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People of the Nightland(164)

By:W. Michael Gear

The spruce gave way to willows as Kakala led the way down the sloping bank that led to Lake River. He pushed through the greening stems of willows, aware of the first mosquitoes that hummed up from the damp earth.

Summer would be coming, and with it, a plague of insects. Time was close when he’d need to brew a concoction of spruce, sticky geranium, and nightshade leaves to mix with grease. The concoction worked to keep the worst of the mosquitoes, bots, and black flies at bay.

But that was for another day, assuming they all lived that long. By pushing, they had reached the river, and just in time. He had seen the worry on Windwolf’s face as the weaker of the captives that dogged their path dropped behind. Now only three women remained with them. All Windwolf had managed to save.

Kakala stepped out onto the gravel shore. Was it his imagination, or was the river running higher? The normally wide channel should have been covered by interlaced snakes of current. When he had crossed no less than a moon past, there had been six distinct channels. Now there were four.

“I don’t know,” he muttered as the rest of them stepped out onto the rocky beach beside him. “Water’s up. Most of the stones in the ford are covered. Think we ought to make camp and try it in the morning?”

Skimmer fixed him with her oddly luminous eyes. “No. Karigi is right behind us.”

Kakala looked back at the willows, able to see the tips of the spruce rising above them. “You’re sure?”

“Trust her,” Windwolf said, as he wearily stretched his tired muscles. “Only a fool argues with a Dreamer. She may serve Raven Hunter, but he also serves his Dreamer.”

“We go,” Keresa decided, her attention on the river. “But if Karigi’s that close, we should take measures.”

“Wade up the current? Hide our trail?” Skimmer asked in a hollow voice. “No time.”

Kakala took matters into his own hands, picking his way through the rounded stones to the first channel. He splashed into the water, trying to remember where the shallow places were.

Cold leached through his moccasins, biting his tired feet. He stared at the water, reading the ripples of current, winding his way across the slippery bottom. The amount of silt in the water surprised him; it obscured the bottom, hiding the rocks he hoped to use for purchase.

Behind him, Skimmer, Kakala, Windwolf, and the rest followed behind.

“You know what you’re doing?” Windwolf called over the purling water.

“Of course,” he lied. “This was my main trail south. I had to cross this every time I made a raid.”

But the river hadn’t been running this high. He looked nervously upstream. Had a storm passed? But when? And why hadn’t he seen the distant clouds?

“The end of the world, War Chief,” Skimmer chided, her knowing eyes flashing. “We don’t have much time. You had best hurry.”

Kakala wadded onward, sloshing through the cold water, wincing as the current tried to pull his feet off the rounded rocks.

He was up to his thighs, fighting for purchase, as he studied the rushing water. What gave the current such added strength?

Slogging into shallows, he reached back, giving Skimmer a hand. Her skin was cool against his; her knowing smile as she met his eyes sent a curious calm through him.

What was it about her? He shook his head, making sure the rest climbed, dripping, onto one of the rocky islands. Even as he watched, the water seemed to be rising, creeping in around dry stones.

“Come on,” he ordered, almost trotting across the dry rock and wading into the next current.

Then he stopped, staring at the rocks. Yes, that black one. A gravel bank lay just to the west of it. He changed his course, splashing along upriver as he hurried.

“Look!” Windwolf shouted, pointing.

A tree came floating down the next channel, branches broken, roots rotating as the great pine rolled along with the river.

“One of those catches us, we’re gone,” Keresa reminded.

Kakala led them safely to the next narrow strip of dry riverbed. He thought he heard a faint shout over the sound of the river, and looked back. The willows they had just left remained empty, almost forlorn in appearance.

Kakala watched as one of the Sunpath women stumbled, went down, and scrambled for shore. She emerged wet to the bone, looking cowed and worried.

The great tree had been beached, water breaking around the roots where it had come to rest against a submerged rock.

“No time to waste,” Skimmer cried, wading into the next of the braided channels.

“No!” Kakala barked, pointing. “Over here. It’s shallower.”

He hurried forward, feeling the cold in his feet. Gods, they were already going numb! That’s when he noticed the first piece of ice. He took a second glance, seeing a thin band of gravel in it as it floated past. Glacial ice? Here? This river drained Loon Lake, and he could think of no glacial ice anywhere around the perimeter of Loon Lake.