Ice Princess

by Judith B. Glad

  This was different. It was almost like being in water over his head, 'cept he could still breathe. He looked back at Flower, and she appeared like something seen in a dream, half there, half not. "Only good part is that it'll make us harder to find," he said, and only when she looked up did he realized he'd said it out loud.

  "We'll need to find shelter," she said, coming up beside him. "I'm beginning to chill, and your clothing is already soaked."

  Reminded of how cold he was, William shivered. "No way to tell, but we ought to have three, maybe four more hours of daylight. Too early to stop."

  "William, this is definitely not daylight. And if we get too cold, our thoughts will become confused. I say we stop, if we can find a protected place to bed down."

  He could remember how half-witted he'd been sometimes when he got cold clear through. "Keep your eye out, then," he said.

  He took maybe a dozen more steps, and then his foot came down on empty air. For a moment he fell free, then he slammed into a tree. Head ringing, he clung to the slippery bark.

  "Are you all right?" Flower's voice seemed to come from a long way above him.

  William took a better hold on the tree and looked up.

  She standing way above him, right on the edge of the cliff he'd stepped off of. A couple of trees leaned over the edge beside her, but between him and the top was nearly bare, as if a big chunk of mountain had broke off sometime recent. "I'm fine," he said. Now how am I gonna get myself out of this mess?

  He'd come down maybe twice his height. It would have been an easy climb back, if there'd been anything to take hold of. But there wasn't, and the soil looked crumbly, like if he was to try to clamber up, he'd find himself sliding clear to Kingdom Come.

  William clung tight to the tree and looked all around. On either side of him the bare ground stretched for quite a ways, but down below it petered out into narrow gullies, like the broke off chunk had come apart and slid down in littler pieces.

  "I will see if I can find something to pull you up," Flower called softly.

  "No!" He kept his voice low. "Wait!" He leaned out farther. Yes, if he was to slide down about three times the distance he'd already come, he would be able to hold onto them bushes. And then he could work his way over that way, maybe climb back up.

  If he didn't start rolling, or kill himself when he landed. If he didn't get into one of them gullies and slide all the way to the bottom.

  I've seen mountains higher than this canyon is deep.

  They might be able to get down there, but he wanted to see more of what he was getting into first. There was a shelf sticking out so he couldn't see the bottom. Before he climbed back up. He'd take a look over the edge of that.

  He turned around again and looked up at Flower. "I'm gonna see if I can get to them bushes, slide down to that flat spot. I think I can see a way up from there."

  "No." Flower shook her head, knowing he probably couldn't see her. "It's too dangerous."

  "See if you can find my spear." He let go.

  William had been tossed and tumbled real bad when the water took him during the hurricane, but nothing like this. For the longest time, he slid, rocks catching at him, tearing skin and buckskin. He couldn't see an arm's length in front of him, what with the dust of his slide and the fog all around. Then he smashed up against a big rock and stayed there. Afraid to open his eyes, he just lay still and took two or three deep breaths. He was tangled up in some kind of bush, he decided, eyes still shut. And the ground under him wasn't as steep. I musta' slid all the way to the bottom. Maybe I'll just rest a spell. It's a long way back up.

  And there wasn't any guarantee he'd be able to climb that straight-up hill.

  A rattle of falling rock made him open his eyes. The top of the cliff was lost in the fog, but he could see well enough to know he was almost to the bottom of the bare place, caught in a clump of young fir trees. Off to his left it looked like there was bigger trees, growing up the hill as high as he could see.

  Feeling like he'd been walked on by a whole herd of cows, he pulled himself to his feet, weaving for a minute whilst his head cleared. The bush he'd run into was one of them with the hollow stems that Flower called elderberry. He pulled his knife-- leastways I didn't lose that--and sawed through a stem about as thick as his wrist. He'd need it goin' uphill, to dig in if he got to sliding.

  Heart in her throat, Flower watched him slide until he disappeared into the mist. He is strong. He will survive.

  She clung to one of the leaning trees, hoping it was firmly enough rooted to support her. His spear. Although at first she had seen it as a primitive tool, hardly worth the carrying of it, she had learned that William needed the stout, pointed staff. It was his walking stick, his brush-beater, his pointer, and his weapon.

  And they might need it, to defend themselves.

  She scanned the hillside below her, wondering how, if she spied the spear, she would retrieve it. After a long while, she gave up. He must have dropped it as he fell and it slid past him.

  Where was he? Should she call out to him? No. Any shout loud enough to reach his ears could also tell their pursuers where they were.

  Perhaps I should see if I can go down there.

  Not yet. It had been only a short while since he had slid out of her sight, even though it seemed forever.

  He will return. So it is up to me to see that he has a dry, comfortable place to return to. And food.

  She was willing to gather anything edible at this point. Cold and wet, they needed food even more now than before. She prowled long the cliff's edge, gathering a few rose hips, some elderberries--if we survive this, I will never eat another elderberry as long as I live!--and two strawberries that had not realized their fruiting season was past. On her way back to where William had fallen, she stopped to pick leaves of the plant Hattie had called springbeauty. They were a poor food, in her opinion, but hunger made her willing to eat anything that would not poison her.

  As she looked around for more of the fleshy leaves, she saw William's spear, caught in the branches of a shrub, looking like nothing so much as one more bare stem. With great care, for it looked ready to slip free and go sliding down the hillside, she reached out and grasped it.

  The feel of it in her hand, hard and smooth, gave her an immediate sense of security, as if she were somehow protected.

  Once more she peered down the slope, but still did not see William. Flower assured herself that he was coming back to her, then turned to explore in the opposite direction of the deep canyon. With her attention only half on her explorations--the other half was listening for any sound form the canyon--she almost missed the cave, merely a darker shape in the mist.

  It was not exactly a cave, she amended after investigating the dark hole. Sometime in the distant past an enormous boulder had rolled down the hill and wedged itself against an equally enormous tree. Over time soil and detritus had accumulated, until the space between them, a triangular cave a bit deeper than half her height and high enough for her to sit upright in the center, became a warm, dry refuge.

  That small animals had used it was evidenced by droppings and a scattering of hulls. An assortment of tiny bones told her something larger had been here, too. But now the cave was empty and looked to have been so for some time. They would sleep warm and dry tonight.

  Flow left her gleanings in the cave and hurried back to where she had last seen William. The fog, if possible, had grown thicker. Good. They will not be moving any faster than we have. We should be safe tonight.

  Still, her shiver was not entirely from the cold.

  Flower was waiting for him when he finally reached the top. William took that last step, onto flat ground, and found himself caught tight in her arms.

  "I was so frightened!" she said, her voice unsteady. "You were so long. Did you fall all the way to the bottom?"

  "I ain't sure there is a bottom," he said, breathing deeply of the smell of her, sweat and wet leather and woman. "It looked like it went on do
wn forever. And sometimes I had to go back and look for another way to come, 'cause there's a lot of them places where the ground is bare and slickery."

  "You are safe. That is all that matters."

  "Even better, I found us more berries. Here." He handed her his moccasins, both stuffed full.

  "Oh, good," she said. "Elderberries."

  * * * *

  "I wonder where Beowulf is," Flower said, after they had eaten all the food the two of them had gathered. "Could they have caught him?"

  "Doubt it," William said. "I reckon he's keepin' his eye on 'em, and if they gets too close to us, he'll let us know."

  "I hope so." She missed the dog. His senses were more acute than hers or William's. With him nearby, she always slept better.

  Outside, the forest dripped. The rain had stopped briefly, but had begun again shortly before they had finished gathering fir branches for bedding. Now it was coming down heavily. Even the many layers of tree canopy above them did not stop it. But she was warm for the first time in many hours, so to Flower the steady sound was soothing. Beside her under the mound of fir branches, William gave off warmth, and all around her the rock and tree served as a barrier against intrusion. She was safe.

  For one more night.

  "William?"

  "Yes'm?" He sounded half-asleep.

  "I love you."

  He did not reply.

  After a long while, she said, "Did you not hear me?"

  "I heard you, woman."

  She waited. At last she could wait no longer. "Are you going to answer me?"

  He moved then, shoving the branches aside, pulling her onto his stretched-out legs. His arms held her so tightly she could not have moved had she wanted to. "You just make up your mind to that?" he said, his voice low and vibrant.

  With some difficulty she freed one hand enough to reach up and cup his chin. "Yes...No. I am not sure." Tracing the line of his lips, she said, "I think I have been afraid to acknowledge it for some time. I was afraid..."

  "Seems to me you was afraid of a powerful lot of things," he said, and she heard a hint of frustration. "But you's one of the gamest women I ever knew. 'Most as brave as Hattie."

  She smiled, although with a touch of pique. "A compliment indeed." Then her amusement faded. "I am not brave, though. I am weak and cowardly. Perhaps I always have been, but never had to face it until...until..."

  "'Til them renegades come."

  Nodding, Flower said, almost to herself, "They did more than rape me, William. They made me realize that I cannot always take care of myself, something that my father always told me I must do. And so I failed. Failed him and myself."

  He pulled some of the branches up, settled her more comfortably on his legs. "Don't reckon Buffalo meant you always had to handle whatever come along. Nobody can do that, not even him."

  "Yes, he could!"

  "No'm, he couldn't. He told me one day about the time him and some other trapper got attacked by Injuns. They had to be rescued. And about another time him and that Everett was cotched in a snow slide. They both woulda' froze to death, but another trapper saw it happen and dug 'em out."

  Flower pushed herself away from him, looked up, although she could see nothing in the total darkness. "Those were difference circumstances. The Indians outnumbered them. And no one can be safe from natural disasters."

  "You 'n me 'n Silas was outnumbered by six renegades."

  The simple statement of fact struck her as no impassioned argument would have. A woman, a stripling, and one man, however strong and determined, had been no match for six hardened criminals, especially ones like Pyzen Joe and his band, who had been preying on Indian villages and isolated trappers for a long time.

  "But I did not fight."

  "You fought like a wildcat. I seen you. And it didn't do you no good. Maybe they wouldn't have been so careful of you, if you'd kept it up. Long as you just lay there, they figured you wasn't gonna try and hurt 'em."

  "You make it sound so...so simple."

  "'Tis simple. You does what you has to, to stay alive. Nothin' much else matters."

  Flower relaxed against him. I must think about his words. They would be so easy to believe.

  "You's gonna squash my legs," he said after a while. "Can you move over to the side?"

  She did, and he pulled the branches back around them.

  Although the thoughts seemed to circle in her mind all night long, Flower woke rested. She was ready to crawl out of the cave when William stopped her.

  "Last night you say you love me. Does...do you still feel that way this mornin'?"

  "William, I will always love you, no matter how long we live."

  His smile was like the rising sun. "Folks say things they don't mean when they's tired and scairt. I just wanted to know--"

  She slipped her arms around his neck, pulled him down to her. Kissing him gently, she said, "I am rested now. And I am no longer afraid...well, only that our lives may not be long enough."

  "You'll be my woman?"

  The hope in his voice all but broke her heart. "Oh, William, you deserve more than I can give you."

  "I don't know about that. Seems to me what I needs is a sight more important than what I deserves." He stretched out a hand and caught hers. "I needs you, Flower."

  "You need a woman who can love you with a whole heart, not a wounded, fearful one like mine. A woman who will give you strong sons, full of courage." She paused, bit her lower lip. "I cannot promise you children."

  "Then we find us some who need us. There's always little ones around needin' a ma and pa."

  Tears threatened to choke her. How she wished she could see his face, could read the truth in his eyes. Taking a deep breath and letting it out on a long, hopeful sigh, Flower said, " Today we may die, so do not ask for promises now. My life seems to be linked with yours, William. Let that be enough for now. Be satisfied that I love you."

  "You won't go 'way from me when this is over?"

  "I will stay with you as long as I can."

  His embrace threatened to crush her ribs. "Ahh, woman, you wait 'til almost too late to make me the happiest man alive. I'd like to lay you down here and love you until you scream, but I won't. If we want to have years 'stead of hours, we gotta get movin.'"

  Chapter Nineteen

  William knew they was out there. He could feel 'em. Could almost smell 'em.

  "Sure wish that dadblamed dog hadn't took off," he muttered. He'd seen three horses, before he'd scooted out of the clearing where them fellers had caught him and Flower. Three horses meant three men. With Beowulf, at least the fight would be more or less even.

  Two knives and a spear made out of wood wouldn't be much against guns.

  If there'd been a good way down into that deep canyon he'd fell into yesterday, he'd have took it. But just below where he'd ended up, the timber petered out and the canyon walls had gone straight down 'til they got lost in the fog. He'd thought about their chances and decided they'd be better off standing and fighting. Trying to make their escape down that hellacious slope would have been sure death.

  Flower had gone on ahead of him, stealing though the dripping woods like a ghost. Now she stepped out from between two big boulders and motioned.

  He stepped across the creek and up the slope to her, slipping a little on the wet moss that lay like a rug over all the ground.

  "We can make our stand here," she said, when he got to her. "It is like a fortress."

  William looked around and saw what she meant. The big boulders --some was twice his height and as big across--sat in sort of a half circle around a pool. Behind the pool was a wall, like looking at the bones of the mountain. Black, shiny rock like a wall, disappearing into the mist. Water ran and dripped and trickled down the straight-up surface, making a noise like hundreds of little bells.

  It was one of the prettiest placed he'd ever seen.

  It was a trap.

  "We ain't going to make a stand with our backs to no wall," he s
aid. "We've run far enough. Now we're goin' after them bassards and we'll pick the spot to fight 'em."

  "But--"

  "Flower, this morning I got something worth fighting for. Up 'til now, all I wanted was to keep you safe. Now I want both of us to keep on livin', and the only way to do that is to go after them 'fore they cotch us."

  She looked up at him for the longest time. He'd had his say, now it was her turn, so he didn't say nothin', just looked back.

  Then she smiled, and it was like the sun came up. "Yes! We fight!"

  They crept through the wet woods, stayin' well apart. No sense in both of 'em getting cotched at the same time. He kept his eye on her, though, best he could.

  'Cept he didn't aim to get cotched. He was gonna do the cotchin'.

  They hadn't come far from the waterfall when he heard a horse snort. William dropped to his belly and wormed along under a big, leathery-leaved bush. Yes! There they was.

  He scooted backwards, careful not to make a sound. When he got up on one knee, he saw Flower watchin' him. He gestured, held up three fingers.

  She nodded.

  Off to his left, a bush rustled, and he pulled out his knife. Was there a fourth man?

  The bush shook a little bit more, then a golden head poked out of it. Beowulf. You fool dog! Where you been?

  Now the odds were even.

  Flower came to kneel beside him.

  "They's still in camp," he whispered, "and they don't look to be in a hurry."

  "We hit them now?"

  "Nope. We watch a bit. Maybe we can cotch one of 'em alone."

  Her nod showed her understanding. She pulled her knife from its sheath. "I will go this way." Two steps and she'd disappeared into a thicket of leathery-leaved shrubs and head-high trees.

  William scratched Beowulf's ruff, then caught him under the jaw. He made the dog look into his eyes. "Kill," he said, knowing the dog didn't have no idea what he was saying. "We're dependin' on you to take one of them bassards out."