by Sue Harrison
When they had lived in the Cousin Village, K’os still sewed, and a man who received one of her parkas wore it in pride, for she did work as fine as any—even more beautiful than Gull Beak’s.
Dii had tried to get her to sew Anaay a parka, had even given her furs and strips of caribou intestine hung out in freezing weather so the intestine turned a pure and beautiful white. But though K’os promised to try, so far Dii had seen no results. She hated to ask for the fur and gut back. Why discourage the woman? Better for Dii to be grateful for her own strong hands.
Suddenly, Dii realized that Anaay had stopped talking and was looking at her as though he expected an answer. Her eyes widened in distress, and she blurted out the first thing that came to her: “I really do not know.”
“You don’t remember the first time you went on a caribou hunt?” he asked, his voice rising so his last words were nearly a shout.
Dii drew in a quick breath and answered, “What I meant was I do not remember exactly how many summers I had.”
She expected her husband to scold her in indignation, but instead his voice was soft, wheedling. “You are my favorite wife, you know,” he told her. “Not only of you and Gull Beak, but of the wives I have thrown away.”
She was not sure if the words were meant as compliment or warning. He had thrown away wives. Be careful. Do not waste your husband’s words by daydreaming when he speaks to you. When she was first his wife, she would have welcomed being thrown away, even driven from the village. At least then she could have tried to return to her own people.
“It is only that I want to know more about you,” Anaay continued. “Since we are now hunting caribou, I thought it would be good to speak about those times you have been on a hunt.”
Dii started with the preparations made, but saw the impatience in Anaay’s eyes, and so described the routes they took. He leaned forward then, asked questions, nodded his head as he listened.
He grew impatient again when she told him that she knew only what the women did: catching dead animals that floated with the buoyancy of their thick-haired hides, then butchering and hauling. Finally he waved one hand at her as though to push her away, and when she remained where she was, he shouted, “Go get me food! Any good wife could see that I am hungry!”
So she left, glad to stretch out her legs and set her feet on flat ground. Then she was ashamed of herself for her disrespect. He was her husband and the leader of his people, but as she looked back, saw him sitting on the rock, she thought again of his riddle and wondered if the true answer was not the rock but Anaay himself. Though he spoke of power and took the highest place among the Near Rivers, there were times when he seemed to have no power at all, when someone might only push him and he would go tumbling down like a rock resting on pebbles.
Chapter Seventeen
THE COUSIN RIVER PEOPLE
FOR THREE DAYS AFTER they set their hunting tents beside the Caribou River, the people saw no sign of caribou. They sent out boys as scouts and waited, the men boisterous, the women fretful, fear and hope battling within their minds.
Sok and Chakliux were the first to see Sok’s son, Cries-loud, run into the camp. The boy was breathing so hard that at first he could do nothing except crouch with hands on knees. But when he raised his head, the smile on his face let them know what he had come to tell them.
“Where?” Sok asked. Then he grinned at Chakliux and said, “This river hunting. It is new to me.”
“It is easier,” Chakliux told him.
Sok gave him a quick shove and laughed as he said, “For you, Otter, for you. Born to water as you were.”
It was a compliment, and Chakliux clapped a hand to his nephew’s shoulder. His brother had raised good sons.
“They are coming,” Cries-loud said again, as though to remind his father that he had more to tell.
“Where was the sun when you began to run?” Sok asked, and lifted his head as Cries-loud pointed to the peak of the sky, then traced his hand down midway to where the sun was now.
A long run, Chakliux thought, and for a moment felt a twinge of envy quickly replaced by pride for the strength of his nephew’s legs.
Sok looked over his son’s head at Chakliux. “Tomorrow?”
“The caribou should be here by evening.”
“Black Stick and the other boys are still watching the herd?” Sok asked Cries-loud.
“Yes. He or his brother will come if they change direction.”
“Good. Go have your mother…” he began, then his face darkened. “Go have Snow-in-her-hair give you something to eat, then you and Ghaden cross the river. Stop at the second ridge. The trees there are tall. Climb up so you can see out over the land, and when you spot the caribou, one of you come back and tell us.”
Chakliux watched the boy walk away. His caribou hide leggings were wet from crossing the river. “Get new leggings,” he called after his nephew, and Cries-loud turned, lifted a hand in reply.
Chakliux hurried to his lean-to. He hoped Star was not there. She would protest against Ghaden’s being a lookout, but who was better at climbing trees than Ghaden?
He found the boy outside the tent, braiding four strands of babiche into a long cord. Biter lay on the ground beside him, his head up as he watched the activity of those in tents nearby. The braid was tight and even, and as Chakliux crouched beside Ghaden, he praised him for his work.
“It’s for Biter,” Ghaden explained, and laid a hand on the dog’s back. “He chewed through the other one.”
“Dogs will do that,” Chakliux said.
“Yes, but he is a good dog. Better than any other in this camp.”
“Don’t tell that to Sok. He thinks Black Nose is the best.”
“Hah! He’s wrong.”
Ghaden kept his eyes on the braid, continued to twist the babiche.
“How long until you finish?” Chakliux finally asked.
“A while.”
“Do you remember the hand signals Sok and I have taught you?”
“For hunting?”
“For hunting.”
“I remember.”
“What if I asked you to go with Cries-loud and watch for caribou?”
Ghaden jerked his head up, stared into Chakliux’s eyes.
“Really?”
“Would I ask if I did not want you to go?”
“When?”
“When you finish the braid.”
Ghaden threw it down. “It’s done.”
Ghaden almost asked if he could take Biter, but then realized that such a foolish question might cost him the opportunity to go. So after he prepared a pack of supplies, he sat beside the dog and crooned his condolences. There were times in his life when he had wished he were a dog, free from chores and able to sleep when he wanted, but now he could feel only sympathy that Biter had to stay in camp and listen to the women talk.
Yaa saw him sitting with Biter and hunkered down beside them.
“The women say you are going to be a watcher.”
Ghaden puffed out his chest and nodded his head. His mouth tried to make a smile, but he remembered how solemn the men were when they talked about their hunting, so he kept his lips in a grim line.
“Where are you going? Do you know yet?”
He almost told her, but then he reminded himself that it might be too sacred for a girl to hear. “It’s something only men should know,” he said.
“Then why did they tell you?” Yaa asked. “You’re not a man.”
He had no answer for that, only a quick burn of anger. He leaned close and punched his fist into her arm.
“Ah! So you think that’s the way men act?” Yaa asked him.
“Only with their sisters.”
Yaa began to sputter out a retort, but then she started to laugh, which made Ghaden even more angry.
“They would not ask me if they didn’t think I was a man, or at least almost a man!” he shouted.
She began a chant, a song of ridicule girls sometimes sang, an
d he began his own song, a hunting chant. He raised his voice to cover hers, then Yaa also sang louder. Finally a shadow fell across them, and Ghaden looked up to see Night Man.
Night Man lifted his chin at Yaa. “She is a girl,” he said. “I would expect her to act this way.” He did not look into Ghaden’s eyes, but rather over his head, as though Ghaden were nothing more than a baby in a cradleboard. “I expect better of you.”
Ghaden lowered his head, and Yaa shot him a haughty look of anger.
“Niece, go do your own work, and do not let me catch you taunting your brother again. I do not want this caribou hunt to fail because of one small and foolish girl.”
Yaa crept away, and Ghaden felt the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile. Then Night Man said, “You, Nephew, it is worse for you. Do not curse your hunting luck with foolish squabbling. When a woman argues with you, walk away.”
Ghaden lowered his head, stroked Biter’s back.
“Get your pack. Cries-loud waits for you at Sok’s tent.”
Ghaden jumped to his feet and ran to the tent. Cries-loud was there, standing so he could look out toward the ridges beyond the camp. Chakliux and Sok were beside him. “Second ridge,” Chakliux said. “Stay in the group of trees near the middle. Choose one of the tallest so Ghaden can see well.”
He turned and saw Ghaden. “You heard what I told Cries-loud?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Good. Climb as high as you can.” He handed Ghaden a babiche rope. “Use this to tie yourself to the tree when you have found the best place to sit. When you see something, call down to Cries-loud. He will run and tell us.”
Ghaden felt a surge of pride at Chakliux’s words. He would be the one who first saw the caribou. “Do I wait until they pass, or do I tell Cries-loud as soon as I’ve seen them?”
“Call out as soon as you see them, but Cries-loud will wait until you can tell whether they are heading upriver or downriver from our camp.”
Ghaden nodded. It would be exciting to be the one who came to the village with the news of caribou, but Cries-loud was the fastest runner among the boys, and Ghaden was the best climber.
“Go then,” Sok said. “Be strong. Be wise.”
“Ready?” Cries-loud asked.
Ghaden heaved his pack to his shoulder.
“This is for you,” Sok said, and leaned close to slip a long, narrow packet into Ghaden’s hand.
It was wrapped in a thin strip of caribou hide, and Ghaden knew it was a knife. He looked up at Sok in happy disbelief.
“Well,” Sok said, “it will do you no good wrapped like that.”
Ghaden pulled away the caribou hide. The scabbard was laced with ties that would secure the weapon to his arm. He took out the knife and drew in his breath. The chert blade was about the length of his little finger. It was knapped to a fine sharpness and bound to a caribou antler handle.
He opened his mouth to thank Sok but had no words. Sok bent and tied the scabbard above Ghaden’s left wrist, then said in a gruff voice, “Do not be so slow about your leaving. The caribou will be upon us before you are ready.”
Ghaden fell into step beside Cries-loud, and Cries-loud grinned at him, lifted his sleeve to show Ghaden that he, too, had a new knife. Ghaden had never imagined such happiness. What was better than being a man? What was greater than being a hunter?
Suddenly, slicing into his joy, he heard the keening cry of a woman, and looked back to see Star running toward him, calling out his name and crying curses on her brother and husband.
“Run!” he said to Cries-loud, but they were already at the river, and Cries-loud was trying to see past the water-glare of the sun to the sandbar that meant shallow passage.
Ghaden started in, heard Cries-loud yell, “Not there. It’s too deep.”
Suddenly Ghaden took a step into nothingness, felt the river bottom fall away. He opened his mouth to cry out, but water flooded into his nose and down into his lungs. He finally touched bottom, kicked hard with his legs and pushed himself up. He choked and sputtered, spitting out water. He drew in a quick breath, but the weight of his pack and wet parka pulled him down again. He fought against the current, held his breath until his lungs would not allow him to do anything but inhale. He gulped in water as the river carried him downstream.
His thoughts slowed, and he opened his eyes. He tried to push himself back to the surface, but his legs were like chunks of wood, numbed by the cold. He slammed into a rock, and the current wrapped him around it. He lifted his head, coughed up water, drew in a breath, then was sucked down again. He clasped the rock, dug his fingers into the slime that covered it. The river pulled, and he felt one of his nails tear away. Still he clung. He lifted his head again, but this time inhaled water. His throat and lungs burned. Darkness claimed him, pushing in from the edges of his vision until he could see nothing.
Then Ghaden closed his eyes, slept.
Chapter Eighteen
WHEN AQAMDAX HEARD STAR’S wails, she did not stop her sewing. Star was always upset about something.
Then other women were screaming, and above their cries, Aqamdax heard the calls for help. She ran to the edge of the camp, saw Chakliux in the river and Sok with his arms around Star. The woman was fighting him, biting, scratching and kicking.
“Someone take her!” Sok yelled.
Aqamdax stepped forward, grabbed Star from behind, her arms around Star’s thickening waist. Sok pulled free and ran after Chakliux. Star kicked Aqamdax and struggled to turn her head, baring her teeth as though she would bite. Then Sky Watcher also had his arms around the woman. Finally Bird Caller brought a hare fur blanket, threw it over Star’s head.
“Let her go,” Sky Watcher told Aqamdax, and when Aqamdax loosed her grip, Sky Watcher pushed Star to the ground and sat on her.
Twisted Stalk lifted a cry of mourning, and Aqamdax looked up to see Chakliux walking toward them. He was carrying Ghaden, the boy with arms and legs hanging limp.
Sok was beside them, and as they passed Sky Watcher and Star, he muttered, “She should be dead, that one. If she has cost this boy his life, I will gladly kill her myself.”
Aqamdax watched in numbness, as though she saw all things in a dream. She heard the questions of those around her. What had happened? What had Star done? She felt hands on her arms, but she brushed them away. She had just lost her son. Would she now lose her brother?
“It’s my fault,” Yaa whispered, and clasped Aqamdax’s arm, clung there.
“Hush, be still. You did nothing.”
“I teased him. I told him he was not a man.”
The people had gathered outside Chakliux’s lean-to. The women sat close to the opening, while the men moved about, some lifting a hand to shade their eyes and look out over the river.
With Ligige’ back at the winter village, the old woman Twisted Stalk was the closest they had to a healer. She was inside with Ghaden, Sok, and Chakliux. Snow-in-her-hair had taken Star to Twisted Stalk’s lean-to, had given her a tea of dog fennel leaves to calm her.
“They say he is still alive,” Bird Caller said.
But another woman shook her head.
Alive, Yaa thought, and repeated the word in her mind, holding it there as if it were an amulet with the power to protect Ghaden from death.
“I promised his mother that I would be a good sister to him,” she told Aqamdax. “I promised that, but…”
Aqamdax slipped an arm around her and rocked as though Yaa were a baby. “Sh-h-h, hush, be still. Every brother and sister fight.”
Then Chakliux was beside them. He motioned for Aqamdax to follow him, and ignored Night Man when he scowled. “Yaa, you also,” he said.
Yaa crowded into the tent behind Aqamdax. The skin around Ghaden’s eyes and mouth seemed almost blue, but he did not look dead. They had taken his wet clothing off, and he had one bare arm flung up over the blanket.
“He is asleep?” Aqamdax asked.
“I do not think so,” Chakliux answered her. “W
e cannot wake him.”
Yaa sucked in her breath. There were water spirits, she knew. They lived in lakes and rivers. Had one of them stolen Ghaden’s soul? Would he be like Long Eyes, walking around but knowing nothing?
Suddenly the strength went from her legs, and she dropped to the floor beside Ghaden, reached out and stroked his forehead. His skin was hot, but when she touched her own face, she felt the same heat and realized her fingers were cold from her fear.
Night Man peeked into the tent, looked down at Ghaden, but said nothing. He set a hand on Aqamdax’s shoulder, and when Chakliux asked her to stay with Ghaden, Night Man protested.
Sok cut him off with quick, sharp words, and Night Man stalked away with steps that pounded into the earth.
“I will stay with him, too,” Yaa said in a quiet voice.
“I have something else for you to do,” Sok told her. “Come with me.”
She followed him to his tent, sure that he would scold her for the fight with Ghaden. She told herself with each step that she deserved his anger, but when they got to the tent, he handed her a pack and said, “There is smoked fish inside. Dry boots and leggings. You need to get yourself a water bladder. Do you have a knife?”
“A woman’s knife.”
“Take that, and change your boots and leggings as soon as you get across the river.”
Yaa’s fear of being scolded suddenly turned into horror. “You are sending me away?” she asked in a small voice.
She saw the surprise on Sok’s face. Then he said, “You are going with Cries-loud to watch for caribou. The other boys are with the herd, and we cannot spare one of our hunters. Our elders cannot run fast or climb well. You are the only one among the women who has not had a moon blood time.” He stopped, looked down at her. “You have not, nae?”
“I have not,” she said, her voice a whisper.
He handed her a length of babiche rope, showed her how to tie it around her waist and then to the tree so she was secure in the branches. He gave her a handful of stones, told her to roll them in her palms so the pain from their sharp edges would keep her awake during the night.