by Ken Altabef
The strange message from the north continued to haunt her. The only mindspeak messages she had ever received before had come from her teacher, but that man was dead. And yet there was a shaman somewhere, calling for her in an odd and mysterious voice. Old Manatook had taught her that every question was an answer waiting to be discovered, each enigma a truth in disguise. And such mysteries were always worth unraveling. She would answer the call.
She saw a man walking down the line of tents. A distinctive slender silhouette and boldness of step indicated it was Aquppak.
“Oh, Alaana,” he said, “I thought I heard your sled coming in.”
At sixteen Aquppak was tall and strong, and quite good looking. When he was not out hunting he let his black hair hang loosely to the shoulders so that it danced at every errant breeze. He was forever brushing it away from his face with delicate little movements of his hands, a mannerism which Alaana had always found attractive.
“It’s late,” she said.
“Yeah. I always have trouble falling asleep after a hunt.”
“How was it?”
“I took down three bucks all by myself. You should have seen me, running along the tundra in between shots. I had to shoot and run and shoot and run.”
He mimicked a comical chase, running with longbow in hand, high-stepping through a heavy pack of snow. He was cute, putting on a little show for her. Again she felt the inevitable attraction.
“Three bucks? That is impressive,” she said. She motioned for him to sit. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
“Wait until you see what I can really do. This year will be my best yet, I’m sure of it.”
“Putuguk must be very proud.”
“That’s what he says to anyone who’ll listen.” Aquppak brushed the hair out of his face again. “You’d see for yourself, if you’re nearby. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Oh?”
“Maybe this year we could be in the same grouping…”
His manner of speech had grown hesitant, unusual for the bold young hunter, and Alaana thought how clumsy he suddenly seemed.
“Which side of Big Basin will you be camping on?” he asked.
“The east side, like always. You know that.” The summer camps were much smaller than the winter settlement which required a large group of men to hunt seal. In summer the camps were made up mostly of families bound by blood and marriage.
“I do know. But we’re always on the opposite side. And then I hardly get to see you all summer.”
“That’s because you don’t need my help. You know all the best crossing places for the caribou, and you do well enough without the shaman. But the other families, Tugtutsiak’s and my own, they need me to make amulets for them and call the caribou to the hunt.”
“Let Tugtutsiak fend for himself. Why is he the headman if he can’t get his own kills?”
“Perhaps you should ask Tugtutsiak.”
“I don’t want to ask him. Why should I? You’re the shaman. You can do what you want. Come to the west side this year. If you join us, I’m certain it won’t be a problem. My family will have food enough for all of you.”
As a woman Alaana didn’t hunt with the men. She and Higilak depended on the generosity of her brother Maguan.
“There’ll be plenty,” continued Aquppak. “I’ll feed you all. Even that useless stranger you drag around with you. I’ll see to it. Half of what I bring in, I give away anyway. ”
“That’s very generous.” Aquppak’s heavy-handed sleight of Ben bothered her. Aquppak really didn’t need to put others down to make himself look good. Alaana tried to hide her discomfort by fidgeting with the last of her meal. The silence was awkward. When she stood up, her foot slipped in the slush. This only made things worse, as Aquppak reached out to steady her. His hand brushed against her own and lingered too long. She pushed it away.
“So you’ll do it? You’ll stay on the west side?” His tone was impatient, clipped.
“I can’t. I have to do what’s best for all the people.”
“But you want to?”
She was surprised at all this sudden attention, and very tired. “I don’t know.”
Aquppak’s eyes went cold.
She hadn’t meant to insult him. She hadn’t even thought. What did he think of her now, she wondered. She couldn’t make out his expression below the wandering strands of black hair.
He turned his head sharply toward her, whipping the hair aside with the quickness of the movement. Surprisingly, he was smiling.
“Have you met Mikisork’s new bride? They just brought her over from the Chukchee.”
“No. I didn’t.”
“He seems happy. It’s funny. Until now I still had it in my mind that you two… Are you ever going to marry, Alaana?”
“Who would want me? The shaman? What kind of a wife can I be, chasing around after the spirits all the time?”
“It can’t all be bad,” he said, smiling. “There have to be some advantages to being married to the shaman I’d guess.”
“Advantages.”
“Sure. Why not?
He turned to go. “Well, think about it at least. Let Tugtutsiak feed himself for a change, if he wants to stay the headman.” He nodded to reinforce his conviction, sending strands of long black hair flying in front of his face.
“I have to do what’s best for all the people.”
“Maybe propping up Tugtutsiak isn’t the best thing. Maybe there’s someone better. Think about it. Good night.”
Alaana brushed herself off and went inside.
It was dark inside the tent, without moon or starlight. Alaana recognized Higilak’s slender form sitting up on her pallet but of Ben, presumably asleep on his ledge, she could see nothing. She wondered if they’d overheard any of her conversation with Aquppak.
“Are you still awake, Old Mother?”
“Waiting for Manatook. Ben keeps the spirit vigil with me. Among his other fine qualities, he’s nearly as patient as I am.”
Alaana grunted softly. For lack of human remains, she had yet to tell Higilak that Old Manatook was dead. The omission weighed heavily on her conscience.
“Hmm? And why not?” the old woman said. “His ghost hasn’t been here yet. So he must still be alive…” The petulant tease in her voice almost made Alaana believe she was being goaded into telling the old woman a truth she already knew.
“There’s something I want to ask,” Alaana said softly. In the dead hours between night and morning, so lonely for Higilak since her husband was gone, they could talk of things they would not otherwise. “Forgive me, Old Mother. That night, after the men went to fight the man-wolves in their camp, did a spirit visit with you?”
“Ah. A spirit did come with the snowy owl that night, but it wasn’t Manatook. I thought I might have dreamt the visit.”
“What does that matter? Dreams are no less real. A bear, you say?”
“I didn’t say. But yes, a great white bear. An old friend.”
“Friend? Will you tell me the tale?” Alaana asked excitedly. She was always interested in hearing about Higilak’s previous life, before Old Manatook had brought her to live with them.
“It’s difficult for me,” Higilak said. “It has so much to do with my father.”
“Please,” said Ben. Only one word, but Alaana thrilled at his voice. She couldn’t see him in the dark, would not look upon his face until the next day, but the sound of his voice coaxed a smile.
Higilak made a quiet clucking sound. “It’s not a pleasant tale to make the night pass. But, what else shall I do? It’s a good time for such horror stories, in the dark, before sleep, if there ever is one. Besides, if you talk of evil in the springtime, the sun will wipe it clean in the morning.”
The old woman began with a deep breath. “My father, whose name was Marusak, was a great hunter and provider for my people.”
Higilak was an accomplished storyteller. Often the children gathered in a li
stening circle around her as dusk fell. Many were the times past when Alaana and her brothers had numbered among them.
In the dark of the tent she could not see Old Mother Higilak smiling, her teeth worn down from chewing skins for sewing. She could not see the rifts and valleys time had tracked into her skin. But Higilak’s voice, so coarse and rough with age, was suddenly the voice of a teenage girl once again. Her words painted a picture so fine, Alaana could almost see her father. To Alaana, whose soul had gone wandering out of her body many times, Higilak’s words transported her across place and time. She had but to close her eyes.
Marusak was neither tall nor well-muscled, but his compact build served him well in hunting bear. He held a spear as if it were a lover, and when he made his cast the young hunters drank his every motion with their eyes. Several young men always followed him around the camp before a hunt, studying each detail of his preparation and equipment.
Generally Marusak smiled at everyone with teeth remarkably white and even. His eyes gazed with such clarity they seemed to look right through the soul. He was generous and kind. He was clever, but in one way he was too clever.
“He provided meat not only for our family but for several in the village,” said Higilak. “And many were the times he took me along on the hunt.”
“A woman?” asked Ben.
“A girl. The envy of all the young boys, I was only fifteen. He did it because he had no male children, and it was useful to have someone to prepare the food and mend torn garments during the trip. For lack of a needle, many a good man has frozen to death on a northward journey.”
“I know that, Old Mother.”
“No, that’s not the whole truth. He did it because he was kind. He did it because I wanted to go. Such a silly young thing I was.”
To such a young girl the hunt was thrilling. Higilak glimpsed a world that was denied the other women, and she treasured that experience. Traveling by dogsled at speed across the tundra with the men whooping and crying out in delight. Such a wondrous uproar could be heard in no other setting. Tracking the bear by its huge prints in the fresh snow; the first sighting of the beast, white on white; the anticipation as the dogs went into a frenzy at the smell of it. Higilak watched the men cut the dogs loose. They surged forth to attack and harass the great lonely roamer, rushing it from all sides as the bear, surprisingly agile and swift, sought to beat them back and escape to the water.
“Marusak was the best of them,” whispered Higilak. “There he is, surefooted on the ice. See the way he approaches his fearsome prey — always from the right side, for they are left handed beasts the lot of them, you know — from the right side he advances with his harpoon in hand. The dogs bark and dash about him as he circles and waits his chance. Swift and agile, he avoids a blow from one of the massive paws, and then another. My heart is in my mouth watching, for he is my father and he is only a finger’s breadth away from death. He ducks under again and plants his spear. He knows what he’s doing. He is graceful and sure. As the animal comes down on him he is no longer there, only the spear is there. And it’s death for the beast this day, not the man.”
She saw him do it many times. She saw him teach the others. And through it all he smiled and she knew the smile was for her, so that she wouldn’t worry for him as she watched. Never did she see fear on his face as he dared the beast, until one time Marusak slipped on the ice at the crucial moment when he was doing his magic trick of disappearing from the beast’s lunge. He went under the bear but did not get away, and it came down on him. His leg was gored straight through by dagger-length claws, and one arm bent backward all the way so that it hung uselessly ever since. He was lucky to have survived long enough for the dogs and the other hunters to drive the beast away.
“How he changed after that day,” Higilak said sadly. “He could not move as well. He could not face the white bear as he did before.”
Alaana knew what she was talking about. The Anatatook didn’t hunt the white bear at all — they had been forbidden by Old Manatook.
“Marusak refused to go out on the hunt after that, though he should have. He would not teach the young ones and they drifted away from him, sensing the poison in his soul. The people remembered his generosity and repaid us in kind. Our family didn’t go hungry, but my father smiled no longer. He often went off by himself, brooding and thinking. But he had a certain cleverness. He was too clever by far. Eventually he devised a new method for hunting the bear. He took thin strips of whalebone, whittled until the ends were needle-sharp points. Coiled carefully and hidden inside chunks of blubber, he put them outside and let them freeze into little balls.
“One final time we went on the hunt,” said Higilak, each word colored by destiny. “When the bear was sighted, a shiver went through my body. For this bear was death itself. It was the biggest I’d ever seen. Its jaws seemed large enough to swallow a man whole. The men wanted to call off the hunt merely on sight of it, but my father insisted. He had the new method. The size of the bear would not matter. He had them lay out a trail of his poisoned blubber along the floe.
“And along comes the bear to gobble them up. After it swallowed the balls, the blubber would melt, the concealed bony coil springing open, jabbing with the points. The hunters need only keep their distance and bide their time. After a while these barbs began to do their work, making the bear sick. Its cries of pain made an eerie sound as they echoed between the mountains of ice. The giant bear clawed at itself, trying to tear the whalebone barbs from its tortured belly, but no use. The men followed it for two days until it grew tired and worn out from the thrashing. At last it fell along the shore ice, too weak to move, and my father took it easily with his harpoon.”
“He should have known…” said Alaana.
“Yes, he should have known,” intoned Higilak, “But to see him there, standing above the kill, the biggest polar bear the men had ever seen, he was basking in the glory.”
“Glory,” said Alaana. “There can be no glory in such as that. One should never take a soul not offered by the spirits. Treating that bear in such a disrespectful way was certain to anger Tornarssuk.”
Alaana pictured the great White Bear gazing down at such a scene from his celestial palace. Despite his terrific strength and sagacity Tornarssuk could be a playful and benevolent spirit at times. But Alaana wouldn’t like to see such a powerful turgat in a fit of anger. She couldn’t imagine its terrible rage.
“Yes, we knew it was wrong,” Higilak said into the stillness. “We all did. And yet it was done. And what then? Would it not be a greater sin to leave the meat to rot out on the ice? So the men skinned the beast and I butchered it, and we loaded the meat onto the sleds.
“Retribution came swift and terrible. Suddenly the rumble of thunder rose all around us. But there was no storm, only thunder and thunder, enough to shake the bones and pummel the heart. The very daylight changed, going brighter and brighter the way it does when one has looked too long at the glare on the snow at high sun.”
“Tornarssuk,” said Alaana.
“Yes,” said Higilak. “They came out of nowhere. Seven bears. We had never seen more than one at a time before, they are such solitary creatures. It was hard to see them clearly in the wavering light, they seemed as demons, giants of fury crying out for vengeance. The thunder drove me to my knees.
“The men tried to outrace them with the sleds, but the dogs were uncontrollable. The dogs were screaming. The white bears came on, slapping the dogs aside, crushing them to pulp. It was quick. The sledges flew into the air. I saw Ikeega go down, his head knocked from his shoulders. My father’s brother Kinuk who was always so kind to me, was cut in half. It was all screams and blood. I can still see it, a nightmare scene in red and white. And soon they were all destroyed.”
Higilak drew in a deep, quavering breath. When she continued, her voice once again sounded very old.
“Father didn’t run. He couldn’t. He stood there as if turned to stone. His eyes clear as ever, he look
ed at me. He held a spear in his hand, as he always did, but he didn’t even think to raise it up against his doom. A bear can kill a man with one swipe of a paw, but they didn’t. They cut him up bit by bit, batting his body back and forth between them in a blood-red whirlwind. I don’t remember any sound at all. No sound except the grunting of the bears under their exertions. He didn’t scream. He didn’t even scream.”
“Oh, Higilak…” said Alaana.
“And when they were done with him, they came for me.”
Alaana sat forward on her pallet. She could hardly believe she’d never heard this story before.
“I saw white death coming for me. Two of them, huge and terrible, spattered with my father’s steaming gore. I remember they had peculiar blue marks around their eyes to match the cold fury in their gaze. I, like my father, did not run. I couldn’t possibly. Not after all that I’d seen.
“Suddenly my ears were ripped apart by a monstrous roar and there was a blur of white as another bear cut them off. The noise became incredible, back and forth, grunts and growls filled with savage animal bluster. And the terrible thunder again rumbling down from the heavens. I couldn’t conceive of anything tremendous enough to produce such a sound.” Alaana thought she saw the old woman snicker in the dark of the tent. “Except, perhaps, Tornarssuk. As you say.”
“What then?” asked Ben. “The bears…”
“I’ll tell,” said Higilak. “Though you might not believe it. Rearing high on their hind legs, the bears nearly came to blows right in front of me. Such a noise, with all the growling and the high, mighty thunder. But in the end they turned away, fading back into the white. Why should they give way to a bear half their size? As long as I live I’ll never understand that.
“This new bear had a neck long and thin, a peculiarly rounded snout. I thought I saw a remarkable softness in his eyes, although that might have been related to what happened after, but where the others reflected a brutish strength and naked animosity, this creature seemed to radiate understanding.”
Alaana recognized the description of the bear that had fought off the man-wolves for her people, the bear that was Old Manatook.