“You think they would let me have my own igloo?” Living in a dwelling of her own edged out the dogs, pains, and tuuaaq.
The blue diamond woman huffed, the breathy laugh pillowing into a thick cloud in the moist air above the narwhal. “Sure, sure. And the king at the start of the world will come help you build it.”
“Orluvoq!” a voice called.
She turned to see the captain ushering her over. With a yip, she packed her way across the snow, careful to not jar her head. Too far away from that bone beauty transpierced in the ice, she reigned in her tender trot. A dizzy spell of fatigue made her plant her butt on the ground.
“Ah, here she is.” Captain Naalagaa motioned to the panting girl. “You of course remember Orluvoq, daughter of Nataaq and Anaava, two of our finest workers. Or, that they were, right up until recently. Nataaq went to Nunapisu some five months ago and his wife joined him just a couple weeks back. A terrible loss for all of us. Though we have many orphans on the ship, they usually don’t come as young as poor little Orluvoq here. As much as we love the girl, her life will improve much by waxing among her own, among Terianniaq.”
The archons turned their wizened faces, gauging her with dark, deep-set eyes. Something about them simultaneously inspired comfort and trepidation, not unlike death itself. Times of judgment. Times of death. Of steamy nights in a dark lodge. Memories forked across her mind then faded to lambent afterimages, like lightning in a sunless heaven.
“The Terianniaq are ancient and venerable, roots reaching deeper than the frosts themselves. We will be happy to receive one of our own, Naalagaa,” the crone said. “We only require to first see her token of kinship.”
The captain froze. “But you’re the archons. You were there at her birth, as she cut teeth, at her parents’ birth. She is Terianniaq and belongs with her kind.”
“Her token, Captain,” the patriarch said, unmoved.
“What’s wrong?” Orluvoq asked. What was so important about this token thing? They knew her.
As usual, the adults paid her no heed. “She is one of the most skilled angakkuit I’ve ever seen. Any clan would be delighted to have her work among them.”
“Then produce her token, Captain, or find another clan who doesn’t care so much about blood.” The wrinkles framing the matriarch’s mouth cut deeper as she pursed her lips. “But if your grand claim is true, one wonders why you’re so eager to rid yourselves of the girl.”
Naalagaa’s wispy beard quivered. “Look, we forgot to salvage a token from either parent. You know how us clanless can be when it comes to those matters, and you know her fate should she become clanless.”
There was no way they could reject her over such a small oversight, right?
“It is not you who are at fault, Captain,” said the patriarch. “Orluvoq’s parents failed to provide her with a token of kinship. This is either because they didn’t think she was yet worthy of the title of Terianniaq, or because they no longer considered themselves part of this noble breed. Either way, we cannot accept the girl into our lodge.”
“Or because she’s eight!” The captain waved his arms in the air. “Don’t tell me the Terianniaq undertake the Rites of Waxing when you’re still wet from your mothers’ bellies.”
“What sorts of herbs do you haul from the sea, Captain?” asked the crone.
The sudden change in conversation confused Orluvoq.
“The girl rejoins your lodge.”
“We will discuss no more of this.” The patriarch’s words bit through the air. “You will respect our decision, clanless one. Now, what do you haul from the sea? We have fresh narwhal to trade.”
Captain Naalagaa worked his jaw muscles over. “Orluvoq,” he said at last, “go tend the dogs.”
“Wait.” The archons’ words began to sink in. Orluvoq looked the matriarch in the eyes. “You’re rejecting me?”
The crone refrained from blinking for a prolonged moment. “We do not expect a child to understand the gravity of blood.”
“Yet you expect her to bear it,” Naalagaa responded.
“There may be some wisdom in you yet, Captain,” said the old man. “For who among us understands life? And who among us isn’t called to bear it?”
The captain cast a scowl to the horizon. “Run along, Orluvoq. We will speak later.”
Her own igloo, playing with her cousins, and becoming the clan angakkuq—all stained foul by those fold-faced ancient ones. Head still pounding, she hobbled off to find some water and the wombic embrace of her cot. First her parents, now the rest of her family. The ship didn’t want her either. No one did. She choked on sobs, each heave inflating the pressure behind her eyes.
3
Paarsisoq
26 Years Prior
Paarsisoq would normally have cursed the wind, but tonight he needed it. His hands balled around his kite grip and spear haft as his nerves balled around his stomach. Arsarneq, the great aurora, pulsed preternaturally in the sky, its emerald waves raining light onto the ice.
The clan’s sky watchers had spent almost a week scanning the heavens for the shimmery inklings of the aurora. The summer was almost dead, and their stores of meat and tuuaaq were all but gone. Blessedly, the long day of desolate skies ended with the dark of tonight. The hunt had arrived.
“I hope I’m not too frosty,” Arpap remarked, hood down low to shield from the elements.
Several of the men grunted their agreement.
“I hope that each of us fells a narwhal,” Sinik said, rolling his spear in one hand.
“I hope the wind spirits see fit to bear us all the way to Arsarneq and back,” said Aallaaniar.
“Never fear that,” said Arpap, “they always…” He trailed off, casting a wary eye toward Paarsisoq.
Yes, thought Paarsisoq, always. They always bear the hunters, except for when it’s my father.
“Don’t worry.” Arpap tried to reassert some peace. “Your father was the greatest of us. He could fell a narwhal with one spear. He rode the winds as if his mother were the sky and his father the air. You’ll do just fine. He would be proud to see you behind a kite.”
Paarsisoq said nothing. What could he say? Nothing the older clansmen wanted to hear. Instead, he ran his tongue over chapped lips; their stock of lard had depleted a few weeks prior. The last hunt of winter had been his father’s last, the great hunter’s body dashed against the ice along with Paarsisoq’s vigor.
“Look,” said Sinik to the dozen gathered men, gesturing to the ribbon of light overhead. They tilted their heads in unison to scry the sky. A pod of dark dashes cut through the green.
“Heya!” shouted Arpap. “To Arsarneq we ride.” He cinched his mouth flap against the coming blasts, held his kite skyward, wind ruffling the edges, then let it loose.
Paarsisoq watched the other men follow suit, sliding across the ground on their skis, until he alone remained. The kite reins shook in his hand, and not for the cold nor the wind. His hands slid around too easily inside his gloves. There was too much moisture on his mouth flap, turning it to ice against his lips. He was sure his feet weren’t strapped well enough into the skis.
He crouched down and buried his face into his knees. Why did you have to go? Why wasn’t it me instead? I needed you… Still need you. I know I can never be you, but I’ll try. Just please, please don’t let me fall.
He waited a moment after sending out his prayer before extracting his face. In the distance, the first hunter departed from the ground and began the ascent to their prey.
Alright. The boy stood and rose his kite above his head with a tremble in his hand. The wind gripped and tugged at the sail. Once his fingers slipped off the line, his chances at remaining ground-bound vanished. Just like the training runs. With a shaky breath, he unraveled his fingers, and the reins ran wild.
The line snapped taut and nearly pulled Paarsisoq onto his face. Heart thumping, he kept afoot as the elements drug him across the ground. The ponderous pace didn’t last as long as he wo
uld have liked. Before he even had enough presence of mind to grapple with it, he was clipping along faster than a bear at full trot, wind screaming in his ears. He might have preferred facing the bear.
The rest of the party were aloft and well on their way to Arsarneq. Already his skis took little skips away from the ice, his stomach ricocheting with each jounce. He knew what that meant. It was time to fly.
But his skis didn’t venture more than a foot from the ground. No matter how many times he played the motion of him yanking the kite in his mind, he couldn’t bring his arm to do it.
“Father!” he shouted into the wind, breaking his lips from the freezing mouth flap. “I cannot do it alone. Help me rise.”
With that, something switched inside him and he jerked his kite arm heavenward. The sail wrenched him from the earth.
Panic flashed as his fingers struggled to remain fast. Paarsisoq reached up with his spear arm and wrapped his last three digits around the kite grip. Only after a frantic minute in the air did he finally look to see where he was headed. He had stopped ascending and was shooting off parallel to the ground. A tug of the kite remedied the trajectory, and he turned to find his comrades.
The agile pack of hunters plowed through the aurora above, already swirling in battle with the whales. A narwhal corpse pluming with spears plummeted past him on his final ascent. He readjusted so he could once again grip with only one hand, the other fast around his spear.
Breaching the aurora cut mischief into his mind. The howling of the wind snapped off into a burbling approximation of silence, haunted by the indistinct moans of the narwhals. All that reached his eye was drowned in the ghostly green. Beastly bulks barreled past him, threatening to spear him or his kite. Their maws gaped, pocketing as much of the aurora as they could before being forced to swallow.
Where were his clansmen? Paarsisoq had been warned of the odd way that air acted inside Arsarneq, but firsthand navigation spun his head dizzy. Questing this way and that, tugging on the kite to get it to do something, he pitched into the consuming green.
“Heya,” he called. “Arpap? Allaniar?” The words seemed to jump a few feet from him, then fall out of the sky. His gut descended to a new level of unease. A narwhal brushed his skis, throwing him into a twirl.
In his precarious pirouette, a scuttle of humanoid motion caught his eye. He jerked on his kite until it tugged him in that direction.
At last, he did something right. The hunters had almost felled another narwhal, several spears sprouting from its hide.
Okay, grip it like so. Not too far forward, and… Oh, no.
Too fast. The freakish light sucked him along far faster than he had anticipated. He was going to skewer himself on the horn of the beast.
His kite hand twitched and his body jerked to the side as he cast his spear. He sped past his clansmen, desperately trying to tame his kite with both hands. He swung it around and shaved off speed.
The shot had gone wide. A lot of help he had been this hunt. I’ll never be you, he lamented. As he approached, he could see the other’s mouths moving but couldn’t hear their words. There was no need.
Dangling between the free arms of two hunters was Sinik, spear lodged perfectly between his ribs.
No.
Paarsisoq stared in raw horror at the dark liquid gushing down the man’s coat. The spell broke and he jerked the kite in any direction. Away. He must away.
He burst from the eerie calm into the wind that screamed as it tore. Assailed from outside and in, he swerved for the ground, trying to implement what little landing training his bereft mind could muster.
It’s not possible, he panicked. I couldn’t have killed him. But there was no other way that spear could have made its way into Sinik’s heart. I set out to become a hunter of narwhals and instead became a hunter of men.
A minute later, he landed heavily on his side, face ramming into the snow. Wild flashes of color lanced through bitter stings of cold as he rolled to a stop atop the ice. Pathetic tears froze to his cheeks along with streaks of blood. Killed a man. He had killed a man. Slayer of kin. Darkest memory of ice and sky. Good for nothing, save to be devoured by a tribunal of his kin.
I’ll never be you. He sobbed into the snow, wishing for the world to leave him. I have killed and too must die. But I could never face you in the hereafter. But neither can I face the clan again.
In the midst of his wallowing, he opened his eyes and saw tiny kite shapes angling for the ground.
“Tiaavuluk,” he swore and spat out blood. The horror of confronting his kinsmen beguiled his spirit into abyssal inaction. To face the men of the hunt was but one tribulation. The greater trial lay in confessing to Sinik’s wife and children. No matter how deep he looked inside, he could not find the words, “I killed your father.” His fingers only closed on bile and blooded shadow. And after his vain struggles to testify of his sins, the clan would open his throat and eat his flesh.
So Paarsisoq would flee. Had to flee. But where in all the ice could he find haven? A merchant ship? A bear’s cave? He traced the far above river of green to the horizon. Somewhere long past where any sane man set foot, past demons aplenty, was a cliff where it all ended. Where he could end it all. A place that could eat his body and his spirit, to become what the ice forgot.
That is where I must go, he thought, gaining no relief from his resolution, stomach still flush with bloodborne sick. To the end of the earth.
He stood shaky legs upon his unbroken ski and took one last look toward the igloos of his youth. Nothing. Darkness all, save the sky flecks of downward tacking hunters. He turned to face a deeper darkness, pitted kite against wind, and let himself be dragged toward high north.
4
Orluvoq
Orluvoq spent the entire trade in her sorrows. Nothing seemed less interesting than the barter banter, the playing children, or skimming for moss on the ice. There would be no mother calling her back from her strayings. No father poking her and asking whether she had found a new boyfriend. As unbearable as that was, it was unavoidable and therefore almost understandable. Daddy and Mama never wanted to leave. “I’ll watch you until you join us,” Mama had uttered in one of her last fevered, wet breaths.
Until not so many minutes ago, Orluvoq had imagined she’d been hit with the worst. She’d vested her hopes in one final refuge—more than hopes, her kin were her reality. They would assimilate her back into the life of igloos, feed and clothe her, teach her how to dress caribou and narwhals. They would assume the role her parents could not.
It was a lie. They hated her. Whatever she was, she wasn’t one of them. Her very existence abraded against theirs. Yes, her parents were gone, but they were taken. The rest of her kin had chosen to leave her. Chosen to leave her clutching helplessly at snipped strings. No, not entirely helpless. She had something she could turn to. If only she could get her mitts on a little…
The jerk of wind catching the sails startled her out of her woeful abstractions. Were they not going to spend the night moored up here? She uncurled from her cot and pattered to the deck to assay affairs.
“Tiaavuluk!” the captain swore, shattering a chunk of ice against the deck. “That Terianniaq whore and her wrinkled scab of a husband better never see the end of the world. I’ll eat them myself, piece by nasty piece. Then I’ll puke them back up and let the dogs devour the vomit.”
The gathered crew watched him rage in front of darkening clouds.
“To do that you’d have to sail back there and stick ’em yourself.” Siulleq, the first mate, grinned. “Shall I schedule a return trip?”
“Return?” Naalagaa spat. “Terianniaq will never see our sails again. I hope they starve and have to resort to eating each other. Hope none of them ever see Nunapisu. Their spirits can die along with their bodies.”
He caught sight of Orluvoq’s wide, red eyes. “Ah, buck up, lass. If they’ve rejected you so swiftly, you never wanted kin like that anyway. We’ll find you better company, sure enoug
h.”
“But not the ship?” Orluvoq asked, eyes no less wide and no more white.
The captain scowled and glanced to the sky. “Wish we could keep you, but circumstances and whatnot. Don’t worry though, we’ll find you a good home soon enough.”
A voice barked from the women gathered sternward. “You’re not—you can’t possibly be thinking of taking her to Atortittartut or another one of those filth dens.” Orluvoq perked up at Kitornak’s objection. That sounded like the name of a clan her mother had once condemned.
Naalagaa waved a dismissal. “Her angakkuq skills will serve her wherever she goes. But you know the options for a clanless girl, and few they are. What else could she do? Give herself to the ice? Go north and play with demons?”
It must have been a trick of the light, but Orluvoq saw darkness draw around the woman. “Yes, we’re perfectly familiar with the options accessible to a clanless girl, Captain.” Kitornak spat the last word. “More so than you. I often wish I had just been given to the ice rather than turned over to Atortittartut. Can you look at this ruin of a girl,” she flung her hand at Orluvoq, “say that we have no room for her when the only other option will destroy her last shreds of life, and call yourself an honest man?”
“Enough with the histrionics, Kitornak. I don’t keep you on my ship to make me headaches, but food. You think I’m any happier about it than you are? If I ran a charity among all the Nuktipik peoples, we would trade for smiles and handshakes alone. The world is crueler than the ice that covers it. I’m just a man who’s trying to avoid seeing Nunapisu as long as possible. If you can’t handle the truths that flow through the aurora, that fly through the air, that fall in the snow, that die in a rancid puddle of their own vomited blood, then the ice awaits. The ice is always hungry.”
“You miss the storm for the snowflakes, Naalagaa.” She pushed black hairs mingled with a silver or two beneath her hood. “This is much bigger than—”
Orluvoq Page 3