North Dark | Chapter 2 of 21

Treesplitter rolls one of the frozen corpses over and stares at it. Hooded in red, face pierced with whale bone rings, an ornate and delicate knife frozen in his hand.

Treesplitter and his sons endure the long, cold trek back to their village. Children on skis and snowshoes hurry out to meet them at dawn.

“Bring a sled,” Pond says. “And food and water.”

“Forget water,” Treesplitter grumbles. “Bring hot coffee.”

By the time they reach Standing and the warmth of the chieftain’s cabin, the men are all visibly raw and sick. Treesplitter’s sons build a fire in the hearth and his wife drapes him in fur blankets. His jaw clacks so hard teeth chip.

“What are these injuries?” Prairie asks. “Where is your cloak?”

“He spooked a bear,” Two Crows says. “In one of the caves.”

Treesplitter shoots him a look.

“A small bear. A cub.”

Prairie looks to her husband. “And the dogs? Where are our dogs?”

Treesplitter shakes his head. “Stolen.”

“Stolen?”

“Go heat us some food,” Treesplitter says. “Go do that.”

When she is gone, Treesplitter says, “This isn’t over. I’m going after this hood.”

“He outsmarted us and left us for dead,” Pond says.

“No,” Treesplitter says. “He left us to our own devices. He did not leave us for dead. There is a difference.”

“Will it make a difference when you catch him?” Pond asks. “Let him go.”

“You’re right about one thing,” Treesplitter says. “I will catch him.”

Pond edges closer to the fire and hugs his chest. “Why? Who cares? He’s gone. Let him run on. He’s not coming back.”

“You don’t want your dogs back?” Treesplitter asks. “Besides, there’s only one place he’d go from here. It ain’t a matter of tracking him. It’s just a matter of getting where we know he’s going.”

“Count me out,” Pond says.

“I already did.”

*

After ten hours of traveling across the wintry plains, Treesplitter, Ramscoat and Two Crows discover two human bodies on the tundra floor. Treesplitter rolls one of the frozen corpses over and stares at it. Hooded in red, face pierced with whale bone rings, an ornate and delicate knife frozen in his hand. A merchant, or maybe a slaver. A series of deep knife wounds puncture his chest and a crossbow bolt stands half sunk in his back. The merchant’s wagon and its dumb burdenbeast stand off to the side of the road.

Ramscoat examines the second corpse, much larger and far more capable than the merchant. “That a peddler over there?” he asks. “This was his bodyguard. Sled runner lines over here.”

“Looks like after the hood stole our dogs he got into it with the merchant and his man. He may be injured now. Let’s keep going,” Treesplitter says.

“The hood did this? Who is he?” Two Crows asks.

“Someone not long for this world.”

They arrive in the low village of Paintwater well after the supper hour. The lights of the little snow community burn like small stars in the distance. Treesplitter and two of his sons walk down the main snowy path and find the local chieftain wrapped in horsehair blankets, holding a blue torch, standing in the street waiting for them.

“Drummer,” Treesplitter says.

“I suppose you’re here to claim the roughneck,” Drummer says.

“You have him?” Treesplitter asks.

“I have him. And your arrow, if you want it back.”

“Arrow?”

Drummer’s old and raddled face briefly shows confusion. He says, “You three had better come see.”

*

The hood is laid out on an old army cot. He is naked from the waist up and his side is wrapped in bloody gauze. He is out cold. His face is slick with sweat. He is a handsome, thin man with short brown hair. He looks less like a hood, Treesplitter thinks, and more like an injured scholar.

“Is he going to survive?” Treesplitter asks.

Drummer shrugs and hands him the broken, bloody arrow.

“This from that fracas on the road with the merchant and the bodyguard?” Two Crows asks.

“I don’t know about any fracas. I just know about that arrow and that man. You want either of ‘em?” Drummer asks.

Treesplitter says, “We’ll take him back in the morning. That be all right?”

Two Crows stares at the hood’s sleeping body. He wears a blue nine point star tattoo on his shoulder. “He’s a Star Reader?” Two Crows asks.

“Who cares?” Ramscoat answers.

Drummer nods. “You can stay the night here or somewhere in town if you want. The tavern might have room.”

“You have our dogs?” Treesplitter asks.

“He was riding on a team of sixteen dogs. I have ‘em.”

“That’s good,” Two Crows says. “At least this trip was worth something.”

*

After a breakfast of porkfat and coffee, Treesplitter and his sons load the hood onto one of the dogsleds and ride slowly back into Standing. It is a long cold ride and though the hood never fully wakes up, Treesplitter hears him groan in pain once or twice. They pass the place in the tundra where they had found the two bodies and though some blood still stains the snow, the corpses are long gone, dragged off by who knows what.

In Standing, they carry the hood into the chieftain’s cabin and lay him on the wood floor near the cast iron stove. “You watch him,” Treesplitter says to Two Crows. “I’m going home.”

“Watch him do what?” Two Crows asks.

“Watch him lie there and suffer. If he wakes up, tell him he’s not allowed to do anything but bleed.”

“But—,” Two Crows says.

“No. I said what I said. Now be quiet.”

Ramscoat smirks and follows their father out of the cabin.

*

Next morning, Treesplitter returns and finds Two Crows tied by his hands and neck to the stovepipe. His jaw is greatly damaged: purpled and outsized. He cannot speak. His eyes are furious. The hood is gone and so are the same sixteen dogs he stole once before.