by Sue Harrison
Ligige’ had felt him all over, thumping his bones with hard, wrinkled fingers, and pressing her ear to him, front and back. Finally she said there was nothing wrong, nothing that needed her medicine. But even though the pain of the knife wound gradually went away, this inside pain stayed, hurting and hurting all the time.
After a while, Ghaden decided that Ligige’ knew the pain was there, but that she did not have any medicine for it. He asked Wolf-and-Raven to make chants for him, but even that did not help. One day when Wolf-and-Raven’s wife was playing the throwing bones game with him, the pain went away, just for a little while, and that made Ghaden hope that it would not be with him forever. Still, it hurt most of the time, especially at night or when he was alone.
He sighed and brushed the end of Yaa’s braid against his nose. The pain eased just a little. Ghaden closed his eyes and tried to sleep, the braid clutched tightly in his hand.
The tug at her hair woke her. Yaa smiled. She lay still until she heard Ghaden’s breathing soften into the rhythm of sleep, then she turned carefully, so she would not pull the braid from his hands.
Old Ligige’ had invited Brown Water to come to her lodge in the morning. The boy was nearly well, Ligige’ had said. She did not need to see him every day. She would teach Brown Water to give him his medicines.
To Yaa’s surprise, after Ligige’ left, Brown Water had asked her to come also. “You are the one who will care for the boy,” she said. “You should hear all these instructions. I do not have time for such things.”
Yaa had hugged her happiness to herself. If she smiled too much, Brown Water might change her mind. Besides, everyone in the lodge was still in mourning for Yaa’s father. Yaa herself often found she needed to slip away to her animal den and cry, remembering her father’s gentle ways, without others to see her tears.
Yaa pressed herself close to Ghaden. He was lying on his back, his face lit with the soft gold light of the hearth coals. His cheeks were becoming round and fat again, and his black lashes lay dark against his skin. Already, though he was still little more than a baby, the bone of his nose had a small hump in the center. Like the trader’s nose, Yaa thought, remembering the man’s face.
Then an idea came to her: the trader was probably Ghaden’s father. He had brought Daes to the village. Yaa had been just a little girl when they came, but she remembered. That was why he came each year to see Daes and Ghaden, and probably why Daes sneaked out of the lodge to visit him. It was also why she put up with the blows Brown Water gave her for doing such a thing.
Though Wolf-and-Raven told everyone that some angered spirit had killed Daes and the old man Tsaani, some of the women still believed the trader did it. Yaa had heard them whisper about him around the village cooking hearths, but why would a man try to kill his own son? Why would he kill his son’s mother? He always brought Daes and Ghaden presents. Sometimes he gave Yaa gifts as well, and told her to watch over Ghaden, to be a good sister to her little brother. If he was so concerned about his son, why would he hurt him or his mother?
She thought back to the night Daes was killed. Something had awakened her. A sound, she was sure. Perhaps it was Daes or Ghaden crying out, but she had been dreaming and had thought at the time the noise was part of her dream.
Her dreams had been about River Ice Dancer. He was teasing her, a throwing stick in his hand. A throwing stick. Yes. And it had suddenly turned into … what? A bola. He was swinging it. The stones made a wide circle, whirling up over his head, then arcing down toward the ground. Suddenly the stones were not stones but bits of antler, clacking together. Clacking in a rhythm like a person walking, the sound of a person with caribou hoof rattlers on the tops of his boots. Yes, ceremonial boots, worn in dances.
Many men had caribou rattlers on their dance boots, but this sound was a little different. It was the sound of rattlers, but something more … something more.
The effort to remember made Yaa’s head throb.
Ghaden groaned and turned. Yaa pulled her hands from the warmth of her bedding furs and tugged the boy into the circle of her arms.
Was there a chance Ghaden had been awake when his mother was attacked? Yaa wondered. If not, surely the attack itself would have awakened him. Did he remember anything?
Even if he did, he probably would not have told Wolf-and-Raven or Ligige’. He had always been shy, but perhaps he would speak to Yaa, and then she might be able to figure out who had killed Daes.
The killer had to be someone strong. He had not only killed Daes but also Tsaani. Tsaani was an old man, but he was still a hunter. Surely he would have fought to save his own life.
Then Yaa thought of something that made her bones cold. What if the killer were afraid Ghaden would remember?
In Wolf-and-Raven’s lodge, Ghaden had been safe. Who would try to kill in a shaman’s lodge? But here, with only women and children, the killer would have no one to stop him. Yaa’s heart beat hard under her ribs.
If I were old enough, she thought, I would marry a strong young man and bring him here to this lodge to protect us all. But no girl of seven summers was old enough to marry.
The best chance was for Yaa’s mother or Brown Water to marry, but no one would want Brown Water. She was too old, and she was cross all the time. Someone might want Yaa’s mother. At least as second wife, but she had to wait out mourning before a man could take her. How long was that? Yaa could not remember. One moon, maybe two.
Until then, their best protection was for Yaa to find out who had killed Daes and tell everyone. Tomorrow, when her mother and Brown Water were outside, she would talk to Ghaden. Perhaps he would tell her.
In the morning, Yaa did not want to leave Ghaden. Her fears of the night pressed heavily against her, and she imagined a man with a knife slashing his way into the lodge.
Yaa told herself that the killer would not do such a thing during the day when everyone could see him, but still she felt uneasy. She told her mother to watch Ghaden, to stay with him. She told her so many times that Brown Water finally gave her an openhanded cuff to the head and pulled her out of the lodge.
Tears stung her eyes, but Yaa blinked them back. Brown Water’s cuff had not hurt that much, but the fear in Ghaden’s eyes as he watched her leave seemed like a knife twisting in her heart. She followed Brown Water over the narrow village paths to Ligige’’s lodge, then sat like a shadow at Brown Water’s side.
Ligige’ and Brown Water first spoke politely of unimportant things, then Ligige’ served them bowls of broth from the small boiling bag that hung from her lodge poles. Finally when they had eaten, Ligige’ began laying out herbs and bits of dried things, twigs and powders—alder bark shredded, boiled and cooled to lay over the wound site, yellow root for strength, the inner bark of willow for fever.
As she explained how to use each medicine, she often looked into Yaa’s eyes, so Yaa knew the old woman understood she would be the one who gave the medicine, she would be the one responsible.
Finally the session ended and they walked back to Brown Water’s lodge. Everything was just as they had left it. There were no slashes in the lodge walls, no blood or bodies lying outside.
See, you are foolish, Yaa told herself, and followed Brown Water into the entrance tunnel. But Brown Water stopped at the end of the tunnel, blocking Yaa inside. The woman made a strange choking noise in her throat, and Yaa felt her arms suddenly grow weak with fear.
“You should have told me you were coming,” Brown Water said, then she asked, “Where is Happy Mouth?”
Yaa reached out to push against Brown Water, and the woman crawled aside, allowing Yaa into the lodge. Yaa’s fear left with a suddenness that almost made her collapse to the floor. It was the elder Blue-head Duck. He was squatting on his haunches beside Ghaden. In his hands was a small brown-and-white puppy. Ghaden was smiling. He began to giggle as the puppy leaned forward to lick his nose.
“It is my puppy,” Ghaden told Yaa, then looked seriously into Brown Water’s face and said,
“Mother, it is my dog. This grandfather says he will teach me to take care of it.”
“Happy Mouth went to bring food from the hearth,” Blue-head Duck said to Brown Water. “She will be back soon.”
Brown Water nodded, threw back the hood of her parka, and gestured for Yaa to untie several water bladders. Yaa set the basket of Ligige’’s medicines near her folded sleeping mats and hurried to do as Brown Water said.
What if Blue-head Duck had been the killer? she thought as she offered one of the bladders to him. With a puppy in his arms, who would have suspected him? He could have killed Ghaden and left before her mother returned.
Blue-head Duck took a long drink, then, lowering the bladder, looked at Brown Water. “This pup is from strong stock,” he said. “He will be a good dog for hunting and for carrying. He should be kept inside.”
Inside, Yaa thought in surprise. Who ever kept a dog inside? She looked at Brown Water, expecting her to explode in anger. Even an elder could not order a woman to keep a dog in her lodge.
But Brown Water did not grow angry. Instead she looked long and thoughtfully at the puppy. “It has a loud bark?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“It will be a good dog for this lodge.”
Then Yaa understood that she was not the only one who thought Ghaden was in danger.
Ghaden wadded the strip of hide into a ball and threw it. The puppy bounded after it, barking. Ghaden knew they were making too much noise. If Brown Water had been in the lodge, she would have scolded them, but he and Yaa and his new puppy were alone.
He was going to name the dog Biter, though he had told no one yet. When Biter grew up he would be a big dog with long, strong teeth, and everyone would be afraid of him. If Biter had been with them that night, he probably would have saved Ghaden’s first mother.
The pup was light brown, with darker fur around his eyes. He had a little white spot, like a star, on his chin and a white chest and belly.
“What are you going to call him?” Yaa asked.
Ghaden looked into Yaa’s round face and drew his lips back from his teeth. “Biter,” he said, and growled.
“Biter!”
Ghaden growled again, looking at Yaa from the corners of his eyes, his lids half closed. “He is a fierce dog,” Ghaden said.
“I had a pup once. I named him Tail-chaser,” said Yaa. She bent her head to look into Ghaden’s face. “Tail-chaser is a good name,” she said.
Tail-chaser! Ghaden thought. Who would be afraid of a dog named Tail-chaser?
“His name is Biter.”
Yaa lifted her arms and spread her hands. “He is your dog. You should name him what you want.”
Ghaden crawled after Biter, grabbed away the strip of hide and threw it again. “Get it, Biter!”
The dog waved his plumed tail and ran after it. “What happened to Tail-chaser?” Ghaden asked.
“We ate him,” Yaa answered. “It was the end of winter and our father could not hunt anymore.” She rubbed her hands, thinking of the swollen joints that had changed her father from a hunter into an old man.
“Nobody will eat Biter,” Ghaden said. “He will eat them first.”
Yaa raised her eyebrows. “We need a protector dog in this lodge,” she said. “Maybe Biter is a good name for him.”
Yaa looked over at the puppy. He had the strip of hide in his mouth and was shaking his head. Now would be a good time, she thought. Her mother and Brown Water were at the cooking hearths, and Ghaden was talking more than he had since his mother had died.
“Now you are safe,” Yaa began, and looked at Ghaden.
He raised his eyebrows in agreement. “Nobody will get me,” he said, his voice firm.
“Ghaden,” Yaa said, “no one knows who killed … who hurt you.”
Ghaden crawled over to his puppy, put the dog on his lap and held the strip of hide up over its head. Biter lunged and tripped over Ghaden’s legs, then bumped forward on his nose. He got up again, jumped toward the hide and caught it. Ghaden laughed.
“Do you know who hurt you?” Yaa asked.
It seemed as though Ghaden had not heard her question. He continued to play with the dog, dancing the hide strip around Biter’s head.
“Ghaden, do you know?”
Yaa crawled over to her brother, clasped his arm and looked into his face. “Ghaden, I asked you if you knew who hurt you,” she said, her voice stern.
Ghaden closed his eyes and shook his head until Yaa placed her hands on either side of his face to hold him still.
“Ghaden,” she said softly, “if we know who hurt you, we can tell the elders. They will send him away, and he will never hurt you again.”
Ghaden looked at her, his eyes round. He blinked back tears. “I saw … I saw …” he said, then patted his legs.
“You saw his legs?”
“Yes, saw them.”
“I thought it was … I thought it was … Cen.”
“The trader?”
Ghaden raised his eyebrows.
“But it was not?”
“No.” He shook his head.
“Do you know who …?”
Again he shook his head. “I saw the knife,” he said. “Blood on it.”
Ghaden stuck his thumb in his mouth and drew his legs up under him. He reached out toward one of Yaa’s braids, then pulled his hand back. Biter jumped up to lick Ghaden’s face. Ghaden pushed him away. The dog tilted his head, cocked his ears, then settled to sit quietly beside him.
Ghaden wrapped one arm around the pup, tucked his fingers into Biter’s thick fur.
“Do you remember anything about him?” Yaa asked.
“Tall,” Ghaden said around his thumb.
“Did you hear any noise? Did his boots have rattlers?”
Ghaden tried to think back to that night. The boots were different, but he could not remember how. It had been dark and he was sleepy. He had wanted to stay with Cen. There were things to play with in the trader’s packs and always a lot to eat. But his mother said they must return to Brown Water’s lodge.
By the time they got back, Ghaden was ready for his own bed, but for some reason his mother did not go inside. They waited in the cold until the chill of the air had seeped through his clothing.
He had looked back over his mother’s shoulder as they crouched in the entrance tunnel, and saw someone. He thought it was Cen coming to get them, to take them back to his warm lodge. Ghaden slipped away from his mother, ran out to grab Cen’s legs so he would not walk past them.
They were in the shadows. He might walk right by, and Ghaden was cold.
It was not Cen. Whoever it was carried a knife. Even in the dark, Ghaden could see blood on the blade. He still wasn’t sure why he reached for it, but he remembered being frightened. He had run with the knife to his mother, and so had led the killer to her….
Ghaden rolled to his side and curled himself into a ball. Biter licked his cheek, and Yaa asked more questions. Ghaden put one hand over his eyes so he did not have to look at her. She was like Wolf-and-Raven’s wife, like old Ligige’, like the man who had come into Wolf-and-Raven’s lodge when Ghaden was there alone. They all asked too many questions.
Finally Yaa’s questions turned into a lullaby, a song soft in her throat. “I will not talk about it anymore, Ghaden,” she said. “Do not be afraid.”
Biter lay down beside him, pressed his cold, wet nose to Ghaden’s face. Ghaden patted his dog, and Yaa sang until he fell asleep.
Chapter Thirteen
THE MORNING WAS WARM, the snow under Chakliux’s feet softened by a south wind. Last year’s grasses stood in dark clumps at the edges of the riverbank. Smoke lay in a thin layer over the Near River lodges. The dogs were barking—some for the joy of being fed; others, smelling the fish given to their neighbors, crying out for their share.
Snow Hawk perked her ears and stopped. She whined and looked up at Chakliux’s parka where her pups were bound against his chest. One had died, killed by Caribou’s
knife. Chakliux had taken the pup from his parka, shown it to Snow Hawk, then made a small hole for it in the crusted river snow. Chakliux had allowed Snow Hawk to feed her other pups, then tucked them again in his parka, and continued the walk to the Near River Village. The dead man’s boots on Chakliux’s feet were dry, warm.
The children saw him first, boys feeding their fathers’ dogs. They cried out at his approach, then stopped short when they saw who he was. So, Chakliux wondered, was he considered a curse or only a returning hunter?
“Whose dog?” one of the older boys called.
“She belongs to the elders,” Chakliux answered.
The boy came closer, glancing back at his companions as if to see their reaction to his daring.
“Stay away from her. She is nervous. She does not know this village,” Chakliux told the boy. “Her pups are here in my parka.” He set his hand over his chest. “She will fight to protect them.”
The boy nodded, then squinting at the dog shouted out, “She has golden eyes. Look at her! Golden eyes.”
Chakliux reached into the pack on his back and pulled out a short length of braided bark rope. He fastened it around Snow Hawk’s neck and led her through the village, around dogs that snapped at her from their tethers near the lodges.
He stopped first at Sok’s wife’s lodge, crept inside, taking the dog with him.
Red Leaf was sewing a pieced parka, something beautiful and most likely for Sok. She looked up as he entered, giving a little start of surprise when he brought the dog in with him. She lifted a hand toward the door, pointed rudely with one finger and said, “Get that dog out of my—” Then she stopped. “A golden-eye,” she said. “You got one.”
“Five, I have five,” Chakliux answered, and reached into his parka, set the four pups, two dark-furred, the others mostly white, on the floor. “Three female, one male,” Chakliux said, and lifted them to show Red Leaf the eyes. Snow Hawk nosed each of them, stopping to lick the darkened blood from the white-and-black fur of the smallest.