The Wolf Tree

by John Claude Bemis

  “The Gloaming?”

  “And she thinks she can rescue him ’cause she’s got this foot.”

  “A foot?”

  “A rabbit’s foot. Made of gold.”

  Jolie’s mouth fell open. “Who is this girl? What is Coyote’s real name?”

  “Sally.” Hethy winced. “Sally Cobb.”

  Jolie’s mind erupted with a thousand thoughts. Sally! What was she doing out here? Why wasn’t she with Ray? And why did she have the foot? Jolie imagined all that could have occurred in the past year since she’d last seen Ray. Her heart stung as she thought of him.

  “Do you know Ray, Hethy?”

  “That’s her brother. I ain’t met him.”

  “But he is alive?”

  “Sure. ‘Less something happened to him in Omphalosa.” As she saw Jolie’s puzzled expression, she added, “The town, where I come from. Yote … Sally told me that’s where Ray was going. To try and figure out what was causing the Darkness. To try and stop that awful clockwork.”

  “The Machine!” Jolie paced, trying to piece together what was happening and what she should do. “But we are Ray’s friends. Why did Sally not tell us who she was? She knew who we were. She had to.”

  “She told me not to tell you. She didn’t want you to know. Oh, what foolishness that girl takes to!”

  “It is all right,” Jolie said, calming herself and wanting to calm Hethy. “You were trying to be a good friend. You wanted to be loyal, and that is good. We have to find her. We have to find Sally before she gets too far.”

  Hethy gestured to the rougarou. “Renamex. She done sent out Coer. But Sally, she ain’t going to want to be found. She’ll try and resist. And Quorl’s with her. He got a debt to her. He’ll do whatever Yote asks.”

  “But I have a way to stop her.”

  “You ain’t going to hurt her?”

  “No,” Jolie said. “I am a siren. There are powers I can use. If we can catch her, I can convince her to come back with us.”

  “We’ll need to be quick like,” Hethy said. She ran over and spoke with Oultren. The rougarou listened and then followed Hethy back to Jolie.

  The rougarou crouched on the ground. “I will carry you,” she said.

  Jolie looked back at Conker. All his attention was focused on completing the handle for the Nine Pound Hammer. She could do this without him. They would find Sally and be back before he finished.

  Jolie swung her leg over the rougarou’s back and Hethy got on behind her. As they raced away, Jolie heard a rifle fire in the distance. And then another.

  23

  HOSTAGES

  CONKER LOOKED AROUND AS IF AWAKENING, FROM A dream. The fire had burned down to coals. The shell knife lay on the ground atop wisps of shaved wood. Across his knees rested the handle.

  His work was complete.

  Conker took the iron head in one hand and the handle in the other. Setting the chiseled end to the hole in the head, he pushed. The two pieces connected smoothly, and Conker felt them draw strangely together and lock. He sensed the deep connection between the iron forged by his father and the wood cut from the Wolf Tree, like the two materials had become one. The power of the Nine Pound Hammer surged into his arms.

  He stood.

  Where was Jolie? He had not even noticed that she had left. But there were her waterskins from the siren well, so she must not have gone far. The girls were not there either. At least three of the rougarou were missing, and those that remained were gazing at something out on the night prairie.

  A light was moving over a hill in the distance.

  Conker stared at it curiously. Was it a train? No, it couldn’t be. There were no tracks anywhere around. But the dark locomotive with its single blazing eye chugged and hissed like a train.

  With the Nine Pound Hammer in his hand, Conker found Mangoron. “What is that?”

  The rougarou growled. “We don’t know yet. Men. We heard gunfire. Look, here come Oultren and Coer now.”

  The two golden rougarou ran to the pack, their fur bristling. Coer limped, and as Conker looked closer he realized there was blood in his fur.

  Coer lowered his head as he approached Renamex. “My nata, there are men coming. Men with rifles. Men driving a strange machine—”

  Oultren interrupted, “I went out with Hethy and the siren Jolie. We were looking for Quorl and Coyote when we caught up with Coer. Men came from the darkness. We were attacked. I hid the two girls in a gully so we could get back here quickly. They are safe for now.”

  Renamex gave a long, low, steady growl. The rest of the pack joined her. “Men with such a machine. They have attacked our pack. They have no right to be here, at the threshold to the Great Tree. We must defend our charge. Rougarou! We will face these men. We will fight! We will send them scurrying in fear before us!”

  The rougarou snarled and snapped, growing into a thunderous rage. Conker stepped back. Mangoron turned to him, seeing the Nine Pound Hammer complete for the first time. “You have done it then?”

  Conker raised the Nine Pound Hammer. “Yes, and I’ll fight with you if you’ll let me.”

  Renamex answered, “We will.” Then she turned and ordered, “Coer, you are limping. Stay here. Guard the Great Tree with John Henry’s son.”

  The rougarou lowered his head, showed savage teeth, and moved beside Conker.

  “Follow, rougarou!” Renamex howled. “Drive away these men! Destroy their machine!”

  The pack leaped away after their nata, their cries splitting the night as they charged. Their shadows raced across the moonlit prairie toward the dark locomotive. In moments, rifles blazed and shots popped, but they were met with terrifying roars.

  Conker retrieved the shell knife and wedged it into his belt. Jolie. Was she safe? He could only hope she was. She was tough and fearless. She would protect the girl Hethy.

  He threw more logs onto the fires, building up a blaze to illuminate the perimeter of the Wolf Tree’s roots. Coer paced, ignoring the injured leg. The muscles along his back rippled with eagerness, but Conker could see he was weakened. He had been shot in several places, the blood running into his fur along his back and down his breast.

  “You’re badly injured,” Conker said. “You want me to look at your wounds?”

  Coer growled. “There’s no time for that. We have our charge. Do you know these men?”

  “No,” Conker replied.

  He watched the battle. The night was too dark and the distance too great for him to make out clearly what was happening. But he had no doubt who these men were. Who else would be out here, driving such an engine, but agents of the Gog’s Machine?

  Something emerged from the back of the locomotive. Conker could not make it out. From his vantage, it appeared large and ghostly white. There was a tremendous noise, unlike any animal or machine or weapon, and he heard a rougarou cry out in pain and go silent.

  “What is that, Conker?” Coer asked.

  Before he could answer, a shot sounded loudly—not in the distance, but here, not more than a dozen yards from Conker.

  Conker whirled around. Coer roared, searching for the shooter, but just as quickly, another shot fired. The rougarou yipped, his back leg collapsing beneath him. Before Conker could run to him, a third shot pierced the rougarou’s head. Coer lurched forward, his body tumbling grotesquely.

  Then something happened to his form. The rougarou was no longer a wolf but a man, lying in the same horrible position he had died in. Long golden hair fell about his bloodied face. His skin shimmered with the same ghostly light of the Wolf Tree, then faded.

  Conker held up the Nine Pound Hammer. “Who’s there?” he bellowed. “Show yourself, coward.”

  Two men stepped into the firelight. The first was a filthy young man with long blond hair and a pair of Starr revolvers, one extended toward Conker, the second leveled at his hip. The other man was large, with a dense black beard. He had a long rifle, still smoking from the three shots that had killed the rougarou. />
  Conker recognized them. The river. Stacker Lee’s men.

  “Where is he?” Conker asked.

  The young man with the blond hair rubbed the barrel of one of his revolvers along his chin. “Still got a bit of a scar. Right over here,” he said, reminding Conker of the blow he had taken from Conker’s club.

  “Where is he?” Conker repeated.

  Stacker Lee stepped out from the shadows, a cold smile splitting his face. He gripped the arms of two people, coarse sacks draped over their faces.

  “You’ve done well, Conker,” Stacker said. “I see you’ve finished the Nine Pound Hammer. Is the Wolf Tree here? Yes, I sense it is. Ah, a shame we can’t see it.”

  “Are you with those men?” Conker asked, motioning to the gunfire nearly a quarter mile away. For a moment, Conker could hear how the battle had turned. He was no longer certain that the rougarou had the advantage.

  “No. Funny coincidence, really. But seems they are agents of the Gog, doing their job for Mister Grevol. Just like I am.”

  “Grevol!” Conker’s knees nearly buckled.

  “You thought you’d killed him, didn’t you? Well, I’m sorry to dash your sense of grandeur. Mister Grevol is mighty resilient. Something like that is difficult to kill. Especially now. Especially after what he’s become.”

  “What do you want?” Conker growled, his eyes flickering to the two hooded figures at Stacker’s side. Their hands were tied behind their backs.

  Stacker jerked the hood off one of his captives.

  Si.

  Her eyes grew wide as they focused on Conker. Tears spilt down her cheeks. She struggled to call out his name, but a cord was wrapped around her face, cutting into her cheeks, its knot in her open mouth.

  Stacker swung around behind Si, pulled back her head, and snapped open a long razor. He pressed it to her throat. “We have negotiations to conduct, and if all goes well, they will be civil.”

  Conker could not take his eyes from Si. He fought to master the trembling that threatened to overtake him. He had not seen her since that night the Gog’s train had been destroyed. Si—his oldest friend, his dearest.

  He brought the Nine Pound Hammer up across his chest, finding the right grip on the handle, feeling the measure of its weight, ready.

  “Let her go,” Conker said in a low growl.

  “Of course I will,” Stacker said. “We didn’t bring her all the way out here to show you the stars on her celestial tattoo. You’ll have her soon enough. Just hand over the hammer.”

  Conker’s eyes flickered to the other hooded figure.

  Stacker saw this and lifted a finger as if just remembering. “Alston,” he ordered, and the bearded man walked over and pulled the sack from the figure’s head.

  Conker did not recognize him at first without his wide-brimmed hat, without his silver pistols. His long black-and-silver hair covered most of his face. He had a beard where he hadn’t before. He looked old and weak and broken.

  Alston jerked the rope from Buck’s mouth and then the binding from his wrists. He pushed Buck forward to stumble onto the ground at Conker’s feet.

  Conker knelt, taking his old friend by the elbow, but Buck did not rise. “Buck. Are you okay?”

  Buck nodded silently.

  “Should have shot him when we captured them back in Nebraska,” Alston said.

  Stacker looked down at Buck with disgust. “Yes, one hostage would have sufficed to gain the hammer. But I just don’t have the heart to shoot a worthless cripple.”

  Conker growled. “Cripple. Buck may be blind, but give him a gun. He’s a dead-on shot. He could take down the three of you.”

  The men laughed. A gleam formed in Stacker’s eyes—something hungry and cruel. “Really?”

  “You’re lucky he’s unarmed,” Conker said.

  “Oh, well, just for a laugh, let’s see,” Stacker said. “Hardy, toss Buckthorn there one of your revolvers.”

  Hardy threw one of his Starr pistols. It slid on the grass and knocked into Buck’s boot.

  Buck did not move.

  “Yes,” Stacker said. “It seems that the former sightless sharpshooter and sideshow freak has given up his gunslinging ways. Ain’t that right, Buckthorn?” he shouted, as if Buck were nearly deaf also.

  Buck slumped his head forward.

  Hardy chuckled. “He ain’t good for nothing but target practice.” He fired twice in the ground by Buck’s leg. Buck did not move, did not flinch. Hardy went over to retrieve the gun, giving Buck a kick as he walked away.

  “So, as you can see,” Stacker said, “Buckthorn won’t help you. Si …” He tugged at the cord until he released it from her mouth. “She’s a little too preoccupied to assist, so that leaves just you, Conker. You and the three of us. What’s it going to be? Put down the Nine Pound Hammer, and I’ll release the China girl.”

  “Don’t, Conker!” Si cried. Her cheeks were raw and red where the cord had cut into them. She gazed fiercely at Conker, like the Si he used to know. “You can’t give it to them.”

  Stacker smirked. “My razor hand is trembling. Be silent, girl, before you make it slip.”

  Conker looked from the razor to Alston and Hardy to Buck and finally to the Nine Pound Hammer in his hands.

  “Conker,” Si called. “Listen! A seer who knows Mother Salagi told me a prophecy. She said that I would come to a crossroads—”

  Stacker clapped his hand over Si’s mouth, pulling her neck back sharply. “You just won’t listen, will you? I tried to caution you against tempting me.” He began to draw the razor.

  “No!” Conker held up the hammer. “Don’t! Here it is. Release her.”

  Stacker looked at Conker and then nodded.

  Conker stepped forward, past Buck. Hardy cocked his pistols. Alston leveled the rifle. Conker stopped and knelt. Slowly, he put the Nine Pound Hammer on the ground.

  Stacker smiled. He cut Si’s ropes and then folded the razor, dropping it into his breast pocket.

  Conker stood again and took a few steps back, watching as Stacker picked up the Nine Pound Hammer. Si struggled from the last of the ropes. Before she could run to Conker, Stacker snatched her wrist.

  “Ah, one last thing. We can’t have you following us with your tattoo. Hardy.”

  Hardy squinted as he took aim and shot Si’s hand. Si screamed and fell to her knees, clutching her hand to her breast.

  Conker roared.

  Hardy was closest to him. Conker pulled Jolie’s shell knife from his belt and punched it into Hardy’s chest. Hardy opened his mouth to gasp but no air came out.

  Alston’s rifle erupted, and Conker’s shirt shredded, blood at his hip. Snarling, Conker lunged at the man, bringing his great fists down until Alston went limp.

  A bullet tore into his leg, and Conker stumbled to one knee.

  “Stay where you are!” Stacker shouted. He turned the long, smoking barrel of his Buntline pistol to the back of Buck’s head. His other hand, holding the Nine Pound Hammer, wrapped around Buck’s chest.

  “I’m taking your friend with me. You just stay right here with the girl.”

  “You could kill me,” Conker growled. “You could shoot me in the head. Why don’t you?”

  Stacker regained his malicious smile. “Because I need you to live. If I’m to get my heart back, I need Mister Grevol to know you’ll come for me. I know you’ll come for me. But I’ll reach Mister Grevol first.”

  “Conker,” Buck groaned as Stacker backed away. “Conker … I’m sorry.” Buck’s face twitched with emotion, but slowly, step after backward step, Stacker moved into the dark with Buck and the Nine Pound Hammer.

  Conker watched them until they were gone, and then he turned to Si.

  24

  THE BATTLE ON THE PLAINS

  RAY WATCHED HELPLESSLY AS REDFEATHER RACED Atsila toward Marisol. The agents leveled their rifles at him.

  As they fired, Redfeather leaped off Atsila, landing by Unole. The Bowlers ran toward him, but Redfeather whi
rled around, his bowstring twanging. One of the Bowlers tumbled. The other fired his rifle repeatedly, dropping to the ground to take cover.

  There was a whistle, and Atsila circled around to return to Redfeather. He climbed onto the horse and pulled Marisol on behind him.

  Redfeather shot another arrow, and the Bowler returned fire, driving Atsila away.

  They were safe. But Ray was cut off from his friends by the Bowler. He dropped back to the ground, hiding in the tall grass.

  How had they known to set the ambush? Had they seen the horses following them? Maybe B’hoy—the solitary crow trailing their steamcoach—made the agents suspicious?

  After a few moments, the Bowler got to his feet and began jogging in the direction Redfeather and Marisol had gone. Ray ran over to Unole. The horse was dead, and Ray could only hope that he died without suffering. He felt sad and angry for the animal, to have been caught up in such terrible violence.

  B’hoy flew down to land on Ray’s wrist.

  “Good boy,” Ray whispered. “Fly out. See if you can find Redfeather and Marisol.” The crow croaked and took flight.

  As Ray crested a rise, he could see the shadows of the buttes and chasms about a mile away illuminated by the rising moon. Below, the steamcoach trudged through the darkness, casting out its funnel of light across the prairie. Something else drew his eye: a fire, small and far away, tucked against the wall of one of the buttes. Who was out there? Could it be Sally?

  Before he could wonder further, he saw forms dashing across the plains, racing toward the steamcoach. Whatever they were, they were large and they were fast. It might have been men on horses, but then he heard a growl and a bark and howl. Were they wolves?

  The rougarou!

  Gunfire erupted. Flashes of fire lit the black prairie. The first of the rougarou clashed against the steamcoach. Others yelped as bullets hit them. The pack spread out—how many were there?—to encircle the steamcoach and the four horses. Bowlers poured from the doors of the steamcoach, taking positions. Muggeridge’s voice carried, barking orders, issuing commands.

  Ray opened the toby and took out three items: a pair of Indian-head pennies and a ball of bluestone. He slid a penny into each of his boots. He clutched tightly to the ball of bluestone. It would protect him from the bullets, at least until the spell wore off. He hoped he would have at least half an hour.