Today's Reading

The middle brother, Mali!u, had then used it and carved images into its length. The carefully designed etchings depicted a love of the mountains, a reverence for hunting, and land animals in various poses. Behind each animal were carvings of the place and time of year the animals could be found. The entire bow was a map of sorts, teaching the boy all he needed to grow skilled in the taking of animals. Many of the etchings were almost worn away, but the boy knew its lessons by heart. Mali!u had also disappeared into the mountains, leaving behind only the bow and no clue to his fate.

The boy grimaced. He knew that his mother, seeing all the caribou, would be ecstatic at first, but he knew also that grief would wrap itself around her joy like fall-time darkness. Any excitement she felt would be forgotten as she began to tell stories about his missing brothers. She would talk about Atau's speed when quartering the caribou, his cuts clean and never hesitant, their skinned hides flawless and smooth, without any holes or thin areas. She would talk about Mal!u's strength, how he could carry a full-grown bull caribou for at least a mile, and how he would work tirelessly for days without complaint. She would go on about the amazing hunters they had been and how proud she was of their prowess.

The boy would sit there and nod as he always did, letting her list all the wonderful attributes his brothers had had. And at the end of her speech, she would look at him, fear clouding her soot-colored eyes, wondering if he, too, would one day disappear. He loved his mother greatly and hoped one day he would only see his own reflection in her eyes, and not the shining memories of his brothers.

His father would say very little, of course. He would just pat the boy briefly on his back, a wide smile on his dark face, and whisper, "Good job, son."

At times, the boy thought his father took his brothers' disappearance the hardest. His silence became something you could almost see, a depth and heaviness in the air. He often sat alone, eyes scanning the distant horizon toward the mountains, one calloused and rough thumb gently following the surface of a carved ivory goose that Mother had made. There was nothing more fiercely protective than a goose defending its offspring. He'd kept the carving tucked into the inner lining of his parka ever since his two older children had disappeared. PiKa didn't know what to make of his father's grief, so he focused on just being the best son he could be.

'How can you compete with someone's memories, anyway?'

A jaeger beat its wings in the wind, drawing the boy back to the present. The bird was headed for his carefully stashed meat. Annoyed with himself for letting his mind wander, the boy threw a stick in the bird's direction, letting it know that the meat belonged to another. When the bird had flown off, the boy rolled his body into tanned caribou hides and fell asleep to the sound of flapping wings and buzzing insects.

2

LEAVING

After making sure the meat was safely stored in temporary stone caches, he traveled home and grabbed the pack dogs, fashioned a travois from willow branches, and hauled all of his catch back with their help. Five days later, after two trips, the boy found himself examining a thin crack in the ice- covered wall of the sigluaq and wondering if he should shore up that part of the wall before the crack widened.

The si!7uaq was built underground to preserve meat even when all the ice and snow had thawed above. Two feet beneath the earth lay a layer of ice that never melted, no matter the weather or season. The boy and his parents had spent weeks chipping away at the frozen layer till it was large enough to hold the winter season's worth of food. Then they'd built a protective ceiling of wood and sod and whalebone above it. A ladder led up to an opening in the ceiling, which let in some light to see by. This storage mound was only a few years old, built to replace their previous storage space, which was much too large for just the three of them. It was still settling into the soil, so he was careful to inspect the walls whenever he was in there.

"You know, you should talk more, PiKa," his mother said. To make room for the caribou, she was stacking frozen seal pokes, one atop the other, in the underground storage. "Your brothers knew how to tell a good story; how else are we supposed to know about your hunting?"

He ignored her and continued to examine the wall, hoping his silence would deter her from more conversation. Sometimes her need to fill the space with sound grated at him, like the droning of bothersome insects. He didn't want to talk about this. From the corner of his eye, he saw her brows draw down into a frown as she turned back to her task.

...

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