by John Norman
Ram's sled fell into line behind him.
"On!" called Imnak, taking his place behind his sled, and cracking the long-bladed sleen whip over the snow sleen, Akko's beast, which was in his traces. The animal, with its back hunched, and its wide, furred paws, claws extended, scratching, threw itself against the harness, making taut the trace and linkage, and the sled moved. From the side I gave it an additional shove, to help it gain momentum. Imnak did not now ride the runners of the sled, but ran between them. I moved at the side of the sled, on its right. The girls, now on their tethers, ran, too. Sometimes a man or woman runs before the sled, to hasten the sleen, which will normally match the guide pace. Now, however, that was not necessary, as we had before us two sleds to set our pace, that of Karjuk, in the lead, and that of Ram, behind him.
From time to time, then standing on the runners, Imnak would turn to regard the jagged terrain behind him. This is a habit of red hunters. It gives a check on what may be behind one, and, too, it shows him what the country will look like on his return. This is a procedure which helps to prevent the red hunter from becoming lost. It makes it easier to find his way back because he has already, in effect, seen what the return journey will look like. He has, so to speak, already filed its appearance in his memory. This habit, of course, tends to be less fruitful in a terrain of sea ice, such as that in which we now found ourselves, because of the bizarre, twisted sameness of much of the icescape. There remain, of course, the stars and the winds. Winds are extremely important in direction finding to the red hunter, for at certain seasons they prevail in different directions. Indeed, even in the darkness, the total darkness of an overcast sky in the arctic night, when the winds do not blow, he may often find his way simply by feeling with his mittened hands the alignment of ice crystals on slopes and blocks, which are a residue of the earlier passage of such winds. This is not to say that red hunters cannot become lost. They can. On the other hand an experienced trekker usually has a good idea of his whereabouts. The lay of the land, the winds, the stars, help him with directions, as well as, of course, his own keenly developed sense of orientation, probably selected for in the harsh environment. Distance he tends to measure in terms of sleeps. Interestingly, in his descriptions and rude maps of terrain, scratched in the snow, he shows little awareness of or interest in land masses or shapes. His interest tends to lie in given geographical points and landmarks. The shape of a peninsula on which he may have a permanent camp, for example, is of less interest to him than is the direction and distance to the next nearest camp. I suppose this makes sense. If one had to choose between cartographical fidelity and arriving alive in the next camp perhaps one would sooner sacrifice the former excellence to the latter desideratum. And even if a red hunter should become lost it is normally possible for him, at least for a time, to live off the land. He generally carries such things as hooks, fish line, knives, snare strings, and harpoons with him. Sometimes, when one does become lost, as on a trading journey south, it takes months to find his way back to his camp. "Where have you been?" he is asked. "Oh, I have been hunting," he says. Sled sleen, too, of course, may be killed for food. It is important, of course, to be the first to kill in such a situation. A sufficiently hungry snow sleen will turn and attack its driver. There is much danger in the north, and much to know. I was very pleased to be in the company of Imnak. Though I thought him strange I admired him greatly. I did not delude myself that I did not owe him much. It was fortunate we were friends, for between friends there can be no debts.
I, too, from time to time, looked back. This was not only to consider the terrain as it might appear on a return journey, something I had learned from Imnak, but for another reason as well, one held in common by warriors and red hunters. It is well to see what might come behind one.
I fell back a bit, jogging beside Imnak.
"Did you see it?" I asked.
"It has been with us for four days," he said.
"Do you think Karjuk knows it is there?" I asked.
"How could he not know?" asked Imnak.
"Do you have any recommendations?" I asked.
"Let us continue to press on," said Imnak. "I think it would elude us in the ice. And I do not wish to turn my back on Karjuk."
"But he is the guard," I said.
"Did you see the head of the ice beast which he brought to camp?" asked Imnak.
"Yes," I said.
"Did you examine it closely?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. "But Karjuk is the guard," I said.
"Yes," said Imnak. "But whom does he guard?"
26
Imnak Makes a Camp;
Poalu Boils Meat
The wind howled about us, and I could hardly keep my footing.
"We must stop!" I called to Imnak, over the storm. I did not know if he could even hear me, and yet he was little more than a yard away. It was utterly dark. The moons, the stars, were obscured. Winds struck against the hides I wore, almost tearing them from me. I kept my left hand, mittened, on the supplies on the sled. It then began to snow, the crystals whipping against our faces, driven almost horizontally over the level and among the pinnacles and turrets of the jumbled, bleak terrain. I pulled down my hood. The lart fur, with which it was trimmed, snapped against my face on the left, and was almost torn from the hood on the right. I felt my face might freeze. I could see nothing. I stumbled on, holding the sled. I could not see the girls but I knew they were fastened to the sled. Imnak had had us tether them thusly, that they might not be swept away from us and lost in the storm.
"We cannot see where we are going!" I cried out to Imnak. "We must stop!"
I heard the sleen in the traces squeal ahead of us, the noise torn in the fierce snow and wind. I sensed Imnak turning about, and then again he was at the tabuk-horn uprights at the sled, glimpsed momentarily in a break in the clouds. I saw the girls then, too, their hands on their neck tethers, small, pelted, coated with snow, pathetic in the storm, weary, with us. Then again it was dark. Ahead I had seen Ram's sled for a moment. I had not seen Karjuk's sled.
"It is madness to continue!" I cried to Imnak.
The sled stopped, wedged between two ice blocks. Imnak and I tilted it and it slid on one runner and then righted itself and again moved on.
"Let us stop!" I called out to Imnak.
I thought I heard a scream but I could not be sure, in the howling wind.
Imnak threw his weight back on the uprights. I held back, too, on the sled. The sled stopped. I fumbled for the tethers of Audrey and Arlene and pulled them to the sled. Then I went toward the head of the sled. The sleen was there, already curled in the driving snow. Its pelt shook under my touch. It would be asleep in moments. Snow was almost to my knees. I felt my way back about the sled to the uprights. Imnak was shouting to me, I think, but I could not make out what he might be saying. Audrey and Arlene, as I could tell by putting forth my hands, were crouched beside the sled. I went about the back of the sled. I could see nothing. The wind howled fiercely. On the other side of the sled, extending my hand, I felt Poalu. She, like the other girls, was crouched beside the sled. Imnak was at my side. He pressed a strap into my hand. I drew it to me. Barbara was gone. The end of the strap had been cut. I made to move out into the snow, to search for her, but Imnak, bodily, obstructed me. He pushed me back. I did not resist. Imnak, of course, was right. It would be madness to go forth into the howling darkness, the snow and wind, to search for her. In moments one's trail would be obliterated and, shortly, wandering foolishly in the darkness, the storm, one might find oneself lost, and dangerously separated from the sled and its supplies.
I do not think the other girls even realized, at that time, that Barbara was gone. Poalu, exhausted, fell asleep almost immediately, beside the sled. The other girls, too, were soon asleep.
"What are we going to do?" I shouted at Imnak, putting my face near the side of his head.
"One will sleep, one will watch," called Imnak.
I found it hard to respond. I foun
d it hard to believe he had said what he had.
"Are you sleepy?" asked Imnak.
"No!" I shouted.
"You watch first," shouted Imnak. "I will sleep."
I stood beside the sled. Imnak then lay down by the sled. It was hard for me to believe, under the circumstances, that he could sleep. Yet, in moments, I think he was asleep.
After a while I crouched beside the sled, and peered into the darkness.
The wind howled about the sled. I wondered how far Ram had continued on. I had not seen Karjuk when the clouds had parted for a moment earlier. I wondered where Barbara was. I did not think she was lost. The strap which had held her had been cleanly cut. The lovely blond slave had been taken prisoner, but by whom, or what, I did not know.
After a time Imnak awoke. "Sleep now," he said. "I will watch."
I then slept.
* * * *
I awakened, Imnak's hand on my shoulder.
"Observe the sleen," said Imnak.
The animal, some nine feet in length, twisting, was awake, and restless. Its ears were lifted, its nostrils distended. The claws in the wide, soft paws emerged, and then retracted. It did not seem to be angry.
It lifted its snout to the wind.
"It has taken the scent of something," I said.
"It is excited, but not disturbed," said Imnak.
"What does this mean?" I asked.
"That we are in great danger," said Imnak. "There are sleen in the vicinity."
"But we are far out on the ice," I said.
"The danger is thus much greater," said Imnak.
"Yes," I said, understanding him. If the snow sleen had taken the scent of sleen in this area it might well be one or more sleen wandering on the ice, sleen driven by hunger from the inland areas. Such animals would be extremely dangerous.
"Perhaps Karjuk or Ram are in the vicinity," I said.
"The sleen knows the animals of Karjuk and Ram," he said. "If it were they he would not be as excited as he is."
"What can we do?" I asked.
"We must hasten to build a shelter," said Imnak, getting to his feet. The girls were still sleeping. The storm had passed, and the light of the three moons was bright on the snow and ice. "There is little time," he said.
"What can I do?" I asked.
Imnak, with his heel, traced a circle, some ten feet in diameter, in the snow near the sled. "Trample down the snow inside the circle," he said. "Then unload the sled and place our supplies within the circle."
I did as I was told, and Imnak, with a large, curved, bone, saw-toothed knife, a snow knife, began to cut at a nearby drift of snow.
The sleen grew more restless, and it began to make noises.
"Listen," said Imnak. I listened, in the cold, still air. In the cold air I did not know how far away it was.
"They are on a scent?" I asked.
"Yes," said Imnak.
"Ours?" I asked.
"That seems quite likely," he speculated.
He had begun to take snow blocks from the drift and place them in a circle, within the edge of the area I was trampling down. The first block was the most difficult block to extract from the bank. The first row of blocks were about two feet in length, and a foot in breadth and height.
I started, suddenly, Audrey screaming. Imnak ran toward her, snow knife in hand.
"Where is Barbara!" screamed Audrey. "She is gone!" There was horror on her face. In her hand she held the severed strap, that which had tethered Barbara before it had been cut. She had awakened, crawled to the strap, understood its import, and screamed.
I saw Imnak strike her to the snow. She fell, twisting, to his feet, her own neck tether, seeming to emerge from her furs, still fastening her to the sled.
Imnak stood over her, his head lifted, listening. There was a distinct modulation in the hunting cries of the distant sleen pack. It was almost as though the sound began afresh, energized and renewed.
Imnak tore back Audrey's hood. His hand was in her hair, pulling her head cruelly back. Her throat was fully exposed. She was on her knees. The blade of the saw-toothed snow knife was at her throat. Then Imnak threw her angrily to her stomach in the snow.
There was no doubt now that the sleen pack was turning in our direction.
The scent it had been following was doubtless a difficult and fragmented one, carried on the air, suggesting little more than a direction. The storm had obliterated sled tracks and the customary trail signs of an afoot passage. This difficult trail to follow, little more than a waft of scent in the air, carrying over the ice, had now, however, because of Audrey's scream, been supplemented with a clear auditory cue, one supplying both an approximate distance and location to the pursuing pack. Its meaningfulness to the sleen was reflected in the sudden alteration in the nature of the pack's hunting cries. They had now, for most practical purposes, targeted their quarry. An analogy would be the hunter's pleasure when first he actually catches sight of the prey.
Audrey wept in the snow.
I listened to the sleen in the distance.
Imnak placed the first block of the second row of blocks across two blocks in the first row. The blocks of the second row, those forming the second ring of the circular shelter, were slightly smaller than those of the first row.
"Barbara is gone," said Arlene to me. She stood near me, the tether on her throat fastening her to the sled.
"Yes," I said.
"Where is she?" said Arlene.
"The strap was cut," I said. "She was taken."
"Where?" asked Arlene.
"I do not know," I said.
"Let us turn back," begged Arlene.
I took her in my arms, and looked down into her eyes. How beautiful she was. For a moment I felt tenderness for her.
"Please turn back," begged Arlene.
Then I recalled she was a slave.
Swiftly she knelt. "Forgive me, Master," she said.
I listened. The hunting cries of the sleen carried to us.
"Even if we wished to turn back," I told Arlene, at my feet in the snow, "it does not seem we could do so."
"I hear sleen," she said.
"Yes," I said.
"Oh, no!" she said.
"Yes," I said.
I looked down at her. She was quite beautiful. It would be tragic indeed for that lovely body to be torn to pieces by the teeth of hunger-crazed sleen.
She shuddered.
I listened to the sleen. The sound was now quite clear. "How much time is there?" I asked Imnak.
He did not answer me, but continued, swiftly, not pausing, to cut blocks of snow.
"Imnak," called Poalu, "you will need the knife and the ice."
I did not understand this.
"Free Poalu, and the others," said Imnak.
I untied the girls.
"Help me load the supplies into the ring," I said to Arlene.
Crouching inside the ring, among supplies, Poalu began working near the lamp. Striking iron pyrites together she showered sparks into tinder, dried grass from the summer. The lamp was lit.
Imnak completed the low, second row of snow blocks.
"Thistle," said Poalu, to Audrey, "bring the cooking rack and the water kettle." One of the first things that is done, following the lighting of the lamp, which serves as light, heat, and cook stove in the tiny shelters, is to melt snow for drinking water, and heat water for boiling meat.
Our sleen suddenly threw back his head and emitted a long, high-pitched, hideous, shrill squeal.
"It will revert," said Imnak.
"Shall I kill it while there is still time?" I asked Imnak.
"Tie its jaws, and bind it," said Imnak. "The madness will pass."
I took the binding fiber with which the girls had been tethered.
"I see them now!" cried Arlene. "There! There!"
The sleen squirmed but I, forcing it to its side in the snow, lashed shut its jaws. I then tied together its three sets of paws.
"Put it in the
shelter," said Imnak.
I unhitched the sleen's harness from the sled and, by the harness, still on the animal, dragged it into the shelter.
"Its struggles will break the wall, or put out the lamp," I said.
"Do not permit that to happen," said Imnak.
I tied the forepaws of the sleen to its rearmost hind paws, the power, or spring, paws. Its struggles would now be considerably circumscribed and the mighty leverage it could exert would largely be dissipated in the circle of its bonds.
"They are coming closer!" cried Arlene.
"Get into the shelter," I told her. Imnak had managed only to build two rows, and part of a third, in the shelter. He did not cease, however, to cut blocks from the drift. One uses a drift, when possible, which has been formed in a single storm. The structure of the drift, thus, is less likely to contain faults, strata and cleavages, which would result in the blocks being weaker and more likely to break apart.
Arlene joined me inside the low, circular wall. The hunting cries of the sleen were now fierce and distinct. I did not think them more than a half pasang away.
"There is little time, Imnak," I said. "Return to the shelter."
He continued to cut blocks of snow, though he now made no effort to place them in the walls. One normally places such blocks from the inside. When the domed shelter is completed, as ours was not, the last block is placed on the outside and the builder then goes within, and, with the snow knife, trimming and shaping, slips it into place. A hole is left for the passage of air and smoke. Imnak's walls were rough, and not too well shaped. The snow knife suffices, when there is time, to shape the dwelling. Chinks between blocks are filled with snow, as though it were mortar.
"Prepare to strike sleen from the walls," said Imnak to me.
I stood within the low walls, lance in hand. "Return with me, to fight within," I told him.
"I shall," he said. Then he called out to Poalu, "Is the water boiling?"
"No," she said, "but it is warm."
"Hurry, Imnak!" I called. I could not understand why he still cut blocks, which he had no time to place in the walls. Too, I did not understand why Poalu should be busying herself with melting snow over the flat, oval lamp. This seemed a strange time to engage in such domestic chores.
