Raven's Child
Cara Tarakanov crouched and faced the masked figures that circled her. Weaving and dipping, they danced, lithe, glistening bodies silhouetted against leaping flames. Masks, carved from rich, dark wood into the shapes of killer whales, ravens and otters winked at her with twinkling abalone shell eyes, Abalone shells embedded into the eyes of killer whale and raven masks glistened, giving dual life to the dancers now circling closer.
"Leave me alone!" she Cara shouted in broken Tlingit, frantically trying to form sentences from the few words she'd picked up over the last year. The pounding of the drums thumped into the center of her already aching head. Backing away from their the dancers' advances, she fell backwards over a cedar limb. Seizing the branch, sShe snatched up the limb, scrambled to her feetfeet, and brandished it at themthe advancing figures.
"Get away from me."
The dancers paused and glanced at each other. The drummer faltered, thenand then increased the rhythm. A lone dancer twirled toward her, his mask a grinning octopus. Carved tentacles waved in the air, manipulated by sinewy strings held in his hands.
. Furiously yanking on strings that controlled the mask's arms, the dancer leaped at her.
"Kill her!"
Although Cara's understanding of the language was spotty at best, him implication was clear. She was to be sacraficed or disposed of. Either way, she was dead.
The drummer stopped pounding. The dancers stilled, thenand then parted to allow Klaida, the old chief, to squeeze through the line. A long robe of woven cedar fibers dragged across the ground, leaving a faint trail in the mud.
Lines furrowing his brow hinted at the depth of his anger. Cara cringed at the rage on his face. She was ruining his potlatch, destroying the celebration meant to honor his recent marriage.
"Kill her!" He"He threw out an arm and his long, jagged fingernail grazed the skin between her eyes.
The dancers surged forward. Cara raised the branch and whacked one on the knee. He howled and hopped away holding his leg. Cara darted toward the space made in the crowd, but it was quickly filled in by another dancer. Klaida snatched a slave killing club away from one of the chagrined dancers and brandished it.
"I will kill you myself," he said through gritted teeth. "And you will cause no more trouble."
Towering over her, he raised the club to its apex, and looked down into her face. She let the branch slip from her fingers and met his gaze squarely. At least her death would have some dignity. Closing her eyes, she waited for the blow that would end her enslavement and her miserable life.
After a moment's delay with no crushing blow, she cracked open an eye. Puzzlement filled Klaida's face as he stared down at her. He raised the Raising the club higher and waited, she knew, , he paused, and Cara knew he was waiting for for her pleas of mercy. Edging Jutting her chin forward, she stared straight back at him. Clouds scuttled across the full moon, casting the village into sudden darkness. A brief breeze made the fire's flames dance. Voices rumbled warnings about omens and superstitionsLand Otter Men lurking in the dark woods beyond, waiting to kidnap the careless and turn them into beings like themselves.
Klaida looked over his shoulder to his new wife, Palina. . She nodded encouragement to her husband and flashed Cara an arrogant, tight-lipped smile.
"Why do you not drop to your knees and beg?" he asked.
"Because I do not fear death as the others," Cara answered in his language.
He lowered the club slightly and frowned. "Why?"
"Because death will be a welcome end to my service to you and Palina."
He lowered the club another inch. "To die at your master's potlatch is an honorable thing for a slave. My guests will appreciate that I am a wealthy man, that I can afford to sacrifice my slaves." He waved the club toward the people crowding closer and they murmured their approval.
"Then kill me, Klaida, and be quick about it."
Wary voices rumbled louder about the dangers of angering the spiritswitches or owls or other mysterious beings that waited to snatch up and punish the disobedient. A puff of wind blew snowflakes across Cara’s face and she shivered from the cold.
"Kill me," she ordered, seeing hestitation in his face. . "Why do you wait?"
His slid gaze away from hers. The north wind again blew the clouds aside and bright moonlight flooded the ceremonial grounds. Klaida lifted the club with both hands and grinned triumphantly. A hand grabbed his arm.
Cara's breath caught in her throat and Klaida's mouth fell open in surprise.
"Yeł-tłed. Why do you interfere in this?" Klaida asked, slowly lowering the club.
"The host of so fine a potlatch would offer a guest the thing he desires most, Klaida.," the tall warrior answered in a deep, satiny voice answered.
Cara tore her gaze away from the club and focused on the frightening mask in front of her. The front was the carved image of a man, his teeth bared in anger. A salmon with eyes of sparkling shell and teeth painted in brilliant red sprawled across the figure's head.
"What of mine do you wish?" Klaida" Klaida asked, relinquishing the club to the masked man.
Tattoos of a raven and a whale covered long, muscular legs. A brief bark apron hung from his waist to mid-thigh. Muscles bulged from arms covered with spidery tattoos and thigh muscles strained against skin covered with more inky images. of whales and ravens. Above that, images of romping otters and soaring eagles marked a chest sprinkled with coarse black hair was marked with images of romping otters and soaring eagles.
"I wish her." Tall Dancer dropped the club to the ground and pointed at Cara.
Klaida laughed nervously. . "She will only bring you trouble, Yeł-tłed. She is disobedient, and my wife beats her regularly."
He studied her wordlessly. Cara strained to see his eyes, to somehow assess this man bargaining for her life, but they were hidden by the mask.
"She will obey me." His voice promised he would tolerate no nonsense.
He grabbed her wrist and hauled her against his chest. Grabbing a handful of her short, cropped hair, he yanked her head back and looked into her face. Black eyes snapped at her through the holes in the mask. He loosened his grip and his fingers slid down her neck, out onto her shoulders, and down her arm. His touch was gentle, warm, almost tender, yet he smelled of the urine men anointed their bodies with in honor of the potlatch celebration, a scent she had learned to hatedespise in the last year.
Scratching and biting, sShe launched herself at his face, scratching and biting, hoping to surprise him. . Caught off guard, he stumbled backwards, and she bolted for the fringe of dense cedars beyond the firelight. She could smell the pungent scent of the deep forest when someone grabbed her from behind and spun her around. He held her upper arm in a vise-like grip. Gales of laughter and crude remarks erupted from behind him. He bent down, scooped her up, and tossed her over his shoulder. Feet dangling, Cara kicked and squirmed and beat on the small of his back with both fists.
"Будьте неподвижноBe still," he hissed in Russian, fingers digging into her thighs.. "Be still."
Cara was stopped, stunned. How did this man know Russian, and better yet, how did he know she spoke it?
"Are you sure you can handle her, Yeł-tłed?"
Cara recognized Palina's voice and craned her head around to see the young woman approaching them.
"Yes. I have work for her," he answered.
Palina sidled closer. . "She never obeyed me even though I beat her every day." She ran her hand down Tall Dancer's arm. . "Will you train her like one of your sled dogs?" Another step closer and Palina pressed against Cara's legs and smiled slyly into the man's masked face.
"If you two are through, put me down." Cara struggled against arms that tightened around her like an iron band.
"Будьте неподвижноBe still," he hissed again in Russian.
""Я не буду все еще. Положено мне внизI won't be still. Put me down.." she answered. I won't be still. Put me down!"
Palina narrowed her eyes at the strange language between them. frowned. "What language is it you speak? It is no tongue that I know."
Cara felt his muscles tense and wondered if she had gone too far. Why hadn't she just kept her mouth shut?
"She speaks the Na Dene. It is common near my people at Yakutat,." " he answered, switching back to Tlingit.
Palina paused for a moment, considering, then squeaked out a laugh and swayed off. His grip tightened and he strode toward the houses of the village. Would he kill her himself? They passed the first line of long, plank houses that clustered around the common ground. Reaching the center of the village, Cara was surprised when they entered a long house crowded with people. She recognized several from the ceremony that had nearly cost her her life. Her head bounced as he plopped her onto her feet and shoved her to the ground. "Sit here."
He yanked a thong of leather out of his belt, quickly encircled her wrists and ankleankles, ands, then tied her to a Raven totem. "Пребывание там. Stay there," he ordered. Reaching down into a sealskin bag, he pulled out a fringed dancing shirt and pulled it over his head.
"Dance for us, Yeł-tłed," Klaida shouted from across the circle of people, the previous confrontation apparently forgotten.
The crowd echoed his words. Yeł-tłed padded to the center of the circle. someone handed him two featered wings.
At the first strike of the drum, he crouched, and the drumbeats grew louder and quicker. With the wings in his hands, he began to dip and weave. Hushed, the crowd sat spellbound while the fringed trim on his dancing shirt swirled around him. With hHe became the terrible figure on the mask he wore. Children on the front row huddled against their mothers and buried their faces in ample bosoms. The drum thumped louder and his dance became angry, demanding.
Drumbeats thumped along with Cara's racing pulse. Fear warred with fascination as she was drawn into the story he wove with only arms and legs. The beat escalated and the music built to a climax. Faster and faster he danced, stirring a cloud of dust between his bare feet.
The dance reached a crescendo with his last leap and the house roared to life in cheers and shouts. Then, he was beside her. He sliced through her bonds with a knife and unceremoniously tossed her across his shoulder again.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked in Russian, cringing as he ducked to pass through the low door. His only response was a grunt.
Watching the ground recede, she bobbed along until they approached the edge of the village. She raised her head to look forward and his fingers bit into her thigh.
"I just wanted to see where we were going."
He made no response, then kicked open the door of an empty long, plank house whose door was guarded by two elaborate whale totem poles. He set her on her feet and pushed her into the blackness. She stumbled over a bundle and fell to her knees. . The soft fur of animal pelts squeezed between her fingers.
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that he had moved inside, away from the doorway. The light of freedom shone from the outside.
"Are you going to stay there or do I have to tie you?" His voice was rich, deep, and threatening as he spoke the Russian syllables. Easing back against the furs, she reassessed her enemy while he studied her legscars. He was tall and powerful and could probably crush her with one hand. How much about her did he know? How had he known she was Russian and what was he going to do about it? Did he intend to take her away and kill her later? Or would she simply trade one master for another?
Without another word, he rose and whirled away. With dismay, Cara watched the sliver of light disappear with the closing of the door.
"Leave me alone!" she Cara shouted in broken Tlingit, frantically trying to form sentences from the few words she'd picked up over the last year. The pounding of the drums thumped into the center of her already aching head. Backing away from their the dancers' advances, she fell backwards over a cedar limb. Seizing the branch, sShe snatched up the limb, scrambled to her feetfeet, and brandished it at themthe advancing figures.
"Get away from me."
The dancers paused and glanced at each other. The drummer faltered, thenand then increased the rhythm. A lone dancer twirled toward her, his mask a grinning octopus. Carved tentacles waved in the air, manipulated by sinewy strings held in his hands.
. Furiously yanking on strings that controlled the mask's arms, the dancer leaped at her.
"Kill her!"
Although Cara's understanding of the language was spotty at best, him implication was clear. She was to be sacraficed or disposed of. Either way, she was dead.
The drummer stopped pounding. The dancers stilled, thenand then parted to allow Klaida, the old chief, to squeeze through the line. A long robe of woven cedar fibers dragged across the ground, leaving a faint trail in the mud.
Lines furrowing his brow hinted at the depth of his anger. Cara cringed at the rage on his face. She was ruining his potlatch, destroying the celebration meant to honor his recent marriage.
"Kill her!" He"He threw out an arm and his long, jagged fingernail grazed the skin between her eyes.
The dancers surged forward. Cara raised the branch and whacked one on the knee. He howled and hopped away holding his leg. Cara darted toward the space made in the crowd, but it was quickly filled in by another dancer. Klaida snatched a slave killing club away from one of the chagrined dancers and brandished it.
"I will kill you myself," he said through gritted teeth. "And you will cause no more trouble."
Towering over her, he raised the club to its apex, and looked down into her face. She let the branch slip from her fingers and met his gaze squarely. At least her death would have some dignity. Closing her eyes, she waited for the blow that would end her enslavement and her miserable life.
After a moment's delay with no crushing blow, she cracked open an eye. Puzzlement filled Klaida's face as he stared down at her. He raised the Raising the club higher and waited, she knew, , he paused, and Cara knew he was waiting for for her pleas of mercy. Edging Jutting her chin forward, she stared straight back at him. Clouds scuttled across the full moon, casting the village into sudden darkness. A brief breeze made the fire's flames dance. Voices rumbled warnings about omens and superstitionsLand Otter Men lurking in the dark woods beyond, waiting to kidnap the careless and turn them into beings like themselves.
Klaida looked over his shoulder to his new wife, Palina. . She nodded encouragement to her husband and flashed Cara an arrogant, tight-lipped smile.
"Why do you not drop to your knees and beg?" he asked.
"Because I do not fear death as the others," Cara answered in his language.
He lowered the club slightly and frowned. "Why?"
"Because death will be a welcome end to my service to you and Palina."
He lowered the club another inch. "To die at your master's potlatch is an honorable thing for a slave. My guests will appreciate that I am a wealthy man, that I can afford to sacrifice my slaves." He waved the club toward the people crowding closer and they murmured their approval.
"Then kill me, Klaida, and be quick about it."
Wary voices rumbled louder about the dangers of angering the spiritswitches or owls or other mysterious beings that waited to snatch up and punish the disobedient. A puff of wind blew snowflakes across Cara’s face and she shivered from the cold.
"Kill me," she ordered, seeing hestitation in his face. . "Why do you wait?"
His slid gaze away from hers. The north wind again blew the clouds aside and bright moonlight flooded the ceremonial grounds. Klaida lifted the club with both hands and grinned triumphantly. A hand grabbed his arm.
Cara's breath caught in her throat and Klaida's mouth fell open in surprise.
"Yeł-tłed. Why do you interfere in this?" Klaida asked, slowly lowering the club.
"The host of so fine a potlatch would offer a guest the thing he desires most, Klaida.," the tall warrior answered in a deep, satiny voice answered.
Cara tore her gaze away from the club and focused on the frightening mask in front of her. The front was the carved image of a man, his teeth bared in anger. A salmon with eyes of sparkling shell and teeth painted in brilliant red sprawled across the figure's head.
"What of mine do you wish?" Klaida" Klaida asked, relinquishing the club to the masked man.
Tattoos of a raven and a whale covered long, muscular legs. A brief bark apron hung from his waist to mid-thigh. Muscles bulged from arms covered with spidery tattoos and thigh muscles strained against skin covered with more inky images. of whales and ravens. Above that, images of romping otters and soaring eagles marked a chest sprinkled with coarse black hair was marked with images of romping otters and soaring eagles.
"I wish her." Tall Dancer dropped the club to the ground and pointed at Cara.
Klaida laughed nervously. . "She will only bring you trouble, Yeł-tłed. She is disobedient, and my wife beats her regularly."
He studied her wordlessly. Cara strained to see his eyes, to somehow assess this man bargaining for her life, but they were hidden by the mask.
"She will obey me." His voice promised he would tolerate no nonsense.
He grabbed her wrist and hauled her against his chest. Grabbing a handful of her short, cropped hair, he yanked her head back and looked into her face. Black eyes snapped at her through the holes in the mask. He loosened his grip and his fingers slid down her neck, out onto her shoulders, and down her arm. His touch was gentle, warm, almost tender, yet he smelled of the urine men anointed their bodies with in honor of the potlatch celebration, a scent she had learned to hatedespise in the last year.
Scratching and biting, sShe launched herself at his face, scratching and biting, hoping to surprise him. . Caught off guard, he stumbled backwards, and she bolted for the fringe of dense cedars beyond the firelight. She could smell the pungent scent of the deep forest when someone grabbed her from behind and spun her around. He held her upper arm in a vise-like grip. Gales of laughter and crude remarks erupted from behind him. He bent down, scooped her up, and tossed her over his shoulder. Feet dangling, Cara kicked and squirmed and beat on the small of his back with both fists.
"Будьте неподвижноBe still," he hissed in Russian, fingers digging into her thighs.. "Be still."
Cara was stopped, stunned. How did this man know Russian, and better yet, how did he know she spoke it?
"Are you sure you can handle her, Yeł-tłed?"
Cara recognized Palina's voice and craned her head around to see the young woman approaching them.
"Yes. I have work for her," he answered.
Palina sidled closer. . "She never obeyed me even though I beat her every day." She ran her hand down Tall Dancer's arm. . "Will you train her like one of your sled dogs?" Another step closer and Palina pressed against Cara's legs and smiled slyly into the man's masked face.
"If you two are through, put me down." Cara struggled against arms that tightened around her like an iron band.
"Будьте неподвижноBe still," he hissed again in Russian.
""Я не буду все еще. Положено мне внизI won't be still. Put me down.." she answered. I won't be still. Put me down!"
Palina narrowed her eyes at the strange language between them. frowned. "What language is it you speak? It is no tongue that I know."
Cara felt his muscles tense and wondered if she had gone too far. Why hadn't she just kept her mouth shut?
"She speaks the Na Dene. It is common near my people at Yakutat,." " he answered, switching back to Tlingit.
Palina paused for a moment, considering, then squeaked out a laugh and swayed off. His grip tightened and he strode toward the houses of the village. Would he kill her himself? They passed the first line of long, plank houses that clustered around the common ground. Reaching the center of the village, Cara was surprised when they entered a long house crowded with people. She recognized several from the ceremony that had nearly cost her her life. Her head bounced as he plopped her onto her feet and shoved her to the ground. "Sit here."
He yanked a thong of leather out of his belt, quickly encircled her wrists and ankleankles, ands, then tied her to a Raven totem. "Пребывание там. Stay there," he ordered. Reaching down into a sealskin bag, he pulled out a fringed dancing shirt and pulled it over his head.
"Dance for us, Yeł-tłed," Klaida shouted from across the circle of people, the previous confrontation apparently forgotten.
The crowd echoed his words. Yeł-tłed padded to the center of the circle. someone handed him two featered wings.
At the first strike of the drum, he crouched, and the drumbeats grew louder and quicker. With the wings in his hands, he began to dip and weave. Hushed, the crowd sat spellbound while the fringed trim on his dancing shirt swirled around him. With hHe became the terrible figure on the mask he wore. Children on the front row huddled against their mothers and buried their faces in ample bosoms. The drum thumped louder and his dance became angry, demanding.
Drumbeats thumped along with Cara's racing pulse. Fear warred with fascination as she was drawn into the story he wove with only arms and legs. The beat escalated and the music built to a climax. Faster and faster he danced, stirring a cloud of dust between his bare feet.
The dance reached a crescendo with his last leap and the house roared to life in cheers and shouts. Then, he was beside her. He sliced through her bonds with a knife and unceremoniously tossed her across his shoulder again.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked in Russian, cringing as he ducked to pass through the low door. His only response was a grunt.
Watching the ground recede, she bobbed along until they approached the edge of the village. She raised her head to look forward and his fingers bit into her thigh.
"I just wanted to see where we were going."
He made no response, then kicked open the door of an empty long, plank house whose door was guarded by two elaborate whale totem poles. He set her on her feet and pushed her into the blackness. She stumbled over a bundle and fell to her knees. . The soft fur of animal pelts squeezed between her fingers.
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that he had moved inside, away from the doorway. The light of freedom shone from the outside.
"Are you going to stay there or do I have to tie you?" His voice was rich, deep, and threatening as he spoke the Russian syllables. Easing back against the furs, she reassessed her enemy while he studied her legscars. He was tall and powerful and could probably crush her with one hand. How much about her did he know? How had he known she was Russian and what was he going to do about it? Did he intend to take her away and kill her later? Or would she simply trade one master for another?
Without another word, he rose and whirled away. With dismay, Cara watched the sliver of light disappear with the closing of the door.
