The Calling

by Ken Altabef

  “I won’t leave her. She’s my daughter, old man. Mine!”

  Lightning flashed in Old Manatook’s eyes. “She is your daughter Kigiuna, but I am her father also.”

  Kigiuna showed no inclination to back off. A burning concern for Alaana had propelled him across the stark snowy wastes in the dead of night. He would not give up. There seemed little else Manatook could say or do to earn his trust. Perhaps only one thing.

  Old Manatook tore open the front of his parka, ripping the faded caribou hide down to his waist. He stepped forward, pressing the bare skin of his chest against the point of Kigiuna’s blade. “Kill me then, and have done with it!”

  CHAPTER 31

  BIRTH

  “He’s trying to kill me,” Alaana said weakly. “Old Manatook’s trying to kill me!” Even now she could feel the old shaman’s looming presence, his fingers digging into the ether between them, his mind pressing itself close. “My father knows it. My father…”

  “You know that’s not true,” said Nunavik.

  “He’s an outsider,” said Alaana.

  “It doesn’t matter. He’s proven himself,” insisted Nunavik. “He’s only done right for the people, and for you. You’ve come to know Manatook better than anyone. Trust your feelings.”

  Alaana didn’t know what to think, or to feel. There had been a time when Old Manatook had seemed distant and frightening, but that was in the past. Wasn’t it? Alaana was surprised at how easily those suspicious feelings came rushing back despite the warmth that had developed between them.

  The golden walrus appeared before Alaana in the empty white room. “You’ve begun to appreciate what life is like for him, the constant danger and the weight of his responsibility. The sacrifices he must make. You know he has the good of the people at heart always. He protects them from harm, cures them when they transgress, begs their food from the turgats. Even now he is protecting you. That is what you feel. He hasn’t left your side. Now return to the chant. Beneath the blue sky, beneath the white cloud...”

  But Alaana would not give voice to the chant; she couldn’t.

  Nunavik groaned. “Sit still, child! Stare straight ahead. Only in this way will you receive the wisdom and guidance of the ancestors.”

  “Weyahok?” said Alaana. She envisioned the smooth lump of gray soapstone floating before her in the white room.

  “Stone will help,” said Weyahok. “Help.”

  “Ackkkk! I said the ancients, not that wretched, stupid little thing. This is serious business.”

  “Weyahok?” said Alaana.

  “Manatook good,” replied the little soapstone tunraq. “Manatook good.”

  “Fine,” said Nunavik. “Now that settles that. There’s no more time, Alaana. Appeal to Sila now. Concentrate. Use the talisman he gave you.”

  The talisman of Sila. Eagle feather bound to owl feather. Both birds of the air, both tokens of keen spirit and purity. The feather of the snowy owl represented death and the eagle stood for clarity. Alaana could see nothing in the empty iglu, only blinding white. Her hands had gone numb, perhaps they had disappeared entirely. She didn’t remember if she was still holding the talisman. It didn’t matter. She summoned an image of the talisman with her mind.

  “Beneath the blue sky,

  Beneath the white cloud...”

  Nunavik squawked, “Don’t just repeat the words, use them! Send the prayer questing outward, expanding in all directions. Seek your guardian. Beg his assistance. Now is the time. This is the last chance.”

  But Alaana still couldn’t concentrate. Besides the physical discomforts of empty stomach and raging thirst, she felt the nearness of Kigiuna. Her father’s disapproval for the endeavor had never felt so strong or so palpably real.

  But there was more than just her father. Standing behind him was Amauraq, firm in her belief in Alaana’s calling. Alaana had always appreciated her mother’s unfailing faith in her cause, and found tremendous strength in it. Her mother spoke of destiny. And standing behind Amauraq was her father, Quipagaa, struck blind and lost in darkness. But then, touched by the eagle, again he could see. He could fly with the eagle. He could fly. And so could Alaana.

  Alaana felt Quipagaa’s passion, basked in his joy. She was soaring beside Quipagaa, in the tail winds of the eagle.

  “You are different from me,” said Quipagaa, “You have no need of wings. You don’t ride the wind, you are the wind.” Her grandfather’s toothless grin beamed, spittle trickling out of his mouth to be lost in the passing wind. He had freed the people from the pass and he had risen above, leaving his withered old frame behind, flying free. Below him the ocean and the mountains, above him only sky.

  “The secret to flying is simple,” said Quipagaa, “It’s the same as the secret to everything else. It’s simply this: you mustn’t be afraid.”

  “I’m not afraid,” said Alaana softly.

  The silence gave way to a fleeting wail of wind.

  “Sila?”

  There was no answer.

  “Do not doubt,” said Nunavik. “Sila is the way forward. The only Way for you.”

  But Alaana couldn’t help questioning the intentions of the wind. Maybe fickle Sila had chosen the wrong one? Alaana didn’t feel special. She was just an ordinary girl. And how could a girl hope to be shaman? Some mistake may have been made, or perhaps Sila had already finished with her and wasn’t coming back.

  “Faith,” said Nunavik. “Without that a shaman is nothing. He would fade into the eternal night, drawn away by the spirits, never to return.”

  The walrus’ tone was ominous as he added, “We can’t have that happen to you, Alaana. I couldn’t bear it.”

  Faith in someone she had encountered only once, deep in the delirium of fever, and never again.

  “Do not give up!”

  Alaana flinched. Was that the strident voice of Nunavik, or Amauraq, or Quipagaa? Or had it been Old Manatook, shouting in her mind? There were quite a lot of people, Alaana realized, with a hand in this game.

  Nunavik, for all his snide comments, bent toward her with as serious a look on his big round face as Alaana had ever seen. “I can’t invoke Sila for you, Alaana. You must do that. The chant…”

  “I can’t remember the chant…” said Alaana hopelessly. “I’m not the one.”

  The great walrus spirit bellowed long and loud. “Listen. You are very special Alaana, though you don’t believe it yourself. Your inua is laid bare to me, just as I see the souls of others. Perhaps the trouble comes from your inability to see your own. Let me be a mirror to you.”

  Alaana felt a tug on her soul. She had not the strength to resist.

  “Use the gift Sila has given you, use the spirit-vision. See yourself.”

  The world shifted into the weird iridescences of the spirit-vision as Nunavik invoked for her the allaruk. A blissful sense of unity with all things filled Alaana’s mind once again. This was her greatest treasure, the memory of that one moment of clarity she had experienced at the hands of Sila. Oh, why had she ever been shown that? If she could take it away—

  She wouldn’t. She would never let go that profound revelation which had transformed her mind, heart and soul into a new being, reborn in a moment of pure understanding.

  Nunavik showed Alaana the wonder of her own beautiful soul. Her inua held the most righteous, blue-white light, she had ever seen. Layer upon layer, it was completely serene and yet simmering with potential power.

  “Of the many shamans I have known, your angakua is the purest I have ever seen,” said Nunavik. “Your honesty I have witnessed for myself. No shaman can achieve great things unless he is totally honest. Humility you also have in abundance. This is important if you are to keep from being corrupted by the power at your disposal. And you have compassion for all things. Honesty, humility, compassion. These are the same qualities, in fact, which make Old Manatook such a good shaman.”

  Alaana, struck speechless, gasped at the sight.

  “Now beg Sila fo
r help,” said Nunavik.

  “The chant...”

  “Yes, that is the proper way to beg their assistance. The only way.”

  “Beneath the blue sky,” said Alaana. “Beneath the white cloud…”

  Nunavik was desperate to help.

  He had grown very fond of this girl; he did not want to lose her. In his many, many years he had lost too much. Not this.

  But what could be done? Alaana was repeating the chant, but only weakly. She still did not realize the need for Sila’s aid, not with the depth necessary to form the bond.

  Failure was imminent, the smell of death drawing near. Alaana’s breathing had become shallow and irregular.

  The girl was a puzzle. Her soul-light was so pure and strong. But there were two sides to every connection, and Nunavik knew very little of Sila. The Walker In The Wind was so different from the walrus’ own guardian spirit. His beloved spirit—

  That was the answer.

  “Alaana,” said Nunavik, “have I ever told you of my own guardian spirit? Set aside the chant for now. Listen.

  “Qityabnaqtuq, the golden starfish. A lesser turgat to be sure, but he has always been a good and faithful friend to me. He can be distant at times, as he sleeps down below at the bottom of the sea. He stays out of the way of greater spirits, or at least the louder and more pretentious ones.

  “Qityabnaqtuq has the gift of foresight, Alaana. He is here with us — he is never far from me. Look upon the things he has to show.”

  Nunavik felt a warm glow infusing his spirit, the sense of peace that told of the nearness of the golden starfish. A series of images flashed before his eyes and he made sure that Alaana witnessed them as well. They saw Maguan, beaten and bloodied, flung on the snowy ground. He was nearly dead. Tugtutsiak lying unconscious, his soul stolen away by a ruthless demon. The people looked down at their helpless leader, their spirits broken. A child, lost in the shadow world, calling out for her mother. The Anatatook camp completely destroyed by an unnatural, raging storm.

  Alaana sat up straight, her eyes wide with shock. “These things must not happen!”

  “These things will happen,” replied Nunavik. “They are certain. Qityabnaqtuq does not jest. Only one question remains. Will you be able to help when they do?”

  “I have already decided that!” said Alaana. “I love them. I will do all that I can for them. Always.”

  “But how?” asked Nunavik. “How are you going to help them? Don’t you realize you can’t do it alone? When the winds of fate howl, when the big hand reaches down for them, only with Sila’s help may you avert the storm.

  “Put aside your resentment, girl!” said Nunavik. “Your old, normal life is long gone! You walk the path Sila has chosen for you. There is no turning back. Raise your voice! The great spirits are so far above us, they don’t hear us when we whisper. They only hear us when we beg! This is the Way!”

  “Great Sila,” Alaana’s voice rang out, strong yet humble, “Help me to help them!”

  “Yes! That’s more like it,” said the Walrus. “Call to him.”

  Alaana spoke passionately:

  “Beneath the blue sky,

  Beneath the white cloud,

  Keeper of the echo in the high mountains,

  Keeper of the winds across the wide sea,

  Master of the wild wind,

  Come to me.”

  “More!” said Nunavik.

  “Please,” said Alaana. “I beg you! Come to me!”

  Kigiuna tightened his grip on the knife in his hand, its tip just above Old Manatook’s heart. The knife was solid, lethal. The leather grip felt hot, as if it might scorch the palm of his hand. “It’s a trick,” he said. “It’s all a trick!”

  “Kill me then, and be done with it!” said Old Manatook. He pressed his flesh forward, into the blade. A stream of blood was let, trickling in a thin crimson line down the middle of his chest. Beneath the break in the skin, Kigiuna thought he saw a patch of white fur.

  Kigiuna jerked the knife back. In all his life he had never killed another man. Unlike Old Manatook, who he knew to be a cold-hearted killer. He didn’t know if he could do it. “I don’t want you! I want her!”

  Kigiuna tried to go around the old fool, who stood barring the way to the tiny iglu that held his daughter. Old Manatook wouldn’t let him pass.

  “I can’t let you do that,” said the shaman in deep, even tones. “You’ll kill her.”

  Kigiuna stepped back, confused. “You offer to let me finish you right here and now, just as easy as that, and yet you still insist on keeping me from going to Alaana? You’ve finally gone crazy, old man. Don’t you know I’ll simply kill you and then take her away?”

  Old Manatook smiled. Of all things, he smiled. “You may kill me, but even dead I shall not let you disturb her.”

  That smile enraged Kigiuna. This was no game. His daughter lay dying in the tiny iglu. He was certain of it.

  “I don’t believe you,” said Kigiuna. “And I’m not afraid of ghosts.”

  “You will be.”

  Kigiuna stepped forward, knife at the ready. Again the old man offered no resistance other than standing in the way. But this time it didn’t matter. Alaana’s safety was the only thing that mattered. Kigiuna knew that if he killed the shaman the Anatatook men would take revenge on him. They would exile him or kill him themselves. But he didn’t care so long as Alaana would be safe.

  “So be it!” he raged, driving the blade toward the shaman’s heart.

  His murderous advance was pushed back by a sudden gust of wind. Kigiuna was thrown to the frozen ground.

  The knife, yanked from his hand, flew away across the tundra. From all around he felt side winds pulling in toward the center, sucking the air away from his lungs. A hundred paces ahead a gigantic funnel rose up. A column of spinning air extending halfway up into the night sky. Kigiuna felt a surge of horror as the towering whirlwind spun and turned directly toward them.

  “It’s a trick!” he spat. The words whipped away from his mouth, stolen by the wind.

  “This is no trick,” replied the shaman, his eyes aflame.

  “Then what is it?”

  The whirling mass drew nearer, picking up loose snow and gravel, filling their ears with a tremendous buzzing sound as if a thousand swarms of flies rode on the eddying wind.

  “A blessing,” said Old Manatook. “A blessing that will flay the skin from your bones!”

  The approaching column had reached one of the little iglus on the plain. The whirling blast of wind and snow pinched in the middle to form a narrow waist at the center, the upper half rising to mix with the clouds, the lower settling to churn the tundra below. And at the center of the spinning tumult rose Alaana, limp and naked, hovering in the air.

  “Alaana!” cried Kigiuna, “Alaana!” Again his words were stolen by the wind. Old Manatook threw himself atop Kigiuna, driving him to the ground. The storm was raging out of control but Kigiuna saw no flash of fear or doubt on the old man’s stony features. The whirlwind pelted them with snow and hailstones, hurling rocks and chunks of ice at them. Kigiuna tried to push Old Manatook away, but the shaman was determined to protect them both with the flat of his own back. Kigiuna twisted under the old man’s arm, straining to see what had become of his daughter.

  “Alaana!”

  Old Manatook held firm, saying, “She’s safe. Sila has come to her at last.”

  ***

  Sila came.

  A surge of unexpected strength filled Alaana and her exhaustion drained away. The force came from outside and deep within at the same time. Her body flew upward on a raging torrent of wind and snow, and Alaana felt Sila fold down over her as a protective blanket. All-encompassing, a soothing balm to her hurt, a warming touch to her frostbitten skin, a light to her eyes. Sila lifted Alaana as if she were an inconsequential bit of fluff, which of course she was in the shadow of his magnificent presence. Though she was lifted up, she felt herself paradoxically to be sinking, sinking in
to the softness, the warmth, the grace of her guardian spirit who offered endless comfort and protection.

  “My dear little one,” said the voice of the wind, “I do regret all that you have suffered, and also the greater portion which you yet will suffer. But there is tragedy in every life. And joy. And you will know both of these in great measure.”

  The vast soothing balm that was her protector calmed Alaana’s mind, as the intense cold took all feeling from her body. The world spun below her in a dizzying circle. Even if she had wanted to reply, she could not speak.

  Sila, as the voice that is all voices, said, “Together we will see it through. There is a great wrong that must be righted. Know this: I will walk with you. The road will be difficult. I can not come whenever you may call. But when it is darkest, look for me. I shall not leave you until your work is done.”

  Alaana absorbed the great spirit’s message as if from a distance. The newfound strength departed, leaving her tired and weak. All the air had gone from her lungs and she was unable to draw in another breath. She was extinguished as the tiny flame of the lamp when the great north wind blows. Surely there would be no journey for her, there could be nothing more. Only the embrace of sweet oblivion.

  “Here is my secret,” said the Walker In The Wind, “I need you just as much as you need me.”

  Alaana fell to the ground.

  “Alaana!” Kigiuna screamed.

  The thunder parted, the whirlwind cut in half before his eyes and dissolved away. The wind had torn and carried off all the ice around the space where the tiny iglu had stood. The snow house had been scoured completely away, leaving only a patch of bare earth in midwinter, scarring the white landscape with a crude circle of brown.

  Kigiuna and Old Manatook rushed toward Alaana. She lay face down in the center of the circle. Old Manatook reached her first, moving with an unearthly swiftness.

  As Kigiuna watched Old Manatook turn Alaana over, he knew his worst fears had been realized. His daughter was dead. The shaman cradled Alaana in his arms.

  “You old fool!” roared Kigiuna in a red rage. “You witless old fool!”