The Legend of Ataneq Nanuq Page 3

  Aanasi awoke to find Nikkulaat had already gone to hunt for food and check the traps he’d set the previous day. She felt relaxed and complete, longing for Nikkulaat to return and express his love for her once again. In her morning activity, a peculiarity pervaded her body and she wondered about the strange happenings, convinced that something was different and unusual.

  In a matter of weeks her suspicions were confirmed, setting a deep, fulfilling glow around Aanasi.

  She would bear Nikkulaat a child.

  The winter months held grave dangers for anyone trying to survive in the deep Scoresby Land wilderness. Hungry nanuq could appear at any moment, and Aanasi had to be ready to defend herself while Nikkulaat was away from the shelter. At Nikkulaat’s insistence, Aanasi became proficient at handling a rifle; there weren’t any neighbours to rely on and survival was solely on their own shoulders.

  Nikkulaat wanted to send Aanasi into the closest village of Ittoqqortoormiit to get trained help for the delivery of their child, but a late autumn storm blocked their path for days and Aanasi gave birth in their igloo shelter instead, aided by a very unprepared and shaken husband.

  Siimuut’s first cries flooded the icy residence somewhere in the tundra of Scoresby Land; their baby had arrived without incident and his parents adored their son.

  *~*~*~*

  A small dogsled team topped a rise in the landscape and the man standing on the back of the sled whistled a shrill whistle, calling the team to a halt. The frozen tundra lay before him, spread out from horizon to horizon bordered by a lonely, aqua-blue sky. He had seen the tracks of another hunter only yesterday, but he wasn’t looking for company and pushed on, further away from any chance of a meeting.

  An Arctic fox had broken out of one of his snares, escaping injured across the landscape but leaving an easy trail to be found. Arctic fox brought great interest from buyers of furs on European markets and at present, the pelt of an injured fox was worth the trouble of tracking. Hungry nanuq would be prowling, looking for an easy meal too, and an injured fox would be a great appetiser but the bear had no concern for the precious fur pelt, making it a necessity to find the fox before any nanuq did.

  Bjarni Kleist grabbed his rifle from the sled and climbed down from his position at the back, then with a determined gait he strode for the dog team and bent down beside his lead dog and untethered her from the team. He rubbed her soft ears and then ruffled her fur, peering deeply into her intelligent husky eyes. In a sense the dog understood her master and knew what was coming; she enjoyed the hunt just as much as the man and the two together were an efficient team. Desna was Bjarni’s favourite dog; as well as a treasured companion, she knew his every move and every mood, keeping him from succumbing to isolation madness. She was wise in the ways of the tundra, keenly aware of the wilderness’ changing temperament, with a sixth sense for hidden danger.

  As Bjarni gestured with his hand, Desna put her head down and began to track the injured fox, leaving the other dogs tethered to the sled and waiting for the two to return triumphant with their prize. The tracks were becoming more defined as Desna closed in on their prey with Bjarni only a few steps behind her.

  Desna suddenly stopped and tasted the air, then a low growl–her warning–halted Bjarni in his stride. He knew the snarl meant a nanuq was near and he began to search for signs, then from close by a rifle shot rang out followed by a desperate, high-pitched scream.

  As he searched the frozen landscape, his gaze settled on a woman trapped against an igloo by an attacking nanuq, leaving him wondering how he had missed such an obvious landmark.

  Without warning, Desna sprinted towards the desperate scene before Bjarni could restrain her. Seconds later, Bjarni ran into the tense standoff, aghast at a mother separated from her injured and distressed baby by a threatening nanuq. He aimed his rifle at the bear but the gun jammed, leaving him no time to repair the fault.

  In a blur of commotion, Bjarni positioned himself in the path of the angry bear, shielding the child with his body while Desna lunged with snarling, bared teeth, biting down hard on the flailing bear. A huge paw swiped a crunching blow at the attacking dog, breaking her grip with a yelp and sending her bouncing heavily into the snow.

  The nanuq then turned its attention towards Bjarni, intent on regaining the injured child as part of its meal before devouring the man and then possibly, the woman too. The big bear reared up and was just about to pounce when a rifle shot rang out from a distance away, causing the nanuq to fall backwards until it became still in the grips of death.

  Seeing the bear’s destruction, the hysterical mother screamed, ”Siimuut!” and then swooped in to comfort her injured child while another man, carrying his rifle, hurriedly entered the crazy scene and comforted the woman.

  Bjarni searched the unmoving figure of his beloved Desna. The snow around her had turned crimson red and her body convulsed as Bjarni dropped to his knees and drew the dying dog into his embrace and wept long, broken sobs of despair, rocking on his knees in pain-filled anguish.

  *~*~*~*

  Chapter 4

  PRESENT DAY

  Akiak drove the team relentlessly, her constant barking encouraging the other dogs to run hard and keep pace with her, making the safety of Katu’s outpost and a well earned rest on her mind. She seemed to be aware that the old man’s stamina was waning; he required constant stops to straighten his stiffening frame, stepping down from the standing position at the rear of the sled.

  Akiak knew the changing landscape well from Scoresby Land to Jameson Land, crossing numerous mountain streams and skirting the shoreline of the Scoresby Sund in an effort to cut many tedious hours of granite hopping and mountain climbing off the journey. If anything happened to him, the old man was confident Akiak could find her way to Katu without his guidance. The dog team had made this pilgrimage many times in the last twenty years and at the same time of year, so Akiak was familiar with the seasonal routine and had slipped easily into the position of head dog soon after learning to run as a pup. The lead position was in Akiak’s blood; she had inherited it from her mother, Desna, just over ten years ago following her untimely death, a death that affected the old man severely and he mourned her like a grieving spouse.

  Finally, after eight hours of interrupted running, Katu’s outpost came into view. The familiar wood and tin structure stood like a jewel, unaffected by the passing of time in the treeless and undulating barren tundra landscape bordering Jameson Land and Liverpool Land to the north. Ittoqqortoormiit, the largest civilised centre for the locality, was a further ten kilometres to the northeast, located on the mouth of the Sund, but the old man would never go any closer to it than Katu’s outpost for fear of being recognised. The small village of 500 people still had a wiry older population who remembered the incident so many years ago all too well and feelings would still run deep.

  A shrill whistle called the dogs to a halt, their tongues hanging tiredly from their mouths, sweating profusely in the one degree heat wave. They were eager to feed and rest and spend time released from their harnesses before returning the same route they had just traversed, but this time pulling a heavily loaded sled.

  The old man searched the outpost perimeter and then glanced to the endless horizon; the tundra appeared like a grey, flat empty desert without the presence of snow. The sun was low in the sky, painting pink streaks on the high wispy clouds. At this time of year the sun wouldn’t set completely, seemingly bouncing off the earth and beginning its relentless journey again, climbing high into the sky like a restless sentinel guarding the tundra and never allowing the darkness a chance to cast its troubles upon the wide open land.

  “Bjarni...! Bjarni Kleist, good to see you old friend!” a familiar voice called.

  After so many months devoid of human company, the old man struggled to recognise his own name but he attuned himself to Katu’s welcome immediately and it was like music to his ears. The trusted Inuit man with his round face and dark eyes engulfed him in a
warm Greenlandic hug.

  “Katu, it’s good to see you again, too,” Bjarni replied, the sound of his own voice seeming raspy and strange to his own ears.

  “I have been expecting you for many days now. Release your dogs to the shelters; I have fresh seal meat already cut so they can eat and rest while we enjoy hot tea, boiling on the stove. I guess there’s no way I can convince you to stay a while longer than just overnight?” Katu teased, but he knew his plea would cause angst for his esteemed visitor.

  Bjarni gazed around, feeling the weight of his friend’s request and his troubled eyes displayed his answer.

  “Of course you can’t. You think I would learn; I ask the same question each year and each year I can see the conflict in your heart and the longing to be back in the tundra.”

  Bjarni was about to try and explain, but Katu held up his hand to silence the grief.

  “Come inside and complete your business then we can relax and talk about our year since we last saw each other.”

  Bjarni released the dogs from their harnesses and pointed towards the kennels. They bolted at top speed, excitedly running for the mountains of food Katu always put out for them. Akiak glanced at the old man as he rubbed her thick fur; her dark, piercing husky pupils surrounded by aqua blue–deeply wise and concerned for her master–surrendered their stare when she heard his, “Well done,” and then he pointed to her kennel. Akiak, now convinced he was well and in Katu’s good hands, gave a contented bark and hurried toward the waiting reward.

  “I see Akiak still has the concern of a well admired woman,” Katu’s eyes were dancing in jest.

  “She is a fine sled dog, Katu, and a finer companion than any woman; she comes from good stock,” Bjarni replied, distant clouds of remorse hanging over the statement.

  “Yes, I see she has developed the same rich royal black and white markings of her mother, Desna.”

  Katu flinched, wanting to retrieve his overzealous comment when he realised what he had just said and wondered how the faux pas would affect Bjarni.

  “Desna was a one of a kind; Akiak is her mother’s daughter,” Bjarni sighed emotionlessly, trying to leave the painful memories of Desna in the past.

  His sigh told Katu the conversation surrounding Desna was closed.

  “Well, let me have a look at your trappings. The soft white fur of Arctic fox is in big demand this year and is bringing good prices on the international markets.”

  Katu hoped his change of subject would make amends for his bungling into perilous territory that had inadvertently brought pain to his good friend.

  Bjarni reached into the passenger well of the sled, pulling back the muskox pelt covering his wares and handed Katu a string of white furs, carefully skinned, washed and dried.

  Katu’s eyes danced at the treasures in front of him and he laughed. “You haven’t lost your talent, old friend. The store is yours; help yourself to whatever you need. I will help you load it.”

  *~*~*~*

  Bjarni and Katu reclined around the warmth of Katu’s stove in the middle of his kitchen and drank hot tea, an Inuit favourite. Bjarni had loaded the sled with all his incidental needs for the following year, conscious that the dogs had to pull it, and then carefully covered it for the night with the muskox pelt. Inquisitive, hungry bears wouldn’t be a problem this time of year.

  The eight hour quest was becoming more difficult as he aged and he would use whatever strength he could muster to help the dogs over the tougher sections of the route, but he could feel his health and his strength declining and his reliance on Akiak increasing. The prospect of dying alone in the tundra didn’t bring him comfort, but the thought of dying in civilisation didn’t either. One step at a time, he would often remind himself.

  Katu’s cheerful voice broke into his thoughts. “So, what adventures has the depths of Scoresby Land brought to you this past year, Bjarni?”

  Bjarni sighed and smiled. “It is getting harder to trap good Arctic fox these days; or maybe I’m just getting older and the foxes are outfoxing me.”

  Katu’s expression took on a concerned air. “It worries me that you are getting older, my friend; being always alone in the wilderness maybe not so good for an aging man. I could use some help around here if you would consider a place to live out your remaining years.”

  Bjarni held Katu’s gaze for a long moment, until Katu broke the tension with a loud guffaw. “I can see you would no sooner give up the wilderness than take a wife.”

  Bjarni joined his good natured laughter before changing the subject. “He’s back, Katu,” Bjarni’s nervous confession was almost a whisper.

  The sudden segue stopped Katu in mid guffaw, wondering whether he understood. “Who’s back?”

  “Ataneq Nanuq,” Bjarni stared down at the floor as he offered the latest piece of information.

  The concern in Katu’s voice was immediate. “You have seen this King Polar Bear again? The one that first started your troubles?”

  Bjarni lifted his head and faced his friend, his eyes searching Katu’s, looking for the mocking ridicule that had so often accompanied his statements of King Polar Bears to other people in times past. He felt relief when all he saw was kindness and concern.

  “About two hours from my hut, I found a dead male nanuq on the trek. He was huge; he had to be three metres tall and weighing around 700 kilos.”

  Katu whistled. “That is a big nanuq, Bjarni. I have never seen such a creature.”

  “He was huge alright, but whatever killed him did it with a singular, violent force. The tracks spoke of an unmatched fight; then I found a paw print in a mud puddle next to the dead nanuq. The print was almost fifty millimetres bigger than the dead bear’s.”

  A look of horror crossed Katu’s face. “Are you sure? The villagers of Ittoqqortoormiit didn’t believe your story all those years ago. It possibly wouldn’t be a good thing to try and revive it now.”

  Katu’s response told Bjarni he knew of his history even if he hadn’t acknowledged it in the past. A long silence pervaded the kitchen as both men contemplated the meaning of this new information.

  Katu broke the silence again, a worried frown on his face. “About three months ago, I had a visit from a man asking questions about the whereabouts of a Dan Gurst.”

  Bjarni flinched as if he had been stung; he hadn’t heard that name for over fifty years. “What did he want and what did you tell him?” Bjarni’s troubled face reddened.

  *~*~*~*

  Chapter 5

  “Mr Reece. REECE...?! What did I just say?”

  “S..sorry, sir, I..I don’t know.”

  “If you’d concentrate on what is happening in this classroom and engage with your classmates instead of daydreaming, you might not be failing this subject and wasting this school’s valuable resources! Get your books and get out of my classroom!”

  “I..I will listen, sir. Please, I can’t get in trouble again; my father will kill me.”

  “GET OUT, REECE!”

  Jaimon Reece’s grey eyes filled with tears as he gathered his books and forced them through the broken zipper of his school carrybag, a hand-me-down from his sister. He pushed the plastic chair back from his desk with the back of his knees, gathered his belongings and stood to leave. He could feel the eyes of everyone in the room staring at him, but he didn’t dare look up. His small shoulders slumped forward as he dragged the oversized bag onto his back and headed for the classroom door.

  The room was deathly silent; tension hung in the air and floated down upon the shocked faces trying to remain small and insignificant lest Simons’ ire should find a reason to single them out and cut them down, also. No one liked Jaimon, but the remaining thirteen year olds could feel his embarrassment, grateful Simons wasn’t picking on them.

  Simons gazed around at the stress radiating from the young faces and smiled inwardly; total obedience through sudden and shocking fear, a trusted teaching aid that never failed.

  Jaimon found himself ban
ished and standing unprotected in the long empty corridor, his stomach full of butterflies, feeling nauseous. He could still hear Mr Simons’ voice bellowing and echoing down the hall as he taught. From end to end it was deserted, while his lone figure was easily discernable in the vast brick and concrete emptiness, making him a target for the authorities to recognise and pick off. He was frightened of being caught out of class and the inevitable questions that would lead to his father finding out he was failing another subject.

  An image of the angry man crossed his mind and the memory of the thick leather strap stinging his naked hind made him wince. The last encounter had painted heavy welts on his buttock which, in moments, had developed into dark purple bruises that had taken weeks to heal. Sitting painfully and awkwardly in classes, nursing his injuries, only drew ridicule from other students while his small frame and awkward looks made him a game and a prize to the normal kids, and their cruel taunts settled him into a spectator in his own life, always watching alone from the sidelines as other kids interacted into a brotherhood of conformity.

  Being different and standing out came at a horrible price.

  He swallowed, dried the moisture from his eyes with his hand and tried to put the encounter out of his mind, then checked his watch. He only needed to avoid being detected for another fifteen minutes and then he could assimilate with the rest of the school population as change-of-period sounded. The halls would crowd with students as a new class started and in the mass of moving humanity, he could easily hide and descend into blissful anonymity.

  A sudden protective plan formed in his thoughts: he would make his way to the library and take refuge in one of the private study stalls at the back, but he needed to pass the science room first where the principal was currently teaching. Ducking close to the ground as he approached the principal’s class, he could hear his voice, low and threatening. It was no wonder none of the kids liked fronting him for bad behaviour. Red brick made up part of the classroom walls to a height of one metre and then large glass windows stood on top of that, filling the gap to the ceiling and giving a clear view of the corridor from within the classroom, at a glance.