by Ken Altabef
Alaana shook her head. “I couldn’t see.”
“You couldn’t see?” repeated Kigiuna. He let out a slow deep breath, uneasy at the prospect that his daughter might come into conflict with a greater power than any she could conceive. And more dangerous. His gaze roamed the four corners of the tent, but found neither answer nor solace.
No one seemed eager to talk about what had happened during the night, and the conversation shifted to the upcoming hunt.
“How will we fare tomorrow, Alaana?” asked Itoritsak.
“We’ll all do well, I think. Tekkeitsertok has shown me the herd. Two hundred strong, already starting to grow fat for the winter. If I have time today, I’ll make some amulets for luck in the hunt.”
“Good,” said Maguan. “It’s all settled then. I want to put up a good showing for the family. This time we won’t let Aquppak steal all the best kills for himself.”
Amauraq laughed. “It will be good to see the other families again.”
“Will there be a festival?” asked little Atanauraq excitedly, “And songs, and a feast?”
“Yes, there will be.” Alaana smiled at the young boy but Atanauraq looked quickly away. Like so many of the children, even her nephews were afraid of her. Little Pupupuk was the exception, languishing in her lap and playfully reaching up to grab her nose.
“We’ve lost too much this year,” said Amauraq. “It’s time to reverse the course of things. We need some more girl-children.” She cast a sidelong glance at Agruta.
“I would like nothing better, Mother,” Agruta replied, passing the sidelong glance along to Itoriksak.
“Oh, leave him alone,” said Maguan.
“This time tomorrow, we’ll all be eating liver and marrow,” said Itoriksak happily, eager to change the subject. The adults cheered the sentiment, with the exception of the brooding Kigiuna. An argument sprung up among the children after Atanauraq pinched his sister Hindluq. The meal was interrupted while the squabbling little ones were called to order by their grandmother.
Kigiuna locked eyes with Alaana. “I watched you last night, standing out there. Standing for us. Alone.”
Alaana didn’t know what to say. For a moment it seemed her father had put himself into a similarly awkward position. Then Kigiuna smiled. “I could not be more proud of you,” he said softly. His last words were lost in the renewed bickering of the grandchildren. But Alaana heard.
Yipyip called for her master’s attention with a gentle bark. The little black dog whined softly as she pawed the snow cover just a few paces from the breakwater of the lake. Alaana laid a hand on the back of her neck.
“What’s that you’ve found for me?” she asked, brushing aside the last of the slush to expose a few dark green shoots. “Feverfew, is it?”
Yipyip’s nose was seldom wrong but this plant, which resembled wild onion, looked somewhat darker than Alaana remembered.
“I have need of part of you for my work,” she said in a low voice, “But be sure, it is very important work.” She snapped off a small petiole and brought it to her lips. Yes, the bitter taste was clearly that of feverfew.
Yipyip barked again, more sharply.
“I know, I shouldn’t have doubted you,” said Alaana. It took her a moment to realize the dog meant that someone was moving toward them, coming around the rim of the lake.
Ben walked determinedly through the slush. A long way to come looking for her, Alaana thought, unless he had something important to say. She worried he would finally announce he had borrowed some dogs and a sled and was heading south. She’d find out soon enough; there was no way to prevent it. She continued exposing the feverfew stalks, gently tracing them down to the root.
After a few moments she heard a voice over her shoulder. “What’s that?”
“Feverfew,” she said, without looking up. “I can use this, with some of the other herbs, to make an offering to calm the wind during the hunt. Or perhaps, after that, I can beg Sila to blow the angry spirit away from us.”
“Let me see.” His brown-skinned hand, so slender and strong, came down toward her own. At last she felt able to turn her eyes upon him. To Alaana’s surprise she found the strong lines of his face thoughtful and relaxed, not angry at all. It was good he was studying the plant stem so intently, he didn’t notice her puzzled grin at finding him so relaxed and sociable. Was it possible, she wondered, he had forgiven her already?
“Now is the best time to harvest these,” she said casually. “I have to pluck them when they’re just shoots, first coming up through the snow.”
Ben drew her hand upward and sniffed at the plant between her fingers. “Show me something else.”
Alaana, thrilled by his touch, was more than pleased to do so. “I’m also looking for milkwort. It grows as a thick round stump at the shoreline, with a little orange tip. If I find any, I can make an incense to keep the angry spirit from our camp.”
Ben frowned, “But these are all roots for keeping the spirits away. How will you kill it, Alaana?”
“You can’t kill something that’s already dead.”
His eyes met hers. “It’s a ghost, then?”
“Everything’s a ghost.”
His hand pulled back. His face turned away, his lips drawn tight.
“No,” she said plaintively. “I’m not teasing you. If you could see what I see, you’d understand.”
“Can’t you show me?” he asked.
“It’s not possible.”
Ben smiled at some secret something, then let his gaze roll slowly across her face.
“I felt it, you know,” he said, provocatively.
Alaana was uncertain what he meant.
“Last night,” he continued. “The power, the rage. Whatever it was that killed those dogs. I felt it.” His eyes widened with the memory, but he didn’t seem afraid. Alaana was suddenly afraid for him.
“How could I feel it?” he asked.
“Well,” said Alaana, “some people can feel things. Higilak always knows when a storm is coming, even before the sky goes gray. And Tugtutsiak can tell which way the herd will turn.”
“Everything has a spirit inside?” he asked, widening his gaze to take in the entire scene — the lake, the eider ducks, the few budding plants of summer.
“More or less.”
“And you can command them?”
Alaana shook her head. “I can ask.”
“Such an enormous power,” he said, pursing his full lips into an attractive half-pout. “A person could do such good with it. Can anyone use this power?”
“Only if they have the light,” added Alaana. “But that’s rare. That’s very rare.”
“Do I?” he asked. Fear flashed in his eyes. “Do I have it?”
“No, no,” replied Alaana. No, she thought, Ben had something else. A soul still twisted and blackened by shadows. In time, she hoped, the scars might heal. Then he might no longer hear the whispers of the ghosts.
“I’ve heard you’ve been talking with Aquppak,” he said, as much to change the subject.
Alaana snickered. “He asked me to marry him.”
“Will you?” Ben asked. The words sounded strange, as if his mouth had suddenly become dry as leather.
“Do you think I should?”
“I don’t know anything about him.”
“Well he’s handsome and one of our best hunters.”
“I see,” said Ben. He carefully flexed his left hand.
“And he’s also arrogant and ambitious, and doesn’t really care about me at all.”
“He wants to be married to the shaman.”
“Yes,” said Alaana. “But he’s the only one who does.”
“That’s a tough choice,” he said. He began absently brushing pollen from the front of his parka. He wasn’t going to say anything more on the subject.
“I’m bothered by what you said about last night,” she said. “If you could sense that angry spirit, you may be in danger. It may not be safe here for you.
”
“Safe? I don’t want to be safe. No one is ever safe. Was I safe in Louisiana? No. Could Mr. Douglas keep me safe from the Yupikut? No.” His face flared up with the fiery spirit she so much admired.
“But I feel safe with you,” he added. “You moved a mountain. What’s a bit of wind to you?” As pleasing as his words sounded, Alaana felt a sharp stab of guilt. She was not worthy of such faith.
She made a dismissive wave of her hand. The shoot of feverfew forgotten, flew from her fingers. “More often than not, I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be doing.”
“I don’t believe that,” he said. “When we first met, you were just like me — beaten and helpless, a prisoner of the Yupikut. You brought them to their knees.”
“I had help,” she said, alluding to the knife he had brought her. “We brought them to their knees.”
“Then I suppose I might stay,” he returned, smiling beatifically. “In case you need my help again.”
That night a dreadful quiet settled over the camp, as if everyone were holding their breath for fear the angry spirit should return. Such fear was dangerous, Alaana knew. It called to dark things, it gave them strength.
Ben talked pleasantly during dinner, as if there was no danger at all. Higilak seemed distracted and forgot to tend the lamp so that it sputtered and went out even before they were done eating. She didn’t bother to relight it, saying she was tired and ready for sleep and suggested they do the same. From his place across the room, Ben bid them good night.
For Alaana sleep was slow in coming. She wanted to go outside and walk the camp but she was afraid her noise might startle the people, stirring up bad feelings and fear. So she decided to stay at home.
No sooner had she drifted off to sleep, an eerie moan crept into her dream and woke her. She sat up on her pallet. She had coat and boots still on, in case she should need to rush outside. The sound was not coming from outside, but from within. It was not the wind but Higilak, moaning in her sleep. What evil dream assailed her in the night, Alaana worried, though she didn’t dare wake her up.
She regretted telling her of Old Manatook’s death. Things were better when she had been keeping the nightly spirit vigil. At least then she still had a sense of purpose, a sense of hope. Alaana feared she was losing her joy in life, now she knew Old Manatook was truly gone. And when the burden of life became too heavy, old people were known to go off alone. She didn’t want that to happen.
“Quiet now,” she whispered to Higilak. “Sleep well.” She projected calming thoughts at the old woman, in much the same way she used to communicate sometimes with her husband, the shaman. Quiet now. Sleep well.
CHAPTER 22
THE CARIBOU HUNT
“Tekkeitsertok,” Alaana intoned, “Benevolent and wise. Provide for us.”
The pleasant, earthy smells of prairie grass and star anise wafted up from the small clay pot set before her.
“Tekkeitsertok, generous and strong. Nurture us.”
She sat on a mat of black caribou skin at a muddy juncture between two arms of water which formed a small peninsula. Unlike the kayakers and hunters, all of whom were secluded on the northern shore of the river as far from the approaching herd as possible, Alaana was stationed precisely where she wanted the herd to cross. This place had been used many times before. To her left a series of large stones laid out in a rectangular pattern marked the outlines of tent skins from some by-gone camp. At her back stood a rock pile the size of a beaver house, a storage locker used to keep dried caribou meat safe from wolves.
The vast landscape to the south seemed at first blush to be a barren and monotonous slush of melting snow. But to the experienced eye the land revealed itself as layer upon layer of subtle folds and ridges.
Mikisork, the second son of Tugtutsiak, had been stationed atop the smooth rock ridge along the cliff face, where he had a perfect view of the northern shore. On the ledge the Anatatook had raised a series of tall, pointed cairns in gray stone. Mikisork had just put clumps of fresh dirt atop these inuksiut to make them better resemble people. More importantly, they would frighten the approaching caribou and lead them directly into the Anatatook ambush.
Kneeling between two ghostly stone effigies, Mikisork spotted the first few caribou picking their way across the tundra. They moved slowly along the game trail, distracted by clumps of moss and short sedge along the sharp curve of the stream. This small advance band were mostly cows and calves coming up from the southlands. The bulls would follow later.
The caribou moved to the top of the ridge, grazed a little, and lay down to rest. Alaana sat patiently and repeated her invocations.
The Anatatook hunters stood beside their kayaks, concealed in a series of hunting blinds along the rocky shoreline of the river, ready to launch. They too, were patient.
In time, one particular doe made her way directly toward Alaana. As she sat motionless, unthreatening, sufficiently downwind, the doe sensed no danger. It was important not to frighten her lest she go back and warn the others. The doe had noticed the scent of the star anise and come to investigate. It was Alaana’s duty to reassure her, speaking in soft tones, and make the offerings.
She advanced slowly, making no sound except for the gentle clicking of her feet. Alaana thought the doe both majestic and beautiful. Such a deep chest and slender, graceful legs. Such a glossy coat of soft umber brown. She possessed a short, delicate pair of antlers, a rarity marking her as royalty among the female caribou. Alaana reached out to her, gently brushing her neck and cape, and gazed into her eyes, thanking her for her kindness in answering the call. The sacrifice the herd would be making was appreciated, the sustenance for her people desperately needed.
The doe nodded her head and leaned close. To Alaana’s delight it touched its delicate rack gently atop her shoulders.
Alaana lifted an offering of sweet prairie grass from a cup she had made, carved from a musk-ox horn. The caribou princess mewed softly.
The large formation broke the crest of snow in one fluid movement, traveling along the habitual path. Alaana noticed the herd was leaner than she had imagined. Whatever meat they brought in this day would not last very long.
The caribou princess dashed away with a snort, and Alaana heard young Mikisork sounding the call from his lofty perch. This was the crucial moment. The herd must be directed toward the crossing where the hunters were waiting.
The Anatatook women and children rose up from their concealments along the far ridge. The beaters began howling and screaming, using wolf cries, and waving ragged pieces of wolf skins in a menacing way. When faced with attack by wolves the caribou instinctively head for water, and all the noise and commotion sent them fleeing from the game trail and straight for the river. With a final invocation to Tekkeitsertok, Alaana gathered up her things lest she be crushed in the charge.
As soon as the herd was driven sufficiently into the water Tugtutsiak gave the signal for the hunt to start. The kayaks slipped silently from their hidden taluqs. Stroking fast from their hunting blinds, the men paddled out for the chase.
Watching from the shore, Alaana saw Maguan and her father among the few fastest kayakers, quick in reaching the swimming animals. The caribou swam haphazardly about. Much slower in the water than on solid ground, they had no real chance of escape. The men carefully aimed their spears.
Aquppak appeared, standing astride his grandfather’s kayak in a heroic pose. Putuguk sat lamely in the kayak’s belly, unable even to hold a paddle in his hands. As Aquppak prepared to shoot, Alaana heard a collective gasp from the women. For her part, Alaana could not see how Aquppak kept from toppling into the river, let alone balance himself to loose an arrow. But Aquppak was Aquppak. He assumed the preferred posture, half-kneeling atop the kayak, and let fly. A large buck dropped into the waters. The arrow went low in the chest, a perfect heart-shot they would all be talking about for a long time. With everyone suitably impressed, Aquppak set looped a long sealskin thong to the antlers to drag the
kill to shore.
As he was hauling it out, the animal suddenly let loose an eerie bellow. It was a horrifying sound, not that of any living thing Alaana had ever heard. The dead caribou’s eyes bulged. Its hooves flailed, flinging it back toward the river. It smashed into one of the other kayaks, and sent Aquppak into the water.
A foul wind rose up and Alaana recognized it as the same spirit-wind that had ravaged their camp two nights before. The water whipped into a frenzy, forming a spout in the center of the river. The men rushed for shore. The animals, screeching and snorting, made back for the way they had come. Someone loosed an arrow in panic and the shaft hit Tugtutsiak full in the shoulder.
Meanwhile the caribou, wild-eyed and driven to a frenzy by the screeching, unnatural wind, emerged from the river on the northern side. The herd began to rampage among the women and children. Alaana unfurled the black caribou mat and, shouting wildly, ran across their path. She was not the shaman now, but just a desperate young woman with a black rag trying to direct the charging beasts away from the mass of people in danger. She snatched her nephew Atanauraq up into her arms and carried him along.
The funnel of water in the center of the river exploded, showering spume across both banks. The shrieking wind spent itself and was gone.
In a flash the caribou disappeared back up the game trail leaving a scattering of Anatatook women along the ground. Alaana passed through their ranks. A few were injured but no one was killed. She noticed Aquppak on the far side of the river, bending over his kill.
“You can’t butcher that kill, Aquppak!” she shouted across at him.
The young hunter had already made the first cut through the abdomen. “This kill belongs to me!”