Unkoostika

I've been thinking about this story since a mission trip to a small Alaskan town . I thought it'd be a good idea to write this story in two or three parts. I wrote the first part this week and started working on the second. The second might be a little late; I'll be gone next week. I don't recommend reading this at night....well, the first part should be fine, just watch out for the subsequent ones!

My apologies to those who've watched Brother Bear; I hadn't realized I used two names in the movie until my brother pionted it out. Oooops.....oh well.

Unkoostika
Part I
“Beware of the evil one, the sly one.”

The storyteller supported himself with his gnarled cane. The grey hair on the back his hand curled as he waved it over the crackling fire. Youngsters leaned forward on stumps, and the flames danced in a soft breeze. The men sharpened their spears and arrow tips, murmuring among themselves as they glanced at the mountains across the tundra plain. The old man tapped a rock with his cane. The men rolled their eyes and stopped long enough to listen.

“The danger of the far north,” Grandfather murmured as he leaned forward and stared into each child’s gaze in turn, “the death of blizzards, the bane of great hunters and strong sled dogs….is Unkoostika.”

Mothers held their wrapped children closer and the men instinctively formed a ring. The children glanced at the sky. Good! It’d be day for hours yet and darkness worsened Unkoostika’s stories.

Sitka plucked a tuft of tundra from the earth and surveyed the mountains ahead. He tried listening, but the next day would be his first hunt.

“The hunter of hunters does not attack herds,” grandfather continued softly, “as a young man, I hunted with my father and his brothers. Never did we lose anyone to him, but we heard from others. Always it was the same….a lone man, believing he was too strong to be overcome, wandered ahead. “Few escape the monster after seeing, but those who have all say….”

The family’s lead sled dog paced over and lay beside Sitka. Most of the dogs were tied to stakes, but not Wolf. The animal nuzzled the boy with his wet nose, and Sitka petted his grey fur. The dog rolled over, but Sitka gazed out from the high place where his family had camped. Lakes dotted the flat country in green drops, giving way to the rise of great mountains to the north.
The boy imagined his first kill, and wondered how it would feel. He could see his sister’s faces when he returned with his own caribou. He’d be a man; he smiled as he envisioned herds stampeding from him.

Story-time ended sooner than usual. Sitka didn’t notice his father and uncles standing over him, arms crossed. The boy glanced from the mountains to his father’s fur boots. He gulped as he realized the silence and everyone’s stern gaze. Wolf scooted away and tucked his tail between his legs.

“Well?” his father said as his dark face wrinkled and hardened, “what did you learn from the story?”

Sitka cautiously raised his eyes, up passed the caribou fur his father wore as pants, and higher till he stared at his father’s bear-skin coat. The boy’s lips chapped, and his cheeks flushed.

“Well?” Uncle Knuckle said gently, “what did your grandfather say?”

Sitka caught Knuckle’s sympathetic gaze, saw he wasn’t glaring like everyone else.
The boy shrugged, stood, and retrieved his spear where he had set it on the ground. He sharpened the edge and tested its keenness. No one went away. He nicked himself with the spear-point.

“Does it matter?!” he snapped as he wiped the blood on his pant leg, “Grandfather tells the same story every night!”

The uncle’s wives, Sitka’s cousins, and even grandfather and the sled dogs found jobs on the other side of camp.

“Kenai,” Sitka called, “would you mind making my bed? I forgot to do that this morning.”
A small boy with round cheeks and hair cut straight across his forehead nodded. He knocked over a spear as he scuttled away.

Sitka frowned at the spear and would’ve picked it up had his father, two uncles, and Lin not blocked his way.

“Sit!” they barked.

Sitka groaned inwardly; when would they see they’d already told him everything they knew? He sat on the rock Grandfather just left, and propped his chin in his hands.

“Who do you think you are?” Knuckle exclaimed, “Have we and your father taught you nothing? Respect your elders, especially your grandfather; his old head contains more wisdom than all our arms do strength.”

The fire reflected in Sitka’s dark eyes. His father stepped forward and towered over his son with thick arms resting on his chest. Sitka sat up, and stared at his father’s shoulder.

“You don’t respect us,” his father muttered, “and so you can stay with the women and children one more year.”

Sitka’s eyes snapped upward to his father’s neck and his set jaw. “What?!” he grasped his spear to himself as though it would be taken, “you said I was going with you this year; you said I was to learn how to hunt; you said….”

“Enough.” His father growled and Sitka’s jaw snapped shut, “Next year, son, next year. There will always be a good caribou, but we want men. We’d rather a servant’s heart than twenty caribou. Someday you’ll be a leader, perhaps head of your clan, and we’ll all need you.”

“You mean because I’m the only boy in this whole clan, besides Lin’s boy, but Lin’s not really part of our family.”

Lin’s squinted eyes slanted, and his jaw tightened.

“You’re finished with today!” his father roared, “I don’t want to see you awake till tomorrow, understand?”

Sitka’s jaw dropped and his spear clattered out of his hands, “But…but….”

“Now!” the uncle’s roared.

Sitka rose, kicked his spear into the fire, and stumped away. He glared at anyone who stared at him, and stood for a moment before his hut. He stroked the fur thrown over the hut’s structure and leapt as someone spoke.

“Your father loves you.”

Sitka whirled on his grandfather who leaned against a hut’s support pole. The old man’s eyes were gentle and a gentle breeze played with his thin grey hair.

“No he doesn’t.” the boy gritted.

“Sitka.” Grandfather called as the young man ducked to enter the hut, “Don’t do anything rash.”
Sitka glared at the animal hide that made his ceiling, and tossed and turned on his fur bed. He could hear his family as they ate around the fire. He heard his name, but it could’ve been his imagination. The air stifled him, and he opened the tent flap a little.

Finally, Kenai entered retired for the night. The boy’s cheeks flushed as he lay down and got comfortable in his musk ox hide.

“Why aren’t you looking at me?” Sitka demanded as he sat up, “am I so bad a perfect little boy can’t look at me?”

Kenai turned over so he faced Sitka and his eyelids drooped. “I was tired; do you want to talk?”

Sitka frowned and cuffed his hands behind his head. “No.” he mumbled.

The sled dogs moved outside and a few whimpered in their sleep.

“Do you believe what Grandfather says about Unkoostika?” Kenai ventured after a pause.

“I don’t believe anything Grandfather says,” Sitka muttered, “he’d probably have a story for why it’s so dark this summer.”

Kenai’s eyes widened, “He does….he says it’s a sign Unkoostika is near. Of course I don’t believe it; even if it were true I wouldn’t be afraid. Would you?”

The older boy chuckled, “No; I’m not afraid of anything.”

“And I’m not afraid of Unkoostika….would a half-man, half-eagle monster really don a black robe? And I don’t think Grandfather ever found anyone torn to shreds as though by a great bird.”

Kenai glanced to see if Sitka approved of his words. The older boy rolled his eyes.

“Go to sleep,” he muttered, “You’re making me tired.”

Kenai gaped at the ceiling and squirmed for an hour before his eyelids closed and his chest heaved gently.

Sitka sat up and crawled to the tent flap. The dogs and the fire were on the side of the camp closest to the open plain before the mountain. He listened at the entrance; his father and uncles talked on the opposite end of camp. Good! None watched the side he needed.

He parted the flap lithely and slipped into the night. His eyes adjusted to the dark, and his heart nearly stopped; Grandfather was leaning against a hut not five paces away. Sitka fumbled with an explanation till the old man’s head slumped forward and he snored softly. Sitka grinned, and crawled through camp.

The camp was set up as a barrier for the women and children’s hut in the center, with the men’s on the perimeter. Sitka plastered himself against the woman’s hut as he espied the men in a circle. They murmured quietly, and their pipes glowed in the darkness.

The runaway crawled on his hands knees and reached the fireplace. His spear leaned against a stump, probably where his father had left it. He tested its point. That would kill a few caribou! Next he looked over at the dogs. It was hopeless trying to unleash one; if you undid one, they’d think it was sled time and they’d barking and yammering.

He thought for a moment and crouched beyond the light of the dying fire. Sitka whistled softly. Wolf appeared a minute later, his ears raised and tail straight in a hunting position. The animal padded over after a second whistle.

The dog sniffed the boy, and looked at his spear questioningly. “We’re running away for a day or two.” Sitka whispered as he descended the hill into the tundra plain, “they won’t miss us till dawn, and by that time we’ll be too far away for them to stop me from getting a caribou.”

Wolf stood like another stump around the fire as Sitka descended into the valley. The creature shook its head sadly and followed with its eyes darting about in the night. The boy crunched tundra brush without concern someone might hear. He patted the dog when they were far from the camp and felt the animal’s raised hair.