Legends of the North Cascades

by Jonathan Evison

  U’ku’let

  After searching the mountains far and wide, U’ku’let found his young family a suitable home; a narrow cleft in the mountainside, which opened up into a stone cavern, spacious enough for three, and nearly, but not quite, of sufficient height in which to stand up straight. The cave was six steps deep, tapering toward the rear. At its widest point, it was nearly five steps across. Ventilation was adequate for a small fire, and the daylight hours allowed for a narrow swath of light, just enough to see by.

  The cave was situated high on a bluff, above a broad canyon, in the shadow of a soaring ridge, keen-edged, and marked at intervals by jagged pinnacles like the teeth of a canine. Beyond the canyon, the terrain flattened out into a scrubby forest of stunted spruce, dusted in permafrost, which sprawled to the north for miles. To the west, the bluff overlooked a frozen meadow, beyond which several abrupt valleys gave way to the ice, which spread out into eternity.

  A short hike to the northeast of the bluff ended abruptly atop a ridge, overlooking a broad, grass valley, running north to south. From here, once the season was upon them, U’ku’let would be able to watch the game moving through the basin.

  U’ku’let hunted with renewed courage, and a new determination, an impetus fueled by a force stronger than even hunger: responsibility. For the first time in his twenty winters, U’ku’let was more concerned with the welfare of others than himself, a state of affairs that he found to be both a burden and a relief.

  Daily, U’ku’let appealed to the Great Provider, and in the end, the Great Provider did not fail him. After three days of hunger and driving snow, upon the first clear afternoon, with the sun glinting off the snow and ice, a hobbled bison cow and her calf came moping through the valley, clearly not long for the world. U’ku’let gathered his spears and dressing tools, and swiftly but stealthily worked his way down the craggy incline to the basin, tracking his target’s progress through the trees.

  When he reached the half-frozen grass, U’ku’let emerged from the reeds and stalked the cow and her calf for a mile through the valley, until the cow, beleaguered and exhausted, finally turned to him, expelling twin plumes of steam out of her nostrils, her huge brown eyes entreating him to get it over with, or that’s how it seemed to him.

  When U’ku’let reared back with his spear, making clear his intentions, the cow, miraculously, surrendered according to the Great Provider’s plan. Not that it had ever gone that way a hundred times before. Oh, no, U’ku’let had watched his own father trampled to death by bison, saw his older brother stomped, maimed, and rendered speechless by a stampede. There’s a good reason U’ku’let never wanted to be a hunter. If he could have stayed back with the women, mending hides and hollowing spear tips, and tending to the fire, he would have jumped at the opportunity. Why invite such danger if you had no appetite for it, if somebody else could do it for you?

  But that was the old U’ku’let. The new U’ku’let knew exactly what he was fighting for. As the cow lay there dying, speared cleanly through the neck, the twin plumes of her nostrils now discharging a thin spray of blood that pocked the snow with its warmth, the calf sought out its mother’s prone body, and not comprehending her state, nudged it with his head.

  “I am sorry,” he said to the calf. “You will not survive without her.”

  And then the calf, lolling his head up to make eye contact with U’ku’let, surrendered, too.

  Sometimes the things of this world know when they are beaten. Sometimes they don’t fight to the bitter end because they know better. U’ku’let had seen it many times before, and it would not be the last time.

  Not yet convinced of his good fortunes, U’ku’let began dressing the animals immediately, a bloody and rigorous affair he undertook with the utmost haste. Now that blood has been spilled, who knew what wolf or cat or bear lurked in the wings to challenge him for his kill? He would not die in the name of greed. No, he would survive in the name of knowing when to stop. As much as he wished it were so, he could not possibly claim the whole kill, anyway. He had neither the time to carve it into anything manageable, nor the ability, given his crude tools.

  Thus, U’ku’let left something for the others. His only hope as he carved away savagely at the carcasses was that those other ravenous suitors in the wings were patient enough to wait for his offering. When he concluded his crude butchering, sawing and hacking the meat off of the ribs, and tearing away the impossibly tough cartilage from the bone, along with the sinewy, bone-white connective tissue from the hide, he left the scene, dragging the great cow pelt across the ice, two hundred pounds, headless, and packed with the hearts and livers and soft organs torn, severed, and cleaved from around the stomach, in addition to what meat was left hanging in strings and bloody slabs from the mother’s giant ribcage.

  Smeared with the blood of the beast from foot to forehead, the grueling journey back to the cave was not so much a triumphant affair as a desperate and harried retreat to outrun any number of predators on his trail, the conspicuous swath of warm blood left blooming in his wake.

  Only when U’ku’let the Hunter had returned to the safety of the fire, and the shelter of their cloistered cavern, did he bask in triumph.

  He was grateful, and why not? For that which clung to life in these mountains: the grass, and the trees, and the shy, small creatures that skulked between the rocks were a revelation, a beautiful relief from the cruel outside world of ceaseless ice. It was madness for his clan to ever have left these mountains, to ever have turned their backs on the bounty that dwelled in these valleys, hard won as their survival might have been. And for what did they leave? For nothing more than to chase an empty legend, the slim promise of something more grand, something warmer and more fertile, something easier and less bloody that awaited them beyond the horizon.

  Foolishness.

  Not to boast, because nobody was listening anyway, but U’ku’let celebrated daily the fact that their little cave on the bluff was sheltered and vented well. Despite all the hunching, and the sore elbows, and bruised knees, and the fact that he’d bumped his head to the point of bleeding countless times at the narrow entry, U’ku’let deemed their burrow a perfect starter home for a clan of three, and perhaps someday four. Bear in mind, they had been there less than a moon, so the place was still a work in progress. With a rock here, a buffalo hide there, a found tusk, or gem, or string of sabre teeth placed tastefully about, maybe some crude charcoal drawings on the wall, the possibilities for their cave seemed endless.

  And for this shelter and security, they found themselves beholden to no one. Who was the boss? U’ku’let was the boss. U’ku’let with the harelip, and the patchy beard. U’ku’let, who never got a fair shake from the clan, U’ku’let who could have taught the elders a thing or two if they would have ever listened to him. It was not always the tallest and the hairiest that made the best leaders. Sometimes it was the guy cowering behind the tanning hides.

  But all of that was irrelevant now. U’ku’let’s day had arrived at long last. Finally, he was the leader of a growing clan.

  At night, the small space was warmed by the fire, as the frozen wind bellowed, ravaging the world outside their shelter, carrying upon it the cry of the slathering, half-starved wolves. U’ku’let shivered at the memory of the clan’s hapless weeks on the ice, which ended in banishment, and by extension his union with S’tka.

  Surely, their wayward clan would all be dead by now, what with the lack of leadership, and their foolhardy commitment to pursue the non-existent, when the fruits of the world were right in front of them. It was a blessing to be banished from such an idiotic quest.

  He looked to S’tka, bathed in the light of the flames, sleepy-eyed but content, the swaddled infant suckling at her breast, and suddenly his appetite for her was irrepressible. Squatting, he sidled around the fire on his heels to S’tka’s side, pressing his face into her neck, where he nibbled at the flesh.

  “Ooooh,” he groaned softly.

  “U’ku
’let, stop,” S’tka said, giggling as she fended off his advance.

  Her laughter only aroused the hunger between his legs as he redoubled his effort, nibbling down her neck to her clavicle, toward her swollen breasts.

  “Ech,” she said, just as the baby lost its purchase on the nipple, and immediately began to fuss. “Tsk,” S’tka scolded U’ku’let, scooting away from him.

  Little N’ka managed to find his mark with a slurp and a whimper, his tiny fingers grasping at the soft flesh of her shoulders.

  “Bah,” said U’ku’let, who began to sulk, staring into the fire.

  Who provided the meat, that helpless, suckling thing groping at you? No! I provided the meat! It is I who saves our naked carcasses from this frozen world, I, who makes sure we don’t become meat ourselves. Bah, no gratitude, no respect.

  But when U’ku’let looked back up and saw S’tka’s placid face smiling across the fire at him, he felt humbled, and ashamed of the thing between his legs.

  “Ech!” he said to it, with a healthy thwack. “Ech!”

  S’tka laughed sweetly, though her expression showed a certain concern, too.

  “It has a mind of its own, eh?”

  “Ay,” he said, even as the thing began to wither, pasting itself to his inner thigh, a pale, wrinkled nubbin compared to its former glory.

  Immediately, he began to berate himself. He was not worthy. He was but a failed warrior and spineless follower, with a harelip, and wide, feminine hips. Worse, he was an outcast of a doomed clan, the stupidest of clans, and thus doomed himself to be loveless, no matter what meat he presented to whom. It was a fluke that he was with S’tka.

  But before U’ku’let could brood any longer, S’tka scooted in closer to him, perhaps an act of mercy, her placid eyes still smiling, and the infant still suckling at her breast.

  “Look,” she said, staring down into its face. “He looks like his father.”

  U’ku’let smiled, looking down into the pinched face of the infant, eyes big, and alert, and calm.

  “You think so?” he said.

  “Yes,” said S’tka, pulling back the hide to reveal his nakedness, his little dingus standing at attention.

  Gently in the Darkness

  At night, Dave fought off the nightmares by lying awake, distracting himself with plans about improvements for their insular existence. There was storage to be improved upon, portage to be streamlined, warmth and water and grain to be conserved, along with various best practices in order to avoid their dependence on town. But some nights, as he distracted and deflected and avoided, his sleep-deprived mind wandered in spite of his efforts, and in the orange glow of the embers, in the dry whistle of the coals as they surrendered the last of their moisture, Dave intimated jug-eared Lyle Abbot from El Paso, hanging out of the hummer, stock still when he caught it, still staying upright somehow, like a scarecrow on fire, the Kevlar melting to his skull.

  One night in the cave, somewhere between asleep and awake, he screamed without even knowing it, raging at the dying fire until Bella awoke terrified. Only then did Dave realize that he’d lost his shit momentarily, and that Bella had borne witness. Liberating himself from his sleeping bag, he scurried across the uneven ground on his hands and knees in the darkness to comfort her.

  “I’m sorry if I scared you, baby. I was having a bad dream.”

  “I thought it was real,” she said, sobbing. “I didn’t know what was wrong.”

  “No, baby, it wasn’t real, it was just a dream.”

  “I’m scared,” she said.

  “Don’t be scared, honey. I’m right here.”

  Wrapping her in his arms, he felt her body go rigid.

  “But, Daddy,” she said, “I’m scared of you.”

  And a cold hand gripped Dave’s heart, even as he clutched Bella tighter, rocking her gently in the darkness.

  S’tka

  For many days and nights, S’tka and U’ku’let managed a peaceful existence on their bluff, overlooking the canyon. U’ku’let hunted with increasing skill and continued good fortune, while S’tka cured hides and tended their camp, the infant harnessed to her chest. If not content, she felt purposeful. The pride of making their new life happen was fuel for her fire. Had her transgression not saved them? Were they not better off without the clan? Were they not better fed, and better rested, and more appreciated? She no longer wished ill will on the clan for her banishment, for it had led her to a better life.

  In recent weeks, the air had begun to warm, promising some degree of relief from the snow and ice. Each year, the warm air seemed to arrive a little earlier. How could this be a harbinger for anything but good? Without the clan around their necks, they would continue to thrive.

  As for baby N’ka, he was cow-eyed and alert, with a dark shock of hair sticking straight up off the crown of his little head. Already his neck could support the weight of it. He kicked his arms and legs. He babbled and cooed and laughed at nothing discernible. He watched his mother and father eat with keen interest, chin slick with drool. He grasped futilely for their food and whimpered at their amusement when they wouldn’t allow him to partake.

  His father claimed N’ka would be a great hunter, and that someday he would lead his own clan. His mother thought not. She saw, in the bottomless depths of his eyes, someone who would do much grander things than toil with spears, things she could only guess at, things that had never been done. Perhaps he would devise a way of life that would render the clan forever obsolete. Perhaps he would discover a new world where the others before him had failed.

  “Bah,” said U’kulet. “Like what? Shall he lead his clan over the ice in search of legends, like that muscle-head Ok’eh? No, he will be a great hunter. The greatest on ice.”

  These were the prosperous futures they contemplated as they warmed themselves by the fire. The Great Provider had smiled on this family. She had brought food and shelter and good health to these mountains. She had brought hope where formerly there had only been despair, she had brought a future to where there had once only been a present.

  Until, one day, their good fortune ran out.

  The men arrived boisterously from the southern corridor, up the narrow, snow-packed sluice, announcing themselves with their hooting and cackling and their coarse laughter.

  “Woot!” one of them hollered, his guttural voice echoing across the valley.

  S’tka did not have to see the marauders to guess at their brutish natures.

  The dialect was a familiar one. They had long been the enemy of her clan, bloodthirsty savages from the south, the great mastodon hunters, though they were well known to eat human flesh when the game got scarce.

  S’tka and U’ku’let exchanged anxious glances across the fire.

  “Go,” he said.

  Without hesitation, S’tka bolted to the cave with the sleeping infant. Swaddling him tightly, she stowed him without awakening him amongst hides in the deepest, darkest alcove. She piled an additional heap of hides in front of the recess to dampen the sound should anything threaten to awaken N’ka, and he should begin to whimper or cry.

  By the time she re-emerged empty-handed, the ravagers had already landed, kicking the fire, and taunting U’ku’let with their spears. Backpedaling against their advance, U’ku’let fell backward onto his butt, where immediately he tried to muddle back to his feet, much to the amusement of his tormentors.

  The largest and dirtiest, the foulest of the bunch—though that distinction was worthy of debate—took hold of U’ku’let roughly under the arms, dragging him to his feet.

  “Let’s go, ugly,” he said, exposing his rotten teeth. “Time to play.”

  “Stop!” S’tka protested to the amusement of all.

  The giant man pushed U’ku’let forward, propelling him into the arms of another brute, who immediately pushed him back to the bigger man, grinning stupidly.

  One of the looters ducked into the cave. S’tka watched helplessly, fearful of displaying her concern, lest she
compromise N’ka, tucked away in the depths.

  “Please protect him,” she prayed, beneath her breath.

  And this time, finally, the Great Provider heard her entreaty, as the brute emerged moments later, his arms heaped only with hides and half-eaten hindquarter.

  “Not much,” he announced.

  Meanwhile, the youngest and smallest among them, no more than a boy of twelve or thirteen, had begun to circle U’ku’let, razzed and encouraged by the others, amused by his antics.

  U’ku’let continued to backpedal until he reached the edge of the bluff, where he nearly slipped and lost his footing. Cornered by the young man, U’ku’let darted to one side, eluding him by several feet, only to find himself backed up against the rocky hillside.

  “What are you waiting for?” said one of the spectators. “Finish him.”

  Eyes stuck to U’ku’let, the boy stooped to collect a jagged stone the size of his fist. Wielding it like a weapon, the young man charged. Lashing out, he struck U’ku’let across the forehead, and sent him reeling backward into the side of the mountain, where he immediately began to cower, covering his head with his arms.

  And as U’ku’let cowered, the boy struck him again and again.

  U’ku’let wobbled dazedly, swiping at his bloody head, before crumpling to the ground unconscious, where his blood began to redden the snow.

  The others erupted in laughter. One of the stinking brutes grabbed S’tka by the arms and forced her onto her back. Straddling her, he hefted one of her breasts from beneath her hide, then the other, impressed by their weight. S’tka’s biggest fear was not that he would hurt her, but that he would connect her heaviness of breast and her swollen nipples with the infant stashed in the cave, that her breast might ooze milk and blow N’ka’s cover. Her next biggest fear was that N’ka would awaken and announce his presence.