by Sue Harrison
Red Leaf came into the lodge, her arms full of firewood. He stood, took the wood from her and piled it near the entrance tunnel as she removed her parka. She looked down at his foot.
“It still bothers you?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“I have something.” She held up a small packet. “Ligige’ gave it to me. It is something the Sea Hunter woman told her about. It is called sixsiqax. Ligige’ said fresh leaves are better, but she had only dried. I soaked them in hot water.” She nodded toward the back of the lodge in the general direction of the village hearths. The women there always kept a caribou hide full of hot water, heated with rocks pulled from the edges of the cooking fires. “Sit down,” she told Chakliux.
He sat and Red Leaf knelt beside him. She layered the wet, warm leaves over his foot. They seemed to draw the ache from his bones.
“Sixsiqax?” Chakliux said. The word was harsh in his throat, unfamiliar to his tongue. “A Sea Hunter name?” he asked.
Red Leaf shrugged, then asked, “Where is Sok?”
“With the dogs.”
“What happened with the elders?”
Chakliux knew she would not ask Sok such a question, but she was more bold with him.
“They are pleased about the dogs.”
“They should be.”
Red Leaf waited, and Chakliux knew she wanted him to say more, but women did not need to know what happened in the elders’ lodge.
“What do you think about our young men?” Red Leaf asked. “Some of them want to attack the Cousin River Village.”
“They are foolish,” Chakliux told her.
For a long time Red Leaf said nothing. Chakliux waited. She was a woman who spent much time at the cooking hearths hearing and telling. She would not be silent forever.
Finally she said, “There have been no deaths since you left our village, of dogs or people.”
“So do the women think I killed my grandfather and the Sea Hunter woman?” Chakliux’s throat felt tight as he asked the question.
“Most have decided the trader killed them,” she said. “Most think he is dead. He was badly hurt when he left our village. Some of the young men thought you were the killer, but Blue-head Duck told them that if you were, you would not return to this village.”
Chakliux took a long breath. “I am not the killer,” he said.
“Now that you have brought the dogs, no one in the village thinks you are,” Red Leaf said, but she looked away as she spoke the words.
Chakliux nodded. He knew that she did not tell him the whole truth. There were those still afraid of him.
“Some of the women say you will leave the village. Some say you will stay here and take Blueberry as wife. Others think you will throw her away.”
“Some women talk too much,” Chakliux replied.
Red Leaf picked up the parka she was making. She began to weave a sinew thread through holes she had punched with an awl. “If you do not take Blueberry, do you think Sok will?” she asked.
The question surprised Chakliux. It was something Red Leaf should not ask. “I do not know,” he answered. “Ask your husband.”
Red Leaf snorted. “Blueberry is better than Snow-in-her-hair,” she said, then held up the parka so Chakliux could see the intricate sun design on the back. “But neither is good enough to make a parka like this.”
THE COUSIN RIVER VILLAGE
K’os invited not only uncles and cousins who were already hunters, but also young cousins still considered boys. She needed the young ones, perhaps more than those who were experienced hunters. Each man seemed surprised as he entered her lodge—first to see her husband, Ground Beater, then to see others, among them their fathers, sons or brothers.
K’os laughed to herself as she watched each face, the change from eagerness to embarrassment, then the darkening of skin that told of anger. It would do her purpose well, that anger.
She acted the part of wife, serving each man a bowl of meat, the elders’ flavored subtly with the root of the tall, purple-flowered plant she had found herself, something Old Sister had not even known. They would hardly notice its thin, sharp flavor, but it would make them calm, relaxed. They would sit quietly and do nothing as she worked on the young men, building their rage.
The hunters ate in silence, glancing at one another from the sides of their eyes. Stay angry, K’os told the young men silently. Stay angry. Slyly, she sought the gaze of each hunter, raised her brows, pursed her lips. Her husband was watching, she was sure. He knew far too much. How sad. It was not a good time to go through mourning, but some things could not be helped.
Finally she cleared her throat, looked at Ground Beater. At least he had agreed to this. She tightened her lips against a smile. He probably thought it was his own idea.
“I have asked each of you here,” he said.
K’os saw the surprise in the men’s eyes. She had said nothing to them about her husband’s wanting them here, but what better way to feed the young men’s anger?
“Each of you is in mourning. My wife and I want you to know we share your sorrow. We have gifts.”
He waved his arm toward a pile of trade goods in the corner of the lodge, things he and K’os had gathered in the two days since Tikaani’s return to the village. Most of the things K’os brought had been given to her by the men who visited her lodge. She kept the gifts in the back of their food cache, buried under bales of dried fish, frozen meat, and caribou intestines stuffed with fat and berries. She had little worry Ground Beater would find those treasures. What man ever dug past a good piece of meat?
K’os had told Ground Beater she traded meat for goods from her friends, from her aunt, from a cousin.
The men looked at the trade goods, and greed lighted their eyes.
“In this giveaway, we honor you,” Ground Beater said. “We understand that our son is the cause of your mourning, and in that, we also mourn.”
He was doing well, K’os thought, though his voice was thin, at times close to breaking as he praised each of the dead men, as he led a chant of healing for Night Man.
He had not been a bad choice for husband. In her young years, after Name Giver had died, when K’os still hoped for children and had not yet learned that a woman did not need a husband to feed her, she had wanted him. She would keep him, yet, for a little while. But he did not want to fight the Near River People, and because, for so many years, he had been the village’s chief hunter, others would follow his decision, at least the older men. The young men would do as Tikaani said. After all, he was truly the chief hunter of the village. He brought in more meat than Ground Beater ever did, and Tikaani was always eager to spend time in her bed.
So perhaps she would give him what he wanted most, recognition as the village’s only chief hunter. Then together they would continue their revenge against the Near River People—for what they had done to her.
Chapter Fourteen
THE NEAR RIVER VILLAGE
CHAKLIUX STOOD BESIDE THE lodge fire and smoothed the goose grease over his skin. He dressed slowly: a new breechcloth Red Leaf had made him, his soft hare fur inner leggings, the caribou hide shirt rubbed clean with fine sand, then his inner boots of ground squirrel pelts, his outer leggings of caribou hide, and his ground squirrel parka, his sealskin boots.
He had gifts, things a woman would like: a wolf pelt, a needle case carved from ivory, a wooden comb, dried fish, dried berries, a jade woman’s knife, and a fish lure carved from walrus ivory. Of course, these would not be enough for a bride price, but since Blueberry had been given to him by his grandfather, there was no need for gifts. He hoped she would like what he brought her. Perhaps it would ease this night they must spend together.
He had not had a woman since Gguzaakk had died—even before that. She had died shortly after their son was born, and what man takes a pregnant woman to his bed?
A man who cannot discipline himself to wait for a woman will not have the patience he needs to hunt well. What was huntin
g except watching and waiting? One move at the wrong time could mean the difference between a family that lived through a hard winter and one that did not.
Blueberry was a beautiful woman—much more beautiful than Gguzaakk, but Gguzaakk had been beautiful inside, beautiful and wise. Chakliux was not sure that Blueberry was either, though she had treated his grandfather well. At least according to what he had seen.
One night, he told himself. I must give her one night. That was enough to honor Tsaani. Finding her with Root Digger while she was still in mourning was just cause for Chakliux to throw her away, but out of respect for his grandfather, he would not mention that. Chakliux would break the marriage bond only because of the journey he must make to the Walrus Hunters. Who could say when he would return? Perhaps the Walrus Hunters would welcome him, and so he would stay and learn to hunt sea animals, to build an iqyax of his own. He might even decide to visit Sea Hunter villages.
A vague uneasiness came to him each time he thought of his journey. What did he know about the Walrus Hunters? Could he really learn to hunt sea animals? Could a grown man learn to do something that takes a lifetime to master?
Perhaps he could. If he was willing to be a boy again, if his pride did not stand in the way of his learning.
He placed the gifts into a fishskin basket. Tonight he would have his first lesson. Tonight he would begin learning how to live without pride.
“We will leave tomorrow,” Sok told Sees Light. “I will go with my brother.”
“How long will you be gone?” the man asked.
“Do not worry,” Sok said. “Even now my brother arranges to have another man take your granddaughter as wife. She will not starve.”
Sees Light nodded, then lifted his chin toward Sok. “And your wife?”
“She has brothers.” For a moment Sok’s voice grew hard. “She is a woman who can take care of herself. Besides, I will come back when my trading is done. Chakliux will return only if the Cousin River People do not seek him. Otherwise he will stay with the Walrus Hunters. Perhaps they will understand the honor he gives them as one who is both otter and man.”
Sees Light looked away, and Sok sensed his embarrassment. Let him be embarrassed, Sok thought. He hoped Sees Light had reminded his granddaughter of the respect a wife owes her husband, especially someone like Chakliux.
Chakliux owned power. How else had he been able to come in, as youngest son, and receive all the things Sok wanted? Yet how could Sok complain? How could he hold any anger against Chakliux when he had earned Sok’s respect in so many ways—by his hunting, his skill with weapons, even in the manner he treated Sok’s sons? And Red Leaf, even she had softened in her feelings toward the man.
Chakliux once told Sok that his dream was to have an iqyax and learn to hunt sea animals. If he could do such a thing, perhaps he would stay with the Walrus Hunters. Or even go live with the Sea Hunters. Then one day he might come back to this village, teach Sok how to hunt sea animals. The thought lifted Sok’s spirit, but he tried not to imagine what it would be like to return to this village alone, without Chakliux, the brother who claimed too much, the brother favored by the spirits since birth, the brother he had grown to love.
Blueberry stood up as Chakliux entered the lodge. She wore no ornaments, only a long caribou hide shirt and hare fur socks that reached her knees. Chakliux regretted that he had brought no necklaces, no feathers or weasel tails. He had been away from women too long. He had forgotten what they enjoyed.
He handed her the fishskin basket. “This is for you,” he said.
She took the basket without speaking, lowering her head as she reached out for it, so Chakliux could see the long white part that divided her hair. She was a small woman, and narrow of hip, like Gguzaakk had been. His heart squeezed tight at the thought, then he reminded himself that this woman was only to be his wife for one night. He would never feel his soul torn apart in fear as she struggled through childbirth.
She set the basket on the floor and brought him a bowl of food. He sat down and ate, watching from the corner of his eyes as she examined the gifts he had brought her. She exclaimed over each one, her words soft but joyful, and he felt his heart fill also with her joy. Surely she had been given gifts before. Surely a woman as beautiful as Blueberry knew what it was to receive good things.
He handed her his empty bowl, and she flicked her eyes toward the boiling bag that hung from the lodge poles.
“It was very good,” Chakliux said.
“The gifts, too, are wonderful,” said Blueberry, her voice so soft that Chakliux had to lean forward to hear her.
“There is one more gift for you tonight.”
She raised her eyebrows and looked down at his crotch.
“No,” he said, and could not keep a smile from his face. He lifted his chin toward his bowl. “Fill my bowl again, and also another.”
“I am not hungry,” Blueberry said.
“It is not for you.”
Someone scratched at the doorflap, and Chakliux called out, “Come.”
Blueberry stared at the entrance tunnel with wide eyes, and when Root Digger came in, she dropped Chakliux’s bowl and covered her face with both hands.
“Wife,” Chakliux said to her, “our guest needs food.”
Blueberry picked up Chakliux’s bowl, filled it and handed it to him. She filled another bowl for Root Digger. Chakliux motioned for the man to sit beside him.
Root Digger was nervous. His long thin fingers shook as he took the bowl from Blueberry’s hands.
Blueberry brought a water bladder, set it beside Chakliux, then went to her basket corner, tucking herself in among the reeds and grasses, the piles of fishskin baskets she stored there. She laid a sheaf of dried grasses across her lap and began to split a blade with her thumbnail.
Chakliux ate. He said nothing to Root Digger or to Blueberry, though he saw that, now and again, both looked at him from the sides of their eyes.
When Chakliux finished his food, he set his bowl on the floor. Blueberry jumped up to refill it, but he held up one hand so she settled herself again amidst her baskets.
Chakliux waited until Root Digger finished his food. The man ate more slowly than necessary, Chakliux thought, but then he reminded himself that Root Digger was a slow man, slow in feet and slow in thought. Why not also slow in eating?
“I have noticed,” Chakliux began, turning to look straight into Root Digger’s face, “that you live in your mother’s lodge. Since I have been in this village only a few moons, I do not know everything about everyone, but I have heard that you do not have a wife.”
“No, I do not,” the man said, his words high and squeaky like a boy’s.
“You need a wife,” said Chakliux.
“Yes,” Root Digger said, his face growing pale.
“There are many women in this village, young girls and widows who are not spoken for. There is Wolf-and-Raven’s daughter, Snow-in-her-hair; there is Broken Grass, a widow still young enough to have children. There is Dog Trainer’s granddaughter who just celebrated her woman’s rites.” He stopped, leaned down to run a finger over his bowl. He sucked the meat juice from his fingertip.
“Have you considered any of these women?” Chakliux asked.
“Only Broken Grass,” Root Digger said.
Chakliux looked at Blueberry, saw the surprise in her face. Did she believe he thought only of her, this man? Her husband had been dead only a moon.
Root Digger followed Chakliux’s eyes to Blueberry, then ducked his head, his face suddenly red.
“You know that I must claim Blueberry as wife,” Chakliux said, looking again at Root Digger.
“I understand,” said Root Digger.
Chakliux turned to Blueberry. “You understand this, wife?” he asked her.
“Yes.”
“But there is something else I must tell you.” He settled himself against the backrest that had once belonged to his grandfather. “I have just returned from the Cousin River Village, fr
om my own people there. I traded in good faith for a golden-eyed dog and her pups. I brought the dogs here with hopes of breaking the curse that plagues the animals of this village. The young hunters in the Cousin River Village do not want to see good trading between us. They seek honor by becoming warriors. After I left their village, they attacked me.”
Chakliux looked at Blueberry, saw that she listened with eyes round, mouth open. Root Digger also stared.
“Why?” he asked.
“Who knows? Honor is one thing to one man, another to someone else.”
“I have seen the female you brought and her four pups,” Root Digger said.
“There were five pups,” said Chakliux. “They killed one, and a male dog I had brought to mate with our females. They also killed a Cousin River elder who came with me. Three of those hunters died. Three of five. Another was wounded. Then they returned to their own village, and I came here.”
“They will come looking for you,” Blueberry said, and she moved to their side of the fire, knelt down between them, as though she had forgotten her place as woman.
“They will come, and if we do not give you to them, they will attack,” Root Digger said.
“That is what the elders believe,” Chakliux answered. “What I and my brother believe, also. So tomorrow we plan to leave the village. We will go trade with the Walrus Hunters; perhaps we will travel even farther and trade with the Sea Hunters.”
He glanced at Blueberry, saw the lines in her forehead, and knew what she was thinking.
“You will be gone a long time,” she said quietly.
“I may not come back,” Chakliux replied, and the words hung cold and empty in the lodge. “I may not be able to come back. The elders have agreed to say that I did not return here with the golden-eyed dogs. That way your people will hold no blame for the deaths of the Cousin River hunters. What fault is it of yours if one Cousin River man kills another Cousin River man? How can the young hunters use that to begin a war?”
“So you will take the dogs and leave?” Blueberry asked.
