Time Meddlers

by Deborah Jackson

  Chapter 17

  Matt and Sarah’s Totem

  Dappled sunlight broke through the branches of the white pine and tickled Sarah’s nose with its warmth. She sat up immediately, reenergized after the sleep and meal, and crawled to the edge of the slope to spy on the active camp below.

  Three Algonquin women were busy skinning and smoking a bear. Sarah shuddered. Could it be the same one that had tried to attack them yesterday? The coarse black fur and sharp pointed teeth looked hideously familiar. Other women in the camp were preparing breakfast over the cooking fires. The men huddled together around the main fire, voices raised in a heated debate.

  A shiver rippled through Sarah at the sound of their angry tones. Were they discussing what to do with the orphaned children just outside their camp?

  Matt stirred, yawning and stretching, letting the bearskin slip from his shoulders. He propped himself up, blinked a few times, then crawled on his hands and knees towards her. When he reached her side, he peered down the slope. “Hey, that looks like our bear,” he whispered, scratching his head.

  “I think it’s Chogan’s bear,” said Sarah. “I’m just glad that they’re eating it, instead of it eating us.”

  “You said it,” said Matt.

  “What do you think the argument’s about?” Sarah motioned to the adults in the centre of the camp.

  “Whatever it is, I don’t think it’s about us.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Well, for one thing, we’re still here, not down there, being tied to a stake.”

  “Good point.”

  “Since we’re still undiscovered, what do we do next?”

  Sarah gazed at the dense woods around them and the fast-flowing river behind the camp. It was all so foreign, even though they were just a few kilometres from Ottawa. This river must be the Gatineau River, but no houses lined its banks, no highways ran alongside it. A thickness developed in her throat. Tears prickled her eyes.

  “I just want to go home.”

  “Don’t we all,” said Matt. His jaw tightened, as if bothered by her homesickness. Maybe he thought if he surrendered to it himself, the hard shell he’d built around his feelings might crack. “I’m looking for realistic options.”

  Sarah bit her lip and turned away.

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered, “but we have to face the truth. There is no way back. Nadine made sure of that. Even Dad couldn’t find a way back from the past.”

  She knew he was right. But how could she just accept that they were never going home? Her thoughts trickled to the warm cozy house on the outskirts of Ottawa, protected from pests and the harsh climate. Her father was likely preparing a stack of pancakes for breakfast, only she wouldn’t be there. He’d find her bed empty, and he’d start to worry. He’d call the police, they’d scour the neighbourhood, but they wouldn’t find her. No one would find her.

  Sarah looked at Matt through a haze of tears. His image shifted and blurred. His outline seemed vague. She blinked away the tears, but he didn’t come clear.

  “Matt?” She reached out and touched his sleeve. Her hand swept through his wispy image as though through a holograph.

  “Oh no!” She pushed closer and slammed into his body, solid as steel.

  “What in the world are you doing?” he asked.

  Sarah threw her arms around him.

  “Sarah, what are you getting all mushy about?”

  “Y-you weren’t here, two seconds ago.”

  “What are you talking about? I haven’t budged from this spot.”

  “I mean it, Matt. I couldn’t see you clearly, so I reached out to touch you, and you were nothing but air.”

  Matt patted his arms and legs. “Doesn’t feel like air to me. Though I did feel a bit weird.”

  “Don’t you ever leave me,” said Sarah.

  “Not a chance. You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Dead serious.”

  “Don’t say that word.”

  Sarah smiled. “You’re still the walking corpse to me.”

  “I almost forgot about that,” said Matt, grinning. “What do you think it means—this vanishing stuff? Can we get back?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, you thought it was Dad before. Maybe it’s him now, too.”

  “He could still be around,” said Sarah, “protecting you, somehow.”

  “My guardian angel.”

  “That’s reassuring. Only if he can’t get home, it probably doesn’t get us home, either.”

  Matt nodded. “Even his warnings with the arrows didn’t help. It was kind of drastic, wasn’t it? Showing you visions of someone shooting me with an arrow just to keep us from the lab.”

  “I think it was the only way he could communicate,” said Sarah. “Maybe when he opened a wormhole into our time in the quantum foam, he had only seconds, so he had to do something wild to get our attention.”

  “Yeah,” said Matt. “I suppose.” His eyes shifted to the village below and popped wide.

  “What is it?” asked Sarah.

  He hushed her and pointed. The Algonquin men had stopped their debate as they admitted a visitor into their camp. A tall young white man with a wiry black beard strode to the centre, near the totem pole. He sat down across from Chogan’s father and greeted him in French. Matt strained forward to hear what they were saying.

  “I think it’s all about trade,” he said.

  “I hope so,” said Sarah. “If they start talking about shooting strange kids, I’m out of here.”

  Matt waved her to silence and leaned forward again. The Frenchman made slashing gestures with his hands. He pointed to the south.

  “What are they saying?”

  “I think we’re in trouble,” said Matt.

  “They’re talking about war on the Five Nations, aren’t they? Is that Champlain, do you think?”

  Matt shook his head. “It doesn’t look anything like the statue.”

  “What statue?”

  “You know, the one your father showed us. The great discoverer.”

  “What’s to discover? This is an occupied land.”

  “I’m sure Chogan would agree with you. The problem is that the Algonquin wound up helping the French, and since we’re English, I doubt if the French would treat us kindly. Especially if they’re trying to get a toehold in North America one step ahead of the British.”

  “Chogan’s not going to turn us in,” said Sarah.

  “Maybe not Chogan, but what about the other Algonquin who saw us?”

  “I don’t know, Matt. He hasn’t done anything yet.”

  “Yet. Maybe he’s just taking his time. I don’t think we should stick around to find out.”

  A tap on Sarah’s shoulder gave her a jolt. Her heart thumped wildly as she looked behind her, but it was only Chogan. What a relief. She tried to talk, but he clapped a hand over her mouth.

  With an urgent wave at Matt, beckoning him to follow, Chogan quickly slunk backward towards the denser part of the forest. But his lightning movements stopped when his eyes lit upon the oak tree just behind Matt.

  “What? Do you see a ghost?” Matt whispered, slipping easily into French.

  “Do-daim,” whispered Chogan.

  Matt frowned. “Do-what?”

  “Do-daim,” said Chogan with more emphasis.

  Sarah squinted at the tree that disturbed him so much. A carving was etched in the bark—a roughly drawn image that resembled a boot.

  Matt finally got the idea that they weren’t staring at him. He twisted around. “What’s this?”

  “Do-daim,” said Chogan again, his voice getting sharper. The unspoken words were “you idiots.”

  “Totem,” said Sarah, snapping her fingers. “Maybe he’s saying that’s your totem.”

  “Wow,” said Matt. “Except I didn’t draw it. What kind of a silly totem is it, anyway? I mean a bear or a wolf, even a moose, would be better than a boot.”

  “A moose would be more
like it,” said Sarah.

  “Hey!”

  “Wait a minute.” The totem struck a chord, but what was it? Sarah looked down at her own feet.

  “D’you know what it means?” asked Matt.

  She didn’t answer. Instead she dug around in her backpack and unearthed the muddy winter boot. “What do you think?”

  Matt looked at the boot, then at the drawing. “I suppose it could be. So your stupid winter boot is my totem?”

  “No, silly. It’s not just your totem, it’s ours. Besides, I don’t think it’s a totem at all. I think it’s a message from your father. Remember when you felt weird a few minutes ago and you disappeared on me? That’s when he must have left the message.”

  Matt’s brows crushed together. “A message. What exactly does this message mean?”

  Sarah rubbed her forehead, as stumped as he was. “Darned if I know. Let me think about it.”

  “You do that,” said Matt. “In the meantime, maybe we should get out of here.”

  Chogan nodded as if he grasped the gist of their conversation. “Allez!” he said. He crept deeper into the woods, urging them to follow.

  Sarah and Matt hunched down and slipped between the feathery ferns and stiff pine boughs that echoed their passage with crisp rustles. They trod carefully, to avoid tripping over arching roots or stepping on any dry twigs that would surely give them away. Gradually, the sound of conversation from the camp faded. They could breathe easier.

  “Chogan.” Sarah caught up to him. “Where are we going?”

  Chogan muttered something in Algonquin and slapped her gently on the side of the head. “En français, si tu veux vivre.” In French, if you want to live.

  “Je suis désolé. J’ai oublié.” I’m sorry. I forgot.

  Chogan smiled. “D’accord. Tu apprends.” All right. You’re learning.

  They chuckled, even though it was an odd time to be joking. Chogan took her hand and wound his way down the slope, guiding them in a wide semicircle around the camp. Water gurgled and splashed, an obvious clue to his heading—the river.

  They emerged from the trees beneath a series of rapids, leaping and crashing water over bulging river rocks and boulders. Chogan disappeared into nearby bushes and hauled out a birchbark canoe, the shell composed of thick strips of bark teased around curved wooden ribs. In the hull sat two sets of paddles and a buckskin backpack similar to the one Chogan had worn the day before. He shoved the canoe into the current and held it steady for the two time travellers to jump in.

  Matt leaped aboard, but Sarah held back.

  “Hurry,” said Matt.

  “I’m not so good with boats.”

  “Can you swim?” asked Matt.

  “Of course,” she growled. “I finished Level Eight in swimming lessons, at the top of my class.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “Well, that was in a swimming pool.”

  “You mean you’ve never been in a river or lake before?”

  “Well . . . no,” she said, searching for some way to explain. “There aren’t many of them around Toronto.”

  “Lake Ontario?” he said sarcastically.

  “That’s just too big. And polluted,” she hastened to add. But she couldn’t meet his gaze. It seemed silly that she’d lived next to a Great Lake her whole life without ever swimming in it.

  “You mean your dad never took you camping?”

  “Mom hates bugs,” said Sarah. “She’s not very outdoorsy.” She wanted to say neither am I, but held her tongue.

  Matt rolled his eyes. “City slickers. Okay, just think of this as a big pool.”

  Sarah took one step towards the canoe, biting her lip. Chogan raised his eyebrows, clearly growing impatient. She didn’t want him to think any less of her, so she tried to force herself forward. Her feet seemed glued to the mud on the bank.

  “Sarah,” said Matt.

  “Pools d-don’t have r-rapids,” she said through chattering teeth.

  Chogan, looking exasperated, muttered something in Algonquin, let go of the canoe—which started to drift away with the current—and grabbed Sarah around the middle. He hoisted her into the air like a sack of dirt and tossed her into the canoe. Sarah shrieked as she landed in a heap in the bottom. The canoe rocked savagely and nearly capsized. Before she could untangle her legs, Chogan had leaped aboard behind her and pushed off into the current.

  “I don’t believe it,” said Sarah, grasping hold of the ribbing and struggling to sit up. “I thought he was nice.”

  Chogan ignored her as he dug his paddle into the river. Within seconds he had the canoe sailing through the fast flowing eddies.

  “Tu n’es pas gentil,” she shouted at Chogan. You’re not nice.

  Chogan grinned and shrugged. “Tu vivras,” he said. You’ll live. His paddle hovered in midair as he shouted at Matt: “Arrête!” Stop!

  Matt stopped paddling. He glanced back at Chogan, who scanned the banks with microscopic focus. Sarah tried to ignore them, still fuming at Chogan’s rudeness.

  “He’s such a jerk,” she muttered.

  “Be quiet,” said Matt.

  Sarah fell silent. The boys were too tense, too wary. She studied the forest. Nothing to see but tall trees and dense shadows. Four beetle-black crows flapped over their heads. A skunk waddled out of a thicket. There was no sign of a French invasion force. After thirty seconds, Chogan commenced paddling again and instructed Matt to do the same.

  Sarah heaved a sigh. They’d faced a new challenge at every turn since they’d landed here, but had ended up with no damage except a few scratches. Why should their luck change now? Chogan must be jumping at shadows.

  As she turned to face forward again, something whistled through the air, followed by an abrupt thud. Matt let out a bloodcurdling yell and tumbled backward. He lay there, in the bottom of the canoe, twitching and moaning, an arrow jutting from his shoulder. Blood welled from the puncture site and trickled down his blue shirt. Sarah gasped, then screamed.

  Chogan yelled in Algonquin and booted her in the back. He motioned to the paddle that Matt had dropped. Sarah shook her head, but Chogan snarled and kicked again. She scrambled forward and gripped the paddle. Chogan grabbed Matt under the arms and hauled him backward to the middle of the boat, where he laid him down. The canoe rocked as if caught in the clutch of giant waves. A shower of arrows fell into the water beside them.

  Chogan set to paddling, all the while yelling at Sarah. “Allez! Allez!” Go! Go!

  Sarah sliced through the water with the paddle, even though she couldn’t stop shaking. She had to attack it, the same way she’d attacked a basketball on her old Scarborough court. She couldn’t think of Matt, groaning behind her, blood pouring from his wound. She’d be no good to him if she were dead.

  The arrows soared through the air and splashed into the river behind them. The warriors gave chase along the riverbank, their painted faces and war shrieks coming closer, but as Sarah and Chogan paddled like Olympians, their attackers dropped back, their feet becoming entangled in the shrubs and weeds along the bank. Chogan ignored everything around him. He grunted and stabbed the river. Soon the sound of skittering water swallowed the horrid shrieks.

  Sarah’s arms screamed from the effort, but surprisingly she kept pace with Chogan. Just ahead, a strange rumbling sound swelled, but she paid no attention to it. They had to escape. Suddenly she looked up and her heart skipped a beat. They were approaching rapids, a jumble of rocks and cascading water as long as a soccer field.

  “Chogan,” she yelled, over the rising roar.

  Chogan shook his head and aimed the canoe straight for the middle of the rapids, where a narrow gap split the rocks. The water poured through this gap with explosive force.

  “Portage!” she shouted.

  Chogan shook his head again. He pointed backward. They were still being pursued.

  “But this is suicide,” she gasped.

  Matt groaned. Sarah risked a glance back at him. His e
yes were pinched and tearing from the pain. “You . . . can . . . do it,” he said, through gritted teeth.

  Sarah nodded and turned back to face the white water. She thrust her paddle into the current as they headed straight towards the gap in the rocks. The waves buffeted the canoe, tossing it from side to side. Sarah braced herself against the sides of the boat to keep from being tossed out.

  “Hold on tight,” she shouted back to Matt.

  “H . . . holding . . . on.”

  The canoe shot through the gap like a cannonball from a cannon. It soared in the air, then slapped down into the water again. An electrical jolt zapped all the way up Sarah’s spine. She plunged the paddle into the water, trying to keep the rocking canoe upright and its nose straight.

  Boulders rose up on either side of them, as if they were mountains and the canoe was rocketing through a pass. Mist whipped up from the water blinded her. She blinked. A devil of a rock stood right in their path.

  Sarah jammed the paddle deep. Chogan grunted behind her, so he must have done the same. The canoe twisted sideways. It scraped the side of the rock, tilting and nearly capsizing. Sarah and Chogan compensated by swinging their body weight to the opposite side. The canoe righted and dashed farther down the river, where the number of rocks eventually dwindled. Sarah sighed. Calmer waters were just up ahead.

  “I think we’re out of the woods,” she shouted back.

  “Nothing but woods,” said Matt, in a frighteningly weak voice.

  They splashed down the final length of the rapids. As the canoe swept into a gentler current, Sarah wiped the sweat from her brow.

  “We made it.”

  Then the nose of the canoe caught in an eddy spun off from a small whirlpool. It torqued and yawed. Despite Sarah and Chogan’s frantic efforts keep it upright, it flipped over, tossing all its passengers into the icy water.