Secrets

by Ken Altabef

  “What’s happening?” Ben asked. He stared blindly forward, moving his head around as if chasing at shadows.

  “I’ve brought us some allies from out of the past,” said Alaana. “They’ve closed with the bear.”

  Beluga Killer, now maddened by its lack of success, spun wildly around. In addition to the previous wounds it was now bleeding from spear points along either flank. The bear became increasingly careless, but it would not retreat. It broke through their line. With a bold swipe it took one of the spears through its paw and kept on coming, colliding with one of the Tunrit and knocking him bloody to the ground. The spear shaft still jutting through its paw Beluga Killer swung at the downed man again, but was stopped by the other two who took advantage of the moment to drive home their spears from opposite sides. One of them hit it in the chest, while the other drove a sharp point through the kidney. To Alaana’s surprise the bold Tunrit did not fall back after striking, as any of the Anatatook might have done, but instead drove forward, twisting their weapons and pressing their attack even as Beluga Killer fell crashing down on the ice.

  “It’s dying,” said Ben. “I can feel it fading away. A ghost can’t die, can it?”

  Alaana had no answer. She watched as the shade of Beluga Killer dissolved into a flash of dull white smoke under the Tunrit assault. With one lingering moan, a final plea for lost vengeance, it shimmered faintly and was gone.

  The fallen Tunrit warrior was severely wounded, but the others offered him no aid as he staggered to his feet. In unison the three raised a single cheer of victory, a joyous grunt of triumph, then returned to the grim figures from the distant past. Alaana wanted to thank them but, stuck halfway in another time, they didn’t see her.

  As the warriors approached the portal at the center of the ring Alaana caught sight of the shadowy figure of the fourth Tunrit, now standing at the far end of the enclosure, half hidden between two of the standing stones.

  Although partially obscured by rinds of thick black mist, Alaana recognized him from one of the crude paintings on the cave wall at Black Face. The overlarge head was covered by a rough hood of tan hide. The hood was featureless except where two circles drawn in charcoal marked the eyes. Between the folds of his soot-colored furs Alaana saw an armored chest plate made of rows of animal teeth. The Sorcerer lifted a hand toward the mask covering his face. The fingers, wasted and crooked, were almost completely blackened by exposure to frost. Amid the frost scars, the nails had grown long and sinister as claws.

  Alaana’s attention was drawn back to the keystone as the door she had opened crashed shut. The outlines of the Tunrit faded away and were gone.

  When she looked again toward the Sorcerer, he was no longer there.

  “This was a mistake, Alaana,” said Higilak. “A terrible mistake.”

  “You’ll live to see many more days, Old Mother,” she said.

  “Perhaps, but what of the price?”

  “I was responsible,” Alaana said. “I brought it here.”

  “No,” said Higilak, “I did. Oh, Alaana, don’t you see what you’ve done? My father made a mistake. And like it or not, I was a part of that. When that creature came calling for its justice my dear husband saved me. And that was wrong. And he should have known better but he was blinded…”

  “By love?” asked Alaana.

  “Yes, I suppose,” replied the old woman. “But that’s no excuse. Old Manatook forestalled justice, burying that monster under the glacier. And what became of that, Alaana? It couldn’t stand. The world would not let it stand. The balance was distorted, and it found a way to bring vengeance back around again. Through you.”

  “Moving the glacier back was the right thing to do,” said Alaana.

  “Yes, it was. And then vengeance came around again. As it must. It came for me.”

  “I couldn’t let that thing have you, Higilak,” said Alaana solemnly.

  “But you should have. You made the same mistake as Old Manatook, my dear sweet girl.” Higilak reached out, stroking the side of Alaana’s face. “I’m sorry. I thought we had taught you better. Don’t you see? There will be a reckoning for this.”

  She would say no more, but simply marched off in the direction of the sled.

  Alaana stood crestfallen. Just a moment ago she’d been exhilarated by the thrill of victory. She had thought herself quite clever.

  “Do you think she’s right?” asked Ben.

  “What’s done is done,” said Alaana. “If there’s a price to pay for Higilak’s life, I’ll face it when the time comes.”

  She made her way toward the sled, trailed by the pair of dogs. But when Ben didn’t follow she turned back. “Let’s get away from here.”

  Ben cast a final look about the Ring of Stones. It was not a look of appreciation, Alaana thought, but of deep apprehension.

  “What about the other?”

  Alaana felt a terrible sinking feeling. “What other?”

  “I saw one of them. One of the Tunrit standing there.” He indicated a spot at the edge of the ring. “A giant in dark furs.”

  “You saw him?” asked Alaana incredulously.

  “Yes. He looked right at me. Alaana, his eyes were hot as flame.”

  Alaana had seen no such thing. To her eyes, the Sorcerer’s face had been completely covered by the hood.

  CHAPTER 26

  SOUL LIGHTS

  Ben studied Alaana’s profile as she gazed intently at the lake shore. He knew she was looking with her spirit-vision, but he couldn’t see any difference in the deep brown luster of her eyes.

  “Tell me what you see,” he said. “How do you do it?”

  Alaana shrugged. “How can I say? A way of seeing with the inner eyes, the soul. I don’t have the words to tell it.”

  “Try, Alaana. Try.”

  She paused, turning her calmly reassuring gaze his way. Ben thought he detected a hint of a smile behind her pursed lips. What was she up to?

  She gestured toward the brimming water and the people in scattered clumps along the shore. “When I look at a person with the sight, I can see them in four different ways at once. I see what they look like, how they feel, what they dream, and where they’re headed all at the same time.”

  “What do you mean where they’re headed?” he asked. “You can see what will happen?”

  Alaana smiled uncertainly. “Not sharp and clear. Just hints and suggestions.”

  “What types of things?”

  “Many fat fish will fill the weir this summer. And Aquppak will break the record tally for bucks this season.”

  “That’s not hard to predict.”

  “No. I guess not. He is the best.” Alaana glanced again at him, but looked quickly away. “Everybody loves him,” she added.

  “He’s a fine hunter,” Ben said dismissively. He knew that the two of them had been friends since childhood. It had been Aquppak, a bit of an outcast himself, who had stood beside Alaana when the other children had turned away.

  Alaana shrugged. “There’s a lot more to him than just what people can see. It’s not so easy to fool the shaman, you know.”

  Ben smiled. “Alaana I wish there was some way I could see what you see.”

  Now the smile that had been hiding beneath her detached exterior blossomed. It was amazing how such a rare expression lit up Alaana’s otherwise plain face. “Perhaps you can. Let me take your hand for a moment.”

  Ben gave her a skeptical look. Not long ago he would not even have considered such a thing. But lately he’d grown more comfortable with the idea, and he’d found his thoughts turning toward Alaana quite frequently.

  “I spoke wrongly just then,” she said. “It’s not perhaps. It has to be definite. Definitely you can.”

  “When we spoke once before, you said it was impossible.”

  “I’ve discovered a way,” she said forcefully. “It is possible. See? I’ll make the arrangements.” She spit into the palm of her right hand and rubbed the two vigorously together, then he
ld it out for him.

  “That’s it?” he said, smiling.

  “You took my hand once before,” she said casually, referring to the moment when she had rescued him from the Yupikut camp.

  “So I did.” As Ben slipped his hand into hers, he felt a strange tingling sensation and a surprising warmth.

  “What have you done?” he asked, pulling back slightly. She did not tighten her grip, allowing him to take the hand back if he wanted. He didn’t let go.

  “My sight will pass to your eyes,” she said, “but only for a short while.”

  He held fast. She was serious. It was true.

  With a bright flash, everything changed.

  The world suddenly became intensely bright and miraculously alive. Even the most ordinary objects seemed to sparkle as if sunlight was striking wet snow, and everything was wet snow. The sky shimmered, the snow glistened, the mountain cliffs stood outlined in precise craggy detail. The very air sparked and scintillated with the breath of life.

  “Look at the snipes,” she suggested.

  An arrow point of little brown birds cut across the sky. And in the breast of each, Ben could see the bird’s stunning soul-light.

  “It’s so bright,” he said. “It’s like fire.”

  “It’s not just lights. It’s life.”

  His heart skipped a beat. “You’re right. There are no words. Oh, look, the cloud has one too!”

  “Yes. The cloud has a spirit light too. To me it looks much the same as the water. I’ve never understood that.”

  Ben was barely listening; he had turned his head. The lake! He rushed forward, dragging Alaana along. The lake was marvelous. The vast shimmering sheet of the water was spectacular enough in itself, but below the surface he saw an entire world of soul-lights. They swam and danced, darting this way and that, bubbling up to the surface then dipping back below. “Oh! It’s incredible!”

  Alaana felt Ben tighten his grip on her hand as if to better enable the vision. Or was that perhaps a glimmer of fondness he was showing? It was so hard to know, but she imagined it was the latter.

  “Look!” Ben gasped. “The people!”

  “Yes,” she said. “The people. The people are the most wonderful of all.”

  Ben pointed toward a circle on the beach where a group of women squatted among their children, passing gossip. Amauraq was braiding Agruta’s hair, while Pilarqaq fussed over her little daughter.

  “The children,” said Ben, “They’re so beautiful. But wait. What’s that? Why does Pilarqaq have two lights?”

  Alaana laughed softly. “You see the new life in her belly.”

  “She’s pregnant?”

  “As you see. She doesn’t even know it yet herself.”

  Ben tugged at Alaana’s hand. “There’s someone there next to Ivalu. Is that… Alaana, is that a ghost?”

  “It’s Ipalook. He was killed in the Yupikut raid.”

  “It’s horrible,” said Ben, though he did not look away. The figure of Ipalook appeared faded and worn. His spirit-light was a dull glow enveloping the entire shape of the body rather than a scintillating brilliance centered within the heart. Ipalook stood behind his wife, bending over her. Arms outstretched, his hands hovered above her shoulders but did not touch them.

  Ben shuddered. “He tries to get her attention, but she can’t see him.”

  “He only wants to protect his wife.”

  “Does he know he’s dead? Does he know you can see him?”

  Alaana grunted softly. “He can not notice me. He only has eyes for his family.”

  “Shouldn’t you do something? It’s so sad. How can you stand it?”

  “He’ll go away in time, when he’s ready. He’s not hurting anyone.”

  Eager to see more, Ben walked along the beach, keeping Alaana in tow.

  Kigiuna sat in the shade of the cliff, working at some piece of his carving. He smiled as he glanced at them from beneath hooded lids, no doubt noticing the way they held hands.

  Krabvik, the old crazy man, kneeled directly in front of them, rolling his pair of seal skulls in and out of the breaking water. “He thinks they’re the souls of his two dead sons,” explained Alaana.

  Ben looked closely. “They’re not.”

  “I know.”

  As they passed the old man, they heard him asking the skulls if they were tired of playing in the water, and whether they might want something to eat.

  Anaktuvik was running his dogs along the beach, training them with the whip. Ben examined the soul-lights of the animals intently, remarking on their strength and fortitude, and the playfulness of the pups.

  Tugtutsiak had enlisted some of the men to help stow his umiak atop a crest of flat rocks. At the moment, Iggianguaq seemed to have the full weight of the boat braced upon his thick, upstretched arms. He was a large and powerfully-built man. As yet unmarried, he had tentatively attached himself to Tugtutsiak’s household after the death of his adoptive father Kanak.

  “He’s so strong,” remarked Ben.

  “Iggy? Yes, that’s why we call him the Big Mountain.”

  “No. I meant Tugtutsiak.”

  “Oh. Yes he is,” said Alaana. “But he’s disappointed. No whale this year.” Having missed the spring migration, Tugtutsiak had brought the Anatatook to his favorite spot — a natural channel between the landfast ice and the thicker pack ice of the sea. He had hoped to catch a stray bowhead heading south to the summer feeding grounds along the coast. His skinboat crew had spent half a moon out on the sea facing hunger, dull monotony and numbing cold with nothing to show for their troubles.

  “I see it!” said Ben. “Disappointment! It has a color and a texture like oil.” He tore his eyes away from the headman and added, “You would never know it simply to look at him.”

  “People can hide their feelings,” said Alaana. “But the soul always speaks true.”

  Maguan and Avilik came plodding up the beach, each with a gathering of driftwood under their arms. Maguan carried a single long bone from a whale. He glanced over at Tugtutsiak.

  “They’re jealous,” said Ben. Already he was becoming adept at reading the lights. “And look! I can see their boat! In a few more years, they’ll have it done.”

  “It’s going to be a fine boat. They have no doubt.”

  “And what about me?”

  Ben stopped. He looked down at himself, nearly panting with excitement.

  Alaana laughed. “Don’t you know your own feelings without trying to look?”

  “Yes. I just wanted to know if I could see myself.”

  “You can’t.”

  “No, I can’t,” he said, looking up. “And now it’s all fading away,” he added sadly. “Alaana, what do you see when you look at me?”

  Alaana hesitated not a bit. She said, “A beautiful young man, the most beautiful soul I’ve ever seen. One that was damaged at first, trampled and burned.”

  “You saw?”

  “I saw something terrible,” she said softly. “At first. But the summer comes again, the wind sweeps fresh snow over the charred hearth, covering the scar. The petals of the rare summer bloom open again. Warmth comes back, opening up. Slowly.”

  Tears formed in the wells of his eyes. He quickly blotted them out; he wouldn’t ever let anyone see him cry again. Not even tears of joy. When he had blinked the tears away he found the spirit-vision had gone. He realized he had been so preoccupied with the wonder of it, with the birds and the sea and the people, he had squandered his chance. If he had only gazed upon Alaana with the sight, he might’ve seen her hopes and dreams revealed as plainly as the rest. Then again, Ben didn’t need the sight to read her hopes and dreams. They were written plainly on her face whenever she looked at him.

  “Can you see what lays ahead for me?” he asked.

  “No. Not my own. And not yours.”

  “I wonder what that means?” he asked coyly.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “You can let go of my hand now.”

&nb
sp; But he didn’t let go. He suggested they continue their walk.

  “You did well for your fist time,” she said. “It took me, oh, at least a full year to understand what I could see. And it wasn’t easy, discovering the way.”

  “From what I hear, I think I may have had a more kindhearted teacher than you did. Did you ever walk along the beach hand in hand with Old Manatook?”

  Alaana laughed. “No.”

  Ben squeezed her hand slightly and she thought perhaps they were both discovering the way.

  A shouted voice: “Get away from my woman! You hear me! You don’t touch her ever again.”

  Ben released Alaana’s hand. They spun around to see Aquppak cutting across the beach. His outburst had drawn a fair amount of attention from the Anatatook all along the shore.

  “Alaana’s not your woman,” said Ben plainly.

  Aquppak grabbed Ben’s light summer parka by the chest flaps. “Don’t get in my way, cripple.”

  He released the parka immediately as if with a mild sting, and stared down at his hands. His handsome face grew hard and deadly serious. He frowned and shook out his fingers.

  “I’m not afraid of you Alaana. And I’m not impressed by your little tricks. You’re going to be my wife. Right now. Today.”

  “She doesn’t belong to you,” said Ben again. Alaana began to speak out in protest, but found it was already too late. Aquppak had struck Ben full in the face with his balled fist. Ben staggered backwards in surprise, but didn’t fall. Acting with the instincts of the hunter, Aquppak charged forward to press the attack. They scuffled, but with his left arm still weak and nearly useless Ben was no match for Aquppak. He struck Ben twice more and sent him sprawling to the frosted beach.