by Sue Harrison
Sok squinted at the tear-shaped woods. The Cousin People called it the Hunters’ Spring. Take More had once grudgingly led him to the place when they were hunting moose. Sok had laughed to himself about the old man’s reluctance to share its location. Chakliux had already told Sok about the spring. Did Take More think Chakliux would keep hunting secrets from his own brother?
Sok shook his head. What would he do without that brother? He sighed, looked again at the thin gray trees. Suddenly he crouched, gripped his spear, ready to throw.
A wolf stood at the edge of the woods. No, not wolf; the animal’s tail was curled almost to its back. A dog. Not as dangerous as a wolf—at least, more predictable—but still, he gripped his spear. Perhaps the animal had come with a hunter who had stopped at the spring, most likely one of the men from the Cousin River Village. Sok raised his voice, called out. The dog lowered its head and stared at him, then slowly wagged its tail.
Sok cupped his hands around his eyes, squinted. Snow Hawk? Yes, his own dog Snow Hawk. Aqamdax must have lent her to a hunter to use as a pack animal on a hunting trip. Or perhaps one of the men had decided to take Cries-loud hunting and the boy brought Snow Hawk with them. Sok broke into a run, his snowshoes slowing him, forcing an awkward gait.
“Cries-loud!” he called, his pulse jumping in the hope of seeing his son.
But there was no answer, and if they had brought Snow Hawk, why was the animal loose, without pack or travois harness?
Sok held out his hand, approached slowly. “Did you chew through your tether?” he asked, his voice low, soft. If the animal had been running loose, wild since he and Chakliux left the village, she would not yield easily. For Chakliux, perhaps, she would come. Not for Sok.
“Snow Hawk,” he called softly. “Snow Hawk.”
Snow Hawk lowered her tail. She snapped once at the air, then dropped to her belly. Sok reached up under his parka, brought out a piece of dried meat. He had not had the presence of mind to bring much food from Chakliux’s tent. Each time he sorted through his pack, he was surprised at what he had brought—foolish things—extra blades, not yet knapped for use; large balls of babiche; a pack of caribou teeth. Little meat, no extra boots.
Suddenly Snow Hawk perked her ears, looked back into the trees. Before Sok could stop her, she bounded off toward the woods. He followed her. If she had come with hunters, he would probably find them at the spring. His own water was gone, the last swallow taken at dawn. Dry cold days, dim of light but clear of sky, always seemed to draw all the water from his body, leaving him parched, with lips cracked, eyes burning.
He came to other trails, all made by one person, someone with small feet. Surely not a boy. Would the Cousin Rivers have forced Cries-loud from the village after Sok and Chakliux had left? No, there were too many good people there to allow such a thing. Perhaps they were a woman’s tracks. Yes, the toes turned in. How else did a woman walk when she was carrying a heavy load or pulling a travois? Most likely an old woman, then, one who had offered to leave the village so there would be more food for the children. But what fool had allowed her to take Snow Hawk, a golden-eye, pregnant with a litter and one of the best dogs in the village?
Then he knew. Ligige’, of course, it was Ligige’. She was, after all, Near River, the most Near River of anyone except he himself, his sons and Yaa. And she had probably stolen Snow Hawk, especially if her leaving had been forced on her by others.
“Ligige’!” he shouted, then turned and called in all directions.
But the voice that answered him was not Ligige’’s. And it came so unexpectedly that he jumped, his snowshoes threatening his balance. He reached for an alder tree, grasped the thin bole to keep from falling into the snow.
“Sok? You are here? Where is my husband?”
He stared at Aqamdax for a moment before he could respond, and then he spoke only to say, “Where is Ligige’?”
“Ligige’ is here?” Aqamdax asked, and in the foolishness of question upon question, Sok wondered if he were still in a dream, back in Chakliux’s tent.
Snow Hawk jumped around them, making a dance in and out of the paths that cut through the trees, and Aqamdax scolded her, warned her away from a noose trap set in an animal trail. The pause gave Sok time to clear his mind. He pointed to Aqamdax’s footprints and said, “I followed Snow Hawk here. When I saw your tracks, I thought perhaps some old woman had been driven from the village. I thought it might be Ligige’.”
“They are my tracks,” Aqamdax said. “Night Man forced me to leave.” She frowned, and before he could ask her the many questions that came to him, she said, “My husband is with you?”
He shook his head. “I am alone.”
“Where is Chakliux?” she cried out. Her voice was a wail, both demanding and denying, and he could not look at her.
“If one of us had to die,” he said softly, “I do not understand why it was Chakliux. You know I would have given my life for him.”
Slowly, Aqamdax sank to her knees. She curled herself into a ball, and Sok knelt beside her. He gathered her close, let his own cries echo hers until even Snow Hawk lifted her head and joined their mourning.
Chapter Sixty
THE COUSIN RIVER VILLAGE
LIGIGE’ BRUSHED THE SNOW from her stack of wood and kicked several pieces loose from the pile. Her thoughts were on a basket she was making, not a fishskin basket—the kind she had made since she was a child—but one of grass, in the way Aqamdax had been teaching her. Her stitches on one side were loose, and the basket was lopsided. Perhaps if she unraveled it back to where she had started her last weaver…
She picked up the chunks of wood that had scattered from her pile, groaned as she straightened, and started back into the lodge. Ghaden and Cries-loud were usually the ones who brought in the wood, but Sky Watcher had taken the boys on a morning hunt. She hoped they had good luck. Fresh meat in winter warmed a body as much as a hearth fire.
She stooped at the entrance tunnel, threw the wood inside piece by piece. Yaa would stack it there later after she finished scraping the caribou hide Ligige had given her. The girl would need to escape the smoky lodge for a little while.
Ligige’ rubbed her eyes. Winter hearth fires always left them red and weepy. Sometimes she walked the paths of the village just to get out of the smoke. She took a long breath. The air was clean but cold enough to make her cough.
Already, though spring was far away, the days seemed to be a little brighter, a little longer. Or perhaps it was only an old woman’s wish, she thought.
As she ducked her head to enter the tunnel, something caught her eye, someone at the crest of one of the hills north of the village.
Sky Watcher already? A seed of fear lodged in her heart. Were the boys all right?
A trampled pattern of snowshoe tracks led from just beyond her lodge to the hills. She walked those tracks until the snow gave way and let her sink to her knees. She sat down and lifted her feet, crawled back toward her lodge, then stood again.
No, she thought with relief, it was not Sky Watcher. The man was too large and walked too heavily. Who, then? Perhaps a trader, or worse, someone who had been sent away from his own people for one reason or another. They did not need anyone like that here.
Best to tell the men. She started toward the hunters’ lodge, made herself hurry over the frozen and slippery path. She scratched at the lodge’s caribou hide doorflap, called out, and was answered by Take More. The old man’s voice carried an edge of irritation.
“Come out here,” Ligige’ demanded, having no patience for his rudeness. When he was with other men, Take More acted as if he had the right to treat old women like slaves.
“What?” Take More demanded from inside the lodge. “What are you telling me? Who is it? Ligige’?”
“Yes,” Ligige’ said. “Someone is coming. A man. I saw him and now I have told you.” She turned her back on the lodge, looked again toward the hills, pretended not to notice when Take More joined her.
“I am alone here,” he said.
She grunted but said nothing. He was Cousin River; she was not. Perhaps he would recognize the one who was coming. But when the man topped the nearest hill, Ligige’ knew who it was, and she whispered his name under her breath: “Sok.”
The village, though small, looked good, the lodges strong, smoke spiraling up from their smoke holes. Only his lodge carried that appearance of neglect which seems to mark any shelter where people no longer live.
Several women were walking the village paths. He recognized Ligige’ standing near the hunters’ lodge. Someone was with her—Take More? Sok lifted one hand in greeting, felt the weight of what he had to tell them slow his steps. Then he thought of his sons, so that sorrow and joy suddenly lived together in his heart.
Take More had a blanket clasped around his shoulders as though he had come in haste from the hunters’ lodge. He huddled near the entrance, but Ligige’ came to meet Sok, and her first words were no surprise.
“Where is Chakliux?”
For some reason Sok could not answer her, but instead looked over her head, nodded a greeting to Take More and asked, “My sons?”
“They are well,” Take More said, and Ligige’ added, “Yellow Bird has the baby in her lodge. He is growing fast. Sky Watcher has taken Cries-loud and Ghaden hunting this morning.”
Sok was disappointed that he would not see Cries-loud right away, but glad that Sky Watcher was acting the part of father.
“Chakliux?” Ligige’ asked again, and Sok noticed that Take More, shivering, had turned to go inside the lodge.
“Wait, Uncle,” Sok called to the man, then he turned to Ligige’ and said, “My brother is not coming back.”
Sok lowered his head and began to explain. When both Ligige’ and Take More crowded close, he realized that he was mumbling his words and they could not hear what he was saying.
He lifted his head, started again. “We were together in his hunting tent for many days,” he told them. “During that time my brother watched over me. He kept our fire strong. Each night my dead wife came with wind and storm and tried to take me, but Chakliux drove her away with his prayers and stories.
“I lived in a trance. I did not know day from night, and I heard my brother’s words as if he spoke from a great distance. On the morning I came to myself, I found that the fire had died. The boiling bag was empty, and somehow my brother’s spirit had been stolen.”
Ligige’ lifted her voice into a wail.
“I think it was my wife’s revenge for his stories and prayers,” Sok said to Take More. “I returned to the village to be sure she did not also steal my sons.”
“They are safe, not stolen,” Take More assured him, and led him into the hunters’ lodge.
Ligige’ stood outside, alone until her mourning cries drew the people from their hearth fires.
“Do you think they will bring his body back?” Dii asked.
It was night. All that day, she and Long Eyes had joined the women’s mourning, but her husband had made excuses to remain in his mother’s lodge.
After Sky Watcher returned with Ghaden and Cries-loud, he came to see Night Man, and though they went together to the hunters’ lodge, Night Man did not stay long.
Dii asked her question again, and her husband jerked as though her words had startled him from a dream. “Sky Watcher told me that he and First Eagle would go.”
“Perhaps, if Sok’s dead wife was the one who stole his brother’s spirit, they should leave the body there. The wolves will have found him by now.”
“Did you know…” Night Man began. He stopped.
Dii could see the anger in his face, could hear it in his voice. What was wrong now? He had hated Chakliux, he made no secret of that. He should be glad that Chakliux was dead.
“Take More’s youngest wife told me something,” he finally said.
Dii’s heart froze in her chest. Take More’s wife had told her also—good news that Aqamdax was not dead, that she was living at the hunters’ spring.
“Take More’s wife is foolish,” Dii said. “Always telling people what is not true.”
Night Man shrugged. He pointed with his chin toward his mother. “You fed her?” he asked. Long Eyes sat as though she did not hear them, her fingers moving without pause as she twisted sinew.
“She has eaten twice since this morning, and slept some.”
Night Man grunted, then leaned against the woven willow backrest Dii had made him. She brought him a bowl of meat, but he waved it away and seemed to lose himself again in his own thoughts.
Dii picked up her sewing and punched her awl along the edges of a seam. She thought of Chakliux. She had known him as long as she could remember. He had been a good man, a hunter skilled with a spear in spite of his otter foot.
She thought of Chakliux’s body, surely by now found by wolves and ravens. She raised her sewing closer to her eyes, tried to drive away images of death with thoughts of awls and sinew thread.
Suddenly Night Man laughed. Surprised, Dii looked up. Had she ever heard him laugh before? She looked at him, but he seemed to have forgotten she was in the lodge.
“Who will protect her?” he asked. His eyes were on the hearth, as though he were speaking to the flames. “Her husband is dead, and now for these few days the men…”
Suddenly he tipped back his head and shouted his laughter up into the top of their lodge.
Ligige’ awoke to the sound of a woman calling. She glanced over at Ghaden and Cries-loud. They were asleep, exhausted by their hunt and then by the joy of Sok’s return, the sorrow of Chakliux’s death. Yaa raised up on one elbow, whispered, “Someone is outside.”
Ligige’ crawled from her bed and into the cold of the entrance tunnel. She pushed aside the outer doorflap.
“It is Dii,” the woman said, and Ligige’ scolded her for being out so late, for bringing night air into her lodge, but she beckoned Dii inside, and they huddled close to the hearth coals, Ligige’ holding her hands above the warmth.
“I cannot stay,” Dii said.
“No, you cannot,” Ligige’ told her. “Unless you want to sit alone while the rest of us sleep.”
“My husband thinks that I went out to our cache to get meat.”
“And instead you came here? Why?”
“Night Man knows Aqamdax is alive and that she is staying near the hunters’ spring. He plans to go there in the morning.”
Ligige’ covered her mouth with her hands. “How did he find out?” she asked, her fingers muffling the words.
“Take More told his youngest wife. You know she cannot keep a secret.”
Ligige’ sat still for a moment, then reached out and clasped Dii’s hands. “You said he plans to leave in the morning?” she asked.
Dii nodded.
“Slow him down as much as you can. I will get Take More to warn Aqamdax.”
“You think he will go?”
“If he does not, I will,” Ligige’ said.
Chapter Sixty-one
THE HUNTERS’ SPRING
AQAMDAX HAD BEEN PROUD of her lodge, but now, as she sat with Ligige’ and Take More, she saw it as if through the eyes of others. She saw how cramped it was, and the hoarfrost on the walls, the crooked lodge poles, the cold air, stale and without the welcoming smell of cooking meat. And she saw it through the eyes of what she was now—widow, not wife, her heart dark with sorrow.
“It is small,” she said weakly, referring to the lodge.
But Ligige’ said, “You have done well.”
Aqamdax lowered her head, accepting the compliment, and allowed the kind words to lift a thin edge of her sadness.
They had brought Ligige’’s old dog with them, strapped packs of dried caribou meat to his back. Aqamdax had accepted the meat with gratitude, and now laid some out on grass mats, thankful she could offer a semblance of hospitality.
“So Sok arrived at the village and told you,” she managed to say, her voice tight and small, like the v
oice of a child. “You understand the reason, then.” She lifted a hand to her cheeks, black with soot, her hair cut short and ragged around her face. “Thank you for coming to share my sorrow.”
Then she saw the look that passed between them, felt a quick catch of pain. “The children?” she asked, her voice dying on their names.
Ligige’ held up one hand, palm out. “No one else has died. The children are strong. Yellow Bird’s milk flows, and the baby is growing.”
“We have come because of Night Man,” Take More interrupted, then made Aqamdax wait as he crammed dried meat into his mouth. He spoke through the food, spraying it out with his words. “First Eagle and Sky Watcher went back for your husband’s body,” he said, then paused to chew.
Aqamdax sat very still, unaware that tears were flowing from her eyes until Ligige’ leaned forward and wiped her cheeks with gnarled and callused fingers.
“I am glad they did,” Aqamdax said, her throat so full of sorrow that the words were only a whisper.
“Someone told Night Man that you are here, and now that the hunters are gone, he thinks it is a good time to come and find you,” Take More said. He swallowed, then added, “He has taken Dii as wife. Did I tell you that?”
“Yes,” she said softly.
“He told Dii last night that he will kill you. He planned to leave this morning, but Dii is trying to delay him.”
“You cannot stay here, Aqamdax,” said Ligige’.
“Where should I go?” she asked. “Now that he knows I am alive, he will follow me.”
“Perhaps snow will come and hide your trail,” Take More said. “Or wind.”
The weight of Aqamdax’s sorrow pressed down upon her, and she struggled to think. She did not have enough time to prepare. She could not stay here. And with Chakliux’s child in her belly…
She lay a hand over her stomach, saw Ligige’’s eyes on her.
The old woman tilted her head. “You do not…” she began. “You are not…”
