Uncle selects the place to harvest ice for the igloo bricks. The best bricks are cut from packed windblown snow. Using whalebone knives, the men expertly slice rough rectangles, ready for the women and children to shape into bricks.
Papa hands Miki and me small knives. We know what to do. Every three days our village moves along the ice, and each family builds a new igloo. Finn doesn’t need a knife. He prefers to thump with his huge gloved fists.
Sometimes I wish I could take my gloves off and run my fingers through the snow. But I think about what happened to Nana’s ear and I keep them on.
Smack. A snowball flattens my nose.
“Good shot,” laughs Finn’s little half-sister, Buniq. She’s not big enough to help with igloo building, so she annoys us instead.
Remembering what Mama said about being gentle, I lob a snowball at her feet.
“You missed,” Buniq giggles. “Nah, nah.”
I throw another one and it lands on her boot. Splat. She squeals and runs off.
“Good,” says Finn. We both agree. Little sisters are a pain.
But Miki is fast at cutting snow.
“Race you,” Tuaq calls. He’s bigger than her and a bully, but that won’t help him. Miki is a spirit demon with an ice knife in her hand.
“You’re a cheat,” he accuses when Miki finishes first. “I could break your arm for that.”
No one insults my sister without answering to me. “Leave her alone,” I yell, waving my knife. “You’re the one who’s never fair.”
“I’m not frightened of you, Iluak,” he sneers. “You’re too strange to bother me.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Why would anyone spend all their time with an old woman and a halfwit?”
Nana can defend herself but Finn isn’t good with words. I throw myself at Tuaq, knocking him backwards in the snow.
“Don’t ever say that again.” I hit him as hard as I can, three times. Once for Finn, once for Nana and again for Miki. He probably didn’t feel anything at all. I’m not strong, our clothes are thick and our gloves too padded to punch hard.
“Not good,” Finn says, dragging me away.
“Felt good to me,” I mumble.
Tuaq glowers, shaking his fist at me. “I’m telling Nana.” He points to the cut on his cheek and smears the blood across his nose, before stomping off towards our igloo.
“Thanks, big brother.” Miki’s arms squeeze me hard.
I’m in trouble now. Blood on the snow is a bad omen and even a small scrape is easily infected. Nana is going to be angry when she hears what I’ve done. I try not to think about her sharp tongue and the lashing ahead of me. At least the igloo building will help me forget.
Some of the ice blocks are small, but others are so huge that even together Finn and I struggle to carry them. We stand the finished pieces facing into the wind to harden further. Using chips of bone, Buniq and her friends carve pictures on the bricks.
The women assemble the ice blocks in a circle. Our mothers, aunties and grandmothers chatter like a harem of seals, the noisiest sound on ice.
Soon three rows are in place and the dome begins to take shape. Four more rows follow. A window. A tunnel entrance. Finally, Uncle climbs onto the top. He jumps hard to check the walls are solid and safe.
By lunchtime Nana’s big igloo is finished.
Finn shovels great handfuls of dried fish into his mouth. “It’s good,” he mumbles.
“Mmmm.” My mouth is full too.
Scrambling round our feet, Mush scoops up scraps.
“You boys are disgusting.” Miki eats slowly, strip by strip. Like a girl.
Finn would starve if he ate like that. He swallows another handful of fish then picks up a leftover chunk of ice and points to Miki’s knife.
Nana comes to sit beside us and watch.
Slowly, carefully, Finn’s powerful hands scrape the ice until it is almost warm and alive, fighting to be born. He sculpts a baby seal.
Nana clucks approvingly. “Finn swims with the seals. You have much to learn from him, Iluak.”
I find that hard to believe, but I like to spend time with Finn and I’ve given up trying to make sense of everything Nana says.
“It’s beautiful,” Miki admires.
“Very good,” Finn agrees.
He gives it to Nana. He always does.
“Thank you, Finn,” she says. Like she always does.
There’s an endless sameness on the ice. The cycle of the seasons, the patterns of the hunt, the words between Finn and Nana. When Finn is not following me around, he likes to sit with Nana. It’s a perfect match. She talks so much no one can get a word in, but Finn doesn’t want to.
“We’re going seal fishing,” I say to him. “Do you want to come?”
“Yes. Good.” He smiles and nods.
Papa packs a small sled with harpoons, fishing lines and floats, rope and a meat sleigh to carry the seal carcasses. While he ties Mush and Brak, the lead dog, into the harness, the rest of us climb onto the back of the sled. There’s just enough room.
“Do not be afraid of the seal, Iluak,” Nana calls to me. “It will help you.”
“He needs all the help he can get,” Miki responds.
Very funny. If Papa wasn’t looking, I’d give her a shove. But what did Nana mean? I’m afraid of many things but I’m not afraid of seals.
Papa flicks the harness reins. Leaning forward, Mush and Brak strain to run.
“Yah-yah! Yah-yah!” Dogs barking and snow flying from our sled runner, we race across the ice towards where the ocean will roll in summer. In spring it’s still frozen. The seals swim beneath the pack ice, using their teeth to cut breathing holes up to the surface. They poke their noses through to drink the air before diving back down.
Nana says if you put your ear on the ice, you can hear the ocean. I’m not going to try. I don’t think it’s good advice, especially from someone who froze off half an ear.
When you first look at ice, it’s all the same. But when you look closer, there are patterns in the snow, signs to follow and to mark the way back. Sastrugi lines.
My father follows the lines. Papa and Finn are the best trackers in our village, walking in front of the lead sled when the blizzard is deepest and even the dogs are nervous.
Every winter we travel north out onto the pack ice where the seals are fattest and the hunting is best. As spring lengthens, Papa and Finn search for the line of the coast frozen deep beneath the ice. Then our village moves south, racing the thaw until we reach our summer camp and the squelch of mud is thick beneath our boots.
The pattern of the season never changes. “Why can’t we just keep going south?” I ask Papa. “Who knows what we might find. Maybe seals as big as whales. Maybe huge caribou herds.” But Papa shakes his head. An Icelander doesn’t take risks – his life is hard enough already. So we do the same thing, year after year.
“Yah.” The sled skids to a halt. Claw prints of a large bear mark the breathing hole. Heart thumping, I scan the horizon for polar shapes.
Sometimes I hear people whisper about me. Bear caller, they say, because wherever I go, bears appear to sit and wait in the distance. “Rubbish, coincidence,” Mama says. Nana says nothing. I know what she thinks.
Papa loosens the reins on the dogs to let them investigate the bear print. Brak goes first and Mush follows, brother and sister. Suddenly Brak turns, pushing Mush back towards the sled.
“See,” I say to Miki, “a little sister should do what her brother tells her.”
“A brother should look after his little sister. Like Brak,” Papa corrects me. Then he drops his voice so only I can hear. “But I know how you feel,” he whispers with a wink.
I like it when Papa talks to me like that. Man to man.
“You haven’t got a sister, Papa,” I say.
“No.” He looks relieved. “But I do have your mother, aunty, grandmother and Miki.”
Brak returns to his place in front
of the sled and Papa drives on. I’m glad we’re not fishing there.
Some breathing holes are so large a whole seal can fit right through them. But this next hole is just wide enough for a seal to poke its nose through. There are no bear prints so Brak and Mush settle down to wait.
I set my line first. I’m the eldest so the first seal is mine. My fishing line is made of caribou twine with a thin piece of whalebone tied to it. When the seal swims beneath the hole, the whalebone float will move. Then I’ll throw my harpoon with another piece of twine attached. Clunk. I imagine hauling my great seal to the surface. Enough to feed the whole village.
Finn checks my line. “Good,” he says. It’s his favourite word.
Already my muscles are cramping with nervousness and cold. Sitting between the sled and the hole, we’re just close enough to see the float. We might wait for hours. Papa and I have done this many times before.
No one speaks. We don’t want to frighten the seals away. Scratching Mush under the ears, I remind her barking is not allowed either. It’s easy for Finn to sit quietly, and I like the snow-drenched silence. But it’s killing Miki. She loves to chatter.
“How much longer?” she whines.
“Shhh,” Papa orders.
I knew she wasn’t old enough to come. We should have left her at home.
The float jumps. Harpoon ready, I move into position at the edge of the hole.
Crack.
It’s only a small sound but it echoes, huge and fearful. Thin ice – the sound of the sea trying to break through.
Crack-ack.
Somewhere below the seal swims, pushing waves of water against the weakening ice.
“Stand still,” Papa bellows.
I know what to do. Even if I didn’t, I’m so frightened my feet are frozen motionless. The smallest movement could split the ice open and if I fall in, I’ll freeze before I drown.
Papa throws me his line. “Get ready to pull,” he yells to Finn and Miki. As I stretch to catch the rope, it happens. The ice beneath my feet splinters.
I’m not going to catch a seal. It’s going to get me.
There’s nothing to grab onto, but I scrabble at the edge of the ice, desperately trying to drag myself out of the water. I’m so cold. Colder than I’ve ever been before.
“Noooo!” Finn’s great roar follows me as I slip further into the ocean and under the ice.
My body numbs and my clothes drag me down. I can feel water filling my nose.
Nana knew this would happen. Don’t be afraid, she said.
If I sleep now, I won’t ever have to be afraid again …
CHAPTER THREE
THE RAVEN
Aaaargh. Glp. Glp. I gulp and gobble for air. Cold water squeezes my throat shut.
“Grab hold of the edge,” Papa yells.
“Come on, Iluak,” screams Miki.
Water fills my ears. My limbs are numb. Crippled. Once barely big enough for a seal’s nose, the hole is now wider than my arm’s reach. Struggling to the edge, I slump exhausted against the rim and stretch out my arms.
Ice-glued onto the snow, at least I won’t drown.
Oof. Woof-oof. Mush and Brak strain against their harness leads. But no one rushes to pull me out. It’s too dangerous. Papa and Finn untie the small meat sleigh from the back of the sled. Thick gloved fingers fumble with the knots. Too slow.
Shaking and shivering, it hurts to breathe. Icy water shoves air from my lungs. My head drops onto my arm.
“We’re coming,” Miki yells. “Don’t give up.”
A man can’t survive long in the water. A boy even less. Don’t think about that, I tell myself. Concentrate. Count and stay awake.
One ringed seal, two bowhead whales, three husky dogs …
I saw Finn’s dog pulled from under the snow last winter. Frozen solid. If it’s cold enough, blood turns to ice. Like now. I’m colder than I’ve ever been. Colder than I’ve ever imagined. A human iceberg.
Four snowy owls, five musk oxen …
Papa and Finn have the meat sleigh untied now.
Six caribou, seven arctic wolves …
Too many polar bears to count.
“Hurry, Papa.” I try to yell, but my voice is wedged in my throat. What if I never speak again? I can’t feel my legs. What if I never walk again? There’s no time to wait for Papa to rescue me. I need to get out now.
I take a big, painful breath and carefully push downwards with my elbows to raise my body.
“No, Iluak,” Papa screams.
It’s too late.
Crack-ack. Crack.
The ice splinters and a wave washes over me. Another slams my chest with a cold thump. Glp. Glp. Gurgle. Ocean surges through my nostrils.
“Help,” I splutter, throwing my arms and splashing more water into my nose.
“Keep your head up,” Papa bellows.
I’m too cold to care. Too tired to even shiver.
“Head up,” Papa yells again.
Yawn. I’m so sleepy. I wish the dogs would stop barking and let me rest.
“Listen to Papa, Iluak. Listen.” Miki honks and screeches like an old snow goose.
The barking stops. Eerie silence falls in a snizzle of snow. Miki is still screaming. Papa is still yelling. But their open mouths flap noiselessly. It’s almost over now and soon I won’t have to struggle any more.
The wave drags me under. Then spits me out. Again and again.
My mind fills with pictures.
Standing beside her cooking pot, Mama turns and smiles at me. Uncle and Papa crouch together, scaling fish. Aunty cradles baby Massak in her arms. Nana snores in the corner.
Nearby, Miki and Finn toss rope loops over ice statues. When Miki sees me watching, she calls me to join in. But I can’t now. Not ever again.
I raise my arm to wave goodbye.
Down. Down. It’s a long way to the bottom. But I’m not alone. Something flicks my hand. I prise my sleepy eyes open to see a seal, so close its whiskers brush against my face. The seal will help you, Nana said.
One ringed seal …
Please stay, I mouth. It’s darker now and I’m frightened. But the gurgle of bubbles startles the seal. Where did it go? I’m still sinking. Plummeting. Then my feet touch something solid.
Nudging and poking, the seal pushes me upwards. Shoving and thrusting. Driving and ramming. Until, like an out of control sled, I burst through the surface of the water.
Cough. Splutter. Hugging the icy rim, arms outstretched, I’m safely frozen in place again. When I look down the seal has gone. If it was ever there. It’s so hard to concentrate. Much easier to imagine things.
One ringed seal, two bowhead whales …
I’ve forgotten what comes next.
“Hold on, Iluak,” Papa yells. He’s running now, to where the thin ice begins. A long line of rope stretches from his waist to Finn, and from Finn to our sled. If Papa falls in, the others can pull him out. But there’s no one for me. Not yet.
Papa drops to the ground, spreading out his body weight. Crawling first, then lying flat on the snow, he inches towards me, pushing the meat sleigh in front of him. My legs ache. Breath claws at my lungs. But Papa is coming. I close my eyes to wait for rescue.
On the rim of the ice, the raven perches. It’s not a good sign. If you see the death bird, it means you’re about to die.
Never trust the raven. Nana’s words ring in my head. It will promise everything then peck out your soul.
“Are you real?” I ask it.
“I am,” Raven says, cocking its head to stare at me.
“Then you’ll have to come back later,” I say. “I’m not dying yet.”
“Aren’t you? Prove it then.”
If I wasn’t stuck onto the ice, I’d make a snowball. Splat! I’d knock Raven beak first into the slush. That would be proof enough. But I’m so weak, I can’t even shake a finger at it.
“Come fly with me, Iluak.” Raven’s voice is rough like sled runners scraping over ha
rd-packed snow. But it melts warm inside my head. “I can take you away from the ice.”
I don’t fall for that. When your spirit flies with the raven, you’re dead. I remember Nana’s words. Never trust the raven.
“I’m not listening to anything you say.” But my ears are frozen open and Raven knows.
“I can make you warm.” Its voice crackles like fire.
I’m so tired of being cold.
“I can make you safe.” Its voice rustles like feathers.
I’m so tired of being afraid.
“Come fly with me,” the raven coaxes.
It’s a hard decision for a half-frozen brain. I wish Nana was here to help. She’d know what to do.
Across the ice, Papa slides slowly towards me. Miki is piling furs and blankets into a makeshift bed. Finn laces a second rope through the sled runners. Why is he doing that? Papa doesn’t need another rope.
“I can take you away from the ice. I can make you warm,” Raven tempts.
A blizzard blows through my head and I can’t think clearly.
“Help,” I mumble.
“Come fly with me.”
Powerless to resist, my spirit shakes itself free of my frozen skin. Soaring skyward, I don’t look back until I’m far above the ice and my body is a tiny blot below. Bears turn their snouts to look. If I keep flying, I can escape them forever.
“Higher, higher.” The death bird flaps beside me.
“No!” Nana commands.
My arms thump against my sides.
“Nana!” If I had a body, I’d run to hug her. “What are you doing here?”
“Sticking her nose in,” the raven snaps.
Nana glares. Her spirit glows fierce and golden. “No grandson of mine is dying today.”
“You’re too late,” the death bird crows. “He already has.”
I look into its eyes again. It’s telling the truth. I’m dead.
Raising her story stick, Nana hurls it at Raven.
Thwack! Ravenseye.
The raven somersaults backwards.
“I might have lost most of my teeth but I’ve still got my throwing arm.” Nana raises the stick again. “Don’t mess with me.”
Raven shuffles its feathers into place. “You always were a meddlesome old witch, Ananaksaq. I should peck your eyes out for that.”
Polar Boy Page 2
