She agreed at once, and while Thorn worked on her robe she stood arched to the fire dressed only in her leggings, like a jende woman. Loon’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at her.
Thorn cut her robe up with his sharp blade, putting pieces of the bear hide up against her from time to time as he did so. When he finished the cuts, he punched holes around their edges with his antler awl, biting his lips. Then he sewed the pieces together with a length of leather cord he pulled from his sack, wound around a short stick.
Click stared into the fire as they worked, but Thorn frequently looked up and regarded Elga’s body closely, flickering there in the firelight. Her breasts were only half the size they had been the last time Loon had seen them, and in general she was thin, although her thighs were quite a bit thicker than any of the men’s, and longer too. And they were all thin now, even Click. Loon could feel his belly button just a finger away from his backbone. There wasn’t much left to him. Thorn too was skin and bones; he always was, and now more than ever.
But here they were, warm in the storm, and Elga’s body gleamed darkly against the snow and the flames and the trees flickering in the firelight. Thorn worked on, and held up pieces he was sewing against her from time to time. It was night before he had her dressed again.—There, he said when he was done, and added,—You look good. Even now when I’ve dressed you!
Elga laughed and hugged herself.—It feels wonderfully warm. Thank you Thorn.
That night they lay around the blaze like a fire ring of flesh, just outside the ring of stones. From time to time they fed in branches from their pile. The wind kept blowing, the snow drifted down onto them through the trees. If a snowflake landed on them it melted on their hair or the tips of their furs and quickly burned away. They were more comfortable in this storm than they had been for months now, any of them, and the thrill of that was another kind of warmth.
Loon fell asleep between one breath and the next, and slept hard. When he woke to the cold on his back, and fed the fire, he saw the others were sleeping well also.
The dawn gray showed it was still snowing, although it was less windy than the day before. Big flakes fell straight down. They had to decide whether to stay or hike on, and Thorn took a brief walk out of their grove to get a better sense of the day. When he came back he said gloomily,—It’s walkable. We probably should go.
The others said nothing. The fire hissed and popped on its big bed of embers, inviting them to stay and be warm. It did not seem possible that the northers would be out in this storm hunting them, given how much the falling snow obscured the view. It was flocking down, and up on the ridges it would probably still be windy, with new piles of soft snow ready to avalanche or otherwise give way underfoot. Surely the northers too were tucked around a fire somewhere.
But if they were, then going on would be getting farther from them; and if they weren’t, and were out on the hunt, still in pursuit, then going on would be keeping their distance. Either way they should go. They could all see the sense of Thorn’s position. But it was a hard thing to leave that fire and go out into the storm.
It snowed all that day. The new snow lay thick and soft on everything, flocking the forest and making the world a dapple of black and white. Summer storms could be like that.
It was lucky they had snowshoes, because without them they would have sunk in thigh deep with every step. As it was, the one breaking trail sank in knee deep, and had to step high. Most of the day Click led, and as he was considerably heavier than the others, they stepped in his tracks and had it much easier.
Thorn went second and gave Click directions. Occasionally Loon could hear them from behind.—No, left, left! Left is to your left, right is to your right, straight ahead is straight ahead! Why can’t you get that? Tell me what you call them and I’ll say that instead! I’m tired of you getting it wrong!
—Roop, Click said, pointing right.—Roop roop, pointing left.
—So there you have it, Thorn said heavily.—If you can do that, why not call them right and left?
The silence from Click suggested he didn’t have an answer for that.
—Mother Earth, Thorn finally said.—You’re just trying to make me angry.
After that he hiked closer to Click, and with his spear tapped the old one on one shoulder or the other as he said,—Hey, hey, that way, while pointing with the spear.—Go that way, that’s left, roop roop, left, and he would whistle a piercing whistle with an upward slide, like a hawk. Later, with a tap on the right shoulder,—Go right, right, roop, that’s right, with a down-sliding whistle. All through that day Loon could hear Thorn badgering Click about this matter of directions.—Straight is just straight! Not right nor left, just straight ahead. That way!
Loon wanted to say, He knows the way better than you do! but he didn’t have the strength to spare for speaking. He could only put his snowshoes in the holes and try to avoid the pain on the left. Click was probably taking the best way no matter how Thorn jayed at him.
Late in the afternoon, the valley they had been descending opened onto a broad plain, so big that its full extent was not visible in the falling snow. Thorn considered the white sky flocking down on them for a while, and then pointed Click in a certain direction, and off they went across the soft new snow. After a time they came to a flat stretch that was clearly a river. Like the big river back north, this one was about to break up, but under its new blanket of snow it was hard to say when or where it might happen. All the usual sounds were muffled. There were snow-capped plates of ice poking up in irregular lines, and black leads visible in long stretches of the far shore. From downstream, farther than they could see in the storm, came a low wet roar.
Then right before their eyes the new snow lying on the river straight out from them started trembling, and in a series of muffled cracks broke off and crashed downstream, riding a black spate of immense power. Down the river at the farthest bend they could see, crackling ice dams stacked up, building quickly into log jams of ice, then bursting away and rushing downstream.
Upstream from where they stood the ice on the river still held. The black river sheeted out from under it like a giant spring out of a white hillside, an amazing sight.
—Go! Thorn shouted at the other three. They could barely hear his voice. He pointed upstream and then took off, and they hurried after him up the bankside. They were too tired to hurry very fast, even Thorn, and soon Click took back the lead and stomped the snow down for them, and Thorn was right on his heels talking to him, and Elga not far behind. Loon did the best he could to keep right behind Elga, hoping that Thorn would not lead them across the river too close to the broken edge and its stupendous flow. He knew the faster he went the sooner they would be able to cross, and the better their chances would be that the ice would hold long enough for them to cross. And if Loon was close behind, Thorn might feel confident enough in their speed to go a little farther upstream before crossing. So Loon put his head down and hiked and poled along in the tracks of the others, ignoring the hot flare in his ankle, huffing and sweating, intent to keep right on Elga’s heels. She was fast, and looked different in her newly sewn clothing—taller, rangier. Suddenly it came to him again that she was there, that this was his Elga right there in front of him, free of the ice men, on the run with him, fleeing captivity, running for home. Something in his heart flew at that realization, and he bared his teeth at his ankle and pounded along, taking care not to knock the front of his snowshoes into the busted rims of high soft snow separating one track from the next. Step high and clean, huff and puff, curse the pain. Feel the cold air go to his head, leaving him as sharp as if hunting, or terrified. He only looked at the snow under him, also the river beside them, still white and unmoving. Everything in that bubble of falling snow had become closer and sharper and brighter, all of it pulsing with his pulse, bright even in the dimness of a snowy day. Everything was lit from inside itself, and he was seeing the way hawks must see.
Thorn tapped Click and turned
toward the river, and seeing it Loon began sucking air through his teeth with fear. He bent forward and redoubled his speed, wanting to be with the others whatever happened, even if it was wrong, even if it put more weight on the river ice and caused them to break through. Thorn looked back at him, as if aware of his fear, and pierced him with a glance.
I slipped up into him in that moment, and seized him as tightly as he was seizing his poles. Slow down. Remember what the northers taught you, out on the frozen great salt sea.
He watched Thorn and Click as they roamed up and down the bank, stabbing the snow-blanketed river ice. He realized that it was probable he knew more about ice now than they did. Downstream the roar of open water reverberated in the trees, pulsed up through their feet.
Loon saw a good patch against the bank, which looked like it extended most of the way across the river. He walked as if his legs were both all right.—Let me lead! he said as he passed Thorn and stomped down the snowy bank onto the river ice.—I’ve been doing this all winter.
He struck out over the ice, stabbing ahead with delicate taps, as if his walking poles were short unas. He shuffled along at a slow but steady speed, feeling the ice below him for any flex. His body was thrumming in a way it had once when he had been stung by several bees. The snow falling in the air was now very small, making almost a mist of floating little flakes, swirling as they were tossed on a slight breeze.
Out on the middle of the river they could hear the open water downstream better than ever. The ice under them was heaving a little under its snow blanket, and it groaned all around them, including upstream. Clearly it was feeling the break-up moving upstream toward it, and so it was flexing in place and crying out, whether in fear or desire Loon could not tell. He shuffled forward at the same deliberate speed. The other three were bunched right behind him, keeping a little less distance from each other than the northers would have in the same situation.
Downstream a gigantic crack and a number of low booms announced another break-off. Ice plates reared downstream, and the black flood was more visible than ever. The roar was like rolling thunder.
Loon shuffled along as fast as he could go. He had no awareness of Badleg; his whole body buzzed equally. He kept his eyes fixed on the ice they had yet to cross. They were getting closer to the other bank: no river is very wide if you run across it. The outside turn of a bend is where the ice is thinnest. And this time there were open leads blocking their way.
Loon veered to the left, upstream, and poked ahead to make sure the ice was solid under its blanket of snow. The pokes sounded some solid thunks, which seemed to indicate ice thick enough to hold him; he turned right and shuffled quickly over that section to the bank, and stomped up the snow there, establishing steps for the other three to step into. The other three followed him up very neatly, as if performing a big-step dance they had danced a thousand times before.
When Thorn joined them at the top of the bank, he tilted his head to the clouds and howled. The others joined in, they howled like wolves. In the roar of the breakup and the wind they could barely hear themselves.
I myself howled, and then slipped back into my place.
Now the burn of their crossing throbbed all through Loon, and he discovered to his surprise that Badleg was griping ferociously. His whole left leg was hot to the touch. He went to a fallen tree trunk, swiped the new snow off, and sat. He rested his sack on the front of his snowshoes, his elbows on the sack, his chin on his hands. He watched the great roaring spectacle of the river as the ice plates broke off and clunked downstream.
Elga sat beside him. Click crouched on a rock. Thorn took off his sack, put it down on the snow, and did a little dance in place, singing the break-up song again.
—Shut up or you’ll make the ice stay! Loon exclaimed.
Thorn ignored him, if he heard. And as they were almost certainly going to stay sitting there until this part of the river broke up completely, it was only setting him up for an I-told-you-so. So Loon shut up and watched Thorn sing and howl. After it went on for a while, Loon dug around in his sack, and was shocked to find his food bags so small. Somehow he had thought there was another full bag in there, and there wasn’t.
—How are we for food? he asked.
But at that moment the river ice straight out from them heaved up and broke, then floated away around the bend, white rafts smashing together. The noise was incredible. The rushing black water now visible under them was shocking to see in a world so white and still.
Now they could hear each other if they shouted, but there was nothing to say, so they sat there speechlessly watching the spectacle. Ice broke off and floated by, raft after raft of it. Upstream the black water poured out from under a jagged white line that moved farther and farther away. The whole valley boomed with the noise of it.
Upstream, at the bend where they could see no farther, a shallows had been revealed, studded with rocks that nobbled the water and caused gnashes of white to bubble the black sheen. The rushing clatter and tumble of water in a rapids came back to them, a sound they hadn’t heard all winter. Ice chunks kept sweeping by. After a time the river was all black, from the bend upstream to the bend downstream.
Thorn finished his break-up song.—No one’s going to be crossing this river for a good long time, he said.—So let’s make a fire!
They moved a little up and away from the bank, and found a flat spot in the middle of a small grove of bush pines and birch. By now the storm had covered everything with snow, so they could do nothing but stomp down a space in the snow with their snowshoes, and move some stones from a nearby boulder pile, the heaviest they could carry, to make a rough fire platform and some seating for themselves. They were going to have to bed down on snow; but with a fire, and their caribou hides, that wouldn’t be too bad.
The work of making camp took them the rest of that day, and by the time they were done, Loon was a one-legged man. Thorn had brought an ember from their last night’s fire with him in his belt flap, and with that and some duff and fat-soaked twigs and artful breathing, he got the fire restarted, after which he was very pleased with himself. In the cloudy dusk they settled in around their fire, their nook of trees again reinforced by Elga into walls of brush and snow. And between them they had gathered a tall stack of firewood.
It should have been a good moment. No one would be able to cross the river behind them, not for a fortnight for sure, and maybe not until late in the summer. So they had escaped the ice men, barring a twist of fate in which the northers took a completely different route to this same spot. That was so unlikely that it was not worth worrying about. So it was quite an accomplishment, outrunning such determined hunters. They should have been proud. And their fire was bright in the gloom.
But they had so little food. And it was still snowing.
They took account of what they had. Thorn had a nearly full bag of nuts, and he counted out a few for each of them, and passed around his water bag. They ate slowly as they dried themselves by the fire. They were quite wet, so that took a while. Loon had not even completed drying his things when he began falling asleep beyond any ability to fight it off. He gave up and lay on the snow just outside their fire ring, curled to stay as wrapped in his hide as he could. He was just barely aware that Elga was doing the same next to him.
Through the night he slept hard, only waking when cold air poured in some gap in his wrap and chilled part of him. He would shift, pull the hide closer, check the fire, throw a branch on if one was needed, then tuck his chin on his chest and fall asleep again. It kept snowing through the night, so it never got too cold.
In the morning they woke and stirred as soon as it was light. It was still snowing, and had become windier again. Even in the dim light it was obvious to Loon how gaunt his companions had become, and he supposed he looked the same; he could feel hunger pinching the inside of his backbone, making him weak and light-headed.
They sat up, added branches to the fire, drank water, regarded their remaining f
ood, placed on a cleared stone next to the fire for their inspection. There wasn’t much. Nuts, dried meat, honey seedcake. Thorn heaved a heavy sigh as he regarded it, and took out his sharpest blade and began to cut very thin strips from the edge of his butt patch, lengths like the cords he had used to sew Elga’s clothes. Leather and fur: not an appetizing meal. But he handed strings to each of them, and started chewing one of his own. One nut, a bite of dried meat, a piece of leather and fur. Biting off the leather was hard. One chewed the leather for a long time before swallowing it.
The snow continued to fall, hissing into the fire. The renewed wind called up the choruses of trees on the slopes around them. It was not a good day to travel. Possibly they could dig up some roots to eat, if they spent the day foraging under the blanket of new snow. And they had a good bed of embers here. So it seemed like they should hunker down and wait another day, and Loon watched Thorn apprehensively as Thorn went out to take a look. But the moment he left their little knot of trees, three enormous claps of thunder broke, booming from ridge to ridge overhead, as if some river above the clouds were experiencing its own great break-up.
Thorn still had the spirit to smile a little as he ducked back into their camp.—I guess we’re supposed to stay here today. Let’s gather more wood, and see if we can find anything to eat.
Sixth month after a bad spring: one of the worst times for foraging. A time of starvation and drowning in snowmelt. Well, that meant they might be able to scratch up some dead little creatures. It was easier to face that kind of foraging than another day of walking.
So they spent the day making short excursions out into the storm, bringing back more firewood after scratching around with sticks looking for things to eat. They kept the fire big. At one point in the afternoon, feeling weak with hunger, plopping down by the fire to recover from a bout of light-headedness, Loon again said to Thorn,—Do you know where we are?