by Ken Altabef
A child was the only one to pay him any attention at all, poking him with a stick.
He didn’t even yell at the child. He said nothing. After a while, the boy ran off.
Dusk came. Aquppak had crawled a few hundred paces. He kept his shoulder pressed down into the slush and let the cold wet take the pain away. Crawling further, his hand uncovered some cast-off bit of clothing. He realized it was the body of his friend Niak, left where he had fallen after Aquppak’s fatal shot had brought him down. Aquppak swept the drift from Niak’s dead face. How had he been so stupid? How had he allowed this man to convince him to come to the Yupikut camp, expecting anything but death?
‘They know you,’ Niak had said. ‘They remember you.’
Aquppak wept at the thought. No one remembered him, if any ever thought of him at all. Niak had appealed to his sense of pride, to recollections of a time when Aquppak had been truly great. He had taken down a buck at three hundred paces, with a shot straight in the eye; he had led his people unerringly through the wilderness. He had fathered two sons with a sturdy woman, a fine seamstress and a devoted wife. He had risen to the top of the clans. He had been headman. But all those things he had thrown away for love of a woman that spurned him, and to escape her bitter memory he had turned to the oblivion of strong drink. A blurred world where the aching in his heart didn’t matter. Niak should have left him there.
Aquppak had, he realized, done his friend Niak a favor at the end; for him it had been a quick death. Aquppak realized he would not go so easy. He still had much to suffer at the hands of awful fate.
Night came. Shivering out in the cold, he observed the camp. In the darkness the outlines of the tents stood out with the warm glow of the seal-oil lamps burning within. Most of the men were inside with bellies full, enjoying the warmth of their bed or the soft touch of their women. Aquppak had already memorized the layout of the tents and knew which one belonged to Guolna. What if, during the night, he crawled into the headman’s tent? Was there any possible way to get revenge?
He searched Niak’s body in the vain hope that the Yupikut might have overlooked a weapon. He found none. Even if he could get hold of a knife or a gun, what could he possibly do? He was already two-thirds a corpse.
Aquppak slumped back down into the slush. Still, his gaze was drawn to the headman’s tent. The tent flap, illuminated by golden lamplight from inside, shifted a little. Though the gathering dark often played tricks, he was certain he glimpsed a woman looking at him from within the flap. The face quickly withdrew. He recognized that woman’s face. He had seen Alaana!
It was impossible. The vision of Alaana was merely another apparition, just as his grandfather Putuguk had haunted him long after the old man’s death. But now, Aquppak thought, he was worse off than old Putuguk had ever been. Crippled, weak, dying slowly. So Putuguk, satisfied with his revenge, came to taunt him no more. Instead he saw Alaana, another ghost of the past.
But he hadn’t killed Alaana. He had loved her. “I didn’t kill you,” he muttered. “I told you to come with me. We were supposed to stay together. We should’ve been together. I told you.”
If she had only come with him they would have both been safe. He would still be the headman of the Anatatook and never would have come to this.
He survived the first night. There was little wind to chill his bones, and the summer sun rested below the horizon for only a short while. His legs went completely numb, either from the cold or the hamstring cuts. In time the snow would take the rest of him.
In the early morning the Yupikut camp still lay asleep. The sun rose above the ice, offering its welcome warmth to Aquppak’s upturned face. It was to be a clear summer day. Soon the smell of breakfast came wafting out of the tents, fresh caribou meat and spiced stew. Aquppak’s stomach raged. His world had shrunk to only two sensations — hunger and sorrow. He could feel little else.
Aquppak watched through slitted eyes as the Yupikut men readied their sleds for travel. They tossed tidbits of frozen salmon to the dogs. To their dog Aquppak, they gave nothing. His mouth watered at the scent of the half-rancid fish meat. He didn’t have the strength to call out to Guolna as the headman directed his men. He didn’t even have the strength to beg for a merciful death. Beggar boy. Beggar boy, he thought. Just as before, all those years ago. A lost soul, helpless and alone, disgraced and discarded. Truly this was the worst way he could ever have ended up.
After the men had gone, the women slowly emerged from the tents. They roundly avoided him, though they dragged Niak’s body away to keep the children from picking at it. The children, of which there were only a few, spent the day playing stick-and-bone and wrestling with the puppies. Eventually one of the wives approached Aquppak, bringing some of the fish scraps on a skin platter.
Aquppak, half-dead and shivering from exposure, turned to face the woman. He could not believe what he saw.
“Alaana!” he cried out. He shook his head to clear it. “Alaana?”
The woman’s eyes widened. She nearly turned away.
Now he realized his mistake. Though she bore close resemblance to Alaana, this woman had a slightly rounder face and a high forehead.
“Alaana?” asked the woman.
“She was one of my people. The Anatatook.”
“She was? You mean she’s dead?”
Aquppak nodded absently. “I don’t know. What does it matter to you?”
She offered him the food. “You can eat this. Keep up your strength.”
Aquppak glanced at the pink strips of fish meat. His stomach growled. He pushed it away with his one good arm. He was not that beggar boy again, not again. He wasn’t going to eat it. He was going to die. He wasn’t going to beg her for help. “You can’t help me.”
Nothing could help him now.
She motioned to the food. “This is all I can do for you. No one can heal you and I can’t carry you out of here.”
“You can kill me, or give me a knife to do it myself.”
She didn’t question the merits of this idea, nor speak against it. She was certain that swift death was exactly what he wanted. She glanced furtively back toward the camp, noting the watchful eyes of the other women. “That I can not do. They’ll kill me. I’ve done all I can.”
She walked away.
The smell of the food called to him. He dragged himself closer. He wasn’t going to eat it. Why should he? He was going to die just the same. There was no chance of escape, no hope for revenge. What was the use?
After a long while, he ate it.
He survived another night in the wet snow. The next day the men came roaring back, their sleds piled high. It had evidently been a successful hunt, and all made ready for a feast. Cooking fires were lit, songs sung, people danced and told stories.
Aquppak smelled roasted bear, fish stew and melting tallow. He did not get any bit of it. Thoughts of his empty stomach now fully consumed him. The cold he could bear, the humiliation and hopelessness weighed heavily, but his stomach spoke loudest of all. He drank from the snow. He slept off and on, hoping each time not to awake to that raving lunatic hunger, but it kept calling him back. He could think of nothing else.
The next day was uneventful. The men slept most of the time.
Guolna’s wife didn’t reappear. He never saw any women while the men were in camp, though he did hear a few muffled screams in the night. The erratic, clawing hunger pains in his belly had resolved into a constant gnawing pain that would not let him rest. He remained in a miserable stupor, only half-asleep. He had grown so weak he couldn’t move and the lack of activity had let the cold to seep all the way through. His body was all but lost to him; all, it seemed, except the ravening stomach.
He opened his eyes to see the Yupikut men making ready for a move. All the tents had been bundled up and loaded on sleds. Orders were shouted, and he saw Guolna strike one of the women, possibly the one who had fed him. If she were to be left behind, he thought, she might help him. At least find some more food
for him. But it was not to be. When the Yupikut finally began to pull out, no one was left behind.
Aquppak lost track of Guolna. What did it matter?
Whips cracked, dogs whined and the sleds moved away in a long double line. One of them came directly at him. Aquppak cringed, waving the dog team aside with his one good arm. The huskies sidestepped at the last moment, but the wooden runner thundered over his arm, shattering the bone. It was a deep pain, one Aquppak could still feel beneath the numbing cold that enveloped him.
Aquppak cried out in agony.
Perhaps this was thought of as good sport, for the next heavy sled also left its mark. It ran over his legs, crushing the bones in several places. The next one broke his back.
It was over. They were gone. He was alone.
He put his face down in the snow.
“Why do we have to stay here?”
“Because he said so,” said Ikik. “We have to do what he said.”
“Why?” asked Siqi. “He’s the Whale-Man. We’re not whales. He said we aren’t. We can do what we want.”
“It’s not safe to leave,” said Ikik.
“I don’t want to be safe,” said Siqi.
She pivoted slowly in the water. In the Whale-Man’s absence the activity in the grotto had calmed considerably. A great many bowheads and a few humpbacks continued milling slowly around in great circles. Two in particular seemed to be keeping their eyes turned toward the lakespawn.
“We have to find Uncle Walrus,” said Uuna. “He must be missing us. He could be in trouble.”
“I agree,” said Siqi. “Did you notice those two whales watching us? They think they are clever, but they still need to breathe. Every once in a while they go up to the surface. Sometimes they linger, taking two or three breaths at a time. If we’re quick, we can swim out.”
“They’ll notice,” said Uuna.
“They’ll notice if Ikik goes out, but if he stays behind, they might just think he’s blocking us from sight.”
“I don’t think we should split up,” said Uuna.
“We have to. What do you say, Ikik? You’ll be all right here by yourself for a little while.”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“You’re just as big as these whales, aren’t you?”
“I am!”
“So you’re not afraid. Just keep moving around as if we’re alongside.”
“I’m not afraid,” he said.
“Well, I am,” said Uuna.
“Nonsense,” chided Siqi. “Get ready. The next time they both go up, we go.”
The two lakespawn waited their chance, then took it. They slipped out of the grotto and swam back into the larger sea. Larger was right. They soon realized the immensity of the water stretching away on every side.
“How are we going to find Nunavik in all this?” asked Uuna. “It’s hopeless.”
“Well, we won’t find him sitting here. Let’s go back the way we came. I think it’s this direction.”
The little lakespawn led the way, but really there was no practical way to know which direction they were headed, nor exactly where they had already been. The two kept together, dodging schools of fish both large and small, all going about their daily business without much care for them. Uuna suggested they might follow a group of carp who seemed friendly enough, but it soon became apparent the fish had no real destination. The entire mass swooped and swerved back and forth with no plan whatsoever. The only thing that bore any distinguishing features at all was the surface, which was covered by broken floes of ice in various shapes and shades of green and blue.
“Maybe if we go up,” suggested Siqi, “we’ll see something useful.”
The lakespawn breached the surface and let their many eyes wander. They marveled at a new sight. Up above the sea there was no roof of stone as arched over the lake in the Lowerworld, but a dome of dark blue dotted with tiny glimmering lights.
“Oooh!” said Uuna.
“It looks like another type of an ocean, going up the other way. I think it goes on and on forever. Look at that!” She had caught sight of the brilliant full Moon stuck up in the sky like a lantern.
They both floated for a moment, listening to the gentle splash of water against the floating plates of ice and gazing at the stark beauty of the Moon. Then they heard a more familiar sound — the grunt of a passing walrus.
They could just make him out, a large male walrus riding one of the floes. Siqi swam up next to the raft of ice. She splashed to get the walrus’ attention, and when he came to look she introduced herself. As it happened she spoke perfect secret language for walrus, or at least as well as Nunavik had taught her.
“Hallo,” she called. “Friend walrus!”
“The walrus stared down at them, somewhat amazed and interested. Siqi saw his warty tongue flick out across the underside of one of his tusks.
“We’re no good for eating,” said Uuna. “No good at all.”
“I’m not sure,” indicated the walrus.
“Poison!” said Siqi. “We’re deadly poison.”
“Well, go away then,” said the walrus with a flick of its burly shoulder.
“We’re looking for our uncle, and he is a walrus!” said Siqi. “His name is Nunavik.”
“Nunavik?” squawked the walrus. “That’s a name we don’t use any more. There was a famous Nunavik once.”
“The son of Big Bellow,” added Uuna.
“You don’t mean Nunavik Curse-maker! Well, you don’t want to find him, I can tell you.”
“Curse-maker?”
“Yes that’s right. There was a walrus with that name a long, long time ago. He angered Sedna so badly she nearly wiped out every walrus in the sea. Nunavik killed her daughter, the story has it, or caused her to be killed. The Mistress of the Sea cursed us all. She changed us. We used to have powerful hind flippers once, that were quite useful on land, but then she made us have only these small tail fins, so we have to waddle around, not good for anything on land at all. And it was all that Nunavik’s fault! You won’t find him in the sea. They say he’s cursed to live forever and ever, and never feel the touch of salt water again. Now go away. All this talk of Nunavik is spoiling my digestion. Go away.”
The walrus took off, waddling across the ice to the center of the shelf where the lakespawn could trouble him no more.
Siqi and Uuna exchanged disheartened glances.
“I don’t care what that crusty old bull says,” said Uuna. “I don’t believe him.”
“I do,” said Siqi sadly. “But we still have to try and find him. I’m completely turned around. Which way?”
Of course Uuna didn’t know and the two dived again to renew the search.
This time another danger lay in wait. A large fish, with smooth gray lines and sharp fins. It also had, they soon learned, an enormous mouth filled with several rows of flesh-tearing teeth. The creature was fast and deadly. Before she knew it, the monster shark had taken a bite out of Uuna’s top fin. Her blood, black as ink, seeped into the water.
The shark spun around for another run, coming straight at Siqi. She dove and flipped as quickly as she could, just evading the huge predator. But this adversary was never going to relent, and it was fast and powerful.
Uuna was next in its sights again, but just as the shark came on, two new creatures arrived on the scene. These were whales, but of a type the lakespawn had not yet seen. Much larger than the shark, their sleek skins were mostly black with white patches covering the bellies and huge circles of the flanks. The two bulky whales interjected themselves in the path of the shark, blocking the lakespawn entirely. These orcas had only a single row of teeth but set in tremendous mouths with powerful jaws.
The killer whales snapped at the shark, drawing blood. One of them bumped the shark in the flank with its rounded nose, nearly knocking it senseless. The other closed in for the kill, swatting at the shark with its tail. The shark thrashed back and forth but could find no peace, and soon fled away into t
he murky depths.
The lakespawn kept time in place, unable to conceive of an escape from this new threat.
“Come children,” said a familiar voice, the voice of the Whale-Man. “It’s not safe out here for you. Come home.”
“We can’t go anywhere without our uncle,” said Siqi. “Nunavik.”
There was silence for a moment. The orcas swam dizzily around.
“Nunavik is not in the ocean,” said The Whale-Man. “If he were, I would surely know it. Come now, before Sedna rears her ugly head again. You’ll stay with me and mine. You’ll be safe. I will teach you what you need to know to survive. You will taste strange waters, and swim in currents both hot and cold; I will show you how to find huge feasts of krill, and how to navigate the eddies and flows of the feeding grounds; you will meet many other strange and unusual creatures. You will experience all the wonders of the sea.”
CHAPTER 33
THE RAVEN FLIES
The Raven fluttered his ebon wings.
He was perched for the moment atop the back of a man’s skull, as he lay dead on the tundra. Raven glanced up and down the empty fjord, then bent to peck a bloody gobbet of flesh from the nape of the man’s neck.
This man had been an interesting fellow, thought Raven. A good hunter, a father, a lover. An ignominious end, face down in the slush. An ironic twist: killed by the very people he sought to join. Or perhaps that had merely been stupidity. Another ironic turn: shot in the head by his friend. Now that was a merry joke.
Raven stood and walked a little bit along the snowy ground, then stretched out his arms, fingers becoming talons, feathers sprouting wings and took to the sky.
He flew southwest, enjoying a frosty current blowing down from the bergs. He glided, his wings still, his mind flapping. Where to go? Where to go? Or better yet, when to go?
For the Raven flew not only the currents of the blowing air, but also the streams of time and ever-shifting possibility. With a full belly he was content and, feeling also energetic, he decided to pay a visit to his most favorite of times, the distant future. The loose end of the strand that wiggled at the end, the end of the end, like a worm at the tip of a hook. He couldn’t resist. He passed lengthwise through the air and sideways through the currents of time, sailing forward, flap, flapping.
