Runestone (73 page)

Somehow this storm was like that, sitting heavily over them, unable to get up. He smiled grimly to himself. It was amusing how his childhood experiences came back at odd times to apply themselves to the present situation.

But how long could this storm sit here? It was a little bit discomfiting to think of the biblical story of the Flood, when it was said to have rained for forty days and forty nights.

On the morning of the fourth day there were signs of thinning in the clouds to the west. Maybe if they could move on, they could slip out from under this cursed blanket of gray. They decided to try it, and were quickly on the river.

They had found that they could make better time by utilizing the river’s current to carry them. With this in mind, they usually sought the best flow near the center of the stream. It was pleasing to note that there seemed to be little debris there. Flotsam near the center of a stream would indicate rising water. A subsiding flood deposits its refuse on the banks. So they were apparently not embarking on water that was flooding, and that was reassuring.

It was not until afternoon that Nils began to suspect that all was not quite right. He had expected clearing by this time, but it had not happened. There were lighter and darker times, as clouds seemed about to open, but then crept back to cover the patches of blue. It was growing darker again, and the overcast seemed lower and more threatening. He was about to suggest that they look for a place to camp before the rain resumed, when Odin pointed ahead with his paddle. Ahead, and to the right.

It was difficult to see, from their position low on the water, but Nils quickly grasped the situation. Even with the poor light, he could see the widening of the great stream. Could
this be the ocean that they sought? No, of course not. The expected river from the west? Yes, they must be looking across its mouth. Now he could dimly see the line of trees on the other shore. There seemed to be a fog bank, or maybe a light shower in progress.

“Let us pull to shore,” Odin called.

They turned toward the west bank, to land before they reached the questionable currents where the rivers would mix. But it was too late. In a few moments, Nils saw that they would be carried past the junction before they could land. It was of no major concern. They would simply stay out in the main current until they passed the junction. He started to call to the other canoe, but Odin waved to indicate that he, too, understood. They would land farther downstream.

Nils could see, now, the point where the waters began to join. There was a subtle difference in the color of the water, the suspended mud a different shade of red-brown. Other factors quickly became apparent to him, flitting through his consciousness like the flicker of lightning. The river from the west carried a large quantity of debris. There were rafts of dead sticks, leaves, and dead grasses, the trash picked up by rising flood waters. Occasionally, larger logs, dead trees, and a bloated carcass of some small animal. The bulk of this flotsam was near the center of the river’s mouth.
The flood is still rising
, he thought.

Alarm had not struck him yet. That came quickly now, however, as he saw the river’s surface straight ahead, broken by a series of treacherous whirlpools and back eddies where the two powerful currents joined. Floating logs and other debris were being pulled into the whirling vortex, sucked under to be carried downstream. The more buoyant pieces would come thrusting upward below, the heavier somewhat later.

“Pull to the left,” he yelled at the other canoe, slightly behind and to his right. If they could move far enough out into the main current, they could avoid the dangerous spot.

Dove, in front of him, was already struggling to turn their course, and he joined in the effort. In their eagerness to change direction, they made the needed correction too quickly. The powerful current caught the stern of the canoe and swung it to the right, bringing the craft almost broadside
to the river’s flow. Nils struggled to regain control of the now unstable canoe. He had time for one quick glance behind him, to see what was happening to the others. Odin and Snake were being carried directly toward a whirling mass of logs and limbs and trash. But then there was no time to think of anything but the threat to their own canoe.

He managed to swing the stern at least partially, aligning the canoe with the current. The alarming rocking motion subsided a little, and he was able to look ahead. They were nearly far enough left now to escape the unpredictable whirl of the joining current. A little more …

It was then that he saw it. Just ahead, a large eddy of some sort. Maybe there was a sandbar deep under the surface that was affecting the flow where the new current joined. He caught a glimpse of the giant swirl, with large logs and trees bobbing like living things, to be sucked under again. He tried to maneuver, but felt that he had completely lost control.

Then, to his horror, he saw a great clawlike arm reach up out of the swirling flood, to grasp at the canoe. It was plainly the limb of a giant old tree, carried by the powerful current. But its broken branches held a close resemblance to grasping fingers. He tried to pull aside as Dove dodged the tip of the branch, but had little control. Beside him another broken stub thrust up out of the depths, close enough to touch. Its rotting bark glistened with moss and slime from the river’s bed. It grated along the side of the canoe, grinding with a snarl like that of a living thing. The canoe shuddered from a new impact, and another branch of the old giant jabbed upward through the floor of the craft. In a panic, Nils realized that this tree must be rolling along the bottom, propelled by the current. Their canoe was trapped in its branches, impaled and dragged.

Even as their predicament became clear to him, the canoe was twisted and pulled slowly under. He heard Bright Sky’s scream, cut off sharply as the water closed over him, and saw Dove lunge to grab the boy. Then Nils himself was dragged down, fighting, striving to free himself from the grasping arms of the creature in his dream. This was the meaning of the dream, then.
Not
the giant leech … of course …
this!
He
was fighting, disoriented, unable to determine which way the surface might be … panic. …
So this is how it feels to drown
. …

C
alling Dove was a strong swimmer. She was of the People of the River, and she had been around water all her life. Children of the People could swim almost before they could walk. When the accident began to unfold, she did not immediately fear for her own safety. Hers was the self-confidence required in an emergency. She knew, or thought she knew, that she could save herself. Her concern was first for her son, and next for her husband.

She lunged to grab the boy as he was pulled under, kicking herself free of the doomed canoe as she did so. Her shoulder struck one of the limbs of the rolling tree and she pushed away from it, glancing behind as she did so. She saw White Wolf pulled under, tangled in the clawing branches. She could have screamed in her anguish, but made no sound, it would not be appropriate to waste effort in anything so useless. Dove did not stop to think this, but it was an instinct of survival. Above all, the People were survivors.

She began to swim toward shore, still holding Bright Sky with one hand. He was helping, swimming strongly, and she felt a momentary thrill of pride at his skill and stamina. Her heart and spirit reached out, searching for her husband, but she was unable to concentrate on that for the moment. She reassured herself that he was strong and brave, and that his power as a holy man would help him. At least, she devoutly hoped so.

They were being carried rapidly downstream by the current,
and Dove struggled to escape its pull. If she could only reach the calmer water nearer the shore, it would not require so much effort. She could tell that Sky was tiring. She could not see the other canoe. To make matters worse, a sudden squall sent a patter of rain that obscured almost everything in sight, pelting the river’s surface into a frothy mist. They struggled on.

Out of the mist and rain loomed a log, floating downstream like every other bit of flotsam. Dove pushed toward it. This was unlike the mighty tree with the clawing branches. It was a trunk, no more than four paces long, partly rotting away. It could almost be encircled by the arms. She grasped a short stub that protruded from its bole, and placed Sky’s hands on it. He grabbed at it eagerly, and held fast.

“Do not climb on it,” Dove cautioned. “Just hold on.”

“Look!” said Sky, indicating with a shake of his head.

There, at the other end of the log crouched a large spotted cat. It was easily bigger than the boy, and potentially quite dangerous. Bobcats, known for ferocity when at bay, are equally recognized for quickness. And, for unpredictability. Dove stared hard into the yellow eyes, noting also the flattened ears held close to the head. The creature was ready and willing to fight.

“Move slowly,” she cautioned Sky quietly, “or stay still.”

The cat curled its lips in a defiant snarl, still unmoving.

“My brother,” Dove spoke softly, “we have the same problem as you. We would share your log for a time, and then we go our separate ways, no?”

The only answer was a low hiss and the continued unblinking stare.

“It is good,” she said, as if she had received the desired answer.

Very slowly and deliberately she began to swim, thrusting with her legs and pushing the log ahead of her, toward the unseen west shore. She paused to glance around for any sign of the others, but could see nothing. Once she thought she heard a shout. She would have answered, but dared not startle the cat at the other end of their log. It could easily decide to attack if it felt threatened.

It seemed like a long while before the curtain of rain lifted
a little way to show a fringe of willows ahead. It was even longer until they drew near the shore and Dove began to look for a place to land. Not that she had much control, but she would try to reach the shore where they would not have to fight their way through a thicket.

A sandbar loomed ahead. Almost at the same moment, the log struck bottom, sending an impact that was felt rather than heard. At the first hint of grounding, the great spotted cat leaped to the sandbar. It was gone, disappearing into the thicket along the bank.

Now she could call out without fear of causing something worse. She raised a long shout, then waited for an answer and tried again. There was only the quiet murmur of the river and the cries of birds as they began to come out after the shower.

Well, she would try again later. Now there were things to do. They must try to build a fire, which would not be easy with the sodden timber.

“Come, Sky, we will find some dry tinder.”

“Will my father find us?” asked the boy, teeth chattering.

“Of course. Wolf can do anything. We must make a fire to guide him.”

Dove wished that she could be as confident as she tried to sound. It was certainly not yet time to mourn.
We have been separated
, she told herself,
that is all
. It was impossible for her to think otherwise about so bold and strong a man as her husband. Had he not been a leader among his own people, before? Odin had great confidence in him, did he not?

She could not push from her mind her last glimpse of White Wolf as he sat in the back of the canoe, trying to dodge the clawing arms of the waterlogged old tree. It had reached for him like a living thing, intent on his destruction. She was certain that the canoe was destroyed. She had heard its frail shell crack. A tear came to her eye as she thought of her husband dragged under, fighting for breath. …

I will not think so
, she thought savagely. It would not only be disloyal, but she owed it to young Sky not to reveal any doubts she might have.

And what of the others? She had no idea what might have happened to the other canoe. It had encountered water that
was not quite so treacherous. Or was it? The tricky currents were so deceptive. There had been so little time, so little to see! Her heart was very heavy.

“Come,” she said to Sky. “Here is a log that may have a mouse nest.”

That would do for tinder
, she was thinking,
if we can find one
. But then she would need dry twigs and some softwood for rubbing sticks. She had a small knife that she always wore in a pouch at her waist. It was fortunate that she had not lost it. But the day was drawing to a close. It must be, because they had been on the river for some time before the accident.

Also, where would they camp? The sandbar would be the best place for a signal fire, to be seen by anyone on the river. But the flood was still rising. The sandbar might be under water by morning. Well, she had no fire yet, anyway. Build a fire on higher ground first, then another on the sandbar. …

“We will camp here,” she indicated, pointing to a partly sheltered grassy knoll. She took a moment to establish the route of retreat to even higher ground in case … well, maybe it would not come to that.