Hey guys! Grace Nask here with Day 28 of the April Challenge. Today we have some of The Hidden, Haunted, and Helped, a short story for teens and above. It's about someone trying to rescue her brother Manny from the world's icy clutches (pun intended). So let's get to it!
The Hidden, Haunted, and Helped
I swung the pickaxe against the ice with a definitive bang. Ice chips sprayed into the air like the sparks of a fire, but the ice sheet refused to crack. Underneath it, Manny scratched at the interior with his rabbit-skin gloved hands, but he made less progress than I. His lips, distorted behind this blanket of death, shone blue. I pushed the awful truth away, but it floated to the surface of my thoughts like a corpse in the water: if Manny didn’t receive help soon, he would die.
No. I would not let that happen. Not to my adventurous twin brother, who only wanted to help with the tribe’s famine. I swung again. And again. And again. But to no avail.
How could we have been so stupid? No seal meat, even with our famine, was worth this! Our tribe did not approve of this hunt so far out in the winter when snowstorms came with so little warning. But in our haste to escape where the tribespeople might see this treacherous and merciful act, I hadn’t noticed the familiar territory slip away. And Manny, stalking after the slippery seal close to its breathing hole, hadn’t heeded the massive avalanche coming his way. He had the lungs of the animal he chased, but even he would soon need to surface.
After the fifth try with the pick, Manny made an X with his arms and pushed out against the ice, his eyes desperate. Our hunting symbols helped when silence became of essence, and they worked in our favor again now. Manny’s message was clear: go find help from an outside source.
Did anyone besides crazy, disobedient children reside here? Using my rabbit skin glove as a shield against the rabid wind, I glanced around. There! In the west, black smoke billowed on the horizon. Unfamiliar black smoke. I cursed our luck at the same time that I thanked it. Another tribe sat much closer than our own. Maybe with clean clothing and more weapons to free Manny from the ice’s clutches. Maybe with blood splattered on their hands, and more to come.
Manny repeated the signal, a pleading look in his eyes. He didn’t have time for me to be cautious. With another glance westward, I nodded, once, and stumbled off into the wind to the settlement.
Perhaps the world enjoyed Manny’s presence, for the wind changed direction a few steps in, and I arrived faster than the Arctic Terns in Summer. When I reached within ten yards of the tribe’s first caribou tents, I slowed and glanced around.
The entire tribe rested on a half mile of land. It consisted of three rings of settlements, each more tight-knit than the last. Maybe forty tents resided in all, each big enough to house an extended family.
The smoke came from a massive bonfire in the center of the rings, fueled by some sort of blubber, where people of all sorts gathered. Middle-aged adults flocked in ones and twos, chasing after small children or hovering in the doorways of their tents, watching. Dirty clothing hung on thick lines to wash, strung between the tents. Older children of Manny and me’s age huddled in groups to do chores, scraping the top layer of ice off the water near the fire or cleaning snow from the tents.
On the nearest side, a crowd of men skinned a seal, its exterior pulled taunt on a tanning line. Its fresh, meaty aroma reminded me of the seal Manny and I had hoped to catch, and it brought me back to the task at hand.
I approached the settlement with my hands raised, to show I didn’t carry a weapon (I had left my pick with Manny). Guards lined the outer ring a few yards apart, their metal spears glinting in the reflection of the snow. The one nearest to me leveled its point to my chest in greeting. One of his friends started towards us, but with a flick of the first’s spear backed off.
His bright green eyes, the only thing visible on his face, hardened. They bore through me, sifting through the depths of my soul. I stayed in place, heartbeat quickening, but at the same time shook with impatience. Manny didn’t have time for this.
Satisfied with the order of my morals, the man clucked at me in a language similar to the walrus, one I’d never heard before. I wanted to curse this foreign land but could not; it was Manny’s only chance at survival.
Slowly, as to not startle the man, I crossed my arms in an X formation. Our hunting signal, I know, but it couldn’t hurt. “Help,” I croaked.
The man’s grip on the spear tightened, but he did not thrust. He stared into my wide, pained eyes and gradually softened his own. The man clucked at me again, nodding towards the camp. I didn’t know what he meant, but I knew my own tribe’s customs regarding strangers. They would have taken me to his camp, where my people and chief could discuss what to do with my request. If a translator arrived, they might explain my problem. If not, my gestures would have had to do.
But this was not my people. The tribespeople here might help me. Or they might kill me, or take me prisoner, to be collected by my disapproving tribe for a fee. Either way, that decision might take days to make. Manny couldn’t wait. And Manny, my adventurous, impulsive twin brother, would not have.
Steeling my nerves, I repeated my symbol for help and pointed east toward the avalanche site. The man, in turn, nodded toward the camp once more. From the look in his eyes, he understood my urgency but did not foresee its purpose. How could he? His tribe did not speak my tongue, and his brother wasn’t dying underneath the snow. Frustrated, I grabbed his hand and tugged.
Faster than I could blink, the spear pressed itself against my chest, inches away from my quickened heart. I stiffened, knowing that with one thrust I would bleed out like a caribou calf surrounded by wolves. These people were dangerous. These people could not be trusted.
“Please,” I whispered, knowing the word’s futility but unable to shed that last ray of hope.
To my utter amazement, the spear wavered, once. Without moving his head, the man glanced towards the center of his camp, where older children chattering in his tongue as they took down clothing. Even from here, I noticed one with the same bright green eyes. The man looked back at me, sighed, then gestured east with his spear. Towards the avalanche, and Manny.
I did not question his change of heart; I merely took off running.
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