Into the Wilderness
Page 165

By the late afternoon two things were clear: she should have saved the last of the dried meat, and there was a storm on the way. The constant drone and cackle of woodpeckers was replaced by the creaking of deadwood in the buffeting winds. In those rare spots where the sky showed itself it was as dark and unwelcoming as the swamp churning with threatening clouds. She had thought to be out by the time it was full dark, but light was dwindling with the first trembling thunder. Treenie's ears twitched and she let out a low whine.
"Yes, and I know how you are feeling," Elizabeth muttered. "But at least we are free of the black fly
The dog woofed at her dejectedly as the thunder rumbled again.  With every new flash of approaching light they moved faster. Elizabeth stumbled for the first time with the distinct crack of a tree being hit: catching her leggings on an up thrusted snarl of cedar roots, she stepped into a pool and sank immediately to the waist, her moccasins settling into the ooze at the bottom. While she disentangled herself she tried to remember what she knew about appropriate behavior in a thunderstorm. To be waist—deep in water, she feared, was almost as sensible as to stand under the lone tree on a grassy meadow.
The rain started just as she pulled herself to her feet. It crested and fell back in sudden jerking waves, cold against her heated cheeks. Treenie stood regarding her with a very clear brand of canine panic on her face while she tried to scrape the worst of the mud from her feet.
"You are a terrible coward," Elizabeth said loudly. Whether she meant this for Treenie or herself, she was not sure.
The thick ground covering of moss absorbed the rain like a strange sea sponge, giving it up again with a loud hiss under each footfall. Elizabeth watched her feet closely, determined to avoid another tumble, and so she walked into Treenie before she realized that the dog had stopped. With a startled hiccup she looked up to see a huge beech tree directly in their path, wider around than Elizabeth could reach. This occurred to her because she was tempted to put her arms around it; it was the first beech she had seen since they entered the swamp.
On one side of the beech was the river, which had inexplicably regained a semblance of banks, and on the other a great jumble of boulders, slimy with streaming lichen and clusters of red—yellow mushrooms. They had begun to scramble over when Elizabeth paused. In a flicker of lightning she had caught something on the trunk, what she had taken at first to be the claw marks of bears. She pulled herself up and stopped, to Treenie's great annoyance, to read.
CRESCENT ILLAE, CRESCETIS AM ORES
The names had been obscured by real claw marks, but the sentiment remained: "as these letters grow, so will our love." Elizabeth reached up to trace the carving, wondering if she were developing a habit for hallucinations.
Treenie had Elizabeth's overdress between her teeth, and she tugged, hard.
"We're nearly out," Elizabeth said, thumping her on the back. "And thank God." In response the air lit with a triple pulse of blue—white light, followed almost immediately by the deep bass of thunder. Too close. She slithered down the boulders to the other side, and came up against a dead tamarack, already leaning precipitously.
Treenie backed up against her knees, so that Elizabeth nearly lost her balance. She looked at the shivering dog, and then looked again. In the startling blue—white light which seemed to pulse on and on, every hair in her coat stood on end. And then the thunder sucked all sound from the world: the howling of the red dog, Elizabeth's own scream, and the crack of a tree splitting open as easily as a ripe peach pit, just a few feet behind them.
Elizabeth ducked under the tamarack and ran.
* * *
"She's likely sitting under a tree right now."
Todd's voice, hoarse and weaker than it had been, came out of the shadows.
A thump, and the fire flared up around the new log. Then it settled back down to hissing and sizzling under the persistent drip from the vent hole.
"Or maybe wading down the middle of the stream." Todd wheezed, and produced a wet cough.
Nathaniel's backside was sore, but there was no hope of breathing easily if he were to lie down. Swearing to himself, he shifted the thorny spine of a balsam branch out from under him, getting his hands tacky with the pungent sap.
There was a flash of light, and in the distance, the answering rumble.
"Have you ever seen a man killed by lightning?" Todd went on.
"No," said Nathaniel, wiggling his shoulders for easier purchase against the log wall. "But then the storm is young, and I may have the pleasure yet."
"If she dies, the court will take the Wolf away from you.
"Just yesterday you thought I killed her in cold blood."
"Well, she does have an irritating way about her," Todd pointed out. "I've seen wounded cougars with more pleasant personalities."
Nathaniel dipped his tin cup into the water kettle. "Listen to you. All your shine is rubbing off, Todd."
"Tell me you wanted her for more than the land and I'll call you a liar."
"I ain't got the strength to get mad," Nathaniel said wearily. "But I could work myself up, if you want to push things a little further."
There was a streak of white past the open door, and a high—pitched squeal as an owl swooped down and off with a struggling prize. Nathaniel started, feeling the sweat pearl on his forehead.
"You couldn't throttle a rabbit," Todd observed. There was a pause, and the sound of chewing. Nathaniel had almost fallen asleep when the voice came again.