The Legend of Ataneq Nanuq

by Jack Dey

  In the distance, the shadowy outline of Katu’s store came into sight but the windblown snow was obscuring the track very rapidly. Before long, the hazy view of the outpost had been totally obscured by the whiteout. Eventually and travelling almost blind, Katu managed to motor the snowmobile and the sled into the protected loading bay of the store and quickly slammed the doors closed against the bitter wind.

  Bruun’s teeth were chattering as he lay on top of the loaded sled; icicles hung from his fledgling, immature beard as well as his eyebrows and his hair. Katu helped the young man off the sled and led him, shivering, into the warmth of the kitchen through a small passageway. He stoked the fire and then wrapped a thick blanket around him, monitoring his temperature. Bruun’s clothing was adequate for normal autumn days, but totally inadequate to weather the sudden dangerous squalls that lurked in the unpredictable changeover between summer and winter. Bruun’s core temperature had dropped considerably.

  The sound of the blizzard raged outside. Wind-driven snow piled up against the windows and soon, with the aid of the outpost’s warmth, Bruun had recovered from his chilling experience.

  “Now do you understand something of the wilderness’ bad and sudden moods, Mr Bruun? If we hadn’t found shelter, you most likely would have died in that short time.”

  Bruun’s brooding eyes followed Katu’s movements. Maybe the older man had a point and his desire of conquering the wilderness was just a little shortsighted.

  “I see your meaning, Katu, and thanks for...”

  Katu cut him off, still suspicious at the young man’s intentions to travel the wilderness alone. “Just learn, Mr Bruun. Next time you may be alone and the great wilderness might not be so forgiving.”

  Aided by Katu’s hands, the final stocks made their way from the sled to the shelves of the outpost store. He meticulously checked the consignment schedule against his order, satisfied after many hours of work that all was present and accounted for.

  *~*~*~*

  Katu busied himself with the evening meal and glanced up into the darkness outside through the frosty window. The blizzard was still screaming and snow was piling higher against the store. A sudden, loud scraping noise above them on the roof followed by a heavy bang, startled Bruun and he looked up in fear and then across at Katu to discern whether he should be alarmed or not.

  Katu wasn’t concerned and without even looking up from what he was doing, put the young Bruun’s mind at rest. “Snow’s getting too heavy for the high raked roof and has slid off onto the ground.”

  Bruun swallowed down his anxiety and tried to glance out the window to confirm Katu’s reasoning. He was still wrapped in the blanket Katu had given him, seated as close to the kitchen fire as he could get. Katu placed a steaming hot mug of Inuit tea at Bruun’s side and then handed him a plate of raw seal meat. Bruun’s shocked expression was exactly what Katu had expected.

  “If you are going to live in the wilderness like an Inuit, you have to learn to survive like an Inuit,” Katu instructed.

  The two men sat silently around the fire. Katu hungrily devoured the raw seal meat while Bruun tried his best to turn his thoughts off and swallow the greasy brew in front of him. After a decent swallow, a gag escaped his throat and he reached quickly for the hot tea, trying to quieten and redirect the tell tale retch back into his stomach.

  Katu’s eyes were smiling at the lessons being learnt by the young adventurer in front of him, until Bruun took another sip of his tea, stared directly at Katu and broke the awkward silence with his clumsy statement.

  “I believe there is some kind of legendary wild man wanted by the authorities hiding out in the wilderness of Scoresby Land? Have you ever seen him?”

  *~*~*~*

  Chapter 19

  Bjarni slumped half asleep in his old splintered wooden rocking chair close to the raging stove. The stove was the only light seeping into the relentless darkness through heat cracks in the cast iron, throwing eerie moving shadows on the hut’s wooden wall. He had shifted his position twice already, trying to dodge the windblown chill forced into the hut through the gaps in the chimney, while protecting himself with the old muskox pelt he used to cover the passenger well of his sled. Even though the pelt was warm, his old frame just couldn’t get comfortable and the draft caused by the howling blizzard outside reacted with his arthritis and added a harrowing, unrelenting throb to his misery.

  Akiak was sprawled out across his feet and somehow sensing his discomfort, her eyes followed each uncomfortable move and then she shifted herself to bring her back into his direct line of sight. The big Siberian hadn’t moved his position, sprawled on the floor and staring at the tiny woman asleep in Bjarni’s bed since she had collapsed several hours ago. She at least seemed to be sleeping peacefully, while Bjarni struggled to get into a position comfortable enough in the old rocker to finally drift off to sleep.

  He tried to figure out what must have caused the deep welts on the woman’s face and shivered when he realised how close she had come to losing an eye. The woman’s wounds had stopped bleeding and were healing well but she would have a permanent scar running down the right side of her face. At least the bump on her neck had all but disappeared. He sighed an uncomfortable sigh, wondering who this strange visitor was and what she was doing so deep in the wilderness, seemingly unprotected and unprepared. She appeared to be only young, and he figured the scarring wouldn’t be a welcome addition to her otherwise pretty Inuit face. The more he teased his thoughts the more questions gathered, demanding an explanation, but he would have to wait until she woke before he could satisfy any of the mounting suspicions.

  A low growl drifted into the shadows of Bjarni’s subconscious mind. Somewhere, a warning echoed off the walls of his dreams, jolting him awake while he stared around the confines of the hut, only to be confronted by the woman holding his rifle aimed directly at him.

  It took a while to shake the sleep from his tired mind and regain his composure. The silhouetted stance of the woman and how she held his rifle told Bjarni she had not used a weapon like this before. She seemed to be unaware that the breech was wide open and empty, a safety precaution Bjarni used to make sure he wasn’t left facing an unfriendly nanuq wondering whether the gun was ready for use. He would instinctively pump the breech with a bullet while he was positioning to face his foe, sure that when he pulled the trigger the gun would respond with the appropriate action.

  Akiak was growling a warning at the woman, ready to pounce. Then Bjarni noticed the big Siberian was also growling, but not at him or Akiak, but at the unsteady woman. Bjarni eased himself from his chair, dropping the muskox pelt to the floor and stood to face her.

  “Pull the trigger; it won’t do you any good,” Bjarni called her bluff, figuring he was safe at her apparent lack of knowledge with firearms and he decided there wasn’t any way her current threat was going to do him any harm.

  The confused dark eyes followed Bjarni in the half light, clumsily jerking and sighting the gun at the old man. Then suddenly, the big Siberian gently tugged at the woman’s arm with his powerful jaws, urging her to lower the gun. For the first time, Bjarni heard the confused woman speak in a soft, gravelly voice.

  “Shtiya...?”

  The Siberian eyed the woman with his deep aqua eyes, while the confusion subsided and she recognised her faithful companion. She lowered the gun tentatively, now remembering how the devoted dog had continually guided her through the unfamiliar tundra and kept her safe from harm. If Shtiya had allowed the man anywhere near her, he had obviously proven himself trustworthy and the Siberian was convinced the old man meant her no harm.

  The woman’s voice was shaking as she reluctantly lowered the gun. “Y..you seem to have earned the trust of my lead dog, Sh..Shtiya. Th..that isn’t an easy thing to do, mister, and I..I must apologise for my actions. I..I am just not sure who I can trust and who I can’t anymore.”

  The woman’s frank confession disarmed him, changing his mind about her in
tentions and softening his demeanour towards her. Bjarni approached her slowly, keeping steady eye contact with her as if he was whispering a wild animal, then he gently eased the barrel out of her hands. He sighed and his annoyance was apparent that she would take a perilous journey into the tundra with only the protection of a Siberian husky, thus tempting death from the many pitfalls with her lack of understanding of survival in the harsh environment.

  “You don’t know anything about firearms, do you?!” he chided, sounding a little terser than he had anticipated.

  The woman stared at Bjarni, almost challenging him with her defensive expression.

  “You can’t fire an empty breech!”

  Bjarni’s unflinching gaze met her stubborn stare. Then he closed the breech, pointed the gun at the wall and pulled the trigger while the gun responded with a hollow click. He pumped the breech again, loaded a single bullet from the detachable clip and opened the door, then fired the rifle into the air, discharging the weapon with a resounding crack, disturbing the wind’s howling monotone and causing the dogs outside to bark in a boisterous complaint at the sudden sound. The loud blast from the powerful weapon echoed back into the hut and forced the woman to flinch, fearfully covering her ears with her hands and cowering, with her chin pressed against her chest.

  Bjarni threw the hut door closed again, satisfied he had made his point. “I usually leave the breech open to make sure there are no mistakes when Nanuq comes picking a fight. You may only get one chance with a hungry bear!” he explained firmly. Bjarni was disturbed at the woman’s lack of basic understanding of firearms, the life blood of survival in the tundra.

  As she lifted her head again to face the old man, he could see a small tell tale tear form in the corner of her eye and the battle raging inside her head. The look of defiant desperation reflected in her dark eyes and it tore at his heart, forcing the annoyance to melt away.

  “Look, I’m not going to hurt you. I have been caring for you for the past few days and if I had nefarious intent, I could have done away with you then. You need to trust someone and it looks like I am the only contender for fifty miles. Now... sit down, start at the beginning and let me in on this crazy journey of yours.”

  The woman ran her hand over her injured face, feeling the painful welts under a makeshift bandage and then glanced across at Shtiya. Coming to a decision, she sighed heavily.

  “Alright...?”

  “Folk who know me call me Bjarni,” the old man filled in the gap in her statement.

  “Alright, Bjarni,” she hesitated and peered again over at the Siberian, amazed that the old man had captured Shtiya’s trust. “You seem to have convinced Shtiya of your intentions and I guess I need to follow his example.”

  She unsteadily bent and rubbed his thick fur, knowing full well that his wisdom wouldn’t let her down, causing her to stumble carelessly into harm’s way. She procrastinated for as long as she could, desperately trying to sort out her splintered thoughts. Then she finally let her full weight down on the corner of the wooden bed and stared down at the floor for a long moment, tussling for understanding while Bjarni repositioned his rifle, breech open, by the door again and settled into the tired rocking chair and waited for her to begin.

  *~*~*~*

  Katu’s mind did a double take as he chewed on his last piece of raw seal flesh. The sudden revelation from Bruun’s clumsy statement had broadsided him, but he forced himself to continue on straight-faced and not react, as if he had just asked about tomorrow’s weather.

  “I know a lot of the wild men in the tundra and they all have to be legendary to survive and live in this treacherous place. If they are wanted by the authorities, that isn’t any concern of mine. They all have their reasons for choosing a solitary life and there isn’t one of them that I wouldn’t trust with my life. If you intend to wander around out there, you will find out just how impressive you have to be.”

  Katu was more suspicious than ever of Bruun’s intentions and he had no doubt that the legendary wild man he spoke of was his dear friend, Bjarni Kleist. Katu’s ire began to rise as he considered this young, foolish man stalking his friend for financial gain. Then he wondered whether Bjarni’s heart hadn’t already given out and beaten Bruun to the kill, somewhere out in the endless tundra.

  Bounty hunters took on many forms and the idea of collecting big sums of easy money from turning in the wild men of the tundra to authority figures was like searching for gold in the winter of Alaska’s treacherous Yukon River. The gold was there for the taking, but winter was a formidable foe against them and winter reigned supreme nearly all year round in the Greenlandic tundra. Most of the time, bounty hunters met an untimely fate and disappeared permanently, unprepared for the punishment the tundra could deal out even in the relative safety of the short summer months.

  One slip up and it could be your last.

  Katu relaxed, knowing the wily Bjarni had survived the worst the tundra could dish out for years and his time-tested experience and respect for the wilderness made him almost invisible to the likes of the foolish Bruun.

  Bruun kept chewing on another piece of greasy seal meat, determined to prove he had what it took to enter Katu’s feared wilderness. His head remained bowed over his plate as he tackled the disgusting meal, glancing sideways at Katu using his periphery vision and trying to gauge Katu’s reaction to his question, while reaching for his hot tea to wash down another repugnant swallow. There was no doubt he had learned a valuable lesson about the suddenness and changeability of tundra weather. Being caught in a blizzard with no shelter only took minutes between life and death. He just had to be smarter than the wilderness and beat it at its own game.

  The seal meat that Katu loved was disgusting. Surely he could survive without it, maybe carry enough edible canned food in his pack while he walked through and challenged the open wilderness.

  His determination set like concrete and he wasn’t going to let Katu’s prejudices and fears stymie his desire to finish what he had come here for.

  *~*~*~*

  Chapter 20

  It was little under an hour’s flight from Washington D.C. to Kentucky, but fighting through the masses of air travellers moving about the country and the crowded airports made air travel an unpleasant but necessary mode of transport. A simple one hour flight turned into four hours when the tedious airport routine stretched into a constantly stagnant line of humanity, snagged at security checkpoints and congested highways leading into and around the country’s airports. Even with her important bureaucratic credentials, she still had to queue with the rank and file.

  As if that wasn’t enough, then having to endure a frustrating five hour journey into the never-never land of military security, going around in circles until she had lost her temper and rang the Secretary of Defense for some bureaucratic muscle. A direct order from him to the commander of the army base broke through the red tape and sense abruptly prevailed.

  Finally a disgruntled, but smug Senator Annette Dysart stood in between two armed infantry soldiers, assigned to her as an escort into the heavily fortified and classified file storage vaults surrounded by the army base of Fort Knox. Her stilettoed feet ached and she nervously tapped her toe on the floor, waiting painful minutes until her nemesis–time–once again decided to catch up with her important schedule.

  Irritated, she sighed deeply and whispered, “Come... on!” her voice hissing in the quiet foyer, while she suspected the army was making her wait for riding roughshod over their tedious procedures and forcefully pushing through her unusual request.

  The two armed soldiers stood unmoving at her side, seemingly impervious to the woman’s complaint.

  Unappreciative of her escort’s presence, she once again peered at her watch. Five more minutes and the time delay locks to the fortified room would at last give her access to the information she needed, allowing her to mount a case with the formidable inner circle of the United Nations Assembly, springboarding her career into a luc
rative position among the world’s powerful elite.

  Now that the military secrets associated with Camp Century were no longer of national security, it had been relatively easy to obtain permission to access information on the former secret, subterranean American army base from the cold war. The hard part was getting the military guard dogs to let go of the documents outlining the army’s somewhat chequered past and to cooperate with the Defense Secretary’s order. She wondered just how much of the information was still intact or how much had been destroyed over the years. But one thing she was sure of, the interpretation of the information collected had been poorly scrutinised and the cost of such an enormous operation, along with their advantage, had been squandered. Her research and collaboration with the experts assured her, what the army was looking for was in fact, real and still there. They were just looking in the wrong place and she felt she could prove it, given the chance.

  She sighed loudly, leaving her thoughts dangling in mid-daydream and glanced around, unimpressed by the interior of the infamous structure. The polished marble floors lining the foyer of the famous vault reflected the sunshine from two windows high in the ceiling and hurt her eyes. The large tomb-like structure echoed with every move which bounced off the thick stone, reinforced walls.

  Outside, the clanking and lumbering of army tanks and armoured troop carriers, muffled by the massively thick strongroom walls, still pervaded into the silent vestibule. Listening to the barely audible sounds of practised warfare and blocking out the soldiers standing by her, she drifted into a private and impassioned tirade encapsulated in her thoughts. She didn’t agree with the posturing of military might at the hands of an insecure and overbearing select few, while the thought of supposed adult humans–both male and female–running around the army base of Fort Knox with real guns and yelling, “Bang, you’re dead!” she argued, was a waste of the Nation’s resources. Especially when she was on the brink of the greatest and most powerful discovery ever contemplated.