by Ken Altabef
The Light-Bringer turned toward the shadow people. “Hear me!” he said. “Now is the time to pay for your freedom. Get her! Kill her, while I finish with the man.”
He signaled the shadows, now material in his light, to attack. A group of men surged forward. Alaana recognized some of them as former friends among the Anatatook but that didn’t seem to matter now.
Tugtutsiak’s youngest son Oaniak reached her first, striking Alaana’s spirit-woman full across the face. Alaana felt the pain intensely, for a moment flashing back to her physical body as it remained cross-legged among the rocks at the outskirts of the Anatatook camp. She could not stand much of this.
Her spirit-woman bent low under Oaniak’s next attack, kicking her opponent’s leg from under. Oaniak sprawled backward, but his place was taken by Arouk who came at Alaana from the side, holding a dagger in his fist. Alaana didn’t hesitate. She pressed forward, the dagger carving a furrow across her forearm. She smashed her elbow into Arouk’s nose and the shadow’s blood, dark and oily, sputtered forth.
There were too many. Alaana couldn’t fight them all. She was already very tired, nearly spent.
Unseen hands grabbed her from behind and she thought the end had come. Instead of a death blow she was thrust forcefully out of the way as another party of Anatatook, the people that had followed her into the cave, rushed forward. Kigiuna was foremost among them, and Iggy and Maguan and the others. The battle was truly joined. The fighting raged in a mad swirl around Alaana. She wished they would all stop. It was a meaningless a battle. These were friends and countrymen brought to each other’s throats by the manipulations of Vithrok.
Vithrok was the real target not these misguided souls. Vithrok, who stood not far away, working his evil sorcery against Ben.
Alaana stretched out her hand and Quixaaragon flew up from the ground to meet her palm. The arrowhead was splintered and crooked, but still retained its sharp point.
“Vithrok!” shouted Alaana.
The Tunrit sorcerer turned away from Ben.
Alaana felt the warmth of Quixaaragon in her spirit-hand, felt again the presence of her unnamed guardian, glimpsed a face that had appeared to her as an old man on their previous encounters. An old man. But who?
“Still with me?” Alaana asked softly.
“As ever,” Quixaaragon replied, its voice a cracked whisper. “I can fly no longer, but my target is in sight at last.”
Alaana slashed the arrow’s point at Vithrok’s throat. The Tunrit sorcerer stepped back. He was too tall, his neck out of reach.
Alaana didn’t hesitate. She stabbed forward with her weapon.
Vithrok caught the attack in time, slashing his oversized hand at the dagger. Sparks flew where his blackened claws met the streak of light. The dagger that was Quixaaragon had split in half.
Vithrok cried out in pain. He took another step backward, his hold on Ben forgotten.
Ben’s thoughts swirled in a mad haze of agony.
The broiling of his skin had stopped, but he was still held immobile by lances of white-hot fire in his arms and legs. He drew breath in ragged rasps of pain.
The gateway shimmered before his eyes, a pool of silver shadow embedded in the rock wall of the cave. The portal to the other side. He had been commanded to open it, to send the shadows through.
The gate was leaking shadows from among those men fighting in the cave. He watched two dark outlines, partially illuminated by the furious battle within the cave, as they approached the barrier. The opening was very narrow, but the shadowy figures stretched and elongated and slipped through. On the other side, he could hear their cries of elation and then their screams.
Tugtutsiak’s second son Kamatsiaq. The old seamstress Krittaq. He heard their death screams as light met dark and both dissolved away. He imagined the panic among the Anatatook, their camp under attack, their frantic horror, their futile attempts to defend themselves. He heard them calling Alaana’s name, in frustration and despair.
Ben caught sight of her. Alaana. Weak and dying, she had come here for him, to try and save him. He could do no less. He must shut the gate. Ben summoned his last morsel of strength. If he had been the one to open it, he must seal the gap. If only he knew how. But to tear something apart was much easier than to mend the rip. What thread could there be to sew the ends together?
The portal was a pool of shimmering gray water in the surface of the cave wall. The opening a crack in the surface, more like a jagged reflection in the water. The answer, it seemed to him, was not to mend the gap but to simply wipe the reflection away, muddy the waters and let them flow over the breach.
Ben noticed Aquppak, his shadow now appearing vital and fully alive as he stood in the fierce glow of Alaana’s light. He was defending her. This Aquppak was truly a leader of men. Having realized the danger to his people, he fought to save them from themselves.
Ben drew a shaky breath, fighting back the pain. When he closed the gate, he realized, he would save the shadows too. He would save them all.
He struggled once more against his invisible bonds but there was no way to break free. That didn’t matter. If he gave his all, he had strength enough to close the portal from here. Strength enough.
As Vithrok swatted Alaana’s dagger away, he felt again the burning touch of the sun. A white-hot line of fire ran up his arm and across his chest, to strike into his very soul. The pain was incredible. If he had any doubts about the strength of Alaana’s secret patron before, he did not have any now.
Everything had turned against him. Alaana’s husband would not break. He would not. Vithrok had done his worst to him and come away with very little to show for it. A tiny rift in the wall, which even now crumbled in upon itself. No matter. He would destroy the Anatatook another time.
He took a step back from Alaana. Vithrok did not ever retreat. He did not ever run away. He had simply to get that weapon away from the little shaman.
The shadows were all preoccupied fighting among themselves. Alaana made straight for Vithrok, the stub of her fiery dagger still aflame in her hand.
“Vithrok!” she called. “Vithrok, whose name is The Truth!”
“What?”
“The Truth!” returned Alaana.
“How can you know that?” Vithrok raged. How could she know that? The Tunrit language had died with the rest of his kin thousands of years ago. There were no Tunrit left to betray his secrets. His true name had been erased from this world long ago.
The little shaman did not answer. She charged forward.
The name opened a path directly into Vithrok’s soul. Alaana would not lose her last chance. She plunged the broken stub of Quixaaragon into his sorcerous heart.
A searing pain ran up along her hand and arm. Quixaaragon boiled away in her grasp. Alaana’s numbed spirit-fingers released the dagger as it was consumed. She sensed that Quixaaragon, the fragment of a dream who just happened to look like a dragon, was happy at last in finding its target and fulfilling its age-old mission.
Vithrok’s scream shook the cavern, driving everyone to their knees. Pure Beforetime blasted out from the wound in his chest, a shower of sparks containing every color that had ever existed. He staggered backward, bleeding Beforetime. For a moment the cave paintings shone like never before in the dazzling light — vivid scenes of wonder and paradise, a bird of colorful splendor chief among them. Then the sorcerer was gone.
Alaana rushed to Ben’s side. She had seen his terrible exertion as he had collapsed the portal. She had seen him fall.
The fighting stopped. Aquppak called out to his people. “The Light-Bringer is gone. The portal is gone, all our chances fled. It’s over.”
The familiar sounds of lamentation and woe rose up to meet his words.
“It’s just as well,” he said, “for only death lay on the other side. If there is a way for us to walk in the light, someday I will find it. I promise you that. I will find it.”
“Night comes,” someone wailed.
“Yes,” said Aquppak, “Night comes again.
Alaana swept Ben into her arms. The shaman’s light shone upon his face, changing Ben’s skin from burned and black to his normal flesh tones. Some of the shadows still advanced on Alaana, but seeing what had happened, and witnessing her terrible grief, they retreated again.
“Ben!” she cried.
Aquppak lay a hand on her shoulder. The leader of the shadows slowly bowed his head. “You must go. Now, before it’s too late.”
Alaana noticed the shade of Old Higilak standing nearby, a look of terrible regret scarring her withered countenance. And behind the old woman, peering out from between her legs, she glimpsed her daughter Tamuanuaq.
“Tama!” she said.
Now she understood what Ben had been doing here. But the girl shrank back. It was clear that she didn’t even know Alaana. How could she? Alaana had been dead to these people for many years.
Darkness began to fall.
The rising panic in the room felt like an impending hammer blow. Their screams tore at Alaana’s ears.
“Your people need you,” said Aquppak. “Let me see to my own.”
Aquppak swept a few stray locks of hair from his forehead, looking to Alaana much more like the friend of her childhood than the frost-scarred wretch she had left back in Nunatsiaq. Alaana realized the quality of her mercy. If she had killed Aquppak instead of exiling him from the Anatatook, she would have killed his shadow as well, dooming these people to face the long night without their leader.
Alaana bent to place her cheek against Ben’s face. He was still breathing. He was still alive. And that meant there was hope. And hope brought them both home.
Alaana’s weary spirit fell back into her physical body.
Unlike the relief she usually felt when reclothing herself in flesh and bone her inuseq was met by an extreme fatigue, a painful rasping in her chest, and a heartbreaking sadness.
She thought of her patron, who had answered her plea to bring her to the shadow world but who had not seen fit to rescue her daughter. If she had a name by which to curse that being, she might well have done so.
The Anatatook people crowded around. Her father, her brother, her uncle. All stared down at Alaana and her unconscious husband. Ben was breathing shallowly, rapidly. He was very close to death.
“How much?” shouted Alaana, her fist raised to the rapidly darkening sky. “How much must they take from me?”
But none there could answer.
CHAPTER 50
NIGHT
Darkness had fallen and would not lift again for two moons.
“I feel like it will never be light again,” said Alaana.
“It will,” replied Higilak, sitting beside her in front of their iglu, bundled up in heavy furs. “Many times I’ve felt the same over the years, but the sun does rise again in the spring. It always does.”
“I remember when Old Manatook first left us and I came to live with you. I had only thirteen winters then. Everything was new, anything was possible. I was just a child.”
“And then Ben moved in,” recalled Higilak, “and it was an awkward threesome we made.”
At mention of Ben, Alaana’s eyes went cold. She turned away, and Higilak heard a sniffle. The shaman looked up at the night sky and the stars. Higilak wondered what Alaana thought about them. For her part she thought they were the souls of dead shamans looking down on the people, fondly remembering their lives, and that was why they twinkled. She thought her husband, Old Manatook was up there.
“The sun will rise again,” she said. “Spring will come”
“It’s been a bad year,” said Alaana. “So many gone. Tugtutsiak, Talliituk, Nuralak.”
“Massautsicq,” Higilak added sadly.
“Yes and Aquppak, too. His skills fed many people. Winter will be a struggle without enough men to cover all the seal holes in the bay.”
“Then some of the women will go out too,” said Higilak.
Alaana cocked an eyebrow at the old woman’s most radical suggestion. Then she hung her head again. “I think of all we’ve lost, all the Anatatook have suffered. And why? What for? Is this the price I pay for letting that sorcerer free?”
“The price for my life?” Higilak asked, half-choking on the words. “Don’t ask me. There are some things even an old woman doesn’t know, after all. I hope not. Surely my worn-out old life wasn’t worth that price.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. Someone has to tell us the stories, or we’d all go crazy in the dark.”
“Noona’s pretty good, you know,” said Higilak. “She remembers everything I tell. Maybe someday…”
“Someday she’ll be the old storytelling woman?”
Higilak thought she saw a hint of a smile play at the corner of Alaana’s mouth. She shrugged. “I can’t live forever.”
“Can’t you?” asked Alaana.
Two men came running toward them from the shore, shouting for attention. Maguan was the first to reach them. Iggy lagged behind. He still had Aquppak’s bullet stuck somewhere in the bulky wasteland of his hip. The bullet was cold, hard metal. With no soul to barter with, Alaana had no way to convince it to come out again. Iggy would likely carry that bullet for the rest of his life.
“Success!” shouted Maguan. “We’ve found a lot of fresh breathing holes all along he inlet. We’ll get enough seal to see us through the long dark, I just know it!”
“You’ve chosen the right place,” said Alaana. “The others will be glad they put their trust in you.”
“I suppose,” said Maguan with a shrug, “though why anyone would follow me is a mystery.”
“Everyone else knows the answer to that mystery,” said Higilak. “Because you inspire them. Because no matter how much is lost, you don’t look back. You’re always looking forward. And that’s a man worth following.”
“Good luck, brother,” said Alaana. “You’ll get little help from me this winter.” She flexed the fingers of her right hand, the hand that had stabbed at the heart of the Truth. Sensation was slowly returning to the numbed fingers. All her physical hurts would heal in time, she was sure, but it would be a long while before she would make the soul flight again, a long time before she could visit again with the turgats and beg their forbearance and aid. But the spark remained, deep inside. She could feel it kindling again. Maybe after the winter. The men would hunt the seal and she would rest; and if nothing else should happen, they might come out all right.
“No matter sister,” said Maguan. “We have just enough men if we keep our circle tight. We’ll start right away.”
“Maybe you should let them finish making their houses first,” suggested Iggy. The big man jerked a thumb at the nascent Anatatook camp where the people were busily putting up their iglus in a thin line along the shore. Noona was pulling her brother Kinak around on a small toy sled Kigiuna had made for them. Kinak whooped with glee. Tooky emerged from a low entrance tunnel. Out of breath, she stood a moment, hands cradling the fullness of her belly. She waved at the men and came toward them.
Tiki emerged from the far side of the tunnel and trundled along after her, its flippers paddling the crusted snow.
“Aarrgh!” said Iggy. “Alaana, can’t you do something about that blasted thing? I want to be married tonight!”
“I suppose we’ve room for one more in our place,” remarked Alaana. “What do you say, Old Mother?”
“Well, it really will be a long winter if we have to listen to our Big Mountain whine and complain the entire time,” she said. “And I really am fond of true love.”
“Fine,” said Iggy. “Now please take that monster away and give it something else to do besides bother my wife.”
Tooky embraced Iggy, the big man and tiny girl making a very odd pair.
“Once we get a walrus or two, we’ll throw a terrific feast,” said Maguan optimistically. “That will be something to look forward to. A wedding feast for Iggy and Tooky. A wedding in the dark. Our mother will love it!”
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Noona let the pull cord of the little sled drop into the snow.
“She’s there,” she said. She grabbed her mother’s trouser leg in one hand and pointed at Tooky’s belly with the other. “Can’t you see her, mother?”
“What?” mumbled Alaana.
“She’s there!” said Noona, squeezing Alaana’s arm.
“She?” said Alaana.
She squinted her eyes, calling forth the spirit-vision with great effort. And she saw at last the tiny flame inside Tooky’s belly, the soul-light of the baby conceived by her lovemaking with Tugtutsiak.
“Can’t you see her, mother?” said Noona. “It’s Tama!”
Alaana bent across the pallet, smoothing her husband’s brow.
Ben’s eyes fluttered open.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said. “How do you feel?”
“Better,” he said weakly. “Better.”
“You’ll feel even better when you’ve heard what I have to tell! Ben! I’ve found Tama!”
He looked at her as if he thought he might still be dreaming. “What?”
“She’s here! She’s alive!”
Alaana could make out just a faint whisper of surprise crossing his lips, and then happiness lifted his cheeks.
“She was already here,” said Alaana. “In Tooky’s belly. Safe and warm. That’s what happened when she disappeared that day. When I saw her die. That’s where she went.”
“She was here all the time?”
“Yes,” said Alaana. “That’s why her shadow didn’t fade from the shadow land. She was still here, alive, held in safekeeping.”
“How strange,” remarked Ben. “Have you ever heard of such a thing before?”
