Song of the River (62 page)

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.

Suddenly he opened his eyes wide, moved his head to look at her. “I had a dream …” he said, but his words were interrupted by a scratching at the entrance tunnel. Cen.

Aqamdax felt the breath leave her chest. He and Tikaani had been the ones to bring her here. Tikaani, in his concern about Night Man, had long ago won Aqamdax’s friendship, but she felt nothing except anger and hatred for Cen. He might have fathered Ghaden, a fine young brother, but he had taken too much from her in exchange.

When Star saw him, she jumped to her feet, clapped her hands and danced like a child. Cen dropped a heavy white pelt on the floor of the lodge. “This is for me?” Star squealed, and pounced on the rolled hide.

Cen looked at her for a moment, opened his mouth, then closed it again. “No,” he finally said. “It is my bed.”

His words did not seem to bother Star. Instead she called Yaa to her side and together they untied the braided babiche that held the hide and unrolled it. Star stretched out over the fur, and looked up at Cen, licking her upper lip.

Aqamdax looked away in disgust, bent down over Night Man. “Cen?” he asked, his words a raspy whisper.

“He has returned,” she said.

Night Man nodded and again closed his eyes.

“You had a dream?” Aqamdax asked, hoping he would stay awake a little longer, but he only sighed and slipped away into sleep.

Cen stayed in their lodge that night, and though Star openly offered herself to him, he placed his bedding close to Night Man and told Star he was too tired from long days of walking to do more than sleep. She pouted for a short time, but then, as though Cen’s presence had reminded her that she was a woman, she began to act the part of sister and mother, seeing that Night Man was comfortable, that Yaa and Ghaden had food.

Aqamdax lay awake long after others were asleep. Through that night the drums in the hunters’ lodge continued to beat. She had not asked Cen if he had joined the men there before coming to Star’s lodge. He was not truly one of the Cousin River People, and so might not be welcome when the men planned revenge raids.

Finally, she, too, slept, only to awaken suddenly in the early dawn. Her first thought was of Night Man. Had something happened to him, some sudden passing of his spirit? She moved her hands to his face and he mumbled something, brushed at her hand sleepily, bringing a smile to her face. Then she realized that silence had awakened her.

“The drums have stopped,” Star whispered from across the lodge.

“Even warriors must sleep,” Aqamdax murmured, and turned on her side, pulled her woven hare fur blanket up over her shoulder.

She did not notice that Tikaani had come into the lodge until he was beside her, bending over Night Man, laying his hand on Night Man’s forehead.

Aqamdax raised up on one elbow. “He came back to us last night. Now he sleeps.”

“I am awake,” Night Man said, and Aqamdax covered her mouth in surprise.

As though he did not realize that he was crowding himself into Aqamdax’s bed, Tikaani slid closer to his brother, squatting cross-legged and bending his head over Night Man’s face.

“You are awake?” Tikaani asked.

“How could I sleep with all your talking?” his brother answered.

Tikaani laughed, glanced at Aqamdax, joy dancing in his eyes. “It is the right thing, then, what we do,” he said. “I told the elders it was. I told them the deaths, the salmon, all things were because we did not appease our dead with revenge. Look, now as soon as our plans are made, you are back with us.”

“Probably not strong enough to fight,” Night Man said, trying to smile.

“I will fight for both of us.”

“What is the hunters’ plan?”

“We have a new weapon. Do you remember it?”

“The bow.”

“Yes. Instead of a few men trying to kill one or two of their hunters for what was done to us, this time we all go, hunters and elders, even the older boys.” Tikaani drew his hands together in a circle. “Remember how their village is set in a hollow, like a bowl, with trees around it?”

“I remember.”

“With bows, we can sit in the trees and shoot down into the village, taking men from a distance so they will not even know who has attacked.”

Night Man raised his good hand, and Tikaani clasped it in his own, then he was gone, slipping out into the dawn, leaving his brother to sleep and Aqamdax to stare into the dim morning light with horror, the faces of the Near River People clear in her mind. Women and children, elders and hunters. Chakliux.

THE NEAR RIVER VILLAGE

“I only tell you this,” Wolf-and-Raven said to Sok. “My daughter wants to be your first wife.”

Sok had been up all night waiting through Snow-in-her-hair’s labor, the woman’s screams. He had been afraid she was dying. What woman screamed unless spirits were pulling her away from her husband and new child?

His thoughts had returned to that first night they had shared together, the joy of having her in his bed. She had been shy, averting her head when he first stroked her breasts, gasping in surprise when he slid his fingers to the damp warmth of her woman’s cleft.

He had held those memories as though they could keep Snow-in-her-hair with him even through childbirth. He had fought down his fears with prayers and chants.

When his wife’s aunt came to him just before dawn, his fear was so great he thought he could not bear to hear what she had to tell him, but she said the birth had been an easy one. That their son was strong and Snow-in-her-hair was as well as any woman could expect to be after giving birth and yelling so loudly that she kept the whole village awake all night.

Now her father was in his daughter’s lodge insisting that Sok throw away his good first wife, a woman who had given him two strong sons, boys who already showed promise as hunters—a woman who had not screamed once in delivering those two boys.

They were alone, Sok and Wolf-and-Raven. Sok had stayed in his wife’s lodge for the night, a custom in their village, a way to lend Snow-in-her-hair strength during her labor. He did not look forward to facing the other men in the village, or the women, their sly looks of disdain, the laughter they would pretend to hide behind their hands. Better to stay inside for a while, he had thought, but then Wolf-and-Raven had come.

“She is second wife. She will stay second wife,” Sok said, his voice a warrior’s voice.

Then Wolf-and-Raven stood, and as though he had come for no other reason, he said, “Your brother has asked for a meeting of all people in the village this evening.”

“Chakliux has?”

“He has.” Wolf-and-Raven jutted his chin toward Sok. “Few hunters will come. What has Chakliux to tell us that carries any importance?”

“I will be there,” Sok said.

Wolf-and-Raven left the lodge, and Sok lay back on the hare fur blanket that Snow-in-her-hair had made him. It was thin and poorly made. Red Leaf’s blankets were woven so tightly that even the smallest shaft of light could not pass through them.

He heard a scratching at the side of the lodge. “Come!” he called, his voice gruff. It was probably Wolf-and-Raven with another piece of foolishness.

Red Leaf came in carrying a boiling pot. “My husband,” she said in a quiet voice, “I am glad to hear of your new son.” She left the lodge without looking at him.

Chapter Forty-five

C
HAKLIUX COULD FEEL THE
men’s hostility. Who was he to call the whole village together, ask them to listen for an evening? There were many things to do this time of year—nets to mend, knives to knap, blades to retouch. They did not have time for the foolishness of a Cousin River man.

But they came. Grumbling, frowning, they came. Even the children seemed to feel the irritation of their parents; squabbles broke out among them and had to be quelled by adults; babies cried. Chakliux closed his eyes and reached for the peace he always felt when he was in his iqyax, when the only sounds were those of water and birds and wind.

Ligige’ had prepared the balls of fat, coiled bone or ivory in each, two handfuls in all. She had wrapped them in thin pieces of dried and softened gut, then placed them in a fishskin basket. He was careful to keep the basket beside him but not too close. He did not want the heat of his body to soften the fat and release the coils.

They gathered outside the elders’ lodge. The young men had made a large hearth fire, and the elders sat in the circle closest to the flames.

The hunters were next, in order of their age, then the grandmothers, women with babies, and last, unmarried women and the children. The women had brought food, but the elders had turned it down, as did most of the hunters. The children begged for the leftovers, and a few grandmothers complied, adding to the confusion as scuffles broke out among the children who had food and those who did not.

Chakliux, sitting with the hunters, waited until Wolf-and-Raven stood, until with a loud voice he told the children to stop fighting. When most of the noise had died away, he looked at Chakliux and said, “Tell us now what you have to say.”

Chakliux walked to the center of the circle, stood with his back to the elders’ lodge, his face toward the people. The spring evening was still light, the sky a deep blue, shadows long. Firelight touched the people’s faces, and he searched for Ligige’, Fox Barking, Sleeps Long, Blue-head Duck, Dog Trainer, Root Digger, Sok.

“I have asked you to come so we could talk about your dogs,” Chakliux began.

A low murmur came from the hunters, and Chakliux heard Ligige’ say: “Be still. Listen.”

The murmuring stopped, and Chakliux continued. “You know that another dog has died. It died of the same sickness that has killed many of our dogs. It is a sickness that none of us could understand until Ligige’ discovered what was wrong.”

Many turned to look at Ligige’. She held her chin high, kept her eyes on Chakliux.