The White City (13 page)

He took off Élodie’s saddle and tore a corner from the saddle blanket. Wrapping the hair and the Gall of the Earth in the fabric, he had a sort of doll, a totem that represented Jolie. He hurried out until he was toward the middle of the avalanche, where he guessed the lake to be. He dropped the doll.

He watched the charm lying in the snow, the gray woolen sack stuffed with the Gall of Earth and Jolie’s hair. For a few
moments nothing happened, but then the doll twitched. The snow shifted beneath it, crunching ever so softly, until the doll turned, its lumpy head sliding over the loose surface of snow.

Ray followed the doll as it inched along. After a few yards, it stopped. Once more it twitched and nudged down into the crispy surface.

The snow around the doll began to melt, and a depression formed. The charm went deeper as the snow puddled and shrank. Ray’s pant legs grew wet, and his boots filled with water. The snow melted inches at a time as he watched. Some areas upturned and collapsed more swiftly then others, and Ray backed away from the hole that was forming.

Soon, the snow shrank to reveal blue-black water. The doll splashed and disappeared into the depths. Ray crouched at the edge and peered down. He saw nothing but murky shadow. Then some distance down—he could not judge the depth in the freezing waters—he saw a shimmer of skin.

“Jolie!” he called. “Can you hear me?”

She did not move.

Ray ran back across the snow. From the saddle, he removed the coil of rope he’d taken from the mining camp. He tied one end to the mare’s saddle horn and unwound the rest out toward the snow.

“Come on, old gal!” he shouted, pulling the horse reluctantly from her grazing. He stopped her at the edge of the snow and rushed out with the rope until he crouched again at the water’s edge.

The limp form of Jolie’s body floated down in the dark waters. Luminous pale arms extended. Strands of hair drifting out and mingling with the murk.

“Jolie!” he cried. He threw the bundle of rope into the water. “Grab it! Please take the rope.”

The coil drifted down, knocking against her and disappearing into the black.

“Jolie! Take it. It’s right there.”

She did not move. It was clear she was unconscious. The lake couldn’t have been more than a few degrees above freezing. How long could he survive in it?

Ray grabbed the rope and twirled it around the hole, trying to catch on Jolie. But the rope simply brushed against her shoulders.

He knew there was no choice left. He untied his laces and yanked off his boots. Throwing aside his hat, he took off his coat and shirt and pants. He dropped the toby on top of the pile.

Ray tried to prepare himself, to compose his courage as he stood shivering at the edge of the blue-black waters.

He plunged in. The cold was like nails driving into his skin. He kicked and fought to keep his mind from snapping shut. He dove deeper and opened his eyes to search for Jolie.

A little deeper, her pearly skin shone from the dark waters. He swam down until he grasped her about the waist and reached out for the rope. Kicking his way up, he followed the rope back to the hole of light. His face broke the surface and he gasped for air.

Holding tightly to Jolie’s arm, he climbed out of the freezing water. Then he got down on his knees and pulled until he hoisted her up onto the snow.

Her eyes were shut, and her body fell limp and heavy against him. Ray lifted her into his arms and hurried off the
frozen lake and back to the forest. “Jolie, can you h-hear me?” His teeth rattled. He shivered uncontrollably.

Ray knew he had to get dry quickly if he was to help her. He ran back for his clothes.

He could not imagine how Jolie had survived so long in the frozen lake. He had heard stories of trout frozen in Adirondack streams only to emerge in the spring, but he had always taken those for campfire tales.

When he returned, he wrapped the wool saddle blanket around his shoulders and tried to dry off as best he could. Stripping off his wet union suit, he put on his dry clothes and with stiff fingers tried to tie his bootlaces.

Jolie said nothing. Her eyes were open, but she seemed barely conscious as she lay on the ground. Her breathing came as shallow hisses. Her skin was an unnatural blue hue. Ray grabbed the saddle blanket and bundled it around her, thankful that her gown couldn’t hold water.

“I’m going to build a fire,” he said, before rushing to the aspens to break off dry branches. The effort of collecting wood helped warm him, but his skin burned from the cold. He moved hastily and soon had a fire roaring. He propped Jolie against Élodie’s saddle before the blaze and hurriedly prepared teas from foraged herbs in his haversack.

As the concoctions warmed, Ray rubbed Jolie’s arms and legs, trying to bring warmth and life back into them. The icy tinge was leaving her skin.

“Ray …,” she muttered weakly.

“Shh,” Ray said. “Sip this. Slowly now.”

“Where … what’s happened?”

“Just drink,” Ray said. As she drank the steaming liquid,
Jolie began shivering uncontrollably. Ray hoped this meant she was improving.

He poured himself a cup of the hot tea and drank it in a gulp. Warmth was returning to his frozen body.

With night falling, Ray nursed Jolie until her trembling subsided. He fed her bread and, later, a stew made from the onions and cabbage he’d taken from the miners. Jolie was too weak to speak but gazed at Ray with a gentle and grateful expression.

Later in the night, Ray said, “Jolie. I have to know. Was Sally … was she with you when the avalanche fell? Is she …”

“She escaped.”

Ray exhaled with relief. “Did you speak to her?”

“She is in danger, Ray.” Jolie managed to sit up slightly. “Quorl … there was something wrong with him. He has changed.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was savage. Terrifying. Those eyes …”

“What about them?” Ray breathed.

The flickering firelight danced shadows across Jolie face. “They were the eyes of a monster.”

S
ALLY WANDERED THROUGH THE TALL GRASS OF THE VALLEY
.
“Quorl! Where are you?”

She had only stopped to drink at the river and to clean up, and then moments later, when she looked around, he had gone. The valley was huge and sweeping—grasslands punctuated by occasional forests and, on the far side, blue mountains that sprang up from the valley floor into jagged peaks. It suddenly looked bigger and more desolate than she’d thought. Sally looked around for something to climb on, something to help her see where he might have gone.

“Quorl,” she called out, her frustration edging toward panic.

She heard something ahead and tore her way into a thicket of bushes. Pushing the branches aside, the thicket ended abruptly, and Sally fell forward onto her hands and knees. She
looked up and gave a startled gasp as she saw the rougarou. “Quorl! Why did you—”

She froze and then leaped to her feet.

Quorl was sitting atop a moose carcass. Blood stained the rougarou’s snout as he bit into the moose’s side and crunched into the sinew and bone. Sally backed away in horror. Quorl had hunted for her. She never would have been able to come this far if he hadn’t. And she had seen him eat his catch, but this was different. From the flies buzzing about and the stench of rot, she knew this was a carcass he’d found, not something he had caught.

“Quorl!” she said sharply. “Get off that and come with me.”

He kept eating, and if he understood her words, he gave no acknowledgment.

She dug into her rucksack and pulled out a handful of bistort bulbs. “You like these. Remember? Please come away from that thing, Quorl.”

He eyed the bulbs but then returned to tearing at the moose’s leg.

“Quorl, did you hear me?” she snapped. “Get up! We’ve got to find Father. Don’t you remember what we have to do? I need you. I can’t reach him without—” Her voice broke and she brushed angrily with her sleeve at the tears that sprang to her eyes.

He had promised he would lead her, that he would take care of her. But what if he had gone too far? What would happen when he was no longer a rougarou but became entirely a wolf? How would she find her father then?

Quorl had stopped eating, his dark eyes on her.

Sally took a deep breath and said firmly, “Get up now.”

Quorl let go of the moose and rose to his feet.

Her voice trembled as she said, “You can’t leave me again. Okay? Do you understand, Quorl? You promised, remember. You can’t leave me.”

Whether he understood her or not, Sally could no longer tell. But Quorl came toward her with his head lowered.

She took out the rabbit’s foot and watched as it rotated in her palm until the little claws pointed to the sawtooth mountains rising from the far side of the valley floor. She took a few steps in that direction, peering back at Quorl. He looked back at the dead moose, his tongue dangling from his blood-speckled jaws, but then he trotted after her.

As they crossed the valley, Sally decided she no longer cared anymore whether she was able to return her father’s Rambler powers to him. Mother Salagi had told her that only her father could make the spike that was needed to destroy the Machine, but she no longer cared whether he did that. All she wanted was to find him. Just to escape this wilderness and see him at long last.

If he could be her father, to watch over her and take care of her and be in her life, she wouldn’t care what else happened.

By nightfall, she camped in a grove of aspens at the far side of the valley. When she woke the next morning, Quorl was still there. She was not sure whether to be relieved or not.

She found a pass leading up through the mountains. The climb was brutal, more like going up a ladder than walking.
They rose above the timberline into meadows of hard creeping plants and stunted shrubs. Sally looked at the looming mountains and steely sky ahead.

“How much higher can we go?” she wondered aloud.

She half expected Quorl to make one of his philosophical comments such as “There are paths that go higher,” but Quorl said nothing.

They crossed the high mountains. Quorl stayed near as they traveled, but he no longer hunted for her or helped her gather roots and berries. Sally got by on the foraged food still in her rucksack, but by the time they reached a shadow-filled forest of spruce several days later, her supply was at its end.

After walking a short ways into the alpine grove, Quorl stopped and lifted his nose to sniff the air.

“What is it?” Sally asked anxiously. “Is something out there?”

Quorl trotted forward, his ears held high. Sally had to jog to keep up with him.

“Wait, Quorl,” she panted. “Slow down.”

The rougarou whined and began racing through the trees.

“Please, Quorl!” Sally called, running as fast as she could. “Slow down.” She wound through the dark evergreens as Quorl got farther and farther ahead.

“Come back—” she began to yell, when her boot sank into a hole of loose dirt. Her foot twisted and Sally flipped sideways and fell. Pain shot up her leg. As she sat panting and trying to catch her breath, she eased her foot gently from the hole. Pulling up the hem of her dress and rolling down her sock, she saw her ankle had begun to swell.

“No, no …,” she gasped. She tried to stand, but as soon
as her weight was on the foot, it gave way beneath her, erupting in fresh waves of pain. She looked around at the dim forest. She could no longer see Quorl, no longer hear his whines, no longer even remember which way he had gone.

A croak broke from the woods. She peered up to find a black congress of ravens watching her from the branches overhead. Sally tried once more to stand, this time careful not to put so much weight on her twisted ankle. She hopped a step and then shuffled another step, reaching out to hold on to a tree trunk for support.

“Quorl!” she called.

The ravens flapped their great black wings as they startled from the branches. Sally’s voice echoed through the trees and vanished into the misty woods along with the ravens.

She began sobbing into her hands. What would she do? She had the rabbit’s foot. It was still pulling her toward her father, but how would she cross into the Gloaming to reach him? She had to find Quorl. He would come back. He had to. She was limping along, calling out his name, when she emerged from the forest.

An enormous rock face rose up before her. A waterfall beginning hundreds of feet above cascaded down in a torrent of noise and misting spray. As Sally sank to the ground, she watched the last orange glow of the setting sun fade from the mountain wall.