Cry of the Wind (31 page)

“I do not need to ask Chakliux,” Night Man said. “I am your husband and I tell you. You cannot be that close to the men. Stay in the moon blood tent. Listen to Chakliux’s stories from there. Listen and remember that he is the one who killed my brothers. He killed many of the warriors from this village. And though he denies it, I believe he also killed my father. Listen and remember.

“Or you might decide that you are not bleeding, that you can spend the evening telling your stories. They say you are good, though I have heard only those silly things you tell Yaa and Ghaden. Show me how good your stories are, then come to my tent and sleep in my bed.”

In anger Aqamdax answered him, in disrespect she looked into his eyes. “I will stay in the moon blood lodge,” she told him. “I will stay there and listen to Chakliux’s stories, and I will remember that you are a man who killed your own son.”

She turned her back on him and walked away.

Chapter Thirty-five

“I
SAW YOU OUTSIDE
when Aqamdax left my tent,” Night Man said, his face pushed close to Chakliux’s. “And I have seen you watching her. How strange that you did not notice where she went. She is in moon blood time. Why do you think she walked behind us today and not with the other women? She cannot tell stories tonight.”

Chakliux was surprised at his own disappointment. It had been a long time since he and Aqamdax had shared a storytelling. He knew she had left Night Man’s tent but doubted that she was in moon blood. If that was the way she had chosen to avoid sleeping in her husband’s bed, then he was glad for her choice.

“I have enough stories to fill an evening,” Chakliux answered, refusing to return Night Man’s insults. “Sok and Sky Watcher are good at reliving hunts. Perhaps the people would like to listen to them as well.”

“There are many stories that should be told,” Night Man said. “Perhaps we should remember what happened to our men during the fighting with the Near Rivers.”

“It is best forgotten,” Chakliux told him.

Night Man shrugged and turned his back. As he walked away, he said, “See you do not forget one thing, Otter Foot. Aqamdax is my wife.”

THE FOUR RIVERS VILLAGE

“I think we have met before,” K’os said, and nodded her head in greeting.

“I hate to think I have so poor a memory,” Red Leaf said. “So perhaps we have not.” She murmured several compliments as though soft words about K’os’s face and clothing could blind the woman’s eyes to truth.

“You are Red Leaf from the Near River Village,” K’os said.

Red Leaf ignored her, but inclined her head toward the boiling bag, and when Sand Fly raised her eyebrows in agreement, she gave them bowls of meat and broth. They sat down on padded mats, and Red Leaf scooped out meat for herself. She knew she could not eat, but she wrapped her hands around the bowl and the warmth calmed her.

“As a girl, I lived in the Near River Village,” Red Leaf said. “Perhaps you remember me from that time. I have a cousin there. Some say we look alike. My name is Gheli. My husband was a trader.” She turned and looked at her baby in the cradleboard. “He filled my belly with a daughter, then did not want her. With winter approaching, the child and I were starving, so I set a small camp near this village, hoping I could find someone who needed a wife. Cen took me and my daughter as well.”

“You are fortunate,” K’os said. She raised the bowl to her mouth and looked at Red Leaf over the rim as she ate. When she finished, she wiped the corners of her lips with her fingertips. “This other woman, Red Leaf, I cannot truly remember the story, but there was some reason she and her husband left the village.”

“K’os was a slave at the Near River Village,” Sand Fly said.

Red Leaf had heard that K’os was among the women who went to the Near River Village, but she opened her mouth as though in surprise, then asked, “Then someone here in this village bought you from them?”

K’os’s smile turned cold. “I escaped. I am here as you were, looking for a husband. If there is no man in need of a wife, then I will ask the elders to allow me to live here with some family until I have enough caribou hides to make my own lodge.”

“You hunt?” Red Leaf asked.

K’os laughed. “I am a healer. There is always some need for a healer in a village as large as this one.”

“Perhaps Cen could use a second wife,” Sand Fly said.

“I am sure, if I was your sister-wife,” K’os said slowly, her eyes on Red Leaf’s face, “that I would never again mistake you for the woman Red Leaf.”

“It would be good to have a sister-wife,” Red Leaf said softly. “It is lonely in this lodge when my husband is away.”

Sand Fly chortled, showing a gap between her front teeth. “But stay with us until Cen returns,” she said to K’os, laying a veined hand on K’os’s wrist.

Red Leaf noticed that K’os flinched under Sand Fly’s fingers, but who would not? The old woman was too forward in her touching, in her meddling.

“Yes. It is a decision that Cen must make,” Red Leaf told K’os.

“Men are like that,” Sand Fly said. “They do not like women to tell them what to do.”

K’os’s eyes glittered, dark as obsidian. “Until then, Gheli, I call you sister in my heart, and I will carry the hope that Cen chooses to take a second wife.”

THE COUSIN RIVER PEOPLE

Chakliux began the stories with that tale, nearly as old as the earth, of the raven and the porcupine. He told of the race between them, and how the porcupine, though much slower, used his wisdom to win. Then he changed his stories to those of lynx and wolf, bear and fox, but though his words seemed to catch the interest of the boys, the men began to talk among themselves, and Chakliux felt as if the stories went from his mouth and fell to the earth so quickly that they did not even reach the ears of those nearest him.

Finally he spoke to the men, using a loud voice of celebration, and asked if anyone wanted to tell a hunting story. They were in a camp, without their best clothing and sacred objects, so the stories could not be acted out in the parts of bear and hunter, caribou and wolf. But still, there were new tales to be made from the joy of this year’s hunt, and there were always old stories worth repeating.

None of the men stood, and Chakliux called out to Sok, reminded him of the bear hunt they had made with their grandfather, but Sok shook his head slowly, and Chakliux suddenly knew that that story was one Sok could never tell again, not when it was Red Leaf who had taken their grandfather’s life.

“Sky Watcher, you have stories. What about that dead caribou that nearly floated you with it downriver?”

That brought smiles, and Sky Watcher told the story, laughing as he spoke. Hunters had drowned in such a way, but how better to rise above fear than with laughter? The story made the people forget their tiredness, and Chakliux could feel their excitement pushing against him.

That lift of joy was one of the things he loved most about storytelling. He began a tale of his own, something passed down from their grandfathers’ grandfathers about those warriors who came from the north and tried to destroy the River People. Joining together from their small camps and villages along the rivers, The People had defeated those ancient enemies, but again, it seemed as though Chakliux’s words did not reach the Cousin People’s ears. He wondered if the recent fighting was still too close in their minds. How could they celebrate past victories when they still mourned a defeat?

He wished Aqamdax was able to tell her stories. With the voices she could draw from her throat—a different sound for each person or animal that spoke—she would be able to hold the attention of the hunters as well as the youngest child.

Finally he decided to tell the people that the storytelling would continue when they celebrated their hunt with a feast at the winter village.

But as the last words of his story came from his mouth, Take More spoke out, his voice belligerent. “We have a Near River hunter here among us,” he said, and he turned toward First Eagle. “Perhaps he has stories to tell. How many of our young men did you kill? Perhaps my sister’s son.”

Then the women began to murmur, but Night Man stood up, looked down at Take More. “You forget who started the fighting,” he said. “If we condemn the Near Rivers, then we must also condemn ourselves.”

For all the resentment Chakliux held against the man, he could now feel only gratitude, but then Night Man held a hand out toward Chakliux. “A riddle, Otter Foot,” he said.

Even though the night had settled around them, even though the fire cast as much shadow as light, Chakliux could see the malice in Night Man’s eyes, and so he answered, “We have far to walk tomorrow, and heavy loads. It is time for stories to end and riddles to wait.”

Chakliux walked away from the fire, back toward his lean-to. The men and boys left the storytelling circle. The women banked the fire and also went to their lean-tos. Chakliux had told Star to set their tents at the edge of the camp, had explained that he must be able to watch for wolves and, as Dzuuggi, use his prayers to protect the camp. But in truth, he wanted to be close to the moon blood lodge, to be able to help Aqamdax if some animal came to her as she stayed alone.

He saw now that she had made a fire outside the lean-to, and he was glad for the warmth and protection of those flames, but still he wished she was his wife, safe in his tent, lying close to his side each night.

“Look! What do I see?”

Chakliux turned. Night Man was behind him, his eyes also fixed on the moon blood lodge.

“They hide in the willow and think no one knows.”

Chapter Thirty-six

A
T FIRST LIGHT CHAKLIUX
left the tent, walked out with his weapons. Star was asleep, and so he had awakened Yaa, whispered that he was going out to be sure the camp was safe. He did not mention the Near River hunters, but knew by Yaa’s round eyes that she understood. He took Biter with him, and together they circled the camp.

Biter lifted his nose several times, testing the wind, but he did not bark. When in his circling Chakliux came to the moon blood tent, he pursed his lips into a thin whistle. Biter whined, and Chakliux laid a hand over the dog’s muzzle, then Aqamdax crawled outside.

“We are safe,” she said when she saw him.

“We?” Chakliux asked.

“Awl joined me last night.”

Chakliux looked back toward the camp, saw no movement between the tents. He squatted on his haunches and gestured to Aqamdax with one hand. She crawled from the lean-to, shivering, her arms wrapped around her shoulders. He reached forward to pull up her parka hood, then dropped his hand without touching her. She flipped up her hood, pushing her hair into her face. Her trill of laughter made him smile.

“Five days?” she asked.

He knew her question was more about when he would take her as wife than how much longer to the winter village. “Perhaps six,” he said. “Be careful. I will not talk to you again until we get there. Someone saw us in the willow and told Night Man.”

Fear widened her eyes.

“Stay in the moon blood tent at night. Call for me if he threatens you.” He handed her a knife, a hunter’s knife, long-bladed. “He killed your son. Do not let him take you.”

“Chakliux,” she said, and he could hear the tears under her words, “you have other knives? He is more likely to kill you.”

He patted the sheath strapped to his strong leg, then loosened the neck opening of his parka, let her see the knife inside. He stood, lifted his chin toward Biter. “He is a good dog. He will help me watch.”

“Keep him close to you, then,” Aqamdax said.

“No, I brought him for you.”

“He is Ghaden’s dog….”

“You think Ghaden will be upset?” He smiled at her, shook his head. “I must go. Be safe.”

He returned to his own tent, to Star, still sleeping, and to Yaa and Ghaden. He helped them pack their supplies, then sent them off while he woke Star. That way he was the only one to take her abuse for disturbing the dreams she claimed would strengthen their baby.

Aqamdax and Awl walked on either side of Biter and led their husbands’ dogs, each pulling a travois. At midday, the snow returned, harder and faster than the day before. The wind followed, winter in its breath, and they walked with fur ruffs pulled forward to cover their faces, only their eyes peering out through the tunnels of their parka hoods. The snow was wet, and they had to stop often to break balls of ice from the dogs’ feet.

Aqamdax wondered if they would stop as early that day as they had the day before, but Chakliux kept them going, and she knew it was because of her. She wondered who had seen them and why that one had told Night Man. Did she have enemies among the women in the camp? Star resented her, but Star, had she seen them, would have fallen upon them herself, most likely with knife in hand.

They crossed several shallow streams. Aqamdax wore her seal flipper boots, had made sure that Ghaden and Yaa also wore theirs. Though she and Awl walked last in the line of people, Awl’s husband often came back to see that they kept up with the others, and at the streams both he and Sok remained behind until everyone had crossed.

During that day of walking, her pack heavy on her back, Aqamdax did not see Chakliux. Late in the afternoon Sok told the women they would walk until the sun set. Aqamdax heard their groans, Star’s shrill cry of disagreement, but Aqamdax was glad. The farther they walked, the sooner they would arrive at the winter village.

By the time the sky began darkening in the east, the snow was no more than a few scattered flakes.

“We will stop soon,” Awl said, her cheeks dimpling as she added, “Many nights when I lived as slave to the Near Rivers, I dreamed of our winter village.”

“You know the Near River men burned the lodges after you and the others left?” Aqamdax asked.

“Yes. The Near River Men boasted of it.”

“K’os was not foolish, taking all of you to the Near Rivers as she did.”

Awl shook her head as though to disagree. “During that first moon in the Near River Village, I would have gladly lived in ashes to be back with my own people. Do you feel that way about your Sea Hunters?”