The Shadow of Everything Existing

by Ken Altabef

  “I think we should move the camp,” suggested Ben. “If we can get close beside the river, they can only attack us from one side.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Maguan said.

  “I agree,” added Alaana. “It will give me time to do what I have to do.”

  “And what is that?” asked Maguan.

  “I have to give every man in the camp a tattoo.”

  “A tattoo? For what reason?”

  “That’s my secret.”

  “Fine,” said Maguan, who still seemed a bit angry at his sister for having allowed them to endure the wrath of Aquppak those many years ago. He had little patience for anyone who endangered his people. “Let’s hurry, then. Sleds and dogs! Let’s go!”

  As the men filed out of the tent, a few lingered behind.

  Iggy was curious. “Why do you think he’s really coming here? Is it vengeance after all?”

  “I don’t know,” said Alaana. “But he sent his son back to us. With a warning.”

  “It doesn’t make sense,” said Iggy. “Could be he was drunk. That’s his reputation anyway.”

  “I don’t understand it. If it’s me he wants, why endanger his own children? Does he plan to take them back with him to the Yupikut?”

  “If that’s what he thinks, he’s mistaken,” said Iggy. “If the Yupikut come here, I’m going to kill Aquppak. I don’t care what I have to do, but he’s not walking away. Not with my wife.”

  “We won’t let them take anybody,” said Ben. No one knew better than him what the raiders did to their captives. As a child he grew up hearing screams of women in the night. “At least Noona isn’t here. If she’s with Gekko somewhere, I assume she’s safe.”

  “We sure could have used Sir Walter in this fight,” said Iggy. Then his plump face sagged as he realized Gekko had recently fought the Yupikut at Old Bea and lost.

  Maguan brought a long, flint-headed spear over to his sister.

  “This is my best spear. I want to use it in the fight, but I killed the brown bear with it yesterday.”

  Alaana understood her brother’s problem. When an animal was killed with a natural weapon it left a small part of its soul within the killing blade for five days. If the weapon was used again during that time, the soul fragment may take offense, becoming tarrak — an angry spirit bent on revenge.

  She could clearly see the tiny crimson fragment of the grizzly’s soul within the spearhead. It was already angry enough. With their guardian spirits gone, the game animals had lost all reassurances. They were killed without warning, and lacking comfort from a higher force, their souls were left adrift.

  “You can’t use it,” she said. “At least not for four more days.’

  “I don’t think we’ll have that much time.”

  “You’ll just have to wait it out, anyway. That’s the last thing I need right now — an angry bear spirit running loose in our camp.”

  It was impossible to know how long they’d been walking.

  It was always day. Always the sun shining. Their routine consisted of about eight hours of stumbling along in the snow and ice, and then putting up an iglu, eating whatever food they had gathered during the day, and then making love. After that they settled for a few hours of sleep before starting all over again.

  The constant glare of sun on the ice had left Gekko more than a little snow blind. Noona made an eye-shield for him from a thin plate of their scavenged wood. Gekko looked out upon the tundra through a little slit in the wood, but still the entire scene was wrapped in a hazy gauze of white. Not that there was anything much to see anyway.

  Most of their meals consisted of tripe-de-roche, a bitter paste made from lichen scraped off the ice. Mixed with snow melt it made a disgusting gruel that would make any self-respecting English dog vomit. But still, they greedily gulped down a fistful of the stuff every day. There had been a few other, more substantial meals along the way — another half-lame snow hare Noona had caught and a red fox they had found already dead in the ice.

  Gekko’s initial assessment of the damage from his dip in the icy pool had been inaccurate. As it turned out, he’d lost the last two toes on each foot. Noona had noticed the blackened toes on one of her routine inspections, and snapped them clean off. This arctic-style surgery was achieved with no pain and no bleeding, since the feet were still frozen. Such wounds wouldn’t heal in the intense cold, but they didn’t hurt either. Gekko knew the stumps would probably hurt like the devil if he ever got out of this frozen hell, which wasn’t likely anyway. Luckily he’d found that keeping one’s balance on frozen feet did not depend on the presence of the minor toes. All it depended on was putting one foot groggily in front of the other.

  And that he did. On and on and on. The gauzy horizon didn’t ever seem to change. From what little he could see, there was no difference in its outline or the color of the ice.

  “We’re not going to make it,” he said every once in a while.

  “We will,” Noona countered.

  “We’re not going to make it.”

  “We will.”

  They went on like that for hours. It would have been too easy to give up, if not for Noona. She couldn’t possibly think they were going to get anywhere near civilization ever again, could she? It was all a brave face, this relentless optimism she was putting up. He was certain.

  Their love-making had taken on a frantic sort of desperation. For Gekko it had become a way of saying all the things he no longer had the strength to actually say. And it made him feel safe.

  Noona tugged at his sleeve, interrupting his wandering thoughts. She stooped to scratch the ice at their feet. Gekko waited while she dug around a bit. He didn’t like stopping because it made him suddenly feel tired and completely drained. He tottered shakily on his two incomplete feet.

  Her hand came out of the snow with a gob of brown sludge.

  “What the devil is that?” he asked.

  “Ground squirrels have a string of nests here.”

  She held the stuff up to his nose. It smelled sickly sweet like an over-ripe melon. Gekko squinted down at the stuff. It appeared to be a partially digested pulp of plant and animal tissue, perhaps some tender morsels the squirrels had put up for winter.

  “Ground squirrels?” he asked. “That means we’re off the water? Right? They wouldn’t burrow in sea ice?”

  Noona didn’t answer.

  He looked around again. “We’re still in the middle of the God-damned ocean aren’t we? Aren’t we?”

  He sounded like half an idiot even to himself. He hadn’t been thinking clearly for days because of the hunger. He’d simply grown used to the pain in his gut and the muddled lightheadedness. Just as his bulky cold-weather slops and head scarf prevented him from freezing to death, his numbed mind kept him from going crazy.

  “But the rocks, the squirrels…”

  It was a hard thing to understand, Noona thought. Some of these floes were hundreds of years old. They traveled the sea at their own pace, collecting debris along the way. Dirt, rocks, even short summer sedge was known to grow on them sometimes. Animals lived on them and made nests. Yes, they were still on the ocean, though she had let her poor husband think otherwise.

  “Eat this,” she said.

  Gekko looked down at the brown gunk.

  “You’ve got to be kidding…”

  Noona pushed the disgusting gruel toward his mouth.

  Gekko ate it.

  CHAPTER 37

  DEATH TRAP

  Even nestled in the crook of the river Alaana couldn’t feel safe. She knew the Yupikut would come from the northeast, but she would have liked to go out in spirit-form and scout again to see how close they were. Last time she’d checked they were only a half-day’s ride away and coming fast. But she didn’t have time. Just now she was rushing to complete the last of the tattoos.

  Iggy sat quietly beside her. His round, clean-shaven face didn’t flinch as Alaana dragged the slender ivory needle, dipped in black soot, under the sk
in of his forearm. Thin streams of blood trickled from the many punctures she had already made. But he did flinch every time he glanced at the large tents close to the water.

  The Anatatook had taken certain precautions. The women and children had all been ushered into those tents near the river in the heart of the camp. Iggy had a lot at stake in that big tent by the river. His wife Tookymingia and his two young sons were inside that tent and also Tamuanuaq, Tooky’s daughter by her first husband, his two adopted daughters who were adults and his two small grandchildren.

  “I’m worried about Tooky,” he said.

  “I know.”

  Iggy tensed the substantial muscles of both arms, nearly causing Alaana’s needle to go astray. “When I think of her… if the Yupikut get their hands on her… she’s so small, so tiny…”

  Alaana knew Tooky was not nearly as helpless as Iggy supposed. She handled her husband, the Big Mountain, well enough.

  “Don’t think about it,” Alaana suggested.

  “Don’t think about it? That’s your advice?”

  “We’re doing what we can,” Alaana said evenly.

  Iggy glanced down at his new tattoo and grunted softly. “Maybe we should have taken them someplace else. Maybe we should have hidden them among the caves in the cliffs at Black Face.”

  That idea had been raised in council but the wisest among them advised that to leave the women unguarded would be foolish. If they really were the goal, the Yupikut would find them in any case and the men would not be there to protect them.

  “No,” said Alaana. “Ben was right. The river is our best chance to make a stand.”

  Iggy glanced up and down the length of the plain. “We’re completely exposed. It would be better if we could conceal ourselves.”

  There were only a few large rocks scattered along the rocky escarpment. Men were stationed behind them with the rifles. It was hoped they would get a few shots off at the approaching sled teams before the real fighting broke out. Alaana had little confidence that the men would be able to hit an experienced raider riding low in his sled and approaching at speed. The Yupikut were known for the lightning ferocity of their attacks and would be upon them almost immediately. Even the Anatatook bowmen would have little chance of firing off more than one shot at close range. After that the fighting would be hand to hand.

  “We’ve arranged ourselves as best we can. The riflemen will shoot first, with the bowmen right behind.”

  “I know,” said Iggy. “It’s this waiting I can’t stand. That’s all.”

  The tattoo finished, Alaana wiped away the last of the blood. She slapped her friend’s arm. “We’ll be all right.”

  Iggy’s fear was palpable. The tension in the Anatatook camp was high as they all awaited the inevitable attack. They were surely outnumbered, outmanned, and outgunned. The Anatatook were inexperienced at fighting wars and there was no doubt many men would fall this day if not all of them. Alaana could not turn the tide of their emotion. No one believed her reassurances, and perhaps she did not believe them herself.

  Maguan climbed atop a rock near the center of camp. He held a long harpoon-headed spear high and called the men to order.

  “Men of the Anatatook,” he said fiercely, “listen to me. We are peaceful people, but now we must fight. The raiders have come here before, we all know that, but this time will be different. This time we are forewarned and that gives us an advantage. We now have young men among us who are good with the rifles and that makes things even. More than even, because we have the better men. The Yupikut are cowards at heart.

  “Now we must fight. We are fighting for our homes, for our loved ones. What are they fighting for? Trade goods? What little food we have? We are brave men. They are cowards. We are proud men. Can a Yupikut raider say the same?”

  Alaana noted her brother made no mention of the danger to the women.

  “The Anatatook are a proud people stretching back to Tugtutsiak and Arnarkuak before him and Igunaksiaq before him. Some of us have their names to guide us, some have their blood. These were great men among us, but I tell you this — none were ever greater than the Anatatook men I see before me today. And I am proud. So now we must fight. We will fight to the last man. There can be no running away. There can be no giving up. Alaana is on our side.”

  Maguan gestured toward his sister, smiling, and added, “We have her lucky tattoos. How can we worry?”

  Maguan’s energetic and inspirational speech had a positive effect on the men and on Alaana as well. This was her brother’s greatest strength as a leader, his ability to motivate all those around him. He transformed them from a group of individuals worrying over their own wives and daughters to a determined and united people, each drawing strength from the man beside him.

  Maguan concluded with this, “Hear me, men of the Anatatook. Now we must fight. Hear this too! We will win this fight!”

  The men couldn’t help themselves. They raised a hearty cheer for their headman.

  When the attack came it was not as Alaana had imagined. It was far worse. It began with the blood-curdling whoops of the raiders, a high pitched undulating cry that was their hallmark. Most of the older men had heard this particular challenge before during a previous attack. And to their minds it spelled disaster, setting them further on edge.

  The sleds raced down from the northeast but in contrast to expectations a fair-sized party also came down from the other side. The raiders had split up to make a sweeping attack from both sides of the river. The Yupikut men were very adept at running their dog teams and they came on in a zig-zag fashion like the juttering track of the snow hare. As Alaana had predicted the first volley of shots failed to bring down any raiders at all. Not one among them.

  As far as Alaana calling upon the spirits for aid, truth be told there was not much help to be had. Most of the great spirits were gone. Her own guardian spirit Tsungi did not ever answer the call, though Alaana could feel his presence at the end of the tether, very, very far away where he rested in the center of the world. Tsungi had only bothered to speak to Alaana on rare occasion, the last time being a full ten years ago. Alaana didn’t even know a proper invocation for this spirit. She had never learned one. There had never been any other shaman who could claim such a guardian as his own. She didn’t even know the correct words.

  She didn’t know the words, but she thought she might try anyway.

  She did know the spirit’s true name, a secret she and Nunavik had guarded since its discovery many years earlier.

  “Tsungi,” Alaana said under her breath, “great benevolent spirit, hear my plea! Hear my call. You raised me up, made me a shaman. You spoke to me. You said I would do great things. You said I would restore the balance. I have never forgotten your promise. I could not. I have never looked away, though I was sorely tempted. If I am to do great things in your name then let this be one of them. Give me strength. Grant me power. Show me the way to turn back this menace that rides down upon us. Help me. I beg you!”

  She directed her prayer not up at the sky nor toward the heavens but to the ground below, for she knew that was where Tsungi waited, in the center of the earth. A long way down. A long way away. As usual there came no answer. There was no surge of spiritual energy or strength, no great bolt of wisdom as to how she might help her people defeat the invaders other than by casting a spear herself.

  The battle was joined. The Yupikut guns rang out. The Anatatook gunmen sheltered behind the rocks but the bowmen were mostly exposed out on the plain. They stood between tent skins they had hung up obstructions along the raiders’ line of sight. But the Yupikut were all excellent marksmen and the tent skins no good protection against bullets in any case. Several good men went down on the first volley. Maguan’s son Atanauraq was hit and wounded. Civiliaq’s son Guarina was shot in the face.

  The Yupikut hit their marks while shooting from charging sleds at high speed. This was such a great advantage that Alaana thought for a moment that the raiders might forego the
hand to hand combat, turn their sleds back, and simply repeat the effort, charge upon charge, withering the Anatatook ranks with every thrust. But it was not like the Yupikut to turn their backs on any foe. And so they hopped from their sleds with knives and spears and axes in hand before their dog teams had even drawn to a stop. They hadn’t lost a single man during the charge and their confidence was high. Most likely they thought they’d make a quick end to this farce and take whatever they wanted.

  Iggy, who had already taken a bullet in the shoulder, lived up to his reputation as counting for two men. He joined the fight with a frightening war whoop of his own. He swung a huge battle club like some mythical war giant, and even the Yupikut were afraid to approach him after he knocked the brains out of two of their number.

  The fight moved closer toward the river, where Alaana stood near the big tents. She wore her ceremonial parka of albino caribou skin. Its pale white color made her a difficult target against the snowy backdrop. Several bullets were sent her way but all strayed from their mark.

  She didn’t join the fight. It broke her heart to see her people suffering and dying on the field. She prepared herself for what she had to do.

  Then the bears came out. Orfik and Oktolik, shamans no longer, had been reduced to ordinary bears on the death of their spirit guardian Tornarssuk. But they were still full grown white bears. They came roaring from behind the concealing skin panels with a matched set of mighty and terrifying bellows, and entered the fray.

  They moved with incredible speed, slashing and running down the Yupikut men. One seemingly fearless individual, a huge man every bit as big as the Big Mountain of the Anatatook, charged Oktolik with a long spear. His thrust cut a long gash in the bear’s foreleg.

  The big man stepped back to appraise his handiwork, but Orfik was there. The raider spun around just in time to see his death come upon him, a scream dying in his throat as he went down beneath the raging polar bear. Oktolik tore him to shreds.

  It both heartened and pained Alaana to see her old friends the bear twins killing men, their muzzles splashed with dark red blood, crimson dripping down from their jowls. The bears had always been such gentle souls.