The Wolf Tree (8 page)

T
O HIDE THE HARSH GLARE OF THE FIRELIGHT
, J
OLIE
buried the coals of the cook fire. They would remain hot under the earth until morning. The stars overhead were bright enough to cast a shadow, and she gazed up at them for a long time.

Her sister Cleoma had been traveling for many hours now. Jolie imagined following Cleoma, swimming free in the creek and following the waters back to her Terrebonne home, where she wanted desperately to return. Had the fever spread? Would Cleoma need help tending the sisters? How many lives could extra hands save? Maybe Cleoma had been right. What would she be able to do for Conker—if and when he finally awoke?

This gnawing sense of regret brought a sudden weariness, and Jolie retired to the well. She pushed back the plants and
dropped into the deep, black waters. As her body drifted down, she closed her eyes and felt the spring soothe away her troubled thoughts. After a short time, sleep came over her. She sank to the bottom of the well.

A cold hand clamped around her ankle.

Jolie’s eyes sprang open. She screamed a fountain of bubbles and kicked, but another hand clutched her leg and pulled her down. Great balloons of air ascended from the dark below.

Conker!

Shaking off sleep and fear, Jolie ran her fingers down to Conker’s hands, following them over his arms until she had a grip around his shoulder. She kicked and clawed the rocks lining the well to bring him up. As they broke the surface, Conker gave a great cry.

“Conker! It is me,” she said, holding him afloat and reaching for the edge of the well. “Can you see it is Jolie? I have you.”

He choked and sputtered and bobbed back down. Pulling him by his massive arm, Jolie coaxed him to clutch the well’s rock lip.

“Can you pull yourself up?”

Conker did not answer.

Jolie rose from the water and broke back the stems of the overhanging plants hiding the well. In the dim starlight, she saw his eyes, wide and searching and full of fear.

“Take my hand. I will help you up.”

Conker did as she said. Jolie pulled with all her strength until the giant planted his feet on the rock and stood up from
the well. His legs gave out as he rose, and he crashed down into the bracken.

“You are weak, Conker,” she said, kneeling by him. “You have been asleep a long time. Rest here before you get up.”

Conker was crouching on his hands and knees. His hair had grown thick and wooly during his long sleep. Jolie ran her fingers soothingly across his head. Conker began trembling and shaking. His skin was cold.

“I will build up the fire. Stay here. I will be back to help you in a moment.”

Jolie rushed to collect the wood and uncover the coals. In minutes, the fire was ablaze.

Conker was as she had left him, still planted on his knees and still shivering. “Can you crawl?”

He did not answer, but at her urging hand, he followed her to the fire. Conker sat with his knees tucked to his chest, shaking. “Let me get you soup and tea,” Jolie said. “It will warm you, and the herbs will help restore your strength.”

Dashing to the small cave where she hid her food from prowling animals, Jolie brought out dried fish, herbs, and roots. As she prepared the meal, she kept her eyes on Conker. Although the well had nourished him, he was thin, his face gaunt, his body weak. She brought a wooden bowl over to him and held it up to his lips. “Sip slowly. You have not eaten in a long time. It is hot.”

He gulped and, despite the heat, ravenously consumed the entire bowl in several swallows.

“Can you take this cup of tea while I get you more soup?”

Conker looked in her eyes for the first time. Recognition came over him. He nodded and held the wooden cup. Jolie spooned out more soup and brought it over.

“Take more, but try not to eat it too fast. Your stomach might not be ready for so much.”

Conker sipped at the soup and the aromatic tea, his gaze shifting anxiously.

“You are in a safe place,” she assured him. “It is a well used by my siren sisters. For healing. You were badly injured. Do you remember?”

Conker’s bright white eyes stared at her, and he cocked his head. Then he closed his eyes, wincing. She was not sure whether he was troubled by what he remembered of the train or if he could not remember at all.

“It is okay,” she said, thinking this response would do in either case. “There is much to tell, but it may still be too soon.” She touched his neck and broad shoulder. “You feel as if you are warming. That is good.”

Conker finished the soup and let the steaming cup of tea warm his hands. The night wore on, and Jolie was eager for Conker to speak, eager to help her friend in so many ways. He needed his hair cut. She would have to get him to try walking. But she made herself remain patient. As the faint light of dawn pushed aside the stars, she decided that the soup had not given his stomach trouble and that he should eat something more substantial.

“Conker,” Jolie said. He lifted his head weakly. “I am going to catch us something for breakfast. Wait here. Do not get to your feet until I can help you. Agreed?”

He nodded, and after watching him a moment longer, Jolie took the conch shell knife and set off to hunt.

When she returned an hour later, Conker was sitting as she had left him, staring into the fire. She plucked the turkey and skinned the groundhog, and built up the fire to roast the game.

“How long?” Conker’s voice was little more than a croak.

Jolie spun around. “You can speak!” She smiled tentatively.

“How long?” Conker repeated.

Jolie took a deep breath. “You were badly injured, Conker. The train … do you remember what happened on
The Pitch Dark Train
?”

He nodded slowly.

“You should be dead. The explosion. If you had not been wearing Redfeather’s necklace—”

Conker’s hand went to his chest. He clutched the copper head on the necklace, squeezing it tightly. “You look … different, Jolie.”

Jolie stuck the game together on a spit and placed them over the fire.

“You’re … taller.” His voice gained strength. “You seem older.”

Jolie prodded the logs to increase the flames.

“Jolie?”

She rose. “I need to get more—”

“How long have I been asleep?”

Jolie bit at her lip and turned. Conker stared urgently. “Almost a year,” she said.

Whatever he had been expecting, she could tell he had not imagined it could possibly be that long. He sank back, his arms trembling to support him.

“Your body was broken, Conker. Only because of the well have you healed.”

Conker was taking shallow, rapid breaths. His jaw clenched tight, and he ground his teeth as he tried to speak. “Where … where is it?”

“What?” Jolie asked, getting closer to Conker.

“The Nine Pound Hammer.”

“I do not know, Conker. I did all I could just to save you.”

“It’s lost then?”

The roasting meat crackled, sputtered fat onto the flames. “You have been through so much, and it will take time for you to regain your strength. Please do not worry now.”

Conker laid his forehead on his knees and was silent. Jolie continued to stare at him, hardly believing he was finally awake after so long. And now she felt as if she had done little to prepare herself for what to do next. Pulling her gaze away, she checked on their breakfast, rotating the spit.

“Where’s the others?” Conker asked, lifting his head slightly.

Jolie shook her head. “I do not know.”

“Ray? Nel? Si? You ain’t seen them?”

“Not since we jumped from the train.”

Conker looked at Jolie for a long time. “You’ve been alone, watching over me for … a year?”

“When I fell in the river, I found you first. I do not even know what happened to Ray. I knew only one way to save you and that was to take you here.”

Conker reached out his enormous hand and Jolie took it. “I don’t even know how to begin thanking you, Jolie.”

“You are my friend, Conker. I am just glad you are better.”

“I’m weak. I feel it. But that meat smells real good. Is it near ready?”

“Soon.”

“Tell me what has happened. Tell me what you’ve done these many months.”

“It will be a boring story, I fear.”

“I want to hear it all the same.”

Jolie began the story that began atop
The Pitch Dark Train
. She told how she carried Conker to the well. She told him of the passing seasons and her dreadful thoughts of losing Ray and the others and her resentment toward her siren sisters for their abandonment. She told Conker about Cleoma and of the sickness in the Terrebonne.

“What should we do now?” Jolie asked Conker. “Should we search for those pirates you befriended? They might know where Nel has gone with the others.”

“I’ve been thinking on it while you were talking. I want to find Nel, to let him know I’m alive. He must think I’m dead….” A deep sorrow broke on Conker’s face. “But
before that, can you lead me back to the trestle over the Mississippi?”

“I could find it again. But why?”

“We’ve got to look for the Nine Pound Hammer.”

“Maybe Nel and the others found it.”

“Maybe,” Conker said. “But we don’t know where they are. First, the river. I need you to search the river for it.”

Jolie nodded. “Yes, when you are strong enough to travel.”

“After that, Jolie, I think you ought to go back to the Terrebonne. The Gog is dead and your sisters have returned. They need you. You’ve spent too long looking after me.”

Even after he had finished the entire turkey and the groundhog, Conker’s appetite only seemed to grow. He was able to get to his feet but was still too weak to help Jolie hunt. She set off on her own, using her siren song and her conch shell knife to capture more game. Conker walked around the stream, gathering strength slowly.

That evening Jolie was amazed at how much Conker ate. No sooner had one meal been cooked than he was ready for another. She emptied every root and tuber from her cache in the cave, baking them in the coals until they were tender enough to be eaten.

By the next day, Conker was getting stronger. He tired quickly, but he was able to join Jolie to search for berries and nuts. As Jolie cut his hair with her knife, Conker asked, “What is this place?”

“The spring?”

“How did you know it was here?”

“I heard about it from my sisters. There are other springs like this—with waters that heal. This one is called
Nascuits ai Élodie
, or Élodie’s Spring.”

“Who was Élodie?” Conker asked as black knots of hair fell to his lap.

“My mother.”

Conker looked around at Jolie, his eyes wide. “Your mother?”

Jolie pushed his head back down and continued with the knife. “Yes. I did not know her. Do you know why I am only part siren?”

Conker nodded. “Ray told me. He said your daddy was just a normal man.”

“All sirens have normal men for fathers,” she said. “But they are enchanted, made into husbands by our singing. My father was not like this. He was no sailor rescued from the cold sea. He gave his love freely to my mother.”

“Who was he?”

“I do not know his name. My mother never had a chance to tell me, and the sisters did not remember what he was called. Élodie found him injured in the Terrebonne. The other sisters say he was an outlaw who took refuge in our swamp. My mother cared for his wounds for a time. She fell in love with this man. But after he recovered, he left her. Not long after I was born, my mother left me in the care of my sisters and searched for this man. She died here. I do not know if she ever found him again. Probably not.”

“How did she die then?” Conker asked.

Jolie shrugged. “The sisters always said her heart had been poisoned by this wicked outlaw, for she had given her heart to him. This is not the way of our sisters. Love such as this is not … encouraged. I will not suffer the same fate as my mother.”

Conker narrowed his eyes, but said nothing as Jolie continued cutting curls from his head.

“The wells are rare and secluded, as this one is,” Jolie said after a moment. “They say the Spanish conquistadors sought them.”

“Fountains of youth,” Conker said, blowing a lock of hair from his lip.

“A siren’s heart is very powerful. It bestows longevity, vitality. When a siren dies, her heart brings forth a healing spring from the roots of the earth that contains the powers of her heart. It is through my mother’s death that you have been healed, Conker.”

“So you reckon I’ll live forever?” He chuckled.

Jolie lowered the knife and took a step out to examine Conker’s haircut. She gave a satisfied nod and then grinned at Conker. “No,
Nascuits ai Élodie
can heal, but it does not bestow immortality. I would not be surprised, however—given how long you have stayed in the waters—if you live to a great old age.”

Conker smiled a bitter smile as he brushed the loose hair from his shoulders. “I can only hope.”

*   *   *

Over the next few days, Jolie hunted deer and rabbit and all manner of birds and game. She skinned and cooked and fed the fire. Conker helped her some with the tasks, but mostly he ate.

“You are putting on weight already,” Jolie said one afternoon after returning with an armful of wild turnips.

“Ain’t got much of a choice with all your hunting,” he said.

The following morning, Jolie emerged from the well to find Conker already awake and building up the cook fire. “It’s time to go,” he announced.

“You feel strong enough?”

“We’ll travel as far as I can, and stop to rest if I’m too tired. I’ve got to find the hammer.”

Jolie took two bladders that she had been using for boiling water over to the well. She pulled back the bracken and submerged the bladders in the clear green spring, filling them with the well’s healing waters.

“We have far to go,” she said over her shoulder. “But let us hope there will not come a time that we need to use these waters.”

Conker nodded. Soon they left the overgrown marsh, passing from the protective barrier that guarded the spring, and began their journey east toward the Mississippi River.