The Wolf Tree (28 page)

“What is that?” she wondered. “Is it a buffalo?”

“Ain’t no buffalo left,” Hethy murmured. She squinted and then looked at Sally with tight, fearful eyes. “I’d swear that’s a wolf.”

“Can’t be a wolf,” Sally said. “It’s too big. Besides, you said all the wolves are gone from the prairie.”

The creature was loping at a steady pace and then disappeared in a dip in the prairie. But in that last moment before it was gone from sight, Sally knew Hethy was right. Those ears. That tail. It was a wolf, but enormous and monstrous.

Hethy looked at Sally, worry tensing her mouth. “You reckon it’s following us?”

“No,” Sally said, hoping that if her voice sounded brave it would make the two girls brave in turn. “Why would it be following us?”

She looked back once more before walking on. But nothing was there.

17
LONE WOLF

A
S THE GIRLS CONTINUED THE NEXT MORNING, THEIR
eyes constantly scanned the prairie for the animal. The last two pieces of dried meat made a paltry lunch, and without wood for a fire, they had no way to cook the beans.

“How long do you think we can go without eating, Yote?” Hethy asked.

“A while, I think,” Sally replied. “If we have water, and there’s plenty of creeks and ponds and such out here. We’ll be okay a little longer.”

“But we’ve got a lot of walking to do, and I’m hungry already.”

“Me too. Don’t think about it.”

Hethy walked silently for a time. Then she huffed, “If I don’t, I start thinking on that wolf or whatever that big thing was.”

“Don’t think about him either.”

“I can’t help it. Hey! Ain’t those trees ahead?”

The girls ran across the plains, the tips of green branches growing larger as they came over several more rises. Soon they reached a shallow river, with a thin band of cedars and cottonwoods running along the banks.

Exuberant at finding wood, the girls threw down their packs, broke off dead limbs, and lit a fire. Hethy quickly cooked the remaining beans, and, almost as quickly, the girls ate them, their stomachs growing full and content.

The girls sat in the tall prairie at the edge of the trees to rest before setting off. Sally worked on lacing together prairie sunflowers and prickly poppies into a necklace, while Hethy ran her ashen-gray finger along the worn stitching on her shoe.

“Yote,” Hethy said.

“Hmm.”

“What do you think’s going to happen when you find your daddy?”

Sally didn’t look up from the flowers. “Well, if I can figure out how to get into the Gloaming …”

“Sure, if you can do that,” Hethy said.

Sally continued lacing together the flowers. “He’ll help Ray destroy the Machine.”

“But what then?” Hethy asked.

Sally shrugged. “We’ll go back to Shuckstack.”

Hethy looked up from her shoes. “You think Mister Nel would let me live with you all at Shuckstack?”

Sally smiled. “Oh, you know he will.” But then she saw
that Hethy actually had been worrying about this. Hethy had lost her only living relative and had no home left. Sally had a home, and she was looking for her father. She had so much to be happy about and hopeful for. But Hethy did not.

She tied off the end of her flower necklace and put it over Hethy’s neck. “Don’t you worry, Hethy Smith. You’re coming back with me to Shuckstack. You’re going to like it there, with Si and Buck and all the others. You’ll just love them.” Sally laughed with remembrance and said, “Once, when Ray was off learning from some root doctor up in Virginia, I went out with Rosemary and Oliver to pick dewberries—”

Hethy squeezed Sally’s hand with a painful clutch, her eyes locked on the opposite side of the river.

“What is it?” Sally asked, swiveling her head around.

“Over there.” Hethy pointed. “What’s on that other bank?”

Through the thin wall of trees on the other side, Sally could see the dark form lying on the earth.

“It ain’t moving,” Hethy said.

“Come on,” Sally said nervously. “Let’s go see.”

The girls scrambled down the embankment and took off their shoes to wade across the river. As they came out on the other side, they laced back up their shoes and peered up over the edge of the embankment.

Several yards beyond the trees, the tall grass had been trampled and torn up in a wide swath. In places, the prairie earth was laid bare, exposed and torn apart in clumps. Blood darkened the ground in spots.

A wolf lay in the center, motionless and toppled to one
side. Its fur was silver, with highlights that looked nearly blue where the sun reflected from its coat. Black blood, crusted and tar-like, covered much of its hide and face, and its tongue hung limply from its scarred jaws in the dirt.

“It’s that wolf we seen,” Hethy said.

“He’s huge!” Sally gasped. “I had no idea wolves got that big.”

“I don’t think they do.”

“Is he dead?” Sally asked.

“Must be,” Hethy said. “Something done him bad.”

Sally pulled Hethy by the hand as they ascended the bank and walked over to the edge of the circle of trampled grass several yards from the dead monster.

“What do you think done that to him?” Hethy asked.

Sally squinted her eyes at the bare earth around the wolf’s body. “There are prints. Let’s go a little closer and look.”

“That ain’t a good idea,” Hethy said.

“We’d better know what got him so we can watch out for it,” Sally said, taking a few cautious steps forward.

“Come on, Yote,” Hethy pleaded, but she followed Sally as she crept near the wolf’s body. His skin was torn across his hip and at his neck. One ear had been nearly severed. Little streams of blood still ran, but most had congealed into thick black blobs matted into his fur. He had older scars, too, healed but crisscrossing his hide as if from a hundred past battles.

Sally knelt to touch a hand to the dirt. Prints covered the area. Whatever had happened, it had been an awful fight. Claws had kicked away clumps of earth as big as her head.
She scanned the mangled earth until she found the clear imprint of a paw. “I see a print here,” Sally said. “Come over and look and tell me if you recognize it.”

“I ain’t coming no closer,” Hethy said.

“Why? He’s dead—”

The wolf convulsed, his eyes opening and his snout swinging toward Sally.
“Toninyan!”
he uttered weakly, his eyes glazed with pain. “Where—is—
Toninyan?”

The girls leaped back, but the wolf had dropped his head heavily to the ground again and closed his eyes.

“What did he say?” Sally gasped, scrambling back with Hethy to watch the wolf from the tall grass.

“So he
did
speak?” Hethy murmured. “I about thought I lost my wits. Come on, Yote. We got to go!”

“But he’s still alive,” Sally said.

“He’s dying, and there’s nought to do but get away before he decides he wants a last meal.”

Sally stared at the wolf. His sides were heaving with breath and he drew his tongue back in his mouth. Sally took the
Incunabula
from her rucksack and began feverishly flipping pages.

“What’re you doing?” Hethy asked.

“We could help him,” Sally said. “We could save him before he dies.”

“Why do you want to save a wolf? He looks crazy.”

Sally looked up from the page. “Why in the world would you think he’s crazy?”

With an earnest knit to her brow, Hethy replied, “Well, a
wolf starts speaking, he must have gone crazy. He ain’t safe. Don’t make no sense trying to save him.”

“Look at him, Hethy. That’s no ordinary wolf. He can speak. We’d help him if he were an injured man.”

“What? You’re crazy now, too?”

Sally leaned forward. “Wolf. Can you hear me?”

His eyes opened and rolled around in their sockets before closing again.

“We can help you. Are you dangerous?”

Hethy hit Sally in the arm. “Like he’s going to tell us the truth.”

Sally rounded on her. “Look, behold him or whatever it is you do. You can see the truth in him, can’t you?”

Hethy considered this. “All right. I’ll try.” She closed her eyes and after a time, a startled expression came over her face and she opened her eyes.

“What? What is it?” Sally asked.

“He ain’t a wolf. You’re right about that. And he turned into this wolf, but I can’t tell if he’s really a man. Seems like he is and he ain’t at the same time. I don’t quite understand what I seen. But he’s good. He’s got a good heart.”

“Maybe he’s under an enchantment,” Sally said. “Like in ‘Snow White and Rose Red.’”

“Ain’t never heard of it,” Hethy said.

“The point is he needs our help. We should heal him.”

Hethy looked anxious, but said, “If that’s what you want to do.”

“Thank you,” Sally said, throwing her arms around her
friend. “Okay, the
Incunabula
says what herbs we need, but I don’t know if they grow out here. Would you recognize them?”

“Maybe,” Hethy said. “Granny Sip sent me out to gather for charms. I know a few of these prairie flowers and such.”

“Take a look then,” Sally said, turning the book around so Hethy could read it.

After a moment, she said, “All right. Some of these is out here.”

“Do you know how to use them?”

“Ain’t your book teach you that?” Hethy asked.

“It just says what herbs to use, not how to heal.”

Hethy sniffed. “I seen Granny Sip set some poultices. I can do it good enough, I reckon. Come on.”

Hethy led Sally away, collecting yarrow and wild indigo as they went. When they returned, Hethy said, “We got to heat water. You go fetch some wood back at those trees, and I’ll start getting these herbs ready.”

Soon there was a roaring fire with a pot of water warming. As Hethy worked, she said, “We’ve got to clean him up first. You reckon you’re up for that?”

“Okay,” Sally said reluctantly.

Hethy gave an encouraging nod toward the wolf just a few feet away. Before Sally moved over, Hethy added, “If he bites your hand off, I don’t reckon I can heal that.”

Sally crouched before the wolf, keeping a safe distance. “Can you hear me?”

The wolf opened his eyes but did not reply. His eyes were a silver-blue, almost the same as his scar-covered coat. There was an intense intelligence within those humanlike eyes.

“I’m going to try to clean this blood off of you. My friend, she’s putting together something that will heal. We’re going to try to help you.”

“Go away,” the wolf said in a low voice.

“Will you hurt me if I wash your wounds?”

The wolf closed his eyes. Sally took this as acceptance, hoping she was not wrong. She tore a strip from her blanket and, pouring water onto the wolf’s haunch, began to gingerly wipe away the blood and gore. The wolf did not try to stop her, but after a time opened his eyes again and said in a weak voice, “No purpose.”

“What?” Sally asked.

He lifted his nose a fraction. “No purpose in helping me.”

“Why is that?” But the wolf just closed his eyes and fell back asleep.

When Sally had finished cleaning the wounds on one side, she woke the wolf with a gentle prod. “Can you turn over? So I can clean your other side.”

“They will only kill me. What good is being cleaned before your death?”

“Who will kill you? Who did this to you?”

“My pack.”

Hethy looked up anxiously from the simmering pot. “There’re others like you?”

The wolf was silent, but then said, “They will not come back yet. They left me for dead.”

“Then turn over,” Sally commanded in her small voice.

The wolf let out a low growl, struggled to his feet, and fell over the other way.

“Thank you,” Sally sighed. The wolf said nothing.

Hethy brought over the herbs, crushed and soaking in the hot water. It was sunset before Sally finished, and the girls worked into the night, placing the compounds into his wounds and pulling his torn hide back into place. When they had finished, Hethy whispered, “I’m bone tired, Yote. Don’t like sleeping here next to this wolf, but I’m too tired to go nowhere else.”

“He won’t hurt us,” Sally said, looking at the wolf, who twitched with fretful dreams. “Let’s sleep.”