The Tundra Shall Burn!

by Ken Altabef

  And now, again, it was a warm spring night, a time for thoughts of romance and love. The Moon above was nearly full as she walked alone outside the camp.

  Noona’s mind was filled with thoughts of Sir Gekko. Gekko told stories too. Tales of a different land, with wondrous sea ships breathing smoke and steam, where people rode in great wagons, strange houses on wheels that moved from place to place, and people only had to climb on and off when they got where they were going. He showed her a picture book filled with all the wise things the white men had ever discovered. He read to her from another — tales of Arthur and his knights, filled with stories of brave men and virtuous women. Noona listened intently, for she knew one could learn something from every good story or song. She learned the stories and also much about the man who told them, the strength in his voice, his love of justice, a bravery to match any armor-clad knight.

  Gekko sang songs from foreign lands, of which he knew many. He seemed happy when he was with her. He spoke to her in English, which she liked, and sometimes also in French which she adored. She loved the sound of it. Noona found she was quick with languages and learned fast.

  Gekko had moved her in ways no one had ever done before. She thought…

  She thought a lot of strange things about him, and she was afraid. Afraid of the feelings of desire growing within her heart, and the dangerous chances she was prepared to take. She could not bear to be hurt again.

  She must know more.

  Noona twisted the string. A triangle of sinew held tight in supple fingers, she sent a double loop through the lower center, making the figure of the Moon Rising.

  She looked upon the Moon Rising, thinking of Sir Walter.

  “Is he the one?” she whispered. “Is he?”

  A tinkling laugh rang in her ears. “Do you really want to know?”

  Noona drew in a deep breath, sensing the nearness of her patron, the Moon-Maid. The answer to that question was problematic. After so many disappointments she was afraid to look.

  But she must know.

  “Is he the one?” she asked. “Show me… something. Oh please, Tatqeq.”

  The maid did not appear. A cold wind blew around Noona. Circling her, it sent a chill from top to bottom. Tiny silver lights twinkled in the mist.

  Tatqeq giggled again. “I’m not going to tell,” she said. “Romance requires some mystery after all.”

  “You told me about the others,” reminded Noona. “You showed me none of them were for me.”

  “That was done to cushion a broken heart. None of them would have you. They thought you too strange and perhaps that fault could be traced back to my influence. So I chose to spare you all that. But let you know about Gekko?” She laughed again.

  “So you feel no need to protect my heart from Gekko,” said Noona. “That tells me something.”

  “It tells you what might happen. Not what will happen. That you must find out for yourself.”

  CHAPTER 12

  FEAR AND DOUBT

  The first day’s travel was a difficult one. Six dogs fanned out ahead of the sled, each in its own trace line — the best way to pull on a soft trail. All in all, it was a good team. Makaartunghak, the gigantic huskie Alaana had inherited from Old Manatook, had long passed away but had left behind strong heirs. Four of his brood headed the team. Alaana’s family, particularly her uncle Anaktuvik, had always been known for their dogs, but now the shaman’s stock was the envy of all.

  The snow was masak, soft and wet, the bane of spring thaw. The patchy ground cover made for slow going and hard work for the dogs. Alaana had put fresh mud on the runners, red clay brought up from the lake bottom and stored at the summer camp, and then iced them over with a thick coat. She sat far forward on the sled — directly in the teeth of the icy wind — and nearly exhausted herself shifting weight from side to side in order to guide jutting stones between the runners before they could chip the icy veneer.

  Yipyip, the other dog Old Manatook had left her, sat curled warmly in her lap. Though she outlived every other dog from Alaana’s youth, the little black mixed-breed showed no sign of slowing down with age. Her origins were a mystery to Alaana, though she served her new master as faithfully as she had her old one.

  Alaana found herself in a foul mood, troubled by her recent interaction with the fever demon. Years ago, in youth and inexperience, she had tried to save that tortured spirit. This time she had handled it differently, ending her once and for all. Ever since her experience with Vithrok in the shadow world, she hadn’t been the same. These days she had to forcibly remind herself of the teachings of Old Manatook, who had made clear to her that fear and doubt were the most dangerous things and must be banished from her mind. But such faith and optimism were no longer possible. Ever since her battle with the sorcerer, fear and doubt clung to her soul like a stain. She feared Vithrok, and worried day and night what revenge he might seek against the Anatatook.

  And doubt. So many doubts. Questions about her calling, the initiation and her patron had been answered, but in their wake festered more doubts than ever. Why had she been called? What was she supposed to do? Would Tsungi ever help her again? And the worst doubt of all — when it came time to face Vithrok again, what would happen if she wasn’t up to the task? How could she be? What human was?

  Tikiqaq tapped her shoulder with one of its clawed flippers. The tupilaq sat on the box next to Alaana.

  “Stop the sled,” it said.

  “Hoo!” she called out to the dogs, stopping the sled.

  “What?” she asked her tupilaq.

  “Look,” it said, gazing straight ahead.

  Alaana looked. She saw nothing of concern. A flat snowy plain which left no avenue for surprise attack. No bear or wolverine skulking through the drifts. The sky a bleak gray, swirling with the occasional snowflake, but otherwise clear. In the distance the great bergs stood tall and silent. No threats. No apparent danger.

  “What?” she asked again.

  “It’s beautiful,” said Tiki. “Don’t you think?”

  Alaana’s heart suddenly felt heavy in her chest. She realized the tupilaq, who had not traveled much, looked upon the northlands in summer for the first time. Alaana looked again. Here and there wildflowers peeked through the slush, an intrepid bloom of red or gold lifting its head to the summer sky. Alaana’s heart lightened.

  “Yes, it is beautiful,” she said. “We are fortunate, the luckiest people on the world, for Nunatsiaq is the most beautiful land there ever was.”

  Tiki fairly beamed.

  “Thank you,” she added, giving the tupilaq a little smile. “Leave it to you, my little monster, to show me something old and make it seem new.”

  She gave the order to start — a harsh, loud expulsion of breath from the throat. The team, roused suddenly to excitement and energy at the sound, took off across the plain.

  “If you think that’s beautiful,” Alaana said, “wait until you see the Heart.”

  “What heart?” asked Tiki, “The heart of what?”

  “The Heart of Nunatsiaq. I’m taking you to a place that’s very special to me. You’ll see things no tupilaq has ever seen. It’s a long ride, but when we get farther north the going will be easier, you’ll see. It’s a special place. Wait till you see it! The bergs rise up into the sky itself, so clear, so pure. It’s the lair of the bears of the Ice Mountain, their home of sweet content, where the seal and shorebirds are plentiful and the ice is forever solid and sure. These are not ordinary white bears — they are spirit bears, the most favored of Tornarssuk.”

  Tikiqaq whimpered slightly.

  “Oh no,” laughed Alaana. “They won’t try to eat you. I promise. You see, I’m their shaman too.”

  “You?”

  “Yes, that’s right. My teacher, Old Manatook was one of them, though he often wore the disguise of a man. He kept the place secret, as I do, as you must also. But I found out about it, and the shaman of the bears took a liking to me. His name was Balikqi and when he d
ied he asked that I carry on, that I look after the place and help train the two newly-born bear cubs who had the shaman’s light. I visit when I’m able; I teach them what I can. It’s been too long since I’ve been back.”

  “I was surprised you didn’t bring Kinak on the journey,” said Tiki. “But I didn’t realize it was secret.”

  “I don’t want him involved in this,” said Alaana. “Or anything else having to do with his mother being the shaman. He’s a normal Anatatook man, a hunter just like his grandfather.”

  “You know that’s not true,” said Tiki. “He’s been touched by your power already.”

  Alaana didn’t want to talk about this. Her son, eighteen winters old, was not quite right in the head. He was plagued by bad dreams, by dark visitations in the night. He was a nervous young man and had a hard time concentrating on any task at hand, unable to sit still on the ice, sometimes shouting out to people who were simply not there. “So what of it?” said Alaana. “He’s good for paddling the kayak during the hunt and spearing fish in the weirs. Let him do those things and be happy. Kigiuna is patient with him, and loves him well. And so do I.

  “Of course,” said Tiki. “He’s a fine young man. But I was wondering, since the shaman can walk in the dreamlands, why don’t you try to rid your son of his nightmares?”

  “It’s not that simple. When I look into his eyes I don’t see any spiritual intrusions. These problems come from his own mind. I won’t go trampling around inside Kinak’s mind. He’s well enough as he is.”

  “As you say,” said the tupilaq. “And I’m glad to come with you instead. I love to see new things.”

  “There’s a special reason I’ve brought you along. The Heart, remember? At the center of the Ice Mountain the bears preserve the greatest treasure of Nunatsiaq — that thing which we call the Heart. It’s a sculpture carved from the ice of the tallest berg, as big around as the whole of the Anatatook summer camp. The detail is beyond anything you’ve ever seen. It’s unbelievable. In its gleaming face one can see all of creation — every land bridge and lake, each mountain and glacier, every river and rock from the barren northland to the taiga at land’s end; all the peoples of Nunatsiaq on their travels across the land, from the whalers to the hunters to the raiders, and even the white men in their trading posts; every herd of caribou and musk oxen, every whale at sea, the snow hares and lemmings in their burrows, the foxes in the traps, the wolves as they wander; every type of animal that has ever graced the tundra. It’s all there.

  “And much more than that, for the Heart tells a different story as the light changes the seasons, the colors and patterns shifting and moving from moment to moment, telling of the past, present and even things that someday might be. Sometimes I think it may be alive.”

  “You see its soul? It speaks to you?”

  “Its soul? No. No, it’s not like that. Its inua is simply that which one would see in any block of ice. And it doesn’t speak. It sings! The cavern which houses the Heart is full of small tubes and tunnels that let the wind through, and it makes a kind of music. The pipes of the Heart lift the spirits of any who hear it. It’s a song of better days to come, the release of all worry and cares, an end to toil and strife. It is the song of hope. I tell you, I’ve been away too long. It’ll do me good to hear that song again.

  “In the Heart can be seen many things. I hope it will show me Tekkeitsertok, so that I may at last arrange the caribou hunt for my brother Maguan.”

  “Maybe it will show you the one you seek above all else,” said Tikiqaq.

  “Many times I’ve tried, and the bears try as well. That one hides himself from the Heart as he hides from everything else. I don’t understand it. But this is why I’ve brought you along. Your eyes are not human eyes; they are beams of moonlight. The Heart lights up differently at night, under the shimmering illuminations of the Moon-Man. With you I bring a new combination — moonlight shining during summer’s day. What might you see, gazing at the Heart, that others can not?”

  Tiki bounced up and down on the sled box seat, whiskers twitching thoughtfully. “I hope I can help.”

  “I hope so too. I bring you to see. But remember, the Heart is not for mortal eyes. The Heart must remain a secret.”

  “I will look,” said the tupilaq. “I will look for him. What will you do to Vithrok when you find him?”

  “I don’t know,” Alaana said.

  “Kill him?”

  “He’s already dead.”

  “Destroy him then?”

  “If it’s possible. If I could find a way. There are so many things I don’t know. What’s he doing? When will he strike? He’s hanging over us like some dark storm cloud; he’s hidden under our heel like a venomous snake. Burned by Quixaaragon and biding his time, working in secret. Hiding. And blind to him, I can’t see.”

  “Perhaps you should ask what is blinding you, master?”

  Alaana peered over at her assistant, thinking that was a very good question indeed. “I don’t know. Fear? Doubt? So many things.”

  “Vengeance?” asked Tikiqaq. “It’s because of your husband, isn’t it?”

  Alaana was offended. She didn’t want to be confronted with talk of Ben’s problems, especially from the tupilaq.

  “I understand vengeance,” said the tupilaq. “I was made for it.”

  “I’m not interested in vengeance.”

  “Every time a shaman tells a lie, it corrupts her soul.”

  Alaana started. Who had it learned that from? Old Higilak no doubt.

  “You’re right, Tiki. Maybe that’s why I can’t seem to find Tekkeitsertok any more. No wonder the spirits turn a blind eye toward me. I think I’m coming to hate them all. And then what type of shaman shall I be?”

  Tiki had no answer. The tupilaq had been made for vengeance. It had been released from its hatred by the death of its target Klah Kritlaq, and then set free to become much more. But how could its master be freed from this terrible fear that was eating away at her?

  Taamnapkunami, being the spirit of the lake, was present in every drop of its waters and in the soul of every creature within. Nunavik could see the lake’s dull blue inua as it surrounded them on every side. But the spirit was very old and very lazy and almost always in a deep sleep. Nunavik himself was very old — had he really lived twelve hundred years or was that just some number he was fond of quoting to the children? He couldn’t remember. What did it matter? He didn’t lay around all day in oblivious slumber; he had too many places to go, too many things to do.

  Already the lake children had dived, heading for the secret cavern concealed at the bottom of the lake. If one was to wake Taamnapkunami, that was the place for it. Uuna led the way, outpacing the others by means of his high dorsal fin and the sleek row of tiny flippers along his sides. Ikik lumbered after his brother, his huge tail flapping. He was the darkest orange in color. Nunavik kept pace alongside Siqi, the smallest of the three.

  The secret cave was not large enough for Ikik to fit in his entirety, so he waited until the others were inside and stuck only his head within the opening.

  “Father!” cried Uuna. “Father!”

  “Settle down, dear,” remarked Nunavik. “I’ll do it. This is a job for a bull walrus if ever there was one.”

  Nunavik gathered himself in deep concentration. He reached out to the waters, feeling his way drop by drop until his mind mingled with that of the sleepy lake spirit.

  “Taamnapkunami,” he called politely.

  Receiving no answer, Nunavik gathered his will again, digging mental tendrils into the spirit of the lake. Grabbing hold, he shook the waters.

  “Taamnapkunami!” he bellowed. “You lazy puddle of stale water! Wake up!”

  The spirit of the lake stirred. Its subtle blue radiance glowed brighter, sputtered, sank back down.

  “Get up! You useless old splash of drool. Wake up!”

  The lake shuddered, rocking the cavern and jostling its occupants. “Weeana…?”

 
“No, it’s not Weeana,” said Nunavik. “Your wife is gone.”

  The water came alive with luminous blue. Taamnapkunami.

  “I was dreaming of her,” the lake said. “I thought I heard her calling me.”

  Nunavik knew how he felt. After twelve hundred years, he sometimes still dreamed of Sedna’s daughter.

  “Mmmmmm,” said the lake. “She never swims any more. I used to caress her soft skin—”

  “Your children,” interrupted Nunavik, “have need of you.”

  “Ah, is it feeding time already? I shouldn’t wonder they eat so much. Is that Ikik peering in at us? Look at the size of him.”

  The water inside the cavern began to shake and shimmer. In an instant a multitude of krill and shrimp came into being, brought directly from the ocean. They popped into existence, muddying the water of the cavern, and then spilled out into the greater lake. Ikik took advantage of his position to open his mouth and let them pour inside. He made loud satisfied eating noises.

  “You’ll forgive me,” said Taamnapkunami. “I sometimes lose track of their feedings. There is no night or day in this great cavern. No way to tell. I used to look at the stars, when the sky was made of air and not rock…”

  The blue luminescence began to fade.

  “Wait!” bellowed Nunavik.

  “Daddy! Daddy!” chimed the children.

  The water frothed again, and another cloud of krill appeared. “There you go,” said Taamnapkunami. “Mmmmmm, Daddy needs just a little more rest. Go and play. I’m tired now.”

  “They want to visit the sea,” said Nunavik.

  “The sea? Oh, no, that’s not possible. I brought Weeana here so she would be safe. That’s all.”

  “You see?” said Nunavik, turning on the children. “I told you so.”

  “Why can’t you take us there, Daddy?” asked Siqi.