Cassie had to be out here somewhere. There was no way she would have stayed the night in the village. Millie told herself it would be okay, but with each jolt of the sled her grip on the reins tightened in frustration.
An embankment barely registered at the edge of her vision as the snow whisked around them creating a complete white out. Whilst the dogs bounded over the heavy build-up, the sled collided on an odd angle. In seconds Millie was sprawled out across the ground, her once firm grip gone slack.
She could feel the damp seeping into her coat, the sting in her joints from where her body had collided with the sled as it flipped. The dogs to their credit had stopped.
The snowstorm had come, that much was clear. All around her the world was painted white.
“Cassie.” Millie groaned pushing herself to sit up. “I’ve got to find her.”
With the total white out it was impossible to tell what lay in which direction. The dogs were panting, laying down in the snow with their ears turned back. It’d be impossible, or rather just plain reckless to try taking the sled.
“Only one thing for it I guess.” Unlatching each dog from the sled Millie could almost hear Nathaniel’s snide remarks in her ears. Are you crazy? he’d said. Dark, snowstorm, untrained dogs... perhaps she was crazy. But she was going to do this.
A shudder coursed up her spine as she leant forward. Blue and brown eyes threatened to bore holes through her skin as she tossed her head back. The shift was forbidden, that’s what Mum had always said.
“If you shift, there’s no way of knowing if you can reverse it,” Pa’d been fond of repeating every time they took the dogs out. “It might be tempting; it might seem like the only option, but you can’t control it, not really.”
A piercing howl erupted from her lungs as she hurried to pull off her human trappings. The cold bit deep into her flesh as she shrugged off the warm fur-lined coat, a damp chill ran up her nerves as she wrenched off her heavy boots and socks. As another howl escaped, her mouth twitched and her bones contorted, stretching and moulding her skull ‘til her mouth was a muzzle.
Soon the cold barely registered as a thick, fluffy coat encircled her limbs. Falling to her knees as a final shudder went down her spine, Millie found herself staring through the white powder at a set of soft paws.
The sled dogs howled, loud and piercing. Nina bounded up to her, bowing and wagging her tail. Millie felt a tug at her heart, urging her to take a moment and play. She shook her head, flicking fresh snow as more fell onto her. Cassie needed her; she couldn’t afford to be distracted.
Navigating the snow was easier with enhanced night vision, the silence washed away into a symphony of soft distant sounds. But she wasn’t following a visual cue, or a sound. Her newly pointed nose furiously sniffed the air and then the ground, seeking out something familiar.
She picked it up from the wind, that faint smell of lavender which she always associated with her big sister. Once she had it, that was it, the world seemed to slip away as all her senses zeroed in on following the smell. It didn’t seem far away, and at the pace her four legs kept it didn’t take long to reach the epicentre of the scent.
Buried under a thick coat of snow, the sliver of a woollen glove could just be made out. Millie’s heart raced as she bounded over to the snow and began to dig.
“Please be alive, please, please.” She barked and yipped as her paws frantically worked away at the fine powder, hoping this hadn’t all been for naught. “Cassie, please, you have to be okay.”
Sure enough, Cassie lay underneath the snow, and the smallest plume of white could be made out as she breathed—she was alive.
“Yes, yes!” A howl pierced the cold night as Millie danced in circles. But then it dawned on her, Cassie was unconscious, and the storm was still raging. She’d need to get Cassie to the sled first, but even if she shifted back into her human form, she wouldn’t be strong enough . . . how was she going to do this?
An answer came in the form of six chorusing howls: the sled dogs had followed her from a distance. It took time to pull Cassie’s unconscious form across the snow back to the sled, but it was easy work with three of them pulling her by the coat.
When they reached the sled, Thor and Buck pulled Cassie’s body onto it while Millie took a moment to shift back into her human form. She stretched her forelegs out in front of her and howled, but nothing happened. Picturing the shape of her human body in her mind, the tingle of her spine during that first change, still her form remained that of a canine—she was stuck.
Millie didn’t know what to do, none of them were tethered to the sled and there was no telling how long Cassie could last.
“Woof! Woof!” Thor and Buck barked at her, and Nina nudged her shoulder. It was as if the dogs had some secret understanding of each other, some unspoken language, but the shift hadn’t given Millie a means to understand it. She cocked her head to the left.
Buck barked louder at her, so Millie barked back, trying to convey her lack of understanding. Dread began to sink in as she watched Cassie’s breathing become slower.
She almost lost balance when Tara pushed past her, then Snow, Nina and Mini. Each dog took up position next to their harnesses. If she could speak, Millie would have told them they were being stupid animals, there was nobody around to harness them... However, they surprised her by grabbing hold of the long reins at their positions and pulling the sled forward with their mouths.
The winds howled around them like invisible wolves, clouding even their sharp canine vision with white. Yet they pushed on through it all. Surely the other dogs’ mouths were sore, but they continued pulling, even though it was slow progress. Millie ran just a short way ahead, keeping her ears pricked and smelling the wind for any hint of home.
Finally, the storm eased. A thick blanket of snow lay over everything, but at least their vision was clear, and with her eyes unencumbered Millie could make out the soft edges of the cabin in the distance. She could smell the fire as they neared home, hear the soft crackle and muffled voices of Nathaniel and her parents.
They’d made it, but Cassie’s breathing was dangerously slow. She hadn’t woken up, and her clothing was soaked through from laying in the snow. Millie whined at the door, pounded and scratched at the wood with her paws. This couldn’t all be for naught.
As the sun began to emerge, light illuminating the snow, she howled. The sled dogs joined her, harmonising their howls with hers. At last the door opened, Nathaniel stood there his face white as the snow that surrounded them.
“Millie?” He ran to the sled, slumping to his knees beside it. “Cassie!” As he turned the body over, the wind seemed to escape his lungs.
Nathaniel pulled Cassie’s body into the cabin, leaving the door open. Millie padded in after him, her eyes honed in on Cassie. He’d placed her by the fire, dashed down the hall and returned with blankets. This wasn’t the first time Nathaniel had treated someone pulled in from the snow. Millie lay on the carpet and waited as she observed him slowly care for their sister.
His form loomed large over her when she opened her eyes.
“You’re stuck, aren’t you?” His voice was hoarse.
Millie made a soft woof in reply, pawing at her muzzle.
“Well, at least you made it home. Cassie should be okay, why don’t you rest for a bit.”
She wanted to whine, to stay beside Cassie. But her head felt weary, her bones were tired, so she relented and went off in search of her room.
“WAKE UP, SLEEPY HEAD,” a soft voice cooed from the doorframe.
“Go away, five more minutes,” Millie grumbled, burying her head into the pillow.
“What, can’t spare a moment of sleep to talk with your sister?”
Her eyes flew open and she was up on her feet.
“Cassie, you’re okay!” She nuzzled her head against her sister’s shoulder.
“Yes, I’m okay.” Cassie stroked her hair. “Thank you for what you did.”
Millie beamed at her
sister, looping her arms around her in a big hug.
“I’d do anything for you.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: SASHA Hanton grew up in the tropics of Darwin, Northern Territory. From a young age, she devoured books and iced coffee, both of which she continues to intake on an almost daily basis. Now living on beautiful Bribie Island in Queensland her time is split between writing and spoiling her puppy Miley.
Sasha, who has a Bachelor of Journalism from Bond University, has dabbled in the journalistic profession but finds fiction far more fascinating. Her first published work The Short Story Press Collection draws on her love for a diverse range of genres and passion for short stories. Coming from a multicultural background (Eurasian) she aspires to make her writing inclusive for people from all walks of life and to bring a unique blend of eastern and western culture to her writing.
Throughout her life, she has been a lover of history and mythology, and at any time will find some way to worm one or the other into her storytelling. When she’s not writing or reading she can be found walking her dog and volunteering. You can keep up with her writing over on www.theshortstorypress.wordpress.com
Edge by Alanah Andrews
EACH MORNING AS THE sun peeked over the threshold of the world, Alma stood at the shore letting the colours wash blissfully over her body. First, the sky would seem just a little less dark. Then the stars would fade and a glorious display of crimson would creep over the horizon. Despite the fact that this was a daily occurrence, Alma never grew tired of observing the stunning mix of reds, pinks and oranges as they flowed like watercolour into her world.
She reached one hand up to her cheek, where a mark the colour of sunset stretched from her forehead, across her right eye, and onto her cheek. At first, Alma had felt self-conscious about the strange blemish on her skin, but her father had just smiled. “You’ve been touched by the sunrise, Alma,” he had said. “You should be proud.”
Alma smiled at the memory. But of course, she wasn’t just there to see the sunrise. The reason she stood on the cool sand each morning was to gaze across the sea in wonderment at Edge as it grew gradually lighter in the rays of the sun. She could feel it calling to her.
Nobody else seemed to care about Edge, not like Alma.
Some of the villagers left, now and again, and paddled across the vast ocean, never to return. But they didn’t seem to obsess over it as she did. They just woke up one morning, took one of the fishing boats and left with little fanfare. Or perhaps, she thought, Edge was always hovering at the back of their minds like it was for her, but they just never talked about it.
Alma often dreamed about Edge. She would be paddling towards it in a small canoe, leaving the safety of Island far behind. But every time she neared the brink of existence, the weather would turn, and the waves would rise like angry demons clawing and tearing at her small craft. Still, she wouldn’t turn back, clinging onto the canoe and peering through the gigantic waves, hoping to catch a glimpse of what lay beyond.
Her dreams never allowed her to see what existed beyond Edge—she would always wake up just as she got there, or be flipped out of the craft and sink quickly to the bottom of the ocean, hand outstretched in longing as the sea water flowed into her mouth.
Father said she should be content with Island because it provided everything their community needed. They grew gardens full of vegetables. They prised abalone from the rocks and caught fresh fish each day. Dozens of coconut trees lined the shore, and a cool, clear, stream ran across the land and through their small village.
But despite the safety of Island, Alma felt trapped.
Each morning she would rush through her chores, then spend her time exploring every inch of Island while the other villagers worked in unhurried contentment. Her father would shake his head.
“I’ve never met someone as curious as you, little Alma,” he would say, his voice tinged with humour and exasperation.
Alma had explored from the top of the mountain where the small creek bubbled up from an underground spring, to the golden shores which ringed the land. There was no part of Island that Alma’s feet had not yet touched. Edge was the only element in her life left unknown, and she longed to take one of those small fishing boats and leave like the others. Island made her feel safe. But Alma didn’t always want to feel safe. She wanted to have answers.
Sometimes, while she was collecting food or fishing off the rocks, Alma would close her eyes and imagine standing in front of Edge. In reality, the sea would probably be too deep for such an act, but in her imagination it was shallow, and her feet would claw into the sand as the water rushed past her legs and down, down over Edge.
Into what? Where did the water go when it thundered over the precipice? Or was there a wall which contained the water and their world was simply a large, flat disk like the pebbles in the stream?
Her best friend, Ziel, hated it when she talked about Edge. “There’s nothing beyond Island,” he would tell her with firm certainty. “We have Island, Sea and Edge. That’s it.”
Alma gazed out at the sea which quietly lapped at the shore while they collected shellfish off the rocks. “How can there be nothing? I’ve seen plenty of people leave.”
Ziel shrugged. “Sure, every now and then people are foolish enough to brave the waters. But they never come back. They either drown or fall off Edge into nothingness.”
Alma wasn’t so sure. “What if they found another Island?”
Ziel shook his head. “If they found another Island then surely they would come back and tell us about it, right?”
Alma was forced to admit that the fact the villagers never returned didn’t bode well for life beyond Edge. She spent a long time gazing out at the waves, wondering, while Ziel dutifully filled the flax baskets with abalone for dinner.
“Where does the water go?”
“What?” asked Ziel absentmindedly as he inserted a thin stick beneath the large shell to prise it off the rock.
“The water,” she repeated. “Where does the water go?”
“Over the Edge,” said Ziel as though she had gone mad.
Alma thought for a while. “Edge is all around us, right?” she began, slowly. Ziel ignored her and focused on his task, clearly wishing she would drop the subject. “So if the water is falling off Edge, then shouldn’t the sea be getting shallower?”
“The water from the stream refills the sea,” said Ziel firmly, confident that he had explained away her questions. “Now are you going to help me or not?”
Alma didn’t ask again. It was true that the stream bubbled out of the spring, meandered lazily across Island and through the village, before entering the sea. But when Alma dreamed of Edge, the water rushing and plunging into nothingness was swift—far greater than the trickle of stream water.
Perhaps the rainwater fills it, she thought. Sometimes the rain pummelled down so heavily that it felt like there wasn’t enough air between the droplets to breathe. Then the sky would roar, and the villagers would huddle together in their huts, waiting for the deluge to cease. But not Alma. The moment a storm began to brew she would be outside, waiting breathlessly for the flash of light and the ensuing rumble.
Alma decided to take her questions elsewhere.
“Father, is there a wall?” asked Alma.
Her father frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“At Edge. Is there a wall to hold the water in? Or does it just rush off Edge and fall . . . into what?”
“I don’t know,” he said at last. “Perhaps there’s a wall, perhaps there’s just Edge.”
Alma was exasperated that nobody had any answers for her. “One day I’m going to paddle over there and find out.”
Her father chuckled. “Perhaps one day you will,” he said kindly, “but not today. Now do your chores.”
Alma marvelled at the way the other villagers could be so blissfully ignorant about what lay beyond. She constantly felt Edge pressing against the inside of her mind, telling her to take a boat, to find o
ut once and for all. But then Alma thought about Father, and about Ziel. She wasn’t scared of Edge—well, perhaps a little bit—but she mostly didn’t want to leave her friends and family if she could never return.
It was a warm, peaceful sort of day when Alma decided to explore the upper reaches of the river. She was skipping rocks across the smooth water when a log drifted lazily towards her in the current. She adjusted her aim, wondering if she could skip the rock right over the wayward branch without touching it. But as she lined it up in her sights, a disturbing thought crossed her mind. The bark was too smooth, the shape too strange for a log.
Without getting any closer she knew with calm certainty what it was.
The body was naked, and for a moment it felt like the time Ziel had fallen out of a tree while they were playing—part of her wanted to run away, but she knew she should help. For a brief moment, Alma considered letting it wash down the river and into the village to let her father deal with it. But no, that would be cowardly.
She knew it was dead. She had never seen a dead body, or known anyone who had died but somewhere in the recesses of her mind she knew it was true. It was face down in the water, with long, dark hair that fanned out like seaweed.
Steeling herself, Alma waded out into the shallows, grasped one pale wrist in her fingers and dragged the body to shore. Her skin crawled, but the body moved easily through the current and onto the land. She stared at the pale skin, wondering if she should try to flip the corpse over.
Suddenly, the body shuddered and convulsed like a freshly caught fish. Then it turned its head to the side and spewed clear liquid all over the ground. Alma leapt back with a scream.
When the strange, waterlogged girl finished throwing up the stream water, her bleary eyes turned towards Alma. “Where am I?” she asked croakily.
Alma found she couldn’t answer, but the girl was shivering and Alma realised she must be terrified.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get Father,” she called, sprinting off down the river to the village. She wasn’t sure if she was running to get help or running to get away. Her heart hammered in her chest as she fought through the twisted vines and tree branches that were trying their hardest to slow her passage.
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