Our Story: Aboriginal Voices on Canada's Past by Tantoo Cardinal Page A

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,
    â€œI 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.
    â€œI 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