Below Chapters 1-6

Copyright © 2020 Alexandria Warwick

 

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A white silence blanketed the land. Newly fallen snow, hushed. Pure, crystalline ice hardening against the pale bark of the trees. The chilled air that swelled with the slow, sleeping breaths of a world that had yet to wake.

And a girl cloaked in heavy furs, waiting.

Apaay studied the breathing hole in the ice. Her joints ached with cold and the hours she’d crouched, alone save her dog Nakaluq, who lay quietly curled by her side. It was the third time this week she had come to the frozen plain that was Naga, the Eastern Sea, and she vowed it to be the last. Above, the sky was a spill of black ink. The long night was only in its first month, which left five months of darkness to endure. The moon, a shard of pale light, cast a watery sheen upon the ground. It was not enough.

Keeping her attention on the breathing hole, Apaay slowly removed the harpoon slung across the bulk of her fur parka. She supposed there were worse things in life than lack of sunlight. Here on the frozen sea, she knew true peace. The sea was sleeping beneath the ice. And the seals were, too.

Her gaze slid to Nakaluq’s still form. Unsurprisingly, he was sleeping as well. She nudged his flank with one of her sealskin boots. “Wake up.” A white cloud streamed from her lips.

His eyebrows twitched, and he curled his body tighter, bushy tail draped across his nose. A clear dismissal that he should not be disturbed.

Apaay rolled her eyes, for this was his absolute favorite game: feed me, and I will awaken. “You’re supposed to be my lookout. You know, to alert me when danger is near?”

One of his large, triangular ears flicked west, toward the direction of her village. No sound, no danger. He grumbled, burrowing further into his warmth. The wind had begun to pick up, and it was cutting.

“I guess you don’t want your treat then,” she crooned.

Immediately, Nakaluq sprang to his feet, prancing around as if to say, Look at me, I’m awake!

Apaay snorted at the ridiculous display before wrapping an arm around his neck, pulling him close, and pressing a brief kiss to his snout. His pelt was a perfect reflection of the tundra—white flecked with gray. Snow on stone. “Sit still. You’re making me tired.”

Nakaluq side-eyed her.

“Don’t look at me that way.” The look that implied maybe she wouldn’t be so tired if she were dreaming with Mama, Papa, and Eska in their ice house, warm and safe in slumber.

Dreaming. What a lovely notion.

It was simple, really. They needed to eat. They needed clothes, tools, oil for their lamps. Over the last few years, the seal population had dwindled, and she wondered if someone had disrespected the old rules. The Sea Mother did not take offense lightly. Without her favor, the marine life would travel elsewhere for the remainder of the season, proving for a difficult hunt. Decades had passed since anyone had sighted the Sea Mother beyond her watery silence. The sea grew restless.

Apaay did as much as she could, but often it was not enough. Her earlier attempts at harpooning a seal had ended in failure. The first time, she had struck too soon. The second, too late. Like this, Eska would say. Try again. And Apaay loved Eska. She did. But she could love her sister with the whole of her heart while also wishing things did not come so easy for her.

When she thought deeper on the issue, it was actually quite ironic. Her parents would be displeased to know she was out here alone, and yet who would come, if not her?

As if sensing her sadness, Nakaluq sidled closer.

“You know how Papa is,” she told her friend. “How can he expect to hunt with a broken leg? Or Mama, already busy with sewing and cooking and cleaning?”

A heavy paw settled on top of Apaay’s hand, the rough pads scraping against her mittens. She squeezed it. “Or Eska, too busy drooling over Lusa?” Her sister scowled whenever Apaay teased her about it, though admittedly she did drool over the girl. A lot.

Leaning close, Apaay whispered to Nakaluq, “Though not as much as you.”

The dog huffed as if offended.

Her smile fell as she again examined the breathing hole, huddling only a few feet beyond its slick edge. Black water struck the hard, icy rim. She did not have to worry. Even when her breathing shallowed out, she did not have to worry. This time of year, the ice was frozen four feet solid. There would be no cracks.

Still, she shuffled back to put another foot of distance between herself and the ledge. Her fingers tightened on the harpoon, the head a glint of carved ivory, the line curling along the ground. Drifting snowflakes clung to the ruff of wolverine fur encircling her hood.

Movement in the water.

Apaay held herself absolutely still. She was night, and snow, and hard, glinting ice.

The seal’s slick head breached the dark liquid, whiskers twitching, its skin a mottled blue-gray. Its pupils were wet and black, no white to see.

It hadn’t yet spotted her. As he’d been trained to do, Nakaluq remained motionless beside her, little more than a boulder among the ice as she lifted her harpoon in an unhurried motion so the animal wouldn’t startle. It would only take a few breaths before submerging again.

Her harpoon came down.

The seal vanished in a splash of water.

Apaay swore and lurched to her feet. Two hours of waiting and what did she have to show for it? Nothing. Her stomach hollowed out from the sense of failure, the anxiety of her family’s diminishing food stores, which would not last another week.

She waited another thirty minutes despite the unlikelihood of the seal returning. It would instead travel to another breathing hole, one without a sharp stick aimed at its head. The nearest one lay a half-mile north and wasn’t frequented as often as this one. It would be so nice to return home and slip beneath her furs. Rest, refuel, maybe even dream.

But they needed to eat.

Apaay whistled for Nakaluq as she approached the sled parked some yards away. Grabbing the harness, she looped it around his body and front legs so it hit him high on the chest. He was of stocky build, with powerful haunches built for endurance and a dense, double coat.

“My sweet, sweet boy,” she murmured, rubbing behind his ears. He nuzzled his nose against her chest like he used to do as a pup. The memory softened her hunting frustrations, and she buried her face in his neck before mounting the sled.

Two short whistles sent him north, the sled’s walrus-bone runners cutting lines through the thin layer of powder dusting the frozen sea. The runners’ smoothness pleased her, as they had only been recently completed after she had run the last sled, quite literally, into the ground. An accident, she’d claimed, but Papa had been furious nonetheless. Never one to waste anything, she had recycled the old material to build a swifter, lighter sled body, large enough to lash multiple seals to its base.

Above, the stars were hard pinpricks of light. The wind was a brutal, shredding force, stinging her cheeks and eyes, scouring her rough, chapped lips. There was nothing that was not hardened or chiseled in the North. It was a land of contrasts, white and black and gray, uncolored, inhospitable to all except those who had been born here. This was why Apaay admired the land. And this was also why she feared it.

With the temperature far below freezing, the second breathing hole had already iced over when she arrived. Using the tip of her harpoon, Apaay chipped away the thin film, the splintering sound causing her to flinch. She had just settled down to wait when a whistle carried high upon the wind. Three short bursts, followed by a longer note—the signal for friend.

“Apaay!”

Uh-pai.

Two figures approached, their silhouettes bulked in thick layers. Nakaluq perked up, and his tail, curled over his back in alertness, began to wag back and forth.

Apaay waved to Eska and her good friend, Chena. “Over here!”

They joined her at the breathing hole, her younger sister ruffling Nakaluq’s fur in greeting. “You know most people are asleep right now,” Eska said with amusement. “Right?”

Her mouth widened, more smirk than smile. The world was cold, but in her heart, she felt warm. “You know I’m not most people.”

“Trust me, I’m aware.”

Her attention slid to Chena, who was unusually silent, her small mouth grim. Silver limned the soft line of her friend’s jaw.

Apaay said to her sister, “You speak as if that’s a bad thing.”

“Not everyone is so sure of themselves.”

A snort sprang free at how untrue that statement was. What was more, that Eska would think such a thing. Apaay was stumbling along in life, chasing at the heels of those ahead. She shrugged. “Maybe. But let’s talk about what’s really important: my new joke.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“What did the shark say to the whale?”

Eska made a show of thinking deep thoughts, even though she probably already knew the answer. It was a game they sometimes played. Who could think of the most cringe-worthy joke? “I give up.”

“What are you blubbering about!” She snorted out a laugh. “Get it? Blubbering? Because—because the whale has blubber—”

Eska sighed, her face softening with affection. “That was terrible, you know.”

Apaay had always thought her sister beautiful, even as a child, and for the longest time, Apaay hadn’t the words to describe why that beauty was admired. People would mention how bright her eyes were, how smooth and round her cheeks were, how precious was her dimpled chin, her mouth like a rosy bud.

But now she understood what had eluded her for years. In a land that knew no warmth, Eska exuded what people craved: light, and a feeling of comfort, and peace.

“Anyway,” Apaay said, lifting her eyebrows, “you’re one to talk. Why are you out now, except to annoy me? You should be in bed.”

“Oh.” Her sister ran a mitten over Nakaluq’s back and sent Chena an unreadable look. “No reason.” She glanced at the sled, its empty base. “Any luck?”

Apaay offered a brief, close-mouthed smile, trying to ignore the sudden tension she felt at so few words. “Not yet.” Her sister didn’t know how truly dire their situation was, and she would like to keep it that way.

“If you need a break soon, let me know.”

And risk Eska taking the kill? “I’m fine, but thank you.” She turned to Chena. A definite paleness washed out the warmer undertones of her skin. It was concerning, but not uncommon. It was easy to catch a cold at this time of year. “How is Muktuk doing?” Apaay asked, speaking of Chena’s brother. “Has he learned the name of his new baby yet?” She tucked her braid back inside her hood.

“Not yet. My father is supposed to arrive sometime this week.”

Apaay nodded and returned to studying the breathing hole. Chena’s father had traveled to one of the neighboring villages, where his mother—Chena’s grandmother—currently lived. She and the elders would assemble to discuss the baby’s name-soul. This was the Analak way.

Someday when she was old enough, Apaay hoped for the opportunity in choosing a baby’s name-soul, too. Names did not simply continue individual lives. They continued the life of the community. When the village celebrated a birth, they both celebrated a new person as well as the return of the namesake, or the deceased person from whom the name-soul was taken. These names, these kinship ties, were the threads that bound their community together.

After a few minutes, Eska said, with an absurd amount of nonchalance, “Pana was asking for you last night.”

She very nearly gagged. “Ugh. Spare me.”

“Apaay!”

“What? The man is softer than whale intestines. And anyway—” She slid her harpoon free as the water rippled, lowering her voice. “—he doesn’t actually like me. He just wants to . . . you know.”

Chena murmured, “You won’t even give him a chance?”

Apaay shot her friend a cutting look. The only reason she’d spent time with him was because he sometimes gave her the smaller of the seals if he killed two. But they didn’t need to know that. She had no patience for softness like Pana. It was a hard, jagged world out there. The North would carve you up, spit you out if you let it. There was no place for vulnerability on the ice. “Not all of us have someone like Silla in our lives. And can you both please lower your voices? You’ll scare the seals away.”

At the young man’s name, a flush deepened the bronze of Chena’s cheeks. “Right. Silla.” Strained laughter bubbled up, and she clamped her lips together.

Apaay looked at her friend. Really looked at her. She was about to ask what was wrong when Eska stated loudly, “It’s probably for the best. No doubt you’d chew Pana up if given the chance.”

It was not untrue. “Yes, he’d sob into his bear skins and then where would we be? Now hush. A seal’s coming.”

“Apaay—”

The ripple flattened into calmness, and Apaay waited, hoping a seal would breach its warm, liquid safety for the chance to take a breath of air, but their voices must have chased it back into the water’s deep. Apaay sat back on her heels, glaring at her sister.

At least Eska had the grace to look apologetic. “Sorry.”

Apaay took a breath to quell her frustration. Since the animal would probably not return, she’d have to come back tomorrow. Tonight, she would go home empty-handed. Again.

Eska reached for the harpoon. “I can get a seal for you. I know of another place—”

“I can manage on my own,” Apaay said, snatching it away. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“But the breathing hole isn’t far.”

“I said I’ll come back tomorrow.”

Something about Eska shrank, became small. “I’m just trying to help.”

Apaay hated herself for saying it, because it had been an accident, and Eska was kind, and her sister, whom she loved more than anything, but she said, “You’ve helped enough, don’t you think?”

Chena glanced between them, clearly uncomfortable. “Apaay—”

“What?” If she had come all this way, done all this work, it was not so Eska could take the kill from her. Call it selfishness, but for once, just once, Apaay wanted to prove she was as equally capable a hunter as Eska. The seal would be hers. Hers to kill, hers to claim. “Every day that passes is a day closer to starvation. So I’m sorry if I want to make sure we have something to eat next week. If it had been quiet as I had asked, maybe our problem would be solved.” It was hurtful, what she said. Disappointment in her performance made her cruel when she should be kind. “But I guess we’ll never know.”

Eska’s eyes swam with unshed tears. Saltwater lapped against the ice, gently. “I’m going to go home then,” she whispered.

Apaay nodded, looking to the tops of her boots. “I think that would be best.”

“I am sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t know about—I didn’t know.” With one last look to Chena, she left. Darkness soon swallowed her.

A few minutes passed before Chena spoke. Her face was grave. “That was a bit harsh, don’t you think? She’s only fourteen.”

“I know that, but everything comes so easy to her.” The last word she choked off. Apaay blinked rapidly against the sting in her eyes. Truly, it wasn’t Eska’s fault. All Apaay asked for was a chance. “Every time I fail to bring in a seal, or forget to replenish the oil stores, or ruin some other task, it’s another mark against me. You know I want to lead the hunt this summer.”

The men had long ago told her no, and yet she was a burr they could not remove, clinging to their clothes, blowing back in with the force of a blizzard whenever one of the younger men puffed out his chest, claiming this was not her place.

Apaay knew why they told her no. She was too flighty, some claimed. Too lost, others said. A leader commanded respect, exuded confidence, and built trust, acting as a beacon in the dark. Why would they ever choose someone like her, unreliable and drifting, to lead? To which Apaay would counter, how could she prove herself if not given the chance?

“You are under a lot of pressure,” Chena agreed. “It would make anyone’s patience short.”

But. She heard a but in there.

Apaay rubbed a palm over her face, dislodging the ice that had condensed around her nose and mouth and eyes. Guilt swam through her. “I’ll apologize.” Chena was right. She had acted unnecessarily harsh toward Eska out of her own insecurity.

With the hunt a failure, they decided to return home. Nakaluq hauled the sled while she and Chena traveled on foot until they reached the shore. A cairn, as tall and wide as a man, the stones in browns and grays and stacked atop one another, signified the break between sea and unsea, as well as marked the direction to their community.

Snow crunched and caved beneath their boots. This was a still, silent land. Its hush sank deep into the earth, rooting down with those of the bracken and the trees. Their village was located two miles southwest. Boreal forest, thick and lush and evergreen, lay to the south. Open tundra lay to the north.

Chena, normally doing everything she could to fill the silence, was unusually quiet. A slight furrowing of her brow had Apaay resting a palm on her friend’s arm. “Is everything all right? You don’t look well.”

Chena shook her head, gaze elsewhere.

Apaay pulled her friend to a stop and turned the shorter girl to face her. “There is something wrong.” The realization was bright.

“Apaay—”

“Tell me.”

Chena’s glare cut through the gloom. Apaay noticed her fingers digging into her friend’s shoulders, and she loosened her grip. “Sorry.” There was something between them she couldn’t see, filling up the space, pressing out her certainty and ease. The regret she felt for snapping at Eska didn’t help.

A shuddering sigh slipped through the chill air. Chena rubbed her mittens over her face, cheeks red and chapped from the wind. “It’s about Silla. We slept together last month.”

“So?”

“As in we slept together.”

Oh. Oh.

“Was it—I mean—”

Chena cupped her elbows in her palms. “He was good to me.” Her throat worked, as if she wished to hide these words by swallowing them down. “But I realized afterward I wasn’t wearing my pregnancy charm.”

Her mouth parted in understanding as her stomach dropped. And dropped. She glanced at Chena’s belly, its softness shielded behind layers of fur. Life swelled beneath it and would one day open its eyes to the world.

Clearing her throat, she looked away, unsure of what to say.

“Eska told me to come to you,” Chena whispered. “I need help. I don’t know what to do.” The words wavered, a touch desperate. “We’re not even married. I’m not sure if he’ll be able to support me and the child. I mean, he’s a capable hunter, a hard worker, and while he’s excited to be a father, I can’t—I mean—” Her eyes glittered, so dark, so very wide. “I’m not ready for this.”

Apaay pulled her friend along, wanting to keep their blood flowing. Chena, pregnant. She could hardly wrap her mind around it.

They walked for perhaps half a mile in silence before Apaay asked, “Have you told your mother?”

“No. I’m afraid to.”

The hill they climbed steepened, but once they reached the top they’d be able to see their village. Apaay glanced over her shoulder to check on Nakaluq and was not surprised to find him only a few feet behind, the sled’s runners having carved deep tracks into the snow.

Apaay said, through shallow huffs, “I think you should tell her.”

“What if she hates me?”

“She won’t hate you. She loves you. You’re her daughter.”

“Yes, and now a pregnant one.”

Reaching down, Apaay squeezed Chena’s hand. So delicate, so small. “I know it doesn’t feel like a joyous occasion, but it will. You’re going to be a mother.” Not even the worthiest of hunters could overshadow the act of raising and caring for another. “You also have me. If there’s anything you need, I will do whatever I can to help.”

Chena nodded, the lines bracketing her mouth easing into smoothness. A moment later, her nose crinkled in distaste. She lifted it to the wind. “Do you smell that?”

The scent hit as they crested the hill: sharp and acrid, unclean. Nestled in between clumps of frozen trees, sixty ice houses lay like small mounds of snow upon the ground. Except they were not greeted by glittering white domes. Gray streaks sullied the ice—a spattering of filth. The world rained ash as black smoke hissed from down below, pouring into the sky like blood from an open wound.

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White powder exploded around her legs as Apaay tore through the snow, momentum pulling her down the steep slope, her arms wheeling in circles to help keep her balance. Dense smoke scratched at her eyes, and it might already be too late. The fire had been cast, both signal and protection, and a ring of nausea encircled her throat, because she had not seen it, but more importantly, she had not been here. She had been on the ice, where no one would come looking for her. Where it was safe.

Her heart pulverized her rib cage with each forceful blow. Chena followed close behind, her breathing equally harsh as she called for her parents, and for Silla. Apaay cursed her bulky clothing, the weight of layers able to protect her from the most brutal element but not from something giving chase. A veil of security had been ripped from her, and she could only think, Mama, Papa, Eska. What had become of her family?

They reached the initial ring of ice houses, the largest ones serving as meeting spaces. A second, smaller ring housed single families. “Eska!” she screamed. Such silence. A film of ice hardened in her chest, for Papa would not have been able to run far with his injury.

“Do you see them?” Chena asked.

“No.” She didn’t see anyone.

Within the second ring lay a massive fire pit, the flames having been reduced to embers. With so little wood this far north, the fire was only lit in emergencies, to warn neighboring communities of what had come to pass and to not draw near no matter the circumstances. There was nothing and no one around, and the shadows were like long fingers grasping at her legs. The snow had been trampled into frozen soil, scuffed by boots and paws. Even the dogs had fled.

Something shifted in her peripheral vision, and she turned. A young girl, face caked with soot, huddled in the entrance of her home, tears cutting through the grime. Apaay crouched before her. “Kaya, where is everyone?” She didn’t ask what had happened, because she already knew. Ignition of the fire represented only one thing. The child was too young to understand.

She touched the girl’s shoulders, her sweet, chubby cheeks. Kaya was real. This was not a dream. “Where are your parents?”

The girl shook her head. Fear swallowed her eyes.

“Kaya, please. Please—”

One small hand lifted, pointing through the trees.

Apaay ran.

Chena had disappeared to search for her relatives. A young couple clutched one another close, half-hidden behind a polar bear pelt they had skinned and stretched out to dry. Before she could utter a word, the woman pointed behind her as if she knew, as if they all knew.

Please, please, please. The cold locked tight in her throat. The small pack she carried, along with her harpoon, weighed upon her shoulders, so she ripped them off and tossed them aside, broke free of the roiling smoke, flying down the winding, snow-carved trail that led to another cairn atop the hill beyond the tree line. She had but one image in her mind. Dark eyes clouded by hurt, an upwelling of tears. Her sister’s form as she retreated back home like a kicked dog.

The entire community—close to three hundred individuals as well as half as many dogs—encircled the monument of stacked stones. Fear leaked into the space, the stench of sweat strong. The mass of bodies teemed, never silent, never still. Apaay flinched at a child’s blood-curdling shriek, the hushed whispers slithering along the ground like tendrils of smoke, too afraid to let the noise die, lest the quiet lure back the demon.

Two elders—one man and one woman—attempted to calm the restlessness. The village looked to the elders for guidance in times of hardship and turmoil and need, and people clung to that shred of sanity and control, clung to it desperately, fully awake in the nightmare. They did not step with certainty. They did not put their backs to the trees where the darkness churned. Apaay shoved through the clustered bodies with all the grace of a newborn calf, not the slightest bit apologetic when she knocked over her neighbor. Ignoring the woman’s outrage, she tore apart the huddle until she found her family huddled near the cairn’s western face.

Two people, that was all. There was an absence she could not ignore.

Her knees gave out, hitting the packed snow. Not Eska. Not her sister. “Where is she?” Apaay hardly noticed how loud she spoke. How it sounded so like the wind screaming across the snowy plains.

Mama flung out her arms, and Apaay slipped into them as she sobbed, “My little naaja. He took her. He took her from us.”

Her body twitched in barely contained horror. She looked to Papa seated beside her, his splinted leg stretched out before him. “How long ago?”

His eyes closed in a moment of relief at her presence, or perhaps denial at what was happening. “A few hours,” Papa ground out, fierce despite being unable to stand. “Where were you?” His voice boomed, carrying over the rush of conversation surrounding them. “Because you certainly weren’t at home like you were supposed to be. We have these rules for a reason. What if he had taken you, too? We would have never known. And your sister—” A muscle pulsated in his jaw. “You’re supposed to watch out for her. You’re supposed to protect her.” A crack in the air that was his voice breaking beneath emotion.

Tilting up her chin, Apaay stared into Papa’s tumultuous expression, helpless against the thought that it was her fault, all of it, because she had wanted Eska to leave. If she had only returned after the first breathing hole. If she had only not left at all. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She tried to piece herself into something that resembled order. “Naattaluk, please.”

A gentle touch on Apaay’s shoulder brought her attention to an old woman whose chapped skin sank into deep folds. Apaay stumbled forward and fell into the scent of salt and pine, biting the inside of her cheek to hold back the flood. No crying. Absolutely no crying. She must remain strong.

Blowing out a breath, she pulled away. This was the last surviving member of Papa’s family. An ear infection had taken her grandmother’s hearing when Papa was but a child.

Her grandmother signed, I saw her run toward Lusa’s house.

Apaay had to take her mittens off to reply. Was anyone with her? It was a horrible thought, one that made her feel even more disgusted with herself, but if Eska hadn’t been alone, it was possible the other person had been taken instead.

Not that I saw, but my eyes are not what they used to be.

There was only one way to know for certain if Eska had escaped unscathed. “Stay here,” she told her family. “I’ll be back.”

Starting back down the hill, Apaay dashed toward a massive conifer shading a clump of ice houses on the community’s western edge, her boots cutting into the soaked, sooty ground. The tree was quiet elegance draped in white. Once she reached its base, she dropped to her knees and shoved her arm through the hole carved out among the ice-bitten wood, grasping for the soft warmth of rabbit fur, a scrap she and Eska would hide away in the event of danger or separation to inform the other they were safe.

But the hole was empty. No fur, just ice.

Apaay pressed a shaking hand to her forehead, feeling lightheaded and faint. She fought the rising panic, stamped it into submission. It was all right. Everything was going to be all right. Perhaps Eska had forgotten to replace the rabbit fur amid the confusion.

She stood and curved her tongue against the back of her teeth. Her whistle soared high upon the frigid air. The village looked so pitiful. It hurt to look at. Fear was thick in the night.

“Where are you?” she murmured, stamping her feet to keep warm.

A small bundle cut through the smoke and snow. Nakaluq stopped near her feet, and Apaay hurriedly removed him from the sled harness, kneeling so they were at eye-level. “Do this for me,” she said, “and you’ll have treats for an entire month. Deal?”

The blue of his gaze swept the area, never lingering on any one place for long. Eventually, his tail wagged tentatively.

He followed her back to their ice house, ever the obedient companion. The Analak, at least those of the coastal regions, used dogs to pull sleds between communities, as well as for hunting and rescue missions. Nakaluq was young, only a few years old, but he was smart. He slept in their furs for extra warmth and knew her sister’s scent well.

Apaay grabbed a blanket they had used the night before, an old one cut from caribou skins, and held it in front of Nakaluq’s muzzle. A few hours—that’s how long Papa had claimed anyone had seen Eska. She would have believed hope to be lost except for one small detail.

Mama’s claim that Eska had been taken was misconstrued. It was not how things worked with the demon who stalked the night. He did not snatch people from their homes. He only took what he needed. Which meant she could still be alive.

“Find her, boy. Find her for me.”

Apaay relaxed her hands from their suffocating grip on the fabric and watched Nakaluq separate Eska’s scent from the others as he circled their home. He moved in the direction of the cairn, except instead of ascending the hill, he veered right toward where the land descended into shallow rolling hills, away from the sea.

The snow, gouged deep from where people had fled during the chaos, eventually smoothed save a single set of footprints that zigzagged over the plain, leading to a depression in between two hills. Nakaluq nudged something half-buried in the snow.

She stumbled. Her vision swam, broken by bursting black dots.

No.

Numbly, Apaay sank to her knees. The ground was cold. Her heart was a piece of ice, chipped and cracked from various blows. Her chest ached as she reached forward, having never experienced this type of fear before. Like she would soon cease to breathe.

The object, drenched and chilly through her mittens, was still. Hands shaking, she dusted the powder from her sister’s boot.

It was not attached to a body.

She sagged, her lungs deflating in one long rush. Eska was not here, lying in the snow, dead. She must have lost her boot when she’d fled.

Nakaluq sniffed the abandoned boot, then looked at her, head cocked. Apaay’s stomach twisted, because she knew that look. A hunt that led to a cold trail. A bitter end.

This could not be the end.

Her knees groaned as she leaned forward, touching her forehead to his. “Do you remember,” she murmured, “the blizzard last year? The one that overtook our hunting party?”

His ears perked at the seriousness of her voice, worn down like water on stone.

“The other dogs weren’t able to go on.” One by one, they had fallen to exhaustion and hunger and cold. “But not you, Nakaluq. You went on.” And saved the men who would have been lost forever to the tundra.

“I’m asking you to try again. One last time.” She squeezed her eyes shut and whispered, “My sweet, sweet boy. I believe in you.”

Hesitantly, his tail waved back and forth. Always a good sign. He once again sniffed the boot Apaay offered him, and together, they trekked south, winding through the forest of evergreen conifers, frost coating their needles in glittering white.

The darkness was thicker here, and the clacking branches lifted the hair along her body. She didn’t think the demon would linger if he had captured his prize, but she couldn’t be certain. He could be crouched behind one of the trunks. Or hiding among the branches.

When Nakaluq shot forward, barking furiously, she knew. How could she not? Apaay’s instincts, when it came to family, were strong. With hope swelling in her heart, she charged after Nakaluq. He was a bright light cutting through the darkness, and he would lead her to Eska.

Somehow, her sister had managed to wedge herself into a hollowed-out cavity in the trunk. Her hood had fallen back, revealing a long ebony braid snaking over one shoulder. Severe shudders wracked her body.

Relief turned Apaay’s legs to water. They buckled before she could reach her destination. On hands and knees, she crawled. “Naajatikaaq.” Granddaughter. Gently, Apaay tried to draw her younger sister into her warmth. Eska resisted, tucking her face further into the tree’s hollow.

“You don’t have to be afraid. I’m here. I’m always here.” But it was a lie, wasn’t it? She had told Eska to leave. Had sent her sister out alone. It was as Papa had said. She was supposed to have protected her, and she had failed.

Nakaluq whined, nudging his nose in the crook of Eska’s arm. She stiffened, then slowly sank her hand into Nakaluq’s coat and gripped tight. One leg at a time, Eska stirred, as if she were slowly being thawed out. She uncurled, though kept her head ducked, lost in its own shadow. It was so murky in these woods.

“Naajatikaaq.” She whispered the endearment. “Come on. Everyone is waiting for us.”

Afterward, Apaay would wonder if it had been a cruel dream. For when Eska lifted her head, Apaay had expected to gaze into eyes choked with tears, eyes the color of ripe earth like her own. Except there were no eyes, and there was no nose, and there was no mouth—no lips or teeth. For where her sister’s face should have been lay nothing more than a stretch of empty skin.

Faceless.

← 3 →

They called him the Face Stealer.

He came to the villages like smoke: there, and then gone. Vanishing into the night.

The Face Stealer was a skin-changer, a demon, a thief. Hoarding people’s faces in the in-between where he lived, a place between waking and dreaming, living and dying, here and there, then and now. The in-between, they said, lay deep in the North, lost to the frozen tundra. Once he returned to his lair, or wherever it was he dwelled, that was it. You never saw those faces again.

Despite the Face Stealer’s reputation, no one knew what he looked like. You could only see him from the corner of your eye. If you attempted to look at him directly, he remained elusive. They said he was a child. They said he was a man. They said his hair was a deep, fiery red; or pale, pale yellow; or white as snow; or mossy green. They said he was eight feet tall, but in the shadows, he grew to ten, possibly twelve, feet. They said he had fur, not skin, and four legs, not two, and sometimes he grew a tail, but then other times he didn’t.

They said many things.

Four hours had passed since Eska’s discovery, and the world was a much darker place than it had been. After sending for help earlier, Mama had come, and they had carried Eska through the belching smoke toward home, where they now gathered. Apaay and her parents settled atop the shelf of ice where they slept, its solidity draped in thick pelts. Eska, blankets heaped atop her form, lay on her side, her back to them. All was quiet. All was still.

Apaay swiped a hand over her face. The shaking of Eska’s shoulders had finally ceased, but the sight of her sister’s soundless crying—tears locked in a body with no eyes—was an image that would never leave her. Only two small slits carved into her light brown skin remained of her nose, allowing her the air to breathe.

Apaay didn’t know how exactly it worked, but those whose faces were stolen did not die. Last year, a young man had lost his face. He was still alive, yet utterly without life. This went for all of the victims. It was as if the act of removing their identity sent them to a waiting place until their self was returned, if ever. Instead, the victims were left with their thoughts. They could touch, but not see. They could smell, but not taste. It was a hollow existence, and many knew not how to cope. Unfortunately, it was not unheard of for a victim to wander out into the cold and freeze to death.

It was this thought above all others that sent her heart into a tumble. Apaay said, “I’m going after him.” Since the Face Stealer had not taken her sister’s ears, she spoke in hushed tones.

Mama straightened, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. They had shed their parkas and left them to dry in the tunnel leading outside. Inside the curved dome, the temperature was comfortably warm. “Tell me you don’t mean that, naaja.”

Apaay very nearly smiled. Her grandmother—Mama’s mother—had passed away before she’d been born. Mama had given her mother’s name-soul to her first-born, and thus called Apaay naaja, or mother. In turn, Apaay called Mama naajaluk, or daughter. She called Eska naajatikaaq, granddaughter, just as Eska called her naajatik, grandmother. As well, Apaay referred to Papa as naattaluk, or son.

“Naajaluk, you know I never say anything I don’t mean.”

Mama looked to Papa for support. He had yet to contribute to the conversation. You’re supposed to protect her. Apaay couldn’t bear to look at him, instead focusing her attention on the flat, crescent-shaped lamp burning from a small amount of oil they had rendered from seal blubber. The curved white walls ignited with warm golden light.

When it became apparent he wouldn’t respond, Mama turned back to Apaay. Here was the woman who had given birth to her, and Apaay imagined she was no less fierce than she had been eighteen years ago. “You don’t know where he dwells. You don’t know anything about him.” A pause. “It’s not safe to cross over among the territories.”

This was true. It wasn’t as simple as traveling to his home, knocking on his door, asking him to please return what was not his, perhaps spitting on his boots in the process. The North was an indomitable fortress of white, fortified walls. No one knew what treasures it concealed behind its mountains, beneath its rivers and frozen streams. Already, winter began to tighten its grip.

As for the territories, there had been unrest for as long as she’d been alive. But Apaay wouldn’t let that stop her. She loved Eska more than she feared this demon. “I know he took Eska’s face. That’s enough for me.”

“And if he takes your face, too?” Reaching out, she clutched her daughter’s hand. Apaay felt the calluses from where she held the sewing needle. “Then you’ll never get home.”

A flurry of wings fluttered in her stomach. “I’m not going to let that happen.”

“But—”

“Who is the best hunter in the village?”

Mama looked confused for a moment. “Your father is.”

It wasn’t the answer she had wanted, even though it was true. She brushed off the twinge of hurt. “Who is the second-best hunter?”

“Muktuk.”

All right, so she was not the most effective hunter. But she tried. Even if nothing came of it, she tried.

Pressing her lips together, she tried for a different approach. “Who is the best tracker in the village?”

“Silla is,” Mama answered. “Everyone knows this.”

Stunned, Apaay could only stare at her. Would it have killed her to pretend, even for a moment, that she believed in her daughter? Which made Apaay wonder. Did Mama believe in her? The possibility that she did not made her feel small. “You don’t think I can do it.”

“Is that what you think?” Papa murmured. A touch of coldness threaded through his voice. “What reason would we have to send you out into certain death? Because that’s what you’re doing if you leave. Look at me when I’m speaking to you.”

She lifted her chin, cheeks dark with shame. As always, Papa had a way of commanding attention. The lamplight drew out the red undertones of his skin, a color that reminded Apaay of deep autumn, whereas her skin more closely resembled the golden stalks of summer rushes. A ripple of darkness glided over Papa’s shoulders, spreading out to cover his knees. Apaay had always loved his hair, the streaks of gray having recently grown in. Small feathers or bits of bone hung from the ends of a few thin braids—goals he had accomplished, significant events in his life. She could not speak for the whole of her people, but for the Analak situated along the eastern coast, hair was deeply personal—a part of their identity. It was never shorn.

“It’s a selfish decision,” he said. “The only person you’re helping is that demon.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Apaay snapped. “Watch Eska waste away? He’ll come back, and then whose face will he take? Whose life will he ruin next?”

Mama said, “I want you here, where you’re safe.”

“No one is safe. Don’t you see?” She flung out her arms in frustration. “It won’t stop. Eventually, he’ll return.” As he did every few months. The last attack had left an entire family faceless. The youngest had killed herself. The father had followed not long after.

“I’ll make a search party.” Papa’s gruff voice. “I’ll gather a few men, and I will go after the demon. You and your mother will stay here—”

I. Not we.

“You’re joking, right?” She stabbed her finger toward his splint. “Your leg is broken.”

“It’s been feeling better lately.”

“Naattaluk.” The fire in Apaay’s voice petered out. She didn’t know what hurt more: the lies, or how he did such a poor job of them. “I know you don’t think so, but I’m strong. I’m smart.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“So then why? If this were Silla, you wouldn’t tell him no. You’d encourage it. But he’s not the only one who knows the land. I have good instincts. I’m just as capable of fending for—”

“Because you’re our daughter!” he roared, red in the face. His rough breaths filled the enclosed space. “You’re our daughter, and right now, you’re the only one we have left.”

There was only emotion. Bright, painful emotion. Eska was right there, wide awake. One daughter left? She should slap Papa for saying something so hurtful.

“Is this how we deserve to live?” Her voice rose, cracked. She lowered it again. “In fear of a demon?” She would not accept it. Apaay had turned this notion over and over, wanting to perceive things differently, but there was no gray she could see. The Face Stealer had hurt her family, so he must pay.

“You don’t have to do this,” Mama managed in an unsteady tone. “We’ll find another way.”

How? she wanted to ask. Tell me how and I will do it.

Something was swelling inside her, battering its fists against her body, demanding to be released. Truth was a searing white light, illuminating the dark place where Apaay had suppressed her yearning for so many years. For the first time, she saw it clearly.

Eska needed this, but Apaay needed it more. She needed it much, much more. Because beneath the searing white light, Apaay knew that had the situation been switched—had the Face Stealer stolen her face, plunged her into a lonely dark world—no one would come for her. No one would scale mountains or cross the inhospitable tundra to find her again.

She tried not to feel sorry for herself. The truth did not have to hurt if she didn’t want it to. It was nothing she did not already know. But deep down, it ate at her. And the only thing keeping her together was this: if she succeeded at this task, maybe people would look at her differently. Maybe they would see her as someone worthy.

And maybe she would see herself as worthy, too.

Mama’s grief leaked into the open. “If you go after him, you’ll die.”

Apaay wanted to reach out, stroke a finger down her mother’s fraught nerves. She couldn’t blame Mama. One daughter was already gone, but to potentially lose the second as well? Of course she would want Apaay to stay. “If I don’t,” she said, “Eska is as good as dead.”

Papa wasn’t able to completely hide his flinch. “You’re not leaving,” he said in a tone that was as flat as it was cold. It sounded like he had withdrawn into himself. “If I have to tie you up, then so be it. But at least I’ll know you’re safe.”

Apaay glanced at Eska again. Her little sister, barely fourteen, banished to darkness. No one would help her. Fear had wrapped her family in its smothering embrace, and there was no air for them to breathe. This was a road with no beginning and no end, and Apaay could not walk it any longer. Someone had to forge a new path.

Something had to change.

Dropping her eyes, Apaay nodded. “All right, Papa.” Already, the beginnings of a plan began to form. Whether they approved of her decision or not, she was leaving. They would not notice her absence until she was far from home. “I won’t leave. I promise.” Apaay had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from spilling the truth. In her heart, she knew this was the right thing to do. “But I’d like to speak to Eska alone.”

After Mama and Papa left, Apaay shifted closer to her sister, but did not reach for her. It felt as if a gulf lay between them, and there was no ice in which to cross. The light had dimmed. Soon the flame would extinguish, allowing darkness to swoop in.

Apaay murmured, “I know you’re not asleep. You always were the eavesdropper, after all.”

Eska breathed deeply and evenly, unresponsive. The silence crackled. Apaay pressed her lips together and fought the rise of tears. Enough of the cowardice. Enough of the games. She couldn’t avoid this any longer.

“I’m sorry, naajatikaaq. I am so, so sorry.” There, in the heart of their light-drenched home, Apaay felt the first stirrings of deep, abysmal fear. Fear that Eska would not forgive her. Fear that this might be the last time they would see one another. Fear that what Apaay had done would rot the leaves and roots of this beautiful flower that was their relationship. Above everything else, it was the last thing Apaay feared most: that they would not be able to start anew. “I know Mama and Papa don’t think I can do it, but I’m going to get your face back, and when I do, I’m going to kill the Face Stealer.” The words were thick, yet steely with the determination that had always lain within her. “And then he’ll never be able to hurt anyone else again.”

A soft touch against Eska’s cheek. Apaay said, as gently as she could, “I will carry your heart in my heart.” Because that’s all she could offer, and now it was time to leave.

After kissing her sister on the back of her head, Apaay gathered her pack and began to crawl through the tunnel leading outside when a hand wrapped around her ankle, the grip fierce. She turned as Eska threw her arms around her neck, clinging hard. Her little sister shook in silent grief, and Apaay’s stomach twisted with such helplessness that she vowed to make the Face Stealer pay. Whatever it took, however it took, she would do it. He would regret ever hurting her family.

Drawing back, Eska interlaced her fingers—the sign for togetherness—before lifting her clasped hands to her chest.

I will carry your heart in my heart.

Apaay caught Eska’s left hand. Pressed their palms together, two halves never to be parted, even in distance, even in death. Her heart swelled, the touch seeping into her skin.

As will I.

← →

Apaay did not say goodbye. It was easier this way. Mama and Papa would not understand her reasons for leaving, and she didn’t expect them to. After all, Mama was an only child. Papa, too. They had raised their daughters to love one another and fight, always, to keep the other safe. But they did not know what it was to have half of yourself ripped away. And so they did not know that Apaay carried the guilt and the agony and the shame with her as she strode quickly north, finally breaching the village’s outer ring. Frozen seal and whale meat, along with a few tools, filled the pack weighing down her shoulder, a spear slung across her back. She climbed the first hill and had nearly topped the second when a sharp bark sounded.

Apaay slowed to a halt, turned.

Nakaluq was sprinting after her.

The sight nearly brought her to her knees. She should have known she could not slip silently into the night. Apaay could no more separate herself from Nakaluq than she could from her shadow. There was no such thing as him and her, apart. There was only them, together.

He stopped right in front of her so there was no space between them. He looked at her, and his eyes glowed with love. She looked at him, and was home.

Thinking they were going on an adventure, he yipped and bounded in circles around her, snow flying around his legs. Play with me, he said, and her heart tugged in longing.

Reaching over, she snagged him around the scruff of his neck. “Sit.”

He sat.

Apaay did not look at him as she whispered, “Stay.”

As much as she loved Nakaluq, she would not risk endangering him out on the tundra. He was a good boy who would not disobey her orders. This she knew.

His whines ratcheted higher, then dissolved into barking as Apaay topped the hill and descended out of sight.

She promised herself she would not look back.

← 4 →

This was what Apaay knew:

Wind.

Ice.

White nothingness.

The days unspooled, no beginning and no end. A ceiling of curved slate broken by constellations was her only guide as the first week came and went, and the second, and the third. Time passed in subtle shades of darkness.

Lifting her legs up high, she brought them down to punch through the thin crust. The cold was a ferocious beast, sliding through the small openings in her furs to rake its claws over any exposed flesh. Apaay ducked her head, concentrating only on the next step, never mind that she had long ago lost count. The North would never be soft or soothing. It was a land carved by wind. If it knew anything less than cruelty, it could not endure. The swiftest, the fittest, the bravest, the most feared. Only those who demonstrated such traits survived, which was why the Analak had endured, and continued to endure, the brutality, the lack of warmth and green. Others were weak, but her people were strong.

She wished things had turned out differently. There was not an emotion she did not feel. The shred of bitter regret, that razor’s edge of anger, self-loathing, guilt. Apaay knew she did not have the right to complain. It was Eska who could not laugh or cry or look into the eyes of her family. Eska, who knew only darkness. Losing her sister to the Face Stealer was an agony she could not articulate. It drove her legs forward, through snow and wind and ice. If she failed this mission, there would never again be laughter in their home, or life, because Apaay could not bear to live in a world that Eska was not a part of.

The wind blew from the east, carrying hints of an approaching storm. She trekked across open tundra: a vast sweep of white, the occasional stone or lichen patch. The sea had long since disappeared. To the west lay the Atakana, the single great mountain range of the North, cleaving through the Central and Western Territories. Gray mist cloaked its jagged peaks.

There were five designated territories in the North, and Apaay’s people were the only ones not bound to their borders. The Unua, a group of skin-changing races that lay scattered in various nations, had long ago designated which land belonged to whom. Polar bear Unua to the south. Caribou Unua to the north. Seal Unua to the east. Wolf Unua to the west. And owl Unua to the land’s center. They kept within their borders, kept within their walls.

It was a shame, really. Apaay did not see the land as something to divide and distribute. She saw it as something whole.

And so it went. Another hour passed, then two. Apaay scanned the land constantly, searching for movement against the snow, which glowed silver in the pale light of the moon. The Face Stealer regularly stalked these lands, but she was not worried about succumbing to the same fate as Eska. Whenever he paid someone’s village a visit, he didn’t linger. He would take his prize and return to where he dwelled: north. Far, far away from here.

So far, she hadn’t experienced anything unusual. It was more of a feeling. A subtle shift to her senses. Frowning, she slowed and glanced over her shoulder. The surrounding dim cast the world in violets and blues and grays. Her awareness of the environment expanded, bumps rolling over her body as blood pumped furiously at her temples. She strained her ears in the lull between gusts—there.

Someone was following her.

Snow crunched and cracked underfoot. Whoever followed her was perhaps a quarter-mile behind, their tread light and agile, so unlike her own, burdened by layers of cloth, the weight of food and weapons on her back. She didn’t want them to know she was aware of their presence. It was one of the first rules she’d learned as a hunter, and one of the few she hadn’t forgotten.

The snow liquified into slush as she descended into a broad valley, and the top layer could no longer hold her weight. Apaay broke through, sinking in up to her knees.

Unslinging her spear from across her back, she used its tip to cut a path through the white mass. Here was exhaustion, and here was pain. It was only the third week, the third week out of many. A small voice slithered through her mind, taunting and breaking down those walls she’d built.

How weak she was, how alone.

How her plan was full of holes, and this failure would prove what everyone already knew: Apaay did not have what it took to see a job through.

“Don’t do it,” she muttered. “Don’t listen to them.” She would not go down that path. She refused. “They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

After reaching a rock-strewn area, Apaay ducked behind a boulder, back pressed against its curve, the spear gripped in her hands. The storm must have been traveling more quickly than she first thought, as snow began to fall fast and hard. Whoever followed her was close, but it didn’t sound at all like boots.

A head poked out from the behind the rock, and there he was. Apaay looked at him in shock. “Nakaluq.” The word was soft and pained.

His joy unfurled, and Apaay marveled at how it never failed to catch her unaware—that simple happiness of being with one you loved.

Nakaluq planted his paws on her shoulders and bathed her face in warm, wet kisses. He whined and nuzzled her neck before switching back to kisses, his backside wiggling back and forth as he tried to climb into her lap, all eighty pounds of bulked muscle mass. Her chin wobbled as she tucked her face into his fur, murmuring, “My sweet, sweet boy. Why didn’t you stay home? Why would you come?” So brave, so resourceful. He could not know what awaited them out here.

Pulling away, Nakaluq yipped and bounded off. He lowered his front legs in the signal for play, shot upward, and promptly fell through a mound of snow. Apaay snorted when, a moment later, his dusted head popped up like a flower in spring, tongue lolling happily.

She could not quite help herself. After weeks in isolation, here was family, here was love. Shedding her supplies, Apaay crowed and hurtled toward him. He dashed away, a streak of silver, daring her to give chase.

Heavy, breathless laughter ensued as Apaay attempted to tackle him, an impossible task in the soft, new-fallen snow. Nakaluq raced around and around, tireless, his lighter weight enabling him to prance across the surface while she sank up to her hips, stuck. When Apaay snatched at him, he slipped away. She called him back, and he came.

“All right!” Apaay said, giggling as he rolled onto his back beside her. “You win. You’re too fast for me.”

Nakaluq licked her cheek before sitting half on her chest. His panting breath burst forth in white clouds.

Apaay allowed herself to rest for a few minutes before struggling to her feet and brushing the slush from her legs. She checked his pads. His gait was healthy to all appearances save his left hind leg. He must have sprained something on the journey. Under any other circumstances, she would make camp, for the storm’s brute force would soon be upon them. But she was afraid of losing more time. Eska needed her.

Hunched against the force of wind, Apaay forged ahead, using her body to shield Nakaluq from the worst of it. The sliver of moon, a delicately carved shard that balanced on the tip of one of the mountain peaks, appeared to wobble as the wind gusted harder, doing all it could to blow the light off its precarious throne. This was a merciless land. People who were not born from its unyielding womb tended to forget. Oh, but not her. Every time the wind smacked her in the face, it was reminding her to wake up, don’t forget, don’t ever forget what I can do.

“Nakaluq.” She reached down, reassured when his snout touched her palm. “Keep up.” The snow was coming down thicker, pouring onto them. She didn’t want to lose him.

In her lifetime, Apaay had only ever seen three foreigners: men from Across the Sea who knew not how to survive the tundra, who came from a place untouched by cold. They had worn strange clothing, their furs not white or gray or brown, but black or sometimes red. Their skin had been oddly pale, like the moon, their hair in shades of gold. She almost hadn’t believed it.

Two years had since passed, but she still remembered crouching next to Papa, studying them from afar as they felled the trees and raised them into dead wooden walls.
“Naattaluk, who are those men?”

“I don’t know,” he muttered, gaze narrowed.

It was clear they did not belong.

The men spent hours constructing a dwelling of severe angles, the wood rigid and utterly inflexible. It was not enough. The cruel, bone-dry wind would slip through the cracks. Frost would invade and splinter the wood. The square structure would do little to retain body heat, warmth. These were things her people had known for a long time.

That night, a blizzard had blown in. It was sudden. Apaay remembered because it was the day Eska had begun her monthly bleeding, taking those first uncertain steps toward womanhood. It was the harshest storm to have hit in years.

The next morning, Papa and a few hunters left the village to investigate and returned shortly afterward, their faces grave. The men, he’d said, had frozen to death.

The storm had lifted shortly thereafter.

These harsh winds rivaled those of that storm. Drawing her hood tighter around her head, Apaay pushed through the white wall. She could no longer feel her face. The next gust rammed her to the side, and she tumbled into a heap. Immediately, Nakaluq was there, whining at her to rise, keep moving, don’t stop.

A few attempts of unattractive flopping later, she managed to right herself. Eska, no doubt, would have laughed. Like a seal on land, she’d say. Probably wrestling would ensue. Apaay never missed an opportunity to remind Eska she could happily sit on her sister’s head all day if it meant she got to eat the seal’s eye for dinner that night.

Tugging on her mitten, Nakaluq led her back to the path, acting as her eyes where the snow blinded her. She huffed and puffed like an old woman. How long had she been out in the elements, pushing forward, not even stopping to rest? It must have been hours. Her joints throbbed with cold, and her muscles grew stiff with fatigue.

Glancing behind her, Apaay scanned the area for a place to make camp for the night, then stopped. Her slow, drowsy pulse began to beat with increasing urgency. “Nakaluq?”

He had disappeared.

Apaay’s mind blanked. She walked back the way she’d come, calling Nakaluq’s name, snow deadening the sound. The path she’d created was slowly filling in, and any indication of the direction they’d traveled had vanished.

The snow was now as high as her hips. Fumbling to remove a mitten from her shaking hands, she shoved two fingers into her mouth. The whistle carried far and wide, as pure as a gull’s cry. Apaay lifted her legs to shake free the soft ice encasing her.

From her right, a high, muffled whine.

Apaay charged blindly forward, the air ringing with the sound of her voice—bitten by cold, shredded by fear. Her spear banged against the back of her thighs as she slogged uphill. “Nakaluq!” The storm was too strong. Sweat soaked through the layers of cloth, chilling her skin. The cold burned.

Apaay slowed. White swirled around her. The condensation around her nostrils had frozen, and there was, quite literally, nothing to see. White, shades of gray. An absence of life.

Except for a shadow on the fringe of her vision, slinking through.

It was not Nakaluq. Her dog did not slink. His shoulders weren’t as bulky, his chest as deep. He was small, whereas this shadow . . . this shadow was so very large.

Hands shaking, she reached behind and fumbled for her spear. Pins and needles bit at her fingers, tunneling through her wrists and palms. The shadow slipped closer, circling and circling, not at all concerned with the storm, considering she was a meal standing still. It was huge and long of leg, with an elegant head and a full, bushy tail.

She could count on one hand the number of times a wolf had attacked her people. Wolves were sacred to the Analak. They represented the heart of what it meant to be free.

“Come on,” she spat, baring her teeth. “Show yourself!”

It stopped beyond throwing distance of her spear, though in this weather she wouldn’t risk losing her only weapon. The wolf watched her, as if waiting for her to die all on her own.

Well, it was going to have a long wait, Apaay thought darkly, because she hadn’t traveled this far to die willingly.

Lifting the spear higher, Apaay wedged her body through the hard ice. She was nearly close enough to drive it through the wolf’s throat when she faltered. Blinked in confusion. Not a shadow. Not even a living thing, but rather stacks of smooth, flat stones.

It wasn’t a wolf. It was a cairn shaped like a wolf.

Apaay leaned against the stone structure, trying to tuck herself into the smallest ball possible in order to conserve warmth. Her teeth were chattering so hard she feared she might chip a tooth. Had it been a cairn all along? She swore the wolf had moved.

Apaay pounded her fist against the rock. She couldn’t help it. She did not have supplies to build a fire—no oil or wood—and her seal meat was running dangerously low. But more importantly, she did not have Nakaluq.

With their separation, it was impossible to know whether he was alive. It was likely the storm had taken him. And if it had, if he was buried beneath the ice, she would never find his body.

Another shudder tore through her.

She could not turn back. She would perish long before she ever reached home. And Eska was counting on her, which meant she must move forward.

It was as if all the wolves of the North howled their rage at her, this girl who would not succumb, who would go on, even blind. It only pushed Apaay harder. The Face Stealer had stolen from Eska not just a face, but a life. One she would find and return. It did not belong to him. It never had.

She traveled in a straight line as best as she could, moving in the direction she believed was north. The wolf-shaped cairn fell behind, and then, as if chased away by Apaay’s curses, the snow lifted its heavy burden, trickling off into a mild flurry.

She stood in a pristine land: untouched white hills, the horizon colored by a faint violet hue. The strangest sight, however, was the smattering of evergreen conifers. They did not grow this far north. Nothing did.

Nostrils flaring, she inhaled.

The air was different.

She didn’t know how to explain it. It wasn’t a smell she was used to, or even a smell she’d encountered before. It was sharp like frigid water, with an underlying harshness that reminded her of smoke. It smelled ridiculously like a memory, but no memory she recalled.

Apaay strode forward a few steps before coming to a halt. The land swayed. The snow rippled. The hills shifted and reshaped themselves: higher, lower, flatter, broader. Apaay rubbed her eyes to clear them. When she looked again, the land had stilled.

It must be the exhaustion. Apaay slept very little, for that was time she could not get back. Every minute was precious. Since she didn’t know how long Eska would last in her condition, she couldn’t afford to sleep. Exhaustion, fatigue—yes, that explained the strange shifting sensation.

With a wary glance behind, Apaay continued walking. Eventually, a pile of boulders appeared on her right, one smoothed to resemble a swelling wave. After another twenty minutes, she topped a hill strewn with pebbles. And looked again at a boulder shaped like a wave.

How was this possible? Twenty minutes ago, she’d walked past this same spot. The boulders were arranged in the same formation. There, near her feet, lay the sudden dip in the ground where she’d tripped. Except she had walked in a straight line. She’d made sure of it. Maybe she wasn’t the most experienced tracker, but Apaay had a strong sense of direction. There was no possibility of walking in a circle and returning to this place.

“This is all in your head,” Apaay murmured to herself, even as a feeling prickled at the base of her spine. She whirled around, spear in hand.

The area was deserted.

Apaay knew how the snow and ice could disorient. White and gray, shades of it. Yet she’d lived her entire life cradled between the mountains and the sea. The only reason she’d be disoriented would be because—

Because this was not her land.

The Face Stealer lived in a realm not of her world. A disorienting, in-between place, easy for someone to lose their way. A place in which she must have crossed over in the storm. The only question was this: had she found it all on her own, or had he let her in?

Apaay let loose an unsettling breath when something shifted in her peripheral vision. The world went white as pain exploded through her skull, and she fell into dark eternity.

← 5 →

Apaay awoke in bottomless darkness.

The stench hit her first: damp, urine, and underneath, the sharp scent of blood. It was faint, as if time had done its work to dull it. She didn’t want to think about where it had come from or from whom. The air was close and stale, biting with cold, but not the cold found aboveground, the type that made her feel free. This was a cold that dwelled below.

A few minutes passed in silence. Apaay lay sprawled on her side, chilled stone digging into her hip. The darkness didn’t lift. It curled around her, ran its dark hands down her spine, so lovingly, and yet the slightest movement sent spasms tearing through her shoulders, the muscles locked and wooden, and she nearly bit through her lip in holding back a scream. Her hands had been tied behind her back. Judging from the stiffness, they had been bound for some time, but for how long? Hours? Days? She didn’t remember how she got here. This place—where was this place? She smelled spores festering nearby, stagnant water. Like the slowly decaying earth, which always reminded her of death.

The darkness gripped her. A choked gasp burst free as her head swam. An overwhelming fear that sprung from someone else’s life experience, now her burden to bear. Sometimes she dreamed, a hazy recollection, the images fleeting. Her grandmother—Mama’s mother, whose name-soul she had taken—as a young girl, running and jumping and sliding across the ice. The cracks had been too faint to see.

Run, her mind screamed. Get away. But she couldn’t move, and she couldn’t see. The black cloaked her eyes and made her blind.

Teeth gritted, Apaay braced herself and rolled onto her knees. White heat flared in her shoulder joints, then dulled. She strained her ears. “Hello?” The word ricocheted in the enclosed space, returning softer than before. Wherever she was, the walls were most likely made of stone.

The silence coaxed out her uncertainties and laid them bare, prodded at her fears so they awakened from their slumber, gnashed their vicious teeth. Her thoughts unspooled.

Papa, Mama, Eska. How were they holding up in her absence? Had they sent someone after her, someone to bring her home? They must have known what she’d done as soon as they discovered her pack gone, Eska alone. Maybe now they understood what was truly at stake here. There could not be togetherness when her sister huddled apart. Somehow, she would find a way to bring Eska home. Until Apaay returned, she wished them strength, for they would need it, and each other. Someone in the community would help them hunt or share their food. It was the Analak way.

As for Nakaluq—the storm had taken him. She was sure of it. There was no way he had survived.

Apaay exhaled shakily. In the end, she had not been able to save him. Nakaluq had died alone. Without a proper burial. Without recognition. Without a friend to ease his passing. Without anything.

Apaay had but one small relief: he had not been taken, like her, shoved in this pen to rot. He had died free.

Apaay was about to push to her feet when the floor trembled with faint vibrations.

Someone was coming.

Immediately, she lay back down and closed her eyes. The vibrations lengthened and separated themselves into a steady rhythm. Heavy boots scuffed against the floor lazily. She stored the distinct sound of the tread away for later, along with what direction the footsteps came from. It was likely the only way out.

Red light seared behind her eyelids. A rusted squeal followed, sinking its claws into her mind. Someone halted in front of her, the stench of rotting fish strong, and she was pulled from her shadowy existence by the presence of heat and light.

“Get up.”

Apaay managed to open her eyes without being blinded. Firelight emanated from a torch the man held, its golden hue spilling onto the stones constructing the floor and ceiling and walls. The cell was small enough that she could stretch out her arms—if they weren’t bound, that is—and touch the walls with her fingertips. Rectangular stones had been stacked on top of one another. Like an ice house, yet without the dome. This ceiling was strangely flat.

Apparently, she didn’t move fast enough for his liking, because the man reached down and hauled her to her feet. Apaay cried out in pain.

Shadows cratered the man’s face and wavered along his upper torso. He wore what looked to be rags or strips of cloth, gray and algae-green, though she had never seen such clothing before. His boots were strange and black and narrow, not at all fitting to walk atop the snow. “Who are you?” she demanded.

“Silence.”

A sack descended over her head, guttering her vision.

When the man yanked her from the cramped room, she could do little but stumble behind him as he tugged her down what sounded like a long passageway, as it took longer for the sound of their footsteps to bounce off the walls and return. Apaay’s breath slapped against the thick hide, hot and sticky. She’d never experienced this sensation before. Like there was not enough air or room to breathe.

A moment later, her foot plunged through space where she expected solid ground to be. Apaay didn’t have time to scream before the force of hitting the floor punched into her sore shoulder and rippled throughout her body. Her groan filled the bag. “What was that?”

In answer, the man yanked her upright and shoved her forward.

She tried to keep track of which direction they went, but it was impossible. They made so many turns and backtracks she was certain the man was intentionally trying to confuse her. At least there was no wind down here. The air, which was still far below freezing, warmed by slow degrees as they climbed a set of stairs. Over time, the echo of their footsteps lingered, smudged, and were nearly lost as they stepped into what sounded like a spacious area. The twinge in Apaay’s chest lessened with each step, for the air was freer here.

“Where are we going?” She needed to know. She hated not knowing. The hand on her arm had slackened, but their pace didn’t.

“Quiet.”

“Not until you tell me—”

“If you value your life,” he said, jerking her closer so he could hiss into her ear, “then I suggest you shut your mouth.”

A hot ball of rage seethed in her gut, beating back the chill. She clung to it, this fury, because it was the only thing she could control, and if she didn’t embrace it, the fear would tear apart all sense of reason. First, they took her hands. And now they wanted to take her voice, too?

“There you are,” said a female voice.

They stopped.

The voice had come from straight ahead, bouncing against the wall behind them, the memory of it lingering after the echo had died. It sounded incredibly young, and yet Apaay unconsciously straightened, blinking behind the sack that kept the girl’s face from her. Wondering, too, when she would wake from this nightmare.

“Next time I suggest you try moving a little faster, yes?”

Her nostrils flared as the man’s grip tightened on her arm. A sick rush of panic rooted deep down. Apaay was expected. Whoever waited knew of her capture, the cell, the helplessness of her tied hands. How could someone do this to another person? Unless—was this the Face Stealer? Her entire life she had believed the demon to be male, but then again, no one had ever seen the demon’s face.

“Remove the sack.”

Apaay blinked hard against the influx of blue light. She stood in a fortress carved of ice. The circular chamber, as wide across as her entire village, soared toward a domed ceiling of impossible heights. Icicles as thick as her head clung to its curved apex, their sharp points glinting with beads of water, the dome’s outer band punched through with oval windows where the moonlight draped through high above. The walls were white frost, and so thin they were nearly translucent. Thousands of minute bubbles remained trapped within, patches of stone interspersed.

Five arrow-shaped archways cut into the walls leading to yet more passages, with men standing guard on either side. Five mirrors dominated the space between. They were easily the height of two grown men, the breadth of seven. Four of them reflected the blue and white surfaces of the ice. The fifth was a void, absorbing the light rather than reflecting it.

Her attention flicked to the floors above—four in total. Small, crescent-shaped oil lamps had been tucked into the cavities of the great hall, casting soft light. It was both beautiful and cold, a pretty piece of jewelry she could look at but not touch.

“Bring the prisoner closer. I want to see her.”

In her shocked state, Apaay did not resist as the guard hauled her to the heart of the chamber. Five raised walkways of cut stone led from the passages to converge in the room’s center, like a star, while a narrower path ringed the room. A body of frozen water spanned the entirety of the floor. Polished, like bone, but so delicate. Underneath its frozen layer, dark water churned.

Lifting her chin, she took in the first of two people who graced the massive chairs situated side-by-side atop the dais.

No older than twelve or thirteen, the young girl was nearly swallowed by the stone monstrosity. Fine-boned and refined, with skin a shade warmer than Apaay’s, she considered Apaay with the sleek focus of one who has cornered a hare and now contemplates what to do with it. Her eyes were arresting and quite round. Still black though, like the strands coiled atop her head like a beautiful dark flower. Her clothes were streamlined and elegant, with unusual, shiny fabric cut close to her body in a single-piece body suit and what appeared to be netting draped around her thin shoulders. For the second time in however many minutes, Apaay was again presented with the most absurd choice of clothing she had ever seen. She didn’t know how one stayed warm in those clothes.

The girl’s face pulled into a distasteful expression. It suited her. “She smells of dead animal.”

Apaay bristled and would have returned the insult when her attention slid to the person sitting in the adjacent seat, and she very nearly forgot to breathe.

The man sat in a graceful sprawl that Apaay suspected was in some way deliberate, a single finger tapping against the armrest, leisurely. Apaay was not sure she could look away even if she tried. The eyes like slices of shadow atop his broad cheekbones, a mouth wide and unexpectedly soft, the nose straight and flaring at the tip, the perfect smoothness of his complexion. The long elegance of his form was showcased in the extension of one leg, the other bent at the knee. The tapping paused for a brief moment, the cavernous silence descending, before it resumed, even more slowly than before.

A wrinkle marred his brow as his nostrils flared.

Beneath the concealing fur of her hood, Apaay took the time to study him as she had studied the girl, the cell, that guard, this chamber. Information that would give her some piece of the greater whole of the situation. His hair, braided at the temples, flowed freely down his chest, as if woven from midnight’s very threads. A parka, trousers, and sealskin boots all fit him with impeccable precision.

It was disquieting how contrasted they were—a child and a man in his prime. She could feel the push and pull between them, an unspoken battle of wills. They were like two currents colliding, causing a most dangerous drag out to sea. If this girl was the wind—a shriek of sudden, violent intensity—this man was a mountain: quiet in his observations, waiting and enduring, more powerful because of it.

The girl huffed out an impatient breath. “I want to see the prisoner’s face.”

Apaay stiffened, and a moment later her heavy, fur-lined hood fell away.

The constant tension that had followed Apaay from the cell shifted with startling speed. Her gaze cut to the man’s, and when their eyes locked, something in his face sharpened. His eyes were green, no, they were blue, no, they were deep, unending violet fading into black.

His eyes could change colors.

The girl tilted her head in a thoughtful manner, as if perusing a patch of berries and deciding which one to pluck first. “She’s rather scrawny. Wouldn’t you agree, Numiak?”

He didn’t immediately respond. His gaze lingered on her face. “Indeed.” The deep, resonant voice slid through her blood.

Apaay shivered.

“Pretty hair though,” the girl said grudgingly.

That probing gaze was like fingers scraping through Apaay’s scalp, touching the strands and braids that fell to her waist. She didn’t have the choice of drawing her hood back up, as they had bound her hands so tightly her arms had long ago turned numb.

“Who are you?” The words came low. “Why am I here?”

The girl’s eyebrows shot upward. “Is that any way to speak to a superior?”

Her arrogance was downright insulting. “I don’t serve you, and neither do my people.” Generally, it was frowned upon—and wrong—to generalize or speak for the whole of the group, but this time she made an exception. The Analak, scattered in communities along the coast and further inland, had never served under any ruler or form of government. That was left to the Unua.

“And who are your people?” the girl asked.

People of the snow and ice.

People of the battered sea.

Apaay said, gripping her anger so tightly that fear would not leak through, “The Analak.”

High laughter struck the ice, ringing in coarse condescension. Apaay flinched, her heart giving a sharp heave at how violent was the sound. She hadn’t a clue as to who this girl was. Fear came in not knowing. “I’m already bored, so let’s make this quick. Tell me why you’re here.”

Scowling, Apaay jerked against the guard’s hold. “Is this a joke? You captured me.”

“I’m not the one who trespassed on my land, child.”

Apaay choked on her words. Spit them out. “Perhaps you should take a good look in the mirror. Or am I mistaken in thinking you’re not old enough to begin your monthly bleeding?”

The girl’s expression blazed, and the man next to her looked thoroughly entertained by their verbal sparring. Mouth twitching, he leaned over and rested his fingertips on the girl’s arm, as if anticipating the likelihood that she would barge down the steps with every intention of bashing Apaay’s head into the ground. “Calm yourself, Yuki. I mean, look at her.”

The words dug into Apaay, right beneath her breastbone. Yes, look at her. Look at the tattered girl, so small in this open room. If they wanted to underestimate her, then so be it. It was nothing she hadn’t been subject to before.

The girl—Yuki—swung her legs back and forth over the edge of the seat, as she was not tall enough for her feet to reach the ground. “My patience is running thin, so I’d advise you to answer my question.”

Apaay rolled her shoulders for some relief and glanced around the room to give herself time to think. It was as if the sea had swelled into towers and columns and walls and had frozen there, waiting for spring’s warmth to thaw it. “I was searching for someone.”

“Who?”

Taking a breath, Apaay let it leak through her nose silently. What were the odds of Eska’s face being here? And what were the odds of escaping if it wasn’t? She had no idea where she was. Her family didn’t either. A low hum of warning gave her reason to speak slowly and with great care. “My sister.” It was not entirely true, but Apaay didn’t want to give away too much information before she knew where she stood in this situation.

“Your sister. How interesting.” Her hands, covered in thin ebony gloves, came to rest in her lap. “Why would your sister be this far north? No one lives here except me.”

“She ran away. She thought—” She thought what? “She wanted to see if the rumors were true.” Her voice trailed off in a whisper.

“What rumors?”

“About the in-between.”

“I see.” Her voice was throaty. She stared at Apaay for an uncomfortably long moment before sighing and turning away, brushing a wisp of hair from her face. “I swear, is there not a single decent liar here? Honestly. Searching for your sister.” She snorted.

Apaay set her jaw, eyeing the guard to her immediate left in case he punished her for the lie, but he stood obediently a few yards away. “So maybe my sister didn’t run away.”

“There now, was that so hard? Tell me why you’re really here.”

Apaay girded her stomach as if preparing her body to sustain an extended breath underwater. There were only five exits, and she didn’t know whether they led away from this place or deeper into its heart. “I’m looking for the Face Stealer.”

The glimmer of surprise was quickly masked, savage delight taking its place. “Don’t tell me. He took your face and gave you that hideous one in return.” She smiled as if this was nothing more than banter between friends.

Apaay met the girl’s wicked gaze stonily. “He stole my sister’s face. I have every intention of seeing it returned to me.” She must not show weakness, no matter how her heart cried.

“How tragic. You thought you would find the Face Stealer all on your own? He is a demon, after all.” Her eyes danced in twisted amusement.

How was it possible that only last month she had been hunting out on the ice? How small her worries had been. “If the Face Stealer isn’t here—”

“Oh, I never said he wasn’t here. If you wanted to speak with him, all you had to do was ask.”

As if it were truly that simple. “Where is he?”

The girl looked at the man, so insouciant on his throne, so still.

Then he rose and stepped down from the dais.

← 6 →

He didn’t so much as walk toward her but prowl. Long legs carried him down the steps with little effort, his body moving with impossibly fluid grace. Every step was intentional and precise—heel, toe, soundless. There was not an ounce of uncertainty or embarrassment about him, which was more than she could say for herself. This man was the very definition of sleek, polished power. And he knew it.

He stopped only a few feet away. In a voice of pure midnight rippling along her skin, he said, “Hello.”

That voice—that was a dangerous voice indeed.

Apaay dropped her eyes and fought to settle the nausea currently sloshing through her stomach. Standing within arm’s reach of him in the cavern, she felt the edges of his power feathering against her body. Bravado failed her. Why should he not snatch her face, too? She would not be able to stop it. “You’re the Face Stealer?”

He arched one eyebrow. “Were you expecting someone else?”

An animal. A twisted malformation of grotesqueness. Instead, here was perfection—cold, untouchable beauty. But this was not a man. This was a demon. This was her enemy.

The Face Stealer circled her shivering form, hands clasped behind his back. Apaay lifted her chin. “I’ve come for my sister’s face,” she said when he stopped in front of her, having finished his perusal. Her tongue felt swollen to twice its normal size.

“I see.” He rubbed a palm along his jaw. “Which one was she? I tend to forget what they look like. There are so many, you see.”

“I very much doubt that,” Apaay murmured. Behind him, the young girl watched their exchange keenly. “She’s fourteen years old. Thin eyebrows. A scar on her left temple. One of her top teeth is chipped.” When he didn’t respond, she continued. “She has a small mouth, but her lips are full. Stubborn chin.” And now she could go no further, for the emotion threatened to choke her. “Does that sound familiar at all?” she asked through gritted teeth.

The Face Stealer studied her, one hand on his chin. The ease of his posture reminded her of the wide, slow band of a river, right before the rapids came. “Now that you mention it, the face you described does sound like one I have in my collection.”

Just how many identities, Apaay wondered, had he snatched? How many years’ worth of faces did he have in his possession? She could not pin his age. He was both young and old and unknowable.

Once again, the demon circled her, keeping his distance, though it still felt too close. She took a step back, toward the plane of thin ice. Fear could weaken, or it could make one feel powerful and alive. Eska—she was here for Eska. She grabbed hold of that thought and made it searingly bright in her mind.

“Well?” she snapped when another minute had passed. Water from the icicles above dripped onto her shoulders.

The skin around his eyes crinkled in what may have been amusement. “If you insist.” He presented her his back. “Tell me, does it look like this one?”

He turned, and Apaay screamed and stumbled back. His face was not his face. The bone structure, the iris color, the mouth—it had changed into this monstrous clashing of femininity and masculinity, loveliness and brawn. This face was not Eska’s, and it was not anyone’s she knew, but it had been ripped from a girl all the same. Somewhere out there was someone’s daughter left to a world without color and taste.

His words slid from the girl’s pretty mouth, deep and melodic. “Is this what you were looking for?”

Beneath her furs, Apaay’s chest heaved. “No,” she said, unable to prevent her voice from trembling. “It’s not.”

He shrugged. “Well then.” His features melted back into his own, his irises returning to their grays and blues and browns. “I can’t say for sure I’ve seen it. Then again, I do tend to misplace things.”

He was lying. He had to be. Someone who watched and waited and listened would not overlook, would not forget.

Ignoring the warning hum in her blood, she took a step closer, her hands still bound. The intensity of his focus was near unbearable, but she refused to break eye contact. “I’m not leaving until I get what I came for.”

“Then I imagine you’ll have a long wait,” he said, settling back in his high-backed chair.

“You should know Numiak enjoys playing games,” said the girl with much fondness. “He’s a twisted little thing.”

Numiak. There was a boy in her village named Numiak. Wolf wanderer in her mother tongue. His sister’s face had been snatched the month before. It was nothing short of tragic irony that the demon shared his name. He had killed the girl, having doomed her to isolation. He had killed the father, having driven him to grief.

“What do you do with the faces?” She had to know. “Why do you need them? Why her?” Had Eska been the target all along, or did he simply show up and rip the face from the nearest person in reach?

Before he could respond—not that he would respond—the girl answered for him. “If you have questions or concerns, direct them to me.”

Apaay glanced between them in confusion. The demon, having returned to his languid pose, propped an elbow on the armrest, completely unaffected by the girl’s interruption.

Who, exactly, was in charge here?

“All right,” Apaay said, and focused her attention on his companion.

“That’s better.” Yuki looked pleased. “All right, we’re done here.” She made a shooing motion.

A hand clamped down on Apaay’s arm, shooting a fresh wave of pain through her body. The guard jerked her backward. “Wait.” If they dragged her away, back to that cell of stone, she might never find Eska’s face. Something inside her was thrashing to break free, and it was barreling toward shore with untapped ferocity, this vow, that would not stop until it broke upon the rocks. “Whatever I have to do, I’ll do it!” Pieces of ice crumbled from the ceiling, shattering on the ground near her feet as her scream struck the stalactites above.

The girl lifted her chin with a smile, and Apaay wondered if she had played into her hand. “I’ve changed my mind.” The guard stopped, and Yuki leaned forward eagerly, as if having thought of something clever—or cruel. “Untie her bonds.”

The man did as she asked. The pain that followed was nothing Apaay had ever experienced. It was excruciating. Her muscles, having been locked in the same position for hours upon hours, seized, and Apaay bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood as the inflamed tendons flared with acute agony. Circulation cut-off had been nearly complete. Now the blood surged, through veins and arteries, a furious rush of heat. She screamed as she burned.

Eventually, the fire extinguished. Collapsed on the stone floor, Apaay pressed her cheek against its icy relief.

“So dramatic,” the girl drawled. “Get up. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Apaay wasn’t able to push to her feet, so the guard hauled her upright by her hood. She could not catch her breath, shaky and unbalanced from the lack of empathy in this room.

“Tell me, child. What is your opinion of games?”

Apaay swallowed down her gorge, her gaze flicking between the two occupied chairs. It felt like a trap. “I don’t have an opinion.”

“Come now. You must. Do you enjoy them? Loathe them?” She flashed a mouthful of tiny, pointed teeth. “Tell me.”

The question felt too fragile. Her answer, so heavy in her mouth, would be the stone that cracked the ice.

Growing up, Apaay had played many games: leg wrestle, back push, high kick. These helped her people build agility, endurance, and strength. But as Apaay had entered womanhood, the games had turned toward numbers. How long would she have to wait before she could harpoon a seal, if she harpooned one at all? How many char could she spear in the month of many fish, or caribou? How much seal fat did she need to render so her family would have fuel for their lamp? How quickly could she stitch skins together for a new parka before the long night came?

The games Apaay had played were not games at all. Eat, or be eaten. Survive, or perish.

“I suppose,” Apaay said cautiously, “they aren’t all that bad.”

Crowing a laugh, the girl clapped her hands together. “Numiak, did you hear? She likes games.”

“So I heard,” he murmured, searching Apaay’s expression as if it mattered to him in some way. She did not give any indication it bothered her, though she felt lightheaded from how her heart tried to flee her chest. The less the demon could read her, the better. If she did not showcase weakness, he could not exploit it.

The whiteness of Yuki’s smile about burned Apaay’s vision. “It’s been a long time since I’ve played a game.” She tittered a laugh. “Why, I’d say it’s been close to a hundred years.”

A hundred years?

But the girl could be no older than twelve, thirteen at the oldest. Or at least she looked twelve. And yet the mind, the radiating power, the knowledge that she had every right to rule—those traits belonged to someone much older.

Gesturing around the room, Yuki said to Apaay, “How do you like my home?”

This did not feel like a question as opposed to a riddle born of words and wit. She shifted her stance to relieve the ache worming up her right leg, which she had lain on in the cell.

“It’s beautiful.” And empty. And cruel.

“Yes,” she answered, eyes agleam. “It is. When I came to this land, I had it built to my specifications. It’s a labyrinth, you see. Someplace you can easily get lost in, so don’t try to run. You want to play a game? Then the game is this. Your sister’s face is hidden somewhere in the labyrinth. If you want it back, then you must find it without losing your life first.”

She didn’t know what that meant. Lose her life, as in there would be things in the labyrinth trying to kill her?

The Face Stealer shifted, his expression giving nothing away. Candlelight wreathed his face in shadows so they played upon its hollows. “Yuki. How positively savage of you.” His voice was so mild Apaay expected him to pick at his nails.

She preened under the compliment, and Apaay had the sense he didn’t offer them freely or often. “A reminder of who makes the rules around here.” She offered him a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

As if remembering Apaay’s presence, Yuki turned back to her and said, “It’s not often I offer such an opportunity. Say thank you.”

Yes, perhaps she should thank her. Thank you, she would say, for knocking me unconscious. Thank you for binding my hands, stripping me of all dignity.

Apaay bit back a sneer, silent.

Yuki stood then, slowly. The young girl fell away. In her place stood someone who had never known disrespect or disappointment.

“Since you’re new here, I understand you’re unfamiliar with the way things work, so let me make clear the consequences of disobeying my orders.”

As she drew a hand horizontally across the air, a portion of one of the walls cracked and crumbled, revealing a still, dark form within. “This is what becomes of those who disrespect me, so choose your words, and your actions, wisely.”

The form was a man, and he was frozen solid inside the wall.

Apaay cringed and looked away. Her people believed every living and non-living thing possessed a spirit: bird and tree, rock and sea. But some had the ability to connect with certain material, as Yuki had done with the iced wall. Such people were said to possess a similar spirit within themselves, and that the pull of like affinities—water to water, man to man—allowed the ability to manifest. A girl in her community, whose name-soul came from her father’s most loyal dog, had understood the song of wolves.

Not all who wielded power, however, used it responsibly. Power was temptation. Power was the question: to hurt or heal?

Apaay forced her attention back to the prisoner. The ice had stretched the skin tight over his face, which was partially blackened in places and flaking off. His hands were lifted in front of him as if to block himself from harm. And his eyes: wide open, staring at nothing.

She wondered if he was somehow still alive.

“Take it,” Yuki ordered, a harsh ring of sound on stone.

Apaay did not see the demon move. A blur of skin, and then an opaque veil stole her vision, followed by a ripping sensation along her jaw, similar to the tearing of a seam. Heat and ice clashed. Apaay opened her mouth to scream and found a lack of feeling, blindness, like a star winking out.

Her mind splintered with the realization that she was without a face. Like Eska. Like thousands more. She was confined to a void, and there was nothing beyond it save two voices and the temperature dropping by gradual increments. It was suffocation. It was suffering. Mounting pressure crawled up her neck and face, yet there was no place for release, no eyes with which to cry, or mouth to scream.

What have I done? She hadn’t said goodbye to Mama or Papa. She’d left. Without a word. Without a destination in mind save the in-between.

“This one, I can tell, will be hard to break, but I will delight in doing so.”

“Why break her now?” The demon’s voice. “You haven’t even played with her yet.”

It would have been better, Apaay thought, to die out in the storm with Nakaluq. At least they would have been together.

“Good point.”

Blue light rolled over the darkness, and the crackling in her ears was no longer blood, but choked gasps and hyperventilation, bile pooling in her mouth.

“Still no apology?” the girl asked sweetly.

Apaay’s stomach heaved, and sweat poured down her body in sheets. The Face Stealer had returned to his seat, the slight uplifting of his mouth vaguely pleased. “I apologize.” She swallowed the bile down. No matter how she shook, she wouldn’t let herself collapse. At least not in their presence.

“You didn’t even let me finish explaining the rules.” Yuki plopped back down in her chair with an impressive pout, crossing her arms over her narrow chest. “And the rules are my favorite part.” She flicked a hand in irritation at the inconvenience. “I’m giving you one chance to find what it is you desire. Twelve hours, nothing more. Succeed, and you can have your sister’s face and your freedom. Fail—”

Apaay’s head snapped up. She did not dare look at the wall and the man trapped there, bound to eternal winter.

“And not only will you rot here, but Numiak will go to your village and steal another face.”

Her attention snagged on the Face Stealer. The truth was etched in every exquisite line of his expression, provocative in its dark cruelty. It was not the end. It was the beginning of a tragic path of yet more destruction. Who would come next? Papa? Young Kaya with her fierce nature?

He would take until there was nothing left.

Tears rose, stinging, but she quickly shoved them down. The night is long, but the sun will soon greet you. The proverb was a small comfort. She couldn’t give up. She couldn’t lose control. If she hoped to escape this place, it was what had to be done. “How do I know you’re telling the truth? That Eska’s face is even here?”

In an instant, the demon’s face transformed. Her sister stared back at her. The features she knew so well, attached to a body that was not her own. Indecision rooted Apaay. She hadn’t a weapon. Had nothing but her guilt and regret, and they would not protect her should she charge up the stairs and rip the face from him. In the end, she stayed put. Any sudden movements, and Yuki would no doubt delight in turning her into a block of ice.

The Face Stealer said, to the sound of Yuki’s cackling laugh, “Does this satisfy you?”

Apaay turned away, unsure of whether to break down or howl her fury. Her stomach was a fiery, churning pit. “Yes,” she ground out, staring at the tops of her boots. “I’m satisfied.”

The small reminder of what she had lost was enough to drive a blade through her chest, a fresh wound to remind her now, and every time she forgot, of what was important and why she had bulled through snow and wind and ice. The reason that had driven her here.

There was nothing Apaay would not do for her family.

“One more thing.” Yuki stood, her feet silent as she descended the stairs and waved Apaay over to one of the mirrors. The plain metal frame was cold and severe, much like this girl. “I’m doing you a favor, you see, letting you search for your sister’s face. But as with anything in life, it does not come free.” She lifted a short, slender finger as her attention snapped to the demon. Something wild stirred in the abyss of her pupil-less eyes. It only settled when she refocused on Apaay. “Somewhere inside the mirror is a face I’m looking for as well. You can have your sister’s face, but only if you find the one I want, too. I imagine they’re housed together. There’s a sea you’ll need to cross to get there.”

Apaay blinked at her, thoroughly confused. “Can’t you cross the sea yourself?” After all, Yuki mentioned she’d had the labyrinth built to her specifications. If that were so, she should be able to navigate it.

“If I could, do you think I would be asking someone as weak and pitiful as you to complete this task?” she snapped, voice shrill. Ice splintered somewhere in the cavernous space. “Now go, before I change my mind.”

In the mirror’s reflection, Apaay met the Face Stealer’s gaze. Any earlier emotion had been replaced by a cold exterior. Shuttered, unfathomable, telling her nothing of who he was or how he perceived any of this.

It was the last thing she saw before stepping through.