by Jan Bozarth
The leopard could turn my little Kalis stick into splinters with one bite and claw me to shreds within seconds. I could bite and kick when its teeth clamped on to my boot, but I couldn’t win. Staying out of reach was the only way to survive, but I had lost that possibility when I jumped up to nowhere instead of ducking to the side. The cat’s gaze only made me more annoyed with myself. I should have taken time to figure out a better strategy!
Rising, the cat backed off a few feet and sat down again, tail flicking back and forth. I barely noticed. Folding my arms on my pulled-up knees, I rested my head and tried to come up with a workable plan. The thought hit me like an electric shock. That’s why the snow leopard had attacked! It had charged to force me into a fight. It didn’t want to harm or eat me. It wanted to test me.
I held the leopard’s golden gaze as I crept out of my cramped niche. I rose slowly and, just as slowly, slipped my Kalis stick into my backpack. Dropping my hands to my sides, I faced the snow leopard in surrender. When the leopard crouched, I didn’t flinch. When it leapt straight at me, I didn’t duck or defend myself. I opened my arms.
We melded into one. Now I was the snow leopard. All her instincts and senses were mine. My mother had often said that there was no better teacher than experience.
My mission to reach the summit and find Biba’s missing voice was fixed in my leopard mind like prey, and I bolted toward the cavern entrance. My human side felt regret for not bidding the Kalistonia Fairies good-bye, but the feeling fled when my feline focus settled on the reindeer. Big cats and deer are mortal enemies, but the bond between Ardee and me had not been broken by my transformation. As I raced by her, Ardee abandoned the safety of the fairy cavern. She ran after me, and we emerged into the frigid cold outside together.
A predator and loner in the wild, a snow leopard does not have to rely on the reindeer’s sensitive nose. I could track our scent back to the path, and although I could talk, I didn’t want to use speech any more than necessary.
“What’s that?” Ardee’s ears perked up at the sound of something stirring in the rocks nearby.
My mouth watered at the scent of rabbit. I remained perfectly still, waiting for the rabbit to show itself. My patience was rewarded when the snow white hare suddenly darted from one mound of rocks to another.
“It’s a bunny!” Ardee exclaimed.
I longed to catch it, but I didn’t give in to the desire, and the hare scurried into the safety of the rocks. The pull of my human quest was stronger than my new leopard instincts.
Catching Ardee’s eye, I made a purring sound in my throat and then headed up the mountain trail. The trek was as easy for me now as it had been hard for me in human form. My thick fur coat kept me warm in the below-freezing temperatures, and my clawed paws didn’t slip on the ice and snow. I loped up the path until I caught the scent of wolf.
Stopping beside me, Ardee stared down the trail. There was nowhere to run on the rocky slope, and no place to hide. On her own, she would have been defenseless. But Ardee wasn’t alone.
“Go first,” I growled.
As the reindeer walked ahead of me, I crouched to scan the snow-covered terrain. I could sense the wolf was coming closer, but I couldn’t see it, not even with my feline night vision. The reindeer and I had the advantage of the high ground, and I wanted to make sure we kept it.
“Quickly!” I said.
We pressed onward, digging into the ice and plowing through snowdrifts until we reached a flat area near the top of the mountain. The plateau was the size of a backyard, and it was as high as we could go. The Dayling Mountain’s peak rose above us, draped in the golden aura that encircled the distant peaks of Hourling and Yearling, too.
Biba’s voice was here to find, but I didn’t know where to look. A hint of gray outlined the towers of jagged rock that bordered the plateau on two sides. With the sun rising and time growing short, I padded around the edge of the flat area, peering into crevices and testing for a telltale scent. The last side dropped off into an abyss. I stayed back from the edge. I had used up Queen Patchouli’s knots of magic wind, and I couldn’t reach the rope pouch anyway. The pouches, my clothes, my backpack, and my Kalis stick had all been absorbed in my blending with my spirikin.
I stood quietly, looking into the night, listening. There was no trace of Biba’s voice: not a whimper, a whisper, or a hide-and-seek giggle. There was only the hushed stillness of a winter dawn on top of a mountain.
The reindeer paced back and forth along one of the rock walls, as far from the cliff as she could get. I recognized her actions. A moving target was harder to hit, and she wouldn’t accidentally jump off the cliff if something startled her.
Like that wolf, I thought when I saw it glowering at me from a ledge.
Ardee darted to the opposite side of the plateau and stood with her back to the wall. Speed wouldn’t help her in this confined area, but if the wolf charged and got past me, she might be able to toss him aside with her antlers. It was the only chance she had if I failed.
But I couldn’t fail. Despite Ardee’s appetite and her questions, I loved her. Even in the moment, I was startled by the thought. My hackles bristled when the wolf looked at Ardee, and I snarled to get its attention. As I stared into its eyes, my cat-self said to wait, so I did.
The wolf had less patience. Head down and teeth bared, it leapt off the ledge. I sidestepped with a casual calm, as though my opponent were nothing but a pesky puppy. The wolf landed on the ice with legs splayed. Helpless to control an undignified slide, it scrambled to regain its footing and faced me with even greater hostility. The wolf growled and I roared, both of us showing our fangs as we slowly circled each other. I was in no hurry to escalate the contest, but the wolf charged. I jumped clear and batted its ears as it sped by. Furious, the wolf spun around, crouched to spring again, and snarled as it held my feline stare.
Behind the wolf, Ardee was hugging the rocks. The wolf and I stood between her and the path that led down the mountain. As the wolf began to circle me, I pivoted, watching and waiting for the next attack. When it surged toward me, I was ready. But I wasn’t prepared for the wolf to suddenly veer toward the reindeer.
“Kerka!” Ardee screamed and lowered her head, aiming her antlers to meet the wolf’s charge.
I summoned every ounce of my power and sprang. I landed on the wolf just before it reached Ardee. I clamped my jaws on the thick fur and loose skin at the back of its neck. The wolf twisted underneath me. Losing my grip, I shook fur out of my mouth as the wolf and I rolled, a furious tangle of snapping jaws, slashing claws, and flying fur. I kept fighting until we smashed into the rocks that ringed the arena. The jolt rattled both of us, and we jumped clear.
As we waited, panting and glaring at each other, I realized the leopard wasn’t fighting the wolf to the death. The two predators never hunted each other as food in the wild, and they rarely challenged each other over territory. When they did fight, the conflict only lasted until one surrendered and ran away. Even now, my human and cat parts were equally committed to protecting the reindeer and not harming the wolf—if it could be avoided.
The wolf seemed just as determined to have Ardee for dinner. Its lip curled as it stole a glance at the cornered reindeer, and I swiped its nose with my paw. The wolf took a step toward me, and I took a step back, hoping to draw it away. Heading downhill, Ardee could outrun the wolf to the fairy caves. The wolf slowly advanced on me. I continued to back up, and the space between the wolf and the rocks widened.
But Ardee didn’t bolt for the trail. She watched me instead, her eyes widening with fear.
Then the wolf suddenly stopped.
I stopped, too, remembering the first time Ardee and I had seen the wolf near a cliff. It had seemed anxious then, almost as though it was afraid of heights.
Sensing an advantage, I took another step back. There was nothing I could do when I heard a sharp crack and the footing crumbled under my hind paws. I threw myself forward and dug into the snow with my
front claws, but I couldn’t stop my backward slide off the cliff.
“Kerka! Don’t leave me!” Ardee screamed as I fell.
A deep sadness filled me as I tumbled into darkness and death. I had failed. I looked up. The summit of Dayling Mountain stood out in stark contrast to the gray light of dawn behind it. The golden aura of the crown was beginning to fade. The wolf had not ventured to the edge of the dropoff, but the reindeer was looking down into the abyss.
“Kerka!” Ardee screamed again. Then she dove off the cliff.
“No!” I shouted back. Everything happened in a split second, but it unfolded before me in slow motion. With her front legs outstretched, the reindeer sliced through the air like an arrow, gaining speed as she fell. I roared with the pain of loss as Ardee plunged by me.
Except that dying was not Ardee’s plan. “I’m coming, Kerka!”
I turned my head just as the reindeer pulled out of her dive and flew in a wide arc, heading back in my direction. Astonished, I realized that her ability must have always been there, lying dormant within. This was Aventurine, where, apparently, all reindeer can fly if they want to.
“Get ready!” Ardee rushed toward me, running on air.
When I realized what she had in mind, I hoped everything I had heard about falling cats was true. Using the feline version of a Kalis dance step, I twisted so I was upright, with my legs hanging down. Ardee swooped down and came up underneath me.
I straddled the reindeer’s back. Ardee flew in a long, wide arc, so that we rose gradually. She was taking me to the summit. I stayed on, but the extra distance and effort was tiring the reindeer. She faltered as we neared the top, and I slid off her back into the snow the instant we cleared the edge.
But Ardee didn’t come in for a soft landing. She fell, and the force cracked the thin rock underneath her. The cliff gave way. As she started to fall, she cried, “I’m too tired to fly!”
That’s when the wolf jumped … to the rescue.
Clamping its powerful jaws on Ardee’s antlers, it planted its feet and pulled. I grabbed the wolf’s tail and dug into the ice with my claws, acting as an anchor so the wolf wouldn’t go into the abyss, too. The wolf held on, snorting as it tugged and pulled. As soon as the reindeer’s front hooves were visible, I began to back up. The wolf and I dragged Ardee to solid ground, where we all collapsed in a heap.
Out of breath and amazed to be alive, I closed my eyes. Every muscle hurt, and I felt the bite of freezing cold in the same instant I heard the joyous shriek of giddy laughter. When my eyes snapped open, I thought I was dreaming within my Aventurine dream.
Biba and Rona were staring down at me, grinning.
And I couldn’t stop crying.
Part Three
Zephyr
11
The Secret of the Dance
I shielded my eyes from the sun while it rose over the mountain, and I stared at Biba and Rona as the tears poured down my face. My sisters put their arms around me and held me, saying nothing, just holding me close until finally the tears stopped. I hadn’t cried like that when Aiti died. I had barely cried at all.
“I don’t know what is the matter with me,” I said with a gulp. Then I hugged Biba and Rona both tightly. “How did you get here?” I asked.
“I’m not sure.” Rona was dressed for rehearsal in tights, leg warmers, and a turtleneck. She also wore a gray furry vest that looked like the wolf’s thick coat. She held her green Kalis stick. “I was waiting at the theater and thinking about wolves when I must have fallen asleep. I had my Kalis stick in my bag. It was the first time I had looked at it in months and I just wanted it near me. Then I dreamed that I was chasing you up a mountain.”
“Why were you chasing me?” Since Rona the wolf had been so scary, I was curious.
Rona shrugged. “I don’t know why. I just knew I had to catch you, and you kept leaving me behind on purpose, and that made me really mad.”
“Are you still mad?” I asked.
“Absolutely not!” Rona glanced down at Biba. “I almost lost both of you. When you went over the cliff, I realized that being so angry was pointless. It couldn’t bring Mom back, and it was driving away the other people I love.”
Everything happens for a reason in Aventurine, even though the reasons are often mystifying.
“I fell asleep with my Kalis stick last night, too. And I have new boots!” My little sister pulled up her pajama legs to show us her feet. She was wearing furry boots, which were clearly a gift from her reindeer spirikin. Biba was wearing heavy flannel pajamas, and she had her blue Kalis stick in one hand.
“You’re talking!” I exclaimed, breaking into a wide grin. I had not failed after all! Biba had her voice back!
“I’ve been talking,” Biba said, planting her hands on her hips in childish indignation, “ever since you heard me in the woods.”
Heard me? The meaning of her words hit me. Biba had been inconsolable when our mother died. She had tried talking to me, and probably to Rona. But Rona had been so angry, she stayed in her room or stayed away from home: she left. And I had been too sad; I couldn’t—wouldn’t—listen because I didn’t want to talk about it. Instead, I threw myself into school and soccer. Biba had cried out in the only way she thought we might hear her: silently.
And I had found her voice as soon as I had met her as a reindeer. But what had I been missing?
Then I knew what I had been missing and what Biba’s voice had helped me find: my heart. Biba had appeared as a reindeer because I somehow felt safer feeling things for an animal. So I could acknowledge my love for her—and that was helping me feel my love, and my sadness, for other things. That’s why I had been crying, and crying so hard: they were all the tears I hadn’t been able to let out. I realized that now I felt lighter, as if some literal burden had been lifted. People talk about feeling that way, and I had never understood. Now I did. I felt as free as the wind.
“Did you know that reindeers itch?” Biba asked as she frowned and scratched her neck.
I laughed. “No, I think that’s the one thing you didn’t complain about.”
I couldn’t stop shivering. I wasn’t wearing my coat when I melded with the snow leopard. It was still on the floor of the fairy cave, where I had dropped it when the furnace creatures blasted me with hot air.
“I think this is yours, Kerka.” Rona picked up a golden-white fur cape with black spots and placed it on my shoulders.
“Thanks.” I snuggled into the warm fur. Then I had an idea. I slipped off the cape, folded it, and set it on a rock. I pulled my Kalis stick out of my pack and jumped straight up, spinning.
“You’ve been practicing!” Rona exclaimed, then copied my move. Rona’s posture and arm positions were perfect. We jumped and spun several times, and then she called out, “Stroking the Water Horse’s Mane!”
Rona and I both switched to the ballerina pose.
Biba was having too much fun twirling in lopsided circles to join us. It was the first time she had tried a Kalis step since Aiti had died, and she was so caught up in the moment, she forgot why she had ever stopped dancing. “Watch me, Mommy, watch—” Shocked by her own words and the terrible truth, Biba wobbled to a halt. Her small shoulders shook as she started to cry.
Rona and I rushed to comfort her. “It’s okay, Biba.” Rona spoke in hushed tones and wrapped her arms around our little sister. “We’re here now.”
I was too choked up to talk. I touched Biba’s short blond braids, wishing there was something I could do to soothe the ache in all our hearts.
“Are those tears?” a familiar voice asked.
I looked up and blinked in disbelief.
“Aiti!” Biba ran toward the rocks where Aiti waited with open arms.
At first I thought the sight of my beautiful mother, with her crown of braided hair, flowing blue gown, and warm smile, was just a vision. Then my mother embraced Biba, and I could see she was real.
Rona and I both ran and threw ourselves into the hu
g.
“I am happy to see you seeking balance together,” my mother said, humor in her voice.
“How can you be here?” Rona asked.
“Aventurine is open to all fairy godmothers when they have something very special or very important to do,” Aiti answered.
“Like when you came to get our Kalis sticks,” I said. “Right?”
“She wasn’t … dead then,” Rona whispered in my ear so Biba wouldn’t hear.
“It’s fairy magic,” I whispered back. “She’s here and she’s real. Just be glad.”
“I have come to teach you the last basic Kalis step,” Aiti said. “Climbing the Sky captures the essence of the wind, and you must learn it before you can master the One Dance.”
“The what?” Rona asked, puzzled.
“All things in their proper order,” Aiti said. “First let’s review all the other steps.”
Biba, Rona, and I stood in a line, just as we had for our first Kalis lesson last year, back home. Following our mother’s lead, we held our sticks at arm’s length and moved them back and forth as we peeked from behind the high grass. With no word spoken, we all flicked our sticks outward.
“Excellent!” Aiti exclaimed. “You’re dancing a pas de trois! A Dance of Three!”
“Ballet has no such thing!” Rona playfully objected as she continued to perform the reed step.
“This is Kalis,” my mother said. “You’re sisters with the ability to intuit each other’s moves as a trio. Each of you knew exactly when the other two would make the change. When you are skilled, the power of your combined Kalis moves will help our world in a way no other Pax fairy godmothers have been able to for the last few generations.”
“What do you mean?” Rona asked.
“You are the first generation with three sisters who look like they will all become fairy godmothers,” Aiti explained. “Several hundred years ago, there was a family of six fairy godmother sisters. They accomplished a great deal together, but that is another story.” She waved her hand. “So, show me what you have been practicing.”