by Sue Harrison
“She’s promised to a hunter, but she still lives in my lodge. Her mother says she’s a good worker, and she helps care for her younger sister.”
“So you’ve given Ghaden another sister,” K’os said. “The last time I saw Ghaden, he was just a boy. He must be a man now. Is he married? Does he have children of his own?”
Cen did not answer, but instead turned back to his iqyax. It was one thing to speak about his daughters, who lived far from this Traders’ Beach, beyond the reach of K’os’s wickedness, another to think about Ghaden. Surely he had changed enough that K’os would not recognize him.
Cen ran a hand over his iqyax and K’os said, “It’s by far the finest on the beach. Where did you get it?”
“In trade,” he said. “There’s a River hunter who makes iqyan in the way of the First Men.” He faced her, met her eyes and said, “He has the gift of the sea otter.” He looked down at his feet, just a flick of his eyelids, but he heard her hiss, and knew that she understood that her son, Chakliux, had made the iqyax.
K’os took a few quick stitches in her husband’s boat cover. With her eyes on her work, she said, “So you found another wife.”
“Your medicine was stronger than you thought. Gheli is alive.”
Disbelief, anger, hatred twisted her face, each like a dancer’s mask falling off to be replaced by another, but finally she smiled. “I’m glad. For you and for Gheli. Now tell me about your new daughter.”
Cen shrugged. He wanted to be done with this conversation. K’os was like a deadfall trap, ready to catch and crush anyone who was not wary. “She’s a baby,” he replied. “What is there to say? She cries and she sleeps and she eats.”
Before K’os could ask another question, he walked away, flexing his shoulders, brushing his hands through his hair, like a man in the tundra during the moon of flies and gnats.
Chapter Twenty-three
THE MORNING TRADING WAS slow, and after a time Ghaden asked if he might go with several of the First Men out into the inlet to fish.
Cen had shrugged his permission. Why keep Ghaden with him when one man could easily handle the trades? Besides, it would be good to give a few fish to Qung, especially if they decided to leave the village in the next day or two.
Ghaden caught several pogies, the delicate-flavored, green-fleshed fish so prized by the First Men, and Cen told him to give them to Qung, then come and take his place so Cen could spend some time on the ulax roofs talking to the elders. Often the best trades were made because of friendship. But by midafternoon, Ghaden had not yet returned, and finally Cen left his trade goods and went to Qung’s ulax.
Ghaden was there, beside Uutuk, across from Qung, the three with their heads bent together. Playing some game, no doubt, Cen thought. Ghaden was always lucky with casting bones, and more than once had won some hunter’s prized treasure.
Traders had to be careful about their luck in games. Good luck usually twisted itself into bad trades. But when Cen squatted beside them he realized that Ghaden was showing the women the scars left by the brown bear that had killed Ghaden’s old dog Biter and nearly killed Ghaden as well. So, his son had been telling stories to storytellers. Why not? It was a good tale, and the boy told it without boasting, save about his dog. But there was too much sadness in the dog’s death, and the pain in Ghaden’s voice when he spoke of what had happened always tore at Cen’s heart.
He saw this same pain on Uutuk’s face, and suddenly felt as protective toward her as though she were his own daughter, so his voice was harsh when he spoke to his son.
“You sit here when I asked you to come and watch over our trade goods? I guess you would rather be a woman and stay in the ulax all day.”
Ghaden’s jaw tightened, but he got to his feet and pulled on his parka, then left without speaking except for a word of politeness to Qung.
Uutuk offered Cen a water bladder and then fish, gestured toward the mats, and asked him to sit down. He remained standing and waved away the fish, but lifted the bladder to his mouth, squeezed out a stream of water, and, when he had drunk his fill, wiped his hand across his lips.
Qung shook her head, rousing herself as though she were waking from a dream, and looked at him from slitted eyes. “You have not changed much, Cen. You still have more words than necessary. Your boy tells a good tale.”
Cen opened his mouth as though to reply, but Qung held up one hand to silence him. “You have no reason for worry. He will never be a storyteller. He has the words and the gift, but not the desire.” She struggled to her feet, and Cen leaned down to offer his hand. When she was standing, she lifted one finger and wagged it in his face, began to scold him as though he were a child. “Do not make him into a trader. Hunting is in his hands and his heart. If you have not yet realized that, then you are more foolish than your words.” She turned her back on him and busied herself with women’s work.
Cen had no answer for her, so rather than stand there trying to decide what to say, he left the ulax. He paused when he was on the roof and looked out toward the beach. He saw Ghaden pulling packs into place, arranging trade goods. For what little he had given the boy, Ghaden was a far better son than Cen deserved. Too often he had left Ghaden in the care of others, too often depended on Ghaden’s sisters and their husbands to teach him and take care of him.
Cen had never even asked Ghaden to come to his own lodge in the Four Rivers village, but that was because of his wife Gheli. She was a shy woman, strong in many ways, but unsure when it came to her own worth. Cen saw the dread in her eyes every time he talked about Ghaden. And why not? He was the son of the woman Cen had loved above all others. Gheli, as fine a wife as she was, could not drive the dead Daes from Cen’s heart. He wished he had not given Gheli’s daughter Daes’s name. She had grown into a fine woman, tall and strong like her mother, but too often Cen found himself comparing her with that first Daes, seeing his daughter’s shortcomings rather than her abilities.
As he watched his son, Cen’s heart seemed to grow until it ached in the tight spaces of his chest. Finally he turned his eyes away, looked off into the foothills, and thought of other things besides good sons and strong daughters.
K’os ran her hands over the sides of Seal’s trading boat one last time. The seams were as good as she could make them. Perhaps the boat would get them to the River People’s villages, but her stomach knotted when she thought of that journey. More than once Seal’s stubbornness had brought them trouble.
She was wise enough to know that arguing with him about a new boat cover would only make him more determined to keep the old. She had seal bellies of oil that were her own, and she could trade those, but she hated to waste them on hides for a boat cover. Perhaps she could convince Seal to leave her and Uutuk here while he traded at some First Men’s village a day or two down the coast. Surely he would not try to take the unwieldy boat by himself, but would invite another trader to travel with him. Without doubt, any man would be quick to point out that Seal needed a new cover, and Seal would listen to a stranger long before he would hear what she had to say.
K’os hated her helplessness. In many ways, her life would be easier without Seal, but how could she and Uutuk go by themselves to the River People? They could not paddle a boat all that way, and even if they could, she would not risk returning alone without a husband to the Walrus Hunters. What would keep them from reclaiming her as slave?
She was not welcome at Chakliux’s village. Of course, there were other River villages, but they were farther away from the coast. It would be very difficult to travel that far, she and Daughter alone, walking the tundra. Too bad Cen held so much anger against her. He knew all the River villages.
She thought of Gheli. K’os had given the woman enough poison to kill more than three men. How had she survived?
Suddenly K’os found herself smiling. She would like to have another chance at that one. She and Gheli saw the world through the same eyes. Theirs would be a fine battle, and K’os would have the advantage be
cause Gheli did not know K’os was still fighting. Women were warriors in ways that men would never understand.
K’os allowed herself a moment to think about the wars she had fought and won: with Chakliux’s first wife, Gguzaakk; with Fox Barking; with Ground Beater. Each victory brought its own kind of power, and now, though she was years away from those conquests, she felt them strengthen her anew.
She lifted her eyes to the rise of land at the back of the beach and saw Uutuk standing there. K’os forced herself to smile. Uutuk lifted a hand in greeting and hurried toward her. The girl’s dark hair blew free in the wind, and K’os’s heart beat hard in fierce gladness. This daughter would bring K’os everything she wanted.
Perhaps that was the power that Gheli owned, the strength she had held against K’os’s poison—her hope in her daughter. K’os laughed. A daughter named for the woman Gheli herself had killed!
She pursed her lips in thought. And perhaps that was the way to weaken Gheli’s power, by destroying that daughter. Of course, the easy way was to tell Cen that Gheli was Red Leaf. Then Cen would kill Gheli himself. But K’os’s victory would be greater if she were the one to kill. Why deny herself joy? After all, there were many paths to the Four Rivers village.
K’os leaned down into Seal’s boat. On trading trips she always tied several empty gathering bags to one of the boat’s ribs. She chose the largest, tried to loosen the knot. Sea spray had tightened it beyond the strength of her fingers, so she used her teeth and waved away Uutuk’s offers to help. By the time she had freed the bag, the salt-crusted cords had burned her lips. She scowled at the pain and carried the bag to a tide pool, gathered three sea urchins, and went on to another pool.
“You have been working all morning, Mother,” Uutuk said. “Go to the storyteller’s ulax. Qung is there alone. You will learn much about these people by listening to her.”
K’os frowned. Did Uutuk think she was a child who needed instruction in the ways of the First Men? But then she realized that the girl was only worried that her mother was working too hard.
“Aa, Uutuk, you know what it is like when two old women get together. We would soon fill that ulax so full of words that no one else could get inside.”
Uutuk laughed. “At least let me gather the sea urchins.” She took the bag from K’os’s hands, then, leaning close, she lifted her chin toward the traders who sat on the beach and whispered, “See the young man standing behind that stack of hides? He is a River hunter, and his father is a trader.”
K’os lifted her head to look, but her eyes were not as strong as they had been, and she could see only that he was well built, taller than the First Men but short for a River hunter.
“He has the look of the First Men about him,” she said.
“Qung says his mother was First Men.”
K’os cleared her throat, steadied her voice. “Have you met his father?” she asked, and worked to keep her words low and quiet. She stooped to retrieve another sea urchin.
“Yes. His father’s name is Cen. He is a River trader.”
“Go see what he has,” K’os told her. “Perhaps he will take a belly of seal oil for something you would like.”
“Come with me, Mother,” Uutuk said. “What do I know about making trades?”
“You said he was a hunter, not a trader. A young woman might be able to get more than she should from a man like that.”
K’os saw the uncertainty in Uutuk’s eyes, but the girl handed back the gathering bag and walked the length of the beach toward the traders. K’os pretended to work at gathering sea urchins but quickly went from tide pool to tide pool until she was close enough to see Cen’s son.
Ghaden, yes, without a doubt. Though she was not sure she would have recognized him had she not been told who he was. He wore a First Men’s sax. Wise. Cen might be a fool when it came to women, but he was the best trader K’os had ever known. Too bad they could not travel together so that Seal could learn from watching the man. Of course, Seal was so set in his ways, he would probably learn nothing at all.
The boy had Cen’s nose, a pity that. But he also had his father’s strong-boned face. There was something about his eyes that reminded her of the First Men. And who could doubt that his wide shoulders had come from his mother’s people?
A livid scar curved down his neck from his left ear to somewhere inside the sax.
When Gheli had tried to kill the boy, she had used a knife, but this scar was too new, still plump above the skin that surrounded it.
K’os watched as Uutuk approached him. The young man puffed out his chest as though he were getting ready to boast of some great deed. Uutuk waited while others made trades, her head lowered modestly. She fingered a caribou hide, stroked a fox pelt.
The familiar River things called K’os, and she found herself longing to be away from beaches and the sea, to once again walk forest trails, to hear the wind in black spruce branches.
She let herself dream of the plants she would gather, of the people she would choose to heal, and those she would not.
Even among the River People, Uutuk, with her beautiful face, would soon find a strong husband. Then what would prevent K’os from becoming the healer in that young husband’s village? Soon she and Uutuk would gather so much strength for themselves that even Chakliux would not be able to stand against them.
Ghaden watched Uutuk from the corners of his eyes. It was difficult to remember that her mother was K’os. It brought him joy just to look at her. He wondered if all the women of her island, those Boat People women she had spoken about, were as beautiful as she was.
He missed what a First Men hunter was saying and forced his thoughts back to the trade the man was trying to make—sea lion skins for caribou hides. Ghaden pretended to consider the offer, but finally said, “I can get sea lion skins from Walrus Hunters, and even in those River villages nearest the North Sea.”
But then Ghaden appeared to reconsider. He ran his hands over the hides the man was offering.
“They are good,” he said, “large and well scraped.” He spoke softly—as though he were arguing with himself—but loudly enough that the First Men hunter could hear him. “If I give too good a deal, my father will not take me with him on the next trading trip.”
“Three for two, then,” the First Men hunter said.
“Three sea lion, two caribou?” Ghaden repeated and looked at the man with eyebrows raised.
“That is what I said.”
Ghaden ran a hand over the top of his head, sighed as though he were frustrated. “You should be a trader yourself,” he said. “You make good deals.” Then he gave a grudging smile and pushed the pile of caribou hides toward the man. “Two for three,” he said. “Choose the ones you want.”
The First Men hunter reached out to clap a hand against Ghaden’s arm. “I have been doing this a long time,” he said. “You will learn. Your father will not regret bringing you.”
The hunter chose his hides and left the sea lion skins. Ghaden set them out with the trade goods. Another hunter who had been considering a parka wandered away, and Daughter, now alone with Ghaden, said in the River tongue, “You got what you wanted in that trade, nae’?”
He smiled at her. “They’re good hides,” he said, “and the hunter will be back to trade again.”
“You say this is the first trading trip you have made with your father?”
“To the Traders’ Beach, yes, though I’ve traded in River villages with him and with my sister’s husband, Chakliux.”
Daughter frowned. The name was familiar to her, as though it were something she had heard as a child. She tried to place it, but let it go when Ghaden asked, “Do you have anything to trade?”
“No,” she said, “but my mother has oil.”
“What does she want?”
“She told me to choose something.”
Daughter lifted a parka. It was made of caribou hide scraped until it was white. The seams around the arms and at the tops of the should
ers were inset with white fur.
Ghaden smoothed the fur with the tip of a finger and said, “Winter weasel. They’re small animals like lemmings, only thin and long with pointed noses and black-tipped tails. In the summer weasels are brown, and in the winter they turn white.”
She smiled at him and shook her head. “There are so many animals that I do not know,” she said. “I need to spend a year in a River village just to see what I have missed.”
“There might be some River hunter who would like to show you his village,” Ghaden said.
Daughter’s face burned in sudden embarrassment. She was old enough to know better than to say such things. What had happened to her tongue? It was suddenly as though her mouth belonged to a child rather than a woman.
“I was hoping my father might decide to travel as trader among the River villages,” she said and, glancing up at him, saw disappointment dim his eyes. She had only made it worse. “It would be good if we might travel together,” she said, then wished she could pull back those words as well. She was First Men, and First Men knew how to stay quiet when something is best left unsaid.
To divert his attention, she lifted the parka, exclaimed at the gray and white fur that trimmed the hood.
“Wolf,” Ghaden told her, and she saw that he was fighting to keep a smile from his lips.
Yes, why risk a smile that might lead another to believe that the trader thought he had the best side of the deal? But still Ghaden’s mouth jerked up at one side, quivered as though he hid laughter from her. And why not? She was acting like a child, saying all things wrong.
“These …” Daughter said, and lifted a row of danglers sewn across the front of the parka.
“Flicker beaks and feathers. Flickers are a bird of spirit power, and very seldom seen. A man who takes a flicker brings himself good luck for the rest of his life. So you see, flicker beaks are not traded lightly.”