Spirits in the Sky

• Short story

								
“Spirits in the Sky”

	Lost. A word that portrayed the state of my soul as well as the position of my corporeal being. I’d been lost in a forest of memories and dreams since the day that I truly believed my heart had been stolen from me. And now, like some twisted jest, I found myself lost in a physical forest, surrounded by sentinels clad in prickly, green-and-white cloaks.
	The question of what events drew me to that situation was one that I cannot easily answer since I had quite enthusiastically pushed these memories from my mind, a grave effort to preserve its relatively intact state. Therefore, I will neglect those events, whatever they might be, since they are not vital in part to the story to follow.
	Despite my exact location being especially unidentifiable, the orientation of my being was not so unrecognizable. The direction in which I had been wandering was very noticeably set at a sharply acute incline. Along with that, I could distinguish the weather as brisk and cold; however, such did not phase me as much as it would others. This fact was, in my personal belief to some extent, an effect of my having descended from the Inuit tribes that have long occupied Alaska’s snowy frontier. And just maybe the parka that shielded my body. However, there remained a singular aspect of that scene that nagged untiringly at my conscience and heart, the light filtering through the tightly knit webbing of the canopy of pine trees was slowly shifting from dark orange to nighttime black. Not only is it a bad idea for someone to be out at night, but with the coming of nightfall comes a harsh crescendo in the ferocity of the weather. As I wandered onward and the sun set lower, and at length this inherent knowledge was proven correct beyond the shadow of a doubt. The once relatively bearable chill of the surrounding atmosphere swiftly intensified to a blisteringly, bone-chilling degree. A degree of such strength that I feared that my very blood itself would freeze within my veins. I wondered, quite macabrely, what would happen if my blood were to, in fact, freeze. Would I be rendered immobile, unable to contract my muscles, or would my brain and heart cease to function first? This admittedly is a morbid thought and so I will not dwell on it, much like I didn’t dwell on it at the moment.
	In fact, these contemplations had come to my conscience during a moment when a dreary hopelessness threatened to overthrow my optimistic common sense. I had been set with my back placed squarely on the slightly prickly bark of a tree with frostbite lurking closer and closer to my numb fingers, nose, ears, and toes. However, these ignorant quarries of giving up were laid within their graves by a simple prayer asking Anguta to neglect my soul as I had personally determined that it is not my time. Furthermore, with a newly born sense of perseverance, I thrust myself off of the tree and resumed my trek. Despite my many numb appendages, I managed to travel quite a good distance. Presently, it was obvious, despite the overhead canopy, that it was officially nighttime. What time of night however was unappearant.
	I persisted upon my aimless wandering at first with an exuberant sense of hope and passion, though it soon began to waiver as I pressed on further and further. And the slope seemed to have risen higher and higher.
	My hopeful soul waned and had nearly diminished in whole when I observed the encircling trees had begun to gradually disperse. My hope promptly being replenished, I increased my pace, even though the snow still annoyingly diluted a portion of my effort. I jogged forward weaving carefully amongst the trees, my heart becoming overloaded with a drowning and extensively pleasureful exhilaration.
	My excitement reached its pinnacle the moment I broke from the trees and promptly skidded to a halt. In the quickest instant, which I have ever experienced, any positive emotion that permeated my body gushed out of me like water from a sponge. The sight that met my eyes portrayed a persona of absolute, magnificent beauty and utterly macabre and inescapable damnation. Before me crested the peak of a mountain, albeit a small one, headed by an almost inappropriately exquisite tapestry of rippling and twisting green-and-purple velvet ribbons dancing across the sky, Silap Inua’s vast domain. Accompanying these ribbons was the moon, known to us Inuit as Aningaat, hanging neatly in the night sky.
	My knees buckled, as though whatever stiff bindings that had been keeping them straight were snipped, and I dropped, my knees stabbing into the snow. I stared blankly at the unsuitably dazzling sky. Behind the slightly see-through, almost crystal-like, skyfaring streamers glittered a quaint spattering of stars.
	My sanity wavered close to its breaking point when suddenly a bizarrely distinct detail drew my attention. Above me shone a pair of exceptionally luminous stars. The pair of stars appeared to supernaturally resemble eyes. Eyes that gazed down through the colorful ribbons twisting and writhing through the sky.
	He was watching me. Aningaat was watching me! No doubt was he even grinning with a twisted smirk as if he knew! Yes. Oh yes, he knew, he knew I was destined to die and that Anguta was no doubt nearby ready to claim my soul!
	I couldn’t take it anymore! Any semblance of hope or sanity that once called my mind home had been completely and utterly evicted! My chilled lips parted in an erupting scream that would have frightened the strongest soul!
	My visage burrowed itself into my icy cold palms as I doubled over in a position like that of an aggressive cat. I’m not ashamed to say that I wept at that moment. It was hopeless and entirely too much, even for someone of my mental strength. I cried, my tears gradually forming small pellets of ice on my cheeks, for no doubt longer than even I am sufficiently aware.
	Suddenly, there came a low, hard grunt from behind me, sparking my heart into quickening as I was startled like a fawn from the slightest danger and I scrambled back away from the source of the grunt. At once I ventured to observe the source of my great frenzy, and my eyes met a pair of brown ones. The aforementioned eyes were framed by long, thick, brown hair. It was a musk ox. This knowledge promptly made me wary of making the slightest movement as muskoxen can be temperamental at times. However, after a brief inspection one aspect of the ox struck me as odd; opposed to being timid the musk ox confidently paced over to me, as if it knew me, and sniffed my face with breath that though rank in scent was still satisfyingly warm. I was forced to stare into the ox’s eyes and every muscle in my body tensed, but at length, a strange sensation came over my being and my muscles loosened. This sensation was overwhelming albeit not bad. In fact, it was comforting; like the sensation of a soul that I had not experienced in some time. It was a soul-bonding sensation as if I were somehow connected to this creature.

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