Bloodlust - Part 1

By Kim Bannerman

"'Of course,” I said to myself, "I do not believe in supernatural beings. Still - who understand the mysteries behind the forest? What would one do if one did meet a supernatural being?" Half of me wished that I could meet her, and half of me hoped I would not.’

- Emily Carr, after encountering a Tsonokwa totem pole.

If you asked me why it happened, I would tell you that fear makes people do strange things. To be afraid is to be irrational. That sunny afternoon, we were terrified beyond reason, and I would tell you, if you asked, that fear drove us. There was no other alternative, no other impulse that would excuse our behaviour, no other rational logic to explain. We were afraid, and our choice was dictated by fear.

And you might believe me.

But that wouldn't be the truth.

Crey and I walked along the shore of Dees River, up into the woods where the branches hung with garlands of silvery witchhair moss. He marched ahead with his camera bag slung over his shoulder and I followed, picking my way carefully along the riverbank, the rest of the equipment strapped to my back in a wellworn satchel and an old army duffelbag. The unmistakable snap of autumn was in the air, but hints of summer remained: the sweet scent of dried grass and baked earth, the warm kiss of sunlight in the leeside of the bank.

"We'll cross here," he said, gesturing to a fallen alder log that spanned the bubbling waters. It didn't look very stable, and he read my hesitation in my dubious expression. "C'mon, Ellie," he replied as he mounted the slippery trunk. "Where's that trademark Carpenter bravery?"

I let him hold my hand as we crossed.

My father once told me that Crey had played rugby in high school, and in the years since, he'd remained athletic. He hadn't let art college turn him waxy or pale. He was tall and tanned and handsome, muscular from months of backpacking through Thailand, with shaggy black hair as thick as my own. When he jumped to the shore, the log sprang upwards under my lesser weight and almost bucked me off.

After leaping to solid ground, I asked, "How much to do you make with your pictures?"

"Depends on who's buying them," he replied over his shoulder. With a quick glance into the sky, he said, "Hurry up, El. We're going to miss the noon light."

"Who was the best, then?"

"National Geographic," he replied. "It's good to have them on my CV."

"CV?"

"Curriculum vitae," he answered. "A list of who's purchased my pictures."

"But did they PAY well?"

He glanced over his shoulder again with an amused but slightly reproachful expression. "You know, in the adult world, it's rude to ask how much people get paid."

"You’re not an adult, Crey," I replied tartly. "Not to me."

I caught the flash of a grin as he turned and veered from the bank into the tangles of nodding ferns.

When I caught up with him again, I finally mustered the question I'd been wanting to ask. "How come you don't pay me?"

This caught him by surprise. He stopped, and I nearly banged into him. "Pay you?"

"Yeah," I replied, shifting the weight of the bag on my left shoulder. "You can carry it yourself, you don't need me here. Every year since I was ten, I've hauled your gear out into the woods, and I think you should pay me for the work."

Crey laughed away my comment. "Of course I could carry it myself, but I like spending time with you, Ellie."

A little pang of guilt plucked at my heart. "Well," I said awkwardly, stepping back a bit, "I like hanging out with you, too, but--"

When I faltered, he kindly took the heaviest satchel from my shoulder and slung it over his own. Crey bent closer, fixing me with raven-black eyes that were sharp, mischievous and suspicious. "You're sixteen, Ellie," he replied. "What do you need money for? Makeup? Clothes?"

My throat hitched. I was suddenly very embarrassed, but I didn't know why, and I reluctantly admitted, "I'm saving for a camera of my own."

"Really, now," was all he said. Crey looked at me with such warmth that I thought he'd set me on fire.

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