Amarok

Amarok Short Story

       

~Never go hunting alone~

            Pulling in from the icy sea in the south, a boy and his father secure their kayaks on soggy wooden posts, that were driven into the cloudy ice years and years ago. The boy, Noatak, reached into his wooden kayak for his empty tanned seal skin bag, glancing at his father's pack. His father's pack contained only three small otters. Huffing, Noatak gripped the cool, fur straps and tossed the empty pack over his shoulder. As his father grabbed his own pack from the kayaks, the boy kicked a small chunk of frosted ice off the snowy bank and into the sea. He stood there silently, watching as the still water panicked from the small disturbance.

Noatak's father, Aguta, was a stern giant with a graying beard and cold dark eyes. The sealskin parka he wore frayed at the seams, straining to hold its shape around his muscle ridden body. The Dene people knew Aguta best as the gatherer of death, for he was their fiercest warrior. Skilled in combat, hunting, and tracking. No one dared to cross him. Aguta reached over and clamped a large hand onto Noatak's fur covered back stating, "The sea will bring us more tomorrow."

He would say this same line after every trip. Noatak moved away from his father and scoffed, "The sea is dead Father. We can't live like this anymore! Our people are suffering. Let me hunt in the Wapheton Forest. Let me hunt the caribou that graze there."

"No, Noatak. You know the tale of beast that preys upon those who dare to hunt alone. It wouldn't be safe, even for those who go in groups. The Amarok shows mercy to no man." 

"But father, I-"

"I said no, Noatak," Aguta gave his final piece and Noatak was silenced. Aguta pushed forward, heading south, back towards the village. Noatak grumbled, falling in step behind him.

Father and son silently crossed over the open snowy plains. A few evergreens obscured their path every few miles. The tall green giants were absent near the sea and grew in numbers further south towards the Wapheton Forest. Between the two land marks lay the small village of the Dene Tribe.

Entering the village, Noatak glanced around. Disheveled igloos littered the village. Small families worked tirelessly around their homes. Mothers work hard inside the igloos, tending to the cooking fires. Smoke can be seen swirling out of the top of the icy homes taking many different shapes until a breeze comes by, blowing it all away. Fathers stay hidden behind the igloos, or if their fortunate enough, they hide in small fur huts held together by sticks and twine. A good distance away from the mayhem on the packed stone walk ways, skinning and preparing what little meat they hunted that day. Young teenagers hustle about all throughout the village. Some are posted by small fires further in the center of the village gossiping while others run around the igloos, helping their parents with whatever chores they were given. The children laugh and play amongst the houses, weaving around the other villagers milling about. Huskies bark and nip playfully at anything close by, trying to catch someone's attention long enough to earn a scratch behind an ear.

Noatak sighed heavily, dark eyes scanning over the run-down village. Wishing a better life for his people Noatak cursed the Amarok's existence under his breath and vowed to not sit idly by and watch them suffer.

Ducking quickly, Noatak barely manages to miss a stray snowball to the head. He smiles at the small group of culprits, admiring their youth. Soon enough, Noatak and Aguta arrive at their humble home. A tiny igloo, enough to fit the small family accompanied by a small fur covered hut off to the side of the igloo. Noatak's mother, Sos, was perched outside ready to greet them. Aguta gruffly passed his pack directly to his wife, giving her a chaste kiss on her cheek, and without saying a word, he left. His large boots leaving footprints in the snow behind him. Shaking his head, Noatak turned to greet his mother.