Cry of the Wind

by Sue Harrison

  Chakliux walked away from the fire, back toward his lean-to. The men and boys left the storytelling circle. The women banked the fire and also went to their lean-tos. Chakliux had told Star to set their tents at the edge of the camp, had explained that he must be able to watch for wolves and, as Dzuuggi, use his prayers to protect the camp. But in truth, he wanted to be close to the moon blood lodge, to be able to help Aqamdax if some animal came to her as she stayed alone.

  He saw now that she had made a fire outside the lean-to, and he was glad for the warmth and protection of those flames, but still he wished she was his wife, safe in his tent, lying close to his side each night.

  “Look! What do I see?”

  Chakliux turned. Night Man was behind him, his eyes also fixed on the moon blood lodge.

  “They hide in the willow and think no one knows.”

  Chapter Thirty-six

  AT FIRST LIGHT CHAKLIUX left the tent, walked out with his weapons. Star was asleep, and so he had awakened Yaa, whispered that he was going out to be sure the camp was safe. He did not mention the Near River hunters, but knew by Yaa’s round eyes that she understood. He took Biter with him, and together they circled the camp.

  Biter lifted his nose several times, testing the wind, but he did not bark. When in his circling Chakliux came to the moon blood tent, he pursed his lips into a thin whistle. Biter whined, and Chakliux laid a hand over the dog’s muzzle, then Aqamdax crawled outside.

  “We are safe,” she said when she saw him.

  “We?” Chakliux asked.

  “Awl joined me last night.”

  Chakliux looked back toward the camp, saw no movement between the tents. He squatted on his haunches and gestured to Aqamdax with one hand. She crawled from the lean-to, shivering, her arms wrapped around her shoulders. He reached forward to pull up her parka hood, then dropped his hand without touching her. She flipped up her hood, pushing her hair into her face. Her trill of laughter made him smile.

  “Five days?” she asked.

  He knew her question was more about when he would take her as wife than how much longer to the winter village. “Perhaps six,” he said. “Be careful. I will not talk to you again until we get there. Someone saw us in the willow and told Night Man.”

  Fear widened her eyes.

  “Stay in the moon blood tent at night. Call for me if he threatens you.” He handed her a knife, a hunter’s knife, long-bladed. “He killed your son. Do not let him take you.”

  “Chakliux,” she said, and he could hear the tears under her words, “you have other knives? He is more likely to kill you.”

  He patted the sheath strapped to his strong leg, then loosened the neck opening of his parka, let her see the knife inside. He stood, lifted his chin toward Biter. “He is a good dog. He will help me watch.”

  “Keep him close to you, then,” Aqamdax said.

  “No, I brought him for you.”

  “He is Ghaden’s dog….”

  “You think Ghaden will be upset?” He smiled at her, shook his head. “I must go. Be safe.”

  He returned to his own tent, to Star, still sleeping, and to Yaa and Ghaden. He helped them pack their supplies, then sent them off while he woke Star. That way he was the only one to take her abuse for disturbing the dreams she claimed would strengthen their baby.

  Aqamdax and Awl walked on either side of Biter and led their husbands’ dogs, each pulling a travois. At midday, the snow returned, harder and faster than the day before. The wind followed, winter in its breath, and they walked with fur ruffs pulled forward to cover their faces, only their eyes peering out through the tunnels of their parka hoods. The snow was wet, and they had to stop often to break balls of ice from the dogs’ feet.

  Aqamdax wondered if they would stop as early that day as they had the day before, but Chakliux kept them going, and she knew it was because of her. She wondered who had seen them and why that one had told Night Man. Did she have enemies among the women in the camp? Star resented her, but Star, had she seen them, would have fallen upon them herself, most likely with knife in hand.

  They crossed several shallow streams. Aqamdax wore her seal flipper boots, had made sure that Ghaden and Yaa also wore theirs. Though she and Awl walked last in the line of people, Awl’s husband often came back to see that they kept up with the others, and at the streams both he and Sok remained behind until everyone had crossed.

  During that day of walking, her pack heavy on her back, Aqamdax did not see Chakliux. Late in the afternoon Sok told the women they would walk until the sun set. Aqamdax heard their groans, Star’s shrill cry of disagreement, but Aqamdax was glad. The farther they walked, the sooner they would arrive at the winter village.

  By the time the sky began darkening in the east, the snow was no more than a few scattered flakes.

  “We will stop soon,” Awl said, her cheeks dimpling as she added, “Many nights when I lived as slave to the Near Rivers, I dreamed of our winter village.”

  “You know the Near River men burned the lodges after you and the others left?” Aqamdax asked.

  “Yes. The Near River Men boasted of it.”

  “K’os was not foolish, taking all of you to the Near Rivers as she did.”

  Awl shook her head as though to disagree. “During that first moon in the Near River Village, I would have gladly lived in ashes to be back with my own people. Do you feel that way about your Sea Hunters?”

  “I miss them, and I miss the sea,” Aqamdax said. “But I have no family there except for one I call aunt, a storyteller now very old, named Qung. For her, I would go back, except for my brother, Ghaden, and his sister Yaa, and—” Then she stopped herself, for she had nearly named Chakliux. She pretended to adjust the shoulder straps that held her pack, then said, “You see, I have family here among the Cousin River People.”

  “I lost my father in the fighting,” Awl said, “and two summers ago my mother died, and her new baby, but I have Hollow Cup, who is my aunt, and also Night Man and Star. Their grandmother was sister to my grandfather.”

  “You have your husband,” Aqamdax said.

  Awl was quiet for a time, and because her hood was pulled forward over her face, Aqamdax could not tell if the woman was glad or angry. But when Awl finally spoke, her voice was tight, as though she spoke through tears.

  “I could not believe he chose to come with me. Because of him, I almost did not leave. Even when I came into the Cousin hunting camp, my heart felt torn, and I knew a part of my spirit had stayed with him. You think the men will accept him?”

  “Anyone who is not a fool. Besides, Sok and Chakliux are here. They fought with the Near Rivers.”

  “But Chakliux was raised in the Cousin River Village, and Sok is his brother.”

  “That’s true. But Chakliux told me that there are often marriages between the Cousin and the Near Rivers.”

  “Not so much as there were—”

  Awl’s words were interrupted by shouts. Aqamdax stopped, caught hold of Biter’s packs to keep him beside her. At first she thought the people cried out only to celebrate a decision to make camp for the night, but then Aqamdax saw Yaa running back to them.

  “Near River?” she called to Yaa.

  “No, it’s Star,” Yaa said, and gasped for breath. “Chakliux decided we would cross the river ahead, make camp on the high bank at the other side. He was helping the women across, he and First Eagle. They went one at a time, but Star would not wait her turn.”

  “The river took her?” Aqamdax asked.

  “No, she had already crossed and was climbing the steep bank. It’s gravel and slippery, and at the top are balsam poplars. Twisted Stalk said the trees were insulted by Star’s rudeness because she pushed ahead of the elders, but Hollow Cup says the river wants her spirit in exchange for Ghaden, since he did not drown at the caribou camp.”

  “She fell?” Aqamdax asked, shaking her head against Yaa’s many words, her foolish explanations.

  “A limb from the trees fell.�
�� Yaa raised one hand, tapped the back of her head. “Hit her here. She slid into the river, but Chakliux pulled her out. Someone said she was dead.”

  Aqamdax unstrapped her pack, but Awl grabbed the back of her parka. “You cannot go,” she said. “There are enough curses at work here without the power of our moon blood to add problems. Wait and see if Night Man calls you.”

  Aqamdax could not stop the trembling in her hands. She squatted on her haunches beside Biter and buried her face in the thick fur of his neck. She began a soft song for Star, for Chakliux’s baby that grew in Star’s belly.

  THE FOUR RIVERS VILLAGE

  The men shouted out greetings as they came into the village, and Cen was glad he had chosen to hunt caribou this fall rather than make a trading trip. What hunter risked trading meat or fish left from summer until he knew how many caribou he would bring in for his family? And during the fall hunts who was in the winter villages? Only the old women. Who was in the fish camps? No one. It was good, then, to hunt, and to return with full packs to a warm lodge and a strong wife.

  The women met them with trilled songs of celebration, and Cen’s eyes scanned the faces, hidden by parka hoods and a gentle fall of snow. Finally he saw Gheli, the bulge in her parka that was their daughter.

  He wanted to hold her, strong and large, in his arms. He looked forward to a winter in their lodge. Perhaps he would take a dog or two downriver to the Cousin Village with the hope of finding Ghaden, see if they would trade a small boy for the meat that might allow them to live until spring.

  He should have gone before now, but he knew the Cousin men would resent him since he had chosen not to fight against the Near Rivers. In truth, what else could he have done? The first Near River man they had killed—even before the attack—was the shaman. How could Cen have stayed to fight after they cursed themselves like that?

  They would forgive him when he brought them meat in the starving moons of winter. Until then Cen would spend warm nights with his wife, play silly games with the little daughter he had claimed as his own.

  He waited with the hunters until the women finished their songs, then he went to Gheli, saw the smile on her face. The Four River men were more open with their wives than the hunters in many villages, and so Cen pulled her into an embrace.

  She pushed back her parka hood, and he saw his daughter’s round face, dark like her mother’s. She frowned at him, but when he tickled her cheek, she smiled, crinkling her eyes into little half-moons.

  “Cen, it is good you are back.”

  The voice, a woman’s voice, did not belong to Gheli, and Cen felt the chill of it in his bones. K’os.

  She stood beside Gheli, a hand on Gheli’s shoulder. She had pushed her parka hood back to her ears, and her face was as perfect and beautiful as he remembered it, her hair glistening with flakes of new snow.

  He stared and could not look away, saw her as she was when she visited his dreams, warm and lithe under his hands. Then he remembered her also with Sky Watcher and with Tikaani, with all the other men she had pleasured, even when she was wife to Ground Beater. Better to be content with a good wife than always worried over a woman like K’os.

  He glanced at Gheli, thought to see anger or jealousy, but she was smiling.

  “You know K’os?” he asked her.

  “We are friends,” Gheli told him.

  “Friends?” he said, surprised that anyone would consider K’os a friend.

  “I thought you were dead,” K’os said. “All of us in the Cousin Village thought so, even your little son, Ghaden.”

  Cen’s heart squeezed in his chest at the mention of Ghaden’s name. “He is safe, my son?” he asked, and saw the gleam of triumph in K’os’s eyes. She was a trader, better than men who had spent their lives trading.

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  “You have come to this village with your husband?” he asked, turning the conversation away from his son.

  “She needs a husband,” Gheli said. “She is content to be second wife if the man is a good hunter.”

  It was a conversation that should not be spoken in the middle of a village, amidst shouts and songs of celebration, but Cen saw the earnestness in Gheli’s eyes and knew that in some way K’os had managed to win her loyalty.

  He put his arm around his wife’s waist, pressed his lips to her ear, whispered, “I am ready to spend time in my wife’s lodge.”

  He looked at K’os, then said, “You see that man over there?” He lifted his chin toward a young man, tall and thin. “He is Eagle Catcher. He needs a wife.”

  Then, before K’os could answer, Cen pulled Gheli through the crowd of people and took her to their lodge, left K’os standing in the snow.

  THE COUSIN RIVER PEOPLE

  When Chakliux first reached Star, he thought she was dead. She was face down, her upper body in the river. His otter foot slipped on the gravel bank, and he slid until his feet were in the water and he was sitting beside her. He caught hold of her shoulders, pulled her to his lap. First Eagle and Man Laughing picked her up and carried her to the top of the bank. Chakliux followed them, and when they set her down, he knelt beside her, pressed his fingers against her neck. He felt no pulse. Her skin was cold, her lips blue.

  “Star!” he called to her. “Star! If you die, your baby also dies.” He looked up as he said the words, as though to convince her spirit to return to her body.

  She lay still, and he could see no sign that she breathed. He pressed an ear against her breast, listened for a heartbeat, but the noise of the river was too loud. He looked at the faces around him, gestured toward Twisted Stalk, heard her murmur about the greed of the river, taking a soul in exchange for caribou.

  Perhaps she was right, but what good was the woman if her words only added to the river’s power? Who else in the camp knew anything about medicines? They had no shaman to call back Star’s spirit.

  Again he leaned over his wife, whispered about their baby, and prayed that his words would draw her back. Suddenly she coughed, her body jerking in spasms.

  “Her spirit, it tries to return,” Twisted Stalk said.

  Star coughed again, and Chakliux thought he could hear the noise of the river in her lungs. Perhaps if they could get that water out, her spirit would have the space it needed and would go back into her body.

  “You know some medicine to clear her lungs?” he asked Twisted Stalk.

  The old woman shook her head.

  Then Chakliux saw Yaa, her small face pinched and white. “Get Aqamdax,” he said. “She worked with K’os. Perhaps she knows some of the medicines K’os used.”

  He sent First Eagle and Night Man to help their wives with the dogs, then he waited, wondering if he wanted Aqamdax for the medicine she might have or for the comfort she would bring him.

  “Chakliux wants you to come!” Yaa yelled at Aqamdax.

  “Star is alive?” Awl asked.

  “I think so. They need medicine. You’re supposed to cross the river. I’ve crossed it twice. It’s not deep, but the current is strong.”

  First Eagle and Night Man unhitched their dogs and carried each travois across. The dogs followed, all but Biter. He ran up and down the riverbank, then sat, whining. Aqamdax urged him to cross with them, but though the dog waded in a short distance, he turned back and sat on the bank, lifted his nose into the air and howled.

  “Leave him. He will come,” Night Man shouted to them. “He’s crossed rivers before. Wider than this one.”

  His words nearly made Aqamdax turn back, but then First Eagle said, “Chakliux wants you to help Star.”

  She clasped Awl’s arm, grabbed Yaa’s shoulder, and together they crossed over, holding on to one another as the current swept up over their boots to their knees. Aqamdax’s legs grew numb, but she kept her eyes on the river, as though somehow by merely looking she could tame its current.

  The day was nearing its end, the sun just below the horizon, and Aqamdax pushed her hood back from her face, opened her eyes w
ide to let in as much light as she could, but still the river was dark, as though her feet were sinking into black stone. With each step Awl gasped, so that Aqamdax’s heart sped in quick bursts like birds’ wings fluttering in her chest.

  Finally women were reaching for them, and also Chakliux, his hands firm on Aqamdax’s arms. Aqamdax looked back, saw Biter still on the other side. She called to him, but Chakliux pulled her away, the people clearing a path.

  Then she was beside Star, the woman breathing in slow, shallow breaths, her eyes closed, lips blue.

  Twisted Stalk and several others were kneeling beside her. “We have done what we could,” Twisted Stalk said. “You lived with K’os. Do you remember any medicine that clears the lungs?”

  “Marsh marigold,” Aqamdax said quietly. “But I do not have any.”

  Twisted Stalk stood, called out to Yaa. “Daughter, do you know the plant marsh marigold?” Yaa, her eyes fixed on Star, did not speak until Twisted Stalk asked the question again. “Daughter, you did not hear me?”

  “I know marsh marigold,” she said. “But I don’t know where to find it except when we’re at the winter village.”

  “In wet places. It always grows in wet places,” Twisted Stalk said. “There hasn’t been enough snow to kill it yet. You might be able to find some near the river.”

  “Get Sok to go with you,” Chakliux told Yaa. “The sun has set. You shouldn’t be away from the camp alone.”

  Aqamdax lay her hand against Star’s belly, hoping to feel the baby move. Chakliux set his hand beside hers.

  “The baby sleeps,” Aqamdax told him. “Only that. He sleeps.”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  THE NEAR RIVER PEOPLE

  DII SET HER PACK on the ground, shuddered as she heard Anaay bellow at her. “You think I want my tent there? It is wet. Find a better place! I did not bring you to make my life more difficult.”

  She carried a heavier load now that K’os was no longer with them, nearly twice as much as she had carried before, and that day Anaay had given her another of his own packs as well as a caribou hide. She had tied the hide on one of the dogs’ travois, but the added weight pressed the travois down into the tundra, miring it in any wet spot that the snow and cold had not yet hardened.