Omulde Iarna

In the Time of Legend, long past, when the spirits walked openly among men, our people lived like they do now, with the sea as our mother and her children as our allies. Our forefathers lived off the children of the sea and of the ice, and paid their respects to them, and all was good. It was one dark winter, during the time when the sun could not bring itself to rise during the day, when a young maiden disappeared from her home. There were no signs of blood or struggle, and the girl’s boots and coat were still hanging in their places. Everyone was scared, and stayed in their homes and prayed to the spirits that they would be left alone.
A few days passed, and four more people went missing: a child, two young men, and a matron, all spirited away from their homes in the deepest night, when no others had been looking. A young man named Patuktuq decided to find who had been taking the villagers. He dressed warmly, took his spear, and set out over the ice.
For long days and nights, Patuktuq walked over the ice. The winter was harsh, but he pressed onward, sleeping as little as he could and eating the little he could find. The snow revealed no clues, so he kept on.
One day, as he travelled, he came upon a spirit hare. He called to it, but it was timid, and it fled into the snow. He followed after it, for the spirit hares leave tracks upon the snow that a skilled hunter can see. The tracks led him to the hare’s den. Patuktuq had little with him, and even less that a hare would want, so he removed his scarf and laid it on the ground at the den’s entrance. He begged audience with the hare, as is custom, and explained that he was looking for a spirit who had stolen villagers in the night. The hare judged him honest and accepted the offering, and told him that the spirit Omulde Iarna was awake. He explained that this spirit of ice sleeps until the darkest and longest winters arrive, and when the piercing winds awaken him he kidnaps man and spirit alike to live with him in his lodge of ice. Patuktuq begged the hare to show him where the ice lodge was, but the hare was afraid; he said it was a long and cold path filled with danger. Patuktuq was resolved, and the hare’s heart was softened by Patuktuq’s pleas, so he agreed to lead him to the lodge. He took off, barely visible against the snow, and Patuktuq followed after. For many days and nights, he followed the hare, who more often than not was out of sight, but true to his word, he left tracks for Patuktuq to follow. The tracks led him to a huge lodge, carved from a mountain of ice. It was there the tracks disappeared, and the warrior thanked the spirit hare for its help.
Fear gripped the edges of Patuktuq’s heart as he approached, but he hardened his resolve. He stepped forward and opened the door ahead of him, and though it creaked and groaned like hard-packed snow giving way, it opened without trouble. Inside, the air was cold, colder than even the open tundra, and Patuktuq drew his coat around him tighter. The ground was hard and frozen, and the thickness of the icy walls blotted out all light. Patuktuq lit a small flame in his lamp and held it in front of him, the fire casting long shadows on the walls. As he walked down the long open hall, he could feel the air change: the spirits were so close here one did not have to be a shaman to feel their presence.
The halls were quiet, but began to twist and bend, leading to empty rooms and blind ends, a maze of ice. The cold bit into Patuktuq, but the chill did nothing to his heart compared to what he saw in one of the rooms. Trapped in the wall was a body, a woman, frozen and withered for so long the warrior could not guess. He prayed that her spirit was free, but a sickening feeling told him otherwise; he fled the room, knowing that the only thing he could do was appeal to the spirit who ruled this place. Patuqtuk walked through room after room, and he was saddened as he discovered that there was much more than one person frozen in the walls. For each one he prayed for peace, and each one he saw strengthened his resolve to find the spirit.
Eventually, he found the heart of the icy lodge: a huge room, held up by pillars of ice that served as tombs for more unfortunate dead. A chair stood at the far end, where sat the spirit who ruled the frozen lodge. It looked nearly human, but was white and worn and had eyes with no humanity in them. When it saw Patuktuq, it whispered something he could not hear. Over and over, it mumbled. Patuktuq stood up straight and called to the spirit. He told him that he had been kidnapping his people, and had trapped these people here in the ice; he must not continue this. The spirit began to speak louder and louder, but its words were meaningless to the young warrior. It stood up, its eyes hungered and mad, and it lunged at Patuktuq. The two fought fiercely, the warrior keeping the spirit back with his spear, while the spirit lunged with its hands, unnaturally cold, and its teeth, sharp like a wolf’s. It had no blood, but its body tore when the spear lodged in its flesh. The battle was long and fierce, but the young warrior was tenacious, and his skill with a spear was great. The spirit, with its body torn asunder, collapsed. It whispered its last, then lay still as its body froze over and crumbled. Patuktuq, satisfied in his village’s safety, returned home. He did not, at the time, notice a deep, chilling cold that had nested in his spear-arm.
By the time Patuktuq returned, he was taken with a great illness: a chill that could not be broken. He told his story to the village, who gave thanks to the spirit hares and prayed for the souls of those who had been lost to the frost spirit. As his illness grew worse and the shamans could not cure it, Patuktuq knew his days were at an end. He was not sad, for it was a small price to pay for the safety of his people. He took up his spear once more and walked out into the tundra, giving himself over to the spirits of the land.
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