Cry of the Wind (28 page)

“He’s lived here through the summer,” the old man said, “though he was away some, trading. Now he is hunting caribou with other men from our village. They have been gone nearly a moon.”

“No,” his wife said, correcting him. “Only since the full moon.” Then she asked K’os, “Are you Near River or Cousin?”

“Cousin, taken as slave to the Near River,” K’os told her, and saw the glee in the old woman’s eyes.

“They did not treat me well, as you can see,” K’os said, raising her hands.

The old woman covered her mouth as though she had not already noticed K’os’s hands, had not rejoiced in their deformity. “They do not hurt as much as you might think,” K’os said. “I can sew and do all things a woman must do.” She kept her voice sweet, did not allow anger to leak into her words, but she slid her eyes toward the old man, raised her brows.

“So why are you here alone?” Sand Fly asked, leaning forward, speaking loudly, as though to draw K’os’s eyes from her husband.

“The Near River men decided they would hunt the Caribou River this fall.”

“What about the Cousin River People?” Tree Climber asked. “That is where they hunt, nae?”

K’os lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “What could they do? Most of their hunters are dead. They took what caribou they could and returned to their winter village. But one night, while the Near Rivers were still at their caribou camp, I escaped. I do not want to be a slave. I will make some man a good wife. That is why I’m in this village.”

“To find a husband?” the old woman said, and began to laugh. “What woman finds her own husband?”

K’os ignored her laughter and looked into the old man’s face. “Your eyes bother you?” she asked.

He looked down, and K’os knew he was embarrassed.

“I am a healer,” she said softly. “Allow me to stay in this lodge until your hunters return. I will do what I can for you. Besides…” She got up and pulled her heavy packs from the entrance tunnel, where she had left them. She untied the largest, took out several sticks of caribou meat. “I did not leave the Near River hunters without helping myself to their drying racks.”

Tree Climber arched his eyebrows at his wife, but she turned her back to him. He looked at K’os, at the meat in her hands. “You are welcome in my wife’s lodge,” he told her.

Red Leaf pulled a caribou belly from the back of the cache. It was full of birds, bank swallows packed whole in oil. They would be good to take with her. Cen had much fish in his cache, and some frozen moose meat, several loops of intestines filled with fat and dried berries. She would take those and the pack she had stolen the first time she raided his cache.

Cen would be angry, but how could she live on dried fish all winter? They did not have enough fat to keep her warm in the cold. Her belly would be full, but her arms and legs would shrivel, her teeth grow loose in her head. Perhaps, though, she could make a camp beside a lake that had blackfish. Enough blackfish would keep anyone alive, good as they were, so full of oil that they could be burned for fuel as well as eaten. But she could not be sure of finding them.

Besides, with his share from the caribou hunt, Cen should have more than enough fat to get him through the winter, even some left to trade in the spring.

It would have been so much better if she could have spent the winter here. Why had K’os chosen this village?

When Red Leaf had lived in the Cousin River Village waiting for her daughter’s birth, she had heard Aqamdax mention K’os now and again. Aqamdax had nothing good to say about the woman. Of course, she had been K’os’s slave. What slave loves her master?

Red Leaf could not help but admire K’os’s strength. When Ground Beater, K’os’s husband, had died in the fire that burned Song’s lodge, she had made no accusations, even gave gifts to people in the village for helping her with the mourning.

Red Leaf carried her supplies to the entrance tunnel, where they would remain cold. Cen had left one of his dogs, an old bitch who would probably be eaten during the winter. Red Leaf would take her to carry some of the packs. The most important thing would be to leave the village before K’os saw her and realized who she was. Surely she would tell Cen what Red Leaf had done. Though Cen might allow her to leave with some of his food and his old and worthless dog, without doubt he would come after her if he knew she was the one who had killed Daes.

THE COUSIN RIVER CAMP

Aqamdax ran her fingers lightly over Chakliux’s hands. The touch startled him out of his thoughts, out of the darkness that had seemed to swallow him since K’os had left their camp.

“I must go back,” she said, leaning close to whisper the words.

“No,” he answered, then realized the foolishness of his protest. She belonged to another man, and this was a hunting camp. There was work enough here for three villages of women. But in this quiet place beside the river, hidden by the willow, the stillness seemed to hold him, and he wanted Aqamdax to stay.

“I must,” she said, and pushed herself to her knees. He reached for her, intended to hold her only for a moment, to whisper again his promise that he would take her as his wife.

Her parka hood was thrust back, and her hair lay in a thick shining river over one shoulder. He cupped the back of her head, and she leaned forward to press her face against his neck.

“When I have you as wife…” he said, and teased her ear with his tongue.

Then her hands were under his parka, cold against his skin. He pushed up her parka, raised his hands to the soft mounds that were her breasts. They held each other, hands stroking, for a long time, then Chakliux took off his parka, laid it on the ground. Aqamdax lay back against the fur, did not protest when he pulled her parka off over her head and filled his eyes with the sight of her. He slipped off his leggings and lay over her, the heat of her body searing his belly, the wind chilling his back.

We should not do this, he thought. If the Dzuuggi could not control his passion, how could he expect to teach others? But with Aqamdax warm under his hands, whispering her love…

You are hunter, he told himself, then heard the same words from another voice, perhaps that of his father Ground Beater or of Star’s father, Cloud Finder. What animal honors a man who takes another’s wife?

Chakliux pressed his hands against the ground, pushed himself away from her. There would be another place for this. A time when they would not have to hide from others.

He looked down at Aqamdax, saw that she was crying. “Without you, I would have died,” she said. “I would have gone on to be with my son.”

Chakliux again gathered her into his arms. How could he leave her? What was one more curse against his hunting? How could taking this woman be any worse than having K’os as mother?

He took her gently, as if he was the first man she had known, and when they moved together in the rhythm of their need, he whispered to her in her own language, and she spoke in the River tongue, their words binding them with promises and hope.

THE FOUR RIVERS VILLAGE

That night in Sand Fly’s lodge, K’os lay awake staring into the darkness. When she heard Sand Fly’s first snores, she considered going to Tree Climber’s bed. But he was so old, perhaps he could no longer enjoy a woman. Then each time he looked at her, she would be a reminder of what he had lost. Better to stay where she was, to make her eyes large when he spoke, to give sly smiles when his wife was not looking. Those things would be safer.

Sand Fly had taken her to the women’s place, showed her the women’s moon blood lodge and pointed out their cache. She had named the important people of the village. There was a shaman, and a chief hunter, First Spear, who had many wives. There was an old woman who considered herself a healer but was not, Sand Fly confided.

“Before I was a slave, I was a healer,” K’os reminded the woman, and again asked permission to make medicine for Tree Climber.

Sand Fly blinked round stupid eyes at her, as though considering the request, then went on naming the owners of each lodge. K’os hid her disgust, but to her surprise, when they returned to Sand Fly’s lodge, the old woman told her husband that K’os would make medicine for him.

The remainder of that day, K’os had made eye rinses and teas, then salves for Sand Fly’s joints and a tonic for her belly. They ate a good meal of fish stew, and K’os settled them into their beds as though they were children.

Even after Tree Climber added his snores to his wife’s, K’os could not sleep. Her legs ached. The days of walking had been difficult. Twice it had snowed and melted, making the mosses and grass slippery. Soon snow would come and stay. Sand Fly said the Four Rivers Village had had a storm nearly a moon earlier, but that snow, too, after several days had melted. It was a strange year. The winter might be severe, all the more reason for her to live in this village until she decided how best to take revenge on a son who had no pity on his mother.

By now, he probably thought she was food for wolves, that her bones were being scattered by foxes and ravens. He would learn differently.

Chakliux and Sok had been blessed with caribou, those two. Fox Barking might have driven them from the Near River Village, but he could not destroy their abilities to lead.

How many men could take a group as decimated as the Cousin River People and, in only a few moons, give them the strength and confidence they needed to take all those caribou? They were still without enough hunters. A poor caribou hunt next year or the year after would cost them their lives. But what village—even the strongest—did not live from winter to winter, praying for hunting luck?

And how many men could take a strong village like the Near Rivers and lead it to destruction as Fox Barking had?

Her thoughts drifted to Sok. She would like to have that one in her bed. He was large and strong, his body thick with muscle. There was much similarity in face between Sok and Chakliux. They both had gull wing brows, large noses, high cheekbones. They were handsome men, and though Chakliux was smaller, the lithe lines of his body were not unpleasant, and his arms were nearly as thick as Sok’s. Of course, he had the otter foot. She smiled, remembering that Snow-in-her-hair had refused to accept him as husband because of that foot. Foolish woman!

K’os did not know Sok well, but the fact that he would take Snow-in-her-hair as wife did not say much for his wisdom. She was a beautiful woman, but small and full of complaints. Even one day in the Cousin hunting camp had been enough to tell K’os that. What if Snow’s son grew up to be like her?

K’os had seen a boy in that camp who looked much like Sok and had assumed he was the son of Sok’s other wife. What was her name?

Red Leaf, yes. K’os had heard stories in the Near River Village. Red Leaf had killed the old man named Tsaani, Chakliux’s grandfather. She had also killed the Sea Hunter woman who was Aqamdax’s mother.

A pity Red Leaf was dead. A woman who had cost Sok and Chakliux their places in the Near River Village would be a woman worth knowing. Gull Beak had told K’os that Red Leaf had been pregnant. K’os wondered if they had waited until the baby was born or if they had killed two, taking Red Leaf before her delivery.

A cramp tightened the muscles of K’os’s right leg. She crawled from her bed and stood.

Sand Fly stirred, raised up on one elbow. “You are all right?” she asked.

“A cramp in my leg. I walked too far in escaping the Near River People,” she said, then asked, “Would it bother you if I stirred the coals and made a tea?”

“You have medicine that helps muscle cramps?”

“Yes.”

“Make me some, too.”

K’os hid a sigh of irritation. She stirred the coals, added birchbark and a few sticks of wood until the fire came to life. While they waited for a boiling bag of water to heat, the old woman babbled, telling one story and another of the people who lived in the village, people K’os did not know and did not care about.

When the water neared boiling, K’os took a packet of crampbark out of her medicine bag, scattered a few shreds into the bottom of two wooden drinking cups, then ladled out the hot water, poured each cup half full. Sand Fly raised the cup to her lips, but K’os held up one hand.

“Wait. It should cool first.”

Then she squatted again beside the woman, closed her eyes on Sand Fly’s babbling. Finally K’os raised the cup to her lips, inhaled the pungent smell, took a sip. The warmth spread through her, into her arms and legs.

“Good,” the old woman said. “Yes, good. You will have to make some of this for Cen.”

“Yes, I will.”

K’os smiled. She had had better lovers, but Cen was not terrible. Perhaps she should be his wife. She would enjoy going with him on some of his trading trips, especially those to the Cousin River Village. Of course, he might be reluctant to return to that village. Especially since he had not fought with the Cousin men as he had promised. Perhaps he was due revenge for that, but perhaps not. It would be worthwhile to hear his side of the story. Yes, she would have a good life as wife to a trader. First choice of the goods he brought back from his journeys. A chance to visit many villages, find new medicines. And, of course, her revenge on Chakliux. It would be that much easier if she—

Sand Fly’s words broke into K’os’s thoughts. Was she saying something about Cen’s wife? He had taken a wife? Well, why not? If a man wanted to stay in a village, he needed a wife to keep his lodge for him, to watch over his caches. He had wanted K’os for his wife in the Cousin River Village, and she would have agreed if it had not been for Tikaani, and then Sky Watcher….

“He has a wife?” she asked, interrupting the old woman’s ramblings.

“Who?” Sand Fly asked, and K’os realized that she was probably already speaking about someone else.

“Cen, the trader.”

“Oh, yes.”

“One of the daughters of this village?”

The old woman chuckled. “There were many mothers who had eyes set on him. White Lake was so angry when he brought his new woman to camp that she scolded him in front of everyone. And Fern—”

“So this woman is from another village?”

“Who?”

“Cen’s wife,” K’os said, her patience slipping away.