Breakaway: Clan of the Ice Mountains (6 page)

Remembering his duty to the rituals, Ubantu knelt beside the nuknuk. “Thank you, mighty one of the water, for giving us your flesh to eat,” he said. “May your spirit find its place again in the body of another nuknuk, and may you grow strong once more to father many kips and increase your kind. See I have killed you quickly and with mercy. Your life will be used to sustain the lives of many. For this we give you thanks.”

Standing up once again, Ubantu worked his spear out of the body of the nuknuk where he had struck it in the neck, behind its large curved tusks. He carefully coiled the rope attached to the spear and fastened it to the weapon mid-shaft. He grinned at Attu once again, then glancing over Attu’s shoulder he said, “We won’t need to haul our meat to the women after all. Look!”

Attu turned and saw the rest of the clan, clearly visible and walking towards them. “There will be feasting tonight!” Attu exclaimed, and his stomach growled so loudly in response that Ubantu struck his good leg with his mik and roared with laughter.

As if he’d never been injured
.
How happy Father’s success at the hunt will make Mother and Meavu,
Attu thought as the two of them began to drag the weighty animal further away from the nuknuk hole, toward a good area of ice upon which they could make camp.

N
ow there was no lack of nuknuk flesh to fuel the people and fat to fuel their lamps. Over the next moon, the hunters speared at least one nuknuk every day, and the whole clan began to look healthier than Attu had ever seen them. Meavu’s cheeks were round and flushed with strength. The food had played a big part in it, Attu knew, but also the journey, he decided. Walking all day instead of sitting in the stale air of the snow houses seemed to help even the older clan members feel strong once again. Still, the children benefited most of all, running and playing whenever the hunters stopped on the rocky bits of land that also seemed to occur more frequently as they traveled farther and farther south and east. The cries of delighted children at their games cheered everyone.

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T
he clan left one of the larger land areas behind them at the end of their second moon of travel south, and for once, Attu was not in the lead with the other hunters, but walking between his mother and sister. He had awoken at first light with his head filled with dreams, strange dreams, and he told his father he needed to stay behind, to sort out what he’d experienced while in the Between of sleep and dreaming.

Now, as Attu walked, he thought about the dreams. In one, a snow mound had risen up and chased him, suddenly possessing teeth and claws, as if it were alive. He’d woken up in a sweat of fear from that dream, only to fall asleep again and dream of the icy open water of the chasm they’d left behind on the second day of their journey.

The clan hadn’t encountered another one, even with the thinning ice, and most of the men believed it was a mystery that wouldn’t be repeated. Attu didn’t know what to think. But the chasm had found him in his dream, and like the mound of ice, it had opened behind him, chasing him, and when he turned, he’d seen a young woman on the other side. His heart lurched. She was going to be lost to him forever, separated by the growing expanse of open water...

He’d cried out then, and awoken tangled in his sleeping skins, blood pounding in his ears.

What did it all mean?
He wondered as he walked.
Is it just my fear of the unknown land ahead wrestling with my spirit in the Between, or are these dreams something more, omens of some kind? How can I tell the difference?

“Attu. Attu, my son.”

Attu realized his mother was speaking to him. Yural’s voice held an edge of concern. “Attu, what’s troubling you? You were so far away just now; I was worried for your spirit.”

Attu stopped walking and turned to look down at his mother.
When did I grow so tall?
He wondered as Yural reached up and touched his cheek with her strong bare hand, a rare gesture of affection in the cold of the Expanse.

Attu grasped his mother’s hand in his mik. “You will freeze,” he said, but released his grip on her reluctantly.

Sometimes I wish I were younger once again, when Mother used to treat me gently as she does Meavu, and not as a hunter.
He sighed. “I’ve had dreams,” he said, answering her question.

“And they have disturbed you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Attu said as he looked at his mother’s concerned face, “I can’t tell if they are my own fears or omens I should heed.”

“What does your spirit say?” Yural asked.

“It’s not that simple, Mother,” Attu protested.

Seeing they were falling behind the rest, the two began walking again.

“Elder Nuanu said you’d save the clan, Attu. Remember that.” Yural’s voice was proud.

“But I warned the clan of the break in the ice; I’ve fulfilled that prophecy,” Attu said.

“And that you will also lead,” his mother continued. “Elder Nuanu said you were to lead. Not just warn the people once-”

“I know,” Attu interrupted. He’d wanted to be done with Elder Tovut’s prophecy, for it had weighed heavily on his spirit from the moment Elder Nuanu had spoken it. He’d almost convinced himself that his warning the clan of the ice crack had fulfilled all Elder Nuanu had said he must do, even though he knew it didn’t.

Mother is right
.
My spirit still feels heavy with responsibility for the others, more than my share. I’ve been pretending it’s over. I’ve been trying to forget the rest... about leading, about not giving up hope, and especially about “the one who will bear my sons and daughters...”

Attu felt his face redden at the thought. He couldn’t take a woman from his own clan, but occasionally clans did meet, and men quickly found their women among the other clans then. Sometimes men went searching alone, stealing women from other clans.

That is not the true Nuvik way. I would only take a woman if she were willing, and never in secret or with violence. Someday, will a woman truly want me?

Yural interrupted his thoughts, putting into words what he’d been trying to deny for the last many suns. “We’re not yet at the end of our journey. You will be called to lead us still, Attu, I’m sure of it. You must be vigilant to all knowledge, whether it comes to you by your senses, or by a dream, or by some other means.”

Yural’s dark eyes glistened in her tanned face, browned by the constant exposure to the sun’s light and reflection off the ice.

Attu studied Yural. He’d never seen his mother look so healthy, so strong, and it filled his heart with joy that his father, too, was doing so well.
So far, this journey, rather than being a terrible hardship, has been a good thing for all of us, once we escaped the chasm of open water that first threatened to kill us all before we had barely made a start on our journey...

“Do you hear me, mighty hunter, son of my own flesh?” Yural asked.

Attu realized he’d been lost in his thoughts yet again.
What’s wrong with me, lately?
He wondered as he felt his face growing red.

“Oh, I know. You’re thinking about the woman who will bear your children.” His mother laughed and poked her mik into his chest, a broad smile on her face.

Attu felt his face grow even redder still. “I hear and understand, Mother. And I haven’t been thinking about THAT part of the prophecy,” he lied. “My spirit says to beware and to heed these warnings for all of us. You’re right. It’s what my spirit says they are.”

“Then you must heed them.” Her smile vanished. “Do you want to tell me about your dreams?”

“I can tell you about one.” He wasn’t ready to talk to anyone about chasms as if he were a small child fighting his fear of the spirits and trystas of the Between after hearing their tales. And he certainly wasn’t ready to talk about a young woman calling to him from across the open water, one who seemed to have his heart, at least in the dream. But it seemed right to tell his mother about the mound of snow that had come alive.

“What do you think it means?” He asked his mother when he finished describing the dream.

“My spirit says it’s a warning for sure, but of what, I do not know. You will tell Elder Nuanu and your father?”

“I must lead next, will you tell them for me?” Attu felt uncomfortable sharing his dreams, especially with Elder Nuanu. His mother seemed to understand.

“I will tell them both, my son. And soon you will tell us the other?”

“Yes, but not now.”

“When you’re ready, I’ll listen,” his mother said, and seeing Meavu far ahead of the others, called out, “Meavu, you are too far ahead, come back.”

She grabbed Attu’s parka sleeve. “Speak to her, Attu; she’ll listen to you. Meavu wanders further and further ahead and behind the group. She should take more care to stay with the others.”

Attu nodded. He was reluctant to hinder his sister’s new freedom. He loved seeing her race first in front of, then behind the others, noticing everything, stopping to examine first this shard of ice she could see through and then this speckled stone, thrown up as the ice formed near the edge of the outcroppings. She’d run back and share these things with Attu then off she would go again. Meavu was always on the move, but was careful to stay on the path she knew others had traveled safely.

Attu marveled at the change in his sister since those first days when she’d scarcely been able to walk the day’s distance. Still, it was dangerous, Attu knew, to separate too far from the group. Look what had almost happened to Elder Nuanu. He’d speak with Meavu and urge her to stay closer. Later. She was running towards them now, and he didn’t want to reward her obedience with sternness.

As Meavu reached them, Attu swooped her up in his arms and she squealed with delight.

Yural frowned.

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M
oolnik and his brother were disagreeing again. They sat whispering near one of the nuknuk lamps in the darkness of Ubantu’s skin tent. Moolnik occasionally jabbed the air with his hand, trying to make Ubantu see things his way. Attu pretended to concentrate on sharpening the bone points of his spear in the light of the second lamp he was sharing with his mother and sister. They were working to patch one of Ubantu’s miks with new hide and were huddled close to the lamp to see their stitching. Attu strained to catch the hunters’ words. His mother and sister were talking too, however, and it was hard to hear over their voices.

“He will need another pair soon,” Yural said to Meavu. “I will let you make them, Meavu, if you’d like.”

“Yes, Mother,” Meavu replied. She bent her head over her work.

Attu knew Meavu was not fond of sewing the tough hides used for miks. Cutting the pattern wasn’t difficult, a bone knife or sharp cutting stone would do the job, but poking small holes in the hide for stitching required both strength and precision. The holes had to be just big enough, not too big, and placed exactly, close to the edge of the hide. It was easy to ruin a mik if you weren’t careful because making the holes required a strong thrust of sharp bone. The double stitching necessary required strength, also. Meavu would have to pull it tightly enough to make it impervious to the cold, using sinew thread to stitch the pieces together in the proper shape.

“I say we should stay,” Moolnik’s voice cut through the air, and everyone but his father jumped. Attu almost cut himself with his sharpening stone. He felt his spirit stir within him.

“We need to continue to head south, my brother,” his father replied, reaching out to touch Moolnik’s shoulder, his voice deep in the sudden silence after his brother’s outburst.

“There’s no reason to continue,” Moolnik argued, pulling back from Ubantu. “The land we’re approaching is very large; you saw it, almost a day’s walk in length, plenty of space for us all, and the game here is plentiful. Why should we continue past this place?”

“I’m seeing the signs, as you are,” Ubantu replied. “The Warming-”

For a moment Moolnik looked away, his face tense. Then he shook his head. He looked determined. “Others will see as I do,” Moolnik said as he stood abruptly and strode to the door of the tent. There, he suddenly paused. “Do not trust in dreams and the words of those who listen to spirits. Did you not learn that lesson, brother, when we were young? It brings nothing but pain and trouble. I’m surprised you have not told your son to keep his dreams to himself before he embarrasses our whole family.” Moolnik glared at Attu, disdain on his face, before he walked away, leaving the tent flap loose behind him.

Yural quickly moved to tie the hide door closed, stopping the cold wind from entering their shelter. She turned from the door flap and faced Ubantu, a question in her eyes.

“I don’t know, Yural. I don’t know what to do,” his father said, and Attu heard the weariness in Ubantu’s voice. “You did the right thing, Attu, to tell us of your dream. Do not listen to him, my son. He cannot forget his own past long enough to see the present clearly. I can’t convince Moolnik we need to keep moving. He doesn’t believe what Elder Nuanu says, that when she was this far south before, as a young girl, it was much as it was at our last settlement, not like this, with the warmer weather, the thin ice, the bountiful game so easy to take. If he won’t face the facts around him, why should we think he might trust in the warning of a dream?”

“Perhaps the others will see the truth and not choose to stay on the next land with Moolnik.”

“Perhaps,” Ubantu replied, but Attu knew his father didn’t believe this. “If I think we need to keep moving, Moolnik will oppose me, just to see if he can gain his way over mine.”

“Even if it means the death of all of us?” his mother snapped. Attu had never seen her so angry.

Meavu rose and slipped her arms around her father, hugging herself to his side and snuggling under his arm when he reached out to enfold her. The nuknuk lamp sputtered in the silence. Attu felt the rise of the Moolnikuan spirits, and he shivered. Right now, they would be racing from tent to tent as Moolnik stirred up trouble, again.