Shadows

by Ken Altabef

  “Get up!” said Talliituk angrily, “Or I‘ll drag you at the back of my sled.”

  Tooky shook the loose strands of hair out of her eyes. A defiant scowl formed on her face as Talliituk hoisted her up by the front of her anorak.

  “Why is she bound?” asked Alaana, running breathless upon the scene.

  “Why?” Talliituk turned to face the shaman, but didn’t relinquish his hold on the girl. “She’s the one who caused all of this. Because of her, my father is dead.”

  Tooky wore her hair down as a sign of mourning. Cut short in a girlish style, the straight black strands flopped in front of her face. For three nights she had tended a tiny fire on the beach in case Tugtutsiak’s spirit returned from the sea. She thought he might take it with him to light his way to the realm beyond. But the headman’s spirit did not return from the waters. Another lost soul, Alaana thought, probably trapped at the bottom of the sea with his rotting corpse, suffering the Whale-Man’s revenge.

  For three nights Tooky had kept her vigil at the beach, but now she had made the mistake of returning to the camp for food.

  Aolajut, who stood beside her son Talliituk, added, “Because of her I sleep alone in a cold bed. Because of her my heart withers in my chest.” Aolajut had also painted her face with soot. The black dust entirely covered her cheeks, excepting the lines where her tears had tracked down, washing it clear. She stood in the classic posture of a wronged woman, her hands on hips, her back straight. She had lost her husband but in many ways she was better off than Tookymingia. If she chose not to remarry, her sons would care for her. Tooky, on the other hand, suffered under a dark cloud. There were many Anatatook men in need of a wife, but none would take her now she was so completely tainted by this disaster.

  “She has cost us all dearly,” said Talliituk, broadening his appeal to the gathered masses. “Every one of us. Without my father’s leadership we may all starve.”

  Voices rose up from the crowd. Some echoed Talliituk’s anger, some expressed consolation and sympathy for the girl. With Tugtutsiak gone they were just voices in a mass of people; no one had authority here. The lack of a strong leader was a growing problem. The Anatatook depended so closely upon each other for survival that any division among the band posed great danger.

  They made way for Massautsicq, who was the eldest man in the camp and the father of Tugtutsiak. He stepped forward with a quiet dignity. His head was held high, bearing strong and generous features framed by long gray hair gathered behind his neck. He was ihumataaq — one considered to possess much wisdom — and his words carried great weight.

  “Tugtutsiak was a great leader,” he said. The sadness of the entire village was reflected in his eyes. “We all suffer for lack of his guidance.”

  As Talliituk nodded his approval, the old man reached forth and gently removed his grandson’s hand from the girl’s shoulder. “But to cast her out,” he added, “would certainly mean her death.”

  “Good!” spat Aolajut, “We suffer, and she is the cause.” She jabbed a finger at the girl, her eyes hard as stones, her lips drawn back from teeth, her face the face of petty vengeance. “She should be put out!”

  Now that Talliituk had stepped away from the girl, Alaana noticed the tiny soul-light residing in Tookymingia’s belly and realized how very, very hard it would be for her after the pregnancy came to light. A constant reminder of her sin, a clear target for shame and disgrace.

  “Put her out!” chimed Talliituk. “How can we know? She may have been sent here by the Chukchee to destroy us. Let her face her fates alone on the tundra.”

  The advice of Massautsicq, whatever it might have been, was lost in the crowd. To see wise counsel disregarded by the mob infuriated Alaana.

  “Enough!” Alaana stepped forward. “If you want to cast someone out, cast me out. It’s my fault.”

  Ben was quick to say, “No. You’ve done nothing.”

  A rumble of general sentiment seemed to agree.

  “Tooky is responsible,” argued Aolajut.

  “I’m responsible,” said Alaana. “I should have seen to it that the taboos were kept. That’s my responsibility. If you want to kill someone, kill me. Kill me!”

  She glared at Talliituk. “Go ahead! Take up your knife!” She lifted up the front of her calfskin shirt exposing her bare chest. These words were a challenge which she knew would not be taken. Revenge was one thing, but certainly they could never take it out on her. If their only shaman should die, they would all surely perish, victims of some raging storm, or the attack of some malicious spirit, or from lack of food if she couldn’t negotiate for them with the turgats.

  No one offered any reply and Alaana felt some satisfaction at having quelled the angry mob. She said, “I am no more important than Tookymingia.” She stepped between Talliituk and the girl; she acknowledged but did not linger on the grateful look the young girl returned. “Don’t you see? If any one of us should die, we all die.”

  “You are made crazy with grief,” shouted someone from the back of the crowd, who was perhaps glad not to show his face.

  “Tooky is not one of us,” said Talliituk. “She’s Chukchee.”

  “What do you have to say, Ben?” asked Aolajut, seeking to use the shaman’s husband against her. “You’ve lost more than anyone. Your precious gift, your new life, was taken away because of the wanton cravings of this low bitch.”

  Alaana felt her resolve suddenly shaken. For the first time she realized that Tooky’s child had been conceived with the very same act that had condemned Tama.

  Tooky choked back a sob, closing her eyes tight as if awaiting the killing blow.

  It was true, Ben held only bitter resentment toward Tooky. But when Alaana had first brought him to the camp, a man with nut-brown skin, he had been the outsider. Suspicious glances and angry threats had been leveled at him. But now, twelve winters later he had come to be accepted by them all. Of course on that path he had not walked alone; Alaana had been beside him every step of the way.

  Tooky was just a young exile herself, desperate and trapped. It was likely she lay with Tugtutsiak that night out of desperation, not for pleasure but protect herself from an unfriendly environment. Ben understood. Her death would not set things right. Killing her would not bring Tama back.

  “Cut her bonds,” said Ben. “We can’t send this poor child out to face the snow and the wind. She is one of us. Her mistake is our mistake. Her fate is bound with our own.”

  Aolajut turned away. Such an impassioned plea from a bereaved parent could not help but move the people in support of Tooky. There was little else she could do, now that her ploy had proved a grand miscalculation.

  “She’s not staying under my roof!” she said as she stalked off. “I’ll murder her in her bed.”

  “There’s no place for her with us,” said Talliituk.

  Alaana lay a hand on the leather thong that bound the girl’s arms behind her back, politely asking the tiny fragment of the spirit of the walrus that remained in the sinew to release its hold. The rope dropped to the ground. She faced a conundrum. What to do with Tooky? She couldn’t be sent back to the Chukchee like this. She’d been given in marriage with hopes of forging an alliance with the Anatatook and had brought only disaster. Her father, a prominent man renowned for his pride and leadership, would never tolerate the indignity of her return. A fate even worse than exile would await her, if she was returned in such disgrace.

  Fate solved the shaman’s dilemma as Tikiqaq, who had trailed its master all the way from the food cache, finally made its appearance, waddling through the snows.

  A woman screamed.

  “What is that?” asked Talliituk.

  “Another mistake,” said Alaana. Sensing she had hurt the creature’s nascent feelings, she smiled at it, bent down and lifted the carcass up so that it stood beside Tooky.

  “This is Tikiqaq,” she said.

  “It’s hideous!” said Talliituk.

  Alaana shrugged. “It is with
us,” she said loudly. “It will remain by Tooky’s side. It will watch over her. If anyone takes a hand to her, it will respond. And you wouldn’t like that.”

  Tikiqaq, sensing its moment, snapped open the seal mouth to show sharp pointed teeth. A little bark came from the raven’s beak. The people jumped back in fright. Tooky was trembling, but Alaana took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

  She had no means to appease Aolajut, that was for certain, but perhaps Tikiqaq would dissuade her from an attack on the poor girl. Perhaps. She would have her work cut out for her, but with a lot of time and patience, she felt confident she could make the people accept Tookymingia again. She resolved to do so. She was less sure that they would ever accept Tikiqaq.

  She turned to Talliituk. There was a simple enough way to mollify the wrath of the headman’s son. “I’m going on a journey inland to the south and will meet you at the fishing weir. Strike the tents. We must hurry now or there’ll be no fish at all. I’m counting on you to see that the sleds are packed quickly and to lead the people to Kakivok Tarvik.”

  The young man beamed with pride, exposing his gigantic bucked teeth.

  CHAPTER 10

  A JOURNEY SOUTH

  Alaana found her plans complicated by poor traveling weather. It was slow going over soft ground. The melting snow would have forced her to turn back if not for the ferocious way Makaartunghak attacked the trail. The old dog never seemed to tire, just as Yipyip never seemed to age. Both dogs were harnessed to the central line, each to its own lead, but Makaartunghak did the bulwark of the pulling. Little Yipyip strained simply to keep up. Often she would ride atop the sled during a long cross-country jaunt, but this time the coal-black mixed breed seemed content to run. Fanning out to the sides were four more dogs, young huskies borrowed from her uncle’s stable.

  The uneven ground cover made a lot of work for Alaana. She had to steer around stony areas that threatened to knock the coating of ice from the runners. She had to direct Makaartunghak along a meandering course from drift to drift, occasionally jumping down to scout a clear path ahead. It was tedious work and the younger dogs would growl and fight whenever left to themselves.

  Few landmarks broke the barren wastes; each ridge looked similar to the next and Alaana wasn’t sure she’d even be able to locate the Tanaina spring encampment. The two bands seldom traveled the same ground and that, more than anything else, made this attack seem so senseless.

  Even when they met the Anatatook, there had never been any great enmity between them. If they tracked the same herd to a river crossing, they would share in the hunt and divide the kills. Blood had never been spilled between them and several Anatatook girls had gone to live with husbands among the Tanaina. Likewise, more than a few of the Tanaina had pitched their tents among her people over the years.

  The principle trouble was with Klah Kritlaq. He was young and poorly trained, and lacked ability to track the caribou. Alaana suffered much the same problem. Were it not for Tugtutsiak’s talents the Anatatook would be as hungry as the Tanaina. She wondered, with the headman now gone, what kind of life awaited her people? Without Tugtutsiak’s keen insight and experience, how would she find food in the storm? She had never suffered the miseries of a deep hunger period firsthand, but the thought of all those she loved suffering the horrors of starvation was a sobering idea.

  At last the dogs came across a set of sled tracks, two lines in the snow a hand’s breadth across. Makaartunghak put his nose to the trail and followed the scent of the traces all the way to their source.

  As the Tanaina had just begun putting up their tents, all the men of the village were close at hand. They stepped aside as Alaana came roaring into the camp, setting down their tools and tent poles to follow behind in a large pack. She brought her sled to rest in the center of a group of tents that had already been raised.

  The Tanaina people gathered close around. Alaana recognized some of the faces and offered a quiet greeting with a nod of her head, but few smiles met her in return. Three or four of the men who pushed to the front of the line held weapons in their hands. Alaana noticed a long hunting knife, a short bow and two harpoon-headed spears.

  Instead of a useless pronouncement that she hadn’t come to make trouble, Alaana remained silent. She could see that the men were afraid, and those who had weapons seemed most fearful of all. She kept her stare on them long and hard until each nervously looked away. Wearing only a hoodless ceremonial parka fashioned from an albino caribou hide, she stood before them obviously unarmed and unafraid, a condition that impressed the men quite a bit. They would make no move against her until Kritlaq appeared.

  A sharply whistled note came from behind Alaana, a weird sound that rose and fell in a rhythmic fashion. Heads turned, but as the men glanced in the direction of the noise Alaana was not distracted. Instead she watched Kritlaq’s advance from the opposite side. The snow began to whip and circle around him. Turning back, the people saw their shaman appear as if by magic, stepping out from thin air amid a swirling mass of snow. Some of the people exclaimed in awe and fascination. Alaana was less impressed, having heard Kritlaq’s request, whispered in the secret language, politely asking the snow if it might swirl and dance for him for just a while.

  Klah Kritlaq was a tall man, dressed in a red and black deerskin parka. In Alaana’s opinion the Tanaina shaman wore far too many amulets. Colored feathers and little metal trinkets made a clutter of his chest, and the arms of his dress were shaggy with bear teeth, caribou ears and tiny animal bones. Kritlaq suffered a strange nervous tick involving snake-like movements of his arms and neck and the many amulets rattled as he moved. His long black hair was parted in the middle like a woman and braided on either side with red and white straps from which feathered tassels dangled.

  The name of Klah Kritlaq was one of storied significance. The previous owner of that name had been a shaman among the Anatatook people many years ago. He had always been regarded as mean and formidable but in his later years, corrupted by dark forces, he had gone mad. In the end he had become a sorcerer, using his influence to force people to do his twisted bidding. Finally, he had been gutted by Old Manatook while the whole village watched.

  According to the stories there had been something about the old shaman’s dreadful yellowed eyes, the way they seemed able to jump from their sockets and cut into you, that sent a shiver through one’s soul.

  The Tanaina shaman had no such presence. His eyes were dull and restless, and his face was so lean Alaana hardly recognized him. The Tanaina must have suffered a terrible winter. Slow starvation had sunken Kritlaq’s cheeks, drawing his face long and sharp.

  Kritlaq strode confidently toward Alaana. He was tall and looked down on her with disdain, the edges of his lips curled in appreciation of his advantage, not only in height but in force of arms.

  “I’m surprised you would come here for revenge,” Kritlaq said in an artificially haughty voice. “It would have been much wiser to send a tupilaq of your own.”

  “Revenge?” said Alaana. “Truly you are an idiot, Kritlaq.”

  “I’m an idiot?” He spread his much-adorned arms to indicate the throng of able-bodied men in attendance. “And yet you are here, surrounded by my men and their sharp spears.”

  The men were heartened by this mention of their weapons and brought their spears to bear, pointing them directly at Alaana. She brushed one spear gently away as she stepped toward her sled. Kritlaq followed her with suspicious eyes, saying, “Watch her!”

  Alaana whipped off the sled-cover to reveal the huge stack of food heaped on the platform. The slabs of frozen provisions had thawed during the trip and loose flanks of meat and fish spilled over the sides of the sled. The Tanaina people cried out in surprise.

  Klah Kritlaq was not so easily appeased. The nervous movements of his long arms increased so much he almost appeared to be doing a dance.

  “You made a tupilaq,” he said angrily. “I know. I gave it voice.”

  Alaana sh
ook her head, and tossed the braid of hair back to Kritlaq. “Have no fear of it.”

  Klah Kritlaq was undecided as to what to do next. He seemed on the verge of humiliation before all his men. He had not expected this.

  “You might offer me some hospitality,” suggested Alaana. “It was a long ride.”

  “Come,” said Kritlaq loudly. “Share a pipe with me.”

  As they ascended the rock formation, Alaana turned her back on Klah Kritlaq more than once. This gave him several good opportunities to throw her from the cliff. Even so, she was unafraid. Kritlaq had insisted they hold their counsel atop this formation, which the local people called The Big Red Nose because of the ruddy color of the stone beneath its crust of snow. In his usual way, Kritlaq was making a show of the importance of the meeting of the shamans. To throw her down in plain sight of everyone in the camp would not speak well for Kritlaq.

  The view from the summit of Red Nose was spectacular. Alaana thought it well worth the exertion of scrambling up the cold, rough surface of the rock. Spring had awakened the flats to life. The land was mottled with vibrant patches of green, tender shoots which would soon call the caribou northward on their migration. The scarred hills and valleys of Nunatsiaq sported rare ornamentation by way of countless pinpoints of yellow and red, a brilliant display of wildflowers in early bloom. Tiny blue forget-me-nots, yellow poppies, wild iris and bluebells carpeted the valleys and low, swampy places in the tundra.

  The whole of the Tanaina camp lay spread out below. The center of attention was Alaana’s sled, which the men were now unpacking with gusto. Some of her uncle’s dogs were yapping at the strange people and Alaana realized that by the time she went back down there would be nothing left with which to feed them. The dogs would be miserable on the return trip to the fishing weir, with only the consolation of a much lightened sled.