Song of the River (55 page)

Tikaani followed her from K’os’s lodge, called to her. He came closer than she thought he would, close enough so she could hear his quiet words.

“You do not bleed,” he said.

She shook her head. “But this will give me five days. Perhaps I can think of some way to save Biter.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “What is a dog? I will give the boy another—a golden-eye.”

“Please let me try.”

Again Tikaani shrugged. “Do what you want. I will tell my brother you will come to him in five days. It is custom among our people for a bride to make something for her husband. Perhaps boots.”

“I have nothing to make them with.”

“I will bring something.”

She watched him walk away from her, then went to the moon blood lodge. It was a good place, a quiet place, and though the women there seldom spoke to her, she did not care. It gave her opportunity to be away from K’os.

She would weave and decide how she might save Biter. She would also make boots for Night Man. She had made several pairs in the manner of the River People. These for Night Man she would also decorate, and in that way show him she was glad to be his wife. Her designs would have to follow those of her own people. A woman did not take another woman’s design. Patterns were passed as gift from mother or grandmother, and so she owned no River People designs, but perhaps Night Man would find there was strength in the designs of the First Men, power that would recall the strength of sea mammals, swimming through long days toward the warmth of summer.

THE FIRST MEN VILLAGE

Chakliux closed his eyes and listened as the old woman began her story. In all the months he had been at the First Men’s village, it was the only time Qung had allowed him to come into her ulax.

It had been a long journey to the First Men Village. After hearing Yaa’s story, he was sure the Walrus Hunters had taken Aqamdax, and so had first stopped at the Walrus Hunter Village. He had little hope that he could arrive in time to stop them if they planned revenge, but if he could not save Aqamdax, perhaps he could find Ghaden. Besides, how could he wait and do nothing?

The Walrus had not welcomed him, but neither did they seem to blame him for what had happened with Aqamdax. He had spent three days with them, asking hunters, women, even children about Aqamdax and Ghaden. They all claimed to know nothing, but late one night Sun Beater, a son of the dead shaman, came to him, spoke to him about the First Men hunters who had passed their village only a few days before Chakliux had arrived.

They had not stopped to trade, Sun Beater claimed, an unusual thing for First Men, and so he had taken out his iqyax, had followed them. He said he did not get close, but thought he saw a woman in one of the iqyan, perhaps a woman in each. He had not been sure.

Almost, then, Chakliux had returned to his own village. If Aqamdax’s own people had come to get her, what chance was there that she would want him? But since he had come such a distance toward the First Men Village, why not go on? Why not see if she was willing to be his wife? If she would not return to the Near River Village with him, perhaps the First Men would allow him to live in their village. They had welcomed him as trader, why not husband?

If he did not find Aqamdax, or if she refused him, he could at least stay with them for the winter, trading caribou hides from summer kills for meat and a place in a First Men ulax. He had battled autumn storms, spent days hunkered under the iqyax, trying to escape rain and wind, but finally he had come to the wide inlet that led to the First Men Village. They had welcomed him as trader, surprised to have him come so near winter. His queries about Aqamdax had brought the storyteller Qung and several other women to him the first day.

Qung had asked about Aqamdax, soon managed to find out that Sok had thrown her away as wife and that Chakliux was seeking her. The other women had begun a mourning song, but Qung had quieted them with dark looks and angry words. Also that first day, Tut had greeted Chakliux as friend and invited him to live with her family.

For most of the winter, Qung had avoided him and had, through Tut, told Chakliux he was not welcome in her ulax, not even during storytelling evenings.

This evening the village was celebrating a feast of ancient hunters and warriors, of people long dead. To Chakliux’s surprise, Qung had asked him to come. As storyteller, Chakliux had accepted the invitation, though Tut had warned that Qung might plan some way to embarrass him.

“I have been embarrassed before, Aunt,” Chakliux had told her, speaking in the First Men tongue, earning a smile from Tut.

“You know you cannot sit with the men. You are not a Sea Hunter.”

“So then, Aunt, will you be embarrassed if I sit with you?”

“I will not be embarrassed,” Tut had said, and now they sat together in the women’s row in Qung’s ulax.

Qung’s climbing log had been strung with lines of seal bladders, blown full of air and tied to cover each step. He had known what to expect when he saw a crowd of children gathered on the roof, hiding their giggles behind their hands. Aqamdax had told him about this trick, and that the best thing was to laugh also, enjoy the joke, even if it made you fall.

He looked down into the ulax, feigned surprise and broke into a garbled combination of First Men and River languages. Finally he asked the children what he should do.

They told him he must climb down. He planted his feet firmly, popping two bladders before deciding he could make a good act of slipping off the log to the floor. The children’s voices floated down to him as he lay looking up, unhurt and able, after catching his breath, to join them in laughter. He glanced at Qung, whose face was impassive, almost stern, but then she lifted her chin slightly at him, acknowledging his performance.

When the storytelling began, Qung’s voice, as strong as if she were a young woman, filled the ulax, and now, many stories later, she still spoke, giving herself a rest only now and again to allow the chief hunter to tell of hunts, those recent and some remembered from the past.

She had said nothing derogatory about Chakliux, nothing in anger about the River People, though one story mentioned a River People child raised by the First Men who taught them to hunt land animals, a skill they had forgotten when they lived on islands far to the west.

Suddenly, Qung looked at him, and even in the dimly lit ulax, he could see the fire in her eyes. “There is another storyteller here,” she said, “though he calls himself a trader. Storytellers always recognize one another. We are a people of too many words. We make our living by theft, taking ideas from everyone around us, pulling stories from other people’s lives. You admit to such thievery, River Man?” she asked.

“No,” Chakliux answered. “I am storyteller, as you have said, but not a thief. Rather I am trader, exchanging story for story, and I am weaver, twining bits and scraps of words into whole baskets able to hold ideas and the remembrance of lives lived long ago.”

Qung’s eyes, so tiny in a face full of wrinkles, winked at him, and he thought she might smile. She did not, but he heard the beginning of laughter deep in her throat when she said, “Do you have one of these stories you might give in trade?”

Aqamdax had told him many First Men stories, stories that Qung, for all her talking, had not yet told. He could tell River People stories or legends he had learned from Caribou and Walrus and North Tundra People, but there was another tale he decided to tell them—a story they needed to know if Aqamdax ever returned to them, if she brought her small brother Ghaden with her.

“Look! What do I see?” he said, then explained that elders in his village used riddles to teach their children and to say things that could not be politely said in other ways. “From afar, it looks black. When it is close, you can see through it.”

He did not expect an answer, but Qung said, “A feather. A cormorant feather.” Then, plucking at the front of her sax, she lifted a feather and held it close to her face, reminding those who might question that the eye can see through a feather, just as it can see through its own lashes.

Chakliux nodded his approval of her answer, then said, “So it is when we look at the way others live their lives. We see more clearly when we look more closely.” Then he began the story of Daes, as Aqamdax had told him.

When he finished his story, there was a murmur of approval, and later, long into the night, when the stories were finished and the people were leaving the ulax, Qung caught his hand before he left, pulled him to the back of the ulax and asked, “Do you know who killed the woman?”

“I do not,” Chakliux said.

“Those River People, they will not kill Aqamdax?”

“She is no longer with them.”

“Tut says you do not know where she is. Why do you search for her?”

“I want her to be my wife.”

“So in spring you will leave here and continue to search?”

“Yes, I will return to the River People and try to find her.”

“She might be dead.”

“She might be.”

Qung sighed, turned away from him, mumbling. “I told her not to go.”

Chakliux was halfway up the climbing log when Qung called to him. “If you find her, come back here. We need good storytellers in this village.”

“I will come, Aunt,” Chakliux told her. “I have much to learn.”

Chapter Forty

THE COUSIN RIVER VILLAGE

A
QAMDAX HOPED SHE MIGHT
have an opportunity to slip out of the moon blood lodge at night, in darkness make her way to Star’s lodge, to whisper her plan to Yaa. Each night the women took turns getting firewood, tending the hearth. The second night was Aqamdax’s turn. Who would notice if she was gone longer than it takes to get an armful of wood?

Then Third Daughter had come, she and her baby. It was unusual for a nursing mother to have bleeding times. Usually a baby kept the blood from flowing so the next child waiting would know it could not come until the older one was weaned. But though Third Daughter’s baby was still small, her milk had almost dried up and her bleeding had started again. Some taboo broken, the other women in the lodge told her.

Third Daughter rocked her baby, giving him her breast to try to stop his wailing, but still he cried, all day and most of the night. How could Aqamdax slip away when Third Daughter’s baby kept them all awake?

Aqamdax spent her time weaving a basket, but her thoughts were always on Biter, her chest full with the ache of Ghaden’s sorrow.

She reminded herself that the dog was fortunate to be alive. It was a hard winter, and soon they would begin killing dogs for food. Would they choose to kill one of their own before Biter? If she could just get away from the lodge, for only a little while, if she could have a moment to speak to Yaa …

The doorflap was pulled aside; a gust of cold air swirled into the lodge. Third Daughter’s baby stopped crying, held his breath against the cold, and in the sudden silence Aqamdax looked up, saw Star with Yaa behind her, the two letting in the winter air until Star stepped inside and allowed the doorflap, weighted with stones, to fall down into place.

Star went to the back of the lodge, and Yaa followed her, carrying food and sewing supplies. Aqamdax returned to her weaving, kept her head bent over her basket, but from the corners of her eyes she watched until Star had settled herself, had flicked her fingers for Yaa to leave. Then, Aqamdax stood and said, “I will bring in wood.”

She did not bother to put on her outer parka. She was afraid Yaa would slip away before she had a chance to catch her. But she found Yaa waiting for her, the girl crouched down with her back to the wind. “You and Ghaden are all right?” Aqamdax asked.

“It is a good time for us, when Star is in the women’s lodge,” Yaa told her.

“It is not too difficult to take care of Star’s mother?”

“She mostly sits. Sometimes she sews. Sometimes she holds Ghaden. She eats when I give her food and goes with me when I lead her to the women’s place. Star is not so easy.”

“Yaa, I have something important to tell you,” Aqamdax said. “Tikaani has asked K’os to let me be Night Man’s wife.”

Yaa’s eyes grew large. She clapped her mittened hands and said, “You would live with us?”

“Yes.”

Yaa opened her mouth as though to scream out her joy, but Aqamdax hushed her. “There is a problem. K’os has asked a bride price. She wants Biter.”

“She would take Biter? She has dogs.”

Aqamdax pressed her lips together, bit at the insides of her cheeks. “She wants Biter dead. She has asked that they bring him to her for food.”

“Biter? No! Ghaden couldn’t stand it.”

“Listen, Yaa, even if I turn down Tikaani’s offer …”

“You can do that?”

“Be quiet and listen. I have to go back in soon. They will take Biter for food anyway, not yet but soon. The caches are getting low and winter has been hard. We have to show them that he is a dog worth keeping.

“I have a plan that might work, but there is something you must do. It will be easier now that Star is here.” She nodded toward the women’s lodge. “Tomorrow, I will leave the women’s lodge. The next day Tikaani wants my answer. That morning I want you to feed Biter and feed him well, then take him out to K’os’s trapline and leave him there. Afterward, go back and dress Ghaden warmly and make him play outside. Keep him outside until Biter comes back. You can do that?”

“Yes.”

Star’s voice, raised in complaint, came to them through the lodge walls. “I have to go inside,” Aqamdax said. “Do not forget. Two days from now. In the morning.”

“I will do it.”

Aqamdax scooped up an armload of wood, then crawled back into the lodge. She set the wood near the door, then listened to Star’s complaints about the snow she had brought in, the cold, and the laziness of those people who called themselves Sea Hunters.

When Aqamdax left the moon blood lodge and returned to K’os, the woman barely spoke to her. Aqamdax brought in wood, melted snow for water, fed K’os’s dogs, then she offered to check the traplines.

“You only want to steal my food for your husband,” K’os said.