by Ken Altabef
The thought of his real body, sitting in the cold snow, spurred him to action. There was no time to worry about these things.
From what little he could see, Ben made for the direction of the lake, where he hoped to find the shadows of the women in their sewing circle. He stumbled through the shadow camp, following the direction of the weeping voices of the women. He ran with his hands outstretched before him to part the gloom, but tripped over someone lying on the ground. The shadow stirred, turning to face him with vacuous eyes. The man’s face was almost completely obscured by shadow but its shape seemed vaguely familiar. Ben thought it might be Kigiuna. Would he know me, Ben wondered. In this world he was not married to Alaana, whom they all thought had perished as a child. Would Kigiuna have reason to know him at all?
“Help me,” he said. “Where is Higilak? I can’t see anything.”
The shadow of Kigiuna, if it was Kigiuna, closed his eyes and turned away.
Ben ran on. He found the women sewing near the lake. In the absence of starlight, the water could not be seen, only heard lapping fitfully at the beach. Beyond the shore lay an even darker abyss that was the edge of the world, a perfect mate to the inky blackness that hung above. Ben felt that a people surrounded by such implacable oblivion must be choked of all aspiration; it would be impossible to dream.
The women bent to their futile task of mending cloth as insubstantial as smoke. Some simply held the shadows of skins loosely in their hands, not even trying. Ben thought he recognized Agruta, who he knew as the wife of Alaana’s brother Itoriksak.
“Where is Higilak’s house?” he asked.
Agruta was slow to answer.
Ben repeated, “Where is Higilak?” In his eagerness, he grabbed at the smoky shape of her coat. Instead of shaking the shadow as intended, his fingers pushed through her soupy silhouette. A questioning sort of gaze came from the smudge face. The eyes were dull and guileless, much like those of a hapless seal on the ice.
“Higilak!” Ben screamed, his voice a twisted nightmare sound, strange even to his own ears.
The shade of Agruta pointed a finger. Ben could see no tent, but he flung himself headlong along the course indicated.
He either went in the tent flap or passed through it, he couldn’t tell, but he found the old woman inside.
“Where is my daughter?” he demanded.
With only the slightest whisper, the shade of Higilak shambled to the side, revealing several figures in the murky darkness behind.
Tama rushed forward into his arms. Ben hugged the shadow of his daughter. He felt her tiny arms wrap around his neck, felt her smooth skin against his cheek. And suddenly everything was all right again.
“Daddy!”
“Tama!”
They embraced again, Ben squeezing hard as if he never intended to let go. Tama returned the hug with a little breathless sob.
“Oh, Tama. I’ve found you. Oh, my beautiful girl.”
Tama pulled back. “Daddy,” she asked, “Where did you go?”
Even though they were only a hand’s breadth apart, the child’s face was just a dark outline. Still, it was Tama’s face, with rounded cheeks, the tiny, pointy nose and the unruly shock of hair.
“Where I went? I thought you had gone.” He suddenly realized Tama had been missing her shadow father, the shadow Ben. The one whom Higilak said had gone inexplicably missing days ago.
Ben smoothed his daughter’s hair. “It doesn’t matter. I’m here, I’ve found you. I promise, I won’t leave you again.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” said Noona. Ben stared into the gloom. He’d been so preoccupied with Tama he hadn’t noticed Noona and Kinak standing there.
Noona’s eyes seemed to catch a glint of light where there shouldn’t have been any. Kinak stepped forward. He had been practicing the string dance and proudly held his hands up to show his father what he’d done. The pattern was loose and vague, the game made impossible by a line that was nothing more than a wisp of black smoke.
Ben touched his elder daughter’s cheek. “I promise, I won’t leave any of you alone.”
“It’s not nice to tell lies,” insisted Noona.
Parents say what they must to protect their young ones, thought Ben. Trying to project confidence, he said, “I’m not lying. I’ll stay with you. Now that we’re all together, things will be different.”
Turning toward Higilak, he added, “Old Mother, thank you for keeping them safe.”
“Tell us a story,” said Tama. She grabbed the old woman’s hand and pulled her down to the ground. All three children sat at attention facing the old woman and Ben did the same, thinking the darkened tent the perfect venue for a storytelling. Higilak often entertained the Anatatook with stories through the long night of winter. Here it must always be night.
“How about the story of Kumagdlak and the living arrows?” the old woman asked. “That’s a good one, I remember.”
Higilak tilted her head, as if to jog her memory. Ben couldn’t read her dark expression. The old lady spent a few moments smoothing the indistinct front of her parka with ineffective motions that left the oozing black mist puffing up again as soon as her hands left its surface.
“The story,” prodded Kinak. His voice had already lost all excitement.
“Kumagdlak,” said Higilak slowly, “was a living soul and had a beautiful wife. One day she looked out over the sea and spied the enemy umiaks approaching.”
The old lady closed her eyes for a moment and let a small sigh escape her thin black lips. “Ahh, yes, the dog was so large it could haul a small whale to the shore in its teeth. And so it did. And one time it ate a man…”
Her voice trailed away.
“The arrows,” prodded Ben. “Wasn’t there something about the arrows?”
“Ahhh, yes. The people from the south screamed aloud… with fright… when they saw the giant dog. And since then, I think, they have never been seen again. Something like that. Children, I am tired. That’s all I know about that story. Why don’t you play at something else for a while?”
“I’m hungry,” said Kinak.
“You can do hide and seek,” suggested Higilak, “There will be food later, when the men return from the hunt.”
“There’s nothing to hide,” said Noona flatly.
“I have a ball,” said Tama. “Help me find it.”
Noona flashed her father one last challenging look, and then faded into the darkness as the children moved to the back of the tent, out of sight. Ben wondered, how do you play hide and seek in the dark among shadows? He had a sudden urge to follow after Tama so that his Little Mouthful would never be far from him again.
“Noona knows I don’t belong,” he whispered.
“Of course you belong,” replied Higilak. “Where else should a father be, rather than with his children?”
Ben looked down again at the blackened skin of his hands and arms. “How do I look to them?”
The shade of Higilak leaned forward, squinting into the darkness. As she drew close to Ben, her eyes widened and she pursed her blackened lips. At this distance Ben could see the whites of her eyes and the gray, moth-eaten pupils they held. The old woman had a far-away expression as she said, “You look fine.”
Ben shivered, hugging himself close as the old woman drew back. “Is it always so cold?” he asked. He was used to the cold of the far north but this was a different thing altogether. This was a cold devoid of hope. A nagging chill that sucked all life and energy.
The shadow shrugged. “We know nothing else.”
“But there is something else.”
“Yes,” Higilak admitted. “On the other side.”
“How do you live? What do you eat?”
Higilak sighed. “There is little food here. Shadows of meat and blood, but there’s hardly any point in eating.” She waved a hand through the nearest wall of the tent. The skins wavered as her hand parted their shadow and then slowly reformed in its wake. “It’s all just
so much smoke and ash. It does not satisfy.”
“Aren’t you hungry?” Ben asked, thinking of the children.
“All the time.”
“But what do you do here?”
“We long for what we don’t have,” she said.
The children gave up their game of hide and seek and rejoined them on the floor. They couldn’t find the ball.
“Please Grandmother, tell us a story,” said Kinak.
Higilak made a low murmuring noise.
“I’m hungry,” said Tama.
“Isn’t there anything at all for them to eat?” asked Ben.
“There’ll be food soon,” said Higilak halfheartedly, “When the men come home.”
Tama settled into Ben’s lap, and Ben draped his arms around her. He felt no warmth from the shadow child and wondered if he were offering any in return. “Is that better, my little mouthful?” he asked.
A dull clatter sounded from the entrance of the tent.
“What’s that noise?” asked Ben.
“That will be your wife returning,” said Higilak.
“Wife?”
And true enough, a shadow entered the tent. Difficult to see at even this close distance, it might have been the form of a woman, tall and lean. The shade tossed something down on the floor, a vague shape which looked to Ben like it might have been a bag but when it struck the ground it made no sound and seemed to dissolve into a puff of darkness.
“Did they get anything?” asked Higilak.
The outline of the shadow woman shrugged and sat down beside Ben.
“There was nothing,” she said. “It doesn’t matter.” Ben thought the voice familiar, though distorted by an overbearing sense of sadness and failure. Kinak circled around and fell into the woman’s lap.
Ben couldn’t see the woman’s face; two long shocks of hair had fallen in front of her eyes.
“Tell us a story, Old Mother,” the woman said. “To help pass the time.”
The woman leaned forward. Ben had half expected it to be Alaana. He felt his heart sink in his chest. He knew that voice well enough. It was Agruta.
CHAPTER 29
A MISUNDERSTANDING
The little sled shuddered over a bump and the tupilaq almost flew over the side. Tikiqaq squealed with delight.
“Hold on,” said Kinak, grabbing hold. “If you go over, we lose!”
Tiki dug its claws into the sides of the sled skin. It didn’t want to let the boy down. Twisting its neck forward it could just see the back end of Manik, Aquppak’s second son, as he hauled the toy sled along the fresh snow. With its new moonbeam eyes the tupilaq saw with better clarity than ever before. It could see the children’s joy as if it danced in the air around them, alive with their exuberance and limitless energy. It saw their dreams. Beautiful.
They went over another bump. Kinak roared with glee. “Hold on!”
Caught by surprise, Tiki fell backward into a bank of snow, its flippers and tail sticking up in the air. Everything was lost in the white-out as its face went into the slush. It shoveled itself out, using its clawed front flippers as scoops. As it backed out of the snow bank, it bumped into Noona.
“You could’ve pulled me out,” it pouted.
Noona’s face cracked into a rare smile. “You had no trouble. You’re a backward little thing anyway, aren’t you?”
“No,” it returned, sneeringly. “You are.”
Even though they had lost the race, Kinak and Manik laughed heartily. The tupilaq shuffled between them, Noona’s insult forgotten, basking in their joy. Alaana had said the laughter of children should be its food and Tikiqaq did indeed take nourishment from their laughter, and warmth from their acceptance.
But in a way it thought Noona was right. Its existence was entirely backward because it possessed life but not anything that could be called a soul. As Alaana had explained, none of the tupilaqs had true souls. A creature without a soul could not be manipulated by the other shamans and turned against its master. But if that were true, thought Tiki, then it could not be manipulated by anyone. It was totally free. So why should it bow to the commands of its creator? Must it follow Alaana’s instruction? Did it have a duty to anyone at all?
Its initial charge, to kill Klah Kritlaq, had been rescinded by its master. But the bloodlust remained. The urge seemed to be a physical thing, like a blood red stone in the center of its being. It could regard the stone as if from outside, it could look at it from the front or the back, but it could not remove it. Perhaps there was no changing it. Yet, when it had its opportunity to slay the rival shaman there up on the Moon, it had turned away. Tiki supposed it had faltered because Alaana had instructed it not to kill, but if it were not bound to the shaman’s commands, how could it explain that decision?
The metal spear point that had served it as a heart had been removed, leaving an emptiness with nothing yet to replace it. But feeling wasn’t kept in the heart, Tiki knew, because it felt many things. It was, at present, a little sad.
“It’s my fault,” it said. “I made you lose.”
Manik laughed some more. “Ayurnaarmat,” he said, indicating it couldn’t be helped. “Somebody has to lose. And I’m not sorry — my brother won!”
His elder brother Choobuk had indeed won the race. He danced around in the snow, circling the goal post which had a little red rag fixed to the top. The judges, a panel composed of Noona and the older children, roared their approval.
Tiki glanced over at the women in their sewing circle. On the outskirts sat Pilarqaq and Tookymingia. The tupilaq had been instructed to watch over Tooky. That was now its purpose. The matter of Klah Kritlaq put aside, it felt no such ambiguity toward Tooky. It would protect her, just as it would protect any of the children. It need not ask why.
A light snow began falling. The women would be going inside soon and Tiki would follow.
“Inuvik,” said Kinak loudly, “Inuvik.”
The children took up the chant, “Inuvik, inuvik,” calling for the game of blanket toss. In no time at all a big circular walrus hide had been brought out and the children took their places holding it around.
“Tiki goes first!” said Kinak. He grabbed the tupilaq roughly by its hindquarters and tried to throw it up onto the skin. The small boy could not lift it by himself, but several stronger hands made themselves known and Tikiqaq found itself tossed onto the center of the skin. Taking up a happy song to synchronize their efforts the children pumped the skin. In no time Tiki took to the air, flung upward by the thick walrus hide. The children achieved the proper rhythm and Tiki soared higher and higher. It rose joyously to meet the falling snow, lost in the thickening flakes. It was flying, tumbling end over end in the air. It was truly free.
Again it squealed with delight. The children answered with laughter.
Tooky, sitting off to the side of the women’s talking circle, scraped indifferently at a fox skin. The Anatatook women still did not accept her. Only Pilarqaq sat near, saying nothing.
Tooky smiled as she stood up, indicating to Pilarqaq that she had to go and pee. She had to pee so often these days, it was a wonder she could get any work done at all. But in truth she had not that much to do. She had no one to sew for except herself. Pilarqaq could handle all of the things for Maguan and her children and it was clear that she didn’t want Tooky doing her husband’s sewing. Instead Tooky scraped the hair from odd scraps of fox and caribou skin, working them hard so they would be soft enough for the baby’s bottom. Pilarqaq was the only one who knew about the baby, but she seemed willing enough to keep the secret safe.
At first Tooky hadn’t wanted the baby, considering the bulge in her belly to be the mark of her shame. But as summer cooled into winter’s approach, she began to think differently. After she had the baby she would no longer be alone. Pilarqaq and Maguan were an indifferent, if not a kind, sort of a family. And Alaana would help her bring the baby into the world; she had expressed interest in the child.
She hoped the rest of the
people, given time, would forget the child’s ignominious origins.
There was only the long winter to get through. When sunlight dawned again the people would hardly remember her troubles. There was enough food. Aquppak had proven himself to be an effective leader, a sturdy replacement for Tugtutsiak. When spring came again and they saw her beautiful baby they would all forget. Her nightmare would be over. Perhaps someday there would even be someone willing to take her to wife.
She stepped away from the ring of women. The falling snow chilling the back of her neck prompted her to put up her hood. A shiver reminded her of a repetitive nightmare she had suffered of late. She dreamed that the baby would be some kind of monster. Hard to believe, when she had just felt its first few gentle kicks. But she had dreamed a violent birth, the baby tearing its way out of her, Alaana unable to control the situation, and a vision of the baby between her legs, a horrible black walrus head and bloodied tusks.
Away from the others, Tooky found a suitable stone. She brushed the snow cover off, lifted the stone, and squatted to relieve herself in the hole. When she was done she turned the rock back.
When she looked up, Aquppak was there.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, falling backward into the cold snow. Her face burned with embarrassment. She wanted to point out his rudeness but decided to keep silent instead.
Aquppak looked surprised. “You startle so easily, just like a little snow hare. I guess it’s not so easy, always looking to one’s back.”
Tooky paused to sweep her anorak across her belly.
“You’ve nothing to fear from me,” Aquppak added, reaching down to help her up. She let him take her by the elbow and haul her to her feet. He tightened his grip and didn’t let go.
“It’s cold today,” he said softly, “Too cold for the kabloonas; they’re not used to it. Come with me to my tent.”
“Why?”
He shrugged as if the answer were obvious. “We have a duty to warm them, don’t we? Ivalu can’t do it all by herself. Come along.”