Kerka's Book

by Jan Bozarth

  I pulled the pole onto the raft. The ray hovered nearby, as though it were hoping the pole would come back. Just before it got bored and swam away, I saw the nubs of new pincers where the old ones had been. I touched the broken pincers on my pole. They felt like glass. I pried them off and held them up to the light. They really looked like glass. Queen Patchouli had used the name Glass Lake. Maybe the lake didn’t just look like glass—maybe all the plants and creatures in the lake were glass!

  When I started poling again, I kept looking down at the water as well as up at the mountains. Scanning the lake became part of the poling motion. I was alert for living creatures but not for other dangers. When I was halfway across, I pushed, expecting my pole to touch bottom. It didn’t, and I almost fell off the raft. I didn’t fall—I just sat down hard—but now I had another problem.

  I didn’t have a paddle, and the water was too deep for me to use the pole. The raft just bobbed. I was stuck lying down and paddling with my hands. Unfortunately, it turned out that my fingers looked like something tasty to eat and that the little glass fishies were scared of nothing. Although I paddled as fast as I could, I was nipped several times. I was so busy trying not to be fish food, a few minutes passed before I felt the breeze on my neck.

  Looking up, I saw dark clouds scooting across the sky from behind me. In a moment the calm surface of the lake would be hit by the strong wind. Ripples were starting already, and if I didn’t move fast, the raft could be swamped by waves! If I fell in the water, I doubted that my clothes would turn into a sleek wetsuit without the river maidens’ magic—the weight of my boots alone would pull me down before I could possibly swim to shore!

  I was just about to take my boots off, when I got an idea. It was crazy, but worth trying. I unfolded my coat and put it on, but I didn’t fasten the buttons. I stood up, gripped the front edges, and held the coat open like a sail, facing the wind. The breeze seemed to embrace me as it filled the coat, and the coat’s soft, strange material expanded as the wind filled it, turning it into a small sail. The wind in my sail-coat pushed the raft toward the far shore. I closed my eyes, the wind blowing in my face, as I raced the oncoming storm.

  Bending my knees, I was able to ride the raft like a surfboard. I had no sooner settled into that rhythm than I was pelted by something. I opened my eyes to see flying fish, seemingly made of glass, zipping past me. The small fish weren’t hitting me on purpose. We were going in the same direction, fleeing the storm. Most of the fish cleared both the raft and me, but the ones that hit me and fell to the hard logs shattered. Some left tiny cuts on my hands and neck before their school changed course and moved out of harm’s way.

  I sailed the raft the rest of the way across the lake—almost. The storm died out as quickly as it had risen, my coat shrank to its normal size, and I folded it back up. Then I used the pole to push the raft the last fifty yards to the beach. I jumped to the shore and hauled the raft onto the sand, stowing the pole underneath. Picking up my coat, I paused to look around.

  The sandy beach was edged with large scattered rocks. Beyond the rocks was a wall of stones. The wall was quite high, and looked to be covered with moss of some sort. I wondered if I could climb it.

  The three mountains were still some distance away, and I had to crane my neck to see the peaks. The golden glow over the tops of the Three Queens shone brilliantly even in daylight. With no other clues to consider, instinct and logic told me to head toward the mountains.

  A clickety-click sound grabbed my attention just as something pinched my left boot. Startled, I looked down. A six-inch crablike creature had clamped on to my foot with a large claw. The crab’s eyes, which were attached to floppy three-inch stalks, stared back at me like those of a small alien. The other claw made a clicking noise as the creature repeatedly opened and snapped it closed. My boot’s leather was thick enough to protect my toes from the crab’s pincers, but shaking my foot didn’t dislodge the little beast. I would have thought a creature made of glass might be a little more careful about who it grabbed!

  “You’ve bitten off way more than you can chew, little guy.” I shook my finger at the creature as I scolded it. Then I blinked and smiled, inspired by my own words. “But I have something that’s much tastier than my boot.”

  Being careful not to poke the water pods, I opened the food pack and broke off a small piece of what looked like a cake made of sunflower seeds and carefully placed it on top of my boot. The crab’s eyes atop their floppy stalks stopped jiggling as they studied my offering, but the crab didn’t let go or try to grab the cake. Anxious to get moving, I tried stamping my heel to jar the creature loose, but the claw clamped down tighter, and it hung on.

  The crab’s one-claw clickety-click taunt became a noisy clatter as more crabs suddenly swarmed to joined the chorus. Interestingly enough, not a single one skittered near the rocks.

  I was wondering if I would have to just break its little claw off—hoping that it would grow a new one like the stingray—when I tried one last idea. Walking on the heel of my left boot so I wouldn’t break the crab, I slowly made my way to a large rock. As soon as I climbed onto it, the crab let go of my boot, dropped into the sand, and scurried back to the crab-creature colony.

  From here I was right beside the stone wall. The moss was more of a slime—so although there appeared to be places where I could put a hand or foot, the wall was too slippery to climb. Switching the heavy coat to my other arm, I jumped to the next big rock. I headed down the beach this way, looking for a break in the stone wall. I had to get over it to reach the Three Queens.

  Suddenly I remembered the knotted wind rope. I couldn’t climb the barrier, but a strong wind could carry me over. I opened the blue drawstring pouch and pulled out the rope. Just as I was about to touch the first knot, I asked myself: Was it wise to use one of the magic knots so soon?

  I put the rope back in its pouch. Then I took a piece of cake from the other pouch and nibbled as I continued jumping from rock to rock. I found cracks between boulders here and there, but they were too narrow for anything except a butterfly flying sideways to squeeze through. Looking up, I realized that the rock wall blocked my view of the Three Queens. On the off chance that seeing the crowned peaks would give me a brainstorm, I jumped off the rock.

  I braced to jump back on in case any crabs attacked me from the sand. Keeping an eye out, I hurried down the beach, walking away from the rocks until the golden peaks of the three mountains were visible. From here, I could also make out three distinct paths leading up to the piles of rocks: One went straight and the others branched to the left and right. Each path was obviously a route to one of the Three Queens, and each path was blocked by a pair of humungous boulders.

  One of the mountains was the key to completing my quest and making my dream come true, but which one? I had no information, no map to help me decide, and not even a friend to talk to about it.

  A shrill whistle rang out as pebbles and small rocks tumbled down the boulder barrier.

  “Who’s there?” I yelled.

  Suddenly a small man jumped out of the rocks. Standing two feet tall and wearing what I thought of as basic elf clothing—red cap, brown leggings, a green coat with white fur trim, and black boots—he watched me from atop a large rock. His pointed ears were too long to fit under his cap.

  I was sure he was an elf. He looked seriously grumpy, and I tried not to be too worried. In Finnish folklore, disturbing an elf is almost as bad as insulting or cheating one.

  The elf’s ears twitched when he cocked his head. I just stared back until he somersaulted off his perch. The little man rocked up onto his feet and zipped across the sand, moving so fast I saw only a blur of red and green, like a piece of Christmas gone crazy. He skidded to a halt in front of me.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “Who’s who? And who are you?” the elf answered in a squeaky lilt. Then he added with a smirk, “As if I didn’t know!”

  I wasn’t sure whether to tell him
my name—which would give the elf the upper hand—or to call his bluff, which might not be a bluff.

  “Who am I, then?” I asked with an impish grin, and crossed my arms, daring him. I knew that elves have a habit of getting even by doing something ten times worse than what was done to them. But they also like to be amused and entertained—that’s what I was shooting for.

  The elf jumped up and down and spoke in jumbled rhyme. “The name I choose is Kerka Laine. So I win, you lose; I know your name.”

  My mouth dropped open, but I quickly closed it. The fairies must have told him to expect me.

  “Don’t hesitate or you’ll be late!” The elf leaned toward me, his brow furrowing. “Your task must be finished, over and done, before the Three Queens’ glow disappears in the sun.” He waved his hand in the direction of the horizon.

  “By morning?” I asked, perplexed.

  “Maybe.” The elf shrugged.

  I asked a different question, hoping to get a clearer answer. “How long do I have?”

  “Tomorrow, today. It’s hard to say.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked as evenly as I could. I couldn’t let myself get riled up.

  The elf threw up his hands. “Sometimes the sun rises, sometimes it blinks on. Or takes the day off, and there isn’t a dawn.” Then he concluded in an ominous tone: “In Aventurine, anything goes, and no one, but no one, ever knows.”

  I exhaled slowly. So no one in Aventurine knew when the golden glow on the Three Queens would be lost in sunlight, because the sun didn’t always follow the rules. But it didn’t matter. I still had to find my little sister’s voice before dawn, whenever it happened. I had to have time to finish. Otherwise, my mission would be a fool’s errand, and Queen Patchouli was no fool. But now I had to go as fast as possible in case there was exactly enough time and not a minute more, which brought me back to my original problem.

  “Thank you,” I said to the elf. “That is very helpful information. So can you tell me which path I should take?” I asked as respectfully as I could, trying to get elf points. “You seem to know so many things.”

  “What trade can you make?” the elf asked.

  In stories, elves never do something for nothing, and they are willing to barter for both honor and treats. It was a good thing the Willowood Fairies had given me food for the journey. “I have a honey bar.” I took a bar from my pouch and held it out.

  “Secondhand fairy food? That’s rude!” he spoke with a look of disdain.

  “It’s perfectly good and very sweet!” I said, a little taken aback.

  The elf leaned toward me again. “You can give a fairy’s gift away, but not for a bargain on any day.”

  “Really?” I asked, truly surprised. “I had no idea. Well, I don’t have anything to trade, then. The fairies gave me everything I have, except my backpack.”

  The elf sniffed. “One more thing is yours to give, your Kalis stick will always live.”

  I was starting to feel a little grouchy myself. “I’ll get lost in Aventurine or risk being expelled forever before I’ll part with my Kalis stick,” I said. This actually seemed to be the right tone for the elf.

  “So wise are you, and honorable, too.” The elf paused, rubbing his pointy chin as he considered our dilemma. “No trade means I cannot tell you which path to take, but I’ll give a hint for a favor’s sake.”

  “So if I do you a favor, we’re even?” I asked.

  The elf nodded. “Take a message to my brother, then nothing more will we owe one another.”

  “And how will I find him?” I could not agree to anything that would take time or divert me from my quest.

  “He’ll find you, if your path be true,” the elf answered.

  “Then I agree,” I said.

  The elf motioned for me to come closer, and when I leaned down he said quietly, as if someone might be listening, “Tell him that if the wind goes free, so will we.”

  “That’s easy enough to remember,” I said.

  Then the elf kept his word and gave me the hint. He pointed to the mountain on the left and said, “Hourling for grace.” Then he pointed to the middle mountain and said, “Dayling for the brave.” He pointed to the last mountain. “Yearling for the serene.” He dropped his arm. “Only one will save your place in Aventurine.”

  I laughed; this was a good hint for me. I was certain I knew what it meant. The Kalis sticks my mother gave my sisters and me each had a letter carved into them, but the letters didn’t match our names. Aiti had said only: “You will know why when the time is right.” The time was right now—my stick was carved with a D. “I’ll take the path to Dayling,” I said.

  “And the message, too. Don’t forget, will you?” asked the elf.

  “I won’t forget,” I assured him.

  The little man leaped into the air and clapped his hands. He was gone in a flash, laughing as he bounded toward the boulders.

  5

  Stalking the Tree Line

  The ground shook and I heard a thunderous rumbling and grating sound. The stone wall was separating, making a space I could slip through. I didn’t know how long it would stay that way, so I slung the coat over my shoulder and ran, blood pounding in my ears, and my boots pounding on the sand.

  When I was six feet from the opening, the wall stopped moving. The opening was barely wide enough for me to squeeze through sideways. With rock pressing me front and back, I sucked my breath in as I forced my way through. My coat dragged on the ground, and the hem caught on something I couldn’t see. I tugged, then pulled, to free it while I kept squeezing through the narrow opening. I pushed so hard to clear the stones that I landed in a bramble of berries when I fell through the gap.

  The two halves of the wall slammed together behind me. I stared at the towering wall with a strange sense of calm. I was out of breath and I was scraped and scratched, but I had survived. My mother had carved a D on my Kalis stick. She must have known I would be making this journey.

  Biba’s voice and my destiny lay ahead—on the mountain called Dayling.

  I gathered up my heavy coat with a sigh. It was a pain to carry, but I couldn’t leave it behind. I knew I would need it before the end of the journey. Still, I had to find a safer, more convenient way to carry it.

  Wearing the coat thrown over my shoulders wouldn’t work. The path ahead was clogged with brambles and branches and the cloth would snag. But maybe I could carry the coat in my backpack if I could somehow make it small enough. That didn’t seem possible, but I tried anyway. To my surprise, the coat got smaller and smaller every time I folded it. Chiding myself for not taking magic into account, I kept folding until the coat was the size of my father’s wallet. Then, with the coat neatly stowed with my food pouch and Kalis stick, I set off on the rocky path to Dayling Mountain.

  The trail twisted and turned around more boulders and tall trees dripping with hanging moss. I was glad I had on winter clothes when I crawled through a tunnel of briar and prickly vines that scratched my hands and face. Hundreds of spiders were building webs in the twisted branches. I didn’t mind spiders, but the possibility that one could fall into my hair gave me chills. I jumped when a six-legged red lizard with three glowing green eyes tickled my ear with its blue triple-forked tongue.

  I didn’t notice the gradual incline until I cleared the tangles of vegetation and emerged on a barren slope strewn with rocks and scrub brush. I trudged upward toward a tree line. With no one to talk to on this easy path, I started wondering if all fairy godmothers are connected by fairy magic and could be called upon when needed. Maybe that’s why I had been drawn into Birdie’s dream quest: she needed my charge-ahead attitude and get-it-done-no-matter-what methods. Or maybe it was something else, something less obvious. Birdie had told me that despite our differences, having me along made the mission seem less scary. I wished that someone would show up to help me, but wishing wouldn’t make it so.

  Nothing moved on the rocky incline, and the silence was unsettling. To take
my mind off it, I thought back to the day my mother gave me the Kalis stick, a year ago….

  The garden and lawn behind our house were bathed in summer light. Being the middle child, I stood between my sisters as my mother handed each of us a short colored stick.

  “What is it, Aiti?” Seven-year-old Biba held the blue stick like a magic wand, her eyes wide with wonder.

  “It’s a Kalis stick,” Aiti said, “the talisman of our family and the Pax Lineage.”

  I ran my fingers over the smooth wood of my orange stick and traced the graceful D carved into one end. Rona’s green stick was marked with a Y.

  “How come mine has an H on it?” Biba asked, echoing my thoughts. “My name doesn’t start with H.”

  “No, it doesn’t, darling,” Aiti said, smiling. “You’ll understand someday.”

  “What does it do?” Rona studied her stick, turning it over and over in her hands and frowning as though she had been given a puzzle too complex or too silly to solve.

  “Whatever you tell it,” Aiti explained, “but first you must learn the language of Kalis from Kalistonia.”

  Biba gasped with delight. “The sticks speak?”

  “They sing when you dance.” Aiti picked up a rose-colored stick two feet longer than ours. She leaped into the air.

  We watched in awe as our mother glided, spun, twirled, and leapt through, over, and around the garden. One second she was ducking as though to avoid an invisible threat and the next she was bounding across the lawn, leaping higher than I believed possible. Her Kalis stick sang as she sliced it through the air or twirled it about her head and shoulders like a sword. When she finished, we begged to learn the beautiful, energetic dance.

  “Learning Kalis is a slow process that requires dedication and discipline,” Aiti told us solemnly, “and the advanced parts can only be learned in Aventurine. You must practice the basic steps until they become as natural as breathing before you can go. We’ll begin with Peek from Behind the High Grass.”