Then an elk comes into view, taking one of the bends, carefully planting its feet as it descends the path.
I stare at Mark, whose whole body has shrunk a little, like a balloon left a long time. But I could swear … I could swear for a moment there he had seemed to ripple, to shift, and I had seen sharpness, and fur.
What the— I start to say to him, but he holds up his hand to shush me.
Then another elk appears.
And another.
Mark and I watch in amazement as the elks come slowly down to the bottom of the canyon, then stand before us.
There are wolves following you, says the one that first spoke before—it has a white blaze on its forehead. You gave us food. We will take you across the river.
But the water, says Mark.
It is fast, says the elk. It is not deep.
There are snakes, says Mark. You could be killed.
If one of us falls, the herd remains. We are Elk.
As he says this, more of the beautiful creatures join him, lining up, flank to flank. Their bodies steam in the night air; they breathe like dragons. Their flanks are molten moon. Their antlers pierce the sky and rock. They are magnificent.
I will take the Maiden, says the leader. He tips his antlers toward another large elk. And she will take you, human, he says to Mark.
The leader steps shyly toward me, stepping high. He lowers his head, then bends his foreleg, bringing his back down, his great antlers, so that I can climb up onto him.
You’re sure? I ask.
Yes, says the elk. Our backs are strong. We oppose the Crone. We cleave to our task. We are Elk.
I lift my leg and straddle his back. He is warm, and his … fur? hair? … I don’t know what it’s called on an elk, but it’s soft, so soft, and I grip his neck and it smells like something ancient, something gracious, something that says love and companionship and destiny and … rightness.
You see? says the elk. We were made for this.
For the very first time, I understand, truly understand, what we lost when we made trains and cars and planes, and even when we began to grow things. But I’m not able to think about it for long because the elk steps forward, without hesitating, and into the river. Beside me, Mark rides too, on the high dappled female, his face grim-set.
And on either side of us, the herd moves as one.
The snakes come at us fast, angry. They slip between the legs of the elks, and I see their fangs, and the elks stamp their feet, snorting, mouths foaming, eyes rolling. But they keep going, as scared and as thrashing as they are. The moon is behind clouds. Above us are only stars, sharp and shining as teeth.
I see an elk to my left go down, suddenly, like its legs just aren’t there anymore—it rolls, once, then disappears under the water, and I just catch a glimpse of its hooves as it tumbles down the rocky rapids.
Then another falls to my right, and another.
I hold my breath, terrified, and I see that Mark has blanched, his face drained of all blood. I can see the other shore, only ten feet away now …
Five …
My elk, the leader, stumbles, and I’m thrown forward toward the water—
but then his head comes up again and I cling on, as he pushes on.
Three …
And then we’re through, and on the bank, and the elk walks me up and away from the river, before dropping his forelegs so I can scoot down and off. Mark alights too, and many of the elks shake water from their tails and flanks beside us. At least five, though, are gone.
I’m sorry, I say.
The leader looks up at me. We are many, he says. We are Elk. The herd survives.
But his voice is sad.
One of the other elks snorts, in alarm, and I turn. Mark is tense, poised, looking at the river. I see it. A pair of eyes above the water, a snout. Sharp teeth. A wolf.
And another.
And another.