JOURNEY TO THE MIDNIGHT SUN
James Sheldon
LOVE CONQUERS ALL
Book 1 of 3
Chapter 27
The following day saw our travelers continuing north on the River Montreal. Snow fell steadily, but at least the wind did not have the open expanse of a big river or lake on which to build and become intolerable. Shortly after noon, they arrived at the old river crossing. Eighteen clan members had died there when, as we already know, a tumbling wave filled with debris overtook them.
A memorial along the shore was made of boulders and stones in the shape of a pyramid. Nine feet tall, it stood at the center of a small man-made clearing, which, despite being overgrown, had its own beauty—a natural garden blanketed in snow.
First ashore, Jessie stood between river and clearing with spear in hand. John, being the family’s rear guard, came along last. Emma, having waited until all were together, gathered them before the memorial with heads bowed. She then spoke words honoring the dead, and asked the Great Spirit to watch over and protect the living on the path ahead.
“Hopefully, this will not be too difficult,” said Emma, looking to a derelict trail that vanished into the forest, by which the family hoped to reach the Lake of the Swans.
“At least we had no cutbank to climb,” said John, referring to how the river’s bank had no incline, but lay flat due to the changed geology of the region.
“Makes for a good start anyway,” Cody added, standing alongside the giant.
Before getting started, John chopped a hole in the river ice, and Laureal handed out brownie-sized cakes of pemmican. Family members stuffed extra into their pouches to gnaw on the forest trail ahead. Each human took a drink from one of the water bags, which were then refilled and returned to the packsaddle where they wouldn’t freeze. Ellie took a long drink, as did the dogs.
“This isn’t much of a path,” said Laureal, looking to the way ahead. Together with her mother at the front, neither could know they were looking at the once-famous Can-Am Highway.
Presently an animal trail, the path passed through a stand of aspens before vanishing in a dense mix of pine, spruce, tamarack, poplar, birch, and alder—a relatively new forest grown up in place of the forest that burned decades before, the demise of which had contributed to the deadly flood. The new forest, a mishmash of trees battling for light, stood draped in white. Blackened trunks, remnants of the old-growth forest, rose here and there above the snowy canopy like charred grave markers against an overcast sky—a fitting sight, as according to rumors and stories born in the aftermath of disaster, the place was haunted.
That she may help her mother clear trail, Laureal went to get a hatchet from the sled. And pausing there in curiosity, she stepped to the shoreline to look downriver one last time where, as she had hoped, Waya stood only a stone’s throw behind.
“She’s staying closer today,” said John, coming alongside.
“It would appear,” Laureal began, turning her eyes to his, “that our rear guard has acquired an assistant.”
“I hope that’s the case,” putting his arm around her, “because from the looks of her, even big Yike must have trembled when first he saw her…that is, even as he turned backflips.”
“John,” laughing, “sometimes you can be so funny.”
“Laureal,” Jessie’s voice came calling, “I need your help up here.”
Proceeding a stone’s throw into the forest, Laureal scanned for a trace of trail. Never had she or her little brother been beyond the memorial, and presently, losing all indication of a path, she turned to her mother with concern—
“Mom.”
“I haven’t been this way since before you were born.”
“I thought Cory said the trail was viable?”
“You know how Cory was. He could bust a trail like nobody’s business, but he wasn’t the world’s greatest communicator.”
“Mom, how are we supposed to get through this?”
Without a path, the woodland appeared an impenetrable wall of snow perforated with dark openings, none of which appeared open for travel.
“John,” Laureal called, “we have a problem.”
John hadn’t taken two steps past Emma when the Matriarch said, “John.”
“Yes,” turning around.
“Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”
“Always.” He then continued to the front where a single glance told the tale—there was no trail. Thus, looking here and there, he made his way into the woods. He returned several minutes later, shaking his head, “Damn.”
“John, how many times do I have to ask you?”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry, but this ain’t good.”
“Can we get through?” Cody asked.
“Only if we’re willing to cut a trail.”
Laureal looked from John to Jessie, “Surely it’s not this thick all the way to the lake?”
“I would hope not,” Jessie replied, herself having made the trip as a young woman of Laureal’s age, before the disaster of the river crossing. In those days, the trail had been good, stretching about 35 miles to the lake’s southwest shore.
John looked to Emma, “Is there another way?”
“Well, providing we can find it, this path is a straight shot to the lake,” Emma replied.” Otherwise, there are waterways to the north and south. To the north, the river continues from here, winding and curving before turning east to eventually make its way to the northern tip of the lake. It would cost us many extra days of travel. To our southeast, there’s a small stream that also leads to the lake. The problem is, it winds like a piece of thread picked up and thrown down by the wind. And the terrain there is unfavorable. By its course, every stone’s throw would be multiplied by three or more.”
“Rugged hills lie beyond that stream,” Jessie added. “They stretch south to our summer hunting grounds. Our only option would be to go around them, and that would be an undertaking.”
“That would put us out in this cold for another moon,” Mia asserted.
“Yes, I know. I didn’t mean to imply we could do that. We would have to hold up at our summer home and then depart after the spring thaw.”
Mia turned to Emma, “We would miss our prospects.”
“But we would be there when they returned,” Laureal put in optimistically.
“That’s true, dear,” Jessie began, “but in that case, their impression of us might be very different. If we arrive late and therefore can only get a poor location with little time to build better than a paltry camp, and all the while we’re expecting to net big fish…who then could blame anyone for seeing us as the sort of people that expect to get something for nothing.”
“Mom, I’m just looking at our options. The summer crowd that Grandmother spoke of would be there, too. Surely there would be single men. I would think some reasonably decent ones around your age.”
“Laureal,” Mia cut in, somewhat annoyed, “you’re not the one looking for a man.”
“I say we continue with Grandmother’s plan,” said Cody, throwing his two cents in.
Emma turned to John, “Do you think we can get through this?”
“We can give it a shot.”
“Mia, what say you?”
“I have not come through snow and ice to get a ‘reasonably decent’ husband,” shooting a look at Laureal.
“Laureal, what say you?”
“I was only trying to be helpful, Mom. You know, look at all our options.” Then, feeling somewhat offended, she looked at Mia, “If this was all about me and I could have what I wanted, then John and I would return to our summer home. We would sell the glass treasure, build our house, and buy horses.” And having gotten somewhat worked up, she added, “And I couldn’t imagine a better life! But this isn’t about me!”
“Is that a yes or a no?” Jessie asked pointedly.
“It’s a yes, Mother!” And turning to John as if to assign some measure of blame, “You have the compass…darling.”
Struck by their determination and more than a little concerned, John worried particularly for Emma, who, being up in her years, suffered most from the wear and tear of their endeavor even as she hid it in a seemingly bottomless well of determination—
“Perhaps,” he began, “we should camp here and sleep on it. Then come morning, we can decide.”
“How about we give it a try now,” Emma proposed. “And come morning, we can decide based on our experience today.”
“Very well. Do you mind taking the rear guard position?”
“Whatever it takes.”
Handing his rifle to Emma, John turned to Jessie and Mia, “If you would manage the sled, Laureal and I will break trail.”
Based on the charts that he and Emma had drawn back at the family’s winter home, John assumed the lake to be northeast of their current location. Thus, turning to his wife, he laid out a plan, “I will use my compass to indicate our course, and based on that, we will look for the path of least resistance. You will knock snow away with your spear, and I will cut branches behind you. And when you aren’t knocking snow down, you can help me cut branches.”
Turning to Cody, John continued, “If Laureal and I leave a few branches lying on the path, pick them up and move them aside as you lead Ellie.”
The Seeker reached into his pouch and brought out his compass. Cased in brass and resembling a locket, its lid bore the insignia of his Order.
“We might have five days of this ahead of us,” speaking as he oriented himself, “that is, if we decide to continue.” Then pocketing the compass, he fetched his hatchet, which, as we already know, qualified as a small ax.
Everyone took their positions, whereupon the horseman, standing alongside his wife at the front, pointed his hatchet and said, “We need to go that way.”
Laureal, who had picked up a favorable stick, threw it end over end like a tomahawk. It landed in the trees not a stone’s throw before them, and the ensuing chain reaction ended in a cloud of snow dust, rapidly dissipating to reveal a snow-free patch in the forest.
Pleasantly surprised, John turned to Laureal, “That was clever!”
“When we were kids, we used to do this for fun. We learned where to throw our sticks to bring down the most snow.”`
“It wasn’t always fun,” Cody remarked from just a few paces behind. “Laureal threw a stick into a snow-bomb above me once. She did it intentionally. The snow came down and got in my windpipe. Cory had to carry me home.”
“And after Cody was safe in bed, Laureal took a trip with her father to the woodpile out back,” Emma remarked from behind the sled. And thinking back to it, she chucked even as she shook her head.
So it was with old recollections and new expectations that the family set out on a bushwhack where knocking down walls of snow only left more snow on the ground to plow through. Chopping what branches had to be chopped still left many to negotiate, and clearing away old dead branches still left more of the same buried under the snow to twist an ankle or throw the sled on its side. It was slow going, and they were not even a mile into it when Laureal paused before yet another fallen tree.
A victim of the fire, the old-growth pine lay on its side, its blackened trunk presently topped with snow, could easily last another hundred years before rotting away, due to heartwood rich in resin and tannin, along with the cold dry nature of the place.
“We’ll go over it,” said John, deciding it better for Ellie to go over the fallen tree than to go around it, albeit in most cases he would go around.
Laureal went over the log to clear ground on the opposite side while John used his hatchet to make a narrow flat atop the fallen trunk. Then laying his hatchet well aside, he turned to the business at hand.
“I can do it, John.”
“I know you can, Cody. But unless we want Ellie to jump, she is going to need help from both of us.”
Sophie poked her little head out, “Do you know what you’re doing?”
“I’m pretty sure I do. Although, I’ve never done this before.”
“Are you teasing me…again?”
“Yes, but only partly. I want you and Noah to hold tight to your box tops. That way, if Ellie jumps a little, you won’t bump your heads.”
Knowing the trunk was solid enough to hold Ellie’s great weight, John instructed Cody to stand opposite the trunk and directly in front of Ellie, even while prepared to step aside. Along with the horseman, the boy was to force his will upon the horse, calmly but firmly encouraging her to trust and stay put, thereby preventing her from jumping. Next, the horseman lifted one of the giant’s massive steel-cleated hooves as though to clean it, but instead, he placed it atop the log which, being eighteen inches in diameter, had a combined height of about 21 inches. The second hoof was the hard part, and John used his considerable strength to help Ellie lift her hoof up onto the log. From there, she carefully stepped down to the other side under John’s direction. The process was then repeated with her back hooves. Next, it was time to lift the front of the sled onto the log. John lifted on one side while Jessie and Mia lifted on the other. It was no light thing, but they got it elevated enough for Cody to edge Ellie forward, slowly bringing the curved runners up and onto the log. John then directed both Cody and Ellie to pull, slowly, while he and the women carefully guided the sled, sliding atop the log until it balanced like a teeter-totter. The family team then let the front end down as gently as possible. They then repeated the process on the back end, using care to prevent it from suddenly dropping and possibly cracking or breaking under its own weight.
“Perhaps in a day or two we won’t have to do this,” John remarked while retrieving his ax.
Meanwhile, Jessie had gone back over the log, “Mother, let me help you.”
Emma pulled her arm away, “It’s only a log, for goodness sake!”
Standing with Ellie’s lead rope in hand, Cody noted a large number of rabbit tracks, “There’s no shortage of hares in this place.”
“That’s because we’re near the river and a good supply of grass.
“Fisher cat tracks as well.”
“They’re drawn here by the hares.”
Continuing a mile deeper into the woods, Mia turned her eyes to a small opening in the canopy and did her best to read the heavy overcast, “Can’t say for sure, but I doubt we have two hours of light left.”
“Where did this day go?” Jessie asked redundantly. “These winter days are so short, it’s hard to get half of what one hopes done.”
“Maybe we should strike camp now?”
“We could set snares for hares.”
“Sounds like a plan. We’re going to have to snare them high, though. Otherwise, I doubt we’ll have anything left come morning, what with fishers-cats prowling about.”
John did not have to say more. Everyone knew the fisher cat’s reputation. Notorious cousins of the wolverines, they were not a threat to humans but a terror to all small forest animals.
So it was that the family struck camp (they had to clear a space due to the crowded nature of the forest). The day soon faded, leaving their campfire to illuminate only the surrounding branches like a candle’s flame in a starless pitch.
The surrounding wood came to life with the voices of night. It happened abruptly, the otherworldly scream of a fisher cat. Like the cry of a banshee, that ancient spirit of Gaelic folklore whose wail warns a family that one of them would soon perish. Then again, perhaps it was only the fisher cat’s ancient enemy the red fox, also known to scream like a woman being murdered in the night. Whatever it was, the hair-raising ruckus prompted a few barks from Weya. Not dog barks, but those half-barks particular to wolves, used to warn intruders away. This was followed by the hoots of an owl, after which all fell quiet, leaving one to wonder what had been said.
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