The Storyteller Trilogy

by Sue Harrison

  “No.”

  Tut threw back her head and laughed. “And I am supposed to worry about this?”

  “Tut, please come.”

  “You speak the language. You tell them.”

  “You would risk something like this to my poor knowledge of their language?”

  Tut gave him a sour look, then sighed and turned, spoke in quick words to the First Men women, then gestured for him to climb the log. He waited at the top of the ulax, and finally she came. He helped her down the side, then she pulled away from him, walked in hard steps, stomping her feet against the earth like an angry child. Finally she said, “And what do you want me to tell them?”

  “Tell them the truth,” Chakliux answered. “Say that she would not come with us except as Sok’s wife and that it will be up to the Walrus shaman to win her with gifts and promises when we get to their village.”

  She nodded and said nothing more until they arrived at the traders’ tent.

  Chakliux heard Aqamdax’s voice even as they neared the tent, and, though she spoke in the First Men’s language, he could tell by the cadence of her words that she was telling a story. Her voice rose to meet them as they entered the tent, though the storyteller herself did not move from the center of the shelter. The Walrus traders were sitting, listening, as was Sok, his face creased with a smile. When he saw Chakliux, he said, “She tells us a story. You see the powers she has. Listen.”

  She spoke in many voices, and her face glowed with her words; her body moved with the rhythm of her speech. To his surprise, Chakliux felt his loins tighten with desire, and finally he closed his eyes so he could not see her. It was a foolish thing to want a brother’s wife.

  Then in the darkness, he heard Tut tell the Walrus traders of Sok’s marriage. To Chakliux’s surprise, they seemed to think Sok had acted wisely. Whether they expected Sok to give her to Yehl once they returned to the Walrus Hunter village, Chakliux was not sure. And what of Sok? Would he be willing to give her to another once she had been his?

  For two nights, Sok and Aqamdax stayed in Qung’s ulax, slept in Aqamdax’s sleeping place. During those nights, Aqamdax woke often, sometimes to respond to her River husband’s lovemaking, but most often because something in her dreams reminded her that she was wife. She would wake and listen to Sok’s breathing, to the sound of him as he slept. The word ayagax—“wife”—would come to her, and it seemed that Sok’s breath became the rhythm of that word: ayagax, ayagax.

  Then her heart would fill as though it were a nayux, buoying up her spirit, lifting her from the darkness of the years since her father’s death.

  On the third day, Tut drew her aside, sat with her in the lee of Qung’s ulax and together they scraped sea lion hides. They worked in silence, enjoying the heat of summer sun, the sound of wind in the grass of the ulax roof, the noise of children playing. Aqamdax’s scraper spoke in the silence between them, loud enough so that she was sure Tut also heard and understood her joy: ayagax, ayagax.

  Finally Tut said, “You know that they plan to leave tomorrow?”

  The question seemed to catch in the notched edge of Aqamdax’s scraper, so that her hands had to stop. “Tomorrow?”

  “They return to the Walrus, then your husband and his brother will go on to the River People.”

  Aqamdax thought of her mother, drew out the faded remembrance of her face, then Aqamdax’s hands were free to move again. She pressed her weight against the scraper, peeled a thin strand of membrane from the hide and watched it float away, caught on the wind.

  “Then perhaps I will find my mother,” Aqamdax said, speaking with strength so Tut would not think she regretted her decision to marry.

  For a long time Tut said nothing, and Aqamdax let her eyes wander from what her hands were doing to rest on the small familiar things she could see from this side of Qung’s ulax. The high growth of salmonberries near Fish Caller’s ulax; the black lava rocks He Sings kept as remembrance of grandfathers and great-grandfathers; the long fringe of Qung’s basket grass strung point down on the drying racks.

  She spoke to her eyes, told them to see and remember, told her ears not to forget the sound of the sea at this beach. Then she told herself, You are wife! with words fierce enough to tear away the sadness. Someday, you will come back. You will bring your babies to listen to Qung’s stories.

  Qung is old, came the thought, unbidden, but Aqamdax pushed it away. Qung was strong in spite of her age. She would live to see Aqamdax’s children. It would not be easy to tell the old woman goodbye, but Aqamdax must remember what had been given to her. A strong husband, a new home and the chance to see her mother again.

  “If you have questions, you should ask now,” Tut said. “There will be no one you can ask once you leave here. No one in the Walrus Hunter Village speaks much of the First Men language. It has always been the First Men who spoke both tongues. Though any trader will know some. So ask, and I will do what I can to answer.”

  Aqamdax set down her scraper and looked at the woman. Tut was old, but she held herself straight, and her hands showed no signs of the bone sickness that knots joints and twists the body. Aqamdax had thought the woman would return to the Walrus Hunter Village with them, and the knowledge that she would not filled Aqamdax’s stomach with sudden unease.

  “You will not return to the Walrus?” she asked.

  “My Walrus husband is dead. My daughter married a First Men hunter and lives in a village a day or two west of here. It is better for me to be here, with my brothers, with my First Men family.”

  “I will be alone then,” Aqamdax said, her voice soft, as though she spoke to herself.

  “You will like the Walrus Hunter Village,” Tut told her. “The people there are good people. They will be a new family to you.”

  “I will probably not be there long,” Aqamdax said. “My husband will soon return to his River village.”

  “You know the Walrus shaman has asked to have you as wife?” Tut said.

  “Yes,” Aqamdax said, “but now Sok is my husband. I will not stay with the Walrus.”

  “I will tell him that for you. I will be sure he understands.”

  Aqamdax picked up her scraper, then set it down again. “I will not go with him if he plans to give me to the Walrus shaman.” Her words were strong, but she felt a sickness inside, as though something were eating her heart. Had Sok taken her only so she would go with him, then when she was away from her own people, no longer storyteller of her village, would he give her away? She remembered his hands on her body, the strength of his arms around her. No, he would not trade her. Already, they had formed the strong bond that comes to husband and wife. She did not need to worry.

  “Is there anything else I can ask him?”

  “Do you know if he has other wives?”

  Tut thought for a moment. “He has two sons,” she finally said. “He speaks often of them. They are still boys, but old enough to hunt.”

  “Then I am second wife.”

  “Probably.”

  “Will you ask him what the River People expect of a second wife? I do not want to offend.”

  “I will ask for you. And I will ask what other things you should know about River customs.”

  Aqamdax nodded but said nothing. They worked in silence, the two together. Aqamdax tried to think of other things to ask Tut, but her thoughts were like the bits of flesh she scraped from the sea lion hide, carried quickly away on the wind.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  THE NEAR RIVER VILLAGE

  GHADEN HEARD THE CLATTER of the killer’s boots, the clicking of caribou hoof rattlers like the ones dancers wore during celebrations. He opened his mouth to scream out a warning, but he had no words, nothing but a quiet moan that sounded more like wind than his own voice. Suddenly a dog barked, chased the one with the knife, and instead of the clicking noise, Ghaden heard Brown Water’s voice, loud and angry.

  “Yaa, put that dog outside.”

  Ghaden took a long breath. He had bee
n dreaming. He was safe in Brown Water’s lodge. Yaa untangled herself from her hare fur blankets. Ghaden felt her warmth leave his side, heard her angry whispers scolding Biter as she untied the doorflap and let him out. A few moments later, he heard the dog come back. Yaa snuggled beside him in the sleeping mats, bringing with her a waft of cool air and the fresh smell of outside, the whine of mosquitoes.

  Biter flopped down at Ghaden’s feet, and Ghaden sat up, patted Biter’s head, felt the dog’s tongue hot and wet on his hand. For a long time, Ghaden sat in the darkness and stroked his dog’s head. When he finally lay back down, he fell asleep easily, and that night, the dream did not return.

  Ghaden shook the string of bone beads, then slapped the floor of the lodge with a stick until Biter barked. Ghaden barked with him, making his face as fierce as he could, trying to show Biter that he must be ready to fight.

  Again Ghaden shook the beads, then he threw them down, growled at them, hit them with his stick. Biter jumped at the beads, took them in his mouth, flung them back over his head and barked.

  It sounded like a fierce bark, but Biter did not look fierce. He looked like a dog who was playing a game. He looked like a dog who was almost smiling, if dogs could smile. Would barking be enough to scare the killer if he came again, rattling his bones?

  He and Biter were making so much noise that he did not hear Brown Water come into the lodge, did not know she was behind him until she grabbed his shoulder. He was so caught up in his game that at first he thought she was the killer. He screamed and whirled, the stick in his hand, ready to strike. At the same time, Biter jumped toward Brown Water, teeth bared. Suddenly Yaa was there, her hands at Biter’s neck, caught deep into Biter’s fur, holding him away from Brown Water.

  When Ghaden realized Brown Water was the one who had him, he dropped his stick and crouched down, raising his arms over his head.

  “What were you doing?” she asked. She lifted her hand, but did not hit him.

  “Teaching Biter,” Ghaden said in a small voice, and tried to hold in a sob that threatened to break through his words.

  “You were making so much noise that Lazy Snow came over to see what was wrong. Her nose is long enough. We do not need it sticking into our lodge.” She lowered her hand. “Play quiet games.”

  She looked at Yaa. “Where were you?”

  “You told me to get wood.”

  “Well, where is it?”

  “Outside.”

  “Bring it in,” she told Yaa. “When you are done, take the boy and do something with him. I think he is strong enough to be outside more. Take the dog, too.”

  Yaa left, and Ghaden braced himself for Brown Water’s quick hand, but she only pointed toward the rolled sleeping mats with her chin and said, “Go sit down until Yaa is finished.”

  Ghaden walked over to his sleeping robe and sat down. It was rolled so tightly that it looked like a plump, furry log. Biter sat beside him, and Ghaden began to stroke the dog’s ears. He almost put his thumb into his mouth, but he stopped himself. Why give Brown Water something else to yell about?

  Yaa was slow about bringing in the wood. She knew Brown Water would soon go to the cooking hearths, then she and Ghaden would have the lodge to themselves. But Brown Water, also, seemed in no hurry. Yaa had brought in almost all the wood by the time the woman left. Yaa picked up one more armload and watched until Brown Water disappeared down toward the cooking hearths, then she went inside.

  Ghaden was sitting with one arm draped over Biter. The dog was nearly full-sized now, though still with the lankiness of a puppy. She noticed that as soon as Brown Water left the lodge, Ghaden had stuck his thumb in his mouth.

  “So, Ghaden, Brown Water says you can go outside. It has been a long time since you played with your friends. Do you want to try to find Little Fish and Spear?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Ghaden lay his head against Biter. “Can Biter come?”

  “If he stays away from other dogs.”

  “He will.”

  “Why were you and Biter making so much noise?”

  Ghaden pulled his thumb out of his mouth and smiled at her. “I was teaching Biter to be fierce.”

  “With this?”

  Yaa picked up the string of beads from the floor. She shook them and Biter growled.

  Ghaden laughed and threw his arms around his dog. “Old bone man won’t get us!” he said.

  “Who is old bone man?”

  Ghaden stuck his thumb back into his mouth. “Secret,” he said, the word slurring past his thumb. “Can’t tell you.”

  Ghaden felt small when he was outside. Smaller than when he was in the lodge. And the village seemed strange—too quiet. Most of the people were at fish camp, but Brown Water had decided not to go this year. She said the walk was too far for him. He was not strong enough yet, and mostly she made him stay inside. It had not been a good summer.

  Even Yaa treated him like a baby. When they did go out, she coated his face with goose grease to keep the bugs away and made him wear his caribouskin boots, though he wanted to go barefoot like she did.

  Ghaden followed her to the edge of the village, to a clearing near the steep bank that dropped off into the river. The older boys were playing a game, kicking a caribou bladder to one another, trying to keep it from touching the ground. Ghaden watched, eyes sparkling. Both he and Yaa had to keep a grip on Biter so he did not join the game.

  Several of the smaller boys came to Ghaden, tried to get him to play with them, but Yaa would not let him go. Ghaden turned away, and Feet First, a boy of about five summers, began calling him names.

  “My dog will bite you!” Ghaden screamed out.

  Biter bared his teeth, but Yaa clamped a hand over his muzzle, then pulled him and Ghaden with her to the cooking hearths, where Yaa’s mother gave both of them a bit of meat.

  “You want to go back to the lodge?” Yaa asked Ghaden.

  “No.”

  “You want to watch the boys?”

  “No.”

  She knelt down in front of Ghaden. Sometimes, when she wanted an answer from him, she had better luck when she looked into his eyes. “Tell me what you want to do.”

  He turned his face away.

  “All right. We’ll go back to the lodge. You can stay there with Biter. I have friends I can be with. You can stay by yourself.”

  He grabbed her hand. “No, Yaa. Stay with me.”

  “I know what we can do,” Yaa said, thinking the words out loud. “There’s a place I want to take you.”

  “Can Biter come?”

  “If he is good.”

  “He is always good.”

  “Ghaden,” she said slowly, “this is a secret place. You cannot tell anyone.”

  He looked into her eyes. “I won’t tell.”

  With most of the children at fish camp, it was a good time to show Ghaden her den. She did not want someone like River Ice Dancer to find her hiding place. He might ruin it. Besides, the best part of having the den was that no one else knew about it.

  She took Ghaden’s hand and led him out of the village toward the women’s place, then off on the little hidden path to the den. She held a finger to her lips, knelt down in front of the black spruce, and crawled in under the bottom branches. Ghaden and Biter followed her. She picked up the stick and poked it into the den, then crept inside. She loved the darkness, the sweet earth smell. She reached back, pulled Ghaden in, then laughed as Biter followed on his belly.

  “Are we foxes?” Ghaden asked.

  The idea brought a smile to her face, and Yaa laughed. “Yes,” she said, “foxes. I am the mother. You are the father and Biter is the baby.”

  “He’s the dog,” Ghaden said solemnly.

  “Foxes don’t have dogs,” Yaa told him.

  “We do.”

  “All right, Biter’s the dog. Do you like it in here?” she asked, then lifted her hand to the top of the den. “Look, I bet you can almost stand up straight.”
>
  He stood but had to bend his head to the side.

  “Almost,” Yaa said.

  “I like it,” Ghaden whispered. “What do you do in here?”

  “Sometimes I bring food.”

  “I’m hungry, Yaa.”

  Yaa rolled her eyes, though she knew it was probably too dark for him to see. “You just ate.”

  Ghaden didn’t answer.

  “Sometimes I like to sit and think about things,” she told him.

  “What do you think about?”

  “Ummm, sometimes you. What happened to you.”

  She felt Ghaden suddenly stiffen. “It’s all right in here,” she told him. “The best thing about this secret place is that we are safe here. No one knows about it except us. If someone ever tries to get you, you can come here and be safe. Whatever words you say here, no one can hear you. It’s a good place to tell secrets.”

  Ghaden was quiet for a long time. Finally he said, “I have secrets.”

  “You do?”

  “You won’t tell?”

  “No.” She held her breath, hoping he would talk to her about the night Daes was killed.

  “I took food last night from the cooking bag.”

  Yaa was disappointed, but she reminded herself that big secrets were not easily told. It was best to start with small ones. She giggled. “I did, too,” she said.

  Ghaden laughed out loud.

  “Be quiet,” Yaa whispered, but was careful to keep the laughter bubbling through her words so Ghaden would know she was not mad.

  “You have any more secrets?” Yaa asked.

  Ghaden was suddenly very still, and Yaa hoped he would decide to tell her something. Each day when she hauled wood, stirred cooking bags, wove mats, each night when she lay trying to sleep, she thought about the killer, wondered if whoever it was would try to hurt Ghaden again. She thought about Daes and who in the village might have hated her enough to kill her.

  So far, she had come up with nothing. The village women had not been friendly to Daes, except perhaps for Yaa’s mother, but only Brown Water was openly mean, and Brown Water had been in the lodge all night; at least she had been there when Yaa fell asleep, and was still there when Yaa awoke in the morning. Besides, why would Brown Water want to kill Daes? Without Daes each woman in the lodge had more work to do.