Song of the River

by Sue Harrison

  “I will go quietly. I will watch without being seen.”

  Ligige’ swept one hand across her face, as though fanning away smoke, then said, “There is something else I want to talk to you about, something I need to show you.”

  She crawled into the entrance tunnel and brought back a fishskin basket. She reached into it and brought out a frozen ball of fat, dropped it into his hand.

  THE COUSIN RIVER VILLAGE

  It was the second day of new moon. Aqamdax went outside and searched the sky, rejoiced in the strengthening sun. She placed one hand over her belly, felt the warmth of her body even through the fur of her parka.

  The sound of drums and singing came from the hunters’ lodge. She had heard whispers among the women at the cooking hearths. The spear in Lynx Killer’s chest had carried the marks of the Near River People—a black band crested with a white circle—and now that the days of mourning were over, there would be revenge. Someone would die for the boy who was killed.

  She could not let herself think about who that might be. Possibly a boy who had joined the story circle in her Near River lodge. A young man who would never be hunter, would never know the joy of sleeping with his wife, of watching his children grow strong. But who was she to protest? Some foolish hunter, probably a young man not yet wise enough to see beyond the moment he was living, had taken the life of a Cousin River boy, a young man with much promise. What else could the hunters do but repay?

  She went back into the lodge. Night Man moved restlessly on his bed. That morning, with much loud singing and chants, K’os had brought a new medicine for him, had even called Night Man’s brother Tikaani from the hunters’ lodge to watch her performance. Aqamdax had crouched quietly in the corner beside her husband’s mother, had clasped the woman’s cold, still hands and waited until K’os left the lodge.

  She had expected Tikaani to follow K’os, as most men in the village did, but he had not. Instead, he had stayed and waited with Aqamdax, had watched as she straightened her husband’s bed, as she fed him gruel, as she combed his hair and wiped his face. Then Tikaani, too, had left, and Aqamdax had been able to coax Long Eyes to her feet, to support her as she walked with small shuffling steps to the women’s place to relieve herself and then back again to the lodge. Aqamdax gave her food, and though she had to remind the woman now and again to eat, Long Eyes finished everything and held her bowl out for another portion.

  During all that time, Aqamdax had held her thoughts away from her hopes, but now, she again allowed herself to reflect on the heaviness that rested just below her belly, and she knew she carried Night Man’s child.

  She crouched beside her husband, again whispered his name. He opened his eyes, but they were opaque, as though he saw nothing, as though his body lived but without his spirit. She struggled with his backrest until he seemed to be comfortable, then she placed a hand at his groin to feel the pad of moss she used to catch his urine. It was dry. She stood and pulled a caribou belly of water from the lodge poles, knelt beside him and held it while he drank. Finally he turned his head away. Aqamdax pushed the ivory stopper back into the neck of the container and rehung it, and sat down again beside her husband.

  Usually she stayed beside him, sewing or weaving, sitting close enough so she could press one leg against his thigh. She often spoke to him, in spite of Star’s mocking glances, but now she only sat, watching his eyes, hoping for some sign that he knew she was there. She clasped his hand and thought she felt him tighten his fingers. She leaned close to him, then whispered into his ear.

  “Husband,” she said, “my husband, I carry your child in my womb.” She took his left hand with both of hers and laid it over her belly. “A child,” she whispered again.

  Did she see the smallest flicker of understanding in his eyes? Perhaps the child, as it grew larger, stronger, would have the power to pull his father’s spirit back from wherever it had gone and return it to Night Man’s body.

  THE NEAR RIVER VILLAGE

  “You have seen such a thing before?” Ligige’ asked, and put the fat ball back into the basket.

  For a moment Chakliux sat still. There was something buried deep in his memories. A story he had heard….

  “The North Tundra People use them to kill wolves,” he finally said.

  “They are poison, then,” said Ligige’, but something in her words told Chakliux she knew they were not.

  Chakliux pulled his sleeve knife from the sheath at his wrist and sliced open the ball, holding one hand out in caution as Ligige’ bent too close. “Shield your eyes,” he told her, and turned his own head away.

  He need not have worried. The coil of sharpened ivory stretched out slowly in his hand. “It pierces the wolf’s belly after the heat of his body melts the fat. Usually they die, though a North Tundra hunter told me he found a wolf with one in his belly and that it had remained coiled.”

  “How could that happen?”

  Chakliux shrugged. “I do not know, but he carried it as something sacred in his amulet pouch, and the other hunters claimed he always had good luck in hunting wolves.”

  Ligige’ snorted. “North Tundra People will tell you anything. They are not quite human, you know.”

  “Ligige’,” Chakliux said softly, “they are much like us.”

  She frowned, and Chakliux asked, “Where did you get this?”

  “I found it in a dog’s belly.”

  “Do Near River hunters use these to kill wolves?” Chakliux asked as he handed her the strip of ivory.

  “No.”

  “Ligige’, how long have dogs been dying in this village? Healthy dogs, not pups or old ones.”

  “Since you came,” she answered.

  “None died before I came?”

  “Perhaps a few old dogs. Always a few pups. Nothing that people would notice.”

  “This past winter, how many died?”

  “Four handfuls, probably more. Grown dogs. Not old, not sick.”

  “Puppies?”

  “Yes, some. Most of them belonged to elders.”

  “Were they sick or deformed?”

  “Two were born without the lower jaw. That has happened before. It is Camp Maker’s dark-colored bitch. Sometimes her pups are like that.”

  “But the others? Were they sick?”

  “I do not know. You should talk to Dog Trainer. He knows these things.”

  Chakliux sighed. He needed to leave, to begin his journey to the Cousin River Village, but this, too, was important. If Aqamdax and Ghaden had been taken to the Cousin River Village, then they had been there all winter. What would one more day matter?

  “I will talk to Dog Trainer,” Chakliux said. “How many of these were in the dog’s belly?”

  “A handful or more. Four still coiled.”

  “You kept them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have enough fat to make them into balls again?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “An old woman’s cache does not have much fat at the end of a long winter.”

  “I will bring you fat.”

  “That would be good,” she said, and licked her lips.

  “Does anyone else know how the dog died?”

  “Only Blue-head Duck.”

  “For now do not tell anyone else.”

  “No one will know,” she said.

  He left Ligige’ and went to the elders’ lodge. He scratched at the lodge entrance and called out, then waited for someone to beckon him.

  A voice came, Blue-head Duck’s, then also Dog Trainer’s. They were the only ones inside, and both were grumbling because the women had not refilled their food bag. They looked at Chakliux warily. He was too young to come to the lodge only to talk or tell stories, at least without invitation. Why else did young men come but to request favors?

  “I need to talk to you about dogs,” Chakliux said, and earned looks of disgust.

  Chakliux reminded himself that he should have spoken of other things. What man is so impolite as to
forget the praise and honor due an elder? “Both of you are gifted with wisdom,” he said, hoping the praise would make them overlook his rudeness. “In this village and even in the village where I was raised, the people know your names. I count it an honor to ask advice from men who are wiser than I.”

  Both elders straightened their shoulders, so Chakliux knew that he had finally said the right thing. Questions pressed into his mouth so he could hardly pull in breath, but he waited until Blue-head Duck said, “If you need advice about dogs, you must speak to Dog Trainer. He knows far more than I do, but I will help you if I can.”

  Dog Trainer inclined his head, and Chakliux asked, “Did you lose any dogs this winter?”

  “None,” Dog Trainer said.

  “And you?” Chakliux asked Blue-head Duck.

  “Three healthy dogs and four pups.”

  “They were not sick?”

  “Only just before they died. They howled, chewed at their bellies, choked up blood. Several days later they died.”

  “The pups also?”

  “No, I found them dead in the morning. All four dead.”

  “There are many ways a pup can die,” Dog Trainer said.

  “And there were other grown dogs in the village that died after choking up blood?” Chakliux asked.

  “Yes,” said Dog Trainer. “More than two handfuls, and others last winter. You know that most of your brother’s dogs died last year. Did he tell you that only one of your grandfather’s dogs is still alive?”

  “No,” Chakliux replied, and felt a sudden regret that he had not stayed in the village, caring for the dogs his grandfather had entrusted to him. “Which one is alive?” he asked.

  “The female.”

  “Black Nose,” he said, and nodded. Of the three, she was the strongest. He would watch her more carefully. Perhaps, if he offered Ligige’ meat or oil, she would allow the dog to stay in her entrance tunnel.

  “Did any die in the summer?” Chakliux asked.

  “We did not lose any, except a pup now and again or an old dog.”

  “But those dogs that died in the way you told me,” Chakliux said, “that happened only in winter?”

  “Yes.”

  Blue-head Duck looked at him. “Some hunters believe you cursed our dogs. But this last winter, you were gone, and still dogs died. Perhaps it is not you.”

  “Perhaps it is not,” Chakliux said softly.

  THE COUSIN RIVER VILLAGE

  Cen saw the thin layer of smoke in the sky and knew he was close to the village. He had had a good winter of trading. Though he had begun with little, he had managed to accumulate much. He anticipated the look in K’os’s eyes when she saw the white bear skin he had managed to get from an old man in a village on the Great River.

  His pack was heavy, but he quickened his steps and soon was greeted by the calls of children at the edge of the village. They remembered his name, and it felt good to have a place that he could regard as his home. At the back of the group he saw Ghaden. He set down his pack, then opened his arms and called the boy’s name.

  At first Ghaden seemed confused, but the other children pushed him forward until Cen could grab him and hoist him to eye level. Cen laughed and set him down, saw a slow smile tug at the boy’s mouth.

  “You have grown!” Cen’s voice came out loud and rough, as it always did when he spoke his first words after long days on the trail. “Here,” he said, and reached into his pack to pull out a handful of wooden whistles carved from willow twigs. He put one into his mouth and blew, laughed at the squeals from the children.

  “I do not have enough for all of you,” he told them, “but if you show them to your uncles they can carve enough for everyone.”

  He handed one to Ghaden and then threw the others into the group of children, chortled as they dropped to hands and knees, scrambling after them. Soon the children were running home with their treasures.

  “Go show your sister,” he said to Ghaden, and sent the boy off with a pat on his shoulder.

  Ghaden had grown. He had the sturdy build of the First Men, already broad of shoulder. The elders might have given him to Star, but they would not stop Cen from taking the boy when he was old enough to travel as a trader.

  Besides, having Ghaden in Star’s lodge was not all bad. It gave him time to be alone with K’os.

  He strode through the village to K’os’s lodge, set his pack down outside and untied the bear skin. It was heavy and stiff, but he had managed to roll and bind it to the left side of his pack. He pulled the pack into the entrance tunnel, took the bear skin and crawled into the lodge.

  In the dim light, he heard the groaning before he saw them. The boy, Sky Watcher, was on top, his body bare and slicked with sweat. K’os, also writhing and naked, was under him.

  She was a woman who had many men, he knew that. Had he not also enjoyed other women during his trading journey? He should not expect anything different from her, but still the sight of them was like a knife thrust into his belly. This was not Daes with some poor old hunter, a man kind enough to raise Ghaden as his own, a man who could not compare to Cen. Sky Watcher was young, already a good hunter.

  K’os smiled, heaved the boy off her belly, and came to Cen, hands open.

  Almost, he reached for her, but then, as though some other man dictated his actions, he turned and left the lodge, dragging his pack, the bear skin still in his arms.

  THE NEAR RIVER VILLAGE

  “You will tell the others, then?” Chakliux asked Blue-head Duck.

  “Tonight, outside the elders’ lodge,” Blue-head Duck said. “I will tell them.”

  Chakliux nodded, then after a time of polite conversation, he left the elders’ lodge and went to the cache he shared with Sok. He took out a pack of hardened caribou fat. It was precious, especially at this time of year, and it did not really belong to him, but he had given Sok several seal bellies filled with seal oil. Surely they were worth more than a pack of caribou fat. He took the fat to Ligige’’s lodge, scratched and listened for her call.

  She sounded distracted, irritated at the interruption, but he went inside anyway. When she saw it was him, she smiled.

  “I thought you were Leaf Weaver. That old woman comes every day to help herself to my food and fill my ears with her foolish words.”

  Chakliux set the pack on the floor beside her, and Ligige’ grinned at him, showing teeth worn almost to her wide pink gums.

  “Good,” she said. “I had only enough fat to make two balls. It is not easy, you know. It took me a long time on the first one. It is not truly cold enough to freeze the balls hard, so the fat would not hold the ivory in a coil.”

  “How did you do it?” Chakliux asked.

  She handed him a ball of fat, and he saw that it was circled in several places by thin strands of sinew thread.

  “Tonight when it is cold, they will freeze, then you can take the sinew off.”

  She suddenly narrowed her eyes and looked at him. “You will not let any of our dogs eat these,” she said.

  “I will not give them to anyone’s dogs,” he promised.

  “If you put them out for wolves, some dog might get them.”

  “I will not even give these to wolves.” He crouched down on his haunches and looked into her face. “You knew what it meant when you found the first ivory strip in that dog’s belly.”

  “I knew,” she said softly.

  “It is not a curse,” Chakliux said. “It is not a sickness.”

  “Someone is killing our dogs,” said Ligige’.

  “Do you know who it is?” Chakliux asked.

  She again looked up at him, and he was surprised to see tears shimmering in her eyes.

  “I know,” she said softly.

  THE COUSIN RIVER VILLAGE

  Aqamdax had stayed with Night Man through days when he lay so still she thought he might have died, and days when his arms and legs thrashed in the agony he suffered in whatever world he now lived. So she did not look up from
her weaving when his arm moved, when his body shifted on his sleeping mats. She did not look at him until a soft groan came from his throat, and within that groan the sound of her name.

  Then with a cry she dropped her weaving, called to Star and Long Eyes, Ghaden and Yaa. She brought a water bladder so Night Man could drink, pulled it away after he gulped down several large mouthfuls.

  “Let him drink,” Star said.

  “It will make him sick,” said Aqamdax, remembering hunters who had returned from long sea journeys, their fresh water gone. They drank slowly, a few sips at first and later a few more sips. If they did not, their stomachs seemed to harden and convulse in spasms, making them retch.

  Star opened her mouth to argue, but Aqamdax looked away. She did not want to fight just when Night Man’s spirit had finally returned to them. Instead, she went to the cooking bag that hung near the hearth fire and dipped out a bowl of broth from the top of the bag. She brought it to her husband and knelt beside him, fed him slowly. Star flung herself away from them and pulled Ghaden and Yaa with her, settled Yaa at her knees and began to comb the girl’s hair with Aqamdax’s shell comb, something Aqamdax treasured because she had brought it from her own village.

  Aqamdax ignored her, murmuring soft words to Night Man. Finally he raised one hand to signal he had eaten enough. Again, she offered him water and he drank, this time slowly. Then he asked, “How long did I sleep?”

  “Two moons, almost three,” Star called out, and Aqamdax noticed that even Long Eyes had turned so she could see her son, her face shining from within as though she understood some of what was happening.

  Night Man slumped back on his bedding mats.

  “Do not worry, husband,” Aqamdax said, whispering her words to keep them private from Star. “It was a good time of the year to sleep.”

  He looked at her with raised eyebrows, then made an effort to laugh, but the laughter ended in a cough that racked his body. He closed his eyes, and Aqamdax wanted to call out to him, fear rising in her chest that he would escape back into that world where he had been lost for so long.

  But as though he heard her thoughts, he said, “My wife, do not worry. I only sleep.”

  Aqamdax leaned close and pressed her cheek to his forehead. His skin was dry but cool, and even his breath did not seem to carry the sour odor it once had.