Read Online Our Story: Aboriginal Voices on Canada's Past by Tantoo Cardinal - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Tantoo Cardinal
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failed volley, Kannujaqâs smile grew broader.
Kannujaq had realized something: his was not a Tunit bow. It was made from composite pieces of whalebone, with a stronger recurve than the Tunit style, and better lashing. Its range was greater.
Kannujaq carefully nocked his arrow and took his time in the draw. Breath suspended, he made sure of his stance and loosed.
There was dread elegance in the arrowâs flight. Then it came down, finding a home in Angulaâs chest. There it quivered, before Angula fell to one knee. His cry was long, a wail more of despair than of pain. He fell and lay still.
Kannujaq was nocking another arrow when the cronies at last tore their eyes away and fled like rabbits.
Kannujaq walked over to the dead Angula, frowning, more angry at Angulaâs corpse than he had been at the living man.
The fool
, he thought.
Making me kill him. The damn fool
.
He put his bow away and began to leave, but paused.
He actually found himself concerned about the Tunit. How would they fare once the Siaraili returned? Perhaps better, with Angula gone. But now they had no one to lead them. Would they have the wits to flee, or would they sit confused, waiting to be slaughtered? And where would they go? As long as they lived by a coast, that Siaraili vessel could find them.
It could find his own people, too.
He looked back toward the Tunit camp, now leaderless. The ptarmigan. His animal. If it had not taken flight, Angula and his cronies would have ambushed him. A sign?
âProbably not,â he grumbled.
Well, there was no point in making away so quickly. He might as well tell Siku what had happened. Siku, young as he was, was somewhat respected. He might point the Tunit to a new leader.
As long as it wasnât Kannujaq.
He gave the dogs the rest of his dried meat reserves.
As Kannujaq had anticipated, the boy was overjoyed at his return. In his
angakoq
way, he saw Angulaâs death as assurance of exactly what Kannujaq refused to accept: that he was here to save the Tunit.
At least Angulaâs tether on the community had been cut. People actually smiled, however shyly, at Kannujaq. Enough people offered him food that he had to start refusing it.
One of the first things Siku did was to introduce him to his mother, Siaq, who greeted him coolly. This was the lovely woman whom Kannujaq had spotted earlier. He was still certain that she was not Tunit. What was she doing here, then? There was no chance to ask, since Siku had something of great importance to show him.
The only other person in the community who had ever lived like Sikuâalone, that isâwas Angula. Siaq had served him, but not as wife. Angula had taken many wives, never keeping any. Siaq, however, had always been only one thing: Angulaâs slave.
Angulaâs empty home was left untouched, as though it were a haunted place. So there was no one there to greet them as Siku led Kannujaq into it. It was large, not as big as most communal Tunit dwellings, but large enough for a family. There was something grave-like about it, now that it was abandoned.
The fire
, Kannujaq thought.
Itâs dead, like Angula
.
Siku did not pause for a moment, leading Kannujaq to the rear of the place, where there was a kind of adjoining chamber meant for storage. There was nothing of value in here, merely old, ragged caribou hides, but Kannujaq already suspected what he was about to see.
Sure enough, Siku pulled the garbage aside to reveal overly large flagstones. With some effort, he heaved one aside.
Here were Angulaâs treasures, the things the Shining One so desperately sought. Kannujaq had felt that nothing could further impress him, but he was quite wrong.
The pit was crammed with treasures.
These were nothing like Sikuâs rusted knife. Here was a polished blade as long as his leg, shining like a fish belly, handle decorated with yellow-hued kannujaq. Its home was a sheath of fine leather, wood, and wolf fur.
Kannujaq
Kannujaq had realized something: his was not a Tunit bow. It was made from composite pieces of whalebone, with a stronger recurve than the Tunit style, and better lashing. Its range was greater.
Kannujaq carefully nocked his arrow and took his time in the draw. Breath suspended, he made sure of his stance and loosed.
There was dread elegance in the arrowâs flight. Then it came down, finding a home in Angulaâs chest. There it quivered, before Angula fell to one knee. His cry was long, a wail more of despair than of pain. He fell and lay still.
Kannujaq was nocking another arrow when the cronies at last tore their eyes away and fled like rabbits.
Kannujaq walked over to the dead Angula, frowning, more angry at Angulaâs corpse than he had been at the living man.
The fool
, he thought.
Making me kill him. The damn fool
.
He put his bow away and began to leave, but paused.
He actually found himself concerned about the Tunit. How would they fare once the Siaraili returned? Perhaps better, with Angula gone. But now they had no one to lead them. Would they have the wits to flee, or would they sit confused, waiting to be slaughtered? And where would they go? As long as they lived by a coast, that Siaraili vessel could find them.
It could find his own people, too.
He looked back toward the Tunit camp, now leaderless. The ptarmigan. His animal. If it had not taken flight, Angula and his cronies would have ambushed him. A sign?
âProbably not,â he grumbled.
Well, there was no point in making away so quickly. He might as well tell Siku what had happened. Siku, young as he was, was somewhat respected. He might point the Tunit to a new leader.
As long as it wasnât Kannujaq.
He gave the dogs the rest of his dried meat reserves.
As Kannujaq had anticipated, the boy was overjoyed at his return. In his
angakoq
way, he saw Angulaâs death as assurance of exactly what Kannujaq refused to accept: that he was here to save the Tunit.
At least Angulaâs tether on the community had been cut. People actually smiled, however shyly, at Kannujaq. Enough people offered him food that he had to start refusing it.
One of the first things Siku did was to introduce him to his mother, Siaq, who greeted him coolly. This was the lovely woman whom Kannujaq had spotted earlier. He was still certain that she was not Tunit. What was she doing here, then? There was no chance to ask, since Siku had something of great importance to show him.
The only other person in the community who had ever lived like Sikuâalone, that isâwas Angula. Siaq had served him, but not as wife. Angula had taken many wives, never keeping any. Siaq, however, had always been only one thing: Angulaâs slave.
Angulaâs empty home was left untouched, as though it were a haunted place. So there was no one there to greet them as Siku led Kannujaq into it. It was large, not as big as most communal Tunit dwellings, but large enough for a family. There was something grave-like about it, now that it was abandoned.
The fire
, Kannujaq thought.
Itâs dead, like Angula
.
Siku did not pause for a moment, leading Kannujaq to the rear of the place, where there was a kind of adjoining chamber meant for storage. There was nothing of value in here, merely old, ragged caribou hides, but Kannujaq already suspected what he was about to see.
Sure enough, Siku pulled the garbage aside to reveal overly large flagstones. With some effort, he heaved one aside.
Here were Angulaâs treasures, the things the Shining One so desperately sought. Kannujaq had felt that nothing could further impress him, but he was quite wrong.
The pit was crammed with treasures.
These were nothing like Sikuâs rusted knife. Here was a polished blade as long as his leg, shining like a fish belly, handle decorated with yellow-hued kannujaq. Its home was a sheath of fine leather, wood, and wolf fur.
Kannujaq