The Shadow of Everything Existing

by Ken Altabef

  Gekko thought of the bottles of single malt scotch whiskey inside, and the warm belly a few sips of the grog would have provided. No time. He passed through the sail room, full of canvas sheets, spare slops and extra rigging. This room had a ladderway leading up to the cable locker, and one that went down to the hold. The lower companionway was already submerged. Gekko heard the sloshing of water as the boiler drowned, and then one of the huge iron tanks which reinforced the boiler room gave way under pressure. The deafening blast made it sound as if the ship’s hull had finally given out.

  The frigid water rising rapidly, his legs almost completely numb, he fumbled up the rung ladder that lead to the cable locker at the front of the forepeak. The room was so badly tilted he couldn’t stand normally, but had to hang from the remains of a shattered rafter. Gekko scrambled over the icy hawser, smarting at the earthy stench of river-bottom mud permanently attached to the anchors. He flung open the fore hatch and climbed onto the main deck.

  Not much was left of the Vengeance. Only the foremost twenty feet of the ship still remained above sea level. Terrified seamen, many of whom did not know how to swim, clung to the shrinking remnant of the wildly tilting deck. Panting with the exertion, Gekko searched among them for Noona.

  A thick loop of tentacle, lying inert on the deck, blocked his way. The second beast was dead, killed by the cannon blast.

  But where was Noona?

  The ship was sinking fast and its whirlpool would bring everything down with it. He had to swim away. But he was certain Noona, who had never gone into deep water in her life, could not swim.

  “Noona!”

  No answer.

  Gekko couldn’t stay on deck any longer. His legs had frozen all the way to his groin.

  Noona.

  Gekko dove into the freezing water.

  CHAPTER 28

  ICE MOUNTAIN

  “Can’t I come along?” asked Tiki.

  “Not this time,” said Alaana. “You have to watch over my body. Remember, Nunavik’s tusk is in the front pocket of my parka. It’s too valuable to risk. If any spirit comes here--”

  “I’ll kill them!” said the tupilaq. “Kill!”

  Alaana chuckled. “Now you sound like your old self again.”

  “Only when it is necessary,” hissed Tiki, speaking through the seal’s mouth. “Only then.”

  “Don’t forget,” reminded Old Manatook, “you can summon help from within the tusk. There are a few shamans there who can still put up a fight.”

  “I understand,” said Tiki.

  Alaana sat cross-legged in the center of her karigi. Old Manatook, already in spirit-form as a white bear, hovered impatiently over her shoulder. Tornarssuk had charged him with a visit to the Ice Mountain to check up on the twin bear shamans. Alaana was concerned about them too. Occasionally she received messages on the air from Orfik, who had great skill at communicating over far distances, but she had heard nothing of late. Such silence in these troubled times seemed ominous.

  A journey over land to the Ice Mountain would have taken several sleeps in this weather, even with the best dog team. But they could cross the distance in spirit very quickly. Of course, without mortal eyes they wouldn’t be able to gaze into the wonders of the Heart, but that wasn’t their purpose this day.

  “Hurry up,” remarked Old Manatook.

  Alaana smiled wanly. In the past such a brusque note of encouragement from her former teacher might have irritated her, but no longer. With her newfound determination, courtesy of the Raven’s efforts to either help or hinder her, it was a simple thing to achieve the proper trance state. Alaana had no doubts about what they must do. She put aside all worldly cares and stepped out of her body.

  Old Manatook shot up into the air, his form a blurry white light in flight. Alaana followed right behind.

  As pure spirit, flying through the air with Old Manatook beside her once again, Alaana should have felt that old sensation of elation, the simple joy of the ilimarpoq. But she didn’t find this soul flight truly enjoyable; all errands of shamanic business had taken on a deadly seriousness. For years she had looked for her nemesis, the Tunrit sorcerer, with no sign. But now Vithrok had become active again. The merciless destruction of the Iakkut village, the murder of the great spirit Tekkeitsertok, and his titanic clash with the Moon itself, were all signs that the sorcerer was acting with a newfound power and a boldness that defied belief. It seemed he was bent on the destruction of Nunatsiaq itself.

  Sailing across the tundra, Old Manatook chose to remain silent. Ever since witnessing the death of his wife, the old shaman seemed impatient and distracted. Certainly his thoughts were with her in the lands of the ancestors across the great divide. Old Manatook had sacrificed so much of himself in life, as shaman of the Anatatook and also serving the bears of the Ice Mountain, always putting the needs of his mortal wife secondary to the spiritual needs of both of his peoples. He had more than earned his final reward, a joyous reunion with Higilak in the world beyond, but still he fought on. Like Alaana, he would not relent until the sorcerer was found and defeated. But Alaana noticed changes in her old teacher. After thirty years resting in the sky, the old bear was now decidedly less vigorous than he used to be. His spirit shone much less brightly than in former days, when it had nearly burned her eyes with its magnificent intensity. Time took its toll, even on Old Manatook.

  “Something’s wrong,” said Old Manatook.

  Alaana snapped out of her reverie to hastily take bearings. Judging from the shape of the bergs against the horizon, they were already very near the Ice Mountain.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Rrrrrggh, we should have come sooner!”

  “What is it?”

  “See for yourself.”

  Only one of the two lofty spires that marked the entrance to the lair of the spirit bears was still standing. It had been cut in half. Only a jagged, broken tip marked the spot. The great empty plain was stained red with frozen blood, though the bodies of the fallen had already been removed. The front of the mountain had been half ripped away, its intricate façade completely destroyed, the beautiful carvings ground to white dust.

  “He’s been here!” said Alaana.

  The two spirits set down on the tundra. A pair of sentries stood outside, patrolling nervously. The bears could not see them, but they did sense that something had arrived. They lifted their snouts to taste the easterly breeze, and sunlight caught their faces, illuminating the strange blue markings under their eyes. These were not ordinary bears; these were the chosen of Tornarssuk.

  “What’s happened?” said Old Manatook. He spoke directly to their souls, by way of the secret language.

  “Aisaac!” one of the bears exclaimed, voicing his thoughts by way of his own soul. “Is it you?”

  “It is. Tell me what’s happened here?”

  “Disaster! A terrible, terrible disaster.”

  “The twins?” asked Alaana. “Why aren’t they here to meet us?”

  The bear recognized the soul-voice of Alaana, who had been a frequent visitor to the Ice Mountain after Old Manatook’s death. He sniffed again, answering an innate reflex, but smelled nothing. He lowered his head. “You had better talk to Baataeq.”

  Old Manatook wasted no more time. Alaana followed him into the ragged opening in the mountain. The two spirits traversed the caverns and tunnels of the lair, witnessing the aftermath of Vithrok’s destruction. The mountain now seemed to house only women and children. The absence of full grown males struck an ominous note.

  Alaana called out for the twins, “Oktolik! Orfik!”

  “I don’t think they are here,” said Old Manatook.

  “Where could they have gone? Now?”

  They reached the top of the incline and entered the vast cavern that housed the Heart. The magnificent sculpture lay in shattered ruins. Alaana’s heart sank.

  “It’s completely destroyed,” she said, numbly. “What could have happened?”

&nbs
p; Old Manatook’s spirit-form sank to its knees. His small black eyes stared on in horror, lips pulled back from massive teeth. He seemed completely lost within himself for a moment, his huge paws slapping at the empty air in front of his face as if to wipe away the terrible vision his eyes saw before them. His head shook ferociously.

  “Manatook?” Alaana had never thought to see her teacher so devastated and out of control. Anger burned off the white bear in a crimson wave that left such a fierce after-image upon Alaana’s spirit-vision she had to look away.

  He let out an angry roar that threatened to bring the entire Ice Mountain crashing down upon their heads.

  “He must pay for this, Alaana.”

  “Yes, and for several other things as well.” Alaana was thinking of the torture of her husband, and the murders of Tekkeitsertok and the Moon Man. “If we only knew where he was hiding.”

  They found Baataeq sitting cross-legged in the chamber above the Heart, alone in his own grief.

  “Baataeq!” said Alaana.

  Baataeq was a large, elderly bear. He had spent a lifetime riding the floes, travelling as far as the currents would take him. His face was scarred by many battles, but also beautified by luminous blue patches beneath the eyes and ringing his brow like a sort of a crown. His ears were bare of white fur, leaving two black triangles framing his face.

  “Baataeq!” repeated Alaana in the secret language, a tongue that every soul could understand.

  The giant old bear looked up. Thick neck muscles made his head appear too small and lent an air of tremendous power to his huge frame. His luxurious coat shone pure white, fringed with creamy yellow around the collar and underbelly. His soul, as outlined in Alaana’s spirit-vision, was a marvel of shimmering blues and icy gray. Grief lay heavy upon it, almost as a shroud.

  “Yes,” said Baataeq. Baataeq was not a shaman but he was sensitive to visions and portents. He could hear things, dire messages carried on the spirit of the air, and sometimes see ghosts at a great distance. He looked quizzically at the two spirits before him.

  “Aisaac? You’ve returned from the other side!”

  “Just briefly. Tell me, where are the two shamans I left in charge here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Alaana nodded toward the large oval opening cut into the wall of the high room. This window allowed a clear view of the tundra to the south, a mostly flat plain that stretched all the way to Great Basin. “You were listening for them. Out there. Weren’t you?”

  “Yes,” replied Baataeq. “But they’re gone. Killed by the sorcerer, maybe.”

  “No,” said Alaana. “Vithrok wouldn’t have taken their bodies, only their souls. Their corpses would have been found strewn across the cave.”

  “That’s what I thought,” remarked Baataeq. “But I don’t know where they’ve gone. I’ve been listening to the spirit of the air, but I hear nothing of them.”

  Old Manatook gazed out across the tundra, a sad smirk curling his black lips. “We have to find them.”

  The instant Gekko hit the icy water a vicious spasm wracked his chest, arms and shoulders. His legs had already gone mostly numb. The pain surprised him. It was almost as if he had immersed himself in boiling pitch. His chest felt so tight it was nearly impossible to breathe.

  He was an accomplished swimmer, but never with heavy boots and clothes. He struggled to maintain the surface, forcing his legs to move, but he couldn’t last more than a minute this way. He flailed at the surface, surrounded by chunks of ice, too slick with seawater to grab hold. The pain subsided quickly as his limbs went numb. In a moment he could barely move at all. He was a limp rag doll, sputtering, coughing, being pulled under by the weight of his boots. With one final effort, using what little strength remained in his arms, he heaved himself across a flat shelf of solid ice.

  Out of the water Gekko felt even worse than before, if that could be possible. The air seemed twice as cold as the water and left him shivering uncontrollably. He couldn’t get enough of it into his lungs, and was gasping much too fast in the attempt. He wanted to scream but didn’t have the air. He didn’t want to die this way.

  His vision was a milky blur, stuttered by his violent shivering. But somehow, standing above him, he saw — was that Noona? Standing naked in front of him? He thought he must be delirious, perhaps already dead and gone, and on his way to heaven.

  “Take them off!”

  “Wh-wh-what?”

  “Your clothes. Take them off. All of them. Hurry!”

  He couldn’t believe what she was saying. On hands and knees he struggled to breathe in icy gasps. He was shivering so wildly he couldn’t even stand up.

  He felt her hands on him, ripping at his greatcoat. He wanted to tell her that he loved her but only a few faint stutters came out. He tottered on the verge of unconsciousness.

  Hands were slapping and rubbing at him. He barely felt them as he drifted far away. But he did feel them.

  Was that Noona? He tore his eyes open. The world was a white blur, all out of focus. But he did see her face. She was looking at him with a beatific mixture of fear and devotion. And he realized he must survive, he must be with her, he must fight.

  He forced himself to breathe slow and deep and it was a start. Most of his clothes were already gone. Noona was working on his boots, tearing at them with her teeth. Surprisingly he already felt a bit warmer with the clothes gone. He was able to scramble up to his hands and knees.

  A crust of ice had formed all along his skin and Noona deftly knocked it away, then set about vigorously rubbing life back into his limbs. She was good. Gekko felt some sensation starting to return, but still the shivering wouldn’t give him a moment’s rest. It might be easier not to fight, and instead to lay back down. He sagged back onto the ice but she wouldn’t allow it.

  “Get up! Hurry!”

  Hurry, he thought. What was the hurry?

  She was pinching his shoulders, and he felt the pain.

  “St-st-stop th-th-th...”

  He realized he was standing up. He saw Noona clearly. Her hair was frozen on either side of her face. The look on her face. There was some hope after all? How?

  “Now run!”

  “What?”

  “Run. Follow me!”

  She took him by the hand. He felt her yanking his arm.

  “B-b-but the men?” He spun around. Several others lay collapsed on the ice to either side. Were they on land or on top of the frozen sea? Where could they run?

  “St-st-strip d-d-down!” he yelled. “Strip down!”

  He could do no more. No time left. Now he must run.

  Noona pulled him along. He stumbled forward, his feet numb in the snow and ice. Why had she taken off his boots?

  This was insane. Running naked in the arctic cold? Was this a nightmare?

  But running, he did feel some life returning to his limbs. His legs were suddenly less numb than before and the freezing pain had returned, making each step a torture. But the pain felt awfully good. His stride grew somewhat more steady, the biggest problem being his insensate feet.

  But where could they go? His vision once again veered toward unbroken white and he felt suddenly light headed. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t keep running.

  “Where?”

  One word was all he could manage before he passed out.

  At last Nunavik caught up to the lakespawn. Traveling in spirit through the ocean was really no different than cruising through air, but it had been so long since he had been allowed in these waters, he kept forgetting. Kept forgetting that he need not swim. He kept falling into old habits, flailing his tail and paddling. And that was much too slow.

  After a while he figured it out and streamlined his passage, shooting through the undersea landscape like an arrow loosed from the bow. Still he couldn’t resist adding a few flourishes of his tail just for style.

  He drove due north, toward what the lakespawn had referred to as the cold water. He felt no cold, but noted the thicken
ing ice cover above as he went, its color changing from white to a glossy blue. He was glad he didn’t need to surface and take air.

  By the time he arrived the Vengeance had already sunk. Siqi and Uuna bobbed at the surface among the broken ice. The gigantic corpse of their brother Ikik floated belly up in the open water.

  “My blood!” Nunavik exclaimed. “What’s happened?”

  “He’s dead!” moaned Uuna. “Our brother is dead.”

  Nunavik could see as much, but didn’t offer a snide reply. “Just what did you think you were doing here?”

  “Sedna sent some monsters up from the deeps. They were attacking the sea vessel of these men. We had to stop them.”

  Nunavik poked his head up above the water’s surface. He saw several men collapsed on the floes, among some scattered wreckage from the ship. In the distance he saw two more huge corpses, the monstrous sea beasts the lakespawn had mentioned, now drifting away on the current of broken ice.

  “This is a total disaster,” he said. “Everyone’s dead. Why did you… why did you have to do this?”

  Uuna looked stunned. His round eyes, which moved on short stalks, quivered helplessly. “I don’t know. Siqi?”

  “She murdered the Whale-Man.” She looked disapprovingly at Nunavik.

  The walrus balked. “Well, don’t look at me. I had nothing to do with it.”

  At that moment Nunavik noticed the soul of Ikik departing from the great, battered body. His soul was as huge as his frame and a bright blue in color. It had the shape of a perfectly formed human man. Nunavik should not have been surprised to see that the lakespawn had human souls. They were children of a human woman, he remembered.

  The other lakespawn could not see Ikik’s soul. Their brother looked sadly at them for a moment, saying nothing. He bowed his handsome head at Nunavik, then shot up toward the surface and away.

  “Nunavik? Nunavik!”

  Uuna waggled his claws in front of the golden walrus’ face. “What should we do? Go back to the whale cave?”

  “No,” said the walrus shaman. “There is nothing for you there.”