Into the Wilderness (75 page)

He
forced himself to three deep breaths, and then hauled himself to his feet where
he stood, swaying. The wind was up and there was the smell of a storm in the
air.

She
would be halfway through the swamp now, if she hadn't lost her way. If the
storm didn't overtake her, she would be out by sunset. If the storm didn't
overtake her.

* * *

Treenie
moved along with a certainty and steady enthusiasm that buoyed Elizabeth's
spirits. She followed the dog closely over hummocks of fern—covered moss and
around deep pools of water. Where she waded, Elizabeth jumped; her moccasins
were already wet through, but she could not quite make herself stomp knowingly
through murky waters. Her affection and appreciation for the dog grew with
every damp mile.

By
the late afternoon two things were clear: she should have saved the last of the
dried meat, and there was a storm on the way. The constant drone and cackle of
woodpeckers was replaced by the creaking of deadwood in the buffeting winds. In
those rare spots where the sky showed itself it was as dark and unwelcoming as
the swamp churning with threatening clouds. She had thought to be out by the
time it was full dark, but light was dwindling with the first trembling
thunder. Treenie's ears twitched and she let out a low whine.

"Yes,
and I know how you are feeling," Elizabeth muttered. "But at least we
are free of the black fly

The
dog woofed at her dejectedly as the thunder rumbled again.
 
With every new flash of approaching light
they moved faster. Elizabeth stumbled for the first time with the distinct
crack of a tree being hit: catching her leggings on an up thrusted snarl of
cedar roots, she stepped into a pool and sank immediately to the waist, her
moccasins settling into the ooze at the bottom. While she disentangled herself
she tried to remember what she knew about appropriate behavior in a
thunderstorm. To be waist—deep in water, she feared, was almost as sensible as
to stand under the lone tree on a grassy meadow.

The
rain started just as she pulled herself to her feet. It crested and fell back
in sudden jerking waves, cold against her heated cheeks. Treenie stood
regarding her with a very clear brand of canine panic on her face while she
tried to scrape the worst of the mud from her feet.

"You
are a terrible coward," Elizabeth said loudly. Whether she meant this for
Treenie or herself, she was not sure.

The
thick ground covering of moss absorbed the rain like a strange sea sponge,
giving it up again with a loud hiss under each footfall. Elizabeth watched her
feet closely, determined to avoid another tumble, and so she walked into Treenie
before she realized that the dog had stopped. With a startled hiccup she looked
up to see a huge beech tree directly in their path, wider around than Elizabeth
could reach. This occurred to her because she was tempted to put her arms
around it; it was the first beech she had seen since they entered the swamp.

On
one side of the beech was the river, which had inexplicably regained a
semblance of banks, and on the other a great jumble of boulders, slimy with
streaming lichen and clusters of red—yellow mushrooms. They had begun to
scramble over when Elizabeth paused. In a flicker of lightning she had caught
something on the trunk, what she had taken at first to be the claw marks of
bears. She pulled herself up and stopped, to Treenie's great annoyance, to
read.

CRESCENT
ILLAE, CRESCETIS AM ORES

The
names had been obscured by real claw marks, but the sentiment remained:
"as these letters grow, so will our love." Elizabeth reached up to
trace the carving, wondering if she were developing a habit for hallucinations.

Treenie
had Elizabeth's overdress between her teeth, and she tugged, hard.

"We're
nearly out," Elizabeth said, thumping her on the back. "And thank
God." In response the air lit with a triple pulse of blue—white light,
followed almost immediately by the deep bass of thunder. Too close. She
slithered down the boulders to the other side, and came up against a dead
tamarack, already leaning precipitously.

Treenie
backed up against her knees, so that Elizabeth nearly lost her balance. She
looked at the shivering dog, and then looked again. In the startling blue—white
light which seemed to pulse on and on, every hair in her coat stood on end. And
then the thunder sucked all sound from the world: the howling of the red dog,
Elizabeth's own scream, and the crack of a tree splitting open as easily as a
ripe peach pit, just a few feet behind them.

Elizabeth
ducked under the tamarack and ran.

* * *

"She's
likely sitting under a tree right now."

Todd's
voice, hoarse and weaker than it had been, came out of the shadows.

A
thump, and the fire flared up around the new log. Then it settled back down to
hissing and sizzling under the persistent drip from the vent hole.

"Or
maybe wading down the middle of the stream." Todd wheezed, and produced a
wet cough.

Nathaniel's
backside was sore, but there was no hope of breathing easily if he were to lie
down. Swearing to himself, he shifted the thorny spine of a balsam branch out
from under him, getting his hands tacky with the pungent sap.

There
was a flash of light, and in the distance, the answering rumble.

"Have
you ever seen a man killed by lightning?" Todd went on.

"No,"
said Nathaniel, wiggling his shoulders for easier purchase against the log
wall. "But then the storm is young, and I may have the pleasure yet."

"If
she dies, the court will take the Wolf away from you.

"Just
yesterday you thought I killed her in cold blood."

"Well,
she does have an irritating way about her," Todd pointed out. "I've
seen wounded cougars with more pleasant personalities."

Nathaniel
dipped his tin cup into the water kettle. "Listen to you. All your shine
is rubbing off, Todd."

"Tell
me you wanted her for more than the land and I'll call you a liar."

"I
ain't got the strength to get mad," Nathaniel said wearily. "But I
could work myself up, if you want to push things a little further."

There
was a streak of white past the open door, and a high—pitched squeal as an owl
swooped down and off with a struggling prize. Nathaniel started, feeling the
sweat pearl on his forehead.

"You
couldn't throttle a rabbit," Todd observed. There was a pause, and the
sound of chewing. Nathaniel had almost fallen asleep when the voice came again.

"Besides,
if you ever were going to kill me, it would have been back then. When Sarah
died."

Nathaniel
felt his pulse beat pick up; he was suddenly not sleepy at all.

"You
think it was my fault, I know you do. Everybody does."

It
took a lot, but Nathaniel kept his peace.

"Well,
it wasn't. Nobody could stop the bleeding. Curiosity couldn't, either, nor your
mother, nobody. I did my best."

The
storm swelled again, and the fire sputtered.

"Goddamn
it man, I know you're awake. Say something."

"You're
sicker than I thought," said Nathaniel. "To be running off at the
mouth the way you are."

Richard
grunted. "Fever," he said. "Does the talking."

"You
got nothing to say worth listening to." Nathaniel tossed his cup and it
clanged against the kettle.

"Not
like you can walk away from me, is it, if I want to talk to you. But if you
don't want to listen, then let me ask you a question."

"For
Christ's sake, Todd. Save your breath."

"Why'd
you marry her?"

He
let the question hang there, not knowing which woman it was Todd was asking
about. The one who lay all these years in her grave, a child in her arms whose
father couldn't be named with certainty. Or the one out there on his account,
who might not make it through the night.

Nathaniel
said, "If you could have one of them, right now, which would it be?"

"Why,
Sarah," said Todd softly, but without hesitation. "It was always
Sarah. She was mine first."

Nathaniel
looked hard across the fire, but he could see nothing of the man except one
arm, bent up at an angle across his face. He wondered if the poison had got
into his blood already, to have him talk so crazy.

"She
never told you, I know it. But she would have run with me, that winter I ran
away from Kahen'tiyo. If she could have."

"Sarah
would've been ten years old," Nathaniel pointed out, trying to keep the
irritation and anger from his voice, and not succeeding. That Falling—Day and
her family had spent the winter that year in the Kahnyen’keháka village to the
north, he knew to be fact.

"I
was only eleven. And she wanted to come with me," Todd said. "She
knew even back then that she didn't belong."

"Sarah
was Kahnyen’keháka," Nathaniel said weakly.

"I
taught her to think otherwise," said Todd. "Although she took some
reminding, when we finally ran into each other again."

"Reason
enough to kill you, right there." Nathaniel's fingers groped and curled
and found no purchase. He forced himself to think of Elizabeth, and then he
drew in three deep, pain—wrenching breaths, and then three more. "But I
won't," he said finally. "At least, not right now." He closed
his eyes, but it wasn't any good. Some things wouldn't go away in the dark.

"How
come you're telling me about this now?" he asked. "All this time you
kept quiet."

"I'm
sicker than you are."

"Well,
I don't care to hear your confession," Nathaniel snapped.

"That's
not the point," Richard said. "You never have got the point."

"Then
spit it out, man. What do you want of us?"

There
was a long pause. "The leg's infected," Richard said. "If she
doesn't get back here quick I won't have much chance."

Nathaniel
said, "You can't have the Wolf, living or dead."

"But
you could bury me there," he said softly. "If I don't make it, you
could bury me next to Sarah."

"And
if you live?"

"Then
I'll do my best to get the mountain," Richard said.

* * *

Elizabeth
fell for the second time climbing over a huge hummock. The carpet of moss gave
way and she sank in to the ankle, coming to a full stop while the world
revolved around her in a fury of wind, never—ending lightning, and thunder more
predictable than the beat of her own heart. With a gasp, she sat back awkwardly
on one haunch.

She
was so wet, she could not remember what it was like to be dry. The buckskin
clung to her heavily, and she thought lazily about simply taking all the wet
things off and just making her way without. "Eve on the way back into the
garden," she said aloud.

Treenie
crowded in close, her teeth chattering visibly. Elizabeth slung one arm around
the animal's neck to steady herself and slowly pulled her ankle out. A deep
scratch, but no other injury. She had begun to pull up, when she felt the dog
tense.

Just
on the other side of the stream, the ragged frame of a dead balsam was thrown
into relief by a huge flash of light. The bolt struck at the tip and rent it to
the root with a noise so absolute that Elizabeth felt rather than heard the
whoosh of the explosion: the balsam burst into a single flame, and fell in a
slow and graceful arc like a torch flung into the stream. Unable to turn away
or close her streaming eyes, Elizabeth watched as the burning tree discharged a
volley of small missiles which flew through the air, streaming fire. Some landed
heavily in the water, but one fell at her feet with a thud. She squinted, and
looked harder, trying to make sense of it: a jay, its claws turned down on
themselves in death. One half of its feathers strangely disheveled and standing
on end; the other half charred raw and slightly steaming.

Elizabeth
pulled herself to her feet, wiped the rain from her face, and set off again.

* * *

The
familiar night sounds provided some comfort: the odd barking cry of the fox,
the echoing owls, the wolves, forever calling, the shouting of the tree frogs
and crickets singing without pause. Drifting in and out of sleep, taking note
of the state of the fire and the storm, paying attention to Richard's small
sounds, Nathaniel dozed and slept and thought of Elizabeth. Willed her forward,
through the swamp and then due south, to Robbie. He willed her dry and whole
and healthy, he willed her good spirits and easy thoughts and a clear trail. He
willed her back beside him.

Richard
sat up suddenly, startling Nathaniel out of his thoughts and fully awake. His
hair stood out in a mane, his beard caked with grime. In the firelight his blue
eyes blazed with fever and the madness of wanting and a clear, focused fear.

"What?"
Nathaniel asked, even as he heard it himself. But he asked again, "What?"
hoarsely. He reached for his rifle, the cold metal of the barrel as familiar to
him as any part of his own body. His hands shook as he cocked the trigger. The
sound was lost in the crackling of the fire.