His ancestors were singing, beckoning him closer to their circle of power. By the time he reached the top, Jack couldn’t tell if he was still in his world or theirs. He stood in a small opening in the forest and looked around.

He had definitely arrived at his destination.

He slid his backpack off his shoulders with a tired groan, leaned it against a crooked old pine tree, and dug out his hatchet. He found several alder saplings growing on the edge of the clearing, apparently just waiting for someone to need them. He cut down a dozen, and carried them to the center of the opening, where he drove them in the snow in a circle about ten feet wide. He returned to his pack, got out the coil of rawhide he’d brought, and started lashing the alder tips together, forming a dome.

He pulled out the colorful, slightly tattered wool blankets next, rubbing them fondly as he breathed in their familiar scent. Vivid memories cascaded through his mind: Grand-père wrapped in his favorite blanket, huddled in front of a roaring fire, seemingly oblivious to the snow falling on and around him; three more blankets exactly like these, covering his mother and father and brother as they traveled to the afterlife; Jack’s trembling body huddled inside one of them as he fought the fever the bear attack had brought on when he was twelve.

“Stop dawdling, Coyote,” Grand-père whispered through the trees. “We’ve been waiting what seems like forever for this day. Get on with your task.”

“I’m coming,” Jack muttered, tossing the blankets beside the alder dome. He picked one up and shook it out, then carefully placed it over the structure, repeating the process until his shelter was completely covered.

Picking up his pace, he built a fire just a few feet from the tiny entrance he’d left in the dome. Then, while the roaring fire did its job of making glowing embers, he went in search of water. He found a bubbling spring just beyond the clearing and knew he was standing on sacred ground. The wise ones had thoughtfully provided every necessity for anyone seeking their counsel.

Jack knelt down and drank before plunging the bucket in the spring and lugging it back to the clearing. He set it beside the dome, crawled inside, and began tramping down the snow. He cut fir boughs and covered half the floor with them, then covered the boughs with one of the two remaining blankets. He went out and shoveled as many embers as he could into the dome, just inside and to the right of the door, well away from the fir boughs. He built the fire back up, poured the bucket of water over the wool blankets covering the poles to thoroughly soak them, then went back to the spring and refilled it.

He came back and crawled inside his cozy little lodge. Knowing he’d soon be awash in sweat, Jack quickly undressed, neatly folding his clothes and setting them in a pile. Then he stretched out on the blanket with his hands clasped behind his head for a pillow, closed his eyes with a sigh, and decided to have a little nap while he waited.

He woke up to a current of superheated air moving over his sweat-soaked body as several men entered the dome, led by Grand-père. His grandfather, Shadow Dreamwalker, followed, along with several other men Jack didn’t recognize. He thought one was a Viking, judging from his clothes. Another one wore the suit of a Crusader, and one looked to be wearing a Civil War uniform from the northern army, if Jack wasn’t mistaken.

No women, only men, and all warriors.

“Aren’t there any scholars among you?” Jack muttered, sitting up when Grand-père nudged him aside to make room to sit down. The lodge continued to fill up, and Jack realized he was the only one who was naked. Apparently apparitions didn’t sweat. He reached for his clothes, but the Viking was sitting on them.

“You are already in touch with your gentler ancestors,” Grand-père said with a harrumph. “It’s your shadow side you need to get in touch with today, Coyote.”

A spot of daylight appeared near the bottom of the dome, and Jack saw his brother, Walker, wiggle under the steaming wool wall and sit quietly behind the Crusader. Walker caught Jack’s eye, smiled, and gave him a wink.

“I hope you are comfortable, Coyote,” Grand-père said, “because I fear this may take us awhile.”

Chapter Twenty-two

I t was noon the next day before Jack found himself cruising back down the lake. He felt surprisingly well rested, though his head still hurt from the rousing arguments he’d had with his ancestors, which had inevitably ended with long-winded lectures from each of them. Walker had dropped off to sleep after only two hours, and every so often Jack had glanced at his brother with envy.

When the Old Ones had finally left just before dawn, Jack nudged Walker awake, and had just finished dressing when their mother entered the lodge looking for her older son. She and Walker had sat with Jack while he’d eaten a breakfast of power bars, and they’d chatted about any number of mundane things. Jack was sad his mother hadn’t brought his son for him to play with, but Jack’s father was babysitting. Walker was immensely pleased to learn the baby might be named after him. Then, when Jack’s eyelids had grown heavy, his mother had cradled his head in her lap and sung him to sleep.

When he’d awakened just before noon, he’d been alone and a bit chilled because the fire had long gone out. He’d quickly dismantled his makeshift shelter, hiked down the mountain to his sled, and raced toward Pine Creek with a firm resolve and a heart filled with hope.

Maybe the Old Ones did know what they were talking about when they’d explained there was no escaping his shadow; that he’d always find it right behind him, attached to his heels. And it was at that precise place of attachment, the Ancients had said, that Jack needed to focus his energy if he wished to be effectual. He couldn’t walk in only one or the other; shadow and light were complementary, not adversarial.

Yeah, yeah, he got it now.

While he’d had their collective wisdom at his disposal, Jack had asked for suggestions on how he could deal with each of the current problems he was juggling. That little request had started a whole new round of arguments—between him and his ancestors, and then between the Old Ones themselves. Hopefully the results would be worth the headache.

Which was why when Jack entered Frog Cove he veered east toward the Bear Mountain shoreline instead of toward his home on Frog Point. He stopped on the lake in front of Matt and Winter Gregor’s cabin, shut off his sled, and was just climbing the porch stairs when he heard a pickup pull up out back. He walked to the end of the porch just as Matt Gregor got out of the truck and spotted him.

“Chief Stone,” Gregor said, coming toward him. “What can I do for you?”

It appeared Matt was a to-the-point kind of guy. Jack usually got along well with men with that quality.

“As a matter of fact, I’ve come to ask you for a favor,” he told Matt, getting directly to the point himself. He stepped back when Gregor climbed the stairs and faced him. “I’m in need of some sort of natural disaster,” Jack explained, ignoring Matt’s raised eyebrow. “Nothing too big or destructive, just a simple…oh, earthquake, maybe?”

Matt just stared at Jack.

“It would be up on the Canadian tundra, so you don’t have to worry about people getting hurt. And if you could limit its scope, even the animals should fare okay.”

Matt folded his arms over his chest. “Are you drunk, Stone?”

Jack sighed. “Look, I know you don’t really know me, other than what Megan may have told you. But I promise, I’m perfectly sober and admittedly desperate. Believe me, it’s a hell of a lot harder for me to ask you for a favor than it will be for you to grant it.”

“And this favor is a limited, nondestructive earthquake somewhere up on the Canadian tundra,” Matt repeated. “May I inquire why you’ve come to me? I build jet engines, which have nothing to do with geological science.”