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

Little Spear must happen to her. She would have failed in her duty to him if she had not done this.
    Her legs were tired, so she sat down on the rough planks of wood. Little Spear joined her. The habits of observation had taught each of them when to speak to a man and when to stay out of his way. All the signs told them the latter for this band of men, signs easily read by anyone trained to watch for them—the look of their faces, the pulsing veins in the temples, the thinning of the lips. So they sat silently.
    Weaver Woman noticed the slash in the skin side of Little Spear’s parka where it had been cut in the fight. The feathered side was against his body, as it should be, since the weather was warm and this was not a social occasion. She wished she had her needles to mend the tear for him, but they were in the hut.
    Covertly she studied the men milling about the boat. The sky was full of storm signs. Weaver Woman wondered why these men did not see that. Her glance lingered in dislike on the big one with all the black whiskers on his face, the one who had stuck his fingers in her mouth. He had the cold, cruel eyes of the white-headed eagle, an evil darkness in the centers. She didn’t trust him.
    The one who had stopped him from striking her, the one with hair the color of a seal pup, that one must be the chief, Weaver Woman concluded. She hadn’t made up her mind about him yet. He was the one the husband of her daughter had described after he had paddled over from Agattu Island yesterday to warn them about the strange raiders with the thunder sticks. His village had danced a welcome for them, but when this man had brought his warriors onto the beach, he had accepted a beautiful carved ivory stick, very valuable, then refused to give his iron stick in return. That was very bad. According to her daughter’s husband, he shouted to the sticks and they made a loud noise—louder than thunder. And a cousin who had been too close received a hole in his hand. Weaver Woman didn’t think the light-haired man respected the ways of the people.
    Half fearfully, she wondered what was to become of them. They would probably be taken in this boat to the village of these men and made their slaves. Little Spear was young and strong, but she was old and not much use any more. Maybe they wouldn’t keep her. As the thought crossed her mind, she looked at the man with the scar eye. The jagged mark across his face gave him a mean look. She had seen the wish to kill in his eyes, yet he hadn’t thrown her off the boat. He’d made the other men let her come.
    The wind picked up in strength, and Weaver Woman hunched her shoulders and lowered her chin so the stand-up collar of her parka could afford her some protection from the gale. The storm rolled toward the strange boat, appearing like a solid wall of black. Only now did these oddly dressed men notice it.
    She listened to their shouts, catching the desperation in their voices without understanding the words, and watched them scurry about the boat. She wondered if they were from alyeska, the mainland. They obviously were not from these islands or they would know how quickly storms could strike and would watch for the signs before the wind lashed the sea into a fury.
    Waves tossed the boat about wildly. The wood made groaning sounds, as if it was in great agony. Someone yelled and she saw the little wooden boat floating away, its rope trailing in the water. The rain came down in sheets, drenching everything and everyone. Some men grabbed her and Little Spear and made them go down into the belly of the boat.
     
    As the storm raged, the shitik wallowed helplessly in the heavy seas, the gale-force winds driving it away from the island chain. Only the navigator, his mate, and occasionally Chuprov remained on deck, trying to keep some control of the shitik. Everyone else, including the two hostages, took refuge below.
    The green timbers of the shitik’s hull creaked and shuddered constantly.