The Shadow of Everything Existing

by Ken Altabef

  Alaana’s eyes lit up. This was a mystery that had plagued her for a long time. Nunavik had eventually provided the answer and she had never shared the information with anyone else. “I know who it is!”

  “Do you?” remarked Old Manatook. Even in the form of a bear his curiosity was impossible to conceal. His round, black eyes opened wide and his peaked muzzle pointed upward as he smiled. The secret had eluded him for many years as well.

  Alaana stood up and slowly went about brushing the clinging vestiges of dirt and snow from the knees of her sealskin trousers.

  “Come on!” raged the bear, rearing frightfully up on two legs. “Tell!”

  Alaana laughed. This new Old Manatook would take some getting used to. Years ago, when Old Manatook had been her teacher, the crafty old shaman had always kept the true shape of his spirit blurred so that Alaana couldn’t know that he was actually a bear wearing the disguise of a man.

  “My spirit guide is Tsungi himself,” whispered Alaana. “The Long-Ago Shaman, the force for goodness and light in the battle that destroyed the Beforetime.”

  “I know who Tsungi is,” growled Old Manatook. The shaggy bear settled back down onto four legs. “That’s an unusual spirit guardian to say the least.”

  “It explains everything,” said Alaana. “Nunavik tracked him to the center of the world. Tsungi is trapped there, unable to come out. And so we remain apart, my guardian feeding power to me in a slow trickle, just enough to sustain a starving woman. He has only been able to provide very little help to me over the years.”

  “Though it would seem to be protection enough, at least as far as the sorcerer is concerned. This is the reason Vithrok doesn’t dare attack you directly.”

  “No great help to everyone else, though.”

  “That we shall see. There is no straight path to destiny. It winds and turns corners unimagined. Who knows where you may wind up? You must keep this secret close, Alaana. There are great men among the other shamans, but not all can be trusted.”

  “You’re thinking of Civiliaq?”

  “Just keep the secret for now. Does anyone else know?”

  “Only Nunavik. He discovered the answer for me.”

  “The walrus we can certainly trust. Any other?”

  “Just my tupilaq…”

  “You’re what?”

  “You know what a tupilaq is,” growled Alaana in a fair imitation of her teacher, with the only exception being a smile lighting up her face.

  “Of course!” snapped Old Manatook. “And nothing to smile about.”

  “Come out,” said Alaana, “Tikiqaq.”

  The tupilaq, who had been up to that point crouching silently among the shaman’s masks and drums, shuffled forward. The reanimated corpse of a black seal, it lurched forward using flippers and tail, knocking a pair of drums over with an astounding clatter.

  “Alaana, what have you done?” said Old Manatook. He recoiled in shock and horror. “I never taught you such as this!”

  “I had to learn a few things for myself over the years.”

  The bear raised a massive, hairy paw and snarled at the little tupilaq as if to strike it down. Tikiqaq cringed backward, releasing a pathetic squawk from the raven’s beak stuck in the middle of the seal’s forehead.

  “It’s all right, Father,” said Alaana. “I admit I made Tikiqaq in a fit of rage and vengeance but its original target, Klah Kritlaq, has already been killed by the sorcerer. Since then I’ve turned it away from the path of violence. I’ve educated it and my people show it kindness.”

  “Educated? Kindness?” Old Manatook shook his head. “I was told that if a tupilaq is denied its true target it will ultimately murder its master.”

  “Never!” rasped Tiki through the seal’s mouth. “Confronted with the certainty of my creator’s existence, I could no more harm her than you might spit in Tornarssuk’s eye. One must respect the order inherent to the spiritual universe. Otherwise the universe is all just a pointless accident.”

  Old Manatook’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “What?”

  “It’s very well educated,” said Alaana with a chuckle, “and a bit of a philosopher as well. Actually it’s made quite a good assistant over the years.”

  “I’ll reserve judgment on that,” mumbled Old Manatook. He looked away from the tupilaq to scan the equipment in the room; most of the masks and drums had been bequeathed from him to Alaana.

  “Hmmmph!” added Old Manatook.

  Alaana felt a little bit embarrassed. Many of the masks had been damaged by severe weather years ago. But Old Manatook, for his part, would say nothing more about it. There was so much they hadn’t said to each other. She didn’t know where to start.

  “Let’s get going,” said Old Manatook. “We don’t have any time to waste. Can you journey to the shadow world from inside the karigi?”

  “No,” said Alaana. “There’s only one place I can do that. It’s not far. It’s just down by the beach.

  “Then let’s be off. I want to see how it’s done.”

  Alaana pulled a light summer parka over her doeskin shirt and stepped out of the tent. Old Manatook, being made entirely of spirit, passed right through the tent skin.

  The summer camp bristled with activity. Sleds were scattered among the tents as men made late repairs in preparation for moving the settlement to the inland hunting grounds. Their wives had all their possessions laid out on the sodden ground, cooking pots and bedding and hunting gear. They arranged and rearranged these piles, looking for the most efficient way to pack them all onto the sleds. The people were too busy to pay much attention to their shaman, and they did not see Old Manatook’s ghost as it kept pace beside her.

  Again Alaana was impressed by the weight of the many things that had never been said between teacher and pupil. She decided on the most important.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “What?” barked Old Manatook.

  “You came back to save us those years ago. When the wolf-men attacked.”

  “I did.”

  “You left Balikqi and his great work unfinished in order to help me.”

  “I did,” said Old Manatook again. “But of course, all of that was after I had already shamelessly abandoned you.”

  “No, you never did that,” said Alaana. “You came when I needed you most, even if it meant leaving Balikqi without help.”

  “I felt certain you would finish that task for me. No matter what happened I knew his great work would still get done.”

  “And died yourself…”

  “Hmmff. I hadn’t figured on that part. One of their spears got lucky, that’s all.”

  “And since then?” asked Alaana. “Have you been watching me? What’s it like up in the sky?”

  “We don’t have time for this.”

  “Did you see what happened? When we finally moved the mountain back?”

  Old Manatook coughed, which for a bear was much the same as a snicker. “When the shamans are in the sky, we don’t concern ourselves with mountains and lakes. We have other business among the Moon and stars.”

  “Important shaman work, I’m sure,” said Alaana, irritated. “But didn’t you ever look down on Higilak to see how she was?”

  In addition to leaving young Alaana to fend for herself, Old Manatook had abandoned his wife when he went to go help Balikqi. But Higilak was used to his absences. Even though he disappeared for long periods, she knew he would come back. She waited for him, keeping vigil in her lonely tent. Old Manatook had always been torn between his various duties among the bears of the Ice Mountain, the Anatatook, and the larger community of shamans in general. So many conflicting responsibilities. At the time Alaana hadn’t understood. But Higilak had an unshakable faith that her husband would always return to her, a trust that had been broken when he died and went up into the sky.

  Old Manatook glanced behind them at the tupilaq, flopping through the slush in their wake. “Must that thing follow us around everywhere? I nev
er taught you to make such a thing. I told you not to.”

  “It’s all right. He’s curious, that’s all.”

  Old Manatook shot Alaana a disapproving snarl. “You always do things your own way. You’ve always been like that.”

  Alaana could not disagree. But she realized Old Manatook had completely changed the subject.

  “When I helped Balikqi move the mountain back into place, that demon bear came out. You remember him? Beluga Killer was his name. He came looking for Higilak.”

  The spirit-bear faltered slightly in its step, but only slightly. “You took care of it?”

  “I protected her, yes. But in a stupid way.”

  “By releasing the sorcerer?”

  Alaana sighed. “Yes.”

  “Hrrrr. That was a mistake. Your mistake. There were other ways to stop that bear.”

  Her teacher’s sharp words stung Alaana’s heart. Perhaps there had been other ways to handle Beluga Killer but Alaana, a sixteen-year-old girl with a gigantic demon bear looming over her, could think of none other. It had all been up to her. For some reason she’d thought Old Manatook would have forgiven her for that, but the old shaman was as uncompromising as ever.

  After a moment’s silence Manatook said, “It’s partway my fault. I should have taught you better. Not enough time. There’s never enough time.”

  They passed a small group of women laying the last of the lake trout to dry on a broad, driftwood rack. Old Higilak was chief among them, instructing the younger women on how to arrange the fillets so that they might best catch the sun.

  The old woman called out to Alaana. The once-proud woman’s back was bent so low she could hardly look up from the ground; she could move only slowly. The frost of ninety-seven winters had kissed her skin, time had taken most of her teeth, and her legs seemed worn to nubs. She leaned heavily on a thick walking stick as she hobbled forward.

  Old Manatook recognized the walking stick. He had carved it a long time ago, for use on his long treks across the wastes. One feature stood out — the round handle was fashioned into the smiling face of a certain young girl who his heart often missed on his journeys.

  Alaana reached the old woman just in time. Higilak had taken only a few steps but the strength in her legs gave out and she nearly fell. The old woman fell so often she seemed to be unlearning how to walk, like the reverse of a young child. Alaana caught her before she collapsed completely, supporting her weight with one arm. Old Higilak weighed nothing at all.

  Alaana could feel Old Manatook’s reaction at witnessing his dear wife now so diminished and frail. It was intense, a crushing wave of emotion, though he did his best to try and hide it. All that time in the sky — thirty years — how he must have missed her. But it was no casual thing for the shamans to return to the earth; it was a tremendous exertion to do so, and they had only come back because the world was in terrific danger.

  But as painful as it had been for Old Manatook to be so far away, now it was even more painful to be near and to see her like this. He wanted desperately to embrace her again, but knew it could not be possible.

  “Alaana,” said Higilak, when she had steadied herself, “I have a question to ask.”

  “Quickly, Old Mother,” Alaana said, “I must hurry to the shore.”

  “Yes, yes, always in a hurry. The shamans miss so much, rushing around in such a hurry.” The sentence was long and her wind short. She paused for a moment to catch her breath.

  “Your question?”

  “The Moon Maid,” she said. “Tatqeq, daughter of the Moon.” She needed to pause again. Alaana waited patiently. “The Moon is dead. The men are less concerned about it than they should be because it’s summer and they can still see, but I know differently.” She was practically gasping for air but too agitated to slow down. “The Moon. It should be visible in the sky, even in the day, and it’s not. My eyes are still sharp as ever, even if I can’t always hear this or that.”

  Alaana gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “The Moon is dead, Old Mother--”

  “Dark and dead. I know that. But what of the Moon Maid? That’s what I wanted to ask. The children? Last year we didn’t have that many…”

  It was true that sometimes Alaana would approach the Moon Maid when a woman had some difficulty, and the Maid would grant a child, but most of the time her intervention wasn’t necessary. “Those things take care of themselves,” she said. “There will be children.”

  “I know that!” said Old Higilak. “But she represents also love and desire. Without love, what will happen to us?”

  Alaana glanced helplessly toward Old Manatook for answer or inspiration. The Moon Maid is unharmed, Manatook whispered in the silent language of the shamans, I saw the whole thing clearly from the sky.

  Higilak could hear none of this, yet still she gazed intently at the empty space inhabited by Manatook’s ghost. She sniffed at the frosty air and Alaana wondered if her nose was still sharp as her eyes, or as hazy as her ears.

  “It’s fine,” she said. “Love and romance are still with us. Don’t worry.”

  Higilak continued to stare over Alaana’s shoulder, her milky eyes gone wide. Her toothless mouth gaped slightly, the gray tip of her tongue quivering with uncertainty. The old bear looked away.

  Alaana could stand it no longer. She patted Higilak softly on the shoulder. “I must go. And besides, the young women are seriously mistreating those fish steaks. You’d better set them right.”

  Alaana and Manatook walked on, heading toward the bay. Alaana couldn’t help glancing at the sky. The old woman was right. The absence of the Moon, even in the daytime, was disturbing.

  “This is all my fault.”

  “Things happen for a reason,” said Old Manatook, “though sometimes we don’t know it.”

  “Not this. Surely not this.”

  “And sometimes we just screw things up. Don’t be too hard on yourself. You’ve done well. I’m proud of you, Alaana. You’ve kept the people safe. That’s the main thing.”

  “Safe? Is anyone safe now?”

  “The truth is we’re never safe. We never were, and we aren’t now. We start every day with an empty belly. We only do what we can.”

  Alaana welcomed these words. They seemed a fount of kindness considering their source.

  “You can still put things right, Alaana. I have to believe that, and so should you. I’ll help as much as I can but I am just a very old and tired soul. This is for you to do.”

  “Don’t worry about me. If it’s the last thing I ever do, I’ll find that sorcerer.”

  “Finding him is one thing,” said Old Manatook, “Defeating him is another. He’s poisoned you already. Such bitter regrets weigh heavily.”

  “We only do what we can,” said Alaana, throwing her teacher’s words back at him.

  “Hmmmmf.”

  They followed a well-trodden path in the snow that led to the bay. The ocean grumbled and roared, tossing the pack ice on an angry tide. The clattering jumble slammed against the last remaining shorefast ice with a clamor loud enough to wake the dead. A row of kayaks were arranged along the shore as the men tested them for the caribou hunt. Alaana’s brother Maguan called out to her and she quietly returned his greeting and walked on.

  She stopped at the little cove where the Anatatook had left so many of their dead. Most had been buried in winter, their bodies left beneath mounds of heavy stones. There were no markers but Alaana knew the cairn of every person she had interred in this place. A small pile marked her daughter Tama. Alaana knelt a little bit away, where the shore cliff cast a deep shadow.

  “You have to start from shadow,” she explained.

  “I know that!” huffed Old Manatook.

  A sly smile curled Alaana’s lips. In this thing the two found their roles were reversed. Alaana served as teacher.

  “You spoke of bitter regrets?” she said. “Those are my wings for this journey. That’s why you’ve never been able to travel to the shadow world.”


  Old Manatook was taken aback. Did Alaana think he had no regrets? When Alaana had been chosen as shaman Manatook had been very unhappy about it. He hadn’t wanted it to be Alaana. She had the proper qualities — selfless love for her fellows, kindness and honesty — but she didn’t want to be shaman, had to be brought to it kicking and screaming and Old Manatook knew what it would do to her. With such an attitude it could only destroy her.

  He gazed at what had become of his student. Her right ear torn away by raiders, the burn marks on her cheek where she had called upon mystical fire, and a host of ugly red scars from a recent attack by doubt-bats in the Underworld. These wounds show the poor training she received at my hands, thought Manatook. My fault.

  Manatook had watched from the sky as fate slowly chipped away at Alaana, piling loss upon loss, making her bitter and ineffective. And when it came to Vithrok, he thought it very likely she would be destroyed. But what was the use in regretting the turnings of fate? What choice did he have in any of it?

  “If I have one regret,” he said, “it’s not being honest about being a bear. I couldn’t let anyone know what I really am.”

  “You might have told me,” said Alaana. “It wouldn’t have anything between us.”

  “And there is my regret.”

  Alaana shook her head. “Not good enough. To travel into shadow one must know a much deeper pain. For you, I think, the shadow world would still be impossible.”

  “I never met any shaman who could travel there.”

  “This one does.”

  CHAPTER 4

  SHADOWS AND LIGHT

  Alaana sat cross-legged in the deep shadow of the cliff. Tikiqaq, finally having caught up to its master, flopped down onto her lap. Alaana gave the black seal a reassuring squeeze on the back of its neck.

  “No drum,” said Alaana, “No chant. No appeals for aid from guardian spirits. This journey requires only the embrace of total despair. One must give up all hope. That’s why the shamans have such difficulty.”

  “How did you learn this?” asked Old Manatook.

  “The hard way.”

  “Hmmph. Give up all hope? How do you do that?”