The Storyteller Trilogy

by Sue Harrison

  Though they were cold and wet, and the ground was hard beneath their sleeping mats, Daughter could feel only gratitude that they were no longer on the sea. And after that, through all their journey, Daughter’s fear no longer lived so near her heart.

  That night they huddled together with K’os in the middle, and sometime during her sleep, Daughter was awakened by the rhythm of K’os and Seal grinding against one another, K’os making payment for their safety.

  The next day they stayed, though the weather was good, because K’os had seen birdholes in the cliffs. She and Daughter walked the narrow beach until they found a talus slope that allowed Daughter to climb to the top of the cliffs. If there had been a group of women, young men, or agile boys, they would have made a sling and lowered someone to reach in and steal the eggs, but with only K’os to stand against Daughter’s weight, they did not. Instead, Daughter lay on her belly at the edge of the cliff, stuck her hands into the holes she could reach, and gathered eggs. By the time she had checked each hole, her hands were cut and bleeding, slashed by the birds’ beaks, but she had managed to gather a basketful and catch several auklets, wringing their necks even as they fought her.

  She and K’os took the eggs and birds back to their camp and found Seal waiting impatiently for them.

  “High tide!” he exclaimed, and saying no more, he gestured toward the boat.

  He sat sulking as Daughter and K’os worked to repack, and Daughter hid her resentment as Seal poked his thumbs into nearly half the eggs and sucked out the contents.

  Once she lifted her chin toward him and said to K’os, “See what he does.”

  But K’os merely answered, “And who paddles all day? Not you.”

  She knew that K’os was right, but the realization only fed her anger. When they had lived in the First Men village, K’os and Seal fought all the time, but here on the sea, K’os had suddenly become a good wife, always worried about her husband, sitting up in the night to repair his sax or chigdax when her own garments needed more attention than his, always being sure that he got the best food and the heaviest sleeping robes.

  As though she could hear Daughter’s thoughts, K’os said, “Remember this, Uutuk, until we get to a village, without him, we are dead.”

  Then Daughter understood that her mother had not changed. K’os knew what she wanted and merely worked to get it.

  After more than two moons of traveling, the earth began to grow trees—black spruce, Seal called them. K’os said they were poor and sickly, bent in their struggle against the wind, and she told Daughter that the trees that grew in the land of the River People were straight and strong. Though Daughter said nothing, she suddenly remembered the trees that had grown near the village where she and the grandfather once lived. Those trees had been so tall that it seemed that their branches should be able to scrape down the stars. Here, the black spruce were no bigger than a man, but at least they were trees, and she celebrated with K’os, singing a River song about trees dancing.

  Seal complained about that song, and it was true that the salt of the sea had coated their throats, so even Daughter sang in an old woman’s voice.

  The sea had also scoured their faces, and all of them had bleeding sores on their lips and nostrils. Ko’s’s hands were cracked and rough, and some days after taking her turn with the paddle, her fingers curled themselves so tightly that she could not straighten them until the next morning.

  The day after they first saw the trees, they also saw a village, and Daughter hoped they might stop. It was a First Men village, small, but even from the sea Daughter could pick out the mounds of the ulas, the iqyax racks, and children and elders walking the beaches, gathering wood and digging for clams. But Seal did not stop, only uttered an insult, vulgar and spiteful, against the women of that village.

  K’os turned to look at her husband, and Daughter expected her to scold him, but she merely set her mouth into a grimace, and turned back to her paddling. After a moment of thought, Daughter realized that K’os had been hiding a smile, that she had been mocking her husband, and Daughter guessed that he had made poor trades there or, worse, had angered some husband.

  The long day stretched into weariness, but before night, they paddled into an inlet and came to another village. This time Seal turned their boat toward the beach. The children ran out to meet them, shouting that a trader had come to visit. Then the young men and hunters were beside their boat, hauling it to shore. One of them helped Daughter out and offered her water from a seal belly. Daughter reached for the belly, her throat harsh and raw from the sea, but before she could raise it to her lips, K’os clasped her arm, shook her head.

  “Be sure he offers the water in kindness, not in trade,” she told Daughter, and she spoke in the River language so the young man would not understand.

  “It is only water, Mother,” Daughter said.

  But K’os turned to the man and asked him what he expected in return. He answered with a joke and a request for Daughter to stay with him in his father’s ulax.

  Daughter shook her head at the young man, but smiled to soften her refusal. Then she and K’os helped Seal pull the boat beyond the reach of waves. They waited as Seal spoke to the chief hunter, and Daughter smiled shyly at the children who gathered around her, one bold enough to touch her hand.

  She was tired and her legs ached from sitting in the boat all day, so when K’os gestured for her to follow, she went without thinking, fixing her eyes on the path that she walked. She found herself wishing they could enjoy the warmth of an ulax. They had spent so many nights on the beaches at the mercy of wind and rain and sea waves.

  She was led to an old woman’s ulax. It was small but warm, and the woman made her a bed behind the climbing log. Daughter had hoped to be able to sleep as soon as the bed was made, but the old woman wanted to talk. Daughter struggled to keep her eyes open, bit the insides of her cheeks so the pain would keep her from falling asleep.

  Old age had withered the woman’s flesh and darkened her face. A hump on her back nearly bent her double, and the sparse strands of her white hair were drawn up tightly and tied into a knot at the crown of her head.

  “Your mother and father are staying with the chief hunter,” she said and began to laugh. “He thinks he has the greatest honor, that hunter, but he is also a fool, for children are the best, and daughters are very good. I am glad to have you here.”

  She chattered on, speaking of village people that Daughter did not know. Finally she said, “Do you like being a trader?”

  Daughter had been so lulled by the old woman’s words that it took her a moment to realize that she expected an answer.

  “This is my first trading trip,” Daughter said.

  “Do you know where you are?”

  “No,” Daughter admitted, “but this is the second village we passed today.”

  The old woman laughed. “How will you find this place again if you do not know where you are?” she asked, but she did not seem to be scolding, for then she added, “This is the Traders’ Beach.”

  Her words made Daughter glad, for she had heard Seal speak of the place, and knew he planned to stay and trade.

  The old woman tipped her head and stared at Daughter’s face, then she asked, “You have always lived in your mother’s village?”

  Daughter was not sure how to answer. But after thinking for a while, she said, “There are those who say I once lived on another beach. There are those who say that storm winds brought me and my grandfather a long way to a First Men’s village.”

  As though she were speaking to herself, the old woman mumbled, “I knew there was something different about the face. The eyes are not First Men eyes, and the nose is too small.” Then she raised her voice to ask, “Do you remember this other place where you lived?”

  “Sometimes in my dreams it comes back to me,” Daughter told her.

  “Then do not forget your dreams. That grandfather you spoke about, does he remember?”

  “He remembered
much, and told me many stories.”

  “I would like to talk to him,” the old woman said, “but he must be like me, too old to travel.”

  “He died five summers ago,” said Daughter. “But perhaps I could tell you some of his stories.”

  The old woman’s face brightened.

  “Tonight?” she asked, but Daughter shook her head.

  “I am sorry, Grandmother,” she said in politeness, “but I am too tired. Could you wait until morning?”

  Then, as though the old woman realized for the first time that she had a guest, she offered apologies and pointed toward a water bladder hanging from a rafter. “You can reach it more easily than I,” she told Daughter, “but surely you are also hungry, and here I am asking for stories.”

  She lifted her chin toward a basket of sea urchins, and Daughter brought the basket, sat down, and set it between them. The old woman took a sea urchin, cracked it open, and used a thumbnail to scrape out the eggs. She sucked them into her mouth, then said, “Long ago my husband died and then all my children as well, except for one daughter who lives in another village. There was a time when a girl came to live with me. I taught her my stories, but then she left me for a River man husband. But this year, a good thing has happened. That girl’s brother has come to this village, he and his father, a trader. The boy tells me his sister is well, that she and her husband have three children now.”

  “That is good,” Daughter told her.

  “Yes, it is good,” the old woman said. “And for a little while I have this trader and his son living with me. They bring all kinds of good things to eat, things that are hard for an old woman to get for herself.” She pursed her lips to point at the sea urchins.

  “Perhaps if I stay long enough with you,” Daughter said, “I will be able to bring you sea urchins as well.”

  The old woman chuckled, and there was a sudden clattering on the ulax roof, a boisterous man’s voice raised in laughter.

  “Aa! They are here!” the old woman exclaimed and leaned on Daughter’s shoulder to push herself to her feet.

  “We are eating,” she said to the man who came into the ulax.

  He was taller than the men of Daughter’s village, lean and narrower in his shoulders. He was followed by a younger man who looked much like him, though he had the stronger build of the First Men. They both had long noses, humped in the middle, and long faces. They wore their hair braided at the backs of their heads, with feathers and beads strung into the braids.

  “Cen, the trader,” the old woman said, “and his son Ghaden.”

  The younger man’s eyes were dark and round, soft in the flickering light of the ulax lamps, and, to Daughter’s embarrassment, she realized she was staring at him. But he gave her a lopsided grin and did not seem to mind her rudeness.

  “Cen, Ghaden, this is the trader’s daughter,” the old woman said, and again laughed. “I do not know your name,” she said.

  “That does not surprise me,” said Cen.

  “I am Uutuk, but most people call me Daughter.” Then she smiled at the old woman, allowed a teasing to come into her voice. “And if I am to tell you stories tomorrow, I should also know your name.”

  Then Cen and Ghaden both laughed, and squatted on their haunches close to the basket of sea urchins. Daughter, as though she were the mother of the house, lifted the basket closer to them, and when they had helped themselves, she also took an urchin, cracked it open, and gave it to the old woman.

  “I did not tell you my name?” she asked. “I thought everyone knew. Who is older than me in all these First Men villages? I suppose I will live until finally I have found someone who wants to learn my stories, a storyteller who will stay with the First Men, and not go off with some River man.”

  Cen smiled at that, ducked his head, and cocked an eyebrow at Ghaden. “She is still mad at your sister,” he said.

  The old woman frowned at him. “I am still mad at you, but at least you brought Ghaden.” Then she said to Daughter, “I am called Qung. I look forward to hearing your stories tomorrow.”

  She bumped Ghaden’s arm with her elbow and said, “And if they are good enough, perhaps I will decide that you should hear them, too.”

  “Perhaps I have already decided to listen, Aunt,” Ghaden said. “What better gift to take back to my sister Aqamdax than new stories?”

  Then Qung was suddenly solemn, and she said, “Just bring her with you the next time you come. It would be good to see her one last time before I die.”

  “Live long, Aunt,” Ghaden said in a quiet voice, the laughter gone from his words. “We need your wisdom.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Κ’OS’S STORY

  “DO NOT THINK ABOUT eating until you have finished repairing the seams,” Seal told K’os.

  She smiled sweetly at him. “Think about trading for a new cover, husband,” she said, holding her voice soft, filling her words with respect. “We will not get much farther with this one.”

  “You know so much about boats?” he snapped.

  “About hides, husband,” she said under her breath once he had walked away. There were other traders watching, and she did not want to destroy Uutuk’s chance of finding a good husband. Too often a daughter was judged by her mother’s behavior.

  K’os tied a sinew thread to the end of her needle, wetted her fingers with water from one of the drinking bladders stored in the boat, and moistened the seam. It was weak with too many awl holes, gaping where the cover had stretched under the assault of waves and water. Seal had set the boat near the iqyax racks, and as she worked, K’os studied the markings on each craft. Most belonged to hunters, but there were three large open-topped boats, each marked with yellow to show they belonged to traders. The iqyan also had owners’ marks painted in various colors, some done with a careful hand, others applied haphazardly.

  One fine iqyax stood out among the rest, made, without doubt, by a First Men hunter, but its ownership markings were River. K’os set her birdbone needle between her teeth and wetted down a particularly bad seam. She kneaded it with her knuckles to soften the hide and tried to draw up enough extra to lap a fold over the weakest side, but she had done the same thing too many times. There was no more give. She would have to use a patch.

  She stuck her needle in a soft strip of birdskin she had tacked to the front of her sax and dug into her sewing basket. She pulled out a roll of seal hide, the width of three fingers. With her thumb and middle finger she measured enough to cover the worst of the seam, then cut the strip from the roll with her woman’s knife.

  The strip was stiff and hard, and she moistened it with water from the bladder, then rerolled it tightly and placed in her mouth, held it there, testing it with her tongue. When it was pliable, she began to chew the strip, working it with her teeth.

  The wind was cold off the bay, and K’os drew her hands up into her sleeves, waited for warmth to pull the pain from her joints. Her hands had always hurt her, even from the time she was a child, but on this trip, paddling and hauling, the pain had become almost unbearable. Sometimes it kept her awake most of the night.

  When she found the right husband for Uutuk, she would get rid of Seal, lazy man that he was, and build a warm lodge in some River village, sew herself many fur mittens. Her hands would never be cold again.

  She would not have to wait long. How difficult could it be to find a husband for a daughter like Uutuk?

  Uutuk had spent her first night in the Traders’ village with Qung, the village storyteller, an old woman who lived alone. How better to keep Uutuk away from men? K’os had taught the girl how to please a man in bed, but there was no sense in wasting Uutuk’s favors on those who did not deserve them. Besides, K’os wanted her to have a River husband, and River men were stingy with their wives, did not like to share them with others. No doubt White Salmon had had Uutuk in his bed, but White Salmon was far away, bound as he was to his small island.

  Even if K’os had decided on a First Men husband fo
r Uutuk, she would not have chosen White Salmon. Better to select a man who lived here in the Traders’ village. Even in its strongest days, the Near River village had not been as large. Of course, K’os would rather live in a River lodge than an ulax, but she understood the necessity for underground houses close to the North Sea, where the wind was often strong enough to knock down a grown man.

  Too bad that when she escaped the Walrus Hunters, her journey had not brought her here. It would have been better to find herself a husband in this village—rich with all the things traders can bring, and not as far from the River People as Seal’s village. But then, had she come here, she would not have Uutuk.

  K’os rubbed the strip of sealskin between her knuckles, then placed it on the inside of the seam and stitched carefully, making sure the needle did not pierce completely through the outer layer of the boat cover. It was meticulous work, and sometimes she had to stop and stretch her fingers, they grew so numb, but finally she was done.

  She straightened and arched her shoulders, then started checking the remaining seams. When her eyes needed a rest, she would stop and focus on something distant or again study the iqyan on the boat racks. The First Men iqyax marked with River colors seemed to draw her.

  You are lonesome for your own people, she told herself, but then decided there was another reason the markings caught her attention. She had seen them before. But where?

  Suddenly she knew, and the knowledge was like a fist to her belly. Not on an iqyax, no. On the sheath covering of a hunter’s bow, on a trader’s pack, on the side of a River lodge. Cen’s ownership mark. Her heart hammered into her ribs. Even if he had given the iqyax in trade, the new owner would have painted his colors over Cen’s, and what were the chances that two men would choose the same mark of triple circles and slashing lines?

  She would have to convince Seal to leave the village, and leave soon. Cen would have nothing but evil to say about her, and there was always the chance that he had discovered she was the one who had killed his wife Gheli.