Breakaway: Clan of the Ice Mountains (4 page)

Suka grabbed up his pack where he’d flung it on the ground moments before. “I’m going to see if Kinak can talk some sense into him.”

Moolnik thought his first born son was as wise as an elder, and his second son was a fool. “Moolnik is the fool,” Attu muttered to himself, careful to keep his voice low.

Looking toward his own father, Attu saw the strain on Ubantu’s face. His father shook his head, one long slow swing, emphasizing his own low opinion of his brother’s actions.

Attu walked over to his parents and Meavu and flung down his pack of rolled furs and supplies. He took the dried meat his mother offered him and slipped his hand into his parka for his water skin. He watched as the other women adjusted their children’s slitted goggles and handed out more food. Meavu sat down heavily on the furs Attu had been carrying and, leaning back against them, pulled her parka hood down over her face to block out the sunlight. She fell asleep almost immediately.

Attu and his mother exchanged glances. It was only halfway through the first day and already Meavu was exhausted.
How is she going to be able to walk the many days it will take to reach the next land to the South?

Yural clasped her spirit necklace in her hand, and Attu saw her lips forming a silent plea to her name spirit, Yuralria, one of the trystas of protection who dwelled in the Between. Protection trystas entered the women’s bodies through ritual dances, bringing their power of safety into the here and now. They were crucial to the wellbeing of every clan.

Her prayer finished, Yural turned her attention to her man.

“Ubantu, you cannot take your turn at the lead. Your leg-”

“My leg is fine.”

“But you’re already limping; your ankle aches, I know. One of the other hunters can take your place. You can-”

“It is not your place to say, woman,” Ubantu interrupted her again with a downward thrust of his right hand, chopping off any further discussion. Ubantu turned his back on Attu’s mother and silently chewed on the leathery piece of dried snow otter she’d given him.

Attu knew his father was worried about taking his place as the lead hunter after their rest. The wind had picked up, and Ubantu would be heading directly into its teeth, with no one ahead of him to block its strength.

He knows he’s not strong enough to lead in this wind for half a sun as Moolnik has done,
Attu thought,
especially at such a grueling pace. But not leading will show weakness. And father has had to give up so much because of his injury. Moolnik has taken charge and the others have let him. No one else seems to want the responsibility to lead but Moolnik. The other hunters see him as the natural leader if his older brother cannot. And Father has not objected.

For as long as Attu could remember, it had been this way between Ubantu and Moolnik. His father tried to get along with his brother, but Moolnik refused to see that Ubantu only wanted their life-long rivalry to end.

Once, when Moolnik had sworn at Ubantu and stalked out of their snow house, Attu had grown frustrated with his father’s constant placating of his younger brother.

“Why does he hate you so?” Attu had asked.

Instead of answering, his father had grabbed his fishing tools and left.

Once his father had gone, Attu turned to his mother, who’d been busy doing woman’s work in the shadows, away from the men’s argument. “Why, mother?” Attu pleaded. “I need to know.”

Attu’s mother moved to the heat of the nuknuk lamp and patting the fur beside her, motioned for him to sit. She placed her hands on her spirit necklace and took in a deep breath.

“Your father’s father, your grandfather, was a cruel and violent man,” she began. “He played favorites between his oldest son, Ubantu, and Moolnik, his younger brother. Through no fault of Ubantu’s, Moolnik grew to hate him, and Ubantu’s father fueled that jealousy with his taunting and teasing.” Yural shivered. “I remember your grandfather. He was vile. He hit his sons. He hit his woman.”

Yural stared into the flame of the nuknuk lamp, silent for a long time. Attu sensed her story was not finished however, so he too remained quiet.

“When Moolnik was young, he had many dreams,” Yural finally said. “He desired to become a shaman of the clan. But his father laughed at him and called him weak. Still, Moolnik dreamed, and many of his dreams did come to pass. Only his father could not see he was special, born to lead the clan in the way of the spirits. He named him Moolnikuan when Moolnik became a hunter, just to spite him. Who would name their child after a trickster spirit of evil omens and trouble? But your grandfather laughed in the face of the spirits.”

Yural clutched her amulet even tighter, her lips moving in silent prayer before continuing. “One night Moolnik had a dream his father died of an evil mussel spirit. He told Elder Nuanu, who had become the clan’s healer by then. When Elder Nuanu warned your grandfather, he beat Moolnik and told him never to speak of his dreams again. Then he demanded his woman feed him mussels as often as she could find them, just to prove he was not afraid and to belittle his son. She was sent out day after day to hunt mussels until there were few good ones to be found. She grew weak from her searching, and Moolnik grew sullen and withdrawn. He was close to his mother, and it hurt him to see her mistreated. He blamed himself, your father said, even though it was not Moolnik’s fault his father was such a cruel man.

“When your father was only twenty moons older than you are now,” his mother continued, “your grandfather did die from eating a bad mussel. The evil spirit in it caused him much pain and fever before he passed into the Between. Elder Nuanu did everything she could, but still, he died. Many said it was his own fault for beating his woman and sons and treating the spirits with disdain. Once he was gone, we all hoped the two brothers could be reconciled.”

“You knew Father then?” Attu knew his mother had come from the Ice Wind clan. He didn’t realize his mother and father had been paired so young.

“Yes. We’d been bonded just the moon before. Your grandfather had acted horribly at the celebration, taunting Moolnik about how he’d never find a woman like his brother because he was a weak dreamer. He called him lazy and stupid, and said no woman would ever have him. Moolnik was furious, but he said nothing. If he tried to defend himself, his father would shame him even more. Moolnik knew we were all embarrassed for him, which made it worse.”

Yural reached out and adjusted the long horizontal wick in the soft stone bowl of fat, making it burn brighter. Attu saw her face, grave in the light of the lamp, before she sat back in the shadows of the snow house again.

“Within the next moon, your grandfather was dead. I know your grandmother tried to intervene in the argument. I saw her bruised face and black eye later, although she tried to hide it from me. But I’ve always wondered... Your grandmother was a skilled woman. Even with mussels hard to find, to make such a grave mistake and serve her husband evil spirit mussels...”

Had Moolnik’s dream been prophetic after all? Or had Moolnik’s dream simply given his grandmother the means to murder her abusive man, thus “fulfilling the prophecy?”

Attu’s flesh crawled at the thought.

But she hadn’t been able to stop the rivalry between her sons. And instead of learning from his painful past, Moolnik had repeated his father’s crime on his own two sons.

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C
oming out of his thoughts, Attu realized his mother was watching him now, a pleading look on her face. He knew she wanted him to convince his father not to take his place in the front, not to expose himself to further ridicule by his brother. She was asking the impossible.

What am I supposed to do?
He shrugged at her in reply.

Yural seemed to sink into herself at his response, becoming lost in the thick parka she wore, with its tiny bone decorations dangling from sinew strings, its message stones, and its long fur ruff. His mother’s face had aged since his father’s accident; fine lines crossed her forehead now that even sleep did not erase.

Checking to see his father was still turned away from them, Attu held up one hand, placing it on his forehead, signaling to her that he would think of something. His mother understood, and she pulled herself up, pushed her dark braids laced with new grey more securely into her hood, and began bustling about the piles of belongings.

Yural pulled a wide nuknuk carry strap from a pouch in one of their bags. She walked over to her man and knelt before him. Ubantu turned toward her, and Attu saw the look that flashed between them. The warmth of their love shone clearly.

Slipping off Ubantu’s foot mik, Yural skillfully wrapped Ubantu’s lower leg and foot in the stabilizing nuknuk skin. The wrap would allow him to walk on the twisted joint with less pain. She slipped the foot mik back on and rubbed his knee gently.

Seeing the two of them supporting each other again gave Attu an idea. He approached his father. “May I lead with you, Father?”

“Are you willing to lead in the way of the true Nuvik, with thoughts of the safety of others always before you and thoughts of your own self left behind for others to determine?”

Attu looked down, for fear his surprise would show on his face. His father had practically admitted he thought his brother a poor example of a Nuvik male.

“Attu?” His father spoke as he held up a hand to gain Attu’s full attention again.

“Yes?”

“I would be honored to have my son lead with me,” Ubantu said. “I will inform Moolnik.”

His father rose slowly, and only slightly favoring his crippled leg, he walked straight-backed to where his brother was sitting with a group of hunters.

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T
he sun was about to touch the horizon when Ubantu, with Attu on his right and Kinak on his left, decided to end the journey for the day. They’d taken one more break, much needed by the women and children, and as far as Attu could figure, had covered about half the distance Moolnik had forced them to travel earlier. The smaller children were being carried now, and the other youngsters were barely putting one foot in front of the other.

Ubantu motioned for the clan to stop. Moolnik ordered them to set up camp. People began to chatter as packs were flung down, and women began pulling out the necessary supplies to set up skin tents for the long night ahead.

Attu, still off to the side, was about to begin walking back to help set up camp when suddenly a groan like a woman about to give birth rose up from the ice in front of him.

“Run!” he screamed, and waving his arms, he ran back toward the group. “Run!” he yelled again and began flailing his spear in the air to draw attention to himself.

Ubantu saw his son and in one fluid motion, reached out with his right hand to grab Meavu and his left to grab the most important pack, the one containing their food and nuknuk fat lamp. Attu heard him cry, “Yural, this way,” and his mother launched herself after her man, grabbing up the remaining pack, a roll of skins for tent-making wrapped around furs for sleeping. The others, seeing Ubantu running as if he had two strong legs, his woman following on his heels, grabbed up their packs and ran also.

Behind him, Attu heard a large crack spreading. From the direction of the sound, he could tell it was moving out from his left to his right, which meant they had a chance. It was not going to open along the direction they were running, so if they could run fast enough, and it didn’t spread too quickly...

A movement to Attu’s right caught his attention, and he turned his head to see Elder Nuanu struggling to keep up with the group, her overly-large pack of potions and other healing items weighing her down, slowing her down.

She’s not going to make it,
Attu thought. He turned to see a dark strip of unfrozen water roiling as huge pieces of the ice they had just walked on fell in massive chunks into the ever-widening chasm. Attu couldn’t believe how large the crack was, like nothing he had ever seen before.

“Moolnik!” Attu hollered. Moolnik was also at the back of the group, running to catch up with the others who had already run far ahead of him.
What had he been doing, that he hadn’t begun to run sooner?
Attu thought briefly, but then he realized Moolnik, in his efforts to catch up, had just passed Elder Nuanu, who moments before had slipped and fallen under the weight of her pack. Moolnik hadn’t seen her.

“Elder Nuanu, she’s behind you!” Attu yelled at Moolnik, waving and pointing at the old woman as he began veering toward them both.

Moolnik hesitated. Attu saw it. He hesitated, just for a heartbeat, then continued running, as if he had not heard Attu. Attu knew for certain that Moolnik had heard him and had chosen to leave their Elder Nuanu, the healer of the clan, the embodiment of Shuantuan, behind to die.

Rage swept over Attu, and he ran toward Elder Nuanu, a war-like cry escaping his lips as he forced all his strength into his legs. Almost immediately, it seemed, he was at her side. With one strong arm, he grabbed up both Elder Nuanu’s pack and her with it, for the two seemed stuck together like fish glue. He threw Elder Nuanu with her pack over his shoulder and heard the rush of breath as her slight body hit his back, knocking the wind out of her.

Elder Nuanu still seemed able to clutch onto his parka, and she did so fiercely; he could feel her bony fingers as she clung to him, while she relaxed the rest of her body so she rode with him instead of banging like a dead snow otter across his back, slowing him down.

Attu glanced over his other shoulder as he ran and saw a widening gulf of black churning water just a few spear lengths behind him.

“I’m not falling into your trap, not today, mighty Attuanin,” Attu growled and redoubling his efforts, he ran like he’d never run before, out across the Expanse. He caught up with the rest of the clan, and soon they were running together, like a storm front of blowing snow, out across the ice, away from the deadly spreading open water.

Attu’s lungs were on fire and his legs began to feel as heavy as the rocks on the hillside where the body of Elder Tovut lay. A moment later, the huge crack stopped expanding, but the clan continued running until the crack became distant, its huge ice chunks floating in the unfrozen water in the growing gloom of the eastern sky. Then, as if of one mind, the people stopped.