Those Who Dwell Below Read online

  “We have this conversation every day, my friend,” Tagaaq said. “It seems you are still thinking that things will go back to the way they were before you left, but it will never be the same. You have changed. The longer you mourn the past, the longer it will take for things to move forward.”

  It was true that they had been carrying on this conversation for weeks now. Pitu wondered endlessly when things would go back to normal, when Atiq would be restless and rowdy, when people wouldn’t look at Pitu with fear and respect in their eyes, when the marriage between Saima and Ijiraq would be cancelled.

  He’d been putting off talking about Saima with Tagaaq. But each day brought more discomfort, more pain. Pitu would see Saima standing close to Ijiraq, he’d run into Saima’s parents and see their shame. It was they who had suggested the marriage, assuming that Pitu was dead. Now, after the private glance he’d shared with Saima last night, he wanted to ask Tagaaq a question.

  “Why wouldn’t you let Saima and I get married before I left?”

  Tagaaq hung his head, looking down at the hard‑packed snow floor. Pitu’s heartbeat quickened, recognizing that look as shame. He didn’t carry on with all the words that banged around in his head. If you’d allowed our marriage, I would be happy right now. If you’d allowed our marriage, my life wouldn’t have changed so much.

  Tagaaq, still looking down, spoke. “It is a part of your path, Piturniq. You will understand all that I’ve done when you are ready.”

  Pitu shook his head out of frustration, felt his face burning. He respected Tagaaq far too much to burst out in anger, as he had with Taktuq, but a part of him wanted to do something, to say more, to ask for a full answer for once.

  The elder needed no prompting, it seemed. Tagaaq continued, “You are not ready, Piturniq. There are great forces within the world that are telling me so. If you listen, you will hear their message. You will face far more danger soon. It is unclear if you will be strong enough to survive.”

  The words were a shock to Piturniq. He could feel that something was coming, another storm he’d have to weather. He didn’t think it had anything to do with readiness. “What does that have to do with my relationship with Saima?” Pitu asked.

  “Hold on to your questions of her, Piturniq,” Tagaaq replied, sharper than usual. “You must remember that I’ve lost a great deal of my connection to the wind. The last thing I remember them telling me is that you will meet a great power that will answer your questions. When the moment comes, you will know.”

  Pitu found it in himself to stop asking about her. Changing the subject, he asked, “How must I prepare for the coming danger, Uncle?”

  “Lots of practice,” Tagaaq said with sarcasm. “Right now, focus your energies on your little brother. He needs you. I have a feeling that you won’t have to chase whatever trials you must face. They will come to find you.”

  “I’m planning to take Atiq hunting soon,” Pitu acknowledged.

  “Hmm,” Tagaaq said. “That’s a good idea.”

  They sat in silence, unsure how to move forward. Pitu had come for a lesson, but Tagaaq had lost too much of his spirit. The elder had become short‑tempered, losing the humour he’d found in every part of life. Now, he was easily tired. Tagaaq sighed. “I will tell you a story, Piturniq. A short one for today.”

  Pitu settled more comfortably.

  “There is a place in the spirit world called Nagliktaujut Nunangat,” Tagaaq said, “The place where the Naglitaujuit live. It is a place where the spirits of those who were neglected and abused are welcomed, loved, and healed.

  “In this place, souls filled with pain and great sorrow collect.” Tagaaq coughed. “It is in a part of the spirit world that is almost impossible to navigate, the land of the dead. You see, those who die in peace, they are placed with the northern lights; they are placed in the sky to carry on in joy and celebration for eternity, never tiring and never needing.

  “But not everyone dies at peace. In fact, only the smallest number of people leave us when they are ready to.” Tagaaq coughed again. Pitu picked up a cup made from tightly sewn sealskin and filled it from a larger sealskin bucket of melted ice water. He handed the water to Tagaaq, who took a long sip.

  Once his voice returned, less hoarse than before, Tagaaq continued. “All those lost souls, they must find another place to carry on once they leave us. They must find a place to move forward from.

  “Sometimes, those souls are in such turmoil; their lives have been too harsh, they have faced too much hurt, too much pain to find their own way. That is why Nagliktaujut Nunangat exists. They become a Nagliktaujuq, one who is shown pity for their unloved life. For they did not know love or safety when they were alive, but the spirits of the afterworld ensure that they know it from then on.

  “Angugaattiaq, my mother, would often travel the spirit world as a qupanuaq, a snow bunting. You see, someday you will learn to transform into the same shape as your tuurngaq, as many shamans do.

  “My mother would be guided by her tuurngaq throughout our world and the spirit world with great care. She could see much more when she was in the spirit world, though she was still blind as she was in life. One time, her tuurngaq took her to Nagliktaujut Nunangat at a time our village was being led by a man with many troubles. He would take his troubles out on his family and on others, but no one did anything to stop this treatment, though everyone knew it was happening.

  “My mother’s tuurngaq brought her to Nagliktaujut Nunangat to show her what happens to those who suffer from abuse and neglect.

  “She found a land full of bittersweetness. Since she was blind, her tuurngaq would whisper to her what she could not see. Faceless spirits would be awakened by caretakers, their faces no longer unseen. These spirits would be given attention, given the care they needed and the praise they craved. The spirits ate it up. It was their life force . . . then they would become faceless again.

  “You see, those spirits would learn to be loved, to feel acceptance, to feel the care they so desperately deserved, but their souls would remain broken. They could never find a way to move on from the abuse and pain they had known so well in their lives.

  “My mother returned to her home, to our village, and she stopped that horrible man from leading our people. She told him how he would live in the next life, for she knew that he was in some way just as broken as the Naglitaujuit. No one abuses for no reason. Life is a cycle, behaviours carrying forward just as all life carries forward.

  “So, my mother took his leadership away.” Tagaaq took another long sip of water before ending the story. “Our laws would have said to send that man away, off to survive alone and live with his mistakes in solitude, but that is not what my mother wanted. He did not come into his place as a leader without reason. He had been a wise man and was respected in our community. To send him away would have been foolish and wasteful.

  “My mother brought the man to the centre of the igluit, where all the camp had gathered. People told the man of his actions, told the whole village of his abuses. Out in the open, the man was shamed.

  “Violence begets violence, Piturniq. The only way that the cycle is broken is by stopping that violence, by holding the abuser accountable,
and by giving the victims the space and time to use their voices, to share their stories if they want to. Only if they want to.

  “Once the victims shared their stories, the community held onto their voices. Together they all decided what to do, decided how to punish the abuser. They decided to give him one more chance. He no longer held a role in the village other than to be a provider, and he had to share all his future catches with everyone he had hurt to atone for the hurt he had caused.

  “Do you know why I’ve told you this story?” Tagaaq asked.

  Pitu shrugged at first. Their community was in the best condition it had ever been in. Everyone lived in mutual respect and mutual understanding. There were only one or two individuals Pitu could think of as problematic, but even they still provided for the betterment of their community.

  He thought deeper about the story. Perhaps it was a warning about what leadership could do to people, Pitu thought. But that didn’t make sense. What would be the point of having the story start off with Nagliktaujut Nunangat if that were the answer?

  Pitu thought of the Naglitaujuit. He hadn’t heard of them or of their place in the spirit world before. He pondered why this was important, why Tagaaq would care to tell this story at a time when they were all living well together and thriving. Were there things happening around him that he was unaware of?

  Still, this did not seem to be the answer. Pitu shrugged once more as he thought even deeper. The Naglitaujuit lived in a cycle of being built up with reassurance and acceptance before spiralling back to their tormented state of mind. They never fully healed. As if they were brought back to their highest point of self‑esteem, only to fall back to the lowest. They were incapable of living lives past their trauma.

  “You told this story . . .” Pitu said, grasping at his thoughts, “. . . because true healing can only happen when we are alive and when the victims are given back their voices.”

  Tagaaq tilted his head and raised his shoulders in a half‑shrug. “Yes, that is a part of it.” Tagaaq yawned. “But I would ask you to ponder the story further. There is more to glean from it. Now, Piturniq, I think I must nap. Go, find your mother and your siblings. Make sure they know that you love them.”

  Pitu left the iglu. He didn’t go straight to his mother, but instead made his way to check on his dogs. The team perked up at his arrival, lifting their heads from where they lazed about on the snow, wagging their tails in excitement. He brought a large piece of seal meat for them to share. Each dog ate their piece and fell asleep, except for Miki, his lead dog. Miki, with her one blue eye and one brown eye, sat straight, looking at Pitu with affection. He came to her and pet her fluffy fur coat. She nuzzled into him, sniffing fiercely at his caribou parka.

  Last winter, Pitu had said to Miki that she was the only girl he needed. Now, as he kneeled next to the husky, thinking of Saima, he realized that he hadn’t been truthful. There was no use in mourning something that he had never truly had, nor was there any use in mourning the change that was a natural part of life. He took a deep breath, said goodbye to Miki, and went to find his mother and his siblings.

  Inside his iglu, the sounds of the village were muffled through the walls of snow. Pitu could barely hear the others. He was nestled under his blankets, trying to fall asleep but remaining restless. He tossed and turned, sat up, lay back down. As he lay there, wide awake and upset, he couldn’t stop replaying what had happened hours ago in his head.

  After eating with his family, Pitu had left his mother’s iglu and began to make his way to his own. He’d built his iglu farther from the other igluit, away from the village. This was to ensure privacy as he spoke to Tiri or the other spirits who came to visit while he slept.

  As he had been walking through the paths between the igluit, he saw Saima and Ijiraq entering her parents’ iglu. For a moment, they didn’t see Pitu. Ijiraq entered the iglu first, and just as Saima was about to crawl inside she looked over her shoulder and saw Pitu standing there.

  “Ainngai, angunasuktialuk,” she said, just loud enough for him to hear. “Hello, Great Hunter.”

  “Saimaniq,” Pitu replied.

  She looked away and entered the iglu without another word.

  Saima was the only one who still called Pitu the Great Hunter. The rest of the village had begun to call him the angakkuq, the shaman.

  It was almost laughable how quickly Pitu had forgotten his lesson with Tagaaq only hours before. His chest ached at the sound of Saima’s voice. He sprinted to his iglu and called to Tiri to find a quick distraction, but even the spirits had nothing new to tell him.

  Unable to stand the restlessness any longer, Pitu got dressed and left the iglu. He was hesitant to leave the village on his own now, afraid that the spirits would sweep him away on another dangerous journey. Instead, Pitu went to his qamutiik and took out a jig made from a caribou’s antler, sinew, and a hook fashioned from the ivory of a walrus tusk. He made his way to a fishing hole in the ice kept open not too far from the village. There he was still able to see the huddled igluit, lit from within by the flames of the qulliit, the seal‑oil lamps each iglu held.

  He had never tried fishing in the middle of the night. Beneath the moonlight and the stars, all was silent and calm. The crisp air felt refreshing after the stuffiness of his iglu. He sat down on the ice next to the fishing hole, his right leg outstretched, his left folded in front of him. Pitu dropped the hook into the hole, let loose a long length of the sinew line, and began to jig the handle up and down slowly.

  There were no bites for a long time. He sat, staring up at the beautiful moon. The northern lights—those vibrant streaks across the sky—were absent tonight. He thought of the time he had run with the lights in the other world, next to the spirit of his late father, and hundreds of other joyful spirits.

  There was a slight tug on his line. Pitu began to pull it up quickly, but soon whatever he had caught was loose. Probably a piece of seaweed, he thought.

  Again, a tug on the line. Stronger this time. He pulled, feeling that something was still caught in his hook. As he pulled the hook out of the water, he saw that he had been right. A large chunk of tangled seaweed was caught in the hook. He untangled it and tossed it aside.

  Pitu looked back to the fishing hole. He saw the water bobbing up and down as if a seal were coming up the hole to breathe. He almost dismissed it, thinking that it was still rippling caused by the seaweed.

  He was about to toss the hook back in when he saw the face. He jumped, startled.

  With disjointed speed, a qallupilluq with a familiar face of frightening beauty emerged from the hole, seaweed framing her features. As her shoulders came out of the hole, she reached her hands out toward him, her fingers elongated and tipped with claws. Pitu pulled himself backward with his arms, unable to look away as the creature crawled toward him.

  “Piturniq,” the qallupilluq said, her voice hoarse, but matching the face he cared for so deeply. “Piturniq, don’t you love me? Won’t you fight for me?”

  Pitu stopped backing away, letting the qallupilluq with Saima’s face reach him. Her claws dug into his legs, but he couldn’t feel it. The creature smelled like the salt of the sea. As she crawled closer, she looked less and less like Saima. Her eyes became pure black, and her cheeks hollowed, her sharp teeth lengthening. He recognized this face, too. The qallupilluq he had killed.

  “Nuliajuk knows what you did to me!” she shrieked viciously, deafening him. “She will punish you!”

/>   Pitu finally pushed against her and found himself back in his iglu, half out of his bed. Sweat beaded down his chest, but he felt cold. The flame of his qulliq had been low, but now as he woke, it grew high enough to touch the curved wall of the iglu, and in the flame shadows danced. A feral face, beautiful and terrifying, stared at him for a moment before the flame withdrew back to its usual dimness.

  He blinked against the light that obscured his vision. The stars and lines in his sight beat with the rhythm of his heart, and a lump grabbed hold of his throat as panic enveloped his whole body.

  Tiri appeared and curled onto Pitu’s lap. Her presence instantly brought him relief. Eventually, he calmed enough to lie back down, but he didn’t fall back to sleep.

  Pitu waited outside his mother’s iglu until she crawled out. She seemed to be in a rush, but when she noticed Pitu standing there staring at the moon, she asked him if he was okay.

  He smiled tightly. “I am fine, Anaana.”

  From the look on her face, he knew that she didn’t quite believe him. “You can go inside and wake Atiq. You and Natsivaq can take him hunting today.”

  Pitu listened to his mother. He went inside to wake his little brother. Atiq no longer slept the opposite way from everyone else on the bed, but he still slept spread‑eagle, hogging the whole middle of the bed and giving Arnaapik only a sliver to herself. Pitu put his hand on Atiq’s shoulder and shook him awake.

  His little brother squinted. “Eh‑eh,” he whined. “Noooooo!”

  “We need to get ready to go hunting, little brother,” Pitu said. “So you can feed Anaana.”

  “You can feed her.” Atiq pushed Pitu’s hands away.

  Trying to think of a way to wake him, Pitu remembered a story his father had told him about a demon who tickled his victims to death. Pitu started to wag his fingers as he said, “If you don’t get up, Mahaha will come and tickle you until you laugh so hard you can’t breathe!”