised getting angry wouldn't solve anything. Repairing cars was his job, not placating neurotic women.

She waved her phone at him. ‘I suppose I'll have to ring for a taxi. I’m already very late for an important meeting.’

The mechanic gave her a weak smile. ‘Sorry I can't give you a lift but I'm headed in the opposite direction.'

'How long will it be until the car's picked up?'

'Twenty minutes max but you needn't wait,' he pointed to the Toyota, 'it's not going anywhere. Remember to tuck the keys behind the sun visor before you go. The recovery driver has all your details.'

Jackie didn't offer any thanks. He nodded and climbed into his van. She heard him turn on the radio before driving away. Jackie paced up and down finding it difficult to concentrate because of the traffic noise. Leckhampton Road in Charlton Kings wasn't usually this busy. Jackie guessed another accident at The Air Balloon roundabout. The renowned bottleneck and crash black spot had resulted in a diversion.

From the moment she'd woken up everything had irritated her. Mornings were never her best time but lately she’d been plagued by depression as soon as she got out of bed. Jackie knew why, too much alcohol. She'd developed a bad habit and couldn't stop. Now the depression was taking hold during the day, and getting worse.

Her first priority was to speak to Giles Beresford, the head teacher. Keeping him sweet wouldn’t be difficult, he’d dropped enough hints lately. Only the other day he’d suggested a weekend away together. He'd pestered her for weeks and although she didn't fancy him, she knew refusing wouldn't help her career opportunities. Giles was no ordinary Academy head. His wife was ridiculously wealthy. She was also the Shadow Secretary of State for Education.

Since taking charge of the art department, Jackie’s stress levels had increased even more, as had her drinking. Occasionally she wondered if her ambition had become a burden, one she couldn't afford to offload. Her A-level students faced tougher exams this coming summer due to the Government’s overhaul of the examination boards. If results were poor, she could expect plenty of criticism. If Giles only wanted sex, she'd be a fool to refuse. Her drinking problem had started as an escape from her dismal prospects. She wondered how long it would be before the exhilaration of her recent promotion would wear off and her depression worsen. Giles would serve as a diversion and future ally.

She scanned the road hoping to spot the recovery vehicle. Phoning a taxi was pointless until it arrived. Feeling thwarted she moved back from the edge of the pavement and leaned against the bus shelter. There was no point getting on the next bus either, it stopped about a mile from the school and now her toe had started throbbing she would have trouble walking. Jackie checked the time; she should have arrived over an hour ago. Keith Wilson would have her guts regardless now. He was the favourite candidate for heading up the art department until three of her most talented students encouraged her to apply for the post. Their reasoning behind this unprecedented support was simple. Wilson’s teaching method was old fashioned and they wanted a more modern approach. Jackie realised she should have seen through their selfish motives. The three lobbyists had monopolised her time to the detriment of the rest of the class. Wilson, had he taken over the job, would never have put up with such classroom scheming.

Lost in her own misery Jackie didn't notice a police car pull up behind her Toyota. A thickset uniformed officer got out of the passenger seat and walked towards her. 'Is this your vehicle?'

'Damn,' she muttered under her breath. She stood up and managed a smile. 'I'm not in any trouble, am I?'

The officer smiled back. 'Only that this traffic is going to build up and we need the road cleared, especially near a junction.'

'It won't start. I'm waiting for a recovery firm to collect it. Has there been an accident?'

'Road works on the A40 are causing problems. We're diverting some of the traffic onto the 46.'

A rumbling sound caused both of them to turn around. The breakdown vehicle rattled to a halt in front of Jackie's car. 'Thank God,' she said. 'Is it okay to leave now?'

The officer produced a notebook and wrote in it before he answered. 'Hang on a minute.'

He spoke to the recovery driver and within minutes, the Toyota was winched onto the lifting grid.

'You can go now,' the officer said.

Jackie rang the taxi firm who promised her one soon. Again, she checked her watch, beginning to feel the first waves of anxiety. By now, Wilson would have gone to Giles, complaining bitterly about her not being there to greet their foreign visitor. Twelve minutes later the taxi turned up. The driver apologised for being late. Jackie sank into the backseat, already wishing the day away.

Outside the main entrance, Jackie was relieved no one was waiting for her. Wilson would be busy teaching year seven, which meant one of the other staff members had done the meet and greet. The transformation from the old secondary school to Academy status never failed to impress her. It was double the size and boasted huge plate glass windows looking out onto manicured lawns. She ran along the pristine white corridors until a vision stopped her in her tracks.

He was tall, she guessed about six foot three, and broad shouldered. He was looking out of the window, his face partially hidden by an authentic wolf head angled to the side and back of his head. As she moved closer, Jackie hoped it wouldn’t slip off and land at her feet. The rest of the wolf pelt covered his shoulders, the paws hanging over his chest, the rest, including the tail hung down his back. Underneath he wore a highly decorative fringed blanket, the distinctive colourful designs standing out against the neutral background. Leaning against the wall next to him was a tall wooden pole, the top carved into a face. Jackie found the sight amazing and for once in her life was speechless.

The man returned her stare and held out his hands as she approached. ‘I've been looking forward to meeting you,’ he said.

'Who let you in?' she asked him.

'The lady working in reception saw me hanging about outside. I waited while she phoned your head teacher, but he wasn't answering.'

He bloody wouldn't, Jackie thought, too busy placating Wilson.

On closer inspection, she decided he wasn't traditionally good-looking but his angular face, high cheekbones and dark, intelligent eyes made him a very striking individual.

Jackie softened her voice. ‘I'm very sorry I'm late. My car broke down.’

‘Then we have both had transport problems. I stayed with friends in Bath last night, and my train was late. I only arrived ten minutes ago. I hope your students are patient.’

Jackie laughed. ‘This subject has caught their imagination. As it’s not part of their coursework, there’s no pressure on them. This is more to do with widening their appreciation of Canadian First Nation's culture and art. Mr Martin and I run an evening class and each term we set a different project. We asked for ideas and one student had visited the Nass Valley in British Columbia while on holiday and suggested we study the Nisga’a people. She read an article in one of our local papers about your proposed visit to four Gloucestershire schools. She insisted we ask you to come here.'

'It's a great Academy,' he stated.

'The original school on this site had a bad reputation and we're doing our best to change it. Cheltenham has some very prestigious schools and the old Grasmere comprehensive was at the bottom of the league tables. Having this wonderful new building and Academy status has changed peoples' perception. We hope it can only improve from now on. All the staff here are very proud of that achievement. I know you will inspire them Mr Morven. We’re honoured you agreed to come.’

‘I’m honoured to be here and please call me Jacob.’

Jackie almost asked him about his outfit but stopped in time. He might be offended she hadn’t bothered to establish his status. She cursed her laziness. All she’d needed to do was look him up on her computer. God knows she wasted enough time trawling the internet. ‘We better get going. Ninety students are waiting for you in the lecture hall.’

Morven picked up his carved stick and followed her. They turned left into another corridor and Jackie overheard Keith Wilson arguing with Grasmere's head teacher, Giles Beresford.

CHAPTER TWO

Beresford fell quiet as soon as he spotted her. To begin with, Wilson seemed oblivious to her presence and carried on ranting about how she hadn't tackled the lack of discipline in the art department. Wilson suddenly realised she was standing behind him and quickly shut up. Morven stood perfectly still and from his body language, Jackie sensed he disliked confrontation.

'Why aren't you in the classroom?' she asked Wilson.

Wilson's eyes narrowed. 'I needed to speak to Giles about another urgent problem.'

Jackie didn't want to prolong the argument in front of their guest. Morven's eyes were on her and she experienced an unfamiliar feeling. It wasn't an instant sexual attraction, her usual response to any good-looking man. This was different and slightly unnerving, as if he could read her mind. Jackie knew that at times she suffered from paranoia, which often caused odd symptoms. Dragging her gaze back to Wilson and Beresford, she smiled and said, ‘This is Jacob Morven who is here to enlighten us all on the Nisga’a culture.’

Keith Wilson moved forward and held out his hand. ‘Great to meet you, I’m one of the art teachers.’

Beresford also shook hands then hurried off. It was clear he wasn't keen on speaking to her today. Bloody hypocrite, she thought, only last week he'd suggested they go away for the weekend. Wilson, intent on monopolising Morven, guided him along the corridor towards the lecture hall. Jackie trailed behind and watched how the Canadian positioned the stick. With each step, he held the unusual walking aid at an angle. The carved faces moved up and down as if they were alive.

Morven's talk was due to last approximately two hours, including a short film on modern day Nisga'a people, followed by questions from the students. Afterwards staff and students would break for lunch.

The audience stood up as they entered the lecture hall. Jackie was suddenly proud; miraculously they'd heard no raucous noise echoing along the corridors. A raised area acted as a stage and Morven sat between Wilson and the other art teachers. Jackie gazed out at her pupils who were mostly responsible kids, all keen to get somewhere in life. Many of them were enthusiastic about a career in the art world and had a common goal, university followed by good jobs. The popular choices were fashion, graphics and media studies. Jackie noticed one lad who she knew wanted a career in photojournalism. The spectrum was wide and as always, she hoped they would succeed, but it was a crowded market and she knew some of them would end up disappointed and disillusioned.

After the preliminaries, she asked them to kick off with general questions about life in North Western British Columbia. One by one, they covered various topics. She watched Morven visibly relax and even Keith Wilson's attitude improved. He'd obviously decided to put aside his grievances for a couple of hours. The Canadian had brought with him examples of carving tools, some quite old and others more recent. He was cautious not to let anyone else handle them, warning his audience they were extremely sharp. While he held each one up, he explained its purpose. Jade Harper, a girl who'd risen to the top of the class, and a few others, left their seats to get a closer look. 'I went into the museum in Laxgalts'ap,' she said, standing as close as she could to Morven. 'I never found out what the name meant.'

Morven laid down one of the more ornate carving tools. 'It means village on village. One village built upon another on a site occupied for millennia. I don't live there all the time; I go back in the summer. I'm actually heading straight there when I leave the UK. Let me tell you all something important. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, many Nisga’a treasures were lost from the Nass Valley. During the struggle for our treaty, Nisga’a elders and leaders fought to ensure this scattered legacy would find its way back home. I help this process along as much as possible by following the trail of captured treasure.'

A tall lad sitting at the front stood up. 'Do you have much success, and how do you find out where these treasures are?'

'That's a good question because it isn't easy. So much passed into the hands of Europeans who held on to huge collections, which are now extremely valuable. For instance, last autumn at Sotheby's in New York, a priceless collection of northwest coast native artefacts went up for auction. From the seventeenth century, explorers and missionaries traded with the indigenous peoples of Northern Canada. One family were responsible for repatriating more than two dozen items, among them a wooden mask. These pieces were from a First Nation settlement near Prince Rupert; a Scottish clergyman named Robert Dundas acquired or stole them in 1863. Ironically, his great grandson put them up for auction and raised five million dollars for two dozen items. The mask set a new record for an individual piece of First Nation art when it sold for one point eight million dollars. So you see how important it is to find our heritage, bring it home and display it in museums for all to see.'

Keith Wilson moved towards him and pointed to a folder he was carrying. Morven flicked through and nodded.

'Before we carry on I just want to say how impressed I am with your project. Designing and carving masks was a difficult choice and those of you who decided to decorate them faced another challenge. Because of this, there will be three prizes, one for each category. Papier-mâché, simple woodcarving and plaster cast. I'll announce the winners after lunch.'

Morven asked Wilson the time before continuing. His tone changed as he outlined the serious historical, cultural and educational aspects of his talk. He began with the great tragedy in the mid eighteenth century. 'First I want to tell you a story.

'Volcano Woman is perhaps one of the oldest and most revered legends about the fate of we mortals should we not treat sacred objects or creatures with respect. To defend her beloved wild creatures, she controls the powerful volcanoes. The story tells of the tragedy that followed the killing of a frog and how Volcano Woman destroyed an entire village. Volcano Woman had supernatural powers, as did her son. He often changed from his human form into a frog. Many, many years ago, a Prince and his two friends went fishing. When they'd cooked their meal, they laid it down on a bed of leaves. The frog was mischievous and jumped on their food and the young Prince threw the frog into the shrubs but it jumped back out. The third time he threw the frog into the fire and deliberately killed an innocent creature. A few nights later, the villagers heard a woman crying and wailing. Come forward and I will spare your village. This warning went unheeded until one of the female Elders travelled to the village outskirts to see her. Volcano Woman instructed her to send forth the three young men and she would spare the village from volcanic destruction, but again the people ignored her warning. On the night of the eruption, Volcano Woman was heard saying, I asked for those responsible to take heed and now you will know my vengeance. The village shook. A volcano erupted, destroying the village and all who lived there.'

He told them about The Tseax Cone volcano, the source of the volcanic eruption. How the poisonous gases killed many people and how legends told of the aftermath, a prolonged period of disruption. Villagers dug pits hoping to shelter from the lava flow and gas, but approximately two thousand people had died. The Nisga'a story, he explained was Canada's worst known geophysical disaster and as for my connection to the lava beds,' he concluded, ‘my ancestors are buried there.'

From the silence, Jackie could see his story had moved them. Jade, the girl responsible for suggesting Morven's visit used the bottom of her shirt to wipe away tears. Morven was about to continue but hesitated. Jade, realising he was staring at her stood up. 'That's such a sad story.' She glanced around at her fellow students. 'Our generation is so lucky. I think we forget that sometimes.'

Jackie knew Jade liked attention. The girl had confidence as well as looks and talent. Unfortunately, her popularity wasn't as great as she imagined. The crying scenario had worked. She had achieved her goal and got Morven's undivided attention. Jackie hoped he didn't have a thing about eighteen year old girls. Plenty of rumours had circulated about Jade; the most worrying one was that older men fascinated her.

Morven took off his wolf head covering and removed his blanket. Underneath, he had short black hair and wore a dark t-shirt and jeans. 'What's the definition of culture?' He asked walking to the edge of the stage.

Several voices answered. 'Way of life.'

Another student suggested traditions, customs and ethnicity.

'Good answers,' he replied and held up the blanket.

'This is the Chieftain's blanket, worn mainly by Head Chiefs. I'm a Wolf Chief. It might not look like a very cool garment to wear, but where I'm from it can get mighty cold. Does anyone happen to know how far north my village is?'

'Nearly a thousand miles from Vancouver,' Jade said. 'I know because I visited there.'

'Thank you...' he said. 'I'm sorry I forgot to ask your name.'

'I'm Jade,' she said smiling.

Jackie observed the subtle sexual vibes oozing from her precocious student's pores.

'Summers are short but warm. The winter is cold. Who would like to try on the Royal Chilkat Robe? When it's on your back you have authority.'

Rory got to his feet again. 'Does that mean you can do as you please?'

Morven laughed. 'It depends. What were you thinking of?'

Rory focused on a group to the left of him, a slight smirk on his face. 'Like, you know, getting rid of your enemies.'