The Storyteller Trilogy

by Sue Harrison

  “You hunt?” Red Leaf asked.

  K’os laughed. “I am a healer. There is always some need for a healer in a village as large as this one.”

  “Perhaps Cen could use a second wife,” Sand Fly said.

  “I am sure, if I was your sister-wife,” K’os said slowly, her eyes on Red Leaf’s face, “that I would never again mistake you for the woman Red Leaf.”

  “It would be good to have a sister-wife,” Red Leaf said softly. “It is lonely in this lodge when my husband is away.”

  Sand Fly chortled, showing a gap between her front teeth. “But stay with us until Cen returns,” she said to K’os, laying a veined hand on K’os’s wrist.

  Red Leaf noticed that K’os flinched under Sand Fly’s fingers, but who would not? The old woman was too forward in her touching, in her meddling.

  “Yes. It is a decision that Cen must make,” Red Leaf told K’os.

  “Men are like that,” Sand Fly said. “They do not like women to tell them what to do.”

  K’os’s eyes glittered, dark as obsidian. “Until then, Gheli, I call you sister in my heart, and I will carry the hope that Cen chooses to take a second wife.”

  THE COUSIN RIVER PEOPLE

  Chakliux began the stories with that tale, nearly as old as the earth, of the raven and the porcupine. He told of the race between them, and how the porcupine, though much slower, used his wisdom to win. Then he changed his stories to those of lynx and wolf, bear and fox, but though his words seemed to catch the interest of the boys, the men began to talk among themselves, and Chakliux felt as if the stories went from his mouth and fell to the earth so quickly that they did not even reach the ears of those nearest him.

  Finally he spoke to the men, using a loud voice of celebration, and asked if anyone wanted to tell a hunting story. They were in a camp, without their best clothing and sacred objects, so the stories could not be acted out in the parts of bear and hunter, caribou and wolf. But still, there were new tales to be made from the joy of this year’s hunt, and there were always old stories worth repeating.

  None of the men stood, and Chakliux called out to Sok, reminded him of the bear hunt they had made with their grandfather, but Sok shook his head slowly, and Chakliux suddenly knew that that story was one Sok could never tell again, not when it was Red Leaf who had taken their grandfather’s life.

  “Sky Watcher, you have stories. What about that dead caribou that nearly floated you with it downriver?”

  That brought smiles, and Sky Watcher told the story, laughing as he spoke. Hunters had drowned in such a way, but how better to rise above fear than with laughter? The story made the people forget their tiredness, and Chakliux could feel their excitement pushing against him.

  That lift of joy was one of the things he loved most about storytelling. He began a tale of his own, something passed down from their grandfathers’ grandfathers about those warriors who came from the north and tried to destroy the River People. Joining together from their small camps and villages along the rivers, The People had defeated those ancient enemies, but again, it seemed as though Chakliux’s words did not reach the Cousin People’s ears. He wondered if the recent fighting was still too close in their minds. How could they celebrate past victories when they still mourned a defeat?

  He wished Aqamdax was able to tell her stories. With the voices she could draw from her throat—a different sound for each person or animal that spoke—she would be able to hold the attention of the hunters as well as the youngest child.

  Finally he decided to tell the people that the storytelling would continue when they celebrated their hunt with a feast at the winter village.

  But as the last words of his story came from his mouth, Take More spoke out, his voice belligerent. “We have a Near River hunter here among us,” he said, and he turned toward First Eagle. “Perhaps he has stories to tell. How many of our young men did you kill? Perhaps my sister’s son.”

  Then the women began to murmur, but Night Man stood up, looked down at Take More. “You forget who started the fighting,” he said. “If we condemn the Near Rivers, then we must also condemn ourselves.”

  For all the resentment Chakliux held against the man, he could now feel only gratitude, but then Night Man held a hand out toward Chakliux. “A riddle, Otter Foot,” he said.

  Even though the night had settled around them, even though the fire cast as much shadow as light, Chakliux could see the malice in Night Man’s eyes, and so he answered, “We have far to walk tomorrow, and heavy loads. It is time for stories to end and riddles to wait.”

  Chakliux walked away from the fire, back toward his lean-to. The men and boys left the storytelling circle. The women banked the fire and also went to their lean-tos. Chakliux had told Star to set their tents at the edge of the camp, had explained that he must be able to watch for wolves and, as Dzuuggi, use his prayers to protect the camp. But in truth, he wanted to be close to the moon blood lodge, to be able to help Aqamdax if some animal came to her as she stayed alone.

  He saw now that she had made a fire outside the lean-to, and he was glad for the warmth and protection of those flames, but still he wished she was his wife, safe in his tent, lying close to his side each night.

  “Look! What do I see?”

  Chakliux turned. Night Man was behind him, his eyes also fixed on the moon blood lodge.

  “They hide in the willow and think no one knows.”

  Chapter Thirty-six

  AT FIRST LIGHT CHAKLIUX left the tent, walked out with his weapons. Star was asleep, and so he had awakened Yaa, whispered that he was going out to be sure the camp was safe. He did not mention the Near River hunters, but knew by Yaa’s round eyes that she understood. He took Biter with him, and together they circled the camp.

  Biter lifted his nose several times, testing the wind, but he did not bark. When in his circling Chakliux came to the moon blood tent, he pursed his lips into a thin whistle. Biter whined, and Chakliux laid a hand over the dog’s muzzle, then Aqamdax crawled outside.

  “We are safe,” she said when she saw him.

  “We?” Chakliux asked.

  “Awl joined me last night.”

  Chakliux looked back toward the camp, saw no movement between the tents. He squatted on his haunches and gestured to Aqamdax with one hand. She crawled from the lean-to, shivering, her arms wrapped around her shoulders. He reached forward to pull up her parka hood, then dropped his hand without touching her. She flipped up her hood, pushing her hair into her face. Her trill of laughter made him smile.

  “Five days?” she asked.

  He knew her question was more about when he would take her as wife than how much longer to the winter village. “Perhaps six,” he said. “Be careful. I will not talk to you again until we get there. Someone saw us in the willow and told Night Man.”

  Fear widened her eyes.

  “Stay in the moon blood tent at night. Call for me if he threatens you.” He handed her a knife, a hunter’s knife, long-bladed. “He killed your son. Do not let him take you.”

  “Chakliux,” she said, and he could hear the tears under her words, “you have other knives? He is more likely to kill you.”

  He patted the sheath strapped to his strong leg, then loosened the neck opening of his parka, let her see the knife inside. He stood, lifted his chin toward Biter. “He is a good dog. He will help me watch.”

  “Keep him close to you, then,” Aqamdax said.

  “No, I brought him for you.”

  “He is Ghaden’s dog….”

  “You think Ghaden will be upset?” He smiled at her, shook his head. “I must go. Be safe.”

  He returned to his own tent, to Star, still sleeping, and to Yaa and Ghaden. He helped them pack their supplies, then sent them off while he woke Star. That way he was the only one to take her abuse for disturbing the dreams she claimed would strengthen their baby.

  Aqamdax and Awl walked on either side of Biter and led their husbands’ dogs, each pulling a travo
is. At midday, the snow returned, harder and faster than the day before. The wind followed, winter in its breath, and they walked with fur ruffs pulled forward to cover their faces, only their eyes peering out through the tunnels of their parka hoods. The snow was wet, and they had to stop often to break balls of ice from the dogs’ feet.

  Aqamdax wondered if they would stop as early that day as they had the day before, but Chakliux kept them going, and she knew it was because of her. She wondered who had seen them and why that one had told Night Man. Did she have enemies among the women in the camp? Star resented her, but Star, had she seen them, would have fallen upon them herself, most likely with knife in hand.

  They crossed several shallow streams. Aqamdax wore her seal flipper boots, had made sure that Ghaden and Yaa also wore theirs. Though she and Awl walked last in the line of people, Awl’s husband often came back to see that they kept up with the others, and at the streams both he and Sok remained behind until everyone had crossed.

  During that day of walking, her pack heavy on her back, Aqamdax did not see Chakliux. Late in the afternoon Sok told the women they would walk until the sun set. Aqamdax heard their groans, Star’s shrill cry of disagreement, but Aqamdax was glad. The farther they walked, the sooner they would arrive at the winter village.

  By the time the sky began darkening in the east, the snow was no more than a few scattered flakes.

  “We will stop soon,” Awl said, her cheeks dimpling as she added, “Many nights when I lived as slave to the Near Rivers, I dreamed of our winter village.”

  “You know the Near River men burned the lodges after you and the others left?” Aqamdax asked.

  “Yes. The Near River Men boasted of it.”

  “K’os was not foolish, taking all of you to the Near Rivers as she did.”

  Awl shook her head as though to disagree. “During that first moon in the Near River Village, I would have gladly lived in ashes to be back with my own people. Do you feel that way about your Sea Hunters?”

  “I miss them, and I miss the sea,” Aqamdax said. “But I have no family there except for one I call aunt, a storyteller now very old, named Qung. For her, I would go back, except for my brother, Ghaden, and his sister Yaa, and—” Then she stopped herself, for she had nearly named Chakliux. She pretended to adjust the shoulder straps that held her pack, then said, “You see, I have family here among the Cousin River People.”

  “I lost my father in the fighting,” Awl said, “and two summers ago my mother died, and her new baby, but I have Hollow Cup, who is my aunt, and also Night Man and Star. Their grandmother was sister to my grandfather.”

  “You have your husband,” Aqamdax said.

  Awl was quiet for a time, and because her hood was pulled forward over her face, Aqamdax could not tell if the woman was glad or angry. But when Awl finally spoke, her voice was tight, as though she spoke through tears.

  “I could not believe he chose to come with me. Because of him, I almost did not leave. Even when I came into the Cousin hunting camp, my heart felt torn, and I knew a part of my spirit had stayed with him. You think the men will accept him?”

  “Anyone who is not a fool. Besides, Sok and Chakliux are here. They fought with the Near Rivers.”

  “But Chakliux was raised in the Cousin River Village, and Sok is his brother.”

  “That’s true. But Chakliux told me that there are often marriages between the Cousin and the Near Rivers.”

  “Not so much as there were—”

  Awl’s words were interrupted by shouts. Aqamdax stopped, caught hold of Biter’s packs to keep him beside her. At first she thought the people cried out only to celebrate a decision to make camp for the night, but then Aqamdax saw Yaa running back to them.

  “Near River?” she called to Yaa.

  “No, it’s Star,” Yaa said, and gasped for breath. “Chakliux decided we would cross the river ahead, make camp on the high bank at the other side. He was helping the women across, he and First Eagle. They went one at a time, but Star would not wait her turn.”

  “The river took her?” Aqamdax asked.

  “No, she had already crossed and was climbing the steep bank. It’s gravel and slippery, and at the top are balsam poplars. Twisted Stalk said the trees were insulted by Star’s rudeness because she pushed ahead of the elders, but Hollow Cup says the river wants her spirit in exchange for Ghaden, since he did not drown at the caribou camp.”

  “She fell?” Aqamdax asked, shaking her head against Yaa’s many words, her foolish explanations.

  “A limb from the trees fell.” Yaa raised one hand, tapped the back of her head. “Hit her here. She slid into the river, but Chakliux pulled her out. Someone said she was dead.”

  Aqamdax unstrapped her pack, but Awl grabbed the back of her parka. “You cannot go,” she said. “There are enough curses at work here without the power of our moon blood to add problems. Wait and see if Night Man calls you.”

  Aqamdax could not stop the trembling in her hands. She squatted on her haunches beside Biter and buried her face in the thick fur of his neck. She began a soft song for Star, for Chakliux’s baby that grew in Star’s belly.

  THE FOUR RIVERS VILLAGE

  The men shouted out greetings as they came into the village, and Cen was glad he had chosen to hunt caribou this fall rather than make a trading trip. What hunter risked trading meat or fish left from summer until he knew how many caribou he would bring in for his family? And during the fall hunts who was in the winter villages? Only the old women. Who was in the fish camps? No one. It was good, then, to hunt, and to return with full packs to a warm lodge and a strong wife.

  The women met them with trilled songs of celebration, and Cen’s eyes scanned the faces, hidden by parka hoods and a gentle fall of snow. Finally he saw Gheli, the bulge in her parka that was their daughter.

  He wanted to hold her, strong and large, in his arms. He looked forward to a winter in their lodge. Perhaps he would take a dog or two downriver to the Cousin Village with the hope of finding Ghaden, see if they would trade a small boy for the meat that might allow them to live until spring.

  He should have gone before now, but he knew the Cousin men would resent him since he had chosen not to fight against the Near Rivers. In truth, what else could he have done? The first Near River man they had killed—even before the attack—was the shaman. How could Cen have stayed to fight after they cursed themselves like that?

  They would forgive him when he brought them meat in the starving moons of winter. Until then Cen would spend warm nights with his wife, play silly games with the little daughter he had claimed as his own.

  He waited with the hunters until the women finished their songs, then he went to Gheli, saw the smile on her face. The Four River men were more open with their wives than the hunters in many villages, and so Cen pulled her into an embrace.

  She pushed back her parka hood, and he saw his daughter’s round face, dark like her mother’s. She frowned at him, but when he tickled her cheek, she smiled, crinkling her eyes into little half-moons.

  “Cen, it is good you are back.”

  The voice, a woman’s voice, did not belong to Gheli, and Cen felt the chill of it in his bones. K’os.

  She stood beside Gheli, a hand on Gheli’s shoulder. She had pushed her parka hood back to her ears, and her face was as perfect and beautiful as he remembered it, her hair glistening with flakes of new snow.

  He stared and could not look away, saw her as she was when she visited his dreams, warm and lithe under his hands. Then he remembered her also with Sky Watcher and with Tikaani, with all the other men she had pleasured, even when she was wife to Ground Beater. Better to be content with a good wife than always worried over a woman like K’os.

  He glanced at Gheli, thought to see anger or jealousy, but she was smiling.

  “You know K’os?” he asked her.

  “We are friends,” Gheli told him.

  “Friends?” he said, surprised that anyone would consider K�
��os a friend.

  “I thought you were dead,” K’os said. “All of us in the Cousin Village thought so, even your little son, Ghaden.”

  Cen’s heart squeezed in his chest at the mention of Ghaden’s name. “He is safe, my son?” he asked, and saw the gleam of triumph in K’os’s eyes. She was a trader, better than men who had spent their lives trading.

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  “You have come to this village with your husband?” he asked, turning the conversation away from his son.

  “She needs a husband,” Gheli said. “She is content to be second wife if the man is a good hunter.”

  It was a conversation that should not be spoken in the middle of a village, amidst shouts and songs of celebration, but Cen saw the earnestness in Gheli’s eyes and knew that in some way K’os had managed to win her loyalty.

  He put his arm around his wife’s waist, pressed his lips to her ear, whispered, “I am ready to spend time in my wife’s lodge.”

  He looked at K’os, then said, “You see that man over there?” He lifted his chin toward a young man, tall and thin. “He is Eagle Catcher. He needs a wife.”

  Then, before K’os could answer, Cen pulled Gheli through the crowd of people and took her to their lodge, left K’os standing in the snow.

  THE COUSIN RIVER PEOPLE

  When Chakliux first reached Star, he thought she was dead. She was face down, her upper body in the river. His otter foot slipped on the gravel bank, and he slid until his feet were in the water and he was sitting beside her. He caught hold of her shoulders, pulled her to his lap. First Eagle and Man Laughing picked her up and carried her to the top of the bank. Chakliux followed them, and when they set her down, he knelt beside her, pressed his fingers against her neck. He felt no pulse. Her skin was cold, her lips blue.

  “Star!” he called to her. “Star! If you die, your baby also dies.” He looked up as he said the words, as though to convince her spirit to return to her body.

  She lay still, and he could see no sign that she breathed. He pressed an ear against her breast, listened for a heartbeat, but the noise of the river was too loud. He looked at the faces around him, gestured toward Twisted Stalk, heard her murmur about the greed of the river, taking a soul in exchange for caribou.