Apparition Trail, The

by Lisa Smedman

  “Chambers!” I cried again.

  I counted my matches by feel. I had only seven left, so I decided to let Buck pick his own way through the darkness. The thud of his hooves soon turned to a clip-clop noise; the tunnel must be passing through a section of solid rock. I raised my arm to protect my head, in case there were any low spots in the roof above. A few minutes later, I heard a faint slurping sound, just up ahead. Buck jolted to a halt, and as he did I could hear air whistle in and out through his wide nostrils. He’d smelled whatever I had heard.

  I lit another match. Then I gasped.

  No more than three or four paces ahead of me, at a place where the tunnel bent sharply, stood a buffalo calf with hair as white as the snow. It looked no more than a year old — already firm on its feet but still small, with only vestigial horns. Its pale pink eyes reflected the light of my match back at me as it looked up — and then it lowered its head once more and an equally pink tongue began dabbing at a body that lay on the floor — a human body.

  The match went out.

  I dropped Buck’s reins and slid down from his massive back. I hurried forward through the tunnel and struck another match. Iniskim shied at my approach, backing away from the body.

  I recognized Chambers at once by the silk pyjamas he wore and the smell of the Brilliantine in his dark hair. I was relieved to see that he was not dead; his back rose and fell slightly as he breathed. He lay on his stomach on the stone floor of the tunnel, his face turned away from me. Iniskim had been licking his cheek. I held the match closer, and saw an angry-red bump on his forehead. It looked as though he had struck his head in the darkened tunnel — either that, or he’d been rendered unconscious by a kick from a tiny hoof.

  I gently rolled him over, lifting him into a sitting position. As the match went out, I fished the bottle of Pinkham’s out of my pocket and pulled the cork with my teeth. I found Chambers’s mouth by feel, and pried his lips apart. Then I sloshed a little of the painkiller into it.

  Chambers sputtered, then broke into a choking cough. As he felt someone holding him, his arms immediately began flailing.

  “Chambers,” I said reassuringly. “It’s me — Grayburn.”

  Chambers was patting his body, checking shoulders, arms, legs. At first I thought he was looking for injuries, but then I realized what he was doing.

  “You’re all right,” I told him. “You’re still a man.”

  I heard Buck snort behind me, and the scrape of a large hoof against the ground. A ringing, metallic noise echoed through the tunnel, and after a moment I realized what it must be: Buck was trying to pry off a loose horseshoe. Now that he was a buffalo, the shoes no longer fit his massive hooves.

  The bottle of Pinkham’s was wrenched from my grasp. I heard a gurgle as Chambers drank. Lighting another match, I saw that Iniskim hadn’t strayed. The albino buffalo calf stood a short distance away from us, her eyes already focused on us as if she could see in the dark and had been watching us all this time.

  I shook my head in wonder. I couldn’t believe that I was face to face with Iniskim at last. A fierce pride filled my breast. Like the proverbial Mountie who gets his man, I’d gotten my buffalo. I was glad, now, that the tunnel had closed behind me — it meant that Iniskim wouldn’t fall into the hands of the Indians that Potts had said were on their way to the ford. Now it was up to us to see her safely to the Manitou Stone and prevent the Day of Changes from occurring.

  Chambers was sitting up without my assistance. He seemed to have fully recovered from his brief spate of unconsciousness. Ignoring the fact that he was drinking more of my Pinkham’s, I rose to my feet. I dropped the match and reached into my pocket to pull out the hymn book. I found the feather by feel, then held it in my hand as I struck another match.

  “Iniskim,” I said. “This was your mother’s.”

  The white buffalo calf snorted. I realized then that, even if the soul of Iniskim was inside that buffalo body, the girl was too young to understand me. She was barely a year old — and at that tender age she probably didn’t speak the language of her Peigan mother yet, let alone English.

  I tried again, at the same time attempting to project the essence of my message via thought transference. “White Buffalo Woman, I know that you are looking for the Manitou Stone, so that you can escape from this world. I’ve come to help you find it.”

  I wasn’t paying attention to the match, which burned right down to the end. I dropped it with an oath and sucked on my burned fingers. As I did so, I heard the clip-clop of unshod hooves. A moment later warm breath stirred the feather, and then a soft wet nose nuzzled my hand.

  I reached out with my other hand and stroked her head. For the briefest of moments, I imagined that my hand slid across soft human hair, but then a familiar coarseness was under my fingertips again. My hand rested on a buffalo calf — but just to make sure, I struck another match.

  Chambers had gotten to his feet and as the yellow circle of match-light filled the tunnel, he stared at Buck.

  “By Jove, Grayburn,” he said. “Did you really saddle up a buffalo to come and find me?”

  I walked back to Buck and inspected his feet. He’d managed to scrape one horseshoe off, but the rest were still firmly in place. He stood placidly, waiting for me to mount him.

  “This is no buffalo,” I told Chambers. “It’s my horse, Buck.”

  I saw Chambers eyes narrow thoughtfully just before the match went out. “You don’t say,” he muttered.

  I found Chambers’s hand and pressed the reins into it, taking back my bottle of Pinkham’s. My stomach was twisted in its customary knot of pain — in all of the excitement, I had been able to ignore it until now. I drained what was left in the bottle, then cast it aside. I heard it roll across the stone, then fetch up with a sharp crack against one wall.

  “Get on his back, and let him have his head,” I told Chambers. “I have a hunch he’ll find the way for us. I’ll follow along behind, with Iniskim.”

  Chambers did as I had instructed. I slapped Buck forward and then followed the sound of his hooves, my right hand resting on Iniskim’s shoulders as she walked daintily along beside me. In my other hand I held Emily’s white feather. If the way ahead was blocked, I hoped that the feather would open it.

  We passed a tunnel on the right that opened into the one we were in, but we carried on along the main route, always following the curve to the left. I was counting on us not having to walk too far; according to the size of the spiral I’d drawn on Steele’s map, the end of the spiralling ley line — and the Manitou Stone — couldn’t have been more than sixty miles away from the ford on the South Saskatchewan.

  I could feel that we were close; etheric energy flowed over me like a chill wind, causing the hairs to rise on my arms, and on the back of my neck. My ears were filled with a faint crackling noise that had grown steadily as we passed through the tunnel, and my skin tingled. Strange to think that we were moving through a current of magical energy, and were yet immune to it. Then I realized something.

  “Chambers,” I asked the darkness. “How did you manage to avoid being turned into a buffalo? Did you know you’d remain a man when you followed Iniskim into the tunnel?”

  The answer was preceded with a relieved chuckle. “It was an educated guess,” he said. “I knew from observation that the transformative magic didn’t work on those who had been ‘reborn’ once already. I gambled that my previous ‘rebirthing’ in buffalo form had inoculated me. I won that bet — although I probably would have been more sure-footed on four feet. Iniskim led me a merry chase through the tunnels, and I was going full bore when I ran into that bend in the tunnel. Had I been a buffalo, with horns and a thick skull, I wouldn’t have been rendered unconscious.”

  I mulled that over, listening to the clip-clip-clip-thud of Buck’s hooves and the lighter clippity-clop of Iniskim’s daintier feet. With an unlimited amount of time, I could use the buffalo stone in my pocket to inoculate all of the settlers in the North-West
Territories, one by one, by changing them briefly into buffalo and then back into human form again — but time was something we had precious little of.

  I wondered how much time was passing, up in the world above. I was tempted to slap Buck on the rump and have him pick up the pace, but didn’t want to run the risk of Chambers being knocked unconscious a second time — or of him being separated from us. My hand gripped Iniskim’s shaggy shoulder more tightly. At least she wasn’t going anywhere. She walked along beside me as obediently as a small child guided by its mother’s hand.

  “Chambers,” I asked again. “Why was my horse transformed into a buffalo? When the buffalo stone touched a snake, nothing happened. I didn’t think that it would work on animals.”

  “I was wondering when you would think of that,” Chambers said.

  Despite his knowing tone, I wasn’t irritated. He was the expert on ley lines, after all.

  “There seem to be three mechanisms for producing a transformation,” Chambers said. “The first — the buffalo stone — is the simplest. It works only upon the physical plane, and must come into direct contact with the physical body itself — the human body. It will not transform animal into animal.

  “The second mechanism for transformation is the energy contained in the ley line. The etheric force that flows along it can be used to augment the magic of the buffalo stone, allowing transformations to occur over a great distance. By using this energy, every human being bounded by the spiral — which takes in virtually all of the North-West Territories — can be made subject to the magic of a single buffalo stone.”

  “Not every human being,” I reminded him. “The Indians will be protected by their guardian spirits.”

  I could imagine Chambers nodding in the darkness as he replied. “Quite so — and why?”

  I opened my mouth to answer, but Chambers plunged on before I could speak. “The transformative magic, when spread over so wide an area, is weakened. It must spread across both the physical and astral planes. Encountering a barrier in the astral plane — the body of a protective spirit that stands between that magic and a human being like a shield — it is unable to transform the physical body.”

  “And that protective spirit must be an animal,” I guessed. “A Christian angel or saint won’t do the job.”

  “It would appear so,” Chambers concurred. “But perhaps some angels are stronger than others.”

  I frowned, thinking about the half-breed scout Peter. He’d been raised by an Indian mother and spent time among the Blood Indians. He’d presumably been given a guardian spirit by his mother. Why did he feel the need for the additional protection of a Catholic saint?

  “What’s the third mechanism?” I asked, though the answer was plain enough.

  “These tunnels,” Chambers said, and I could hear the shudder in his voice. “They’re the ley line itself — the etheric force flows underground, not above, and is drawn to the surface by the Manitou Stone, and at other power points, like the buffalo-shaped outcropping at the ford. These tunnels are filled with pure etheric force. No living creature — human or animal — can withstand that amount of magical energy, even with a guardian spirit, unless, like you and I, they have already been ‘reborn.’ In my case, it was my previous ‘rebirth’ as a buffalo that inoculated me. I can only assume that you, also, experienced a ‘rebirth’ at some point in the past.”

  “I had an operation to remove a cancerous tumour,” I told him. “I nearly died on the operating table. My heart stopped beating; only through a strenuous effort was the surgeon able to revive me.”

  “Quite so,” Chambers said quietly, a note of sympathy in his voice. He had the discretion not to continue in that vein. Instead he picked up the thread of logic once more. “As I said, pure etheric current flows through these tunnels. As soon as a living creature enters them, the transformation to buffalo form is instantaneous.”

  “Not at Victoria Mission,” I reminded him. “You weren’t transformed until you’d gone some distance along the tunnel.”

  Chambers had obviously been thinking this over himself. He had a ready answer for my puzzle. “The Manitou Stone had been moved more than a month before we arrived at Victoria Mission. It was still possible to open a tunnel at that location, but etheric force only flowed along that tunnel at the point where it joined the main body of the spiral. Had you ridden a horse into the tunnel, it would have been transformed into a buffalo at the same point that I was.”

  I stopped in my tracks as a thought struck me. “Chambers,” I said in a hushed voice. “The Indians could transform animals into buffalo, instead of humans!”

  “Of course they could — but only if they drove them down here, into the current of etheric energy itself.”

  “That’s easily done,” I said, waxing enthusiastic. “The Indians could open a tunnel and drive a herd of horses into it. Then they’d have plenty of buffalo.”

  I heard Chambers chuckle. “No — not horses. The cost would be too high. Although there would be a gain in meat, the Indians would lose a valuable source of transport.”

  “Dogs then,” I said, my excitement running high. “Or gophers, or even mice. There has to be some creature that’s suitable, and that is found in sufficient numbers. It’s just a matter of convincing the Indians that it’s feasible. When they see Buck, they’ll realize that it’s possible to….”

  Then I realized my mistake. Increasing the size of the buffalo herds was only part of the Indians’ goal. They also wanted to rid the North-West Territories of settlers.

  Thought transference must have been at work, for Chambers next words echoed my thoughts. “Convincing the Indians to use their magic on animals, instead of we interlopers, will take some doing, though, won’t it?” he asked softly.

  I realized that I’d been gesturing with my hands as we spoke, and had let go of Iniskim’s shoulder. I patted the air beside me, and found only empty space. The albino calf had trotted on ahead — and I could no longer hear the clip-clop of her hooves.

  “Chambers!” I said. “Iniskim is gone!”

  I heard a snort and the clinking of a bit as Chambers reined Buck to a sudden stop. In the silence that followed, I listened for the sound of Iniskim’s hoof beats, but heard none. I struck my second-to-last match, and the smell of burning sulphur filled the air. Holding it high overhead, I looked wildly around, my heart pounding.

  There was no cause for alarm. Iniskim was a few yards ahead of us, her nose snuffling against a solid wall of earth where the tunnel had come to an end. As the match burned down toward my fingers, she glanced upward, her pink eyes wide with yearning, and let out a soft bleat. She didn’t need thought transference to speak to me — her glance at the white feather I still held in my hand was communication enough.

  “Chambers,” I whispered. “I think we’ve arrived.”

  Chambers nodded down at me from his perch on Buck’s broad back. He looked slightly ludicrous in his silk pyjamas, smudged with dirt, his bare feet dangling as he straddled the buffalo. His voice dropped to a whisper as well. “I think you’re right. The ground has been sloping upward for some time. The Manitou Stone must be directly above.”

  I held up the feather. “Shall I?”

  Chambers nodded.

  I gave Buck a pat for a job well done, then strode forward. I had no idea what we would find when the tunnel opened. The Manitou Stone, certainly — I could feel in my bones that we’d reached the end of the spiral at last. The etheric force, palpable as a chill wind, was pressing against us with all its magical might.

  I drew my revolver from its holster, wincing at the pain from my knife wound. The buffalo stone in my pocket was a much better weapon, especially against the likes of Wandering Spirit and his ilk, but I had already decided against carrying it in my hand. I didn’t want to run the risk of someone grabbing it and using it to turn Iniskim back into a girl again. I wanted White Buffalo Woman to get safely to the Manitou Stone — and back to the astral plane — while still in t
he form of a buffalo calf.

  “White Buffalo Woman — are you ready?” I asked.

  A gentle snort came from the darkness beside me, and a tiny horn nudged the small of my back, as if to say: do it!

  I touched the feather to the wall.

  A crack of light suddenly appeared in front of me as the end of the tunnel split open. Clods of earth rained down on my shoulders, and a trickle of sand fell into my face, forcing my eyes shut. Iniskim trotted out through the falling debris, and I stumbled after her, blinking at the sudden change from darkness to light, even though that light was pale and grey. Behind me, I could hear Chambers cursing and Buck’s protesting snorts. Chambers seemed to be having trouble making his mount move forward.

  In hindsight, I should have paid attention: Buck not only knew where to go — but where not to go. Instead I ran after Iniskim, not wanting to lose her.

  I found myself amid gently rolling hills, under a star-filled sky. The ground underfoot was dotted with white — the dried salt of alkaline lakes — and patches of sand. Tufts of straw-like grass poked up through the ground here and there, sun-bleached and brittle. I looked around me, searching for a landmark, and located the northern star. I turned toward the eastern horizon and saw that the hills there were just starting to glow a faint pink, heralding the imminent arrival of a new day. Peeping up behind them was the moon — a sight that froze me in silent horror. Even though it had only partially risen above the horizon, I could see that it was round and full. The Day of Changes was at hand.

  I cast a wary eye about me, searching for any sign of Indians. The open prairie offered scant places to hide, but I had the distinct impression of eyes watching me. I checked my revolver, making sure it was loaded, then listened. From somewhere off to the west came a faint clicking sound, like the tick-tock of a watch. I took it to be an omen that our time was running out.

  I couldn’t see the Manitou Stone anywhere. Iniskim, however, seemed to be able to smell it. After only a moment’s hesitation she gave a happy bellow, like a buffalo that has scented a wallow, and trotted with determination toward the east.