Embers of the Raven: A Christmas Story from Greenland (The Christmas Raven Book 1) (2 page)

“Aiii, aiii,” he called softly, gripping the uprights as he did so. Knees slightly bent, the hunter slid upon the ice until the sledge slowed and stopped beside the Greenlanders.

As one, the dogs settled upon the ice and panted softly. The hunter coiled his whip and hooked it around one of the uprights. He stood tall, taller than the typical Greenlander. Iikkila noticed his hands first, naked and brown like his own. The hunter’s smock was of sealskin and it hung low around his knees. The smock partly obscured thick polar bear skin trousers and sturdy sealskin kamiks on the hunter’s feet. Sewn into the smock were many intricate patterns and, curiously, small silver bells hung about the seams. The hunter noticed Iikkila’s gaze and laughed lightly. He shook his body but the bells remained silent.

“Too early,” he explained in a gentle voice. Iikkila said nothing.

The hunter drew back his sealskin hood and revealed a kindly face with a thin black beard and bushy black eyebrows. His skin was as the Greenlanders, brown and weather worn, lined with age and yet chubby with the fleshiness of youth. He smiled then and Aaviak was instantly at ease. Iikkila smiled back and cast a quick glance at the dogs. They were resting quietly. The hunter moved to the sledge. Untying one of the sacks he threw a frozen fish to each of the dogs. Not a single fish landed on the ice, they were snapped up between aged jaws, adorned with grey and white-flecked furry beards that sparkled with ice. The hunter secured the empty sack on the sledge before walking the short distance to the Greenlanders. From within deep pockets inside his smock he drew several lengths of dried whale meat which he offered to Aaviak and Iikkila. The Northern Lights shimmered above as all three chewed quietly beneath them. The hunter peered up at the lights and frowned slightly. He stopped chewing for a moment and twitched his mouth ever so slightly. All three were at once bathed in deep reds, vibrant blues and the bright greens of the Northern Lights as they illuminated the sea ice, the mountains and the turf huts of Nugatsiaq. The hunter smiled colourfully, dried meat flecking his gums. He began chewing again as Aaviak stared in wonder.

“Nissimaaq?” she breathed.

“Aap,” said the hunter.

Iikkila stopped chewing. He looked at his wife. Aaviak smiled at the old qajaq-builder. Iikkila looked then at the hunter who returned his look with a broad smile of his own. Iikkila smiled too. The corners of his mouth stretched and the few teeth he had remaining shone red, blue and green in the polar night. “Nissimaaq!” he whispered.

҉

It was not long before the hunter was being made welcome inside Aaviak and Iikkila’s turf hut. The hunter was squeezed into a corner by the Greenlanders. Curious children and adults, pressed around him. Nissimaaq shook hands with everyone, several times. The children crawled over his knees and tugged at the bells on his smock. They wondered little at their silence, they were the first bells they had ever seen. A particularly bold young girl caught the hunter’s eye as she sat upon his outstretched legs and stared deeply into his face. The hunter smiled and was rewarded with a broad grin. It seemed to please the Greenlanders that this particular girl should sit so comfortably upon the hunter’s legs. The girl reached forwards and flicked one of the silver bells hanging from the hunter’s smock. She giggled delightedly and flicked it again and again. The hunter caught the expectant looks upon the adults around him as he turned his attention back to the girl. She was a curious little thing indeed, he thought.

“Tassa, Paní!” One of the adult women squirmed through the press of people and plucked the young girl from the hunter’s lap. As the hunter caught her eye the young Greenlander blushed and briefly closed her eyes. When she opened them again the deep brown reflected the silver bells like stars in the polar night. The hunter stirred, uncomfortable in the presence of such beauty. It was then that the little girl reached out and brushed the hunter’s cheek with a tiny hand. The spell was broken and the girl and her mother retreated behind the wall of skins and bodies that filled the tiny room.

The temperature rose within the turf hut and all but one of the seal blubber lamps were extinguished. The soft colours of the Northern Lights slipped into the hut between the cracks exposed by the snow now melted by the heat from within. Aaviak coughed nervously and the room grew still.

“Nissimaaq,” she began. “Nissimaaq, my children,” she choked once. “My brother, he,” Aaviak began to sob quietly and the hunter moved to take her hand within his own. Iikkila comforted his wife as the hunter squeezed her hand. Aaviak tried to speak but the hunter stopped her with a finger placed gently upon her lips. He looked at Iikkila but he too could not speak. The hunter looked around the room. He noticed a broad shouldered man at the back of the room, in his arms he held Paní, the little girl who had been so taken with the hunter’s silver bells. Nissimaaq raised his eyebrows at the man and the man nodded.

“Nissimaaq,” the man began, “Nissimaaq. Welcome. We are honoured by your presence.” The hunter nodded and indicated that the man should continue. “My name is Tulugaq. I am a hunter.” The people nodded. “I am a shaman.” The people murmured in acknowledgement. “I have travelled far, caught much, learned many things, and yet,” he paused, “I cannot help my good friends Aaviak and Iikkila.” Tulugaq looked about the turf hut. The eyes of the Greenlanders shone with respect and understanding, some were moved to touch the shaman’s arm, to squeeze his skin and soothe his shame. “We have not seen Aaviak’s brother, nor have we seen Iikkila’s sons, their children. It has been too long, yet the weather has been fair.” At this the Greenlanders nodded and murmured disbelief at such a tragedy in the face of such a mild winter. “We fear the worst, Nissimaaq.” Tulugaq paused once more. “My powers are weak,” the shaman hung his head in shame and said no more.

“Tulugaq, my husband,” said the woman that had so tugged at Nissimaaq’s feelings. “You have nothing to be ashamed of,” she drew close to her husband. The little girl in the shaman’s arms placed both hands on his cheeks. The woman turned to the hunter. “My name is Arnannguaq,” she said. “I ask that you help us find my cousin and my nephews. Help us discover them, recover them, love them again, once more before they are gone.”

The hunter nodded and squeezed once more Aaviak’s hand. Releasing her he stood. As the Greenlanders made space he stooped beneath the low roof and moved to grasp the shaman with a firm hand upon each shoulder.

“Shaman,” he said with a gentle voice. “I fear too my powers are weaker than you imagine. In this matter we are both at a loss.” The Greenlanders sighed as Aaviak sobbed quietly once more. The hunter turned his head quickly. Releasing the shaman he smiled broadly and, with a twitch of his mouth, he filled the room with such a delightful light from above that it was as if the Northern Lights danced within the very turf hut within which they gathered. “Cheer, my friends and be cheered,” he said. “For where the shaman and I may fail, others may prevail.”

As the Greenlanders looked upon him the hunter smoothed his sealskin smock, brushing the silver bells offhandedly as he turned to leave the room. Hearing a quiet giggle behind him Nissimaaq looked once more upon the little girl. “Paní?” he said with a glance at Arnannguaq. Arnannguaq nodded.

“Paní or
Panínguak,
” she said.

“May I?” The hunter reached out both arms. Before her parents could answer Panínguak leaped into the hunter’s arms. She giggled again as her feet caught the bells in the hunter’s smock. “You are a curious little girl,” said Nissimaaq. Panínguak smiled broadly. Nissimaaq returned the girl to the shaman’s arms. Moving to Aaviak and Iikkila he crouched before them. “I will find your children, and your brother,” he said. “I know the beings and the ways of them in these parts. Do not expect to see me again,” he said, “not before the eve of winter. But look for the children and the young hunter upon the ice two moons from today. They will be weary, and they will need your help.”

The hunter smiled broadly and walked out into the polar night.

҉

Even before the polar night had begun Mikissok was out foraging beneath the darkening polar sky. He was running out of kindling and he needed to check his fox and hare traps. The fox traps were empty and the bait was gone. Mikissok frowned and glanced quickly at the raven hovering nearby.

“Was this you?” Mikissok scowled. The raven croaked and flew on. “Humph,” said Mikissok. “I’ll never know I guess.”

The hare trap was more successful. Lying broken beneath a great weight of medium-sized rocks was a brilliant white snow hare. The dark blood circling its nose was frozen. Mikissok retrieved the hare from beneath the rocks and reset the trap. For bait he sprinkled the ground with frozen black berries gathered before the snows.

Kindling was proving to be difficult to find and Mikissok was worried that he might have to venture further afield.

“I needs it,” he said to himself. “Humph.”

As the dwarf made his way back down to the qaarusuk the raven joined him. She landed and then waddled by his side. Mikissok had a few berries spare and he threw several onto the ground. Cupping the last berries to his mouth, he swallowed them. The raven pecked greedily at the berries. As they ate the snow around them changed colour. A strong red light from above turned their world pink. Both the raven and the dwarf stopped in wonder. In the distance they saw a large sledge coming their way. Mikissok shrank to his knees and watched as the raven flew into the distance.

“Wish I could fly,” he whispered. “It would save my poor knees.”

The sledge grated towards him and Mikissok began to wonder as to how well he was hidden. The sledge ground to a halt on the snow before the beginnings of the steep terrain within which Mikissok hoped he was hidden. The dwarf watched as the hunter stepped off the sledge, stretched his legs and walked purposefully towards where Mikissok was hidden. The hunter’s dogs lay flat on the snow.

Not a stone’s throw in front of the dwarf, the hunter stopped. He drew back his hood and revealed a pleasant face. The hunter carried no weapons that Mikissok could see. The hunter stared directly at the dwarf. Mikissok resisted his gaze as best he could. The hunter did not move. He smiled. Mikissok rolled his eyes. He waited a moment more and then shook off his useless disguise.

“All right,” he spoke gruffly, “who are you?”

“I am a friend,” replied the hunter. “You know my name, dwarf.”

“Humph,” said Mikissok. “You’re not just a hunter. I know that much.” The hunter smiled. “Bugger,” said the dwarf. “You’re that Nissimaaq fellow. Aren’t you?”

“The same,” replied the hunter.

“I owe you nothing, Nissimaaq,” Mikissok briefly clenched his fists hidden within his deep cuffs. “My kind and your kind,” Mikissok paused. “Well, we have never bothered one another. Have we?”

“No,” replied the hunter. “But I bring news if you will hear it?”

“News?”

“Yes, from your kindred in the north.”

“Bah,” said the dwarf. “It has been many a winter since I last heard from them.”

“Are you not curious?”

Mikissok looked at the hunter and scowled. He chewed his lip for a moment before answering. “I might be a tad interested,” he said. “What do you know?”

“Your brother toils in the far north. He and I are friends of a fashion. He gave me this to give to you.” The hunter reached inside his smock and withdrew a small clay pot. “Will you take it?”

Mikissok held out his hands and caught the clay pot as the hunter threw it to him. It was roughly made with a crude series of runes scratched around the lip of the pot. Mikissok smiled. “There’s no lid,” he said.

“Here,” the hunter threw a second item up to the dwarf. Mikissok caught it and placed the lid onto the pot. It fit snugly. From inside his own skins Mikissok withdrew a long length of thin sealskin cord. He attached it around the pot, securing the lid. Mikissok hid the pot within his inner furs and returned his gaze to the hunter.

“How is he then? My brother?”

“He is well, although he has lost a hand to the cold. He spent too many days without a fire to warm him.” The hunter paused. “He ran out of kindling, you know?”

Mikissok grunted. “He’s not the only one.”

“I helped your brother then. Perhaps I can help you now?” The raven croaked. Flapping down to the hunter she waddled around him as if sizing him up.

“Perhaps,” said the dwarf. “But nothing’s for free in these parts, is it Nissimaaq?”

“No,” replied the hunter. “I do need your help.”

Mikissok shuffled. He glanced at the raven. She blinked and stopped her waddling. “Very well then,” Mikissok relented. “What do you want Nissimaaq?”

The hunter negotiated the rocks and boulders and stood closer to the dwarf, the raven following at his snowy heels. The hunter towered briefly above the dwarf before sitting upon a boulder before him. “You know of Amâgaiat?”

Mikissok nodded. “I saw her just the other day,” he said.

The hunter nodded. “I have been following her tracks this very day, although the wind does its very best to hide them.” Nissimaaq reached into his smock and withdrew three pieces of dried whale meat, tossing one piece to the raven he handed another to the dwarf. As they chewed the hunter related his tale from his visit to Nugatsiaq.

“A sad tale to be sure,” said the dwarf when the hunter was finished. “I saw that old troll when she passed me just yesterday. Her amauten was full and them as were inside were alive when they passed me, though I doubt it is that way now.” Mikissok looked longingly at the piece of whale meat the hunter seemed to have forgotten. Nissimaaq handed it to him with a smile.