Secrets

by Ken Altabef

  “There were no dogs left,” continued Higilak. “Knee deep in the snow, I went. But I didn’t get far before I collapsed in the cold and wet. All I had seen, it was too much.”

  “I’m sorry Old Mother,” said Ben. “I didn’t know.”

  “Old people are like the sea, they have deep and dark secrets. Always tread them lightly, young man. But I’m not one to complain. We’re much alike, you and I.

  “I should have been dead, and perhaps I did die that day. Who knows for sure? I wanted to give up. I wanted to sink down into the warm snow and sleep. That was all I wanted. But before I let go, I felt a warm nose against my cheek, pushing me over, pulling me back. Someone was there.

  “He warmed me.

  “He carried me.

  “I awoke in a cave, and that bear was there — oh what new horror was this, I wondered? But I was warm. There was food. Seal meat and blubber, still warm from the kill. I must not be dying this day, thought I. Not in the face of this great miracle. This kindness.

  “He bore me on his back, that bear, moving at speed, and I held on.

  “My aunt, Kinuk’s wife, found me just outside the village. Of the bear there was no trace. But I knew he had saved me. There were times after that, I looked for him. I would climb the rocks and look to the north, out across the fields of snow and ice. I would look for him, but he was never there.

  “So, yes Alaana, my old friend came to me that night to take his leave of this world. After sixty years. He looked at me that same strange way as before.” She chuckled, and she was a young girl again. “It was good that he came again.”

  “But the village,” said Alaana solemnly, already guessing part of what must come next.

  Higilak sighed. “It’s too much to tell. Here ends this story. It’s late, little angatkok. I see Manatook shall not come this night. An old woman needs her rest, you know.”

  Alaana knew that Old Manatook’s inuseq must have appeared to her as a bear at the end because it was his true nature, but Higilak had apparently never discovered his secret all the time they were married.

  “I must go away for a while,” said Alaana softly. “Maguan will see that you have enough meat. I’ll meet you at the shore.”

  “You don’t have to do everything he did,” snapped Higilak. Her words stung. She had so suddenly become angry, which was both unusual and frightening. Old Manatook’s frequent absences on journeys to parts unknown for reasons unknown had always seemed more upsetting to Alaana than to Higilak. She had always thought the shaman’s wife simply accepted them. Higilak said she knew nothing of what Manatook did on his travels. Did she suspect that he had a mistress somewhere in the north?

  “Don’t go.”

  “I need to do this,” said Alaana.

  “What? Do what? Where is it that you must go?”

  “I don’t know.”

  CHAPTER 14

  MANATOOK REVEALED

  As Alaana expected, the snowy owl still perched in the drooping branches of the dwarf pine. Even in the harsh light of day the owl waited, gleaming bright white in the sun.

  Alaana unwrapped a bundle from the rear of her one-woman sled. She carefully unfolded the leathery cloak of human skin. Old Manatook’s face hung now as a lifeless mask. The sight of it — the bristly white beard and hair, the broad short nose, the glittering abyss of the dead eyes — gave her a chill.

  Heedless of the cold, Alaana stripped off her clothing until she stood naked beneath the tree. Then she wrapped the cloak about her shoulders, pulling it tight. She slipped the shaman’s dried face over her own. She didn’t know what to expect in the transformation. If any particular chant was necessary, she wasn’t aware of it. Instead she concentrated on her feelings for Old Manatook. Not the anger at his abandonment or the differences they’d had, but the deep abiding respect for the man who had taken a young girl who had suddenly realized talents and powers that both mystified and terrified her and helped her to understand her place in the world. Alaana thought about the love she had for that man. The rest of it, the resentment and whatever shortcomings there had been, were unimportant.

  The physical change was painless but disorienting. Alaana felt her entire body melting like liquid fat on the fire. The familiar, earthy smell of Old Manatook filled her nostrils and she heard the old shaman’s deep rumbling voice, mumbling words that seemed random and disconnected. Old Manatook had been much taller than Alaana and she felt herself stretch and grow, the muscles of chest and arms shaping themselves to the new form. Her mind remained her own, but she sensed shadows lurking about the edges, strange and sibilant whispers which created the dizzying sensation of drawing a long, gasping breath that had no end.

  The trance was shattered by Makaartunghak. The gigantic gray and white huskie leapt upon Alaana, nearly knocking her over.

  Up on his hind legs, still dragging the sled, the big dog nuzzled and licked at her face in unbridled merriment, pushing Alaana backward. Alaana shifted uneasily, seeking the proper balance for this taller, broader frame. Makaartunghak was a tough fighter, having more wolf in him than dog, and his love was nearly as dangerous as his ire.

  “No, it’s Alaana. Not Manatook! Alaana!” Alaana sighed as she went down beneath the big dog’s ministrations. There was no dissuading him. Her voice was Old Manatook’s and the words useless. “Okay, boy,” she said at last, “Now do you mind if I get some clothes on?”

  Alaana brushed the wet snow from her chest and legs, and donned Old Manatook’s calfskin shirt and luxurious pair of trousers made of polar bear fur. She laid a heavy parka on top and felt warm again in no time. She strung Old Manatook’s okamak around her neck. This was a charm necklace to protect her from evil spirits, a string of polar bear claws engraved with runic symbols.

  Her other dog, Yipyip, had slipped out of harness. Alaana spotted her atop the funerary mound where the body of Old Manatook now rested. She was not surprised. The perky little dog had always possessed the second sight. The black, short-haired pointer couldn’t have looked more out of place against the white arctic backdrop. “There’s no fooling you, is there?” asked Alaana. And then, “Yes, I miss the old grouch too.”

  The little dog didn’t answer, but continued working her nose between the burial stones.

  The snowy owl spread her wings. She hooted sharply and took flight.

  “Let’s go,” Alaana said.

  The owl circled lazily above and Alaana followed, walking beside the sledge. The melting snow meant a soft trail and hard work for the dogs against the slush. Even so Makaartunghak was more than capable of hauling the tiny sled by himself and he churned along the trail with Yipyip sitting haughtily on the stanchion.

  The snowy owl directed them due north, into the unknown. After a short time they left the tree line of the taiga behind and headed into a desert of slush and ice. The monotony of white on white, the mindless repetition of movement as she marched along, left Alaana’s mind free to wander.

  She thought of Ben, painfully aware that she was marching away from him when she so desperately wanted otherwise. At sixteen, Alaana felt a pressing need to marry. There were many young men in the village and available women were, as always, in short supply among the Anatatook.

  And yet none of them approached Alaana. Mikisork had turned away when she became the shaman, and all the others did the same. Even if they approached her now, it wouldn’t have mattered. Alaana’s heart had already spoken. The smell of his hair, the curl of his lip, the fire in his eyes. It had to be Ben.

  Trouble was, he didn’t feel the same way. The few timid advances she’d made had all been rebuffed without the slightest sign of hesitation. Alaana had a clear idea of what Ben had suffered as a captive in the Yupikut camp at the hands of those vile, ruthless men. She knew it would be a long time before he would be able to trust anyone again, or return anything which she might hope to offer. Higilak knew it too. She had advised Alaana to be patient, warning that to press her case too firmly would be a serious mistake. In time, s
he said, Ben might come to her.

  Thinking of Higilak, Alaana felt a wave of strangely displaced sensations. She saw Higilak not as she knew her, stooped and overripe with age, but as a young girl of seventeen again. She was seeing Higilak through the misty reflection of memory, laughing, smiling. She saw her scream.

  She realized she was experiencing this memory through the heightened senses of a bear. There were pleasant subtleties to Higilak’s scent Alaana had never recognized before. Intricate patterns to the flush of her cheeks, the fluid motion of her long black hair and the way her breath clouded in the frosty air, all details lost to the human eye. Alaana was a bear, crouched among the crags of an ice mountain, as she gazed longingly toward the human settlement. Having returned young Higilak to her people, she was watching and waiting, hungry for any sign of the young woman. There Higilak was, perched upon a large round rock, gazing out across the tundra. What was she looking for?

  Alaana realized that the skin she wore retained some essence of its long-time owner Old Manatook imprinted within it. She was experiencing some of the old shaman’s memories as they came seeping through.

  The most prominent memories all concerned Higilak. Old Manatook’s skin recalled falling in love with the girl at first sight when he had glimpsed her on an expedition with her father. The details were both painful and poignant. Her father was a hunter of bears and Old Manatook, hopelessly intrigued by the girl, eluded the hunters time and again, risking mortal danger to seek only another glimpse. Alaana couldn’t put into words the feeling that Manatook had for Higilak but it was the same wonderful feeling she shared when she looked full upon Ben’s sweet face. That a bear could feel such things for a human female seemed odd but clearly the youthful Manatook was no ordinary bear. He was a shaman among his own kind. Possessed of the spirit-vision, he could easily see through outward appearances to the true soul beneath.

  When the bears attacked and killed the hunting party, Old Manatook had taken a stand to protect Higilak from them. Using his leverage as a shaman he argued her innocence. The angry spirit of Beluga-Killer, the gigantic bear that had been so ruthlessly slaughtered, demanded vengeance. Old Manatook argued she was only a girl, she was not responsible. Surely Tornarssuk didn’t wish her to be destroyed with the others. The great spirit remained silent on the issue, and Old Manatook successfully used his influence to call the others off. Could it be his judgment had been clouded by passion?

  It surprised Alaana that even after so many years of marriage it was these early memories which burned most fiercely, imprinted on the skin in vivid detail. The desperate feeling of wanting but not having was a sentiment Alaana had recently come to know well, having Ben so close to hand but always at arm’s length.

  As Manatook watched from his craggy perch he saw Higilak mistreated by the people of her village. She was dragged by the hair and sent away. She was crying. She was pleading with them. They left her crumpled on the ground, beating at the snow with her fists in outrage. They had blamed her, the sole survivor, for the doom that had befallen the hunting party. Everyone knew it was bad luck for a girl to go out with the men. For this, they cast her out.

  As he witnessed her anguish Old Manatook’s heart felt as if it might break. And when Higilak stood up and began to walk, making her way out across the barren tundra, he came back to life. It could only mean death to travel alone on foot across the land in winter, without dogs or provisions. Higilak knew that as surely as anyone, and yet she stood up and began to walk away. It was precisely that indomitable strength of spirit that he had so fallen in love with. She didn’t know that she had a protector and friend out on the tundra. To Old Manatook’s mind, she must never know.

  And so it went, for days on end. The white bear shadowed the girl’s movements, warning off predators and hunting for her, leaving fresh killed meat at Higilak’s camp in the dead of night, warming her with his spirit-fire as she slept. Always he was careful not to show himself, for he knew she would be afraid. He couldn’t bear the thought of how she might look at him in horror or fear. He could never take that chance.

  After a full turning of the moon spent in perilous cross country travel, Higilak came upon a stone lodge. It was an abandoned summer house in the shelter of a craggy mountain. Old Manatook’s tender care continued with gifts of food and occasional bits of heather and twigs for a fire. Still he didn’t dare show himself.

  The snowy owl hooted sharply. Alaana, who had been walking for most of the day, had collapsed of exhaustion down into the snow. She felt Makaartunghak licking at her face with a rough, warm tongue.

  The sun was low on the horizon, a bright, thin line of fiery gold that set off the pale blue of sky above and the stark landscape of ice below. Vast ice mountains loomed in the distance. The thick vapor in the air, cast up by the day’s melt, had begun chilling into a thick mist. Too stubborn to fall, it swirled about the ground nearly to waist height. Underfoot, the snow was firm. This was as good a place as any to make camp.

  Alaana untied her pana from the sledge. She used this snow knife, made from a slender length of caribou antler, to carve a circular shape deep in the packed snow. Pausing to catch her breath, Alaana worried she might be too tired to complete the task. But it was stack snow or freeze, so she set about methodically cutting blocks with the flat-bladed knife. She used these igluksak to build up the sides of a small enclosure. Before the deep chill of night had yet fallen she had built a rough snow house up around the depression in the snow. She didn’t trouble herself with building a dome – she’d never been much good at that – but draped a thin caribou skin across the top. So long as it didn’t snow, this rough roof would serve just as well.

  She was applying a finishing coat of slush to the inside wall of the iglu when she heard a warning snarl and a sharp series of barks.

  Outside, Makaartunghak was grappling with a pair of creatures half his size. There were quite a few of them, darting in and out of the thick, crawling mist which had made their ambush possible. Alaana counted three but there might have been more. Wolverines were only rarely known to attack men. Had Alaana been visible outside the iglu they might have reconsidered their attack. Had they known the fierce disposition of Makaartunghak, they certainly would have.

  The giant huskie was at the center of the attack, already panting and frothing, hair bristling, his ears laid back. Despite their winter lean, the wolverines were large and muscular and fought in the manner of the wolf, striking and darting away. They moved with much greater speed than the dog, gliding atop the snow pack rather than sinking in like Makaartunghak, whose weight bogged him down in the slush. The wolverines flung themselves at him, leaping from the peak of an ice-covered rock or a crest of snow, jaws snapping like demons.

  Yipyip was nowhere in sight. Considering her stark black pelt it seemed impossible she could be hiding anywhere nearby. Alaana feared she might be dead, killed early in the attack, her body lying concealed by the mist.

  The wolverines had smelled her now. Despite their instinctual fear of people, one of them lunged at her. All reason was gone. Caught in the fighting frenzy, the beast had become blind with it, unable to stop.

  Alaana felt a strong urge to take off the human skin and fight them as a bear, but stopped herself only upon realizing the impossibility of such an idea. Unlike Old Manatook before her, she was human beneath the disguise. She had only her ice knife for a weapon.

  Alaana stood her ground as the wolverine charged, waiting until the last moment to meet its leap. She smacked the sturdy knife handle sharply across the animal’s black snout. The pana was more effective a deterrent when used as a club rather than attempting a slash with the dull blade. The wolverine was knocked back. It rolled over in the slush and circled warily around.

  Makaartunghak was holding his own. Having shaken himself free of the initial assault, he faced his foes individually as they darted in and out of the white mist. The dog fought like the huge indomitable brawler he was. Unable to nip through the wolverines’ thic
k hides, he battled them with sheer brute force. His timing was precise. At every charge he drove with his shoulder and slapped with a gigantic paw. Each slap landed with devastating power. Several times Alaana heard bones snapping.

  She could do little to help the dog. She had no long-range weapon and could only defend. Instead she shouted and made as much noise as possible to scare and confuse them.

  None of that mattered very much. Makaartunghak was ripping them up quite handily on his own. The wolverines recognized their imminent defeat. They scattered back into the mists as quickly as they had come, leaving Makaartunghak barking a fearful promise of retribution after them. When they had disappeared completely the great dog shook himself and seemed to smile. His tongue lolled merrily out the side of his bloody mouth.

  Alaana circled around, looking anxiously for any sign of Yipyip but could find none. She rejoined Makaartunghak, who stood at the side of the iglu washing his gashed muzzle in the cool snow. The two settled in for a meal of dried meat and melted snow. Makaartunghak curled himself into a snug ball of fur and lay down beside Alaana in the close confines of the iglu. A few moments later Yipyip returned and snuggled between them, her little body paradoxically much warmer than the gigantic, heavily-furred huskie.

  Alaana drew her hand back and smacked Higilak across the face. Higilak, so young and beautiful, looked back at her in horror.

  “Maybe that will teach you not to talk back to your husband,” Alaana growled.

  The side of her face burning red, Higilak fought to keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks. She said nothing. As her head trembled with fear and rage a tiny droplet of blood spattered to the side.

  “You’re mine!” said Alaana. “You understand? And I can take what’s mine whenever I like.”

  Higilak sneered infuriatingly and Alaana grabbed her slender neck and began to squeeze.

  Alaana woke with a gasp. In the warm confines of the iglu, sweat soaked her parka. Still wearing the cloak of human skin, Alaana wondered if the sweat was her own or that of Old Manatook.