“She’s not married yet, is she? So there’s still a chance. Things could change.”
Where does Pek find this kind of faith? Is he being foolish or wise? Distracted by these questions, my focus wanders from the surface to the sky, until Pek dips his paddle into the sea and flips icy water in my face. Startled, I wipe my eyes with the backs of my hands just in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of his laughing face before he ducks his head and paddles hard for the rocks. Seals sunbathe on at least ten ledges above the spray. I stab at the water in pursuit of Pek, but as we draw close we both slow our pace. Now, closing in, stealth overrides speed. Diverting our course around a smaller island that blocks us from view, we slide across the surface as soundlessly as possible.
Hidden by the southern edge of the island—little more than a rock, really—Pek halts his kayak. I stop alongside him and take stock of our position. We are well within range.
Something about Pek’s resilience bolsters my mood. I feel emboldened by his refusal to be beaten. Good omens are all around: sunlight shimmers on the surface and the Spirits in the sea sing to me in the beat of the waves. I load my harpoon into an atlatl to ensure I get as much power into the throw as possible, and after making sure that Pek is out of my way and I have a clear and open shot, I let the harpoon fly.
It is a perfect strike. The spike lands in the thick flesh of the seal’s side and he leaps into the water.
He struggles, and as he does the water colors red with his blood. I hold on with my cracked and bleeding hands, as he dives and surfaces, dives and surfaces. Thankfully, his fight doesn’t outlast the strength of my rope. His body goes still, sinking a bit before settling in shallow water at the edge of the rocks.
Now comes the trickiest part—bringing him in without breaking the harpoon or snapping the rope. I paddle as close to the rocks as possible, careful not to scrape the bottom of the kayak and risk tearing a gash in the hull.
The carcass lies on a jutting shelf just below the surface. With the blade of my paddle, I manage to leverage his weight enough to lift him up and pull him in. The seal drops heavily onto the deck of my kayak, one wet flipper sliding against my cheek as he falls. I almost avert my gaze—I remember the mammoth hunt and the way the mammoth’s eye had opened like a pit—but the seal’s head drapes over the side. I silently thank the Spirit of this seal for not looking me in the eye.
As I coil the rope, Pek paddles up alongside me. “Nicely done,” he says.
My ivory-tipped harpoon is buried deep in the seal’s side under the ribs. Despite the fight put up by the seal, the spike made only a small entry wound in the pelt. The rest of the coat is intact—a smooth, uninterrupted gradient of color, fading from golden brown near the head to a pale buff near the tail. Almost all the icy water has already shed from the fur and a breeze ripples across it, showing off its sheen. After a brief study of the wound, I decide to wait until I’m back on land to remove the harpoon. The unsteady sea makes unsteady hands, and I would hate to see even a scrap of this pelt wasted.
Though all the seals near my kill fled into the water, they sought safety by staying together and swimming toward shore. A second group still basks on a broad, flat island farther out to sea, calmly unaware and unalarmed. “I want to try something,” says Pek, all the while keeping his attention on the distant seals. “I’ll stay here and wait, out of sight. You paddle closer and make a noise, get them moving. The shortest path to shore is through these rocks. I’ll take the shot as they swim past.”
The dead seal makes a strange passenger as I paddle out, circling wide around the far side of the rocks. As I get closer I see that this group is much larger than the last. At least three dozen seals crowd against each other in the sun.
Out here, my back to the land, the sea grows calm and quiet. For a moment, I close my eyes and let my thoughts go quiet too. It lasts only a moment. Then my mind’s eye snaps open and I see the cat you killed, crouching in the sky, all but hidden by the clouds. He stays low, but his eyes are on me. All at once he bounds forward, his immense claws tearing the clouds to wisps, closing in on the place I sit, helpless in this tiny boat.
My eyes fly open. Beyond the tip of my kayak there is nothing but unbroken sea. Spooked, I dip a blade into the water and turn toward shore again.
I watch the seals, completely vulnerable, as unaware of my presence as I was of the cat’s. Then I let out a whoop and strike the surface with my paddle. Just as Pek planned, the seals leap into the water, diving in the direction of shore.
I paddle closer, moving in toward Pek, who waits beneath a low, overhanging ledge. He loads his harpoon into an atlatl and readies his throw.