Beyond the Sea of Ice

by neetha Napew

  “Spirit Master has his women and a new band. He does not care about one small boy.”

  Torka shook his head. “Karana lives because of Umak’s magic. Karana grows stronger because one old man would not let him die. Life is good for us, Little Hunter, so be patient. Be content with the days as they are given. Be glad that between now and the rising of the starving moon, Torka will hunt for you and Lonit will cook for you while Umak shares a common fire with those who have made him feel young again in this high, safe place.”

  “Spirit Master has forgotten us,” pouted the boy.

  Torka smiled. “No, Little Hunter. He has remembered himself and has found it good to be a man among men again.”

  It was still autumn, but small, hard flakes of snow driven by a whistling wind stripped the leaves from the willows and whipped the world into a stinging froth of white.

  The people of Galeena’s band stayed within the cave. They ate and slept and ate again, and when Lonit once again found herself concerned over their squandering of food, the women mocked her for her worrying. Theirs was a well established pecking order, and they made it quite clear that she was at the bottom of it. But in the main they offered friendship and companionable gossip as readily as they offered criticism and advice. To her surprise, although they made occasional remarks about her appearance, they did not find her repugnant. When Ai made a slur against Lonit’s unusually lidded eyes, matronly Naknaktup came to her defense.

  “If Galeena lets Ai live long enough, maybe she will watch her own wandering eyes and not worry about Lonit’s! This woman live long time, see many people have eyes like Torka’s woman. In some bands far from this place people prefer eyes like that. So this woman say: If man as fine as Torka take Lonit to be his woman, maybe her looks better than ours. And much better than Ai’s since Galeena smash her nose for looking at Lonit’s man!”

  All of the women laughed at that, except Ai and sad-eyed lana, who never laughed at anything. Lonit was too astonished to respond. Others with eyes like hers? Whole bands of them? Was it possible? Or was Naknaktup only saying it to be kind? No. Among these women, with the possible exception of lana, kindness was a word that had no meaning. She knelt with them in a circle around a large oxhide that was in the last phase of scraping. They had all paused in their work—Ai to glare at Lonit with open hostility, the others, except Lana, to snort and guffaw at Ai.

  Lonit wished they would stop. Ai’s mouth puckered into a knot of resentment that only intensified the mirth of the other women. Lonit could not help but stare at their broad, uniformly round, flat faces. Since Umak had coerced them into washing themselves occasionally, their features were visible—small, even, so similar that they might all have been sisters. Even the plainest of them had the taut, up swept fold of skin that covered their lids and made their eyes appear to slant upward toward their temples. How she envied them their eyes and their round, pretty faces. But nothing else! She was Torka’s woman, and she knew that they all envied her for that.

  Ai was on her feet, wiping her small, pudgy hands on her apron less skirt. “Laugh! Go ahead! But soon Ai will laugh loudest. Lonit and her man, they think they better than us! Keep apart, turn noses up at our food, our ways! Now Lonit’s belly grows as big and round as a summer moon. Soon Ai will lie with Lonit’s man! And when Lonit’s baby comes, Galeena will never let it live. Never! This woman will make certain that this is so!”

  “Sleep now. Do not worry, little Antelope Eyes. Believe me, Galeena’s woman cannot say what he, or any other man, might do.”

  Lonit had waited until very late to speak her fears to him. She had awakened him with a gentle touch, and now he returned it and kissed her brow. “Sleep,” he urged. “Torka holds no fear of the threats of a jealous female.”

  “Jealous? Why would Ai be jealous? She is Galeena’s woman .. . and she is beautiful.”

  “Lonit is beautiful.”

  She smiled wanly, wanting to believe him but failing. “Lonit will soon be as Ai says ... as big and round as a summer moon.”

  He drew her into an embrace, his broad, strong hand pressing gently upon her belly. “The summer moon is the most beautiful moon of all.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself and the child against him, loving him so much that, for a moment, she could not speak. But she had to speak. “Lonit has overheard Karana say to Umak that this is a bad camp, that we must leave this place, that the Mountain of Power has spoken through his mouth to warn us away.”

  “Karana is a little boy. Would the spirits of the mountain speak through him instead of Umak?”

  “Umak is old. Perhaps—“

  “Umak is spirit master. If the spirits were to speak to anyone, they would speak to him. And he is happy in this camp. Here he has found the power of his manhood again. So do not listen to the babblings of a foolish woman and a more foolish child. Soon Torka’s woman will be delivered of our summer moon. Soon the time of the long dark will be upon us. We will stay here, in this high, safe place. It was ours before it was Galeena’s. Thanks to Umak’s magic, his people are changing ... a little. In time things will be better between our people.” He stifled a yawn and shifted his weight against her. “Lonit will see. Soon this will be a good camp again.”

  She wanted to disagree, to speak to him of her troubled memories of the night when the fires had burned high and the people of Galeena’s band had danced and she had imagined that the headman had threatened her; but Torka had drifted into sleep, and she was yawning and growing heavy eyed. Perhaps it was just as well. Galeena had made no further advances to her, nor had he threatened her in any way. The night of the dancing fires seemed long ago, part of a half-forgotten bad dream. She sighed, glad to allow her recollections of it to fade. In Torka’s arms, with their unborn child sleeping high beneath her breasts, life itself seemed a dream. She closed her eyes and slept, smiling because she knew that no dream could be sweeter, or more unbelievable to her, than what she was now sharing with Torka.

  It was a time of the telling of tales. Umak spoke first. When his voice began to crack and it became apparent that the weather was going to keep everyone confined to the ledge for the remainder of the day and night, Galeena took over. Whereas Umak’s tales were intricate, allegorical stories that spoke of man and beast and their eternal conflict and union with the forces of Creation, Galeena’s stories were straightforward, rather unimaginative tales of bold adventures in far places. In Umak’s stories, man and beast were always subservient to the powers of the earth and sky. In Galeena’s tales, he and his band were the central figures around which all else moved. Sun, moon, stars—all revolved around Galeena. He spoke of strange-sounding hunting grounds in which he and his hunters killed until all of the game was gone. He spoke of feasts that lasted for days on end, until all the food was gone and he and his band were forced to move into the hunting territory of other bands. He spoke once more of the Corridor of Storms, a game-rich but terrifyingly narrow, wind scoured passage of open grazing land between mile-high mountains of solid ice ... mountains that shifted and moaned like women in labor and sometimes came crashing down in huge avalanches to bury men or beasts traveling beneath them.

  Now for the first time, the tone and emphasis of his tales changed. Here, in the cold, wind-wrapped shadow of his memories of the Corridor of Storms, Galeena the storyteller reluctantly conceded that even the mighty Galeena, hero of his tales, was only a mortal man after all.

  “How many die neeah Corridor of Storms, whey eh mountains walk like people?” His question was part of his story chant.

  “Many die neeah the Corridor of Storms, whey ah mountains walk like people!” his hunters responded in unison. His women keened as though they were one. The boys of his band listened with wide-eyed wonder even though they had heard the tale so many times that some of them were able to mouth the words in silence as Galeena spoke them aloud.

  “Do they die of the mountain falling?” Again Galeena’s question was a part of the story.<
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  “They do not die of mountain falling!”

  “Tell us then what kills the people!”

  “The wrath of Big Spirit kills the people!”

  “Ai-yah! And who is wisest headman of all bands? Who keeps people safe from falling mountain? Who leads people from Big Spirit when he khums to us like storm?”

  “Galeena!”

  “And who tells his people to hunt Big Spirit never more? What man saves life of this band while othehs follow Big Spirit and die?”

  “Galeena! Ai-yah-hay! Ga-lee-na!”

  He beamed at their open adulation, then scowled when he saw that, alone among his hunters, the scar-faced Manaak remained silent and visibly unimpressed. Even Torka seemed taken with his storytelling. He sat cross-legged at his own fire circle with Lonit and Karana. All three of them faced into the cave, watching Galeena as he postured and puffed out his chest.

  “Where lies this Corridor of Storms?” asked Torka.

  “Eastward. In the face of the rising sun,” replied Manaak.

  Galeena snorted with incredulity. “What kind hunt eh not know Corridor of Storms?”

  “This kind,” admitted Torka evenly, not in a mood to be riled. “Torka is a man of the west. Torka cannot know what he has not seen.”

  Again Galeena snorted. “What kind know-nothing people live in west not know more mammoth browse in east?”

  “People who follow the caribou have little concern for the ways of mammoth,” Torka said. “To us, the meat of a mammoth is fit to be eaten only during the worst times of the starving moon. It is too tough. It tastes too much like the bitter sap of the trees that it eats. Even the smell of its flesh offends us.”

  “Ha!” blurted Galeena with explosive enthusiasm. “Bands khum from all places to join at great encampment. Kill many mammoth. Tough meat makes tough people!”

  And smelly meat makes smelly people, thought Karana with disgust. Suddenly an idea burst into his consciousness, and he wondered why he had not thought of it before. “At this great camp where many bands come .. . has Galeena seen the band of Supnah? He leads many men, many women. He is not much for mammoth meat, but in starving times ...”

  Galeena did not appreciate the child’s interruption. “What care yuh this Supnah?”

  Karana told him, and Galeena grunted, telling the boy that he had seen and shared a fire with a man named Supnah.

  “Big band. No little ones. No babies. Some wuhmen. And magic man.

  Navahk, is that name?”

  Karana’s eyes grew round. “Navahk. It is so.”

  Galeena grunted again. He told Karana that he and his band had met with Supnah and his people while they were still enroute to the great encampment. They had both taken a few caribou. They had shared a cooking fire, and Galeena had invited Supnah to continue on with him to the great gathering of mammoth hunters close to the entrance of the Corridor of Storms. Supnah was unfamiliar with the area and had expressed his dislike of mammoth meat. “Last time Galeena see that man, he was still at fiah. Long time back now. Supnah say he stay that place, hunt more caribou, then go on, following herds whereveh they lead.”

  “But he promised to come back for me, for all the children. He—“

  “Said nothing of son. Said nothing of childs. So Galeena says now to Karana, that after Big Spirit killed many in camp of mammoth huntehs, Galeena led his band back west, away from Big Spirit, looking for this Supnah, thinking maybe two bands be betteh than one. But Supnah gone. Supnah follows caribou. And Big Spirit follows Supnah. Galeena sees tracks. So Karana forget Supnah, forget all huntehs who walk the tundra with no high, safe mountain to keep them safe from Big Spirit!”

  Karana’s head was swimming. He knew that everyone was staring at him. He did not care as he blurted: “You saw the tracks of Big Spirit and did not follow Supnah to warn him?”

  Galeena’s people murmured. The boy’s question had sounded like an accusation.

  “Follow Big Spirit?” Galeena shook his head. “What for this man do that? Galeena is not ready to send his spirit walking on the wind! Huntehs hunt, game, not crooked spirits! And why does Karana care what happens to one who walked away and left him to die?”

  “Because I have not died! Because he is my father! Because his band is my band! Because I know that if he could have returned for me, he would and because, unlike Galeena, Karana is not afraid of Big Spirit!”

  He knew at once that he had grievously overstepped his place. Lonit gasped, and he heard Umak exhale a muted harrumph even before he saw the black, sobering look on Torka’s face.

  Torka reprimanded him strongly and angrily. “Not until Karana has faced Big Spirit, as this man and Galeena and his hunters have done, will he know the meaning of fear. Be it spirit or flesh, many brave men have died trying to kill the great mammoth that has many names. This is a little boy with a mouth twice his size! Until he is a man, with the weight of a man’s responsibilities upon his back, let Torka not hear him challenge or criticize the ways of his elders, for while their wisdom is great, Karana possesses no wisdom at all!”

  Karana was shamed by the rebuke, but not so cowed by it that he failed to see how it soothed Galeena and mollified his hunters. They all murmured favorably at Torka’s speech. The women nodded, and the boys followed Ninip in a chorus of jeers. Karana hung his head. He heard Umak say that Karana was a boy who learned quickly and would not repeat his mistake. He felt sick, betrayed.

  To ease the tension of the moment, Umak began to tell a tale. His two women rose and urged the others to pass the meat. Once again, the people of Galeena resumed their endless feasting.

  Lonit offered an aged ptarmigan egg to Karana. It was one of his favorite foods, but he waved it away. He had no appetite. Far off across the tundra, muffled by the falling snow, a wild dog howled. Or was it a wolf? Karana could not tell.

  Suddenly restless, he went to stand at the edge of the cornice. Umak’s chant filled the cave. The words drifted like smoke into the boy’s head. There was magic in the Mountain of Power, he thought. A dark and subversive magic that turned even such brave and honorable hunters as Torka and Umak into compromisers who could find wisdom in the excesses and cowardice of a man like Galeena.

  This boy will not stay in this place. It is a had camp. As Brother Dog has left it, so too will Karana go. He will follow his own people eastward, into the face of the rising sun. And no matter what Torka says, Karana will not be afraid!

  But as he looked down along the icy, precipitous route that he would have to take in order to leave the cave, he was afraid. He had climbed this face of the mountain many times before his injury. In sun, in rain, in sleet, in snow, he know every foot- and handhold. At best it was a time-consuming climb and not without danger. At worst it was deadly, and only a fool would try it.

  Karana was not a fool. He had survived alone upon this mountain too long for any man to accuse him of that. Yet Torka had done just that in front of the entire band.

  There was a hot, hard lump at the back of Karana’s throat. When he tried to swallow it, it would not move. He had not realized just how much he had wanted Torka’s approval or how much the denial of that approval could hurt.

  The snow had stopped. The air was very cold. The wind seemed to be holding its breath. Soon the snow would begin to fall again, but now Karana could see the sun. It was a small, dull yellow eye that stared at him through miles of shifting clouds. Something about it made him think of Navahk, the magic man, watching him, smiling his hate-filled smile, daring one small boy to follow where brave hunters dared not go.

  The change in the weather was causing Karana’s leg to stiffen and ache. He knew that Torka would be proved right about him if he tried to make the climb down from the cave alone. And when he fell to his death from the icy wall, somehow Navahk would know and the eye of the sun would grow wide with pleasure as, miles away across the tundra, the magic man smiled. Unless .. .

  Speculation pricked him. He remembered the pulley and sling that Torka and Umak h
ad devised to heft the heavier portions of dismembered moose up the mountain wall. The device had seen much use since that day. It was flimsy, and if not carefully balanced, as much meat fell from it as was successfully brought up the wall.

  Karana will be careful, vowed the boy. In the deep, dark shank of this night, while everyone sleeps, Karana will go. No one will miss him. This is no longer his cave or his mountain. Torka’s people are no longer Karana’s people. They are of Galeena’s band now.

  The day seemed to go on forever. As snow continued to fall, the people of Galeena’s band grew tired of eating and listening to story chants. They drank a foul liquid that their women had prepared and stored in bladder flasks. Soon half the flasks were drained, and while Torka knapped projectile points and Lonit busied herself with her sewing, Galeena’s people showed little inclination to engage in productive work. They dozed, and when they woke, their speech was slurred, and for a little while they were much given to laughter. Then their mood changed. The hunters coupled with their women as though they were angry, so quickly that afterward the partners were irritable and argumentative. The boys were forbidden even to sip from the flasks and soon grew bored and fell to squabbling so viciously that Ninip hit another boy with a rock and Umak had to be summoned to suture the scalp of the screeching boy.

  Karana sat by himself, bundled in his sleeping furs close to the edge of the cornice. It was better to watch the snow fall, cool and clean and silent, than to observe the activities within the cave. In his mind, he had already left it. When Lonit came to him and tried to persuade him to come in from the cold, he ignored her. Had Torka come with even the slightest word of apology, he might have weakened and lost his resolve to leave. But Torka had not come, and although Karana was disappointed, he told himself that he was glad. Torka had become a stranger. Anyway, he told himself, he would have to grow used to the cold, which would be his one constant companion until he found Brother Dog and the two of them set off across the tundra in search of Supnah’s band.