The Wolf Tree

by John Claude Bemis

  “Send him where?” Nel asked.

  “To find the one who can forge the spike,” she said.

  “Who can do that?” Si asked.

  The eyes of the three seers fell to Sally and a hush came over the room. She shifted nervously. “What? Why are you looking at me?”

  “She must not know,” Mother Vastapol hissed.

  “It ain’t right a-keeping it from her,” Mother Salagi said.

  “What is it?” Sally asked.

  Mother Josara smiled gently at Sally. “A vision brought Vastapol and me to seek Salagi’s counsel. Besides the Darkness, we saw something else. Something we suspected Salagi would be able to explain. We’ve seen another Rambler.”

  Sally suddenly felt cold.

  “He is trapped in the Gloaming,” Mother Vastapol said, looking at Nel.

  “Who?” Nel asked.

  “The only one who can make the spike,” Mother Josara said. “Bill Cobb.”

  Sally felt as if she might fall from her chair, and she grabbed the table to steady herself.

  “I fear I spoke falsely to young Ray,” Mother Salagi said. “He was a-wanting to know about his father. I searched with my charms. I told Ray I ain’t seen his father in this world. I suspected he was killed. He ain’t! He’s living still … prisoned in yonder Gloaming.”

  Nel gasped. “We must save him.”

  “We don’t know how to find him,” Mother Josara said. “To enter the Gloaming is difficult … it’s beyond our powers.”

  “Nel’s powers have been returned!” Sally said. “He’s a Rambler again. He can’t become a fox yet, but he’ll remember. Won’t you, Nel? You told me you would. Can’t you cross? Can’t you go find Father?”

  Nel’s careworn gaze flickered from Sally down to his hands resting on the table.

  “No,” Mother Salagi said after a moment. “Some danger seeks Nel. He must set his mind to protecting the children of Shuckstack.”

  “Your brother,” Mother Josara said. “He will find your father. He must bring the rabbit’s foot to him.”

  Sally could not fight the tears spilling across her cheeks. “But Ray is going to Kansas. Who knows how long it will be before he’s back. If … if he ever comes back … from the Darkness. That awful Darkness! Why did you have to send him there, Nel?”

  Nel got up from his chair and came around to Sally, bundling her in his arms. She sobbed against his shoulder as he whispered to her, “Ray will be fine, dear girl. Don’t you worry. And he’ll find your father, Sally.”

  “Aye,” Mother Salagi said, carrying the rabbit’s foot around the table to Sally and putting it in her hand. She touched a gnarled hand to Sally’s face, wiping away her tears. “Your brother will come back. Until then, ye must keep the foot safe.”

  10

  PISTOLS OF SILVER

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING NEL, BUCK, SI, AND SALLY set off on the two-day journey back to Shuckstack. Sally was not the only one in a somber mood. The words of the seers weighed greatly on each of them. Most markedly changed was Buck. While dourness was not unusual for the sharpshooter, deep melancholy bent his frame as he walked. Sally watched with concern as Nel had to help Buck to his feet when they took breaks along the trail.

  By evening they made camp near Two Eagle Mountain. Usually Sally loved a trip to the tall citadel of rocks, but that evening none had an interest in the view. After making dinner, they rolled out their blankets before the fire and lay struggling to sleep.

  Sally woke to Si’s voice with the dawn not yet broken.

  “Buck!” she called. “Buck!”

  Nel threw off his blanket. “What’s wrong?”

  “I woke just a moment ago, and Buck’s not here.”

  “He probably just couldn’t sleep and is taking a walk,” Nel said, rubbing his eyes with his fist.

  “That’s not like him, Nel,” Si said. “You know that.”

  Nel’s brow furled. “Where is he, then?”

  Si held up her hand, and Sally watched as the luminous shapes fixed into position along her fingers and across her black knuckles. She turned in a circle until she located Buck. “He’s up on the peak.”

  “Let’s go,” Nel said, getting up.

  Sally scrambled to her feet to follow them.

  Guided by Si’s hand, they headed up toward the rocks atop Two Eagle. The climb was steep, but they reached the peak in a few minutes. Dawn teemed with a ruddy orange. Ahead the expansive scope of the Smoky Mountains stretched out before them.

  Coming over the top of a boulder, Sally saw him. Buck sat at the edge of the cliff, his head slumped and his arms resting on his knees. In his hands were his pistols.

  Nel exchanged a look with Si and then called out, “Buck, what are you doing up here?”

  Buck lifted his head slightly, his tangled hair spilling over his face, but said nothing. They slowly approached him. Sally stopped a few paces behind Nel and Si as the two sat on either side of Buck.

  “What’s going on?” Si asked.

  “I’ve been up here thinking,” the old cowboy murmured in his gravelly voice. “Thinking on all I done.”

  “What have you done, Buck?” Nel asked.

  “All them …” Buck choked. “All of them that I cut their lives away.”

  Nel put a hand to Buck’s shoulder.

  “I can say that my brother, that policeman, those were just accidents,” Buck said. “I should have known better, but they were just accidents. But Seth! That was something different.”

  “I was there beside you,” Nel said. “There was so much smoke, but I saw Seth holding his sword over Ray. We all thought Seth was going to kill Ray.”

  “But I shot him!” Buck roared. “It was my bullet! If I hadn’t fired that shot … He was a troubled boy, but he didn’t deserve to die. I was the one that killed him. I … I can’t trust myself not to make that mistake again.”

  Buck held up the pistols, their silver casings catching the bloody tint of the morning light. “My pa, he gave me these guns when I was just a boy. What would he say to know what I’ve done with them?”

  Nel squeezed Buck’s shoulder.

  “I can’t trust myself …,” Buck said, turning his pale eyes to Nel. “I can’t trust the guns not to kill again.” Tears spilt down his ragged face. He stood, whispering, “Never again.”

  Nel and Si scrambled to rise. “What are you doing, Buck?” Nel asked, taking Buck’s arm.

  Buck held the pair of pistols before him, the barrels upright.

  “That seer, Vastapol,” Buck said. His brow trembled and he spoke through gritted teeth. “She asked me a question last night after everyone else was asleep. She asked, ‘Buck, why did you never become a Rambler?’ The guns. Being a gunslinger always came easy to me. It was what I was good at. Learning to be a Rambler, that would have been hard. So she told me to ‘cast off the gunslinger—cast away the guns.’ I’m giving them up. I can’t live with them anymore, Nel. I’m finished with being a gunslinger.”

  Nel’s wrinkled face tightened.

  But calm came over Buck’s expression. “Sometimes, Nel, you have to do what scares you most to protect the ones you love.”

  He took a step closer to the edge of the cliff. Nel let go of Buck’s arm and watched as the old cowboy heaved the pair of pistols from the mountainside.

  Over and over, the shining silver of the guns sparkled and spun in the rising sun. Down they fell, disappearing onto the rocks far below.

  The following evening, the four returned to Shuckstack. Nel fixed Buck a tonic to help him sleep. The others ate supper, and after cleaning up, the children scattered about the den, reading or playing games. Si, who had gone out into the mountains to build her strength, returned weaker than when she left.

  “You’ll need to stay in bed the next few days,” Nel said to her. “Come down and I’ll make you a new medicine. Carolyn, make sure everyone is in bed within the hour. Good night, children.”

  “Good night, Mister Nel,” they chorused. />
  Sally watched them go from where she sat sideways in the rocking chair. Her thoughts swirled and tangled around her head.

  Ray. Her father. Nel. Buck.

  Sometimes you have to do what scares you most to protect the ones you love.

  Buck’s words returned again and again in her thoughts. Sally was scared. Scared for Ray out in Kansas. Scared for her father, lost somewhere in the Gloaming.

  Someone had to return his powers so he could forge the spike that would destroy the Gog’s Machine. But how would he ever be found?

  Her hand rested against the rabbit’s foot in her dress pocket. The rabbit’s foot. She turned quickly in the rocking chair, letting her feet drop to the floor.

  Buried within the rabbit’s foot was the lodestone her father had given to Ray. It had guided him; it had led Ray to their father trapped by the Hoarhound. What if the lodestone worked again?

  Sally stood up.

  “Sal,” Rosemary called, squatting on the floor with Naomi and Oliver. “Come play jackstraws with us.”

  “Not just now,” Sally said. “I’m … going to bed.”

  “Nel said we could stay up a little longer.”

  “I’m tired.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Sally climbed the stairs to the loft.

  The lodestone. When it became the golden foot, its power to guide vanished.

  The Elemental Rose could restore lost powers. Could it also restore the lodestone’s powers within the rabbit’s foot?

  She would need to wait until the others were asleep before she found out.

  Sally listened to gentle breathing and occasional snores filling the loft. Rosemary grumbled with a dream in the bed next to her. Open across her stomach was the book of Greek myths Sally had given her as a Christmas gift.

  Sliding out from under her quilt, Sally pulled the rucksack from under her bed and took out The Incunabula of Wandering and the four objects of the Elemental Rose. She tiptoed down the stairs to the den and knelt before the dying embers. First she placed the rabbit’s foot on the floor. Then she flipped through the Incunabula until she found the page showing the drawing of the compass.

  She read her father’s note again. “Four objects are needed for the ER. Each is a stead for the four. Each brings the powers of the four into one when they are in their proper place.”

  The proper places. Sally looked around the dark room trying to remember how the light changed with the time of day. The morning sun always came through the front door, she thought. So that was east, wasn’t it?

  Hoping she was right, she lined the cardinal feather with the door. She moved around the rabbit’s foot clockwise. South was yellow, fire. She opened the lid to the tin of brimstone and set it down. Making another quarter turn, she put the Black Sampson root across from the cardinal feather, the symbol of earth opposite the symbol of air. At last, she turned to put down the last object, the white spiderweb—water opposing fire.

  Once they were placed, she sat up on her knees with the rabbit’s foot before her, her breath coming in shallow pants.

  The brimstone ignited and smoke rose. Sally ran to open the front door, ushering in a cold breeze. Hopeful it would keep the smoke from waking anyone.

  Sally turned back to the rabbit’s foot.

  The cardinal feather fluttered. The Black Sampson root writhed on the floorboards. Water puddled from the spiderweb. Smoke covered the rabbit’s foot, hiding it from her sight. Sally held her breath until she thought her lungs would burst.

  There was a flash, and Sally toppled back. Scrambling forward, she batted at the smoke to clear it. The rabbit’s foot lay on the floor. Nothing looked different about it.

  She picked it up, touching a finger curiously to the metal. The paw began slowly turning in a circle until the tiny golden claws at the tip pointed in the same direction as the Black Sampson root. She moved the paw around in her palm until it pointed east. Again, the rabbit’s foot rotated until the claws pointed west.

  “Sally?” A voice came hoarsely from the stairs to the loft. Little Noah stood rubbing his puffy eyes. “What’s that smell?”

  Sally scattered up the feather, the root, and the spiderweb. Instantly, the flames died in the tin of brimstone.

  “Nothing,” Sally said. “Sorry. Er … just go back to sleep.”

  Noah blinked sleepily and slumped back up the stairs.

  Sally picked up the tin of brimstone, strangely cool now to her touch, and closed the lid before putting it, along with the rest of the Elemental Rose, back in her rucksack.

  She paced around before the fireplace, her mind twirling with thoughts. The lodestone within the rabbit’s foot was working again. It had turned to point to the west. It was pointing to her father.

  Her father—whom she had always dreamed of but had never met. Her father had never even known that she had been born. He was alive and she had the means to find him where he was trapped in the Gloaming.

  Sally ran for the steps down to the cellar. She reached the bottom and turned to the door for Nel’s room. She had to tell him. He could take the rabbit’s foot and …

  She stopped with her hand on the door handle. No, she thought. Nel wouldn’t use the rabbit’s foot to find her father. He wouldn’t leave Shuckstack. He wouldn’t leave the children.

  Sally began trembling as she realized what she had to do.

  She gathered food from the kitchen larder and quietly ascended the stairs back to her room. After dressing quietly by her bed, she stuffed some clothes into her rucksack. She stood, trying to think if she was forgetting anything. Sally looked down at Rosemary curled up under the warm quilts. Should she tell her friend that she was leaving?

  Sally picked up the book of Greek myths from Rosemary’s chest. Sally’s favorite story had always been the story of Orpheus, who ventured into the Underworld to save his wife, Eurydice. Hades told Orpheus he could return with his wife only if he walked in front of her and did not look back until they had reached the world of the living. But Orpheus was too anxious and could not help himself. He looked back. And Eurydice was lost to him.

  Sally closed the book and set it on the floor. She wiped at her eyes as she hoisted the rucksack onto her shoulders. It was heavy with the Incunabula, the four objects of the Elemental Rose, and the scant supplies she had taken from the kitchen.

  The moonlight coming in through the window reflected off the cool surface of the rabbit’s foot. The foot turned slowly in a half circle in her palm until the tiny claws pointed west.

  Sally headed for the stairs.

  She would not make any mistakes. She would not look back.

  11

  JAYHAWKERS

  A WEEK OF SLEEPING BY CAMPFIRE AND FORAGING FOR food, tracking game, and navigating through the rugged forests gave Ray the familiar delight of being immersed in the wild. Marisol was not so smitten with their journey.

  “Shouldn’t we be coming on Springfield soon?” she asked, the valise hanging heavily from her arm as she walked.

  “Tomorrow,” Ray said.

  “Will we be stopping for the night? In a hotel or any sort of lodgings.”

  “We won’t stop in any towns.”

  Late spring had brought long, hot days, and Marisol wiped a kerchief along her neck. Her already golden cheeks were brown from the sun. “Really, I don’t mind paying.”

  Ray laughed. “Why pay for rooms when we can sleep for free?”

  “Because I’m days overdue for a bath and a soft bed.”

  Ray smirked. “I’m sure when we reach the Indian Territory, Redfeather will be able to arrange something nice for you.”

  “Yes, I hear the accommodations rival Paris.” Marisol snorted. “Probably lucky if we aren’t stuck in some lice-infested wigwam.”

  A shadow crossed Ray’s path, and he shielded his eyes from the sun to look for the crow soaring overhead. Ray stopped, closing his eyes to concentrate on the bird. Marisol dropped her bag, grateful for a break, and took out some water.
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  “Did you do it yet?” she asked.

  Ray opened an eye. “Not with you talking.” He tried again to focus on the bird, to see through his eyes. Quieting his thoughts, he attempted to forget his own body and to put himself high above the earth.

  The crow landed on Ray’s hat, knocking it forward over his nose. He gave a caw and pinched at Ray’s ear with his beak. “Ow! All right,” Ray said, shaking the crow from his hat. The crow flapped to resettle on his shoulder. “I’ve only got one piece left, you know. After that, you’ll have to learn to bake them yourself.”

  Ray slipped his hand in his coat pocket to take out the fold of waxed paper. He held up a corner of some fry bread they’d made from acorns. The crow snatched and ate it in one gulp. He shifted on Ray’s shoulder and squawked at Marisol.

  “She ate all hers already,” Ray said.

  “Even if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t share with you.”

  The crow beat his way off Ray’s shoulder, casting a series of abusive caws as he took flight.

  “I don’t even want to know what he called me.” Marisol rolled her eyes.

  “He’s got a mouth on him.” Ray offered Marisol a hand as she stood. “Reminds me of the b’hoys back in the city when I was a kid.”

  “What’s a b’hoy?” Marisol asked.

  “Oh, these tough guys who always started trouble. They said funny things like ‘cheese it, lads’ after they’d rob some grocer. They greased their hair up so they had these soap-locks at their temples.” Ray pulled a couple of brown curls down from his ears to demonstrate.

  Marisol laughed. “B’hoy. That fits him,” she said, watching B’hoy circle once more over their heads and call out before sailing over the trees. “What’d he say?”

  “Storm coming.” Ray frowned.

  “Sky looks clear to me.”

  “For now.”

  B’hoy was right: as dusk came, dark clouds filled the western sky. Ray tried to find a suitable shelter, but the only buildings they passed were for a logging camp that echoed with the shouts and curses of men felling a tree.

  “Should we ask if we can stay?” Marisol asked.

  “We’re not staying with a bunch of loggers!” Ray continued walking. “There’ll be an abandoned cabin if we keep going. I’ll get us a better spot.”