Ice Blink

8: Waking

Nuna woke with painful slowness. It felt like being buried in snow and struggling to get to the surface; moving one's arms, expecting no resistance, but being hampered every time. Eventually, she forced her eyes open.

She lay on a platform close to the floor: springy branches covered by layers and layers of fur. She was swaddled in it, but beneath the furs her skin was bare. Someone had taken all her clothes, and panic shot through her. As she looked around for them, she realised she was in a circular hut and the tang of herbs hung sharp in the air. A star-shaped fire in the centre crackled merrily, casting everything in warm yellow light and dispelling the cold which tried to force its way in through the wooden walls.

Nuna groaned at the sight of the fire. She had to get to it. She threw the furs back, scared to see the state of her own legs.

No one had cut them off. Frostbite hadn't claimed them. They were slightly blue, and when she tried to wiggle my toes pain shot through them, but still – her toes twitched. An avalanche of relief crashed over her. Most members of the tribe had lost at least one finger or toe due to frostbite, so she counted herself extremely lucky.

Nuna also noticed she could see every bone in her body. The knowledge that their captors had fed them far better than they had been faring at home was grating.

She wrapped a fur layer around herself, eyeing the door nervously. Then she tried to stand, and cried out as the agony increased. Still, she did not collapse, putting all her weight on her feet despite the tears that pricked her eyes.

I will not let this defeat me.

She clenched her jaw and took one step. Then another. Then another.

Nuna finally crumpled when she reached the fire, stretching her legs out in front of it and sighing as the delicious heat washed over her in a wave. Fire gave life, and nothing could survive without it. The heat registered in tiny bursts along her legs. Scared she would lose feeling again, she continued to flex her feet and curl her toes until the stiffness and pain started to ease.

Nuna lost herself in the fire. How many times had she sat at one of Nualik's huge communal campfires while the air rang with laughter and speech? As a child she had tried to imagine shapes in the flames: a seal, a hunter with a spear, an eagle and a dog...

The illusion shattered when the door opened, and she instinctively clutched the pelt tighter around her body. A woman entered.

"Oh! You're awake. Thank the spirits. Let me alert the others – I was told to notify them immediately." She knelt and placed a bundle in front of her. Beside that went a steaming cup. "Here, get dressed and drink. Someone will come for you."

"Wait. I have so many questions –" Nuna began in a croak, but the woman backed out with an apologetic look and closed the door.

The bundle was her old clothes, and she was surprised to see them again.

She started to dress, her movements still slow. All the grime and sweat had been washed away from her parka, and the cup was full of steaming pine needle tea. She forced it down, ignoring how it scalded her mouth. She had to recover quickly if she was going to have her wits about her, and she was too nervous to enjoy the drink.

Nuna found the spear-throwing figure in the inside pocket of her parka: the very same amulet Kenai had carved for her so long ago. Oh, Kenai... She had barely thought of him. Had the men from Annoatok found him? Or had he escaped? If those men had wanted to capture and move every single Nualik, would they have killed the young, strong fighters to save themselves the trouble? But why would they want to capture Nualik? Why take it for themselves, what would they gain?

No. Don't think about that right now. Don't fall apart.

Nuna clutched the amulet tightly in one fist, its familiar edges cutting into her skin. Something told her Kenai was still alive. Her older brother, her role model, who had saved her from the other children and used to swing her through the air and put her on his shoulders when they went for walks together...

He was a survivor. Nuna wondered if their souls were bonded, or if a gentle spirit was watching over him, because her certainty that he was alive felt like more than just hope.

She slipped the amulet back into her pocket and vowed to keep a close eye on it.

Her clothes were warm. Perhaps they'd been placed by a fire. Exactly what Nuna would have done if she had been treating a patient with hypothermia. Who had saved her? She wanted to ask them about their methods. Maybe she could learn something... unless it was a god's divine will that had kept her from the grave.

She frowned. Everything about this place, even the roughly-whittled cup in her hands, was so ordinary and human.

Someone knocked on the door and Nuna stood, dropping the cup.

"Nuna?"

"Yes," she called, mouth dry.

Siru opened the door. Her magnificent antlered silhouette filled the whole doorway. "Come."

"Where am I going?" She walked unsteadily outside, grunting as the cold slammed into her like a wall.

Toklo was stood beside Siru. "I thought you'd died when they took you away." That was the best acknowledgement she would ever receive from him.

"I'm alive," she said weakly. "Where are we and where are you taking us?"

"Illulik. We are taking you to the Circle."

Siru's followers emerged from more wooden houses and flanked them until they were completely surrounded.

"Is this really necessary?" Toklo said, eyeing the group.

Siru set off striding down the snow road. "Watch your tone, or Isitoq will do more than just threaten you."

They followed Siru through a wooden village which, to Nuna, looked much like Nualik. Surely this was not, could not be, the home of the gods? The houses grew larger and cleaner the more they walked, until they came to a steep slope with ice steps cut into it. The dwellings on the level above were made of snow, and they, too, grew more elaborate the further they walked. Nuna saw domes, igloos where light shone between the blocks, long narrow banks, and circular snow huts supported by frames.

The mismatched streets gave her the impression of lots of communities brought together. After living in one village all her life, it made her queasy. This was no simple meeting of tribes.

The path they walked was empty, and uneasily Nuna wondered what that meant. A lot of people lived here. Or had once lived here.

They reached another slope, the steps wide and sweeping, and the grandest building she had ever seen perched on top, dominating everything they had walked through. It was made of stone and wood. Someone had shaped the stone long ago, judging by now ancient it looked, yet the walls were immaculate. Surely this was the work of the gods.

Siru did not falter as she strode up the steps, her antlers bobbing. She opened wooden doors that were almost as tall as a tree, and they followed her inside.

A long hall blazed with the light of many crackling fires, flanked by wooden pillars carved with elaborate decorations. The sensation of walking on a stone floor, a carved stone floor, was completely foreign. How had it been made so smooth and flat?

Siru kept them walking in a straight line, but Nuna spotted eyes glinting from the shadows beyond the lines of pillars. The other gods. Her heart jumped into her throat.

The next doors were made of opaque blue sea glass, rippled and distorted so that they resembled ice.

Siru waved a dismissive hand at her followers. "You may leave us now." Then she knocked.

"Enter."