by LeRoy Clary
By mid-day nothing had shown itself and Quester called. Shell arrived at the camp to find a dying fire, and two backpacks stuffed with strips of meat. Placing it in Shell’s backpack was an invasion of his personal property, but he realized Quester was simply using what was handy. Not that there was anything to hide or steal inside the pack. Still, he felt a little odd about it.
Quester said, pointing to the bone and other remains, “Enough to draw every meat eater within two days.”
“But enough in our pack to feed us for weeks.”
“Time to move on, my friend.”
They headed out at a fast pace. Shell struggled to keep up but refused to ask Quester to slow. The almost flat lay of the grasslands had given up to small hills and valleys filled with shrubs and even small, green trees along the streambeds. Now the terrain turned to taller hills, most covered with stunted trees and undergrowth, all of it green instead of brown.
At one place, late in the day, a few clouds dispersed and there directly in front stood the peak of a mountain that could only be Bear Mountain. They stood and observed in awe, looking at the height and the solid white top that never melted. The ground trembled, and the top belched a column of dirty-white smoke as if warning them.
“That’s where we’re going?” Quester asked.
“I never knew it would be so big. We could spend the rest of the summer searching the slopes and never find a dragon.”
“Calm down. We’ll find them sooner than you think.”
Quester turned at the cryptic remark and led the way over the next few hills where they found a small lake surrounded by trees. As they stood and watched the lake in appreciation, a sight rare to those of the grasslands, something ahead moved swiftly. A shadow larger than two men flicked from the edge of the lake into the shade of the trees.
“Did you see that?” Shell choked past dry lips.
“I did and I didn’t. Did you get a look?”
“Just a flash and it was gone.”
Quester adjusted the straps on his pack and said, “It might hide, but whatever it was, there are tracks down by the edge of the lake.”
“Are we going to look at them?”
Quester cast him an odd look before saying, “What else?”
“Just asking,” Shell said, reaching for his bow again. A good throw of a rock would almost reach halfway across the lake. It was perhaps twice as long, a small stream feeding it and another leading out at the lower end. From the hillside, they could see it all, but as they descended the trees blocked their view, and they followed game trails until they reached the soggy edges.
There, they fought their way through willows, ash, maple, and countless types of vines and thorn bushes until they reached a small clearing. The black dirt they stood on was soggy and covered with green grasses.
A set of footprints stood out as if they were stars at night. The pattern emerged from the forest and went straight to the edge of the water, and into it, probably where the animal got a drink. Another set showed where the startled animal had leaped, turned, and bounded back into the trees as Shell and Quester came into sight.
Quester knelt beside the nearest track and held out his hand for comparison. “Ever see anything like this? I guess it decided to cross the river, after all. I just hope it is not after the venison.”
The prints were long as Quester’s hand and fingers, and wider. Quester hadn’t exaggerated about them, and to Shell, they looked even larger than those at the river. “No, I’ve never seen a wolf with feet that big! Are they the same as last night?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Our stalker got here before us.”
“It didn’t cross the river,” Shell said. “I made sure.”
Quester shrugged. “Upriver or down, or perhaps after we left. It could have passed right by us, and we didn’t see it.”
Shell looked at the prints again. He looked around the area, into the trees, the shadows, and the nearby hills.
“Trying to find it?” Quester asked.
“I was wondering about caves. Is this the kind of place where there are caves?”
Quester burst out laughing. “Caves? Are you thinking of a small one a big thing like this can’t enter?”
Shell turned to him, hands on hips. “If we find a cave, I’m using it. If it isn’t big enough for two, find your own.”
That sent Quester into gales of laughter. When he finished and looked at Shell again, he laughed more. Then he said, “Listen, I’ll build us a fire. Even wolves don’t like fires. Help me gather wood.”
Using his heavy knife to help, Shell cut dead limbs from a pine and picked up branches. Quester cut several green bushes, and after setting up strips of meat side by side on large rocks, he covered the entire fire with the shrubs. Smoke escaped through a dozen places but mostly stayed inside the makeshift smoker, as Quester continued tending the fire.
Shell went to his pack and found his braided fishing line and hooks. At the edge of the lake, he managed to catch a small grasshopper and placed it on the hook. A careful cast allowed the insect to wriggle and float. In the space of a few breaths, a trout attacked it, nearly snatching the grasshopper, hook, and line away from Shell.
He pulled it close to the edge of the water, then when it tired of fighting, onto the bank where he cut a green switch and ran it into the fish’s mouth and out the gill, into the soft ground so it couldn’t flop back into the water. Shell had a harder time catching the second grasshopper for bait than catching the next fish.
Back at the clearing, Quester looked up and said, “I get us venison to eat for a month, and you go fishing?”
“I take what I can get. The smoked meat won’t last forever, and we need variety.” Shell cleaned the fish without looking at Quester. Quester could have responded differently, but he had a nasty habit of making sour jokes turning it into poor humor.
Shell said, “We haven’t talked about some things.”
“Such as?” Quester asked while placing more leaf-filled branches on the small fire to contain the smoke.
Shell took a seat and peeled the bark off two sticks used for smoking meat, then changed his mind and threw them in the fire. He’d cook the fish by placing it on one of the rocks surrounding the fire when they were ready to eat.
As he idly sat, he said, “Unknown mountains to the west, raiders killing your family, and then two years in the grasslands alone, always moving west. Those things must provide a hundred stories for you to tell, but you say nothing about them, or your past.”
“I survived. We can leave it at that.”
“I shared my reasons for being here.”
“What do you want to hear from me?”
Shell met his gaze. “Your new family didn’t like you. That’s what you said. So, you left. Those mountains to the east you spoke of held deer, goats, birds, lakes, and rivers I think. A good place to live and easy to find food with your skills. But you left and headed west into the grasslands where water is scarce and food even harder to find. It doesn’t make sense to me why you’d do that.”
“Maybe I didn’t know what it would be like in the grasslands.”
“When you found out, you could have gone back to your mountains. You’re not telling me everything. I think you were chased away.”
Quester snorted, but without humor. “Why would anyone do that, or care to do it?”
Shell passed him more green sticks for smoking and watched as Quester slid several strips of venison onto each, positioning them over the fire, not close to heat or flame. “I don’t know, why. I also don’t know how you survived for two years on your own, or why you continued moving west.”
“Out there you use up the food resources quickly, and the animals move on after you kill one or two. I had to keep moving.”
“But not west?”
“Maybe I heard there were more mountains that way.”
“But two whole years?”
“I didn’t know how far they were. It was easier to move on than turn back.�
��
While the words sounded reasonable, they lacked conviction or the ring of truth. He was holding something back; maybe many somethings. As part of the Dragon Clan, Shell held more than a few secrets of his own, but while he enjoyed traveling with another, a companion who was not trustworthy was not worth it.
Quester said, “What about you? After being a herdsman for ten years, you suddenly decided to leave your home and family to go see a mountain?”
“And search for a wife.”
“We both know there are women living closer than that mountain.” Quester settled back and waited.
An uneasy silence filled the clearing as each reconsidered the partnership. Shell realized Quester had a knowledge of hunting and living in the wild to share, but at what cost? Maybe the right question was, what did Quester gain from them traveling together?
Quester stood and said, “If you watch the fire and smoke, I’m going to follow those tracks for the wolf. I am uneasy that it is either stalking us or traveling with us.”
“Be careful.” Shell watched him take his bow and head into the thick underbrush. On impulse, and to work out some kinks, Shell lifted his staff and went through eight or ten repetitions of familiar sets of moves involving defense, strikes, misdirection, and attacks. As always, he paid as much attention to his footwork as his hand placement, twisting his body and snapping his wrists to maximize his power and speed.
Sweating, he returned to the fire and carefully placed more green wood on it for smoke, and dry sticks for flames. He turned some of the meat and returned to his workout. As he forced his body to work harder, his mind relaxed and sorted out part of his confused thoughts. For now, he wanted Quester to travel with him. Quester knew how to live off the land in ways Shell didn’t, but he also realized Quester was a luxury and not a necessity.
Shell rotated the meat again. As it dried, the smoke cured it. Quester didn’t return until shortly before dark. He entered the clearing and said, “I think we have a problem.”
CHAPTER SIX
The words took Shell by surprise. “A problem?”
Quester tossed his bow to the ground with disgust and said, “That thing, that wolf, or whatever it is, watches us all the time.”
“How do you know that?”
“I backtracked it half way to the river and found where it lay in the heavy grass and rested as we passed by. A few times it was within striking distance, but usually, it found a high place and waited as we went by then it raced ahead to another place to watch, but we were always in sight.”
Shell listened, but instead of worrying about the creature, he wondered how Quester could tell so much about its actions from the tracks it left. But even as he wondered, the answers were obvious. A patch of old smashed grass where it had laid down, was in plain sight of their trail. The footprints probably showed where the animal had bounded ahead to reach the next place to observe the two men.
“Did you see it?” Shell asked.
“Not once. But I had the feeling it was out there watching me.”
“What do you think we should do?”
Quester removed a piece of venison and examined it closely, then approving of what he saw, bit the end off and chewed. “Tastes good. What should we do? I don’t know. We can’t hunt it because it knows where we are and avoids us. But I think it weighs more than a big man, and I’d hate to think of what it can do to us if it gets hungry.”
“It left food for us by the river,” Shell said.
“You think that was some sort of peace offering? Or was it that it ate its fill and left that deer haunch for scavengers?”
Shell gave it a short consideration and said firmly, “It was a gift.”
“You have a weird outlook. Animals are not innocent, do not give gifts, and are not our friends. Its presence should scare both of us.” Quester had set his jaw and crossed his arms over his chest.
“I like to think my flock appreciated my protection and that I guided them to the best grass to eat every day. I’d talk to them, and they would listen. We were friends.”
Quester gave the snort of derision again. His tone turned mocking. “I suppose they miss you.”
“I hope so,” Shell said in the same tone. He caught the surprised expression before Quester could hide it, and smiled. He hadn’t outwitted Quester, but he’d managed to get the last word in a conversation. He placed the two fish on a hot stone beside the fire and listened to them sizzle as he considered the future.
After eating the fish, Quester abruptly stood and paced. After taking a long look all around, he said, “It’s watching us right now. I can feel it. I’m going to look for the wolf. I should be back by dark.”
Before Shell could answer, Quester left the clearing, bow in hand again. Shell removed the smoked meat for fear of drying it out too much during the night if he left it, and wrapped each piece in large maple leaves for no other reason than that they were big enough to wrap around the individual pieces. He split them between their two backpacks, but felt a twinge of guilt when he opened Quester’s.
He refrained from looking inside while filling it. Then he went to the water’s edge, washed his hands and did a slow turn. He also felt eyes on him but saw no evidence to support his feeling. His eyes traveled to Bear Mountain, and to a smaller hill between the mountain and small lake. Perched up there, a watcher could remain hidden while looking directly down at their camp.
Making matters worse, when he returned to the fire and darkness closed about him, Quester didn’t return. Shell spread his blanket and used his pack for a pillow. As his eyes closed, the first whispers filled his mind.
It was not communication with words, but feelings and impressions. For the first time, a sense of satisfaction touched Shell. The whisperer was pleased Shell traveled nearer, but it still conveyed the impression that he must hurry.
Shell sat up, wide awake.
A new whisperer touched his mind, a different voice. Again, it didn’t speak in words, but impressions. It hinted that all was well. It said it would look after Shell and protect him. They were friends.
He leaped to his feet, staff in hand. The new ‘voice’ came from nearby, but he couldn’t say how he knew. Then, in an instant of recognition, he understood. It was the animal that was stalking him. But it was not stalking; it was protecting.
The fleeting mind-touch had already disappeared as he reacted and jumped to his feet. He now made another slow turn, holding the staff ready to defend himself.
“I’m impressed. You heard me coming for a change,” Quester said, emerging from the depths of the darkness under the trees.
“No. Well, I’m a little jumpy, I guess.”
“From now on, I think I’ll call out and announce myself,” Quester said, amused at Shell still standing in a crouched position ready to strike or parry, whichever might be required.
Shell put the staff aside and sat on his blanket, but shifted to his eyes watched across the water to the small hill on the other side of the water. “See anything out there?”
Quester unrolled his blanket, took notice of the meat in his pack, and nodded his approval while reaching for a piece. “Tracks, but nothing fresh. My guess is that it knows our direction and is probably up ahead waiting for us.”
“You’re the one that said animals aren’t smart. So, how can you say that?”
“No, I said they are not innocent or friends, but they’re smart. This one more than others. I’m sure it will be up there, watching us in the morning.” He waved his hand in the general direction of the hill Shell watched.
Shell didn’t share any of the information about the night whisperers. Quester probably wouldn’t believe them if he did, and he might think Shell strange or deranged; stranger than he already acted, for sure. He closed his eyes and waited, knowing what would come.
The whispers resumed. One calling for him, and telling him to hurry, the other cooing protective feelings as if it was a mother cat purring to her kittens.
Great. Now I have
a dragon and giant wolf both taking over my mind. There isn’t room in there for three. But he didn’t open his eyes or shut out the mental contacts. He didn’t push them away or encourage them, either. Instead, he settled back and allowed the thoughts and feelings to wash over him.
Oddly, they didn’t scare him, and neither reassured him. He remembered the size of the footprint the wolf left and realized a dragon would be ten times that size. He opened his eyes a crack and peered out, finding Quester sitting across the fire staring at him.
A wolf and dragon in his mind may not be the worst things to happen. Quester was up to something, a secret he wouldn’t share, but it might be dangerous, and Shell wondered again if he should make his way to the mountain without him.
Quester said as if knowing he was still awake, “It’s not natural. The beast, I mean. If it attacked and tried to eat us, that would be natural. If it ran from us like most animals do, that would be natural.”
“Maybe it has other intentions,” Shell mumbled.
“Animals don’t have intentions. They exist. They eat, survive, and reproduce.”
“That’s a cold outlook. I believe they have feelings, of a sort. Affections, for sure. And dislike.”
Quester wrapped his blanket around his shoulders and tossed more wood on the fire. “I guess we disagree. Animals like you because you supply food. They dislike others because they smell danger or fear.”
“Sometimes what we say tells others about us. You, for instance, have never owned a dog.”
“You say that as if it is a fact.” Quester was watching him closely.
“If you ever had a dog you would understand an animal can like you, dislike you, and not because of food or smelling fear. A dog gives affection and demands nothing in return.”
“They do not have emotions.”
Some of them crowding into my thoughts at night have emotions. “You might be right.”