by Ken Altabef
Ben turned away, burying himself deeper in the folds of her parka. Locked in Alaana’s warming embrace he felt further from her than ever before. He should ask for her help. Why not? This was the perfect time.
But no. He couldn’t. He was afraid for Tama. What was it Maguan had said? The shadows thought Alaana was dead. They thought she died years ago, when she had become the shaman. And why should that be? Only one explanation made sense to him. When called to the world of the spirits, it was said, a shaman is given a certain special light. Ben couldn’t see it directly, for he was not a shaman himself, but it was evident in the way the shamans walked, the way they carried themselves, the way they looked out upon the people. Alaana hadn’t died from the ravages of the fever all those years ago, but she had changed.
In order to shine so brightly the shaman’s soul must be without shadow. The day Alaana became a shaman her shadow had died.
Her spirit burned so brightly now. Too bright for them. There was a reason shamans didn’t go to the shadow lands. If she ventured there she might burn them all away, like a torch in the darkness.
If he confided in her, he knew just what she would do. Trying to help, she would stumble ahead. She’d find a way to get to the shadow world, bringing that bright, burning light. What then? Her light would erase them. And Tama would be lost. And that truly would be the end of all things. Alaana had killed her child once already; she would never survive doing so again. Maybe none of them would.
This was something he had to do alone.
“Ben,” she said, “Answer me!”
He hadn’t heard the question. It didn’t matter. “You shamans have so many secrets,” he said. “Your secret language, the secret places you go. But what if our poor Tama is trapped someplace you can’t go?”
“What do you mean?” she demanded.
But he was done talking. He would keep his own secrets.
CHAPTER 23
THE TOP OF THE WORLD
This was the spot. Vithrok was certain. He could feel the pull of it. The very top of the world.
In every direction an unbroken expanse of white. This place knew only one season. It was always the dead of winter here.
The silence was pristine, complete. He felt no wind, no flicker of life, no movement. It seemed as if time had frozen, its onward rush stopped, its mocking voice silenced. He stood at the center, bodiless, a thing of spirit only, held together by sheer force of will, but that was more than enough. Were he mortal the cold would have iced his blood to the bone. But he did not feel the cold. Nothing could exist here. No beast nor bird, this was a place man could never go. This was his place, his home. No one would ever find him here. Not the little shaman or anyone.
Were he mortal he would have needed to dig like an animal to raise the citadel. The snow could never be convinced to move on its own, not here at the top, where its slumber was so deep it could never be disturbed. That was good. Let it sleep, let it sleep. He concentrated on finding what was below, under the crust of ice. Buried by ages of cold and frost. Massive stones they had dragged here piece by piece at the beginning of the world. He sent his consciousness questing down. Hidden here. Lost. But everything lost was simply waiting to be found again. He was certain of it.
The stones were there, Vithrok could feel them. He burrowed down and outward like the roots of a tree. Contact. Deep sleep. Sleep like death itself. But what was death to him? Long had he slept, confined in his prison. Dead but not dead. Only to rise again.
“Rise up,” he commanded in the secret language of the Tunrit. “Rise up!”
The effort required was monumental, but he would succeed. Dig down, dig the roots down, in shoots and tendrils of determined intention encircling the buried stones. He must wake their weary spirits up. Asking politely would not do the trick, their slumber was too deep. That was not a problem. He didn’t need to ask.
Fire. Vithrok sent hot fire into them, and the spirits within the stones of the citadel stirred. Oh yes, he thought. I can make you burn.
The ground shook. Ice cracked, breaking the white silence of the North. Here at the north pole, there was no one to hear it except Vithrok.
“Up!” he commanded. “I only want you to come up.”
Stones groaned, sluggish, uncooperative. Vithrok would not be denied. “Up. Up!”
The tremendous upheaval that followed would have been an awesome sight to see, if any had been present to bear witness. Mortal men, Vithrok imagined, might have thrown themselves down on their knees, mumbling in obeisance and terror at the skies above. The cracking ice shattered, spraying into the air in great gouts like breaths of vapor exhaled from the spout of the world itself. The citadel of the Tunrit rose up, through a shower of sparks and icy spume, thrusting itself once again into the world that had buried its long hallways and stately corridors, even to the tips of its grand spires. As Vithrok stood immaterial, the immense rooms and gables passed right through him. His spirit mingled briefly with the stones. They shrieked and recoiled away, burned by his touch.
“Just do what I want,” he told them. “Just rise up.”
And the citadel did rise up, the dead weight of snow and ice rushing in to fill the gap below.
When it was done, Vithrok shuddered with the spent effort. His lonely palace restored, the citadel looked exactly it had before. Timeless and unchanged. Restored again. But empty. Gone was the fellowship and camaraderie of his friends, those who had struggled to raise these walls in darkness. The songs of the Tunrit did not even echo here, lost to the endless mists of time. All gone without a trace. This was only the beginning, he told himself, the first step. On a journey backward through time. Back to the beginning.
Vithrok threw his spirit wide, inhabiting the entire citadel. He could rest here, in the cold embrace of these ancient stones. With no body of his own to anchor him, he would be safe here. These timid souls would not trap him as the soulless catchstone had done. These were souls from long ago, old friends as it were. He shut his mind to their screams.
He could rest here, and sleep.
And sleeping, Vithrok dreams of the past.
The lemming’s soul cried out.
“Hold!” commanded Vithrok.
His gaze pressed the lemming hard. Its heartbeat quickened. Whiskers twitched fitfully as the creature’s eyes sought any avenue of escape. The lemming was paralyzed, hindlegs tensed but incapable of flight. Every fiber of its being cried out to break and run. And yet there was a voice inside its head, a hook in its soul.
Vithrok hunched forward. He squatted before the creature, exerting force of will eye to eye. He felt the pace of the lemming’s heart quicken as its strained against his dominance. Its soul-light waxed and waned, rioting through shades of blue and silver as the creature’s panic rose to fever pitch.
“Hold!” he said again, leaning closer . Distance was a factor, he’d learned, when commanding the soul of another. Vithrok kept his hands away, only his spirit touched the lemming’s soul.
The lemming panted frantically, its mind completely helpless under Vithrok’s invisible hand. The blood pounded in its head. Its heart beat so violently Vithrok thought it must explode.
“Vithrok?”
He relaxed his hold. Released from its torment, the lemming scampered around in a disorganized frenzy. It ran full into Tulunigraq’s leg and bounced off.
“What’s this?” Tulunigraq asked, glancing down. His brow wrinkled as if he realized there was something amiss, but didn’t know what. Vithrok stabbed down quickly with his spearpoint, skewering the lemming through the heart. With a tiny squeal it was done.
“Just killing a snack,” said Vithrok.
Tulunigraq looked down his beak at the lemming, still unnerved, then turned toward the two other Tunrit behind him. “We’re here, as you asked.”
Vithrok said, “I’m glad you’ve come.”
He ushered them to the front of the ridge, overlooking the construction below. From this angle the Tunrit citadel appeared as
a sketchy outline of rock slabs, just the foreshadow of a dream. Above, the sky was dark as always, the stars shining weakly.
“The alignment is almost perfect,” said Vithrok. “Let me show you.”
He took out a small bundle of oiled skins and unwrapped the device. This mechanism had been made by Kidan, who had studied the subtle movements of the stars and the relationships of numbers. It predicted the turning of the sky with great accuracy.
Vithrok held it up to the sky. The Never Moves, the star that marked the exact center of the sky, was directly overhead. For that reason they had decided to build their citadel here. This place had remarkable properties. As the sky turned this was the center, the very top of the world. Kidan was just now on the plain below directing the other Tunrit men in the construction.
The device was a circle of stone joined in the center by a cross to which several smaller gears and struts were attached. The outer ring registered the movements, as told by triangular teeth that marked the positions of the constellations and predicted their return.
“See?” said Vithrok. “There is Sivulliik, the Two in Front, and directly behind comes Kingulliq, the star that marks the grandmother chasing the two. And the Breastbone comes to join them.” He pointed to a cluster of bright blue-tinted stars not far from the horizon line. “The alignment is right.”
He paused to adjust one of the levers.
“The turnings of the stars have never interested me,” said Tugto. “They take so very long to go around, and in the end wind up in the same place. Nothing can ever come of it.”
Tulunigraq had also lost interest. He turned to the work below. “Not even Kidan cares about such things any longer. The citadel will be his great work.”
“How does it look?” asked Oogloon, who could see nothing but the spirit of the snow.
“Nearly the same,” Tulunigraq remarked. “The work goes slowly.”
“There!” announced Vithrok. “Have a look.”
He handed the device to Oogloon and pointed out the correct heading.
Oogloon grunted softly, lowering the mechanism from his eyes. “I see nothing.”
Vithrok snatched the device back. “In this formation they have a certain pull. Can’t you feel it?”
“Not sure,” said Oogloon.
“Close your eyes. It’s not like using the sight. It’s about letting the mind flow outward.”
“I don’t feel it,” said Tulunigraq flatly.
“I do, I think,” added Tugto.
Tulunigraq gave Tugto a disdainful look as if to say that he was always taking Vithrok’s side in such matters.
“But what’s the purpose of all of this?” asked Tulunigraq.
“The answer,” said Vithrok, “to a question.”
“And what is the question?”
“What if it didn’t have to be dark all the time?”
“What are you talking about?” asked Oogloon.
“There is something out there,” said Vithrok. “Up there.”
“But what?”
Vithrok smiled. Now he had their attention, he must seize it. “A fire. A ball of fire to light up the sky. I can feel it.”
The others didn’t. Even Tugto had to admit that.
“It’s there,” said Vithrok. “On the other side of the sky.”
“The other side?” muttered Oogloon. He shook his head at the idea.
Vithrok told them, “The time has come for our greatest effort, our greatest success. There is a limitless font of light and warmth and it lies just beyond the curtain of the sky! We can bring it here!”
“Bring it here?” asked Tulunigraq with a sneer. “Wouldn’t such a thing tear a hole in the sky?”
Vithrok didn’t know. “There will be light and warmth.”
“This idea is madness,” said Tulunigraq. “As usual, Vithrok, you go too far.”
He turned to walk away, but Tugto spun him back around by the shoulder. “Was it too far when he made the turgats provide us food for the hunt? Was it too far when he sent the dagger-tooths to oblivion so that none may now hunt us?”
Tulunigraq snickered. “Vithrok is foremost among us. This I will never deny. We all benefit from the things he has achieved. But that does not mean that he is always right.” He turned toward Vithrok. “You are my friend, and I love you. But you are reckless. You take too many chances. It’s one thing to risk your own life, but this could be the end of all of us. I forbid it.”
“You forbid?” roared Vithrok. His face flushed with anger. “You forbid?”
He stepped toward Tulunigraq. Kidan’s device still in one hand, he pulled the other back, balled into a fist.
Tulunigraq stared intently at him. His eyes, on either side of the beak-like projection that served him as nose, were small and sharp, daring him to strike. “I have just as much say as you do.”
Oogloon took Vithrok’s fist in his own hands, drawing him away from Tulunigraq. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, “I don’t see how such a thing can be done. The sky and stars are too distant. Out of our reach.” He smiled at Vithrok. “Too far, even for you.”
Vithrok opened his fist, using the hand to pat Oogloon softly on the cheek. “The pull of the stars knows no distance, the proper alignment comes soon. If we four exert ourselves, if we pull together, we can bring it here.”
“What you say is not possible.” Tulunigraq, who wore a sleeveless caribou parka, crossed his feathered arms across his chest.
“Quamaniq niuruq siqieiq,” intoned Vithrok. He raised both hands to the sky. “Quamaniq, quamaniq.”
A thin beam of pale blue light extended from Vithrok’s straining fingertips. The light had appeared sidewise as if it had spun into place from beneath a fold of the darkness.
“Grab hold,” commanded Vithrok, “Stretch your minds along the tether, feel your way.”
Tugto laid his hands on the beam. “It is a long way,” he said.
“Yes, it is a very long way,” replied Vithrok. “Send a bit of your soul down along the tether.”
“I see it,” said Tugto in amazement. “I see it! But it’s too bright. I can’t stand to look at it.”
“I can’t see it,” said Oogloon in frustration. “I can never see these things.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Vithrok, taking Oogloon’s hand and placing it on the tether. “Stretch out and you will feel it. When the time comes you will pull just like the rest of us, brother. You won’t need to see.”
Vithrok felt his excitement rise. “My plan can work! Come Tulunigraq, take hold. See for yourself.”
Tulunigraq would not bend. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Where Vithrok goes, I follow,” said Tugto. “I stand in support.” He and Vithrok exchanged glances. “Oogloon?”
Oogloon hesitated, letting go the tether. “Will it melt the snow?”
“We can’t know what it would do,” said Tulunigraq. “Something like that? Burning the sky with fire? We’ll all be killed. We’ll all die for the sake of Vithrok’s vanity.”
“Vanity?” raged Vithrok. “You fool! It’s not for me, we do this. It’s for them.” And so saying, he indicated the others toiling in darkness to build the citadel. “It’s not for us. Nothing we do is for us. Don’t you understand? There will be light and warmth. All will be able to see, not just the four of us. All will see.”
This argument held sway over Oogloon, who nodded his head, saying, “I am willing.”
Vithrok again raised his fist to Tulunigraq, but this time as an encouragement not a threat. “Think of the hunts we will have! We’ll be able to see the bear as it lunges for us, counter the attack even before it comes within killing range. We will have color again, Tulunigraq. Do you remember how it used to be? Do you remember all the colors?”
“Oh, yes. I remember. It is you who has forgotten, Vithrok. Have you forgotten that?” He pointed to the Thing That Was Cast Into The Outer Darkness, which could still be seen as a distant smudge, a tiny receding blot that was darker even
than the dark sky. The Thing’s screams could still be heard, but only faintly now, as it tumbled away from the world it had made.
“See what happens when one steps too far?” said Tulunigraq. “Remember what they did to us? How they robbed us of Heaven? Tell me you aren’t going to do the same.”
The fate of the Thing still haunted Vithrok. A momentary doubt crossed his face. “This is not Heaven,” he said.
“You see?” chimed Tulunigraq. “You can’t promise me that. You risk everything all over again. Things aren’t so bad now. That’s your problem Vithrok. You’ve never learned to accept things the way they are.”
“You can’t refuse,” said Vithrok desperately. “This task needs all four of us. The alignment won’t hold for long. If we don’t bring the ball here now it will be many turns of the sky before we can try it again, many turns, and we’ll spend all that time in darkness and cold. You must help us.”
“No,” said Tulunigraq.
Just like that. No. In that moment Vithrok wanted to kill Tulunigraq outright, but temperance stayed his hand. All four takpiksuk were needed. Killing Tulunigraq would not bring the light to his people, only doom them to darkness forever. He would have to find another way.
CHAPTER 24
EYESIGHT TO THE BLIND
Vithrok dreams of the past.
The sky turned and turned and turned. The world grew colder. The snow piled higher and did not recede. The mamut faded away until at last their distant, forlorn calls were heard no longer upon the frozen plain. All gone.
The Tunrit returned only rarely to the place at the top of the world where the Never Moves shone directly above. Game animals were most often found to the south. And food they had in plenty, and they lived free of predation. Unmolested and well-fed, the Tunrit turned themselves to other pursuits. Some took to composing songs and the telling of imaginative tales, while others developed methods for carving huge monuments into the mountains in order to create more permanent works of art. And Uivvaq had his cave paintings, on rare occasions when firelight permitted.
