Snow Rising (The Great North Woods Pack Book 4) Read online

  Snow Rising

  Shawn Underhill

  Copyright 2015 by Shawn Underhill.

  All rights reserved.

  The price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it.

  —Henry David Thoreau

  Prologue

  The Montana sky was clear. Stars twinkled in the vast midnight blue, and the moonlight reflecting on the snow-capped Rocky Mountains highlighted their jagged outlines stretching on endlessly to the north and west.

  Beneath that great sky, in a dark valley in the shadow of those mountains stood an aged black wolf. He beheld the sky in silent reverence, in quiet discontent.

  “Father,” came the voice of his eldest son, softly. “Are you well?”

  The old wolf, gray of muzzle but keen of eye and strong of body, gave no immediate answer.

  He was Wahkan, revered chieftain of the proud Kohana Pack, a small and unchronicled offshoot of the once great Sioux Nation. As he heard his son’s question, he lowered his gaze from the night sky to the great circle of watching eyes surrounding him—eyes of many wolves, of cougars, of mighty bears and great birds of thunder.

  “Father,” repeated Swift, his amber eyes staring in concern.

  “I hear you,” Wahkan answered.

  “Share your vision with us now. We are all here, waiting.”

  “My vision,” the old one said, his voice rising for all to hear, “is not one of peace. My family, my friends … if I appear troubled, it is because I am sure of my senses, sure of my vision. Now my heart shakes within me. I have not felt such a disturbance in my spirit since the first days of the new white men.”

  “What more could come against us?” asked the deep voice of an enormous bear, one called Hupa. “Do we not already disguise ourselves by day, and move cautiously through the nights?”

  Several other voices rose up in accordance with him.

  “If you doubt my father,” snarled Swift, taking a step forward, “then why have you come?”

  “Doubt is my right concerning the humans,” grumbled Hupa. “It will always be my right. Out of respect I have traveled far to hear from Wahkan.”

  Swift took another step forward, his lips curling up over his teeth.

  “Peace between us,” said Wahkan, looking from his son to the mighty grizzly. “I demand peace on my lands. Have I not secured it with my own blood?”

  To such a verbal jab, Hupa could only bow his massive head respectfully, holding his tongue along with his anger and doubt within him. He sat back on his wide haunches, the pit of his belly grumbling madly despite his submissive posture.

  “The eldest of us are of similar minds,” declared Wahkan. “By day, this new world around us looks nothing like the world of our youths. It holds no appeal for us, and therefore it is easy for us to shun and turn our backs on.”

  Many voices murmured in agreement with this.

  “As elders, we are expected to be wise guides,” he resumed. “Yet how can we be wise regarding the outside world, when it remains a world that we do not understand?”

  “The world is also ours to live in,” said a cougar, one called Ena. “Why should we trouble ourselves to understand the humans?”

  “Because,” replied Wahkan, “as I was warned decades ago, some of the humans have taken an interest in us.”

  “Then we will kill those who seek us!” roared Hupa.

  “Down with them!” agreed a dark thunder bird, one called Ohanzee, or Ohan, because he cast a great shadow over the earth.

  “I have not assembled a war counsel!” Wahkan rebuked them. He paced, moving his eyes over all of them. “Have you forgotten that I have also warred against the humans, these new white men? Must I show you the place where my pack first met them with their guns, where, through greater cunning, we laid them waste despite their weapons? Must I recount the names of those who were injured and killed in the great struggle?”

  “Listen to my father,” Swift urged them, as he stepped out and loped within the great circle of the gathering. “For news has come to us from the east—from the rare white wolf, Joseph Snow, the one we call White Hair.”

  “The east is not our problem,” Ena said as Swift loped by him. “Neither is the White Hair.”

  “We may soon share the same problems as those in the east,” Swift snarled, now stopping before the cat. “We are not debating the merits of humans. The problem is not so simple. They do not wish to make war on us as in the old times. They have an interest in us—an interest not to kill but to understand. Why? Why would they desire such knowledge? The answer is stranger then the question. It is so that they may study us, and in some way … become like us.”

  At this point the entire counsel erupted into an angry chorus. Nearly a minute passed before Wahkan could speak again.

  “Friends, friends,” pleaded the old wolf, standing at the center of the great meeting circle. “Nothing will be solved here tonight, by our complaints or by our outrage—which is a justifiable outrage. I ask only that you follow my lead, those of you who hold me in regard.”

  “And what might you do against these humans?” asked Ohan. “You lead a mighty pack, Wahkan, and I revere your long life of wisdom as much as I admire your strength. But what can you do in regards to this problem stemming in the east?”

  “My answer is simple, bold one,” replied the old wolf. “Though my friend White Hair is not nearly my age, I will submit to his will as if he were my elder. I will follow his advice and his lead in all matters regarding the strange desires of the humans. His pack is half of mine, yet his experience in this new way of the world is far greater. He understands the human ways as well as he understands the wild ways.”

  Hupa grumbled in dissatisfaction, but checked himself from speaking as Wahkan’s eyes passed over him.

  “So I say,” resumed Wahkan, “that you would all be wise to follow the leadership of our friend, as I have pledged to follow him. We will not fight the humans openly. We will continue to keep ourselves hidden from them, and will defy them with force only when all other options have been exhausted. In that way, we risk less, and may best preserve our sanctity.”

  Slowly, a murmur of acceptance swept through the majority of those gathered. Those who did not agree were silent.

  “My kind are not accustomed to following,” said Ohan, flexing his wings and sending a ripple of response through his great feathered body. “We wish to live passively, if possible, as you suggest. Or else, if we cannot, we would rather die resisting the ways of these humans. Their contempt of the old ways can never be tolerated.”

  Wahkan replied, “If that is your true desire, friend, I will not try to change your mind. In asking you all to hear my advice, I have issued no challenges. I have only told you of my decision.”

  “Then I will make challenges,” Ohan stated flatly. “Because travel is simple for me, I will not stand by, waiting and complaining, but will go to the Snows and offer myself in service to this resistance.”

  “That is your choice,” Wahkan said. “It is both humble and noble.”

  Looking round at the large gathering, Ohan said, “Which of you complainers dares to join me?”

  1

  Joseph Snow handed a small piece of paper to his son. On it was written a street address.

  “Only one?” Lester said.

  “Only one for tonight.”

  “It strikes me as halfhearted.”

  “One should be enough to get our point across, loud and clear. We’ll see what comes of it before we strike again.”

  “You really think that’s the best way?” Lester said.

  “I do. For now, anyway.”
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  Paul intervened before there could be an argument, saying, “No use standing around looking at each other. Let’s get to it.”

  Joseph walked with his sons to the front door of the big farmhouse and wished them well. Watching them climb into Lester’s truck, he felt his wife move up beside him.

  “Isn’t this a little precarious?”

  “Not for them,” he assured her.

  “I don’t like it.”

  “That makes two of us,” he said. “But at this point in the game, it’s a necessary evil.”

  “Someday, one of them won’t return.”

  “Mother,” Janie Snow said. She was standing back near the fireplace. “Please.”

  Now Evelyn turned to her daughter, visibly angry. They were all thinking the same thing. She had simply been the one to actually speak the words.

  “Don’t say it,” Janie warned. “I know I wouldn’t handle it well if Evie were in danger.”

  “No, I don’t think you would.”

  “Ladies,” Joseph said mildly. “There is light at the end of the tunnel, after all these years. Let’s not bicker among ourselves. Not tonight.”

  Leaving the now chilly silence of the great room, Joseph entered his spacious study. On his desk sat Rowan Merrill’s smart phone—a treasure trove of contacts, addresses, numbers. There was still much more information to harvest from the tiny device, more facts to reference on search engines, more insight to be acquired.

  He sat down at the big desk and resumed studying the phone. There were photographs to go through, recent text conversations to read. It was a tedious job but in an odd way, it was fascinating.

  “Don’t mind Mom,” Janie said from the doorway. “She’s just tense.”

  Joseph turned around in his chair, saying, “I don’t mind her at all. In fact, I’ve grown rather fond of her over the years.”

  His daughter smiled. “Okay, so, maybe I was talking to myself.”

  “That’s better.”

  She looked at him, waiting, knowing that he would continue.

  “When times are tough, all we can do is share in the suffering of those we love,” he said. “That’s how we know that we’re not just living with them, because we actually love them, good, bad or otherwise. If not, we’re—”

  “We’re only tolerating them,” Janie finished. “Yes, Dad, tolerance is a joke. Nothing more than a feeble parody of love. You’re right. You’re always right.”

  “Being right isn’t my aim,” he replied. “Truth trumps the feelings of the individual every time. That’s what I’m getting at.”

  She nodded. “Well, now that we’ve got that settled,” she said, moving over beside him, “will you let me help you with this?”

  “Oh, you shouldn’t have to deal with this mess,” he answered.

  “No?”

  “It’s no fun, I assure you.”

  “I don’t expect it to be fun.”

  He looked at her and she continued, working to hold back a smile.

  “But since I love you, I’m offering to suffer with you.”

  Joseph’s face slowly cracked and softened. “Ah, a little dose of my own medicine,” he said. “Very sneaky. And here I thought I was just helping you to calm down.”

  “Don’t blame me,” she said. “Blame my teacher.”

  2

  Of course he couldn’t sleep. He never could after a fight.

  Lars Olsen unzipped his down sleeping bag, swung his legs out, and after fumbling in the dark, he felt his boots and pulled them on. It was better to walk the night away than to lay there thinking.

  Reaching out in the low light, he found his beanie—the kind with a little LED light often used by hikers. After adjusting it comfortably, he turned on the light. In the blue-white glow he laced his boots, reached for his rifle, checked the safety out of habit, picked up his coat and then climbed from the tent.

  It was getting too cold to camp out. October was spent. Even the ducks and the geese with their tiny brains knew enough to head south. The leaves were coming down and the chill of November could not be put off, regardless of how well he dressed or how good his gear was. Already there had been snow flurries. Any day now the real snow would begin, and from then on he knew he wouldn’t see bare ground again until April.

  “How do those Alaskans deal with it?” he muttered as he shut off the LED and stood letting his eyes adjust to the night.

  It’s not a question of how, he answered silently, pulling on his coat. They just do.

  Walking carefully, Lars moved through the woods until he linked up with the main trail—the wolf highway that connected all the households of Ludlow. He turned right onto the wide trail, taking strange comfort in its smooth surface and the unobscured view of the sky between the treetops.

  He was moving in the direction of the big farm—the old man’s place.

  What do you want? You want him to pat you on the back again, compliment your aim and quick reaction time? Want him to tell you that’s no big deal? No harm, no foul? So what if two men are needlessly dead. They asked for it, didn’t they?

  “They came looking for trouble,” he muttered.

  Yes, and you sure gave it to them.

  After that he moved along silently and without any definite thoughts for a solid ten minutes. It was a lovely night, crisp but with virtually no wind. The kind of night where the stars were crystal clear, and the Milky Way seemed to be only an arm’s length away. He was warm except for his fingertips and his nose. Something about walking in the cold dark helped to change the processes of his mind. He thought of nothing for several minutes.

  A squirrel began chattering in a nearby tree. It was complaining.

  Lars froze. He scanned the woods on either side, then looked as far up the trail as he could see. Nothing definitive moved. But he was not alone.

  ***

  David Wilson smelled Lars well before he saw him on the trail.

  Stepping lightly on the brittle leaves with his heavily-padded paws, he moved out of the light of the open trail and into the shadows of the tree trunks. He watched the man ambling along from a long distance, noticing the way he held his rifle just so—not carelessly like the moronic deer hunters, but not nervously, either. It wasn’t a thumb-suckers security blanket to cling to or hide behind. He carried it just so that it was like an extension of his own body, thinking no more of it than he thought of his other limbs as he strode, but that at any moment it might be put to use.

  Lars was about thirty feet away from the dark wolf when he halted. The squirrel had given him away, ruined his little game.

  “It’s just me,” Lars finally said.

  He stood still. The rifle didn’t move. His voice sounded uncertain, but not afraid. He wasn’t one of those weekend warriors who cringed by the camp fire all night, ticking the rifle’s stock every time an acorn fell in the dark. This quality—his confidence and experience—made him more difficult to toy with. More difficult than most, anyway.

  In his human form, David stepped out onto the trail.

  “Nice try,” Lars said, his voice relaxing as a small grin stretched the corners of his lips.

  “It’s odd to hear a squirrel complaining this late,” David said.

  “Odd,” Lars agreed. “And a tad unsettling, in a town like this.”

  “I was just gonna scare you a little.”

  “I might have scared you back.”

  David noticed the rifle move very slightly and smiled at the joke.

  “It doesn’t bother you?”

  “Not really,” David answered. “It would hurt, but I’d still win in the end.”

  “Well,” Lars said, dipping his left hand into his coat pocket. “Let’s not prove anything tonight.” He took out a pack of mini cigars, shook one out, and held it in his lips. He lit it after returning the pack to his pocket, letting his rifle lean against his leg while he struck a stick match. “Deal?”

  “You’ve got a pair,” David said. “I’ll give you that.”<
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  “No,” the mercenary returned, sending up a blue cloud of sweet pipe tobacco smoke. “I just figure if I’m about to die, might as well have a cigar first. Want one?”

  David shook his head.

  “I’m sure your lungs can take it.”

  “I like the smell better than the taste,” he said. “My father smokes a pipe. I’ve always preferred to smell it and leave it at that.”

  “Suit yourself,” Lars said, grinding the spent match into the earth. He eyed David through the cloud of smoke, apparently not in the least concerned about his lack of clothing, and said, “Let me guess, wolves don’t get cold?”

  David looked down, then back up to Lars again and laughed. After a moment of careful concentration, he allowed himself to change just enough so that he appeared something like the old werewolf movies—a man in shape, but covered in fur except for his face.

  “Now you’re just showing off.”

  “You brought it up.”

  “Yeah, well, now I wish I’d kept my mouth shut. You look creepy as all hell like that.”

  Lars had moved to the trailside and leaned against a wide tree trunk as they had spoken. Now David came closer after Lars leaned his rifle against the tree. He knelt down, assumed his normal appearance, and leaned back against an opposite tree, watching the man smoke, taking in the aroma of sweet pipe tobacco.

  “Can’t sleep?”

  Lars shook his head and grunted.

  “That little scene at the airstrip … That was nothing.”

  “Maybe for you.”

  “I mean, something much worse happened before you arrived in town.”

  “I’ve been filled in on it,” Lars told him. “No need for you to relive it.”

  “Too late for that. I think about it every day, every night,” David said.

  “Well, stop.”

  David smiled, not happily.

  “I mean it,” Lars said.

  “I’ll stop thinking about it when you stop thinking about the two guys you smoked.”

  “I didn’t say it was easy,” Lars told him. “I’m just saying, sooner or later, you need to stop dwelling on it. There’s no other way around it.”