The Tundra Shall Burn!

by Ken Altabef

But he couldn’t be calm. The sea scorpion came charging at him, giant claw leading the way.

  Well, Nunavik asked himself, was he a bull walrus or not? Was he defenseless? The scorpion was gigantic, fully twice his size, but surely he’d faced tougher opponents in his many years, although none specifically came to mind...

  As the scorpion’s claw snapped at him Nunavik instinctually dived, something he was quite good at. His tail flapped up, accidentally striking Kktakaluk in the face. This didn’t harm the scorpion, who possessed a powerful three-pronged tail of its own.

  Kktakaluk launched at him. Nunavik wasn’t nearly fast enough to escape. As the two collided, the scorpion latched on with all eight of its thorny legs.

  I’m done, thought Nunavik. It’s all over.

  The scorpion pulled the walrus’ left flipper back so far he felt it ready to snap.

  “Don’t you dare kill me, you mindless idiot,” said Nunavik. “Surely your wife wants that pleasure.”

  The scorpion hesitated.

  And then a golden light flooded the scene. Nunavik felt a peculiar sense of peace taking away the pain, calming his fear and panic.

  The golden starfish appeared. Qityabnaqtuq was an im-pressive sight, a gigantic sun star with forty waving arms. A large eye spot, glowing red, tipped the end of each appendage. A pattern of delicate spines tracked up each arm to meet at the top of its head where they formed a pattern making a sort of an elaborate crown.

  “Leave him be!” said Qityabnaqtuq in a high-pitched but still fairly menacing voice. “That walrus is mine.”

  The water flared hot and Nunavik felt the scorpion’s hold slacken.

  “Let him go, you ugly buffoon,” ordered Qityabnaqtuq, “or I shall roast you in your shell!”

  At last the scorpion relented. He released Nunavik with a shove, one of his pincers snapping off a bit of the walrus’ tailfin as he went. Kktakaluk turned and swam away.

  “Thank you, my good, good friend,” said Nunavik, bowing his head.

  “The scorpion is one thing,” said the starfish, “but Sedna is another. She won’t like this. And I imagine she’ll arrive quite soon. I can do nothing against her!”

  “I understand,” said Nunavik. So it was all for nothing in the end.

  “I can get you away,” said Qityabnaqtuq, “but she inhabits the sea. All of it. She is the sea. We’ll never reach the surface in time. I can’t get you all the way out.”

  “Then she will find me and kill me. It’s no use.”

  “Unless you find her first,” said the starfish.

  “What?” asked Nunavik. This definitely did not sound like a good idea.

  The starfish, whose underside contained a round mouth with many pointy teeth, smiled. “Trust in me.”

  “I do!” replied Nunavik. His words were swallowed up by a new commotion in the water. All around him the sea turned to liquid gold, and began spinning round and round. Nunavik had one last look at that majestic starfish, flashing his wonderful smile, as he was sucked into the vortex and carried along.

  Nunavik sped through the tunnel in a mad rush, an exhilarating ride despite the danger. At the end he was ejected from the funnel like a piece of rotten fish, hacked up and spat out.

  And there was Sedna. Her back was turned, the disparate strands of her hair waving like kelp in the current, a purple robe rippling over her scaly green skin. She kneeled before a shrine, so preoccupied she hadn’t even noticed his arrival.

  The gravesite was marked by glittering gemstones, a secret trove at the bottom of the sea hidden beneath a shelf of overhanging rock. Nunavik had a very good idea whose bones lay below that royal burial mound.

  As Sedna had not yet noticed him, Nunavik’s first inclination was to flee. But Qityabnaqtuq had brought him here for a reason. He’d been running too long. There was no more running from this.

  His head bowed, the golden walrus swam slowly toward the royal cairn. “Her name,” he said. “All this time and I never knew her name.”

  Sedna turned. “You!”

  Nunavik shuddered. The hatred on her face might have been enough to strike him dead right there and then. Sedna’s eyes blazed with all the fury of a volcano; her thin slit of a mouth, its blue lips curled fiercely, held the deadly cunning of the worst kind of predator.

  “I can explain--”

  “Explain how you killed my daughter? Even here? Even as I kneel before her grave?”

  “I didn’t kill her--”

  Sedna’s attitude did not soften. “Your meddling ended her life. Do you deny it? Liar! I’m going to kill you so slowly, so very slowly…”

  If Nunavik wanted to flee, he couldn’t. Sedna had grabbed him in her hold, without so much as a touch. As the guardian spirit of all walruses, she had complete control over his soul. And she began to squeeze. Despite her admonition to kill him slowly, it seemed likely she had forgotten herself and would make short work of him.

  “I… didn’t… kill her,” he sputtered. “You did!”

  “Arrrrgh!” she roared, squeezing him until blood ran from his nose and mouth. But then she pulled back. “I won’t kill you here. I won’t kill you yet.” She glanced over her shoulder at the grave. “Not here.”

  “You killed her,” said Nunavik. “You kept her locked up and hidden away--”

  “To protect her from creatures like you! And those men above!”

  “But you should have known,” he went on. “You should have known. She couldn’t stay a child forever. No child can. You kept her from growing, kept her from learning those things she needed to know to protect herself. Yes, I interfered — by showing her what her mother should have shown her — the outside world. If you are angry at me, you are really angry at yourself.”

  Sedna’s glittering green eyes continued to blaze with fury, but they no longer pointed at the walrus. She was looking back, through the mists of years, perhaps for the first time seeing the truth.

  “I loved her,” said Nunavik. “As you did.”

  Sedna released her deadly grip on the walrus, but he was not free to go. Still he couldn’t move.

  “The truth is we are both at fault, Mother.”

  “Don’t call me that! Not you!”

  “Why not? I am one of your children as well, one of so many. The walruses, the seal, the fish. And can a mother help but love her children? I can’t help but love you, so proud and strong, how you take care of us, all you’ve sacrificed…”

  He looked at her hands, which were missing all of the fingers.

  “As a mother should,” he added. “You must love all your children. And you must forgive them, before you can forgive yourself.”

  His words must have had great effect, because he felt her forgiveness as it spread in a wave out across the watery depths. A tentative thing at first, a struggling newborn, but it would grow as all things grow beneath the waves. It would become strong. Sedna sighed softly with the release of her hold over him.

  “Her name?” he asked.

  “It was Clarimonde.”

  “An odd name. Beautiful. It suits her.” He glanced at the grave where lay the bones of his monster bride. “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I,” she said, “But that doesn’t mean you go unpunished. You are banished from my realm forever. I will spare your life, but I can not bear another reminder of the tragedy we’ve both suffered. Let me not set eyes on you again, golden walrus. Never.”

  CHAPTER 35

  DREAM WALK

  A crowd formed rapidly along the lake as Alaana’s sled returned to the Anatatook camp. Women set their sewing aside and men left their kayaks untended on the beach as they welcomed her back. Alaana exchanged warm embraces with her eldest relatives first — her uncle Anaktuvik, her father Kigiuna and her Old Mother Higilak.

  A council was held in Maguan’s tent. As the men shared tea and flaked fish in broth, Maguan told Alaana about all that had transpired in her absence. Everyone was glad to see her, with the headman expressing only a slight annoyance at her
having stayed away so long.

  “I apologize,” Alaana said, “But I was seeking council with Tekkeitsertok.”

  “Good,” said Maguan. “So you’ve made our arrangements?”

  “Not exactly.”

  Kigiuna leaned forward. “I see from the look on your face that something terrible has happened…”

  Alaana scoffed. She didn’t want to tell them, but knew she must. “The great spirit Tekkteitsertok is dead.”

  “Dead?” asked Iggy.

  “I don’t understand,” said Ben. “How can such a thing happen?”

  “It happened,” said Alaana gruffly. She had no intention of letting them know about the sorcerer. They must be kept safe. “We’ve lost a great friend in Tekkeitsertok. And now our entire world is changed. The souls of the caribou are changed. I can see the difference in them. They are lost souls, frightened and alone.”

  “They will fill our bellies the same?” asked Kigiuna.

  “Yes, but it will be harder to kill them. They are desperate and afraid. They will not submit willingly to the hunt as before.”

  “We must have a good hunt,” said Maguan. “The fishing has been well enough at the lake but we’ve nothing for the winter stores. We need meat.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Kigiuna. “If we must hunt the caribou on our own, so be it. We are strong men, and cunning. We’re not helpless. We’ll find the herds ourselves.” Kigiuna’s confidence did little to inspire the others. Finding a migrating herd of caribou out in the vast expanse of tundra was no easy task. Through Alaana’s previous communications with Tekkeitsertok they had at least stood a chance.

  “I wish we had Aquppak still among us,” said Oaniuk. “His tracking skills were better than any man here. The best since Kanak and my father. Now all of the great hunters have been lost to us.”

  “I always hoped Aquppak would return,” admitted Alaana.

  Maguan took this as insult. “Why do you talk about Aquppak as if he were still one of us? He tried to kill your husband and force himself on you. He’s nothing but a dog.”

  “I heard he was wanted by the white men,” said Iggy. “I heard he committed murder at Old Bea.”

  Maguan scoffed. “That sounds like Aquppak. It doesn’t matter anyway, does it? He’s gone and I am here.”

  “You do fine,” said Kigiuna in the measured, conciliatory tone of peacekeeper and father. “We are all grateful.”

  “You’re the best headman we’ve ever had,” said Iggy. Tugtutsiak’s sons both bristled visibly at the statement, which was not entirely true. “You’ll find the herd for us.”

  “I know where they are,” said Alaana, recalling the images the Heart had shown her at the Ice Mountain. “Or at least where they were three sleeps ago. I saw a large herd just south of the Forked River, moving west. We should be able to catch them in a day or two.”

  Maguan placed a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “Am I right in thinking we no longer need look to Tekkeitsertok for permission, Alaana?”

  The shaman nodded.

  “Then we can get the guns Gekko has so often offered to us. There’ll be no retaliation from the spirit world. Right, Alaana?”

  “We can use the guns,” she said. “For musk ox and caribou only.”

  “That was Aquppak’s idea years ago,” goaded Oaniuk.

  “I remember,” said Maguan, “and now it’s my idea. Here’s what we’ll do. Iggy will go to Old Bea and get the rifles from Sir Walter. Travelling alone, he can cover the distance quickly. He’ll have our best dogs. Meantime, we’ll move the camp to Forked River. He can meet us with the weapons.”

  While the important men held their council, Tikiqaq waddled slowly between the tents. It was not so easy to find the one it wanted. From ground level all the tents looked mostly the same. Noona still lived with her parents but Alaana’s son Kinak had his own small tent. Kinak’s place was usually set between those of Alaana and Kigiuna. Tiki’s sense of smell was not as good as when it had still been alive and scenting for herring and cod, but it knew the smell of its master’s tent. The tupilaq’s nose led it unerringly to Alaana’s house. To one side lay a smaller tent with many rough patches sewn into the worn caribou hide, most likely the stitchwork of Kinak’s inexperienced young wife.

  Fumbling the tent flap with its nose, Tiki crawled inside. It found Kinak sleeping fitfully under a single light fur cover. His wife had already gone out to join the women’s sewing circle near the river’s edge. Kinak had eighteen winters, but still slept curled up like a child. He moaned softly. The young man had so many troubles. His sleep was plagued by nightmare, his waking hours by strange voices and distractions. He hunted and fished with the others, doing the best he could, but he didn’t ever pull his weight. He was often seen talking to himself and going on long walks alone. If he hadn’t been the shaman’s son, Tiki thought the Anatatook would have sent him away long ago.

  Tiki had been fashioned from Alaana’s spirit and a dash of the shaman’s blood as well. Since Kinak was Alaana’s son, his problems called out to Tiki.

  Likewise Tikiqaq felt its master’s distress as its own. The ghastly revelations of their meeting with Qo’tirgin weighed heavily on Alaana’s heart. She took all the blame on herself for the troubles of her people, troubles that seemed to be mounting daily. She had not revealed to Qo’tirgin that she considered the sorcerer’s release from captivity her fault, but Tiki knew. And the death of great Tekkeitsertok, that too Alaana considered her fault. As to the problems of Kinak, how could the shaman believe anything else than that she was somehow responsible?

  That was one burden the tupilaq hoped to relieve.

  Now to the task at hand. Though it had followed its master on several spiritual voyages, dragged along like a pup on a leash, one question remained unanswered and untested. Could Tiki travel alone?

  The tupilaq did not possess an individual soul. Not really. All its varied parts retained lingering bits of their former owner’s spirits but the parts didn’t add up to a complete whole. The collarbone of a she-wolf, the pelvis of a rat, the raven’s beak and rotting black seal carcass, all held together with red clay and a dash of the shaman’s blood. The locket of hair from the Anatatook wise man seemed to be the strongest force among them, taming all the others with the exception of the raven’s beak. The beak constantly whispered, often speaking in languages Tiki couldn’t even understand, spewing nonsensical rhymes or snippets of song, asking questions that had no answers, teasing, cajoling. Such was the Raven’s influence.

  Kinak moaned again. Always he was ravaged by nightmare. The tupilaq sat propped up before his pallet, in its best imitation of a cross-legged stance as could be allowed when one possessed only a single lower extremity, a half-rotten tail flipper.

  Of the many different spiritual planes, the Dreamworld was easiest to access. Every creature that dreamed walked its halcyon halls during the night, adventuring, experiencing and seeking for truth or inspiration. Tiki did not ever sleep because it was a dead thing, but there were times when it daydreamed. Times when the raven’s beak fell silent, its noisome aggravations momentarily hushed, and the tupilaq leaned back and closed its moonbeam eyes, allowing its hodge-podge mind to wander free.

  It need only relax, and go to dream. This it felt sure it could do.

  Please, it told the raven’s beak, be quiet. Just for a short while. Let me go to him.

  Kinak tossed and turned. Tikiqaq felt its heart breaking. The beak fell silent.

  Tiki turned itself inward, letting go its gauzy version of half-dead reality. Dulled senses were replaced by the sharp, sometimes preposterous, sensations of dream.

  It was flying. Soaring straight up, a cool breeze washing over its snout, bringing tears to its eyes as it rose higher and higher, becoming lighter and lighter. Tiki banked, using flippers as stunted wings. It dived and swooped. Far below, the frozen panorama of Nunatsiaq spread out all the way to the glittering sea on the horizon.

  Tiki turned over, mid-flight, skimming ju
st above the blue ice, gleefully weightless and free. On the pallets of ice it saw seals it had once known and loved, friends and relatives, waving, cheering it onward. In the distance a mountain rose up with massive shoulders and a round frosted peak. Tiki sped toward it, laughing, laughing, unable to stop, certain to crash into the unyielding stone.

  As the mountain drew closer Tiki saw that it had the shape of a woman, looming large above him, and a sort of a face. It was the kindly face of Alaana, its master, and Tiki was delighted to see that the shaman smiled pleasantly, all worries and cares erased from her features. Alaana was at peace, troubled no longer by malicious spirits, onerous duties and obligations, or ancient sorcerers. Its master was happy, and Tiki was overjoyed as it smashed into the shaman’s rock face.

  Where else should it find Kinak’s dream-spirit, asked the raven’s beak, than within the belly of the one who had tormented him?

  Shut up, thought Tikiqaq. Before you turn dream into nightmare.

  But perhaps nightmare it must be. The tupilaq spun end over end, becoming disoriented, no longer in flight, now free-falling through darkness.

  Kinak, thought Tiki. I must find Kinak.

  The darkness above was revealed to be a night sky littered with stars. And below, spinning madly, the Anatatook camp was stretched across the bank of the Forked River. Tiki came crashing down, directly into the tiny tent where Kinak lay sleeping. It thumped painfully to the hard ground, the raven’s beak knocked out of joint. For a moment it thought the jarring crash must have caused it to awaken, rendering its mission a failure, but as it sat up it saw otherwise.

  It was dark in the tent and hard to see, but the tupilaq clearly made out its own form kneeling beside the sleeping pallet. The rotting carcass of a black seal, empty-eyed and stiff. Long dead. The sight was shocking but not unexpected. Its body, devoid of soul, could be nothing more than a corpse.

  Kinak sat up in bed, staring wide-eyed at the tupilaq traveler. He wasn’t looking at the rotting corpse but at Tiki’s awkward hodge-podge spirit-form, his features drawn tight in a rictus of fear and helplessness.