The Storyteller Trilogy

by Sue Harrison

  But now, seeing Sok in his sorrow, moving as though he were an old man, she had no more anger. Could she pretend she had never done anything selfish? Could she say she had never hurt anyone else to get something she wanted?

  So when Chakliux came to Ligige’’s lodge, promising gifts of caribou hides, meat and necklaces, Aqamdax accepted not only a new husband but also his brother and his brother’s children.

  “By spring, he will find a wife,” Chakliux had said to her. “By spring you will have the lodge cover sewn, and we will have our own lodge.”

  “And Star?” Aqamdax asked.

  “She is still my wife,” Chakliux told her.

  Ligige’ tottered to her feet, pulled on a parka. “I will go there, to stay with Star and Long Eyes, Ghaden and Yaa tonight,” she said. “Star knows that you have claimed Aqamdax as wife?”

  “She knows,” Chakliux said, then offered to carry the boiling bag of food to Star’s lodge. “I do not know if she has anything ready to eat.”

  Ligige’ shook her head at him. “Yaa is there. She is woman enough to take care of all of us.”

  He held the doorflap open for Ligige’, went outside with her, and Aqamdax knew he would accompany his aunt to Star’s lodge, make sure Star accepted the old woman in politeness.

  When he returned, his arms were full, his back bowed under the weight: a caribou hide, several long-furred wolf pelts, necklaces, boiling bags, a packet of beads—more than would be given for most first wives, let alone a woman who had been wife to two others, had once been a slave.

  Aqamdax took the gifts from his arms one by one, hid tears by pressing her face into a wolf pelt. “There are more caribou hides, enough in my cache to finish a lodge cover, but I thought you would not mind if I left them there.”

  Aqamdax began to laugh, then her voice broke with her tears, and she busied herself arranging the gifts in a pile at the women’s side of the lodge. She set out food for her husband, a bowl of caribou meat flavored with iitikaalux and boiled in broth, several dried fish, warmed near the hearth fire, and a bowl of fish oil to dip them in.

  “One more gift,” he said when he had finished eating.

  “The lodge is full,” said Aqamdax, laughing. “What more can you give?”

  “It is not a gift for the eyes but for the ears,” Chakliux said quietly. Then he motioned for her to sit beside him, pulled her close and began to tell stories. They were ancient stories, each sacred to the River People, and Aqamdax had not heard them before. She listened in joy, felt his heart like a drumbeat set the rhythm for the words, so that each story was like a dance made with voice rather than feet and hands. And her love for him grew in the gratitude that he would trust her with something so sacred when she was only a woman, second wife, not even born to the River People.

  Yaa helped Ghaden with the snowshoe he was webbing, then took a water bladder to Long Eyes and watched to be sure the old woman drank. When Star began an argument with Ligige’, Yaa was the one to distract her with a request for help with the boiling bag, and to remind Ligige’ with raised eyebrows and a quick frown that Star was only a child, though she wore a woman’s body.

  Ligige’ pinched her face into stubbornness, and Yaa found her thoughts again on Day Woman, that dead one. Could Ligige’ have killed her rather than Twisted Stalk? If so, why would Ligige’ have worked so hard to save Day Woman’s life? Perhaps Star was the killer, but why would Star hurt Chakliux’s mother? For that matter why would Ligige’?

  Yaa sighed. Perhaps no one would ever know who the killer was, and since there had been no more trouble in the village, why worry about it?

  But then she thought of Cries-loud, his eyes shadowed with sorrow. It would be good if they could somehow prove Red Leaf was innocent, good for Cries-loud and even for Sok.

  Someday, if she was Cries-loud’s wife…

  Yaa squeezed her eyes shut in embarrassment at the boldness of that thought and felt her cheeks grow hot.

  Long Eyes let out a sudden squeal of anger. Yaa left Star and went to untangle the length of sinew thread that hung from the old woman’s needle. Long Eyes smiled at her and patted her hand, then resumed her sewing.

  “Someday you will be a good wife,” Ligige’ said and nodded her approval at Yaa.

  Yaa lowered her head so Ligige’ would not think she was too proud, but she hugged the compliment to herself. A good wife, she thought. She would have to be a very good wife to help Cries-loud forget his sorrow and learn to smile again.

  When he finished the stories, Chakliux stood and reached up to the rafters, took a bladder of rendered oil and pulled out the stopper with his teeth. He stripped away Aqamdax’s clothing and stroked the oil into her skin, standing to comb it through her long hair, kneeling to rub it into her legs. He warmed her with his hands, cupped her breasts, then her belly, her buttocks. Then he took her to her bed, removed his own clothing and lay down beside her. His hands continued their dance over her skin, and she found herself moving beneath his touch. She reached out for him, to bring him also into the celebration of their joining.

  When he finally raised himself over her, entered her, she heard the storm winds outside, beginning anew, howling through the walls of the lodge. Later, as they lay still and quiet, Aqamdax felt the lodge begin to shake.

  Fingers of cold crept in through the seams and awl holes of the caribou hide lodge cover, and though Chakliux wrapped her into his arms, the wind’s voice would not let Aqamdax sleep. Through the night, she heard her husband murmur quiet prayers, but the words seemed too small, too quiet, a child’s chant against the wind.

  THE FOUR RIVERS VILLAGE

  The storm began just as the feasting had started. K’os moved the tripods and cooking bags into Sand Fly’s lodge and continued to feed the people until there was nothing left. When the food was gone, she opened the packs she had chosen from those River Ice Dancer had brought and gave each person a gift.

  When she had first told River Ice Dancer her plan for a giveaway, he had protested.

  “I have enough here to become a trader,” he told her. “I will have the finest dogs, the best parkas, and you and our children will never be hungry.”

  She did not bother to tell him that she could not give him children. If he began to worry about having a son, she could claim a pregnancy, steal a child. There were ways to do such things.

  “Wait and see what happens,” she had told him. “With each gift given your worth will grow in the eyes of the people. You will be seen as wise and generous, a leader.”

  He had turned his back on her, pouted like a child, but she slipped her fingers under his breechcloth, and soon he was stiff and ready in her hands. When he was sated with their lovemaking, he had no more protests about her giveaway.

  When the sky grew dark, the people left, walking out into the hard stinging snow, clasping one another as they moved from lodge to lodge. River Ice Dancer went with the old ones, guiding them to their own lodges, and when he returned, K’os took off his ice-crusted parka, brushed the snow from the fur, then rolled out his bed next to hers.

  K’os lay awake long after she had satisfied River Ice Dancer into sleep. She had given much away—even a fine fishskin basket to Red Leaf, a beaver fur hood to Cen. In the quiet of the lodge, she listened to the wind. As always, it spoke with many voices: in anger, in bitterness. But this time, it also carried the whispered words of the men and women who lived in the Four Rivers Village—praises for River Ice Dancer and for his wife, that generous one, K’os.

  THE COUSIN RIVER VILLAGE

  Four, five times in the night, Chakliux used a walking stick to knock the snow from the smoke hole, and in the morning, when he and Aqamdax opened the inner doorflap, they found that the entrance tunnel was nearly full of snow.

  Aqamdax went through Ligige’’s storage baskets until she found several old caribou skin boiling bags. Chakliux filled them with snow and hung them over the fire so the snow would melt into water, then he pushed his way from the lodge and
went outside. The wind still blew, sent ice fingers through the fur of his parka ruff, scratched his face and eyelids. He had pulled the drawstring of his hood tight so he breathed through the fur, but still his lungs ached with the cold.

  He could not remember such fierce weather so early in the winter, with the sun yet so high in the sky. He wondered if Sok would claim that this storm, too, was Snow-in-her-hair calling from the spirit world. As Dzuuggi he knew stories of such things happening, but that had been in times long ago. Snow-in-her-hair was not some shaman, not even a woman of great power or age. How could she know enough to make such storms?

  When he reached Star’s lodge, Chakliux found he had to dig out the entrance tunnel. He heard no voices coming from within, and dug more quickly. Sometimes when the wind found a lodge sealed with snow, it would react in anger at being shut out and steal the breath of those inside.

  He was halfway through when Biter bounded out, knocking him back, tangling him into a welcome of tongue and paws. Ghaden followed, whooping at the depth of the snow, calling for Yaa to join him. Chakliux warned Ghaden to stay close to the lodge. The wind was still strong, whipping the snow into a blanket that hung thick around the lodges, blocked vision of anything more than two or three steps away.

  Inside, the women sat close to the fire. “Another storm,” Ligige’ said.

  “Not as bad as the first,” Chakliux replied.

  “Not as bad as the first,” Long Eyes repeated without looking up.

  Star sat with her back to the entrance tunnel. For once she had work in her hands, but, of course, Ligige’ would not allow her to sit idle while others sewed.

  “You have enough food?” Chakliux asked.

  The lodge belonged to Star. She should be the one to answer, but she acted as though he were not there. Chakliux asked her again, then offered to break a trail to the cache.

  Finally she looked at him, and he saw the anger in her eyes. “Your new wife,” she said, “is her bed warmer than mine?” She dropped the caribou hide she was sewing. “I am the better wife.” She patted her round belly. “Look. Here is your son. Have you forgotten him?”

  “I would never forget him or you,” Chakliux said patiently. Then, as though she had said nothing, he continued. “I will break a path to the cache. It will not be open long. You will have to go soon if you need meat.”

  He left, but not without inviting Ligige’ back to her own lodge, telling her that Aqamdax would move to Sok’s lodge that day.

  “Take your dogs, Husband. I will not feed them,” Star called, and he heard something hit the lodge wall just as the inner doorflap fell into place behind him.

  He calmed himself with thoughts of Aqamdax, then called Ghaden and Yaa to help walk a path through the snow to the caches. He loaded them with food to take back to Star’s lodge and went on to his own cache, brought back several frozen chunks of caribou meat for himself and Aqamdax and a caribou skin of dried fish for his dogs.

  He took most of the food to Sok’s lodge. The lodge was empty and cold, but there was a stack of wood beside the circle of stones and sand that marked the hearth. Chakliux used a fire bow and scraps of birchbark to start a fire, fed it patiently until it had burned several of the larger chunks of wood into glowing coals, then he took some of the meat and enough fish for Ligige’’s dog to her lodge.

  She had not returned yet, but Aqamdax was there waiting for him. He wanted to tell her to unroll their bedding furs again, wanted to enjoy a last time in this lodge together, but how could he risk leaving the fire in Sok’s lodge burning with no one to watch? Storm winds did strange things in empty lodges.

  “I have started a fire in Sok’s lodge,” he told her. “We should move our things there.”

  “Now? In the storm?” she asked, looking up at him with worried eyes.

  “Star wants me to move my dogs from around her lodge. She says she will not feed them, and in this cold they need food. You can stay if you want. Ligige’ should soon be back, but Sok also needs to return to the lodge, to have a place for himself and his children.”

  He saw that she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, worried it with her teeth. “You do not want to live again in the same lodge as Sok?” he asked.

  She looked at him with surprise in her eyes, frowned for a moment, then said, “No, I was not thinking of that.” She smiled at him, her eyes crinkling into curves like slices of the moon. “He needs me to help him with his children. I was wondering if my milk might start again if I nursed the baby.”

  “Sky Watcher’s wife nurses him,” Chakliux said.

  “You did not know she again carries a child?” Aqamdax asked, and laughed at his surprise. “So her milk will not be as plentiful.” She patted her own belly. “I will have a few moons before the babe we have made does the same to me.”

  He opened his mouth in surprise. No woman could know so soon.

  She laughed, and he joined her laughter. He was not used to a wife who made jokes.

  He squatted beside her, placed his hand on her belly, and soon they were lying together on the floor mats, his parka, still wet with snow, flung aside. And for a few moments, Chakliux no longer heard the storm or thought about dogs. What man should allow such worries to steal his pleasure with a wife he loves?

  Sok kept his eyes from the pity on Sky Watcher’s face. He tried to eat the food Bird Caller had given him but finally set his bowl, still half full, on the floor. Bird Caller held Carries Much, and Sok lifted the child from her arms. The baby gurgled his delight, and Sok could not help but notice that the boy had Snow’s eyes, her nose. He gave the child back to Bird Caller, let himself imagine how he would feel if he were handing the boy to Snow.

  But no, he would not have noticed such a small blessing as that. Perhaps the spirits punished him for his lack of gratitude. Perhaps that was why Snow had died.

  He thought about other men, some much worse than he was. Take More was always grumbling about his wives. Even during the feast after their first successful river hunt, he had complained about the piece of meat one of his wives had given him. Yet in his old age, he had three wives: two old women good with sewing, and one of the young girls who had chosen to return from the Near River People. Surely Sok was a better man than Take More, but both Sok’s wives were dead and one of his sons. Was he truly that cursed?

  Perhaps he should give what he had left—his two sons, his dogs—to Chakliux. In that way he might protect them from whatever bad luck he was carrying. But then, Chakliux had Star and Aqamdax as wives. What man would want Star to raise his sons? Aqamdax was not terrible, but she was Sea Hunter. Carries Much and Cries-loud deserved better.

  Star, not Snow-in-her-hair, should have been the one to die at the river. Who would have missed her? Her old mother, Long Eyes, seldom knew what was happening around her. Her brother, Night Man, was too selfish to care whether Star was dead or alive.

  Truly it had seemed that as Star grew stronger, Snow-in-her-hair grew weaker, as though Star’s spirit used Snow’s strength to pull itself back into the world. He turned suddenly to Sky Watcher and asked, “You need food from your cache?”

  “For the dogs,” he answered.

  “I will get it.”

  “Bring a little caribou meat,” Bird Caller told him.

  Sok pulled on his outside clothes and left the lodge. The snow cut hard into his face, but he welcomed its pain, pushed his parka hood back from his face so he could feel the bitter cold bite into his skin. A drift behind Bird Caller’s lodge was nearly to his hips, the snow hard and crusted with ice, but he forced his way through. The wind sang, and now that he was outside the lodge walls, he recognized its voice.

  Snow-in-her-hair was calling him, singing, singing, her cold fingers caressing his skin.

  Chapter Forty-six

  THE STORM LASTED THREE days. During that time Sok was quiet, seldom spoke, even to his sons, but he cared for his dogs, went hunting once with Chakliux, though they returned only with ptarmigan.

  The win
d finally blew the storm north, and the sun cut through the layer of clouds to reveal the pale blue of a winter sky. Neither sun nor wind was strong enough to keep the clouds away, and two days later they circled back, at first in a thin layer, so Aqamdax thought they were only the smoke from village hearths. But soon the wind caught bitterness again in its mouth and flung it in ice and cold over the village. Once again the dogs curled tight in the lee of drifts, and old women covered themselves with caribou hides so the cold, on its way to their bones, would be trapped in the hides’ thick hair.

  The first night of that new storm Sok woke Aqamdax with his mourning songs, and as his wailing turned to words, she realized that he was speaking to the wind as though it were his dead wife.

  In the darkness of the lodge Cries-loud crept to Aqamdax’s bed, and though he had eight summers, he huddled close like a small child awakening from bad dreams.

  Chakliux stirred beside her, and Aqamdax whispered, “You need to get Sok away from here.”

  “In this storm?”

  She could hear the anger in Chakliux’s voice, knew that it was not at her but at the sorrow that seemed to tear Sok away from who he was. She took his hand, guided it to Cries-loud so he could feel the boy trembling beside her.

  “Where?” Chakliux asked, his voice again gentle.

  “The hunters’ lodge?” she said, giving her suggestion as question.

  Chakliux pulled on boots and parka, got Sok into his outside clothing. After they left, Aqamdax put Cries-loud back into his own bed, then she took Carries Much from his cradleboard and held him, singing the lullabies she had learned as a child living with the First Men.

  Chakliux did not return until the next morning, and then he came by himself.

  “Sok stayed at the hunters’ lodge?” Aqamdax said.