The Wolf Tree (11 page)

“I understand things in the
Incunabula
, Mister Nel. You know I do! Like the Gertrude’s Diadem that helped Si. I can make this Elemental Rose work. I’m sure of it.”

“Okay,” Nel said, the wrinkles around his eyes relaxing. “Let’s see if we can figure it out on the way.”

7
THE RETURN

L
EADING
N
EL AND
S
ALLY
, D
MITRY REACHED THE RIDGELINE
, where the sun was bright but the air was still cool and the trees were not yet budding with leaves. Out of breath from the steep climb, Nel settled onto a rock and massaged his knee above the wooden leg.

“It’s good to be out this far again after the winter,” Nel said with a smile, wiping his forehead with a kerchief and settling his fez back on his head.

Sally rested beside him, putting down her rucksack. Inside, among her change of clothes and her share of the food, she carried
The Incunabula of Wandering
and the tin of brimstone. In the front pocket of her dress lay the rabbit’s foot.

“Have you thought any more about the other objects for the Elemental Rose?” Sally asked.

Dmitry turned curiously, his blond eyebrows looking white against his face. “What are you talking about?”

Nel drank from his canteen before handing it to Dmitry. “It seems Miss Sally has yet to mention to you that we are on a hunt of sorts.”

“A hunt?” Dmitry asked. “What are we hunting?”

Sally explained about the Elemental Rose and about the clues to the objects they needed. Dmitry seemed to grasp the idea right away and said, “Well, if the east one needs to be something red that symbolizes air, that’s easy enough.”

Getting back up to set off again, Nel asked, “What’s your revelation, my boy?”

The three headed along the gentler slope of the ridgeline. “A feather.” Dmitry chuckled. “That represents air, right? All we need is a red feather. From a cardinal, maybe.”

“Yes!” Sally said excitedly. “Where can we find one?”

“Cardinals are all over these woods,” Dmitry answered. “But I’m not sure how we’ll get one of their feathers. I suppose I could catch one.”

Sally winced. “You mean kill it?”

“Well, maybe not. We could try to just pluck one out and let it go.”

Nel grunted. “Let’s just keep an eye out for a fallen feather on the ground. How’s that?”

As they followed the ridge for a time, they bantered back and forth ideas for the remaining two objects.

“White could be a quartz crystal?” Dmitry tried.

“No,” Nel said. “That’s white, but I don’t see that it represents water.”

“Quartz looks like ice sometimes.”

“Still, I’m not sure that’s it. Quartz seems more to represent earth.”

“What about coal? That’s in the earth and that’s black.”

“True, but coal burns, which makes it more like fire.”

They went on and on like this, until Nel asked, “Will we join young Mattias tonight?”

“No, by tomorrow,” Dmitry said. “I know a great campsite for tonight. Great views of High Rocks. We’ll get a nice fire and I brought some yams from the root cellar to roast….”

Nel stopped. Dmitry and Sally turned. “What is it, Mister Nel?” Dmitry asked.

“Hush a moment. Your mention of the root cellar gave me an idea. Let me think.” Nel clapped his hand over his mouth, tapping one finger to his cheek. He murmured, “Roots … yes, that might be it. For the element earth. The west. See, children, these four colors, they were not just randomly chosen. Many tribes see these colors—white, black, red, and yellow—as important colors that draw on the powers of the four directions. Black and the west are the way of war. They represent might and strength. A root of the earth that gives strength …”

“Would the root have to be black?” Sally asked.

“Ah!” Nel barked, lifting a finger. “Yes, I think I have it. Charms that bestow strength often require Black Sampson root.”

Dmitry jumped. “That’s like a snakeroot, right? With those purple flowers?”

“Yes, lad,” Nel said. “You’ve seen them?”

“They’re not in bloom yet, but just ahead there’s a bald. Mattias and I saw them growing all over it last fall. Come on.”

Sally and Nel hurried to follow Dmitry. In less than half an hour’s time, the trees broke and they reached a boulder-studded clearing of brown winter grass. A hawk cried out, and Sally turned to spot him riding on the breeze.

“Look for the shoots,” Nel said. “Do you know what they look like, Dmitry?”

“I think so.” Dmitry moved out across the bald, searching.

Bent forward, Nel walked around, pushing back the dead grass to expose the tiny plants coming back to life. After a few moments, Nel squatted, opened a pocketknife, and began prying the blade in the earth. The green shoot at the top was barely an inch tall, with only a couple of small leaves, but as he shook the loose dirt from the base, he showed Sally the tangle of dark roots.

“Black Sampson root.” Nel smiled at Sally as he folded up the knife.

“Thank you, Mister Nel!”

“Dmitry!” Nel called. “We found it, my boy. You can come back.”

As Sally put the root in her rucksack with the tin of brimstone, Nel called again, “Dmitry! What are you doing, lad?”

Sally turned to see Dmitry climbing up into a twisted pine tree growing at the edge of the bald. As she and Nel ran
toward the tree, Dmitry shouted. Something was attacking him in the branches. There was a squawk and a flurry of beating wings and Dmitry jumped from the limb to tumble to the ground.

A bird swooped down, and Sally saw Dmitry bat at the bird as he ran to Nel and Sally. The bird dove one more time, striking Dmitry on the top of his head before circling back to the tree.

Out of breath and with a trickle of blood coming down from his hairline, Dmitry collapsed at their feet.

“Are you okay?” Nel asked, running his hands through Dmitry’s yellow-white hair to inspect the wound. “Just a scratch. What was that?”

“A hawk,” Dmitry panted. “I saw her land in a tree and I realized she had a nest there.”

Nel frowned. “What in the world were you doing climbing up to a hawk’s nest?”

Dmitry opened his hand. He held three bright red feathers. “I figured if she was feeding her chicks, there might be some bird carcass. Hawks catch cardinals all the time. There you go, Sally.”

Sitting on a boulder in the clearing, Nel doctored up Dmitry’s head. Sally had the
Incunabula
open in her lap, looking for anything to do with water that might help figure out the last object.

“Give it up,” Dmitry said. “It’ll be dark in a few hours. I don’t think we’ll find that last one tonight.”

“But we’ve almost got them all!”

Nel dabbed the last of the ointment on Dmitry’s head. “I think he’s right. We’ve had a successful day, and aside from young Dmitry being attacked, we should count ourselves fortunate and enjoy a fire at our campsite.”

Sally ignored them. “White … white … What’s something white that could be water? Water …” She stood quickly and caught the
Incunabula
as it fell from her lap. “Water! Mister Nel, what’s the name of that Cherokee elder who Redfeather is visiting?”

“Water Spider.” Nel’s brow twisted.

“Why is his name Water Spider?” Sally asked.

Nel said, “It’s a type of spider that lives around ponds. But also to the Cherokee, Water Spider is a spirit that brings gifts to their people. I think it comes from the belief that spiders descending from their webs are like spirits bringing down great boons from the heavens like rain….”

Sally’s eyes sparkled. “So could—”

“Yes!” Nel bellowed. “Yes, I think you’ve discovered it.”

“What?” Dmitry asked. “I don’t understand.”

“Like showers of rain falling from above, spiderwebs are connected with the gifts of water falling on fields.” Nel clapped his hands. “A spiderweb. It’s white. Spiders are associated with rain. That’s the last one.”

The excitement fell from Sally’s expression. “But where will we find a spiderweb? It’s still too early in spring. There aren’t any spiders out.”

Nel struggled for a solution. “Yes … but … well, we could …” Then he sighed. “I think we might be about a month or so too early.”

“No, we have to find it. Can’t there be any around?”

Nel tapped his hand gently on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Sally dear. But we won’t locate—”

“Actually, I think I know where we might find a cobweb,” Dmitry said.

“Where?” Nel asked skeptically. “There are no webs this early in the season. Any from last year are blown away by the winds.”

“Not all the webs,” Dmitry said. “The webs that catch flying bugs are all gone, but not the ones that catch the crawlers. Under rocks and old logs and such. Those kinds of webs are still around. But …”

“But what?” Sally asked.

“But …” Dmitry’s mouth tightened. “You never know what kind of spider it is. More often than not … it’s a black widow. I can find us one, easy enough. But I’ve already risked my neck … er, scalp once today. I’m not up for sticking my hand in some black widow’s den.”

Nel frowned. Sally pulled her hand protectively to her throat.

Dmitry looked back and forth between them. “How bad do you need that spiderweb?”

“Desperately bad,” Sally said.

Dmitry stood. “Well, then the good news is the spiders die in the wintertime. And their eggs probably haven’t hatched yet since it’s still so cold. Probably. If you want that web, chances are, you’ll be okay. You willing to try?”

“Yes,” Sally said hesitantly.

“Then come on.”

Dmitry led them across the bald and back into the forest. After he had searched in the shadowy crevices beneath the boulders and rotting logs, he called, “Found one!”

He was squatting, his face nearly to the ground, peering under a boulder. One edge jutted out in an overhanging slab of granite. He pointed. “I see a bit of the web from here.” He handed Sally a stick. “Just poke this in and twirl it around to collect the web.”

Sally took the stick from him. Nel perched over her, his hands on his knees. Sally lay flat on the ground, feeling the bulge of the rabbit’s foot in her dress pocket pressing against her stomach. She slowly extended the stick under the boulder. She had trouble seeing the web, but as her eyes adjusted, she spied a little bit of white in the shadows of the crevice. Her knuckles scraped along the rock, her fingers pushing through dirt and old leaves. She wouldn’t get bit by a black widow, she told herself over and over. It was still too cold.

Sally circled her hand around to gather the web on her stick. When she thought she had gotten it, she pulled her hand back out from under the boulder. As the stick emerged, she saw the end of the stick covered in the wooly cluster of spiderweb.

“Great, Sally!” Dmitry gasped.

Nel whistled and stood upright, squeezing Sally around the shoulder. Sally brought the stick over to her rucksack, but before she got there, Dmitry said, “Uh, Sally. What’s that on your sleeve?”

Dmitry and Nel leaned in close together to look at Sally’s arm and then jerked back together.

“What is it?” Sally asked, turning her arm to inspect. Dirt and bits of leaves and such had collected on the cuff of her sleeve. But as Sally looked closer, she realized there were tiny movements as well.

“I think those are baby spiders!” Dmitry danced a frantic step.

Sally screamed, throwing the stick in the air and batting at her arm as if it were on fire. Dmitry and Nel circled around her, trying to calm her and help brush the minuscule spiders from her clothes.

After a few minutes’ work where Sally insisted on inspecting and reinspecting every inch of her arm, sleeve, and dress for any signs of crawling, the three settled back down.

“I don’t think the babies can hurt you anyway,” Dmitry laughed, trying to reassure her.

“Quit talking about them!” Sally shivered as she went over to pick back up the stick. She looked closely at the web to make sure there were no baby spiders in the silky mass. Feeling certain it was spider-free, she took the web from the stick, rolled it into a ball, and placed it in her rucksack with the feathers, the root, and the tin of brimstone.