A wavering darkness appeared above the new-dug grave of Featherfoot, Dogrib's wife of three seasons, and Sealhat, Dogrib's young son.  Three green-fire eyes burned within the twisting shadow.  Dogrib frowned.  What task might such a capricious, impossible-to-understand spirit as the Herder of the Dead set for him?

The Herder spoke in a wind-off-a-glacier voice.  "Avenge Featherfoot and Sealhat," it ordered, "and they will join the dancing dead in the night sky's green and red throbbing lights."  The Herder's smoky form twisted and turned.  Its green-fire eyes moved independently, watching all that happened.  "Avenge them not," the Herder continued, "and their spirits will wander forever, cold and lost."  Then the Herder faded.

Dogrib donned the caribou tooth necklace that Featherfoot had worn, his last reminder of her.  He hefted his spear, its head carved from the ivory of one of the last mammoths.  The Herder had given Dogrib even more reason to avenge his family than he already had. 

While Dogrib had been out hunting, something that left triangular long-clawed tracks had had attacked his whale-jaw and caribou-hide home.  Something that displayed a ferocity surpassing that of Nanuq, the white bear, had transformed his family into strips of ruined flesh.  Dogrib squatted beside the tracks.  He fingered the cold, wet mud.  The tracks smelled of musk and prickly rose blossom, unlike any natural beast. 

Dogrib stood upright.  He glanced at the seal carcass he had been bringing to his family.  A fox, coat spotted brown for the season without darkness, circled the seal.  Dogrib's finger brushed the caribou tooth necklace.  "Take what you need, for I can not use it," he told the fox.  Then Dogrib turned to follow the tracks toward the wild and rushing Ikaluqroq River.

The triangular tracks passed bearberry bushes, red-leafed and berried in the season without darkness.  The tracks vanished in carpets of purple saxifrage, reappearing on the other side.  The tracks continued into the Ikaluqroq Valley, where they ended in stony ground.  Dogrib muttered angrily.  He could not follow tracks without snow or mud. 

Beating wings descended.  Dogrib spun to face them.  What swooped toward him resembled an owl, wingspan exceeding Dogrib's height.  Its eyes burned with a white-out's snowy glow.  Jagged teeth, like those of Arrluq, the black and white whale, filled its beak.  Curved harpoon-head claws reached for him. 

Dogrib raised his spear as he realized that this was no owl, but some shaman's guardian.  Dogrib thrust with the mammoth-ivory spear.  With furious wing beats, the owlguard swooped above Dogrib's attack.  The owlguard hooted a mocking call.  As Dogrib's head turned, one claw raked his forehead.

The wound was shallow, but blood filled Dogrib's eyes.  Dogrib howled in frustration and made another futile thrust.  Dogrib retreated, wiping his eyes.  The owlguard called in triumph as its monstrous wings carried it away. 

Dogrib stanched his wound with liverwort.  Dark thoughts churned as he squatted, taking what rest he could.  Shamans' guardians attacked when someone who wished their master ill approached.  Dogrib meant harm to only his family's killer.  That meant that the owlguard and Dogrib’s quarry must serve the same unknown master. 

"Greetings."  An unfamiliar voice rattled Dogrib to the present.  Dogrib warily rose but did not approach.  He muttered a salutation, introducing himself.  As was customary, Dogrib tacked on the names of his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather. 

"I am called Oxhorn," the stranger responded.

Dogrib grunted.  What kind of man did not proclaim his forefathers' names? Dogrib studied Oxhorn.  Oxhorn, although broad shouldered, stood a hand shorter than Dogrib.  Porcupine quills dotted Oxhorn's garment, patterned like the stars that some see as a caribou and others as a tailed bear.

"Your injury says that you have encountered the owlguard of Tartoq the shaman," Oxhorn continued, motioning at Dogrib's forehead.

"Who is this Tartoq?"  Dogrib demanded. 

Oxhorn sat on a reindeer moss-covered stone.  He removed his glove and picked bits of sinew from his teeth.  "Tartoq was an Alyut, the people who live nine days to the south."

"Was?"

"They banished him.  In their language, the name means 'exiled to darkness’." Oxhorn slipped his glove back on.  "When he chooses, Tartoq becomes a long-clawed, triangular-footed monster.  In this form, he slays at will."

Dogrib leaned closer.  "How do you know this?"

"Tartoq killed my father.  I have long pursued him." Oxhorn's lip curled.  "The owlguard has prevented me from taking my vengeance."

Dogrib's eyes shone.  "There is only one owlguard?  You know where Tartoq lives?"

"Yes to both," Oxhorn replied.

"If two men attacked Tartoq," Dogrib declared, "one could distract the owlguard while the other killed the shaman."

"Many spirits inhabit Tartoq's body."  Oxhorn shrugged.  "Who, besides myself, would brave such a shaman's fury?"

Dogrib's response was to flash the smile of a hungry sleeper shark.

The argument over who would kill Tartoq continued longer than a seal can remain submerged.  Eventually, Dogrib's greater size carried the day; Oxhorn would distract the owlguard while Dogrib would challenge the shaman.

Dogrib stood on a rise above the Ikaluqroq Valley.  Oxhorn raced toward the stony ground, armed with weighted net and whale-bone club.  Soon the owlguard, white against a cloudless sky, appeared.  It swooped toward Oxhorn.  Oxhorn spun the net.  The owlguard's wings kept it beyond throwing range. 

Dogrib's finger brushed Featherfoot's caribou tooth necklace.  He hefted his mammoth-ivory spear and set off at a run toward Tartoq's distant home.

Tartoq's house, Dogrib saw as he neared it, was little more than an opening in mounded earth.  Only two driftwood posts distinguished it from a badger's burrow.  The dwelling was too small; a spear would be useless inside.  Dogrib shook his head, discarding hopes for a surprise attack.

"Tartoq!"  Dogrib shouted in challenge.  "Face me!"  Dogrib called.  He crouched, expecting some musk-and-rose-smelling monstrosity.

Instead, a small, stooped man emerged.  The small man wore a wooden mask, carved into a human form covered with bird heads.  He carried a wooden club, too light to dispatch even a seal pup.  Bearberry stains, both blue and red, covered the club. 

"How strange man get past owlguard?"  Tartoq the shaman growled, the Alyut’s language coloring his odd speech. 

"Your scrawny owl does not frighten me."  Dogrib shook his spear.  "I am Featherfoot's husband, come seeking retribution."

The shaman laughed.  "Tartoq know this ‘Feather’ not."

Dogrib howled in rage.  The shaman did not even know his victim's name!

Tartoq waved his slender bearberry club.  He raised his hands and began a shaman song, words pounding like the sea pounds the shore.

Dogrib drew back his spear and charged.  Tartoq's shaman song wrapped about Dogrib's feet, tripping him.  As Dogrib tumbled fell forward, he tossed his mammoth-ivory spear.  Tartoq's song caught the spear and stopped it in mid-flight. 

"Tartoq need new spirit slave," Tartoq said, stopping his song.  The spear fell to the ground.  "Tartoq planned to call sprit from river," Tartoq said.  "Now Tartoq trap strange man's spirit instead.  Easier."  He advanced on Dogrib, lying bound by the shaman song.

Dogrib struggled.  He could move nothing but his hands, and them only a little. 

Tartoq stretched a swollen-jointed hand toward Dogrib.  A dull purple glow surrounded his fingers.  "Take spirit now," Tartoq growled.

Something pressed on the inside of Dogrib's chest.  Could it be his spirit, being pulled from his body?  Dogrib felt dizzy, as though he balanced on a precipice. 

Dogrib struggled to right himself.  His hand brushed the caribou tooth necklace.  Rage filled Dogrib.  Would Featherfoot and Sealhat's spirits be lost forever?

"No!" Dogrib exploded, anger shattering his bonds. 

Dogrib reached up and batted the wooden mask aside.  Beneath lay a wrinkled skull of a face, eyebrowless and with a gaping hole for a nose.  The shaman blinked, not up and down like a normal man, but from side to side, face deformed by the terrible spirits that dwelt within. 

Tartoq snarled, his purple-black tongue protruding.  He lifted his bearberry club.  Before the weapon could descend, Dogrib grabbed Tartoq's ankles.  Dogrib yanked.  Tartoq fell.  Dogrib scrambled upright. 

Tartoq's toothless mouth opened.  Dogrib glanced at his fallen spear and shook his head.  No time to recover it.  Before Tartoq could sing, Dogrib's bone-hard fists descended.  Tartoq's head burst like an inflated seal bladder.  Hot black blood sprayed Dogrib.

Twisting mists rose from Tartoq's shattered skull.  The mists coalesced into a tangle of distorted faces and then dissolving back into shapeless mist.  Dogrib retreated, wary of Tartoq’s spirits.  The mists formed and dispersed twice more, then vanished. 

Dogrib laughed.  The spirits had held their master no love!  Dogrib wiped the blood and brain from his tunic.  He prodded the shaman with his foot.  Dogrib nodded to himself.  Tartoq was dead. 

From the distance echoed an owl's cry.  Dogrib squinted.  Far away, Oxhorn battled the owlguard, its broken wings beating Oxhorn’s weighted net.  Oxhorn's club descended twice, and the owlguard moved no more. 

Dogrib had expected a sense of triumph when his family was avenged.  Instead, Dogrib felt nothing.  As Dogrib collected his spear, a fox darted toward him.  The fox's glowing eyes bored into Dogrib's.  Dogrib paused.  A spirit fox?

Words echoed in Dogrib's head, more like a wind of the season without light than a true voice.  Take what you need, for I can not use it.  Dogrib frowned, recognizing his own words.  The fox placed a paw on the bearberry club and barked three sharp barks.  The fox then turned and ran away.

Dogrib pursed his lips.  Ignoring spirits’ advice, no matter how cryptic, was dangerous.  Dogrib stuck the bearberry club in his belt.  He trudged away, not sure where he would go.

He had barely left the Ikaluqroq Valley when a musk and prickly rose scent filled his nostrils.  Running feet pursued him.  Dogrib spun and crouched, spear at ready.

A strange, man-sized animal charged him.  Its long, lynx-like front legs and stocky, bear-like rear legs carried it at dog-sled speed.  Each triangular paw ended in hooked claws.  The elongated muzzle’s ragged teeth protruded so that the jaws could not close.  Instead of fur, a strange substance that, but for its thick, bile-colored veins, resembled glistening seal-fat covered its body.

Dogrib counter-charged.  The combatants met.  Dogrib put all of his strength into a spear thrust.  To Dogrib's horror, the spear slid harmlessly over the creature's fatty hide.

Triangle-foot growl-howled in triumph.  Its paw swiped at Dogrib.  Dogrib dodged.  Claws ripped open his sealskin tunic.  Dogrib almost lost his balance.  Then he righted himself and drove the spear toward Triangle-foot's nose.  Triangle-foot's head moved, throwing off Dogrib's aim.  Again, spear slid over fat. 

Before Dogrib could strike again, Triangle-foot drove him to the ground.  Dogrib's spear flew from his grasp.  Triangle-foot’s weight pressed down on Dogrib.  Dogrib struggled to escape, but could not. 

Then triangle-foot spoke.  "For killing Tartoq, who cursed me to take this shape, I thank you," it said, voice strangely familiar.  "Tartoq crafted his curse well," Triangle-foot continued.  "It ended not at Tartoq’s death, but when I killed Tartoq's slayer.  I could not kill him myself."  A clawed triangular paw rose.  "Now, to permanently regain my human form, I must end your life."

"Oxhorn!" Dogrib snapped, recognizing the voice.  Triangle-foot's eyes glittered, acknowledging that Dogrib was correct.  "You killed my family," Dogrib snarled, "so I would kill Tartoq for you."  Dogrib struggled to escape.  He moved a hand’s breadth toward freedom.  Not enough.  "The owlguard attacked me," Dogrib continued, "because you, wishing its master dead, were near."

Triangle-foot grunted assent.  It flexed its claws to strike.

Dogrib's mind raced.  Tartoq would have had some way to protect himself, should Oxhorn attack.  But was it something that Dogrib could use?

As if in answer, three barks of a fox, sharp and peaked, echoed through Dogrib's mind.  Dogrib squirmed all the harder.  He slipped from beneath his opponent's greasy form.  He drew the bearberry club and swung it with all his strength. 

The club splintered on Triangle-foot's skull.  As it did, Triangle-foot's forelimbs shrank and its hind limbs lengthened.  The snout retracted.  The fatty coating sank into its body as triangle-foot became a naked Oxhorn. 

Dogrib clenched his teeth in grim pleasure.  The bearberry club had been Tartoq's protection from the cursed Oxhorn! Dogrib's fist collided with Oxhorn's jaw.  Oxhorn fell back, stunned.  Dogrib leapt to his feet and scooped up his spear.  He stood over Oxhorn, spear at ready.

Oxhorn tried to rise.  Dogrib’s foot descended on Oxhorn's hand.  The sound of breaking bone mixed with Oxhorn's cries.  Oxhorn fixed Dogrib's eyes with his own.

"What an honor for Dogrib."  Sarcasm mixed with pain in Oxhorn's voice.  "Killing a naked, injured man."

Dogrib hesitated.  Dogrib had killed in fights, but had never slain a helpless foe.  Could he now?  Dogrib nervously shifted his stance.  Featherfoot’s caribou tooth necklace rattled against him, reminding him of what Oxhorn had taken.

With a scream, Dogrib drove the mammoth-ivory spear through Oxhorn's chest.  Oxhorn's eyes went wide.  His trembling lips moved, as though he tried to speak.

Dogrib, curious, leaned closer.  "I curse you."  The words choked past Oxhorn's dying lips.  "From this day forth, all you care for must die."

Dogrib stood up straight.  He put his foot on Oxhorn's chest and pulled his spear free.  Then he pierced Oxhorn's throat, silencing him forever.

Dogrib snorted.  He did not care if Oxhorn's dying curse was real, or merely a defeated man's ravings.  Featherfoot and Sealhat were avenged.  Dogrib pulled his mammoth-ivory spear from Oxhorn's corpse and strode away toward the horizon.