Our Story: Aboriginal Voices on Canada's Past (7 page)

Kannujaq felt awkward as Tunit grieved and pitifully restored order all around him, and he began to stare downward, not wanting to take in any more of it. He passed only one person who seemed to notice that he was not a Tunik, a young mother who clutched her baby tighter at the sight of him. But Siku led Kannujaq along even faster, quickly bringing him to his own little Tunit-style place: a sunken, square-walled hovel strewn with odd carvings, bones, and bags stuffed with undisclosed materials—probably shamanic bric-a-brac. Kannujaq wasn't sure whether he was witnessing an
angakoq
lifestyle or simply a boy's tendency to collect things.

While Kannujaq picked up and chewed some dried meat, as was any guest's right, the boy stuffed fistfuls of heather into a near-dead fire. This place was a miniature version of the typical Tunit home. The flagstone floor
was a shallow pit, given the illusion of greater height by the rectangle of short stone walls around them. The ceiling was tent-like. Kannujaq didn't have time to study it closely, since he was nearly overwhelmed by smoke billowing from the fire. He began to cough, but Siku just grinned at him from a cloud of fumes, seemingly unbothered.

I can see why the Tunit are all sooty
, he thought. It was as he had heard. The Tunit did not use lamps.

There was a peculiar smell that accompanied the smoke, acrid but not entirely unpleasant. Soon Kannujaq began to relax, and he very much felt like talking.

“Perhaps you should tell me, now, why I am here,” he said. “Did you think I could do something against those giants?”

So, as winds rasped at the outside world, the two of them talked. For how long, Kannujaq wasn't sure. But he quickly learned that this was not the first time the “sea monsters,” as Siku often called them, had attacked. Further, there had been rumours going around that other Tunit camps had been attacked. It was said that they wiped out whole communities, always attacking men and women first. Some Tunit escaped them by fleeing inland. More died under their gigantic, whirling knives. Always, they laughed and shouted “Siaraili!” as they killed. In fact, that was a common name for them: the Siaraili.

There was peace over this past winter, during which time they heard nothing of the Siaraili. But just last month, the monsters appeared at the shore, savagely assaulting this camp.

Because the ice is breaking up
, Kannujaq thought.
Their boat couldn't get through over the winter. The Tunit probably haven't realized that this means they travel only by water
.

Siku's belief was that the Siaraili had followed Angula, the camp's current boss, to this place. He claimed, with a scowl, that Angula was the cause of all this. Angula was a Tunik who had bought himself into power here by lending tools to others. Not just any tools, but special ones. Angula possessed a fabulous, secret store of tools, and it was this, the boy claimed, that helped him buy his way to power.

Kannujaq then learned why the boy had so fixated upon his
kannujaq
necklace. Every one of these “special tools” that Angula held so dear was made of
kannujaq
. Further, it was Siku's belief that Angula had somehow stolen these
kannujaq
things from the Shining One himself, who was now seeking vengeance and the return of his property.

Angula, however, had an altogether insane take on things. Increasingly, he claimed that spirits were giving him his
kannujaq
implements. He had begun to claim that he had special powers.

Madness
, Kannujaq thought.
Weird tools can't give one powers
.

It was Siku's thought that Angula wanted to think of himself as an
angakoq
, perhaps even as something beyond an
angakoq
. And these were strange times. With raids by the Siaraili, people weren't sure what to believe. Many Tunit simply wanted to leave, despite the love of their homes, but Angula would not let anyone go.

Love of home?
Kannujaq wondered at the foreign concept.
Home is but a place where one stops moving for a while
.

Angula's latest absurdity had been to tell the community that the Siaraili were under his direction. Their attacks, he claimed, were punishment for the people disobeying him. According to him, the Siaraili attacks would stop as soon as people stopped trying to leave and demonstrated complete submission to his will.

Kannujaq was scandalized. No mind, no
isuma
, must ever force anything upon another! But, he supposed, the Tunit were a shy people. Perhaps they were scared of this Angula.

Kannujaq's reverie was broken as Siku tossed something. It landed with a heavy clunk upon one of the flagstones.

He noted the weight of the peculiar object as soon as he picked it up. Heavier than it ought to be. Obviously some kind of knife.

Tunit could not have made this thing. Their craftsmanship was said to be ridiculously poor. And while Siku's clothes were well made, the rest of these people were dressed in what to Kannujaq's kind might have been rags. The few tools Kannujaq had seen here were no better. Not even any lamps. No dogsleds, either. Kannujaq wasn't sure how the Tunit managed to survive.

Yet this knife was of excellent make. What really caught his attention was the colour, the dark red of a
kannujaq
blade, which was cold, like stone. It was almost as long as his forearm, having only a single, straight edge. The dull side was oddly curved, and along it ran mysterious etchings.

Kannujaq scratched at it with his fingernail. Rust, as found on rocks, came away. Under it was a grey, cold, hard stuff like
kannujaq
, but more dense. Rock could leave scratches on his own sample of
kannujaq
, but when he tried scraping a piece of flint on this, there was no scoring. He clamped his teeth upon it, but knew that it would break his teeth before it gave way.

His heart began to beat faster. The boy had made a mistake. This was not
kannujaq
but something far better. The things one could do with a good supply of this stuff …

The boy explained that this knife was one that Angula was lending him in return for various services. His face, however, betrayed the fact that he had stolen it.

Kannujaq sat up, opening his mouth to tell the boy that the Tunit must leave this place, must get away from this Angula and from the shore …

He didn't get a chance. A voice, deep, as though from a chest more bear than man, suddenly called from outside,

“I wonder why the
angakoq
hides a dogsledder in our camp!”

Siku went rigid, and one look from him told Kannujaq that this voice belonged to Angula.

“I wonder,” bellowed Angula again, “what a dogsledder wants from us Tunit!”

Kannujaq stepped outside to face the owner of that voice. There he saw before him the fattest imaginable Tunit man, chest adorned with set upon set of clumsily arranged bear-tooth amulets. Rather than dangle, they seemed to rest upon his middle-aged paunch. As a Tunik, he was already rather short and squat. The added weight simply enhanced the boulder-like appearance that all Tunit men possessed.

So this is the great Angula
.

Angula stood flanked by three younger men, who eyed Kannujaq uneasily. Cronies, no doubt, their allegiance bought with Angulas treasures. Fortunately, there were no weapons being brandished at the moment. Kannujaq could see several other Tunit men, women, and children milling around behind Angula. Nervous glances everywhere.

And then Kannujaq saw the first beautiful thing that he had seen since coming here. It was a woman, one with eyes like dark stones beneath sunlit water. But the lines of her face bespoke frowning more than smiling. Her hair was worn in normal braids, rather than in the crazy Tunit way, and her clothes were of unusually high quality …

This was no Tunik! This was a woman of his own kind.

Kannujaq greeted Angula in a friendly manner, but the creature only made a
chuff
noise, like a bear. Again he began to wonder aloud why there was a stranger hiding in his camp. While he did so, his cronies snickered next to him, but their eyes—like those of the other Tunit here—betrayed the fact that they were uncomfortable with Angula's behaviour.

Angula obviously had a problem with Kannujaq's kind. He spoke more as a show of dominance, for the sake of the onlookers, rather than directly to Kannujaq. He constantly looked Kannujaq up and down, sometimes pursing his lips in disgust.

“It is obvious,” Angula said, “that this is why the Siaraili have attacked yet again! This is a camp full of disobedience. I have been defied once more, for now someone has tried to hide one of the foreign dogsledders among us.”

Then he saw the knife, still in Kannujaq's hand.

“What is this?” he exploded, coming eye to eye with some of the people. They seemed to wither before him.

“A dogsledder comes among us to steal!” he railed. “It is bad enough that their dogsledding kind ever soil our traditional lands! But now the trespassers steal from us!”

Kannujaq noticed that Angula liked the term “dogsledder.” It seemed to epitomize his detestation of Kannujaq's people.

Then Angula wheeled and pointed at Kannujaq, saying, “You are jealous! That's why you have come to steal! You dogsledding foreigners always think you have better things than Tunit! But now a Tunik has better things than you, and you can't stand it, can you?”

Kannujaq remained shocked into silence throughout the tirade. But Angula's shameful spectacle was not allowed to continue. A youthful voice suddenly barked at Angula from Kannujaq's rear.

“Angula!”

Siku had emerged. His blue eyes had paled even further with rage, blazing out at Angula. While all stood, dumbstruck, he uncurled the fingers of one hand to reveal his helper.

Kannujaq had one glimpse at a tiny, skeletal figure in the boy's palm—a carved figurine that symbolized the helper—before he looked away in horror. There were gasps all around, and the boy began to speak at Angula in an oddly spidery voice.

Kannujaq quickly realized that it was the helper, who announced himself as He Who Carries Beneath, speaking through the boy. An
angakoq
could have many helpers, whether monstrous spirits ritually tethered or the souls of animals or ancestors. No one would see He Who Carries Beneath, but the boy was revealing him through the figurine he had carved, a representation of the helper. If necessary, he could also arm him with invisible weapons, similar carvings of little knives or spears.

Yet it seemed that, for now, the helper was messenger only. Speaking through Siku, He Who Carries Beneath told Angula, “You are no longer leader of this camp. It is the dogsledder who must become the camp's headman for a time. It is the
kannujaq
he wears about his neck that is a sign of this. He will drive away the Siaraili.”

The helper then addressed the people, saying, “It is Angula's sins that have brought the Siaraili among you. You will all perish if you continue to have Angula as leader. This I know by Hidden knowledge. If you doubt, simply look at the dogsledder's necklace to see that his people have power to match that of the Siaraili.”

But they don't
, Kannujaq thought.
I don't
. It made Kannujaq wonder if it was really the helper or Siku doing the talking here.

One way or another, the helper did not finish the message. There was a roar, and Angula rushed forward, knocking the boy down.

All the onlookers, including Kannujaq, stood paralyzed with shock. It was not that Angula had attacked an
angakoq
. It was not even that he had attacked a boy. It was that he had done it
openly
, in front of everyone. Open violence was forbidden.

Mad…
thought Kannujaq.
He's mad …

The mysterious, non-Tunit woman was by Siku's side in an instant, but the young
angakoq
was already up again. His gaze was fixed upon Angula. Kannujaq had never seen such sheer murder in a boy's eyes before.

Angula was panting, more with stress than with exertion, and he quickly whirled about, pointing at Kannujaq.

“This is exactly what I was afraid of!” he bellowed. “Look what you made me do! You are obviously a powerful
angakoq
, manipulating us all!”

But his eyes shifted about furtively, uncertain.

“I will forgive Siku!” Angula huffed. “He is merely under your control! But you will leave now! Try to stay, and you die!”

Angula glanced at his cronies, but they looked uncertain.

“No one,” Angula yelled at the onlookers, “is to follow this dogsledder or listen to his lies! Anyone who does will die!”

For a time, the only motion was windblown snow. The only sound was the mourning of distant dogs.

At last, Kannujaq threw down Angula's knife and walked away. His eyes met the boy's, fleetingly. The pale blue shards held mingled confusion and despair at Kannujaq's flight.

Kannujaq went to his dogs. There were sounds behind him as he left—Angula making more proclamations, no doubt—but he ignored them. In a short time, he left the sounds and the Tunit madness behind him, and there were his dogs. He had never realized before how much he loved
these mutts. He had never realized what a treasure he possessed in his simple sled.

He only had scraps of dried meat to throw for the dogs, but it would keep them going. The storm had pretty much passed, leaving a bit of snow behind, and it was an ideal time for departure. He went to see if everything was lashed down properly, then he went to relieve himself.

A footstep, and there was the sudden flutter of wings. White appeared out of nowhere: a male ptarmigan hidden in an old snow patch. The potential food item nearly flew straight over his head, and Kannujaq desperately looked around for a rock to wing it with.

Then he saw them.

There were four, one of them grossly fat. Kannujaq knew that one was Angula. So he had decided not to let Kannujaq live, after all. They were coming on fast, carrying obscenely long knives, much larger than the one Siku had shown him.