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“Why lie about that?” I asked, wishing I had my notebook handy to jot the story down.

Shrugging, she continued. “The atshen’s name was Yutu when he was human. Yutu was a prominent man in the village, but there had always been stories about him. The idea of visiting his home made my mother’s skin crawl as a child. He was a master hunter, so he provided much-needed food for the village. That’s why they let him get away with it for so long, turning their heads when he took the young girls overnight. He didn’t do it often, but once a year or so was enough to be noticed, and the girls were never the same after. He took my mother’s friend Alasie, and she barely spoke a word after that.”

I cringed at the idea of the man using his position of power to abuse young girls. It was the kind of story that happened in all cultures and across all times. Sick people hurt others. I squeezed her hand as I digested the story.

“She begged my grandfather to do something after Alasie. He was the village angakukk and so was supposed to protect us all, but unlike the rest of our ancestors, he was far too concerned with his own comfort and pride—things he should have forgone to embrace the title of angakukk. He said he wouldn’t lift a hand against Yutu, and to be honest my mother said he seemed afraid of the hunter. It wasn’t just my mother asking though. It was many of the villagers, including the parents of those taken by Yutu over the years.”

Visions of angry villagers with pitchforks swam in my brain, though I knew that wasn’t quite accurate. Still, the anger they would have felt and the need for justice… I leaned in farther, encouraging her to continue.

“It was Alasie’s father who took my mother to Yutu. She told him she wanted to help bring the man to justice, so he felt justified in delivering her on a platter. My mother was beautiful even then and had barely gotten her first blood. Her kakiniit were still raw.” Ila indicated her own chin tattoos. “Alasie’s father tied Mother to the pole in front of Yutu’s house and tore off her clothing. She nearly froze to death by the time he discovered her and brought her in before his fire.”

I shivered and knew the horror must have shown clearly on my face.

Ila nodded. “He kept her hands tied. She didn’t tell me the details, but she had scars on her abdomen she kept covered until her death years later. She said she’d never forget his laugh whenever she cried in pain. And she knew what her friend had gone through. When he was done with her, he put her in an old anorak and sent her on her way.”

A single tear trailed down Ila’s cheek, and I squeezed her hand harder.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “Was that when your grandfather made the tupilaq?”

“No. But it was when he banished Yutu to the frozen wasteland out this way. Alasie’s father had understood that he would act when it became personal enough for him.”

“I get why you hate him so much,” I said quietly. “At least your mother was able to marry and have you—she moved on.”

Ila’s laugh morphed into a terrible cry, and I froze, wondering what I’d said wrong. But she didn’t pull away, and I let her get it out, waiting patiently for her explanation.

“No, she never married. I was born nine months later, and it was on that day that the first victim was left at the door of my grandfather’s home.”

My hands flew to my mouth to cover my reaction.

“It was an eight-year-old girl. She was naked, and parts of her were missing. Two more bodies were discovered as the year continued. No one could understand how he survived, even as great of a huntsman as he was. That’s when my grandfather created the tupilaq. But now I know it never found him because he was no longer human. He must’ve eaten some of the victims and traveled out this way, turning into the atshen.”

My head pounded and my body trembled as I considered the story I’d just heard. Ila’s lip curled in a sarcastic smile. “You can go find your boyfriend now. He was right to want you to leave me here. I'm the daughter of a monster. I was created out of pain. I never told my husband the truth about me, just my mother’s story. And he, like you, assumed a different ending.”

I shook my head and licked my very dry lips as I considered my next words. “Ila, you aren’t a monster. You are the beautiful diamond that came from the coal. We—neither one of us—are our parents. We make our own choices and have our own beliefs.”

Ila’s eyes overflowed with tears. “Please don’t tell Toklo. He is a good man. If he were to become an angakukk, he’d be a good one and do the right thing, unlike my grandfather.”

“I won’t tell him. That’s up to you. But know that it changes nothing. Just like he’s amazing, so are you.”

“Then why would the tupilaq attack me by mistake? That’s what grandfather warned of.”

Grandfather?The old man’s voice that came from Toklo must’ve been recognizable to her. He was the maker.

“It’s only the blood in your veins, not the intent of your heart,” I said, certain of it. “It was made to attack the man Yutu had been, not the monster he unleashed.”

Ila pulled me in and hugged me with so much force I nearly coughed. But I rocked with her, back and forth, until she was satisfied.

“Thank you, Rosi.”

I nodded, now more inclined to join Nicole on her murder quest. But perhaps in his own quest for survival at all costs, Yutu had succeeded in punishing himself worse than a quick death would have provided. It seemed that tragedy begot tragedy with one bad act leading to a mountain of them.

It was then it occurred to me that if Ila’s blood was a problem, that would mean her son’s would be as well. But I bit down on a chunk of my hair to prevent myself making that observation out loud. Surely, Ila’s grandfather would have known this. Perhaps that was why he joined with Toklo.

Thinking about the others brought my mind back to Austin and how he’d reluctantly left. I resolved to be careful about losing my temper in the future and doing something I’d regret. I just hoped that whatever was happening up there, he’d be able to focus.