Finally the discussion turned to Sok and Chakliux. Several girls giggled their gladness that the new woman was wife to Sok, not Chakliux. Ah, Chakliux, they said, who could not find joy in being wife to that one, though Blueberry had been fool enough to choose Root Digger, and Snow-in-her-hair …They clapped their hands over their mouths and laughed. Some of the older girls remembered when Snow-in-her-hair played with them, before moon blood separated her from games and children. Fool! Now she had no husband at all, and what man would want her when she had no respect for someone with the powers of an otter foot?
“They say this First Men woman is ugly,” Green Stripe whispered.
The girls leaned their heads together and Breaks-wood-fast said, “My father told me not to look at her, that her ugliness could come into my face and Muskrat Singer would not want me.”
Yaa shook her head. Breaks-wood-fast always tried to twist the conversation so she might mention Muskrat Singer. He was her father’s sister’s son, and she had been promised to him since she was a baby. Yaa’s aunts had no sons, and Spotted Flower’s aunt was old; her sons all had wives. The same with the other girls. Their aunts were dead, or without sons or with sons too young or too old. Breaks-wood-fast had no real reason to consider herself better than they were because she was promised. It was not as if some hunter had asked for her because she was beautiful or gifted with sewing.
“You’re wrong,” Yaa said.
The girls looked at her in surprise. Even Best Fist’s little three-year-old sister, Net, who was bent over a handful of colorful pebbles, looked up. Net stuck one of the pebbles into her mouth, and Best Fist, without moving her eyes from Yaa’s face, hooked a finger into Net’s mouth and popped the pebble out.
“How do you know?” Spotted Flower asked.
“I saw her.”
The questions came too fast for Yaa to answer until one of the oldest girls, Blue Necklace—whose complaints of sore breasts let them all know she would soon leave their children’s circle for a place among the women—told them to be quiet, then ordered Yaa to explain.
Yaa felt her chest expand in excitement. It was not often she earned the attention of Blue Necklace. Yaa spoke quickly, telling how she and Ghaden were checking the trapline. She said that the woman was not ugly, but that her clothes were different, like the ones worn by Ghaden’s dead mother. She did not say Daes’s name, would not take the risk of doing such a thing, but even so, the girls turned their heads away from her at the mention of that dead woman.
After Yaa had told her story, they asked questions until Yaa could tell them nothing more. Then their interest turned to other things, and soon Breaks-wood-fast was boasting again about Muskrat Singer.
For a while Yaa sat with them, but finally she began to feel uneasy, suddenly remembering that she had left Ghaden alone in the lodge. Who could say what a child might do to himself, alone, without anyone to watch him? What had she been thinking, to leave him? She had agreed to be his mother; that was not something that you forgot when you were tired of the extra work.
She stood up and, pointing with her chin toward Best Fist’s little sister, said, “I have to go take care of Ghaden. I’ll be back.”
But most of the girls were talking to each other about something else, and Blue Necklace had already left the circle, walking with swaying hips to stand at the edge of the boys’ group, leaning close to one of the young hunters to whisper something in his ear.
That one would soon be married, Yaa thought. But as the older girls left to become wives, babies grew up enough to fill their places, and that was good—the way things were supposed to be.
Soon Ghaden would sit with the boys. It seemed such a long time since last winter, when he had been stabbed. With Biter living in their lodge, Yaa had begun to feel safe. But perhaps, if the killer was someone in the village, that one was waiting for them to forget, waiting for Yaa to grow so busy with her own life that she no longer worried about Ghaden.
When Yaa got to the lodge, she crawled inside, calling for Ghaden. Biter made a quick bound, licking her face before she could stand and push him away. Ghaden sat up, rubbing his eyes. Yaa took a long breath and smiled at herself for her foolish worries.
“I came to take you to the cooking hearths to get food,” she said.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Ghaden, you are always hungry!”
“No.”
“Ghaden, you have to come.” He started to cry, but Yaa grabbed his parka and pulled it on over his head, then rubbed his checks with grease to protect him against the bugs. At first he struggled against her, but finally let himself go limp so that Yaa felt as though she were dressing a baby.
“Can we take Biter?”
“You know Biter will steal food if we take him.”
Ghaden popped his thumb into his mouth. Ordinarily, Yaa would have pulled it out, but this time she left it. She got their eating bowls, then fastened a braided rope around Biter’s neck and tied him outside. Ghaden hugged Biter and followed Yaa. He walked slowly, but without crying or complaining.
As they came to the hearths, River Ice Dancer and three other boys shoved past them. River Ice Dancer stopped and pushed his face close to Yaa’s.
“You liar,” he said. “I know what you told Blue Necklace and the girls.”
Yaa grabbed Ghaden’s hand and hurried past, but River Ice Dancer grabbed Ghaden’s parka hood, then crouched down and said, “Your sister’s a liar. You know that?”
Ghaden stuck his thumb in his mouth, and River Ice Dancer laughed. He pulled Ghaden’s hand up and opened his own mouth wide, lowered it over the thumb. “I should bite that right off for you. Otherwise you might stay a baby all your life.”
“My dog would kill you,” Ghaden said.
Two of the other boys laughed. “That’s the way, you tell him!” the one named First Tree said to Ghaden.
River Ice Dancer stood up and grabbed First Tree. Yaa pulled Ghaden away. River Ice Dancer called something after her, but she did not hear what he said. She saw her mother stirring the contents of a cooking bag and went over to stand beside her. For all his boasting, River Ice Dancer was not one to cause trouble where adults might see him.
The other men had eaten by the time Sok and Chakliux, Red Leaf and the First Men woman came to the hearths. When Ghaden saw them, he began to wail until Happy Mouth finally told Yaa to take him home.
When they got to the lodge, Yaa added wood to the fire and pulled off Ghaden’s parka, wiped the bits of food from his mouth and wrapped him into his sleeping robes. Biter lay down beside him, chewing a piece of dried meat Yaa had stolen for him from a food basket.
She stroked Ghaden’s hair and sang until his crying was only an occasional sob, then she leaned over him and whispered, “You need to tell me why you are crying, Ghaden. Are you afraid of Sok? Are you afraid of Chakliux?”
Ghaden would not answer her. He closed his eyes and rolled closer to Biter, lifted his head to bury his face in the soft fur of the dog’s neck.
Chapter Thirty
I
T WAS MORE DIFFICULT
than the pain he had faced the last time he was in the Near River Village, worse than discovering that Aqamdax had left the First Men Village. Cen’s hands tightened on the paddle, and the muscles in his legs spasmed as if they could take him from his iqyax through the dark water of the river to the lodge where Ghaden slept.
He had purposely spent days idle—his tent pitched beside a slow-moving stream—waiting for this night of new moon, dark and still. Now he paddled past the village, hugging the far bank of the river, and though in the darkness he could see nothing, his eyes kept turning toward those lodges, and his thoughts were of his son.
Two times, he almost crossed that river, almost decided to go into the village, but as he moved his paddle to the left side of his iqyax, as he leaned into a turn, he remembered the villagers’ accusations, their anger, and reminded himself that he would never win his son back if he died. And though, as a spirit, he might have some chance of revenge, it was better to stay alive and seek revenge as warrior, and have the joy of teaching his son to hunt and trade.
The people of the Cousin River Village would welcome him. They always had. Since it was late summer, they might yet be in their fish camps near the river.
Though they shared grandfathers with the Near River People, anger often seemed to fuel skirmishes between the two villages. He might find Cousin River men who would help him get his son and earn his revenge. He had last visited that village two, three summers ago. The woman K’os had welcomed him into her lodge. She was a healer, and her husband was chief hunter, though he was growing old, losing the respect of the young men.
If K’os was still there, he would visit her first. She was always greedy for trade goods, and he had many fine things from the First Men that she would like.
He heard several village dogs begin to bark. They might have heard his paddling, but the river was so wide he did not think so. Most likely they saw a porcupine or an owl, but he paddled more quickly in case some hunter was aroused by the noise.
He paddled hard until he was well past the village. He would not stop until morning, and then only for a short rest, a bit of dried fish. He did not want a Near River hunter to see him and decide again to take revenge for Tsaani and Daes.
Dogs. They were fighting, biting Aqamdax’s arms, flinging heavy bodies against her legs to bring her down into their teeth and jaws.
She woke with a jerk, breathing heavily until the dream left her. She lay still and finally realized that Sok’s arm lay across her belly. She wished he would not sleep with her until she had her own lodge. She could not bear the sorrow in Red Leaf’s eyes each time Sok touched her.
She had tried to tell Red Leaf that she had no true feelings for him, that she would do nothing to win his favor, but Red Leaf had begun to scream out Sok’s virtues, listing, as far as Aqamdax could understand, his skills and strengths until her shouts filled up the lodge and pushed Aqamdax outside. A group of women had gathered there, hands over mouths, but she was used to being scorned by women, and so held her head high, walked to the village hearths, stirred boiling bags as though nothing had happened.
Across the lodge, Red Leaf sighed and murmured in her sleep. Sok groaned and lifted his arm from Aqamdax’s belly. She pushed herself away from him, turning her back. She had not slept well since she had been in this village. She woke during the middle of each night and lay with worries weaving themselves into her thoughts until it was time for her to stoke the morning fire and bring in wood.
She had lost count of the days she had been here. More than ten, she was sure, but not yet from full moon to full moon.
Each day, Chakliux taught her more of the language. He seemed to know which words she should learn first, but she still had to think of each phrase in her own language before she could remember the River People word. It made her thoughts slow and her speech cumbersome. Red Leaf was no help, and seemed to rejoice in confusing Aqamdax’s attempts to learn. Sok was impatient, but his two young sons had begun to treat her like a friend, laughing at her mistakes but also helping her correct them. She had already begun each of them a caribou gut raincoat, though Sok had expressed his doubt about such a coat’s worth to a River boy and Red Leaf had reacted in anger.
She had also woven Red Leaf a gathering basket, but Red Leaf had tossed it away, crushed it disdainfully under her heel.
Aqamdax told herself things would get better. Soon she would be able to speak the River People’s language well enough to tell stories, and Sok had already given her the caribou hides she needed to make a lodge, though she was not at all sure how to do such a thing. She hoped there were women in the village who would teach her.
They seemed to treat her well when she took her turn at the cooking hearths. One woman—her name was Happy Mouth—even sought her out, chattered away in bright words that Aqamdax only vaguely understood. Still, Happy Mouth’s acceptance gave her hope that other women, too, would someday count her as friend.
Aqamdax turned her head so she could see the smoke hole. It was very dark, a night of new moon, but soon the sky would lighten and then she could get up. Remember, she told herself, you will not be here forever. Someday, one of the First Men will come to trade.
Then she would go back with him, to her own people, to her own village, and again be storyteller.
Dogs barking woke him. Ghaden reached out for Yaa, stroked the soft mat of her dark hair and stuck his thumb in his mouth. He felt Biter move beside him, heard the low rumble of a growl in Biter’s throat. He laid his hand on the dog’s back, but Biter rose stiff-legged and moved toward the door. Ghaden waited, his breath in his throat.
It might be her. He knew that she would come for him. Biter could protect him from people, but what about ghosts? What did ghosts do? Did they turn people into ghosts? If he were a ghost, would he still live in this lodge with Yaa and Brown Water and Happy Mouth? Could he play like other boys or would he have to float around like smoke? Worse, would the ghost kill Biter?
He heard the dog growl again, so he shook Yaa’s arm until she woke up.
“What?” she asked, her voice full of sleep. She was cross with him, he could tell, though in the dark he could not see her face.
“Something’s outside,” Ghaden whispered.
“Just dogs barking. Go to sleep.”
She flopped back down into her sleeping robes, but Ghaden leaned over her and said, “It might be the ghost.”
Yaa sat up. “What ghost?”
“The one who came with the hunters. The one who lives with the otter man.”
“The First Men woman?”
“She’s a ghost.”
“Ghaden! She’s a woman. She’s just like us. Well, almost like us.”
Ghaden felt tears closing up his throat. Yaa didn’t like him to cry, so he shut his eyes tight and tried to hold the tears inside.
“Ghaden,” Yaa said softly, “why do you think she’s a ghost?”
“She’s my other mother,” Ghaden said, but when he spoke the words, a sob came with them. He clamped his mouth shut in the bitterness of knowing that Yaa could tell he was crying.