Breakaway: Clan of the Ice Mountains Page 2

  The old man cleared his throat. His breath sounded ragged in his thin chest. Elder Tovut’s skin looked sallow in the light of the lamps, and the shadow he cast against the curving walls of the snow house seemed more like a child’s than a man’s. But as he spoke his voice became stronger, and his words caused the hair on Attu’s neck to rise.

  “The Cold is coming to an end. The Warming is coming once again to Nuvikuan-na. Soon I will travel to the Between, and the trystas will change me into a star and hook me on their spear of light. They will hurl me into the great bowl of the sky. After I am gone, the cracks in the Great Frozen will become larger. You’ll begin to see open water, like that in the cooking skins, where once there was only ice.”

  Elder Tovut coughed. One of the women brought him a bowl of warm drink. He took it but did not drink from it.

  “And,” he repeated, “the Great Frozen will stay open water, just like the water in this bowl.” He held up the bowl in his veined hands, misshapen from years of exposure to the frigid elements. “It will not freeze again for countless generations until the Warming ends and the Cooling comes, finally bringing the Cold again.”

  A child began to cry. Many of the clan shook their heads in disbelief...

  “Attu.”

  Attu realized he’d let his thoughts wander. He looked at Suka. “What?” Attu asked.

  “What do you think about Elder Tovut’s stories?” Suka asked. His voice sounded anxious.

  “Whether or not I believe in the Warming, and I don’t,” Attu said, “we still need to leave this place, and soon. We were lucky with this last hunt, but the game has grown scarce. We must move on before we starve.”

  “But do we have to go as far south as Elder Tovut says?” Suka asked. “He said we have to cross over strange mountains to a new land, to keep us from drowning when the Great Frozen melts and the water rises.”

  “I don’t think we have to do that. I think Elder Tovut is starting to slip Between already. His stories are crazy.”

  Suka grasped the stone amulet hanging around his neck and spoke a word of protection over himself. “He seems so feeble...”

  “I know,” Attu said. For a moment, he felt guilty for thinking of Elder Tovut as an old man no longer in his right mind, instead of the wise elder of Attu’s childhood.

  Attu struck a loose piece of rock with his spear butt. It skittered over the rocks and ice toward the nearest hill.

  “Stories or not, we must head south soon. We can’t go north, because that’s where we came from. The game won’t have recovered there yet-”

  “But not as far south as Elder Tovut says?”

  “No, just far enough to find game. That’s all.”

  Suka placed his mik over his slitted bone goggles, shielding his eyes even more from the sun’s glare. He looked down the windswept shoreline of jumbled rocks and gravel with hills of ice rising behind it. “We’re almost there,” he announced.

  At the thought of a meal soon, Attu began the slow loping gait that would cover ground quickly but not make him sweat. Suka matched strides with Attu like they had since they were children.

  Rounding the last bend, they saw the settlement ahead, a sprawling group of snow houses, mounds of white resting among bright patches of sunlight and shadow cast from the hills behind them.

  “Race you,” Suka shouted, and he took off across the packed snow toward their dwellings on the far side of the settlement.

  The snow otters weighed Attu down too much for him to beat the longer-legged Suka. He knows that, Attu thought. Why does Suka always have to make a competition out of something he knows he will win?

  Suddenly, Suka stopped. He turned back to Attu.

  “Something’s wrong,” he said.

  Attu looked around him. Suka was right. This time of day the settlement should be noisy with children playing, people working outside, and the smell of cooking meat filling the air.

  But instead, there was no one outside at all. And it was deathly quiet.

  Chapter 2

  “Elder Tovut has gone Between,” Meavu whispered into Attu’s ear as he scooped his little sister up with his free arm upon entering his family’s snow house. She was getting too big for him to pick up easily, but she wrapped her legs around him now so he could hold her, leaning into him, her two dark braids falling on both sides of his face. “Father hasn’t spoken to me since he was told, and Mother has been checking all our clothing, furs, and cooking tools, getting us ready to move south. The men have decided it’s time.”

  Meavu placed her mik covered hands on either side of Attu’s face, drawing him even closer to her own, so he was looking directly into her bright dark eyes. “I should be excited,” she continued, her voice still low, “because I don’t remember the last time we moved; I was still a poolik, riding in Mother’s hood.”

  Meavu shook her head, and a few strands of thick black hair escaped her braids, curling at the sides of her round face.

  “I know it is the way of our people. It’s time to move. But I’m scared, Attu...” and Meavu slid her arms around Attu’s neck and clung there.

  “Kip, scared?” Attu teased.

  “The people are afraid to go,” she breathed into his ear, in case speaking their fear aloud might make the situation worse. “I heard Moolnik talking with Mother about it. He’s been talking with everyone. Some want to go right away, as Elder Tovut said to do. Some want to stay to follow ritual for his burial. No one seems to know what to do. And Moolnik is in the middle of it all, stirring up trouble. Father said, ‘Even though he’s my brother, Moolnik’s name fits him. He’s a troublemaker, stirring up any evil he can find with his stinging words.’

  “Mother said, ‘Quiet now, Ubantu, or the Moolnikuan will hear you speak so of your brother and then we WILL have trouble. The men follow Moolnik now because he is strong, an excellent hunter, and the father of three sons, two of them grown hunters for our clan. His tongue is quick and his temper quicker, but the men seem to admire him for it. They don’t know him like you do. They don’t see the danger in following such a hothead.’ Father agreed with her. That’s why I’m scared.”

  Attu hugged Meavu and set her back down on her feet. “Don’t worry, little Kip. I’ll talk to Father.”

  Attu felt his blood quicken at the thought of leaving soon.

  “When is the stone gathering?” Attu asked.

  “Next sun.”

  “Where are Father and Mother now?”

  “Father’s with the other men, trying to decide on plans for the move now that Elder Tovut has passed. Mother’s seeing to the preparation of Elder Tovut’s body.”

  Attu, suddenly feeling weighed down by the news of Elder Tovut passing Between, realized he was still shouldering his pack and his kill. He slipped his pack onto one of the sleeping platforms.

  “Oh, what a good hunt you’ve had!” Meavu removed her miks and clasped her hands together.

  “And new miks for you, just in time for the move.”

  Twin bits of red appeared on Meavu’s pale cheeks. She’d accidently sliced a hole in her miks with her ullik knife just a few days ago. But she didn’t scold Attu for his teasing now, just as she hadn’t scolded him earlier for calling her Kip, the sound newborn nuknuks made crying to their mothers. Instead, Meavu reached out her hands, palms up, and said, “May the spirits of the snow otters be thanked for the offering of their bodies to you, mighty hunter of the Nuvikuan.” With her mother gone, Meavu had stepped into her place as the woman, accepting meat from her hunter.

  Attu inclined his head to his sister and replied, “Indeed may they be thanked, and live again in the body of another to grow and be given to our people yet again.” He smiled as he carefully handed the large otters to his sister and watched her struggle under their weight. Still, she maintained her dignity in this ritual display of roles and most important exchange between the hunter and his family. She turned and, straining to lift them, carefully set the otters onto the cooking slab.

  Attu left as Meavu began the ritual of the preparation of food. He heard her clear high voice chanting to the spirits of the otters as she dripped a few drops of water into each snow otter’s mouth, giving them a drink to send their spirits on their way in comfort, before she began slicing her ullik knife down the front legs of the one closest to her. Attu knew they’d eat well tonight, and that thought brought him pride. He was the hunter, and he’d done well. And Meavu, his little sister, was growing up.

  Attu entered the snow house of his father's younger brother, Moolnik, and sat on the edge of the sleeping platform where his face was in shadow. The six older men, led by Moolnik, were talking in low voices, gathered around the nuknuk lamp in the center of the snow house. Attu could see the cords in his father's neck bulging.

  For two moons, Father couldn’t walk; he still can’t hunt. Meanwhile, Moolnik, being the next oldest hunter and the leader’s brother, has smoothly stepped into his place. Too easily, too quickly.

  Moolnik was making slashing motions with his hand against the mik on his other hand as if by doing so he could convince the others of his opinion.

  “We must wait,” Moolnik said. “We must not anger the trystas by leaving Elder Tovut’s body before the next moon. We must not disrespect our elder in that way.”

  “I agree with you,” Attu's father said. “But remember, Elder Tovut told us during the storytelling a few days ago that we need to leave immediately.”

  “This is true,” one of the other hunters said, and all heads nodded except for Moolnik’s.

  “Elder Tovut was a very old man,” Moolnik replied, his lips curling into a sneer as he spoke. “We should not listen to one whose spirit was perhaps already on its journey before his body followed a few days later.”

  Moolnik leaned
back, his sneer turning into a grin as he nodded his head slightly, inviting the others to join him.

  Attu moved forward and placed himself in the group, his shoulder touching his father’s. Once sitting in the circle of men, Attu gestured with his right hand, placing it palm down before him as if to warm it at the lamp. The men grew quiet.

  “Speak, my son,” his father said.

  “All here know my great respect for Elder Tovut, may his spirit soar on the spear of the trysta into the night sky and become a bright star in the heavens,” Attu began. “I believe Elder Tovut spoke the truth about our need to leave now. I see the hollows in my sister's cheeks, and I know she is not getting enough meat. I’m sure it’s the same with your women and children. The game has grown scarce. I believe we must go now while we are still strong enough to travel.”

  Several men nodded their heads, paused, then looked toward Moolnik.

  Always now they defer to Moolnik. Can’t these men think for themselves? Attu thought.

  “If we do not respect the spirits and stay,” Moolnik argued, “disaster will follow us, and we will all die. We must stay and guard Elder Tovut’s grave for the full time ritual dictates.”

  The other men popped their lips, a sharp sound of agreement. Only Attu’s father remained silent.

  After a moment, the men began talking again, working out the details of guarding Elder Tovut’s body from the evil spirits until the next full moon. Attu felt himself flush with anger. Motioning with his head in a quick sideways gesture the hunters used, a signal he was leaving, he crawled out of Moolnik’s snow house and headed for Elder Tovut’s.

  Attu slipped into Elder Tovut’s snow house, bending to walk through the entrance tunnel and up the steep incline, pausing where the tunnel turned to the right before opening up into the snow house. He heard the women before he saw them, the eight adult women of the clan working around the body of Elder Tovut, wrapping every inch of him with soft skins cut into strips like bandages. Elder Tovut’s face was creased with the traditional painted signs of a departed one. On his right cheek the sign for his clan, Ice Mountains, and on the left, the jagged zigzag sign for Tovuttuan, the spirit of the ice cliffs themselves.

  “Are you going to ask for entrance, Attu, mighty hunter, or are you just going to crouch there all day like a Moolnikuan spirit waiting to play a nasty trick on us?”

  “I bring no evil,” Attu spoke to gain entrance.

  “We’ll see about that,” was Elder Nuanu’s terse reply.

  “Attu, you’re back,” his mother said, and Attu heard the relief in her voice.

  “Yes, Mother, and two snow otters have given up their spirits for our cooking skins,” he replied.

  “I must go,” his mother said and began to rise.

  “Meavu has taken the meat,” Attu explained. “When I left she’d already begun preparations. And yes, Mother,” Attu added when he saw his mother’s dark eyes widen in sudden alarm, “she followed all ritual. She’s no longer a little girl, but knows her duties.”

  His mother knelt back down again and resumed her wrapping of Elder Tovut’s left leg, a hint of a smile brightening her round face.

  “A good girl,” several of the women said, their lips popping slightly as they spoke the compliment. “You’ve done well, Yural.”

  Attu’s mother lowered her gaze, but Attu could see she was beaming with pride.

  Attu approached Elder Nuanu, who was sitting cradling her man’s head as if he were merely sleeping.

  “I know what you are going to say,” Elder Nuanu began.

  Attu sat down beside her and waited for her to continue.

  “I’ve already tried persuading Moolnik and the others to leave immediately after my man’s burial. Your father understands. The other men do not. These women here...” and she waved her arms at the other women present with a gesture that seemed half anger and half resignation, “assure me they cannot change the minds of their men. Their men are like tooth fish grabbing at the bait and not letting go, even when dragged out onto the ice to freeze.”

  Her voice was harsh, but once the words had passed her lips, Elder Nuanu seemed to draw into herself, weariness and sorrow carving new lines into her already creased face. She looked almost as old as the man whose head and shoulders she cradled, even though Attu knew she’d been Elder Tovut’s second wife, much younger than the ancient elder.

  Elder Nuanu looked at Attu, understanding and resignation clearly evident on her face now. “Those men will wait,” she said, “even if it means all our deaths.”

  The snow house was silent. Elder Nuanu slumped down, her hand caressing the brow of her dead man.

  Yural shook her head, a quick movement, and full of determination. “We must rely on our hunters until the next full moon, Attu. I know you will do your part to keep us in meat until we can go.”

  Attu’s stomach clenched. There’s hardly any game left for the taking here. How will we keep our families strong enough so we can leave when it’s time?

  After a moment, Elder Nuanu pursed her lips in agreement with Yural and sighed. “I’ll ask the spirits of shallow water to draw the animals and fish,” she said, as if she had read Attu’s mind. “It’s all I can do.”

  “Thank you, Elder Nuanu, embodiment of Shuantuan,” Attu said. Still needing to know the answer to one question, he placed his hand out, palm down.

  “Speak, Attu,” his mother said.

  “What did Elder Tovut say before his spirit left his body?”

  Attu asked this question reverently, for even though he had argued with the elder before leaving on his latest hunt, Attu had had great respect for Elder Tovut.

  A hush came over the snow house again as the other women stopped wrapping Elder Tovut’s body and leaned in to hear what Elder Nuanu would say.

  “First, my man spoke for my ears alone,” Elder Nuanu began, and paused as a single tear rolled down her wrinkled cheek. She touched the body of Elder Tovut tenderly, her fingertips gliding over his grey hair.

  Taking a breath, she continued. “Then he said, ‘When Attu comes to ask you what I said, tell him if he does not believe in the Warming and the need for haste, our clan will be lost. Attu must stay strong, so he can lead the people to safety, that all may survive the great breaking. When the separation occurs, Attu must prevail, along with the one who will bear his sons and daughters. He is the hope of our people. Tell him he must not give up this hope.’”

  Attu sat silent, and when the pressure of the other women’s eyes on him became too much, he shut his own. People will perish without me? A great breaking? The one who will bear my sons and daughters? Do not give up hope? What did all of this mean?

  “Attu,” Elder Nuanu said. “I know you are shocked to hear that Elder Tovut’s last words were for you, rather than for the leader of our clan as we would expect. But these events will come to pass. I’ve seen this truth, also. You will save our people. You must.”

  As Elder Nuanu spoke, a great weight seemed to fall on Attu, the weight of his whole clan, as if all their bodies suddenly rested on his shoulders, he straining under the load.

  “How can this be?” He asked Elder Nuanu. “I’m just a young hunter. I’m not an Elder. I’m not yet a father of strong sons and daughters. I’m just Attu.”

  “The spirits do not call a leader who is worthy in his own eyes,” Elder Nuanu said. “They call the one who is willing to listen and to sacrifice for his clan. You are that man, Attu, Mighty Hunter. The spirits have chosen you. Move forward with what you know to do. And pray it will be enough for us all.”

  Chapter 3

  Elder Tovut had been given to the hills. The men danced the burial dance and took turns guarding the mound of rocks that covered his body, keeping the evil spirits away by their ritual chanting.

  Attu had been a young boy the last time he’d stood with his father guarding a body, learning the rituals of protection. That night had seemed a never-ending time of bitter cold. This night, in comparison, seemed mild. Attu wondered. Could a Warming time be coming? Had Nuvikuan-na been growing warmer over time, so gradually as to be missed by the generations of the Nuvik who lived out their lives upon the Great Expanse? And now, had Nuvikuan-na finally reached some invisible turning point? Had the Warming begun?