Chapter 36 - Powerless
Much like Ubayuri's hut, this one blended so seamlessly into the icy landscape that it was almost invisible, save for the smoke escaping its shapeless roof. For a moment Miyo felt like she could turn and see Kinsei's pyre somewhere to the right. The thought made her shiver, though not as much as the cold breeze, and again she was grateful for her coat.
While the decision to wear it had been hard, glossing over all of the attempts she'd made toward normalcy, Miyo knew that she wouldn't have gotten very far on the bluffs without it. She had already tried once to do that, and it ended with her wearing Natquik's coat anyway.
So she accepted those things that were out of her control, tolerated the idea of being encased in the skin of an unfortunate caribou-elk, and trained her thoughts instead toward the more immediate obstacle in front of her.
"Are you going to be okay?" Natquik said beside her, and she had to give him yet another reassuring look.
"I'll be fine. You know I'm here, Chief Tuluk knows I'm here, even the men in the watchtowers know I'm here." She gestured to the distant watchtowers for emphasis, their slender spiraling forms nearly washed out in the blue of the sky. "If anything happens, I think everyone will know exactly where I am."
He still looked doubtful, his face shadowed by his hood, and so she clasped his gloved hand. "He's a spiritual man, Natquik. I have no reason to fear him." Nor would she let herself fear him. This trip was just as much for her as it was for gathering information. Miyo wasn't going to be a hostage because she had no power to protect herself.
So she gave him another warm smile despite his worried frown and tugged on his hood to straighten it over his face. The white trim caught his fogging breaths, hiding his eyes for a moment. "Go find out what happened to the hunting party," she said. "Tell me everything afterward." Nodding, he squeezed her shoulder and turned away.
Miyo waited until he was just a dark speck on the white. She didn't know where they were holding the hunters, nor did she really know how far away Natquik would be. But she wanted to make sure he wasn't going to stay by the hut, ready to jump in to save her. Fortunately, Natquik had always trusted her to take care of herself. Especially when she needed him to trust in her the most.
Fortifying herself, she walked with wide steps to the shadowy hole burrowed into the snow, where the side of the ice hut should be.
"Shaman Urumkai?" she called out as she knelt by the hole, the interior of the dug-out hidden from her by two long, white furs. He had to be in there—the smoke indicated he was home— and so she waited patiently for the muffled invitation for her to enter.
Then there was no turning back. Scooting down into the hole, she tugged off both her snowshoes and her boots and placed them high up on the snow. Then, grimacing at the ice through her socks, she slipped further into the hole and through the furs.
The inside was much bigger than it appeared outside. Much bigger, actually, as apparently the house was built sunken into the snow. So when she entered, she tumbled a couple of additional feet from the hole to the floor below. Catching herself with a gasp, she used the edge of the entrance to straighten and tried to blink her eyes clear. The snow had left a permanent glare, everything in the room marred black.
"Nun Miyo," came Urumkai's voice, and she looked toward its source on the other side of the hut. He stood, his head just a foot shy of the ceiling, his frame looking a little smaller without its coat but still formidable. Large, bear-like shoulders flexed under his outer garments, and his neck was thicker than her thigh. He seemed to dominate the space, his hair pulled back in a messy wolf's tail, a fur waistband holding his robes closed. In his arms was his heavy blue Shaman's parka, his hands already searching out the sleeves. "I wasn't expecting you." His tone still had that apathetic quality from the previous day.
"I decided to take you up on that offer for tea." The room had become clearer as she blinked rapidly, and she saw that it was wider than it was tall; a rounded box with only one other exit, which was the smoke hole in the ceiling. Light flooded through it, but not enough to brighten the interior. Right underneath was the fire pit, which contained a steady burning fire, its light bright enough to illuminate what several soapstone wells could not. As a result, though deep shadows hid a number of the sparse furnishings, she could make floor mats around the fire, and a fur sleeping roll in the corner. A wooden lattice was propped over this as a roughshod lean-to, several bone and leather objects hanging from it.
The air was oppressive, stifling with its heat and the scent of cooking meat. Breathing shallowly, Miyo forced herself to bow politely.
"You caught me at a bad time," Urumkai continued, still working his coat over his arms. "I was just on my way to speak with someone." He started around the fire toward her, but she stood her ground. In all likelihood he planned to visit the hunting party; Miyo needed to keep him here until Natquik was done.
"Could I beg you to hold off for just a bit longer?" She forced herself to smile as he stopped in front of her, though she struggled with her own anxiety. He seemed so much taller inside that short room, and with that horrible stench, she felt like she was choking. "I'm leaving the day after tomorrow, and this will be my last opportunity to visit with you."
Something in her tone made him relent, though none of it showed on his rocky face. He simply stepped back and gestured for her to enter. "I see you are taking my advice, then."
She brushed past him, moving deeper into the room. The floor around the fire pit was covered with hard leather mats that were in turn covered in fur to make them softer. The mats formed four squares around the pit, and he motioned for her to sit on one of the pallets. Though she had no desire to sit near the fire, which she imagined was where the scent was originating from, Miyo did as she was told, folding her legs under her gracefully.
"Well, you were right, Master Shaman," she said as he walked behind her to another area of the hut. "My place isn't here. I need to get back to the Air Temple, where they may be able to help me with my bending."
"Perhaps." Knotted muscles shifted in his back as he carried a stone basin to set on an iron frame over the fire. Then bending water from a cistern in the corner of the room, he moved it in a glistening, translucent arc to the basin. "I hope you enjoy tundra beat tea." She didn't, but she nodded anyhow. "It will take a little time to prepare."
"That's fine," she said, watching as he used waterbending to slide a small cup of ice across the floor toward himself. For the first time, she realized just how much he was in his element, practically everything in that house under his control. And it increased her nerves, as well as the weight of the suffocating heat.
"You look a little flush, Nun Miyo," he said without even looking at her as he dropped the entire cup into the basin. "You might want to remove your coat." Hesitantly, she shrugged the coat over her head, the end of her braid catching in its folds. Underneath, both layers of her robes had bunched up under her breasts, forcing her to work the cloth belt down. Urumkai glanced up at her as she divested herself of the parka, taking her in with apparent disinterest. "What happened to your hand?"
"I slipped and fell into my bed," she said smoothly, straightening her hair. The bandage itched at the reminder, but the cut no longer hurt. The wound had already begun to scab.
"Would you like me to heal it for you?"
"No, thank you."
He scoffed at her refusal, sitting up on his knees to examine the tea leaves in the basin, and she took the opportunity to examine him. Like her, Urumkai wore socks, the cuffs of his sealskin trousers folded neatly around his ankles. His robes were thin and of a dyed blue cotton, at odds with the wool that all other Water Tribesmen wore. Just above the lapels was a tuft of chest hair, a darker gray than the peppering in his hair, and the only thing about his body that spoke to his age.
He caught her staring, then hmphed again, seating himself. "I suppose, then, you've talked to Natquik on my behalf as well?"
"No," Miyo said after a moment, feeling a little less hot but still stifled. "No, I haven't. As I told you, I can't tell him what to do. And I won't use my safety as a bargaining tool." Then she paused once more, waiting for him to catch her eye. "If my safety is supposed to be that."
"Your safety is in your own hands." He crossed his legs under him, folding his palms along his knees. "Unless you mean to imply I would threaten you in order to stop him."
"Haven't you already?"
"My threats are far more serious than that, Nun Miyo."
Another long pause, as she studied the bandage around her hand. Quietly, she debated how to bring up the spirit. The wrong question would surely cause Urumkai to shut down the discussion, or he could simply choose not to answer at all. Looking to the sleeping roll behind her, Miyo measured up the leather trinkets dangling from the wooden lattice just above it.
"What are those?" she asked, and Urumkai looked up in vague curiosity.
"Just talismans. We Shamans frequently require protections when we sleep."
"I saw similar ones. In the South Pole." When she had hidden in Mayami's hut, waiting for someone to find her grandfather Minoq. They were leather hoops with animal teeth strung between them, and wind chimes made of a bird's thigh bones. "They were using them to ward off this spirit. The one that's been killing men."
When Urumkai didn't answer, she turned back to him. Yet he was no longer watching the talismans; he was watching her. Intently. The strength of his gaze made her neck prickle.
"They are general wards, nothing more," he finally said with a dismissive wave over the stone basin. The tea leaves churned under his bending as the water began to boil. "But I do wonder how a simple nun has involved herself so much with Water Tribe matters that she can identify a Shaman's wards on sight."
"I guess I'm just perceptive," she answered, trying not to grimace as the odor of the tundra beat tea mingled with that of the cooking meat—which she couldn't see in the fire. It may have been coming from one of the miscellaneous pots in the room.
"Then tell me, what else do you perceive about this spirit?"
Urumkai was making her talk, rather than giving away information himself. Yet at least he was letting her talk about the murders, which was a step further than Natquik would have gotten. "Well, the spirit is dangerous. It seems to be killing men, all above the age of sixty, and all who have lived some time in the North. Given the directed nature of its attacks, it seems to have been summoned by someone. And given how it resists all of the wards you have against malicious spirits, it seems to be very powerful."
"Did you perceive this, or is this what Natquik has told you?"
"It's what I've seen for myself."
Urumkai hummed under his breath, leaning back on his hands, and in the firelight, his steely eyes looked black. "Then you don't know much."
"Perhaps not, but I think I know something else." She leaned forward as she spoke, daring to let slip one surprise detail. "I think this has something to do with justice."
His eyes shot up at that, and for the first time, she saw emotion there. Fear? Anger? Intimidation? Something there cracked his façade, and she realized that he already suspected the same—perhaps even knew it. Pulling back, Miyo tried to pretend that she hadn't seen his expression.
"I imagine that whoever could have summoned this spirit must be powerful," she continued casually, looking away to feign disinterest. The heat was overwhelming, and when she wiped at her forehead, her hand was damp. "After all, it's a very violent spirit, causing a lot of deaths. But I don't know anyone who's strong enough to do such a thing."
"There isn't anyone," he agreed, though his eyes bored into her, guarded. "No one except Natquik."
"I wonder if it could have been someone with less power, though, and less control."
"It's possible." Again, his voice was nonchalant, as if he was giving up nothing, but the way he stared at her made her feel as if every word she said was striking very close to the truth. It also made her feel very nervous, as that gaze was quite heavy with unspoken threat. "But there is no evidence that a Shaman summoned anything."
No evidence except the scroll. Miyo kept that information to herself. "The deaths, though, are strange. There's too much of a pattern to them. This spirit isn't killing on a whim. It's killing with purpose. It's killing men whom it thinks should die."
"Justice," Urumkai said lowly. So lowly that she almost didn't catch it. But the way his eyes unfocused told her that he was thinking beyond her now. As if looking on his own death.
"Do you have a reason to fear this spirit, Shaman Urumkai?" she asked slowly, though already knowing the answer. The look on his face, the wards above his bed. Urumkai was guarding a personal truth. "Do you know who it's killing?"
His gaze returned to her, sharp and fearful. And for a moment, she thought he might be afraid of her. But then he blinked as some water boiled over the side of the basin, its loud sizzle filling the silence between them. Then he was as empty as ice once more. "Would you like your tea sweetened? I've found Air Nomads don't care for the bitter taste, and these leaves are over-brewed, I'm afraid."
"I actually would prefer it iced, if possible. It's very warm in here." She smiled to take the edge off her words, though Urumkai obviously agreed; she could see heavy beads of sweat on his forehead as well.
"Then I'll have to step outside to make us some cups. I don't like to use the ice in here. If you'll excuse me." Almost too quickly, he swept to his feet, and even before she could say another word, he had disappeared out of the hole.
That had shaken him. Badly. Enough that he had left the hut as if chased by demons. He would need a moment to recollect himself, so Miyo had to act fast. Climbing to her feet, she immediately went to the pallet that held his bed roll. The lean-to lattice allowed the leather objects to dangle over the sleeping occupant, though none of them stood out as special. They were the same kind of talismans kept in Mayami's hut, and she could even see the fine mesh netting that had been in the South hut as well, draped over the bed with seashells sewn into the edges. There had to be something else, though; Urumkai knew these wards were useless by now, so he had to have another form of protection nearby.
Miyo didn't know why she next looked under the foot of the squat bed frame. Something drew her attention there, urging her to push it back. And yet there was nothing, the ice smooth and flawless.
No. There was a flaw. In one spot, the ice was actually snow, forming a strange depression. Quickly, she scooped it out, saying a quick prayer of thanks as her hand hit something hard almost immediately. Though the item she uncovered alarmed her more than Urumkai's expression had.
The necklace was old, the wooden beads stained with years of water exposure. Amazingly the string still held those beads together, frayed by age and use. As she turned it over in her hands, she spied the designs that she was so intimately familiar with—that were as much a part of her as her arrows.
The symbol of the Air Nomads. Three spirals, on three small discs of wood. Miyo held a temple Nomad's necklace.
"An old memory of mine," Urumkai said behind her, his voice making her start. He had been so quiet that she'd never heard him come back in, though she had been paying attention. And suddenly Miyo realized that she couldn't feel the air currents anymore. Not like she used to.
"Where did you get this?" she asked as she pushed herself to her feet, though she didn't turn. Her heart was hammering too hard, and she knew she would have to steady her face, fight down the flush creeping up her neck, before she let him see her reaction.
"It was given to me many years ago by an Air Nun." His voice, just behind her shoulder, drew closer as he took a step toward her. "From the Western Air Temple, actually. Just like you." Something in his tone sent a shiver down her back, and the necklace was forgotten in her hand. "We loved each other in our own way, and on our last night together, she gave that to me."
He was just behind her now, so close that she was terrified that the slightest movement might lead to him touching her. So she held perfectly still, too afraid to breathe. His voice, which had been so coolly indifferent until now, turned deep with memory. With something else.
"She looked a lot like you, actually. You remind me of her. A lot of her."
Miyo gasped as she felt his hand on her hip, and quickly she spun around, slamming her hand into his chest as the necklace fell away. The move would have normally produced an air blast that would have knocked him back several feet, but instead he stepped backwards to catch himself, matching her glare with his own.
"You forget yourself, Master Shaman," she said, trying hard to keep her voice from shaking and to hide the fear knotting up her stomach. "Be mindful of to whom you speak."
"Oh, I am, Mistress Nun." His eyes burned hotly, his jaw gritted too hard. "Someone who doesn't know to mind her own affairs. Someone who is asking questions she shouldn't ask. Someone who doesn't realize when she has gone too far." And he grabbed at her again, seizing her waist.
She slipped out of his grasp, moving like the wind to spin around him, and he turned to follow. "Shaman Urumkai, what are you…?" But she knew exactly what he was doing. She only needed to look at the severe, determined frown on his face to figure it out. "You won't dare touch a nun."
"A nun," he spat as he approached, and she ducked around the fire, keeping the tripod between them. "I would hardly call you a nun. You can't airbend, you don't even wear a Nun's robes. Instead, you wear Water Tribe clothes—you wear furs—and you answer to the call of that Southern boy." He stopped walking, but he'd made her circle such that he stood between the fire and the door, blocking her only escape. "Now you're here, trying to drag information out of me. Trying to dig up my past and meddle with things that are not your business. No, I've known nuns. And you are not a nun."
"Get out of my way." She drew herself up tall, calling on all the austere demeanor she'd ever learned, and stared him down. But he was unaffected, his expression both dangerous and single-minded. Then he shifted his foot the right, his hands jerking with it.
So much faster than she could react, the ice to the left of her shot up and smashed into her, throwing her against the hide-covered wall. Gasping, Miyo let her shoulder take the brunt of the impact and twisted against the ice to jump away. But he was already there, one hand seizing her throat just under her chin as his other hand held her shoulder tight against the wall. With a cough, she gritted her teeth and grabbed his wrist, trying to hold his weight off of her neck.
"What are you doing here, airbender?" he hissed close to her face, his hand lifting her an inch off the ground such that only her toes touched the ice. His fingers now pressed into her arteries, threatening to make her faint. "What do you know?"
And then he was leaning into her, his nose next to her temple, his chin brushing her cheek as he audibly breathed her in. His voice dropped to a whisper, and had she been able to do anything but fight to stay conscious, she would have shuddered. "You think I can't hurt you, because they'll see if I do. But it's amazing how much waterbending can heal."
The thought of that made her quail. Desperate, she brought her knee up, and it slammed into his lower abdomen, just barely missing his groin. He dropped her anyway with a groan, his chin falling to her shoulder, and she immediately twisted one of her legs behind his as she shoved her hand into his chest.
Unbalanced, he toppled over, giving her a chance to escape. But as she dove for the exit, coughing noisily for the air, the ice before the door abruptly shot up to block her path. Miyo whirled about, only to find that Urumkai had recovered enough to pick himself up. He was furious now; there was no determination or apathy in his face. Only wild-eyed rage.
He bent the ice up underneath her, the leather mat on which she was standing heaving with the force. Jumping onto one foot, she managed to twist away from the ice. But then he was there, grabbing her arm again before she could slip away. Now, though, Miyo spun under his arm instead, contorting it oddly as she dug out the knife under her belt. Unfortunately he too twisted, far more mobile than anyone his age should have been, and swept her leg out from under her as he spun back.
With a gasp, she barely caught her weight onto her other foot in time, but his hold on her arm was too awkward and she was forced to go to her knees or risk breaking a bone. He now straddled her back, strengthening his grip on her by pressing against the back of her elbow.
"It's all over with now," Urumkai said, leaning close to her head. "It's done. No more justice."
Miyo shoved the sheathed knife into the fire pit just in front of her, ignoring the flames, and flung a blade-full of embers over her shoulder. Urumkai gave an annoyed shout at that, but it distracted him enough to loosen his grip, and she turned into his hold, dropping onto her back and dislocating her shoulder in the process.
Her legs now free, Miyo kicked her foot high and caught him along the side of his neck. It pushed him over, and as he fell, she seized his wrist, using the weight of her body to pull him toward her on the ground. The resultant traction moved her shoulder back into joint with a sickening pop and a wave of nauseating pain that would have distracted her if she wasn't fighting for her life. Instead, Miyo ignored the sensation and rolled herself on top of his chest as soon as he hit the ice. Yanking the sheath away from the knife with her teeth, she then pushed its edge against his throat.
"What?" he said when he finally registered the weapon on his neck, his eyes cast down at her in incredulity because he could not move his head without cutting himself. "You honestly think this threat scares me? That you would kill me?"
"Like you said, I'm not much of a nun." She tried to keep her voice from shaking, but it was even harder to control her hand. And for a moment, she feared she might kill him just in her anxiety. "You can try me if you want, but as far as I'm aware, you're a dead man already. I don't think the spirit will mind if I finish the job early."
He still didn't seem to believe her, but he didn't move either. And so she supposed he must have had some doubt about her nun-like pacifism. "Well, then. Where does that leave you?" he muttered after a moment.
"Open the door and let me out. You leave Natquik alone to find what he needs to find, and I won't tell anyone about this."
"No one would believe you."
"Why take the chance?"
He stared at her hard, considering. And every moment he hesitated on his decision, her hand twitched closer to slicing into his neck. Any wrong movement— any movement at all, really— and she might just accidentally kill him anyway.
Urumkai imperceptibly nodded. Slowly, he pushed one hand out toward the ice. The motion made her jerk, and he took a deep breath, pulling his chin up to avoid her blade. Then, after another tense second, he bent the ice away from the hole, allowing daylight once more to filter through the furs.
Miyo continued to watch him, not moving from her position. And he stared right back, his eyes having returned to their icy glare. But there was something else in that glare—something that looked sickeningly like attraction.
Miyo waited a good, long moment. Waited until she didn't think he'd do anything else, and until her heart had calmed down a little. Then, nearly leaping from his body, she dashed for the exit.
He didn't stop her again, and slipping on the slope past the dug-out, Miyo tore out into the snow, neither caring that she'd left half her clothing nor her boots. Immediately she stumbled, swallowed by the blinding white, but she tried to push herself up, Natquik's knife still in her hand. For she was terrified that if she turned around, he would be right behind her. Ready to drag her back inside.
Someone else grabbed her, though. A blue-gloved hand that pulled her out of the snow, and for a moment, she thought it was Urumkai. But this man was much smaller and, more importantly, not from the ice shelter.
"Hold on," he said, wrapping an arm around her waist, and she tried not to stab him with the knife. She still couldn't see him; his face was hidden by a hood and bone visor, which easily masked his identity. He swung her around to his back, dragging her injured arm around his neck and making her shoulder scream in agony. Natquik's knife dropped from her numb fingers. The man didn't notice—the moment he felt secure in his grip on her, he took off at a ridiculous speed, skating across the snow as if he were skating on ice. Weakly, she clutched his shoulders, trying not to think about what just happened.
o~o~O~o~o
Natquik's arrival at the leather tent was unexpected, but not unwelcome. Nita met him at the tent flap when he called her husband's name, and quickly ushered him in. Inside, the floor of the tent had already been hardened into ice, covered with a thick walrus-bear rug, and two leather fire-pouches hung from the low ceiling to illuminate the meager furnishings of the tent. Natquik noted that there was no fire pit, nor a water cistern. Just a fur-strewn ice cot, big enough for Nita and her husband.
"Has Chief Tuluk ordered you to stay out here?" he asked, though he didn't need to see Nita's nod. This was obviously an impermanent set-up, as both Peawanuk and Nita had a home within the city. But instead, they were forced to stay on the very edge of civilization inside this tupiq, Peawanuk's hunting shelter.
"He says that once they clear up a few matters, we'll be allowed in," Peawanuk said from his seat on the bed, the wrinkles of his wide, round face almost enough to swallow his eyes. But Natquik knew that the hunter wasn't much older than he; it was simply the tundra that had given him that weathered look. Brushing a finger along the thick mustache under his nose, Peawanuk glanced up at the nearby fire-pouch, his disheveled black hair framing his face. "I like it better out here, anyway. More peaceful than the city."
Nita would hardly agree with that, and Natquik saw that he was right; she looked frustrated, her broad nose wrinkling as she frowned at her husband, and she tugged impatiently at the lapels of her robes, her thick braid getting in the way. "It's ridiculous for them to keep us out here. All because –" She then cut off with a frown at Natquik. "Please, have a seat." She twisted her hands up into the air, and an ice stool sprung up behind him.
"I appreciate it," he said as he took it, propping his elbows against his knees. "Can you tell me why you're not allowed into the city?"
Peawanuk regarded his wife before he spoke. "I…don't feel at liberty to say."
No. Of course, he wouldn't. "If it's about what happened during the hunting trip, then I already know a little of it." That certainly caught the two by surprise, and they shared a guarded look—a look that was tinged with something close to fear. "I imagine Chief Tuluk's already spoken to you about it. Has anyone else?"
"No." Peawanuk frowned, the expression twisting his mustache, and he crossed his legs underneath him so that he could rest his hands on his knees as well. "Just Chief Tuluk and Chief Imnek. We expected a visit from Shaman Urumkai today."
"He'll be here soon." Hopefully, Miyo would delay him long enough. At the thought of her, that creeping sense of worry re-emerged in his stomach, and forcefully, he had to shove it back. "I'm interviewing all of the party members one at a time," Natquik pressed on, determined to ignore his concern. "So far, I've spoken to Bokani, but he says that he only saw what happened to Alaq after you had seen to him yourself. He says that you would know more about his death."
The fear they had shown in Natquik's indirect mention of Alaq's death became almost palpable when he said the guide's name. Peawanuk turned reticent at that, his hands swiftly folding into his lap where he could examine his fingernails.
"I've already told Chief Tuluk. Could you not ask him?"
"I would, but I'd rather not hear the information from a second-hand source." That, and Tuluk probably wouldn't tell him anyway. "I swear, though, whatever you tell me will help us find answers for his widow."
The mention of Alaq's wife in such a way made Peawanuk glance up at Nita, his expression morphing into one of sadness. And finally, with a somber nod, he dropped his gaze once more to his hands.
"We were out past the tundra, near the tiger-seal's summer beach." He sighed, giving a shake of his loose hair. "We were taking a return path, hoping to catch a few seals to make up for our poor hunt. Alaq went ahead to scout, since that area is so close to the Ilakwit Chasm. And…" he trailed off weakly.
"He never came back," Natquik finished, to which Peawanuk nodded.
"He went by himself so that our second guide, Siarut, could stay to help with the hunt. He was only traveling a mile or two, and the wind was in the southeast, so we didn't expect a white-out."
"Is that what happened?" he prompted as Peawanuk fell silent. But the hunter shook his head.
"No, he just never came back. The next day, Siarut and I set off to find him. It'd been a light snow, so we could easily follow his tracks. We expected he'd either gone too far and had to make camp, or…" his eyes still in his lap, Peawanuk shrugged, "…you know. Fallen through the chasm. What happens with a lot of guides. But when we reached the end of that trail…" He broke off with a visible shudder. And to Natquik's right, Nita took a step forward as if to comfort him.
But Peawanuk stopped her with a sharp eye, his expression stern. Then gathering his strength, he met Natquik's gaze head-on, and the morbid look in his eyes said far more than his words did. "He was dead. Half-eaten by predators already, so we didn't know how exactly he died. And his body had been dragged many yards from where he had been killed."
"How do you know where he was killed?" If this death was anything like the others, then there would have been no evidence. Nothing to indicate who had attacked, no mark left on the land.
If anything, Peawanuk's expression became even more macabre, and the sick hue of his skin made Natquik wonder if he really wanted the answer. "Because before he died, he managed to leave a message in the snow. He used blood. Not sure whose."
Natquik swallowed. Suddenly, the room was icy. No, he was icy. He could barely feel his hands at all. "What did the message say?"
Peawanuk looked slowly to his wife, and she stared back at him with a thin mouth. "Quiasuqarmi ijiqpuq."
It hides in the snow.
Nothing followed that revelation. No sound, no movement. The three were rooted to the spot, as if listening for something in the snow just outside of the tent.
Natquik almost didn't want to speak again, as if interrupting the silence might bring the spirit's invisible eyes on them. "Did Alaq act strangely before the…before his death?" Calling it 'murder' in front of them, when they were terrified that something may come for them next, seemed particularly cruel.
Peawanuk shook his head again, and fiddled with a bone trinket bracelet on his wrist to calm himself. "No, he acted no different. He didn't say anything out of the ordinary. Gave no indication he felt he might…might be in danger." It was too much to hope, and Natquik prepared to ask his last question. He'd developed three for all of the men he'd interviewed, though so far none had been very fruitful. Yet as he was about speak, Peawanuk interrupted. "And as I told Chief Tuluk yesterday, I don't know about his history. He joined our hunting party late after leaving Kayok's hunting party mid-summer. He didn't make friends, and he didn't talk about his past. You might speak with Kayok, though; I think Alaq and their second guide were fairly close."
Natquik was left momentarily at a loss for words, straightening uncomfortably on his ice stool. So Tuluk was already asking the same questions. How much, then, was he just retreading the same ground?
Nita cleared her throat, her voice strained. "As I also told Chief Tuluk, and as I wish you will tell him for us again. We would like to get back to the city."
Peawanuk gave her a weak smile. "Nita, you worry too much. We already have talismans to protect ourselves."
"Given by Chief Tuluk?" Natquik ventured, and he nodded. The talismans were worthless, but it would be fine anyhow. Peawanuk was far younger than the men who had been targeted. "I'll pass on to the chief about your desire to get home, but I wouldn't worry. I suspect you're only staying out here so that Shaman Urumkai has a chance to speak with you."
"And when will Urumkai come visit us?" Nita shoved the braid behind her shoulder so that she could cross her arms under her breasts, her patience obviously tested. Natquik answered by standing, attempting to step backward toward the tent flap.
"Probably very, very soon. And I have five other men to speak with, so…"
Yet he didn't get very far in his retreat toward the exit. As if summoned, the voice of the Head Shaman filtered past the tent flap. "Peawanuk, are you there?"
Natquik had to fight to hide his surprise—as well as his dismay. Urumkai wouldn't be happy he was there. Yet Nita was already inviting him in, cutting off Natquik's escape. In the moment that it took Urumkai to enter, he forced his shoulders back. Tried to look like he was supposed to be there, and he shoved his hands into his pockets to feign a casual air. Urumkai, however, wasn't startled when he saw Natquik. His eyes immediately went to him, and his mouth parted slightly, but otherwise there was no reaction. He simply addressed Peawanuk past Natquik's shoulder. "I hope I'm not interrupting."
"I was just about to leave," Natquik said, forestalling whatever Peawanuk was about to say. Let the hunter fill Urumkai in after he was gone; then he wouldn't have a chance to react to Natquik's presence. "Peawanuk, Nita, thank you for your hospi—."
"Actually, Natquik, if I could speak with you just outside." It was a request, but there was nothing in Urumkai's manner that indicated he thought it was one. He held the flap open, one hand gesturing Natquik out into the snow. And with a final look to the hunter and his wife, he followed.
'Just outside' meant several yards away, Urumkai leading him far enough from the tent that their voices wouldn't travel. And when he felt satisfied that they wouldn't be heard, he came to a stop.
"Listen, Shaman Urum-" Natquik began, but the glare that the older man rounded on him was strong enough to interrupt whatever he was about to say. It was, perhaps, the angriest he'd seen Urumkai—and Urumkai had been quite furious with him in the past.
"What are you doing here?" the Shaman growled, stalking to a halt mere inches from Natquik's face. "Prying some more?"
"Getting some information about what's happening to my people in the South," he returned coolly, refusing to be intimidated. "I don't believe you have a monopoly on that, do you?"
"You are forgetting your place, waterbender." The rage set Urumkai's fierce eyes afire, and his forehead was creased with a snarl. "But let me remind you. You are to marry the princess, and you are to stay out of Shaman affairs."
"Alaq wasn't a Shaman." Natquik made his tone flippant, and he crossed his arms over his chest loosely. "He was a guide. And I think that would fall more into Royal Husband affairs than it would Shaman affairs, don't you?"
Urumkai looked ready to punch him. Or bury him in snow. And for a moment, Natquik thought he just might. If it came to waterbending, the older man would easily beat him. But he wasn't about to back down, even if it meant being pummeled with ice.
A long silence passed between them as the Shaman reined in his temper, his fists clenching and unclenching spasmodically. Natquik, in the meantime, tried to appear indifferent. But in his mind, a warning had sounded. If Urumkai was here, then where was Miyo?
When Urumkai finally spoke, his voice had grown cold again, and his eyes had assumed their typical, half-lidded look of apathy. "You honestly don't know when you've gone too far. I suppose you're still a child, still playing with things you don't understand."
"If you're trying to insult me, I've heard worse," Natquik said blandly, but Urumkai spoke right over him.
"Thinking that maybe if you tinker with the sea-beetles long enough, you can understand how they fly. Not realizing that the more you chase them, the closer you come to the cliff edge-"
"Are you threatening me, or are we having a nature lesson?"
"You think you can just work around our traditions, just as you've worked around everything else your whole life. A mediocre waterbender. A mediocre hunter. A mediocre husband-to-be. A mediocre man, altogether, the only thing of any value about you being your birthright."
"Ah. You're preparing your speech for my wedding dinner." Natquik couldn't even infuse humor into his jokes. No, he wasn't offended by what Urumkai had to say. He was offended that he was saying it. For some reason, the Shaman wanted to demean him. It was a personal challenge, as if he were trying to goad Natquik into a fight. But just as he wouldn't fight Poalu because he knew Poalu would lose, he certainly wouldn't fight Urumkai because he knew Urumkai would win. "I think you forgot 'mediocre jewelry-maker' in there, too."
"And this is what you do." Urumkai sounded disgusted, waving a hand at him in contempt. "All of your life, when I trained you to fight like a man, you would laugh your way out of it like a coward. You have no shame, Natquik. You joke away your fights, but in the South, you became the joke. And now, you come to the North, thinking that you might be a man in a new world. But up here, your pathetic fear of conflict is an even bigger joke."
He was trying to make him mad— and he was succeeding, but more importantly, Natquik acknowledged how Urumkai was manipulating his emotions. No, for some reason, Urumkai wanted Natquik to fight him. Did he think that if Natquik attacked, Tuluk would ban him from the bluffs? Or did he think he could kill Natquik in the fight and then blame him for starting it?
"Well, I'm glad I can make people laugh." He had to say it through gritted teeth. "If that's all you have for me, I'll see you after I'm done speaking with the rest of the hunting party." And he started past.
But Urumkai grabbed his arm tightly, bringing him to a halt as his fingers dug into his coat. It was so close to a challenge that Natquik's hand twitched, ready to waterbend. Urumkai's half-lidded eyes stared down at him, his lip still curled in disgust.
"I'll tell you again to mind your business, Natquik. Stay away from the bluffs. And if you ever send your little whore of an airbender to talk-"
"What?" Fear lanced through him, and he yanked his arm savagely from Urumkai's grip. "What did you say?"
"I'm sure you heard me," Urumkai said, his tone mocking. "You sent that 'Air Nun' to dig information out of me. Thinking you could use her to tempt me into revealing what you couldn't figure out in all your hours of prying."
Suddenly, that fury Natquik had managed to fight back swamped him. As well as terror. Horrible, anxious terror that made it very hard to breathe. "What did you do to her?"
Urumkai's smile was perverse. "Believe me, nothing she didn't want done."
Everything moved quickly, then. Natquik threw his weight back in order to swing his arm about, a pillar of ice shooting up from the ground to slam into Urumkai's chest. But the elderly Shaman was still quite agile, and he slid out from the attack, using his strength to convert that pillar into water. Boiling water, which he shot at Natquik.
He managed to pull it into an arc, his hands twisting to turn that sluice of water into a projectile. But even as he prepared to launch it back, the snow shot up in front of him, throwing him backwards thirty feet.
Natquik managed to catch himself with a snow drift, trying to bend himself back to his feet. And then Urumkai was in front of him, bending the snow drift to swallow him before he could even find his footing.
Now caught in a world of white, Natquik fought to bend himself free. But Urumkai held the snow tight around him, his strength of bending far surpassing Natquik's. The world was dark, suffocating. And as he struggled to find a source of air—a way to break free from the prison— Urumkai's voice floated to him, muffled through the snow in his ears.
"I find it amusing that even without her bending, the nun still provided more of challenge than you." The snow abruptly sloughed away, the blinding white of the ice bluffs filling his vision, and he fell forward with a gasp as he clutched his ribs. Above him, Urumkai watched him gulp for air with unbridled ridicule. "She's at the watchtower, waiting for you to rescue her. And I suggest you do that. You'll be much better at healing her than you are at fighting me." He then flung something metallic to the ground, which buried itself to the hilt in snow. Natquik immediately recognized the blue beads on that hilt as his own knife. Without further comment, Urumkai turned on his foot to head back to Peawanuk's tent.
Natquik wanted to hurt him—no, he wanted to kill him. And for a moment, the thought of aiming his knife square at Urumkai's retreating back was enticing. But more consuming than his fury was his dread. If the knife was here, if Urumkai was here, then Miyo…
He had to get to her now. Only later would he go after Urumkai.
o~o~O~o~o
Kiviak, Miyo's new rescuer, handed her a clay cup of tea. She took it with a smile, not bothering to drink it; it reminded her of the tea in Urumkai's hut and made her feel sick all over. But the warmth of the cup felt good against her hand, excepting where the fire earlier had burned her. Her other arm was dressed in a makeshift sling, though it did nothing to reduce the ache in her shoulder.
"I can't believe you went there alone," he said, and not for the first time. He'd been muttering it with vague irritation for the last half-hour. "Urumkai isn't someone young women should visit by themselves. He's just not."
"And that doesn't make sense," she said, also not for the first time, watching him as he paced before her. The fact that he was calling her a young woman, when she was nearly ten years his senior, was just as embarrassing as the fact that he didn't think a young woman such as she could handle herself.
Of course, it was even more humiliating that, in the end, he did have to save her. She would've never gotten very far in the snow without shoes or a coat. But she was grateful, and so she silently listened to his muttered grievances, occasionally glancing around the hollow interior of the watchtower. As its primary keeper, Kiviak had made a real home out of the base of the tower. The first floor had all the same accommodations as her own ice hut, with the addition of benches in the wall like the one she sat on. An open-sided stairwell followed the round wall to another level, which she imagined was either for look-out or for another occupant.
"You were lucky I was there," he said again, rubbing at his neck. He'd taken off his coat, and as he paced in front of her, she could see how primly clean his robes were. The fur lapels were folded perfectly, and the belt shone like new leather. Even his sealskin pants showed no wear in the knees. The only thing about him that was unkempt was his hair, and this fell in disordered clumps over his eyes. "Lucky that I was just happening by."
"Thank you, Kiviak," she murmured, finally sipping at her drink. She expected it to be terrible, but it actually wasn't bad. He'd apparently sweetened it with something—possibly honey. "I'm not sure what I would've done if…"
She didn't want to think about it. Was it a mistake to have confronted Urumkai? Did she almost hurt herself for no reason at all? Or was the information she'd gathered worth it? Frowning unhappily at her tea, she wished that she'd pressed Urumkai for more information when she had the chance.
"Miyo." Suddenly Kiviak was at her side, sitting next to her on the bench. "Miyo, listen. You can't tell anyone what happened there." He seized her arm to communicate his earnestness, but after such a traumatizing afternoon, Miyo reflexively shrank away.
She'd already promised secrecy to Urumkai, but the desperation in Kiviak's stare and voice made her hesitate. "Why shouldn't I?"
"Because it may cause turmoil. And you can't do that, not when it's so close to Sahani's wedding." So he just didn't want her making trouble when they were all supposed to be happy. Again, she frowned, feeling somehow that his reasoning was bad reasoning. But she nodded anyway; upsetting Natquik was the last thing she wanted to do, and this would surely upset him.
Not that it would matter. He'd know immediately something had happened.
Almost as if on cue, there was a shuffling at the ice door— the sound of footsteps in snow— and then the ice flew open. Natquik swept in with large strides and a frigid breeze at his back, ripping off his gloves as he walked straight to Miyo.
"What happened?" he asked just as she predicted, not bothering with his boots or with sidestepping the fanciful walrus-bear rug in the center of the room. Kiviak scooted out of the way to give him room, but instead, he went to a knee in front of Miyo, grasping her hand in the sling. Miyo tried to muffle a wince as he unintentionally moved her injured shoulder.
"What happened?" he repeated, his tone now harsh, as he glanced up at Kiviak. He could surely see the sling under the blanket, the burns on the side of her fingers holding the cup, and in a day or two, he'd certainly see the bruises on her throat.
"Nothing happened, everything's fine," she reassured him pointlessly as the wool patchwork blanket slipped from her shoulders.
"You're missing your coat, your shoes, and—" he reached under his parka and brandished his knife "—this was in a sheath." He held it up for effect, his gaze once more snapping to Kiviak as he hid the blade inside his boot. "Don't tell me nothing happened."
"Natquik, I told you I'm fine." She added an edge to her voice and set her rapidly cooling cup on the floor. "Leave Kiviak alone. He's been very kind to me."
"She's fine, Natquik," he echoed weakly, gesturing as if to demonstrate his point. "I got her back here, she's warm now, and she looks like she's doing all right."
"I knew this was a mistake," Natquik muttered, so low that she wasn't sure if it was meant for her. Then, raising his voice, he said, "Kiviak, I need you to leave while I heal her." When the younger man didn't respond, Natquik turned a stern glare up at him. "Kiviak, go! Give us some privacy."
Hesitating, he then shuffled out the open entrance, leaving the two alone. Almost the moment that he disappeared, Natquik was on the bench beside her, trying to pull her into his arms. With thorough frustration, she pushed him off of her.
"I wasn't lying." Yes, Miyo was still shaken by the events earlier. Yes, the idea of what could have happened made her heart pound and the panic rise in her throat once more. But those thoughts were contained within the knowledge that she had made it out of there on her own. "You don't need to heal me."
"I'm going to take a look at your arm." He wasn't brooking any argument, so she let him remove the sling and pull her robes down to expose her shoulder. Trying once more to staunch the embarrassment of her exposed skin and ignore the severe ache in her joint that followed the movement, Miyo clasped her burned hand to her eyes.
Natquik waited until he was partly through examining her shoulder with waterbending before he spoke again. "I need you to tell me what happened." His voice was soft, lacking any of the decisive anger that fueled his entrance earlier. Now she could hear vulnerability there instead, and feel the slight tremor in his hand against her shoulder.
Miyo dropped her hand away, though she didn't take her eyes off of her knees. "I made him mad," she said simply. So much for not telling anyone. "I think I happened on the truth, and it upset him enough that he lashed out. I don't think he was thinking rationally."
"An understatement," Natquik said dryly. "So what was this great truth that made him attack you?" He'd finished his ministrations, and hitched her robe back onto her shoulder. Miyo attempted to roll her shoulder gingerly, which still resulted in some pain but significantly diminished. She gave him a small smile of gratitude.
"He knows the men being targeted," she said. "He knows what the spirit is, and why it's killing them. Because he knows it's going to kill him, too." And there was something else. Something that she couldn't quite identify. Urumkai's anger had been too pointed, not like a feral animal that had been cornered. He hadn't attacked her just because he was afraid; Urumkai had truly wanted her dead.
But Miyo didn't know how to voice those thoughts without upsetting Natquik more, so she stored them for another time when she could consider them more carefully.
"Then if he knows what this spirit is, and he still can't stop it…" Natquik trailed off, worrying at the inside of his cheek. He seated himself beside her again, prompting her to take his hand in encouragement. The gesture made him look up, and suddenly his expression turned scared once more. Before she could react, he'd pulled her into another hug, though this time she didn't fight him. The embrace wasn't for her. "Do you know," he whispered near her ear, "what I'd do if something happened to you?"
What would he do? What could he do? Miyo realized with the gentle tremble of his body that in that moment Natquik was just as powerless as she had been. It made her hug him harder. "You'll have to leave Urumkai alone," she murmured, and in her arms she felt his back stiffen. "Don't fight him because of me. I don't need you to."
Natquik pulled away in protest. "Miyo, he hurt you—"
"He tried to hurt me." She pushed her fingers against his mouth to silence him, and Natquik for a moment looked surprised. "But I stopped him. And I made him agree to let you do what you need. So if you two can just avoid each other, then maybe you both can get somewhere with these murders."
Natquik forced her hand away from his lips. "He's already three steps ahead of us. He knows what the spirit wants. He may even know who summoned it."
"No. I don't think he does." When she had mentioned a Shaman, she hadn't seen the same hint of recognition in his face. "And if he finds out how to get rid of the spirit, then all the better for everyone. Natquik, he doesn't want your help. Work your angle and let him work his."
Natquik didn't argue, though Miyo could see the beginnings of an argument working his jaw. This had become personal with Urumkai; no amount of sense was going to make him see what she said was true. Miyo again clasped his gloved hands, her fingers white with the cold.
"If he can't find answers by your wedding day, then I'll go to Chief Tuluk. I'll tell him what Urumkai did, and what I suspect about his past. Then you can use your power in Tuluk's household to get the truth from him. Will that do?"
She could tell from his expression that it wouldn't do at all. And honestly, Miyo had no desire to tell anyone what Urumkai did. The thought of it made her feel powerless all over again. But she couldn't let Natquik confront the master Shaman—not before his wedding, at least.
Eventually Natquik accepted the compromise, nodding as he released her hands. "But if he tries to hurt you again—"
"He won't." Miyo wouldn't let him.