The Storyteller Trilogy (181 page)

“It will make you tired,” she said, “so drink and then I will help you to your bed.”

He turned his head toward a pile of sleeping mats that lay unfolded on the floor. He opened his mouth to say something, but K’os put a finger against his lips and pressed the cup to his teeth. He drank.

“More?” he asked when he finished, though by his face she thought the drink must be bitter.

“Perhaps tomorrow I will bring you more,” she said. “First we need to see if it helps you.”

She hauled him to his feet, and he leaned on her as they shuffled to his bed. He sat on the sleeping mats and coughed for a long time, but finally he was quiet. K’os helped him lay down, then she pulled a cover over him. He closed his eyes. Then she backed away, taking in the lodge, where she had sat, where she had walked, to be sure she had left nothing behind. Though she wanted to watch, to see if she had given him enough poison to bring on death, she crawled into the entrance tunnel. She opened the outer doorflap and peeked outside, waited until no one was passing, then slipped away.

She walked to a nearby thicket and cut some willow, though the thin autumn bark was not much good for anything. Seal was still asleep when she got to the chief hunter’s lodge, the bouquet of yellow-gray branches in her right hand, the bladder of poison in the left. She hid the bladder under a pile of her belongings, then went outside to sit in the chill autumn sun. She pulled her parka hood snug and chopped up the useless willow, made a show of saving it in small sealskin packets. Those who passed watched and smiled, and K’os saw the satisfaction in their faces. It was always good to have someone in the village who understood plant medicine.

G
HELI MADE A LONG
mourning, eight days in all, twice as many as she needed, though as wife, her private mourning would last at least another moon. She could not ask for longer. One of them—she or Daes—would have to get a husband, both of them if possible. She did not want Cries-loud to worry about them. He needed to return to his wife.

Of course, Gheli’s tears were not only for Cen but also for Duckling, whom Daes had so foolishly taken back to the village, thinking that Gheli would follow. Now Daes understood why Gheli could not follow, and somehow that understanding had softened the girl’s anger.

You should have explained everything long ago, Gheli told herself. Daes knew you were hiding something. Why do you think she learned to be such a good liar, even about small, foolish things?

Gheli sighed and helped Daes tie the knots on another caribou hide pack. Because they had no dogs, Cries-loud was making a long, narrow travois that she and Daes could take turns pulling. Cen had once told her that the next village was a twelve-day walk from the Four Rivers village. She did not know anyone except Cen who had been there, but he said they were a good people, generous and full of laughter. They lived so far from other villages that they did not raise their young men to fight, only to hunt. It would be a good place to live, and according to what Cen had told her, she could get there by following rivers.

Each night during her mourning, she promised herself that the next day she would ask Cries-loud to return to the village and tell the people that she and Daes were dead, killed by wolves. She would give him some of their clothing, shredded and bloodied. But what were the chances that she would ever see him again once he left her?

She had not realized how much she had missed him. In many ways he reminded her of Sok, and also a little of her father, dead now so many years, but he was quieter than either of them, given to sitting without speaking, some bit of wood in his hands that he would whittle away into nothing.

He seldom talked about Yaa. Who could have guessed that Yaa—so good with children even when she was a child herself—would be unable to have babies of her own? As a girl, Yaa had been forced to grow up much too fast, working hard for her mother’s sister-wife, a woman who lived with anger wrapped around her tongue. At least Yaa had gotten herself a good husband, but Gheli wondered if she was wise enough to keep him. When Cries-loud did speak of her, it was with sadness, as if he were never able to please her.

Gheli knotted another braid of babiche. Other than fish, they had little to take with them. She wished she could sneak back into the Four Rivers village and get what she needed from their cache and lodge.

She was kneeling outside the lean-to when she realized that her son was standing behind her. He squatted down beside her, knees apart, leaned forward to look into her face.

“I’ve been thinking about something,” he said. “You know if I don’t soon return to the Four Rivers village, Ghaden may come looking for me. Today is a good day to travel.”

Gheli felt her heart drop within her chest, and she blurted out, “Perhaps some summer before I die, you will visit this new village. Your sister will have a husband by then, and their children will need to know their uncle. Perhaps even Duckling would be willing to come with you. She would be old enough to help you by then. Maybe cook your food and carry your packs.”

She saw the pity in his eyes, the sadness there. He smiled at her. “Yes, watch for me. One summer I will come, and perhaps I will bring Duckling.”

Her tears surprised her. Long ago she had left this son, thinking she would never see him again. Once Cen had spoken about him, telling a story of a good hunt he and Cries-loud and Ghaden had made when Cen was at their village. After the story, Gheli had left the lodge, making the excuse that she needed to bring in wood, but she had needed only to hide her tears. At least she had found out Cries-loud had survived to become a man. Now she would lose him again, and since she knew the depth of that sorrow, the loss would be all the harder the second time.

Her throat closed, and she could not talk, but Cries-loud seemed to understand. He reached to clasp her hand and said, “I think we should tell the people that you are dead. We can ask Daes if she wants to go back or if she would rather go on with you to this new village.”

Gheli nodded and finally found her voice. “You can say it was a wolf kill. We can shred some of our clothing. The women of the village will recognize my work and know that you carry one of my parkas.”

He stood, and she said, “I will get you food.” Then her voice broke.

“Mother, why do you cry?” he asked. He lifted her to her feet and used a fingertip to wipe her tears. “How long does it take a man to go to the Four Rivers village? Two days, that’s all. I’ll be there a day and then come back. Five days, and I’ll return.”

“You will …”

He laughed at her surprise. “You think I’d let you go alone to this other village? Yaa can wait for me a little longer, and my father will share his caribou meat. I’ll ask Ghaden to tell them that I have decided to hunt by myself and will return before winter. Go get Daes and ask her what she wants to do.”

“She’ll go with me,” Gheli said.

“She’s a woman grown. She will do what she wants to do.”

“I’ll go with her,” said Daes, and Gheli looked back to see that the girl stood behind them. “But what about my baby sister?”

“You can’t take her,” Cries-loud said. “How could I convince the people that you’re dead if I take your daughter when I leave to mourn?”

“Let Long Wolf’s wife keep her,” Gheli said. “She’s a good mother to her boys. She needs a daughter to help her do all the work sons make for a woman.”

Her words were firm, but her eyes burned with tears. Forever, she was giving up children, all for the sake of a husband who had long ago thrown her away. What a fool she had been when she was a young woman, killing to get what she wanted. She had lost almost everything. And what hope would she have as an old woman with the spirit world close? Surely, Tsaani and that first Daes were waiting for her, and River Ice Dancer, also. Someday even Sok and Ghaden and K’os would be in that world of the dead, and all of them would want revenge. Even Cen.

She sighed, hoping to lift her heart back into its place. What good would it do to fret about the dead? she asked herself. She could not change what she had done. She would live as best she could and try to find joy in small things. What other choice did she have?

Ghaden stopped and lifted the straps of his pack to flex his shoulders. He had walked hard for two and a half days, following Bird Hand. The man seemed to know where he was going, but twice they had backtracked. Finally they were at the place where the river divided.

Bird Hand motioned toward the left branch, then turned and started back toward the Four Rivers village. Ghaden watched in disbelief, his mouth open in surprise.

“Your sister Daes hates me,” Bird Hand called over his shoulder, simply those words, nothing more, as if that would explain everything. “You’re almost there. Maybe a half-day. Maybe a day.” Then he was gone, swallowed by the willow that grew dense near the river.

Ghaden considered running after him, then in his mind he saw Yaa’s face. What would he tell his sister? That he had grown weary of walking and decided to quit searching for her husband?

He trudged on, picking his way through the brush along the overgrown animal trail, cursing Bird Hand and Cries-loud and all the small branches that caught at his pack and his parka. His feet ached, and his back, and finally he promised himself that when he came to the next clearing, any bit of high ground, he would camp for the night.

The willow thinned into tattered birch, and the tussocks of grass crowded into a mat that made his walking a little easier. The river split around a small swampy island, and just past that, he could make out a wide, flat clearing. He unbuckled the chest strap on his pack, swung it off his back and up over one shoulder. A man never knew. Animals might come to such a clearing, to drink from the river. Ghaden needed to be ready to drop his pack and pull out a knife or lance.

He smelled smoke, stopped to be sure. Listened for a moment and heard voices. Cries-loud!

Ghaden called out a greeting, laughing as strode into the clearing. Cries-loud was there, just hefting a pack to his back, as though he were about to leave.

“Brother!” Ghaden called.

But Cries-loud gave no welcome, merely set his pack on the ground and stood where he was. Then Ghaden saw the women with him. One was young, no doubt his sister Daes.

He had pictured her differently, as someone small and lovely, but she was a big woman, wide of shoulder and hip, with a hard face. She scowled at him, and for a moment he was puzzled. She looked familiar, as if he had seen her before. He glanced at Cries-loud. They were so much alike that they could be brother and sister, with eyes and mouths and noses nearly the same.

An older woman, without doubt his father’s wife, crowded behind Cries-loud, as if she were trying to hide.

Standing awkwardly, waiting for Cries-loud to speak, Ghaden finally said, “You’re leaving?”

Cries-loud looked down at his pack as though he were surprised to see it sitting beside him, then he forced a smile and gestured toward the girl with an open palm.

“Your sister Daes,” he said to Ghaden. “I’m sure your father told you about her.”

“Yes,” Ghaden answered. Her eyes were red, and he knew that she had been crying. “You share my mourning,” he said to her.

She raised a hand to cover her face as if she did not want to see him.

“I brought gifts for you and for your mother,” he said.

The woman behind Cries-loud lifted her head, and for the first time Ghaden saw her face. The air slammed out of his lungs as though someone had set a fist into his gut. He gasped and reached for his knife.

“My father took this woman as his wife?” he shouted. The words felt as though they ripped through the flesh of his throat, and bled the strength from his body. “And this daughter, is that the baby Red Leaf took with her? Sok’s daughter?”

“She is,” Cries-loud said softly. “And so, my sister.”

“But how could my father …” Ghaden’s voice cracked. “How could he name her for my mother?”

“He didn’t know,” Cries-loud said. He spoke slowly, as if he were talking to someone very young or very old. “My mother changed her name when she came to the Four Rivers village. How would a trader remember one woman from all the villages he had visited? He didn’t know she was Red Leaf, the one who had killed Daes. Only K’os knew, and she didn’t tell me until after your father died.”

“K’os knew.” Ghaden’s words were bitter.

“For a short time, K’os lived in the Four Rivers village. That was after Chakliux threw her out of our caribou camp. You remember.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“That was when she tried to kill me,” Red Leaf said.

Her voice surprised Ghaden. It was soft, and she spoke in fear, trembling. Then her words rushed out as though she had been saving them for Ghaden during all the years she had lived with Cen. “K’os tried to poison me. She wanted Cen for herself, and he would not take her as wife, even as second wife. She said that if I didn’t agree to swallow her poison, she would tell Cen the truth. Then he would kill me and my little daughter as well.”

“My father was not that kind of man,” Ghaden said. “K’os knew that. I do not say that he would have spared you, but he would never kill a child.”

His words seemed to give Red Leaf courage, and she stepped out from behind Cries-loud. “And are you like your father?” she asked. “You owe revenge for your mother’s death, but will your revenge include my daughters?”

Cries-loud took his own knife from the sheath at his neck. Daes sank to her knees and began a loud mourning cry.

“Your daughters are safe,” Ghaden said, shouting to be heard above Daes’s song. He pointed at Daes with the tip of his blade.

“This one carries my mother’s name, and thus some part of her spirit. How could I kill her? The baby is my sister by blood. I would not insult my father by harming her.”

“If you kill my mother,” Cries-loud said, “what stops me from seeking revenge for her death? Then what about Yaa? If you die, will she seek revenge on me, her own husband? If I die, will she seek revenge on you?