by Sue Harrison
“What do you think?” Kayugh asked his wife. “Are we too old to raise a son?”
Chagak, her throat filled with tears, could give no answer, and so instead, she turned her eyes to the child she held, a fine fat boy, large-boned in the manner of the Walrus People, with clear dark eyes and much hair. She looked down at Wren, who stood beside her, and when her voice came again to her throat, she asked the girl, “Would you like a baby brother?”
Wren lifted her eyes to the boy, studied him solemnly, and finally asked, “Is Shuku my brother?”
“He is your nephew,” Chagak said.
“Like Many Whales?”
“Like Many Whales.”
“Like Takha?”
“Yes.”
“Like Small Knife?” And in asking, Wren laughed, covering her mouth with one hand.
“Like Small Knife,” Chagak answered, knowing the girl thought it funny to be aunt to a man who was already a hunter.
“I need a brother,” Wren said. “A little brother.”
“Good,” said Kayugh. “You will help take care of him.”
Wren reached over to pat the baby’s leg. “What is his name?”
Chagak raised her eyebrows and looked at her husband.
“We have to give him a name,” Kayugh said. “We will think of one, but not today.”
“He is Hunter,” said Big Teeth. “Name him that.”
Kayugh nodded, slowly said the name, as though he tasted the sound of it on his tongue. “It is good,” Kayugh said. “We need hunters.”
“Yes.”
“I promised I would raise both boys to know they are sons of the old man Dyenen, shaman of the River People,” Kayugh said. He looked at Big Teeth as he spoke, but his words were loud enough for Chagak to hear.
Chagak felt a sudden tightening of her chest, an ache that seemed to squeeze into her heart. Another son raised to honor a different village, a different way of living. Was Samiq not enough? What good had come from sending him to the Whale Hunters? If he had stayed with the First Men, in their own village, Amgigh would probably still be alive.
“If I raise Hunter as son through his childhood,” Chagak said to the two men standing beside her, “I will not give him back to another tribe. I gave Samiq. I will not give another.”
“He is Walrus,” Kayugh said. “The River People do not want him, but I promised their shaman I would tell the boy about the powers of the man who would have been his father.”
“Then we do not take him back to the River People?” Chagak asked.
“No.”
“We do not take him to the Walrus?”
“He is ours.”
Chagak let herself look into the boy’s eyes. She stroked the smooth skin of his face and smiled at him. Slowly he smiled at her, laid his head against her. And Chagak heard the otter’s voice singing, a high clear song: “A son to love. A son to raise.” And looking at Kiin, Chagak knew Kiin must be hearing the same song.
CHAPTER 97
SNOW MIGHT COME, the Walrus hunters said, and there would be ice on the bays. So Raven and Waxtal promised much in trade goods and spiritual power to the men who came with them. Even to the women who came, said Waxtal, and gave his wife Kukutux no choice. Why return to the Walrus village after the battle was won to bring back the women? he asked. Why take the chance that ice and snow would keep them apart?
So Raven and Waxtal—with the Whale Hunters and many men from the Walrus village—paddled their ikyan toward the Traders’ Beach.
Six days later the River men left their village, fighting ice and cold winds in their clumsy fishing boats on the four-day journey to Saghani’s village—thirty men, each hoping to kill Saghani.
The River men arrived at the Walrus village on the fourth night. The lodges glowed yellow from the oil lamps within.
“No dogs,” the hunters whispered to one another, “no dogs,” and were surprised at the quietness of the village.
They had planned carefully, and started at the edge of the village, splitting their number so that as they moved from lodge to lodge, they pinched in toward the back of the village. They came to Chin Hairs’ lodge first, crept inside on feet that had learned quiet ways from walking in the forest.
Chin Hairs had decided not to go with Raven. He, his wife, and their children slept. They woke when the knives cut their throats, They screamed out, but the River men cupped hands over faces and no one heard.
Kiin held Shuku and Takha on her lap, rocked and sang. Samiq sat beside her, reached out to touch Shuku. The boy opened his eyes for a moment, smiled, then closed them. “I am too happy,” Kiin said. But Samiq set two fingers against her lips, pressed the words back into her mouth.
“It is a good thing,” he said. “But do not tempt the spirits to take what we have.”
Kiin’s inside voice repeated what Samiq said, then reminded Kiin of her dead brother Qakan, of her father Waxtal who must also be dead. Why draw their spirits with words?
Kiin handed Shuku to Samiq, picked up Takha. They put the boys into Kiin’s sleeping place and stood for a time watching. Then Three Fish was with them, also watching, her son still nursing at her breast, the baby folded into her arms.
Samiq leaned down to whisper to Kiin, “Tonight I must spend with Three Fish,” and Kiin nodded, did not allow herself to regret that she must share her husband. Three Fish had been mother to Takha, wife to Samiq, when Kiin could not. Many Whales would know Kiin as his mother, and to Kiin he was also son.
The long-ago taunts of Kiin’s brother Qakan came to her ears, the many times he had told her that she would never be wife, never be mother. Now she had four sons, because Small Knife also was hers.
She went into the main room of the ulaq, sat with sealskins for sewing on her lap. She began to hum, a song coming to her as often happened when she was happy, something without words. She laid down her sewing and climbed up the log to the ulaq roof, then sat outside in the chill of the wind, without parka, without leggings, wearing only her aprons.
The wind was like water against her skin, clean and cold. The roof hole of each ulaq glowed with the soft light of lamps within, but darkness hid the beach and the water of the bay. In the hills wolves howled, a noise that took Kiin back to the months she had spent in the Walrus village. She shivered and turned to go inside, but then heard a whisper, something brought to her ears from across the water.
She looked toward the sound, tried to see but could not, listened but heard nothing more.
“The word was a Walrus word,” Kiin’s spirit said, the voice clear in her mind.
Kiin stood still for a moment, heard nothing, said to her spirit, “It was only the wolves. Their songs always take me to the Walrus People.”
But then Kiin heard another word, and she knew the voice. The Raven. She moved slowly, down in through the lighted roof hole, but once inside she jumped from the climbing log, ran to Three Fish’s sleeping place, called out to Samiq, her voice a whisper but somehow loud in the ulaq, so that Many Whales began to cry, and then Takha and Shuku.
“Samiq,” she called, “there are people coming. Walrus. I heard their voices. The Raven is coming. I will hide. I will go to the hills. I will take our sons.”
Then Samiq was with her, arms tight around her, as if he could protect her from spears, from knives, with only his flesh. “No,” he said. “You are my wife. The Raven cannot stand against me.”
Small Knife also came from his sleeping place, the young man rubbing his eyes with his fists. Samiq handed him a short throwing spear. “Go, get my father, get Big Teeth. Tell them the Walrus men have come to us. Tell them Raven has come.”
The boy left the ulaq, and Kiin wished she could go with him, wished she, not Samiq, could fight the Raven.
“I will not go back,” she said, and when no one seemed to hear her, she said again, “I will not go back. I am here with my sons, with my own people. I will not go back.”
Samiq looked at her, held her eyes with his. Then he lifted the
shell bead necklace he wore. “Long ago,” he said, “I made this for you. You gave it back to me as a pledge. Now I return it to you.”
Samiq placed the necklace in her hands. The beads were warm from his skin, and it seemed for the first time that Kiin saw Samiq’s true strength. Not the width of his shoulders or hard muscles under his skin, but the power that came from his spirit.
Woman of the Sky and Woman of the Sun stood in the center of the circle, River hunters around them. Each hunter carried a knife or throwing lance, the weapons tipped with blood.
“You think you need all those weapons against two old women?” Woman of the Sky asked.
The men made no reply, but Woman of the Sun turned to her sister, said in the First Men tongue, “They are River, look at their clothing. They do not understand you.”
One of the men stepped toward them, said awkwardly in Walrus, “Where be your men?”
“You know they are dead,” Woman of the Sky said. “But someday they will take revenge.”
“Where be one called Saghani?” the River man asked.
“I do not know a Saghani,” Woman of the Sky said.
The man grabbed the old woman’s arm, twisted it behind her back.
“You think you must hurt an old woman?” Woman of the Sky asked. “You think you are powerful because you are stronger than me? There is strength you do not understand.”
The River man released her, and she rubbed her arm, then said, “I do not lie. There is no man here called Saghani.”
The River man turned to one of the hunters beside him, spoke rapidly in the River tongue. Finally the man said to Woman of the Sky, “Raven. The man Raven. He say he shaman.”
“He is not here,” she said. “He is on a trading trip. I cannot say where. Who knows at which village a trader might be found?”
For a moment the man stared at her, then said, “Let him be alive. Let him find his people dead. You two old womans, you tell Raven we watch him. Someday River People find him. Kill him. Feed him to dogs like we did his wife.”
Then he pushed Woman of the Sky aside and left the lodge. The others followed.
Woman of the Sky and Woman of the Sun sat down. Each picked up a death mat; each began to weave.
“Do we have enough?” Woman of the Sun asked.
Woman of the Sky looked over her shoulder at the death mats piled against the wall. “Almost,” she said.
Samiq, Kayugh, and Big Teeth stood on the beach, called to the men in their ikyan, in the darkness, in the silence. From the tops of the ulas, Small Knife and First Snow waited, spears and spear throwers in their right hands, knives in their left. In each ulaq, the women waited, the children slept.
“Come to us now,” Samiq called. “I am alananasika. If you have come to trade, you are welcome. If you come, Raven, to fight, then come in the morning. Or does the night hide your shame?”
Kayugh laid one hand on his son’s arm, tightened his fingers, and Samiq knew his father warned against foolish words spoken in anger.
No one answered. There was no sound, and Samiq thought Kiin had been wrong. Perhaps she had heard nothing but the sound of wind bringing old words spoken long ago. Then a voice came, a man speaking, and for a moment Samiq thought he was in a dream, hearing someone long dead, but then Kayugh said, “It is not Raven. It is Waxtal.”
“Are these spirits then?” Big Teeth asked.
Kayugh and Samiq did not answer the man, only listened as Waxtal called out, “Hunters of the First Men, you sent me from your village into storms, to die. You thought I was dead these many moons, but see, I live. I will have revenge for my life, for the one who took my wife, who took my daughter, who took my ulaq, my food, all things that were mine.
“If you could see through this darkness, you would see that I bring many men. If I ask, they will destroy your village. They will kill your women and children. If I ask, they will do this. But I am a good man. I have the favor of the spirits. Your village, your women and children, will be spared—if I am given my wife Blue Shell and my daughter Kiin and the life of the man who would have me dead. Give me Samiq; give me Blue Shell; give me Kiin.”
“Waxtal lies,” Big Teeth said. “He has no men with him. Some way he lived through the winter, and now he comes in the night to make us think he has great power.”
Big Teeth cupped a hand around his mouth, called out to Waxtal, “Your wife Blue Shell is dead.”
For a time Waxtal did not speak, then Samiq heard laughter, and Waxtal said, “Already the spirits avenge me. Then I will take Chagak. Woman for woman. Tell Kayugh he can keep his daughter, the small one, Wren. I do not need her.”
“You will not have my wife, nor any of my daughters!” Kayugh said. “Not Red Berry, not Wren, not Kiin, not Three Fish.”
“He is alone,” Big Teeth said. “Return to your ulas. I will stay outside and watch until morning. He cannot throw a spear far enough to hit me from the water, and I will not let him come on the beach.”
But Samiq, while waiting, had lifted prayers to the Mystery, that Creating Spirit. He felt the power of that One surround him, and suddenly he knew that Waxtal spoke the truth. He had brought others with him. Samiq felt the hard, warring spirits of hunters, the strong, flowing spirits of women, and, to his surprise, the smaller spirits of children and babies.
“He does not lie,” Samiq said to Kayugh and Big Teeth. “He has brought many with him, even women, even children.”
“Why?” Big Teeth asked.
“Who can understand Waxtal?” said Samiq.
“Who are they?” Kayugh asked. “Are they First Men? Are they Walrus?”
As if in answer to Kayugh’s question, Samiq heard another voice: “Samiq, I will fight you for the woman Kiin. Last time I took your hand; this time I will take your life.”
A rush of blood pumped into Samiq’s arms and legs. “It is Raven,” he said to his father. “Somehow he knows Kiin is here.”
“You told me you were ready to fight him,” Kayugh said.
Samiq heard the confidence in his father’s voice and so called out to Raven, “I will fight you. If I win, Kiin stays here and Waxtal leaves us.”
“It is fair,” Raven said.
Samiq heard the murmur of protest, Waxtal’s high, thin voice, but then there was silence, and in the silence Samiq again felt the spirits of those with Waxtal, remembered the sounds and tastes and smells of the Whale Hunter village.
“They are Whale Hunters,” Samiq said to Kayugh. “Waxtal has brought the Whale Hunters.”
“No, Samiq,” his father said. “Why would Whale Hunters come here? He has found Raven, brought him and some of the Walrus People.”
Over the water, Samiq heard the thin wail of a baby’s cry, then Waxtal’s voice, in anger, scolding the child’s mother. “Whale Hunters,” Samiq said again. “Somehow he has brought them here.”
He cupped his left hand around his mouth, called out, “Dying Seal, Hard Rock, Crooked Bird!”
At first there was no answer, then Crooked Bird’s voice came, “You, Samiq, did you think you could kill us with your curse? We are Whale Hunters. Our power is greater than yours. You are nothing. We have come to kill you and break the curse you left on our island.”
“You know I did not curse your island,” Samiq said. “If my powers were that great, you would be fools to try to kill me. But you have women with you. Children. They are welcome, and any hunter who comes as friend. We have food and oil and a good beach. Together we can be a strong village. Together we can hunt and teach our sons to hunt. Who can say why a mountain grows angry and destroys a village? Perhaps it is not something men can understand. But we must go on; we must hunt and eat and live.”
“You are the fool, Samiq,” Crooked Bird said.
Then Raven called out: “Samiq, I do not care what these Whale Hunters do. If they fight or do not fight. I have come for Kiin. You cannot change my mind with words.”
“I said I would fight you,” Samiq called out. “In the morning,
on this beach.”
“On the beach, now,” Raven said.
“We cannot see,” Samiq answered.
“Light fires. I will wait.”
“Come when you are ready,” Samiq called and went back to his ulaq, to his wives and children, to his weapons, while Kayugh and Big Teeth gathered seal bones and oil, wood and grass, and started two fires, one on each end of the flat place where the men would fight.
“Grass Ears and his wives, Chin Hairs and his children, Shale Thrower and her husband, two Whale Hunter women,” Woman of the Sky said.
“There are many more,” said her sister, but Woman of the Sky did not answer. Each woman carried death mats doubled over her forearms, the mats heavy enough to make the women bend forward as they walked.
“The children?” Woman of the Sky asked.
“Some were killed, and all the men, half of the women.”
Woman of the Sky looked at Ice Hunter’s lodge. “My son’s wife?” she asked, her voice a whisper.
“She is alive. She is with the children. But Bird Sings’ wife is dead.”
“Who takes care of her baby?”
“Her sister. Be glad that your son and grandsons are safe.”
“They are with Raven,” Woman of the Sky answered. “They are not safe.”
“They will come back to us,” Woman of the Sun said.
Her sister straightened against the weight of the death mats. “It was because of the babies—Kiin’s sons.”
“They are both alive,” said Woman of the Sun. “I told her to give one to the wind spirits, but she would not. She said Takha was dead, but he was not. I knew. When the babies were small, we could have taken one. It would not have been difficult.”
“It is always difficult to take a life.”
“To save so many?”
