Alone in the Wild(73)

“Ellen and I spoke often of her past,” Nancy says. “I’ve taken her story to the elders, in hopes of convincing those who say we shouldn’t interfere with the wild people. Ellen herself, though, would not speak to the elders. She was … conflicted on this. I’m not sure how much you know about the wild people.”

“We’re helping a woman who left them recently,” I say. “She’s a former Rockton resident. Eric knew her. He grew up there.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widen as she looks at Dalton. “You’re the boy. The one Tyrone spoke of.”

Dalton nods, his jaw set, and Nancy sees that, murmuring, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I just remember Tyrone’s stories.”

“Ty has plenty of those,” Dalton says. “Not all of them true, but yeah, I was born out here and … taken to Rockton.”

She rocks back, as if stopping herself from comment. She reaches for her bowl instead and takes a spoonful of stew. Then she stops, frowns, and pulls a shotgun pellet from her mouth.

“Thought you folks didn’t use guns,” Dalton says.

“We don’t,” she says. “But sometimes we still find pellets in the meat. When other settlers injure large game without killing them, those end up in our food.”

“It’s been happening more and more recently,” Tomas mutters. “Someone cracked a tooth just last month.”

I reach to take the pellet, but Nancy tucks it aside, as if she didn’t see me reaching. I hesitate and then withdraw my hand wordlessly.

I resume our conversation. “So we know this woman, Maryanne, and her situation. She left Rockton with a party of would-be settlers, and they were set upon by the hos—wild people. The men were killed. The women were taken.”

“Oh!” Nancy’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes rounding. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

“That isn’t how they ‘recruit’ around here?” I ask.

“Not Ellen’s group. The wild people actually rescued her. Ellen and her husband were up here mining. They were new at it—it was only their second season. They were crossing a river swollen with spring runoff when they fell. He drowned. She made it to shore, but all their supplies were gone. She was nearly dead when the wild people took her in.”

“And she stayed with them.”

Nancy looks at her husband, as if unsure how much to say.

Tomas makes a face. “That’s the problem. They have these teas. They’re … like ours, but not like ours.”

“I’ve heard about the teas. They— Wait, you said they’re like yours?”

He nods. “We have two. There’s the peace tea. It’s…” He looks at me. “Have you ever smoked weed?”

“Once.” I quirk a smile. “It wasn’t quite my thing. Slowed me down too much.”

“Right. That’s what it does. Relaxes you, makes you happy and peaceful. We have a tea like that for relaxing. The same way someone might have wine with dinner. Then there’s the ritual tea. There’s this root that grows wild here. I have no idea what the real name is, but we call it the dream-root.”

“A hallucinogen.”

“Yes. We use it for ceremonies. To bridge the gap between us and nature.” He lifts his hands, as if warding off comment. “Yes, I know. Between that and the peace tea, it sounds very nineteen sixties. But we have our ways here, and they don’t harm anyone.”

“I wasn’t going to question,” I say.

Tomas chuckles. “Tyrone sure did. He thought we were all a bunch of loony hippies, dancing naked in the woods. Our ways were definitely not his.”

“These teas, though,” I say. “I’m told the wild people have two as well. One that makes them calm and one that causes hallucinations. Are they the same?”

“I’m no scientist—I was a truck driver down south—but from what Ellen said, I think theirs are stronger versions of ours. Much stronger. Ever tried peyote?”

I shake my head.

“I have,” he says. “That’s what our ritual tea is like. We drift into a dreamlike state, hence the name. What the wild people take makes them, well, wild. Increased violence. Increased sex drive. Their version of the peace tea is also stronger. Between the two brews, they seem to make the wild people stay with the group. Ellen had family down south. Parents, siblings, friends, a job. She only came to the Yukon for an adventure that was her husband’s dream. She had no interest in staying long-term, let alone permanently.”

Nancy nods. “But the tea made her forget the rest. Her family, her job, her life. At first, she stayed with the intention of getting well enough to travel back to the city. Then she just … forgot all that.”

“How did she come out of it?” I ask.

Nancy glances at Tomas, uncomfortable again. This time, he isn’t quite so quick to answer but rubs his beard, and looks back at his wife.

“There are … rules,” Tomas says. “Every community has them. Ours is no different. There are laws meant to protect us, and there are laws meant to protect our way of life, to put our belief into deed.”

“Religious prohibitions,” I say.

He makes a face. “I wouldn’t call what we practice a religion. I guess it is, but I was raised Catholic and…” He exhales. “Call it what you will. A friend with far more education than me said it’s a belief system rather than a religion. Part of that belief system is noninterference. We don’t interfere with Rockton or the First Settlement. We don’t interfere with nature, either, any more than is needed for survival.”