DogForge (9 page)

A cracking sound roared out from the stone. The sound grew louder, and the intensity increased. Both of the dogs looked around curiously. The sound wasn’t close, but nearby. Then they saw it.

A boulder the size of a dog thundered down the slope. With it sailed more rocks, plates of stone, and tiny rains of dust. Snow exploded with every impact. And more rocks rained out and more stones added to the fray.

The first few clanged loudly against the skelebots. Then the full brunt of the rockslide came. Denali sat up and watched in awe as nearly half of the mountainside floated away and dropped onto the skelebots. What had been a solid surface just minutes before was now a river of stone.

The rock shuddered beneath Denali.

“We need to go!”

Samson didn’t argue.

The pair clambered higher. The thunder of the rockslide echoed in the distance, they were too high to hear the amazing roar that lashed out into the valley. They felt it in their paws and snatched glances back down, in case they were followed. The mountain, once solid and safe, now threatened to swallow them up at any moment.

And still the heights rose up above them.

Denali led them higher. The fear of the slope falling away drove her faster. Her paws were torn and shredded and every step was a frigid reminder that there was only death below and the unknown above. At every pause she stared down at Samson. She snarled in disgust but always found herself waiting.

Samson hunched down. “Stop,” he growled, his voice worn like the stone he rested on.

“We’ll freeze up here,” Denali snapped. She picked her way to the next rock.

Samson didn’t follow.

“Move!” Denali barked. The chill seeped into her and it was relentless. She felt hollow inside as the wind whipped chips of ice and stone.

She hopped across from one rock to the next and gritted her teeth on the icy canister. Every step seared into her paws.

The canister was becoming like a leaden weight. A frozen leaden weight that her tongue would stick to if she slowed her breathing. But it was her dowry to the future. Nothing was going to pry it out of her mouth.

“Get up! You lazy cat! Get up!” Denali barked again. She stood next to Samson and looked down at his closed eyes. “I’ll leave you,” she said in a lower growl.

He opened his eyes slowly. In them was etched pain tinted with the color of despair. A moment later he closed them.

Denali growled louder. She found a crevice in the rock and jammed the canister in tight. Her eyes dropped down to the glowing steel and she thought of Cicero. The sorrow in his voice made her shiver again.

The wind slammed once again. Night was coming, the sun was shrouded in clouds of gray. In another hour it would droop below the peak. Then the real cold would set in.

She hopped over to Samson and braced herself. “Get up!”

Samson didn’t move. His fur rippled in the wind.

I’m going to regret this.
Denali opened her mouth and snapped her teeth down onto Samson’s ears.

Samson rolled his head lazily and pulled away from Denali’s teeth.

Denali wrinkled her lips and rolled her tongue out. A clump of fur dropped onto the ground. A quick hop and Samson’s tail was right before her. “Get up!” she barked again, louder.

The wind ruffled Samson’s coat.

She nodded to herself, grinned, and sunk her teeth into Samson like a needle into soft leather.

Samson roared and snapped his head around. Denali was already a step away with a smile on her eyes. “Help me,” Samson growled. He stepped and crumbled onto the stone.

He could hardly stand and went closer. Denali was wary that he’d snap back but he accepted her nudge and the two worked up the slope.

They struggled higher until the sun was on the horizon. Then abruptly they were on the knife edge of the ridge line. Peaks rose up on either side and were bathed in red sunlight. The sun appeared from the clouds as a smear of red on the horizon. They didn’t stop to take it in but continued down the gentler slope until finally a wall of stone provided some cover.

Samson collapsed and curled himself up with his tail tucked around his nose. His paws were tucked tight under him and his eyes locked shut.

Denali stood above him and shivered. She sighed, coughed in the darkening light, and began the walk back up to find the cylinder.

The rocks were dull beneath her paws. She could smell her own blood marking the path. Her paws were beyond pain and nearly frozen. The wind slammed into her. She hunched down and waited for it to ebb.

The wind sounded like a howl and she thought of the exile. Alone, no pack, nothing but an animal. She wondered how he made it through these nights. All she wanted was to be back with Barley, Grat, and the pups.

The back side of the mountain was dark like smoke. She stopped on the edge and scanned below for blue lights, but saw nothing. Every step down reminded her that it would be one more step back up. Then she came again to the canister and plucked it out from the grit.

She stopped at the top of the ridge. The canister glowed a blue dim light that illuminated her face. She stared out into the darkness.

A smudge of color like dirty water marked the horizon. The sea was lost to a shimmer of starlight. Her eyes focused on a single blinking light, white and pure, that stood like a bastion on the horizon.

There was her trial. The older dogs spoke of it in reverent tones, a place where the will of men still stood. But none could speak of exactly what took place. All she knew is that not all who entered, left.

The chill of the canister reminded her that the machine gods demanded tribute, and what she clutched was her only entrance. She sighed, took one last glance at the blinking light, and worked her way down.

She found Samson and slumped next to him, but not too close. The ground was hard but strangely welcoming. She tucked the canister between her paws and fell soundly asleep.

T
he sun rose but no light cast upon Denali. A dusting of snow rested on everything like a veil. The smells up high were crisp and clean with only the slightest touch of life below.

Denali sniffed. “Samson!” she barked. Her eyes snapped open.

Only a patch of bare ground marked where he had slept.

She howled angrily, snatched up the canister and ran.

The air was beyond cold. There was no sign of Samson anywhere. Snowflakes fell like ash from the sky and covered Denali’s tracks almost as quickly as she made them. The valley was obscured in snow but still she picked her way lower.

Rock gave way to boulders with slopes of snow between them.

She stopped on the edge of a slope and stared down. The snow was tempting, it would be the quickest, no rocks to pick through, just speed. She remembered the avalanche but the cold was getting to her.

She stepped out slowly onto the snowfield and breathed past the cylinder. It seemed fine. Then she ran.

The snow under her feet felt like gravel, a hard sort of snow, it crunched and she liked the sound. It made her feel better, it sounded strong. The wind shifted and the clouds broke, the greenery of the valley appeared and then was gone. She ran faster.

A crack sounded through the air. The entire snowbank settled and dropped a fraction of an inch. Denali stopped and didn’t even breath. Her eyes looked from side to side and then she felt the movement.

The slope collapsed suddenly in a wall of white and Denali struggled and swam and surged. Snow burned at her face and ears and packed itself into her nose. She howled and barked and tried to swim out of it. To her it felt like a river of snow, then she couldn’t breathe.

She fought to survive the avalanche. One moment she’d pop up and see light and cough and hack and the next she was swallowed up again. The sound was a roar in her ears, a pure natural violence.

She collided with a boulder and cried out and then the movement stopped. She coughed out and shook her head and tried to sit up. Then she realized the canister was gone.

“No!” she cried. She ran back towards the boulder and dug and dug. It had to be there, she knew it must be. So she dug under the snow ground her paws and they bled. It was all she had, she had to find it.

A bit of metal glinted in the air and the blue light poked out. She dug more, faster, furious, and then saw it was cracked. She snatched it into her mouth and crawled out of the hole. Something was leaking and she could taste it in her mouth. A taste like old fish and metal wires.

She spat and licked up snow and snatched the cylinder up again. Something flashed in her eyes and she blinked. It was an image and it was gone. Then again, and again, her tongue tingled and burned. Her head swam and she felt strange, like something was inside of her, like waking from a dream. The images came again, faster, so fast they were a blur.

Denali fell over onto her side and groaned. Her tail shuddered and shook and then she was still.

When she opened her eyes everything was the same. She sat up and could still taste the metal fish taste and her own blood. She peered at the canister suspiciously.
Did that really happen?
She wondered if it was something from the avalanche. Not that it mattered, the light still burned on the canister and that was good enough for her.

She set off and ran off the snow and through the rock fields. Then before she knew it trees loomed up and she saw the fork of the river below. That was always the meeting place. Follow the river.

She ran with hunger as her only companion. Her stomach growled and groaned the cold felt even worse. She passed skeletons of dogs dead for ages and paid them no mind. They were a thing she saw everywhere. She ran through the plains of stone and raced along the river bank.

Sentries howled out. Denali ran past them and felt triumphant, she’d made it, she’d survived.

Two packs of dogs watched from the river banks. The sounds of smell were clean and pure. Grat and Samus stood before one pack. Next to them was a monster of a dog, massive and wreathed by a crackling energy shield. 

Denali recognized him at once. His name was whispered at night to scare naughty pups. Ivan. But she didn’t see Samson.

“Denali!” Grat’s voice boomed.

She stood on shaky legs and crumpled onto her chest. The strange taste made her feel dizzy, but she stood and looked up to Grat.

His eyes were stern, like a father’s, but she could see the worry on his face. His shoulder was pierced, the telltale mark of a skelebot claw.

Denali went closer and felt the eyes of two packs upon her.

“You ran again, eh?” Samus sneered.

“But—” Denali spoke.

“Enough,” Grat boomed and stepped close to her. He leaned his great head close to hers. “Come, be silent, you’re safe.”

Denali walked low and felt ashamed. She hadn’t ran. She hadn’t fled. She did the one thing that saved them all. No one knew. No one would ever know.

“Samson did the right thing, and you left him,” Samus said as he spoke to the crowd. “He’s the hero here, not her!”

Ivan looked on passively through the shimmer of his energy field.

“We’ll see,” Grat added, and led Denali away.

The pair walked through a field of boulders. Denali wanted to speak, to explain herself, but she knew it wasn’t the right time.

Grat said nothing until the pups were in view. Barley hovered over them. “My family is safe.”

Denali knew he meant not just the pups, but her too. Her heart warmed and she was suddenly tired. All she wanted to do was lay down in safety. “I didn’t—”

“I know,” Grat said.

Denali whimpered through the canister and followed him to safety.

T
he sun rose and bathed the mountains in red dawnlight. The pack woke slowly and stiffly. Small fires flickered in the dawn shadows, bringing the smell of singed caribou and charred rabbit.

Denali gnawed on the knee joint of a caribou and cracked her teeth from one edge to the next. Her eyes relaxed and her tongue lolled to one side of the joint lapping at it slowly. The soreness of the previous day was mostly gone. She had woken late and now waited for Grat to return.

Barley nuzzled a brown and brindle pup. She glanced at Denali and smiled softly. “We thought you were gone.”

Denali dropped the knuckle onto her paws. “I was, almost.” She stretched out a paw onto the canister and pulled it close. Never again away.

Grat walked up, eyes on the ground. His great feet plodded in soft steps. He snorted and lay down next to Denali.

She dropped her eyes to the knuckle and focused on gnawing at it.

Grat sighed loudly. His lips flapped and showed dull gray teeth. “Have no worries.”

Denali looked up from the bone and watched Grat’s eyes flutter. He looked worn, tired. The wounds from the escape were healing, but slowly. Slower than they should have.

“I stood with Karoc.”

Grat listened and nodded slowly.

“They wanted the canister,” she said, nudging it with a paw. “So Samson and I went higher.” She remembered the chill, the fear, the sound of the rocks sliding. “Then when we came down...”

“I know,” Grat said. He scratched the side of his face with his claws.

A group of the new pack prowled through the center of the camp with skulking eyes and silent paws. They sniffed at the heaps of scrap. They spoke in low tones.

“Who are they?” Denali asked.

Grat turned his head to the side and growled in a rough tone. The pack stopped with narrowed eyes and faced him. They perked ears, sniffed for a moment, then turned and walked out of view.

“Maulers. Ivan’s Maulers.”

Denali dropped the knuckle with a thud. “What’s that?”

“They roam for steel.”

“Why?”

“After the trial, the gates open and they will offer salvage. The more you offer, the greater the gift bestowed. An energy shield, or maybe some real armor, or the things we seek, strength, blessings, keener eyes, sharper teeth, healing.”

Denali shifted uncomfortably. “Why?”

Grat stretched his paws out before him. “Power? The hunt? I know not.”