by Weston Ochse
I’d actually been living.
I’d actually been normal.
I hadn’t even realized how much I’d been changed by being away from everything until the appearance of the Cray in the village and Ohirra’s briefing. Then it was like I snapped back into place. Where I’d looked out upon the world before and admired its beauty, now I examined it, searching for whatever threats it might present. I don’t know which me I liked better.
The one who didn’t know or the one who cared too much?
It had gotten colder while I was in the hangar. I shoved my hands in my pockets and lowered my chin to my chest. I headed down the bluff into town. Several dozen men and women worked near the ugly. The women harvested meat while the men dragged the Cray aside. I wondered what they were going to do with it. I knew that if they decided to break it down for meat I’d never in a million years let a piece past my lips. In fact, I shuddered as I thought about it.
Another group was gathered at the pier. There weren’t any Yupik due in, so I didn’t know…
I broke into a sprint, running faster than I’d run when the Cray had attacked. I threw myself down the hill, knowing that any slip or stumble would send me falling face first into the scrabble-covered tundra. But I didn’t care. Once again, someone was getting bullied. Not by a person or a group, but by a belief. I might not be able to stop the bullying, but I could stand by my friend and brother.
By the time I got there and pushed my way through the gathering crowd of silent men, Merlin was shoving a seal skin duffel bag into the nose of a long, walrus skin kayak. A trio of harpoons and a .306 rifle lay next to a smaller bag that he was still packing. His father, Sebastian, stood with his arms crossed, watching him pack in silence. As did the other men, their arms crossed, faces creased with dogmatic superiority.
I spared them a single look, a fire hose of disdain. I searched around and saw what I was looking for. I pushed back through the men, grabbed a kayak and a paddle, then drug it through them none-to-gently. I set it down next to Merlin’s.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his eyes down, embarrassed, devastated.
“Going with you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He looked at my newly acquired kayak. “You don’t even have any supplies.”
“Will you wait for me until I go back to my hooch and grab some?”
He shook his head.
“Benjamin, you should stay out of this,” Sebastian said.
“He’s my brother, Sebastian.”
The old man sighed. “If he was your brother, you shouldn’t have put him in this position.”
I whirled around. “No. You don’t get to do that. How many people have you killed, Sebastian? How many deaths do you have on your head?” I searched his eyes, but he wouldn’t meet mine. “Yet you’d have a death on the conscience of your son.” I ripped my shirt off, ignoring the growing cold. I felt my skin pimple in the wind.
Several of the men backed away from me. They didn’t know my true history, now tattooed on my body by Old Woman Black Hands, her technique that of the old ones. The pain had been excruciating as she pulled the bone needle through my skin, bringing the graphite and soot coated seal intestine through after it. More of a stitching than tattooing, it rendered the same effect.
Now they beheld me.
Black letters on white skin.
Names of the dead.
My dead.
My responsibility.
Each one a cross to bear.
For me and the whole wide world to know.
“Do you want to know what the weight of a dead man is? Look at me. Look at the dead I carry. Remember how fucked in the head I was when I arrived? Look,” I said, pointing at a name. “This one was killed by a sniper doing something I told him to do. And see this one? He was killed by an IED, his body evaporating in a pink cloud of patriotic nonsense.”
I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Enough brother,” Merlin said.
I shrugged off his hand. “No. This is my decision,” I said picking up my shirt and putting it back on. “Sebastian and the others don’t understand how death can change a man.”
“They never will, brother,” Merlin said. “You should know by now that we think of death not as the end, but as a beginning.”
I scoffed and pointed towards the men in the crowd. “Do you all really believe in the great raven and the idea of Skyland? You, who are a Moravian. And you who are Russian Orthodox? And you, who are Mormon—what do you believe in? An afterlife where you are one with nature, or one where there’s a heaven or hell?”
A man named Simon growled, “You don’t know your place, boy.”
“It’s because I don’t have a place,” I snapped.
John Sey pointed a crooked finger at Merlin. “He brought those monsters that killed Pavel. It was his doing by killing the orca.”
I shook my head. “He didn’t bring those things. They were sent to find me.” I wasn’t sure until I voiced it that it was the truth, but once the words found freedom, there was no argument. “They were sent to hunt me down and kill me.” I glowered at them all.
But it was the Black Hand Woman who pushed her way through the men, who addressed me next. “If you had died, then they never would have come.”
I stared at her. I loved her for the pain she’d simultaneously given and taken away from me, but at that moment I wanted to hate her. But I couldn’t. Because she spoke the truth in a certain way. Her logic was only marred by time. After all, even if I would have died, the Cray still would have arrived. Or would they? I thought about OMBRA’s Global HMID Network and how they could communicate across the globe. I knew then that the Hypocrealiacs could do the same. How long had they known I was here and not acted? It made me wonder why they decided to ask.
I stared at the Black Hand Woman. Publically, I couldn’t argue. I was loathe to disrespect her. So instead, I turned to my brother. “You about ready?”
“You are not going with me.”
“No, brother, I am going with you.”
“You’re crazy.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“There’s nothing to be said,” Merlin whispered coarsely. “I have to leave for a time to make the spirits happy.”
“And I do as well.” When Merlin glanced irritably at me, I added, “Since the Cray were coming to get me, Pavel’s and Howard Makepeace’s deaths were on my head as well.” And then I tipped the kayak over the edge of the doc and into the water. I climbed in and paddled out fifty yards before turning around. “You coming or not?”
He looked at me, shook his head and laughed, then put his kayak in the water and joined me.
When he came abreast, I asked, “So where to, Captain Merlin?”
He stared at me with wide eyes. “You know you’re going to die without supplies, right?”
I shrugged and grinned at him. I’d been to Kosovo and Iraq and Afghanistan and Mali and Kilimanjaro and L.A. I’d fought armies and terrorists and aliens and alien-made zombies. I had the unreasonable temerity to believe that I wouldn’t die… that I couldn’t die. Still, it didn’t matter. Maybe it was time to die. Maybe I’d give my hundred and seventy-five pounds of flesh to the frigid waters of the Arctic. It just didn’t matter. What mattered was that I needed to be here, now, with my brother.
We paddled in silence for a few moments, the only sound the lapping of the waves, the occasional bull call from the ugly, and a pair of greenshanks flying overhead, perhaps curious why two men would sail the ocean in the skin of a walrus. I’m sure the incongruity of it all baffled them to no end.
A mile out the seas began to rise. We’d gone from two foot seas to four foot seas, our kayaks rising and falling, disappearing from each other as we found our own troughs, only to rise up again, cresting together on different waves. I felt like Santiago being pulled by the great marlin, out of control, yet reveling in the ride. Any second I might die and the thought of it thrilled me.
Final
ly Merlin yelled, “Turn back. Go with the soldiers that came for you.”
“Not without you.”
“But I’m exiled.”
“Not from us.” A wave hit me at an angle and threatened to swamp me. I fought to keep myself afloat. I didn’t care at all about dying, but I did want to get my point across, to make Merlin understand what it was that I was offering. When I was once again sure I wasn’t going to drown, I added, “We need you. We need your help.”
He glanced over at me with confusion.
I barely noted it, struggling to keep the waves from sending me over.
“You don’t need me. You have so much more than I can offer.”
Cresting the top of a wave, I dropped hard to the trough, the impact winding me. I paddled furiously to make it to the next crest. The sea gave me a break as the distance between crests increased. As I sloughed into the trough, I screamed, “You have no idea what I need. Trust me, brother, when I say I need you, I really need you!”
We paddled a few more minutes. I fought to keep him in sight. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him curse, and make a wide turn, heading back to shore.
I prayed to the Old Man and the Sea, Santiago himself, and turned to follow.
Soon we were angling back to St. Lawrence Island. But instead of the pier, we headed to the ugly. Half an hour later we made landfall. After I pulled myself onto the shore, I realized that I could barely feel my arms. Had Merlin taken longer to decide, I never would have made it back.
Once we were both ashore, our kayaks clear of the water, Merlin turned to me.
“So where is it we are going?”
I managed to lift an arm and point northwest. “There.”
His eyes narrowed. “The sea?”
I shook my head.
“Russia?”
I nodded, then added, “More specifically, Chukotka.”
“What’s there?” he asked.
“We’re going to find that out.” I put a hand on his shoulder. “You ready?”
He turned to look back at his village. From the ugly you could see the town pier where the Yupik men stood watching us. Behind them and off along the shore stood the Yupik woman, also watching. Merlin had braided his hair into a long black pony tail. But several wisps of hair had snuck free and caught the wind. They danced in the breeze as walrus pups mewled and bulls grunted. Merlin had never been a man of many words, which is what drew me to him in the first place. During my healing period, he’d been the proverbial rock I’d tied my bow to. It’s funny, even though I’d grown up on the ocean in San Pedro, California, I’d never been much into boat culture. But for the subsistence-living Yupik, who the rest of the world borrowed the word kayak from, without boats, they’d cease to exist. Not only was I taking Merlin away from his island, I was taking him away from a way of life.
“I knew this was going to happen,” he said, his stentorian words slow and measured.
I watched and waited for him to continue.
“When you came, you were so eager to learn, but so uncomfortable on the water. I thought we’d lose you to the ocean last winter. But then you learned, and you tried your best to become Yupik. You even made the men of the long house feel bad, because they’d put you in the crazy house by the ugly and you refused to move.” He dragged his gaze away from his people and regarded me. “When I saw the orca, I knew there was going to be some great change. I wasn’t sure what form that change would take, but I felt it, as sure as one can feel that first winter wind slither through one’s soul.” He turned back to stare at his people. “This was always meant to be, I think. The Raven long ago set me on this path. I feel there’s something I must do with you. Something important.”
I sought for something to say, but was unable to voice what I was thinking.
“I will go with you, Ben Mason. I will be your brother. Like you, I will try my best to be useful, no matter how uncomfortable I feel. But you must promise me one thing.”
I swallowed back emotion and nodded.
“When we are finished with this thing, whatever it is and wherever it takes us, you must promise to let me go home once more. For these are still my people. They are my life. I must pay for what I did, but it was never meant to be a life sentence. Merely a time where I must put myself into danger, allow the great Raven to test me, and then see who I might become after I am changed by whatever the Raven is about to do.”
I swallowed again, critically aware of the importance of the moment. “Yes, my friend, my brother. I will bring you back to your people. That I promise.”
He nodded once, then we both turned our backs on his village.
Show me a man with a tattoo and I’ll show you a man with an interesting past.
Jack London
CHAPTER SIX
WE ENTERED THE hangar together, carrying Merlin’s gear. I’d thought of grabbing things from my hooch, but there was nothing I really wanted. I’d come here with nothing and I was going to leave with nothing. Scratch that… I was leaving with a brother.
Charlemagne clapped and laughed when he saw me. He went to Obelix and held out his hand. The other frowned, reached into his side pouch and pulled out a can of Coke. It had been a long time since I’d seen one and could just about imagine the taste. Obelix passed the can to Charlemagne, who held it like a baby, then found his seat again. Asterix barely noticed we’d arrived; she seemed busy with something on her tablet.
I stared at them for a moment. I was going to have to do something about those call signs. They were dehumanizing and I didn’t like that at all.
Nance, on the other hand, was all smiles as he greeted us.
“Are we on mission?”
I nodded. “We have one more passenger.”
Nance’s eyes shot me a question.
“He’s Yupik. So are the people where we’re going. If we need to negotiate cultural sensitivities, Merlin can be the one to do that. I recommend we take him with us.”
“I guess so,” Nance said, glancing at the line of EXOs.
I knew immediately what he was thinking. “Listen, kid. If we go in shooting everything in sight without regard to the local’s lives, then we’re as bad as the Cray. They came in and took our planet by force. Do you think we’re going to do the same to the people we’re going to see?”
“Uh, I don’t think so,” he said.
I put a hand on his shoulder. “Good plan.”
“This planet’s dead anyway,” Asterix said. “The problem is that no one has told it so it doesn’t know to roll over.”
I held up a fist in sarcastic solidarity. “That’s the fighting spirit.” To Nance I said, “So here’s the deal. I’m a civilian, so I’m not in charge. You’re the boss. We’re just along for the ride. What’s the plan?”
I watched his furrowed brows dance in confusion for a few moments. “Let’s start getting everything on board and cinched down. I’m going to talk to the pilot to see how fast we can be wheels up.”
Over the next hour, with the help of the loadmaster and crew chief, the EXOs were lined up against both sides of the airframe and locked into place. All the rest of the gear was affixed to a palate attached to the floor. I’d spoken with the pilot, who was less than thrilled to be flying near Bingo fuel in the Arctic to find debris we didn’t have an exact location for. He had enough fuel for sixteen hundred nautical miles of flying, which didn’t count the need to find a landing site next to wherever the crash had occurred.
Chukotka Autonomous Okrug was a region of Russia that had very little governmental oversight. It was literally on the edge of nowhere. The population was about 27 percent Russian, but those densities resided in a handful of coastal towns. The interior, where the crash was supposed to have occurred, was occupied by the Reindeer Chukchi and the Siberian Yupik. There was a lot of shared language between the Chukchi and the Yupik, so Merlin felt he could translate if need be. Being late July, the temperature was the same relatively balmy fifty degrees Fahrenheit that St. Lawrence Isla
nd was.
The pilot noted that a storm was brewing in the Gulf of Anadyr and wanted to keep his eye on it. The region had the highest number of hurricanes in Russia, and we didn’t want to become a victim.
When we cranked open both the front and back hangar doors, the men of Savoonga waited. I saw them, but ignored them. We’d said all we needed to say to each other. Merlin remained onboard. I helped the crew chief latch the last few items in place, then settled into my own harness seat and strapped myself in like everyone else.
Asterix was still doing something on her tablet.
Obelix leaned back, his eyes closed, listening to music on headphones.
Charlemagne sat next to Merlin. He asked Merlin if he wanted to play cards, but the Yupik shook his head.
Nance sat beside me.
We remained silent as the C-130 was wheels up, nose pointed towards the sky at a forty-five degree angle, our bodies pressed back in the seats. Once it leveled out, everyone relaxed a bit. Charlemagne undid his harnesses and began to stretch in an open area near the palette. I watched as he went through a series of moves in slow motion, before recognizing it as a martial art, only I couldn’t place the actual name of it.
I got up and went to him. After a few moments of watching, I asked, “Is it Japanese?”
He shook his head and grinned. “Indonesian. Pencak Silat.”
I nodded and watched him for several minutes. He was doing the same form, only approaching an invisible target from different angles. Try as I might, I couldn’t figure out what he was actually doing.
“Balance disruption,” he explained, seeing my confusion. “Stand in a fighting stance and face me.”
