by Sofie Laguna
‘Matthew, are you all right?’ Even Lewis sounded jittery.
‘I th...th...think so.’
‘That was close.’
‘Very close,’ said Matthew, his heart finally beginning to slow down. It was the most frightening thing that had ever happened to him. He knew he had never been in more danger. So why did it feel like a gift?
‘Are you able to keep going?’ Lewis asked him.
‘I think so.’ Matthew felt light-headed. More light-headed than he had been on the climbing platform at school.
Lewis said, ‘You’re brave, Matthew.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ Matthew answered. He didn’t think he’d been called brave before. Or perhaps he had, but he hadn’t believed it.
‘I think you are.’
‘All I did was stand there. What else was there to do?’
‘I don’t know. A lot of things. But you held your ground. Tell me when you need to rest, okay?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Hmm. Strong boy,’ said the bird.
Matthew liked the sound of his breath coming hard, in and out, as they continued on their way; the feel of his footfalls up the icy trail, his walking stick in the ice. And he liked the bird’s words. Strong. Brave. You held your ground. The words made him want to keep going. He hadn’t known that words could be so powerful. Was it the words getting him up the mountain, or his own feet? Did the two know about each other?
Matthew looked around him. There was snow on the mountains up ahead and increasing patches of slushy snow underfoot. Icicles hung from the trees. The sky above them was now grey and white. Matthew had thought there was only one shade of white, but it seemed there were a thousand – as many shades of white as there were birds on the ocean. When he looked back through the trees, he again caught glimpses of the balloon floating between them: yellow, pink, orange and blue. Lewis sang.
In all the world, I never did see, I never did see, I never did see.
Of all the lands, of all the lands, this one, now, this one.
Of all the boys, of all the boys...
A little while later, Matthew rubbed his eyes. The branches ahead were moving – separating from the trunks of trees, splitting apart. Was the forest coming to life?
‘Lewis, what is happening?’
‘I ...I ...don’t know.’ Lewis sounded scared.
But then Matthew saw that they were not branches at all – not trees come to life. ‘Reindeer!’
Matthew spun. They were surrounded: the forest was made all of reindeers. One called to the rest, a loud grunting call. Then the whole forest seemed to come apart around them as the herd of reindeer charged through the trees.
Matthew listened to the pounding of the reindeers’ hooves, the snapping of branches, the shattering of ice as they galloped away. After that, the forest was quiet again. Matthew heard the sound of his own breath coming heavily in and out of his nostrils. The pounding hooves of the reindeer only seemed to remain now in his own chest.
‘Whatever next?’ said Lewis.
‘Keep walking?’ Matthew said, his voice shaky.
‘Keep walking,’ the bird answered.
Higher and higher up the mountain they went. Matthew felt alert – as if it wasn’t only his eyes that were seeing, but all his senses. As if he too was an animal in the Arctic. Watching for danger. Surviving.
Eventually Lewis said, ‘Shall we stop for a while? Have something to eat?’
‘Yes,’ said Matthew gratefully. He was used to seeing the classroom, his bedroom, the park ...not mountains covered in snow, polar bears protecting their cubs, trees that turned into reindeer. He needed a rest.
Matthew leaned his stick against a large flat rock and brushed the snow from its surface. He took the flask of tea from the pack and poured a cup for Lewis. Then he unscrewed the jar of seeds, scattering some onto the rock. He noticed, again, the imbalance between Lewis’s wings as the bird hopped about, pecking at the seeds and sipping from his tea. Yet Lewis doesn’t seem bothered by it, he thought. As Matthew watched the bird – bouncing cheerily across the snow; clacking his beak and cracking his jokes – it was impossible to imagine him any other way.
Matthew drank from his cup and ate his honey biscuit and dried apricots. The tea was hot and sweet. The apricots were chewy and delicious. He took a deep breath of icy air.
‘Hmmm. Perfect ...hmmm ...’ clacked Lewis.
Matthew knew Lewis was commenting on the tea, but he thought that everything here seemed perfect. Even if it was dangerous.
‘Ready to keep walking?’ Lewis asked.
‘Ready,’ Matthew answered.
Lewis hopped back up inside his hood. Matthew appreciated the bird’s warmth against his cheek. He pulled himself to his feet with his stick.
As they continued up the mountain, Matthew felt as if he was being watched. He looked up into the trees and saw a snowy owl sitting in the branches of a tall pine, observing them with yellow eyes.
‘Look, Lewis!’ Matthew whispered, pointing.
He knew that the snowy owl was an intrepid hunter, and the heaviest owl in the world. That it made its nest on the ground, and had to guard it from foxes and wolves.
‘Oh Matthew, it’s been following us since we entered the forest.’
‘Really?’
‘There is nothing a wild bird doesn’t see. And a boy with a black crow on his shoulder is hard to miss.’
‘Oh ...’ said Matthew, marvelling at the way the owl could keep itself hidden and see so much.
At that moment the owl swooped past Matthew and Lewis and disappeared into the forest.
They went on. It was very quiet – both of them, the boy and the bird, were in their own worlds, their own thoughts. Matthew had stopped asking himself some time ago if this was a dream; stopped wondering when and how it would end. He had too much work to do getting them both up the mountain as the trail steepened, became rockier. Sometimes he had to pull himself up by the branches that crossed their path. His legs ached, his muscles burned, and he found himself slipping more often. He was grateful for his walking stick, his padded coat, his sturdy boots.
‘Up you get, that’s the way. Keep going, not much further now,’ said Lewis.
In all the world, oh in all the world.
Just a boy, one boy, in all the world...
The bird sang, and then he made a clack clack clack with his beak. Like a chorus – clack clack clack, close to Matthew’s ear.
Finally they reached a wall of rock jutting abruptly from the snow, about three metres high. Above the rock was the snowy peak.
‘What shall we do?’ Matthew asked.
‘Climb?’ said the bird.
‘It looks too steep ...’
‘Does it?’
Matthew felt suddenly annoyed with his friend. How quickly feelings could change!
Matthew breathed out slowly as he faced the almost sheer rock cliff. Then he fastened his walking stick into his daypack, checked Lewis was still secure in his hood, and began – placing his hands, and then his feet, into the small ledges in the rock, the nooks and the crannies. He felt himself stretched over the face of the rock like a spider.
‘Oh, yes, yes, Matthew, we are on our way. Soon we will be at the top. Soon we will be there,’ Lewis said from inside the hood.
Matthew moved carefully, finding new places to put his hands, his feet, not thinking, just doing. When he did look down, he felt sick, thought he would fall. But he kept going, using every part of his body.
The bird sang as Matthew climbed.
In all the world, I never did see, never did see.
In all the world, in all the lands.
One boy, this one boy.
Matthew’s foot slipped. He gasped.
In all the world, oh I never did see, I never did see.
In all the lands, one boy, one boy...
His foot found another small hold in the rockface. His hand found a new nook to reach for. One last heave ...and they were
over the top.
On the snowy peak, Matthew pulled his feathered stick from his daypack and stuck it into the snow. He took a deep breath and stared out at the world spread before him.
Every picture in his books had been limited by the size of the page, contained within frames. Here, there was no frame. Here, the picture didn’t end. Beyond those icy plains, the sea; and beyond the sea, a land that floated on the ice, drifting northwards. Matthew put the binoculars to his eyes and saw valleys and cliffs and rivers all made of snow. Everywhere was white.
Lewis shifted his position on Matthew’s shoulder. ‘If we get back to camp and head north along the shore, the sea itself can act as our compass ...Can you see through your binoculars, Matthew, where the ocean turns to ice? That is where the North Pole begins.’
‘I see! And it’s not far from our camp.’
‘About two hours’ walk, I would say. Not far at all. We will walk there, perhaps tomorrow. I think two more days here will be plenty, don’t you?’
‘I suppose ...’ Matthew answered. Why did Lewis have to keep reminding him that their time here would come to an end?
‘Matthew, look up.’
Matthew looked up and saw a white-tailed eagle circling the sky, its enormous wings outstretched. Immediately, all else was forgotten. He knew that the white-tailed eagle had the largest wingspan of any bird. As he watched it fly, Matthew felt as if a part of himself was up there in the sky with the bird, soaring above the mountains, flying over the ocean, searching for the shadows of fish. When he tore his gaze away long enough to look through the binoculars, he saw the eagle’s nest in a forked branch of a snow-laden tree growing between the rocks on a neighbouring mountaintop. He had seen pictures of an eagle’s nest in Animals of the Arctic. The nests were built to last, with the eagles returning year after year.
Matthew and Lewis sat on a flat rock swept clear of snow and shared tea and peanut-butter crackers and chocolate. As he ate, Matthew put the binoculars to his eyes again and saw cracks in the bark of the pines, ice in crystals and, high in the sky, the eagle, circling.
‘Mind you don’t get peanut butter on the lenses,’ Lewis said.
Matthew lowered the binoculars. ‘It’s even better here than I dreamed it would be.’
‘Yes, because it’s real,’ said Lewis, eating the last of his cracker. ‘But it’s best if we head back now. We need to prepare the camp for the night. It will get much colder; we can’t take risks in the wilderness.’
‘All right.’ But a part of Matthew didn’t want to leave the summit. What would it be like to watch the sun set from here? To keep his eyes on the world below the mountain until dawn?
‘You know it will soon be dark in the North Pole both day and night, don’t you?’ Lewis said.
‘Polar darkness,’ said Matthew. He had read a great deal about this: it happened when the centre of the sun fell below the horizon. No sunlight at all for eleven weeks.
‘I am glad we’re leaving before polar darkness.’
But Matthew wasn’t so sure.
Chapter Ten
MATTHEW TRUDGED AND slipped and stumbled his way down the mountain – first over the rocks, then through the trees, and onto the plains of the tundra. Every part of his body was at work; he was sweating under his coat, breathing hard, and again was grateful for the support of his stick. Lewis remained inside his hood, sometimes singing and speaking words of encouragement, other times resting.
At last they reached the balloon: a rainbow floating in the snow.
‘She has been waiting for us,’ said Lewis. ‘Though she is not as round as she was. Still, there’s plenty of time until she has to be refilled.’
But Matthew didn’t want to think about their next flight. He leaned his stick against the basket and climbed over its wicker rim. He was glad, after all, to be home.
Matthew took flour, eggs, milk and butter from one of the boxes of food in the supplies chest and mixed everything together.
‘What are you making?’ Lewis asked him.
‘A pancake!’ Matthew answered, pouring the mixture into the pan over the gas flame. ‘To share.’ He scattered sliced apple over the top. Drizzled some honey.
‘Oh, lovely.’ Lewis sat on the rim of the basket, running his beak through his black feathers until they gleamed, watching. He sang:
Never did I see, oh never did I see.
In all the world, a land, a land.
A boy, a boy...
‘Dinner is served,’ Matthew said.
Matthew divided the pancake in two, and he and Lewis perched on the wooden floor of the basket, beneath the warmth still contained in the balloon, and ate. Matthew was hungry. He had never been so hungry! Today he had walked all the way up a mountain! He could feel that his body was tired – but he felt stronger.
The pancake tasted delicious. Crispy and buttery. Sweet with hot apple. Lewis enjoyed it too, pecking away, his beak clicking against his plate.
After dinner, they walked to the shore to rinse their dishes. There were so many birds – bobbing about in the water, or flying above it, hunting for food. Again, Matthew could feel the change in Lewis. He didn’t talk or sing, or clack his beak. He just went still, watching.
‘Let’s get these dishes done,’ Matthew said, swishing sand over the plates.
Lewis didn’t move. He said, ‘I would never survive out here the way these birds can. I wouldn’t last a minute.’
‘Well, neither would I.’
‘Oh, you could do all the human things. You could live somewhere. There are scientists who do that, like the one who wrote your book – Juliana Rossi, was it? Humans can survive almost anywhere. But me ...’
Matthew and Lewis watched as a flock of squawking gulls broke into a fight over the water.
‘Come on, Lewis, let’s get back to camp.’
Matthew crouched so that Lewis could hop up onto his arm. Lewis didn’t move.
‘Lewis?’
He didn’t respond.
‘Lewis?’ Matthew said again.
‘Oh, yes,’ said the bird, as if he had only just remembered Matthew was there at all. ‘Yes, camp ...’
That night, Matthew very much wanted to stay awake in case they saw the northern lights, but he was having trouble keeping his eyes open.
‘Why don’t we get a good sleep tonight, and look for the lights tomorrow night instead?’ Lewis said. ‘There is still plenty of time.’
‘Good idea.’ Matthew was relieved.
He removed the gas tank and the stove from the chest, leaving them standing neatly by the side of the basket, to allow himself a bit more space. After stacking everything else in the chest so it was out of his way, Matthew shook out the blanket and arranged it to make a sleeping bag. At home he didn’t make his own bed, but when he came back from school there it was, made. He’d never thought about who made it. It must have been his parents, of course.
Matthew rolled up his coat so that it could act as a pillow, making sure to keep the hood out and open. ‘Ready for bed, Lewis?’
‘Oh, yes!’ the bird answered, as if sleep was the best adventure of all.
Matthew picked up Lewis and placed him in the hood, then he climbed in too, tucking himself under the silver blanket. How cushioned and cosy it was inside the chest.
‘Are you all right, Lewis?’ Matthew whispered into the darkness.
‘Yes, yes, quite. Thank you. And you?’
‘Me too.’ Matthew smiled, closing his eyes.
Lewis clacked his beak gently as he settled himself. Clack clack clack. Right beside Matthew.
In the night, Matthew was woken by the sound of crying. It was a lonely cry, as if whoever or whatever made it needed help. Matthew knew the cry. Or at least he almost knew it, but the full knowing was not yet there, as if it lay under ice.
Chapter Eleven
THE NEXT TIME he woke, Matthew was being shaken. For a moment he thought the balloon was landing again, slamming against the ice as it had when they arrived.
‘Matthew! Matthew! What is that?’ Lewis was awake too.
‘I don’t know!’
The chest was being pushed. Hard. Matthew heard snorting sounds, close to the wicker. What was it?
Then whatever animal was out there growled.
‘A bear, Matthew. It’s a polar bear!’
A polar bear was attacking the basket! Bears could smell food from a hundred miles away. They had been lucky to escape unharmed when they’d seen one the first time.
Wham! Matthew felt the chest slide across the floor. Again, the bear growled. Matthew heard glass breaking, dishes clattering. Wham!
‘Matthew! Matthew! What are we going to do?’
This was it. They were going to be eaten. He couldn’t think, couldn’t feel.
‘Matthew.’ Lewis sounded terrified. ‘Do something!’
It wasn’t only him this time. It was the bird too. Matthew couldn’t freeze. He pushed open the lid of the chest.
There was the bear, luminous under the night sky. It stood on its hind legs and roared when it saw him. Matthew was shaking. He crouched down slowly and fumbled for whatever he could reach in the chest – the ham, the cheese, the tuna. Then he stood again, eyes averted from the bear, holding the bags of supplies high.
‘Food!’ he shouted. ‘Food!’
He shook the bags, then hurled them as hard as he could away from the balloon.
The bear dropped to all fours, lumbering towards the food. Matthew pulled the lid of the chest back down over him and Lewis, who was trembling.
‘L-Lewis, are you all right?’
‘Yes, yes ...I am all right. And you?’
‘I am all right.’
‘You did the right thing, throwing the food.’
‘What if it returns?’
‘It won’t.’
‘But what if it does?’
‘It doesn’t help to think of what ifs, Matthew. You gave the bear everything that would interest her: the ham, the tuna, and the cheese.’