Sam set a steady pace, but didn’t hurry. They weren’t likely to make it back to the cabin before nightfall —his caution and the negotiations had taken up too much of the day— but he wasn’t about to leave the girl behind. He glanced behind from time to time to assure himself that he hadn’t run off and left her.
He never looked for long. Her tear-stained face was breaking his heart and he couldn’t take too much of it. It was pretty obvious that none of this had been her idea — had been from the moment he’d laid eyes on her. Well, it hadn’t been his idea either. He’d have to make her understand that at some point.
Meanwhile, he slogged on, keeping an eye on their surroundings. Wouldn’t do to get jumped by man nor beast because he was feeling sorry for himself.
* * *
Kills Bear sat for a long time without moving after the Sam spirit had faded from view, Sings in Morning trailing behind and looking accusingly over her shoulder at her Saginaw. He was second guessing himself and wondering what he’d just done.
The wise woman had been strongly against it at first. She was of the opinion that spirits couldn’t be trusted. While he tended to agree, he felt that the rewards of this adventure to the band as a whole outweighed the risks to a single girl.
If he was wrong, he would pay for it when the band found out what had happened and came to call. Saginaw was an elected position, and he would remain such only so long as the band agreed to follow
* * *
Sings in Morning struggled not to cry as she followed the spirit into the forest. She had largely given herself up for dead at the least, and should feel numb, but could not shake the notion that death might not be the most severe danger she faced. The spirit was an enigma. The way it had glared at the Saginaw had been terrifying, but when it had turned to her and removed the hood of its cloak, it had looked kindly.
While the hair on its face and head were strangely colored, and its skin far too pale, it had looked as a normal man in shape, with features that weren’t difficult to look upon. She wasn’t sure whether that frightened her more or less.
It wasn’t so much larger than a normal person. Although it towered over her. Following it as it trekked through the forest, she found time to note that it did not move so differently than a man either, although some of its actions were hidden by the flowing cloak.
Sam stopped after an hour, simply planting a cheek on a fallen tree. He wasn’t particularly tired, and if he’d been alone he would have continued on. But he wasn’t alone, and he wasn’t sure how legged up the girl might be.
He knew abstractly that Indian women had worked pretty steadily from wake up to go to sleep, but working around the camp and woods running were two different forms of exercise.
She had stopped in place, and was standing there, a frightened look on her face. He smiled softly and patted the trunk beside him, leaning over to indicate a spot not too close. She took the indicated position hesitantly, tense as a spring.
He fished the canteen and cup clear of their cover together, bringing both clear of the poncho so that she could see what he was doing. He poured the cup about a quarter full and held it out to her. It was a matter of some few moments before she would accept it. He set the canteen down between them and fished out a couple of pieces of jerky, noticing only after he’d withdrawn them that she’d yet to drink.
Frowning, he took up the canteen and held it clear of his face, far enough that she could see the water pouring into his mouth and him swallowing. Only then did she take a cautious sip from the cup, crinkling her nose at the strange taste of the metal.
Having learned his lesson, he took a corner of one piece of jerky and tore it loose with his teeth, chewing carefully and swallowing before handing the remainder to her. He hoped that this wasn’t going to be a ritual they’d have to go through for every meal or drink for the duration.
Dusk caught them on the trail, still better than a mile from the cabin. Beneath the trees, it was dark as pitch. Sam stopped. Looking behind him, he had to strain to see the girl. Sighing, he reached inside the plate carrier and fished out the tablet, hunkering down so that she wouldn’t have to look up at him.
“Near,” he told her in a soft, hopefully friendly voice. “Home near. Much dark forest. Bad move Sings in Morning. I carry.”
Sings in Morning drew back. “Carry?” she asked, voice breaking.
Sam checked the tablet, noted that she’d probably gotten it right, and corrected his pronunciation. “I carry,” he nodded.
Sings in Morning felt the fear rising in her breast. She had touched the spirit once already, and had taken food from it, and water. But this was too much. Yes, it had felt warm, like a person, and not chill as the wise woman had warned spirit touch was, but to be carried by it? Would it carry her to the other world if she dared allow it to take hold of her?
But what else to do? Should she run off into the darkness? Already, her fate was in the Sam spirit’s hands. So she stifled her sobs and held her arms out. To her great surprise, the spirit did not immediately scoop her up and take off running through the trees. Rather, it nodded, barely seen in the darkness, and withdrew a strange shape from beneath the cloak, pressing it onto its head. Then it turned its back to her and reached back to pat its shoulders.
This Sings in Morning girl was seriously damaging Sam’s calm with her constant outpouring of dread. He couldn’t possibly be that bad, could he? He’d been nothing but nice to her thus far. Then she held her arms out to him, chest heaving, and he saw, not Sings in Morning, but his daughter Lizzie when she was little, after having been frightened or hurt, wanting Daddy to pick her up and sooth her fears. Now he had to squeeze away a tear of his own. Damnit!
He ignored the offered arms for the moment, bringing the bump helmet clear instead, the action giving him time to sort himself out. He’d long reslung the rifle, so once the helmet was rigged, he turned his back and took a knee, patting his shoulder. Nothing. Turning, he saw her standing unmoving. He gestured for her to come closer and once more patted his shoulder.
When she’d tentatively moved in, he carefully took her hands and joined them together in front of him, shaking his head and moving them down when she’d clamp her arms around his neck. Fortunately for his calm, even this close in, she smelled more of smoke and rancid grease than of woman.
Taking a couple of deep breaths, he lowered the PVS-18 and activated it before reaching down and catching her upper legs. She squeaked in surprise, but he was already surging to his feet, and her legs clamped around his waist of their own accord.
“Safe?” he asked without turning.
She hissed out something he didn’t understand, but the tablet was once more inaccessible, and she wasn’t letting go to bolt for the horizon, so he decided it must be agreement, or at least surrender. Giving her a bounce or two to assure that she was solidly affixed, noting her panicked clamping down on him, he set off through the deepening blackness. He hoped she didn’t pee on him in her fear.
The rifle was unavailable, its forend clamped beneath one of her legs, but he could reach the pockets that held the .45s without prying any parts of her loose. Hopefully, it would be sufficient for anything they ran into.
They reached the cabin clearing well before midnight, and he took a knee, patting first her legs and then her arms, signaling her to dismount.
At first she didn’t seem to understand. Or maybe she was just paralyzed by this point. He couldn’t remember the word for off, so he grabbed an ankle and applied a bit of force. Not much, but just enough to show that he wanted it moved. Once she’d relaxed the muscles in that leg, he put it on the ground. The other leg went down on its own, and when he tapped the intertwined fists on his chest, she removed them on her own as well.
“Stay,” he whispered without turning his head. He moved off without checking to see if she’d complied. As scared of him as she already was, he didn’t want to think what would happen if she caught sight of his face covered by the monocular.
As per standard procedure, he cleared the site before going in, working methodically. It was more difficult under night vision, so it took longer. But everything was clear. If there were tracks, he didn’t find them.
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Moving to the cave, he unlocked the door and raised the bar, moving inside to assure himself that everything was as he’d left it. It was, of course. He struck spark to the already laid fire and coaxed it to life before doing anything else. The cave was cold as a bitch, and he wanted it warm before he brought his guest in.
He took a moment to hang the poncho from its hook and the helmet from the one beside it. Then he hung the armor up as well. She was already scared, he didn’t want to make her deal with too many more strange things if he could help it. To that end, he racked the rifle with the others.
Flashlights would probably not be appropriate either, so he went to the corner where the jug of pine tar was stored and popped the lid, dipping a stick into it. Bending at the fire on his way out, he cleared the cabin looking, he hoped, much more human to her eyes.
Sings in Morning waited nervously, having taken time to relieve herself in the deeper darkness away from the clearing. It took the Sam spirit a long time to return. It seemed as at home in the night as she or her people were in the day, moving without stumbling as though it could clearly see its surroundings. This was a very powerful magic, and she was suitably impressed, if no less fearful. She could see why Kills Bear wanted the Sam spirit as an ally.
Eventually, she noticed a slight glow off in the distance, very faint. A short time later, a brighter light appeared from behind an obstruction, flickering like a torch. This was confirmed as the torch drew nearer, and she began to see a figure below it, bathed in shadow beneath the starkly pale mop of hair. The Sam spirit was carrying the torch high so as not to blind itself. But why even bother with a torch if it could see in the dark?
She could see as it drew near that it had shed the cloak. It was wearing only some sort of shirt and the loose pants she’d already known about. It looked very much like a human man at this moment, and the thought frightened her more than when she’d thought it strange. If Sam spirit could so closely mimic a human, how many others had the people encountered without knowing it?
It beckoned for her to come when it had drawn close enough that the torch shed light on her. It turned back only after she’d moved to follow.
She looked wide-eyed about her as they walked, taking in all that she could see in the dim light. The clearing they were moving through wasn’t natural, but rather something created by the removal of many trees. She marveled at the smoothness of a stump that lay close on their path.
The structure the spirit led them to was strange. The bottom half of it was made of smoothed tree trunks, stacked on top of one another, while the upper half was woven brush. She couldn’t understand why the spirit would build something so.
She was surprised that the glow wasn’t coming from inside the structure, but farther back, seemingly from within the hill... within the hill! Her legs stopped moving of their own will and started in shaking along with the rest of her, and the Sam spirit took several steps without her before noticing that she was no longer following.
If she hadn’t already relieved herself while waiting, she would have done so then, so frightened was she. Of course the spirit lived in the ground! It was a spirit. But people didn’t do that. Would it drag her underground now? Could she resist? Could she flee?
The Sam spirit stood holding the torch and looking back and forth between her and the structure, not saying anything.
“Y-you will take me underground?” she asked, her voice breaking. “T-to the underworld?”
Sam had no idea what she was saying, but he thought he might have a general idea what she was on about. Haunted caves, right? Sighing, he moved back to the girl, offering the torch. She took it in a shaking hand.
Turning for the cabin, he stopped beside it at the firewood pile, dragging clear enough for a decent fire. He’d half expected company before he’d left, so he’d set the cabin up for visitors. It already had a stone fire ring on the dirt floor, so he built a fire and lit it with a brand from the one inside the cave. He built it high, so as to light the whole of the cabin’s insides. Then, just to be fussy, he built a couple more torches and stuck them into the dirt flanking the doorway. Give her a grand entrance, yeah?
Stepping back to view his handiwork, he decided that, while it didn’t exactly look inviting, it at least didn’t look like the opening scene of a horror movie. With a last glance in the direction of the girl, he went inside. She’d come in eventually or she’d stay outside in the cold.
Sings in Morning stood quietly, watching the Sam spirit build the fires, wondering what it was about. Afterwards, she stood and wondered what she should do. It had apparently forgotten about her. She could see the inside of the structure now, and it was mostly empty except for the fire. The torches stuck into the ground illuminated the area before the doorway, showing that there was nothing there.
Was she supposed to go inside? Was that it? Well, of course it was. The question remained, would she? Could she force herself into the earth? She edged forward slowly, seeing with the corner of her eye that the torch she held was burning down and wouldn’t last much longer.
She was almost up to the doorway when she saw the inner passage and the fire within. Now she felt silly for her earlier terror, and she felt her face flush. It was just a shallow cave, not the underworld. Shadows danced within as something or someone moved about, and she could smell cooking meat. It made her stomach rumble.
Moving within the outer structure, she dropped her guttering torch into the flames and continued slowly inside to see what awaited her.
Sam was trying to decide where he would put the girl, always assuming she ever decided herself safe to enter. He’d originally kind of intended to give her the bivvy, but having her right up against him for awhile had convinced him to change his mind. It was gamey enough just from him, and washing it was six kinds of a bitch, particularly as he hadn’t yet perfected soap making.
What he’d settled for was moving the bivvy from the crude bed he’d made to a flat spot across the fire. She could have the bed. He’d be that much the gentleman. It wasn’t much more than a frame holding piled grass bundles, but it would keep her off of the cold ground. He’d make another for himself tomorrow. And maybe a bathtub.
Sings in Morning poked her head inside the cave before she dared step a foot in it. It was almost disappointingly normal. About the size of a larger wigwam, she would be able to walk upright in it, though the Sam spirit probably would not. There was a fire burning inside a circle of stones towards the rear, the smoke forming a blanket along the ceiling before disappearing through some crack or other. Along one side were shelves on pegs driven into the wall, and shorter pegs from which things were hung, the strange cloak among them. Small wooden pots and boxes lined the shelves. Another bundle of strange cloth lay on the ground beneath them.
Against the other wall, a wooden frame held a pile of grass sheaves, flattened as though something had been laying on them. Between, near the fire circle, a pair of short, thick logs lay, flattened along the top.
Everything looked new, as though recently built and not yet smoothed or darkened by time. She could see no recognizable tools. The only horn she saw was a pair of deer antlers sitting on one of the shelves. The only stone lined the fire. How did the spirit build anything?
It was nice and warm in here, though. And with the shelves and hooks, almost homey. It needed furs on the floor, and perhaps a proper cooking stone.
The Sam spirit was puttering around the fire, bending over a shallow pot of the same strange material as the cup it had given her to drink from, holding it right in the fire as though it would not burn. The food smell was coming from that. Meat overlaid with some pungent herb she had never smelled before. It made her mouth water.
She stood in the doorway watching for awhile, not knowing what else to do.
Sam stirred the pemmican around in the pan. He’d mixed it with a little water and added some garlic and onion powder for flavor. He would have liked some vegetables to add, but hadn’t run across any. He had some acorns accumulated, but hadn’t had time lately to grind them into flour, and so hadn’t soaked them yet.
He heard the girl enter the cave, but not before he smelled her. That would have to be taken care of most rikki tik. Not tonight, but very soon. He wondered how he’d go about it without ending up either engaged or shivved.
At least he could forget about the cold shower. Temporarily, at any rate.
Once the meager fare was as cooked as it was likely to get, he removed the pan from the heat and dished half of it onto the mess kit tray. He had one spoon and one fork unpacked, so he’d give over the spoon. He figured she’d understand it better. Then he chuckled to himself. For all he knew, the natives had place settings that dwarfed the Ritz Carlton.
Turning to regard her, he held out the plate. She moved forward and took it in both hands, looking down at it curiously.
“Sit,” he said, gesturing to one of the stump stools.
He took up the pan and fork, moving to the stool he hadn’t waved her to and started to eat, then stopped. Setting the pan down on the seat, he moved over to the gear hanging from the wall and pulled the canteen cup out, filling it from the canteen before dropping the latter off by the half gallon pot where the clean water was being stored until he could figure out how to build a barrel that didn’t leak.
He brought the filled cup to her and went for the smaller, mess kit cup, filling that and bringing it to his seat.
The meal, if it could be called that, passed in silence. Once he’d finished, Sam put the pan back on the fire, adding a stick or two to get the fire up. Fetching the canteen, he filled the pan and moved back to his seat. Sings in Morning was just finishing up, so he took her tray and spoon and slid them into the pan as well.
Once the water began steaming, he shaved off a few flakes of lye soap into the water, stirring them around with the blade of the knife. He didn’t get many suds, but you didn’t with lye soap. Suds was a marketing thing. He washed the cups last, his and the curious girl’s both, as she looked on.
The dirty water went into the five gallon pot for later disposal, along with the rinse water. Then he thought better of it and took the pot outside, dumping it along the way downhill to the stream. He dropped the refilled pot off on top of the fire he’d built in the cabin, freshening it with a few sappy sticks. It would boil before the fire died, and by morning be good to go.
With two of them, he’d need to figure out a way to store more water fairly quick.
It was getting pretty late, so when he reentered the cave and saw the girl still perched on the stump stool, he pointed to the bed. “Sleep,” he told her.
She looked at him owl-eyed for a moment, clearly already well on her way. “Sleep,” she corrected.
“Sleep,” he said. “Sings in Morning sleep.”
Her eyes widened and she flushed as she turned to look at the bedding. Then back to him. “Sam spirit sleep?”
He pointed to the bivvy over on the far side of the fire. “Sings in Morning safe,” he said softly, ignoring the sudden activity beneath the sock wrapped around his left wrist.
He heard her catch her breath as he closed the door and dropped the bar, but he ignored her. She was obviously exhausted, so she’d drift off soon enough. Maybe when she woke up in the morning uneaten, she’d start to get the idea he wasn’t about to devour her at any moment.
He pulled the tail ends of the unburned sticks clear of the fire and hit the rack. The coals wouldn’t last until morning, but it wouldn’t get too cold with the door shut.