The Storyteller Trilogy (36 page)

The sky was darkening for the short summer night. Chakliux turned and walked back toward the tent shelter he and Sok shared with the Walrus traders. He could see the light of their fire near the entrance. He wondered if Sok had come back from the storytellers’ ulax. Whatever had happened, they would soon leave this village and return to the Walrus Hunters.

He sighed. How strange. Though he did not know their language, had no wife or family here, he wanted to stay.

Aqamdax drew her brows together and frowned. She said something to Qung, and Qung spoke to Tut.

Sok leaned toward Tut. “Is she angry?” he asked.

Tut held one hand up toward him. Sok clenched his fists. For all that Tut was telling him, he might as well not even be here. Again he gestured toward the pile of trade goods he had brought as bride price. He had things he could yet offer, gifts he had held back in case Qung and Aqamdax needed more persuasion.

He started to stand. “I have more. In my tent,” he said.

Tut, still speaking to Qung, glanced at him. “Sit down and be still,” she said, as though he were a child.

He had to bite his cheeks to keep his mouth closed over his anger. There was a problem, but how could he help if Tut did not tell him what it was? Did she think she knew more than he did? He was a man, used to dealing in trades, used to fighting with words. What did she know? She was only an old woman.

He wished he had brought Chakliux with him. His brother had been quick in learning Walrus, and though he could not carry on a long conversation, he knew enough to make his needs known. Perhaps in the few days they had been here, he had also picked up a few First Men words, at least enough to guess at what was happening. But Sok had been afraid that if Chakliux came he would expect some portion of the Walrus shaman’s payment, then perhaps there would not be enough for Sok to give Wolf-and-Raven for Snow-in-her-hair.

“Aqamdax’s mother left this village with a River People trader. Aqamdax asks if you could help find the woman. Her name is Daes.”

“I could try.”

Tut spoke to Qung for a long time, but Qung said little, holding her lips tight as though to keep in her words.

Finally Tut sighed and said to Sok, “I can do no better.”

“I told you I have more goods.”

Tut shook her head. “Qung says that what you have offered is enough. She tells you to keep the rest so you can take good care of your wife.”

“You told her about Red Leaf?” Sok asked.

Tut’s slow smile moved only one side of her mouth. “Aqamdax will come with you,” she told Sok, “but not as Yehl’s wife. She will come only as
your
wife.”

Sok could not keep the surprise from showing in his face. He looked at Aqamdax, and she stood. The lamplight shone from her oiled skin, casting a red glow against the dark tips of her breasts, the smooth fall of her hair. Her eyes were shadowed, dark hollows in the smooth circle of her face.

She reached out to him. Slowly he lifted his hand, felt her long thin fingers against his palm.

“There is no ceremony?” Sok asked Tut.

She shook her head. “Only to go with her,” she said. She stared into his eyes, and he saw the questions there, but Sok looked at Aqamdax and pushed those questions from his mind. There would be other days to think about Yehl, other days to decide what to do.

He followed Aqamdax into her sleeping place.

A
QAMDAX COULD NOT LOOK
at Qung as she led the River trader into her sleeping place. Qung would probably think that she agreed to be wife only to get this man into her blankets. What else could she think, considering the way Aqamdax had lived her life before she was storyteller?

But this was not the same. Now she could be a wife in an honorable way. It was also her chance to find her mother, and because her intent was honest perhaps she would someday bear children.

Qung would have to choose another to be the next storyteller. Surely that one would be more respectable than Aqamdax, and if the salmon had been offended by her, now they would see that the First Men were again doing things in honored ways.

The River trader was named Sok. Tut told her that the name meant “raven’s call.” It was a good name for him, a powerful name. He was a strong man, the muscles of his arms and chest thick and heavy. He had the large beaked nose she had seen before on other traders, full lips and deep-set eyes, thick dark hair that he bound into two short, stiff braids. He sometimes put bone ornaments in his earlobes, but unlike the First Men he did not wear a nose pin.

“Sok,” she said softly, and reached to touch his face. Her eyes had not yet adjusted to the darkness of the sleeping place, but she felt him smile.

“I am called Aqamdax,” she said. She laid a hand on her chest and again said, “Aqamdax.”

She waited for him to repeat it, but he did not, and for some reason she was disappointed. You are foolish, she told herself. You are wife now, act like one. The thought sent a shiver of joy through her, and she leaned forward, slipped her hands under his parka. It was a well-sewn parka, as fine as any she had seen, and she wondered if he had another wife. Second wife would be better than none, she told herself. Of course, since he was a trader, perhaps he had bought it from some village where the women prided themselves on their sewing skills.

She ran her hands up his sides and then around his chest. His skin was hot. Suddenly he crossed his arms, gripped the bottom of his parka and pulled it off over his head. He sat for a moment without moving, then he lay back on the fox fur blankets and pulled Aqamdax with him, pressed his face into her neck and flicked his tongue to her skin. Aqamdax closed her eyes, lost herself in the pleasure of his touch. She moved her hands to his thighs, heard the soft intake of his breath, and then his hands were on her, moving too quickly, with too much urgency.

Again Aqamdax did not allow herself to feel disappointment. Most men had little patience for the gentle, slow touching she enjoyed. He wanted her now, and he was her husband. She lifted herself up, straddled him. His hands clamped over her hips, pushed her down. She began to move, hoping to please him, hoping to bring him joy.

Qung tried to listen to Tut rather than the noise Aqamdax and the trader were making behind the sleeping curtains. What was more honorable than the union of husband and wife? she asked herself as Tut’s chatter clouded the ulax. What was better for Aqamdax than to have a husband of her own? He might even help her find her mother. Not, of course, that Daes deserved to have such a daughter, no, but every child needs a mother, and though Aqamdax was grown, what woman was not at times a child?

Yes, it was best. And it would be good to have the ulax to herself again, to know that what she put in the food cache would still be there the next time she looked for it. How good not to dread the clicking tongues of the women. Who could criticize Aqamdax for becoming wife, and who could criticize the fine bride price Sok had given for her? It was more even than Day Breaker gave for Smiles Much. Yes, it was good, very good.

Now if Tut would only leave and allow her time alone for foolish tears.

The next morning, Chakliux walked into the bay until the water reached his thighs. He had been in cold water before. The Cousin River was never warm, and he often swam into the depths. He reminded himself that the difference he felt was that of a river otter first swimming the sea, and then he plunged quickly, crouched then ducked his head under, pulling himself into the cold with strong strokes of his arms, until he skimmed the bottom, feeling the lift of waves as they passed over him, the pull of a current that ran parallel to the shore. He swam until his lungs ached for air, then cut up toward the light.

His head broke the water some distance from where he had started, closer to the shore, where two First Men hunters waded in knee-deep water. One spoke to Chakliux, but Chakliux could not understand him. He set his feet on the bottom and stood.

“No understand,” he said in Walrus.

“You speak Walrus,” the other hunter said. They looked to be brothers, but Chakliux was not sure. Many of the First Men seemed to look alike.

“A little,” Chakliux said.

“You are the one they call otter,” the hunter told him.

Chakliux was surprised. He did not know what the Walrus or the First Men called him.

“People do not swim. You must be otter.”

“Anyone can swim.”

The men laughed and began to wade toward shore. Chakliux followed. When he reached his clothing, he rubbed feeling back into his arms and legs with one of his hare fur boot liners, then saw that the First Men only sluiced the water from their bodies with the sides of their hands, so Chakliux did the same.

He pulled on his leggings. The leather stuck to his wet skin. He put on his liners, boots and parka. Someone called him. It was Sok. Tut was with him; no, not Tut. Tut did not wear First Men clothing. It was Aqamdax, the storyteller.

When Chakliux drew close, Sok placed an arm around the woman’s shoulders. Chakliux looked hard into his brother’s face. Sok had been away all night, and now he was acting as though the storyteller was his woman. In many villages, the people would be offended to have a man so careless in his touching.

“She is mine,” Sok said, and smiled.

“She has agreed to come with us to the Walrus Hunters?”

Sok laughed. “She is my wife.”

When Cormorant and Red Feather, the Walrus traders, saw the woman, they crowed out their delight.

“So now,” Chakliux said to Sok as the traders celebrated and Aqamdax looked on, smiling, laughing, “when do Cormorant and Red Feather find out that she is your wife? Now or tonight when you take her into your sleeping robes? Have you prepared yourself for their knives?”

“I have done my part,” Sok said. “I have taken the woman in trade, and she has promised to come with us to the Walrus Hunter Village. Do you think that was easy? You are the one who must tell the Walrus traders. After all, how can I speak to them? I do not know their language.”

Anger tightened Chakliux’s chest. Sok’s foolishness could cost them their lives.

“Then, brother,” Chakliux said, “perhaps I will tell them what they want to hear. That you secured the woman for their shaman. Then it will be your choice whether or not to bed her, your throat that is slit if you do.”

“You cannot tell them that. Tut will hear the truth and let them know.”

Chakliux shrugged. “Still, better your life than mine.”

Sok clamped his hands on Chakliux’s shoulders. “I asked her to be the shaman’s wife, and she refused. She would only agree to come as my wife.”

“At least that gives us a starting point,” Chakliux told him. “I will find Tut. It is best if we ask her advice, and better to rely on her words than mine in explaining all this. Try to keep your hands away from Aqamdax until I return.”

As he left, he thought he felt the eyes of the storyteller on his back, but perhaps it was only Gguzaakk waiting to see what would happen.

He found Tut in the chief hunter’s ulax, her voice rising above the chatter of the wives. He called down from the roof hole, asking for her. Tut invited him to come inside, and so he entered, surprised at the size of the ulax as he climbed down the notched log. It was clean, well-kept, the floor covered with long sheaths of dried grass, the lamp wicks burning with little smoke. Braided leaves and roots, sometimes whole plants, hung from the high ceiling rafters.

They knew how to build lodges, those First Men.

He waited beside the ladder, trying to catch Tut’s eye, but she would not look at him. She knows I want her to come with me, Chakliux thought, but she does not want to leave the women. Why should she?

He thought of how often he remembered his own village, his own people. He missed the wisdom of the elders, their stories of hunts and hard winters. Tut must have missed the people of this village in the same way.

Finally, the oldest woman said something to Tut, lifted her chin toward a curtained area of the ulax wall. Tut shook her head, then stood and walked over to the climbing log.

“Grass Eyes wants to know if you are hungry.”

“I need you to come with me,” he said.

“Now?”

“Yes. I am sorry, but my brother has done something that could bring us trouble.”

“He has taken the storyteller as wife.”

“You have heard?”

“I was there when he asked her.”

“Do others in the village know?”

“Do you think something like that could remain a secret through a whole night?”

“These women, what do they think?”

“They are glad,” Tut said. “They say she will be a good wife. They want to know if you will take her back with you to the River People or if your brother will live here with us.”

“He plans to take her back.”

Tut shrugged. “Then what is the problem?”

Chakliux lowered his voice. “Tut, you know the Walrus traders came to get her as wife for their shaman.”

“And Sok has not yet told them he himself is the husband?”

“No.”

Tut threw back her head and laughed. “And I am supposed to worry about this?”

“Tut, please come.”

“You speak the language. You tell them.”

“You would risk something like this to my poor knowledge of their language?”

Tut gave him a sour look, then sighed and turned, spoke in quick words to the First Men women, then gestured for him to climb the log. He waited at the top of the ulax, and finally she came. He helped her down the side, then she pulled away from him, walked in hard steps, stomping her feet against the earth like an angry child. Finally she said, “And what do you want me to tell them?”

“Tell them the truth,” Chakliux answered. “Say that she would not come with us except as Sok’s wife and that it will be up to the Walrus shaman to win her with gifts and promises when we get to their village.”

She nodded and said nothing more until they arrived at the traders’ tent.

Chakliux heard Aqamdax’s voice even as they neared the tent, and, though she spoke in the First Men’s language, he could tell by the cadence of her words that she was telling a story. Her voice rose to meet them as they entered the tent, though the storyteller herself did not move from the center of the shelter. The Walrus traders were sitting, listening, as was Sok, his face creased with a smile. When he saw Chakliux, he said, “She tells us a story. You see the powers she has. Listen.”