John Flanagan - The Icebound Land

She would have to gradually wean the boy off the drug, he had told her, by giving him ever-decreasing amounts at ever-increasing intervals until he could cope with the deprivation.

Evanlyn had hoped that Erak might be wrong. She knew that each dose of the drug extended the time of the dependence further and she had hoped that she might just be able to cut off Will's supply straightaway and help him cope with the pain and torment. But there was no help for him as he was now and, reluctantly, she let him have a small amount of the dried leaf, shielding the pouch with her body as she took it from the pack, then again when she returned it.

Will seized the small handful of the gray, herblike substance with horrifying eagerness. For the first time, she saw a glint of expression in his normally dull gaze. But his attention was totally focused on the drug and she came to realize how completely it ruled his life and his mind these days. Silently, tears forming in her eyes, she watched the hollow shell who had once been such a vital, enthusiastic companion. She condemned Borsa and the other Skandians who had caused this to the hottest corner of whatever hell they believed in.

The apprentice Ranger crammed the small amount of leaf into his mouth, forcing it into one cheek and allowing the saliva to soak it and release the juice that would carry the narcotic through his system. Gradually, the shuddering spasms calmed down, until he knelt in the snow beside the path, hunched over, rocking gently backward and forward, eyes slitted, once again moaning softly to himself in whatever lonely, pain-filled world he inhabited.

The pony watched these events incuriously, from time to time pawing a hole in the snow and nibbling at the sparse strands of grass exposed there. Eventually, Evanlyn took Will's hand and pulled him, unresisting, to his feet.

"Come on, Will," she said in a dispirited voice. "We've still got a long way to go." As she said it, she realized she was talking about a lot more than just the distance to the hunting cabin in the mountains.

Crooning softly and tunelessly to himself, Will followed her as she led the way upward yet again.

The daylight was nearly gone by the time she found the cabin.

She had gone past it twice, following the instructions that Erak had made her commit to memory: a left fork in the trail a hundred paces after a lightning-blasted pine; a narrow gully that led downward for a hundred meters, then curved back up again, and a shallow ford across a small stream.

Mentally, she ticked off the landmarks, peering this way and that through the gloom of evening as it settled over the trees. But she could see no sign of the hut-only the featureless white of the snow.

Finally she realized that, of course, the hut would not be visible as a hut. It would be virtually buried in snow itself. Once she saw that simple fact, she became aware of a large mound not ten meters away from her. Dropping the pony's lead rein, she blundered forward, the snow catching at her legs, and made out the edge of a wall, then the slope of a roof, then the hard angle of a corner, more regular and even than any shape that nature might have concealed under the snow.

Moving around the large mound, she found the leeward side was more exposed and she could see the door and a small window, covered with a wooden shutter. She reflected that it was lucky the door had been built on the lee side of the cabin, then realized that this would have been intentional. Only a fool would place a door on the side where the prevailing north winds would pile the snow deeply.

Heaving a sigh of relief, she retraced her steps and took the pony's bridle. Will's meager strength had given out hours before and he was once more slumped on the pack saddle, swaying and moaning in that continuous undertone. She led the pony to stand by the tiny porch that adjoined the doorway, tying the lead rein to a tether post that was set in the ground there. There was probably no need for that, she reflected. The pony had shown no inclination to leave her so far.

However, it did no harm to take precautions. The last thing she wanted was to have to hunt for the pony and its rider through the gathering dusk. Satisfied that the bridle was tied firmly, she shoved the ill-fitting door open and entered the hut to take stock of their new refuge and its contents.

It was small, just one main room with a rough table and two benches on either side. Against the far wall, there was a wooden cot, with what appeared to be a straw-filled mattress on it. The room smelled of damp and mustiness and she wrinkled her nose momentarily, then realized that once she had a fire burning in the stone fireplace that composed most of the western wall, she could do something to dispel the smells.

There was a handy supply of firewood stacked by the fireplace, with a flint and iron as well.

She spent a few minutes kindling a fire and the cheerful crack of the flames, and the flickering yellow light they cast over the interior of the hut, raised her spirits.

In a corner that was obviously a pantry, she found flour and dried meat and beans. There was some evidence that small scavengers had been at the supplies, but she felt that they would probably be sufficient for the next month or two. She and Will wouldn't be feasting, she knew, but they would survive.

Particularly if he recovered any of his old skill as he shook off the effects of the drug. Because now, she saw, there was a small hunting bow and a leather quiver of arrows hanging behind the door of the hut. Even in the deep winter there would be some small game available-snowshoe rabbits and snow hares, mainly. They might well be able to supplement the food that had been stored here.

If not-she shrugged at the thought. At least they were free and at least she had a chance to break Will's warmweed addiction. She would face other problems as they arose.

The interior of the hut was becoming warmer now and she went back outside, motioning for Will to dismount. As he did so, she frowned at the sight of the pony. He could hardly stay outside, she realized. Yet the thought of sharing the single-roomed hut with him for the winter held little appeal. The previous night, even though she had been grateful for his warmth, she had been totally conscious of the powerful animal odor that came from him.

Telling Will to wait by the door, she moved around the hut to the side she had so far not inspected, and found her answer there.

There was a low lean-to built onto the hut at this point. It was open at one side but would provide sufficient shelter for the pony through the winter. There were a few items of abandoned tack and leather harness hanging on iron nails there, along with some simple tools. Obviously, it was intended as a stable.

It had another use as well, she was grateful to see. Along the outer wall of the hut, against which the lean-to abutted, there was a large stack of cut firewood. She was relieved to see it there. Already she had wondered what she might do when she had exhausted the small supply in the hut itself.

She brought the pony to the lean-to and removed the pack saddle and bridle from him. There was a feed tub there and a small supply of grain, so she let him have some.

He stood gratefully, munching on the grain, grinding his teeth together in that peaceful way that horses have.

At this stage, she could find no water for him. But she'd seen him licking at the snow during the day and reasoned that he could satisfy himself that way until she could arrange some alternative. The small supply of grain in the stable would obviously not last him until spring and she worried about that fact for a moment. Then, in line with her new philosophy of not worrying about matters she couldn't rectify, she shrugged the thought away.

"Worry about it later," she told herself, and returned to the cabin proper.