Apparition Trail, The (41 page)

“What’s the third mechanism?” I asked, though the answer was plain enough.

“These tunnels,” Chambers said, and I could hear the shudder in his voice. “They’re the ley line itself — the etheric force flows underground, not above, and is drawn to the surface by the Manitou Stone, and at other power points, like the buffalo-shaped outcropping at the ford. These tunnels are filled with pure etheric force. No living creature — human or animal — can withstand that amount of magical energy, even with a guardian spirit, unless, like you and I, they have already been ‘reborn.’ In my case, it was my previous ‘rebirth’ as a buffalo that inoculated me. I can only assume that you, also, experienced a ‘rebirth’ at some point in the past.”

“I had an operation to remove a cancerous tumour,” I told him. “I nearly died on the operating table. My heart stopped beating; only through a strenuous effort was the surgeon able to revive me.”

“Quite so,” Chambers said quietly, a note of sympathy in his voice. He had the discretion not to continue in that vein. Instead he picked up the thread of logic once more. “As I said, pure etheric current flows through these tunnels. As soon as a living creature enters them, the transformation to buffalo form is instantaneous.”

“Not at Victoria Mission,” I reminded him. “You weren’t transformed until you’d gone some distance along the tunnel.”

Chambers had obviously been thinking this over himself. He had a ready answer for my puzzle. “The Manitou Stone had been moved more than a month before we arrived at Victoria Mission. It was still possible to open a tunnel at that location, but etheric force only flowed along that tunnel at the point where it joined the main body of the spiral. Had you ridden a horse into the tunnel, it would have been transformed into a buffalo at the same point that I was.”

I stopped in my tracks as a thought struck me. “Chambers,” I said in a hushed voice. “The Indians could transform animals into buffalo, instead of humans!”

“Of course they could — but only if they drove them down here, into the current of etheric energy itself.”

“That’s easily done,” I said, waxing enthusiastic. “The Indians could open a tunnel and drive a herd of horses into it. Then they’d have plenty of buffalo.”

I heard Chambers chuckle. “No — not horses. The cost would be too high. Although there would be a gain in meat, the Indians would lose a valuable source of transport.”

“Dogs then,” I said, my excitement running high. “Or gophers, or even mice. There has to be some creature that’s suitable, and that is found in sufficient numbers. It’s just a matter of convincing the Indians that it’s feasible. When they see Buck, they’ll realize that it’s possible to….”

Then I realized my mistake. Increasing the size of the buffalo herds was only part of the Indians’ goal. They also wanted to rid the North-West Territories of settlers.

Thought transference must have been at work, for Chambers next words echoed my thoughts. “Convincing the Indians to use their magic on animals, instead of we interlopers, will take some doing, though, won’t it?” he asked softly.

I realized that I’d been gesturing with my hands as we spoke, and had let go of Iniskim’s shoulder. I patted the air beside me, and found only empty space. The albino calf had trotted on ahead — and I could no longer hear the
clip-clop
of her hooves.

“Chambers!” I said. “Iniskim is gone!”

I heard a snort and the clinking of a bit as Chambers reined Buck to a sudden stop. In the silence that followed, I listened for the sound of Iniskim’s hoof beats, but heard none. I struck my second-to-last match, and the smell of burning sulphur filled the air. Holding it high overhead, I looked wildly around, my heart pounding.

There was no cause for alarm. Iniskim was a few yards ahead of us, her nose snuffling against a solid wall of earth where the tunnel had come to an end. As the match burned down toward my fingers, she glanced upward, her pink eyes wide with yearning, and let out a soft bleat. She didn’t need thought transference to speak to me — her glance at the white feather I still held in my hand was communication enough.

“Chambers,” I whispered. “I think we’ve arrived.”

Chambers nodded down at me from his perch on Buck’s broad back. He looked slightly ludicrous in his silk pyjamas, smudged with dirt, his bare feet dangling as he straddled the buffalo. His voice dropped to a whisper as well. “I think you’re right. The ground has been sloping upward for some time. The Manitou Stone must be directly above.”

I held up the feather. “Shall I?”

Chambers nodded.

I gave Buck a pat for a job well done, then strode forward. I had no idea what we would find when the tunnel opened. The Manitou Stone, certainly — I could feel in my bones that we’d reached the end of the spiral at last. The etheric force, palpable as a chill wind, was pressing against us with all its magical might.

I drew my revolver from its holster, wincing at the pain from my knife wound. The buffalo stone in my pocket was a much better weapon, especially against the likes of Wandering Spirit and his ilk, but I had already decided against carrying it in my hand. I didn’t want to run the risk of someone grabbing it and using it to turn Iniskim back into a girl again. I wanted White Buffalo Woman to get safely to the Manitou Stone — and back to the astral plane — while still in the form of a buffalo calf.

“White Buffalo Woman — are you ready?” I asked.

A gentle snort came from the darkness beside me, and a tiny horn nudged the small of my back, as if to say:
do it!

I touched the feather to the wall.

A crack of light suddenly appeared in front of me as the end of the tunnel split open. Clods of earth rained down on my shoulders, and a trickle of sand fell into my face, forcing my eyes shut. Iniskim trotted out through the falling debris, and I stumbled after her, blinking at the sudden change from darkness to light, even though that light was pale and grey. Behind me, I could hear Chambers cursing and Buck’s protesting snorts. Chambers seemed to be having trouble making his mount move forward.

In hindsight, I should have paid attention: Buck not only knew where to go — but where not to go. Instead I ran after Iniskim, not wanting to lose her.

I found myself amid gently rolling hills, under a star-filled sky. The ground underfoot was dotted with white — the dried salt of alkaline lakes — and patches of sand. Tufts of straw-like grass poked up through the ground here and there, sun-bleached and brittle. I looked around me, searching for a landmark, and located the northern star. I turned toward the eastern horizon and saw that the hills there were just starting to glow a faint pink, heralding the imminent arrival of a new day. Peeping up behind them was the moon — a sight that froze me in silent horror. Even though it had only partially risen above the horizon, I could see that it was round and full. The Day of Changes was at hand.

I cast a wary eye about me, searching for any sign of Indians. The open prairie offered scant places to hide, but I had the distinct impression of eyes watching me. I checked my revolver, making sure it was loaded, then listened. From somewhere off to the west came a faint clicking sound, like the
tick-tock
of a watch. I took it to be an omen that our time was running out.

I couldn’t see the Manitou Stone anywhere. Iniskim, however, seemed to be able to smell it. After only a moment’s hesitation she gave a happy bellow, like a buffalo that has scented a wallow, and trotted with determination toward the east.

Chambers had abandoned Buck. Emerging from the tunnel on foot, he cocked his head to the side and listened, cupping one ear in the direction of the clicking noise. Iniskim, meanwhile, had almost reached the top of the hill. She would be out of sight in another moment.

“Come along,” I urged, tugging at his pyjama sleeve. “We can’t lose track of her.”

“You go on ahead,” he said. “I want to find out what that noise is. I’ll catch you up.”

I paused just long enough to jam the feather in the ground to prevent the tunnel from closing up, then ran after the buffalo calf. She crested a hill, and in the increasing light of dawn her white hair turned a rosy pink. The sight sent a shudder through me.

“White Buffalo Woman!” I cried, running up the hill after her. “Wait!”

As I reached the summit I noticed below what I took, at first, to be a pile of sun-bleached branches on which a round white rock had been placed. Then I recognized it for what it was: a pile of bones, capped by a human skull.

Just as Iniskim approached the bottom of the hill, I heard a faint noise that sounded like an Indian whoop. To my ears it was only a distant echo, but to Iniskim it proved much more startling. She veered away from the pile of bones with a snort of fright and headed south.

I ran down the hill after her, keeping a wary eye on the pile of bones myself. When I saw an Indian suddenly leap out in front of the bones, rifle in hand, I raised my revolver and fired. Only belatedly did I realize that he was no more substantial than a ghost: his face was a ghastly white colour, and a flap of skin that had peeled back from the top of his head hung down across one ear. Dimly, my mind registered the fact that he was no more than an apparition: he’d been killed and scalped. My bullet passed harmlessly through him, knocking a bone from the pile. He fired back — and although his rifle was as insubstantial as he was, I felt my jacket jerk as a bullet tore through its hem.

The ghostly brave let out a war whoop that turned the blood in my veins to ice, and cocked his rifle. If I kept running, he would have a clear shot at my back. Instead, I skidded to a halt, raised my revolver, and fired.

My bullet struck exactly the spot I’d intended — not the ghost himself, but the skull on the pile of bones behind him. In the same instant that the Indian’s finger tightened on the trigger of his rifle, the dry skull exploded into a thousand splinters. The ghost disappeared.

The exchange had taken no more than a few seconds, but already Iniskim was well ahead of me. To my left I could see more piles of bones, and corresponding piles on the right. I immediately recognized them for what they were: the beginnings of a buffalo run. Iniskim was being driven along it — each time she tried to veer east again, something startled her back into the run.

I had no choice but to run after her — circling up the hill behind the piles of bones would cost me too much time. I ran as fast as my feet would carry me, bracing myself for the apparitions that leapt out from the piles of bones on either side and saving the bullets in my revolver for the most menacing of the ghosts.

A ghostly woman whose naked skin was covered in pustular sores ran toward me, trying to wrap an infected blanket around my shoulders, but I dodged under it at the last moment and escaped. An emaciated figure with a bloated belly and a ravenous look in his eye staggered toward me with a knife, but I easily avoided his hunger-weakened thrusts. Another brave, this one’s body pierced by so many arrows that he looked like a porcupine, tried to throw a tomahawk at me, but I fired two quick shots at the pile of bones beside him, striking the skull with my second bullet and sending him back to the place from whence he came. Yet another warrior, this one with a belly wound from which entrails hung like streamers, tried to shoot me with an arrow. My shot was a lucky one; it didn’t hit the skull itself, but managed to knock out a bone beneath it, causing the skull to tumble from its perch. It was enough — like the other two warriors, the bowman faded away into mist.

The piles of bones were closer together now. Iniskim was approaching the end of the funnel-shaped run, and I had nearly caught up to her. Thick and fast from either side came the shouts and whoops of ghosts, the beating of drums and the bonelike clatter of shaking rattles. Ghostly arrows sailed past my head, and puffs of rifle smoke drifted up on either side of me. I ran on after Iniskim, shouting at her to stop, but my pleas went unheeded. There was terror in the buffalo calf’s pink eyes — a terror that drove her on like a goad.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that the moon had fully risen above the horizon; it was a ghostly white circle in a sky that was growing increasingly bright. The stars had disappeared, and the eastern horizon was ablaze with reddish light.

Silhouetted atop a low hill to my left, I saw a shape I recognized only from a photograph: the rectangular bulk of the Manitou Stone. From this angle, and with the light of the rising sun behind it obscuring all detail, it looked like the gaping hole left by an open door.

Iniskim ran steadily south. She charged up a slight rise, her head turned longingly toward the Manitou Stone, then disappeared from sight.

The ground was too gently sloping for there to be a cliff ahead, which meant that the run must end in a buffalo pound. Coming from where this enclosure must be, I could hear the slow, steady beating of a drum. I was terrified that I would be trapped inside the pound if I entered it, but I could see no other alternative to following Iniskim into it. My only hope was that I could drive Iniskim out again, and lead her up that hill to the Manitou Stone.

I charged up the ramp and leaped down into the enclosure, then ran over to where the albino calf stood panting and shivering. All around us — plainly visible now that we had entered the enclosure — were the walls of the pound itself. The circular enclosure was nearly a hundred feet across, made from thousands upon thousands of buffalo skulls that had been piled with curved horns interlocking to form a waist-high fence.