The Storyteller Trilogy

by Sue Harrison

  On the day Star’s body was found, I could not miss the whispers of the old women. Sea Hunters are not like us, they said. Who can trust them?

  Aaa! At one time I believed the same myself. And how much easier to think that what happened to Star was done by someone not raised in River ways. But now that I truly know Aqamdax, I have begun to understand that the differences between Sea Hunter and River are small things and have nothing to do with the soul.

  How long until the old women’s whispers close around another difference—that between Cousin and Near River, or those between families? How far will we go? Until there is only one person left?

  And how would that one live, alone, without the strength of others?

  Chapter Fifty-two

  AQAMDAX STOOD IN FRONT of the people gathered in Star’s lodge. She reminded them that she had once been slave to K’os. “If I had been a woman inclined to violence,” she told them, “I would have killed K’os during those days of my slavery. So how can you think I would kill my own husband’s child? How could I make him grieve in such a way?” She looked at Night Man, met his eyes boldly, hoping he would see her scorn. “I hold life sacred,” she said, and to her surprise, she saw he was afraid.

  For a moment her own fear was replaced with a flow of strength, but then the old women’s whispers broke the silence, and she heard their hissed insults.

  Ligige’, then Ghaden and Yaa, even Cries-loud, stood and spoke for her, but for each word they said, Night Man spat out lies, until Twisted Stalk, her feet on the treacherous path between the two sides, suggested they send Aqamdax from the village.

  “At least until her husband returns—if he returns,” Twisted Stalk said. “Then let him speak to us about what should be done.”

  Aqamdax watched in horror as the people in the lodge nodded agreement, as they shouted down Ligige’’s attempts to speak again in her defense.

  “Pack your things,” Night Man told Aqamdax, and turned cold eyes on her when she cried, “Who will nurse Sok’s son?”

  Twisted Stalk stood. “He will be a grandmother’s baby, cared for by the old women,” she said. “We have nursed enough grandchildren to keep some of our milk. Together we will keep him alive.” She turned her face from Aqamdax’s tears, but held up one hand to silence Night Man when he objected as Aqamdax asked Ligige’ to watch over Ghaden and Yaa and Sok’s older son, Cries-loud.

  “They are not your children,” she said, and Night Man had no argument.

  When Twisted Stalk won a promise from Man Laughing that he would feed Sok’s and Chakliux’s dogs, Aqamdax left Star’s lodge, walked out into the storm, let the wind scour the tears from her face.

  She took as much meat and fat from Chakliux’s cache as she thought she could carry, then rearranged his remaining packs, setting the dog salmon at the front for Man Laughing. She worried that he would take caribou meat for himself from Chakliux’s share. But if all the dogs’ fish was at the front, he would be less tempted to take what was not his.

  She was unsure of the tradition of the River People. Would the whole village come to Sok’s lodge, force her out with anger and shouting? Would they send a hunter, perhaps even Night Man himself? Or did they trust her to go alone?

  Her tears touched everything she packed, and for a moment her hands hesitated over a small furred hood she had made for her son. She slipped it into her inner parka as something soft against her skin, a comfort to remind her of that little one who waited for her at the Dancing Lights.

  She loaded a backpack, then a travois, one she considered her own. For how could she carry the weight of food and tent hides? When she finished, she waited in the entrance tunnel of Sok’s lodge, wondering what she should do. Why go out into the storm any sooner than she must?

  Finally, over the wailing of the wind, in the darkness of late afternoon, she heard voices. Her pulse pounded hard in her wrists and temples, and the thoughts she had held at bay—walking under the weight of her pack, trying to pull the travois, staying alone during the dark days of winter—twisted into her heart like knives.

  Her eyes burned with tears, but she crept out of the lodge tunnel to meet the ones who came. Then, through the snow, she heard Ghaden’s voice, and Biter bounded out to jump against her, knocking her back so she had to catch herself before she fell.

  Ghaden and Yaa threw their arms around her, and Cries-loud pressed close to her side.

  “They would not let me bring the baby to you, even to feed one last time,” Ligige’ said, her voice raised against the wind. “But even Twisted Stalk has a little milk. Do not worry about him. He will have enough to eat.”

  She reached across Yaa to grip Aqamdax’s shoulder. “Chakliux will soon be back. Stay close, less than a day’s walk. He will find you.”

  “I know he will, Aunt,” said Aqamdax.

  “You are ready, then?”

  “Yes. Do I go, or is there some River custom that must be followed…something I must do?”

  “I do not know Cousin ways,” Ligige’ said, “but in the Near River Village, there is no custom, nothing you must do. If you are ready, go. That is best.”

  Aqamdax bent down over the children, pulled each close. Cries-loud gave her a bola, something Aqamdax knew his father had made for him. She began to thank him, but tears broke into her words, shattering them as she spoke. Yaa gave her mittens, caribou hair on the outside with hare fur liners.

  Then Ghaden leaned close to say, “I brought you Biter. He is the best thing I could think of.”

  Then even through her tears, Aqamdax forced herself to speak. “Biter is a wonderful gift, Brother,” she said softly. “But you will have to keep him for me until I return. I cannot carry enough food to feed a dog as well as myself.”

  “You know he hunts. You know he brings hares and ptarmigans to us almost every day.”

  Tears closed Aqamdax’s throat, and Ligige’ said, “Your gift is a good one, Ghaden. Now that Biter belongs to your sister, she has decided that she wants him to stay here in the village to watch over all of us. You do not expect my old dog to take care of four of us, do you?”

  Then Ligige’ pulled the children away from Aqamdax and said to her, “Go now, before Night Man makes it worse for you.”

  They slipped away in the darkness of snow and wind, and Aqamdax strapped the pack on her back, adjusted the pulling strap of the travois across her chest and started out alone into the storm.

  THE FOUR RIVERS VILLAGE

  Red Leaf held the open pouch in one hand, a cup of water in the other. “How much?” she asked K’os.

  K’os pressed her forefinger and thumb together. “Only this,” she said.

  Red Leaf pinched her fingers into the gray-green powder, sifted it into the cup.

  “Tomorrow, you will take more,” said K’os. “Two, three pinches.” She narrowed her eyes, looked at the baby hanging in her cradle-board, asleep. “Do not nurse the baby,” she said.

  “You think I want my daughter dead?” Red Leaf answered. “You think I would drink this cup if it were not for her?”

  K’os merely smiled, waited as Red Leaf drank, then said, “Fill it again, drink again, then wipe it out.”

  Red Leaf did as K’os told her, and handed K’os the pouch. She tied the pouch shut again, carefully knotting the red sinew four times. “I will be back tomorrow, Gheli,” she said. “And if you refuse my medicine, I will tell your husband who you are.”

  Chapter Fifty-three

  THE COUSIN RIVER VILLAGE

  TAKE MORE JOINED AQAMDAX just as she left the village. He was leading Snow Hawk on a tether, the dog fighting him at every step, and he carried an old hunting spear.

  “You have your belongings?” he asked, shouting over the noise of the storm.

  “What I could carry,” she told him. She turned her head toward the spear. “Night Man told you to kill the dog or me?” she asked.

  For a time Take More did not answer, though the wind played tricks with Aqamdax’s ears, made her thin
k he was speaking when he was not.

  “Both,” he finally said.

  “And what will you tell Sok when he returns? The dog belongs to him.”

  “The truth,” he told her. “That I did what had to be done. How can we allow a dog to live once it has tasted human blood?”

  “There were no marks of Snow Hawk’s eating on Star’s body,” Aqamdax said.

  “Be quiet. Do not speak about her.”

  “Why should I be afraid? I will soon be dead. You should fear me more than her. If I did not kill Star, that means you will take an innocent life. And if I did kill her, then I am wicked enough to avenge my own death even if it is deserved. The people decided I should leave the village, not that I should be killed. It is no surprise to me that Night Man sent you rather than come himself. He has never been known for his courage.”

  Take More answered her, but his words were lost in the wind, and Aqamdax found she had no more breath to continue her arguments.

  They walked until Aqamdax had to stop. She took the pack from her shoulders and crouched to huddle against it, a small protection from the wind. She did not look at Take More as he stood beside her, did not offer him food when she pulled a stick of dried meat from her parka sleeve, but when she got up to continue their journey, he slung the pack to his shoulders, strapped it to his own back. Then each time they stopped, Take More squatted on his haunches beside her, huddling in silence in the lee of pack and travois.

  Finally in their walking, Take More pointed to a clump of trees, dark in the night against the snow.

  “There is a spring in those trees,” he told her, “open even in winter. Sometimes when I hunt, I come here to fill my water bladders.”

  “My death will curse your spring,” Aqamdax said.

  Take More did not answer her, the man striding toward the place with long steps so that Aqamdax, pulling the travois, could not keep up with him. The trees were willow and alder, their branches bending toward a small opening where water spoke in a voice much different from the wind.

  Take More dipped his hand into the pool and drank, then said, “It flows back into the ground there.” He pointed toward a gap in a pile of rocks. “It is called the Hunters’ Spring. The River People say that many old men have come here to die.”

  Aqamdax unstrapped the travois, then squatted on her heels. She wondered why Take More continued to speak. Why waste his explanations on a woman cursed to die? Perhaps he was afraid she would fight him. Why not use words to distract her so she would not suspect the moment he planned to throw his spear?

  “Animals come here to drink in winter,” he said. “Someone who was good with traps or weapons could get a moose in this place.”

  The dog sat beside her, leaned against her legs, and Aqamdax was surprised. Snow Hawk was loyal only to Chakliux, bared her teeth at everyone else, even Sok.

  Aqamdax wrapped an arm around Snow Hawk’s neck, lay her hand on the dog’s chest. “We were cursed by the same one, you and I,” she said. She looked up and saw the shine of Take More’s eyes in the darkness. “You do not worry that a woman’s death will curse this place?” she asked again.

  “Did you hate that one who was your sister-wife?” he said to her. “Did you want her dead?”

  “She helped Night Man kill my son. I hated her for that. But I would not kill her. She carried Chakliux’s child, a child he wanted very much.”

  “The old women told me that the baby was a girl,” said Take More.

  “That would not matter to Chakliux,” Aqamdax said.

  She looked at the trees around her, the fine darkness of their branches bending under snow and wind. She felt the cold against her face, heard again the voice of the water. She took a deep breath, held it until the rapid beating of her heart slowed, then she thought of her dead son and of Chakliux.

  Take More lifted his spear, cradled it in his arms. He hefted it lightly in his throwing hand. Aqamdax felt the rumble of Snow Hawk’s growling, and she tightened her hold. Chakliux had told her that the dog had killed one of Night Man’s brothers. She felt Snow Hawk tense to spring, but just before Aqamdax released her, Take More slammed the butt end of his spear into the snow. The dog stood, the hair on her neck raised, her teeth bared.

  “It is an old spear,” Take More said. “I do not need it. The spearhead is socketed to the foreshaft and together they can be used as a knife. If you need a throwing board, you will have to make it yourself.” He set a thin, flat piece of wood beside the spear. “I will tell Night Man that you and the dog are dead.”

  He walked away from her, head bent into the wind. At the edge of the trees, he stopped and called back, “If you are strong you will live.”

  Aqamdax stood, her hand clasped tightly in Snow Hawk’s fur. “I am strong,” she called to Take More.

  THE FOUR RIVERS VILLAGE

  Red Leaf scratched at another lodge. It was her third since K’os left her and would be the most difficult. Sand Fly and Tree Climber were like aunt and uncle to K’os. Red Leaf would have to be very careful with her words, perhaps say less than she had at the other lodges. There was even the chance that K’os was inside, or that she would come during Red Leaf’s visit.

  When Sand Fly called out Red Leaf crawled into the entrance tunnel, answered the old woman: “It is I, Gheli, and my daughter. We have brought dried blueberries for you.”

  Sand Fly pulled aside the inner doorflap and chortled a welcome. She took the berries, then brushed at Red Leaf’s parka and unlaced the baby from her cradleboard.

  Sand Fly squatted cross-legged on the women’s side of the hearth fire. “She will soon be walking, this one,” she said, settling the baby into her lap. “See how fat her legs are. You make strong children, Gheli. Cen is lucky to have you.”

  The old woman’s words were a fine beginning for what Red Leaf wanted to say, and as Sand Fly played with the baby, Red Leaf scooted closer to the hearth fire, leaned near the smoke until her eyes teared. She drew in her breath with a gasp loud enough for Sand Fly to hear. When the old woman looked at her, Red Leaf raised her hands to cover her face and pretended to sob. From the cracks between her fingers, she watched, saw that even Sand Fly’s husband, feigning sleep on a bedding mat at the back of the lodge, had raised up to look at her.

  “Daughter?” Sand Fly said, her old woman’s voice trembling. “What is the matter? Is it Cen? He is not hurt?”

  Red Leaf took her hands from her face, sat with head lowered and allowed tears to drip to her lap. “No,” she said. “He is not hurt. He…he is a good husband to me. It is…” She paused and took a shuddering breath. “I do not know what to tell you.” She wiped her face with the edges of her hands, sniffed up the tears that had made her nose run, then she raised her head and looked at Sand Fly. “It is K’os. Has she said anything to you about my husband?”

  Sand Fly looked puzzled.

  “Ha! That one!” said Tree Climber. He pushed himself from his mats and tottered over to sit near the hearth fire. “She is always after the men, all of us.”

  “You think she wants you, old man?” Sand Fly asked, scowling at her husband.

  “I say only what I know,” he told her, speaking so loudly that flecks of saliva bubbled at one corner of his mouth. “You think you know everything about me, old woman?” He snorted, picked up a stick and poked at the fire.

  “I know foolishness when I hear it!” Sand Fly said.

  Red Leaf cleared her throat, hoping to interrupt the bickering, but Sand Fly threw out another insult, and Tree Climber answered, until Red Leaf, raising her voice to be heard, said, “K’os did not tell you that she will try to make Cen throw me away?”

  Then husband and wife both looked at her, Sand Fly’s eyes stretched wide, Tree Climber’s mouth hanging open.

  “She told Cen to throw you away?” Tree Climber asked. “She has a husband. Why would she want Cen?”

  Before Red Leaf could find a good answer, Sand Fly said, “She told me once, before she married River Ice Dancer
, that she would like to be a trader’s wife. She said that, but I thought she was happy with her new husband.”

  “That makes me feel better, Aunt,” Red Leaf said. “Perhaps the young women only try to make trouble with their whispering.”

  “They are fools, those young women,” said Tree Climber. “They need more work to keep them busy.” He prodded his wife with the stick he was holding. “Get this good daughter something to eat,” he said. “What man would be fool enough to give up a strong, fat wife? If Cen throws you away, come here to this lodge. I will take you as wife.”

  Sand Fly rolled her eyes, but Red Leaf smiled at the old man’s kindness and pretended his words had driven away her fears.

  CHAKLIUX’S CAMP

  Chakliux and Sok had set a hunting tent only two days’ walk from the Cousin River Village. Chakliux had hoped to hunt, and so remind Sok of the good things left in life, but Sok had decided to fast, and how could Chakliux disagree with his brother’s choice? Fasting brought spiritual strength. If Sok were to resist Snow-in-her-hair, he needed to build his own powers against her.

  Chakliux knew it would double their strength if both he and Sok could fast, but fasting, though it strengthens the soul, weakens the body. Someone had to watch, to keep the fire, to hold Sok back if he tried once more to follow his dead wife into the spirit world.

  As Sok fasted, Chakliux kept busy with small tasks, retouching the edges of spearheads and knives, straightening arrow shafts, calming himself with the knowledge of things solid and familiar, so that the rhythm of his hands made a framework for his prayers.

  Chapter Fifty-four

  THE FOUR RIVERS VILLAGE

  RED LEAF MOANED, HER hands clutching her belly, her knees drawn up to her chest.

  “Wife, you are sick?” Cen asked.

  “My belly,” Red Leaf gasped out. “It burns.”