I rose shakily to my feet, pressing my legs together. Hot liquid trickled to my knee. A warm flush, part mortification, part rage, suffused my cheeks. I opened my mouth to scream at him, my fingers tight on my cloak, resisting the urge to strangle the malevolent being before me.
Taqqiq remained maddeningly calm. He placed an icy finger on my hot cheek. “I have not seen my sister in an age. And yet I remember her face. Rounder than yours. And pink, as pink as a child’s. She was beautiful. Not like you. Long hair in braids twined with yellow poppies, a parka with fringes round the neck. Now she drapes herself in clothes so bright no man can stand to look at her.” He sighed. “My sister is forever out of my reach. But so the world may remember that I still have power over womankind, I make you bleed with my every passage from sliver to circle and back again. The world works in balance. I lost my sister—I have been given all women in return.”
“I do not want to—”
He slipped his finger from my cheek to my lips, stopping my protest. “Did you never desire to be a woman? Did you never want, for just a moment, to lie beneath a man? To take in his seed?”
The raven cloak lay puddled at my feet, although I didn’t remember letting it go. I glanced down at my naked body. A streak of brilliant red painted my left leg. My blood was the only color in the world.
His finger drifted from my lips, tracing the curve of my chin, the smooth line of my neck, the sweaty hollow between my breasts. I could not move as he trailed his finger over my flat stomach, the crease at my hip—all the way to my wet thigh, his touch like ice. He finally raised his finger, staring at the thick coating of red. “Every passage is one of blood, little girl. Birth and death, you are torn apart and re-created.”
I tried to run then, but a pool of frozen blood trapped my bare feet.
“You are a woman.” He rubbed my blood between his thumb and forefinger, sniffing at it hungrily. “You always have been. You have flouted the aglirutiit all your life. Now you will suffer the consequences.”
I was sure that he’d kill me. But no—he was incapable of such mercy.
“You are no longer an angakkuq.”
“Don’t!” I begged like a child. Too scared to remember the sacred tongue, I spoke like a common Inuk. “Without my magic, my family will starve.”
“Only if you continue as you have been, foolish girl. If you stay and hunt, no animals will come. Your family will know it is your fault. You bring despair.”
I blinked back tears. “You wouldn’t do that,” I insisted. “You’re a friend to Inuit.”
“That is why I must protect them—from you.” His words stung like a slap.
“But I’d never do anything to harm them.” My breath hitched.
His soot-smeared brow drew low. “From my perch in the sky I see the past, I see the future.” He sucked in a slow breath, as if preparing himself for the next words. “You will bring about the end of the world.”
I stared at him for a long moment before I found my tongue. “Not just my family? Now the whole world?” Sobs turned to laughter. Then back to sobs. It was all so absurd that I felt suddenly dizzy. “Then why not just kill me now?”
He frowned. “I cannot kill a mortal in the spirit world. Your body lies safe below. If I wanted to kill you, I would have to send a mortal messenger to do it.”
“Issuk—” I choked.
“He is a great hunter, is he not?” He quirked a smile, as if speaking of an old friend. “You would do well to be his wife.”
“Never.”
My vehemence amused him. His chuckle sounded like icicles shattering on stony ground. “If he does not make you a woman now, someone else will. Raven, Wolf, Bear—all the dim-witted spirits who might seek to stand in my way—will be deaf to your pleas.”
“I still have my harpoon.” I bared my teeth at him as Singarti would.
Taqqiq heaved a sigh of regret. “It will not be enough.” He stepped away. “You may fly from here, but when you return to the earth, you will be grounded on your own two feet. No wings. No paws. No hooves. Only your own weak woman’s flesh. Remember that what I do, I do to protect your people and your world. It is for the best, Omat.”
His words barely registered. I thought only of escape. I bent to retrieve my cloak; the bloody ice around my feet had melted. I pressed my face into the feathered cloak and breathed in the raven spirit. My arms rose as the wind caught my wings.
I was a bird again, no blood leaking from within, no flesh bared to Taqqiq’s sight. Yet I could still feel his frigid breath on my skin, see his bloody fingers before my eyes.
I rose into the whiteness, Taqqiq now a mere pale speck on a paler world, but I heard his words: “It is for the best, Omat. For the best…”
I flew once more amid the stars. Below me the lights of the igluit beckoned. Once I returned to camp, if Taqqiq spoke true, my body would never again escape its human form. But where else could I go? I wanted to stay in the sky all night, joining my brother birds on the wing, but, foolish as I was, I thought my family needed me—even without my magic.
With a tilt of my wings, I spiraled down through the vent hole of my own iglu and alit on my bed of furs. With no woman to tend my lamp, the weak flame spluttered and hissed, casting more shadow than light. But I could see my body. It remained where I’d left it, bent double with toes tied to wrists, eyes closed, breathing so slow and deep it might not have breathed at all. A naked woman’s body with shoulders too narrow and limbs too slender. A boy’s face, too delicate to be a man’s but lacking a woman’s tattoos across chin and forehead. My lips, even in a trance state, pressed thin and pale as if to hold back any semblance of smile or frown. The tiny birthmarks on my cheeks looked less like a woman’s tears than like dirt. Or insects. Or scars. Taqqiq spoke true: I was not beautiful. And I was not strong.
I croaked a grim raven’s laugh.
So why does Taqqiq fear me so much? I wondered. Perhaps his lonely exile among the stars has driven him mad. Why else would he think I can endanger the world, when I’ve never felt more powerless?
Footsteps crunched in the snow outside my iglu, and I knew my time as a bird had ended. If the visitor awoke me before my soul had returned to my body, I might never get it back.
The world darkened around me as I breathed out the raven. When I breathed in again, the sweet smell of a burning moss wick warmed human nostrils.
I felt it then. The warm trickle.
A hunter never cries at the sight of blood, but cry I did. Black in the quivering lamplight—blood upon my thighs, dashing any hope that I had bled only in the spirit world.
Smearing the tears across my cheeks, I pulled on my trousers and atigi, too hurried even to wipe away the blood from my legs.
I didn’t register the change at first.
But when I settled back onto the furs, I realized that the scent of the burning wick had faded. The textures of the pelts felt less distinct. My body was stiff, awkward, overlarge—like a new parka sewn by a careless woman.
Closing my eyes, I reached out with my angakkuq’s senses beyond the walls of my home—but I had no senses with which to reach.
My body trembled with a dawning fear.
Ataata crawled into the iglu, bracing hands on knees to stand upright. When he saw my face, he hurried toward me.
“What is it?”
If I spoke, I knew I’d cry out.
His brow creased with concern. “What did Singarti say?”
“I didn’t…,” I managed. But then I stopped, knowing that I couldn’t tell him the truth. Ataata had worked too hard to train me. His greatest joy, his only comfort, lay in the knowledge that I’d protect our family when he was too old to do so. So I lied. “You were right. The Wolf told me to stay behind tomorrow.”
He laid a gnarled hand on my shoulder. “Perhaps you’ll come on the next hunt. And then we’ll see if the animals stay away.” He seemed very old in the light of the oil lamp, his eyelids sagging as if he’d tired of looking into the bright
Sun of life and was ready for the dark. “I know this isn’t easy. I didn’t raise you for a woman’s role. Perhaps I was wrong. Did Singarti say you’d bleed? Will you be a woman?”
“No.” Another lie.
“Then Issuk will soon realize the spirits have chosen you for a man’s life.” He squeezed my shoulder. “All will be forgotten.”
I remembered Puja’s warning: Issuk wouldn’t forgive, because he’d never forget. For once, I wondered if a woman held more wisdom than an angakkuq.
“You’ll run beside my sled again before long,” Ataata continued. “And for now, I’ll tell Issuk that you’ll enter a spirit trance to help the hunt.” He smiled at his own cleverness. “Then, when Kiasik and I return with our sleds full of meat, we’ll share the glory with you.”
I forced an answering smile, though my stomach clenched with shame. I wouldn’t be entreating the spirits, but hiding from them. “And Tapsi and Ququk?” I asked, trying to shift the topic.
“Ququk’s too old for a long hunt. Tapsi, though, has asked to come along. We’ll need his help to carry home our heavy loads.”
So Tapsi, a man who could barely throw a harpoon, would go, but I’d stay behind with the women and the old men.
“You’ll be careful tomorrow on the hunt?” I begged.
“You shouldn’t ask that!” His smile broadened. “Am I not a great hunter still?”
“Of course. The best.”
“Then you don’t need to worry. It’s all in Taqqiq’s hands.”
That, I thought, is what I’m afraid of.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The hunters are coming!” Millik’s shrill cry carried across the valley long before she appeared in the camp, gasping for breath like a beached fish. Every sunrise since the men had left, she’d climbed to the crest of an ice ridge to watch for their return. Inside the igluit, my aunts spoke of her furtive glances at Patik, the gangly one who laughed at everything Issuk said and wore a wolf tail at each shoulder.
Now, as she bounded down the slope toward us, I knew Millik dreamed of the meat the hunters might bring. Without a wife of his own, perhaps Patik would let her butcher his portion and feed him morsels of blubber off the end of her own ulu. The other women stopped their tasks to gather around Millik and hear the news. Even Puja, who’d stayed quiet in deference to my own gloom, rubbed her hands in anticipation of the meat to come.
I watched them from just outside the entrance to my iglu, where I sat in the short-lived sunlight, carving a harpoon head. I yanked at the seam of my trousers, sharply aware of the wadded moss tied between my legs. I’d told no one of the blood, not even Puja. Perhaps I could keep Taqqiq’s mark hidden forever—could go on living as a man.
Even from far away, we could tell the sleds bore towering loads. Despite my distress, I couldn’t suppress a sigh of relief: we’d last the winter without starving.
But a moment later, I knew something was wrong. My grandfather’s sled, which should’ve led the group, trailed far behind. Black Mask kept stopping to growl at the two dogs behind her, who stumbled and skipped over their tangled traces. The sled kept moving, nearly running down the team, before Black Mask jerked forward again, yanking the others with her. From this distance, the sled’s driver was merely a bulky silhouette against the pale sky. But I knew it was not Ataata.
The other three sleds slid to a stop within the camp. The women rushed up to marvel at the vast piles of dark-red seal meat and thick white blubber, their thoughts consumed by the feast ahead. Issuk cuffed his snarling dogs with the handle of his whip before unlashing his bloodied harpoon from the sled. He turned to the gathered women as if ready to recount his exploits. But before he could begin, I pushed my way through the crowd and grabbed him by the arm. His face darkened.
“Where’s my father?”
“On his sled,” Issuk said shortly, wrenching his arm from my grasp.
The crowd quieted as the women finally noted Ataata’s absence. I turned to Kiasik, who stood beside his own heavily laden sled with shoulders hunched. Busy untying his dogs, he kept his gaze on his hands. But Tapsi met my eye. For the first time, I noticed that his face glistened with ice. Even as I watched, another slow tear froze upon his cheek.
I felt Puja’s mittened hand on my shoulder, saw my own growing panic reflected in her eyes. Together we walked to meet Ataata’s sled as it finally jerked into camp.
Patik knelt upon it. No pile of meat lay before him. Just a low pallet of gear, covered by a familiar white sleeping fur. I pulled it back.
Ataata, his face blackened and bloated, eyes open and dull, stared up at me.
Puja fell to her knees, keening. Black Mask sat back on her haunches and began to howl.
Despite the blood flowing from my body, I still didn’t feel like a woman. I couldn’t show such grief.
“What happened to him?” I asked softly. The rest of the camp gathered around, the women shaking, the men silent and stoic.
Kiasik answered me, his voice quavering as it never had before. “He fell through the ice.”
“Ataata has spent his whole life judging the thickness of ice!”
Issuk interrupted. “His eyes were weak. The old cannot judge as well as the young.” Nonchalantly he began unloading the heavy slabs of meat from his sled. As he bent over, something slipped from the neck of his parka to swing slowly on its thong. He grabbed the pendant quickly and shoved it beneath his clothing, but not before I saw the single dark bear claw.
“You killed him.” The moment I said it I knew it must be true.
Kiasik stood very still, looking down at the ice beneath his feet.
“Sister’s Son!” I demanded. “What did you see?”
“I heard a shout and looked behind me.” Kiasik spoke without inflection, as if afraid even a sliver of emotion would slice him apart. “He was already in the water. I rushed back to help him—I was too late.”
“And where were you, Issuk?”
“The ice would’ve cracked beneath me, too.” His raspy voice held no regret. “There was nothing I could do.”
“I don’t believe you,” I hissed. “He was not too old to tell strong ice from weak. And if he had fallen into the sea, the spirits of the ocean would protect him. The seals would lift him upon their backs and bring him out of the cold!” I knew my words made little sense, but the sight of my grandfather’s cold, black face drove me to madness.
Issuk drew himself up a little straighter. “Who are you to accuse me of murder, little girl?” His red lips curled back. “You’ve ignored so many aglirutiit that I’m surprised the ice doesn’t crack beneath your feet right now. Although perhaps this is a sterner punishment—to know that the old fool’s death was your own fault.”
I drew my knife from my belt and, for the first time in my life, hurtled forward in anger.
“Omat!” Puja screamed, clutching at my leg from where she knelt in the snow. Kiasik grabbed me around the waist. His breath on my cheek smelled of blubber and blood.
Issuk laughed, but his eyes were cold. “If you’re as powerful an angakkuq as you claim, why don’t you ask the old man yourself? He’ll tell you what happened.”
“Yes, Older Brother!” Puja cried. “Leave your body—enter the spirit world and speak to Ataata, so we might settle this.”
My eyes bright with pleading, I wrenched from Kiasik and spun toward her. “Don’t ask me to do that.”
“But you’ll find the truth,” she begged. “Isn’t that why Ataata taught you the ways of the spirit?”
Shame heated my cheeks.
“Yes, go ahead,” scoffed Issuk. “Show us your magic.”
The others stood silently, watching me with reddened eyes. Tapsi balled his fists in futile distress. Saartok clutched at his arm, her cheek pressed against the sleeve of his parka. Millik, all her morning’s dreams dashed, stared hopefully at me while sneaking distracted glances at Patik, unwilling to believe anything terrible of her chosen man or his friends. Only Ququk, his face as hard as carv
ed antler, ignored me, staring instead at his old friend’s blackened corpse. Issuk’s wives stood in the shadow of the laden sled, their expressions blank. Clearly they’d seen their husband pick such fights before. Maybe they knew the inevitable outcome. Maybe they didn’t care.
“If you’re no angakkuq, then you’re just a woman like any other woman,” Issuk said. “Although a fierce one, I’ll grant.” Glancing back at his wives, he looked thoughtful for a moment—a very short moment. “There’s no need to wait until the whale hunt. I’ll take you as a wife now. I’m sure your grandfather would’ve wanted it. You won’t starve, and you’ll finally learn a woman’s ways.”
“Never.” I shot the word at him like a stone from a sling.
He remained as hardheaded as a caribou bull. “Come now. All women must be wives. Unless”—he laughed shortly—“you’re an uiluaqtaq who needs no husband and never bleeds. Is that what you are?”
I swallowed, unable to admit the truth. “I’ve lived as a man my whole life.”
“Then go and ask your grandfather how he died. If you speak to him, then you’re truly an angakkuq, and perhaps the aglirutiit don’t apply to you in the same way. I’ll leave you alone.”
I looked to Puja, to Kiasik, for help. My aunt looked back with blind faith, as if all her trust in Ataata had already transferred to me. But Kiasik avoided my gaze. My whole life I’d believed his love for me outweighed his envy. But after only a few days with Issuk, he, too, believed I couldn’t lead our camp. Unless I proved that my magic exempted me from a woman’s usual role, Kiasik wouldn’t stand in Issuk’s way.
“I will speak with Ataata.” I had no choice.
I entered my small iglu. Everyone crowded in behind.
“Tie my limbs,” I ordered, “so my body might remain here, even as my spirit takes flight.” The more preparations I made, the longer I could postpone my inevitable failure. Puja dutifully looped a narrow rope from my toes to my wrists, bending me double.
Issuk squatted an arm’s length away, lazily stroking his long mustache even as his eyes sparked with hatred. Puja was right: he hadn’t forgiven me for proving him a cheater.
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