Cry of the Wind (23 page)

“Dii?” Owl Catcher asked.

Dii’s heart leapt in hope. But how could she leave Anaay? “What about our husbands?” she asked.

“Throw them away,” Owl Catcher said. “They do not care much for us if they sent us to watch these bones burning.”

“Awl is here with her husband, and she is hurt. I should not leave her.”

“Do what you want,” Owl Catcher said. “I am going.” She dipped her torch into the fire to renew its flame, then she, Green Bird, Cut Ear and Willow Leaf left, walked away from the death fire.

Dii stood and watched them until the light of Owl Catcher’s torch was only a tiny star in the darkness. When she sat down again, she felt an emptiness in her chest, as though a part of her had gone with them and she carried only half her soul.

Chapter Twenty-six

THE COUSIN RIVER CAMP

C
HAKLIUX SAW THE WOMEN
come out of the brush at the east side of the camp. It was just past midday, and at first he thought nothing of their appearance. They were Cut Ear and Willow Leaf, Green Bird. He had grown up with them.

But then Chakliux realized that the three had been among the group of women and girls K’os took with her to the Near River Village. Following the three younger women was Owl Catcher, one of the women taken as a slave during the revenge raid.

Others in the camp looked up, for a moment continued their work, then screamed out their joy. They left boiling bags and drying racks, ran to the four women, opened arms to welcome them.

But Chakliux and Sok went for weapons and stood ready. These four were slaves or perhaps Near River wives. Who could tell where their loyalties would lie?

Sky Watcher left the camp, took a dog with him, but Chakliux did not relax his vigilance even when Sky Watcher returned to report that the women had not been followed.

The Cousin men met at Chakliux’s tent, discussed what should be done. If the women’s story was true, and it seemed that it was, they had slipped away in the night. If their husbands decided to come for them, they would arrive soon, unless they planned an attack. Then perhaps they would wait a day or so, preparing weapons, making prayers.

Either way, it was best to leave soon. Most of the butchering was done. The frosts were harder each night, and the ground stayed frozen well past midday so it would not be as difficult to walk the tundra, even with heavy packs and travois.

They called Twisted Stalk, told her the women must prepare to move. The men made ready their weapons, watched, guarded.

Twisted Stalk carried the men’s message to the wives, and though Aqamdax was glad they would soon be back in the winter village, she understood why the other women grumbled their discontent. They were not waiting to throw away a husband. They were not rejoicing in the hope of becoming wife to a man as good as Chakliux. They wanted two, three more days to finish what they were doing before they had to pack.

Much was done already. All the organ meats—those not eaten—had been boiled and chopped, stuffed into cleaned intestines with dried berries brought from the winter village, then sealed with melted fat. The bellies, too, were done. Most had been roasted whole, and Aqamdax could still remember the sour and sweet taste of each slice, the juice running over her fingers and down her arms as she ate. Other bellies had been scraped out to use as storage containers. Bladders had been emptied, blown up and dried to use for water.

The women saved all the windpipes, scraped them inside and out, washed them and filled them with old grass. If frozen until dry, they turned white and soft, good to decorate parkas and boots. Aqamdax would sew the gut and windpipes she could claim into waterproof chigdax, a kind of parka worn by the First Men. Though the other women scoffed at her when she made them, she was the one to laugh when their furred parkas soaked up the rain and she remained dry. She had made a chigdax for Ghaden and another for Night Man, though he would not wear it.

All the hides had been removed from the caribou carcasses, the sinew taken from along the spines and hung to dry. It amazed Aqamdax how quickly the Cousin women did such things, working together over the large, heavy carcasses.

The first days after the caribou were taken, the women had boiled the heads. What was better than the soft meat of cheeks and the sweet taste of the fat around the eyes? Now they were fleshing hides, though with the cold weather, they could fold and roll those that remained, take them back to the winter camp, without worry they would rot. A few of the women were still slicing meat, but the bones had all been boiled to render out the oil and marrow.

A day or two to finish the hides, that would be best, but Aqamdax understood Chakliux’s need to move. She more than any of the women rejoiced that Owl Catcher and the others had been able to return to their village. She knew what it was to long for home. But what if their Near River husbands tried to take them back?

Owl Catcher, in coming to the camp, had traded a living husband for one killed months before during the fighting.

“I am a widow now,” she said, “though yesterday I was a wife. But how much better to claim a spirit-husband who was Cousin than a living man who is Near River. Do not expect to see me mourn. During all those moons I lived with the Near Rivers, that was when I sang my mourning songs.”

She and the other women, though they had walked all night, worked to help pack and load. Aqamdax caught their excitement, and her hands seemed to work even more quickly.

Only once since her son was born had Night Man taken her into his bed, and she had had a moon blood time since then. Surely, during their traveling, he would stay with the men, guarding the camp, and the next child that grew under her heart would belong to Chakliux.

Their marriage would not come without difficulty. Night Man would be angry when she threw him away. But since her son’s death how many women had raised a hand to her ear, leaned close to whisper their anger, their sympathy?

As they worked, Owl Catcher made jokes about her Near River husband, and soon they were all laughing. Then suddenly above the babble, Aqamdax heard Star’s cry: “No, no! It is not good that these slave women have come back.”

Aqamdax left the others and found Star. She was outside Chakliux’s tent, arguing with the boy Black Stick.

“What do you know?” Black Stick yelled, his feelings so intense that spittle flew from his mouth as he spoke. “Green Bird is our sister. We thought she might be dead. What if one of your dead brothers had returned? Would you tell him you did not want him here?”

“You want another fight with the Near River warriors?” Star said. “We have only six men left to us. You have forgotten that?”

The women left their work and gathered near Chakliux’s lean-to.

“Are the Near Rivers trying to get the women back?” Aqamdax heard Little Mouse ask.

Then Twisted Stalk raised her voice, said, “What good does it do to fight among ourselves? We must be ready to move tomorrow morning. We have meat to pack, dogs to feed, travois to fill. What good will it do to worry about the Near Rivers? Will it make our work lighter?”

But several women lifted their voices into mourning songs and huddled together as if the Near Rivers had already attacked.

“This is foolishness!” Twisted Stalk said to them, and she stomped away, muttering that at least
she
would be ready to leave, that her tent and meat would be packed, that her dog would be fed and fit to haul a travois in the morning.

Star crouched on her haunches, and several others squatted beside her. Aqamdax knew what it was to be afraid, but what good did fear bring? She went to the women, spoke a riddle.

“Look! What do I see?” she said, and repeated the words until she had their attention. “They come in anger and have no sympathy for our tears.”

“The Near Rivers, they come in anger,” Star said, her voice like a child’s.

“No,” said Aqamdax. “Our own men come in anger when they realize we are not ready to travel. You think they will have sympathy for our tears?”

“Who are you to tell us this?” Little Mouse asked. “You were Near River before you came to us and Sea Hunter before that. It seems that no village wants you. Why should we listen to you?”

Several of the others also made insults, and Aqamdax turned away. What good would it do to force their eyes open if they still refused to see?

Then, to her surprise, she heard Star say, “Aqamdax is right. We are foolish to sit here crying when there is something we can do to help ourselves.”

She prodded Little Mouse until the woman stood up. Soon they were busy, sorting meat, dismantling drying racks. And Aqamdax hoped that the work would lift the fear from their hearts.

Chapter Twenty-seven

THE NEAR RIVER CAMP

ANAAY CLASPED HIS HANDS
together, gritted his teeth. He wanted to reach out and thrust Sun Caller aside. Though Sun Caller was repeating what Anaay had told him to say—that it was foolish to fight so quickly after such a disastrous hunt—his stuttering stretched and distorted the words until even a careful listener lost patience.

Best to interrupt before some other hunter does, Anaay told himself, but before he could get to his feet, Many Words stood. He slashed the air with one hand as though to clear away Sun Caller’s broken speech.

The Cousin woman Owl Catcher had been Many Words’s second wife. She was a slow, witless woman, and Anaay had thought Many Words would be glad she was gone. There was a shortage of men in the Near River Village. Why not be rid of Owl Catcher and choose one of the young girls?

But now as Many Words spoke, Anaay realized that the man wanted to go after Owl Catcher and bring her back by force if necessary, even take on any brothers or cousins who wanted to fight him.

“B-b-better to go with gifts and s-s-soft words,” Sun Caller said, and Anaay took the opportunity of Sun Caller’s interruption to remind the men of how incompetent the Cousin River women were. They spent their time weeping over dead husbands and fathers and sons. They made boots in the wrong way, so that the lacing rubbed sores into a man’s feet, and their hare fur blankets were not nearly thick enough.

“So why worry about those women who left us?” Anaay said. “There are only four of them, and they are not worth much.”

The four husbands raised voices in protest, but Anaay shouted out, “You should have kept them as slaves, then they would belong to you and you could go after them. As wives, they have the right to throw you away.”

The angry words died. How could the men deny what Anaay said? The women were wives. Each had the rights of a wife.

“They are not worth fighting for,” said Third Tree.

Anaay raised his voice to agree, then added, “We have a choice now. We can go after them, fight, perhaps die, or we can return to the winter village, divide ourselves into hunting groups and get the meat we need for winter.”

“I ch-choose to hunt,” Sun Caller said.

But Many Words cried out, “You think we cannot win? They have no more than six or eight men.”

“They have Sok and Chakliux now,” said First Eagle.

Many Words spit. “What are they? Two men disgraced, gone to live with their enemies. We should have killed them when they were in our camp.”

“They were good enough to return our dead.”

“If we fight the Cousins, we could have their caribou and their women,” said Many Words.

“You would be willing to die for that?” First Eagle asked.

“I do not plan to die.”

“S-some will d-d-die. That is w-war,” Sun Caller said quietly.

They continued to squabble. Their words battered against Anaay’s ears, but he did not speak until he heard the first whispers of young men sitting near him, blaming Anaay and his vision of caribou for their problems. Then Anaay stood, pointed rude fingers at those who were whining.

“You and you,” he said, “and you, Many Words, go fight. Plan well, for the Cousin People are not fools. But remember, to them the women are daughters and sisters. To us they are merely wives. Go, all of you, and fight, but think of those killed in the last battle, and then decide which of you will die for this new foolishness.

“And as you fight, Sun Caller and I will take our women and dogs and return to the winter village.”

Sun Caller stood, and in a surprisingly clear voice said, “It is not the time to fight. It is the time to hunt.”

Then he and Anaay went to what remained of their tents, and one by one, the other men also left.

“You could have gone with those four women,” K’os said to Dii. “Why did you stay?”

Dii shook her head. “I am wife. I needed to stay with my husband.”

“Those women, all of them, had better husbands than yours. Fox Barking is an old man, worthless.”

Dii opened her mouth to defend Anaay, but K’os started to laugh. “He has you in his bed most nights, yet your belly does not swell with child. He led us here to the Caribou River, and though he had never hunted at a river crossing would not listen to any of us who know how it is done.” She turned her head toward the place where the men had gathered, where they had argued for most of the morning. “My second husband, you knew him, did he lead our men in such a way? Did he ever allow such arguing?”

Dii thought back to those days when Ground Beater was chief hunter of the Cousin River People. It seemed strange that once K’os had been married to the most important man of their village, that she had been mother to the Dzuuggi, Chakliux. But though Dii had been little more than a child, she had heard the whispers about K’os. That she misused her powers as healer, that she had welcomed many men to her bed. How could Ground Beater have been a better leader than Anaay when he tolerated a wife like that? But why say such a thing to K’os when perhaps the memories of those days were the only joy in her life?

K’os shrugged, flipped her hands in the air. “Each woman sees something special in her husband. Since you have decided to stay with Fox Barking, it is best you think he is a good man. Listen, come with me. There are things you should know about your husband, things I have told no one, ever, but now I will tell you.”