Cry of the Wind

by Sue Harrison

“Stay with them until Aqamdax wakes up. Don’t you wake her; let her sleep. Then come get me.”

  Ligige’ walked toward the village. It was always good to tell a father about the birth of a son. This child was small, born too early without doubt, but he was strong. He nursed well, and Aqamdax would be a good mother. The child should live, at least until the starving days of late winter. Then who could say? But why think about sorrows that might never come? There would be time enough to mourn later, if the child died.

  She scratched at Star’s lodge, heard Long Eyes lift her voice in a vague answer. Ligige’ crouched to crawl inside and almost ran into Chakliux.

  “A son!” Ligige’ said, singing out the words.

  She saw the pinched look of worry on his face. “Aqamdax?” he asked.

  “A strong woman. She will be a good mother.”

  Chakliux closed his eyes, let out his breath.

  “Where is Night Man?”

  “Inside.” Chakliux stood back, held open the doorflap. He waited until Ligige’ was in the lodge, then he moved his lips in a silent prayer of thanksgiving. As he crawled back inside, he heard Night Man’s voice raised in anger and so stayed near the entrance, his eyes turned away.

  “You are sure the child was born early?” Night Man asked.

  Ligige’ had squatted beside him, her hands draped over her knees, and Chakliux, glancing quickly at her and then away, noticed that she looked tired. She was, after all, an old woman, and she had been awakened early to tend Aqamdax.

  “He is very small,” she said, “but strong. Already he is eating.”

  “You think, then, that he will live?”

  “No one can say for sure. He must decide for himself whether he wants to stay in this world. I have seen large babies die and weak ones live, but there is no reason why this child should die.”

  Night Man grunted, and Ligige’ said, “If you want to see him, I will bring him outside to you. Come to the edge of the village.”

  “No, I will wait until it is time for his mother to leave the birth lodge.”

  Ligige’ shrugged, and Chakliux realized that since Star was not there, perhaps he should offer food.

  “Aunt, you are hungry,” he said, and fetched a bowl, filled it with broth and meat.

  She took the bowl and ate, and to Chakliux’s surprise, Long Eyes stood and unhooked a water bladder, offered it to Ligige’. Perhaps a baby in the lodge would bring Long Eyes back to them. At one time, she had been a fine wife to Cloud Finder. It would be a good sign if her spirit decided to return to the village.

  Chakliux heard a scuffling in the entrance tunnel, then Yaa was back in the lodge, her eyes dancing.

  “I went to your lodge first,” she said to Ligige’. “Then I thought you might be here. Aqamdax is awake.”

  “No problems?” Ligige’ asked.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Ligige’ stood and dipped her bowl into the cooking bag. “Then I will eat a little more before I go back. You have the food Aqamdax set aside for herself?” she asked through a mouthful of meat.

  “It is in the cache,” Yaa said.

  “Get it for me. I will take it to her when I go.”

  Yaa returned quickly with a woven grass bag. Ligige’ set down her empty bowl and opened the bag, pawed through the contents.

  “You cannot let a woman who has just given birth eat any fresh meat,” she told Yaa. “Smoked fish is good. This”—she pulled out several sticks of dried meat—“is it from last year? Didn’t this village lose all last year’s meat in the fighting?”

  “I gave it to her,” Chakliux said. “It is some I brought with me when I left the Near River Village.”

  “From Near River hunters?” Night Man asked.

  “It is seal meat from the First Men. I spent last winter in their village.”

  Night Man frowned. “You are sure it is not Near River?”

  “It is not.”

  Anger tightened Chakliux’s chest, and he turned away. Who did not know a woman needed meat after giving birth? Yet this man would sacrifice his wife’s strength over his hatred for the Near River People. He almost reminded Night Man who had begun the fighting, who had struck first, but he did not allow the words to move from his heart to his mouth.

  Instead he stood, said, “I must find my wife, tell her that she has a nephew.” He left the lodge, glad to get away from Night Man’s smoldering anger.

  “Is the baby my brother?” Ghaden asked Yaa. He stroked Biter’s back with his fingertips, leaving tracks like small valleys in the dog’s brown fur.

  “Star’s baby will be your brother or sister,” Yaa told him, “and that makes Aqamdax’s baby your cousin.” She paused. “Well, no. Aqamdax is your sister, so you are his uncle. At least, I think you are his uncle. And I am kind of an aunt.”

  Ghaden puffed up his chest. “I will have to take care of him. I will have to show him how to hunt.” He went to the weapons area where Night Man and Chakliux kept their spears and throwers, their darts and lances. He had a bola there and a small thrusting lance. The lance was really only a toy, even though the wooden shaft had been sharpened into a point and hardened in fire. But the bola was a true weapon. Chakliux had made it for him and was teaching him how to swing it so he didn’t hit himself with the sharp stones. He hadn’t got a bird yet, but soon he would. Then he would give the new baby one of the feathers, something Aqamdax could put in his amulet. He picked up his bola, ran his hands from the braided handle to the stones. Each stone was tied securely to the end of one of the bola’s rawhide strings.

  He wanted to take the weapon over to where Yaa sat, to hold it in his lap and think about the birds he would kill, the praise Yaa and Aqamdax would give him when they added the meat and bones from those birds to their cooking bags, or roasted them on a stick, but Yaa was a girl. She might pull away some of the bola’s power. So he hung it again from its wooden hook on one of the lodge poles, then went and sat down beside Biter.

  Suddenly the doorflap opened and Star came in. “You are a lazy one,” she said to Yaa. “Have you checked the traplines? And you, you could bring wood,” she said to Ghaden.

  Ghaden knew Yaa was tired from being up early with Aqamdax and helping Ligige’, but he was glad to have something to do. It was boring in the lodge. He slipped on his summer boots, then followed Yaa and Biter. He heard Star speak to Night Man while he was still in the entrance tunnel: “She had a son, I am told.”

  Ghaden stopped for a moment so he could hear Night Man’s reply, but he could not make out the mumbled words.

  Star’s voice lifted in laughter, then Ghaden heard Long Eyes also laugh, the sound like a weak and fading echo.

  “You think it is yours?” Star said. “With all the men K’os brought into her lodge, you truly think Aqamdax’s son is yours?” Again she laughed.

  For some reason the sound made Ghaden shiver.

  That evening, after Ligige’ had left her for the night, Aqamdax still could not sleep. The joy and wonder of having her own child filled her like laughter.

  She ran a finger over her son’s cheek. Even in his sleep, he turned toward the touch, opening his mouth, moving his head until he succeeded in getting her fingertip to his lips. He sucked for a moment, then relaxed. She had just fed him, so she knew he was not hungry. A bubble colored by her milk lingered at one corner of his mouth.

  Among the Cousin River People, the men were the ones who named the babies. Night Man would give him a River name, but that did not matter. Aqamdax would call him Angax, the First Men word for power. Surely such a name would lend him the strength he needed to survive.

  Angax looked like Night Man, even Ligige’ had said so. He had Night Man’s strong chin and his eyes that tilted down at the sides. Just above his forehead a swirl of black hair turned a small circle, like an eddy at the side of a river; that, too, was Night Man’s. Aqamdax had counted her son’s fingers and toes, long thin fingers like her own, and she had unwrapped and wrapped him many times.r />
  When she nursed him, small pains twisted just below her belly, but Ligige’ had called them afterbirth pains, something every woman had, nothing to worry about.

  So now for Aqamdax there was only happiness. She had hoped Night Man would come to see the baby but thought perhaps such a thing was against River taboos. They were a strange people, with many things forbidden to both men and women.

  Aqamdax had been out of the lodge once to relieve herself, her baby tied to her chest, but mostly she had lain still and watched her son.

  It had not been a long labor, Ligige’ told her. Many women having first babies went a whole day or more. But Aqamdax had grinned and told Ligige’ that it had been long enough.

  Before she left, Ligige’ had asked to hold the baby, then she had poked and prodded until Angax wrinkled up his face and began to cry. But Ligige’ smiled, and to Aqamdax’s relief once again pronounced him healthy.

  When the old woman left, she had promised to send Yaa, so Aqamdax was not surprised when she heard someone approaching the birth lodge. She eased herself up to sit on the pad of moss and fireweed fluff that caught her afterbirth blood, but when the doorflap was pulled aside, it was Star.

  “I have come to see my nephew,” Star said.

  Aqamdax felt her heart quicken as Star held her hands out for the baby. “He is asleep now,” she said, and wished Ligige’, even Yaa, were there with her.

  She pulled down the front of her shirt, adjusted the loose neck that she had made large enough for the baby when he was tied against her chest.

  “See?” she said, showing Star his head.

  His eyes were squeezed shut, and he had a tiny fist raised to his mouth.

  “It is too dark in here to see him,” Star said.

  Aqamdax pushed herself slowly to her feet. The first time she stood after giving birth, darkness had begun to close in around her eyes, but since then she had had no problem.

  “I will come outside,” she told Star. It was nearly evening, but the sun was still up, and she could see the clear blue of the sky through a chink in the lodge wall.

  Outside, Aqamdax again pulled down the neck of her shirt. Star patted the baby’s head, asked if Aqamdax had named him. She did not tell Star his First Men name. It was better to keep that name as a protection, known only to a few who could be trusted with the knowledge.

  “I thought Night Man should name him,” she said.

  Star shrugged, then she turned to point with her chin toward the village, and said, “Look. My brother wants to see his son. He cannot come too close, you know, but he waits for me to bring the child to him.”

  Aqamdax wrapped her arms around Angax, bound safe and warm against her skin. Fear flooded her chest, and she could not breathe, then the fear turned to anger, as though she were a wolf mother protecting her pups. How could she give this precious son to Star? Perhaps if Ligige’ had come and asked such a thing, she would not mind….

  Aqamdax looked past Star to her husband, felt the assurance of his presence. What could happen to a child in such a short distance? How could she be so foolish as to fear her husband’s sister?

  “Let me wrap the baby so the wind will not take his breath,” she told Star, then went back into the birth lodge.

  He woke as Aqamdax laced him into his cradleboard, but he did not cry. She looked into his face. For a moment he seemed to study her, and Aqamdax felt how close they were, their souls nearly one. Then she took him outside and gave him to Star.

  She watched as Star walked slowly to Night Man, and Aqamdax closed her eyes in relief when she saw Night Man gather the cradleboard into his strong right arm. To her surprise, they turned from her and began to walk into the village. But what did she know about River People customs? Perhaps they were going to show the baby to others.

  She wished the people of this village followed the honored ways of her own village. There, when the mother’s time of isolation was ended, she carried the baby to her husband’s ulax. Then all the village women came, each bringing a gift, and while everyone sat together in a circle, each took a turn holding the baby, whispering blessings—all while the mother and grandmother watched.

  “Bring him back to me soon!” Aqamdax called. “He will be hungry.”

  Star turned and raised one hand to her, then they were gone, hidden by the lodges and lean-tos of the Cousin River Village.

  Chapter Eight

  THE NEAR RIVER VILLAGE

  Fox Barking stood at the hearth fires and raised his hands to the sky. He praised the river for the abundance of fish, reminding the people that only the summer before, few salmon had come to them. He praised the caribou who awaited their hunters, and he spoke of the Near River warriors, those who still lived among them and those who had been killed in the fighting.

  The few Near River families who had spent the summer at fish camps had returned. Soon the first bands would set out from the village to hunt fall caribou.

  With caches full of dried and smoked fish, it was a good time to rejoice in full bellies and strong arms, to feast on salmon and summer berries and to dream of the promise of caribou. And why not also tell the people he had chosen a new name, one that was more fitting for the man who led them?

  From this day, he would be Anaay. What name could be better? Anaay—that which moves. His mind was always moving, planning what would be best for the village. And who did not know that the River people also gave that name to the caribou herd as it traveled, spring and fall? With a name like Anaay there would be no end to his powers.

  The caribou would recognize him as their own, would sing their journeys through his bones, and so he would always know where his people should hunt, no matter which paths the herds chose.

  Then who could deny that he deserved his place as leader of the elders? After all, he was still a good hunter, and he had a new young wife to warm his bed at night. Who could forget his first wife’s skills with needle and awl? Each of his women had a good lodge. His caches were full. Even Chakliux, with all his stories, and Sok, with his thick arms and strong spear, could not compare to Anaay.

  K’os watched from the edge of the crowd as Fox Barking spoke. With each word he puffed out his chest, but his arms and legs were spindly, and there was no way he could increase their size simply by filling himself with air. His belly had grown fat since she came to the village; even the splendor of his caribou hide parka trimmed with beaver and marten fur, even the birdbone beads that adorned his knee-high summer moccasins, could not hide his true shape.

  She listened to him praise the Near River People, their strength, their cunning, and with each word she ground her teeth. She longed to scream out her hatred, but why give warning of her intent? Fox Barking would learn soon enough that she was still an enemy to be feared.

  Tiring of his proud words, she turned to leave, but then Fox Barking said that he had chosen a new name. Anaay, he said, and K’os’s anger dissipated in a flood of mirth. Perhaps she would have to do less than she thought. Even a child would understand that the name boasted of his powers to guide hunters to caribou. Even a child could see that Fox Barking did not have the spiritual strength to do such a thing.

  During her life, K’os had heard of only one man who knew the paths of the caribou. He had died when she was still a child, but she remembered him. In humility, he had named himself Koldze’ Nihwdelnen, and in truth to his name, he kept nothing for himself. He was thin, and his clothes were old. His wife had died before K’os was born, and he had not married again, but rather went from lodge to lodge, living with one family, then another, and each hunter hoped Koldze’ Nihwdelnen would stay with him and so bring luck to his weapons.

  How could Fox Barking hope to compare to someone like that? The caribou would sense his greed, and Fox Barking’s foolishness would rise up like xos cogh thorns to drive the caribou away.

  But though these thoughts were as loud as any of Fox Barking’s words, K’os kept them behind clenched teeth, and when he had finished speaking, she made her
way in silence through the crowd as they gathered at the village hearths.

  She used a stout branch to push a hot stone from the fire, then, with the stick and green willow tongs, carried it to one of the cooking bags. K’os clacked her tongue so the people would get out of her way, and she walked slowly so that if she dropped the stone, she would not step on it.

  She turned her head aside and dropped the stone into the cooking bag. The broth splattered and the stone hissed, but it did not shatter. She used her tongs to scoop out a cooled stone, then carried it, dripping fat and broth, back to the fire, where she settled it into the coals.

  Squatting with her back to the people, she scraped the broth from the tongs with her fingers and licked them clean. As a slave, she was not allowed food until everyone else, even the smallest child, had eaten. Who could say what would be left? But she had become clever at stealing broth from stirring sticks, fish from drying racks, and meat from children too young to tell anyone what she had done.

  She was carrying a rock to another cooking bag when she saw Gull Beak bend close to Fox Barking. The woman had something in her arms, surely a gift, for she had covered it with a grass mat. Several others also noticed what Gull Beak was doing, and soon most of the women and many of the men were watching. Gull Beak opened the mat, laid a parka on Fox Barking’s lap. He smiled, crinkling the scar that disfigured his face, then held up the gift so everyone could see.

  The parka was made from the skins of powerful animals: beaver and marmot, wolverine. The marmot was a mountain animal. How many trades had it taken Gull Beak to get enough marmot pelts? K’os wondered. The back of the parka and each arm were sewn with shell beads in sacred designs of circles and lines. Black-tipped weasel tails hung from the top seams of the hood, and beaver ears to help Fox Barking’s hearing were sewn on each side. A row of raven beaks, shiny with oil, dangled just above the parka’s wolverine hem ruff, and as Gull Beak had told K’os, eagle feathers in eye circles hung at each shoulder.

  Fox Barking stood and pulled off his old parka, then slipped on the new. “What wife could do better?” he boasted, and one of the young men called out, “So Anaay, what gift do you give in return?”