The Curse of the Viking Grave (12 page)

Peetyuk spoke again in Eskimo, and the old man nodded his head but said nothing. It seemed like an impasse until Jamie had an inspiration. He had several plugs of tobacco in his pocket, intended as gifts for some of the hunters. He pulled out three plugs and gravely offered them to the old man.

Elaitutna's clawlike hand came out with the speed of a striking snake, seized the plugs, and plunged them under his loose parka. He looked shrewdly at Jamie for a moment, then he seemed to make up his mind. Rising to his knees he began to rummage about under the sleeping platform and at last he drew out a strange contraption made of wood and bone. He held it up so they could see it, but only Jamie recognized it.

“That's a crossbow,” he said in surprise. “Eskimos don't use crossbows! They were something Europeans used hundreds of years ago. Where did he get it, Peetyuk?”

“He say he made it,” Peetyuk replied after translating
the question. “He say Innuit find how to make from men called Inohowik—Men of Iron—who come to land long, long ago. Elaitutna say he tell story, if we want.”

“It may be something to do with the Vikings,” Jamie answered, his voice rising with excitement. “Ask him to tell the story, Peetyuk. Ask him, please!”

Peetyuk turned back to the old man and repeated the request. Elaitutna raised his eyes so that he was looking past the boys. He seemed to be peering through the wall of the tent into some limitless distance they could not penetrate. For a long time he was motionless. Then his voice broke the waiting silence.

 

CHAPTER
12

The Viking Bow

“
T
HIS BOW WAS A MAN'S WEAPON
! It gave my people strength for more generations than I can count. It was the gift we laid aside when the white men brought rifles to our land. That was a wrong thing we did, for men should not lay down the gifts which make them great.

“This was a gift that came to us in time out of memory; but
I
have that memory, for I am
angeokok
, a man of magic things, and the memory lived through all the many winters until it came to me.

“This was a gift of the Inohowik. They were mighty beings, more than men and yet not gods, for death felled them in the end. They were pale-skinned and bearded. Their eyes were blue with the color of deep ice.

“As for the place they came from, who knows their lands? We only knew it lay far to the east, over the salt water that has no shore. They traveled over that water in boats fifty times the size of a kayak, so it was said.

“In those days we lived closer to the salt water and there were not many of us in the land, but the Itkilit—the Indians—were many. They hated us and hunted us
like rabbits. It was their custom to come far out into the plains in summertime, and they would fall upon the Innuit camps and slaughter all within. So we were much afraid.

“In the hunter's moon of a certain year our people were camped on a river called Ikarluku. One morning a boy went to the river to spear fish, but soon he came running back crying that the Itkilit were come. The men seized their spears and stood trembling in front of the tents. But it was not the feared Itkilit who came down the river—it was a strange canoe made of heavy wood and rowed by eight strange men.

“These were Inohowik. They sat in pairs, and a ninth stood and faced them from the stern. He wore a shining iron cap upon his head and iron sheets that caught the rising sun upon his chest.

“The Innuit were afraid, for they thought these must be devils. They watched in terror as the Inohowik came to
shore. The tall one, he who stood in the stern, landed first. He held up a huge round shield ahead of him, and it was painted white as snow. Then he flung down the shield and on it laid a mighty iron knife as long as a man's leg. So he stood with empty hands, and the people saw he had come to them without the black blood of evil in his heart.

“This was the coming of the Inohowik. They could not speak our tongue, nor we speak theirs. Yet they made it known by signs that they had come many moons' travel, and wished now to return to a far distant place beyond the salt waters. After a time the People understood that the Inohowik had come to our shores in a great canoe and then had ventured south into the forests where Itkilit bands came on them at night and slew all but these nine. The nine fled to the north again, but when at last they reached the salt water shores they found their great canoe had gone, and they were left alone.

“They were hungry when they came to the Innuit camps, and the People fed them, for that is our way. It was a day of days when they came amongst us. It was the beginning of our greatness.

“As to what happened afterwards—the stories tell of many things. They tell of the strength of the strangers, and of the tools and weapons they possessed. Much was of iron, which we had never seen before, and which we came to call by the name of one of the strangers—
howik
. But the leader was called Koonar.

“When they had been with the People a time, they began to ask if there was a way around the salt sea to the northward. When they were told there was no way, they
were bitterly unhappy. Then the snows began, and they came into the houses of the People and began to live with them.

“For more than a year they lived with the people. They learned to hunt as the Innuit hunt. Most of them gave up their strange clothing and wore the fur clothing of the Innuit. But Koonar would not do this, and always wore his clothes of iron. Even in the hard heart of winter he wore his horned iron cap which made him look like a musk-ox bull.

“Koonar was a giant. He could carry the whole carcass of a caribou on his back. When he wielded his great iron knife he could split a caribou as easily as a woman splits a fish. Koonar lived with a man called Kiliktuk, who was
angeokok
. Kiliktuk had a daughter named Airut, and after a while Airut grew big with child, and the child was Koonar's. Then the Innuit were happy for they thought Koonar and his men would stay with them always. The Inohowik had much to teach the People. They taught them how to strike fire with iron and stone, how to build salmon weirs, how to read the stars so one could find one's way, and many other wonderful things. Yet for all their wisdom they were as children in our land, and it was we who taught them how to live in the country of the great plains.

“The next winter the Inohowik gathered in an igloo and talked a long time. Koonar was not with them, for he was in the igloo of Kiliktuk and Airut, and there he lived with the baby son which had been born to Airut. Then the eight came to him and said they would leave. They said
they would march to the shores of the salt sea and then go south to the forests far enough to find the wood with which to build a great canoe, and so sail off into the east to their far distant home.

“They asked Koonar to go with them, for Koonar was their leader. Koonar said he would do this, although he did not feel pleasure in it.

“Then the People were angry. All of the Inohowik had taken wives amongst the people, and the Innuit were angry that these women should be deserted. Things might have come to trouble, but Koonar stopped it. He said if we would let his men travel south, he would remain behind with us forever, and he promised to teach us many secrets.

“So it was agreed. The People spoke against the journey all the same, for they knew the Inohowik would not survive. They knew that if the winter blizzards did not destroy them, then the Itkilit would. But the eight would not listen. One day they departed with dogs and sleds the Innuit had given them.

“They vanished into the drifting snow and were never seen again. Somewhere in the dark night they met the fury of the land and perished.

“And so the tale of the Inohowik becomes the tale of Koonar, and of Airut, and of the children she bore. Koonar was much loved amongst my people. Often he spoke of things he had known and seen in distant places. Much of what he said was beyond belief, for he told of great battles fought on land and sea, with such fierce weapons that men's blood flowed like the spring rains.

“The Innuit asked Koonar to show them how to make
such weapons, but he refused. He said he would not give the People the means to destroy themselves. He spoke so because he did not understand the Innuit. He did not understand that we do not take life unless we must. Koonar was afraid we would become like the Itkilit if he told us the secret of the killing weapons.

“The People loved Koonar, but he grew sad as the years passed. He would no longer go out hunting, but sat at his camp staring toward the east, and talking to himself in his strange tongue. The Innuit were sad for him, but they could not help him.

“One spring it was decided to move inland from Ikarluku to the rich caribou lands near the River of Men; for it was felt that with Koonar to help the People they would be able to defend themselves against the Itkilit.

“So the move was made. And it is said that when they marched to the westward, Koonar was the last of the marchers, and he turned many times toward the east, and that he wept.

“The People came to the banks of the River of Men and they made a camp not far from Angikuni Lake, and it was a good place, with many fat deer. For three years they prospered, and all thought this was because of Koonar's good luck, and they loved him even more.

“Then, in the fish-spearing moon of the third year, the men decided to go north down Innuit Ku in search of musk ox. They asked Koonar to go with them, but he said he was sick and could not go. But his was a sickness of the spirit, not of the flesh.

“So the hunters took their kayaks and went north, and
Koonar remained in the camp with the women and children and old people. And it happened that when the men had been gone a while, a great party of Itkilit came down the river and fell on the Innuit camp.

“Then there was a terrible slaughter. It is said that half the women and children were slain. But
all
would have been slain had it not been for Koonar.

“Koonar was a little way from the camp, sitting alone, as was his habit. When he heard the screaming of women and children he came running back. He had his great knife in his hand, and his horned hat on his head, and his iron shirt was shining in the sun.

“He came down upon the camp, bellowing like the great brown bear of the Barrens. He ran straight at the Itkilit and his great knife flashed and grew red, and it flashed red many times.

“The Itkilit could not stand against him. He killed many, but the rest fled to their canoes and turned south up the river. But before they passed from sight, one of them turned and fired an arrow from his long bow, and the arrow went below Koonar's iron shirt and pierced his belly.

“When the Innuit men came back to the camp they found many of their wives and children buried beneath rock graves, and the women weeping for them. Airut and both of Koonar's children were amongst the dead. Koonar lay in a tent and would speak to no one. He had drawn the arrow out of his gut with his own hand, but the wound was black and stinking.

“He would speak to none until Kiliktuk, the
angeokok
, came to his side. First Koonar swore terrible oaths. Then
he bade Kiliktuk bring him wood and the hard, springy horns of musk ox. And when Kiliktuk had done these things, Koonar told him to shape the wood so, and the horn so, and join them so. And when it was done, Kiliktuk held in his hand just such a bow as this which I have shown to you.

“Then Koonar spoke. ‘This is the Child of Death. Take it as my gift. Take it and go to the forests where the Itkilit are, and slay them where they walk and where they sleep. Let not one remain alive in all the land.'

“And when he had spoken, he died.

“Kiliktuk had his body carried to a certain high place beside Innuit Ku, and there he was laid with all the things which had been his, yes, even to his great knife which was a priceless thing. And when this had been done, the People built a house over Koonar, and they built it of stone as he had told them the houses were built in his own land.

“There Koonar lies. And Koonar's House is the place that you have seen.

“As for the bow. We did not take it south in search of vengeance. That is not our way. But we made many such bows, and then we were able to kill deer whenever there was need of meat. And with these bows we were able to keep the Itkilit out of our lands, for they grew to have a terrible fear of the Child of Death.

“So we prospered until the Innuit were as many as flies over all this land. We used the Child of Death to make life, and it was good. It was the greatest gift that ever came to us, and had we kept it, who knows, perhaps we
would still be many, and not a people numbering so few it will not be many more winters before the last of us has vanished.

“Now I am tired; I am old and soon must sleep. Go now, for I am old….”

 

CHAPTER
13

A Change of Plan

A
NGELINE AND THE THREE BOYS
were engrossed in their own thoughts as they left Elaitutna's tent and made their way back to their own place. The Cree girl's eyes were shining with the sheen of suppressed tears. The tragic tale of Koonar seemed so vivid to her that it might have been something which had happened only yesterday.

They had all been deeply moved by the story, but its effect on Peetyuk was particularly profound. He remained silent, and his usually cheerful face was clouded with inner misery. By suppertime the other three had begun to worry about him, and they tried to cheer him up.

“It was a long time ago Koonar died,” Awasin reminded him.

Peetyuk raised his face, and his eyes seemed peculiarly dark and brooding.

“I not think of Koonar. I think of the Ihalmiut. They
my
people. When I grow up here, I know often there no meat, and sometimes babies die and old people starve. Now I think what Elaitutna say. One time many people, many deer, and no people starve. Now few people, few deer, and
maybe soon all people starve. I think this happen to Ihalmiut if no one help.”

“That's the Government's job, to help when people starve,” Jamie said. “The trouble is, nobody but a couple of traders knows about your people, Peetyuk. I bet the Government doesn't even know they exist. But when we go south we'll tell everybody about them, and about what's happening to them.”

Awasin's quiet voice ruthlessly punctured Jamie's enthusiasm.

“Do you think they will listen, Jamie? Do not forget what happened to the Chipeweyans. Many times the white men have been asked for help, but how often has help come? Peetyuk's people are far away from your people. Even if the white men believe us, they will find it easy to forget.”

“But I won't
let
them forget!” Jamie cried defensively. “I'll see they don't. I'll make such a stink everyone will hear about it and they'll
have
to do something!”

Awasin was inexorable. “How will you do that? You are only one person and the police are hunting you. Who will listen to your voice? I know how Peetyuk feels, Jamie, but you can never know. You are my best friend, and a friend of the Indians and the Eskimos, but you can never know what we feel. We will get little help from the white men.”

Jamie was struck silent by an unfamiliar strain of bitterness in Awasin's voice. Before he could think of a reply, Peetyuk broke in.

“Awasin say truth. I tell how it was with Ihalmiut. You listen good, Jamie. One time Ihalmiut strong, get plenty
deer meat, hunt white fox all winter. Every two winters, strongest men take big load white fox to coast to trader. Bring back guns, shells, fox traps. Very long, hard trip, take two-three months. Only men with full bellies can make such trip. Only hunter with full belly can go hundred miles on Barrens in winter for catch white fox. Then many years ago, when I not yet born, men take big load white fox to trader. When they get to coast, trader say white fox no good now. Not worth nothing. Men come back without guns and shells. That winter ten-twenty people die because men have no bullets to kill deer in wintertime. After that, cannot hunt fox in winter. And every year not so many deer. Too much kill by white men in the south. So Eskimos must stay at camp and eat little, and everyone hungry before spring come. Four-five years ago Ohoto and three men go coast again. Tell trader must have shells. He laugh and say, bring many furs.

“Awasin right. White men only help white men. My father white man, but maybe I try forget that. Better my father Eskimo.”

For the first time since he had come to the north, Jamie was aware of the chasm yawning between him and the people of that land. The sensation frightened him.

“Listen,” he said desperately. “Not all whites are like the ones you've had to deal with. What about my Uncle Angus? And there are lots more like him down south. I tell you, if they only knew what was happening they'd send help. We'll
make
the Government do something….” His voice trailed off lamely, for he could see that Awasin and Peetyuk did not believe him. He felt utterly miserable,
and very lonely. He was wracking his brain for some way to heal the breach when Angeline spoke. Her voice was gentle.

“I have been thinking. Jamie has said the Viking things are worth much money to the people in the south. Those were Koonar's things. He married an Eskimo woman and had children here. Would he not have wished to help the Eskimos even more than he did? Do you not think, if those things are worth much money, that some of it should go to Peetyuk's people? Then they could buy guns and shells and other things they must have to live.”

Jamie's relief was almost pathetic.

“Sure!” he cried. “That's it! I tell you, that stuff's worth thousands to a museum. There'll be plenty of money to look after Uncle Angus and all Peetyuk's people too. And listen, another thing, newspapers will want to hear the story of how we found the stuff. We can tell them all about the Eskimos' troubles. It'll get read all over the country. The Government will be bound to step in. They won't be
able
to forget about it.”

Peetyuk was looking at Angeline, and for the first time that evening a smile flickered on his face. He half reached out his hand as if to touch her shoulder, then thought better of it and turned, not to Jamie, but to Awasin.

“You think that work, Awasin?”

“Perhaps,” Awasin replied cautiously. “
If
we
can
sell these things ourselves. But the white men might take them from us and give nothing back. Such things have happened with our people—and with yours.”

“It won't happen
this
time!” Jamie cut in fiercely. “We
found the stuff and nobody can take it away from us. We'll cache it before we get to The Pas and just take one thing to show what we've got. And we won't let anyone know where the cache is until we're sure they're going to play square.”

“That is a good plan,” Awasin agreed. “Only I do not like going to The Pas. There we have no friends, and some enemies. The police there must be very angry with us. They will not make it easy for us.”

An idea struck Jamie and came bubbling out of him like a waterfall.

“Peetyuk! When your people used to go to the coast, where did they go? Was it to Churchill? Could we go out the same way? If we could get to Churchill we'd be all set. It's a pretty big place and nobody would know who we are. I could wire my old school principal in Toronto from there. He was a great bug on history. He knows the museum people. I'll bet he'd help us all he could.”

Peetyuk tried to deal with this spate of questions.

“Old times my people go in winter, across country, with dogsled to Churchill. Not go straight way because might meet Chipeweyans. Go long way round down Angiku—Big River—nearly to coast. Our people call Churchill Iglu-ujarik—Stone House—because big stone fort there. I not know for sure, but think maybe we go down Big River with canoe.”

The depression which had been the aftermath of the visit to Elaitutna had now been dispelled. There was an excited babble of talk as the four began discussing details of the changed plans. It was interrupted when Peetyuk's
Uncle Ohoto lifted the tent flap and thrust in his round, beaming face to announce that supper was ready at his tent.

They trooped after him to his
topay
and found places on the floor around the big wooden meat tray which Peetyuk's mother had filled to overflowing with boiled ribs. As they ate, Peetyuk explained the new plans to the several Eskimos present.

Kakut, who had joined them for the meal, listened intently. “
Eema!
” he said thoughtfully. “In the very old days the people sometimes went down Big River in kayaks to salt water and there met the sea Innuit to trade for seal skins. But none of
us
has ever gone that way in summer—only in winter, on the ice. We will ask Elaitutna about it. He is the one who knows about the old things.”

 

During the next few days the spring thaw was almost brought to a standstill by the return of bad weather. Frost at night, and gray, windy days with frequent sleet squalls kept the river ice from clearing. The boys and Angeline stayed close to the camp. Their impatience to reach Koonar's grave had been whetted by Elaitutna's story, and they found the waiting very hard. Nevertheless, there was nothing to be done about it. Awasin employed himself overhauling the party's gear. Jamie spent much time with Ohoto—who had taken a particular fancy to the white youth—trying to learn something of the Eskimo language. Angeline and Peetyuk seemed to be together a good deal—a fact which Jamie did not overlook.

The period of foul weather came to an end, and a week
after the visit to Elaitutna, Peetyuk announced that the river was sufficiently free of ice to permit canoe travel. It was decided that they should start for Koonar's grave the following morning, using their own two Chipeweyan canoes and accompanied by Ohoto and Kakut in kayaks. The dogs were to be left at the Eskimo camp under the care of Bellikari.

The Stone House—as they continued to think of the grave mound—was about thirty miles downstream on Innuit Ku from the camps. The current ran so fast that it took the party only half a day to reach the rapids where Jamie and Awasin had wrecked their canoe the previous summer.

The cataract was not yet in sight, although its roaring voice filled their ears, when Kakut led the flotilla to the shore. The kayaks and canoes were hauled up on the bank and the party went forward on foot.

As they looked down over the foaming white torrent, Jamie and Awasin exchanged glances. Peetyuk noticed the exchange, and shouted out so that everyone else could hear, “You two angry we not run rapids? Eskimo big coward? Only white man and Cree got brave enough run big rapid like that.”

“Cut it out, Peetyuk,” Jamie answered. “We weren't brave. We were darn fools, and you know it!”

“You only shy,” Peetyuk said, grinning. “When we go down Big River to coast maybe you show poor Eskimo boy how run big rapids too. I learn quick from you I bet.”

The exchange was cut short by a gesture from Ohoto, who had reached the crest of a low ridge ahead of the rest.
He was pointing to the north, and as the others climbed up beside him they stopped and stood in silence looking out over a thaw-flooded valley toward a rocky hill upon whose crest stood a massive stone structure.

This was the Stone House they had come so far to seek. This was the grave of Koonar, the Man of Iron.