The Storyteller Trilogy

by Sue Harrison

  Perhaps she was right, but what good was the woman if her words only added to the river’s power? Who else in the camp knew anything about medicines? They had no shaman to call back Star’s spirit.

  Again he leaned over his wife, whispered about their baby, and prayed that his words would draw her back. Suddenly she coughed, her body jerking in spasms.

  “Her spirit, it tries to return,” Twisted Stalk said.

  Star coughed again, and Chakliux thought he could hear the noise of the river in her lungs. Perhaps if they could get that water out, her spirit would have the space it needed and would go back into her body.

  “You know some medicine to clear her lungs?” he asked Twisted Stalk.

  The old woman shook her head.

  Then Chakliux saw Yaa, her small face pinched and white. “Get Aqamdax,” he said. “She worked with K’os. Perhaps she knows some of the medicines K’os used.”

  He sent First Eagle and Night Man to help their wives with the dogs, then he waited, wondering if he wanted Aqamdax for the medicine she might have or for the comfort she would bring him.

  “Chakliux wants you to come!” Yaa yelled at Aqamdax.

  “Star is alive?” Awl asked.

  “I think so. They need medicine. You’re supposed to cross the river. I’ve crossed it twice. It’s not deep, but the current is strong.”

  First Eagle and Night Man unhitched their dogs and carried each travois across. The dogs followed, all but Biter. He ran up and down the riverbank, then sat, whining. Aqamdax urged him to cross with them, but though the dog waded in a short distance, he turned back and sat on the bank, lifted his nose into the air and howled.

  “Leave him. He will come,” Night Man shouted to them. “He’s crossed rivers before. Wider than this one.”

  His words nearly made Aqamdax turn back, but then First Eagle said, “Chakliux wants you to help Star.”

  She clasped Awl’s arm, grabbed Yaa’s shoulder, and together they crossed over, holding on to one another as the current swept up over their boots to their knees. Aqamdax’s legs grew numb, but she kept her eyes on the river, as though somehow by merely looking she could tame its current.

  The day was nearing its end, the sun just below the horizon, and Aqamdax pushed her hood back from her face, opened her eyes wide to let in as much light as she could, but still the river was dark, as though her feet were sinking into black stone. With each step Awl gasped, so that Aqamdax’s heart sped in quick bursts like birds’ wings fluttering in her chest.

  Finally women were reaching for them, and also Chakliux, his hands firm on Aqamdax’s arms. Aqamdax looked back, saw Biter still on the other side. She called to him, but Chakliux pulled her away, the people clearing a path.

  Then she was beside Star, the woman breathing in slow, shallow breaths, her eyes closed, lips blue.

  Twisted Stalk and several others were kneeling beside her. “We have done what we could,” Twisted Stalk said. “You lived with K’os. Do you remember any medicine that clears the lungs?”

  “Marsh marigold,” Aqamdax said quietly. “But I do not have any.”

  Twisted Stalk stood, called out to Yaa. “Daughter, do you know the plant marsh marigold?” Yaa, her eyes fixed on Star, did not speak until Twisted Stalk asked the question again. “Daughter, you did not hear me?”

  “I know marsh marigold,” she said. “But I don’t know where to find it except when we’re at the winter village.”

  “In wet places. It always grows in wet places,” Twisted Stalk said. “There hasn’t been enough snow to kill it yet. You might be able to find some near the river.”

  “Get Sok to go with you,” Chakliux told Yaa. “The sun has set. You shouldn’t be away from the camp alone.”

  Aqamdax lay her hand against Star’s belly, hoping to feel the baby move. Chakliux set his hand beside hers.

  “The baby sleeps,” Aqamdax told him. “Only that. He sleeps.”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  THE NEAR RIVER PEOPLE

  DII SET HER PACK on the ground, shuddered as she heard Anaay bellow at her. “You think I want my tent there? It is wet. Find a better place! I did not bring you to make my life more difficult.”

  She carried a heavier load now that K’os was no longer with them, nearly twice as much as she had carried before, and that day Anaay had given her another of his own packs as well as a caribou hide. She had tied the hide on one of the dogs’ travois, but the added weight pressed the travois down into the tundra, miring it in any wet spot that the snow and cold had not yet hardened.

  By midday her back and shoulders were stiff with pain, but she had kept her thoughts away from the agony. She had been so tired by the time they stopped to make camp that she had unstrapped the heaviest of her packs and let it fall where she stood.

  “Where do you want the tent?” she asked Anaay.

  He lifted a hand toward her, and she crouched, prepared for his blow, but then he looked at the men and women who were watching. “Go with Blue Flower,” he told her. “She has a little wisdom. Put my tent beside hers.”

  Blue Flower lifted her chin toward the east side of the camp, and Dii grabbed her pack, urged the dogs forward and followed the woman. Blue Flower bent to whisper to her nephew who walked beside her, and he ran back to help Dii drag the pack.

  “Wife, you shame me,” Anaay called to her, “allowing a boy to do your work.”

  But Blue Flower turned around, thrust back her parka hood and with all the camp listening said, “You should be the one ashamed, Anaay. It is a husband’s work my nephew is doing. Are you so blind that you do not see your wife carries more than any of us and also watches three dogs?”

  Blue Flower’s words seemed to lend strength to Dii’s arms, but she knew Anaay would not forget the humiliation, nor would he allow her to forget.

  THE COUSIN RIVER PEOPLE

  Yaa searched through the camp for Sok, but though she asked many, poked her head into the open sides of lean-tos, no one knew where he was.

  Marsh marigold grew near rivers. She knew the plant well but had never seen it used for medicine. The round ruffled leaves grew on stems no more than a hand’s length from the earth. They fanned out in a circle, and each spring the plant bloomed with bright yellow flowers. She knew she could find it herself, especially this close to a river, except for the snow.

  She was glad Sok and not Twisted Stalk was the one who was supposed to go with her. Ever since K’os had been with them that one day, Yaa had been thinking of someone among the Cousin People who might have killed Cries-loud’s mother Day Woman. She had considered each of the Cousin River men, but Yaa had heard the old women whispering about the tangle of furs and mats that had been Day Woman’s bed. There had been too much of a struggle for the killer to be a man. A man would have easily overpowered Day Woman. So if not a man, then who?

  Twisted Stalk was a woman of sharp words and strong temper. Yaa had seen her screaming in anger over small things that most women would allow to pass with only a scowl. Yaa could believe Twisted Stalk might take out her anger about the Cousin defeat on Day Woman. Day Woman was Near River.

  She and Ghaden and Cries-loud had all been born in the Near River Village. What if Twisted Stalk were the killer? What if in her anger she decided to kill another Near River person? Once again Yaa wished for a long-bladed knife.

  “What are you doing?”

  Yaa jumped, then flicked her fingers in annoyance when she saw Ghaden.

  “Chakliux told me to find some marsh marigold. Have you seen any growing here?”

  “No. What’s it look like?”

  “Never mind. Why are you here?”

  “Trying to get Biter to cross the river.”

  “Keep calling. He’ll come. But leave me alone. I have to find…”

  “I know.”

  Ghaden lifted his voice, called to the dog, and Yaa walked away from him. The snow was no deeper than a hand’s length, but still it hid most plants. Too bad marigolds didn’t gr
ow taller, Yaa thought. Of course, their closeness to the earth gave the plants their power.

  Yaa used her feet to push back the snow, bent low in the dying light to see the plants she uncovered. She came to a slope in the bank. It wasn’t a true stream, but in spring it would funnel melt-off water into the river.

  When she finally saw the clump of marigold, each leaf holding a cap of snow, she shouted her triumph. She wasn’t sure if Aqamdax wanted leaves, stems or roots, so she gripped the plant with both hands and pulled. From the corner of her eye, she saw something move. She looked up and realized that Biter had kept pace with her on the other side of the river. He barked, and Yaa opened her mouth to call him, but at that moment the roots of the plant let loose, and Yaa fell, her heels slipping out from under her so she landed on her back.

  She slid toward the river, cried out in a scream, heard Ghaden’s voice, then her eyes and mouth were filled with water, the cold so numbing that she could not move.

  THE FOUR RIVERS VILLAGE

  K’os curled herself into her sleeping robes, turned her back on Sand Fly, but the old woman still babbled. “There are better men than Cen in this village,” she said. “Just because you knew him before, he should not be your first choice. What about Willow Stick and Jumps-too-far, or Gives-dogs? First Spear, our chief hunter, has four wives, but he might want another….”

  Her list went on, and she even included her own husband. Tree Climber better than Cen? Hoping that Sand Fly would shut her mouth, K’os raised up on her elbow and said, “Why do you think I want Cen? I would not choose the life of a trader’s wife. What woman wants her husband away most of the summer and often in the winter? Besides, I am a healer. I do not need a husband. I can earn meat with the medicines I give.”

  “We are a healthy people. A healer in this village will not earn much,” Sand Fly said. “I know the medicine you gave me has helped my joints, and for that I do not mind sharing my lodge. It is good to have the company of another woman. My daughter and her husband lived with us until this past summer, when he talked her into going to the Black Hills Village, where his brother lives. A fool, that daughter. She will not find anyone who takes better care of her children than I do. They will be back, at least by spring. But until then we have room for you.”

  “I will have my own lodge by the time your daughter returns,” K’os said.

  Sand Fly raised a finger. “One daughter, I have, and she is a fool. But you are wise. Anyone can see that. You will find a husband. There are many men in this village. Did I tell you about Fat Mink? Then there is Brown Eye. You have not seen him yet. He and his brother went caribou hunting, just the two of them. His brother has a wife, but he has none. He would be a good one.”

  K’os rolled herself again in her sleeping robes, tucked her head into the warm furs. The pelts blocked out Sand Fly’s voice, and K’os turned her thoughts to Cen and Red Leaf and how best to win her way into Cen’s bed.

  THE COUSIN RIVER PEOPLE

  Chakliux, his hand on his wife’s belly, called out, gladness in his voice. Then Aqamdax, who had been rubbing salve into cuts on Star’s face, moved her hands to Star’s stomach, felt the roll of the baby under her fingers.

  She tried to bring Chakliux’s joy into her own heart, but the feel of the baby suddenly reminded her of her dead son. She drew in a long breath, forced herself to smile, then asked Twisted Stalk if she had used marsh marigold before.

  “I have not,” Twisted Stalk answered. “It must be something K’os learned on her own and kept as secret.”

  “Then when Sok and Yaa come, if they have found the plant, bring it to me, I will make it into a tea. I am not sure it will bring her back to us, but—”

  A man’s voice interrupted her, Sok calling from outside the lean-to. “I went ahead to see what we might find tomorrow in our walking, if the river had changed its course or if caribou had come this way.”

  He came inside and was suddenly quiet. “What happened?” he asked.

  “A limb from a tree. It hit the back of her head, knocked her into the river.”

  “Did you bring the marsh marigold, you and Yaa?” Twisted Stalk asked Sok.

  “The what?”

  “I sent Yaa to find you,” Chakliux said. “We told her to bring us some marsh marigold, but I did not want her to leave the camp alone.”

  “Once my wife and sons were across the river safely, I left,” Sok said. “Then, only a little ways downriver, I saw a moose. Tomorrow, when it is light, I will hunt.”

  Chakliux stood. “I will find Yaa. She cannot be far.”

  “Stay with your wife,” Sok told him. “I will go.”

  Sok left, and Twisted Stalk raised her eyebrows at Aqamdax. “You should be at the moon blood tent. I will help here. If Yaa finds the marigold, I will come to the tikiyaasde so you can tell me what to do.”

  “I am sorry for what has happened,” Aqamdax said, speaking to Twisted Stalk, but she hoped Chakliux knew the words were for him.

  She left the lean-to and walked to the west side of the camp where she knew Awl would have set up their tikiyaasde. The space between the moon blood tent and the camp was dark, but Awl had built a fire, and its flames guided Aqamdax through that darkness. She squatted at the hearth, accepted the bowl of warm broth Awl handed her.

  “Star?” Awl asked.

  “She is alive, and I could feel the baby moving within her, but I do not think her spirit has returned.”

  “What if she dies? Is there some way to keep the baby alive?”

  It was a foolish question. What baby not yet born could live with his mother dead? But then Aqamdax remembered Chakliux’s face, the hope in his eyes when he felt his baby move. “There are stories told among my people of babies who were saved when their mothers died. The mother’s belly was slit open and the baby taken out, but even if we did that, Star’s child would be too small to live. She has…”

  Aqamdax paused, looked up at the sky as she counted on her fingers.

  “Six moons of pregnancy.” She shook her head. “To save the child, we must save the mother. There is a medicine I saw K’os use made from marsh marigold. It will clear the lungs. Perhaps that will bring Star’s spirit back. I do not want to see this child die. It would be like losing my own son again.”

  “I heard Hollow Cup say that your baby had died,” Awl said in a quiet voice. “Did he come too soon? Or was his spirit called?”

  “His father gave him to the Grandfather Lake,” Aqamdax said, her voice harsh, her words cold.

  Awl gasped. “The baby was…he was not strong?” she asked.

  “He was perfect. Beautiful. My husband thought he belonged to another man. Someone who came to my bed before I was wife. But the baby was Night Man’s child.” Her voice broke.

  “Even if he was not, what does it matter?”

  “I hate Night Man, Awl. I do not want to be his wife.”

  Awl knelt beside Aqamdax, put an arm around her shoulders. “I could ask First Eagle if he would take you. It would be good to have you as sister. He is a gifted hunter. He would never kill your baby, even if it belonged to someone else.”

  Aqamdax wiped the tears from her face. “You are a good friend,” she said. “But someone else has asked me.”

  “Chakliux?”

  “How did you know?”

  “You are foolish to ask, Aqamdax. Everyone knows. Your eyes say what is in your heart, and Chakliux is the same.”

  “I want to throw Night Man away, but Chakliux says to wait until we arrive at the winter village.”

  “That is best. Why add to whatever curse has taken us?”

  “There is no curse,” Aqamdax said. “Star will be all right. Her spirit will return.”

  “You say that because you know or only because you want her baby to live?”

  It was a question Aqamdax could not answer.

  Awl warmed a bit of snow in a wooden bowl and added a pinch of powered crampbark from a packet at her waist. She stirred in the powder with her
little finger, then took a sip, grimaced at the sour taste and swallowed. She held the bowl toward Aqamdax. “You want some?”

  “I do not need it.”

  “You are not bleeding, are you?” Awl asked.

  “Why do you think that?”

  “I never see you change the pad you keep between your legs when we sit in the tent. I do not see you bury anything morning or night.”

  “Sometimes a woman needs to be in the moon blood lodge for other reasons,” Aqamdax answered carefully.

  “Sometimes women who are sisters of the heart must keep one another’s secrets,” Awl answered.

  Sok went to his wife Snow-in-her-hair, asked questions about marsh marigold. What did a hunter know about gathering plants?

  Snow-in-her-hair had grown thin in this hunting camp, though they had more food to eat than at any time since they came to live with the Cousin People. He reminded himself that she was the one who had insisted on bringing their baby son. The child would have been better left at the winter village. Ligige’ could have taken care of him, and surely there was an old woman who had kept her milk over the years by nursing grandchildren.

  Snow-in-her-hair handed Sok a bowl of meat.

  “I have some dried marigold leaves that my mother gave me before we left the Near River Village,” she told him. “Why do you need it?”

  “You know Star fell into the river?”

  “Who does not?”

  “I did not. As soon as you and our boys crossed, I went upriver. There was a moose…”

  Snow-in-her-hair crawled to one of the packs set at the open side of the tent. She untied the flap, pulled out a flat pouch.

  “Marsh marigold,” she said, and tossed it to him. “They need it for Star?”

  Sok shrugged. “Twisted Stalk wanted it.”

  “My mother claims it sometimes draws a spirit back to a body,” Snow-in-her-hair said.

  Sok grunted and noisily slurped up the rest of his meat. Snow-in-her-hair’s mother, Blue Flower, had long considered herself a healer, but she knew little. He would not trust her claims.