'We will now make a shelter,' said Imnak.
Once again, as he had before, he found a suitable drift of snow and began to cut blocks. We may call this type of shelter an igloo, or iglu, I suppose, for that is the word, an Innuit word actually, by which we would think of it. Yet in the language of the Innuit, or of the People, the word 'igloo' or 'iglu' designates more generally a dwelling or house. For example, it is not necessary for an igloo to be made from snow or ice. Imnak's half-underground hut, or house, at the permanent camp, for example, was also called an igloo.
Soon Imnak had completed the shelter and he had then come outside, to stand with me. Within the girls were preparing supper.
'We are now free of sleen,' I told him.
'It is unlikely that sleen, new sleen, would come this far out on the ice,' he said.
'We have then little to fear from them,' I said.
'This is, however,' said Imnak, 'the country of the ice beasts.'
'I have not seen any,' I said, 'not for several sleeps.'
Imnak and I had both, several sleeps ago, caught glimpses of an ice beast. We had not seen it, however, since the great storm.
'Let us go inside,' said Imnak. 'The night is going to be cool.'
I smiled to myself. Surely the temperature was at least sixty below zero.
I looked up at the sky, at streaks and curtains of light, mostly yellowish green, hundreds of miles in height. This is an atmospheric phenomenon, caused by electrically charged particles from the sun bombarding the upper atmosphere. It was unusual for it to occur at this time of year. The autumnal and vernal equinox times are the most frequent times of occurrence. In different light conditions these curtains and streaks can appear violet or red or orange depending on their height. This silent storm of charged particles, flung from millions of miles across space, raining upon an atmosphere, was very beautiful. On Earth this type of phenomenon is sometimes referred to as the Northern Lights or the Aurora Borealis. It occurs also, of course, in the south, in the vicinity of the southern polar circle.
I called Arlene out, and she came out, followed by Audrey. We stood for a time, quietly, watching the lights. Then I indicated that they should return inside the shelter.
Later, some Ahn later, Arlene lay within my arms. 'It was very beautiful,' she said.
'Yes,' I said.
'The night is so still outside,' she said. 'How beautiful the north can be.'
'Yes,' I said. It was very quiet, very still, very calm, very peaceful.
'What is that?' she asked, suddenly.
'Imnak,' I said, calling him.
'I hear it,' he said.
We listened, carefully. For a time we heard nothing. Then, after a time, we heard the snow and ice crunch outside. Something was outside.
'Is it a sleen?' I asked.
'Listen,' he said.
After a time Arlene asked, 'Is it a sleen?'
'No,' I said. 'It is walking on two feet.'
Then, after a time, the noise was gone. I heard Imnak replace the knife in its sheath. I then returned my own blade, too, to its sheath.
'I am going out,' I said.
I drew on furs. The outer parka I retrieved from the long, low entrance way to the shelter. This entrance, contrived as it was, made it impossible for the direct blast of an outside wind to get inside. It is generally better for the fur of the heavy parka to be left in the entrance way, where it is colder. One brushes snow from the parka before leaning down and moving through the tunnel to the interior of the shelter, but, in the shelter, the residue of snow would melt, wetting the garment. Later, when the lamp goes out, the garment could stiffen and freeze. It is better for the fur not to be constantly put through this cycle of dampening and freezing; also, the heavy parka is rather large for the drying frame, which is generally used for smaller articles, like boots and mittens. Also, of course, the garment is more comfortable to put on if it is not cramped and frozen.
Crouching down I edged toward the opening. The roof of the exit tunnel was about a yard high, at the inner end. Usually a hide tent is hung inside the snow shelter, which provides additional insulation. It is fastened by pegs within the shelter, which are anchored outside, on the rounded outer roof. We had not set the tent within the shelter this sleeping period, however. I had brushed aside a hide flap, though, which was hung over the inner entrance. At the outer end of the tunnel, where one emerged to the outside, the ceiling of the tunnel was about four and one half feet in height The general reason for the tunnel dimensions is to prevent wear and tear on mittens and clothing, which can be a very serious matter in subzero temperatures; a needle and thread in the arctic can be as important as a knife and a harpoon. Another value of the tunnel dimensions, of course, is that one may emerge from the shelter with a weapon at the ready. This can be of value in a country where there may be dangerous animals.
I began to move down the tunnel. I heard Imnak behind me.
At the outer end of the tunnel, gently, I edged out the snow blocks which, for most practical purposes, closed the opening. One does not seal the shelter, of course; that can be extremely dangerous; it must be adequately ventilated, particularly when the lamp is lit. Air from the entrance, or another aperture, moving into or through the shelter and, warmed, rising, escaping at the smoke hole in the roof, supplies the required ventilation.
When I emerged from the opening I, knife in hand, looked cautiously about. A moment later Imnak, knife, too, in hand, straightening up, emerged beside me.
It seemed very calm.
The girls, too, Poalu first, and then Arlene and Audrey, crept out.
It was very quiet, and desolate, and cold.
The Northern Lights still spun and played in the sky.
Imnak and I, knives ready, the girls remaining at the hut, scouted the terrain in the immediate vicinity.
'I have found nothing,' I told Imnak.
'Nor I,' he said.
'There was something here,' I said, 'for we heard it outside.'
'Did you find tracks?' asked Arlene.
'No,' I said.
'The ice is hard,' said Imnak.
'But it was here, something,' I said.
'Yes,' said Imnak.
'There seems to be nothing here now,' I said.
'No,' said Imnak.
I looked about again. 'It is gone,' I said. We sheathed our knives.
'Perhaps there was nothing here,' said Arlene. 'Perhaps It was only the ice and the wind.'
'No,' I said. 'Something was here.'
'Aiii!' cried Imnak, suddenly, pointing upward. Arlene screamed.
In the lights in the sky, in those shimmering, subtle, shifting streaks and curtains of light, mostly yellowish green, some hundreds of miles in height, clearly portrayed, though it was for a moment only, was the gigantic, hideous visage of a Kur.
Imnak stood in silence, looking at it, and I, too. Poalu did not speak. Audrey screamed, and turned away. Arlene stood beside me, clutching my arm.
There was no mistaking that towering face etched in the lights and the darkness. It was clearly that of a Kur. Its outline was shaggy. Its eyes seemed to blaze, as though fires burned behind them. Its nostrils were distended. Its mouth was fanged. Then its lips drew back, in the Kur's sign of anticipation, of pleasure, of amusement. Then its ears lay back against the side of its head. Then the visage faded and disappeared, the eyes last, as soon as it had come. Before the ears had lain back against the side of its head I had seen that one of them, the left, had been hail torn away. Then the lights themselves were gone, and we saw only the stars and the
