by James Axler
“They will be because I tell them. I have the power, and they accept that. They’ll have to trust me.”
McPhee studied his chief closely. The Inuit’s bland features betrayed no flicker of doubt, but the shaman wondered if, behind the impassive facade, the chief was as confident of his power of the people as he claimed. McPhee hoped so. He would find out soon enough, at any rate.
As the sun rose higher, more of the Inuit began to emerge from their dwellings to go about their early morning chores, with the smell of food coming from the cookhouse, carried on wafts of steam. The chief stood at the middle of the ville, watching them, McPhee at his side. The medicine man’s body language betrayed his current ambivalence and was soon noted by a people whose communication was based on more than their verbal reticence.
It was obvious from the respective postures of both chief and shaman that something was about to happen, and an air of expectation swept through the ville. It increased when Jordan emerged from the chief’s cabin and strode over to where the two Inuit elders stood. He exchanged a few words of greeting, and noted the ambivalence of the shaman: something he figured he may need to get to the bottom of before too long. But right now, there was serious business to attend to. As he watched, Thompson beckoned McIndoe over to him. The hunter and sec man was one of Thompson’s most trusted warriors, and he entrusted to him the task of bringing the companions into the center of the ville while some of his men rounded up the tribe.
The hunter moved swiftly, detailing his men to fetch the tribe members from their chores and assemble them in the center. A few words passed around were enough to bring the curious and expectant Inuit into the rapidly filling open space. Meanwhile, McIndoe sent one of his men to gather the weaponry taken from the companions, now stored in the ville’s armory. This done, he went across to the hut where they had passed the night.
Inside, Jak had been watching the Inuit elders and had reported what appeared to be some kind of disagreement with them. He had continued to observe while McIndoe was called to them, and the sec man had instituted the gathering of the tribe. Thus it was no surprise when the sec man came up to their hut and loosed the door.
“Chief wants you now, in the middle. Everyone gathering. Guess it’s something big.” His manner was bizarrely offhand, as though these were people with whom he had been carousing the night before, rather than those he—with the rest of the tribe—had been ready to sacrifice.
Without waiting for them, he turned and walked away, leaving the door gaping wide.
Krysty gave Ryan a puzzled glance. “Guess we’re back in favor. Think Doc’s said anything?”
“Can’t see how he could have got the word across to them, but mebbe it don’t matter. If Thompson says something, then they all jump.”
Mildred grimaced. “I’ll believe that when I see it, but I guess we should just roll with it for now.”
The one-eyed man nodded. “Just take it as it comes.”
Ryan led them out of the hut and toward the gathering of the tribe. They walked slowly, cautiously, not sure of how they would be received. Those Inuit who were in their path parted to let them through, and from the expressions on their faces—those that could be read—it seemed that they felt much the same.
When they reached the center, Thompson and McPhee greeted them with a nod and Jordan spared them a few words of greeting; but only a few. It seemed that the personality in Doc Tanner’s body lacked the garrulous qualities of the previous inhabitant and so was loathe to waste words at this juncture.
It was only when the chief was sure that the whole of the tribe was assembled—waiting for word from McIndoe that his men had made sure all were present—that he began. In a few words, he told them of what he had discussed with Jordan the night before and how they had to make a greater, purer sacrifice to appease the Almighty: a sacrifice that would mean an assault on the ville of Fairbanks.
“…you know that we have tried to find suitable offerings in the smaller villes and failed. When there are more people, then we are more certain of making it right. Friend Jordan will guide us, as he has been sent to do, and in order to assist us these warriors will join us.”
While the companions knew that this was coming, it was doubtful that it could be anything other than a complete surprise to the Inuit. The hushed murmurings that swept through the otherwise silent throng were an indication of their depth of feeling. Any kind of verbal communication was at a premium, so the intensity of emotion that had to have been passing through the assembled tribe was obvious. Ryan took in the Inuit with a sweeping eye: some of them were as inscrutable as ever, but others evinced a certain hostility that he feared could presage nothing but trouble.
Thompson raised a hand to silence them. “I know you must be wondering why we need outsiders to help us with our sacred task. But think on this. They came with friend Jordan, who was sent to us by the Almighty. They are part of the same gift from the Lord, proving to us that he is taking our offerings seriously and is giving us the chance to redeem ourselves in his eyes and make the great sacrifice that will save our people.”
It occurred to Mildred that Doc’s garrulousness had to be catching. She couldn’t imagine the Inuit chief ever having to make a speech that long before. He seemed uncomfortable with the words and they came haltingly from his mouth. Perhaps it was because of this that they seemed to carry with them a tone of sincerity that appeared to strike directly into the hearts of his people. Like Ryan, she could see the hostility in some faces, but she could also see that the majority of the Inuit were thinking about what he said, and that some of those who had been opposed were coming ’round to his view, the minute changes on expression indicating the mental tumult that went on beneath the calm exterior.
“Think they want skin us alive?” Jak mumbled.
“Think it’s closer than I’d like it to be,” J.B. returned wryly.
“Shut it,” Krysty murmured. “I think the old bastard is actually convincing them that chilling us might not be their best option.”
McPhee coughed. A throat-clearing hawk that was ended with a hoicked phlegm ball into the earth. It was designed to quell the comparative row of the Inuit dissensions, and it worked. All eyes turned to him as he spoke, haltingly, and seemingly with little conviction for his words.
“The old ones used to have a saying—the Lord works in mysterious ways, and sometimes it’s a wonder that he performs at all. I guess this is one of those occasions,” he continued, with a sideways glance at Jordan. “One thing I do know is that sometimes I don’t know what the hell is going on myself, and I talk to the Lord for you. We have to trust. Faith. This is one of those times.”
He shook his head, as though running out of words, and stepped back to allow Jordan and Thompson center stage. The chief frowned. McPhee had been the one to convince him that Jordan should be listened to, and yet now he seemed to be having doubts. His seeming reluctance to speak only added to the dissension he had shown earlier. It wouldn’t do to have a medicine man who was openly falling out with his leader over something that was so related to his own area of expertise. The chief knew that he would have to discuss this with the shaman; but not now, and not here.
Meanwhile the stranger had taken it upon himself to speak.
“Friends, this is a glorious chance for us to forge a path ahead. Do not be afraid of these outsiders. If not for them, I would not have been granted a vessel by our Lord with which to come and join with ye. I know that these people are good fighters, and ye know this as ye have seen them partake in a hunt…”
Ryan caught this reference, and it set alarm bells ringing in his mind. Their participation in a hunt had occurred before Doc had been possessed by the personality of Jordan—did this mean that some semblance of Doc was still in there, struggling to surface as before? Was it in greater touch with the whole of the new persona than they could have suspected from his performance back in the cabin?
No matter now, Jordan was still in flight. “—and ye kn
ow their capabilities. We will be outnumbered, and if we are to do the Lord’s work, then we will need allies who will assist us in our hour of need, and upon whom we can rely. I can vouch for the integrity of these folk, and I know that they will not be found wanting.”
It was a strange speech and yet it seemed to strike the right note with the assembled tribe. There seemed to be a wave of acceptance that washed over them: some, perhaps, accepting this more grudgingly than others, but nonetheless acquiescing to the man they had been told was their savior.
Thompson felt it was time for him to assume the upper hand as chief once more. Stepping forward, he told the tribe to return to their dwellings and make ready to leave within the hour. As the Inuit turned to leave, Thompson strode forward so that he was only a few feet from the companions, who were holding their ground, unsure of what was now demanded from them. He beckoned, and McIndoe came forward from the edge of the crowd, laden with hardware. At a gesture from his chief he laid the weaponry down in front of them and stepped back. His face was set, but his eyes were glittering as he stared at them, betraying that he was one of the few who still felt ill at ease with the concept of the companions joining forces with the tribe. Ryan met his gaze and could see from the unflinching way in which McIndoe refused to back down that he—and others who still felt like him—would have to be watched.
Thompson, who either ignored or didn’t notice this exchange, gestured at the pile of weaponry and ammo at their feet.
“You see—I give this back to you in good faith. You will need arms to join us, but I could just as easily have kept you weapon-less until we neared the ville of Fairbanks. You would have been less danger, would have had less temptation that way…but I trust you because Jordan says that I should. And I trust him as he was sent from the Almighty.” He paused. “Can I trust you?”
“I think your mission is folly, and we must be triple stupe to just walk into a firefight that isn’t our own. But we want our freedom, and joining arms with you will help that. It’s a trade-off, and we’ll keep to our side of the trade.”
Thompson considered this before finally assenting with a brief nod. “You make no bones about our presumed folly, so I can see no reason why you would lie about joining us. Why be honest on the one hand, then lie on the other? Your trade is a bargain, then.” He gestured to the weapons. “Take them. Be ready within the hour to move out.”
He turned to McIndoe, his business now done. “Assemble the hunters. We must form parties of no more than ten to move in formation…” His words trailed off as his voice dropped, and he moved away across the center of the ville toward his own cabin talking in low and urgent tones to his sec chief.
The companions were left alone in the ville’s open center, all around them the tribe engaged in preparing for departure. It was as though they were the calm center of the storm that raged around. Thompson was now engrossed in planning tactics with his sec chief. The companions’ concerns were now discarded from his mind, and he left them alone with an implicit trust that they would be as good as their word.
It was a strange attitude. Ryan would have expected the Inuit to watch them closely, having at least some suspicion that they would be waiting for the first opportunity to break. And yet, despite the minority of the tribe still having obvious doubts, they placed enough faith and obedience in the chief—and he in the assumed messenger of the Almighty, Joseph Jordan—to dismiss their doubts and place trust in his judgment.
“So what the hell do we do now?” Mildred asked.
“Guess we prepare ourselves to leave,” J.B. said, crouching over the pile of hardware and collection of ammo to sort through it. Jak joined him, rooting through the pile to recover his knives, hurrying to secrete them in his camou jacket—only when they were in place would he feel secure, knowing that he was protected once more. J.B., meanwhile, kissed his teeth as he separated the weapons. “And another thing,” he added. “I hope they look after their own blasters better than they’ve looked after ours.” He held up his mini-Uzi to demonstrate. The usually immaculate weapon now carried a patina of dust and grime. “Who knows what the hell the rest of them are like. We need to get these stripped and cleaned if we’re gonna feel safe with them.”
It was something with which Ryan could only agree. At his direction, the companions returned to the hut where they had previously been held captive. As everyone else in the ville appeared to have retreated to their own abodes to make ready for the trek, it seemed only right that they take advantage of the last few hours’ warmth and shelter provided by the hut before beginning the journey to Fairbanks across the harsh, frozen wastes.
It was good to be in the warmth again, and they also took the opportunity to finish what remained of the stew and the herb tea that had been provided earlier in the day. As they ate and drank, they stripped their blasters to clean and oil them before reloading and making sure that they each carried adequate supplies of ammo about their person, supplied from the canvas bag J.B. carried along with his grens and plas-ex. They were running low on hardware, and as he doled out the right ammo to each member of the group, it crossed his mind that if the firefight at Fairbanks carried on too long, or they became too embroiled in it, then they were running a very real risk of running out completely, leaving them exposed.
It was not a position in which he wished to find himself. Rummaging through the supplies he had, he outlined the position to the others.
“Way I see it, we go with them until they begin this attack on Fairbanks, and then in the confusion we see if we can get the hell away without getting our asses kicked. From that old map Thompson showed us the first night, there isn’t that big a hike from Fairbanks to Ank Ridge. If we can hit the trail and get a clean run at it, then that’s our best bet of finding some kind of shelter, mebbe pick up some work and food before making our next move.”
“Sounds good, but is that with or without Doc?” Krysty questioned.
Ryan paused before answering, considering what he had to say. “I’d like it to be with the old bastard, but if he’s still thinking that he’s this guy Jordan, there may be little we can do other than leave him behind.”
It was a prospect that held little appeal for any of them. Doc was a part of their lives, and any prime directive would include taking him with them; but if he was in the vanguard of the Inuit action, still believing himself to be a two-hundred-year-old Scots trapper, there may be little they could do to fulfill this directive.
Ryan filled the silence. “We do what we can to make sure he comes along with us—and that’s all we can do, right?”
There was a silence that hung over the room like a fog. So much that needed to be said, yet was not worth the bother of articulation. They were all only too well aware of how they felt. None of them would wish to leave Doc behind if they had the chance to break for Ank Ridge, yet at the same time they knew that the good of the group had to, ultimately, count for more than the concerns of one man. Ryan had articulated this as well as any of them could. All they could do right now was wait until that moment came, and wait for how the cards would fall.
They continued their preparations in silence and it was in this way that they were found by McIndoe when the sec chief came to tell them it was time for the war party to depart.
THE CENTER OF THE VILLE was an awesome sight. Only a handful of the Inuit women and the few children that had survived beyond infancy in recent generations were to stay behind and maintain the ville. The remainder of the population was gathered, ready to depart. With their lack of height and their body shapes distorted both by their mutations and the bulk of their furs and skins, it was hard to differentiate male from female: something that was exacerbated by the hard set of grim determination that now shaped most of their faces.
Thompson stood apart from them, flanked by McPhee and Jordan. Although all three were also dressed in bulky furs and skins, there was something about the quality of the skin and fur that swathed the two Inuit that set them apart—Jordan was noti
ceable for Doc’s height and mane of hair.
“I’m glad ye are joining us,” Jordan commented. “As ye can see, we are ready to depart, and I wouldn’t have liked to have left without ye.”
Ryan looked around at the massed ranks of the Inuit, who seemed prepared to make the long trek by foot, and the few ponies and mules that they had with them—scrawny creatures, laden with pack—as well as the sleds with supplies that were pulled by dogs of indeterminate breed, seemingly rickety enough to fall apart when they hit the first pothole on track. He gazed upon this and wondered how the Inuit had a hope of taking on an entire ville at the end of a long, exhausting trek. Then he remembered the stubborn and ruthless manner in which they had tackled the hunt and suddenly he realized that it didn’t matter what the result of the trek may be. They had set their mind to the assault and would stop at nothing short of all buying the farm to realize their objective.
Suddenly the idea of being able to slip away from these relentless warriors in the heat of a firefight seemed an impossibility.
Thompson raised a hand when he saw the companions join the pack and indicated the path leading through the woodlands and toward the trade trail through the volcanic downland slopes. McIndoe responded to the gesture with hand movements of his own, which were perfectly understood by his men. The tribe began their exodus in a procession that was headed by a detachment of hunters who set forth to work their way down to the trail. A bottleneck formed behind them as the tribe narrowed into a line that could safely pass through the narrow track.
It took some time for the Inuit to filter out of the ville and onto the track. It seemed impossibly slow, but this was illusory, caused by the fact that the hidden trail was, by its nature, not designed to accommodate such a large body of warriors. It seemed to the companions that nothing was happening for a great amount of time, considering this was an army on its way to a great battle—indeed, a crucial one—in its history. Yet the Inuit showed no signs of impatience. Indeed, their stoic acceptance in the light of such conditions said more about the way in which they were focused.
