The Storyteller Trilogy (49 page)

Chakliux nodded at the man, and Sleeps Long said, “Your father has asked that I speak to you.”

“What does Fox Barking want?” Chakliux asked, trying to keep his voice from showing that he would never consider Fox Barking father, never be able to give the man that honor.

“Two more dogs have died.”

“His dogs?”

“No, they belong to Blue-head Duck. One was a bitch with a belly full of pups.”

Chakliux shook his head. With the golden-eyed dogs now in the village, he had hoped all talk of dogs being cursed was past.

“How did they die?”

“No one knows.”

“They were not sick?”

“No.”

“What does Fox Barking expect me to do? I have no more golden-eyed dogs to give.”

“He wants you to know that some of the hunters think the curse has returned. He wants you to know they think you have brought bad luck again to our village.”

“Tell him that dogs die. Remind him that they died before I came here and will die after I leave. I brought strong dogs from the Cousin River Village, and strong dogs from the Walrus Hunters. That is all I can do. Except for my grandfather’s dogs, I have not even kept a dog for myself. Until Black Nose has another litter, I cannot offer Blue-head Duck a dog to replace the ones he lost. Tell Fox Barking that if he wants something done now, he should give Blue-head Duck one of his own dogs.”

Sleeps Long muttered under his breath, but Chakliux did not want to know what the man said, so did not ask him to repeat it. Chakliux returned to his carving, and finally Sleeps Long walked away.

No, he could do nothing about the dogs, but there was something he could do. He would go to Sok now, tell him he wanted Aqamdax. Perhaps Sok would be angry, but why should he care? He had said last night that he did not want Aqamdax as wife. Would he expect the woman to spend the winter in the Near River Village without a husband?

Aqamdax had stayed inside her lodge all morning. She was sure Sok would come to her and throw her away. She had hoped he would come early, before most of the women were awake. She did not know the customs among the River People. If he threw her away, did that mean she had to leave the lodge? Or even the village? Would there be some family willing to take her in until she found a way back to the First Men?

She wished Chakliux would come to her. His advice was always good, always wise, and her best chance was if he would take her as wife. But if he wanted her, wouldn’t he have come before now? Perhaps he had changed his mind. Perhaps he, too, wanted her to leave the village.

She picked up a basket she had begun weaving several days before. She had tried to weave it as Qung did, twining split strands of grass into delicate stitches. She had nearly completed the circle of the bottom, but today her fingers shook, and she could do nothing. She set down the work and paced the lodge, side to side. She heard a sound in the entrance tunnel and waited, her heart squeezing out tight, hard beats under her ribs. She recognized the top of Sok’s head and moved away from him as he stood.

He looked long at her. His eyes were cold.

“I am sorry …” she began, but he interrupted.

“Be quiet,” he said. “I do not want to hear your voice again.”

She closed her mouth, clasped her hands together, forced herself to keep her fingers still.

Sok was wearing the same ceremonial parka he had worn the night before, but his boots and leggings were the ones he wore each day, without caribou hoof danglers or dyed hair embroidery.

“You are no longer my wife,” he said, and the words were like a slap against Aqamdax’s face. “I throw you away. You have not been my wife long enough to keep this lodge. Unless you find a husband who can pay me for the caribou hides, you must leave it as well.”

Again, she opened her mouth to speak, but he pointed at her, thrusting one finger close to her face. “Do not speak to me,” he said, then ducked back out through the entrance tunnel.

She stood still for a long time, his words pressing against her until she felt she could not breathe. Then she slipped on her leggings and boots, the parka she had made in the manner of the River People.

A dog, she thought. I must have a dog. She might be able to walk to her people’s village if she could find a dog for protection and to help carry supplies. She had things to trade, a chigdax—but no, what if she found a trader willing to take her by boat? She would need a chigdax.

She had baskets. They would bring something. She had little food to spare. Perhaps some of her seal oil.

She would go to the old woman Ligige’ first. Perhaps she knew someone willing to trade a dog. Perhaps she would know if Chakliux was also angry with her.

No, first she should go to Ghaden and Yaa, tell them good-bye. Perhaps when he was grown Ghaden would choose to be a trader like his father. Someday he would come to Aqamdax’s village, and she would get to see him again. But the knowledge that that would probably never happen was a hard lump in her throat, and she felt tears prick at the backs of her eyelids.

She reminded herself that she might have never come here, might never have known she had a brother. Just knowing, having met him, was worth much, even if she had to leave.

She packed what was hers, rolled mats and sleeping robes, then paused and looked around her lodge. She smiled, one quick smile, remembering that she had wanted her own lodge when she had lived with the First Men. Now that she had one, she was leaving it. She reached up, took a half-filled water bladder from the lodge poles and slung it over one shoulder, picked up a pack she had prepared as trade goods and left the lodge.

Sok came into Red Leaf’s lodge bringing a rush of chilled air, pungent with the smell of smoke and old leaves. He looked at Chakliux. “She is yours,” he said, “but she is not welcome in this lodge.” He lifted his chin toward Chakliux. “You are welcome,” he said.

“I will give Red Leaf caribou hides, half my share from our hunt for the hides in Aqamdax’s lodge.”

Sok shrugged, looked away. Chakliux reached for his parka, but Red Leaf stopped him. “Wait,” she said. “You cannot go yet.”

Sok narrowed his eyes at his wife, spat out a few words in anger, then left the lodge.

Red Leaf smiled. “You cannot go to a bride without preparing yourself. I have oil. I have dried fireweed to sweeten your hair. Do you have a gift you can take her?”

Chakliux felt his face grow hot. He had spent the night thinking of a gift, but that was not something he wanted to tell Red Leaf. He had finally decided on the shell-and-jasper necklace he wore for ceremonies.

“I have a necklace,” he said.

“Good. Here.” She handed him a sael of goose grease, rendered to a light yellow. He took a small amount, smoothed it carefully into his hair, then relaxed as Red Leaf combed it in with her fingers.

Wife. The last time he had prepared himself to take a wife, the woman was Blueberry and he had felt only sorrow. Now he thought of Aqamdax and knew joy, as bubbling and full as the day he had taken Gguzaakk.

Ah, my Gguzaakk, be glad for me, he thought. Find a good hunter for yourself in that spirit world and someday we will all be together, you and I and our little son, your spirit hunter and my Aqamdax, and perhaps other sons and daughters.

“I do not want people to see you here,” Brown Water told her. “You are not welcome in my lodge. Do not come in. Leave us.”

The woman’s eyes were hard and dark as stone, but Aqamdax did not turn away. “I need to see my brother,” she said.

“He is not your brother.”

“Daes is my mother. Ghaden is my brother.”

Brown Water gasped as Aqamdax spoke Daes’s name aloud, and Aqamdax saw the fear in her eyes.

“You think I am not human to speak a dead one’s name? You are wrong. But I do not fear my own mother, and what more can I lose, now that I have lost everything? I want to see my brother.”

“He is gone. I do not know where. He is with Yaa.”

Aqamdax did not know if Brown Water was telling her the truth. Perhaps it would be best to pretend to believe her. She would find Ligige’, then return and ask again if she could speak to Ghaden.

“I will be back,” Aqamdax told Brown Water, and smiled at the woman as though they were friends exchanging greetings. She walked to Ligige’’s lodge with her head high. Surely by now some of the women knew Sok had thrown her away, but was that worse than the ridicule she had known in her own village?

Ligige’ had left a stick propped against the lodge entrance. Aqamdax picked it up and scratched at the worn caribou hides.

“I am here!” Ligige’ called, the raspy voice of an old woman, but louder than Aqamdax had expected.

She ducked through the entrance. Rich smells of meat cooking filled the air. Ligige’ was stirring something in a cooking skin hung on a tripod. “I am too old to always go to the village hearths,” she said to Aqamdax. “Are you hungry?”

Aqamdax almost refused the food, her stomach too small and twisted with worry, but she was not sure of the politeness of refusing here among the River People.

“Yes,” she said. “It smells good.”

Ligige’ pointed with an out-thrust chin toward a clutter of wooden bowls hanging in a net on the other side of the lodge. Aqamdax reached in and took one for herself. “For you also?” she asked.

“Yes,” Ligige’ said, then filled both bowls and handed one to Aqamdax.

She sat down on a mat not far from the hearth and began to eat. Aqamdax squatted on her haunches beside her. Ligige’ stopped eating long enough to lift the bowl toward Aqamdax’s legs and ask, “You do not get tired sitting like that?”

“It is the way I always sit,” she said. “Why get a feather sax wet by sitting on it?”

“Sometimes I think the Sea Hunters are more human than we are,” Ligige’ said.

Aqamdax raised her eyebrows in surprise at the remark, then remembered that, to the River People, raised eyebrows meant agreement, so she ducked her head quickly, hoping Ligige’ had not seen.

“I think we are all human,” Aqamdax said softly. “Just different, that is all.”

“Perhaps,” said Ligige’ through a mouthful of meat.

When Aqamdax emptied her bowl, Ligige’ offered more, but Aqamdax told her she was full. The old woman looked wistfully at the cooking bag, then took a little more.

“Eating seems to be the only pleasure left me,” she said.

Aqamdax smiled. “Chakliux tells me you enjoy a good riddle.”

“Ah, that, too,” said Ligige’, and slapped a hand against her knee. “That, too. It has been a fine thing to have Chakliux in our village. He and his riddles are good company.”

“I have found that also,” Aqamdax told her.

“Some of the women have been talking,” Ligige’ said. “I see you have a pack. Are you leaving us?”

“I have no choice. My husband has thrown me away.”

“And there are no other men for you in this village?” Ligige’ asked.

“None that will take me.”

“I think you are wrong.”

“Who wants me after seeing Wolf-and-Raven’s anger?”

“Do not be afraid that Wolf-and-Raven will curse you. He is not one to do such a thing.”

“He thinks I do not respect his shaman powers.”

“In his heart he knows you did not mean to show disrespect, but sometimes it takes Wolf-and-Raven a little while to be honest with himself. He is my cousin, and I have known him since the day he was born. I had thirteen summers then, and spent much time the next few years carrying him around, cleaning him, changing the moss that padded his carrying board. It is difficult to take a man too seriously if you remember wiping his bottom when he was a child.” She tipped her chin at Aqamdax. “You have known him only as shaman. I see him also as crying baby and little boy. I understand him better, and of course he remembers me as a girl and so understands me better, too.”

Ligige’ leaned toward Aqamdax and took her bowl, set it inside her own.

“I miss my brother Tsaani,” she said.

Aqamdax did not remember anyone in the village named Tsaani. “He lives in another village?” she asked.

“No, he lived here. He died before you came. Do not worry that I speak his name. You are safe here with me.”

“I do not worry,” Aqamdax said, then asked, “He has been dead a long time?”

“Not long. As long as your mother. That is all.”

“You know she was my mother?”

“Speak her name if you wish, unless it is taboo to you. I am old. I do not fear her. I knew she was your mother when I first saw you. You look like her. Others said it was only because you are Sea Hunter, but I knew. Some people are foolish, thinking Sea Hunters should all look alike. Here is something you should know.” She leaned toward Aqamdax and lowered her voice to a hoarse whisper. “My brother and your mother died by the same knife.”

“He is Chakliux’s grandfather?”

“Yes.”

“He is the one who died the same night my mother died?”

“Yes. Both. The same night. Chakliux told you?”

“Brown Water.”

“Ah. I am surprised Sok did not tell you.”

“I have found there is much Sok did not tell me.”

“He is not a man good with words, but he is a fine hunter.”

For a moment, Aqamdax felt the burn of anger, but then she turned her thoughts from Sok to the night her mother had died. If Daes was killed because she was First Men, then why was Tsaani killed? If the trader had some reason to kill Daes—the trader who was father to Ghaden—why would he also kill Tsaani? Why would he try to kill his own son, then leave a knife that most people knew was his? Traders were not fools. Fools did not survive long traveling village to village, dealing with many people.

“Were they together that night, your brother and my mother?” she finally asked Ligige’.

“No. My brother was in his wife’s lodge. Your mother and brother were found outside Brown Water’s lodge.”

“Chakliux has told me some things,” Aqamdax said. “That he found my brother and that the knife was still in his back.”

“Yes. I helped Wolf-and-Raven care for the boy.”

“Then I owe you much,” Aqamdax said.

“What does anyone owe when an old woman cares for one who will someday hunt?”

“Who was your brother’s wife?”