by Sue Harrison
When Night Man died, what would Aqamdax do? Perhaps Tikaani would take her, but he was chief hunter now. It would not be wise for the chief hunter to take a woman from another village for first wife. Who would want the trouble that could cause?
Cen was drawn from his thoughts by a soft hiss that passed hunter to hunter among the Cousin River men. He crouched beside the log, reached for his spear, tucked it close to his shoulder, point out.
Suddenly arrows were flying, some ricocheting off trees, others flying true, their voices higher, thinner than the voices of spear and spearthrower.
Cen heard screams, then the cries of the Cousin River men calling out as though they had made a successful hunt. He stood, still clutching his spear, then went to see what had been killed. An animal, he thought, perhaps a bear just coming from its winter den. What better sign of favor?
No, it was a man. A heavy pack, bristling with arrows, was on his back, and his legs and arms leaked blood into the snow. Then Cen saw the medicine bundle, the skin of a river otter, and another of a wolverine. A flicker wing hung from the pack, and a beaded head covering.
“Wolf-and-Raven,” he said.
Some of the men near him gasped; others, the younger men, drew brows together as though they were puzzled.
“A shaman,” Tikaani said.
Some looked at Cen for confirmation. “Yes, a shaman,” he answered.
“Cut his joints, quickly,” one of the young men said.
Tikaani looked at the man, really yet a boy, and handed him his knife. Clasping his amulet, Tikaani walked away, a thin chant rising from his throat. The others did the same, leaving the boy there alone. Finally, the boy dropped the knife, backed away, lifted his hands in signs of protection, held his amulet high over his head.
Later, as the others slept, Cen crept away through the forest. He walked the river ice all night and all the next day, then continued north toward the Great River and east toward the villages of the Caribou People.
THE NEAR RIVER VILLAGE
Chakliux thought the sound was part of his dream, but then he heard a voice, and pulled himself from sleep. He sat up and remembered he had decided to spend the night in Ligige’’s lodge.
The hearth coals were only bits of glowing red, but he could see well enough to tell that Ligige’, too, was sitting up.
“It is Wolf-and-Raven,” she said. “I know his voice.”
“He left the village,” Chakliux reminded her. Blue Flower had come and told them herself.
“It is Wolf-and-Raven,” Ligige’ insisted.
Chakliux wrapped a hare fur blanket around himself and crept out through the entrance tunnel. There was no moon, and clouds had covered the stars. In the darkness he could see nothing.
“Who is here?” he called, keeping his voice low. Why wake others for something that was probably only an old woman’s dream?
There was nothing, no sound. Not even the barking of dogs, the cry of a baby. He turned to go back inside, then heard the moan. He stood and listened, again heard a moan, then walked in careful steps toward the sound. In the darkness, he tripped, catching his leg on something, then realized it was a man lying in the snow. Chakliux called Ligige’, told her to bring coals for light. She came out, already bundled in her parka, carrying a bowl with coals burning inside.
She knelt beside Chakliux, set the bowl in a patch of snow to keep the coals from burning through, then with words edged by tears said, “Wolf-and-Raven. I told you. Someone has killed him.”
“Help me,” Chakliux said. He gathered the man into his arms, and together they carried him into the lodge.
“What are these?” Ligige’ asked, shaking her head, scattering her tears. She pointed at feathered shafts of wood, one in Wolf-and-Raven’s shoulder, two in his left arm, another in his leg, one in his belly.
“Not a weapon the River People use,” Chakliux said. He leaned close, saw a familiar band of red, black and white on one of the shafts.
Then he heard the rattle of breath, another moan. Ligige’ whimpered and moved to cradle Wolf-and-Raven’s head in her arms. He opened his eyes but did not seem to see her.
“How did this happen?” Chakliux asked, speaking slowly, his words loud so Wolf-and-Raven’s spirit would hear him before it floated up and left his body.
Wolf-and-Raven opened his mouth, said what Chakliux already knew. “The Cousin … They are coming….”
“You took this from the shaman’s leg?” Sok asked, turning the arrow in his hands.
Chakliux nodded. They were in the elders’ lodge with most of the Near River hunters.
“It looks like one of the spears the old trader once kept in his lodge,” Sok said. “He told us the large fire bow somehow threw them.” He glanced at Chakliux. “That trader died in the same fire which killed your father.”
“The trader never used the weapon,” said one of the elders. “He kept it for good luck.”
“My father stayed there, in that lodge?” Chakliux asked.
Blue-head Duck nodded. “And the woman.”
“K’os?”
“Yes.”
“Then we know how they got the weapon,” Sok said.
“And why the old ones died,” Chakliux added.
“This woman would do such a thing?” Dog Trainer asked.
“She would,” said Fox Barking.
Chakliux looked at his stepfather in surprise.
“Long ago I knew her,” Fox Barking said.
Chakliux, remembering the many men who came to his mother’s lodge, did not doubt that Fox Barking spoke the truth.
“So our shaman said the Cousin River hunters are coming?” Blue-head Duck asked.
“Let them come,” said one of the younger men. “I am tired of their foolishness.” He nodded toward the arrow in Sok’s hand. “Our spears are stronger than that. We will kill them all, then go to their village and get their women, take the food in their caches.”
One of the elders stood, First River, a man not as old as Blue-head Duck but weaker, one who had nearly died during the winter. He used a walking stick to give his legs strength, and he looked straight ahead, most of his vision robbed by the white cauls that covered his eyes.
“Once I was a trader,” he said, and his words were so weak that Chakliux could barely hear him.
Some of the younger hunters did not even seem to be aware he was speaking and continued their conversation among themselves until Blue-head Duck raised his walking stick and rapped one of them on the shoulder.
“Once I was a trader,” First River said again, then stopped and coughed with the effort of forcing out his words. “I was partner with that one who died in the fire. We were hunting partners and trading partners. My first wife was his wife’s sister.” He stopped, leaned forward on his walking stick. One of the young men rose and went over to First River, wrapped an arm around the old one’s shoulders and helped him stand, took long breaths as though he could, through his own breathing, lend strength.
“We went far once. Beyond the south mountains. Two years we were gone. Our wives thought we were dead. The dead one’s wife, she even took another husband.” He pushed out a laugh and shot a sharp glance at Blue-head Duck as he said, “She left him when her husband returned.
“We saw people who used these small spears. Their spearthrowers look like fire bows, only longer. Some of you saw such a thing hanging on the wall of that dead one’s lodge. They are small, those spears, but they go through an animal’s hide almost as well as a large spear, and a hunter can shoot quickly, more quickly than a man can throw a spear, and yet not grow as tired. The small spears also go farther. So a hunter does not have to be as close to the animals he is trying to kill.”
The old one stopped, and for a long time no one else spoke. Finally Chakliux said, “First River, if you were going to attack this village using those weapons, how would you do it?”
The other men seemed surprised by Chakliux’s question, but First River answered quickly, as though he ha
d already thought about such a thing. “From the ridge,” he said. “You know we put our lodges in this place because it is near the river, and the earth, being shaped like a bowl, shields us from the winds. Yet enemies can surround us on all sides, sit in the trees and shoot down, knowing our spears cannot reach them.”
“No,” some of the younger hunters called out. “These small spears cannot fly that far.”
“Yes,” First River said, “I have seen them. They can. And who among us is strong enough to send his spear that distance? Perhaps only Sok.”
Sok nodded, but said, “And only a few times. Then my strength would be gone.”
“Those small spears, even if they hit a man, will not kill him,” said the boy River Ice Dancer.
It was a foolish thing to say, and most of the men did not even bother to answer, leaving River Ice Dancer to puff out his chest, thinking he had said something important, but old First River said, “They killed the shaman.”
“Can they penetrate the walls of our lodges?” Sok asked.
“Perhaps not,” Blue-head Duck said, “since our lodges are made with two layers. Maybe we should just stay inside, wait for them to come close, then we will kill them.”
“But how long until they think of fire?” First River asked. He was leaning heavily now on the young man beside him. “Those faraway hunters tied oil-soaked moss to the ends of their spears, lit them and shot them into lodges. The people who survived the spears died in the flames.”
“What should we do?” Sok asked.
“Let us go now,” said Chakliux. “We can climb to the ridges, meet them there with our spears.”
“First River,” said Blue-head Duck, “in a close space, which is the better weapon, our spears or theirs?”
“Ours,” First River said.
Some of the younger men began boasting, but Blue-head Duck shouted them down. “Remember our shaman. Remember that, even in his disgrace, he defied death to warn us. Go now, get your weapons and leave the village in quietness. Wait in the willow at the edge of the ridge, and when the Cousin River hunters come, they will find we are stronger than they think.”
Some of the Cousin River men did not want to fight. They saw that the shaman was gone, leaving only his pack to mark the place where he had died. They were afraid his spirit had taken his body and would fight with the Near Rivers against them.
“Wolves took him,” Man Laughing said, and Tikaani raised his voice in agreement, but he did not let himself wonder how wolves took the man without disturbing the pack.
He was afraid their luck had begun to leave them, so he urged the men to hurry to the ridge that encircled the village, go while it was still dark, before they could lose all their good luck. When the first Near River hunters left their lodges in the morning, the quick silence of the Cousin River warriors’ arrows would await them.
Each Cousin River warrior had thrown gaming sticks to determine his place to fight. The largest stick had four sides, one marked to show north, the others for south, east and west.
On Tikaani’s throw, the stick had fallen to north, the river side of the village. A good place to be, Tikaani had thought, closest to escape if their luck was not as strong as they hoped. The second stick had eight sides, and his had fallen on the side for one of the center positions. Who could know if that was good or bad? The third stick was flat, with only two sides, one for standing, the other for climbing into a tree. Each hunter who had thrown for the north side had also thrown to stand.
The elder Take More told the men of the north side to throw again, but again, the stick told each of them to stand. Then Take More said the spirits were speaking to them, that all those on the river side should stand, though on the other sides hunters should both stand and climb trees.
Perhaps that was best, Tikaani thought, but he had never been sure of Take More’s wisdom. He would stand at first, but later, if the battle was not going well, he would climb a tree. Better to see, better to shoot his arrows far.
He crept to his place, pulled an arrow from his quiver, and waited. It was too dark to see into the village except for the glow of those lodges where hearth fires burned, and in this time just before sunrise, even that light was dim. Suddenly one of the lodges glowed brightly, then another and another. Did the Near River women rise so early?
A movement drew his eye, and he heard a hiss of indrawn breath, as though all the men on the ridge were one, watching together, breathing together. People were moving between the lodges. Tikaani could see their heads like shadows.
“They have spears,” someone to his left whispered.
Tikaani squinted and moved his head, giving his eyes greater vision in the darkness. Then came the command, whether from one of the men near him or from within he did not know.
“Shoot!”
He drew back his bow and released his arrow.
Chapter Forty-six
CHAKLIUX CREPT LOW BETWEEN the lodges. Some of the men had watched Wolf-and-Raven leave the village. They said he went east into the forest, so they, too, went east, hoping to place themselves between the Cousin River men and their families.
Chakliux wished for more time. Even a few days would have made a difference. First River could have given them a better idea of what they were facing in the fire bow weapon. How far could something like that send its arrows? Could they penetrate lodge walls? With a few days’ warning, they could have moved the women and children from the village or ambushed the Cousin River men in the forest.
The top of the lodge to Chakliux’s right suddenly glowed bright. Then another farther ahead. The women were awake. Who could blame them? Their men had returned only long enough to grab weapons and protection charms. Chakliux did not want to fight. The fear in his chest was so large it seemed to hamper the beating of his heart, but he was glad he was not a woman, waiting.
The sound came from above him, a hiss that made him duck. Then a thump, a cry, and he saw Least Weasel, one of the youngest hunters, pinned to the lodge just ahead, an arrow through the soft flesh of his side, the arrowhead embedded in the caribou hide lodge covering. Chakliux ran to him. Least Weasel struggled against the arrow, sobbing out his anger.
“Be quiet, be still,” Chakliux told him.
He used his sleeve knife to cut through the shaft just above the arrowhead, then he pulled the shaft from the wound. Least Weasel slumped at his feet, and Chakliux lifted him up. They moved just as another arrow pierced the lodge where they had been standing. Chakliux did not stop to wonder whose lodge it was. He only dragged Least Weasel through the entrance, called to the women inside to help, then he left.
What magic gave the Cousin River hunters the power to see in darkness? he wondered, then ducked again as another arrow thudded into the ground in front of him. He pulled the arrow free and thrust it into his spear sheath. Perhaps the magic was in the arrow itself. Perhaps if it was beside his spears, they, too, would see in darkness. He raised his head. Root Digger was ahead of him, his body dark against a lodge. Then before Chakliux could react, a Cousin River arrow caught Root Digger in the throat. In horror, Chakliux rushed to his side; in horror he watched the death throes rack Root Digger’s body. When Root Digger lay still, Chakliux stood, but he dropped quickly as an arrow sliced into the lodge just above his head.
Then he understood. There was no magic, only the silhouettes of the Near River men against the lodges. As the women stirred the hearth fires, the light allowed the Cousin River hunters to see the men that moved from the village.
“Stay low,” he called. “They can see us against the lodges.”
More men cried out, echoing his call, then Chakliux heard others, men at the edge of the village: “They are on the ridge above us.”
Chakliux lay flat against the ground. If the Cousin River men were on all sides of the village, there were few places to hide from their arrows. The ridge was like the lip of a bowl, with only the rock steps that led to the river breaking the edge. If some of the men could get to that break be
fore the sun rose, they might work their way behind the Cousin River men, could attack them from the back.
Chakliux looked to his left, waited until he saw movement, then crept over to catch the leg of Blue-head Duck, the old man crawling on his belly. He turned with his knife raised.
“I am Chakliux.”
“You were almost dead,” the old man said.
“Come with me toward the river,” Chakliux told him. “Stay low.”
“Our stupid women,” Blue-head Duck whispered. He raised his hand, beat against the side of the nearest lodge and called out, “Douse your hearth fire. The Cousin River men can see us. You give their eyes light to find us.”
Chakliux heard the muffled sound of voices from inside the lodge, then suddenly the light was gone. He crept ahead to the next lodge, poked his head into the entrance tunnel and told them the same thing. All along the edge of the village, as they moved toward the river path, they warned the women, and when they found a hunter, told him to follow. As they gathered more men, they split into threes and fours, moving separately, afraid a large group would catch the Cousin River hunters’ eyes, even in the darkness.
Chakliux, Blue-head Duck and Carries Much were the first hunters to reach the path. The shadows were deep, and for a moment Chakliux considered standing and throwing a spear at the Cousin River hunters who stood closest to them on the ridge. But he could not see well enough to be sure of his target. Besides, if one fell, the hunters closest to him might send their arrows into the cleft the path made through the ridge.
Chakliux clasped Blue-head Duck’s wrist, whispered, “Do not throw your weapon. They will know we are here,” then said the same to Carries Much. He felt the boy let out his breath, realized he had a spear in his thrower, ready.
“Go to the river,” Chakliux told them, “then where the bank is low, creep up into the forest. Take a place behind the Cousin River men, pick your target, but do not throw your spear until you hear me call out.” He squeezed Carries Much’s shoulder, felt the boy tremble. “Go now. Go quietly.”
