The Storyteller Trilogy (114 page)

Aqamdax offered them food and tried not to act concerned when Ghaden and Yaa gobbled their meat and Biter whined more piteously than usual for a share.

She leaned close to Ligige’, whispered, “You think Star has been feeding them?”

Ligige’ pursed her lips. “Not as much as she should. I will try to watch them better. Perhaps Sok can help us, at least until Star will again welcome Chakliux into her lodge.”

“You had not heard that Sok left the village?” Aqamdax asked, then saw the surprise on Ligige’’s face, a quickly hidden look of concern.

“Hunting?” she asked.

Aqamdax looked past Ligige’ to Cries-loud, then said, “Yes, hunting,” and saw that Ligige’ understood. “Chakliux went with him.”

Ligige’ began to ask questions, but Aqamdax shook her head, then said to the children, “When you have finished eating, I have something for you to do. There is much work. You cannot always play.”

Ghaden groaned, and Yaa scolded him, but when Aqamdax brought out the caribou hide, the flesh side well scraped, all three shouted out their gladness and set their food bowls down to lace boots and find mittens.

“Take it to the hill at the east side of the village. The snow should be packed hardest there, and be sure you keep the hide hair side down.”

Their sliding would rub much of the hair from the hide, and she would have less to scrape. When the children were gone, Aqamdax told Ligige’ what she knew, then the two sat together, Ligige’ speaking of everyday things, telling funny stories that made Aqamdax laugh and lifted her heart, if only for a little while.

THE FOUR RIVERS VILLAGE

K’os kicked away the snow at the entrance of Red Leaf’s lodge and called out.

Red Leaf pushed aside the outer doorflap. “I would invite you inside, but my husband forbids me.”

K’os had seen that no one had left the lodge that morning; her own footprints were the first in the new, untrampled snow, but she said, “You think I believe you? Perhaps you do not want to share your food. Perhaps you are that selfish, even after the gifts my husband gave you.”

“You know Cen is here,” Red Leaf said, and looked past K’os at the path she had made with her snowshoes. “No one has left this lodge yet today.”

“You know I have a husband now,” K’os said. “I came only to warn you that he has promised vengeance for me on my son Chakliux. He will soon go to the Cousin River Village, and of course he knows who you are.” K’os shrugged her shoulders. “He has decided to tell Sok that you are here. I tried to reason with him. After all, what harm can come from having you in this village? But he is a man much concerned with curses.”

“I have meat in my husband’s cache,” Red Leaf said, her voice quiet. “Beautiful fox pelts, better than any I have ever seen before, wolf pelts, and a fur seal pelt my husband took in trade….”

K’os tilted her head, looked into Red Leaf’s eyes. “You have nothing I want,” she said. “Now that I have a husband, I do not even want Cen. How sad for you. You had the chance, but now…” She lifted her hands, her mittens spread wide over her splayed fingers.

“Of course, you could hide again, but what chance would your daughter have? It is difficult enough for a child to survive winter in a strong village, let alone with only a mother to provide for her. You could leave the child, but then Cen would wonder why you went. I think he would follow you. I do have a plan that might work for you so at least your daughter could be saved. But go now and be with your husband.” K’os reached out and patted Red Leaf’s shoulder. “Enjoy him and the warmth of his lodge while you can. I will be back later when you and I can be alone.”

She saw the despair on Red Leaf’s face, the fear, and left with a smile hidden inside her cheek. How good that she had come to this village where Cen lived. How wonderful that Red Leaf, too, had found her way here.

K’os allowed her thoughts to drift back through the years to Chakliux’s poor ugly wife, Gguzaakk. That woman, like Red Leaf, had stolen something that in truth belonged to K’os. K’os remembered Gguzaakk’s slow dying, the sickness brought on by poison. She sucked in her cheeks and savored the thought of Red Leaf dying in the same way. Of course, Red Leaf was not as strong as Gguzaakk had been. She would not die so bravely. And who would Cen have to blame for that death except himself, fool that he was to claim a murderer as wife?

THE COUSIN RIVER VILLAGE

Ligige’ stayed with Aqamdax most of the day, and the children, in their sliding, wore the hair from two caribou hides. Aqamdax and Ligige’ staked the first hide hair side up over a portion of the lodge floor, then scraped and smoothed the hide with bone drawknives and sandstone.

When the shadows grew long, Aqamdax called the children inside. Wolves would be out on a warm day after a storm, and what was easier to catch than a girl or boy in deep snow?

When Cries-loud begged to go with Yaa and Ghaden to Ligige’’s lodge, how could Aqamdax refuse him? His face was pink and glowing, and his eyes danced. Could she ask him to return to the fear and emptiness he had endured the night before? Ligige’ reached out to touch Aqamdax’s cheek before they left, and Aqamdax felt the trail of her fingers like a smooth path through her pain.

“You will be all right here alone?” Ligige’ asked.

Aqamdax forced a smile. “I am not alone,” she said, and nodded toward the cradleboard. Carries Much was awake, his dark eyes a brightness in the shadows of the lodge.

“Aaa, babies are good company,” Ligige’ said, “but much work.”

“Today I am glad for busy hands,” Aqamdax told her.

Then they were gone, and Aqamdax was left alone with Carries Much in Sok’s lodge. How strange, she thought, remembering back to the first few moons she had lived with the River People. She had been Sok’s wife then, had hated him, and did not yet understand that she was growing to love Chakliux. Then, she would have welcomed time alone.

She went back to the caribou hide she and Ligige’ had been scraping, and as she worked she sang to Carries Much. Her song took her back to the warm earthen lodges of her childhood, and her voice filled the emptiness so it seemed that many were listening.

She closed her eyes, thought of those days when she was a storyteller for her people. Then her lodge was crowded, and everyone was eager to hear her words. Now, only the wind listened, waiting at the smoke hole. Aqamdax raised her voice until her song was loud enough to reach the top of the lodge so the wind could hear and would not be tempted to come closer, squeezing in through awl holes and lodge seams to sit with her near the hearth fire.

A
T THE FIRST HINT
of dawn, Ligige’ left her bed and slipped into her outside clothing. She sighed at the sound of the wind. What a difficult winter it would be if the storms continued to come one after another. At least their caches were full.

She woke Yaa, asked her to make sure the boys did not go far from her lodge, then told her that she would check her snares, reset them, though that was probably a useless thing to do with a storm so near.

“I will not be gone long.” She lifted her head toward the top of the lodge. “You hear the wind?” she asked.

“With wind like that you should not go,” Yaa said.

“I set my snares close to the village,” Ligige’ told her. She finished strapping on her snowshoes and went outside. Yaa followed her.

“You are taking a dog?” Yaa asked.

Ligige’ pointed with her chin at her dog, standing now, stretching his tether to its full length.

“If you do not come back soon, I will go out after you.”

“No, you will not,” Ligige’ said. “You will stay here with your brother and Cries-loud. Better to keep two young hunters safe than worry about an old woman.”

Ligige’ gave the dog a chunk of dried fish, then untied him. He gulped the fish down whole and followed her from the village. The wind was already strong and coming from the east, though the snow was light.

Ligige’ walked toward the spruce woods. When she reached the trees, their branches and shadows darkened the dim morning light, but she was glad for their shelter from the wind. She walked to the sunken area that in spring held a marshy rivulet. She had set her snares there in the narrow trails that wove patterns through the brush. She trapped one half of the rivulet, Twisted Stalk the other. The two oldest women in the village should not have to walk far to set their traplines, Chakliux had decided when dispute for the area arose among Twisted Stalk, Ligige’ and Star.

Ligige’’s first trap held a fat hare, limp and dead, strangled by the sinew noose that had caught it.

Ligige’ removed the hare, reset the noose, then went on down her line. The snares were empty until she came to the last. When she saw what she had trapped there, she dropped her walking stick, held both hands over her mouth.

She backed away, took a long breath and picked up her stick. She slapped it into the snow and cried out, “You, caught there in my trap. You parka hood ruff, why do you visit an old woman? You know I cannot kill you. You know I cannot end your suffering. Do you think I am so foolish as to bring such a curse on myself?”

She slapped her stick again, and then noticed that the animal did not move. Could it be dead? But how could a snare set for hares catch something as powerful as a wolverine? What animal had a stronger spirit? Not even the black bear demanded more care and respect. She did not want to get too close. Perhaps it only slept. Perhaps it pretended to be caught, using itself as bait in a trap to catch her. Then what chance would she have, old and brittle as she was? A wolverine could snap her legs in two quick bites. She took a step closer, extended her walking stick, poked the animal and quickly jerked the stick away. The wolverine still did not move.

She went closer, poked again. Her dog whined, tucked his tail and tried to slink away.

“Stay!” Ligige’ demanded. “It is only a parka ruff. Only a few teeth for a necklace. A tail for Ghaden to sew to his belt, something to help him run fast. You are afraid of that?” But she trembled once she had spoken. What was the matter with her? She was old and still could not control her tongue. What if she had offended the animal? She muttered a chant, thought of a praise song she had once heard about a wolverine, but when she started to sing it, she could not remember all the words.

Perhaps she should leave the animal, go get some man to bring it to the village. But who? Sok and Chakliux were gone, and who could trust Night Man, Man Laughing or even Take More to carry the proper respect? She might ask Sky Watcher or First Eagle, but they were young and her choice of them over the others would be seen as an insult. Besides, Ghaden or Cries-loud, one of the two, had said Sky Watcher and First Eagle were away from the village, hunting.

Finally she cut the line, took the wolverine, noose and all, and tied it to her belt. She sat on her haunches then, spliced another line of sinew, tied it into a noose and fastened it to small sticks set on either side to keep the sinew loop open.

She stood up, but the cold kept her knees bent, and she had to take several steps until she was steady on her feet. “There, home now,” she said to the dog.

He whined at her but lifted his ears, hurried away from the snare line, angling into the woods. She almost called him back, then thought better of it. Let him go. He shouldn’t walk the snare line more than necessary, leaving his dog smell. Besides, the wind did not seem any worse, nor the snow. She would have left him at home had she not feared a storm.

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.