The Storyteller Trilogy (81 page)

Chakliux interrupted her. “Star, did you and Night Man go to Aqamdax and get the baby?”

“Yes,” Star said. “What is the problem in that? Night Man is the boy’s father. At least Aqamdax says he is.”

“So Night Man has the baby?” Ligige’ asked.

Star nodded.

“That is good,” said Ligige’.

Star dropped her head, but not before Chakliux saw a smirk tighten her lips.

“No, Ligige’,” he said to his aunt, “that is not good.”

He pulled his parka from its hanging peg and slipped quickly out through the entrance tunnel. He headed toward the hunters’ lodge, though since the Near Rivers had burned the village, it was more lean-to than lodge.

Ligige’ called him, so he stopped and turned.

“Where are you going?”

“To find Night Man. Go back to Aqamdax,” he said. “Stay with her until I bring the baby.”

At the hunters’ lodge, he interrupted a story old Take More was telling, earned dark looks for his rudeness. He asked them if they knew where Night Man was, but no one had seen him. Then he went to the other lodges in the village, scratching at doorflaps, waiting impatiently until someone answered him. Finally Twisted Stalk said she had seen Night Man carrying something, walking in the direction of the Grandfather Lake. Then, though the sky was dark and his otter foot ached, Chakliux ran.

Aqamdax, huddled at the back of Ligige’’s lodge, waited. She kept her fears pressed down and did not allow them to form thoughts in her mind, but her chest felt as though it were weighted with rocks. Why had she allowed Star to take the baby? Why had she trusted the woman? But what else could she have done? Night Man wanted to see his son. She hummed lullabies she had learned as a child from her mother, hoped the songs carried some power to keep her baby safe, even in this land so far from her home.

Then she heard Ligige’ call. “Aqamdax, are you here?”

“Aunt, I am behind your lodge. Have you found my son?” Ligige’ did not answer, but instead came to her, and Aqamdax could not hold back a sob when she saw that Ligige’’s arms were empty.

“I was foolish to give him to Star. I should have known….” Ligige’ gathered Aqamdax close, patted her back as though she were a child. “Hush, now. Star does not have him. She says the baby is with Night Man.”

Hope lifted some of Aqamdax’s pain, and she raised her head, looked first at Ligige’, then out into the village. “Where is he?” she asked.

“Star does not know, but Chakliux has promised to find him.” Then Aqamdax saw someone running. Though the darkness was broken only by the light that leaked from each lodge, she could tell it was Chakliux. He disappeared behind a lean-to, then she saw him on the path to the Grandfather Lake.

She pulled away from Ligige’, and before the old woman could stop her, Aqamdax ran after him.

T
REES AND SHRUBS TRIED
to hold Chakliux back, but still he ran. Twice he stumbled, his otter foot giving way, but he caught himself with his fingertips, pushed himself up to his feet. By the time he reached the Grandfather Lake, the moon had risen, glazing the water with silver, and Chakliux, his mind clouded with fatigue, saw the silver first as ice.

From the dark spruce woods near the lake came the call of an owl, and Chakliux shuddered at the knowledge of what that call could mean. He allowed himself only a moment to rest, then climbed the hill to the Grandfather Rock. Usually he avoided the rock. He had been left there as a baby, given to the wind by his grandfather Tsaani because of his otter foot. Why come and remind the winds what had been taken from them? Who could say what gift they might demand in exchange?

Now he went, climbed as quickly as he could, sometimes scrambling up the path on all fours. But when he came to the rock, he saw nothing except the moonlight gilding its dark, flat top.

Suddenly it seemed as though a part of the rock had moved. Chakliux’s knife came into his hand so quickly that he did not remember removing it from the sheath. Then he realized that a man had been crouched beside the rock.

“I thought you might come.”

Chakliux recognized Night Man’s voice.

“Where is your son?” Chakliux asked.

“He is not my son.”

Night Man stood, lifted a woven hare fur blanket and draped it over the Grandfather Rock. “You think I would leave him here? I have heard the stories of how you came to us as animal-gift, found here on this rock by K’os. You think when I decided to throw away my wife’s son that I would leave him on this rock?

“Because this rock allowed you to live when you were supposed to die, my father and two of my brothers are dead, and I will never again be a hunter.” He held out his shriveled arm. “You deny that your spear did this?”

“Where is the baby, Night Man?” Chakliux asked, his words like ice.

Night Man extended his hand back toward the lake. “There, in the water. Drowned.”

Anger filled Chakliux like a storm, roared in his ears like the wind. “You think you have killed only a baby, but you have killed the hunter he would have been! You have killed his children, and everyone he would have fed. A village of people die in this one death!” Chakliux stopped, caught his breath. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. “Ligige’ told you he was born early. Aqamdax said the boy was yours.”

Night Man spat. “Ligige’ is your aunt. She is Near River. Why should I trust her? As for Aqamdax—any woman would lie to save her child.”

“You fool! You would tear out your wife’s heart because of your own pride. Even if Aqamdax was wrong, even if the child was not yours, you would have taught him, and in that way he would have carried a piece of your spirit. As would his children and grandchildren.”

“According to the traditions of our people, I had the right to do what I did.”

“If the ways of a people allow evil, then they have begun their own destruction,” Chakliux answered.

“You speak of evil when you yourself have killed so many? I will give Aqamdax another child, and this time I will know it is mine.”

When Aqamdax came to the Grandfather Lake, she heard nothing but her own ragged breath. Surely she would soon wake to find herself in the birth lodge. Her son would be suckling her breast, his dark hair soft against her skin, his tiny fingers clasped around her thumb. She had never known anything more precious than holding him in her arms. She had never experienced a deeper joy.

She saw in the moonlight that the tops of her moccasins were stained with blood. She had heard of women bleeding to death after childbirth, but if her son was dead, she did not care. She would rather go with him to the spirit world. Who would take care of him if she did not? Perhaps her mother, but who could say? Her mother might not recognize Angax as her grandson. He looked so much like the River People.

When Aqamdax caught her breath, she straightened. She had not passed Chakliux on the path, and so he had to be here. But even with the moonlight, it would be difficult to see him. Perhaps some movement might catch her eye….

Then she heard voices, not the calls of night animals but the sound of men arguing. She walked toward the voices, up the hill toward the Grandfather Rock, and her legs felt as though they would allow her to fall. People sometimes left babies on that rock to die.

Before she reached the rock, she knew the voices belonged to Night Man and Chakliux. Chakliux’s voice, though it was raised in anger, gave her strength.

When they saw her, Night Man raised his good hand in a gesture of protection to defend himself from the powers she carried as a woman who had just given birth.

“Where is my son?” she asked him.

For a long time Night Man said nothing, then Aqamdax saw the hare fur blanket in his hands. She ran to him snatched it away.

“Where is my son!” she screamed. Her fear throbbed like a pulse through her words. She swept her hands over the rock, sure she would find the child’s blood, but she felt only the brittle prick of lichen and the warmth of the stone, still releasing the heat it had gathered during the day.

Then Chakliux’s hands were on her shoulders, and she felt his strength. She relaxed, leaned her head back against his chest, but Night Man said, “I gave him to the lake. He is there now, with the water spirits.”

The words were like the blade of a knife, cutting through her flesh and into her bones until she could only scream.

She wrenched herself from Chakliux’s grasp and ran.

“Do not go after her,” said Night Man. “You already cursed yourself by touching her. She still bleeds from the birth.”

But Chakliux turned from Night Man and followed Aqamdax down the hill. He found her kneeling on the shore, hands held out toward the lake. He wrapped his arms around her, but she struggled against him.

“My son,” she said, and looked out at the water. “There, I see him. He is floating on that wave. If I wait, he will come to me.”

“Aqamdax, Aqamdax, he is gone. There is nothing on the water. We must go back to the village. Ligige’ has medicine for you, something that will help you regain your strength.”

She stood, and Chakliux tucked an arm around her, tried to lead her away, but she broke from him and started out into the water, the blanket trailing from her hands. He went after her, caught her. He expected a struggle, but she allowed him to take her back to shore. Then, turning to him, she smiled and held up a short branch, forked on one end.

“I told you,” she said. “Here he is. Look. He is not dead. See.”

She knelt and wrapped the branch carefully in the sodden blanket, held it to her breast. Chakliux, tears burning his eyes, gathered her close and walked her back to the village.

T
HE STORIES HAD TAKEN
them from winter and on through the summer. Each morning and each evening the old woman had told the boy more about Aqamdax and Chakliux. She still had much to tell him, but already the fireweed blossoms had climbed to the tops of their stalks. Soon the leaves would turn, and the people would follow the caribou.

The old woman pushed herself to her feet and crawled out the doorflap of her fishcamp lodge. After tonight, they would have a few days without stories while they walked back to the winter village. She stretched her arms, saw how frail they had become, little more than skin over bones. The long walk would not be easy for her, but then she saw the boy coming, his face bright with a smile, and she knew she would have the strength.

He lifted a hand in greeting, and she welcomed him into her lodge, offering fresh fish that she had roasted outside over the fire. She did not wait for him to finish eating before she began. The stories pressed too hard in her throat, the words scrambling over one another to get to the boy’s ears.

“The Near River Village,” she said, “K’os and Fox Barking. Listen:”

K’OS, SLAVE OF THE NEAR RIVER PEOPLE:

He names himself Anaay and hopes to call caribou. Fool! It will take more than the power of a name to get the stink of fox out of him.

That night after he bought me for his wives, he took me to Gull Beak’s lodge. He told me I would live there, and I was glad for that. Her lodge might as well get used to me, for soon it will be mine. I thought we would spend the night there, Gull Beak and I, but he sent her away.

He brought no gifts, and being slave, I expected none. He took me to Gull Beak’s bed and with a knife in his fist, forced me to lie belly down.

“I know your hands,” he told me.

So I knew he had not forgotten what they did to me so long ago. He and his friends. Two of those three men have felt my revenge. Fox Barking is next, and he will die more horribly than the others.

Look! What do I see? Ravens rejoice over their feast, taking the eyes first.

Fox Barking, do you understand the riddle?

THE NEAR RIVER VILLAGE

“H
OLD HER STILL,” K’OS
said.

The child lay on her side on a mat of caribou hides while her father gripped her legs. K’os had wrapped a round river rock, half the size of her fist, in the furred pelt of a river otter. She lifted the stone in one hand, said to the father, “The pelt is sacred, you see.”

He nodded, and K’os placed the stone in the child’s armpit, then pushed down on the arm.

The girl’s sobbing rose to a shriek as the arm bone slipped back into the shoulder socket.

“You have killed her,” Red Leggings, the mother, cried out, but the girl’s father spit out a quick reprimand.

“Foolish woman, the arm is back in place. See for yourself.”

“She must sit up now,” K’os said.

The man lifted his daughter to his lap and watched as K’os bound the upper arm to the girl’s body with a band of caribou hide.

“It is done,” said K’os. “I will give your wife caribou leaves to heat and lay over the shoulder. They will deaden the pain.” She raised her head to look at Red Leggings. “You know how to make tea from willow?”

Red Leggings looked away, but her husband said, “She knows.”

“Give your daughter willow tea when she complains of pain.”

K’os drew out another length of scraped and softened caribou hide from her bag of supplies and fashioned a sling. She lifted her chin toward Red Leggings and said, “Come here. I will show you how to tie it.”

Red Leggings crept forward, sniffing as if she were a child, but K’os ignored her red, accusing eyes and wrapped the girl’s arm, tied the sling so the knot would not rub at the back of the neck.

She nodded at Gull Beak, and the woman removed a packet of caribou leaves from the medicine bag and handed it to K’os. K’os opened the pack, took a leaf, laid it on her arm, rubbed it against her skin. She was a slave, and she was Cousin River. It would take a long time to earn the people’s trust.

“You see?” she said. “It will not hurt her.”

But the girl’s father looked at Gull Beak and asked, “It is caribou leaf as she said?”

“It is caribou leaf. I was with her when she gathered it,” Gull Beak answered.

“Her shoulder will hurt, but in a day or two she should begin to move her arm,” said K’os, as though the girl’s father had not expressed his doubt, as though Gull Beak were not even in the lodge. “Use the caribou leaves and give her willow tea. Make her wear the band and sling for a few days.”