Ice Drift (9780547540610)

by Taylor, Theodore

  Outside, the night remained clear and calm. The ghostly northern lights, the aurora borealis, flickered here and there in colored patterns, sending a mysterious message to all who lived in the Arctic. Inu had said the lights were controlled by the spirits.

  Reds, greens, and purples collapsed in veiled swirls and vanished. Then streamers of pale green turned to ivory. Soon there were folds of violets and blues that quivered and danced. Inu had said the lights were the spirits of people who had died from loss of blood—wounds, childbirth, murder. Inu called them aqsarniit. Deeply fearing the aurora, the Inuit went into their huts when the lights were in the sky.

  Alika and Sulu had seen the beginning of the heavenly show before entering their home to sleep. Had they been outside, they would have sworn they again heard whistling and crackling noises in the distance and would have been frightened by them as usual. But an hour had passed and Sulu was asleep. Jamka was dreaming, probably chasing a caribou across the tundra, his legs twitching. Only Alika was awake, looking at the colors through the ice-pane window of the snowhouse.

  There were many glaciers on the north coast of

  Ellesmere Island in the direction of the North Pole,

  and the largest ice shelves of the continent were up there.

  The shelves were ancient deposits of freshwater,

  sometimes fifty or more feet deep.

  9

  In the morning, Alika awakened first. He soon crawled outside, Jamka at his heels. In the moonlight, he saw that the short tunnel to the storage iglu had been smashed and knew immediately that a bear had visited while they'd slept.

  "Where is it?" he asked Jamka. He'd made a mistake, he knew, storing the seal remains out there.

  The dog was already sniffing the subzero air. The bear would have had its fill, and the always-following white fox was likely dining on whatever was left. It was the scent of the white fox, not far away, that Jamka followed. There was no bloody trail on the snow because the seal remains were frozen, but Alika did see some drag marks from both the bear's paws and the seal's body. He lifted the rifle out of the snow just in case nanuk was still close by.

  Jamka moved swiftly, Alika squinting after him. Then Jamka howled, signaling that the fox was gone and that he was guarding the seal remains. The bear must not have been too hungry or it would have devoured every ounce of the seal, Alika thought. There would have been a different tone to Jamka's howl if the bear were near.

  Alika went into the storage iglu for seal rope to drag home whatever meat, bone, and skin was left. Then, gripping the rifle, he joined Jamka, hitched up the nattiq remains, and trudged back to the snowhouse. Alika would have to admit to Sulu that they were in deep trouble. Unless he soon killed another seal, they would be out of food as well as blubber for heat and cooking and light.

  Returning inside the iglu, Alika saw that his brother was awake, and he told him that a bear had robbed them of the seal carcass. "There is enough left for three days if we eat only once a day."

  Sulu couldn't believe what had happened. "You mean that bear stole our food?"

  "He has only one job. That's to feed himself," Alika answered. "Get dressed. We're going hunting."

  Sulu asked, "Why didn't you bring the meat in here last night?" He was frowning.

  "I didn't think about it. From now on I will."

  "Why didn't Jamka smell the bear?"

  Alika replied, "He's not perfect, either."

  Sulu got dressed, and they went together toward the east side of the floe.

  Alika had not noticed the sharpness of the stars the night before and had no idea that a blizzard was moving rapidly westward. They were roughly five miles away from the snowhouse when the wind began to howl and the first thick pellets of snow filled the air. The wind was blowing probably forty miles an hour.

  "We have to go back!" Alika shouted to Sulu. "Stay near me."

  He had no compass except Jamka, but he'd been caught out in storms several times with Papa. They'd located boulders to hide behind on the tundra and had used the dog team as a barrier, packing the dogs close together, burying themselves behind them in the snow.

  Papa had also taught him how, in certain circumstances, he could navigate by snowdrifts. Blizzard snow, though soft, is thick, and the navigator waits until the storm is over to read the tonguelike drifts and decide in which direction the wind had blown. But often, evil Oqaloraq, the snowdrift spirit, attempts to harm the hunters by confusing them while they struggle home.

  There were no boulders on the floe, but Alika remembered several ice hummocks they'd passed midmorning, one of which ran east and west and looked to be about twenty feet high. If he could find it, they might survive huddling behind it and hoping that the storm would be short-lived.

  In the meantime, Alika yelled to Jamka, "Take us home!"

  Bent into the wind and snow, heads down, trying to follow Jamka's tail, they slogged and slipped across the ice for almost two hours in what Alika thought was a westerly direction. Alika kept saying encouraging words to an exhausted Sulu but finally gave up and slung his brother across his shoulders. The snow was coming in gusts. To carry Sulu, Alika had no choice but to drop the rifle. He planted the harpoon in the snow to mark the spot.

  They had stopped several times to rest, hands and feet almost numb, and Alika was nearing exhaustion himself when he saw the dim shape of the big hummock ahead through the flakes. He remembered it wasn't too far from the snowhouse and yelled to Jamka, "Keep going!"

  They made it home, and gathering strength, Alika dragged Sulu into the tunnel, saying, "Brother, the spirits looked down on us." He knew their hands and faces were frostbitten, but they were alive and that's what counted. Painful as frostbite was, they could deal with it by letting the parts thaw naturally. The extreme cold had bitten him before.

  He fired up the qulliq, undressed Sulu, who was moaning, inserted him into his sleeping bag, and promised himself they'd never leave their side of the floe again. When the weather changed, he'd go back and pick up the rifle.

  Jamka had shaken the snow off his fur outside, but his coat was still damp. He was already up beside Sulu, and Alika joined them, fatigue and fear having drained him. Before falling asleep, he made another promise to himself: Always check the weather signs.

  He retrieved the Maynard the next morning.

  Freezing of the sea ice is an amazing process. It can

  take place with startling rapidity. One day, a hunter

  may use his kayak for travel. The next day, he

  can walk across the same water, then frozen.

  10

  The blizzard gripped Nunatak, east wind driving the snow.

  "I can't sleep despite Inu telling us that they are alive and well. Just the idea that they are trapped out there in this weather frightens me," said Maja from their raised wooden sleeping platform.

  "I did what Inu told me to do—you know that. I got all the hunters together in the big boat and we paddled south all night but couldn't find them."

  "It was too late," Maja said with despair.

  "You must trust in Alika," Kussu said.

  "Suppose he has fallen into the water, leaving Sulu to survive alone? Suppose they are out in this storm?"

  Kussu said, "I have taught Alika to be very careful on the ice, and he knows bad weather. I took him hunting with me on his third birthday; remember? I can't count the number of times he has been with me ever since."

  "If it wasn't for this storm and darkness, we could take the dogs and follow the shore south," Maja said. "That floe could have grounded."

  "Many things would be different in our lives if it wasn't for this darkness," Kussu said.

  "We should live where there is light," she said angrily. "They may be starving."

  Kussu said, "They can hunt on the nights before the full moon and during it and the nights just after it. We've done it. That's what Alika will do. He will use that light to sit by a hole and wait."

  Both had indeed done it. On th
e nights of the moon, without any cloud cover, it almost became like daylight. Snow glistened.

  "Suppose he does not get a seal on one of those nights?"

  Kussu said, "He will."

  It was now mid-November, black outside, forty degrees below zero. Maja said, "I keep thinking about them huddled in darkness without light or heat."

  Kussu, seeking the right words, finally answered. "You keep talking about all the bad things that can happen to them. I believe that Alika is learning something new every day. Jamka will find the holes, and Alika will kill the seals. Believe me."

  Maja said, "Have you asked Miak at what point south his floe began to break into small pieces? As soon as some light begins to return, we can go there and find our boys."

  "I will ask him."

  "No matter how far south," Maja said in a demanding voice.

  "No matter how far south," Kussu agreed, though he said it without conviction.

  From what Kussu knew about the Greenland Strait and the many fjords and inlets and islands to the south, they would have to use their kayaks to cross open waters once the ice melted. But that would be months ahead. They would walk and carry their kayaks when necessary, and they'd kill game along the way for food. They knew the names of several of the villages in the south.

  Maja said forcefully, "We will do it, husband."

  He answered, "Yes, we will."

  They embraced.

  Kussu knew that what the boys' mother proposed was impossible. He'd seen a nautical chart of the Arctic coast on the Reliance. With its inlets and islands and rivers for a thousand miles south, the only way to rescue his sons was to empty the village of all males and paddle an umiak until they reached the boys—if they were alive. It would take weeks, and Kussu knew he could not ask the hunters of Nunatak to be away from their work and families that long.

  Maja was not satisfied. She would not sleep soundly or pass a day with peace of mind until her sons were rescued.

  For more than two thousand years, dogs

  have pulled wooden sleds across the Arctic ice, snow,

  and summer tundra, providing work, comfort,

  hunting skills, and sniffing abilities.

  11

  Alika was at a seal hole with Sulu, not far from the snowhouse. Jamka was guarding the hole when there was a sound of ice shattering about a hundred feet away. Pieces flew into the air as the entire body of a narwhal shot up, twisting and turning. Its ten-foot tusk was aimed toward the sky. They watched as the narwhal fell back into the opening.

  "What was that?" a shaken Sulu asked.

  Alika was shaken, too, but finally said, "I think a killer whale was chasing it."

  There were no sounds, but Alika knew there was a wild struggle under the ice between the narwhal and the killer whale, and he could only imagine them going at each other in a fight to the death, their huge bodies swimming up and down, circling. The ripping jaws of the killer whale would have the advantage, he thought.

  Blood soon stained the water around the floe edge, and a while later the killer whale floated to the surface, a piece of the narwhal's tusk rammed into its belly.

  Sulu asked, "Could they come through the ice after us?"

  "I doubt they'd bother," Alika answered, though he was still shaken by the fight. It would be quite a story to tell in the meeting hall when they returned to Nunatak.

  Sulu, seeing one of the killer whale's big eyes already beginning to film over, asked, "What else is out here?"

  Alika said, "If we drift far enough south, you may see belugas or bowhead whales. But they aren't any threat, Papa said. The belugas talk a lot. I've heard them. They chirp and click to one another. The bowheads have no interest in us."

  Sulu wasn't convinced. "Did we do something bad to the spirits? Maybe even Kokotah?"

  "Not at all, Little One. We've just had awful luck. I think good things will now start happening."

  They stayed by the aglus another hour, then Alika gave up waiting and they walked several hundred yards to another hole that Jamka selected.

  After an hour with no results, they returned to the snowhouse, ate, and went to bed.

  A while later, Alika was awakened by a heavy thump and rolled off the sleeping platform onto the hard-packed floor. Jamka had also been awakened by the strange sound and had jumped down to the floor with a growl. Alika felt the husky's tense body a few inches away and asked, "What was that?" Sulu didn't awaken.

  If it had been a bear about to attack, Jamka would have acted on instinct and already gone outside. Alika stayed on his hands and knees for a few minutes longer, trying to think of what might have happened. No human could have caused the thump. If something had hit the snowhouse from above, the snow blocks would have caved in.

  The thump had to have been caused by grounding or impact with another big floe or maybe even by a berg ramming them from behind. There were no other possibilities.

  Alika whispered to Jamka, "Let's go." His heart was pounding. They began to crawl out of the windbreak tunnel, Alika's mouth dry with suspense. He picked up the Maynard.

  Outside, the moon was struggling to break through the cloud cover, shining for a few seconds and then disappearing. But in the few shafts of light, Alika saw what had caused the thump: A berg, with sky-reaching shards of ice like grinning teeth, had ridden up alongside the floe, temporarily locking to it. Alika was certain it was the same berg that had rammed them before and broken them from land, a familiar berg that seemed to have a grudge against them.

  It had also grounded, probably in shallow water, stopping the drift of their floe. Perhaps they could crawl over it? Maybe it was up against the eastern shore and they could just step off onto land and head for home. Alika had never heard of anyone climbing up the slick surface of a berg, though. If only the in-and-out clouds covering the moon would give him a chance to really see it. But they soon thickened.

  Alika stayed outside with Jamka, going closer to the berg, until the wind began to whine. Then they returned to the house for safety.

  Alika felt his way inside and climbed back onto the sleeping platform, arranging his body along Jamka's back. He lay there thinking about the berg and this chance, maybe the only chance, to escape.

  Perhaps on the other side of the berg, he could carry Sulu on his back and wade ashore. Jamka could swim it, of course. But Alika did not know how far the floe had drifted from Nunatak; whether he could go north and find the village in the blackness. And there were other problems. Many.

  He didn't know if he could climb the berg with his sealskin boots, which had little traction and often skidded on the flattest ice. Even if he could reach the top, he'd have to figure out a way to get Sulu and Jamka up there.

  As soon as Sulu awakened, Alika said, "A berg hit us while you slept. I think it is the same miserable one that rammed us before. It has grounded. I'm going to try to climb to the top of it and see how close we are to shore. Jamka will stay here and guard you."

  "Why can't I go along?" Sulu asked, eyes still heavy with sleep.

  "I don't want you to fall and hurt yourself. It will be very slippery going up. If there is not much water on the other side, we might be able to escape."

  "When will you do it?"

  There was dim light coming through the ice-pane window. The storm had passed, and there was enough moonlight still beaming down to make it possible for Alika to navigate the climb.

  "I'll try now."

  There was a gaff, a carved whalebone hook, still strapped to the sledge from summer sea-fishing. Alika unwound the rope from the short wooden tool, thinking he could use the pole to pull himself up if needed. Sulu followed his brother and Jamka outside, and on seeing the huge shape plastered with new snow and its shards lit up, ran to Alika and grabbed his legs, saying, "Don't do it; please don't do it..."

  "It may be our only chance, Little One. The farther south we drift, the more the strait will open wider and the more the floe will begin to crumble. The winter hunters may not come out this
far. I must try. Papa and Mama would want me to try."

  "I'm so frightened," said Sulu, his small face tight with alarm. "When you get to the top, you could slide down into the water and I'll never see you again. Never!"

  "I promise I'll be careful," Alika replied. "Very careful."

  The brothers and the dog advanced on the berg, and the closer Alika walked toward it, the more he felt as if this huge mass of ice were saying to him, "Don't you dare!" The wind had blown the new snow away from some of the crevasses chiseled on its ugly frozen face. It was an ancient berg, Alika knew. Perhaps hundreds of glacier winters old.

  Alika stood for a few minutes longer looking at the frowning face and trying to work up the courage to make the climb. He wished he could speak to Inu, ask him to provide a good Inuit spirit to help.

  He studied the face, carefully examining the entire front of the berg. The swordlike blades of ice here and there had tips that were knife sharp, probably from the summer melt. If he fell on any of them, he'd likely die.

  Both Sulu and Jamka had their eyes focused on him. He couldn't turn back. He said to himself, "I have to be strong." Nukilik. He hugged Sulu and said to the dog, "You take care of my brother."

  Alika stepped off the floe and onto the berg, holding the whalebone hook in his right hand. As a child during the short Arctic summers, he'd scrambled over big rocks in an area south of the village while playing with other boys, but he had never thought he'd have to climb a berg. He wished the storm wind had blown all the snow off the ice so he could see the best way to go up.

  The crevasses might be the answer, and Alika edged toward them, his boots already sliding on the slick surface beneath the snow. The ice in the crevasses, hidden from the sun, would be rock hard.

  Reaching the first crevasse, he hooked the gaff and pulled himself up. Anything Papa had made could be trusted. And Alika still had the strength to climb. They'd eaten the last piece of raw seal the night before.