by Ken Altabef
She shoved her doubts quickly aside and reminded herself that she must press on for Tugtutsiak’s sake. But that fleeting hesitation, a moment of fear and foreboding at the threshold, was enough to open the door for disaster.
Kktakaluk suddenly appeared. He was Sedna’s mate, a giant sea scorpion. Twice the size of a man, blood red in color, Kktakaluk was a living horror of spines, claws and armor plating. With a snap of his great tail he closed the distance, reaching out with one giant claw to seize the shaman’s spirit-body full around the waist. His grip threatened to slice Alaana in half. The scorpion’s head leaned close, bearing a pair of pitiless black eyes.
“You trespass,” he said. A thorny set of mandibles wavered as he spoke.
Immediately they were transported inside the palace, in what appeared to be the very bedchamber of Sedna herself. The room was an immense coral cavern, populated by sea creatures of all kinds. There was no ceiling or roof, allowing the Mistress of the Sea to keep watch on all the doings of men from her place in the deeps.
The Sea Mother lay on a bed of fish skins and loose silvery scales. She appeared as an elderly woman, so motionless on the bed she seemed as if she might be dead. A myriad of tiny bright blue fish darted around her, nibbling at her flesh and zipping away.
Alaana could feel her power. It crushed her from all sides like the weight of the ocean itself. Next to Sedna, she was nothing.
Sedna sat up and cast her husband a sharp glance. “Why do you disturb my bath?”
Her hair, fluttering on the currents within the vast room, was strewn with deep green streaks of seaweed. Her scaly flesh glistened with a somewhat lighter shade of green and dripped with sea slime. She focused her eyes on Alaana, her thin blue lips down-turning with disgust and annoyance to reveal the teeth of a barracuda. Alaana was familiar with several tales of her origin but she was immediately convinced that Sedna was indeed the daughter of two legendary giants whose undeniable urge to consume flesh had led her to devour her own parents.
Kktakaluk did not reply. One great claw remained clenched tight around Alaana’s waist. The other, heavy upon her shoulder, drove the girl to her knees.
Sedna raised a hand to wave away the confused school of pilot fish still fidgeting about her face. Alaana noticed that her hand had no fingers. These had been sacrificed when the world was new in order to create the seals and walruses.
“Let me comb your hair for you, Great Mother,” she said, launching into a ritual greeting. “Our hunters can never be counted on to correctly perform the rituals of the seal hunt, and the wives do not always properly thank the spirits when their husbands bring back the game. Because of the people’s many misdeeds during the previous year, I plead with you, let me make apology.”
Sedna smacked the last tiny blue fish away. “I don’t know you.”
“I am Alaana, shaman of the Anatatook. I’ve come looking for—”
“Anatatook?” She shook her head, setting her wild hair to run riot in the water. “I remember only Kuanak, and Klah Kritlaq before him. I don’t know you, Little Fish.”
Kneeling before such an awe-inspiring turgat, Alaana wavered on the verge of panic. It was true Sedna had never recognized her prayers and the Anatatook had suffered for that failure with empty bellies in need of seal meat.
“Many was the time I’ve reached out to you, but you are great, you are busy, you didn’t heed my call.”
Sedna’s yellowed eyes narrowed. “You’re no shaman.”
“My patron is Sila,” explained Alaana with rising desperation. “Perhaps you don’t know him well. He’s a spirit of the air.”
“Sila? You’ve nothing to do with Sila, Little Fish. We meet sometimes, he and I, on the surface of the sea. His fingers whip the waters with stormy passions.” She chuckled, the sound of a young maiden coming from her cruel mouth. Kktakaluk tensed his claw, nearly cutting Alaana’s inuseq in half.
“No, you don’t smell of Sila,” continued Sedna. “But what is that I do smell?”
She leaned forward on her bed of scales and skins. “What’s that you have?”
One of the little blue fish found its way into the front pocket of Alaana’s spirit-parka, coming away with the engraved fragment of Nunavik’s tusk.
Sedna’s eyes glowered with a dark pique. She had a long-standing grudge against the golden walrus spirit, stemming from an episode in which Nunavik had inadvertently caused the death of her daughter.
“I’ve been looking for that,” she said. The fish dropped the tusk onto the stump of her hand and she peered closely at it. “He’s gone. He was here, but he’s gone. Where?”
“I… I don’t know,” sputtered Alaana.
The Sea Mother’s fury was growing by the instant. The waters in the bedroom began to swirl and darken. The fish darted for cover among the crusted coral walls. “Where is he?” she raged.
“I don’t know,” said Alaana. For once she was glad Nunavik had abandoned her, leaving the tusk fragment empty of spirit. If he had been here now, he would surely have been destroyed.
“Still running, still hiding. I will find him,” Sedna said, “and I shall have my vengeance.” She nodded toward her husband, saying, “Kill her!”
The giant claw clenched. Alaana screamed.
She opened her eyes, expecting to look upon whatever face death might have taken as it loomed before her. Instead she saw her father’s generous blue eyes.
“The five beats,” Alaana mumbled.
“Did I do it right?” asked Kigiuna.
Alaana gasped a sigh of incredible relief. “You did very well, Father.”
She sat up. Having failed utterly in her task, she felt exhausted in body and downtrodden in spirit. Tugtutsiak still lay on his pallet, gibbering and moaning with an even greater intensity than before. Alaana had come away with nothing to show for her efforts. Worst of all, she had made an enemy of the Sea Mother, if Sedna even cared enough to think about her ever again. Her ability to provide food in winter had definitely not been enhanced. She had not even had a chance to ask about Tugtutsiak.
The headman writhed in confusion and terror.
“I won’t fail you,” Alaana said, as much to the chorus of women as to the headman himself. She drew a pinch of dried red clover from her medicine pouch. Crushing the root just below Tugtutsiak’s nose she said, “This will settle him for a time. I will try again tomorrow.”
With the chill of the deep sea still upon her soul and aching from head to toe, Alaana trudged through the Anatatook camp. The comforts of her tent would be welcome, particularly if Ben or Higilak were waiting up for her. She was too desperately exhausted for conversation, but a friendly smile from either would send her to sleep with a lightened heart.
Aquppak suddenly appeared from behind the meat rack.
“This time I’m going to kill you, Alaana,” the young hunter announced. He brandished a short hunting knife made of sharpened caribou antler.
Aquppak charged forward but his foot happened to slip on the soft pack snow and he fell soundly onto his rump. With the keen reflexes of a hunter, he recovered himself almost at once.
Alaana sighed. “I thought we had finished with this.”
“So did I. But it’s no good. Why won’t you let me alone?”
Without hesitation Aquppak charged again, but once more the slush rushed out from under his mukluks. This time he fell even harder, his face slapping into the wet snow.
He stood up slowly and glowered at Alana. “More tricks! You know you can’t fight me—”
“I don’t want to fight with you,” said Alaana earnestly. “I never did.”
Aquppak clenched his fist around the hilt of the hunting knife. “Isn’t it enough you have that stranger for a husband?”
“I belong to no one,” said Alaana. “We’re not married.”
“Everyone thinks you are.” Aquppak paused to look at Alaana with disdain, as if trying to figure out exactly what went on in her tent at night. Finally he shook his head, saying,
“I don’t care what you do with that crazy black man. Nobody else would want you anyway.”
Alaana let the insult pass, saying, “Then you no longer have an argument with me.”
“I won’t let you destroy my marriage with Ivalu.”
“I’m not doing anything to you.”
Aquppak’s face reddened. “Then why are there noises in my house at night? Why does the tent shake and the pots rattle when I try to bed my wife? Everywhere I turn, you are there.”
Alaana sighed softly. “It’s not me.”
“Liar! I really will kill you this time,” Aquppak shouted, tensing for another attempt.
Alaana chuckled softly. “Perhaps you’d like me to get rid of the ghost first.”
“Ghost?”
“It’s Ipalook.”
“Ghost?” said Aquppak. His face softened, becoming thoughtful as he considered this news. For all his strength and prowess he could not drive away a ghost. That was something only the shaman could do. He tucked the hunting knife into his belt, pausing to brush the clumps of wet snow from the front of his parka. His eyes did not leave Alaana.
“It’s a long tramp over wet land to your camp,” Alaana said. “And I’m tired. We’ll go in the morning light.”
“And where am I going to sleep?”
“There’s space at the kennel. The dogs probably won’t mind.”
CHAPTER 31
IPALOOK
“I didn’t know you were bringing a visitor,” said Ivalu. Her eyes met Alaana’s with a startled look, and quickly turned away. “I’ll warm up some soup,” she said.
That was odd, thought Alaana. She had expected a somewhat warmer welcome. Ivalu had always been particularly friendly to her. Years ago, Alaana and Old Manatook had healed her after she suffered a miscarriage.
“My wife is a very good cook,” said Aquppak proudly. He stripped off his wet parka and hung it on a peg by the entrance. Underneath he wore a shirt of soft white birdskin. He offered to take Alaana’s coat, but she waved him off. Alaana’s white ceremonial parka wasn’t wet at all, as if the melting snow had somehow been convinced not to cling to her.
Aquppak urged her to take a seat on an old, cast-off wooden crate.
“She’s older,” said Aquppak in a low voice, “but she’s very good at tanning skins, sewing clothes and keeping house.”
Alaana inspected the inside of the tent, but didn’t find any trace of the ghost. She sniffed at the air, smelling only burnt seal oil and boiled fish.
Aquppak smiled and nodded, thinking Alaana was admiring the place. “No one sews the skins like Ivalu.” He gestured to the tent walls, then ran a hand down his finely crafted shirt. “She keeps me in nice clothes.” Alaana remembered that Ipalook had always been similarly well dressed.
Ivalu brought the soup and served it up. Sitting across from Alaana, she offered the ladle without meeting her gaze. Alaana took a sip. The broth was thick, tasty and full of soft chunks of meat. She returned Aquppak’s smile. “This is fine soup.”
By the time she’d finished eating she’d still not been able to catch Ivalu’s downturned eye. “Surely you know why I’ve come here, don’t you, Ivalu?”
Ivalu went white under the eyes. Her lower lip quavered. She said nothing.
Aquppak stood up, muttering to himself, “Where is that hunting knife?” He stepped toward his coat where it hung on the wall. “I’ll make a gift of this to you, Alaana.”
“You tried to give it to me yesterday, I remember.”
Aquppak cleared his throat. “A misunderstanding, that’s all. That’s nothing between old friends.” He offered a short, confident laugh, saying, “I will place it in your hand this time.”
Alaana nodded and smiled.
“Let me sharpen it first,” said Aquppak. “Yes, that’s a good idea. I’ve a whetting stone just outside.”
He stepped out of the tent flap, leaving Alaana and Ivalu to speak in private.
“You know why I’ve come,” Alaana repeated.
Ivalu’s eyes met the young shaman’s. Already they were wet with tears. “I don’t. I only—” She stopped. She didn’t want to lie to Alaana.
“Let go.”
Ivalu shook her head. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“He’s holding you back; he’s the past.”
“I know, angatkok.” The tears fell. “But I can never do that.”
“I loved Ipalook too,” remarked Alaana. “We all did. The Yupikut stole a good man from us when they killed that one. He was always a true friend to my brother. I’ll never forget him. But letting go is not the same as rejecting him.”
Ivalu shook her head. “Never. I love him. He was the first man I ever knew. He was so kind. I can’t. . .”
“I see,” said Alaana. “But if you won’t do it, then I’ll have to cut the tie myself.”
Ivalu started to object again but Alaana silenced her with the outstretched palm of her hand. “I must,” she said again. She brought her head down, tucking chin to her chest. Her open fingers slowly clenched into a fist, as she focused her will upon a single name.
Ipalook.
Ivalu sobbed.
Alaana felt a chill breeze stir the inside of the tent. The skins began to flutter, a hint of movement near the ceiling flap. She felt the stray spirit draw nearer, an outstretched hand touch her face. She smelled the faint odor of tobacco.
Ivalu looked expectantly about the place. Tears streaked her broad, flat cheeks but she cried no more.
Alaana felt the uncertain spirit pulling away, unraveling like smoke. Aquppak stood in the doorway. Alaana motioned for him not to come any closer.
Again. Ipalook.
The room turned suddenly very cold. A silvery glow began to take shape next to Ivalu. The strange light intensified into a man’s outline, leaning over the shoulder of his wife. The hazy figure was recognizable to Alaana. The face, so sad and miserable, was the completely ordinary face of her brother’s good friend Ipalook. The shade’s dark gaze was full of concern only for Ivalu as the ghost became solid to the shaman’s eyes, taking on the color of moonlight. Here was a tall, slender young man wearing a well-cut parka adorned with bright red fox trim.
Ipalook’s inua leaned closely over his wife, as if to protect her. He glanced suspiciously at Alaana.
“Unnecessary,” whispered Alaana, as there was no possible situation in which she would ever harm Ivalu. “You should know that.”
Ivalu reacted as if she felt a sudden warmth. A faint smile parted her lips, only briefly, then chased away by guilt and embarrassment.
“Aquppak is the master of this house now,” said Alaana. “For Ivalu, Aquppak is the future.”
The steaming pot of soup overturned, spilling out onto the bearskin mat.
Aquppak reacted to the sudden movement, hefting the hunting knife into attack position. He was, as always, ready to fight, but his eyes could find no target. He could see no ghost.
“Aquppak is her future and you know it,” said Alaana.
Several of the cooking things flew from their places, clattering into each other directly in front of Alaana. The young shaman did not flinch.
Ivalu let out a tormented moan.
“That’s enough,” said Alaana softly. She reached out to Ipalook with her mind, but the ghost was still incomplete, uncertain. “You know me,” she said. “And you know Aquppak. Aquppak is a good man, a successful hunter, an excellent provider.”
Aquppak leaned forward, addressing the empty place where Alaana had aimed her words. To his credit, he spoke in a kindly tone of voice. “She doesn’t need your protection any longer. We have plenty of food and skins. She doesn’t need you.”
“Tssst!” said Alaana, indicating Aquppak should stay out of it. His interjection seemed to have done some good, however, as Ipalook’s ghost had become less confused and more aware of the conversation. He appeared almost solid now, though still wreathed in a faint pearlescent glow. Ipalook’s familiar face, plain and undistinguished
as ever, held a forlorn expression, the thin-lipped mouth downturned. His small, dark eyes returned a baleful gaze.
“You were a good husband, Ipalook, and a good man,” said Alaana. “Your name will never be forgotten. Your wife keeps you in her heart. But she needs something from you still. She needs you to let go.”
“Never,” whispered Ipalook.
“You only harm the one you want to protect. You only torture her spirit. Aquppak is here now. He will provide and care for her. You must let her go.”
Ipalook was unmoved. He cast an annoyed look at the young hunter, then returned his gaze to Alaana. He silently shook his head.
“Ivalu will bear him two sons,” Alaana said. “These are things you could never give her. Bad luck took your babies away. But Ivalu shall be a mother at last. A good mother, Ipalook. That’s what she’s always wanted, above all else. It’s the only way she can ever be happy.”
Ipalook’s ghost shuddered. His ordinary face tightened with momentary agony, exposing a row of straight white teeth.
“I never could do it,” he said. Of course only Alaana could hear him. “I never could give her what she wanted most.”
“In time it would have happened,” Alaana said. “In time. But not now.”
Ipalook took one last look at his wife and then nodded in resignation. A silver tear snaked down one of his cheeks and fell, but dissolved into thin air before reaching the ground. “As you say, Alaana,” he whispered.
“You missed the snowy owl,” the shaman said. “She won’t come again. But come with me. I’ll show you the way. Let’s go. We’ve just one stop to make first.”
Alaana knelt beside the sleeping shelf. Tugtutsiak lay in tortured slumber on the pallet, ringed by his female relatives. Aolajut met Alaana’s gaze with reddened and tear-soaked eyes; as the stricken man’s wife, she could bear little more of this.
Ipalook’s ghost stood to one side. He looked distractedly down at the headman.