The Calling

by Ken Altabef

  “Sun and Moon!” hissed a rough voice.

  And then she was back, seated on the sled atop the icy plain, her hand pressed against the round stone.

  Her return came as a thunderclap that left her heart throbbing painfully in her chest.

  “Manatook?” she said.

  “Yes,” answered Old Manatook. Alaana thought the shaman’s voice wavered weakly. “The Beforetime,” he announced, having recovered himself.

  “I felt it,” said Alaana. “It was…” She could find no words to describe it.

  “Yes, it was,” agreed Old Manatook. “And dangerous too. Having felt such bliss, even for an instant, a person can not help but be changed. I hadn’t intended for that to happen. Again, things slip out of my hands when you are involved!”

  “I was flying.”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “I could do anything. I could be anything.”

  “It was a time of great spiritual energy. A time when all the magic words were first formed.”

  “Were we really traveling in time?” asked Alaana in amazement.

  “Were we?” returned Old Manatook. “Is such a thing possible?” He smiled broadly, flashing oversized teeth.

  Alaana nodded with conviction.

  “Aha!” Old Manatook clapped her on the shoulder. “Is such a thing really possible?”

  “Yes,” said Alaana. “Yes.”

  “Hmmph,” said Old Manatook. “Or perhaps my old friend, the spirit in the rock was merely sharing a few of his memories with us? Hmmm? Think on it.”

  The old shaman took a deep breath and scanned the horizon. “I suppose that’s enough for today.”

  CHAPTER 9

  WALRUS ON THE ICE

  “Wake up! Wake up!”

  Alaana snapped awake at the little tunraq’s shrill call. She grabbed the amulet where it lay beside her head on the platform.

  “Ssst!” she whispered, “before you wake my whole family.”

  The amulet lay cupped inside her palm, a tiny auk skull with dead eyes and a downy tuft of tan feathers at the top. “Wake up!” it screeched again. Its eyes bulged in time with its call, then receded back into the depths of the sockets. Its name was Itiqtuq, which meant simply ‘Wakes Up.’

  “I’m up!” Alaana hissed. She looked to her family. Her father was a notoriously light sleeper, attuned to any stray yap or yammer from the dogs in the night, but he had heard nothing. This call was for Alaana alone.

  She must now try to remember what she’d been dreaming, but when the auk screeched in her ear, she couldn’t remember anything at all. It seemed like only a few moments since the tunraq had interrupted her sleep for the first of three times this night, though the gathering light outside the tent said it had been much more. Morning would be here soon. She felt as if she hadn’t even had time enough to dream.

  Alaana looked to Itiqtuq, but the amulet provided no inspiration. The silly little thing had gone dead again. Its function was only to rouse her, again and again. Nothing more.

  She was no good at this game. She didn’t often have dreams at all. Still, Old Manatook said she must try. She thought perhaps she might have been dreaming of Avalaaqiaq. She thought of her lost sister often enough in the night. Itoriksak lay beside her now, but it was different. Ava used to poke and pinch playfully at her, trying to surprise her during the night, and Alaana would rake her toenails along her sister’s calves to tickle her legs. Itoriksak, being older, was much too serious for any of that.

  Alaana’s stomach grumbled, making a sound that seemed nearly as loud as Itiqtuq’s shrill cry of alarm. Had she been dreaming about food? Yes, she felt certain of it. There had been a taste in her mouth just a moment ago. She rolled her tongue around, but nothing remained. Of course, it had all been in her mind. Caribou liver cooked in the pot. That was it. As a shaman-in-training she had been forbidden to eat the liver of any animal, but her mouth watered at the thought. Caribou liver cooked in the pot. What possible usefulness could there be in telling that to Old Manatook?

  The sun was coming up fast and she had little chance of getting back to sleep now. Besides, it was too noisy. Little bits of souls were all around her, even in the tent at night. The sleeping skins whispered in the darkness, the lantern had stories to tell, the very walls of the house had tongues. Even the soapstone pot had something to say.

  And Maguan’s wife was snoring again. How could someone with such a tiny nose be so loud?

  As Alaana sat awake, her thoughts turned to that brief glimpse of the Beforetime she had experienced just the day before, which had itself seemed like the most powerful of dreams. Compared to that flash of paradise, that unlimited bounty of light and wonder, what were the pathetic wanderings of a sleeping mind?

  So many things were changing. With brilliant light came darkness as well. Every day a parade of dangers and gloomy portents crawled before her very eyes, dark and peculiar things she could not before have imagined and didn’t want to know.

  Her father stirred beside her, mumbling in his sleep as the spring dawn came in a rush.

  “Where’s the tea?”

  These were always the first words out of her father’s mouth every morning even before he got out of bed. Amauraq, having come fully awake on the instant, rose from the sleeping platform and set about breakfast. Kigiuna was always one of the first men to rise in the camp and usually the first out to see to the day’s work.

  He brushed unruly locks of greasy black hair from his face. As he stood up to get dressed he launched into a typical morning monologue, talking as much to himself as anyone else.

  “The fishing nets are in rough shape. I don’t remember them being so ripped up last year. Someone must have been sloppy putting them away.”

  He went on and on as the rest of the family began to stir.

  “It’s hard work braiding the nets,” he said. “My fingers are too clumsy for that type of work. The children are better at it than me. Alaana goes off again with Old Manatook.” The heavy sigh that followed sounded somewhat like the whimper of a kicked seal. “Ayurnaarmat,” he said, meaning it could not be helped.

  To Alaana this did not sound like an enthusiastic endorsement of her training. She agreed with Kigiuna. She didn’t want any part of it. She was better off staying home. And yet her father still kept forcing her to go.

  “Itoriksak, get up. Get up! Mending today.”

  A small groan came from her brother’s throat, as he began to come awake. Alaana remembered the feeling, still half asleep, her father’s voice urging them on, getting them all started for the day.

  “Come on, Itoriksak. You can help us putting the nets in the river. Let’s hope you don’t fall in!” Kigiuna started laughing to himself. It was such a nice, warm sound. “That would be sort of funny, us fishing you out with the nets. Bad for the nets, though.” He laughed again, as if seeing the comical picture in his mind.

  “Maguan. Up! I don’t care how snug and warm you are beside your new wife. Married man or not, let’s go. She’s another mouth to feed now, you know, and maybe more than one in a short while.”

  Kigiuna laughed again. He was in a good mood. He had a special fondness for fishing. He loved springtime as much as he despised winter with its bleak stretches of inactivity and tedious seal hunts. And having so recently lost his eldest daughter, Kigiuna seemed altogether pleased to have Pilarqaq around. She clearly admired her new marriage-father and doted on him whenever he was in the tent, spoiling him with hot tea and good things to eat, and warm smiles.

  Maguan groaned and sat up. Alaana did the same, poking at the lazy Itoriksak until her brother stirred to swat the offending hand away.

  “Come on. We’ve a busy day ahead,” said Kigiuna with a smile. “Let’s eat!”

  “Do I have to go?” Alaana asked her mother. “I want to stay and help mend the nets.”

  Amauraq made a soft purring sound, then smiled. With her hair pulled back, her face appeared even more lean and narrow, but the smile fit snugly beneath
high, proud cheekbones. “You want to be with Maguan and Itoriksak. You don’t even want to play. You’re growing up fast, Alaana. I’m pleased.”

  “Good. Then I can go with them?”

  For a long while Alaana thought her mother wasn’t going to answer. She continued picking the scraps of their breakfast from the gravel on the floor, a housekeeping activity she had newly undertaken since Pilarqaq had come to live with them. Alaana wondered if she could consider her mother’s silence as a tacit agreement.

  “I don’t think Old Manatook would look too kindly on that,” Amauraq said at last. “I’m sure he’s waiting for you already.”

  “Well, I don’t want to go.”

  “Your father says you must go.” There was a note of finality to this statement that brooked no argument.

  “He says one thing, but thinks another,” Alaana suggested.

  Amauraq stopped fussing over the gravel and Alaana feared some massive rebuke was on the way. She had practically called her father a liar. Instead, her mother grabbed her with both arms and hugged her close. “My sweet baby,” she said. As much as she hated being called a baby, Alaana did enjoy the hug.

  Her mother said, “You always know what people are really feeling, don’t you? You’re always smiling when someone around you is happy, even if you don’t realize it yourself. I never could hide anything from you, and I suppose neither can he.”

  “I think Father is afraid.”

  “Maybe he is,” Amauraq said. “But you mustn’t be afraid. There is a strength inside of you. I know because I put it there. Listen.

  “When my mother’s father was an old man his sight began to fade. After a while he couldn’t see any more. His name was Quipagaa.

  “When his eyes went dark it was too terrible for him to bear. He was lost to us. He wanted to die, saying the burden of life had become too heavy. He asked my mother to take his life but she wouldn’t do it.”

  Alaana listened carefully, drinking in every word. Amauraq did not often tell stories.

  “At last he went out in the snow. We cried and cried. He lay down in the snow. Many days went by. After a while my father went out to look for him but he was covered over.

  “But Quipagaa did not die. The spirit of the eagle came to him, saying, ‘Quipagaa! Do not despair! You shall see again! With my eyes you shall see the ocean and the mountains! You shall see your children again and your little grandchildren!’

  “He came back to us and it was true. He could see again. But it was backward. He could see the lights inside of things instead of outside. The same way you do.”

  Amauraq’s words startled Alaana. She hadn’t told anyone about the spirit-vision except for Old Manatook. She didn’t want anyone to know. The last thing she wanted was to be treated any differently than the other girls. But she should have known; her mother’s sharp eyes never missed anything.

  “It’s terrible,” she said, “I see things I don’t like. I hear things all the time.”

  “You mustn’t be afraid. Remember about Quipagaa. He could see again! His eyes were very bright like stars and in them lived a happy expression and a great blazing stare. And suddenly he could dance all night long again, as he used to when he was a young man. After that I swear the old man could make anyone do anything he wanted. But,” she laughed, “he never made anyone do anything at all.”

  Amauraq’s gentle brown eyes glistened with fond recollection.

  “Then one day there sounded a great rumble and the ice mountain went crashing down into the pass. Our people were trapped. There was no way to get through. None of the hunters could find the way. Not one of the young men could do it. But Quipagaa found the way out for us. He saw it as from above. He saved us from the hunger and the cold that would have ended us. A few days later, he died. But he died a happy man.”

  “Well I don’t want to die!”

  “Alaana!” Amauraq took her hands tenderly, rubbing them as if they were cold. “You won’t die. You will become the shaman.”

  Alaana couldn’t believe her ears. This was the last thing she expected to hear from her mother. Mother’s fears, and they were many, were well known to the entire family. She was always so overprotective of her and everyone else. How many times had mother chased after her, insisting she wouldn’t let her go out without the double parka in winter, or urging her to change wet clothes that weren’t even that wet, or to remind her about every little taboo?

  Amauraq feared the spirits more than anything else. On winter nights when the wind howled she insisted the spirits were angry and wouldn’t let the children outside the iglu. Kigiuna proclaimed it was just the wind, but not even he could sway her. And when all was said and done, they stayed in.

  Yet here she was urging Alaana along the most dangerous path imaginable. She could hardly understand it.

  “Aren’t you worried about the spirits?” she asked.

  “All the time,” her mother answered. “But I believe in you. You will become the shaman and you will protect us all. Don’t you see? You’ll protect us all. The family and the Anatatook and everyone else. We need you.”

  Amauraq gave her hand a squeeze. Her mother’s gaze was warm and there was not a hint of doubt in her eyes.

  “When we lost your sister,” she said, “we gained something too. You gained something, Alaana. A mother knows. There is a balance to things. There has to be. If something is taken away,” she said sadly, “something is also given.”

  Alaana recalled the things Sila had said. Justice. Balance. She thought her mother must be very wise to understand all these things, without even being told.

  “Whatever you do with that gift, Alaana, you do for your sister. You do it for our poor Ava. She died for this.” She stopped for a moment, putting her hand tight against her mouth, a far-off look in her eye.

  “Now go and do your important work with Old Manatook.”

  “Pay attention!” snapped Nunavik.

  Alaana sat up straight, her legs crossed on the prayer mat, her hands on her knees.

  “To receive messages on the wind,” continued the shrill voice of Nunavik, “is a skill that can be learned like any other skill, unless you are too thick-headed to listen, which just might be the case.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Alaana.

  “Don’t apologize! Do not ever apologize. My blood, but you are dense aren’t you? Concentrate!”

  Alaana ran her eyes around the inside of the little tent, one of the pair Old Manatook had erected out in the wilderness for their practice sessions. There was nothing much to see. The interior was an empty cone of old caribou leather, a tight space barely large enough for herself and Nunavik.

  Nunavik frowned, at least as much as a bull walrus could be said to have frowned. His gigantic, whiskered cheeks puffed out even further than usual and his long, yellowed tusks drew themselves back toward the folds of blubber at his chin. Nunavik was very old and very fat, with golden skin that bulged with a strange luminous glow as if constantly bathed with reflected sunlight. It was always dawn breaking across his craggy skin.

  Nunavik was the first tunraq, or spirit helper, Alaana had encountered. Old Manatook had handed Alaana the amulet, a slender piece of walrus tusk inscribed with runic symbols, saying, “This is Walrus On The Ice. Listen carefully, but don’t pay too much attention to him. He’s very sensible. He’ll help you. He knows all about everywhere.”

  Alaana could not see the golden walrus within the talisman. She perceived only the tiny remnant of a soul that would be present in any tusk, in this case represented by a peculiar golden sparkle. But when she held it Alaana experienced a smell like no other. It was the stale walrus smell of festering blubber and rank mildew, of half-eaten fish stuck between massive teeth, but there was also a waft of something ancient, something which had plumbed the great depths of the ocean, that knew vast spaces of star and sky, and had walked with spirits great and small. “You can’t see him unless he wishes it,” explained Old Manatook, “The amulet is just a pathwa
y; the spirit is on the other side. You can’t see it, but you can feel it.”

  “I can smell it!” Alaana had said, wrinkling her nose.

  “Now concentrate!” barked Nunavik, and Alaana’s thoughts returned to the present. “What is needed is an intense concentration of thought. Thought! How a mere child can be expected to do that, I’ll never know.”

  “I can do it,” said Alaana.

  Nunavik’s tiny black eyes narrowed. “Perhaps you’re too young, too stupid and starting too late.”

  “I can do it,” said Alaana firmly.

  “Better,” remarked Nunavik. “Now let’s get started in earnest. Old Manatook is sitting only ten paces away. All that separates us are a pair of flimsy tent skins. He is not simply thinking the word, he is sending it! There’s a difference. You have to learn how to listen, how to receive. It’s not a passive activity like hearing a bird song or a crash of the ice, or your mother calling her little baby in to supper. You have to work at it.

  “You have to envision the intervening distance as strands along the spirit of the air. You can’t see them, but you feel them with your mind. Feel the message, sense the word, coming at you along the strands. Picture Old Manatook’s face, those deep, inscrutable eyes, that flat ugly nose, the unkempt ragged rat’s nest of a beard…”

  Alaana chuckled softly.

  “Concentrate, girl!” urged Nunavik, hardly aware he had said anything the least bit amusing. “Tune yourself to the passing of his message, like the spider on the web. The strands shake and twitter. It’s a word! He’s reaching out to you right now. Feel it. Feeeeel it! Oh what’s the use, it’s like talking to a plank of wood! You’re not getting any of this are you?”

  “I’m trying,” said Alaana.

  “All right, listen to your Uncle Walrus. There’s a trick I know. One must achieve a certain one-pointedness of thought necessary in order to receive. Of course you don’t understand any of that, I know. It’s a concept. But it can also be a game. The key to achieving the trance of one-pointedness is to completely remove all other things, emptying your mind (as if it isn’t empty enough already), to a state of complete blankness. Now listen. There’s no sound here. Complete silence.”