The Storyteller Trilogy Read Online Free PDF Page A

caribou hides that were stretched over the lodge poles, to the thick mats on the floor. It was a good winter lodge. It would be a comfortable place to stay, and Snow-in-her-hair’s father seemed to be a wise man. It would not be difficult to live with this family.
    Snow-in-her-hair stood to receive another gift: a willow basket made of roots, split and woven. Inside was a flicker skin. The spotted feathers of that bird—a bird a man might see only once or twice during a whole lifetime—would bring them luck in their marriage.
    He thanked the one who had given it—an old woman he had heard called Ligige’. Her back was humped and bent so he could not look into her face, but he saw the respect others in the lodge gave the woman, the place made for her on the honored side of the fire.
    She mumbled something when he thanked her, then began to turn away. Suddenly she stopped. She stared at his feet, and he felt the heat of her eyes, as though in looking she had kindled a fire. With effort, she straightened, looked into his face, gasped. She said nothing, only averted her gaze, covered her mouth with one hand. But as she walked away, Chakliux felt Gguzaakk’s spirit move like a fitful wind, blowing from all directions.
    Sok watched Snow-in-her-hair, let his eyes caress her long graceful arms, the small mounds of her breasts under her parka. Tonight she would become wife of the Cousin River hunter, the man whose feet belonged to otter. Did he appreciate her beauty? Sok had watched the man carefully, saw no great joy in his eyes when he looked at Snow-in-her-hair. Maybe he was more otter than man. Maybe he wanted a woman like Happy Mouth, who looked like an otter.
    The first time Sok remembered seeing Snow-in-her-hair she had been a child playing in the dirt outside her mother’s lodge. Even then he had recognized her beauty and had stooped to join her play, until one of his hunting partners saw him and laughed, mocking.
    He could have waited ten years, saved a bride price that even a shaman would not refuse, but his loins had burned with need. Even when he hunted, he could think of nothing but women. The animals sensed his disrespect and refused to give themselves to his spears. Finally, even his stepfather noticed and told him to take a wife. Sok had taken Red Leaf, a good woman. She had given him two fine, strong sons, but each time he saw Snow-in-her-hair he wished he had waited.
    He had considered asking for her as second wife, but a man of The People rarely had a second wife unless his first was barren or sickly, and Red Leaf was neither. His only hope was to become chief hunter or a celebrated warrior. Warriors and chief hunters often had two or even three wives. But now there was this otter man. The stink of the Cousin River Village was still on him. Snow-in-her-hair deserved better.
    “Do not let her see him,” Ligige’ told her brother. “At least until after this night, until they have sealed with their bodies what has been said in words, and her father has accepted the man’s gifts.”
    “Is that wise?” her brother asked. “Truth cannot be changed.”
    “This marriage gives hope for peace. You know our young hunters seek any excuse to fight against the Cousin River Village. They foul their own traplines to give reason.”
    Tsaani nodded. His sister was right. And it would not be the first time there had been fighting between this village of The People and the Cousin River Village. With only a two- or three-day walk between winter villages and less between summer fish camps, the people saw each other too often, thought of too many reasons to hold anger against one another, especially since the salmon runs had been poor in the past few years.
    But only the few who were oldest in this village—his sister Ligige’, Blue-head Duck and he, himself—could remember the last fighting. Words were not strong enough to explain the horror: young men killed, days of mourning, and hard winters with too few hunters in