The Chukchi Bible Read Free

moss.
    Under cover of darkness, the canoes, brimming with armed men, silently put off and, hugging the overhanging crags, headed for Nuvuken.
    At the prow of the lead boat sat Ermen’s son, Akmol’. The boy had been maturing almost imperceptibly, growing into a real man, a fearless warrior. Should the night raid prove successful, Akmol’ might get himself a wife. That was one benefit of war: the tribe’s single men had the opportunity to win a life mate. The older brothers had already started their families; now it was the youngests’ turn. If they were lucky, they could hope for a real injection of new blood. The marriages of Luoravetlan with the other-tongues were considered the most productive, and the children of such marriages were born healthy and strong.
    Akmol’ was well aware of the task ahead but was so nervous that more than once he noticed his hand going numb from clutching his spear, his stomach awash in cold waves, his heart climbing up into his throat.
    Silently the oars rose and fell, and only the weak splash of water rolling off them might have betrayed the raiders’ presence, were it not for the ceaseless rumble of surf upon shore, running at a constant clip until the ice came to tame it.
    The moment the skin boats reached the surf line, the Luoravetlan launched themselves ashore. Agile and silent, they clambered up the steep slopes, bursting like a hurricane into the cave dwellings of the Aivanalin. Now there were shouts, moans, calls to arms.
    Akmol’ threw the heavy walrus skin that served as the dwelling’s door
roughly aside. The flame that trembled in the small stone lamp inside was tiny, but gave enough light for him to see a huddle of people in the far corner, terrified. Two burning coals – the eyes of a young woman – flicked toward the youth. Akmol’ took a step toward her, grabbed her by the hand, and began to drag her out. He didn’t even feel it when a set of teeth, sharp as a young dog’s, sank into his hand. The darkness around the stone huts was thick with women’s screams, moans, curses in both tongues, and threateningly loud shaman songs, accompanied by thunderous tambourine claps. Small moving lights began appearing everywhere, flitting from hut to hut as though alive. In some places the fires were stronger, spearheads glistening and the eyes of the warriors glinting in their skittish light.
    Akmol’ had managed to drag the young woman down to the skin boat.
    Uelen’s warriors were already regrouping back at the shore with their plunder of young women.
    The Aivanalin of Nuvuken did not give chase. The men of Uelen raised sail and made for their native shingled beach by the light of a newborn day.
    Akmol”s plunder lay at the bottom of the skin boat, and only when the Senlun crag, ringed with water, loomed before them, did Ermen give his son the signal to free the young woman. The Aivanalin girl struggled, turning away her head, and once even spit right in Akmol”s eye. He raised a hand to wallop the captive, but his father gave stern warning: Don’t you dare beat the future mother of your children!
    So Akmol’ had to tame Ulessik as one might a wild little beast. Months would pass before she allowed him to come near.
    In the meantime, the Nuvuken Aivanalin made an attempt to avenge themselves on the men of Uelen, but were roundly beaten on approaching
the shingled beach in Ekven’s Valley, 5 and retreated to their stone huts with heavy losses.
    Ermen ordered that the walrus breeding ground by the Senlun crag be left alone, as another, more plentiful, had been discovered to the west of Uelen.
    When most of the young women taken in the first raid fell pregnant, Ermen decided to make peace with the men of Nuvuken. This time they sailed in daylight, openly, rather than hiding in the shadows of dark cliffs.
    Nuvuken is hard to spot from afar. It seemed merely a conglomeration of stones strewn about the