The Great Alone by Janet Dailey Read Free Book Online Page A

on one of the seats and folded her arms in front of her, rigidly asserting her refusal to budge.
    Luka surveyed her grimly. “If you are that determined to go aboard the shitik, old woman, we will take you.” He motioned for the other promyshleniki to let her be.
    With the help of another man, Luka pushed the boat into the water, then climbed in. There was space on the seat beside the old woman and he settled himself onto it. He glanced at her, puzzled by the lack of fear she showed. But she kept her eyes to the front, looking to neither side and centering all her attention on the shitik where the youth had been taken. Luka assessed the glossy dark garment of sea otter skins she wore. The fur showed wear in places, but the pelts were prime.
    As soon as the dinghy was tied up to the shitik, Luka climbed aboard and waited by the rail to haul the old woman aboard. When Shekhurdin saw her, he exploded. “What is she doing here? Why didn’t you leave her on the island?”
    “She insisted on coming,” Luka replied. “And I thought”—Luka went on, pushing the old woman forward so the others could see her—“the men might like to have a look at her coat, made from the pelts of sea otter.”
    Belyaev was the first to step up and closely study the quality of the furs. Then he lifted the old woman’s chin so he could see her face. “Ugly old hag.” He grinned. “Wonder if she has any teeth left?” He stuck a thumb and finger into her mouth to pry it open and she bit down—hard, judging by the way Belyaev yelped and pulled the injured digit away. “Why, you old witch—” He raised an arm to backhand her, but Chuprov checked the swing with a steel grip of his wrist.
    “Neither of these hostages are to be abused.” The command was issued to everyone. “We will gain nothing if the natives learn we have mistreated the hostages.”
    With an effort, Belyaev controlled his temper and slowly brought his arm down. He sneered at the woman, then turned away, changing the sneer into a jeering smile directed at Luka. “The next time you bring back spirited female hostages, Luka Ivanovich, make sure they are young ones. An old witch like this one could give me no pleasure.”
    “A woman is a woman. The nights are dark. You couldn’t see her face.” Then Luka smiled. “Or maybe you fear what she might bite next?”
    A dull red crept under Belyaev’s skin at the hooting laughter the remark drew. He glared at Luka, then swung away, making a contemptuous sound in his throat. The old woman took advantage of the distraction and quickly crossed the deck to the boy.
     
     

 
    CHAPTER III
     
     
    Weaver Woman, as she was called by her people, quickly looked Little Spear over to see if he was seriously hurt. There was a knot on his temple the size of a gull’s egg, but his eyes were clear. There showed in them a small gladness that she was here with him to share this ordeal.
    But that was as it should be. They were anaaqisagh to each other. That is, dependent upon each other. It was a custom of their people that when a child is born an older person is appointed anaaqisagh to him. From the time Little Spear was small, Weaver Woman had made certain he had food, clothing, and instruction. Everything was shared between them. He was never criticized that she was not also. When he was in pain, she cried for him.
    Weaver Woman had lived for sixty summers, and Little Spear for only sixteen, but the link solidly bound them in interdependence. Now her bones were getting stiff with age, her fingers gnarled with pain. Still she managed to force her aching hands to weave the grasses into the fine baskets that were the trademarks of her skill. Soon, not many summers away, it would be Little Spear who would help her out of this world as she had helped him into it, caring for her as she had cared for him.
    That was the way. It was what had brought her to this strange boat made of wood among this odd-looking race of men. All that happened to