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

stood straight, thinking for a moment, trying not to feel anger toward Siku’s mother, who had hurt so many by keeping so much. For the hundredth time, Kannujaq thought:

    He’s been cheated by his mother. What’s a parent for, if not to teach?
    It was not Kannujaq’s place to speak of Siku’s father, but he could at least tell him,
    â€œI’ve heard my family say that we’re just The Living Ones Who Are Here. In the way of our people’s talk, they say Inuit.”
    The word was strange to the shaman boy, and Kannujaq smiled as he repeated it over and over again.
    But Kannujaq’s smile faded when he thought of Siku’s father. The Glaring One’s folk.
    For the first time, Kannujaq began to worry for the fate of his own people. In his mind, he could not keep himself from comparing them to those he had just fought against. Were his family and all their relations destined to struggle as hard as the Glaring One and his folk? Was it the destiny of new people, in this odd part of the Land, to fade and die? Maybe these ideas were all in Kannujaq’s dark imagination. But maybe, in some future time, Kannujaq’s folk would exist only in the stories of Tuniit.

    Kannujaq was wrong, of course. Oh, his guess about the Glaring One’s people was right—the colony from which the so-called giants had come did not end up doing well at all. You might know it, in your time, as the Viking colony of Greenland. Just as you’d call Kannujaq’s area Baffin Island. If you could talk to Kannujaq, you might at least offer him some comfort. You could tell him that he was being paranoid. That his own people were destined to travel freely over the next three centuries. That they settled the Arctic. Not only Greenland, but all the lands where the Tuniit had once lived.
    But that’s where you’d sadden him a bit. Because you’d have to explain that there were no Tuniit in your world. Not all of us make it, you see, especially with so many people pushing at each other on the Land. And Kannujaq’s folk would remember the poor, shy Tuniit only in their own stories. In a sense, you might say that Kannujaq’s story was of the moment when his world had started to turn into yours.
    Kannujaq had worked hard enough. He had been brave enough. Why make his head spin with tales of the future? Besides, at the particular moment where we left him, he was busy concentrating. If you must poke into his life again, you might as well know: Kannujaq was trying to make sure that Siku did not pay too much attention to how he packed his equipment onto the sled.
    Why? Well, please remember that Siku was an angakkuq. The boy was pretty insistent that Angula’s old treasures had been the source of trouble among the Tuniit. Even the stuff left from the latest raiders was a danger. Basically, the boy was convinced that every remaining tool or weapon equalled sheer evil.
    The Tuniit were all in agreement with their camp’s shaman. So, nobody made the slightest move to stop Siku when he tossed the treasure, in nine great loads, into the sea’s freezing embrace. Kannujaq didn’t help. But he watched, whimpering a bit, as the stuff was hurled from a cliff, into deep water. Forever.
    By now, Kannujaq had not only come to know that the Tuniit were human beings. He had also come to respect them. He respected Siku, as well. He even liked him. So, he hoped that the young shaman would not be too upset when he at last discovered that Kannujaq had kept a knife. It was the one that Angula had carried. Kannujaq had found it at the edge of the community, lying forgotten in the snow. It was a small reward, Kannujaq supposed, for his help against the Glaring One. And hecould hardly wait to use it for iglu building when the next winter arrived.
    Give Kannujaq a break! He’s not a Tuniq. Nor are his descendants. To this very day, Inuit are a sensible folk.

Pronunciation Guide
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