The Storyteller Trilogy (39 page)

Sok had one hand pressed against his neck, stanching the flow of blood from a shallow cut.

“How bad?” Chakliux asked.

“Nothing,” Sok said, but his words were a growl. He curled his lips to show his teeth. “What man would want a woman like that? She is worse than a dog, that one.”

Almost Chakliux answered yes, but then he knew his agreement would not be the truth, so he kept his words behind his teeth and did not tell his brother that he thought Aqamdax was not dog but warrior.

They threw her into an empty Walrus tent. She shouted out in the Walrus words she knew, filled in with First Men language: “You think you can keep me here? I can tear through these hide walls with my teeth. You think you can keep me in such a place? Your stink drives me from this village. I cannot stand the sight of you. You are like dead fish, white and rotting on the beach. You are dog vomit. Your wives are the feces of seals.”

Her hands were bound, but they had tied them in front of her, so she was able to loosen the knots with her teeth and pull free. She unwound the rope from her ankles and began to rip the furs from the raised bed platforms. She trampled fishskin baskets, unplugged a sea lion belly of oil and poured the oil over the bedding furs. Her insults became screams, then tears, and finally sobbing cries that seemed to tear her heart and rip the breath from her lungs.

Why had she trusted him? Had she learned nothing from Day Breaker? What man had ever been honest with her? What man had ever done what he promised?

For a long time she gave in to her tears, but finally her anger subsided to a slow rhythm, like the throbbing of a wound, and she found herself thinking of the Walrus shaman.

She had seen him at the edge of the crowd, seen his horror as she attacked Sok. He had been wearing many amulets and charms, skins and furs of animals she did not know. Had he thought that would impress her?

He was an old man, but that would not matter, especially if in his knowledge as shaman he could give her a child. Then she realized that it was not the thought of him as husband that fed her anger, but of Sok’s betrayal.

Of course, the first time Sok had come to her, he had asked her to go with him to the Walrus Hunter Village to be the shaman’s wife. In her foolishness, she had believed she had the power to change his mind.

She had bought enough from traders to know they did not cheat themselves, and the shaman had probably given Sok much to bring her here. She had only added to the trade goods by giving Sok nights of pleasure in his sleeping robes.

She thought of Sok’s brother, Chakliux. He was not as large or strong as Sok, but he had a strength of spirit that she liked. Had he known Sok’s plan? How could he not? What had the shaman offered them so they would betray her in such a way?

She looked at the mess she had made, then wiped her eyes dry with the edges of her hands, sniffed up the tears that were running down her nose. She had acted like a child. How could she be so foolish? First Men traders came to this village each summer. She could get back to her own people. Surely Qung would welcome her.

Meanwhile, if she did not want to spend her life alone in a Walrus tent, she needed to act like a good wife.

Perhaps before she left this village the shaman would put a child in her belly. Perhaps she could learn to speak the Walrus language well enough to understand some of their stories.

She began to pick up the bedding furs, wiping the oil from those she had doused, then rubbing the excess into her hair and on her legs and arms.

When they returned for her, they would find the tent in good order and Aqamdax ready to go to the shaman as wife, but if Sok ever came to this village again, she would find some way to have her revenge. She would find some way to make him regret what he had done to her.

THE FIRST MEN VILLAGE

CEN PULLED HIS IQYAX
above the reach of the waves, then began to unload his packs. He liked this village. The people were strong, healthy; they laughed often and traded well. With his left wrist still weak, it had taken him almost a moon of paddling to get from the nearest Walrus Hunter settlement to the Traders’ Beach, but if all went as he planned, his efforts would be worth it.

The First Men had chosen their village site wisely, so they could hunt both sea and land animals, and fish the inlet as well as the rivers that fed it. But each winter the ice brought new shoals and new rocks. A man had to be careful, always watching as he paddled.

If one of the village hunters saw a trader coming, he would act as guide, but this time no one was on the beach. Cen had paddled in alone. High tide helped him avoid any damage from rocks or sandbars and allowed him an easy landing. He heard voices, looked up to see several elders coming to greet him. Cen met them with palms up and the assurance he had come in friendship. Their language did not sit easily on his tongue, but he knew that a day in their village would bring most of it back to him. His years visiting Daes had given him more than the warmth of a woman in his bed.

“You have come to trade?” one of the elders asked.

Cen answered the man politely, listing some of his trade goods—walrus hides, wolf fur parkas, split willow baskets and large wooden halibut hooks. He did not have as much as he usually did—nothing left from the River People but a few knives.

He had thought his luck was gone, was sure the cache he kept near one of the two Walrus villages where he usually traded would have been found by men or animals, but it had been untouched. The wolf fur parkas, caribou skins, a sael of fat, seal skins of oil, and of most importance, his iqyax, had been waiting for him.

He set out for the First Men Village, not only to trade but to find Daes’s family. She had told him her father was dead, that she had no brothers, but surely she had cousins, and of course a daughter, who by now would have a husband. When Cen explained what had happened to Daes, surely they would come with him to seek revenge. They would help him win back his son, Ghaden.

He straightened, easing the pain of newly healed injuries, rubbed a finger across his nose. It was crooked now, wide and flat. A scar gathered his mouth toward one corner, but in this village it was good he did not look the same. There must be First Men hunters who were not happy that he had taken Daes, those men who had wanted her themselves. If they recognized Cen, they might act in anger before he had a chance to explain why he had come.

Cen had been especially careful when he was with Daes, aware of the mourning taboos that kept her from men. Perhaps that was why she had seemed so desirable—because of the taboos. There were other First Men women he could have chosen, but his eyes had filled themselves with Daes.

It had been a mistake, after bedding her, to return on his way back from his trading farther to the west. But how could he forget her? She still haunted his dreams. He should have stayed with her at the River village. What did it matter to him what village he lived in? His mother had been of the Caribou People, his father of the Walrus, and he had spent summers in River villages as his parents traveled between their peoples. He had grown up speaking all three languages, and easily picked up the First Men language.

He should have lived with Daes, claimed her child, the boy whose face was so much like his Walrus grandfather’s, whose voice held the clear, singing timbre of the Caribou People. But Cen had known that each time Daes looked at him she wished he was her First Men husband. Besides, what trader needs the encumbrance of a wife and baby? He had found her a River elder who was still a strong hunter, who would be a good father to the child and a good husband to Daes.

Though he had left her behind, during the next winter Cen’s thoughts had stayed with Daes. No matter how many Tundra women warmed his bed, the smooth brown skin under his hands had always belonged to Daes. So he returned each year to visit her, and finally she had agreed to go with him. Then he dared to believe that she no longer wished he was that dead husband, that she had learned to care for him because of his own strengths.

All things had seemed so good. His throat ached to think of it. But he would have his revenge, and those River People—the few he allowed to live—would never forget him.

THE WALRUS VILLAGE

Aqamdax expected them to come in the night, so she waited, keeping herself awake with songs and stories, but finally she fell asleep where she sat, leaning against the bedding platform. She awoke in early morning with a stiff neck and cramped legs. The entrance was still braced shut, and Aqamdax, feeling the need to relieve herself, searched the lodge for some kind of urine trough or night waste basket. Finally she squatted over a fishskin container, hoping it would hold her water and that she was not breaking any Walrus taboos.

The oil in the stone lamp was low, and several wicks had gone out. There was a small amount of oil left in the seal belly, and she poured a portion of it into the basin. The fire blazed with greater strength, but still she was cold. She sorted through baskets and hides, searched the walls for a food cache, but found nothing. She seemed to remember from stories that the Walrus stored their food in outside caches, but she was not sure. She had eaten the day before. She would not starve, and there were full water bladders hanging from the lodge poles.

Ah, Tut, she thought, why did I not ask more questions about these people? Surely in refusing their shaman she had insulted the whole village. She would wait one more day, then during the brief darkness of night, would cut her way out using the small skinning knife she kept in the belt under her sax. They had not found that one, and though the blade was short, it was sharp. If she was careful and worked slowly, it might be strong enough to cut through the split walrus hide.

Then what? Without food, without her woman’s knife, what could she do? She would have to find Sok and his brother, beg them to take her with them, or go to the shaman, make her apologies and ask to be given to some Walrus Hunter as wife. She sat on the edge of the bedding platform, stroked the smooth feathers of her sax.

No, she would not return to Sok. Why trust the man? It was better to stay here in this village, closer to her own people. She would offer herself to the shaman. If he no longer wanted her, she would ask to be wife to a hunter, second wife if necessary.

Hii, she had been stupid! But now she would be wise, and if she could keep her anger from directing her hands into more foolishness, she would find her way back to her people.

Chakliux walked through the village to the iqyax racks. During the days it took them to paddle to this village, he had spent much time considering the First Men iqyan and whether he might change his own to be more like theirs—narrower for speed and with a keelson made of three pieces of wood rather than one to allow the iqyax more strength, more flex in the waves.

Perhaps rather than change the iqyax he had, he should make another. Why ruin something that already worked and worked well? Then he could compare the two, how each rode the waves, how each responded to his paddle in currents and tides, in rips and breakers.

He passed the small tent where they had put Aqamdax. He felt sorry for the woman. She had seemed to care much about Sok, to try in many ways to be a good wife.

He remembered with a flood of warmth how it had been to have Gguzaakk as wife, and remembered the horror of her death. Their son had died the next day, and in his grief, Chakliux had not wanted to live. But what Dzuuggi could choose the luxury of death?

He continued to work for peace, though he knew K’os worked against him. It was not until his grief brought him to visit Gguzaakk’s burial platform that he knew the extent of K’os’s hatred. As he approached the sacred place, he saw K’os there, and he waited, thinking she also had come to grieve. She stooped to lay something on the ground. When he drew near, he saw it was a spray of purple flowers, and knew, as every child knows, the deadly poison of the plant and its hooded blooms.

“My son also?” he had asked her.

“Children die easily,” she had said, and lifted a hand to cover her nose and mouth.

He should have killed her then, but he was unable to move, as though his body, too, had been gripped by that poison that stills the muscles, stops the heart. He went to the elders, the hunters, even his father, but no one believed him. To make his revenge would mean his own death, the whole village against him. Then what chance would he have to work for peace?

Sometimes it was almost too difficult for any man to be Dzuuggi. The moons with the Walrus and First Men, a time when he was only hunter, had been good.

He envied Sok. What man could want more than a woman who honored him? Red Leaf and Aqamdax, two good women. It was sad Sok could not keep Aqamdax. Yet every man must value his life, and if Sok had not given her to the Walrus shaman, the shaman might have killed him or cursed him with illness.

Of course, when Aqamdax refused to come with them except as Sok’s wife, he could have left her with her own people. But if they had not brought her back, would the Walrus shaman have allowed Chakliux to stay in the village if he could not return to the Near River People? So, then, though Sok had earned trade goods, he had also helped Chakliux.

As Chakliux passed Aqamdax’s tent, he heard the soft sounds of a song, something she had sung when they were in the iqyan. He felt his heart twist as though touched by her sorrow, but told himself that soon she would feel happiness in being wife to the village shaman, joy in finding new stories here in this village.

It was not until he came to the beach that he heard the first wails of women mourning.

THE FIRST MEN VILLAGE

“I know you,” the old woman said. She leaned forward, and because of the large hump that deformed her back, Cen thought she might topple face first to lie at his feet, but she twisted her head so she was looking up, eyes squinted into slits. His heart gave a lurch, then he chided himself. Was he afraid of an old woman?

“I have been here before,” he said boldly. “Do you see anything you want?” He swept his hand out over the trade goods he had displayed beside his iqyax.