The Wolf Tree

by John Claude Bemis

  Nel plucked his pipe from his mouth and gestured with it toward Si. “Your tonic? Did you remember—”

  “I drank it with dinner,” she said, pulling the blanket up around her shoulders.

  “Tonic?” Ray asked. “You’re sick?”

  “Just a little injury,” Si said.

  “She was stabbed,” Nel said gruffly.

  “What!” Ray sat up. “Who … how did that happen?”

  Si shifted uncomfortably and looked over at Buck, who was rubbing his hands before the fire, his long black-and-silver locks hanging over his eyes.

  “Long story, Ray, but it was over in Knoxville,” she said. “Buck and I went to trade some ginseng roots and some of Nel’s tonics for supplies. I guess the short of it is that they don’t care much for my kind.”

  “Could have been any of us,” Nel said, to which Si gave a snort.

  Ray tilted his head. “What do you mean, Si?”

  “Chinese girl carrying a purse full of coins. You get a couple of buckaroos wanting some easy liquor money … Buck was finishing up the trade, and I went out to buy some peppermint sticks to bring back as gifts. Should have known not to take a shortcut by the river. Luckily, Buck got there in time.”

  Ray couldn’t believe it. Si stabbed! And for just a few coins. It had been a long time since Ray lived in the city. He had been to Knoxville twice, and it was nothing compared to where he had grown up in lower Manhattan.

  “Dark times,” Nel said, shaking his head. “I don’t know what’s come over folk today, but we’re lucky to have this place, very fortunate to have Shuckstack, far away from the growing madness.”

  Buck raised his head. “Your sister saved her,” he said, his dry voice cracking.

  “Sally?” Ray asked. “What do you mean?”

  Nel nodded. “Amazing girl, your sister. Buck got Si back up here. He’d cleaned and dressed the wound as good as one could desire, but a fever took Si. I tried every herb and concoction I knew, but she was getting worse. We had nearly given up hope when Sally came up with the answer. A simple flower. The Gertrude’s Diadem. I’ve never worked with them before. They’re very rare. But Sally was convinced it would cure Si. She found the flower. I made a tea of it. Si was better within hours. It’s a wonder, Ray. A true wonder.”

  Ray blinked with surprise. How had his sister known to use that flower? She knew little about surviving in the wild. She had no idea how to make a fire or how to feed herself in the forest.

  Unlike Ray, who had journeyed far and deep in the wild to become a Rambler, Sally spent little time away from Shuckstack. More often than not, she could be found reading the treasured book that had belonged to their father, The Incunabula of Wandering. How she could understand the strange, obtuse prose—or was it poetry?—Ray could not fathom.

  Sally was convinced the book could explain what had happened to their father. Why he was missing even after Ray had rescued him from the Hoarhound. Why he had not found his children yet.

  Si stood with the blanket draped about her arms. “I should get to bed.” She seemed momentarily unsteady and grasped the back of the chair. Buck rose, but Si brushed him away. She caught the sympathetic wince on Ray’s face and said, “I’m okay. Don’t fret over it. Glad to have you home, Ray. Good night.”

  They bade her good night, and Ray watched as Si slowly ascended the creaking stairs.

  Buck leaned closer to the fire. He shivered, crossing his arms and rubbing his hands briskly across his elbows. Nel tilted his head back, drawing deeply on his pipe and sending steamboat puffs drifting above his fleecy white head. Ray allowed the sweet, familiar scent of the tobacco to drive away the thoughts of Si’s injury.

  Ray broke the peaceful silence. “How about Redfeather? Will he be back for the party?”

  Nel blinked. “Oh, no. He’s still out in the Indian Territory. It’s too far of a journey for a party, and he needs to continue his learning.”

  “Learning?” Ray asked. “I thought he was just traveling. Who is he learning from?”

  “A Cherokee elder,” Nel said. “An old friend named Water Spider. He left these mountains a lifetime ago when General Scott drove the Cherokee west at bayonet point. We had many adventures together as young men. I haven’t seen him in decades. When Redfeather wrote that he was visiting the Territory, I told him how to find old Water Spider.”

  Buck prodded the logs in the fireplace. “And how did your winter go?” he asked before dropping back into his seat.

  “I wasn’t able to cross,” Ray said bluntly.

  The lines in Buck’s ragged face tightened, but Nel remained placid, sucking at his pipe.

  “Give it time, Ray,” Nel said. “You’ll learn.”

  “Time?” Buck growled. “We don’t know how much time—”

  “Buck,” Nel said in a low reprimand.

  “No. He’s right, Nel,” Ray said. “I’ve got to find a way and soon. Mother Salagi said so.”

  “Did she?” Nel asked.

  “It’s the Machine!” Buck said through gritted teeth. “I’ve been telling you this, Nel.”

  “Yes, yes you have, but I don’t share your pessimistic paranoia.”

  “Paranoia? That Machine is still out there.”

  Nel frowned and shook his head. “But its maker is not. The Gog is dead, Buck. He’s dead and we’re all fortunate for … for Conker’s sacrifice. The Machine is no longer a threat to us.”

  “That’s not what Mother Salagi said,” Ray said. “I visited her on my way home. She has been casting bones, searching for answers with her charms. She hasn’t figured out what’s happened to the Machine, but she fears it’s still powerful. Even without the Gog! She sees danger ahead—”

  “Well, we’ve got Shuckstack,” Nel said, stomping his peg leg to the pine floor. “Why do you think we built this place? Why did I bring them all here? We’re safe. This place. These mountains. The children, all of us. We’re protected.”

  Buck’s jaw ground back and forth. “But they aren’t. The others out there. What good is it for us to hide when others will suffer? Don’t you see what wickedness the Machine is hatching? Killers! Thieves! The men who stabbed Si … their viciousness is the work of the Machine’s growing madness.”

  “There was evil before the Gog built his Machine.” Nel scowled.

  “Not this kind of evil—” Buck began.

  “You’re quick to call the action of others wicked, Buck!”

  Buck’s mouth held open. His pale, blind eyes narrowed.

  Ray blinked hard, shocked by the outpouring of emotion from the two men.

  After a cold silence, Nel waved his upturned hands to Ray and then asked Buck, “What do you want me to do?” His hands shook and a tic flickered in his left eye. “I lost Conker. I won’t lose any of the others.”

  Buck stood and stormed out the door. The cold wind whipped sparks up from the fire, and as the door slammed, the lodge shook.

  Nel exhaled slowly until he steadied his trembling. Ray waited, knowing this was not the first argument the two men had had over this subject.

  Nel leaned forward, pushing his long fingers through his mane of snowy hair. Finally he looked up at Ray. “What are you going to do, son?”

  Ray’s shoulders drooped. “I don’t know, Nel.”

  “Mother Salagi. Did she offer you any counsel?”

  Ray wanted to embrace Nel as he had when he was younger. He wanted to tell Nel to forget about Mother Salagi and the Machine and Conker. He wanted the old man to smile, to give Ray a pinch on the ear, to tell him a joke. The weight and anxiety held by this father to all of Shuckstack’s children caused Ray’s eyes to burn.

  “She only said to keep the foot safe.”

  Nel nodded. “Are you leaving us?”

  “No,” Ray quickly said. “I’m staying here.”

  Nel blinked as a guarded smile touched the corners of his mouth. “Good. Good.”

  He pushed on his knee to rise. Then he clapped a hand on Ray’s shoulder. �
��I’m sure you’re ready for your bed, and I’d better go assuage our Eustace Buckthorn.”

  “Nel,” Ray began, dropping his voice to a whisper. “What happened in Knoxville? Did Buck kill those men?”

  Nel pinched his fingers to the bridge of his nose, massaging the loose flesh where his silver eyebrows met.

  “It’s not just that, Ray. It’s worse. There was a policeman who came upon them. Si was badly wounded. Buck needed to get her back to us. You know how he is when he’s in a rage. It was unfortunate that the policeman came at that moment. Horrible. Buck made a mistake, Ray. He regrets what he did….”

  As a young man, Buck had accidentally shot his brother. This had devastated Buck. It had driven him to become an outlaw before Nel and the Ramblers had helped him. And on the Gog’s Pitch Dark Train, Buck had shot Seth, not meaning to kill him but thinking the boy was attacking Ray. Seth had been trying to protect Ray from the Gog, trying desperately to undo his betrayal. Ray had told Buck that the Hoarhound killed Seth, not the cowboy’s bullet. The lie lay wedged in his conscience like an old wound.

  And now an innocent policeman …

  “There’s no undoing what’s been done. Ray, you won’t say anything to the others? They don’t know. I’m not sure if Si even remembers what happened.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Good, good.” He patted Ray on the forearm and added, “Get some rest.” Nel’s peg leg tapped its way across the wooden floor to the door and out onto the dark porch.

  Ray rose to climb the stairs, for his bed up in the loft, for sleep he desperately needed. But as he turned, his eyes fell on the wall at the far side of the long den. The fire in the hearth was flickering and dying, and the far wall was nearly in shadow. Wavery ember-light reflected off a handle’s outline.

  The Nine Pound Hammer’s broken handle hung alone and reverently on the bead-board planks. The iron head was missing, lost in the murk of the Mississippi River.

  Ray had learned many powers, ones even the Ramblers of John Henry’s day would have admired. But one skill eluded him: he had not yet learned to take animal form. If he was to reach the Gloaming, he would need to learn this skill.

  Nel had explained that the Gloaming was a spirit world, a place existing as a shadow layered upon this world. A place of great power, few could enter it. Indian holy men found doorways on occasion. As Ramblers learned how to take animal forms, they discovered that they could cross as well. Understanding the influence the Gloaming had over mankind, the Gog built his Machine in its vast depths.

  Long ago, Ray’s father, crossing as a rabbit, led John Henry into the Gloaming, where John Henry destroyed the Machine with his Nine Pound Hammer. With this hammer that now hung broken before Ray.

  Hiding behind the name of G. Octavius Grevol, the Gog rebuilt his Machine and began collecting the unwanted, the unnoticed, gathering slaves to tend his dark clockwork. Sally and the children now living under Nel’s care at Shuckstack had been among his captives. Fortunately, Ray and Si and Conker had rescued them.

  And with his father’s hammer, Conker had sacrificed his life destroying Mister Grevol on his Pitch Dark Train. But the Gog’s Machine remained, along with its terrible power.

  Ray reached out, the tip of his finger touching the worn wood of the handle. Conker, his dear friend Conker … Ray lowered his hand.

  The Nine Pound Hammer was broken. Even if Ray could cross into the Gloaming, even if he could learn to take animal form and somehow find the Machine, he had no idea how to destroy it without the hammer.

  2

  AN UNEXPECTED GUEST

  RAY WAS SPLITTING LOGS WITH MATTIAS WHEN THE first guests arrived. The day had warmed, and the sun was shrinking the snow into patches and puddles in the yard. With his sleeves rolled up and shirt unbuttoned, Ray sweated with the effort of the ax. Mattias positioned the next piece of hickory on the fat stump, and Ray brought the ax down with a crack.

  As Ray lifted the ax for the next swing, Oliver dashed past, followed by Naomi and Rosemary. “You’re supposed to be helping get ready for Nel’s party!” Ray called.

  The three disappeared around the lodge, and Ray heard the voices of the children abandoning their chores to greet the arrival. Mattias gave Ray an expectant look.

  “Go on,” Ray chuckled, and Mattias raced to join the others to see who had arrived.

  Ray cleaved the ax into the stump, planted his hat on his head, and buttoned up his shirt before following. Nel came down from the porch, clapping his hands together and laughing, with Buck behind him.

  Ray joined them and the children as a Nissen wagon, pulled by a pair of mules, came up the path. Driving the mules was a stout man with a wagging walrus mustache. At his side sat a younger version of himself—slender and sporting a mustache that was only beginning to droop at the corners of his lips. In the back of the wagon sat another young man and a plump woman, wispy hair escaping from her bonnet.

  “Ya, mules,” the stout man barked as he snapped the reins. “Ya! Almost there.”

  “Ox Everett.” Buck greeted him. “You drive mules just as mercilessly as you do the Ballyhoo!”

  “Come up through near ten miles of mud and slush,” Ox grumbled as he brought the wagon to a stop in the middle of the swarming children. “Shuckstack ain’t the easiest place on earth to reach.”

  “And we like it that way,” Nel said, extending a hand for Ma Everett to step down.

  “My, Nel,” Ma Everett chirped. “Looking ten years younger every time we visit.”

  “You’re too kind, my dear. Eddie, how are you, son?”

  Eddie Everett extended his hand, which Nel shook heartily, adding a slap on his shoulder. “Fit and fine, sir. Glad to be here again.”

  The older Everett son, Shacks, helped his father down from the wagon and then drove the mules to the barn. Ma Everett went around to each child, distributing hugs and kisses and compliments like bits of candy.

  Eddie found Ray. The younger Everett had a few patches of coal soot behind his ears and in the creases of his neck and face, but otherwise he was much cleaner than Ray had ever seen him.

  “Wait till you see all the food Ma had us haul,” Eddie said. “Going to be a feast like you’ve never seen.”

  “That’s good,” Ray said. “There’s quite a guest list! Half of them I’ve never heard of before.”

  “How does Nel know so many folks?” Eddie asked.

  Ray shrugged. “Been around eighty-one years. I guess you get to know people.”

  Finished with her greeting, Ma Everett called for all the children to follow her to the wagon to begin unloading it. Eddie had not been kidding about the amount of food. With arms filled, the group marched around to the back of the lodge and into the cellar kitchen. Soon the larders were overflowing with sacks and jars, tins and boxes.

  “Ma Everett!” Marisol called as she came from her room next to the kitchen.

  “Marisol.” Ma Everett cupped her hands to the girl’s face. “Lovelier than ever.”

  “Thank you.” Marisol smiled.

  “Now, dear, we’ve got our work cut out. Take that sack of corn and start grinding it. Then we’ll need to find the flour. Where’s the box of apples? My, my. So much to do. After that corn’s ground, we’ll need to soak it in spring water….”

  The kitchen became a cyclone of activity, with half the children helping and half getting swatted by Ma Everett’s apron for getting in the way or sticking their fingers in batters and bowls.

  The day continued with everyone, including Nel, busily making preparations—cooking, cleaning, chopping wood, washing linens, stringing up decorations. Ray helped Shacks and Eddie nail together makeshift tables and benches until well after dark. With some of their beds lost to the Everetts, several of the children slept on pallets on the floor.

  Coming in by the fire for their meal, the Everett boys ate quickly and headed up for bed. Even Nel and Buck made it an early night. Ray sat a little longer in the toasty den, and soon Marisol came up fro
m the cellar kitchen, her dress dusted with flour and speckled with grease.

  “The woman’s a slave driver,” she groaned as she dropped into a rocking chair.

  Ray laughed. “Ma Everett knows how to take charge.”

  Marisol slumped her head wearily to the side to look at Ray. “How many more days until the party?”

  “Two.”

  “I’m not going to survive. I’ve got to get to bed.” She pried herself up, lifting Javidos to her shoulder, and headed for the stairs.

  “Good night,” Ray said, but Marisol only grunted.

  Ray put another log on the fire and settled back into his chair. He did not realize he had fallen asleep until Sally whispered, “Ray.”

  Ray jolted and blinked. “Sally. You’re still up?”

  “I couldn’t sleep.” She slid one of the benches over beside Ray and sat down. “I’m so excited! It’s going to be some party, don’t you think?”

  Ray gave a yawn and stretched out an arm.

  Sally kicked her feet out to rest on Ray’s leg. “All those people who knew Nel when he was younger.”

  “Hmmm,” Ray murmured, only half listening to her as the warmth of the fire threatened to draw him back into sleep.

  Sally twirled a curl from her temple. “Maybe some of them knew Father also.”

  Ray sat up a fraction, his eyes meeting Sally’s.

  She let her gaze lower. “I wish Father could be here.” She pulled her feet off Ray’s leg and picked fretfully at a stitch in her thick woolen socks.

  “Sally …” Ray hesitated.

  She pulled at the bit of thread but didn’t answer.

  “Sally, I spoke with Mother Salagi about Father,” he said.

  She cocked her head as she waited for him to continue.

  “She’s cast bones and consulted bullbats and burned frankincense with black salt—”

  “And what, Ray?” Sally asked. “What are you trying to tell me?”

  “She can’t see him,” Ray said. “He’s beyond her sight.”

  “What does that mean? Is Father in some sort of danger?”