The Shadow of Everything Existing

by Ken Altabef

  “How different the hunts are these days.”

  “How different everything is. Great spirits dead, shamans nearly all gone, and a tide of wayward ghosts without anyone to help them. So many. I hear them. All the time. Don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do hear them,” answered Civiliaq. “And foreign voices too. Old Manatook never allowed the white men here, yet you have dealings with them. I want to know why.”

  “Because I can’t stop them. They come up from the south more and more. There is no end to them. And besides if you look into their souls you’ll notice they aren’t any different than us. Now we need their guns, their trade goods. My brother fears we will grow dependent on them. But I can hardly believe that. Us dependent on them? Here?”

  Civiliaq shook his head. “The twists and turns, the strange roads that people travel. Who can say?”

  “I don’t fear change,” said Alaana. “I only want to understand what’s going on. The kabloonas are a part of the puzzle, a piece that doesn’t quite fit. They aren’t part of Vithrok’s plan, that’s for sure. I want to speak to Gekko about it. If there is some way the white men could help us, I want to know about it.”

  “Your daughter is close to him. Maybe you should make a visit to Old Bea?”

  “Maybe,” said Alaana, “but I’ve an errand with Old Manatook first. After that I may find time. I don’t like to leave the people alone these days. In the old days — with you and Kuanak and Manatook — things were better. Don’t you agree?”

  “Well, I was alive, for one thing.” Civiliaq laughed quietly.

  “You died trying to save us.”

  “Trying yes, and acting foolishly. Trying to prove myself, taking on a fever demon alone. Pride and self-doubt, that’s what killed me. And then I became the worst of them, trying to take your power away.”

  “You’ve changed a lot since then.”

  “Yes,” agreed Civiliaq. “I learned that lesson. I don’t think nearly as much of myself as I did before.”

  Alaana turned to watch the hunters butcher their meat. She noticed some of the men boasting and laughing, which was improper. They should have been apologizing to the dead and asking forgiveness. How quickly they forgot the taboos of the hunt. She thought about scolding them, but what would be the point? There was no longer any great spirit of the hooved beasts to offend. Perhaps it was better to let the men enjoy their hard-won success for a few moments.

  While the shaman’s back was turned, a lone black feather appeared before Civiliaq. In the old days he always carried such a feather, jauntily pointing it at those who broke taboo, or to make some other point. Civiliaq snatched the feather from the air. In the past his black feather, imbued with the power of his guardian spirit the Raven, would transform into an obsidian dagger to use in dispatching his spiritual enemies.

  “When you tried to take my power,” asked Alaana, her back still turned away, “what would you have done with it?”

  “I don’t know… I… I would have released myself from the torments of the Underworld.”

  He had been released anyway, through the good graces of Alaana’s mercy.

  She turned to face him. The raven feather was hastily concealed behind his back.

  “And then?” asked Alaana. “How could a dead man be the shaman for the Anatatook?”

  “I couldn’t. They would have gone without, and come to ruin.”

  Alaana returned her gaze to the killing field. “I don’t think things could have turned out any differently. I think you were bound to do what you did, and so was I. We may tell ourselves otherwise but we are all dragged along, straight into the clutches of fate.”

  The black feather hardened, becoming the slender obsidian dagger. Civiliaq knew that now was the time to strike, while Alaana’s back was turned, while she suspected nothing. “That’s not true,” he said. “We make choices every day. You seem to have a knack for making the right ones, and the people survive. You would think differently if you’d made mistakes, like I have done.”

  The concept of free will was utmost on Civiliaq’s mind. Once he had tried to steal Alaana’s power at the cost of all the Anatatook. And now he was determined to get his wings back again. At the cost of this woman’s life? At the cost of the Anatatook shaman?

  Why not? The shaman now seemed less important than ever. With help from the white men and their trade goods the Anatatook people could survive without her. This hunt proved it. As far as Civiliaq knew, the white men didn’t have any use for such things as shamans and guardian spirits. And he’d heard they had great cities and railroad trains and even flying machines. He’d like to see those things. Perhaps when he had wings to fly…

  He could justify Alaana’s murder in terms of the Anatatook. They didn’t need her. But the game had become ever more dangerous. There was Vithrok’s plan to consider. That business about the sun. If the sorcerer should succeed, everyone would surely die. Everyone. His wife and children. His grandchildren. How could he justify that? All for his own aggrandizement, for his own benefit? Just to insure that he wouldn’t fade away like all those other pathetic shamans of the past?

  Was he making the same mistake again? If he took Alaana away, what were the chances of stopping the sorcerer’s plan? All the shamans believed that Alaana was crucial to stopping Vithrok, even if in some way they couldn’t yet understand. Kill Alaana and everything might well be destroyed. And what would happen to him then? With a new pair of raven’s wings he’d be on the winning side. Surely Raven would come out on top in the end. He’d be protected. Wouldn’t he?

  If Raven wanted Alaana dead there must be a reason. It couldn’t just be a senseless joke.

  The obsidian dagger weighed heavily in his hand, but he was not yet prepared to use it. It changed back into a feather. Civiliaq carelessly brought the feather around front to peer thoughtfully at it. Alaana saw it as well.

  “Raven?” said Alaana. “Of all the turgats you can be sure Raven is still around. Twice he’s tried to help me.”

  “Help you?” Civiliaq was surprised to hear it.

  “Yes. He tried to show me something was wrong on the Moon but I didn’t listen. And just recently he proved to me that I have to be the shaman, that I have to stop Vithrok.”

  “Stop him? How?”

  “Well I guess that’s the joke. He didn’t say.”

  CHAPTER 25

  SHOCKWAVE

  The shockwave rippled across the sea bottom, smashing reefs, scattering cities of coral, sweeping the ocean floor clean of centuries of debris. Smaller fish were struck dead instantly, sharks knocked senseless, giant tuna scattered in confusion. In the secret grotto of the Whale-Man the effects were keenly felt.

  Buulabaq, the beluga shaman, cried out. Suddenly the undersea cavern was alive with panicked whales, screaming whalesong and flailing about in the seething water.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Nunavik.

  “I’m struck blind!” wailed Buulabaq. “Everything’s gone dark. He’s dead. Usinuagaaluk is dead!”

  Nunavik saw the change in his friend at once. Whereas the beluga shaman had previously seemed a brilliant soul made of bright white light, he now appeared simply white flesh, a mortal beluga, and nothing more. The golden walrus gazed around the cavern, regarding the souls of every creature present. “I still have the sight,” he said. “Sedna…”

  Sedna was still alive. Nunavik thought better than to finish his sentence. He stood apart from the other denizens of this sacred cavern. The loss of the Whale-Man had sent them all adrift. They were frightened and confused, and if what he suspected was proven true, they might turn on him at any moment.

  Buulabaq spun helplessly about. “What am I to do? What can any of us do? Help me, Nunavik. I’m so frightened.”

  Nunavik tried to project a sense of calm but it was no use. The cavern was so vast, its inhabitants too many and too gigantic. He gently laid a spirit-flipper on Buulabaq’s rostrum. He didn’t know what to say.

  “You’ll cope.” Thi
s came from Xantha, one of the oddities residing at the bottom of the cave. Xantha was a two-headed walrus. “Open your eyes, Buulabaq. You can still see, although not in the way you did before.”

  Buulabaq ceased his blubbering. He moaned softly. “No, it’s all shadow. There’s no light.”

  “There’s a little,” replied Xantha. “It trickles down to us mortals from above. I suppose you’ll get used to it eventually.”

  “What could have happened?” Nunavik asked. The waters had finally calmed. The bowhead and sperm whales had slowly settled down to float aimlessly about, lost in a state of dull shock.

  “Well, I don’t know,” Xantha said. “I’ll go up for some air. I’ll poke my heads around.”

  Nunavik, who existed in spirit only, had no need of air.

  “Our light is gone,” muttered Buulabaq. “Our friend is gone.”

  “I knew you weren’t safe here,” said the walrus. “I told you. But does anyone ever listen? Safety is only an illusion now.”

  As the bizarre two-headed walrus drifted upward, Nunavik glanced at the three ragged cocoons of dark green kelp where they sat propped against the wall of the cavern. One was gigantic in scale, large enough to hold a mature bowhead. The others were smaller — one was roughly half the size the first, and the other only as large as the walrus himself.

  The creature within the largest cocoon shifted wildly, bending its silky case in half.

  “It’s cracked,” remarked Nunavik.

  “The pressure wave…” said Buulabaq.

  Indeed the terrific blow that had felled the Whale-Man seemed to have wakened the lakespawn. The rift widened.

  “Ikik’s coming out! They all are!”

  Nunavik watched in amazement as the newly-born creatures shrugged off their leafy shells.

  These three creatures had always been an enigma to him. They were the children of a strange woman who had married a lake spirit in the Lowerworld. They had hatched from gigantic orange roe into huge whale-like beings with gelatinous orange skin and six pairs of eyes. Alaana had promised to look after them and Nunavik had raised them under the eyes of their sleepy lake-father. After Nunavik had foolishly brought them to the wider sea on a sightseeing tour, the lakespawn had fallen ill.

  “I can’t see,” said Buulabaq.

  The beluga shaman looked small and deflated as if all the water had run out of him. His body had shrunken and withered, his flippers grown lame and useless. “What’s happening?” he asked weakly.

  Nunavik doubted his friend would last much longer. He was powerless to aid him. The whales of this cavern, and the entire sea for that matter, had been left without guidance. No one could replace the Whale-Man.

  Meanwhile the lake children each emerged from their leafy cocoons. Nunavik watched in awe and fascination. They had changed so much.

  Their color had darkened from a bright orange to a dusky red. They possessed segmented arms now, instead of flippers, and Nunavik saw crab-like claws snipping at their seaweed cases. Ikik remained about the size of a full-grown bowhead whale, and had four clawed arms at the front. His head was small and round, located beneath a jagged shelf of shell, whose plates extended over his back and along the sides. This carapace was covered with heavy thorns to give the appearance of a spiky battleship. His tail was massive and extremely powerful.

  The other two resembled smaller versions of their older brother. Each had only one set of eyes where they had formerly possessed twelve. They had more delicate shell casings and only one set of arms and claws, with many smaller legs beneath that propelled them easily along the ground.

  Ikik’s pair of beady black eyes immediately seized upon the golden walrus. “Nunavik! Uncle! What’s happened?”

  Nunavik tried not to flinch. His poor, dear lake children had grown monstrous and horrible. “You’ve changed,” he said.

  “We know that!” sniped Uuna. He was already getting used to his new shape, using the many legs to turn and pivot in the sand.

  “How do you feel?” asked the walrus.

  “I feel good!” roared Ikik.

  “We’re fine,” said Siqi. “Though it’s a bit more difficult to see with only two eyes. I can’t see anything behind me.”

  “But something’s wrong,” said Uuna. “I can feel it. Some-thing terrible has happened.”

  “The Whale-Man is dead,” explained Xantha, having returned from the surface.

  “Just like the Moon,” added Nunavik.

  “The Whale-Man,” said Ikik sadly. “He was very good to us.”

  “He’s gone,” said Siqi. “I can sense it. But there’s something else. Trouble in the north seas.”

  “We have to go,” said Uuna.

  “What?” said Nunavik. “What are you going to do? What’s happening?”

  He got no answer as Ikik wheeled about. The gigantic lakespawn flicked his massive tail and shot forward through the water, traversing the entire cavern in one stroke. Undulating through the water like crayfish, Uuna and Siqi couldn’t keep up but their elder brother waited for them at the cave mouth.

  “Hold on!” said Nunavik. “I asked you a question. Where are you going?”

  “We have to go north,” said Siqi. “To the cold water.”

  “It’s all cold,” said Nunavik. But then he caught the lakespawn’s meaning. “Oh, you don’t mean…”

  Uuna and Siqi grabbed onto the spines on Ikik’s back. The massive tail snapped again and the lakespawn surged forward.

  “My blood!” said the golden walrus.

  He turned toward Xantha. “You seem to be the only sensible one left, so you’re in charge. Do what you can for these whales and our poor friend Buulabaq.”

  Xantha nodded one of his heads.

  “Sun and Moon!” said Nunavik as he paddled toward the entrance of the secret cavern. The lakespawn were already out of sight. But at least he knew in what direction they had gone. “I’m too old for this!”

  CHAPTER 26

  CLASH OF THE TITANS

  A loud boom shook Gekko from sleep.

  “What the hell?” he muttered.

  That sound was not natural for this ship. He heard men shouting on the deck above. Tossing aside his wool blankets, Gekko sat up cautiously, careful not to let his head hit the ceiling of his small cabin. Sliding out of his bunk, he pulled on his sea boots and greatcoat. The noise on deck increased to a fever pitch.

  Damn, he thought. Something was terribly wrong on ship. He burst out into the narrow corridor, a low and dark tunnel of half-rotted oak panels barely two feet wide, ducking his head to avoid planks of reserve lumber stored overhead. Officer’s country was abuzz with men all speculating on the same dire topic. That terrible snapping sound roused the sailors’ greatest fear; if the boiler had finally broken down, they would all soon be dead.

  Gekko followed a handful of men down the corridor past the regular crew’s quarters. He shuffled forward with a paddling gait; it was nearly impossible to run on the icy floor, even on the lower decks. The corridor led to the Great Cabin at the stern, a room frequented by officers off-watch, smoking and telling old sea stories.

  “What’s that noise?” he asked.

  “We’ve hit something,” said the caulker’s mate. “Maybe bent the driveshaft.”

  “Shut her down!” Gekko heard the Captain yell from the main deck. Captain Edmond Feeney, formerly the ship’s first mate, was at least a score of years younger than his predecessor Dicker, but no less confident in the powers of his mighty ship. “Shut her down before she tears herself apart!”

  Gekko hurried up the companionway. The ship’s main deck was a swirl of chaotic activity. Most of the men stood along the rails, looking down into the water to try and see what the icebreaker might have hit. Gekko didn’t see Noona on deck, and was glad for it. She would be safer down below with the ship’s doctor. The whine of the engine was nearly deafening as the screw struggled in the water. Gekko could hear the fateful sound of the metal drive twisting against itself.


  “I said shut her down!” roared Captain Feeney.

  Mr. Chancey, the ice-master, called out from the stern, screaming something unintelligible. Gekko turned just in time to see the man go over the side. But there was something else, a dark shape that had appeared briefly along the rail.

  “Man overboard!”

  The sea grew suddenly choppy. Roughs of jagged ice smashed against the sides with a dull thumping sound as ominous as the knocking of fate itself. The ship listed to the port. The roar of cracking ice mixed with the tortured whine of the ship’s engines. Several men ran to the rail, though the fate of Mr. Chancey was already sealed. All anyone could say was, “He’s gone.”

  Again a dark form crossed the water line. The three men at the rail were suddenly swept backward by a surge of icy water. They fell scrambling onto the deck.

  With a great shattering of ice like a thunderhead breaking all about them, a long, muscular tentacle breached the water. Writhing sinuously, it rose above their heads. The body of their ice-master was wrapped in its deadly curls. As the tentacle reared up with the screaming man, Gekko watched its vicious coils grinding him to bloody meal.

  Gekko hadn’t thought to bring a firearm to the main deck with him, but some of the marines were hard military men who made no such mistake. Their rifles popped off one by one. The massive tentacle lurched and spasmed, releasing its grisly burden. The screaming body of Chancey came crashing to the deck only a few feet from Gekko. It landed with a hideous wet thump, having been squeezed so thoroughly in the middle that the torso fell away from the legs.

  Several more tentacles breached the rim of the deck.

  “Like a great squid,” said the first mate, “but covered with… are those teeth?”

  “Shut her down!” the Captain was still screaming, and Gekko thought he heard the whine of the frustrated engines finally fade away.

  One of the creature’s tentacles raked across the deck. Its many sharp teeth sent wood splintering and shattering. Oak dowels and iron pins scattered in its wake.