by Jan Bozarth
My mother held the ends of the Kalis stick in her hands at arm’s length. She raised the stick to eye level, then shifted her arms and the stick to the right, then to the left. She repeated the move several times, performing it precisely the same way every time. The next variation was more complicated. In a fluid motion, she drew her left leg back, released the left end of the stick, and leaned forward as she flicked the stick outward with her right hand. Then she performed the step flicking the stick to the left.
“When you can Peek from Behind the High Grass without wobbling or hesitating, I’ll teach you Stroking the Water Horse’s Mane.” With that, she tucked her Kalis stick under her arm and left us to practice.
I could still smell the gardenias my mother wore twined in her braids, and the memory made me smile. By nightfall that same day, I had learned to snap the stick outward, to lean and shift to the other side without losing my balance.
Now the sun rose higher in the sky; it felt good to be striding along, but I ticked off the minutes in my head. When I reached the tree line, I gave one last backward glance before I entered the dark woods. From that viewpoint, the Glass Lake was a brilliant blue near the Three Queens beach, but further out, the water darkened and blended into a mist that obscured the Willowood bank.
Suddenly a noise snapped me back to full alert. In the quiet, the sound of a breaking twig had the same effect as the boom and crack of thunder and lightning: I froze. Had an animal stepped on the twig or was it something else? Was the animal small or big, vicious or harmless? Was the “something else” sinister or good? Was it a person or a thing, ordinary or magical?
I focused on a rustle of dry brush behind a large pine tree straight ahead. Then I glimpsed a flash of movement to my right and swiveled to look. There was nothing to see except tree trunks, fallen branches, and dark spaces where sunlight couldn’t penetrate the thick canopy of leaves above. A stirring to one side caught me off guard, and I spun toward the sound of footsteps muted by damp leaves and moss. A shadow darted between the trees.
I felt goose bumps pop out as I took cover behind a large tree with rough sunset red bark. Bracing to fight, I reached back to pull my Kalis stick out of my backpack. Several seconds passed before I found the wooden end. Ten predators could have attacked before my fingers finally curled around the stick. Breathless and shaken, I turned to scan the woods, but no beasts charged out of the dark with fangs and claws bared.
I had not been in danger after all. Even with no witnesses, I was embarrassed. “So stop acting like a helpless twit and get it together before a real monster turns you into Kerka snacks,” I said aloud. The sound of my voice echoed in the silent forest, but it bolstered my courage. I put my Kalis stick back into my backpack. After making sure I could grab it quickly next time, I plunged deeper into the woods.
As I walked, it became so dark I could barely see the path. I looked up and saw that the foliage above was packed too tightly to let much light shine through. I had to go so slowly and carefully that it was painful. But I had no choice—I couldn’t go back.
After a long trek, the gray of Aventurine’s twilight broke through the dense bower again. I headed toward the light. The instant I could see my feet on the path, I stopped—and just in time. I was one step away from a cliff that dropped straight down for hundreds of feet! I studied the sheer cliff wall on the far side of the chasm. Vertical black-and-red ridges sparkled, as though someone had painted them with glitter. I turned and followed the path along the ridge with the golden glow, the mountain summit in sight.
As the forest trees began to thin out, the path veered away from the cliff, becoming visible again. No longer in danger of falling, I considered taking a break to have a drink and eat a sunflower cake. Those comforts were put on hold when a chomping noise brought me to another sudden halt.
I waited, listening. The cadence changed every few seconds, like a cow chewing its cud. Eager to see another living creature, I decided to find out what it was and hurried down the path to a clearing. The grassy oasis was bordered on one side by the striped cliff. Heavy stands of trees formed the other sides of what looked like a star-shaped clearing. I crept to a break in the trees to scout the situation first.
A brown reindeer with magnificent antlers stood in the center of the clearing, chewing grass and yellow buttercups. Long golden hair flowed from the underside of her neck, and a stubby tail flicked at nonexistent flies. Of all the deer species in the world, only female reindeer grow antlers as big as males. I did a report on reindeer when I was in fifth grade, but I’d never seen one this close. The size of a large pony, the reindeer turned to stare at me. Rising, I stepped out of hiding and met her liquid brown gaze.
“Who are you?” I asked as though she could answer.
Just then a low, menacing growl came from the edge of the trees. The reindeer stiffened, and I saw the wolf. Silver gray with streaks of black around its ears, eyes, and muzzle, the wolf was poised to charge. It held my gaze with golden eyes as wary as the reindeer’s eyes were innocent. Its fangs gleamed in the twilight, and a snarl warned of an attack.
Eyes white with terror, the reindeer snorted and pranced. Her instinct was to flee, but neither she nor I could outrun the wolf. I scanned our surroundings. The trail disappeared into the tall grass, but my eyes had no trouble following its route through the clearing. Plants bent to each side of the trail, like hair parted in the middle. The slight hope I felt was quickly dashed when I saw where the path led: straight off the cliff.
My mind calculated quickly. To stay on the Dayling path and escape the wolf, the reindeer and I had to reach the far side of the canyon. It was a hundred yards across, way too far to jump.
Growling again, the wolf took a step forward.
The reindeer trembled. “You have to save me.”
The animal’s sweet, frightened voice startled me.
“It looks so hungry.” The reindeer whispered urgently, “Please, do something.”
“Be quiet and let me think,” I said softly.
My Kalis stick would be as useless as a toothpick against the wolf’s massive jaws, and my cakes would only be an appetizer. In a flash I remembered the knotted rope and Queen Patchouli’s assurance that as a member of the Pax Lineage, I could control the wind.
As the wolf took another step toward me, I opened the pouch, removed the rope, and moved closer to the reindeer. I had no idea what to do, but I touched the first knot.
A whistling sound rose from the depths of the forest.
“What’s that?” the reindeer asked, pressing against me. She was warm and soft, and it felt good.
“I think it’s our ride.” I winced as the shrill sound grew louder. The wolf crouched down as tree trunks shuddered, and branches swayed when a ribbon of wind tore through the woods. It ripped into the clearing and scooped the reindeer and me off the ground as if we were dry leaves.
The wolf sprang forward, slashing at my boots and the reindeer’s hooves with teeth and claws. The wind made a sudden shift upward, lifting us out of reach. The wolf fell back to the ground with an angry howl.
“I can’t look!” Closing her eyes, the reindeer tucked her chin and drew up her dangling legs.
Airborne and safe from our pursuer, I whooped as the ribbon of wind whisked us over the edge of the cliff. I looked down, but we were so high, there wasn’t much to see. The black-and-red ridges on the cliff walls faded into a sparkling brown haze. I didn’t care. The speed of the wind was breathtaking, and for a few moments, my troubles were forgotten.
The reindeer and I were passengers in the wind’s palm. When it curled to drop us gently on the ground, I looked back across the chasm. The wolf prowled the rim of the other side, padding back and forth. I held its gaze until it gave up and vanished into the woods.
“Is it gone?” the reindeer asked.
“I think so,” I said uneasily. Somehow I was certain, the wolf was what had been following me since I first entered the forest. It would not give up easy prey that h
ad barely escaped, but the reindeer seemed so innocent and fragile, I didn’t want to worry her.
“You’ll be far, far away before the wolf finds a way across the chasm.” I put the rope back in the pouch then, and out of habit, I double-checked to make sure my Kalis stick was still in my backpack. It was.
“Did you say, ‘I’ll be far away’?” The reindeer’s ears perked forward. “Where will you be?”
“Up there.” I pointed toward the golden peak of Dayling Mountain, which was closer but still a long way off.
“That is far away,” the reindeer said. She glanced at me with a puzzled look. “Where are we?”
“In Aventurine; it’s a dream world,” I answered. “I’m Kerka. Who are you?”
“If I have a name, I don’t know it. I don’t even know how I came to be in this place. I must be lost.” The reindeer bent her head and grabbed a tuft of grass.
“Me too, but in a different way,” I said. “I know where I am, but nothing has felt right since my mother died.”
“I don’t remember my mother,” the reindeer said, “but being with you feels right to me.”
That wasn’t a surprise. I had just saved the reindeer from being slaughtered by a wolf.
“It feels right to me, too,” I said automatically as I looked around for the path.
“Oh, good!” The reindeer lifted her head. “If I go with you, we both won’t be alone anymore.”
“What?” My head jerked up. “You can’t come with me.”
The reindeer hung her head. “Why can’t I? You said it feels right to you, right?”
“It’s a very long journey,” I explained as gently as I could. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. “I can’t ride the wind to get there. I have to walk.”
“I have four legs,” the reindeer argued. “You only have two.”
“I’m on a dangerous mission,” I countered.
“Please, please, take me with you,” the reindeer pleaded.
I stared at her. I could probably get used to her timid, jittery manner. I guessed that I wouldn’t mind having company, but I had wished I had someone to help me complete my quest, not someone who needed my help.
The reindeer’s liquid eyes looked like they were filling with tears, then she turned away. No matter how tough I was, I couldn’t say no. I simply couldn’t do it.
I sighed. “Okay, you can come with me,” I told the reindeer. “But you have to keep up.”
“I will!” The reindeer shook her antlers, then lowered her head to graze.
Suddenly it hit me that I was talking to a reindeer! My head was filled with questions. Was she enchanted or did all reindeer in Aventurine talk? Then I remembered that plants talked to Birdie. Apparently, reindeer liked to talk to me. At least she didn’t speak Latin.
I looked up at the sky. The sun didn’t seem to have moved since the last time I looked, but eventually night would fall, and then dawn.
“Time to go,” I told the reindeer.
“But I’m not finished eating,” she said.
“You are if you’re coming with me!” I turned and headed off down the path. I had learned long ago that the best way to win an argument is to not let it start.
“Then I’m not coming!” the reindeer shouted.
“Okay.” I kept walking without glancing back. I had to be firm. Besides, I knew what I was doing. The poor reindeer didn’t even know her name.
Behind me, the reindeer snorted. Another minute passed before her good judgment won out over her stomach. She trotted up behind me just as the path entered another forest.
“You’re mean,” the reindeer said, pouting.
“No, I’m on a mission,” I said calmly. “I have things I have to do.”
6
The Icefall
We walked along together companionably. The woods on this side of the chasm were nothing like the dark forest. Slender trees with twisting branches and large trees with rough bark grew farther apart from one another. Clusters of purple, lavender, and pink violets huddled between tree roots, and blue mushrooms with gold spots dotted the leaves and pine needles that covered the forest floor.
“Don’t eat the blue mushrooms,” the reindeer said when we walked by a large crop of them. “They smell funny.”
“I won’t.” I looked back and smiled. I didn’t smell anything, but reindeer have highly sensitive noses. “Thanks for the warning, R.D.”
“Who’s R.D.?” the reindeer asked.
“You are,” I said. “I have to call you something, so I’ll call you R.D. It’s short for reindeer. Get it?”
The reindeer snorted again. “Why can’t I have a real name?”
I exhaled with exasperation. “Do you like this? A-r-d-e-e, Ardee.”
“Oh, yes!” The reindeer laughed and bobbed her head. “I like that much better.”
“Good.” I patted Ardee’s neck and tried not to giggle.
We continued on, walking side by side when the path was wider and single file when it narrowed. The path itself was lined with spindles of silver lichen. I stayed on the alert. Lizards and fist-sized furry-ball creatures scurried up and down tree trunks and across ivy-covered branches just above my head. Silver snakes curled around higher branches, watching us with languid curiosity as we passed underneath. And above the snakes, blackbirds flitted from limb to limb or sat on nests.
My breath caught in my throat when something crashed through the trees behind me. I drew my Kalis stick and spun as Ardee reared back and cried, “Help!”
Primed to repel an attack, I lowered my stick and watched the reindeer flail about, tossing her head and bleating in panic. She was trying to shake off a bushy branch that was caught in her antlers.
“Get it off!” Ardee yelped. “Get it off!”
“Stand still!” I ordered. “It’s just a branch.”
Ardee stop struggling and stood with her front legs splayed and her head down. “It’s not just a branch. Something’s living in it! Hurry!”
The branching tree limb was wedged so tightly I couldn’t budge it. I raised my Kalis stick, hoping a sharp whack would jar the branch loose or break it. Just before I swung, I heard a tiny ripping sound. Taking a closer look, I noticed a large silvery gray cocoon nestled in the fork of the main branch. I couldn’t hit or break the branch without crushing it.
“There’s nothing to worry about, Ardee,” I whispered, “but you have to stay still for a minute.”
“Okay, but take the branch off,” the reindeer pleaded.
“I can’t,” I whispered louder this time. I didn’t want to scare the creature trying to free itself from the cocoon. I hoped it was harmless, but I didn’t know. “Just trust me, please.”
I put my free hand on Ardee’s quivering back, then slid my arm over her. The reindeer stopped shaking and stood quietly, her chin resting on the ground and her hide rippling with twitches. It felt good to know that I could make her feel better so easily. I just hoped I’d be able to protect her if what came out of the cocoon was something unpleasant. I held my Kalis stick ready. I watched as the split in the cocoon widened.
A silver and black moth slowly slipped out of the casing, unfolding wings as delicate and transparent as those of a fairy. It was the biggest moth I’d ever seen. It was at least eight inches from the tip of its head to the end of its thorax. The silvery wings dried quickly. When the moth flew away, I broke the branch, took the pieces off Ardee’s antlers, and put my Kalis stick back in my backpack.
Ardee watched the moth drift through the woods, all fear forgotten. “It’s so pretty! Where is it going?”
“Toward the light,” I said, pointing down the trail. The glow of twilight shone brighter ahead, unobstructed by trees. I broke into a run. Although she could have easily pushed past me at any time, I noticed that Ardee stayed behind me until we emerged from the woods into a huge meadow.
“Happy!” Kicking up her heels, the reindeer ran in circles through long, lush grasses and wildflowers. Her joy made me grin, i
t was so full and real.
“Come on, Kerka!” she called. “Run with me!”
I was about to say that I had to plan my next move when I thought, What can a few minutes hurt? Then I ran into the grasses and wildflowers. We played tag, and I made Ardee and myself flower wreaths, thinking I’d have to tell Birdie about them. It was the happiest and freest that I had felt in such a long time. Finally Ardee said, “I’m hungry!” before she stopped and put her head down to graze, her wreath slipping over one ear as she ate.
Rolling my eyes, I let the reindeer eat while I figured out where to go next. Tall, cylindrical stones marked the path ahead, each one placed within view of the next. The route ran straight and true through the meadow to a field of what looked like glimmering snow. Dayling Mountain towered over the blanket of blue-white with the flanking peaks of Hourling and Yearling barely visible behind it. I could still see the golden aura around the three peaks.
I carefully took a pea pod out of my backpack. “Are you thirsty?” I asked the reindeer.
Ardee snapped her head up and blinked. “I don’t smell water anywhere, but I would very much like a drink. Can you make magic water like you make magic wind?”
“Sort of.” I laughed, then I poked the pod until it expanded and the top split. I raised it to drink.
“Water!” The excited reindeer lunged and hit my chest with her antlers.
“Oof!” The air whooshed out of my lungs as I landed flat on the ground with my arms out. With empty lungs and a reindeer on top of me, I couldn’t breathe or move or stop the water from pouring out of the pod.
“Oops.” Ardee winced and jumped off me.
I couldn’t talk until my breath came back. When I was breathing normally again, I got to my feet, brushed myself off, and dangled the empty green pod in front of the reindeer’s nose. “This isn’t an ‘oops.’ This is a very big problem.”