by Sue Harrison
“You speak to me, your father, in such a way?” Waxtal shouted, his voice as loud as he could make it, his words trembling with his anger. “What then do you say to your husband?” Waxtal turned and pointed at Amgigh. “You left your husband and now carry a child. Whose child?” Waxtal thundered. “You have been more than a year away from us. You betray your own husband and carry another man’s child.”
He looked at Kiin, expected her to draw away from him, to lower her head, perhaps drop to her knees before him as she had when she lived in his ulaq. But Kiin stepped forward, walked past him so she was standing between Samiq and Amgigh. Then she lifted her suk and Waxtal saw with a start that she carried two babies.
“My husband is Amgigh,” Kiin said. “My sons are Amgigh’s sons.”
Kiin took the babies from their carrying straps. There could be no doubt, Waxtal thought, when he saw the first child. It was Amgigh’s son. The baby had Amgigh’s eyes, his chin, the
straight flat nose. She held the child out to Amgigh and Amgigh wrapped his arms around the baby so the wind could not catch the child’s breath. Then Kiin took out the second baby.
“Second born,” she said, “two or three breaths after his brother.”
She held the child out, this time to Samiq, and Waxtal saw the joy on Samiq’s face, the disbelief. It was Samiq’s child. Did Kiin have no shame? Even Amgigh would be able to see that the second son belonged to Samiq.
“It is Samiq’s,” Waxtal said. He turned toward Kayugh and Big Teeth, even back toward his wife. “Samiq’s son,” he repeated.
But then Amgigh stepped forward. “Good,” he said, looking into Waxtal’s eyes. “Samiq is my brother. I shared my wife with him as brothers should.”
Kiin took the babies back. She tucked her suk over them, and neither baby cried, neither baby fought against the cold or the wind.
“They are strong,” Kayugh said. “I am proud of my grandsons.”
Kiin smiled at him, but turned back to Waxtal. “You are not going to ask me how I came to this beach?” she asked.
Her insolence angered him. It was not her place as daughter to ask questions, not her place to speak to him without politeness.
He looked away from her, did not answer. What hunter would?
“Qakan brought me,” she said, and Waxtal saw that the others, even Samiq’s ugly wife Three Fish, his new son Small Knife, gathered close to hear her voice above the wind.
“Qakan took me the day that Samiq left with Amgigh and Kayugh to go to the Whale Hunter village. Qakan punched a hole in my ik so you would think I had drowned. We traveled many days to a Walrus People village.”
“You did not try to get away?” Waxtal asked, interrupting.
“Yes,” Kiin answered, again her eyes on her father, the strength of her spirit showing in their dark centers. “Many times. But Qakan tied me so I could not get away.”
She held her hands up, pulled back the sleeves of her suk so they could see the scars that circled her wrists. “He traded me to a hunter named Raven. Traded me for a wife for himself and many furs.”
“Who would give that much for you?” Waxtal asked and spit into the sand.
For a moment there was silence, then Samiq said, “I would give that much for her.”
“And I,” Amgigh said.
“So you are wife to this man Raven,” said Waxtal, ignoring Samiq and Amgigh.
“Never taken as a man takes a wife,” Kiin answered. “The Raven hopes to become a shaman. He did not want my pregnancy to curse his powers, and I escaped from him soon after the babies were born.”
“You escaped alone?” Kayugh asked.
“With Qakan.”
“With Qakan?” Big Teeth asked.
“He had killed a Walrus People woman and needed to get away. I went with him to protect Amgigh’s sons.”
“They would harm your sons?” Chagak asked, her voice soft.
“The Walrus People believed they were cursed.”
“All babies born together, two instead of one, have some difference,” Crooked Nose said. “Something that draws special attention from the spirits. They should be raised as one man, sharing a wife and an ikyak.”
Kiin nodded. “That is the way of the Walrus People, too,” she said. “But there is another curse,” and looking at Amgigh, she said, “Qakan took me by force, as a man uses a wife. Only once, after he knocked me out with his paddle and I could not fight him.”
Amgigh’s face blanched and his fists clenched. “I will kill him,” he said.
“No,” Kiin said, “but you must decide whether to take me back as your wife and whether I can be part of your village. I do not want to curse you.”
“Send her away,” Waxtal said.
But Amgigh pushed past Kiin and clasped Waxtal by the front of his parka. Amgigh twisted his hand until the collar of the parka was tight around Waxtal’s neck. “You knew Qakan had taken her and you did not tell me. I could have gone after them and brought her back. I should kill you, but first I will kill Qakan.” He released Waxtal suddenly so that the man fell backwards to the ground.
Amgigh turned to Kiin. “You are my wife and they are my sons,” he said. “If Kayugh or Samiq says you cannot be part of this village, then we will go ourselves and start a new village.”
“Three Fish and I and our son will go with you,” Samiq said.
And Waxtal saw that Samiq’s eyes were on Kiin’s suk, on the bulge that was his son. And Kiin’s eyes went for the first time to the woman Three Fish, to the large round face, the small eyes, the thick lips and broken teeth. Waxtal saw her surprise and a shadow of something that might have been sadness. So now she knew that Samiq had taken a wife.
Waxtal pushed himself up from the ground. They could do what they liked. Let them curse themselves. Then they would know that he was right about Kiin, had always been right.
“You can stay in our village,” Kayugh said to Kiin.
Blue Shell hurried to her daughter’s side, stroked the sleeve of her suk, and Kiin reached out to clasp her mother’s hand.
“Where is Qakan?” Amgigh suddenly asked, anger in his words.
“Dead,” Kiin answered.
Amgigh’s eyes widened. “You killed him?” he asked.
“No, I did not kill him. The Raven followed us. The woman Qakan killed had once been the Raven’s wife. He followed us to this beach and killed Qakan.”
“Why did Raven leave you here?” Amgigh asked, his voice now quiet.
“I hid so he would not know I was with Qakan. He does not want me. He already has a wife, but I am afraid he would take our sons.”
“No,” Amgigh said. “He will not have the babies. He will not have you.”
Waxtal had heard Kiin’s words, had heard her say that
Qakan was dead, but it all seemed like something done in a dream. Amgigh had made no sign of sorrow, no sound of mourning. He continued to ask questions as though Kiin had said nothing about Qakan at all.
Dead! Qakan was dead! Something inside Waxtal’s head began to pound. His only son was dead. And even if Kiin spoke the truth, if she had not been the one to kill him, it was her fault.
“Qakan is dead?” he asked, the words rasping from his throat. His son. His son. Qakan, his son. Qakan the trader. Who could say what he might have become? Perhaps a great trader. Perhaps the chief of some village. Even a shaman.
Waxtal heard the women begin the mourning song, the wavering sound like something brought on the wind, like the voice of some spirit.
He looked at his wife. She stood beside Kiin, and though there were tears on her cheeks, Blue Shell’s mouth was closed.
SIXTY-SIX
KIIN LED THE WOMEN TO THE PLACE SHE HAD made her camp. She had found a good site, some distance from the beach but not in the marshy tundra. It was near a freshwater spring and only a short walk from a fissure in the earth that let out hot steam.
“See,” she said and pointed to the cooking stone she had laid over the fissure. “An
easy way to cook without oil or wood.”
But she did not look at the women’s faces when they saw her crude shelter of skins and woven mats. They could think what they liked; she had been left there without supplies, and less driftwood floated ashore here than did on Tugix’s island.
She watched as Crooked Nose, Chagak, Red Berry and her mother began opening baskets of goose fat and sea lion stomachs full of dried fish.
They said little, but worked quickly, and Kiin, many questions battering in her chest, asked nothing, for some reason afraid of the answers they would give her. Wren came to them, running from the beach. She stopped beside her mother and for a long time stared at Kiin. Finally Kiin said to her, “Do you want to see the babies?”
Kiin lifted her suk and took her sons from their carrying straps, and suddenly the women were around her, passing the babies from hand to hand, each woman gazing into the infants’ eyes, stroking hair and counting fingers and toes.
“Your sons are beautiful,” Chagak finally said and smiled at Kiin, then added, “We are so glad you are with us again.”
And Kiin, her throat filling with tears, could not answer, but only nodded.
Then Wren said, “Kiin? Kiin?”
Kiin scooped the girl into her arms, pressed her face against Wren’s thick dark hair and murmured to the girl, “I am your sister Kiin.”
Then all the women were talking at once, Crooked Nose asking questions about the Walrus People, Chagak asking where Kiin had found food, her mother asking if she was strong, if she was well, and Kiin, after answering all their questions, asked them about Little Duck and about Little Duck’s son.
“They are dead,” Crooked Nose said. “The boy died of some sickness, and Little Duck, after he died, did not want to live. She stopped eating, and now they are both at the Dancing Lights.”
Kiin looked at her own sons, Amgigh’s son in Crooked Nose’s arms, Samiq’s son cradled by the woman Three Fish. Yes, she could understand how Little Duck felt. She would not want to live if her sons were dead. But there was some part of her that whispered, “No, Kiin, you would live. You would choose to live.”
Kiin looked at Chagak, asked, “Why did you come here? This is a traders’ beach. I thought there might be some small chance that in the next few years my father would come here to trade. But not all of you.”
“It is Aka,” Chagak said slowly, a sadness in her words.
And Kiin remembered that Aka was the sacred mountain of Chagak’s village, the village that the Short Ones had destroyed. Chagak, when she prayed, usually prayed to Aka.
“Aka’s spirits are angry; they send fire into the sky and shake the ground. They send ash that covers everything. Even the grass cannot grow and waves come sweeping everything from beaches.” Chagak laid a hand on Three Fish’s arm. “Three Fish is Samiq’s wife from the Whale Hunters,” Chagak said, her eyes steady, holding Kiin’s eyes. “Her village was destroyed by Aka’s tremors. Many people died. The boy Small Knife lost his family, so Samiq and Three Fish took him as son.”
“Small Knife’s father was my brother,” Three Fish said in a quiet voice. “My mother and father also died.”
“I am sorry,” said Kiin and felt a pulling of her heart to this woman who had lost her people. But still, looking at her, Kiin wondered why Samiq had chosen the woman as wife. She was not beautiful, and several of her teeth were broken. Even her actions were rough, so that in some ways she seemed more like man than woman. But now that Three Fish held Samiq’s son, Kiin could see a gentleness in her, perhaps the thing that had drawn Samiq to her.
Then the women were busy again, and Kiin felt as though she had never left them. She remembered how Chagak held her woman’s knife in a different way than Blue Shell or Crooked Nose did, remembered how Crooked Nose cut with quick, hard strokes and Blue Shell cut slowly and carefully. And she saw that Three Fish had not yet found a place with them. Though Three Fish cut the fish and stacked it on skins to be taken to the men, her work was slow and slowed the other women, so Kiin took a place beside Three Fish, helping her, letting laughter show in her eyes if their hands accidentally touched, if they both reached for the same fish.
Then Chagak said, “Your father told us this is the beach where the Walrus People come to trade.”
“Yes,” Kiin answered. “I have heard that said.”
“Waxtal says they will come here soon.”
“Waxtal?” Kiin asked, and Blue Shell answered, “Your father took a new name when he thought you were dead. He said he was stronger in his sorrow.”
“He knew Qakan had taken me,” Kiin said but did not look at her mother.
“He is Waxtal now,” her mother answered, and so Kiin dipped her wide, flat woman’s knife into the goose grease, mixed grease with the chopped fish and said, “The Walrus People come sometimes in spring to gather eggs, but this year they did not come. So perhaps the traders will not come either.”
Amgigh listened as Waxtal spoke. He thought back through the months that Waxtal had spent with him, the many times Waxtal had told him of the evil blood Samiq carried, the Short Ones’ blood. Waxtal said that Kayugh had cheated Amgigh, favored Samiq, and Amgigh’s grief for Kiin had fed his anger, until, slowly, over the days, his anger had grown into something that was near hatred. But now as he sat near Samiq, the hatred seeped from his body, leaving a great hollow within his chest that suddenly seemed to fill with shame.
Samiq had done no differently than he had; Samiq had done only what their father had told him. Samiq was Many Whales’ grandson. Amgigh was not. Amgigh, as son to Kayugh, had been promised to Kiin, Samiq had not. There was no reason for hate. Now Amgigh watched Waxtal, sure that Waxtal had known Qakan took Kiin. He watched now as Kayugh questioned Waxtal about the Walrus People. When would they come here to trade? Would they be angry if Kayugh’s people chose this place to stay, chose it for their village?
Waxtal sighed, shrugged, “Who can say?” he said. “You expect me to answer all your questions. My son is dead; I mourn.”
He lowered his head, and Kayugh began an apology, but Waxtal interrupted. “Perhaps it would be good to have a village where the traders could stay. Perhaps if we made a special ulaq, one for the traders, they would consider it a good thing.”
“And also if we allowed their women to come here to gather eggs each spring.”
The voice—a woman’s voice—came as a surprise to Amgigh, and he turned to see Kiin standing behind him, the other women standing behind her.
“This is my beach,” she said, and Amgigh felt his face grow hot at her words. What woman could claim a beach? ‘
“You are all welcome,” she continued, “even Gray Bird. I would not want my mother to be without a hunter in her ulaq.”
Waxtal lifted his head and narrowed his eyes. He pointed at Amgigh with his chin and said, “You will allow your wife to speak like this?”
Amgigh’s embarrassment was suddenly replaced with a fierce and roaring anger. He stood then and strode across the circle to look down at Waxtal. “You, you who would give your own daughter to be traded, would speak to me in this way? My wife is right. She was on this beach first; she has claimed it as her home. Already she has two strong sons. Your son was weak. No one will sing songs in remembrance of what he has done, of his great hunts. Who are you to condemn my wife!”
Then Samiq was beside Amgigh, his hand on Amgigh’s shoulder. “Amgigh speaks for me. He and I and our wives, we are one.”
Then Amgigh turned to see that Three Fish had moved to stand beside Kiin, the two together like sisters.
Gray Bird stood. He walked away, but then stopped, turned and called back, “We do not know Kiin’s husband, Raven. You think you are strong enough to stand against a shaman?”
But Amgigh turned to his wife and said, “Thank you, for allowing us to stay on your beach.” Then Crooked Nose said, “Food is ready.” And Amgigh noticed that Gray Bird, even in mourning, was the first to follow the women, the first to take food.
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br /> Kiin helped the other women build four shelters. Big Teeth and Crooked Nose took one; Chagak, Kayugh, Wren, Samiq, Small Knife and Three Fish were in the largest; Red Berry and First Snow in another; and Gray Bird with Blue Shell in another. Kiin invited Amgigh into her shelter, the place so small that Amgigh’s feet and head touched wall to wall when he lay down.
Kiin fed the babies and Amgigh talked to her about their journey, of the beaches where they stopped and of the ash and fire of Aka. But even though Amgigh spoke, Kiin’s thoughts were of Samiq. When the men had sat eating, she could not stop staring at him, and it seemed that her eyes were trying to pull all of him, the lines of his face, the shape of his hands, the way he smiled, into her soul.
The days alone on this beach had been hard days, and during those days, she had longed for Samiq, for his wisdom, his strength. Sometimes she thought she heard the whine of Qakan’s voice, asking for something, pleading with her, but what could she do for him? She had no special powers. Finally, after she had taken him the egg, it seemed his whining stopped, but only for a few days.
So then each time Kiin took eggs, snared birds, dug clams or gathered sea urchins, she left something for Qakan. She had been on her way to his grave, bringing a piece of dried fish, when she first saw Kayugh’s ikyan in the cove. She had hidden in the grass, her lance clasped close to her side. She had made the lance from a long piece of driftwood, smoothed it with lava rock and whittled one end into a point, hardened the point with fire. It was only a boy’s lance, not much better than a child’s toy, but she had speared fish with it. Perhaps it would be some protection if those who came were enemies.
She had waited, glad she had her sons with her in her suk, that way, if she had to, she could run into the hills, run to the sponge of the tundra behind the hills and up into the rocks of the mountains.
But then she had recognized Samiq and Kayugh and Amgigh, had come out to meet them. Then she was again with Samiq, able to see him, to hear his voice, watch his face. But Samiq had Three Fish, and Kiin had Amgigh. So each time Kiin’s thoughts drifted to Samiq, she forced her mind to thoughts of Amgigh, to the good things about him. And when the other men finished eating and went to their shelters, Kiin invited Amgigh to her shelter.
