The Storyteller Trilogy (171 page)

The old woman opened her mouth in a smile. “Aaa, long ago I had a slave who taught me much,” Gull Beak said, her voice too loud. “What use will my knowledge be if I die without passing it on? But there is much I do not know.”

“It will be a beginning for her,” Dii said to Ghaden. “But you will have to help your wife learn our language, and learn quickly.”

“She speaks it.”

“How so?”

Ghaden paused. He did not want to mention K’os, not even the fact that Uutuk’s mother was River. There would be too many questions, but then he smiled and turned that smile on Chakliux as well. “She’s a storyteller,” he said, “and sometimes translates for the River and the First Men at the Traders’ Beach so they can understand each other.”

He saw a softening in Aqamdax’s eyes. She arched her brows at her husband as though daring him to question Ghaden’s choice.

“She comes to you, my sister, with a message from Qung,” Ghaden said, and though he knew his words would bring Aqamdax joy, he was not prepared for the sudden tears, her choked voice as she asked, “Qung is alive? She is well?”

“She is well,” Ghaden answered, “and has taught my wife several new stories for you.”

Then Aqamdax, as though she had never left the First Men, covered her face with her hands, forgetting that she was a River wife and should hold in her tears until she was alone in her lodge.

Though Sok was still glowering at Ghaden over Dii’s head, Chakliux said, “Your wife is welcome. Did you leave her alone somewhere? Most First Men women would be frightened in our forests.”

“She’s with her mother,” Ghaden said. “I’ll go and bring her to the village tomorrow.”

Chakliux lifted his chin toward Seal. “Let him stay if he wishes. Is he hunter or trader?”

“Trader.”

“Tell him that once his daughter is here, we’ll have a day of mourning to remember your father, but then we’ll be glad to make trades. Will he and his wife spend the winter with us?”

“Perhaps here or at the Four Rivers village,” Ghaden said. “He plans to return to his own people in the spring.”

“Then he has a long time to trade. Ask him to join us for food in our lodge. He’ll be happier, I think, with people who speak his language.”

Chakliux turned and said something to Aqamdax, who hurried away. Those who had gathered also left, except for a few of the older women who stood together with hands cupped around the edges of their mouths, whispering, no doubt, about the wife Ghaden had married. Most of the old ones would not be kind to her. He remembered how he and Yaa and Aqamdax were treated when they first came from the Near River village to live among the Cousin People. But the old women had gradually become used to seeing them, to hearing their voices, and finally had accepted them. It would be the same for Uutuk if he could keep K’os a secret.

Thoughts of K’os brought her request to his mind, and he hissed out his apprehension. Things were no better between Yaa and Cries-loud.

He and Cries-loud often hunted together, but not as partners. Ghaden did not trust the man enough for that. Cries-loud was strange. He often disappeared into the woods for long days and nights, hunting, he said, though there were times when he came back with nothing at all, even in the fall when the forests and tundra were blessed with summer-fat game.

Yaa, gifted at all things a woman should do well save having children, could not always pull Cries-loud from his dark moods. Surely it did not help that every baby she gave her husband had died, the last just before Ghaden left for the Traders’ Beach.

It was difficult to know a man who seldom joined in the jokes and laughter that hunters and warriors share, who did not often speak out his ideas or thoughts. Ghaden wished K’os had asked for someone else, but maybe she understood Cries-loud, for it seemed to Ghaden that K’os herself was also given to dark moods. Perhaps for that reason she believed that Cries-loud would not betray her to a village of people who would rejoice more in her death than in her life.

“Are you coming?”

The question pulled Ghaden from his thoughts, and he looked up into Chakliux’s face, saw the softness in the man’s eyes, and knew that Chakliux, too, mourned Cen. “I lost my father when I was just a little younger than you,” he said. “The pain will lift, but slowly. The best mourning is to live a good life.”

Ghaden called Seal to join them, and they walked to Chakliux’s lodge, where Aqamdax waited for them. Aqamdax had three strong sons and three daughters. The youngest daughter was asleep in a carrying board hung on one of the lodge poles; the oldest son, Angax, a boy who looked much like Chakliux, worked on a spear shaft settled on his crossed legs.

The lodge was filled with the smell of meat cooking, and Aqamdax and Chakliux soon had Seal telling stories about his life as trader among the First Men.

Ghaden sat with a niece on his lap and discussed hunting with Angax. Tomorrow he would bring Uutuk to this good place. He could imagine no greater happiness, save if his father were alive and here with them as well.

Cries-loud thrust out his lower jaw and said, “Your brother was never lauded for his wisdom.”

Yaa ducked her head and did not answer, though Cries-loud knew that she had been gifted with as sharp a tongue as ever lived in a woman’s mouth. The only good was that she seldom used her words against him, and this time was no exception. But after all, how could she answer?

Ghaden’s foolishness was legend in this village. He had managed to get himself nearly killed by a brown bear; he had kept a dog in his lodge as though it were a child. Even before he was to the age of remembering, he had drawn evil down on himself and his mother.

“Why bring a wife into a village that has too many women already?” Cries-loud said. “He could have had a good River wife, without even paying a large brideprice. I expect that First Men fathers get much in trade goods for their daughters.”

Yaa lifted her hands as though to concede, and Cries-loud was suddenly ashamed. Why blame Yaa? A sister did not have the power to change the choices her brother made. But more words of derision jumped from Cries-loud’s mouth, as though there were some spirit in his throat that spoke for him.

“He’s a fool. He talks about visiting the Four Rivers village, perhaps spending the winter. He should stay here, he and his new wife. At least he could help feed our people.”

Yaa turned her back, busied herself with caribou packs. He could tell by her stiff, jerky movements that she was upset, and he waited, hoping she would say something. He carried a heaviness in his chest that seemed to lift only when he exhausted himself hunting, or when he became mad enough to set his heart racing. He was close to that degree of anger now, but he needed Yaa to fight against him, otherwise his anger merely dissolved into disgust.

Yaa said nothing.

Cries-loud watched her for a moment, then asked, “What are you doing?”

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

“I just ate. You know that.”

He strode over and stood behind her. When they were young, he and Yaa had been nearly the same size. It gave him pleasure now to look down on her, to see how small she was compared to him. Her neck suddenly seemed so fragile, a pale V of skin between her dark braids. He stroked a finger down the part at the back of her head. She jerked, suddenly still and alert, like an animal, frightened and wary.

Her reaction angered him. He had never hurt her, had never set his hand against her, even when they fought.

“What are you doing?” he asked again.

“Counting,” she said. “You made me lose my place.”

“Counting?”

“We’re to have a mourning for Ghaden’s father. You heard Chakliux say that, nae’? I want to give a share toward the feast that will follow.”

Cries-loud grunted. There were better ways to use their meat, but how could he refuse to give for a feast that Chakliux would most likely host?

“Go talk to Dii, see what she plans to give. Be sure not to give more. I don’t want to shame my own father.”

He saw Yaa’s face turn dark. He had insulted her. Every wife knew not to outgive her husband’s father, unless the man was old and unable to hunt; then the son’s gift was also considered to include the father’s.

She set the food pack down and left the lodge, did not look back or speak any politeness in leaving. For a moment, Cries-loud thought about going after her, forcing her back into the lodge until she acted as a respectful wife should, but then he sighed and sat down. She was more trouble than she was worth.

He pulled several arrow shafts from a sheath. He had tied them together so that as they dried they would keep one another from warping. He loosened the bands and studied each shaft, holding it horizontally to sight along the length. Each was straight, so he found a bit of sandstone to smooth the remaining rough spots.

He heard someone in the entrance tunnel, set aside his work, and stood, sure it would be Yaa. But it was his father’s wife, Dii. Like all tunnels into winter lodges, his was slanted down, then up to make a small valley. That way cold air would settle into the lowest section and not get to the heated lodge. Some tunnels were tall enough for a man to stand in a crouch, but he and Yaa were young and did not mind crawling, so when Dii came into the lodge, she was still on hands and knees.

She jumped quickly to her feet, brushed her palms against her hips, and set her mouth into a grimace. She had good teeth, small and even, scarcely worn from the chewing of hides all women must do. With her pointed chin and large eyes, she reminded Cries-loud of a fox ready to attack, and it was all he could do not to lift a hand to the sheathed knife he wore hung at his neck.

“You’re not very kind to your wife,” she said to him.

“Is she whining to you?” he asked.

He liked Dii, though she seemed more sister than stepmother. When she had first come to them as Fox Barking’s widow, he had seen the strength in her, and that strength had only grown since she had married his father. It could not have been easy being wife to a coward like Fox Barking, but Dii had always presented herself on her own merits. She was a good wife to Sok, though not as talented with needle and awl as Cries-loud’s mother had been. But what husband would complain about that when his wife had been given the gift of caribou dreams? To his knowledge Dii had never been wrong when she told the hunters where to find caribou.

But she was also a woman who almost always took Yaa’s side in any argument. Cries-loud wished she were more like Aqamdax, who turned her head at harsh words, as though they had not been said. He thought of Ghaden’s new wife. She was First Men like Aqamdax, and so perhaps was more quiet. How could Cries-loud fault the man for wanting a woman like that? He would trade Yaa any day for a soft-spoken wife, had even considered throwing her away and taking several of the oldest women in their village as wives, hoping that in their gratitude, they would live without complaining. But then how would he get children? Old women were no good for breeding. Of course, in all the years they had been married, Yaa had had no luck in making healthy babies. They had lost three sons and a daughter. Some curse was in her.

“You know your wife does not whine,” Dii told him, and he had to think for a moment to remember what he had said to her to get that response.

“What then?”

“She’s sad. That is all, and worried about what to give for the feast that will follow the mourning.”

“I told her to see what you would give.”

Dii’s laugh was as harsh as a dog’s bark. “You insulted her. She knows what to do about a mourning feast. Why do you treat Yaa like that? She tries her best to be a good wife.”

“She seems more mother than wife.”

Dii sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, and Cries-loud knew that she could not disagree with him.

He waited, said nothing more, hoping that his silence would make her decide to leave.

Dii looked into his face. “You act like a spoiled child,” she said. “Perhaps that’s why Yaa finds it so difficult to be wife rather than mother.”

She turned then and left, but her words lingered like a slap burning red on Cries-loud’s face.

C
RIES-LOUD PULLED SEVERAL
throwing spears from his weapons cache, hung a pack of dried fish from his belt, and left the lodge. He did not want to be there when Yaa returned, her mouth full of advice and caution. He walked through the village with his head down, ignoring any greetings given to him. For a quick moment the remembrance of someone long dead came to him, a hunter named Night Man.

Night Man had been husband to Aqamdax before she belonged to Chakliux. There had been some good in him. After all, he had bought Aqamdax from K’os, made her wife rather than slave. But he had suffered long from a wound in his shoulder, and the poison finally seemed to affect his mind, so that he had even killed his own son, drowned the infant shortly after it was born, though Aqamdax had claimed the baby was strong and whole.

Cries-loud remembered Night Man walking through the village, grunting insults in payment for cheerful words. Had he become like Night Man? The thought made Cries-loud call out a greeting to an old woman at the edge of the village. She was on hands and knees, scraping a hide she had staked out on high, sandy ground. She looked up at him in surprise and stammered a blessing for hunters. Her words lifted his heart, and he told himself that his only problem was Yaa.

Suddenly he turned back, called to the old woman. “Grandmother, would you tell my wife that I have gone hunting, that I might not be back until tomorrow?”

“Do not forget the mourning,” she said.

“I will be here for that,” Cries-loud replied, but he shook his head in wonder. Were all women only mothers?

The familiar lodge, the good smell of his sister’s cooking, Chakliux’s voice all soothed Ghaden’s spirit, and though he was trying to prepare himself for a day of mourning, some of his sorrow lifted as though it were no more than smoke. His arms tightened around Chakliux’s daughter, the little girl snuggled on his lap.

“Tomorrow,” he said to Chakliux, “I’ll get Uutuk and bring her here.” He nodded at Seal. “Her father will go also and stay with his wife until she gathers the courage to visit us in this village.”