by Don P. Bick
* * *
Before, when I was riding north along the river, I had a sense of civilization being nearby. Not that I had seen many people, but there was an atmosphere about the world that around the corner, or perhaps over a hill, there’d be a settlement, an outpost, somewhere to tuck in if things got too bad.
Once I leave Jamestown behind me, that sense fades. The landscape grows low and flat, the river wends deep within a valley carved by the reservoir which had been emptied years ago. It was as if I were in a primordial world, one untouched by man, where I could be slain by wolves and my skeleton would not be found for decades.
I ride Blaze more than I walk with him, and we make good time along the packed dirt worn smooth by countless deer. I had studied the map in the general store before I left, and had also traded my few remaining silver nuggets for ammo, a well-honed knife with an antler bone handle, a canteen, and a pouch full of jerky. Wayra had said there were settlements around Devil’s Lake, but I like to plan for mishaps.
The day slides by with a steady pace irregularly interrupted by rests and minor detours. Evening approaches with dusky violets as we reach the southern end of Jim Lake. The placid surface is tempting, and I give thought to how easy it would be to cross with a canoe or raft. But even if I did not have Blaze to look after, I know that being on that shimmering surface would make me an easy target. Being with Blaze gives me the quick option to vanish over a ridge or into a copse of trees, should trouble arise.
I lean forward and give Blaze a fond pat on the neck. For the hundredth time I praise my luck at finding him and at having the money necessary to wrangle him away from his owner. He has become my rock; I hadn’t realized how lonely I was before, until I had him in my life.
We camp in a hollow, nestled beneath a swaying willow tree, and Orion’s belt hangs low in the sky. I stare at it for a long time, lost in drifting thoughts.
Blaze is racing beneath me, his heart thundering, and I pray that we reach our destination in time.
Where are we going?
Jim’s lake has turned muddy, flat, and stagnant. Our feet catch in the mire, and it is a constant struggle to press ahead. Swarms of mosquitoes have descended on us, and my neck is a welt of raised red bumps. Blaze has pushed steadily forward, but I can feel reproach in his eyes as his tail flicks hard against his rump. We work at it all day long, barely stopping for a break, and at last we reach the top of Arrowood Lake. We pause on the banks, looking around.
This is where the water-path ends. There is nothing before us but rolling hills and stands of shrubs.
I am not quite ready to leave it, to abandon this path which has guided me so far and to strike out on my own. I tie Blaze up near the edge of the lake, then build us a small fire to hold off the autumnal chill.
“This is it,” I murmur to Blaze. “Tomorrow we are on our own, you and I.”
Blaze gives a whicker, and I know that it will be all right.
I fall, curled up, into a dreamless sleep.
