glare when he pulled himself free. There was more laughter and they pushed at one another seeing who would be the next one out.
Armun let the boys go first, then followed them. Shielding her eyes against the brightness when she stood up. After the close, damp air of the paukarut, smelling of rotten meat, urine and babies, the cold crispness of the fresh air was wonderful. She breathed it in gratefully, though it stung her nose and throat.
The scattered paukaruts were white lumps in a white landscape. From them other Paramutan were crawling out into the sunshine; there were shouted greetings and much laughter. The bowl of the sky was pale blue with a few high clouds, arching down to the darker blue of the ocean at the edge of the ice sheet. The boats secured there were just white mounds, completely concealed by the snow.
Someone trilled a warning, then pointed and shouted.
“In the sea — a ularuaq!”
“It cannot be!”
“Not a ularuaq — it is one of our boats.”
“Then it is Niumak’s boat, his is the only one not here. But he must be dead, we sang his death song and the death songs of those with him.”
“We sang them too early,” Kalaleq laughed. “They fooled us good this time. They will never let us forget this.”
Harl ran with all the others toward the approaching boat. Arnwheet ran behind him, but tripped and fell and howled loudly. Armun picked him up and dried his tears: he was more shocked than hurt.
With everyone helping the boat was soon out of the water and secured alongside the others. Arnwheet stood in the snow, dry-eyed now, holding Armun’s hand and watching the joyous return. Niumak led the way back to the tents, others running beside him to touch him, pat his arms. To share some of the good luck he and the three others with him must possess. To have lived through this storm was something very special. All four dropped down wearily onto the snow, drinking eagerly from the bowls that were brought to them, snapping up the preferred bits of meat. Only when they were patting their stomachs were the first eager questions asked. Niumak raised his hands for silence and even the smallest children grew still.
“Here is what happened,” he said, and there was a shuffle of feet as they grew close to listen. “We could see the ice here when the storm began. Could see through the walls of the paukaruts and see the warmth and the food and the babies playing, could smell their fur and lick them with our tongues. But the storm blew us away.”
He paused dramatically, hand raised, and his listeners wailed in agony since they knew what was proper — stopping the instant his hand fell.
“We could not reach the ice and the paukaruts; we could only sail before the storm. There is the headland known as the Broken Leg and we sheltered there for a long time, but could not go ashore because there is no landing there as you know. Then the wind changed and we were blown out to sea again and that is when we sang our death songs.”
This brought another wail from his listeners and the tale continued in this manner for a long time. But no one protested because it was a good and exciting story to hear. But Niumak was getting tired and cold so the end came quickly then.
“On the last day the storm was breaking up and we came close into shore, but the seas were still too heavy so we could not land. Now here is a strange thing. There is the cave on the shore that is known as the Deer Cave because of the drawings there and we passed this place and saw two of our brothers come out of the cave and run and wave their arms. We could only sail on for the wind was behind us. And they had a warm cave and we wished to join them but could not. But who were they? All are here, all of our boats are here. Are there other Paramutan close by? But there would not be in the winter. And then we sailed back and you saw us and we are here and now I rest.”
He crawled into his paukarut followed by shouted questions. Who had they seen? What did they look like? Was there another boat nearby?
Armun stood as though carved of ice, as cold as ice, staring but unseeing. She knew who was in that cave on the shore, knew as surely as if the name had been whispered in her ear. Kerrick. It had to be him, one of those two hunters had to be him. There was no doubt in her mind, none at all. It was as though the knowledge had been there all the time, waiting for Niumak’s words to release it. He had come after her. He had found out that she had gone north and had come to find her. She must go to him.
The paralysis left her and she wheeled about. “Kalaleq,” she cried. “We must go to that cave. I know who is there. My hunter is there. Kerrick is there.”
Kalaleq gaped with amazement. The Erqigdlit did so many things that were surprising. Yet he did not doubt her for an instant. He pulled himself up and remembered Niumak’s words.
“It is good that your hunter is there, and he is safe and warm as Niumak said.”
“He is not,” she said angrily. “He is not a Paramutan so he is not safe. He is a Tanu who has walked to that place, has carried his food, who was caught by the blizzard. I must go to him — at once.”
When the import of this soaked in, Kalaleq shouted aloud. “A boat, my boat, we must launch my boat. There is a thing that must be done.”
Armun turned and saw Angajorqaq staring at her with widened eyes. “You must help me,” Armun said. “Take care of Arnwheet until we get back. Will you do that?”
“You should not go,” Angajorqaq said without much conviction.
“I am going.”
The boat was already in the water by the time she reached it and stores were being handed in. Four other Paramutan were there with Kalaleq, putting the oars into the water even as the last of the bundles came aboard. Then they were away, helped on their way by the light wind from the north.
At nightfall they were still rowing south. The coast here was a continuous cliff so there was no thought of going ashore for the night. They hove to and threw out a length of leather with a heavy skin on the end so they would not drift too far during the night. They ate fragments of rotten meat and dug out and sucked on pieces of snow from the supply that had been shoveled aboard. Many of them came over to touch Armun and pat her and make soothing noises. She did not answer, only looked at the shore and waited. Towards dawn, exhausted, she slept and when she awoke they were rowing south again.
To Armun the snow-covered shore looked featureless and blank. Not so to the Paramutan who pointed out invisible landmarks with shouted enthusiasm. There were cries of agreement and they rowed with growing enthusiasm towards a pebbled beach. As they surged up on a wave and grated to a halt two of them were over the side and waist-deep in the icy sea, pulling the boat higher up. Armun jumped from the bow, landed heavily but climbed to her feet and ran swiftly towards the wooded hills. Her long legs outdistanced the others — but she had to stop, to look about desperately at the unmarked snow.
“We go there,” Kalaleq cried out as he passed her, pointed, stumbling and falling in the drifts. There was no laughter now, for the snow reached up to the tree line, unbroken, concealing anything there.
They dug, throwing the snow in all directions with desperate urgency. Blackness appeared, the hole was enlarged. Armun was digging as desperately as the others, fell into the opening as they burrowed through. There was a mound of furs covering — what?
She crept forward and reached them first, pulling back the stiff, frozen furs that covered Kerrick’s face. Gray and frost covered. She tore off her glove and reached out, not breathing in the fear that overwhelmed her.
Touched his skin, so cold. So cold.
He was dead.
Yet even as she cried aloud with the thought his eyes trembled and opened.
She was not too late.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The wastes of the frozen north were home to the Paramutan. They knew how to live here and survive, knew everything that there was to know about frostbite and freezing. Now they called out in excitement to each
