by Sue Harrison
Brother Wind
The Ivory Carver Trilogy
Sue Harrison
Contents
Prologue
The First Men
The Whale Hunters
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Part Two
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Part Three
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Epilogue
Author’s Notes
Glossary of Native American Words
Image Gallery
Acknowledgments
A Biography of Sue Harrison
Again, for Neil And for our sisters and brothers
PROLOGUE
Summer, 7038 B.C.
The First Men
Herendeen Bay, the Alaska Peninsula
KIIN PUT AWAY HER CARVING TOOLS. The gray light of early morning squeezed through the smokehole and met the glow of the seal oil lamp.
Sometime during the night, a mist had begun to fall. It had soaked through the skin walls and mats of their shelter into their sleeping robes and clothing until Kiin thought she would never get its chill out of her bones.
We are safe here, my babies and I, Kiin thought. But the cold that enveloped her body came from more than the rain. I should not have let my husband bring me here. My babies and I were safer in the village with our people than we are in this tiny shelter with Three Fish. Even if traders have come to our people looking for wives, they will not bother me.
“No, stay here,” Kiin’s spirit voice said. “You are wife. You must do what your husband tells you to do. Stay here with Three Fish until Amgigh comes for you.”
Kiin took a long breath, but still could not rid herself of the heaviness that seemed to settle over her. She looked across the sodden sleeping robes at Three Fish. The woman was just waking up. She smiled at Kiin, showing the broken corners of her front teeth.
“I am hungry,” Three Fish said. “We should go out and get food.” Her voice was heavy with the accent of her people, the Whale Hunters. “I know where there are crowberries.”
“It is too soon. The berries will not be ripe yet,” Kiin said.
Three Fish shrugged. “Then we will gather crowberry stems for medicine,” she said.
“Yes, good,” said Kiin. “We can go now.”
But Three Fish made no move toward the door flap. “There was a trader looking for medicine for his eyes,” she said. “If I make crowberry stem medicine, he might trade meat or oil for it.”
“Yes,” said Kiin, “you could do that. We can go now.”
But Three Fish continued talking, telling Kiin about the medicines her mother used to make from fireweed and ugyuun root, and about the bitterroot bulbs that grew so well on the Whale Hunters’ island.
As she listened, a tightness grew in Kiin’s throat. This woman is Samiq’s wife, Kiin thought. This woman has been in Samiq’s arms, has shared Samiq’s sleeping place.
But Kiin’s inside spirit voice whispered: “You had the joy of Samiq for one night. Be glad for that.”
And I have Takha, Kiin thought. Because of that night I have Takha, this son who looks so much like his father. She laid her hands against the bulge under her fur suk where Takha lay, held against her chest by his carrying strap. She moved her hand to her other son—Shuku, twin to Takha—also strapped to her chest.
“But remember,” Kiin’s spirit voice whispered. “Amgigh is your husband.”
Yes, Kiin thought. Amgigh. He is a good husband. What woman could want better? And Amgigh gave me Shuku. Who, seeing Shuku, could doubt he was Amgigh’s son?
“Amgigh also gave you the night you spent with Samiq,” Kiin’s spirit voice reminded her. “It was his choice to share you with his brother.”
“I am glad to be Amgigh’s wife,” Kiin said. “You know that.”
But her spirit answered, “Who can explain the difference between something chosen by the mind and something decided by the heart? Words are not kelp string. They cannot bind pain into neat packs to be stored away like food in a cache.”
Kiin wrapped her arms around her upraised knees, cradling Takha and Shuku between her chest and legs. Three Fish was still talking, her words as steady as the wind. Kiin closed her eyes and tried to think of something other than husbands and babies, something besides the rain and Three Fish’s loud voice. But the thoughts that came to her were again worrying thoughts, and a strange unrest beset her feet and hands.
“It is this shelter,” her spirit voice whispered. “The walls are too close. The oil lamp light is too dim. Turn your mind toward sky and sea, toward high mountains and long grass.”
Then there was a pause in Three Fish’s talking, and Kiin realized that the woman had asked her a question. Did Kiin like to sew birdskins more than sealskins?
What did it matter, birdskins or sealskins? Kiin thought, but she said, “Birdskins.”
“Birdskins?” Three Fish said. “But they tear so easily and it takes so many to make one suk.”
“Yes, you are right,” Kiin answered, but wished Three Fish would stop talking. Kiin pulled Takha from his carrying strap. Maybe if Three Fish were holding him, she would be quiet.
Kiin wrapped the baby in one
of the few dry furs from her bed and handed him to Three Fish. He opened his eyes, looked solemnly at Kiin, then turned his head toward Three Fish and smiled. Three Fish laughed and again began to babble, this time to the baby.
Kiin sighed and looked down inside her suk at Shuku. He was asleep. Suddenly she heard what Three Fish was saying to Takha: “Your father will fight and you will be safe. Do not worry. He is strong.”
Kiin pushed herself across the bedding to Three Fish and clasped the woman by both arms. “What did you say?” Kiin asked.
“Only what Amgigh told me, that we must stay here because there are men on the beach who want to trade for women.”
Kiin’s heart moved up to pound at the base of her throat. “And Amgigh will fight them?” she asked Three Fish.
Three Fish pulled away from Kiin’s hands and scooted back against the damp wall of their shelter. “He said he might,” she answered. “All I know is that I saw one of them. A man with a black blanket over his shoulders. Even his face was black. I think Samiq and Amgigh were afraid he would want us.”
“The Raven,” Kiin said. “My brother Qakan sold me to him. I was his wife at the Walrus People’s village. He has come to take me back.” Her voice cracked, and the sound was like a scattering of words broken away from a mourning song.
Three Fish stared at her as though she did not understand what Kiin had said.
“Amgigh cannot win a fight against him,” Kiin whispered. The Raven was too strong, too cunning.
Amgigh would die unless Kiin went with the Raven, and if she went back with the Raven, back to the Walrus People, what would happen to her sons? One would die. Woman of the Sky and Woman of the Sun, those two old ones—the Grandmother and the Aunt—they would tell the whole village about the curse.
“No child can bring death to a village,” Kiin’s spirit voice said, and the voice no longer whispered, but spoke in anger. “Woman of the Sun and Woman of the Sky know nothing but fear.”
My sons are good, Kiin thought. They carry no curse, but because they are twins and because my brother Qakan used me as wife when they were in my womb, the Walrus People think they are cursed. How can I protect two babies against a whole village?
Kiin pressed her lips together and looked at Three Fish, but Three Fish was still talking to Takha, her face close to Takha’s face, both woman and child smiling.
Kiin watched them, and an ache began to build at the center of her chest. She lifted her thoughts to the wind spirits, to the spirits of the mountains that protected the Traders’ Beach. I will be content to be Amgigh’s wife, she told them. Just let him live. She clasped the amulet at her neck. If he is safe and my sons are safe, she thought, I will ask nothing more.
She crawled over to sit beside Three Fish and said, “Our husbands Amgigh and Samiq are brothers, just as my babies Takha and Shuku are brothers.”
Though Kiin wanted to hurry, she forced her words out slowly, gently, so Three Fish would understand. “Our husbands are brothers, so we are sisters.”
“Yes,” said Three Fish.
“I have to go to the beach now, Three Fish,” said Kiin, “but you should stay here with Takha. Keep him from crying as long as you can. If he sleeps, that is good. But finally when he is crying so hard you cannot stop him, then take him to Samiq’s sister Red Berry. She has milk. She will feed him.”
Then Kiin untied the string of babiche that held the carving Samiq’s mother Chagak had given Kiin and handed it to Three Fish.
“A gift for you,” Kiin said. Three Fish cupped the carving of man, woman, and child in her hand.
“Samiq told me about this,” Three Fish said. “The great shaman Shuganan made it. I cannot take it.”
But Kiin said, “You must. We are sisters. You cannot refuse my gift. The one who wears the carving receives the gift of being a good mother.”
For a moment Three Fish sat very still, then she tied the string of babiche around her neck. She clasped the carving tightly in both hands.
Kiin unwrapped the walrus tusk ikyak that she had carved during the long night when sleep would not come. After she had finished carving it, she had cut the ikyak crosswise into two pieces. Had not Woman of the Sun said that Kiin’s sons, being twins, shared one spirit and so must live as one man? Had not Woman of the Sky told Kiin that Shuku and Takha must share one ikyak, one lodge, one wife? Someday, Kiin would make carvings of a lodge and a woman also, and split each, giving one half to each son. With her carvings, they could live without the curse of being twins, each one building his own life as a man.
She hung the ikyak halves on braided sinew cords, fastened one cord around Takha’s neck, the other around Shuku’s.
“This is my blessing to my sons,” she said to Three Fish.
Takha clasped the ikyak and lifted it to his mouth. Shuku slept.
For a moment Kiin watched her sons, then she turned away to roll up her sleeping skins.
“Why are you going to the beach?” Three Fish asked as Kiin worked. “Amgigh told us to stay here.”
“I must go,” Kiin said. Again she sat down beside Three Fish. She reached out to stroke Takha’s cheek. The baby turned his face toward her hand, opened his mouth. “While I am away, you must be mother to Takha,” Kiin told Three Fish. “He is son to Amgigh, but also to Samiq. See,” she said, gathering Takha’s hand into her own, spreading her son’s fingers, “he has Samiq’s wide hands.” She brushed the top of his head. “He has Samiq’s thick hair.”
Three Fish lifted the baby and laid him against her chest, tucking his head up under her chin. “I will be a good mother to him,” she said.
Kiin looked away, then leaned forward to pick up her carving tools. She slipped them into her sleeping furs, strapped the bundle to her back, then crawled to the door flap.
“Be sure Red Berry feeds him,” Kiin said. Then, though she had not meant to go back, Kiin turned. She held her hands out toward Takha.
Three Fish handed Kiin the baby, and Kiin lifted him from his fur wrappings. She stroked her hands down his fat legs and arms, over his soft belly. She pressed him against her face, smelled the good oil smell of his skin. Then she handed him back to Three Fish and slipped out of the shelter into the rain.
“I will see my son again tonight,” Kiin said to the wind and waited for an answer, but there was nothing. No answer, no whisper to pull away her doubts.
Kiin stroked the carving that hung at her waist, the whale tooth she had made into a shell—her first carving, a sign of the gift the spirits had given her. Then she tucked her arms around Shuku, alone in his carrying strap under her suk, and walked toward the beach.
The Whale Hunters
Yunaska Island, the Aleutian Chain
FOUR HUNTERS’ IKYAN HAD LEFT THE BEACH. Three returned. Kukutux, eyes gifted to see beyond what others saw, blinked once, twice, and looked again. Only three.
She glanced at the other Whale Hunter women around her, saw their grim faces.
“You see them, Kukutux?” Speckled Basket asked. The woman leaned against the stick her husband had carved, which allowed her to walk in spite of a foot crushed last spring when the mountains destroyed the Whale Hunter village.
“I see ikyan,” Kukutux said slowly, her words heavy with the weight of her fear.
“How many?” asked Fish Eater’s third wife, a young woman, too young to belong to the one-eyed Fish Eater, a man nearly too old to hunt.
Kukutux shook her head, lifted her shoulders in a shrug. She had seen hunters return before, knew that the ikyan seemed to lift themselves over the horizon, as though the sea curved down under the weight of the ice that bordered that far edge of the earth. Sometimes when she sighted only one or two ikyan, others would suddenly appear—thin dark lines coming up from the water, as though they had been visiting those undersea villages owned by seal and whale.
She waited, saying nothing, until some of the other women began to point, able themselves to see the first of the three ikyan coming back toward the Whale Hunter b
each. “Kukutux,” Flowers-in-her-hair said, “how many? Do they bring a whale?”
“No,” Kukutux answered. “No whale.”
“How many?” asked Speckled Basket, her voice whining with anxiety.
“Three,” Kukutux finally said, and suddenly felt the need for tears, as though the word made true what her eyes had known. “Only three.”
Several women raised their voices in a thin, high mourning chant, but Old Goose Woman hushed them, hissing that their mourning would call spirits. Who could say, she told them, perhaps the last hunter was coming still, towing seal or sea lion, the animal buoyed with breath-filled sealskins. Who could say? Perhaps there would be meat and oil for everyone tonight. Why curse a blessing? Had not those mountains—Aka and Okmok—brought enough curses to the Whale Hunters? Did the women themselves need to add to the curse of fire and ash and darkness?