Section 1 — Section 2 — Section 3
Touching.
Moving.
Floating, as she did in the summer, on her back, in the ice-clear waters of the fiord, watching gull and cormorant flying overhead.
A quick pain in the arm, then happiness, dreaming of when father took her hunting, and they sat together on a cliff, watching the dance of the Whale.
And another dream, of being in a moss-green den. Hearing guttural noises. Seeing shadowy forms that quickly disappeared. Something heavy on arms and legs.
And then a voice.
It said,
“Pearl.”
And the Toonijuk opened her eyes and knew she had reached the Sky-Grounds for here was the Shaman, sitting cross-legged beside her in his chamber in the Great Cave, a fire between them. He wore his bear-skin robes and the stone walrus-mask. The sight made her happy for she knew mother and father and the others would be here as well.
“No, daughter,” said the Shaman, shaking his head. “Your time be not yet to join us. But the Ghosts do speak of you, and now this old one knows what he did not know before. Why he did not earlier see, cannot be properly said. My apologies for not realizing, daughter, and for not being with you as a Shaman should.”
“What?” she started to ask, for these words made no sense, but her throat was dry, voice was gone, and she spoke no more.
“There be a hope yet,” said the Shaman, “if you but seek out the one, of whom I have seen a vision, here in the Ghost-land. Not as I would have chosen, but matters of the solid world be beyond a Spirit’s power to control.”
He rose, not stiffly as an old one, but as spryly as a young Tornqua, his Totem-staff in hand. The mask faded, revealing a face with fewer wrinkles and lines than she remembered, but still with the same silver mane and dark blue eyes. He reached over the fire for her, saying, “Beseech you, sweet pearl. Seek the one. Seek for yourself. Seek for the People.”
What did he mean? Were the Toonijuk still alive? She wanted to ask, but speech would not come. She reached out, too, over the fire for the Shaman’s hand. He said, “Spirits guide you, daughter.”
And as their palms and fingers met, he became as a reflection on clear waters, and then was a shadowy bird like the Raven, flying away. She lost her balance, toppling from her perch into the fire. Blinding light filled her eyes…
…and she again opened them. Sticky, gummy eyes. Opened them to…
…where?
Somewhere hot. Hot, dark, with clover-soft ground, for that’s what her back and head rested on. She felt sweaty, her throat and mouth so dry. There was, somewhere, a steady beep… beep… beep. A bird of some unknown kind.
And she was tired, groggy, and…
…awake. Alive! Spirit still in shell!
But where was she?
The Toonijuk blinked her membranes, clearing her eyes, allowing them to grow accustomed to the darkness, and soon saw white above. A white ceiling. She turned her head weakly about, seeing walls just as white. She understood she must be in a chamber or dwelling of sorts, but its structure seemed neither rock nor bone. Must be some light about for her to see at all. She glanced back and saw it, seeping through a column of thin lines on the wall, the weave-like texture of this section appearing different from the rest.
Where be I?
She dimly remembered the whirling-wing demon bird, the Naked emerging from within, hitting this one with his death-spear. And she had been hit. She remembered pain, blood, falling. So why was she not in the Sky-Grounds, among the other Toonijuk?
And why should she feel so hot when, last she knew, she was still on the ice, winter not yet at an end.
She raised her head, raised it from what she saw was a kind of rest, but not made from fox as a rest should be. On her body was a layer of sleep-coverings. White and dark brown, with a terrible, musty odor, smelling of neither caribou nor seal or any being that lived.
Other smells here, too. Bitter smells, like whale spat. Stung the nose.
Beep! Beep! Beep! The bird chirped quicker. Awful sounding bird! Song flat, with no music. No Northland bird, not even the Raven, made such ungainly noise.
Where was this Toonijuk?!
No answers would come if she stayed on her back, so the Toonijuk began to rise. But as she tried, she found her arms stuck by her sides, something pressed against the wrists, as well as her belly. Couldn’t get up!
Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!
She relaxed a moment. The bird slowed its chirping. The Toonijuk then curled back her left forearm, straining against her unseen bond. Straining until…
Snap!
A brown strap flew out from beneath the sleep-coverings, and her arm came free. With it, she flung the coverings off her body and promptly shrieked in terror.
For she saw that her own seal coverings and jewelry had since been removed. And on her bare chest were many strings, attached to her flesh by flat, round parasite mouths! Her midsection and right wrist were pinned with straps like the one she had broken free of, and, worst of all, from her snared forearm protruded a long, transparent thing like a worm, a lump where it burrowed beneath her skin!
“Ayaaaaa!”
Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!
Snap!
She broke free of the other arm strap, rose up further, and, with both hands, tore the bigger strap from her stomach. Then she swung her legs over the side of this high rest, and her feet landed on a cool floor, made up of tiny squares. Around her in the chamber were objects. Rectangular objects, sides and surfaces meeting in sharp corners, and a pole, from which hung a pouch half-filled with fluid, a pouch that joined with the worm-thing in her arm.
She tugged gingerly at where the grotesquerie penetrated her flesh, peeling off some kind of sticky folds and extracting a head like a mosquito’s, with a needle for a mouth. Blood trickled from her arm, and from the mouth came fluid, rather sweet-smelling. With a scream, she tossed it to the floor.
The bird chirped faster, faster. Where was it? Following the sound, she looked up to her right and saw not a bird…
…but a monster!
A beeping monster with a square head, a face like black ice, and, on this, a waving beam of light. From the monster’s silver body came the strings, or tentacles, attached to her chest!
Beep! Beep! Beep! The monster chirped faster. The light on its face went straight up and down. The Toonijuk yanked at the tentacles. They popped right off. Then…
Beeeeeeeeeeeeee!
…from the monster came this piercing whistle. The Toonijuk covered her ears, seeing the light beam as it stopped waving. Became a flat line.
Whimpering, the Toonijuk hopped off the thing she had laid upon, looking about for escape-way, but seeing only solid wall, except where the sunlight filtered through. Something about the light was wrong to her, but before she could think what, she heard a clicking and saw a slender object on the farthest wall turning. Then a rectangular section swung away from the rest, and into the chamber rushed two of the Naked.
Their eyes widened when they saw the Toonijuk, and they began making sounds. Harsh coughing gutturals. One waved and flapped his arms, the other tensed his body. The Toonijuk stepped backwards, observing that neither carried weapons and that the chamber entrance had not been resealed.
They jabbered and gibbered at each other, and the Toonijuk understood this to be a kind of Naked-speech. But it wasn’t the speech of the Inuit, and these two were not of them, either. For these Naked had skin as white as the Beluga. One was thin, with almost no hair on his head, and the other was short and stocky, with long yellow hair. The thin one wore white coverings, and the short one wore all brown.
But they were still the Naked, with little ears and little mouths and lemming-beady eyes. They were killers. Murderers.
The Toonijuk bellowed. Bared her teeth.
The thin Naked shook and hopped away like the frightened hare, but the other stayed his ground, watching the Toonijuk like the sentry Wolf. She smelled no fear in him. He made hushed sounds and held up a hand. Directing speech at her, the Toonijuk realized. Her eyes darted to the open chamber entrance. Still speaking, Yellow Hair stepped closer.
The Toonijuk bolted for the entrance.
Yellow Hair shouted and blocked her way. She skirted around him, but he lunged and grabbed her by the arm.
The Toonijuk growled. Swatted the Naked.
Her open hand met his chest, knocking Yellow Hair off her and to the floor. The Toonijuk ran out of the chamber…
…and found herself racing down a tunnel just as white-walled and square-edged. Weird, glowing strips of light above. Behind her, footfalls. The Naked, giving pursuit.
The Toonijuk ran, ran, then stopped.
The tunnel diverged into two, one going directly left, the other right. Which way? Which way? The Toonijuk looked back and saw the Naked, only a few paces away, like the Weasel on the Vole’s trail.
Thinking no further, she went left.
This tunnel was arched, wider than the last and more-dimly lit. It sloped downwards, the lighting growing less and less until the Toonijuk found herself in total blackness, her sight gone. She stopped, before she ran into a wall, and listened. The pursuit must have ended for no Naked moved bear-soundlessly. Here in the dark she might hide and even escape. Sniffing, the Toonijuk proceeded ahead cautiously. The tunnel had become damp. She heard dripping, and her feet landed in puddles. The air was so humid and hot! Where was she? Some kind of Naked-dwelling, she guessed, but much larger than the dwellings this one had ever seen!
She pressed on, looking desperately about for light and an escape-way. Kept thinking about the tentacled monster and worm that had been violating her flesh. What evil had the Naked done to her shell? And where was??
There was a noise, a clanging, somewhere ahead. The Toonijuk stopped.
A cool draft hit her, and she winced at a grim stench, like caribou spat and rotting flesh. Growing stronger. She heard a
Thump! Thump! Thump!
Loud footfalls. Too loud for the Naked.
They stopped, and the Toonijuk next heard sniffing. Followed by…
…a roar!
Like many of the Bear, echoing through the tunnel. Then footfalls again. Running. The Toonijuk turned and ran herself.
The footfalls became louder. Gaining. But as the Toonijuk began to race upslope and the light returned, they stopped, and behind her the Toonijuk heard what sounded like laughter.
She was back at the crossways. There was Yellow Hair, still in the tunnel leading from the chamber where she had awakened, but now holding a death-spear!
The Toonijuk darted straight ahead, up the remaining un-traveled tunnel.
It was well lit, with walls of protruding rock.
It was also a short tunnel, ending in a wall of flat silver. The Toonijuk crashed against it, screaming and crying.
The Naked joined her in the tunnel, approaching stealthily, as the Wolf does the bull Musk Ox. The Toonijuk growled and bellowed, but the sight of that death-spear made her shake and spill body-water on the floor.
But Yellow Hair didn’t aim it at her. Instead, he muttered into a small object that he held against mouth and ear. Nodding his head, Yellow Hair walked over to the tunnel wall and laid a hand on a protruding piece of gray. The Toonijuk heard a purring, and glanced behind her to see the blocking wall lifting like an eyelid. Disappearing into the ceiling. Revealing the brightness of day.
Yellow Hair barked at her and waved, as if signing for this one to go through the opening.
Strange. The Toonijuk sensed deceit. Yet…
She looked at the death-spear.
And ran. Outside.
Into daylight. Onto earth. Onto green.
Hearing and seeing no pursuit, but noticing how wrong the sun was. Low. Over the west horizon?! Made no sense!
And what was around her? Things. Big things sticking on the earth, like the hoofs and legs of a herd of giant caribou.
What?
Still running, the Toonijuk gazed up at something like fur, but green and…
Smack!
She went down, landing on a mat of dry, brittle needles. Spots danced before her eyes, and when they cleared, the Toonijuk saw clearly the thing she’d run into. A thing of red-brown scales topped with green fur. One of the monsters around her. A scream built in her throat…
…and quickly died for, rising, she saw that this life-form was not a monster at all.
It was… a plant!
She approached cautiously, touching the massive stem, looking up at the needled-greens, judging these plants as tall as a whale was long. Maybe even two whale.
“Karunk!”
So pretty! And their scent, as fragrant as a meadow in spring. The structure, the Toonijuk noted, was much like the “wood” from which the Inuit crafted their dwellings. But the sight brought to mind something else. Stories told her by the Shaman of how the Toonijuk had long ago lived in a land where the flowers touched the sky. A land of…
There was a sound, like coughing, behind her.
Whipping around, she saw a dark figure, standing only a pace away, pointing to the plants. Making obscene gutturals.
The Toonijuk ran.
Soon clearing the giants…
…and stopping, before she plunged off a cliff.
The Toonijuk stood on a rocky outcropping, looking down at a drop she could not survive. Ending in water. A body of water as wide as a Northland fiord. And on the other side and all around her she saw green and green and green. The tops of these giant plants. And beyond that, jagged, snowy peaks, higher than anything in the Toonijuk’s homeground. She wondered, for the first time, if that death-spear had claimed her life, and now her Spirit walked the Sky-Ground. But why should it go there?
Unfamiliar bird of blue, gray, and white flew by. There was a splash, and her gaze caught way below an upright form, huge and black, bounding out of the water onto the rocky shore, quickly vanishing into the surrounding vegetation.
Behind her, light footfalls and a guttural. She turned to see the dark figure that had frightened her a moment ago now joining her on the ledge. She tensed for flight… or struggle.
But it moved not as if to attack, but at a slow amble, carrying a brown-wrapped bundle under one arm. In the open light, the Toonijuk got a better look at its coverings, a cloak and hood, the last of which cast the face in shadow. Both made of what seemed black fish-skin, yet as the sun hit them, they flickered and shined as the Gods did when they showed themselves in the night sky.
Grunting, gurgling, the figure stepped closer to the Toonijuk and, with a scaly hand, removed the hood.
The Toonijuk gasped…
…for the head was dusky blue and walrus-lumpy, with a main of spiky black hair. The nose was flat and upturned, and the mouth as wide as the Wolf’s!
The monster grinned.
And the Toonijuk shrieked, seeing many sharp teeth.
A demon!
She understood.
Understood her spirit wandered not the Sky-Grounds, but Lokk, as it should wander, and this was Navra herself, come to punish her!
But then the demon spoke.
Spoke with a raspy but masculine voice as it pointed around at the fantastic plants. Repeating a sound, slower and slower, until the Toonijuk heard,
“Treeees.”
He stepped closer. The Toonijuk slapped her chest. Bellowed.
“Keep from! Keep from this Toonijuk!”
The demon cocked his head. Said,
“Toonijuk?”
He withdrew a few lengths, all the while making speech. But this time not guttural, but melodious and ear-pleasing, filled with whistles and clicks. Much like Toonijuk. But this one still couldn’t understand.
He bent over, setting the bundle down, unwrapping it.
And again the Toonijuk gasped…
…as she saw the walrus tusk, her walrus tusk, with its black squiggly markings. The demon held it up, making sounds. Then…
“What?” asked the Toonijuk.
Certain she heard, among those sounds, “Totem of this one?”
The demon gently set the tusk on the wrappings and backed away, waving his hand in a circle and pointing to the ground, like one Toonijuk would do to another, telling them it was safe to approach.
The demon stopped at the where the giant plants stood, speaking in a tongue so much like Toonijuk. Placing two clenched hands on his chest, a gesture very much like the Toonijuk hand-sign meaning “Show no fear.”
He then sat on the ground, cross-legged, holding up both hands. This was what Toonijuk did when strangers approached their camp.
This one stayed where she was, well fearing Raven-deceit. One could not trust a demon! But still, the Totem belonged to her. To her Clan. She must reclaim it.
Seeing a large stone, she picked it up. Brandished it at the demon, who merely nodded, as with approval.
The Toonijuk slowly approached. The demon sat unmoving. Silent.
The Toonijuk got to the tusk. Bent down, still brandishing the stone, not taking her sight from that terrible creature, from its horrible face, and…
…the eyes!
Wide and light gray. Gentle?
Toonijuk eyes.
No. Whatever this beast might be, it was not Toonijuk. But neither was he the Naked.
She grabbed the tusk. Cradled it against her chest.
He spoke. Voice low, soothing.
The Toonijuk realized she was crying because she had feared the Clan-Totem lost. Why should a demon return it?
He continued to speak, and the Toonijuk looked into those eyes, so much like her own, hearing a word that sounded so much like Toonijuk.
So much like,
“Friend.”
Timshel Literature
