Embers of the Raven: A Christmas Story from Greenland (The Christmas Raven Book 1) by Chris Paton Page B

the qaarusuk and, tentatively, she hopped in.
    “Nice to have a bit of company,” Mikissok said with a smile upon his grim face. “It’s not often I get to share anything.” He reached out with a short, muscled arm and dropped a small hunk of dried hare at the raven’s feet. She attacked it immediately, teasing and stretching, pulling at the meat without pause. Mikissok chuckled deep in his throat, the smile played upon his face in the glow of the fire. He chewed several pieces of meat from the cache between the rocks before throwing a couple more to the raven. He was warm, he was safe and the day had just begun. Mikissok added a few more twigs to the fire and crawled onto the reindeer skins that served as a bed in his sleeping space. Scratching his body with thick fingernails, Mikissok turned his back to the small fire and slipped slowly into a deep slumber. The raven waddled out of the qaarusuk and found a perch higher up between the rocks upon which to sleep.
     
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    The twilight of the short winter day revealed little of the drama during the long winter night. In Nugatsiaq, Aaviak, the wife of the qajaq-builder Iikkila, anxiously paced the ice-choked shoreline of the winter settlement. Her children were missing, so too was her brother. They had been travelling to Uummannaq across the great stretch of sea ice. They were late. Iikkila approached his wife. Standing behind her he circled her waist with his arms and rubbed her firm, rounded belly. “They will come,” he said. Aaviak shook slightly, shaking her head with silent sobs. Above them the Northern Lights shimmered. Bright green curtains of light drifted across the dark polar sky. The brief period of twilight was ended and now the long polar night was begun.
    Iikkila lifted his head suddenly. On the sea ice, some distance away, came the swish of a sledge grating across the surface, the steaming breath of many dogs rising before it. Aaviak heard it too and her shaking was replaced by a stiff expectation. Iikkila released his wife and walked slowly onto the ice. Aaviak stood a moment longer until she could see the sledge coming towards them. It was long and broad, a hunter’s sledge. She ran onto the ice and, gripping her husband’s hand, they walked towards the sledge.
    As the sledge neared them they saw it belonged to a great hunter. Fourteen dogs pulled smoothly, their fan-shaped traces taut and efficient. As it drew near Aaviak and Iikkila noticed the grim nature of the sledge dogs. They were old, older than any dog a Greenlander might use, and yet they pulled heartily and without pause. The rime frost about their muzzles and coats suggested they had been pulling for quite some time. The hunter, sitting sideways on the sledge, was even more peculiar. He was unknown to them and dressed in such an unfamiliar way that Aaviak became a little nervous. Iikkila looked at his wife. He squeezed her hand. Iikkila returned his gaze to the approaching sledge. It was built in much the same way as his own. The gnarled thwarts were tied tightly to old runners, and yet not so tight they could not flex. The aged uprights at the back of the sledge were thick and smooth with use; they too were tied in the manner of the Greenlanders. Thick reindeer skins were lashed to the thwarts and upon them were lashed many skin sacks, the kind used for travelling great distances. They were full and closed tightly. As the sledge drew nearer the hunter leaped onto the ice in a smooth, practised motion. He uncoiled a great whip with a flick of his wrist, snapping the whip in the air to the left of the dogs. They turned to the right and then slowed as the hunter called out to them.
    “Aiii, aiii,” he called softly, gripping the uprights as he did so. Knees slightly bent, the hunter slid upon the ice until the sledge slowed and stopped beside the Greenlanders.
    As one, the dogs settled upon the ice and panted softly. The hunter coiled his whip and hooked it around one of the uprights.