The trip back proved a bit more difficult. The snowdrifts were rapidly forming, and the bitter winds were gusting with such velocity that it was a chore just to remain standing. With Arnuk leading the way, Ootah lowered his head and plowed forward, his newly found treasure locked firmly in a tight grasp.
With great relief he crawled back into the snowhouse. Arnuk was not about to be denied, and followed him inside. Before Akatingwah could shoo the dog away, her attention was drawn to the strange object her husband had placed beside the igloo’s flickering soapstone lamp. The intense flashing red light hurt her eyes at first, and as she shielded her gaze from its blindingly bright radiance, she spoke out in protest.
“What in the world is that thing, Ootah? Get it out of here this instant before it blinds all of us!”
Their young son Arno was instantly infatuated with his father’s find, and sprinted over to its side.
Yet much to the youngster’s dismay, his mother pulled him away and carried him off to the sleeping rack, where she proceeded to tuck him beneath the furs.
Only when she was certain that her son was properly protected did Akatingwah again turn her wrath on Ootah.
“Did you hear me, husband? I said get that infernal thing out of here this instant!”
A wondrous gleam filled Ootah’s eyes as he looked down at his find, and he replied, “Why in heaven’s name should I do that, Akatingwah? Don’t you see, this is the object of my quest!”
“Nonsense,” returned his mate. “Whatever it is, it’s a creation of the devil, and must be disposed of immediately before it brings heartache to us all.”
To prove his wife wrong, Ootah crawled up to his discovery and gently stroked its smooth black sides.
“This is no demonic creation, Akatingwah. It’s a sign from the Great Spirit, the one my father warned of before he began his final journey. Come wife, touch it yourself and feel how it pulsates with a warmth that needs no flame in order for it to glow.”
“That’s the fire of hell that burns inside of it,” warned Akatingwah.
Ootah calmly shook his head.
“I beg to differ with you, dear wife. For what you see before you is the heart of the comet, sent to us from the Great Spirit to warn of the time of prophecy. We must treat this heavenly messenger well, and burn offerings to it, for the fate of the people is in its divine hands.”
“You’re beginning to sound more like Powhuktuk the shaman,” offered Akatingwah disgustedly.
Ootah held up the bone amulet that hung from a piece of sinew string around his neck.
“Perhaps the spirit of the shaman has possessed me, dear wife. This amulet that my father transferred to me on his death bed was carved by the hand of his own father. Anoteelik was a great shaman of the people; no miracle was too great for him. It is said that once my grandfather took off to capture Tornarsuk armed only with his sacred rattle, and seven days after leaving his snow house he returned with the body of the dead demon, who had taken the form of a huge polar bear. Upon further examination, it was found that the bear hadn’t suffered a single flesh wound. Now what do you suppose it was that took the beast down?”
As Akatingwah shook her head that she didn’t know, Ootah continued.
“I’ll tell you what it was, dear wife. It was the power of the Great Spirit acting through its earthly vassal that was responsible for slaying the beast. And now I too have a direct channel to this all powerful source, because of this amulet I wear!”
Akatingwah seemed upset by this revelation, and, while shielding her eyes from the flashing beacon, worriedly sat down on the edge of the sleeping platform.
“Surely this does not sound like my husband. What ever happened to Ootah the hunter?”
His eyes still locked on the blinking red strobe, while thoughtfully fondling the bone amulet, Ootah passionately answered.
“The pursuer of game has become the hunter of souls, and at long last I now know my destiny!”
Hardly believing what she was hearing, Akatingwah vainly pleaded, “Please, dear husband, take this infernal object that you dragged in from the snow and drop it into the depths of the frozen sea. Listen to the pleas of my heart, and know that it will only bring tragedy!”
Deaf to her words, Ootah directed his supplications solely toward the incessantly flashing light.
“Welcome, Great Spirit, to the humble home of this neophyte shaman. You have been called here to fulfill the prophecy of the grandfathers. The time of trial is upon us, and to insure a favorable judgment, the people’s vision must be spotlessly clean. For already the red demon approaches, and it will be our petitions alone that will send this beast back to the cold depths from which it struggles to emerge!”
Akatingwah could only look on in horror as her husband’s eyes rolled up into his head and Ootah slipped into the deepest of trances. Fighting the urge to grab the alien blinking object herself and then dispose of it, she consoled herself by reaching out for her son. Hugging her beloved offspring close to her full breasts, the Inuit closed her eyes and prayed for the evil spell to pass. While in the distance, the mad shrieking howl of the wind signaled that the brunt of the blizzard was now upon them.
“Captain Markova, we have just reached the coordinates relayed to us by the cosmonauts on the Red Flag. Will we be surfacing now?”
The Neva’s commanding officer had been seated at the wardroom table with several of his crew when this news was personally delivered by the which man.
After putting down the tea he had been sipping, Sergei anxiously responded.
“Why of course. Comrade Ustreka. Please let the senior lieutenant know I’ll personally join him in the attack center to supervise this ascent.”
“I’ll do so at once, sir,” snapped the Michman as he smartly pivoted to convey this message.
As Sergei Markova pushed back his chair and stood, the white-haired figure at the head of the table did likewise.
“I hope you don’t mind if I join you. Captain?” queried Mikhail Kharkov. “This is a historic moment, and I’d like the honor of witnessing it firsthand.”
“I don’t mind at all,” replied Sergei. “Surfacing in the ice is always an adventure, and I’m certain that you won’t be bored.”
“So I remember,” reflected the Admiral of the Fleet, who addressed his next remark to the individual still seated at the table.
“Well, Comrade Zampolit, aren’t you interested in joining us? I’m sure that piece of cake will be waiting for you once we’re on the surface.”
Having been totally absorbed in the tasty poppy-seed cake the steward had just served him, Konstantin Zinyagin looked up and blushed. With his mouth still full, he awkwardly stood and began brushing the crumbs from his clipped mustache and beard.
Mikhail Kharkov shook his head in disgust and followed the captain out of the wardroom, the still-chewing Political Officer close on his heels. They were halfway down the passageway when the Neva banked violently over onto its side. The force of this unexpected turn was so great that both Sergei and his distinguished guest were forced to reach out for the handrail to keep from falling. Behind them, the Zampolit’s reactions were a bit slower, and the Political Officer went sprawling to the deck, where he landed squarely on his backside.
Not bothering to give Zinyagin the least bit of attention, the admiral quickly said, “What in the hell was that all about. Captain?”
Sergei held back his answer until the Neva’s deck was stable once more.
“I guess such tactics hadn’t been perfected when you took the first Victor up to the ice. Admiral. Such a turn is standard procedure when looking for a polynya in which to surface. Most likely we just passed beneath such an opening, and the senior lieutenant ordered this abrupt course change so that we wouldn’t miss it.”