The Calling

by Ken Altabef

  Seated so close together, Alaana noticed the deep lines etched at the corners of the shaman’s eyes and the way they carved a network of ravines halfway down his cheeks. All this talk of traveling left her feeling dizzy. They were merely an old man and a girl sitting atop a ramshackle sled on the barren tundra. “It all sounds so… strange. Are you sure I can do this?”

  “You already have,” said Old Manatook. “You’ve walked in dreams. Under your sleeping fur at night, snug and warm. You close your eyes, the mind relaxes. Your spirit leaves the body behind. The mind wanders free. The soul goes traveling. What do you dream? Are you suddenly a grown woman with a family to feed? Are you a falcon, soaring through the sky? Do you travel to a distant land, meet strange people you have never encountered in ordinary reality?”

  “But dreams aren’t real,” said Alaana.

  “They exist wholly in the mind, yes. But how can you say they aren’t real? You travel to a place, have experiences, and come back. Do you remember the experiences? Certainly. Are you changed by them? Again, it is so. Changed not in the body, but in the mind. And the mind is everything. And there we are back at the beginning again.” Old Manatook chuckled softly and clapped his huge hands together, eminently pleased with himself. Alaana had never heard the man chuckle before. It was a dry, prickly sound accompanied by a sharp clicking of his large front teeth. Scary.

  Alaana was afraid to admit that she still didn’t understand, but the shaman read her expression easily enough.

  “Sun and Moon, are you dull-witted, girl? If you set out on a hunting trip and come back, having caught nothing, having suffered no injury, your body unchanged, would you question whether the trip had been real?”

  “I would have the memory of the trip,” said Alaana.

  “As upon waking you have memory of the dream.

  “I would be hungry from the day’s efforts,” tried Alaana.

  “And are you not hungry, having wakened from the dream?”

  Alaana could pose no further objection and began to think there was little reason to doubt the shaman on the point. Those things she experienced in dreams might indeed possess a genuine, although ethereal, reality. Perhaps that was the reason for Old Manatook’s insistence that she waken several times during the night in order to recall them.

  “The Lowerworld and the Upperworld, the land of the dead, the dreamlands, the shadow-world. There are many strange places the shaman may travel. The human mind can not be confined by space or time.”

  “Time?” said Alaana. “Surely no one may move through time?”

  “Oh, surely not,” said Old Manatook with forceful exaggeration. “Surely not!” He mopped his brow with an oversized, gnarled hand. He turned away, his attention drawn to his left shoulder.

  His words stung, and Alaana thought perhaps her ordeal had come to an end, that the old shaman would wash his hands of her and send her home in disgrace. She wondered if her father would be pleased or angry.

  Alaana struggled to see the thing which had appeared on the shoulder. Its outline shone bright white, almost blindingly so, a perfect match to the old shaman’s spirit. The exact form was hard to define, its contours shifted like smoke. A pair of thin, sharp wings undulated in constant motion, and there was a pointed snout. More than that she couldn’t tell. Nor could she hear its whispered reply.

  “I am not!” answered Old Manatook. He scowled ferociously, but thoughtfully, and bent an ear again to the creature. “Then the girl and I are both the same. Too old and set in our ways. What’s to be done about it now?”

  Without awaiting an answer, he waved his hand roughly across the space occupied by the mysterious creature. The form of light became indistinct as if it were a footprint drawn in the wind-blown sand, and disappeared. “It might work,” he mumbled.

  “Now listen here,” he said to Alaana in an angry tone. “When you say something is impossible, you practically make it impossible. You must never speak that way. We can get nowhere with that. Understand?”

  Alaana nodded.

  “It’s as simple as this: Everything is possible. You mustn’t doubt that. You are never to doubt that.

  “Now, if I were to say that we were going to embark on a journey through time, right here, right now, would you allow for the chance that such a thing might be possible?”

  “Yes,” said Alaana, nodding her head.

  Old Manatook’s gaze was penetrating. A dubious smile indicated he thought Alaana was perhaps less than honest in her enthusiasm.

  “Such a thing might be possible,” said Old Manatook enigmatically. “That is all I am asking for you to admit. Look here.”

  He gestured at the tundra laid out before them. Glistening wetly, the vast plain of snow and ice stretched out the length of several days’ travel. Mountains of gray rock broke the surface in a ragged clash against the azure sky. A few clouds drove languidly toward the horizon, aligned in thin white streaks, giving a sense of gentle motion.

  “This rock has sat on this spot for hundreds of winters.” Old Manatook indicated a large round boulder that lay just ahead of them. He yanked off one of her mittens and pressed her hand against the cold surface of the stone, causing her to lean so far forward on the sled she thought she might topple headlong into the slush. Alaana gazed at the rock, its gray surface worn smooth by time and weather. She saw the spirit of the stone as it lay sleeping, a faint glimmer of gray light buried deep inside.

  “The snow has been here forever,” continued Old Manatook. “It moves and flows forward, it shifts back. It dances on the wind then comes to rest. And yet it appears much the same as always. The hillside cuts the same outline against the sky, eternal and unyielding. Our world does not change much.”

  The shaman’s words had a certain rhythm, an undulating cadence that made Alaana feel uneasy. They caused a buzzing in her ears, much like the swarming of mosquitoes in summer.

  “If you stood on this very spot ten winters ago, what would you see? Would the view look any different than it does to you this morning? Would the air not smell the same? Can you be sure, at this moment, that we have not traveled back through time to visit the same place ten winters past? Is there not some little doubt on the matter? Hmmm?”

  Before Alaana could make up her mind to answer, the old shaman drew her attention to a dark smudge against the base of the hillside. “What goes there?”

  The shadow wriggled and elongated to become a caravan, emerging through a low mountain pass. A string of sleds came into focus, a weary band of travelers. Familiar sounds carried across the distance — the clatter of equipment, commands shouted at the dogs, the snap of a whip, the slosh of a hundred padded feet through the snow.

  Alaana began to recognize some of the people.

  “It’s the Anatatook!” she said. “All packed up and on the move. But where can they be going?”

  A momentary panic seized her. Why should the village move now? Were they abandoning her?

  “Look closely,” suggested Old Manatook.

  The foremost sled came into view, pulled by a fan of hearty gray huskies. At the helm she could clearly see Kuanak, old Wolf Head himself, leading the train of pack-sledges forward. It was impossible. Kuanak was dead and buried.

  And there were Higilak and Krittak chatting with the other old women, Kanak and his sons, and Civiliaq holding court over a handful of children. Kigiuna and Amauraq paced alongside their own sled. The sight of her father amazed Alaana, for this was a figure cut in a day when times were hard, his face decidedly leaner, his step less certain. Maguan trudged beside him, a skinny young boy hauling a pair of packs too large for his shoulders. A young Itoriksak rode atop the sled. Next to him, fastened with a seal thong so that she might not fall was Avalaaqiaq. She smiled and waved at no one in particular, merrily singing a song as they traveled. Alaana’s heart sank at the sound. She remembered the way Ava was forever singing some nonsensical little song and taking such great pleasure in it. How she missed her dear elder sister.

 
; “And who might that be?” asked Old Manatook, “Snug in her mother’s amaut?”

  Alaana realized that the passenger traveling in her mother’s pouch must be herself, practically a newborn infant. This was the Anatatook as they had appeared ten years ago, on their way to the spring campgrounds at winter’s end.

  “If they should come upon us standing here, what a shock it will be to them,” mused Old Manatook playfully. “Perhaps we should go.” He mumbled a command in the secret language of the shamans, words which Alaana did not yet understand, and the vision faded away.

  Old Manatook pressed Alaana’s hand against the cold surface of the stone again. The buzzing sound resumed. “And if we had stood on this spot twenty winters before that? What would we see? The same sky, the craggy hillside unchanged, the snow. And the same band of travelers?”

  A new caravan approached, at first undistinguishable from the previous one. Dogs, sleds, men and women, clatter and rattle, and casual trail talk softly spoken. These too were the Anatatook, she was certain. But also different. Though they trod the same track through the valley, there were few faces she recognized and many she did not. Old Manatook drove one of the lead sleds, standing tallest among them. Perhaps at this earlier time he might be properly called simply Manatook, his hair a deep brown only lightly speckled with white. Higilak walked at his side, rendered once again young and beautiful.

  “There’s someone you should meet,” remarked Old Manatook. He indicated a man of middle age at the head of his sled and family. He bore a striking appearance, striding forward with a bearing that radiated great wisdom and strength. He pulled at the traces, lending aid to the dog team but using only one arm. The opposite arm was missing completely from the shoulder.

  “That is Ulruk,” said Old Manatook. “Nestled there in his woman’s amaut is his third son, Kigiuna. Take note. You must know all your ancestors, for they are the ones who keep the way open for your return when your spirit travels between the worlds.”

  “His arm…?”

  “Torn away during a brown bear attack. That aklaq made a nasty mess of him. I remember binding the wounds myself.”

  Alaana’s grandfather threw back his hood. Large patches of his hair were missing, having failed to grow back after the beast had ripped open his scalp, leaving ugly scars across the top of his head. He bent to his eldest son, whom Alaana recognized as her uncle Anaktuvik, and made a funny face at the child to cheer him up. When grandfather’s craggy face came back up, he was laughing heartily. He took a moment to look about him, drinking in the sight of the tundra with glittering eyes, and resumed pulling the sled.

  “Enough. I had no desire to meet myself then, and I certainly don’t just now,” said Old Manatook and again he muttered words that dispelled the scene.

  “What about a hundred winters?” asked Alaana.

  “Or perhaps a hundred hundred,” said Old Manatook with a satisfied smirk. “Might such a thing be possible?”

  With a mumbled command, the shaman pressed Alaana’s hand even more firmly to the chill surface of the old stone. The rock buzzed with an intensity that flooded Alaana’s ears. The sky grew darker, but not with the deliberate pace of nightfall. This darkness came with a thunderclap as if an approaching storm had suddenly shut out the light. “A hundred hundred,” muttered Old Manatook. “The stone is still here. Two hundred, three…”

  The darkness was nearly complete. A choking, smoke-thick darkness which smothered all light and hope. Alaana would not have been able to see anything if not for the benefit of her spirit-vision. The many and varied soul-lights stabbed brightly at her from the purplish gloom. The place even smelled different. The air was heavy with animal scents, the stink of old blood, the smell of pungent decay. She heard all sorts of strange twitterings and rustlings and murmurs, the language of ancient beasts long forgotten.

  Three gigantic figures emerged from the shelter of a cave. A series of low, throaty rumbles passed between the animals as they moved. Their bodies were massive and square, with shaggy coats rippling gray against the astral darkness. Their heads swayed back and forth between hunched shoulders, sweeping enormous fluted tusks across their path.

  A smaller version, a mewling calf, shifted uneasily beneath its parent’s stocky legs as the three passed by. The largest one, whom Alaana assumed to be the mother, began to sing.

  “The mamut,” whispered Old Manatook, “How they sang! If only we could learn the power songs of these great animals. But they are all gone. Long, long gone.”

  The song of the mamut was a series of deep sounds, produced by long, powerful trunks and profoundly sensitive souls. There was a faint echo to it, as if it came from far away. A song of toil and strife, of long lonely treks across lands of desolation and darkness, and a stoic struggle against the inevitable pull of oblivion.

  To Alaana the eerie sound drove home the sense they had traveled far. She felt cast adrift, insignificant and alone.

  A shrill trumpeting blast interrupted the song.

  “Something frightens the mamut,” whispered Old Manatook. “There. Do you see it?”

  The great beasts hurried in their ungainly manner, stomping away with thunderous footfalls. What could such magnificent creatures possibly fear? She could make out a shaggy shape circling in the darkness. Alaana shrank back behind the smooth round stone. It was the most horrific creature she had ever seen. Perhaps twice the size of a man, it resembled most closely a bear, but there was a lithe smoothness in its movements, a cunning and thoughtfulness that no bear could ever possess. Its eyes glittered with unnatural fury, set above a sharply elongated snout in the manner of a wolf. The soul of the beast struck Alaana like none she had ever witnessed before. Jagged and primal, it blazed a violent crimson, alive with savage energy.

  The wolfbear broke cover, but the mamut had already taken up a frantic retreat. The predator circled cautiously, weighing its hunger against the risks of a full-on battle with fearsome tusks and huge trampling feet. Alaana’s mind teetered between confusion and panic. Was this merely a vision, or dangerously real? That beast looked like it could rip them apart in an instant. So far it had not seen them, and Alaana was suddenly glad for the darkness.

  A low whistle came from the rear and a man appeared. Taller even than Old Manatook, the spirit-vision revealed his outline clearly in white-hot soul-light. It burned with fierce energy and drive. The head was disproportionately large for a man, and his body obviously well-muscled below the rough furs. A pair of wizened eyes darted in deep pools beneath a heavy brow.

  “The Tunrit,” whispered Old Manatook. “Risen from the mud after the Great Rift. The first to walk this world, they were so much more than men.”

  Alaana marveled again. So this was a Tunrit.

  Actually there were two of them. As the first distracted the wolfbear another circled around behind, hefting a huge spear. The shaft was almost as wide around as a man’s neck, the tip a hunk of chiseled stone.

  “He’s so big…” whispered Alaana.

  “Shh! Watch.”

  The wolfbear lurched toward the Tunrit with a swipe of a paw sporting five claws each as long as a man’s head. Despite its massive size the creature attacked with amazing speed. At first Alaana thought the Tunrit had gone down below the force of the charge until she noted the man’s soul-light still burning bright. He had disappeared into a narrow pit under the ground and rolled to safety beneath a flat rock. Alaana realized the entire escapade had been anticipated in every detail. This was all an ambush, set by the men.

  The wolfbear stood confused for less than a moment, but the second warrior launched his spear. His aim was certain, but the animal’s foreleg knocked the spear away. It seemed never to stand still. With a terrifying growl loud enough to rattle the ears and drive the mind to complete dissolution the beast lunged at the Tunrit. In an instant it was on top of him, ripping and tearing. Alaana thought the titanic hunter certain to be killed.

  But in an amazing act of speed and cunning the Tunrit sli
thered out from under the animal’s flank. Suddenly astride the great beast, his knife struck unerringly into the back of the wolfish head. Without a moment’s hesitation the other Tunrit pressed his attack, driving his spear for a fatal blow.

  “Enough, surely,” said Old Manatook as he waved his hand to blot out the scene. The death cry of the animal, a sound Alaana would never forget, tore at her ears. The sound stretched and faded, giving Alaana the sensation of a startled rabbit fleeing the scene down a long burrow.

  The strange buzzing sound signaled their return to the present but Alaana was not satisfied. She had learned the cadence of the vibration and matched it with a low humming of her own, deep in her chest. She visualized the buzzing sound as a tether, a chord linking past and present. What would happen, she wondered, if she gave that chord a yank? How far back might it take them?

  She tugged.

  Suddenly an incredible light engulfed them. Alaana slammed her eyes shut but the light persisted, a multicolored rainbow bursting behind her eyelids. An oppressive warmth coexisted with a bitter, freezing cold. There was no earth beneath their feet, no sky above. Alaana’s head spun around as an overwhelming desire to plunge into sleep came over her, and she realized she was already asleep, dreaming she was awake. She was a fledgling eaglet suddenly tossed out of the nest above a terrifying, gaping abyss. She was awash in the lightness of being, a dizzying rapture of endless possibilities, gasping for breath, soaring, expanding uncontrollably. She was an arrow, notched in a bow tensed on a hair-trigger, a mere thought away from taking flight, from becoming an animal — wolf, fox, owl, bear — it didn’t matter. Wings sprouted from her back, a pointed beak to the fore, she went up and down and around, joyful and free, spinning, spinning, so totally alive, so totally free.

  All sensation collapsed into a single feeling, one definitive emotion that dominated the rest, filling her heart until it was fit to burst and she could stand it no longer. Unbridled freedom. Alaana could go wherever she wished, be whatever she wanted — she could fly without need of wings, unconstrained by form, unconstrained by time.