Kannujaq saw his face, it was carved with agony, glistening with rheum. The eyes were wide and mad, as though gazing off at nothing in particular. Kannujaq barely tore his gaze away from the old creature in time to avoid stepping over two women who were literally lying atop a dead man, their hands clawing and gripping spastically. Their faces were hidden, but their long, despairing wails seemed to merge into a single voice.
The Shining Oneâs giant men had killed without purpose, seemingly laying into whoever had made themselves most available. It was an angry, insane sort of thing, and even accounts Kannujaq had heard of vendetta attacks between families had not seemed as awful as this. Where people had not been available for murder, the giants had scattered cook-fires and kicked in the feeble little walls that made up the Tunit homes.
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 materialsâprobably shamanic bric-a-brac. Kannujaq wasnât sure whether he was witnessing an
angakoq
lifestyle or simply a boyâs tendency to collect things.
While Kannujaq picked up and chewed some dried meat, as was any guestâs 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 floorwas a shallow pit, given the illusion of greater height by the rectangle of short stone walls around them. The ceiling was tent-like. Kannujaq didnât 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.
âPerhaps you should tell me, now, why I am here,â he said. âDid you think I could do something against those giants?â
So, as winds rasped at the outside world, the two of them talked. For how long, Kannujaq wasnât sure. But he quickly learned that this was not the first time the âsea monsters,â 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 âSiaraili!â 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 couldnât get through over the winter. The Tunit probably havenât realized that this means they travel only by water
.
Sikuâs belief was that the Siaraili had followed Angula, the campâs 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
The Shining Oneâs giant men had killed without purpose, seemingly laying into whoever had made themselves most available. It was an angry, insane sort of thing, and even accounts Kannujaq had heard of vendetta attacks between families had not seemed as awful as this. Where people had not been available for murder, the giants had scattered cook-fires and kicked in the feeble little walls that made up the Tunit homes.
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 materialsâprobably shamanic bric-a-brac. Kannujaq wasnât sure whether he was witnessing an
angakoq
lifestyle or simply a boyâs tendency to collect things.
While Kannujaq picked up and chewed some dried meat, as was any guestâs 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 floorwas a shallow pit, given the illusion of greater height by the rectangle of short stone walls around them. The ceiling was tent-like. Kannujaq didnât 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.
âPerhaps you should tell me, now, why I am here,â he said. âDid you think I could do something against those giants?â
So, as winds rasped at the outside world, the two of them talked. For how long, Kannujaq wasnât sure. But he quickly learned that this was not the first time the âsea monsters,â 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 âSiaraili!â 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 couldnât get through over the winter. The Tunit probably havenât realized that this means they travel only by water
.
Sikuâs belief was that the Siaraili had followed Angula, the campâs 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
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