Under the Ice

It was no different during the Great War. Faced with a continuous shortage of trained men, the military often had to make do with raw recruits who had been called to duty from the far corners of the Motherland. On many of the ships Kharkov had commanded, a good majority of his men couldn’t even speak Russian. Yet regardless of this handicap, the standing orders of the day were somehow always translated, and when it came to actual hostilities, these same sailors were often the first ones to offer their lives for the sake of their country. Only in the rarest of incidents had Mikhail been forced to deal with acts of cowardice under fire or desertion. And he’d soon learned, it was just as likely for a Great Russian to abandon his post when the shells began flying as it was for a raw recruit from Azerbaijan.

The Admiral of the Fleet only wished that the bureaucrats from whose mouths these groundless complaints issued could be here now. They’d all too soon see the errors of their ways, and learn to praise the military for the difficult job it was doing, instead of constantly bellyaching. Of course in the new world order that would soon be upon them, these same spineless public officals were doomed to lose their positions of power. Most would be sent packing to the far eastern frontier, where they would be reeducated in the virtues of hard work and humility, virtues they had somehow lost sight of while serving behind the insular walls of the Kremlin.

With such thoughts to keep his mind occupied, Mikhail Kharkov ignored the bitter elements. With his eyes glued to the feet of the seaman immediately ahead of him, the veteran readily matched the squad’s pace. And before he knew it, they were helping each other scramble up over the raft of inverted ice that had brought them to the snow-covered plains of Baffin Island’s Brodeur Peninsula.

It proved to be the mad howling of the wind outside that broke Ootah from his sound slumber.

As his eyes popped open, he was immediately greeted by the bright. Hashing red light of the mysterious black object Arnuk had found partially buried in the snow. The compact, rect angularly shaped box sat in the center of the domed room, exactly where he had left it earlier.

On the opposite side of the snow house Akatingwah could just be seen beneath the furs on the sleeping pallet. Their son was in her arms, and for a second Ootah fought the temptation to crawl in beside them. Yet a greater duty called to him as he fondled the bone amulet that hung from his neck, and he somewhat reluctantly sat up to continue his lonely vigil before the enigmatic object that had fallen from the heavens.

With his eyes focused on the constantly blinking light, he kneeled down directly before it. In a matter of minutes, a heavy, drowsy feeling overcame him. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open as his heartbeat pounded away to the rhythm of the flashing strobe.

Though Ootah really wasn’t certain if he had fallen asleep or not, his inner eye began filling with a vibrant vision. In it, Nakusiak appeared before him and beckoned his son to join him outside.

Ootah did so, and found himself in a grass-filled valley. Wildflowers painted this meadow with vibrant color, while above the sun glistened in all of its summertime radiance.

As Ootah followed his father deeper into the valley, he spotted a herd of shaggy musk oxen. Instead of quickly forming a defensive circle, the massive, horned beasts continued grazing, completely ignoring the human’s presence. This strange behavior bothered Ootah, who was to get an even greater shock upon viewing a pack of gray wolves peacefully interspersed amongst the musk oxen. These perpetual hunters, who were even a danger to man, merely lay basking in the warm sun, at total peace with the world around them.

Ootah was preparing to point this strange sight out to his father, when a cold wind hit him full in the back. And in the blink of an eye he was transferred to the center of a frozen lake. A circular breathing hole cut in the ice lay before him. Floating on the water’s surface was a disturbingly familiar eider feather.