Welcome to the portion of my website devoted to my contemporary fantasy novels—with a “green” twist to them. I am in the process of writing The Earth Mage Trilogy. Books One and Two, Echo of Hope and Treachery’s Children are complete. I took a break from starting Book Three to pen another novel that also explores the impact on the Earth of our hundred-year-plus oil binge. The new novel, Psyche's Prophecy, is done and I'm busy editing it.
One of my deepest concerns for many years has been man’s destructiveness to our planet. The impacts of climate change and pollution are incontrovertible, as is the fact that climate change is happening far more rapidly than the scientists initially predicted. Of course, during the Bush administration, scientists weren’t allowed to talk about global warming. So, the years from 2000-2008 have added greatly to the carbon footprint that is destroying our atmosphere, killing off hundreds of species, melting the polar ice caps, and altering the composition of our oceans.
Because sometimes people take note of things that they read in novels (as opposed to newspapers, the internet and magazines), I decided to write a fictionalized account of what might happen if we ran out of petroleum products and global warming was allowed to run its predictable course. An Excerpt from Echo of Hope, Book I of The Earth Mage Trilogy, can be found below. If you like what you read and would like to purchase books, please email me. Echo of Hope will be available shortly—presuming I can find a publisher.
Remember, turn out the lights as you leave a room, try to walk or bike when you can and turn down the thermostat in the winter (yes, and turn it up in the summer). The carbon emissions that you don’t produce as you live more thoughtfully will help save this planet for our children.
Echo of Hope
Prologue
Karras stood under the large cedar tree. He blended in so well with the weathered tree that casual passersby—had there been any, which there were not—might not have seen him there. As Karras waited, a lone female timber wolf crested a nearby hill. She was grey and black with a thick coat that was clumpy and unkempt. Her teats were so engorged that they sagged halfway down her legs. The wolf slowly lifted her muzzle, scenting the air, then swiveled her head delicately in Karras’s direction, silver-tipped ears pointing forward.
“I have come to talk with you, mother wolf.” The wizard, who had long, grey hair braided into many rows set with jeweled pins and a kindly face, spoke directly into the wolf’s mind. Not all wolves understood the mind speech, but Karras knew this particularwolf.
Locking her golden eyes onto Karras, the wolf replied, “Can’t it wait? My children are hungry. I’ve been away hunting since the dawn of this day.” And, as if on cue, or perhaps because the hungry puppies suddenly sensed their mother’s presence, there came a shrill cacophony of high pitched yips and squeals.
“Yes, I know—that ye’ve been gone that is. I’ve been waiting for you for many hours.…” Karras paused, but the invitation for which he was hoping didn’t seem to be forthcoming. “Might ye allow me to join you in your den? We can talk while ye feed the little ones.”
Nanika, for that was the wolf’s name, simply twitched her tail at Karras before disappearing into a small hole in the hillside. Deciding that perhaps the tail twitch was invitation enough, Karras knelt in front of the entrance to Nanika’s whelping cave and slithered through the small doorway on his belly. Fortunately, the narrow passageway opened into a nicely rounded cavern after just a few feet. Karras knew that Nanika had used this well-hidden spot before for just the same purpose. The floor was lined with her soft belly fur and dry pine needles.
Karras raised a hand to call his mage light into being, and then remembered the young wolves’ delicate eyes, still developing behind closed lids. Sighing, Karras adjusted his wizard’s eyesight to compensate for the almost total absence of light. Glancing about, he found the small enclosure surprisingly warm and commodious. Nanika was lying on her side against the wall opposite to him, suffused with small, squealing bodies all clamoring for a nipple.
“There, there, my little precious ones,” Karras heard Nanika crooning to her brood. “There’s enough here for all of you. No need to shove your brothers and sisters.” Karras was waiting for an invitation to speak. He knew it would be considered terribly rude to tender unsolicited comments within Nanika’s den. Tactfully Karras dropped his eyes, waiting … Nanika readjusted her body to accommodate the hungry puppies.
“Well, wizard, since you don’t seem to be going anywhere. What do you want?”
“Thank you for the hospitality of your den,” Karras began formally. “I want to tell you a story, Nankia. Might I do that?” he inquired respectfully.
“Well, I’m not going anywhere either.…”
Karras took a deep breath, settled himself on his haunches, and leaned back against the curved wall of Nanika’s cave. He withdrew a small pipe from within his robes, lit it with a thought and pulled on it, considering how to begin his tale. Karras chose his words carefully.
“I think ye should hear about an old dog. She’s a very sad old creature and she’s been lonely as death ever since her mated one died at the end of the last cold season. Her coat is ragged and her eyes are dull. She’ll be here in a day or two.” Here Karras paused, then continued, “Nanika, I want you to let her take one of your pups with her.”
Nanika’s growl filled the small space. “I would rather die, wizard,” she snarled.
“Will ye hear my reasons?” Karras knew it would be a grave error to continue without permission at this juncture. Time passed. Karras could see that the pups had drained Nanika and were curled up against her warm underside, twitching in their sleep, their small, round bellies full of milk.
“It won’t change my mind. But I confess to curiosity about why a wizard wants one of my children.” Nanika spoke with some asperity, meeting Karras’s gaze with her golden one.
Karras smiled inwardly. He’d been hoping that the fabled lupine inquisitiveness would be his salvation.
“Thank you, mother wolf. The old dog lives one day’s travel from here with a very special woman. This woman has magic within her, though she doesn’t yet know it. She will be very important in the continuing struggle against our ancient Enemy.” Here Nanika growled low, deep in the back of her throat, and the hackles started to rise along her spine.
Feeling hopeful, Karras forged ahead. “And not only her. Wolves from your line will be essential to our survival as well. For ye see, a son of yourn, actually I believe that one,” and Karras pointed out a fat little fellow curved against Nanika’s lower rib cage, “is destined to bond with the woman. She will need his help if she’s to succeed against the Dark Ones—without him, she will surely fail.
“What Seer foretells is that the sad old dog will bring one of your pups to the woman and her mated one. They will raise him together. This child of yourn will help the old dog to live a bit longer. Without him, she will die within a moonturn. Your child will also help the woman to recognize and accept that she’s a magical creature.” Karras paused to smoke a bit, waiting to see Nanika’s reaction to his story thus far.
Nanika thought for a long while. She was silent for so very long that Karras had begun turning new inducements for assistance ‘round and ‘round in his mind. At last Nanika asked, “And would you tell me, wizard, just where my child would be? I would know this so that I might watch him grow. Mind you, I’d not even be considering this were it not for your mention of the Dark Ones.” Nanika growled again and paused, still considering.
“What will his name be, wizard? Do you know? And wizard, if the dog is so decrepit, how do I know my son will arrive safely at the woman’s house?”
“Because, Nanika, I will watch over him on his journey. And, yes, I will show you where he is whenever ye want to go there. Ye’ll need only to call for me. When ye do I’ll hear and come to you.” Reaching out a gentle hand, Karras stroked Nanika’s soft, silvery head.
“Thank you, mother wolf. I knew you’d understand and help. Oh, yes, his name will be Nikki, and he will live long for one of your kind. But ye would always know him, Nanika, even if ye did not know his name.”
As Nanika watched, nodding her great head slightly and lolling her tongue, the place where Karras had been sitting was, suddenly, nothing more than a shining space of empty air. Nanika started slightly before settling in and licking each puppy thoroughly, lavishing a particular amount of attention on the little son who was to leave her side so soon. Having completed this small task, Nanika laid her head on her outstretched paws, closed her golden eyes and slept.
Chapter One
Lori Rose Haraldsson was sitting very still on a large piece of granite shot through with quartz crystal. It had been a long time since she’d even thought about her middle and last names. No one really cared about those things anymore, least of all Lori. It was late in the afternoon and the quartz shimmered in the waning fall sunshine. Lori was a tall, spare woman with sharp angular features and unusual tip-tilted eyes that tended to shade from a muted blue to pale green depending on the light. There were well-worn creases at the corners of her eyes and her skin was that permanent shade of sun-brown that came from living high amongst the wind-tossed, snow-capped peaks of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. She had prominent cheekbones and a nose with a hawk’s bridge that she’d always hated. Long golden brown hair that would have cascaded past her waist was braided into a sloppy queue. Errant strands, caught by a gentle breeze wafted around Lori's face. Pushing the hairs impatiently out of her eyes, Lori clasped her long-fingered hands together, and then rested her chin on steepled fingers, thoughts wandering idly in a myriad of directions. The staccato sound of claws clicking over granite interrupted her reverie.
Lori looked up expectantly. “Oh, I thought it was probably you.” Lori smiled affectionately at the large, rather disheveled looking wolf walking towards her. He regarded her a bit balefully with his yellow wolf’s eyes and, with a desultory tail wag, flopped down on the warm rock beside her and proceeded to assiduously groom his right front paw.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” Lori regarded the silver-and-black wolf with rising concern.
Deep in her mind, the way she understood him, Lori heard an echo of, “That puppy! He needs manners and correction! Overindulged since the day he was born…” This last was followed by a low rumble emanating from the back of the wolf’s throat.
Lori thought back to the time when she realized that she really could understand and communicate with her wolves—wolf, Lori corrected herself, because at that point in time there had been only one wolf, Nikki. Not that he exactly spoke in English; but it was rather like a foreign language that Lori found she could interpret quite accurately, once she learned how to do so. It was the old man—Karras was his name—who had opened that particular door for her.
Karras lived up the valley from them, at least some of the time—Lori wasn’t sure exactly where, since she’d never been there. He’d been visiting one day, though. As was often the case it had been easy to forget about him since he’d spent hours wrapped in his multi-colored cloak watching her from under that odd hat he always wore. The old man’s eyes were so unbelievably dark that they seemed to have no pupils at all, only large, bottomless irises.
Long after the sun had set on that particular day Karras had touched Lori’s arm and invited her to follow him.
“Come with me, daughter,” he had said. Curious, she’d trailed after him along a path silvered by an almost-full moon. The two of them had ended up sitting in a small glade that still held some remnants of the last of the day’s warmth. Karras had come around behind her then.
“Close thine eyes,” he’d murmured. She had, and almost immediately Lori had felt Karras’s hands gently resting on either side of her head. The warmth and electricity flowing from those hands was palpable, and it both excited and frightened her. Lori remembered that she had started to instinctively pull away in confusion.
“Be still,” Karras had whispered, “very still. Practice listening to thy thoughts.” And then, after awhile, sharply, “Ye are not listening. Ye are cataloging and organizing. Do not make this more difficult than it already is. In fact,” Karras’s voice took on a silky, almost hypnotic, tone, “’tis the simplest thing there is, just sink within thyself. There, that’s better…
“Find that still place within you,” he’d continued. “When ye can find it easily, call me with thy mind and I’ll come back.” When Lori had opened her eyes, she’d been surprised to find Karras gone.
“Silent as a wraith that one is,” she’d muttered to herself as she found her way back along the path to the house.
It had taken more than a year before Karras had returned. Despite not having called him on that particular day, when Lori had looked up from her cleaning chores in the barn, Karras was simply there, flanked by one of the small white and brown ponies he habitually traveled with, and Nikki, her wolf. As she’d gazed at Nikki, Lori could see intelligence reflected in his large yellow eyes and, in the silence within her mind’s eye she thought she heard, “It’s not polite to stare, even puppies know that!”
Stunned, she had shifted her aqua gaze to the old man. “What just happened?” Lori had inquired in a shaking voice, finding it difficult to draw breath deep enough into her chest to actually form words.
“I think ye know,” the wizard said so quietly that Lori wasn’t sure she had heard him at all. Maybe he had been talking to that same secret place deep within her that Nikki had tapped into, bypassing her normal hearing apparatus.
Needing fresh air and sunshine badly, Lori had stumbled out of the barn, sitting down abruptly on an upturned, freshly cut log end. Nikki had padded after her, looking worried. At first, he’d laid his shaggy head on her lap, looking up at her—and then he’d tentatively licked her chin.
“Oh, Nikki,” she’d sighed, scratching him behind the ears and under his chin in just that way that he particularly liked.
Adjusting her gaze upwards, Lori had seen Karras silently watching her from within the shadows of the barn door. “Can I talk back to him?” Lori had inquired with some asperity as her initial shock receded a bit. “And don’t you dare pretend you don’t understand what I mean. Is this why you told me to practice those things with my thoughts? Answer me, old man! For godsakes, don’t just stand there.”
And that was just the beginning—probably half a dozen years ago. In the intervening time, Lori’s ability to communicate with all three of her timber wolves had developed to the point where she no longer even had to concentrate on this alternative form of speech. She simply shifted from active verbalizations to what she had taken to calling the “mind speech” as the need arose.
Lori returned to the present as Nikki pushed against her, demanding a tummy rub, his eyes slits against the late afternoon sunshine.
“Well,” Lori asked, “What exactly happened? And, what are you going to do about it? Was it the puppy again?”
Nikki, who truly did simply live in the moment, seemed to have forgotten his earlier fit of pique until her inquiry.
“Oh yes, it was Wonderpuppy.” His voice was filled with as much sarcasm as it was possible to express in wolf lexicon. The way Lori heard it, the “Wonder” part was long and drawn out, ending with a growl. “You’ll be angry with me if I correct him—you always are,” Nikki finished mournfully, adding as an afterthought, “Maybe you need to do more of that yourself. Correcting him.”
Lori reached out and, placing one hand on either side of Nikki’s head, turned it gently so that his beautiful amber eyes met hers.
“I just won’t pay attention for the next few minutes. Go do what you need to do. You know Wonderpuppy doesn’t pay attention to me either.”
“Really, mother-of-all?”
“Well, as you pointed out, what I’ve been doing hasn’t been working. I’ll be back soon enough, Nik. Not much of the day left here.”
She sat quietly watching Nikki bound off across the granite, marveling at what a thing of beauty he was when running full tilt, muscles rippling, tail held high. After a time, Lori heard a flurry of high pitched yelps in the distance and figured that the lupine part of her pack was solving its own problems in their own way.
Lori sighed. The day was quickly moving on towards late afternoon and there was still so much to do. Lori slowly unkinked her long limbs and stretched languidly. Soon winter would come, and with it, starkly lower temperatures, and that would be the end of the all-too-short high alpine warm season. Come to think of it, most of the wildflowers had already wilted and died. Shivering slightly, perhaps in anticipation of the coming cold season, Lori stretched once again, concentrating on the pins and needles of a foot that had fallen asleep. Satisfied that the foot was capable of holding her weight, Lori began first to walk, then to jog, with her long-legged, loping stride, back towards the collection of home-built structures that had been her domicile for the last ten years, give or take a few months. There was the main house, the barn, a tool shed, a garden shed, an all-purpose shop, the solar still, the smokehouse, and the structure that housed the pumping mechanism—this last was actually more of an attachment off of the main house than a building in its own right. Everything was meticulously crafted from wood and metal, built to withstand long winters and high altitude solar exposure.
Rolf had built all of the structures—some with help from her, but mostly by himself. He had strongly held ideas about craftsmanship and about nearly everything else as well. He knew when they had fled from the other world that his skills would be what stood between them surviving or failing in this new, harsh environment. In addition to the buildings, there was the large, fenced-off garden, laden with late season plants awaiting the canning pot or the drying rack. Lori automatically let her eyes run over her little home and felt a deep sense of peace and satisfaction with the natural ebb and flow of what had become her life.
She wondered where Rolf and Naia were and if their hunting had been fruitful. They could get by without meat through the winter, but it was better if they had some put by. They had salted venison and quite a bit of smoked and salted fish, but they would need more to last the six months of cold that were coming soon. Rolf Haraldsson was her husband, although she supposed that labels like “husband” and “wife” were legal concepts that had become relatively meaningless anachronisms in her current environment. Nonetheless, he was her life’s partner and she felt fondness and warmth well up within her whenever she thought of the six-foot-four-inch Norse god who had blessed her life with his presence. Lori reflected that, after their many years together, she knew Rolf nearly as well as she knew herself. Where her coloring tended towards autumnal golds, his hair was a white-washed blonde and his eyes the blue of endless Sierra skies, or deep, inscrutable mountain pools. He, too, had sharp, angular bones in his face, and a full beard that was forever scruffy and unkempt; although given their current circumstances, no one was likely to fault him for grooming slippages!
Lori began mentally clicking through tasks that needed doing before she could settle in for the night. She started in the barn where she milked the goat, listening to her bleat in satisfaction as the pressure in her full udder eased a bit. Taking the pail of warm milk, she draped a square of cloth over the top to protect it from insects and rodents before carrying it into the main house to finish cooling. Back in the barn, Lori collected eggs from the hens’ nesting spots and went to check on the sow and her rapidly growing piglets. Now there was a ready food source, she mused; and though Rolf thought that keeping them through the winter might be better, Lori had her doubts. Feeding them would pose a problem, despite the fact that pigs could forage even in the winter. Maybe they could raise a couple of the shoats, but not all of them. Against all odds—since Lori had never actually seen any wild boars in the area— the sow had somehow managed to find herself a partner and create the small piglets. Before her pregnancy, the sow herself had been slated for the larder. Her wandering eye had purchased her at least another year of life.
“You sly old thing, you,” Lori scratched the sow behind one of her stubby pink ears. The sow grunted in agreement. She tolerated Lori’s touch, but flashed both teeth and tusks if Rolf came near.
Closing the barn door to preserve as much of the autumn day’s heat as possible, Lori took the eggs into the house, placing them carefully on the sideboard next to the milk. Then she took her gathering basket and headed for the garden. Looking at her season’s efforts with a critical eye, Lori chided herself aloud. “You simply have to spend most of tomorrow and the next day gathering those damned late season squash. If you don’t they’ll rot on their vines.” As she talked to herself, Lori stooped to gather a few spinach leaves and a pumpkin to augment their supper.
Suddenly, there was a ruckus in the side yard. Nikki and Wonderpuppy were yapping, howling and barking furiously.
“Nikki, what’s up??” Lori sent a query towards her eldest wolf.
“Come now!!” was the only response she got.
Lori dropped everything and sprinted in the direction of the commotion. Rounding the corner of their buildings she saw a stranger. He was very tall and gaunt to the point of emaciation. His hair was long, stringy and black. He was holding out both hands, palms upwards, backing away from the two wolves.
“I won’t hurt you, ma’am,” he croaked. “I’ve been on the road for weeks. I’m hungry and tired. Please call off your dogs.”
Lori eyed the strange man. She was unused to seeing anyone at all. Come to think of it, Lori realized with a start, it had probably been years since she’d actually seen a human being other than Rolf.
Lori quietly assessed the stranger standing before her with her inner senses. He was starving. It seemed as if sheer will was the only thing keeping him on his feet. He had nothing with him but a ragged green backpack and that appeared to be mostly empty. Amazingly, he wore a gold ring on his right hand with what looked like a large opal. How had he managed to hold onto that? It seemed incredible that it hadn’t been stolen or traded for badly needed food.
“All right,” Lori beckoned. “Why don’t you come into the yard and sit for a while? We can talk and you can tell me how you come to be here. I’ll give you something to eat and then you can be on your way.”
“Nikki, it’s all right. You and Wonderpuppy can relax, but keep an eye on him just in case I’m wrong.”
She heard the answering growl deep in her breastbone. The four of them walked around the corner of the house and into the front yard. The stranger sat down gratefully on the edge of the broad, front porch steps, settling his backpack in front of him. Lori noticed that his hands were large, but that the fingers were long, graceful, and surprisingly clean. She disappeared into the house and came back in a few minutes with a cup of fresh goat’s milk and two slices of that morning’s oat bread spread with preserves. The stranger drained the cup in a single swallow and started in on the bread. Lori figured there was no point in trying to talk with him until he was finished eating so she remained watchful and silent.
The stranger fixed his soft, dark eyes on Lori and said, “Thank you, ma’am. That was most kind of you to feed someone you don’t know.”
“So, who are you?” Lori asked somewhat abruptly. “And where did you come from?”
“My name is Ned,” he said, “Ned Gillette, and I’m damned if I know how I got here. I was trying to get away from the San Francisco Bay area—it’s gotten pretty bad there, you know, what with the rioting and no food, nor much drinkable water either. And I was trying to walk on roads that I used to drive on, but they’re clotted with robbers and thieves, so I was only traveling at night. ‘Round about Benecia, the bridge was out, so I had to swim and the water was so polluted I didn’t think I was going to make it across, and there were things in the water that almost got me. Horrible things.” He paused to draw breath. “Sorry, ma’am, but I guess I haven’t had anyone to talk to in a really long time.” Ned looked at her with raw apology in his soft, dark eyes.
“Don’t worry about it,” Lori said. “And you can call me Lori. My husband Rolf is out with our other wolf, hunting. He’ll be home soon. So, what happened after Benecia? Is Interstate Eighty still there? It’s been a long time since we’ve had any news from the other side of the mountains. We’ve still got family over there somewhere—at least I think we do.”
Ned replied slowly, “I think that the interstate is still mostly there. The bridge parts have fallen in, but I was able to walk a few miles to where Vallejo used to be. Then things started to get really strange. There were these weird blue and green lights in the sky and a strong wind came up out of nowhere. It must have been gusting at forty or fifty miles an hour, maybe more. I hunkered down next to a freeway bulkhead and the wind was just screaming in my head until I couldn’t stand it anymore. I think I blacked out. Next thing I knew, I was just in a different place. There was no more freeway, no more wreckage from what used to be Vallejo. I was suddenly near here in a whitebark pine forest next to a clear pool. For a couple of hours I was convinced I’d died and moved on to whatever comes after. But I drank from the pool and decided that all my limbs were still working. So, I started walking again.” Ned shrugged pragmatically. “Guess I figured that here was a lot better than there had been. That was yesterday, sometime,” he added before subsiding into an exhausted silence.
Lori regarded him in the indirect way she had learned from her wolves. He truly looked like he was at the end of whatever energy he might once have had. She took in the tired slump of his shoulders and his weary, bloodshot eyes with dark circles beneath. He could have been anywhere from thirty-five to sixty; it was really hard to tell.
After a minute or two, Lori said gently, “Look, Ned, why don’t you sit in that chair in the corner of the porch. It might be good for you to close your eyes for a bit. I need to go into the house to make dinner. I’ll bring you out some more food, and then why don’t you try to sleep. You know, I’d really like to ask you about, probably, hundreds of things, but I know Rolf will want to know things too and there’s no point in you telling your story again when he gets home.
“Nikki,” she gestured to the smaller of the wolves, “and Kua,” gesturing towards the other, “will keep you company. Actually, we call Kua Wonderpuppy, but it doesn’t matter since he only responds to you if he wants to. Doesn’t matter much what we call him!”
Ned dazedly nodded assent as he wearily unfolded his long limbs in preparation for moving up the three steps to the front porch landing. Lori noted that he was clutching his odd, green backpack close to his long, lanky body. She wondered why it seemed so important to him.
“Watch, Nikki,” Lori commanded, as she moved into the darkness inside the house, shutting the door behind her.
Chapter Two
Lori debated dinner now that there was an extra person to feed. As she thought about what she might make, Lori buttered two more slices of bread, grabbed a withered apple from off her drying rack, filled Ned’s cup with milk once again, and brought the food out to him. Ned was already asleep. Regarding him intently with her inner senses as well as the outer, Lori finally spoke his name quietly. Ned roused instantly, smiled drowsily and took the food. Well, Lori thought, as she left him to it and returned to her kitchen, I certainly don’t sense any danger from him; but, just the same, there’s more to Ned than he’s telling me. She wondered about whatever secrets he might be harboring, decided he might tell them in good time—or, perhaps, not.
Back to the task of dinner preparation, Lori threw a few handfuls of dried peas into the soup pot, covering them with water to soften up for a nourishing pea soup. She cut open the pumpkin and started scraping out the seeds, being careful not to lose any. Some she would roast for them to eat to absorb the seeds’ rich stores of fats and minerals, others would become the beginnings of next year’s garden. She pulled out some dried, salted fish to soak. While she worked, Lori thought back, remembering how they had come to be there, tucked away in an isolated corner of the Eastern Sierra Nevada Mountains.
Lori decided that it must have been at least ten years ago that she and Rolf and their two German shepherds (long since gone now) had left their other world behind. She’d stopped worrying about calendar dates after the first five years or so. After all, they were essentially meaningless considering their current way of life, as were clocks.
Momentarily shutting her eyes, Lori pictured the countless social problems that had started during the ‘90s and gotten much worse during the decade that had followed. She wasted a few minutes of helpless rage thinking about the country’s succession of weak presidents. The whole lot of them had lied and manipulated, selling out to their already wealthy associates in the oil—and other—industries, as they systematically stripped the planet of its natural resources. The way they got away with it was ridiculously simple. After all, there had been rumors of oil shortages even back in the nineteen seventies, with people only able to buy gas every other day or lining up at the pumps for an hour or more. So, when the media hyped “oil problems”, no one really paid that much attention anymore, except for a few scientists, most of whom had been summarily fired from their government jobs the minute they’d gathered the courage to try to speak publicly. Lori wondered what had become of the media. Were there still television and radio stations? How about the internet? She and Rolf had cancelled their cable subscription shortly after CNN had brought the Gulf War into their living room. Between the gratuitous violence of “normal” television and the stupidity of “reality television” like the Survivor show, neither felt they needed to pay for the privilege of importing that idiocy into their home. Survivor! Lori snorted to herself; wonder how well any of those bozos would have done out here?
Back to her musings, Lori remembered that at first there had been odd and even days to buy gas—reminiscent of the nineteen seventies, and shortages of things like home heating oil. If you looked online or at other media sources, though, there were all these governmental guarantees that everything would be fine. After all, they could simply use a different process and gather oil from shale in Canada and other points north, up near the Arctic Circle. People were still buying cars that got twelve or fifteen miles to the gallon and taking long road trips. Public transportation, also primarily reliant on oil, never really caught on in America where driving your own car to wherever you wanted to go was one of the inalienable rights guaranteed by the Constitution. Meantime, there was a faction that wanted to start using coal again, and yet another who contended that coal’s mammoth carbon footprint would merely hasten global warming exponentially, already a hot-button issue.
Lori recalled one particularly brutal winter. There were weeks when there was no gasoline and people started hauling their old bicycles out of storage. Electric plants, powered by petroleum products, started operating on rotating schedules, so there were times every day when none of the appliances worked. Lori had cleared out their freezer and started buying only as much food as they could consume before it spoiled. In some of the bigger cities, riots were starting. There were marches on Washington and everyone had been frightened that some other country, struggling with the devastation of their own economy, would take advantage of the chaos to attack the United States.
And then, suddenly, by spring of the next year, everything was fine again—at least on the surface. No one really knew where the government had acquired more oil, but at least the mass hysteria had quieted down. Lori remembered that she and Rolf, a petrochemical engineer by trade, had found it difficult to trust this newly-minted “everything will be fine” mentality. It was during that time frame that they had begun their very quiet discussions about leaving. Lori remembered how they had taken quite a few of their own road trips during which she had worried about wasting limited petroleum resources. It was on one of those trips that they had found a hundred acre parcel tucked away in the Eastern Sierras. The upper twenty acres were at about eight thousand feet, while the lower eighty sloped downwards. She had thought that there might at least be the possibility of growing what they needed despite the altitude since the land was south facing.
Lori and Rolf had told no one, not even their two grown children, about their plans. After all, Lori had rationalized, the fewer who knew their plans, the less chance of those plans being sabotaged. She smiled at the memory of all their preparations. Over the next few months, she and Rolf had quietly gathered what they thought they would need, gradually ferrying things to their new location. She had come up with a treadle sewing machine and a spinning wheel, as well as a loom.
“Oh my god, the sheep!” Lori suddenly remembered that she hadn’t checked on the four merino sheep that day.
“Nikki,” she fairly shrieked into his mind, “Run up to the sheep pasture and make sure they’re all right—and remember not to touch the fence. Tell Wonderpuppy to guard the stranger.”
“Yes, mother-of-all,” came a muffled reply. Lori was never sure that Wonderpuppy understood her; at least he had never responded to her mind talk the way his lupine parents did. But she was confident that he’d understand a direct order from Nikki. Rolf had constructed an electric fence around the sheep that was solar powered. It packed quite a wallop. She really hoped Nikki didn’t forget that part—not to touch the fence.
Returning her thoughts to their transition to this new life, Lori recalled that she and Rolf had also begun the procedure of converting all their cash into gold and silver, a process that had been greatly facilitated by an old conspiracy theorist who ran a coin store in Ashland, Oregon. Rolf had bought tools he thought he’d need, including an intriguing assortment of nineteenth century hand tools designed to work with both wood and metal, as well as various supplies. Lori had thought that the two hundred pounds of gun powder and reloading equipment was excessive, but now she was wondering if it would be enough. She had bought books about herbs and herbal healing to add to her traditional medical texts. Deciding that Harrison’s Internal Medicine was only useful if one had access to drugs and procedures, she had, instead, opted for Ackerman’s Wilderness Medicine.
Though not a physician herself, Lori held a doctorate in physiology and had worked as a medical researcher for close to thirty years. She and Rolf had weaned themselves off their regular prescription medications, although he had had a far easier time getting off his cholesterol-lowering drug than she had had stopping her hormones. Lori still remembered sleepless nights, temper outbursts, and endless hot flashes that had subsided eventually with the help of some soy-based supplements. Finally, Lori had created a cache of what she hoped would be a thirty year supply of “emergency” drugs with the help of her physician friends. Under the guise of needing them for yet one more high-altitude climbing expedition, Lori had gathered a stockpile that included a variety of injection and oral antibiotics, opioids, anti-fungal medications, epinephrine, and steroids. In their years away from civilization, she had Rolf had barely touched any of these. In fact, it was so long since Lori had looked at their pharmacopeia that she barely remembered what was in it.
As fall drew near, the power outages began once again and Lori knew they had made the right decision. She still remembered the night before they’d planned to leave their old life forever. They had invited their two adult children over, specifically requesting that they not bring their spouses, nor Amanda’s one child. They had told Jon and Amanda about their plans with exhortations to not share the location of where they were planning to settle with anyone. They had given rough maps to their children, drawn in a code that they had talked about, but not written down, inviting Jon and Amanda to come along, bringing their families with them. “But, don’t wait too long,” Rolf had cautioned, “or there won’t be any gasoline for you to get to us.” Where Jon had been enthusiastic about their plans, clearly understanding the necessity driving Rolf and Lori, Amanda had been more subdued.
“I just don’t know,” she’d said. “Trevor won’t want to leave, I don’t think.…”
Lori realized that there were tears tracking their way down both her cheeks at the memory of that night. It had been the last time she had seen Jon or Amanda. She wondered, rather desperately, if they were still alive. As her thoughts turned to the one grandchild she knew about, she got hold of herself.
“Stop it,” she admonished herself aloud. “You can’t go there, you just can’t. It’s a nowhere road and you know it as well as you know your own name. You can’t leave to go find them and if they could come here, well, they’d have been here long ago….” Lori stifled the sobs that were rising up out of her chest, working their way around the lump that had taken up residence in her throat.
Lori wrenched her attention back to her soup pot. The water had started to boil and she deftly began adding other ingredients to the peas, forcing her mind to the task at hand. She didn’t often let her thoughts go back to what she considered “the old life”. It was exquisitely painful in a bitter-sweet way, and Lori valued the equanimity that fled whenever she let herself mourn for her lost children.
Adding the fish and some chopped pumpkin, along with the spinach, garlic, and onion, Lori tasted her stew. Satisfied, she put a lid on the pot and moved it to the back of the woodstove where it could simmer. Hastily she threw together some flour, water, salt and goat’s milk, along with some sourdough starter. Lori always made a point of saving a bit of dough from each batch to serve as starter for the next. This would make fresh biscuits to go with the hearty stew. Glancing out the kitchen window, Lori noticed that it was well past six in the evening. The light was starting to fade and the shadows were lengthening.
“Nikki,” she called.
“On my way back,” she heard in her mind. “Sheep are fine and fat. Maybe you don’t need all four,” he added wistfully.
“Just get back here, you big fur ball,” Lori replied.
Thinking of Rolf, she sent her mental query in a different direction. “Naia, where are you?”
After a pause of several minutes, she heard Naia’s typical, snarky response “With him, coming home, got elk, slow walking. I’m his favorite, now. Brought down elk for him.”
Lori sighed. There had been a perennial rivalry between her and the female wolf for Rolf’s affections. While Naia tolerated her, there wasn’t the warmth that existed between her and Nikki and Wonderpuppy. Lori wondered how she could ask Naia a time question. Her observation had been that her wolves’ sense of time was limited to now, before now and after now. Nonetheless, she decided to try.
“Naia”, she called again, “What’s around you right now?”
Again a pause of some minutes, and then, “Sheep are here.”
Hmmm, thought Lori, good. That means they’ll be here in about half an hour, just before full dark.
“Naia, thank you,” Lori sent, before turning her attention to matters closer to home.
Lori padded out towards the porch where she had left Ned. She was barefoot and very quiet. Coming through the doorway, she saw Wonderpuppy with his head in Ned’s lap, the two of them staring fixedly into one another’s eyes.
“Wonderpuppy!” she cried. “Whatever are you doing?”
Kua’s head snapped around in her direction, but Ned looked her way as well. So, Lori thought to herself, he can hear me too.
Meeting Ned’s gaze she said, “This will keep, Ned, but later we need to talk.” Ned just looked at her and nodded with an odd, unreadable expression on his lean, bearded face.
Lori changed topics, “Rolf and Naia will be back soon. They’re bringing an elk with them. If you feel up to it, why don’t you walk up the canyon about half a mile and help them with it? Tell Rolf who you are and that I sent you.”
Ned simply lowered his chin fractionally in assent and rose from his seat in the corner of the porch. As he started down the steps, Wonderpuppy got up to follow him.
“Not so fast, young man,” Lori snapped. “You can stay here and help me.” Glaring balefully at her, Kua turned and clomped into the house, preceding Lori through the door.
Once inside, she heard “Not pup anymore; have two summers; mother-of-all treats me like baby pup.” As usual, Kua didn’t speak directly to her, but he did make generalized comments out loud in his mind that Lori supposed he knew she could hear.
Lori sighed. “I love you, my Wonderpuppy, and you’ll always be my puppy, even when your muzzle turns white with age. I’m sorry if I offended you.”
Lori ran a hand idly through his thick ruff, scratching under his chin with vigor and pulling out some clumps of hair that were ready to shed. The wolves lost their thick undercoats every fall and every spring. Lori had often contemplated trying to spin yarn from the silky fur that the wolves dropped in copious amounts. Likely she would have followed through with this were it not for their four sheep who provided more than enough raw material to keep her busy at her spinning wheel and loom.
Another one to live in the moment, Wonderpuppy snuggled close against Lori’s leg, asking for more scratching in his special places. She considered asking him about the exchange with Ned, but thought better of it. No doubt, as far as the wolf was concerned, mind speech from one human was just about the same as mind speech from any other.
Chapter Three
Rolf Ian Haraldsson plodded tiredly towards his home. The traces from his hastily constructed travois bit into his thighs. Rolf was quietly pleased with himself. They wouldn’t have to worry about meat this winter. There’d be a lot of work, though, getting this elk smoked, salted or dried—they’d probably do some of each, he supposed. It had been late in the day when he’d sighted the bull elk and he had been so far from home that he’d hesitated before silently lifting his gun to his shoulder, sighting down the barrel and taking careful aim. There was plenty of gun powder left, but when it ran out, there’d be no more and he’d be stuck hunting with a bow—a less than pleasant thought since it took quite a bit more skill.
Rolf glanced at Naia running ahead, behind and off to the side of him. She was acting as if she was the one that had brought down their kill. Rolf knew Lori could communicate in some private way with Nikki and Naia—he wasn’t so sure about their puppy, originally named Ookua, then Kua, then Wonderpuppy. He smiled at his recollection of where the Wonderpuppy moniker had come from. They’d found Kua one day in with the sow and her just-born brood, sitting quietly, watching the little piglets nursing. Astonishingly, the sow was lying peacefully on her side, keeping a careful eye on the young wolf as he helped her by gently licking two of the little shoats. This was so unlike the sow’s usual reaction to the wolves—that involved grunting, snuffling furiously and charging at them in a bluff attempt to make them go away—that Lori had dubbed Kua “Wonderpuppy” after that and the nickname had stuck.
Rolf stopped for a few minutes, straightening his back and rotating each shoulder blade in turn. It was heaven to get the weight of the travois off his body. Rolf was a big man. Back in the world of civilization that had included bathroom scales, he had carried a comfortable 220 pounds on his six-foot-four-inch frame. Rolf figured he weighed less than that now, probably far less. He recalled that he had thought he was in prime shape sitting behind a desk eight to ten hours a day and working out like a madman at the gym for two. He even thought about some of his expeditions to the high mountains of the world, where he struggled in Trojanesque fashion for a couple of months and then returned to the land-of-the-living to lick his wounds. He had had no true idea, he realized, what it would be like to trade his executive engineer lifestyle for a life that more closely resembled that of his pioneer ancestors. There were no “breaks” in his current life and they had to create everything they needed, usually by trial-and-error. Most of the books they had brought with them had clearly been written at a philosophical, as opposed to a practical, level by people who could bail themselves out with Safeway or Home Depot if things got tough.
Rolf’s thoughts tracked backwards, roaming through childhood’s halls. Laughing half aloud, Rolf remembered that he used to joke about being the only black Irish he knew with blonde hair, blue eyes and the build of a linebacker. But a slender linebacker, he corrected himself; some of those guys weighed three hundred pounds. Rolf had come from a large Irish family all of the rest of whom—except one—had been dark and small boned. Some time back in the eighteenth century a Swede had crept into the mix donating his surname, and likely a child or two. Rolf used to wonder when he was still a young man living at home if his mother had strayed to produce him and his one blonde brother, who truly resembled no one else in his family. He had tried to ask her about that once, during a private moment when he was seventeen or so, only to receive a ringing slap across his face. Seeing his mother’s heightened coloring during that incident, he was never able to decide if she was guilty or angry or both.
Rolf looked for Naia. The light was fading, but he saw a blur of silver fur through the trees. “Naia,” he called. “Stay close, no hunting. There’ll be elk scraps once we get home.” Dutifully, the plume of Naia’s tail approached and she fell in at his heels. Rolf leaned once again into the travois, moving it painstakingly over the uneven ground, while trying to avoid the rocks that jarred him when he hit them unexpectedly. Suddenly Naia started barking frantically, and then growling as her hackles fluffed up all along her spine. Peering into the gathering gloom, Rolf thought he could just barely make out the form of another man in the distance. Alarmed, Rolf stopped walking and hastily disentangled himself from the travois in case he needed to defend himself or move quickly. Driven by intuition that had rarely failed him, Rolf slid a couple of rounds into the empty deer rifle, letting the weapon rest loosely in the crook of his right arm.
“Hail, stranger, who are you?” Rolf called. He was met with silence. Waiting a minute or two he repeated his query, although this time in a significantly louder voice. Rolf felt his fingers tensing on the steel of his gun.
The stranger paused and seemed to gather himself together. Rolf thought that he looked exhausted.
“Name is Ned.” The reply came faintly with the evening breeze. “I’ve been at your house. Your wife sent me to help you with the elk.”
By this time, Ned was near enough that Rolf could actually make him out. What he saw was a man nearly as tall as he, but at least fifty pounds lighter—maybe more. The stranger was lanky with angular limbs and a craggy face—skin stretched taut across his prominent cheekbones. His hair was dark and straggly and, thought Rolf, none too clean. What caught Rolf’s attention, though, was the comment about having met Lori. Now that made him uncomfortable.
“What were you doing at my house, man?” Rolf demanded, gathering himself for an unexpected attack—just in case.
“I told you.” The stranger was close enough now that they didn’t have to yell at one another. “I just sort of ended up there.” Ned paused. “Your wife fed me.”
“Hmmmph.” Rolf examined Ned as closely as he could in the gathering dusk, fighting a sudden urgency to get back home so that he could assure himself that Lori was unharmed.
“So you came out here to help?” queried Rolf, a bit too nonchanlantly. “It seems pretty much a one man job to me. But I’d be glad to tie you in.” At least if the other man was tethered to the sled, he’d be less of a threat, Rolf thought to himself.
Ned took in Rolf, the travois and the still growling Naia. “First, maybe you might tell that one to stand down.” He looked at Naia and said in the softest of soft voices, “I made friends with your young’un today.” Naia was still growling, but her hackles began to relax.
Rolf looked at Naia and said, “Go home and tell Mother that we’re coming soon.” Rolf wished he could talk to Naia the way that Lori could. If he had the ability, he’d have told Naia to race home, check on Lori and come back post haste to report in to him.
Naia—ever accommodating where Rolf was concerned—slipped between the gathering shadows, at first a silver streak in the dusk, then she was simply gone, having vanished from sight in the dimness of the rapidly approaching nightfall.
Ned looked at Rolf, seeming to sense his inner turmoil. “How about if I pull that thing for a few yards? Rest your back a spell. Then you can take it again.” Ned laid a hand on Rolf’s arm. Rolf drew back. There was something positively radiating from Ned. What the hell was it?
“You said you’d tie me in.” Ned removed his hand from Rolf and gestured to the tangled traces. Nodding as if he was in some sort of trance, Rolf quickly helped Ned tie the knots that would bind him to the sled. Ned seemed to hesitate, and then he was moving forward at about the same rate of progress that Rolf had been making.
Rolf felt the odd compulsion to help Ned gradually dissipate. What was with this guy? Jesus, Rolf thought to himself, anxiety nibbling at him, I hope Lori is okay.
“Where did you come from?” Rolf asked, a suspicious edge in his tone. “We haven’t had a visitor that we don’t know here in years. Actually,” Rolf paused in thought for a moment, “I don’t think we’ve ever had a stranger stop by. We’re not exactly on any beaten track.”
Ned looked over at Rolf, prepared to reply, and then stumbled, tangling his feet together as he negotiated the rocky, uneven ground.
“Look,” he replied, “I need to concentrate to do this. Do you mind if I answer your questions later?”
Rolf nodded, taking the opportunity to create an internal list of all the things he wanted to know about the other man. And so they made their way back towards the house. Twice Rolf asked Ned if he wanted him to take back the burdened travois, but Ned simply shook his head. By the time the back of the house came into view, Ned’s face shone with sweat despite the rapidly falling ambient air temperature.
Rolf placed his hand on Ned’s shoulder, about to thank him for the help. As Rolf touched him, Ned’s head snapped around. It was almost as if Ned had been in some sort of trance, Rolf thought.
“We’re here, man,” Rolf said shortly. “I need to take the sled now. I know where I need to put ‘er.”
Shifting his attention rapidly, Rolf called out, “Lor, I’m home. You okay?”
“Sure, love, see you in just a minute.” The musical sound of Lori’s voice was like a balm as it drifted out to Rolf from the interior of the house. He felt something that had been tight within him loosen and Rolf took a deep breath, then turned to look, once again, at Ned.
Shaking himself all over as if he had, indeed, been in some sort of self-induced hypnotic state, Ned simply nodded and bent over the knots that would free him from his load. A few minutes later, inclining his head slightly in Rolf’s direction, Ned turned and shambled towards the shadowed front porch. Rolf looked after him curiously. There was something very odd about this stranger, but he hadn’t the mental energy left to pursue that line of thought at the moment. The most important thing was that Lori—his beloved Lori—was safe.
Lori came to the door. She had heard Rolf and Ned long before they had come into view. That thing that her husband had thrown together to transport the elk was incredibly noisy as it dragged its cargo through the underbrush. Nikki, long since returned from sheep duty, and Wonderpuppy were curled up by the woodstove taking advantage of the lull in the day’s events to collect some of their average twenty hours daily snooze time. Lori wondered where Naia was. She should have come back with Rolf. “Naia?” she called.
“I’m here. In barn. Waiting for elk scraps.”
“You’ll be waiting for a long time,” Lori replied sweetly. “Remember, Rolf cleans game in the shop.”
A muted growl was the only response Lori got. Well, at least she’s home safe, Lori thought as she went to check on her soup and to take the biscuits out of the oven. About that time, there was a timid knock on the door.
“May I come in?” she heard Ned’s softly modulated voice.
“Yes, of course,” Lori replied. Now that Rolf was home, she felt far more secure. “You might want to go round to the back. There’s a pump and you can wash before supper.”
There was no response. When Lori opened the door a few seconds later, the porch was empty. Lori wondered if she should go to the shop and offer to help Rolf, or at least tell him that dinner was ready. She figured the elk would keep until he was done eating at least.
Making up her mind, Lori threw an old cloak over her shoulders against the evening chill. My, but it gets cold quickly up here once the sun goes down, Lori thought to herself as she walked the path to her husband’s shop. Rolf was there as she’d known he would be. Coming up quietly behind him, she put her arms around his waist and gave him a quick hug.
“Welcome home, sweetling,” Lori murmured to his broad back. Glancing around Rolf to the elk trussed to the travois, she whistled softly through her teeth, “Oooh, he’s huge! That should just about do it to keep us through the winter. Thanks, dearest, for bringing him home.”
Rolf turned to Lori, smiling down into her blue-green gaze. “Hey there yourself, darlin’. Don’t get too close. I’ve got elk blood all over me and I stink. How’s supper? Is it ready?”
“Whenever you are.”
“And that stranger, did he really just show up here like he told me?” Rolf hesitated. “Not sure that I like that, though I’d be hard pressed to tell you just why.”
“Yes, I know what you mean. I’ve had my own set of, um, oh I don’t know exactly, but probably fears, if I had to put a name to them.” What was starting to feel like a familiar shudder of discomfort cascaded through Lori. “Look, Rolf, we can talk about Ned later. When will you be in for dinner?”
Rolf thought a bit. “I’ll have a quick wash in the hot spring, and be in the house in fifteen minutes. That soon enough?”
“Of course. Let me know if you need help with that elk later, or if some of what I might do will keep until tomorrow.”
“Thanks…” Rolf sounded tired. “I’ve got the gut sack out—left that at the kill site. Well, I would have left it; but I suspect that Naia actually made short work of most of it. I was too busy to pay much attention to her. The carcass is pretty much cooled, but we’ll want that hide. So, maybe we could start by skinning him out after dinner.”
Smiling, Lori tilted up her head for the briefest of kisses, turned and went back towards the house. Building their home near a natural hot spring had been a stroke of genius, she reflected. Before they moved, she’d figured she could heat all the water she needed on the stove. Boy had that been overly optimistic. Lori snorted inwardly at her naïveté.
By the time she got back to the kitchen, Ned was already in the house, standing awkwardly, gripping his hat and his backpack with both hands.
“Where do you want me to sit, ma’am, uh, Lori?” he stammered slightly.
“Right over there will be fine,” she said, motioning to a chair on the right side of a long plank table. Nodding, Ned worked his loose-jointed frame around the table.
“Rolf will be another few minutes,” Lori said. “He’s cleaning up a bit. Would you like some ale?”
Ned nodded again. Lori went to the pantry, returning with three tankards in hand.
“It’s home brew,” she explained, and then she felt foolish. Of course it would have to be. Not much in the way of convenience stores in their neighborhood after all.
Ned picked up his mug and took a tentative swallow, closing his eyes in ecstatic joy as the mildly alcoholic liquid flowed down his throat.
“Mmmh …” he mumbled from around some foam. “Can’t say just how long it’s been since I’ve had any brewed drink.”
About then Rolf came through the door with Naia at his heels. She curled up in her usual spot, displacing Nikki from the rug in front of the woodstove with a short snarl.
Rolf grabbed the third tankard. “Must be for me,” he observed just before he drained it and headed to the pantry for a refill. Meantime, Lori brought earthenware bowls to the table along with the soup pot which she carefully placed on a trivet. The plate of warm-smelling, fresh-baked sourdough biscuits and the butter dish followed, along with a few forks and knives.
Overall, dinner was a fairly silent affair. Everyone was too busy eating to have much to say and the two men seemed fairly exhausted. There was the usual chorus of “Please pass the …” and “Thank you,” but not much else. Lori thought that she was actually reluctant to delve too deeply into who Ned was and where he might really have come from. And there was always a chance—actually a very good one, she reflected—that he wouldn’t tell her anything even if she asked him a hundred questions. Lori didn’t believe Ned’s story about being spirited to the Eastern Sierra from the interstate anyway, and she wanted a chance to confer privately with Rolf later that evening before doing anything.
“Lori!” She blinked hearing her name and looked over at Rolf. He was looking at her with an odd expression. “I’ve said your name over and over,” he said pointedly. “Where on earth have you got yourself off to?”
“Oh,” she replied, somewhat abstractedly, “You know how it is sometimes. I was just off in my own world, lost somewhere in my thoughts. Sorry,” she added, somewhat mechanically. Forcing a small smile, she asked, “What was it? What did you need?”
“Well, dear one,” Rolf said slowly, “I’ve been trying to tell you how good this dinner is and to ask if there’s any more to eat.”
“Yes, there is.” Lori smiled more readily this time. “There’s apple pie for dessert, left over from yesterday, and coffee.”
Soon, dinner was over and the three of them were drowsily enjoying that pleasant inner warmth that comes along with a full stomach.
“Want some help with that elk?” Ned asked suddenly, eyeing Rolf more directly than he had done all evening.
Rolf went to the door and ventured out onto the porch. Stepping back into the house, he replied, “Looks like it might actually freeze tonight. Yeah, I could use some help.” Ned slipped out the door and Rolf turned to Lori. Pulling her to her feet and gathering her close, he bent his head for a long kiss.
“Thanks for having dinner ready,” he murmured. “Mmmmmm, you just feel so good…”
Rolf ran his hands down Lori’s back, cupping her buttocks in his hands as he drew her towards him. His lips on hers grew more insistent before he checked himself. “Maybe later?” he whispered against her hair. Reluctantly disentangling himself, Rolf quirked an eyebrow at Lori and winked at her, his blue eyes darkening to midnight, before following Ned out the door.
Lori just looked after Rolf shaking her head. His ability to arouse her in an instant never failed to amaze Lori. She could feel her taut nipples pressing against the rough fabric of her knitted top and a trickle of moisture slicking her thighs. Readjusting herself, Lori bent to put the supper dishes on the floor. Recognizing this as the invitation that it was, Nikki, Naia and Wonderpuppy gathered around with alacrity, eager to clean the last of the food scraps off the plates and bowls.
“Nothing more for us?” inquired Nikki mournfully.
“Not tonight,” Lori replied. “You can all go out there and hunt for a change. Or, better yet, go to the shop. Bet there’s elk scraps to be had!”
Lori thought she heard Naia muttering about humans and their promises as the three shaggy wolves, dropping fur in their wake, crowded towards the door wanting to be let outside. Sighing, Lori gathered the dishes and headed out the pantry door after her wolf children. She lit a lantern before walking towards the hot spring to wash up. Deciding to clean both the dishes and herself, Lori grabbed a bigger towel on her way past the cabinet that held blankets, quilts and some threadbare towels; leftover remnants from their old life.
Taking advantage of the last bit of daylight, Karras was working in his garden. He had just pulled up what remained of his season’s crop of carrots, laying them in a careful pile, when his dark wizard’s eyes snapped open. “Ned,” he gasped aloud. “Ned is nearby.” Karras straightened, the carrots momentarily forgotten. Striding purposefully towards a nearby cistern, the old wizard raised his hands and began to chant.
Karras peered into the water, but it remained stubbornly water-like. “What in the nine hells?” he cursed, changing the tone and timbre of his words in his spell. Finally, from the depths of the cistern, the likeness of another wizard, blonde with milk-glass eyes, began to form, wavering in and out of view.
“Who summons me?” Hreth, blind seer, and one of the three comprising the wizards’ High Tribunal, spoke into Karras’s mind. “Oh, never mind, Karras. I know ‘tis thee. Thy spells always were misshapen. Why hast thou called me?”
“I would know if our Enemy stirs.”
Hreth snorted. “Where hast thou been, Karras? Our Enemy always stirs.”
“Yes, but are things worse?” Karras persisted.
Hreth considered this before answering. “Yes, they are. I believe that the Dark King has returned to this world, Karras. ‘Tis long past time for thee to return to thy home stronghold. We may well need every wizard afore too much more time has passed.”
“Thank you, Hreth. I release you from my, um, misshapen spell.” Karras slowly lowered his hands. Walking back to his pile of carrots, he stooped, gathered them into a ragged armload and turned towards his small cabin, forehead furrowed deeply in thought.
(All rights reserved. Copyright through Library of Congress.)
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