by Ken Altabef
Tugtutsiak repositioned the shred of dried moss on the rock. “You should understand. I have certain expectations of you. We’ve done well in recent years. Some people forget the hard times when their bellies are full. But I don’t forget.” He struck his flint again but got no spark.
“All this is known to me,” said Old Manatook gruffly. “I’m not so old that my memory is dulled.” He paid attention neither to the headman nor to Nuralak, who had taken up the flint. Instead he kept his eyes on the people below. At this distance their soul-lights appeared like tiny insects, and yet he could identify each and every one of them. “The loss of my brother Kuanak goes hard on me.”
“Your brother?” said Tugtutsiak loudly. “Kuanak was my sister’s husband, my traveling companion, my hunting partner. My brother.”
“We shamans are linked together,” said Old Manatook firmly. “The bonds go deeper than you can imagine. Kuanak and Civiliaq and I, we were more than brothers. When I lost them, I lost parts of myself.”
“And now there is only you to guide us,” said Tugtutsiak. “With parts missing.”
This rebuke stirred a wave of anger deep within Old Manatook. He repressed the urge to shed his skin, to rage and growl and settle the headman’s complaints in primal fashion. These powerful men would flee from him like babies. But he was a man of many secrets, one who must not let his true nature be known to his loved ones, or to anyone at all. “I am well aware of the trouble,” he said, “I don’t need you to point it out.”
Tugtutsiak held his gaze. The headman was firm in his convictions and seldom backed down to anyone. Not even, thought Manatook, a charging polar bear.
As the sole remaining shaman, Old Manatook was hard pressed to meet the needs of the entire village. Kuanak had been most gifted at bargaining with the turgats, the powerful spirits who controlled the supply of game animals. Civiliaq had been adept at healing the people and settling their disputes, despite his tendency toward self-aggrandizement. Manatook was the eldest, yet least important among the three. He had been free to come and go as he wished, a situation which suited him perfectly well. He often had important errands elsewhere, obligations to the north that did not involve the Anatatook at all.
“We had three shamans when you first came among us,” noted Tugtutsiak. “Before you killed Klah Kritlaq...”
“Hai!” shouted Nuralak, having brought forth a spark at last. He lit both pipes and leaned back against the cliff, shoulder to shoulder with Tugtutsiak, for an extended bout of contented puffing. The stench of burning tobacco assaulted Old Manatook’s nose.
The shaman turned aside to face bitter recollection.
Killing Klah Kritlaq had been one of the most difficult tasks he’d ever been called upon to perform. Civiliaq and Kuanak stood idly by while Manatook did what needed to be done. Having been trained by Klah Kritlaq he was like a father to them; they would not raise their hands against him. And yet Kritlaq endangered them all. He had been driven mad by dark forces — his thoughts twisted to the point where he had begun seeing demons at every turn, accusing the people of unwarranted corruption. In the end he had become too dangerous, tainted beyond reason or redemption, using his power to force them to do his bidding.
“And now we have only you,” said Tugtutsiak at last, not having lost his train of thought for all the smoking and the long silence.
“I can only do what I can,” said Old Manatook. “I will plead with the spirits again. Perhaps — though I can not promise it — perhaps we may get one last chance at the herd before winter.”
“Perhaps we can get another shaman,” said Nuralak rather coldly. He laughed as if he had simply been joking, and added, “Why should you have to do so much by yourself?”
“If only it was such a simple thing,” said Old Manatook. “I should well appreciate the help.”
“What do you know, Nuralak?” asked Tugtutsiak. “You go often to the south.”
“There is not much hope for it,” Nuralak returned, blowing out smoke. “There are fewer and fewer shamans about these days. Everywhere I hear the same.”
“How is Alaana coming along?” asked Tugtutsiak.
Old Manatook hesitated.
He was reluctant to recount the many troubles he had encountered in Alaana’s training, uncertain as he was about it all. The girl had been called late, by an enigmatic and fickle spirit who had shown little interest in her since. And worse yet, Alaana lacked the dedication necessary to succeed at the task. Four moons had come and gone, and they had made precious little progress.
Were these difficulties a result of the reluctance of the pupil or the faults of the teacher?
He could not talk about such details to these men. And yet, he wouldn’t lie either.
“It’s early yet for her,” was all that he would say.
“A girl,” said Tugtutsiak, blowing out gray smoke. “We can’t depend on her. Isn’t there anything else we can do?”
Kigiuna looked up from his carving.
It had been a clear, dry day, probably one of the last before the storms and snows of freeze-up. As the sun dipped toward the horizon it left a rosy corona where it kissed the crusts of ice and snow. Kigiuna shivered. Such dramatic sunsets only reminded him of the long winter to come. They had been sitting idle too long. The cold had begun to creep into his bones.
“You did well in the hunt, Maguan,” said Anaktuvik, who sat beside Kigiuna under an overhanging shelf of gray sandstone. He leaned back contentedly against the rock face. “I think married life agrees with you.”
“I’ve no complaints,” replied Maguan. He rolled his eyes playfully.
“Well I do,” said Kigiuna. “The meat stores are still half empty. Old Manatook chose the wrong place to intercept the herd.”
“Can any man know which way the wind is going to turn?” mused Anaktuvik in an easygoing tone.
“He’s the shaman,” replied Kigiuna. “He’s supposed to know. That’s what he tells us, isn’t it?”
Anaktuvik was not concerned. “They bleed red just like the rest of us.”
“And so he’ll starve right along with us?” snapped Kigiuna.
“No one’s going to starve,” said Anaktuvik. “Nunatsiaq, our beautiful land, will provide.” He wore a sparse, curly beard which differed from Kigiuna’s only in that it clung to a face which, although several years older, seemed much less lined with worry. Kigiuna envied his elder brother, so full of optimism, eyes closed above a gentle smile as if he might at any moment drift off to sleep, where a pleasant dream awaited him.
Maguan said, “Perhaps Tugtutsiak will get a whale this year.”
Kigiuna snorted. “Perhaps I don’t want to rely on Tugtutsiak.”
He scratched a mouth onto the face he was cutting into a long ivory chit, using an iron nail pulled from a piece of driftwood he’d found on the beach. It was the only thing he owned that had belonged to the white men. The nail was extremely useful for fine detail work, such as decorating the hair pin, one of a pair he was making for Amauraq. He thought she would like a smiling face on the pin, but his disgruntled mood was souring the result. The smile looked more like a leer. “I worry about empty stomachs during winter’s long night. I worry that the dogs might starve or Putuguk will face hardship or be left behind.”
“All will be well,” said Anaktuvik. His eyes popped open. “What’s come over you, Kigiuna? You never used to brood like an old woman.”
Kigiuna stabbed at the carving. His brother was right. It was impossible to keep secrets from him. “It’s Alaana.”
“What about her?”
“I don’t want her to become a shaman.” There. He’d said it. He felt no guilt at the admission. At least his words were safe in his brother’s ears.
Maguan turned to his father in surprise. “Alaana will be a great shaman for our people, Father. A great woman. Think of the honor we’ll have, with a shaman in our family.”
“Our status will rise among the hunters,” observed Anaktuvik.
“I don’t care about any of that,” snapped Kigiuna. This was not strictly true. He would’ve liked nothing more than to elevate his status among the band. Ever since the days of his impetuous youth he’d been marginalized, viewed with suspicion and held at arm’s length by the men in power. But there were some things he wasn’t willing to sacrifice for status. “Alaana doesn’t sleep well. She’s restless throughout the night. Every night.”
“You should have renamed her after that fever,” observed Anaktuvik. “Why didn’t you?”
“Old Manatook said not to. He said the spirits called Alaana by name and she should keep it.”
Anaktuvik grunted softly. “It’s no good to keep the same name after you’ve almost died. Everybody knows that.”
Kigiuna dragged the nail along the surface of the flat stone on which they sat. “What if Old Manatook is wrong? Just as he was with the caribou. What if Alaana doesn’t really have the calling? I don’t think it sits well with her.”
“It doesn’t sit well with you,” said Anaktuvik.
“No, it doesn’t,” admitted Kigiuna. “It’s too dangerous.”
In a dismissive tone, Maguan said, “I’m sure she’s fine.”
“You’re sure she’s fine?” seethed Kigiuna. “Well, that’s a relief! That’s a great comfort to me. As long as you’re satisfied, why am I wasting my breath talking?”
Maguan’s eyes bulged slightly, then shrank back from his father’s withering look. He got no help from his uncle who, eyes closed again, pretended to be on the verge of sleep.
“If only the Anatatook could hunt our prey with sarcasm…” mused Anaktuvik in a sleepy tone. “You would be the headman, Kigiuna.”
“Very funny.”
“Why don’t you ask Old Manatook?”
“I don’t want to ask Old Manatook,” spat Kigiuna. “He’s the cause of all this trouble.”
Anaktuvik frowned. “You shouldn’t talk that way about the shaman. What have you got against him?”
“Father never trusted him. It cost him an arm.”
“That was a long time ago. Old Manatook had newly come among us.”
“Do you remember when he murdered Klah Kritlaq?” asked Kigiuna.
“That old sorcerer was crazy. He was dangerous.”
“I was right there when Manatook killed him,” said Kigiuna. He remembered it well. The day Old Manatook killed Klah Kritlaq was to have been the day of his manhood ceremony at twelve winters. His ceremony had been delayed an entire season because of the events of that day.
Klah Kritlaq had always been mean and formidable. All of the Anatatook children, Kigiuna included, found him terribly frightening. There was something about the old shaman’s eyes, the way they seemed able to jump from their sockets and cut into you, that sent a shiver through his soul.
The fight began with the two men standing in the middle of the camp, locked in an intense stare. At that time Manatook had been in his early middle age. Klah Kritlaq was old but not feeble; he was still able to wrestle most of the men to the ground. The staring match went on for some time until at last Manatook looked away. No one could stand long under Kritlaq’s cutting gaze.
Kritlaq laughed softly. It was a quiet snicker, but with such a malicious character that Kigiuna was tortured by nightmares of that sound and the old shaman’s dreadful yellowed eyes long after he was dead. Kritlaq drew out his blade. He carried a short ceremonial knife only. Manatook had a killing blade of slivered bone, long and sharp.
Manatook charged. Unlike in the stories, there was no thunderclap, no flying through the air, no bolts of otherworldly energy. Simply two men fighting each other in the space between the tents. Kritlaq was savage with his blade, slashing Manatook in several places. Manatook held back for the killing stroke; he seemed cool and careful compared to the mad fury of the other. When the opening came he sent his long knife deep in the belly. Kritlaq hung on the blade, yellow eyes bulging. Manatook pulled the knife out and slashed across Kritlaq’s neck with one deft motion, severing the necklace of charms he wore. The charms fell to the snow, and Klah Kritlaq fell with it, stone dead. It was the first time Kigiuna had ever seen a man killed. He didn’t even understand why they were fighting.
Anaktuvik stood up. “It was a good, clean kill. It was necessary.”
It was hard for Kigiuna to reconcile that statement with the recollections of his boyhood years. The viciousness of that stabbing. Kritlaq’s chilling death rattle. The cold predatory look in Old Manatook’s eyes. That was not the first time Manatook had killed a man, he was certain of it.
“Now he’s the only shaman left,” he said, “spending so much time with Alaana.”
“Time to go inside,” said Anaktuvik. “Maguan is right. Alaana will be fine. If she has been called, she must answer. What can we do? Life isn’t for worry,” he said with a smile, “Life is for life.”
What else was there to say? What else was there to do? Kigiuna picked up the hair pin. Despite his bitter mood he had shaped the expression on the face into a smile for Amauraq. He realized the features on the carving wore the face of his brother.
It was getting dark. Time to go inside.
CHAPTER 19
SHE THAT MUST WALK ALONE
The whip cracked above Alaana’s head. Her shoulders felt as if they were being ripped from their sockets. On hands and knees in the snow she was cold and wet, and laughing so hard she could barely breathe.
The whip cracked again, almost too close for comfort. “Come on,” shouted Aquppak, “Get moving, you mangy pup!”
It was no use. Alaana let the traces go slack. The sight of Iggy’s rump, directly ahead of her and waggling crazily, was too much. She could not stop laughing and signaled for Aquppak to take his lash elsewhere. Perhaps he could tame Iggianguaq.
“That’s no fun, Alaana,” said Aquppak. “It’s no race if you’re lying down in the snow.”
Their game, a race across the snow-plain pulling their little toy sleds, had gone totally wrong. First there had been some confusion as to the direction of the course, which left the children running in messy circles with tow lines crossed and hopelessly tangled. After that, Iggy’s impersonation of an overly enthusiastic lead dog was too comical to bear. Alaana and Aquppak had both broken down laughing.
“It’s no good race anyway,” said Alaana. “Nobody can beat Iggy.”
And that was true. The toy sleds hauled heavy stones as passengers and all the stones were roughly the same size, which meant Iggy was certain to win.
Aquppak, who characteristically refused to play at any game where there was no chance for him to win, refused to pull a sled. Instead he had a thin whip of sinew and acted as team driver, snapping it above their heads.
“It’s his fault,” said Alaana, stabbing a finger at Iggy. “Get him!”
Aquppak lunged for Iggianguaq. Still acting the part of a wild dog, Iggy broke loose from his traces and met Aquppak’s charge. The whip forgotten, the two boys went tumbling in the snow, Iggy growling and snapping in a grand imitation of the most ferocious huskie anyone had ever seen. After he knocked Aquppak aside, he turned crazily playful, his tongue flopping in the air, still romping gaily about on all fours, splashing up fresh snow.
When the crazed boy-dog began tugging at Alaana’s clothing with his teeth, Alaana thought she might burst from laughing.
“Come on, then. If that’s the way it is, let’s wrestle for real,” said Aquppak, brushing the powder from his face.
Iggy whooped with glee. Outside of meal times, wrestling was by far his favorite activity. He pushed the heavy stone off his makeshift sled and, turning it over, unwrapped the sealskin which held the spars together. He set the skin out over a flat place on the ground, saying, “Who wants to lose first?”
Alaana shot a glance back at the camp. Thick brown smoke was still trailing out of the karigi. Inside Old Manatook was communing with Tekkeitsertok, the spirit of the wild caribou, trying to arrange for another hunt. The smell of burning incense w
as thick in the air as it wafted throughout the camp. As she was not yet a full shaman, Alaana wasn’t allowed to witness the bargaining with such great turgats as Tekkeitsertok, but she felt certain the rite was nearly done. When Old Manatook emerged from the karigi he would report his results to the headman, and then he and Alaana were to continue her training.
“Fine,” Alaana said. “I have just enough time to beat you once or twice.”
Iggy chuckled. Alaana had never beaten him at wrestling in his life and never would.
Iggy centered himself on the mat and stripped down to his pants, tossing his parka off to the side. He was already so wet it didn’t matter. He puffed himself up, baring his chest dramatically, but this to Alaana was a bit comical too. Iggy was so fat he had bigger breasts than some of the girls.
Iggy made a ferocious noise and extended his crooked elbow. Alaana linked arms and they were off. They spun around, neither one pulling their hardest or the match would be over too soon. The sealskin mat sunk into the slush, and as they stomped this way and that, icy water welled up over the sides. Alaana began pulling in earnest. Iggy matched her strength, moaning and groaning with mock strain. Alaana yanked downward, trying to get under her opponent and nudge him off balance but it was useless. Iggy’s legs were too strong. He hauled Alaana up, but as he swung her around to the side he slipped on the mat’s slick surface. Caught standing at an odd angle, Iggy wobbled for a moment then went down. Alaana slapped him on his bare chest. She was the winner.
Alaana had never won before. She thrust her arms outward in imitation of a grizzly.
Iggy was slow to stand up.
“You cheated!” he said. “You vexed me.”
“I did not,” laughed Alaana.
“You did!” His tone was sharp. Iggy wasn’t joking. “You took the strength out of my legs, you made me slip!”
“I didn’t.”
Iggy stepped close to Alaana but Aquppak slid between them. “It’s all right, Iggy. You slipped and fell. That’s all.”
“No, she cheated! I felt it.”
