Allan and the Ice Gods (22 page)

thousands of winters ago perhaps, this man had been flying from the

ice and snow, when in an instant they rushed down and swallowed him

up, so that there he choked and died. He was no god, but just a poor

man, if indeed he were altogether a man, whom death had taken in this

fashion and whom the ice had preserved with his story written on his

hideous face and fleeing form.

Then, was the Sleeper a god, or was he some huge wild beast that lived

when the man lived and perished when the man perished, and in like

fashion roaring open-mouthed to the heavens for help? So much for the

gods! If they dwelt there in the glacier, as perhaps they dwelt

everywhere, it was not in the shapes of this enormous brute, or of the

man who also looked like a brute, for, as Wi had never seen an ape, he

did not know that this was what he really resembled.

Whatever their end may have been, as he stared at them a fancy, or a

vision, came to Wi. That man was himself—or all men, and the huge

brute behind was Death who pursued, and the ice around was Doom which

swallowed up both Life and Death. Vague thoughts of all this mystery

got hold of his untutored mind and overcame it, so that presently he

turned to creep shivering and terror-struck from these relics and

emblems of a tragedy he could not comprehend.

Coming to the beach again, Wi continued to walk eastward past the

smaller hills and ice-filled valleys, for he desired to visit a

certain bay beyond them, where the seals were wont to gather when they

arrived, hoping that he would see the first of them coming up from the

south to breed. Like the rest of the people, Wi thought more of seals

than he did of anything else, because these furnished the most of

their winter food and of the other things that they needed. On he went

till, turning a spur of cliff which here ran down to the sea to the

east of the glacier field, he came to the bay that was bordered by a

wide stretch of white sand and backed by a barren, rocky plain.

Ceasing to ponder upon the Sleeper and the man and the deeper things

that the sight of them had awakened in his heart, Wi searched the

shore with his keen hunter’s eyes, and the water of the bay and the

ridge of rock whereby at low tide it was almost enclosed, that ran at

some four spear-casts from the shore, but not one seal could he see.

“They are even later this spring than they were last year,” he

muttered to himself, and was about to make his way homeward when, on

the farther side of the ridge, where the waves broke, he caught sight

of some strange object that was stranded among the surf, a long thing

which seemed to be pointed at both ends. At first he thought that it

might be a dead animal of a sort new to him, washed up by the sea, and

was turning to go when the surf lifted the object and he saw that it

seemed to be hollow and that there lay in it what looked to him like a

human form.

Now Wi’s curiosity was awakened, and he wished that he could come

nearer. This, however, was impossible, for at each end of the ridge of

rocks was open water through which the tide raced swiftly. Or rather

it was not possible except by swimming out from the shore of the bay.

It is true that Wi was a great swimmer but the water was bitterly

cold, for in it still floated many lumps of drift ice, so cold that

there was much danger to a swimmer, who might, moreover, be cut or

bruised by the sharp edges of the ice. Also, the swim would be long,

for the ridge was far away. So again he thought that he would go home

and not give himself up to more fancies about someone who lay in that

hollow thing which was strange to him, for Wi had never seen a boat.

Indeed, he turned to do so and walked a few paces.

Then for a second time that day it seemed to him as though a rope were

drawing him, this time not to the glacier face but to the ridge of

rock and that which lay upon its farther side. Supposing that there

was a man—or woman—yonder? It seemed impossible because no other men

or women lived except those upon the beach of whom he was chief. What

he saw was some drift log splintered white by rolling upon stones, or

perhaps a great fish dead and rotten. And yet how could he say that

there were no other men and women, he who had just looked upon the

corpse of a man who must have lived thousands of years ago when the

ancient ice that wrapped him round was born in the womb of the distant

mountains whence it had flowed? How could he be sure that he and his

people were the only two-legged creatures on the earth, which perhaps

was bigger than they knew?

Oh! he would go to look, for if he did not he would be sorry all his

life. Should he be cramped in the cold water and drowned, or should

the pack ice strike him so that he sank, after all it would not matter

very much. Then, doubtless, Pag would become chief, or perhaps he

would make Moananga chief, which would please the people better, and

be the whisperer in his ear. Either of them would look after Foh, or

if they did not, Aaka would, especially when he was gone and she could

no more be jealous because the boy loved him better than he did her.

Probably, too, there at the bottom of the sea was peace without fears

or hopes, questionings, or disappointments. Also fate was always

behind them as the huge Sleeper was behind that wild, hairy creature

that was once a man.

So thought WI, and as he thought he threw off his cloak and laid it on

a rock, hiding the ax beneath it so that, if he returned no more, Pag

and the others might learn that the sea had taken him. Then he plunged

into the water very swiftly, lest his courage should desert him, and

struck out for the reef. At first that water was bitterly cold but, as

he swam with great strokes, stopping now and again to push aside the

blocks of floating ice or to feel them with his hand beneath the

surface lest on them should be sharp points that would cut him, he

grew warmer.

Also, the joy of the quest, the hope of adventure, caused his blood to

flow more quickly than it had done there upon the beach, where he was

filled with so many sad thoughts and haunted by the memory of the

strange and hideous man with whom he had come face to face in the ice

of the glacier. Now he felt as he had done when as a boy he had

climbed the mountain crag on which none had ever dared to set foot, to

rob the great eagle’s nest, and had brought down its young one in a

basket on his back, while the parent eagles screamed round him

striking at this head and tearing him, which young one he had pinioned

and kept for years, till at last the dogs killed it. Yes, once more he

was a fearless boy, untroubled by memories of yesterday or fears for

to-morrow, and seeking only what the hour might bring him.

At length Wi reached the reef, uncramped and unhurt. Crawling onto it,

he shook himself as a dog does, then very cautiously picked his way

among its stones and peered down at the spot, where from the height of

the shore he had seen that strange, sharp-pointed thing in which a

figure seemed to be lying. It was gone! No, there it was right beneath

him, lifted up toward him by the send of the surf. It was something

made by man to float upon the water, much larger than he had thought,

for five or six people could have sat in it, hollowed it would seem

from a great tree, thicker than any that he knew, for there were ax

marks in the red-hued wood. Moreover, his eyes had not deceived him,

for, behold! within this shaped log lay a figure covered with a cloak

or blanket of white fur which hid it all, even the head that rested at

the raised end of the log. No, not quite all, for outside of the cloak

lay a tress of hair, long hair, yellow as the marsh flowers that came

in spring, also a white arm and hand, which hand grasped a wooden

implement, that from its shape, he guessed, must be used to drive the

hollowed log through the water.

Wi stared and stared, and while he stared became aware that this hand

was not that of a dead woman, for from its delicate shape he knew it

to be a woman’s, because, although blue with cold, presently the

little finger moved, bending itself inward. Noting this, he pondered

for a moment. What could he do? To swim to the beach bearing a

senseless woman was impossible; moreover, she would die in the icy

water. If she might be brought there at all, it must be in that in

which she lay. Yet to drag that heavy log across the reef was behind

his strength. Therefore there was but one thing to be done. It had

come ashore but a little distance from the western channel, by which

the sea flowed in and out of the bay. The tide had turned, he noted it

as he swam, and was now running shoreward. If he pushed the log to the

channel, it would float to the beach. He leapt into the surf and

thrust it forward; being light, it moved easily, and as it drew but

very little water, not more than four handbreadths, it would seem, he

could guide it through the surf and shallows out of reach of the

breaking waves.

Pushing it in front of him, presently he came to the lip of the race

down which the tide began to run strongly shoreward. Here he paused a

moment, proposing to take to the water once more and swim behind the

hollow tree, guiding it with his hand. Then he remembered that the

water was dreadfully cold—that the way was long and that, before he

covered it, cramp might seize him so that he would sink and go to find

out the truth about the gods and many other matters.

Perhaps this might be well for him, but if he were drowned, what would

happen to her who lay there? Without doubt, she, who must already be

near to death, would die also, for except to kill seals, of which as

yet there were not any, no one came to this lonely far-off bay, or if

perchance some did and saw a strange woman lying in a hollow tree,

they would run away, thinking that she was a witch of the sea, such as

was told of in legends. Or perhaps they would kill her lest she should

be the bearer of a curse.

Then he thought to himself, why should he not get into the log and

guide it ashore with that which lay in the stranger’s hand? Often when

the sea was calm and the weather warm he, like others of the tribe,

would bestride a piece of wood and paddle it by the help of a bough to

a certain sand bank that swarmed with fish, there to catch them on a

line. Therefore, he could guess the use of what she held and knew how

it should be handled.

Taking the paddle very gently from her hand, Wi entered the canoe, for

such it was, and seating himself at the woman’s feet, pushed it off

into the centre of the race. Here the tide took it and bore it

forward, so that all he need do, at any rate at first, was to keep the

bark straight and after they were out of the race and in the bay, with

gentle strokes of the paddle that he dipped into the water first on

one side and then on the other, as he was accustomed to do when out

fishing on a log, to drive it shoreward, avoiding the lumps of

floating ice.

Thus this naked savage man and the shrouded woman upon whose face he

had not yet dared to look, partly because he was naked and partly

because he feared what he might behold beneath that cloak—a sea-witch, perhaps, who would drag him into the deep water—came safely to

the shore. When a while before Wi had looked upon the sleeper in the

ice and the hairy one who seemed to flee in front of it, in his heart

he had compared these two to man being hunted of Fate in a most

fearful form. He did not know that Fate has many shapes and that some

of them are very fair. He did not guess that there stretched senseless

before him, lay his fate, a fate as deadly as the monstrous Sleeper

would have been to the hairy man who had lived and died thousands of

years ago.

Wi leapt to the beach, and seizing the canoe by a hide rope which was

attached to its prow, dragged it over the hard, wet sand, as, being

very strong, he could do easily enough, till it was well above high-water mark. Then he ran to the rock and clothed himself swiftly in his

girdle of dressed seal fur and his hooded cloak of gray wolfskin which

he wore when out hunting, slipping his hand through the loop of the

ax, for, after all, who knew what might lie beneath that covering?

Also, about his shoulders he hung the bag in which when he went abroad

he kept food for a day or two and his tools for making fire. Then he

returned to the canoe and, with a beating heart, for like all savages

he was frightened of the unknown, drew off the fur wrapping from her

who lay senseless, and stared down.

Next instant he staggered back, for never had he seen and never had he

dreamed of a woman so beautiful as this that the sea had brought to

him. Tall she was, and shapely. Young, too, and all about her hung the

matted masses of her yellow hair. Though somewhat blue with cold and

reddened where the weather had caught it, her skin was of the

whiteness of snow; her face was oval and her features were fine and