by Namita Singh
unfortunate countries. It oddly makes me respect the low temperatures that we are gifted with.
I never, once in my life, thought that I will come to despise the same coldness. Or maybe that is because my body has not tolerated such insulting temperature for long periods. It’s not that Liepāja has not greeted us with torturous temperatures. Temperatures of up to minus five are common; and on certain occasions I have even faced temperatures of up to minus fifteen degrees. But those are never long lasting; not lasting through the season; hell, not lasting through the day most of the times. So, imagine my predicament at the moment, with my feet tucked inside warm boots, probably made of reindeer wool, my body wrapped in the jacket of the same material, my hands shoved inside woolen gloves and a thick muffler wrapped around my neck. I have never had to wear such heavy winter clothes through my life in Liepāja.
I am so glad that our immune system is enough strong. I will not at all enjoy a red, puffy, blocked nose. The chillness due to the almost minus thirty degrees here is enough to cause me severe discomfort.
“Do you have any idea how far we have to run from here?” Aakir asks, as we pause our running to take a breather.Aakir is looking at ease in plain jacket and soft, cotton gloves.
I do not know why he is even enquiring about how far we have to run in the cold. It’s not like he is actually running, neither the cold is bothering him. In fact, nothing can bother him as of now. Mikhail insisted that Aakir start his journey in his astral form itself, as none of us are sure if we will find an enough safe place for Aakir to take a nap while he goes off onto his rescue mission in his astral form. So, Aakir’s body is still back at the head colony of the Ninth Realm, peacefully resting on my grandmother, Erisna’s bed. The elders gladly took the responsibility of keeping eye on Aakir’s body.
Aakir has been skittish, his multi colored eerie eyes swimming with apprehension, since he left his body behind in the hands of two sixty years old. But at least he cannot feel the disdainful coldness. And the only cost is his body in the hands of two sixty years old people, and a small talon out of his astral arm, tucked away in his glove, away from the sight, so he is seeable and touchable to us.
“I have no idea.” Father grunts out, his breath forming white puffs of smoke in the darkness around. He tugs his jacket closer to himself, not being immune to the cold like Aakir’s astral body. He raises the torch in his hand, shedding light far up on the slope way. The light rays diverge, illuminating vague, indiscernible foot route that leads to the higher side of the inclining slope we are at. I am not even sure we are on the right path. Snow is everything that I see in every direction. Father is relying on the faded foot prints that are left in the snow, hoping to find the next village settlement. The light from the torch fades away at the distance, until I can see nothing but darkness, and slight reflectance of the white snow.
Father grunts, “Come on.” He says, increasing his pace and climbing the snowy slope.
At Dudinka, the last city in the north of Krasnoyarsk Krai, I had been hopeful. The city lies in the Taymyr, though near the southern border. The view of familiar tall buildings and proper roads raised my expectations of what I should expect from my excursion. It was a refreshing change from the constant water and trees, which was all I could see for the last ten days even though our journey in the cruising ship was much, much comfortable than our present state. Even Dudinka city, though a very small and dingy city, had some decent perks to offer. But apparently, that was the last stop of comfort for us.
With much difficulty, we had hitch hiked. Once out of city, I came to know exactly why the mode of transport is not well developed in the north. The climate steadily worsened as we moved upwards. The extreme clime and the snowy slopes, as the mountains and woods came by, will persuade anyone to leave the god forsaken place and reside in the south.
It has also pointed out why there is no availability of network. In my haste, I forgot to bring my phone charger with myself. But considering the network-less environment, I don’t feel much compunction over that. I am almost certain it’s impossible for anyone to live in such environment. Yet, our late afternoon gifted us with the sight of a village of Enets.
Apparently, Samoyeds people are further divided into sub classes. The Enets were enough friendly, letting us know upon enquiry, that it is the Nganasans sub class of Samoyeds we are looking for. We hadn’t paused for rest and continued to trek along the slopes. When the regions become absolutely secluded, we opted to transform into full animals; an improvised snow leopard. We took off in full speed, our trek bags fastened to our animal forms. Aakir needn’t transform of course. He can teleport his astral form at will.
When we reached the settlement of the Nenets, we had transformed back into our human forms and clothed ourselves, before approaching the village. After inquiry and without rest, we had taken off again. But now the darkness was heavy, and the cold heavier. The cold became uncomfortable for even our snow leopard form. So, we quit our animals and now are shivering with mufflers tightly wrapped around us. Running helps in building up the heat, but still. I just wish to the triple goddess that the next settlement is of the Nganasans. We have travelled unimaginable distance through the day, mostly thanks to the secluded miles covered by our animal forms in the blink of an eye. And though we are being fast on foot too it is nearly not as fast as a leopard would be on this kind of permanent snow.
The next village, or a sort of village, since there must be all of ten homes, comes on our way, but this time father doesn’t pause to raise inquisitions. It is night time anyways, past midnight. I do not even expect anyone to be awake. Or if someone is awake, then he must be on night watch and I have no inclination to get caught by a rabid tribal person. On the plus side, we are already aware of the direction we are supposed to head to, thanks to the millions of questions that father asked the previous villagers. We run on, skipping through the periphery of the settlement.
We encounter two more villages through the night and at both father doesn’t bother to stop. What makes father stop next is a lone tent in the middle of a valley, with snow piling around it. It isn’t exactly the sight of the tent being out here in the middle of nowhere that makes him stop. It’s the three therian auras that we sense, radiating from the inside of the tent. Since they are therians, I expect them to sense us too. Well, at least sense father and I. But considering it’s only nearing five am in the morning, which in this region is actually equivalent to two am elsewhere, I safely assume that the residents of the tents are deeply asleep.
Father simply stands, gazing at the tent. My impatience gets the best of me as I move forward, in sight of father to give him an inquisitive look. Father gives me a placating glance and gestures for me to stand for some time. So we stand in silence. Five minutes turn to twenty as I shiver while walking tiny steps around the same small invisible loop that I have formed in the snow. By now, even Aakir’s patience waves down and he starts giving not so subtle looks towards my father, who stands motionless, staring at the tent. But this time Aakir doesn’t have to put up a display of his impatience. We sense the movement of one of the therian auras inside the tent, indicating that one of them is up and about. We hear the slight Russian whispers that move about the inside of the tent and soon, the therian is walking towards the outside. Aakir and I brace ourselves behind father, waiting for the therian to move out.
The therian, a pudgy tribal man, throws aside the flap of his tent to move out. I hardly get a look of his shocked face before he is moving inside, covering the flap back. I motion to move after him, but father raises his hand, asking me to be patient yet again. We hear urgent whispers in Russian language from the inside.
Aakir and I are not really that fluent in Russian, since we have always found ourselves encountering Lettish and English the most in Latvia. But we are of Russian descent, so it’s probably expected of us to be fluent in the language. I know for certain that we cannot hold up a conversation in Russian; that is one of the main reasons why most peop
le in the Realm converse with us in English; but we can certainly understand the bits and pieces of Russian spoken by others.
And right now I can distinctly make out the Russian words spoken by the alarmed therian inside the tent. He is waking his comrades, telling them of rogues standing outside. Apparently, his nonchalance before catching our sight was because he blindly believed the therian auras outside his tent to belong to some of his comrades of their village. So, there is a village nearby and with therians. I almost sigh loudly with relief.
I am snapped out of my reverie as the same therian moves outside his tent, this time with a spear in his hand. A woman, as pudgy as the man, walks out behind him, looking as guarded as the man with something looking like a dagger in her hand. The third therian aura is still inside and I get a gut feeling telling me that this tent comprises of a family of three. And the parents, bravely sticking to an antagonistic stance, are looking terrified as of now.
I feel equally terrified. Not because the man holds a spear, but because the therians look extremely orthodox, even in their tribal world. The man is wearing a thick, furry cloth, probably