by Sue Harrison
Aqamdax’s dreams changed to remembrances of her life as a child, when she had lived with the First Men near the great North Sea. Her father was still alive, and he picked her up, his hands around her waist. Suddenly he was squeezing her, and she could not breathe. She cried for him to stop, then looked down and saw that he was dead, his skin dark, his lips as blue as they had been when he had drowned. She heard her mother wail out in a terrible mourning cry, and her voice was so loud that it woke Aqamdax.
Star and Yaa were beside her.
“You screamed,” Yaa said. “What’s the matter?”
Aqamdax shook her head, tried to break the last threads that bound her into sleep. “Just a dream,” she said, then gasped as the pain took her again, circling her hips and pressing into her bones.
Star drew away, her hands over the small mound that was her baby. “Get her out of here,” she told Yaa. “Her child might call mine to come.”
Star backed into the far side of the lodge, paying no heed that she walked over her husband’s bed to get there.
Chakliux raised up on one elbow, looked first at his wife, then at Aqamdax. “What is wrong?” he asked.
Star pointed rudely with her thumbs. “She, her baby. It is wanting to be born.”
Chakliux wrapped a sleeping robe around his shoulders and crept to Night Man. Chakliux shook him until he was awake. “Your wife’s child is trying to be born,” Chakliux said. “I will go get my aunt.”
The pain eased, and Aqamdax was able to speak. “It is early. The baby should not come for more than a moon,” she said.
“Go to your birth lodge. I will bring Ligige’,” said Chakliux.
“I have no birth lodge.”
What woman would prepare her lodge a full moon before delivery? Why tempt a child to come into the world when he is not strong enough to survive?
“Go to Red Leaf’s. Hers is ready, is it not?”
Aqamdax nodded. Another pain took her, and she squeezed her eyes shut until it passed. She did not want to go to Red Leaf’s lodge, but how could she object? She could not stay here, cursing the men and their weapons, and perhaps Star’s unborn baby. Red Leaf had killed Aqamdax’s mother and Chakliux’s grandfather. She had tried to kill Ghaden. How could Aqamdax use a birth lodge made by a woman whose heart was stained with blood?
With Yaa’s help, Aqamdax managed to stumble from the lodge, but just outside the entrance tunnel, she felt the beginning of another pain. She squatted on her haunches, and before the pain tore away her breath, told Yaa to go back and get the cradleboard she had made and the hare furs she had prepared.
Yaa left her, and just as the pain eased, she returned with the cradleboard and furs. She helped Aqamdax to her feet, then they walked to the edge of the village.
When they reached the isolated place where Red Leaf had made her birth lodge, Aqamdax could see it was lit from within. Chakliux must have already brought Ligige’ to the lodge, but how could the old woman have started a fire so quickly?
Someone called. Chakliux, Aqamdax thought, and she was surprised. Most men stayed as far as possible from a woman about to deliver a child. A woman’s power was great at such times, and even though she meant no harm, that power could destroy a man’s hunting luck.
“I cannot find Ligige’,” Chakliux said.
The old woman popped her head out of the birth lodge. “Someone else wants me?” she asked. Then, seeing Aqamdax, she frowned. “You, too?”
A pain took her, so Aqamdax could do no more than crouch and brace herself, but she listened as Yaa and Ligige’ spoke.
“I have Red Leaf here,” Ligige’ said. “It will be some time before her baby is born. When did Aqamdax’s pains begin?”
“Only a little while ago,” Yaa said, “but they are close together, one pain chasing another.”
“That happens sometimes when a baby comes early,” Ligige’ told her. “We cannot have both women in the same lodge. One child’s death could curse the other’s birth.”
Ligige’’s words pierced Aqamdax’s heart. How could the woman speak so lightly of the child Aqamdax had grown to love more than her own life?
“Take her to my lodge,” Ligige’ said. “I will come as soon as I can.” She ducked her head back inside, but then she peeked out again. “On your way, wake Day Woman and tell her to come here. She will not want to, but remind her that Red Leaf’s child also belongs to her son Sok.”
Chakliux saw Yaa leave his mother’s lodge, saw his mother walk the path to the birth hut. Aqamdax stopped once, stooped over in pain, then continued to Ligige’’s lodge and slipped inside. Light from the hearth fire soon glowed through the lodge walls, and Chakliux’s thoughts turned to his first wife, Gguzaakk.
For a long time after her death, Chakliux could find no reason to live save his duties as Dzuuggi and his desire to keep peace between the Cousin and Near River Peoples, but then he had decided to live in the Near River Village and Aqamdax had come into his life.
She was a storyteller, trained in the traditions of the First Men, and Chakliux had grown to love her, had decided to ask her to be his wife. What could be better than two storytellers living together, learning from one another? But the trader Cen had stolen Aqamdax, taken her to the Cousin River Village and sold her as a slave. Before Chakliux could find where Cen had taken her, Night Man bought Aqamdax as wife, and now Aqamdax labored to deliver Night Man’s child.
Chakliux shook his head. Night Man was as foolish as his sister Star. He was worried about whether Aqamdax’s child belonged to him. Aqamdax had been forced into other hunters’ beds while she was a slave. If the baby was born large and strong, it was not Night Man’s, though he would be wise to raise the child as his own. If it was small—a sign it had been born early—it was certainly his child but would probably die.
Chakliux was not wise enough to know which way he should pray—there would be sadness if the child lived or if it died. Instead he prayed for Aqamdax. That she would live. How could he bear to again lose a woman he loved?
Snow-in-her-hair offered Sok a bowl of soup, and he lashed out at her in harsh words. The thin, nearly meatless broth added to his anger. Any wife should be ashamed to offer her husband such poor food. What happened to the caribou belly they had roasted whole, full of the tender summer plants the animal had been eating before Sok and Chakliux had killed it? What happened to the rich broth made from the head? Surely, some of that was left. Who deserved to eat it more than he?
Again he threw harsh words at his wife, but when he saw his son Cries-loud press himself up against the side of the lodge, he was suddenly ashamed of his anger. It was not the broth that tortured his soul but the birth of Red Leaf’s child. He would keep the baby if it was healthy, but what about Red Leaf?
She had cost Sok the leadership of the Near River People. Someday, he would have been their chief hunter, and Chakliux had held an honored place as storyteller. Together they would have guided the people, turned them from war toward ways of respect, but Red Leaf had destroyed any chance of that when she killed his grandfather. Now Sok lived in exile, forced, because of what his wife had done, to leave the village of his birth.
Red Leaf was alive now only because she carried Sok’s baby. She had claimed that she killed out of love for him, to give him the chance to have his grandfather’s place as chief hunter. In that way, perhaps he was nearly as guilty of the killing as Red Leaf. But he would have never wished for his grandfather’s death.
During all the moons awaiting this night of birth, Sok had been unable to decide what he should do. Now, without doubt, in the remnants of the Cousin River Village, he was chief hunter. There was little honor in it, but still the people looked to him to provide food. They faced a harsh winter. Their only hope of survival was a successful fall caribou hunt.
If he killed Red Leaf, would her blood keep the animals from giving themselves to his spear? If he did not kill Red Leaf, would his grandfather’s need for revenge turn the caribou from the Cousin River hu
nters?
Chapter Two
NEAR DAWN, AQAMDAX’S PAINS stopped. Ligige’ had given her tea steeped from balsam poplar root, and the old woman began to hope that the medicine had worked. If Aqamdax could hold the child in her belly for even eight or ten more days, there was a chance that it would live.
After Aqamdax fell asleep, Ligige’ crept back through the village to Star’s lodge and went inside. She woke Star and told her that Aqamdax’s labor had stopped, then saw that both Chakliux and Night Man were awake.
“The child?” Night Man asked.
“The birth pains have stopped.”
“Aqamdax?” asked Chakliux.
His voice was a whisper, and Ligige’ was not sure whether he spoke only to say her name or if he was asking about her.
“She is strong. It is not Aqamdax I worry about.”
Ligige’ went then to Red Leaf’s birth lodge. The day was brightening, the sky clear and without clouds. She did not bother to call out or scratch at the doorflap. She merely pulled it aside and stooped to enter.
Day Woman looked up and smiled, a baby in her arms. “A daughter,” she said. “Fine and strong. She looks like Sok.”
The baby’s mouth was pursed, and she sucked at her fist. Ligige’ squatted on her heels and pulled back the ground squirrel blankets that covered the child. She inspected her arms and legs, hands and feet. She pressed on the baby’s belly, chuckled when the dark eyes opened, the mouth puckered in protest.
“She is healthy,” Ligige’ said. “Red Leaf?”
Day Woman lifted her chin toward the back of the lodge, where Red Leaf lay still and white, eyes closed in sleep. There was a smear of blood on her face, but hare fur blankets were pulled up to her shoulders, and there was no other sign she had just given birth.
“Has Red Leaf fed her yet?”
“No.”
“Good. Do not allow her to feed the child until Sok decides what to do. If he kills Red Leaf, we do not need the power of her milk to draw the child into the spirit world.”
“A daughter,” Sok said and scowled.
Ligige’ snorted and tipped the baby so he could see her from where he sat beside the hearth fire. “A daughter is not such a terrible thing,” she said. “You have Cries-loud and Carries Much, two strong sons who live here with you, and that other son who is now in the spirit world. But would any of them take care of you when you are old? Someday you’ll be glad to have a daughter.”
“I am glad to have a daughter,” he said, his lips still drawn into a frown. “Here, let me have her.”
Ligige’ placed the baby into his arms, and he held her awkwardly, a hand’s length from his body.
“Your mother says she looks like you.”
“Ah, that is not good for a girl,” said Sok, but he smiled and clasped the child more tightly so she was snuggled against his chest.
For a time Ligige’ said nothing, but finally she knew she must speak. Snow-in-her-hair and her infant son, Carries Much, as well as Red Leaf’s son Cries-loud were in the lodge, but she supposed they must be a part of any decision that Sok made.
“Red Leaf has not nursed your daughter yet,” Ligige’ said. “Bird Caller has enough milk. Do you want me to take the baby to her?”
Sok handed the child back to Ligige’. When his words came, they were slow and weighted with sorrow. “I must speak to my brother first. For now, take the baby to my mother. Tell her that until I make my decision, the child should have only water.”
Red Leaf’s baby grew thin on two days of water before Sok finally returned to Ligige’, before he told her what must be done. He came in quiet dignity, and Ligige’ knew his decision even before he told her, but she waited until the words came from Sok’s mouth.
“Chakliux says we need strong women, and my son Cries-loud begs for his mother’s life, but I have decided that we risk too much to have her among us.”
“So you will drive her from the village?” Ligige’ asked, though she knew that was not what Sok had decided.
“She must die,” he said.
“I suppose it does no good to tell you that you risk a greater curse by killing her, a woman with the blood power of new birth.”
“I will wait until her blood no longer flows.”
“That is wise.”
Ligige’ filled a bowl with ground squirrel stew from her cooking bag. She held it out to Sok, but he shook his head. “You can risk your strength by refusing food?” she asked.
He took the bowl, squatted on his haunches and plunged his fingers into the meat, scooped it into his mouth.
“Has Red Leaf been told?” Ligige’ asked.
“No, but she expects as much.”
“You will be the one to kill her?”
“Who else? I cannot ask Chakliux. Why should he risk his hunting powers over something my wife did?”
“I will do it for you.”
“What if she fights? You are not strong enough.”
“She will not expect it from me. I can wait until she is asleep. Or I could use poison.”
“Is there something that would take her quickly?”
“There might be.”
Sok sat very still for a long time, one hand raised to his forehead, the other cradling his bowl. Ligige’ turned her back, pretended to be busy with many things.
“You have heard what will happen to Red Leaf?” Star asked Aqamdax.
“I have heard,” Aqamdax told her. She did not want to talk about it, did not want to think about it. It was enough for her to worry about her own child.
Star had avoided Aqamdax since she returned to the lodge, and who could blame her? Aqamdax would have done the same, though perhaps a little less obviously. Why risk your baby for the sake of politeness? But now Star sidled close to her, and Aqamdax knew the conversation was not over.
“I wonder how Sok will kill her. Perhaps he will use a knife just like Red Leaf used to kill—”
“You should not be this close to me,” Aqamdax said to the woman, and Star gasped, as though the realization of her child’s peril had just come to her.
She scuttled to the other side of the lodge. Aqamdax closed her eyes and stretched, straightened her shoulders. “I will go outside, Sister,” she said to Star. “That will be safest.”
She was weaving grass mats for the lodge floor. The grass in this place where the River People had chosen to live was not as good as what grew near the First Men villages, but it made sturdy mats. At one time, the women had laughed at her floor mats. Their village had been strong then, and there were caribou skins that could be used to pad floors. Now there were not even enough skins for lodge walls.
Aqamdax squatted on her haunches at the sun side of the lodge. In her own village, she would have found a place away from the wind, but here she had grown to appreciate a windy day. The sound took her back to her own people, to the First Men Village and the noise of the waves.
There, Aqamdax had grown used to the wideness of the sea and horizons that spread to the edge of the earth. The River People’s land was cut into small pieces by trees and hills. Some days, during the two years she had been with the River People, she felt closed in, as though she had been made to sit too long in a small place, legs and arms cramped for room.
A shadow fell across her work, and Aqamdax looked up to see the boy Cries-loud, Sok’s son. Once, in a time that now seemed very long ago, he and his older brother, that first Carries Much, had been her stepsons. Now, even though she was no longer wife to their father, Cries-loud often came to her with his small boy triumphs, his problems and questions.
He squatted beside her, his legs crossed. Aqamdax smiled a greeting and was not surprised when Cries-loud said, “Star told me my mother is going to die.”
Aqamdax wanted to gather the boy into her arms, hold him as she held Ghaden when he was sad or tired, but Cries-loud was not a child. He had eight summers. Soon he would hunt with the men.
“You understand why?” Aqamdax asked.
“I understand.”
“You know that this was a difficult decision for your father?”
He nodded. “Star told me it must be done because there is a curse. Do you think all the fighting and all the terrible things that happened to us were because of what my mother did?”
“I am not wise enough to know that, Cries-loud. There were many people besides your mother who did foolish things. I have heard the stories of the dogs that died in the Near River Village. A shaman did that. Surely his powers were greater than your mother’s. There was a woman named K’os who lived in this village before you and your father came here. She is gone now, but she was very evil, even had people killed.”
“Did someone kill her?”
“No.”
“My father says I cannot see my mother. He says I cannot speak to her again.”
Aqamdax’s eyes filled with tears. What a foolishness, all this killing. Did men not face enough death just in hunting? Did women not do the same in childbirth? Chakliux had worked hard to protect these villages from one another, but it seemed that some spirit of anger and death lingered even yet.
She placed an arm around Cries-loud’s shoulders, and he leaned into her. “You should remember the good times with your mother and all the good things she has done. Your new sister will need you to protect her. You are the big brother for her and for Carries Much.” When she said Carries Much, she felt Cries-loud shudder and knew he was thinking of his older brother, killed during the fighting.
Then, though Aqamdax had not planned to tell a story, an old River tale came to her. “There was once a wise porcupine and a foolish raven,” she began, the words singing from her mouth. She felt Cries-loud relax beside her.
He was too old for a children’s story, but he listened as Aqamdax spoke.
Chapter Three
THE NEAR RIVER VILLAGE
K’OS LEANED OVER THE boiling bag and pretended she did not hear what Blue Flower was saying. As widow of the Near River shaman, Blue Flower held a place of respect, and could make the youngest wives scurry to do her bidding simply by raising her eyes to the sky as though she had special spirit powers. She claimed to be the healer in this village, though she knew nothing but a few of the chants her husband once used.