The Tundra Shall Burn!

by Ken Altabef

  CHAPTER 9

  UUNA, SIQI, AND IKIK

  Nunavik watched the children frolic in the lake.

  He sat alone on the shore as the others played and danced in the water. The largest of the three, whom Nunavik had named Ikik, breached the surface, turned to smile at him, if such a grotesque mouth could be said to smile, and dove back in. A sheet of freshwater arced in the giant’s wake and, before Nunavik could think to move, it slammed into him. Normally water would just pass through his golden spirit form but, this being the entirely spiritual realm of the Lowerworld, the walrus received an unwelcome, icy slap in the face.

  “Aacckk!” he said, shaking it off.

  Ikik was as large as a young beluga whale and similarly shaped. His skin had a bright orange color with a gelatinous, semitransparent texture. His flat head peered above the rim of frothy water and he looked at Nunavik through a dozen round, lidless eyes.

  “Sorry, Uncle,” he said. His mouth, a wide slash of crusty lips, did not actually form the words. Nunavik had taught the lake children the shaman’s way to transmit thoughts to him through the ether as speech and they had all proved adept.

  Ikik turned his bulky form around, rather ungraciously, and plunged down again, displaying a gigantic fluked tail that slapped the water and showered Nunavik once again.

  “I named you well!” shouted the walrus. “You truly are a Block of Wood!”

  “Come in!” said Uuna, who was about half the size of his tremendous brother. “Swim with us!” His name was short for Uunaqtuqor, which meant Warmth. Perhaps the friendliest creature Nunavik had ever known, he was distinguished from the others by a high, arched fin on his back which kept his course straight and true, and made him by far the fastest of the three, at least in long stretches.

  “We’ll have a race!” said Siqi.

  “I’m too old to race,” said Nunavik flatly.

  “Twelve hundred winters,” said Siqi, with a slightly mocking twist. Siqieaabiksuq, whose name meant Sunshine, was the smallest, cleverest and most introspective of the lake children. She seemed to be always in motion, flitting this way and that, swimming rings around the others.

  “But I will be in for a swim,” said Nunavik. “As long as there’s no rough play. My glorious golden hide is still bruised from the last time. I’m talking to you, Ikik. Promise?”

  The three made their promises.

  “Be sure,” said Nunavik, “Or I’ll give you a sharp taste of my tusk.”

  Nunavik eased himself into the cool, clear water. The isolated lake on this rocky shore was not native to the Lowerworld, a great spiritual cavern under the surface of the earth that was filled, impossibly, by a vast number of trees. In the physical world, the spirit of the lake had fallen in love with a mortal woman in great danger and brought her here to keep her safe. The crazy old woman married to the lake had passed away, dying before these, her children, were born. Alaana had encountered her on her first visit to the Lowerworld and promised to look after the lake children, which were then merely giant gobs of orange roe laid in an underwater cave.

  The three had been born in secret in this lake, which now seemed to have grown too small to allow them to comfortably roam. Nunavik had tended them from the moment they hatched from the mass of eggs. Only these three had survived, emerging as tadpoles the size of a man’s fist. The golden walrus was the first living soul the lake children had ever seen, and he’d made quite an impression on them. He’d looked after them for ten winters, although there was very little they needed. They were isolated here and safe. Nunavik’s journeys to the Lowerworld were now few and far between, and truth be told, he came here more for the lake than its monstrous children.

  Nunavik, a creature of the sea, was forever banned from its waters. The cause of his troubles was love, as if that weren’t the cause of all the misery in this world or any of the other six. As a young walrus he had learned to dive deep. Deeper, in fact, than any walrus before. As he explored the wonders beneath the waves he had stumbled upon many sorts of hidden treasure in the depths of the sea, but the greatest of them was a girl whose name he had never known, the daughter of Sedna herself. The Mistress of the Sea and her monstrous husband, who was a huge crimson sea scorpion, kept their daughter hidden down beneath the waves. The girl developed feelings for Nunavik and she escaped and came up to find him, only to be killed by hunters at the surface. Sedna had never forgiven Nunavik, and vowed to destroy him. As a result the golden walrus had hidden his soul away in his tusk. His true body discarded, he traveled the world solely in spiritual form thereafter.

  Nunavik could never traverse the sea again, for as soon as he set one flipper in its waters Sedna would surely destroy him. He hid in the spiritual world, the death of his one true love having kept him from his other love — the sea. But in this lake, so far removed from the earthly plain, he could indulge himself. Its brackish waters were not quite as satisfying as the salt water of his birth but he could swim at any rate. At least when the lake children granted him a moment’s peace.

  Nunavik dove in. It was good to stretch his flippers again and swish his tail. The old walrus decided to attempt a gentle barrel roll but Ikik got in the way and Nunavik’s face slapped into the lakespawn’s gooey hide. He might have been harmed if his face had not already been basically flat to begin with. Siqi immediately began swimming rings around him and getting in the way of his flippers.

  “I’ll give you a ride uncle,” suggested Ikik.

  “No thank you,” said Nunavik. “No rides. You nearly mashed me to a pulp last time crashing into everything all around.”

  “Let’s play another game,” suggested Uuna.

  “All right,” sighed the walrus. “Let me see a flip and roll. Who can do it best?”

  Siqi immediately performed three flip rolls, all absolutely perfect. Uuna performed elegantly as well, but Ikik floundered in a bizarre abstract way that sent his lower half above the surface and then crashing down. The resultant shock wave toppled Nunavik backward through the waters.

  “Aaccckk!” he cried. “Watch or you’ll cut your Uncle Walrus in half! How your father puts up with all this, I’ll never know.”

  “He’s too old and tired,” said Siqi indignantly, “to even wake up.”

  Indeed their father Taamnapkunami did seldom ever wake up. He brought food for his children periodically and nothing more. The lake spirit was so very old and sleepy he hardly knew them. Since the death of his wife Weeana, he took little interest in anything at all.

  “Tell us what it’s like in the ocean,” asked Siqi. “Are there lots of other fish?”

  Nunavik, who had just righted himself after Ikik’s blundering performance, found himself surrounded by the three lakespawn.

  “Tell us!”

  “There are indeed many fish,” he said.

  “Like us? Fish like us?” asked Uuna.

  “I’m not sure you are fish,” said Nunavik. In truth he didn’t know exactly what the lakespawn were, and he had seen it all, diving deep, every creature of the sea. He had seen too much. Alaana thought they were important and, although the shaman’s intuition was a powerful thing, Nunavik couldn’t see these silly creatures being much use to anyone at all. Ever.

  “Tell us everything!”

  “There are so many different kinds of creatures — fish, whales, seal, mussels, clams, octopus — it would take a thousand years to tell all.”

  “What’s an octopus?” asked Siqi.

  “Well, it’s…it’s like a blob of flesh with eight legs and two eyes.”

  “I want to see one,” said Uuna.

  “They’re ugly,” said Nunavik, “Really hideous. But one time I saw a creature of the deep, a fish, about as long as a bearded seal, and it had at the tip of its nose a shining ball of light. Now there was an elegant sort of creature.”

  The lake children gasped in delight.

  “You see, it used that little nose-light as a lure and when the little fish came to see, passing just right in
front of the fish’s mouth, he gobbled them up!”

  Nunavik made the exaggerated sounds of a demon fish gobbling and cracking its kill. Uuna squealed with delight.

  Siqi said again, “I want to see an octopus.”

  “Yuckk,” said Nunavik, “They’re disgusting. Slimy. And they taste terrible. Forget it.”

  “But I want to see,” she insisted.

  And there was the problem. Besides stocking the lake with an endless supply of krill, Taamnapkunami brought no other creatures here at all. The lakespawn had never seen anything except what Nunavik described to them. They were safe, but they were too sheltered here. They were prisoners. It seemed to Nunavik that their plight was too similar to the situation with Sedna’s daughter. Her parents, the most powerful spirits in all the waters, had hidden her at the bottom of the sea to protect her from the dangers above. But in her isolation she had found Nunavik’s appearance fascinating and that had led her to defy her parents and plunge head-first to her doom.

  It occurred to Nunavik that by keeping his children sheltered here, swimming around in circles, Taamnapkunami was making the same mistake. He couldn’t keep them in the dark forever.

  “Why can’t we see for ourselves,” asked Siqi, “Why can’t we go to visit the sea?”

  “Yes, yes!” said Ikik. “Let’s go.”

  “It’s not all that simple,” said Nunavik. “How could you possibly get there from here?”

  “Father could take us,” suggested Siqi, “the same way he brings the food here.”

  Nunavik was struck by the idea. It had never occurred to him but Siqi was right. Old Taamnapkunami probably could bring them to the ocean. But would he?

  “Why can’t we go?” aked Uuna.

  “So many questions, you’ll tire out your old uncle.”

  “Can we? Can we?” asked Ikik. He was becoming agitated, and when he became agitated, half the lake sloshed this way and that.

  “Take it easy, you big oaf!” said Nunavik. “It might be possible. I don’t know. We’d have to ask your father.”

  CHAPTER 10

  FOX HUNT

  Hidden beneath the tarp, Aquppak felt a sudden chill. Sitting still for too long was a dangerous mistake out on the tundra, but he didn’t dare move. He took another sip of home brew to warm his belly then resumed vigilance, peering through a tiny rent in the tarp. Concealed beneath this albino caribou skin, as white as the snow and roughly the same texture and color, he would seem as any other lifeless hump of land. If he didn’t move, he wouldn’t be seen. If he didn’t freeze, he would most likely succeed.

  “Killing Kullabak is not an easy thing,” Niak had warned, several days earlier as they ate trout and bannick in his house.

  “I can do it,” Aquppak had insisted.

  “I don’t see how,” Niak had said. “He’s never alone in camp. Always has at least two men with him.”

  “And I have you,” suggested Aquppak.

  “Not me! I’m not getting dragged into this. And neither should you. Getting yourself killed, that’s not why I pulled you out of that garbage-heap. That’s not why I brought you here.”

  “Then what did you bring me here for?” Aquppak demanded, suddenly angry. He was no beggar boy, going around asking for scraps. He had accepted this young man’s charity, freely given, and had put up with his non-stop friendly chatter and prattling for too long already. “I’ve eaten your food, shared your lamp. What do you want from me?”

  “I’ll tell you,” said Niak. His eyes darted away, searching the shabby tent, then slowly found their way back.

  Aquppak snickered. The young man was nervous. Even when asked directly he could hardly come to the subject. “Then tell me.”

  “I want to join the Yupikut.”

  Aquppak laughed and shook his head. “Now who’s talking crazy?” he asked. The Yupikut were a notorious band of raiders, with nothing but cut-throats and thieves among them, who preyed on the other bands of Nunatsiaq. They were famous for their lightning-quick attacks and merciless tactics. “They don’t take volunteers.”

  “Maybe not if I just walked up to them and asked,” said Niak.

  “Surely not.”

  “That’s because they don’t know me.”

  “You’ll get yourself killed.”

  “They don’t know me,” said Niak, “But they know you.”

  Aquppak grunted.

  “It’s true,” insisted Niak. “You used to be the headman of the Anatatook. They remember you. You were the best hunter in Nunatsiaq. And your bow could just as easily be turned against an enemy as a caribou. And you can shoot! They remember you. They will welcome you.”

  “And if I have some young soul in tow?”

  “They’ll accept me too, if you speak for me.”

  “So that’s it. You want an introduction?”

  “And why not? It’s better for you! We can belong again, to a band, not be hangers-on relying on scraps from the kabloonas. We can be our own men again. Get respect. You’ll stop drinking that grog. Your hand will be steady again, your eye sharp. Tell me you don’t want that?”

  Aquppak grunted softly, stuffing another half-biscuit in his mouth. “Maybe, maybe. But there’s something else. Something you’re not telling. You’re not so clever, Niak. I can see it hiding behind your eyes. Why the Yupikut?”

  Niak’s face went hard. He looked down for a moment, then spoke slowly. “They came to my village. Three winters ago.”

  Aquppak had an idea of what he was going to say but would hear it from the young man’s lips. “Go on.”

  “I was sleeping late that day. I wasn’t lazy, not lazy, but the night before we had a big feast at my village. Some men brought home musk ox and, you know, that musk ox was good. The wives boiled it up. I wasn’t married. My father, he kept promising but these things happen, and I had no wife yet. Anyway, food was plentiful and my belly full and satisfied well, so I slept late next day. In the morning the Yupikut came racing across the tundra. Their sleds, their dogs, quiet as a whisper. My people weren’t ready. We had no warning.” His eyes looked through Aquppak, as if reliving the horrors the attack. “They killed every living soul. They poked their spears into my tent and thought they had done for me too. They took all the food, and while they were packing up I came stumbling out. But they didn’t kill me then. They thought the whole thing funny. They laughed. They left me alive to carry the news to the other villages, to tell them of the strength and ruthlessness of the mighty Yupikut. I had been suffered to live.”

  “And you want to join them?”

  “What else is there to do? Revenge would never be possible.”

  Aquppak considered.

  “They’ll take us!” hissed Niak. “They know you.”

  “Maybe,” said Aquppak. “But first, I kill Kullabak.”

  “Och. This again?” Niak was beside himself. His head shook violently as if there were no neck binding it to his body.

  Aquppak grinned. “He uses my trapline…”

  Niak rolled his eyes. “Leave it be!”

  “When a man goes out to empty his traps, he doesn’t bring two friends along. They have their own traps to tend. A man goes alone.”

  “Och, you won’t listen to anyone. Might as well plead with the wind.”

  Out on the tundra, Aquppak took another swig of the home brew. His eyes drifted closed for a moment, but he forced them open again. There was a fine line between warming his belly and falling asleep. If he dozed off like this, with only a flimsy hide on top, he would never wake up again. Never matter, it wouldn’t be long now. He could see Kullabak already, checking his traps just a little ways down the line. My traps, thought Aquppak. These are my traps.

  He had scouted the line thoroughly the day before. The traps weren’t hard to find. The trappers marked them with cylindrical blocks of snow cut from the trap-holes in order to distinguish them from the vast, featureless plain. And Aquppak had carefully chosen this spot, toward the end of the line. Kullabak would be tired
from the long day of work, driving the dog team, checking the traps, walking back and forth to the sled, skinning and loading the fox. This late in the day, there would be no time for anything but business. Kullabak would pass directly along the line, from one trap to the next. At the angle he was walking, he wouldn’t notice the albino hide disguised as snow on the tundra.

  Aquppak fingered his knife. The blade had been a gift of Kanak, one of the greatest hunters of his day. As a boy, Aquppak had saved Kanak’s life when an adder had crawled into his bedroll, prompting the hunter to gift this special blade to him. Not to the beggar boy, but to the young hero who had saved him when the others failed to do so. To this day, the knife remained Aquppak’s most prized possession. The rock from which the blade was cut had fallen from the sky. None had ever seen anything like it, brown and black stone with golden sparkles embedded in it like little stars.

  A gun would have been easier. But Aquppak didn’t want to do it that way. Of course the standard method for eliminating a rival involved killing from behind — a stab in the back, a shot in the dark. This was not for Aquppak either. He would kill Kullabak face-to-face or not at all.

  Aquppak waited silently, watching through a slit in the concealing caribou hide. Kullabak brought his sled down the line, ordered the dogs to stand in place and stepped toward the next trap. He walked with the slightly staggered step of a man who had already checked more than a hundred traps. He secured the sled and dogs and made right for the trap. A small stick of wood stood straight up, indicating that the trap had been sprung. He brushed the thin surface snow cover away, could discern little by peering within the hole, and reached to move the crossbar aside.

  This was the moment. The trap sprung, but not in the way Kullabak expected. Aquppak had replaced the harmless fox trap mechanism with one of the spring-loaded steel traps the kabloonas dispensed at the trading post. The metal bar snapped shut on Kullabak’s fingers. The big man yelped in surprise and pain, his arm still fixed in the ground.