The Storyteller Trilogy (7 page)

“Another dog has died,” Sok finally said.

“Another? Yours?”

“Mine. The young male, black with white blaze.” Sok trailed a hand down the center of his face.

Tsaani shook his head. The best of Sok’s young dogs. Two of Sok’s were dead, male and female, both from the same litter. And three other dogs in the village had also died in the past moon. One was old, though strong, but the others were like Sok’s dogs, young, and with no sign of illness.

“There is some curse,” Sok said.

“This is a village of careful people,” Tsaani answered. “Every man respects life; every woman observes taboos. What curse could we have? What have we done? Do you know who might have caused this?”

For a long time Sok said nothing, then he spoke quietly, so quietly that Tsaani saw Blueberry, sewing as she sat near the lodge entrance, turn her head to hear him more clearly. “There are few changes in our village. Only Stars-in-her-mouth has died, and she was not a woman to love dogs. So I do not think it is the lack of her prayers. It seems to be something that happened this past moon. During that time, we have lost five healthy dogs and have had several pups in two different litters born dead. Maybe we should not have allowed the healthy pups of those litters to live. Maybe we should have killed them all.”

“How many pups are left from both litters?”

“Five.”

“Who has them?”

“One was given to me and one to my mother’s husband. Another to Sleeps Long. Two went to Blue-head Duck.”

“Go to these men,” Tsaani said. “Tell them they can each have one of Black Nose’s pups if they will kill these other dogs. You also will have one of Black Nose’s pups.”

Sok nodded.

“We have had these problems for this past moon, you say?” Tsaani asked.

Sok looked long into Tsaani’s eyes. “Yes,” he said. He stayed for a time, speaking with Tsaani about the hunt. Finally he stood and turned to the entrance tunnel. He paused to raise the last of a berry cake toward Blueberry. “Good,” he told her.

She dipped her head in acknowledgment as he left, then came over and stood beside Tsaani. Tsaani slipped his arm around her waist. Without speaking they went to Blueberry’s sleeping robes. She slipped off the loose caribouskin dress she wore in the lodge and stood before her husband in nothing but leggings laced to the center of her thighs. Tsaani dropped his woven hare fur robe and guided her hands to his breechcloth. She knelt to untie the thong, and Tsaani slipped his fingers through the smooth dark river of her hair.

A moon, he thought. When did Chakliux come to us? A man like Chakliux—a man raised as Dzuuggi—if he carried a curse, could destroy a whole village. But then, today they had taken a bear. Surely that was a sign of good luck.

Yes, Tsaani thought. We would not have taken the bear if we carried a curse.

The happiness of the hunt returned to him, and so he pushed away all thoughts except those which celebrated the joy of his wife’s small and cunning hands.

Sok walked through the village. It was dark, and the caribouskin cover over each winter lodge glowed yellow, lit from within by hearth fires.

He had not told his grandfather the one thing that pressed most urgently in his mind—his desire for the woman Snow-in-her-hair—but at least old Tsaani would begin to think about the problem of having Chakliux in this village. It had been such a foolishness, finding this brother. Sok had not even known he had a brother. Why would he? No one spoke of the dead. Why risk calling their spirits? Why remind the ones who loved them of their loss?

Sok had hoped by allowing Chakliux a place in his wife’s lodge that he would gain Wolf-and-Raven’s favor, but the man seemed to treat him no differently than he ever had. At least he had not forced Snow-in-her-hair to become Chakliux’s wife. And after Chakliux, Sok should seem like a good choice.

Many hunters would not even look at her now. They worried about the bad luck she had gathered by refusing Chakliux. Well, Sok would still take her, though Chakliux would have to find another lodge to live in. But why worry? He could always return to the Cousin River People.

Chakliux had spoken to him several times about the anger building between the young men of both villages, but Sok could not worry about such foolishness. It had always been that way, as long as he could remember. A fight between two hunters, a few angry words, what was that? And if there was a true attack, one village against another …Sok could not keep the smile inside his mouth. When did a man have a better chance to prove his worth? Snow-in-her-hair would be proud to have a husband who was also warrior.

If Chakliux was so worried about the villages fighting, then he should go back to the Cousin River People and warn them. He should tell them that this village was the home of strong hunters. If the Cousin Rivers began a fight, they would not win.

Sok walked with his head bent, his eyes seeing only his thoughts, and so he nearly ran into the woman Daes. Both gasped out their surprise, and the woman mumbled an apology.

Sok nodded, then, curious to know what she was doing outside at night, her three-year-old son slung on one hip, he slipped into the shadows near a lodge and watched. She walked quickly toward the brush at the edge of the village where the women relieved themselves.

Why take the child with her on such a cold night? Sok wondered. He should be asleep. Perhaps Daes’s sister-wife Brown Water did not allow the child to urinate in the lodge. Most mothers saved their children’s urine in wooden troughs. Old urine was good for many things: washing grease from hair and fur, setting dye colors on scraped hides. Daes was third wife of an old man, and everyone knew his first wife, Brown Water, was a woman given to anger and foolish demands. But perhaps, if Brown Water demanded such a thing, she had reason.

Daes had come from those men who live on the sea islands far to the west. The boy, being Sea Hunter, might have some power in his urine that Brown Water did not want in her lodge.

Storytellers spoke of times when the Sea Hunters and The People traded often, even exchanging wives and children, but there were also stories of fighting and hatred. Why trust men who were sometimes trade partners, sometimes enemies? It was best to leave them alone. Men like that were not quite people themselves.

This Daes had been lucky to find herself a husband at all. She had been brought by a trader, her belly full of child. Sok had never understood why the trader had left her. The child was his, even the old women said so, but maybe the trader did not want a Sea Hunter wife, being only part human as she was.

He had come back once or twice since the boy was born. Now the man was here again. Sok smiled. Maybe Daes was more human than he thought. Perhaps she was sneaking from Brown Water’s lodge to be with the trader. Why not? She was a beautiful woman. He would not be surprised if the trader welcomed her into his sleeping robes.

Sok thought for a moment of Snow-in-her-hair, and his desire for her was like a fire in his loins. He was a respected hunter, and until Chakliux came, his dogs had been the healthiest in the village. Even old Tsaani asked his advice when he needed medicine for his animals.

Sok’s power, his hunting skills, should be enough to satisfy Snow-in-her-hair, especially if Tsaani gave Sok his bear hunting songs and passed his luck to him. That day would come soon. Sok was Tsaani’s only true grandson—who could count Chakliux?

Then Snow-in-her-hair might be willing to be his second wife. Sok would give her as much honor as a first wife. He would even give her caribou skins so she could have her own lodge. What woman would want more?

Tsaani slept the dreamless, heavy-armed sleep that came each time he spent himself on his young wife. When Blueberry prodded him, Tsaani, thinking she wanted more, awoke with laughter in his mouth, but then he heard what she was saying and saw that she scrambled to get into her clothes. Someone was scratching at their doorflap.

Blueberry blew into the hearth coals, adding sticks to feed the flames, then let in the one who waited. It was the shaman, Wolf-and-Raven. Tsaani, his woven robe thrown quickly around his shoulders, told Blueberry to go to her mother’s lodge, to stay the night and return in the morning to prepare food.

“Wait,” Tsaani called, and did not look at Wolf-and-Raven’s face. The man would not be pleased to have Tsaani waste time speaking to his wife, but Tsaani did not care. He did not want Blueberry’s father to think she had displeased him and been returned to her parents. He found a small ptarmigan foot amulet, handed it to Blueberry. “For your father,” he said. “To thank him for his daughter, who is such a good wife.”

Blueberry ducked her head, but her smile pushed her cheeks into full, round balls. She left, and Tsaani turned to Wolf-and-Raven, gesturing for the man to take Tsaani’s cushioned seat at the back of the lodge. Wolf-and-Raven sat down. For a long time he did not speak, and Tsaani knew he was gathering power into himself. Whatever the man had to say was important, and probably not something Tsaani would be happy to hear.

Finally Wolf-and-Raven said, “I have come about the dogs.”

“Your dogs are well?” Tsaani asked. He had given Wolf-and-Raven a fine, large-boned bitch. She would whelp soon.

“My dogs are healthy. But I hear there are other dogs in the village—many—that are dying. It is said they have been cursed. You are supposed to be the one with power when it comes to dogs. The People cannot survive a hard winter without their dogs. How will we hunt? Who will carry our supplies when we follow the caribou? What will we eat in a starving winter if we lose our dogs?”

“You do not have to tell me the importance of dogs. I am usually the one who reminds you to hold them in respect.”

Wolf-and-Raven straightened his shoulders and filled his chest with air, but Tsaani saw the man was more wind than muscle, holding his breath to increase his stature like a dog ruffling his neck fur before a fight.

“When Chakliux came to our village,” Wolf-and-Raven said, “he came not knowing who he was, but he spoke for peace between our peoples. I decided he should stay with us and work for peace. Now I think he may have brought a curse. If our dogs die, we will be weak. The Cousin River men will take us easily.”

“Tell him to go back, then,” Tsaani said. “If he has caused this, then make him leave. What is so difficult about that?”

“Some of The People still believe he is animal-gift. They saw him swim at the Cousin River Fish Camp. Some say he himself is an otter.”

Tsaani shrugged. “You are shaman. You should know who is right.”

Wolf-and-Raven’s face darkened. Tsaani had known the man for many years. He was not one to make decisions. But if he wanted the honor of being shaman, then he must also take the responsibility.

“If you do not yet know what is right, then why are you here?” Tsaani asked. “Go home to your wife’s lodge. Make prayers. Do what you need to do. You are shaman. You know this. You do not need me to tell you.”

Wolf-and-Raven looked at Tsaani; in anger he met Tsaani’s eyes.

“Or are you a child?” Tsaani asked softly.

Wolf-and-Raven jumped to his feet. “Watch your tongue, old man,” he said, his words short and sharp like the yips of a fox. “I know more of spirits and chants than you do. We already see that your prayers are not strong enough to protect our dogs. Be grateful I am here to fight this curse.”

Wolf-and-Raven walked to the entrance and threw back the door-flap. Looking over his shoulder, he said, “Keep Sok away from my daughter. He visited my wife’s lodge tonight. Snow-in-her-hair deserves better than to be second wife to your grandson.”

Tsaani stood and went to the door. He tied the flap back into place against any wind that might arise during the night, then went wearily to his bed. He lay down and rolled himself into his bedding furs.

“Sok,” he whispered into the night. “Why do you always make everything so difficult for yourself? You have a good wife. If you think you need another, choose some widow, someone who will be grateful for your protection yet young enough to make sons.”

But as sleep closed his eyelids, Tsaani saw Snow-in-her-hair, the graceful sway of her hips as she walked, her full, round breasts. Tsaani felt his loins tighten. “Ah, Sok,” he mumbled. “Ah, Sok….”

“S
O SOMEONE HAS DECIDED
an old man should not be allowed to sleep?” Tsaani called out, but he got up from his bed and untied the doorflap. “Ah,” he said when he saw Fox Barking. “You, too, are out in the night?”

Fox Barking came inside, but Tsaani did not offer him his padded seat at the back of the lodge; he did not even stir the hearth coals. Tsaani turned toward his bed and sat down in the furs. “How is my daughter?” he asked.

“She is good.”

“Sok was here, then another man came, now you. Why are
you
here?”

“To speak to you about your daughter’s son.”

“Sok or Chakliux?”

“Her true son, Sok.”

“According to my sister, Chakliux is as much Day Woman’s son as Sok.”

Fox Barking squatted on his haunches and pushed back the hood of his parka. The parka was beautifully made, narrowing to a long point front and back, with black-tipped weasel tails hanging from the shoulders and wolverine fur sewn around the hood. Fox Barking did not deserve such a parka, Tsaani thought. Most of all, he did not deserve Day Woman. People said that Fox Barking had been brave to marry her, but Tsaani did not agree. Fox Barking was a lazy man and a poor hunter. He took Day Woman not because of his courage, but because she worked hard and was good to look at.

Fox Barking was a thin man with hands too large for his arms. It seemed to Tsaani that they had grown that way to clasp and hold all the things Fox Barking wanted but did not need. He held those hands out now, palms up, and asked, “Sok was here?”

“Yes.”

“Why did he come?”

Tsaani turned his head against Fox Barking’s rudeness. Even a child knew better than to inquire about a man’s conversations.

When Tsaani did not answer, Fox Barking said, “Do you know about the dogs?”

“I know,” Tsaani said.

“Do you know about the daughter of Wolf-and-Raven?”