by Sue Harrison
But only the otter’s voice came to her, whispering, “Shuganan must be dying if he has spoken to Man-who-kills’ spirit. But Shuganan will defeat Man-who-kills, in the spirit world, when he goes to the Dancing Lights. You, you are the one who must defeat Gray Bird.”
Chagak kept walking, eyes straight ahead, toward the village. Gray Bird caught up to her, walked beside her, but she did not look at him.
They came to the crest of a hill, together, Chagak on the left, Gray Bird on the right, and in that moment Chagak’s heart seemed to lodge itself in the base of her throat.
A Short One stood at the bottom of the hill, the man’s clothing torn, his hair matted with blood. He was taller than Man-who-kills, his shoulders square, wide. He raised his spear.
Gray Bird gasped and stepped behind Chagak.
The Short One laughed.
Chagak could not think, could feel nothing but the throb of her heart. But then Samiq moved under her suk and a sudden need to protect her son seemed to clear her thoughts.
“Your people are defeated,” Chagak called to the man.
He called something back to her, in the language of the Short Ones, but she did not know what he said.
“Where is your spear?” she said in a low voice to Gray Bird, but he did not answer her. From under her suk, Chagak felt Samiq move, heard the thin beginning of his cry. Dropping the basket from her back, she reached inside for her bola. The stones were small, made for killing birds.
“What good will they do against a man?” some spirit whispered to her. And Chagak felt doubt numb her hands. But Samiq, then Amgigh, moved under her suk, and Chagak heard the otter say, “Who is stronger, a man who kills other men or a woman with two sons? Who has more strength? Who has more power for good?”
Chagak grasped the braided bola handle and swung the stones above her head. The man at the bottom of the hill lowered his spear, began to laugh, laughed until his eyes were squeezed tight with his laughter.
Then Chagak let the bola fly, watched as the stones spun in wide jerking circles, watched as the Short One opened his eyes, then flung his arms up to cover his head.
The ropes wrapped around his arms and head, the stones hitting his mouth and neck. He dropped his spear and roared, blood rushing from broken teeth.
Chagak stooped to pull her knife from her basket, then ran to where the man stood. She slashed his belly, and he kicked her, kicked so she could not reach him. But then, in his kicking, he fell, and Chagak, seeing his short spear in the grass at the side of the path, grabbed it and before he could turn away plunged it into his heart. Again the Short One roared and Chagak leaned all her weight on the spear. The man shuddered, but Chagak did not loose her hold on the spear until he lay still.
Then Gray Bird was beside her; he pulled the knife from Chagak’s hand and slashed the Short One’s throat.
Chagak looked at Gray Bird, saw the narrowing of the man’s eyes. She spat into the grasses beside the Short One. “You, the child who hides behind a woman,” she said to Gray Bird, “who did you say was Samiq’s father?”
Gray Bird curled his lips and would not look at her. Finally he said, “Shuganan’s son.”
“Yes,” said Chagak, “Seal Stalker, Shuganan’s son.”
Chagak had expected to see burned ulas and bloated bodies, but the only evidence of fighting was the number of ikyan on the beach and a litter of broken weapons in the narrow valleys between the ulas.
“Where are the bodies?” Chagak asked Gray Bird, the first she had spoken to the man since they had left the Short One. Gray Bird pointed to a group of men on the beach. They were gathered around an ik filled with what looked like meat and skin. But then Chagak realized she was seeing the bodies of many men, arms and legs cut at the joints to sever the power of the spirits.
“They will pull the ik out to sea and sink it,” Gray Bird said. “I will tell them of the man we killed.”
“I killed him,” Chagak said. “I and my sons.”
Gray Bird straightened, looked into Chagak’s eyes, but then looked away as he said, “Women do not kill men.”
“I saw how you kill men,” Chagak said. “But that is something only you and I know.”
For a moment Gray Bird stared at her, then he pointed to Many Whales’ ulaq. “Shuganan is inside.”
Chagak nodded, then set her basket down and climbed up the side of the ulaq. At the top she turned her eyes in the direction of Aka. She could not see the mountain, but she whispered her words into the wind. “Let him live,” she begged. “Let Shuganan live, and Kayugh. I have given a Short One’s spirit to you. Give me their spirits for the one I gave.”
She took a shuddering breath and climbed down the notched log into the ulaq. Many Whales sat at the center of the ulaq; Kayugh was hunched over Shuganan in the far corner.
“You are welcome to stay here and raise your son among us,” Many Whales said as Chagak stood at the base of the climbing log. “I will teach him to hunt the whale.”
There was a softness in the man’s voice and Chagak saw the black of ashes on his cheeks, sign of mourning. “I am sorry about your son,” she said.
“He died a brave death,” Many Whales answered.
“Yes,” Chagak murmured, then said, “whether I choose to live here or to go back to Shuganan’s beach, you will always have a grandson. Either way, he will know you and you will know him.”
Many Whales nodded and Chagak walked back to stand beside Kayugh. He looked up at her and she saw the pain in his eyes.
“Gray Bird said you were wounded,” Chagak whispered, and reached out toward him, but she stopped her hand before she touched his face.
But Kayugh took her hand in his. “The wound is in my shoulder,” he said. “Only in the flesh of the muscle.”
Chagak pulled her hand away and pressed her fingers lightly against his neck and forehead. His skin was cool; no evil spirits had entered the wound.
Kayugh grasped her hand again, but Chagak’s eyes were drawn to Shuganan, still and white on the mats beside Kayugh.
“He is dead?” she asked, choking with the words.
But then Shuganan slowly opened his eyes. “I would not go until I said goodbye to you,” he said, his voice soft and broken by frequent breaths. “There is another, too, who is looking for you … an enemy….”
Shuganan tried to raise his head, winced and closed his eyes. Chagak dropped to her knees beside him. “Do not worry, Grandfather,” she said. “Gray Bird will not harm us. He is afraid. Of you and of me.”
She placed her hands over his, felt his fingers relax.
“Your grandfather killed two Short Ones,” Kayugh said.
But Chagak did not hear him. She leaned close to Shuganan. Suddenly she did not feel brave, did not feel strong. “Grandfather,” she whispered, “Grandfather, what will I do if you leave me? Whose food will I cook? Whose parka will I repair? Tell the spirits you need to get well. Tell them you have a daughter who needs you.”
“No, Chagak, no. I am old. It is my time to go.” He paused, opened his eyes and smiled at her. “You brought joy to me, and a part of me wants to stay with you, but I must go.
“You have a son to raise. He needs a father. Your husband Seal Stalker would want his son to have a father. Kayugh will be a good father to Samiq.”
“No,” Chagak said. “Do not ask me to be wife. How would I bear the sorrow if my husband dies? I have mourned too many deaths.”
“Is the sorrow of my death greater than the joys we shared in living?” Shuganan asked. “When you remember your father and mother, Seal Stalker and Pup, do you remember their deaths or what you shared in life?”
And as though the power of Shuganan’s spirit drew the answer from her, Chagak whispered, “I remember our lives together.”
Shuganan smiled and closed his eyes. In the silence of the ulaq Chagak watched the rise and fall of his breathing, the breaths growing shorter and shallower, but then the old man opened his eyes again. “Before, when I closed my ey
es, there was either darkness or dreams,” he said. “Now there is light. Hold to life, Chagak, but do not fear death.”
Then his eyes were suddenly dim, without the light of his spirit, and Chagak fought against her tears. For a moment she wished she could go with Shuganan, could know the freedom of death. But then she felt Samiq move under her suk, and sea otter whispered, “You have many who need you here. Would you choose to leave Samiq and Amgigh, even Kayugh?”
And Chagak, hoping Shuganan’s spirit still hovered near, said to Kayugh, “If you will raise Samiq as your own son, I will be your wife.”
They stayed with the Whale Hunters through the burials and ceremonies of death, through the days of mourning. Many Whales gave Shuganan an honored place in the death ulaq, but Kayugh watched the man carefully, saw the desire in his eyes when he held Chagak’s son.
There were many Whale Hunters anxious to have Chagak as wife. Kayugh heard two men ask Many Whales the bride price, and Kayugh’s heart thudded hard in his chest. After months of travel, what did he have to offer Many Whales for his granddaughter? He had no sealskins, no whale oil. A Whale Hunter could give the bride price and Many Whales would have his grandson raised in his own village, perhaps even in his own ulaq. What hope did Kayugh have?
But several days after the burials he went to Many Whales, interrupted the man’s mourning. Fat Wife sat in a dark corner of the ulaq. She seemed smaller, quieter since her son’s death, and though Kayugh spoke a greeting, he could not bring his eyes to Fat Wife’s face.
Many Whales had marked his body with charcoal and at his side lay a boy’s spear, a man’s harpoon. “They are my son’s,” he said to Kayugh. “Someday they will belong to my grandson.”
Kayugh was pulled into the pain dark within Many Whales’ eyes, and for a moment he could not speak, but finally he said, “I have come to ask the bride price of your granddaughter, Chagak.”
For a long time Many Whales did not answer. And the thought came to Kayugh: What right do I have to ask? What right to take a grandson and granddaughter?
“Others have asked for her,” said Many Whales.
“I am a strong hunter,” Kayugh said, but the words came out like a boast rather than an assurance of Chagak’s happiness.
But Many Whales continued as though Kayugh had not spoken. “Others have asked,” he said again. “I had no answer for them. But for you I have a price. Something that is fair.” He sighed and looked at Kayugh for a long time. “A whale.”
Kayugh sucked in his breath, felt the pain of disappointment tense the muscles in his wounded arm.
Many Whales pointed to the whale pendant lying against Kayugh’s chest. “The whale Shuganan carved for you.”
Kayugh opened his mouth but could think of nothing to say.
“Would it be fair for me to ask for more?” Many Whales said. “Chagak belongs with you. Just promise me I will see my grandson.”
“Yes,” Kayugh said. “You will see your grandson.”
Kayugh’s shoulder ached, but the wound was healing. He would hunt again, would throw the harpoon. The pain was nothing.
He dipped his paddle into the water and looked back at the women’s ik. Chagak sat in the bow, Crooked Nose in the stern.
Kayugh still had questions about Chagak’s first husband and the manner of his death. Gray Bird avoided Chagak, but if she left Samiq with Kayugh, Gray Bird would squat beside Kayugh, talking about hunting or ikyan or the man he had killed when he was bringing Chagak back to the village. And though he spoke of other things, Gray Bird’s eyes were always on Samiq, studying the boy’s face, his hands and feet.
But Chagak’s sorrow—something that seemed a part of her, the shadow cast by the light of her spirit—kept Kayugh from mentioning Gray Bird’s interest in Samiq, and kept Kayugh from asking her his own questions.
Though Chagak had said she would be his wife, Kayugh had been careful to give her the choice of coming with him or staying with the Whale Hunters. She had chosen to come, and for now that choice was enough.
Knowing they would reach Shuganan’s beach before night, that she would come to his sleeping place that evening, Kayugh felt a pulsing of joy in his heart and a rush of blood to his loins.
Big Teeth had been telling jokes all that day. He would run his ikyak close to Kayugh’s, make a remark about marriage and taking wives, then quickly push his ikyak away, the man’s laughter rolling back over the sea swells.
But the last time Big Teeth came near, Kayugh, laughing, had called, “You are only jealous because I will have two sons.”
“Yes,” Big Teeth had answered, still smiling. “But you would have neither if it were not for Chagak. Be a good husband to her.”
“Yes, I will be a good husband,” Kayugh had told him, and during the rest of that day Big Teeth had made no more jokes.
FORTY-THREE
CHAGAK ARCHED HER SHOULDERS against the soreness of her muscles. When they arrived at Shuganan’s beach, the women had unloaded the ik and now were cleaning their ulas.
Chagak had wiped the dust from Shuganan’s many carvings, and again wished they had brought his body back with them, to lie in the death ulaq beside the bones of his wife. As she worked, Chagak began to cry but quickly wiped away her tears. “You have cried enough,” she said out loud. “Finish your mourning and care for your children.”
She nursed the babies and put them in their cradles over her sleeping place, then she sat down beside an oil lamp and pulled out her sewing basket. Knotting a heavy thread of sinew to the end of her needle, she tried to work on the sealskin boots she was making for Kayugh, but her needle caught in the awl holes and the sinew slipped from the end of the needle until finally Chagak folded her hands in her lap and only sat.
Even her worry about Gray Bird, the knowing he held in his small black eyes when he looked at Samiq, was only at the edges of her thoughts. She knew Kayugh would come soon, and her fingers moved to clasp the necklace he had given her. There was a part of her that could not pull her eyes away when he sat with parka off, muscles shining in the glow of lamplight, a part of her that laughed at Crooked Nose’s jokes about husbands and wives, but she remembered her night with Man-who-kills, the pain.
Then Chagak heard someone on the ulaq roof and she wrapped up her sewing and slipped it into the basket.
“At least he will bring Red Berry,” the sea otter whispered, and Chagak nodded, thinking with relief that the child would give them something to talk about, something to distract from the time of becoming husband and wife.
But when Kayugh climbed into the ulaq he was alone. “Crooked Nose has taken Red Berry for the night,” Kayugh said and smiled at Chagak, and Chagak also tried to smile.
“Your sons sleep,” she said.
Amgigh was strong now, always eating, clinging to her breast even when asleep, milk bubbling from the corners of his mouth. Chagak felt a great pride in his strength. She had not been able to save Pup, but perhaps in her sorrow, in her struggles with Man-who-kills, she had grown stronger, able to help others, to save a baby too weak to live.
“Amgigh’s cradle hangs in there, over my sleeping place,” she said.
But Kayugh merely nodded and made no attempt to check on his son. He removed his parka and stood before Chagak wearing only his apron.
Chagak, feeling the need to remain covered, had left her suk on, but her empty hands felt awkward in her lap and she wished she had not put away her sewing.
“Are you hungry? I can prepare food,” Chagak said.
But Kayugh shook his head and spoke the beginning words of the marriage ceremony: “Someone says you will be my wife.”
“Yes,” Chagak answered carefully, following the custom Crooked Nose had explained to her, the few words the people of Kayugh’s village used before a marriage. “Someone has said that.”
Kayugh squatted beside her. “Someone has said your husband, father of Samiq, is dead.”
Chagak looked anxiously toward her sleeping place. Why had she fed th
e babies so well? They could be awake now, crying to be fed, giving her more time to settle her spirit before becoming wife.
“Chagak?”
Then remembering that she was to answer, Chagak said, “Yes, he is dead.” And for a moment her mind was not on Man-who-kills or Kayugh but on Seal Stalker, the one who was to have been her husband, and she felt a great sadness rise up within her. Then, looking at Kayugh, she saw there were questions in his eyes.
“Do you want to belong to someone else?” he asked quietly, without anger. “To a Whale Hunter or to Big Teeth or Gray Bird?”
“No,” Chagak said quickly and then dropped her eyes in embarrassment.
“I will keep this ulaq filled with meat. I will bring seal oil and teach our sons to hunt.”
Chagak felt tears form in her eyes, and she could not answer him. She covered her face with her hands. What would he think now that he had seen the foolishness of her weeping?
“You do not want me,” Kayugh said, his voice hard and flat.
Chagak wiped the tears from her cheeks. She sat quietly for a moment, steadying her voice. “I am afraid,” she said finally.
Kayugh’s face changed again to softness, and he smiled. “You have had a husband before, Chagak. Why are you afraid?”
“I am foolish,” she said and tried to smile.
He sat down beside her then, as a man sits in an ikyak, legs straight, flat against the floor, and he pulled her to his lap, holding her against his chest and stroking the back of her suk—the same way she comforted Samiq or Amgigh when they cried.
She held herself very still. Why be afraid? This was Kayugh, a gentle man, a good man. She had not been true wife to Man-who-kills. She had been slave. His way was not the way of men with their wives.
Chagak pressed herself closer to Kayugh, and he slipped his hands under her suk, stroking the bare skin of her back. But then suddenly in Chagak’s mind was the image of Man-who-kills holding a knife, slicing into the curve of her breasts, and she remembered the painful thrusting of Man-who-kills’ body, the fish smell of his breath, his weight crushing her chest until she could do nothing but stay above the pain.
