Beyond Belief (Clan of the Ice Mountains Book 4) Page 6

  “Yes. Wait.” Attu ran into his shelter and brought out the female’s hide.

  Toonuk looked as if he had been struck. His face paled, and he stepped back from Attu as if on reflex. “You skinned Light and Shadow? Like food?” Toonuk whispered. “Tell me you did not eat her...” his voice trailed away and he looked about to vomit. Then his face grew hard. “I want her hide. I want to bury her, at least what is left of her. Decently.” Toonuk touched the hide, then pulled his hand back, brushing it against his clothing as if to rid it of some invisible dirt. “Wrap Light and Shadow’s hide in another animal’s hide. Now!”

  Attu complied, confused at the Tuktu’s reaction and his anger. He picked up the hide he’d had resting on his lap while working on his knife, wrapped the dog’s hide in it, and handed it back to Toonuk.

  “I will go. My people will go. We will trouble you no longer.”

  “Wait,” Attu said, but the Tuktu leader ignored him. With Moon Shadow at his side, he stalked out of the camp, refusing to listen as Attu tried to get him to stop, so he could explain.

  “We must go to their camp. We must make them listen,” Ubantu said. Attu had rushed to tell his father what had happened.

  “Toonuk was livid,” Attu said.

  “I will go with you,” Elder Tingiyok said. “We cannot let these people leave us as enemies. And we must know more about these Tuktu thieves. I will blame our ignorance. Perhaps he will listen to an old man.”

  Attu felt naked without his weapons as he walked between Ubantu and Tingiyok, his stomach clenched in knots. “How could I have been so stupid?”

  “You didn’t know. None of us did.” Tingiyok answered.

  “It’s not too late to make this right,” Ubantu said. “Pray these Tuktu still practice our way of asking for forgiveness.”

  As the three walked through the camp, the Tuktu looked away. No one spoke.

  Toonuk was standing near one of the sledges as they approached.

  Attu stood before Toonuk and felt the eyes of the Tuktu on him. He lowered his head and beat his chest with his bare hand three times. “Please accept my deepest apologies, Toonuk. These dogs, as you call them, are new to my people. We did not kill your female, the moose did. We kept what fur we could of the female because its coloration was so unusual. Both animals had been torn up badly. We buried what was left of their bodies. It is our way. We showed them respect in death. Surely you know this to be true, being a Nuvik. But no matter what our reasons, we now know that saving Light and Shadow’s fur was wrong in your eyes. Please forgive us.”

  “You kept her pups, even though you didn’t know what they were.” Toonuk lowered his hands from the pack he was adjusting on the sledge. “Why?”

  Tingiyok stepped forward. “I was there and saw the dogs killed. We brought back the young because it seemed the right thing to do. Nuvik do not hunt the young of animals unless our families are starving. And the boys seemed so eager to keep the pups. When the pups knew the ululation cry, we thought it was a sign from the spirits to keep them.” Tingiyok rushed to explain how the kips had howled with the boys. He said nothing of Attu’s vision.

  Toonuk continued adjusting the pack. “I thought because you are Nuvik, you should be told about the thieves, but some of my men say that if you don’t understand the way of dogs, how can you understand what we’re facing with the men who have betrayed our people? Perhaps you, too, are murderers and thieves.”

  “We do not want you to think we are evil. We don’t want you for enemies, but as friends, as brothers,” Ubantu said, stepping forward beside his son and Tingiyok. “Please forgive our ignorance about your female and how to respect her in death. I see now you may consider your dogs to be part of your Clan. Is this so?”

  “Yes. They are a vital part of our lives.” Toonuk faced them now, his face grim. “And you treated them like any wild animal.”

  “We have no tuktu, like your people,” Attu said. “When we first saw you, we couldn’t believe you were keeping them together, somehow, and that you would do this instead of just hunting them. We saw the dogs working with you, and we were amazed. Until we brought the pups into our camp, we had never had an animal among us that wasn’t game for food, hunted and killed and ready to be eaten. Please try to understand we meant you no disrespect. All of this is new to us.”

  Toonuk’s face seemed to soften a bit. “Our dogs live in our shelters, eat our food, keep us warm in winter, and warn us of danger. They herd our tuktu, and we could not survive without them. So we honor them in death as if they were people, although we know they are not. They are like almost-people to us.”

  The three Nuviks nodded. They stood side-by-side, heads lowered, and waited for Toonuk’s decision.

  “All right,” Toonuk finally said, “I will explain to the others, and we will come at dusk. It has been many generations since my people came off the ice. We are clearly not the same people anymore. Still, we are related. It is my duty to tell you what you need to know.”

  The women and children of both Clans had moved to the nearby large shelter after they’d shared the evening meal. Rika sat among them with her twins. At some signal Attu missed, the Tuktu men moved to one side of the outdoor fire and sat together, looking to their leader. Attu walked to the other side of the fire, and his men gathered to sit near him.

  One of the Tuktu herders made a harsh comment about what had happened with the dog’s fur, loud enough for Attu and his men to hear. Attu ignored the man and sat quietly, waiting for Toonuk to begin. He studied the Tuktu men, dressed in the hides of the tuktu they herded, many with skins draped over their other clothing, the edges cut into fringe.

  Toonuk sat near the fire in front of his men, watching Attu’s people, his eyes missing nothing, his staff at his side. Attu thought he would speak, once all had quieted, but Toonuk said nothing. Instead, he looked to the Elder sitting beside him.

  Elder Spartik’s face was stony, and Attu couldn’t tell what he was thinking. The other Tuktu had shown him respect, giving him the best place at the fire and first meat when they ate. But when Toonuk had introduced him, it was clear Spartik was more than an Elder. His men’s shirt was decorated differently, and he carried a pouch and rattle on a strap tied around his waist, along with his knife. Perhaps he was a healer or a spiritual leader. Whoever he was, Spartik was a man who deserved much honor. Attu wondered if by keeping Light and Shadow’s fur, his people had committed an act that Spartik would not forgive, no matter what Toonuk said.

  Spartik’s gnarled fingers rested on his long staff, and Attu thought of Ashukat, the leader of the Seer Clan, now gone Between for more than a turn of the seasons. Although the two men looked nothing alike, Spartik had the same expression Attu had seen on Ashukat’s face, of a man who has seen much. Is he wise like Ashukat was? Or just an angry old man?

  “I am Spartik,” the Elder began. “The dog you found killed was mine. I buried her fur and said the proper words, as any child of our people would have known to do.”

  “Again, we are sorry for our ignorance,” Attu met Spartik’s eyes, then looked down, choosing to respect the Elder in spite of being called stupid.

  “We will speak more of this later,” Spartik said. He looked smug. “Now, Toonuk must tell you of the danger we are in.”

  So, first you put us in our place, and then you tell us what we need to know. Attu was angry at the Tuktu’s treatment of his Clan so far, especially since they had been met with friendliness and the offer of food, but he knew that this posturing of their leaders wasn’t as important as knowing why they were all in danger. Attu felt a rush of fear at Spartik’s words. Beside him, he felt his hunters tense. They leaned in to hear Toonuk better.

  “I have pushed my people to head south over terrain we recently traveled because the tuktu are willing to move faster when there’s no good grazing for them. For the last half moon we haven’t seen anyone, and we are quite sure they turned east and are following the river to the trees at the base of the mountains to
make their winter sleds, but for the first half moon, we were stalked by a band of thieves who attacked our herd.”

  “These men followed us for days.” Spartik sat forward on the furs the Nuvik women had provided for the gathering. His gnarled hands gripped his staff.

  “And they are Tuktu?” Tingiyok asked. “Your own people?”

  “Not our people!” one of the Tuktu hunters shouted. “How dare you say-”

  “Quiet,” Toonuk said, turning to glare at the man who’d spoken.

  “I am sorry again for my ignorance,” Tingiyok said. “You told Attu earlier they were Tuktu. I don’t understand.”

  “Don’t you have men who leave your Clan? Men who can find no woman? Or men who will not follow their leader and Elders?” Toonuk glanced again at the Tuktu hunter who had shouted. The man looked embarrassed now. Then Toonuk turned his eyes on Attu. “You are young for a leader. Did you kill the old leader and take his place? Is this how you hold leadership?”

  Attu sat back, shocked at the man’s comment. All around him, Attu’s hunters grumbled.

  “I was leader before Attu,” Ubantu spoke up, putting up a hand to quiet the men. “Attu was chosen to lead by the spirits. That is our way. He killed no one to lead his people.”

  “Well, some of our men have risen up in our Clans and tried to kill their leaders. Some have succeeded and now lead Tuktu Clans of their own,” Spartik said. “Some have been killed. And some have become thieves. No woman will have them willingly, and they are too lazy to catch wild animals of their own to herd. They live by stealing our animals, and sometimes our women.” Spartik looked at Attu’s people with skepticism. “Surely you do not all get along all the time. There is fighting among you.” He glared at Ubantu, daring him to disagree.

  “Perhaps once in a lifetime,” Ubantu said, giving Spartik a look of both strength and assuredness. Ubantu broadened his look to include all of the Tuktu hunters, and Attu was proud of the calm strength his father showed in the face of Spartik’s challenge. “Among our people,” Ubantu continued, “a man might leave the Clan to search for a woman among other Clans, or to explore and hunt alone for a time, but not for long. On the Expanse, a man can’t live long without a woman keeping the fire for him when he returns, making his clothing, his food. And a man needs his Clan to share meat with him when he comes home with no game. We must be strong together, or none survive.”

  A few of the Tuktu hunters looked interested in Ubantu’s explanation, but most stared at him rudely, as if he were stupid.

  “How long have you been off the ice?” one of the Tuktu hunters asked.

  “Just a few turnings of the seasons,” Ubantu said.

  Several Tuktu popped their lips. One man made a guttural sound of derision. “That Nuvik doesn’t even know to call one cycle of seasons its proper name. A year.” He laughed, and several other Tuktu hunters joined in.

  Spartik flashed the men a withering look, and they grew quiet again. The man who had spoken looked away.

  “Enough of this,” Spartik said. Attu couldn’t tell if he meant Ubantu or his own men’s rudeness, but Ubantu sat back, working to keep the anger from his face.

  “We have such men. Several bands of them. They are men who show no respect to their leaders, who refuse to herd the tuktu and follow tradition. They either leave or we make them go. In the past, there were just a few. They would hunt the wild tuktu, and it wasn’t a problem for us. But a few years ago, there was a Tuktu herder who began stirring up trouble among the Clans. He gathered many men to himself, and they began stealing from the other Clans. They’ve since broken into four groups that we know of. And they are dangerous.”

  Four? Attu looked to his father. Ubantu put his hand to his forehead, the hunter’s signal to wait, to listen. Attu could see the fear in his father’s eyes.

  Rovek moved as if to speak, but Attu placed his hand on the young hunter’s shoulder. Rovek stayed quiet.

  “We came across this band when we were herding farther north. We’d set up camp and been there for about a moon—the area was rich in grass—when some of the thieves snuck into our herds and killed two of our tuktu. Our dogs barked, and I took some men to see what was wrong. The thieves saw us and ran off without the animals they had killed.”

  “But we knew they’d come back.” Toonuk said, picking up Spartik’s story. “We set up extra guards, and the next night the thieves attacked again. One of our men was killed. This time we saw their weapons and knew we must flee.”

  Around them, the Tuktu men popped their lips.

  “May the spirit of my brother light up the heavens to lead the way for all of us,” Toonuk said. Everyone grew quiet at his words. “My brother Padnik was guarding the herd with the rest of us. The women were working to take down the camp as fast as they could, so we could move out at first light.

  “Padnik didn’t even have the chance to fight. One moment he was standing near another hunter, the next he was on his back dying. Spartik was near the edge of the camp and heard a noise in the bushes. He saw the dark shape of one of them looking toward the herd. Spartik snuck up behind the thief and hit him on the head with his staff, killing him. It was then we saw the weapon he’d been carrying and figured out what had happened.”

  Toonuk motioned to one of the other hunters. “I brought the weapon with me because it is so strange. I knew you wouldn’t be able to understand my explanation of it unless you saw it.”

  Several Tuktu hunters sneered at Toonuk’s comment, looking to Attu and his men as if they would be incapable of understanding even with the weapon right in front of them. Attu said nothing as the Tuktu hunter handed Toonuk a large bundle wrapped in skins. He undid the ties and pulled out a long staff carved to be flat, and several slim, straight pieces of wood about the length of a man’s arm. On one end of the slim pieces were dark stones, sharpened to deadly points. On the other was an arrangement of feathers.

  Attu and the others leaned in to get a better look. “But how can this be-”

  “Wait,” Toonuk said. He hooked a sinew string into a notch at one end of the length of the longer piece of wood and flexed it to hook the sinew into a notch on the other end. He rested one of the slim pieces of wood crossways on the first piece, hooking the feathered end onto the sinew string. “This is an arrow,” he said.

  Toonuk stood and turned toward the beach where no one was standing. He drew back the string, and the wood bent to an impossible angle before he raised the weapon into the air and released the string. The arrow flew all the way across the beach, travelling an incredible distance before falling and hitting the sand near the water line. It hit point first and stood up in the sand.

  Shock made Attu’s blood run cold.

  “That is why we left,” Toonuk said. “We placed my brother’s body on a sledge, not even waiting for him to have the proper burial, and we headed south as fast as we could. We thought the men were following us, but then it snowed lightly one night and one of our guards saw footprints heading east, into the trees nearer the mountains.”

  “Why didn’t they attack again?” Mantouk asked, his eyes never leaving the weapon Toonuk still held. Attu saw the look of desire in the hunter’s eyes, and also fear.

  “We’re hoping they’ve given up on attacking us, due to our larger numbers and their need to build sleds before the snow,” Toonuk continued. “We have to head much farther south before we head east to our winter camp near the fire mountains. I didn’t want to lead them closer to our winter camp, but we also couldn’t stay this far north. We’re later than usual, and I’m worried it will snow soon. The winter snowstorms should have started a moon ago. Spartik believes the spirits are delaying them for us. But even that time is running out.”

  Attu looked to his father. Ubantu had grown very still, as if he were waiting beside the nuknuk hole. Attu felt the hair on the back of his neck rise as he realized what Ubantu was thinking. Toonuk could be wrong. There could be Tuktu thieves nearby. Ubantu looked around, as if at any moment,
a shaft with a sharp stone tip might fly out of the night and pierce someone through the chest.

  “We have tried to make this weapon,” Spartik said, “but every wood we’ve tried, when bent, does not bow, but breaks.” He pointed to a deep cut above his brow. “One of our attempts exploded in my face, nearly blinding me.”

  “May I?” Suka asked, stepping forward. Tingiyok joined him. Of all Attu’s hunters, these men were the best at skin boat making, bending the bone or wood while wet and using sinew to keep it in place as a frame for the skins. “I do not recognize this wood. We’ve travelled from far south of here and have not seen wood like this.” He handed the bowed wood to Tingiyok. Attu and Ubantu and several others moved to join them, taking turns touching the wood, marveling over how it would bend when the sinew string was pulled, then whip back into its original shape when the string was released.

  Toonuk took the bowed wood back. “When you release the sinew string, it releases the bow in the wood.” Toonuk removed the string from one end of the wood, demonstrating how it relaxed. “But see, it has been carved to have some bend, even without the string pulling it.”

  “Our boys make small spears we call arrows to hunt rabbits in the long grass,” Spartik said. “They make many of them since they are easy to make and are often lost. They are simple things, long enough to be balanced in the hand and thrown, with sharpened wood points. But I have no idea how the thieves thought to do such an amazing thing as to create this bow to shoot arrows with such force as to pierce a man.” Toonuk’s hand traced the curve of the wooden weapon with his finger.

  “And you haven’t been able to make a bow?” Attu had taken the bow from Toonuk, studying it, measuring its length against his body, noticing how the center portion was wrapped with leather to give the user’s hand a better grip and how the notches were made on each end. He studied the braided sinew that made up the bowstring, then looked to Toonuk.