“We are not the first ones to shelter here,” Kerrick said, pointing to the low ceiling of rock where the outline of a greatdeer had been traced with a charred stick. Ortnar grunted and kicked at the ground next to the fire.
“At least they did not leave their bones here.”
“And we might?” Kerrick said.
In silent answer Ortnar pulled over his pack and shook out the remaining food. “This is all we have left, about the same in your pack. Not enough to get back with.”
“Then we must go forward. We will find the Paramutan. They must be here. Somewhere.”
“We go forward only when the storm lets us.”
They took turns, one tending the fire, one getting wood. Darkness came quickly and Ortnar had difficulty in finding the cave with the last load of wood. The temperature had dropped sharply and there were white spots on his cheek that he rubbed with snow. They were both silent now because the time for talking was past. There was nothing more to be said. The storm continued for days to the count of a hunter’s hand. One day for every finger — including the thumb. They went out only for wood, melted snow for water. And felt the first knife of hunger in their guts as they rationed out the remaining scraps of food.
It was on the next day that there was the first break in the storm. The wind died down and the snow seemed to be thinning.
“It is over,” Kerrick said, hopefully. “We cannot be sure yet.”
They emerged into grim daylight. Snowflakes still drifted down from the dark gray sky. For a short while the falling snow thinned a little and they could see the waves breaking on the beach, running high up on the pebbled shore. The seas were heavy, foam-topped, dark.
“There!” Kerrick shouted. “I saw something out there — it’s a boat of some kind. Wave to them, wave!”
They stumbled down to the shore, into the edge of the foaming sea and stood there, leaping and shouting hoarsely. Once the boat rode high onto a wave and they thought that they could even make out some figures aboard it. Then the waves rose up again and hid it from sight. The next time they saw the boat it was further out, going north.
It disappeared once again among the mountainous waves and never reappeared.
Wet and exhausted they stumbled back to the cave, barely visible now through the driving snow as the storm struck again with redoubled fury.
The next day they ate the last of their food. Kerrick was licking the crumbled bits of sour meat from his fingers when he looked up and caught Ortnar’s eye. He wanted to speak but could not. What could he say?
Ortnar pulled the furs about him and turned away.
Outside the storm winds blew, screaming along the cliffs. The ground beneath them trembled as the high waves thundered down onto the beach.
Darkness came and with it a great and all-possessing despair.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Outside the paukarut the blizzard blew with unceasing fury, the wind hurling the snow before it across the arctic ice. Nothing could live before its blast, nothing moved in this totally barren landscape — other than the attacking blizzard. It heaped high around the snow-banked paukaruts until each had a downwind drift like a white beard. In the frozen desert of endless night there was only darkness and certain death.
Inside the paukarut the yellow light of the oil lamp shone on the black ularuaq skin, the white-arched ribs that supported it, the furs and skins and laughing faces of the Paramutan as they dipped bits of rotten meat into the open skin of blubber, fed mouthfuls to the children, roared with laughter when they rubbed it into their faces instead.
Armun enjoyed their presence and was not too disturbed at Kalaleq’s constant attentions, his hands always reaching out to touch her when she came close. They were different, that was all. They even shared their women and no one seemed to mind. Laughed about that too. Her temperament was not theirs so she could not join in the wild laughter.
But she smiled at their antics and was not bothered when Harl joined in with the others. They moved aside to make room for him — some reaching out to touch his light hair. They never tired of the novelty of this and always talked of the Tanu as Erqigdlit, meaning fantasy-people in their own language, for they were Angurpiaq, real people as they called themselves. Armun could understand their talk, this was the second winter that they had spent in the paukaruts on the ice, and that was long enough. When they had first arrived among the Paramutan she had been grateful just to be alive. She had been weak, had lost weight, was worried about Arnwheet in this strange place. It was so different in every way — the food, the language, the way they lived. Time passed very quickly while she was finding out how to adjust to this new life, so that the second winter was upon them even before she realized it.
There would be no third one for her here — she was steadfast in her conviction about that. In the spring she would make them understand that it was time for her to leave. She had her strength back: she and the two boys were well fed. An even more important reason to leave was the disturbing knowledge that by this time Kerrick would have discovered that they had left the sammads; he would be sure that they were dead. The smile slipped from her face at the darkness of this thought. Kerrick! She must go to him, go south to that strange murgu place that they had burnt, go wherever he was…
“Alutoragdlaq, alutoragdlaqoq!” Arnwheet said, shaking her by the knee. A strong little boy who had already seen his third summer, talking excitedly through his uneven new teeth. She smiled again as she wiped some of the grease from his face.
“What is it you want?” she asked, speaking Marbak. She could understand him well enough, but did not want him to only talk in Paramutan. If the two boys were left alone, he and Harl only spoke to one another in what had now become their daily manner of communication.
“I want my deer! My deer!” He beat on her knee with hard little fists, laughing. Armun dug into the jumbled furs until she found the toy. She had made it from a strip of deerskin, adding bits of carved bones for antlers. He seized it to him and tumbled away, laughing.
“You should eat more,” Angajorqaq said, sitting down at her side and holding out a handful of the white blubber. She had thrown most of her skin clothes aside in the heat of the paukarut and her fur-covered breasts swung free when she extended her arm. Armun dipped out a small bit of the greasy substance and licked at it. Angajorqaq made unhappy clicking noises with her tongue.
“There was a woman once who did not eat the fish when it was caught.” She had a story about everything, saw hidden meanings in any event no matter how commonplace. “It was a silver fish and very big and fat and it looked at her and did not understand. Tell me, the fish said, why you do not eat me? Deep in the ocean I heard the right spells that the fisherman said, saw the hook with the bright bait. I ate it as I should and now I am here and you do not eat me. Why?
“When the woman heard this she was very angry and told the fish it was only a fish and she could eat him or not, whichever pleased her. But of course when the fish-spirit heard this he was even angrier and swam up from the dark bottom of the sea where he lives, swam faster and faster until he hit the ice and broke up through that and opened his mouth and ate the paukarut and all the furs and the baby and the oil lamp and then ate the woman too. So you see what happens when you do not eat. Eat!”
Armun licked some more of the fat from her finger. “When the storm stops and the sun comes back and it is warm — then I am leaving with the boys…”
Angajorqaq screeched aloud and dropped the blubber, grasped her ears and rocked from side to side. Kalaleq looked up when he heard this, eyes wide with astonishment, then climbed to his feet and walked over to see what had caused the commotion. In the warmth of the paukarut he had thrown all of his clothing aside: his smooth brown fur shone in the lamplight. Even after all this time Armun found it hard to realize that all the Paramutan were like this, covered with fur from head to foot. Kalaleq’s tail came forward decently up between his legs, the furry end spread out to cover his maleness.
“Angajorqaq made a sound of great unhappiness,” he said, then held out the bone he was carving to distract her. “This will be a whistle, and see — there will be a ularuaq on it and the whistle will come from its mouth when it is blown.”
She pushed his hand aside, was not going to be deprived of her misery this easily.
“It is winter and dark — but the hair of the Erqigdlit is like the sun inside the paukarut and we laugh and eat and are warm. But now…” she wailed again, still rocking from side to side… “now Armun will go and the light of the boys will go and all will be black.”
Kalaleq gaped at this outburst. “But they cannot go,” he said. “When the blizzard blows, death sits outside the paukarut with open mouth. When you walk from the paukarut you walk into his teeth. So they cannot go and you do not have to cry out.”
“In the spring,” Armun said. “We must go then.”
“See,” Kalaleq said, stroking Angajorqaq’s fur to quiet her. “See, they are not going. Eat something. They stay.”
The Paramutan lived one day at a time and each new day came as a wonderful surprise. Armun was silent now, but her mind was still made up. They were going to leave as soon as the weather was warm enough to travel. She licked the rest of the blubber from her finger. They would eat well now so they would be strong. And go south as soon as they were able.
The storm blew itself out during the night and when Kalaleq loosened the laces on the smokehole in the morning a tiny shaft of sunlight lanced in. Everyone shouted with excitement at that and searched among the tumbled furs for their discarded clothing, shrieking with laughter when they found someone else’s skins. They had been trapped by the storm for days without number and the children screamed with eagerness. Armun held tight to the wriggling Arnwheet with one hand while she pulled on the soft undergarments that had the fur facing inward for greater warmth. Over them went the thicker outer furs, with the hood, then boots, gloves, everything that made existence possible in the polar north.
Kalaleq was lying stretched out flat, grunting with exertion as he pushed aside the snow that was blocking the end of the entrance tunnel. Light filtered in, then darkened as he wriggled into the opening. They blinked in the glare when he pulled himself free. There was more laughter and they pushed at one another seeing who would be the next one out.
Armun let the boys go first, then followed them. Shielding her eyes against the brightness when she stood up. After the close, damp air of the paukarut, smelling of rotten meat, urine and babies, the cold crispness of the fresh air was wonderful. She breathed it in gratefully, though it stung her nose and throat.
The scattered paukaruts were white lumps in a white landscape. From them other Paramutan were crawling out into the sunshine; there were shouted greetings and much laughter. The bowl of the sky was pale blue with a few high clouds, arching down to the darker blue of the ocean at the edge of the ice sheet. The boats secured there were just white mounds, completely concealed by the snow.
Someone trilled a warning, then pointed and shouted.
“In the sea — a ularuaq!”
“It cannot be!”
“Not a ularuaq — it is one of our boats.”
“Then it is Niumak’s boat, his is the only one not here. But he must be dead, we sang his death song and the death songs of those with him.”
“We sang them too early,” Kalaleq laughed. “They fooled us good this time. They will never let us forget this.”
Harl ran with all the others toward the approaching boat. Arnwheet ran behind him, but tripped and fell and howled loudly. Armun picked him up and dried his tears: he was more shocked than hurt.
With everyone helping the boat was soon out of the water and secured alongside the others. Arnwheet stood in the snow, dry-eyed now, holding Armun’s hand and watching the joyous return. Niumak led the way back to the tents, others running beside him to touch him, pat his arms. To share some of the good luck he and the three others with him must possess. To have lived through this storm was something very special. All four dropped down wearily onto the snow, drinking eagerly from the bowls that were brought to them, snapping up the preferred bits of meat. Only when they were patting their stomachs were the first eager questions asked. Niumak raised his hands for silence and even the smallest children grew still.
“Here is what happened,” he said, and there was a shuffle of feet as they grew close to listen. “We could see the ice here when the storm began. Could see through the walls of the paukaruts and see the warmth and the food and the babies playing, could smell their fur and lick them with our tongues. But the storm blew us away.”
He paused dramatically, hand raised, and his listeners wailed in agony since they knew what was proper — stopping the instant his hand fell.
“We could not reach the ice and the paukaruts; we could only sail before the storm. There is the headland known as the Broken Leg and we sheltered there for a long time, but could not go ashore because there is no landing there as you know. Then the wind changed and we were blown out to sea again and that is when we sang our death songs.”
This brought another wail from his listeners and the tale continued in this manner for a long time. But no one protested because it was a good and exciting story to hear. But Niumak was getting tired and cold so the end came quickly then.
“On the last day the storm was breaking up and we came close into shore, but the seas were still too heavy so we could not land. Now here is a strange thing. There is the cave on the shore that is known as the Deer Cave because of the drawings there and we passed this place and saw two of our brothers come out of the cave and run and wave their arms. We could only sail on for the wind was behind us. And they had a warm cave and we wished to join them but could not. But who were they? All are here, all of our boats are here. Are there other Paramutan close by? But there would not be in the winter. And then we sailed back and you saw us and we are here and now I rest.”
He crawled into his paukarut followed by shouted questions. Who had they seen? What did they look like? Was there another boat nearby?
Armun stood as though carved of ice, as cold as ice, staring but unseeing. She knew who was in that cave on the shore, knew as surely as if the name had been whispered in her ear. Kerrick. It had to be him, one of those two hunters had to be him. There was no doubt in her mind, none at all. It was as though the knowledge had been there all the time, waiting for Niumak’s words to release it. He had come after her. He had found out that she had gone north and had come to find her. She must go to him.
The paralysis left her and she wheeled about. “Kalaleq,” she cried. “We must go to that cave. I know who is there. My hunter is there. Kerrick is there.”
Kalaleq gaped with amazement. The Erqigdlit did so many things that were surprising. Yet he did not doubt her for an instant. He pulled himself up and remembered Niumak’s words.
“It is good that your hunter is there, and he is safe and warm as Niumak said.”
“He is not,” she said angrily. “He is not a Paramutan so he is not safe. He is a Tanu who has walked to that place, has carried his food, who was caught by the blizzard. I must go to him — at once.”
When the import of this soaked in, Kalaleq shouted aloud. “A boat, my boat, we must launch my boat. There is a thing that must be done.”
Armun turned and saw Angajorqaq staring at her with widened eyes. “You must help me,” Armun said. “Take care of Arnwheet until we get back. Will you do that?”
“You should not go,” Angajorqaq said without much conviction.
“I am going.”
The boat was already in the water by the time she reached it and stores were being handed in. Four other Paramutan were there with Kalaleq, putting the oars into the water even as the last of the bundles came aboard. Then they were away, helped on their way by the light wind from the north.
At nightfall they were still rowing south. The coast here was a continuous cliff so there was no thought of going asho
re for the night. They hove to and threw out a length of leather with a heavy skin on the end so they would not drift too far during the night. They ate fragments of rotten meat and dug out and sucked on pieces of snow from the supply that had been shoveled aboard. Many of them came over to touch Armun and pat her and make soothing noises. She did not answer, only looked at the shore and waited. Towards dawn, exhausted, she slept and when she awoke they were rowing south again.
To Armun the snow-covered shore looked featureless and blank. Not so to the Paramutan who pointed out invisible landmarks with shouted enthusiasm. There were cries of agreement and they rowed with growing enthusiasm towards a pebbled beach. As they surged up on a wave and grated to a halt two of them were over the side and waist-deep in the icy sea, pulling the boat higher up. Armun jumped from the bow, landed heavily but climbed to her feet and ran swiftly towards the wooded hills. Her long legs outdistanced the others — but she had to stop, to look about desperately at the unmarked snow.
“We go there,” Kalaleq cried out as he passed her, pointed, stumbling and falling in the drifts. There was no laughter now, for the snow reached up to the tree line, unbroken, concealing anything there.
They dug, throwing the snow in all directions with desperate urgency. Blackness appeared, the hole was enlarged. Armun was digging as desperately as the others, fell into the opening as they burrowed through. There was a mound of furs covering — what?
She crept forward and reached them first, pulling back the stiff, frozen furs that covered Kerrick’s face. Gray and frost covered. She tore off her glove and reached out, not breathing in the fear that overwhelmed her.
Touched his skin, so cold. So cold.
He was dead.
Yet even as she cried aloud with the thought his eyes trembled and opened.
She was not too late.
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