by Sue Harrison
Aqamdax picked up her scraper, then set it down again. “I will not go with him if he plans to give me to the Walrus shaman.” Her words were strong, but she felt a sickness inside, as though something were eating her heart. Had Sok taken her only so she would go with him, then when she was away from her own people, no longer storyteller of her village, would he give her away? She remembered his hands on her body, the strength of his arms around her. No, he would not trade her. Already, they had formed the strong bond that comes to husband and wife. She did not need to worry.
“Is there anything else I can ask him?”
“Do you know if he has other wives?”
Tut thought for a moment. “He has two sons,” she finally said. “He speaks often of them. They are still boys, but old enough to hunt.”
“Then I am second wife.”
“Probably.”
“Will you ask him what the River People expect of a second wife? I do not want to offend.”
“I will ask for you. And I will ask what other things you should know about River customs.”
Aqamdax nodded but said nothing. They worked in silence, the two together. Aqamdax tried to think of other things to ask Tut, but her thoughts were like the bits of flesh she scraped from the sea lion hide, carried quickly away on the wind.
Chapter Twenty-six
THE NEAR RIVER VILLAGE
GHADEN HEARD THE CLATTER of the killer’s boots, the clicking of caribou hoof rattlers like the ones dancers wore during celebrations. He opened his mouth to scream out a warning, but he had no words, nothing but a quiet moan that sounded more like wind than his own voice. Suddenly a dog barked, chased the one with the knife, and instead of the clicking noise, Ghaden heard Brown Water’s voice, loud and angry.
“Yaa, put that dog outside.”
Ghaden took a long breath. He had been dreaming. He was safe in Brown Water’s lodge. Yaa untangled herself from her hare fur blankets. Ghaden felt her warmth leave his side, heard her angry whispers scolding Biter as she untied the doorflap and let him out. A few moments later, he heard the dog come back. Yaa snuggled beside him in the sleeping mats, bringing with her a waft of cool air and the fresh smell of outside, the whine of mosquitoes.
Biter flopped down at Ghaden’s feet, and Ghaden sat up, patted Biter’s head, felt the dog’s tongue hot and wet on his hand. For a long time, Ghaden sat in the darkness and stroked his dog’s head. When he finally lay back down, he fell asleep easily, and that night, the dream did not return.
Ghaden shook the string of bone beads, then slapped the floor of the lodge with a stick until Biter barked. Ghaden barked with him, making his face as fierce as he could, trying to show Biter that he must be ready to fight.
Again Ghaden shook the beads, then he threw them down, growled at them, hit them with his stick. Biter jumped at the beads, took them in his mouth, flung them back over his head and barked.
It sounded like a fierce bark, but Biter did not look fierce. He looked like a dog who was playing a game. He looked like a dog who was almost smiling, if dogs could smile. Would barking be enough to scare the killer if he came again, rattling his bones?
He and Biter were making so much noise that he did not hear Brown Water come into the lodge, did not know she was behind him until she grabbed his shoulder. He was so caught up in his game that at first he thought she was the killer. He screamed and whirled, the stick in his hand, ready to strike. At the same time, Biter jumped toward Brown Water, teeth bared. Suddenly Yaa was there, her hands at Biter’s neck, caught deep into Biter’s fur, holding him away from Brown Water.
When Ghaden realized Brown Water was the one who had him, he dropped his stick and crouched down, raising his arms over his head.
“What were you doing?” she asked. She lifted her hand, but did not hit him.
“Teaching Biter,” Ghaden said in a small voice, and tried to hold in a sob that threatened to break through his words.
“You were making so much noise that Lazy Snow came over to see what was wrong. Her nose is long enough. We do not need it sticking into our lodge.” She lowered her hand. “Play quiet games.”
She looked at Yaa. “Where were you?”
“You told me to get wood.”
“Well, where is it?”
“Outside.”
“Bring it in,” she told Yaa. “When you are done, take the boy and do something with him. I think he is strong enough to be outside more. Take the dog, too.”
Yaa left, and Ghaden braced himself for Brown Water’s quick hand, but she only pointed toward the rolled sleeping mats with her chin and said, “Go sit down until Yaa is finished.”
Ghaden walked over to his sleeping robe and sat down. It was rolled so tightly that it looked like a plump, furry log. Biter sat beside him, and Ghaden began to stroke the dog’s ears. He almost put his thumb into his mouth, but he stopped himself. Why give Brown Water something else to yell about?
Yaa was slow about bringing in the wood. She knew Brown Water would soon go to the cooking hearths, then she and Ghaden would have the lodge to themselves. But Brown Water, also, seemed in no hurry. Yaa had brought in almost all the wood by the time the woman left. Yaa picked up one more armload and watched until Brown Water disappeared down toward the cooking hearths, then she went inside.
Ghaden was sitting with one arm draped over Biter. The dog was nearly full-sized now, though still with the lankiness of a puppy. She noticed that as soon as Brown Water left the lodge, Ghaden had stuck his thumb in his mouth.
“So, Ghaden, Brown Water says you can go outside. It has been a long time since you played with your friends. Do you want to try to find Little Fish and Spear?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Ghaden lay his head against Biter. “Can Biter come?”
“If he stays away from other dogs.”
“He will.”
“Why were you and Biter making so much noise?”
Ghaden pulled his thumb out of his mouth and smiled at her. “I was teaching Biter to be fierce.”
“With this?”
Yaa picked up the string of beads from the floor. She shook them and Biter growled.
Ghaden laughed and threw his arms around his dog. “Old bone man won’t get us!” he said.
“Who is old bone man?”
Ghaden stuck his thumb back into his mouth. “Secret,” he said, the word slurring past his thumb. “Can’t tell you.”
Ghaden felt small when he was outside. Smaller than when he was in the lodge. And the village seemed strange—too quiet. Most of the people were at fish camp, but Brown Water had decided not to go this year. She said the walk was too far for him. He was not strong enough yet, and mostly she made him stay inside. It had not been a good summer.
Even Yaa treated him like a baby. When they did go out, she coated his face with goose grease to keep the bugs away and made him wear his caribouskin boots, though he wanted to go barefoot like she did.
Ghaden followed her to the edge of the village, to a clearing near the steep bank that dropped off into the river. The older boys were playing a game, kicking a caribou bladder to one another, trying to keep it from touching the ground. Ghaden watched, eyes sparkling. Both he and Yaa had to keep a grip on Biter so he did not join the game.
Several of the smaller boys came to Ghaden, tried to get him to play with them, but Yaa would not let him go. Ghaden turned away, and Feet First, a boy of about five summers, began calling him names.
“My dog will bite you!” Ghaden screamed out.
Biter bared his teeth, but Yaa clamped a hand over his muzzle, then pulled him and Ghaden with her to the cooking hearths, where Yaa’s mother gave both of them a bit of meat.
“You want to go back to the lodge?” Yaa asked Ghaden.
“No.”
“You want to watch the boys?”
“No.”
She knelt down in front of Ghaden. Sometimes, when she wanted an answer from him, she had better luck when
she looked into his eyes. “Tell me what you want to do.”
He turned his face away.
“All right. We’ll go back to the lodge. You can stay there with Biter. I have friends I can be with. You can stay by yourself.”
He grabbed her hand. “No, Yaa. Stay with me.”
“I know what we can do,” Yaa said, thinking the words out loud. “There’s a place I want to take you.”
“Can Biter come?”
“If he is good.”
“He is always good.”
“Ghaden,” she said slowly, “this is a secret place. You cannot tell anyone.”
He looked into her eyes. “I won’t tell.”
With most of the children at fish camp, it was a good time to show Ghaden her den. She did not want someone like River Ice Dancer to find her hiding place. He might ruin it. Besides, the best part of having the den was that no one else knew about it.
She took Ghaden’s hand and led him out of the village toward the women’s place, then off on the little hidden path to the den. She held a finger to her lips, knelt down in front of the black spruce, and crawled in under the bottom branches. Ghaden and Biter followed her. She picked up the stick and poked it into the den, then crept inside. She loved the darkness, the sweet earth smell. She reached back, pulled Ghaden in, then laughed as Biter followed on his belly.
“Are we foxes?” Ghaden asked.
The idea brought a smile to her face, and Yaa laughed. “Yes,” she said, “foxes. I am the mother. You are the father and Biter is the baby.”
“He’s the dog,” Ghaden said solemnly.
“Foxes don’t have dogs,” Yaa told him.
“We do.”
“All right, Biter’s the dog. Do you like it in here?” she asked, then lifted her hand to the top of the den. “Look, I bet you can almost stand up straight.”
He stood but had to bend his head to the side.
“Almost,” Yaa said.
“I like it,” Ghaden whispered. “What do you do in here?”
“Sometimes I bring food.”
“I’m hungry, Yaa.”
Yaa rolled her eyes, though she knew it was probably too dark for him to see. “You just ate.”
Ghaden didn’t answer.
“Sometimes I like to sit and think about things,” she told him.
“What do you think about?”
“Ummm, sometimes you. What happened to you.”
She felt Ghaden suddenly stiffen. “It’s all right in here,” she told him. “The best thing about this secret place is that we are safe here. No one knows about it except us. If someone ever tries to get you, you can come here and be safe. Whatever words you say here, no one can hear you. It’s a good place to tell secrets.”
Ghaden was quiet for a long time. Finally he said, “I have secrets.”
“You do?”
“You won’t tell?”
“No.” She held her breath, hoping he would talk to her about the night Daes was killed.
“I took food last night from the cooking bag.”
Yaa was disappointed, but she reminded herself that big secrets were not easily told. It was best to start with small ones. She giggled. “I did, too,” she said.
Ghaden laughed out loud.
“Be quiet,” Yaa whispered, but was careful to keep the laughter bubbling through her words so Ghaden would know she was not mad.
“You have any more secrets?” Yaa asked.
Ghaden was suddenly very still, and Yaa hoped he would decide to tell her something. Each day when she hauled wood, stirred cooking bags, wove mats, each night when she lay trying to sleep, she thought about the killer, wondered if whoever it was would try to hurt Ghaden again. She thought about Daes and who in the village might have hated her enough to kill her.
So far, she had come up with nothing. The village women had not been friendly to Daes, except perhaps for Yaa’s mother, but only Brown Water was openly mean, and Brown Water had been in the lodge all night; at least she had been there when Yaa fell asleep, and was still there when Yaa awoke in the morning. Besides, why would Brown Water want to kill Daes? Without Daes each woman in the lodge had more work to do.
When Ghaden finally spoke, it was with a voice so small Yaa almost did not hear his words. “I have secrets,” he said again. “Biter and me have secrets.”
“So are you going to tell me those secrets?” Yaa asked.
“Not today,” he said.
“I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”
“Not today. Someday. Not today.”
“Can you tell me who the old bone man is?”
“No.”
“You don’t know who he is?”
“No, I don’t,” Ghaden said, then whispered, “He has a bloody knife.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
THE BERING SEA
DURING THE FIRST DAYS of their journey, Aqamdax wondered whether she would have agreed to come had she known the cold and fear and hunger she would face. Her chigdax kept her dry, but even with a warm sax underneath, the cold that rose from the sea found its way into her bones until even her teeth ached.
Before they left the First Men Village, He Sings showed Sok how to enlarge his iqyax hatch so both he and Aqamdax could sit inside, back to back. At least Sok’s body blocked some of the wind, and his back, pressed against her own, gave warmth.
The waves were worse than the cold. They thrust from the sea, huge under the iqyax, sometimes so large that Aqamdax could not see the other men, and it seemed that she and Sok lived alone in a world of water, without the hope of land. She did not allow herself to consider the thinness of the iqyax walls, and she blocked out stories she knew of sea animals rising from the depths to bite holes in iqyan.
On the second day, she found that the men did not eat before they left the beaches in the morning. Perhaps they would take a mouthful of dried fish, and always they drank water, but that was all until they beached their iqyan each night. Aqamdax did the same, though by the end of each day her belly ached with hunger.
The Walrus traders chanted as they paddled, and sometimes Sok’s brother sang River People songs, yet the words, sounding strange and without sense, brought her only despair. How would she live with a people she could not understand?
Her skin peeled and cracked, leaving her face and hands sore and red. Sok gave her goose grease to use as salve, but the salt water ate through grease and skin until she had bleeding sores on her lips, in the corners of her eyes and at the edges of her nostrils.
As the days passed and her terror lessened, she found herself mourning for her village, her own people, and for the sound of words she could understand. Then one morning as she woke to the shaking dread that preceded each day, a voice came to her as though Qung were speaking.
It was a scolding voice, grandmother to child. “You are storyteller, yet you waste your days in regret. The songs of your husband’s brother come to you as he paddles his iqyax, yet you do not hear them. Now is the time to learn words. How will you be storyteller among the River People if you do not speak their language? Do you expect them to learn yours?”
Then, after Aqamdax packed away their caribouskin tent, and bundled her feet into the warm hare fur socks that her husband had given her the second day of their trip, as she pulled on her chigdax, she grabbed a piece of dried fish and held it up. She told Sok the First Men word for fish, lifting her voice so that he would understand she was asking the River word, but he only shook his head at her. She picked up several things—her seal flipper boot, a knife, and finally a rock—but he only looked at her in puzzled silence. Finally he lashed out, pointed at the work she had left to do, and flicked his hands at the water so she understood that they needed to go soon or they would have to wait on this rocky beach until the tide rose again.
She packed Sok’s iqyax, trying to hide her discouragement. What husband wants a wife whose mouth is filled with sighs, whose lips never smile? Then Chakliux came to her, walking carefully on his otter foo
t. He picked up a fist-sized stone, white with speckles, like a puffin’s egg.
“Ts’es,” he said, then repeated the word.
Aqamdax did her best to twist her tongue around the strange sounds, and he smiled and nodded at her. “Ts’es,” she said, then, pointing with her chin at rocks under their feet, said, “Ts’es, ts’es, ts’es.”
He laughed, and for some reason his laughter lifted some of her sadness. During that day of paddling, she repeated the word to herself, “Ts’es,” until at the end of the day, when the dim glow of sun under clouds told her they would soon beach their iqyan for the night, she realized that, of all the words she could have chosen, ts’es was one she needed least. As they turned their iqyan toward the shore, she found herself laughing at her foolishness, and so decided what things she would ask to know this night: dried fish, caribouskin tent, water, husband, eyes, nose, mouth. Each day she would learn more until she could understand as a River wife should understand, and speak as a storyteller should speak.
They came to the Walrus Hunter Village in the middle of a day. Sok first noticed the change in the color of the sea, then strands of ribbon kelp that lifted brown blades to catch at paddles so the whisper of his chigdax as he moved no longer kept the beat of the traders’ chants. He raised his voice and called to Aqamdax, naming her as wife, a River word she now understood. He used his paddle to point out the kelp, giving her the Walrus name for it, since his own people had none. He tried to remember the few River words she knew, finally said, “Walrus Village, out there. Soon.”
He was not sure she understood, but when he paddled, quickening his pace as best he could in the kelp, she leaned against his back as though she, too, were pressing onward, toward land, toward the Walrus Hunter Village.
In summer, though some Walrus Hunters went to fish camps on nearby rivers and small inland lakes, most stayed in tents near the sea. It was a good time to hunt sea lions and seals, and hunters could also go together to hunt the few walrus that came to these waters.
Sok wondered what the Walrus shaman would think of Aqamdax. The journey, though not long, had been hard for her. The skin on her face was no longer smooth but full of sores, and she had lost some of the plump fullness of her breasts and belly. Now when he held her in the night, he felt the bones of her ribs rather than sleek, smooth skin. The first days in the iqyax, he had regretted bringing her, but then she began to learn River words, and she seemed to be happier in all things. As they traveled, she repeated the words she had learned, sometimes tangling them together in a way that made Sok smile.
