by Sue Harrison
Raven raised his eyebrows and let out a short laugh. “Why would she not like to carve? But she must hide her carvings from her husband. She brings them to me, trades them for food for her sons and herself—food that her husband cannot provide.”
“I would let her carve. I have wives enough to do the work of cooking and sewing, gathering wood for the fire and tending the dogs. You think she might come? Her sons, being born together, must have great powers. I will send furs to trade for her and for her sons.”
“If I bring them, I will expect something for myself,” Raven said.
“The secrets of the spirit voices, the animal callings?” Dyenen asked.
Raven smiled. He stood. “Yes.”
Dyenen stood also. “It is agreed,” he said. “When will you bring her? This summer? Next year? I am an old man.”
“I will leave tomorrow,” Raven said. “I will bring the woman and her sons to you within this moon.”
“No,” Dyenen said. “I told you it would be a moon and another half moon to learn the secrets of the medicine packs. I must do as I promised.”
“I release you from your promise,” Raven said.
“How can one man cut the ties of another’s promise?” Dyenen asked. “If I cannot keep promises to you, why should the spirits believe my promises to them?”
Finally, Raven lifted his hands in a gesture of goodwill and, shaking his head, left the lodge. Dyenen followed him outside, and with the walrus carving in his hands, watched as the man walked between the clustered River lodges back to the traders’ lodge.
Dyenen smiled. Unlike Saghani, he had not had to divulge his secret—he understood the Walrus language just as Saghani understood the River People’s tongue. There was an advantage to age—the years of experience that provide wisdom in dealing with the young, those who believe age gives nothing but brittle bones and stiff joints.
Yes, Dyenen thought, at worst I will lose the furs I send as bride price. At best, I will get a woman who understands things of the spirit. A woman who might, with the power of her born-together children, give a son. And all for a little knowledge, knowledge that was not even something of the spirits. How foolish of Saghani to think that the voices he heard and the shaking lodge skin were something of great power. They were tricks, taught to all River People shamans, passed from shaman to shaman. And the calling of animals—yes, that required prayers, chants, but were these more important than a man’s knowledge of animal trails, of the cycle of years that all animals follow?
Lynx live best during abundance of hares; bears’ numbers increase after years of many salmon; caribou follow ancient paths in cycled years of tens and twenties, waiting for the slow-growing plants they eat.
So Dyenen would give this knowledge to Saghani, and Saghani would think he had all power, but what power was greater than the power Dyenen had offered Saghani that morning—the knowledge of medicine? What man, when he was sick, would not trade all the spirit voices on earth for medicine that would push the sickness from his body? What kept a village of people honoring their shaman? The knowledge that he could help them conquer the powers of sickness.
Raven crawled into the traders’ lodge. Yes, he would trade Kiin. He would be sure she made him many carvings before he returned to the River village, carvings enough to last him through years of trading.
Each time he came to the River village, he would see her and trade for more carvings. Besides, the old man would not live for many more years. Dyenen would give Raven the secrets of his power, and then Raven would build his own village into something large and strong, ready for the time when the old man died. Then Raven would return to the River People and claim Kiin again as wife.
All he had to do was find another child, a boy the same age as Shuku; trade something for the child, and bring him to Kiin. Who, of the River People, would know it was not Kiin’s son?
But where to find the child? He would have to be a First Men child, a child that carried the smooth skin and round head, the long eyes of the First Men, but what mother would give a son to a trader?
When the answer finally came, Raven laughed aloud. It was so simple. An Ugyuun mother, of course! They always had more children than they could feed. A few seal bellies of oil, a walrus belly of meat. Any Ugyuun woman would give her soul for food. Why not give a son?
CHAPTER 50
The Whale Hunters
Yunaska Island, the Aleutian Chain
KUKUTUX CARRIED ANOTHER SEAL BELLY of oil to the top of the ulaq and handed it to Spotted Egg. She shook her head. The foolishness of traders. Why haul all their trade goods into the ulaq two days ago only to carry them all back out again today? She went down the climbing log and picked up a bundle of baskets, sized so that each one slipped inside the next. She tossed them up to Spotted Egg.
Perhaps the traders were worried that the Whale Hunter people would steal their trade goods. How could two men stand against a village? But if they worried about that, why leave the trade goods in the trading ik this night? Kukutux shook her head. Who could understand traders?
The carrying and lifting were not easy. Kukutux’s left elbow had begun to ache, and she wondered if Old Goose Woman had any ugyuun root Kukutux could make into a poultice, something that would draw the sharp spirits of pain from her arm.
Ah, well, she told herself, be thankful the traders have not taken their anger out on you. But then a quiet thought came to her: there was still one night. One night before they left. Kukutux lifted a seal belly of dried fish, shifted it up to her left shoulder, and climbed to the top of the ulaq.
You have been through worse things, she told herself.
When all the trade goods were out of the ulaq, Kukutux took her gathering bag and walked the beach. It was not yet low tide, but the water had begun to ebb. Perhaps she would find something fresh to add to a meal of dried fish. She used a walking stick to turn over small rocks and poke into crevices between the boulders that guarded the shallows of the Whale Hunter’s wide beach. She found a few sea urchins—not enough to satisfy even a child—but she went back to the ulaq, and when she saw that Owl and Spotted Egg were not inside, she took the urchins to the old man, called to him through the curtain of his sleeping place.
“Do you pray?”
The old man cleared his throat. “My praying is done,” he said, and peeked out from the side of the curtain.
“I have these,” Kukutux said and handed him the gathering bag. “They are not much.”
The man’s eyes opened wide, and his mouth split into a smile. “The others, Owl and Spotted Egg, they are leaving?” he asked.
“Tomorrow, if the sky is good,” Kukutux said. “Do you need water?”
The old man let the curtain close, but returned quickly with an empty water bladder. She took the bladder and gave him a full one. He nodded and said, “Tell me when they have left.” Then he let the curtain fall between them.
Kukutux stood and sighed her relief at the empty ulaq. She hated the stacks of trader’s packs that had cluttered the room. Soon the traders, too, would be gone, but first she must feed them. She went to the cache and pulled out all the food packs that Owl and Spotted Egg had left.
She set out dried berries mixed with seal oil, dried seal meat, smoked fish flavored with crumbled ugyuun leaves.
When she was finished, the traders had still not returned, so she went into the sleeping places, checked to be sure she had emptied the ulaq of what belonged to Owl and Spotted Egg. Of all the things the traders had brought into the ulaq, only a few packs of food and the old man’s walking stick remained. Then she remembered the tusks. They, too, were gone. She felt a sudden sadness close down over her heart. Did the old man know? Should he know? What if the tusks were the source of his powers? Was it right that the traders take them? She walked to the old man’s curtain.
“Your tusks are not here,” she called. “Have the traders taken them?”
“They are in this sleeping place with me,” the old man answered, his words muffled as thoug
h his mouth was full.
He is eating the sea urchins, Kukutux thought. “Good,” she said. She turned away from the curtain, but the old man called to her.
“Thank you for the sea urchins. I was hungry.” He paused, then said, “You have seen my tusks?”
“You said you had them,” Kukutux answered.
“I mean, have you looked at the carvings?”
“I saw that there were lines made on one,” Kukutux answered.
“Come in, look.”
Kukutux glanced at the roof hole, then told herself it did not matter if the traders found her in the old man’s sleeping place. She would tell them she wanted to be sure the old man had nothing that belonged to them. She pulled aside the curtain, rolled it up, and tucked it into the grass thatching that covered the ulaq walls. Then she crawled in beside him.
The old man held the carved tusk across his lap, his hands stroking it as a mother smooths her baby’s skin. Kukutux looked around the sleeping place, checking for packs, trade goods, but the sleeping place was bare except for a few furs and grass mats.
“See? The tusk,” the old man said, using words to pull her eyes back to him. Kukutux moved close, bent low over the tusk. Lines, cut deeply into the ivory, spread from the large end of the tusk halfway to the point. Taken together, they flowed like grass under the wind, and drew the eye like the flame of an oil lamp.
“It is beautiful,” Kukutux said.
“If all my life I have only these tusks,” the old man said, “it is enough.”
Kukutux sat back on her heels, remembered thinking much the same thing as she held her son, new in her arms, his hair still damp from birth. Almost, she could feel the warmth of him against her breast, but then she heard the voices of Owl and Spotted Egg.
“I will try to bring you food later,” she whispered as she left the old man’s sleeping place.
Hard Rock had come with Owl and Spotted Egg, so Kukutux served all three men, then took food for herself and went to her basket corner to eat.
The men ate without talking, but when they had finished, Hard Rock began to speak of whale hunting. He spoke of hunters still living and some long dead whose names he could not say for fear of calling their spirits back to the village. Kukutux listened to his stories as she sat, hands empty, enjoying a rare time of doing nothing.
When the hunting stories had ended, Hard Rock said, “There was a time when other men came here, to this island. We named them the Short Ones. They came to the Seal Hunters first, destroyed their village, so that everyone died except one woman. She was granddaughter to that one who was then our chief and is now dead. She came to our island to warn us, she and other Seal Hunters.”
Kukutux smiled. She had heard the story before, a story of fighting and bravery by both men and woman. Now as Hard Rock spoke, he mentioned Waxtal’s name, and Kukutux knew he spoke of the old man huddled in his sleeping place.
“He killed a Short One and was wounded himself during the battle. He gave us the idea that let us defeat the Short Ones. He told us to put two climbing logs in each ulaq so our hunters could go up back to back, protecting each other as they fought. So you see,” Hard Rock said, “it is difficult for me to say, ‘Yes, kill the old man,’ for he saved Whale Hunter lives long ago.”
Owl nodded, though Spotted Egg stood and paced quickly from one side of the ulaq to the other. “It is your decision,” Spotted Egg said. “The man is not a good man. For some reason he was thrown out of his own village by the chief of his tribe. Who knows why? It seems as if he would do no harm, but who can say?”
Hard Rock stood and stretched. He had taken off his suk and used it as a cushion on the floor. Now he picked it up and pulled it on.
“Do not kill him,” Hard Rock said. “Leave him here. The woman will take care of him.” He pointed to Kukutux, and a spark of anger burned in her heart, but she said nothing. Why complain? She had no husband. This Waxtal, even though he was old, should be able to hunt.
Hard Rock left the ulaq, and for a time Owl and Spotted Egg bent their heads together, speaking in soft words as though afraid to let Kukutux hear what they said. Kukutux smiled and stood, purposely going near to pick up leftover food and the men’s bowls. Their words became whispers, until Kukutux, laughing, said to them, “Why whisper? I do not speak the Caribou tongue. Talk as loudly as you wish. Unless you are afraid the old man will hear you.”
Spotted Egg scowled, but Owl stood up, a smile on his face. “Spotted Egg says that it will be many days until he has a woman again in his sleeping place. He wonders if you will come.”
Spotted Egg, eyes staring straight ahead at the ulaq wall, said nothing, so Owl bent down, lifted the many necklaces that lay against Spotted Egg’s chest. “Choose one, and if you will have us both, choose two.”
Kukutux felt the skin over her cheeks burn. “If I choose to sleep alone?” she asked.
Owl shrugged. “It is your choice,” he said, but his eyes were gentle as they lingered on her face.
Kukutux looked away, and in her mind, she saw the food left in the cache. She had a sealskin from her own ulaq half full of oil, a seal belly of oil coming from Hard Rock, two sealskins of dried fish, a handful of dried seal meat, a basket of berries. Enough to get her and the old man through to the seal hunting season, but if the old man was a poor hunter, what then? A winter of starving.
She leaned close to Spotted Egg, watched his face as she fingered each necklace. “Not this one,” he said, laying his hand flat against the bear claw necklace that curled in a wide circle around his neck. “Any of the others.”
“Two?” Kukutux asked.
Spotted Egg’s nostrils flared, but he nodded.
“This and this,” she said, choosing one necklace of seal teeth and another of shining circles cut from the white inner layer of clam shells.
Spotted Egg took off one necklace and then the other. He handed them to Kukutux. She held them up to the lamplight, let herself believe for a moment that the necklaces were hers, that she could wear such things, have something so beautiful for herself. Then she looked back at Owl and Spotted Egg and laughed. “They are mine?” she asked.
“If you come to our sleeping places,” Spotted Egg said.
Kukutux nodded. This was the time to trade. If she waited until after, when their needs were satisfied, it would be too late. “They are beautiful,” she said, “but I cannot eat necklaces. If they are mine, they are mine to keep or to trade, yes?”
She waited, but the men gave her no answer.
“How much oil will you give me for this?” she asked and held out the seal tooth necklace.
Spotted Egg turned to Owl, and the men looked at each other but said nothing, as though their eyes in looking spoke for them. “None,” Spotted Egg finally said.
The muscles in Kukutux’s neck tightened and the back of her head began to ache, but she kept her face still, neither smiling nor frowning. “How much dried meat then?” she asked.
Spotted Egg ground his teeth and shook his head.
“None?” Kukutux said. Again she laughed; again she said, “I cannot eat necklaces.” She leaned toward Spotted Egg, let the necklaces slip from the ends of her fingers into his lap. “Then these are yours,” she said. She turned away from the traders and sat down, her back toward them.
She felt their eyes, watching, waiting, and the skin on her arms pulled up into bumps, so that she clasped her elbows to keep from shivering. She did not let herself turn to face them. What am I against two young men? she asked herself. How can I fight if they decide to take me? Still, she did not let herself move. The ulaq was so quiet she could hear her own breathing.
“One,” Spotted Egg said, and the loudness of his voice made Kukutux jump.
She looked at him over her shoulder.
“One seal belly of oil,” he said.
“For both of you?” Kukutux asked.
“You are worth more?” asked Owl.
Kukutux stood up and faced the men. “I was worth two
necklaces not long ago,” she said. “You are the traders. You know what your necklaces are worth. Why ask me?”
“Two bellies of dried meat,” Owl said.
“Two seal bellies of oil,” said Kukutux. “Or three of dried meat.”
“One meat, one oil,” Owl said, and did not look at Spotted Egg when the man’s breath hissed out over his teeth.
“Who is first?” Kukutux asked.
CHAPTER 51
KUKUTUX RAN HER HAND over the soft furs that lined the floor of Owl’s sleeping place.
“I will give you the oil and the meat, even if you do not choose to come to my bed,” Owl said. “But I cannot speak for my brother.”
“I will do what I promised,” Kukutux answered. She glanced at Owl, then looked away. His eyes were intense, and she could feel the power of him, as though he reached across his sleeping place and touched her. She began to untie the strings that held her aprons, but he shook his head and said, “Lie down on your stomach.”
Kukutux looked at him, questions in her eyes, but he was patting and straightening the sleeping robes as though he were a woman. Kukutux lowered herself, her muscles tense. Then his fingers were against her back, rubbing in close circles across her shoulders. She felt herself relax.
“You work very hard,” he said to her, and his words so surprised Kukutux that she nearly laughed.
“Who does not work hard—man, woman, or child?” Kukutux asked.
“Waxtal does not work hard, Kukutux,” Owl answered. “Remember that. You are a woman whose heart is soft. Remember—not everyone deserves your sympathy. Do you not have enough sorrow in your life?”
“What do you know about my sorrow?” Kukutux asked.
Owl’s hands stopped. “You think I cannot see that you are sad?” he asked. “But you are a strong woman. A man would be fortunate to have you as wife.”
Kukutux rolled over to look into Owl’s eyes.
“It has been long enough,” he said to her. “You may go to my brother now if you wish.”
“No,” Kukutux said. “I will do as I promised.”