by Maureen Bush
Crows flew with us as we followed the shore of the lake. I could feel their anxiety, their need to keep moving.
The little girl crow settled on my shoulder again, murmuring softly. I ran a finger down her back. “What’s your name?” I said.
She cawed back like she was answering me.
I tried to copy her and failed miserably. I swear she laughed at me.
I laughed back. “I’ll just have to call you Crow Baby.”
“Crowby,” she muttered. “Crowby.”
I smiled and patted her again. “You speak English much better than I speak crow. Crowby it is.”
We met the buffalo near the stream that drained the lake. Now that we had to ride them, they looked scary and huge, as they snuffled and snorted and shook their massive heads.
“Brox, Vivienne,” said Keeper, nodding to each of them. “Thank you for returning. We need you to help Josh and Maddy.”
They stared at Maddy and me. “Us?” the larger buffalo said, sounding puzzled. “You want us to work with humans?”
Brox, I thought. This one is Brox.
“They are trying to help,” said Vivienne, the smaller buffalo.
“Yes, then I suppose we should help them,” said Brox. “And it is the Will of the Gathering.” He sighed, in a great snuffly wheeze. “Very well.”
“They would like to meet the weavers,” said Keeper.
“Ah, the weavers,” said Brox, nodding ponderously.
“Hmmm,” said Vivienne. It sounded almost like a hum.
Then they looked at Keeper and waited.
“Oh,” said Keeper, realizing he needed to say more. “Uh, could you take them?”
“Take them?” said Brox. “To the weavers? Ah...yes... well...that would be interesting, wouldn’t it, Vivienne?”
But he didn’t say it like going to a party might be interesting. It sounded more like he would be curious to see how it turned out.
“You know the way?” asked Keeper.
Brox looked offended. “Of course we do. Buffalo are great travellers.”
Keeper nodded. “Take Josh and Maddy to the otter-people beyond Storm Mountain for the night. They will help – it is the Will of the Gathering.”
Then he looked at what we’d carried down from his cave. “Well, then – let me get you organized,” he said, a little gruffly. He took our leather bags and reset the buckles to make the straps as long as possible. He made sure Maddy and I saw exactly what he was doing, and that we could reset them ourselves. “Because buffalo cannot work with buckles.”
No kidding, I thought.
We both stared at the buffalo while Keeper settled the leather bags on their huge backs. He slung mine on Brox, shifting it back and forth until Brox was comfortable. Then he lifted Maddy’s onto Vivienne’s slightly less huge back.
The buffalo were tall, broader than horses and covered in coarse, thick fur. They had big shaggy heads, with wicked-looking curving horns and large hard noses.
“Have you never seen a buffalo?” asked Brox, when he caught us staring.
“There aren’t any more – well, only in a few places. But I’ve never seen...” I stammered.
Maddy said, “Only, well, heads on walls, and furs. Sorry.”
I turned to her, shocked. “Maddy, don’t say that,” I whispered. “That’s worse than wearing a fur hat!”
Brox harrumphed. “It is the truth of what humans did.”
“These children did not kill any buffalo,” said Vivienne.
Ignoring them, Keeper lifted Maddy onto Vivienne’s back, settled her, and turned to me.
“I can get up myself,” I said, but when I stood beside Brox, I realized I had no hope of reaching.
Keeper laughed as he lifted me. “You will need to use a fallen tree or a large rock to climb up and down. Always help Maddy – it is a longer fall for her.”
I wiggled while he held me, trying to get comfortable sitting on such a broad back. That’s when the smell hit me: strong, musky, with a sharp tang. I tried not to breathe too deeply. But the fur was lovely. The outer hairs were coarse but under them was a thick layer of fine, soft fur. I wiggled my fingers into it, enjoying the softness and the warmth.
Keeper shook out a bundle he’d carried down from his cave, a large fur blanket. He tucked it around Maddy, fur side down, anchoring it under her legs. Then he brought one to me, tucking me in just as snuggly.
What was it? I wondered. What kind of fur would be okay to use around furred creatures? I flipped up an edge – it was buffalo.
“Keeper,” I said, shocked. “We can’t ride buffalo wrapped in buffalo hides!”
Keeper cleared his throat. “Animals die. I use what is left, after.”
Brox blew through his nostrils. “They would be honoured to be of use, to be of benefit even after their deaths.”
Maddy and I glanced at each other, both of us confused by buffalo logic.
“Are you all set?” Keeper asked.
“I don’t even know where we’re going,” I said.
Keeper nodded. “Brox and Vivienne know the way. And they will bring you back to me, here.” He turned to Brox. “Send a crow when it is time to meet.”
Brox nodded, and the crows cawed in agreement. Snorting loudly, Brox turned onto the path down the mountain, and Vivienne followed.
“Goodbye,” Maddy and I called to Keeper.
He smiled and waved.
As we headed down the mountain, Vivienne began to sing:
Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam,
where the deer and the antelope play,
where seldom is heard a discouraging word,
and the sky is not cloudy all day.
When I looked back at Keeper, he was still watching, his face serious.
Chapter Six
Buffalo Travel
The next two days were a misery. Total, complete misery. Our legs were rubbed raw and our spines jolted into agony. Uphill was bad. Downhill was worse. Maddy and I were desperate to walk, but Brox wouldn’t let us.
“Keeper asked us to take you to the weavers. We will do as he asked. If he thought you could walk, he would be walking with you. But we are faster.”
They were faster. The magic did something to them, making them really good travellers. They always knew where they were, always knew where to go next, always knew the best path. We covered ground faster than any horse could, and squeezed down paths I would have thought were much too narrow.
As fast as we travelled, though, it was never fast enough for the crows. They were always pushing, always urging us on. Soon I was feeling it too, an anxiety to do something, to accomplish something, to fix this.
While we travelled, Brox talked, except when Vivienne chose to sing.
“Why do you like human songs so much?” Maddy asked.
Vivienne shook her head. “Not human songs. All songs. I like to sing. If otter-people had songs, I’d sing those, too.”
I laughed, imagining Eneirda’s look of horror if she heard this.
“I tried bird songs...” She shook her head again and woofed softly.
“We like to slip into the human world and listen by campfires,” said Brox. “That’s where Vivienne learns her songs. And I learn a great deal, too.” He rumbled at the back of his throat, and continued.
“We’re heading southwest, from Castle across the Bow Valley,” Brox said. “I’m using human names so it will make sense to you. We’ll climb over the ridge towards Storm Mountain, down into the valley, and keep heading southwest to the Rockwall. It’s all in a straight line – rather surprising, really, for mountain travel. We usually only see that in the prairies. Of course, there’s lots of up and down to make it interesting.”
I groaned. Interesting wasn’t what I would call it.
By late afternoon we’d finally crested the pass above the Bow Valley. I was happy when Brox insisted we walk around for a few minutes, but climbing off was almost more painful than staying up. Maddy and I dug out a snack
and drank from our water sacks. The water tasted like old leather.
“We can see our whole route from here,” said Brox. “Behind us, we can see Castle.”
It looked huge from here, and very much like a castle, perched high above the river valley.
“If we turn and look ahead, we can see the river valley we’ll follow to the Rockwall.”
“Where is it?” asked Maddy.
“Right at the end of the valley,” said Brox.
I looked down the valley to the mountains blocking the end of it. Instead of a series of mountains lined up in a row, it looked like a solid wall, with the only gaps high along the ridge. “The weavers are at the base of the Rockwall?” I asked, hopeful but doubting.
“No, high up in the clouds.” He said it like that would be a beautiful place to live.
I just felt depressed. How were we going to get up there?
Maddy and I stood on a big rock to get back onto Brox and Vivienne. I boosted Maddy and held her while she wiggled into place, and then I threw myself on to Brox’s back, grabbed handfuls of fur, and squirmed until I could get one leg over the far side. Brox snorted and harrumphed, but he stayed still while I struggled.
As soon as we were settled, he headed down the steep drop into the valley. I leaned back, gritting my teeth as sore spots rubbed.
Vivienne began to sing:
Come, follow follow follow,
follow follow follow me.
Whither shall I follow follow follow,
whither shall I follow follow thee?
To the greenwood, to the greenwood,
to the greenwood, greenwood tree.
“We should sing this as a round,” said Brox.
“What?” asked Maddy. “A round?”
“Indeed,” said Brox. “We all sing together; then we divide into three groups, and all start at different times.”
Maddy giggled. “That would sound terrible!”
“No, no,” said Brox. “We start at precise moments, so the sounds all fit together.” He paused, and said in a soft voice, “It would make Vivienne very happy.”
Maddy’s mouth twitched. “Then we should definitely do it. How do we divide in three?”
I sagged. “Maddy,” I muttered.
“We’ll sing,” she said, laughing at me. “Josh, when are you ever in all your life going to have another chance to sing rounds with buffalo?”
I started to grin in spite of myself.
Vivienne organized us. “First, we’ll sing all together. Then, um, Maddy – you’ll be first. I’ll start with you to help you get going. Then Josh and Brox together – Josh, you’ll have to sing loudly. I’m afraid Brox cannot carry a tune.”
I coughed to cover my laugh. This was going to be a disaster.
“I’ll come in third.” She sang the song for us, and then we joined her, all together. Then, conducting with her head, she gestured for Maddy to begin.
Brox definitely couldn’t carry a tune, but he made up for it in volume. We followed each other through the song, around and around, until we were too tired to continue.
We kept moving as we sang, down towards Storm Mountain. The crows kept their distance, distressed by Brox’s singing.
Trees blocked our view of the Rockwall as we descended into the valley, and then it disappeared entirely as snow began to fall. Fat flakes drifted down, landing lightly on our hair and eyelashes. Soon we were coated in gleaming white.
The clouds thickened, the sky darkened, and more snow fell. I was mesmerized by the flakes flying at me. They layered on my hair and my eyelashes and melted on my cheeks.
Brox plodded on. I couldn’t tell if he knew exactly where he was going, or if he was just walking because there was nothing else to do.
I didn’t want to say anything. Even after singing together, I still felt intimidated by the buffalo. But we couldn’t ride through the storm all night. “We need to find shelter,” I said.
“We’re almost there,” said Brox.
“At the Rockwall?” Maddy asked.
“No,” he said, snorting. “That’s for tomorrow. We’re almost at your shelter for the night.” He looked up at the sky, flakes falling into his eyes. “Corvus,” he bellowed. “Corvus!”
Nothing. The snow muffled even his voice.
“Ah, well, we’ll find them,” said Brox, as he plodded on.
He headed down to a stream, crashing through bushes and pushing his nose into snowy banks. When cliffs rose above the stream, Brox harrumphed in satisfaction. “Almost there.”
Then an otter-person jumped up and whacked him on the nose. “Sssst! That is close enough!”
Brox snorted and backed into Vivienne, who stumbled into the stream. Maddy shrieked and clung to snow-slicked fur.
The otter-person wasn’t as tall as Greyfur, but she had the same grey hair across her head and shoulders. She said, “Crows told us you were coming. Sssst! You are not welcome here.”
“The children need a warm place to spend the night,” said Brox, calm but insistent.
“Humans are not welcome,” she said.
More otter-people emerged out of the storm and gathered around the first, watchful and wary. Crows joined us, too, quietly settling on snow-covered branches.
I didn’t want to push in where we clearly weren’t wanted, but the storm was getting worse and Maddy and I needed a safe place to sleep. I shook the snow off my head, wiped my face, and said, “We need to learn how to repair the veil. It is the Will of the Gathering.” I didn’t need any proof – magic resonated in my words.
The otter-people froze, only their eyes moving as they looked back and forth among themselves. Finally the grey-haired otter-person said, “You believe you can fix veil?”
“That is his task,” said Brox.
“Sssst! Will he succeed?”
“No other can,” said Brox, snorting softly.
“But –”
Vivienne interrupted. “He needs our help.”
“Very well,” said the otter-person. “Chrrr. They may come in. But only the humans. None others, tss.” She glared at the crows.
Brox and Vivienne nodded, but the crows cawed in a clamour. She ignored them. When they settled on the trees and bushes nearest the cave, she frowned. They glared back.
I slid off Brox’s back and staggered, my legs stiff from the ride, my back aching, my shoulders throbbing. I caught Maddy and steadied her as she struggled to keep her balance on wobbly legs. Then we pulled down our bags and our blankets and shook off as much snow as we could.
“No buffalo furs, sssst!” said the otter-person, her nose turned up. “They are too smelly.”
Brox grunted. “They’re humans. They need blankets for warmth.”
Sighing, she nodded again, and gestured for us to enter her cave, a dark opening in the cliff wall.
“Will you be all right in the storm?” I asked Brox. “You and Vivienne and the crows?”
Brox snorted with laughter, a rough hoff hoff. “Of course. We do not need caves. We will be fine. We will stay nearby, and make sure Gronvald doesn’t come.”
I shivered – I’d forgotten about Gronvald. Trusting that Aleena and the crows would warn us if he did show up, I followed Maddy inside.
The cave was musky and dark and warm. Woven grass mats covered the floor, and baskets and pouches of reed and grass were set along the walls.
A crowd of otter-people followed us in. They collected their things and left quietly, leaving us alone with the grey-haired otter-person, a younger otter-woman almost as tall as me holding a baby, and two small otter-children.
“This is my daughter Reynar,” said the grey-haired one, “and her children, hnn. Baby Folens, and twins Drenba and Dreylac.” Reynar had rich red-brown fur and pale skin, as did little Folens. The twins’ fur was bright red-gold, and their skin had a golden sheen.
Reynar nodded, but said nothing. The twins peeked at us from behind her. Maddy smiled at them and they ducked out of sight.
“I
am Greyfur,” said the grey-haired otter-person.
“Greyfur?” asked Maddy. “We know another Greyfur.”
“Chrrr. You are lucky,” she answered. “Greyfur is name of respect for all old enough to have grey hair.” She pointed to a corner of the cave vacated by those who’d left. “You may sleep there.”
We placed our bags and blankets on the mats, and started to strip off our snowy outerwear.
Greyfur said, “Leave clothes, tss. Eat first, outside. We do not light fires inside!” I could hear Eneirda’s scorn of humans in her voice.
Somehow the otter-people had managed to light a fire in the snowstorm, tucked out of the wind against the cliff wall. Soon they were grilling fish threaded on sticks – small trout, I guessed.
Maddy and I were ravenous. Although we don’t usually like fish, we devoured this. The otter-people ate, too, but they ate their fish raw.
The small fire provided enough light to find our way back to the entrance to the cave, but once inside it was too dark to see. Maddy and I stumbled around until, finally, we stood still in the middle of the cave.
“What is wrong?” asked Greyfur.
“It’s dark,” said Maddy.
“Yes, hnn. Is night. Is not dark in human world at night?”
I laughed. “Yes, of course it is, but we have lights. We don’t see well in the dark,” I explained, finally understanding the problem.
“Hnn,” she said. “Humans.”
“Josh, could you use your firestone?” Maddy asked.
“Would that be okay?” I asked Greyfur.
“If magic to spare, better to warm cave for Folens.”
There was so much unsaid in her sentence, but without being able to see her face, I couldn’t interpret it. If I had magic to spare – did that mean they did not? They didn’t have enough magic to keep their babies warm?
I pulled the firestone out of my pocket and let magic flow into it, just enough for a soft glow. Maddy and I found our corner, and pulled off our jackets. It was warmer than outside, but not warm enough for little children.
