Conker heaved Mangoron back onto the limb. The rougarou lay panting, his eyes wild and deeply troubled. “The Tree! How could this have happened? I’ve led countless across its passway and never has a branch broken.”
Charged with fright-filled energy, Mangoron investigated the broken limb and others around it. “The branches, they are weak. They are cracking all around. What has happened to the Great Tree?” Distress filled his voice as Mangoron barked. “The Tree is dying!”
“No,” Conker said, disbelieving. “How can it die? It’s not an actual tree.”
“It can die. I would never have imagined this before, but now, in witnessing it, I can see with certainty that the Great Tree is dying. These branches. They’ve become brittle. The bark is peeling. The wood beneath is dry and dead. That Machine! It is killing it.”
Mangoron turned this way and that at the broken branch’s edge, like a fox cornered by hounds and desperate for escape.
“What about the handle?” Conker asked. “Can it still be made?”
Mangoron stopped his frantic pacing, breathing in shallow gasps until he gathered himself. “Yes. Yes, I don’t think all the branches are dead. We will have to find one still living. Follow me.”
Mangoron led Conker back along the branch, taking careful steps and often testing the limb to make sure it would support them. When they reached where another, larger limb spread out from the branch, Conker followed Mangoron along it.
“Here,” Mangoron said after they reached an area where several smaller branches grew from the one they had been following. “This limb we are on is still healthy. And look. Out there. See that branch, the one with leaves still on it. That is it. Cut that branch. Go now.”
Conker had to climb out. He was glad that it was night, glad that he could not see the great distance below him. He moved slowly up the limb, taking solid holds. The limb groaned under his weight. This was dangerous work, risky, like walking out on a frozen pond, not knowing if his next move would send him plunging to his death.
But Conker was not afraid of dying, not anymore, and he was surprised as this fact dawned on him. He had died once already. He would do it again one day.
Conker eased his way out further and when he reached the limb, he could see that it was the perfect thickness. Taking the shell knife from his belt, he sawed first at the narrow end, cutting the leaves and thinnest twigs away. The limb swayed beneath him as he worked, but there was no keeping it from moving.
“Be careful,” Mangoron growled.
Conker measured off a length a little longer than his arm. He took a deep breath. Leveling the knife on the bark, Conker sawed through the dense wood.
When he had finished, he secured the branch in his belt and crawled back. He had done it. He had the branch that would restore the Nine Pound Hammer.
Mangoron inspected it when Conker returned. “Yes. This is good. This wood contains the power of the Great Tree. There is life left in it yet. But I fear that if my pack does not find a way to save the Great Tree, it will die and crumble away into oblivion. What will become of the rougarou then? What will become of the world?”
22
GUNSHOTS
SALLY? WHAT COULD SHE POSSIBLY BE DOING OUT here?
Ray had sent B’hoy scanning wide, ahead and across the prairie to look for her, but each time he returned, he had seen no one.
As they stopped at a creek to water the horses, Ray got down and walked out, inspecting the ground. The treads of the steamcoach had cut parallel swaths across the prairie.
“What are you doing?” Redfeather called, getting down from Atsila and handing the reins to Marisol.
“There are more of those footprints,” Ray said.
Redfeather came over to Ray. “They’re small. Two pairs,” he said, touching a finger to them. “Do you think one of them could be Sally’s?”
“It must be,” Ray said. “But who’s she with?”
Redfeather pointed. “Look, there’s that wolf print again.”
Ray followed the tracks out, kicking aside the grass to find the prints in the soft earth. “This doesn’t make any sense!”
Marisol rode up from the creek, pulling Atsila along by her reins. “Ray, we don’t know for sure that it’s Sally.”
“It has to be her!” Ray shouted. “Don’t you understand? No one else could possibly have the rabbit’s foot!”
Redfeather and Marisol flinched. Ray’s nerves were on edge. He knew he had spoken too harshly, but he could not help himself from snapping. And to make matters worse, they had not slept the night before. The Bowlers were quickening their hunt, having only stopped for an hour to eat and fill the steamcoach’s water tank. The agents continued their pursuit through the night. The four Bowlers on horseback rode ahead, spread out in a wide fan.
“Ray,” Marisol said as they rode on.
“What?”
She pushed aside her hair to say over her shoulder, “What if that’s not a wolf?”
“What else could it be?” Ray asked.
Redfeather gave Marisol a curious look as he brought Atsila next to Unole.
Marisol glanced at him before saying, “Remember what Water Spider said about the guardians of the Wolf Tree.”
“The rougarou?” Redfeather asked.
Marisol nodded and shook Unole’s reins.
Redfeather’s eyes remained wide as he rode after her.
The sun had already set, and darkness was falling fast. A mile ahead, they could see the black tendril of the steamcoach’s smoke. Redfeather shook Atsila’s reins to quicken her. “What will happen to Gigi and the other workers when they go to Chicago? Won’t they all get sick?”
“No, don’t you see?” Ray explained. “This is how the Gog plans on enslaving mankind. This is all part of his design. The Machine will make it so nobody who enters the Darkness can ever leave. They’ll be trapped—all those workers, everyone who goes to the Expo, and after that …”
Redfeather grunted, a frown darkening his eyes. “I don’t think they’ll stop again tonight. Our horses are weary. How much longer can we keep up this pace?”
“Look.” Marisol pointed. “The ground seems to fall away just up there.”
Ray narrowed his eyes but could not make out what they were approaching. He closed his eyes and looked from B’hoy’s perspective high above. “It’s some sort of bluff, but it drops more gradually than we can see from here. And below, there’s a maze of strange spikes of earth and twisting cliffs. It’s an odd country.”
“The steamcoach is headed that way,” Redfeather said. “We don’t want to lose it in the dark. Let’s hurry to stay close.”
The wind rattled the prairie grass. The moon rose. They kicked the tired horses into a faster gait. Marisol took the last of the salted meat from her bag and handed some to Ray and Redfeather. They ate as the sky transitioned from twilight to night, and soon they were nearly to the badland buttes and canyons.
“Maybe we should try to get ahead of the Bowlers,” Ray said. “The way they’re driving that steamcoach, they must think they’ve nearly caught Sally. If we use the dark as cover, maybe we can get ahead of them and look for her before—”
A gunshot rang out. The bullet whined past them, and Unole reared, throwing Ray from her back.
“What was that?” Redfeather shouted, trying to brace Atsila.
But Unole was startled, and Marisol could not stop him from running. Ray was on his feet, watching as Redfeather galloped after her.
Ray saw them in the moonlight.
Two Bowlers, spread at least a hundred yards apart, waited in ambush. As Marisol raced past, one of the Bowlers brought his rifle to his shoulder. The barrel flashed.
Unole collapsed in a tumble of legs and torn earth.
It was late in the day when Sally heard the first of the rougarou call, “They are returning!”
The rougarou Mangoron and the giant Conker rounded the trunk of the Great Tree nearly a thousand feet above. The pack gathered eagerly a
t its roots, whining and barking like pups. Hethy put down the stick she was using to draw letters in the earth, and joined Sally, watching the two make their way down. Jolie twisted her way through the pack to stand at the last step.
As Conker approached her, he held out her shell knife and put his large hand over the siren’s shoulder. “I have found it.”
Jolie’s smile fell as she saw the somber expression on Conker’s face. “What is wrong?”
Conker shook his head, continuing to follow Mangoron. “Renamex. Nata. My pack,” Mangoron announced. “I bring dire news. I know now why we have not returned to our true forms. Our stewardship has failed. The Great Tree is dying. Its outer branches are crumbling. We were right to help Conker, for he and his father’s hammer are our only hope. This Machine must be destroyed before the Tree perishes.”
The pack erupted in questions. Renamex growled and snapped to settle them. Sally pushed her way through the terrified and furious pack. “What does this mean?” she asked Renamex. “Can I cross?”
The nata turned from the loud voices surrounding them. “No, Coyote. It’s too dangerous.”
Sally turned to escape the commotion and knocked into Jolie. The siren took her by the shoulders, looking down at her curiously.
“What do you mean? You were going to cross the Wolf Tree?”
But Sally broke from her grip and ran.
From the fireside, Sally watched with anxiety as the pack discussed Mangoron’s news over at the Great Tree’s roots. Hethy plucked the feathers from another bird, her eyes occasionally flickering to Sally or to the rougarou. Neither girl spoke.
Although she would not be able to reach her father across the Great Tree, she had the rabbit’s foot. It pointed to the west, calling Sally to continue her journey. She could still find her father. But to have traveled across the Great Tree—what an adventure that would have been!
Would Quorl and Hethy and the others let her continue after her father now? Renamex would want to meet as a pack to discuss it. They would want to know more about the rabbit’s foot. How could she explain whether the foot was meant to restore her father’s powers or to forge the spike? She was not even certain!
But she was certain she needed to find her father. All depended on that! And if they decided she was too young to be venturing across the plains alone, then what would she—
Sally was startled from her reverie as Conker stood before her. She scrambled to her feet.
“Easy, girl,” he said softly. “I’ve only come to return your blanket and to thank you for letting me borrow it.”
Hethy stood to take it, smiling up at the giant. “You’re welcome,” she said. “Was it cold up there?”
Conker nodded. “Fierce cold.”
Hethy gave a cough and then said, “Started on your handle?”
Conker looked over his shoulder at Jolie, who was building a separate fire a dozen or so yards away. “We’re about to begin. You can come watch if you want.”
“Thanks,” Hethy said. “Maybe in a bit. I’m about to set these birds to cooking. I’ll bring some to you when they done.”
“We’d appreciate that,” he said, and turned to go, letting his gaze fall once more on Sally.
Sally sat fretting for a long time. Finally Hethy stood, wiping her hands on the front of her dress. “Well, them birds’ll be cooking for a bit. I’m going to go watch them work on that handle. You want to come?”
Sally shook her head dully.
Hethy turned a brow up quizzically. “Okay then. I’ll be back.”
Sally watched as Hethy approached the other fire. Jolie was crouched beside Conker. The giant was working intently. Moving the knife in long, controlled strokes down the branch, he shaved away the bark in thin ribbons. Hethy knelt, placing her hands on her knees. She began coughing, bending forward as it shook her frame.
Sally anxiously watched her friend a moment longer as the fit subsided. She hated what she was about to do. She couldn’t call attention to herself. It was like back at Shuckstack, when she had snuck away. She had been careful then. Nobody had realized until she was gone.
She couldn’t pack the blanket or any provisions. They could turn to see her at any moment. What would she eat? How would she survive? She had nearly starved before, even with Hethy’s help. Well, she would have to worry about that later. Her first step was to get away unnoticed.
Sally slipped her fingers around the straps of her rucksack, picking it up. She walked slowly, making her way toward the rougarou as if she were listening to their discussion. Casting a careful glance, she saw Jolie talking to Hethy, Conker working on the handle.
Keep going, she told herself. They’ll take care of Hethy.
The rougarou were too busy to notice Sally, and she kept walking deeper into the shadows around the roots of the Great Tree. Sally broke into a run. When she reached the edge of one of the buttes, she slid on her hip down the slope of soft dirt, tumbling at the end and landing hard on her elbows. Sally scrambled to her feet, touching her hand to her pocket to make sure the rabbit’s foot was still there, and raced along the gully until she found herself out on the open prairie. The low moon illuminated wisps of cloud. Looking back, she could see the Great Tree behind her, ghostly and seeming no farther away than when she left.
After a time, she slowed to a jog and then walked as she made her way across the grassland. She had to keep going. She couldn’t stop now; she was still too close. But she was hungry already and wished she had eaten before she ran away.
A gunshot echoed.
Sally froze. She was not used to the sound of guns and could not guess how far away the shooter was. She crouched on the ground, her heart racing. Another shot rang out. No, they were not firing at her. This much she could tell. But someone was shooting, and they weren’t far away.
A pinnacle rose in the dark ahead. If she could reach it, there would be more of the buttes and canyons and places to stay hidden there. She quickened her pace, and as she did, she drew the rabbit’s foot from her pocket to check the direction.
The rabbit’s foot was glowing.
Sally stopped. Why was it glowing? She’d never seen that before. But Ray had.
She heard something. The beat of feet against the earth. It was growing louder. Sally turned back toward it. Something was racing across the prairie toward her.
Her legs tangled in her dress as she spun around. Stumbling only a moment, she ran, knowing she had nowhere to hide.
Over her shoulder she saw it. A shadow descended upon her, enormous and leaping. She fell backward and cried out as it landed before her.
“Where are you going, Little Coyote?”
“Quorl … wh-what are you doing here?” Sally stammered, her hand to her chest.
“You should not be out here alone. There are men about with guns.”
She held up the rabbit’s foot, letting its warm white light illuminate Quorl’s eyes. “Look. The Toninyan is glowing. That means a Hoarhound is out there with those men. Are they after the rougarou?”
“No. How would these men know of us? They must have some other aim. But they are armed, and if this beast is with them, then you are at risk. Come, let me take you back.”
“I’m not going back, Quorl. I must find my father.”
“You’re leaving without your friend Hethy?”
“She … she shouldn’t come. It’s my father. It’s too dangerous for her. I hate goodbyes and I didn’t know how else to leave without making it hard, on me or her or any of you. The pack has been so kind to me, and I’m sorry I left without explaining, but I must go, Quorl. Please tell them I’m sorry.”
Quorl looked curiously at Sally and growled low.
“I am bound to you, Little Coyote. You said your father could help stop this Machine. If we can find him, maybe he can join Conker and together we can fight. I am coming with you. I will be your guardian.”
Sally could not help herself. She threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Quorl.”
&nbs
p; “Get on my back,” Quorl said. “Let us get away from those men. Which way does the foot tell us to go?”
After Hethy left to check on the roasting birds, Jolie watched Conker work. He had stripped the branch of its bark. Beneath, the grain was tinted a dusky red unlike any wood she had ever seen. Conker shaved the wood slowly, sculpting the handle with precision as Mangoron had instructed. He stopped on occasion to judge the balance and feel of the grip beneath his hands, and then he continued, altering here and refining there.
The pack was making noise, and Jolie stood to look. Hethy was speaking to them, and the expression on her face made Jolie wonder if something was wrong. Renamex was giving orders, and one of the rougarou raced away.
“I will be back in a moment,” Jolie said, but Conker hardly heard her.
As she approached, Hethy ran up to meet her, coughing with the exertion. “You didn’t see Yote nowhere, did you?”
“No, why? She is missing?”
“Quorl, too. They’re gone and no one knows where they went.” Hethy was wringing her dress in her hands, and she mumbled nearly inaudibly, “She’s gone and followed it without me. She left me, sure enough.”
“Followed what?” Jolie asked.
Hethy turned her eyes away, guilt and fear mingling. “I ain’t suppose to tell you. She don’t want you to know.”
“Know what?”
“I promised her and I’m afraid she’ll be mad. But she might be doing wrong. I just don’t know.”
“I want to help you, to help your friend,” Jolie said. “I heard Coyote say something about wanting to cross the Wolf Tree. Is that what this is about?”
“It’s her daddy,” Hethy relented. “She’s trying to find him. He’s lost somewheres. In this other world. The Gloaming.”
The Wolf Tree Page 26