by Ken Altabef
Now she had thrown everything away. All chance at happiness was lost. He had nothing left. It seemed so senseless, so cruel. How was he to survive this?
He noticed for the first time that her hair, so fair-colored and soft, was held up in a bun in the manner of a wife, not long and loose as she usually wore it. This matronly hair-top was held in place by the two ivory hair combs he had asked Kigiuna to carve for her, the gift he had left for her last year, which he had thought she’d thrown away.
All the things he had planned and dreamed, all the things he was certain would one day come true if only there had been enough time, all these were suddenly lost to him and could never be brought back. Lost forever. He could not bury her. He simply could not.
Without Tiki there was nothing left for him but the cold. Iggy wanted to throw himself down beside her, to close his eyes against the tears, to swallow the hurt and the pain, and let the snow take him, be it life or death or sweet oblivion, he didn’t care, anyplace but here, anything but this, but there was something he still had to do. The cave.
He found them in the cave, as he was meant to find them. The similarity to his own past was not lost on him. The cries of his childhood still echoed within these walls of stone.
“Iggy?” cried a pair of little voices in the dark.
“I’m here,” he said.
Inaloo and Millik stepped forth. They were dressed warmly, their eyes staring at him wide from beneath their fur-lined hoods. They ran forward, each wrapping herself against one of his sturdy legs.
“Iggy!”
What would have happened to them if he hadn’t come, he wondered? Ah, but Tikiquatta knew he would come. She knew.
“Don’t look, girls,” he said. “I have a sled outside. But please promise me you won’t look.”
“We promise,” said lnaloo. “Mother…”
Tikiquatta was dead, and the curse had died with her. She had kept the girls safe. She had kept him safe.
“Your mother and I are married,” said Iggy. “I’m taking you home.”
CHAPTER 36
THE BEGINNING
Alaana lay uneasily on her sleeping pallet. Ben slept in silence on the far side of the platform, divided as it was into three separate parts, with Old Higilak snoring between them. The old woman slept deeply these days, her nightmares all gone since the events at the Ring of Stones.
Ah, but it was cold this night. Alaana shivered. This was the worst time of year. The snow not yet firm enough to build a warm, snug iglu, the chill wind forcing its way into the tent flaps, the prospect of a long, dark winter not far ahead. The Moon shone above, bringing winter’s silvery light to fresh fallen snow.
The Anatatook had made the journey to the shore for a season of seal and walrus, during which she might expect no help at all from Sedna. It would be hard work for the men, in the cold and dark, waiting at the breathing holes. No one looked forward to the upcoming darkness except perhaps Higilak, who would find her purpose entertaining the children, and adults too, with her treasure trove of epic stories and amusing tales. Ben would be hearing some of these tales for the first time. Alaana anticipated he would laugh at the story of Papik, who had mistakenly married a bottle fly, and the stories about Raven and all the tricks he had played on the warring bands of the Chukchee. When Higilak told of the great hero Kumagdlak who, with his living arrows, slayed the woman with the iron tail, Ben might hold his breath hanging on her every word.
She was much the same, hanging on Ben’s every sigh and stray glance. The sensuous timbre of his voice cut right through her, having a magical quality like none other. So close and yet so far away. She would appreciate his companionship if nothing else, though it saddened her to think it would be such a long while before she would see his face by daylight again.
But spring would come in time and the Anatatook would travel inland to find themselves once again at the bend of the Big River, preparing for the salmon run. Alaana looked forward to seeing the swarms of their tiny soul-lights, glimmering orange and yellow, as they came in vast numbers fighting their way upstream. And after that the caribou hunt. Flowers on the tundra and summer’s children, all in bloom. And then the whale. And then back to the sea. Life was hard, but they would bear up under it, she was certain. What lay ahead, none could know. And that, after all, was the adventure.
On this day Old Krabvik died in his sleep and Alaana had buried him with the seal skulls he had always believed to house the souls of his departed children, though he would need them no longer. While many things changed for the people under her protection, including a new baby for Maguan and Pilarqaq, it seemed her life changed little. The night sky, seen through the vent hole at the top of Higilak’s tent, was alive with the northern lights, shimmering in purple and orange. Ghost children at play in the sky, Alaana listened for the whispered sound of their laughter. It was said they might give out advice to those below, but Alaana received no answers to the questions that still plagued her.
What were the stars in the sky? Why did the sun look as if it didn’t belong? She hoped all would be answered in time. But then again, perhaps not. How many people went to their graves not knowing the answers to the riddles of their lives?
More pressing were her own personal problems. Why did her power seem to come from under the earth and not from the wind? Had it really been Sila who came to her at her initiation? As Sedna and Civiliaq had hinted, the truth might prove otherwise.
All these questions were cast aside when she felt a rustling in the tent and the sleeping furs stirred beside her. It was Ben! She felt his warmth draw close along her side, and Alaana’s heart quickened in her chest until its throbbing became almost painful.
Even though she had been hoping this would happen, it still came as an incredible surprise. Ben said nothing, only drew the furs closed over them.
Alaana’s entire body trembled. She felt as if her heart was going to burst and then, using techniques with which she was infinitely familiar, she quieted her raging heartbeat and slowed her breathing. She could wait.
Ben’s warmth fit snugly beside her. She was so delighted she hardly knew where to put her hands. She tried a few different places but he gently brushed her aside. It didn’t matter. There would be time enough for all that. There was plenty of time.
And in this way Alaana was married at last.
EPILOGUE
Not dead.
Not dead.
Not dead.
Footsteps. Were those footsteps?
It has been long, so long, an eternity, since any sound entered this wretched place, forever since anything. And now, nothing again. Emptiness. Silence.
How long is the gap between footfalls? How to measure time in this empty, soulless chamber? In the lonesome dark, all scent long since faded, drawn away into bone-dry air that hangs still and dead. Absolute darkness shifts and swirls upon itself, black on black as the moments ebb and flow, drifting forward, drifting back. How long between heartbeats? A century.
How many centuries then? How many heartbeats? Every hundred years a single heartbeat, thudding, thudding, a sound which strikes the cyclopean thump of a gargantuan monument toppling onto a wasteland of snow and ice, followed by the sluggish tread of blood through artery, vein and capillaries choked with time.
Dead, but not dead.
Never matter. All that was lost shall be regained. He tells himself that he is laughing. It is impossible to laugh when one lacks control over even the slightest movement of the body, when one’s breath is reduced to an imperceptible wheeze over the course of a millennium, when there is nothing but the mind.
For a moment he feels time going backward. It does that, he knows, in the silence, in the dark, holding on. He tells himself he is laughing again, a laugh that echoes endlessly in the soulless heart of this stone.
He must hold on.
He must hold on.
They must come. He knows they will come.
Time creeps forward, grain by grain, stretching with th
e slow horror of nightmare. Does it move at all? All is silence, all is blackness. A moment may last forever, a year pass in a blink, an age, an epoch, a lifetime. There is no way to know.
But he holds on. As darkness swirls about him, salvation held in the cup of his hand, he must not let it go. Dead but not dead he won’t let go, he won’t drift away, to fade into the nothingness of sweet release. He has endured this hellish existence too long. And they are coming.
Where is the next footfall? One must follow the other. One must. Unless he hadn’t really heard any at all.
He listens. Oh, how he listens. There it is. A sound. A true sound. The way is opening. He can hear the wind’s hissing wail, like the shrill, final note of a dying man played on a bone flute, coming from far away. An opening, a tunnel. A chance.
There it is now, hissing, hissing. If he could speak, he would answer it. Not dead, he would say.
Not dead.
There must be another footfall. There must be. Time flexes and crawls, his implacable nemesis, its cruelty unimaginable. Oh, how it plays tricks. Every moment drawn out to an eternity in paralytic dark, waiting. Waiting.
Never matter, he can sense them drawing near. Closer. He feels them moving closer, hears their muted conversation. Not yet. Not yet. Why do they take so long to approach? Why their footfalls so achingly slow? Time seems to have stopped again.
No, not now! Not when they are nearly within reach. He can’t bear another eternity of waiting for a moment to pass. At last, someone is here. She does not belong, out of place, out of time. He can feel the shaman coming as a blind leech senses the heat of its approaching prey.
This one has come here seeking help. Clever little shaman, she has turned back the turnings of time itself, seeking warrior souls to aid her cause.
So close. The Sorcerer tells himself he is laughing. Another moment and he will take flight, leaving this rotted shell behind, leaving the soulless catchstone forever. He will fly through the portal. Just a little closer. Oh, it will be sweet indeed.
He must hold on.
Not yet.
Not yet.
Through webs of shadow in this cold gray world, he feels time simultaneously contract and expand. One second stretched into an hour, an hour that could last for all eternity.
The fool has left the portal open! This is the moment to leap free of the circle of stones.
The pathetic little shaman kneels on the catchstone, so small and insignificant. Is this what people have become? Her soul has a strange taste but it is a taste, a sensation in the numbness. She has the spark, a powerful light.
The other three Tunrit spirits, engaged in the hunt of an enormous white bear, have not noticed his escape. Let the fight rage, the Sorcerer takes little notice. He doesn’t recognize them, they aren’t the ones who betrayed him. He cares nothing for their cause.
The Ring of Stones restored, he feels their power, an emptiness, a pull, this is the power that has kept his mind locked away. It is painful, get away, get away. Take flight.
It seeks to draw him back. Must get away. He must not lose himself in this strange and disorienting world.
He must remember. He does remember.
He is Vithrok, whose name is the Truth, called Light-Bringer, also the Death-Bringer. The world is not as he had left it so long ago. Things have changed. Never matter, he will kill them all if he must.
All that has been lost shall once again be regained. First, he needs shelter and solitude. He must recapture his strength if he is to remake this world. And woe to any who tries to stop him.
THE ADVENTURE CONTINUES IN:
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Praise for “Il Teatro Oscuro”:
“A heartbreaking work of fantasy that addresses the call of the lost, golden past in the human heart.”
-- Lois Tilton for LOCUS online
Praise for “The Woman Who Married the Snow”:
“This is a rich, atmospheric tale of the interaction of spirits amongst both living and dead. I appreciated the writer’s impeccable voice.”
-- Colleen Chen for TANGENT online
“A well-told tale with great details about Inuit culture.”
-- Sam Tomaino for SFRevu
Praise for “The Lost Elephants of Kenyisha”:
“This well executed story deserves a 'thumbs up,' for its well-crafted writing.”
--KJ Hannah Greenberg, TANGENT online
“The herd of ghost elephants is a neat idea and a great premise for a story.” --Lois Tilton, LOCUS online
“This was another well-told story that I enjoyed immensely.”
--Sam Tomaino, SF REVU
COMING 9/25/16:
The Kingdom or the Girl?
Bloodthirsty demons attack him.
Strange spirits protect him.
A seer foretells his shocking destiny.
In a primitive land filled with magic, witches and giants, a young musician named David is summoned by the king to chase away the nightmares that torment him, but the palace isn’t as safe as it seems. Demons haunt the king and two powerful foes—the Witch of Endor and a giant named Goliath—lead an army that threatens to enslave the country.
Princess Michal is drawn to David, but a romance with the poor musician is strictly forbidden. Only by defying her father’s wishes and risking her freedom, can they be together.
To save the kingdom, David will need more than music; he’ll need to defeat Goliath in a battle of champions. Only a fool would face the giant, but when David falls in love with the rebellious princess, his heart tugs him toward the impossible. As he steps into battle, he faces an unthinkable choice—either save the kingdom or be with the girl of his dreams.
He can’t do both.
GLOSSARY OF ANATATOOK WORDS
akka uncle
aklaq brown or Grizzly bear
allaruk the vision trance
amaut pouch for holding a baby
amautik long woman’s coat
angatkok shaman
angatkuit more than one shaman
angakua shaman’s spirit light
anorak short woman’s coat
giviak food made from pickled auks
iglu snow house
igluksak ice blocks
ihumataaq one who has much wisdom
ikiruq fire
ikliq sleeping area of tent or iglu
ilimarpoq the soul flight
illuviga ice house
inua spirit or soul
inuksuit tall cairns used as hunting decoys
inuseq astral projection of the body
ipiitaq aularuq child’s string game, cat’s cradle
kabloonas white-skinned foreigner
kamiks light boots
karigi ceremonial house
lumentin corrupted soul of sinful hunter
mamu wooly mammoth
mattak fermented narwhal skin delicacy
nanook white or polar bear
natiq eating and living area of tent or iglu
Nunatsiaq Our Beautiful Land
okamak charm necklace or bracelet
pana flat snow knife
pibloktoq snow madness
qaqmaq snow house with tent cover as roof
qaumanoq the internal light of the shaman
rolang ceremony to raise the dead
sastrugi directional line of drifts
Sedna guardian spirit of sea life
Sila fickle wind spirit
taluq hunting blind
tarraks dark angry spirit
Tekkeitsertok guardian spirit of the caribou
Tornarssuk guardian spirit of the polar bears
tornaq spirit guide
tukaq harpoon-headed spear
Tulukkugaq great raven spirit
tumo trance that creates mystic warmth
tunraq helper spirit
Tunrit primordial race of arctic men
turgats powerful guardian spirits
ulu woman’s crescent knife
umiak whaling boat
ungarpaluk little harpoon