The Great Alone (37 page)

A short while later, the Tlingits returned to the ship, bringing with them a bundle of pelts of considerably higher quality than the ones they had originally offered. Satisfied, Caleb concluded the trade, and the small cannon was hoisted over the side and lowered into one of their canoes.

The drizzle had tapered off to a wet mist that blurred the wooded shores. Caleb watched from the quarterdeck as the cannon-laden canoe landed. The jubilant shouts and singing from the villagers echoed across the sound.

CHAPTER XXI

A few sunlit clouds drifted lazily across a blue sky; the bay waters reflected and deepened the blue of the sky to indigo. The islands along the sound were the lush green of summer. Near the shingle beach, Zachar paused in his labors and wiped the sweat from his brow as he looked at the unfinished keel of the sloop.

The surrounding quiet seemed to intensify. Zachar glanced toward the weathered logs of the tall fort and saw little movement. It appeared almost deserted now that nearly all of the two hundred Aleuts had left to begin the summer hunt for otter.

Hot and thirsty, he crossed the hard-packed ground to the water pail and ladled out a drink. He drank half of it, then poured the rest of it on the back of his neck, letting it run inside his muslin shirt and cool his flesh. Vaguely refreshed, he returned the ladle to the pail, hooking it over the wooden side, and flexed the tired muscles in his back and shoulders.

Then he saw her; she made no sound save the soft jingle of the copper bracelets around her ankles as she came along the beach toward him. Everything inside him seemed to become still for an instant, then all his senses started clamoring at once. He could even feel the pumping of his heart.

As Raven stopped in front of him, she kept her chin level and merely directed her gaze upwards to his face. “Zachar is busy?”

“No. I was taking a rest.” He glanced at the fort, but there was no one to see him idling. A surge of energy swept through him, chasing away his fatigue. “I have been wanting to see you.” Although he’d seen her frequently these last weeks, he never saw her often enough.

Smiling, she glanced at the crotch of his trousers. “Zachar is like a young warrior. Always eager.”

He laughed; that was exactly the way he felt when he was around her. Familiarly, he placed his arm around her shoulders. “Come. We will sit in the shade,” he said, guiding her to the shadows cast by the sloop’s keel.

As they sat down, Raven shifted sideways to face him and rested a shoulder against the planked sides of the keel, but she sat very close to him, close enough for Zachar to feel the light pressure of a rounded breast against his arm. His breathing roughened as he remembered the impressions her naked body made against his, its supple movements and fiery heat, its thrilling demands.

“Zachar’s village is quiet. Have all the fish eaters gone to hunt otter?”

“Yes.” He stroked her upper arm, its firmly muscled flesh bared by the broad sleeve of her buckskin garment that fell only a little below her shoulder.

“Will Zachar go hunt?”

“Would you miss me if I left?”

“Yes. Zachar gives me many pretty things.” The bead necklaces, the copper bracelets, and the silver rings in her ears were all presents from him.

Gifts. That was all he meant to her. Zachar knew it and hadn’t really expected her to say anything else. Yet it hurt to hear it. His hand automatically ceased caressing her.

“Will Zachar leave?” Raven studied him closely.

Her intent gaze awakened him to the fact that he’d been staring at her. “No.” He smiled wanly. “I am not going hunting this summer. I will stay here at the settlement with the others.” He rested his head against the unfinished keel and draped his arms across his upraised knees, then stared indifferently at the slow-moving clouds.

“Zachar looks sad. Has Raven made you unhappy?” She leaned closer and lightly rubbed her hand over the bulge in his crotch. His stiffened penis gave a little leap against her hand.

Zachar grabbed her hand and covered it with his to press down on his aching genitals. He turned his face to her, his look full of want. “If you want to make me happy, Raven, come live with me. I want you to be my woman.” Now that he’d spoken the half-formed thoughts that had been whirling in his mind for so long, Zachar knew it was what he wanted. “What is the custom of your people? Do I take gifts to your parents?”

She pulled her hand free of his and drew back slightly. “Nanuk would be angry when he comes back in his ship.”

“Baranov—Nanuk won’t return for a long time, not until next summer. He has gone to Kodiak. And he wouldn’t care if you were my woman.”

Raven knew her father and the other clan chiefs would be interested to learn Nanuk would not return soon. He was brave and fearless. They had no wish to face him in battle.

Not once did she seriously consider Zachar’s offer. If she became his woman, he would no longer give her presents. It would be her duty to mate with him. By living with him, she would lose status in her tribe. She had nothing to gain by accepting.

But more importantly, Raven knew the plans of her people. Before summer’s end, the village of the Russians would be destroyed. Other clans were banding with her kwan to attack it, and a sufficient quantity of guns and powder, obtained in trade from the Boston men, was hidden in their houses. They waited only for the moment to strike when the Russians were unaware. She and the other Tlingit women who were allowed by the Russians to freely enter the fort to mate with them reported all they saw and heard to that end.

She looked at this stupid Creole who gazed at her with hungry eyes, and she felt amused contempt. Soon he would be dead, and his head would be on the end of a pole stuck in the ground.

“Raven cannot be Zachar’s woman,” she informed him coolly. “Raven will come visit Zachar like before times.”

He nodded slowly and averted his gaze, but she observed the grimness around his mouth, a sign of some hot emotion held in check. Lithely she stood up.

“Zachar does not want to be with Raven. Raven not stay.” She heard the scrape of his boots on the packed earth as he scrambled to his feet.

“Don’t go.” His fingers closed around her arm to stop her.

She looked at him insolently. “Raven not like the way Zachar is this day. Raven come back when Zachar happy.”

There was a moment when she thought he was going to argue, then the fight went out of him. “We are going to have a feast in two days to celebrate a Holy Day.” He released his hold on her arm. “No one will work that day. We will have a praznik and there will be singing and dancing. Will you come, Raven?”

She smiled slowly at his statement. “This will be in two days,” she repeated.

“Yes.”

“It is a happy time,” she said, and he nodded. “Raven maybe come then.”

As she walked away from him, Raven forced herself to maintain a sedate pace. The minute she reached the concealment of the forest, she quickened her steps to hurry back to her clan’s summer camp and report what she’d learned, certain her news would fill the camp with excitement. What better time to attack the Russian village than the day of their feast.

Idly, Zachar let the empty pail slap against his leg as he crossed the square, heading for the open gate and the cowsheds beyond by the creek. The doors and windows to the barracks stood open, their barricades raised. From inside came the high-pitched giggles of some Aleut women happily preparing for the day’s celebration. Zachar could see some of the baby cradles hanging along the wall in the sunny room. Over by the cookhouse, a half dozen promyshleniki leaned on their muskets, talking and laughing in loud voices.

As he approached the gate, Zachar waved to the guard on the second-story parapet. An injury temporarily kept the Russian from any arduous task and earned him easy sentry duty. He lifted a hand in response to Zachar’s wave, smoke curling from the pipe in his hand. His musket lay across his legs. As he walked out of the stockade, Zachar had a fleeting glimpse of a baidar with three promyshleniki on board before it disappeared behind one of the small islands in the channel. The three were half of a hunting party sent to bring back fresh seal meat and wild geese for the feast.

Zachar nodded a greeting to another of his comrades, who waded in the shallow water of the cove to stake out fishnets, and continued on to the sheds. There was an indolence about the sun-drenched day that reflected his relaxed, happy mood and that of those around him. Everyone was enjoying a well-earned day of rest. He passed an Aleut woman busy picking berries. Ahead of him, a young, black and white calf frolicked in the cattleyard, then scampered to its mother’s side at Zachar’s approach. The hammering of a woodpecker somewhere in the deep woods suddenly stopped.

The spotted cattle took little notice of him as he paused beside the split-timber rails that enclosed the yard. Distantly, he heard a shout, followed immediately by the banging of the settlement’s iron ring, sounding an alarm. Turning, Zachar dropped the empty bucket and ran toward the fort. The crack of musketfire broke the quiet.

Zachar skidded to a halt at the sight of the Kolosh swarming around the stockaded barracks, hideous in their grotesquely carved beast masks with gleaming eyes and hooked beaks and long fangs. Already they were climbing over the parapets and jamming their muskets into the window openings before the barricades could be dropped. More Kolosh streamed from the woods carrying firebrands of burning pitch that they hurled onto the second-story roof. As Zachar took a step toward the beach and the skin-boats on the shore, war canoes with more demon-masked Kolosh bore down on the clearing.

Unarmed, with no chance of reaching the now barricaded fort or escaping by water, Zachar turned and raced back toward the cowsheds. Animal-like war cries rent the air, interspersed with the shouts and screams that came from inside the stockade. Sporadic musketfire signaled a valiant resistance.

The Aleut woman emerged from the berry thicket with a small child clutched in her arms, her expression filled with terror and confusion. “Kolosh!” Zachar shouted. “Run! Hide in the woods!”

She screamed at something behind him, then darted back into the thicket. Zachar glanced over his shoulder and saw four Kolosh brandishing spears in pursuit of him. Avoiding the bushes where the woman had gone, he sprinted for the deep tangle of the forest’s edge, straining every muscle in an effort to reach it ahead of the feet pounding the ground behind him. His heart felt as if it was going to burst.

He dived into the dense undergrowth, scrambling and clawing his way through the thorny bushes and thick ferns on his hands and knees. His pursuers came crashing into the brush after him. Zachar frantically looked for a hiding place, then spied the gnarled and twisted roots of a long-ago-fallen spruce. He crawled quickly to the dark hollow at the base of the log’s massive trunk, slightly elevated from the forest floor by the widely spread roots. He flattened himself to the ground to wiggle into it.

When he was safely inside it, he lay motionless and swallowed to control his loud, labored breathing. He could hear the rattle of the brush as the Kolosh searched for him. They were close, very close. He held his breath, then heard the reverberating boom of a cannon from the fort.

The rustling noises grew fainter and finally faded altogether. Still Zachar waited a little longer before emerging from the dank hollow. Several times he’d heard the cannon go off. Moving silently, he worked his way through the woods to the edge of the forest close to the settlement and cautiously peered out to see if the attack had been repulsed.

Dark smoke rolled from all the buildings, yellow tongues of flame leaping and dancing from the roofs. As Zachar watched, three promyshleniki jumped from the burning second story. One, the injured sentry, was impaled on a Kolosh spear. The second was quickly cornered, and a spear ripped out his throat. The last promyshlenik landed free and ran for the forest, pursued by the Kolosh, but he stumbled and fell. They pounced on him before he could rise and severed his head.

A score of screaming Aleut women with their babies fled the burning barracks and ran directly into the arms of the Kolosh. The babies were taken from them, and swung by their heels to bash in their skulls on the hard ground, then their bodies were thrown into the water. A Kolosh warrior shouted and pointed to the woods where Zachar was hiding. He’d been seen.

Quickly, Zachar slipped back into the forest and eluded his pursuers again. By accident, he found the Aleut woman and child that he’d sent into the woods to hide. Fleeing together, they went deeper into the forest, climbing the mountain that rose behind the redoubt.

After leaving Sitka Sound, the
Sea Gypsy
had sailed into the maze of islands lying north of the sound, anchoring in the waters offshore of villages, trading, then sailing on. The brig’s circuitous route eventually brought her back to the sound.

Caleb decided to call at the Redoubt St. Michael, replenish the freshwater supply, and learn what rival ships were operating in the area. As captain, he never fraternized with his officers or crew. In truth, Caleb was tired of his own company and looked forward to another evening drinking with that cagey Russian rapscallion Baranov.

The prospect put him in a good humor. There was a half smile on his face as he gazed off the starboard bow, waiting for the initial glimpse of the Russian colors waving from the fort’s flagpole. The sun was warm on his back, and the wind steady.