Secrets

by Ken Altabef

  Alaana was a mind without body, caught up in a blur of motion as she came sailing back toward the Earth. She had never fallen so far, so fast. She was certain she was going to die.

  “Skeptical thoughts,” muttered Balikqi as he broke Alaana’s fall with the cushion of his own mind. “You’ve still very much to learn.”

  Alaana returned to her body, completely unharmed, snuggled warmly in the old bear shaman’s embrace. Balikqi lay flat on his back. Alaana noticed the old bear’s breaths came shallow and unsteady.

  “Do you think you could move an inch or two to your left,” said the bear, “Your elbow is stuck in a most uncomfortable place.”

  Alaana removed herself from the voluminous folds of thick yellowed fur. “Thank you, Old Bear.”

  “Thank you,” whispered Balikqi. It was all he could do to whisper. His eyelids lay drooped and fluttering, his mouth gaping open. He shook himself, though weakly, as if he had just come up from the arctic waters. “Not yet,” he said, “No, not yet.”

  His eyes drifted open as he leaned his bulk forward to gaze out upon their handiwork. To Alaana, the silhouette on the horizon looked much the same. At this distance it was impossible to notice any difference in the mountain’s position. And yet, they both knew.

  Balikqi sent a pair of barks out into the night and the other bears, all assembled on the vast ice plain below, began a frolic in the snow. Alaana had never seen anything like it, a hundred great white bears dancing on the ice.

  “I can last a bit longer, friend Alaana,” said Balikqi. “But only that.”

  “What can I do to help?” she asked.

  “Give an old bear’s life meaning. But you’ve already done that. Our home of sweet contentment is saved. You need do nothing more for me. You have a tremendous strength Alaana, if only you knew better how to use it. I think there is the distinct possibility you will one day do a great thing, that you will move the Earth itself as we have moved the mountain this night. If you will stay awhile I will teach you what I can, in what little time there is left for me.”

  “I would be very grateful for that.”

  Balikqi paused to catch his breath, then continued, “In exchange, I ask for a promise. You must carry on for Aisaac and be the shaman of both worlds. Look after my bears as you do your own Anatatook. It seems to me there are less and less shamans than there used to be. I wonder if we are not a dying breed. When I go, I leave them with no one.” He gestured to the bears down below, lost amid their mad, raucous celebration. His claw was trembling.

  “Those two cubs you saw earlier, born of the same litter, show some promise,” he added. “You must look out for them. Teach them.”

  Alaana was torn by her desire to stay and learn at the feet of this great shaman, and the need to return to her people. Most of all she was eager to rejoin Ben.

  Balikqi seemed to read her thoughts. “There’s a young man, isn’t there?”

  Alaana nodded shyly.

  “Fah! Just like him!” said Balikqi, meaning Old Manatook. “There’s always some silly little love affair. I know. I’ve been in love once or twice myself. But you mustn’t forget my bears. You mustn’t forget our Heart.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” Alaana said, with no great confidence.

  “Hur! Hur!” rumbled the bear, “Who may ask for anything more?”

  CHAPTER 17

  THE SHAMAN RETURNS

  The Moon had turned its head from full to crescent by the time Alaana arrived at her family’s summer encampment along the eastern rim of the Great Basin. The dogs, irritable and half-starved, yanked the sled along the uneven, marshy tundra. They had been well-fed by the bears of the glacier, but on their return journey a lengthy storm forced them to go to ground for two sleeps, a delay which outlasted their provisions. Game had been scarce as well. Makaartunghak had managed to take down a fox and a few stray ptarmigan but it hadn’t been much.

  Alaana was beyond tired. She forced herself forward, one step at a time, in a mild trance state. Balikqi had died only a few days earlier. A feast of berries had been laid out before him – plump cranberries, lingonberries and glossy black crowberries. Alaana wondered where the bears managed to collect them all. Balikqi purred his final contentment, surrounded by his friends and his mouth full of sweet berries, which he loved more than anything else. The twin bear cubs, Oktolik and Orfik, never strayed far from his side. Alaana found them remarkable in that they spoke their own private tongue in addition to the secret language of the shamans, and seemed to always agree. Likewise she fascinated them, being the first human being they had ever seen. At random times she felt the gentle touch of a claw, belonging sometimes to Oktolik and sometimes Orfik, poking her as if to test what she was made of.

  “Won’t you stay with us?” asked Oktolik.

  “Stay with us,” chimed Orfik. Their eager little faces and tiny black eyes were hard to resist.

  “I can’t,” remarked Alaana. “I’ve been away from my own people for too long as it is.”

  “Teach us,” said Oktolik.

  “Who will teach us?” asked Orfik.

  Alaana rubbed the soft fur at the back of the cub’s head. “You’ll get along well enough on your own. I’ll come back whenever I can. Besides, you can always talk to me on the wind.”

  “Too far,” said Oktolik.

  “It’s too far,” said Orfik. They snuffled their cold, wet noses against her cheeks, one on either side.

  “That is why you must practice,” laughed Alaana. She sounded way too much like Old Manatook. “Practice.”

  She stayed just long enough at the glacier to oversee the burial of Balikqi and then left them without a shaman. The inuas of the two spirited cubs had indeed marked them as budding young shamans but how could she hope to teach anyone anything? She was still too much of a novice herself. There were fewer and fewer shamans in Nunatsiaq, the beautiful white lands of the north. In happy times of her childhood there had been three shamans among the Anatatook. Now there was only one, poorly trained and struggling at that.

  She asked the snowy owl to call her if there was need, for there was no one else among the bears to send the call. And no one left to tend the great sculpture. Alaana thought the situation an ill portent for the bears of the glacier, but she was far too tired to worry over all that now.

  Just ahead she could see the bend in the river where the Anatatook men were working one of the stone weirs they used to trap salmon heading out to sea. She heard their voices, singing with excitement and laughter, and thought all must be well at the summer camps along the basin.

  Soon she would be home and laughing with her family, nestled in the warm furs of her bed, her belly full of fresh fish. She could hardly wait. The shouts and laughter from the men at the weir was a joyous jumble that rang in her ears, a dizzying sound which turned down into up as her face fell into the wet snow banking the river. Makaartunghak lay down beside her and curled up to rest, the huge dog having also reached the end of his reserves. Yipyip whined softly and then set off toward the curve of the river.

  Alaana opened her eyes to find Little Quinotaq rubbing soft foxfur mittens against her cheeks. The boy’s eyes went wild for a moment, as he seemed startled to find that he had successfully revived the shaman.

  “Angatkok,” whispered the boy. “Are you alive?”

  Silly question, thought Alaana when she was looking right back at him. Then she realized how she must appear, thin and drawn, with the long-worried, deadened look that comes upon those who have been too long out in the frozen wastes without food or shelter. Little Quinotaq stared down at her with an expression of horrified respect, his hands hovering in the air as if unsure if they dared to touch the shaman any further.

  Alaana realized she had not yet answered the question, and her silence seemed to give credence to the view that she was indeed nothing more than a withered shade come back to haunt her people. Alaana’s mouth was so dry she couldn’t speak. She pushed some snow between her lips and produced a str
ange gurgling sound. This was enough to completely frighten Little Quinotaq, who scurried off toward the river.

  Alaana struggled to her feet, a long and difficult process that left her oblivious to her surroundings until a man took her firmly by the arm. It was Maguan, a serious look haunting his handsome face. Alaana felt the pain and weariness lift from her shoulders. All would be well now. Maguan was here.

  “You don’t look so good, little sister. Are you hurt?”

  “Just tired and hungry,” croaked Alaana.

  Maguan looked her up and down and, seeing that it was so, broke out into a sly grin.

  A broad, strong hand clapped Alaana on the shoulder, nearly knocking her over. “Father was worried,” he said, “And mother cried in the night, but I wasn’t worried. You’re the shaman! Is there anything you can’t handle?”

  Alaana groaned.

  Maguan chuckled, brushing a lock of stray hair from the side of her face. “Fishing has been good. Was that your doing? I told everyone it was. Of course some said the fishing was so good because you weren’t around to scare off all the fish. Ahh, that’s what they say until someone falls ill or twists an ankle. Then they come running for you.”

  Alaana couldn’t say anything. Her eyes were closing.

  “I can’t let Mother see you like this. Let’s get you to your tent and have Higilak put some food into you first.”

  Maguan propped her up. “Then I had better take care of these dogs you’ve been mistreating before Makaartunghak goes and eats one of the children.”

  Alaana sat cross-legged on her bunk. She sipped at the salmon broth Higilak had warmed for her over the soapstone lamp. The broth was thick, hot and completely satisfying, but she knew enough to take it slow. Her stomach had been empty for several sleeps.

  “Where’s Ben? Is he well?”

  “He’s gone out to the weir with the other men. He has a good eye with the spear, you know. At least they can’t say he’s bad luck for the fishing. He’s better at it than any of them, even with only one arm.” Higilak flitted back and forth inside the tent. “He hasn’t left yet, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  That wasn’t what she’d been asking. Alaana shrugged. “Why should he leave?”

  “He has no reason to stay. Time passes for us, Alaana, even if you’re off killing yourself on some fool’s errand.”

  Alaana was puzzled. Higilak was pampering her with food and dry clothes, but this was hardly the warm welcome she had expected. She spoke so coldly. What was she suggesting? Alaana had made no advances toward Ben on Higilak’s advice. She had not touched him since the day they had escaped the Yupikut camp. She had thought often about the feel of her hand in his that day; it had been exciting and warm and, she thought, full of a world of promise. In all the excitement and danger, she couldn’t recall which of them had reached out for the other. Over time she’d convinced herself that it had meant little to Ben. It had been nothing more, she reasoned, than a release of nervous tension, a celebration of their escape from captivity. Was Higilak now changing her advice?

  The old woman handed her a salmon fillet and a small cutting knife. She began slicing off sizeable chunks of the raw fish. “You don’t understand,” she said in between gulps of salmon. “It was an important journey.”

  “Yes, yes, I know.” Higilak’s voice cracked with sarcasm. “Important secret shaman work. Far to the north, where my husband wandered often. I just can’t stand to see you limp home in this terrible state, half-starved, barely alive. Manatook traveled just as far, but he always returned strong and healthy.”

  “Yes, but no longer,” said Alaana. “Old Mother, I’m sorry but Manatook is dead.”

  “I know that!”

  Alaana flinched. Why did it seem Higilak already knew everything? It was frustrating.

  The old storyteller patted her on the knee. “It was clear to me from the way you acted after the wolf attack. Anyway, he’s not dead. He walks between the worlds, as he’s always done. Only now he has become one with the sky.”

  “Do you think I’ll ever see him again?” asked Alaana.

  “Be sure of it. But, what was he doing on those journeys to the north?”

  “There are others there who have a claim on him.”

  “Yes, I know. Another family? Did she give him children?”

  “She?”

  “We never spoke of it but I think there must have been someone.”

  “No,” said Alaana sympathetically. “You’ve got it wrong. There wasn’t any other woman. He kept things from you, but nothing like that.”

  “But then why didn’t he come? When he died that day, his spirit should have come to me if there was no one else.”

  “He did come. The white bear...”

  The old woman’s wrinkled brow creased even further. “The white bear and Manatook, one and the same?” Spoken in Higilak’s peculiar way it was at the same time both a question and a puzzled statement.

  “Manatook was born a bear,” said Alaana. “He was not a man.”

  Higilak clucked at her. “Did he teach you nothing? What difference between the soul of a man and that of a bear? Or a fox? Or an eagle? He was a good man.”

  Alaana had finished the fish, and Higilak took the knife from her hand. She gazed thoughtfully at the blade for a moment, then continued, “He was not always that way. As it was, I could have believed him an animal once. When he first found me in the stone lodge he was very mean. He struck me in anger and often beat me. Yes, he was very much like an animal back then. I wanted to run away but there was no place to go. I threatened to leave, even if it meant I should perish out in the snow. He just laughed at my tears and stormed out of the house.

  “While he was gone I made plans to kill him, and I would have done it at that.” She wagged the cutting knife in front of Alaana’s nose. “But when he came back he had changed completely. He swore to do right by me, to be nothing but tender and caring, and in all the years he never broke that promise. So you see, he was an animal, but he became a good man.”

  Alaana considered telling her that it had been Old Manatook who carried out her death threat that day and slew her first husband, the real Manatook and then replaced him. The man had in fact been a beast, and the beast the man. Alaana saw no point to it. The murder wouldn’t shed a good light on Old Manatook, and one should not speak ill of the dead. If her husband had wished her to know, he would have told her himself.

  “His true name was Aisaac.”

  “Aisaac,” repeated Higilak. “A strange name but I think it suits him.”

  “He’s buried near a cave at the edge of the taiga. When we go back in winter, I’ll show you the cairn. I’m sorry for not telling you sooner.”

  “Secrets!” hissed the old woman. “You shamans and your damned secrets.”

  “I’ll tell you everything,” said Alaana. “About the bears of the glacier, and their incredible sculpture! Oh, I wish you’d seen it! An ancient nanook shaman helped me move the mountain—”

  “Moved the mountain? Ah, that sounds like a tale fit to regale even a broken-down old storyteller. I am grateful to have lived long enough to finally hear it,” said Higilak, smiling coyly. “But we should wait for Ben.”

  “Ben?”

  “Yes. You mustn’t have secrets from him. Secrets are a poison he can not bear. Not that one.”

  “But...” said Alaana, “He doesn’t even talk to me as it is. I don’t think he likes that I’m the shaman. Talk like that will only drive him away.”

  “He may like it or not,” said Higilak firmly. “But you are the shaman.”

  Putuguk watched the children play. If there were any rules to their game he couldn’t tell it. They simply ran around in circles laughing. He supposed some were chasing one or the other, perhaps the one that was flapping her arms. It didn’t matter. Running around in circles on a sunny day, that was all they needed.

  He picked out Inaloo and little Millik among the children. All the little ones looked the same
from where he sat but he knew their laughter above all the others. A few of the women sat nearby, skinning fish bellies as they watched their little ones play. Tiki was there, and Higilak, and Alaana as well. Beyond them, down the snowy slope, Aquppak and the rest of the men were fishing the lake, but that was too far for him to see from the front of his tent.

  Putuguk shifted his weight against the stone he used as a seat. The rounded surface chilled his backside but the tall rock would make it easier to stand up when he was done. He reached into a small bowl of fish, cooked and pounded for him by Tiki, and brought some of the pulpy food to his mouth. It was a bit of a struggle bringing his arm all the way up to his face, but it didn’t matter. Tomcod fresh from the lake. He could barely taste it, but it certainly smelled wonderful. And on a sunny day that was enough. He had everything he wanted right here.

  His mind flashed on a memory of his son Piuvkaq and his lovely young wife. The two had perished when a snowslide came down from the mountain — smashing their iglu and smothering them before anyone could dig them out. Aquppak had only been spared because he’d been visiting his grandmother. Putuguk reminded himself, for the countless time, not to dwell on such memories. Breathe deep the air, he told himself. They are gone. He loved them and he would never forget them. That’s all.

  Putuguk returned his attention to the frolicking children. Inaloo, it seemed, had now taken the role of flapping bird and the others circled her with glee.

  “I do believe you’re growing fat, grandfather,” said a voice behind him. Aquppak came around the front of the tent. He groaned slightly as he sat down beside the old man.

  “You sound tired. It’s hard work, fishing all day,” said Putuguk.

  Aquppak grunted an agreement.

  “So how many did you pull in?” asked Putuguk with a smile.

  “My share,” returned Aquppak, putting an unpleasant spin on the words. “And then some.” He sniffed at the bowl of mashed tomcod.

  “Fish are good food,” said Putuguk. “Especially for those without teeth left in our heads.”