He turns a circle in the clearing, looking over the mighty creatures that’ve come out of hiding. “I was right, of course. You proved it. You stepped into the woods, and they came to you!”
We could have been eaten by monsters in the process, I think. But I don’t say anything.
He smiles at the rest of us. “And now for the best part of my plan. You’re going to learn to fly on these Starbirds. And then you will collect gold from the mountaintops we thought we couldn’t reach. Gold powder is thick on the tops—just waiting to be harvested. And then, maybe, the mines will become obsolete. It’s a shame, an embarrassment, that we send children to the mines. That we have to send boys down there in the prime of their lives …”
Mortimer keeps talking, but his words become a faraway echo. I can’t concentrate on anything beyond this one wild promise:
You’re going to learn to fly on these Starbirds.
My knees feel wobbly all of a sudden, and I lean hard into my horse’s side to keep from flopping down on the ground. I’m going to fly? Yesterday morning, I was knee-deep in muck cleaning floors … and now I’m going to learn to fly?
Mortimer signals to two of his men, and a giant fabric tapestry unfurls—stretched between the treetops. The tapestry is a map—simple, inky black mountains painted against the beige. My horse leads me closer to get a better look. Forgotten Mountain is the first one on the map. But there are other peaks—many peaks—rippling far out, far past us, all the way to the edges. The nearest ones we memorized as kids: Mount Carson, fierce and pink; the Pembers, always covered in snow. The Lightning Range, full of ever-changing weather. Mirror Mountain, covered in ice so thick you can see a perfect reflection of the sky.
“Here is where you are.” Mortimer gestures to the first mountain—to the West Woods of Forgotten Mountain. “Beyond those woods are more vast and beautiful—and very, very magical—mountains. Some you’ve heard of. Others, far away from here, no one has even traveled. But every mountain has gold powder near the top; we’ve always known that. Your mission is simple. Fly to the mountain, obtain the gold powder, and bring it back to me. Fill your bag with gold powder on every ride and you’ll get a thousand Feathersworth.”
Four rides.
That’s all it would take to pay off our debt!
“Before you get too excited,” Mortimer continues, “know that it’s not as easy to harvest gold powder as you think. You’ll have to learn to ride a flying horse, for starters. You’ll have to deal with the elements, maybe even with … creatures like you saw today. You’ll have to learn to fly as high as possible, while avoiding dangerous clouds of Dust.”
“I could fight a monster,” Honor shouts. “I’m a trained swordsman.”
I snort. Trained swordsman. Sword fighting is a popular sport in the valley. Girls aren’t allowed to compete, of course. But sometimes, during breaks, we meet in the alleys and sword practice with broomsticks. Just because they won’t give girls swords doesn’t mean we don’t know how to fight. And I’d bet a thousand Feathersworth that we’re more talented with sticks than Honor Tumbrel is with a blade. He couldn’t fight his own shadow.
“Let’s hope you don’t have to try,” Mortimer says, clapping his hands together to change the subject. “You’ve had a full day, brave riders. If you want to accept this challenge, then come back tomorrow after your work is through for the day. We’ll have a quick riding lesson and set off for our first mission.”
Adam pulls off his cap. Pushes his hands through his hair. His cheeks flame scarlet, which doesn’t happen when he’s embarrassed. He’s frustrated. “A quick practice? Shouldn’t it take a few weeks, at least, to learn this?”
“You’ll learn to trust your horses,” Mortimer says mysteriously. “They’ll know what to do. And I’ll be here to help you. We can only live the stories we’re given. “That’s an old saying in the valley and on the mountain. We can only live the stories we’re given. I’ve never cared for that way of thinking. It makes it sound like nothing can be changed. And maybe some things can’t. But … What if? “Now,”Mortimer says after a breath.” Here’s the story I’m giving you: Ride for me and save your town, or … go back to where you were. And wait for someone to save you.”
I clench my jaw, resolved. My heart is decided. If there was a question of this—who would rescue and who would be the rescuer—I want to be the hero.
I’ll be Mallie over the Moon.
I can’t stop babbling to Adam about all we’ve seen as we stomp back home through the woods. My mind is a river of words and thoughts, and I let them flow freely.
I tell him about the monster that came after me, and the moment I saw my horse—and realized what my horse actually was.
“A Starbird, Adam! Can you believe it? Do you know what this could mean? What if there’s a way through this Dust? What if it’s … I don’t know … breaking up or something?”
Adam remains silent.
We’re nearly back to the platform in Coal Top when he finally speaks up. “The farther we get from the West Woods, the more it all feels like a dream.”
I know what he means. Coal Top looks exactly the same as always: dusk and darkness and drooping pines. Dustblobs in the trees. More gray Dust blowing through the streets. But if I close my eyes, I can still feel my horse’s soft hair underneath my hand. The way my heart twinged when the Guardians guided them back into the West Woods. The horses didn’t like that, but they obeyed. At least, I think they did.
What if my horse isn’t there when I return tomorrow?
“Something doesn’t feel right,” Adam finally says.
I raise my eyebrows. “Nothing feels right. There’s no guidebook for this. We’re about to ride flying horses and collect gold powder from the mountaintops. How do you know what that’s supposed to feel like?”
“I don’t trust Honor Tumbrel or his friends on land, much less the sky. We have to watch our backs.”
“Watch each other’s backs.”
As we climb down the ridge toward the depot, we see two people waiting on the platform: Granny Mab and Greer.
She rests her old hands on the small boy’s shoulders. “Is it true, Mallie?” Her voice breaks over the words, the way hope does when it’s stretched to its limit. “Did you see the … the Starbirds?”
“It’s true,” I tell her.
Mab is not the crying sort. She’s a tough old bird. But tiny tears glisten down her wrinkly face. “I can’t believe it,” she says. “I hoped, of course. But … wow.”
Wonderwow, I think. “I can’t wait to tell Mama.”
“Looks like you won’t have to wait,” Adam mumbles, and he points to the boundary line for the North Woods. Mama is standing there, hands on hips. But her eyes aren’t full of pride. Just fury.
The cottage door slams behind me. Papa, Denver, and Honeysuckle all turn their heads toward the sound.
“I don’t understand why you’re angry,” I say to Mama, nearly shouting. “This is a good thing. It’s kind of a miracle!”
“This is dangerous! An absolute terror! How do you think I felt when the Tumbrels sent a servant looking for you?”
Denver cocks his head, confused. “Mallie didn’t go to the valley?”
“No,” I answer. “I went to the West Woods.”
His eyes go wide as I step toward him, kneeling down on the ground so I’m in front of him and Papa. So they’re listening closely.
“There are Starbirds still in the West Woods,” I tell them. “Just like in the old stories! Mortimer Good thought they might be there—and he was right! The horses thought all the children had left, when we went into the mines and valley. But they know now that we didn’t. Do you know what that means? The Starbirds can help us again. They can carry us to the top of the far mountains to harvest gold.”
“Us?” Denver raises his eyebrows hopefully. “Like, me and you?”
Papa instinctively locks his arm tight around my brother. Then he reaches out for me.
“Just
me, for now,” I say, taking Papa’s hand. “Me and the older kids. This means you can stay in school. And I can pay off our debt. You don’t have to worry about the mines anymore.”
I might be talking to Denver, but I’m saying it loud enough for Mama and Papa to hear me.
“You have never been on a horse,” Mama says. “Not the kind that roams on land. Not to mention a Starbird! This is dangerous, Mallie. What if you get hurt on one of these missions? Then there’s no way out of this! We have a plan in place. You work; we save money—”
“But never enough money,” I insist.
Her eyes soften. She knows it’s the truth. I’m not even good at math, but I know we could never save up on land what I could make in the sky.
“If something happens to you …”
“Nothing will happen to me,” I assure her. “Mountain people used to ride all the time—”
“I know about the Starbirds,” Mama says. “But that was a long time ago. Things are different now.”
“Exactly!” I nod. “Things are different. We have to find different ways to do things. I can do this. I won’t get hurt. I promise. And otherwise, everything will be the same. I’ll keep going to the valley. Keep earning money from the Tumbrels, too. But after work … I’m doing this. For all of us. I don’t understand why you aren’t happy. This is like a fairy tale, Mama.”
“Nothing is a fairy tale when Mortimer Good is involved,” Mama warns me. And she says nothing else for the rest of the night.
Sometimes when a mighty event befalls your life—be it a tragedy or something wonderful—it’s hard to tell when you’re dreaming or awake.
Was I dreaming last night? When a monster stalked me in the darkness? When a Starbird rescued me in the woods? When my mama—too angry to even speak—marched me back home?
Or did I, Mallie in the Muck, find a Starbird in the West Woods?
I wake to a room that looks the same as always. There’s the shelf of the few books I own, which I’ve read over and over. The stuffed bear I sleep with is still in my arms. My wall has two sketches on it—one of my family, all together, Honeysuckle perched on Dad’s shoulder (Adam crushed a dandelion petal against the page to give her color). And the picture of a daisy bundle that Adam drew for me a few years ago. All of that is the same.
But in my heart, I feel like a different person.
I close my eyes to stretch and hear a soft chirp.
“Hi, Honeysuckle,” I whisper. Opening one eye, I see a blurry swipe of yellow on the small table beside my bed. Honeysuckle watches me carefully with her sweet brown eyes.
“You should have woken me up earlier.”
The bird hops onto my bed, up to my pillow. She stretches one sunny wing and touches a scratch on my face with the tip of her feather.
“I’m okay,” I whisper again.
Feathers. I think about the feel of feathers.
The Starpatch felt like that, like a bird’s feather.
But the feathers on the horse’s wings felt different—leathery and strong, made to ride a storm, snap a thundercloud in half. I’ll know how that feels soon. I’ll be a rider.
Mallie over the Moon.
I stand slowly, and Honeysuckle bounces onto my shoulder.
Careful steps through the gauzy-dark room.
Fingers fumble around on my table until I find a matchbox. Leaning down, I hold the box still with my right arm.
Snap.
Hissss.
A burst of flame on the edge of the match
and my lantern is lit.
I’m not usually the kind of girl who stares at herself in a mirror. Once you’ve had one good look at your face for the day, I figure that’s enough. But today is different. I have to make sure I look the same after everything that’s happened. I wipe the dust from my mirror.
Mostly, yes.
Freckles like my papa’s.
Eyes like my mama’s.
“Is she still mad at me?” I ask softly so I don’t wake Denver.
The bird whistles low and long. That’s a yes, for sure.
I thought she would be proud of me. But she was furious—she didn’t even say good night!
I pull my hair around to brush through the tangles and gasp—
A flash of green catches my eye.
Green?
My eyes widen in the mirror as I lean closer.
“Oh … my.”
A bright green stripe is shining in my hair. Starting from the roots on the right side of my head, and sparkling, emerald-shimmery, all the way to the tips. Now, if I were a girl from Windy Valley, this might be a grand thing. I would have gone to a caretaker to have this specific shade mixed for me—probably from some dangerous mineral that grows in the mines. But I am not that girl; I’m a mountain girl, and I did nothing to my hair yesterday.
A soft knock on the door, and Mama’s peeking inside.
“What’s this?” I whisper.
She takes the long green stripe between her fingers.
“Did I step in a cursed creek in the West Woods?” I ask.
When I was a girl Mama liked to tell that story, of a cursed creek in the West Woods that’d turn your hair white or green or blue or yellow. I’ve always thought it was a fairy tale. Now I know anything can be true.
She shakes her head. “Your horse marked you,” she says. “Next time you see your ride, you’ll see he has the same color in his hair as you do. That’s what happens when you connect.”
I cock my head at her, feel my eyebrows squish together. “How do you know that?”
“I remember them,” she says. “I remember when they were here.”
I reach out and grip her hand in mine. “They’re here again, Mama,” I say. “Why aren’t you happy? Why aren’t you excited?”
“Because I want you safe.”
“I will be safe,” I whisper. “And then we’ll be out of debt. I’ll work and ride and pay off everything—”
“Mallie,” she says, interrupting me. Maybe this is it—she’ll tell me she’s proud of me. That she’ll help me, all she can. “We’ll talk about this at breakfast.”
So I wait.
Ms. Marcia’s apple puffs are in a pile in the center of the table. I’m hungry enough to gobble up each one, but I make myself go slow.
Denver stares at my green stripe.
Finally, Mama says, “I don’t trust Mortimer Good, Mallie. Those horses left for a reason, and I just … I want you to be very wary when he’s around. Plus, back in the day, those horses helped us harvest starlight. Something about snatching up gold … that doesn’t sit right in my heart.”
I nod. “I understand what you’re saying. But we’ve got to survive on something, right? This is a thousand Feathersworth per mission. Mama … that’s enough to change things. And maybe we’ll have enough gold powder eventually. Enough for everybody.”
“When it’s gold powder you’re talking about,” she says, her face eclipsed by a chipped teacup, “there will never be enough.”
“I’m going to take care of us, all of us,” I promise her. “Haven’t you ever wanted to do something brave?”
Her eyes bore into mine and I see the hurt in them.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” I clarify quickly. “You’re brave for us all the time. Let me be brave for us, too.”
There’s a sad pause as she looks down at her apple puff, the clang of a fork against a cracked plate.
“I want to see you ride!” Denver’s voice erupts in the silence.
“No!” Mama and I both shout it. Honeysuckle gives one defiant chirp.
“You hide today,” I tell Denver. “Remember those men who came looking for you? They might come back. So you have to hide until I have all the Feathersworth we need. Got it?”
He nods, propping his head on his hand with a sigh. “Yeah.”
Mama rises suddenly. She walks to the back door of our cottage, and the burst of cold is so icy it nearly takes my breath away. She keeps an old chair out back—
a thinking place, she calls it. I know that’s where she’s going. But I don’t know why. There’s nothing to think about now. There’s plenty, however, to be grateful for.
“I don’t understand why she’s so angry.”
Papa doesn’t answer me. He can’t answer me. But he reaches for the notebook he keeps close and scribbles messy sentences for me to read:
I stand and lean over to kiss Papa’s head. But he grabs my hand and holds it, tight. “I love you, too,” I whisper. And I bolt out the door.
The Tumbrel mansion stands on the highest hill in the valley. There are two tall windows in the front, from the base all the way to the rooftop. And on days like this, when we have the Dust and dark, rainy skies to deal with, lanterns beam from the dead center of those windows. They look like beacons in the Dust. Eyes in the darkness. I’m late this morning; it took ages for me to find my other Popsnap, buried deep in a trunk of clothes I’ve outgrown. It doesn’t fit very well, I realize as I try to adjust it for the hundredth time. But it will have to do. Thankfully, nobody has noticed the time.
Carriages line the cobblestone walkway to the house. A party has been in progress all night. Valley people don’t plan parties that last for an hour or two. They spend full days—sometimes a full week—celebrating. And anything merits a celebration for them. I sigh at the scene playing out in the windows.
Wax drips down the chandeliers I cleaned. Powder cakes that took hours to make are being thrown by Mrs. Tumbrel’s rotten kids. Honor and his friends are running up and down the stairs in black capes, clashing swords, pretending to fight. All day, on every floor, adults will arrive and drink from silver mugs, heads tilted back in laughter. Or they’ll be passed out on couches and stairways throughout the mansion. I wonder if the Tumbrels threw this party because the Starbirds are back.
Over the Moon Page 6