The Snowy

by Dave Schneider

“We’ll keep an eye on him. See what he does. After all, he’s still a Trappid. By the way, his name is Trrad. Just roll your tongue as you say it.”

  He turned away and began to climb.

  Neff followed, muttering, “Trrraad. Trrraad, the Trrrappid,” rolling her tongue each time.

  The trail got steeper. Flakes fell. She looked back. A thick curtain of snow was sweeping up the trail.

  CHAPTER 36

  Into The Cold

  HEAVY FLAKES SWIRLED OVER NEFF filling the path ahead with snow. “Time to cover our feet,” she said.

  The altivaulters crouched and waited. Trrad, already in boots, hunkered down, drawing Neff’s hat further down over his ears.

  Neff took the lam leaf from her backpack. “How do we do this?” she asked, wishing Snowy was there. Please let him be safe.

  “I think I know how,” said Sparky, pulling out his knife. He sliced Neff’s lam leaf in half and placed the pieces side by side on the ground, furry sides up. He asked Neff to stand on the halves. He cut two short lengths from his rope, folded the leaves around Neff’s calves, and tied them over her hiking boots.

  “Warm already,” she said.

  Sparky did the same for Notch and himself. The group started to climb again, Trrad in the rear.

  At one point, Sparky paused to look down at the rapids. Trrad slipped past him and caught up to Neff.

  Neff smelled him. She tapped Notch.

  He looked back. Trrad’s face was just behind Neff’s shoulder. He glared at Trrad. Have you forgotten our little talk, already?

  Trrad stood aside and let Sparky pass.

  CHAPTER 37

  The Refugee

  SANDY REACHED THE KNOLL. She paused a moment and looked behind. He’s not coming. Yet. She pushed off and skiyaked as fast as she could to where she had left the refugee.

  She checked the avalanche pile the Lowconz warrior had come through. Nothing. She popped out of her skiyaks, dropped to her knees and scraped the snow away from the backpack. A breath drifted up.

  “It’s me,” she said, lifting the pack.

  The refugee’s eyes were barely open, his body shaking, his face ashen, his beard caked with ice. “So...c, cold,” he choked.

  “Let’s get you out,” she said, digging with the disc again. The snow had firmed up. She pulled the Lowconz warrior’s knife from her waist and sliced into the hard-pack, shoveling the pieces away with the disc. He tried to dig too. He’s not helping much, but it’ll keep him warm.

  She freed his arms first, then his legs, his feet and his pod skis. His single ski pole lay beneath him.

  “Can you get up?”

  He nodded. She grabbed his arm and lifted. He struggled up, wobbled a moment, then stared.

  “I’ll be okay,” he stammered, tears welling, both joy and pain on his heavily bearded face.

  She nodded. Still holding his arm, she asked, “Can you move?” She slowly let him go. There’s something about his eyes. She handed him his pole. He slid his podskis back and forth.

  “Yes, I can move. But not too fast, I fear. My leg has been injured.”

  “We have to go that way,” she said, pointing toward Grell’s tracks. She stuffed the disc and Lowconz knife into her bag and put it on. “There’s a safe place up there. And people who can help.”

  “Humans?”

  “No. I mean, they’re not really people. They’re Snoflians.”

  “Snoflians? Here? Did you come with them?” he asked.

  “No. I fell through, after my friends. The Snoflians found me. My friends fell somewhere else, I think,” she said, distracted, peering into the snowfall and feeling extra jittery. “If it’s okay with you, I’ll tell you about it later. Right now, we should go. I’ll pull you. I have a way.”

  He nodded, shivering.

  She tied one end of the Lowconz sling around his waist, the other around her own. She slid forward until the sling tightened.

  “Ready?”

  “Yes.” He began to move, one hand on the sling, the other on the pole. Sandy set off in Grell’s tracks. As she passed the knoll, she looked down at the forest, where she’d left the Lowconz warrior. He must be dead. She sighed and focused on Grell’s tracks, which were fading rapidly in the deepening snow.

  She scanned the pitch up to her left. Grell had to go up somewhere. But where? Will this poor man...I don’t even know his name...even be able to climb?

  “May I ask your name, young lady?” he asked from behind.

  “Yes. Sandy. It’s Sandy,” she said glancing back, but continuing on.

  “My name is Samuel, but you can call me Sam.”

  Sam was my grandfather’s name. Her heart skipped a beat. She stopped and turned. She looked into his eyes...her eyes. She swallowed. “Did you have a wife named Louise?”

  “Yes, I did,” he frowned. “H...How do you know?” His eyes turned sad. “You said, ‘did’. Is she gone?”

  “No, no. She’s alive.” He brightened. “So you know her.”

  “She’s my grandmother.”

  “Your grandmother? Oh,” he saddened again. “Did she marry again?”

  “No. She didn’t. She’s been waiting for my grandfather...Are you...my grandfather?”

  “My last name is Jones,” he said.

  “Mine too!”

  Sam let go of the sling, grabbed his ski pole and reeled slightly. “I have a granddaughter? You’re my granddaughter?”

  Sandy slid back to him and took his elbow, steadying him. “Grandma had a son, Rob. He’s my father.” She hesitated a moment then gave him a hug.

  He put an arm around her, looked skyward and cried, “Louise, still there, a son, and a granddaughter. I’ve waited for so long.” He looked deep into Sandy’s eyes for a moment then rasped, “We have to go.”

  Sandy pulled ahead again, joy giving her renewed energy.

  Far behind, shadowy figures searched for tracks.

  CHAPTER 38

  Lava

  NOTCH PLOWED, HEAD DOWN, through deep snow behind the altivaulters.

  Abruptly, the altivaulters began to babble.

  Notch looked up.

  They were staring into the gorge. Jung licked his lips. The female murmured, “Yum.” The young male rubbed his tummy.

  Notch saw two creatures as big as trash cans with mottled gray and white shells, crawling along on eight spindly legs. “Arachnids,” he muttered.

  “Spiders?” asked Neff.

  “Altis must eat them,” said Sparky.

  The altivaulters glanced back once before padding around a bend.

  “I wonder how they catch em,” said Notch, rounding the bend, suddenly blinded by bright white. “Wow,” he whispered. A vast sweep of snow spread before him. Windblown drifts angled down the pitch like waves, separated by long shadows of deep blue.

  “How about skiing those lines?” asked Sparky.

  “Awesome,” said Notch, feeling a sudden rumble. Earthquake?

  The female altivaulter pointed. Partway up the pitch, lava had burst out of the snow and begun to pour down the pitch, trailing a cloud of steam.

  “We’re not going up this, are we?” asked Notch.

  Jung pointed at a cliff off to the left.

  “We’re going up that?”

  Jung nodded.

  “There’s a path on it,” said Sparky, thinking about how he had climbed rock faces on a rope belay with his uncle, wearing climbing shoes, but never up a cliff face with leaf galoshes and no belay.

  “One slip and goodbye world...or whatever this place is,” said Notch.

  The female led them across a narrow stone bridge toward the cliff.

  Neff kept to the center of the span. I hate cliffs, and bridges.

  As the female turned off the bridge, Sparky glanced back toward
the lava. Something drew his eyes further back.

  A fangvaulter was coming around the bend, where they had just been. Then another followed. And another.

  “Fangers,” he exclaimed.

  The female altivaulter quickly dropped into the gorge. Everyone followed.

  “Did they see us?” breathed Notch.

  “Not yet,” puffed Sparky. “But, so what? We’re leaving tracks. We gotta move.” They began to jog.

  “This is scary,” puffed Neff, stepping onto the cliff path. Oh, that sounded lame. We all know it’s scary. She looked up. The rim of the cliff jutted out into space far over her head.

  “Scares me too,” said Notch.

  Sparky looked up the path. It curved out of sight. He felt a twinge of fear. Can’t see what’s up there.

  Trrad tapped Sparky and pointed back.

  “They see us!” said Sparky. Everyone turned.

  The fangers had crossed the bridge and gathered around their black-ring leader.

  “What are they doing?” asked Sparky.

  “Planning their attack,” replied Notch.

  The black-ring pointed up the sweep. One of the fangers became animated, gesturing at the lava. The black-ring whacked the complainer with a vaulter. It reeled, shook its head and plowed up the pitch, followed by eight others. The beasts alternately eyed the molten flow and the black-ring who stood watching them.

  “He doesn’t trust them,” said Notch. “Gives us some time. Let’s go.”

  After a minute, the black-ring turned toward the cliff path, followed by the last fanger.

  “Pincer movement,” said Notch, looking back. “We have to get to the top before they do.”

  “And then?” asked Neff.

  “Keep climbing, I hope.”

  They set off.

  CHAPTER 39

  Pincer

  EIGHT FANGVAULTERS COMING FROM ABOVE, two from behind. Classic pincer. Notch’s lam leaf boots, already unstable, were slipping on the rock path. Fear forced him to focus like never before.

  “Climbing takes longer than you expect,” said Sparky, recalling his uncle’s survival admonition. He looked at the female altivaulter. Unless you’re a mountain goat. If the fangers get to the top first, will they come down? Or wait for us? He glanced back. We’ll have to fight no matter what.

  The black-ring leader stepped onto the cliff path. He was not nearly as adept on cliffs as his mountain relatives, the altivaulters. But he was patient. His quarries had nowhere to go. He was looking forward to blocking their retreat, pushing them over the edge, then eating them. The other fanger followed, hugging the wall.

  Halfway up the cliff, the female altivaulter ducked into a hollow, pulled a woven sack from a hole in the wall and handed out bits of plummetin nuts and dried fruit. The three humancs had been swallowing handfuls of snow for water, but she knew they also needed food. She had them put the food in their pockets. They could munch as they climbed.

  As they set off again, Mollie’s nose popped from Neff’s backpack and sniffed the air. A moment later, the mulgny snarled, squirmed out of the pack and scampered back down the path.

  “No,” cried Neff.

  Mollie skidded to a stop just before the path curved out of sight. She braced herself against the cliff and moved her clawed forepaws in small circles like a boxer getting ready to punch.

  The black-ring leader came clumping into view, tongue flapping, saliva dripping, puffing a cloud of steam. He saw Mollie and froze.

  “Ooops,” said Notch.

  Mollie hissed.

  The fanger growled. He shuffled in place on his two hind legs, one of his two vaulters braced on the path, the other against the wall, his clawed hands opening and closing. He glared at Mollie, snorting rapidly.

  “He doesn’t know what to do,” said Notch. The sight of such a small, furry creature holding a huge beast at bay might have been funny at any other time.

  “We’ve got to do something!” cried Neff.

  “Maybe, like, keep moving,” said Notch. “Let her hold him there.”

  Neff glared at him.

  Suddenly, clumps of snow began plummeting past and smashing on the berm at the base of the cliff below.

  Sparky backed against the cliff wall with his friends. I’ve never been behind an avalanche.

  A dark shape dropped past, screeching, six legs flailing. Another flashed by, then more, in a cloud of beasts and snow. Then it all stopped.

  Sparky looked over the edge. Some fangvaulters were scrambling off the berm. More were struggling to free themselves. A few lay still, bodies and legs askew.

  Mollie held her ground, waving her lethal claws. The black-ring still hunkered against the cliff wall.

  “Oh, Mollie,” cried Neff. He’s huge.

  The female altivaulter grunted.

  “Gunnie says it’s time to go,” said Notch.

  “What about Mollie?” asked Neff. She looked pleadingly at Jung.

  Jung nodded, chattered with the young male, then motioned everyone up the path.

  Neff didn’t want to go.

  Jung gently nudged her.

  She shuffled off, looking behind every few steps.

  Jung and the male remained in the hollow.

  The second fangvaulter came into sight on the path below, saw Mollie and ducked behind the black-ring.

  “Brave little Mollie,” said Neff, tears forming. She was about to step out of sight, when Jung came out of the hollow and hopped down the path toward Mollie.

  The black-ring snarled as he approached.

  Jung stopped by Mollie. Mollie looked up at him. Jung tentatively reached out. She didn’t move. He petted her. The black-ring began to inch forward.

  Jung braced and hit the black-ring in the chest with a vaulter. The beast reeled, bumped into the second fanger and fell against the cliff wall. The second nearly slid over the edge, but grabbed the black-ring’s vaulter.

  The black-ring shook off the smaller fanger, kicked it away and turned back toward Jung who, seizing the moment, swung his vaulter and nailed the black-ring in the snout. The black-ring’s head bounced off the rock wall. He steadied himself, spit blood and touched his upper right fang. It wiggled. He roared.

  Jung picked up Mollie. She grabbed hold. He hopped up the trail, Mollie under one arm.

  The black-ring lurched after them, grunting, its loose fang flapping.

  Jung suddenly slowed and put Mollie down. She scooted ahead. Jung stepped slowly.

  The black-ring was nearly on him.

  “He’s gonna get him!” said Sparky.

  “Look out!” shouted Notch.

  CHAPTER 40

  “Good Riddance”

  THE BLACK-RING LUNGED at Jung’s back. Jung, sensing him, suddenly burst ahead. The black-ring grabbed an armful of air and stumbled. As he struggled to regain his balance, the young male altivaulter stepped from the hollow, lifted a vaulter and kicked the black-ring over the edge.

  The beast screeched all the way down. He bellowed as he hit the berm.

  “Yesss,” said Sparky.

  “Good riddance,” said Notch.

  Neff scooped up Mollie. “What about that one?”

  They all looked.

  The second fangvaulter was braced against the cliff wall, stretching his head out over the edge. Seeing no movement on the berm, he pulled back, scratched his side, then sighed and hobbled back down the path, one clawed hand firmly in touch with the rocky face. He looked back only once, shrugged and kept going.

  The altivaulters began to climb. Neff and Notch followed.

  Sparky watched the fanger a moment longer, then peered at the rim. What if there are more up there?

  CHAPTER 41

  Attacked!

  SANDY AND SAM STOPPED on the edge of a frozen water
fall, the water rumbling under their feet.

  Sandy glanced back. “We’ve been on a river?”

  “It seems,” said Sam.

  Sandy studied the top of waterfall. It curved off to the left and became a cliff, which merged further on with a massive snowfield, plumes of smoke billowing from it.

  Sandy’s eyes were drawn back to the cliff. “Is that a path?”

  “Could be an altivaulter path. Do you know about altivaulters?”

  “Mountain animals with six legs,” she said. “I saw some skiing.”

  “I might have guessed,” he said.

  “We have to climb,” she said, pointing to a snow-filled chute between two stone outcroppings.

  “Tracks under there,” he said. “Snowfall hasn’t covered them yet.”

  They slid closer.

  “Plummetins,” said Sam, “And a pair of skiyaks.”

  “Grell’s,” said Sandy, relieved.

  “So far so good,” he said, wincing.

  “Are you okay?” she asked. “Do you need to rest?”

  “It’s my leg. I’ll be okay. We have to keep going.” He looked over his shoulder. “We might be followed. Do you mind if I carry the bow? I know how to use it.”

  “Yes, take it. I don’t think I’d be very good with it,” she said, handing Sam the Lowconz bow and quiver. For a moment, she imagined the gray-faced warrior lying bloody in the snow. She felt ill.

  He studied her face. “My turn to ask,” he said, slipping the bow and quiver over his shoulders. “Are you okay?”

  “I will be, I think,” she replied, forcing a smile. “Thanks.” She looked up the chute.

  “I think I can climb better,” he said, untying the sling and handing it to her, “without the tether.”

  Sandy wrapped it around her waist and side-stepped up. Sam followed, using his pole to support his injured leg, reaching with his healthy leg, then lifting his injured leg.