The Calling

by Ken Altabef

  Laughing, it closed with Kuanak, the bony staff knocked away, blackened and burned at her slightest touch. The demon enveloped Wolf Head in a fiery embrace. He disappeared beneath the folds of its charred, simmering spirit-flesh.

  Kuanak’s final agonizing scream shook Manatook’s very soul.

  He felt the beast stir within him. The deaths of his companions fueled his rage and battle-hunger. Imbued by the power of Tornarssuk, master of the polar bears, he transformed into the spirit-form of a great white bear.

  The demon released Kuanak, who fell to the cave floor still writhing in agony. She paused to offer a playful smile. “It will do you no good to take another form.”

  “A beast knows not the sins of man,” said Old Manatook coyly. “The sickness that affects human beings does no harm to animals.”

  The demon took a tentative step toward him. “As a man pretending to be a bear, this tactic is useless.”

  Old Manatook’s voice was unnaturally deep in reply. “Things are not always what they seem. Perhaps I am really a bear who has been pretending he is a man.”

  The demon’s brow creased, and Old Manatook knew he had her. Although she faltered only for a moment, doubt was most often fatal in the Underworld. Before she could completely reject the idea, Manatook attacked with the full savagery of the beast. A massive paw swung at the demon’s head while the other followed a lower course, striking gobbets of steaming flesh from her body. Old Manatook kept on rending and tearing with an inhuman fury.

  His claws flensed away the rotting meat and gristle, stripping her bare. For a moment her essential nature lay revealed. Her name had been Aneenaq. Her favorite thing in the entire world had been to watch the hatchling murres as they took their first flight from the cliffs by the sea. Hunger. Rage. Her mother’s tear-streaked face, having already strangled her two little sisters with the thong about the neck. They had suffered a deep hunger period with nothing at all to soothe their aching stomachs except scraps of rawhide and boot laces. Without a man to provide for them, Mother decided she must kill the girls so that one of her children, Aneenaq’s brother, might have a chance to live. Unlike her younger sisters, Aneenaq did not agree. She refused the thong around the neck. It did not matter. Her mother turned away. She was left abandoned in the snow, to die starving and alone, burning with anger.

  Old Manatook was shocked at this glimpse of the innocent young girl, the songs of the baby murres still in her head, before tragedy had twisted her soul.

  And yet he could brook no hesitation. His vast experience of the spirit world would allow no such mistake. No pity. No doubt. He pressed forward, pounding huge hairy paws at what was left of the demon until she was driven down into the floor of the cave.

  This would not kill the demon, for such a corrupted spirit could never be killed, but he left her trapped deep in the ice. She would bother the Anatatook no more.

  Old Manatook’s inuseq once again clothed itself in his physical body. When he stood up, a collective gasp rose from the crowd gathered at the karigi.

  Civiliaq lay to his right, a crumpled form strewn among blood-soaked snow. The sight of his mutilated friend threatened to rip away Old Manatook’s composure; he would not allow his gaze to linger on it.

  To his left, Kuanak kneeled atop his prayer mat. Wolf Head was still strapped tightly in his sealskin lines, sweating profusely, a vacant look in his eyes. His arms, still bound at his back, were bloody to the elbows and a crimson smear bubbled at his lips. His mouth popped open and the pad of walrus hide fell out on a trickle of foamy pink saliva.

  Kuanak’s wife rushed toward him.

  “Don’t put your hands on him,” cautioned Old Manatook. “The fire of the Underworld still burns within his soul.” He cut Kuanak’s bonds and the poor man slumped forward with a groan. Remaining on his knees, the gruff old shaman seemed no longer to recognize his surroundings.

  “He lives,” said the wife, her eyes wide with hope.

  “Do not rejoice,” said Old Manatook sadly. “He won’t live much longer. The demon has built around his heart a wall of stone which draws ever tighter, a cage of thorns to make his world smaller and smaller. Nothing can be done.”

  The wife looked around in frantic horror. No one dared offer any aid; the people were shocked into immobility. She stepped forward as if the urge to embrace her husband compelled her even unto death. Taking her firmly by the shoulder, Old Manatook held her back.

  “He gave his life for us,” he said softly. Then turning to address the people in a strong voice, he announced definitively, “The evil has passed!”

  Alaana crouched at the bend of the river.

  She looked upon the landscape with new eyes. A fragment of the allaruk persisted within her as the spirit-vision, revealing the sparkle of life within each and every element of the scene. The soft shimmer inside the rocks, the patient acceptance of the receding snow and ice, the hopeful glow of the moss and the eider ducks across the way, even the water itself showed her its pleasant, flowing spirit. The indistinct babble of the stream was babble no longer. In her ears rang out the voice of the soul of the river, promising many tales to tell.

  And as she watched, a huge grouping of tiny soul-lights, glimmering orange and yellow, approached through the water like dancing firelights fighting their way upstream.

  Alaana stood up and waved eagerly at the young man waiting atop the umiak.

  “Ipalook! They come! The salmon are coming!”

  Ipalook gazed intently at where she pointed at the water but couldn’t yet see any fish bobbing above the surface. He smiled and waved back but did not yell out the call.

  Alaana watched the salmon come on.

  Again Old Manatook appeared at her shoulder.

  “Something happened to me…” she said.

  “I know. I can see the difference in you.” Old Manatook sat beside her on the rocks. The old shaman had always intimidated her and this new closeness made Alaana even more nervous. And yet Old Manatook’s coal-black eyes were aglow with kindness. “I can tell who has the light and who doesn’t.”

  “Sila said it was a gift, but it’s too bright. It hurts.”

  “It will fade. You will learn to control it. I will teach you. It’s not going to be easy, especially for you. But this is important. You must not turn away.”

  Alaana saw the old shaman now in a completely different way. Old Manatook’s inua was unlike anyone else’s. It shone very bright, so vivid and overwhelming as to be almost painful. The shaman’s soul-light was most visible around his luminous eyes which seemed to overflow with that pure white light. Indeed when his gaze shifted, the brilliant rim surrounding the sockets moved like a ripple in an ocean of light. For the first time Alaana glimpsed the oddly shaped creature perched on Old Manatook’s left shoulder, clinging with a spindly claw to his bushy white beard. Seething and insubstantial, its outline was difficult to see directly, as if on the verge of boiling away at any moment. It flapped its wings gamely at Alaana.

  “Sila has given you the ability to light up what others can only perceive as darkness,” continued Old Manatook.

  At that moment a cry went out from the upturned umiak. Ipalook had spotted the oncoming salmon. He jumped down from the boat, waving both hands above his head, and shouted the news toward the camp.

  The old shaman held out his hand, an orange-brown stone in his palm. It was the same one Civiliaq had used in the healing of Avalaaqiaq.

  “I still don’t understand,” said Alaana. “I saw Civiliaq pick up that little stone outside my tent.”

  Old Manatook sighed contentedly. “For a shaman it is easy to dismiss the trappings; the world is wondrous enough to our sight without them. But the others…”

  The shaman gazed down at his hands. They were large, with bulging knuckles and laced with thick veins. “The health of the people depends largely on their faith in our powers. It is easy enough for a shaman to believe what he can see with his own eyes, but what of them? What do they require?”
>
  The old shaman shrugged. “Sometimes a little song, a little dance is a good thing.”

  Old Manatook brought the stone close to Alaana’s face. She could see the life essence of the rock, a dull silvery glow. Trapped within its center was another spirit — a spark of reddish light writhing as flame. The stone held a bit of the demon which had been drawn out of her sister Ava.

  “What if the spirit within the stone agrees to help?” mused Old Manatook. “What if the shaman, having sucked the evil out of the patient, deposits it within the stone for safe keeping? What would it matter where the shaman obtained the stone?”

  CHAPTER 4

  NO CHOICE

  The little snipe, having just begun to turn brown, was nearly invisible from the ground. Alaana saw it first, but then again she had a distinct advantage. The tiny bird’s inua cut a sharp orange outline against the ashy gray sky of early spring. Alaana could clearly see the coruscating flashes of color, fiery red and golden yellow, that marked the bird’s soul-light. The soul screamed of great joy and freedom, laced with just a sprinkling of panic at being all alone in the sky. Usually these birds traveled in groups as they came down along the shoreline to take advantage of the warmer weather, but here was one little kuukukiaq drifting playfully in fancy circles high up above.

  It was an important moment, the first bird of spring, and someone should sing a song of welcome to the brave little scout. Alaana wanted to tell the other children but she wasn’t allowed to speak to them. And with her friends playing so noisily along the river bank, she would have had to shout.

  A hard wind had blown up from the south, leaving large piles of newly broken ice against the banks of the river. One such pile was ideal for the children’s purpose, positioned perfectly alongside a shallow frozen pool. The warming sun melted a thin layer of slush atop the snow and ice, creating an opportunity too good to ignore.

  Mikisork climbed up the snow pack and launched himself, but he didn’t get very far out on the pool of ice. He laughed anyway and offered a wave to Alaana where she sat atop a high rock at the bend of the river.

  Iggianguaq went next. He was the adopted son of Kanak, one of the most important hunters in the village. During an inland hunt some few winters earlier, Kanak had found the boy and his mother nearly starved to death in a cave. Since his rescue Iggy never stopped eating; he seemed always in a mad dash to make up for the terrific hunger he’d experienced. At Kanak’s house there was always plenty of food and Iggy had a certain advantage over the others in this game. He was built like a block and heavier than most anyone else his age. When he went sailing down the pile, whooping with glee, he slid far and long, getting about halfway across the pool. Iggy raised his head at the end of his slide, panting like a puppy, tongue jutting playfully from below his cheerfully ugly features. Miserable as she was, Alaana laughed a little too. Iggy was always good fun.

  The last to take a run was Aquppak. Tall and slender, he seemed to have no chance of besting Iggy’s slide. But Aquppak was the craftiest of the Anatatook children. Alaana noticed how he climbed up at a different angle on the pile, stomping the drift flat as he went. He began his slide from the absolute highest point. Kicking off with his legs, Aquppak came shooting down the slope faster than any of the others and made a good showing on the ice. Still not as far as Iggy, but that couldn’t be helped. There was something to be said for size after all.

  Again the children burst out laughing and Alaana watched their auras shimmer and glow. She was delighted, seeing them in this new way. How beautiful they were.

  Since she had a death in her house, Alaana could only watch them. For the five days of mourning a child was not allowed to play or speak with any of the other children, for fear the dead would become angry. It didn’t matter; she didn’t feel like playing with them now anyway. With Ava gone she wouldn’t have felt right laughing and splashing in the snow.

  Because they had lost so many, the entire village had restrictions. Tugtutsiak, the headman, had decided not to move the camp until the five days were spent. During that time the spirits of the newly dead still hovered around their corpses. In order to give their spirits peace in the next world, all kayaks and tools were positioned facing away from water and no unnecessary work or activity was allowed. Villagers were prohibited from combing their hair, feeding the dogs, or cleaning the cooking lamps.

  Worst of all, at least from Alaana’s point of view, the mourners were not allowed to change their clothes or undress inside the tent for the full five days. And the lice had gotten altogether too comfortable inside her parka. The itch was unbearable.

  Aquppak was not satisfied with losing at the slide. He challenged the others to another run. This time they decided that Iggy should go first. Clearly Aquppak did not want the others to see that he’d chosen an even better place from which to launch. With his famous war whoop, Iggy sailed down the pile and again made a good showing across the ice.

  But the game was interrupted by Mikisork’s mother, Aolajut.

  “Aiyah! Stop that, children!” she called. “Sweet children, you mustn’t do that. In a short while you won’t have any seats left in your pants at all.”

  She motioned for Iggianguaq to stand up. “Get up, you overgrown bear cub. Get up! Now you, Miki, you come down from there this instant.”

  Chuckling, Miki launched himself down the slope.

  “Ai! Miki! You know that’s not what I meant,” said Aolajut but her admonitions were cut short by the lone snipe who chose just that moment to dive groundward. Practicing for courtship, its fluttering wings made a distinctive sound, a shrill whoop of hello as it plummeted toward the camp. The snipe righted itself before hitting the tundra, then up it soared again for another run.

  “Oh, look there,” cried Aolajut. “That’s the first one, isn’t it?”

  Everyone watched the snipe dive again, as Aolajut recited her song:

  “First little bird of spring, we welcome you,

  Pretty little bird of spring, bringing us the new year,

  Blameless as the blue sky,

  Good tidings you bring this year to us all.

  Thank you, thank you.”

  She waved at the little kuukukiaq as it spun and whirled away.

  “Now you children remember what I said. No more sliding on the ice.”

  She hurried back toward the tents, eager to tell the others the good tidings the bird had brought them.

  Aquppak marked off the spot Iggy had reached on the ice and then went right on up the pile. His next attempt brought him close, but again he fell a little short of the mark.

  Aolajut appeared again, seemingly out of nowhere. “Now children! Consider your hard-working fathers. How they have to travel far in the dark and the cold to hunt those caribou for your clothes. And your sorry mothers, working their fingers down to nothing, sewing these skins all the time, chewing them to make them soft for you. You mustn’t be so disrespectful. Miki you come down here right now, and I don’t mean on the seat of your pants this time.”

  Miki was slow to comply, so his mother undertook the climb up the pile to get him. She hadn’t accounted for the layer of slush atop the hard packed snow. The children had made it look easy, but in no time Aolajut slipped. With a startled screech she slid down the pile and out across the ice. Her face reddened as she came to rest. Aquppak danced a slippery dance about her, noting that she had beaten Iggy’s mark by several paces and loudly declared her the winner. Her anger melted away and Aolajut laughed and laughed, just as if she were a young girl again.

  Their game officially ended, the children each set out for home.

  Alaana stood and brushed the snow from her leggings. The day was nearly done. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting the ice and snow in startling shades of amber. She walked toward her family’s tent.

  She passed Kuanak, who was still kneeling in front of the karigi. Wolf Head had stood out all night even as the fierce wind blew in from the south. Although his bonds had been cut, his hands were
still pressed behind his back. His widow stood before him, brushing the frost away from his forehead.

  Old Manatook had removed Civiliaq’s body, which had looked to Alaana like a burned-out shell. His soul had never returned from its journey.

  Kuanak’s aura was still visible as a tiny spark, glowing faintly around his forehead. His face was a frozen mask of pain and suffering. With each labored breath he grunted softly, his mouth frothing with spittle.

  His widow burst into a new fit of wailing and her two sons, both grown men, did their best to comfort her. Alaana knew their vigil was almost ended. Old Manatook had had the final word. Nothing could be done.

  Alaana didn’t want to linger at this scene. It was getting late and the cold, which had followed the wind up from the south, was deepening by the minute. She was miserable and hungry. She hadn’t eaten anything all day, she’d been worrying herself so much over Avalaaqiaq. Time for home.

  Outside her family’s tent, she caught Old Manatook and her father arguing. Kigiuna was hauling a carcass to the meat rack. His sleeves were rolled up, his hands covered in fat and blood from having just flensed the last seal of the day.

  “You must reconsider,” Old Manatook was saying, his voice barely a growl.

  “The answer is no,” barked Kigiuna. “Alaana stays with us. I think perhaps it is because you have no children of your own, that you wish to take one of mine.”

  Alaana crouched down at the side of the tent, out of sight of the men. She pretended to be resting there, her face cradled in the arm of her parka in case anyone else should see. She knew she probably shouldn’t be listening in on the conversation but they were talking about her after all. Was Old Manatook saying she should leave her family?

  “I must be mistaken,” said the shaman. “The sound I got in my head made it seem as though you were accusing me of being dishonest.”