The Storyteller Trilogy (66 page)

THE NEAR RIVER VILLAGE

Blue-head Duck was dying. The wounds on his body were shallow, not enough to kill, but at some time during the battle, someone had cursed the man’s heart, and he had fallen as though hit by an arrow, clutching his chest in pain, though there was no blood.

“You must lead this village now,” he said to Chakliux. “There is no one else. Tsaani is dead. Wolf-and-Raven is dead.” He spoke the names as though he, too, were dead and did not have to worry what their spirits might do to him. “Sok does not have the wisdom.”

Blue-head Duck paused, took a long breath, lay his hand over the center of his chest, winced, and Chakliux wished he could share the man’s pain.

“We do not want Fox Barking. A man who is too lazy to provide for his wives should not lead a village. We do not want Dog Trainer.”

A moon before, Chakliux would have smiled at Blue-head Duck’s words. Everyone knew of the rivalry between Blue-head Duck and Dog Trainer. Dog Trainer would have been a good leader, wise and strong enough to stand for what he believed to be right. But Dog Trainer was dead. Chakliux looked away so Blue-head Duck would not see the knowledge of that death in his eyes. He would know soon enough. Let them compete with one another in the spirit world.

“I have asked the people to meet tonight. I will be there. They will listen to me.”

Chakliux nodded and did not express his doubt. Why would they listen to a man who was dying? Most of the men acknowledged Chakliux’s part in saving the village from complete destruction, but many hunters and most of the elders had died. When the Cousin River men had seen they were losing, they set lodges on fire, killing two old women and several others: Blue Flower and No Teeth; New Grass and her baby; the sister-wives Brown Water and Happy Mouth. Half of the young hunters had died in the battle—and most of the boys, including Sok’s son Carries Much.

Chakliux could not allow himself to remember his nephew’s face. When he did, his sorrow was like a wound in his heart, and he could do nothing but cry out his anguish.

They had enough hunters to keep their village strong, to supply food for the winter, to fish, but only a handful of the Cousin River men had survived, and of those, Tikaani and Take More had been dragged away on a travois. Chakliux had persuaded the Near River men to let them go. Perhaps that was foolish, but how would their women survive if there were no men to hunt?

Chakliux left Blue-head Duck’s lodge and walked into the woods, past a group of young men practicing with bows and arrows captured in the battle. He found a rock at the base of a large spruce, sat down on it, drew his feet up, away from the cold of the still-frozen ground.

He called to his mind all the faces of the Cousin River men he had known. Although they were the ones who had started the battle, he mourned as much for them as he did for the Near River People. It was probably also a Cousin River hunter who had killed Tsaani and Daes. Why did people do such stupid things?

He leaned his head back against the tree trunk, thought through all the stories he had been told, Cousin and Near River, North Tundra and Caribou, the First Men stories he had heard from Aqamdax and Qung. He heard them again as though he were a child, learning all things for the first time. He listened, and the words were like a poultice for the wounds of his body, and those larger, deeper wounds that pierced his soul.

Sok took his place among the hunters. With so many killed in battle, the circle of men was small, but its smallness made him feel larger, more important. They would choose a leader tonight. Who else could it be but him? Blue-head Duck was dying—Chakliux himself had told Red Leaf. Sleeps Long and Dog Trainer were dead. Chakliux would not be chosen. How could a man with only one good leg lead his people? How could a person who had been raised in the Cousin River Village carry the respect of the Near River hunters? No one wanted Fox Barking. Who could trust the man? The oldest person in the village was probably Ligige’, and she was a woman. Who would listen to her?

Sok had worn his finest parka, had brought both his wives, as well as Cries-loud and the infant son born to Snow-in-her-hair. Red Leaf’s face was dark with charcoal, her hair chopped short in mourning. He, too, carried the pain of his son’s death, but the boy had died bravely, and what father could not find solace in that? He would name Snow-in-her-hair’s child Carries Much, and in that way call the boy back to live with them. Perhaps Red Leaf would find comfort in that, though the two women were often sharp with one another, using words like men used weapons.

Four hunters brought Blue-head Duck from his lodge on a blanket of caribou skins, each man holding a corner. His old wife scurried beside him, poking at his hair and clothing, fussing until Sok had to look away, lest he speak out against her foolishness.

They set him down on a pad of soft furs next to the fire. The three remaining elders clustered close to him, but Sok stayed with the younger hunters, waited until Blue-head Duck’s wife left his side and found her place among the women. Then he went to Snow-in-her-hair, lifted his son from her arms and took him along with Cries-loud to Blue-head Duck. He knelt beside the man and spoke.

“I bring my sons to honor the elders of this village,” Sok said. “I bring them so they understand the sacredness and respect these men give to the Near River People.”

He waited, hoping Blue-head Duck would open his eyes, would say something, but the old man lay as if he were already dead, though Sok could see the labored rise and fall of his chest. Finally, Sok began a chant, something soft, a hunting song he had learned from his grandfather. He took the baby and Cries-loud back to their mothers, reclaimed his place among the hunters. He calmed his anger with the hope that even without Blue-head Duck’s acknowledgment, his action would be enough to win the people’s favor, to make them realize who should be their chief hunter.

He waited then, uncomfortable in the silence, wondering who would speak first. Of the elders still living, Blue-head Duck was too close to the spirit world to know what was happening in the village. Fox Barking held no one’s respect. Sun Caller was a man of stuttering tongue and few words, and Giving Meat had long ago retreated into a world where no one could reach him. He sat with spittle hanging from his mouth, his leggings dark with fresh urine.

Then Blue-head Duck raised one hand, made a whispered request, and Sun Caller moved behind him, propped him up until he was almost sitting.

“I am dying,” he said, the words so sudden that all whispers, all movement stopped, and it seemed as if even the wind held its breath. “For more than a year we have lived without our chief hunter. Some say his life was taken by spirits; others claim it was by those enemies we just defeated. We have now lost our shaman. Our healer is an old woman.”

Blue-head Duck moved his head slowly to look at Ligige’. Her eyes stared back at him from a face blackened in mourning. “Some have called me leader,” Blue-head Duck said. “Among the elders, I often spoke first.” He coughed, took several deep breaths, and when he spoke again, his voice was louder, stronger. “You must choose a new leader. I do not say to choose a shaman, that is something the people cannot do, but choose someone to lead the elders, someone as chief hunter, perhaps one man, perhaps two.” He paused, “My choice would be …”

Sok held his breath, waited impatiently for Blue-head Duck’s eyes to come to him, but they did not. They stopped, and Sok leaned forward, saw the old man was staring at Chakliux.

“Chakliux,” Blue-head Duck said. “Both for leader of the elders and chief hunter.”

Sok opened his mouth to make a protest, but his words choked him, and before he could say anything, Blue-head Duck gasped, clutched at his chest, twisting his body as if to flee the pain. He cried out, then was still, both mouth and eyes open.

Women and men gathered around him, and finally old Ligige’ raised her voice to tell everyone that he was dead.

No one started a mourning song, and Sok wondered if sorrow had piled too high on the people, so that they had no songs left.

Then suddenly Fox Barking was speaking, standing among the elders. “This man was a good man, wise, strong; we will miss him,” Fox Barking said. “I was glad to call him friend, but now that there are only three of us counted as elders, I must speak. How can we allow a man who is young, one who—although he is my son—was raised among those we call enemy? He fought for us, and I hold pride in my heart at his strength, but I say that we who are elders will lead ourselves. You young men, go out, hunt and protect our women, give them sons and daughters, teach your nephews to hunt. When the years have taught you wisdom, join us as elders, but not until then.

“Chakliux,” he said, and smiled at him, “I mean you no dishonor. You are storyteller. Find praise in that, but let the elders lead themselves.”

Sok looked at Sun Caller and at Giving Meat, knew in his heart that all things would be decided by Fox Barking.

“So then,” Fox Barking said, “I lift my voice to honor our storyteller.” He began a chant of praise, and others did the same, though Sok sat still and silent, as did Chakliux, both with eyes on Blue-head Duck, a good man lying dead without the honor of mourning chants.

As the praise song died away, one woman began a mourning song, but again Fox Barking spoke. This time his voice was loud, and all warmth had left it. “With such honor given my son Chakliux, I cannot ask that he also be called chief hunter. There are others who bring in more meat. Now, after this battle with our enemies, we must have a chief hunter whose good luck will spread to all the men of the village.”

Several hunters called out Sok’s name, and again he felt hope grow in his heart. Fox Barking was right. Chakliux was raised as Dzuuggi by the Cousin River People, and he should be storyteller. But with his weak leg, surely not chief hunter.

Fox Barking raised his hands, looked at Sok, smiled. “Again, I am honored to hear one of my sons named. Who is a better hunter than Sok? Even his grandfather knew he was gifted with spear and spear-thrower, but he carries a curse. He is my son, and so I did not want to tell you this, but I must. Already too many have died.”

Sok stared at his stepfather. What did he mean? What curse? He looked around the circle, seeking out Chakliux. His brother often understood things Sok did not, but he saw the same confusion on Chakliux’s face. Then he saw Red Leaf stretch her hands out toward Fox Barking, as if she could stop his words before they came from his mouth.

“Look! What do I see?” Fox Barking said. “The snow is red, as is the floor of a lodge.” He spoke to Chakliux. “I have come to appreciate your riddles,” he told him, then he turned to Sok. “Look! What do I see?” he said again. “She fears she must build a lodge in the midden piles and no longer see the sun.”

Sok looked at Chakliux, saw understanding, then sorrow, dawn in his brother’s eyes.

F
OX BARKING NARROWED HIS
eyes. The wound that slashed his face from brow to jaw was as dark as blood. “You do not understand?” he said to Sok. “Ask your brother. With his mind and your feet, the two of you make one good warrior.” Then, spreading his arms to the circle of people, Fox Barking said, “We should wait before we decide who is chief hunter. After the caribou hunts, then we will know and make a wise decision. Until then, the elders will decide when we hunt and where we go. The three of us,” he said, nodding toward Sun Caller and Giving Meat.

There was a low hum of disapproval from the people, and finally one of the young men spoke out. “Sok is our best hunter, and Chakliux knows about sea hunting,” he said. “Sok has many strong dogs, and Chakliux brought us the golden-eyed pups. I think you are wrong about this curse.”

“I know things you do not,” Fox Barking said. “Remember Chakliux has only one dog now, and most of Sok’s dogs have died.” He waited, but no one spoke. “Do not misunderstand. Perhaps Chakliux or Sok will lead us. All I say is we should wait. After we have hunted through the spring and summer, when winter is near, then we will decide who is our chief hunter. Who can say what will happen by then? Many things might change.”

He raised his eyebrows at Chakliux, but Chakliux pretended he did not see. Perhaps Fox Barking’s riddle was not true. He often lied, especially for his own gain.

“What is most important now,” Fox Barking continued, “is this dead one, long honored as an elder. We must mourn him as we have all the men and women who died in this battle.”

A few of the women lifted voices to begin mourning, but the men lifted knives and throwing spears.

Fox Barking gestured for the men to lower their weapons. “When our mourning is finished,” he called out, “then we will speak of revenge. Six of their hunters left this village alive. Some of our men said we should not follow them. I say we are foolish to let them live. No, they cannot attack our village as they once did, but what will stop them from stalking our hunters and killing them one by one? What will stop them from attacking our women and children when they go to set traplines?”

Hunters raised their voices, and several men jumped to their feet, began a chant of victory. Chakliux also stood, made his way to Sok’s side and pulled his brother from the circle.

“What do the riddles mean?” Sok asked, his breath coming in quick gasps as though he had been running. “Do you understand what he just did to us? Together we might have been the leaders of our village, I as chief hunter and you leading the elders.”

“He wants the power for himself,” Chakliux said.

“You think because I do not understand his riddles that I do not know he wants all power for himself?”

Chakliux heard the fear under his brother’s words. “Sok,” he said quietly, “there are more important things to talk about now. Is Red Leaf’s lodge empty?”

“Yes.”

“Let us go there.”

Ligige’ watched as Sok and Chakliux left the fire circle. She listened as Fox Barking continued to speak, and her mind worked at the riddles he had told, turning them and shaking them like a woman cleaning floor mats. Riddles were a foolish thing, she thought. Why did the Cousin River People enjoy them so much?