Under the Ice

It was a rare windless night. A myriad of stars twinkled in the sparkling-clear heavens, while on the distant horizon, the northern lights painted an ethereal canvas of spiraling, pulsating color. Taking these conditions as a good omen, Ootah roused his dogs and hitched up the sled. There were tears in Akatingwah’s eyes as she bid him farewell before returning to the snow house to attend to Nakusiak.

Ootah only had to use his sinew whip but once, to turn the pack to the west, where Powhuktuk’s snowhouse was located. His lead dog, Arnuk, seemed to sense his master’s urgency, and pushed on his furry brethren with a maddening fierceness. Onward they raced over the ice pack, the knife-sharp runner’s of the sled smoothly cutting through the surface of the frozen sea with a loud hiss.

Oddly enough, the shaman was fully dressed and seemed to be awaiting Ootah’s arrival. With barely a word spoken between them, Powhuktuk shouldered his medicine bag and crawled beneath the blankets of the sled.

The trip back was a bit more strenuous. The dogs were tiring, and to make matters even worse, a headwind had developed. Forced to use the whip, Ootah sprinted beside the sled, to create as light a load as possible.

They arrived back at camp just as the first hint of dawn was coloring the eastern horizon. Akatingwah ran outside to greet them. Once again there were tears in her eyes as she explained Nakusiak’s deteriorating condition.

Powhuktuk completely ignored her emotional state, and calmly went about his business. First the shaman removed a brightly painted mask from his bag. It had the features of a demon, and was designed to fit over Powhuktuk’s head with the aid of a piece of sinew string. Next he pulled out a whalebone rattle, and a flat, hand-held drum that he began furiously beating.

Raising his deep voice to the heavens, the shaman sang out in prayer. All the time quickening his drumbeat, he circled the igloo three complete times before ducking through it’s tunnel-like doorway.

Ootah and Akatingwah had been instructed to remain outdoors while the ceremony of healing was initiated. They passed the time by attending to the dogs. First they unhitched them. Then Ootah unsealed the cache and cut off several thick pieces of walrus meat. Hungry after their spirited journey, the dogs ate heartily before settling in behind their rotective wall for a well-deserved rest.

Ootah was also beginning to feel the effects of their long sleepless night, and was just about to suggest to his wife that they curl up beneath the sled blanket, when a loud, rattling sound broke from the snowhouse. They turned toward this alien noise and caught sight of Powhuktuk, who had the mask over his head and was shaking the whalebone rattle with a furious intensity. Once again the shaman completely circled the igloo three times before halting beside the entranceway and abruptly silencing the rattle and pulling off his mask. Gazing out with wide eyes to the rapidly developing dawn, Powhuktuk cried out to the glowing heavens.

“Great Spirit, Nakusiak your son awaits the arrival of the fiery sled that will take him on his final journey.

Tarry not, for this great hunter longs to return to the land of his ancestors.”

Spreading out his arms overhead, the shaman let loose a bloodcurdling wail. So loud was this banshee-like scream, even the dogs were awakened from their deep slumber.

“Ootah, your father calls for you!” shouted Powhuktuk forcefully.

“Go bid him farewell on this longest of trips from which no mortal returns.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Ootah left his mate’s side and headed straight for the interior of the snow house He found his father lying peacefully beneath the covers of the sleeping pallet. Curled at his side, sound asleep, was his grandson.

Touched by this innocent scene, Ootah’s expectations soared. Somehow Powhuktuk had performed yet another miracle, and Nakusiak would live! Yet any high hopes on his part were abruptly crushed when Ootah spotted the large pool of bright red blood that stained Nakusiak’s lips, throat, and upper torso.

With the flickering flame of the soapstone lamp casting a somber shadow, Ootah kneeled down beside his dying father. No sooner did he reach this position, when Nakusiak’s eyes popped open. So weak was the strained voice that followed, that Ootah had to bend his ear to his father’s lips to hear him.

“Ootah, my son. You mustn’t mourn my passing.

For I go on a journey that I travel of my own choosing.

Yet before I depart to rejoin the ancestors, you must promise me one thing.”

Nakusiak halted a moment to clear his dry throat before continuing.

“The bone amulet that I gave you, do you still have it, my son?”

Immediately grasping the sacred charm that hung from his neck, Ootah replied.

“Of course I do. Father.

Why I’ll never take it off!”

Nakusiak managed a weak smile.