The Snowy
Page 19
CHAPTER 47
Wasp Wax
“TIME TO PRACTICE,” SAID SPARKY, finishing breakfast and tapping Notch on the shoulder.
The two headed toward the supply pod.
Grell was waiting. She had combed through the racks and selected plummetin skis and bamboo-like poles to fit Sparky and Notch.
“Nothing like ancient gear,” muttered Notch, taking his plummetins.
“Glad you like,” said Grezz from the doorway.
“Sorry,” said Notch, embarrassed.
He and Sparky headed past Grezz and out the door as the four girls and Trrad arrived.
“A bit ungrateful, aren’t we?” asked Sparky outside.
“Stupid of me,” said Notch. “Mouth before brain.”
Sam was waiting in front of the repast pod, leaning on a crutch.
Notch held up a plummetin as he approached. “These are, like, stone age,” he said.
“Invented by altivaulters,” said Sam.
“Altivaulters?”
“Yes. After they eat the plummetin nut meat, they convert the shells into skis. May I?” He took one of Notch’s plummetins and pushed on the top. “Soft.” He flipped it over and tapped the bottom. “Hard.” He put it on the snow. “Both ends curve up like rocking chair rockers.”
“Like rockers on skis,” said Notch.
“Rockers?” asked Sam.
“A lot of skis now,” said Sparky, “have tips and tails bent up.”
“So my old, bent skis would be in style now.” He slid his hand across the bottom of the plummetin. “Wasp wax. Comes from the hives of vulcan wasps. The altis melt it into the bottom.”
“Feels fast,” said Sparky, sliding his finger over the wax.
Notch eyed Neff’s plummetins. “Hers are shorter.”
“Sized to suit,” said Sam. He put Notch’s plummetin on the snow. “And shaped to turn. Wide tip and tail, narrow middle.” He slipped his hand into the foot hole. “Deep enough for any foot. Leather liner and long straps hold the boot. Plant fibers fill the insides. Warm.”
Notch put his foot in and lifted the thongs. “How do I tie these?”
“Like long thongs,” said Sam.
“Long thongs?”
“My grandfather used long thongs,” Sparky said. “He tied them like this.” Sparky slipped his boot into the plummetin, picked up the free end of the thong and pulled it straight—the other end was knotted to a hole in the plummetin near the inside of his boot.
He looped the free end around his ankles twice and slipped it through a hole near the outside of his boot. He pulled it tight, looping it around his boot again. He slipped it through the hole next to the knot near the inside of his boot and pulled again. He brought the free end over the boot, slid it through a buckle attached to the hole on the outside, pulled again and let the buckle snap shut.
After a few tries, the others got the hang of it.
“Bamboo poles?” asked Notch.
“Made from the shoots of water trees gowing in the mountain wetlands,” said Sam.
“Okay,” said Notch, slipping his hands through the loops. “So what’s next?”
“Maybe, point them downhill?” said Sandy.
“Duh,” said Notch, smiling.
“Do this,” said Sandy over her shoulder, beginning to slide, “Shins forward. Roll your knees.” Her plummetins sliced into the snow and carved a smooth arc across the hill. Five turns later, she stopped.
“Looks easy,” said Sparky, pushing off.
Notch followed, struggling through the first few turns, until he got the idea. He stopped near Sandy.
“Pretty good,” she said.
“Skiyaks are a lot easier,” he said.
“Whatever,” she said. She pushed off. Neff passed him.
Tyfoona was coming down, making fluid turns. Trrad, trying to turn in her tracks by stepping his plummetins around, leaned back, putting his weight on his heels. His plummetins shot ahead. He fell on his rear. He struggled to get up and fell again. Tyfoona shook her head and kept going.
At dinner, Sparky glanced at Trrad, then said quietly to Grezz, “You wouldn’t let Sam come with us. But even with his injury, I bet he could ski a lot better than Trrad. Trrad can’t even turn. He keeps falling. How can he come with us? What if he gets hurt?”
“Then carry him,” Grezz replied. “Or leave him there. He goes with you, or he goes back to Trappids. He cannot stay here.”
Whoah. Sparky, stared at his plate. That’s harsh.
“So, we have no choice?” said Notch.
“You have choice,” said Grezz. “Take him. Or send him back. Your choice.”
Ooookay.
That’s mean. But, then, we were the ones who let Trrad come with us. The Snoflians didn’t. Neff touched Sparky and Notch’s hands, “We’ll handle it, somehow.”
“Maybe we should flip a coin,” said Notch, irritated. “Heads he comes; tails he goes back.”
“That be one way to choose,” said Grezz, standing. “Do you have more questions?”
“No questions,” said Notch, frowning. If I had any, I wouldn’t ask you.
Grezz left.
Neff glanced at Trrad.
He looked scared. He must know we’re talking about him. She turned to Sam, “I’d like to say something to Trrad. Would you translate for me?”
“Of course, Neff.”
“Trrad, you left your home to find a better life.”
Sam began to translate.
“That takes courage...far more courage than most have. I wanted you to know, I admire you for that.” Neff glanced briefly at Tyfoona then back at Trrad. “This trip will be not be easy for you, but we’ll help you. Don’t give up.”
Trrad nodded. A strange feeling had come over him. With no words in his language for joy, or thank you, he squeezed his hands together.
Neff understood. She smiled at Tyfoona.
Tyfoona touched Trrad’s arm and smiled back.
Trrad looked at Sam then asked quietly, “Do all humanc females talk like her?”
“Some do,” said Sam, “some do not, like everywhere.” He paused. “You will have to be up very early. Better get some sleep.”
They stood, their thoughts on the dangers ahead.
CHAPTER 48
Into The Warren
SANDY LEFT HER SLEEPING POD before first light.
Sam was waiting for her. “I will miss you, so much,” she said, hugging him.
“I’ll miss you too, Sandy,” he said. “It has been such a gift getting to know you.” His voice caught. “Forgive me. I’m a bit emotional.”
Sandy took his arm. “Me too, Grandpa. Me too.”
The two headed to the eating pod. It was empty. They sat and talked.
Neff and Sparky came in, then Notch, Tyfoona, Trrad and Pizeela. Snoflian servers brought food and tea. The group talked quietly as they ate, knowing they would face new dangers today.
They gathered inside the entrance to the recovery pod, dressed in winter gear, with helmets and backpacks on.
Sparky shook Sam’s hand and said, “We’ll see you back home.”
Notch shook his hand, “Wait until the people at Jagged Peak see you.”
Neff gave him a hug, “I’m so happy for you and Sandy. We’ll take care of her.”
Putting on their gloves and mittens, the three went out to join Pizeela, Tyfoona and Trrad.
Sandy, still inside, hugged Sam, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“I’ll see you soon, sweetheart,” he said, eyes brimming. He smiled. “Give my love to your grandmother...and your father and your mother.” He stood back leaning on his crutch. “Your friends are waiting,” he said kindly.
Sandy wiped her eyes, smiled, waved tightly and walked out, putting on her glov
es.
The group strapped into their plummetins.
Sparky glanced up at the three spires, dark against the early morning sunrise. We’ll see what they look like from the far side.
They waved goodbye to Grezz and started down the slope toward the altivaulter warren.
“Safe journey,” Grezz called after them, and with a twinkle in his eye. “Ya’ll come back, now, heah?”
“Sho nuff,” replied Notch, automatically. Wait. That was, like, southern. Where did he get that? Are there other wormholes?
Jung was at the warren entrance. Neff, Notch and Sparky were thrilled to see him. But also sad. This would be their last journey with him. They strapped their plummetins and poles on top of their backpacks. Grell lined everyone up: Notch, then Neff, Sandy, Sparky, Pizeela, Tyfoona and Trrad.
An altivaulter guide came out of the tunnel with two lit torches and handed one to Jung who went to the rear. The guide entered the tunnel. Grell followed, then the others.
They hadn’t gone far when the guide paused, handed Grell the torch and slid a stone slab aside, revealing another tunnel. He took back the torch and ducked through. Jung, last, had Trrad hold the torch, while he pushed the slab back in place.
The wet, gray walls flickered in the flame. Eerie. How could Jung live in this place? After trudging a dismal quarter mile, Neff rounded a bend and caught her breath. Lanterns lit the way. Colorful murals of snow-laden peaks, running beasts and groups of altivaulters covered the walls. An art gallery. It’s beautiful.
Five altivaulters approached, heading in the opposite direction. They eyed the travelers as they passed. When they saw the Lowconz girls and Trrad, they backed up to the wall and glared at Jung who shrugged. They moved on quickly, chattering.
As Neff went further, the murals looked older. How long have they lived here?
The tunnel eventually opened into a massive cavern, the floor far below. A narrow lava stream flowed from one end of the floor to the other. Hundreds of altivaulters were camped along the stream, tending small cooking fires. Others were busy distributing food and water.
“Refugees?” she asked.
“Probably from near those lava eruptions,” replied Notch.
The guide led them down a winding path toward the cavern floor.
“A dungeon,” said Notch, “and no dragons in sight.”
“Not yet, anyway,” said Sparky, recalling the ice lizard.
The smoke from the fires spiraled up through a hole in the center of a massive domed ceiling.
“I bet that hole looks like a volcano on the outside,” Notch said. “I’m beginning to realize how smart these altis are.”
“And how socially advanced,” said Neff, studying the refugees and their helpers. “I feel so sorry for them. Being homeless must be awful.” Wait. I’m homeless, too.
Sparky watched a group of altivaulters on the far wall, some climbing, some rappelling. They’re really good.
Sandy kept thinking about her grandfather. She missed him already. Finding him had been a dream. She couldn’t wait to tell her grandmother and parents. And she couldn’t wait to see him again. As she stepped onto the cave floor, the aroma from the fires reminded her of her family’s summer barbecues. She felt a pang of sadness.
The refugees stared as the passing travelers traipsed across the path to the far end of the cave floor.
Make a good impression. Sandy held herself erect. They’ve probably never seen humans, but they have seen.... She glanced back at Tyfoona, Pizeela, and Trrad. They were hunched over, eyes on the path. The altis must hate them.
Grell paused. The end of the path was blocked by five altivaulters, one a head taller than the other four, his fur pure white, his eyes large and black under bushy white eyebrows. Grell spoke with him.
“Must be the Big Alti,” whispered Notch, noting the sacks the others were holding. “Probably wants us to pay a toll. I bet he’ll ask big bucks for the Trappid and Lowconz.”
The altivaulters put the bags on the floor and pulled open the tops.
“Oops, wrong. They’re giving us something,” said Notch.
“Nuts, dry fruit. Eat,” said Grell. She grinned at Notch, “Sorree, no sclagg.” She pointed to water gourds sitting off to the side. “Fill,” she said.
“She speaks English?” asked Notch.
“She’s been practicing,” replied Sandy, smiling.
Grell grinned at Sandy.
Those two finally made up. Neff took a swig of water.
When Tyfoona, Pizeela and Trrad stepped up for their food and water, the altivaulters shuffled backwards. The Lowconz bowed. The altis looked at one another, then bowed back, ever so slightly. Trrad stood dumbly, food in hand. Tyfoona frowned. He quickly bowed. The altis nodded, slightly.
Sandy whispered to Neff, “He’s learning.”
The altis left. The trekkers rested by the lava stream, nibbling, sipping and warming themselves, until the guide stood and led them up a narrow path to another tunnel. He pulled two torches from a wooden box, lit them, and handed one to Jung. Then he pulled out a spare, unlit torch and entered the tunnel. They set off. Sparky went to the rear, ahead of Jung, who also took a spare.
Sparky noticed. They took reserves. Long way to go.
Notch studied the tunnel walls. At first, they were like those in the first tunnel, but then they changed. No more murals; no more lanterns. The tunnel got colder. Veins of red and yellow glinted in the torchlight, thinned to a delicate thread, then faded away, leaving only black. “Coal?” said Notch. He slid his finger along it. No smudge. “Not coal.” He figured they had gone a mile, when the guide’s torch lit up the entrances to two passageways. “A fork. Which road is less traveled?” he said soflty.
“Poetic,” muttered Neff.
“My guess, he goes right,” said Notch.
The guide went right.
“Good guess.” Minutes later, another fork. “Left this time,” whispered Notch.
The guide turned right.
“Okay, consistent with the law of chance.”
“Mm,” said Grell.
She heard me! Notch counted, guessing at every fork. “So far, seven forks, four good guesses. Still consistent. This guide knows his forks. That, or we’re really in trouble,” Notch said to Neff.
“Or all the tunnels go to the same place, anyway,” she replied, smiling.
“All roads lead to Rome? I wouldn’t bet on it in here,” he said.
Sandy stayed within arm’s reach of Neff, occasionally looking back in the torchlight. Tyfoona and Pizeela had spread further apart than everyone else. They’re used to tunnels. Not me!
Trrad shuffled behind Tyfoona, his eyes on her heels.
Not him either.
Sparky noticed the occasional flickering of the torches. “Breezes?”
Jung nodded.
More time passed. The second two torches had been lit and were beginning to sputter.
Sparky had gone caving with his dad and uncle. He had learned to trust them. Can we trust this guide? “He does this a lot, right?” said Sparky, turning back to Jung.
Jung shrugged. Who knows? His torch sputtered out.
Un, oh. Sparky peered ahead. The guide’s torch went out as he turned a corner. Everything went pitch black.
“No one move,” said Notch.
“Flashlight,” said Sandy, tapping Neff. “In my pack. Right pocket.”
Neff found the light and switched it on.
“Take it, Notch,” said Sandy. “Go look.”
Notch stepped past Grell and aimed the light around the corner. The guide was crouched by the wall, scraping a flint, a fresh torch at his feet. Notch held his breath. The new torch burst into flame. The guide slid the torch into a holder on the wall and sighed.
Notch exhaled. He’s as relieved as I am.
Notch handed the light back to Sandy. “Keep it ready, in case,” he said.
The guide spoke quietly with Jung, then stood, lit two torches, handed one to Jung, grabbed an unlit torch and headed into the dark, the torch on the wall still burning.
Shouldn’t we take it, just in case? Notch adjusted his pack and plummetins. “Trust...got to trust,” he muttered, setting out after Grell.
The others followed.
Jung grabbed an unlit torch as he left the chamber.
They trekked until the second torches began to sputter.
Notch looked ahead, “Hey, there’s light…” he said, following the guide and Grell around a corner to the left, “…at the end of the tunnel.”
Blue sky and clouds filled the opening at the far end. Partway along, a log sat wedged across the tunnel.
The guide approached the log, ducked under it, placed the torch in a holder on the wall beyond it, moved to the end of the tunnel and peered over the edge. Then he backed up and motioned to Grell. She came ducked under and looked, then stepped back and motioned to Notch who did the same, followed by Neff, Sandy, the Lowconz girls and Trrad.
It was Sparky’s turn to look. The mountainside tumbled downward for miles to a vast sea, which spread to the horizon, red sunlight shimmering across the surface. Wow. Didn’t expect this. A cliff fell straight down in front of him. At the bottom, a steep, snow-covered pitch, cold and silent in the blue afternoon shadow, dropped three thousand feet to a forest. Covered at first in a mantle of white, the woodland changed to dark green as it tumbled toward the sea.
The guide went back to the log and waited, Jung with him.
“Have luck,” Grell said to Sparky. “Storm left big snow. Not far down cliff.”
Sparky looked over. “About fifty feet, my guess.”
“Too far to jump,” said Notch. “So how do we...?”