Seasons of Wither (The Great North Woods Pack Book 3)

by Shawn Underhill

  The young wolf said nothing, only lowering her head further until her chin was approaching the ground.

  “It is a burning like fire,” he said, “pressing in and in. Then there is the weakness and the lasting ache. The body does not as you please it to, as it does now with ease. This weakness passes in time, but may you never know.”

  Erica lowered herself lightly to the ground, signifying without words her intent to comply. Abel watched her for a moment, then returned his gaze to the direction of the poachers.

  “I must see what I can see,” he said after some time. “When my mind is settled, I will entertain your role. It is, as you say, best to learn by action.”

  ***

  It felt like a long time for Erica to wait alone, though it was good to rest. Occasionally she let her chin rest on the leafy ground, but with the knowledge of activity both before and behind her, she found it impossible to allow herself to sleep. The coyotes would not bother her, she knew. What drew her attention the most was the constant curiosity of Abel’s position and findings. She wanted to know and she wanted to join him, but she would not risk his safety by making an unintentional clumsy move to alert the men. Nor would she risk compelling his wrath for disobeying. She’d had quite enough of that already.

  Her eyes were heavy with laziness when she detected the old Snow returning. The late afternoon sun was cutting between the trees at a sharp angle. It shone on his dark coat as he neared. She arose expectantly, her muscles tensing as the excitement spread through her.

  “Not one,” he said, coming near, “but two they have killed; both bucks with impressive antlers.”

  “Do they eat the meat?”

  “There are only three men. They could not gorge near that amount. The sport of antlers is their main objective. What meat that could not be smuggled out would be left, as with the hides, wasted and unappreciated.”

  A low growl began in Erica’s belly that slowly worked its way up into her throat. Greedy, cheating men had meat, while her stomach ached with emptiness. She disliked them strongly for killing the animals out of season, for their pride and unwelcomed intrusion in that remote place. But her hatred for them was made complete by their possession of food while she starved.

  “Patience,” the old wolf said as he lowered himself to the ground. “The sun sinks quickly. Already the woods seem dark to human eyes.”

  “Can I help?”

  “You may,” he said. “With two, we may offer them double the terror from opposing directions.”

  ***

  Abel lifted his head, blinking the laziness from his eyes. The far horizon was the color of fire; all else was in deep shadows.

  “Now?” Erica said, lifting her own head.

  “I will go around and approach them along the lakeshore,” he said. “You will wait here for my call, then approach cautiously after giving your answer. Perhaps they will feel pinched between us and the lake. Going north by foot or over water by canoe will be their only options of escape, if that is their impulse.”

  “And what if they don’t? What if they fight?”

  “They will not. Not with any zeal, at least. The smell of alcohol was clear upon my inspection. If by chance they are brave—which I doubt—by now they are surely drunk, lulled by the campfire, full-bellied and sluggish of sense. Perhaps they will ignore us altogether.”

  “Are the deer hung?”

  “On the edge of the clearing.”

  “We could take them without a sound.”

  “We could,” said the old wolf. “But wouldn’t it be better to frighten them as well as rob them?”

  ***

  Erica lay still, watching the last light of day leave the sky. In the distance the first stars began to twinkle in the darkest section of sky. Though she held completely still, her insides were jumping, her nerves tingling as she awaited the call of the old Snow. At her back the coyote pack had settled in also to wait. Their presence was already nothing to her. The task ahead had become the focal point of her life.

  At last Abel’s deep howl sounded. “Come along,” it said. Erica rose silently, her hackles bristling as she turned her nose to the sky and offered her reply. Then she began moving forth with long, exaggerated, silent steps.

  From the camp she soon heard voices and the murmur of activity. She increased her speed according to the noise, knowing they would not hear her small sounds over their own clamor. The faint flickering of their fire came into sight between the tree trunks and underbrush. Still their noise increased, so her speed increased, until she was yards from the clearing. She held up, peering through the brush, her wolf eyes soaking up every bit of detail offered by the fire glow.

  One man had fallen over backwards in his folding chair. He had risen to his knees and then made no more progress, massaging the back of his head where it had struck solid ground. One man, the most alert of the three, had produced a rifle and started in the direction from which the howl had sounded. The third and drunkest was still in his folding chair, his chin on his chest, an open beer balancing on his belly.

  “Get up, you lazy—” the one with the rifle kept saying from the far side of the clearing. The only answer he received was first the dazed mumblings of the man kneeling, followed by the second, more distant call of Abel.

  “Let them follow,” the young wolf heard in his call. He’s drawing him out, she thought. Good. Follow him, Mr. Rifle. Your deer will be gone by the time you return.

  Holding perfectly still, she watched the man with the rifle disappear into the darkness. The sleeping one still slept, and the dazed one was still contemplating trying to stand. The dangerous one was gone. She could see the deer just feet away. The excitement swelled within her, building and building until she felt her fluttering heart would burst in her chest.

  Silently she leapt into the clearing. Her feet touched the ground once, just long enough to propel her toward the dazed man. Striking him with her shoulder and then whirling as her feet touched the ground, she sent him hurdling forward. She heard the wind forcefully leave his chest and a grunt as he fell again, this time on his face. With another lunge she snapped at the rope suspending the nearest deer. She pulled with all her strength until the rope frayed between her saw-like teeth. She took hold of the deer’s hind leg and trotted away into the darkness, head high, carrying her prize.

  She was a fair distance from the clearing when she stopped, dropping the deer. She hurried back, still brimming with all of that excited energy. She surveyed the clearing, found that nothing had changed, and in like fashion stole the second buck as easily as the first.

  ***

  For a time Erica alternated carrying the deer, being concerned mostly with putting space between herself and the campsite. The dazed man would eventually come to his senses; the alert one would eventually return, though probably tired from his chase.

  At last the rumblings of her stomach began to overtake her concern of the men. She held still, listening for any hint of her great uncle moving in the dark. Then she lay down over one deer and began eating with starved fervor. And that’s when the coyotes finally revealed themselves.

  Her stomach wasn’t half full when their eyes began appearing, their voices low as whispers. She continued eating as they warily neared, circling wide, nervously and excitedly. The nearness of meat drove them crazy with desire. But to them she gave only part of her attention. She did not move from her meal until one bravely lunged to steal a piece of meat from the second, unprotected deer. Incensed, the young wolf flew at the little scavenger with full fury. No longer acting by conscious decision, instinct drove her to defend the meat, as if life depended on it. A strong nip to the offender’s flank served as both punishment and a warning to the rest. She may not have been as revered as the elder Snow, but in his absence she was King—or rather, Queen. And it was good to be a queen. By law of fang she would demand their respect, or else.

  Soon after she’d resumed her meal, the coyotes’ eyes began to dim and spread out amid the sh
adows. Abel sauntered through their midst, paying them no mind, parting them with his mere presence as he strode confidently. Erica lifter her head and acknowledged him as he came near.

  “Well done,” he grumbled, stooping down over his deer.

  Erica made only a subtle nod in response, knowing the old brute to be stingy with compliments, and even less talkative than normal at mealtime. His simple approval swelled her pride far more than she let on.

  As she devoured the meat, ground the bones and took of their marrow, she felt the deer’s former strength filling her body with new vigor. His speed became her speed; his might, his bravery, all hers now. Having tasted hunger and weariness and still performed in a satisfactory manner before the old one, at last she began to understand the full depths of her new capacity of living. Pride gave way. Confidence took over, pulsing through her with every beat of her great heart.

  ~4~

  “That barn stunk to high heaven,” Jessie remarked as she stepped from Matthew’s truck. “But isn’t this a beautiful house. Do you think Evie will take us horseback riding later on?”

  “Depends,” Matthew replied, slinging duffle bags over his shoulders and taking up a suitcase in each hand.

  “Not me,” Amy said, struggling with one of her bags. “I itch all over just thinking about animals.”

  “Of course you do,” Jessie muttered.

  “Be nice,” Matthew said. “And wipe your feet on the way in; you’ll get points with my grandmother.”

  “What about you?” Jessie said to Matthew as they moved up the steps. “You said something about haying. What’ll you be up to after all that?”

  “I guess that depends too,” he smiled. “Go on in.”

  Jessie opened the door and stepped into the great room carrying her purse. Her eyes were drawn to the high ceilings, the wood and stonework. Everything was just as Evie had always described—beautiful. Matthew followed, weighed down by her luggage. Amy followed after Matthew, using his big silhouette as a sort of guide.

  “Beautiful,” said Evelyn Snow. She was standing on the far side of the kitchen looking out toward the great room. The counters before her were covered with various cooking supplies; her apron was covered in flour and purple blueberry stains.

  “Oh, why thank you,” Jessie said with her hand on her heart. “How sweet. I must say, you’re one of the prettiest grandmas I’ve ever seen. And your house is just gorgeous. Like one of those big fancy hunting lodges.”

  “I’ve been short of help the past few days,” the old woman continued, as if Jessie wasn’t speaking. “Right in the middle of blueberry pie season no less. The arrival of fresh help is a beautiful sight.”

  Jessie’s expression slowly dimmed. Matthew motioned towards Amy, who looked like a lost child hovering at his side.

  “I don’t know if this one is up to doing much,” he said. “They’ve had a rough few days on the road.”

  “Go upstairs, get settled in Evie’s room, and get cleaned up,” Evelyn said. “Matthew will show you the way. And come back down once you’ve got your acts together; you must be hungry.”

  “Starved,” Amy said. The aroma of baking pies made her insides rumble with anticipation.

  “Hit the stairs, ladies,” Matthew said.

  ***

  “You’re not gonna leave, are you?” Jessie asked once they were safely in the bedroom.

  “You don’t expect him to feed you grapes, do you?” Amy said.

  “Go play one of your audio books,” Jessie hissed, then resumed smiling at Matthew.

  “You’ll be just fine here,” Matthew said. “Gram’s just teasing you about helping. You two get along. There’s no sense being at each other like that.”

  “Fine,” Jessie said. “I call the shower first.” With a quick grab she snatched away one of her bags from Matthew’s grip and zipped down the hall with it.

  “Sorry about her,” Amy said. She backed toward the bed and let herself down easily. “It’s awful nice of y’all to help us like this. Evie always raved about this place.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Matthew said. “You gonna be all right?”

  “Another Benadryl and some rest, and I should be great.”

  From down the hall they heard Jessie call, “You should see this tub, Ames.”

  “Did I hear you mention that animals give you allergies?” Matthew asked.

  Amy laughed nervously. “Yeah, like crazy. But as long as y’all don’t have any pets in the house, I should be fine.”

  “No pets,” Matthew assured her. His expression, if Amy could have seen it, was less than convincing.

  “I’ll just stay indoors while we’re here.”

  “Just, uh, take your medicine and try to unwind. Hopefully you’ll snap out of it.”

  “If Barbie lets me.”

  “Don’t let her get to you. And if you’re hungry, Gram will feed you till you slip into a coma.”

  Matthew backed out of the room just in time to see Jess coming down the hall wrapped in a towel—just barely.

  “I forgot something in my other bag,” she said brushing by him.

  “Well, I’ll catch you later,” Matthew said and moved quickly to the stairs.

  “You’re pathetic,” he heard Amy say.

  “Whatever, Smurfette. You’re—”

  “Good luck, Gram,” Matthew said at the foot of the stairs. “You’re gonna need it with these two going at it.”

  “And the hunter is on his way for another meeting,” she replied. “I’m beginning to think the concept of peace and quiet is a myth.”

  ***

  Lars took his customary seat on the couch. Joseph Snow sat in his office chair after closing the door behind him. He was civil and polite as usual upon greeting, but Lars could tell by his face that he was no more at ease now than he had been for the past two weeks.

  In spite of his efforts to prepare, Lars felt uneasy. He never knew how to begin a conversation with the old man, and had come to prefer letting him, as the superior, take the lead.

  “So,” Joseph began. “I trust your lodgings are still satisfactory?”

  “They’re more than I need,” Lars answered. “I’m sure my tune will change once the weather declines. But for now, I’m more comfortable sleeping in my tent.”

  “Mrs. McCall is thrilled to have you staying with her. With her hearing being so badly impaired, a lot of folks find it too difficult to try to converse with her. As a result, she doesn’t get a lot of company.”

  I can see why, Lars thought. A simple conversation with her feels like a shouting match.

  “And I doubt she realizes that you’re not sleeping in the house most nights,” Joseph added.

  “I figured,” Lars said. Knowing how well the wolves could read a human face—and therefore read their mood, feelings, even intensions—he was hoping the old man didn’t pick up on all of his true feelings. The old widow was alone in a house in the center of town and surely she longed for company. She was kind, unintentionally overbearing, and thoroughly annoying to a loner like Lars. He was in working mode 24/7. Being a chit-chat companion to an old woman was taxing to his nerves and a draw on his concentration.

  “The fact that she believes you’re around is half the battle,” Joseph said in a lighthearted tone. “Don’t worry, I know that you need your peace and quiet. Believe me, I understand perfectly well.”

  The old man’s casual tone set Lars at ease. He took a deep breath and smiled weakly. “She turns that TV up so loud,” he sighed. “And it’s always some game show or those damned shopping networks.”

  Joseph laughed softly. “To a woman that grew up without electricity or running water, it must seem a miracle beyond comprehension.”

  “Yes,” Lars agreed. “And she’s very passionate about her tea. She makes cups, sets them down here and there, loses track of them, and then goes about making another. I’ll bet she offers me three or four cups a day.”

  “You’re not a tea drinker, Mr. Olsen?”
/>   “I’m a coffee man,” Lars said. “But I haven’t the heart to turn her down when she brings me a tea.”

  “She mentioned that you’re a nice enough chap, but tend to leave your tea sitting cold.”

  “Mine doesn’t get the chance to get cold. I take a sip for her to see and then put it down the drain. It tastes like punishment.”

  “She must be discovering her own lost tea,” Joseph laughed. Lars laughed along with him, shaking his head.

  “The poor old soul. I feel bad in a way, but I just can’t take much of her at once.”

  “She also mentioned that you’re not much of a talker.”

  “I’m barely in that house to answer her.” Lars readjusted in his seat, leaning slightly forward in a more relaxed position. “But all joking aside, I do appreciate the accommodations. It’s good to have a place to store my gear. It’s good to take a hot shower and have clean clothes and have my camp so nearby. I’m more than satisfied with the arrangement.”

  “Very well,” Joseph nodded. “I suppose we must now proceed to more serious matters.”

  “I suppose so,” Lars said. “Well,” he began when he realized that the old man was waiting for him, “I received the supplies I requested. I’ve been working a little here and there on the special ammunition.”

  “And Mr. Harken?”

  “He loves his new rifle. Like a kid with a new toy. But I haven’t given him any of the explosive rounds yet. I …”

  “That’s probably best left for a time of absolute necessity,” Joseph said.

  “That was my thinking,” Lars agreed.

  “I hope it never comes to that. But if it does, it’s best to be overly prepared rather than under.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  “Good,” the old man said. “So, I trust you haven’t arrived at any new conclusions since we last met.”

  “No,” Lars answered as he took a small item from his chamois shirt pocket. The item in question was flat black in color, cigar-shaped but shorter than a cigarette. Before the wings had been broken off, it had been an almost perfect likeness of a dragonfly. Turning it over gently in his hands, it weighed next to nothing. Yet the problem it posed was immense. After days of examination and contemplation, he had nothing beyond speculation to offer the old man. “Nothing but guesses.”