Sunchaser flared his nostrils for any scent of camp fire or bear. Of all the creatures that inhabited the coast, the short-faced bear terrified him the most. It was swift, agile and ferocious, and, when walking on all fours, it stood taller than a man. When it raised up on its hind legs, it towered more than twice a man’s height. The numbers of short-faced bears had dwindled since he’d been a little boy. He hadn’t seen one in nine or ten moons, but just to make certain, he sniffed the air again. Only the sweet, tangy fragrance of cypress mixed with sea met his efforts.
As he walked toward the outcrop, the pines became clearer, growing straight up out of the rocks. Four of them. Their limbs swept back, away from the face of Mother Ocean, like long hair blowing in the wind. Their roots, like clutching fingers, curled down around the boulders and snaked out across them until they could bury themselves in the moist soil. In among the tangle of roots lay the anthills.
Helper stood on the far side, using his front paws to demolish the largest anthill. Din flew out behind him. When Sunchaser neared, the dog lifted its dirty muzzle and barked.
“So you found them, did you?”
Helper wagged his tail, the action spraying loose hair.
“Well, let’s get busy. We’ll have a nice warm fire in the rock shelter.”
Sunchaser scratched Helper’s now-naked ears and knelt to examine the anthills. No ants roamed the surfaces. The cold must have driven them deep into their tunnels. It had been unnaturally cold, as though Sister North Wind had turned against them and begun to blow air directly from the land
of the Ice Ghosts down upon them. He sighed and removed the pack tied around his waist. Placing it on the ground, he unlaced it, then removed an elk scapula and a small, lidded basket, made for him by a woman at Whalebeard Village. He set the basket aside. The heavy scapula felt good in his hands. He began shoveling out the anthill, which Helper had Already dug down to ground level.
Helper stretched out on his stomach and watched the process with keen interest. His mange had worsened. A patch of hair three hands wide had fallen from his left side, revealing the black-spotted pink skin beneath.
Sunchaser had dug a hole six hands deep before he saw the first ants: two winged males and a winged female. Sunlight filtered through the fog like a pale reflection of itself, glittering on their yellow bodies.
Sunchaser carefully plucked out the winged ants and set them near the base of the rocks, where they could crawl into the cracks for safety. Only winged ants mated. These would bring new life to the forests. The female would become a queen, if she lived, and the males would die.
Deeper into the hill, he struck a layer of wingless females. These gathered food and tended the eggs. He and the other Talth members monitored ants with exacting patience, charting their life cycles, watching them fight, kill and drag food and touch one another with a gentleness that rivaled that of humans. Some of the workers would live to be five or six cycles old, he knew, while the queens could survive for as long as fifteen cycles.
The ant workers moved slowly in the cold. Sunchaser picked up his basket and shoveled about three dozen of them into it, then clapped the lid on before any could escape. He slipped the basket and scapula into his pack, re laced it and rose.
Helper rose, too, his ears pricked. Worry brimmed in the dog’s dark eyes.
“It’s all right, Helper. I’ve done this before. The Ant Ordeal is the first that initiates into the Talth learn. But I
understand your concern,” he said as he started back the way they had come. Moist sand squished beneath his moccasins. “I haven’t needed ants to help me Dream in a long time.”
Helper padded by his side, looking up as though for the rest of the story.
Sunchaser shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. When I was a boy, the Dreams came effortlessly, and with frightening Power. Then, in the past moon…”
The dog trotted along in silence.
“What’s wrong with me, Helper? Why can’t I Dream anymore? I pray that the ants will help.”
Sunchaser gazed westward. Over the ocean, the fog bank glittered with a yellowish hue. He couldn’t see the border to the Land of the Dead, but he could imagine it, deep blue melting into lighter blue, clouds drifting above. Softly, he prayed, “Please, Wolfdreamer. Help me. I must Dream again.” Helper abruptly broke into a run, and, like a dart, shot down the trail toward the rock shelter.
“Helper? Helper! What’s wrong?”
The dog disappeared into the swirling fog. But Sunchaser heard him whimper and bark. Then he was quiet.
Sunchaser began to trot along the edge of the cliff, straining his ears. Waves crashed below; the tide was coming in, filling the rocky pools of brightly colored anemones, snails and hermit crabs. In the air, sea gulls squawked and squealed, and, high above him, he heard a condor cry.