LAKE OF THE SWANS
Book 2 of 3
Chapter 44
“Go John! Go!” Laureal screamed from the shoreline.
One hundred yards out, and the three fastest swimmers in a field of sixteen were nearly neck-and-neck coming back towards shore after touching a line of canoes stationed an eighth-mile out.
Amid the pounding of his heart and the lake itself, John could hear the people shouting and hollering along the shoreline. His muscles were on fire from the strain; his every stroke increased the flame. His only challenger nearby remained. The other, having succumbed to the blistering pace, had left only the two to duel it out.
Twenty-five yards from shore, and the two men, each with his energy drained, pushed all the harder.
Determined to win even as his tendons felt near to tearing in two, Summerfield poured his last atoms of strength into the final few yards. His fingers scraped the bottom and, finding his feet, he stumbled up the shore like a drunken sailor, where, amid the grass, he dropped to his hands and knees while Laureal, Cody, and others reveled around him in a victory dance.
Huffing and puffing, his heart yet pounding, John stood while Laureal lifted his arm and placed it around herself. Carried away, she turned her eyes from his to the crowd and spoke as if selling a horse, “The House of Emerson has a Champion!”
The second-place swimmer stepped forward and offered his hand, “Well done, sir.”
“Thank you,” shaking hands.
“Way to go, John!”
“Thank you, Cody.”
“Good job, John!”
“Thank you, Harley.”
“That’s two first places already,” Jessie proudly stated, for Cody had won wrestling in his age group, and John had just won his first event of many he planned to compete in that day. Mia, meanwhile, had gone with Julian and the kids to watch Anders arm wrestle.
“Mr. Summerfield,” came a business-like voice.
“Yes,” turning to see a pair of warriors.
“You are wanted in the council tent.”
“I am? Why?”
“We are not at liberty to say.”
The lovers shared an uncertain look as they turned to follow the warriors.
Jessie followed along behind, “I’m sure it’s nothing,” even as they all suspected John to be in trouble for spreading rumors, rumors that attracted treasure hunters from the east.
Carl met them at the entryway. Behind him, the tent flaps hung closed so that no one might see inside.
“Mr. Johansen,” Laureal began, “is John in trouble?”
“Not any more than the rest of us,” Carl replied, opening the flap for John to pass. Then, closing the flap as John passed inside, Carl continued, “Your husband is going to be in there for a while, so you may as well go and enjoy yourself while you can.” He then turned and vanished into the council tent.
Inside, John stood in wonder before the Inuk.
“He calls himself Onak,” said Elkhart. “He’s a runaway slave…come here all the way from Grandal no less.”
John glanced at Emma, his face a picture of confusion.
“This man has come in search of you, John.”
“John Summerfield?” asked Onak.
John turned to the Inuk.
“You are the horseman from the west?” asked the Inuk.
“I am.”
“The one that seeks the monolith in the realm beyond the forest?”
“Yes.”
“Tall and wide, like this?” using his hands to draw a rectangular outline.
“Yes,” John replied, suddenly captivated. “Tell me, have you seen it?”
“Not personally, but I personally know someone who has. I know its location. And I also know that you, sir, believe that whoever finds it will find a stairway to the sky.”
“Yes. Basically, yes!”
“In that, you are mistaken.”
“Huh,” taken aback, “How so?”
“Did your people send you to find it?”
“Yes.”
“They made it your quest?”
“Yes!”
“Yes, and that is how it should be, but somehow they must have become confused as to what for. There is no stairway up into the sky. Rather, there is a place where men send prayers up into the sky. That, sir, is probably where the confusion has come in. When one who is sent by his people comes before the monolith, he fulfills his quest by sending up prayers for his people, that Kusuk, in his great mercy, will not put them in the box.”
“What, box?” John knit his brows in confusion.
“The monolith is a box. It belongs to Kusuk.”
“Who is, Kazak?”
“Kusuk.”
“Kasuk.”
“Kusuk, creator of all things,” nodding skyward. “Kusuk made the land and sea, the plants and animals, and all the people. But then, seeing how the people made war when he had taken care to provide all they needed to live in peace and harmony, he felt great distress. With a heavy heart, he picked up a great boulder of onyx with which to smash them. But then, having a change of heart, he seated himself before the moon, for it was his campfire. Then with the onyx in hand, he took up his carving knife and fashioned a box that he might put the troublemakers in, and keep them there. He then reached down and placed the box on the earth. He put the troublemakers inside it, and, in his great wisdom, he left it standing there so that the good people might be fairly warned. And that is why every tribe must send their shaman on a pilgrimage to Kusuk’s box. And as long as a shaman is earnest, he need only make the journey once in his life to pray on behalf of his people, to ask that Kusuk continue his grace, and to thank him for all that he has done.”
And you are sure that you know where this box is?” asked the Seeker, pushing the Inuk’s belief aside, thinking it nothing more than primitive superstition.
“I have never seen it, but yes. I know where it is because the shaman of my tribe, old Amaruk, made the pilgrimage in his younger days. And when I was a boy growing up, the story of his journey was one of the most popular in my village. From our village, Amaruk traveled up the Great River into the barren lands. No humans live there. Only shamans go there, and hunting parties. It is the realm of the white wolves, and the muskox…and in summer, the caribou. When Amaruk had gone far from home, he left the big river and continued up a small tributary to the Lake of the Moon. The lake is shaped like a crescent moon. At its far end, a stone monument in the shape of a spearhead lies flat on the ground. No one knows who put it there, but Amaruk knew from passed-down knowledge that the tip of the spear would point him directly to Kusuk’s box. He left his kayak at the lake and proceeded on foot. All the next day, he walked the barren plain. Before dawn of the second day, a band of demons from the spirit realm attacked him, but with strength and courage from Kusuk, he fought them off. The sun hadn’t risen, so he made his way by the stars until first light, where, to his great elation, there stood the box, shining in the distance. At long last coming before it, he fell to his knees and prayed for our people. And if you will help me across the barren lands, that I might make it home to my people, I will take you to the box. Then you can pray for your people, that they may not end up in the box.”
“Have any of your people been in the box?”
“No, not one of us has been put in the box…thank God.”
“No, what I mean is, have any of your people opened the box? You know, to look inside.”
“No!” cried Onak. “No human can open the box! And even if they could, who would be so foolish? There could be some terribly wicked people in there, and they might get out!”
Singularly focused on his task, John looked past all else, “These barren lands, what are they? And what must we do to get across them?”
“They lie beyond the forest, where the far end of the earth beckons to the sky. And so great is their beauty, as to be naturally matched to their desolation, that no man may pass there, save by the skill that hunter and seamstress may together combine.”
Emma was first to break the silence, “Could you be so kind as to elaborate?”
“Beyond the northern reaches of your realm, the barren lands begin where the forest ends. To look upon them on a winter’s day is to see nothing but white waste to every horizon. Beautiful but desolate. Not a single tree grows there. And yet, in springtime, the whole of it comes to life in an endless patchwork of green grass and sparkling water so mixed that, in some places, a man cannot tell if he looks at islands or lakes and ponds. It is a living blanket of wildflowers and waterfowl. Very alluring, but there is no forest protection from wind and rainstorms. No wood for fire. No straight path through the bogs. No easy way to cross rivers swollen with meltwater. No easy way to sneak up on prey. But for the traveler that makes it through, summer comes to the coastal plain, the sun forgets to set, and the endless day brings endless bounty. The newcomer loses himself in an illusion of plenty. He becomes intoxicated. Then, with scarce warning, the sun hides itself away and he finds himself in an endless night. He hurries for home but, by then, it is too late, so he sits down to die. The wind howls, but he no longer feels its bite. The aurora performs a dance of death on the same horizon that had once beckoned him, and he follows with the last of his sight.”
In silence, all gazed at the Enuk.
“There is a way through,” Onak continued, his voice carrying a hint of hope. “There is a way…a way for those that possess the knowledge.”
“What knowledge?” asked John, his dark eyes fixed on the man.
“The knowledge that has died, but lives on, forever in the wolves.”
“How do you know those words?” demanded the horseman.
“My grandfather told them to me.”
“Are you sure? I have told those words to others. Perhaps you heard them repeated in a rumor, on the street in Grandal.”
“No.”
“Do you swear your life on this to be true?”
“Yes.”
Wound up like spring steel, naked save for his loincloth and, like the other swimmers, strategically smeared with red and black bear grease; John turned to Black-Spear, “Sir, may I borrow your knife?”
With knife in hand, the Seeker turned back to the Inuk, “I hate being lied to. But to be lied to about this…that would be very bad. In fact, it would be better for you to die now than for me to discover later that you used my quest to deceive me.”
As he pressed the knife’s point to the Inuk’s chest, John slid his other hand upon the man’s back to anchor him, that he might not fall away in the event the blade was pushed in.
“On your life, sir,” John’s dark eyes, intense to the cusp of madness, “do you swear your words to be true?”
“The rumor was everywhere,” cried Onak, his eyes wild with fear, “but I already knew the words! I’d heard them years before…from my grandfather! All the elders of the tribes know them!”
“How do they know them?”
“Because, they are said to be set in stone.”
“Where? Tell me! Where are they set in stone?”
“At the base of the monolith!”
Emma could not count the years since she last felt goosebumps. She shared an exacting glance with John who, handing the knife back to Black-Spear, returned his gaze to the Inuk, “Go on, sir.”
The Inuk appeared shaken.
“Sir, you were speaking of the barren lands, and how we might cross them.”
Onak cleared his mind as best he could. Frightened as he was, surrounded by peril, he could nevertheless sense his freedom directly ahead on a trail fraught with danger, at the end of which lay a little village beside the ocean, his father and mother, brothers and sisters, his people, their way of life, his boyhood home, his freedom. Visibly collecting himself, he drew a deep breath—
“In the barren lands, the caribou live differently from those here in the forest. The caribou of the barren lands seek the forest only in winter. This is a crucial thing to know,” glancing around the circle, meeting the eyes of those that surrounded him. “If humans are to cross the barren lands, they must first find the caribou in the far fringes of the forest. Once found, the caribou become as ushers, and the humans become as wolves. That is, the one shadows the other. This convergence must happen before late winter when the caribou move out and onto the frozen plain. For no sooner do they congregate than they depart for the plains along the great ocean far away to the north.”
“So they go in a herd?” John asked redundantly, keen to avoid any confusion.
“Yes.”
“What size?”
“They begin from the forest in small bands. Then, as many tributaries would come together and form a great river, they become one herd…a million strong.”
“A million?” in amazement.
“Or more. One must see it to believe it. It stretches for as far as the eye can see.”
“And when you say we must shadow them as wolves…you mean to follow them as a way across the barren lands?”
“Yes. They will be our ushers. Their meat will be our food. Their antlers will replace our broken knives and spear tips. Their hides will replace the soles of our boots, sewn with tread from their sinew. They will lead us north to the land of my ancestors on the shores of the ocean at the top of the earth. There beside the ocean, on the green plains of summer, under a sun that never sets, the caribou will have their calves and fatten up. Then, when the first snowflakes of autumn fall, they will begin their long trek south, back to the protection of the forest. That is how we can cross the barren lands. It is how I can get home. And it is how you can get to the monolith and back.”
“How is it that you know all this?” asked Weisel, his tone full of suspicion. “Have you actually witnessed this, or...are you repeating hearsay?”
“None of my people have actually seen the forest,” replied Onak. “But they know it exists because long-long ago, the greatest of all Inuit hunters, Allee, son of Nanook, set out to learn where the driftwood came from. He was a young man at the time, seeking inspiration, so he could go on his vision quest. He found his inspiration in a story about the driftwood that our people use when building their summer houses. According to the legend, all driftwood was once part of one great house. A house so big it kept all the caribou safe from winter’s wind. So Allee decided to find the great house from which all wood came. Nanook, who was Chief, appointed two of Allee’s friends to go with Allee while the tribe went on with their lives along the seashore. It was autumn, twenty generations ago, and the first snows of the season had begun to fall. The caribou, fat from eating all season, began to leave the coastal plain with their young, walking south at a leisurely pace and eating along the way. So Allee and his friends followed them, but alas, so many moons were they away that they were given up for dead. When they finally reappeared on the edge of the village, no one recognized them, for they had suffered greatly. Their faces were blackened by wind and cold, their clothes reduced to rags. Then Allee cried out to his father and mother, and there was great commotion followed by great rejoicing. A feast was thrown, and the young men told the story of their quest, and the dark forest that existed in another world far away to the south.”
“You say your name is Onak?” asked Emma.
“Yes, I am, Onak, son of Aput, grandson of Taqtu, great-grandson of Pamuk.”
“Well, Mr. Onak,” continued Emma, “if I may ask, how did you come to be a slave in Grandal?”
“My uncle Akwak, my three cousins, and I went out on a caribou hunt. The caribou of the barren lands can be difficult to find once they spread out in small herds on the ocean plain because, well, even though they may be a million, the land is so vast that it swallows them up. But the wolves know where to find them, and if a hunter spots a pack of wolves on the move, he knows to follow. This is what my uncle and cousins and I did. We spotted a pack of wolves trotting east by southeast. It was not yet autumn. The land was yet free of snow and the ponds that dotted the plain were not frozen over. For three days we followed the wolf pack at a distance with our dogs and sleds. It was slow going on the tundra, but our dogs were strong and our sleds were made for it. Then, on the afternoon of the third day, we sighted a herd of caribou moving over the plain like a dark spot in the distance. For three days we shadowed the herd. Always they were moving away from us and keeping a fair pace. We covered a great distance. We had gone too far from home, but the hunting was good. We ate well. We stored many pelts and choice cuts of meat to take home to our families. We were ready to turn home when a party of Cree warriors surprised us. My uncle and two cousins were killed in the fight. My surviving cousin and I fought hard but were overpowered and captured. We were taken far to the east, into lands foreign to us. We came to the coast of a great sea (Hudson Bay). There we turned south and traveled by war canoes for many days, traveling along the coast until we came to the mouth of a great river (Nielsen River). The river disappeared into the forest, but we did not enter it at that time. We were held there in a Cree camp at the river’s mouth until it froze over. I had never seen the forest before, but I knew what it was because all my people knew the story of Allee’s quest. We were taken south on the frozen river for many days until we came to a village where we were sold. I lost track of my cousin there. That was ten years ago. I have kept my eyes and ears open ever since in hope of seeing or hearing some word of him, as there are scarce few slaves like myself. I thought to run away, but I knew no man could cross the barren lands alone. I knew not how, but I prayed to God that I might see my home again. I kept my ears open for knowledge on the forest lands to the north. The paths and streams, rivers and lakes, I put all I learned down to memory. Then I heard the story of a horseman from the West. Word had it he was at the Lake of the Swans, telling everyone about something that I, almost certainly alone, knew of. That was when I knew…God had answered my prayer.”
Emma turned to Rutin, holding his gaze before glancing about the circle, “Might I have the council’s permission to take this man to the west shore with my clan…if only temporarily?”
“I’m all for getting him out of here,” Carl put in, “I think we all are,” looking round the circle, his eyes returning grimly to the Matriarch, “I know you know this Emma, but you would be harboring a runaway slave and, Grandal’s wrath would be sure to follow.”
“My friends,” began Weisel Wheeler of the Wheeler-Dealer clan, “let us return this runaway to Grandal where he belongs and save ourselves a lot of trouble.”
“Can it be worked out,” John asked, “that I may purchase him?”
“Mr. Elkhart,” Fischer asked timidly, “may I have permission to share my knowledge of the law in this matter?”
Nodding, Elkhart motioned with his hand as if to say, “You have the floor.”
“Before I speak,” Fischer began, “I believe it would be best to send Mr. Onak out while I tell what I know.”
The pair of young warriors were summoned, one being a grandson of Carl, the other of Black-Spear. Before the guards took Onak in hand, John stepped directly before him, “Sir, if you would see me to the monolith…I give you my word, I will see you to your home.”
As the two men held one another’s gaze, the bag was lowered over Onak’s head. He was then taken outside, and Fischer continued—
“Gentlemen…while the High Council has undoubtedly heard rumors, at present, it is almost certain they have bigger fish to fry. Very profitable fish, I might add, their business being with traders from the East…from whom they will seek to keep in the dark regarding this matter. Still, nothing perks the ears quite like rumors of treasure, and our young horseman here spent weeks at campfires fanning the flames. That is what brought me here, along with others, and more are on the way. Adding to this, over a hundred people witnessed this horseman appear from the ‘fire on the water’ as it is now called. Most took it as a sign, and as a result, the rumor has now gained a divine element.
“Now, let’s suppose the High Council, in addition to finding out about all this, were privy to what we have just heard. My guess is they would pass a decree. The contents of the monolith, along with the slave, would immediately become ‘legal property of the people.’ This is only guesswork on my part, but I believe their next step would be to send a contingent here, say one or two representatives of the court, along with three or four war canoes, each with eight warriors. Their representatives would conduct an official investigation in which we would be bound by decree to cooperate. And they would be sure to remind us: the High Council’s first duty is to ‘act for the good of the realm,’” and with a wry smile, “and we all know what that means.”
Many a man shook his head, even while they chuckled grimly. The Scribe, taking account of them all, continued, “If, upon completion of the investigation, it were decided an expedition was merited…one would be organized and dispatched. And if it be the case, as Mr. Summerfield says, that the treasure, being the contents of the monolith, is a data trove left to us by the ancients…well, myself having seen the ruins on the shores of the Five Seas, I can come to no other conclusion but that the monolith contains a design plan to power beyond our imagining.”
All eyes were upon the scribe.
Keenly aware that he had gone past the point of no return, Fischer paused but a moment, “Gentlemen, I come here from ten years of service in the Great Hall. I have witnessed what you so bitterly lament. And myself being of like mind, I think you will agree, you must not allow immeasurable power to fall into the hands of men that give so little measure to what you hold near and dear.”
First to break the silence, Weisel Wheeler stepped forward, “Friends, let us pause here and ask ourselves: why would we put ourselves at risk by harboring a runaway slave? Why would we lay claim to that which, as the Scribe tells, will by edict of law become property of the High Council? And yet here before us, contemplating these very things are our good friends, Rutin, Carlton, and Black-Spear. They would have us begin a path with no way back. Therefore, let us be good friends and talk them back from this precipice. Let us return the slave to Grandal, that we may continue here as we have thus far, in peace, taking what strides we may, proceeding with patience as we have since the founding of this rendezvous. Then, come fall, we will not have embroiled ourselves in that which is bound to get out of control and end in regret, but rather, we will return to our homes in peace, loaded with the blessings of the season, grateful for the wise and prudent decisions we made here today.”
“Weisel,” began Elkhart, his tone carrying no small hint of irritation, “you were given the opportunity to step out of the tent, but instead, you chose to stay and make yourself privy. Therefore be warned! For same as you have chosen to listen while your friends and allies put themselves at risk, so have you bound yourself to the risk that they have incurred.”
“I will never betray the confidence of this council,” said Bailey Vogel of the Brinks and Vogel Clan. “As far as I am concerned, this meeting is about our original goal of developing a trade alliance among ourselves. And that is why I agree with Weisel. I say we return the slave to Grandal. Think about it, my friends. The slave has been planning his escape for a long time. So, how are we to know he has not made up a story for us? Perhaps before we return him, we should commend him. But friends, what a pity this would be if, for the sake of a wild goose chase, we lose all we have worked for!”
Black-Spear stepped forward, “I, for one, believe the Skraeling.” And looking around the circle, “Moreover, if the monolith contains a design plan to power, then could we not use it to throw off the yoke of the High Council?”
“What are you talking about, Black-Spear?” taken aback. “Open war with Grandal? They have an army. And what have we? A handful of clans scattered across a frontier? You would bring death and destruction upon our land…upon our families! I will have no part in this!” turning for the door.
“Leave if you wish,” stepping in his path, “but you will keep your lips sealed!”
“Get out of my way, Carl!”
Carl refused to budge even as another elder stepped forward, “I too am leaving.” And turning to Elkhart, “You actually think you can throw off the High Council? Based on what? A story told by a runaway slave? A crazy rumor started by a young man scarcely more than twenty? I, for one, will have no part in this fool’s errand!”
“Let the cowards go,” came a voice.
“Who said that?” turning in a fury.
“I did!”
“And you will take it back!”
“The hell I will!”
Elkhart stepped between the two men, “Let’s all just take a step back. Calloway, you are not a coward and we all know it. Sager, you need to cool down. We all do. We are not going to war with Grandal. And this is not a fool’s errand.”
All eyes were on Elkhart. And he, in turn, met every eye, “I have an idea. It is not a perfect idea, but I think that, with a little work, we can hammer it out and make a way forward that is acceptable to us all.”
In the silence that followed, all could hear the festivities out on the campgrounds. Their sons and daughters and grandchildren too, their happy voices filled with cheer and merriment.
Over at the archery contest, a field of competitors had been whittled down to just two men, Harley Sanders and Claxton Benson. Claxton had just put an arrow dead center in a bullseye fifty yards down range. For Harley to remain in the match, he would have to split Claxton’s arrow with his arrow. The thing was, Claxton had split Harley’s arrow with his shot. And Harley had split Claxton’s arrow the shot before that. So altogether, four arrows had been put in the exact center of a bullseye, with the last three splitting the previous arrow. No one had ever seen such a thing. The oohs and aahs of the crowd, their cheers and shouts, drew more onlookers curious to see what all the excitement was about. The usually large crowd for the event swelled even larger!
The crowd fell silent as Harley raised his bow. The only sound, the low grown of recurved oak as he drew back the string. On the sidelines, Jessie appeared a picture of calm, standing on pins and needles. Her large emerald eyes lit with anticipation, her smile a promise to remain his no matter the outcome.
With the arrow to his cheek, Harley sighted down the shaft. The crowd waited in anticipation, but the shot never came. Harley lowered his bow. The crowd murmured as he put the arrow back in its quiver. He said nothing but, looking at Jessie, he gave her a wink, then turned and walked away.
“He’s lost his nerve,” came a voice.
“Claxton, you’ve won!” came another.
Cheers of victory rang out, while others shook their heads and expressed their disappointment.
Harley, meanwhile, disappeared into the crowd.
Supporters rushed to congratulate Claxton, but no more had the celebrating begun than, at the far end of the range, the crowd started to part—
“Make way,” shouted a voice, “Make way!” As the crowd parted, Harley was revealed, standing at the farthest end of the range.
Realization swept over the crowd. Those who had rushed into the range got out of the way, and save for a chorus of whispers, all voices subsided.
“Ninety yards?” murmured in disbelief.
“To split an arrow?”
“It’s never been done.”
“It can’t be done!”
“It’s too far.”
“I’ll tell you what this is about…he’s found a way to save face.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah. Look at him. He’s all in.”
Harley reached back, feeling the feathered tips of each arrow in his quiver until coming upon a certain one, he drew it out and strung it in his bow. A bow made by his own hand, as was the arrow. For years after, people would say that as he sighted the target, even the birds fell silent.
Harley’s bow creaked like never before as he taxed it to its maximum limit. Nerves of steel brought his entire body into a motionless state. Then, he let the arrow fly.
In the next instant, a loud crack pierced the air as Claxton’s arrow exploded into shards. Harley’s arrow remained alone in the center of the bullseye!
Such a roar went up, it turned the heads of fishermen two miles out on the lake. The crowd rushed in, and although not a small man, they picked Harley up and carried him aimlessly about in joyous celebration.
At last, when they had calmed down, it was Claxton’s turn. From ninety yards, Claxton hit the bullseye but not in its center. All recognized it as a very good shot, certainly worthy of note when telling the story of Harley’s shot—a tale destined to be recounted around campfires for generations to come.
“Have I won the maiden’s heart?” asked Harley, coming before Jessie.
“You won it long ago,” her emerald eyes shining.
Harley wrapped Jessie in his arms, and, as they shared a kiss, the crowd lifted their voices in joyous approval.
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