Song of the River (25 page)

“What man recognizes a pup once it is grown?” Root Digger asked.

“They have the eyes,” Chakliux answered.

“There is a golden-eye born now and again among our litters.”

Perhaps that was true, Chakliux thought. He had not lived long enough in the village to know. “My concern now is not dogs,” he told Root Digger. “My concern is for my wife. I cannot take her with me. I do not know if I will return. Will you claim her as wife? That way she will have a hunter to care for her, and I will not worry whether she has the meat she needs for next winter.”

Again Blueberry covered her face.

“I will take her if she will come to me,” Root Digger said. His fingers tightened around the bowl he still held in his lap.

“Blueberry?”

“Yes, I will go to him,” she said, her words muffled by her hands.

“I asked about you,” Chakliux said to Root Digger. “I would not give Blueberry to you if you were not a good hunter and a good man.”

Root Digger nodded, swallowed. He had a long neck, and his head stuck up out of his parka like the curled sprout of a new fern.

“Go then,” Chakliux said. “Come to us in the morning when it is still dark. That is when Sok and I plan to leave.” He turned and spoke to Blueberry, reached over to pull her hands away from her face. “You understand that I must throw you away. Otherwise, you will not be free to become Root Digger’s wife.”

“Yes.”

“If we do this in the morning, early, no one will see except us. You will face no dishonor.”

Chakliux took a long breath. He had nothing more to say. It was not an easy thing to give your wife to another man, even a wife you did not want.

Root Digger stood, dipped his head toward Chakliux, then looked into Blueberry’s eyes. The woman lowered her head, glanced at Chakliux. Root Digger left, and the lodge was suddenly too large, too quiet.

Chakliux raised his bowl toward her, though his stomach was full. Eating was something to do, and, he reminded himself, there would be days during their journey when he would wish for the good food of Blueberry’s lodge. Then he would remember this extra bowl of meat.

“Take one for yourself as well,” he said.

She lay a hand against her belly, and he thought she would say she was not hungry, but she filled her bowl, then sat down on the opposite side of the hearth and began to eat. She kept the bowl tipped so it hid her face.

When she had finished eating, she lowered her bowl and looked at him. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

Chakliux was not sure whether she thanked him for the food or for Root Digger. He wondered again whether Blueberry had broken mourning taboos with Root Digger or if she had welcomed him to her bed when Tsaani was still alive, but then he told himself it was not his problem. If taboos and promises had been broken, Blueberry’s luck would leave her, and Root Digger’s hunting success would falter. Now, since they would belong to each other, their curses would fall mostly upon themselves, as was best.

Then Chakliux pushed away all thoughts of Root Digger and led Blueberry to his bed. He removed his clothing except his breechcloth. Blueberry pulled her shirt off over her head. Her back was to the hearth coals, so in the shadows Chakliux could not see her clearly, only the mounds of her breasts, darker at the center, the shadow of the cleft between her legs.

She was thinner, finer boned than Gguzaakk. Looking at her, Chakliux first noticed only the differences between the two women, then it seemed as though he saw them side by side, and finally they began to flow into one another, like two streams joining—the dark, thin Blueberry, the fairer, wider Gguzaakk gradually mingling to become one. He pulled Blueberry close, stroked her back, her shoulders and arms.

Then Blueberry’s hands were on him, light and gentle, the calluses of her palms small and rough against his skin. He had forgotten the joy of a woman’s body, the heat. He was suddenly glad he had already promised her to Root Digger. He was not sure he could have after taking her as wife.

THE COUSIN RIVER VILLAGE

K’os carefully folded the powder into a bit of caribou hide. She had dyed the hide with five-leaves grass, and the red color would stand as a warning to her. She knotted it shut with many strands of sinew, then placed it at the bottom of her beaverskin medicine bag. Ground Beater had earned a reprieve. There would be another time for this, she thought, and patted the bag. For now, she would do as he suggested.

There was a risk. They were known in the Near River Village. Her husband had hunted with some of their men, and, of course, had traded with them. She also knew some of the Near River hunters. Knew them very well. But that was something they might wish to hide, especially when she was with her husband.

Ground Beater opened the doorflap at the entrance tunnel, called, “You are ready?”

She pulled up her parka hood, drew it tight around her face. It was early morning, a good time to leave, the ground hard and frozen. They could not wait for days, deciding what to do. Spring breakup was too close. Then no one would be able to cross the river until the flooding subsided. They would go now, confront their son in the Near River Village.

The dogs each carried a pack. There were three of them, a young female and two males, all with golden eyes. If the Near River People were eager for peace, perhaps they would be less so when they saw these dogs. When their young men realized that they could win dogs like these, they, too, might decide they wanted to fight.

Her husband bent over each animal, checked the straps that secured their packs. K’os backed away from him, leaned close to Tikaani and Snow Breaker, the two young hunters who would travel with them.

Her voice was quiet and low, softened by the fur ruff close around her face. “He thinks he will speak peace to these Near River People. I do not think there is a chance for peace. Guard him. When they see his dogs, I think they will try to kill him. They will say it is an accident, but …” She raised her hands, spread her mittened fingers.

Ground Beater looked back, waved them forward. Each of the men walked beside a dog. K’os followed. The village was quiet in early morning, smoke rising to spread a thin layer above the lodges, the stars still bright. Snow squeaked beneath K’os’s sealskin boots. She carried her snowshoes and a small pack of supplies on her back. Women’s knives rested in sheaths at her waist, and she had strapped a short-bladed knife to her left wrist. Under her parka, warm against her skin, was the medicine bag. She reached up to pat it and felt her heart thump as though in answer. She smiled, peering from the tunnel of her hood. It would be a long walk, but she looked forward to seeing her son again. She missed him.

Chapter Fifteen

K
’OS REMOVED HER SNOW
goggles. They were made from caribou antlers hollowed into small cups that fit over the circles of her eyes. Narrow eye slits and charcoal rubbed into the backs of the goggles helped cut the glare of sun on snow, but still her head ached and she saw spots. At least they had walked most of the day on river ice rather than pushing through the dense willow thickets or the melting tundra snow.

They had walked for three days, and now, as the river bent in a wide curve, Ground Beater turned back toward her and called out, “There, the Near River Village.”

A path worn into the snow led up from the riverbank to a walkway of rocks that were easy to climb, so a person carrying something did not have to grab trees or scramble up on all fours. When they came to the top of the bank, K’os saw that the village was larger than she had remembered.

The lodges were set more closely together than in her own village. She wondered where they put the drying racks. There was no room for them between lodges. Perhaps at the edges of the village, she thought, where the sun would get at them better, but then so would the animals.

She leaned toward Tikaani and whispered, “The village is smaller than ours.”

He nodded.

But the number of men in those lodges was the important thing, K’os reminded herself. How many men? How many capable of fighting?

They were met by a group of children, boys and girls bundled in parkas and leggings. Their cheeks were round, their eyes clear.

There is no shortage of food here, K’os thought. Children always showed it first—a village’s weakness or its strength.

“We are visitors from the Cousin River Village,” Ground Beater told them.

One of the older children came forward, a boy. He was stout and strong-looking, his chin set forward so his bottom teeth fit over the top. The other children kept their distance from him, leaving a small circle of cleared space.

K’os watched him. She might be able to use a boy like that someday.

He opened his mouth, but before he could speak K’os asked, “What is your name?”

Anger darkened his eyes. It was not a question a stranger—especially a woman—asked. A name was too sacred. When you knew someone’s name, you had power over them.

“I am K’os,” she said, giving her name, so he would feel the need to do the same. It was not an equal trade. There was little power the boy could use against her.

“We will take you to the elders,” he said, turning his back on K’os and speaking instead to Ground Beater.

K’os smiled. He was not stupid, this one. A bully, yes, but not stupid. All the better. How many times had her plans been destroyed by stupidity? River Jumper, bah! He deserved what he got.

“Yes, tell them we come in honor to visit our brothers,” Ground Beater said.

The children turned and ran toward the center of the village.

“Tell them we bring golden-eyed dogs,” Tikaani called out to them.

“They are not blind,” Ground Beater said. “They see what we bring.”

K’os lifted her head, looked at the lodges around them. Soon not one will be left standing, she thought. Not one. A year from now, this will be a village of ground squirrels and ptarmigan. She held in her laughter. The Near River People deserved to be dead. They drew curses, then without thought spread those curses to others.

Soon the children returned. Two elders were with them. K’os studied the old men’s faces but did not recognize them. Good, she thought, then lowered her head, stood behind her husband. Waiting as women must wait.

The elders’ lodge was large. The lodge poles were crowded with the skins of sacred animals—white least weasels, flickers, marmot and beaver, and many wolverines. The men were seated in a circle around the hearth fire. K’os had been given a place behind her husband. Women scurried, bringing food from the outside cooking hearths. They ate well, then her husband presented the gifts he had brought: obsidian and jade blades for each man. They accepted the gifts with unsmiling faces, as was the custom in this village, but they could not hide the gleam of joy that came to their eyes. So the gifts—her husband’s idea and one that she had not been sure about—had been a good decision.

The men spoke of many things, hunts and the spring melt, even of children and wives, which surprised K’os. Men in her village seldom spoke of their families. It was good that these Near Rivers valued their children so much, she told herself. They would be more willing to fight for them, but doubts crowded out other thoughts, doubts that she could not push away. Her last visit to the Near River Village had been when she was a girl. Her father had brought her. If she recalled correctly, the Near River People had been mourning a group of men drowned in the river. She did not know how such a thing had happened, most likely in spring breakup and flooding, but she did remember that the Near River Village had been far smaller then. Though she was only a child, she had been glad she lived in the Cousin River Village, and had asked her father not to promise her to a Near River man as wife.

She had realized that over the years the village would change, that it might grow strong. Now, as the men spoke, she contemplated how such a village could be taken by force. It would not be easy. Even the elders looked well-fed.

She was so immersed in her own thoughts that she almost missed her husband’s question. “Have you seen our son?” he asked. “He brought several golden-eyed dogs from our village to all of you. He had hoped to bring more, and we were able to secure two males after he left. We have brought them to him.”

K’os was almost hidden by her husband, and so, in the shadows at the back of the lodge, she was able to change her position to see each elder’s face. They looked at one another, biting at lips, raising eyebrows until one finally said, “He did not come here. We have not seen him since he left our village to return to you nearly a moon ago.”

Several elders shifted uncomfortably, but most nodded heads, raised chins in agreement.

It was not a woman’s place to speak in a meeting of elders. It was unusual enough that they had allowed her to be here now, but she was a healer, and she knew several of these men—old Blue Jay and Camp Maker. She was sure they had not forgotten her. Besides, she was a woman afraid for her son. Who would blame her if she spoke?

She took a quick gasping breath, then put her hands over her face and moaned. “He is not here?” she asked. “He left our village six, seven days ago.”

She blinked tears from her eyes and leaned forward so the hearth fire would show her face.

“There are other villages,” one of the elders said, the man they called Dog Trainer. “Perhaps he went to the Four Rivers Village, hoping to find more dogs to trade before he came here.”

K’os shook her head. “He knew we were trying to find dogs for him. He knew we might follow several days later.”

She began to cry, hard shaking sobs, and Blue Jay asked, “You saw no sign of his camps on your journey here?”

“One,” Ground Beater answered, and K’os looked up at him, set her teeth together. He spoke the truth. They had found one of his camps and two bodies—what was left of them—but she needed Ground Beater to be quiet, to let her speak. Of course, he did not know what she was doing. He thought they were only looking for their son, to warn him of the anger building against him in their village and to bring him dogs to trade so he could secure a place in this village or another.