The Storyteller Trilogy
Page 73
In the night, the singing again found Dii’s bones. In her dreams, she heard the caribou, knew they were close. When the thunder of their passing shook her awake, she scrambled from her bed and woke up K’os. They had slept in parkas, leggings and boots, so did not have to dress before they crawled outside. To the east, the sky was lightening with the promise of sun, but to the west Dii saw a moving darkness. Caribou.
Men called from the river. Kills had been made, but other hunters milled in confusion in the dark of early morning. Dii listened until she heard Anaay’s voice telling the women to move downstream.
How did Anaay expect them to get around the herd? Dii wondered. They could not walk through.
Then Dii saw that the Near River women carried peeled willow sticks, and some had white hare fur blankets. Men came with weapons, stood beside their wives, watched as the women waved the blankets, raised the sticks, forced the caribou at the edges of the herd to turn in toward the center of the group.
Suddenly one of the women was screaming, crying out for her small daughter. Then, as though the caribou had caught the woman’s panic, they turned from the river and ran toward the camp.
K’os cut their dogs loose, then she and Dii left everything and ran. They stumbled over tussocks, filling hands with xos cogh spines, but they got up, ran again.
A large caribou bull came so close that Dii was sure it would trample her. He ran with his head up, eyes rimmed with white, foam flying from his mouth. Dii thrust out her arms, tightened her muscles, and pushed with all her strength. He pressed against her, and she felt her legs begin to give way, then suddenly he was past, cows with calves following in his wake, their breath like smoke in the darkness.
It is a dream, Dii told herself, but still she ran. In her heavy parka she began to sweat, though the air was cold enough to cloud her breath, frost her brows and lashes. Her braids twisted loose, and her hair was pushed into her face by the edges of her parka hood. Her lungs ached, and her legs grew tired, but she ran.
The sky was light with dawn when she realized that the thunder was behind her.
She stopped, fell to her knees. When she could breathe again, she noticed K’os, sitting on the ground some distance back.
“K’os!” Dii called, and though K’os did not answer, she lifted one arm, then let it drop, as though even that was too much for the strength she had left.
Dii looked down at her feet. They were bleeding through her boots, coloring the tundra plants, but the cold of the ground had numbed their pain, so first she began to pull the xos cogh spines from her hands.
THE COUSIN RIVER CAMP
Ghaden tried to push Biter out of the tent. He had been fed too much, that dog, and now was so lazy he did not want to do anything but sleep.
“Biter,” Ghaden said in a loud whisper, “it’s our turn to watch the meat. Get out!”
Biter rolled to his back, but when Ghaden stepped over him, the dog got up, shook himself and followed Ghaden to the river. They stopped at a shallow place where sand had made a gradual slope from bank to riverbed. Ghaden yanked up his leggings and waded in, leaned over to drink, then splashed his face with water.
He turned toward the bushes to urinate, but then saw something floating just beyond his reach. Had someone killed a caribou this morning? He thought all the men were in the camp. Perhaps a herd had crossed far upriver and wolves had killed one, lost it in the current. He waded out until he was able to catch the carcass, but it was heavier than he had thought, and it started to carry him downstream.
Biter began to bark, and Ghaden yelled for Chakliux and Sok, then for the boys he was supposed to relieve at the drying racks.
Black Stick came running down the bank, told him to let go, but Ghaden could not touch bottom, and hanging on to the caribou, at least he floated.
“Get Chakliux!” Ghaden said. “Get Sok!”
As Black Stick ran back toward the camp, Ghaden felt his arms grow weak with fear. What if Black Stick did not return in time? His hands were already numb. Then suddenly Biter was with him in the river. Ghaden let go of the caribou and lunged for the thick fur at the scruff of Biter’s neck.
Black Stick screamed out his words so quickly that Chakliux had to make him start again.
“Ghaden,” Black Stick panted, and Chakliux’s heart froze.
The boy pointed toward the river. “He’s there, in the river. There was a caribou floating—”
But Chakliux did not wait for whatever else Black Stick had to say. He ran to the river, swam out toward the carcass. The cold water bit into his chest, tried to chew its way to his heart.
I am otter, Chakliux told himself. I am otter. The cold cannot stop me. His arms and legs grew stiff, but he managed to reach out, grab the caribou. Ghaden was not there.
“Ghaden!” he screamed. “Ghaden!” Then he heard voices from the shore, looked up to see Sok, Sky Watcher and Black Stick on the bank. Ghaden, his hair and clothing dripping water, was with them, Biter at his side.
Chakliux kept his grip on the caribou, maneuvered it so he was pushing the carcass, and kicked his way to shallow water. Sky Watcher pulled the caribou ashore.
Sok helped Chakliux to his feet, but Sky Watcher leaned over the carcass and pointed at a foreshaft protruding from the caribou’s neck. He pursed his lips at the markings and said, “Near River.”
Chapter Twenty-four
THE NEAR RIVER CAMP
ANAAY CUPPED HIS HANDS over his ears to shut out the sounds of mourning songs. Could any man expect to lead such fools? How had those women happened to place themselves between the men and the animals? They had cursed the hunting as soon as the caribou caught their smell. And which foolish mother—Red Leggings, was it?—had allowed her four-year-old daughter to stay with her? Did the woman think the child was big enough to catch a dead caribou?
But had the men been much better? Most came into the river with only one spear, and when that was cast they had no weapons but the short blades of their knives. As soon as the first woman was hurt, then her husband stopped hunting and tried to get to her, driving the caribou away from the other hunters.
Anaay raised his walking stick and stood at the center of what was left of their camp. He lifted his voice in a chant of protection, but as his mouth sang, his mind formed other words: Fools! Fools!
Dii smoothed Awl’s hair. Awl coughed, then tried to smile.
“K’os says your ribs are broken, only that,” Dii said.
Where was First Eagle? If he were here, Awl would feel better. But what if he were one of those killed? Dii was not sure how many men had died. Only a few, she thought. More women and children had lost their lives, but among the Cousin women, only Stay Small had been killed, crushed between two caribou while trying to help First Eagle’s sister Red Leggings. And what good had it done? The sister was dead, and also her little daughter.
Blue Flower stopped and squatted beside Dii. The woman claimed to be a healer, but K’os said she knew less about medicines than a child.
“You should get her off the wet ground,” Blue Flower said, and pointed with her chin at the water oozing from the mud.
Dii had known the place was not a good campsite, but how could she say that when Anaay was the one who chose it? On each side of the camp, the ground made a long, shallow slope that cupped toward the river. Didn’t Anaay realize that the slope made a natural walkway for the caribou?
Dii looked up at Blue Flower. “Would you please go get First Eagle?” she asked. The woman frowned, and Dii changed her request. “You are healer. Will you stay here with Awl while I get her husband? He will help me move her.”
“K’os has looked at her?” Blue Flower asked.
“Yes.”
“What does she say?”
“Broken ribs.”
“That is not terrible. There are worse injuries. First Eagle is busy with others. Is she spitting blood?”
“No.”
Blue Flower shrugged. “I have more important things to do than
look for a Cousin woman’s husband, but if I see First Eagle I will tell him to come.”
As Blue Flower walked away, Dii called after her. “Have you seen my husband?”
Blue Flower snorted. “You do not hear his chants?”
The noise of mourning, the cries of pain, seemed to funnel down the sloped ground to where Dii sat, but she listened carefully and finally heard Anaay’s voice. He was singing a prayer song she had not heard before; he was asking for power, protection. For himself, not others.
“Anaay, see what your foolishness has cost us,” Dii whispered, filled with the same revulsion she had known when she first came to him as wife.
He had put them in the caribou’s path, so that when the animals panicked, they turned and overran the camp. He had not asked for advice though he knew nothing about river crossing hunts. Besides, this river was claimed by the Cousin People. Why did Anaay think he could hunt here?
What good were his prayer chants if they were sung in selfishness? Did a man ever get so powerful that taboos could be forgotten? Did a people ever prosper once they had forsaken ways of honor and respect?
THE COUSIN RIVER CAMP
Yaa crouched on the leeward side of Chakliux’s tent. Her arms ached from wrists to shoulders, and her fingers felt as though they were still knotted around her scraping burin. The excitement of having so much meat in the camp had faded, and now she could think only of the hard work left to do. They had had a celebration feast, but the true feast, with dances and storytelling, would not come until they were back at the winter village. There were many days of scraping and cutting, walking and carrying before then.
The sky was gray and cold. She closed her eyes against it, let herself drift toward sleep. Star had put her to work scraping hides. It was only the first scraping, and most hides had been skinned so well that there was little to do, but why take the chance that small pieces of fat would soak their way through to the hair, stealing the hide’s strength, or that blood would rot it?
Each woman used a caribou leg bone scraper, one end of the bone sliced diagonally and notched into tiny teeth, drawing the tool toward herself, counterbraced against her forearms with a leather strap.
Yaa, her arms still too small to use a caribou bone tool well, worked with a burin scraper she could hold in her fist, best for ragged edges and holes that pierced the hides, those places too easily caught by leg bone scrapers.
Yaa had lost count of how many hides she had done that day, finishing the edges after Star or Aqamdax had scraped the rest. Enough to go through all her burins. Night Man had some ready, Star told her, and had sent her to get them. But surely it wouldn’t hurt if she took a short rest. How could Star complain? None of the women rested more than she did.
Yaa heard someone walk up and stop beside her. She sighed. It was probably Star, ready to scold. She opened her eyes only enough to see through the lashes. Cries-loud was standing in front of her.
She began to greet him, but her words got tangled in her throat and came out as a squeak. He flopped down beside her, grinned. “You don’t have to help anymore?” he asked.
“I’m just resting. They sent me to Night Man to get more scrapers.”
“You tired?”
She nodded. “Yes. But there’s a lot more hides left to do, and after that the leg skins…” She glanced at Cries-loud from the corners of her eyes. She didn’t want him to think she was complaining. “I’m glad, though,” she said quickly. “It’s good to have this meat and all these hides.”
“It is good,” he said. “The winter won’t be so hard.” He lifted his head to look out past the tents of their camp. He was quiet a long time before he said, “Sometimes I think if I watch long enough, I’ll see her.”
Yaa’s throat tightened. He was talking about his mother, Red Leaf. A part of her wondered how he could still care. Red Leaf had killed Daes and the elder Tsaani, then Day Woman, Cries-loud’s own grandmother. But there was a part of Yaa that understood. She knew what it was to lose a mother.
“She did bad things,” Cries-loud said, “and I know I’m not supposed to talk about her. My father says she is dead, and our sister.”
“How can he expect you to forget her?” Yaa said. “She was a good mother to you and to your brother.”
“I miss her—and my friends at the Near River Village,” he said.
“Me, too.” Yaa’s words were almost a whisper. She usually didn’t let herself think of the Near River Village. There was too much sadness in those thoughts, and perhaps some chance for curses.
“She didn’t kill my grandmother,” Cries-loud said.
Yaa didn’t know what to say, so she picked up a stick lying on the ground, poked a design into the mud.
“The night my mother left, I brought my baby sister to her, and I watched so she could sneak away in the darkness. I even walked with her a long ways out on the tundra. She didn’t do anything to my grandmother. She never went near her lodge.”
Yaa frowned. “She might have come back. Later.”
“Why would she? She got away. If she came back, someone might see her. Besides, she liked my grandmother.”
“Have you talked to your father about this?”
“He won’t listen.”
Yaa drew circles in the dirt. Finally Cries-loud leaned close, gave her a small stone. “I found this,” he said. “You can have it.”
It was white, translucent, like a little chunk of the moon somehow fallen to earth. She looked up to thank him, but he was already on his feet, walking away. She closed her hand around the stone, felt herself blush. What did it mean when a boy gave you something? She wished her friend Best Fist were here. It would be a good secret to share, this gift. Yaa stood up, slipped the stone into the amulet pouch she wore at her neck. Suddenly she wasn’t tired anymore. She ran to Night Man’s tent, got the burins and brought them back to Star.
Star scolded her for taking so long, but Yaa didn’t care. She hummed a quiet song, her thoughts on Cries-loud. She finished scraping the edges of a hide, folded it flesh side in, rolled it and took another from Star’s pile. She draped the hide over her scraping log, dipped her hand in water and rubbed the edges, then as she worked allowed herself to remember Red Leaf.
Cries-loud looked much like her, large and strong. Red Leaf could do hides more quickly than anyone in the village, but though Yaa could remember good things about the woman, she felt no compassion for her. Two good people were dead because of Red Leaf’s selfishness.
And perhaps Day Woman. Though Cries-loud had said…
Then Yaa caught her breath, shivered though she was not cold. If Red Leaf did not kill Day Woman, who did?
Chapter Twenty-five
ALL DAY THE COUSIN men stayed at the river, watching. They kept the women and boys away, did not tell them what they had found. They had argued over the first caribou. The Near Rivers had killed it. Should they give it to their women to butcher? Would that break some taboo?
“They took our meat, raided our caches,” Night Man said, narrowing his eyes at Sok, spitting out his words in anger. “Why should we be concerned about taking their meat?”
When the other men agreed, Chakliux put aside his uneasiness, helped carry the animal to the women, but that had been before they found the Near River body, a hunter Sok and Chakliux knew as Muskrat Singer. During the rest of that day, the river brought them seven caribou, two hunters and a young woman, all dead.
That night, they told their women, and at the beginning of the next day, even before sunrise, Chakliux and Sok, Sky Watcher and Take More loaded the bodies on a travois, took turns pulling it upriver to find the Near River camp. Each of the men carried weapons, but Chakliux expected no fight.
When they approached the camp, they were almost ignored. Most of the people were gathered around the injured or the dead. One old woman tended a boiling bag, but Chakliux saw no other food being prepared. One tent was still standing; the others were only trampled mounds of hides and broken sticks.
“We have come to offer help,” Take More said. “We have food, if you need it, and we have brought these bodies with us.”
Fox Barking stepped past them, lifted the blankets that covered the bodies on the travois. Then he called out, “No Teeth, your son is dead. Black Mouth, here is your wife.”
Mourning cries pierced the air, and Near River women gathered around the travois. Fox Barking began a chant, something Chakliux had once heard his grandfather Tsaani sing. In disgust, he turned toward the river. The earth was wet, and mud swirled into the water from the softened banks.
“And you also have our caribou, the ones we killed?” Fox Barking called after him, the harsh words interrupting his chants. “You brought us our dead, but not our meat. You intend to keep that?”
“Come and get it yourselves. We will not haul it for you,” Sok said.
Fox Barking lifted his lip in a sneer. “So you both decided to live with the Cousin People, or what is left of them,” he said to Sok and Chakliux. He smiled at Sok. “It does not surprise me that Chakliux would choose to do so, but you have known a better way. The stink of their camp does not bother you?”
Sok turned his back on the man, as though he did not hear his taunts.
“And your wife, Red Leaf? Did you let her live or did you kill her? And the child, was it boy or girl? Or did you wait to find out?”
Sok turned, and as he turned he brought his arm up, slapped Fox Barking hard across the face. Fox Barking lifted his walking stick, but Sok grabbed it and broke it across his knee. He stalked away, called back to Chakliux, “You deal with him. I will see you in camp.”
“Go with Sok,” Chakliux said quietly to Sky Watcher and Take More.