Amarok (19 page)

“You don’t understand. My friend is still out there, and he’s hurt.”

The nurse paled and shook her head. “Oh, no.”

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“We thought you were alone. The man who brought you in here didn’t say anything about anyone else.”

Emma shook the rails. “I have to get out of here. I don’t have time for this. I have to get to him. He needs me.”

“Time? I’m sorry, honey, but you’ve been here over a week. If your friend is out there, it’s likely too late.”

The words rang in her ears, burned into her brain. No, it couldn’t be. She had failed him, and now Amarok was dead, just like her mother. Gone forever. Her heart felt ripped from her chest.

Emma’s mouth dropped open, and she started to scream. She screamed until her throat hurt, until they rushed her with a needle. She didn’t stop until her eyes rolled back in her head and blessed oblivion chased the horror away.

Amarok knelt in the fresh snowfall, his gloved fingers gauging the depth of the huge track. He stood and studied the shrouded landscape. He hoped to find Suka before he went into his den for the winter. Before long they wouldn’t be able to find any tracks in the unrelenting flurries. Amarok anguished over freeing the creature. Suka had proved to be a disreputable sort before the transformation, and in the intervening years, insanity had consumed what had remained of the man. His only consolation was that Suka, though undeniably unbalanced, would, as a man, lack the pure destructive capabilities of a full-sized grizzly.

All morning they’d been on the hunt for the bear, searching the most elusive hiding places imaginable—high canyon walls, knolls bound in frozen swamps, and countless other hard-to-reach areas, all to no avail. Although badly wounded, Suka still left traces of carnage in his path—logs ripped to shreds, animals half-eaten, winter caches destroyed. Earlier, he’d spotted crows circling high above, marking a kill. Amarok hiked over a frozen buckle in the landscape. A stiff polar wind rippled the ruff of his fur collar as he wove through a thick growth of alder trees and over clumps of wilted devil’s club into an open field. He spotted a wolverine laying on its side with its flank ripped wide open, exposing torn flesh. It seemed the bear wasted more than he ate. Amarok followed the tracks from the kill until he lost the trail.

Even if he didn’t find Suka, it helped to occupy his mind. He knew Emma was on the mend, thanks to the update from Ben, but his thoughts continued to wander to what could be… but what likely never would.

Amarok pushed his troubles aside, filling his lungs with chilly air. The frosty morning bit at his exposed cheeks and he squinted against the dazzling light reflecting off the icy surfaces. Amarok knew the dilemma Suka presented had been solved for him, at least for the time being. It was too late in the season to find the bear now.

Jock crested a rise, turned and shook his head, signaling he’d found nothing. Amarok lumbered to his side.

Jock released a heavy sigh. “No sign of him heading south.”

“I found a track, but it’s not Suka’s.”

“Well,” Jock said, still favoring his wounded side, “we better start back.”

Jock led the way, his stride just as wide as Amarok remembered from his boyhood. It felt good to have the big man beside him. Jock made everything seem almost normal, and he filled the aching hole the death of Amarok’s parents had left.

Sometimes, when the light was just right, Amarok could see his father in Jock—in the way he moved his hands when he spoke, or how he set his jaw to a challenge, never giving in. In some ways, Amarok had inherited these same traits, as well as his native mother’s unbreakable will. Amarok carried his memories like a shrine, keeping those who were gone alive inside of himself. In the dark hours their spirits came to comfort him, and then he sang his songs of mourning.

In the quiet of the evenings, when the bright flames of the hearth burned to silent embers, Amarok and his uncle spoke of many things, but they never discussed the time they’d lost. His uncle seemed content to focus only on the future, although, when the subject turned toward town or the sea, his tone invariably turned wistful and he reluctantly admitted how much he missed it. Sadly, he would never sail again, a prisoner to the same spell that bound Amarok. They could travel only within the boundaries of this great forest, and no farther. If they dared, only death awaited them.

Amarok could only dream of what cities must be like now. He wondered if Emma preferred life in the city, too. The modern world was a mystery to him. He knew about airplanes and pickup trucks, as he’d seen them here in his refuge. He’d seen snowmobiles and four-wheelers, too. And Amarok had heard hunters speak of telephones, computers, and iPods as they passed briefly through his limited range, but he couldn’t even imagine what such things were. In his time, life was simpler, and the loss of it pained him greatly. If ever he walked among men again, the adjustment might prove difficult.

Before Emma, he could have learned to cope with the utter solitude of his life now, with only his uncle’s company. But with her entry into his life, everything had changed. She’d awoken the flames of his soul and only her presence would keep the fire burning within him. He watched the snow tumble endlessly from the sky to rest in clumps on the ground, and spring seemed an eternity away.

He set his mind on survival, knowing they’d need shelter for the winter. Neither he or Jock could stand the thought of settling in Weasel Tail’s former home. For Amarok, it held far too many memories of the days he’d spent there as both prisoner and wolf. And for Jock, it was a reminder of how he’d failed to help his nephew for so many years.

They’d agreed to build a new cabin, staying at Weasel Tail’s only until the construction could be completed. The new dwelling would be a twin to the one Amarok had built with his father, but far from the shaman’s reach.

As they headed home, discussing what supplies they’d need for their new project, a badger exploded from a stand of willow shrubs. It ran at them, and then stopped a foot away. Stomping its thick legs, it stared at them and grunted.

“Well, now.” Jock eyed the creature with one cocked brow. “Isn’t that a curious thing?”

Amarok studied the animal.
What did it want?
“Look!” he yelled. “It has a totem!”

Jock grinned. “So it does.”

Amarok dropped the pack and fell to his knees in the snow, digging through the bag. Opening the lower compartment, he sorted through the totems Emma had liberated, examining each one.

The badger growled and pawed at the snow again. Amarok took another look at the short-legged creature, with its bristly coat of silver-gray, a black and white mask on its broad face, with white margins on its stubby ears. Amarok frowned—none of the totems looked anything like the animal. Then, he spotted one half-hidden in the bottom of the bag, faded with age and chipped on the side. The creature crept forward, nose twitching. Amarok held up the totem to make sure the animal saw it. He approached very slowly, so as not to frighten it. Rather than being nervous, the badger charged, sliding to a stop at Amarok’s feet.

Jock raised his gun. “Be careful, boy!”

Amarok knelt, draping the totem around the creature’s neck where it clacked gently against its mate. He jumped back and watched in sympathetic fascination as the poor creature made the painful transformation back to human. As his fur disappeared, Amarok dug into the pack again, pulling out the elk hide he carried in case he got trapped away from the cabin, and draped it over the transforming creature, for both warmth and modesty. In a matter of moments, a wrinkled old man stood before them. Instead of smiling with joy, the man scowled, shaking his fist.

“It can’t be,” Jock said.

“Do you know him?”

The man glared at them with hard, raisin-like eyes. He gritted his teeth and snarled something that Amarok couldn’t understand.

“I’m sorry,” Jock said. “I never meant you any harm.”

Clutching the hide around himself, the man opened his mouth, spewing a slur of foreign words, lunged forward, and rammed his bald head into Jock’s stomach. The wind whooshed from the big man’s lungs as his attacker scrambled to his feet. He kicked at Jock, and Amarok tackled him. The little bald man flung him aside, screaming like a madman, and then jumped to his feet and retreated into the brush.

Jock slammed his fist into the snow. “Dammit!”

Amarok got to his feet and offered Jock a hand up. “Are you all right, Uncle?”

Jock stood, tore his stocking cap off his head, and slapped it against his knee.

“Uncle Jock, what’s wrong?”

Jock’s big shoulders sagged as if carrying a thousand-pound bag of sand. “It’s all my fault,” he muttered.

“What do you mean?” Amarok asked, studying his uncle’s face. “You didn’t have anything to do with all this.”

Jock shook his head, and set his gaze on the setting sun. “Yes, unfortunately, I did.”

Emma woke to a brutal throbbing in the base of her skull. Every movement made her head swim. She sat up, clutching her neck to stop the pain. Across from her, perched in a plastic chair, a man scribbled in a notebook. His legs were crossed and his polyester suit looked decades out-of-date. He remained immobile, stoic, watching her every movement. Judging her. She knew who he was without even asking. Her screaming had brought a shrink. She knew all the things he’d say before he even opened his mouth.

He cleared his throat and smiled. “Hello Emma, my name is Dr. Reynolds. I’m a therapist here at the hospital.”

He flashed his name-tag, still smiling. Emma spotted what looked like spinach stuck between his front teeth. She knew the game, and she also knew she had to be careful. No matter what happened, she couldn’t let him know she was a minor alone. It would be a one-way ticket to a foster home, and then she’d never know what had happened to Amarok.

“Glad you’re awake. You gave us all quite a scare.”

Emma looked at the wall, wishing he’d just go away.

“How are you feeling now?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“I’m here to see if there is anything you’d like to share with me. Any issues that I might be able to assist you with?” “Issues?”

“The nurse told me that when you were admitted, she saw scars on your arms. Would you like to share with me how long this has been going on?”

Emma’s stomach fell.
Great, here we go again
.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dr. Reynolds frowned and leaned back in his chair. “You know, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Cutting behaviors are somewhat common among young women in your age group. Perhaps while you’re recovering, you’d like to discuss other avenues of release to rid yourself of these self-harming urges.”

Emma shook her head. “That was something from my past. I don’t cut anymore.”

“So the scars are old ones, then? No recent thoughts of harming yourself?”

“Yes and no. I don’t even think about it anymore.”

“Well,” he said. “Then that’s good news. But, if ever it gets to be a problem again, you will seek help, right?”

Emma nodded.

“Would you like to tell me what happened?” He glanced at his watch. “I mean, how you ended up in this present condition.”

Emma sighed. Here it was, the game—like chess, but the pieces were bits of information. She’d have to think moves ahead to avoid letting him trap her, because checkmate would mean not only her freedom, but likely Amarok’s life. Her heart twisted.
If he’s still alive
. What good old Dr. Reynolds didn’t realize was that she’d played this many times before, and she’d gotten very good at it. He wanted her to spill her guts, and then he could check out in time for an early dinner with his wife. He’d never believe the fantastic things that had happened to her; he
wanted
a cut-and-dry answer. That was exactly what she’d give him.

“I just got lost. That’s all.”

“Lost? Are you sure?”

Emma nodded and pain darted behind her eyes.

“The nurses had to give you an injection. They said you were hysterical, screaming one certain word or name.” He glanced at his tablet. “Amarok?”

The sound of Amarok’s name on the man’s lips brought tears to Emma’s eyes. She couldn’t allow herself to cry, and she couldn’t let him know about Amarok, either. She wanted to protect his memory—keep it safe, and all to herself.