by Hunter
Jake reached up to the center shelf, pushed a pile of dust aside, and placed the book on the shelf.
Northwind was suddenly at his side, and he turned to her. Seeing the question in her eyes, he said simply.
“Some fairy tales are real. This one belongs here. They are his memories, and now -he is theirs. ”
She nodded, scanning the room slowly. Then, arm in arm, they moved toward the light.
Winter-stripped boughs bent low, coated on top with freshly fallen snow like a second, crystalline bark. The evergreens, transformed into immense white-plumed birds, were the most sorely burdened. They drooped close to the ground, pressed down and denied flight by the impenetrable gray mass of clouds which seemingly clung to the treetops. The afternoon was not far advanced, but neither was darkness long to come; this time of year, at this latitude, morning was always late to arrive, and daylight never overstayed its welcome.
Kaitlin tried to weave her way through the fragile whitescape without leaving sign of her passing—tried, and failed. Stretching to make use of the drift-breaking footprints of Black Rindle, who she was following, she repeatedly lost her balance: not completely, not tumbling to the ground in full snow-angel posture, but enough that her shoulder or her arm as she flailed to regain her equilibrium brushed against a heavy-laden branch, and the snow cascaded to the ground.
There was no actual need—thank goodness—for her to pass mysterious and unseen like an Indian through the forest—no need other than her own desire to show Black Rindle that she took his admonitions seriously. The place he was taking her was secret; it was holy. And it was not meant for her kind.
Not meant for humans.
He had taken her there once before, and in so doing had jeopardized both their lives. If not for the intervention of the strangely beautiful patchwork beast, she and Black Rindle would certainly have been killed. Maybe that was why he was taking her back now-now that most of the others were gone.
Black Rindle was undeniably strong and, despite the humped back that made him appear stooped and forced him to limp slightly, he’d always struck Kaitlin as surprisingly graceful—preternaturally graceful. The first time she’d seen him, she’d not even noticed the hump. Of course, she’d been preoccupied by terror at the time, and the only detail that she had noticed, other than his glaring predatory eyes, had been the body slung over his shoulder.
Kaitlin shook her head; she gnawed the inside of her lip, willing herself not to dwell on such morbid thoughts. Slaughter was nothing new; blood was shed all across the world, every hour of every day. If she obsessed on the details, she would lose sight of the larger, broader picture. It was with a purpose that she accompanied Black Rindle; she sought equilibrium in her life, balance that could not indefinitely be maintained through isolation. But one other fact, through hard experience, she knew incontrovertible: If she was to make her way in the world, she must choose the route carefully.
Moving through the forest, she watched Black Rindle’s hunched back, tried to trace his footsteps. He was wearing an old coat that she’d bought him for seven dollars at the Salvation Army store in Winimac because he had no money. He wouldn’t use a hat or gloves, said he didn’t like them, they got in the way. Kaitlin’s knit cap was pulled down over her ears, her fists scrunched tight inside her wool mittens. She wore a scarf, parka, her only pair of jeans, warm boots, long underwear. Still she was cold. She wondered what her ancestors would think if they could see her. Long ago sweating in the jungles or deserts of Africa, would they ever have been this cold? Had they seen snow? She didn’t know the names on her family tree, but probably some forebear had been abducted and brought across the ocean in chains to experience winter frost in the American South. Kaitlin knew only the stories of her grandparents and her parents in Detroit; they had been cold. What about Clarence? Her cousin was the only family she still kept in touch with these days, and that irregularly. Was he freezing somewhere? On the street, back in prison?
Thoughts of family inevitably triggered thoughts of home-of what used to be home. Kaitlin had fled the city when the dead got uppity. She had already seen firsthand the inhumanity within man when she then began to see the simply inhuman: partially decayed corpses shambling down the street or sitting in a restaurant, ephemeral ghosts standing on a comer, twisted faces peering out from behind the expression of someone who used to be familiar—and no one else seemed to see. The choice had been between insanity and isolation, and so Kaitlin had fled to the rural wilds many miles from Detroit.
But ignoring the impossible had not made it go away. The spirit world had sought her out and had found her. With a vengeance.
Jarred back to the here and now, Kaitlin suddenly halted her next step mid-stride. Black Rindle was so much taller that she practically had to leap to match his footsteps, and this time she looked up to see him stopped and her about to plow right into him. He bent down and examined a slight trough before them in the knee-deep snow. Then, with his bare hands, he began to shovel the snow aside.
“What are you doing? ” Kaitlin asked. Her voice sounded muffled in the veritable snow cave. She ran her tongue over her cracked lips.
Black Rindle did not answer, but as he cleared away more snow she saw what he had found: a narrow strip of ice, gleaming black against the trickle of a stream that somehow managed to flow beneath.
Kaitlin looked around. She had been here before, but she never would have recognized the place. Everything out here was so completely different depending on the hour or season: day, night, summer, winter. The city wasn’t like that; a building was a building, by daylight or streetlight, heat wave or blizzard.
They continued on, keeping just to the side of the trough, which was fine with Kaitlin. She had no idea how solidly the stream was frozen and no desire to test the waterproofing of her boots in sub-freezing temperatures.
When Black Rindle stopped next, Kaitlin wasn’t caught off guard, but what she did not see for several seconds was the third individual standing with them near the hidden stream. He was completely still, and as much a part of the forest as the trees. He was beautiful, too: in the way that a deer bounding away through the underbrush is beautiful. His long silver hair was twined with magpie feathers, and he wore furs and buckskin boots. Confusion furrowed his brow, and his pale blue eyes asked the unvoiced question: What is she doing here? As Black Rindle and the newcomer stared rigidly back and forth, Kaitlin could feel the tension between the two men.
Men. She kept telling herself that was what they were, though she knew it was not the truth. Not the whole truth. She wouldn’t let herself look at them. Not that way. Yet even denying the vision, the second sight that she had tried and failed to leave behind in the city, she could sense the razor’s edge that Black Rindle walked. His rage was never far beneath the surface. Kaitlin imagined that each whisker upon his pale face quivered from the strain of violence denied. He had never turned that fury on her, but she had seen what his kind was capable of. From within rather than without, the icy winter chill touched her and she shivered.
Beyond the two frozen men, Kaitlin saw a low, curving mound of snow. The miniature ridge, like the exposed stream earlier, told her where she was, and desperate to interrupt the deepening tension she pointed at the mound: “That’s the shrine. I didn’t recognize it… with all the snow. ”
Slowly, as one, Black Rindle and the other turned, each regarding her as if she had materialized from nothing, or told them that white was black. With difficulty, Kaitlin swallowed. Just as slowly, the two men mercifully looked away from her and resumed their stare down.
The stranger spoke first: “Evert didn’t allow humans. ”
“Do you see Evert anywhere, moon-calf? ” Black Rindle asked.
“His name is Moon-calf? ” Kaitlin whispered. “No more than his is Hunch, ” the stranger said, offended.
“My name might as well have been Hunch for those many years, ” Black Rindle said with his own refined bitterness, relenting only slightly when he told
Kaitlin: “This is Barks-at-Shadows. ”
Nervous, Kaitlin chuckled—then realized that no one was joking. “Barks-at-Shadows” she said hesitantly. “Go figure. ” Then again, she reminded herself, her guy’s name was Black Rindle.
“This is Kaitlin Stinnet, ” Black Rindle said for the benefit of Barks-at-Shadows. “She is Kinfolk. ”
“Kinfolk born? ” Barks-at-Shadows asked. “Kinfolk by word and deed, ” Black Rindle said, then added: “I put more stock in the person than in your Fang bloodlines. ”
Kaitlin didn’t understand, but whatever Black Rindle was talking about was doing nothing to soften the mood. His words pricked Barks-at-Shadows, though still he was less angry, less bitter, than Black Rindle.
“I’m hungry, ” Kaitlin lied, and again the two men regarded her, almost as if they’d forgotten she was there, despite the fact that her presence was ostensibly the point of contention between them. “I haven’t had anything to eat today, ” she said to Black Rindle. “Can you go catch something. We’ll make a fire while you’re gone. ”
Black Rindle glowered at her but, after hesitating for a few tense moments, acceded— as Kaitlin knew he would. He took pride in his hunting skills, and it was not often that Kaitlin allowed herself to ask anything of him. With barely audible throaty grumbling, he trudged off into the deepening darkness of the snow-blanketed forest.
As quite often seemed to be the case, Kaitlin began to doubt the wisdom of her actions—now that it was too late. She could feel Barks-at-Shadows watching her. They were alone except for the creaking of the heavy-laden branches. Kaitlin didn’t look at him—something about direct eye contact being a challenge; it just didn’t seem like a good idea. So, eyes downcast, she started rooting around in the snow, clearing a spot on the ground with her boots for the fire. Without comment, Barks-at-Shadows left her and returned a few minutes later with an armful of kindling; a second trip and a third each yielded more substantial pieces of wood.
“So, ” Kaitlin said, “do you guys, like, rub sticks together? ”
Barks-at-Shadows reached into a pocket and produced a lighter.
“Oh. ” She watched as he built and lit the fire. She tried to convince herself that Black Rindle wouldn’t have left her here, wouldn’t have brought her, if there were danger. Not again.
The crackling flames were a welcome diversion, a natural focal point. Kaitlin could stare at them and didn’t have to make such a constant effort not to look at Barks-at-Shadows. Besides not wanting him to feel challenged, she didn’t trust herself to hold in check the second sight which would show her what she most definitely did not want to see—not right now, not while Black Rindle was gone. She had grown accustomed enough to his presence that she could see him as a person, not as one of those things, not as a something that looks human but is just waiting to reveal its true form.
She had seen Barks-at-Shadows before, when he was changed; she thought she had—when he and the others had tried to kill her. She assumed that he had been one of the snarling man-wolf creatures that had invaded her home, that would have tom her limb from limb, that Black Rindle had protected her from.
“Are the others… 7’ Her voice faltered. Her tongue felt thick, her lips numb.
“Gone or dead, ” Barks-at-Shadows said.
Kaitlin gazed at the fire for a long time, seeing in it the flaming brands of a funeral pyre. She pulled a stump closer to the fire, brushed off the snow, and sat. “You don’t like me being here, ” she said at last, glancing furtively at Barks-at-Shadows.
He shrugged. “Evert didn’t allow humans here. But Black Rindle is Alpha now. ”
Alpha. But of what? Kaitlin wondered. Of one other of his kind? Of this lonely, hidden place? She felt suddenly sad for Black Rindle— and guilty herself. He had entrusted to her his greatest secrets, yet she had not revealed to him news of great importance. Despite the shared intimacy for which they both had been starved, she couldn’t bring herself to tell him. She was selfishly searching out her own way.
Kaitlin glanced at Barks-at-Shadows again. He still wore his vaguely confused expression—it seemed to be a permanent state for him, as with a not-too-bright child. Kaitlin cautioned herself, however, not to underestimate him. Even a child, if he grew eight feet tall and had claws and fangs that could snap steel, could kill.
Kaitlin jumped at a sharp crack, but Barks-at-Shadows was merely snapping a stick to toss in the fire. “The others… who are gone, ” she said, as she tried to slow her drumming heart, “they didn’t much like Black Rindle, did they? ”
“He’s not very likeable. ”
Kaitlin took a slow, deep breath. She hadn’t expected Barks-at-Shadows to be so forthright. Could he be as guileless as he seemed, or was he trying to lure her in? “Then why are you still here? ”
“It’s my place. My tribe didn’t want me. ” “Why not? ”
“I’m not so smart as I should be. They were embarrassed by me. ” Again, the blunt, unwavering directness. But without bitterness. Barks-at-Shadows seemed to accept his place; he expected no better, felt that he deserved no better.
“But you were accepted here, ” Kaitlin said. “Black Rindle s mother was kind. She’s dead now. ” “I know. And what about Black Rindle? ” “What about him? ”
“Why did the others hate him so much T’ Kaitlin asked. Did you hate him too? she wanted to ask, Or did you just try to kill us because they told you to? For a long moment, Barks-at-Shadows turned his confused-child face toward her; he seemed to pity her, that she should need to ask something so obvious. “He’s metis, ” Barks-at-Shadows said. “Accursed in the sight of Gaia. ”
The words made Kaitlin’s blood run cold. The matter-of-fact way in which Barks-at-Shadows uttered them, even if not dripping with vitriol and hate, bespoke indoctrination: casual acceptance of what he’d been told over and over again, more insidious than the ranting of a hate-monger. When Barks-at-Shadows said metis, Kaitlin might as well have heard nigger. The dismissal of an entire group of people as something less than human kindled her own sense of rage. Of course, in this case Black Rindle was something other than human, but so was Barks-at-Shadows, so were all the others like them. Regardless, Kaitlin had found something of humanity within Black Rindle, no matter what her second sight suggested about his state of otherness. She was not able to reject him out of hand, and Barks-at-Shadows’ categorical judgment stuck in her craw.
But how to make Barks-at-Shadows see that? Would he ever listen to her? Was his opinion of humans any higher than of a metis? She was mulling those questions when Black Rindle returned. He would have hunted in a very different form, but there he was standing as a man, tossing a bloody hare onto the ground by the fire. The thud of the limp carcass against the melting snow struck Barks-at-Shadows like a slap across the face. Instantly, from relatively relaxed he was on edge. Kaitlin thought she could almost feel from several feet away the rumbling growl deep in his throat.
Black Rindle, too, was prepared for any challenge, any slight. As with Barks-at-Shadows’s growl, Kaitlin could sense the coiled violence of Black Rindle, never too far away, but so much closer to the surface than when the two of them were alone. In that brief moment of reunion, she knew the futility of the task she had set herself. She could not reconcile these two individuals; she could not make inroads against the prejudices of their people and culture. Maybe, if she had years—but she did not have years. She couldn’t wait that long.
“I’m not hungry anymore, ” she said morosely. “Can you take me home. ”
Black Rindle glared at her, but did not argue. When she did not rise from her seat, he lifted her in his arms. They did not say goodbye to
Barks-at-Shadows; they simply left. And as Black Rindle carried her, he changed. His strides grew larger, stronger, as he grew taller. His arms held her as effortlessly as they might any small, insignificant creature, though not so carelessly as he’d brandished the dead hare. Steam spouted from his lupine nostrils, and his ears lay back as he qui
ckened his pace and the nighttime forest of muted white became a blur.
Kaitlin curled against his warmth. She closed her eyes, no longer able to retrace the route she’d taken to reach this place, and placed a gentle hand on her belly. Even through her parka, she could feel the life stirring within her. But she wouldn’t tell Black Rindle, she couldn’t. Not until she’d figured out what she needed to do. She had hoped for something better from his people; she’d let herself imagine that their savagery might conceal some basic, fundamental understanding of existence. She had worried about them not being human. As it turned out, perhaps they were all too human.
".. Unfortunately, the museum is closed for the foreseeable future. ” Leaf Pankowski could hear the tension underlying Dr. Carleton Van Wyk’s cultured tenor as he spoke from her answering machine. “I must go. Until next time. ” A click then silence. The machine’s pre-recorded voice recited the time and day stamp. Leaf reached down and erased the message.
The heavily built woman collected her thoughts as she put away her groceries. Two packs of tofu went into the freezer, the third in the fridge. ‘The museum is closed’ was a code-phrase the doctor used to tell her to lie low after a mission. To act normal until any suspicion died down. But Leaf didn’t want to.
After she put the groceries away, she took an apple from the crisper and picked up her copy of the newspaper lying on the floor of her apartment. Her homemade, ceramic wind chimes tinkled by the window. “Mysterious Fire Destroys Gynecology Clinic”, the headline read. She shook it out and grinned. She rarely bought the tabloid, considering it right-wing patriarchal crap, but it was the only daily that had covered the fire. Leaf read the story with a satisfied smile on her wide face. Those warlocks won’t be doing any more ‘experiments’ on helpless women, she thought.
Leaf wore her straight, dark hair in a boyish bob. She considered herself to be “healthy”, although her GP had warned her that being twenty pounds overweight wasn’t doing her heart any favors. But her doctor had bought into the beauty myth, and wasn’t the ideal standard of womanhood an ideal recipe for anorexia anyway? Leaf liked her body the way it was, although she appreciated the way her figure was hardening, courtesy of her martial-arts classes.
