The Storyteller Trilogy

by Sue Harrison

  Ghaden considered her words, then said, “She is a good woman. I know it.”

  “Then if you are sure, and you have decided to make her your wife, there are things you should know about First Men customs.”

  He waited, but Qung did not say anything more. Finally he asked, “Do you know someone who will talk to me about these customs?”

  “Do you think there is anyone who knows more than I do?”

  He smiled at her. “No, but I am not sure you want to tell me what you know.”

  “Better I should tell you than someone who will give you poor advice. But you are not the only one in this ulax who trades.”

  “I have oil,” he said to her, “and caribou meat.”

  She waved a hand at him. “I have more than enough to keep me through the next winter and even beyond that, and I am still not too old to catch a few fish and gather sea urchins.”

  “Baskets? Necklaces? A parka. I have a parka my sister Yaa made, not as beautiful as some, but the caribou hide is well scraped and the seams are straight and strong.”

  Qung wrinkled her nose as she considered his offer; then on impulse he lifted one of the bear claws he had strung on sinew and hung at his neck. He untied the sinew and held out the claw, a long brown curl, polished to brightness with caribou fat. She squinted at it, reached out and took it, then cradled it in her lap, but she asked, “What would an old woman do with a bear claw?”

  “Power is power,” Ghaden told her.

  She chortled to herself and wrapped her fingers around the claw, held it as she told Ghaden the First Men customs of taking wives.

  “She is worth more than a few seal bellies of oil and six necklaces,” Seal said to Ghaden.

  They were sitting on the lee side of the chief hunter’s ulax, away from the wind. Trail-walker, brother of one of the chief’s wives, sat with them. He was thin, long of legs, and tall. His large nose and narrow face made him look out of place among the First Men. Like Seal, he had cut his hair in a fringe across his forehead, and large round labrets pierced his skin at the corners of his mouth.

  “Get some caribou meat,” Trail-walker said to Seal, the labrets clicking against his teeth.

  “Trades are better made between two men,” Seal told him. “Be quiet and let me think about this.”

  Trail-walker leaned close to whisper into Seal’s ear, but Seal pushed the man away and said to Ghaden, “She sews well. Do you want to see one of the parkas she made?”

  Ghaden agreed, though he knew that Seal was only trying to make the bargaining more difficult.

  Seal climbed up to the ulax roof and went inside, returning with a large, square trader’s pack. He untied the flap and pulled out a black-feathered birdskin sax, unrolled it and held it up. Ghaden grunted his approval, then noticed a few stitches of red sinew on the top edge of the collar rim.

  “Your wife used to live in my village,” Ghaden said. “She owned my oldest sister as slave. I know K’os’s mark.” He reached out and fingered the red stitches. “This is not Uutuk’s work. Perhaps you are ashamed of what she sews …”

  Trail-walker bumped Seal with his elbow and gave a quick shake of his head.

  “Do not take me for a fool,” Seal said to Trail-walker. “I did not notice that this was my wife’s work. Wait.”

  He dug through the pack, pulled out another rolled sax, then two more, checking the collar rims on each. Finally he grunted and threw one toward Ghaden. Ghaden unrolled it. He knew little about stitching and cutting, but he had seen Cen turn a garment to the inside, run his fingers across the seams, and sniff the hides, so Ghaden did all these things. He noticed that the stitches were small and even, which seemed good. Birdskins smell different than caribou hides, so he could not be sure about the odor, whether good or bad, but they carried no stink of mold.

  Thrusting out his chin as if he knew what he were talking about, Ghaden said, “Well made.”

  “She sews quickly. She can make a sax of puffin skins in just a few days.”

  Trail-walker rubbed his nose and commented, “What does he know about puffin skins? He is River.”

  “Puffin skins are smaller than cormorant,” Seal explained to Ghaden. “It takes a woman more time to make a sax from puffins.”

  Ghaden did not answer. Trail-walker had insulted him, assuming his ignorance about puffins and cormorants, but Seal did not seem to notice Ghaden’s silence. He continued to chatter about his daughter’s abilities.

  “Her mother has taught her about plants. It is useful to have a wife who knows something about healing.”

  “Would she be willing to live with the River People?” Ghaden asked.

  “She wants a husband who will hunt for her family. How can you do that if you go back to live in a River village?”

  At first Ghaden had no answer. Surely Seal was wise enough to realize that a man who had spent his life learning to hunt caribou would be of less use than a boy when it came to taking sea animals.

  “I could make sure that my father always brought a good supply of dried caribou meat to the Traders’ Beach each summer,” Ghaden said. “You could claim it here. Surely with your own hunting skills, you do not need more seal or sea lion meat, and because you are a trader, you could make good deals with the caribou I provide for you.”

  Trail-walker spoke again into Seal’s ear. This time Ghaden heard what he said. It was an insult, but Ghaden held in his anger and waited for Seal to speak.

  “How do I know you will do such a thing?” Seal asked. “I do not come to this beach every year. It is too far to travel.”

  “I give you my word. Ask anyone who knows me, and they will tell you that I do not lie. I will send meat whether you are here or not. If you do not come, the chief hunter can use it and later exchange seal oil for what he and his people have eaten. You know that the men of this village can be trusted. They often do things like this for traders. Why do you think traders continue to come to their beach?”

  Seal pinched his lips into a frown. “I will not be here next year,” he said, “so perhaps you should give me now what I would have coming.”

  “What if she is not a good wife?” Ghaden countered. “A man cannot be expected to pay for a wife who does not please him.”

  Seal looked at Trail-walker, but Trail-walker only shrugged. “A caribou hide of dried meat,” Seal finally said. “I will give her to you for two wolf pelts, the oil and necklaces, and a caribou hide of dried meat. She is yours as soon as you bring the oil and meat. Do not forget the necklaces, but give the most beautiful to my daughter. Tell her it is from me. Tell her that I expect grandsons in exchange.”

  Trail-walker leaned close again, and Seal listened, then smiled. “One last thing,” said Seal and lifted his chin toward Ghaden’s chest. “A bear claw.”

  Ghaden used his sleeve knife to cut the sinew that knotted the claw into a necklace. “Done,” he said.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  “THERE WAS SOMETHING YOU needed to ask me?” Cen said to Ghaden. Impatience roughened his voice, and he glanced out at the bay where two Walrus traders waited in their iqyan. They had invited him to join them on a trading trip to several nearby First Men villages.

  Ghaden drew in his breath, released it in a short laugh. “Nothing,” he said.

  “You’re welcome to come.”

  Cen raised his eyebrows at his son, but Ghaden shook his head. The journey would not be long, depending on tides and weather, two or three days of travel, then a night or two at the village and the return trip to the Traders’ Beach.

  Too bad Ghaden didn’t want to come, Cen thought. It would have been a good way to get him out of the village. But why worry? Ghaden had changed from child to man since K’os last saw him. She didn’t even know he was here. If she did, Cen assured himself, you would have heard about it. She’s not a woman to keep small victories to herself.

  “You’re sure, then? We might make some very good trades.”

  “You told me about that village once,”
Ghaden said. “Remember? It doesn’t sound as if the women are very friendly.”

  “Aaa, always women,” Cen said and laughed, but then his face grew stern. “Don’t forget what I told you about K’os and her daughter.”

  Ghaden looked away, out toward the inlet where the traders were waiting. “I won’t,” he said.

  Cen pushed his iqyax into the water and climbed inside, then shoved himself away from the shore with his paddle. It was a single-bladed cedar paddle, banded with Cen’s colors. Ghaden had carved it himself, according to Chakliux’s directions, and had given it to Cen as a gift.

  Cen lifted the paddle in farewell, then turned his iqyax into the fog that lay over the bay.

  Ghaden thought he would feel a release once his father was gone, a joy in being a man again, rather than the boy that Cen always seemed to see.

  He stroked the bear claws that hung at his neck. No matter how much praise he received for his hunting success, no matter how cunning he was in making trades, to Cen he remained a child.

  Ghaden’s thoughts ran ahead to the day when Cen would return and discover that in his absence Ghaden had taken Uutuk as wife.

  A man makes his own decisions, Ghaden reminded himself. Except for his first wife, now dead, no woman had held his eyes or lived in his dreams like Uutuk. How could he return to his people without her? Once he was back in Chakliux’s village, he would take some old widow as second wife, placate Chakliux and Cen by keeping her fed.

  And K’os? She would go back with her husband to his people and that distant island where they lived. What could be more simple than that?

  K’os raised her voice and screamed, “You promised her to a River hunter! Who?”

  Of course, she knew who, and she was pleased, but with Seal the wisest course was to pretend disagreement; then any uncertainty he carried was lost in his need to defend himself.

  “The trader’s son, the one you yourself suggested,” Seal told her, his voice loud and angry. “I thought you wanted that.”

  “It was only a consideration, something to think about. You said you would see what he offered as brideprice, not that you would accept his offer.”

  “Look.” Seal held out the bear claw. “There is enough power in this to last me into old age.”

  “She is my daughter. You should have asked me first.”

  “What woman expects to have a say in the giving and taking of wives?” Seal countered, and kicked at the crowberry heather on the floor of the chief hunter’s ulax.

  The chief’s third wife Spotted Leaf was there, and as soon as Seal and K’os had begun to fight, she had turned her back as though she were not listening, but when one of her young sons started climbing down the notched log into the ulax’s main room, the woman had snapped her fingers above her head, motioning for him to leave. The boy had, but not before standing and listening to the argument, a wide grin on his face.

  “I got eight bellies of oil, two wolf pelts, a caribou hide of dried meat and some necklaces. He has also promised to hunt for us.”

  “You expect a man trained as a caribou hunter to come to our island and hunt sea mammals from an iqyax? He will be a boy, worse than a boy, because we will have to feed him and he will eat like a man.”

  Seal’s eyes widened, and K’os knew he had given no thought to the fact that Ghaden would not be able to hunt sea animals. But then he smiled, looked at her as though she were a child.

  “You think I do not know that?”

  K’os felt hope rise in her chest. Perhaps Ghaden, knowing he could not hunt sea mammals—at least not without several summers of hard work learning—had already convinced Seal to spend the winter with him, make a trading trip among the River People.

  She bowed her head as though suddenly submissive. “When do we leave?” she asked.

  Seal looked at her in surprise. “When I am done trading,” he said. “But first I plan to take a few days and travel to a nearby First Men village with other traders. You and Uutuk can stay here if you like.” He stopped. “Though by then she might have left with her River husband,” he said. “She is a good daughter. I will miss her.”

  K’os felt a numbness creep into her arms. She tried to speak, but her anger at her husband’s stupidity closed off her throat. How did he think Ghaden would hunt for them? Did Seal plan to make the long journey each year to the Traders’ Beach? Could he be that foolish?

  “You can come with me if you want,” Seal said, a puzzled look on his face, as though she had just told him one of her riddles. “I know you will be lonely without Uutuk.”

  “We’re going with her, nae’?” K’os asked, and in her distress, did not realize that she had spoken in the River tongue. Seal made a rude noise, and insulted her with fingers flapping—sign of the gull, a bird so lazy that it steals food.

  She ignored the insult and repeated her words in the First Men language.

  “How can we go with her?” Seal asked. “We have to return to our own village. Our chief hunter and my uncle gave me sealskins, fur seal pelts, and oil to trade. If I do not return, they will think I have cheated them.”

  “Or they will think we are dead, swallowed by the sea,” K’os said. “Who could be angry about that? Then when we do return, they will be glad. You told me once that you had hoped to trade with River People. Why lose your chance? Now you have a son-by-marriage who can help you make those trades.”

  “I am wise enough to make my own trades.”

  “Of course,” K’os said, and shrugged her shoulders. “You are right. You do not need him, but I do not want to see my daughter go off with a River husband by herself. What if the people in his village hate her? She is a First Men woman, and not only First Men but also Boat People. What hope does she have to be accepted as one of them?”

  “You told me that Ghaden himself is part First Men. He lives among them without problems.”

  “Who would risk angering a young man who can kill a brown bear?”

  Seal stroked the claw at his neck and raised his eyes to the ulax roof as though he would find wise answers there among the rafters and grass mats.

  Finally he said, “You have trained Uutuk in plant medicines. All people are glad to have a healer.”

  “She knows First Men medicines.”

  “She can learn River.”

  “If she finds someone to teach her.”

  Seal narrowed his eyes. “You want to go with her so you can teach her.”

  “No one knows more about plant medicines than I do,” K’os said. “In one year, summer to summer, I can teach her what would take a lifetime to learn without help.”

  Seal stood and reached up for a water bladder. He drank and offered it to K’os. She was not thirsty, but it was always wise to accept Seal’s gifts, even those as small as a sip of water. She took the bladder, drank, and thanked him.

  He returned it to the peg and said, “So you think I could make good trades?”

  She smiled. “You always make good trades. I think you would have opportunity to barter for things we cannot get even here, perhaps something from the North Tundra People or the Caribou Hunters who live far to the east.”

  “It might not be terrible to spend a year with the River People,” Seal said. “I will speak to Ghaden about it.”

  K’os tilted her head and ran her tongue over her lips, making promises without words. “I was wrong,” she told him. “You made a good decision in giving Uutuk to Ghaden.”

  Seal shrugged. “Wives are not expected to have much wisdom in choosing husbands for their daughters. But if we are to go with Ghaden and Uutuk, think about this. I will need a good parka.”

  Seal approached his daughter as she was digging bitterroot in the meadow on the mountain side of the village. She was carrying a net gathering bag, and it was nearly full.

  “Bitterroot,” she said, holding the bag up for him to see. Bitterroot, boiled and mixed with seal oil, was one of his favorite foods.

  “It is early for bitterroot,” he said.r />
  “Here the summer is warmer and all plants are ahead of themselves.”

  As she spoke her eyes moved nervously, and he knew that she was deciding which way to run if he tried to touch her. The thought made him angry. He had never touched her more than any father touches a daughter. There were taboos. Of course, she was not daughter by blood, and bedding a woman like Uutuk would be worth a small curse. He lifted his hand to the bear claw, felt power course into his fingers, and he reminded himself that for now, at least, Uutuk would serve him better as daughter than as bedmate.

  “I need to talk to you,” he said.

  She was using a piece of driftwood as a digging stick, and she lifted it from the ground, held the end high enough so that he could see she had sharpened it into a point. She raised her chin in the direction of the beach.

  “The iqyax racks cut the wind,” she said.

  “There are too many people on the beach,” he told her.

  She set her mouth into a firm line and squatted on her haunches, laying the digging stick across her knees.

  “Talk,” she told him.

  “I have accepted a brideprice for you.”

  She grimaced but said nothing, and her silence added to his anger.

  “You are old enough to be a wife—beyond the age of becoming a wife,” he told her. “You should have babies by now. Instead I have to feed you.”

  “Who?” Uutuk asked, ignoring his insults. “River or First Men?”

  “River,” Seal said harshly. He clasped the bear claw that hung from his neck, and he saw her eyes widen in understanding. “Be glad. I could have gotten more for you from some old man who would not even be able to fill your belly with children.”

  He did not wait to hear her protests. As he strode away from her, back toward the village, he passed two old women with gathering nets. They gave a greeting, but he snarled at them, pounding his feet into the ground as he walked so no one would doubt that he was a man who understood the powers of the earth and used them well.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  QUNG WAS NAPPING AS she often did during the middle of the day. When else could a storyteller sleep? Most people wanted to hear tales during the long twilight of summer nights. Daughter sat near Qung’s oil lamp, crimping seal flipper boot soles with her teeth and thinking about being wife to a River man. When her fears seemed too large, she pulled Ghaden’s face into her mind, his smile, and then the tight ache in her belly eased.