Manitou Canyon (18 page)

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ork thought that if he were the tall man, he might believe that Kitchimanidoo had turned against him. Flynn was dead. The kid was crippled, infected, and if he didn't get help soon, maybe in big trouble. And now even nature seemed bent on ensuring that the tall man failed in his mission, whatever it was. The wind had grown powerful, bitterly cold and wet. It came howling out of the northwest, across the enormous lake, spitting sleet at them like bits of gravel that stung their faces. The waves mounted before them, capped with white foam. The tall man turned his birch-bark canoe into the wind so that the bow would cut the waves. There were a number of islands on the lake, and the tall man headed for the nearest. The canoes were taking on water. Even if they stayed afloat, the cold of the water itself could kill them all.

Cork felt the kid struggling in the stern. If it weren't for his inflamed leg and the fever, he would probably have been fine, even better than fine, in these difficult circumstances. As it was, Cork shouldered most of the responsibility for propelling and guiding the canoe. The sky was a roil of poisonous-looking clouds that turned the water black. If the canoes swamped, Cork figured he'd let the gear go and make sure the kid got to the island. Or do his best in that regard. There were no life vests on this trip, and the clothing they all wore would suck up water and become as weighty as stone. If worse came to worst, Cork wasn't sure exactly what he would do. But he suspected that if the kid died, his own usefulness on this expedition would be at an end. A single canoe
was enough to get Lindsay Harris, Mrs. Gray, and the tall man wherever it was they were going.

His gloves were wet and his hands numb. His body ached from the effort and the bitter, bitter cold. The canoe was already awash in water up to his calves. With the help of the sour woman's strength, the tall man had pulled a good distance ahead, almost to the island. Cork labored, digging his paddle hard into the great swells of the lake. He glanced back and saw the kid, pale and exhausted, doing the best he could, which was pretty much just going through the motions of paddling. There was no power at all in his strokes.

Cork was still a good hundred yards out when the tall man's canoe touched land. Its occupants immediately disembarked and drew the canoe safely from the churning water. They stood on the shoreline watching helplessly as Cork fought—not only the wind and waves but the growing, terrifying realization that he and the kid probably wouldn't make it. The kid could barely lift his paddle now, and the water in the canoe was deepening by the minute.

The tall man stripped off his clothing except for his long underwear, splashed into the lake, and began swimming with sure, powerful strokes toward Cork and the kid. He disappeared momentarily each time Cork's canoe dipped into a trough, then he reappeared as the canoe mounted the wave crests. Cork was astounded by the tall man's speed and agility in the water, especially considering that the lake was only a few degrees above freezing.

The tall man reached the canoe, and as he pulled himself in, Cork counterbalanced. The tall man grabbed the paddle from the kid, shoved the gear forward to make a place for himself near the stern, and he and Cork began working together in a battle that might already have been lost.

Seventy yards, sixty, fifty, the shoreline drew ever nearer. But the canoe had taken on so much water that even its lithe construction couldn't keep it from foundering now. The lake washed over the gunwales and the canoe slipped under. But it didn't sink. Cork and the tall man continued to shove it forward, digging their
paddles in as best they could. Cork was cold to the bone and had lost feeling in every part of him, but he was damned if he was going to give up. He could feel the tall man at his back and the determination there.

At last, they reached the island. Mrs. Gray and Lindsay grabbed the bow and pulled it to solid ground. Cork stumbled out, his legs numbed stumps. The tall man came behind him, dragging the kid, who looked barely alive.

“A fire,” the tall man gasped to the sour woman. “For God's sake, build us a fire. We need to get Bird warm and dry.”

* * *

Cork and the tall man had wrapped themselves in wool blankets and now sat beside the fire the woman had built. They were in the lee of the pine cover on the island, but they could still feel the bite of the wind as it slid among the trees. Smoke bloomed from the flames and lifted and was scattered immediately. Sleet no longer fell, but the sky showed no sign of clearing, and whitecaps continued to gallop across the surface of the lake like animals gone wild.

November,
Cork thought with a leaden heart.

Bird, the kid, lay in his sleeping bag near the fire. Lindsay Harris sat next to him, gazing down at his face with a kind of maternal concern. “He's not very old,” she said.

“Seventeen,” the tall man said. “In the old times, he would have been a warrior long ago.”

Wet clothing of all kinds had been draped over sticks stuck into the ground near the flames. An old, blue enamel coffeepot sat on the coals of the fire.

“We should have brought tents,” the sour woman said, pulling her coat up against her chin.

“We didn't plan on being out this long,” the tall man said.

“Your plan.” She shot him an accusing look.

The tall man didn't reply.

“Tell me about Manitou Canyon,” Cork said.

The tall man eyed him with surprise, then glanced at Bird
and understood. He seemed to be considering the advisability of replying.

“All of the earth is sacred,” he finally said. “We should feel that in every moment no matter where we happen to be. But there are places where you can sense the presence of the Great Mystery in a powerful way, places that offer the human spirit strength and peace and a true sense of
bimaadiziwin
. You know that word?”

“A whole life, a healthy way of living,” Cork said.

“That's the land where the Manitou River runs.”

“Worth dying for?”

“It's my home. But even if it wasn't, the answer would still be yes.”

“Something's threatening the land, the river?”

“The dam John Harris built in the narrows of Manitou Canyon.”

“No more,” Mrs. Gray said. “Don't tell him any more.”

The tall man shrugged. “Does it really matter now?”

Lindsay said, “What do I have to with this dam? Or Cork?”

The tall man considered her question. “Have you ever tried to move a great rock? Much easier if you have a lever.”

Bird stirred and opened his eyes. “I'm better,” he said, but it was clearly a lie. “We should get going.”

“We won't go any farther today,” the tall man said. “Just rest.”

Bird didn't seem at all inclined to fight that decision. He closed his eyes and was quiet awhile. Then he asked, “Can we still make it in time, Uncle Aaron?”

“That's in the hands of Kitchimanidoo,” the tall man said.

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I
n Rainy's cabin, they took off their sweat-drenched clothing and dried themselves. As they dressed, Leah Duling moved like a woman in shock. She hadn't told Rainy or anyone else what she'd experienced, what had so stunned her and frightened her to silence. She'd spoken not another word since she uttered her horrified “Oh, my God, Henry. It's the end of the world.” Sweats, if they were successful, usually resulted in cleansings that greatly relaxed those involved. Leah had come from the sweat lodge rigid and had moved as if frozen. Sweats could tax a body, and Rainy always did her best to monitor those in her charge to be certain no one went beyond her physical capability. But Leah had shown no sign of being in any difficulty. And then suddenly, it was as if she'd been stricken.

“They're waiting for us in Uncle Henry's cabin,” Rainy said quietly.

Leah lifted her coat from Rainy's bed and held it against her breast and stared out the window at the meadow filled with the dead grass of November. She shook her head slowly and said, “I don't want to see him. I don't want to see anybody. I just want to go.”

“Back to your hotel?” Rainy asked.

“Anywhere. I just want to leave this place behind.”

“What is it, Aunt Leah? What happened in the sweat?”

Leah shook her head, this time desperately.

“Just talk to us. To me or to Henry. We can help.”

She looked at Rainy, her eyes like those of someone who'd
gone through war. “No one can help. It's coming and there's nothing anyone can do.”

“What's coming?”

Tears rolled down the woman's cheeks now. She stared at Rainy and finally answered, “The end of the world.”

“Talk to me, Aunt Leah. Tell me what you've seen.”

“Nothing,” the woman replied in a dead voice. “I saw nothing.”

There was a knock at the door, and Daniel called, “Everything okay in there?”

“We'll just be a moment.” Rainy took her aunt's arm and drew her to the bed, and they sat together. She eased Leah's coat from her grip and laid it down. She took Leah's hands in both her own. What she tried to communicate in that touch was complete acceptance. Whatever it was her aunt held inside, whatever had frightened her wasn't so terrible that it couldn't be shared.

“What we think with our minds, Aunt Leah, can sometimes fool us. But our hearts never lie. Don't let your mind get in the way of your heart. Tell me what you feel right now.”

Leah looked down at their hands, their entwined fingers. Her skin was white and thin and blue-veined and spotted. Rainy's hands were dark and strong and gentle.

“Hopeless,” Aunt Leah finally said. “It's hopeless. Nothing can be done.”

“What did you see?”

“Lucius was right in all his apocalyptic ranting. God is going to do it again. He's going to purge the world with water. A great flood is coming, Rainy, and it will kill us all.”

“Will you come with me and we'll talk about it with Uncle Henry?”

The woman removed one hand from Rainy's grasp and wiped at the tears streaming down her face. “I didn't want this. I didn't ask for it. I want to forget it. I want it never to have been.”

“It's done,” Rainy said gently. “And it's not something you can run from or forget or try to throw away. It's yours, for whatever reason. Maybe we can understand why that is. Let's try, Aunt Leah. Let's try together.”

Her aunt bowed her head and sat that way for nearly a minute. Then she drew herself up and turned her face to Rainy and surprised her niece by saying, “Oh, what the hell.”

* * *

Henry's cabin smelled of sage and cedar. The old man was seated at his table, his face a landscape of calm. The table was laid with bread and soup. The others were there, except for Ernie Champoux and Abner Porkman, who'd left Crow Point after they delivered the information about Trevor Harris's “luck” at the casino.

“Eat first,” the old man said. “Then we will talk.”

They shared the meal in silence. When they'd eaten, Rose and Stephen cleared the dishes, and the others remained at the table. Meloux said nothing. In the quiet of the cabin, the only sound was the deep breathing of Ember as he slept in the corner.

“Tell me it was just a dream, Henry,” Leah finally said.

“You saw the end of the world?”

“I did, Henry. The great flood all over again, water covering the whole earth.”

“And everyone in the world dead?”

“I saw hundreds drowned and drowning.”

“Hundreds?” the old man said. “And were you with these hundreds in this flood?”

She nodded, and tears once again began to slip from her eyes down her cheeks.

“This flood, then, was your own end, too?”

“It was the end of everyone, Henry, and everything.”

“It seemed to you the end of the world,” the Mide said.

“It was the end of the world,” she insisted.

The old man looked to Rainy, and Rainy said to her aunt, “We see out of our own experience, Aunt Leah. It's like being in a bowl and the bowl to us seems like it's the whole world.”

Leah looked confused. “What are you saying? That it wasn't the end of the world? That I just thought it was?”

“You were at the center of what you saw, what you experienced, and it seemed to you as if that was the all of everything.”

Leah thought a moment and then looked relieved. “So not the end of the world?”

“I don't think so, Aunt Leah. But it certainly must have seemed so.”

“It could still involve a big-ass flood,” Stephen said.

“Or maybe it's nothing,” Daniel said. “Maybe just a subconscious working out of some easily explainable thing in Aunt Leah's life.”

“A vision can be anything,” the old Mide said. “But it is never nothing.”

Stephen said, “This darkness that's weighed on me, it's also made me feel sometimes like I'm drowning. I can't help thinking about the timing of these things. Why now? And I've got to tell you I think they all have something to do with Dad.”

“There wasn't anything particularly threatening in Trevor Harris's vision,” Daniel pointed out.

“That vision was a load of crap,” Stephen said.

“Maybe so,” the old Mide said. “But it might be the key to understanding everything.”

“I don't get it, Uncle Henry,” Rainy said. “If Trevor Harris concocted his own vision, how can that help us understand Leah's vision or Stephen's premonition?”

“Perhaps there was more truth to the lie than the liar knew.”

“What kind of truth, Henry?” Stephen said.

“I think you should talk some more to this young Harris.”

“We'll do that,” Stephen said. “We'll nail his lying ass to the wall.”

“We're going to need more leverage,” Daniel said. “Maybe this woman who's been dealing winning hands to Trevor can give us that.”

“Let's find her.” Stephen moved from the window toward the door.

“You go on,” Rainy said. “I'll stay here with Leah and Uncle Henry. But let us know what you discover.”

“Can we give you a lift home, Rose?” Daniel asked.

She accepted, and the three pulled on their coats and left, heading into the chill wind of the late afternoon. In the corner of the cabin, Ember stood, stretched himself, and padded softly to Henry's side. The old Mide stroked his fur softly. Leah sat at the table, looking exhausted from her ordeal.

“You should rest,” Rainy told her. “You can lie down in my cabin.”

The woman stood, but she didn't move immediately to the door. She looked down at Henry and said in a tired way, “You made my life hell once before. Looks like you might do it again.”

The old man smiled. “You give me more credit than I am due. But we are not finished here, Leah. Kitchimanidoo alone knows the end of this. When we see that end, maybe you will feel different.”

The look on Leah's face didn't speak trust, but it also didn't show the anger that had been there when she first arrived in Tamarack County. Although she'd fought against it, and it probably confused and frightened her, Leah was changing. Which, Rainy knew, was something Henry would also not take credit for.

“Come with me to my cabin, Aunt Leah,” she said. “Let's see about getting you some rest.”

The woman followed her.

* * *

“She's sleeping,” Rainy said, when she returned to her great-­uncle's cabin.

The old man said, “Good.”

“A huge flood. What could that be, Uncle Henry?”

The old man shrugged. “It was not my vision. But I think Stephen O'Connor is right about the timing. I think it is about his father. What exactly I cannot say.”

Ember moved to the door and sat eyeing Rainy with a look she knew well.

“Come on, old friend. I think we both need to walk a bit.”

She left Henry's cabin with the dog trotting before her across
the meadow. On a day when the sky was clear, it would have been nearing dusk. Under the cloud cover, dark was descending early and rapidly. A powerful wind was up, and she leaned into it with her gloved hands deep in the pockets of her jacket. She walked to the shoreline of Iron Lake and stood amid the birches while Ember sniffed at the ground among the tree trunks. The lake had an angry look. The water was dark, bruised-looking, and raging with whitecaps. She thought about Cork. Where was he now? Out on some roiling lake, fighting the wind and the waves, the cold and the coming dark? Was that what Leah's vision of a flood was all about? If that was so, what about all those hundreds of others she saw drowning?

“Give me a vision, too!” she cried into the dark and the wind. “Show me that Cork is safe!”

She waited until her anger passed, then sang a prayer asking for the courage to accept the will of Kitchimanidoo, whatever that might be. She called to Ember and turned back to Henry's cabin, where the warm glow of a lantern was visible in the window.