Ivory Carver 02 - My Sister the Moon by Sue Harrison

them to their own villages under the sea. 
    And finally the warmth of Samiq's skin against hers, the weight of his arms over her and the rhythm of his breathing pulled her into dreams. 
    Her father was screaming at her. Something she had done or not done. He raised his walking stick, brought it down hard against her face, over her shoulders. Others were watching as her father beat her, as he raised his stick again and again. She would never be a woman, he was screaming, never be a wife, never a mother. She was nothing. She had no soul, was worth nothing. 
    Kiin curled herself into a ball, protected her eyes and ears from his stick. "You are Kiin," her spirit told her. "Kiin. You have a soul. He cannot take it away from you. Even with his stick. Even with his beatings. You are Kiin. Kiin. Kiin." 
    But the beating continued, then hands were reaching for her, pulling her away from her father, pulling her from the  pain, whispering her name: "Kiin, you are safe. You are here with me. I won't let anyone hurt you. Kiin, Kiin." 
    It was Samiq. Kiin reached up to him, pulled him close to her. "Samiq, my husband," she whispered. "Samiq." 
    She stroked the smooth skin of his chest, the soft darkness of his hair, and she felt his hands against her back, reaching down to clasp her close as she wound her legs around him. She felt his man part grow and stiffen against her, and she could not keep herself from touching him. . .. 
    "Please," she whispered, "please, I want to be your wife." 
    Kiin woke early. Samiq lay with one leg thrown over her legs, his hand over hers. Slowly she pulled away from him, sat up and straightened her apron. For a moment, she allowed herself to look at Samiq, at the smooth brown of his skin, the darkness of his hair. 
    "It was a dream," her spirit told her. 
    Yes, it was a dream, Kiin thought. She looked at the smooth unmarked skin of her arms and legs. Her father had not beaten her. It had been a dream. 
    She went out into the main room of the ulaq, set out food and packed several storage containers with dried fish for Samiq, Amgigh and Kayugh to take with them. 
    When the food was out, Kiin took Amgigh's parka and settled herself on a mat near her sewing basket. The parka was torn under one arm and she wanted to repair it before he left. She wanted the Whale Hunter women to know she was a good wife. 
    "A good wife . . . after Samiq?" some spirit seemed to whisper. 
    "It was a dream," Kiin's own spirit answered, and the words slid through Kiin's mind as she punched awl holes on either side of the tear and selected a piece of sealskin for a patch. She was tying a strand of twisted sinew to the end of her needle when she saw the door flap of Samiq's sleeping place open. 
    She glanced up. Samiq stood watching her. She smiled, and as she smiled, his eyes caught her eyes, held them. And  suddenly she felt as though she were again in his arms, and she remembered his body strong and moving against her body and the warmth of him within her, and she knew it had not been a dream. 
    "Wife," Samiq said, the word so soft, Kiin heard it only by seeing the sound of it on Samiq's lips. "Wife." 

FIFTEEN
    KIIN DID NOT FOLLOW THE OTHERS TO THE BEACH. Perhaps it would have been all right for her to do so. It was not a hunting trip. Amgigh would not curse himself if he touched her or allowed his eyes to linger too long, his thoughts to stray to nights spent with his wife. And Samiq . . . No, he was not her husband. He could not be cursed by her presence. But Kiin thought it would be better for her to stay in the ulaq. She would cut sea lion esophagus for boot tops, and in that way show the spirits that she expected the quick return of her husband and her husband's father. But as she worked, she felt her own spirit pressing out against her skin, pushing on her legs and feet until she could no longer sit still. 
    She rolled up her work and began striding from one side of the ulaq to the other, pacing until finally