The Last Wild Song of Winter by Christoffer Petersen

Author:Christoffer Petersen [Petersen, Christoffer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-11-30T16:00:00+00:00

Marlunngorneq

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

The hunters gathered at one end of the sports hall. Laava counted five in total, not including the small girl clinging to her father’s legs. The word posse came to mind, bringing a smile to Laava’s lips as she walked towards the group, flanked by two of her new deputies. She stopped just a few metres from the hunters and took a moment to look at each of them in turn before addressing them as a group. Laava guessed that the youngest, with the little girl at his side, was probably in his early thirties, while the rest of the men wore the lines of toil and the scratches and scars of hard work and the occasional bad luck on their skin. Five was less than she had hoped would show, but given the relentless wind and the chill factor, few hunters had braved the ice of late, and of the five before her, Laava wondered how many she could count on.

“Qujanaq,” she said, thanking them with her hand on her chest. “It’s been nearly two weeks since Angileq Naajavaarsuk and Constable Maratse left the island. While there has been much rumour, I think we can agree that these two men, such as yourselves, are resourceful, and would have to be very unlucky not to have found shelter from the storm.”

“They’ll run out of food,” said the youngest hunter.

“Or kill each other,” said another.

“But they will find shelter,” said a third. “I don’t doubt it.”

Laava nodded. “We’ve looked at the map, identified the most likely cabins, and,” she said, pulling paper copies of a map of Uummannaq Fjord from the folder she carried tucked under her arm, “we want to split you up in teams of two to check each of these locations.” She handed the maps out, waited for the hunters to study them, and then smiled at the little girl.

“It’s a big area,” said the youngest hunter.

“Yes, ah…”

“Nataaq,” he said.

“It is a big area, Nataaq. We thought perhaps two men on each sledge. Maybe a team of twenty dogs…” Laava stopped talking as she realised it must sound like she was trying to tell the men how to go about their business. The looks she received in return confirmed it, and she softened them with a warm smile and the promise of compensation. “Food for the dogs, a daily salary for each day of searching.”

“How much?”

“In total?” Laava nodded, and then said, “Seven hundred kroner per man. That includes food for the dogs.”

For hunters stranded on the island just eleven days before Christmas, it was a significant sum, and, once again, the looks on the men’s faces confirmed it. And yet, as they exchanged words, Laava realised she could not count on all of them. When the men returned the maps, she realised she couldn’t count on any of them.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

Nataaq stood up to give her his map as the other hunters shuffled quietly out of the sports hall. “They’re concerned about the wind.

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