"Eagle Drums" by Nasuġraq Rainey Hopson, Chapters 21–25

They understood the words but were mystified by the rhythmical yelling.

Every once in a while, Father reached out and hugged the boy, arms encompassing his wife as well, to make sure his son was real and alive and back again, a happy grin on his normally serious face.

The boy noted the deeper lines on their faces and the presence of more gray in their hair, and they noticed how tall he had become, how he seemed graceful and strong, no longer gangly.

His father went to the ocean more often and came back with shimmering seal hides and opalescent polar bear hides.

The boy returned to the mountains, making several trips to gather obsidian and slate that he and his father used to make razor-sharp spear tips, arrowheads, ulus, and knives.

In the evenings, when the world was quiet, they would sit around the cooking fire, and the boy would teach his parents the songs he knew and how to use their voices to evoke emotion.

Her hands moved across the wood just as they did when she worked on skins, and the beams were smoother and more consistent in thickness than anything the boy and his father could do.

He told his parents to start expecting people in three turnings of the moon, and then set off, with trepidation, to complete the last part of his journey.

This world smelled of stagnant water and sweet grass.

Both figures stood up slowly as he made his way leisurely toward them.

Both wore clothing made of goose feathers, finely stitched and pristine.

With a stilted walk and barely contained shyness, the child placed the platter in front of the boy.

We will be providing food for our guests, there will be dancing, and singing, and we are offering our hospitality to any who come.

His demeanor changed as he looked the boy over and saw that he held no weapons.

The terrain was flat and wide, with very little brush or vegetation, and hundreds of rocky outcrops that made perfect places for marmot and squirrels to build their homes.

The river itself cut into the earth and created sheer, jagged cliffs that rose high and dark against the sky, giving the area a foreboding feel.

His normally scowling face was contemplative.

He trudged into the night, his ears perking up at any sound that he heard behind him, but no one followed him out of the valley.

Winter had arrived, and the ground was now laden with thick snow, so traveling became a constant battle between him and the elements.

Winter had arrived, and the ground was now laden with thick snow, so traveling became a constant battle between him and the elements.

“This woman is telling me about the antics of her sons,” his mother said. “You are so much like her sons. It’s amazing.” She turned back to the woman, and they both laughed, their eyes bright with amusement.

One man had accused the other of stealing some food that they had brought, but of course the other family was adamant that they had not taken anything.

Portions were shared with each family: a generous helping of caribou meat, his mother’s delicious whipped caribou fat, and a whole salmon. After that bounty was passed out, they made another round to each camp, with some dried meat, frozen masu root, and a ladle of rendered seal fat.

The boy soon lost track of the many types of food that kept coming, and once every camp got their share, the eating began in earnest.

Pinja was not used to receiving gifts from strangers, and he was sure to thank them profusely.

When the sun began to set, the families began to make their way to the qalgi, all vying for the best seats.

A young man down the hall stood and told a rousing story about hunting a polar bear who had an extra set of legs.

The hall was soon filled with storytelling: some told histories of their family, some told mythical stories about fantastic feats, and others told stories of adventures that just happened to them the last summer. The hall hummed with the cadence and rhythm of words.

When the song settled, his mother rose and started handing out the gifts and small trinkets that she had made, first raising them above her head to show them off, then placing them in front of the person receiving the gift.

When they were finished, the whole room ended the song with a flourish and a yell that made everyone laugh and call out requests for more songs.

The boy brought out the eagle drum and attached it carefully to the sealskin rope he had hung from the rafters.

It was plainer than the one at the eagles’ qalgi, but Piŋa knew it would sound the same sweet, vital note.

He spread his arms wide and cried out, emulating the sharp calls of an eagle.

He heard the people around him gasp, but he was steadfast and continued his song:
Golden Mother
Our heartbeats sing
Golden Mother
Our drums are strong
Golden Mother
We praise your wisdom

The celebrations filled him with such inspiration, such wonder, and an enduring strength.

He felt his humanity blossom with new insight and a deeper sense of stability. The future held fewer unknowns, and with all this knowledge he felt more deeply accepted…flaws and all.

Her skin was dark and rich and smooth as eggshells; no more did wrinkles mar her face.

In respectful silence, the boy and his parents watched as the guests trotted or loped or flew off into the distance.

Then, with a quickness that belied her age, his mother turned toward them and crossed her arms.

And she bustled about, picking up what was left behind by the guests.