The Storyteller Trilogy (25 page)

Chakliux once told Sok that his dream was to have an iqyax and learn to hunt sea animals. If he could do such a thing, perhaps he would stay with the Walrus Hunters. Or even go live with the Sea Hunters. Then one day he might come back to this village, teach Sok how to hunt sea animals. The thought lifted Sok’s spirit, but he tried not to imagine what it would be like to return to this village alone, without Chakliux, the brother who claimed too much, the brother favored by the spirits since birth, the brother he had grown to love.

Blueberry stood up as Chakliux entered the lodge. She wore no ornaments, only a long caribou hide shirt and hare fur socks that reached her knees. Chakliux regretted that he had brought no necklaces, no feathers or weasel tails. He had been away from women too long. He had forgotten what they enjoyed.

He handed her the fishskin basket. “This is for you,” he said.

She took the basket without speaking, lowering her head as she reached out for it, so Chakliux could see the long white part that divided her hair. She was a small woman, and narrow of hip, like Gguzaakk had been. His heart squeezed tight at the thought, then he reminded himself that this woman was only to be his wife for one night. He would never feel his soul torn apart in fear as she struggled through childbirth.

She set the basket on the floor and brought him a bowl of food. He sat down and ate, watching from the corner of his eyes as she examined the gifts he had brought her. She exclaimed over each one, her words soft but joyful, and he felt his heart fill also with her joy. Surely she had been given gifts before. Surely a woman as beautiful as Blueberry knew what it was to receive good things.

He handed her his empty bowl, and she flicked her eyes toward the boiling bag that hung from the lodge poles.

“It was very good,” Chakliux said.

“The gifts, too, are wonderful,” said Blueberry, her voice so soft that Chakliux had to lean forward to hear her.

“There is one more gift for you tonight.”

She raised her eyebrows and looked down at his crotch.

“No,” he said, and could not keep a smile from his face. He lifted his chin toward his bowl. “Fill my bowl again, and also another.”

“I am not hungry,” Blueberry said.

“It is not for you.”

Someone scratched at the doorflap, and Chakliux called out, “Come.”

Blueberry stared at the entrance tunnel with wide eyes, and when Root Digger came in, she dropped Chakliux’s bowl and covered her face with both hands.

“Wife,” Chakliux said to her, “our guest needs food.”

Blueberry picked up Chakliux’s bowl, filled it and handed it to him. She filled another bowl for Root Digger. Chakliux motioned for the man to sit beside him.

Root Digger was nervous. His long thin fingers shook as he took the bowl from Blueberry’s hands.

Blueberry brought a water bladder, set it beside Chakliux, then went to her basket corner, tucking herself in among the reeds and grasses, the piles of fishskin baskets she stored there. She laid a sheaf of dried grasses across her lap and began to split a blade with her thumbnail.

Chakliux ate. He said nothing to Root Digger or to Blueberry, though he saw that, now and again, both looked at him from the sides of their eyes.

When Chakliux finished his food, he set his bowl on the floor. Blueberry jumped up to refill it, but he held up one hand so she settled herself again amidst her baskets.

Chakliux waited until Root Digger finished his food. The man ate more slowly than necessary, Chakliux thought, but then he reminded himself that Root Digger was a slow man, slow in feet and slow in thought. Why not also slow in eating?

“I have noticed,” Chakliux began, turning to look straight into Root Digger’s face, “that you live in your mother’s lodge. Since I have been in this village only a few moons, I do not know everything about everyone, but I have heard that you do not have a wife.”

“No, I do not,” the man said, his words high and squeaky like a boy’s.

“You need a wife,” said Chakliux.

“Yes,” Root Digger said, his face growing pale.

“There are many women in this village, young girls and widows who are not spoken for. There is Wolf-and-Raven’s daughter, Snow-in-her-hair; there is Broken Grass, a widow still young enough to have children. There is Dog Trainer’s granddaughter who just celebrated her woman’s rites.” He stopped, leaned down to run a finger over his bowl. He sucked the meat juice from his fingertip.

“Have you considered any of these women?” Chakliux asked.

“Only Broken Grass,” Root Digger said.

Chakliux looked at Blueberry, saw the surprise in her face. Did she believe he thought only of her, this man? Her husband had been dead only a moon.

Root Digger followed Chakliux’s eyes to Blueberry, then ducked his head, his face suddenly red.

“You know that I must claim Blueberry as wife,” Chakliux said, looking again at Root Digger.

“I understand,” said Root Digger.

Chakliux turned to Blueberry. “You understand this, wife?” he asked her.

“Yes.”

“But there is something else I must tell you.” He settled himself against the backrest that had once belonged to his grandfather. “I have just returned from the Cousin River Village, from my own people there. I traded in good faith for a golden-eyed dog and her pups. I brought the dogs here with hopes of breaking the curse that plagues the animals of this village. The young hunters in the Cousin River Village do not want to see good trading between us. They seek honor by becoming warriors. After I left their village, they attacked me.”

Chakliux looked at Blueberry, saw that she listened with eyes round, mouth open. Root Digger also stared.

“Why?” he asked.

“Who knows? Honor is one thing to one man, another to someone else.”

“I have seen the female you brought and her four pups,” Root Digger said.

“There were five pups,” said Chakliux. “They killed one, and a male dog I had brought to mate with our females. They also killed a Cousin River elder who came with me. Three of those hunters died. Three of five. Another was wounded. Then they returned to their own village, and I came here.”

“They will come looking for you,” Blueberry said, and she moved to their side of the fire, knelt down between them, as though she had forgotten her place as woman.

“They will come, and if we do not give you to them, they will attack,” Root Digger said.

“That is what the elders believe,” Chakliux answered. “What I and my brother believe, also. So tomorrow we plan to leave the village. We will go trade with the Walrus Hunters; perhaps we will travel even farther and trade with the Sea Hunters.”

He glanced at Blueberry, saw the lines in her forehead, and knew what she was thinking.

“You will be gone a long time,” she said quietly.

“I may not come back,” Chakliux replied, and the words hung cold and empty in the lodge. “I may not be able to come back. The elders have agreed to say that I did not return here with the golden-eyed dogs. That way your people will hold no blame for the deaths of the Cousin River hunters. What fault is it of yours if one Cousin River man kills another Cousin River man? How can the young hunters use that to begin a war?”

“So you will take the dogs and leave?” Blueberry asked.

“Why take the dogs?” asked Root Digger. “You brought them for us.”

Blueberry looked at the man, disgust in her face. “If their warriors come, they will recognize the female,” she said.

“And the pups?” he asked.

“There are decisions yet to be made about the pups,” Chakliux said. The elders had not yet chosen the men to whom the pups would go. One would belong to Dog Trainer, and perhaps one would be given to his stepfather, Fox Barking. But why say? The fewer men who knew about the pups being left in the village, the better.

“I have a bitch with a new litter,” Root Digger said. “She could nurse another.”

Chakliux bit at the inside of his cheek. “It is a decision the elders will make,” he said. “Go speak to Dog Trainer. Perhaps they will decide it is not safe to leave any pups here.”

“What man recognizes a pup once it is grown?” Root Digger asked.

“They have the eyes,” Chakliux answered.

“There is a golden-eye born now and again among our litters.”

Perhaps that was true, Chakliux thought. He had not lived long enough in the village to know. “My concern now is not dogs,” he told Root Digger. “My concern is for my wife. I cannot take her with me. I do not know if I will return. Will you claim her as wife? That way she will have a hunter to care for her, and I will not worry whether she has the meat she needs for next winter.”

Again Blueberry covered her face.

“I will take her if she will come to me,” Root Digger said. His fingers tightened around the bowl he still held in his lap.

“Blueberry?”

“Yes, I will go to him,” she said, her words muffled by her hands.

“I asked about you,” Chakliux said to Root Digger. “I would not give Blueberry to you if you were not a good hunter and a good man.”

Root Digger nodded, swallowed. He had a long neck, and his head stuck up out of his parka like the curled sprout of a new fern.

“Go then,” Chakliux said. “Come to us in the morning when it is still dark. That is when Sok and I plan to leave.” He turned and spoke to Blueberry, reached over to pull her hands away from her face. “You understand that I must throw you away. Otherwise, you will not be free to become Root Digger’s wife.”

“Yes.”

“If we do this in the morning, early, no one will see except us. You will face no dishonor.”

Chakliux took a long breath. He had nothing more to say. It was not an easy thing to give your wife to another man, even a wife you did not want.

Root Digger stood, dipped his head toward Chakliux, then looked into Blueberry’s eyes. The woman lowered her head, glanced at Chakliux. Root Digger left, and the lodge was suddenly too large, too quiet.

Chakliux raised his bowl toward her, though his stomach was full. Eating was something to do, and, he reminded himself, there would be days during their journey when he would wish for the good food of Blueberry’s lodge. Then he would remember this extra bowl of meat.

“Take one for yourself as well,” he said.

She lay a hand against her belly, and he thought she would say she was not hungry, but she filled her bowl, then sat down on the opposite side of the hearth and began to eat. She kept the bowl tipped so it hid her face.

When she had finished eating, she lowered her bowl and looked at him. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

Chakliux was not sure whether she thanked him for the food or for Root Digger. He wondered again whether Blueberry had broken mourning taboos with Root Digger or if she had welcomed him to her bed when Tsaani was still alive, but then he told himself it was not his problem. If taboos and promises had been broken, Blueberry’s luck would leave her, and Root Digger’s hunting success would falter. Now, since they would belong to each other, their curses would fall mostly upon themselves, as was best.

Then Chakliux pushed away all thoughts of Root Digger and led Blueberry to his bed. He removed his clothing except his breechcloth. Blueberry pulled her shirt off over her head. Her back was to the hearth coals, so in the shadows Chakliux could not see her clearly, only the mounds of her breasts, darker at the center, the shadow of the cleft between her legs.

She was thinner, finer boned than Gguzaakk. Looking at her, Chakliux first noticed only the differences between the two women, then it seemed as though he saw them side by side, and finally they began to flow into one another, like two streams joining—the dark, thin Blueberry, the fairer, wider Gguzaakk gradually mingling to become one. He pulled Blueberry close, stroked her back, her shoulders and arms.

Then Blueberry’s hands were on him, light and gentle, the calluses of her palms small and rough against his skin. He had forgotten the joy of a woman’s body, the heat. He was suddenly glad he had already promised her to Root Digger. He was not sure he could have after taking her as wife.

THE COUSIN RIVER VILLAGE

K’os carefully folded the powder into a bit of caribou hide. She had dyed the hide with five-leaves grass, and the red color would stand as a warning to her. She knotted it shut with many strands of sinew, then placed it at the bottom of her beaverskin medicine bag. Ground Beater had earned a reprieve. There would be another time for this, she thought, and patted the bag. For now, she would do as he suggested.

There was a risk. They were known in the Near River Village. Her husband had hunted with some of their men, and, of course, had traded with them. She also knew some of the Near River hunters. Knew them very well. But that was something they might wish to hide, especially when she was with her husband.

Ground Beater opened the doorflap at the entrance tunnel, called, “You are ready?”

She pulled up her parka hood, drew it tight around her face. It was early morning, a good time to leave, the ground hard and frozen. They could not wait for days, deciding what to do. Spring breakup was too close. Then no one would be able to cross the river until the flooding subsided. They would go now, confront their son in the Near River Village.

The dogs each carried a pack. There were three of them, a young female and two males, all with golden eyes. If the Near River People were eager for peace, perhaps they would be less so when they saw these dogs. When their young men realized that they could win dogs like these, they, too, might decide they wanted to fight.

Her husband bent over each animal, checked the straps that secured their packs. K’os backed away from him, leaned close to Tikaani and Snow Breaker, the two young hunters who would travel with them.

Her voice was quiet and low, softened by the fur ruff close around her face. “He thinks he will speak peace to these Near River People. I do not think there is a chance for peace. Guard him. When they see his dogs, I think they will try to kill him. They will say it is an accident, but …” She raised her hands, spread her mittened fingers.

Ground Beater looked back, waved them forward. Each of the men walked beside a dog. K’os followed. The village was quiet in early morning, smoke rising to spread a thin layer above the lodges, the stars still bright. Snow squeaked beneath K’os’s sealskin boots. She carried her snowshoes and a small pack of supplies on her back. Women’s knives rested in sheaths at her waist, and she had strapped a short-bladed knife to her left wrist. Under her parka, warm against her skin, was the medicine bag. She reached up to pat it and felt her heart thump as though in answer. She smiled, peering from the tunnel of her hood. It would be a long walk, but she looked forward to seeing her son again. She missed him.