Ice (19 page)

He broke into a gallop, and the other caribou scattered. His tendons clicked with the unique caribou sound, like rubber bands snapping. Cassie bounced on his bony back as he accelerated to munaqsri speed under the aspen’s power.

She knew the moment they left the taiga and entered the boreal forest: The light changed. Shadows surrounded them as conifers blocked the sun. The caribou ran over needles that crunched, and he leaped over fallen trees. Spruces were swathes of dark green punctuated by the white flash of an aspen. Finally, she was almost to Father Forest!

The aspen shouted a command, and the caribou stopped. Cassie was tossed into his neck. “Ow!” Her stomach squished. She scooted back behind his prominent shoulder blades. “Why did . . . ,” she began to ask, and then she stopped.

Ahead was a picturesque cottage nestled in spruces. It looked as if it were part of the spruces. The bark of the trees bled into the wood of the walls. The roof was made of mossy stones. Cassie smiled—the cottage defined “quaint.” Wild roses curled appealingly around the door and windows.

The air smelled of rosemary and mint. Smoke curled invitingly from the chimney. Ferns covered the tiny yard, and wide slate stones made a path to the door. Cassie slid off the back of the caribou, and the caribou trotted away.

Opening a wooden gate, Cassie stepped on the first stone. She heard a chime like a chorus of birds.

Passing her, the tree-girl skipped, laughing, down the path. Each stone sang out under her feet. It sounded like a bird-call xylophone. Cassie tested another stone. It chimed for her. Grinning, she went down the path toward the cottage door. She could smell bread baking. She inhaled deeply.

The tree-girl flung the door open. Cassie stooped in the doorway. She squinted, her pupils expanding. Inside, the cottage was as dark, snug, and comfortable as a bear den. It took a second for her eyes to adjust before she saw the cottage’s occupant.

The old man was as bent and gnarled as a black spruce tree. Broom in hand, he scuttled around the tiny home sweeping dirt from the corners and the ceilings. Dust hung in the air like morning haze. He muttered to himself. The tree-girl threw her arms around him. He patted her absently on the shoulder. “Yes, yes, dear,” he said. “But everything must be perfect for our guest.” Father Forest. She wanted to shout or sing. Bear seemed so close she could almost feel his fur under her fingers and smell his seal-tinged breath. Cassie cleared her throat.

He clapped his hands together. “Our guest!” All his wrinkles seemed to smile. “Please, come in, come.” He fussed around her as she ducked inside.

The cottage kitchen was full of cabinets and drawers, all carved with pictures of rabbits and squirrels. Shelves were stacked with wooden plates, bowls, and pitchers. The sink even had a wooden faucet. The only metal was a wroughtiron stove with an old-fashioned teakettle. Corners of the kitchen receded into shadows. She saw a small, cozy living room through an open doorway, and through one of three other doorways, she glimpsed a bedroom. It was nothing like Bear’s castle with the open ballroom, the buttressed halls, the spiral staircase, but she liked it. It felt warm and safe and a welcome change from ice and tundra. “You are Father Forest?” The old man bobbed his head. “Do you like it?”

He must mean the forest, she guessed. “It’s beautiful.”

He beamed. “You must see the Aberdeen Lake area. Beautiful white spruces. And the Peacock Hills.

Some of my finest work. Yes, you must have a tour! You should see my aspen groves. And the riverbanks with the balsam poplars. The rivers are not my region, of course, but, ah . . . the riverbanks!”

“I’m sorry, but—”

“Oh, you must see the willows! Riparian willow thickets!” Unable to restrain himself, he hopped from foot to foot. He reminded Cassie of a Christmas elf. Or Santa Claus himself.

“Next time,” she promised, and she smiled at him. His enthusiasm was infectious. It was impossible not to like him. “I’m sure you do wonderful work.”

“It is a noble calling.” For an instant, there was something in his eyes—a seriousness. “Munaqsri make the world work.” And then he was all smiles. He patted her hand. “Come, sit,” he said. Guiding her to an empty corner, the old man tapped the floor with his broom. In the spot it touched, a tree root bubbled up from out of the floor. It flattened under his guidance. He molded it as easily as Bear sculpted ice. She thought of Bear’s topiaries—all destroyed now. Soon they’d be home, she told herself. The forest munaqsri patted the root chair. “Please, let me get you something to eat. You must be famished.”

Her stomach rumbled as he scurried to the kitchen. “Thank you, but I don’t have time. You’re right.

About munaqsri, I mean. Without Bear, the whole polar bear species will be extinct in a generation.” On tiptoe, he peered into his cabinets. “We have all sorts of delicacies here in my forest. Fresh fronds? Pinecone hearts?” Father Forest filled a tray with out-of-season berries and odd-shaped leaves.

She was not going to be distracted, not this close, though the thought of food was tempting. She hadn’t eaten since the hare yesterday. “I was told you could help me get to the troll castle.” He opened the iron oven, and the smell of bread wafted across the room. Her stomach cried. He lifted out a luscious loaf. “Rest first. Then we’ll talk about your polar bear.” Fresh bread. She salivated. How could it hurt? Wouldn’t it be better to rescue Bear on a full stomach? For all she knew, it was thousands of miles to the castle and she would need the energy.

Urgency argued with hunger, and hunger won. Cassie took off her pack and rested it against a wall.

She sat on the root chair. It felt as solid as ordinary wood, even though it had just grown. He served her the tray and the bread. She wondered why he hadn’t magicked the food here the way he had the chair. Then she bit into the bread and lost interest in the question.

The bread tasted like honey. It melted in her mouth. She devoured it in three mouthfuls. “This is wonderful.” Some of the leaves tasted like lettuce, some were tinged with mint, and others were nut flavored. “Thank you.”

He smiled fondly at her. “You are the wife of the bear. We take care of our own.” She smiled. The owll had been right. She’d said that Cassie could rely on him. She had nothing more to worry about. Thanks to Sedna and Fluffy and the lemming and the aspen, she and Bear would be home soon. “How far is it to the castle?” she asked as she finished her food.

“Tea?” he asked. He patted a finger on the root. Cassie moved as a green shoot sprouted out of the bark beside her. It unfurled, and its tip swelled into a bulb. It fattened until it looked ready to burst.

Green sides peeled away, and it opened like a tulip. From its base, color spread up it as it darkened from a light pink to a deep red. Delighted, she laughed out loud. How magical—just like something Bear would do. The forest munaqsri snapped the blossom at the base. The green shoot withered into dust. He fetched the kettle from the stove and poured tea into the flower. He handed it to her.

The petals felt soft and warm. “You will like it,” he said, smiling. “It’s a special blend. Extra strong for you.”

Steam rose into her nose as she brought it to her lips. She took a sip. It tasted of herbs and pine.

Immediately, she felt calmer. “Thank you again,” she said.

“I have prepared a bed for you,” he told her. “You need a good night’s sleep.” Cassie shook herself. “No, no.” Her tongue felt thick. “So close.” She stood, and her knees felt suddenly weak. Father Forest took the tea out of her hands and set it on the root chair. Gently, he took her elbow and guided her to one of the doors. He said, “If you need anything, you have only to call out. The trees have ears, you know.”

Sitting in a corner, the tree-girl giggled—a shrill sound. It grated inside Cassie’s head like metal filings. She shook her head to clear it, and felt dizzy.

He led her through the door into a green room with a downy bed. She frowned at the bed. She did not want to sleep; she wanted Bear. “No, no sleep.” Her words slurred. It was hard to think. Dimly, she thought, It was the tea. But he was such a nice old man. “See Bear when wake?” She tried to look at him, but her eyelids felt as heavy as granite. She sank onto the bed.

He patted her arm. “Rest tonight, dear. Please, do not worry. It will be all right. You will see.” On an impulse, she hugged the gnarled man.

“Yes, yes, dear,” he said. “You will see.”

TWENTY-THREE

Latitude 63° 54’ 53” N

Longitude 125° 24’ 07” W

Altitude 1301 ft.

“OW, OW, OW.” Cassie peeled the clothes from her skin—long johns plastered to her with dirt and dried sweat. It felt like pulling off a Band-Aid. She grimaced at herself. She had flecks of blood from a thousand scratches, and she was mottled with purple and yellow bruises. How lovely. She turned on the shower, and the water spilled through a crevice and then was funneled out between roots on the floor. She flinched as she ducked under the stream.

Mud dripped down Cassie’s legs, and the runoff turned a Mississippi brown. Father Forest had told her she would find fresh clothes in the bathroom closet, so she rinsed all her long johns and silkweights. Even considering the knockout tea, which (she had to admit) had provided much-needed sleep, he was proving to be a generous host. She felt like a hotel guest, or what she imagined a hotel guest would feel like—she’d never been one. Cassie sanded her skin with pine-scented soap. Wow, she had missed being clean! She scrubbed her hair. Grass clumps plopped onto the shower floor. She noticed one was seaweed.

She shook her hair and splattered the walls. Father Forest should be nominated for sainthood, she thought. She finally felt human again. First thing she would ask Bear to do when all this was over would be to resculpt the bathroom. She imagined herself and Bear rebuilding the castle side by side.

Glorying in her daydream and in the water, Cassie stretched. And she felt a fluttering in her stomach.

Her hands flew to her curved stomach. She felt the fluttering a second time. It was like wings inside her abdomen. Cassie grabbed the shower wall as her knees caved.

Oh, no. No, no. How could she have a baby? She huddled against the bark wall of the shower. Her hair stuck to her skin as water streamed over her. She wasn’t ready to be a mother!

She had so cleverly avoided thinking about it too much. But the baby wasn’t waiting for her to adjust to the idea. Every day, it marched closer to birth.

She forced herself to take a deep breath. She had to keep calm. Bear would help her. She wasn’t going to be alone. He’d know what to do with a baby—a munaqsri baby. Once she and Bear were together again, they could face this.

Cassie got to her feet and dried herself with a towel made of woven ferns. It fell apart on her skin. All she had to do was find Bear in time and it would all be fine. With Father Forest’s help, it would all be fine.

Cassie pulled the clothes out of the cabinet, and the clothes unfolded into a dress with a leaf green blouse and a shapeless bark brown skirt. Cotton underwear fell onto the floor. She stared at the dress. No one who was going to be trekking across a boreal forest wore a dress. Cassie searched the cabinet for other choices. She found only doll-like slippers. The slippers were worse than the dress—

they would shred in the forest. What was Father Forest thinking?

Cassie glanced at her wet clothes, now hanging on a branch towel rack. She didn’t have much choice.

If she didn’t want to be naked, she’d have to wear the dress. She put it on and scowled down at herself. “Ridiculous,” she said.

She pulled on her old mukluks and found Father Forest outside, waist-deep in ferns. He raised his head as she stepped on a singing stone. He beamed at her. “Sleep well?”

“Completely rested and ready to go,” she announced. “Thanks for the hospitality.” She decided not to say a word about the dress. It was probably all he had. His gnome pants would have been knickers on her. She shouldn’t be ungrateful after all he was doing for her and Bear.

He screwed up his face like a prune. “Not now!”

She’d felt the baby move; she didn’t want to wait another minute. “Why not?” Father Forest waved at the yard of fronds. “The ferns are ready to seed.” She was waiting for ferns? She had not crossed the entire Arctic to be delayed by ferns. “Bear is waiting for me,” she said.

“Ferns cannot wait,” he said.

Clenching her teeth, she reminded herself that he had fed and clothed her. A little yard work was a fair trade. “Fine,” she said through her teeth. “Let me help.” He smiled with eyes crinkling like Santa Claus’s. Kneeling, he demonstrated how to pluck the seeds from the undersides of the ferns, scatter the seeds around the yard, and smooth pine needles over them. He acted like a child showing off a new toy. “Gravity and wind will do that, you know,” Cassie said.

“You are so innocent,” he said fondly. “It’s really charming.” She scowled. “After the ferns, we go to Bear.” Bending over the ferns, she scraped the seeds with her short fingernails. She tossed them into open patches.

“Good, good,” he said, watching her.

It was as pointless as plucking autumn leaves. Cassie scraped and tossed, scraped and tossed, as fast as she could. Bear was waiting for her. She pictured him pacing in a cage while trolls prodded him and laughed. She hated the thought of him trapped and helpless. She scraped so fast that she shredded the tender leaves.

Whistling to himself, Father Forest leisurely bent over the ferns, picked the seeds one by one, examined each one in the low angled sunlight, considered the full yard, and placed the seeds individually on the ground. Cassie wanted to shake him. She had to bite her lip to keep from shouting at him to move.