by Sue Harrison
“Where …� she began, then shook her head and said to the Raven, “I am not your wife.�
The Raven snorted. “Go then to him.� He raised the knife, used it to point, and Kiin let herself look where she did not want to look, let her eyes see what she did not want to see: Amgigh lying in the sand, Samiq kneeling beside him. Then Kiin, too, was beside Amgigh, her arms over Amgigh’s chest, her hair turning red with Amgigh’s blood. She clasped her amulet, rubbed it over Amgigh’s forehead, over his cheeks.
“Do not die, Amgigh,� she whispered. “Do not die, oh Amgigh. Do not die.�
Amgigh took one long breath, tried to speak, but his words were lost in the blood that bubbled from his mouth. He took another breath, choked. Then his eyes rolled back, widened to release his spirit. Kiin moved to cradle Amgigh’s head in her arms, and began the soft words of a song, something that came to her as she held him, something that asked spirits to act, something that begged her husband’s forgiveness, that cursed the animals she had carved.
When the song was finished, Kiin stood, wiped one hand over her eyes. “I should have come sooner,� she said. “I should have known he would fight the Raven. It is my fault. I …�
But Samiq came to her, pressed his fingers against her lips. “You could not have stopped him,� he said. “You are my wife now. I will not let Raven take you.�
Kiin looked into Samiq’s eyes, saw how much of him was still a boy, and how little he knew about the kind of fighting that had nothing to do with knives. “No, Samiq,� she said. “You do not have the power to kill him.�
Samiq’s jaw tightened, he shook his head. “A knife,� he said and turned to the men gathered around him.
Someone handed him a knife, poorly made, the edge blunt, but Samiq grabbed it.
The Raven clenched his teeth, screamed in the Walrus tongue, “You, a boy, will fight me? You, a child? You learned nothing from that one there, that dead boy in the sand?�
“The Raven does not want to fight you,� Kiin said, her breath coming in sobs. “Samiq, please. You are not strong enough. He will kill you.�
But Samiq pushed Kiin aside, lunged forward, wrist cocked with the longest edge of the blade toward the Raven. The Raven crouched, and Kiin could hear him mumbling—shaman’s words, chants and curses, prayers to the carvings she had made. She ran to her carved animals, knelt among them, heaped sand over them.
She looked up, saw Samiq slash his knife in an arc toward the Raven. The blade caught the back of the Raven’s hand, ripped the skin open, drew blood. But the Raven did not move.
“Kiin,� the Raven called out, “this man, he is your ‘Yellow-hair,’ is he not?�
And Kiin, remembering the Raven’s love for his dead wife Yellow-hair, said, “Do not kill him. I will be your wife, only please do not kill him.�
The Raven moved, his movement like the dark blur of a bird flying. The long blade of his knife bit into Samiq’s flesh, into the place where wrist joins hand. Then Kiin was running across the sand, through blood from the first fight, to stand between Samiq and the Raven. Small Knife, Samiq’s adopted son, was there also, gripping Samiq’s arms.
“You cannot win,� Small Knife said. “Look at your hand.�
Samiq glanced down, but said, “I have to fight. I cannot let him take Kiin.�
“Do not fight,� Kiin said. “You have Small Knife. He is your son now. You have Three Fish. She is a good wife. Someday you will have the power to fight the Raven and win. Until then I will stay with him. I am not strong enough to stand against him, but I am strong enough to wait for you. I have lived in the Walrus village this past year. They are good people. Come for me when you are ready.�
Then Ice Hunter, a man from the Walrus village, was beside Kiin. He reached for Samiq’s arm, wrapped a strip of seal hide around the wound, pulled it tight to stop the blood. “You have no reason to fight,� Ice Hunter said. “The first fight was fair. The spirits decided.�
Kiin looked into Samiq’s eyes, saw the emptiness of his defeat. She pulled off the shell bead necklace he had given her the night of her woman’s ceremony. Slowly she placed it over Samiq’s head. “Someday you will fight him,� she said. “You will fight him, and then you will give this necklace back to me.�
She turned to the Raven. “If I am to go with you, I must go now,� she said, and she spoke in the First Men’s language, then repeated the words in the Walrus tongue.
“Where are our sons?� the Raven asked.
“Shuku is here,� Kiin answered, and raised her suk so he could see the child. “But I gave Takha to the wind spirits as the Grandmother and the Aunt said I must.� Kiin took Shuku from his carrying sling. “This is your son,� she said to the Raven, “but he is no longer Shuku. He is Amgigh.�
Kiin saw the Raven’s anger, the clouding of the Raven’s eyes, but she did not look away, did not flinch, even when he raised his hand as though to strike her.
“Hit me,� Kiin said to the Raven. “Show these people that a shaman has only the power of anger against his wife, the power of his hands, the power of his knife.� She dropped her voice to a whisper. “A man does not need a strong spirit when he has a large knife, a knife stolen from someone else.�
The Raven threw the obsidian knife to the ground. Kiin picked it up, walked back to Samiq, placed it in his left hand. Her eyes met Samiq’s eyes. “Always,� she said, “I am your wife.�
The Raven gestured toward Ice Hunter, toward the other Walrus men who had come with him. One picked up Kiin’s carvings, another brought the Raven’s ik to the water.
“We will not return to this beach,� the Raven said.
But Kiin bent down and picked up a handful of pebbles from the sand. She waited as her mother brought Shuku’s cradle and a bundle of Kiin’s belongings from the ulaq.
Once more Kiin looked at Samiq, tried to press the image of his face into her mind, then she turned and followed the Raven to his ik.
AUTHOR’S NOTES
THE BASIC STORY LINE OF MY SISTER THE MOON is borrowed from an Aleut sea otter legend—an incest story. Other legends used in the book include the moon myths of the Pueblo and the Osage; the Aleut raven’s marriage story; the Inuit oral histories of a mother hiding the son of an enemy; blue ice men legends; Ojibway twin sons stories; tiger legends from the Orient (which have counterparts in Aleut whale-hunting traditions); Aleut Shuganan and “Outside Men” stories; and the raven-trickster legends, which have parallels throughout most Native American cultures and are so ancient that their roots can be found in the monkey-trickster stories of the Orient.
At the time of My Sister the Moon, basketry in the far north was in its infancy; therefore, I hypothesize that the coil and sew technique was used to make baskets, and the simple over-and-under weave used for most matting. These techniques were gradually joined by or replaced by (depending on the culture) the more complex twining weave, which is used today by those few artisans who still make the exquisite Aleut ryegrass baskets and mats.
In an effort to imitate the oral traditions of Native American storytellers, I have begun My Sister the Moon with a story already told (Chapter 36 of Mother Earth Father Sky). In the storytellers’ tradition, this narrative of Kiin’s birth is related in a slightly different way and with a slightly different emphasis so it can serve as a foundation for My Sister the Moon.
In many Native American cultures, names are seen as having special powers. Throughout a lifetime, a warrior or Sue Harrison
hunter may possess several names: a “real” name, given
by an honored relative or a person respected in regard to spiritual powers; a nickname, which is used instead of a “real” name to protect the holder of the real name against an onslaught of curses or spells by those intending harm; a “pet” name used by family members and close friends; names chosen by the nameholder himself to commemorate an occasion in his life; and a spirit name, often kept secret, which was earned in spiritual quest or fasting. In My Sister the Moon, as in Mother Earth Father Sky, characters whose thoughts are open to the reader are given names which are presented in a Native American language. These names represent the character’s spiritual nature or destiny. Very occasionally a character will also be given a spirit name, as in the case of Kiin (Tugidaq).
At the time of My Sister the Moon, stone-knappers on the Eastern Aleutian islands were producing only unifacial blades, although in other parts of North America knappers had developed the beautiful and technically superior bifacial Piano points.
About the Author
Sue Harrison grew up in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula and graduated summa cum laude from Lake Superior State University with a bachelor of arts degree in English languages and literature. At age twenty-seven, inspired by the cold Upper Michigan forest that surrounded her home, and the outdoor survival skills she had learned from her father and her husband, Harrison began researching the people who understood best how to live in a harsh environment: the North American native peoples. She studied six Native American languages and completed extensive research on culture, geography, archaeology, and anthropology during the nine years she spent writing her first novel, Mother Earth Father Sky, the extraordinary story of a woman’s struggle for survival in the last Ice Age. A national and international bestseller, and selected by the American Library Association as one of the Best Books for Young Adults in 1991, Mother Earth Father Sky is the first novel in Harrison’s critically acclaimed Ivory Carver trilogy, which includes My Sister the Moon and Brother Wind. She is also the author of Song of the River, Cry of the Wind, and Call Down the Stars, which comprise the Storyteller trilogy, also set in prehistoric North America. Her novels have been translated into thirteen languages and published in more than twenty countries. Harrison lives with her family in Michigan’s Eastern Upper Peninsula.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1992 by Sue Harrison
Cover design by Mumtaz Mustafa
978-1-4804-1182-1
This edition published in 2013 by Open Road Integrated Media
345 Hudson Street
New York, NY 10014
www.openroadmedia.com
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