by Sue Harrison
Star had avoided Aqamdax since she returned to the lodge, and who could blame her? Aqamdax would have done the same, though perhaps a little less obviously. Why risk your baby for the sake of politeness? But now Star sidled close to her, and Aqamdax knew the conversation was not over.
“I wonder how Sok will kill her. Perhaps he will use a knife just like Red Leaf used to kill—”
“You should not be this close to me,” Aqamdax said to the woman, and Star gasped, as though the realization of her child’s peril had just come to her.
She scuttled to the other side of the lodge. Aqamdax closed her eyes and stretched, straightened her shoulders. “I will go outside, Sister,” she said to Star. “That will be safest.”
She was weaving grass mats for the lodge floor. The grass in this place where the River People had chosen to live was not as good as what grew near the First Men villages, but it made sturdy mats. At one time, the women had laughed at her floor mats. Their village had been strong then, and there were caribou skins that could be used to pad floors. Now there were not even enough skins for lodge walls.
Aqamdax squatted on her haunches at the sun side of the lodge. In her own village, she would have found a place away from the wind, but here she had grown to appreciate a windy day. The sound took her back to her own people, to the First Men Village and the noise of the waves.
There, Aqamdax had grown used to the wideness of the sea and horizons that spread to the edge of the earth. The River People’s land was cut into small pieces by trees and hills. Some days, during the two years she had been with the River People, she felt closed in, as though she had been made to sit too long in a small place, legs and arms cramped for room.
A shadow fell across her work, and Aqamdax looked up to see the boy Cries-loud, Sok’s son. Once, in a time that now seemed very long ago, he and his older brother, that first Carries Much, had been her stepsons. Now, even though she was no longer wife to their father, Cries-loud often came to her with his small boy triumphs, his problems and questions.
He squatted beside her, his legs crossed. Aqamdax smiled a greeting and was not surprised when Cries-loud said, “Star told me my mother is going to die.”
Aqamdax wanted to gather the boy into her arms, hold him as she held Ghaden when he was sad or tired, but Cries-loud was not a child. He had eight summers. Soon he would hunt with the men.
“You understand why?” Aqamdax asked.
“I understand.”
“You know that this was a difficult decision for your father?”
He nodded. “Star told me it must be done because there is a curse. Do you think all the fighting and all the terrible things that happened to us were because of what my mother did?”
“I am not wise enough to know that, Cries-loud. There were many people besides your mother who did foolish things. I have heard the stories of the dogs that died in the Near River Village. A shaman did that. Surely his powers were greater than your mother’s. There was a woman named K’os who lived in this village before you and your father came here. She is gone now, but she was very evil, even had people killed.”
“Did someone kill her?”
“No.”
“My father says I cannot see my mother. He says I cannot speak to her again.”
Aqamdax’s eyes filled with tears. What a foolishness, all this killing. Did men not face enough death just in hunting? Did women not do the same in childbirth? Chakliux had worked hard to protect these villages from one another, but it seemed that some spirit of anger and death lingered even yet.
She placed an arm around Cries-loud’s shoulders, and he leaned into her. “You should remember the good times with your mother and all the good things she has done. Your new sister will need you to protect her. You are the big brother for her and for Carries Much.” When she said Carries Much, she felt Cries-loud shudder and knew he was thinking of his older brother, killed during the fighting.
Then, though Aqamdax had not planned to tell a story, an old River tale came to her. “There was once a wise porcupine and a foolish raven,” she began, the words singing from her mouth. She felt Cries-loud relax beside her.
He was too old for a children’s story, but he listened as Aqamdax spoke.
Chapter Three
THE NEAR RIVER VILLAGE
K’OS LEANED OVER THE boiling bag and pretended she did not hear what Blue Flower was saying. As widow of the Near River shaman, Blue Flower held a place of respect, and could make the youngest wives scurry to do her bidding simply by raising her eyes to the sky as though she had special spirit powers. She claimed to be the healer in this village, though she knew nothing but a few of the chants her husband once used.
K’os had seen her set broken bones so poorly that arms and legs would be crippled forever. Blue Flower seldom gathered plants for medicine and seemed to know only the most familiar—willow bark to ease pain, fireweed for upset stomachs. Even a child knew such things!
K’os had offered to teach Blue Flower about herbs and plants, but the woman had reacted in horror. Who would be foolish enough to trust a Cousin River slave?
Though Blue Flower was incompetent as a healer, still K’os had to admire her for the honored place she had made for herself. K’os had heard the whispered tales of how Blue Flower’s husband, Wolf-and-Raven, had slyly killed Near River dogs so when the deaths stopped he could claim he had successfully driven the evil from their village. What did Blue Flower have to boast about, being wife to a man like that? He had been caught in his scheme, caught by an old woman, the one called Ligige’. Of course, some said Ligige’ had had the help of Chakliux.
Chakliux, K’os’s own son. He was a greater fool than Wolf-and-Raven. The Near River People held him in great esteem. So why had he allowed a man like Fox Barking to drive him from this village? She had taught him better than that! With elders as weak as Fox Barking and Sun Caller, he would have soon secured a place as leader.
Blue Flower lifted a ladle in K’os’s direction, whispered something to the other women. They laughed. K’os turned her back on them, began a chant of nonsense words. Soon they were quiet, and K’os began to sing louder. One by one they left, until K’os was there alone with the few children who always lingered near the hearths hoping for handouts.
K’os continued to sing, beckoning the youngest of the children with a piece of boiled fish, dripping juice from the soup broth. The child crept forward, and when he had it in his hand turned and ran. An older boy tried to grab the fish from him, but K’os called to him, offered him a chunk of meat. Soon she had given each child something to eat, and as they stood around her, she began a story, something she remembered from when she was a child.
She did not like children—their sticky fingers always reaching to touch or grasp, their whiny voices competing for attention. But she had watched Aqamdax work her way from slave to wife in the Cousin River Village, and Aqamdax had begun with the children. What better way to win the parents than through their sons and daughters?
Dii shuddered at her husband’s touch. She knew she should be grateful he had chosen her from among the Cousin girls taken as slaves, but when he called her to his bed, she had to force herself not to shrink from his groping hands.
He was a lazy man, sleeping long into each morning. She often asked herself why the Near River People had selected him as leader of their elders. Even Sun Caller seemed a better choice. He was shy in speaking out, and the words came from his mouth in broken, stuttering phrases, but there was a wisdom about him that Dii had noticed even the first time he came to her lodge.
Fox Barking lifted the hare fur robe that lay over him, and Dii saw that his penis was swollen, ready for her. At least it would be over quickly, she told herself as she slipped off her long caribou hide shirt and slid in beside him. He grabbed her breasts, and she winced. She would soon be in her moon blood time, and they were tender.
She turned her thoughts to good things, as she always did when she was in her husband’s bed. If sh
e allowed her mind to be filled with her sorrows, her husband’s groping and thrusting always seemed more painful. She was, after all, second wife of a man who was leader of the elders. She had her own lodge, a good one, and her husband received large shares of whatever meat the hunters brought into the village, so her food cache was nearly full, even before the fall caribou hunts.
The spirits must have taken pity on her for her losses: the death of her mother on their journey to this village; the slaughter of her father, uncle and brothers in the fighting. Yes, they had taken pity, had allowed her to be a slave only a few days before Fox Barking had chosen her. He had introduced her to his first wife, Gull Beak, an old woman whose teeth were worn to the gums, but for all her homeliness Gull Beak had a true heart. She did not ask much of Dii and sewed most of Fox Barking’s clothing. Dii hoped Gull Beak would live a long time. Surely Fox Barking would not look on Dii’s sewing with favor after having worn Gull Beak’s fine clothing for so many years.
Fox Barking groaned, then his body relaxed over hers. He would sleep now, trapping Dii under him unless she was able to pull away.
“I must go to the hearths,” she whispered. “It is my turn there.”
He mumbled a reply, then rolled to his side so she could leave his bed. She slid out, took a long breath.
“Bring me back something when you return,” he told her. “I will be ready to eat.”
Dii used the edges of her hands to wipe Fox Barking’s sweat from her chest and belly. She pulled on the knee-length pants she wore in summers, then slipped into her boots and parka. The boots had moose hide soles, but the uppers and all of her other clothing were made of caribou hide, everything sewn by her mother the winter before the fighting.
She looked back at Fox Barking. His eyes were closed. The scar that ran from his forehead down over his right eye and to his jaw gathered the skin as though a woman had run a thread through his flesh and pulled it tight. She was glad that Fox Barking did not allow her to eat with him. It would have been difficult for her to swallow her food if she had to look at his face. Of course, there were others in the village who bore scars. Third Tree had only one eye, and Talks-all-night carried the marks of burns she received as a child when her grandmother’s lodge caught fire. Those scars, though they were worse than Fox Barking’s, did not turn Dii’s stomach. But who noticed Third Tree’s empty eye once he began telling his jokes? And who noticed Talks-all-night’s burns when her gentle spirit made itself known through her kindness?
Dii left her husband and walked to the hearth fires. She was still not accustomed to the closeness of the Near River lodges. In her own village, lodges had been far enough apart so a woman could keep her drying racks close. Here the women set their racks at the edge of the bowl of earth where the village was nestled. They lost dried meat and fish because of this strange practice. Wild animals were more bold in stealing from the edges of a village than they were in braving dogs and people to sneak between lodges. Of course, children kept watch over the racks, usually the boys, those not quite old enough to join the hunting trips. But what wolf, what lynx, was afraid of a boy?
Dii avoided the edges of the village as much as possible. Where else would the warriors’ spirits stay, those from both the Cousin and Near River Villages who had been killed in the fighting? Somewhere out there were her father and brothers. She did not want to meet them, nor any of the Cousin men’s spirits. Surely they must hate her now that she was wife to one of the Near River elders.
She did not mind taking her turn at the cooking hearths, though it was not like it had been in the Cousin Village, with all the women sharing and laughing. Here the mix of Cousin and Near River was still uncomfortable, but in the past few moons the women had seemed to drift into an arrangement favored by all. The Cousin women, most now wives, came early, started the fires when dawn was only a gray promise of light. Then later, when husbands were beginning to awaken, the Near River women came and the Cousin women left, taking a share of food to their lodges. From then on they took turns. Only in evenings when everyone was hungry did the two groups mingle.
Dii had taken a turn at dawn, and now the Near River women should be at the hearths, but better to be with them than under Fox Barking’s sweating body. She lowered her head and determined to say little, giving no one reason to find fault with her. But when she reached the hearths, only the woman K’os was there.
When she had lived in the Cousin River Village, Dii had feared K’os. K’os had been the village healer, and able to help many with her medicines. But who had not heard the stories of men and women—those K’os hated—who died horrible deaths? Some even said she had killed her own son’s wife. In the Cousin River Village, Dii had seldom spoken to the woman, tried not to look at her, but here K’os was only a slave.
No one came to her for medicines. No one gave her the honor due a healer. In the Cousin River Village, many men visited her lodge, gave gifts for her favors. K’os was supposed to be old, but her hair was as thick and black as a young woman’s, her skin unlined, her eyes large and bright. Even her teeth were strong and unbroken.
K’os raised her head and called out a greeting. Dii could not ignore her. Her mother had taught her that every person deserved to be treated fairly, even slaves.
“Good morning,” Dii said. “My husband sent me to get food.” She dipped her ladle into a boiling bag and stirred the contents.
“You are Fox Barking’s wife,” K’os said.
“Yes,” Dii answered, then did not know what else to say. She did not want to boast of being a wife when K’os was still a slave. Finally, she said, “Second wife.”
“Ah, yes, there is that other one—Gull Beak. Is that her name?”
Dii nodded.
“She is old, that one,” K’os said, then plucked a bit of fish from the bag she was stirring and ate it.
Dii’s eyes widened in surprise. Surely slaves were not to eat from the boiling bags without permission, but who was here to stop her? She remembered when K’os herself had owned a slave, the Sea Hunter woman Aqamdax. She remembered how thin and worn Aqamdax had become. Sometimes Dii’s mother had given the woman a little food, even though she was a slave, even though she was Sea Hunter.
Dii tried to remember which Near River family owned K’os, but she could not. There were too many families to learn all at once, though she now knew those who were her husband’s friends or related to him in some way.
“Does she have any children, this Gull Beak?” K’os asked.
“None living,” Dii said. “And she is so old she does not even go to the moon blood lodge anymore.”
“So I suppose Fox Barking hopes you will give him a son.”
Dii’s cheeks suddenly burned red. “Yes,” she said quietly.
“I have medicines that will help you conceive.”
Dii considered being pregnant. It would not be easy delivering a child in this village, without her mother to help her, but then she reminded herself of the moons during her pregnancy that Fox Barking could not ask her to his bed. That would be worth something. And what about the joy of having someone who truly belonged to her, who carried the blood of her father and mother?
“It would be a good thing to have a baby,” Dii said.
K’os nodded. “Sun Girl, that is your name, is it not?”
“I have changed it. I am Dii now. Because no one else in my family is still alive.”
“Dii, then,” K’os said, and smiled as though amused by what Dii had said.
Dii turned her head away and reminded herself to be wary. Only a fool would trust someone who could smile at another’s sorrow.
“Tomorrow, come to the hearths again in the morning,” said K’os. “If I am not here, then come the next day. I will bring you something. It does not help everyone—it did not help me—but perhaps it will give you a child.”
Dii thanked her, then began to fill the small caribou hide bag she had brought with her. Fox Barking would expect her back soon.
“I am surprised that your husband keeps his first wife, old as she is and unable to give him children,” K’os said.
“It is her sewing. She is gifted. He keeps the best parkas for himself and is able to earn much in trade from the others. Animals honor him because of the respect he shows them in his clothing.”
“Only for her parkas, then,” K’os said, and Dii glanced at her to see if the words were a question, but it seemed as though K’os had forgotten Dii was there, the woman’s eyes looking up and out, beyond the tops of the lodges.
Chapter Four
“SO WHAT DO YOU know about the woman called Gull Beak?” K’os asked.
Two Fist, the wife of the man who owned K’os, frowned. K’os held her smile in her mouth. Did Two Fist suspect how often her husband took K’os to his bed? Possibly, but she had caught them only once, the lazy one, coming back from the cooking hearths long before she should have. The woman turned away without answering.
Let her ignore me, K’os thought. There are others to ask. She continued to stir the cooking bag, filled bowls for two hunters, then, when Two Fist pointed with a toe at one of the hearths, she gathered an armload of wood from a pile nearby and carefully added pieces to the fire.
There were five hearth fires in a circle at the center of the village, a fire named for each of the four directions of the wind and another for the sun. She wondered whether there were any hearth fires burning in the Cousin River Village, or if the people had gone to their summer fish camps. They had probably stayed in their winter village. It was close to the Grandfather Lake, and there was good fishing at that lake, summer and winter. Besides, the Near River and Cousin fish camps were less than a day’s walk apart. Why chance living so close to those people who had nearly destroyed them?
Even most of the Near River People had chosen to stay in their winter village, though the salmon fishing there was not as good as it was near the mouth of the river. Of course, a fish camp was not truly a village, just a scattering of tents—a few here and a few farther upstream and some beyond those. An easy place for warriors wanting revenge to kill families, one by one. K’os set the last piece of wood into a hearth fire and stood. She brushed her hands together, then began to stir a cooking bag.
