The Storyteller Trilogy

by Sue Harrison

  “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.”

  “I believed the ones the girl spoke about were Walrus,” Chakliux told her. He laid one hand against his chest. “Because of the necklace. When I did not find them at the Walrus Hunter Village, I went on in my iqyax to the Sea Hunters, hoping the woman’s own people had taken her. When I returned here, Red Leaf said the girl was gone, that she had disappeared like the Sea Hunter woman and her brother.”

  “So now what will you do?”

  “Go to my own village. If I find any of them, I will bring them back here.”

  “You will risk meeting those hunters who tried to kill you?”

  “I will go quietly. I will watch without being seen.”

  Ligige’ swept one hand across her face, as though fanning away smoke, then said, “There is something else I want to talk to you about, something I need to show you.”

  She crawled into the entrance tunnel and brought back a fishskin basket. She reached into it and brought out a frozen ball of fat, dropped it into his hand.

  THE COUSIN RIVER VILLAGE

  It was the second day of new moon. Aqamdax went outside and searched the sky, rejoiced in the strengthening sun. She placed one hand over her belly, felt the warmth of her body even through the fur of her parka.

  The sound of drums and singing came from the hunters’ lodge. She had heard whispers among the women at the cooking hearths. The spear in Lynx Killer’s chest had carried the marks of the Near River People—a black band crested with a white circle—and now that the days of mourning were over, there would be revenge. Someone would die for the boy who was killed.

  She could not let herself think about who that might be. Possibly a boy who had joined the story circle in her Near River lodge. A young man who would never be hunter, would never know the joy of sleeping with his wife, of watching his children grow strong. But who was she to protest? Some foolish hunter, probably a young man not yet wise enough to see beyond the moment he was living, had taken the life of a Cousin River boy, a young man with much promise. What else could the hunters do but repay?

  She went back into the lodge. Night Man moved restlessly on his bed. That morning, with much loud singing and chants, K’os had brought a new medicine for him, had even called Night Man’s brother Tikaani from the hunters’ lodge to watch her performance. Aqamdax had crouched quietly in the corner beside her husband’s mother, had clasped the woman’s cold, still hands and waited until K’os left the lodge.

  She ha
d expected Tikaani to follow K’os, as most men in the village did, but he had not. Instead, he had stayed and waited with Aqamdax, had watched as she straightened her husband’s bed, as she fed him gruel, as she combed his hair and wiped his face. Then Tikaani, too, had left, and Aqamdax had been able to coax Long Eyes to her feet, to support her as she walked with small shuffling steps to the women’s place to relieve herself and then back again to the lodge. Aqamdax gave her food, and though she had to remind the woman now and again to eat, Long Eyes finished everything and held her bowl out for another portion.

  During all that time, Aqamdax had held her thoughts away from her hopes, but now, she again allowed herself to reflect on the heaviness that rested just below her belly, and she knew she carried Night Man’s child.

  She crouched beside her husband, again whispered his name. He opened his eyes, but they were opaque, as though he saw nothing, as though his body lived but without his spirit. She struggled with his backrest until he seemed to be comfortable, then she placed a hand at his groin to feel the pad of moss she used to catch his urine. It was dry. She stood and pulled a caribou belly of water from the lodge poles, knelt beside him and held it while he drank. Finally he turned his head away. Aqamdax pushed the ivory stopper back into the neck of the container and rehung it, and sat down again beside her husband.

  Usually she stayed beside him, sewing or weaving, sitting close enough so she could press one leg against his thigh. She often spoke to him, in spite of Star’s mocking glances, but now she only sat, watching his eyes, hoping for some sign that he knew she was there. She clasped his hand and thought she felt him tighten his fingers. She leaned close to him, then whispered into his ear.

  “Husband,” she said, “my husband, I carry your child in my womb.” She took his left hand with both of hers and laid it over her belly. “A child,” she whispered again.

  Did she see the smallest flicker of understanding in his eyes? Perhaps the child, as it grew larger, stronger, would have the power to pull his father’s spirit back from wherever it had gone and return it to Night Man’s body.

  THE NEAR RIVER VILLAGE

  “You have seen such a thing before?” Ligige’ asked, and put the fat ball back into the basket.

  For a moment Chakliux sat still. There was something buried deep in his memories. A story he had heard….

  “The North Tundra People use them to kill wolves,” he finally said.

  “They are poison, then,” said Ligige’, but something in her words told Chakliux she knew they were not.

  Chakliux pulled his sleeve knife from the sheath at his wrist and sliced open the ball, holding one hand out in caution as Ligige’ bent too close. “Shield your eyes,” he told her, and turned his own head away.

  He need not have worried. The coil of sharpened ivory stretched out slowly in his hand. “It pierces the wolf’s belly after the heat of his body melts the fat. Usually they die, though a North Tundra hunter told me he found a wolf with one in his belly and that it had remained coiled.”

  “How could that happen?”

  Chakliux shrugged. “I do not know, but he carried it as something sacred in his amulet pouch, and the other hunters claimed he always had good luck in hunting wolves.”

  Ligige’ snorted. “North Tundra People will tell you anything. They are not quite human, you know.”

  “Ligige’,” Chakliux said softly, “they are much like us.”

  She frowned, and Chakliux asked, “Where did you get this?”

  “I found it in a dog’s belly.”

  “Do Near River hunters use these to kill wolves?” Chakliux asked as he handed her the strip of ivory.

  “No.”

  “Ligige’, how long have dogs been dying in this village? Healthy dogs, not pups or old ones.”

  “Since you came,” she answered.

  “None died before I came?”

  “Perhaps a few old dogs. Always a few pups. Nothing that people would notice.”

  “This past winter, how many died?”

  “Four handfuls, probably more. Grown dogs. Not old, not sick.”

  “Puppies?”

  “Yes, some. Most of them belonged to elders.”

  “Were they sick or deformed?”

  “Two were born without the lower jaw. That has happened before. It is Camp Maker’s dark-colored bitch. Sometimes her pups are like that.”

  “But the others? Were they sick?”

  “I do not know. You should talk to Dog Trainer. He knows these things.”

  Chakliux sighed. He needed to leave, to begin his journey to the Cousin River Village, but this, too, was important. If Aqamdax and Ghaden had been taken to the Cousin River Village, then they had been there all winter. What would one more day matter?

  “I will talk to Dog Trainer,” Chakliux said. “How many of these were in the dog’s belly?”

  “A handful or more. Four still coiled.”

  “You kept them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have enough fat to make them into balls again?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “An old woman’s cache does not have much fat at the end of a long winter.”

  “I will bring you fat.”

  “That would be good,” she said, and licked her lips.

  “Does anyone else know how the dog died?”

  “Only Blue-head Duck.”

  “For now do not tell anyone else.”

  “No one will know,” she said.

  He left Ligige’ and went to the elders’ lodge. He scratched at the lodge entrance and called out, then waited for someone to beckon him.

  A voice came, Blue-head Duck’s, then also Dog Trainer’s. They were the only ones inside, and both were grumbling because the women had not refilled their food bag. They looked at Chakliux warily. He was too young to come to the lodge only to talk or tell stories, at least without invitation. Why else did young men come but to request favors?

  “I need to talk to you about dogs,” Chakliux said, and earned looks of disgust.

  Chakliux reminded himself that he should have spoken of other things. What man is so impolite as to forget the praise and honor due an elder? “Both of you are gifted with wisdom,” he said, hoping the praise would make them overlook his rudeness. “In this village and even in the village where I was raised, the people know your names. I count it an honor to ask advice from men who are wiser than I.”

  Both elders straightened their shoulders, so Chakliux knew that he had finally said the right thing. Questions pressed into his mouth so he could hardly pull in breath, but he waited until Blue-head Duck said, “If you need advice about dogs, you must speak to Dog Trainer. He knows far more than I do, but I will help you if I can.”

  Dog Trainer inclined his head, and Chakliux asked, “Did you lose any dogs this winter?”

  “None,” Dog Trainer said.

  “And you?” Chakliux asked Blue-head Duck.

  “Three healthy dogs and four pups.”

  “They were not sick?”

  “Only just before they died. They howled, chewed at their bellies, choked up blood. Several days later they died.”

  “The pups also?”

  “No, I found them dead in the morning. All four dead.”

  “There are many ways a pup can die,” Dog Trainer said.

  “And there were other grown dogs in the village that died after choking up blood?” Chakliux asked.

  “Yes,” said Dog Trainer. “More than two handfuls, and others last winter. You know that most of your brother’s dogs died last year. Did he tell you that only one of your grandfather’s dogs is still alive?”

  “No,” Chakliux replied, and felt a sudden regret that he had not stayed in the village, caring for the dogs his grandfather had entrusted to him. “Which one is alive?” he asked.

  “The female.”

  “Black Nose,” he said, and nodded. Of the three, she was the strongest. He would watch her more carefully. Perhaps, if he offered Ligige�
� meat or oil, she would allow the dog to stay in her entrance tunnel.

  “Did any die in the summer?” Chakliux asked.

  “We did not lose any, except a pup now and again or an old dog.”

  “But those dogs that died in the way you told me,” Chakliux said, “that happened only in winter?”

  “Yes.”

  Blue-head Duck looked at him. “Some hunters believe you cursed our dogs. But this last winter, you were gone, and still dogs died. Perhaps it is not you.”

  “Perhaps it is not,” Chakliux said softly.

  THE COUSIN RIVER VILLAGE

  Cen saw the thin layer of smoke in the sky and knew he was close to the village. He had had a good winter of trading. Though he had begun with little, he had managed to accumulate much. He anticipated the look in K’os’s eyes when she saw the white bear skin he had managed to get from an old man in a village on the Great River.

  His pack was heavy, but he quickened his steps and soon was greeted by the calls of children at the edge of the village. They remembered his name, and it felt good to have a place that he could regard as his home. At the back of the group he saw Ghaden. He set down his pack, then opened his arms and called the boy’s name.

  At first Ghaden seemed confused, but the other children pushed him forward until Cen could grab him and hoist him to eye level. Cen laughed and set him down, saw a slow smile tug at the boy’s mouth.

  “You have grown!” Cen’s voice came out loud and rough, as it always did when he spoke his first words after long days on the trail. “Here,” he said, and reached into his pack to pull out a handful of wooden whistles carved from willow twigs. He put one into his mouth and blew, laughed at the squeals from the children.

  “I do not have enough for all of you,” he told them, “but if you show them to your uncles they can carve enough for everyone.”

  He handed one to Ghaden and then threw the others into the group of children, chortled as they dropped to hands and knees, scrambling after them. Soon the children were running home with their treasures.

  “Go show your sister,” he said to Ghaden, and sent the boy off with a pat on his shoulder.

  Ghaden had grown. He had the sturdy build of the First Men, already broad of shoulder. The elders might have given him to Star, but they would not stop Cen from taking the boy when he was old enough to travel as a trader.