The Stag Gem: Part 1 Chapter 4

Barbeau Peak (81° 56' N, 75° 00' W) Ellesmere Island, Nunavut, Canada

Tonight I buried my father. 

I believe he waited to pass on into the spirit world at this time; when the moon danced with the Aksarnerk.  They are at their brightest and most active.  It is at this time he told me the bridge from Nutjuitok, The Polar Star, can be seen by those who can see, and walked upon by those who know the way. 

It was here at the steps of this bridge that father told me the Nutjuitokmiut left me as an omen and guardian to my father’s village; The Tuktumiut; The People of the Caribou.  I buried him in the same place he found me as a child.

When he took me in from the frigid winds and called me son, he was forced out of his family.  The rest feared my monstrous appearance, although I was brought to this land of ice and grass as a protector to them.

Now that I am alone, I can feel The Spirits of Wind, Ice, and Sky near to me.  They tell the deformity that created the terror and anger my father sheltered me from for so many years are gifts they have given me.  These gifts are features and antlers of the Tuktu; the strength and patience of the glaciers; and the fear and speed of the artic wind.  Curses others called them, but my fathers, both dead and eternal told me that they will provide me with purpose.

A messenger from The Nutjuitokmiut came to me from the lights of the Aksarnerk.  He wore a tattered and ancient robe, standing at a great height.  His face was covered in light and he spoke to me without words, but his message was clear. 

My father taught me the ways of his people with that I learned the language of man.  I must know that I am born from three worlds and will never truly be accepted by any.  I am animal, human, and spirit.

Now the Spirits of Wind, Ice, and Sky have charged me to seek out and regain an ancient and powerful stone that is sacred to all three of these worlds.  A stone they formed and gave birth to.  A kamanartulliwok, a work of marvel.

The messenger told me the name I have been granted by the people who have only heard stories and whispers of me over the years.  They call me the vengeance of the natural world, terror in a primordial form, retribution of the ancient spirits; they call me the Caribou Man.