The Tundra Shall Burn!

by Ken Altabef

  “It’s the sorcerer I’ve told you about,” said Alaana.

  Qo’tirgin raised an eyebrow. “And how would you know this?”

  “I just know.”

  “Of course.”

  “He’s killing the shamans all across Nunatsiaq. Taking their light and hiding it somewhere. I don’t know why.”

  “That is a problem,” remarked Qo’tirgin, “if it is as you say. But I don’t see what we can do about it. And besides, I have more immediate concerns.”

  “Such as?”

  “A bigger problem — I can’t make a hunt. Tekkeitsertok doesn’t heed my calls.”

  “He rarely answers mine,” noted Alaana. “I guess I’ve gotten used to it.”

  “Well, I haven’t,” said Qo’tirgin. “This worries me. The winter will demand to know what we’ve done with our summer. If we don’t have enough stores, it will go hard for us.”

  Alaana nodded her agreement.

  “Not to worry, though,” said Qo’tirgin, with a confident smile. “I have an idea. We two shall venture forth together to the Wild Wood. The two of us, our strength combined, will solve the riddle. I am sure of it. But that is for tomorrow. Now it is time to sing and to dance, and to eat.”

  Unlike the Anatatook community which broke into smaller groups for warm weather, the M’gipsu maintained a large summer camp encompassing all the main families. There were so many people at the feast, more than a hundred adults and their children, and most of them had warm greetings for Alaana. After a short while her face hurt from smiling. So as not to cause a panic, Tiki had been quartered at the kennel with the dog teams.

  Food was plentiful. Eider duck was roasted on the open fire and heaps of dried salmon passed down the line. Alaana especially enjoyed the cranberries and blueberries which were fruits not usually found on Anatatook lands. There was very little meat and Alaana noticed the way people lingered at the platters with a certain longing in their eyes; it was a look she knew well, the look one gives to a plate of meat that very well might be your last. But such thoughts did not dampen the celebration.

  Young boys put on a pageant in hopes for the upcoming hunt, holding short caribou horns to their heads and imitating the beasts’ mannerisms and elegant gait. The heads of the hunting families joined in a big song circle, and Tikiqaq was mentioned more than once. Alaana’s apprehensions about her fearsome assistant had been unnecessary. The little tupilaq was a new and interesting subject for comical songs among the M’gipsu. Alaana was sorry Tiki had to miss all the fun. The tupilaq would have loved to see the children laugh and dance.

  Alaana sat beside Qo’tirgin, who made sure she was served an extra portion of each and every delicacy passed around the circle. The shaman’s wife was responsible for serving her husband and his esteemed guest. As headman, Qo’tirgin supported two wives. His first wife, U’mqaqa, handled all of their food. She was a proud woman, still beautiful despite advancing years, with elaborate marital tattoos stitched across her forehead, cheeks and chin.

  “The people seem happy,” said Alaana. She was reminded of the great feasts the Anatatook used to have in better times such as the wonderful three-day wedding feast for her brother Maguan, and the celebrations Tugtutsiak used to hold on the promontory of the Tongue before each whale hunt.

  “They have faith in me — in you, too. They know we will see them through.”

  The shaman’s second wife hovered over the pair. As this woman, named Nirjkila, was a spirit-wife, only Alaana and Qo’tirgin could see her. She had the appearance of a young and lovely girl, with lustrous raven tresses and perfect skin. The demon wife did not offer food, but spent much of her time rubbing her husband’s shoulders and caressing the back of his neck. She had long, finely-kept fingernails that glistened in the evening light, and these she teased sensuously along her husband’s jawline. The headman went on at length, extolling the many virtues of having a ke’le for a wife, especially late at night. It turned out his mortal and demon wives were forever trying to outdo each other, a competition that took many unusual turns. As the demon wife could change her appearance at will, she held a certain advantage.

  “A little bit of fun, that’s all you need, Alaana,” suggested Qo’tirgin. “Perhaps you should get married again. If a woman can be the shaman, why can’t she have two husbands?”

  Alaana shook her head.

  Qo’tirgin jerked his chin toward his demon wife. “She has a brother, if you’re interested.”

  “No thanks!”

  Qo’tirgin laughed and called for a wrestling match. He stripped to the waist and stood before the people, taking several voluminous breaths that puffed his massive chest to its full measure. The cerements of his position as shaman were put away, and he called forth a pair of young men from the crowd. The young men hooked elbows with Qo’tirgin on either side. The shaman stood his ground, laughing fiercely as the other two pulled and strained and groaned. The others could not move him at all. Their difficulty was, Alaana knew, not for show. Though Qo’tirgin was older than the two of them combined, he was the strongest man Alaana had ever met. Even without his shamanic powers he would have made a formidable leader.

  The people enjoyed the show as two more men added to the pile, and Qo’tirgin began to struggle among the four opponents. They tugged him this way and that, until one of the young men was flung to the side, and then the headman made short work of another. The last two gave up immediately before they were sent for a short flight as well, slipping in the slush as they withdrew.

  Everyone laughed. Alaana studied their faces, drinking in the noble character lines of each. Children at play, men singing and composing songs, and everywhere a strong sense of community and fellowship. These were good people, just like her own. They only wanted to survive in a world full of spirits they could not hope to comprehend.

  Qo’tirgin returned to Alaana’s side, bearing a double-handful of cured salmon skin. Alaana smiled. This had all been good for her — the feast, the friendship. Qo’tirgin always knew just what to do. She felt flush with renewed faith. “We will find Tekkeitsertok.”

  “Of course,” said Qo’tirgin. “But that is for tomorrow. Eat! Sing a song. And I warn you, I’m not going to sleep tonight until you dance.”

  CHAPTER 30

  THE WILD WOOD

  Twilight was the best time for journeying between worlds. This late in summer both sunrise and sunset were mixed together into an orange haze that hung on the horizon like a scintillating pink ribbon wrapped across the world. All the better. Day and night were one, and the walls between the seven worlds as thin as gossamer.

  Alaana and Tiki joined Qo’tirgin in his huge karigi tent. The M’gipsu shaman had an impressive collection of masks and drums, and was resplendent in an elaborate ceremonial parka, heavily laced with owl feathers and bird claws. His totem of power was a long staff, made from the baculum of a type of walrus that had long ago disappeared from the world. The shamans sat cross-legged in the center of the tent. Qo’tirgin donned his Lowerworld mask — a large oval carved of aromatic wood much like Alaana’s own, though this one had a semblance of a face in the grain, with squirrels’ tails for eyebrows and mustaches.

  He brought out a large round drum with a deep resonant belly and small iron rattles hung along the rim. As Qo’tirgin struck a preparatory rhythm, these kungru added a tinkling counterpoint to the deep bass timbre of the drum. This musical contrast sharpened Alaana’s concentration. Indeed, despite all her doubts and fears, she would have no trouble attaining the trance state in this comfortable setting among such capable company. The drum head was decorated with a representation of the great turgat Tekkeitsertok in all its glory, a high-spirited caribou head with a luxurious rack and a splendid mane.

  “My assistant will beat the drum for us,” offered Alaana.

  Qo’tirgin looked askance at Tikiqaq. “Not the tupilaq…”

  “It’s fine,” assured Alaana. “I’ve released it from its mission of revenge, and now it is as free
as a child.” Alaana regarded the creation of the tupilaq as one of the best things she’d ever done, though for all the wrong reasons. She had granted it the freedom it deserved. She only wished Tsungi would do the same for her. “It’s very curious and eager to learn. Its destiny is unwritten.”

  Qo’tirgin laughed. “Well, I don’t doubt any of that, but can it keep a beat?”

  “Of course I can keep the beat,” said Tiki. It attempted to wrest the beater stick from Qo’tirgin with its flipper and take its place at the big round drum. The drum was nearly as tall as the tupilaq and its rounded base wobbled, knocking the tupilaq over on its side. The beater flew into the air and Tiki, with an amazing show of dexterity, caught the stick on its tail flipper. It tapped lightly at the drumhead, the stick still balanced precariously on its tail, as if it had meant to beat the drum in that position all along.

  Qo’tirgin took the beater back. “My wife will beat the drum.”

  Nirjkila materialized in the air next to the big drum. Once again the demon looked young and beautiful though somewhat pale and insubstantial in the murky twilight streaming down from the vent hole at the top of the tent. She smiled gamely at Alaana, showing yellowed teeth.

  Though normal women were not allowed in the karigi, Alaana was unsure how this taboo related to demon wives. She decided to let it pass. Qo’tirgin’s judgment was good enough for her.

  The two shamans bowed their heads and took up a slow rhythmic chant as Nirjkila beat the drum. Alaana’s usual way of journeying to the Lowerworld involved recreating in her mind the image of a gigantic tree stump her teacher Old Manatook had once shown her, and extending her consciousness down into the root system. But for this journey the two had adopted Qo’tirgin’s method which depended upon a small conical hole dug into the floor of the karigi. Around the circumference of the hole, arranged in a spiral going down, were the bleached bones of a vole, its bony snout aimed toward the depths below. The shamans linked their spirits to the lingering traces of the soul persisting within the vole’s remains, and followed their little partner down into its new burrow.

  Alaana’s spirit-woman took flight, leaving her body behind. The boundless exhilaration of the trance, so rarely felt in recent days, wrapped her inuseq in a cloak of pure joy. It filled her lungs as a breath of sparkling air, ever expanding, until it filled her to the brim with warmth and energy.

  Qo’tirgin, an impressive figure made of white light, appeared beside her. He shared Alaana’s enjoyment of the trance for but a moment, then said, “Let’s go. Work to do.”

  Down they went. The entire world seemed to spin around them as they sank through the dirt and ice, through the barrier of ever-frost below and into the solid rock of the earth itself. They traveled for a long time, passing through ring upon ring of colored minerals, until at last their spirits penetrated the roof of the cavern that contained the Lowerworld. The two shamans touched gently down on the leafy ground of a vast spiritual forest beneath the earth.

  Tiki squealed as its spirit plopped down beside them. Qo’tirgin marveled at it for a moment for he had never seen a tupilaq’s spirit before. The creature had no real soul of its own, just a hodge-podge conglomeration of remnants from the various animal parts and totems sewn within the dead seal carcass. Shining brightly at the center of this bizarre mess was a tiny portion of the wise man Massautsicq’s soul which still inhabited the locket of hair Alaana had given her tupilaq for a heart.

  Because of the Lowerworld’s roof of stone there was no natural light. The rich purple tones of the spirit-vision provided a clear picture, however, as the many souls of the trees illuminated their surroundings. Alaana always found something new in the Lowerworld’s rare beauty as this was the only realm where she saw such wonderful things as trees. She loved their expansive shapes, their graceful symmetry, their peaceful nature.

  Alaana did not usually enter the Lowerworld through a vole’s mouth and she had lost all sense of direction. “Which way do we go?”

  Qo’tirgin pointed his staff, which in this reality manifested as a long rod of wood with a forked head. “That way.”

  They took off in a brisk walk, picking a path between the massive spirit-trees. Qo’tirgin stopped occasionally to listen and sniff at the air, though Alaana didn’t know why. She couldn’t smell anything.

  “It’s not much further,” the M’gipsu shaman announced, “but nothing here feels right. There are times when Tekkeitsertok wanders, but those times are few; usually he can be found resting here. But now I sense that he is gone and yet… somehow still here.” A painful expression crossed his face. “Do you hear it? That scream!”

  Alaana couldn’t sense any of these things. She was not a normal shaman with a normal guardian spirit, and her connection to the great turgats of the wild had never been strong. But as soon as they entered the clearing of the Wild Wood, the trouble became horrifyingly apparent.

  This was the special place of Tekkeitsertok, guardian of the hooved game animals, and its ethereal beauty had a different character than the rest of the forest. Here a more elegant harmony was in evidence, an ancient order in the symmetry of every growing thing, in the way the vines worked their way up the shaggy bark of the huge, stately trees. A densely woven canopy arched above this earthy sanctuary, formed by hundreds of branches clasping like hands overhead. The air was thick with the scent of woodsmoke, green flowering plants, and pungent animal spoor. A white celestial light infused every leaf and branch, lighting up the willow tufts like tiny stars dotting the bower. The great trees reached out across the clearing with shimmering wooden arms, entwined and braided together by the long years to frame a willow tree bower, the throne seat upon which Tekkeitsertok usually sat resting, contemplating the mysteries of the world and overseeing the great plains above where his charges roamed free.

  The bower had been shattered by intense violence. Only wickered remnants of broken bark, limbs and jagged wooden spikes scattered across the clearing were all that remained.

  “What happened here?” asked Alaana.

  Qo’tirgin sank to his knees, pressing hands to his ears in obvious discomfort.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I still hear it. The scream.”

  Alaana put her hand on her friend’s shoulder, grateful for once that she stood apart from the rest of the shamans. In a moment Qo’tirgin composed himself. There were not many things that could bring this strong man low.

  Tikiqaq, who had been ferreting about in the shrubbery, barked sharply from its seal mouth.

  Qo’tirgin shot out with the staff, pinning a small creature to the ground. Looking closer Alaana saw that it was a tree squirrel. The two twines of the fork on either side of the staff had trapped its neck. As it struggled to escape Alaana saw the face shift, the snout shrink into broadening cheeks, the eyes grow large and round.

  “Let him up,” Alaana said.

  Qo’tirgin released his captive. The squirrel’s features melted into that of a little man about two hands high, dressed in a rough parka of squirrel fur. He had a small round face with a fuzzy beard and side whiskers on rosy cheeks, a tiny nose and wide, startled eyes.

  “It’s one of the ieufuluuraq,” said Alaana.

  “Hmm-hum,” said a little voice. “Knows you. Knows you, Alaana.”

  Alaana smiled. Really she couldn’t tell this little fellow from any of the others she had encountered on her travels to this spiritual plane but she nodded vigorously. “I know you.”

  The squirrel-man stood up, rubbing a small paw around his neck and shooting Qo’tirgin a defensive glance. He straightened his little parka and smoothed the broad furry tail protruding from his backside. “Hum-hum,” he said sadly. “Something happened here.”

  “You saw?” asked Alaana.

  “Hmm hum.”

  “Tell us what you saw.”

  The ieufuluuraq cringed, shaking his head violently. His whiskers trembled and his eyes shut tight.

  “Don’t be afraid,” said Alaana. “Tell.�
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  The squirrel-man shook his head again.

  “All right then,” said Alaana. “Remember.” She reached down to touch the top of the creature’s fuzzy head. “Remember…”

  The creature had witnessed the event through the eyes of a squirrel, which was fortunate because squirrel eyes were so much sharper and quicker than those of the man-form. He had been crossing from tree to tree and paused as often he did to admire the majesty of Lord Tekkeitsertok as it sat on its woody throne. The great turgat sat quietly, its massive head bent with sleep, the wrack of antler touching gently upon its broad barrel chest.

  The ieufuluuraq startled at an out-of-place sound, the angry snap of a twig down below. It tensed for flight, but judged itself high enough on the tree for safety. It watched a spirit-man stride into the clearing. It was a tall man with a large head, who moved with a noble bearing and a mighty stride, dressed in heavy spirit furs. The man stood before Tekkeitsertok for a moment, studying the great one.

  The ieufuluuraq began to worry, sensing malicious intent but knew no way to rouse the great turgat from his deep slumber. The man was quite small in comparison to Tekkeitsertok, standing only to the great spirit’s ankle.