Polar Boy

by Sandy Fussell

  “Thanks, Nana.” I don’t wait to hear any more. Looking out to sea will help me forget the terror lumbering in from the ice.

  Already, men and children are gathering on the neck of frozen land jutting out into the ocean. Five umiak canoes have been dragged into place on the icy shore. Only Papa’s umiak will chase the whale but it takes all five to haul the body back to shore.

  Here we sit and hope. Maybe we’ll sit for hours, or even days. But eventually, if we hope hard enough, a whale will answer the beat of the drum.

  Mama and the women sit sewing in the tents, hurrying to repair flaps, clothes and boots before the hunt begins. Women are not allowed to sew while the men hunt.

  There are four sealskin bags on Papa’s whaling harpoon. One sack for each of the women in my family. By the fading lamplight, Nana, Mama, Aunty and Miki sewed for hours. Capturing the spirit of the great whale requires more than ten men in a canoe. It needs the hands of many villages – working, stitching and hunting together.

  Mama, Aunty and Miki are happy to spend their nights making little stitches but Nana likes to shout and chant, to wave her arms and rattle her story stick. She likes to talk and tell loud jokes but hates to sit quietly sewing.

  Tuaq begins to pound the drum, raising the antler high with each stroke. My chest fills with pride as my antler calls to the whale. It doesn’t even matter that it is in Tuaq’s hands. Omp-omp. The drum rolls and crashes with the waves.

  Like the bowhead whale, drum songs are a gift from the spirits. Nana brings them back when she travels to the stars. Tuaq’s song tells me he has been walking the sky too. I’m glad it’s not me. At night, the stars form a great bear shape and hover over my head. I have enough to worry about with the ones that stalk me across the ice.

  I don’t want to be a shaman. It’s hard work. Still, I didn’t want Nana to choose Tuaq. But I know now he’s the right choice. He catches my gaze and I quickly look away. His drum song is so rich and strong, it carries me out into the ocean. Even so, I don’t have to let him know it’s that good.

  Nana says whales like music and she hears them sing to each other, beneath the waves. I laughed when she told me but Nana shook her bone rattle to prove she meant it. “One ear can hear what two ears can’t,” she said.

  Sometimes I think Nana makes things up but I’m not chopping off an ear to check if she’s right.

  I strain to see through the thin fog, looking for a jet of water, the spout of the whale catching its breath. The bowhead has two blowholes but that doesn’t make it twice as easy to find.

  The crowd makes room for Nana, Papa, Uncle and Raynor. Powerful priestess, mighty harpooner, ace navigator and great hunter. They take their place in front of the group, standing between us and the ocean, their skill between us and starvation.

  The group begins to chant in time with the drum. Many villages melt into one. We are the Too-lee people. We are the Icelanders.

  Every hunter holds a special talisman, to show respect for the great goddess of the sea. Papa’s fist closes tight over his fox tail. My fingers touch the bear cub tooth in my pocket and I wish Grandfather’s necklace wasn’t lost at the bottom of the ocean.

  Miki fidgets and wriggles. She hates sitting still and she hates waiting even more.

  “Why don’t you go back and see what Mama is doing?” Nana suggests, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

  What is she up to? I wonder.

  “I think I will,” Miki says, scanning the ocean one last time as she gets up to leave. But she doesn’t take a single step.

  “Whale,” she yells.

  Nana scratches her ear.

  She knew the whale was there. She heard it sing.

  CHAPTER TEN

  TWO BOWHEAD WHALES

  “I can see it too,” I shout.

  Hearts thumping, we wait for Papa to give the signal to run to the boats. But he doesn’t. He stares out to sea, to where the long shadow splits into two beneath the waves.

  “There’s a calf with her,” he says.

  I hold my breath. Everyone does. If we hunt the mother, and the calf is too young to survive on its own, the spirits will be angry. We’re only allowed to take one whale from the sea. Two would be greedy, more than we need.

  It’s a hard decision for Papa to make. More than this whale’s life hangs in the balance. If Papa gets it wrong and the calf dies, we might never be allowed to catch a whale again. Worse still, the ice might open and swallow us all. It wouldn’t be the first time a village disappeared.

  Papa looks to Nana for guidance. Taking his hand, she closes it over the fox tail talisman. The wisdom of the fox. Then she takes an owl feather from under her anorak and wraps his other fist around it. The sharp eyes of an owl.

  This time Papa gazes out to sea with wiser, sharper eyes.

  “Seven full moons,” he announces. “The calf is old enough to survive on its own.”

  I breathe out. Everyone does. Papa leading, we race to the umiaks.

  Out on the ocean, the whale’s huge black and white head breaches towards the sky. She launches upwards to the mist, mouth stretched in a huge baleen grin, goddess of sea and ice.

  Beside me, Finn smiles, wider than the whale.

  “Hurry up.” Papa waves Finn and me into a boat with Raynor.

  “It’s really big,” I whisper to Finn.

  The whale is more than twice the size of our umiak. One flick of its tail and our boat will rip apart. I’ll be in the icy water again.

  “Big is very good,” Finn says.

  I’m not so sure. My teeth chatter.

  “You’re not afraid, are you?” sneers Tuaq, pushing past to the shaman’s seat at the front of the boat.

  You’d have to be an idiot not to be afraid. Or a liar.

  “I’m not scared,” I lie.

  Uncle and four men from Raynor’s village climb in after Tuaq. Papa jumps in last.

  “Listen to Uncle,” he says, handing us a paddle. “Watch and learn.”

  Uncle stands in the middle, plotting a course through the great chunks of ice in the water.

  “Forward,” he calls. We paddle in a straight line towards the whale. Uncle needs to beach the umiak on her back so Papa can drive his harpoon through the skin near the blowhole. It will be the first of many strikes. Finally, Raynor will plunge his lance between the tail flukes.

  Papa’s harpoon tip is made from stone. Attached to its shaft are the sealskin bags to stop the whale from diving below. The whale moves into a narrow channel where the ice is thick on both sides. It’s the moment Uncle has been looking for.

  Steering the umiak across the thick blubbery skin, he brings it to rest beside the second blowhole. The sea goddess doesn’t notice us. She sucks in a huge gulp of air and sends it skyward. My heart aches at what comes next, but I want to live. Drenched by the spout of the whale’s breath, we do what must be done.

  Tuaq begins to chant. With a powerful downward thrust, Papa rams the harpoon into the blowhole and the umiak shakes with the force of his strike. Startled, the whale dives but the sacks drag her back to where more lances wait. Three more shafts pierce through.

  On the surface of the sea, the calf floats and watches. What does the whale sing to her child now? Go away. Be safe. The hunters will get you.

  Battering and hammering, the mother whale butts her monstrous head against the ice. But there’s no escape in that direction. She turns, flukes thrashing. Desperately, we paddle to escape the swinging tail and the waves that threaten to up-end the umiak.

  Our whale is a great creature with a huge spirit and enormous strength. She struggles bravely against the pull of the sealskin sacks. But Papa is a mighty hunter and each harpoon thrust is perfectly placed.

  “Prod with the oars,” Uncle yells.

  Pushing and poking, we try to steer the whale towards the shore, away from her calf. I’m not afraid any more. I’m angry. I hate this life of ice and survival. Now the calf has to struggle too.

  “Why?” I whisper to
Finn. Papa wouldn’t understand. His life is ruled by the laws of the hunt and the need to feed his family. He’ll pray for the whale’s soul, eat a huge meal and sleep soundly. Not me. I’ll have nightmares tonight.

  Finn understands me but he understands Papa too. “Because,” he says.

  He’s right. It’s the way it is. But one day, when I escape the ice, it won’t be like that at all. There’ll always be plenty to eat. I’ll go down to the shore to watch the whales and I won’t have to hunt every one I see. I’ll smile as they swim right by. I might even jump in too.

  Raynor catches me smiling. “Yes, Iluak, it’s a good hunt today.” He doesn’t understand either.

  It takes a long time for the whale to tire. I force myself to watch. It’s the least I can do to honour her sacrifice. Finally, Uncle steers the boat towards her tail, positioning for the last blow. Raynor sinks his lance deep between the tail fins, severing the flukes. It’s almost over.

  The calf swims away. Heading north on its own.

  Huge waves rise to pummel and batter our boat as the whale rolls, taking the ocean and us with her. Waves fold and unfold as the umiak boat pitches, plunging into the foam. My stomach follows, up and down, around and around.

  Forgetting my paddle, I grasp hold of the edge of the boat. Beside me Finn clings tight. But Tuaq is still standing up front, arms raised, praying for us all. Horrified, I watch as a wave rises like a giant talon, to wrap itself around Tuaq’s waist and claw him into the ocean.

  Papa yells. Uncle bellows. But there’s no time for me to listen to instructions. Grabbing the rope at my feet, I tie one end around my waist and throw the other end to Finn.

  Cold bites into my body as I dive into the sea. All around me, the whale’s last song washes, warm and joyful. She’s not sad at all. She gives her body gladly and entrusts her soul to Papa’s care. I can see her lying still, but the singing goes on and she reaches out to me.

  Swim, the water sings. Swim, the waves sound. Kicking my feet and pushing my arms through the waves, I am the whale.

  In front of me, Tuaq has stopped thrashing. His eyes are glassy and empty, the lids half-closed. Seven more strokes and I’ll reach him. I’m so close.

  “You have to stay awake. Count,” I yell. “If you don’t count, you’ll die.”

  Five more strokes. Three. I’m counting too.

  Tuaq’s mouth moves to form words. “One ringed seal …”

  One more stroke.

  Finally, I wrap my arms around him. As I tug on the rope for Finn to pull us in, Tuaq mutters something.

  “What?” I place my ear closer to listen.

  “Two bowhead whales …” he says, smiling before his eyes close completely.

  A boatload of strong hands hauls us aboard. Wrapped in a sealskin blanket, I’m soon sitting wedged between Finn and Papa, while Tuaq sleeps between Raynor and Uncle. Their warmth will seep into our bones and help Tuaq to wake from the ice sleeping.

  “What was that all about?” Papa asks.

  “I had to rescue Tuaq.”

  “We would have thrown him a rope.”

  “Not enough time.”

  “What you did was very stupid,” Papa chastises, putting his arm around me. “It was also very brave.”

  Opposite me, Tuaq lies pale and unmoving. His eyes are still closed.

  Caw, caw.

  On the rim of the boat above Tuaq, Raven perches. I glare at it but no one else seems to notice. Maybe I’m the only one who can see it. Maybe it’s because I was dead once.

  “Don’t worry, Iluak,” it says. “I’m not here to take your friend.”

  “What do you want?” I hiss.

  Black eyes glitter. “Just watching,” Raven says.

  I feel the cold returning.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind?” it asks.

  My head is heavy and my mind is slow.

  “Think about it, Iluak. Fly with me and you won’t have to face the bear. I can take you away from here,” the raven wheedles.

  I shake my head.

  “I can take you away from the ice.”

  I’d like that.

  “I can take you where it’s warm.”

  I’d like that even better.

  “I can take you to the green land.”

  I want that more than anything.

  I open my mouth to say yes.

  But Nana’s magic reaches out over the ocean to protect me. Tuaq flings his arm out, knocking Raven into the waves. Squawking and cursing, it climbs out, shaking its wet feathers.

  “I’ll be back,” it threatens as it rises into the sky.

  “I’ll be ready,” I answer.

  Other umiaks have arrived to help with the whale.

  “Are you feeling better?” Papa asks.

  I nod.

  “You rest while we truss and tie the whale.” Papa places his hand on my forehead. “Finn, I need your help with the ropes. There is much to do.”

  The sounds wash over me and wake Tuaq.

  “Did you hear her sing?” he whispers.

  I nod. “Did you see the raven?”

  “Yes. I gave it a good whack.” He smiles.

  Whether I like it or not, Nana is right. Tuaq and I are bound together. We need each other. I rescued him and he rescued me. Hearing us talk, Finn comes to investigate.

  “Good. Much better,” he says, helping us both to stand and watch as the men work with practised hands to secure the whale.

  More harpoons are embedded to keep the dead whale afloat. Papa shouts and waves, arranging the men and boats until the great body lies stranded on the icy shore.

  Nana cups the whale’s soul in her hand and, raising her arms, releases it into the sky. The whale’s song has ended but a new music rolls out over the ice and ocean as each hunter offers a chant of thanks. My heart sings even louder than my voice.

  Nana hands Papa the large whale-cutting knife. With skill, he slices the carcass from head to tail without spilling a drop of blood. Then he gives the knife to Nana and she slices across.

  The work begins. Like a summer colony of gulls, the women flock to carve and divide until every piece of blubber, bone and flesh belongs to someone. Meat for food, blubber for oil, bone for tools and housing.

  Nana slits the first stomach. And the second. At the third she stops and smiles directly at me.

  She plunges her hand deep inside.

  “A-ha,” she shouts, holding her find up for everyone to see.

  My heart leaps higher than a whale spout. Higher than a gull’s flight. It’s Grandfather’s necklace! It’s an even greater miracle than my rebirth.

  Hands shaking, I reach to take it. With the string laced through my fingers, I feel brave. Just for a moment. Until I hear Nana’s whisper.

  “He’s coming,” she says to Papa, her voice low so no one else can hear.

  But I’m good at listening. Almost as good as Nana.

  “Who’s coming?” I ask.

  “A Northman,” Nana says.

  My voice squeaks and shakes. “Bjalki?”

  “No. Not this time.”

  Nervously, I follow Nana and Papa to the edge of our camp site. Now my heart doesn’t soar out over the sea. It sinks to scan the ice.

  By the time the man appears, a crowd has gathered. The Northman is huge, almost twice the size of Papa. Blond hair struggles to escape from behind his hood and his eyes are summer-ocean blue. He looks like Finn.

  I remember Nana’s story of the Northman stranger who died in a hunting accident, and old puzzles start to fall into place. Finn’s father was killed in a walrus hunt.

  Beside me I hear a sharp intake of breath. Finn has worked it out too. A quick glance is enough to be sure. My friend is half Northman, and Thorvald was his father.

  “I am Ottar. I have a message,” the towering Northman announces.

  “We have been waiting to hear it,” replies Nana.

  I haven’t and I don’t want to know.

  “Our great chi
ef, Bjalki, sends his greetings.”

  Papa nods. “We wish him well.”

  I don’t. Murderer of women and children.

  “You speak our language expertly,” Nana compliments him.

  “My people have been learning as we travel. We learn a little from everyone we meet.” The Northman sighs. “It is over a year since we left Greenland.”

  Nana’s green lands! There is such a place!

  But before I can ask, the man continues.

  “Bjalki reminds you this is his land. He was here first and you have taken his whale. He demands you return what is rightfully his.”

  I don’t like the sound of this.

  “No one owns the ice,” Nana says. “And this whale does not belong to Bjalki. Tell your chief we are happy to share with him.”

  “Is that your answer?” the man says.

  “I’ve only one ear and I heard it,” Nana responds.

  “Foolish skraelings.” The man spits at her feet. “Bjalki has a violent temper and he doesn’t like to be ignored. He will crush you for your disrespect.”

  Nana draws up to her full height, glaring into the Northman’s chest. Eyes blaze and fox fur bristles. Suddenly, the Northman seems smaller.

  “I respect the spirits. I respect the ice and I respect the whale. I will decide if I respect Bjalki when I hear what he has to say.”

  The Northman is smarter than Hulag. He doesn’t stay to argue.

  “What’s skraeling?” I ask Nana, as I watch the blond man melt into the ice.

  “Their word for our people. Thorvald told me it means tough but scrawny. A good name for people who struggle to survive.”

  Skraeling. The word rolls around inside my head. It tickles and teases and it calls to me to follow. I know where it leads. Away from the ice. Maybe as far as the green lands.

  I wish I was there already. Bjalki’s going to be angry when he hears what his messenger has to say. He’ll probably kill us all.

  Our people think so too. Little ones whimper and hide behind their fathers. Pale faces grow even whiter with fear.

  Reaching her arms to the sky, Nana shakes her rattle and raises her voice high. “Do not be afraid. There is no darkness here. Iluak holds it away from us all.”