Mothers of the North

by Alan Sullivan

MOTHERS OF
THE NORTH

By ALAN SULLIVAN

AIVICK, the Caribou, rolled over in his sleeping-bag, then sat up and stretched his short, thick arms. A light that was hardly light filtered through the curved dome of the igloo roof, and revealed the shapeless mass where Allegoo, the Drinking Cup, slumbered with her new-born son. For the rest of it, there was the fishing hole in the floor, a stone lamp, a bundle of skins, and his hunting gear. Such, together with the kayack, hidden with its double-bladed paddle fifty miles away on shore were the possessions of the hunter.

He sat for a moment, thinking hard. Being caged in the snow walls of his dwelling, there reached him no drone of wind, no breath from the Arctic, but from the tunnelled door came a whimper, and the quick sniffing of black and pointed noses. The team was awake, too. He smiled gravely, as smiles a man whose mind is heavy, then fingered the sinew line that ran into the green depths below. But the line was loose.

He wondered what had become of all the salmon, for with the square flipper seal they seemed to have deserted this corner of the Arctic; but since in the North there is no room for wonder, but only for action, he wasted no time in vain regrets. The imperative need was for food. Without food those small and dusky lips would seek the comforting breast in vain. So Aivick slid noiselessly to the floor, and after a steady look at the pride of his heart, gathered spear, rope and knife, and crawled into the outer world.

The sky was grey, and he caught a threatening note in the wind, which came, with driving snow, straight out of the west. It was now time for the ice to commence its magnificent march toward Baffin Bay and the North Atlantic, where gradually it would disappear beneath the incessant assaults of the waves, but Aivick reckoned that his particular section of the tribe's floating home was too large to get into motion at once. Three miles away he knew of a lane where the green water was clear, and there, if anywhere, he should find, a square flipper. So he jammed the dogs' heads into their collars, jumped on the sledge, and, with a guttural command, tore off into the unknown. In thirty seconds he had seemingly vanished from the face of the earth.

It was an hour before Allegoo was quite awake, and she lay for a while without stirring, so sweet was the new warmth at her breast. She pictured the boy in later years, when he had become a great hunter, and, like Aivick, the head of his tribe. As to the present shortage of food, she was not anxious, for there comes many an hour of fasting to those who live by the strength of the arm and sureness of the eye. Aivick would return ere night and bring that which he sought.

In mid-forenoon she was startled by the faintest possible tremor that seemed to come from beneath her feet. Only a Husky could have felt it, and only to a Husky could its meaning be clear. She sat upright with a fluttering at her heart, then, the child still at her breast, crept out through the tunnel. The air was clear now. Far to the south lifted a range of jagged hills, their tops already bare of snow, while northward stretched the glimmering ice, its vast counterpane broken by irregular pressure ridges that straggled confusedly out of sight. It was utterly lonely, utterly familiar. The sky was a hard blue, and untenanted by birds, it being not yet time for the great migrating flight from South America and the Caribbean. Somewhere in this void Aivick sat, spear in hand, waiting for that single bubble which heralds the square flipper when he comes up for air. She was vaguely wishing that he were already back, when something that crossed the ice like a black line caught her eye half a mile away. And at that she began to run nervously forward. Presently she stood breathless at the edge of a new lane a hundred feet wide. The house of Aivick, the Caribou, had started on its journey to the sea.

Twenty miles away, where an overhanging cliff of basaltic rock thrust its great mass close to the rugged shore, a gigantic form, gaunt and yellow-white, moved uncertainly toward the ice. Beside it staggered its cub, now two months old. The two brutes, big and small, moved with a curious shuffling gait, swaying their arrow-shaped heads as though half blinded by the glare. Here, in silence, darkness and solitude, the she-bear had borne her young, fasting for months while Unorri, the North Wind, howled outside, and her lord travelled far to seek what food he could for himself. Now, savage with hunger, and drank with the pad-pad of her great feet up and down the darkened chamber behind its blanket of snow, she sallied forth, stained, fearsome and hostile, imbued with the nameless and terrible quality of maternity. There was naught in the North that would stand and face her. And she knew it.

The ice was some forty feet from the shore, and she hesitated before entering that chilly flood; but it was on the ice that she must find food. Dabbling a broad paw, she entered slowly, then turned a pink inviting eye on her cub, who forthwith scrambled on her back. The rest was a matter of a few strokes. The cub leaped loosely, landed safe, straight over her head, and was followed by her vast and dripping body. Then, sniffing the wind, they shambled on.

By mid-day Allegoo had traversed half the boundary of the floe. It was a large field, probably three miles long, and must soon break into smaller sections. Watching the hills on shore, a slow motion was discernible, but as yet she felt no real fear, for this field must before long touch the others, and then Aivick would find his way back. Meantime the, chief thing was food. Her breast was a little cold. She rounded a pressure ridge, and saw a little way ahead a hummock that she knew was not ice. The blood throbbed in her throat, and she crept back out of sight.

Close beside an air-hole squatted the she-bear. The blackness of her nose was hidden beneath the whiteness of her paws, and the only thing that moved was when the wind lifted the long hair on the ridge of her backbone. Carved in snow was she, with every muscle tense, and the cub snuggled close against her side. Her breast also was feeling cold, and the mother instinct had filled her with a wild lust to kill.

Allegoo's black eyes peered steadily from behind the ridge. She knew that the beast would not move now, and into her mind crept a dull envy of this other mother. She had never thought of it before, but why were the she-bear's claws and brain so wise and her own empty hands so weak? How was it that Aivick had not found this air-hole for himself, instead of going miles away? She held her son tighter against her heart and waited. Perhaps there might be something left over.

Far down in the emerald depths floated a milky bubble. The pink eyes saw it, and an irrepressible quiver ran through the mighty form. The bubble moved upward, breathed from the lungs of the invisible square flipper, and vanished as it touched the surface. Still the bear moved not, nor did she stir when there appeared, framed in the glinting walls of the hole, a round, sleek head and glossy shoulders. The head projected, and a pair of large, soft, streaming eyes glanced curiously about. They saw but a motionless mound that looked like snow. Then one flipper swung upwards. The seal twisted himself, got hold with the other, and lurched forward. In the next moment he was half-way out.

But in that instant something happened. The bear's paw shot into action with the speed of lightning. The long, black claws were extended, and, with a motion too swift to follow, the great armed pad descended on the round and shining skull. Strength beyond imagining, ferocity beyond thought, skill beyond description—all were in that blow. The seal saw and felt nothing. There was just a quivering of the warm wet body, and it lay limp.

The smell of hot blood drifted across the ridge, and Allegoo became conscious of a sudden, insensate anger. She had not realised how hungry she was. Simultaneously the small dusky lips felt for her breast, but found no response. Her black eyes flashed, and her wild, strange soul rose in revolt. This was a portion of motherhood at which she had never guessed. She did not dream that anything could have hurt so much. Two days now without food. And here was food—but not for her. But perhaps there might be something left over. Her black eyes stared unwinking.

The she-bear ate ravenously. She had been four months without meat, and her stomach was a cavern. She tore the seal to bloody rags, thrusting her sharp nose into the shrinking flesh, guzzling with a sort of famished madness. The ice beside her became a shambles. In half an hour there were left only a few gory scraps.

Allegoo waited, still motionless. If the brute slept where it ate, she was ready to dare anything, so sharp had become the torment of her own body. But presently the great form heaved itself up and moved off, accompanied by the cub. A hundred yards away it slipped between two hummocks, and settled in a shapeless mound. Allegoo caught her breath and crept forward. She was fingering a shred of meat, when overhead came the swoop of whistling pinions. An Arctic eagle, the forerunner of the great host from the south, had scented the kill. It, too, was an-hungered.

So close it hung that she looked straight into the yellow eyes. The winds of Æolus were gathered into the hollow curves of the scimitar wings and the shrouded talons hooked under the grey down. The sun flashed on the ivory beak as it swept above her defenceless head, and for an instant Allegoo trembled. This huge bird was a stranger to fear. Then there came at her breast the fumbling of helpless fingers, and all terror was washed out of her soul. She screamed, waved her arms, shouted words that had no meaning, and, squatting on the ice, began to eat ravenously. The eagle circled twice, one filmed eye bent curiously on her, then took its majestic course toward the hills.

The woman slept that night. There had not been much left, but her hope was that the bear might kill again on the morrow. Early in the morning an alarm came from the tassel of dew claws on the line that still dangled in the green depths, and she jumped eagerly toward it. There was a salmon on the other end, a salmon that after a tussle got away, taking half the line. A wrinkle deepened on her dark brows as she pulled in what remained. A little later she caught that one sound which in the North brings the most ominous message of all.

It may be that something of its terror drifted into the child's ears, for he seemed to nestle the closer. It came again, mournful, relentless, and utterly unhuman—the call of the grey wolf when he takes the hunting trail. She pictured the tawny backs, the sharp, black, pointed noses, the lean, slavering jaws, and knew that though the she-bear might kill that day, there were those to whom all the wilderness gave place at the bloody table—when the white bear turned away. Closer they came, till she caught the scratching of claws at the loosely sealed door. There were but eighteen inches of snow between them both and death. Presently the leader of the pack, very wise in murder, gave a whimper, and Allegoo heard the grim chorus dwindle in the distance. Where was Aivick now?

All that day she sat, till again the pangs of hunger assailed her. It was torture to think that what she felt she also transmitted to the mite of humanity at her breast. At midnight she stole out. There was enough moon to show the jagged hills rising into the sky like a black saw, and in the lee of the pressure ridges there were purple shadows that might harbour any danger. The floe had moved during the past few hours, and far to the north she discerned the loom of open water. Spring was working its way up from the Barren Lands, and the Arctic ice was sliding toward the sea. With a sudden and desperate impulse she began to run south. The grey wolf was there, but it would be solid land, where Aivick might have more chance of finding her. In an hour she came to the edge of the field. The land was a mile away.

There now seemed but one thing to do. If the she-bear was still on the floe, it would shortly kill again. So it would be wise to watch the air-hole. Allegoo turned back, stumbling a little as she went, for she was very weary. Edging cautiously along the ridge, she saw the big beast slouching northward with a lazy, rolling gait. There was nothing unfriendly about it now, and her pagan soul gave a throb of thankfulness. She reckoned that she could survive as long as the monarch of the Arctic chose to make her home on this particular patch of ice.

In the days that followed she lived on the scraps from the white bear's table. Overhead the skies became populous with geese and swans, winging their mysterious flight toward the far islands of the Arctic; but they stayed not on their way, whipping the thin air with worn and broken feathers that had borne them from the land of the cocoanut and palm. And in these days there seemed to grow between the mother woman and mother beast a strange and mutual understanding. No fear was left now. The bear killed and ate, to be followed shortly by a squat, broad figure that satisfied its hunger and, with a long stare from almond-shaped eyes, stole back to its shelter of snow till as the urge for flesh should animate the white destroyer. It was a savage communion, with an icefield for an altar and the vast canopy of heaven for a shrine.

At the end of the week the weather changed, and a great wind blew out of the north with a driving blast of fine flakes. Allegoo knew that the end was near when the bear, instead of making for the air-hole, turned southward toward the shore. Her provider had gone now, and there was nothing left save to follow. In twelve hours the floe had jammed against the solid land, and she felt the bare rock beneath her feet. Overhead towered the cliffs, whence had emerged the grey wolves, and, shuddering, she passed into their shadow. Where was Aivick now? The tiny fingers felt like ice upon her heart.

The sun was near the horizon when, far ahead, she heard that which at first she took for the terror of the North, the hunting pack in full cry. But, listening acutely, she distinguished presently the faint and furious barking of dogs. At that the strength seemed to flow back into her body, and she hastened on. It was an hour before she caught sight of something dark on the ice, half a mile from shore. Close by was what seemed to be a pillar of snow, around which were racing a group of grey specks. And then Allegoo understood.

In the middle of Aivick's maddened team towered a great she-bear, a cub nestling between her flanks. The small ears were laid flat against the bony skull, and the black lips were drawn high. The terrible forearms projected, curved like those of a boxer, and in the small, pink eyes blazed the light that dawns when a beast fights for her young. Twenty feet away crouched Aivick, gripping his spear, his chin thrust out, his face grim as becomes the face of a hunter when he confronts the biggest quarry of all.

A dog dashed forward, snapped at the bear's side, and, just missing a mighty swing, swept past with a mouthful of white fur. Aivick shouted with excitement, and another dog plunged in. This time there was no mistake. A massive forearm caught it in the side, there was a dull, soft sound, and the dog landed thirty feet away with a broken back. The bear leaned a little forward as though inviting the rest to come on.

But Aivick would have no more of this. A dog in the North is too precious to waste when one should be able to finish the job with a spear. So he rapped out guttural words of command, and, dropping on one knee, waited for the beast to attack. He knew that the presence of the cub would goad her on. The bear began to sway with a curious rocking motion, looking now at her enemy, now at her cub. A queer lump rose in Allegoo's throat. She knew what the bear felt. Suddenly she was quite certain that this big brute was suffering as she herself had suffered. And at that she threw all discretion away, and, running forward, put a trembling arm round Aivick's neck.

"Kah," she cried chokingly, "Kah—do not kill! It is my sister!"

Aivick turned and stared. His eyes rounded, but he did not speak. Who could reply to a voice that one thought was dead? Then, while a glad light dawned in his face, that other mother of the North lowered her gigantic form, and, with her young pressing close to her torn flanks, took her unhurried and formidable way into the vast silence of the Arctic.