Indomitable 1: The Lost Wolf

By Kathryn Couture

A young musher with the ability to talk to Animals.

A mysterious runaway with eyes that glow in the firelight.

An expedition-turned-survival quest into the remote and mythical reaches of the Far North... 

 

He doesn't remember much about his l

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dogfish Books
• Release date: Jun 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9781777696016

Book preview

   

PROLOGUE

He set up camp on the banks of the Great River, on a gravel beach about a quarter mile up from its confluence with the Ptarmigan River. The valley was wide here, and the tops of the mountains on either side were hidden by the low clouds. Rain fell, light but steady. He’d put a tarp up over the tent, with a bit of an overhang in the front where he stood now, his three dogs huddled around him. Mosquitos buzzed, and he swatted absentmindedly at them, but they weren’t as bad as he had been expecting.

The coffee would be ready soon. Looking out across the wide River, Greyson Marlow lit a cigarette. He must have lost his mind for real this time. He’d received the letter from Sarah a week before, asking him to meet her at the confluence of the Great and Ptarmigan Rivers a week after the summer solstice. If she didn’t show up, he was to make his way to the next village, some fifty miles downriver. And instead of turning his back on her this time, he had dropped everything, found someone to watch the rest of the dogs for a few days, and headed North to the Ptarmigan. He wouldn’t abandon her again. Not this time.

Still, the tone in the letter had him worried. She hadn’t said what was wrong, only that if anything happened to her, would he please look after the kids. He hadn’t even known she’d had more than one; it had been years since he’d seen her. And he didn’t have the time or the money for kids.

He frowned as he poured a cup of coffee. Well, he’d find out soon enough what was going on.

Evening fell, almost as bright as midday. No sign of Sarah, or anyone else. He made a quick supper of bacon and bannock, then fed the dogs and headed to bed. He listened to the rain falling on the tarp and the River lapping gently along the beach for a long time before sleep overtook him.

He wasn’t sure how long it had been when a frenzy of barking woke him up. Instinctively, he grabbed the rifle beside his sleeping bag and stepped outside, every nerve tensed.

Walking down the rock-strewn beach toward him was a large Grizzly Bear. Its rolling gait was broken by a pronounced limp in its right shoulder. The Bear looked exhausted, but its eyes were on him. He raised the rifle to his shoulder, but he couldn’t shoot. Something held him back. He lowered it just slightly.

The Bear came to a stop about twenty feet from the tent. There was no aggression in its expression, just sadness. It stood up on its hindlegs and took what seemed to be a sack from its back. And as it did, the Bear changed into a woman. She was tall, strong, but beautiful, and her brown eyes were sad. The sack was actually a blanket, and wrapped in the blanket was a little boy, asleep or unconscious—Greyson couldn’t tell. All Greyson could do was stare in shock.

He really must have lost it this time.

Are you going to invite me for tea, or are you just going to stand there in your underwear with that thing pointed at me? asked the woman.

Greyson blushed as he realized he was only wearing his boxers, and he lowered the gun quickly. Sorry. Please sit down. He disappeared quickly into the tent and threw on some clothes, then let out a long breath. Yeah, he was going crazy.

He stepped outside. The woman had set the boy down on the ground and had gotten a fire going. Greyson had no idea who this person—um, Bear—was. She definitely wasn’t Sarah.

Um, I’ve only got coffee, he said, and ran a hand through his thick, black hair. Damn it, I can’t believe I’m offering coffee to a Grizz.

She glanced at him as she placed the coffee pot on the fire. You are Greyson Marlow, aren’t you?

The one and only, said Greyson grimly. But I have no idea who—or what—you are.

I’m Agnes, she said, and your grandfather believed in us. And you lived with Sarah for years, did you not?

Greyson remembered stories his grandfather had told about Bear People and Wolf People, but he’d never really believed it—before Sarah. Sarah had been able to talk with the dogs. Wolves could talk with dogs, his grandfather had always said. But still, they were just stories. He said, I was supposed to meet Sarah here, but she hasn’t shown up yet.

Agnes looked up at him again with those sad, brown eyes. She won’t be coming, Marlow. Sarah’s dead.

Greyson felt as if he’d been struck with lightning. Dead? he gasped. But she just wrote to me the other day. She said to meet her here. You can’t be serious. But the Bear’s eyes were very serious, and he ran a hand through his hair again as he fought back the tears. Hell, no. It can’t be. I never even got to say goodbye... What the hell happened?

She was murdered, said Agnes.

"Murdered? By who? Who would want to harm a sweet girl like Sarah?"

Agnes just shook her head. Things are changing, Marlow, she said. There are those who hate the Wolves just because they are Wolves.

Greyson blinked back the angry tears and stared out across the River. Nonsense stories, but he knew without any doubt that Sarah was dead. He started to say something, then stopped and took a deep breath. And the kids? he asked.

Agnes looked over at the boy, and Greyson followed her gaze. The kid looked like Sarah, with his shaggy blonde hair. The freckles were his dad’s, though.

The youngest two died with Sarah, said Agnes softly. The other boy escaped, with Sarah’s husband.

I didn’t even know she was married, said Greyson. There were a lot of things he probably didn’t know. Because he hadn’t cared enough to find out. What about this one?

Logan Adney, said Agnes, and Greyson flinched at the name. He was taken prisoner by Sarah’s murderers. He was rescued, but they had tortured him. He remembers nothing, not even his heritage. All he knows is his name.

Well, why doesn’t her husband take him? asked Greyson, looking at the kid. The more he thought about it, the more the kid looked like Alfred Adney, the man Sarah had left him for. It brought back a lot of bitterness in Greyson.

He can’t, even though he wanted to, said Agnes. Logan’s people abandoned the kid, because they couldn’t trust him after what had happened to him. As far as Luath knows, Logan is dead. And it is better for it to stay that way for now.

So, you’ll take him, then? asked Greyson, a little desperately. He knew where this was going, and he wasn’t liking it at all.

No, said Agnes. Bears don’t adopt Wolves. Not this one, at any rate. Sarah was a very good friend of mine, and she told me that if anything ever happened to her, that you were to take the kids. Her husband has Logan’s brother. You have Logan. She pulled an envelope from her pocket and handed it to him.

Greyson took it and skimmed over it. Papers making him Logan’s legal guardian. Sarah had even had the gall to give the kid the last name Marlow. He looked up sharply. "No. No, there’s got to be some mistake. I can’t adopt the kid. I won’t adopt the kid."

You treated Sarah like shit while she was still alive, said Agnes, her eyes hard, and now you won’t even honour her last wish? I expected more from one of Henry’s grandsons.

I can’t, said Greyson angrily. I’m broke. I spent the last of what I had on the trip here. I’ve got a kennel of some of the best racing huskies in the world, and I might finally be getting the chance to run them again this winter. And it’s just not fair. Sarah knew I never wanted kids. She can’t just force this on me, especially not when the little brat is Adney’s kid.

Agnes growled, low and menacingly. Sarah was right about you, she said evenly. You are a selfish, arrogant man. It’s always been about you and only you.

Wait just a minute— Greyson started to protest.

Just shut up, said Agnes. What about Sarah? What about Logan? He couldn’t help who is father was. And his mother loved him.

And I loved her, snapped Greyson.

Not enough, growled Agnes.

Greyson’s shoulders slumped slowly, and he sighed.

The Bear’s eyes softened as she looked at the boy. He has been through hell. He watched his mother and siblings die. He was tortured. He was abandoned by a Pack that had claimed to love him. And you’ll just turn your back on him? Sarah always said you knew what it felt like to be abandoned as a kid.

Greyson looked up quickly. He didn’t say anything, because she was right. I’ve got nothing, he said lamely. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to feed the dogs this winter, never mind a kid.

He won’t eat much, said Agnes. He’s only five years old.

You’d be surprised, muttered Greyson. But he knew he was beat. He owed it to Sarah to at least look after the kid until he could find a more suitable home for him.

Agnes took a pouch from her pocket. Sarah gave this to me to give to you, if the need ever arose, she said. It should help him to get settled in. And it’s for Logan, not the dogs.

Greyson’s eyes widened as he counted the money in the pouch. There was a lot there, enough for food and clothes for the kid, and some more besides. He looked at the boy, at the tense muscles and haunted face, and he softened just a little. Maybe he was Adney’s kid, but he was Sarah’s kid, too. He could take him, for a little while at least.

I have to go, said Agnes, standing up. I’ve already been away too long.

Wait— began Greyson.

Sarah trusted you with her Pup, said Agnes, so I do, too. Keep him safe. There are many enemies who want him dead, but as far as they know he already is dead. Goodbye for now, Greyson.

Then she was a Bear again, ambling swiftly down the beach, despite her limp. She disappeared into the willows and was gone. Greyson fought back the urge to run after her and tell her she couldn’t leave him in this predicament, but he knew he wouldn’t find her. Instead, he ran his hands through his hair and began to pace frantically in front of the tent. Reality was beginning to sink in, and he glanced over at Logan. The kid was still sleeping.

Greyson kicked the coffee pot, sending it clattering across the rocky beach. He sat down on the log and buried his face in his hands. He wanted to cry. But he just sat there for a long time, trying to get his bearings in the crazy mess that was his life. It would do no good to cry about it now; he was stuck with the kid, for a little while at least, and that was just how things were going to be for the next while.

He stood up and retrieved and filled the coffee pot. He set it over the fire. Digging through his pack, he found a frying pan and the last bit of bacon and began to cook it. A movement caught his eye, and he turned to Logan. The boy was stirring. His eyes opened: big, blue, frightened eyes. Sarah’s eyes. Greyson pretended to ignore him and focused on the bacon, but he kept a close watch on the kid out of the corner of his eye.

Logan sat up slowly and looked at Greyson. He’d overheard some of the conversation and knew he was stuck with this stranger who sat by the fire. Greyson was a tall, lean man, maybe thirty years old, of mixed Native and white descent. He wore a baseball cap over his unkempt, black hair, and his face sported maybe a week’s worth of beard that he hadn’t bothered to shave. His jacket was worn thin and patched with red tape. His pants had roughly sewn patches on the knees, and it looked as if his hiking boots would fall apart on him if he walked another step. He was good-looking, despite his scruffiness.

And Agnes was wrong; Logan didn’t remember much, but he remembered a little more than he had let on. And he knew Greyson Marlow was his mom’s ex-boyfriend. He studied him closely.

Greyson glanced at him with cool grey eyes and asked, Hungry?

Logan hesitated. Maybe.

Well, there’s only a bit left, so we’ll have to share it, said Greyson gruffly.

Logan didn’t care. He hadn’t eaten much in forever, or at least since Mom... He shifted uncomfortably.

I’m Greyson, said Greyson, passing him a plate with a couple of slices of bacon on it. I knew your mother.

Yeah, I know who you are, said Logan, trying hard to remember details. Mom said you were an asshole.

The forced smile disappeared from Greyson’s face, and he said, Yeah, she was right. I am an asshole. And I’m proud of it. At least you remember the important stuff.

There was the faintest flicker of a smile in Logan’s eyes, and Greyson tried to ignore the feeling that he might just come to like the kid. He couldn’t. As soon as a suitable home could take the kid, he would be out of Greyson’s life. Greyson just really didn’t want anything to do with kids, especially not Sarah and Alf’s kid.

And whatever else I might be, your mother must have seen something in me for her to demand I take you in, said Greyson.

Maybe she didn’t have any other choice, said Logan.

You’re making me feel really good about myself right now, kid, said Greyson.

You’re welcome, said Logan evenly.

Greyson smirked as he cleaned the frying pan. Well, Adney, he said, it looks like we are going to be stuck together for a little while yet, anyway.

Logan frowned. I’m not Adney—

Lose the attitude, Adney, snapped Greyson. You are who I say you are, and from now on you are Logan Adney. Apparently, there are people trying to kill a little boy who goes by your description. I don’t want to know whatever damned last name your mother gave you. But maybe a boy named Adney would have more of a chance. Got it? Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to give the kid his own last name; the bitterness was still too strong.

Logan nodded.

I’m taking you back with me to Last Chance, said Greyson, and maybe we can find you a place to live there.

What about with you? Logan asked, suddenly wary.

No, said Greyson firmly. I’m not kid-friendly.

I can work, said Logan desperately. And I don’t eat much. I’ll do whatever you say.

Something about the scared kid touched Greyson deeply, but he lit a cigarette and stared off across the River. No, he said decisively—and winced inwardly when Logan bowed his head and gathered the blanket around his scrawny shoulders.

Neither of them said much as Greyson began to pack up camp. He couldn’t stand to see the kid moping around, so he put him to work carrying things to the boat. The kid worked hard, but he paused often to worriedly scan his environment. Greyson wondered what had really happened, and what the boy remembered. He also noted the detailed conversations the boy had with the three dogs. So, Logan could talk to dogs, just like Sarah could. Maybe the kid would be helpful to keep around.

Greyson just shook his head and continued packing. No kids. Not for him.

With the boat loaded, they climbed in and headed back upriver towards Question. Greyson’s old truck was parked there, and it would take them overland around the Canyon and back to Last Chance. Logan sat in the bottom of the boat, the blanket wrapped tightly around him. It was cold on the River, even though the rain had stopped, and the weather seemed to be breaking. A few patches of sunlight managed to break through the clouds, turning the surrounding mountainsides a patchwork quilt of light and dark greens and greys.

The kid closed his eyes, letting the wind sting his face and whip through his shaggy hair. He hoped wherever he wound up, it would be in the Bush. He didn’t want to be anywhere around towns or people.

He looked at Greyson, at the handsome face hardened by years of rough living of one kind or another. Greyson was drumming his fingers on the side of the boat, and although Logan had only known him for a couple of hours, he noted that the man never seemed to stop moving. He also decided that Greyson was definitely not the town type, and he hoped fervently that he could stay with him. His mother must have wanted him to go live with Greyson for a good reason. Hopefully Greyson would see it the same way.

For his part, Greyson was feeling awful. Maybe he and Sarah had left on a bad note, but he had still loved her. He’d just been too proud to make nice with her. And now she was gone. Murdered, Agnes had said. If he ever found out who did it...

And then there was Logan. He’d have to find a good home for the kid. Maybe James Brooks’ family would take him. What was one more kid when you already had six? And they were good people. Greyson had a criminal record a mile long, everything from truancy to assault.

He glanced at Logan. The kid was facing into the wind, obviously enjoying the ride despite his situation. He looked like he belonged there. Greyson shook his head and swore softly. He had gone crazy if he was even thinking of keeping the kid. He turned his attention back to the River.

Greyson didn’t say much on the rest of the trip into Question, and only spoke with Logan enough to order him around as they unloaded the boat. Logan couldn’t help thinking of him as a slave driver, but there was something about the grouch that Logan liked. He felt safe around Greyson. The man was tough as nails, with a screw-you attitude that the boy found contagious. But neither of them said much as they made the drive up and down old mining roads through the mountains to Last Chance. They never went into the town; Greyson turned down a long, winding driveway before they made it to the town.

There was a log cabin with a screened-in porch on the left, and a large dog yard on the right. They were in a creek valley, with towering hills on all sides, and past the house Logan could see a small lake. He climbed out of the truck, and Greyson said, Welcome home, kid. At least ‘til we can find you somewhere else to go.

But Mom said I could stay here! protested Logan.

There was a pause before Greyson grunted, Yeah. We’ll see.

He followed the man up the steps and into a large kitchen. There was a living room past the kitchen, and a loft over the living room. Windows in the kitchen and the living room opened up to the breathtaking hills and the little lake and the dog yard. Logan was instantly in love with the place. He glanced over at Greyson.

The tall man was going through a cooler on the counter. He pulled out a couple of beers and a jug of sour milk, and he swore softly. He didn’t have much more luck in the cupboards: tea, coffee, flour, sugar, salt, and a can of sardines. He opened the can and passed it to Logan as he walked past him into the living room.

That’s supper, kid, he said. He sat down on the couch and opened a beer. We’ll pick up some more food when the store opens in the morning.

Logan dug into the canned fish like a half-starved Wolf. There was a barrel of water beside the counter, and he scooped up large handfuls of cool water and drank it as fast as he could.

Hey, said Greyson. There are cups on the counter.

No clean ones, said Logan. He caught sight of the bed in the loft, piled high with pillows and blankets. As Greyson was making no effort to climb up the ladder to bed, Logan scurried up and buried himself under the soft mountain of bedding. It hadn’t been washed in a long time, and it smelled like dust and sweat and dogs, but it was comfortable. He closed his eyes and listened as a gentle rain began to fall on the tin roof.

"That is my bed, you know, Adney, he heard Greyson call from downstairs. Don’t get too comfortable. This is just a temporary thing ‘til we can find you a new home."

Logan hid his head under a pile of pillows and pretended to ignore Greyson. He didn’t want this to be a temporary thing. He’d been on the run for too long. Besides, he kind of liked Greyson. He tuned out the man’s ramblings about finding the boy a new home and fell asleep.

 1 

GREY PUP

Rose’s pups were born under an ancient spruce tree on the banks of the Great River. It had been a long journey for the white husky. But she had been born at this same place, and every fall since then she had made the trip to this fish camp with her owner, Greyson Marlow. And as this would be her last litter, she had wanted them to be born here, too. She had been so eager to go and so forlorn at the threat of being left behind that Greyson had relented and let her come along. The pups had been born that day within hours of their arrival at the camp.

There were three pups. The largest was a chubby, black and white male. Then there was a little white female with a pink nose. The third was a grey and white male with black ears and a black patch on his back. From the start he was the most aggressive in his search for food and warmth.

Felix, a large grey and white husky, lay in the shade of the nearby wall tent some distance from them. He had been through this before; this was his and Rose’s fourth litter together. He was a big, lean, steady dog, one of Greyson’s old line of bigger trapline dogs. Rose had been Greyson’s best lead dog in her younger days, out of his champion racing line. Their pups, and their pups’ pups, formed the backbone of the former champion’s kennel now.

A little way away, Greyson was getting a fire going outside the tent. Fourteen-year-old Logan Adney sat on a log by the fire, watching the dogs and their pups. He liked the little grey one best and thought of asking Greyson if he could keep it, but already his mentor had said they needed the money from the sale of the pups. It made Logan sad to think of separating the little family; he had no family, unless he could call Greyson family.

Logan stood up and walked over to the pups. Rose had always loved the boy, and she thumped her tail as she looked up at him with gentle, blue eyes. He knelt beside her, talking gently. He knew Rose understood everything he said, just like he could understand everything she and the other dogs said.

He picked up the grey pup. The little ball of fur wriggled around in his arms with a strength and vitality that surprised Logan. The pup started to protest loudly. Laughing, Logan placed him back with his mother and littermates.

Don’t you go making Rose nervous, Greyson warned from over by the fire. Those pups are brand-new. You know that.

Rose is fine with it, protested Logan, patting the old dog on the head. That grey one just has a lot of spirit. I like him.

Greyson grumbled something about having to put up with the boy, then called, Yeah, well, get over here and help with the chores, kid. There’s still lots to do before we can even start fishing.

With a sigh and a final pet for Rose, Logan walked back to help. Over the next few days, things began to get busier as more families arrived and fishing began in earnest. Logan worked with the men from dawn until dusk, every day, and sometimes it seemed that some of the Salmon were as big as he was—but Greyson said that was a gross exaggeration. And then after supper it was his job to care for the sled dogs that he and Greyson had brought with them. It was hard work, but he enjoyed being so far away from town with the dogs. Sometimes at night, the dogs would start up a howl. The dogs that belonged to other people at the camp would join in, twenty or so canine voices lifted in a beautiful and ancient song. Logan would lie awake and listen to them through the thin canvas walls of the tent. Then in the morning it was back to work in the hot sun and near-freezing rains of a Northern fall.

And while Logan worked, the puppies grew. Greyson named the black and white pup Salmon, or Salm for short. He was a big, friendly pup. The white one he named Penny, because, he said, She’s as pretty as a penny. Whatever that meant, but Logan liked the name. She was a lot like her mother: playful, sweet, mischievous, and fast. Logan named the grey one Rohn.

Why Rohn? Greyson asked.

I don’t know, said Logan. I just like the name.

Rohn was the most adventurous of the three. It seemed he was always wandering off and into trouble. He would sneak into the boat with Logan, and Greyson wouldn’t notice until they were way out on the River. Then Greyson would give them both hell, but they would get away with it because he wouldn’t want to go all the way back to drop the pup off. They got away with it four times before Greyson caught on and Rohn had to stay at the camp. But then Rohn made himself a name as a fish and bannock thief around camp, and Greyson was forced to let the little troublemaker aboard once again.

It got so that Logan couldn’t go anywhere without the little pup on his heels. In the boat, doing chores, resting around the fire, off exploring whenever Greyson turned his back for a minute. The kid was frustrating, although Greyson secretly admired and maybe even loved him.

Logan saw the fear in Greyson’s eyes when Logan almost drowned one day. His arm got caught in the net, and he was pulled under the water. Luckily, Greyson had been able to cut him free on time. Greyson gave him bloody hell for not being careful and for not paying attention, but Logan knew the man had been scared to death. Somehow, despite the angry lecture and being shamed in front of some of the other men, it was a good feeling to know that someone cared enough to be angry and scared for him.

It also frustrated Greyson to no end when the kid would disappear when there was work to be done. As soon as Greyson wasn’t paying attention, even for a second, kid and pup would disappear into the vast wilderness, sometimes for hours at a time. That would also earn the young explorer an angry lecture.

But one night, after Greyson had stormed away angry, James Brooks told Logan not to worry: Greyson would always laugh about Logan’s misadventures with the other men around the campfires afterwards and brag about his own childhood wanderings. Apparently, Greyson had been much worse. And James would know; now the father of ten great kids, the guy had once been a teenager with Greyson. Their stories were a great encouragement to Logan and James’s son Jimmy Brooks in their own exploits.

One night, while Logan played with Rohn beside the campfire, Greyson looked up from the net he was mending and said gruffly, I like the looks of Salm and Penny. I’m going to keep them. You can have that sorry excuse for a sled dog.

Logan looked up quickly. Like, to keep?

That’s what I said, isn’t it?

Logan ran a hand over Rohn’s back, letting the pup nip at his hand. Wow. Thanks, Grey.

Yeah. Whatever. Go haul some water; we’re out. Greyson returned to his mending without further comment, and that was that. Rohn was Logan’s to keep.

Greyson shot his Moose late that fall, and they spent some time with his cousins shooting beavers as October rolled around. But Logan didn’t mind. It was getting cold, and slush was starting to run in the River when they finally packed up and got ready to head into town for the last time. It was a full load: Greyson and Logan, five dogs, three pups, their tent and gear, a dozen beaver pelts, and the last load of fish. It was a long trip to town, but Logan loved the cold wind in his face. Soon it would be winter, and then it would be dog season. Their entire lives revolved around the dogs.

Freezing rain was starting to fall as they were coming into Last Chance. It stung Logan’s cheeks and ran down his shaggy hair and into his collar. He pulled his jacket closer. They were getting close to the boat landing when he saw her.

Her name was Kiara Matson, and she was about his age, with tousled brown hair and the prettiest grey-green eyes that seemed to look right into his soul every time she looked at him. He didn’t really know her too well; he’d only seen her hanging around Last Chance a few times. She was too skinny, but it was hard to tell because she always wore those hoodies that were too big on her. She was helping a young man load supplies into a boat. Logan was glad his cheeks were stinging from the cold, because he was sure he blushed. Greyson looked at Logan and grimaced.

Forget her, kid, he said as they came up to the boat landing. All you have to do is look at the company she keeps.

Annie Carver keeps the same company, Logan shot back.

Yeah, but there’s a difference, Greyson said defensively. Annie is twenty-five, not thirteen.

And you’re what? Fifty? retorted Logan.

Thirty-nine, Greyson said indignantly. I’m not that old.

If you’re over thirty, you’re old, said Logan.

Lose the attitude, Adney, said Greyson. I’ve got no time for it.

Greyson landed the boat beside the one Kiara was loading, and Logan jumped out to tie up. He avoided Kiara’s curious gaze. Greyson swore softly.

I’ll be right back, he said. Start unloading.

Greyson stalked off to where the older teen was unloading a pick-up truck, saying, Carver, you always park the damn truck in the way. How am I supposed to back up to my boat?

The young man looked up defensively and scowled. Well, if I’d known you’d be coming back, I could have—

I don’t care how expensive your truck is. You don’t own the damn boat landing.

The two started to argue. Logan just went about unloading the boat. He really didn’t want to see Greyson get beat up, and Burt Carver was a big, super-fit guy in his late teens.

Neither of them are happy unless they’re arguing about something, said Kiara, sitting down on the bow of the boat. She looked exhausted.

Tell me about it, said Logan. You okay?

Oh, yeah, she said, trying to sound careless. We’ve just been up since before dawn getting ready to leave on this trip, and I’m not feeling well.

Logan fell quiet as he looked out across the River. You’re not staying around for the winter?

Not a chance, said Kiara. We’re off to Burt’s trapline for the first part of the winter anyway, then maybe we will make our way North to visit friends after that, and then he has other plans after that. It’ll be nice to get away from town for a bit, and from all the people...

I guess so, said Logan, but he felt kind of bummed about it. Still, he knew what people in town were saying about her, and it was anything but kind. The rumours people spread about her... He didn’t care. He liked her anyway.

That’s a cute puppy, said Kiara, watching Rohn scamper along the edge of the boat.

Yeah, but he’s nothing but trouble, said Logan. He caught the pup by the scruff of the neck as Rohn slipped and fell over the side.

Am not! protested Rohn, struggling to get free. Both kids laughed as Logan set him down.

He’s full of personality, too, said Kiara.

He is, said Logan thoughtfully. Can you talk with dogs?

Kiara looked away quickly. No.

It sounded like the argument had been semi-resolved, and Greyson stormed off to his truck. Burt walked around to the driver’s side of his own pick-up, muttering some pretty choice words about Greyson.

Your old man is an idiot, Adney, he snarled.

He’s not my old man, snapped Logan.

Burt looked in the truck and swore. Kiara, where the hell are the sleeping bags?

Kiara shrugged. I don’t know. Last time I remember for sure seeing them was on the porch.

Seriously? said Burt, exasperated.

She nodded.

He swore loudly and hopped into the truck and drove off—to get the sleeping bags, Logan guessed. Greyson backed his truck down to the boat.

Come on, Adney, Greyson said, annoyed. This stuff isn’t going to unload itself. He set to work tossing things into the back of the truck.

Kiara half-smiled at him and whispered, I know how you feel.

Logan returned the smile and started to help Greyson. He was covered in river silt and fish slime and was soaked right through by the time they finished. He hated baths—they were a waste of time—but he was looking forward to having one tonight. Greyson hopped into the truck. Logan hesitated and looked back at Kiara. She was still loading things into the boat, looking up every now and then to see if Burt was coming back yet. She knew as well as he did that Burt was just as likely to stop by the bar and have a few drinks as he was to pick up the sleeping bags. She looked so alone, standing there in the rain.

I hope you feel better, he said honestly.

Kiara looked up, surprised. Thanks.

Greyson honked the horn impatiently, and Logan said, Have a good winter.

Yep. You too.

Logan climbed into the truck. He watched the rain on the window in silence as they made their way through town and then up the road to home. Greyson was lost in whatever thoughts of his own and didn’t say much. He was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. That was one of his quirks: the guy never stopped moving. Right now, though, it was driving Logan crazy. He buried his face in his hands and sighed.

He always does that, said Greyson, hitting the steering wheel with his hand. Parks his truck in the way, like his having all the money in the world is an excuse to be dumb and ignorant.

Logan said nothing. Right then he didn’t care how rich or ignorant Burt Carver was. His mind was on the girl.

People can say what they want, said Greyson, keeping his eyes on the road, but your girl is one tough kid.

She’s not my girl, mumbled Logan. She’s Burt’s girl.

Burt better be careful, ‘cause he’s going to land himself in trouble, said Greyson.

Logan shrugged miserably. He can’t get in trouble if he’s working for Phil. Even the police let Phil get away with stuff.

Greyson glared at him. Don’t you believe it, he said. Phil’s time is coming, just you wait and see. The problem is that people have this idea that he’s invincible. He’s not.

Logan didn’t say anything. The feud between Greyson and Phillip Kent was well known by everyone in town, but Logan wasn’t really sure what had started it. Phil had money, and friends in high places. He owned most of the bars and hotels along the River and the Capital. Supposedly, he was the mastermind behind the largest drug and prostitution ring in the Territory, but no one could prove it. Or at least, no one had tried to prove it. And more than likely it was just a lot of small-town gossip.

Greyson had been a champion dog musher, but that was before Logan was born. That was when Greyson had been living with Logan’s mother, Sarah. But then she had taken off with a prospector with the last name Adney when Greyson turned mean. And after that had come the misconduct and assault charges against Greyson that had gotten him banned from racing. It wasn’t until after Sarah died that Logan had come to live with Greyson.

Next to Phil, Greyson was a nobody. All he had now were his dogs, and a whole lot of attitude. And a kid he had never asked for. But that didn’t seem to dampen his ego at all.

They turned down the long driveway that led to the Marlow homestead. It was in a creek valley, with big, forested hills on three sides. At the end of the driveway, there was a log cabin on the left, and a fenced dog yard of about fifty dogs on the right. Past that was a tiny lake, then a swamp, and then the biggest of the surrounding hills. A few sheds and broken-down vehicles were scattered around, and there was a garden to the left of the driveway that had had become overgrown with weeds a long time ago.

Logan stepped out and helped unload the dogs and the rest of the stuff, not bothering to dodge the iced-over puddles anymore. Greyson went inside and lit a fire, then came back out to help. Logan was exhausted—too exhausted to worry about a bath. He climbed the ladder to the loft, stripped out of his wet clothes, and hid under the blankets. He didn’t wake up until morning.

scene break

Logan stirred when he heard Greyson slam the screen door and head out to the dog yard, whistling. Some of the dogs barked excitedly. Logan didn’t move. He was still exhausted, and he felt gross. He smelled like one great, big Salmon that had been swimming around in a beaver pond, and his hair was wind-matted and slimed. He opened his eyes and looked out the window at the falling snow.

The dogs started barking as a truck pulled up to the dog yard. He heard Greyson talking with someone, but couldn’t make out what they were saying over the noise. The truck drove off, and Greyson came back into the house, calling, Hey, Adney, up and at ‘em. We got work to do.

Seriously? moaned Logan.

Greyson climbed up the ladder and looked at the boy’s big, dismayed eyes.

Yeah, said Greyson. Fred Derrick has some work for us. We’ll have baths after, I promise. Come on.

What are we doing? Logan asked, but Greyson was already out the door again.

Logan sat up and sighed. He changed into his set of clean clothes because he’d left his dirty ones in a pile and they were still wet. He slid down the ladder and cast a longing look at the cupboards as he headed for the door. Greyson always forgot about breakfast. That was okay. Maybe they could pick up something in town. He piled into the truck with Greyson, Rohn on his heels, and they headed toward town.

What’s up? Logan asked. It had frozen hard during the night, and with the new snow and the frozen puddles, the road was slippery.

Fred needs some help hauling a boat to town, said Greyson. Broke down on him just before the Canyon. Lucky Rick still had his boat in and picked them up, but Rick’s just got that little boat, so he said he’d trade us some fish if we help bring his boat in. They got it secured just before the Canyon.

Logan didn’t say anything. He was so sick of dealing with fish, he didn’t care if they were broke; Fred could keep the fish. But it meant one last trip before they pulled the boat for the winter. And he had a secret fascination with the Canyon. Miles long, with towering walls, it was a maze of rapids and whitewater that very few dared to try, and fewer still survived. That’s where Last Chance had gotten its name. The town had been the last stop just before the Canyon for the steamboats. Anyone who wanted to go further faced the long portage trail to the North or the alternate route to the West, up one river and down another that joined the River past the Canyon. That river route was the way Burt and Kiara would take to their trapline. It made him sad to think about it.

Fred and Rick were already at the boat when they got there. It took some maneuvering and a whole lot of cursing to get Greyson’s boat back over the shore ice and in the water. Given the conditions, Rick and Fred suggested they leave Logan on shore, but Logan protested and Greyson gave in, saying Logan had enough experience now to be of some help. Which made Logan feel about ten feet tall.

The wind was bitter out on the River, and Logan regretted not bringing his winter coat, even if it was too small now. Slush and ice swirled and hissed around the sides of the boat as Greyson carefully made his way down the River towards the Canyon. Greyson’s face was tense and focused. Logan knew Greyson wouldn’t have agreed to the job if it hadn’t been for Fred being as hard off as they were and needing that boat to make his living. This was pushing the limits of what Greyson Marlow, experienced as he was, would consider safe.

Logan caught his breath as the boat came in sight. It was literally at the edge of the Canyon, right before where the water turned fast and angry. The roar of the swift-flowing water rushed to meet them from the thick mist and forbidding rocks ahead. Logan lay a hand on Rohn to steady him, but the pup was staring into the Canyon with all the intensity and bravery of a lion. The wind blew his big black ears back against head, and his eyes were scrunched almost shut against the cold and the wind and the icy spray. But his two front paws were planted firmly on the side of the boat.

It took Greyson several attempts to bring his boat up beside Fred’s boat. By now Logan’s teeth were chattering and his fingers burned from the cold. But Greyson said, Logan, hold her steady a moment.

Surprised by Greyson’s trust in him, Logan slipped into Greyson’s seat and took control of the boat as his mentor dug a long rope from the compartment at the bow. Rohn had hopped up beside Logan and stood staring into the misty depths of the Canyon. Logan too looked up at the towering rock walls, and wondered what it would be like to be in there, if you were able to ride the rapids through...

A sudden and violent shudder ran through the boat as a pan of ice rammed into its side. The violence of the shock knocked the young pup off his feet, and he disappeared over the side and into the black water.

Logan let out a cry and moved to the side of the boat, but with no one to hold the boat it spun in the quick current. The men let out a startled yell, and Logan was dimly aware of Rick grabbing the wheel as he searched frantically for any sign of the pup.

Then Greyson had him by the front of his jacket and was shaking him.

What the hell were you thinking? Greyson screamed into his face. You could’ve killed us all!

Rohn fell out! Logan shouted back.

Listen to me, kid, Greyson growled. "Don’t you ever, ever pull that stunt again. What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Logan tried to pull away, tried to turn back to the River, but Greyson shook him again.

He’s gone, Adney! Greyson yelled. He’s gone.

For the first time ever, Logan wanted to strike his mentor. Wanted to scream back. But Greyson let him go and turned back to the task at hand. Logan scanned the hissing, angry water and the icy shores, but there was no sign of his pup. His eyes filled with tears as he turned to grab the end of the rope Greyson threw to him. A mix of disbelief and pain tore at him as he tried to hold back the sobs. He glared at Greyson even as he did as he was told, but Greyson’s eyes weren’t on the boy. They were scanning the River, and they were filled with tears.

scene break

Cold.

Cold that seeped into every part of Rohn’s body and into his very soul. Cold so intense the pup was painfully numb, so intense that it became his whole universe.

He was vaguely aware that he was drifting down the River, surrounded by large pans of ice. He was on one of these ice pans now. His fur had frozen into solid spikes so that he looked more like a mutated porcupine than a pup. But he didn’t care. He was too cold to care anymore.

Then he was suddenly aware that he was no longer cold, but pleasantly warm. He felt a brief moment of panic to fight the warmth. He started to slip back into the pleasant warmth, but again something made him fight it. He fought it off with a fierceness that replaced the cold inside him. He forced himself to his feet with a weak growl. He sensed, more than saw, that the Canyon had widened and the current had slowed. Then the ice pan hit something, and he stumbled.

He fell off the ice pan and landed on something else. Shore ice, with a fine layer of powdery snow on it. The snow tickled his nose as it melted. Rohn’s legs would hardly move, and they definitely didn’t move the way he wanted them to. He realized he was going to die.

But he felt no fear. Neither did he feel acceptance. All he felt was an almost insane desire to prove Death wrong. Using up the last of his strength, he dragged himself off the shore ice and collapsed on the rocky beach.

He didn’t know how long he lay there, but suddenly the hair on the back of his neck prickled. He sensed another presence, something moving towards him. No, not just one. A whole pack of somethings was approaching him.

He’s dead, he heard someone—a male—say. But it was in a strange dialect, one he could barely understand.

Rohn saw through his half-closed eyes that the speaker was a black dog. Only he was far bigger than any dog Rohn had ever seen. And he smelled different—like Moose meat and rotten Salmon. He smelled like a predator.

Wolves.

He’s young, said a female voice, in mild surprise. What is he doing so far from his Humans?

The question hung in the frigid air. Rohn felt the curious gaze of the Wolves as they moved in a little closer. Then the black one spoke again.

We’ll not waste any meat, he said. Not with this looking to be a hard winter. He’s not much more than a snack, but every bit counts.

He moved to pick up Rohn. In a feeble burst of panic, Rohn bit the Wolf’s nose. The Wolf jumped back with a surprised yelp. Several of the others laughed.

Not quite as dead as you thought, Scanlan?

Looks like he’s still got some fight in him, muttered Scanlan, sounding somewhat awed. He moved in closer again.

Painfully, slowly, Rohn rose to his feet. He was scared, and he was no match for them, but he would die fighting. He growled, as fierce a sound as he could muster. But he just sounded like a scared puppy.

Some of the Wolves laughed, but Scanlan regarded the pup with mild interest. Rohn met his eyes unwaveringly. The black Wolf’s eyes never left Rohn’s as he spoke.

I’m taking the pup back to the village.

Shocked silence.

To eat later? asked a young male.

Or—as what? said another.

If he makes it, added the female.

He’ll never survive in our world, said a half-grown Pup.

Scanlan and Rohn continued to stare at each other.

No one is to hurt him, said the black Wolf. I will decide his fate when I’m ready.

Scanlan stepped toward him. Rohn growled, but no sound came from him, and he slipped into blackness as the Wolf’s mouth gently closed on the scruff of his neck.

 2 

THREE YEARS LATER

Home wasn’t much: a little three-room cabin five or so miles outside of a tiny, little, middle-of-nowhere town. But as house and yard came into view when the team rounded a bend in the trail, seventeen-year-old Logan Adney thought for the millionth time that he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

He could see it as the dogs, hooked to the little ATV, headed down the creek trail that led into the yard. There was the cabin itself. It was an old one-room trapper’s cabin to which Greyson had added a second room and a small sunroom. The second room was the same square footage as the old part of the cabin, but it was half a story higher, with a little loft that was Logan’s room. It had been Greyson’s bedroom once upon a time, but that seemed forever ago now.

There was the dog yard in front of the house, a sprawling fifty-dog lot with two old puppy pens nearest the house. The dog shed stood in one corner of the dog yard, and various broke down trucks seemed to grow out of the overgrown and dying grass that surrounded the place. There was even a garden beside the house, but it had been taken over by weeds long before Logan had come to live with Greyson twelve years before.

Then past the house, through the golden poplar leaves and thick spruce, Logan could make out the River, silt-coloured and shimmering in the September sun. Somewhere, hidden in the trees along the bank, was the tiny village of Last Chance. Once the leaves had all fallen, he would be able to make out some of the roofs of the houses and buildings. Then past the River were the mountains—the Wild Range mountains to the north-east, already peaked with snow.

Logan took all this in just before the trail dropped steeply before heading into the yard, and the River disappeared behind the trees. He could still see the tops of the mountains, though, and he couldn’t help wondering—as he always did—what lay beyond them.

Excited barking erupted from the dogs in the yard as the team