Free Skraelings: Clashes in the Old Arctic by Rachel Qitsualik-Tinsley Page A

Kannujaq realized, in that moment, that he was looking at a fellow stranger in these lands. A newcomer. One who has known the dread, but also the delight, of the unknown Land. For the first time, Kannujaq found himself wondering what the Glaring One’s people were like. Really like. Maybe they had more in common with Kannujaq’s folk than he had wanted to admit. Maybe they had just arrived in this area, or nearby. Maybe they had not done as well, in surviving the Land, as Kannujaq’s people.

    The Glaring One, Kannujaq realized, was a man whose sole treasure had become family. Perhaps his greatest fear was that he and his kind would die alone, without generations to succeed them, on the uncaring Land. After all, everyone wanted to matter. To count. To place some mark on the world that said, “Remember me. I was here.” Even if it were only in the memories of children and grandchildren. Kannujaq knew, now, that the leader of the raiders had not come all this way, time and again, just to harass the poor Tuniit. That had been the men—frustrated and angry at being ordered to a place where they did not want to go. To search for a child who was not their own.
    The Glaring One’s child.
    The son he had had with Siaq.
    Siku.

12
The Inuit
    You’ve already heard of how Kannujaq and the Tuniit were sick of violence. Imagine how we felt, having to describe it! There were no police in Kannujaq’s time and place. No real laws. So, in order for folks to avoid violence toward each other, they often had to
learn
why violence is not a good thing. They had to understand it for themselves, so that when those who had learned the lesson became Elders, they could pass it down to future generations. The Land has a great deal of wisdom to give us, but it’s never free.
    So, if you see what we mean, you’ll find it understandable that there was no real celebration over the defeat of the raiders. The Tuniit simply wanted to put it all behind them. They wanted to return, as soon as possible, to their shy, boring, Tuniit ways.
    After all that had happened, Kannujaq did not blame them one bit.
    As for Kannujaq’s knowledge of Siku, Siaq, the Glaring One, and how all three were related, he didn’t bother to speak of it. Why run around, exciting thingsfurther by talking about Siaq’s husband from beyond the sea? Better to let the Tuniit continue thinking that Siku’s blue eyes were supernatural—the mark of an angakkuq, rather than simply the eyes of his father.
    In time, Kannujaq offered to bring Siaq and Siku away with him, so that the woman might again know the company of her “dogsledder” folk, and the boy might learn of his ancestors. Half of them, at least.
    Siaq just smiled and refused the offer. She was now a Tuniq, she explained. She wanted simple peace. Forgetfulness. And so she would stay.
    Yet Siku, in his odd way, went into a three-day seclusion to consider Kannujaq’s offer. And it was just as Kannujaq had come to believe that the boy was uninterested that the young shaman suddenly approached Kannujaq, talking as though going with Kannujaq were the most natural thing in the world. Unlike his mother, it seemed that Siku had never felt comfortable among the Tuniit. And he loved the idea of sledding. Just as long as Kannujaq promised that the dogs would not try to eat him.
    So, in the early evening, when the little remaining snow was cooling, Kannujaq and Siku got ready to depart. And as Siku watched Kannujaq tighten the lashings on his sled, the boy grew more and more quiet. Almost sullen. As though he were thinking very hard about some disturbing fact.
    â€œQanuippit?
Anything wrong?” Kannujaq asked him, finishing a knot.
    Siku did not answer for a long moment. Then he sighed, saying,
    â€œI know I’m not a Tuniq. Neither is my mother. We’re like you, the dogsledding ones. But what do you call yourselves? What do I call myself, now?”
    Kannujaq