Hoarfrost (Whyborne & Griffin Book 6) (8 page)

Whyborne

Alaska
struck me as almost as lonely as the desert wastes we’d crossed in Egypt. In
part this was due to the measles epidemic; many of the native settlements we
passed were either severely depopulated or utterly deserted. The only real
habitation we came to was the town of Nulato, an old trading post that had
blossomed somewhat with the influx of miners making their way from the Klondike
to Nome. We didn’t stay the night, however, only paused long enough to
replenish our stores of dried fish for the dogs. Not long after, we turned
north along one of the Yukon’s many tributaries. The land grew ever more rugged
away from the great river. We saw caribou and eagles, and once an entire wolf
pack watched us lazily from the hillside.

Griffin
adapted to the rigors of our journey with an enthusiasm that took me aback. He
exchanged crude jokes with the guides, all of whom seemed to have manly nicknames
like “Grizzly” or “Buckeye.” He learned the routine of the camp and pitched in
with gusto, chopping firewood or the spruce boughs for our beds, feeding the
dogs, even mushing short distances under Jack’s watchful eye.

I’d
never really seen this side of him before. Oh, I knew he’d worked in some
dubious places out west as a Pinkerton. Disguising himself as a cowpuncher in
order to track down a criminal, or running down train robbers on horseback,
that sort of thing. But it had all seemed so distant from the Griffin I’d
known, living in a modern house in a modern city.

It was
easy to forget he’d learned manners and proper speech in Chicago, and his only
real education came via a few years in a one-room schoolhouse on the prairie. His
life chasing outlaws in the west was only a few years behind him, and not just
a story he related on occasion to entertain others.

He’d
chosen me, I reminded myself as I watched him split green logs to form the base
for the evening fire. My sole offer to help had been rejected more or less
politely, which was probably just as well, considering I’d never handled an ax
in my life. Griffin fell in love with me, not one of these muscular
frontiersmen who went about chopping wood and mining gold. Or wrestling bears,
for all I knew.

And it
wasn’t as if I was unaware of my own shortcomings in certain areas. My brother
spent a great deal of my childhood mocking me for being slender and sickly. But
it had been some years since I’d felt my lack of athleticism quite so keenly.

The
terrain became rougher as we passed into the mountains, even as the daylight
hours grew shorter and the weather colder. Often we had to leave the river, as
an increasing series of rapids made passage difficult even when frozen, and
find our way around them along the steep slopes.

Our
progress slowed to a crawl, and I began to wonder if we would in fact arrive in
Hoarfrost before the solstice. Back in St. Michael I’d thought we had plenty of
time, but I hadn’t appreciated just how difficult it would prove to actually
get there. Griffin also appeared to anxiously note the days. If we didn’t
arrive in time, what might happen? Would we find the town destroyed by some
unleashed creature? Surely the hardy prospectors were more able to defend
themselves than the Eltdown villagers, since as far as I knew no grizzly bears
prowled the English countryside. But would such ordinary defenses suffice
against an otherworldly threat?

Perhaps.
Bullets worked quite well against ghūls and ketoi. On the other hand, it took
a magical lightning blast to destroy the daemon of the night in Egypt.

The
trail, such as it was, brought us at last to a place where the river became a
frozen waterfall cascading down from the heights. “We’re not getting the dogs
up that,” Griffin commented.

“No,”
Jack agreed. He pointed to the sheer slope of the ravine cut by the waterfall. “Fortunately
there’s a trail we can use.”

“A
trail?” I exclaimed. “For what—mountain goats?”

“It is a
bit narrow,” he admitted. “And a few horses have been lost on it. I propose the
four of you go on foot, while we redistribute weight more evenly among the
sleds, just to be safe.”

It was a
cold, miserable hike. The trail started out wide enough, but quickly grew far
narrower than I would have liked. I soon found myself plodding along at the
very end of the line, gasping in the thin air and silently cursing Seward for
buying this accursed wilderness from the Russians.

Jack’s
sled was directly ahead of me, and his occasional calls to the dogs echoed
back. I tried to distract myself from the unending climb by studying the frozen
waterfall. The sun crawled over the horizon, although it never got very high
now before descending again, and its reddish light reflected in the cascade of
ice. If I’d been sitting beside a warm fire with a cup of cocoa in my hands, I
would have called it glorious.

As it
was, my aching legs and cold feet somewhat detracted from the scene. With a
sigh, I turned my attention back to the trail, just in time to see the
outermost runner of Jack’s sled slip off the edge.

Everything
happened very fast. The sled tilted, shifting it even further toward the
precipitous drop. Jack yelped and flung his weight to the inside, but it was
too little too late. The sled began to pivot off, sliding off the trail, the
poor dogs barking frantically as they dug in.

“Cut the
dogs loose!” Jack shouted, and jumped for the trail himself.

The sled
slid farther just as he leapt. His foot missed the edge of the trail, and he
slammed into the snow and rock of the slope. He flung his arms out, scrabbling
wildly, but finding no purchase. He slid toward a drop that would end with his
body lying broken at the bottom of the waterfall.

I didn’t
think, just hurled myself to lie on my belly, hands reaching over the edge for
him. I managed to grip one of his wrists, and he got my other wrist with his
own hand. His green eyes went round with terror.

“I’ve
got you!” I said.

We began
to slide toward the edge.

I swore
furiously, tried digging in with the edge of my snowshoes, but it did no good.
Jack’s weight dragged us both inexorably toward the abyss.

I
tightened my grip on him. “Help!” I shouted. “Someone help!”

There
came a terrifying crunch, and the sled plummeted past Jack—thank God with
no dogs attached. The edge of a runner struck his shoulder, yanking us both
forward.

A heavy
weight landed on my legs.

Griffin

The
world somehow moved both very fast and very slow.

Jack’s
cry of fear rang out, echoing against the heights. Then the sled was sliding
over the edge, and Jack clinging to it, and the dogs howling their terror as
they fought against the sled dragging them to their deaths.

The
guide Haswell drew a sharp knife and ran forward, shoving his way past me. The
dogs blocked us from getting to Jack, so he began to saw on the harness holding
them to the sled. “Grab hold!” Haswell shouted at me.

I
latched my fingers into the harness of the lead dog and threw my weight
backward, struggling to keep them from slipping any farther. Where was Jack?
Had he—

Whyborne
hung over the edge of the slope, clutching Jack. His eyes were wild, teeth
gritted, as his body inched slowly closer and closer to the point where gravity
would take over completely, and suck them both down into the void.

My heart
stopped. Haswell shouted something I couldn’t make out, and the dogs suddenly
surged forward. I let go of the harness and ran, even as the tumbling sled
caught Jack’s shoulder and jerked them those last, few fatal inches.

Then
time snapped back into place, and I lay on Whyborne’s legs, my arms latched
around his thighs. My throat felt raw—I’d screamed his name, although I
didn’t remember doing so. Haswell joined me, followed by Iskander and
Christine.

“We’ve
got you!” Christine shouted encouragingly. “Don’t let go!”

Inch by
inch, we dragged them back up. As soon as Jack came into reach, Christine and
Iskander seized his arms, and between us all we managed to easily haul them
both onto the trail.

Whyborne
collapsed against the sheer wall behind us, gasping for breath. “Ival?” I
grabbed his arms. “Are you all right, my dear? Friend,” I added hastily,
remembering Jack and the guides.

“My arms
hurt,” he said. “And I rather think I could use a stiff drink. But otherwise, I’m
fine.”

“You’ll
have that stiff drink, if I’ve anything to say about it,” Jack said fervently. “Thank
God the whiskey wasn’t on my sled, eh?”

“Unfortunately,
food and lamp oil were on it,” Iskander said. “I fear we’ll be on short rations
these next few days. But at least no one was hurt.”

Jack
ruffled the fur of the lead dog, who pressed close against him as if looking
for comfort. “And we didn’t lose the dogs—good work, Haswell.”

The
guide nodded. “We’ll just distribute them among the other teams and continue on
once they’re settled.”

He led
the dogs away, and there followed the usual minor commotion as the harnesses of
the teams were adjusted. Christine and Iskander went to offer assistance, but I
hovered, unwilling to leave my husband or my brother. The moment when I’d
thought they would fall to their doom kept replaying in my mind. More than
anything, I wanted to sweep Whyborne up in my arms and plant kisses in his
hair, on his face. I wanted to find somewhere warm and private, where I could
inspect every inch of his skin and make certain for myself he was unharmed.

But I
couldn’t. I contented myself by saying, “Can I get either of you anything? Are
your canteens full enough? Or…”

“I’m
fine,” Whyborne said. “But you’re right—water would probably be wise
after such a fright.”

I hadn’t
meant it thus, but he was correct. Ironically enough, one of the dangers we’d
been warned against in this land of snow and ice was dehydration, as cold
apparently suppressed a man’s desire for water. Whyborne and Jack both took
long drinks from their canteens, and I had a smaller sip from mine.

“Not
quite as good as the whiskey, but bracing enough,” Jack said, tucking his back
into his coat and refastening the bone buttons. He hesitated, glanced at me,
then at Whyborne. “Dr. Whyborne…you saved my life.”

Whyborne
blinked back him. “You were about to fall off the trail.”

“And you
kept me from doing so. At great risk to your own life.” Jack’s brows drew
slightly together, as though he wasn’t certain what to make of Whyborne.

“Of
course,” Whyborne said, baffled. “You would have fallen to your death,
otherwise.”

“When I
started dragging you down with me, you could have let go,” Jack persisted. “But
you didn’t. You held on tighter.”

Whyborne
stiffened. His face went pale, save for two spots of color high on his cheeks. “I
know I may not be as athletic as most of the men you encounter here in Alaska,
but it doesn’t make me a coward.”

Jack’s
eyes widened. “No! No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…well. I was only surprised.”

I found
myself becoming annoyed as well. My earlier worry appeared correct—Jack
judged Whyborne a useless fop simply because he wasn’t used to rough living. “I
assure you, Jack, Whyborne is one of the bravest men it’s ever been my honor to
meet.”

Whyborne
looked away, no doubt to hide a blush. Jack held up his hands for peace. “No—I’m
terribly sorry. I’m saying this all wrong.” He glanced from me to Whyborne. “Please.
Forgive me. I never meant to cast aspersions on your courage. The whole
incident has shaken my nerves, and I don’t know half of what I’m saying.”

For a
moment, Whyborne wavered. Then he nodded. “Of course. Despite Griffin’s kind
words, the truth is I was absolutely terrified the entire time. The experience
has put me off as well, and I’m too quick to take offense.” He took a deep
breath, then held out his hand to Jack.

Uncertainly
flickered across Jack’s face, there and gone so quick I wasn’t certain I’d
really seen it. He shook Whyborne’s hand heartily. “The fault is mine, and I
thank you for being good enough to indulge me.” He looked to the guides, then
climbed heavily to his feet. “I should oversee the work, if we’re to cross to
the other side of this damnable portage before nightfall. But…I owe you, Dr.
Whyborne.”

Whyborne
waved tiredly at him. “You don’t owe me anything. Anyone else would have done
the same.”

Jack
didn’t look as if he accepted it. But he nodded before hastening away, back
toward the head of the column. I rose to my feet and held out my hand to help Whyborne
up.

He rose
with a groan. Under the pretext of hauling him to his feet, I pulled him close.
“You’re wrong,” I whispered. “Many men wouldn’t have done what you did. I love
you.”

Ival
leaned in, his forehead close to mine, but not quite touching. “I love you,
too,” he whispered, the steam of his breath brushing my face like a kiss. Then
he pulled away, and we resumed our places on the trail.