Cry of the Wind (33 page)

Marsh marigold grew near rivers. She knew the plant well but had never seen it used for medicine. The round ruffled leaves grew on stems no more than a hand’s length from the earth. They fanned out in a circle, and each spring the plant bloomed with bright yellow flowers. She knew she could find it herself, especially this close to a river, except for the snow.

She was glad Sok and not Twisted Stalk was the one who was supposed to go with her. Ever since K’os had been with them that one day, Yaa had been thinking of someone among the Cousin People who might have killed Cries-loud’s mother Day Woman. She had considered each of the Cousin River men, but Yaa had heard the old women whispering about the tangle of furs and mats that had been Day Woman’s bed. There had been too much of a struggle for the killer to be a man. A man would have easily overpowered Day Woman. So if not a man, then who?

Twisted Stalk was a woman of sharp words and strong temper. Yaa had seen her screaming in anger over small things that most women would allow to pass with only a scowl. Yaa could believe Twisted Stalk might take out her anger about the Cousin defeat on Day Woman. Day Woman was Near River.

She and Ghaden and Cries-loud had all been born in the Near River Village. What if Twisted Stalk were the killer? What if in her anger she decided to kill another Near River person? Once again Yaa wished for a long-bladed knife.

“What are you doing?”

Yaa jumped, then flicked her fingers in annoyance when she saw Ghaden.

“Chakliux told me to find some marsh marigold. Have you seen any growing here?”

“No. What’s it look like?”

“Never mind. Why are you here?”

“Trying to get Biter to cross the river.”

“Keep calling. He’ll come. But leave me alone. I have to find…”

“I know.”

Ghaden lifted his voice, called to the dog, and Yaa walked away from him. The snow was no deeper than a hand’s length, but still it hid most plants. Too bad marigolds didn’t grow taller, Yaa thought. Of course, their closeness to the earth gave the plants their power.

Yaa used her feet to push back the snow, bent low in the dying light to see the plants she uncovered. She came to a slope in the bank. It wasn’t a true stream, but in spring it would funnel melt-off water into the river.

When she finally saw the clump of marigold, each leaf holding a cap of snow, she shouted her triumph. She wasn’t sure if Aqamdax wanted leaves, stems or roots, so she gripped the plant with both hands and pulled. From the corner of her eye, she saw something move. She looked up and realized that Biter had kept pace with her on the other side of the river. He barked, and Yaa opened her mouth to call him, but at that moment the roots of the plant let loose, and Yaa fell, her heels slipping out from under her so she landed on her back.

She slid toward the river, cried out in a scream, heard Ghaden’s voice, then her eyes and mouth were filled with water, the cold so numbing that she could not move.

THE FOUR RIVERS VILLAGE

K’os curled herself into her sleeping robes, turned her back on Sand Fly, but the old woman still babbled. “There are better men than Cen in this village,” she said. “Just because you knew him before, he should not be your first choice. What about Willow Stick and Jumps-too-far, or Gives-dogs? First Spear, our chief hunter, has four wives, but he might want another….”

Her list went on, and she even included her own husband. Tree Climber better than Cen? Hoping that Sand Fly would shut her mouth, K’os raised up on her elbow and said, “Why do you think I want Cen? I would not choose the life of a trader’s wife. What woman wants her husband away most of the summer and often in the winter? Besides, I am a healer. I do not need a husband. I can earn meat with the medicines I give.”

“We are a healthy people. A healer in this village will not earn much,” Sand Fly said. “I know the medicine you gave me has helped my joints, and for that I do not mind sharing my lodge. It is good to have the company of another woman. My daughter and her husband lived with us until this past summer, when he talked her into going to the Black Hills Village, where his brother lives. A fool, that daughter. She will not find anyone who takes better care of her children than I do. They will be back, at least by spring. But until then we have room for you.”

“I will have my own lodge by the time your daughter returns,” K’os said.

Sand Fly raised a finger. “One daughter, I have, and she is a fool. But you are wise. Anyone can see that. You will find a husband. There are many men in this village. Did I tell you about Fat Mink? Then there is Brown Eye. You have not seen him yet. He and his brother went caribou hunting, just the two of them. His brother has a wife, but he has none. He would be a good one.”

K’os rolled herself again in her sleeping robes, tucked her head into the warm furs. The pelts blocked out Sand Fly’s voice, and K’os turned her thoughts to Cen and Red Leaf and how best to win her way into Cen’s bed.

THE COUSIN RIVER PEOPLE

Chakliux, his hand on his wife’s belly, called out, gladness in his voice. Then Aqamdax, who had been rubbing salve into cuts on Star’s face, moved her hands to Star’s stomach, felt the roll of the baby under her fingers.

She tried to bring Chakliux’s joy into her own heart, but the feel of the baby suddenly reminded her of her dead son. She drew in a long breath, forced herself to smile, then asked Twisted Stalk if she had used marsh marigold before.

“I have not,” Twisted Stalk answered. “It must be something K’os learned on her own and kept as secret.”

“Then when Sok and Yaa come, if they have found the plant, bring it to me, I will make it into a tea. I am not sure it will bring her back to us, but—”

A man’s voice interrupted her, Sok calling from outside the lean-to. “I went ahead to see what we might find tomorrow in our walking, if the river had changed its course or if caribou had come this way.”

He came inside and was suddenly quiet. “What happened?” he asked.

“A limb from a tree. It hit the back of her head, knocked her into the river.”

“Did you bring the marsh marigold, you and Yaa?” Twisted Stalk asked Sok.

“The what?”

“I sent Yaa to find you,” Chakliux said. “We told her to bring us some marsh marigold, but I did not want her to leave the camp alone.”

“Once my wife and sons were across the river safely, I left,” Sok said. “Then, only a little ways downriver, I saw a moose. Tomorrow, when it is light, I will hunt.”

Chakliux stood. “I will find Yaa. She cannot be far.”

“Stay with your wife,” Sok told him. “I will go.”

Sok left, and Twisted Stalk raised her eyebrows at Aqamdax. “You should be at the moon blood tent. I will help here. If Yaa finds the marigold, I will come to the tikiyaasde so you can tell me what to do.”

“I am sorry for what has happened,” Aqamdax said, speaking to Twisted Stalk, but she hoped Chakliux knew the words were for him.

She left the lean-to and walked to the west side of the camp where she knew Awl would have set up their tikiyaasde. The space between the moon blood tent and the camp was dark, but Awl had built a fire, and its flames guided Aqamdax through that darkness. She squatted at the hearth, accepted the bowl of warm broth Awl handed her.

“Star?” Awl asked.

“She is alive, and I could feel the baby moving within her, but I do not think her spirit has returned.”

“What if she dies? Is there some way to keep the baby alive?”

It was a foolish question. What baby not yet born could live with his mother dead? But then Aqamdax remembered Chakliux’s face, the hope in his eyes when he felt his baby move. “There are stories told among my people of babies who were saved when their mothers died. The mother’s belly was slit open and the baby taken out, but even if we did that, Star’s child would be too small to live. She has…”

Aqamdax paused, looked up at the sky as she counted on her fingers.

“Six moons of pregnancy.” She shook her head. “To save the child, we must save the mother. There is a medicine I saw K’os use made from marsh marigold. It will clear the lungs. Perhaps that will bring Star’s spirit back. I do not want to see this child die. It would be like losing my own son again.”

“I heard Hollow Cup say that your baby had died,” Awl said in a quiet voice. “Did he come too soon? Or was his spirit called?”

“His father gave him to the Grandfather Lake,” Aqamdax said, her voice harsh, her words cold.

Awl gasped. “The baby was…he was not strong?” she asked.

“He was perfect. Beautiful. My husband thought he belonged to another man. Someone who came to my bed before I was wife. But the baby was Night Man’s child.” Her voice broke.

“Even if he was not, what does it matter?”

“I hate Night Man, Awl. I do not want to be his wife.”

Awl knelt beside Aqamdax, put an arm around her shoulders. “I could ask First Eagle if he would take you. It would be good to have you as sister. He is a gifted hunter. He would never kill your baby, even if it belonged to someone else.”

Aqamdax wiped the tears from her face. “You are a good friend,” she said. “But someone else has asked me.”

“Chakliux?”

“How did you know?”

“You are foolish to ask, Aqamdax. Everyone knows. Your eyes say what is in your heart, and Chakliux is the same.”

“I want to throw Night Man away, but Chakliux says to wait until we arrive at the winter village.”

“That is best. Why add to whatever curse has taken us?”

“There is no curse,” Aqamdax said. “Star will be all right. Her spirit will return.”

“You say that because you know or only because you want her baby to live?”

It was a question Aqamdax could not answer.

Awl warmed a bit of snow in a wooden bowl and added a pinch of powered crampbark from a packet at her waist. She stirred in the powder with her little finger, then took a sip, grimaced at the sour taste and swallowed. She held the bowl toward Aqamdax. “You want some?”

“I do not need it.”

“You are not bleeding, are you?” Awl asked.

“Why do you think that?”

“I never see you change the pad you keep between your legs when we sit in the tent. I do not see you bury anything morning or night.”

“Sometimes a woman needs to be in the moon blood lodge for other reasons,” Aqamdax answered carefully.

“Sometimes women who are sisters of the heart must keep one another’s secrets,” Awl answered.

Sok went to his wife Snow-in-her-hair, asked questions about marsh marigold. What did a hunter know about gathering plants?

Snow-in-her-hair had grown thin in this hunting camp, though they had more food to eat than at any time since they came to live with the Cousin People. He reminded himself that she was the one who had insisted on bringing their baby son. The child would have been better left at the winter village. Ligige’ could have taken care of him, and surely there was an old woman who had kept her milk over the years by nursing grandchildren.

Snow-in-her-hair handed Sok a bowl of meat.

“I have some dried marigold leaves that my mother gave me before we left the Near River Village,” she told him. “Why do you need it?”

“You know Star fell into the river?”

“Who does not?”

“I did not. As soon as you and our boys crossed, I went upriver. There was a moose…”

Snow-in-her-hair crawled to one of the packs set at the open side of the tent. She untied the flap, pulled out a flat pouch.

“Marsh marigold,” she said, and tossed it to him. “They need it for Star?”

Sok shrugged. “Twisted Stalk wanted it.”

“My mother claims it sometimes draws a spirit back to a body,” Snow-in-her-hair said.

Sok grunted and noisily slurped up the rest of his meat. Snow-in-her-hair’s mother, Blue Flower, had long considered herself a healer, but she knew little. He would not trust her claims.

He lowered his bowl and licked his fingers clean. “I need to know where it grows, because Yaa has gone looking for the plant and has not returned.”

“The little girl, Yaa?” Snow-in-her-hair asked. “Aqamdax’s sister?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you sit here and eat? Go look for her.”

Surprised at his wife’s outburst, he picked up the packet of dried marigold, but Snow-in-her-hair snatched it out of his hand.

“I will take this to Aqamdax. You look for Yaa.”

She took their son, who was asleep in his cradleboard, and left the tent. Sok set down his bowl, wiped his hands on his leggings. He chose a short lance and went out. He walked west along the river, away from the camp, until the brush was so heavy that he was forced to turn back.

“Foolish girl,” he said, looking up as though he spoke to the stars. They were so thick that the center of the sky looked white. The frost of his breathing rose to meet their light, and Sok wished he could be warm in his bed. He would find the girl quickly. How far could she walk? Then he would return to the tent, roll himself warm into his sleeping furs and dream of the bull moose, his wide antlers still stained dark from the blood of their growing.

Chapter Thirty-eight

T
HE DOG, HIS DENSE
fur soaked and glazed with ice, packs still strapped to his back, jumped so quickly against Sok’s chest that Sok almost had his lance into him before he realized it was Biter.

Sok slapped the butt end of his spear along the dog’s ribs in reprimand, but Biter jumped up again, then lifted his head and howled. The noise raised the hair on Sok’s arms, and he shivered, held in the harsh words that had risen to his mouth.

Biter started to run, looked back at Sok, and barked until Sok followed him. The dog stopped near a shallow pool at the side of the river. A cold wind dipped down into the water, and he saw Snow-in-her-hair and Ghaden pulling on a sodden heap of fur. It was Yaa.

Sok slid down to the pool and hefted the girl to one shoulder, grabbed Snow-in-her-hair’s arm and helped her up the bank. Snow-in-her-hair fell to her knees, began retching. Sok waited beside her, stroking the back of her parka.

Finally Snow raised her head. “Our son is with Twisted Stalk. I decided to look for you…” She gagged and waved Sok toward camp.