“Whatever,” he said, shrugging his shoulders to pretend like he didn’t care.
“Very well,” said Mom, standing up slowly. “Then we will go north.” She strode past Guster down the stairs with Henry Junior on her back. Guster saw a flash of disappointment in her eyes as she passed.
I’m in trouble again, he thought as they hiked over the gravelly plain. She had been angry with him for keeping the eggbeater, and now she wanted him to make more decisions she could get mad at? For as long as he could remember, she wanted to tell him what to do. Then suddenly, on a deserted Arctic Island, she was going to change all that?
But a lot of things were changing. Mom, who a couple of days ago thought that building sandcastles on the shores of Lake Cucamonga was an adventure, was now hiking decisively toward the inner landscape of the island. The same Mom that didn’t let Guster ride his bike into town alone wanted him to take charge — it just didn’t make sense.
The plain was so broad, the great sea so wide, and the white mountain so far in the distance it made him feel like a tiny ant in a giant parking lot.
At the end of the gravel plain they came to the beginning of a snow pack, where a pile of boulders reached up toward the sky. Mom stopped and stooped down in the snow. “Tracks,” she said. “Something was here.”
Just then, a loud roar split the cold air and echoed between the rocks. “What was that?” cried Mariah.
A huge white polar bear came lumbering out from behind a boulder on all fours, straight at them. Its shoulders were taller than Guster’s head, and its eyes were like deep, black holes. It snuffed warm steam out of its nostrils.
Mariah screamed. Henry Junior wailed. Desperate, Guster looked for a place to run. There was nothing but boulders and a desolate landscape — not a single place to hide.
“Get behind me kids,” said Mom. She spread her arms wide and pushed Guster, Mariah and Zeke behind her. “You will leave my children alone!” she said; she picked up a rock and threw it at the bear’s head. It found its mark between the eyes. The bear roared in pain, spit flying from its bared fangs.
“I don’t know if you should’ve done that, Mom,” blubbered Zeke between sobs. He was no match for a beast that size. None of them were. It was hopeless.
The bear charged. It raised its massive claws; Guster braced himself. If it ripped his stomach out, at least Guster wouldn’t feel hungry anymore. At least death would bring that.
Suddenly, a huge man wearing furs and a horned helmet leapt down from a stack of boulders on Guster’s right. He held a huge battle ax, which he dropped onto the snow, then heaved himself between Mom and the beast. He stared the bear straight in the eye — he could because he was so tall.
“Rar!” he roared, his mouth opened like a lion’s.
“Rr?” growled the bear weakly, almost like it was asking a question. It glanced over its shoulder as if it were looking for help.
“RARRR!” The giant man roared so loud in answer, his chest shook.
For a second, it was hard to tell which one would eat the other. Then the bear dropped to all fours and ran off as fast as it could, whimpering the whole way.
Mom plopped down in the snow, her head between her knees. The giant man turned around. Guster hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath. Now who is going to save us from him? he thought.
“Unnskyld, men jeg mener at han gjerne ville spise deg!” said the giant man. Though they made absolutely no sense, his words slid up and down like notes on a trombone.
“Torbjorn! They do not speak the mother tongue!” grunted a second huge man as he came lumbering out from behind the rocks. He was even larger than the first. His shaggy silver hair was tied in long braids, under a helmet with horns as thick as elephant tusks. He too, wore thick brown furs and his words bounced high and low like a song.
“Sorry, Storfjell,” said the giant named Torbjorn. “It is not so often that we get strangers here,” he said, looking at Mom. Even when he spoke English, his voice was melodic. “It is a pleasure to welcome you to our island.”
Guster tried to stop his knees from shaking. So they weren’t hostile. That bear had only been inches away from tearing them apart, and these men had saved them from certain death.
Guster had to act quickly. He couldn’t let the bear get away — not if it would lead them to the prize. “Stop that bear!” he cried. “We need its butter!”
The giant named Torbjorn looked at the giant named Storfjell, and the giant named Storfjell looked back at the giant named Torbjorn. They both began to laugh so big that their chests echoed like hollow garbage trucks. “Oh, my!” said the giant named Storfjell, trying to control himself, his eyes twinkling. “Bears don’t know where to find butter! But, don’t worry! You outlanders have certainly come to the right place!”
Chapter 11 — The Buttersmiths’ Gold
Torbjorn was at least ten feet tall, as broad as an ox, and had the thickest forearms Guster had ever seen. Storfjell was at least a foot taller. At least they seemed friendly.
“We’re the ones who make the butter around here! Oh it is so excellent — very fresh. If you would like to try some then it would be our distinct pleasure to take you back to our longhouse for some refreshment,” Torbjorn said in his sing-songy voice as he picked up his battle ax and hooked it to a loop on his belt.
“Oh ya!” said Storfjell, “We have some most fresh and delicious blueberry muffins baking in the oven! In fact, we must hurry back so we can get them out before they burn!”
Mom hesitated. She was trying to calm Henry Junior, who was still wailing at the top of his lungs and pounding on her with his fists. “Well, we uh —”
“Oh, you don’t like blueberry muffins?” asked Storfjell, a frown forming under his heavy, silvery moustache. “Maybe the boy would like his butter plain?” He looked at Guster.
Guster smiled. Men this hospitable could hardly be dangerous — no matter how big they were. They had already saved their lives. Besides, they had butter, which was bound to be the butter they were looking for. It was worth the risk. “No, butter with muffins sounds delicious,” he said.
“Very well, we will accept your hospitality,” said Mom.
“Oh, ya! This is very good!” said Torbjorn, his mouth open wide, his teeth sticking out like a row of polished rocks. “Let me get my sled!” He pulled an enormous wooden sled the size of a minivan from behind the boulders. It was just like the ones sled dogs pull, with two very long runners and a place to store gear in the middle.
“Would you be so kind as to have a seat here?” Torbjorn said.
“In that?” asked Mom. Torbjorn nodded. Mom took a seat in the middle, carefully cradling the crying Henry Junior as Zeke and Mariah huddled close. Mariah’s face was still streaked with tears. Guster sat on edge of the sled, as far away from Mom as possible.
Torbjorn kicked off the ground with one foot, and the sled lurched forward. Guster almost fell out, so he grabbed tightly onto the frame and held fast. Torbjorn was even stronger than he looked.
Storfjell pulled his own sled out from behind the rocks and slid after them. The two sets of runners glided over the flat snow toward the distant mountain, the giants kicking off the ground to push them forward. Torbjorn kicked almost effortlessly now, and they began riding along like sailboats on smooth water. The wind chilled Guster’s cheeks.
“Thank you for saving our lives, Torbjorn,” said Mom.
“Oh ya! Of course I am happy to do so for you and your younglings,” Torbjorn said. “The bears of this island sometimes are having very bad manners!”
That was for certain, thought Guster. If he hadn’t come, they would all be bear-breakfast right now, no matter how tough Mom had tried to be.
In another few minutes they rounded the mountain and came to the end of the snow pack. In the middle of a field of bright green clover sat a long rectangular wooden house. Two ornate, carved dragon heads stuck out from either end of the roof like they were watching over the entrances.
>
“This is our longhouse!” said Storfjell. They parked their sleds and Torbjorn led them through the field of soft, green clover toward the house. It was as green as anything Guster had ever seen.
Even though it was summer the ride was chilling, so Guster couldn’t wait to get inside. He thought it was strange that he wasn’t more afraid of the two giants, but they’d been so good-natured and charming it was hard not to like them. Besides, they had saved them from the bear, and being in their company was far better than being alone with a creature that wanted to eat you.
They came to the door of the house and Torbjorn gave a tug on the handle. The door opened wide and the most glorious smell of warm, buttery blueberry muffins reached Guster’s nose.
Inside, the house was made up of one long room that stretched all the way to the back. Brightly painted shields were strapped to the rafters. A wide, round table with a large hole in the center circled a crackling fire. On the sides of the stone floors, mounds of straw were piled up against the walls.
“These are the pride of our clan,” said Storfjell. He pointed to two dozen reddish-brown cows chewing their cud at the far end of the room. An udder the size of a sack of potatoes hung from each one of their bellies.
“You keep your cows inside?” said Zeke.
“Ya! These cows are very delightful to be around,” said Torbjorn. “They are always so clever and good company.”
“Don’t they smell?” asked Zeke. Mariah stomped on his foot. Guster already knew the answer to that. The longhouse was as clean and fresh smelling as the kitchen back at home.
“Ha ha!” laughed Torbjorn. “These cows do not stink! That is silly! They eat the fresh clover of this field, which is watered by the melting glacier! It is a special treat for any animal, and only comes because we live in this spot! There is nothing cleaner and more crispy for these bovines!”
Storfjell leaned down and whispered to Guster, “And they are smart enough to do their business outside.” The cows moo-ed. Guster tried to keep from laughing.
“But, we are rude, rude hosts!” said Torbjorn. “Please, take off your rucksacks and sit around our table. We will see if the muffins are ready!” He removed his horned helmet and hung it on a peg.
Guster climbed on to a bench as high as his chest and Storfjell pushed a gigantic wooden paddle inside an earthen oven buried in the middle of the coals. He pulled out an iron tray full of steaming muffins. Their golden brown crowns were studded with dark blueberries that looked like jewels.
“You may have as many as you can eat,” said Torbjorn, placing them down on the table. Guster reached for one.
“No wait!” Storfjell said, holding out his massive hand. “I mean excuse me,” he said — he seemed embarrassed by his outburst — “but will you have a little fat on your food?”
Torbjorn nodded eagerly. “Ah ya! Of course! The very reason you came here,” he said and ran to the back of the room where he lifted a large wooden barrel and carried it over next to the table. He pushed a flat wooden knife down into it, and scooped out a smooth, heaping, creamy pat of pale yellow butter, then smeared it all over Guster’s muffin where it melted into every little nook and cranny.
Zeke held out his own muffin, and Torbjorn smothered everyone’s in turn. “Now go ahead. Just eat,” said Torbjorn.
Guster did. He bit into the top of his muffin. It melted instantly all over his tongue. It wasn’t sweet, it was thick, with a tinge of saltiness that added to the flavor. It was more than just a topping — it was a taste worthy of a meal itself. He could feel the strength seeping into his bones.
The muffin, on the other hand, was dry as a dish sponge left in the sun. “More butter?” Guster asked, holding up his muffin. He could tolerate it if he covered the top in butter and licked it off like the frosting on a cupcake. It had been so long since he’d eaten anything.
Torbjorn obliged, smearing a fresh layer over Guster’s muffin.
“Thank you very much. This butter is amazing,” said Mom between bites. “I absolutely must get your muffin recipe,” she said.
“Oh, yes. Eat more if you like it,” said Storfjell, pushing a mound full of muffins in her direction.
They ate until they had their fill. Mariah ate three. Zeke seemed to like the muffins more than anyone — he ate ten. Guster only needed the one because Torbjorn smeared a fresh layer of butter over the top every time Guster licked it clean–which was exactly the way he liked it.
He’d had so much of it, that for once, he actually felt full. It had been a long time since that had happened. If the world knew about this, they’d build a bridge to get here, he thought.
With warm butter in his belly and the crackling fire in front of him, his eyelids soon grew heavy. They had traveled so far that day.
“Why don’t you all spend the night here?” asked Storfjell. “There is no better place to stay on the island, and there is nothing but bears outside who are waiting to eat you.”
“But it is still light,” said Zeke, his eyelids drooping. “We should wait until it gets dark to go to sleep.”
“Ha ha ha!” bellowed the two giants with deep, echoing laughs. Storfjell pounded his brother on the back. “Then you won’t sleep until winter!” he said, nearly falling off the bench.
“Zeke, the sun stays up all summer,” whispered Mariah. “It’s like Alaska.” Guster remembered hearing about that in school. In the far north the sun did not go down for months at a time. Bear Island must work the same way.
“Forgive us,” said Torbjorn, with tears streaming down his cheeks, his belly jiggling. “But we do not meet outlanders very often here. We have heard of these short days you have in the Warmlands.”
“Nevertheless! Let us rest,” said Storfjell. “Tomorrow we have many chores to do. We must get up early to joggle the bovines.”
Joggle the bovines? That didn’t sound like anything they did back in Louisiana. The two giants were strange indeed.
“Joggle the bovines?” asked Mom with a quizzical look. She pronounced it carefully, like it was a foreign language.
“Oh, you know, part of the chores for when you are having cows,” said Storfjell matter-of-factly.
“Mr. Storfjell,” said Mom, “I don’t mean to be rude, but we live down the street from a dairy and I’ve never in my life heard of such a thing.”
“Aha! And that is why never in your life have you had such delicious butter as what you’ve just eaten!” said Storfjell.
Storfjell had a point. It definitely was the best butter Guster had ever had. But joggling bovines? That sounded like something clowns might do in the circus.
“Tomorrow, we shall show you the secrets of the Buttersmiths’ craft! As for now, let us sleep!” said Storfjell. He showed them to a large pile of straw next to the wall. It was covered with thick, brown furs. “You may rest here.”
“This is very kind of you to take us in like this,” said Mom.
“Oh! It is cozy to have visitors here. Absolutely cozy!” said Storfjell with a bow. He trotted back to the middle of the longhouse where he took off his heavy furs and hung them next to the fire.
Torbjorn did the same. As he removed his furs, a small glass vial of dark liquid swung from a slender rope around his neck. Guster stared. It looked like a potion, which was a very interesting necklace for a giant to wear.
Torbjorn saw Guster looking at the vial and quickly tucked it away under his shirt.
There was something special about that vial. Guster would have to try to get a second glance in the morning.
Mom patted down the straw and made a nest for herself and the children. She placed Henry Junior, who was already sleeping quietly, his thumb stuck in his mouth, on the soft brown fur. He mooed gently. Zeke and Mariah made beds for themselves in the same heap of straw.
“You’ve all had a very hard day,” Mom said.
Guster made a nest for himself on a nearby pile. He’d rather keep his distance than risk some more Mom-talk. What was I supposed to do? Sme
ll my way here? Guster thought. Ever since they’d left home it had all been so new and dangerous.
He turned his back to his brothers and sister and pulled a scrap of what looked like grizzly bear fur over his shoulders.
“Before you sleep, let me kiss your faces,” said Mom. Guster heard smacking sounds as Mom kissed his brothers and sister on the cheeks. Even Zeke didn’t protest. “Your turn Guster,” Mom said.
Instead of turning toward her, Guster pretended to be asleep. Mom leaned over him. “I’m glad you got some of that butter today,” she said, running her fingers through his dirty brown hair. He froze at her touch. “Good night my dear children,” she said.
The straw was so soft, Guster was so tired, and the butter in his belly was so warm, it didn’t take long before he really did fall asleep — dreams of cows and giant chickens running through his head.
***
By the time Guster woke the next morning, the butter had worn off. He was hungry again, and felt weak.
Storfjell tiptoed quietly across the stone floor. “Hush!” he said, and motioned for Guster to come and join him. “Your family all looks so tired. Why don’t we let them sleep a little longer?” Guster nodded, picking himself up off the straw. He followed after Storfjell.
“My younger brother is already out on the beach, tending to business,” he said, opening a wide door in the back. Without so much as a grunt, Storfjell scooped up one cow under each arm like they were a pair of kittens.
“Wouldn’t they rather walk?” Guster asked. He was amazed at Storfjell’s strength.
“Oh, no!” laughed Storfjell. “That is not part of good joggling.”
Curious, Guster followed Storfjell out through the field of clover and down a path to a gravelly beach where monstrous waves crashed upon the shore.
When he got there, Storfjell set down the cow under his right arm next to another cow that was already there. Storfjell took the cow under his left arm, slung it over his shoulders and grabbed its legs gently on either side of his neck as if it were a tiny calf.
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