Cry of the Wind (16 page)

K’os could take their turn at the hearth, and would also do much of the work on the tents and making camp, but she would not sew. When Dii asked her, K’os held out her hands in protest, showing the twisted fingers, the swollen joints that she claimed would not allow her to hold awl or needle. For truly, though K’os had the face and body of a young woman, she had the gnarled, bent hands of an elder.

When they had lived in the Cousin Village, K’os still sewed, and a man who received one of her parkas wore it in pride, for she did work as fine as any—even more beautiful than Gull Beak’s.

Dii had tried to get her to sew Anaay a parka, had even given her furs and strips of caribou intestine hung out in freezing weather so the intestine turned a pure and beautiful white. But though K’os promised to try, so far Dii had seen no results. She hated to ask for the fur and gut back. Why discourage the woman? Better for Dii to be grateful for her own strong hands.

Suddenly, Dii realized that Anaay had stopped talking and was looking at her as though he expected an answer. Her eyes widened in distress, and she blurted out the first thing that came to her: “I really do not know.”

“You don’t remember the first time you went on a caribou hunt?” he asked, his voice rising so his last words were nearly a shout.

Dii drew in a quick breath and answered, “What I meant was I do not remember exactly how many summers I had.”

She expected her husband to scold her in indignation, but instead his voice was soft, wheedling. “You are my favorite wife, you know,” he told her. “Not only of you and Gull Beak, but of the wives I have thrown away.”

She was not sure if the words were meant as compliment or warning. He had thrown away wives. Be careful. Do not waste your husband’s words by daydreaming when he speaks to you. When she was first his wife, she would have welcomed being thrown away, even driven from the village. At least then she could have tried to return to her own people.

“It is only that I want to know more about you,” Anaay continued. “Since we are now hunting caribou, I thought it would be good to speak about those times you have been on a hunt.”

Dii started with the preparations made, but saw the impatience in Anaay’s eyes, and so described the routes they took. He leaned forward then, asked questions, nodded his head as he listened.

He grew impatient again when she told him that she knew only what the women did: catching dead animals that floated with the buoyancy of their thick-haired hides, then butchering and hauling. Finally he waved one hand at her as though to push her away, and when she remained where she was, he shouted, “Go get me food! Any good wife could see that I am hungry!”

So she left, glad to stretch out her legs and set her feet on flat ground. Then she was ashamed of herself for her disrespect. He was her husband and the leader of his people, but as she looked back, saw him sitting on the rock, she thought again of his riddle and wondered if the true answer was not the rock but Anaay himself. Though he spoke of power and took the highest place among the Near Rivers, there were times when he seemed to have no power at all, when someone might only push him and he would go tumbling down like a rock resting on pebbles.

Chapter Seventeen

THE COUSIN RIVER PEOPLE

F
OR THREE DAYS AFTER
they set their hunting tents beside the Caribou River, the people saw no sign of caribou. They sent out boys as scouts and waited, the men boisterous, the women fretful, fear and hope battling within their minds.

Sok and Chakliux were the first to see Sok’s son, Cries-loud, run into the camp. The boy was breathing so hard that at first he could do nothing except crouch with hands on knees. But when he raised his head, the smile on his face let them know what he had come to tell them.

“Where?” Sok asked. Then he grinned at Chakliux and said, “This river hunting. It is new to me.”

“It is easier,” Chakliux told him.

Sok gave him a quick shove and laughed as he said, “For you, Otter, for you. Born to water as you were.”

It was a compliment, and Chakliux clapped a hand to his nephew’s shoulder. His brother had raised good sons.

“They are coming,” Cries-loud said again, as though to remind his father that he had more to tell.

“Where was the sun when you began to run?” Sok asked, and lifted his head as Cries-loud pointed to the peak of the sky, then traced his hand down midway to where the sun was now.

A long run, Chakliux thought, and for a moment felt a twinge of envy quickly replaced by pride for the strength of his nephew’s legs.

Sok looked over his son’s head at Chakliux. “Tomorrow?”

“The caribou should be here by evening.”

“Black Stick and the other boys are still watching the herd?” Sok asked Cries-loud.

“Yes. He or his brother will come if they change direction.”

“Good. Go have your mother…” he began, then his face darkened. “Go have Snow-in-her-hair give you something to eat, then you and Ghaden cross the river. Stop at the second ridge. The trees there are tall. Climb up so you can see out over the land, and when you spot the caribou, one of you come back and tell us.”

Chakliux watched the boy walk away. His caribou hide leggings were wet from crossing the river. “Get new leggings,” he called after his nephew, and Cries-loud turned, lifted a hand in reply.

Chakliux hurried to his lean-to. He hoped Star was not there. She would protest against Ghaden’s being a lookout, but who was better at climbing trees than Ghaden?

He found the boy outside the tent, braiding four strands of babiche into a long cord. Biter lay on the ground beside him, his head up as he watched the activity of those in tents nearby. The braid was tight and even, and as Chakliux crouched beside Ghaden, he praised him for his work.

“It’s for Biter,” Ghaden explained, and laid a hand on the dog’s back. “He chewed through the other one.”

“Dogs will do that,” Chakliux said.

“Yes, but he is a good dog. Better than any other in this camp.”

“Don’t tell that to Sok. He thinks Black Nose is the best.”

“Hah! He’s wrong.”

Ghaden kept his eyes on the braid, continued to twist the babiche.

“How long until you finish?” Chakliux finally asked.

“A while.”

“Do you remember the hand signals Sok and I have taught you?”

“For hunting?”

“For hunting.”

“I remember.”

“What if I asked you to go with Cries-loud and watch for caribou?”

Ghaden jerked his head up, stared into Chakliux’s eyes.

“Really?”

“Would I ask if I did not want you to go?”

“When?”

“When you finish the braid.”

Ghaden threw it down. “It’s done.”

Ghaden almost asked if he could take Biter, but then realized that such a foolish question might cost him the opportunity to go. So after he prepared a pack of supplies, he sat beside the dog and crooned his condolences. There were times in his life when he had wished he were a dog, free from chores and able to sleep when he wanted, but now he could feel only sympathy that Biter had to stay in camp and listen to the women talk.

Yaa saw him sitting with Biter and hunkered down beside them.

“The women say you are going to be a watcher.”

Ghaden puffed out his chest and nodded his head. His mouth tried to make a smile, but he remembered how solemn the men were when they talked about their hunting, so he kept his lips in a grim line.

“Where are you going? Do you know yet?”

He almost told her, but then he reminded himself that it might be too sacred for a girl to hear. “It’s something only men should know,” he said.

“Then why did they tell you?” Yaa asked. “You’re not a man.”

He had no answer for that, only a quick burn of anger. He leaned close and punched his fist into her arm.

“Ah! So you think that’s the way men act?” Yaa asked him.

“Only with their sisters.”

Yaa began to sputter out a retort, but then she started to laugh, which made Ghaden even more angry.

“They would not ask me if they didn’t think I was a man, or at least almost a man!” he shouted.

She began a chant, a song of ridicule girls sometimes sang, and he began his own song, a hunting chant. He raised his voice to cover hers, then Yaa also sang louder. Finally a shadow fell across them, and Ghaden looked up to see Night Man.

Night Man lifted his chin at Yaa. “She is a girl,” he said. “I would expect her to act this way.” He did not look into Ghaden’s eyes, but rather over his head, as though Ghaden were nothing more than a baby in a cradleboard. “I expect better of you.”

Ghaden lowered his head, and Yaa shot him a haughty look of anger.

“Niece, go do your own work, and do not let me catch you taunting your brother again. I do not want this caribou hunt to fail because of one small and foolish girl.”

Yaa crept away, and Ghaden felt the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile. Then Night Man said, “You, Nephew, it is worse for you. Do not curse your hunting luck with foolish squabbling. When a woman argues with you, walk away.”

Ghaden lowered his head, stroked Biter’s back.

“Get your pack. Cries-loud waits for you at Sok’s tent.”

Ghaden jumped to his feet and ran to the tent. Cries-loud was there, standing so he could look out toward the ridges beyond the camp. Chakliux and Sok were beside him. “Second ridge,” Chakliux said. “Stay in the group of trees near the middle. Choose one of the tallest so Ghaden can see well.”

He turned and saw Ghaden. “You heard what I told Cries-loud?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Good. Climb as high as you can.” He handed Ghaden a babiche rope. “Use this to tie yourself to the tree when you have found the best place to sit. When you see something, call down to Cries-loud. He will run and tell us.”

Ghaden felt a surge of pride at Chakliux’s words. He would be the one who first saw the caribou. “Do I wait until they pass, or do I tell Cries-loud as soon as I’ve seen them?”

“Call out as soon as you see them, but Cries-loud will wait until you can tell whether they are heading upriver or downriver from our camp.”

Ghaden nodded. It would be exciting to be the one who came to the village with the news of caribou, but Cries-loud was the fastest runner among the boys, and Ghaden was the best climber.

“Go then,” Sok said. “Be strong. Be wise.”

“Ready?” Cries-loud asked.

Ghaden heaved his pack to his shoulder.

“This is for you,” Sok said, and leaned close to slip a long, narrow packet into Ghaden’s hand.

It was wrapped in a thin strip of caribou hide, and Ghaden knew it was a knife. He looked up at Sok in happy disbelief.

“Well,” Sok said, “it will do you no good wrapped like that.”

Ghaden pulled away the caribou hide. The scabbard was laced with ties that would secure the weapon to his arm. He took out the knife and drew in his breath. The chert blade was about the length of his little finger. It was knapped to a fine sharpness and bound to a caribou antler handle.

He opened his mouth to thank Sok but had no words. Sok bent and tied the scabbard above Ghaden’s left wrist, then said in a gruff voice, “Do not be so slow about your leaving. The caribou will be upon us before you are ready.”

Ghaden fell into step beside Cries-loud, and Cries-loud grinned at him, lifted his sleeve to show Ghaden that he, too, had a new knife. Ghaden had never imagined such happiness. What was better than being a man? What was greater than being a hunter?

Suddenly, slicing into his joy, he heard the keening cry of a woman, and looked back to see Star running toward him, calling out his name and crying curses on her brother and husband.

“Run!” he said to Cries-loud, but they were already at the river, and Cries-loud was trying to see past the water-glare of the sun to the sandbar that meant shallow passage.

Ghaden started in, heard Cries-loud yell, “Not there. It’s too deep.”

Suddenly Ghaden took a step into nothingness, felt the river bottom fall away. He opened his mouth to cry out, but water flooded into his nose and down into his lungs. He finally touched bottom, kicked hard with his legs and pushed himself up. He choked and sputtered, spitting out water. He drew in a quick breath, but the weight of his pack and wet parka pulled him down again. He fought against the current, held his breath until his lungs would not allow him to do anything but inhale. He gulped in water as the river carried him downstream.

His thoughts slowed, and he opened his eyes. He tried to push himself back to the surface, but his legs were like chunks of wood, numbed by the cold. He slammed into a rock, and the current wrapped him around it. He lifted his head, coughed up water, drew in a breath, then was sucked down again. He clasped the rock, dug his fingers into the slime that covered it. The river pulled, and he felt one of his nails tear away. Still he clung. He lifted his head again, but this time inhaled water. His throat and lungs burned. Darkness claimed him, pushing in from the edges of his vision until he could see nothing.

Then Ghaden closed his eyes, slept.

Chapter Eighteen

W
HEN AQAMDAX HEARD STAR’S
wails, she did not stop her sewing. Star was always upset about something.

Then other women were screaming, and above their cries, Aqamdax heard the calls for help. She ran to the edge of the camp, saw Chakliux in the river and Sok with his arms around Star. The woman was fighting him, biting, scratching and kicking.

“Someone take her!” Sok yelled.

Aqamdax stepped forward, grabbed Star from behind, her arms around Star’s thickening waist. Sok pulled free and ran after Chakliux. Star kicked Aqamdax and struggled to turn her head, baring her teeth as though she would bite. Then Sky Watcher also had his arms around the woman. Finally Bird Caller brought a hare fur blanket, threw it over Star’s head.

“Let her go,” Sky Watcher told Aqamdax, and when Aqamdax loosed her grip, Sky Watcher pushed Star to the ground and sat on her.

Twisted Stalk lifted a cry of mourning, and Aqamdax looked up to see Chakliux walking toward them. He was carrying Ghaden, the boy with arms and legs hanging limp.