"Wishful thinking," said Kussu. "We have only our team. We have to make a decision, Maja: Go out alone with the dogs or try to find the floe from kayaks and hope they're on it."
Maja shook her head. "You decide."
Kussu thought a moment. "Let's find the floe."
Knowing the chances of finding their sons were slim if they were on a floe, Kussu said, "We'll look for them as soon as the storm blows over." Rescue attempts would depend solely on Kussu and Maja. Inu was too old to help, as were carver Etukak and Miak.
Maja nodded. She was a strong woman, with high cheekbones, penetrating eyes, and powerful hands. She was almost as good as Kussu at hunting and trapping out on the tundra or paddling a kayak—and just as brave.
Kussu soon went back outside and placed the dogs in their shelter. He fed them and then checked the kayaks, which had not been used since summer.
Maja quickly prepared dried fish from the summer hunt and they ate. In some respects, they were twinlike in size and appearance, except Kussu had a thick black mustache and goatee.
Kussu said, "If Alika went where I told him to go, the floe will pass here. But with luck the wind will drive it toward Greenland." There might be safety in Greenland. There were more villages over there.
"Why did you send Alika to the ice?" Maja asked, suddenly angry. "Winter is almost here."
"To hunt seals, of course. He's a man."
"He's still a boy. And why didn't you check the sledge to see if Sulu was on it?" Maja continually worried about Sulu's health.
"I was too busy talking to Niuinia about going out for caribou tomorrow to even think of Sulu."
Maja let out a disgusted breath.
They both knew that the size and depth of the floes controlled the speed of drift. The depth in the middle of the floe could be ten or fifteen feet or more, like a keel, but it would be thinner along the edges where it had been attached to land. The floe might run aground. They could hope for that. It had happened before.
After the three darkest months, the white man's November, December, and January, hunters sometimes went out on the moving ice for seals to feed their families. They'd even set up camps on the floes, going back to the mainland by kayak. But there was no guarantee this would happen. Kussu knew there could not be a worse time for his sons to be on the ice, if that's where they were, due to extreme cold and often thick darkness.
In the early hours of the new day, the gale died out as suddenly as it had begun, and Kussu and Maja dressed in their sealskin jackets with drawstrings at the hoods and wrists. The jackets also cinched at the waists, where they attached to the kayaks. Inuit inventions, the light ocean kayaks were made of wooden frames and covered with sealskin. Hunters sometimes attacked walrus or whales in them, two kayaks tied together, and sometimes they disappeared in their frail boats, blown out to hostile seas. Kussu and Maja knew that it was into this heaving theater of ice that Alika and Sulu may have gone.
Finally, Kussu and Maja lifted their kayaks and carried them several hundred yards to the shore. Chunks of pancake ice mingled with the dark waters in no pattern. The winter freeze, thick enough to carry the weight of man or animal but not enough to stop a moving floe, would soon set in.
Without speaking, they launched the boats and slid into them, fastening themselves into the cockpits. Each kayak was twenty feet long, nineteen inches wide, and ten inches deep. If Kussu and Maja were lucky enough to locate the floe, they'd insert Sulu and Jamka into the covered bow of one boat and Alika into the other one, snug as fingers in gloves.
As the storm clouds vanished to the east over Greenland's mountains and the gale wind became a cold breeze, the waxing moon lit up the slivers of the kayaks. The water was calm again but littered with glittering pieces of ice. There was only one human sound, the rhythmic slosh of their paddles. Inside the cockpits, Maja and Kussu were already beginning to sweat, despite the subzero temperature. They guided around the chunks of frozen pack ice.
The sky was impaled with stars. Some Inuit believed that the stars were holes in the sky created by the passage of dead bears into the eternal light. Kussu and Maja knew the Big Dipper as a herd of reindeer; the Pleiades as a dog team in pursuit of a bear; the belt of Orion was a cut by an Inuit into a steep snowbank to enable him to climb to the top. But they did not navigate by the stars this night. They paddled straight east. They could see Greenland's mountains in the distance.
Frost smoke set in during the first hour, coming up like fog. Kussu shouted across to Maja, "We must keep going!..."
She shouted back her agreement.
Four hours later, they still had not sighted the suspected floe in the brilliant moonlight. The muscles in their arms could no longer guide the kayaks away from the random ice impacts. The current had carried them south, but they finally made it safely back to shore, perhaps six miles downstream. They were exhausted.
Like most hunters, they knew what to do. They crawled down into their kayaks, pulling the sealskin aprons over the cockpits, and sadly went to sleep.
Kussu awakened after about six hours, relieved himself, and tapped on Maja's kayak. She soon pushed her cockpit cover open with one foot, crawled out saying "I'm hungry," and stretched.
"So am I," said Kussu. They hadn't brought any food along.
Looking out at the sea was useless, but Maja shouted, "Alika! Sulu!"
Defeated, Kussu said, "Let's go."
They began walking north, carrying their kayaks on their shoulders. They had to cross several creeks and inlets, and one river, hoping the ice had frozen enough to bear their weight. If it cracked, they would do what all kayakers did—put their boats down and slide them with their mitts until the ice was safe.
They reached Nunatak about noon and reported to the anxious women who greeted them that they had failed to find their sons. The floe might have already passed the village, or it might have grounded up to the north, not close enough for the boys to walk ashore.
Kussu said tiredly, "We must trust Alika to bring both of them back here safely." His face was grave. Maja's was as well. She lived for her sons.
There were solemn nods from all those encircling the parents. But everyone knew Alika was only fourteen, and Sulu only ten. They also knew the weather and the ice were heartless and unforgiving, and the season of darkness could be so cold that even the wolves would stop hunting.
Old Miak said, "I'm sure Alika built an iglu to stay in last night."
Kussu agreed. "He is a smart boy."
The shaman Inu had come out of his house, the big raven Punna on his shoulder. He said, "I will send a message to them."
The villagers nodded.
Maja and Kussu then borrowed a sledge and hooked their dog team to it to search the coast to the north in hopes that the floe had hung up there. Their kayaks were on the sledge, as well as a skin bag of dried char.
Both of them had traveled north before while hunting, and they took the same general route near the shore, exchanging places riding the sledge and running behind it every several miles. The moonlight reflected down, white as caribou milk.
Nattiq and the other dogs, happy to be on the trail, were performing well, and the alabaster of the land provided enough illumination so they could see any snow-covered rocks. Nattiq was likely to steer around them, anyway.
Finally, they reached the area where Alika had probably hunted. There was no sign of their sons. But there was a scar of ice on the bank where the floe had been. In the dimness, it stretched out of sight. Their sons were adrift in the Greenland Strait, without doubt.
Kussu said, "That floe must be four or five miles long." He wrapped his arms around Maja, who was silently weeping. They slowly began their return journey to Nunatak, sitting on the sledge together.
En route, Kussu studied the Milky Way—that faintly luminous band, stretching across the heavens, composed of innumerable stars too distant to be seen clearly—as if an answer might be found there. The Milky Way was the track made by the Raven's snowshoes. Ac
cording to the Inuit, the Raven had created Earth.
The largest bergs usually broke off
from the Greenland glaciers, drifting south or east in the
currents, some flowing along the Canadian shore. Some
then traveled into the North Atlantic Ocean and sank
skips. Usually, only roosting birds were passengers.
3
The night sky had cleared as the clouds advanced toward Greenland, and the floe moved steadily south, under the moonlight.
The moon, Tatkret, was male, and the sun, Sikrinaktok, was female. Brother Moon was now providing bright light, and Alika thanked him for it.
Alika and Sulu and Jamka, half buried in snow, had emerged from behind the sledge to dust themselves off and start building a small, domed iglu for temporary shelter. It would be about five feet high. First, the boys looked back at the glassy, shining berg that had launched them. Alika guessed it was fifty feet high.
He said, "We'll go back there in the morning. We have work to do now."
The Little One nodded. Jamka sat down to carry out his role as bear guardian. The nanuks were around day and night, fair weather or foul.
Sulu said, looking over toward the shore, "Brother, how close will we come to home?"
"I don't know," Alika answered. "The gale blew us out. I don't know how fast we're traveling." They might have already passed their home, he thought.
Alika and Sulu were fortunate that Kussu always made certain the hunting sledge, with its wooden runners and caribou-antler braces, was fully equipped for any emergency. In addition to the Reliance rifle and ammunition reserved for bears and inland hunting, there were Reliance steel knives strapped to the frame, each for a special purpose. There was a bow and arrow, which made it possible to save bullets for the bears and an extra harpoon. There was also a Reliance stove vessel used to burn seal oil for drying wet clothing, heating, and cooking.
Kussu had also stocked the sledge with fifteen pounds of frozen seal meat and ten pounds of dried char, sealskins, an extra parka, caribou mattresses and sleeping bags, a sealskin rope, and a half dozen other survival items. He had selected carefully, well aware that in addition to his own life, the lives of Maja and their sons might depend on what was carried on the sledge.
As Alika unstrapped the knives, Sulu said, "We should have brought a kayak so we could just paddle ashore."
"We should have stayed ashore." Alika sighed, a touch of annoyance in his voice.
"Look, we'll get out of this, believe me. It may not be tomorrow or even next week, but we'll find a way, I promise," Alika said.
"How?" Sulu asked.
Alika sighed again. "At this moment, I don't know, but we'll find a way."
Sulu was quiet for a moment, then asked, "Could the sledge float?"
Alika sighed yet again. "Not with us on it. Let's go to work."
He pulled out a square of sealskin to use as a broom to sweep away the new snow and expose the hardpack beneath. For years while on hunts, Alika had been helping his father build temporary houses. He'd also built a number by himself. It was simple: Cut the building blocks out of hard-packed snow and place them. But finding good packed snow was not all that easy. If his harpoon shaft went down into it smoothly, the snow was apt to be usable. And Sulu was strong enough to help carry the cut blocks.
In less than three hours, they completed the small iglu. Then Alika laid down insulating floor skins while Sulu brought the caribou mattresses and sleeping bags in. Jamka was already inside and would share his body heat when the brothers stretched out on either side of him.
Sulu said, "I wish I hadn't come with you yesterday."
"I wish the same thing," Alika replied truthfully.
"I didn't tell Mama I was coming."
"You told me you did."
"I didn't know this would happen."
"Neither did I," Alika said sharply.
Sulu tried very hard to keep tears from rolling down his cheeks, and Alika saw his chin quiver. Alika stepped over and hugged his little brother. "I didn't mean to make you cry," he said. What else could he do but hug him and listen to what he said? Make them a team.
***
Alika started a fire by lighting the seal oil Kussu had stored on the sledge in a walrus intestine. He used a bow drill held between his teeth, and rotated the rod by swirling it with sealskin rope to make a spark in a small notched piece of board from the Reliance. The wick was dried moss. At home he used an iron pyrite to make the spark.
Alika left his papa's rifle just outside the iglu to prevent heat condensation from collecting in the barrel, causing rust. Alika had fired it several practice times a few years back.
Sulu said, "It's cold in here."
Alika had to suppress a laugh. It was cold everywhere. His brother hadn't slept in an iglu very often. Maybe a dozen times when out hunting with the family.
Alika said, "It'll warm up soon."
The final act of the night, before putting out the fire and bedding down in their sleeping bags, was eating a supper of wafer-thin frozen raw seal meat. Jamka, on his belly, chewed and grinded away loudly on his piece, his canines long accustomed to such meals. Alika and Sulu had to suck the frozen meat before it was soft enough to chew on. At home Mama would always boil the evening meal over their oblong platterlike qulliq, the combined lamp and stove that provided both light and heat and was also used to dry clothing.
Sulu and Jamka soon went to sleep, but Alika lay awake a long time, worrying and wondering about the size of their floe. How long was it? How wide? A day's walk to the end? How far would it travel until it began to break up into pack ice? What else was living on it? Certainly bears and the white arctic foxes that closely followed the bears to eat seal remains. No humans likely, although Greenlanders might have come out to hunt seals. But they'd quickly go back to their settlements in their boats once the floe began to drift south.
The only real enemy they might face out on the floe was the polar bear. Alika wasn't certain he'd be able to kill a bear with his first shot. If he missed while Jamka was battling it, which was bound to happen, he might not have time to reload. He was worried about that. Jamka was not really a match for a fully grown nanuk. It would take three or four dogs to bring a bear down. Not even Jamka was that powerful.
Alika heard Sulu's muffled voice. His brother had awakened.
"Will we be back in time for the feast?" Sulu asked.
"I'm sure we will," Alika said. Maybe Sulu had been dreaming? Such a strange question in the middle of the night. Maybe he was hungry?
The feast was the weekly alupajaq in the community hall. The men gathered around a seal and cut it up. They told hunting stories. The women came together to listen and talk about the seal and about how fortunate they were to eat well. The best parts of the seal were presented to the women and children. It was a happy time for all. Alika thought that many weeks might pass before they'd attend another alupajaq.
What they needed badly was a strong gale from the northeast that would jam the floe against the western shore, enabling Alika, Sulu, and Jamka to jump off onto the land. But unfortunately, there weren't often gales from the east this time of year.
"I was dreaming about aalu," Sulu said.
Alika moved over on the sleeping platform to comfort his brother. "After we get a seal, I'll make you aalu," Alika said. Make sure the meat is very lean and clean; cut it into tiny pieces and put them into a howl, adding a few drops of melted blubber, a few drops of seal blood, and a little ptarmigan intestine, and stir briskly with your fingers. The sauce was delicious when smeared on seal. "I promise I'll make aalu if we can find a ptarmigan." Anything to take Sulu's mind off being adrift, Alika thought.
Sulu said soberly, "Use something else besides bird intestines." There was Sulu's bird obsession again.
"I'll try," said Alika, not having the faintest idea of what to substitute.
But his mind wasn't really occupied with fixing a treat for his brother. Soon the darkness
would descend and last at least three months, including many days and nights when the weather would force them to stay inside—force them to give up hunting. Bad things could happen. Starvation, sickness, even piblikoto, craziness. Within Alika's memory, one woman had committed suicide during the long polar night.
Before drifting off to uneasy sleep, Alika decided on the next day's schedule. As early as possible, they would get settled by a seal hole. Food was the priority. Food is always a priority. Exploring and building a larger house could come later. Miak had been right. They must prepare for a long stay.
Round-faced, puffy-eyed Miak had spent almost six months on his drifting floe before being rescued. Six months! Alika couldn't bring himself to think that would happen again. The good spirits wouldn't allow it, he thought.
Surfaces of the huge floes were seldom smooth.
The howling winds made cuts and crevices. At work
beneath the floes crosscurrents pushed upward, forming
ridges, the hummocks, sometimes thirty feet high.
4
Alika awakened slowly in the morning, again thinking about where they were and what had to be done for survival; then he crawled out the iglu entryway to relieve himself. Jamka followed him. Sulu still slept. The small shelter had served them well overnight. They'd slept warmly. In fact, they were warmer out here on the ice than they would have been on land, above the permanently frozen ground.
They were well equipped for the frigid weather. Their parkas of caribou hides, one inner suit with fur next to their bodies and an outer suit with fur outside, were light and airy and extremely warm; then bear trousers, sealskin underpants, and furlined mitts; their socks were made of hare fur.
The sky was dim and gray, casting dark shadows over the floe hummocks and western mountains as well as those to the east in the Greenland distance. Aside from the murmur of the water as their ice ship sailed slowly on, there were no sounds. No wind was blowing, a condition that wouldn't last, Alika knew. Though his body was warm, he shivered from the invading loneliness and thoughts of the arrival of nearly total darkness.