The Archivist

by Tom D Wright

  Danae, Little Crow and I do not converse much while we are riding, other than to point out a hazard or an interesting sight.

  Little Crow leads us through unbroken wilderness, so we are blazing our own path over a couple of ridges; that slows down our progress until we reach a small river, about midday. As he turns to follow the river upstream, he comments that his village is half a day the other way.

  Throughout the afternoon, we stay on a lightly travelled trail that parallels the river, as the valley winds through rising foothills and climbs at least a thousand feet.

  It is late afternoon when Little Crow dismounts, turns away from the water and clambers up an embankment to a concealed cave opening. The entrance is sealed by a wooden door that is secured with an intricate latch, and the interior goes back about forty feet before the ceiling drops down to a narrow passage that only a spelunker would care to enter.

  Little Crow lights a candle lamp that sits on a small table, revealing half a dozen narrow bunks that line the passage, with several blankets neatly folded on each one. There is even a pile of firewood just inside the entrance. Beside the bed where I set my pack, a former occupant left some discarded arrow shafts that are partially fletched—apparently unsuitable for his hunting trip.

  “It smells like the fireplace was used recently,” I comment.

  “My father probably stayed here when he was hunting,” Little Crow says. “He likes to come here when he needs to be alone.”

  Little Crow makes it sound like that is a common occurrence, so I decide to move to a different bunk, just in case Henry shows up in the middle of the night, and wants his bed. That would be the stuff of nightmares.

  Next to the small river, about thirty feet below us, is a small, flat area fenced with rough wooden rails and a small trough supplied with a fresh flow of river water, where we secure the horses and provide them with some feed.

  Malsum immediately heads to one corner of the enclosure to stand watch over the horses, settling down as if she is quite familiar with this spot. Since she will not have a chance to hunt, Little Crow gives Malsum some rations from the saddlebag she carries. The dried slab of lioness meat is coated with a rub that smells like eau-de-rotten, but the cat seems to relish it.

  We stay awake for a while in the cave-house, gathered around the small fireplace made of river rock. Little Crow tells us that when he was a child, his father brought him here on hunting trips.

  “This is where I first hunted with a bow,” Little Crow says. “My father brought me out here on the first full moon of spring, after I turned twelve. The next morning he got me up before dawn, and we bathed in the cold river and rubbed ourselves down with river mud. He said it was to cover our human scent, and we put on some clothes he had hanging outside. They had been tied onto some goats for a week before we left, again to cover our human scent. We even rubbed our boots with horse dung. The sky was just getting light when we went into the woods following a game trail, where my father said he knew some deer would come by sooner or later.”

  As he describes bathing in the river, I feel a deep chill just imagining Little Crow’s experience, and move a little closer to the fireplace.

  “I don’t know how far we walked,” he continues. “But it seemed like miles, until my father pointed to a small platform he called a blind, in a tree overlooking a trail. Once we got up there, he had me get my bow and an arrow ready, because I had to be prepared when a deer came along. Their ears are so sensitive, he said, they could even hear me breathing if I wasn’t careful. Then we just waited.”

  “Did you see any deer?” Danae asks.

  “Eventually, but we had to wait a long time. When you sit up there in a blind, it’s amazing how quiet the forest is. After a while of just quietly listening for the smallest noise—I don’t know how to describe it, but you really do feel at one with the Great Spirit. I was just sitting there, watching a squirrel; you have no idea how noisy those things are until you are on a hunt. Anyway, I almost jumped when I saw something appear on the trail below me. A huge buck came walking slowly down the trail, silent as a ghost, with his ears swiveling around and nose twitching.”

  “I’ve seen how quietly they can move,” I agree. “They make about as much noise as a falling feather.”

  “Exactly!” Little Crow says. “So I pulled my arrow back, and it took all of my strength to draw that bow. My arms were shaking so much I was afraid I would fall out of the tree. The only noise I made was the creak of the bow string as it tightened, but that was all it took. That buck looked right up at me, and then jumped at least twenty feet. But I managed to get my shot off.”

  “So you missed?” I ask.

  “Not exactly,” Little Crow says with a pained expression of remembered guilt. “I spined him. The arrow hit his back and paralyzed him, so he couldn’t move. My father got down out of the tree before I did, and finished him off. Now whenever I hunt, I try to make sure I have a clean shot. Anyway, every year since then, we hunt together on the same full moon.”

  Although Henry is intimidating when you are on his bad side, he was clearly a devoted father who spent a great deal of time with his son. By the third story, we are all ready to turn in and retire to our bunks.

  In the morning, we replenish the firewood and fold up the blankets. Then Little Crow leads us away from the river and takes us on a worn game trail that seems to switch back and forth straight up the mountainside.

  Like the day before, we are not very talkative. For me at least, it is because sitting on a horse climbing switchbacks up a steep hillside scares the living crap out of me.

  It may only be a couple of hours, but to me it feels like a week before we reach what must have been a train track at one time. The rails are mostly buried in the soil and leaves which cover the railroad ties. To the west, the railway gradually slopes downward in the direction of the Tucker Realm.

  Depending on the condition of the bridges, this could prove to be a strategic byway one day, if I am right about Tucker’s future. I will have to remember this.

  Since our way continues to lead up, we turn to the east and climb gradually as we follow the railway that clings to the hillside of a winding valley, running deeper into the mountains.

  When night comes, we stay in another small lodge clinging to the hillside, next to the railway, where a tiny, flowing spring channels under the tracks. Like the cave, the small structure is provisioned with a stack of firewood.

  The sleeping accommodations are just half a dozen hammocks hanging along the walls, but after a long, hard day of travel, it feels like a luxury hotel.

  The structure is significantly smaller than the previous one, and appears to be much less used, but the firewood stock is more substantial, and there is even a larder with some preserved food for a traveler’s extended stay.

  Not that I would care to winter in this place, but clearly Little Crow’s people have been maintaining and using this route for some time—probably since the trains stopped running, decades ago.

  Perhaps we are more exhausted than usual due to the altitude; we all retire early, and Malsum stays out on the railway with the horses. The next morning, we wake with the dawn and find a light dusting of snow blanketing the ground outside.

  The only member of our party who seems happy about it is Malsum, who rolls back and forth in the white powder.

  Little Crow examines the ground and looks up at the sky. “We’ve been lucky so far, but if we’re still here in two days, we’re staying the winter.”

  “Really?” Danae asks. “How can you tell?”

  “Look at the snow. Light, fluffy, and it fell from the east, but the breeze is warm and coming from the south. It’s going to bring moisture for a day or so, but then a strong winter wind will come in. Trust me, we don’t want to be here when that happens.”

  I trust him. Little Crow has forgotten more woodcraft than I will ever know, so I take his word for it and scramble to get the horses ready.

  “So what do you think?
Can we make it through in time?” I ask Little Crow as I tighten the cinch on Danae’s saddle. “Maybe we should we turn back while we can.”

  Little Crow looks serious but not worried as he shakes his head. “From here the fastest way is to keep going. We should be on the other side of the divide by midday. Little if any snow will fall there. We just don’t want to be here.”

  This time, in our haste, we forgo the wood stocking—not that it would be possible to find much wood in the white-blanketed landscape. We mount hurriedly and continue along the winding railway road for maybe an hour.

  The breeze is so light that the only way to detect it is by watching the scattered, powdery flakes drifting first one way and then the other. I am not sure, but I think the flakes are getting larger and more prevalent by the time Little Crow stops where the railway plunges into a round dark opening.

  We all dismount, and Little Crow lights a small candle lamp. The device barely produces enough light to tell that it’s working, but I know that once our eyes adjust to the darkness inside, it will seem as bright as a full moon.

  That is what I keep telling myself, but that little knot of fear inside me is not buying it, as we grab our horses’ reins and Little Crow leads us into the tunnel.

  Aside from the clip-clop of the horses, the only sound in the wet, cold passageway is the constant dripping of falling water. Now I wish I had not traded away my electric light back in Entiak.

  As we move away from the entrance, the outside light fades away very quickly. Within a dozen or so yards, we are in pitch-black darkness. The candle lamp does provide light, but it is so faint that it will take our eyes a few minutes to adapt to the darkness.

  However, while the light has gone down, the air temperature has gone up a good thirty degrees, and it may be humid, but during a blizzard this would be downright balmy in comparison. Not that I would care to pass the winter in here.

  I can tell that the railroad is still ascending, because a small creek flows along the right side of the passage. Malsum moves ahead of us so the light is behind her, which is fine with me, in the event that we should disturb any inhabitants.

  The former train tunnel is about twenty feet high, and the concrete walls are in good condition, without chambers or openings for critters to make a den, so I am not too surprised that it is empty of wildlife.

  After we have gone a few minutes with literally no end in sight, Danae asks, “Just how long is this thing?”

  “I’m not certain, but I think less than a mile,” Little Crow replies, his voice echoing ominously. He says it as though less than a mile is a good thing, but it sounds awfully damn long to me.

  We maintain a slow, steady pace. The railway surface in here is fairly smooth and level, but the ties are all exposed, and there are occasional fallen rocks to watch for, so we have to step carefully as we lead the horses.

  If Little Crow is right, we should reach the other end in less than half an hour, but it seems like it has been twice that long when we reach a wall of fallen rock that bars our way. The walls are solid and intact, so it does not appear that the tunnel itself caved in.

  A mass of wet dirt and rock debris fills the passage from floor to ceiling. Little Crow and I scramble to the top while Danae manages the lamp. We spend half an hour digging at the top. My clothes are getting soaked from the moist soil, my hands and face are mud-caked, and I do not see any indication that we will break through.

  “Hey guys,” Danae calls up to us. “This candle is more than halfway gone. You do have another one, right?”

  Little Crow scrambles down and searches through his saddlebag, then swears. “These aren’t the right candles!”

  “Are you saying we don’t have another light?” I ask.

  “I went to my cousin to get some candles and she told me to take the ones on the table. I must’ve grabbed the wrong ones, because these don’t have any wicks.”

  “If this is our last candle, we’ve got a real problem. A landslide must have covered this end,” I tell Little Crow. “It could be five feet deep or five hundred. And even if we broke through right now it would be too small and unstable to get the horses through, let alone Malsum.” Exasperated, I slide down the muddy incline. “We need to go back now.”

  “I’m sorry,” Little Crow apologizes. “A month ago my uncle came through, and it was open then.”

  Without further discussion, we abandon the blocked passage and head back. We are still a long distance from the entrance when the lamp sputters and goes out. The bright opening far ahead beckons to us like a will-o’-the-wisp as we keep moving.

  Little Crow holds onto Malsum’s harness while leading his horse, and Danae stays with his horse while I hang onto her mount. Eventually Malsum leads the blind back out into the cloudy light. I estimate that we have lost several hours, all told.

  As soon as we exit the mouth of the tunnel, the three of us collapse against the hillside next to the entrance, where just a light dusting of snow has built up underneath an overhang. We are not just physically tired; we are emotionally spent. I am even too tired to stay annoyed at the delay.

  “Do you know another way?” I ask Little Crow while we mentally regroup.

  “I know there is a pass nearby, but it’s steep and we’ll have to be careful with the horses. It won’t be an easy climb, but we’ll probably end up making better time to the other side than we would’ve made through the tunnel.”

  We backtrack down the rail trail for about a mile. Then, Little Crow turns up a steep fold that qualifies as a valley solely by virtue of the fact that it lies between two peaks. We dismount and lead our mounts up into clouds through a forest of pine trees that are draped with moss and lichen, which provide a canopy over a thin floor of dead needles.

  A faint game trail provides the horses some footing up the steep hillside. At one point, the white shape of a bighorn sheep with huge horns appears on the ridge above.

  Malsum turns to look back at Little Crow and queries him with a soft whine, but Little Crow clenches his fist and gives a low hiss as he pulls his hand down, indicating that the lioness should stay with us. The massive cat looks back at the sheep, crouches and then roars; it starts out sounding like a powerful, idling diesel engine, and revs up to a high-pitched howl. The ram vanishes, and I do not blame it.

  The clouds remain so thick that we cannot see which direction the light comes from, but my stomach tells me that it is a little past noon when we finally climb over a sharp ridge and there is no higher ground ahead of us.

  Shortly after we start downward, we emerge from the clouds, and I feel the climate change. It is as though we have crossed through a doorway to a landscape where everything is much drier. Instead of moss hanging everywhere, the hillside is dotted with scattered brush.

  Little Crow has proven himself again as a guide, and though the way down is just as steep and treacherous as the other side, the horses maintain steady footing. We make good progress until mid-afternoon, when we pull up to a stop at a wide expanse of fallen rock.

  The scree deposit looks like a frozen river of broken stone several hundred feet wide. Maybe it is closer to a waterfall—the slope is more vertical than horizontal. We all dismount, then Danae and I follow Little Crow across the rocky field leading our nervous, nickering horses by the reins.

  We have to move carefully, because the rock tends to shift under our feet. About two thirds of the way across, I hear a loud snap from up the hill, followed by the sharp cracks of bouncing stones.

  Saffron pulls away as her neigh turns into a scream, then yanks her reins loose from me and races forward. Seemingly in slow motion, a large boulder tumbles toward Danae, followed by a train of displaced, smaller rocks.

  I reach Danae and pull her down, then the boulder takes a lucky bounce and diverts behind us along with most of the debris, but another small shower of rocks dislodged by the boulder now cartwheels our way.

  Thorn has already taken off; I only have time to dive forward and cover Danae with m
y body before the bouncing rock fall swarms over us. As I tuck her underneath me, I hear rather than feel a crack against the side of my head… and everything goes black.

  Timeless moments come and go.

  I am lying under a gray sky. Tree branches pass overhead. A taste of water, cool and refreshing. Such cold as I have never felt before.

  Each moment comes, then goes and each time, I fade back into blackness.

  Then I awaken from a restless sleep. Before I open my eyes, I feel a bed of dried leaves underneath me, and hear a burning campfire snap a few feet away, along with a gurgling river beyond it. I look up at dark green branches, but when I try to sit up, my left temple explodes with excruciating pain.

  On one of my first retrievals I had a tooth extracted—unnecessarily, I should add, and without any painkiller; this is at least as bad. As I drop back, a sharp pain like a sword thrust burns in my side. Vertigo carries me back toward unconsciousness when Danae appears above me.

  She props me up slowly and holds a cup of warm soup to my lips. Abruptly, hunger and thirst push the pain aside and I almost choke from trying to swallow without breathing.

  “What happened?” I croak. The liquid eases my headache and I see that we are in a small glen.

  “You got clobbered upside the head by a rock the size of my fist. Little Crow said it’s a good thing your skull is so hard.”

  Danae tries to sound cheerful, but her eyes are bloodshot, and tears have washed small streams across her dusty face. She forces a trembling smile as several more enormous tears roll down her cheeks. I cannot help wincing as she removes a bandage from the side of my head.

  “How long was I out?” I ask.

  “Five days,” she says, her voice breaking. “We almost lost you. It was pretty iffy for a couple days, until we got you down off the mountain.”