Shadows

by Ken Altabef

  “What do you want from me?” wailed Narssuk. Vithrok’s moment of indecision had loosed his grip, the pressure eased for an instant.

  “I want to free you,” he said.

  Once again, his resolve restored, he dug spirit-fingers deep into Narssuk’s soul.

  He took no pleasure in hurting this creature. But it would be worth it. This torment was for its own good. “You suffer only for a short while,” he said. “Then you will be free. Truly free. You won’t have to live like this, trapped in the form of a baby, hurtling through the sky violent and afraid.”

  I want to free you, thought Vithrok, from madness and pain. But first, you must free me.

  “Leave me aloooone!” The baby let down its caribou-skin diaper, releasing a torrent of wind, ice and snow.

  “You don’t understand. It doesn’t matter.”

  Vithrok squeezed again.

  “Aaahhhh!” screamed Narssuk.

  Huge chunks of the ground below, torn loose, spun in the air. The swirling arms of the storm spread far and wide, but the center lay just below them. Looking down at where the Ring of Stones had stood for centuries, at where the catchstone had been set in the midst of its foundation, Vithrok felt a great surge of relief. He felt the catchstone fold under immense pressure and split in half. The cracking of the catchstone set off a resounding thunder in his head. His prison was no more. He watched it ground to dust beneath Narssuk’s insane fury. Vithrok felt a thrill of victory.

  The storm’s destruction was cutting deep, even into the blue ice.

  Going down to the ever-frost. The blue ice.

  He must hold on.

  CHAPTER 33

  LET THEM ALL SEE

  The demon storm continued to pound the Anatatook camp with unrestrained fury. The night was a horror of raging winds, howling dogs and screams in the dark. Cooking pots clattered as they were dashed about and stamped flat by the heel of the storm. Two more tents went down amid snapping whalebone beams and shredded skins.

  It was impossible to sleep. Kigiuna had reinforced Alaana’s tent with three layers of skins, each weighed down by stones and independent sets of lashings, resulting in a cramped living area surrounded by heaps of equipment, spare clothing and other supplies. Seal oil lamps blazed at both ends of the tent. Though they rendered a pale yellow glow to the interior, no warmth of any sort seemed to be emanating from them. At least, none that was not immediately eaten up by the icy air.

  Kigiuna and Amauraq lay huddled together in the center of the room beneath a mound of sleeping furs. Alaana had not seen her parents this way in many years, since she had left their house. Holding tight to each other, their outlines moved gently beneath the pile of furs. She thought they might have been making love.

  The shaman glanced toward her own spouse. Ben was sitting up, swathed in a bulky set of covers. He cradled Kinak in his arms, his attention focused solely on comforting the boy. He was singing some sort of a lullaby, a song Alaana had never heard before. She imagined it might have been a Louisiana song brought up from his people in the south. The tune was made entirely of low notes, creating an odd melody so incredibly sad she couldn’t see how the child might receive any benefit from it.

  Ben sang the strange words with a distant passion that was heartbreaking to hear. He hadn’t looked up from the task the entire evening. It was almost as if he had retreated into some type of trance within himself, as people sometimes did when facing extreme danger or panic. It was unlike Ben to do something like that, she thought. He’d always been so confident and strong, definitely one to face problems directly. Maybe he was just concerned about the child, but the storm seemed to have driven him very far away. Where was he, Alaana wondered. Really?

  Noona stood peeking out one of the tent flaps. She had wriggled her delicate fingers between the layers so she could look out onto the encampment. Alaana worried her fingers might freeze.

  “Come away from there,” she said. “It’s too cold. Get into bed.”

  Noona wouldn’t budge. Still looking outside, she asked, “Is it going to kill us?”

  Alaana pulled her hand away. “It will pass. No storm can last forever.”

  “I didn’t mean the storm.”

  “Then what?”

  The girl looked up at her mother but avoided eye contact. Again Alaana felt like a spectator in her own house. Were they all moving away from her, or was the fault her own?

  “What?” asked Alaana again.

  “That thing out there.”

  “You saw something?”

  The girl nodded. Alaana dug at the flaps but had too much trouble negotiating the layers. Noona took a turn, her graceful fingers finding their way as if she were playing at a game of string dancing. Alaana gazed out into the night, but saw only wind-whipped snow and the dark outlines of Anatatook tents lit up by the orange glow of their lamps. “It’s too dark. There’s no Moon. How can you see anything?”

  Noona didn’t answer.

  Alaana didn’t give up. “Where is it?”

  “Gone now,” Noona said, turning away. “Gone.”

  Noona had always been the serious one. Tama had been the delight, the dancer, the joker, always carefree and full of laughter. The Little Mouthful had been so full of imagination and ideas, telling stories of her own, fanciful tales so cute and entertaining they often made Old Higilak jealous. But not Noona…

  Alaana took Noona’s hand away and let the flaps fall, warming the child’s frigid fingers against her cheeks.

  “I didn’t see anything,” she said. “And if anything dangerous were out there, I would know it. Right?”

  Noona didn’t answer in quite the way Alaana wanted. She continued staring at the middle distance, saying, “It killed Dyukhade and Imenak tonight. It cut them to pieces.”

  “You saw?” She still couldn’t believe it.

  Noona nodded.

  Alaana remembered Tama and her surprising ability to see the ava, the little spirit that had killed her.

  “What did it look like to you?” she asked.

  “A giant snowflake, standing still in the middle of the storm. It was all made of edges, just so many sharp edges. And I think there was blood on them.”

  Alaana shook her head. “You’re just tired and worried. Go to bed, little one.”

  Noona sighed and turned away from the flap.

  A terrific gust came screaming through the night, shaking their tent. Snow whipped against the reinforced skins, threatening their collapse. Kigiuna peered out from the furs.

  “It will hold!” he assured them, then went back to what he’d been doing.

  “I’m going out there,” said Alaana. “I have to do something.”

  “If you go out there, you die.” It was the voice of Higilak, whispering at her ear. The old woman stood up, stamping her feet against the ground to bring circulation back to her legs. “There’s something preying on our people, some terror… Something the people of Nunatsiaq have never seen before. I don’t know what it is, but I have an idea. I think it’s something very old, the kind of a thing that can only come out when it’s a certain cold. Very, very cold. If anyone’s tent blows down tonight, they’re dead. No one could help. Not even you.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right,” Alaana admitted. “My patron has deserted me.” She told Higilak about her encounter with Sila.

  “Your patron has not deserted you,” Higilak corrected.

  Alaana’s face grew hard. “You knew?”

  “Old Manatook hinted as much,” she said.

  “He knew?” Alaana could hardly control her rage.

  Higilak laid a gentle hand on Alaana’s cheek and she felt the anger melting away. This woman had always been kind to her, a staunch supporter, a trusted adviser. Higilak had never had anything but her best interests in mind. “He knew your light was different, yes,” she said. “He told me it was very bright indeed. Still, he worried you wouldn’t pass the initiation, that Sila wouldn’t come, and you would die out on the flats.”


  “He never said.”

  “He couldn’t.”

  Alaana nodded. That was definitely something an aspiring young shaman should not hear on the eve of her initiation. “But after?”

  Higilak shrugged. “I don’t know all of his reasons, Alaana. He said you were different. He knew you had a true name — the kind of name a shaman holds close to his heart.”

  “He never told me.”

  “He did not ever know it. He could not find it out. Always he asked the spirits and shamans he met on his travels. No one could give him answer. What good would there have been in taking away the source of your confidence and replacing it with a mystery beyond solving? Without confidence you could never have come this far.”

  Alaana felt anger return. “False confidence. What good is that?”

  “Better than none, I suspect.”

  “The truth is important,” Alaana said. “The truth is everything. Am I the shaman or not?”

  “A different kind perhaps.”

  “A poor kind. Even my daughter sees things I can’t.”

  “Please,” Higilak said. “It breaks my heart for you to talk like this. Have pity on an old woman.”

  “Spare me. Your heart’s lost nothing over the long years, and neither have your wits.”

  “Perhaps not, but I can’t stand to see you brought so low.”

  Alaana would not relent. “I’m no different than I ever was, except for knowing the truth. My dealings with the turgats have never been good enough. And now I know why. They don’t even recognize me as a shaman. The hunts haven’t been the same since Manatook’s been gone.”

  Higilak clicked her tongue dismissively. “It’s good for the men to work hard. Keeps them busy. Happy. The women are satisfied. We’ve had enough food for them to keep their children, and that’s all they really want. You’ve done well enough.”

  “That was under Tugtutsiak. Now we have Aquppak,” said Alaana. “And Aquppak is not Tugtutsiak. He has different goals and ideas.”

  “Then talk with him. You two have been friends a long time.”

  “His new position has changed him.”

  Higilak scoffed, “Not at all. You just didn’t see him as clearly before.”

  “He thinks I will only hold him back. What can I do?”

  “What you’ve been doing all along. Prove him wrong. You’ll just have to help Aquppak as you helped Tugtutsiak. It will be enough. You’ve been good for the people, Alaana. You! You got us through the long winters, you kept black thoughts from destroying us in the darkness, when people feel evil lurking all around, even in each other’s hearts. You saw us through the summers, when the constant work and sunlight plays tricks on the mind and confuses the senses. Yes, things have been different since you took over as shaman. They’ve been better. It’s something about the mood of the people. The entire camp is content. I’ve never seen them act so kindly toward each other.”

  “Until now.” Alaana shook her head. “It’s all been a lie.”

  “Not a lie!” hissed the old woman. “Alaana, listen to me. What spirit did you see that first time?”

  “I don’t know,” she said in an exasperated tone.

  “What did he say to you?”

  Alaana snickered. “He said I would do great things.”

  “And?”

  “The spirit said the road would be difficult, that he could not come whenever I might call. But when it was darkest, I should look for him. He would not leave me until my work was done.”

  “Did you think he was evil?”

  Alaana shook her head.

  “Then trust in him,” said Higilak firmly.

  “Who?”

  “Whoever it is.”

  “A deceiver, a liar.”

  “Come now. You’re a mother, Alaana. Have you never told your children something that wasn’t true? To protect them?”

  “And the promise of finding Tama? Was that false promise too? Was that just a pat on the head to send the poor little fool on her way?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I have two fathers already,” she said, meaning Kigiuna and Old Manatook, “I don’t need another, a liar.”

  “But the people need you, Alaana, as ever. Use what you have. Never mind where it comes from. The answers will come in time or not at all.”

  The old woman spoke true. Even if Sila had not appeared at Alaana’s initiation there was still the other, the one who had come, who had promised aid, who had empowered her in the first place. She recalled lying on the pallet, sick to the point of death with the fever, and how she’d been lifted her up, sailing through the air above the Anatatook camp, that haunting moment of clarity her patron had shown her — that one timeless moment of fusion with the world around her that hinted at a greater destiny. The cherished memory of that moment would always be with her. It was real, undeniably real, and wonderful. The true nature of her patron might forever elude her, and without a name she couldn’t invoke any sort of aid at all. But the patron did exist. Alaana didn’t know who or what it was, but she had faith in it. She did have faith in it. She was not alone.

  “Thank you, Old Mother,” she said to Higilak.

  “Time for sleep,” announced Kigiuna loudly. Alaana realized her father had heard every word.

  ***

  Morning saw the Anatatook camp in complete disarray. A lull in the wind gave Alaana a chance to survey the damage. The camp was a terrible sight. How many people had gone missing? How many houses swept away by the wind? A number of new victims lay dead in the snow. Among them Dyukhade and Imenak, as Noona had foretold. Only traces of their shattered, frozen bodies remained.

  Alaana stood over the bloody snow. From the half of a face that remained, she judged it to be Dyukhade, a woman very close to her mother, who had often looked after her as a child, a cherished friend who had given the Anatatook her smiles and her warmth, and never any trouble at all. Alaana looked up, expecting to find a confused spirit hovering over the body. There were no ghosts. They had all been swept away with the wind. There would be no farewells. Even that has been taken from us, thought Alaana. Higilak was right. Something was terribly wrong here.

  “Nothing,” said Aquppak. “You’ve done nothing.”

  The headman’s rebuke stung Alaana surely as a slap in the face.

  “What is it? A ghost? A demon?” Aquppak used a mocking tone, speaking loudly for benefit of the many observers. Only a few men stood nearby, but there were a multitude of other watchers, peeking through tent flaps.

  “We have no way to protect ourselves,” said Aquppak. He kicked at the new snow, which was mauya, a soft deep pile with only a thin hard crust, totally unsuitable for making houses. “We won’t last another night. The storm will kill us here. Why don’t you speak to the spirit of the snow? Why don’t you make it harden and have the wind tamp it down so that we can take shelter in it?”

  Alaana frowned. If only she could convince the spirit of the snow to do such a thing. But, no. No one could make the snow do anything. It was so vast, covering the entire world, its inua filled the entire landscape to the horizon with its dull glow. If a shaman could rouse that soul to action, what wonders might she achieve? Alaana couldn’t move the snow to do anything. No shaman could.

  “Have you nothing to say?” sniped Aquppak. “Then hear this: We have to go. Now, while there is a lull in the wind. I will lead the people to the caves at Black Face.”

  “Open country is too dangerous,” said Alaana.

  “Is that right? Forgive me, but I don’t need to listen to your advice. Many have come to me in counsel these past few days. Some say this is all your fault. That perhaps this is some vengeance upon you, some continued attack of the Whale-Man for your transgressions.”

  That stung, but Alaana couldn’t deny the possibility.

  “Others suggest you’re in league with the wind and the storm. Didn’t you tell us for so many years that Sila was your patron? Some of us saw you sitting on the prayer mat y
esterday, and the storm has only gotten worse. So I ask you, is this your doing?”

  “Ahh, so that’s what they’re saying,” Alaana returned. She didn’t think this was true. If there was animosity toward her from any of the people she would feel it, as she felt it right now radiating from this man. She thought to ask Aquppak the names of those who might accuse her but decided against it. Drawing lies or evasions from the headman would serve no purpose at all.

  “That’s what hushed voices in my ears are telling me, yes.”

  “And what do you think?” asked Alaana.

  Aquppak shook his head slightly, a smile at the corner of his lips. “I don’t know what to think,” he said, making himself seem innocent of all accusations. “This storm may be your doing or it may not. Evil spirit, or revengeful hand from the bottom of the sea, I don’t much care. What I know is this — we can’t stay here. It’s not so far to the caves. We’ll make it.”

  “It’s not the storm killing us, it’s the creature.”

  “What creature? Are you any use at all? If there is some foul spirit out there, some murderous creature, then you should smite it down. Do something!”

  “I will.”

  Aquppak turned to face the camp at large. “We move!” he announced loudly. By now, the confrontation with Alaana had attracted a large audience. “Ice the runners, pack the sleds! We have little time. Pack up in a hurry. The fresh snow will hinder us, but we must move now. Take only what you need and as much food as you can carry.”

  Alaana walked away. She called to her tupilaq across the spirit of the air. “Tikiqaq! Come. We have work to do.”

  She plucked a discarded tukaq from the ground. The shaft of the harpoon-headed spear was broken in two. It didn’t matter.

  The tupilaq met her on the wind-break at the edge of the camp. It came shuffling along, carrying the prayer mat in its two front paws.

  “What shall we do?” it asked.

  “Try to end this.”

  “What drum should I fetch?”

  “No drum.”

  “Should I get the wind mask?”

  “No mask.”