Song of the River (60 page)

Chapter Forty-three

T
HE SNAP OF A
twig woke him. Ghaden rubbed his eyes and shook his head. Where was he? For a moment he was afraid, then he remembered he had followed Lynx Killer into the woods. The bird dart was lying across his stomach. He clasped it and looked toward the spot of light that marked the path to the village. It was getting dark. Yaa would be worried. He climbed out of the tree, pushed his way through its lower branches, then heard another snap.

He heard the sound again, then a quick, muffled cry. Was it Lynx Killer? He looked at the bird dart in his hand. It was the only weapon he had. How foolish to come into the woods with nothing but a bird dart. What if some animal were stalking him? What good was a bird dart? He slid back into the spruce branches, hoping their strong tree smell would help mask his scent.

He heard the crunch of footsteps and held his breath. Ghaden strained to see through the branches, but they were so thick he could make out only a bit of dark fur. Then he saw it, not animal, but human. Lynx Killer, he thought—no—a woman.

The parka had strips of white at the shoulders and red fox tails hanging across the back. It was the healer, K’os. She carried a gathering basket slung on one arm. He sighed his relief, slid from his refuge in the tree. He opened his mouth to call out to her, but in his hurry to get from tree to path, he dropped Lynx Killer’s bird dart. In the darkness under the low hanging spruce branches, it was difficult to see. He moved his hands quickly over the ground, but it took him a long time to find the dart. He pushed his way out of the branches and saw that K’os was nearly out of the woods.

At least he had the bird dart. Besides, he didn’t need an old woman to walk him back to the village. He was almost old enough to be a hunter.

Mourning cries pierced the still dark sky. Star was the first out of her lodge; Yaa and Aqamdax followed. Even Long Eyes went out, lifted her voice. Ghaden rubbed the sleep from his eyes and glanced over at Night Man. He must have died. Ghaden felt a lump of sadness for Aqamdax and a thrill of dread for the women who would come to their lodge. They would push him into a small corner, scold Biter, tell harsh stories of death.

Biter poked at Ghaden with his nose, tried to roust him out of the sleeping robes. The day before, Biter had returned before Ghaden, a hare in his mouth. He had carried it from lodge to lodge looking for Ghaden. Ghaden had missed the praise the village women heaped on the dog, but at least he had been able to enjoy the fresh meat in their stew, the good rich broth that made last year’s fish seem almost palatable. But now Night Man …

Ghaden looked over at Night Man’s bed, squinted so Night Man’s spirit could not look fully into his eyes. Then Night Man moaned, moved and moaned again. Ghaden jumped from his bed. Wearing only his breechclout, he ran outside, caught Yaa’s hand.

“He is alive, Yaa. Come back inside. He isn’t dead. I saw him move.”

“Who?” Yaa asked, looking down at him, her mouth screwed into a frown.

“Night Man.”

“Night Man isn’t dead.”

“I know. I saw him move. He … isn’t dead?”

“No.”

“Who’s dead?” He saw the tears in Yaa’s eyes. Suddenly he was very afraid. “Who’s dead, Yaa!”

She leaned down to whisper the name into Ghaden’s ear so the dead one’s spirit would not hear, would not think they spoke in disrespect. “Lynx Killer,” she said.

Ghaden smiled. It was a joke. She was teasing. Sometimes Yaa teased him, told him something that wasn’t true. Sometimes she did that. “No,” Ghaden said.

She nodded her head, and he saw the tears floating in her eyes.

“No,” Ghaden said again. “I have his bird dart. I have to give it to him.”

Aqamdax put her arms around him. “I am so sorry, Little Brother,” she whispered. Then Ghaden knew it was true.

“He went hunting yesterday. I saw him,” Ghaden said. “I saw him go. He dropped a bird dart. I went after him, to give it to him, but I couldn’t find him.” A chill coursed down his back. He had followed Lynx Killer. Did an animal get him?

“Was it a bear?” Ghaden asked.

Aqamdax pressed herself closer. “They say it was a spear, a Near River spear.”

Then again the fear came, swallowed Ghaden like a wolf swallows meat. They were Near River, he and Yaa. Would the elders think they did it?

“Who found him?” Star called to one of the men passing their lodge.

“K’os,” the hunter answered, then quickened his pace toward the hunters’ lodge. “She was out this morning gathering plants,” he called back over his shoulder. “She found him in the spruce woods, not far from the village. The spear was in his heart.”

K’os, Ghaden thought. She had been gathering plants yesterday—in the spruce woods. She was lucky the Near River People did not kill her, too.

Tikaani came to K’os that night. She did not welcome him to her bed. Why welcome a man who had ignored her for most of the winter? Why pretend she was not angry?

He came into her lodge. He was larger, stronger than she remembered, and suddenly, though only for a moment, she felt the years bend her spine, the weight of them heavy on her shoulders. But she raised her head, straightened and stood tall, felt her own power move toward him, mold him back into the young man she remembered, brash and sometimes foolish.

“I am sorry about your little cousin,” K’os said.

He narrowed his eyes as if trying to see past her words. She turned her back on him and sat down, picked up a parka she had been sewing and held it so he could see the fine lines of dyed caribou hair that made a multicolored design at the shoulders, wrists and on the top of the hood. Once, not that long ago, she would have made the parka for him. This one was for Sky Watcher, a man younger than Tikaani but with the promise of being a great hunter, a skilled warrior. She saw Tikaani’s eyes on the parka and knew he could not miss the sacred symbols she had embroidered: the dark sharp wing that was raven, the circles that were sun, the lines that stood for animals taken. What man would not want to own such a thing, to have the power it would give the wearer?

“It is for Sky Watcher,” she said, and sucked in her cheeks to keep from smiling when she saw the frown on Tikaani’s face.

Tikaani crouched on his haunches across the hearth fire from her. “They will fight,” he said, his words loud and harsh. “They have decided the bows give advantage.”

She tried to keep her face set, to show no sign of gladness, but she could not. She smiled. “When?” she asked.

“Now, before the river melts, before they go to hunt caribou. Before our own hunts.”

“They have a plan?” K’os asked. Too often the men of this village did things without thinking, without deciding how they should act. Too often each went with his own ideas, believed that everyone thought as he did. Too often they kept their words to themselves until it was too late for anything but to survive. She had said as much to Tikaani over the years. Since he was little more than a boy, she had told him that hunts and battles were better when plans were made, when ideas were shared in wisdom and without rivalry for power or honor.

“We have a plan,” he said. “You taught me well.”

She did not try to hide her smile this time, but held up the parka on her lap. “It could be for you. I can make another for Sky Watcher.” She lifted the caribou hide shirt she wore and opened her legs.

He shook his head. “The only gift I want is for my brother,” he said, and looked hard into her eyes. She felt his anger, his hatred. “My hope is for my brother, that someday he will be strong again.”

He left the lodge. K’os ground her teeth. Yes, she had taught him well. Too well. How could she control him if she could not get him back into her bed?

She sat still for a long time, until the hearth fire nearly died and the chill of the night crept into her lodge. Then suddenly she threw back her head and laughed, stoked the fire and pulled out her medicine bag. Tikaani thought he was a man, but he was still a child. Only a boy playing with a new toy. How foolish of her not to realize it.

Chapter Forty-four

THE NEAR RIVER VILLAGE

THE YOUNG CHILDREN CAME
first, screaming, afraid. Something terrible was coming, those little ones said, and they cried for their mothers. It was a giant, huge, with a head so large he banged it against trees when he turned, they said. They pointed back toward the forest, to the path that followed the river.

Sok ignored the small children, instead waited for the older boys, his son Carries Much among them.

They, too, were breathless, but told the men that it was no more than a hunter carrying something over his head.

“An iqyax,” Carries Much said. “Like my uncle’s.”

It might be a trader, Sok thought, but most likely it was Chakliux, returned at last from searching for that useless one, Aqamdax. Evidently, he returned alone.

Chakliux was foolish to bring the iqyax to the village. Who could say how the elders would react? Would they say it broke the River People’s taboos? What if the young boys did not show respect? What if the women thought they could touch the iqyax, use it as they used their own rafts? Better first to prepare the people with stories, then later this summer show them the iqyax, teach the men how to build them, and remind the women and children that such boats must be treated with respect.

Sok saw the man walking from the woods, noticed the limp, and knew that it was his brother. He hurried to meet him, lifted the iqyax from his shoulders. The iqyax cover was badly worn, so Sok knew Chakliux had spent long days on the North Sea. He saw the shreds that had once been Chakliux’s boots, now stained dark with blood, and knew his brother had walked far. Sok carried the iqyax to one of the drying racks that had survived the winter, leaned it belly side down, told the women and children not to touch it, then stood there to keep small hands away.

Chakliux came to him, unstrapped his carrying pack and lowered it to the ground. Sok, seeing his brother’s eyes, did not ask about Aqamdax.

They sat together in Red Leaf’s lodge. Even Snow-in-her-hair had come, her belly bulging with Sok’s child. Chakliux wanted to ask when they expected the baby’s birth, but it was not something one hunter asked another. If Aqamdax were here, he could ask her, but he did not want to ask Red Leaf. Though she was smiling and cordial with Chakliux, gentle with her sons and Sok, her shoulders stiffened, her mouth puckered when she had to speak to Snow-in-her-hair.

“The Sea Hunter woman never returned to this village,” Sok said. “Everyone says she is dead.”

Chakliux could find no words to answer his brother. Sok was probably right, and if she was not dead, then she had left by her own choice, not taken by Walrus Hunters in revenge or by some First Men hunter who wanted her as wife.

Let her go, he told himself. There are other women. You thought you would never find anyone to compare to Gguzaakk, and yet Aqamdax made a place for herself in your heart.

He had told himself the same thing with each step he had taken walking the river ice to his brother’s village. Chakliux had pulled remembrances of her from his mind, scattered them behind him, left them on tree branches, on the winter-flattened grasses.

That night, as he lay in Red Leaf’s lodge, on the soft furs and clean sleeping mats, Chakliux did not let himself think of Aqamdax, did not carry the image of her face into his dreams, but when he had almost let sleep swallow him, he heard Red Leaf’s voice as she lay with Sok in her sleeping furs.

“So then, perhaps Happy Mouth’s young daughter spoke right before she disappeared. Perhaps two old Cousin River men took Aqamdax and the boy as well.”

The next morning, after he had eaten, Chakliux went to Ligige’’s lodge. She beckoned him inside, welcomed him as though he were a child.

“Do you stand there, your mouth empty of good words, when you have been gone so long? Do you stand there without a greeting for an old woman whose prayers followed you?”

He sat down on a pad of fur she arranged for him, and waited in silence as she filled bowls, as she offered water and fish broth. He took the broth, sipped, then said, “Aunt, I have missed your wisdom,” a politeness he had learned when he lived with the First Men.

Almost, she smiled at him. He saw her cheeks quiver, and knew she was pleased.

“So you have returned to us with oil on your tongue,” she said. “Your words shine like a new wife’s hair.”

He laughed, and she joined his laughter, then asked: “You went to the First Men? You found the Sea Hunter woman?”

Chakliux shook his head. “I did not find her, but, yes, I went to her people. It was a good winter. I learned much. They are wise. Especially their women.”

“And will you tell our hunters that the men were the wise ones?”

“I could,” he answered, “and it would not be a lie, nor have I lied to you.”

“So why do you come to my lodge? Surely Red Leaf has better food and a warmer fire.”

“I have a question about Happy Mouth’s daughter,” Chakliux told her.

“No one has found her,” Ligige’ said.

“They think she is dead?”

“Wolf-and-Raven does, and the elders.”

“And you?”

Ligige’ raised her eyebrows, then took a long draft from the bowl of broth she held in her hands. She lowered the bowl and said, “You have heard the girl’s story about the two old men?”

“Yes. Do you think she told the truth?”

“I think she told what she believed to be the truth. You spoke to her before you left last fall. What did she tell you about the ones who attacked her?”

“That they were old and that one wore a sea lion tooth necklace.”

“Nothing about the Cousin River Village?”

“Nothing.”

“Happy Mouth says she claimed they were from the Cousin River Village.”

“Did she have a reason for thinking such a thing?”

Ligige’ gestured toward her feet. “Their boots.”

She took another drink from her bowl, and when she was finished, Chakliux asked, “Did anyone look for her?”

“A few hunters. They found wolf tracks, scraps of bone, and decided she was dead.”