My Sister the Moon

by Sue Harrison

  “Come,” he said and took her into his sleeping place.

  Amgigh watched them, watched the curtain close behind Kiin. In his mind he saw Kiin, naked, wrapped in Samiq’s arms, and pain stabbed into his chest, made him catch his breath. He sat very still, his head down, until he could breathe again. Then he stood, stretched. He pulled his parka from a peg on the wall and slipped it on, then climbed from the ulaq.

  Clouds were gray in the black night sky, and between the clouds he saw stars. Amgigh sat down on the ulaq roof and tried to hold his thoughts away from Kiin and Samiq. What was a wife compared to hunting whales? he asked himself. What was sharing a wife compared to the power a man gained when he killed a whale?

  Amgigh pulled a stem of grass from the ulaq roof and shredded it between his fingers.

  One night. He shared Kiin for only one night. But Samiq would remember that sharing, would remember that sharing and the promise he had made Amgigh to teach Amgigh to hunt the whale. Then there were the obsidian knives. Two knives: knapped from the same stone, brothers as Amgigh and Samiq were brothers.

  Amgigh had knapped the blades as all First Men did, knapping the stone on only one side. But from the time Amgigh was a boy, he seemed to have the lighter touch, to know where the stone would yield to the pressure of his bone punch, how to make the flakes come cleanly, softly. Even knapping only one side of the blade, he had managed to thin the edges almost to translucency.

  His father said that stone spoke to Amgigh, and Amgigh thought perhaps, in some way, that was true. Especially with these two obsidian blades, the stone seemed to speak. From the first blow of his hammerstone, the blades had spoken to him of their beauty, of their balance.

  But there seemed to be spirits around him as he worked. Their voices spoke of fear, of anger, of pain. Twice Amgigh stopped his work, stopped and listened, but his desire to finish the blades spoke louder than the spirit voices. And who could say whether those spirit voices were good or evil, whether they spoke truth or lies?

  He had told Samiq he would make him a knife, an obsidian knife, and if he did not, what would Samiq think? That Amgigh was angry? That Amgigh did not want Samiq to come back to the First Men, to teach them to hunt the whale? The knives were a part of Samiq’s promise to return.

  But as Amgigh continued to work on the blades, he realized that one knife was somehow wrong, too heavy in his hand. When he had finished knapping them, he had set the blades side by side and had not been able to tell any great difference between them. But one was not right.

  “Too heavy, too heavy,” Amgigh’s spirit seemed to whisper to him. And Amgigh knew that inside that blade some other stone was caught in the darkness of the obsidian, perhaps a nodule of quartz, something that would weaken the knife.

  Amgigh climbed back down into the ulaq, nodded at his parents. He went into his sleeping place, leaving the curtain open to let in light. He began to pack his belongings into a sealskin bag. He should be ready if his father wanted to leave early in the morning. He pulled a basket from the weapons corner of his sleeping place. Inside were his finished blades—andesite lance heads, small obsidian blades for crooked knives, a few rounded blades for women’s knives. He sorted through them, picked out several of the best to take with him to the Whale Hunters. Perhaps they would have something to trade.

  When Gray Bird had told Amgigh that Qakan would soon leave on a trading trip, Amgigh had given a number of blades to Qakan. He had told Qakan, “Blade for blade, nothing less.” Amgigh needed to see the work of other blade-makers. He had already surpassed the skills of his father and Gray Bird, of the blade-makers among the Whale Hunters. He hoped Qakan would make a good trade. But who could tell what Qakan would do? Who could trust him? But as Kayugh had said, better to give Qakan a chance than to have him live in his father’s ulaq forever, Qakan eating but never hunting, too lazy even to gather sea urchins, to dig clams.

  Amgigh picked up the two obsidian blades he had made for himself and Samiq. They were beautiful, as fine as anything he had ever made. He had hafted each blade to handles he had cut from pieces of whale jawbone, and wrapped the handles with the black baleen of the humpback whale.

  He held one blade in each hand. One blade, the one he had knapped first, lay in his left hand. The other blade lay in his right. Amgigh sighed. The stone itself spoke to Amgigh’s soul, told of its own imperfection. He would leave the flawed blade here, in his sleeping place, take the other blade to the Whale Hunters, give it to Samiq to remind Samiq of his promise to teach Amgigh to hunt whales.

  But then Amgigh heard laughter, a woman’s laugh, and knew it was Kiin. Kiin with Samiq. Again, he saw her in his mind, naked, Samiq’s hands on her breasts, Samiq’s hands between her thighs.

  Amgigh closed his eyes, clenched his teeth. He wrapped the good blade and put it back in the weapons corner of his sleeping place. He wrapped the flawed blade, put it in the pack he would take to the Whale Hunters.

  Kiin’s heart beat so hard that she felt the pulse of it along the insides of her arms. She was glad Samiq’s sleeping place was dark so Samiq could not see her eyes. What would he think if he saw her fear? What would he think if he saw her joy?

  “Your husband asked you to do this,” her spirit murmured. “You are doing only what he asked.” But she felt uneasy. Perhaps there was a part of her that wanted this too much. Perhaps this wanting had seeped out during her sleep and entered Amgigh’s dreams. Perhaps it was only her selfishness, her own desires that prompted Amgigh to give her to Samiq. Then what good would come of it, of her own selfish wanting? Samiq was brother. Amgigh husband.

  But Samiq drew her down beside him, spoke to her in whispers while he held her hands. “I am sorry. I am sorry to take you so soon from your husband. But, you see, it gives Amgigh something to trade, something that is worthwhile. He was the one who wanted to go to the Whale Hunters. I wanted to stay here, to be your husband. I do not need to hunt the whale, but Amgigh…” Samiq reached up, stroked Kiin’s cheek then dropped his fingers to the bead necklace he had given her. “When I made this, I thought I made it for my wife,” he said.

  Kiin felt his fingers tremble. She clasped his hand. “When y-y-you g-g-gave it to me, did y-y-you know?”

  “Yes, my father had told me.”

  “And y-y-you were angry?”

  “Yes, but mostly glad that you would be here, living in this ulaq, away from…”

  “Yes.”

  Then for a long time, Samiq did nothing, did not move, did not speak, until finally Kiin began to straighten mats and furs, making a comfortable bed for him. But then he clasped her hands again.

  “Lie down,” he said.

  His breath was warm against her neck and she lay down. “Amgigh wants this,” her spirit said. So Kiin pushed away the uneasiness she held within herself and began to untie the knot that held her apron.

  But then Samiq said, “No. We can’t.” He turned her and put his arms around her, lying with his chest pressed against her back.

  “Amgigh-Amgigh wants it,” Kiin said.

  “No,” Samiq answered. “Amgigh wants to learn to hunt the whale. Only that.”

  Kiin made herself lie still, tried to think of other things besides Samiq warm and close beside her. She thought of birds: red-legged kittiwakes, fulmars and gulls, imagined herself drawn up by their wings, hovering over Tugix’s island, looking down at the ulakidaq. She thought of whales, the giant long-flippered humpback and the smaller minke, imagined herself swimming with them to their own villages under the sea.

  And finally the warmth of Samiq’s skin against hers, the weight of his arms over her and the rhythm of his breathing pulled her into dreams.

  Her father was screaming at her. Something she had done or not done. He raised his walking stick, brought it down hard against her face, over her shoulders. Others were watching as her father beat her, as he raised his stick again and again. She would never be a woman, he was screaming, never be a wife, never a mother. She was nothing. She had no sou
l, was worth nothing.

  Kiin curled herself into a ball, protected her eyes and ears from his stick. “You are Kiin,” her spirit told her. “Kiin. You have a soul. He cannot take it away from you. Even with his stick. Even with his beatings. You are Kiin. Kiin. Kiin.”

  But the beating continued, then hands were reaching for her, pulling her away from her father, pulling her from the pain, whispering her name: “Kiin, you are safe. You are here with me. I won’t let anyone hurt you. Kiin, Kiin.”

  It was Samiq. Kiin reached up to him, pulled him close to her. “Samiq, my husband,” she whispered. “Samiq.”

  She stroked the smooth skin of his chest, the soft darkness of his hair, and she felt his hands against her back, reaching down to clasp her close as she wound her legs around him. She felt his man part grow and stiffen against her, and she could not keep herself from touching him….

  “Please,” she whispered, “please, I want to be your wife.”

  Kiin woke early. Samiq lay with one leg thrown over her legs, his hand over hers. Slowly she pulled away from him, sat up and straightened her apron. For a moment, she allowed herself to look at Samiq, at the smooth brown of his skin, the darkness of his hair.

  “It was a dream,” her spirit told her.

  Yes, it was a dream, Kiin thought. She looked at the smooth unmarked skin of her arms and legs. Her father had not beaten her. It had been a dream.

  She went out into the main room of the ulaq, set out food and packed several storage containers with dried fish for Samiq, Amgigh and Kayugh to take with them.

  When the food was out, Kiin took Amgigh’s parka and settled herself on a mat near her sewing basket. The parka was torn under one arm and she wanted to repair it before he left. She wanted the Whale Hunter women to know she was a good wife.

  “A good wife…after Samiq?” some spirit seemed to whisper.

  “It was a dream,” Kiin’s own spirit answered, and the words slid through Kiin’s mind as she punched awl holes on either side of the tear and selected a piece of sealskin for a patch. She was tying a strand of twisted sinew to the end of her needle when she saw the door flap of Samiq’s sleeping place open.

  She glanced up. Samiq stood watching her. She smiled, and as she smiled, his eyes caught her eyes, held them. And suddenly she felt as though she were again in his arms, and she remembered his body strong and moving against her body and the warmth of him within her, and she knew it had not been a dream.

  “Wife,” Samiq said, the word so soft, Kiin heard it only by seeing the sound of it on Samiq’s lips. “Wife.”

  15

  KIIN DID NOT FOLLOW the others to the beach. Perhaps it would have been all right for her to do so. It was not a hunting trip. Amgigh would not curse himself if he touched her or allowed his eyes to linger too long, his thoughts to stray to nights spent with his wife. And Samiq…No, he was not her husband. He could not be cursed by her presence. But Kiin thought it would be better for her to stay in the ulaq. She would cut sea lion esophagus for boot tops, and in that way show the spirits that she expected the quick return of her husband and her husband’s father. But as she worked, she felt her own spirit pressing out against her skin, pushing on her legs and feet until she could no longer sit still.

  She rolled up her work and began striding from one side of the ulaq to the other, pacing until finally her feet brought her to the climbing log.

  No, she thought, I do not need to go outside. I do not need to see Samiq one more time. But then her feet were on the climbing log and then she was at the top of the ulaq, as though her body moved without the consent of her spirit. She looked toward the beach. The three ikyan were gone, Samiq’s, Amgigh’s and Kayugh’s. Big Teeth’s, too, was gone, but Kiin knew he would travel with them only that day.

  Kiin turned to go back into the ulaq, but then thought of Samiq’s sleeping place. It should be cleaned out with new heather laid over the floor, the skins shaken and aired. Perhaps it would be best if she did this now. But first she would have to go up into the hills to find heather. Yes, she decided, and returned to the ulaq only to pick up her woman’s knife and slip into her suk.

  She left the ulaq, then climbed quickly through a shallow ravine that was sheltered from the wind, and from there to the top of the cliffs that stood at the back of the beach. The ikyan would go south and west around Tugix’s island and to the close island where men hunt sea otters, then across the stretch of water that separates that island from the Whale Hunters’ island. Kiin shaded her eyes and looked out toward the sea. Finally she saw them, not as far away as she had thought. Samiq’s ikyak was first then Kayugh’s and Big Teeth’s, last, Amgigh’s. Kiin watched Samiq’s sure, quick strokes, the straightness of his back as he sat in the ikyak. Amgigh looked like a boy beside him, his paddling more tentative.

  Yes, Kiin thought, Kayugh made the right choice. Samiq is the one who should go to the Whale Hunters. He should be the one to hunt the whale. He is the man.

  Qakan had watched the four men leave the beach. Amgigh laughed and made jokes, but Samiq was serious, saying little. Samiq had stooped, picked up a few pebbles from the beach—a promise that he would return to this village. Then he had scanned the ulakidaq. Qakan knew he was looking for Kiin. Why he wanted her, Qakan had never been able to understand, but he knew that Samiq did want her, had always wanted her. Even as a boy, Samiq would suddenly begin to boast and laugh whenever Kiin was near. And during this past year, each time Samiq came to their ulaq, he watched her, his eyes stopping on Kiin’s small pink-tipped breasts, on her lengthening legs.

  Ah, Qakan understood that part of Samiq’s wanting. Did he not feel the same when he saw women from other tribes? On rare occasions Whale Hunters brought their wives with them on trading visits. Then one of those wives might come for a night into their ulaq, to his father’s bed, and Qakan listened to the groaning and laughter, and he hated his father for keeping the woman to himself.

  Once, Qakan crept from his own sleeping place to the edge of his father’s sleeping curtains. There, as he watched his father undress the woman, Qakan’s own man part grew long and hard. And Qakan had wondered if Kiin had learned her greed from Gray Bird. Surely other men shared their women with their sons.

  So Qakan understood Samiq’s desire, and though Qakan thought Kiin was too thin and too quiet, for some reason Samiq wanted her as wife. But in this one thing, Samiq would not have his way. Qakan smiled. Samiq, the boy who always threw farther and better than the other boys, who could outrun them, who was stronger, a better hunter, who even, for no reason anyone could understand, caught more fish on his carved clamshell hooks, Samiq could not have, would never have Kiin.

  But then, neither would Qakan.

  All his careful plans. All the years that Qakan had lain in his sleeping place at night and thought of quick retorts, replies that would show his intelligence, his wit. All the nights he had planned while others slept.

  It had taken months for anyone to notice, to comment on his jokes, on the strength that came out through his words.

  Then the day came, two moons before Kayugh and Amgigh brought Kiin’s bride price to Gray Bird’s ulaq. Gray Bird was on the ulaq roof, the two of them together, alone, the women on the beach digging clams at low tide. Qakan was direct, telling his father rather than asking. His father was weak—Qakan did not doubt that—and Qakan knew that a request was often met with refusal only because refusing gave Gray Bird some feeling of power.

  “I am not a hunter,” Qakan had said. “I want to be a trader. I will bring honor to you and bring you furs and shells and harpoons from other villages.”

  But instead of commenting on Qakan’s desire to become a trader, Gray Bird had said, “No, you are not a hunter. If spirits hid the roots and berries from the women, the seals from the hunters, still you would not even be able to bring in a puffin.”

  And Qakan, angered by his father’s words, gritted his teeth and said what he always said, what he had first heard from his father: “It is not
my fault. I want to be a hunter, but the girl, your daughter, she took my strength.”

  Gray Bird spat a blade of grass from his mouth and looked away from his son, looked toward the sea.

  For a moment Qakan waited, then when his father did not speak, Qakan said, “Traders bring as much honor as hunters do and sometimes more skins.”

  Slowly Gray Bird turned his head, slowly he looked at Qakan. “You want to be a trader.”

  “Yes.”

  “You think you can bargain, can make a man take less for his goods, for his furs or shells than he thinks they are worth?”

  And this was the question Qakan had hoped his father would ask. It was a question he had heard discussed among traders, those who came to his father’s ulaq, who came to use Qakan’s mother for the night, to cast hopeful eyes on Kiin but to look away when Gray Bird told the story of Kiin’s shame.

  “No,” Qakan answered and held his smile inside his mouth when he saw his father’s eyebrows raise. “I would not make a man take less than what he thinks his furs are worth. That makes enemies. I would make him think he is getting more, but he would not be. I would trade fine seal furs for shells rare on this beach, but common on another or for whale meat which the Whale Hunters have in abundance.”

  His father had nodded and nodded again, then he said, “But you must have something to trade. What do you have?”

  Qakan lowered his eyes. His father should not see the mocking there. What did Qakan have to trade? Many things, many, many things. Woman’s knives carelessly left on the beach, chunks of ivory from his father’s carving basket—things Kiin or Blue Shell were beaten for losing. And each time traders came, each time they visited Gray Bird’s or Big Teeth’s or Kayugh’s ulaq, later that day or the next, things were missed—women’s sewing needles, awls, crooked knives, small things that could be easily hidden in the sleeve of a parka. Ah yes, everyone said, traders. Some could not be trusted.