The Storyteller Trilogy

by Sue Harrison

  Night Man began to whimper, and Tikaani turned on him, ripping back the man’s parka hood to slap his face. Night Man drew his sleeve knife and held it point up until Tikaani turned away.

  “Chakliux is probably already upriver toward his village,” Caribou called to them from the darkness. “It is not far to the Near River People. While you two fight, he gets away.”

  “I think you do not want to kill him,” Tikaani said, and also left the circle of light, walking into the darkness until Chakliux could not see where he had gone. “We must finish what we have started or all the men of the Near River Village will hunt for us. They will know who we are by our boot tracks alone.”

  Yes, Chakliux thought. The Near River women made boots with double soles, crimped at the front with seams sewn closer to the bottom of the boot. In soft snow, a man would know whether tracks had been left by Near River hunters or men from the Cousin River Village.

  “They will know by our dead brother,” Tikaani said.

  “You think I will leave my brother?” Caribou asked from the darkness.

  Chakliux shifted and moved his head, trying to see where the voice came from. The man seemed to be moving toward him. Chakliux stepped back carefully, slowly, so he would make no sound. If he could get to the river, sneak along the bank, perhaps he could put enough distance between himself and the men. They would not come much farther. The Near River Village was too close. There was even a chance that Snow Hawk would follow him to the village. He had her pups.

  He reached into his parka, rubbed his hand over the pups’ heads, then stroked his fingers on a tree trunk. He took several more steps, then stopped again, listened.

  He heard the knife before he saw it, the hiss of the blade as it sliced toward him. He felt the scrape of the point as it cut into his chest, then heard the high thin cry of one of the pups. He pulled out the knife, then lunged forward with it in his left hand, his own knife in his right. Arms came at him from the darkness, and he felt the knife in his left hand bite into flesh. He heard a harsh intake of breath, then the arms were twisted away, and the knife as well. He slashed out with the blade in his right hand, but it was deflected by branches.

  Chakliux stepped back and tripped. He fell into a tangle of willow and lost his knife, but he leapt up to meet his attacker. It was Caribou. He was a short, powerful man, stronger than Chakliux, and smarter than his brothers.

  Caribou had a knife. Chakliux clasped his fingers around Caribou’s wrist, but Caribou ripped at Chakliux’s parka hood with his free hand until he could reach in, press a thumb against Chakliux’s throat. Chakliux’s arms begin to weaken as his breath was cut off, then he was borne in a rush to the ground, breaking off tree branches as he fell, snow closing over his head as the weight of Caribou’s body pressed him down. Then he heard a snarl. Snow Hawk.

  In falling, Chakliux’s grip had tightened on Caribou’s wrist. Now, as Caribou fought to turn toward the dog, to move his knife to slash at her, Chakliux dug his thumbnails into the man’s wrist, pressing until Caribou finally dropped the knife.

  Chakliux released the arm, raised his legs to push Caribou away, then raked his fingers through the snow until he found the knife.

  Chakliux picked it up and, in one quick movement, thrust the blade into the soft skin under the man’s jaw. A spurt of blood poured over his fingers, slicked his hands so that the knife slipped, fell into the parka hood. Then Snow Hawk was ripping at the man’s throat, and Caribou’s cries stopped.

  Chakliux searched for his own knives, finally found the obsidian blade buried in the snow where Caribou first attacked him. He leaned against a tree, fighting to catch his breath, and peered out toward the fire. Only Stalker was still there, the man lying facedown in the snow. Chakliux’s spear was gone.

  Where were Tikaani and Night Man? he wondered. On the way back to their village or waiting for him in the darkness?

  Chapter Twelve

  THE NEAR RIVER VILLAGE

  GHADEN REACHED OUT AND patted the mound of sleeping robes beside him. He worked his fingers down through the blankets until he found Yaa’s face. She was asleep. Otherwise she would have taken his hand, held it.

  She was his mother now, a good mother. She told him stories and played games, and when his side began to ache, she rubbed his back. She never yelled at him like Brown Water did, but still, he missed his first mother, missed her so much that at times he could do nothing but cry.

  Yaa did not know his other mother’s songs and did not know the secret words she had taught him—First Men words that he was not supposed to say to other people.

  Sometimes, too, Yaa did not seem big enough to be a mother. She could not bring him food whenever he wanted it. Mostly she had to sneak it from the boiling bag when Brown Water was not watching. And her lap was small so that when she held Ghaden, he always felt as if he was about to slip off. But he would rather have her as mother than Brown Water. She was even better than Happy Mouth. So he tried to hold in his tears and not think about his other mother. Mostly, he cried when Yaa was outside. Then he would remember what happened to his first mother and worry that someone might hurt Yaa, too. Who would be his mother if that happened?

  He clasped one of Yaa’s long braids, put his thumb into his mouth and rubbed the braid across his eyelids. It was soft and smelled of wood smoke. Ghaden felt the tears build in his throat until they almost choked him.

  It was better here than in the shaman’s lodge. He had Yaa, and the old grandmother Ligige’ did not come as often. He knew that Ligige’ was only trying to make him better, but her teas tasted bad, and when she had to put medicine on the knife wound in his back, it stung. She made him cough, and that hurt. If he cried, she called him a baby and told him he must be strong like a man. He knew she was right. He must be strong, but sometimes it was hard to pretend that something did not hurt or did not taste bad.

  Once, he had asked her for some medicine to take away the inside pain. He was not sure what that pain was from. Perhaps the knife had cut something deep in his chest that did not show from the outside.

  Ligige’ had felt him all over, thumping his bones with hard, wrinkled fingers, and pressing her ear to him, front and back. Finally she said there was nothing wrong, nothing that needed her medicine. But even though the pain of the knife wound gradually went away, this inside pain stayed, hurting and hurting all the time.

  After a while, Ghaden decided that Ligige’ knew the pain was there, but that she did not have any medicine for it. He asked Wolf-and-Raven to make chants for him, but even that did not help. One day when Wolf-and-Raven’s wife was playing the throwing bones game with him, the pain went away, just for a little while, and that made Ghaden hope that it would not be with him forever. Still, it hurt most of the time, especially at night or when he was alone.

  He sighed and brushed the end of Yaa’s braid against his nose. The pain eased just a little. Ghaden closed his eyes and tried to sleep, the braid clutched tightly in his hand.

  The tug at her hair woke her. Yaa smiled. She lay still until she heard Ghaden’s breathing soften into the rhythm of sleep, then she turned carefully, so she would not pull the braid from his hands.

  Old Ligige’ had invited Brown Water to come to her lodge in the morning. The boy was nearly well, Ligige’ had said. She did not need to see him every day. She would teach Brown Water to give him his medicines.

  To Yaa’s surprise, after Ligige’ left, Brown Water had asked her to come also. “You are the one who will care for the boy,” she said. “You should hear all these instructions. I do not have time for such things.”

  Yaa had hugged her happiness to herself. If she smiled too much, Brown Water might change her mind. Besides, everyone in the lodge was still in mourning for Yaa’s father. Yaa herself often found she needed to slip away to her animal den and cry, remembering her father’s gentle ways, without others to see her tears.

  Yaa pressed herself close to Ghaden. He was lying on his back, his face lit with the soft gold
light of the hearth coals. His cheeks were becoming round and fat again, and his black lashes lay dark against his skin. Already, though he was still little more than a baby, the bone of his nose had a small hump in the center. Like the trader’s nose, Yaa thought, remembering the man’s face.

  Then an idea came to her: the trader was probably Ghaden’s father. He had brought Daes to the village. Yaa had been just a little girl when they came, but she remembered. That was why he came each year to see Daes and Ghaden, and probably why Daes sneaked out of the lodge to visit him. It was also why she put up with the blows Brown Water gave her for doing such a thing.

  Though Wolf-and-Raven told everyone that some angered spirit had killed Daes and the old man Tsaani, some of the women still believed the trader did it. Yaa had heard them whisper about him around the village cooking hearths, but why would a man try to kill his own son? Why would he kill his son’s mother? He always brought Daes and Ghaden presents. Sometimes he gave Yaa gifts as well, and told her to watch over Ghaden, to be a good sister to her little brother. If he was so concerned about his son, why would he hurt him or his mother?

  She thought back to the night Daes was killed. Something had awakened her. A sound, she was sure. Perhaps it was Daes or Ghaden crying out, but she had been dreaming and had thought at the time the noise was part of her dream.

  Her dreams had been about River Ice Dancer. He was teasing her, a throwing stick in his hand. A throwing stick. Yes. And it had suddenly turned into … what? A bola. He was swinging it. The stones made a wide circle, whirling up over his head, then arcing down toward the ground. Suddenly the stones were not stones but bits of antler, clacking together. Clacking in a rhythm like a person walking, the sound of a person with caribou hoof rattlers on the tops of his boots. Yes, ceremonial boots, worn in dances.

  Many men had caribou rattlers on their dance boots, but this sound was a little different. It was the sound of rattlers, but something more … something more.

  The effort to remember made Yaa’s head throb.

  Ghaden groaned and turned. Yaa pulled her hands from the warmth of her bedding furs and tugged the boy into the circle of her arms.

  Was there a chance Ghaden had been awake when his mother was attacked? Yaa wondered. If not, surely the attack itself would have awakened him. Did he remember anything?

  Even if he did, he probably would not have told Wolf-and-Raven or Ligige’. He had always been shy, but perhaps he would speak to Yaa, and then she might be able to figure out who had killed Daes.

  The killer had to be someone strong. He had not only killed Daes but also Tsaani. Tsaani was an old man, but he was still a hunter. Surely he would have fought to save his own life.

  Then Yaa thought of something that made her bones cold. What if the killer were afraid Ghaden would remember?

  In Wolf-and-Raven’s lodge, Ghaden had been safe. Who would try to kill in a shaman’s lodge? But here, with only women and children, the killer would have no one to stop him. Yaa’s heart beat hard under her ribs.

  If I were old enough, she thought, I would marry a strong young man and bring him here to this lodge to protect us all. But no girl of seven summers was old enough to marry.

  The best chance was for Yaa’s mother or Brown Water to marry, but no one would want Brown Water. She was too old, and she was cross all the time. Someone might want Yaa’s mother. At least as second wife, but she had to wait out mourning before a man could take her. How long was that? Yaa could not remember. One moon, maybe two.

  Until then, their best protection was for Yaa to find out who had killed Daes and tell everyone. Tomorrow, when her mother and Brown Water were outside, she would talk to Ghaden. Perhaps he would tell her.

  In the morning, Yaa did not want to leave Ghaden. Her fears of the night pressed heavily against her, and she imagined a man with a knife slashing his way into the lodge.

  Yaa told herself that the killer would not do such a thing during the day when everyone could see him, but still she felt uneasy. She told her mother to watch Ghaden, to stay with him. She told her so many times that Brown Water finally gave her an openhanded cuff to the head and pulled her out of the lodge.

  Tears stung her eyes, but Yaa blinked them back. Brown Water’s cuff had not hurt that much, but the fear in Ghaden’s eyes as he watched her leave seemed like a knife twisting in her heart. She followed Brown Water over the narrow village paths to Ligige’’s lodge, then sat like a shadow at Brown Water’s side.

  Ligige’ and Brown Water first spoke politely of unimportant things, then Ligige’ served them bowls of broth from the small boiling bag that hung from her lodge poles. Finally when they had eaten, Ligige’ began laying out herbs and bits of dried things, twigs and powders—alder bark shredded, boiled and cooled to lay over the wound site, yellow root for strength, the inner bark of willow for fever.

  As she explained how to use each medicine, she often looked into Yaa’s eyes, so Yaa knew the old woman understood she would be the one who gave the medicine, she would be the one responsible.

  Finally the session ended and they walked back to Brown Water’s lodge. Everything was just as they had left it. There were no slashes in the lodge walls, no blood or bodies lying outside.

  See, you are foolish, Yaa told herself, and followed Brown Water into the entrance tunnel. But Brown Water stopped at the end of the tunnel, blocking Yaa inside. The woman made a strange choking noise in her throat, and Yaa felt her arms suddenly grow weak with fear.

  “You should have told me you were coming,” Brown Water said, then she asked, “Where is Happy Mouth?”

  Yaa reached out to push against Brown Water, and the woman crawled aside, allowing Yaa into the lodge. Yaa’s fear left with a suddenness that almost made her collapse to the floor. It was the elder Blue-head Duck. He was squatting on his haunches beside Ghaden. In his hands was a small brown-and-white puppy. Ghaden was smiling. He began to giggle as the puppy leaned forward to lick his nose.

  “It is my puppy,” Ghaden told Yaa, then looked seriously into Brown Water’s face and said, “Mother, it is my dog. This grandfather says he will teach me to take care of it.”

  “Happy Mouth went to bring food from the hearth,” Blue-head Duck said to Brown Water. “She will be back soon.”

  Brown Water nodded, threw back the hood of her parka, and gestured for Yaa to untie several water bladders. Yaa set the basket of Ligige’’s medicines near her folded sleeping mats and hurried to do as Brown Water said.

  What if Blue-head Duck had been the killer? she thought as she offered one of the bladders to him. With a puppy in his arms, who would have suspected him? He could have killed Ghaden and left before her mother returned.

  Blue-head Duck took a long drink, then, lowering the bladder, looked at Brown Water. “This pup is from strong stock,” he said. “He will be a good dog for hunting and for carrying. He should be kept inside.”

  Inside, Yaa thought in surprise. Who ever kept a dog inside? She looked at Brown Water, expecting her to explode in anger. Even an elder could not order a woman to keep a dog in her lodge.

  But Brown Water did not grow angry. Instead she looked long and thoughtfully at the puppy. “It has a loud bark?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “It will be a good dog for this lodge.”

  Then Yaa understood that she was not the only one who thought Ghaden was in danger.

  Ghaden wadded the strip of hide into a ball and threw it. The puppy bounded after it, barking. Ghaden knew they were making too much noise. If Brown Water had been in the lodge, she would have scolded them, but he and Yaa and his new puppy were alone.

  He was going to name the dog Biter, though he had told no one yet. When Biter grew up he would be a big dog with long, strong teeth, and everyone would be afraid of him. If Biter had been with them that night, he probably would have saved Ghaden’s first mother.

  The pup was light brown, with darker fur around his eyes. He had a little white spot, like a star, on his chi
n and a white chest and belly.

  “What are you going to call him?” Yaa asked.

  Ghaden looked into Yaa’s round face and drew his lips back from his teeth. “Biter,” he said, and growled.

  “Biter!”

  Ghaden growled again, looking at Yaa from the corners of his eyes, his lids half closed. “He is a fierce dog,” Ghaden said.

  “I had a pup once. I named him Tail-chaser,” said Yaa. She bent her head to look into Ghaden’s face. “Tail-chaser is a good name,” she said.

  Tail-chaser! Ghaden thought. Who would be afraid of a dog named Tail-chaser?

  “His name is Biter.”

  Yaa lifted her arms and spread her hands. “He is your dog. You should name him what you want.”

  Ghaden crawled after Biter, grabbed away the strip of hide and threw it again. “Get it, Biter!”

  The dog waved his plumed tail and ran after it. “What happened to Tail-chaser?” Ghaden asked.

  “We ate him,” Yaa answered. “It was the end of winter and our father could not hunt anymore.” She rubbed her hands, thinking of the swollen joints that had changed her father from a hunter into an old man.

  “Nobody will eat Biter,” Ghaden said. “He will eat them first.”

  Yaa raised her eyebrows. “We need a protector dog in this lodge,” she said. “Maybe Biter is a good name for him.”

  Yaa looked over at the puppy. He had the strip of hide in his mouth and was shaking his head. Now would be a good time, she thought. Her mother and Brown Water were at the cooking hearths, and Ghaden was talking more than he had since his mother had died.

  “Now you are safe,” Yaa began, and looked at Ghaden.

  He raised his eyebrows in agreement. “Nobody will get me,” he said, his voice firm.

  “Ghaden,” Yaa said, “no one knows who killed … who hurt you.”

  Ghaden crawled over to his puppy, put the dog on his lap and held the strip of hide up over its head. Biter lunged and tripped over Ghaden’s legs, then bumped forward on his nose. He got up again, jumped toward the hide and caught it. Ghaden laughed.