Travel did not stop at night, for in the silvery darkness it was important that forward motion be maintained, and both Oogruk and his father-in-law knew this, so when the sun finally went down in these first days of summer, they settled into a slow, steady stroke which kept the prow of the boat headed east. But no one could paddle incessantly, and when the sun rose, the men took turns dozing, first the headman, then Oogruk, and when they did, each was careful to slip his precious paddle inside the opening, jammed against his leg, from where he could retrieve it quickly.
Nukleet did not sleep during the first two days; she encouraged her daughter to do so, and when the child's drowsy head nestled against hers, she felt more like a mother than ever before, because on this great restless sea she, Nukleet, was all that protected her daughter from death. But she had two other sensations almost equally strong. Throughout the daring trip she kept her left foot against the sealskin that contained the water, assuring herself that it was there, and her right against the spare paddle which might become so necessary if one of the men should in an accident lose his. She imagined herself reaching down, retrieving the paddle, and handing it along to either her husband or her father, and there in the vast wilderness of the sea, she felt certain that if such an accident did occur, it would be her father and not Oogruk who would lose his paddle.
But on the morning of the third day she simply could not stay awake, and once when she dozed and realized that she had left her daughter unprotected, she cried: 'Father, you must hold the child for a while!' but as she started to pass the girl forward, Oogruk intervened: 'Bring her this way,' and as Nukleet fell toward sleep she thought, with tears in her eyes: She is not his daughter but she does fill his heart.
ON THE AFTERNOON OF THAT THIRD DAY THE EASTERN lands became visible, and this inspired the men to paddle more strongly, but night fell before they could reach the shore, and as the stars came out, seeming more brilliant because they shone not only with their own light but also with hope, the four silent immigrants moved purposefully ahead, with Nukleet again holding her child close, still keeping her feet against the reassuring water and extra paddle.
It was some while after midnight that the stars disappeared and a wind began to rise, and suddenly, with the swift change of weather that region so often provided, a storm was upon them, and in the darkness the kayak began to pitch and twist as it swept down vast chasms in the sea and rose to heights that terrified. Now the two men had to paddle furiously to keep their frail craft from capsizing, and just when they felt they could no longer bear the burning pain in their arms, Oogruk would cry 'Shift!' above the howling wind and they would in perfect rhythm change sides and maintain the forward motion.
Nukleet, feeling the kayak slip and slide, clutched her child more tightly, but the little girl did not cry or show fear; though she was terrified by the darkness and the violence of the sea, the only sign she gave of her concern was the increased pressure with which she grasped her mother's arm.
And then, as a giant wave came at them from the darkness, the headman shouted 'Over!' and the kayak was tumbled about, dipping far down on its left side and sinking totally under the great wave.
It had been agreed a thousand years earlier that when a kayak turned over, the man paddling it would, with a powerful sweep of his paddle and a vigorous twisting of his body, try to keep the craft turning in the direction in which it capsized; so now, submerged in dark, icy water, the two men obeyed these ancient instructions, straining against their paddles and throwing their weight to encourage the kayak to keep rolling. Nukleet automatically did the same, for she had been so indoctrinated since birth, and even the child knew that salvation lay only in keeping the kayak rolling, so as she clung ever more tightly to her mother, she, too, helped maintain the roll.
When the kayak was at the bottom of its submersion, with its passengers upside down in the Stygian waters, the miracle of its construction manifested itself, for the exquisitely fitted sealskin kept water out and air in, and in this favorable condition the light little craft continued its roll, battled the terrific power of the storm, and righted itself. When the travelers brushed the water from their eyes and saw in the east the first signals of a new day, they saw also that they were nearing land, and as the waves subsided and calm returned to the sea, the men paddled quietly ahead while Nukleet clung to her daughter, whom she had protected from the depths.
They landed before noon, unaware of whether the village they had once visited lay to the north or south but satisfied that within reason it could be found. As the two men hauled the kayak ashore, Nukleet stopped them for a moment, reached into its innards, and pulled forth the spare paddle. Standing between the men, with the paddle erect in the bright morning air, she said: 'It was not needed. You knew what to do.' And she embraced them both, first her father, out of deep respect for all he had done in the old land and would do in the new, and then her gallant husband, because of the love she bore him.
In this way these dark round-faced Eskimos came to Alaska.
TWELVE THOUSAND YEARS AGO AND NOW THE Chronology becomes somewhat more reliable because archaeologists have uncovered datable artifacts: stone outlines of houses and even long-hidden remains of villages a group of Eskimos who were different from others of that remarkable race existed at various locations near the Alaskan end of the land bridge. The cause of their difference has not been ascertained, for they spoke the same language as the other Eskimos; they had managed the same adaptation to life in the coldest climates; and they were in some respects even more skilled in living productively off the creatures that roamed the earth and swam in the nearby seas.
They were somewhat smaller than the other Eskimos and darker of skin, as if they had originated in some different part of Siberia or even farther west in central Asia, but they had stayed in lands close to the western end of the land bridge long enough to acquire the basic characteristics of the Eskimos who lived there. However, when they crossed over to Alaska they dwelled apart and aroused the suspicion and even the enmity of their neighbors.
Such antagonism between groups was not unusual, for when Varnak's original group had reached Alaska they became known as Athapascans, and as we shall see, they and their descendants populated most of Alaska. Therefore, when Oogruk's Eskimos arrived to preempt the shoreline, they were greeted with hostility by the long-settled Athapascans who monopolized the choicer areas between the glaciers, and it became the rule that Eskimos clung to the seafronts, where they could maintain their ancient marine ways of life, while the Athapascans clustered in the more favorable lands, where they existed as hunters. Decades would pass without one group trespassing on the lands of the other, but when they did collide, there was apt to be trouble, contention and even death, with the sturdier Athapascans usually victorious. After all, they had occupied these lands for thousands of years before the Eskimos arrived.
It was not the traditional worldwide antagonism of mountain men versus seacoast men, but it was close to that, and if Oogruk's people found it difficult to defend themselves against the more aggressive Athapascans, this third wave of smaller, gentler newcomers seemed unable to protect themselves against anyone. So when it became doubtful that they could retain their foothold in one of the better areas of Alaska, the two hundred or so members of their clan began to question their future.
Unfortunately, at just this moment in their declining fortunes their revered sage, an old man of thirty-seven, fell so ill that he was unable to guide them, and things fell into drift, with important decisions either delayed or ignored. For example, the group had in its enforced wanderings settled temporarily in the desirable area south on the peninsula which had formed the westernmost tip of Alaska in those thousands of years when rising oceans had obliterated the land bridge.
Now, of course, with the bridge exposed, there was no ocean within three hundred miles of the region, but instead, there was a natural resource even more copious and varied in its richness, and upon this largesse the group subsisted.
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For reasons which have never been explained and perhaps never will be, in this period around twelve thousand years before the present, the wildlife of Alaska, and elsewhere across the earth, proliferated at a rate hitherto unknown. Not only were the species of animals extraordinarily rich in variety, but the numbers of the animals were almost excessive, and what was most inexplicable, they were invariably much, much bigger than their later descendants. Beavers were immense. Bison were like shaggy monuments.
Moose towered in the air, with antlers bigger than some trees, and the shaggy musk ox was staggering in size. It was a time when great animals defined the age and when men were fortunate to live among them, for to bring down even one of these beasts meant that meat was ensured for many months to come.
Predominant as in the time of Varnak the Hunter were the mammoths, largest of the animals and still by far the most majestic. In the fifteen thousand years since Varnak had tracked Matriarch without succeeding in killing her, the mammoths had increased both in size and number, so that the area occupied by this group of Eskimos had so many of the huge creatures that any boy growing up along the eastern end of this land bridge had to become familiar with them. He would not see them every day, or even every month, but he would know that they, along with the huge bears and the crafty lions, were out there.
Such a boy was Azazruk, seventeen years old, tall for his age and Asian in every item of his appearance. His hair was a deeper black, his skin a browner yellow, his eyes more sharply narrow, his arms longer than those of his companions. That his ancestors had originated among the Mongols of Asia, there could be no doubt. He was the son of the old man who was dying, and it had been his father's hope that the boy would mature into the leadership he had exercised, but year by year it had become apparent that this was not to be and while the father never berated his son for this deficiency, he could not hide his disappointment.
In fact, with the most hopeful intentions, the old man failed to identify any area in which his son could contribute to the clan. He could not hunt; he was unskilled at flicking sharp arrow points from cores of flint; and he showed no aptitude in leading men into battle against their oppressors. He did have a strong voice when he wanted to use it, so that leadership during discussions might have been possible, but he preferred to speak so softly that sometimes he seemed almost feminine. Yet he was a good young man, and both his father and the community at large knew it. The important question was: How would he exercise this goodness if a crisis demanded that he do so?
His father, a wise man, had seen that very few men who lived a normal life escaped the great testing moments. Born leaders, like himself, encountered them constantly, and in tracking animals or building huts or deciding where to lead the clan next, their decisions were held up to judgment by their peers. That was the burden of leadership which justified the privileges. But he had also observed that the average man, the one not remotely qualified for leadership, also faced these moments when all hung in the balance. Then a man had to act swiftly, without time for meticulous consideration or a careful calculation of possibilities. The mammoth pursued in a hunt turned unexpectedly, and someone had to confront it. The kayak upset in river turbulence, and when the paddler tried to right it in the ordinary way by increasing the speed of its toppling, a rock intervened, and then what? A man who did his best to avoid any unpleasantness was suddenly faced by a bully. Nor were women exempt from this requirement of instant judgment: A baby started from the womb in an upside-down condition, and what did the older women do? A growing girl refused to menstruate, and how should that be handled?
Since life within the ice castle of Alaska presented human beings with constant challenges, Azazruk by the age of seventeen should have developed clearly defined characteristics, but he had not, and his dying father could not guess what his son's future would be.
On a day in late spring when by ill chance Athabascans from the areas to the north made a sortie against the clan, the old man lay dying. His son was with him and not with the warriors who were rather futilely trying to protect their holdings, and as death neared, the father whispered: 'Azazruk, you must lead our people to a safe home,' and before the boy could respond or even let his father know that he had heard this command, death resolved the old man's apprehensions.
It was not a big fight that day, merely a continuation of the pressure the Athapascans exerted on all Eskimos regardless of where they settled, but when it coincided with the death of their longtime leader, it did confuse the clan, and the bewildered men sat before their huts in the spring evening wondering what to do. No one, and especially not those who had fought, looked to Azazruk for guidance or even suggestions. So he was left alone. Facing the mystery of death, and pondering his father's last words, he left the village and wandered away until he came to a stream which flowed down from the glacier to the east.
There as he tried to unravel the thoughts which tumbled through his head, he chanced to look down at the stream, and he saw that it was almost white because it carried myriad bits of stone flaked from rocks at the face of the glacier, and for some time he marveled at this whiteness, wondering if it represented some kind of omen. As he pondered this possibility, he saw protruding from the black mud that formed the bank of the river a curious object, golden in color and shining, and when he stooped to rescue it from the mud he saw that it was a small piece of ivory about the size of two fingers. Possibly it had broken off from some mammoth tusk or been brought inland from a walrus hunt ages ago, but what made it remarkable, even in those first moments when Azazruk held it in his hand, was that either by chance or the work of some long-dead artist, the ivory represented a living thing, perhaps a man, perhaps an animal. It had no head, but there was a torso, a joining of legs and one clearly defined hand or paw.
Turning the object this way and that in the fading light, Azazruk was astounded by the reality of this piece: it was ivory, of that he was certain, but it was also something living, and to possess such a thing created in the young man a sense of awe, of challenge and purpose. He could not believe that the finding of this lively little creature on the precise day of his father's death, when his clan was in confusion, could be an accident. He realized that the person whom the great spirits had led to this omen was destined for some significant task, and in this moment of discovery he decided to keep his find a secret. The figure was small enough to be hidden within the twist of deerskin he wore, and there it would remain until the spirits who had sent it revealed their intentions.
Then, just as he was about to leave the stream whose turbulent waters were still as white as the milk of a musk ox, he was halted by a choir of voices, and he knew the sounds emanated from the spirits who had sent him the ivory figurine and who watched over the fortunes of his clan. The voices announced in a beautiful whispering harmony which only he could have heard: 'You are to be the shaman.' And they sang no more.
A message like this, which might have produced tumults of joy in the heart of any ordinary Eskimo, since it would mean authority and constant intercourse with the spirits who controlled life, caused Azazruk only consternation. From his earliest days his sagacious father had found himself opposed to the various shamans who had been associated with his clan; he respected their unique powers and acknowledged the fact that he and his people had to rely upon their guidance in spiritual matters, but he resented their constant intrusion upon his day-to-day prerogatives. He had warned his son: 'Stay clear of the shamans. Obey their instructions in all matters concerning the spirits, but otherwise ignore them.' The old man was especially disgusted by the slovenly habits of the shamans and the filthy skins and matted hair in which they performed their mysteries and rendered their judgments: 'A man doesn't have to stink in order to be wise.' And the boy had had numerous opportunities to witness the justice of his father's strictures.
Once when Azazruk was ten, a scrawny Eskimo from the north had attached himself to the clan, proclaiming arrogantly that he was a shaman and offering to take the
place of a wise man who had died. The deceased shaman had been somewhat better than average, so the inadequacy of the upstart miracle worker became quickly evident. He brought no mammoths or bears to the hunting areas, no male babies to the birthing beds. The general spirit of the village was neither improved nor mended, and Azazruk's father had used the unfortunate example of this inadequate man to condemn all shamans: 'My mother taught me they were essential, and I still believe it. How could we live with spirits who might attack us if we did not have their protection? But I do wish the shamans could live in the spruce forest and protect us from there.'
But now as Azazruk stood with the ivory figure hidden against his belly and heard the tumbling brook beside him, he began to suspect that his new found treasure had been sent by the spirits to ratify their decision that he, Azazruk, was destined to be the shaman his people needed. He shivered at the implication and tried to dismiss it because of the heavy responsibility such a position entailed; he even contemplated throwing the unwelcome emissary back into the stream, but when he took the ivory from his waist and started to do so, the little creature seemed to be smiling at him, face or no face. And the unseen smile was so warm and congenial that Azazruk, tormented though he was by his father's death and these strange happenings, had to chuckle and then to laugh and finally to leap in the air in a kind of manic joy.
He acknowledged then that he had been called, or perhaps commanded, to serve as shaman to his clan, and in this moment of spiritual acceptance of his obligation, the spirits showed their approval by causing a miracle to happen.
From the aspen trees lining the magical stream came a lonely rogue mammoth, not of exceptional size but huge in the evening shadows, and when it saw Azazruk it did not halt or shy away; instead it came forward, oblivious of the fact that it was inviting peril. When it reached a spot not four body lengths away, it stopped, looked at Azazruk, and remained rooted in place, its monstrous feet sinking slightly into the soft soil, and there it stayed, cropping aspen and willow leaves as if the Eskimo did not exist.