Primal Calling by Jillian Burns Page B

him as a child about the crow that brought daylight to the Inuit people. He leaned against the door frame, closed his eyes and listened to his grandmother’s voice.
    â€œThe crow shook his beak and said, ‘I could only carry one small ball of daylight, and it will need to regain its strength every so often. So you’ll only have daylight for half the year.’
    â€œThe people said, ‘But we are happy to have daylight for half the year! Before you brought the ball to us it was dark all the time!’ And so, that is why, in the landof the Inuit in the far north, it is dark for one-half of the year and light the other. The people never forgot it was Crow who brought them the gift of daylight and they take care never to hurt him—in case he decides to take it back.”
    Max peeked around the corner. Serena had her head resting in one hand, enthralled with his grandmother’s story. “I love that.” Gone was the sophisticated television personality he’d met in Anchorage. The woman sitting with his grandmother wearing an oversize cable-knit sweater and sealskin snow boots looked as if she’d lived in Barrow all her life.
    His grandmother smiled so wide that her whole face beamed.
    â€œDid she tell you the one about the woman who carried the lamp?” Max strode in, grabbed a bowl from the cabinet, filled it with soup and sat at the table.
    Serena met his gaze. “And about Sedna, the goddess of the sea.”
    â€œDid you find the problem, grandson?”
    â€œIt’s smoking just fine, Aanaga. I’ll bring in more firewood before I go.” He took a bite of the soup, barely registering that it was his favorite, moose stew.
    His grandmother turned the page on an old photo album on the table before her. One he’d never seen. “This is my wedding picture.” She smiled fondly down at the old black-and-white photo, and then turned the book so he could see. The couple standing in front of a small wood-and-mud shelter looked barely old enough to date, much less marry. They were just kids.
    But the Iñupiat boy beamed at the camera as he held his bride tightly around the waist.
    â€œHow old were you there, Aanaga? ”
    â€œI was fifteen. Your grandfather seventeen.”
    â€œSo young!” Serena said. “Didn’t you say you were fifteen when you—”
    â€œ Ii . For a long time I thought I could not have children.”
    Max turned to his grandmother. “You’ve never told me that.”
    â€œYou never asked my story, boy.” His grandmother’s tone didn’t accuse. Only stated fact. There was love in her eyes as she looked at him, but something else also. As if she was urging him to…to ask?
    He took her hand in both of his and kissed it gently. “I’m sorry, I’ve been so selfish, Aanaga. ”
    She smiled. “Already she helps your soul find its way home.”
    Max blinked. Damn. Caught like a minnow in a net.
    â€œYour grandfather found me when I could walk no farther. He cared for me. We were married a few months later.” She rubbed a wrinkled finger over his picture. “He was so handsome. Always my hero.”
    â€œYou miss him still,” Serena said quietly, awe in her voice.
    â€œIi.” His grandmother drew in a shaky breath.
    It was as if he were seeing his grandmother for the first time. Although he’d heard stories about his grandfather, Max had never known him. He had died hunting whale.
    His grandmother turned the page and there was his mother as a baby and a toddler. She seemed a happy child, smiling, being thrown in the air by her father. “How old was my mother when grandfather died?”
    His grandmother raised her gaze to him. “Fifteen.”
    â€œAnd I was born when she was sixteen?”
    â€œIi.” She nodded. “Holly grieved deeply for her father. And she loved to dance like her mother before her. She met your father when he was