The Wolf Tree (17 page)

Sally stood up.

“Sal,” Rosemary called, squatting on the floor with Naomi and Oliver. “Come play jackstraws with us.”

“Not just now,” Sally said. “I’m … going to bed.”

“Nel said we could stay up a little longer.”

“I’m tired.”

“Suit yourself.”

Sally climbed the stairs to the loft.

The lodestone. When it became the golden foot, its power to guide vanished.

The Elemental Rose could restore lost powers. Could it also restore the lodestone’s powers within the rabbit’s foot?

She would need to wait until the others were asleep before she found out.

Sally listened to gentle breathing and occasional snores filling the loft. Rosemary grumbled with a dream in the bed next to her. Open across her stomach was the book of Greek myths Sally had given her as a Christmas gift.

Sliding out from under her quilt, Sally pulled the rucksack from under her bed and took out
The Incunabula of Wandering
and the four objects of the Elemental Rose. She tiptoed down the stairs to the den and knelt before the dying embers. First she placed the rabbit’s foot on the floor. Then she flipped through the
Incunabula
until she found the page showing the drawing of the compass.

She read her father’s note again. “Four objects are needed for the ER. Each is a stead for the four. Each brings the powers of the four into one when they are in their proper place.”

The proper places. Sally looked around the dark room trying to remember how the light changed with the time of day. The morning sun always came through the front door, she thought. So that was east, wasn’t it?

Hoping she was right, she lined the cardinal feather with the door. She moved around the rabbit’s foot clockwise. South was yellow, fire. She opened the lid to the tin of brimstone and set it down. Making another quarter turn, she put the Black Sampson root across from the cardinal feather, the
symbol of earth opposite the symbol of air. At last, she turned to put down the last object, the white spiderweb—water opposing fire.

Once they were placed, she sat up on her knees with the rabbit’s foot before her, her breath coming in shallow pants.

The brimstone ignited and smoke rose. Sally ran to open the front door, ushering in a cold breeze. Hopeful it would keep the smoke from waking anyone.

Sally turned back to the rabbit’s foot.

The cardinal feather fluttered. The Black Sampson root writhed on the floorboards. Water puddled from the spiderweb. Smoke covered the rabbit’s foot, hiding it from her sight. Sally held her breath until she thought her lungs would burst.

There was a flash, and Sally toppled back. Scrambling forward, she batted at the smoke to clear it. The rabbit’s foot lay on the floor. Nothing looked different about it.

She picked it up, touching a finger curiously to the metal. The paw began slowly turning in a circle until the tiny golden claws at the tip pointed in the same direction as the Black Sampson root. She moved the paw around in her palm until it pointed east. Again, the rabbit’s foot rotated until the claws pointed west.

“Sally?” A voice came hoarsely from the stairs to the loft. Little Noah stood rubbing his puffy eyes. “What’s that smell?”

Sally scattered up the feather, the root, and the spiderweb. Instantly, the flames died in the tin of brimstone.

“Nothing,” Sally said. “Sorry. Er … just go back to sleep.”

Noah blinked sleepily and slumped back up the stairs.

Sally picked up the tin of brimstone, strangely cool now to her touch, and closed the lid before putting it, along with the rest of the Elemental Rose, back in her rucksack.

She paced around before the fireplace, her mind twirling with thoughts. The lodestone within the rabbit’s foot was working again. It had turned to point to the west. It was pointing to her father.

Her father—whom she had always dreamed of but had never met. Her father had never even known that she had been born. He was alive and she had the means to find him where he was trapped in the Gloaming.

Sally ran for the steps down to the cellar. She reached the bottom and turned to the door for Nel’s room. She had to tell him. He could take the rabbit’s foot and …

She stopped with her hand on the door handle. No, she thought. Nel wouldn’t use the rabbit’s foot to find her father. He wouldn’t leave Shuckstack. He wouldn’t leave the children.

Sally began trembling as she realized what she had to do.

She gathered food from the kitchen larder and quietly ascended the stairs back to her room. After dressing quietly by her bed, she stuffed some clothes into her rucksack. She stood, trying to think if she was forgetting anything. Sally looked down at Rosemary curled up under the warm quilts. Should she tell her friend that she was leaving?

Sally picked up the book of Greek myths from Rosemary’s chest. Sally’s favorite story had always been the story of Orpheus, who ventured into the Underworld to save his wife, Eurydice. Hades told Orpheus he could return with his wife only if he walked in front of her and did not look back until they had reached the world of the living. But Orpheus was too anxious and could not help himself. He looked back. And Eurydice was lost to him.

Sally closed the book and set it on the floor. She wiped at her eyes as she hoisted the rucksack onto her shoulders. It was heavy with the
Incunabula
, the four objects of the Elemental Rose, and the scant supplies she had taken from the kitchen.

The moonlight coming in through the window reflected off the cool surface of the rabbit’s foot. The foot turned slowly in a half circle in her palm until the tiny claws pointed west.

Sally headed for the stairs.

She would not make any mistakes. She would not look back.

11
JAYHAWKERS

A
WEEK OF
S
LEEPING BY CAMPFIRE AND FORAGING FOR
food, tracking game, and navigating through the rugged forests gave Ray the familiar delight of being immersed in the wild. Marisol was not so smitten with their journey.

“Shouldn’t we be coming on Springfield soon?” she asked, the valise hanging heavily from her arm as she walked.

“Tomorrow,” Ray said.

“Will we be stopping for the night? In a hotel or any sort of lodgings.”

“We won’t stop in any towns.”

Late spring had brought long, hot days, and Marisol wiped a kerchief along her neck. Her already golden cheeks were brown from the sun. “Really, I don’t mind paying.”

Ray laughed. “Why pay for rooms when we can sleep for free?”

“Because I’m days overdue for a bath and a soft bed.”

Ray smirked. “I’m sure when we reach the Indian Territory, Redfeather will be able to arrange something nice for you.”

“Yes, I hear the accommodations rival Paris.” Marisol snorted. “Probably lucky if we aren’t stuck in some lice-infested wigwam.”

A shadow crossed Ray’s path, and he shielded his eyes from the sun to look for the crow soaring overhead. Ray stopped, closing his eyes to concentrate on the bird. Marisol dropped her bag, grateful for a break, and took out some water.

“Did you do it yet?” she asked.

Ray opened an eye. “Not with you talking.” He tried again to focus on the bird, to see through his eyes. Quieting his thoughts, he attempted to forget his own body and to put himself high above the earth.

The crow landed on Ray’s hat, knocking it forward over his nose. He gave a caw and pinched at Ray’s ear with his beak. “Ow! All right,” Ray said, shaking the crow from his hat. The crow flapped to resettle on his shoulder. “I’ve only got one piece left, you know. After that, you’ll have to learn to bake them yourself.”

Ray slipped his hand in his coat pocket to take out the fold of waxed paper. He held up a corner of some fry bread they’d made from acorns. The crow snatched and ate it in one gulp. He shifted on Ray’s shoulder and squawked at Marisol.

“She ate all hers already,” Ray said.

“Even if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t share with you.”

The crow beat his way off Ray’s shoulder, casting a series of abusive caws as he took flight.

“I don’t even want to know what he called me.” Marisol rolled her eyes.

“He’s got a mouth on him.” Ray offered Marisol a hand as she stood. “Reminds me of the b’hoys back in the city when I was a kid.”

“What’s a b’hoy?” Marisol asked.

“Oh, these tough guys who always started trouble. They said funny things like ‘cheese it, lads’ after they’d rob some grocer. They greased their hair up so they had these soap-locks at their temples.” Ray pulled a couple of brown curls down from his ears to demonstrate.

Marisol laughed. “B’hoy. That fits him,” she said, watching B’hoy circle once more over their heads and call out before sailing over the trees. “What’d he say?”

“Storm coming.” Ray frowned.

“Sky looks clear to me.”

“For now.”

B’hoy was right: as dusk came, dark clouds filled the western sky. Ray tried to find a suitable shelter, but the only buildings they passed were for a logging camp that echoed with the shouts and curses of men felling a tree.

“Should we ask if we can stay?” Marisol asked.

“We’re not staying with a bunch of loggers!” Ray continued walking. “There’ll be an abandoned cabin if we keep going. I’ll get us a better spot.”

As they sat that evening before their sputtering fire, the
down-pouring rain ran rivers across the small piece of waxed canvas over their heads. Marisol growled, “You call this a better spot?”

Lightning shattered the night. B’hoy gave a croak from a tree nearby.

“Don’t you start, too,” Ray warned. He ventured forward to pick the pan from the coals, offering the last of the meal to Marisol. “Want any more?”

“More like stew now.”

“Mind if I?”

She eyed the pan with disgust and shook her head. “I take it back, by the way.”

“What’s that?”

“Everything bad I said about where we’ll stay when we meet up with Redfeather. I’ll take any wigwam, teepee, or dugout as long as it’s dry. Javidos can fight off the rats.”

Ray took a few bites and shook the rest into the fire. Still hungry, he remembered he had a couple of crumbs of the fry bread still in his coat pocket. It was hardly enough for a bite and as Ray started to reach for it, he stopped.

He looked up at B’hoy, head tucked into his wing and seeming to try to sleep in the storm. Ray turned a bit on the log to put his back to the crow.

“What are you doing?” Marisol asked, fidgeting with her side of the canvas.

“Quiet a moment,” Ray whispered.

He closed his eyes, feeling the cold rain plastering his clothes to his back. There was no need to try to ignore the
rain or be frustrated with it. The rain was part of the wild, just as were the trees around him and the crow sitting on the branch. Ray concentrated, letting his thoughts fill with his surroundings. He didn’t consider whether he hated the rain or liked the rain, but simply noticed that the rain was there. The forest was there. The crow was there. And he was among them.

He then focused on B’hoy, shutting everything else out as he tried to make the link with the bird.

Ray generated an image in his mind. The bit of fry bread in his pocket. B’hoy was welcome to it if he wanted it. All he needed to do was fly down and pluck it from the pocket by his right hip.

Ribbons of water curled down his face and dripped from his nose and chin. The fry bread. Come on, B’hoy, he thought. Take it.

Feathers fluttered, beating wings against the pouring rain. B’hoy’s talons clutched his leg. His beak prodded against his side, nudging open the pocket flap.

Ray opened his eyes. The crow looked up at him, the soggy bit of fry bread breaking in half as B’hoy turned and flew back to the branch.

Ray smiled and let out a sharp exhale.

“That’s a start,” Marisol said. She peered up from the canvas cover at the dripping, dark forest. “Hey, the rain. I think it’s stopping.”

Ray stood, excitement welling in his chest. “I’ll build up the fire so we can dry out.”

*   *   *

As warm, sunny weather returned, Marisol became more comfortable with the journey. She complained less and did not try more than twice to persuade Ray to stop in Springfield.