Cry of the Wind (4 page)

Dii left her husband and walked to the hearth fires. She was still not accustomed to the closeness of the Near River lodges. In her own village, lodges had been far enough apart so a woman could keep her drying racks close. Here the women set their racks at the edge of the bowl of earth where the village was nestled. They lost dried meat and fish because of this strange practice. Wild animals were more bold in stealing from the edges of a village than they were in braving dogs and people to sneak between lodges. Of course, children kept watch over the racks, usually the boys, those not quite old enough to join the hunting trips. But what wolf, what lynx, was afraid of a boy?

Dii avoided the edges of the village as much as possible. Where else would the warriors’ spirits stay, those from both the Cousin and Near River Villages who had been killed in the fighting? Somewhere out there were her father and brothers. She did not want to meet them, nor any of the Cousin men’s spirits. Surely they must hate her now that she was wife to one of the Near River elders.

She did not mind taking her turn at the cooking hearths, though it was not like it had been in the Cousin Village, with all the women sharing and laughing. Here the mix of Cousin and Near River was still uncomfortable, but in the past few moons the women had seemed to drift into an arrangement favored by all. The Cousin women, most now wives, came early, started the fires when dawn was only a gray promise of light. Then later, when husbands were beginning to awaken, the Near River women came and the Cousin women left, taking a share of food to their lodges. From then on they took turns. Only in evenings when everyone was hungry did the two groups mingle.

Dii had taken a turn at dawn, and now the Near River women should be at the hearths, but better to be with them than under Fox Barking’s sweating body. She lowered her head and determined to say little, giving no one reason to find fault with her. But when she reached the hearths, only the woman K’os was there.

When she had lived in the Cousin River Village, Dii had feared K’os. K’os had been the village healer, and able to help many with her medicines. But who had not heard the stories of men and women—those K’os hated—who died horrible deaths? Some even said she had killed her own son’s wife. In the Cousin River Village, Dii had seldom spoken to the woman, tried not to look at her, but here K’os was only a slave.

No one came to her for medicines. No one gave her the honor due a healer. In the Cousin River Village, many men visited her lodge, gave gifts for her favors. K’os was supposed to be old, but her hair was as thick and black as a young woman’s, her skin unlined, her eyes large and bright. Even her teeth were strong and unbroken.

K’os raised her head and called out a greeting. Dii could not ignore her. Her mother had taught her that every person deserved to be treated fairly, even slaves.

“Good morning,” Dii said. “My husband sent me to get food.” She dipped her ladle into a boiling bag and stirred the contents.

“You are Fox Barking’s wife,” K’os said.

“Yes,” Dii answered, then did not know what else to say. She did not want to boast of being a wife when K’os was still a slave. Finally, she said, “Second wife.”

“Ah, yes, there is that other one—Gull Beak. Is that her name?”

Dii nodded.

“She is old, that one,” K’os said, then plucked a bit of fish from the bag she was stirring and ate it.

Dii’s eyes widened in surprise. Surely slaves were not to eat from the boiling bags without permission, but who was here to stop her? She remembered when K’os herself had owned a slave, the Sea Hunter woman Aqamdax. She remembered how thin and worn Aqamdax had become. Sometimes Dii’s mother had given the woman a little food, even though she was a slave, even though she was Sea Hunter.

Dii tried to remember which Near River family owned K’os, but she could not. There were too many families to learn all at once, though she now knew those who were her husband’s friends or related to him in some way.

“Does she have any children, this Gull Beak?” K’os asked.

“None living,” Dii said. “And she is so old she does not even go to the moon blood lodge anymore.”

“So I suppose Fox Barking hopes you will give him a son.”

Dii’s cheeks suddenly burned red. “Yes,” she said quietly.

“I have medicines that will help you conceive.”

Dii considered being pregnant. It would not be easy delivering a child in this village, without her mother to help her, but then she reminded herself of the moons during her pregnancy that Fox Barking could not ask her to his bed. That would be worth something. And what about the joy of having someone who truly belonged to her, who carried the blood of her father and mother?

“It would be a good thing to have a baby,” Dii said.

K’os nodded. “Sun Girl, that is your name, is it not?”

“I have changed it. I am Dii now. Because no one else in my family is still alive.”

“Dii, then,” K’os said, and smiled as though amused by what Dii had said.

Dii turned her head away and reminded herself to be wary. Only a fool would trust someone who could smile at another’s sorrow.

“Tomorrow, come to the hearths again in the morning,” said K’os. “If I am not here, then come the next day. I will bring you something. It does not help everyone—it did not help me—but perhaps it will give you a child.”

Dii thanked her, then began to fill the small caribou hide bag she had brought with her. Fox Barking would expect her back soon.

“I am surprised that your husband keeps his first wife, old as she is and unable to give him children,” K’os said.

“It is her sewing. She is gifted. He keeps the best parkas for himself and is able to earn much in trade from the others. Animals honor him because of the respect he shows them in his clothing.”

“Only for her parkas, then,” K’os said, and Dii glanced at her to see if the words were a question, but it seemed as though K’os had forgotten Dii was there, the woman’s eyes looking up and out, beyond the tops of the lodges.

Chapter Four

“S
O WHAT DO YOU
know about the woman called Gull Beak?” K’os asked.

Two Fist, the wife of the man who owned K’os, frowned. K’os held her smile in her mouth. Did Two Fist suspect how often her husband took K’os to his bed? Possibly, but she had caught them only once, the lazy one, coming back from the cooking hearths long before she should have. The woman turned away without answering.

Let her ignore me, K’os thought. There are others to ask. She continued to stir the cooking bag, filled bowls for two hunters, then, when Two Fist pointed with a toe at one of the hearths, she gathered an armload of wood from a pile nearby and carefully added pieces to the fire.

There were five hearth fires in a circle at the center of the village, a fire named for each of the four directions of the wind and another for the sun. She wondered whether there were any hearth fires burning in the Cousin River Village, or if the people had gone to their summer fish camps. They had probably stayed in their winter village. It was close to the Grandfather Lake, and there was good fishing at that lake, summer and winter. Besides, the Near River and Cousin fish camps were less than a day’s walk apart. Why chance living so close to those people who had nearly destroyed them?

Even most of the Near River People had chosen to stay in their winter village, though the salmon fishing there was not as good as it was near the mouth of the river. Of course, a fish camp was not truly a village, just a scattering of tents—a few here and a few farther upstream and some beyond those. An easy place for warriors wanting revenge to kill families, one by one. K’os set the last piece of wood into a hearth fire and stood. She brushed her hands together, then began to stir a cooking bag.

“I thought you knew all the women in this village,” Two Fist said. “You have been with us almost five moons.”

“There are too many to learn so quickly,” K’os replied. Of course, she did know most of the men, many of them because they had visited her when she had lived in the Cousin River Village. Women were usually not important to her. Why should they be? Men held the power.

When K’os had first come to the Near River Village, Fox Barking claimed her for himself, and so she had thought her revenge would be easy. She owed him for much more than that long-ago rape and beating, which had left her unable to have children. Her revenge would also be for what he had done to her people in the Cousin River Village. He would die, yes, but it would not be a quick death. As his slave, surely she would have opportunity to slip poison into his food—a little each day until sickness weakened him and his spirit could no longer stand against death.

But though he had kept most of her belongings, he had soon traded her to Black Mouth. Now it would be more difficult to carry out her plans for revenge, but perhaps Gull Beak was the answer.

“Gull Beak stays mostly to herself,” Two Fist said. “Her husband is not an easy man to please, and all her children have died. Fox Barking keeps her for the sake of the parkas she makes. She is gifted.”

K’os listened as Two Fist continued to speak about the woman, but set her face as though she were bored. Soon, she would visit Gull Beak, but Two Fist did not need to know.

THE COUSIN RIVER VILLAGE

“You understand that I have no choice,” Sok said to Red Leaf. The two were alone. He had called her outside the birth lodge and stayed several paces from her as he spoke.

“My daughter is well?” she asked, as though he had told her nothing about her fate. The child had been taken from her three days before.

“Strong, yes. Bird Caller feeds her.”

“And Cries-loud?”

“He is good. A fine son.”

Red Leaf raised her eyes to his face. It was, he realized, the first time she had looked at him since he found out she killed his grandfather.

“How will I die?”

He was startled by her question, then reflected that if he were in her situation, he would ask the same thing.

“I have not yet decided.”

“Before…before then,” Red Leaf said, “could I see my children one last time?”

Sok looked up into the sky. It was growing dark; stars prickled their way through a light cover of clouds.

“No,” he said. “To them you are already dead.”

It was nearly night when the boy Cries-loud came to Bird Caller. “My father wants to see his new daughter,” he told her.

“I will come as soon as I feed my husband,” she said.

“He told me to bring the child.”

Bird Caller looked at Sky Watcher. He shrugged. “She’s his daughter, not yours. I have told you many times not to forget that.”

Bird Caller went to the lodge pole where the baby hung in her cradleboard and untied the thongs that secured the board. She was a good baby, slept well, cried little. Her face was strong-boned like her father’s, but she was dark-skinned like Red Leaf.

Bird Caller followed Cries-loud outside the lodge, entrusted the cradleboard to his arms. “Bring her back when she is hungry,” she told him. She watched him head toward Sok’s lodge, then she turned and went back to her husband, setting a smile on her face before she entered the lodge.

“Do not worry, little wife,” Sky Watcher said. He reached for her, pulled her down beside him. “Besides, it will not take me long to put another baby inside you. Then you will have two to help you forget that one we lost.”

Chapter Five

C
HAKLIUX ROLLED QUIETLY FROM
his bedding furs so he would not wake the others in the lodge. He had told Star he would spend the day near the Grandfather Lake spearing salmon at one of the outlet streams. She had wanted to come with him, but he knew she would be a hindrance. He also knew that if he left her, she would be a problem for someone in the village, most likely Aqamdax.

He slipped on his summer leggings, then took his parka and leister, a throwing board and fish darts. He would stop at his mother’s lodge. She was an early riser. Perhaps she would be willing to spend the day with Star.

He paused as he pulled aside the doorflap, looked at Aqamdax asleep in her bedding furs, allowed his gaze to linger. She was tall for a woman, and he had heard men in the village criticize her First Men features—a nose too small, a face too round, a greedy mouth, for surely a mouth that wide would talk and eat more than its share. But he saw the remembrance of her smiles, her dark eyes spilling out her joy, her stories filled with wisdom, her laughter with mischief.

She deserved better than Night Man.

Ligige’ stirred the hearth coals with a stick and pulled on her parka. In her old age she often seemed cold, and so had taken to sleeping in leggings and a long-sleeved caribou shirt.

Her dreams had been so vivid, they had awakened her. She shivered, unable to forget the scream that had pierced her sleep. It was a man’s scream, she was sure, a warrior’s cry. Why would she dream such a thing?

Then suddenly her heart was beating too quickly. Had the Near River men decided to make another attack? Didn’t they realize there was nothing left for them in this poor village?

She heard voices, then the barking of dogs, so she put on her summer boots and went outside. The hearth fire in Day Woman’s lodge was burning, and then the fire in Star’s lodge also began to glow. Sok ran past her, and Ligige’ called to him.

“What has happened?”

“Our mother,” he cried. “Bring your medicines.”

Ligige’ hurried back into her lodge and grabbed the marten skin that held her plant medicines. By the time she crawled through her entrance tunnel, most of the people in the village had gathered around Day Woman’s lodge. Ligige’ pushed her way through.

Inside, Sok and Chakliux knelt beside their mother. Star was there also, for once quiet, her eyes large and dark, childlike, as she looked up at Ligige’.

“Someone has killed her,” Star whispered.

“No,” Sok said. He had lifted Day Woman’s head and shoulders to his lap, cradled her like a child. “She is not dead.”

Ligige’ passed a hand over Day Woman’s mouth, felt a gentle stir of air. She pressed the tips of her fingers to the pulse point at the side of Day Woman’s neck.