Read Online Tsuga's Children by Thomas Williams - Free Book Online Page A

echoes of his cautious, sliding steps that the passage was narrow, so at least he wasn’t worried about getting off the track. Several times he was startled by turns, descents, and once by his own cough and its strange, hard echo. His hand would go to the hilt of his knife. His eyes remained open, staring, searching for light. Sometimes he would shut them hard and see little star-flashes, but these, he knew, were only inside his head. He must make himself stop imagining monsters, dead things that still lived, pale organisms with tentacles that might wait to reach for his blind face. He made himself think of his purpose, which had nothing to do with monsters or old legends; he was to find Jen and, if possible, Oka, and bring them back home. He wasn’t hopeful about Oka because it seemed such a crazy thing to have left the comparatively warm barn to go off into the ice. The cow must have lost her senses, or been let out, or led away, maybe by the old lady. In any of these circumstances other forces than mere cow stupidity were involved, and he didn’t see how he could fight against them. But Jen could be talked to—if he could find her.
    He kept going forward, and after a long time he smelled the same rich, autumn smells Jen had. Finally he came to the cavern and immediately recognized the odor of bats, because he had once explored a small bat cave—a deep crack in a ledge, not far from his father’s westernmost field. If there were bats here, there had to be an opening to the outside so that at dusk they could fly out in search of their food. He could see no light at all, and he couldn’t feel the presence of bats, so it must be night. Beneath his feet was tangible evidence, a soft coating of bat dung. Now would be the time to use his flint and tinder—but then, much as he craved light, any kind of light, he knew that if there was an opening ahead, some light would show even at night, even from behind deep clouds, and if he looked at fire his eyes would not be sensitive enough to see it.
    So he moved forward across the cavern floor, feeling ahead with each foot in case there was a crevice or a stumbling stone. Finally, after crossing the cavern in several directions, not knowing whether he might have been going in circles or zigzags, he did see just the faintest deep blue haze, and climbed toward it, over rocks and up a gradual incline of rubble, hoping desperately that the faint haze was not just some trick of his head. Then he saw a star. It blinked on, then off, but it was a star and it was as if he had been suffocating and could breathe again.
    He hurried through the cave entrance and stood in calm air, yet after the closeness of the cave it seemed moving and alive. He could feel distance in it, and freedom. The clouds moved high over his head. An occasional star winked through. He couldn’t follow Jen in the dark, so he moved some distance away from the cave and found some ground juniper, under whose prickly branches he could rest until morning. He thought of calling for her, but he didn’t want to disturb the night, or to reveal his presence in this place he couldn’t see. He was hungry. The thought of the bannock in his pack made his mouth water, but he’d brought that for Jen. Instead of thinking about food he would try to get some rest, even go to sleep.

    When Eugenia awakened, back in the cabin, the fire was nearly out. Once again the gray light of dawn filtered wanly through the ice-covered windows. The cabin was cold—too cold, near to freezing. Immediately she felt its emptiness. Jen was gone, lost forever. Arn must be hungry; he wouldn’t have eaten enough. She had failed to take care of her children. Her husband slept on his pallet, his breaths faint puffs of mist above his thin nostrils.
    “Arn,” she called softly toward the loft. “Arn, come and I’ll make you some breakfast.”
    There was no answer.
    Arn woke with the feeling that time had passed. He’d had a dream, a strange dream, but