The Storyteller Trilogy (60 page)

THE NORTH SEA

Though his chigdax had shed most of the water, Chakliux was cold, his hands stiff, his fingers numb. He untied a bag of dried fish from the deck of the iqyax and ate. The food strengthened him, and he looked out again over the ice, east then south. He blinked twice before he allowed himself to believe what he was seeing. Though ice still blocked his way, the shore was close. Surely, if he was patient, he would find an open lead that would allow him to beach his iqyax.

Winter had scoured the inlets and beaches into new shapes, but he thought he recognized a few hills that were just south of the Walrus Hunter Village. Soon he would be back at the Near River Village.

THE COUSIN RIVER VILLAGE

“Biter! You stupid dog turd.”

Ghaden had run through the village, Biter at his heels, but as they passed the last lodge, ignoring the jeering daughters who belonged to the woman Grebe, a hare had cut across the path. Biter jumped after it, disappearing into the brush before Ghaden could even react.

He followed the dog a short distance, called him, but Biter didn’t return. Finally Ghaden returned to the path, to the laughter of Grebe’s daughters. He held up Lynx Killer’s hunting dart and asked if they had seen him. The youngest girl said that he had walked north from the village and disappeared into the spruce forest just before Ghaden and Biter came. She was giggling, even as she told him.

Ghaden ran down the path, into the dark of the spruce. He and Aqamdax had walked through a lot of woods on the journey from the Near River Village, but that had been mostly leafless willow and birch, the low brush that grew close to the river.

This was different. The trees were so big they blocked out the light. The ground was spongy with melting snow, and he could feel the crunch of the spruce needles under his feet. How far should he go? He looked back often. Finally the path’s opening was only a tiny brightness in the dark of the trees.

He listened, hoping to hear Lynx Killer walking, but the only sound was that of the wind pushing through the spruce boughs, the tree voices talking softly, like old women sewing around a winter hearth fire.

He’d better go back. He’d never find Lynx Killer, and besides, Biter might catch that hare and take it to the lodge. He liked to be there when Biter did something like that. After all, Biter was his dog, and when he brought back meat, Star was always a little nicer, not so apt to do the small mean things that plagued his days—pinching, a foot thrust out to trip, angry words about things Ghaden did not understand, and worst of all, the quick sharp slaps with a willow stick across his cheeks and hands, something that she also did to Yaa, though Yaa was better at holding in her tears than he was.

Those things did not happen when Aqamdax was in the lodge, but she could not always be there, and, of course, there were those days when she had to be in the women’s lodge, five long days of Star’s willow stick and of different women coming to help care for Night Man. Sometimes even the tall, strange K’os came. When Ghaden saw her, he always tried to hide.

He knew she was good, though she did not look like a good person. She brought Night Man medicine. She had medicine for Star, too. After Star took K’os’s medicine, she was quiet, often smiled, though she would forget to give Ghaden food when she was like that, and afterward she slept for a long time.

He turned back down the path, walked a short way and stopped. If Grebe’s daughters were still outside, they would know he had not gone very far. Maybe he should sit down and wait. Maybe Lynx Killer would come back this way, or maybe Biter would sniff out Ghaden’s trail if he was still and allowed his smell to stay in one place for a while.

Ghaden crouched on his haunches. He thought about being old enough to hunt like Lynx Killer, to have his own spears and bird darts and a hunting knife. His right leg began to ache. He and Biter had been wrestling the day before, and Biter had jumped on him, left two dark bruises on his thigh. Ghaden stood, stretched the leg, then saw a tree with a wide low branch. He climbed to the branch, settled himself back against the trunk. He closed his eyes. It was still too cold for mosquitoes or flies, and the ground was not yet soupy with melt water. It was a good time of year.

During the past moon, they had all been a little hungry, but no one was starving, and maybe Biter would catch that hare. Then they would have fresh meat in the stew … and soon they would go on the spring caribou hunt. That would be good. Then they would eat until their bellies almost burst. That’s what Lynx Killer had told him. They would eat and eat and not be hungry for a long, long time….

T
HE SNAP OF A
twig woke him. Ghaden rubbed his eyes and shook his head. Where was he? For a moment he was afraid, then he remembered he had followed Lynx Killer into the woods. The bird dart was lying across his stomach. He clasped it and looked toward the spot of light that marked the path to the village. It was getting dark. Yaa would be worried. He climbed out of the tree, pushed his way through its lower branches, then heard another snap.

He heard the sound again, then a quick, muffled cry. Was it Lynx Killer? He looked at the bird dart in his hand. It was the only weapon he had. How foolish to come into the woods with nothing but a bird dart. What if some animal were stalking him? What good was a bird dart? He slid back into the spruce branches, hoping their strong tree smell would help mask his scent.

He heard the crunch of footsteps and held his breath. Ghaden strained to see through the branches, but they were so thick he could make out only a bit of dark fur. Then he saw it, not animal, but human. Lynx Killer, he thought—no—a woman.

The parka had strips of white at the shoulders and red fox tails hanging across the back. It was the healer, K’os. She carried a gathering basket slung on one arm. He sighed his relief, slid from his refuge in the tree. He opened his mouth to call out to her, but in his hurry to get from tree to path, he dropped Lynx Killer’s bird dart. In the darkness under the low hanging spruce branches, it was difficult to see. He moved his hands quickly over the ground, but it took him a long time to find the dart. He pushed his way out of the branches and saw that K’os was nearly out of the woods.

At least he had the bird dart. Besides, he didn’t need an old woman to walk him back to the village. He was almost old enough to be a hunter.

Mourning cries pierced the still dark sky. Star was the first out of her lodge; Yaa and Aqamdax followed. Even Long Eyes went out, lifted her voice. Ghaden rubbed the sleep from his eyes and glanced over at Night Man. He must have died. Ghaden felt a lump of sadness for Aqamdax and a thrill of dread for the women who would come to their lodge. They would push him into a small corner, scold Biter, tell harsh stories of death.

Biter poked at Ghaden with his nose, tried to roust him out of the sleeping robes. The day before, Biter had returned before Ghaden, a hare in his mouth. He had carried it from lodge to lodge looking for Ghaden. Ghaden had missed the praise the village women heaped on the dog, but at least he had been able to enjoy the fresh meat in their stew, the good rich broth that made last year’s fish seem almost palatable. But now Night Man …

Ghaden looked over at Night Man’s bed, squinted so Night Man’s spirit could not look fully into his eyes. Then Night Man moaned, moved and moaned again. Ghaden jumped from his bed. Wearing only his breechclout, he ran outside, caught Yaa’s hand.

“He is alive, Yaa. Come back inside. He isn’t dead. I saw him move.”

“Who?” Yaa asked, looking down at him, her mouth screwed into a frown.

“Night Man.”

“Night Man isn’t dead.”

“I know. I saw him move. He … isn’t dead?”

“No.”

“Who’s dead?” He saw the tears in Yaa’s eyes. Suddenly he was very afraid. “Who’s dead, Yaa!”

She leaned down to whisper the name into Ghaden’s ear so the dead one’s spirit would not hear, would not think they spoke in disrespect. “Lynx Killer,” she said.

Ghaden smiled. It was a joke. She was teasing. Sometimes Yaa teased him, told him something that wasn’t true. Sometimes she did that. “No,” Ghaden said.

She nodded her head, and he saw the tears floating in her eyes.

“No,” Ghaden said again. “I have his bird dart. I have to give it to him.”

Aqamdax put her arms around him. “I am so sorry, Little Brother,” she whispered. Then Ghaden knew it was true.

“He went hunting yesterday. I saw him,” Ghaden said. “I saw him go. He dropped a bird dart. I went after him, to give it to him, but I couldn’t find him.” A chill coursed down his back. He had followed Lynx Killer. Did an animal get him?

“Was it a bear?” Ghaden asked.

Aqamdax pressed herself closer. “They say it was a spear, a Near River spear.”

Then again the fear came, swallowed Ghaden like a wolf swallows meat. They were Near River, he and Yaa. Would the elders think they did it?

“Who found him?” Star called to one of the men passing their lodge.

“K’os,” the hunter answered, then quickened his pace toward the hunters’ lodge. “She was out this morning gathering plants,” he called back over his shoulder. “She found him in the spruce woods, not far from the village. The spear was in his heart.”

K’os, Ghaden thought. She had been gathering plants yesterday—in the spruce woods. She was lucky the Near River People did not kill her, too.

Tikaani came to K’os that night. She did not welcome him to her bed. Why welcome a man who had ignored her for most of the winter? Why pretend she was not angry?

He came into her lodge. He was larger, stronger than she remembered, and suddenly, though only for a moment, she felt the years bend her spine, the weight of them heavy on her shoulders. But she raised her head, straightened and stood tall, felt her own power move toward him, mold him back into the young man she remembered, brash and sometimes foolish.

“I am sorry about your little cousin,” K’os said.

He narrowed his eyes as if trying to see past her words. She turned her back on him and sat down, picked up a parka she had been sewing and held it so he could see the fine lines of dyed caribou hair that made a multicolored design at the shoulders, wrists and on the top of the hood. Once, not that long ago, she would have made the parka for him. This one was for Sky Watcher, a man younger than Tikaani but with the promise of being a great hunter, a skilled warrior. She saw Tikaani’s eyes on the parka and knew he could not miss the sacred symbols she had embroidered: the dark sharp wing that was raven, the circles that were sun, the lines that stood for animals taken. What man would not want to own such a thing, to have the power it would give the wearer?

“It is for Sky Watcher,” she said, and sucked in her cheeks to keep from smiling when she saw the frown on Tikaani’s face.

Tikaani crouched on his haunches across the hearth fire from her. “They will fight,” he said, his words loud and harsh. “They have decided the bows give advantage.”

She tried to keep her face set, to show no sign of gladness, but she could not. She smiled. “When?” she asked.

“Now, before the river melts, before they go to hunt caribou. Before our own hunts.”

“They have a plan?” K’os asked. Too often the men of this village did things without thinking, without deciding how they should act. Too often each went with his own ideas, believed that everyone thought as he did. Too often they kept their words to themselves until it was too late for anything but to survive. She had said as much to Tikaani over the years. Since he was little more than a boy, she had told him that hunts and battles were better when plans were made, when ideas were shared in wisdom and without rivalry for power or honor.

“We have a plan,” he said. “You taught me well.”

She did not try to hide her smile this time, but held up the parka on her lap. “It could be for you. I can make another for Sky Watcher.” She lifted the caribou hide shirt she wore and opened her legs.

He shook his head. “The only gift I want is for my brother,” he said, and looked hard into her eyes. She felt his anger, his hatred. “My hope is for my brother, that someday he will be strong again.”

He left the lodge. K’os ground her teeth. Yes, she had taught him well. Too well. How could she control him if she could not get him back into her bed?

She sat still for a long time, until the hearth fire nearly died and the chill of the night crept into her lodge. Then suddenly she threw back her head and laughed, stoked the fire and pulled out her medicine bag. Tikaani thought he was a man, but he was still a child. Only a boy playing with a new toy. How foolish of her not to realize it.

THE NEAR RIVER VILLAGE

THE YOUNG CHILDREN CAME
first, screaming, afraid. Something terrible was coming, those little ones said, and they cried for their mothers. It was a giant, huge, with a head so large he banged it against trees when he turned, they said. They pointed back toward the forest, to the path that followed the river.

Sok ignored the small children, instead waited for the older boys, his son Carries Much among them.

They, too, were breathless, but told the men that it was no more than a hunter carrying something over his head.

“An iqyax,” Carries Much said. “Like my uncle’s.”

It might be a trader, Sok thought, but most likely it was Chakliux, returned at last from searching for that useless one, Aqamdax. Evidently, he returned alone.

Chakliux was foolish to bring the iqyax to the village. Who could say how the elders would react? Would they say it broke the River People’s taboos? What if the young boys did not show respect? What if the women thought they could touch the iqyax, use it as they used their own rafts? Better first to prepare the people with stories, then later this summer show them the iqyax, teach the men how to build them, and remind the women and children that such boats must be treated with respect.

Sok saw the man walking from the woods, noticed the limp, and knew that it was his brother. He hurried to meet him, lifted the iqyax from his shoulders. The iqyax cover was badly worn, so Sok knew Chakliux had spent long days on the North Sea. He saw the shreds that had once been Chakliux’s boots, now stained dark with blood, and knew his brother had walked far. Sok carried the iqyax to one of the drying racks that had survived the winter, leaned it belly side down, told the women and children not to touch it, then stood there to keep small hands away.