The Storyteller Trilogy

by Sue Harrison

  “Was that when the father offered his finger in exchange for Ghaden’s life?” Qumalix interrupted to ask.

  “Yes. And Cen was given his son’s life in trade. Later, Cen moved to another village and took a wife named Gheli.”

  “Aaa, yes, Gheli,” Qumalix said.

  “That’s another story for another day,” said Yikaas, speaking to her as if she were a child. But she took no offense, only laughed, and so Yikaas continued.

  “Cen and Gheli had two daughters, and though Cen was a trader and traveled much, and Ghaden was his only son, for a long time, Cen dared not come to the village where Ghaden lived because he was afraid the men there would kill him.”

  “Why?” Qumalix asked. “He was a River man, nae’?”

  “Remember in the story I told about K’os how two of the River villages had fought against one another until one was destroyed with only a few hunters left?”

  “I remember.”

  “Even the village that won the battle had many of their young men killed, and so after a few years, they decided to forget their anger and become one people. In that way they combined the strength of those hunters they had left.”

  “What does that have to do with Cen and Ghaden?”

  “Before Cen married Gheli, he and Ghaden had lived in the village that had lost the battle. The problem came when Cen and the hunters of that village went to fight. Cen saw that they were outnumbered, and he left them in the night, and did not return.”

  “He was a coward,” Qumalix said.

  “Yet brave enough to cut off his finger when he thought the spirits might accept it as a gift and spare Ghaden’s life.”

  “It’s all very confusing.”

  “You will understand my story,” Yikaas told her.

  “It would help me if you spoke my language, and I did not have to listen to River words.”

  Her complaint angered Yikaas, but he shrugged and said, “Then I would need a teacher.”

  “Your aunt, Kuy’aa, speaks the language. At least a little,” she said.

  Anger took control of his tongue, and Yikaas answered, “Well, go get her. She can teach me now, quickly, so I can speak this story in words more gentle to your ears.”

  He saw her jaw tighten, and she jammed a large piece of fish into her mouth, as though to prevent herself from a sharp reply. Finally, speaking through the fish, she said, “I will listen to your River words.”

  “Stop me if you don’t understand something,” he told her. “I would be glad to teach you new words.”

  He waited, wondering if she would offer to teach him her language in exchange, but she did not, and so when he began, Yikaas spoke in a hard voice, touched with disappointment—a good voice for Ghaden’s story.

  Near Iliamna Lake, Alaska

  Late Winter, 6447 B.C.

  GHADEN’S STORY

  “You’re wasting food, feeding him,” the hunter Sok said.

  Ghaden squatted beside Biter, ran a hand through the dog’s dark fur.

  “He’s old, Ghaden. He doesn’t hunt anymore, and he won’t be able to keep up with us when we travel to our fish camps.”

  Ghaden didn’t have an answer. Sok was right. Biter was a dog celebrated for his wisdom, but now he was old and in pain.

  “I’ll take him,” Sok said. “My aim is true. He will die before he even feels the bite of the spear.”

  Ghaden kept his head down. With sixteen summers, he had long been a man, and what man shed tears for a dog? He could not let Sok see his eyes.

  “I’ll do it,” Ghaden said, and his voice was firm, hard.

  Sok grunted and walked away. Ghaden stayed beside the dog, spent a long time combing his hands through Biter’s fur.

  Finally he said, “We should hunt today, Biter. See, look at the sky. Before long, clouds will settle in, and tomorrow we will get more snow. But the river ice is solid, and it will be easy walking. Wouldn’t a fresh hare taste good tonight? If we get two we can give one to Yaa. Cries-loud has not yet returned from following those early caribou that left their tracks so near the village.”

  He thought of all the dogs he had known. Ligige’s dog that even in his old age had helped kill that evil one, Night Man. Ligige’ had been dead for two winters now, even in her last days full of wisdom and mischief.

  The summer before her death, she had traded for another dog, and during her last sickness had given the dog to Ghaden. It was a female, and he had mated her with Biter, gotten himself three good pups. One had the look of Biter, the same dark brown markings and some of Biter’s wisdom, though with a young dog, it was hard to tell. Ghaden had kept that pup for himself, given one of the others to Yaa’s husband Cries-loud, and traded another to Cries-loud’s younger brother, Carries Much, for fox pelts—less than the pup was worth, but Carries Much needed his own dog.

  Sok had grumbled when Ghaden gave the dog to the boy, though Carries Much was Sok’s own son. Sok had wanted the dog himself, but he was harsh with his animals, a good man with his wives and his children, but not so good with dogs—ignoring them for too long when he did not need them, stingy with their food.

  Ghaden slipped into his sister’s lodge, gathered snowshoes, two thrusting spears, and a bow. It was still winter, but the day was warm enough so that the bow, when pulled taut, would not break, and for taking small animals, Ghaden was better with an arrow than a spear.

  Aqamdax was sitting with her young daughter, helping the girl string sinew thread through awl holes widely spaced in a piece of caribou hide. The girl’s tongue was thrust from the corner of her mouth as she concentrated. She grunted in frustration when the thread twisted, and Aqamdax, though her eyes were on Ghaden, said to her daughter, “Remember what you do?”

  The little girl let the needle hang loose, watched as the thread spun to untangle itself.

  “Sometimes when you try too hard,” Aqamdax explained, “things get tangled, and the only way to untangle them is to let go.”

  For a moment Ghaden closed his eyes. It was difficult to have a sister who always knew his thoughts.

  “Be safe,” she said to him as he left.

  Unlike other dogs in the village, Biter usually slept in the lodge, but during feeding times, Ghaden staked him outside. He untied the dog, urged him with a shout and promises of good hunting. Biter groaned, heaved himself to his feet.

  They walked the packed paths of the village, wove their way between the winter lodges and down to the river. Snow covered the ice in a strong, hard crust, but as Ghaden walked, he used the butt end of a spear to test the surface. Even small cracks could release water that would remain trapped and unfrozen under a layer of snow. If a man broke through into that water, he would soak his boots and freeze his feet. More than one hunter had been lost that way.

  He walked until he came to a path that angled up from the river, a woman’s trail that led to traplines. He cut up to the path, then stopped and put on his snowshoes. He trudged through the snow, loose in the shelter of willows and alders. He did not plan to go far. The walking was too difficult for Biter, but each of his steps seemed to lead to another, and finally Ghaden realized that he was walking only because he did not want to stop.

  He turned and looked back at Biter. The dog was struggling, walking with his head down, tongue out. Ghaden crouched beside the dog, flung an arm around his neck.

  How often had they sat in just this way, Biter’s warmth and strength a comfort to a little boy afraid of so many things?

  “I will never have a better dog,” he told Biter. Biter wagged his tail, and Ghaden said, “I don’t know where dogs go in the spirit world.” His throat closed around his words, and Ghaden had to stop, take a breath. “But if you can, wait for me.”

  Biter whined low in his throat, and Ghaden knew that the cold was making the animal’s legs ache. Had Ligige’ herself not complained of the cold, what it did to her knees and ankles?

  Enough waiting, Ghaden told himself, and for the last time, he leaned his head against Bite
r’s neck, buried his face in the soft fur there. Yaa had promised that when Biter died, she would make a parka ruff for Ghaden from the dog’s fur. At least that would be a comfort, and perhaps also give Ghaden some of Biter’s strength.

  Biter was too old to run ahead of Ghaden on the trail, giving opportunity to use a quick spear from behind. The easiest way to kill him would be to cut his throat and hold him as he died. Ghaden pulled his sleeve knife from the sheath on his arm, moving slowly so Biter would not jump away. Ghaden clasped the blade tightly, prepared to sink it deep, but suddenly Biter leaped up, his eyes fixed on something hidden in the brush. The whine in his throat changed into a deep growl, and the dog jumped away.

  Ghaden lunged forward, trying to catch the braided babiche cord that was around Biter’s neck, but, hampered by his snowshoes, he came up with only a handful of fur.

  As though his legs were suddenly young again, Biter jumped through the snow, his frenzied yips laced with howls and cries. Ghaden followed the dog into a thick growth of black spruce. Two ptarmigan flew up from their hiding places in the snow, startling Ghaden into covering his face with his arms. Then he heard a growl—not dog, but bear—and he stopped, shifted his knife into his left hand, and pulled out one of his spears. He moved his head until he could see the animal through the trees, a glimpse of dark fur. Biter was still barking, and Ghaden slowly walked forward, pushed his way through a tangle of alders, then stopped in surprise.

  It was a brown bear, the largest he had ever seen.

  The warmth of the day must have pulled the animal from its winter den, Ghaden thought, though it was early yet for bears to be out. It stood as tall as two men, as wide as three, and was angry, as bears often are in late winter, their bellies empty, and the rivers still too thick with ice for fishing, winter berries stripped by children from the village.

  If Biter had not alerted Ghaden, the bear would have come upon them as they sat together in the snow. Then what chance would they have had?

  Like all River dogs, Biter had been trained in hunting bear, but the River hunters took black bear—smaller and less likely to attack, more predictable in their actions. Brown bears, twice, even three times as large as black, showed no fear of men, and why should they? What man, even armed with spears, knives, and a bow, had a good chance against such an animal, especially if it was hungry or protecting cubs?

  The bear was distracted by Biter’s barking, and at first did not see Ghaden. It lunged toward the dog, but Biter jumped away.

  Ghaden gripped his spear, and when the bear reared up, erect on its hind legs, he aimed for the heart, threw. The bear caught sight of the spear in its flight and thrust out a paw, the animal’s brown and yellow claws as long as Ghaden’s fingers. The point penetrated the right front leg, and the bear screamed, turning its attention from Biter to the stone spearhead that jutted from the inner side of the leg. Biter scooted around behind the bear to rip at the animal’s hamstrings.

  “Get away, Biter!” Ghaden shouted.

  A dog so old was not quick enough to lunge in and bite, then escape beyond reach of the animal’s claws or teeth. That Biter had been able to evade the bear during the first attack was surprising enough. Ghaden called again, but Biter continued to bark and lunge.

  Escape, Ghaden told himself. Go now. What more honorable way for Biter to die? But Ghaden could not make himself leave.

  The bear broke off the spear’s wooden shaft, bit at the spearhead, lacerating its tongue and coloring its muzzle with blood. The animal turned, swatted again at Biter. Ghaden, heart pounding, threw his other spear. This time the weapon hit solidly just below the animal’s breastbone.

  Ghaden waited for the bear to drop, but it merely grunted and gripped the spear with both paws, raised the butt end to its mouth, and jerked until the spear was free.

  The bear looked at Ghaden, its eyes as wise and knowing as a man’s, then stepped forward and crushed the spear into the snow.

  Ghaden moved his hands to his bow, pulled the tie string to release it from his back, jerked arrows from the sheath. The bear dropped to all fours, and Ghaden’s breath caught hard, closing up his throat, so that blackness began to draw in from the sides of his eyes.

  The animal was going to attack. What could an arrow do against a bear that even spears would not kill?

  Suddenly Biter jumped from behind, set his teeth into the back of the animal’s left leg. At first the bear merely shook the leg, but Biter braced his feet in the snow and began to jerk his head side to side. The bear stopped, and Ghaden nocked an arrow, let it fly.

  It took the bear in the left shoulder, and before the animal could turn toward the pain, Ghaden released another. It found the bear’s neck.

  The bear roared, broke off both shafts with one swipe, then he twisted and raised a paw, brought it down hard on Biter’s head. The dog yelped, released his grip, fell to the snow, and lay kicking, keening out a thin, high wail.

  Ghaden aimed the third arrow for the bear’s eye, waited to release it until the animal turned back toward him. But he missed his mark, and the arrow glanced off the bear’s skull, leaving a bloody furrow. Then the animal was running, and there was no more time for arrows.

  In deep snow, even with snowshoes, Ghaden had no chance. He dropped his bow and drew his knives, the sleeve knife in his left hand, the long-bladed hunting knife he kept strapped to his leg in his right. He rolled himself into a ball, shrugged his pack up over the back of his neck, and waited for the attack.

  Ghaden felt the claws rake through the tough caribou hide of his parka, through the inner parka and into his skin. The bear’s mouth smelled of rotten meat, of long winter sleep, of fresh blood. The animal’s teeth scraped Ghaden’s shoulder, then clamped over the pack on Ghaden’s back. The bear reared and jerked the pack hard enough to break its straps.

  All things around Ghaden slowed. Even the wind’s voice dimmed, and Biter’s whines were a distant sound, lost in the branches of spruce and alder. He had heard stories of hunters who, attacked by a bear, had pretended to be dead. But this bear was hungry, and even if it thought Ghaden were dead, the animal would eat.

  Ghaden turned his head and saw through the ruff of his parka that the bear was still battling the pack. If he had any chance to save himself, he must do it now. He no longer had his bow, and his arrows lay scattered in the snow. Even if he managed to bury both his knives deep in the bear’s neck, slice the huge vessels that fed blood to the head, the animal would take too long to die.

  With the bear weak from blood loss, perhaps Ghaden would have a chance if he ran. The animal had its back to him, but was so close that Ghaden could hear the grumble that came from its throat as it ravaged the pack. Ghaden, jumped up and began running through the snow. The ice crust caught at his snowshoes with each step, clutching as though to hold him back. With every breath he gasped in a mouthful of cold air until his lungs burned.

  He saw the river through the trees and began to hope. Then, suddenly, a rip of heat, pain. The bear’s claws gouged into his side. Ghaden turned, felt the teeth again, this time in his left arm. He plunged his hunting knife into the animal’s throat, bore down on the haft, cutting a bloody trench into the animal’s neck.

  The bear slammed a paw against Ghaden’s shoulder, and Ghaden was suddenly flying through the air. He landed against a large spruce, heard the pop of his ribs, felt pain like a blade slice into his side.

  Ghaden reached for the tree’s lowest branches and clamped his legs around the bole, his snowshoes scraping and clattering against the rough bark. The animal’s breath was on the back of his neck, but Ghaden could not pull himself up. He braced for the death blow, then heard the tortured cry of a dog.

  Though he should have been trying to climb, Ghaden could not help but look, and he opened his mouth in disbelief when he saw Biter standing behind the bear. Flesh torn from the top of Biter’s head hung in a bloody flap over his left ear, leaving his skull bare.

  The dog’s shrieks were terrible, and even the be
ar stopped, stared, but then it dropped to all fours and attacked, flipping Biter to his back, raking claws into Biter’s side. Biter whipped his head to find purchase on the bear’s throat. The bear reared, and Biter hung on, rending the flesh as the bear tried to shake him loose.

  Blood poured over Biter’s fur, and the bear’s roars rebounded from the trees, so it sounded as though many animals fought. Ghaden saw his bow in the snow and, dropping from the tree, scuttled over to it. He nocked an arrow and took aim, screamed at the pain when he drew back the bowstring.

  The arrow lodged in the bear’s left eye. The animal opened its mouth and a flow of blood gouted out, slicked Biter’s fur. The dog released his grip and fell to the ground. The bear cocked its head and batted at something Ghaden could not see, then it slowly toppled, crushing Biter into the earth.

  Ghaden waited for the bear to shake itself back to life, but it remained where it was, and finally Ghaden took another arrow, released it into the animal’s neck. The bear didn’t move. Ghaden walked close, prodded it with the end of his bow. The bear was dead.

  Ghaden’s ribs pained him with each breath, and his left arm dripped blood, but he set his right shoulder against the carcass, took in as much air as he was able, and heaved the animal to its side, enough so he could get Biter out from under it.

  Biter’s eyes were open, and Ghaden knelt beside him, lifted a hand to push the dog’s scalp back over the dome of his skull. Ghaden stroked his muzzle and began a quiet song of praise, something sung to honor warriors. For one quick moment the dog’s spirit rested in those open eyes, looked out at Ghaden. Love there. Love.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Herendeen Bay, Alaska Peninsula

  602 B.C.

  “A SAD STORY,” QUMALIX SAID, but she laid a hand against her belly as if she had just eaten her fill of a good meal.

  Yikaas shrugged. “What better way for a brave dog to die? Besides, he was old.”