by Ken Altabef
“And think of the dowry,” said Amauraq. “Kigiuna, how can you stand it?”
Kigiuna brought the ladle to his lips and slurped noisily. All the while his eyes regarded his wife across the top of the ladle.
Amauraq was beside herself. “What a disgrace! I won’t have that thief in this house a moment longer.”
“That’s not for you to decide,” said Kigiuna sharply.
That being said, the whole lot of them rushed to the tent flap. Amauraq took a moment to pick up Pilarqaq’s comb, a fine piece of carved ivory and her most prized possession, and snapped it in half, throwing the pieces on the floor. Only Kigiuna remained behind. He refused to be parted from the soup.
“Was that too much, do you think?” she said to Kigiuna. She was hard pressed to suppress a little laugh.
“I haven’t seen a performance like that from you since I dragged you out of your father’s tent to marry you.”
“Teach her a lesson,” said Amauraq.
Kigiuna sighed. “It took me a long time to carve that comb.”
A small crowd had already gathered outside. Having heard shouts, the Anatatook smelled a good fight. They came running from their tents in anticipation of Maguan’s first public thrashing of his beautiful spouse.
All eyes went to Maguan as he stood before his bride. He inspected the top of her head, parting the hair with his fingers. He spoke to her in hushed tones. She said nothing, but tears tracked down along her wonderful broad, flat cheeks. With a disapproving murmur from half of the crowd, and a sigh of relief from the other half, the two came together for a loving embrace.
Maguan then brought his wife back into his tent. Pulling her hastily by the arm, he sat her down beside the soup.
Saying nothing, Kigiuna passed her the ladle.
CHAPTER 21
LIGHT AND SHADOW
Tiggat was dying. Left alone at the kennel, the big dog lay curled into a ragged ball of tawny gray fur, his tie-in line trailing limply to the post. All the other dogs were gone, the men having taken them to the sea ice to sniff out the seal holes.
Alaana reached down and stroked Tiggat’s forehead. Her fingers ran along the misshapen skull, passing over a thick, warty growth beneath the fur. “Rest now,” she said. “You’re a good dog.”
Tiggat whimpered weakly. A restless movement of his head sent his snout deep into the ground snow. It pained Alaana to see the big dog brought so low. Tiggat had long been the boss dog of her father’s team. So proud and strong, he dominated the pack, immediately taking fight to any newcomer hitched to the sled. With a ferocious growl, standing stiff-legged and bristling, Tiggat could whip any other dog in the camp.
Although fluttering weakly, the big dog’s soul-light still shone a dauntless orange-yellow. Alaana reached out with her mind and tried to soothe the dog’s flailing spirit in his last few moments. Tiggat’s eyes rolled balefully toward her. As ferocious as he was with the other dogs he had always been affectionate and gentle with the children, even letting them pull his tail or sit on his back.
The huskie’s soul surged, rising up out of the stiffening body. Animal souls didn’t often remain with the body after death, and this one hurried away, running up into the sky as the mighty dog used to run, bold and strong.
“Goodbye Tiggat.”
Now Alaana was once again left alone. She would leave Tiggat’s body where it lay. Kigiuna would see to it. The fur would be skinned and someone would wear it as a shirt. The meat would be frozen and, once the familiar odor of Tiggat was washed away, the other dogs would eat it.
Alone again. Alaana bristled at the concept. Old Manatook was busy elsewhere and her father and brothers were out testing the ice, marking out the seal holes for the season’s hunting. Most of the women had gone to help, leaving only a few behind to look after the children. And the children, it had been decided in a mutual wave of distrust, wanted nothing to do with her.
Gazing at the camp in the glow of the spirit-vision Alaana witnessed something new and wonderful in the air around her. With the onset of the winter freeze, the spirit of the frost mixed with the spirit of the air to create a sparkling gleam that danced on the currents of the dry wind. She smiled as she watched the frost play.
Alaana recalled the day Sila had lifted her high above the Anatatook camp, above the entire world, and shown her its wonders. In her darkest moments she always returned to the memory of that one flash of absolute clarity. The moment when she learned how people, animals and all things of this world were connected, each radiant with light and spirit.
Sila had opened up a wonderful world for her, but she was losing an entire world too. The ordinary world was slowly being crowded out. Maguan had said the other children avoided her because they were jealous of all the marvelous things she could see and do. But the opposite was true as well. She found she was very much jealous of them, jealous that they didn’t know and needn’t see all the terrible things which danced before her eyes in the shadows of the spirit world.
“You are an arrow loosed from Sila’s bow,” Old Manatook had told her. “Free yourself from hesitation and doubt, and fly true.”
Alaana frowned. Even Sila seemed to have abandoned her. The great spirit had not returned since that very first day. Spirit of justice be damned. This was all his fault. He had dumped all this trouble into her lap and then gone away, leaving her alone. And lonely.
“Alaana?”
Aquppak stood before her, calling her name. She snapped back to reality, imagining how foolish she must have looked just then. What kind of silly expression had been written across her face?
“Heya,” said Alaana. “Not playing with the others?”
“I don’t feel like playing,” said Aquppak, his words rife with frustration. “I wanted to join the men out on the ice, but Putuguk won’t let me go. He says I’m still too young, that I have to wait until next year.”
He suddenly noticed Tiggat. “I think your dog is dead.”
“I know,” said Alaana.
“It’s not fair,” said Aquppak. For an instant Alaana thought he was still speaking about her dog until he added, “I don’t want to wait till next year. I want to get my seal and have my ceremony. I want to be a man.”
The killing of his first seal had been the most important rite of manhood for Alaana’s brother Maguan, as for any Anatatook hunter. A yearly festival was held where the bladders of the slain seals were inflated, painted with colorful designs and hung from the dome of a large ceremonial snow house. Old Manatook hung animal puppets from the ceiling as well, effigies of seals and walrus and whales, which flapped and moved by way of concealed fishing lines. At the yank of a cord, these puppets paid tribute to the souls of the hunted animals as the men sang and danced for three sleeps.
On the final day, Kuanak had stood atop the iglu and rendered an impassioned speech honoring the great turgats who had provided the band’s nourishment and the valiant new hunters who had achieved their first kills. The bladders were gathered and the hunters followed the shaman down to the sea. A very young Alaana had watched Maguan take his turn, ripping open the bladder to release the soul of the departed seal beneath the water. Alaana had raced up for a closer look but saw nothing unusual.
But now in possession of the spirit-vision the memory of that day was colored with a new light; she clearly observed the souls of the seals, vivid purple balls of light in the water, as they circled and danced, then sank back down into the depths to be reborn again.
The new hunters rode back to the settlement in a short procession of kayaks. Alaana had run along the banks of the river, waving to Maguan as he went by. Her brother had looked no different at the time except for a foolish wide-mouthed grin, but now with the memory shaded by her new vision, Alaana could see how Maguan’s soul had actually changed. A newfound confidence and virility sharpened the hue. Maguan had become a man.
And next year Aquppak would have his turn. And also, in her own way, would Alaana. From what little she had been able
to glean from Old Manatook’s’ mysterious hints, the ceremony for a young shaman was different, an initiation held out in the trackless wastes. She wasn’t looking forward to it.
“That’s what I want, more than anything,” said Aquppak. “To hunt, to provide for my family. I won’t have to beg for Putuguk anymore. I won’t have to wear cast-offs and dogskin clothes. I’ll make a name for myself among the men.”
“I know you will,” said Alaana.
Aquppak put on his most serious, manly expression. “And I will, too. I’ll be the best.”
Alaana smiled, joining in her friend’s fantasy. “You’ll be the headman, I’ll bet.”
Aquppak beamed handsomely. “That’s right. Who needs sour old Tugtutsiak? And grumpy Old Manatook? I’ll be the headman and you’ll be the shaman. We’ll be in charge of everything.”
The two of them got carried away laughing. And it was good to laugh. Alaana had almost thought she’d forgotten how.
“But what about now?” she asked.
“Oh, that’s what I came to tell you. Three days ago, I spotted a falcon’s nest up on Dog-Ear Ridge. I didn’t tell anyone.” A winsome smile puffed his cheeks and he winked. Alaana was impressed at being included in so important a secret.
“This is our last chance before winter to get up there and try to get that falcon,” Aquppak explained. He held up his kiipooyaq, with its three strands of sinew each tipped with a slant-cut segment of ox tail bone. Alaana remembered when Kigiuna had made it for him. Aquppak brandished the weapon. “That falcon won’t have a chance.”
Alaana glanced at the peaked outline of Dog-Ear Ridge, a rugged cliff of sandstone speckled with ice and snow. “That’s a long way to go for such a small chance.”
“Small chance?” Chuckling, Aquppak began spinning the threads, getting one bone-tip swinging in a southerly direction and another the opposite way. Alaana took half a step backward. Although Aquppak was fairly adept at the game of chuk chuk, he did occasionally hit himself in the face. When Aquppak tried to get the third strand going in an independent direction, a move that almost always resulted in something or someone getting inadvertently hit, Alaana cried out, “Enough, enough.”
“I’ll go alone if I have to,” said Aquppak.
Alone. Alaana took her friend by the arm. “You don’t have to go alone.”
“Good,” replied Aquppak, with a mischievous glint in his eye. “If we’re going to run things around here together, we might as well get started.”
They’d been climbing the cliff face for most of the day and now the sun had reached its highest point, still only a little bit above the horizon. Alaana took a moment to appreciate the slight warmth it brought to her face, and how beautifully its light glittered on the ice below. Soon they would have only twilight days without a sun, and then the long winter night.
A treacherous wind came roaring up the slope from the sea. It whipped around the cliff face only to rush back out, all too willing to blow unwary children off the ledge. The intense cold of winter had already declared itself but didn’t bother Alaana much with her hood pulled over. Except for the foot. On the way up she’d stepped into a deceptively deep pocket among the rocks and some wet snow had trickled into her boot. Even the long climb had failed to warm her foot. It chilled her entire leg, but she didn’t have the heart to turn Aquppak back.
The wind whistled in the heights. It cast a fine spray of drift into her face, reminding Alaana of her fickle patron Sila. But no, she thought, it was just the wind. Sila wouldn’t even stoop to insult her with a faceful of snow.
The view of the sea was exquisite. Just beyond the base of the knoll a great white berg stood silent guard over the lazy, ice-covered waters. Beyond the cluster of snow houses in the bay, the white wastes of the north extended as far as the eye could see.
Alaana had witnessed many extraordinary landscapes on her soul flights above Nunatsiaq, but this was different. This time she’d paid for it, working her way up the slope, step by step, hauling herself over the rocks. The spectacular view was all the more sweet for having worked so hard to gain it.
“Look,” said Alaana, pointing toward the ocean. “You can see them all from here.”
At this distance she couldn’t pick out her father or brothers among the figures spread out over the sea ice. Most of the men wore identical coats and dark sealskin leggings. Some were busy testing the strength of the ice, while others worked the dogs or squatted before the seal holes, hacking clear the openings. Old Manatook, however, was easy to identify. Taller than the others, he hurried among the men dressed in his faded white parka and pants of polar bear fur.
“I don’t care about them,” said Aquppak. “I want to find that bird.” He faced the other way, gazing up at the crest of the Ridge. “I saw it two sleeps ago. It has to be here.”
“How much farther?” asked Alaana, rubbing at the mukluk covering her frozen foot.
“Not much. Let’s move on.”
Progress from this point was difficult. Jagged outcroppings rose straight up from the uneven surface, leaving gaping ravines between them, narrow but very deep. The children had to leap across each gap and pull themselves up among the rocks on the far side. Aquppak huffed and fretted, clearly annoyed at not having chosen the best route of ascent.
Alaana’s arms grew tired from climbing over the sharp edges, her legs trembling with exertion. She recognized this site as the place where the murres roosted in springtime. Earlier in the year she and her mother had come to these cliffs looking for fresh eggs atop the rocky ledges. She remembered their wonderfully salty taste, cracked open and devoured right on the spot.
Alaana’s sluggish foot slipped and suddenly snow and sandstone shales started to flow underfoot, carrying her down into the ravine. She dug her heels in the snow but couldn’t slow down. She grabbed desperately at the stones as they flew by but only tore her mittens and skinned the flesh from her fingers and palms. With a startled cry, she plunged into one of the clefts.
Her rough downward slide ended painfully with one leg wedged between a large stone and the rock face. She succeeded in freeing her leg and pulled herself over the top of the stone, but could find no way to scale back up the steep slope. Handholds were few and treacherous with ice. It was far too dangerous to climb, and certain death yawned below.
Alaana was afraid to move or she might start sliding again. She called out for Aquppak but he would never be able to get down to help her, or climb back up if he did. Her only chance was a small opening in the rock face directly above the ledge. Alaana carefully stretched up to get a look, catching her breath at every bit of loose shale she sent plummeting into the chasm. The opening led to a short tunnel through the cliff. In a hopeful sign, the dark rock was speckled with creamy bird droppings throughout, indicating there probably was an opening at the other end.
She wriggled into the tunnel, passing through to a narrow ledge on the other side. The ledge hugged the cliff face as it wound its way upward. A bulge of the rocks above the ledge obstructed any view higher up. Beside the ledge was a steep and dangerous gap.
“Aquppak!” she called again, but it was no use.
The ledge was narrow, and the overhanging rocks forced Alaana to crawl slowly on her belly, knees and elbows. Following a steady upward course, the ledge curved out of sight. It seemed her only way up.
She crept slowly forward, pulling herself along amid a trickle of shale and bits of loose ice. The muscles in her arms had already been spent on the climb up but, digging down deep, she found the strength to continue. But after rounding the turn, it became obvious that the ledge had been a mistake. Ahead, it narrowed and narrowed until it merged into the overhanging rock. With no handholds in sight, she could go no further.
Alaana’s breath caught in her throat. She needed to go back down but she was facing the wrong direction. It was impossible to turn around on the narrow ledge. Peering over the edge, she had a good view all the way down into the drop below. Any mistake promised a dead
ly fall to the bottom.
Her mind raced, frantically trying to conceive of some way the rock itself could be induced to help. Surely the spirit of the mountain didn’t want her to die here. But she could neither calm herself nor slow her breathing. The thought of death was too sharp in her mind, the rising panic quickening the pace of her heart. She couldn’t achieve the peace of mind necessary to communicate with the spirits.
She felt nauseous and dizzy, her situation all but hopeless. She couldn’t turn around. Her only chance lay in trying to back up along the ledge, going blind. Perhaps if she went very, very slowly. But the ledge was slippery with ice, a condition that had not caused much difficulty on the way up, but became an unbearable problem when trying to return in the backwards position. She could think of nothing else but slipping and falling. Falling and then being dashed against the rocks below. She had never felt the pull of the earth so strongly; it seemed intent on dragging her down to her death.
“What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into, little bird?”
Alaana turned her head as far to the side as she dared. A vision of Civiliaq hovered above her. The shaman’s dirty boots were close in front of Alaana’s face, stepping on empty air.
Civiliaq looked much the same as Alaana had last seen him, his black raven wings burned off, his ornate tattoos smoldering. But the shaman’s spirit-form was so insubstantial Alaana could see the outline of the opposite rock face through his body. He was not smiling.
“Help me! I’m stuck here.”
“So I see,” replied Civiliaq.
“Help me!”
“That I can not do,” said Civiliaq sadly. “I am still trapped in the Underworld where Old Manatook has left me. You remember? What you see is only a shadow of my spirit, projected here at great exertion. Even down below, I still worry over you, daughter of Kigiuna. And I sensed you had fallen into trouble.”