by Wendy Delsol
Jack, still stanching the blood flowing from his hand, crouched on his knees amid the snowy shelter of the tree’s cavity. I scrambled over to him.
“Jack, we have to stop the avalanche. We have to destroy this tree. Can you summon the winds to topple it? Or lightning to strike it?” He looked at me with a haggard, yet rallying, expression. “You can do it,” I said, seizing him by the shoulders. “I know you can do it.”
He tried to stand, but stumbled. I got under his arm to support him and felt a charge of current buzz up my arms. With the surge, Jack came to a full stand. I knew that I had to believe, that we both had to believe, we were equal to the avalanche, the Frost Giants, and even the Snow Queen. “We can do this,” I shouted. “A team, remember?”
Then, Jack, his face purpling with pain, released a bellow of visceral origin. His entire body spasmed as if being yanked upward by some invisible chain. My head spun with a building pressure. I closed my eyes and called on my ancient powers and to all the magical forces of the universe, casting wishes across the realms and back through time itself.
The pain became unbearable, an internal siren of screams. My fingers, still grasping Jack, contorted in crippling agony. The roar of the advancing avalanche drowned out everything. Just when I wasn’t sure we could hold on any longer, we were slammed down hard and everything went dark and dead quiet.
I had the vague sensation of wings encircling me from behind, grasping me under my arms, and then Jack and I were gliding effortlessly downward. I felt we were safe until a sudden tug wrested Jack from my hold and there was nothing but emptiness where he had been.
The phone rang. It was loud and obnoxious. Judging by the darkness pinning my head down, it had to be the middle of the night. It was cold. Too cold. I burrowed deeper into the misty brume of sleep, a numbed delirium. It was nice: a moony kind of drowsy. The cold was my only complaint. If it had only been warm, I’d have settled in for a good, long, everlasting sleep.
“Kat, wake up.” From beyond, a voice crackled like a weak radio signal.
Don’t want to. Shush.
“Kat, can you hear me?”
Can’t if I’m sleeping.
Something jimmied my shoulder.
“Kat, it’s Afi, wake up. There’s a phone call.”
My eyes snapped open as memories flashed through my brain like a movie on fast-forward. A spasm of panic wracked me, and I rolled to my side.
“Kat, are you OK?” Afi asked. “The phone’s for you.”
“Who is it?”
“Stanley. From Greenland.”
Afi held a cordless out to me.
“What time is it?” I asked. Dread pulled me upright with its bony clutches.
“Eight a.m.”
“What day?”
“Wednesday. Kat, are you sure you’re all right?” He wagged the phone in my face. “I think you should talk to Stanley.”
If it was eight a.m. on Wednesday, the day after the festival, had it all been a dream?
My hand shook as I pulled the phone to my ear. “Stanley?”
“Kat. Oh, thank God, Kat. Jack’s been found.”
Some gurgle or burble escaped my throat. As reactions went, it was strange, but one of pure relief.
“Found. Where?”
“Out on some remote Greenland shore. Miles from anywhere. And close to death. Too close for anyone’s comfort, but he’s OK now.”
“Who found him? What do they think happened to him? What about Brigid?” Questions were forming in my mind faster than I could vocalize them.
“Some fishermen found him. There’d been some sort of attack. There was evidence of a fight. A polar bear most likely. Brigid is still missing, as are the dogs. Well, it doesn’t look good. There was blood at the scene.”
“A polar bear?”
“It’s all so improbable,” Stanley said, his confusion transmitting loud and clear, despite our bad connection. “Jack’s still too shaken to recount the whole episode, but he and Brigid had become lost in the storm. The dogs, instead of bunking down, had pressed on. And the attack, it had been sudden and swift. Jack was even slashed by the bear, or so we think. He doesn’t remember it all.”
“Slashed?”
“A deep gash to his hand.”
I choked, a big hack of suppressed air — and disbelief.
“Where is he now?”
“We’re still in Daneborg. We have a flight out later today, through Copenhagen, and then on home.”
Home. Minnesota. Home. Anywhere Jack was.
“I’m coming home, too,” I said, locking eyes with Afi. “Next flight out.”
“That’s probably for the best, Kat. I just spoke to your mom. All this worry and commotion hasn’t been good for her — or the baby.”
“Did something happen?”
“She’s been hospitalized with contractions. They’re administering drugs to reverse the onset of labor. There’s every hope it will work.”
“She’s in labor?”
Not good. Not good. Not good. This was a full seven weeks early.
The line cracked; our connection, like everything else, was failing.
“Don’t worry. . . .” Stanley’s voice trailed off.
I sat clutching the phone to my chest. From the doorway, Vigdis said, “I’ll call the airline.” I blinked back tears, some of relief for Jack, others of concern for my mom and sister.
Afi sat on the bed and patted my arm. “I heard enough to get the gist of things. We’ll get you home. But you know that mother of yours is tough, as was your amma.”
“I know,” I said.
“Well, get dressed and get packed. We’ll get the first available flight.” He looked down at me, frowning. “What have you got on?”
I peeked down at my nightgown, frayed and covered in dirt.
Afi exited the room, shaking his head. “I’ll never get that grunge look of yours.”
Grunge. If only he knew. If I — myself — only knew.
I remember almost nothing of the flight — make that flights — home. I suspect I was in some post-traumatic stupor, compounded by the time change and Dramamine. It seemed like both an eternity and a matter of mere minutes before I was standing at the curb outside baggage claim and wrapped in the protective arms of my dad. He let go and shook Afi’s hand.
“What’s the news on Mom and Jack?” I asked.
“Jack is home with his parents, last I heard. Poor kid. What an ordeal to have to live through.”
What had he lived through? What had we lived through? Such questions had consumed me the entire plane ride.
“And what about Mom?” I asked.
His hesitation wasn’t encouraging.
“Tell me,” I said.
“She had the baby. It’s a girl.”
I gasped. “But it’s too soon!”
“They’re both OK for now, but the little girl isn’t out of the woods. Her lungs are underdeveloped.”
“Can we go straight to the hospital?” I asked.
“Yes. Of course.” He looked pale and gaunt, and it hit me that he’d also be saddened by the news out of Greenland. Brigid was presumed dead.
As much as it pained me, the words stalling on my lips, even, I said, “I’m sorry about Brigid. I know you two were . . . friends.”
Dad’s Adam’s apple punched up and down. “Thanks, Kitty Kat. It’s been a tough twenty-four hours.”
“Where’s Stanley?” I asked.
“He’s with your mom.”
The car ride was quiet; my dad tried to make conversation, but neither Afi nor I were capable of more than a word or two in reply. I was a swarm of worries, and Afi was beat from our travels. As much as being with his cousin in Iceland had cheered him up, the schlepping about, not to mention the five-hour time difference, was tough on him.
Once at the hospital, I practically sprinted into the lobby. I was surprised to meet Stanley there, I’d expected him to be at my mom’s side.
I broke his hug quickly, ex
pecting bad news behind his front-door vigil. “Is something wrong?” I asked.
“Your mom’s fine. No change on the baby, either. I thought I’d catch you and let you know someone’s waiting for you.”
“Jack?”
Stanley nodded and motioned with his head to an outdoor patio off to the side of the main entrance. “He really wants to see you.”
I took a step in that direction, then hesitated.
“Don’t worry about your mom,” Stanley said. “She knows he’s waiting for you. Just come on up and see her when you’re ready.”
I watched my dad, Afi, and Stanley head toward the elevators, and then I drifted through the sliding-glass doors out into the twilight of a long, exhausting day. A hissing fountain was the hub to spoke-like flagstone paths lined with budding bushes and early-blooming daffodils and tulips, now closing with the gathering darkness. I spied Jack on a bench along one of the walkways. He stood, and I rushed to him, barely able to see my feet for the tears clouding my vision. I stumbled into his arms.
For those first few moments, I couldn’t speak, and he didn’t have to. The crush of his hug said more than any words could. I couldn’t breathe. Didn’t need to breathe. For now, this was everything I required.
“Can you believe . . .” I finally managed. “You remember, don’t you?”
“Yes. I mean, I hardly know. I still go back and forth between believing it was all a dream and —”
“But after what we went through, you know it wasn’t.” I pulled away, searching his face for validation.
He pressed his eyes shut for a long beat, opening them with a dip of his head. “You came for me.”
“Of course.”
“Brigid was . . .”
“Evil,” I said.
“I can’t believe how easily duped I was,” Jack said.
“It was the shard — her necklace. And, anyway, everyone was. I suspect her charm was just that, a charm of some kind.”
“You didn’t fall for it.”
“Well, maybe I had a little green monster whispering in my ear.”
“I like that monster,” Jack said, kissing me behind my right ear. “I thank my lucky stars for that monster, in fact.”
“Lucky stars,” I said, laughing.
Jack took a deep breath. “I think we’ve both had more than our share of luck.”
“And our share of close shaves.”
“Speaking of shaves.” Jack raised his thickly bandaged hand. “Was this really necessary?”
“The shard had to come out.”
“It was at the tip of my thumb. Did you have to cut clear across my palm? And so deep?”
“The blood. I knew there had to be a lot of red.” I took his bandaged hand, carefully turning it upward. “But for the record, I am sorry.”
“Me, too. For everything you had to go through.”
I hated to darken this light-filled moment, but I couldn’t help saying, “She’s still out there. And probably madder than ever.”
He cupped the back of my neck and brought his forehead into mine. “But not now. Not here.”
“I can’t think about it right now, anyway. Not while my mom and newborn sister . . .”
“I know. I know. You go.” He removed his hand, trailing it across my cheek. “I’ll see you later. Wherever. Whenever.”
I hurried back into the building with confidence in his words, in him.
I located my mom’s hospital room. From the doorway, she looked so small and weak and there were so many lines and tubes connecting her to beeping machinery that I hung back, hesitating. She patted to a small patch of white on the bed next to her, and I crumpled into her open arms.
“Mom, are you all right?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“And the baby?”
“We have every hope.” With this, she looked up at Stanley, who was stationed on her other side in an armchair. She turned back to me. “It’s her lungs we’re most worried about. They’re filled with fluid. She’s on a ventilator, and will be for some time. And she’s tiny, but they’re already calling her a fighter.”
That I didn’t doubt. “And she’s going to have a big cheering section,” I said.
“It will help,” my mom said. “I know it will.”
At moments like these, I super-loved my mom’s can-do attitude. The baby would have lots of help, which reminded me of two who were missing.
“Where did Dad and Afi go?”
“Down to the cafeteria. Afi needed to eat something. He was feeling a little weak.”
“Have you named the baby yet?”
My mom nodded and finally smiled. “Oddly enough, I didn’t have to. Your amma took care of that.”
“What? How?” I asked. My grandmother had been dead for six years.
“The summer before her death, while I was visiting, she told me, out of the blue, that I’d have another baby, a girl, and I was to name her Leira.”
My heart didn’t just stop, it flipped, then bolted, and was now flailing at my feet like some hook-in-mouth fish. My voice, too, had jumped ship.
“Pretty,” my dad said, appearing in the doorway. “And an anagram, too. For Ariel, like the mermaid.”
Oh, my God. A shudder worked its way across my entire epidermis. Even my teeth got in on the rattling.
“Oh,” my mom said, pulling her hand to her mouth. “I hadn’t thought of that. How odd, especially given the . . .”
“What?” I asked.
“There are some irregularities. . . . Apparently, more common than anyone would guess. And easily corrected by surgery.”
“What?” I repeated.
“Her fingers and toes,” Stanley said, “are webbed. The doctors have assured us it’s a simple fix.”
I could feel the room tunneling away from me. Fragments of knowledge floated from behind me into the foreground. Webbed like a water creature. A water creature like the mermaid I’d invented, or conjured, during the bestowal of my sister’s soul. Hulda had called it a powerful symbol. The selkie legends and our family’s ancestry tracing back to the selurmanna. And my pact with the childless and desperate water queen, one I was even warned of,
“Leira — to whom the waters are home — must be returned
to the sea.” What had I done? Dear God, what had I done?
“Can you change her name?” I asked, hearing, for myself, the manic quality to my voice.
“You don’t like it?” my mom asked, hurt evident in her tone.
“It’s just freaky, don’t you think?” I ad-libbed. “The coincidence.”
“No, I don’t think,” my mom said. “Besides, the birth certificate has been recorded. It’s her name. All the more special given your amma’s premonition. She was always kind of special like that. I think it’s a good omen, not ‘freaky,’ as you say.”
Great. On top of promising my baby sister to the regent of the Water Kingdom, I’d upset my poor mom, who was connected to tubes and gizmos. I couldn’t even think, I was so filled with panic and guilt. Now was not the time.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “You’re right. It’s a beautiful name. And special because of the connection to Amma. I’m just a little frazzled with worry about you and the baby, and tired after the long journey, and everything with Jack . . . and Brigid.” Again, I could barely say her name.
“We’ve all been through a lot,” my mom said.
“Can I see her?” I asked, needing an excuse to get out of that room.
My mom and Stanley exchanged looks. “It’s a little upsetting,” my mom said. “She’s so small and helpless.”
“I don’t mind.”
“It’ll be from a distance, through the glass windows.”
“That’s OK,” I said.
My dad offered to accompany me, but I said I’d find it on my own. I sensed it was something I needed to do alone. A few minutes later, I stood with my arms bracing me against the pane glass window looking down on the tiniest, most fragile little thing I’d ever
seen. And I thought my mom had been hardwired with cords and plugs. Leira looked like something out of a sci-fi movie, part bionic baby, part featherless bird, part alien, as much as I hated to even think it. As if aware of the scrutiny, Leira fussed, lifting her intubated arm. I could see the webbing of her fingers, though the skin was so pale it was almost translucent. I remembered the odd way that Jack’s grandmother had once tested the grooves of my own hand and her cryptic remark, “The power of three.” Jack and I, combined, tapped three powerful lineages: Storks, Winter People, and the selurmanna.
What have I done? What do I do now? I couldn’t stop either question from curling end-to-end from my tongue. A throbbing tug of remorse had me questioning everything, every little thing that had led me up to this moment.
I rapped my head against the glass. One of the nurses attending to the preemies looked up; I held my hand up in apology. The poor little things needed their peace and quiet.
I whispered encouragements to my sister. And I swore to her, though I had no right to ever again enter into a pact. Nonetheless, I made her a promise. I’d fix it. Fix everything. Or die trying. That last bit, an addendum, was easier to tack on than I’d have ever imagined.
After an imaginary seal-the-deal crossing of my heart, it began. The summons for a same-day, nine p.m. Stork meeting. Because, yes, it was always something.
Ofelia, bearing a potted plant, turned up at the hospital just as we were sorting out rides. Her offer to drive me home made perfect sense, given that she had her things to pick up. She didn’t drive me home, not directly, anyway. Instead, we went straight to Stork Council.
We weren’t the first to arrive. Grim and a few others were already in their places. After all the seats — except one — had filled, and the clock lunged to straight-up nine, we looked at one another with varying degrees of confusion.
“Who called this meeting?” Grim asked.
No one spoke up.