LAKE OF THE SWANS
Book 2 of 3
Chapter 56
The morning after the family’s day off, John set out at first light with bow and spear on a well-worn animal trail. Riding on Ellie, the huntsman went north with a shopping list in his head, assigned to him by his Matriarch and de facto Patriarch. The list began with moose. He could take an elk or a caribou, but the elders had made clear their preference for moose. An ample supply of lean meat, when mixed with the fat of lake trout, could advantage the pups at an important midpoint in their development. And as common knowledge went, the hunter-gatherers knew that wolf blood caused hybrid pups to grow much faster than dogs, and at just over three months of age, the pups were beginning a new growth phase that would see them near full size in just three more months. All this having been taken into consideration, it was not the quantity of meat alone that put moose at the top of John’s list. Moose hide had several unique qualities that made it ideal for making backpack straps. It was thick, strong, and soft—the best possible material not only for humans but for the pups who, if all went according to plan, would soon carry loads overland. And if the dog packs were designed correctly as planned, they would double as sled harnesses when the time came. The pups would have to carry packs even before they were fully grown, but their loads would be measured according to their strength, and their enormous paws foretold great size and strength. They were what 21st century breeders had called ‘F-1s,’ meaning ‘first generation hybrids.’ And they were Mackenzie Valley stock, no less—the best of the best. Once trained, the 13 of them could easily have fetched $75,000.00 back in the 21st century. That said, the wild blood that would make them top-tier sled dogs would also make it very difficult for them to bond with anyone they had not grown up with. The exception being puppies and babies born into their clan, whom they would be fiercely protective of.
It is perhaps worth noting that the moose’s hide would take weeks to process and, therefore, would have to be done on the move. To begin, the hide would be bundled and kept wet on the raft until the next extended camp, where, having soaked and softened for days, the flesh and hair could be scraped off either entirely or partially, depending on time constraints, as it was essential to keep sailing while the south winds prevailed. If not scraped clean, the hide could continue soaking until the next camp where it could be scraped some more. During this time, measures would be taken to keep the flies from laying eggs on it. After scraping the hide, it would be rubbed down with a braining mixture, folded up and left for the mixture to work its magic (during transport to the next extended camp where the process could continue). By such planning, the elders aimed to have the tanning and fabricating complete on several hides by the time the family traded their boats for backpacks. Also worthy of mention, the family’s hunters needed to provide one large animal every three to five days when supplemented with fish, and this created an excess of pelts in an uninhabited realm with no one to trade with or extended family to share with. Therefore, some waste was unavoidable, but at least the best pelts were kept, and of course, all the meat was consumed by the humans and their canine partners.
Moving up the trail, our hunter folded his shoulders and chest over his mount’s withers like a clasp as they passed under a low branch. His skin was painted black with charcoal, his body all but invisible in dark forest shadows—half stone age hunter, half renaissance man, a spear in one hand, a pair of reins in the other, a bow and quiver on his back—his balance in tune with the movements of his mount.
Upon spotting his quarry, the hunter might launch a projectile from the back of his mount, or he might slide down to walk in cadence on her opposite side, hiding his legs behind her front legs while peering out from under her neck. In such a way, a moose or elk would stand watching, its expression a mixture of caution and curiosity.
Presently, with moose mating season just around the corner, the bulls were moving from deep woods to lakeshores where the cows grazed with their yearling calves. The cows would call to the bulls. And the bulls, becoming love-crazed, would thrash at the undergrowth, paw the ground, and fight with one another for breeding rights. Their natural distraction gave advantage to the stealthy hunter who must harvest them early in the rut before they wore themselves out and became skinny and stinky, at which point discriminating hunter-gatherers would consider their meat unpalatable.
Earlier that morning, John and Harley had drawn straws to determine which hunter would have the downwind advantage. John had drawn the short straw, meaning he would have to go north while Harley went south. Easy to understand, then, how John, when coming upon a moose wallow pit, saw it as good fortune. Not only did the pawed-out depression indicate a large bull, but it also reeked of urine, providing the hunter an opportunity to turn a disadvantage into an advantage. John dismounted and proceeded to rub himself and Ellie down with dirt from the pit, that they might be cloaked in the moose’s scent. And because moose have very poor vision and therefore rely heavily on their keen sense of smell, the hunter was, in effect, making himself invisible, and better yet, he was making Ellie into a moose.
Needless to say, the blue-blooded ladies of his past would not have recognized our hero. And to be fair, even his fellow savages would consider his act too close to the earth, albeit permissible under the circumstances, with the understanding that a quick bath in the lake would set him right.
From across the water, the first fingers of sunlight came to touch the treetops. Then, as the canopy illuminated bough by bough, the songbirds responded in kind. Bluebirds, redbirds, goldfinch, and black-capped chickadees, to name only a few, had just finished raising their young. Most would fly south soon, but at present, they lifted their voices by the thousands and, in the absence of ravens and jays, filled the air with their sweet-sounding songs.
Having rubbed himself down, John had not walked twenty paces when his eyes were drawn to a sculpted granite icon, robust in girth and of a height taller than a man. Encrusted in lichens, it stood on a mossy pedestal, its only company the ancient birch grove that surrounded it.
His lips parted in wonder, John drew his knife from its sheath and looked to the oval medallion embedded in its handle. As we know, the medallion's upper right panel depicted a man-at-arms charging on horseback, and stood for courage. The upper-left panel, which represented knowledge, depicted a robed man of science holding a book open on a lectern. The lower left panel depicted a blacksmith working at his forge and symbolized dedication and application of skill, through which men of courage and knowledge forged a path for the betterment of humankind. And finally, the lower right panel depicted a ship on the ocean and symbolized man’s journey into the unknown.
John knew the insignia of his Order like the back of his hand, and yet, never had he paid mind to that which both divided and held the four panels together as one.
He returned his eyes to the granite icon, then back to the insignia. Whereas before he could not see it, now he could not unsee it. It was, as we know, a cross.
Our hero could not know it, but if he had lived in the 21st century, he’d have stood in the last town on Highway 914 in northern Saskatchewan. Once a town of a thousand souls, nothing of Pinehouse remained above ground except for the icon, there in what had once been the town cemetery, presently occupied by a grove of ancient birch trees. Their large white trunks, divided into branches, rose to form an intricate lattice in a cathedral-like canopy, brightly cloaked in sunlit leaves.
Be it by providence or chance, the morning sun angled in with perfect timing upon the forest floor, where, as if by some spell cast to speed up time, shadows appeared to flow away like flood water that recedes into the woods. Chasing after the shadows, the sun’s rays illuminated the white trunks, causing them to shine like pillars of fire ablaze in soft golden hues. Mesmerized, John stepped to the center of the spectacle where the icon, alone in its natural nave, stood bathed in heavenly light.
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