The Storyteller Trilogy (6 page)

Aqamdax let her thoughts go back to the night before. She had not been surprised to hear someone scratch at the curtain of her sleeping place. Many hunters came to her in the night, though only a few had courage to enter He Sings’s ulax when the man was home from one of his many hunting trips.

Salmon, Aqamdax had thought. He visited her often. But when she pulled back the curtain, Day Breaker, He Sings’s oldest son, was there. Her breath caught so suddenly in her throat that she had not been able to say anything to him, only to open her arms, welcome him into the warmth of her fur seal sleeping robes.

He had taken her quickly, thrusting hard into her body, and she had been glad to feel the power of his need, but that was not what she remembered as she sat with Little Bird.

She remembered what he told her when he left her sleeping place: “Give me a son,” he had whispered, “then I will take you as my wife.”

THE NEAR RIVER VILLAGE

That day, their hunt had been to stand and look, to watch out over open hills, away from thickets of willow and alder that crowded the riverbanks.

“You will see steam rise, as if from water boiling,” Tsaani told Chakliux. “On a day of fog or snow you will not see it, but on a still, cold morning like this, it will be there, coming from the ground, and you will know a bear is waiting, warm in his den.”

This kind of hunting needed different songs, different prayers than what Chakliux knew, but during the moon that he had lived with his brother, Sok, Chakliux had learned much. His grandfather had even given him two of his bear hunting songs, a gift as precious as anything Chakliux ever hoped to receive.

But for all their looking, they saw nothing, and finally decided to return to the village. The men quarreled, snapping at one another like unfed dogs, all with eyes averted from Chakliux, ashamed that he had seen their defeat, yet angry also, muttering under their tongues that he had broken their luck.

A good way to bring peace, Chakliux thought bitterly. A good way to turn young hunters from dreams of battle. Then suddenly, Tsaani stopped. Chakliux looked at Tsaani, and Tsaani pointed with his chin toward his dog Black Nose.

Her paws pranced a nervous rhythm against the ground, and she whined high in her throat. Tsaani knelt beside her, and Chakliux saw her tremble.

Tsaani was old, but still he hunted, mostly because of his dogs, Black Nose and Long Tail and the newest one that he had never really given a name, except Dog—as good a name as any, Chakliux thought. All three animals now stood stiff-legged, the fur on their necks bristling.

To Chakliux, it seemed the two males were always at each other’s throats, trying to steal food from one another or competing to mount Black Nose, but when Tsaani took them hunting, they worked together, as though each dog knew the other’s thoughts. Tsaani told him they had taken down black bears larger than a man.

Tsaani motioned to the hunters behind him, moved his head in a jerk toward a mound of snow-covered earth that bulged from a hill to their left. The men crept up on bent legs, moving their feet in quietness. Long Tail began to dig into the frozen earth near the edge of the mound, flinging chunks of snow and dirt back between his legs as he dug.

A low growl rolled into Black Nose’s throat. Tsaani laid his hand against the top of her head and tightened his fingers over the dome of her skull. He had trained her to remain quiet on hunts until the men moved in to kill, but she was pregnant with a litter and more difficult to control.

Sok, a short-bladed knife in his hand, reached forward to slash the air just ahead of the dog’s nose. She dropped back to her haunches. In anger Tsaani clasped Sok’s wrist. What dog, trained to fear, reacted with courage when courage was needed? Sok’s dogs, if Tsaani had allowed them on this hunt, would now be cowering behind the men rather than digging quietly into the den.

Sok glared at Tsaani, his eyes flashing. Chakliux stepped up from the group of men, stood behind the dog and placed both hands against her back. Black Nose again rose to her feet, her muzzle thrust forward, her ears flat against her head.

Chakliux looked at Tsaani, motioned toward the den, then shook his head. Tsaani understood what he meant. There was something wrong. Black Nose did not growl without reason. It was strange, Tsaani thought, how well he hunted with this grandson, even though he had known him only a moon.

Tsaani signed for the hunters to circle the den. Suddenly Black Nose jumped, and a roar more like bear than dog came from her throat. Chakliux lunged to clasp the scruff of her neck but missed, falling forward before he could catch himself.

Suddenly the side of the hill erupted. A bear burst through the earth so that both Long Tail and Dog were flung back toward the hunters.

At first the men did not react. Even Tsaani, in all his years of hunting, had never seen an animal come from the earth in such a way.

Power is working, Tsaani thought. For a moment, he wondered if they should leave the bear. Was there some sacredness here that men had no right to destroy? Perhaps one of his hunters had broken a taboo or treated something with disrespect.

Tsaani’s thoughts slowed his hands, but Black Nose leapt toward the bear. Tsaani held his breath. The bear would rip open her belly as she jumped. But her quickness seemed to take the animal by surprise. She sank her teeth into his throat and hung by her jaws, a long swath of white against the bear’s black fur.

The bear shook his head, flinging dirt and mud from his face, then swiped at Black Nose, ripping his claws into her back. Blood stained her fur, and Tsaani moaned. Despite her wounds, the dog did not release her grip, and soon Long Tail and Dog also attacked, lunging in to bite the bear’s back legs.

The bear rolled his head and swatted at the dogs. He swung toward the circle of men and dropped to all fours, Black Nose still clinging to his neck. The bear turned on Chakliux, who was on hands and knees where he had fallen, his spear and throwing stick on the ground beside him.

Chakliux grabbed the spear and scrambled to his feet, favoring his weak leg, his clubbed foot. Sok moved to stand beside his brother, both facing the bear. Sok gripped his spearthrower and pulled back his arm. He threw, and the spear pierced the bear’s right shoulder, a deep wound.

The bear slapped at the spear, then gripped it in his teeth and broke the shaft, but the spearhead and bone foreshaft were still embedded in the shoulder.

Black Nose loosed her grip on the bear’s neck and scooted out from between his legs. The bear lunged at her as she ran, but caught nothing more than a tuft of fur. She circled to join Long Tail and Dog in attacking the bear’s hindquarters.

Tsaani threw his spear, then the other hunters also threw. The bear reared up one last time on his hind legs, the spears bristling from his head and sides, then he fell forward to lie still.

The hunters cried out when the bear fell, but when Tsaani went to the animal, they were silent. He gave a command to his dogs, and they backed away.

The hunters would butcher and skin the bear where it lay. How could a hunter expect to take more bears if he dragged one over the ground to the village as though it were nothing more than a woman’s pack being moved to fish camp?

For a time the men stood in silence, the quietness like a prayer of thanksgiving, but finally Tsaani raised his voice, first in a hunter’s singing chant, then in the ancient blessing: “We honor you who have honored us with your life.”

He stepped forward, took from his sleeve a sacred jade knife and carefully slit the bear’s eyes. If by some oversight, one of the hunters broke a taboo as he butchered the carcass, it was better the bear did not see. Using his long-bladed hunting knife, Tsaani cut off the bear’s paws to hold its spirit within, then motioned for the other hunters to join him.

When the butchering was done, they would eat the head meat and the tender, fat flesh around the first few ribs. The rest they would share with their families, but they would leave the hide here at the den, so no woman would be tempted to touch it and in that way destroy her husband’s hunting luck.

Tsaani groaned in pleasure. What was better than a full belly and a good wife? He leaned against the backrest Blueberry had woven from split willow. It creaked as he settled his shoulder blades into its mesh. He closed his eyes and let himself remember the hunt. It had been a good day.

Tsaani was an old man—so old he had lost track of the summers he had seen, fourteen handfuls at least. Since Stars-in-her-mouth had died during the winter, he was the oldest person in the village. His sister Ligige’ had three or four summers less than he did, though sometimes, when she was in a sour mood, she claimed to be the oldest.

He heard the doorflap open, then his wife’s soft steps. He was particularly glad he was not a woman. A woman could not eat the bear’s head or rib meat, could not even call the bear by name. The animal was too sacred. At least there had been fat enough for each family to have a share, and the old women could eat the bitaala’, the long fatness that rests between a bear’s stomach and liver. That would quiet any old woman’s complaints.

They were a problem, those old women. He remembered a time when they had kept their mouths shut except to tell stories or give advice, but the old women now! Of course, they were led by Ligige’, whose mouth had been noisy since she came from their mother’s womb.

Tsaani opened his eyes to look at Blueberry. He had taken her soon after her first moon blood time, less than a year ago. She had not yet swelled with child, but Tsaani was in her blankets often, hoping to give himself a son in his old age. It was his only true sorrow, that his sons and all but one daughter had died in childhood.

Blueberry smiled and raised her eyebrows at him. “Someone thought you were asleep,” she said, speaking with the politeness of wife for husband, the young for the old. “Sok is outside. He asks for you.”

“Tell him to come inside,” Tsaani said. It would be a good way to end this day, a time to discuss the bear hunt, fixing it in his mind with words.

Blueberry crouched to call out through the entrance tunnel. The People were still in their winter camp, in the stout winter lodges. Each was a circle dug into the earth, four, five handlengths deep, roofed with double layers of caribou hide sewn together in lapped seams, then greased to keep out water. The roof had an opening in the center, its flaps propped with sticks that could be moved to keep out rain or direct the hearth smoke.

Tsaani allowed his eyes to linger on the curve of Blueberry’s back where it narrowed into her hips. He had been alone many years after his last wife’s death, relying on Ligige’ to take care of him. It was good to have his own wife again, to know joy in his sleeping robes. It was also good to be away from Ligige’’s sharp tongue. There had been times when Tsaani thought it might be easier to do the women’s work himself rather than live with his sister.

Sok stepped into the lodge, his eyes respectfully averted from Blueberry and lowered in the presence of his grandfather, but Tsaani saw the smile that twitched at the corner of Sok’s face, and he felt the same smile in his own mouth. What man among the hunters today would not smile? A bear during the Moon of Empty Bellies. It was a favorable sign, especially after a third summer without many salmon.

Sok sat across from Tsaani, the hearth coals warming the space between them. Blueberry picked up her birchbark sael and left the lodge. She would probably go to the cooking hearths at the center of the village to bring back something in case he or Sok was still hungry. Though he did not think he could eat more, he would try so Blueberry would know he appreciated her efforts.

In politeness Sok did not speak, waiting, Tsaani knew, for him to begin the conversation. The warmth of the hearth fire and the fullness of his belly made Tsaani’s eyes turn toward sleep, but finally he asked, “Your belly is full?”

Sok replied with raised eyebrows and laughter.

“You should be ready for more,” Tsaani told him, and motioned toward his wife’s empty place on the women’s side of the lodge.

When Blueberry returned, she offered her sael first to Tsaani, who saw with gladness that she did not bring more meat, but had gone to their raised storage cache and brought back cakes of dried berries and hardened caribou fat. He took a cake and held it up so Sok could see. Sok grunted his appreciation and took two. Blueberry’s cheeks dimpled, and she looked back over one shoulder at Tsaani, like a child seeking a father’s approval.

Tsaani nodded his head at her. Blueberry was a useful woman. She had been well-named.

Blue-head Duck had told Tsaani that a trader had come to their village that day. The river ice was strong—would be strong for at least another moon—so the man had come on foot, over the frozen rivers of late winter. He might have some small thing that would make a woman happy, especially if Tsaani offered him a bear claw.

“Black Nose?” Sok asked as he bit into the berry cake.

“The wounds are not deep,” Tsaani replied. “Do you have any goose grass?”

“Yes,” Sok said. “My wife dried some last summer. It is not as good as fresh, but …” He lifted his hands and looked at the lodge walls as if he could see through the caribou skins to the snow outside. “I will bring you some, tonight if you like.”

“No,” Tsaani answered. “Bring it tomorrow.” He paused and ate his berry cake, waved away Blueberry when she offered him more from the basket. Sok leaned forward and took another.

“Black Nose is a good dog,” Tsaani said, “but she has never done such a thing before.”

“Many hunters now hope to get one of her pups. It is good she was not killed.”

“This was not her day to die. The great black one, he gave himself to us. When a man and his dogs are respectful, a bear knows this.”

Sok shifted as though he were uncomfortable with Tsaani’s words. Twice he opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. Had Sok done something to break this good luck that had come to The People? Tsaani wondered. Sok was a hard man, harsh in his training of dogs and in the way he treated others, but he acted only as he had been taught. Who would expect anything different from someone raised by Fox Barking?