by Lisa Smedman
“Superintendent,” I said, gritting my teeth against the pain that wracked my stomach. “The Day of Changes came to pass — but there’s a way to reverse it. We have to get the Manitou Stone back to its original resting place. We can do this by carrying the stone through the tunnels — but only if you help us.”
Steele stood with round, dark eyes fixed upon me, listening with rapt attention. Despite his buffalo body, his mind was still that of a man’s. He nodded his massive head. It was clear that he understood my every word.
Quickly, I explained what needed to be done. The traces that Chambers had used to harness Buck to the limber were damaged, but the rope in the limber’s toolbox would do the trick. I fastened it to what remained of the traces, then made a makeshift harness. When I was done, I held the loop out for the Superintendent, who stepped neatly into it. I tightened it around his chest, apologizing for the indignity. He shook his head and snorted, as if to tell me that no apology was necessary.
I climbed back onto the limber, by now feeling so weak that I allowed Stone Keeper to help me into my place. Then Steele dug his hoofs into the earth, and with a massive pull hauled the limber into motion.
It didn’t take us long to reach the tunnel. Stone Keeper’s feather was still sticking in the earth where I’d left it, and a dark hole led into the earth. Either the Indians hadn’t realized that the tunnel was open, or they had forgotten about it in their excitement at having successfully brought about the Day of Changes. Steele headed for the cave, hauling the limber along behind him. We paused only briefly, to retrieve Stone Keeper’s feather. We might need it to open the tunnel at the other end.
As we entered the tunnel, clods of earth began to fall behind us, sealing us inside. The pendulum picked up its pace again, but this time it wasn’t my proximity that was causing it to do so. It flashed back and forth in a tick-tick-ticking blur, propelled by the wash of etheric energy that flowed through the tunnel. I felt the hair at the back of my neck rise as a shiver passed through me, and saw that Stone Keeper was also trembling. I laid my hand on her arm — taking care to avoid her hand, with its severed little finger — and gave it a comforting squeeze. She turned her pockmarked face to me and smiled, then looked away.
The limber trundled on through the darkness. Unable to see, Steele had slowed to a walk.
“Follow the curve to the right, Superintendent,” I called out to him. “Ignore any side tunnels; they’re only tributaries. Keep to the main tunnel.”
From the darkness ahead of the limber came Steele’s answering snort.
The pendulum on the limber was still in motion, its rapid ticking as loud as a clock in an empty room. After a minute or two, its heavy brass ball took on an eerie blue glow. Sparks crackled across its surface and spun off in spirals like ball lightning. Soon the light they produced, although inconsistent, was enough to see by. Steele picked up his pace, pulling mightily upon the rope and moving at a brisk trot.
How long our journey through the tunnel took, I could not say. I couldn’t trust my pocket watch, and the pain in my gut was distorting my sense of time, slowing it to a painful crawl. I spent much of the ride bent nearly double, arms wrapped tight around the throbbing ache that my stomach had become. I felt sweat trickle down my temples, and bloody bile rising in my throat. I told myself that the journey would be a swift one; I could almost feel the current of etheric energy pushing us along. I just had to bear it a little bit longer.
After what seemed like an eternity, Steele’s questioning snort caused me to look up. Ahead, I could see a patch of light. It grew steadily brighter, and I could see that it was the mouth of a tunnel, filled with bright sunlight. Beyond the cave mouth, I could hear the rush of flowing water. The tunnel went no further; we must have reached its end point: the spot on the Battle River where the Manitou Stone had originally stood. I was glad that we didn’t have to use Stone Keeper’s feather to open a cave here; I was feeling so nauseous that I was no longer certain I could climb down from the limber. Only the fact that Stone Keeper was seated beside me caused me to choke down my bile; I was too much of a gentleman to be ill beside her.
The pendulum was acting strangely now, no longer ticking back and forth but instead spinning in a furious circle. It spiralled first in one direction, then another, as if the current of etheric energy that flowed over it were changing direction. Sparks crackled from it in a continuous stream, shifting back and forth through the colours of the rainbow as the pendulum whirled first counter-clockwise, then clockwise, then back again. A peculiar hot burning smell filled the air, stinging my nostrils.
Steele had stopped in the cave mouth, his nostrils quivering. Beyond this exit I saw a gentle, grassy slope leading down to a wide river. The tunnel gave egress onto the crest of a hill. The grass that covered it was being stirred by a stiff breeze that blew it back and forth. A series of tiny whirlwinds seemed to be chasing each other across these bending stalks, and converging on one particular spot: a barely discernible depression in the ground, no more than a dozen yards outside the cave mouth.
“There!” I gritted, clutching my stomach. I pointed at the overgrown depression in the soil. “That must be the Manitou Stone’s original resting place.”
Steele gave me a questioning look, and bellowed, but I was unable to understand the meaning of his guttural call. His massive shoulders shuddered, as if he were trying to shrug. Then he threw himself against the rope, straining the limber forward.
As we emerged from the cave, the wind caught us full force. My Stetson was torn from my head, and Stone Keeper’s hair whipped about her face. The wind plucked at the blanket in which Iniskim was wrapped, producing the eerie illusion that the body inside it was moving. Stone Keeper flipped back the blanket and laid an ear to Iniskim’s chest, listening for a heartbeat. When she looked up at me, she shook her head — but there was a gleam of fervent hope in her eye.
My knees began to tremble with cold, as if I were seated next to a block of ice. The cold seemed to be coming from the Manitou Stone. Bending forward, I touched a finger to it — and immediately jerked back my hand as my skin stuck to the stone. Already a thin film of lacy ice was beginning to form on the metal floor of the limber, all around the Manitou Stone. I just hoped that we’d still be able to move the stone — that the ice wouldn’t cement it to the limber.
The limber rattled forward, with Steele pulling mightily in the traces. We had only a couple of yards to go. I sighed and closed my eyes, offering up my thanks to whatever spirits or angels were listening that it would all be over soon. In a moment more, I would tip the Manitou Stone from the cart, back onto its original resting place. Iniskim would live, and the settlers would be transformed back into men, women and children once more. Then I could die in peace.
That was when Stone Keeper screamed.
My eyes flashed open just in time to see a familiar figure leaping onto the limber. Like a recurring nightmare, Wandering Spirit had returned, and murder was in his eye. He hit me full force, knocking me backward from my seat. As we tumbled off the back of the limber I caught a glimpse of Stone Keeper clutching Iniskim’s body to her breast, and screaming for all she was worth.
We landed in the swirling grass, and somehow I evaded Wandering Spirit’s grip and lurched to my feet. I staggered around the side of the wagon, trying to get it between us. Wandering Spirit followed me with the slow, malevolent pace of a lynx stalking wounded prey. He wore only a breechcloth and moccasins now, and his entire body was painted yellow. A knife was sheathed at his hip. His long dark hair, once black as a raven’s wing, now had its own war paint: at some point during the last few hours, it had started to turn grey. Wandering Spirit advanced slowly upon me, his eyes filled with malice.
Steele had stopped and was watching us with wide dark eyes. He snorted softly to attract my attention, and I saw that one hind leg was cocked under his belly, ready to deliver a violent kick as soon as Wandering Spirit came into range.
Wandering Spirit was too cunning to
fall for that trick, however. Raising his hand above his head, he curled his fingers into claws. Lashing his hand forward, he screamed something in Cree. I felt a flash of hot pain across my lower leg, and collapsed to the ground. The magical attack had torn right through the leather of my boot to reach my flesh; I felt hot blood running down my leg. Within seconds the agony of my slashed leg was as great as the twisting knot in my gut.
Steele was throwing himself back and forth now, trying desperately to break out of his harness and come to my aid. Stone Keeper had jumped down from the limber and stood with Iniskim in the crook of one arm, a wrench in her other hand. She threw the wrench as hard as she could at Wandering Spirit, but the warrior dodged it easily.
Wandering Spirit lashed out a second time, and a line of pain tore its way across my shoulder. He was playing with me, as a cat plays with a mouse.
Steele gave up trying to shed his harness and threw himself forward, hauling the limber after him with a mighty bellow. I saw what he intended to do — circle around and run Wandering Spirit down — but I also saw that he would never be able to get himself turned about in time.
Stone Keeper was still standing in the spot where she’d jumped down from the limber. I waved at her to run.
“Stone Keeper!” I croaked. “Get away!”
She ran in the direction opposite to the one I indicated. Instead of carrying Iniskim to safety, she stopped and laid her upon the ground.
Wandering Spirit’s next slash cut painfully across my scalp — just deep enough to sting, and to send a wash of blood down into my eye. Then he drew his knife from the sheath at his hip, and stalked toward me.
The limber rumbled and rattled as Steele turned it around for his final charge. The entire boulder was covered in frost now. The pendulum had stopped emitting sparks, and was stuck fast to the Manitou Stone; a film of ice was creeping up the pendulum’s shaft. As I saw this, I suddenly knew what I must do. I staggered toward the limber, shouting at Steele to slow his pace.
He did, and I threw myself onto the limber, using my good arm and leg to crawl up next to the Manitou Stone. Wandering Spirit was after me in a trice. I felt a hand grip my hair and saw the flash of his knife as he raised it — and then the knife jerked violently to one side. It slammed up against the Manitou Stone with a ringing peal, like a needle drawn to a gigantic magnet. In the instant of confusion that followed, as Wandering Spirit tried to tug it free, I arched my body and slammed him into the stone. His bare back stuck to the ice-cold rock, trapping him like an insect on flypaper — but then, with a blood-curdling howl, he tore himself free. Strips of torn skin hung down his back, looking for all the world like the bloody aftermath of the warriors’ thirst dance.
I lay on my back, trembling, too weak to move. Flexing his shoulders against the pain of his torn back, Wandering Spirit once again curled his fingers into claws. Steele bellowed a warning and jostled the limber, but I was too weak to move. I was done for.
In that instant, I saw a flash of something moving, just behind Wandering Spirit’s head. I heard a dull thud, combined with a crunch, and suddenly Wandering Spirit’s face drained of all expression. Slack-boned, he crumpled into a heap next to me, then rolled off the limber, dead.
That was when I saw Stone Keeper, standing on the limber with a wrench in her hand. Slowly, she lowered it, then let it fall from numbed fingers. Even as I opened my lips to thank Stone Keeper, she leaped from the limber and ran away.
I sat up as best I could, blinking away the blood that still flowed from my scalp wound. Steele, still hitched to the limber, regarded me with a nervous eye.
“I’m still fit for duty, sir,” I croaked. “Let’s put this stone back where it belongs.”
Steele snorted his approval, then heaved the limber forward. When we were even with the depression in the earth, I hauled myself painfully to my feet. There was no way I could lever the Manitou Stone off the limber now — I was too weak — but that didn’t mean that Steele couldn’t do it.
It was the matter of only a few minutes to refasten his makeshift harness around the Manitou Stone. That done, I gave Steele the nod. With a mighty heave, he pulled the Manitou Stone down off the limber. It landed in its spot with a thump that seemed to shake the entire Earth, and then all was still.
The very air seemed to hold its breath for a moment. Then, just as it had done before, a cold wind began to blow. This time, however, it started far out on the prairie and swept toward us, spiralling ever closer. As it at last washed over the spot where we stood, Steele gave a loud grunt and transformed back into a man again. The magical wind swept past him, leaving him naked on all fours and shivering as it howled its way toward the Manitou Stone. The heavy boulder rose into the air and spun one full revolution counter-clockwise — then fell back onto the ground and was still.
As I collapsed on the ground, I heard an infant’s cry. In another moment, Stone Keeper knelt beside me with Iniskim in her arms. The toddler, although small, looked healthy and well; she sat upright in her mother’s arms and looked about her curiously. Her skin was the natural copper colour of the Indian, and her hair had turned a lustrous black. There was none of the knowing expression I’d seen in her eyes earlier — this time, White Buffalo Woman was no longer inside Iniskim when she was restored to life. Iniskim looked down at me; a faint frown pursed her pink lips, as if she wondered who I was.
Stone Keeper touched a hand to my shoulder, her eyes silently expressing her gratitude. I smiled up at her, and tried to reach out for her, but my arm fell back to my side as a wave of pain wrenched my stomach.
Steele knelt on the other side of me and placed a hand on my uninjured shoulder. He seemed oblivious to his nakedness, and the fact that his muscular body was covered in dust and dirt.
“That was a fine piece of work, Corporal,” he said, pride and admiration filling his voice in equal measure. “I’ll see that you receive a promotion for this.”
I glanced up at Stone Keeper and Iniskim, then back at Steele. It was difficult to move my head. My limbs were starting to feel stiff and heavy, and my lips were barely able to form words.
“Promise me … Sir,” I whispered. “Promise you’ll see … my pension goes to … Emily. She….”
“I’ll see that it’s done, Corporal — but a pension won’t be necessary,” Steele said in a falsely hearty tone. “I’ve no intention of letting you die.”
I smiled wanly up at him, knowing that he was lying to comfort me. I’d used up the last of my strength harnessing Steele to the Manitou Stone. I didn’t even have it in me to sing the song that Strikes Back had taught me.
“We did it, didn’t we Sir?” I whispered. “We stopped… Day of Changes. The Indians can’t ever—”
“That’s enough, Grayburn,” Steele said. “You’re badly wounded, and need to save your strength. We’re miles from the nearest detachment, and even if there are settlers nearby, they’re likely to be quite unnerved by their recent transformations. We’ll have to rely upon our own resources to….”
His voice trailed off and he looked quickly over his shoulder, as if something had startled him, then shrugged and turned away. I glanced fearfully in the direction Steele had just looked, expecting to see Wandering Spirit risen from the dead.
It wasn’t Wandering Spirit, but Big Bear. The Cree chief stood not three paces away from us, arms folded over his chest. The Hudson’s Bay blanket he wore hugged stooped shoulders, and he was staring at the ground. When he looked up at us, I expected to see anger in his eyes, but instead his wrinkled face was lined with sorrow.
Big Bear’s lips began to move, and I realized that he was speaking. I could not hear his words, however, and after a moment I realized that I could see right through him. I had no idea whether Big Bear had come to me as a ghost — or whether he had deliberately projected his astral body to this spot in an effort to communicate with me. I only know that I was filled with a burning desire to know what his message was.
Steele apparently did not s
ee the apparition, even though he had felt its presence. He rose to his feet and began searching the limber, obviously intent upon seeing what he could scavenge from it. Stone Keeper was likewise oblivious to Big Bear’s presence — although Iniskim pointed a pink finger in the chief’s direction.
Staring at Big Bear, I mentally reached out one more time for my guardian spirit. In an instant, I felt something land lightly on my shoulder. A soft voice hooted in my ear, and then began to translate what Big Bear was saying.
I do not understand, the chief said. When I dreamed of you, Red Owl, I dreamed that you would help my people. That is why I protected you, even though it went against the wishes of the other chiefs. When you brought Iniskim to the Manitou Stone, I thought that I had dreamed true — that the Creator had answered my prayers. You delivered to us the one thing we needed to replenish the prairie with buffalo: White Buffalo Woman.
Now I see that I was a fool to have protected you. I should have listened to my war chief’s words, and let Wandering Spirit kill you long ago. Now my people will go hungry. The winter that comes will be an unnaturally cold one — I have seen it. Many will die, in both the Cree and the Blackfoot camps, and just like before, the food the white man agreed in his treaties to provide us with will not be given. Your man Government is a liar. He has never once given what was promised.
I turned my head to look at Iniskim — my daughter. She might be provided for by my pension, but if the coming winter was as cold as Big Bear predicted, many other children would die — and many mothers like Stone Keeper would grieve. What Big Bear was saying was true. For several years now, those of us who knew the conditions of the prairie first-hand had urged Commissioner Dewdney to increase the Indians’ rations — yet these rations had been cut, instead. The anger that rose in me as I thought about this unnecessary hardship gave me the strength to speak.
“The government will have to live up to its treaties now,” I whispered back. “You’ve just demonstrated your might, by changing everyone in the North-West Territories into buffalo.”