Kindred

“You look like an orb.”  

I shift my gaze at the distant horizon taking note of the way the poppies and the buttercups brush the pads of my fingers in gentle sweeps. The bite of the tundra, that kisses the parts of my exposed skin, subsides as a single ray of light escapes the cover of a tiny cloud. This light bathes a patch of reddish-brown hair, intensifying its color to a vibrant red, and highlights the silhouette of a sleeping lump in the vegetation five fox steps away from me. I move to lie on my stomach as I reach out to pet my baby mammoth. My palms disappear in the soft, shaggy expanse of the fur of Massak’s belly.  

“A lazy orb.” I laugh. 

Massak shifts and squirms as I rub his belly in swift, swiping movements. I move my head just in time to avoid the solid tusk that swings my way as Massak tries to burrow the back of his body into the damp surface of the earth.  

“Ayyaa! Watch it!” I breathe.  

“Who’s going to fend off the hunters when I’m knocked out cold?” Massak bows his massive head, avoiding direct eye contact.

I watch the way the snow curves under his weight, leaving a print of a single tusk when he lifts his head again. I lean forward and press my forehead to the base of his trunk just shy of his gentle eyes the color of bleached bones. He trumpets as I sing softly.

The rustle of hooves from a herd of caribou grazing lichen and dried sedges blends with the melody. The air is still. I lift my hand, hovering closely to the jagged nub of where a tusk should be. Our breaths are slow. Faint whimpers escape Massak. Warm tears tumble slowly down the plains of my face like cracks in thin ice. I sing the pain away.

Large palms pour droplets of melted snow into my mouth. The water is crisp and refreshing against the heat of the fire.  

“Salty.” I giggle into the back of my hand as I wipe away the drops from my chin. Embers sizzle and pop from the flames.  

“These hands...” I stare, confused.  

“...sorted through dried fish earlier!” my brother, Sitka, teases sucking in his cheeks and plumping out his lips. He splays all ten fingers behind his ears and wiggles them like the fins of a sculpin. I laugh, apparently distracted, because the next thing I know, I’m scooped up in an embrace. 

“Ataata!” Sitka shouts.  

I yelp, wound tight but safe in a comforting kind of warmth. My mother abandons the qulliq she was tending from inside and runs to join my father’s embrace. Seconds later, Sitka fuses himself with our mass of limbs. We find ourselves toppling over onto the packed snow. Bright smiles adorn the faces of my loved ones. 

Sitka and I sit on plush fur as my father recounts tales of his journey back home. My mother sits across from him, patiently warming his feet under her arms.  

“I have something to show you.” My father whispers at the end a lively account about how he trekked the same path as a polar bear. He takes out a big bundle, from an open pack, and cradles it in his lap. A tiny, reddish-brown head pops out. 

My ancestors live in the sky. On nights like these, I watch as they play games with the skull of a walrus. Vibrant green streaks paint their tracks.  

“Take us home.” I pat Massak on the hump of his shoulder.

Ice crystals line my lashes and brows. I pull the hood of my parka a little closer to my frost-bitten cheeks. It’s dangerous to be out in the open this late at night. I take note of our surroundings: the path is dark; a distant rumble rips through the air as clusters of ice tumble into the sea. As if in response, a chorus of howling, from a pack of wolves, combat the thundering noises. Massak trembles beneath me.

We’ve traveled this route many moons over.  

“We’ll make it.” I try to comfort him. 

He shakes his head, curling his trunk and blowing air. I gently guide Massak away from a seal hole that is thinly iced over. We travel deep into the night. Sleep threatens to snare my small form the way a starving hunter might to a lemming in the toughest of winters. I listen to its call. 

I’m lying next to Sitka in a small patch of dried sedge. A tiny Massak nips at the blades of grass by Sitka’s shoulder. Wind rustles through my brother’s unkempt hair. The rims of his irises are deep amber. Flecks of amethyst dot the space in between. The wind shifts its path, weaving through the bones of a dead whale nearby.  

The breath of land is as relentless as a saber-tooth tiger pushed to starvation. I open my eyes. Instead of savage winds, a gentle kind of stillness silences the fear that threatened to overcome me moments ago. My soul and body move, but not in the way I’m used to. It’s as if they exist as separate entities.  

I watch as my body walks with Massak through a cave that houses an ethereal kind of glow. My soul trails behind. It’s cold, but there’s no parka covering my body.  

I close my eyes and dip my toes in the water. Small ripples meet and disperse themselves. Massak and my body keep to the edge of the underground river. My soul attaches itself to the water. As I wade through, a thick scent of brine coats my senses. Strands of long, dark hair follow the wake of my footsteps like veins in an intricate web of flesh, tangling my progress. I walk until I am immobile.  

There’s a woman standing next to Massak. They’re so far away now. She’s holding the left side of his face, except he’s no longer a mammoth. He’s standing on two legs covered in smooth skin instead of thick fur. He looks like my kind. I blink and deep strands curl tighter around me. A comb made of bone floats by just beyond my grasp.  

Nuliajuk. The cave silently echoes a name. 

A cold sensation cradles the back of my head. The energy of something old, something ancient, pulses through my body. My soul struggles to grab hold of the bone to comb myself out of her hair.

My body watches my soul. My soul watches my body. It’s an unnatural exchange. Then, the man—the same one down the river—is holding me in an embrace, but instead of skin, it’s fur that meets mine.