Nunani: In the bones of the world (Part four)

The last thing the hunter had expected was to hear the girl scream.

He shook her violently, hissing through bared teeth,

“Shut up! Be silent, will you?”

Her mouth snapped shut. She regarded him through baleful eyes, clouded with tears. He cast furtive glances left and right, expecting the dwarfish males to rouse themselves, but there were none of her Tunit relatives in sight. He turned back to her.

“Look, there’s no need for that. I want you as my wife. I’ve stayed here too long. I’m not a Tunik. Don’t you want to meet my family?”

Her face was vacant, unreadable.

He took her by the wrist, moved from tent to tent, staying low, encouraging her to do likewise.

Eventually, they made their way out among the rocks, where there were places to hide. When the hunter at last could view the Tunit encampment from a distance, he straightened, quickening his pace. Then he turned to grin at the girl, pointing toward something in the distance and saying,

“Over there is the shore, where I placed my kayak. That’s where we’re going.”

He was counting on what he knew of the Tunit ability to make themselves heavy or light at will, which was how he had originally rescued the stranded Tunik man from the ice-cake, so long ago. Now, he would make away with the Tunik girl in the same manner.

But at his words, the girl experienced a resurgence of panic. She wrenched herself from his grip, crying,

“Husband! Save me!”

“Husband?” the hunter gasped. He had never seen her with a husband, never in the entire time he had been among the Tunit.

For long moments, he watched her helplessly. Then a movement from the Tunit camp caught his attention. There was a distant, snaking line making its way toward them — a dogsled.

And here he was, caught on foot.

The girl was still screaming when the hunter bolted. Still, he would not leave her. He seized her wrist again.

“Come!” he snarled.

Now he was half-dragging her. Still, she cried aloud. But his lips pressed together in a grim line of determination. He doubled his pace, forcing her to keep up. He would not flee empty-handed from this place, like some bad dog with a stone at its heels. The kayak was near.

But the girl’s husband was almost upon them, and the hunter didn’t bother to look as he heard the sled-dogs approach. His hope was that the rocky ground would halt the qamutiq, forcing the dwarf to run after them. The hunter was sure that the stumpy males could not run well.

So he was surprised when he was suddenly seized by the shoulder and whirled around, and even further surprised when he looked into the face of the girl’s husband. For it was the very dwarf whom he had rescued upon the ice-cake.

The girl took the opportunity to tear herself away, while the dwarf shoved the hunter violently.

“Why did you do this?” cried the Tunik, while his wife huddled behind him. “Was I unkind? Does your breed normally steal wives? What’s wrong with you?”

There was a fragment of thought wherein the hunter truly thought of apologizing, of explaining his actions. But, by now, anxiety churned within him. Rage and fear wracked his face. He was the victim here, not the Tunit!

Blindly, he bolted one last time, but the Tunik caught him by his wrists. Like a trapped animal, the hunter writhed in the grasp of the dwarf, whose fingers were like stone.

The strength of the Tunit is many, many times that of men. So it was perhaps inevitable that there came the twin cracklings of bone giving way, the scream of the hunter’s mad agonies. The Tunik, shocked at the hunter’s fragility, instantly released him in surprise.

There were no words as the hunter fled, leaving the Tunit forever behind him. As before, he fled to his kayak, barely managing to get himself into the water. His wrists had been crushed.

Unable to paddle effectively, he drifted away and at last died alone. And thus did he fade from the memory of all living beings — all but any who listen to such tales as this.

(Next week: Who are the Tunit?)