by neetha Napew
It seemed that the spirits were not deaf to his invocations after all. His heart soared, for Torka was coming toward the mountain, and Karana walked beside him.
Exhausted by their ordeal, Torka and Karana slept for a day and a night. The boy curled within the fold of Torka’s arm, close to Lonit’s fire circle. In the predawn darkness of the second day, Karana awoke and looked at Lonit as she began the preparations for the first meal of the day.
“He came for me.. ..” he whispered wonderingly. “He told me that he followed the tracks of wild dogs deep into the heart of the storm. He risked his life ... for one small boy.”
She shook her head, and when she spoke, her words held a gentle and loving admonition. “Of course! What did you expect? He is Torka! Torka would never abandon one of his own!”
The last of the migratory waterfowl that had survived the storm were gone from the tundra. The great herds had vanished into the setting sun. In the last days of light, game was growing scarce, but Galeena’s people were not concerned. The men of the band hunted with abandon. Although they had already seriously depleted the provisions that they had piled at the back of the cave, they gorged themselves on their fresh kills and left little to be put aside for the long, lean days of darkness that were soon to come.
The women had lost their earlier minimal enthusiasm for work. Most of them were pregnant now, and Lonit found herself observing them with increasing concern. They were growing as fat as bears preparing for hibernation. Lazy, sloppy bears. She wrinkled her nose in disgust at the foul smells that had begun to emanate from their carelessly prepared winter stores. In the relatively warm, wind-protected confines of the cave, improperly dried berries were mildewing, and green moss was furring their supplies of meat. When she spoke of her concern, even lana was surprised. The sad-eyed woman informed her that mildew added a special tang to berries, and nothing was tastier or more tender than meat rimed with green mold.
“Yes,” she agreed. “This is so. But it is too early in the season for the mold to be so advanced. It will eat the meat before we do! And the mildew is so thick on the berries that soon they will not be berries at all but gray little clumps of fuzz not fit for eating.” “Everything is fit for eating,” said Oklahnoo, overhearing.
The others agreed.
Lonit shook her head. “It will be so in this camp! If Galeena’s women are not more careful, we will all be reduced to chewing hides long before the sun returns at the end of the time of the long dark!”
They did not take kindly to her criticism. Naknaktup told her that her pregnancy was making her as fussy as an old woman, and Weelup added that fussy women, old or otherwise, were not welcome in Galeena’s band.
“Torka’s wuhman is just like her man,” Ai sneered imperiously. “Always she thinks her ways are best! But where are the people who taught her? They walk the wind while Galeena’s band grows strong and fat in this khamp.”
Again the others agreed and added that although Torka was a man who was good to look at, he was always too busy—hunting, working his weapons, teaching the little lame one new ways to hunt, even though this was clearly a waste of time. Weelup said that Galeena had told her that the other men had complained that sometimes just watching Torka made them tired, and the headman still resented the way he had ignored his wishes and gone off in pursuit of a child who was better off dead.
“Karana is no longer lame,” Lonit corrected her emphatically. “He walks with a slight limp, but he can climb the wall as well as any man, and better than most of the boys. Sometimes this woman thinks that he looks like a little sheep, scampering up and down, as surefooted as a half-grown ram.”
“Maybe we will eat him in the dark time winter,” suggested Ai.
The others laughed. All except lana. She was looking pale and wan these days; the other women were certain that her baby could come at any time. It was rare for Lonit to speak out in anger, but she did so now, directly to Ai. “In starving times, this woman will see you on a spit before she will stand by and allow harm to come to Karana!”
The other women murmured in startled amazement.
Ai smirked loftily. “There will be no starving times. Galeena says that never again will his band wander the winter dark in search of food. Food will come to us in the dark times. Galeena has watched. Galeena has seen how the mountain breaks the back of the tundra wind. On one side after a storm, much snow. On other side, little snow. While the great herds follow the setting sun over the edge of the world, other animals stay. They browse and keep themselves fat for the spears of Galeena’s hunters. All through dark times, they will eat. All through dark times, Galeena’s people will eat them. So this wuhman says: Only stupid Lonit worries about meat spoiling. Galeena says, when it is gone, there will be more. Galeena says, in this c amp, his people will never go hungry! And Ai says to Torka’s wuhman, threaten me again, and all of your Dog People will be sorry!”
Lonit stared, aghast, not at the threat, but at Ai’s careless and utterly disrespectful attitude toward the unpredictable and all powerful forces of Creation. Ai’s words had flown in the face of the spirits of the game and defied the powers of the starving moon.
“Beware, woman of Galeena. The spirits grow angry with those who assume too much,” warned Lonit, and from that moment on her world was filled with shadows that had nothing to do with the ever-shortening days. No matter what Galeena might say, or how Ai might unquestioningly echo him, the starving moon would rise. And once it stood high in the great, black sky, it might not set again until all of the people who dwelled upon the mountain were dead, as punishment for the arrogance of their headman and his woman Ai.
On the far southwestern horizon, a plume of volcanic smoke rose from one of the tangled, snow-mantled peaks that, in daylight, appeared to be holding up the sky. But since it rose during the night, the plume went unseen.
Beneath Torka’s sleeping skins, the mountain dropped and rose so subtly that its movement merely caused him to sigh and draw Lonit a little closer. When the roaring of the distant eruption reached his ears, it was so muted by distance, it seemed to be no more than a slight rising of the wind. But high above, on the glacier that smothered the summit of their mountain, the mile-long crevasse that had opened on the day that Umak had killed the moose now gaped wide.
Upon the tundra, small animals felt tremors deep within the permafrost and scampered out of burrows and hiding places. Birds took flight, winging across the full face of the moon. Wolves and dogs made low, confused howls and yaps. Game animals huffed and circled restlessly as, miles away, a herd of mammoths trumpeted its uncertainty to the night. And from a distant, sprawling passageway that cut a swath of open grazing land between two continental ice sheets, an answering trumpet came, high and shrill—unmistakable to any man or beast that had heard it before.
It was that sound that woke the people on the mountain and had them on their feet, listening in terror.
Chunks of ice fell from above; then all was quiet. The people looked out across the blue, moonlit world, and Naknaktup pressed close to Umak, asking the spirit master what had disturbed the night.
Wind spirits, thought Lonit, for the quiet was absolute except for the soft whispering of the wind against the mountain.
Umak felt the wind against his face. It was cold, a winter wind that made his bones ache. His breath congealed into clouds before his eyes, veiling the banking flight of the birds that were returning to the earth like falling leaves.
The silence thickened and expanded, then entered the cave and pulsed within it. There was not a man or woman or boy who was not steeped in the terror of his or her own private fears—including the spirit master.
Umak remembered Karana’s words of warning: We must go from this place.
It is a bad encampment. We must go, or we will stay here forever.
Yet he knew that to go from the high, sheltering safety of the mountain into the savage, unknown distances of tundra that were now under the first shadows of the time of the
long dark would mean certain death .. . not for the entire band, but certainly for an old man with aching bones and an aging matron swollen with child. Umak had walked the wind once. He was not ready to do so again. He wanted to live long enough to see himself reborn through Naknaktup and also through Lonit; for the life that would come into the world through her also would be Torka’s. A third generation of spirit masters, an unbroken line into the future born from the loins of one old man. The thought was so heady that it actually warmed him until the dark cloud of Manaak’s words drew the old man back to the moment.
“It is Big Spirit that walks the night. It is that great ghost that makes the mountain tremble and the beasts cry out in fear. It has followed us, as Manaak has always said it would. Now we must hunt it! Now we must kill it before it kills us all!” The women broke into an anguished keening. The hunters grumbled and looked anxiously at one another. Galeena was clearly angry.
“This man heahs no beasts!” the headman said, gesturing outward into the night. “This man heahs no ghosts! What disturbed the night is gone now. Galeena is sick of Manaak always talking about Big Spirit. Galeena says that if Manaak ever sees that great ghost, he is free to hunt it alone. As for Galeena, he has found a safe khamp for his people. What shook the world is silent now. It will not come to this place.”
“No man may say what the spirits will do,” said Umak.
Galeena faced him furiously. “That spirit walks in the skin of a mammoth. Mammoths do not climb mountains. And Galeena does not hunt mammoths unless they are safely mired in bogs!”
“That could be arranged,” suggested Torka. “With enough men working together, we could track it down, discover where it is browsing, and lure it into a trap we devise.”
The excitement in his voice did nothing to ignite anything but alarm in the other hunters. Only Manaak was inflamed by it.
“It would be a good thing. Those who walk the tundra would foreveh sing praises to those who killed Big Spirit!”
“Men cannot kill spirits,” said Umak, waving a warning hand at Manaak to silence him. “Men make praise songs to appease their anger. Men walk lightly in the spirits’ shadows and make the songs that will cause the shadows to fall upon other parts of the world.”
“So that other men may be killed?” Torka’s question was sharply edged; he had heard the uncharacteristic chord of expedience in Umak’s voice. It both angered and startled him. Karana was right: Umak had changed since he had become spirit master of Galeena’s band.
“Galeena does not care about othehs!” said the headman, and when his hunters all sighed with relief and murmured in agreement, he flashed his wide, gap-toothed grin and slapped Umak upon the back with approving familiarity. “Wise men will listen to their spirit mast eh Wise men will make the songs that will keep Big Spirit fah away, walking its own part of the world!”
“Make all the songs you will,” said Torka grimly. “This man has dipped his spear into the blood and flesh of Big Spirit. If that one walks into our world, it will take more than songs to drive it away.” Galeena eyed him with dislike. “Torka always knows everything.
He is not the only man to have faced the great ghost! Torka and Manaak want to fight Big Spirit, you make spears. Many spears. Strong spears. Sharp spears. If Big Spirit comes, Galeena will let you kill him. If you can. But now, Galeena says listen to the night: It is silent. Big Spirit walk anotheh part of the world. If you wish to follow, Galeena says go! He will not stop you. But as for this man and his huntehs, we hunt meat, not spirits. We will stay here. Foreveh!”
On the far horizon, the volcano returned to sleep, as did the people of Galeena’s band. The night passed in silence, except for the whispering of the wind and the deep, somnolent murmurings of the summit ice pack. Toward dawn, Manaak came to Torka’s fire circle.
“This man goes now to hunt Big Spirit,” he whispered, prodding Torka with a gloved hand. “Does he go alone, or does Torka come with him?”
Torka backhanded sleep from his eyes. He looked up to see that Manaak was dressed for traveling and hunting: His spears were thrust through his pack, his snare lines were looped around one shoulder, and over the other hung his game bag with its extra supplies of projectile points and tools for knapping, butchering, and other assorted uses. Torka frowned as he propped himself onto an elbow. He replied softly so that he would not disturb Lonit or Karana, who slept on either side of him. “Unlike Manaak, Torka does not feel alone in the world. Unlike Manaak, Torka could not leave this camp without looking back. Unlike Manaak, although Torka would risk himself if he thought that he had a chance of killing Big Spirit, Torka will not abandon his woman because Galeena has goaded him into pursuing his own death.”
Manaak hissed in anger. Torka’s sarcasm had cut clean through to the bone of truth. The scar-faced hunter thought of his woman as he exhaled his frustration. “Big Spirit is out theh. Someday it will come. Someday, for the sake of our wuhmen, we are going to have to face it.”
“Someday. Not now. Who will hunt for our women in the dark time of the starving moon if we do not return? They are both big with child. It is for them that we must stay. Torka has been thinking much about it. We will do as Galeena suggests: We will prepare our weapons and make many strong, sharp spears—enough for every man in the band. If Big Spirit comes to browse below our camp, we will have the advantage. This man does not think much of Galeena’s ways, but he is right when he says that mammoths cannot climb mountains. Do not be so eager to die, my friend. We cannot be certain that it was the voice of Big Spirit that we heard. Be glad that the great ghost walks far away, in another part of the world, and know that if it does come to us, we will be ready for it.”
Manaak was not a man easily swerved from his course once he had committed himself to it; nevertheless, Torka’s words made sense. Disgruntled and not fully mollified, he went back to his own fire circle.
Torka lay awake, envisioning how it would be if the great mammoth did come. The men of Galeena’s band would stand together in a line along the Up of the cornice. They would hurl spear after spear down at the beast. They would create a rain of death, and the beast whom Galeena’s people called Big Spirit would flee or die.
It seemed so easy .. . too easy. He was aware of the wind and of the sound of something moving, shifting deep within the core of the mountain. It was a familiar sound, but had it always been so constant?
So like a heart beating a rhythmically
“Listen. The mountain is alive. Once it was a friend. Now it warns us away.”
Karana’s voice had been no louder than a sigh, yet Torka was startled by it. The moon had set hours ago, but starlight illuminated the boy’s face. Torka saw the worry in his eyes. “Away?” he asked the boy. “Into the time of the long dark? One hunter, a boy, a woman with child, and an old man? How long would we survive?”
“Umak is spirit master! His magic would make us strong!”
“Umak is happy in this camp. He would not leave it.”
“Then we must go without him.”
“Never. Torka would not abandon you, Little Hunter. Would you ask him to abandon the father of his father, to walk away from one who saved his life, and Lonit’s, and Karana’s?”
The boy chewed his lower lip for a moment before he replied. “Spirit master no longer cares for anyone but himself. But Manaak and his woman would come with us. We would be a band. Karana may be little, but he is a hunter! And Torka is the best hunter of all! Torka found Karana in the great storm. Only the cleverest of trackers could have done that!”
“Cleverer trackers were after you—a pack of dogs—and from the way they were running, it was obvious that they were on the scent of prey. This man made a guess that you were that prey. It was fortunate for Karana that something drew them off so that Torka found you before they did.”
“If Brother Dog was with them, Karana would have come to no harm.”
“Do you still think of that one? Forget him. Aar has found a pack of his own by now, and if t
hat was the pack that trailed you, do not doubt for a moment that Brother Dog would have joined the others in their kill. Men and beasts cannot be brothers, Karana.”
“Hmmph!” exhaled the child in an excellent imitation of Umak. “Torka’s people live with Galeena’s band!”
Torka laughed at the comparison and shook his head sagely. “For now, yes, because it must be so. But with the exception of Manaak, there is not one among them whom Torka would call brother.”
The mountain was silent. Dawn yielded to a cold, bright day of absolute perfection. The animals of the tundra grazed and hunted. No mammoths were heard, and the strange restlessness of the previous night seemed like a half-remembered dream. The people were reluctant to leave the cave but could not quite understand why. Umak made special chants of propitiation to the spirits of the sky and mountain. As though summoned by his song, a huge tera torn with vult urine wings swept the sky, and a small family of delicately boned steppe antelope ventured from the willow scrub to graze close to the base of the mountain. The fears of the previous night forgotten, Galeena and his hunters went down from the mountain, and as Torka stood back in revulsion, they killed the entire little herd.
It was nearly dark by the time they returned to the cave. As was their way, they settled in to spend the night feasting as though there were no tomorrow. Sated by their gluttony, they slept for all of the next day and night and lounged in contented indolence for two days more.
Motivated by boredom and the desire to indulge themselves in the savory flesh of fresh-killed lamb, they left the ledge to track an elusive flock of Dall sheep into the shadowy heights of the narrow canyon where Umak had killed the moose and the great short-faced bear. The sheep were fleet and agile. They leaped and bounded upward along the walls of the chasm as easily as cloud shadows. Excited by the chase, the hunters pursued them even though the confines of the canyon were intimidating to those who were used to hunting upon the broad, open miles of the tundra. Galeena led them into the heights, and the boys scattered through the frostbrittled scrub and dark groves of stunted spruce, sending ptarmigan and hares racing for better cover.