The Storyteller Trilogy (162 page)

“Be careful,” she said, “or you will douse the fire.”

When the bowl of the lamp was full, she waved one hand at him and said, “Hang it up again.”

He replaced the belly on its peg, then she pointed at the floor with pursed lips. “I think you had better sit down and talk to me.”

He turned toward her but remained standing.

“Sit!”

He sat.

“You are making a brideprice,” she said, “but you hardly know this girl. Her father is not much, and you have heard about her mother. What River man has not?”

“Yes, I know her mother,” Ghaden said, “and I know what she did to my sister.”

“Daughters are like their mothers. Surely you are old enough to have realized that.”

“Uutuk is not like K’os.”

Qung began nodding her head, keeping a rhythm as though she were listening to a drumbeat. Finally she said, “And what if you are wrong? Are you willing to chance that you might bring another K’os into your village?”

“I told you. She is not like K’os.”

“You have seen her sewing?”

“It is very good.”

“She has her own medicine bag, a sea otter. Did you know that?”

“No.”

“You know that K’os is a healer?”

“I know.”

“And she also uses her knowledge of plants to kill.”

“Some people say that.”

“Did you know that she sews very well?”

“I have seen parkas she made.”

“Then how can you say Uutuk is not like her mother?”

“In these things—in the good ways—she might be like K’os.”

“Only in good ways?”

“Uutuk is not K’os. There is no hatred in her.”

Qung began nodding again, and finally even closed her eyes, so that Ghaden thought she had fallen asleep. He had nearly decided to get up when she said, “Uutuk seems to be a good woman, which means either that she
is
a good woman, or that she is very good at being evil.”

Ghaden considered her words, then said, “She is a good woman. I know it.”

“Then if you are sure, and you have decided to make her your wife, there are things you should know about First Men customs.”

He waited, but Qung did not say anything more. Finally he asked, “Do you know someone who will talk to me about these customs?”

“Do you think there is anyone who knows more than I do?”

He smiled at her. “No, but I am not sure you want to tell me what you know.”

“Better I should tell you than someone who will give you poor advice. But you are not the only one in this ulax who trades.”

“I have oil,” he said to her, “and caribou meat.”

She waved a hand at him. “I have more than enough to keep me through the next winter and even beyond that, and I am still not too old to catch a few fish and gather sea urchins.”

“Baskets? Necklaces? A parka. I have a parka my sister Yaa made, not as beautiful as some, but the caribou hide is well scraped and the seams are straight and strong.”

Qung wrinkled her nose as she considered his offer; then on impulse he lifted one of the bear claws he had strung on sinew and hung at his neck. He untied the sinew and held out the claw, a long brown curl, polished to brightness with caribou fat. She squinted at it, reached out and took it, then cradled it in her lap, but she asked, “What would an old woman do with a bear claw?”

“Power is power,” Ghaden told her.

She chortled to herself and wrapped her fingers around the claw, held it as she told Ghaden the First Men customs of taking wives.

“She is worth more than a few seal bellies of oil and six necklaces,” Seal said to Ghaden.

They were sitting on the lee side of the chief hunter’s ulax, away from the wind. Trail-walker, brother of one of the chief’s wives, sat with them. He was thin, long of legs, and tall. His large nose and narrow face made him look out of place among the First Men. Like Seal, he had cut his hair in a fringe across his forehead, and large round labrets pierced his skin at the corners of his mouth.

“Get some caribou meat,” Trail-walker said to Seal, the labrets clicking against his teeth.

“Trades are better made between two men,” Seal told him. “Be quiet and let me think about this.”

Trail-walker leaned close to whisper into Seal’s ear, but Seal pushed the man away and said to Ghaden, “She sews well. Do you want to see one of the parkas she made?”

Ghaden agreed, though he knew that Seal was only trying to make the bargaining more difficult.

Seal climbed up to the ulax roof and went inside, returning with a large, square trader’s pack. He untied the flap and pulled out a black-feathered birdskin sax, unrolled it and held it up. Ghaden grunted his approval, then noticed a few stitches of red sinew on the top edge of the collar rim.

“Your wife used to live in my village,” Ghaden said. “She owned my oldest sister as slave. I know K’os’s mark.” He reached out and fingered the red stitches. “This is not Uutuk’s work. Perhaps you are ashamed of what she sews …”

Trail-walker bumped Seal with his elbow and gave a quick shake of his head.

“Do not take me for a fool,” Seal said to Trail-walker. “I did not notice that this was my wife’s work. Wait.”

He dug through the pack, pulled out another rolled sax, then two more, checking the collar rims on each. Finally he grunted and threw one toward Ghaden. Ghaden unrolled it. He knew little about stitching and cutting, but he had seen Cen turn a garment to the inside, run his fingers across the seams, and sniff the hides, so Ghaden did all these things. He noticed that the stitches were small and even, which seemed good. Birdskins smell different than caribou hides, so he could not be sure about the odor, whether good or bad, but they carried no stink of mold.

Thrusting out his chin as if he knew what he were talking about, Ghaden said, “Well made.”

“She sews quickly. She can make a sax of puffin skins in just a few days.”

Trail-walker rubbed his nose and commented, “What does he know about puffin skins? He is River.”

“Puffin skins are smaller than cormorant,” Seal explained to Ghaden. “It takes a woman more time to make a sax from puffins.”

Ghaden did not answer. Trail-walker had insulted him, assuming his ignorance about puffins and cormorants, but Seal did not seem to notice Ghaden’s silence. He continued to chatter about his daughter’s abilities.

“Her mother has taught her about plants. It is useful to have a wife who knows something about healing.”

“Would she be willing to live with the River People?” Ghaden asked.

“She wants a husband who will hunt for her family. How can you do that if you go back to live in a River village?”

At first Ghaden had no answer. Surely Seal was wise enough to realize that a man who had spent his life learning to hunt caribou would be of less use than a boy when it came to taking sea animals.

“I could make sure that my father always brought a good supply of dried caribou meat to the Traders’ Beach each summer,” Ghaden said. “You could claim it here. Surely with your own hunting skills, you do not need more seal or sea lion meat, and because you are a trader, you could make good deals with the caribou I provide for you.”

Trail-walker spoke again into Seal’s ear. This time Ghaden heard what he said. It was an insult, but Ghaden held in his anger and waited for Seal to speak.

“How do I know you will do such a thing?” Seal asked. “I do not come to this beach every year. It is too far to travel.”

“I give you my word. Ask anyone who knows me, and they will tell you that I do not lie. I will send meat whether you are here or not. If you do not come, the chief hunter can use it and later exchange seal oil for what he and his people have eaten. You know that the men of this village can be trusted. They often do things like this for traders. Why do you think traders continue to come to their beach?”

Seal pinched his lips into a frown. “I will not be here next year,” he said, “so perhaps you should give me now what I would have coming.”

“What if she is not a good wife?” Ghaden countered. “A man cannot be expected to pay for a wife who does not please him.”

Seal looked at Trail-walker, but Trail-walker only shrugged. “A caribou hide of dried meat,” Seal finally said. “I will give her to you for two wolf pelts, the oil and necklaces, and a caribou hide of dried meat. She is yours as soon as you bring the oil and meat. Do not forget the necklaces, but give the most beautiful to my daughter. Tell her it is from me. Tell her that I expect grandsons in exchange.”

Trail-walker leaned close again, and Seal listened, then smiled. “One last thing,” said Seal and lifted his chin toward Ghaden’s chest. “A bear claw.”

Ghaden used his sleeve knife to cut the sinew that knotted the claw into a necklace. “Done,” he said.

“T
HERE WAS SOMETHING YOU
needed to ask me?” Cen said to Ghaden. Impatience roughened his voice, and he glanced out at the bay where two Walrus traders waited in their iqyan. They had invited him to join them on a trading trip to several nearby First Men villages.

Ghaden drew in his breath, released it in a short laugh. “Nothing,” he said.

“You’re welcome to come.”

Cen raised his eyebrows at his son, but Ghaden shook his head. The journey would not be long, depending on tides and weather, two or three days of travel, then a night or two at the village and the return trip to the Traders’ Beach.

Too bad Ghaden didn’t want to come, Cen thought. It would have been a good way to get him out of the village. But why worry? Ghaden had changed from child to man since K’os last saw him. She didn’t even know he was here. If she did, Cen assured himself, you would have heard about it. She’s not a woman to keep small victories to herself.

“You’re sure, then? We might make some very good trades.”

“You told me about that village once,” Ghaden said. “Remember? It doesn’t sound as if the women are very friendly.”

“Aaa, always women,” Cen said and laughed, but then his face grew stern. “Don’t forget what I told you about K’os and her daughter.”

Ghaden looked away, out toward the inlet where the traders were waiting. “I won’t,” he said.

Cen pushed his iqyax into the water and climbed inside, then shoved himself away from the shore with his paddle. It was a single-bladed cedar paddle, banded with Cen’s colors. Ghaden had carved it himself, according to Chakliux’s directions, and had given it to Cen as a gift.

Cen lifted the paddle in farewell, then turned his iqyax into the fog that lay over the bay.

Ghaden thought he would feel a release once his father was gone, a joy in being a man again, rather than the boy that Cen always seemed to see.

He stroked the bear claws that hung at his neck. No matter how much praise he received for his hunting success, no matter how cunning he was in making trades, to Cen he remained a child.

Ghaden’s thoughts ran ahead to the day when Cen would return and discover that in his absence Ghaden had taken Uutuk as wife.

A man makes his own decisions, Ghaden reminded himself. Except for his first wife, now dead, no woman had held his eyes or lived in his dreams like Uutuk. How could he return to his people without her? Once he was back in Chakliux’s village, he would take some old widow as second wife, placate Chakliux and Cen by keeping her fed.

And K’os? She would go back with her husband to his people and that distant island where they lived. What could be more simple than that?

K’os raised her voice and screamed, “You promised her to a River hunter! Who?”

Of course, she knew who, and she was pleased, but with Seal the wisest course was to pretend disagreement; then any uncertainty he carried was lost in his need to defend himself.

“The trader’s son, the one you yourself suggested,” Seal told her, his voice loud and angry. “I thought you wanted that.”

“It was only a consideration, something to think about. You said you would see what he offered as brideprice, not that you would accept his offer.”

“Look.” Seal held out the bear claw. “There is enough power in this to last me into old age.”

“She is my daughter. You should have asked me first.”

“What woman expects to have a say in the giving and taking of wives?” Seal countered, and kicked at the crowberry heather on the floor of the chief hunter’s ulax.

The chief’s third wife Spotted Leaf was there, and as soon as Seal and K’os had begun to fight, she had turned her back as though she were not listening, but when one of her young sons started climbing down the notched log into the ulax’s main room, the woman had snapped her fingers above her head, motioning for him to leave. The boy had, but not before standing and listening to the argument, a wide grin on his face.

“I got eight bellies of oil, two wolf pelts, a caribou hide of dried meat and some necklaces. He has also promised to hunt for us.”

“You expect a man trained as a caribou hunter to come to our island and hunt sea mammals from an iqyax? He will be a boy, worse than a boy, because we will have to feed him and he will eat like a man.”

Seal’s eyes widened, and K’os knew he had given no thought to the fact that Ghaden would not be able to hunt sea animals. But then he smiled, looked at her as though she were a child.

“You think I do not know that?”

K’os felt hope rise in her chest. Perhaps Ghaden, knowing he could not hunt sea mammals—at least not without several summers of hard work learning—had already convinced Seal to spend the winter with him, make a trading trip among the River People.

She bowed her head as though suddenly submissive. “When do we leave?” she asked.

Seal looked at her in surprise. “When I am done trading,” he said. “But first I plan to take a few days and travel to a nearby First Men village with other traders. You and Uutuk can stay here if you like.” He stopped. “Though by then she might have left with her River husband,” he said. “She is a good daughter. I will miss her.”

K’os felt a numbness creep into her arms. She tried to speak, but her anger at her husband’s stupidity closed off her throat. How did he think Ghaden would hunt for them? Did Seal plan to make the long journey each year to the Traders’ Beach? Could he be that foolish?