JOURNEY TO THE MIDNIGHT SUN
James Sheldon
LOVE CONQUERS ALL
Book 1 of 3
Chapter 27
The following day saw our travelers continuing north on the River Montreal. Snow fell steady but at least the wind did not have the open expanse of a big river or lake to build and become intolerable. Shortly after noon, they arrived at the old river crossing. Eighteen clan members had died there when, as we already know, a tumbling wave filled with debris overtook them. Many of the bodies were never recovered.
A stone memorial stood on the shore above the river. Rising to a height of nine feet, a pyramid-shaped pile of small boulders and stones at the center of a tiny man-made clearing, presently overgrown but nicely blanketed in snow, appeared a natural winter garden too beautiful to tread on.
First ashore, Jessie stood at the edge of the clearing with spear in hand. John came along last as usual, acting as rear guard. Emma nodded to the derelict trail that entered the forest there, by which they hoped to gain the Lake of the Swans, “Hopefully this will not be too difficult.”
“At least we won’t need to haul loads,” said John, referring to how the river banks had become gentle in the changing geology of the region.
“Makes for a good start anyway,” Cody added, standing alongside the giant.
While John chopped a hole in the river ice, Laureal handed out brownie-sized cakes of pemmican. Each member stuffed some extra in their pouches to gnaw on the forest trail ahead. Ellie took a long drink, as did the dogs. The humans drank from their water bags, then refilled and placed them back in the packsaddle where they would not freeze.
The children were brought down and the family gathered before the monument with heads bowed. Emma spoke words honoring the dead, then asked the Great Spirit to watch over and protect the living on the path ahead.
“That’s not much of a path,” said Laureal, having turned to the way ahead. Together with her mother at the front, neither could know the trace before them had once been the famous Can-Am Highway. Presently an animal trail, it ran through a stand of aspens before vanishing in a haunted wood as rumor had it in the aftermath of disaster. In truth, a much older forest had burned there years before. In fact, its demise had contributed to conditions that caused the deadly flood. At present, the new forest had not yet fully sorted itself out in the battle for light. Thus it stood before them, a dense mix of pine, spruce, tamarack, polar, birch, and alder draped in white. Above its canopy, blackened trunks were all that remained of the old-growth. Not many trunks but, here and there, they stood against the gray overcast like charred grave markers in an overgrown cemetery.
That she may help her mother clear trail, Laureal went to get a hatchet from the sled. And pausing there in curiosity, she stepped to the shoreline to look downriver one last time where, as she had hoped, the wolf stood only a stone’s throw behind.
“She’s staying closer today,” said John, coming alongside.
“It would appear,” turning her eyes to his, “that our rear guard has acquired an assistant.”
“I hope that’s the case,” putting his arm around her, “because from the looks of her, even big Yike must have trembled when first he saw her…that is, even as he turned backflips.”
“John,” laughing, “sometimes you can be so funny.”
“Laureal,” Jessie’s voice came calling, “I need your help up here.”
Proceeding a stone’s throw into the forest, Laureal scanned for a trace of trail. Never had she or her little brother been beyond the memorial and presently, losing all indication of a path, she turned to her mother with concern.
“Mom.”
“I haven’t been this way since before you were born.”
“I thought Cory said the trail was viable?”
“You know how Cory was. He could bust a trail like nobody’s business, but, he wasn’t the world’s greatest communicator.”
“Mom, how are we supposed to get through this?”
Without a path, the woodland appeared an impenetrable wall of snow, perforated with dark openings, none of which appeared open for travel.
“John,” Laureal called, “we’ve got a problem.”
John hadn’t taken two steps past Emma when the Matriarch said, “John.”
“Yes,” looking back.
“Where there’s a will there’s a way.”
“Always,” and turning, he continued to the front where a single glance told the tale. There was no trail. Fortunately the Seeker had drawn a number of charts based on Emma’s considerable knowledge of the land. Thus by his best estimation, the Lake of the Swans lie only thirty-five miles north-by-northeast of their present location.
Looking here and there, John found his way into the wood.
Several minutes later, he returned shaking his head. “Damn.”
“John, how many times do I have to ask you?”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry, but this ain’t good.”
“Can we get through?” Cody asked.
“Only if we’re willing to cut a trail.”
“Surely it’s not this thick all the way to the lake?”
“I would hope not!”
John looked to Emma, “Is there another way?”
“Well, providing we can find it, this path is a straight shot to the lake. Otherwise, there are waterways to the north and south. From here the river continues north, winding and curving before turning east to eventually make its way to the northern tip of the lake. It would cost us many extra days of travel. To our southeast there’s a small stream that also leads to the lake. The problem is, it winds like a piece of tread picked up and thrown down by the wind. And the terrain there is unfavorable. By its course, every stone’s throw would be multiplied by three of four.”
“And beyond the stream,” Jessie put in, “is rugged territory, hills that stretch south to our summer hunting grounds. Our only option would be to go around them and that would be an undertaking.”
“That would put us out in this cold for another moon,” Mia asserted.
“Yes, I know. I didn’t mean to imply we could do that. We would have to hold up at our summer home, and then depart after the spring thaw.”
Mia turned to Emma, “We would miss our prospects.”
“But we would be there when they returned,” Laureal put in optimistically.
“That’s true, dear,” Jessie began, “but in that case their impression of us might be very different. If we arrive late and therefore can only get a poor location with little time to build better than a paltry camp, and all the while we’re expecting to net big fish…who then could blame anyone for seeing us as the sort of people that expect to get something for nothing.”
“Mom, I’m not saying we should do that. I’m just looking at our options. The summer crowd that grandmother spoke of would be there. Surely there would be single men, I would assume some reasonably decent ones around your age.”
“Laureal,” Mia cut in, somewhat annoyed, “you’re not the one looking for a man. I mean, yeah, we’d have the summer crowd, but are we now to give up and settle for something less, after all that we’ve come through?”
“I say we continue with grandmother’s plan,” said Cody, getting his two cents in.
Emma turned to John, “Do you think we can get through this?”
“We can give it a shot.”
“Mia, what say you?”
“I have not come through snow and ice to get a ‘reasonably decent’ husband,” shooting a look at Laureal.
“Laureal, what say you?”
“I was only trying to be helpful, Mom. You know, look at all our options.” And feeling somewhat offended, she looked at Mia, “If this was all about me and I could have what I wanted, then John and I would return to our summer home. We would sell the glass treasure, build our house, and buy horses.” And having gotten somewhat worked up, she added, “And I couldn’t imagine a better life! But this isn’t about me!”
“Is that a yes or a no?” Jessie asked pointedly.
“It’s a yes, Mother!” And turning to John as if to assign some measure of blame, “You have the compass, darling.”
Struck by their determination and more than a little concerned, John worried particularly for Emma who, being up in her years, suffered most from the wear and tear of their endeavor even as she hid it in a seemingly bottomless well of determination. “Perhaps we should camp here and sleep on it,” he suggested. “Then come morning, we can decide.”
“How about we give it a try now,” Emma proposed. “And come morning, we can decide based on our experience today.”
“Very well. Do you mind taking the rear guard position?”
“Whatever it takes.”
Handing his rifle to Emma, John turned to Jessie and Mia, “If you would manage the sled, Laureal and I will break trail.” And turning to his wife, “I will use my compass to indicate our course. And based on that, if you would look for the path of least resistance and knock snow away with your spear, I will cut branches behind you. And when you aren’t knocking snow down you can help me cut branches.” Then addressing Cody, “If Laureal and I leave a few branches lying on the path, pick them up and move them aside as you lead Ellie.”
The Seeker reached into his pouch and brought out his compass. Cased in brass and resembling a locket, its lid bore the insignia of his Order.
“We might have five days of this ahead of us,” speaking as he oriented himself, “that is, if we decide to continue.” Then pocketing the compass, he fetched his hatchet which, as we already know, qualified as a small ax.
Everyone took their positions, whereupon the horseman, standing alongside his wife at the front, pointed his hatchet and said, “We need to go that way.”
Laureal, who had picked up a favorable stick, threw it end over end like a tomahawk. It landed in the trees a mere stone's toss before them and the ensuing chain reaction ended in a cloud of snow dust, rapidly dissipating to reveal a snow-free patch in the forest.
Pleasantly surprised, John turned to Laureal, “That was clever!”
“When we were kids we used to do this for fun. We learned where to throw our sticks to bring down the most snow.”`
“It wasn’t always fun,” Cody remarked from just a few steps back. “Laureal threw a stick into a snow-bomb above me once. She did it intentionally. The snow came down and got in my windpipe. Cory had to carry me home.”
“And after Cody was safe in bed, Laureal took a trip with her father to the wood pile out back,” Emma remarked from behind the sled. And thinking back to it, she chucked even as she shook her head.
So it was with old recollections, fond or not, the family set out on a bushwhack where knocking away walls of snow only left more snow on the ground to plow through. Chopping what branches had to be chopped still left many to negotiate. Clearing away old dead branches still left more of the same buried under the snow to twist an ankle or throw the sled on its side. Alas, it was slow going and they were not even a mile into it when Laureal paused before yet another fallen tree. An old growth pine and victim of the fire, its blackened trunk presently topped with snow, could easily last another hundred years before rotting away.
“We’ll go over it,” said John, as he had been making the call from one fallen log to the next, deciding which were better for Ellie to go over and which were better to go around. Laureal went over the log to clear ground on the opposite side while John used his hatchet to make a narrow flat atop the fallen trunk. Then laying his hatchet well aside, he turned to the business at hand.
“I can do it, John.”
“I know you can, Cody. But unless we want Ellie to jump, she is going to need help from both of us.”
Sophie poked her little head out, “Do you know what you’re doing?”
“I’m pretty sure I do. Although, I’ve never done this before.”
“Are you teasing me again?”
“Yes, but only partly. I want you and Noah to hold tight to your box tops. That way, if Ellie jumps a little, you won’t bump your heads.”
Having decided it solid enough to hold Ellie’s great weight, John instructed Cody on how to keep Ellie from jumping. The horseman then lifted one of the giant’s massive steel cleated hooves as if to clean it but instead he placed it atop the log which, being eighteen inches in diameter, had a combined height of approx 21 inches. The second hoof was the hard part, and John used his considerable strength to help Ellie lift her hoof up onto the log. From there she carefully stepped down to the other side under John’s direction. The process was then repeated with her back hooves. Next it was time to lift the front of the sled up and onto the log. John lifted on one side, Jessie and Mia lifted on the other. It was no light thing but they got elevated enough for Cody to edge Ellie forward slowly bringing the curved runners up and onto the log. John directed both Cody and Ellie while, one step at a time, they carefully drug the sled fully atop the log so that it balanced like a teeter-totter. The family team then let the front end down as gently as possible. They then repeated the process on the back end, using care to prevent it from suddenly dropping and possibly cracking or breaking under its own weight.
“Perhaps in a day or two we won’t have to do this,” John remarked while retrieving his ax.
Meanwhile, Jessie had gone back over the log, “Mother, let me help you.”
Emma pulled her arm away, “It’s only a log for goodness sake!”
Cody gazed about, taken with the number of rabbit tracks, “There’s no shortage of hares in this place.”
“That’s because we’re yet near the river and a good supply of grass.
“Fisher-cat tracks as well.”
“They’re drawn here by the hares.”
The travelers hadn’t gone a half-mile deeper into the wood when, pausing yet again for John to check his compass, Mia turned her eyes to a small opening in the canopy above, “Can’t say for sure,” craning to get a better view of heavy overcast, “but I doubt we have two hours of light left.”
“Where did this day go?” Jessie asked redundantly. “These winter days are so short, it’s hard to get half of what one hopes done.”
“Maybe we should strike camp now?”
“We could set snares for hares.”
“Sounds like a plan. We’re going to have to snare them high though. Otherwise, I doubt we’ll have anything left come morning, what with fishers-cats prowling about.”
John did not have to say more. Everyone knew the fisher cat's reputation. Notorious cousins of the wolverines. Not a threat to humans but terror of all small forest animals.
So it was that the family struck camp. Crowded by the forest, they scarcely had space to pitch their tent. The day soon faded, leaving their campfire to illuminate only the nearest branches like a candle’s flame in a starless pitch.
The surrounding wood came to life with the voices of night. It happened abruptly, the otherworldly scream of a fisher cat. Like the cry of a banshee, that ancient spirit of Gaelic folklore whose wail warns a family that one of them would soon perish. Then again, perhaps it was only the fisher’s ancient enemy the red fox, also known to scream like a woman being murdered in the night. Whatever the case, the hair-raising ruckus prompted a few barks from Weya. Not dog barks but those half barks particular to wolves, used to warn intruders away. This was followed by the hoots of an owl, after which all fell quiet, leaving one to wonder what had been said.
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