by C. S. Bills
“Oh, no,” Rika said. “Ashukat’s looking strange again.”
Tingiyok took Ashukat’s arm and helped him sit.
Attu looked to where Ashukat seemed to be staring. Limoot stood in the shadows behind Kagit, and she was murmuring to herself as she blew on a bowl shaped like a flying raven, filled with smoking herbs. The smell wafted over them as her lips moved. Ashukat shuddered. Attu felt a deep unease edged with alarm. It was as if Limoot called to the Raven Spirit through this smoke. Attu felt a dark power rising with the smoke. It made him feel sick. Ashukat must be feeling it even more. He looked drained of all energy, as if he would pass into the Between of unconsciousness at any moment.
Is this what has been harming Ashukat all along? Was Limoot somehow manipulating the Between of the spiritual world, even around our own camp? Was it possible?
“There is one way you may pay the gifts back, my friends, do not fear,” Kagit spoke as Farnook continued to translate. His voice was oily smooth. He looked down at Ashukat, now pale, clutching his head in his hands, and Attu’s Clan gathered before him, as if he were indeed Raven Himself, and they were tasty bites of meat. “But first we will have the storyteller.” He clapped his hands sharply, twice, and an old man came out from a side door, dressed in black feathers from head to foot.
Attu grimaced. Stories? Now?
Ashukat closed his eyes. Tingiyok nodded and settled himself so he could support his Elder friend. Tingiyok looked ill now as well, but he still seemed alert. Attu was grateful for the old Seer hunter’s presence. He tried to cover his own mouth discreetly, to breathe through his grass garment and filter out some of the smoke. It helped. Around him, the others seemed unaffected by it, except for Rika. She looked dazed.
“The smoke,” Attu whispered. “There’s something in it affecting those of us with Gifts. Breathe through something. And pray to your name spirit.”
Rika nodded and did as Attu was doing.
Attu saw some color come back into her face. She was also studying Limoot, but as they watched, the old woman moved to the side and sat with the other women, the mysterious raven bowl now hidden.
The black-feathered storyteller stood on the raised floor. He opened his mouth and closed it, opened it again, even wider, and cawed. The sound was startling and Meavu giggled, but the Ravens glared at her as if she had committed an unpardonable rudeness, and she covered her mouth and dropped her head.
Farnook stood, slightly to the side of the storyteller, prepared to interpret. The contrast between her rags and the storyteller’s finery made her look even more the slave.
“I am Yakwada,” the storyteller began, “and this is a most ancient tale.” He spread his arms, and his cloak spread with him. The feathers covering it made it look as if he had two great wings. He moved them as if flying, then dropped them to his sides again.
“Once there was a great leader of people. He had a brother who was his shaman. This great leader and his brother, the shaman, were wise leaders. Their people prospered and grew fat. Many were their treasures: more than thirty cedar canoes, six cedar houses, and still they must build more to make room for the many children born, the many possessions the Clan owned.” Yakwada raised his wing-arms again. “The leader and his shaman oversaw rituals and held feasts, giving away many possessions, doing many favors for the Clans living around them, poor Clans, not rich like the leader and his shaman.”
Attu looked at his father. A slight scowl had narrowed Ubantu’s eyebrows, but he remained still.
“The leader and his shaman brother demanded much in return from the Clans around them, as they should,” the storyteller moved his upraised arm across his body, as if including them all in his tale. “This was only right, since their power was great and they kept all the peoples around them safe from any enemy.” He smiled, and the hair on the back of Attu’s neck rose.
All around him, the Raven people nodded.
“But there was one Clan who would not pay the price of belonging. They were the Eagle people. They were proud and said they didn’t need the Raven Clan, their protection or their gifts.”
The Eagle. Kagit had thought our people believed in the eagle like his people did the Raven, and he cut off Farnook’s attempt at further explanation that day by the Raven Tree.
Now he’s trying to use that belief to threaten us, even though it’s not true.
Ubantu glanced at Attu, who realized he had moved to a crouch at this man’s threat. Ubantu shook his head slightly.
Attu slid back down beside Rika.
“The Eagle people grew very poor,” Yakwada continued, “while around them all the other people grew stronger. They were proud, but they were struggling, for the leader and his shaman had the favor of the spirits, and the Eagle people did not.”
Rika clasped Attu’s hand and leaned into him. I’m afraid, she thought to him.
“One day, a young boy of the Eagle Clan disappeared,” Yakwada continued. “The people of the Eagle searched and searched. For the first few days they searched for a living child. After that they searched for some sign of how he had died, for he could not have survived long in the wilderness without protection, for he was very young. But he was never found.”
The storyteller paused, raised his arms again, and cawed. “A few moons passed and then a young woman disappeared. Her mother heard her scream as the mother walked the path from the river back to her cedar house, where she’d gone to fetch fresh water. She’d left her daughter sewing near the front of the house, under the protection of their Eagle spirit totem. She should have been safe there. When she heard her daughter scream, the mother dropped her water pouches and ran to save her. When she arrived, she saw many footprints in the muddy ground and the woman’s sewing items scattered about, but her daughter was gone. She was never seen again.”
Yakwada paused, then continued, speaking so rapidly, Farnook had a difficult time keeping up with her translation. Her face had grown taut with concentration and something else. Fear.
“The footprints that surrounded the place where the daughter had been sewing had not been made by a man, or any other predator the hunters could recognize. They were the footprints of a Giant Raven.”
Some of Attu’s people popped their lips. Attu leaned in, at once shocked and fascinated.
“One moon later, the people of the Eagle Clan saw them. Giant Ravens. Not man, not bird, but something in between. And they were not black, like normal ravens. They were all white.”
“Soshuna Kagit,” the people of the Raven whispered.
“White Ghost Raven,” Farnook said.
“What Paven saw?” Attu whispered to his father.
The people of Attu’s Clan looked at each other. Fear was evident on everyone’s face. Attu signaled to the others, with the slightest hunter’s nod, the door they should try for if they were attacked, the one on the ocean side of the cedar house, which was where most of the Raven women and children were sitting, and few hunters.
“And then the people of the Eagle knew their Eagle spirit had been defeated,” the storyteller continued, “for the Ghost Ravens had become embodied in their land. The leader and his brother, the shaman, had long ago prayed to the Raven spirit, following the rituals and sacrifices Raven required. They had become strong Ravens. And the Raven spirit had rewarded them over the Eagles.”
Yakwada lifted his glossy black wing-arms to the roof of the cedar house and shook them. His whole body trembled. He wrapped his wings around himself.
The Ravens bowed their heads, acknowledging the power of the Raven.
Attu sat ready, his heart pounding. He wanted to fight and flee at the same time. It was all he could do to sit still, but he knew they had to wait this out, see where it led. Around him he saw Ubantu and the other hunters, faces flushed, working to remain calm, also. Even Ashukat seemed alert again.
Yakwada spoke again. “The Eagles gave their most beautiful woman to the shaman for his third wife, and they gave their largest canoe to the leader of t
he Raven Clan. They tore down their totem and a new one was carved and put in its place, with the proper ceremony of... of... sacrifice.”
Farnook had struggled with the word, finally giving up and simply saying it in the Raven Clan’s tongue. Attu noticed several of the Raven hunters leaned forward now, their faces eager.
What does this mean, this word ‘sacrifice’? Whatever it means, it excites the Raven hunters, and apparently, there’s no word for it in Nuvik.
Attu looked to his father.
Ubantu shook his head. “Who knows?” he gestured.
I will have to ask Farnook later to explain what it means.
“Eagle was no longer at the top of the spirit totem,” the storyteller continued. “Raven, with his mighty black wings and sharp beak became the ‘top of the mountain, the Ganhada,’ and the Eagles became part of the Raven’s Clan.”
Yakwada spread his arms again and cawed. In a burst of smoke, he disappeared.
People gasped.
Attu was sitting directly in front of the storyteller, and with his hunter’s eyes, he saw the floor slide open and Yakwada jump down into a hole beneath it. The floor slid shut again, and the smoke hid its movement. The ground underneath the platform must have been dug out so he could fit, Attu realized. But to most of the people, it looked like the storyteller had magically disappeared.
The room was silent. Kagit stood and faced the crowded room, grinning his terrible grin. “You may become part of our Clan, part of the people of the Raven, and bow to me as your leader. The spirit of Raven is strong upon this land, and that spirit demands all who dwell here be of that same spirit. You may show me your good faith in our agreement by gifting me with a woman to be my wife. Any of your women will do.” Kagit grinned again. “Then you will have repaid my people for the gifts I give you this night.”
A roar of surprise and protest rose from the Clans. But Ubantu stood and gestured for his people to be quiet.
Ashukat, a little slower to react, rose also and did the same. He looked to Ubantu, amazement and fear on his face. Tingiyok seemed to sense his friend’s shock and reached out to steady the Elder.
“He doesn’t know what to do,” Rika whispered.
“Father will.” Attu hoped he was right. He felt dizzy again and realized this time it was because he was holding his breath. He let it out slowly. Ubantu looked at him and gave the hunter’s nod.
Good.
“I speak for our people,” Ubantu began. “We are a peaceful people. We do not wish to make enemies of your people. If this is truly your land, as you claim it to be, even though we were here first, we will go. We’ll stay only as long as the ocean remains rough. When the warmer weather comes again, we’ll leave. We have no women to give you. Our women are of our Clan, and we are sworn to protect them. They are not objects to be given away. Each has her own rights, and we count on them to protect us with the fire now and with the spirit battles in the Between after they die, where they are the mighty hunters, not us. We cannot take your gifts. We will go now.”
Kagit continued to grin at them as if Ubantu had not said a word. Attu had never seen anyone so full of himself as this man, this leader who thought he could have whatever he wished and no one could speak against him. It was as if Ubantu had not spoken at all, so little did his words affect Kagit.
Attu’s people followed, rising and picking up their small children. They looked neither to the right or left, but at the wooden floor in front of them, holding their faces still, trying not to show the fear they were all feeling. Even the children were silent, sensing danger and clinging to their parents. Kagit did not speak a word. He didn’t even move. Nor did any of his people. Attu felt dread deep in his bones.
They walked silently out of the cedar house. No one moved to stop them. At the edge of the clearing, Ubantu paused. “Pray to your name spirits that the waters calm, the weather warms, and we can leave this place before the Ravens decide to murder us in our sleeping furs.”
The Clans walked through the dark of night toward their shelters.
“What good does returning to our camp do for us?” one hunter said.
“As if our flimsy pieces of skins and wood could protect us from Kagit and his hunters, should they decide to force us to become part of their Clan. Or, more likely, their slaves,” another added.
Attu felt the hair on his neck rise at the thought of being a slave to Kagit. And he felt sick thinking of how Kagit would treat his mother, or Rika, or any of the other women if they were to attack and kill the hunters of the Clans, removing the women’s protectors. He looked out over the ocean. Huge swells still pounded the beach.
Chapter 17
Attu and Rika stood near the edge of the river. Rika no longer left the camp alone, and the hides needed tending. Rika had sunk a few new ones into the current, holding them in place with some large rocks. Small fish were already gathering, greedily biting off the bits of flesh still clinging to the skins.
“I’ll move the rocks later today, and by tomorrow, the hides will be both softened and cleaned,” Rika said. “This is so much easier than scraping them, and they’ll be smooth and without any bone knife nicks. They’ll just need a sand rubbing and they’ll be ready to sew.”
Rika stepped back from the water, dropping her grass garment to cover her wet legs and stepping into her soft foot coverings again. She shivered.
A scream split the air, high and shrill. “Meavu!” Attu heard Rovek call.
Rika and Attu raced to where Rovek had been fishing with a few other hunters and Meavu had been gathering some late nuts nearby.
Meavu stood in the middle of a small clearing, her mouth open, her eyes glazed.
“What happened?” Attu asked.
Meavu looked at him, her face blank. Rika ran over to Meavu and shook her. “Meavu, what’s wrong? What happened?”
Meavu just stood there, her eyes glazed, her mouth slack.
“Meavu!” Rika shouted at her.
Meavu didn’t even flinch.
Rika shook Meavu by the shoulders and when Meavu still didn’t react, Rika spun her around and hit Meavu between her shoulders with the flat of her palm.
Meavu gasped and burst into tears.
“She wasn’t breathing,” Rika explained before pulling Meavu into a strong hug as the girl sobbed.
“Look,” Rovek said. He walked to the edge of the clearing and lifted a white feather as long as his forearm from where it lay on top of the dried ferns.
“White Ghost Ravens?” Attu murmured as he remembered the storyteller.
Meavu clung to Rika and cried harder.
Rovek walked to stand beside them. “I won’t allow whatever frightened you to hurt you, Meavu,” the young hunter said, his voice low and filled with determination. He placed his hand gently on Meavu’s arm.
Meavu grew still. “I know you won’t,” she said, unshed tears in her eyes making them shine as she looked up into Rovek’s. “Thank you.”
Rovek looked to Attu and Attu nodded. He was a hunter now, and as far as Attu was concerned, no longer a part of Paven’s old Clan, but of Attu’s. Attu knew Rovek would do his best to take care of the women of their Clan, especially Meavu.
They walked back to camp, Rika’s arm still around Meavu, and Attu and Rovek bringing up the rear, weapons at the ready. The other hunters had run ahead to warn the Clans.
A few snowflakes fell as they walked. Here, Tingiyok had explained, snow fell and made everything even more wet and cold before melting and making the ground soggy. Attu had never felt more miserable.
“And Meavu said the large white birds just looked at her. Just stared. They had yellow eyes, she said.”
Ashukat paced back and forth in front of the fire where the Clans had gathered. Tonight he seemed more alert than Attu had seen him in a long time.
“What are we to do?” Ubantu asked. “Can we walk north, along the shoreline? Drag Paven on the sledge and get ourselves out of this place? We can always start over on skin boats
if the water’s too rough to bring them all with us.”
“The shoreline narrows around the bay, just a day’s journey or so. The mountains become steep and fall right into the water. There is no place to walk,” Tingiyok said.
“So we go east,” Attu said, “into the grasslands through the pass, anything to get away from these people.”
“The grasslands this far north are almost barren of game this time of year,” one of the Seer hunters who had remained with them said. “With the light snow here, there will be heavy snow on the other side of the ridge. It can get waist deep at times. It would be suicide to venture out there now, not until the weather warms again.”
“Have you dreamed?” Attu asked Ashukat and Tingiyok. “Could we reach the Seers now, if we moved as quickly as we could, before any more snow falls on the grasslands?”
“No. They are at least a moon’s walk south of us, and there is still snow even there. The Seers are traveling further south than they had thought necessary, to stay with the tusked animals and avoid the huge blizzards of snow that Keanu says are sweeping east of us now. Most animals have fled the winter east of here. She Sees now only through a hawk that is flying in that area.”
“And I’m still dreaming of heading north, of the fiery mountain and a new life,” Attu said. “It makes no sense.”
“I think this White Ghost Raven nonsense is all a trick,” Paven said. He had hobbled out to the fire, leaning heavily on his spear. “The Ravens want us. They want our women. Kagit sees his chance. If he can scare us enough into joining with them peacefully, then he will gain even more status among his hunters and we’ll end up working for the Ravens, little better than slaves.”