When the Wolf Breathes (Madeleine Book 5)

by Sadie Conall

“Have you always heard such sounds?” I asked, kneeling down before him, my legs suddenly weak beneath me as he nodded.

  “Of course, Mama,” he said. “Although the boys in the village tease me sometimes. But I fight them back. They think I make things up.”

  I remembered then what Paddake’e had said, about Harry being a fighter. But it had never occurred to me, not once, that he was fighting to defend gifts he may have inherited from me, for not once had we discussed it. I doubt Harry even knew I owned them. He just took it for granted that what he could see and feel and hear, others could as well.

  To realize this, to understand this, was a revelation. For it suddenly explained why he had heard the buffalo that morning, while I slept. It explained why he wasn’t frightened of living in the wild. It explained why he took to most people, but not others. And it explained why he was fearless around horses.

  In five months, on 24th of August 1806, Harry would be five years old. A child created in his father’s image and as fierce and strong as Ryder, but with a mind of his own and an independence that at times scared me, for the little boy knew no fear. I had no doubts he would grow into a man similar in stature to Ryder, for he was already tall for his age, his body well-formed and healthy.

  But until now I had thought he owned nothing of mine, which was one reason I wanted my father’s ring. It was something precious I could give him which was solely mine. Yet now I knew my son had inherited something powerful and rare from me.

  I instinctively touched my belly, thinking of the babe I might be carrying and wondered if this child, like Harry, would also receive my gifts. And with that thought, overwhelmed by this knowledge, I sat down, when Harry suddenly called out to me from across the clearing.

  “Look Mama,” he cried, “here comes the white dog.”

  And before I could get up and stop him, Harry ran across to meet esa, as my wolf came out of the trees.

  *

  Harry had met a white dog twice before, in his dreams. The first time had been the morning the buffalo came. The second time was when Harry wandered off in the middle of the night, half asleep, to do his toilette while we were camped in the wild. Both times he said the white dog had been standing over me, trying to wake me. I felt my blood run cold as I thought on it, for when Harry first spoke of seeing the white dog all those months ago, I had wondered if he’d seen the ancient one, for he had come to me several times in esa’s form.

  I stumbled, almost tripping over myself as I raced after Harry now, managing to grab him just before he reached esa. And even as I pulled him back, breathing hard, I started to remember things the ancient one had said to me, things I didn’t understand at the time, but perhaps now made sense.

  he is like your lover, but she will be like you

  I leave you with the instincts I gave you, for I trust you to use them well

  and she will have them, as does your son

  Harry had inherited my gifts. But I had never noticed them. Too busy keeping us alive in the wild, then my emotional reunion with his father, followed by our race to the Mandan and then the Lakota, I hadn’t seen what was there right in front of my eyes. But my son owned my gifts. Where I had thought him clever, perhaps more than he should be at his age, there had been another reason for it.

  And I saw it all, in the blink of an eye, as if I had just woken from a dream. When I called him, even if he was halfway across the village, he would always turn, seeking me out, where another child would not have heard me. He could spend hours with older boys and keep up with them, without getting tired or grumpy. And Harry had embraced every experience we had shared since leaving London over two and half years ago, along with every person we had met, because he was aware of everyone and everything as I was aware of them. This child had come out from behind a tree to meet Tahkawiitik when that giant Pawnee arrived in our camp wanting to trade my musket for his dagger, unafraid, able to smell and sense and see that that man had needed our help.

  Harry fell beside me, distressed that I held him back, that I wouldn’t let him go to esa, but I dared not let him get closer. For even if the ancient one had come to Harry in esa’s form, I also knew this wolf before us was a wild animal, no matter how much I loved him.

  “Hush, hush!!” I scolded Harry and he settled, his hands held to his trembling mouth.

  I wiped the tears from his face as esa continued to stand there watching us, his yellow eyes like precious stones of topaz as he lifted his head to sniff as though getting the scent of the boy. I pushed the curls back off Harry’s face and bent to kiss him, settling him, then dared to ask the question.

  “How do you know the white dog, sweetheart?” I asked, even as Harry moved to crouch beside me, the better to watch esa.

  “He comes to me sometimes, Mama. In my dreams.”

  I couldn’t speak for a moment, unsure how I felt about this. That the ancient one came to me in dreams was challenging enough, but to know he came to my son was astonishing.

  “Well this isn’t a dream, Harry. And this creature isn’t a dog, he’s a wolf. He’s wild and dangerous and you must respect him always and be careful around him,” I paused, wondering if this was the right time to introduce esa to my son. And would there be a better time? I didn’t know. But esa continued to stand there watching us, less than fifteen feet away so I sat down beside Harry and told him, yet my bow and arrow lay beside me along with my knife.

  “You know how vicious the dogs can be, Harry?” I asked, never taking my eyes of esa.

  Harry nodded, for although the dogs were of even temperature, one of them could be particularly nasty if provoked. The children of the village had learned to be wary of him.

  “Well, wolves can be as vicious as well, so you must stay well back from them. Although this wolf, this beautiful creature is rather special,” I glanced down at Harry to find him looking at me in bewilderment. “A long time ago, well before you were born, this wolf was my friend. His name is esa. But see how careful I am of him? He lives in the wild Harry, so even if he comes to you, you must be wary of him.”

  Harry nodded but looked unsure, so I vowed there and then that when Ryder and I returned from the cave I would take my little boy in hand and begin teaching him the world as I knew it and how to hide those gifts from others and use them to his advantage.

  “Can I call esa, Mama? Can I call him to me?” he asked and I despaired, wondering if my son had heard anything I just said.

  But he owned my instincts, he already knew this wolf was special. Yet the strangest thing happened then. It was as if esa knew the boy owned my gifts, for as soon as he spoke the wolf’s name, esa turned and looked at him, as though Harry had called him, those stunning yellow eyes vibrant and terrifying. And then he moved and came towards us.

  He made not a sound, just walked around us, sniffing, then he pushed gently against my shoulder, yet I felt the power of that great head. And then he did the same with Harry. My son said not a word, the instincts inherited from me warning him to be still.

  And then esa was gone. He simply turned and disappeared back into the woods. I felt the loss of him to my soul, wondering if I would ever see him again. We sat there for a long moment as Harry chatted about esa, excited by the encounter, when I remembered that my wolf had a large pack following him. Although I doubted they were anywhere near here, I thought it best we returned to the village. I was trembling as I lifted Harry up onto his horse, for I was stunned by esa’s visit with my son and by Harry’s revelation that the ancient one had visited him in dreams. Yet I also realized it wasn’t a bad thing for a child to have an ancient guardian walking by his side, taking the form of my wolf.

  *

  We were only halfway down the hill and through the woods when we heard shrill cries of welcome coming from the village. By the time we reached the corral and left the horses there, to hurry back to the village square, celebrations were already taking place to welcome some twenty Shoshone who had come to visit.

  I recognized Kokon amo
ng them. A good friend to Ryder and the Ugákhpa and Comanche brothers, he had met them in the Comanche village in the spring of 1799, inviting them north to spend the winter in the mountains with his own tribe. I had always liked Kokon. He was a trader, used to travelling between northern and southern tribes who owned familial connections to the Bannock, to trade for tobacco and corn and squash and beans, things the Bannock didn’t grow for they were hunters, not farmers. He was a hard man, but well respected by those who did business with him, and well liked.

  But I was shocked by his appearance, for along with the Shoshone men travelling with him, I thought their clothes shabby, their moccasins worn. They had always been a wealthy tribe like the Bannock, but now their hair, usually worn long, was cut short to their shoulders and I knew they were in mourning.

  Harry and I weaved our way through the crowds and found a place to sit beside Paddake’e and Deinde'-paggwe and Kimana. And as we listened to the speeches, we heard the Shoshone speak of a brutal attack by Atsina only months ago with men and women taken in the raid along with horses, weapons and teepees. They spoke of their days hunting buffalo on the plains being over, as more of their enemies made those plains their home, with many of them trading with the French who gave them guns. Now they lived on what deer they could find up in the high mountain country they had moved to, to escape their enemies, along with the mountain sheep which made their home many miles northwest from these lush green valleys. But neither deer nor sheep provided the Shoshone with the rich buffalo meat they were used to, nor the thick fur and great hides they had used for making robes and teepees. They spoke of their desperate need for muskets to fight tribes like the Atsina, but had little wealth left to trade for such weapons.

  And I thought again of that wagon train full of goods which Thibault had spoken off. That was what these people needed. A wagon train full of muskets, shot and powder. It would be the only way to get the numbers of weapons needed up to this high country. But it would cost a fortune. And what a risk for those men running those weapons. They would be seen as arms dealers and therefore targets by everyone. Although Ryder had the money to fund it. He had said himself he would never be able to spend the Benedict fortune in his lifetime, such was his wealth. And the muskets could be hidden beneath muslin sacks of flour and salt and wheat. Although the weapons and wagons would have to be purchased in different cities, to avoid suspicion. The horses could be purchased from Julia. And the men employed would have to know their way in the wild. And men who could be trusted. No, it couldn’t be done. It would take a year or more to organize and then a year or more to get the wagons up here into this high country. Although Madeleine couldn’t stop thinking of Thibault. Ryder could purchase the muskets in Europe, anonymously, through one of his clerks in London, then have them shipped out to Canada on one of his ships. Someone like Thibault could organize the wagon trains from Lower Canada and the men he knew, halfbreeds who lived between two cultures, could take the weapons west to the Bannock and Shoshone. Yet could any man be trusted with such wealth? If the weapons were to go missing in the wild, they would be lost forever. No, it was impossible.

  As the afternoon wore on, despite the Shoshone’s grief at losing so much in this latest attack, we could all see the fighting spirit of these men along with their hunger for revenge. They would survive this.

  For like the Ugákhpa and Wazhazhe, decimated by smallpox and other European diseases over the last one hundred years, the Shoshone were resilient and would never give up. They would be a part of these lands until the last blade of grass withered away and died such was their strength, just like the Bannock and the Mandan, the Omaha and Lakota and all the others. They would endure.

  *

  It was much later, well after dusk, when Kokon came to visit with us privately. He sat outside with Ryder and Te’tukhe and Ese-ggwe’na’a, around the firepit between our teepees. I sat with the women behind them, for we were also eager to hear more of his news.

  He welcomed Ryder by calling him by his two Shoshone names, Bia-wihi and Bitehwai-dainah. He spoke of his son Kwipuntsi, who had joined a company of European explorers who had passed through Shoshone lands some months ago, seeking a passage through the mountains to the Pacific Coast. The explorers had traded a few muskets for Shoshone horses and had invited Shoshone men and women to travel with them for a little way as carriers and guides.

  “One of our girls who was taken from this winter village almost six years ago in that Hidatsa attack was travelling with them,” Kokon said, filling his pipe with more tobacco. “You might remember her. We knew her as Saca-tzah-we-yaa. She was with her young son and French husband, who is an interpreter for the explorers.”

  I heard Deinde'-paggwe’s breath catch in her throat as she glanced over at Poongatse and Wannge’e. But I knew what she was thinking. Saca-tzah-we-yaa had made it home after all.

  I glanced over at Ryder and found him watching me and as I met his gaze, we both knew these explorers were the Lewis and Clark Expedition. That they had come this far west, so close to Bannock lands was astonishing.

  *

  Kokon ended up staying with us for four days. And during those days, Ryder and I and Ese-ggwe’na’a came to an agreement about my old muskets. The Shoshone would have them, along with some of our shot and powder. It wasn’t enough and the muskets were ancient, but they were better than nothing.

  As we were saying goodbye, I managed to catch Kokon alone to find out more about Saca-tzah-we-yaa. He thought she seemed happy with her life and clearly adored her little boy whom the explorers called Pomp.

  I wanted to ask about Jimmy, but knew I could not. There could be no link between us in case Kokon ever met him and the chances of that were likely, with the Expedition planning to ride through Shoshone lands on their return journey from the coast. Jimmy must never see us this far west. This life we lived here, this life we loved, must be kept separate from our formal lives in London. Not only for our sake, but for Harry’s. Because Jimmy’s story, as Ryder’s former groom, meeting the Earl and Countess Benedict in the far northwest territories of the New World dressed in buckskin with a sheath of arrows on their backs would make the front pages of every newspaper and broadsheet in England, if not the cities on the eastern seaboard of America.

  Although I thought I knew Jimmy well enough to know he would never sell a story about us, because I knew he had feelings for me. And he knew enough things about my past, that were best left forgotten. Jimmy had organised the boat which took me to France. And Jimmy knew I had been alone with Thorne the night he died, just before the fire took hold. And it had been Jimmy who carried the bag of documents and cash I stole from Thorne’s home back to Diccon House, yet never so much as opened it, let alone took a penny. Jimmy had also accompanied me to Bankside. He had seen the blood on the floor there, although he hadn’t known it was Ryder’s. And not long after, Lisbeth Ashbury’s body was found floating in the Thames nearby.

  And I hadn’t forgotten the vision I had seen of Jimmy and Bryn sitting in the Gallery at Millbryne Park, discussing some business opportunity with Ryder. Jimmy was there somewhere in our future, as was Bryn, so it was best we never met in this territory. Our lives must remain separate and the brief friendship I had known with him, a friendship based on trust, must remain firmly in the past.

  in the wild: April 1806

  One

  They made their way up through the woods, the sweet smells of spring all around them, along with the scent of rich earth and wild onions and herbs and mountain flowers. They passed the clearing where Ryder first met Ese-ggwe’na’a all those years ago surrounded by Bannock and Shoshone warriors, where esa had stood so fiercely beside Madeleine protecting her as he always had, where Ryder understood at last that Madeleine was Ese-ggwe’na’a’s partner. That knowledge had almost destroyed him.

  Madeleine turned to him and smiled and Ryder knew she was also thinking of that day. But she never spoke of it, although it would have been easy to tease him, for she remembe
red only too well how vulnerable he had been that day. He had been leaning on the crutch she had made for him, his right lower leg seared open from his own pistol shot gone wide, desperately in love with her even then. And compared to the Shoshone and Bannock riders who had surrounded them, he had looked gaunt and ill.

  But if Ryder had felt weak that day and less of a man because of it, in all truth Madeleine had never seen him as weak. Indeed, she had admired him for using his crutch to hobble across to stand beside her and esa, in a hopeless attempt to protect her from the men surrounding them. So no, she would never tease him about that day, for she knew it still brought him pain to think on it.

  *

  By late afternoon they reached the plateau where the ruined cabin lay and saw the chimney had fallen at last in one of the winter storms. They hobbled their horses then quickly set up camp in the canyon, out of the chill of the night. And as dusk came down they sat on the edge of the meadow and stared out over the beauty of the Snake River Plain and down towards the Bannock village nestled on the banks of the river. All of it lay bathed in a soft dusky pink, the sky a stunning mix of pinks and yellows and crimsons which reached to the horizon and beyond. And the Snake River, so named because it twisted and turned as it made its way northwest across that wide Plain, looked like some mystical thing in that shimmer of pink and golden light.

  The Bannock village looked small and spread out, compared to that massive village Ryder had seen from this very spot more than six years ago, when the Shoshone had shared that fertile strip of land between the river and forest.

  He could see small fires outside teepees where women sat with their families preparing meals, as everyone made the most of the spring nights, despite the cold. He could see men tending the great fire in the square where huge logs of wood taken from the forest had begun to burn. People would gather around it for warmth later, while young men danced. Although there would be no feast tonight. Instead, the meat from the deer carcasses the hunters brought in earlier that afternoon already lay in strips, drying on ironwood frames above smoky fires of hickory to be shared out later.