by Sue Harrison
She took a deep breath and pushed through the brush back to the campsite.
“Daes!” she exclaimed and held her arms out as if she were glad to see this daughter who caused her so much trouble.
She slowly lifted her eyes to Cries-loud, made herself squint like she was trying to understand some riddle. Then, as though she had just recognized him, she said in a soft voice, “Cries-loud?”
He stood, staring at her, so that at first she thought she might be mistaken. She shook her head to clear her vision and walked up to him, looked into his face.
“My son,” she said, without doubt.
He was a man, but he had not changed so much that she did not know him. Had he grown to hate her during all the years they had been apart? Had Sok and others in Chakliux’s village told the story of what she had done so many times that Cries-loud had decided he no longer wanted to claim her as mother?
But then he opened his arms, and she stepped close, lay her head against his shoulder. He enclosed her in a tight embrace. She was crying, could not stop. She felt her son’s chest convulse, and knew that he, too, wept.
“I thought you were dead, you and this sister,” Cries-loud finally said.
Gheli pushed herself away, but held tightly to Cries-loud’s wrist, as though he might suddenly disappear like some trickster spirit if she did not keep a hand on him. He smiled, a half-smile so much like Sok’s that Gheli’s throat thickened and she could scarcely breathe. She looked at her daughter, thinking to see that the girl shared her joy, but Daes’s mouth was caught in a frown.
“You understand that he is your brother?” Gheli asked, and reached out toward her, but Daes backed away.
“I understand much,” she said quietly. “He told me everything.”
There was fear in Daes’s eyes, and accusation. It was a bad time for her to be told all that Gheli had done, a time when Daes was not happy with herself, when she looked with longing eyes toward men who chose other women for wives. Gheli understood such pain, often remembered her first years of being a woman, when no man in the village seemed interested in her. Then Sok was there, and all things changed.
Her life had been filled with joy and light. It no longer mattered that her face was plain, that she walked with heavy steps on the earth, more like a man than a woman. She had worked with her needle and awl until her fingers bled, had learned to sew beautiful parkas, and had finally won Sok’s heart. At least until Snow-in-her-hair threatened to take him from her.
I understand, Daughter, Gheli thought, but she also knew that Daes would reject her pity. So Gheli put a hard smile on her face and said, “Then you understand why I needed to wait at this fish camp. You know that your father plans to bring Ghaden back with him.”
“And you would keep me and my sister here, to try to live through a winter in this place, without a good lodge, without enough food!”
Daes screamed the words, and Cries-loud lifted his hands to her shoulders to calm her. She pushed him away and stepped close to Gheli so that she was yelling into her mother’s face. “You would let us die because of something you did. You deserve to die, not us!”
“Why do you think I didn’t come after you?” Gheli asked.
“Because you were afraid Ghaden was already at the village!”
“I was getting ready to leave, to take us all to another village. I know of one only a few days’ walk from here.”
“You lie! You had no plan.”
Gheli lifted her chin in defiance. “You think I fear only for my life?” she asked. “What if Cen in his anger decided not only to kill me, but to kill my daughter? Remember, you are full sister to Cries-loud, not Cen’s daughter as I have always told you.”
Gheli thought Cries-loud would have already told Daes this, but she could see by the surprise in her daughter’s face that he had not, that Daes assumed Cries-loud was half-brother, that they shared only a mother.
“He would not,” she breathed. “My father …” She paused. “Cen would never hurt me.”
“I don’t think he would,” Gheli answered truthfully, “but the chance that his anger would carry him into doing something terrible kept me here. Your life is more precious to me than mine.”
Then Daes’s eyes filled, and she dropped to her haunches, crouched there hugging her knees. “I need to understand,” she said softly. “My brother and I have walked a long way, and we are tired. After we eat, you can tell me why you did what you did. There is something also that we must tell you.”
Gheli’s heart jumped.
“Duckling?” she breathed.
“Duckling is fine and strong, living in Long Wolf’s lodge, being fed by his wife.”
“What then?”
Daes looked up at Cries-loud, covered her eyes. Gheli pressed a hand to her mouth, turned her back on her daughter and Cries-loud.
“Cen,” Gheli said, and began to weep.
Chapter Forty
K’OS’S STORY
THE PEOPLE OF THE Four Rivers village waited nine days for Gheli’s return. Finally the shaman decided that the ceremonies would take place without her. Perhaps the mourning the First Men gave Cen was enough to start him toward the spirit world, but if it was not, by now he would have surely found his way back to this village, and it was not a good thing to allow a spirit to linger. Even the spirit of a good man might become envious of those who still lived with their children, slept with their wives, and ate well. Besides, the men had to leave soon for the caribou hunts. Perhaps they had already waited too long.
And so the mourning began, four days of drum songs and chants and prayers. At the end of that time, Ghaden came to K’os, told her that he wanted to take Uutuk back to Chakliux’s village.
K’os was sitting beside the hearth fire in the chief hunter’s lodge. She sat idly, with nothing in her hands, no basket, no sewing. She smiled at him, but Ghaden did not return her smile. His stance, with shoulders thrown back, chin lifted, reminded her of those days when he was only a small child and she had owned his sister Aqamdax.
K’os was not surprised that he wanted to leave. She had watched him during the mourning, saw the depth of his sorrow. The Four Rivers village would always remind him of Cen’s death. But K’os knew how to use questions to get her own way.
“You would leave us?” she asked, and kept her voice as thin and quiet as a child’s. “Now that the mourning is ended, my husband has begun trading. How can he do that without your help? You know he doesn’t speak the River language. How will we live through the winter if he cannot get meat through trade? You know he’s never hunted caribou.”
“You’re good with words, K’os,” Ghaden said, one eyebrow raised as though he were amused by what she said. “I’ll stay a few days to help Seal with his trading, to translate for him, but after that, I and my wife will leave. That way, I may get back in time to join Chakliux in his caribou hunt. Then, if you and Seal choose to stay in this village, I will bring half the meat to you.”
K’os’s anger made her voice shrill. “If we choose to stay in this village?” she said. “What choice do we have? You know I can’t go to Chakliux’s village. At best he would make me spend the winter by myself in the forest. At worst, he will kill me. You think Uutuk will stay with a man who cares so little about her family?”
“You’re safe here,” Ghaden said. “The people won’t let you starve. In the spring, my wife and I will come back and share your fish camp before you and your husband return to the First Men’s islands. If Seal wants to stay another year and visit other River villages in the summer, I will go with him to speak for him.”
K’os’s thoughts tangled together, and she could not decide what to say. Ghaden was right. The Four Rivers People would not let them starve, and if Ghaden brought meat, how could she and Seal protest that he was not taking care of them? She lifted a hand to rub her forehead as if trying to push her thoughts into straight lines. The older she got, the more slowly ideas came to her, as though her mind, like her hands, had b
ecome stiff and misshapen. She was an old woman, and her helplessness made her angry.
She grasped for an idea that teased from the edges of her thoughts. Finally it came to her, whole and shining. “Didn’t you say that you wanted to wait for Gheli? You told me that you planned to promise her your help now that she must raise your sisters alone.”
The words caught him. K’os knew he had spent much time in Long Wolf’s lodge with his baby sister. He would be a good father to Uutuk’s children, and she had been surprised to find herself glad for that. Now, even though Uutuk had a husband, K’os seldom thought about grandchildren, but babies grew into useful children, and more useful adults. Someday her grandchildren might have to take care of her, and she would be glad they had a father who taught them to live respectful lives.
“You’re right,” Ghaden said. “I want to find Gheli, but I can’t wait too long. I need to get back to Chakliux’s village in time to take Uutuk on a caribou hunt.”
“Go with the Four Rivers People,” said K’os.
He shook his head. “I’d get a smaller share here, and I need enough to feed all of us, perhaps even Gheli and Daes.”
K’os knew he was right. He needed to hunt with Chakliux. It would be an easier winter for her if Ghaden brought a good share of caribou meat. Of course, with her medicines, she could get herself and even Seal through the year. People were always willing to make trades for something that eased pain or healed sickness.
“Then let me help my husband with the trading,” she said. “You need to find Gheli. Then you will feel free to go to Chakliux’s village and see if he will include you in his hunt.”
She stood and pretended to have a stiffness in her knees, reached out as if to balance herself, placing a hand on his back. She knew where to put pressure to make him wince. Red Leaf’s knife wound still held pain within the scar. She pressed and he flinched.
She put a look of concern on her face, then hissed, drew in breath over her teeth. “The wound from the knife?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said, his voice tight. “As you well know, K’os.”
She dropped her hand and caught at his sleeve. “What do you remember about that time?” she asked. “I’ve always wondered.”
She did not think he would answer her, but her purpose was to bring into his mind a remembrance of Red Leaf’s attack, however dim that memory might be.
To her surprise, he turned and looked into her eyes, said, “I remember everything, and I remember it well. My mother lying over me, the pain of the wound, the caribou hoof rattlers on the killer’s boots.”
“Do you remember the woman Red Leaf?” K’os asked, and glanced away as Ghaden made the sign for protection at the mention of her name.
“I remember her,” he said. He flexed his shoulder, and he seemed to be looking at something far beyond the lodge walls. He left without saying anything else. A puff of cold air blew in from the entrance tunnel when he closed the inner doorflap.
“Good,” K’os said to herself, holding the word under her tongue. “Remember well, Ghaden. Remember well.”
Later in the day, Uutuk came to K’os, her eyes full of tears. “My husband is leaving the village with one of the chief hunter’s sons. They go to tell Cen’s wife of her husband’s death. They also go to look for Cries-loud. Ghaden is worried that something has happened to him.”
K’os spoke in a soft voice, as though she were trying to comfort her daughter. “Why do I see tears?” she asked.
Uutuk sank to her knees, covered her face with her hands, and began to sob.
“Cries-loud went and has not returned. What if the same thing happens to my husband?”
“I have known both men since they were children,” K’os told her. “Ghaden is strong and wise, but Cries-loud is full of complaining. Even the smallest task is large for him. Ghaden will be safe. Cries-loud is probably safe as well. Most likely he just stayed with Gheli to help her through the mourning. Remember what Ghaden said about his sister Yaa? She has not given Cries-loud any children. Perhaps he likes Gheli’s daughter and wants to spend time with her, even ask for her as second wife. He could probably get her without much of a brideprice now that her father is dead.”
As she spoke, K’os pretended to be busy with the needle and caribou hide she had in her hands, but she glanced often at Uutuk, and when the girl stopped crying, K’os said, “If I were you, I wouldn’t want to go with him. Any husband who takes a wife on a journey like this only wants someone to carry their packs and prepare their food.”
The next morning, K’os and Uutuk walked with Ghaden and the chief’s son, Bird Hand, to the edge of the village. They watched until the brush that lined the trail hid the men from their sight, then they went back to Seal, helped him with the trading. But as the people came, K’os planned, and by the end of the day, she had chosen the man who would first taste her poison.
His name was Ptarmigan, and he was old, with a cough that wheezed from his lungs at nearly every breath. K’os had already overheard two women in the village complain about providing him food.
“Why waste what we have?” one had said. “He cannot even fish anymore. His coughing scares everything away. Surely he will die this next winter, and all the meat he has eaten this past year might as well be thrown into the river.”
“He’s not even wise or able to tell good stories,” the other had said. “If he could do that, he’d be worth his food.”
“The chief hunter should have given him to the wind last winter. There are too many soft hearts in this village.”
K’os had smiled at their words. Two women who thought as she did, and a man no one would miss.
When Seal decided to take a nap in the afternoon, a rest from trading, K’os brought him water and food, and when he lay down, she rubbed his head until he was snoring. Then she took out her otter skin medicine bag and found the red sack, full of the good whale hunters’ poison that seldom purged the bowel or the belly, but stopped the breathing, slowed the heart. She dipped a long stick into the sack and pushed out enough powder to fill a small wooden cup. She poured the contents of the cup into a full water bladder, then strapped the bladder under her parka with her medicine bag.
Ptarmigan lived with a daughter, but she was a woman of busy mouth and meddling eyes, her nose stuck into other people’s lodges most of the day. K’os did not have to wait long until she saw the woman leave Ptarmigan’s lodge. K’os walked easily, rubbing her eyes, as though she were outside only to escape the smoke of the lodge fire. She circled the village, her eyes always on Ptarmigan’s lodge. Twice she walked past it, but the third time she reached up and scratched against the lodge cover. When no one answered, she went inside.
She clasped the medicine bag in her hand, had ground fireweed ready for tea in case someone other than Ptarmigan was inside, but she was lucky. The old man sat alone, rocking and coughing, his back to the door, his hands stretched out to catch the warmth that came from the hearth coals.
He did not hear her until she was nearly upon him, though she called his name as she entered. When he saw her, he jumped, then laughed at his foolishness, but the laughing made him cough, and soon he was gagging in his need for breath. K’os knelt beside him, turned him so his back was to the fire and the smoke would not enter his mouth and nose so easily.
When he stopped coughing, she took a bladder from a lodge pole, held it as he drank so he would not spill the water with the shaking of his hands.
“I am K’os,” she said.
He nodded, and when he was able to speak, he said, “I remember you and your young husband.”
He laid a hand against his neck, and K’os knew he was also remembering the knife wound that had killed River Ice Dancer.
“I did not kill him,” she said.
“You would have been a fool to kill him,” said Ptarmigan, then began another bout of coughing.
She rubbed his back until she felt him relax. The coughing stopped.
“Your daughter asked that
I bring you medicine,” she told him, and hid a smile at the surprise, then joy that filled his eyes.
“My daughter?”
K’os held up one hand to stop him from speaking. “Yes,” she said, and pulled out her water bladder. “I need a cup.”
He pointed to a jumble of bowls and stirring sticks not far from the hearth. She shook the bladder, chose a bowl, and filled it. He took it from her hands with pathetic eagerness, but she did not relinquish her hold. He would spill it before he got it to his lips.
“It will make you tired,” she said, “so drink and then I will help you to your bed.”
He turned his head toward a pile of sleeping mats that lay unfolded on the floor. He opened his mouth to say something, but K’os put a finger against his lips and pressed the cup to his teeth. He drank.
“More?” he asked when he finished, though by his face she thought the drink must be bitter.
“Perhaps tomorrow I will bring you more,” she said. “First we need to see if it helps you.”
She hauled him to his feet, and he leaned on her as they shuffled to his bed. He sat on the sleeping mats and coughed for a long time, but finally he was quiet. K’os helped him lay down, then she pulled a cover over him. He closed his eyes. Then she backed away, taking in the lodge, where she had sat, where she had walked, to be sure she had left nothing behind. Though she wanted to watch, to see if she had given him enough poison to bring on death, she crawled into the entrance tunnel. She opened the outer doorflap and peeked outside, waited until no one was passing, then slipped away.
She walked to a nearby thicket and cut some willow, though the thin autumn bark was not much good for anything. Seal was still asleep when she got to the chief hunter’s lodge, the bouquet of yellow-gray branches in her right hand, the bladder of poison in the left. She hid the bladder under a pile of her belongings, then went outside to sit in the chill autumn sun. She pulled her parka hood snug and chopped up the useless willow, made a show of saving it in small sealskin packets. Those who passed watched and smiled, and K’os saw the satisfaction in their faces. It was always good to have someone in the village who understood plant medicine.