Shadows

by Ken Altabef

  “I’ve seen her,” said a young girl’s voice. “I’ve seen her on the other side.” It was Noona. She held a framework of strings between her slender fingers. “My sister Tamuanuaq. She’s there.”

  Suddenly, without a doubt, Ben knew it was the truth. Noona, like her mother, did not ever lie.

  “What will happen to Tama if she crosses over?” asked Ben of the Light-Bringer.

  “She will be set free, just like the others. You have my word on it.”

  “You lie!” he said. “She’ll die, just like all the others.” For a moment, as if to give strength to his claim, the Light-Bringer’s mask slipped a little. Ben saw him as he had seen him once before, twelve years ago at the Ring of Stones.

  Ben’s gaze shifted to the cavern wall where the image of this man, the Tunrit sorcerer, was painted on the crumbling surface of the rock. His face, obscured as with a leathern veil, showed only two dark circles to represent the eyes. His hands, blackened claws, charred where they had overreached and touched the sun. Oh no, he thought. No, no, no. What had he done?

  “You’ll do it!” Vithrok said.

  “No.”

  “You will open the portal.”

  Ben felt himself firmly in the grip of the sorcerer’s power. He was held immobile. He struggled, but he was helpless against the Tunrit’s will.

  He felt a wrenching pain in all of his joints, knees and hip, shoulder and elbow, a searing pain in his chest as if he were being ripped limb from limb. He cried out in agony.

  “I can make you do it,” Vithrok said in an even tone.

  Ben grunted with the pain. He felt his very soul being ripped apart. The Light-Bringer had given up all pretenses, revealed at last as the sorcerer. The shadows roared their approval. It had all been false hope. A trap.

  CHAPTER 48

  THE HIDDEN WORLD

  Quixaaragon banked gracefully in its flight. Alaana wished the other Anatatook could see it, careening and wheeling on the spirit-winds. But this sight was for her alone.

  The little white dragon circled once more in the air, then dove for its master. Alighting softly on Alaana’s shoulder, it said, “I’m sorry, angatkok. I couldn’t find him.”

  “But he must be here,” said Alaana, “Somewhere among these rocks.”

  She called out to her father, using one of the sharp, high caws the hunters used. Kigiuna returned a sign from the middle distance. He had not found Ben either. Maguan and Iggy both responded in turn. Nothing. Desperation clung to the twilight air. The last vestiges of the fading light did not help their cause. The Moon not yet risen, their search would be hopeless in the darkness.

  “Here!” squawked the raspy tones of Tikiqaq. “Here!”

  Alaana scrambled over the rime-covered rocks. The little tupilaq was hopping anxiously on its rear flippers, fiddling with the walrus skin cover.

  “He’s here!” it said.

  Alaana ripped the hide away.

  Ben sat crouched among the jagged stones, his eyes open but unseeing.

  “He’s not dead,” said Tiki. It pushed its ragged snout at Ben and sniffed. The creature was delighted. “He’s not dead.”

  “Well, at least that abomination is useful for something after all,” said Quixaaragon of the tupilaq.

  “He’s taken flight,” remarked Alaana. “His soul-light is gone. That’s why I couldn’t find him.” She bent her ear to Ben’s mouth. His breathing was slow and shallow, but he was still alive. “He’s gone to the hidden world.”

  Alaana drew off her heavy parka and laid it across her husband’s shoulders. She squinted up into the failing light.

  “What has he done?” she asked.

  “Ben hid himself here on purpose,” said Quixaaragon. “He didn’t want to be so quickly found. He’s gone among the shadows for a reason.”

  “I’ve got to go. Now,” Alaana said.

  “You’re not ready yet.”

  “I’ve still got to go. What if the Tunrit sorcerer waits on the other side? I can’t leave Ben in the hands of that monster.”

  “This is a mistake. You’re not strong enough to fight Vithrok.”

  “That’s what I have you for,” she said dryly. “Now help me.”

  “All right,” said Quixaaragon. “Then listen. Remember what I’ve told you. The hidden world is not so far away. It crosses with this reality everywhere a shadow is cast, every rock and cloud, every clump of snow, every heart. As always, travel depends on the proper state of mind.”

  Alaana sat cross-legged in the snow beside Ben. Hands resting on her knees, head lowered. She cleared her mind of worries and cares. It wasn’t easy. She was in a near-panic over the state of her husband. Deep breath in. Let it go. Let it all go.

  “The state of mind required is the opposite of everything Old Manatook taught you,” reminded Quixaaragon. “It is supreme desperation, utter despair, the absence of all hope.”

  Alaana struggled to attain the proper attitude. She had despair enough, that was true. But she must cast aside all hope, to admit that all was lost, that there was nothing left but despair and failure. To embrace those desolate feelings, to sink into them, perhaps never to rise up again.

  “I can’t do it,” she said. “Even if I ignore everything Old Manatook ever said to me, I still can’t do it. There is always hope. There has to be.”

  “That’s just the way you are made. There’s good reason you were chosen to be the shaman.”

  Alaana shook her head. Was there nothing she could do?

  “I’ve an idea,” said Quixaaragon. “The fact that you are incapable of giving up hope makes it impossible for you to travel to the shadow realm. Therefore, there is no hope. Does that work for you?”

  Alaana didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. “No,” she said. “There is always hope.”

  “Then there is no way for you to get there,” said the little dragon. “The spear is cast. We must wait. It will be dark soon. He’ll have to return by nightfall in any case.”

  Glancing at Ben, Alaana said, “I can’t be sure of that.”

  She let out the deep breath she’d been holding. The air whistled painfully past the empty spaces left behind where some of her teeth had fallen out in the aftermath of the future’s fire. Fatigue reached out for her from deep inside. She was so very weak, and tired. She would have given anything for a good night’s sleep, or a few moments respite from the constant ache in her chest. It seemed a struggle now simply to draw breath.

  She reached out to stroke her husband’s face. Her fingers found his skin waxy and unresponsive. His eyes were dead. This man was everything she had ever wanted in her life. Circumstances had conspired to tear them apart but nothing could destroy what she felt for him. She couldn’t stand not knowing what dangers his spirit might be facing. “I won’t wait. There must be another way to get there.”

  “No other,” clucked Quixaaragon with finality.

  “But it’s so close. I can almost feel it. Right there, just around the corner.”

  “A flimsy barrier indeed, but still one you may not cross. It’s impossible.”

  “That’s it then,” said Alaana, an idea springing to life among the ashes of defeat. “Something else Old Manatook taught me. Something never to be ignored. He said nothing is impossible. And I believe that.”

  Alaana sniffed at the chilling air. “My patron! He said that when I needed him most, he would walk with me.”

  “Others have tried…” said Quixaaragon.

  “They didn’t have my guardian. He makes all things possible. Just like in the Beforetime. He said he would come, in my darkest need. He promised. He promised me that. I don’t have a name to call him by, but he once told me his name was Sila and so I will use that name.”

  Alaana addressed the darkening sky, “Sila, my patron, help me to cross this barrier. I beg of you. No drum, no mask, no talisman, I have only my aching heart. Come to me, aid me, I beg of you.”

  “Of course,” said Quixaaragon. “I am here.”
<
br />   “You?”

  The small round head nodded gracefully. “In part. A fragment, a dream. I come from him.”

  The white light that surrounded the dragon flared brighter and brighter until it became all-consuming. For a moment, bathed in that white light, Alaana was imbued with the supreme confidence of her guardian. Yes, all things were possible. Water could burn, men could sprout wings and fly, and a bear could be a man and a man a bear. She tasted honey and marrow, blood and wine.

  Then darkness fell.

  The distance was not great. Just around the corner.

  Still, the journey left Alaana disoriented. All around, impenetrable darkness. She tottered dizzily on uncertain spirit-legs. Alaana’s inuseq was made of light. She didn’t belong here. She heard shrill voices all around, buzzing noisily. Her head felt heavy, her thoughts thick and slow, but she shook it off. She had come here for a reason. To rescue her husband.

  “Quixaaragon?” she asked.

  “I am here,” the dragon returned. “Hidden away, as we planned.”

  Alaana remembered that in this darkness, she too could see. She shifted focus to the purple hues of the spirit-vision and all became clear.

  A throng of people surrounded her, but if these were the shadows they did not appear to be entirely so. As they drew near, basking in her light, their inky faces took on a three-dimensional reality, a form that went from smoke to solid, a warm glow from darkness. They felt it too.

  “What’s this?” asked someone joyfully.

  “The Light-Bringer?”

  “Can you feel it?” said another. “I can taste it. I’m alive, solid.”

  “I’m real! A taste of it. A sweet taste.”

  “So this is what it feels like,” said another. “I don’t know what to think.”

  As they crowded around, Alaana recognized many familiar faces. These people resembled the Anatatook, though subtly different in appearance from the men and women she knew. Iggy was there, a lean, half-starved version of his usual plump self. Kigiuna and Maguan also, and Mikisork, but they all stared dumbly at her. Only her mother Amauraq seemed to recognize her. Her eyes were agape.

  “It can’t be,” she said. “Alaana?”

  She reached out to touch Alaana’s face, but recoiled when she came across the stump of her missing ear.

  Kigiuna pulled her away. “Alaana? It can’t be. She’s dead. Long dead.”

  “My shadow perished,” said Alaana, “so that I might hold the light. On the other side I am angatkok, the shaman for the Anatatook people.”

  “It is her!” declared Amauraq. There was no stopping it now. Her family reacted with unbridled joy at seeing her again, their dead little girl, grown up and in good health, having made something great of herself. “Remember my grandfather Quipagaa,” said Amauraq, “He was a shaman also. A long time ago. On the other side.”

  Only Kigiuna remained skeptical, a stubborn, puzzled look on his face.

  Now it was Amauraq’s turn to pull him away. “It’s her,” she insisted. “A mother knows her daughter.”

  Kigiuna gave in. He stepped back and regarded Alaana appraisingly. “A shaman, you say?”

  “Yes, but I have little time,” said Alaana. “It’s nightfall soon.”

  “We know,” said Amauraq. “We know.”

  “I’m looking for my husband — Ben Thompson. I have to find him right away, before it’s too late.”

  “He’s gone into the cave with the others,” said Kigiuna. He jerked a thumb toward a large rock formation in the near distance. Alaana recognized the place as the cavern at Black Face.

  She ran for the entrance, a host of her relatives trailing behind.

  CHAPTER 49

  A GREATER POWER

  “You will open the portal!” roared the Light-Bringer.

  “Open it yourself!” growled Ben, biting his tongue against the pain.

  “Just do it!” pleaded the shadow Aquppak. “There’s no need for you to suffer.”

  No, thought Ben. I won’t do it. I won’t do anything he wants.

  “You’re the one,” said the shade of Higilak. “The only one that can save us. We’ve been trapped here so long. Set us free!”

  Ben gagged against the searing pain in the joints of his arms and legs. “You’ll all a lie.”

  “They won’t,” said the Light-Bringer. “You’re not thinking straight. You’re confused.”

  Ben was confused. Between the pain and the fog of the shadow world he had a hard time remembering exactly what had happened on the other side. He recalled only Nuralak’s death scream. He had heard that. Nuralak had died. If he let them through, the Anatatook would all die.

  “You’ll all die!” he moaned.

  “Don’t listen to him!” raged the Light-Bringer. “He only wants to save his daughter, not the rest of you. But I will make him do it. Tonight, the shadows walk free!”

  “I won’t!” spat Ben.

  The sorcerer set his entire body aflame.

  The pain was incredible. He seemed bathed in fire, a never-ending agony that burned but did not consume him. He swam in it, unable to move or escape. Unable to think clearly. There was a good reason he should not open the gates but it seemed elusive now, lost in the haze of pain. But it nagged at him. Something about Nuralak. His children. The Anatatook.

  It was impossible to think straight. Flashes of memory came back as he writhed amid the broiling fire. The faces of Yupikut men, leering at him, laughing at him. He had been bound then, just as now. Humiliated. He had cried and pleaded with them for mercy. But it had done no good. He had suffered their torments anyway. And he had promised himself he would never cry and beg again. Someone was doing this to him again. Someone was hurting him. But one thing was certain. He would never give in; he wasn’t going to do what they asked. Never.

  Vithrok growled his frustration. “Why doesn’t he open the portal? He’s only a man. He is weak. He is nothing.”

  “You don’t understand this one,” muttered Aquppak. “He’s been hurt before.”

  The Light-Bringer looked his way, silver-bright eyes flashing. “I don’t need to understand. I have only to bend him until he breaks.”

  “His children give him strength,” said Higilak. “A strength of creation and love. You have to take that away from him.” She pushed Tamuanuaq forward. “Kill the child.”

  Ben screamed.

  “Leave her alone!”

  Vithrok turned to see a figure of light entering the cave. Wherever she stepped the shadows lit up with the glow of reality around her.

  “So you’ve found me, little shaman. But it will do you no good. Look at yourself. You are broken. Your light is so weak. You are almost dead already.” As if to better illustrate his point Vithrok’s spirit surged, making his light so bright it became blinding. The shadows backed away in fear and awe. Next to him Alaana was a pale reflection.

  “Look for yourself,” said Vithrok. “He is at the breaking point. The portal is leaking already.” A large oval had appeared in the far wall, leaving the rock soft and unsubstantial. The portal crackled and shimmered with a dull gray haze. Alaana saw a pair of shadows slip through the doughy stone and escape into the world beyond. “How are you going to stop him?” Vithrok asked. “You won’t raise your hand against him, that I know for certain.”

  “It’s you I’ve come here for,” said Alaana.

  “Really? Me? And what are you going to do to me?”

  The Light-Bringer stood tall, resplendent in his glowing furs. “Don’t you know what I am? I have stood at the heart of a raging volcano and bathed in a waterfall of fire. I have walked the avenues of paradise, stomping galaxies beneath my feet; I smashed a mountain of ice, setting loose a storm of creation, a new world in each shattered grain. I’ve raised monuments that have stood for eons, long beyond all human memory. I have wrestled with monsters, the sight of which would curdle your blood.”

  It was all true. But Vithrok knew his bold words concealed a fair amount of blust
er as well. He understood who it was that powered the pesky shaman, and why he had been so instinctually wary of her. In Alaana’s naked angakua Vithrok recognized a force he couldn’t possibly oppose. A force far greater than himself. A creature born in the tremendous battle that had resulted in the Great Rift. He knew why he must fear Alaana, why he held no power over her. But the little shaman didn’t know who she represented, and if she didn’t know, she could not win.

  Vithrok held firm. “You are nothing, a morsel, not even worth consuming. Just what do you think you are going to do to me?”

  “Whatever you once were, you’re just a mistake now,” Alaana said. “A little spirit who crept through the crack. A blunder I made, one day out on the tundra. I brought you here, and I am going to send you back.”

  “Come on, then,” said Vithrok. “I will snuff out your little flame with just one breath. There is so little left of you.”

  “There’s enough,” Alaana replied. She reached into her spirit-parka and drew out her weapon. Quixaaragon shone so brightly in this dreary place even Alaana was dazzled by its light. A scintillating burst of energy from the long ago. Pure Beforetime.

  Now was the chance, thought Alaana. She saw a flash of fear cross the silver of Vithrok’s eyes. Quixaaragon was a living arrow in form and function, its wings folded back to form a bow, the long neck and pointed beak the arrow’s tip. Alaana drew back on the little dragon’s tail.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “As ever,” returned the arrow. “Let fly!”

  Alaana took her shot. Quixaaragon sizzled through the air, flying straight and true but not quite on target. Alaana’s aim with the bow had never been very good. It was her duty to call the animals to the hunt, to soothe their spirits, and seldom did she raise her hand against them.

  The shot went wide, missing Vithrok entirely. The flaming arrow skittered against the rock wall beside the shimmering portal, and bounced down to come to rest imbedded in the ground.

  “Fool!” said Vithrok. The sight of the arrow unnerved him further still. If there was anything that could fully ruin all of his plans it was that age-old spirit. He had misjudged the situation entirely, thinking he would be safe hidden among the shadows, in a world where the little shaman could not go. And yet Alaana had pierced the veil, even wounded and near to death, and stepped boldly across. As weak and pathetic as she seemed, Alaana possessed a spirit of great strength and resolve.