Cry of the Wind

by Sue Harrison

  “Did you see Aqamdax?” Yaa asked as she hung up Ligige’’s parka.

  “I saw her.”

  “She is well?”

  “She is well.”

  “And Night Man?”

  “Aaa, child,” Ligige’ said, “you ask too many questions.” She smoothed a blanket over her bedding mats and lay down.

  Yaa went first to Sok, found him alone in Star’s lodge, the hearth fire sputtering without enough wood to make it burn well. The bottom of the boiling bag was charred, the smell of burnt caribou hide thick in the air. She went out into the entrance tunnel—at least he had stacked up a good supply of wood—and brought back several sticks to feed the fire. Then she studied the boiling bag, considering what she could do.

  It was too badly damaged for use, she decided, the hide too weakened to hold anything. She sorted through the supplies on the women’s side of the lodge and found a new boiling bag, removed the ruined one and hung the new bag from the tripod.

  Sok had lifted his head when she entered the lodge, but he said nothing to her, and as she worked, he continued to smooth a spear shaft, his eyes staring through her as though she were not there.

  “It’s better to keep the bag away from the fire,” Yaa told him. “Just put hot rocks into it. It will last longer. But if you do set it over the hearth, you have to keep water in it, as high as the flames, or the bag will burn.”

  Sok suddenly seemed to notice her. He blinked, then rubbed his eyes with the balls of his thumbs.

  “Ligige’ is back,” Yaa said to him.

  She thought he almost smiled.

  “She is alone, and her nose is broken.” Yaa raised a hand to finger her own nose, short, but humped as her father’s had been. She had admired her father’s nose, was glad she had one like it, and wondered if hers would grow as large as his had been. “Her dog is dead.”

  Sok looked at Yaa as though he could not quite understand what she said.

  “She went to bed, but she wants to talk to you,” Yaa told him.

  “Now?”

  Yaa shrugged. “I think so. I have to get Take More and Dii. Then I can come back and make some soup for you, unless Dii wants me to stay with Long Eyes.”

  “No,” he told her. “I eat and sleep at the hunters’ lodge. I am here only a part of each day.”

  His words were slow, as though he thought about each one before saying it, but Yaa was not surprised. The old women said that he had only half his spirit since Snow-in-her-hair had died, and now with Chakliux dead… Yaa felt tears gather in her throat, and she cleared them away so they would not choke her.

  She had lost many people in her life. First her father, then her mother, now Aqamdax and Chakliux. But no matter how many people died, she would not lose her spirit like Sok had. Not even part of it. She would stay strong. Otherwise, who would take care of Ghaden and Ligige? Who would go on walks with Cries-loud and listen to him when he talked about his worries and dreams?

  She left Sok, found Take More, then went to Dii’s lodge. Dii met her in the entrance tunnel.

  “Sok already came and told me,” Dii said. “Will you stay with Long Eyes?”

  Yaa crawled into Dii’s lodge. The place was filled with the warm smell of meat and was cheerful with light from the hearth fire. Long Eyes sat as she usually did in a nest of bedding furs, a string of sinew dangling from her fingers. The caribou hide of her leggings was bare and dark over one thigh where she rubbed the sinew to twist it.

  Yaa took off her parka and hung it from a peg, greeted Long Eyes, then teased away several strands of sinew from the chunk lying at Long Eyes’s side. Yaa began to rub the strands between her palms, and thought of how well she had done, keeping Ligige’’s lodge while Ligige’ was away.

  The first day, she had burned some meat, but she had made the boys eat it anyway. She had kept the fire going and shook out the bedding furs, had almost finished a pair of boots for Ghaden.

  Long Eyes began to mutter, a familiar rhythm that Yaa could not quite place. A song, she decided, something she should know. It battered at her mind like a riddle until she pushed it away with thoughts of Cries-loud.

  I will be a good wife to him, she told herself, and as she worked, she began to smile.

  “He killed my dog,” Ligige’ said, “and he would have killed Aqamdax. You think I could let him live?”

  Sok stared at her. In his surprise, he could think of no response, but he realized that Ligige’ had mistaken his silence for accusation.

  “Aunt,” he finally said, “you did what had to be done. I will keep his widow’s cache full.”

  He nodded at Dii. Her face was pale, her eyes large.

  “Where is the body?” Take More asked. Then, before Ligige’ could answer, he said, “How did you kill him?”

  “The body is there at the hunters’ spring. I burned it in Aqamdax’s shelter. Perhaps someone can go and get the bones.”

  “I will get them,” Sok said. “Tomorrow, I will go, in the morning.”

  “Aqamdax?” Dii asked.

  “I told her to travel to the Grandfather Lake,” Ligige’ said, “but who can say if she did?”

  “Who can say if she is alive?” Take More said.

  Ligige’ hissed her disgust. “Aqamdax is alive!” she spat out.

  “She needs to come back to this village,” said Sok.

  Dii shook her head. “Many of the old women still think she was the one who killed—”

  “They are fools, those old women,” Sok told her.

  “It is easier for them to believe Aqamdax is the killer since she is Sea Hunter,” said Dii, “than to believe someone from this village did it.”

  They spoke together for a long time, until finally Take More decided to go to the hunters’ lodge and tell whoever was there what had happened to Night Man. “So,” he said to Ligige’ as he was leaving, “you did not yet tell us how you killed him.”

  “You see what he did to me,” she said, raising her hands to her face. “Then he killed my dog.” She shook her head at the memory. “I killed him with his own spear. That is how I killed him. A spear in his neck.” Then she settled herself into her bedding furs. “Now go away,” she said, “and let me sleep.”

  Ligige’ slept through the day and into the night. She awoke to a sound at her lodge door, shook herself awake. Who was fool enough to come here in the night? By now the whole village knew what had happened. She was an old woman. Did they think she could live without sleep?

  Surely there was no one who would seek revenge for Night Man’s death. But the thought chilled her bones, and she wrapped herself in a hare fur robe, took her walking stick and used it to push aside the inner doorflap.

  “Who is it?” she called.

  She saw from the corners of her eyes that all three of the children were awake. Ghaden and Cries-loud had already left their beds, and Biter was crouched at Ghaden’s feet, growling.

  Ligige’ cried out, dropped the stick, and rushed into the entrance tunnel.

  “Aqamdax, it has to be,” Yaa said and almost knocked the boys down as she ran across the lodge. Suddenly she was backing away, eyes huge, hands over her mouth.

  As Ghaden turned to grab a weapon, Cries-loud shouted, “Chakliux!”

  Then all three children were in Chakliux’s arms, and he was smiling, in spite of the sorrow in his eyes.

  “My brother,” he said softly, mouthing the words as he looked down at Cries-loud, the boy with his head on Chakliux’s shoulder.

  “Sleeping in the hunters’ lodge,” Ligige’ told him.

  Chakliux’s mouth dropped open. “He came back? He came back here…to the village?” He shouted out in laughter. “He is not hurt? He is…”

  “He is sad,” Ligige’ said, “and worn out from his grieving, but when he sees you…”

  Her words caught on a sob, and Yaa said to Chakliux, “Sok thought you were dead. He came and told everyone—” She stopped and, with her eyes suddenly wide, asked, “You aren’t dead, a
re you, Chakliux?”

  “I am alive, Yaa,” he said quietly. Then he rubbed a hand over his face, and Ligige’ saw how tired he was.

  “I have food,” she said, and scurried toward the hearth.

  “No,” said Chakliux, “I must go to my wives. I stopped at Aqamdax’s lodge, but she was not there. I thought perhaps she had decided to live here with you while I was gone. I did not go yet to Star, but—” He saw the look in Ligige’’s eyes, stopped. “Aunt,” he said softly, “where are my wives?”

  Chapter Sixty-four

  THE NEAR RIVER VILLAGE

  K’OS STOOD AT THE ridge that ringed the Near River Village and looked down on the well-made lodges. Woodpiles were stacked high, and banks of snow pressed against the lodge covers to protect against winter winds.

  She heard a rill of laughter, and three boys ran out from between two caches, each brandishing a stick. Their game carried them through the village and earned them a scolding from one of the grandmothers at the cooking hearths. K’os smiled. How good to return to this place, not as Gull Beak’s slave but as River Ice Dancer’s widow. Silently she counted the lodges: five handfuls, another five handfuls; fifty, at least. And how many warriors in each? One, two? Sometimes more.

  The walk had been difficult. Her lips had split and bled in the cold; her fingers were so bent and swollen that she could hardly fasten the travois straps. She needed a warm fire and some goosefoot and willow bark tea.

  She called the dogs forward and led them to the elders’ lodge. The battle between the Near River and Cousin People had cost almost all the old men in this village their lives. Only Sun Caller, that stutterer, and Fox Barking had survived, and, of course, Giving Meat, but his mind was less than that of a child. Surely by now Dii had killed Fox Barking, and probably been killed in return by the Near Rivers. Pity. She had been an interesting companion.

  K’os hoped that the middle-aged hunters of the village had taken their places as elders. Of those men, there were only a handful she had not pleasured when she was a slave. Wolf Head, River Ice Dancer’s father, was one she had not yet taken to her bed, but he was her best chance for revenge. In his sorrow, she would win him to her cause. They would avenge River Ice Dancer’s death at the Four Rivers Village, then, with their success giving them strength, would go and finish off the Cousin People.

  K’os removed her snowshoes, tied them on the travois, and stepped into the entrance tunnel. She brushed the snow from her parka and leggings, pushed back her hood and used her walking stick to scratch at the inner door. She recognized Sun Caller’s voice as he stuttered out a welcome.

  K’os had spent much time considering a greeting that would establish her place in the village and put thoughts of revenge into the minds of the Near Rivers, but when she entered the lodge, she stood with her mouth open, her fine words forgotten. Ringing the hearth fire, each sitting in a place of honor, were the old women of the village—Vole and Blue Flower, Lazy Snow and Three Baskets. Two others sat on either side of Giving Meat, feeding him as though he were a child, one wiping his chin with a scrap of grass matting. Beside them was Sun Caller.

  He nodded at her, opened his mouth to speak but could not get his first word past his tongue. He lifted his chin toward the woman at the back of the fire, the place given the chief elder. The hearth smoke was a cloud that blocked K’os’s vision, and so she took a step to the side, then stopped in disbelief. The chief elder was Gull Beak.

  THE GRANDFATHER LAKE

  Aqamdax had worked long into the night setting up her tent, digging the fire pit and lining it with stones. She had arranged her packs and Snow Hawk’s travois across the open side of the lean-to in the best way to protect against wind. She banked snow high on the sides of the tent walls. Finally, she had allowed herself to sleep, but her dreams were full of her dead baby, living now somewhere in the Grandfather Lake, and when she awoke, she was not sure where she was.

  She listened for Carries Much, his early-morning cries for milk, then she felt the soft emptiness of her breasts, and suddenly the blackness of her grief broke over her. She turned her head into her bedding furs and wept. Chakliux was dead. Her son was dead. Ghaden, Yaa, and Sok’s sons were all lost to her. She cried first in sorrow, then in anger—at Night Man, at Sok and at Snow-in-her-hair, at Star and the one who had killed her, even at Chakliux for leaving the village to go with Sok. She cried until her throat was raw, and when she had used up all her tears, she lay still and spent, breathing hard, as though she had run a long way.

  Then in her mind she heard the quiet voice of the old First Men storyteller Qung. The tale was one that Aqamdax knew well, about a young woman who had been sold as a slave by her brother, a woman who had found her way back to her people by walking the shores of the North Sea. Aqamdax began to repeat the words, first in a whisper, then more loudly. She sat up and began to pitch her voice differently for each of the people and animals in the story, sometimes bringing the words from her throat in the way Qung had taught her, so it seemed that they spoke from outside the tent, or from the hearth or a tree. How long since she had told stories in such a way?

  She had been forbidden to do so in the Near River Village when the shaman decided her story voices were a threat to his own powers. And in the Cousin River Village, she had told her stories mostly to the children. Now, here at the Grandfather Lake, she was alone, telling stories with no one to listen.

  Then suddenly she felt the smallest flutter, like a feather brushing inside of her belly. She held her breath. The baby? No, she told herself, it was too soon. Then she felt it again, the lightest touch, less than a breath of wind. She smiled and continued her story, twining her fingers over that little one who listened from beneath her heart.

  THE COUSIN RIVER VILLAGE

  Chakliux stood in the sacred woods and stared at the death scaffolding. She was there now, Star and that daughter they had made together. Star had not been a good wife, and his life would have been easier without her, but his mourning for her had somehow tangled itself into his remembrances of his first wife, Gguzaakk, a woman he had loved. And his sorrow at losing Star’s little daughter seemed to renew his anguish at the loss of the son Gguzaakk had borne him, and that baby Night Man had killed.

  Had his prayers and chants, his willingness to fight for Sok’s life, not lifted the curse he had brought upon himself and Aqamdax? What good were those rituals, and even the stories he had learned as Dzuuggi, if they could not give a man the chance to live each day anew? Was there nothing stronger than those spirits that seemed to find joy in destroying a man’s life?

  “So then,” he cried out, lifting his voice beyond the bones of the dead, shouting to be heard above the trees that protected Star’s body, “if there is one out there, some spirit who is great enough to lift the curse I have brought upon myself and my family, then I ask your help in finding my wife Aqamdax.”

  He waited but felt nothing except the darkness of his despair, the fear that he had lost more than even those he now mourned. He made a chant for the dead and turned back toward the village. After a night of sleep, he would go look for Aqamdax, and he would not return until he found her or her bones.

  He started back, cutting across a clearing he had skirted on his way to the death platform, leaving a trail marked by the webbed circles of his snowshoes. Then suddenly a flock of ptarmigan, their winter plumage as light as the snow, broke up through the crust of white and rose into the winter sky. Chakliux thought of a riddle he had learned as a child.

  Look! What do I see? White hidden by white.

  Then he asked himself, “Why do you think everything should be easy to understand? Have you forgotten that the gift of each riddle is its unraveling?”

  And as he walked back to the village, he prayed for the vision to see what was hidden, for the wisdom to understand the riddles that bound his life to the earth and the prayers that would open his eyes to the truth.

  THE NEAR RIVER VILLAGE

  “I come as wife, not slave,” K
’os said.

  Gull Beak raised her eyebrows. “Anaay told me he would take you as wife sometime during the caribou hunt. Where is he?”

  But before K’os could answer, Blue Flower asked, “And that other wife he took, the Cousin woman, where is she?”

  “I do not know,” K’os told them, and tried to hide her confusion. Was Fox Barking still alive, then, or had Dii somehow been able to hide his death? K’os nearly smiled. Perhaps the girl was more cunning than she had thought. “I was one of those women who left the hunting camp and returned to my own people,” she said. “There are men in this village who can tell you that.” She lifted her chin at Sun Caller. “My son Chakliux bought me from Anaay.”

  Gull Beak snorted. “You think, then, that we would consider you no longer a slave? A Cousin woman owned by a Cousin man? You are less than a slave.”

  The other women murmured their agreement. Anger rose bitter in K’os’s throat, and when she spoke again, her words seemed honed by the edges of her teeth. “Perhaps that is true,” she said, “but there is something more. As I told you, I was wife. A man of this village paid a bride price for me.”

  “Who?” Gull Beak asked.

  “River Ice Dancer,” said K’os, and watched as the women looked at one another.

  Sun Caller coughed, and Gull Beak’s face was suddenly pinched and white.

  “We left the Cousin River Village together, my husband and I,” K’os said, “and we went to the Four Rivers Village. We had lived there only a little while when someone in the village killed him. I had taken medicine to a sick woman and stayed with her for the night. When I returned to my lodge, my husband was dead, killed with a knife. There are Four Rivers men who claim close ties to the Cousin River People. I think one of them killed him. I came here to find my husband’s father, Wolf Head, and plan vengeance on those who took my husband’s life.”

  The women began to murmur among themselves, and Sun Caller stammered out a few words of polite concern, but K’os lost patience with them. What group of women, in making a decision, ever acted quickly? They could spend days debating whether or not anyone in the village should help her. So without giving Gull Beak a chance to reply, K’os left and led her dogs to the fine strong lodge where Wolf Head lived with his two wives.