Ivory Carver 02 - My Sister the Moon (33 page)

Chagak dug through her supplies until she found a seal bladder of the fine oil from Samiq's whale. This she had strained and set aside for special times of ceremony, for burials and namings. She found the piece of driftwood Kayugh had notched into a comb for her hair, and took it into the shelter. 

Already Crooked Nose was smoothing a paste of oil and red ochre over Little Duck's face, and Red Berry and Blue Shell were washing the woman's legs and feet. Chagak sat down and raised Little Duck's head into her lap. She began combing the woman's hair, pulling out all the tangles before she kneaded in the oil. Little Duck's hair had grown dull and thin since the death of her son, since she had stopped eating. 

Khagak had to comb carefully so the strands would not snap under her ringers. 

Crooked Nose had already cut her own hair short at both sides. Not all first wives would mourn their husband's second wife, but Chagak knew Little Duck had been like a sister to Crooked Nose, not a rival for Big Teeth's attention. 

As her hands worked, Chagak's thoughts went to Kay ugh. She had always known Gray Bird would someday tell the truth about Samiq's father. Poor Shuganan, how careful he had been to tell the story of Samiq's birth so that Kayugh and his people would think the child was son of the First Men. Then in his dying, his visions of the spirit world, Shuganan had told all—to Gray Bird, the man who always used knowledge to his own benefit, who rejoiced in bringing sorrow to others. If she had not killed the Short One while Gray Bird cowered in fear, Gray Bird would have told what he knew long before now. 

At least Samiq was old enough to defend himself. And he had proven himself equal to any, first sending his people a whale, then bringing them another hunter, a boy nearly grown. Except for Gray Bird and perhaps his son Qakan, there was no one who would want Samiq dead. And Gray Bird should know he did not have power enough to kill Samiq, and Qakan.... Who could say where Qakan was or whether he would ever return? 

She finished Little Duck's hair, then stood. "I go to find Kayugh," she said. She stepped past the others but stopped when Red Berry caught her hand. 

"Be wise, my mother," the girl said, and Chagak smiled, glad to know this one, Kayugh's oldest child, still considered her mother. 

Kayugh was, as Chagak knew he would be, on the beach, pacing at the edge of the water, as though all his desire was to leave this place, to push himself out into the sea as a seal pushes from the beach and is soon a part of the waves. 

Chagak stood until Kayugh saw her, moved toward her. She lowered her head, but kept her eyes up so she could see him. 

"You should have told me," he said, and Chagak heard the hurt in his voice. "Did you think I would kill Samiq?" 
 

"How did I know what you would do?" Chagak asked. "When you came to us, I did not know you. You were not my husband." 

"Not then," Kayugh said and turned from her, his words carrying back to her as he paced. "After you became my wife, then did you think I would kill your son?" 

"No, I knew you then. I knew you would not hurt Samiq." 

"So why not tell me?" he asked. 

"I was afraid you would not want me as wife." 

Kayugh stopped, turned. Slowly he walked toward her, reached out for her. He tipped her head up so she was looking into his face, saw what was in his eyes. "Always, Chagak, always," he said, "you will be my wife." 

"Little Duck is ready," Chagak said. 

Samiq was nearly asleep, and he jumped when his mother spoke, then shook his head. "Kayugh has not returned." 

"He will not return until the burial is finished," she replied. 

"How do you know?" 

She smiled at him, a smile that made him feel as though he were a child. "I spoke to him," Chagak said. "This is his way of giving you his place. He knows the one who leads the people must be first to give the death chant. There will be no question among us if he is not here. 

"Samiq," she said, "it is very hard for a man to step away from what he has been, to give his place to another man, even if that man is his son. But he said to tell you that you are alananasika now and so are chief hunter and proper leader of our village, but remember, you are young, and wisdom is something that comes only with years. Remember then to rely on your father's wisdom, to use his judgment when you are not sure of your own." 

An unexpected anger rose in Samiq's chest. Why suddenly am I leader? he thought. Must a man be leader for others to follow the wisdom of his words? 

He bit at the insides of his cheeks and for a moment closed his eyes. "I do not want this," he finally said. "I do not want to be leader." 

Chagak opened her mouth as if to speak, but then the earth shook again, stirring the ashes from the rocks around them, and Chagak dropped to her hands and knees to keep from falling. 

The shaking stopped, and Chagak stood, brushed off her oiees and the palms of her hands. "A man does not choose whether or not he is leader," she said. "The people choose. ITiey follow a man's wisdom; they follow a strong hunter. ITiey are ready to follow you." 

"They want to leave this island, that is all," Samiq answered. 

"That is the first thing," Chagak said. 

"And you and my father?" Samiq asked. "Will you stay w go?" 

I do not want to leave Aka," Chagak said. "It is a mountain acred to my village, to my people, but those people are at the Dancing Lights, and I must do what my husband wants me o do." 

"Do you think Kayugh will go?" Samiq asked. 

"I do not know," his mother said. 

"Come with us," said Samiq. 

But Chagak only shook her head, then turned from him nd walked back toward the cave. Once she called back to dm, "The burial ceremony, Kayugh says it is yours." 

And again Samiq felt the anger and with it despair. "What lo I know of burial?" he shouted, but his mother did not ppear to hear. 

Then the ground shook again, and Samiq thought, If it $ the only way to bring my people to safety, I will lead. unong the First Men I am alananasika. I will prepare like le alananasika. 

He stood and scanned the hillside, finally seeing a small arkness, a boulder in the grass, and he climbed there. He settled himself back against the stone and tried to find the fords that would best guide Little Duck's spirit to its place 
a new world. 

Kayugh watched the burial ceremony from a distance. Yes, 
another place to make a village. Who knows if we will ever be able to go back to Tugix's beach? But the farther east we go, the fewer whales there are to hunt. How much power will we give up if Samiq cannot teach us to hunt the whale? 

Kayugh sighed, rubbed his eyes. When Aka's fires first began, he had thought of moving to the Whale Hunter island, but he had been afraid that with the First Men there, Many Whales would decide Samiq could no longer be a whale hunter. 

But even the Whale Hunters' island had not been safe. Nor was this island. And who knew how far they would have to go to get away from Aka's anger, the anger of the mountains east and west of Aka? 

So Samiq was right. They must leave this little island. Even the center of the island was low, low enough that waves could come, could drown them all. How could Kayugh forget what had happened to his own family years before? How could Big Teeth or Gray Bird forget? Even Samiq and Amgigh had heard their father's stories about that time of giant waves. 

And why should Kayugh think that Samiq was too young to lead? When Kayugh had led Big Teeth and Gray Bird and their wives to Tugix's beach, he had only eighteen, perhaps nineteen summers. 

No, Kayugh could not forget what happened to his people, but neither could he forget what that leadership had cost him. Two wives: the old woman Red Leg, the young, beautiful White River. And he had nearly lost Amgigh as well. 

The spirits always test the man who leads his people. Samiq was alananasika. A strong young man, wise even though he had few summers. Let him lead, Kayugh thought He has already lost Kiin. That loss should be enough. The spirits will ask nothing more from him. But I... how could I chance the loss of Chagak? 

The air was damp with a misty rain and the dampness brought the words of Little Duck's burial ceremony clearly to Kayugh's ears. 

Samiq spoke of the need for people to work together, of the strength of many compared to the strength of one. Then he 
stooped and pulled a strand of grass from the earth, snapped it easily in his hands. Then pulling a handful of grass, he twisted it and tried to break the twisted strand. 

The strand would not break, and Samiq held it up. He moved his eyes to each of the people, even Amgigh and Gray Bird. 

"I do not want to leave alone," Samiq said. "I am weak when I am by myself. But together we are strong." 

Then he led them in the death chant and explained that the women had decided to make the burial in the manner of the Whale Hunters since they had no death ulaq and no time to build one. Samiq picked up a stone, placed it on Little Duck's shallow grave. 

Then Kay ugh walked down to stand with his people. He picked up a stone then plucked three pieces of grass. He laid the stone against Little Duck's feet, turned to Samiq and handed him the blades of grass. 

"I will go with you," he said. "I and my wife and my daughter, Wren." 

Big Teeth did the same, for himself, for Crooked Nose. First Snow, and finally Gray Bird did the same. For a time Amgigh stood alone, away from the others. Then he, too, picked a blade of grass, piled his stone on the grave, then turned, not to Samiq, but to Kay ugh, handed him the grass. 

"I go where you go," he said. 

But one afternoon, the sun still high in the sky, Kiin saw a wide beach protected by circling arms of land. At the center of the beach, a narrow stream cut down into the sea. 

"We should s-stop here," she said to Qakan. 

But Qakan shook his head. "It is a place Raven would look, the beach where men from many villages come to trade during the middle of each summer." 

But Kiin, seeing the curve of the beach, remembered that she had heard some of the Walrus women speak of this place, of its good water and many birds. 

"Our ik is s-slow," she said. "If the R-Raven was following us, he would have caught us b-by now. What. .. what d-does he care? He d-d-does not want m-me. He wants my s-sons, and if the Grandmother and the Aunt convinced him to k-kill one of the children, then perhaps he is glad that I am g-gone." 

"He does not want you?" Qakan asked. "How do you know?" 

"He t-told m-me," Kiin answered. "He wants power as a sh-shaman. He thinks my s-sons have p-p-power. But perhaps the Grandmother and the Aunt convinced him . . ." 

"They are my sons," Qakan said. "I will not have them taken from me." 

Kiin shrugged. She and Qakan had argued in such a way each day since they left the village. The first day, Kiin had explained that the babies belonged to Amgigh and Samiq. She had showed Qakan the children, Kiin sure that even Qakan would see that Takha had Samiq's nose and eyes, his thick dark hair, and that Shuku had Amgigh's mouth, his long fingers and toes. But Qakan had pointed to the babies' ears, flat to their heads like Qakan's ears, like Kiin's ears, and claimed them as his sons. 

But now Kiin's spirit warned, "Why argue? Perhaps the children are safer when Qakan believes they are his." 

So Kiin did not speak about the children, but instead said, "Qakan, we n-need water and perhaps I can dig clams at low t-tide. See the cliffs s-set back . . . back there? Perhaps I can find m-murre eggs." 

Qakan lifted his paddle from the water, and sat for a moment looking toward the shore. "Yes," he finally said. "It is a good beach. We can spend one or two days gathering food." 

He laid his paddle in the bottom of the ik and motioned for Kiin to guide them into shore. 

Kiin, disgusted at his laziness, opened her mouth to speak, but then decided to say nothing. Who could know what Qakan would do if she made him angry? She had two babies to protect. It was enough that he had said they could stop here, could stay to gather food. 

Together, they pulled the ik up on the beach, then Qakan took his trade goods from the boat and waited while Kiin hauled the ik up over the grassy hills at the back of the beach. Kiin had begun to stake mats and sealskins over the ik when Qakan came, hauling two of his packs with him. 

"Make two shelters," he said. "I will sleep under the ik with the trade goods. You go far enough away so that I cannot hear the babies cry. If we are going to stay here a few days, I want to be able to sleep." 

Kiin gritted her teeth. They did not have enough sealskins to make two good shelters. But then her spirit said, "This beach is a sand beach; even some of the hills are sand. Finish Qakan's shelter, then dig into the back of a hill, 

cross the paddles over the hole and stake mats over that. It will be enough for you and the babies. At least you will not have to sleep next to Qakan." 

For a little while, Qakan watched Kiin work, but then he wandered away and did not return until she had finished his shelter and was digging the hole for her own. 

"The ik is well-hidden," he said, and Kiin nodded. 

Yes, it was well-hidden. Two hills away from the beach. If the Raven did stop at this place, he might not even realize that they were here, especially if they were careful to brush away any tracks they left in the sand. And Kiin's shelter was even farther from the beach. Well away from the ik. Harder to find than Qakan's shelter. 

"The river is fresh water," Qakan said. 

Kiin stopped digging and went to the small pack she had brought from the Raven's ulaq. She handed Qakan several walrus bladders, and when Qakan scowled, she said, "I want to set bird snares at the cliffs when I am done here. You can do something. It is not difficult to get water." 

Qakan turned back toward the beach and Kiin called, "Be careful; watch for ikyan on the sea." 

Qakan trudged away from her. "I am not a child," he said, his voice a whining in the wind. 

Kiin sat back on her heels. The pit was deep enough, although it was only as wide as her arms stretched out and long enough for her to lay down in, full-length. She must cover it well with skins and mats. She did not want it to fill with water if it rained. She laid paddles across the hole, then layered sealskins in the bottom of the pit and curled them up the sides, sewing them with large, quick stitches to the mats and skins she laid over the crossed paddles. She left a hole at the bottom edge of the pit so she could crawl in and out. She went to Qakan's ik. He was lying inside the shelter, his eyes closed. 

"I-I came for the w-water," she said, "and my sleeping mats." 

Qakan did not open his eyes, merely pointed to the place where he had put the water bladders. He had filled only two 
and Kiin picked up both. The basket with her sleeping mats was beside them. Kiin took the basket and left. 

At her own shelter, she hung the water skins from the crossed paddles, spread her sleeping mats over the sealskins, then the furs. She took the babies from her suk, tucked skins over them and sang softly until they both slept. Then she unpacked a roll of kelp twine from her pack and wound long strands of it around each of her wrists. When she was sure the babies were asleep, she left the shelter. 

The climb to the base of the cliffs was difficult. The dark sand shifted under her feet and twice she cut her toes on sharp edges of beach grass. She brought a walking stick with her, not a good stick, carved to fit the hand, but only a stout piece of driftwood she had found on the beach. It helped her keep her balance as she climbed, and she did not stop until she found a place where she could see the entrances of murrelet burrows. She tied her twine into nettings that would cover a hole entrance, leaving a slipknot in the center so the twine strands would act like a noose when the bird flew out. Then she tied the netting into place over each entrance. She had enough twine for five traps. That evening when the birds left their burrows, her traps should catch two or three. 

When she returned from the cliffs, she made her way past a long sloping ledge where black and white murres stood as stiff and straight as basket poles over their nests. Usually murres chose ledges that were difficult to reach, but this ledge, a dark gray outcropping of rock thrusting from the side of a grassy hill, was not. 

Kiin knew that the murres' eggs—one egg per nest, sometimes two—would lie on the bare stone, perhaps with a scuffling of dirt or a few stems of grass around them. Kiin slapped her walking stick against the grass above the ledge until the murres, bleating and croaking, left their eggs. Then Kiin took six eggs. 

It is good, Kiin thought. Tonight we have eggs, and in the morning I will cook birds. Then perhaps Qakan will decide we can stay an extra day, can trap more birds, gather more eggs. 

That night, Kiin woke often. Since they had left the Walrus People's village, she had not let herself sleep too deeply. Why take the chance that Qakan would sneak from his shelter to hers? Why take the chance that he would attack her again, use her like a wife? But so far he had made no move toward her, treated her almost as though she were another man, allowing her a fair share of the food and doing at least some of the work. 

But still she was uneasy. Qakan was Qakan, lazy and selfish and often foolish, sometimes putting his wants above his safety, unable, it seemed, to look ahead and see that what he did this moment might hurt him later. He would try to trade her, probably before they reached any First Men's villages, and now that they were far from the Raven's village, perhaps the best thing would be to leave him. Kiin needed only a short time to launch the ik, to paddle far enough into the sea so that Qakan could not wade out and catch her. 

Kiin's heart beat quickly at the thought of it: returning to her village with her sons and an ik full of trade goods. She smiled in the darkness. Her father would be furious and Qakan would hate her forever. 

"He has always hated you," Kiin's spirit whispered. "Samiq and Amgigh would protect you. You are strong enough to escape. It would not be easy, but you could do it. There are ways, ways it could be done. You have a knife. You are not tied...." 

Yes, Kiin thought, Yes. There are ways. And she planned until the sky showed a thin line of white to mark the dawn. 

Qakan slept hard. His dreams were good dreams, dreams of Yellow-hair, a good Yellow-hair, as fine a woman as her dancing had promised she would be. They had his sons and other sons in a ulaq so large that it took a row of lamps to light it. Qakan dreamt his hands were stroking Yellow-hair's soft round breasts, the long, firm muscles of her thighs. And Kiin was there, too, her belly again bulging with babies. She was weaving baskets and smiling, smiling while Qakan took 

Yellow-hair, Kiin smiling and singing, smiling and singing, while Yellow-hair groaned and writhed under Qakan's hands. 

When the babies woke, Kiin nursed them and cleaned them, smoothed seal oil over their fine, soft skin. She nursed them again until they slept, then left them in the shelter while she went to check the bird snares. 

When she reached the bird holes, she found that three of her five traps held murrelets, the birds dead, trap strings wound tightly around their necks. She dismantled the traps and used one of the trap strings to tie the birds together, then carried them back to the shelter. 

When she reached the shelter, the babies were both crying. She laid the birds down then pulled the babies to her, removed the soiled grass that lined their sealskin wraps and put in fresh grass. She raised her suk and put each baby in his carrying strap, pressing her right nipple into Takha's mouth, the left into Shuku's. Then she went outside and cleaned the birds. 

Qakan stretched out his arms and yawned. He was hungry. Kiin should have food ready by now. She better have after leaving the babies so early in the morning. They had begun to cry, first one then the other, making so much noise, Qakan, two hills away, had been pulled from his dreams. He had not gone to them. He had walked past Kiin's shelter, then went a short distance into the hills, relieved himself, stayed there until the crying stopped, then picked a few handfuls of crowberry heather, good for starting a fire. 

When he returned to Kiin's shelter, she was cleaning birds outside. He threw down the heather. "I am hungry," he said. "Build a fire." And he continued past her, down to his own shelter, a place to be out of the wind while he waited for her to fix the food. She was slow, always slow, and if he stayed at Kiin's shelter, prodding her to work more quickly, she would think of something for him to do. Bring water; hold the babies. 

Yes, the babies were his sons, but what man took care of a baby? And also it made him uncomfortable to see the thick thatch of hair on the one called Takha. The hair was too much 

like Samiq's hair. But, of course, the child could not belong to Samiq. Samiq had never even had Kiin in his bed. 

Qakan thought again of the babies' ears, the round shape of their faces. They were his sons. How could Kiin even question it? He had proven his manhood on Kiin, had proven that he was as much man as Amgigh, even if he had never taken a seal. And now he had two sons. He wished his father knew. 

Never in all the stories Qakan had heard as a child had there been one about a man who fathered two sons at the same time. And Qakan had taken other women, not just Kiin, but women from First Men's villages. Then he had Yellow-hair. But what man could beget a son on her? She never came to a man's bed without demanding some gift. 

Sometimes a man had to make a choice. What was more valuable, a wife who could not keep a ulaq clean, who never cooked, never sewed, never came to his bed—or his trade goods? He was not a fool. 

He had not meant to kill her, but what man would not have killed her seeing what she had done? 

Qakan knelt beside his packs. The middle pack contained a seal belly of dried fish. He took several fish and hoped Kiin would not notice they were gone. She was always scolding him about how much he ate. What did she expect? He was a man, not some woman, small and weak, who needed little. He pushed the seal belly back into place and set the sealskin that held Amgigh's knives on top. Suddenly, he stopped. 

He had tied each package of trade goods differently, a certain number of knots for knives, another for chopping stones, another for ivory, different knots for each thing he traded. He had tied the pack of knives with three knots, one after another. Now it was tied with two knots. Qakan opened the pack, counted out the knives. He had had five left, now there were four. 

Kiin had taken a knife, not just one of the greenstone knives, but the beautiful obsidian blade Qakan had taken from Amgigh's weapons corner. 

But why should he be surprised? Kiin had always been greedy. Why think she would ever change? 

Perhaps it was time to show her what a knife was for. He unwrapped the largest of Amgigh's greenstone knives. The blade was perfect, the edge so sharp that Qakan had accidently sliced his fingers on it when he wrapped it. True, if he scarred Kiin, he could not sell her as a wife, only as a slave, but even slaves brought good prices, and he would trade the babies separately, making sure his sons were given to strong hunters, raised to honor their father. And each year in his trading he would stop to see them, would bring gifts, would let others know that they were his sons.