Cry of the Wind

by Sue Harrison

  She started back toward the village, the hare hanging on one side of her belt, the wolverine, weighing her down, on the other, their bodies bouncing against her sides as she walked.

  She stopped twice on her way out of the forest, once to urinate, the second time at the edge of the woods to call her dog. She did not need him to precede her into the village, start fights with dogs tied to lodges. He came bounding back to her from the trees, and she was surprised at the amount of snow on his coat.

  But when she stepped out into the open, she felt the full force of the wind, saw the snow driven hard before it, and she understood. She waited until a brief lull in the wind allowed her to see the dark shapes of the village lodges, small and dim in the distance, then set herself toward them wrapped her hand into the fur at the dog’s neck and pulled her hood far forward, making a shield for her face. With each step, she plunged her walking stick ahead of her and coaxed the dog forward into the wind.

  Yaa waited at the entrance tunnel. She had known worse storms, winds and snow so heavy that you could not see the lodge closest to yours. She could still see Twisted Stalk’s lodge, and Star’s, could almost make out Aqamdax’s.

  She had dressed in her parka, leggings, boots and snowshoes, was debating with herself as to whether she should go out into the storm and look for Ligige’. Yaa knew where the old woman’s trapline was, but what if Ligige’ had already returned to the village, had decided to stop at another lodge—perhaps even Star’s, to ask if Yaa and Ghaden could stay another night?

  No, she wouldn’t be at Star’s lodge. Yaa had been watching from the entrance tunnel a long time. She would have seen Ligige’ pass this way. Perhaps she was with Aqamdax. But maybe the wind had pushed Ligige’ down into the snow. She was an old woman. She could not survive a day caught in a storm. The thought made Yaa’s heart pound too hard, made her feet anxious to be doing something. She crawled to the inner doorflap, looked in on the two boys.

  “I’m going to see if I can find Ligige’,” she told them.

  “You have to stay with us,” said Ghaden.

  “You shouldn’t go out there in the wind,” Cries-loud said.

  “Stay,” Ghaden begged.

  Biter whined, then snapped out a quick, sharp bark.

  “I’m going,” Yaa said, and let the doorflap fall back into place.

  Then Biter was in the entrance tunnel. “Take him, Yaa,” Ghaden said, peeking in at her.

  She looked at her brother, sighed. “He’ll be a problem.”

  “He’ll bring you back if you get lost in the storm.”

  “I won’t get lost.”

  “Take him.”

  “Biter, come,” Yaa said, and ignored the grin on her brother’s face.

  Ligige’ crouched beside her dog and tried to see through the snow, but it came at her with such force that she could make out nothing except white. Once she thought she saw a dark shape, moving. She called, but no one answered, and she wondered if her eyes felt they must show her something for all her looking, even when there was only snow.

  She had taken her heading toward the village when she left the woods, and she assured herself that she still traveled in the same direction. She stood, her knees protesting, took several wobbly steps, then had to stop.

  She wondered if she should leave the wolverine. It was heavy, and perhaps its spirit was making the wind stronger so she would leave the body near the woods. She tried to untie the babiche that held it, but the snow had made the knot swell. See then, she told herself, it wants to stay with you.

  Suddenly the wind blew with new force, driving the snow so it felt like needles against her skin. The dog stopped, curled itself at her feet, and Ligige’ tripped over him. She pushed him up, forced him on, both hands on his back, her walking stick lost somewhere in the snow behind her. Again the dog stopped, curled; again she forced him to his feet.

  “It can’t be far. We have come a long way,” she said, but the words were lost in the storm.

  She fell before she saw the thicket, recognized where she was as she pushed herself away from the stiff, snow-coated branches.

  She had somehow skirted the village and made her way to the women’s place. On which side did the thicket grow? Her mind seemed as hindered by the cold as her body. The north side. She crawled on hands and knees, heading again toward the village, but her snowshoes caught and her legs would no longer hold her up.

  The dog growled a warning. Some animal was near. Bear? No, not in this storm. Fox? Wolf? Not likely. Animals were wise when it came to storms. It must be a dog. Tainted by living with people, they sometimes did foolish things.

  “Naax!” she called out, a command familiar to village dogs. “Naax!”

  Ligige’’s dog whined and barked. There was an answering bark, and Ligige’ called out again.

  The dog came to her. It was Snow Hawk, one of Sok’s animals. A tether line dangled from a braided collar, and Ligige’ saw that the tether had been chewed. The animal was most likely pregnant, Ligige’ thought. It was not unusual for a bitch with a litter in her belly to chew away her tie line and escape to the women’s place, drawn there by the feces ripe with the smell of caribou meat. Ligige’ crawled toward the dog, held out her hand, let Snow Hawk sniff. Though village dogs often fought, with Snow Hawk female and her own dog male there was less likely to be a problem, and with two dogs to warm her, she might live through the storm. She pushed her way into the thickest part of the alder brush, mounded snow at her back, then called the dogs. Her dog came, curled beside her, but the bitch stood away, the snow almost blocking her from Ligige’’s sight.

  “Snow Hawk, come! We will be warm here together,” Ligige’ said.

  She took off one of her heavy mittens and slipped her fingers up into her parka sleeve. As always when she left the village, she had tucked several thin strips of smoked caribou meat into her parka. It was good meat, cut from the rump and greasy with fat. She hated to give it to a dog, but better to lose a little meat than to freeze to death. She pulled a strip from her sleeve, held it out.

  Snow Hawk growled. Ligige’ was cold and tired, angry with herself for going to her trapline, angry with the dog. Why would she refuse food?

  “Stupid dog,” she muttered. “You stupid, stupid…” She held the meat out, coaxed, moving forward as she spoke, but her snowshoes caught again on something buried in the snow and she pitched headfirst into the drifts.

  She came up shouting curses, but then she saw that she clutched a fistful of bloodied snow. Snow Hawk whined, came to her, began to dig. Ligige’ pushed away the snow, and screamed when she saw Star’s face, white and frozen beneath her hands.

  Chapter Forty-nine

  YAA WALKED FROM LODGE to lodge looking for Ligige’, but no one had seen her. She finally went to Ligige’’s trapline and found the old woman’s trail, snowshoe prints threading among the trees, each print nearly drifted over, but once the trail led beyond the spruce forest, the wind-driven snow covered it.

  Biter huddled at Yaa’s feet, tucking himself so close that sometimes Yaa tripped over him. They fought their way through the storm back to the village, fear growing with each step that she would somehow miss the lodges and walk out into the tundra. But suddenly Twisted Stalk’s lodge loomed before her, dark and shapeless through the snow. Yaa went inside and was welcomed by Twisted Stalk’s niece Dii. They made her drink a bowl of hot broth, then against Twisted Stalk’s advice, Yaa again went out into the storm, again inquired at each lodge.

  When she came to Aqamdax’s lodge, she could no longer hold in her tears.

  “Ligige’ is lost,” Yaa sobbed as Aqamdax pulled her inside and brushed off her parka. “I should have made her stay with us.”

  “You think she would have listened to you?” Aqamdax asked her. “You did what you could. Perhaps she stayed at her trapline.”

  “I was there,” Yaa said, and saw the amazement in Aqamdax’s eyes.

  “By yourself, you went there?”

  “I
have been in worse places,” Yaa said. She saw Aqamdax nod, and knew she was remembering that Yaa had once walked from the Near River winter village to this village, searching for Ghaden.

  “Perhaps even now Ligige’ has returned to her own lodge,” Aqamdax said. “I will go back with you. I think we will find her there.”

  Aqamdax bundled Carries Much into his cradleboard and put on her parka and snowshoes. They swaddled a woven hare blanket around the baby, and Aqamdax carried him in her arms, bending over the cradleboard to protect him from the worst of the storm.

  At Ligige’’s lodge, Ghaden and Cries-loud were playing a game with small marked throwing sticks. The dog burst into the lodge, shaking snow and ice from his fur and scattering the boys’ game.

  Aqamdax interrupted Ghaden’s protests.

  “Ligige’ is not back yet?” she asked.

  “Not yet,” Cries-loud said.

  Ghaden came to Yaa and wrapped his arms around her, then went to Aqamdax and did the same. Aqamdax hugged him and hung the cradleboard from the lodge poles. The baby began to cry.

  “I will feed him,” Aqamdax said to Yaa. “Then I will go out and see if I can find her. Ligige’ is not foolish. She has probably dug herself a cave in the snow and is as warm as we are.”

  “She took her dog with her,” Ghaden said, then draped an arm over Biter’s neck, pulled the dog down to sit beside him.

  “Then she is all right,” Aqamdax said.

  But Yaa saw the pinched look on Aqamdax’s face and was afraid.

  Again Dii heard someone in the entrance tunnel. In a storm most people stayed put in their lodges. It was foolish to be outside. Even to walk from a lodge to a food cache might cost a woman her life. Who had not heard the stories of Cold Girl and Fast Bird Woman? Both had died in storms. Even now you could see Cold Girl, frozen into rock by the storm winds, crouching beside the trail that led to the Grandfather Lake.

  “Perhaps it is Ligige’,” Twisted Stalk said, and Dii hoped her aunt was right. How much chance did an old woman have in such a storm, especially if it lasted two or three days?

  But then Night Man came into the lodge. In politeness, Dii brought him a bowl of broth. They did not have much, she and Twisted Stalk, but they would not starve. The people were generous and would share their meat, but she knew her aunt was a proud woman. Dii would be the one who asked for food if they ran out. Between storms they had been fortunate in their trapping, had brought in at least one hare almost every day, and Awl had promised to take Dii to a place she had just found full of highbush cranberries. Where better to look for ptarmigan, those fat winter-white birds? They would burst so suddenly from their snow burrows, sometimes in groups too large to count, that a woman with a bird net, throwing stick or bola could get enough to feed her whole family. Dii could already taste those birds simmering in Twisted Stalk’s boiling bag or skewered over their fire, dripping fat into the hearth.

  “You are looking for Ligige’?” Twisted Stalk asked, breaking the rules of politeness and not waiting for Night Man, a hunter, to speak first.

  He finished his broth, smacking his lips before he answered her. “For my sister,” he told them. He set down his bowl. “For Ligige’, too, if I see her. But my sister left our lodge before I awoke this morning and has not been back. She is one to visit others and sometimes does not have much sense, even about storms. I thought she might be here with Dii.”

  Twisted Stalk lifted her hands, spread her fingers wide. “She has not been here for two or three days.” She looked at Dii, raised her eyebrows for confirmation.

  “Three days,” Dii said.

  Night Man had not taken off his parka, so Dii began to brush the snow from it.

  “If she comes to you, make her stay here. Do not let her back out into the storm.”

  Twisted Stalk agreed, went with Night Man as he crawled into the entrance tunnel to strap on his snowshoes. Dii stayed inside, wiped out his bowl with her fingers and licked them clean. It was fine for Twisted Stalk to say they would keep Star in the lodge, but Star would rave and whine to have her own way. It would be difficult to make her stay if she did not want to. Ah well, perhaps she would not come. Perhaps in this storm, she had already found her way to some other lodge in the village.

  *

  Aqamdax had just finished feeding Carries Much when Night Man came into Ligige’’s lodge. He came rudely, without scratching, without clearing his throat or calling out, so for a time Aqamdax did not look at him, but instead fussed over the baby in her lap.

  When he finally spoke, she heard the worry in his voice and regretted that she had ignored him.

  “Star has been here?” he asked.

  “Was she here before Yaa and I came?” Aqamdax asked Ghaden and Cries-loud.

  “Not today, not last night,” Ghaden said.

  “Ligige’ went out to check her traplines,” Yaa told Night Man. “She should be back by now. Have you seen her?”

  “No, but an old woman should know better than to do such a thing.”

  His answer was harsh, and Aqamdax knew he spoke out of his worry over his sister, but still she could not hold back her words. “Yaa did not tell her to go. Why yell at her? If Star comes to this lodge, I will be sure to bring her home.”

  “Just keep her here,” he said. He looked at Yaa. “If I find Ligige’, I will bring her back to you.”

  “She has a dog with her,” Ghaden called as Night Man left the lodge.

  Aqamdax put on her parka, laced her boots and went into the entrance tunnel. “I will check the lodges again and then go to the women’s place,” she told Yaa. “Do not go out except to clear the smoke hole or bring in wood, and even then, take Biter with you.”

  At each lodge Aqamdax received the same answer. No one had seen Ligige’ or Star. She saved Bird Caller’s lodge for last, reassured her that Carries Much was safe and healthy, that she had enough milk for him.

  “These storms that have come on us this winter are different,” Bird Caller said. “Perhaps Sok was right about his dead wife calling him. That is why I worry about Carries Much. What if she tries to take him? I wish my husband had stayed in the village. Why risk a hunting trip when the storms follow each other so closely? We have enough meat. What if Sok’s wife tries to call my husband, too?”

  “Sok speaks out of grief,” Aqamdax told her, but the wind that battered against the caribou hide walls of Bird Caller’s lodge seemed to find its way into Aqamdax’s chest and slow her heart with its chill.

  First Sok and Chakliux had left them, then Sky Watcher and First Eagle. Now Star and Ligige’. Did Snow-in-her-hair hope to bring the whole village to live with her in the spirit world?

  THE FOUR RIVERS VILLAGE

  K’os opened the doorflap and was surprised to see Red Leaf standing outside. “I have come to talk to you,” Red Leaf said.

  K’os stretched her lips into a slow smile. “How did you know my husband was gone?” she asked.

  “I have been watching your lodge.”

  K’os motioned for Red Leaf to follow her inside. “River Ice Dancer cannot bear to stay too long in one place. And Fat Mink likes to play at the throwing bones.”

  “You are not afraid he will gamble away all your meat?”

  K’os laughed. “I have ways to get it back.”

  She watched as Red Leaf took off her parka, hung it on a pegged lodge pole. “Where is your daughter, Daes?” she asked, and smirked when she saw Red Leaf cringe at the name.

  “Cen is watching her. I told him I was going to get wood.”

  “I am surprised he let you go out in a storm like this.”

  Red Leaf raised her head as though listening to the wind. “It is better than it was,” she said. “The snow has stopped. Now it is only wind.”

  K’os nodded but said nothing. She did not intend to offer the woman food. Why feign politeness? She knew the reason Red Leaf had come.

  “When will your husband go to the Cousin River Village?” Red Leaf asked.

>   K’os shrugged. “Not in this storm,” she said.

  “There is nothing I could offer to keep him from telling Sok where I am?”

  K’os smiled. It was the first time Red Leaf had admitted who she was. “There is nothing,” K’os said. “He is afraid of a curse. I told you that.”

  “I have thought about what you said. You are right. If I leave with my daughter, we will both die. If I go alone, Cen will come after me.” She raised a hand to brush a strand of hair from her face, and K’os saw the woman’s fingers tremble. “Do you…do you have something…” Red Leaf’s voice broke. “Is there something you can give me that if I eat it, I will die?”

  K’os widened her eyes as though surprised, but she had expected Red Leaf’s request. “You would kill yourself?” she asked, whispering the words.

  “If you have something that will make death seem to come because of illness.”

  K’os looked long into the hearth fire, watched the flames eat the wood. “I might have something. You could not nurse your daughter or she might take the poison through your milk.”

  K’os got up, brought out her river otter medicine bag and took a packet tied with red-dyed sinew, bound with four knots. “It takes only a little,” she said. “It will make your stomach cramp and you will vomit, but there is little pain. If you took only a pinch the first day, then a little more the next…” She pretended to consider, then nodded. “Yes, that would do it, and Cen would believe that you were sick.” She offered the packet to Red Leaf. “Do you want it?”

  Red Leaf reached out, but, like a child playing a game, K’os pulled the poison away. “You think I will give it to you for nothing?” She saw the sudden weariness in Red Leaf’s eyes.

  “You said I have nothing that you want,” Red Leaf answered.

  “Perhaps I was wrong,” K’os told her. “You said you have wolf pelts.”

  “I do. If you want them, they are yours.”

  “For something like this,” K’os said slowly, “it might seem that a few wolf pelts are not enough. Would you give me your daughter?”