Those Who Dwell Below

Aviaq Johnston

Description

Haunted by the vicious creatures of his recent past, Pitu tries to go back to a normal life at home after the other-worldly travels and near-death encounters of his recent disappearance into the world of the spirits. But Pitu knows that there is more work to be done, and more that he must learn in his new role as a shaman.

When word of a starving village nearby reaches Pitu, he must go help its people appease the angry spirits. It soon becomes clear that Pitu must travel to the bottom of the ocean to meet Nuliajuk, the vengeful woman below, one of the most powerful beings in Inuit mythology.

There he learns about his role in saving the starving community and that all in his home camp may not be as it seems . . .

Sujets

• Univers ado
• Fiction ado
• Fiction Ado
• Young Adult Fiction
• Esquimal
• Inuit culture
• Inuit
• Indigenous People's Day
• People
• Indigenous
• Columbus Day
• Aborigine
• Places
• Iqaluit
• Nunavut
• Inuits

Informations

• Publié par: Inhabit Media
• Date de parution: 08 octobre 2019
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781772272765
• Langue: English

Extrait

We do not believe. We fear.
Aua
This book is dedicated to Alannah, nerd‑lakaujaq and maqi‑ears. Ain.
Contents
1. The Storyteller
2. Tagaaq
3. Nightmares
4. Mentor
5. Messenger
6. Gathering
7. Journey
8. Origin
9. Nuvuk
10. Ikuma
11. Ukpik
12. Preparation
13. Ice
14. The Women Below
15. Nagliktaujuq
16. Return
17. Darkness
18. Quiet
19. Nanuq
20. Home Again
Glossary
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
Copyright

E ach block of snow was cut with excellent precision. With sweat dripping from their brows, the men of the village sliced their sharp knives through the hard snow with patience, with meticulousness, until they had built an iglu . Then another. And two more. All large enough for an average family to live in comfortably. Finally, they began to build a qaggiq , an iglu large enough to encompass all the people of the village. They connected the sturdy blocks of snow together, fastening them to four igluit used as a base.
Slowly, the snow house was built. The men took turns, some cutting the blocks, some stacking them upon the other blocks. Women came and brought them water and freshly caught fish to eat when they needed a break. Children knew to stay outside, away from the working men, afraid they might distract them—or worse, they might be asked to help.
As the last of the blocks was being set up, a young man entered the almost‑finished qaggiq, holding an ivory snow knife in hand. He gripped it firmly, as if it were a part of his own body. Across the chest of his caribou‑skin parka was a large necklace with the bones of a fox displayed, the skull as its centrepiece. He wore an easy‑going smile on his lips, but behind his eyes there was an untold story. A story he would tell tonight.
The men in the qaggiq stopped their work and greeted the young man. “ Piturniirngai ,” they said. “Hello, Piturniq.”
“ Ai ,” he said, not quite used to the sign of respect that greeting implied from men older and more experienced than he.
They moved out of the way and watched the young man cut out several blocks on his own. He moved them to the centre of the qaggiq and looked up. The top of the qaggiq was much too high for him to reach. The young man scratched his head and looked at the men who surrounded him.
He smiled, embarrassed. “I need some help.”
Another man, not much older than him, offered, “You can stand on my back.”
The young man hesitated. He was wary of this man, Ijiraq, but he soon accepted the offer. As the soon‑to‑be new leader and shaman of the village, he knew he had to put aside his differences. Ijiraq crouched down on all fours, and Piturniq balanced on his back. Piturniq’s brother Natsivaq passed him the blocks of snow, and one by one, the iglu came closer to completion.
Once he secured the last block and cut out a space for the air and heat to escape, Piturniq jumped from Ijiraq’s back and helped him stand. “ Qujannamiik ,” he said. “Thank you, Ijiraq.”
Ijiraq raised his eyebrows to acknowledge Pitu’s thanks and left without another word. As the last of the men began to leave, giving one last admiring look at their hard work, Pitu was left alone with Natsivaq.
“Well, you were nice to him,” Natsivaq observed.
“It was hard,” Pitu admitted, “but he’s been nothing but kind since I came back. It would be foolish for me to keep ignoring him.”
“Let’s go take a nap,” Natsivaq suggested. “You’ll need your energy for tonight, little brother.”
They left the qaggiq. Natsivaq went to his family and ate some frozen seal liver before he lay down on the polar bear–hide bedding. Piturniq went to his own iglu, only big enough for himself. He lit the lamp by rubbing stone and flint, sparking the seal blubber to life. Removing his parka, Piturniq lay on the softness of the caribou hide he used as bedding. Interspersed upon his bed were the pelts of foxes, which he’d trapped in order to make his connection to his tuurngaq , his spiritual companion, stronger.
As he shut his eyes, Piturniq did not see the familiar fox shape of Tiri, his ever‑present spirit guide, but only the beauty of the girl he had lost. He knew that all that was separating them was the snow walls of their igluit, and the eyes of the people in the village, and the arms of her husband, Ijiraq.
He tried to sleep, but found he was not tired.

The qaggiq was dimly lit. The people of the village all sat against the walls on benches made of snow. The space in the middle was left wide and open, welcoming to anyone who may have a story to share or a game to play. For once, the children were silent, sitting in the laps of their parents, aunts, uncles, siblings, or grandparents. The whole village watched quietly as their shaman walked into the iglu.
In the centre of the qaggiq stood Piturniq, clutching a large drum in his hands. He’d caught the caribou himself, harvested it without help. He had prepared and stretched the skin, fashioned it upon the drum frame he’d made from the flexible baleen of a bowhead whale. He’d made a katuut , a drum beater, from the bone of the caribou’s leg, wrapping it in a bit of fur to cushion his hand and to make the sound as it struck the drum more pleasant.
Piturniq had never told a story at a celebration before, and to do so as a shaman during Qaggiq, the most joyous gathering of all, was another responsibility altogether. Qaggiq was more than just the giant iglu they were in; it was the name of the celebration itself, the gathering itself. It was the anticipation of the approaching spring, the end of the dark winter. Pitu took a deep breath. He’d only ever seen one other shaman speak about his own tale prior to this. Nerves spread throughout his body. His stomach ached.
“I found myself lost on the ice,” he began, quietly, nervously. “My dog team disappeared, and the only tools I had were a harpoon and my beloved snow knife.”
The crowd chuckled slightly at his loving words about the knife.
“I knew I was far from home,” he continued, “but I heard the cry of a woman, so I went to her to see if I could help her, or if she could help me.”
The onlookers were silent.
“I saw the woman, far away, with two others.” His voice grew stronger the longer he spoke. “And I ran toward them, happy that I did not have to travel too long to find help . . . but these were not women.”
The women of the crowd gasped, while the men looked confused.
“As they revealed themselves to me, I saw their scaly skin, their hollow cheeks and sharp teeth,” he said. “ Qallupilluit , searching for new children to prey on!”
Children buried themselves into the embrace of their loved ones.
“Once they saw me, they attacked!” Pitu continued. “They slashed into my parka with their sharp nails, and we fought until I killed the leader. The others fled into the field of ice. I left the body of the qallupilluq to the wilds of the spirit world.”
The crowd whooped and clapped, but they didn’t know the most terrible part of the story. He neglected to talk about the tiny boy he’d found, blue and frozen in the qallupilluq’s amauti , or the little girl he’d found in there, too, in the midst of transformation from human to creature. He fought back the pain he remembered. He fought the memory of the girl refusing his help.
“But as I left the qallupilluq behind, I did not know that a monstrous black wolf stalked me,” Pitu continued shakily. “For days, the wolf followed me with its pack, until finally they caught me, and we fought. They were made of darkness and shadows, but I fought them off.
“I was so tired, and I was suffering from deep scratches left by the wolves. Yet I was no closer to the end of my journey. Only a short while later, another visitor came. A lonesome giant, desperate to find a companion. Her name was Inukpak, and she stole me away to her camp in the mountains of the spirit world, where she had caribou, wolves, and polar bears as pets. She was adding me to her collection.
“It was only a matter of time before those dark wolves found me again. Inukpak left the camp to search for more food for her animals, and the wolves surrounded the camp and took me away.” Pitu lowered his sealskin boot and lifted the leg of his pants to show an ugly black scar left by the wolf’s jaws.
“I don’t know how long or how far away they carried me. After one last fight against the wolves, they left me to die. But again, my journey was not yet over. I thought I had died, but I awoke in a tent with an elder named Taktuq, a shaman of great power and little patience. He healed me, and then he taught me the ways of the shamans and spirits. We worked together until there was little else to learn. Then we started the journey home.
“But still, those wolves stalked me. We could not simply leave the sanctuary of our camp, which was protected from the spirits. Taktuq called upon a guide, the spirits that run across our dark winter skies. The northern lights. We ran across stretches of land so massive it was almost incomprehensible. Still, the wolves caught up to us, and our fight with them was bloody and painful.
“We were saved by the giant. Inukpak came to our aid, with her polar bears coming to fight the wolves. The northern lights and I kept running, until finally we reached the place where the whole journey had begun. The crack in the ice where I had met the qallupilluit.”
Pitu coughed, his mouth dry from speaking and the memory of all that had happened. Still he refrained from telling all the details. They did not need to know that the wolf had been Taktuq’s tuurngaq, or that he didn’t know whether Inukpak had survived. He did not tell them about his father’s spirit being among th