Kerka's Book (11 page)

I decided not to tell Ardee that the wolf was still after us. Putting the knotted rope back in my pouch, I looked for the path. I couldn't see it on the ice and drifted snow, but Ardee found it—with her nose.

“Other animals have used this path before,” she explained. “It goes this way.”

I pulled my hood around my face a bit more and followed the reindeer away from the icefall. The path
became a ledge that wound steeply upward with a sharp drop-off on the right. There was just enough room for my boots on the slippery ledge. I inched along, hugging the rocks and moving my feet forward without lifting my boots off the ground, the wind whipping about us. Ardee paused every few minutes to wait for me. She wasn't afraid of falling.

The temperature fell several more degrees, making the air so brittle I could almost hear it crack. Frost formed on my eyelashes, and the sky deepened from violet to dark blue.

“Can you still see?” I shouted to be heard above the wind.

“Yes!” Ardee called back.

I slipped backward, and the reindeer immediately shouted, “Kerka! Are you hurt?”

“Just my pride!” I yelled, grabbing Ardee's back leg to steady myself as I struggled to rise. Her rimmed hoof kept her anchored on the incline.

“Hold on to my tail!” Ardee said when I was back on my feet. “So I can pull you up if you fall.”

I hesitated. If I stumbled and fell off the cliff, I might drag her over, too.

“Please,” Ardee pleaded. “It won't hurt. Besides, if you fall, I'd rather die with you than lose you.”

I believed her and moved closer, clutching her
short tail with both hands. “You're very brave, Ardee.”

“No, I'm sure-footed, and I don't want anything to happen to you,” Ardee said, bending her head to press on.

With darkness descending and a frigid wind hampering every step, we crept forward like an arctic snail. I had no idea how long the Aventurine night would last. I had to find Biba's voice before the sun rose. There would be no do-overs.

We could fly the remaining length of the narrow ledge if I touched the third knot. However, using it to lessen the hardship and save time didn't seem wise. Although we were moving slowly, we were moving forward. I decided to keep the knot for a situation we couldn't handle without help.

A moment later, my feet slipped out from under me and I fell on my knees. Ardee turned and a chunk of snow-covered rock broke off the ledge. One hoof slipped off.

“Just stay still,” Ardee called out. “I'm okay.”

I waited until the reindeer got her hoof back on solid ice.

“Can you get up?” Ardee asked.

“I'll try.” I got onto my knees, but when I tried to
stand, my boots slid out from under me again. “The ice is too slick!”

Ardee held out one of her back hooves to me. “Hold on to me, then,” she said. “I'll pull you until we find a bare spot.”

Being dragged along an ice shelf holding on to a reindeer's hoof is not fun. My arms began to ache and Ardee's hooves sprayed chips of ice as she walked. I couldn't protect my face, but I kept my eyes closed. Just when my mittens began to slip off Ardee's hoof, the path took a sharp left turn into a ravine.

“You can let go now,” Ardee said.

I collapsed onto bare rocky ground and rolled over, taking a minute to catch my breath. High rock walls on both sides of the ravine shielded us from the wind and blowing snow. The sky overhead was a darker shade of blue laced with faint puffs of light. I blinked, but my eyes weren't playing tricks. The tiny puffs really did appear here and there.

Ardee looked down at me. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I said, getting to my feet. My legs ached from the climb, but we didn't have time to rest. It would be night soon.

The trail through the protected niche was still
icy, and I stayed behind Ardee, clinging to her tail as we walked ever upward. When the reindeer paused to dig in a pile of snow, I didn't argue. My knees were a little shaky and I needed the break.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I need a snack.” The reindeer looked back. “You're not going to yell at me, are you?”

“No!” I shook my head. “You've earned a treat, but there's no grass up here.”

“I know,” Ardee said. “I like reindeer moss just as much.”

I watched, fascinated, as she plunged her muzzle into the snow. When she lifted her head, she had a mouthful of gray lichen. “It's very dry,” she said after the third bite. “Can we use more magic water now?”

I was thirsty, too, but the pouches weren't insulated. “The pods might be frozen.”

“They might not,” Ardee said, chewing another wad of lichen.

“Let's find out.” I rubbed my hands together under the coat to warm my stiff fingers before I opened my backpack. The water pod was cold, and nothing happened when I poked it. “It's frozen.”

“Oh.” Ardee swayed from side to side. She quickly added a warning. “But we can't eat snow.”

“I know.” I sighed, absently rolling the cold pod
between my hands while I mulled over the problem. We had to drink to keep going, but eating ice or snow would lower our body temperatures. That would make us more dehydrated, not less.

“Do you have a brilliant idea yet?” Ardee placed her chin on my chest and begged with her big blue winter eyes. “Please have a brilliant idea.”

“I wish it was that easy, Ardee, but—” I inhaled sharply then grinned when I realized the pod wasn't frozen anymore. Friction and body heat had warmed it up in my hands. “No brilliant ideas, but how about an accidental one?”

“Will it make water?” Ardee backed up a step.

Keeping my hands under the coat, I rolled the pod between my palms as fast as I could until it was hot. It began to cool when I held it outside my coat and jabbed it, but when the pod expanded and split open, the water inside was still warm. It tasted as good as sweet tea or hot chocolate sliding down my throat, and the heat radiated from my stomach to warm my whole insides. I gave Ardee a little more than half.

The reindeer drained the pod and burped. “It's a good thing you're so smart.”

“The fairies thought of everything, not me,” I said.

“Then it's very good you're smart enough to figure out fairy things.” Snorting, Ardee turned and began walking.

“We make a good team,” I said, trudging after her.

“Yes, we do.” She flicked her tail. “Grab on to my tail if it gets slippery again.”

The hike up the ravine was easier going than the ledge, but it didn't last. The instant we left the shelter of the rock walls, we were hit by winds and driving snow. Ardee turned broadside, inserting her body between me and the wind so I wouldn't be blown off my feet. Although traces of twilight lingered, we were both blind in the blizzard.

We couldn't see the path to continue on, and we would freeze to death if we didn't keep moving.

I pulled out the rope and touched the last knot.

As though by magic, which it was, the wind obeyed my unspoken command and calmed to a whisper. The swirling snow settled, creating lacy patterns on the rocks. As I looked around to get my bearings, I realized that the third knot had saved us from more than the winter storm. The reindeer and I were standing on a narrow ice bridge that spanned a deep canyon. The bridge was no more than eighteen inches wide. A step to either side and we would have
fallen off. The knot had saved our lives.

Shaken by yet another close call, I looked down into the dark chasm.
Did I decide to save the last knot based on intuition, logic, or luck? Did it matter why or how as long as it was the right decision?

I frowned in thought. Even with great intuition, the best information, and uncanny good luck, no one knew exactly the right thing to do at all times without fail. Everybody made mistakes. The difference was in how each person handled them. My mother always said that insecure people got mad or made excuses or blamed someone else. Stupid people wouldn't even admit there had been a mistake. Smart people learned from their mistakes and with luck made fewer as they went through life.

I
tried
to be smart, but making decisions was complicated. When I had time, I tried to consider all the good and bad things involved. And that was all I or anyone else could expect.

“Fairy lights,” Ardee said, her voice filled with wistful longing. “It looks like home.”

I looked up. Night had truly fallen while I was deep in thought, but the sky wasn't black.

Shimmering grayish lights with faint tints of blue and green were splashed across diamond-studded dark blue velvet. Sprays of silver exploded
behind starbursts of blue while waves of gray rippled underneath. Tendrils of green lightning flashed, sputtered out, and then flashed again. The aurora borealis in Finland's Arctic skies had more dazzling colors, but otherwise they looked the same. My mother called the northern lights a cosmic magic show, created by the universe to preserve the sense of wonder too many children lose when they grow up.

“It looks like my home, too,” I said, blinking back a tear. I missed my mother, my father, my sisters, and the carefree days of my childhood. A tear froze on my cheek, and I brushed it away. I couldn't complete the tasks ahead if I was a lump of blubbering mush.

“We're almost to the top!” Ardee exclaimed, swishing her tail with excitement.

A natural bridge connected the ravine to the base of the mountain peak. I couldn't tell if the bridge was made of rock or just ice covered with snow. Queen Patchouli had sent me here so I was pretty sure the suspended path would hold our weight. Still, for a second, I wondered if I had used the third knot too soon.

“Is something wrong?” Ardee asked.

“No.” I didn't want to scare her. We had to cross the bridge to reach the mountain peak. I pointed to
where the bridge path widened several feet farther out. “Let's move to safer footing.”

The reindeer pranced forward, secure on the ice pack. I put the wind rope back in its pouch and followed at a more sedate pace. Fearful of stepping on a weak spot that might break off, I placed my boots in Ardee's hoofprints and held my breath. I paused where the bridge widened to three feet across, captivated by the astounding view.

Illuminated by the fairy lights overhead, we could see Aventurine below us. A layer of daylight blanketed the ground under the darkness. I could see the ridge of the boulder wall by the beach, across the Glass Lake to the shores of the Willowood and beyond, to the lilacs by the glass wall and the Orchards of Allfruit. I thought I spotted the green branches of Birdie's Glimmer Tree just before the terrain faded into a hazy horizon, but then I realized I couldn't possibly see that far. The landmarks were the handiwork of a fairy's whim, drawn from my memory and imagination.

“What's that tall pointy thing?” Ardee was looking at the view on the other side of the bridge.

I turned, expecting to see parts of Aventurine I hadn't visited yet. I gasped when I saw the waking world stretching to another hazy horizon. Far to one side, the green domes of the Helsinki Cathedral and the tall Olympic Tower stood out like toys placed on a paper map of the world. I glanced over the Eiffel Tower, one of Aunt Tuula's favorite places, across the whitecaps on the Atlantic Ocean to the Statue of Liberty in New York Harbor. Ardee was staring at New York City.

“That's the Empire State Building,” I said. “It was the tallest building in the waking world for a long, long time.”

“But it's not as tall as
your
mountain,” the reindeer said.

I smiled as I shifted my gaze back to Aventurine, amazed by the fairies' artistry. Two worlds seen from a mountaintop was a masterpiece. But I couldn't stop and stare any longer. I urged Ardee to move on and quickened my own pace. I was getting tired, but I didn't want to fall behind.

The wings came out of nowhere. The huge bird swooped down on us from the dark blue sky. I ducked, but it flew so close, its talons snagged my hair. I staggered toward the edge of the bridge.

“No!” I shouted and grabbed for Ardee. She clamped on to the back of my coat with her teeth and pulled back. She was stronger than the bird and kept me from falling off. The bird screeched as it flew off. I landed in a sitting position under Ardee's nose, but I wasn't out of danger. The bird flew in a wide arc and started back.

“Duck!” I drew up my knees and covered my head with my arms.

Ardee let go of my coat and stood her ground. The white bird flew straight at us. At the last second, Ardee rattled her antlers and gave a warning cry that sounded like a foghorn! The bird decided she didn't want to tangle with Ardee and whooshed over us.

“What was that?” I asked as I watched the bird disappear into the darkening sky.

“A snowy owl,” the reindeer said. “It must be guarding something.”

“How do you know?” I asked.