The Healer

by Daniel P. Mannix

  Blackie came in slowly but directly. Billy perfectly recognized her movements as the prelude to an attack.

  Another boy planning to assault him would have approached in the same way, looking for a chance to run in under his weapon. He shouted and waved the hatchet. Blackie slunk back, and Billy edged away toward the slope.

  Instantly Blackie charged. Billy, however, had been in too many fights with other boys to turn his back on an enemy. Instead, he made a swipe at her with the hatchet. The weapon hissed as it cut through the air and Blackie sprang back, cowering momentarily, her tail going between her legs. She recovered instantly, but Billy recognized her act as indicating fear, just as she had known that his nervous sideways motion showed indecision. The boy shouted again, and this time there was a note of confidence in his voice. Both animals retreated.

  Billy had gotten his heart back again. After all, they were only animals, and he had the hatchet. It would be a great boast to bring back the dead fawn and tell Abe Zook how he had taken it from the werewolffen. Also, they needed the meat. He started forward.

  Instantly both canines came forward snarling, Blackie swinging around to take him from behind while even the coyote moved forward belligerently. The fawn was theirs and they intended to fight for it. Billy saw the signs and hastily withdrew until he could get his back against the cedar again. "Get away from me!" he shouted. "I won't touch your deer but get away from me!"

  Blackie barked. Billy understood. The bark was defiant, without the threatening quality of a growl. He retreated slowly while the animals watched him go without following. He backed up the slope, keeping an eye on them. When he reached the top he shouted, "Don't you try following me. I'll get a gun and shoot you both if you do."

  Once out of the depression, Billy tried to run, floundering through the snow. He soon gave up the effort and plodded along through the deep powder under the trees until he reached the road. He was worried about Dracula but he did not dare to go looking for the owl by himself. He ran until his side hurt him, walked awhile, and then ran again until he had reached the stone house.

  Abe Zook was not in the house or the barn. Wasser ran up to the boy, waving his tail apologetically, but Billy pushed him away and tried to track the old man by his footprints. The snow around the house was already so trampled he could not tell which way the braucher had gone. At last he settled himself to wait by the fire.

  It was not long before Abe Zook returned, carrying an armful of wood. He pushed open the door with his shoulder, saying cheerfully, "Ach, back so soon? It makes cold out. So then we will eat." He threw down his load by the fireplace and then, turning, saw the boy's face for the first time. Instantly he sobered. "Something makes wrong, yes?"

  Billy told him in excited, disjointed phrases what had happened, ending, "And I've lost Dracula."

  "The owl can wait," said Abe Zook, taking his rifle from the deer antler rack and loading it. "First I must get that wolf. He and that dog are killing deer."

  Billy had been badly shaken by his experience, but the look of the shiny brass loads as they slid into the gun sickened him. Looking up, Zook saw his expression and asked more softly, "Ain't you maybe feeling good? You don't want to go? Then fix yourself by the fire. I can easy backtrack you."

  "Do you have to shoot them?"

  "Some things must be done. Maybe next time they find you, you don't have a hatchet. Maybe a little child finds them and runs. Who knows what they do then?"

  "How are you going to find them? They'll be gone by now."

  "I'll find them wherever. It makes a long walk for a boy. You wait already."

  Billy rose. "I'm going. I have to find Dracula anyhow."

  They waded through the snow to the road. "Now we make fast," announced Abe Zook, and they strode off at a good pace. Billy was regretting more and more that he had said anything about his experience. He hated to think of Wolf and Blackie being killed. After all, he had forced himself on them, and it was not until he had tried to take their fawn that the animals had threatened him. Still, he had to get Dracula back, and he had not dared to wander about in the forest alone with the two canines on the prowl. He comforted himself with the thought that even Abe Zook could not find them now. They would have finished the fawn and disappeared.

  Without being told, the old man could see where the trail left the road and led up the hill. They started up the slope, Abe Zook stepping in the tracks Billy had left that morning. They reached the woods and ducked under the evergreens. Here the old man moved more slowly, although the trail was still plain. Billy grew impatient.

  "That place where the deer yarded up is a long way ahead yet," he whispered.

  "Yah, I know, but we do not go to the werewolffen. They come to us."

  "Why's that?"

  "Because they will follow your trail."

  "Why? To kill me?"

  "No, to make sure that you have left the woods, although if you were in some trouble and could not fight back I would not be knowing what might happen. They follow you because they are curious and want to know what you were doing there."

  "I was trying to find Dracula."

  "That they cannot understand, but by following you they can tell somewhat. At least, as much as they need to know. So we will stay here and wait for them."

  Abe Zook settled down behind a beech and Billy hid himself behind an evergreen. Waiting was the hardest part of wildcraft for the boy to learn. The old man could sit motionless for an hour at a time, but it was torture for the boy. Still, he knew that patience was the most important quality a wildcrafter could possess so he settled himself to endure the long suspense. One good thing, the wind was in their favor.

  A red squirrel appeared from nowhere and ran confidently over the snow to the foot of the beech where Abe Zook was sitting. He began to dig in the snow, looking for beechnuts. Billy wondered whether the squirrel could smell them or whether he remembered where he had buried the nuts last autumn. At least the little creature was something to watch.

  He sensed, rather than saw Abe Zook stiffen. Without daring to move his head, Billy raised his eyes. Two shapes were coming through the woods, their heads down seeming to study rather than scent the tracks. With the sun up, the hard freeze of the night was past, and the scent particles were released enough for the animals to pick them up. Billy could see now that one of the animals was black and the other gray. They moved as silently as Dracula flew, seeming to drift over the snow rather than walk. They were barely within long gunshot.

  The squirrel had moved to within a few feet of Zook and suddenly the little wisp of fur was conscious of the man. It sat up on its hind legs, stared at him for an instant, and then, like a red flicker, dashed across the snow and up a beech, going so fast that its momentum carried it around the trunk as it fled upward. A moment later came its furious, warning rattle.

  Billy saw Wolf and Blackie stop dead and look up. After a pause Blackie would have gone on, but Wolf remained frozen in position, his rear legs slightly back, his head raised, in a poise so perfect the boy felt his breath catch with delight. Blackie also stopped, looked around, and then raised her head to test the wind, but it told her nothing. Billy realized that she must be more nearsighted than Wolf, who was looking intently at them. He could probably see them but unless they moved he could not tell what they were.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Billy saw the rifle inch into position. In his mind's eye he could hear the stunning report, see Wolf leap into the air, and run, mortally wounded, until he could run no more. He could not stand the picture. He screamed aloud.

  Both animals were running for their lives. The rifle cracked and Billy saw snow leap three feet behind Wolf. There was no time for the old man to fire again; the animals were tearing through the woods at top speed. In seconds they had disappeared.

  Abe Zook rose slowly to his feet and took out the shell. Then he turned to Billy. "Why?" he asked quietly.

  "I couldn't stand seeing him shot."

  "Boy, I have watch
ed you by the fire when you think I am asleep. I know what you do. Your soul goes out to those werewolffen and you make one with them. I have said nothing because I know you will not believe me, but this is hexerei—black magic. I have seen power in you but it is the power of evil, like with John Stoltzfus. I tell you the spirit of Nelson Rehmeyer, the evil braucher, is in that animal. He has put his mark on you and is calling you away. Someday, he will kill you and you will run the woods as a werewolf, like him."

  "That's crazy."

  "It is true, you can stay here no longer. I will write your parents and send you back to the city."

  Billy felt numb. Then he burst out, "You want to get rid of me. Everyone wants to get rid of me. I don't care if I go back to the city or not. I don't care what happens to me."

  Abe Zook reloaded the gun and put it on safety. He said, "We go back now."

  "What about Dracula?"

  "Let the owl go. You cannot take him to the city."

  Billy thought of the long hours and days he had spent training Dracula, and losing the bird was like losing part of himself. "I'm going to find him and take the straps off his legs first. They might get tangled in a branch and he'd hang there until he died."

  "Do what you will. Those werewolffen will stay awhile gone. Be back before dark."

  "Sure. If I don't find Dracula before dark, there's no use looking for him anymore."

  Abe Zook turned away. He had only gone a few steps before he stopped. "No, I cannot leave you here. You are right that the owl will hang himself up. I would not want that to happen to any creature. I help you look."

  They started off together. It did not take Billy long to find where he had thrown off Dracula after the grouse; his footprints showed him the place. He pointed out the direction that the birds had taken.

  "So!" said Zook. "You go there, I will go here. Let us hope he did not kill, for otherwise he will not be hungry and will not return. But it has been a long time and we can only hope he did not go too far."

  An hour later, Billy heard Abe Zook's voice lifted in a long call. Wild with hope, he ran toward the sound, falling in the snowdrifts but still keeping on.

  When he reached the old man, Zook was standing by a tangle of bindweed. There was a circle of grouse feathers, a leg and part of the backbone. Billy caught his breath and looked up. There was no sign of a brown owl among the naked black branches.

  Zook pointed to an X stamped in the snow where one of Dracula's feet, spread to the uttermost for the death grip, had broken the surface. "Yes, he killed here and now he has fed."

  Billy said choking, "I'll never see him again."

  Zook hesitated a moment. "I fear there is little chance. Even if we find him, he will not come to you for food now. Still, let us look once."

  There are few projects more disheartening than looking for a bird. With a mammal that must keep to the ground, there is always the chance of picking up tracks, and at least the quarry cannot go too much faster than the pursuer. A bird leaves no tracks and can cover a mile with a few flaps of his wings. At the end of three hours, Billy was ready to give up. Zook had gone off in another direction, as there was no use in their staying together; separated, they could cover twice as much ground. Billy had walked until he could walk no more and called until he was tired of his own voice. He had covered all the woods; Dracula must have left that section, and there was no possible way of telling where he might have gone.

  Standing at the edge of the woods looking over the valley, Billy saw a small grove of trees on a distant rise. If Dracula had left the ridge and flown across the valley, there was a chance he had gone to the grove. Billy decided to make one last attempt and then give up.

  As he started across the valley, he heard a sound that sent his hopes leaping up like fire. Crows were screaming to his left. He listened a moment to make sure they were not simply calling to each other. No, they were ganging something and that something might well be Dracula.

  As fast as he could go, Billy hurried toward the sound. Now he could see the crows, wheeling and plunging over a tall ash. Knowing the birds would fly off as he came closer, Billy hesitated to be sure of marking the spot exactly. Then he went slowly toward it. It might be a hawk or even a stray cat. He tried not to feel too eager.

  He was almost under the tree when the flock saw him and, still giving their angry cries, shredded away. His heart beating so fiercely he could feel it, Billy came closer. There was Dracula sitting on a high limb, his feathers puffed out and looking supremely content with himself.

  Billy called and showed his piece of meat. Dracula, after one glance, completely ignored him. Billy made a hole in the meat, put his belt through it, and tied the loose end to a root so if the owl did come down to it he could not fly off with the lure. Then he went off and hid. He waited and waited but Dracula seemed to have gone asleep.

  After a long time, he heard Abe Zook calling for him, and he shouted back. Dracula heard the hail and turned his head to look. Then Billy saw the braucher coming toward them. As Zook stamped through a bramble patch, a rabbit darted out, a brown shadow over the white snow. Dracula saw the rabbit too. His head began to bob as he focused on the scudding shape. He was not hungry, but he could not resist the live lure. Suddenly he slipped out of the tree and, quiet as a giant moth, drifted through the trees. He was hardly using his wings at all, dodging between the trunks by steering with his tail, letting the momentum of his fall carry him. Then the wing beat increased and the owl shot forward. Quiet as a shadow but swift as an arrow he swept, over the rabbit, but instead of going straight in to his quarry, at the last second he rose, brought his wings up over his body so the tips almost touched, and plummeted straight down. Billy heard the agonizing death scream of the rabbit as the talons locked home, and then the kill was made.

  "Slow! Slow and on your belly!" shouted Abe Zook as Billy rushed forward. The boy stopped himself just in time. If frightened, Dracula could easily fly off with the rabbit and be lost for good. Talking quietly, the boy came in. Dracula had been concentrating on his kill. Now he looked up, his wings spread to shield his capture and his beak going angrily. Billy showed him the meat. "Here, Dracula, here, boy. Meat!" he said softly. There was not a chance of the owl's being interested in cold mutton when he had a freshly killed rabbit in his foot, but it was important for the owl to feel that Billy was only trying to feed him. Dracula partly closed his wings and his beak stopped chattering. Lying down on the snow, Billy wormed himself in. Again the wings opened, then Dracula turned his head. He bent his legs preparatory to taking off.

  Billy could see one of the leg straps lying on the snow. It was a terrible decision. If he made a grab for it and missed, the frightened bird would be gone for good. If he waited, the owl might take off anyhow. Dracula was weaving up and down, his yellow eyes searching for a good spot to fly to. Billy could no longer stand the strain. He made a grab. As he did so, the owl rose in the air.

  Billy felt the strap in his half-frozen hand and hung on. Dracula, carrying the rabbit in one foot, was pulled back. He landed in the snow, hissing and clicking. Then Abe Zook was there. He seized both straps and lifted the owl and the rabbit to his gloved fist.

  "When he is quiet, we will let him feed a little," said the old man. "Tonight we will have stewed rabbit. You are lucky, boy. Perhaps with such luck I will not write your parents but let you stay awhile. But remember this. From now on as long as the werewolffen are abroad, never stay out after dark and always watch your back trail. Do not think this is only an old man's talk. They have marked you and will come again."

  FOUR

  The next week, Abe Zook took Billy with him to the Farmers' Market in Lancaster. Christmas was coming soon, and the old man wanted to sell his painted pine cones and holly wreaths. It would have been a short trip by car but in the buggy with the lone horse the journey was a major expedition. Even though they left long before dawn, they did not arrive until mid-morning. Abe Zook left the boy alone while he went to look for a friend of his who
had a stall.

  While Billy was standing outside the market, a gang of young boys about his own age went past. They saw Billy and began to drift toward him, spreading out as they came. In spite of their carefully averted faces and casual air, Billy had no intention of letting them cut him off from the market. He edged away from them, whereupon two boys went for him. Billy ran for the market and fell across Abe Zook who had unexpectedly returned. At the sight of the man, the boys veered off and went to a deserted house across the street, where they started climbing on a rusting iron fence.

  "Maybe it's better you come with me," said Zook.

  Billy saw the boys were still watching him, and he did not want to seem a coward. "I'll stay here," he decided. "You'll need somebody to watch the buggy."

  "Be taking care, then." Abe Zook took a load of wreaths from the buggy and returned to the market. Billy stood watching the boys.

  The house was so decayed that the only reason it did not fall down was because it was too tired to take the trouble. The iron fence, surmounted by a line of sharp spikes, ran around an areaway. The boys had climbed the steps that led to the front door of the house, crawled along a window ledge, and were jumping over the areaway and across the fence to land on the sidewalk. It was a dangerous game. The areaway was ten feet deep and even if the jumper cleared that, there was a good chance of being impaled on the spikes.

  Watching the boys, Billy knew why they did it. He remembered the delicious surge of delight he had known following the tracks of Wolf and Blackie through the dark, silent woods. It was the exaltation of danger.

  Billy half closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He thought that he would pass into the boys and feel their excitement, but instead he was Wolf, racing over the frozen snow so swiftly that he seemed to fly rather than run, and ahead was a buck deer, his white tail bobbing as he ran. Then the buck turned at bay and his antlers were the sharp points of the fence. Billy felt himself leave the ground in a long leap for the throat, saw the prongs of the iron antlers swing up to meet him, felt himself falling and heard a scream. Instead of the cool forest breeze, the dusty air of the street sucked into his lungs, and he heard several screams shrill as blue jays' cries. The vision faded; he was dragged back to reality, and one of the boys was lying deep in the areaway screaming in pain while the others screamed with excitement. Then people came running from all directions.