Emily sipped hot chocolate and watched dancing flames in the fireplace. Friday night, and the other housemates had gone out on dates, all but Leetsa who sat tapping a rhythm on her drum and humming a tune of only three notes.

"You could stay longer," Leetsa said at last.

"So kind of you!" Emily said. "But I promised Margret I'd be back to play fortune-teller at the fall carnival."

"Even if gangsters still lurk, waiting their chance to snatch you?"

"I can't hide forever."

"True." Leetsa changed the beat on her drum. "There's a tale among the Downriver people, up north in Canada. It keeps coming to mind. Perhaps there's some help in it."

In the wee hours of one evil night, Haida raiders had attacked the Downriver settlement of Misk'usa, slaughtering the warriors, taking the women and children for slaves. The Haida piled their own canoes with all the tribe's goods, and forced the Downriver women to paddle one of their own canoes.

During the day-long journey out the winding fjord to the coast, the Downriver wisewoman worried over their prospects. For these few hours, all the tribe's womenfolk clustered together in one place. Once they reached Haida lands, they'd be parted, scattered, unable to rejoin and escape. They must break free while still between lands. She awaited the best moment to outsmart the boasting captors.

It came at the magical hour of sunset.

The wisewoman had been humming a chant from the old days, and now she brought the tune to its peak. At the winking out of sunlight, she brought her paddle down hard on the edge of the canoe. The other captives did the same.

The scowls of the Haida warriors turned to alarm then amazement, for the water to one side churned and parted. A reef rose into view, three times as long as a canoe, jutting an arm's-length above the surface.

The men whooped, for the reef was spiny and scaled with abalone shells. They leaped onto the reef and began prying shells loose, for of all foods they loved abalone best. What a feast they would have!

The wisewoman raised her paddle high. So did all the other Downriver women. Once more they whomped the sides of their canoe, and at the clamor, the reef sank once more into the depths, carrying all the Haida raiders with it.

Leetsa drummed a final cadence, then sat silent, gazing into the fire.

Emily ran the story over in her mind. "I'm not sure how that will help me, exactly, but it settles in my heart as if it belongs."

"The gray-haired wisewoman," Leetsa nodded at Emily, who wore her gray hair in braids tonight, "can see what tough young warriors cannot."

Emily pictured herself singing in the backseat of that big black sedan, and slamming her fist on its door. She couldn't quite see a spiky reef rising from the roadside, tempting the mobsters to stop and leap out and leave her a chance at escape.

She shook her head. Don't apply the parable so literally, she told herself. Look for a deeper hint.

She smiled at Leetsa. "Thank you for all you've given me this week. The story, most of all. I know the tribes guard their lore, keep it sacred. I am honored."

.

prompt: best

The "Downriver people" of this tale are of the Haisla tribe. Haisla means "dwellers down-river," but since Haisla is only a couple letters off from the enemy tribe's name I decided to refer to them by a name strikingly different. Don't want to confuse the reader!

I could find no meaning for "Haida."

I came across this tale several years ago, but now I can't locate the source again...