Secrets

by Ken Altabef

  “I will,” said Alaana loudly. “I will stay inside the karigi without food or water until this problem is resolved, or die in the attempt.”

  “So be it,” said Tugtutsiak.

  “It’s not your fault,” urged her father.

  “But my responsibility,” said Alaana.

  CHAPTER 24

  DESPERATE FLIGHT

  Alaana wandered lost. In this whistling abyss, whirling snow blotted out all vision. Flakes with bizarre shapes came sizzling through the gale, hard and fine as hailstones, their edges sharp. The storm transformed the landscape, ramming treacherous fangs up out of the white waste, pinnacles of snow and ice that stood in her way. She blundered onward. At any careless step the drifts might reveal a hidden crevasse and a fall to a slow, lingering death.

  The blizzard had a voice all its own. A tortured wail, its rhythm made up a hypnotic chant, folding over itself, rising and falling, leading her in an endless circle. It was a song of icy hate; it was a song of blistering rage. Alaana stumbled along, following its lead, round and round.

  “Now this is a nice, sweet fuddling you’ve gotten yourself into.”

  That voice, so shrill and sarcastic. Alaana knew that voice. It was Nunavik, the Walrus On The Ice.

  “You know, you won’t find any answers with this tarrak controlling your state of mind, Alaana.”

  Alaana’s lips, chapped and blistered from the cold wind, answered, “Nunavik?”

  “Who else, ungarpaluk?”

  Alaana let out a dry chuckle at the sound of her old childhood nickname, which meant ‘Little Harpoon’.

  “Nunavik, I’ve missed you so much!” The ancient and enigmatic walrus shaman had been one of young Alaana’s earliest spirit helpers and dearest friends. Like the rest of her helpers, Nunavik had disappeared after her initiation.

  “Why did you go away?” she asked. “Did Sila chase you away?”

  “You’re the one that’s gone away. Come back.”

  Alaana opened her eyes. The wall of blinding white gave way to the dim purple haze of early evening. She’d been sitting cross-legged on a prayer mat within the confines of the karigi, seeking answers. The ceremonial lodge was cluttered with magical objects and devices, masks, drums and shamanic weaponry. How long had gone without food or water? Her empty stomach told her it had been several days.

  Peering between the fluttering folds of the doorway flap, she saw the encampment still ringed by the swirling mass of snow that had descended after her misguided spirit-calling. The low moan of the wind went on, calling her back.

  “As usual, my blunt little harpoon, you’re looking for the answer in the wrong place,” said the caustic voice of Nunavik.

  Alaana cleared her throat, looking down at the small piece of carved walrus tusk clenched in her hand. It seemed such a long time ago Old Manatook had given her the talisman which contained her first spirit helper.

  “You won’t find the answer outside in that storm,” Nunavik contnued. “The answer lies within you. It must. You are the shaman.”

  “Then Tugtutsiak is right?”

  “Tugtutsiak is always right,” answered Nunavik.

  “This is all my fault?”

  “You already know the answer.”

  “But I don’t know,” countered Alaana. “I can’t find any way to stop Manatook’s ghost.”

  “Manatook? Whoever said anything about that wretched old good-for-nothing?”

  Alaana felt lightheaded. “I don’t understand.”

  “You’ve not changed one bit. Still as simple as a stick of driftwood.” The voice of Nunavik sighed deeply within Alaana’s mind. Alaana pictured the golden-skinned walrus’ face, his bulging cheeks and long whiskers, his deep, soulful eyes. “Let your Uncle Walrus sing you a song.”

  Nunavik began to sing with a voice surprisingly shrill coming from a bull walrus. But it was a familiar, comforting voice all the same. Alaana relaxed her mind, letting the song take her where it appeared she most needed to go.

  She saw Higilak, young and beautiful. Her hair shone lustrous and dark, and the pleasant smell of it would foster a yearning in the heart of any young man. She was held in her lover’s embrace, and despite the dark hair and beard Alaana recognized the features of her old teacher. But something was wrong. The man had his forearm pressed against Higilak’s throat as he held her down. This was not Old Manatook, but simply Manatook the scoundrel.

  On second glance, Higilak was not held in a lover’s embrace, but that of her father Marusak, the hunter of bears. This was Marusak the wounded, Marusak the cripple, to whom life had lost all of its meaning. This was Marusak, the corpse. Higilak struggled against the lifeless flesh that held her fast. Her eyes gaped open, seeing her village revealed as a terrible shrine of death and sorrow.

  Alaana saw Balikqi’s laughing and gentle face. He looked down from his lofty perch atop the glacier, overjoyed at having restored the ice mountain to its proper place. But as Alaana watched, the old bear grew suddenly angry. Black lips pulled back; huge and deadly teeth flashed from his powerful jaws.

  Next came Old Manatook, yet another apparition from the past. The old shaman’s face twisted into an expression of utmost fright. He stood facing the monstrous wrath of Beluga Killer. In one quick movement he reached up and yanked the face of Manatook back as if it were a hood, revealing himself as Aisaac, polar bear shaman of the glacier.

  The mountain lifted its great foot and took a step. Higilak’s village was buried under a cataclysm of ice and tumbling snow.

  The song of Nunavik ended on a shrill note. Alaana knew the final verse of this song. She had played a central role in it herself. She saw the mountain pulled upward on strings of cosmic force dangling from the Moon, uncovering the ghostly village and setting free the vicious spirit buried beneath.

  Beluga Killer.

  “Not Manatook,” said Alaana, “Beluga Killer. Released from under the ice. By me.”

  “Indeed,” said the walrus. “Now, what’s all this fuss about a young man?”

  “Never mind. I don’t need any help with my love life from you!”

  “That’s the first sensible thing I’ve heard you say,” replied the tunraq.

  “There’s no time,” said Alaana, and with a deep breath she pushed herself up. Her legs, locked beneath her for so long, were slow to respond and she toppled over to the side. This was not acceptable. Another deep breath, and up.

  Standing, Alaana felt dizzy and weak. She wasn’t sure how long she’d gone without food. There was no time.

  She focused her spirit-vision on the engraved walrus tusk but saw no soul in residence; the totem was as lifeless as it had been since her initiation. She tossed it aside.

  Nunavik was gone, if he had ever really been there at all.

  Alaana snatched up Old Manatook’s bear claw necklace from among the many drums and masks. She strung it over her parka as she swept aside the tent flap. The howl of the gale greeted her faithfully outside, but enthralled her no longer.

  Ben was waiting outside as well, sitting on a rounded stone in front of the tent. Alaana paused for a moment, again feeling dizzy and unsure on her feet. She rushed toward him.

  “Alaana!” He said it as if it was the most important word in the world, as if she was a source of great strength for him. She smiled, knowing the reverse was also true. The way he spoke her name lifted her spirits better than any earthly food might have done.

  “What’s happened?” she asked.

  “It’s Higilak, she’s gone!”

  “Gone?” Alaana glanced at the barricade of snow violently circling the encampment. “In this? Where could she have gone?”

  “She went back to her old village. She’s going home.”

  “It’s too far,” said Alaana. “She’ll never make it. She’ll die.” She turned and ran for the kennel. “I need to harness my team.”

  She pushed forward, with Ben trailing behind.

  “The camp seems so empty. Where is everyone?” she ask
ed.

  “In their tents, in the dark, frightened and helpless.”

  All except for you, thought Alaana.

  “They wait for their shaman,” he continued. “The howling of the wind never stops. It’s had them all on edge for days.”

  “Bad weather means uncertain fates,” said Alaana. “At least that’s what Higilak always says. When did she leave?”

  “Early yesterday morning.”

  “There’s very little time,” she said angrily. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “How could I?” Ben returned. “You told me not to enter the karigi, not for any reason. Remember?”

  Having reached the dogs, Alaana bent down and slapped Makaartunghak on his hindquarters. The big dog lay curled into a tight ball, his nose tucked under his bushy tail. Makaartunghak awoke with a snarl, but seeing that it was his master calling, shook himself free of snow. “Up! Let’s go,” said Alaana. She glanced around for Yipyip but the little dog was nowhere to be seen.

  “What are you going to do?” asked Ben.

  Alaana yanked her sled free from the line and began clearing the dogs’ traces. Yipyip jumped down from the stanchion where she had been waiting. “I’m going after her.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “No, you aren’t,” said Alaana firmly. Their eyes met. Ben’s face held that determined, fiery look that Alaana found so irresistibly attractive.

  “I love her too, you know,” he said.

  “I know,” returned Alaana. She reached out to brush the side of his cheek. He didn’t pull away. “But you can’t come.”

  “Why not?” fumed Ben.

  “Because it’s too dangerous.”

  “I’ve two good arms now. I can help.”

  Alaana shook her head. “Not with this.”

  Having tied the dogs in, she led them toward the outskirts of the camp. “Stay here,” she shouted back to Ben.

  She ran for the edge of the settlement, the dogs and sled quick at her heels. Leaving Ben behind, she realized she should have said more. She didn’t think him useless. She only wanted to protect him. But there was no time.

  At the northern edge of the camp she stared out into the swirling maelstrom of snow. It would be impossible to find the old woman, searching the vast wastes on the small sled. She might not even be still alive.

  Alaana bent low to one of the large flat stones half-buried in the snow and ran her hand along its crusted surface. “My apology,” she intoned, “for disturbing you in your slumber, friend stone. As I am just a worthless shaman and good for little else but stumbling around in the dark, I beg your indulgence. Did my Old Mother pass this way yesterday?”

  The old stone kindly gave up the memory, and Alaana saw the old woman looking about in a distressed state, clenching her parka against the driving snow, tears frozen to her cheeks. Indeed she had passed very close to this particular rock, and Alaana noted well the direction in which she had been headed.

  “Thank you my friend. Sleep well.”

  There was so little time.

  She bent close to her team and whispered in Yipyip’s ear. “Take me to the Old Place, the Ring of Stones, as fast as you can. It’s our only chance. Understand?”

  The little dog fired off a pair of quick yips, and Alaana smiled. She need never doubt as far as the feisty little dog was concerned. “Good girl.”

  With a dull thump, she slapped Makaartunghak on his broad back. Then she lay down on the sled. She looped a pair of heavy sealskin thongs around waist and shoulders and fastened them to the platform. When she was done she rocked herself from side to side to test the strength of her bonds.

  Ilimarpoq, the soul flight, was an art she knew well — after all, she had been taught this particular skill by Sila directly. And yet, each time she released her inuseq from her body, Alaana was gripped by an uneasy feeling. She struggled against it, shrugging off the doubt with a series of rhythmic breaths. For to fly free, one must leave everything behind. And that was not easy.

  Her first sight as she rose up was her body lying unmoving on the sledge. She saw herself in absolute clarity of detail — every fiber of the parka, every line of her face, each strand of hair. She thought she must be dead, that perhaps she had made some fatal mistake in the separation, and a momentary panic flared up. Then as the sled began to move into the storm she saw herself breathe, a shallow, slow movement of her chest, almost imperceptible. And then she was too high up to see the body with any clarity; it had become a lifeless detail, lost in the haze of snow and wind.

  No need to worry, she told herself. She was in good hands. Her trust in Yipyip was absolute.

  Alaana felt a rush of exhilaration. She was free from gravity and all other worldly restrictions, cares and concerns. She could fly; she could fly away. She felt the pull of it, the lure of sweet oblivion, and thought how easy it would be to release. And fade away.

  Suddenly her spirit-woman, untouchable by any earthly force, was jarred by a cool blast of wind. These were the very fingers of Sila shaking her awake, offering a stark reminder that she had serious work to do. Higilak. The Anatatook. Beluga Killer.

  First, she must find Higilak.

  Ben huffed angrily as he watched Alaana walk away. Did she think so little of him? Of course he was just a normal man, and she was the almighty shaman. Almighty, my foot, he thought. How dare she cast him aside as if he were some weak, useless thing? Did she really think so poorly of him?

  Of course not, he realized. Ben had never known anyone quite like Alaana before. He knew her mind almost as well as he knew her face. And why not? There was so little dishonesty in Alaana’s deep brown gaze. He knew how desperately she wanted him to stay with her. She didn’t want to push him away, but she would try to protect him even at the cost of losing him. She did that for everyone. She thought nothing of herself where others were concerned.

  He followed Alaana’s instruction, remaining at the kennel, watching her mount her sled. Her movements seemed strange and listless. She was obviously exhausted and must be near starving as well. How stupid he felt. He should have seen to it that she’d eaten something before setting off.

  When he saw her lashing herself to the sled he stepped forward. Something was very wrong. She looked as if she’d already passed out. But it was worse than that. Even asleep one follows the movements of the sled with their body, but Alaana lay as stiffly as the dead.

  He ran toward her through the slush.

  As the dogs began to haul away, he flung himself onto the sled.

  For a moment all sensations, with the exception of cold and wet, were lost as the sled plunged into the swirling storm of snow. Ben hugged tight to Alaana’s body to keep from falling off the small sled. The gale howled in his ears, its voice the eerie whisperings of the newly dead and long forgotten. The cold, wet slap of the wind pressed him down on her with backbreaking force.

  And then they had passed through.

  On the other side the tundra lay in calm repose, as quiet and serene as ever before. The silver light of evening frosted the drifts as they extended across the plain in gentle ripples of white. The great silence of the northlands hung over it all.

  Ben looked back at the storm circling the Anatatook settlement. As viewed from outside it seemed flimsy and pathetic, a desperate desire for vengeance that had stretched itself thin over many years.

  He brushed clinging ice crystals from Alaana’s face. Her skin felt waxy and unresponsive, and he realized what she had done. Her soul was gone from her body. He glanced up into the night sky as if he might see her hovering up there, but found only the Moon and the stars.

  The sled rocked as the dogs made speed across the tundra, snapping off the spiky juts of ice the storm had thrust upward from the white wastes. Ben feared the sealskin thongs binding Alaana might snap. He hugged her close, embracing her lifeless form in a tender way he had never imagined possible. It was an odd sensation, for he wouldn’t have contemplated this type of physical intimacy were she awake
and alert. And yet he felt a sense of comfort clinging close together in this strange way. At least she wouldn’t fall off the sled.

  And asleep, her magic couldn’t hurt him. But that wasn’t fair, he knew, because even if she were awake, she wouldn’t hurt him. The time for misunderstandings between them was over. In healing him, she had touched his soul. He knew she wouldn’t hurt anyone unless there was no other way.

  He held her then, pressing precious body heat against her unconscious body, keeping her warm.

  Traveling on the clouds, Alaana’s spirit-woman ranged far and wide in what seemed an instant. Her vision was the spirit-vision, as sharp and clear in the night as it was in the daylight. She saw the dull shimmer illuminating the ice and snow, the slumbering glow of each rock and stone; she saw the souls of the foxes deep within their burrows, the hares on their lonely midnight treks across the land, the sheltering herds of the caribou. Amid these gentle souls, it was not difficult to find the raging ghost of Beluga Killer.

  Higilak stood helpless before it.

  The bear loomed over the old woman, a spinning vortex of pure hatred, vengeance personified. The ghost manifested itself out of countless shards of ice, hard as stone, sharp as any fang or claw. This great mass of death churned and writhed in what looked to Alaana as maniacal glee at having its ultimate prey, so frail and defenseless, finally within its grasp.

  “Wait! Stop!” Alaana screamed hopelessly as she rushed forward in a headlong plunge. Her spirit-woman came crashing clumsily down into the bank of snow directly in front of Higilak. The shaman was unharmed, but it took a moment to pull herself up.

  The bear’s ghost looked down at her with the chill gaze of eyes made of solid ice. It regarded Alaana’s inuseq only fleetingly, as if finding her below its notice. The wind rose up, caging the three of them in a circle of prickly frozen shards. The shade of Beluga Killer sent a thundering roar echoing through the gale. At long last, revenge was at hand.

  “Higilak, no!” With great effort Alaana manifested her words so Higilak might hear. She had so little strength left; she knew she must be brief.