The Tundra Shall Burn!

by Ken Altabef

  “I feel like I should help them,” added Alaana.

  Higilak placed her hand on Alaana’s shoulder. “We have to eat. We must have meat.” Poor Old Higilak, bent nearly double with age, could hear only half the conversation and couldn’t see the walrus, but she did recognize Alaana’s extreme discomfort.

  “Is it that simple?” asked Alaana. “The way it was before… We had a good hunt, we had agreements and the blessing of the spirits. The souls of the beasts were honored. Now… now we are just like animals ourselves.”

  “Hush, girl,” said Higilak. “Things change. When you’ve lived as long as I have you’ll know better. We have to adapt. Your brother understands. He does what he has to.”

  “But what am I supposed to do?” asked Alaana. “I am the shaman but I am made useless here. Sitting on the bank with an old woman and an ancient walrus. Useless!”

  Nunavik, who had never stood for such an insult before, remained silent. The scene unfolding before them had shaken him as well.

  Another gunshot rang out and this time a bullet hit its mark. One of the caribou grunted in pain. Its soul screamed.

  “I can’t stand it,” said Alaana, standing up. “You hear me, Nunavik? I’m done chasing after shadows. I’m tired of looking for him. I’m tired of looking for answers that are impossible to find. Where has it gotten me? This second sight — it’s not a gift. It never was. It’s a curse! I don’t want it any more. And as I recall, I never did.”

  Alaana turned to walk away.

  “Listen to me, Alaana,” said Higilak. “There is such a force as destiny. I know all the stories going back to the time of darkness. The songs of every hero, of every turgat, and every man simply trying to provide for his family. And looking at them all as one, there is a pattern — there is a grand design, hinted at, even if it is difficult to see clearly. My Manatook gave his life for you--”

  “For all the Anatatook,” said Alaana.

  “No. For you! You! You have a destiny, Alaana. You needn’t look to find it. It will find you.”

  “And if I don’t want it?”

  “Like it or don’t,” said the old woman, “but it is yours.”

  “Hold on,” said Nunavik. “I’m hearing a message. A call from one of the other shamans…” The walrus lowered his golden head, his little black eyes squinting at nothing in particular, as he tensed with concentration upon the spirit of the air.

  Alaana didn’t hear anything. She told her legs to walk away, but they didn’t move.

  “It’s the lake children!” said Nunavik. “The beluga shaman has found them.”

  “Found them?” asked Alaana.

  “Yes, well, I suppose I might have mentioned it earlier but — before I made peace with Sedna — I took them… well, that ridiculous old lake was responsible really… and that horrible scorpion…”

  “What happened to them?” asked Alaana.

  “Well, I lost them…”

  “Lost them? Where?”

  “Never was there a more ridiculous question! I lost them somewhere at the bottom of the sea.”

  “You might have told me!” said Alaana.

  “And what would you have done? Gone searching through the entire sea? I’m sure that would have cheered you up. You wouldn’t have felt useless then! Certainly not.”

  Alaana growled at him.

  “And I couldn’t very well go after them myself, could I?” added Nunavik. “I had the starfishes all looking but they didn’t turn anything up, and they cover a lot of ground I can tell you.”

  “You should have told me,” insisted Alaana.

  “You wouldn’t have found them anyway. As it happens the Whale-Man has hidden them inside a secret cave. Now his beluga shaman tells me they are dying.”

  “Dying?”

  “How can there be an echo here?” asked Nunavik, swiveling his head dramatically to look around. “We’re sitting out in the open. Unless it’s the echo of my words passing between your ears. Yes, that must be it. Let me repeat: Buulabaq has our lake children in a hidden cavern beneath the sea. They’ve fallen gravely ill and he thinks I might be able to help. I’ve got to get down there.”

  “And risk the wrath of Sedna again? Didn’t she tell you to stay away?”

  “A small risk. We’ve patched things up, mostly. And the secret cave is hidden from her sight by the Whale-Man. If you bring me there, shielded by the tusk, then release me into the cave, she’ll never know.”

  “Ferry service,” said Alaana. “This is what I’m reduced to?”

  “Reduced? It’s a step up from what you’ve been doing, sitting around and sulking all day. But it’s not a safe thing for you either, Alaana. Does the Whale-Man still hold a grudge against you?”

  “I don’t know,” said Alaana. The last time she had contact with the Whale-Man she had arranged a whale hunt, but her headman had broken the taboos and Alaana was held partially responsible; the vengeful spirit had claimed the life of her daughter. “And I don’t very much care,” she continued. “These are our children at stake. We have to go.”

  Nunavik clapped his flippers together. “My thoughts exactly!”

  Alaana left her physical body safe inside the karigi and sent her spirit flying free. With Nunavik’s tusk in her pocket, and the walrus’ spirit safely hidden within, the shaman’s inuseq rose up out of her body. Alaana’s spirit-woman sped through the air, driven by her concern for the lake children. As she passed the ongoing slaughter at Silver Tongue River, she turned away. The souls of the caribou that had been killed, still hovering helplessly above the scene, thought she came to help them. The only aid she might offer, to soothe their suffering and send them on their way, she had not even thought to provide. “Later,” she said. “If there is time, I will return.”

  The caribou were less than pleased with her answer. And neither was Alaana as she turned away to follow the course of the river down to the sea. Some of the caribou souls attempted to follow, but they couldn’t keep up as she sped along the currents of the air, then plunged headlong into the waters.

  Down she went. Plummeting quickly, she had no time for all the spiritual marvels that made their home beneath the waves. From the lowliest starfish scuttling through the mud, to the most elegant school of dolphins, to each little urchin and leaf of kelp, every creature possessed its own spiritual light, laid bare to her second sight. Alaana paid none of them any heed. Of the many dangers that lurked below, she also gave little thought. Buulabaq the beluga shaman, guided her path through the currents of the spirit-sea. Alaana sped unmolested, all the way to the entrance to the secret cavern.

  Buulabaq, the beluga whale shaman, was a marvel to behold. Though smaller than the various other whales milling about the cave, his presence filled the room, transforming the vast empty vault into an underwater cathedral. Buulabaq’s skin was a pristine white and so intensely luminous he shone like a beacon lighting up the entire cavern. An intricate pattern of bright blue spots blazed along his brow, encircling his eyes and rounded forehead before making their way along his spine, suggesting an elaborate tattoo or perhaps ceremonial marks placed by the Whale-Man himself. And such eyes — so round and deep and so much larger than those of others of his kind, they seemed full to brimming with wisdom and compassion. He was grace incarnate, flowing through the water as if indivisible from it, so very much at peace. There was no doubt, this white-whale shaman was made of pure kindness.

  Alaana released Nunavik into the water. It soon became obvious the two knew each other well despite the fact that Buulabaq was kept hidden here. The Walrus On The Ice, who knew about everything and everywhere, bowed his flat head deferentially to the great beluga shaman.

  “I’m glad you came,” said Buulabaq. “I need your help.”

  Attention was immediately directed to the lakespawn. The three weird figures lay at the bottom of the trench, side by side with the wrecked sailing ship. The bizarre inhabitants of the cavern fussed over them, including a purple octopus and a misshapen two-
headed walrus. The lake children lay unmoving, their bright orange color faded to a sickly pale. Most of Ikik’s twelve eyes were still open, though a milky film covered their surface.

  Alaana placed her hand on Siqi’s face. “What were they doing here?”

  “I have been teaching them the ways of the ocean, so that they may survive,” replied Buulabaq. His was a strange dialect of the secret language, but Alaana understood his meaning. “Then one day all three fell ill. It happened to Ikik first. He suddenly said he felt cold, and then sank down to the bottom. The others soon did the same, though I thought at first they were just worried for their brother. I’ve done everything I know to revive them, but it’s no use.”

  “I think they’re dead,” said the two-headed walrus.

  “Not dead,” said Nunavik and Buulabaq as one.

  The two-headed walrus said, “I know a dead fish when I see one.”

  “Two heads and no sense,” said Nunavik. “Aren’t we shamans? Don’t you think we know a living soul when we see one?”

  “But what has gone wrong?” asked Buulabaq. “I see no sign of disease or malicious spirits.”

  “Neither do I,” confirmed Alaana. She looked into one of Ikik’s twelve enormous eyes. The soul was there, deep inside, still alight with a mellow fire. But she got no response to her attempts to rouse or communicate with it.

  “I have seen something like this before,” said Nunavik. “In the Upperworld.”

  The walrus circled the lakespawn tentatively.

  “Well?” said Alaana. “Are you going to tell us?”

  “There is a creature of the skies,” said Nunavik, “that begins its life as a worm, crawling along the ground. At some point it falls asleep, after weaving about itself a silken cocoon, and when it awakes it is transformed.”

  “Into what?”

  “Something wonderful.”

  It was quickly decided. Buulabaq ordered his lieutenants to gather long strands of kelp and wrap them around their charges to keep them safe and warm until such time as they should awake.

  There seemed nothing else to do but wait. Nunavik was eager to depart but Alaana tarried a moment to speak with Buulabaq.

  “I thank you for your confidence,” she said. “And for watching over my friends with such care.”

  “Do you know what they are?” asked Buulabaq.

  “Another mystery,” replied Alaana. “But I’ve always sensed that they were important.”

  “I think the same.”

  “Do you ever leave this grotto?”

  “Never,” said Buulabaq. “This is the Whale-Man’s special place and I do his bidding.”

  Alaana nodded. “Stay hidden, then. And stay safe. Something hunts us. There is a sorcerer, a Tunrit, who has been killing shamans across Nunatsiaq. You may be safe here, if any of us are safe.”

  “A Tunrit?” remarked Buulabaq. “I’ve heard something of this. I have a friend among the ieufuluuraq who recently saw a Tunrit down in their realm, near the cave of ancient crystals.”

  “I know the place,” said Alaana. She turned toward Nunavik, who was engaged in a heated conversation with the two-headed walrus, perhaps unable to pass up a chance to chastise both heads at once. Alaana said, “Nunavik, get back into the tusk. We need to take a quick side journey before we go home.”

  Alaana waved farewell to Buulabaq, confident that the lake children would be well taken care of in his stronghold. She made use of a small whirlpool at the base of the grotto. The Lowerworld was not too far below their current position at the bottom of the sea. She envisioned the whirlpool as a spinning sieve draining down from the sea floor to the roof of the Lowerworld. Her spirit-form dove down into the narrow spinning vortex. Blinding patterns, nauseating flashes of layer upon layer of dull stone and brilliantly luminous mineral, passed before her eyes as she delved deeper and deeper into the spiritual world. In the end she closed her eyes, concentrating on their destination, the great cavern below.

  Her spirit-woman plunged through the rocky roof of the Lowerworld and into the not-so-gentle embrace of its arboreal canopy. These trees were spiritual rather than physical, but still their branches tore at the shaman’s spirit-parka and their angry leaves slapped her in the face as she plunged to the ground below, an effective reminder to concentrate on a soft landing among the nettles and detritus at the cavern floor.

  Nunavik did not manifest well in the Lowerworld. Here, he was represented only by the high strains of a disembodied voice.

  “Do you see this, Uncle Walrus?” asked Alaana. “Look at the state of this place.”

  “I see,” answered Nunavik.

  The changes to the Lowerworld were staggering. There was no natural light in this great cavern below the earth, and Alaana could see only by the auspices of her spirit-vision. Her second sight revealed the careworn spirits of the trees in a much degraded condition than her previous visit. The trees, once tall and proud, now exhibited a generalized wilting, their bowers dipping just a little bit lower, the branches drooping. Many leaves, having fallen loose, drifted in an endless state of confusion among the currents of the air.

  Alaana scanned the trees but found no sign of life. No shifting of a branch, no rustling of leaves as a squirrel leapt among the high branches, no narrow face with beady eyes peering around any of the trunks. The ieufuluuraq were gone.

  “I don’t see any squirrel-men,” noted Nunavik.

  “Still, they must be here,” said Alaana. She stepped forward into a small circular clearing. Standing on one foot, hands held before her face, fingers waving, she began hopping from one foot to the other.

  “What in the seven worlds are you doing?” asked Nunavik. “I’ve never seen such an idiotic dance as that.”

  Alaana edged closer to the trees, hopping weirdly along with no rhythm whatsoever, fingers waving. All of a sudden, she spun around one of the thick tree trunks. She spied one of the squirrel-men crouched behind the tree, peering back at her.

  “Ah,” said Nunavik, “I see. They are nothing if not curious, our little friends.”

  Alaana’s arm shot out as the ieufuluuraq turned to flee, but the little creature, only the height of Alaana’s shin, was not quick enough. She grabbed the furry little man by the scruff at the back of its neck.

  Its big round eyes gaped in surprise beneath their bushy auburn brows. His nose was so flat as to be almost insignificant and with nostrils flaring appeared flatter still. His sharply pointed ears, positioned quite near the crown of his head, twitched with alarm. A tuft of dirty brown fur, crusted with bits of dried leaves and a few thorny nettles, ran in a strip along the top of the squirrel man’s head, circling the ears to end in identical patches of scruffy growth on his cheeks. He was dressed in a gray parka made from some short-haired animal, belted at the waist, with a squirrel’s tail tacked to the rear.

  “Come now,” said Alaana. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

  “Hum-hum,” mumbled the ieufuluuraq, “Hum-um-um-um.”

  “You know me, Squee-pok,” said Alaana, relaxing her grip. “I won’t hurt you.”

  “Mmm-hum,” said Squee. “Knows you. Knows you.”

  “There,” she said, letting go of the squirrel-man entirely. “Tell me what’s happened here.” The shaman turned to glance behind her, spying a group of six or eight additional ieufuluuraq cowering in the middle distance, looking curiously on.

  “Gone!” said Squee. “Gone. Hum-hum.”

  “You mean Tekkeitsertok?”

  “Hmm. Hmm.” Squee shook his narrow head frightfully. “Our light. Our life. Gone!”

  “I know,” said Alaana sadly. “Where is your shaman? Where is Sik-sik?”

  “Here-hmm. There-hmm,” said Squee.

  “He’s hiding,” said Nunavik.

  “Good for him,” said Alaana.

  “Well, he won’t come out. They are a skittish breed to begin with. You’ll never get to him. Sik-sik knows a thousand places to hide, every burrow, every cranny and secret place i
n the Lowerworld.”

  “Fine,” said Alaana. “He’s wise to do it.” To the squirrel-men she said, “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.” She was getting very tired of having to say that. To Nunavik she added, “Come on, we need to get to that cave.”

  Alaana made her way across the forest, marking her path by those trees whose shapes she knew so well, their distinct forms outlined in the purple and silver tones of the spirit-vision. The cavern of the crystals was not far. The entrance was a stone archway, marking a smaller cave within the vast cavern that housed the Lowerworld. Alaana picked her way carefully across the cavern’s floor, sidestepping areas where the stone had been cracked and pitted by the centuries.

  “Be careful,” warned Nunavik. “The cracks in the floor. The lumentin.”

  Alaana recalled well her experiences in this place, especially her first visit here when she had been an inexperienced initiate in the Way. Below the cracks in the cave floor lurked the fearful lumentin — corrupted souls of sinful hunters who had taken caribou out of turn, without consent of Tekkeitsertok — mindless beings whose souls were merged with that of their unfortunate victims. They suffered in a perpetual torment of starvation which rendered them as emaciated figures resembling half men, half caribou.

  “Stop fussing,” said Alaana, “I remember.”

  The cavern was illuminated only by the dull glow of the spirits of the stone walls. These souls, old beyond counting, remained permanently in a state of deep sleep. Usually the cave of ancient crystals was sealed with an ineffable wall of stone, but this time Alaana was surprised to find the opening seared by unholy fire, the stones singed and crumbling blackly.

  “He’s been here,” said Alaana. She stepped carefully into the secluded little chamber at the far reaches of the cave. Years ago, she had witnessed the glorious figures of ancient crystals encrusting these walls in four colors — emerald green, amethyst in blue, milky white, and shimmering scarlet. These four venerable souls had inhabited this cavern since time immemorial, clinging to its walls and hanging from its ceiling in delicate buds and powerful stalactites. Each was a distinct and brilliant spirit, making the chamber seem to Alaana as if full to bursting with colorful light. But now the cavern was completely dark.