The Storyteller Trilogy (113 page)

Star, not Snow-in-her-hair, should have been the one to die at the river. Who would have missed her? Her old mother, Long Eyes, seldom knew what was happening around her. Her brother, Night Man, was too selfish to care whether Star was dead or alive.

Truly it had seemed that as Star grew stronger, Snow-in-her-hair grew weaker, as though Star’s spirit used Snow’s strength to pull itself back into the world. He turned suddenly to Sky Watcher and asked, “You need food from your cache?”

“For the dogs,” he answered.

“I will get it.”

“Bring a little caribou meat,” Bird Caller told him.

Sok pulled on his outside clothes and left the lodge. The snow cut hard into his face, but he welcomed its pain, pushed his parka hood back from his face so he could feel the bitter cold bite into his skin. A drift behind Bird Caller’s lodge was nearly to his hips, the snow hard and crusted with ice, but he forced his way through. The wind sang, and now that he was outside the lodge walls, he recognized its voice.

Snow-in-her-hair was calling him, singing, singing, her cold fingers caressing his skin.

T
HE STORM LASTED THREE
days. During that time Sok was quiet, seldom spoke, even to his sons, but he cared for his dogs, went hunting once with Chakliux, though they returned only with ptarmigan.

The wind finally blew the storm north, and the sun cut through the layer of clouds to reveal the pale blue of a winter sky. Neither sun nor wind was strong enough to keep the clouds away, and two days later they circled back, at first in a thin layer, so Aqamdax thought they were only the smoke from village hearths. But soon the wind caught bitterness again in its mouth and flung it in ice and cold over the village. Once again the dogs curled tight in the lee of drifts, and old women covered themselves with caribou hides so the cold, on its way to their bones, would be trapped in the hides’ thick hair.

The first night of that new storm Sok woke Aqamdax with his mourning songs, and as his wailing turned to words, she realized that he was speaking to the wind as though it were his dead wife.

In the darkness of the lodge Cries-loud crept to Aqamdax’s bed, and though he had eight summers, he huddled close like a small child awakening from bad dreams.

Chakliux stirred beside her, and Aqamdax whispered, “You need to get Sok away from here.”

“In this storm?”

She could hear the anger in Chakliux’s voice, knew that it was not at her but at the sorrow that seemed to tear Sok away from who he was. She took his hand, guided it to Cries-loud so he could feel the boy trembling beside her.

“Where?” Chakliux asked, his voice again gentle.

“The hunters’ lodge?” she said, giving her suggestion as question.

Chakliux pulled on boots and parka, got Sok into his outside clothing. After they left, Aqamdax put Cries-loud back into his own bed, then she took Carries Much from his cradleboard and held him, singing the lullabies she had learned as a child living with the First Men.

Chakliux did not return until the next morning, and then he came by himself.

“Sok stayed at the hunters’ lodge?” Aqamdax said.

“The men asked him to tell hunting stories. I came to feed the dogs and see if you need anything, but I should go back.”

Aqamdax kept her disappointment hidden. Only a moon before he had not been her husband. Then, a quick smile when others were not looking was all they dared. How could she complain now that they belonged to one another?

“How bad is the storm?” she asked.

“Like the others,” he replied, and shrugged his shoulders as though it did not matter, but she could tell it bothered him. How could a man hunt? How could a woman keep her traplines open?

She gave Chakliux food, filled his bowl again so he would stay longer. When he left, she sang songs to fill the lodge, and told stories, Cries-loud begging for more even when her voice grew hoarse from speaking. Later in the day, Yaa and Ghaden came to the lodge, and Aqamdax taught them all a First Men song.

She fed the children, took Carries Much to Bird Caller so the woman could see him. Aqamdax herself was nursing the baby now, and each day she had more milk. She fought the storm back to Snow’s lodge, told Ghaden and Yaa she wanted them to spend the night, but in the early darkness of that evening, Star came, scolded both children for worrying her. Then when the children begged, she agreed that Cries-loud could come and stay in her lodge with Ghaden and Yaa.

Aqamdax met Star’s eyes boldly. “You know I cannot let him go with you,” she said.

“You trust your brother and sister with me and yet not Cries-loud?”

“I have no choice with my brother and sister,” she said, “but Cries-loud belongs to Sok. You must ask him.”

“Where is he? I thought he would be here.”

“He and Chakliux are at the hunters’ lodge.”

“A new husband does not live with his new wife?” Star asked, mocking her with raised eyebrows.

Aqamdax did not answer. She knew the truth. What else mattered?

“I will go to the hunters’ lodge and ask,” Star told her, but Aqamdax put on her outside clothes, bound the baby under her parka and went with her. Together they stood outside huddled with Yaa as Ghaden and Cries-loud went in. Finally Chakliux came out, said Sok wanted the boy to stay in Snow’s lodge until the storm ended.

Star thrust her lip into a pout, and grabbing fistfuls of Yaa’s and Ghaden’s parkas, dragged them with her to her lodge.

“Wait for me,” Chakliux told Aqamdax, and he followed Star to her lodge.

Aqamdax and Cries-loud waited, crouched beside the hunters’ lodge, heads turned away from the wind. When Chakliux came back, his face was grim, but Aqamdax asked no questions, said nothing about Star. Chakliux walked Aqamdax and Cries-loud to Snow’s lodge, stayed with them there through the evening before returning to his brother.

That night Chakliux dreamed he was with Aqamdax. He turned in his sleep, flung an arm over her to pull her close, then sat up, suddenly awake. He heard the sleep noises of the men, smelled the thick odor of their breaths, rich with the meat they had eaten the day before.

Sok was not in his bedding furs. His parka no longer hung on the clothing pegs. Take More sat beside the hearth fire, was feeding thin sticks into the coals.

“He left,” he said to Chakliux.

“You did not stop him?” Chakliux asked.

“Is he a child that I must stop him?”

“Did he say anything to you?”

“That someone was calling him.”

Chakliux dressed and went outside, studied the footprints the snow had not yet covered. The largest went toward Sok’s lodge, and Chakliux began to hope his brother had stopped for food and supplies.

Then, through the darkness, Chakliux saw Sok leaving the lodge, a pack on his back. He did not take any of the dogs, but instead started toward the caches. The new snow, not yet hardened by the wind, reached Chakliux’s knees, and his otter foot slipped. He toppled into the snow, but he pushed himself up and caught Sok before he reached the caches.

When Sok saw Chakliux, he said, “My wife is calling me. I cannot pretend anymore that I do not hear.”

“Where are you going?”

“To find her.”

Chakliux grasped his brother’s arm, lifted his voice above the screaming wind. “What if she is calling you to her world? Who will raise your sons? Your wife would trust them to another?”

“They are yours if I do not return,” Sok said, then continued toward their food cache.

Again Chakliux caught his brother’s arm. “I am going with you.”

Sok shook his head. “Who will take care of my children if both of us are called into that spirit world?”

“She does not call me.”

Sok stomped his feet against the ground, brushed snow from the ruff of his hood. “Come if you must,” he finally said.

“I cannot go without telling Aqamdax.”

“I will get meat while you speak to her.”

Chakliux clamped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You will wait for me?”

“Yes.”

Chakliux turned and ran to the lodge.

Aqamdax was feeding Carries Much when her husband burst into the lodge. She was relieved to see him, began speaking before he could say anything.

“Sok was here. There is something wrong. You need to talk to him. He would tell me nothing. He took Carries Much from his cradleboard and whispered into his ears. Then he gave Cries-loud one of his best spears. The long one he uses for caribou.”

Chakliux crouched in front of his wife and looked into her face. “I saw him. He thinks his dead wife calls him from the storm. He says he must go to her.”

“Do you think she is calling? Why would she want him to leave her new son? What if the wife calling him is not Snow but Red Leaf?”

“I am going with him.”

“No! Chakliux, look at me. I have a baby to care for, and Cries-loud, and my brother and Yaa….” She saw the sorrow in his face, the worry, and she choked down her protests. “I have taken care of children before,” she said softly. “But I cannot lose you. Please, Chakliux…”

He enclosed her in his arms, whispered into her hair, “If I let him go alone, he will not come back. If we go together, I have a chance to bring him home. But whatever his decision, I will be back. I will never leave you. You are always at the center of my heart.”

Then he had weapons in his hands, a pack, and before Aqamdax could think of other arguments, he was gone. She cradled the baby in one arm and crawled into the entrance tunnel, lifted the doorflap to watch Chakliux leave, but the snow swallowed him, and she could see nothing but the storm.

She went into the lodge. Cries-loud had squeezed himself into a ball, knees drawn nearly to his chin. The spear Sok had given him was in his hands, the butt end resting against the floor, the spearhead pointing up as though to threaten the wind.

Aqamdax sat beside him, adjusted the baby at her breast, began to rock and hum. Then a story came into her mind, a silly tale of gulls and kittiwakes, and she began to speak. Soon Cries-loud was leaning against her, the spear between them, and Aqamdax told stories long into the night.

T
HE DAY DAWNED BRIGHT
and clear, as though the storm had never been. Ligige’ stomped out a path through the snow to her dog, was welcomed by his yips. When he had first belonged to the Near River shaman, Wolf-and-Raven, the animal was nearly wild, snapping at anyone who came close, but as the years passed he had gentled, and after Wolf-and-Raven’s death, when his widow gave the dog to Ligige’, he was nearly as much a pet as Ghaden’s dog, Biter.

Ligige’ fed him a large fish, then tossed out several chunks of fat. If people saw her giving him the fat, they would think she was foolish, but she told herself that if starving times came, she could always eat the dog, so any fat given was not really wasted. The winter promised to be a bad one. During the next storm, she would let the dog sleep in the entrance tunnel. After all, what could anyone say to her? She was not a child to be scolded. Old women had earned the right to do things differently if they wanted.

When the dog finished eating, Ligige’ ran her hands over him, broke away ice from his tail and feet, endured the slimy warmth of his tongue against her face.

When she was satisfied he had survived the storm well, she stood up, looked at the Cousin People Village. The domed caribou hide lodges sent thin spirals of gray smoke into the blue sky, and the snow glittered under the sun, so bright it hurt her eyes. She sighed. It was too beautiful a day to go to Star’s lodge, but now that Aqamdax was no longer wife to Night Man, who would watch over Yaa and Ghaden if she did not? She sighed again and, leaning on her walking stick, tottered through the snow on her old-woman feet.

She could hear Star yelling even before she came to the lodge. When her scratching brought no response, she pulled aside the door-flap in disgust and went inside. Yaa and Ghaden were huddled together between two stacks of baskets. The dog Biter, allowed once more in Star’s lodge, lay in front of them as though to offer protection from her words. Night Man had returned also, and he was laughing. His laughter seemed to add to Star’s rage, and until Ligige’ raised her voice to scream out a greeting neither noticed that she was in the lodge.

Star was suddenly quiet, but her mouth stayed open as though an abundance of unspoken words still forced her teeth apart. Ghaden took advantage of the silence by jumping to his feet and running to Ligige’, crying out, “Thank you for asking us to stay with you tonight.”

The boy grabbed his pack and parka, called Biter and was into the entrance tunnel before anyone could react.

Star lifted her voice into a howl, but Ligige’ asked Night Man, “You do not care if I take them?”

“It would be best,” he said.

Yaa scrambled to her feet, got her things and joined her brother. Ligige’ nodded toward Long Eyes, who sat at the back of the lodge. “You need me to take her also?” Ligige’ asked.

“Some other day perhaps,” Night Man said. Ligige’ thought he tried to smile, but with Night Man it was difficult to tell. His smiles were usually of derision, not gratitude. She followed Yaa and Ghaden into the brightness of the snow, called them back to her when they began to run toward her lodge. They whooped when she lifted her chin toward Aqamdax’s lodge, and without greetings or the politeness of scratching, tumbled into the entrance tunnel, Biter following them.

Ligige’ shook her head and chuckled. How could she scold them? They only acted out their joy. She had let them stay too long with Star.

Aqamdax heard the voices before anyone scratched, felt her spirits lift. Cries-loud jumped up from where he was poking at a bowl of food, and Aqamdax was happy to see a smile light his face. The boy had lost too much in the last few moons—a brother, two mothers and perhaps now a father.

He pushed opened the doorflap, and a rush of cold air came from the entrance tunnel. Biter bounded in and began to bark. Aqamdax hushed him and checked the baby, sure the chill and noise would wake him up, but he slept on. Then Ghaden and Yaa were in the lodge, filling it with their happy voices, and Ligige’ followed close behind them.