by Ken Altabef
Tooky shot a plaintive glance back toward Maguan’s tent.
“Has Maguan taken you to wife?” asked Aquppak in a clipped tone that indicated he already knew the answer.
“No.”
Aquppak smiled in an offhand way. He spoke pleasantly, “Then be reasonable. I am the headman, I make the decisions. These are our guests, and we have to take care of them. Come.”
Tooky tried to pull away. Aquppak didn’t relax his grip.
“You eat our food,” he pointed out.
“Maguan feeds me,” she replied.
“And where does he get it? From the hunts that I direct. From the fishing weirs of the Anatatook.” He chuckled and shook his head as if she were being unreasonable, and he was asking nothing of her except to draw breath. “You want to be welcome here. You want to be one of us?”
Tooky nodded. She did want that. She did.
Aquppak tugged firmly on her arm. “Come.”
Maguan and Iggy had wanted to go hunting for duck, but the premature freeze of the lake changed their plans. Instead they took out the sleds to make ready for winter travel.
“Look at the state of this skin,” said Maguan. His sled cover was riddled with tiny holes. “Some animal got at it.”
“Maybe Pilarqaq can mend it,” suggested Iggy.
Maguan clicked his tongue three times. There was no question as to his wife’s diligence with the needle. She was the hardest-working seamstress among them, even if her work always ran a little crooked. It was simply a matter of having enough time. “And what am I supposed to wear on my feet?” he said. “I need boots.”
“Why don’t you ask Tooky?” said Kigiuna. He sat beside them, working at making fishhooks. Sharp little bits of bone and thin strips of hide were spread out on a flat stone in front of him. “Can she sew?”
“I don’t know,” said Maguan. “In truth I’d like to get her out of my tent. She eats enough for two!”
“She is filling out,” observed Itoriksak as he picked some ruptured scraps of sinew from his sled’s bindings. “Fatten her up a little more and she’ll be a real beauty. Don’t you think so Iggy?”
The giant Inuit looked dejectedly down at his hands. His straight black hair, cut crookedly, made a dark flap over one eye. “What are you asking me for?”
“You have an opinion on everything else,” said Maguan. “No opinion on the girl?”
Iggy shrugged his massive shoulders.
“A lot of people think she’s cursed,” said Itoriksak. “Tugtutsiak dying like that, and they weren’t together for more than a single moon.”
“She’s not cursed!” Iggy roared. He was particularly sensitive to that remark. Years ago he had fallen in love with Tikiquatta, a woman who was also said to have been cursed. Their love had never come to fruition because Tikiquatta sacrificed herself, she believed, to save Iggy. Iggy had never married since. He had raised her two daughters as his own but they were grown up and married off already, and he was still alone.
Kigiuna broke out into a playful laugh. “Ooh, thunder rumbles down from the Big Mountain.”
Iggy snorted. “That wasn’t her fault. That was all Tugtutsiak’s doing, that old walrus turd.”
There was silence for a moment as they all seemed to recall that it was bad luck to talk ill of the dead. Though, at the bottom of the ocean, it seemed doubtful the headman’s soul could do anything to get revenge for the insult.
Kigiuna held up a falcon’s claw he had found on the shore of the lake. He squinted at it thoughtfully, wondering how he might shape it into a fishhook. “Iggianguaq, you are thirty winters old. It’s time you had a wife.”
“Funny thing,” said Maguan, “The first available girl in a long time, and he doesn’t even notice.”
“She’s so …tiny,” Iggy said, his face reddening.
“Is that what you were waiting for?” asked Itoriksak, his words shaping themselves around the strand of frozen sinew he was warming in his mouth. “You want to find a girl your own size?”
Iggy was famous for being a giant among the Anatatook. His arms were as thick as tent poles and he stood a head taller than anyone else, earning him the nickname Kingarjuaq — the Big Mountain.
“Don’t laugh,” said Kigiuna. “I saw one among the Iglulik one time. As wide around as our Iggianguaq. She could hardly walk. She had cheeks down to here.” He indicated the middle of his neck with a cupped hand. His face ballooned out in a wide-mouthed smile as he rolled his eyes. “I was tempted.”
Everyone except Iggy laughed.
Maguan tried to ask his father a question, but was chortling too hard. Kigiuna answered anyway, “But no, I didn’t touch her. She was the shaman’s wife.”
“I think our Big Mountain is too shy,” said Itoriksak.
Iggy shrugged again. “She hasn’t said anything. Did she say anything to you, Maguan? She doesn’t even look at me.”
“Maybe such a tiny creature can’t even see the immensity of the Big Mountain,” pointed out Itoriksak. He gestured to the sky, his words breaking up into a chuckle.
“I don’t see the problem,” said Kigiuna. He began to retell the tale of how he got his bride, stealing her from her father’s tent. “How she tried to resist,” he said, “but I dragged her out–”
“We all know the story,” said Maguan.
Iggy shook his head. “I could never–”
Their conversation was interrupted by a commotion in front of Aquppak’s tent. Raised voices cut across the frigid plain.
“Is it the kabloonas?” asked Kigiuna.
“I think so,” said Maguan. “Let’s go and see.”
People all wanted to see. Violent words never went unnoticed in camp. A tide of people were already making their way across the settlement.
Tooky came shooting out of the headman’s tent, her anorak in disarray, pulled loosely over one shoulder. She was crying.
Aquppak chased after her, calling her names. They were followed by Roy Oakes, the dark-haired kabloona, whose pursuit was stalled by his need to adjust his drooping pants.
“Deceiver!” snarled Aquppak. “The women’s whispers behind the hand speak true — there’s nothing but a witch’s nest between your legs!”
Tooky’s face went white under the eyes.
“This man would rather lay with a dead seal!” said Aquppak.
Seeing Aquppak’s thumb turned in his direction, Oakes began to object. He was hindered in this undertaking by having no understanding of the language, and by the need to secure his pants once again.
Aquppak caught up to Tooky and took hold of some loose strands of her hair. He pulled her backward off her feet, the rest of her hair tumbling free of its sinew thong.
“That’s better!” he roared. “You shouldn’t have kept it hidden; you shouldn’t have worn your hair up.”
Tooky scrambled at Aquppak’s feet. He launched a kick at her belly.
Maguan, who was the first to reach them. “You’ve no right to beat her.”
“She’s made a fool of me.” Aquppak sent another vicious kick at Tooky. He tried to pull her to her feet.
“You've no right,” insisted Maguan. “She’s not your wife.”
Aquppak threw the girl down and wheeled to face his adversary. “She’s not yours.”
“She lives in my tent. Under my roof.”
“She embarrassed me in front of our guests,” said Aquppak. He spoke loudly for the benefit of the assembling crowd. “It’s my responsibility to entertain them.”
He sized up his opponent. Maguan was only slightly taller and possessed the same wiry build. Maguan was famous for his amiable temperament. He never raised his hand to anyone, but that didn’t mean he was unable to fight. Even the most timid animal could turn on the hunter in the proper circumstances, and Maguan was far from helpless. But as they were both unarmed, Aquppak felt sure he could beat him down.
A substantial crowd had gathered. Aquppak knew that besting his rival for authority in front of the other m
en would prove a valuable lesson for the rest of them. Even so, he didn’t want to strike the first blow. It was more important to break Maguan’s reputation as a gentle, level-headed man. That would grant a further victory, from which Maguan could not recover as easily as from a simple beating.
“Who’s child is she carrying Maguan?” asked Aquppak. “Tugtutsiak’s or your own?”
Maguan’s shoulders tensed and his eyes flared, but only slightly. He was not yet ready to strike. Maguan was not so easy to manipulate, but it could be done. The girl was the key.
“Maybe when I kick it out of her,” said Aquppak, “we’ll be able to see who it resembles.” He turned his back on Maguan and launched another kick at the girl. His attention did not waver. He kept his head tilted to the side, not on his hapless victim, but waiting Maguan’s attack. When Maguan stepped toward him, Aquppak ducked slightly and turned. Maguan’s lunge, whatever it had meant to achieve, took on the appearance of a full bore attack. Aquppak ducked below Maguan’s approach and drove a balled fist into his face.
The punch drove Maguan a step backward, a stunned look on his face, punctuated by a trickle of blood running down from his nose. Aquppak wasted no time. It looked like he had been attacked and a quick counter would settle the issue before anyone else could realize differently.
Aquppak went for the neck, but Maguan knocked his hand away.
Maguan knew very little about fighting and made the mistake of striking at Aquppak’s chest with his fists. Aquppak’s thick parka dulled the body blows. The only useful targets, thought Aquppak, were the face and neck. He spun Maguan around and clubbed at the back of his head. Maguan went down. He was not badly injured and perhaps already sufficiently humiliated, but Aquppak wanted to hit him again and seal his victory.
The crowd became riotous, some cheering Maguan, others expressing outrage at the fight. Those from the hunting families of Nuralak’s clan voiced their approval for Aquppak. The headman glanced around, taking a quick measure of the mood of the people.
He turned, now facing the towering form of Iggianguaq. Standing small in the shadow of the giant, Aquppak wished he had a knife or a spear. Still, he was not afraid. Iggy’s weak spot lay with the knees. A well-placed kick would bring the big man down.
“Don’t get in my way, Iggianguaq,” he warned. “Others go around the mountain. I go straight through it.”
Suddenly Tikiqaq came lurching along the snow with a jerking motion of its flippered paws. The tupilaq launched itself at Aquppak, screaming, “Tugutkaa! Tugutkaa!”
Aquppak was startled at the sight of it, but its claws and teeth were no longer or sharper than those of a dog.
Timing the creature’s leap, he struck out with the flat side of his boot. The tupilaq was kicked to the side and flopped into the snow.
McPearson emerged from the tent, a pistol in his hand. He stared in amazement at Tikiqaq. “What is that?”
“It’s nothing,” replied Aquppak in English.
“A domesticated seal?”
Aquppak wasn’t sure of the man’s meaning, and didn’t have time to argue with him. “Just some trick of the shaman.”
“A pet? Or a puppet?” asked McPearson, but Aquppak was done with him.
The men had begun bickering among themselves and he took a careful count. Who supported him and who were against him? He marked the faces of those who stood against. The enmity of Talliituk and the whaling clans carried a lot of weight. He counted too few supporters. He was not nearly as popular as he should be.
One or another of the men started a side fight and the situation spun out of hand. Kigiuna, who had always been a little hot-blooded, got into it with Nuralak’s men.
McPearson fired his pistol in the air, parting the falling snow with a resounding clap. Everyone turned to look.
Aquppak turned his attention back to Iggy.
“Leave Tooky alone,” said the Big Mountain.
“I’ll do whatever I–” Aquppak stopped short, as the enraged tupilaq came at him again. Once more it announced its intention to kill.
Aquppak raised a hand in the air and one of the men, Nuralak’s second son, tossed him a spear. He caught the weapon in the center of the haft and brought it down in front of him with a smooth sweeping motion. The spear point broke Tikiqaq’s lunge, running through its chest.
“Enough!” cried Alaana.
The shaman emerged from the hissing snow. She stepped up close to Aquppak. “Stop this nonsense right now.”
Aquppak was not afraid of Alaana. He had no fear of any of them, but still thought it a good idea to clear his spear point, just in case. With his booted foot, he slid the seal carcass off the end of the spear. He locked eyes with Alaana. Once, long ago, they had been friends.
Tikiqaq rolled over in the snow and sat up, a gaping hole in its chest.
“It was your brother who threw the first punch,” said Aquppak.
“I don’t care,” returned Alaana. “Fighting among ourselves will only invite more trouble. The spirits are already disturbed.” She gestured into the teeth of the gale. The wind had risen considerably in the last few moments. Aquppak thought she had foolishly missed an opportunity in not claiming the wind as her own doing.
“He was beating Tookymingia,” said Iggy, “for no reason.”
“I had good reason,” said Aquppak.
“Your arrogance is not reason enough,” said Alaana. “You misunderstand your position here. You go too far. The headman guids our movements, yes, but no man rules over the rest.”
Aquppak felt his face burn. He would not be humiliated before the white men like this, but there was little he could do about it. He hadn’t yet cemented his power among the Anatatook well enough to challenge the shaman right out in the open. Not even Nuralak’s clan would support that.
Aquppak tossed his spear into the snow. It landed a finger’s breadth from Tikiqaq’s snout.
“It’s nothing,” he said. “Just a misunderstanding about the women.”
He walked toward his tent, choosing to go directly in the path of Iggianguaq. He placed the flat of his palm on the big man’s chest and pushed him aside.
“They don’t want her anyway,” said Aquppak. “Nobody could want her or her wretched child.”
CHAPTER 30
BLOOD ON THE SNOW
The wind came suddenly in the night, shrieking up out of the west. The entire camp groaned. Tent skins strained and popped, whalebone poles cracked like gunshots in the dark as the weight of snow collapsed each house in turn. Cooking pots clattered, babies wailed and people woke shrieking at each eruption of noise as some family’s tent went over and had to be rebuilt in the dark.
The dogs howled and whined until the snow piled up over their heads. Only then, entombed in comfortable burrows, did they settle down for sleep.
The snow continued to fall all the next day. It was a sunny day toward the end of summer but the air stung with a cold the Anatatook had not felt for many years, even in the depths of winter. The freakish weather set the people off, summoning an odd variety of fear that passed among them at first as a mischievous stranger, whispering ill tidings in the ear, then expanded to an oppressive sense of doom. The wind unbound the women’s fur hoods, tearing at their loose hair as they hurried about cleaning up the scattered mess the storm had wrought the night before. Many valuable tools, clothes and other precious possessions had already been buried in snow, perhaps never to be found again.
Alaana made appeals to Narssuk, the turgat who oversaw such violent weather. But the great spirit, always unpredictable and impossible to control, gave no answer.
The men spent an entire day setting up wind breaks on the shore of the lake. They worked in a torrent of falling snow, reeling beneath the lash of furious wind. It was slow and deliberate work — the snow soft and heavy to move. Any disagreements of the day before were quickly cast aside; the men worked as one. In the gray twilight they could hardly see one another; even a man standing at arm’s length appeared a
s only a dull gray shape frantically piling up mounds of snow and ice to break the wind. Lightning flared across the frozen water; peels of thunder split the sky.
Aquppak ordered that all the tents be moved into the lee of the breaks and set close together so as to help withstand the fury of the night to come. Kigiuna and Amauraq, along with Higilak, joined Alaana and her family, allowing them to double their tent skins. Ben and Kigiuna worked long into the night driving stakes, tying off lines and weighing the skin edges down with heavy stones. Kigiuna knew better than anyone how to lash down the skins against the most forceful wind, but it was hard work and constant drifts of snow kept blowing into the tent until they finally got it right.
The children were so terrified not even Higilak could soothe them. Ben said little, occupying his time with rocking Kinak to sleep. Alaana had rarely seen Kigiuna so exhausted as when he lay down amid the big damp huddle in the center of the tent. She was reminded that her father was not as young as he used to be nor nearly as invincible as he had always seemed.
Alaana slid into place beside her husband. Even under the heavy furs she was wet and cold, and uncomfortable. Too much snow had blown into the tent despite the complicated mechanism of sheeting Kigiuna had set up across the ventilation holes.
“Ben, are you all right?” she whispered. “Why don’t you say anything?”
“I hate being pent up like this.”
Alaana thought that an odd sort of a thing to say. What did he want to do? Go outside?
Maybe if she could dry her family they would be able to get some rest. She sat up, taking the cross-legged posture that Old Manatook had shown her long ago. The frame of mind needed for generating tumo, the mystic warmth, had been one of the first skills the old shaman had taught her.
She set about emptying her mind of all worries and cares, a seemingly impossible task when her family was freezing right next to her. She could ignore Kigiuna’s loud snoring, but it was impossible to concentrate with Ben fussing this way and that.