Shadows

by Ken Altabef

“She would,” said Higilak. While the others stuffed their berries into seal pokes, the old woman carried a fancy ivory basket her husband had carved long ago. The slender basket didn’t hold many but she always used it for berry picking.

  “I don’t blame her,” admitted Tooky. “I killed her husband.” Tooky, no longer in mourning, wore her hair in two long black braids framing her young face.

  “You didn’t kill anyone,” said Ben. Coming from him, this statement seemed to mean a lot to Tooky. Her lips twitched slightly but nothing more, as if she was afraid to smile. Childlike and hesitant in her movements, Tooky seemed so fragile.

  Tooky added, “I’ve always been bad luck. Before me, my mother gave birth to two dead children. To break her luck, she gave me away to her sister to bring up.” She drew her slender fingers down the branch, leaving two plump red berries in their wake without plucking them. “Then she went away. I never saw her again.”

  “Maybe she was the bad luck,” offered Pilarqaq. “Maybe that’s why she went away.”

  Tooky looked pensive. “There’s little difference. Which is worse or better? To be bad luck or born to a mother who was such bad luck she had to go away?”

  “If anyone brought bad luck here, it was me,” said Ben.

  “Tssk,” said Higilak. “Hush now.”

  “It’s fate,” said Ben, with a blistering look toward the old woman. “How can anyone fight it? Some people aren’t meant to be happy. When things are good for them, it’s all a lie. I know.”

  “What nonsense is this?” said Pilarqaq, with a toss of her head. “The Ben we know is a fighter. Always has been.” Turning to Tooky, she explained, “Ben helped Alaana escape from the Yupikut. They saved our whole village.”

  Noticing the way Ben’s face hardened at mention of the Yupikut, Pilarqaq added, “He’s a wonderful father to his children.” Then, realizing this statement also brought sorrow, she lost her grip on the seal poke. Her catch of salmonberries tumbled out across the muddy snow. She called Noona, urging the girl to help pick them up.

  Ben continued, “Ask Higilak. She knows. You can’t escape what’s fated to happen.”

  Tooky turned toward the old woman, her eyes gaping wide. “Is that true? Do the spirits control everything that happens to us?”

  “Alaana would say otherwise,” said Itoriksak, directing his comment at Ben.

  “I suppose,” said Higilak, “the truth lies somewhere in between. Some things we can control and others are decided for us.”

  “But which ones are which?” asked Tooky.

  Higilak shrugged. “That’s the test we face. Don’t ask me. There are some things even an old woman doesn’t know, after all.”

  Ben said darkly, “There’s a shadow still hanging over you.”

  “If you’re talking about Beluga Killer’s vengeance, I did escape it. Twice. Once by Old Manatook’s hand and once because of Alaana.”

  Ben recalled the horrific image of Beluga Killer, the angry ghost of a polar bear Higilak’s father had wronged, as it bore down on the old woman, thirsting for vengeance. “And do you feel like it’s done? You told Alaana once that she did the wrong thing, saving you. That she should have left things alone. That you were meant to die, and how something bad would come of it.”

  The old woman frowned. “Well, perhaps I was wrong in that. So many years have passed, and no ill wind has blown our way.” She gasped, obviously thinking of Tama, and struggled to correct herself.

  Ben thought them all very silly, trying to dance around his misery. The truth of it was, wherever the conversation turned, Tamuanuaq was there.

  “Kinak!” yelled Ben. The young boy was stuffing berries in Tiki’s mouth. The tupilaq spit them out, drooling red juice like blood.

  Ben snatched the boy’s hand, thinking his fingers had been cut on the tupilaq’s sharp teeth. “Don’t do that. He doesn’t eat berries.”

  “What does he eat?” asked Kinak.

  “Little boys, I think!” joked Itoriksak.

  Kinak chuckled and wiped his sticky fingers on the hem of his sister’s parka. “Stop it!” said Noona, “You wretched little thing.”

  “Let’s talk about something else,” said Pilarqaq. “Who do you think they will choose? Could it be Maguan?”

  “The answer is obvious,” Ben said. “It must be Aquppak. I like Maguan well enough — everyone does — but he isn’t the best choice.”

  “Aquppak’s no good,” said the old woman ominously. “Years ago he sent his poor grandfather out onto the tundra to die, and then drove his aunt Tikiquatta to the same fate. I’ve told them all that, but would they listen to an old woman?”

  “Maybe Aquppak has changed,” said Itoriksak. “He has two children of his own. He’s very generous…”

  “He wants to be headman too much,” said Old Higilak. “I’ve seen it before. Ambition is an ill wind that blows nobody any good.”

  “Just so long as it’s not Talliituk,” said Tooky.

  Itoriksak seemed genuinely surprised. “Oh? Don’t you think you should support your husband’s son?”

  Tooky spat on the ground. “I’m out of that family. For good. I don’t care if I starve! I don’t care if I die!” Something in her voice caught. Tooky’s eyes shifted suddenly, her nostrils flared slightly.

  Noona tugged at Ben’s sleeve. “Tooky’s got a secret,” she said.

  “Hush child,” returned Ben. “She’s upset.”

  “Tooky, you shouldn’t be all alone,” suggested Pilarqaq. “When we move the camp, don’t bother packing up that rotten tent. That shabby thing is going to blow down with the first big gust that comes along.”

  “Are you inviting me into your home?” asked Tooky. “Maguan–”

  “Not as a wife,” said Pilarqaq. “As a sister.”

  “I don’t want to be a wife ever again,” said Tooky.

  “That’s a hard road,” said Higilak. “Some say without children you aren’t a woman at all.”

  Tooky glanced at Ben guiltily then looked away.

  Noona tugged gently at Ben’s sleeve. “Secret,” she whispered.

  “That’s a funny thing for you to say, Old Mother,” said Pilarqaq. “You never had any children.”

  “Foo!” said Higilak. “When Manatook died, I couldn’t go on alone. My heart wanted to stop beating. And it would have, if not for my children. Adopted or not, Alaana and Ben are my lifeblood.”

  She gave Ben’s hand a squeeze. “What would I do without you?”

  She had left the men seated in an orderly fashion outside the karigi. But now Alaana stepped out into summer’s eve to find them in total disarray, standing in irregular groups, jostling each other amid raised voices. Kigiuna had grabbed the front of Nuralak’s parka and was threatening him. The two were arguing over some old grievance involving a ruined kayak.

  Iggy shouted in an attempt to quell the commotion. “Alaana! Alaana has come out!”

  Heads turned but some of the arguments continued. A new wave of raised voices broke out, men who sought to silence the others so that the angatkok might speak.

  “Tell us, angatkok, of all that you have learned.”

  “Tekkeitsertok, as usual, has been generous. The caribou shall make the crossing at the–”

  “Hold!” Massautsiaq raised a hand in a hunter’s sign. “The men must tell first, or it’s no test.”

  It was true.

  Talliituk stepped forward eagerly. “I will speak first, as is my right.” He nodded at Alaana.

  Alaana wasn’t sure Talliituk had claim to any such privilege but let it pass. Someone must be first; it might as well be him.

  Talliituk raised his arms dramatically. “I have determined the point of the caribou’s crossing,” he said loudly, “using the methods of my father.”

  Snickers erupted from the gathered men, but Tallituk paid them no heed. “My father’s blood runs in my veins,” he said. His eyes shifted nervously as he added, “He speaks to me.”

  “From the bottom
of the sea?” chided Nuralak. “No one could believe such a thing.”

  “In my heart,” said Talliituk with a contrite bow of his head and a questionable quaver in his voice. “He speaks to me in my heart.”

  None could argue with that, but Aquppak said, “I’m fairly sure that conversations with the dead were not the methods Tugtutsiak used for tracking game.”

  “And the caribou?” asked Alaana, eager to get the conversation back on track.

  “They shall cross at the base of the Big Nose. An ideal spot for an ambush.”

  Nuralak objected. “He knows nothing. He is simply predicting the same place as last year.”

  “So what?” said Talliituk, “That doesn’t mean it’s not the correct place. Alaana, am I right?”

  “Not yet,” said Alaana. “Let’s hear from the others.”

  “Go ahead, Maguan,” urged Iggy. “You must be able to do better than that.”

  Maguan reluctantly took a place at the head of the crowd. “I think they will cross to the south of the Big Nose, most likely at the place where the Tongue of Man crosses into the flats.”

  “And your method?” asked Massautsiaq.

  “If one pays attention to the migrations from year to year and draws them in the snow, a pattern shows itself. The herds travel closer to the south each year, looking for the places where the long grasses still grow. If we go to the south of Big Nose, we’ll find them.”

  Mutters of approval came from the hunters, many of whom must have noticed the same pattern.

  “The pattern will not hold true this year,” said Aquppak, stepping boldly to the front. “The caribou will cross at the bend of the Silver Tongue where it makes its sharp change of course toward the west.”

  “That place is far away,” said Kigiuna. “We can’t afford to make a mistake.”

  Aquppak looked back at him, a shock of black hair falling over one eye. In his youth, Alaana remembered Aquppak constantly pushing the hair aside with what many considered a feminine gesture. Now he let the hair stubbornly lay, causing him to tilt his head to one side and squint slightly around it.

  Aquppak had just returned from several days of travel across the tundra. A journey by sled was impossible in summer and the hunter had gone alone and on foot. There was no telling how much land he had crossed, but when he returned Aquppak had the haggard look of a man who hadn’t slept and who had eaten very little. His face was deeply tanned and burnished by the wind, the skin on his nose peeling from constant sun. He looked, Alaana thought, like a leader.

  “I have spoken to many. I have seen for myself,” added Aquppak.

  “White traders?” asked Kigiuna.

  “I have spoken to many,” returned Aquppak. “The herd will cross at the Silver Tongue.”

  All eyes turned to Alaana.

  “Tekkeitsertok told me the same,” Alaana said. “We’ll go to the place Aquppak has named. He leads us.”

  Nuralak offered a hunter’s whoop of approval. “After a successful hunt, the matter will be decided. How much time?”

  “Don’t look so smug, Nuralak,” said Kigiuna.

  Nuralak snickered and looked away. Again he asked, “How much time?”

  Cleverly, he put this question to Alaana, rather than Aquppak.

  “Four sleeps,” she said.

  “The Silver Tongue is far to the south,” said Aquppak. “We strike camp at once.”

  “There are many whites that far south…” said Kigiuna.

  “It can’t be helped,” said Alaana. “That’s where the herds will cross. We’ll do our best to avoid the kabloonas.”

  Talliituk couldn’t hide his disappointment. “This is unacceptable.”

  “Do you question the word of your angatkok?” asked Kigiuna. His hopes for Maguan had been dashed, but he would brook no disrespect for Alaana.

  “No,” replied Talliituk. “But I want a promise. I want you to promise that we will return to the Tongue so that we may hunt whale next year.”

  Although the question had been asked of Alaana, it was Aquppak who answered. “Do you know which way the wind will blow? Do you know what next winter will bring? I can make no such promise. Your father wouldn’t either.”

  Talliituk shook his head. “You’re not half the man my father was.”

  “If there’s a question between us, Talliituk,” growled Aquppak, “we don’t need the angatkok to decide it for us.” He balled both fists. There was a killer twinkle in his eyes.

  Nuralak stepped between them. “The boats will be safe here if we ever need them again.”

  “If we ever?” squawked Talliituk.

  Maguan whispered in Alaana’s ear . “Will the boats be safe? What if Aquppak sends someone from Nuralak’s family to destroy them?”

  “Enough time wasted on talk and chatter,” said Aquppak. He stepped past Talliituk, close enough to rub shoulders, and took pride of place in front of the men. “We strike camp immediately. It’s a long way on a soft trail to the Silver Tongue. We go straight south along the line of Black Face. That’s the shortest way, though it may be difficult for the women.”

  He raised his voice as a true leader should, addressing all the men as one. “Let the caribou be as plentiful as they may, let the tundra run with them as never an Anatatook has seen them run before. We must move as swiftly as the owl’s wing. It is good the days are long.”

  CHAPTER 17

  TOOTH AND CLAW

  Vithrok remembers.

  “How many?” Makite asked. His eyes moved sharply, though he was blind in the darkness. Rather than accept this weakness his attentive gaze never ceased ranging out over the rocks and crags of the valley, searching out any glimmer of movement. “What do you see?”

  “Hard to count them,” replied Vithrok as he peered over a boulder. The spirit-vision rendered the valley in a hazy purple glow, the reflected soulshine from the blanket of snow. Dull gray hues marked the sleepy spirits of the stones, while the animal souls were vibrant red and orange. “At least three on the near side of the valley, moving in and out of the rocks.”

  Six Tunrit crowded behind Vithrok. Their hunting party had been caught out in the open. The long, tiresome hunt and exposure to the frigid winds had taken their toll. Worse yet, their bellies were empty. The musk oxen they had been promised were intercepted by the dagger-toothed cats. The Tunrit had watched helplessly as their prey were killed and eaten, their lifeblood lapped up by the tongues of the savage, man-sized cats. Not content with their feast of oxen, the cats had driven the hunters to ground among the rocks of the ravine.

  Vithrok turned to the west. “A few more on the other side.” It was hard to tell. The cats moved silently among the stones, keeping low and hidden.

  “We can’t stay here,” said Makite. He shook his head, rattling the little animal bones bound into his beard. “Given time, they’ll flush us out. Kill us one by one.”

  Vithrok nodded his agreement. “Black Face,” he said.

  “Our only chance,” said Makite. “We can follow the shelter of these rocks down the valley. But we’ll be exposed on the flats just outside the cave entrance.”

  “No choice,” said Vithrok. He whistled for the attention of the others. “We move,” he said. “Follow me. Keep your spearheads pointed outward. Qotirgin and Niota, pay attention to the rear.”

  The band of Tunrit made their way down the ravine. The rocks were tall enough for protection from an all-out assault by the cats but the rear was definitely the problem. Vithrok, the only Sighted One among them, had to guide their way forward and none was left to see behind. This weakness bothered him more and more as they went on, for the cats almost always attacked from behind.

  A low whine pierced the eternal night, followed by a menacing growl. Makite heard it too. “At the rear,” he said. “Go back, Vithrok. I know these rocks. I can get us across the flats. The caves aren’t far.”

  Vithrok agreed. He moved quickly down the line of men, giving them each a word of confidence as he went, urging
them to keep vigilant. Vithrok took note of every man’s position and whispered to him about what lay directly ahead, pointing out likely places where the cats might strike. He hurried along, keeping them on guard, protecting them.

  He reached the end of the line just in time. One of the beasts scrambled up over a rounded boulder, poised to strike. Vithrok shouted a warning to Qotirgin. He had chosen this man as rear guard because of the sharpness of his hearing, but death had crept so silently there had been nothing for him to hear. Vithrok launched his spear at the charging dagger-tooth. The cat dodged its tip.

  The combination of Vithrok’s shout and the spear haft rebounding off the rock was enough to frighten the cat away. He thought his point might have nicked its foreleg because it limped slightly as it beggared off. Qotirgin made a move to go after it but Vithrok held him back. “Let it go. Let it go.”

  Vithrok made out the blazing red souls of three other cats slinking along in their wake. He picked up a fist-sized rock and hurled it at them. Calling Niota to him, he said, “Listen. Makite will pause at the edge of the flats to draw all of us together before we make the crossing. But this is the wrong idea. While our enemies linger here at the rear, it’s best for the men to move forward right away.”

  Niota nodded his understanding. He must make his way up the line. Vithrok could not go, since he served as the eyes at the rear. Niota handed Vithrok his spear and set off. By exchanging calls with the next man ahead, Niota would be able to follow the line of men back up to the front to deliver his message to Makite.

  Meanwhile the cats had drawn strength from the pack. “They come again!” warned Vithrok.

  He saw both beasts clearly, marked out by their soul-lights’ fiery glow. He stepped out from the rocks, directing Qotirgin to move to the left. The dagger-tooths had already begun their charge. Vithrok stood his ground, following the onrushing cat as it jagged across the snow. They never charged directly, always from the side, but this one was keeping him guessing as to which side. Until the very last. The cat leapt. Vithrok watched it from the corner of his eye, but the bulk of his attention was reserved for Qotirgin.