Song of the River by Sue Harrison Read Free Book Online Page B

favorable sign, especially after a third summer without many salmon.
    Sok sat across from Tsaani, the hearth coals warming the space between them. Blueberry picked up her birchbark sael and left the lodge. She would probably go to the cooking hearths at the center of the village to bring back something in case he or Sok was still hungry. Though he did not think he could eat more, he would try so Blueberry would know he appreciated her efforts.
    In politeness Sok did not speak, waiting, Tsaani knew, for him to begin the conversation. The warmth of the hearth fire and the fullness of his belly made Tsaani’s eyes turn toward sleep, but finally he asked, “Your belly is full?”
    Sok replied with raised eyebrows and laughter.
    “You should be ready for more,” Tsaani told him, and motioned toward his wife’s empty place on the women’s side of the lodge.
    When Blueberry returned, she offered her sael first to Tsaani, who saw with gladness that she did not bring more meat, but had gone to their raised storage cache and brought back cakes of dried berries and hardened caribou fat. He took a cake and held it up so Sok could see. Sok grunted his appreciation and took two. Blueberry’s cheeks dimpled, and she looked back over one shoulder at Tsaani, like a child seeking a father’s approval.
    Tsaani nodded his head at her. Blueberry was a useful woman. She had been well-named.
    Blue-head Duck had told Tsaani that a trader had come to their village that day. The river ice was strong—would be strong for at least another moon—so the man had come on foot, over the frozen rivers of late winter. He might have some small thing that would make a woman happy, especially if Tsaani offered him a bear claw.
    “Black Nose?” Sok asked as he bit into the berry cake.
    “The wounds are not deep,” Tsaani replied. “Do you have any goose grass?”
    “Yes,” Sok said. “My wife dried some last summer. It is not as good as fresh, but …” He lifted his hands and looked at the lodge walls as if he could see through the caribou skins to the snow outside. “I will bring you some, tonight if you like.”
    “No,” Tsaani answered. “Bring it tomorrow.” He paused and ate his berry cake, waved away Blueberry when she offered him more from the basket. Sok leaned forward and took another.
    “Black Nose is a good dog,” Tsaani said, “but she has never done such a thing before.”
    “Many hunters now hope to get one of her pups. It is good she was not killed.”
    “This was not her day to die. The great black one, he gave himself to us. When a man and his dogs are respectful, a bear knows this.”
    Sok shifted as though he were uncomfortable with Tsaani’s words. Twice he opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. Had Sok done something to break this good luck that had come to The People? Tsaani wondered. Sok was a hard man, harsh in his training of dogs and in the way he treated others, but he acted only as he had been taught. Who would expect anything different from someone raised by Fox Barking?
    “Another dog has died,” Sok finally said.
    “Another? Yours?”
    “Mine. The young male, black with white blaze.” Sok trailed a hand down the center of his face.
    Tsaani shook his head. The best of Sok’s young dogs. Two of Sok’s were dead, male and female, both from the same litter. And three other dogs in the village had also died in the past moon. One was old, though strong, but the others were like Sok’s dogs, young, and with no sign of illness.
    “There is some curse,” Sok said.
    “This is a village of careful people,” Tsaani answered. “Every man respects life; every woman observes taboos. What curse could we have? What have we done? Do you know who might have caused this?”
    For a long time Sok said nothing, then he spoke quietly, so quietly that Tsaani saw Blueberry, sewing as she sat near the lodge entrance, turn her head to hear him more clearly. “There are few changes in our village. Only