by Ken Altabef
“Isn’t there anything you can do?”
“Perhaps mighty Tulukkugaq could help, but I have lost all connection to the Great Raven, my spirit guardian.”
At mention of the raven Alaana recalled something she had seen last year when hunting these cliffs for eggs. One of the murres, having fallen from the cliff, lay stranded on the ice. A crafty raven, grown tired of living off scraps, gazed eagerly at it. The little bird, unable to take flight from such a flat surface, hopped lamely away. But its feet soon froze, rendering it defenseless, and the raven made a quick meal of it.
“It’s all I can do to appear here before you,” continued Civiliaq, “and warn you of danger. And soon I fade. It’s no use. Why don’t you call upon your own guardian. Sila, isn’t it?”
“That won’t work,” said Alaana desperately.
“And why not? You still have his light. I can see it.”
“It won’t work,” repeated Alaana, with neither the time nor inclination to explain. She felt the rock face ready to give away beneath her at any moment. “It just won’t.”
Civiliaq nodded his head in a sort of painful acquiescence but when his face lifted again, his eyes held a thoughtful shimmer. “There’s only one chance then,” he said. “If I had your light, I believe I could manage some way to get you out of this dilemma.”
“Then you can have it,” said Alaana. “I don’t want it. I never did.”
“Well, I can’t simply take that burden from you, little bird. You have to give it to me. Yes, that might solve your problem. You have only to let it go.”
Release the light? Was such a thing possible? She thought about it. Her spirit was, she realized, like a fist holding tight to Sila’s gifts. She had only to release that hold, relax the fingers and open up the hand…
“Then here it is,” said Alaana. “Take it from me.”
“That I can do,” said Civiliaq.
Alaana began to relax the ties that bound her to Sila. Civiliaq’s spirit-form bent closer, peering intently at her. The shaman’s eyes flew wide in surprise for an instant, recoiling slightly backward. He shook his head in disbelief.
“What did you see?” asked Alaana. “Just then, what did you see?”
“Don’t you mind that. We haven’t much time. Let me help you. Give me the light now. Hurry!”
His outstretched hand reached eagerly toward her. But something about the greedy light in Civiliaq’s eyes gave her pause. She drew back the fist, coiling herself once more around Sila’s gift.
Now that it was hers to give away, she realized just how much she desired to keep it. She thought of her family and all the other brave people of Nunatsiaq. If she gave the light away, what would the Anatatook do for a shaman? Old Manatook was old and getting older all the time. Who would take care of them, if not her? Not Civiliaq. He was already dead.
She had been entrusted with this responsibility, with this destiny. She alone.
“What’s wrong?” demanded Civiliaq. “Why do you delay? Hurry before the demons get their claws into you.”
“Demons?”
“Yes, surely you can hear them.”
Alaana cocked her head to the side. It was true. A tormented wail was rising up from the depths of the chasm.
“You should hurry,” urged Civiliaq. “It’s not safe here. Don’t you hear them? They’re coming up.”
Alaana hesitated. She thought Civiliaq’s sudden panic played false. “What demons are these?”
“The tarraks of the abyss. This is an old place, a place of death. These rocks are tainted with blood, this chasm can not be separated from the tragedy that happened here. Always the past seeps into the present. Ayarnaarmat. It can’t be helped.”
Civiliaq thrust out his open palm, the fingers curling upward as they awaited Sila’s gift.
Alaana shook her head. “Tell me.”
“We waste precious time with stories. You see those rock piles below? They fell from these cliffs years ago. A gigantic landslide splashed down into the water. A party of Tungu women had climbed up here to get eggs from the ledges, leaving their men idle back at the camp. But as the women were gone, the men broke the taboos. And in so doing they brought the cliffs down. The women were crushed and buried as the cliff rocks fell on them. When their cries rang out from beneath the rocks, the men came looking. But the men couldn’t get them out. They could only listen to the screams of their lovers as they went on and on.
“Over the years, the spirits of these women became demons. Hunger drove them at first, as it drives all of us. Pain and loneliness corrupted them. They have no need for physical food; they feast on the naked souls of unwary travelers. I tried to warn you. Now it’s almost too late. Only with your power can I hope to fend them off. Hurry. Give it here!”
As the terrible sounds drew nearer, Alaana envisioned the angry tarraks clawing their way up the ravine. Three women, rotten hags with the same hungry eyes as the fever demon that had tormented her last spring. Dry, cracked lips smacking. Long, clawed fingernails scraping the rock.
And yet, before Civiliaq had mentioned them, Alaana had heard nothing.
“Last chance, little bird,” barked Civiliaq, “Before you feed the hungry demons of the cliffside.”
But it was Civiliaq who seemed too eager and hungry. She knew that look in his eyes. Every Anatatook knew the look of hunger.
“You’re lying!” said Alaana. “Let them come.”
Slowly, with infinite caution, she began to push herself backward. It felt as if her arms were lifting her entire weight with each shove. By the time she’d gone halfway back along the ledge, she was nearly exhausted. To make matters worse, she misjudged the edge with her right leg and kicked away a clump of sandstone. The loose stones clattered down the drop as her leg swung over the ledge, threatening to drag her down. At any moment she expected a withered arm to reach up from the abyss and latch onto that leg with hideous strength and pull.
With a desperate lurch, she swung the leg back up. The jarring motion almost sent her tumbling to her death, but she held on with all her strength.
Once she had reassured herself she was still among the living, Alaana felt around with the tip of her boot.
She was still held tight in the icy grip of fear, helpless to call upon any sort of spiritual aid. She had knocked too much of the ledge off and it was now too narrow to continue her retreat down the slope. She had no way to proceed.
The apparition of Civiliaq had vanished, taking the shrieks of the demon-women away with it but Alaana’s dilemma was no less dangerous than before. She lay very still, unable to calm herself down.
“Alaana!”
She opened her eyes. A length of sinew dangled just above her shoulders.
“Take the line,” said Aquppak. “It’s steady up at this end. You can climb up.”
Her heart still pounding, Alaana threw off her mittens and rubbed her hands along the grit of the rock face to warm them. She took the line in both hands and swung free of the ledge. It was not such a long climb, but her arms were already tired and weak. As she neared the top, her strength was all but gone. She wasn’t going to make it. Again she thought the rope might be convinced to help, or perhaps the wind, but she didn’t have the presence of mind to make the attempt.
She cried out, certain she could go no farther, nor maintain her hold much longer. Aquppak’s arm came swinging down. “Take my hand.” Dangling dangerously close to the edge himself, the boy hauled her up with both hands.
Alaana hugged the snow-strewn rock at the top as she rolled over onto her back. It had never felt so good to feel solid ground.
Only one thought was in her mind. She had very nearly died. If not for the quick action of Aquppak in climbing down after her, she would have.
As her friend helped her to her feet, she felt a great love for Aquppak. The boy was a true hero, having saved her by the strength of his arm and a willingness to act without hesitation.
“You saved my life.”
Aquppa
k shook his head, saying in an offhanded way, “It’s nothing. The hunters do that kind of stuff all the time.”
“I won’t forget it.”
“Fine,” said Aquppak, smiling handsomely. He glanced up toward the peak of the ridge. “You think we can still get that bird?”
Alaana thought that in all likelihood the falcon had already followed the snowbirds on their southerly quest for warmer climes, but she wasn’t going to say so.
CHAPTER 22
TAKE UP THE RATTLE
Ivalu, who was Ipalook’s wife, would not look at anyone. She sat on the edge of the sleeping platform, hunched over, her head in her hands. Her hair hung loose and wild.
The air in the iglu stung Alaana’s nostrils. It was rife with curls of wafting smoke from the sputtering seal oil lamp and stank of urine and rotting meat. Old Manatook stood beside the stricken girl, with Alaana next to him. Behind them in the small circular room were Ivalu’s parents and Maguan’s constant friend Ipalook. A pair of newborn pups darted about underfoot, their white fur dusted with black soot.
Ipalook said, “My wife hasn’t left the iglu in three sleeps.”
Ivalu’s father, Ogpingalik, looked upon the scene with typical Anatatook stoicism. In contrast her mother, Misana, couldn’t hide her worry or her tears. Misana added sadly, “She lost her child, un-named and only half-formed. She passed the poor little thing in the snow outside the camp. She won’t even tell me where.”
“She won’t go outside, and she can’t stand the light,” added Ipalook. He absently kicked one of the puppies out of the way. “Two days ago she spoke of terrible pains in the head. Now she says nothing.”
Misana brushed her daughter’s forehead, tenderly sweeping back a wayward clump of hair. “Other women have come visiting. They’ve tried to help but it’s no use. They all have children of their own, and it’s twice now that Ivalu has failed to bear her fruit.”
“She won’t do any work,” said Ipalook.
“Enough,” said Old Manatook. Standing tall in the iglu, he drove his fist up at the dome to crack the seal.
“You see?” he said to Alaana in the secret language. “What affects one begins to affect them all. They don’t even have enough sense to clear the vent hole.”
He punched again at the ceiling and a few pieces of ice spattered down, revealing a clear night sky behind the veil of smoky air drifting upward.
Ivalu’s family exchanged concerned glances. They didn’t understand the shaman’s words and assumed they had some deep and mysterious significance. Even Ogpingalik, who was deaf in both ears, looked impressed.
Old Manatook bent over the stricken girl, gently lifting her head by the point of her chin. The broad oval of her face was completely blackened with accumulated soot from the smoky house, with the exception of a pair of tracks that ran straight down from the corners of her eyes where her tears had washed the grit away.
“Ivalu,” he said.
She did not answer.
“She doesn’t answer,” said Ipalook.
Old Manatook shot him a withering glance. “I can see that.”
“She looks right through us,” said Misana, “Or else down at the ground. This isn’t normal.”
“Of course it’s not normal,” Old Manatook huffed. The shaman bent down the lower lid of the girl’s left eye and gazed inside.
The old shaman urged Alaana closer with a jerk of his head.
“The problem is obvious,” he said privately. “A simple thing. Come and look.”
Alaana stepped up. She knew the method by which a shaman, gazing in the eye, could make a direct inspection of the soul. With intense concentration, she looked beyond the obscuring veil of the iris and entered the dark abyss of the pupil. A scintillating corona of light rushed forward to meet her, brilliant colors unknown to the eyes of those who dwelled in the Anatatook world of white and gray. Streaks of indigo and violet, verdant green and shimmering gold flashed by.
And at the end, gleaming and radiant, the naked soul-light of Ivalu was there. All the things that made up her life’s essence, her dreams and aspirations, sorrows and fears. A dazzling spectacle. Alaana wished she could spend a lifetime studying all its depth and beauty.
“I can’t see anything wrong,” she said.
“Hmmf. You must first know what to look for. It’s a power intrusion from the shadow world, taking advantage of her sadness and grief. There’s a shadow on her soul. Look there, underneath the part that belongs to Ipalook.”
Alaana pressed forward again, looking for any smudge that marked an intrusion. She concentrated her effort on those fragments of souls which had so touched Ivalu’s own that they had made a place for themselves within the very heart of her being. A piece of Ipalook was there as well as, Alaana was surprised to find, a little bit of both of the unborn she had lost. And hidden among them, a shadow.
“A simple thing to take care of,” added Old Manatook. “But we must first have things right inside this room. Take up the rattle.”
Old Manatook provided one of his best rattles, a single root of heartwood carved into an elegant cage containing a handful of polar bear teeth. Alaana had been given no instruction as to the proper cadence for this ritual. She took up what she supposed to be a natural rhythm.
The seal oil lamp flared up, flickering intensely for a moment and then went out. There was a startled gasp from the family.
“What you would not long ago have considered a contemptible trick, serves a noble purpose,” said Old Manatook. “Look at their faces. Now sense what they are feeling.”
Starlight alone lit the room. Filtered through what was left of the smoke it touched the faces of Ivalu’s loved ones, revealing a mixture of awe, reverence and faith. Their minds were becalmed, confident in the shaman’s power to heal.
“Ivalu senses it,” said Old Manatook, “They give her strength.”
The shaman’s fingers reached out toward a particular area of the girl’s forehead just above the brow where the bones of the skull came together. This was an important entrance and exit point for harmful spirits.
Old Manatook began to hum. His power song for Tornarssuk filled the ice house, a slow deep cadence that spoke of long lonely treks across the ice. Old Manatook paused between each refrain for a slow breath, an expression of quiet rapture over his face. Alaana was amazed at the transformation. In this new light the craggy lines of her teacher’s gloomy countenance had become a serene ideal of dignity and faith.
Alaana felt a twinge of jealousy. She didn’t know any power song for Sila. Old Manatook had searched for such a song on his many journeys, but to no avail. There were no other shamans in the northlands who could claim the Walker In The Wind as their guardian spirit. All Old Manatook could say was that Sila must teach her the song directly. Alaana despaired she would never learn it.
Ivalu cocked an ear. “What is that sound?” she whispered.
“A song of healing, my love,” said Old Manatook. “A song of my guide Tornarssuk.”
“So beautiful,” she murmured.
Ipalook and Misana exchanged an enthusiastic glance of approval. Even Ogpingalik, who was completely deaf and could hear nothing at all, began to smile.
Old Manatook knelt before the girl, gently touching her face, still humming his power song. He instructed Alaana again, saying, “In order to free her mind, you must take her troubles as your own. It’s the only way.”
“I feel your pain and sorrow,” the old shaman said loudly. “It’s a terrible thing that has happened to you. But you do not stand alone. I walk the same path, in the dark places in your mind, and I am not afraid. I will take your burden and cast it far away. Help me in this.”
As Old Manatook established the connection, Alaana began to sense the change. The shaman’s mind was softening, flowing outward, shaping itself to match the outline of Ivalu’s soul-light. Alaana found it fascinating the way Manatook’s immensely powerful mind sought not to dominate but instead bent to the will of the sufferer. Iv
alu’s spirit rose up to meet him. Their heartbeats aligned, their minds joined.
Alaana caught an echo of the girl’s pain. She saw the stark image of Ivalu’s bloody miscarriage as it was cast steaming atop the white snow, slowly sinking into the melting mound. It was so cruel and unfair.
Ivalu had dared to hope. She had dared to hope that despite what had happened before, this child would live; that she would hold the baby in her arms, soft and warm. That she would name the baby Tertaq, a name that had long been in her family, and that she would cuddle him and love him. She had dared to dream. Only to see it all come to nothing, a red splotch on the snow. Alaana felt the crushing sadness in her heart, suffering every bit of her pain.
“Tornarssuk will remove the dark thing inside her,” Old Manatook announced.
The leather-wrapped handle of the rattle tingled in Alaana’s hand. She glanced at it, seeing the spirits flare within the bear teeth. She wanted desperately to feel the power of Tornarssuk for herself, but she could not — that boon was reserved for Old Manatook.
She realized she had stopped working the rattle. A wry smile crossed her lips. Old Manatook did not need her help; the rattle was irrelevant. Nevertheless, she took up the rhythm again.
Old Manatook pressed his lips to Ivalu’s forehead at the juncture of the bones. He alternated blowing air at the fontanel and sucking in.
“Ahh, I feel the darkness and the pain that has come.”
His tall frame, bent over the sitting girl, seemed to sag under the weight of the strain. Alaana realized this was once again for show only. Old Manatook had nothing but confidence and strength.
“Great Bear, take this evil away.”
Alaana felt a rip tide of energy tear through the room. The hand of Tornarssuk swept down, snatching the malicious shadow and carrying it away. She felt as if the entire iglu must blow apart with the power of that great clawed hand, but the spirit was concerned only with Ivalu, and in a moment it was done.
Ivalu moaned softly. Her eyes flew open.
“It’s done,” announced Old Manatook. He turned to Ipalook, saying, “I can do nothing for her grief. That is your responsibility. But her spirit is healed.”