Storytelling for Week 9: The Seal-Boy

The Seal-Boy

The seal-boy we called him.

We first saw him just off the coast of the land we were heading towards. Clad in the mottled skin of a seal, he plunged into the water and did not rise up for a long time. Fearing the boy had drowned, we paddled to the place where he fell, but as soon as we got there, the boy suddenly emerged from the water in front of my kayak.

An impish grin lit up the boy’s smooth face, and his dark eyes danced with pleasure at the bit of mischief he had played on us.

“He’s over here!” I called from my position at the rear of the kayak fleet. Looking at the young rogue’s face, I couldn’t help but chuckle, and for the moment I forgot the unpleasant task that awaited our group when we came ashore.

Suddenly the boy dove back beneath the water. The rest of the kayaks paddled around the area with amused looks on their faces as they again sought the boy out. The little one emerged out of the water several times amidst the kayaks, naughtily shaking our crafts just hard enough to cause some to grow angry with the troublemaker.

Later the boy emerged much further away from our fleet. He waved at us cheerfully.

We gave the boy chase. Further and further the seal-boy swam, his little head dunking beneath the water and emerging a long distance away from his last location. The irregular cadence of paddling oars and shouts followed him as we made to catch up with the boy, but he ever kept his distance as he brought us out to open sea.

The boy finally stopped next to an iceberg that had run aground. The boy leaped clear of the water and clambered up the gleaming white surface of the iceberg, reaching the top with astonishing ease.

The seal-boy stood atop the iceberg and leaned against a large piece of loose ice that lay precariously close to the edge. We paddled over to the iceberg and looked up, gazing upon the seal-boy’s jeering face.

“We cannot climb it as he did, but if we were to carve steps into the side, we could reach him,” one of the kayaks suggested.

We thought this a sound idea, and several of the kayaks took out knives and picks and began to chip at the base of the iceberg. The workers labored steadily under the seal-boy’s stoic scrutiny until they managed to carve out steps leading directly to the iceberg’s peak.

Kayaks began to climb the iceberg, their sealskin moccasins treading cautiously upon the slick steps. The ascending kayaks still clutched their tools firmly in their hands, but I knew they would be put into an entirely different use once they reached the seal-boy.

The seal-boy casually strode away from the climbers and disappeared behind the large piece of ice he had been leaning against. Suddenly the chunk slid closer to the edge, its trajectory angling towards the kayaks’ climbing path. It took only that little shove to cause the piece of ice to slide down off the top of the iceberg and tumble down its side. The kayaks screamed in terror and dismay, but there was nothing they could as the ice struck them one after another and sent them hurtling into the icy waters below.

Angry shouts tore from the throats of the other kayaks. Before any of them could react, the seal-boy leaped from the top of the iceberg. The boy dove toward the water headfirst, hands outstretched before him to break through the water first before the rest of his body plunged beneath.

A long tense moment passed as we waited for the boy to emerge again. Instead, we heard a terrified scream as one of the kayak’s vessel was overturned. My breathing quickened and my head panned every which way as I watched another kayak have his paddle stripped from him before his own boat was forcibly cap-sized. Other kayaks were taken by surprise from behind as the seal-boy lunged from the water, seized them, and then dragged them beneath.

The dreadful reality of what would happen to me if I did not run finally sunk in as I saw limp forms begin to rise to the surface of the water. My body seemed to move of itself as I sought to turn my vessel around and paddle as far away from the iceberg as I could.

I was making steady progress when the horrifying sound of splashing water came from behind me and I felt a forceful tug on one end of my paddle. Frightened and certain of my death, the paddle slipped from my limp, shaky hands. A whimper rose up from my throat as I desperately began to paddle my kayak with my hands. I shivered as my palms pushed through the freezing water, but my shaking was not because of the cold. I knew my time had come.

I looked at the stick that lay beside me in my boat: my only weapon. Against the likes of this merciless boy who swam so easily in the water I knew such a weapon would prove inadequate.

To my surprise, one end of my paddle suddenly reappeared and came to rest in my lap. I looked to my right and found that the seal-boy was holding the paddle out to me.

“You I will not kill,” the boy said. “I will allow you to go home, but you must tell your people never to come here seeking to kill us. If they do not heed this warning, then I will kill them all, and not let a single one return.”

I looked upon the deadly serious face of the youth as I wordlessly took back my paddle. I knew that I would do as he said, and that I would never return to this place again, for I had no wish to run across the seal-boy ever again. 

Author's Note: This is based on Âtârssuaq from the Eskimo Folk Tales unit. In the original story, we learn about the birth and maturity of the son of Âtârssuaq, who from a very young age is trained by his father to be an extremely skilled swimmer. Âtârssuaq is eventually killed by his enemies, and the son finds himself tasked with having to defend his people from an invasion of northerners coming down in a fleet of kayaks. Using his skilled swimming abilities, he lures his enemies out to open sea and to an iceberg, then begins to kill them through various means. In the end he only spares one helpless kayak, and sends him home with a warning. So pretty much this story follows the second half of the original plot line to the letter, but it is is written from the perspective of the lone survivor. I wanted to create a slight feeling of terror for this so-called seal boy and show his brutality from the viewpoint of someone who nearly found himself being dragged to a watery grave at the youth's hand. This story is a little on the rushed side, so I hope you still enjoyed it for what it is.

Inuit family (Un-textbook)

Bibliography Information

Title: Eskimo Folk-Tales

Author: Knud Rasmussen

Year Published: 1921

Source: Un-textbook