Song of the River

by Sue Harrison

  Suddenly he opened his eyes wide, moved his head to look at her. “I had a dream …” he said, but his words were interrupted by a scratching at the entrance tunnel. Cen.

  Aqamdax felt the breath leave her chest. He and Tikaani had been the ones to bring her here. Tikaani, in his concern about Night Man, had long ago won Aqamdax’s friendship, but she felt nothing except anger and hatred for Cen. He might have fathered Ghaden, a fine young brother, but he had taken too much from her in exchange.

  When Star saw him, she jumped to her feet, clapped her hands and danced like a child. Cen dropped a heavy white pelt on the floor of the lodge. “This is for me?” Star squealed, and pounced on the rolled hide.

  Cen looked at her for a moment, opened his mouth, then closed it again. “No,” he finally said. “It is my bed.”

  His words did not seem to bother Star. Instead she called Yaa to her side and together they untied the braided babiche that held the hide and unrolled it. Star stretched out over the fur, and looked up at Cen, licking her upper lip.

  Aqamdax looked away in disgust, bent down over Night Man. “Cen?” he asked, his words a raspy whisper.

  “He has returned,” she said.

  Night Man nodded and again closed his eyes.

  “You had a dream?” Aqamdax asked, hoping he would stay awake a little longer, but he only sighed and slipped away into sleep.

  Cen stayed in their lodge that night, and though Star openly offered herself to him, he placed his bedding close to Night Man and told Star he was too tired from long days of walking to do more than sleep. She pouted for a short time, but then, as though Cen’s presence had reminded her that she was a woman, she began to act the part of sister and mother, seeing that Night Man was comfortable, that Yaa and Ghaden had food.

  Aqamdax lay awake long after others were asleep. Through that night the drums in the hunters’ lodge continued to beat. She had not asked Cen if he had joined the men there before coming to Star’s lodge. He was not truly one of the Cousin River People, and so might not be welcome when the men planned revenge raids.

  Finally, she, too, slept, only to awaken suddenly in the early dawn. Her first thought was of Night Man. Had something happened to him, some sudden passing of his spirit? She moved her hands to his face and he mumbled something, brushed at her hand sleepily, bringing a smile to her face. Then she realized that silence had awakened her.

  “The drums have stopped,” Star whispered from across the lodge.

  “Even warriors must sleep,” Aqamdax murmured, and turned on her side, pulled her woven hare fur blanket up over her shoulder.

  She did not notice that Tikaani had come into the lodge until he was beside her, bending over Night Man, laying his hand on Night Man’s forehead.

  Aqamdax raised up on one elbow. “He came back to us last night. Now he sleeps.”

  “I am awake,” Night Man said, and Aqamdax covered her mouth in surprise.

  As though he did not realize that he was crowding himself into Aqamdax’s bed, Tikaani slid closer to his brother, squatting cross-legged and bending his head over Night Man’s face.

  “You are awake?” Tikaani asked.

  “How could I sleep with all your talking?” his brother answered.

  Tikaani laughed, glanced at Aqamdax, joy dancing in his eyes. “It is the right thing, then, what we do,” he said. “I told the elders it was. I told them the deaths, the salmon, all things were because we did not appease our dead with revenge. Look, now as soon as our plans are made, you are back with us.”

  “Probably not strong enough to fight,” Night Man said, trying to smile.

  “I will fight for both of us.”

  “What is the hunters’ plan?”

  “We have a new weapon. Do you remember it?”

  “The bow.”

  “Yes. Instead of a few men trying to kill one or two of their hunters for what was done to us, this time we all go, hunters and elders, even the older boys.” Tikaani drew his hands together in a circle. “Remember how their village is set in a hollow, like a bowl, with trees around it?”

  “I remember.”

  “With bows, we can sit in the trees and shoot down into the village, taking men from a distance so they will not even know who has attacked.”

  Night Man raised his good hand, and Tikaani clasped it in his own, then he was gone, slipping out into the dawn, leaving his brother to sleep and Aqamdax to stare into the dim morning light with horror, the faces of the Near River People clear in her mind. Women and children, elders and hunters. Chakliux.

  THE NEAR RIVER VILLAGE

  “I only tell you this,” Wolf-and-Raven said to Sok. “My daughter wants to be your first wife.”

  Sok had been up all night waiting through Snow-in-her-hair’s labor, the woman’s screams. He had been afraid she was dying. What woman screamed unless spirits were pulling her away from her husband and new child?

  His thoughts had returned to that first night they had shared together, the joy of having her in his bed. She had been shy, averting her head when he first stroked her breasts, gasping in surprise when he slid his fingers to the damp warmth of her woman’s cleft.

  He had held those memories as though they could keep Snow-in-her-hair with him even through childbirth. He had fought down his fears with prayers and chants.

  When his wife’s aunt came to him just before dawn, his fear was so great he thought he could not bear to hear what she had to tell him, but she said the birth had been an easy one. That their son was strong and Snow-in-her-hair was as well as any woman could expect to be after giving birth and yelling so loudly that she kept the whole village awake all night.

  Now her father was in his daughter’s lodge insisting that Sok throw away his good first wife, a woman who had given him two strong sons, boys who already showed promise as hunters—a woman who had not screamed once in delivering those two boys.

  They were alone, Sok and Wolf-and-Raven. Sok had stayed in his wife’s lodge for the night, a custom in their village, a way to lend Snow-in-her-hair strength during her labor. He did not look forward to facing the other men in the village, or the women, their sly looks of disdain, the laughter they would pretend to hide behind their hands. Better to stay inside for a while, he had thought, but then Wolf-and-Raven had come.

  “She is second wife. She will stay second wife,” Sok said, his voice a warrior’s voice.

  Then Wolf-and-Raven stood, and as though he had come for no other reason, he said, “Your brother has asked for a meeting of all people in the village this evening.”

  “Chakliux has?”

  “He has.” Wolf-and-Raven jutted his chin toward Sok. “Few hunters will come. What has Chakliux to tell us that carries any importance?”

  “I will be there,” Sok said.

  Wolf-and-Raven left the lodge, and Sok lay back on the hare fur blanket that Snow-in-her-hair had made him. It was thin and poorly made. Red Leaf’s blankets were woven so tightly that even the smallest shaft of light could not pass through them.

  He heard a scratching at the side of the lodge. “Come!” he called, his voice gruff. It was probably Wolf-and-Raven with another piece of foolishness.

  Red Leaf came in carrying a boiling pot. “My husband,” she said in a quiet voice, “I am glad to hear of your new son.” She left the lodge without looking at him.

  Chapter Forty-five

  CHAKLIUX COULD FEEL THE men’s hostility. Who was he to call the whole village together, ask them to listen for an evening? There were many things to do this time of year—nets to mend, knives to knap, blades to retouch. They did not have time for the foolishness of a Cousin River man.

  But they came. Grumbling, frowning, they came. Even the children seemed to feel the irritation of their parents; squabbles broke out among them and had to be quelled by adults; babies cried. Chakliux closed his eyes and reached for the peace he always felt when he was in his iqyax, when the only sounds were those of water and birds and wind.

  Ligi
ge’ had prepared the balls of fat, coiled bone or ivory in each, two handfuls in all. She had wrapped them in thin pieces of dried and softened gut, then placed them in a fishskin basket. He was careful to keep the basket beside him but not too close. He did not want the heat of his body to soften the fat and release the coils.

  They gathered outside the elders’ lodge. The young men had made a large hearth fire, and the elders sat in the circle closest to the flames.

  The hunters were next, in order of their age, then the grandmothers, women with babies, and last, unmarried women and the children. The women had brought food, but the elders had turned it down, as did most of the hunters. The children begged for the leftovers, and a few grandmothers complied, adding to the confusion as scuffles broke out among the children who had food and those who did not.

  Chakliux, sitting with the hunters, waited until Wolf-and-Raven stood, until with a loud voice he told the children to stop fighting. When most of the noise had died away, he looked at Chakliux and said, “Tell us now what you have to say.”

  Chakliux walked to the center of the circle, stood with his back to the elders’ lodge, his face toward the people. The spring evening was still light, the sky a deep blue, shadows long. Firelight touched the people’s faces, and he searched for Ligige’, Fox Barking, Sleeps Long, Blue-head Duck, Dog Trainer, Root Digger, Sok.

  “I have asked you to come so we could talk about your dogs,” Chakliux began.

  A low murmur came from the hunters, and Chakliux heard Ligige’ say: “Be still. Listen.”

  The murmuring stopped, and Chakliux continued. “You know that another dog has died. It died of the same sickness that has killed many of our dogs. It is a sickness that none of us could understand until Ligige’ discovered what was wrong.”

  Many turned to look at Ligige’. She held her chin high, kept her eyes on Chakliux.

  “Ligige’ has asked that I tell you.”

  There was sudden quiet. Even the children’s voices were still. Chakliux reached for the basket at his side. He lifted one of the fat balls.

  “Root Digger!” he called out. The man looked up at him, and Chakliux threw the ball. Root Digger caught it, held it up so others could see.

  “Sok!” Sok also caught one of the fat balls, raised it to his mouth as if to bite into it.

  Ligige’ called out, “No. Do not eat it. Wait.”

  “It is poison?” Sok asked.

  “No,” Chakliux said. “It is not poison.”

  He threw fat balls to Fox Barking and Sleeps Long, to Dog Trainer, even to the boy River Ice Dancer. They sank fingers into the balls, sniffed them.

  Finally there were only two left, yet Chakliux had not found the reaction he had hoped for. He looked at Ligige’. She met his eyes with a clear, steady gaze and lifted her hands, cupped them together. He threw one of the balls, and she caught it easily, then, leaning on the shoulder of the woman next to her, she pushed herself up, and standing, she tossed the ball to Wolf-and-Raven.

  He bobbled it, dropped it to the ground and allowed it to lie there.

  “Pick it up, Little Cousin,” Ligige’ said to him, and the people smiled, holding in laughter at the diminutive she used to address him.

  He picked it up, held it so others could see, then again set it on the ground.

  “It does not kill unless it is inside, Little Cousin,” Ligige’ told him, and Chakliux heard the terrible sadness in her voice.

  There was a sudden yelp from Root Digger. The heat from his hand had melted one side of the fat ball, had allowed one end of the coil to pierce his thumb.

  “What is it?” he cried out, and dropped the ball to the ground while sucking at the puncture wound.

  “Blue-head Duck took pity on an old woman,” Ligige’ said. “He gave me a dead dog. When I butchered the animal, I found this.” She held up an ivory strip. “It was in the belly of the dog. There were many of them, more than a handful.”

  Chakliux noticed that the others had set their fat balls on the ground as Wolf-and-Raven had. He handed the fishskin basket to one of the women. “Pick them up and bring them back to me,” he told her. “We do not want our dogs or our children to get them.” He turned to Wolf-and-Raven. “You would not hold the fat ball. Why?”

  “I do not trust a man from the Cousin River Village,” Wolf-and-Raven said. “That is why.”

  Chakliux turned to the elders. “I accuse no one,” he said. “Decide for yourselves who killed the dogs. You saw what the coil of bone did to Root Digger’s hand. Think what they do inside a dog’s belly.”

  There was a rise of sound—a growl of anger, men’s and women’s voices together.

  “Why?” one of the hunters asked. “Why kill our dogs? We need them for hunting and for food. Why would anyone do this?”

  A woman at the back of the circle stood up. Chakliux did not realize it was Wolf-and-Raven’s wife until she spoke.

  “For power,” Blue Flower said. “Only for power. To be able to accuse others of causing such a curse, and then to say he himself was able to stop it.”

  “I throw you away,” Wolf-and-Raven screeched, jumping to his feet and thrusting his walking stick toward his wife.

  “No,” she said to him. “I throw you away. Get your things out of my lodge. I do not want to see you again.”

  Then everyone was speaking, shouting, arguing. Most raised angry words at Wolf-and-Raven. Some shouted at Chakliux, others at Ligige’. Wolf-and-Raven had worn his shaman’s headpiece, heavy with beads and raven beaks. He took it off and held it toward anyone who drew near, sweeping a path through the people as he stomped away. Some of the men shouted out their disagreement with Chakliux. Others came, clapped hands on his back, thanked him, peered into the fishskin basket at the fat balls, then, shaking their heads, walked away.

  Soon everyone was gone except Chakliux and Ligige’. She was huddled on the ground, her blanket pulled up over her head. Chakliux knelt beside her. “Aunt,” he whispered softly. “Would you like to stay in Red Leaf’s lodge tonight?”

  “I do not think Sok would want me there,” she said, her voice trembling. “I have destroyed his wife’s father.”

  “Wolf-and-Raven destroyed himself,” Chakliux said, and helped her to her feet.

  “I think I will go to my own lodge,” Ligige’ told him. “I think this village has heard enough of my voice.”

  “Then could I stay with you?” Chakliux asked her.

  “Yes, come and stay.” She blinked away tears and put a sly smile on her face. “The old women say you have more seal oil. They say it is very good on dried fish.”

  Chakliux also smiled. “Yes, Aunt, it is very good, as you shall see.”

  THE COUSIN RIVER VILLAGE

  Cen did not want to go with them. He had not yet mastered their bow weapons. Besides, he was trader. What trader wanted to encourage fighting? But the Near River People were the ones who had killed Daes. They were the ones who had almost killed him. Even yet his ribs ached on cold days, and his left wrist would never be as strong as it once was.

  He had considered Aqamdax’s words. She had gone lodge to lodge, pleading with hunters, telling them the Near Rivers were a good people, urging them to take only one life for the boy who had been killed. But even Ghaden had gritted his teeth, raised a fist and screamed out his anger against the Near Rivers for killing a boy who had been a friend.

  They took no dogs with them. Only packs with food and supplies. Only weapons. Bows and throwing spears, arrows and knives.

  Cen had a bow, but still his left wrist buckled when he pulled back the string. Better for him to use a spear. At least his right wrist was strong, his throw far and accurate.

  It usually took three days to make the journey to the Near Rivers’ winter village from the winter camp of the Cousin River People, and that was with dogs carrying packs. But anger seemed to lend strength to the men’s legs, and at the end of the first day they found themselves already at the Near River. They slept through a night of wi
nd and snow, the last bite of winter as it was defeated by the new strong sun.

  The second morning, they began early, and by midday they moved from the river ice into the forest, then made a camp near the village. Now all they could do was wait for morning and hope some hunter would come from the village to be their first kill.

  The day had faded to dusk when that one came—a man alone, not even a dog at his side. He carried a large pack, as though he were a trader. He carried a spear as walking stick.

  Cen was sitting on a fallen tree, had brushed the snow from the trunk and cushioned the wet bark with a pad of caribou hide. His thoughts were not on the battle, the attack that Tikaani and others had decided would begin in early morning. His thoughts were instead on K’os. She was a woman, like Daes, who seemed to push wisdom out of his head, who made him act without thinking, without considering consequences. Now that he was away from her, when her face did not cloud his thinking, it was a good time to decide what to do.

  Even if she became his wife, she would probably still invite many men to her bed. He had heard the stories about her two husbands. Both had died in terrible ways, the first man consumed by some sickness that seemed to eat away his belly until all he could do was vomit blood. The other was killed in a fire that K’os herself escaped. Surely some spirit of bad luck followed K’os and would soon attack anyone she took as husband. Some of the hunters said K’os was old, too old to give children. That was difficult to believe. Her face said she was young, but she seemed to be barren.

  Cen was grateful for Ghaden, but he wanted more sons, even a daughter. What was better for an old man than a daughter to take care of him in his last days?

  He could marry Star, but he did not want a wife who whined and threw tantrums like a child. There was also Aqamdax. She looked much like Daes and was a hard worker. The First Men claimed she was a storyteller. She was wife to Night Man, but who could expect him to live long? The night Cen had stayed in Star’s lodge, he had had to turn away when Aqamdax changed the poultice on Night Man’s shoulder, the flesh was so rotten.